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.

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.

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.

-30-

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.

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!

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.

30,000...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Letters to Santa

Dear Santa,

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

yew Fiend,
BiLLy

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!

Santa

***

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!

Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,

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

Santa

***

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?

Love,
Teddy

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.

Santa

***

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.

Love,
Francis

Dear Francis,

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

Santa

***

Dear Santa,

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

Love,
Susan

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.

Santa

***

Dear Santa,

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

Your friend,
Thomas

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.

Santa

***

Dear Santa,

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

Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,

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

Santa

***

Dear Santa,

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

Timmy

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.

Santa

***

Dearest Santa,

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

Love,
Marky

Mark,

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,
SANTA

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.

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!

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. ;)

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

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.

or

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.

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.

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!!"

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.

Half Nekkid Thursday

Warmer days, daughter on raft, book in lap, cocktail out of view. I hate winter.

To play along with Half Nekkid Thursdays, click below, and have a nice day.

A Mote of Dust, Suspended in a Sunbeam

If you choose to read this entry, I should warn you - there is a chance you will feel a little insignificant at the end. But there is also a good chance you will feel enlightened and uplifted. You may have seen it all before, so stop me if you're bored.

Above is a rather ordinary looking photo that is, by today's standards, not very good. You'll notice a glare across it, and a pale blue dot in the center of the glare. (highlighted by the line) That little dot is the only planet in the universe where we know, beyond any doubt, there is life.

It is the Earth, from 4 billion miles away, taken by the Voyager 1 spacecraft in 1991. Astronomer Carl Sagan's idea was to turn Voyager's camera around for one last look at Mother Earth before we winked out of view. The Voyager is now reaching the boundaries of interstellar space, somewhere we've never been before... but that picture might be the most meaningful ever taken of anything in the universe. He wrote about it, and here is the exerpt (from his book "Pale Blue Dot"):

"We succeeded in taking that picture, and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.

"The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.

"Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity -- in all this vastness -- there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It's been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

Blurb

Mitch Hedberg, comic genius:

"I don't have a microwave, but I do have a clock that
occasionally cooks shit."

Blogger Piefest 2005

I had an incredible Thanksgiving with friends, a day of rest and reflection on the blessings of the year... and a meal unmatched in recent memory. It included all the traditional fare, with just one exception.

No pumpkin pie.

Upon relaying this information to Spinning Girl, and after forcing her to listen to me whine and moan about the lack of said pie, she suggested (with just a twinge of doubt concerning my kitchen aptitude) that I create my own. Secretly, inwardly, I doubted myself and my abilities in the kitchen, but my doubt of the existence of a "pie fairy" was even stronger, so I agreed. She and I would bake pies concurrently. Click here to read her interpretation of the bakin' good times at her house. Read below to find (and see illustrations of) my version of the story.

After beating hell out of a couple of eggs, I opened a fresh can of homemade pumpkin pie mix.

Unfortunately, Spinning Girl informed me of the importance of preheating my oven at the same time as she was explaining how the pie fairy WAS real and all I had to do was believe, and click my heels together or some such shit. I chose to believe neither, so the oven went unheated for a good 20 minutes. I felt silly when I figured it all out.

I was aided by a bottle of Jacob's Creek. Everytime I spilled anything on the counter, I would take a drink. Anytime I mixed in another ingredient, I would take a drink. Anytime Spinning Girl turned the conversation back to her, I would take a drink. In no time, I was buzzing like a saw.

Oops, I spilled the evaporated milk. Time for more Jacob's Creek. I love that Jacob. About this time, I explained to Spinner what a mulligan was in the game of golf. I fear she didn't understand... neither what a mulligan was, nor why I even brought it up.

Mixy mix went the ingredients, drinky drink went Dave, and Spinny Spin went SG. As we talked, I couldn't help but wonder... "is it right to bake pies with your pants around your ankles?"

Mmm. Cool Whip. And NOT the kind from a spray can, I'm a purist, goddamn it. I used the frozen kind from a tub.
About halfway through the baking process, I looked in and saw the beauty that is pumpkin pie. The anticipation was unbearable, so to pass the time, I requested that Spinning Girl explain the Periodic Table of the Elements to me again, and we compared notes on how genius The Far Side's Gary Larson is.

