Brittons aren't as smart as they sound

A new, quite disturbing trend called "happy slapping" is gaining momentum in the UK, here's a preview of the story from thefeature.com:

"Happy slapping" -- essentially violently attacking someone while it's recorded with a videophone -- is a growing problem in the UK, with British Transport police investigating 200 incidents in the last six months in London's public transport system alone, with who knows how many attacks going unreported. This isn't harmless childplay, the ferociousness and utter stupidity of these attacks is appalling. And the hooligans have embraced user-created content: they share the videos via Bluetooth, MMS and the Web, often describing their efforts as "Happy Slap TV".

There is video, if you're patient enough to allow it to stream - it's a little slow. And more than a little disturbing. The movies are being swapped and sold as entertainment.

The victims of the "slapping" are sometimes complete strangers. The whole thing is kind of reminiscent of Jackass, except with Jackass at least it's self-abuse.

It's time for one of the unsuspecting victims to just totally wail on the slapper, hospitalize them and end the "fun."

LINK to the story.

source: boingboing.net

***

He's baaaaack!

The Ivory Billed Woodpecker, thought to be extinct since 1880, has resurfaced in of all places, Arkansas.

It provides hope for many who have since written off the existence of the bird. Also known as the 'Lord God' bird, it's a huge, majestic American icon, found nowhere else in the world. (actual picture below)

If we can just keep those Arkansasians from eatin' em.*




*Come on, I kid the Arkansasians! Ya'll are great!

***

Joke I heard in the bar last night...

A guy with no arms or legs is sitting on the beach when three women come along.

Giving him a pitiful look, the first woman says "have you ever been hugged?"

"No," he says. So she hugs him and walks away.

The second woman says "have you ever been kissed?"

Again, "no," says the guy. So she kisses him and walks away.

The third woman says "have you ever been screwed?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Well, no," he says.

"Just wait until the tide comes in."

41 was harder than 40

I don't know why. Please indulge my pensive meanderings.


Things I wish for as I officially enter my 40's:
______

More time for swimming.

A better golf game - or at least to keep it in the fairway.

Less anger, more smile.

Remember the fun in a bike ride.

To know I can fly to Vegas on a red-eye and a whim, and be home in time to work the next day.

Remember how much I like salad, so I can feel better about taking my shirt off.

Find the energy/time to begin the hobby of oil painting.

Remember to take a camera wherever I go, and get more pictures of the kids and other things that move me.

To simplify my world, cut unnecessary weight and have the ability to ebb and flow as I see fit.

To remember that I still feel 25.

To not let the next 40 years pass as fast as the first 40.


(to be continued...)

***

Lie old

As I sit in my living room pondering the imponderable on the eve of my 41st birthday, I wonder - is it better to lie old or lie young? As you can see, I like to wrap my mind around the big issues.

When lying about your age, I think it's best to lie old. "Today is my 50th birthday!" I'd exclaim.

"Gee, you look great for 50," they'd marvel. "You barely look 45."

On second thought, playing guessing games with my age can only lead to humiliation. And not the good kind.

Get the suicide hotline number ready, it's another segment of dull facts about Dave

31- I am more able to hit the tricky shots in pool than the straight-on shots. I don’t take time to really aim on any my pool shots, for some reason.

32- I skydived from a height of 14,000 feet in 1995 with a buddy. The only jump suit they had in my size was pink and blue. I added a third color on the way down.

33- I am a Taurus. However I am not stubborn, don’t knock things over in a china shop, and have never charged full-speed at a red piece of cloth. Okay, maybe I’m stubborn. And there was that one time with the red cloth…

34- If I ever entrust you with information about my income or other similar personal information, you are obviously a VERY close friend. I am a very private person.

35- I have one pair of tennis shoes. I don’t understand the significance of that fact, but maybe it means something.

36- Throughout my single life, I dated mostly brunettes. Yet most of the famous women I find attractive are blonde.

37- I have a fascination with watches. I have a Breitling I bought in the Virgin Islands that has almost doubled in value because it is one of only a thousand made.

38- I tend toward the sarcastic side with my sense of humor. Sometimes people don’t realize when I’m joking… must be the poker face.

39- I have a thing about crabgrass. It’s an anxious time of year for me, hoping the timing of my pre-emergence was spot-on.

40- I never understood mincemeat pie. I don’t even know what it is. I’m comfortable not knowing.

Sign o' the times...

Steve Mays brought this 'toon to my attention via a comment last week - I got a good laugh, so I thought I'd post it for all to see.

Interesting discussion

Carol, over at The Cerebral Outpost, (a blog I read daily) made some interesting observations about the differences between men and women.

Exerpt:

"... I have noticed that when I need to ask someone to abide by our Theater rules, they generally comply, but it’s my like-gender that puts up the biggest fuss and requires some sort of explanation. Men seem to just take it in stride, comply, and move on to enjoy the show. Sure some men will make a passing comment such as “well that seems stupid,” but it’s usually under their breath and it’s stated while in the process of complying. Women generally react as though I have just asked them to tap dance on the water..."

Read the whole thing here.

***

Sam's Wholesale Club

I have never gone to Sam's and come away completely satisfied. Much like a Chinese restaurant.

It's hard to ever be sure if Sam's will have what you're looking for. If your favorite 65-gallon jar of pickles happens to be bread 'n butter, they'll only have the 65-gallon jar of dill. Never the right pickle. Ever.

Today was a great example. I went there for a tall office chair and a small flat-screen television for my office. What I found was a 25-pound drum of chicken cacciatore. Can't watch it, can't really sit on it.

Sam's never stocks the same products two visits in a row. They USED to have tall office chairs. Not anymore. As for the television, of course they're out of the model I wanted. But oooh... that cacciatore.

From now on, when I feel I need a particularly unsatisfying evening, I'll go to Sam's. Then on to Wang's House of Chow.


________

UPDATE: I received a really nice Samsung 22" flat screen HDTV monitor for my birthday, goes great in my recording studio. Thanks T and kids...

Bored? Me too, as evidenced below

More totally unscripted, completely random, and ultimately useless facts about me. Try to keep your dinner down.

21- In high school, my girlfriend went to prom with another guy, my friend Tony. He had asked her to prom a couple of months before we started to date, so I had to pretend I was okay with that.

22- When I was a kid, I was a dishwasher in the busiest restaurant in town. There was no machine to wash dishes, it was all by hand – and I had an ulcer within 3 weeks. I quit the job shortly after. 26 years later, I probably still have the ulcer.

23- I enjoy Las Vegas, but I’ve never lost more than 100 bucks there. I always get bored with losing money. Which makes it even more surprising I’ve been married three times.

24- I have a weird thing about dirty sinks. If my sink is full of dirty dishes or has water in it, I’ve been known to lose sleep.

25- Automatic weapons should not be available to the public in America. Gun collectors should be the only exception.

26- I am a happy drunk, although I tend to pick minor, playful arguments with my wife when drinking. She always wins. You’d think I’d learn.

27- I place a high value on friends, and would do most anything I could for a good friend.

28- I love my dog. Not that way, pervert.

29- Where party games are concerned, it is tough to beat me at charades, trivial pursuit or pictionary.

30- One of my pet peeves is exaggeration. In fact, it’s the biggest pet peeve in the history of all time, ever, ever.

If this is boring you, imagine how I feel trying to remember all this shit.

Dave's Friday Photo

Patiently waiting for the first patio party.

Things I've slept through

The Lion King in the theatre, picking up a friend at the airport, nearly my entire morning radio show, sex... all these things I've missed because I was (as Grandpa used to say) checking my eyelids for holes. Zzzzzzzzzz...

Now it appears a technique has been found for inducing hybernation in humans.

The possibilities are endless for this scientific breakthrough. Humans could be put "under" until a new organ is available for transplant, until a cure for certain diseases is found... until the mother-in-law leaves...

And there are a few people I could see being forcefully placed in hybernation, honestly. Al Sharpton, Richard Simmons, Joan Rivers and her freakin' clone-of-a-daughter. The next door neighbor's dog (barking sonofabitch)...

Ah, technology.


Courtesy MSNBC.COM

A delightful amalgamation of cerebral debris

The GOP has taken every opportunity possible this year to make itself look bad. Most of it centers around Tom DeLay, who has allegedly violated several ethics rules regarding campaign fundraising and usage, and clearly tried to refocus public opinion and muddy the water with the Terri Schiavo case.

GOP protectors/friends earlier this year changed some rules so that, amidst his troubles, Tom DeLay could remain majority leader. So a rule gets violated, so you just... change it???

Bye, Tom. Good riddance. I'm pretty conservative, but in the court of public opinion, I'm afraid you're through.

_________________


Communiques to the Netherworld: TalkToAliens.com began taking orders in March, recording the voices of customers at a rate of $3.99 per minute and beaming them into space, aimed toward the center of the Milky Way by a parabolic dish antenna on an FM frequency. If you'd rather, you can send an email, and get a print-out of the text on a fancy certificate for under 20 bucks.

Come on, if aliens are listening to FM, I just KNOW they are cranking up a good classic-country station out of Dubuque. And, if they know ANYTHING about email, they probably have the galaxy's tightest spam filter in place.

And a German guy introduced his "telephonic angel" system, at a cost of about US$2,000, which is a battery operated speaker placed underground at a gravesite, and includes a microphone so you can talk to the corpse of your dearly departed (for up to a year on a single battery charge!)

I've completely missed the boat on making my fortune, 'cause you KNOW there are hordes of people who just can't wait to give these people their money. Damn!

___________________


I mentioned my opinion about the new Pope in a comment yesterday on Hoss' blo... er, I mean 'piece," and perhaps I've offended a few. I mentioned Benedict XVI has the "evil" look to him, and that he has been known to be ultra-conservative, therefore, probably will not be making any sweeping changes the church sorely needs... such as allowing priests to marry, allowing condoms and other forms of birth control, etc.

To clarify and set the record straight for all those who were offended, I have nothing against the Catholic church, I have a bazillion friends who are Catholic.

I also have many friends who WERE Catholic until recently. And, I meant every word I said.

___________________


Well, I gotta go. This coffee/Kahlua ain't gonna drink itself. See ya tomorrow...


***

A moment of fatherly mush

She has a disarming charm, a great smile and fabulous personality. She's having a hard time right now - and since she reads this blog sometimes, I have a message for her.

Your Dad loves you. No matter what happens in your life, good or bad, you'll always have a Father to lean on. I won't always say things you want to hear, but I'll always tell you the truth and I will always do what is best for you. I promise.

Someday you will look back and know how much you've meant to me. Things will look much different when you have age and wisdom. Right now, I probably mostly just seem like a mean guy. Right now, not everything makes sense to you. Someday it will. I promise.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, no place I wouldn't go. I give you my time and patience because you DESERVE it, and I owe it to you... but most importantly, because I want to. You have the ability to be whomever you wish, and do whatever you want. I will help you, I promise.

You will always be at the top of my list and the front of my heart. I'll prove to you how much I care. You have no idea what a powerful, positive and pretty person you are.

You ARE. I promise.

Okay, I'll bite

Chris at Dancing the Polka made me curious. Here are my results of this goofy dialect test. Taking it will tell you two things. First, your linguistic profile. Second, you have a serious problem finding things to keep you busy.

Your Linguistic Profile:

70% General American English

10% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

***

I don't usually share this kind of info

I have a marinade for steaks which I've developed over a period of several years. It has, according to my wife, silently slipped me into the upper echelon of grillers in America.

No, of COURSE I'm not sharing THAT recipe.

I have more recently developed a secondary marinade - whose base was the brilliant idea of my friend Rick - and I will now share that recipe:

Start with a bottle of Crystal Louisiana Hot Sauce. Don't be shy, use the entire bottle. Add about a cup of the italian dressing of your choice, but not the low-fat kind. Give me a break.

