Sundance Blazin' Baby

The Sundance Film Festival has now come to an end. Unfortunately, my film, "Shit Into Fertilizer" didn't win any awards. As a matter of fact, only two people attended one of it's showings. The audience was Marlee Matlin and her interpreter. They left 20 minutes into the film because the interpreters hands were "tired" (if you know what I mean...nudge nudge). Gee...I hope that isn't offensive to deaf people.

Independent film festivals are interesting things. Thousands of people show up to a small town in the middle of winter in a state they never would admit to being found dead in. Actually, they go out of their way to wear the correct footwear so they can say to others that they actually never "set foot" in the state. Another interesting thing is they are seen wearing expensive ski clothing but never go skiing. Although you can find some celebrities at charitable ski events but they are usually doing interviews at the bottom of the hill. The interview typically is like this:

Reporter: Hey Ms. Big Shot what a wonderful thing it is for you to come out to this charity event.
Ms. Big Shot: Yes, it is just a neat thing to do things like this for the kids. We must do more things for the kids. The kids need more things where we all show up and work on things for the kids. I just love the kids. The kids need us...and this...for the kids. Save the kids! *peace sign*
Reporter: But this charity is to permanently eradicate erectile dysfunction in older giraffes.
Ms. Big Shot: Oh...ummm...but I bet if that is done away then they can have kids...then we will fight to save those kids.

They also walk around town talking about how wonderful the films are but actually never see them. The reason for this is no one can see THEM while sitting in a dark theater. Then they get in front of the cameras and discuss the artitistic merits and how a certain film, the one about that "one person who did that one thing", pushed against the society established morals by breaking new ground. After some more photo opportunities they head back to the "bars" and sit and talk with their friends about how Power Rangers SPD would kick Power Rangers Dino Thunders Ass.

What about my film?

It is was a dramatic creation of a mans fight against forces which ally against him in a formal struggle of ones contradicting beliefs and the society that controls the underlying sentiment to do a specific action or succumb to consequences that leaves the man with no actual freewill even though conspiratorial agencies subtley portray a faux reflection of himself allowing him to feel he still retains such freedoms. Yes...I didn't understand it either but that is how the summary was written in the film festival guide. In my own words, the flim is about the thoughts of a man who needs to clean up some dog crap on his lawn.

My movie was filmed in black and white with a handheld camera so it has that shaky movement giving it a true independent feel to it. It opens zoomed in on the handle of the front door of a house in a lower middle class neighborhood. It is a cold day and the smoke from the nearby steel factory casts a dark gloom.

The camera pulls back revealing the full door which is now being opened. Out steps a man in his mid-40's who has obviously just woke up from sleep. He is in a bathrobe, mocassin slippers, and holding a freshly brewed cup of coffee in one hand which also holds a freshly lit cigarette between two fingers.

He walks down his porch steps then down the path that leads to the front of his yard. At the end of the path lies a newspaper. The paper is picked up then the man turns around and looks at a spot on his lawn. Laying there in his lawn is a freshly dropped pile of dog crap. The heat of it still creating steam in the cold air.

The man stands staring at that spot with a blank expression on his face. He knows it is not his; he has no dog. All he can do, as if some invisible agent keeps him from being able to move, is stare at it. It becomes evident he will stand motionless for a long time with his newspaper being held in one hand his coffee and smoldering cigarette in the other. He is transfixed.

Through the course of the morning friends and neighbors come by. Curiousity claim them as they, too, stand beside the man. They are transfixed by the pile of animal waste on the ground. The people try to talk to the man, yet they keep their eyes on the ground. The conversation is one way; the man doesn't respond.

"Whose dog did this? How did it come to be here? Why haven't you cleaned it up? Why is it on the lawn and not somewhere else? What kind of dog was it?" they say among other somewhat rhetorical questions. The man still doesn't speak as the others pepper him with nonstop questions.

A gay frenchman and an italian join the gathering crowd. A true independent film MUST have gay's and foreigners. The frenchman asks, "Quel est cet idiot fait?" then the Italian responds, "Guarda lo shit. " The frenchman adds, "Oui." After which they add their eyes to the fecal stain on the grass.

Others join the group, men, women and children. Some mock him while others defend him. However, through all this the man stands still, seemingly ignoring them.

As lunchtime approaches the man becomes hungry. He finally moves by looking at his cup of coffee and the cigarette that has long gone out. He notices his paper in the other hand.