The finished product! After baking it for an extra 30 minutes because of the altitude here in St. Louis, I realized I had baked The Perfect Pumpkin Pie completely from scratch.* It was all because of Spinning Girl that I realized my dream of having Earth's Greatest Pie, and found the personal strength to make it myself.**

Next week, profiteroles with neopolitan ice cream and hot fudge with a chaser of Hawaiian Kona coffee.

---

* Yeah, I said scratch. If IHOP's biscuits and gravy qualify as homemade, (as their menu says... even though they were NOT made in anyone's home) I can say this completely fabricated baked good was made from scratch.

** She forced me to say this. She's really persuasive that way.

UPDATE: The pie met with such positive feedback, Dr. Mike has already developed the art for my own line of pie mix.

365 days ago

From day one of Dave's Window:

"It's amazing that I've traveled so many places, done so many things, yet have little recollection of much of it. Only when someone jogs a memory, I can say "hey, I've been there!" So I figure recording some of the boring day to day thoughts, prognostications and anecdotes will occasionally produce a keeper. Someday I will write a book of the story of my life and include those 'keepers.'"

On the one year anniversary of my blog, I should point out that I'm no longer inspired to write such a book. I just can't imagine seeing some of it in print! Besides, isn't that such the stereotypical blogger reasoning? Screw that. Instead, maybe I'll parlay this experience into writing assembly instructions for particle board coffee tables or something.

I've had a lot of fun with the blog, met some really great people, and the hobby continues to be fulfilling. When that changes, I will say "the end."

And so for now, I blog on, the internet equivalent of the Voyager project. Never knowing when the trip will end, when you might stop hearing from me, or whom I may encounter.

Half Nekkid Thursday

Margarita? Check. Uber-goofy hat? Check. Half Nekkid? Check.

As always, click below to get half nekkid with us.

Happy Thanksgiving

1 - Print out page.

2 - Get Crayolas out of kid's toy box.

3 - Color by numbers.

4 - Eat what magically appears on paper.

5 - Eat pie. Mmmm. Pie.

6 - Have a Happy Thanksgiving.

7 - Eat more pie.

Personal note to self - a progress report

As the holidays approach, it's natural to evaluate.

Each blogger has different reasons for writing. To document their lives, to entertain. For some, it is practice for a career in writing. Some blogs are message boards to help families stay in touch.

I would say mine is all of those things. Maybe less of a practice sheet and more of a journal. At times, I slip into the trap of feeling the need to entertain, but that is not why I started my blog. Not to say that providing a laugh or fostering a thought isn't alluring.

Moving on.

My voice over business has never been better. 2005 was a year of very positive growth and I project the same for 2006. Meanwhile, I am working with my friend Tim to launch Travelhost Magazine of Greater St. Louis right now, which is another very exciting project. Business-wise, things are very strong and I am extremely busy.

On a personal basis, 2005 has been the most difficult year of my life. My daughter has been through some life-changing experiences and continues to struggle with them. She battles daily with her mother to find mutual respect. She is struggling to find herself, as so many teenagers do. She continues to inspire me with her realism, inner beauty and goodness, even while making things harder for herself in school and in her relationship with her mother.

A little over a year ago, my wife and I purchased our dream home. The move was hard, and strangely, we missed our old house more than we anticipated. Soon after, as had been prearranged years earlier, Danny moved in with his Dad. At that point, the new house felt very empty, and it was difficult to find a feeling of normalcy. Tawnya fell into a pretty deep depression.

On my birthday, April 27, 2005, completely by surprise, she informed me via email she was leaving. We talked and I thought I had convinced her to stay, but three days later, while I was away, she quietly moved her things. I came home to a half empty house.

I'm kind of an alpha and she's kind of amiable. Other than the fact that they both begin with 'a,' we have trouble finding common ground. There was solid ground in one respect, love, but it wasn't enough to keep things together.

In July, I decided that a 5,500 square foot house was too much space for one person, dream home or not. Reluctantly, I sold it and moved into a three bedroom condo. We had owned the house for exactly one year on the day I moved.

For two or three more months, we struggled to balance our differences against our feelings. We made flimsy attempts to reconcile, but nothing stuck. Now it's November and we've filed for divorce. It looks like January will be the end of the road. As I face my third divorce, I definitely feel fearful and uncertain, but I also need to reevaluate how I judge compatibility. I try to remain open minded to the possibility of loving again, but now is not the time to think about it.

