Teh internets is truly an amazing place.

I get a daily update from History.com telling me what happened on this date in history. I've learned about Genghis Kahn, Watergate, Henry Ford and Kingsford Charcoal, and all kinds of other stuff.

Anyway, this morning I opened the update and it said that in 1997, Princess Diana was killed, and in a snap, it seemed like yesterday.

In the summer of 1997, we decided to go to Boston for Labor Day weekend. I've loved Boston since I was in my teens and I figured any town that made that kind of impression on a 13 year old was worth visiting as an adult, and boy was I right.

At that time in our lives, we were young(er), childless, and were moderately adventerous. We would also vacation so it would coincide with that city's baseball schedule so we could take in a game while out of town. I always enjoy visiting new major league parks and getting to see Fenway, even from the outside, was on my list of things to do before I died.

We were very excited to learn that Labor Day weekend was the innaugural weekend of Bud Selig's inter-league play, and that our own Atlanta Braves would be visiting the hallowed ground at 4 Yawkey Way, between Van Ness and Lansdowne Streets. Man, were we psyched.

Using most of her then travel industry clout, the wife got us a deal on a corner room at the Marriott at Copley Place. Our room overlooked the Charles River and the Prudential center as well as all of the Back Bay area of Beantown. As I said, we were in our mid to late 20's and looking for fun.

Oh, did I forget to mention that Boston has over 48 colleges in the city, and all of them started the week after Labor Day?

That meant that there were a bo-zillion kids with their parents parked everywhere unloading. It made a mess of traffic, but the socializing was great.

Anywho, we flew in, checked in and immediately hit the bar in the lobby of the Marriott. It had been a long day and we got in pretty late since we left after work on Thursday August 28th and were to return on Monday September 1st.

I did have a Peter Griffin moment after we went back to the room. The wife was getting ready for bed and when she came out, I was wrapped in the drapes with my ass pressed against the window and said "I'm mooning Baaaaaston, baby!!"

She was not impressed.

Over that weekend, we did everything you're supposed to do in Boston, including the Duck Tour, visiting Harvard and U. Mass., eating at Legal Seafood and drinking in the Back Bay. We also spent an evening at Fanueil Hall drinking beer with some nice college kids who'd driven from Milwaukee to see the game and were staying in a campground about 40 miles outside of Boston propah.

We took the five dollah tooah of Fenway, which kicked total ass. You got a 45 minute tour that included visiting a luxury suite, roaming thru the press box, sitting in the visitor's dugout and walking around on the dirt (not the grass) on the field. I've got pictures of me all around the field at Fenway and sitting in the dugout.

We also had arranged tickets thru a friend of my dad's for a game or two. The first night, they didn't work out and we were left at the will call box on a sold out Friday night, 15 minutes before the national anthem of the first interleague game. The lady in the box felt bad for us however, and moments before the anthem started, she said I could buy two grandstand tickets if I wanted them. I didn't care how bad they were as long as we got into the game, so i said yes. I think they were either $16 or $20 a piece face value. We walked in, asked the usher where to go, and this was the view from our seats:

Yeah, that sucked plenty.

We then saw the Braves spend the weekend kicking the the bejesus out of the Sox. Fred McGriff was so good that on Sunday, after hitting two homers and driving in 6 or so runs, he was given a standing ovation by the Red Sox Nation. That was a classy moment.

We had just an amazing time. Beers were flowing, folks were laughing, we met nice people, ate amazing Italian sausages outside Fenway, drank my first ever 22 ounce Miller Lite in a plastic wide-mouthed bottle at the Cask and Flaggon, and had a blast.

Oh, I did forget to mention that at our Friday night visit to the Fens, we had many beers, and many afterwards. I'm sure that goes without saying, but I wanted the context to be right for the following story.

The next morning, I woke up around 9:30 or 10:00am, and decided I'd head down to the lobby for some sodas, a couple of bagels from the free continental breakfast, and possibly a paper. So I threw on some raggedy shorts, a t-shirt, no shoes or hat, and headed for the elevator with my key.

I hit down, the car stopped, I got in, and as I looked at my reflection in the doors, I realized that I was riding with John Smoltz, Mark Wohlers, and Jeff Blauser. I had not realized that the Braves were staying in our hotel.

When I got to the lobby, there were velvet ropes and security everywhere to keep the autograph hounds and lobby whores away from the players, and me in my glorified pj's, barefooted, and having not brushed my teeth.

We all rode the escalator together, then went our seperate ways as they got on the team charter and I got some bagels.

Nice.

So, that Saturday evening, after some cocktails with those very funny college kids from Wisconsin, we were riding back from Faneuil Hall to our hotel in a cab at about 3am. The cabbie had the radio on and we were talking with him, and he said "by the way, did you hear that Princess Diana was killed?"

No. we had not heard that.

Apparently, at around 7:30pm EDT, she had been killed in a car crash in France.

We went back to our room and stayed up watching CNN until 9am or so on Sunday, not believing what we were seeing.

I don't know why I was so mesmerized by the story. I didn't know her. She was royalty and famous for nothing initially but marrying a title carried by a cheating dolt.

But she had done so many good things for the less fortunate, and her efforts to rid the world of landmines had always impressed me. You didn't see princesses out wearing bomb jackets and helmets. You also didn't see anyone spending so much time with AIDS victims in Africa, not afraid of a disease that was still mysterious to many.

She was a great woman, flawed like everyone else, but in the end, she had made a difference.

I was sad that day. More than I thought I could be for someone I didn't know. I hope her life motivated folks to better themselves by doing nice things for others.

I also hope it made people think just a little about the cost of hero worship, celebrity, and the paparazzi that stalk them.

then you are aware that I've been forced to move my blog.

It seems that just like in real life, I can irritate people in cyberspace to the point that they would threaten me and even make veiled threats against my family. To eliminate that problem, I've simply moved my blog, along with removing my other good screen name from anywhere in it and I've removed where I'm from as well.

What's fun is, I can do this over and over again if need be, so if I get stumbled uponst by the evil ogre again, I'll simly come up with some new address, click "save changes," and POOF! and new blog location is born.

Thanks for reading...

then you're just plain missing out. Jade co-authored books with Darrell Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt Jr. and is currently heavily involved / in charge of the PR Machine that IS Dale Earnhardt Jr.