He kneels down, scoops the poop up in his paper, walks over to his trashcan, throws everything away, including the coffee cup, then walks into his house.

The crowd watches in unison all of the mans actions while standing in their spots. After the door closes the others look at each other as if wondering what to do. No one offers a suggestion so they disburse and go back to their homes.

The camera isolates the door of the house and zooms into the door knob. Fade to black.

What do you think? Please comment in an appropriate "Independent Film Festival Critic" way. Then go see my film. It hits theaters nationwide this weekend.

Hey...

I really don't have anything today. Actually I do, but I will save it for a later time.

Until then, please enjoy this Sundance award-winning short film.

Tomorrow, There'll be Sun!

** Warning**

Before you read the following you must know that I have done something that I don't do a lot of; I discuss poop. As a matter of fact "poop" is usually not in my vocabulary. But today it is. Well, at least a portion of it is when I describe how I feel about my post on Monday. So if toilet humor involving poop is not something you look forward to, then you can leave now. But if it is, then congratulations. You might want to check out some of my other friends who stop by here occasionally. They are full of poop (some even full of caca - you know who you are). Actually, they are so full of poop they are constipated.

Again...you have been warned. Why am I suddenly in the mood for some chocolate soft serve ice cream? *shrugs*

---

I know you do it, you have to. It is only a part of human nature. Go ahead, you can admit it. Every time you have a bowel movement (good or bad) when you stand up to clean "things" off I bet you have turned around and checked out your work. I bet you also stand there like an artist critiquing it. I also bet you even say things like, "Hey, not bad. That felt good going in AND coming out!" Or you have said, "GAA! After all that work and THAT is all there is?" Maybe you have said, "Huh? When did I have corn, cashews, AND Fruit Loops?"

Today, I look back on my post from Monday and think upon it as most of you do in the bathroom (you...not me....ever...I don't like to look). It was a real load of crap.

I guess that happens sometimes. A blogger cannot have his/her 'A' game in every post. So I would like to apologize. You deserved better.

To show how sincere I am today you will be allowed post TWO comments for the price of one. After leaving a sincere and loving comment on this post you can feel free to leave a comment on any of my previous posts. I know I am giving away a lot today, but I feel it is all I can do to give back to the blogger community for such a lame post.

BTW...with all that I discussed on Monday why did everyone concentrate on chicken fingers? Sure, they are good and all but it is like you have a chicken fetish (you know who you are). I did talk about other things, you know. For example, I showed off my knowledge of old time show tunes. Did you not enjoy that? No? How shameful.

When I was young man my family would travel, by car, quite a lot. I really enjoyed the trips, however, during each trip I was forced a steady diet of musical show tunes. For the longest time I thought Rodgers and Hammerstein were my brothers. It only came out later that they were not my brothers but my gay parents. That is another story.

Each trip began the same way. We packed up the old green Buick Regal, my father would drive (because that is the man's role, get over it Jane Fonda) and my mother would get out the 8-tracks then the singing would start.

The following is a sample of our greatest hits. If you can tell me what musicals they are from then you get some extra love from me and maybe you can get a bonus comment in addition to the one I gave you above. Also, you are pretty lame...but greatly admired by me.

Where am I goin'?
I don't know
Where am I headin'?
I ain't certain
All I know
Is I am on my way

When will I be there?
I don't know
When will I get there?
I ain't certain
All that I know
Is I am on my way

And...

Well a woman who'll kiss on the very first date
Is usually a hussy.
And a woman who'll kiss on the second time out
Is anything but fussy.
But a woman who waits 'til the third time around,
Head in the clouds, feet on the ground!
She's the girl he's glad he's found--she's his
Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi! Shi-Poo-Pi!

And...

C'est moi! C'est moi, I'm forced to admit.
'Tis I, I humbly reply.
That mortal who
These marvels can do,
C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I.

And...

Whenever I feel afraid
I hold my head erect
And whistle a happy tune
So no one will suspect
I'm afraid.

And...

Yank the whiskers from her chin
Jab her with a safety Pin
Make her drink a mickey finn
I love you, Miss Hannigan

That is about all I can handle now. If I added anymore than I will need to attack the memories that are coming back into my mind with a wicked fury of hell fire.

To balance out this endless stream of happy show tunes I included some Megadeth, WASP, Motorhead, and Venom in my music library. My childhood was awesome.