This Christmas will be eerily quiet, as Courtney and I celebrate alone. I'm a strong person, but I know it will take everything I have to get through the next few months. Each day is a challenge to stay positive. I know I will be fine, but I also know I'm changed.

Winter will seem a little longer, and spring will arrive a little later. But the clock is ticking. Every day, it gets a little easier.

EDIT, March 25, 2015: She was cheating on me. I'm so incredibly glad the way things worked out.

Just saw a headline that caught my attention

Nike Inc. jet with landing gear trouble preparing to make emergency landing

So I clicked the link and the first paragraph read:

PORTLAND, Ore., Nov. 21 — A Nike Inc. corporate jet carrying seven people developed landing gear problems shortly after takeoff Monday and was preparing to make an emergency landing, officials said. Neither Nike founder Phil Knight nor any sports stars were on board, a Federal Aviation Administration spokesman said.

So you're telling me that nobody with a big name is on board? Whew, great news. I can now rest, knowing that nobody important will be dying. (!!!)

This bothered me enough to actually post something. Is it just me who is completely offended by this shoddy journalism?

Goofy-picture-of-me Monday

This is supposed to be part of something called "Me-so-cute Monday," but those who know me know that isn't a title that fits this blog. The word "cute" is decidedly too feminine. The general idea is to bravely post an old picture of yourself for the world to see. It's the brainchild of the Spinning Girl, who has a certain need to remind the world how cute she is. We'll analyze her later.

But in the spirit of friendship, (buddydom) I've agreed to participate. This is me in Key West,* in a margarita haze. Such great hair, right? Circa 1997.

--
*This was the trip when I participated in the Ernest Hemingway lookalike contest, under the false impression they were holding an Ernest BORGNINE contest.

About me (and it IS all about me)

I've been "tagged" by this Goofy Ass Chick in Cincinnati to complete a questionnaire. I LOVE these freakin' things. And by love, of course I mean hate with every ounce of my being.

But I'm nothing if not a pleaser, so when people like Stacy flock to me for a morsel, it truly is the least I can do.


What were you doing ten years ago?

I was doing a morning radio show weekdays, called "Dave & Sue in the Morning." We were on a country station here in St. Louis, and Sue was late for work approximately 3 days a week. It was a running bit to determine what time she would arrive. Many times, she was late because she had stopped at Denny's. I hated that my alarm would go off at 3:30 am, but I would do it again. Working with Sue was great fun, and my workday was over by noon! This is the Christmas card we sent to other staffers that year. Yes, it's a black Santa.


What were you doing one year ago?

Still unpacking, after moving into a new house. Planning a holiday party for friends. Starting my blog. My one year blogiversary is coming up in a week. I had no idea how verbose and mundane I was. Or how short and choppy my sentences would be in this paragraph. God bless those who forgave my early posts and continued reading.


What were you doing yesterday?

I started by drinking a pot of the best Eight O'Clock fresh-ground coffee I've ever had. "Eight O'Clock Coffee - since 1859, a nationally recognized roaster and marketer of gourmet whole bean coffee." Then, I attended the class AAA state championship soccer game. My team lost 2-1 because of a referee who mistook his own ass for a hole in the ground. Afterward, I went to a friend's house for grilled chicken, baked cheese balls and some of the most potent Sao Paulo trip-weed I've ever smoked. (kidding, feds, only kidding) We then cha-cha'd on over to a new country bar called Saddle Ridge and watched women ride the mechanical bull. I just hated that part.


Five snacks you enjoy

1 - Tobasco Cheezits
2 - Beef jerky (was that my outside voice?)
3 - Trail mix
4 - Popcorn
5 - Spoons of room temperature Crisco with buttermilk chasers


Five songs to which you know all the words

1 - "Happy Birthday To You"
2 - Gilligan's Island Theme
3 - "Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall"
4 - "Heart of the Night" by Poco
5 - "Ee Mungu Nguvu Yetu," the National Anthem of Kenya


Five things you would do if you were a millionaire

1 - Purchase my neighbors' houses and totally kick them out so I could be as loud as I wanted.
2 - Buy a beach shack in the Caymans and get sand all up in it.
3 - Own a private jet with a fully stocked Krispy Kreme bar and an inflight Starbucks store.
4 - Three words: penis reduction surgery.
5 - Constantly be in the club with my homies, tryna get a lil V-I, keep it down on the low key, cause you know how it feels.