Anyway, I read his blog almost every day here. However, today's entry is particularly entertaining, especially since it speaks volumes about Pat Robertson and that smarmy-assed 700 club he runs.

And don't be afraid to read Mike Davis' blog. He is also part of the PR posse. Beyond that, the site is chock full of info-tainment from friends of theirs and even a celebrity blogger or two.

Enjoy.

and I have to agree. This morning, the wife drops the urchin off for her first day of pre-school. Here's a photo from the house:




My sweet urchin will now be attending Baptist Church's pre-school Monday, Wednesday and Friday. She will get Spanish, Art and Music classes along with some religion mixed in with them.

I hope she doesn't accidentally say her favorite number is 666 or something and freak them all out over there.

Drat. I just realized that another attempt at humor thru my child had been missed...

Good luck, sweetheart. I love you and I am very proud of you.

Daddy

My Richard Petty Driving Experience at Atlanta Motor Speedway

I have been very fortunate in my life when it comes to sports and seeing and doing some pretty great things, many of which would not have been possible or as enjoyable without my wife.


While attending Braves playoff games throughout the 1990’s, I was lucky enough to meet countless celebrities including Franco Harris, Dan Patrick, Mike Mills of R.E.M., Peter Gammons, Dave Campbell, Ernie Johnson and Pete Van Wieren, Darius Rucker of Hootie and the Blowfish, Lou Pinella, Tony LaRussa, Whitey Ford, Reggie Jackson, Dave Parker, Willie Stargell, especially Mickey Mantle, and many others that I have forgotten because I was too awestruck to remember them all the next day.

I was at Game 7 against the Pirates in 1992 (with my wife), and almost caught Francisco Cabrerra's foul ball right before he got the game-winning hit.

I was at Game 6 against the Indians in 1995 (again with my wife) watching Tom Glavine one-hit the tribe while David Justice put his money where his mouth was and hit the deciding home run in a 1-0 Braves win to clinch Atlanta's first and to this date only World Championship.

I went to Auburn University in the late 1980's (with my now wife), which as many of you may remember was a great time in the SEC in general and at Auburn specifically. The Tigers beat Bama all four years that I was there, won a couple of SEC titles, and got the opportunity to play in the Sugar Bowl twice.

I have been to Augusta National (with my wife) and walked the course following Tiger, Jack and Arnie in 1996, then watched the Wednesday par three tournament from right at the ropes, and saw a hole in one to boot.

I have been to opening day at Wrigley Field (with my wife). I have stood in center field at Fenway Park (with my wife) and sat in the visitor's dugout there as well.

You get the idea. My wife will pretty much let me do anything related to sports. So in 2002, for our 10th anniversary, my wife presented me with one of the best gifts that I have ever gotten: A gift certificate for the Richard Petty Driving Experience Ride-Along program.

I had always talked about wanting to drive a racecar, but ever the wise woman, my wife thought that I should find out if I was chicken from the passenger seat first, rather than from the driver's seat. At least from the passenger seat, you can't embarrass yourself by going the speed limit of your local four-lane road if you get a case of the chickens.

So on September 7th, 2002, the wife and I packed the daughter off to Grandpa and Grandma’s house, and we headed for Atlanta Motor Speedway, and the day was perfect.

I invited a friend and her husband (both non-fanatics) to join us, and we met at the infield of AMS, right next to the media center. And as soon as we got out of the car, I knew it was going to be great. They had a couple of cars right by the media center, and an instructor was explaining to other students in other courses how to get into the car smoothly without getting stuck or hurt. I made a mental note of this procedure for later.

After buying our ticket, we got in line behind about 20 people and began watching. The line forms right behind pit wall at the start finish line. There are about a dozen cars on pit road that the students drive in various courses, and there are two cars dedicated solely to the ride-along program: the number 27 Edelbrock Chevy and a number 8 Budweiser Chevy, and the way it was to work is this: You put on a helmet and driver's suit when they tell you to, get in the car when they tell you to, hold on for three laps, then get out when they tell you to and go away.

I couldn't wait. My friend kept looking at me asking if I was excited or nervous. Hell yes, I was excited and VERY nervous. But why shouldn't I be? Professional driver or not, going 170 mph in the passenger seat is a scary thought, dontcha think?

So we put on our driver suits and helmets, and immediately began sweating. Sure, the suits are hot and the helmets are hot, but at that point, the adrenaline is going like you wouldn't believe.

I then got the go-ahead to cross in front of the wall and get in the car from the passenger side. I made this maneuver like a seasoned vet. Left leg in the window, left butt cheek on the window ledge, right leg in the window, drop your ass down while leaning back, and your in there. Then a guy hooks up your five point racing harness, pulls it tight, you and the driver give a thumbs up to a camera guy outside your window, and then you sit.

The driver introduced himself, asked my name, and asked if I had done this before, to which I replied “um…no,” then he said, "what are you looking for out of this?”

I replied, "I want you to scare the piss out of me."

He smiled, said "okay," and hit the starter.

Let me say this about the inside of a stock car. There is a reason that all but a few of the drivers are 5' 6" and 130 pounds. It's damned small in there. I could only see the inside of the car with the top third of my line-of-site. The seats are metal, with only a thin Nomex (fireproof) pad on them, and there is no legroom at all. I am 6'3", and it was all I could do to get somewhat comfortable.

So, after Anthony (my driver) started the car, I think I began grinning. The power and noise are absolutely unreal. Cup cars have between 750 and 850 horsepower, and these things are supposed to have over 600hp. They are throaty and ridiculously loud. Anthony stepped on the gas, and before I knew it, we were hurtling toward the end of pit road where we would need to enter the banking and turn left QUICKLY and head immediately in the other direction.

This was the only time I was truly scared. It makes no sense that a guy can take a car going 120mph plus and sling it up on the banking and just mat the throttle with no problem, but apparently you can. Before I knew it, we were through turns three and four and hurtling toward the green flag. I decided at that point that I should let go of the bar by my left leg so I could say that I hadn't held on the entire time.

The next 90 seconds went by in a flash, but I will never forget the thrill of coming out of turn 2 right next to the backstretch wall, feeling the heat from the exhaust and the dust come back in the window. Also, looking out the driver's window at the people waiting in line as we went under the flag stand and took the checkers was great. It was also a rush when the car stepped out going into turn 1, and Anthony immediately throttled down and pulled down to the apron and basically coasted the car back to the pits.

We came down pit road, but we stopped well short of where everyone else had been getting out of his or her cars. That was when I realized that something had gone wrong with the right rear (either a spring or shock they told me). That scared me a little. But I got over that when I tried to apply in reverse what I had learned about getting in the car to get out of the car. About halfway thru, I was stuck, so I gave up, fell back in the car, and asked the attendee guy how I was supposed to get out. I would tell you, but I am saving that little morsel for next time, so I look as cool getting out as I do getting in.


I will go back. I will ride again. And I will sign up for one of the 8 lap deals where you drive the car. I want to do it. I need to do it. I've got it bad.

If you're interested in going, let me know and I will go with you. They have cool used race tires that you can buy as souvenirs, and their only five bucks. My wife wouldn't let me have one when she was there, but I’m sure that you will...

Now, you are going to ask where the following came from, but I assure you that my intentions were pure when I started.

I was reading Drew Curtis' Fark today (and if you don't read it at least once a day every day, well...you should). I stumbled across an article about Amazon.com quietly starting to act as a re-seller for ummm....er....well....personal "ahem" massagers. And I'm not talking about the ones used for calf cramps.

Anyway, since my company is in the process of trying to get a similar line of products to market, I was curious to look and see if this was our big internet shopping break.

Alas, it was not.

But I stumbled across something even funnier. See, if you go to Fark, you'll see that there's a story headline (with some comedy attached), then to the left is a link to the story and to the right there is a link that is a number. This number represents the number of comments that have been left about said article.

Anywhoo, in reading the comments, someone mentioned that farkers must now be writing product reviews now for the new Amazon.com products. So I clicked on the link and, lo and behold, here is what I found:

No more A to M fears thanks to Anal Douche, May 11, 2005
Reviewer:

Chad Heft - See all my reviews My parner Lance has always be a bit squeemish about pleasing me orally after I've given him a good reaming. His main concern, bacteria, has too often been confirmed with him suffering frequent bouts of dysentery, which aside from causing him discomfort is also interuptive to our daily erotic routine. He has also often complained of the taste,as you can well imagine. But since my purchase of Anal Douche, Lance has had no qualms what so ever about finishing me off like a pro. Now, not only do we enjoy hot man on man action, but peace of mind as well. Thanks Anal Douche! Was this review helpful to you?


If you aren't laughing by now, you must have mis-read it. Read it again.

Okay. Now see how funny that is? Man, I love some of the creative folks that have access to the internets.

I forgot to post this the other day. Molly and the urchin were sitting at the kitchen table, and Molly asked the urchin if she wanted to write her name. Lauren replied "I don't know how." Wife answered "I'll tell you the letters and you write them." Mind you, there were no alphabet puzzles or anything nearby. She just asked her to draw the letters from memory. Anyway, here's what she came up with:




Yes, the A is upside down, but it's a damned good A. The U is HUGE, but that's a spacial thing. The R is funny, the E was fine until Lauren said "wait Mommy...I not done wif it yet", and the N turned out as an M, but come on! She's 3 years old.

Anyway, you can go back to work now...

This is a story of hard work and pride in a job well done.

My brother in law and his brother own their own landscaping company. They started it back in 1986 with an old Ford pickup, some rakes, shovels and mowers, along with a great work ethic.

They work as hard as anyone I know and, to date, they've only made one really big mistake that I can think of...

They hired me.

Back in the summer of 1986, me and a buddy of mine were looking for summer work so we could make a little beer money and sock away a little spending cash for college. Todd had recently married my girlfriend's sister, so after listening to his teenage sister in law, he grudgingly agreed to take us two knuckleheads on board.

We showed up for work, and it was hot. aytch oh tee hot. Georgia summer hot. Fuck you hot. The job was a residential one just a little ways from downtown Alpharetta. They were busting ass to finish and both brothers were out there with us. We were tasked with spreading pinestraw while the sprinklers were on to water shrubs and trees that were in the ground and near death thanks to the heat and lack of rain. Paul and I trudged around in ankle-deep mud wearing jeans, workboots and no shirts, bent over at the waist all damn day.

And you know what? It was fucking awful. When that day was over, we headed back to Paul's house. His parents were out of town, so we got some cold beers and sat in the den nursing our horrific sunburns and aching backs and said "Fuck this. No money's worth this. We're quitting."

So the next morning, we don't show up and when Todd calls to find us, I inform him of our decision, and he says "fine" and hangs up. Fast forward about six years, and I ended up marrying that same girl that begged Todd to give me a job. I could have been imagining it, but I think he looked at me a little bit funny for about a decade. I can't be sure of this, so you'd have to ask him.

Anyway, fast forward another ten years and I moved into his neighborhood, and I think that now he's finally forgiven me.

I don't know why I told that story. It's not germane to anything other than that was just one day of what those two brothers have had to deal with for twenty years.

Today, nearly 20 years later, the company has grown quite a bit and is doing fine looking work all over the city and state. If you live in Georgia (particularly in the metro Atlanta area), I can guarantee that you see their handywork no less than a couple of times a day, every day, while driving anywhere.

Anyway, the reason I'm posting this is that after an astonishing amount of hard work, the two brothers are about to see the completion of their first commercial building to be occupied in part by their company. They are planning to lease 2/3 of the building to other companies. Here is a picture of it.

Of course, you should imagine it with the brick skin on the outside, but you get the point.

T.O. is a greedy ass.
I hope the Eagles fuck him.
Stupid greedy man.

Here is an email I got from the wife this afternoon...


We met Lauren's teachers today.

When we showed up Ms. Bianca was walking down the hall. She said "are you Lauren?", to which Lauren nodded her head. Then she bent down to talk to Lauren and Lauren ran up and jumped in her arms. Too sweet!

Ms. Bianca wanted to take her home. She said "Oh good - Lauren is going to be my social butterfly this year - I love them." She was very sweet and Lauren is excited about going back.



I can't tell you how excited I am that the urchin is not only not scared about the idea of school, but that she's excited about it. I feel better knowing that only one person will be crying in that parking lot on Monday.

Oh, and if you call me around 9:30am this coming Monday, I may need a minute. I think I'm going to be having trouble with my contacts.

I love celebrity roasts. Yes, the language has gotten raunchier over the years and no, it's not the same as when Dean and Sammy or Johnny or anyone else got roasted, but what is?

Sunday night (then again last night), Comedy Central aired a VERY censored version of the Pamela Anderson Roast (to benefit PETA).

They will, by the way, be re-airing this Friday night August 19th or Saturday August 20th at midnight or 1am. I know that's vague, but they website isn't sure what time zone it's in, and all I know is that I saw a commercial during the broadcast that said Comedy Central would be airing the roast UNCUT late at night one night this weeekend.

Anyway, this was terribly entertaining, even making me cringe at times. Courtney Love made me cringe the entire time, as she is the biggest attention whore I've ever seen. She sits on the sofa stage right of the microphone, and she's constantly running her pie hole, cussing at the roasters, flipping them off, and flopping around on the sofa like a smacked out whore, which of course she is.

That is despite the fact that she claims during the roast that she's "been sober for over a year, and these drug yokes are getting old. I mean, jokes...drug jokes, not yokes, are getting old."

Riiiiiiiight. Even though she got busted about two weeks ago for probation violation for being high (this roast was taped August 7th, so I'm guessing she was not, in fact, sober).

Back to the roast. I love Nick DePaolo at roasts. He and Jeffery Ross are about the best besides Kimmel and Corolla. Some of my favorite parts were DiPaolo saying that he masturbated to Pam on Baywatch so many times that he didn't think he'd recognize her in person unless she had just finished eating a glazed donut.

Jeffery Ross had the cringe moment of the night when he asked "how is it possible that Courtney Love looks worse Kurt Cobain?"

Someone mentioned that they wouldn't fuck Bea Arthur's dick with Andy Dick's vagina, and that was quite funny. Bea Arthur reading a passage about how to correctly receive anal sex from one of Pam's books was top shelf as well.

I know why Tommy Lee showed up too. I'd go to any party where 50 of my friends were gonna talk about my huge penis. Talk about an ego boost. Of course, dragging that crank around all the time must be a decent amount of work too...

Sarah Silverman (Jimmy Kimmel's girlfriend) is one of my favorite roasters, especially since she's a chick (duh). Her best effort was "People say Pam wouldn't be anyone if it weren't for her big tits. That's not true at all. She'd be Paris Hilton."

One great joke at her expense was the one that said "the only thing lower than the Kimmel Show's ratings is Sarah Silverman's self-esteem."

Nice.

Anna Nicole Smith was in the audience and when they started making fun of her, she flipped off the stage, and that prompted one comic to quip "Hey...can someone get her a 90 year old cock to suck?"

Other great lines include:

"She loves musicians. She's screwed more musicians than Napster."

"She slept with Scott Baio, the lead singer from Poison and the drummer from Motley Crue. Her life story should be on VH1 on a show entitled "I fucked the 80's."

"Tommy, I saw the movie with you and Pam, and I haven't seen a dick that big on a boat since I went yachting with Donald Trump."

"Adam Corolla, have some dignity and stick to radio. You look like Pete Sampras with Downs Syndrome."

Great stuff.

And watching Andy Dick fondle, grope and jiggle Pam's enormous (and highly visible) cans was hilarious.

I am looking forward to the re-air (uncut) this weekend, and I'm hoping a transcript is available on-line in the not too distant future. There were good lines in there, and I'd like to be able to reference them in the future.

If you get a chance to watch a roast, any roast, on Comedy Central, you should do it. They re-run old ones sometimes too, and Drew Carey's roast is one of the best things I've ever seen on television. Ever. They should release these on DVD in a box set. I'd buy that in a second.

Thanks for coming to the Chuckle Hut everybody. I recommend the veal. I'll be here all week, with two shows on Friday and Sunday. Don't forget to tip your waiters and waitresses.

Goodnight.

Warm green ceramic
Most delicious food around
No, it's not a cult

Today I come in, do my usual routine of verifying that the backups ran, then I started backing up some images to our NAS for safe keeping, since "someone" recently deleted our external image storage device.

(By the way, it was moi that deleted the drive. But we never backed it up before and now we do, so I guess, in the end, that's a good thing).

Anyway, I head into the breakroom for a big bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and a quick browsing of the sports page. I was also chatting with someone about folks in the office that don't pay attention when they put the coffee pot under the coffee maker, and then coffee spills everywhere. You might not think it would, but it happens all the fucking time.

So I'm talking with this person and go to put my spoon on my napkin, but I hook the bowl and spill about a pint of whole milk all over my shirt and, more importantly, my lap. I try to clean it up with water and paper towels, but it's not much use.

Now, I'm wearing khakis, so it looks like I've pissed myself. I also am conidering how nice I am going to smell later in the day with sour milk all over my crotch.

I sure hope I run out of gas on the way home or lose my wallet today.

This weekend was another HUGE milestone in Lauren's life.

As I have previously mentioned, we were having some fair to moderate difficulty getting Lauren to embrace the idea of sleeping in a regular bed and not in her crib. We had finally decided that this Sunday would be the day that we'd take the front off of the crib and slowly start making it less appealing.

However, Mee Mee (my wife's mom) came over Saturday to babysit the urchin and my 9 year old nephew, and she talked the urchin into sleeping in her big bed with the understanding that Mee Mee would sleep with her in her big girl bed.

Well, that never happened and Lauren slept until well after 7:30 yesterday morning.

Later Sunday, with my wife and mother-in-law distracting the urchin, the crib was disassembled, removed, and stored in the closet in the new nursery. In it's place we put a little tykes table and chairs and brought some tea party crap upstairs, along with her new Mrs. Potatohead.

She probably played in there for four hours yesterday. It was amazing. We went up to check on her once and she was just sitting on the bed, playing with Mrs. P., having a big time and enjoying her room. Can you say toybox full of crap upstairs now anyone?

1,000 thanks to Peggy and her efforts to help get the urchin transitioned to her new bed. It's possible her parents were more wierded out by the idea than the daughter.