Chicks and Ducks and Geese Better Scurry

Who the hell moved Monday so close to Friday? I really miss when Chickenfingerday fell between Friday and Saturday. CFD would extend the weekend by 47.5 hours because it had that many hours than the normal 24. It was a good day. The sauce was awesome.

Another thing that made this weekend go by quicker (which is a bad thing) was the Miss America pageant. Can you actually believe that someone from Oklahoma won that thing? Sure, there have been winners from Oklahoma before. The fact she is from...umm...Oklahoma really wasn't what was disappointing. It was her talent. Apparently doing a pole dance and churning butter while singing Farmer and the Cowman from the ever-popular musical Oklahoma really put her over the top.

Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends,
Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends.
The cowman ropes a cow with ease,
The farmer steals her butter and cheese,
That's no reason why they cain't be friends

Come to think of it, that would have won me over.

Come to think of it, there was actually a better performance. Unfortunately the contestant, a tarsier from Bohol (I think that place is in...ummm...New Jersey), was disqualified when the judges finally figured out she was not really a girl. I must admit that I was very impressed when she sang the ever-popular B. B. King song Bad Case of Love.

I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
I got a bad case of love
People, my heart is filled with misery

I could tell when she found out she was kicked out, she didn't take it well. Before eating the cricket she ordered for dinner she ripped it's legs and screamed obscentities at a brick wall. No wonder the Miss America pageant is losing viewers.

After all of this I really didn't have anything else to do. So I checked out other blogs. Of course, the best way to do this is to click the ever-popular 'Next Blog' button. To me this is one of my most thrilling activities. It is like buying a box of pork rinds; you never really know what your eating.

My nextbuttoning wasn't all that thrilling. Now I remember why I stopped doing it.

What a freakin' short weekend...pass the chicken fingers.

They Came to Collect, Silver and Gold

Apparently I need to make poverty history.

It is an urge I have had recently. It is a compulsion like eating, sleeping, and to make odd gurgly sounds whenever I see Kate Beckinsale. Some people say she has not been in any good movies. I really haven't notice. She's an actress?

How does one go about making poverty history? After extensive research, and two bags of theater style buttered microwave popcorn (which had some additional melted butter just to make sure the butter flavor was really really there) I have come to create the following list of things that must be done. If faithfully executed, poverty will be gone...forever...and ever...amen.

1. Create websites that talk about making poverty history. Market those websites by encouraging bloggers to place a little banner in the corner to make people aware how important it is to make poverty history. By only doing this, it is promised at least 500 homeless people will be able to raise themselves up from the vomit they have been sleeping in to only sleeping in their own urine. Proof, again, that every little bit helps.
2. Talk about poverty. The more you talk about it the more mouthwash, toothpaste, breath mints, those foul tasting melting listerine things, and tic tacs are needed to keep your breath fresh while you talk. The result is that more jobs are created for these industries. Thus making poverty history.
3. Come out against big corporations, little corporations, limited liability companies, and sole proprietorships, and the little bratty kid with the lemonade stand who adds too much sugar yet still charges a freakin' 50 cents a class. By doing this poverty will actually increase and not be history. But some sacrifices MUST be made. It may also help to sacrifice the lemonade kid to the volcano gods, but I will leave that up to you.
4. Have celebrities put on free concerts that will actually NOT raise money to make poverty history by giving money to poor people. I guess you could count the temporary workers needed to clean up the ozone depleting trash and human feces in the field after the show. Unfortunately poverty will only be temporary history but at least it will be able to pick up its paycheck at the end of its shift.
5. Send emails around the world telling people that poverty can be history if, and only if, they send the email to 10 other people. It might even be classy to add one of those church sign generator pictures. Oh how cute those things are. I laugh and laugh when I see them. Of course, poverty will be history in India because of the cheap programmers needed to keep the email systems running.
6. Build the largest Super Wal-Mart ever in Ethiopia. A senior citizen Ethiopian greeter would make approximately 46.91 Ethiopian Birr's an hour. Not bad, really. They would be able to pick up some kickin' auto floor mats. To cinch the history of poverty make sure it has a large McDonalds in the Wal-Mart. Oh, oh, oh...one more thing. Poverty living lawyers would make millions by suing the Ethiopian district of Wal-Mart because they are not fair to their workers. And, and, and...Then a union would be created for those Wal-Mart workers which will then force Wal-Mart to go out of business. Nah, nevermind; erase #6.
7. Take out a 180% interest payday loan. Poverty will be history until the next week when the loan comes due. Hopefully we can talk Bono into paying it back. If Bono doesn't have the cash we can always sell Canada.