Five bad habits

1 - Cursing
2 - Not letting anyone ever hear me fart (wait, that would be a good habit)
3 - Procrastination (I can't even believe I'm finishing this damn list)
4 - Inappropriate thoughts during church
5 - Making shit up (things like I go to church)


Five things you like doing

1 - Snow skiing
2 - Travel
3 - Blogging
4 - Eating, trying unique restaurants
5 - Shoe shopping with Charles Nelson Riley


Five things you would never wear again (kind of a girly question)

1 - Lederhosen (just kidding, I'll wear them again)
2 - Knee socks with stripes around the top
3 - Inappropriate latex
4 - Girdle
5 - Pasties


Five favorite toys

1 - Laptop
2 - TiVo
3 - Treo
4 - Meo
5 - Mayo

I shall not, at this time, tag anyone... that's not how I roll. If you're interested in doing this, be my guest. But first, do some real, honest soul searching... because you might not be as interesting as me.

School Days

On several occasions in these pages, I have mentioned my disdain for the low pay of teachers and nurses.

Those who are charged with working directly with "the client," the teachers and nurses, are grossly taken for granted, while school administrators and doctors steal the spoils. Fortunately for all of us, these positions are usually filled by people with great passion and love for what they do. A labor of love it is, to teach and influence children, and treat the sick. Thank you.

Plus, I've had some pretty good fantasies that involve teachers and nurses. Thank you for those, too.

I got off on a tangent.

The subject of this post is school. For whatever reason, I've been missing those days lately. When I was in school, I took the experience for granted and sort of wandered aimlessly through it. Don't get me wrong, I earned good grades and adequately prepared myself for the future. The part I miss most is the comaraderie, peripherals, the deep friendships... and just the aura of it all.

Remember walking the hall before school? Meeting your friends first thing and catching up, sneaking outside for a smoke before school or hanging in the band room? My routine involved the latter.

My friends Krent Thompson, Robert Estes, Troy Rogers and I would fire up our instruments, the trumpet, guitar, drums and keyboard... and jam. With the doors to the hall open, people would hear the music and come in. We'd play "Smoke on the Water," or some jazzy blues piece we had improvised on the fly. (there were other songs I don't remember, but those are trivial details) When our instrument cases opened, four young men would become consumed by a driving passion to create. To entertain. To open up. Good times.

And that's just one memory. If I were to continue, I could fill my entire blog with similar memoirs. Like most people, the most influential time of my life was spent in school. I'm not certain what has been triggering this recent nostalgia, but as I am writing this I've discovered that my old music teacher, Andy Anderson, teaches at a school about 10 miles from here.

I am emailing him in hopes of buying him a cup of coffee.

Nothing to do, Nellie Darling,

Oh, there's nothing to do, you say?

Let's take a trip

On the Memory Ship,

And sail back to the good old days.

Sail to the old village schoolhouse,

Anchor outside the school door,

Look in and see,

There's you and there's me,

A couple of kids once more.

-

School days, school days,

Dear old golden rule days.

Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic,

Taught to the tune of a hick'ry stick.

You were my queen in calico,

I was your bashful barefoot beau,

And you wrote on my slate,

'I love you, Joe,'

When we were a couple of kids.

-

My friend Gene Maudlin

I have just learned of the death of Betty Maudlin, the wife of good friend and fellow blogger Gene. (Old Horsetail Snake)

God bless you Gene, and Godspeed Betty. You are loved, my friend. I'm here for you.

Friday Rhymes

When I'm feeling particularly deep, I pull out a pen and write poetry. Tonight, I wrote when I DIDN'T feel particularly deep. Hey, at least it's a post.

Three movements in the key of dumb:

---

Whether she laughed because she farted,
Or farted because she laughed,
One came from her bow,
The other from her aft.

---

Sally made the bed one day
And in it, she found fleece.
And that's the only way she knew
That Sam was screwing sheeps.

