Friday, December 31, 2004

What are You Doing New Year’s…New Year’s Eve…?

Hi-Ho, Kermit the Frog here wishing you a happy new year.

No, don’t get excited, that wasn’t really Kermit just now. It was a celebrity impersonator. Okay, it was me. But come on, you can’t say that I don’t do one hell of a great type-written Kermit impression.

I’ve got others:

“Well excuuuuuse me!” – that’s Steve Martin. I pulled it from the vaults. An oldie but goodie.

“I’m not a crook.” – a classic.

“I’m a cracked out whore with no talent or personality” – this one is my most useful impression. It’s my Lohan, Spears, Aguilera, Hilton.

Anyway, I’m not here to impress you with impressions. I’m here to post the latest TAM Cartoon. The “brand new” TAM Cartoon.

See, just because I’m taking a vacation here, doesn’t mean that I can’t follow through with my responsibilities. You should really try to be more like me. But, you already know that, don’t you?

Fun Fact: New Year’s was first celebrated by the Babylonians around 2000 BC. But it wasn’t until the Roman senate (and particularly Julius Caesar) that New Year’s was set at January 1st. The wacky Babylonians celebrated New Year’s around March 23rd. Go figure. They actually had it at the changing of the seasons?! Spring?! The season of rebirth? Is that really an appropriate time to set the New Year?

Stupid Babylonians.

The Catholics considered New Year’s to be a pagan celebration. Obviously. Anyway, in true Catholic fashion, they usurped the pagan holiday for themselves.

Now, I didn’t know about this. Evidently, the Catholic holiday never fully caught on. But I think that this year, I’m going to celebrate it.

The Feast of Christ's Circumcision.

How could that not catch on?! It needs a renaissance. Foreskin and Figgie Pudding.


Tuesday, December 28, 2004

Avast Ye!

I’m going shopping at Old Navy. I’ve got to get into the nautical spirit. Stay the galley sail! Gib the gibbing thing! Swab the lubber! Swab, swab, swab…

Why, oh why, don’t they sell pirate clothes at Old Navy?! Not “old” enough?

Anyway, just because I’m going to get some ridiculously cheap, kick-ass navy gear, it’s no reason to shirk my duty. My duty to post the TAM Cartoon. Just because Tanya’s parents (and their souvenir dog) are in town, doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t focus my energy on what’s really important. The TAM Cartoon.

So please enjoy the 100% brand spanking new TAM Cartoon.


Fun Fact: Turns out that the souvenir “rescue” dog doesn’t actually rescue people. I faked one heck of a believable heart attack…nothing. I lit the hotel room on fire…he just licked himself.

Yeah, the dog was, in reality, rescued.

What a let down. I thought I was going to meet a genuine American hero.

He didn’t even have the gold leaf “Grand Canyon State!”

He’s lucky that he’s really cute.

Monday, December 27, 2004

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Diet

The holidays are over. I hope that you all had a wonderful time. Things were good around here. Nice and uneventful. Relaxing even.

But, we’re not out of the woods yet. Tanya’s parents are coming to visit. I think today. I don’t really know. I don’t think that they really know. But one sure thing is that they’re coming.


Tanya’s Parents: “Hey, we can’t wait to see you. Have you booked the hotel yet?”

Tanya: “What are you willing to spend? And when are you coming?”

T’s ‘Rents: “We don’t know yet. Be sure that it’ll be sometime. And make sure the hotel’s close.”

Tanya: “We live near Beverly Hills, the hotels are spendy. Especially when you book it needlessly.”

T’s ‘Rents: “You’ll figure it out.”


Tanya: “Hey, I found a hotel for you, it’s not too expensive or far away.”

T’s ‘Rents: “Do they take dogs?”

Tanya: “Why would it matter?”

T’s ‘Rents: “Because we have a dog with us, we just picked it up here in Phoenix…duh…”

I love family. But why is it that visits always have to be some big confusing thing? The one exception is my mother. She’s always on schedule. If she says that she’s coming to visit, that’s what she does. She doesn’t bring an unexpected pet or hitchhiker or something with her.

In case you’re confused, Tanya’s parents are bringing a dog with them. Why? Because, that’s why. They picked it up in Phoenix…duh. No trip to Arizona is complete without picking up one of their famous dog souvenirs.

I’ll be disappointed if the dog doesn’t have “The Grand Canyon State” written across it in gold leaf.

But, we’ve been assured that the dog is very sweet. I would expect nothing less. They were trying to get us to let it stay here in our apartment for the week. And “He has a stomach problem and likes to eat cheap Swedish furniture” wouldn’t be a great sell.

We said no. There’s not enough room in this place for a former rescue dog. Yeah, the dog is a former rescue dog. He’s not staying here. We were heartless in our resolve.

Unfortunately we’ve just tempted the cosmos’s sense of irony. I fully expect to die in a freak midnight apartment fire while the dog sleeps soundly at the Airport Hilton.

I am looking forward to their visit. They’re nice people. But they better not give Tanya a hard time. See, parents who have children in committed relationships don’t quite understand what happens when they tease their own children. When they purposefully make things just a little bit difficult for them, you know, to get a little revenge or something.

For parents of women everywhere; I know you’re just having a good time. I know that your kid may be a little “big for their britches” what with moving out and being self-sufficient and all. But if your child has a boyfriend, don’t make jokes about her standard of living or choice of nail color or anything. Like how the people in L.A. (or Omaha or Utica or wherever) are sooo weird and how they’re rubbing off on their little girl because she painted her nails purple one time last year…Citified!

Don’t do that stuff. Why waste her energy? Every time you get the urge to tease your daughter, cut out the middle-man and just hit her boyfriend real heard over the head with a baseball bat.

I’ve got to find a helmet of some kind.

Fun Fact: The state of Arizona has many wonderful things to offer other than monogrammed Dalmatians. It’s the 6th biggest state in the union and is chock full of minerals like copper, gold, silver and the ever important molybdenum. But it’s only the 20th most populace state which means that there’s plenty of elbow room.

The site that I’ve gotten this info off of lists one the industries in the Arizona as “Tourism.” A lot of states list this as an industry. People will visit just about anything. Hell, the moon’s not a state (yet) but its biggest industry is also tourism, and let’s face it, they’re not planning to build a Sandals there anytime soon.

In fact, if you live someplace that doesn’t list tourism as one of its industries; I would seriously consider moving…because you probably live in one of the Dakotas.

But seriously, plan a visit to Arizona today! Where else can you find the Grand Canyon and molybdenum?!

It’s like chocolate and peanut butter!

And don’t forget to pick up a souvenir rescue dog. Ditat Deus!

Friday, December 24, 2004

Merry Christmas (Tomorrow)

I won’t be posting tomorrow, so I thought that I would spread some Christmas joy today. So, here you go! Christmas joy! Tons and tons of Christmas joy.

It’s tough not being with the family at Christmas. Mostly because you get your Christmas presents from them in the mail. The presents always arrive before Christmas. The sender’s not around to make sure you don’t open them early. That’s willpower. Not opening your Christmas presents before Christmas even though no one would ever know if you did.

I would like to thank my mom for all her fantastic presents. I didn’t open them yet. But my mother packed them all in popcorn. Actual popcorn. I suppose that’s how they did it in the olden days. Back before they invented Styrofoam. Fed-Ex had to air-ship everything in popcorn.

But popcorn makes a nice mess. I tried to keep the stuff off the floor. I did a fairly good job. But she also sent bows. Those little pre-made bows with the sticky stuff on the back. Luckily, the stickers weren’t exposed. But it was a painstaking process trying to get the popcorn out from the inside of all the bows. (Yeah, sure, we could throw away the bows. But they’re free bows! And we’re not made of bows here, people!)

Packing presents in popcorn combines two of my favorite things; clever, inexpensive packaging ideas and the imminent threat of an ant infestation.

The popcorn idea smacks suspiciously of Martha Stewart. I don’t know if it was hers or not but it sound like something she would tell people to do. I should just be glad that mom didn’t wrap the presents in orange jump suits.

Oh, ha, ha, ha! I’m so clever! Orange jump suits! Because…she’s…in jail…ha, ha!

Merry Christmas Martha Stewart.

Thanks, mom, for the presents. And thank you for not buttering the popcorn.

Fun Fact: The new TAM Cartoon is up.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

John Hancock Was More than Just a Signature

He was a true patriot. He was willed the largest fortune in New England. He later joined the colonial cause when he got all pissed off about the stamp act and had one of his ships seized by the English government.

There’s nothing like the threat of poverty to align the rich.

The point is that he did more than just sign his name all big and fancy.

Why am I bringing this all up? Well, as you know, it’s Christmas time. A wonderful time. A time to give and receive. A time to be flooded with Christmas cards. Tons of Christmas cards from friends you haven’t seen in forever, friends you just saw yesterday, family you haven’t seen in forever and family you just saw…oh, wait…like, last year or something.

Nothing warms the heart like getting a card in the mail. It makes you feel loved, appreciated and thought of. That’s why we send them, right? To make people feel loved, appreciated and thought of.

Maybe, I’m a cynic, but “Best Wishes, *signature*.” Doesn’t really say, I love you, appreciate you and think of you. “Merry Christmas, *signature, kid’s names, dog’s name, cat’s name*” says, “I was thinking of you. Thinking that I was obligated to send you a Christmas card this year. I appreciate you enough to spend $1 on the card and $.37 to send it off. Merry…whatever…”

Look, I’m not trying to sound like an unappreciative jerk here. But you know what I’m talking about, right? No one ever wants to mention it. It seems selfish. No one wants to say that the pretty card with the snowman on it wasn’t enough to make you feel special without some kind of personal message. I’m not disparaging the good writers at Hallmark or anything. They’re good at what they do. But, the last time I checked, I didn’t have any friends or family working at any of the major greeting card companies. The chances of getting a personal message pre-printed on the inside of the card is pretty slim. (Except for, “wishing you a special Christmas.” I know that one’s just for me! I want a special Christmas! How did they know?!)