Thanks for listening. Let's start NOW to make poverty history; right after some sliders at White Castle.

Make You Work-Work, Make You Work

Back in the day I was known as one who could pluck the ol' four-string with the best of them. If the 'best of them' included a drunken ostrich with PMS then you would understand. Those days seem so long ago it is like they were in another life. If it was, then it was a good life.

In that day there was no internet, thin cell phones, Tivo, and Hilary Duff. What we did have was our quintet of heavy metal maniacs. Dude, we rocked!

I guess every teenager has the dream of playing to a sold out arena. The lighters would be lifted and the bras thrown on stage. It became pretty disheartening to see someone like Neil Diamond having that happen to him. That guy was old...really old. Come to think of it, he is still really old. Ninety-eight percent of the time those dreams have no basis in reality. Our band was different in one respect. We sucked AND we knew it.

The proof of our music ineptitude is backed by solid data. For example, one of our crowning achievements was competing in the battle of bands at our high school. The judges were taking samples of everyone’s music then deciding who would be able to be in the battle. Fortunately, we were picked to be in the five that competed. A short time later we found out only four turned in demo tapes. The fifth one was added as a favor to the principal. Apparently, he had a little "thing" with a student. The school newspaper exposed it but the student editor died from a mysterious illness and all the papers burned. It did seem a little strange but that sort of stuff happened all the time at my school.

The winner of the battle of the bands was chosen by a vote of those in attendance. Essentially they would put their ticket stub in a trashcan then some Chinese foreign exchange math students would be asked to count them. The band with the most stubs in their trashcan would be the winner. It was pretty scientific if you think about it. I believe the Chinese students added loads of credibility. As a matter of fact, to get a little giggle at lunchtime we would ask the Chinese to say "credibility". Oh the fun we had when we heard them say "cledibirity". Even the lunch lady snickered.

The night came and let me tell you...we rocked. Unfortunately, it was a sucky rocked. The following was the list of songs we played:

1. Live Wire - AC/DC
2. High 'n' Dry - Def Leppard
3. Breaking the Law - Judas Priest
4. Looks that Kill - Motley Crue
5. Living After Midnight - Judas Priest
6. Sonata for Flute and basso continuo in C - Johann Sebastian Bach

That last piece was thrown in at the last minute to showoff our range of skills. It also had a kickass guitar solo.

After the chinese finished counting we found out we came in 3rd place. Not bad for a suckity suck bunch of sucks like us, huh? Eventually, by the time we graduated we all got into heavy drugs, chased diseased women, opened up for Dokken, and broke up because the guitarist married one of the chinese students who then tried to manage our band. It was an ugly situation...so was she.

I relate this because I firmly believe I should get back in the music business. Why? Because I know I can write better lyrics than what is out in the world now. For example:

What you gon’ do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?
I’mma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump.
My hump my hump my hump. My lovely little lumps.
Check it out…

*sigh*

I should have stuck with it. I could have been famous...

Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

It is finally here. After 17 long and grueling years the season premier of 24 hit the airwaves. Wait, it hasn't been that long since the last episodes of 24. I apologize. 17 years ago was the last time I had sex. I remember that day fondly. It is almost as if it was 16 1/2 years ago but not quite. I was walking down a street when a woman in a Corvette convertible drove up along side me. She asked me if there was a gas station nearby. Remarkably, to me, that sounds very similar to, "Hey handsome, want to have sex?" We never really did, but I still count it.

The last thing I am going to do today is tell you what happened during the first 2 hours of the show. I leave that to the multi-talented and extremely witty Riss. She lays the storyline down like a master mason doing brick work on a million dollar house. She is just that good, yo.

I will say this, however. Jack comes back, he kills some people (bad people, they are ALWAYS bad people), some terrorists come around and do some stuff (bad stuff...terrorists ALWAYS do bad stuff...except for the Smiley Sun Shiny Terrorists...they leave flowers and a get well card), Jack saves the day but not without people thinking him to be a renegade who must be stopped. Those people eventually get shot or their cars blow up (stupid people ALWAYS must be shot or have their cars blown up).

Every day I think of how similar my life is to Jacks. It is almost like the writers have cameras pointed at me all day long then writing every detail of my day. I can take any 24 hour period of my life, match it up to a season of 24, then agonize how hard it is to tell the difference between the two. I just can't do it.

Maybe you can. Below you will find a typical hour of my day. The challenge is to find the differences between Jacks life and my own. Please comment on what you come up with. Maybe I will send some money your way for your help...or maybe I won't.

The following takes place between the hours of 12:00 PM and 1:00 PM
*ominous clock ticking sound...chink...chink...chink*

I sit staring at the computer screen. The previous episode of my life ended with me saving the day once again. I am tired, but ready for more work.

I begin to type a routine note to a colleague telling him that the font size in his interoffice memos must be 12-point type NOT 10-point. Damn these lazy people. What do they think we are running here, a clown bordello? I think not.

Suddenly an instant message comes from out of nowhere with a threatening, "ding". I try to look away, but that is NOT my duty. My orders are to accept the mission, no matter how dangerous.

I click the window to view the message and it reads, "hey". The sweat begins to appear on my forehead but I press on. "sup?" is my reply. I wait, for what seems like minutes yet it was only seconds. Finally, the sender replies. "linch?"

Gah! I am wounded. The bastard has no clue the implications of such a thing! Why the hell can he not spell it right? Is he in THAT much of a hurry? Can he not check his spelling before hitting 'send'? Before I can respond with a lashing he corrects his error, "lunch?" All is well and my pulse returns to normal...for now.

I think of an appropriate message. It must be clear, no misconceptions or the thin thread holding the world will break in an easy "snap". Like any genius, the correct thought comes, "k, subway?" How bold and direct I was. There can be no indecision on my part. Any action must be swift or the president’s child will fall to the hands of the kidnappers. Even with all that, I still add a final blow that knocks him off, "i'll buy, i found $20 in the parking lot". I smirked the smirk of a champion.

The shock was most likely too much for him. I bet he fell back off his chair and was holding his heart in stunned disbelief. Finally, after a long time, he comes back with, "k". Then followed by a shallow, "thx".

He knows I have won. America is safe again.

A thing to have and hold, And keep forever

Quite a while ago I was given a gift from someone who is an acquaintance of mine. He isn't what I would consider a close personal friend even though there have been many times in the past when he has been available as one.

The gift seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. I found it one day when I came home from work. It sat there in my house with an allure about it that was hard to resist.

The present was approximately the size of a shoebox, maybe a little wider. The thing that made it magical was the packaging. I would bet it had to have been done by a professional gift wrapper. The corners were folded perfectly, tape was strategically placed, and even the parts where the paper ends came together matched the designs in the paper up with each other. A large bow was set directly in the center and expanded out in flowing forms over the sides of the box. The wrapping paper patterns contained geometric shapes in shades of blue, yellow, and red.
In the entire world it had to have been the best wrapped and beckoning present I have ever seen. Just the look of it made me want to stare helplessly without any conscience thought to open it.

Strangely, I never did open the gift. I just couldn't do it. I had no desire whatsoever to tear apart this perfectly wrapped box. Many times I inspected it to see if there was any clean way to open it and see what was inside. If I succeeded at that I could then remove the contents and piece it back together. Unfortunately, no precise way to carry out the plan came to mind.

One day a good friend came by for a visit. Upon spotting the gift he asked, "What's this?".

"Oh, just a present from an acquaintance," I responded. "Isn't the wrapping done well?"

He answered, "Sure. What is in it?"

"I don't know. Don't you think it has to be the best wrapping job you have ever seen?"

"I guess so. You mean you have never opened it?"

"No, I just can't. The packaging would be ruined."

He gave me a quizzical look then proceeded to nonchalantly unwrap the gift. I stood stunned as I witnessed this thoughtless act. "STOP! You are going to ruin the wrapping!" He paid me no heed.

The top of the box was opened revealing a stench of mountainous proportions.

"Ehhhhh!" we both gasped and held our noses in unison. The gag reflex knocked on the upper part of my throat.

Inside the box was a smoking pile of shit.

His Western Shirts and Leather, Always Look So Boss

If there is one weakness that I have, it is that I am an open-minded sort of person. To prove that point I decided to go on a little adventure over the weekend in exploration of my own heterosexualityantihomophobianess. In other words, I went to go see the highly acclaimed and heavily awarded movie Brokeback Mountain.

In humble confession, it wasn't intentional. I was coming back from getting my barrel of buttered popcorn and large Diet Soda (I am watching my weight) and accidentally walked into the wrong theater. I was actually there to see the manly movie King Kong. However, when all of the people in the audience (coincidently dressed as the cowboy from the Village People) turned to me with a glazy look of glee in their eyes, I felt obliged to stay. Also, my gay hamsters were motioning me to come sit with them.

Today I would like to give you my review of this wonderful and heartwarming movie.

Brokeback Mountain is a raw and forthright portrayal of the forbidden western love of two ranch hands in the dusty and desolate sheep herd trails of Wyoming. Ennis Del Mar (Heath "Hunky But Not Chunky" Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake "Pretty Boy But Likes Women" Gyllenhaal) must hide their poignant feelings for each other among the heated and rugged terrain in which they work. Hate for people "different from them" is rampant among the other ranchers. One night, while sitting around a campfire, one unsuspecting ranch hand was caught with salsa from New York City. The tar and feathering scene was an awakening for the forlorn characters. They realize they must dismiss their affections or suffer at the hands of society's ultra-sensitivities.

In a dramatic farewell, the two walk away from each other into separate sunsets so they can live morally appropriate lives. One would think they would be walking into the same sunset. Or, maybe, it was actually a sunset AND a sunrise. But who am I to argue with cinematic art?

Bigotry, however evil, cannot keep them apart. Ennis and Jack correspond regularly through letters laced with Stetson, IM's, and g-mail. Being from Wyoming they moved on to the only "normal" lives they could find in such a wide-open state. They both married sheep. Unfortunately, society's scrutiny catches up to them again and they have to move on from their wool of love.

There is not a lot a gay cowboy can do with his pent up frustrations and emotions. The next step, the only other thing they feel will give them welcomed relief, was obvious; a tub of Vaseline and a 1987 copy of Cosmo: For Men.

Over time, Jack becomes blind and Ennis finds he is growing hair in the palms of his hands. It becomes obvious to the people in the small towns they both live that the two are doing something that would go against the moral boundaries established by the good people of the state. Unfortunately, a posse of "believers" is rounded up by the Reverend Parker (played by Weird Al Yankovic). The cowboys are run out of town to go "live somewhere else but here." Reverend Parker then celebrates with a potluck in the church parking lot and sang killer karaoke.

The most penetrating scene comes in the end (oops...pardon the pun). Dejected and angry at society Ennis sits shaving his palms on a deserted train station platform. In the background another man, seemingly blind, makes his way up the platform stairs. Ennis notices him. A swelling of emotion moves around his heart, throat, and eyes until he bursts into tears. A tender "Jack?" moves across his lips. The other man stops and silently stumbles with the name, "Ennis?"

I don't want to give the rest of the movie away, but the men come together once again and vow to fight against laws discriminating against their right to love whomever they choose to love. However, before you think it is with each other (WARNING: SPOILER AHEAD), Jack marries a sheep named Doris in a private ceremony in Ottawa. Ennis moves in with a bottle of Vaseline he affectionately calls Erma.

Yeah, I thought it ends kinda weird too.

A Picture Clear for Watchin', The Dish is Runnin' Hot

Dear Dish Network,

I would like to sincerely thank you for your outstanding service to me and to the community as a whole. One more day cannot go by without me raining accolades upon you as well as holy kisses and rose petals. When someone asks me to name a great american company, your name immediately jumps from my lips and slaps them across the face with a cosmic "slap slap". The stunned person recovers and says, "Duh! Of course!"

By now you should have noticed I am being sarcastic. You would have known by the tone inflection in my voice to a high squeal when I said "great american company" accompanied by the downward motion of two fingers on each hand.

To explain, over the last 3 days I have been constantly harassed by messages on my TV that the Dish Network ("a great american company") receiver is currently "Acquiring a Signal". Apparently I do not have connectivity to the satellite. This seems to be a bad thing.

For your information I have done all you have suggested. I have made sure there is no snow, clouds, rain, or hazy glow of radiation coming from the nearby nuclear reactor. I also checked for no other obstructions such as trees, buildings, large asian elephants, and Oprah blocking the dish. Just to be sure I removed my backyard neighbors second story from their house. They were on vacation but I am pretty sure they will be pissed when they come back. But it is only more of a hunch.

So after all this I decided my only course of action is to get on the roof and point the dish myself. I moved the dag dang thing all over the wild blue yonder to no avail. Finally, only out of frustration, I pointed it to the smoldering satellite, with the Dish Network ("a great american company") logo, that crashed Friday into the park near my home. I thought the little aliens dancing triumphantly on top of it would throw off the signal, but no. I am now perfectly satisfied with my service.

Love and constant admiration,

AB

PS: The best name for a jazz musician is "Boney James". Although "Boney Johnson" would be better.

Summer days driftin' away, to uh-oh those summer nights

I called in sick today.

This is something I don't do. I just don't do it. Do it, I don't. But this morning I woke up with a little elf drilling a little elf cave on the inside of my skull. I tried to talk the little elf out of doing it, but he just laughed his little evil elf laugh and continued drilling. While looking into the mirror I noticed that he started to break through my forehead then stopped. That horrible little elf moved to another side of my skull and started drilling again. Every time he would just barely break through he would move to another spot. That damn little elf...damn him...damn him to a cold spot in Wyoming.

Needless to say my boss wasn't impressed. Apparently, he doesn't believe in little evil elves. So he tells me, "Work from home, you have access. Now kneel down and kiss right...about...here."

Working from home has its benefits. First, I can flip him off without him seeing it. I should say, I used to be able to flip him off without him seeing it. But since the Bush administration has installed the surveillance cameras in my home he can see it now. So scratch number one.

There is no number two unless you count what I just did in the bathroom. (Sorry, it has been awhile since I put out a little bathroom humor)

I am being rebellious, however. Consider it my way of getting back at the establishment. Instead of working I am posting this and watching The Munsters. (Treating her insomnia, Granpa puts Marilyn in a coma.) I must admit, I always had a little crush on Marilyn. I also had a gay crush on Grandpa, but that is a whole other story

Green Acres is on right after The Munsters. In this episode, "Both Arnold and Eb have romantic problems". Seems strange, I wonder if it is with each other? As you may or may not remember Arnold is a pig. For you man haters, I don't mean that as a symbolic description of a man. Arnold was a real pig.

There wasn't anyone on Green Acres I can admit to having a crush on. But I must admit that Arnold was pretty cool. In a previous blog life I once said that it would have been great to be Arnold. What man would not want to be a porker in a town named Hooterville?

I am such a pig.

Words of wisdom from Green Acres: "Golly, Mrs. Douglas. You ought to know better than to put whole wheat bread in a white bread toaster."

I really need to get out of TV Land and back to work. Oh, look! Grease is on VH1. Did I ever tell you the time I had a crush on Olivia Newton-John? That is until she killed her boyfriend and hid the body.

Nash Bridges is on USA. No crush ever on Don Johnson but I must admit Cheech Marin is sexy, yo.

Time to switch to The History Channel. In my next post, I may tell you about my crush on the Battle of Tripoli.

Am i supposed to change? are you supposed to change?

Hey hey! How was your holidays? Huh? Great, great.

As for me it was wonderful to have some time off and do nothing. Now I am back, refreshed and ready for action. All I ask is for someone to point me in the way of some action. That would be greatly appreciated.

It is now time to let everyone know what my New Year's resolutions are for 2006. I do this for no other point than to have you help me keep them throughout the year.

1. I Will Lose 210 Pounds - An interesting thing with this resolution is the number of pounds I will lose far exceeds what I currently weigh. The way I figure, I might was well go all out. This way I can have Richard Simmons come to my home to give me a great big sweaty gay hug. Then he can hold me up in the palm of his hand and tell the world my inspirational story. Of course, I would just be a little poof of air but we would all have a good cry anyway.
2. I Will FINALLY Stop Smoking - I realize I need to actually START smoking, but that is just a minor issue. I received a case of of nicotine patches for Christmas, so I will need to put them to good use.
   
3. Get Rid of the Chat Box - I know some of you chat whores will hate me for this, but the popups need to stop. I have received hate mail and I hate hate mail. I hate it. Hurts my feelings. So chat up today because tomorrow it will be gone.
4. Take All of You Out to Lunch - Eh...maybe not. Unless you are paying.
5. Fun Fun Fun - Is there a book or instructions on this anywhere? I would really like to know more about it. When doing a search on Amazon I get this. Please tell me there is more to it than that. Just in case, I ordered 43 of them. A google search didn't bode too well either. The top item for "fun fun fun" is this. *sigh*

That is about it. I am a simple man. Make sure I live by these, ok?