---

"How large do you normally grow 'em?" Jane asked
The cucumber farmer through the fence.
"You'll find them just right for a salad," he said,
"But too small to use in a biblical sense."

---

I should keep my day job.

Jacques to Hosni:

"Spinning Girl always takes MY calls."

Boxers-on-your-head Half Nekkid Thursday!

People have different ways of expressing themselves during meditation. I happen to use skivvies. Don't judge me.

Happy HNT. Click below to participate.

Repeat

I have little time to post today, so I had to whip out something from the archive. Sometimes I forget I wrote this stuff. I was talking to another blogger recently about the zone you enter when you're writing. It's almost as if someone else (or a higher power) takes over and starts operating your fingers. Ever get that feeling?

Anyway, a list of things I've learned:

1 - What’s right for you isn’t right for the next guy. Unless we’re talking about Anna Kournikova here.

2 - The older you get, the more stamps you have in the house.

3 - Now’s not a good time. Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

4 - The length of time you can tolerate watching reality television is inversely proportionate to the length of time a person who doesn’t know what “inversely proportionate” means can watch reality television.

5 - People named Howard always have a certain look about them. Also Larry.

6 - Your lower back will cramp at the furthest point of the bike trail.

7 - A cell phone’s address book capacity will always be approximately 90 percent of your number of friends, family and associates.

8 - Nobody stops by unannounced unless you’re naked.

8b - Being naked doesn’t necessarily make someone stop by.

9 - Vegetable medleys suck.

10 - Sometime when you’re out of TP, you may be tempted to use a “feminine napkin.” Avoid doing this. The linear slippage factor is vastly less than that to which you are accustomed.

11 - You can’t screw up stir-fry, even by adding fruit.

12 - Corvettes are “look at me” cars. Except, of course, the one my friend Gary owns. His is different. Just ask him.

13 - If you ever own a cat, you should name him Ron. Every time you call him you’ll giggle. Ron is no name for a cat.

14 - You can search every channel late at night, and nothing you find will make you stop missing Johnny Carson.

15 - There’s no way a person with hands the size of mine can ever eat an entire can of Pringles.

Bob Grayson

Almost ten years ago, March 1996, in the lobby of a hotel in Nashville, Bob Grayson* approached me with a proposal. He asked me to be the image voice for his radio station in Springfield, Illinois. I was floored... such a change of career direction wasn't something I had considered until that very moment.

I had no idea how his proposal would change my life. A decade later I've done very well in this business, signing onto more than 140 stations. Along the way, I've been careful to give Bob the credit for all of it.

Bob died last week. He was 60. I got the word from my friend Kim via email, and I was not surprised to hear the news. Three years ago he was diagnosed with cancer and given six months to live. Clearly he made the most of the time he had left with his lovely wife Karen, and was blessed with very innovative new treatments which extended his life dramatically.

His life and legacy have been on my mind a lot this week. I am a product of his wisdom and I owe my career to him. Atop my list of blessings will always be the name Bob Grayson.

Godspeed, sir.

*Bob Grayson was his professional name, his real name was Phillip Lee McGhghy.

Ass Beating

Once when I was a kid, (being the butt-kissing child I was) I set out to do something nice for the women in my life. I figured what worked for Grandpa could work for me, so I went outside and picked a handful of flowers and wrapped them in a paper towel for presentation to my Mom and Grandma. Upon handing them over, complete with hug, one of them had the gall to ask where I'd gotten them. Excuse me, but isn't it a bit arrogant to question such a thing? It was the classic example of looking a gift horse in the mouth.

At that age, I hadn't yet developed my skills of disinformation and distortion of the facts. So, I spilled it and told the tale of how I had taken a shine to neighbor Sue Young's beautiful lillies, tulips and chrysanthemums, and had extracted them from her glorious flower bed to advance my cause.

Shortly after, I learned via a rather ardent ass beating that flowers belong to those who own the property around them. An intriguing concept, this... one I hadn't yet learned in my sum total of five years on Earth. After the Defilement of the Buttocks, I was made to walk the flowers back to Sue, present them to her and apologize. She cried. So... very... weak.

Ah, but it was indeed an ass beating for the ages. I'll always remember it, and to this day I always go through FTD.

Why don't you share YOUR favorite ass beating story? Come on, you know the masochist in you wants to.

