Apply directly to the forehead

If you're a consumer who has actually purchased the product Head On, you deserve a headache.

No offense, of course. It's not like you're stupid or anything, it's just... no wait. Yeah, it is like you're stupid.

Ironically the head-bone is the reason that using Head On is a bone-headed idea. If you apply it to your forehead, there is a huge barrier between the medicine and the pain... it's called the skull. Ironically, using Head On makes you a real numb-skull.

Ah, so much irony in such a stupid product.

The funniest line of the commercial (besides the annoying "apply directly to the forehead" crap) is "no prescription necessary."

No shit? Look, if your doctor tries to give you a prescription for this product, you should open your network provider booklet immediately.

End rant.

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I was listening to a song from Buffett's album "Barometer Soup" this morning. Is it just me, or do the words "barometer soup" give you wanderlust?

I love the fact that Em and I have a baby on the way. I can't wait. But it's bittersweet because I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm 43, and have lost the ability to do some of the things I've always wanted to do.

Such as selling all my stuff (except a few pieces of equipment I'd need to do my job) and hopping a plane to Mexico to live on the beach for a year or two. A sunset every night, low rent, a blender with a limitless supply of limes and tequila, a hammock strung between two palm trees. I'd stroll inside a few times a day to do voiceover sessions, then spend the rest of my time swimming in the ocean, making friends with the locals and relaxing with my best friend.

Another dream was to live in Manhattan for a year. I love the bustle of the city. I love the food, the atmosphere, the lifestyle. I could store my vehicles in a warehouse and rent an apartment on the lower west side. I'd go to the diner on the corner every morning for breakfast, (a la Seinfeld) catch some shows on Broadway, hit all the museums, walk in Central Park...

I always wanted to live in a cabin about 9,000 feet high in the Rocky Mountains. I love the idea of spending a couple of quiet years writing, with a snow-covered mountain view for inspiration. I'd keep a fire burning almost constantly, and drive my Hummer into town during a snowstorm for supplies.

I wanted to live in France for a year or two, in a chalet somewhere in the Champagne province, among the rolling hills. From there I would take weekend trips to Normandy, Paris and the Riviera. I'd drink fine French wines, sleep in every morning and maybe invest in a winery.

Among all of it, I wanted to travel to Australia to hike the Outback (the steakhouse is a poor substitute) and experience a concert at the Sydney Opera House. I wanted to see the pyramids in Egypt. I wanted to camp in Yellowstone.

Plans change. Life's strange that way. Some of these things Em and I can still do, but much of it is permanently "on hold."

And it's all worth it.

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I forgot to mention that our friend Mikey and I won a contest for funniest Halloween costume!

We dressed up like the guys from the "dick in a box" video. (click the link, if you've never seen it - it's hilarious)


The costumes involved quite a bit of preparation. We actually put fake "junk" in the boxes and equipped them with a hinge mechanism so people could open them and peek inside.

Purchasing our rubber "junk" was quite an experience. Let me give you some advice: if you ever go into a dildo shop with another dude looking to buy something, take along a female chaperone. Thanks again, Violet.

To save money, we purchased a huge double-dong and cut it in "half." My part was about 1.5 inches long, and Mikey took the rest. (about 12 inches) We attached them to the inside of the box with drywall screws and adhesive. It's funny how women enjoyed looking in HIS box more than MINE! I thought size didn't matter.


Violet was a pregnant trailer-trash chick with a missing tooth, a pack of Virginia Slims and a Milwaukee's Best Light "tall boy." And still, quite hot.


After our victorious result, we're already working on next year's costume. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Showering is for sissies

We just returned from the annual camp-out and float trip with about 30 friends, and you just don't realize how much of a panty waist you are until you live outside with only a 5x5 tent, jerky and a fishing pole to get you by.

Of course that wasn't our situation. Sure we had jerky, but also KFC chicken tenders, packs of delicious crab meat, wine and cheese, jello shots, a huge portable CD player with sub-woofer, pre-prepared foil packs of roasted chicken with veggies and a rechargeable tent ceiling fan. Shit, tents don't even have ceilings.

Yet despite all of those "not-a-real-camper" comforts, do you know the one thing that made me a real camper last weekend? I didn't shower. In FOUR DAYS. Not even once.

I was in the river a lot, we swam, floated and waded. But I never bathed in the traditional sense, which makes me a f*ckin'-A camper. I didn't even need mosquito repellant.

Here's a photo of my Hummer, packed with the camping supplies of two couples. If you had tried to pull the wrong piece out at the wrong time, there would have been a deadly explosion of camping supplies, vodka and tent material. You may also find pieces of a pink flamingo as well... hey, even on the road your yard needs to look kitchy. If you look closely in the upper left corner, there's a black bag... thank goodness we had space enough for our deluxe queen-size air mattress with 600 thread count sheets.* Camping just isn't the same without the necessities.

A picture of Violet and me. We may or may not have been in a state of insobriety. Notice the messages on the shirts... yeah, we're just that good.

So let me ask you... if you bring pre-cooked food and have access to showers and buffet food, is it really camping? That was the subject of the great debate around the campfire. (which we lit with a bag of lighter-fluid-soaked charcoal briquets) We are most definitely NOT camping purists. Are you?

The quote of the week was courtesy of camper Bill. When told there was extra ice if he needed any for his cooler, his response was "is it still frozen?" Here's your sign.

Disclaimer: the mattress sucks and the sheet thread-count is only like 150... but that stuff doesn't sound funny at all.

And now, dudes jumping on trampolines!

Ever see The Man Show? It ended every week with "girls jumping on trampolines." I don't need to explain the virtues to you.

I jumped on a trampoline for the first time in 20 years today. More like 30 years. I was a kid in Los Angeles at the time, and the arcade next door to my mom's job had trampolines, and it cost 25 cents to jump for 15 minutes. I probably spent a dollar a day jumping.

Now that I think about it, I was 10 years old, so it's only been 23 years. ;)

And you know what? I wouldn't have gotten on the goddamn thing if I had remembered how much work it was.

We're in Youngstown, Ohio today with my friend Dave Steele. He's feeding us beef. I know that sounds dirty, but it's true... we bought an entire tenderloin at Sam's today and it's sizzling away on the grill right now. Lucky you, I have my camera.

You know you want some.


That's Dave, The Grillmaster. He's a prick and sometimes kind of feminine but he's OK.

Tomorrow, it's on to Dayton, Ohio to spend time with our friends Russ and Shelly. They have a pool. Emily has her bikini. You'll check back tomorrow, won't you?