I understand that people are strapped for time at the holidays. I also want to be perfectly clear about this; we did receive wonderful cards with personal messages on them. But some of them…not so personal. I don’t know, I like receiving cards, I really do. But there’s something a little sad about getting a generic Christmas card. Dentists send out generic Christmas cards. Not because they really hope that you have a joyously fantabulous special Christmas/Chanukah/Winter Solstice/Kwanzaa/Boxing Day… It’s because they want to give you the impression that they care so that you’ll keep giving them your money.

I know that my friends and family aren’t after my money. They know that I don’t have any. But getting a generic Christmas card is almost worse than getting no card at all. If you don’t get a card, you can play all sorts of games with yourself. “It must’ve been lost in the mail.” “So-and-so is very busy this year, what with the new car and all…” “Me and so-and-so have a bond that transcends useless holiday tradition!”

But when you get a generic Christmas card, it’s all too obvious that you’re just one shrug of the shoulders away from not getting one next year.

I have an idea for the Hallmark Company. Don’t print out the generic message inside the card. Just write it on an insert and let the card-giver transcribe the message as if they wrote it themselves.

You know, I think that’s actually a good idea.

But, until Hallmark steals my idea and puts those cards out on the market without paying me a freaking dime, here are some “personal” messages that you generic card givers can use to make your cards seem more…not-generic:

For your smart-alecky friend :

I wish you could be here for Christmas…no, wait…I don’t. Stay where you are. Santa knows about *insert stupid thing your friend did once here*. If he sees me with you, I may never get another Christmas present as long as I live!

For your close friends :

I hope you have a happy holiday season. I appreciate having you around. Mostly because I can save 37 cents by handing this card to you in person. Merry Christmas.

For your family :

Merry Christmas. I wish I could be there with you and *insert family members’ names here* this holiday season. Blame the airlines! Why do they have to charge so much at the holidays?! Don’t they know that I really want to be with my family this Christmas?! Not here at my home with my wonderful *girlfriend/boyfriend/spouse/dog/cat/pet snake/bottle of gin*, opening presents and taking it easy in a stress-free environment of my own design! Stupid airlines! Oh, the tragedy of it all! ...Yeah, blame the airlines.

There, just some suggestions for next year. Just trying to do my part. Thank you all for the Christmas cards! Even if they weren’t personal. I’m so desperate for love that I’ll still cherish them. I’ll cherish yours most of all, JC Penny’s.

You “choo-choo choose me?!”

Fun Fact: I’m all for holiday tradition. But will someone please explain something to me? Why do people give each other Christmas themed stuff on Christmas day? I can understand if they give it before Christmas. Vince and Julie gave us Simpsons ornaments. But they gave them to us a while ago. Plenty of time to enjoy them before Christmas.

But not on Christmas day. By the time they open their present, Christmas is basically over.

That’s a fact.

“Thanks for the wonderful Christmas-themed gift! I love it! Excuse me, I’m just going to go throw it in a box for a year…”

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Only 4 More Shopping Days Left

And I need them. You would think that the Christmas CD would be enough. I’ve been working on it since August. But noooo, turns out that Tanya would actually like to have a present to open on Christmas day.

Sure, just because she got me a bunch of stuff…

So sometime soon, I’ve got to make a trip to the mall. Unfortunately, I don’t have a car at the moment. Mine got sick of sitting around, neglected, for months at a time and decided to stop working.

So, here I sit. No car. No job. Oh, yeah, my job writing movie synopses for that “Big Online DVD Rental Place” has finished (at least until January. I’m going to milk this thing until the udders fall off). The Christmas album is done. I’ve got nothing to do. Except to buy Tanya a Christmas present. And write the next great screenplay.

Both of those are equally hard. I’m horrible about buying presents. I never know what to get people. I’ve been accused of being thoughtless. It’s not wholly true. I also don’t buy gifts because I become certain that the recipient will be thoroughly unimpressed with my selection. Better to be selfish than blasé, I always say.

No, I never say that.

Don’t worry, I’ll find something for Tanya. She’s a bit insulted that I can’t figure out what to get her. She shouldn’t be. I can think of a thousand things that I could get her. But really, would you want…

Okay, I was going to make some witty remark there and include an inane item that she always seems to need. But I can’t think of one. Maybe she should be insulted? But when my brain isn’t forced to think, it’s truly takes the day off.

Hair dye! There. Hair dye. Perfect. I can think of a thousand things that I could get her. But really, would you want… hair dye for Christmas?!

That’s kind of funny, right? And not at all embarrassing for her.

I can’t get Tanya hair dye for Christmas. I offered to get her a toaster oven for Christmas. She said “a toaster oven isn’t a Christmas present.” Normally, I would agree. But, honestly, she’s been bugging me to get a toaster oven for 5 years now. If I finally got something I’ve been wanting for the last 5 years, I would be very happy to get it on Christmas. Other people would kill to see a toaster oven under the tree on Christmas day. Think of all those starving third world children with the flies in their eyes who don’t even have toaster ovens! They have to eat their bread raw! Untoasted anyway. And when they only want to broil one steak, they have to heat up the entire house! And it’s hot in most of those starving countries! Hot or cold. Always extreme anyway. Look, starving people of the world, you live in a desolate wasteland. There’s no food. I wouldn’t move to Palm Springs and complain about the overabundance of retired Jewish folks, would I?

No, I wouldn’t. I would never move to Palm Springs anyway. It’s hot there. If those retired folks weren’t so damned rich they would starve. But they probably all own toaster ovens.

Old people love toaster ovens.

Old People and Tanya.

But, noooo, I can’t buy Tanya a toaster oven for Christmas.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, we bought the toaster oven. Last night. It’s sitting in the kitchen with baited breath, waiting for its first slice of bread. It just didn’t count as a Christmas present.

I think I’m being conned.

I’m very bored.

But it’s amazing how uninteresting one’s life becomes when they’ve got nothing to do. It also leaves me with no good blogging material. Not even the news helped out this morning. A bunch of people were killed in the Middle East this morning. That’s not great blog fodder. It’s very sad.

Hey, I made some coffee! How’s that for interesting?! It’s great coffee. I put creamer in it. Woohoo! Creamer!

Let me take this time to mention my coffee maker. It’s quite possibly the best coffee maker I’ve ever owned. And, for someone who doesn’t really drink a lot of coffee, I’ve owned quite a few.

It’s a Melita Fast Brew with a 12 cup carafe. Paper cone filter. It’s remarkably fast. Not as fast as your commercial type machines, but pretty darned fast. It’s got a clock. It’s programmable. But the best feature is the pitcher design. It’s “tear drop” shaped with a perfect pour spout. That means that my days of watering the entire countertop while trying to make coffee are over. Truly an exceptional machine. And inexpensive. You can find them at Target.

To sum up: I’m bored. I’m boring. My car won’t start. I have to go to the mall. We have a new toaster oven. Something about hair dye. Kids in Palm Springs are starving. The Melita Fast Brew rocks. And my brain took the morning off.

Fun Fact: It seems as if the days are getting shorter. I swear, today will probably be like the shortest day of the year! I hope they start getting longer soon. I’m tired of getting drowsy at 4:30pm.

Happy Winter Solstice everybody. Eat some granola or buckle on some pleather Birkenstocks or do whatever it is that you people do on this most sacred of holidays.

Hey, why not listen to some Berry White? Put some soul back in the Winter Solstice!

Or you could check out the new TAM Cartoon! Which is up. Solid.

Monday, December 20, 2004

I ♥ Me

What do you get the consummate narcissist for Christmas? Jared and Tosha know. Why, you give them copies of their own fantastic work, of course. Handsomely presented to make it look important and grand.

Of course.

Here it is. I took a picture of it this morning while the president bored the entire United States into submission.

It looks festive next to those apples, don’t it?

Speaking of apples, did anyone else watch the presidential press conference? If so, could you please tell me exactly what we all learned from it? I mean besides the fact that – even when it’s Georgie’s asinine self – I feel incredibly uncomfortable and embarrassed for a person who can’t find the right words to look smart. It’s not his fault. I’m sure I would do the same thing. But I do think it’s important that if you’re going to feed the country a line of crap, it’s imperative that you don’t look like your just making the lie up off the top of your head.

Back to Jared and Tosha’s thoughtful Christmas gift. It’s the first 28 TAM Cartoons. It’s a much better presentation of them than I currently have – loosely shoved in a drawer. They did a nice job laying it all out. Well done. Here’s another picture. The snowman insisted that I let him in the shot. Stupid pushy snowmen.

You can’t really tell from the picture, but the snowman has a broken arm! Gruesome!

Speaking of gruesome. It’s been all over the news. I’m talking about the Kansas woman who went to Missouri, strangled a pregnant woman, cut her unborn fetus from her belly and then went back home pretending that she just gave birth.

The husband claims that he thought she actually had the baby.

I’m no expert, but don’t pregnant women usually get a little bigger? Sure, there have been some women who didn’t know they were pregnant until a baby popped out of them, but they’re usually – let’s just say – larger. The woman who perpetrated this horrific murder/fetusnapping was not a – larger – woman. Just crazy. Very crazy. Extremely crazy.

But according to the news (or what I saw of it before Bushie came on to try and convince me that Iraqi election were actually going to take place and that they would be fair, despite the fact that the Bush administration keeps telling us how they’re going to turn out before they’ve even happened) the hubbie still claims to be innocent. This crazy lady, her name is Lisa Montgomery, met the victim on the internet. She went over to the victim’s house under the pretense of seeing her dogs. Then, allegedly, she killed her, cut her baby out of her (1 month premature) and headed back home to show “her” new baby all over town.

Yeah, the baby lived.

So, the husband didn’t know that she wasn’t actually pregnant, huh? He didn’t care to be there for the birth? What the hell kind of people are these? A guy on the news, a friend of the family, said that Lisa and her hubbie didn’t see each other very much. Only a couple hours a day.

But they did know each other, right? Maybe he really likes to watch TV or something. No wonder Lisa’s crazy for a kid. She just wants someone to pay attention to her. Someone to at least realize when she’s lying and murdering and stuff!

Here’s a picture of Montgomery:

She doesn’t look at all crazy, does she? But I got to say, that’s one ugly preemie.

What’s wrong with people?! What could make a woman kill for a baby?! Wasn’t the dog enough? She looks like an attentive dog mother. She should have stuck to dogs. This is horrible. But get used to it; you’re going to hear a lot about it in the future.

Oh, and thank you Jared and Tosha for the thoughtful gift.

Fun Fact: Other people have also given us thoughtful gifts this year. Don’t think that just because I didn’t take a picture of it and post it on the blog that I didn’t really like it.

But this particular gift ties in to this blog. The Simpsons have their own web page. Thanks for the ornaments! You know who you are. The only other people to actually send an actual gift. I categorize “actual gifts” as the ones without a magnetic strip on the back. Don’t get me wrong, I like the strip.

The strip is good.

Long live the strip!

Friday, December 17, 2004

Life Intimidates Art

Tanya had lasik surgery three months ago. You already know that. I wrote a couple posts about it. Anyway, she had her three-month checkup on Wednesday. She really wanted me to go. To park the car. She didn’t have a lot of cash for the pay lots so, in case there was no parking on the street, I would have circled the block for a half-hour or something while she found out if she was going to go blind.

Not my idea of a fun morning. I said no.

She claims that she wanted me there to keep her company. I knew better. I’ve driven “Miss Daisy” before. I got quite a little guilt trip about not going. Even though it would have meant that I would have had to drive all the way across town…twice…when normally, I would barely even go outside. Too much fuss for a lazy man. I held my ground.

I’m glad that I did. Besides, Tanya was fine. For a girl who claims that she can’t park, she sure does seem to do it quite a bit. I can’t be there every time, so I don’t know. Maybe there are a lot of dinged-up cars in greater LA. But from what I can tell, she does just fine.

Anyway, I’m glad I didn’t go with her to the Lasik Spa. The Lasik Spa. Yes, I said it. The Lasik Spa. You know the one I’m talking about? It’s on Willshire Blvd. 11600 Wilshire Blvd Suite 100 to be exact.

Yeah, that’s the one.

Anyway, evidently, I say evidently because as I said before, I didn’t go, evidently her check-up went well. She’s not going blind it turns out. Quite the contrary. Her vision’s improving. It’s already better than 20/20. I guess she won’t be happy until she can see through walls. Listen, Tanya, if you ever do eventually get the ability to see through walls, the time between 8:50 and 8:58am is “Robb Time.”

Yeah, I grossed myself out there a little. I say a lot of stupid crap on this thing. That’s what blogs are for. Writing stupid crap.

Which brings me to the rest of my story.

So, Tanya has her exam with Dr. Granberry. That’s Michael E. Granberry MD. He’s not just a doctor because he wrote some stupid theses on the complete works of Shakespeare or the effects of parenting on the unconscious middle child or something. He went to actual medical school. He completed his residency in ophthalmology at the Mayo Clinic!

Yes, it sounds like a place you would take a condiment with syphilis, but it’s really much more than that. The Mayo Clinic is quite possibly the premier condiment venereal disease treatment center – IN THE WORLD!

See, more stupid crap. It just comes out. Stupid crap. I wonder how many times people at the Mayo Clinic have to hear that joke? Poor sucker doctors spend $1 million for 100 years of college just to listen to idiots make stupid jokes about whipped eggs and gonorrhea. And your parents actually wanted you to be a doctor! It’s a tough gig.

Did I mention that Tanya had a check-up? Yeah, well, she did. At the end of which, Dr. Granberry told her that her vision would probably settle to about 20/15. It’s only 20/18 now. What a disappointment, huh? I could tell that Tanya was a little disappointed. I even think that the doctor was a little. I don’t know what exactly would make these two happy?

Oh, yeah, x-ray vision. I mentioned that already.

But, come on, seriously. Tanya has better than perfect vision and they’re fussing about some little numbers.

“Oh, 20/18, huh? Well, I guess that’s better than being blind, right doc?”

“I don’t know. I wish there was something more I could do. You should just really be happy that you didn’t walk out of here with ape-eyes in your skull, my receptionist went to Bryman College.”

Give me a break gift-horse-mouth-lookers, I’m still amazed that for a few thousand bucks you can have perfect vision for the rest of your life. The only side effect is that after you’ve passed away, the bionic eyes continue to work forever, thus tormenting you for all eternity with visions of your final resting place and the horrific unsolved murder that led to your grisly demise.

A small price to pay for good eyebowls, say I.

Oh, God, right, the check-up. Dr. Granberry tells Tanya that she’ll have great vision for all eternity and then he does something that I’m glad I wasn’t there to see. He reaches into Tanya’s file and pulls out – a printout of my blog posts!

He found this dumb blog. He surfs the internet. In fact his office is wired for Wi-Fi. Maybe I shouldn’t have called the place by name. But really, how many “Lasik Spas” can there be in this world?!

Apparently, just one.

So, he pulls out the blog post and starts going through them with Tanya. What the hell did I write?! How embarrassing! Something about Bryman College and locked doors and omelets and beating heart cadavers and hemorrhoids! You know…stupid crap.

But then, Dr. Granberry does something extraordinary…he starts talking about the “valid points” that I raised.

Valid points?!

Maybe he wasn’t actually reading my blog? No, he was. Unfortunately. He agreed with me about the “aggravation suite” and the doilies (don’t tell his employee who put them there) and, of course, the eating of the omelets in the waiting room. (But I really didn’t expect Dr. Granberry to do anything about the omelets. He’s busy…performing surgery! In fact, I would have been really nervous if he would have come out of the back just to make sure that those bratty 20-somethings didn’t drip Tabasco sauce in the dream fountain.)

His only concern was that I didn’t mention how great Tanya’s vision was (and that his lobby is wired for Wi-Fi). He’s right.

Tanya has great vision. Better than perfect. The only problem is that when she stares at the computer screen too long, it bursts into flames. Other than that…perfect. Better even.

But, Dr. Granberry is a cool guy. Here’s a man who invested everything he has into The Lasik Spa. A guy who went through almost as much college as I did (but came out with a much better and useful degree). He had a commercial that played during the Superbowl. He gives the highest quality lasik surgery for, quite possibly, the best price in town. Yet, he found this stupid blog, remembered Tanya, and took the time to tell her how much he appreciated the input.

It wasn’t meant to be input, Dr. Granberry, but thanks. That’s extremely classy. I’ll be in there for my lasik surgery sometime. You’ll recognize me easily. I’ll be the one with the bright red face.

And hey, everybody, if your thinking of getting the surgery, why don’t you check him out. The Lasik Spa. Oh, come on Dr. Granberry, you couldn’t have possibly done all those incredible things…you’re much too young looking.

Okay, now I’m just pandering for a discount. Shameless.

Fun Fact: Last night, Tanya and I went to Rachel and Keith’s new house for some dinner to commemorate the holidays and, well, their new house. We had a great time and they even sat and suffered through the Christmas album. Their friend Seth was also there. He’s a musician. He has a record deal. He also suffered through the Christmas CD. Keith gave us a copy of Seth’s CD. We listened to it in the car. I was amazed at how much I liked it. You know, you meet someone and they say that they’re a musician, but there’s always a catch like, “Yeah, dude, I’ve been a musician now for like 3 months!”

Obviously, Seth’s been a musician for much longer than that. Check out his web site. Seth Horan. The album is “Conduit.” It’s a little like if The Barenaked Ladies fired the entire band except for Jim Creeggan and Steven Page. That’s means that it’s mostly vocals and bass. You might think that you would need more instruments to have a great album of songs.

You would be wrong.

But there are some other instruments thrown in here and there for good measure anyway. Plus, Seth’s a nice guy. Go visit his site. The Buffalo News loved him. I once got reviewed in the campus newspaper. Take that, Seth! Mr. Record Deal!

These grapes are sour.

And the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Boogie, boogie!

Oh, I have one question for Dr. Granberry before I go. What’s with the randomly dimming lights? There.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

Congrats to Julie!

Hey, hello. It’s me. TAM. Ruler of this blog, voice of confused reason on the internet, purveyor of secret contests. Who did you expect? Sitting Bull? (Oh, happy “deathday” Sitting Bull. You were one heck of an American.)

Yes, that’s right, I was holding a secret contest. It was over at TAM too. I told you to go there. I told you that there was neat stuff there. You didn’t believe me, did you? I know you didn’t. Know how I can tell? Because that site gets about one hit a day. The numbers are dismal. I decided to run a secret contest to boost the hit count. The numbers continued to be dismal.

I never said that I was smart. See, the problem with running a secret contest is that it can’t be advertised. It’s a secret after all.

You may not know what the secret contest was (considering that no one still has gone to TAM too), so let me explain. There are comments enabled over at that site. No one ever makes a comment, but they’re still enabled. I don’t really care that no one comments. It’s not necessary that they do. But I took the opportunity to make some comments of my own under the bottom post in the September archives. It went a little like this:

Hey, Look at you, you found this comment. Your dedication to mediocre cartooning will not go unrecognized!

I decided that not enough people visit the TAM Cartoon archives, so I thought that I would run a secret contest.

Congratulations, since you’re reading this, you've won! I'll bet that you're wondering what the grand prize is aren’t you? Well, I thought that I would use my mediocre song writing skills to write a song especially for you, chronicling your journey to the TAM Cartoon archives and your adventurous spirit.

Doesn't that just want to make you claim your prize as soon as possible? We'll you'll have to do a couple things first. Go to The Anthropomorphic Male (The "Go Home" link on TAM too) and post a comment under the most recent post saying that you’ve discovered the secret contest and that you won. Of course you'll have to let me know who you are and whether or not you actually want the prize (if you don't then just don't say anything, let someone else discover this comment, I'm not made of clever ideas you know!) and then I'll write you a song and post it on The Anthropomorphic Male!



And that’s basically it. Julie has won! She took the hint and went. Bully for her. Sitting Bully for her (may he rest in peace.)

The contest has been going on since October 8th. That’s really sad. I’ve been waiting, somewhat impatiently, for someone to find it. Now someone has. Have I mentioned that the someone was Julie? I think I did.

Now that the Christmas album is finished (it will be sent out shortly, except you lucky FOX people who get it this morning) I will have some time to work on Julie’s song. I don’t quite know what it’s going to be about. But I’m sure that it will have something to do with a secret contest.

I was going to run another contest for the 10,000th visitor. But there are too many people that come here for random things (like the lyrics to “Picture Book” and that St. Joseph “Pumps Your Blood” song) to make a contest like that practical. The only ones who go to the TAM Cartoon Archives are you.

I don’t know if I’ll have any more secret contests in the future. I couldn’t tell you if I did. Congrats to the 10,000th visitor. It’ll happen today. You get nothing.

Peace out.

Fun Fact Legendary Native American Sitting Bull died on this day 1890 according to my trusty Simpsons Calendar. The Simpsons are never wrong.

We’ll miss you, Bull, you’re the only man I’ve ever known who fought against the displacement of Native Americans, kicked General Custer’s butt and then ran to Canada only to return to perform pony tricks in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show and then retire to the reservation where you kicked up trouble and were arrested for it only to be killed during a daring escape attempt from custody.

The only one.

Tuesday, December 14, 2004

You’ll Just Feel a Slight Prick

So, as you know, if you haven’t dropped off the face of the earth, that Scott Peterson was sentenced to death yesterday.

One of the benefits of the trial being over, beside the fact that I don’t have to hear about it every damned day, is that we finally get to see the jurors. I have to say that I was a little disappointed to see the juror nicknamed “Pinkie.” There was a lot of talk about her. How she always wore pink and had bright red died hair. I was let down to see that she’s just basically a plain lady with red hair and a penchant for tacky clothes.

I don’t really know what I expected. A superjuror, maybe? Some weirdo who inexplicably made it past the jury selection to spread her wacko pink manifesto? Nope. Just a lady with unnaturally red hair.

But this whole Scott Peterson trial has made a pretty big impression on me. Not the crime…the punishment. The crime didn’t stand out to me much. It was horrific, sure. But it’s not unheard of. And I refuse to let that jerk stun me. But when the jury came back with the verdict of guilt for murder in the first degree, I was a little taken aback. Especially since the murder of the unborn baby was only murder in the second degree.

I don’t understand that.

If the jury concedes that the baby “Connor” was murdered, why not murder in the first? Do we have collateral damage in the criminal justice system?

Let me clarify a few things first. I don’t think that there was enough solid evidence to convict Scottie of murder 1. I was positive that they were going to come back with the “safe” murder 2. Don’t get me wrong, I think he did it. But that’s my gut talking. I don’t trust my gut that much. It likes to eat at McDonalds after all. It’s a horrible decision maker.

But c’est la vie. So the jury convicted him of murder 1. No biggie to me. But when the verdict was read and the rubberneckers outside the courthouse cheered it made me angry. Scott Peterson was a jerk. A huge jerk. But the fact that the onlookers were cheering for the sheer reason that the conviction brought with it the death penalty made me a bit sick.

What the hell do these people know? Only one person knows the real truth.

And now Scott Peterson is going to die (in about 30 years or so…if the judge doesn’t ignore the jury’s recommendation). Scott Peterson is going to the gurney because circumstantial evidence pointed to his guilt. I’m not real comfortable with that. There are a lot of innocent people sitting on death row. We know that because recent advances in forensic science has told us so. I don’t think that Scott Peterson will be one of those people. But you never know. I hope that it’s not the case.

I was also troubled by the whole “beg for Scott’s life…or death” part of the trial. It was a little barbaric to me. Plus, the jury was instructed not to make their sentencing decision based on emotion. That’s a little like telling me not to eat the apple crisp in the fridge simply because it’s ludicrously tasty.

The whole thing’s confusing. And I believe that the jury made their decision based on emotion. How could they not?

Just hope that you never find yourself on the wrong end of a jury. They’re human. They’ve all got ego. They all think their right. There’s no such thing as human impartiality. Think about it this way. Let’s say that you’ve been accused of a crime and there was a boatload (no pun intended) of circumstantial evidence that pointed to you. Assume that you’re innocent. Who would you trust to make a fair decision? What would you do? Would you be angry when the lynch mob gathered outside the courthouse cheered at your conviction?

Scott Peterson is an ass. He’s more than that, in my opinion. He’s a selfish killer. But I don’t really know that for sure. I should say that I’m not absolutely positive. I’m sure enough that I would have convicted him of murder, but…I used to be a strong proponent of the death penalty. I still am a little bit (why fill up the prison system indefinitely?). But there needs to be no question…at all…of guilt. I think that if a jury is willing to hand down a death sentence, they should also be willing to personally put the needle in his arm.

I wouldn’t even trust myself to be on a jury. I can’t judge others. I thought that the lady who lives down the street was a lesbian simply because she has a horrendous mullet and wears a leatherman on her belt. Then I found out that she was just a theatre techie…and she had a boyfriend.

I wonder when her boyfriend will discover that he’s dating a lesbian.

And for the love of god, why can’t anyone remember Scott Peterson for what he was…a fine golfer and punctual employee?!

Now there’s a defense!

Fun Fact: On a much lighter note. If not a bit off-key note. The Christmas Album will hit the streets tomorrow! I’ll be glad to have my life back. Hopefully, I’ll be able to post some of the tunes here for your enjoyment.

And, the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Rock on!

Monday, December 13, 2004

Bemusing Grace

I went to church last night.

Let me explain, I went to a church…to watch the Christmas play that a friend of mine wrote. He’s a friend of this site as well. Okay, it’s Brandon. Got to TOS and read some of the other (much shorter) things he’s written.

I should clarify something else also. The title of this post in no way reflects the quality of Brandon’s play. It was a fantastic church play. It lacked the spectacle of the Crystal Cathedral. But, in all fairness, it also lacked the $2 million budget…and the eerie parishioners.

As you already know, I’ve said it before, I’m an atheist. Church isn’t my deal. In fact, I hate going to church. But I wanted to support Brandon and the churchie arts.

I’m not afraid anymore that I’m going to burst into flames when I enter a church. It hasn’t happened yet. I suppose that if I was actually afraid that I would combust upon entering a church then that would be an acknowledgement of a divine power and its control over a man-made building and would be contradictory to my non-religious stance…

Anyway. I went to see Brandon’s play last night. Congrats Brandon.

But I did have some gripes. First of all, like I said, I’m an atheist. I don’t like churches. I don’t go to churches. I dressed down a bit. I wore blue jeans. The play was a western after all. But out of respect for the church, I put on a nice shirt and shoes and even wore a suit jacket. It may not be my thing, but I was a guest…

I could have been the freaking deacon there last night. Tanya and I were two of the best dressed people in there. And there were a lot of parishioners there last night.

Gripe 2: I thought that the pastor’s short sermon/prayer afterwards was a bit…preachy. I know that I was in a church. I know that it was a religious western play. But if I have to hear “Jesus is the reason for the season” one more freaking time, I swear I’m going to start my own bloody little atheist crusade.

First of all, it’s really annoying and insulting to those of us who live for this time of year and don’t worship that way. Second of all, the “season” was around well before the church decided to Jesus it all up.

Not only that, but I hate…HATE….going to church functions when there are a lot of non-parishioners in attendance. The pastor/minister/priest always sees it as an opportunity to do a little mass conversion. “Pray that Jesus finds his way into the hearts of those…blah, blah, blah…” Look, I just sat through…and enjoyed…the churchie tunes and play. I appreciate my friends enough to drag my heathen ass to a church on a Sunday night when I have other things to do. I don’t need to have my buttons pushed at the end like some kind of misguided idiot. But just the suggestion of it isn’t what bothered me. I felt like he was pushing a religion that even the true-believers didn’t have enough respect for to wear something to church other than sweat pants.

No thanks. I don’t wear sweat pants.

Seriously though, what ever happened to common decency? You dress for church. You dress for dinner. You dress for the symphony. You dress (and this is a big one for me) for the gaddamned theatre! You dress for going any kind of special occasion. Right?

I hate dressing up. I could wear jeans and t-shirts to a funeral. Especially my own. But the world has become our own personal living room. And I don’t think that it’s out of a lack of self-respect. I think that it’s out of a lack of respect for other people. Dressing up is a way of telling people that the thing they do is important to you.

Man, do I feel old and crotchety. But it’s true damnit. When someone takes two months out of their busy lives to put on a play, or rehearse a symphony or even if they are just taking the time to spend one night with you eating cheap seafood, you could at least show them that you actually care that they took the time. Don’t go overboard (god knows I don’t), but come on…

The only thing that some of those people at the church last night were missing was a sign hanging around their necks that said “I just don’t really give a crap.”

Look, parishioners, if you believe in God. Especially if you think that God made everything. If you believe in Jesus. If you believe that Jesus gave his life for you. If you believe in the church. If you believe that the Church is a conduit to the almighty. If you believe all of these things, don’t you think that you owe it to Jesus, who had his hands NAILED to a couple of pieces of wood, to at least put on some pants that don’t have a drawstring?!

The road to hell is paved with velour J-Lo track pants.

Fun Fact I’ve been getting a lot of hits for that St Joseph aspirin “pumps your blood” song. In looking for the lyrics, I learned that it’s from an episode of “Happy Days.” Now that I read it, I vaguely remember this episode. Here is a transcript of the song that I got from here. Before you read it, put on a damned jacket or an appropriate blouse! A nice one! And roll down those sleeves mister!

Potsie's "Pump Your Blood" song (Episode #142 Potsie Quits School)

Okay, like we rehearsed it...
Cunningham, harmonica. Malph, bones,
Lori Beth, kazoo. Jennifer, beaker.
The name of this tune is "Pump Your
Blood". Hit It. One, two, one, two, three ...


"Pump, pump, pumps your blood.
The right atrium's where the process
Where the C02 blood enters the heart
Through the tricuspid valve to the right
The pulmonary artery and lungs.
Once inside the lungs it dumps its carbon
And picks up its oxygen supply
Then it's back to the heart through the
pulmonary vein
Through the atrium and left ventricle."


(SING) "Pump, pump, pumps your blood.

(SING) "The aortic valvels where the
blood leaves the heart
Then it's channeled to the rest of the bod
The arteries, arterioles, and capillaries
Bring the oxygenated blood to the cells
The tissues and the cells trade off waste and CO 2
Which is carried through the venules and
the veins
Through the larger vena cava to the
atrium and lungs And we're back to where we started in the heart.


(SING) "Pump, pump., pump, pumps your blood"


What's this? The Zigfield Follies ... ? Weber, I apologize. I'm giving you an "A".


An 'A" plus.

One more time!

Friday, December 10, 2004


That’s a good word, “gastronomical.” It sounds like something really special and it’s great fun to say. In fact, it’s just one little letter away from being astronomical.

The truth of the matter is that, even though you’ll find the word being tossed around these days by food critics like too much black pepper, the word’s connotations aren’t very pretty. Don’t believe me? Gastric. Gastric juices. Gastric bypass. Gastrointestinal discomfort.

Now it’s not so appealing is it?!

Yeah, well, for some reason, I’ve had that word stuck in my head all morning. I hate that. It makes me feel weird. The fact that I get words stuck in my head, that is. Sure, we’ve all been tortured by songs. “Come on Eileen,” “Picture Book,” “Jesus Loves Me…” But words? I hope that I’m not alone here. It would feel good to know that I’m not the only one who walks around all morning with “aspire…aspirating…aspirate…aspirated…” being repeated ad nauseam.

“Ad nauseam.” There’s another great word. Nauseam. Magical. Abracadabra, prestidigitation, nauseam!

You may be wondering why I’m going on like this. Well, it’s because I don’t have the time to say anything really interesting. There. Now you know.


Oh, and the latest TAM Cartoon is up. Give it a gander. Gander. Gander. Gander. Gander. Antidisestablishmentarianism.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


Yes, the world has kept on spinning. Imagine.

As I said yesterday, Lindsay Lohan was on Good Morning America. I was mortified. But I wish that I would have actually watched her concert. It turns out that she was busted for lip-synching.


Yeah, you heard right. Lindsay lip-synched. The excuse lottery was put into effect. Lindsay first drew from the hat, “I’m sick,” followed by “those vocals were simply ‘supplemental’.”

Sadly, the great Ashlee Simpleton debacle has taught the world...nothing.

Now, as most of you already know, I’m a musician. I also never sing live. In light of this recent trend in popular music, I’ve come up with some new excuses for up-and-comers who insist on singing live. These excuses have been pooled from my many years as a rock and roll legend:

Oh…my…God…[your name here], what were you thinking?! It’s quite obvious that you were lip-synching! What do you have to say for yourself?!

1. “My voice is so beautiful that listening to it live would cause you fall into a meditative coma from which you may never recover.”

2. “The karaoke machine was threatening me with legal action if I didn’t let it perform at least once this year.”

3. “My boobs will get jealous if my voice becomes the star of the show.”

4. “I was doing you a favor…trust me.”

5. “If my fans find out that I can’t sing, how do you expect me to continue being a singing sensation?!”

6. “Well, duh.”

Lindsay Lohan is still a hooch.

Also, there has been released yet another list! Yeah! Another list! I’m not sure if it’ll make my “All Time Greatest ‘All Time Greatest Lists’ List” or not, but it’s worth a mention.

It’s the “Top 10 Cheesy Movie Lines” list. Go here for the complete list.

Here are the top two:

1. Titanic - "I'm the king of the world!" (Leonardo DiCaprio)

2. Dirty Dancing - "Nobody puts Baby in the corner." (Patrick Swayze)

A good top two if you ask me. They’re definitely cheesy. But let’s talk about the list a little bit.

As far as “top lists” go, this one is pretty good. As opposed to the “top 500 rock songs ever written” which is interminably long, this list is very wieldy. You could even memorize it if you so chose (please don’t choose to).

Actually, if I had any complaint (and I’m not talking about content here), the list is too short. It doesn’t allow for people to wax nostalgic as much as a list like this should. The perfect list would probably be about 30 cheesy lines. 50 is a nice round number, but it’s too much for a list like this. If you were only dealing with movie titles, 50 would be perfect. But these are entire lines from films. That’s already a lot of words.

So, good list people. That’s my two-cents. Please make better lists in the future.

I was also saddened to learn that no lines from the college movies I wrote and directed made the list. They’re really cheesy. But I guess there’s a difference between cheesy and bad. Plus, no one has seen my college movies.

Good list people, I submit some lines from my movies for your next, more perfect, list:

From Norman: “That’s the life of an all night systems analyst. Tough gig, huh?”

From A Dogg Hamlet: “I hope you’re happy together! And, I hope you know that you’re sleeping with a raging stalker!”

From Chute, Shoot, Chut!: “Would you stop playing with the dead body and come over to your post?!”

Thank you for your consideration. TAM.

Fun Fact: The world is a huge place. Every second of every day…of every month…of every year (yes, even those crazy Aztec ones)…somewhere in the world…someone is “looking” at “something.”

It boggles the imagination.

Why don’t you be one of those lucky people and look at the latest TAM Cartoon, because it’s up!

Monday, December 06, 2004

Lindsay Lohan is a Hooch

Today I’d like to discuss two things that I’ll never forgive for usurping my attention. Lindsay Lohan, obviously, is one of those things.

She was on Good Morning America this morning talking to Dianne Sawyer. I used to hold out hope that Dianne had better things to do with her time than talk to Lindsay Lohan about her burgeoning singing career. I hold out hope no more.

I’m trying my damndest not to let one skanky “teenager” (yes, there is some question) ruin my respect for Ms. Sawyer. Dianne is a classy chick. But I’m starting to wonder if I’m not rooting for the devil here. Let’s not blow this out of proportion, Dianne Sawyer is not the anti-Christ. But today, in the ballgame of good vs. evil, she was definitely sitting on the wrong bench.

Lindsay Lohan is just the latest “teen-actor-turned-pop-star” phenom. It’s sad. What do they have to offer? Insight? A lifetime of lessons? Great music?

They have none of that. Their songs are nothing special. Mainly because these girls don’t actually write them. Why do teenagers fall for it?

Here’s a little insight I’ve gathered through a lifetime of lessons, teenagers: the songs that you think are “like, really good” are actually written by people like me. Grumpy and like old. They’re not written by legends in the music biz (none that you’ve ever heard of anyway). They’re not written by teenagers. You’re all victims of a vicious propaganda snowball. It’s all fake. It just keeps getting more fake. You’re all suckers.

Here’s another blow, kids. That TV show, “Life As We Know It,” is written by people who went to high school before you were born. And when they were in high school, they were nerds.

Anyway, I’m just bursting bubbles here. Let’s get back to Lindsay Lohan.

So, Dianne Sawyer was interviewing her and they show a clip from her latest music video. There’s Miss Lindsay, hair wetted down, arms above her head, stumbling around like she just donated too much blood and forgot to eat the cookie.

And, oh yes, there was pelvic thrusting. But that’s what women do when they put their arms over their heads, right? They thrust their pelvises. If you watch a lot of videos, you’ll agree, there’s really no other reason for a woman to put her arms over her head.

Lindsay definitely wasn’t giving herself a breast exam.

I might have watched that. But no, she was just hoochin’ it up for the camera. Lip-synching and gyrating.

Then they cut back from the video clip to Dianne Sawyer who says reluctantly, “you look like you were having fun.”

I’ll say.

But one thing she definitely didn’t look like she was having was talent. Lindsay Lohan is a waste of space.

Now to my second gripe of the day. Tanya and I went to FOX this past weekend to see “The Grudge.”

Now, I’m no stickler. I like bad movies. I own “The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen” and “Surf Ninjas.” But I do ask that my movies have some kind of lucid story. And if there are going to be pointless characters, at least have them do something cool!

If you haven’t seen “the Grudge,” don’t. It’s nothing but a “soundtrack and startle” flick. The creepy music swells and then…boo! Scared ya’!

But this film was like a watching horror porn. The entire premise of the film was just an excuse to set up scary situations. Guy/girl enters house, guy/girl hears strange noise, music swells, guy/girl gets jumped at by either a ghostly, bug-eyed apparition or a screeching cat-boy.

That’s it. That’s the entire movie. Seriously. Sure, it’s scary. But I’ll come to your house and jump and yell at you for two hours for only $3. And I’ll even go to the trouble of creating some kind of simple plot.

Let’s make it $4. I have to buy gas.

I can’t wait until “The Grudge II: Still Quite Upset” comes out! I hope it also has rat-faced SMG in it.

Sorry, SMG, I don’t hate you, but really, you do kind of have a rat-face. And “The Grudge II” is just about the worst idea ever.

I’d rather watch a 3-hour documentary on Gilbert Gottfried’s nose hair. But who wouldn’t!

Wait, I do have to give it up to the Grudge’s sound effect dept. Thank you for creating a monster sound effect so ridiculously simple that even I can imitate it. Hours of fun!

Fun Fact: A little advice. Look around your parent’s home. Find all of the really horrible pictures of yourself that may be hidden there. The ones with your hand on your chin. The ones with that little ghost picture of you in the corner. The ones with the horrible high school acne and bad hair. But, most importantly, the ones with any kind of hideous border like roses or “class of ‘91” or something.

Then…burn them.

Because, god forbid, if something horribly tragic happens to you, like…accidental death at the hands of negligent plastic surgeons, it will be the picture that your parents choose to hold during their national television interview.

Just a head’s up.

Oh, and don’t get plastic surgery.

Friday, December 03, 2004

Sick and Twisted

Last night I got to spend the evening at Kaiser Permanente. Those of you who may not know what that is, it’s an HMO (Health Maintenance Organization). In other words, a cheap ass hospital.

I’m not being fair. Kaiser Permanente has always given Tanya quality care. It’s probably not that bad. I wouldn’t know. I don’t have health insurance. Compared to places that I would have to go if, God forbid, I ever actually got sick, Kaiser is the cutting edge of medical technology. Sometimes I feel like those poor AIDS kids in Africa.

But without Africa…or AIDS. And with tons of more money.

Okay, so I’m nothing like those poor AIDS kids in Africa. But I still don’t have health care. And I’m not paying out-of-pocket for it either. I don’t like to pay for things. Just ask my Student Loans people. Thanks for the college cash…suckers!

Anyway, I was at Kaiser last night because Tanya had a sinus infection. The good boyfriend that I am, I went with her. And I didn’t complain about it once! I love hospitals, they’re my favorite places in the world. I like nothing better than to sit in a waiting room filled with sick people for an hour-and-a-half.

But, on the bright side, I wasn’t sick. I purposefully remain well just so I never have to go to the hospital. Why doesn’t everyone else do that? Hypochondriacs.

I caught up on The New Yorker while we sat in the “urgent care” waiting room forever. “Urgent Care” makes it sound like some kind of emergency. But, it’s not the “Emergency Room.” There’s a difference. The emergency room is for emergencies. Urgent care is for people who don’t want to wait 4 weeks to see the doctor.

“My throat really hurts and I need to see the doctor.”

“Okay, she’ll be able to see you in 5 weeks.”

“But in 5 weeks my throat will have stopped hurting!”

“What do you know, you’re cured! It’s another HMO miracle!”

After the HMO, we were both starving. I hadn’t eaten since noon and it was 6:30 by the time we got out of there. And we still had some errands to run before we could eat. I was getting grumpy. There’s nothing like a hospital to make a person feel sick. It seems counterproductive. But I needed food. I was wasting away to nothing.

I know a lot of people who used to do this; I won’t be one of those people who cry “hypoglycemic” every time they’re hungry just so they’re not embarrassed that they have the appetite of a normal human being. I have to eat at least every six hours or so…because I’m freaking hungry!

So, we ran the errand and headed to McDonalds (I was too hungry and impatient to cook). I was looking forward to getting a really big meal. My stomach was not only eating itself, it had also devoured any common sense or consideration for my diet.

I was going to get my meal supersized! A rare treat. None of this medium bull-crap for me, I tell you. Large…smarge! I was hungry. I’m also a rib-head. I love McRib sandwiches (yeah, sure, gross. No one likes McRibs do they? McDonalds just keeps bringing them back just to see the faces on all of those disgusted people. And then they laugh…boy do they laugh. Get a grip McRib haters of the world…they’re tasty!). But McRibs aren’t big enough to satisfy a huge appetite so I needed a lot of fries.

And then I remembered. McDonalds doesn’t have supersized anymore. I thought it was a cruel rumor, but no, they really don’t have it.

What a crock of crap! I still don’t understand why McDonalds would have pulled that option! Can we really not be trusted to make our own decisions? I mean, come on, freaking Carls Junior just came out with a 1-pound hamburger! One entire pound! And then they went and put goddamned pastrami on it! But I can’t get a couple extra fries for a reasonable price?

I was drinking diet soda!

Rediculous. Screw you “Supersize Me.” Oh no, the dangers of overeating! The dangers of fast food! You mean it’s not healthy?! You’re kidding me!

Damn, it’s a good thing that I keep up my healthy cigarette regime to counteract the effects of fast food. Tobacco smoke really cleans out the system.

But that’s the way of the world these days. We all need to be protected from ourselves. Don’t smoke, don’t eat fatty foods, don’t drink the entire bottle of cough syrup…But I don’t think that McDonald has gone far enough. Now supersizing fatties will just go someplace else…like Carls Junior. They should keep the supersize option, but when someone orders it, a counselor should come out from behind the counter, slap their chubby hand and say “no, no, no, you can’t have that…it’s bad! BAD!” And then discuss their inclinations to overindulge.

I know that I’m a bit late on this issue, but it really hit home last night.

Man, I just wanted to stuff my face a little.

Fun Fact: McDonalds has afforded me many guilty pleasures in the past. The McRib is just one of them (and as you can see by defensive attitude above, I’m really guilty about that one). I also enjoy shamrock and eggnog shakes. And in my heyday, I could pound down a 20-piece Chicken McNuggets in 7 minutes! And that included an extra large fries, coke and about 6 sauce packets. I was a champ in my fat days.

Also, the latest TAM Cartoon is up! Quack, quack, waddle, waddle!

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

If Time Really Is Money, No Wonder I’m Flat Broke

I don’t have any of it. Time. Get it? That’s a play on metaphor. Huh?

Okay, seriously though, I don’t have much time to post today. I have to keep working on the Christmas album. It’s almost Christmas, by the way. I’m running out of time. There’s still one song that needs to be written. It’s getting down to the wire. That’s a figure of speech. Figure of speech that relies on metaphor. Metaphor is everywhere. Metaphor is like an omniscient god, spreading gentle wisdom through divine mutual understanding.

That’s simile. And irony. Heavy.

Okay, thank you all for your kind words on the passing of my grandfather. That’s very nice of you.

So, to sum up, metaphor is everywhere, I’ve spelled the word “metaphor” wrong every time I’ve typed it in this post (thank you spell-check, someday I’ll pull my head from my rear and spell it right the first time), “simile” is different than metaphor (I did it again, damn it!), “irony” is a horse of another color and you’re all decent people.

Fun Fact: Contrary to popular (around here anyway) spelling habits, the word “metaphor” doesn’t have an “e” on the end of it.

Also, I just spelled metaphor wrong again as I was typing that. There’s something wrong with me.

And, the word “metaphor” makes up 4.2% of this blog post.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Goodbye PapPap

It’s an email world, I tell you. I just learned via email that my ex-step grandfather passed away on Thanksgiving Day. That’s really sad. Not the email part, the passing away part. Although, some may think that the email part is also sad. But that’s not important. The important thing is that he’s gone and he will be missed greatly.

I haven’t kept in touch with him. As I said, he was my ex-step grandfather. But I still loved the guy and considered him to be my grandfather. I should have been a better grandson. Well, that’s how these things go. I’m certain that he harbors no resentment towards me. Even if there is an afterlife (I’m an atheist) I’m sure that PapPap has better things to do than be mad at me for never writing.

I thought about him often. I’ll never forget him. He was a good man. He had to be, he had like a thousand kids! Okay, not a thousand, but 11. I think it’s eleven. I’m not exactly sure. Like I said, I don’t keep in touch very well. Those of you who I actually write to should feel very good about yourselves. Well, that is if you tie your self esteem into whether or not you get an email from me. I hope you don’t. That would be really sad. And a lot of pressure for me.

Okay, back to reality. No one judges their self worth based on my correspondence. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be a little better about keeping in touch. My actual blood grandparents can tell you that.

I’m really a bad grandson.

Don’t worry, my blood grandparents will be getting a Christmas album this year. And so will my ex-step grandmother. Christmas albums for everyone!

Does that fix everything? Probably not. But, as you can tell, it couldn’t make things any worse.

So, back to my PapPap (that title is a Pittsburgh thing). He was a firefighter. He had a lot of firefighting buddies. We used to go to the fireman’s picnic every summer. It was a good time. They always held it at some rustic Pennsylvania amusement park. We also used to go to his house in Pittsburgh every summer. On Allegheny Street. I’d watch HBO (one of the only times I could) and eat chipped ham sandwiches on rolls.

Other than that, I really never knew much about him. I think that most kids don’t really know their grandparents. But he was nice and he treated me like any one of his other grandchildren and he was loved.

Okay…I know that I’m in no position to gripe, but come on PapPap, did you really have to pass away on Thanksgiving?! I already lost my wonderful uncle Douglas on Christmas! I just have a favor to ask of the rest of my loved ones, if you have to pass away, could you do it on a non-holiday? I’ll try to do the same. The summer is pretty much empty. Aim for then, if you have to go. But please, not on August 4th. Let’s all make a pact and keep it.

Okay, to recap, I’m a bad grandson, no one is allowed to die on holidays or August 4th, shout out to Bill and Bette Cox, my uncle Douglas was really great and I’ll miss my PapPap.

Goodbye Hap O’Brien.

Fun Fact: On a lighter note, the new TAM Cartoon is up! Yeah, yeehaw! No more thoughts of death. Just think of kitties and puppies. Wonderful, wonderful kitties and puppies. Tasty kitties and puppies…

Monday, November 29, 2004

No Pictures, No Photographs…!

Well, it seems like I’ve gone through another vacation with a proverbial jacket over my not-so-proverbial head. I took the camera. I didn’t take pictures.

Tanya and I spent Thanksgiving in Running Springs, nestled high in the picturesque California Mountains. It was really a lovely place. Very photogenic. But see, the camera was downstairs at the cabin in a suitcase and although I had no problem driving 5300 feet up the mountain, I couldn’t be bothered to walk 50 feet downstairs. So, no pictures for you.

Just imagine a snow covered house resting gently under tall swaying pines. Imagine the great room of every arts and crafts lodge you’ve ever seen. High ceilings, wide hardwood floors, the smell of cinnamon hanging in the air.

Our cabin was nothing like that.

Well, it was a little like that. It had Jello molds hanging on the walls. That’s rustic. It had wood paneling. That’s kind of rustic, right? It had an air hockey table. The kind Grizzly Adams used to play on. And there was snow.

It was a good time. I came in third in the great air hockey tourney. At least I finished in the medals. The turkey that Tanya and I had to make turned out really good. It was a fine bird. In fact, all of Thanksgiving dinner turned out well. Very tasty.

It was a good time. But I’m more convinced than ever that I’m not ready to have children. I’m way too selfish for them. I’m too selfish to even want them. There were two kids in diapers on this trip with us (we went with other people, we didn’t just steal some kids). They were cute. They were smart. They didn’t cry much. But, here’s the deal, they were still the focus of my attention when they were in the room. I didn’t have to change diapers. I didn’t have to feed them. I didn’t have to get them to go to sleep. I didn’t even have to watch them really. But they still wore me out. The parent’s were incessant…”what’s he getting into?” “Is he digging in the garbage?” “What is that in his mouth?” “Don’t hit…”

And then there were the things they said to the kids.

And those kids were well behaved! No thanks. The television is mine. The garbage is mine. The food is mine. Sleep is mine. It’s all mine! Stay away, kids!

Speaking of kids, there are kids on Desperate Housewives. Did you like that? It’s a tie in. A segway (not the scooter). It’s the type of thing that ABC’s Good Morning America is driving me crazy with.

It seems that ABC is happier tan a kid with his first bike to have a hit television show. Sure, it’s been a while. Some people see it as a sign of the apocalypse. They’re wrong. But, Hope and Faith is the fifth seal.

Anyway, GMA’s been doing these really annoying tie-ins with their number one show. I understand the excitement, but come on, enough is enough. It’s one thing to talk about Desperate Housewives during the entertainment portion of the show, it’s another to pretend like it’s somehow poignant enough to connect to actual news.

Desperate Housewives is not news! But today they introduced a story with a moment from the show. I don’t watch DH, but evidentially, there was a nightmare sequence in it last night. The clip led into a story about nightmares and dream analysis.

Dumb. It’s very transparent. If they’re not careful, ABC’s going to create huge backlash. I already hate the show, and I’ve never even watched it. What are the executives thinking?

“DH is the top show on Sunday nights!”


“Yeah, but we still need to advertise the hell out of it. What we need is synergy!”


“Yeah, you know, we need to be able to advertise the show on the news without making it seem like a flagrant plug and vice versa.”

“Is that why that lady flashed the football guy?”

“Sort of…Think. What on the show could be newsworthy?”

“Well a lady died last night.”

“Yes, but she’s not really dead. It’s just a show, she’s very much alive. Although, she’s probably wondering how she’s going to pay for that new house in Brentwood without the nice paycheck.”

“My house cost a lot too.”

“Phil, you’re a genius! Desperate Housewives reminds people of news! There’s a dream sequence in the show…nightmare analysis! There’s a murder on the show…the rising violent crime rate! There’s kids on the show…Cardinal Mahoney’s indictment! It’s perfect.”

“Do I get a raise now?”

“Hell no.”

“But, what about my house…?”

Well, you get the idea. It’s relentless and dumb. Much like my little dialogue there. We need to be smarter about these things. It’s bad enough that the news is full of crap like Julia Roberts’ weird-named babies. Disney needs to stop whoring itself to itself. Diane Sawyer didn’t claw her way up to the top to tell me about some dumb ass TV show. At least I hope not. She should be above that too.

Fun Fact: Julia Roberts named her kids Phinnaeus and Hazel. I would make fun of them for being born in the wrong century, but I have a sneaking suspicion that someday I’ll be begging them for a job.

Nepotism sucks when you’re the child of teachers.

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Unfortunately, I’m Unappreciative

But, you’re all certainly not, so have a very joyous and happy Thanksgiving. Keep this sentiment in your hearts for the entire holiday season; let it warm you like a happy hot oven.

But don’t forget to baste yourselves every hour or so. And if you find yourselves prematurely browning, just loosely tent yourselves with aluminum foil.

Happy Thanksgiving,


Fun Fact: Tanya and I are responsible for making the turkey this year. Sure, it’s a fun fact now, but I suspect in about 30 hours or so, it’s going to be something far more sinister.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

The Definition of Narcissism

Listening to a CD of yourself singing Christmas songs while writing a blog post.

I’m sure that the Dictionary has a different definition. But they’re wrong and I’m right and they know it.

So Tanya and I are heading out to Big Bear this week for Thanksgiving. We’re renting a place with some other people. It would make me feel like I’m back in college except that two of the couples have babies.

So, I guess it makes me feel like I’m back in high school?

Ah, teen pregnancy, always good for a laugh. But seriously, babies?! When did I become an adult? It was certainly nothing that I did. Leave it to the people around you to make you feel old. They don’t realize that they’re doing it either. They say things like “I can’t believe [insert baby’s name here] is already [insert age here]! Man, do I feel old!”

Yeah, thanks, pal, I might feel sympathy…if I weren’t three years older than you! Thanks for nothing. Now we’re both old.

But at least I don’t have a baby. Ha ha baby-makers! Even a cute one. Yes, the “babies” (in quotes because I don’t consider them really babies, like pre-toddlers or something) are cute. Cute, cute, cute. But that’s how they get you! They give you the ol’ “tender eye” and the second you turn around to congratulate your friends about how cute the kid is, they turn into screaming poop wallowers.

The kids, not the parents.

Don’t be fooled. Babies grow into horrible monsters. Ask your parents. They’ll tell you. You’re one of them. Don’t deny it. And you’re probably one of the good ones. Think about it, I know that I’ve been through a lot in my life. Things that made me grow into the person that I am today. I feel like I’m at least a so-so kind of guy. I could be worse. I haven’t slaughtered the squirrels that live in the tree outside or anything. Not yet anyway. But think about all of the dumb things that you did as a kid or teenager. To you, those things were hiccups in the road to responsible adulthood. To your parents, they were small crisis. Times when they wondered if you were going to turn into some kind of psychopath or sociopath or Paris Hilton or something.

If your parents tell you any different, they’re just trying to protect your feelings – or they’re looking for grandchildren. Beware! Misery loves company. And grandchildren are the ultimate “I told you so.” Watch out, because moms and dads also know how to give the ol’ “tender-eye.” They’ve seen you do it for years. And as we all know, we only give the tender-eye when we do something bad.

So this Thanksgiving, if you see a loveable twinkle in you mother’s eye, watch out, she wants you and your significant other (or insignificant other…best friend…occasional acquaintance…the lady outside the 7-11…) to make babies!

Or she just wrecked your new Camero.

To sum up. We’re going to Big Bear (Running Springs) for Thanksgiving, there will be babies there, we had to go on a horrific turkey hunt last night (I really didn’t mention this before, but here it is now, pretend like I talked about it), we were all horrible children, grandchildren are the result of pressure put on for the sake of morbid payback, my mom’s a saint (thanks mom for the Halloween presents and birthday gift…but, Halloween was a while ago and my birthday was in August…thanks anyway, I’ll call you soon), I’m listening to myself sing Christmas music, I’m old, …you’re also old, the lady outside the 7-11 wants to have my babies and I’m a narcissist.

So, really, nothing new. I have to go. The squirrels that live in the tree outside are starting to get in my head – and there’s a reckoning coming.

Fun Fact:
We’re looking for great ideas for the cover of the Christmas Album this year. Last year, I just did some paper cut-outs, but this year I want something different. Something both incredibly spectacular and obscenely simple. Any suggestions?

And, the Thanksgiving edition of the TAM Cartoon is up. (There won’t be another cartoon this week, sorry. Peruse the archives…it’s full of surprises)

Monday, November 22, 2004

If He Wasn’t 100% Right, He’d be Annoying

Yes I’m talking about this guy at the gym. My gym, while being overcrowded and employing a staff that would rather shove toothpicks under their fingernails than actually help a customer or fix a treadmill, is a very ethnically diverse gym. It’s actually the perfect blend of clientele. Think about every suburban gym you’ve ever seen on TV or in the movies (boxing gyms not included) and that’s what ours looks like (only with broken equipment).

All racial, economic, social and fitness backgrounds are represented. The people at the gym are generally pretty cool, when they’re not hogging the crosstrainers or trying to work out on two pieces of equipment at the same time. Your towel cannot save a bench for 20 minutes unless it also pays dues!

Sorry, I’m getting off track here. Like I said, the people at the gym are generally pretty good people. It’s also usually pretty quiet there. Usually, we just get to workout and bask in the creative genius of gangsta rap. But there are a small group of men who like to hear themselves talk. In fact they like everyone to hear them talk. If you live in the city or ever watched a Cedric the Entertainer movie, you probably already figured out that the group in which I refer to are middle-aged black men.

It doesn’t really bother anyone, they stay in the weight room, so you don’t have to sit and listen to them for very long. Besides, it’s like hanging out in the barber shop from Coming to America.

But there’s this one guy who likes to stick to the cardio equipment. No one talks on the cardio equipment. It’s dead quiet in the cardio room. You could hear Ice T drop a pin in dat hizzie. But this guy talks as if he’s the only one there. Well, he and his buddy.

The guy stays on the crosstrainer gabbing away while his friend stands toady-style next to him going “yup, yup, true dat…” The little friend never gets any exercise. The perils of discipledom, I guess.

I hate it when someone yaks and yaks on the cardio equipment. I should say that I hate it when one person does it. If everyone would do it, fine. I could live with that. Then maybe I could talk to Tanya without feeling like I’m airing dirty laundry. We don’t have a lot of metaphorical dirty laundry, we have real dirty laundry, in fact, I’m wearing some right now. But that’s not my point either.

We need to make a communal decision to talk in the cardio room. That way, we all don’t have to listen to one guy give his opinion on everything. This dude doesn’t care, he likes the audience. I’ve listened to him talk about the presidential elections, ghetto gentrification and today, the basketball brawl in Detroit.

A brawl in Detroit?! No?! Another quality city ruined forever by violence! How will they ever recover their image?!

Anyway, he’s blabbin’ about the fight, his crony’s nodding and going “yup, yup, true dat…” and I’m thinking the exact same thing I always think when I hear this guy opening his big fat mouth, “man…he’s absolutely right!”

It’s uncanny. He hasn’t expressed a single opinion that I didn’t agree with. I never wholeheartedly agree with everything people say. I like to find things wrong. I’m a little sick like that. But not this guy. He’s been on the money about everything. Absolutely everything. He’s like an older, darker version of me.

It’s nice to know that there’s at least one intelligent person in this world. A person that thinks like me. Yes, there’s hope for the world. Don’t worry everyone, me and this guy from then gym will take care of everything! You just sit there and enjoy your new Utopia.

Now, if only he would just shut the hell up every once and a while and at least let his little friend exercise more than just his nodding muscles.

Shhh little sir, right or not, we don’t talk on the cardio equipment...

Fun Fact: The other day I shared with you my love for the HP commercial song “Picturebook.” Well, I have another love. It’s the tune they use to sell St. Joseph aspirin. I get it stuck in my head very easily. Let’s all sing the chorus together, shall we?

Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pumps your blood. Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pump pumps your blood.

How could anyone not like that song?!

Again, from the top…!

Friday, November 19, 2004

General Wackiness

No, he’s not the latest Presidential appointee to the cabinet; I’m talking about Vioxx and Arnold Schwarzenegger. Duh.

So, Vioxx causes heart problems. Huh. No one saw that one coming did they? People thought that they were going to get relief from arthritis and ended up with bad tickers. Now the television and the web are full of lawyers out for “justice.”

The FDA is also under attack for letting the drug go to the marketplace. They should have known that it was unsafe. They should only let the safe drugs onto pharmacy shelves. Only the safe ones!

There are a couple other drugs now under investigation. One for obesity, one for asthma, one for acne…

But my question is, when was the last time you ever saw a “safe” drug?! Look, anything that alters your physiological makeup is bound to be dangerous. We have to be careful. I’m not saying that Merck and the FDA aren’t to blame a little bit, but come on people, if you’re going to tale a prescription drug – research it! Now, I know that this is a special case, but if the drug says that it may cause death, pay attention! It’s not always just legal BS.

And where are the doctors during all this? Why do doctors pass around prescription drugs like herbal ecstasy at a high school prom?! Why don’t we blame them? And don’t give me that crap about doctor’s not knowing the dangers. If your freaking doctor doesn’t know that drugs are dangerous then either get a new Dr or just have a heart attack or an embolism and get it over with.

But listen, I’m also not saying that doctors should be to blame either. We have to take some responsibility here. Why is it that we always make someone else responsible for what we put in our mouths? Drugs, fatty hamburgers, tobacco, grits, small electric toy trains…

There’s a problem here. A fundamental problem. Supporters re-elected Goerge Bush partially because John Edwards was a trial lawyer. Too much litigation. I agree with you Bushies, there is too much litigation. But, see, that won’t stop until you people stop suing other people. That’s what litigation is! It’s not the devil. It is us. Lawyers don’t always make the cases. They need clients.

People want the government to be smaller, but they want it to protect us from terrorists and bad drugs and small electric toy trains. We can’t have it both ways. Yes, Merck was wrong to push a dangerous drug onto the American public. Doctors were wrong for prescribing it. But patients are also wrong for naively popping pills.

I feel bad for the victims of Vioxx, and I don’t want to sound like a cold-hearted bastard, but if things are going to change, we have to take some responsibility. We need to be more accountable in order to make the drug companies and the FDA more accountable. As we know from childhood, the “I didn’t know” defense only goes so far. And ignorance only makes it possible for this to happen again. Did we learn nothing from Thalidomide?

Okay, now to Governor Arnold. He wants to run for president. A group of people are running ads in an attempt to bring together enough supporters for a constitutional change that would allow just that.

Why?! Already?!

The dude’s only been in office for a little while. Let’s not be naïve and pretend that this is some benevolent move geared toward allowing all immigrants to enter the oval office (as something other than a janitor I mean). This is about Arnold. It’s all about Arnold.

It’s dumb.

Why Arnold? Haven’t there been more interesting immigrants up to the task? But, no, people have to have it now! They have to have Arnold. Arnold will always be cool, right? Let’s change the constitution for someone cool like Arnold! He’s cool!

Well, at least it’s not an impulsive decision. While we’re at it, let’s name Destiny’s Child, the bestest female singing group of all time! Or better yet, Chair-Booties of the Joint Chiefs of Booty!

Take that, Andrews Sisters!

Fun Fact: Okay, I was going to make an off-color joke about Thalidomide babies. I was going to say that they’re unfortunate because not only are the poor things born with flippers instead of arms, but those flippers don’t help them swim really fast either.

Then I accidentally found this page while making sure that Thalidomide babies actually had the problems that I thought they did. Now I’m not so sure.

Poor kids. Maybe the new TAM Cartoon will make me look like less of an ass. Probably not.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

Get Out of My Head

Of course I’m referring to that song for the new HP commercials. New commercials, old song. Great song. Regrettably catchy song.

It’s “Picture Book” by The Kinks. Here, next time the commercial is on, sing along!

Picture yourself when you're getting old.
You sat by the fireside, pondering all.
Picture book, pictures of your Mama, taken by your Papa,
A long time ago.
Picture book, of people with each other, to prove they loved each other,
A long time ago.

La la la la la la, La la la la la la,
Picture book, picture book.

A picture of you in your birthday suit.
You sat in the sun on a hot afternoon.
Picture book, your Mama and your Papa,
And fat old Uncle Charlie,
Out boozing with their friends.
Picture book, a holiday in August, outside a bed & breakfast.
In sunny Southend.
Picture book, when you were just a baby,
Those days when you were happy,
A long time ago.
La la la la la la, La la la la la la.
Picture book, Picture book.

To better facilitate friendlier “sing-alonginess” I’ve made the lyrics heard in the ads bold. You’re welcome. I was only going to post the lyrics that were in the commercials, but there aren’t that many lyrics in the song so today is your lucky day!

But I think the commercials should include the lyrics about fat Uncle Charlie boozin’ it up.

Speaking of songs, Rolling Stone Magazine has come out with yet another list of dumb crap. The Kinks made #34 on one of the Rolling Stone lists with “You Really Got Me” (speaking of The Kinks). Of course it’s a list of the 500 best songs ever recorded.

This latest list is just another in an ongoing series of “best songs” lists. They make lists like this every couple of years. Ironically, the list keeps changing. And not because they’re adding new songs, they just keep shuffling around the old ones. Although “Hey Ya” by Outkast made the list this time. Truly an enduring classic. That’s humanity for you, never making snap decisions based on popular taste. “Smells Like Teen Spirit” also made the list and it should have. That’s old enough to have stood the test of time. But “Hey Ya?” Yes, I know, I like the stupid song too, but I also used to really love “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”

Oh, who am I kidding, I still love that song. Really. It’s chipper.

But come on Rolling Stone, 500?! 500 Greatest songs of all time?! Pretty good odds for hopeful crappy songs actually. But not a very manageable list, if you ask me. That’s why it’s only number 5 on my list of all-time greatest all-time greatest lists:

#5 Rolling Stone’s 500 all-time greatest songs. (List)

#4 The Museum of Hoaxes top 100 April Fools Day hoaxes of all time. (List)

#3’s top baby names for 2003. (List)

#2 My all-time greatest needed groceries from Albertsons for last week. (Yeah, Healthy Choice Low Calorie Frozen Entrees! No Link)

#1 AFI’s 100 years – 100 movies. (List)

I would include more lists, but I don’t have all day to sit here and find lists. I also have a list…a list of things to do today! Sadly, my to-do list for today didn’t make the “All-Time Greatest All-Time Greatest Lists List.” It’s rather pathetic, much like my “All-Time Greatest All-Time Greatest Lists List” (I just like writing that).

Fun Fact: Even though the Rolling Stone list is compiled of Rock Songs that have a staple vernacular, none of the titles contain the word “baby.”

Even more ironical, neither does the list of baby names.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

George Bush is a Pain in the Butt

Colin Powell has resigned. Condoleeza Rice has taken over. I’m glad that we didn’t change leadership in the midst of a bloody war. Thank god Bush is still in office. After all, it was his singular leadership that people voted for anyway.

It’s sad actually. While I’m happy to have the first black woman Secretary of State, Condoleeza is a crony. She’ll do whatever George says to do. Which is a little like Pinocchio putting on a puppet show.

At least Colin was a free thinker. He was bold and opinionated. I’m baffled as to why we pronounce his name Colon when it’s obviously not spelled that way…but he’ll be missed.

I know that the cabinet usually changes between terms, but I feel like this time, it’s hypocritical. What about all that campaign talk?

But I really expected nothing less from this president. And they Bill Clinton was a manipulator? At least he only screwed one person at a time.

In other news, the Vibe Awards were filmed last night. But before you get all excited about who won “coolest collabo,” “enterprising entrepreneur,” “reelist video,” or which city won the coveted “most influential region” award – there were problems.

A fight broke out! A fight! At the Vibe Awards?! Not them too? Thugs have already taken over the Source Awards and now they’re trying to contaminate the Vibe Awards?! The Vibe awards are an institution too important to be broadcast on network television.

You know, rappers may be able to someday get together to give out self-congratulatory, absolutely meaningless award someday without someone being stabbed, but really what’s the point? They’re just keeping it real. Stabbing is real, damnit! Rappers just rap about what they see everyday. People get stabbed, damnit. Rappers know because most of the time it’s them doing the stabbing.

See, someone punched Dr. Dre right before he was to accept his…um…his…lifetime achievement award…sorry, I had to compose myself before I wrote that. A melee broke out. A dude got stabbed. They got the whole thing on tape. But in true gangsta’ style, no one got arrested.

Snoop Dog and Quincy Jones just stood there staring. Doing nothing but looking a little scared.

I wonder if Quincy Jones ever looks around him and thinks “what the hell am I doing here? I’ve written and produced countless hits and TV show themes. I’ve almost gained universal acclaim as a true artist and composer?! Why do I hang out with these thugs?” And then looks in his overstuffed wallet and thinks, “Oh…of course!”

Oh, and you da’ original gangsta’, Snoop.

Fun Fact: Actually, I am the original gangsta’! You better scram, get on the ameche and tell your moll to hand over the mazuma, yous mugs, before I start spittin’ lead!

And the new TAM Cartoon is up fo’ shizzle.