To be, or not to be... weird.

You Are 50% Weird

Normal enough to know that you're weird... But too damn weird to do anything about it!

How Weird Are You?

---

I'm not sure how to feel about this score, although I should tell you the questions are extremely tame. If answers to those questions make you weird, I know some F-R-E-A-K-S out there. And I mean freaks. Freaky-freaks.

And some really, incredibly COOL freaks.

So before you start feeling all smug about your weirdness, maybe take the test. Get back to me.

I have temporarily lost my mojo

I haven't blogged in a few days - truly blogged - because I have been out of town. I am back now, so I can no longer use that excuse. Now, it's because I feel no urge. I should work to develop a blogging version of Viagra.

By tomorrow evening, I'm fairly certain I will have blogged something extraordinary. I mean, truly genius.

Trust me.

Happy Veterans Day

Happy Veterans Day to my friends and family who served selflessly. My buddy Mike Anderson has documented and made a pictorial of his years in Viet Nam. Please visit his site and read some of the stories. Fascinating.

Half Nekkid Thursday

Head, sweaty. Workout, successful. Weight, dropping. Hair, greying. Care, hell no.

Lower in the frame, I am half nekkid. You'll just have to trust me.

To get Half Nekkid with the rest of us, click:



And thank you Osbasso, for giving us the fun.

Eat 'em up! Eat 'em up! RAW, RAW, RAW!

"A popular adult magazine has made an offer to the two cheerleaders accused of having sex with each other in a Florida bar and getting involved in a fight..."

I'm appalled at this behavior.* I don't condone it, I don't believe in it and I won't participate in promoting it. I discourage you from going HERE to see a little slide show, and HERE to read more about them.

I also hope you don't plan to buy a copy of Penthouse, in which they will likely appear nude soon. It just wouldn't be right.

---

*And by appalled, of course I mean delighted. This is the perfect fantasy of any NFL fan. It's not like we don't watch the telecasts with the hope that the director will put on a lot of shots of the cheerleaders.

More Things I've Never Done

Hello from the road... with more regrets. I've never:

Tickled the balls of a badger while crocheting a poncho for Hosni Mubarak.*

Chewed aluminum foil happily.

Shirts 'n skins volleyball with Bea Arthur.

Filled the dimples of a golf ball with cherry syrup at the demand of a journeyman brick layer.

Hoisted a bag of gnu shit above my head while humming "Rhinestone Cowboy."

Speaking entirely in Azerbaijani, used beastiality innuendo to shame a barbershop quartet tenor into transporting me to a taxidermy shop on his unicycle.

.

Allowed a squadron of gnats unfettered access to my navel.

But there is always... ALWAYS tomorrow.


------

*What type of person would use the name and reputation of this great man to advance his/her own blogging agenda??

Poetic Sunday Night

On the road to nowhere

And everywhere,

One must eventually

Make a turn.

And though it wasn't

In the plan,

Still good things can come

From a simple

Fork in the road.

---

D. Morris

Nifty lookin'

My buddy and webmaster has developed, through a new software program he bought, an animated banner for my business, which will eventually be incorporated into my website. This is just one frame of the animation, which will show every time you go to www.morrisvoiceovers.com. I'm giddy like a schoolgirl. Doesn't this shit look GREAT?

Dave's Friday Photo

This is a guy's paradise. A couple of houses ago, I designed and planned, and a contractor built, this media room. My friend Gary did the woodwork.

I will build an exact replica of this in a future house because it was the primo place to watch a movie or spend a football weekend. (the bar was right behind, just out of the picture) Being just one person, I don't need that much house anymore... but I still have the surround system, HD big screen and the furniture for watching football*, the Man Show and Old School.

*click the football link at your own risk.

Half Nekkid Thursday

Found in my yard after halloween: one egg, intact.

I can only surmise it hit leaves on the tree and bounced lightly to the ground on a particularly soft clump of grass. I can also assume it was INTENDED to hit the front of my house... obviously thrown by some weak-armed puss who couldn't vandalize his way out of a wet halloween candy bag.

No eggs actually hit my house, this was the one and only piece of evidence that any "fowl" play was occuring in the neighborhood.

Just off camera, I was half nekkid when this picture was taken. Trust me.

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday. To have fun with us, click here: