Realizing A Dream

When I was in 1st grade, I was obsessed with Kiss. Yep, 1st grade. In fact, the first record I ever bought with my own money was Destroyer by Kiss, which I purchased that same year. Eventually, I collected all their albums, studying them carefully as I listened to them over and over. And I was especially fixated on Gene Simmons. I read his letter on the inner sleeve of Alive! intently until I had it memorized, and drove my mom batshit crazy by sticking out my tongue at everyone I passed by. Needless to say, my dream was to be Gene Simmons when I grew up.

That dream will be coming true this Halloween Night when I perform as Gene Simmons at my friend's Kiss-themed Halloween party (KISSHOUSE). This thing is going to be huge, as it has already made the front page of the Tennessean. I have obsessively pored over my costume details for weeks now, trying to get it perfect. Right now, it resembles a disturbing S&M ensemble. I'm hoping that that by the time the wig and make-up are in place, it won't be quite so unnerving. I'll have pictures to post in the next few days. Happy Halloween, bitches!

Tenses - Where Did We Go Wrong?

In my ever-frustrating world of Grammar Nazi-ism, I've come to notice way too many people who have no concept of tenses in sentence structure. If you're wondering what I'm talking about, just listen to Finebaum or go to Wal-Mart. For example:

"Yesterday, he come out of the house and run down the street." Incorrect

""Yesterday, he came out of the house and ran down the street." Correct

And people wonder what is wrong with our education system. Where did we go wrong as a society? I understand that kids pick up a lot of bad grammar habits from their friends and/or parents. I can't speak for everyone else, but we covered tenses at my elementary school. And don't these children read? Why is it so effing hard to speak correctly?

Random Fleeting Thoughts

I know it's been awhile. Let's catch up.

The Tide
I don’t want to jinx this year’s team, but damn they’re good. I realize we still haven’t gotten to the meat of the schedule, but McElroy is looking like our most efficient QB since Gary Hollingsworth. Julio is God. And I would rather get sacked by Charles Jefferson than have to fuck with the two headed monsters of Ingram/Richardson or McClain/Hightower. Damn they’re good.

The Fuck?
MacKenzie Phillips, what the hell are you doing? Whether it’s true or not, no one wants the image of you and your father doin’ the grown-up in their head. Personally, I think it’s BS – either way, she comes off looking reeeeally bad. This is nothing more than a whore tactic to sell books.

Banned
Recently, my old band from college, Three Hour Tour played a gig at the “new” Booth in Tuscaloosa. The following week, we were asked to never play there again due to “vulgarities” that were communicated over the mic that evening. Other than telling some chick that her mouth would make a lovely urinal (an oldie but goodie), I don’t recall anything all that offensive coming out of our mouths. It’s a college town for gawd’s sake – let the people speak freely!

A Dream Come True
When I was in first grade, I wanted to be Gene Simmons. Besides Evel Knievel, I thought he was the coolest mofo in the world. After being turned down by my dad to go see them live as a kid, I finally got to see Kiss on their reunion tour in ’96, and once more a few years ago. Now I have the opportunity of a lifetime. Next month, a bandmate buddy will be throwing a huge Kiss-themed Halloween party. Headlining the event will be a Kiss tribute band with none other than yours truly as freaking Gene Simmons. I received my Gene wig in the mail the other day and I’ve got platform boots arriving next week. Game on, bitches!

Drinking, Charles Barkley, Elephants and More Drinking

The dreaded 40th birthday has arrived and I must say that I am proud of myself for accomplishing my goal of getting s**tfaced this past weekend. It started with a bang Friday night when me and my PharmHand bandmates arrived at Greybar to find out that Charles Barkley was in town and might be stopping by at some point. Apparently, he and the owner are big buddies. I filed that tidbit away and went about my business of rocking the house and drinking many brewskis.

Finally, around 1AM, in walks Charles Barkley himself. It just so happened that we were between songs, so I took it upon myself to call out Sir Charles over the microphone. "IT'S ABOUT F**KING TIME YOU GOT HERE!," I hollered as he walked in the door. He stopped briefly and turned toward the stage with a "Did I really just hear what I think I heard?" look on his face. "Oh shit," I thought to myself, and turned toward the rest of the band. "Um, okay - one, two, three..." Fortunately, nothing came of it. At 2AM, we were in the parking lot, ready to go home. I asked my faithful bandmate, Patrico Suave, if he was going to Buffalo Wild Wings to hang with our buddies there for a late night drink. Three beers, two Jaeger Bombs and two hours later, my head finally hit the pillow. I felt like ass on Saturday as a result. But I had to recover for...

Three Hour Tour Saturday night. We were set to play at our home away from home at The Brick in Decatur with a special guest - Steve Boyd of The White Animals, a musical idol from my youth. The shots started at 9:15 and continued through the night: Goldschlager, Jaegermeister, Maker's Mark - it was a plethora of libations. By the time we had made it to the second set, I was plastered and my liver was drowning. The third set doesn't exist for me, since I have no recollection of it whatsoever.




Today was the big day and I pulled into the parking lot at work to find a collection of elephants and footballs, as pictured above, from the company that displays those gay flamingos. Regardless, I received many lovely birthday wishes and gifts from many friends and family members. It's over now, so I can quit my bitching and get on with it. I'm still paying the price for my drunkenness over the weekend, but it was damn worth it. Peace out, bitches!

Old Concerts, Part 2

One of the greatest live bands I have ever seen, The Replacements made frequent appearances in these parts during the late 80's until their breakup in '91. I actually saw them a total of seven times, the most interesting being the opening slot with Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers in the summer of '89. I'll never forget this show, which was in Nashville. The Mats (as they were affectionately refferred to by their fans) had already endured a not so friendly Tom Petty fan base, who were simply not prepared for the contrast of The Mats' sloppiness compared to the professionalism of The Heartbreakers. Not only did the boys walk out onstage wearing dresses, they also proceeded to flip off the crowd while being booed. Classic.




Like The Police, Prince and VH, I was lucky enough to catch U2 at their absolute peak on the Joshua Tree tour. Despite having nosebleed seats at The Omni (so high up that we resorted to renting binoculars), it was still an incredible show.






In the summer of '89, my friend Dave S. and I did something I had never done and haven't done since - camped out for concert tickets. The Stones playing at Legion Field in B-ham was a HUGE deal at the time, but not as big of a deal as the face value of the tickets - $30.00! I know that sounds paltry considering how much concert tickets are these days but believe me, it was a big deal. Naturally, we didn't give a rat's ass. It was the Stones! The concert was truly a religious experience for me. I couldn't believe I was standing there watching The Rolling Freaking Stones. It was an out of body feeling that I've only had one other time at a concert - seeing Paul McCartney in '02.

I saw the Stones at Legion Field again in '94 but it just wasn't the same as seeing them for the first time. The other ticket stub from London was sent to me by my friend, Dave C., who saw them at Wembley Stadium on the Urban Jungle Tour of 1990.

The Worst Birthday

As the impending doom of turning 40 approaches, I'm reminded of another dreadful birthday from years ago - my 13th birthday. My friend, "W", had a patch of woods behind his house and the afternoon before the big day, he led my back there to see something he had hidden under some leaves. That "something" was a Hustler magazine. Now, I had sneaked into my parents' bedroom on several occasions to peak at my father's Playboys and had gazed with giddy excitement at the photos inside (and the articles of course). But nothing had prepared me for the pure bliss of Hustler's graphic shots of nether regions. I mean, I was 13 after all.

I sat on a tree stump and stared in amazement at each page with ecstasy while "W" took a leak behind a tree. Suddenly, there was buzzing all around me. Alas, I had sat/stepped on a yellow jacket's nest and now they were wailing on my horny ass. I threw the magazine down and started running while flailing away at the swarming insects as they stung me all over. By the time I made it home, I had been stung over 20 times, and there were still several live ones stuck in my hair. I ended up in the bath tub the rest of the day with meat tenderizer rubbed all over my body. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.

My birthday party was scheduled the next day at Holiday Skating Rink, and the show went on as planned. Unfortunately, I was unable to do anything but stand at the door and wave stiffly as all my friends entered and proceeded to have all kinds of fun rollerskating to the hits of the day. I was miserable and in pain. I didn't tell my mom the real reason we were in the woods until years later. As with all the other incidents I disclosed over time, she just frowned, shook her head and wondered just where in the hell she had gone wrong.

Old Concerts, Part 1

My first concert was The Doobie Brothers in 1977 when I was in second grade, complete with the great Jeff "Skunk" Baxter jamming away with headphones on while sitting in a chair. The next shows I attended over the next several years included The Bee Gees, The Village People, Christopher Cross, Loverboy and The Police. At some point, I decided to start saving my ticket stubs, some of which you're about to see. I must disclose that I stole the idea for this post from my Spitball Army comrade. Sorry/thanks, Fred.






Last year marked the first R.E.M. tour since the '84 Reckoning tour that I didn't see at least one show. Both the '84 and '85 concerts were at the old Foster Auditorium in front of about 1000 people. The '85 show was special because we hung around afterward and met all of the band except Mike Mills. Peter Buck was wearing blue suede shoes and I decided right then that he was the coolest person in the world. I got each one to sign the back of my ticket stub, as you can see.




I was lucky enough to see Prince at his peak on the Purple Rain tour. The show went so well that a second show was immediately booked for an unusual Sunday afternoon show two weeks later at the same venue. I saw Prince again a few years ago and he was once again amazing - like he hadn't aged at all.





That same year I had the privilege of seeing another giant artist at their peak, the mighty Van Halen on their 1984 tour - their last with David Lee Roth until reuniting almost 25 years later. They absolutely f**king rocked that night. I remember buying a tour t-shirt at the show and wearing it to school the next day without washing it, wondering why it smelled so smoky and putrid. The next time I saw them in '86, they were fronted by Sammy Hagar. It was also the night I almost died thanks to Clark Cooper, who drove his mom's station wagon at 95mph down Red Mtn. Expressway.



Believe it or not, there was a time when Phil Collins wasn't necessarily considered cool, but he was not yet considered uncool.




Speaking of uncool, Bryan Adams became just that the night I saw him play "Summer of '69" and sing the lyric "Back in the summer of '85!" during the last chorus. I don't know who was more dorky at that moment, Adams or the thousands of tools who roared with approval.




This was the first concert that I was able to drive to with friends after getting my drivers license two months earlier. And what a pairing! About the only thing I remember was Night Ranger rising up from under the stage amid thick fog before launching into their opening number, "You Can Still Rock In America". Yes you can.




This was Sting's first solo tour after years of success with The Police, who I was fortunate enough to see on the Synchronicity tour. Great show, weird venue (Boutwell).

That Guy

In light of the unfortunate passing of John Hughes, I'm reminded of some of the great "who's that guy?" character actors that he utilized in most of his films. Here are some of my favorites:


J.T. Walsh

He was the man. J.T. was at his best when playing a low-key prick, as in The Client, Backdraft and Breakdown. But he also stole the show in money roles such as Blue Chips, Outbreak and my favorite, as Lt. Col. Markinson in A Few Good Men. Playboy once called him "everybody's favorite scumbag". A true American actor, Walsh died in 1998.


Paul Gleason

Gleason, like Walsh, was another classic actor best known for playing a series of laughable pricks. Probably best remembered as Richard Vernon in The Breakfast Club, Gleason played a series of similar roles in Johnny Be Good and Die Hard. Unfortunately, he also died a few years ago.


M. Emmet Walsh

Walsh has had a long and versatile career playing a variety of characters. He won several independent film awards for his private dick role in The Coen Brothers' first film, Blood Simple. My personal favorite films of his are as the can-hating sniper in The Jerk, the probing doctor in Fletch, and the bumbling sports fan attorney in Wildcats.


Ted Levine

If there's any doubt who this guy is, all you gotta know is "Buffalo Bill". His Jame Gumb character from Silence Of The Lambs is one of the most memorable yet disturbing movie villains of all time. These days, he's best known for his role as Leland Stottlemeyer on the show Monk. In between, he's been in such films as Heat and Switchback.


Barry Corbin

With his Texas twang and his authoritative presence, Corbin was memorable in many appearances over the years. His breakthrough performance was as Uncle Bob in the classic, Urban Cowboy. He also contributed mightily to Stir Crazy, Wargames and later in the TV hit, Northern Exposure. More recently, he played a key role in the Best Picture Winner, No Country For Old Men.

Pregger Parking

What is the deal with the pregnant/new mother parking at grocery stores? Is this fair? I don't think so. And before you women go off on me, think about this. When have you ever seen a pregnant woman carrying items to her car anyway? Stop thinking about it - you haven't. Pregnant women (and many women in general) utilize the service of bag boys/men helping them take grocery items to their cars. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm just waiting on the first female to chew me out in the parking lot for violating this request, which is what it is - a request. I challenge anyone to find a written law or ordinance that legally allows this entitlement. Unless men are granted similar parking privileges for recent hernia surgery, scrotal trauma, or something along those lines, then I call bulls**t on this one.

Aural Overkill

Why do so many restaurants have crappy music pumping through their sound systems? The ones that are trying to be urban hip are the worst offenders - Surin West is a prime example. Instead of a nice, relaxing background of jazz or mellow acoustic sounds, diners are continuously subjected to some of the worst pulsating techno-dance bewailing in all the world. Which industry geniuses out there decided that this particular genre would be effective for people trying to eat a decent meal? It's not a European transient lounge - it's a freaking restaurant. Let us eat in peace. Please.

One Month To Go

...until life, as I know it, is over. While most of you are caught up in the countdown until college football season, I've been dreading the end of August. Why? Because it's the end of my 30's. I will be turning 40 freaking years old one month from today. I don't want to hear any comments about how it really isn't that bad because you know what? It is. Just ask my mother - I actually yelled at her recently for reminding me for the 1000th time that I'm "about to turn 40." So bring on the ball busting and the old person jokes. I might as well get used to it as I enjoy my final month of youth.

TT's Guide To Starting A Cover Band, Part One

Having played in many bands over the years, I’ve gained much experience and knowledge in the area of performing. And while I had a couple of stints in bands that worked on “making it” with original material, the majority of these years (especially the past decade) has been spent whoring myself in countless cover bands. Wanting to set your mind into starting a cover band? I think U better close it and let me guide U…

Know the song, don’t learn the song

“What’s the difference?” you might ask. Many people make the mistake of concentrating solely on playing the song – the chords, the lyrics, the ending, etc. But if you aren’t familiar with the song, you’ll forget the little things. Is the solo section 4 bars or 8? Is the bridge after the second chorus or the third? LISTEN to the damn song all the way through over and over without an instrument on your lap, without listening to YOUR part. KNOW the song so when you’re playing it, you automatically know where to go when.

T - - E - - M - - P - - O

If your drummer can’t keep a beat or plays too fast, you’re screwed. Might as well just forget it and quit before the first practice is over, because he’s gonna lead you down a path of putrid aural chaos. Having played with some of the best drummers around, I’ve been spoiled. There’s nothing more frustrating than a sucky drummer. Too many yahoos spend an inordinate amount of time playing badass fills and rushing to the next cool section of a song. Mr. Jackson said it best - Relax your mind…lay back and groove with mine.


Be versatile

Don't be a band that just plays between the lines. Find some guys who have an ear for music and can play requests on the fly. There's nothing wrong with saying no to requesters or at least asking them to show a tit or two, but be prepared when the hot girls make requests for gay songs you wouldn't necessarily be caught dead performing otherwise.

Leave them wanting more

There's nothing more pathetic than a band who plays an overly looooong third set in front of four drunks who keep asking for "Sweet Caroline" or "Sweet Home Alabama". Know when the party's over and step away while the fire's still hot. There's nothing wrong with leaving the audience wanting more...

I'll offer more hot tips in a future post.

Kids With Mohawks - Why?

This is a phenomenon that is growing like a weed, because I've noticed several of these poor children on the beach this week. I'm not talking about teenagers but small children! For the love of everything good and holy, why would any parent allow their child to have a freaking Mohawk haircut? Not only is it classless, but it's just bad parenting. And yes, I know I'm not a parent. But, by God, I know I'd be better than any schmuck who'd let their kid out of the house looking like a Travis Barker mini-me. What's next, tats and piercings? Serenity now!

Beach Tools

When choosing a spot on the beach, I like to be fairly isolated - I like my own space. Earlier this week it was pretty easy but as the week has winded down, more folks have shown up and set up camp in their own spots. There are now more umbrellas and chairs, including a tall pole with an American flag and a Univ. of Alabama flag underneath it.

Yesterday, I walked out and discovered that a group of tools had erected their own Neverland right next to our stuff. There was a 10x10 LSU tent with a bunch of chairs and towels strewn around it. A group of douchebag clones were gathered - twentysomething guys holding beers (along with their dicks), wearing visors, standing around talking about intellectual topics such as NASCAR, animals they've killed and what they bought on their last trip to Home Depot. Their shitty music was blasting from underneath the tent, deafening the other beachgoers around them.

I decided to relinquish my space and move a few feet beyond our original spot. That's when one of the tools walked over with a small orange flag and said, "Hey man - is this yours?"

"No, but it was here yesterday. I don't know who it belongs to," I said.

"Yeah, we ought to use it to cover up that Alabama stuff over there."

I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "What?"

"We need to cover up that damn Alabama flag over there."

"Um, yeah, I went there,", I said, making my annoyance obvious to this jackass.

"Oh, well we're all all Auburn grads and our wives went to LSU," said the genius.

I looked past him and scanned his buddies shooting the breeze next to their tent.

"Nice pairing," I snickered, with conspicuous disdain. I picked up my stuff and proceeded to relocate to spot a good distance away, making it clear that I didn't want any part of their group or any pissing contest over SEC affiliation. They spent the rest of the day tossing the frisbee and frattin' it up with their Tigerettes in tow.

Rumifications from Day 1 At The Beach

- I can't stand what I call "car clusters" on the interstate. See if this sounds familiar: you're driving 80 on cruise control - no one around you, perfect conditions; a group of 3 or 4 cars approach and then hover around you for several miles at inconsistent speeds. You pass them, they pass you, they mess up your pace and you keep having to tap the brake to disengage the cruise control. "Screw this," you say, and floor it to 100 just to get a half mile ahead of these bozos and drive at your own speed by yourself. A few minutes later, they catch up with you again, cluster around you and linger. Why the f**k do people do this?

- Similar scenario: you walk out onto the wide open beach - only a few people out there and plenty of space. You stake out your own spot, away from other people. A young couple saunters out a little later, plopping down 10 yards away. Whatever. Soon afterwards, a family appears out of nowhere, hauling coolers, rafts, chairs, umbrellas and loud children. Where do they decide set up camp? You got it - 10 yards away on the other side. You sit up, look around at the vast empty beach in either direction, turn back to glare at your new neighbors, and wonder why the f**k these people felt it necessary to invade your space. Same thing happenes in movie theaters by the way.

- I'm gonna sound like a hypocrite in light of my last post, but I've had it with the Michael Jackson tributes and retrospectives on every single news and/or cable channel. Enough already. Peace out.

Another GD Michael Jackson Tribute

I hate to pile on with another Michael Jackson tribute but the man deserves it. I’ve often said that I was a fan of his “when he was black”. It’s partially a joke but it is also true. When he was making real soul music, there was no one ever better and for a time, everything he touched was gold. His albums Off The Wall and Thriller are simply two of the greatest albums of all time. If you’re wondering about that, I’d like you to turn off your TV, turn off your cell phone, lock yourself in a room and listen. This is what I did over and over and over again as a kid. Listen to Side One (the first five songs on your CD) of Off The Wall. That sequence of songs – "Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough", "Rock With You", "Working Day And Night", "Get On The Floor" and "Off The Wall" – might be the greatest side of a record ever. Listen to the drums, the handclaps, the rhythm guitar, the percussion – listen closely to it all. What you’re hearing is called a groove, and no one executed it better than Michael did in this phase of his career. Thriller is right up there, too.

After that, it all started going downhill. Bad was just, well, bad, and I don’t WTF he was doing beyond that. But regardless of that or any of his batshit crazyness, there’s no denying that he was a genius. What he and Quincy Jones created during those younger years will never be duplicated. For years I had a recurring daydream that I met Michael and he actually solicited my advice about how to regain his career and become relevant again in music circles. I would tell him this:

“Lose all the sampling and drum machines. Write grooves, write songs the way you used to – in your head, not on a freaking computer. Hire real musicians and have them play real acoustic instruments. Make your music organic again, make it come from your soul. Don’t try to keep up with the latest sounds and trends in music. Do it your way. And if you do, you’ll become huge again, I guarantee it.”

Alas, he never did. But I’ll always remember the way he used to do it, and baby it grooved.

Get Out Of My Life

I have had it with this whole Jon & Kate thing. Until a few months ago, I had no clue who these people were. Then I continued to hear tidbits on the news about this couple who, as I later learned, have a reality show about themselves and their eight kids. Wonderful parenting idea.

Now their marital problems have invaded my life. I can't watch the Today show, read a magazine or a blog without being inundated with updates on this freaking family that I couldn't give two shits about. Unfortunately, there are scores of idiots out there who do care - whose lives are somehow unfulfilled unless they can live vicariously through others. Stay out of my life, Jon & Kate, and please allow your children to grow up normally instead of on everyone's TV sets.

Re-Post

It's hotter than a half-bred fox in a forest fire.
It's hotter than a June bride in a feather bed.
It's hotter than a ginger mill in Hades.
It's hotter than the devil's dick.
It's hotter than a four-balled tom cat.
It's hotter than a flaming bag of turd.
It's hotter than Oprah's underwear during a hot flash.
It's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut.
It's hotter than a two-peckered goat.

And an old favorite...it's hotter than two rats f**king in a wool sock.

My New Favorite Phrase/Description

It's "Batshit crazy". I've been saying it a lot lately. It can be used in just about any sentence, as in:

- "The Octomom is batshit crazy."

- "That dude who shot up the Holocaust Museum is just plain batshit crazy."

- "Sarah Palin needs to STFU - she's batshit crazy!"

Feel free to share these words with your friends and batshit crazy relatives.

You Gotta Love Old People

This morning I went to Panera Bread Co. to get one (okay, two) of their warm fluffy bagels. I was standing in line behind an older couple (late 60's to early 70's) who had ordered two coffees and were not pleased with the cup sizes they were presented with.

"Wait, this is the size we ordered? We wanted small," said the old fart, er, man.

"I'm sorry, I though you wanted regular sized coffee," replied the girl behind the counter. She held up the two cups. The small size was only slightly smaller - perhaps four ounces. The man indicated that he wanted the small.

"Dude, don't fill the cup all the way or just don't drink it all," I thought to myself.

"Would you like the small instead?" asked the patient Panera girl.

"Yes, that's what I wanted."

"Do you want me to refund the difference? It's 22 cents."

Apparently he had already paid for his coffee and breakfast.

"Yes."

Are you freaking kidding me?

"Ok, I'll need your card to run the transaction."

You're going to make her go through a whole credit card transaction for a 22 cent refund? I'll bet the bank's gonna love that when they read their daily report.

I almost stepped forward to offer the man a quarter just to shut him up, but somehow I knew it would be to no avail. As Butthead used to giggle to himself, "Old people. Huh hah huh hah."

I'm A Murderer

Something terrible happened the other day while taking a casual Sunday commute. I was driving on a through way past a golf course when I came upon a deep dip in the road. I slowly drove through it and as I was coming out of the dip I saw a mother duck and her ducklings waddling across the road just at the top of the rise. I slammed on my brakes but it was too late. As I rolled through, I prayed to God that I didn't run over any of them but I knew I wouldn't be that lucky. I looked in my rear view mirror and sure enough, I had flattened one of the ducklings and halfway flattened another one. My heart sank - I felt terrible. And there was nothing I could do at that point.

Not that I aim for them, but I've run over squirrels and possums many times and have gotten over the guilt within a mile or two. Not this time. I still feel guilty. So technically this means that I've committed one and a half counts of duckslaughter. I'm already going to hell, so it's not like this one incident is going to determine my fate. But it still sucks.

Ultimate Gayness

Is it possible for something to be (supposedly) badass and gay at the same time (not that there's anything wrong with that)? Let's examine this. At my weekly sports bar gig, there are a couple of TV's that show Ultimate Fighting (or MMA or whatever the eff you want to call it), and it's all I can do to keep from spitting out my beer from laughter when I glance up and witness these tough guys grappling around the ring like Brokeback Cowboys in pretzel positions. I hate to break it to them, but prancing around like Buffalo Bill hiding his peen is more of a manly act than this. Find a more audacious sport, fellas. Like hopscotch.

"I only have some knowledge that the language of your country"

I have multiple Hotmail accounts due to the various MySpace pages for all of my bands. Every once in awhile I randomly receive messages from foreign chicks searching aimlessly for a mate. Like a teenage boy fumbling with a bra strap, their fledgling attempts at the English language are quite often amusing and entertaining. Of course, my mother is so desperate for any of her three sons to marry, she'd probably encourage me to respond to the one who sent this to me just last night:

Hello,
I was engaged in the work of beauty, I personality moderate person, I beautiful image of icing on the cake for my career, but who has never married. I like foreign men humor, romantic, generous, so the men would like to do with friends or get married, you may have to wait for my people? I like beauty, travel, swimming, listening to music. I only have some knowledge that the language of your country, I would like to know more about you, because I usually relatively busy, if not mind, you can go to the following address my private wrote to me the address below: http://www.-----.html
(Direct open this link, you can find me, Free,and I often open letter here to watch a friend. There are more private photos I) I'm looking forward to you for your letter.

Does that usage of nouns, verbs and adverbs get any prettier? I think not.

An Idiot Spreading Wisdom

We have a young whippersnapper at work who comes in part-time after getting out of school in the afternoon. The other day he was bemoaning the fact that he's been "talking to" two girls and can't decide which one to proceed in asking out on a date. And he was asking for advice about what to do, as if I was some sort of sage guru of love. First of all, anyone who knows me is cognizant of the fact that seeking dating advice from me is ludicrous and counterproductive. Secondly, there is the small matter of a fact of life that we cannot control and that I imparted on this young man: that all men are idiots.

There are many levels and layers of idiocy that we as men travel through during our lifetime. As kids, we're simply oblivious to the outside world and the consequences of our thoughts and actions. But as we reach our teen years, it turns into what I call "complete f***ing idiocy". It morphs over time and through the years into different categories - incorrigible idiocy, unadulterated idiocy, irreparable idiocy, and so on. By the time we die, we're just plain "idiots". Men are idiots in any and all scenarios, whether it's school, family, or work. But nothing brings out the true colors of our idiocy like dealing with the opposite sex. Women are our Kryptonite, causing detrimental harm to our brain functionality as well as our collective psyche. They make us do and say things that we would never, for the life of us, attempt to do in any normal situation. This is the power that women have over us, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it.

Once I explained this to him, he gazed at me with a blank stare of confusion. "Poor bastard," I thought to myself. "He has no idea."

This Week's Grammar Lesson

I've always been a bit of a spelling & grammar Nazi. Today I was reminded of a common f-up that many people make regarding the use of the word "alumni". Folks, the word "alumni" is plural and "alumnus" is singular. If you are referring to yourself only, you should say, "I am an alumnus of The University of Alabama." If you are an alumnus who thinks you're an alumni, then you shouldn't have become an alum in the first place. Let's keep our eye on the ball, shall we? Toodles.

"Get In The Hole!"

Anyone who has watched golf tournaments on TV has heard this annoying phrase shouted ad nauseam by dorky link losers who are in attendance. I watched The Masters yesterday with intrigue – it was certainly a doozy. But I grew increasingly exasperated by these idiots who wouldn’t shut up after every shot. “Get In The Hole!” is to golf what “Free Bird!” is to live bands. And it’s one thing to do it after a putt while standing around a green. But these morons will holler it while standing beside a tee box on a par 5. I propose that anyone who shouts this phrase be shot on sight. Or at least be tossed off the premises.

Josh

My cousin, Josh Dawson, finally lost his 4 year battle with cancer yesterday, passing away at 36. Josh was one of the most kind and gentle souls I have ever known. He was a loving husband to his dear wife, Bonnie, and as good of a son, brother or friend that you could ask for. He was also a brilliant musician and one of the most talented guitar players my ears have had the pleasure of listening to.


Josh and Bonnie's wedding in Steamboat Colorado five years ago is to this day the most fun and special weekends I've ever had. It was a beautiful occasion when everything came together perfectly - the families, the setting, the weather, etc. This has already been a trying year for me, as I've already lost someone dear to me. But I know Josh is in a better place now and is no longer in pain. I will always love and miss him.