Now, I have received emails about my recent haiku's, specifically what is the format and what are they specifically.

Dictionary.com defines a haiku as:


A Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons. A poem written in this form.

There. I don't write them about nature, but if you stick with the format, you can't go wrong.

Here's one for today about trampolines.

Ah, sweet stretched nylon.
If you don't break your femur,
we'll play break the egg.

Rather than creating a unique post for each and every haiku I come up with, I've decided to throw several into one post. (I know, and you're welcome).

Here are the topics:

1) Tony Little
2) Microwave popcorn
3) COPS
4) Label makers


Amazing Gazelle
Please don't yank my ponytail
I'm bald underneath.


Guess what I know, Orv?
I know it's not real butter
I won't tell a soul.


Bad boys. Bad boys. Twice.
Naked crackhead getting popped.
Watcha gonna do?


Whose stapler is this?
Is that a red Swingline there?
Label says Milton.

A friend of mine asked me to weigh in on the whole issue of the NCAA getting involved in and creating a mascot scandall where there isn't one.

Let's see, this "ruling" was handed down by the NCAA's executive committee. Said committee consists of representatives of eight Division I schools, and six of those schools are under investigation for major rules infractions.

That "committee" is headed by megalomaniac Myles Brand, who apparently thinks that the Fighting Sioux of North Dakota is more offensive than low graduation rates, gambling, players committing felonies, and all sorts of other problems.

Now, there are many folks that got bullied into changing their mascots. The University of Utah Utes actually consulted their tribal namesake for guidance, and still got bullied into submission.

Here's a fun list from another friend of mine, courtesy of some radio talkhost whose name shall not pass my lips:

1) The Seminoles in Florida have affirmed the use of Seminole by FSU and have ensured that the details are accurate and authentic.

2) Illinois can put Illinois on the jersey but not Illini. Illinois is, of course, a french word meaning "Illini"

3) North Dakota can't use "Fighting Sioux" but instead can use Dakota. The Sioux were a confederation of tribes, one of which being the Dakota.

4) Oklahoma can use Sooner, the people who cheated in stealing Indian lands. The very word Oklahoma is Choctaw for 'red people'.

5) Indiana can use Hoosiers, of course. But the word Indiana means Land of Indians. The NCAA is of course HQ'd in Indianapolis, City of Indians.

6) The big sponsor of the NCAA Basketball tournament is GM, who of course markets a line of vehicles named Pontiac.

See? What kind of crazy shit is this? An institution that can't figure out how to name a national champion wants to wade into this muck?

Myles, do us all a favor. Put away your "what a travesty" rhetoric, put your sheet back on your head and leave the rest of us reasonable folks alone.

Today, while reading the Atlanta Journal and Constitution's Sports page, a buddy of mine noticed something funny. He's a huge Robby Gordon fan and, as such, keeps abreast (tee hee) of most news regarding his favorite driver.

Anyway, he mentioned that the material in the AJC's sports page was very similar, if not identical, to the material he'd read at robbygordon.com earlier in the week.

Well, this humble reporter decided to look into the matter. And would you like to know what I found?

I found that this writer basically cut and pasted a 3 day old article from robbygordon.com or quoted the nascar teleconference in which he MAY have sat in, but did it under the guise of gleening said information by doing a sitdown interview with Robby Gordon.

Shit, the guy calls it "Small talk with...Robby Gordon."

Anyway, here's my letter to the paper:

Sirs:

I live in Atlanta and have for most of my life. I am a loyal reader for many years and have been a continuous subscriber for somewhere over a decade.

This morning over a bagel, I was reading your Inside Racing section, specifically the "From the big time..." section featuring "small talk with... Robby Gordon."

Here are some quotes (in order) from your paper’s interview:

Quote number one:

"There have been a few things that have been difficult, [like] the fleet of cars and some of the personalities. It's easy to say our engines have been our biggest problem. In the beginning, our team wasn't good enough for the engines, and the engines were an easy excuse. They blew up and kind of saved us from looking like a bad race team. Now, we’re a better race team, and our engines are getting a lot more reliable and a lot more competitive."

Quote number two:

It hasn’t been easy for anybody. The [no. 11] Joe Gibbs car has gone home this year. There have been good cars that have [not qualified] that have been in the sport for a long time. The positives are that we are alive and well. Sponsorship is good. Things are building. We’re not shrinking in any way, shape or form.”

Quote number three:

Obviously I’m disappointed that in 1999 we ran out of fuel [while] leading the Indy 500. There are two Indy 500s that have just slipped out of my hands. But I’ve enjoyed racing open wheel. That’s a part of racing that I think all of us wake up every day and love.

Quote number four:

You have to be there at the end. Half the battle is being toward the front for the first half of the race and then having enough race car left – brakes, transmission, and engine – that you haven’t used up during the first half of the race.”

Now, the following are cut and pasted directly from RobbyGordon.com from an entry dated August 9th titled "An interview with Robby Gordon." The "interview" from Robby's website has the following byline:

August 9, 2005 - NASCAR NEXTEL Teleconference Transcript - Robby Gordon

An interview with: ROBBY GORDON

Quote number one:

ROBBY GORDON - There's been a few things that have been difficult. Obviously, the fleet of cars, some of the personnel issues have been interesting at least. And I think, you know, it's easy to point out and say our engines have been our biggest problem because we have lost a lot of engines. But I'm going to say in the beginning, our team wasn't good enough for the engines and the engines were an easy excuse. They blew up and kind of saved us from looking like a bad race team.

Now we're a better race team and our engines are getting a lot more reliable and competitive.

Quote number two:

Robby Gordon - It hasn't been easy for anybody. The Joe Gibbs car has gone home this year. There has been good cars that have gone home that have been in the sport for a long time.

The positives are we are alive and well. Sponsorship is good. Things are building. We're not shrinking in any way, shape or form.

Quote number three:

Robby Gordon - …obviously I'm disappointed in '99 we ran out of fuel leading the Indy 500. Heartbreak, okay? '95, running fourth -- running second to Scott Goodyear, 10 laps to go, ahead of Villeneuve, thought I had a flat tire, pitted, and didn’t have a flat tire. Villeneuve wins the race because Goodyear jumps the restart. Two Indy 500s that slipped out of my hands.

But I've enjoyed racing open-wheel. That's a part of racing that I think all of us wake up every day and love.

Quote number four:

Robby Gordon - You have to be there at the end. Half the battle (inaudible) after the race, and then having enough race car left, brakes, engine, transmission, that you haven't used in the first half of the race…”

My question to all parties involved is, isn’t it standard practice when referencing the material of others to footnote their work? And this isn’t “referencing” by the way. This is downright plagiarism.

I notice the name Jeff Hood at the bottom of these columns on page E4 today, yet the only name listed in the actual transcript of the interview was Denise Maloof, whom I assume, was moderating.

Can you please explain to me how this is any different (other than subject matter) than what several high profile writers including Mitch Albom have been censured and worse for in the recent past?

In my opinion, it’s not any different. Employees of your paper are there to be sure that facts are right and, I assume, that proper credit is given to those that actually did the work. This isn’t like last week when the front of the sports page claimed that Tony Stewart was the first driver to “do the double” by racing in the Coke 600 and the Indy 500 in the same day. In 1994, John Andretti became the first driver to “do the double,” five full years before Tony’s first try. Of course, why should the truth get in the way of a good story?

Over the years, I’ve given your staff at the sports page a pass on misspelled names and places and other errors as well, because that happens. I’ve winced and even written an email or two when facts were wrong and obviously so.

This, however, is too much. I can think of no valid explanation for the blatant theft of another’s work and claiming it as one’s own. If NASCAR gives you permission to run excerpts from their conference calls and Robby Gordon has given you permission to steal from his website without crediting the originator(s) of the work, then I apologize.

But I am fairly certain that Robby didn’t give you permission, and I am more than reasonably certain that NASCAR gave you no such permission either, at least without crediting your source.

I welcome any attempt at an explanation that you or a member of your staff may have.

Regards,

I eagerly await their reply...

I like the seasons.
The food and weather are great.
I love to say y'all.

You say good food fast.
You ask "Scattered or smothered?"
What's the diff? I'm drunk.

Uh huh, this my shit
I ain't no hollaback girl
gonna lead the pack

Hey waitress no teeth.
Shouldn't you have cooked these more?
what salmonella?

No more naps for you.
Should have been asleep by now.
Where's the Benadryl?

Abduction my ass.
Crazy as a shit house rat.
Mow the fucking lawn.

This haiku is about four hour erections:

How long's it been stiff?
Four fucking hours? No shit?
I can't urinate.

I got to thinking about lactation, so here goes:

amazing hoo hahs.
give life and make men ogle.
I wish I had boobs.

Oh creamy goodness
How you loosen my bowels.
Ack!! No paper here!!

Credit: Again, Ethel suggested this topic.

"Will it hurt?" I asked.
"Not at all," the asshole said.
He must have been high.

credits: Ethel suggested this one.

I am feeling a bit creative this week, so here's what I want you to do.

Email me a subject (by way of adding a comment to this post) and I will write a haiku about it.

Why am I interested in writing haikus, you might ask? I have no earthly idea. But it seems fun and I think I can do something with it.

Here's an example of what I can do:

Weeds are in the beds.
Mosquitos bite my ankles.
Damn them all to hell.

See? It's easy AND fun.

In recent days / weeks / months, the wife and I have taken great pain (with much help from others) to get my office moved, the nursery started and get Lauren's "new" room ready for her.

Now, those that know her know full well that there's no way on God's green rock that we'd dare broach the subject of moving her to a different room. After all, this is the girl that insists you not leave a sock or receipt on her dresser when she's going to sleep for the night.

But we have put in new furniture, painted, and assembled her new bed (and moved the crib off and into a corner more or less) trying to encourage her to vacate the crib in favor of said new bed. And actually, the bed's not new. It's been in there since she asked for it in January. She just chooses not to sleep in it.

Her crib is one of those birth to lonely death beds that convert from crib to daybed to bed with headboard and back again, so you should "never ever need to buy this child another bed again."

Unless of course, you decide to have another child and don't want to invest one thin dime into any crib, new or used, since you have one that most assuredly would get vacated about 2 seconds after the baby came home anywyay.

Now, my initial plan was to remove everything that she has / likes /wants in her crib and putting it in the bed that's next to her crib. I'm talking no sheets, no pillow, no piggy, no bee-bees, no blanket, no "guys," nothing. Either that or waiting until the new arrival comes home, and putting her in bed with Lauren.

(Quite frankly I figured that this latter idea would really work and be quite funny. Alas, I was out-voted by the wife).

So, this weekend, we have decided that it's time slowly start removing parts from the crib to make it less appealing. We will remove the front gate, making it a day bed on Saturday. I feel confident that this will lead to a night of not good sleep, but I plan to Nyquil and Tylenol PM my way through any wimpering.

I'll keep you posted...

So, I walk in the house last night and flip on the local news, expecting to see some illegals have shot up another restaurant named after table seasonings, or maybe some more dumbass kids injured or killed thanks to not enough driver's training by their parents and being handed the keys to way too powerful a vehicle, or quite possibly some more infuriating coverage of the missing pretty white girl in Aruba.

What I got for 15 minutes were images of a strangely familiar face wearing an orange vest and mowing some foot tall grass.

Then suddenly, it hits me. "Fuck me," I said to myself. "It's that runaway whore again, and the three local network afilliates are actually covering her doing community service."

That's right, people. Instead of doing stories on judges that get hammered at lunch or the latest Amber alert or a person arrested for leaving their dog in the car too long, I'm watching Miss Jennifer "he'll never marry me" Wilbanks pushing the Husqvarna in front of some county office.

There she was in an orange / red ball cap that said "life is good" on it and she's stalling the fucking mower every ten feet. And then she has to wheel it over to the sidewalk to get one of the figuratively fellating news goobers to re-start the mower. Then, she'd head back out, take too wide a cut of grass too tall and too wet, stall it, and repeat as necessary.

The funny thing is, with all of that news coverage, no one got the details of the fucking story straight. They all ran the same footage of some county manager broad saying Jennifer was being treated like anyone else, and that she'd be cleaning offices, washing cars, mowing lawns, picking up trash, etc.

But one station said Jenny'd done 24 hours of her 200ish total, while another said 32 hours had been completed, and still another said 27 or so.

Oh, and she's paid a "portion" of the $3500 fine. Daddy's loaded and she's wearing twenty five grand on her boney crazy-assed finger, but she can't show up for the first day of perp-walk with a check?

Please.

Anyway, there she is getting interviewed over and over again, all the while NOT mowing the god damned lawn and still getting credit for her 24/27/32/ one million hours of time served.

How about you put a pedometer on her crazy ass and link it to a clock that stops every time she stops? Maybe then she'd get some shit done.

Oh, and footage of her getting into her Lexus with a damp brow stating that she just wanted everyone to know she was serving her sentence and not getting away with anything made me think "self, me thinks she be getting away with something here."

Oh well. Maybe I'll flip to Fox and see how great the shrub is and how they still haven't found that hot chick...

A couple of observations from the weekend:

3 year olds, when tired, can get REALLY whiney. REALLY REALLY whiney. By comparison to other kids it's no big deal, but man, that's all relative.

Kids today don't have nearly the motivation that we had at their age. This weekend, my nephew's house got rolled, if you can call it that. They used about 3 rolls of toilet paper, and half of it was sort of rolled across the yard. No, they don't have big trees in the front yard, but they have copious shrubbery and a line of leland cypress' along one side of the driveway. Yet these midnight ne'er do wells didn't think to wrap them up as well.

When we were kids and rolled someone, we'd create a whiteout condition. We also did fun stuff like bunning folks' yards. (more on that later).

On the bright side for these vandals, it did rain several times throughout the night and morning, so the paper was nearly impossible to completely pick up by hand. Kudos I say.

I burned myself on my lawnmower because I am a dumbass. Oh, and because the manifold on a toro can apparently get to 800 degrees Kelvin in less than 20 seconds. My right right finger stuck to the damned thing. Later, my ever-charming brother in law mentioned that it would be funny if my blister had the letters T O H on it. That way, he'd know for sure that I put my finger right on the engraved warning that says H O T right on the fucking manifold.

School started for the nephews this week (the ones in elementary and high school). It's appropriately drizzly and shitty out. I love the first week or two when Nick is just overwhelmed by the fact that the bus comes at 6:20am and he's worn slap out.

Tony Stewart won the Allstate 400 from the Brickyard, and that was quite cool. I've spent two years shitting on him for being an asshole and driving like one, but he's recently moved home to Indiana and seems the better for it.

Rafael Palmeiro got busted for the same steroid Ben Johnson got caught using, and this just five months after wagging his finger at congress and saying that he had never taken steroids. I hope he gets convicted of perjury and jailed. Maybe his Viagra will come in handy in the big house.

***Potential boring alert*****

I don't jaw too much about politics. Ask anyone that knows me. If I do, it's to shit on folks like Cynthia McKinney, the Fulton County Sheriff, and asshole Duluth policemen that give ridiculous speeding tickets instead of doing any actual crime prevention in the shadow of the police station.

That said, the biggest news of the weekend, however, is that my Brother In Law's brother Adam bought me, my brother in law and about 10 other folks a book. It's by Neal Boortz and John Linder and it's called "The FairTax Book: Saying Goodbye to the Income Tax and the IRS."

Sounds boring, I know. But after five pages you realize how exhilerating it is to find out how you are being fucked over by our government. Do you realize that the 16th ammendment goes against the Bill of Rights? Do you realize that as of 2004, 52% of Americans paid 100% of the income tax, and that number is sliding every day? That means that pretty soon, the minority of the citizenry will be paying 100% of the income tax? Do you realize theat over $700 is spent preparing income tax returns for every $1000 paid in income tax? Does it not bother you that in a country based on freedoms like rights to privacy, religion and speech, the IRS can simply walk into your house (figuratively AND literally) and demand personal records, financial information, family wealth information, etc?

This is not a democrat or republican problem. It's a bipartisan fucking of the citizenry that goes against everything that this nation stands for and was built upon. Jimmy Carter was the first president to float the idea of taxing dividends and earnings straight away. Guess who the second was? The great communicator himself, Ronald Reagan. That's right folks. The guy your parents figuratively fellate at every turn was trying to tax their fucking investment dividends and earnings, and actually got it enacted until the public gave a collective "What the fuck is THAT?" and got it reversed.

Consider how different a consumption tax would be. Let's say it was 30% or roughly what gets taken from your paycheck now. You would take home 100% of what you earn and only be taxed when you chose to spend money. You'd still buy groceries and clothes and cars, etc., and be taxed accordingly and a similar amount.

However, you'd get to invest and save and make decisions about your future. How great would THAT be?

Another great benefit would be that all residents of this country, legal AND illegal, would pay taxes, which doesn't happen now. Illegals and day workers and folks that just flat choose not to pay taxes under the current system would now pay. No more moving here, getting paid in cash and not pitching in for your kids' educations, health care, etc. You may not be legal, but you're gonna pay to be here just like I do. Can you imagine how great that would be?

I have never been much for causes or people with causes. I see people with causes and think "what a freak" or "damned hippies," and usually figure them for zealots or crazies.

However, this is a cause that should be at the forefront of every citizen in this country. If you are at all concerned with your future, your children's future or your family's future, you need to read this book and get involved.

I will continue to comment as I read further. But you can expect to hear about this from me soon and often. This is my cause.

To order this book, click here.

So last night, I stayed up later than I ought to have watching something on MSNBC from 11pm to midnight.

(After extensive research just now, I remembered that it was the season finale for season two of the show "The Restaurant," starring Rocco DiSpirito and Jeffrey Chodorow. Don't ask me why. I have no idea. Suddenly I am enamored with shows about restaurants. I think that if they had a reality show based around my friend Andy's pizza shop (Cooley's Pizza) in Suwanee, Georgia, I'd watch that too).

Anywho, I finally went to sleep about 11:50 or so, and at 3:30am, miss stinky herself (oh...I'm talking about Lauren here) was awake and calling me.

In the past (distant and recent), I have caved in to this behavior. But in my defense, it's mostly when she's sick or seems sickly. But anyway, I'll bring her into our room, we'll all toss and turn while she kicks us or pokes Molly in the jibblies or tries to jam a pacifier in someone's mouth or sticks her fingers in my ear.

Then, it's back to her room where we "try" to sleep in her big girl bed, but usually to no avail.

But last night, I went in, looked at her, she stood in her crib, opened her arms to grab around my neck and I said "Nope. Not tonight. I am going to get you some water, we can talk about whatever you want for a minute, but then you're laying down and going back to sleep."

She looked at me...shocked.

I got the water, we talked for a minute, I fixed her bed back up, and she laid down. I then left the room and, with 45 minutes to an hour (where she was mostly silent), she went back to sleep.

HOORAY!!! I am the boss, dammit!!

Next stop: stealing her crib from her room when she's not looking.

Molly and I drove our own cars to the ultrasound appointment since I was at work today, and I beat her there by a few minutes. As I was getting out of the car, my phone rang and it was the wife saying that she had been right behind me and was in the parking lot. She said she had to park right by the gate coming in because Lauren "had to go poop."

Now prospective parents, despite your belief that your kids are potty trained, it's always a good idea to keep that porta-potty camp toilet looking thing in the back of the old SUV. Why?

Here's why...




Oh, and in case that's not funny enough, as I was sitting here typing this in my manroom (which is now also doubling as Lauren's new clubhouse), I heard Lauren over the monitor saying (rather loudly) "Get me out. Get me out."

At the same time, the wife and I met at her room, and she was in her crib. Curious how she got in there, I said "Lauren, how'd you get in there? Can you show me?"

So she pulled herself up and stood on the bottom of the crib gate thingy, stood then on the bumper pad, swung a leg over and threw her right arm out to the end of the crib, straddled the crib gate, and slid over and into the crib.

However, when she landed (on her feet), she was holding...um...herself and I asked (as a good daddy will) "Honey, did you hurt your vagina doing that?"

She replied "Yeah, but it's okay daddy. It tickles when I do that."

Egad.


Oh, and the wife wanted me to share one more great daddy story today. About six months or so ago, she and Lauren were in the grocery store when Lauren saw an acorn squash and she said "Mommy!! A peanut!! A peanut!! Can we get it?"

The wife figures "sure...why not?" The wife and the daughter like squash, so maybe this is another veggie Lauren'll like.

However, a problem arose over the next several days. Despite our best efforts to tell her it was squash, she referred to it as a big peanut. Except that Lauren couldn't say peanut. She often had a pacifier in her mouth and that didn't help. Anyone that came into the house over the next week got "Hey!! Look at the big penis!!! I wuv big penis. I wuv big penis SOOOOO much. I wuv big penis in my mouf. Mommy, do YOU wuv big penis in YOUR mouf? Daddy, does that big penis go in your mouf? (I don't eat squash). This led to recurring dinner conversations that included "Daddy, why won't you put the big penis in your mouf? Do you not wike big penis in your mouf?"

I thought I was going to have a thrombosis.

Today we went for another ultrasound to confirm what we already knew, and that is that I will soon be the lone male adrift in a sea of estrogen. Lauren has now acknowledged both that she is having a baby sister and that she will be a big sister. For any of you that know her, you know that this last step looked to be the toughest. She kept insisting that she was going to be a big brother. Sigh…

Anyway, while at the ultrasound, Lauren (after returning from the bathroom) asked me (in front of eight or so strangers in the ultrasound waiting area) “Daddy, did you hear my poopies go down?”

“Yes honey. Of course I did.” (Not true, but who wants to fight that battle at the OB/GYN’s office.

A quick sidebar here. After waiting for about 45 minutes in the waiting room, we got “the call” and headed back to the ultrasound room. However, we were re-directed into an ultrasound waiting area. Why did I have to move at all? I mean, this is like at Six Flags when you are in that forever fucking long line for the Mind Bender and when you get to the front (after two hours), you realize that only one third of the line was outside, and you’re not getting on the Mind Bender any time soon.

From now on, just leave us out front until it’s our turn for real. If the lobby’s full, I understand, but making us move to a different set of chairs is just silly.

Anyway, I return you to today’s blog…

“Did YOU make poopies at your office today?”

Egad. No win situation. Ignoring this question results in it being asked again, only more loudly, while answering in the affirmative in front of eight strangers doesn’t make me too happy either.

“No honey.”

Ah, life as the parent of a three year old.

Anyway, the reason I tell you this is that I had a funny thing happen a few months ago that I shared with some of you but not all, and it came up this weekend again and I had forgotten how funny it was.

One Saturday morning this spring, Lauren and I went to Best Buy to pickup a vacuum cleaner. We got to the store early and were goofing around outside, playing hide and seek and crap like that, when a girl who we’ll call Tiffani, (appearing to be about 18-25) that worked there started talking to Lauren and I and just killing time.

About ten minutes later the store opened and we all went inside, Tiffani to her register and Lauren and I to the vacuum cleaner area.

We got our desired product and headed for the checkout, where we saw Tiffani. She talked to us again for a few minutes while we processed the transaction, and all of a sudden, Lauren looks up at Tiffani and says “My daddy makes tooters and sometimes they stink.”

Inside I’m thinking “Ummmm….what the fuck did you just say? WHAT?!?!?!”

Outside, I’m a cool customer, act like it didn’t happen, and continue with the keypad.

Tiffani looks at Lauren and says “excuse me?” Perhaps she hadn’t heard Lauren. However, I think she said “excuse me?” out of shock more or less, and probably meant for it to be internal dialog.

Nevertheless, upon hearing “excuse me,” Lauren said:

“I SAID MY DADDY MAKES TOOTERS AND SOMETIMES THEY STINK!!”

I looked at Lauren, then directly into the shocked face of you Tiffani. All I said was “Well Tiffani. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I feel confident that if I ever come back to buy something and you’re here, you’ll remember us. Thanks and have a nice day.”

Then I walked out of Best Buy with a vacuum cleaner in one hand, Lauren’s hand in the other, and completely and thoroughly embarrassed, and yet somehow pleased that my daughter had said such a thing in public AND at my expense.

I can’t wait to hear what the next one has in store for me. Hopefully she’ll focus on embarrassing her older sister and leave me out of it…