Friday, December 30, 2005

I am Norah Jones

I ran my picture through a face recognition website (LINK) and found that, among all celebrities in their database, I most resemble Norah Jones - with a 53 percent match.

Second, at 48 percent, was Federico Garcia Lorca.

I've been told I look quite a bit like John Travolta, but I've never "bumped fuzz" with Debra Winger or Olivia Newton-John.

Thanks to Steve for the link.

Announcing the birth of a new blog

Our school didn't have a yearbook or newspaper staff, our journalism class handled those duties. I became friends with Trinette while working on those projects and she's one of the few classmates I've been able to keep in touch with through the years.

And now she's blogging! I invite you to go by her new page, The Disparate Housewife, and say hello. She truly is the definition of "disparate." Be sure to leave a "welcome" comment while you're there.

Time Out

I forgot to mention my vacation - I've been in New York City for a while now, and there's nothing like the food and atmosphere of the Big Apple. I'm having so much fun, I'm thinking about sending for my things.

I'll write more soon.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

Merry Christmas

Courtney is my Christmas spirit elf this year. This is a picture of her playing the part. She's the best (most spoiled) daughter anywhere.

My wish for you is the warmest, merriest of Christmases.

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Colleen Nestler's 14 minutes of fame

I used to be the ultimate Letterman geek. When his show followed Carson's in the 1980s, I would tape him every night and save the best moments on a compilation video tape. I thought I was a freak.

Since then, Margaret Ray has broken into his home on a serial basis, stolen his car, and claimed she was his wife. She then killed herself by kneeling in front of an oncoming train.

A couple of other unremarkable stalkers have given him trouble since, and we all remember the house painter in Montana who plotted to kidnap his infant son.

But now comes Colleen Nestler, of Santa Fe, New Mexico. This week, she secured a restraining order against Letterman, claiming he uses code words to send her messages, and wants to marry her and train her to be his co-host. She claims he proposed to her on television, in code, saying "Marry me, Oprah."

In the order, she has requested that he, who lives in Connecticut and tapes his show in New York, stay at least three yards away and not "think of me, and release me from his mental harassment and hammering."

Well, I've seen THIS type of thing before and let me just say...

Bravo, Colleen! Stand up for yourself. This abuse is the worst kind, mental. It gets into your brain and makes you question your own sanity. Stand your ground and show the world that you're not another stalker, (although on the surface it could look a little dicey) you're a victim.

And David, as my Grandpa used to say, "when you've done wrong, admit it." (he also used to roll down the car window and "moo" at cattle, but I digress) Point is, leave this poor woman alone. She needs to be freed from your mental games. Nobody deserves to be proposed to in code on national television, do it right, take the girl to dinner or something. Put the ring in her pudding. Make it memorable and dignified, for chrissakes!

And stop calling her Oprah!

I'm tired of big stars like Letterman walking all over poor, defenseless little people... using them as pawns to bring themselves this sort of publicity. You got your news story out of it, Dave... but do you realize what it's doing to her?? She's now getting attention she never wanted, is living a life of torturous hell with her heart split in two... and has to deal with movie producers who will, undoubtedly, want to pay her millions to put this irksome drama on television.

What a sad, disappointing saga this has become. Letterman should be ashamed. And the judge who granted the restraining order in this clear-cut case of harassment should be exalted. Good job, your honor. You're showing the world that the system WORKS.

And that was really hard to say with a straight face.


Dave Morris lives in a suburb of St. Louis with his dog, cat and a couple of sheep. He's been known to have "night sweats" and get things wrong.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Mmmm... Spam

Is it just me, or have you noticed a doubling of spam hitting your inbox in the past few days? Either there's an increase, or more of it is evading my filter - and I'd like to know why.

Here is a day's worth of subject lines in my spam filter box:

Re: stevedore eerie
Re: [/]: Dnot mvoe form yuor hosue
A dance do fold cornice
But organise no ragbag disremember
unimodular be involutory, a Meghann
Re: subsoil spleen
Re: Good Deals

I had to stop, my cut/paste finger is tired.

The thing that strikes me is, if spammers are still sending out this e-rubbish, there are obviously people somewhere opening them and responding. I find that difficult to believe, but it's the only reason a company would continue doing it.

Are people truly that stupid? Do they not realize the cause and effect of advertising - that if they respond to it, they will get more of it? If you're a person who has responded to spam and are reading this now - YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. Please stop it, or I'll find you and smash your computer into small, un-reassemble-able pieces.

I sometimes play a game which involves recognizing unlikely word combinations in speech or writing, and considering the likelihood that those words have ever been used in that combination, anytime in human history. Example: "shame a porcupine." Chances are, those words have never been used in that order before, which would be a score. Oddly enough, change ONE letter, "shave a porcupine," and it's been used plenty. (by the way, it's against the rules to make up word combos, you must have used them in a conversation, then recognized their potential)

Now, with spam, that game is getting harder to play. I just received one with the subject line "epileptic foully." That would have been a sure winner.

Screw you, SPAMMERS! Get out of my head!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

And now, the news...

Things that caught my eye in the headlines today, in no particular order:

Thirteen million a year. To play baseball. That's just bullshit.

The New York Yankees grabbed center fielder Johnny Damon away from the rival Boston Red Sox, reaching a preliminary agreement Tuesday night on a $52 million, four-year contract.
Not to mention Steinbrenner's beard-n-hair rule. Poor Johnny will likely have to cut his crop, which is, in my opinion, the only thing that sets him apart from any other player. I hope the shave and haircut have the Sampson effect on him.


I could see this coming a mile away.

In one of the biggest courtroom clashes between faith and evolution since the 1925 Scopes Monkey Trial, a federal judge barred a Pennsylvania public school district Tuesday from teaching “intelligent design” in biology class, saying the concept is creationism in disguise.
No shit, Sherlock.


We could be phuqued.

Scientists are monitoring the progress of a 390-metre wide asteroid discovered last year that is potentially on a collision course with the planet, and are imploring governments to decide on a strategy for dealing with it.
It WILL happen, sometime. Might as well be in 2036.


Poor, "poor" Michael.

Lawyers for Michael Jackson and a key creditor are in talks to keep the pop star from defaulting on $200 million in loans secured by his prized stake in the Beatles’ song catalog, an attorney for the singer said Monday.
I don't want to seem like I'm rooting against Michael... but I'm rooting against Michael. Anyone who lives that far beyond their means needs an adjustment.

Monday, December 19, 2005


Total raw page hits. Thank you for your interest. You truly need a life.

And now, a caption contest. Best one wins 71 cents and a pack of Camels.

Write whatever you like... all will be considered, but bonus points will be given for avoiding obvious references.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Estelle Getty's underwear

It's day-three of a wicked cold, and I feel only nominally better. My sleep was restless because of the congestion. That's right, phlegm. I love that word. In fact, it's right up there with PUS. Gross stuff. Good times.

Today's things-to-do list included (notice past tense) laundry, Christmas shopping, wrapping of gifts, washing the truck and cleaning up my bar after friends (read: I) messed it up.

When I woke up and looked out the window, I found that the area had been slammed with about a foot of snow. And by a foot, I mean one inch - but drivers around here believe it's a foot. Combine this new dynamic with the expected shopping traffic, and there's no chance I'm leaving the house today.

So, scratch the shopping/wrapping... and scratch the washing of the truck, it'll just get dirty again. On the basis of pure futility, scratch the cleaning up of the bar. That leaves laundry, and it's drying now.

So I'm free for the rest of the day. What shall we do? And keep it clean.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Broken promises to myself

I told myself I would stop the madness of "Things I've Never Done." I cannot stop, I lack the personal strength.

I've never:

  • Showcased a measles scar to a group of octogenarian skydivers during a sandstorm.
  • Stapled a chicken sandwich to a park bench.
  • Taken the high road, whilst you concurrently took the low road, and cared if I even reached Scotland, not to mention who arrived first.
  • Birthed a squid with no sedation.
  • Done the hokey pokey and turned myself around, regardless of the fact that, that might truly be what it is all about.
  • Sheared an alpaca without first shouting my mantra, "Howard Digs Trannies!!"
  • Written the words "tennis ball" and "astroglide" in the same sentence. And now, I can no longer make that claim.
  • Debated a Sudanese chiropodist about the likelihood of an impasse during the execution of rock/paper/scissors.
  • Worn lederhosen to the Epstein bar mitzvah.
  • Hashed out regulations governing the use of beaver pelts in undergarments.
  • Gotten it through my thick skull that this "things I've never done" schtick has run it's course.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Thoughts, anecdotes, prognostications, colloquialisms and Bull Butter

When roaming the grocery store recently (guys roam the store, they usually don't come with a list, unless provided by a spouse - which is why we forget half the crap we came for) I noticed that regular bananas are 79 cents a pound, and organic bananas are 89 cents a pound. Correct me if I'm wrong... but didn't those nature f_cks save money by not using expensive pesticides and additives?


On the same grocery trip, I noticed a sign in the parking lot, earmarking several spaces for "new and expectant mothers." I totally see the expectant part, but new mothers? Why is it more difficult to be a new mother than a new father? Don't we have to carry the same newborn, unfold the same goddamn stroller and tote the same assortment of binkies? What's wrong with a new dad using that spot?


Hey Wendi Friesen, you're a sham! (in my opinion) You're a profiteering fake, a fraud, a soulless hack, taking advantage of weak lemmings. Your CDs don't hypnotize anyone into losing weight, sleeping better or getting rich. And that penis enlargement CD CERTAINLY didn't work.


Speaking of shams, if Sam was a sham, were the Pharaohs also shams? How about the REAL pharaohs, were they shams? And what if they were talking about actual shams?


Jaime Pressly. 'Nuf said.

Fatherhood is my finest moment

My daughter was 12 when we took this in 2001. It's hard to believe she's driving now. I am so proud and happy to be her Dad.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Chili night

So I had this fabulous idea* last night about cooking a big vat of chili. Chili should only be cooked in vats - you'll need enough to enjoy for about a week.

I prefer the "stewy" kind of chili, as opposed to the "soupy," but whatever your preference, there is nothing like it to take the edge off the cold and cleanse the digestive system, if you know what I mean.

Spicy is best, I used a half bottle of chili powder and 10 shakes of my friend Donny's "burn your face off" home-grown ground habenero. (the use of this product requires pure balls.**) I use three meats, including diced strip steak, ground chuck and ground turkey. This chili is probably 35 to 40 percent meat. The rest is a combination of tomatoes/sauce, various beans, mushrooms, chilis, onions and a dash of a special ingredient I cannot tell you about. Okay, it's brown sugar... see, I can't keep secrets worth a shit.

Anyway, if you want the actual, exact recipe, e-mail me and I'll direct you to the blog of someone who knows what they're doing... I didn't use a recipe, just gut. Which, ironically, is the part of my body that will pay the ultimate price for this indulgence.

*maybe it wasn't MY idea, but does that really matter?
** Lightning Bug's Butt used this term first... it made me laugh so I borrowed it.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Letters to Santa

Dear Santa,

I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv bend a guy boy all yare.

yew Fiend,

Dear Billy,

Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I send you a friggin' book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger! At least HE can spell!



Dear Santa,

I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!


Dear Sarah,

Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?



Dear Santa,

I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do?


Dear Teddy,

Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your frigid mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead.



Dear Santa,

I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum kit, a pony and a tuba.


Dear Francis,

Who names their kid "Francis" nowadays? I bet you're gay, I'll set you up with a Barbie.



Dear Santa,

I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.


Dear Susan,

Milk gives me the runs and carrots make the deer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle of scotch.



Dear Santa,

What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?

Your friend,

Dear Thomas,

All the toys are made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table. Hey, you wanted to know.



Dear Santa,

Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?


Dear Jessica,

Are you really that gullible or are you just a blonde? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house.



Dear Santa,

I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE PLEASE could I have one?


Dear Timmy,

That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.



Dearest Santa,

We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?



First, stop calling yourself "Marky", that's why you're getting your ass whipped at school. Second, you don't live in a house, you live in a low-rent apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like the boogeyman does, through your bedroom window.

Sweet Dreams,

Sunday, December 11, 2005

Pryor, Narnia, Tookie, in that order

Whatever you think of his comedy, Richard Pryor was a giant - and he's gone.

Richard Pryor, 1940-2005


My daughter and I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe yesterday. Predictably, the lines were long to get into the theater and tickets were hard to come by... but it was definitely worth the wait. Akin to Harry Potter, I also found interesting similarities to Passion of the Christ. There were plenty of positive messages in the movie.

Four out of five stars.


Stanley "Tookie" Williams, co-founder of the gang called the "Crips," and convicted murderer of four, is set to be executed Tuesday at San Quentin in California.

Many celebrities are urging Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger to grant clemency to Williams, who, they say, has "turned his life around" in prison.

The first question that must be asked is, are you also prepared to forgive thousands of other convicted murderers who are now judged (by celebrities, families or others) to have turned their lives around?

This is no simple debate, but regardless of the circumstances or any perceived rehabilitation, clemency simply cannot be granted in this case. The message such an action would send - that it's okay to found murderous gangs and kill whomever you deem deserving - would be terribly destructive to societal peace and order. It would also negate the value of the lives of those four he singlehandedly killed, and the thousands who have died at the whimsy of the Crips.

Williams has written children's books condemning gang violence and warning against the gang mentality and lifestyle, and his proponents say carrying out his sentence will negate his positive work. My feeling is, what better, more poignant way would there be to punctuate his life story than to force him to pay society's toll? I fear any other ending would send a severely detrimental message to children.

This is not to support or indict the legitimacy of the death penalty, at the time of the murders, it was simply the law of the land.

And, that this man could qualify for the Nobel Peace Prize is a travesty, in my opinion.


It's Sunday. Whatever you end up doing, don't - and I mean this - DON'T YOU DARE have more fun than I am. I mean, shit.

Friday, December 09, 2005

Dave's Friday Photo

This photo reminds me of a favorite childhood book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull. If you have a child between the ages of 8 and about 14, you should have them read it.

This is a fella who was flying about two feet above my head off the back of a moving boat. You're seeing him right before someone reached up and handed him a cheese cracker. Hungry little bastard!

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Why? I dunno.

I took a test to see which "leading man" I would most accurately parallel. In other words, I had plenty of time on my hands and don't embarrass easily.

I am:

Cary Grant
You scored 23% Tough, 9% Roguish, 28% Friendly, and 38% Charming!
You are the epitome of charm and style, the smooth operator who steals the show with your sophisticated wit and quiet confidence. You are able to catch any woman you want just by flashing that disarming smile. When you walk into a room, the women are instantly intrigued and even the men are impressed. When you find yourself in trouble, you are easily able to charm your way out of it, or convince others to help you. You're seen as dashing, suave and romantic. Your co-stars include Katharine Hepburn, Irene Dunne, and Joan Fontaine, stylish women who know a class act when they see it.

Find out what kind of classic dame you'd make by taking the Classic Dames Test.

Link: The Classic Leading Man Test written by gidgetgoes on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Half Nekkid Thursday

The first snowy morning, today looking out my window here in St. Louis. The half nekkid part would refer to the tree in the left foreground. (sorry, but it DOES qualify, doesn't it?)
The first snow is always nice to see. The second one, too, usually. By the third, I'm pretty much ready to kill someone.* Is that so wrong???
To have half nekkid fun, go see Osbasso.

*of COURSE I'm not going to kill someone. As far as you know. ;)

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Start Rant

Hey DirecTV, SUCK IT!

I am fed up with bad customer service, and DirecTV is just the tip of the iceberg. I am completely and TOTALLY disheartened with my backseat, bastard-step-child (no offense to bastard step children all over the world) status I've been given by companies who advertise one thing and deliver another.

From impossible rebates to customer service phone systems who route you through endless menus and "enter your account number" prompts, only to land you with someone who STILL doesn't have a clue who you are or why you are here - or better yet, you hear a CLICK and realize that, after twenty minutes of holding, you have been dumped... I've freakin' HAD IT.

And that whole thing was one sentence. I must REALLY be mad!

I just want ONE customer service rep who cares about my plight. ONE! I want someone to remember that the customer is, within reason, always right. When you charge 3,600 EXTRA DOLLARS to my American Express card within 3 months because your right hand doesn't know your left hand is picking my pocket, (Direc-freakin'-TV) I want something free, something reduced, or for my ass to be kissed. AT LEAST A LITTLE. Don't tell me it's NOT YOUR F__KING PROBLEM.

And hey, (insert big electronics box store here), don't be so bold as to CHARGE me for an EXTENDED WARRANTY on something that should work flawlessly for YEARS. Either sell a decent product or GET OUT OF THE BUSINESS! Don't insult me by saying "for an extra 100 dollars, you can have the peace of mind that your equipment will work for 24 months." THAT, my friends, is BULLSHIT. And if you buy those extended warranties, you will only enable them to continue pillaging the customer base, which I probably don't need to remind you... is YOU.

Give me service, like Mr. Polly at the shoe store in the town where I grew up. I want a bank that doesn't have a policy of "checks clear at noon, but deposits clear at 2." Give me the small drug store again. The small movie theater. The little cafe on the corner with the platter-sized chicken fried steak.

Or, at least, make me feel like you WANT my business. Is that too much to ask???

end rant

Monday, December 05, 2005

The unfair impact of cheating on sports

It has long been known that women root for the football team with either:

A - The tightest pants.


B - The best color scheme.

I thought men were purists, picking our favorite teams based on statistics, rivalries and loyalties.

Not so.

Yesterday, my friend Gary and I were watching the Rams completely suck, and of course began discussing which other teams we could start rooting for.

"I would like to pick the Packers," Gary said, "but my ex-wife cheated on me with a guy from Wisconsin."

No Packers for Gary.

"I used to like the Vikings, but my ex-wife cheated on me with a guy from Minneapolis," I told him.

No Vikings for me.

Bloody hell. You know, men and women really aren't all that different.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

A smattering

After a fairly late night, I'm nursing a headache, drinking coffee, enjoying the fireplace and watching Dora the Explorer. I'm also thinking.

  • You know how people bitch about slow drivers in the fast lane? I've never heard a slow driver complain about fast drivers in the slow lane, and I wonder why. Are these people more level or balanced or something?

  • When sports commentators talk to one another, in order to fit both of their big heads onto the screen they have to get really close to each other. Their faces almost touch sometimes. I find it distracting and I don't like it.

  • How do you ever really trust that the person at that restaurant table before you didn't replace the salt with quartz and feldspar?

  • I fear electronics have taken the place of at least three of life's simple pleasures. Talking, holding hands and dry humping on the ottoman. Whoops, hang on I just got a text message. God that was sexy.

  • Australia is a really long distance from here. I fear that will impact my plans to go there for the afternoon.

  • I wonder how long it would take me to be interviewed on network news if I became the yard darts partner of television's Nipsey Russell.

  • Dave is to journalistic integrity, as Men Without Hats is to Mozart.

  • Stepped out the car, Levi's saggin', gold around my neck with my limb-walk laggin', walked up on my boys with the old E chillin', the box with the big beats and my boys started illin'. Yo.

That's all I got.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Country music was my bitch

Garth: "Mom, it's me. You'll never guess what happened today! I got my picture taken with Dave Morris!"

Mom: "Get out! You mean that goofy guy with the funny hat and the out of style haircut?"

Garth: "The one and only! I'm as giddy as a school girl!!"

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Is what I can see all there is?

Indulge my philosophical babble for a minute, because lately I have been thinking about it. Not the it that eBay ads refer to, although I guess it could be. Something deeper. I'm writing this as a reminder to myself, but also with the hope that my daughter Courtney will read it.

Did you ever look around and wonder if this is really it? Is what you can see around you really all there is? Are there no invisible strings pulling at just the right moment, moving us in the right direction, helping us make the hard decisions, saving us from ourselves? Are we really responsible?  Independent?  Alone?

Frightening as it may seem, yes. This is it. What you did yesterday, what you will do today and tomorrow, will be your benchmark. Your signature. Your offering. Those who will remember you will likely do so because you accomplished something along the way that made a difference to them.

We, without the benefit of imagined safeguards, conjured guidelines or invisible framework, are responsible for ourselves. There are no safety belts. There are no do-overs.  This life, right now, this instant, is the only one you'll ever have. What you see around you is all there is.

This is it.

If you know what's good for you, do something.  While you have the chance, grab the reins. Live well. Do the deed. Take the leap.

Fearlessly leave your mark.