Then stir in a quarter-cup of soy sauce, and a half-cup of red wine. (make sure you've opened a fresh bottle, merlot works best, and it is your responsibility to drink the rest of the bottle while working around the kitchen) Stir this concoction into a nice, orangish sauce. While stirring, add two tablespoons of brown sugar and one teaspoon of powdered mustard.

Soak meat in this marinade for at least 2 hours, but shoot for 3. More than that, and you'll likely lose the flavor of the meat. Prior to putting the meat in the marinade, I like to rub it with Montreal seasoning. Use whatever floats your boat.

This is a marinade designed for beef. Use on other meats at your own risk, I haven't tried it.

If you have a favorite marinade, share it by commenting below. If not, fine... you're probably a ketchup person.

Monday observations

This weekend felt twice as long as usual. Friday, I discovered that my subwoofers in the car aren't working. And when my audio's not right, nothing's right. You can bet the car is in the shop right-damn-now.

_____________________

Students at Washington University in St. Louis are conducting a protest and hunger strike. Well, not really a hunger strike, because they've already given up on that...

The subject of the protest is, what they believe to be the too-low salaries and sub-adequate benefits of campus workers. Not the professors, mind you. The cooks, custodians, etc. So students decided to try to attract media attention with this "protest."

One of the local morning shows had a listener on campus, and sent the listener walking up to the protestors for an interview. There were about 8 protestors there, most were sleeping (at 9 am today) but all refused to be interviewed.

It appears we now know the level of resolve of these students, (first they take turns with their "hunger strike," call it off, then refuse media interviews) so this should be wrapped up soon.

Question to the students: Who do you think pays the salaries of those campus workers? If you guessed "Mom & Dad," you're starting to get the picture. In the free market system, it's up to the workers to negotiate their best deal, or leave. It's up to the college to pay them more, or not. Your parents WILL be the ones who ultimately suffer.

Perhaps if you feel that strongly, kids... YOU should pay them more! Sacrifice one meal a day and hand the money to the guy mowing the lawn. Just say no to beer for the weekend and give the dough to the woman working the snack bar. Forgo the new swimsuit and slide the cash to the custodian.

Suggest that to the "protestors," and the proceeding would be over faster than you could say "bong party at Dave's place."

Funny how college students aren't nearly as smart as they believe.

Baseball, scotch, pools, hitchhikers... and how they all tie together

I love baseball, but I am not a fan of what the game is becoming. It's quickly going the way of the NFL, NHL and NBA.

All rich men's games.

The new stadiums are getting smaller, sacrificing seats for luxury suites. The St. Louis Cardinals are building a new one, and now I see the Yankees are following suit.* Neither team really needs a new "house."

PSL's, ticket prices and "back-door-entry-with-no-lube" parking rates are slowly (okay, not so slowly) taking the game out of reach of the common man.

Among professional sports, baseball still remains the most affordable. You can still go to Busch and get a $9 ticket. But take an oxygen tank.

And don't expect things to get any better.

______________________


I'm attending a scotch-tasting party tonight, and it's been a while since I tried anything new. Although I consider myself more scotch-knowledgeable than the average person, I figure I can learn a lot tonight.

Okay, kidding. I'm just looking for a smooth buzz.

______________________


I am reminded what a pain in the butt owning a pool can be. But I also found that there are few things more peaceful than a walk around it in the morning with a cup of coffee.

______________________


I just realized how boring this post is. And what's even more surprising - you're still reading. Get a life.

Speaking of, I am re-reading a great book (a friend reminded me of it) called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I sat in the backyard and laughed my ass off this afternoon.

Now that I have no ass, I hope to find none of the rest of the book funny.

Have a nice weekend!


*courtesy MSNBC (as if I couldn't have gotten the story myself)

The Man

The restaurant was called Kreis, and it was known for a king-cut prime rib the size of Vermont. We had all ordered the next smaller choice and were still feeling lethargic.

Jason was an aspiring country singer, making the rounds to radio stations and playing his music for anyone who would listen. His style was unique, but his ex-wife was Lee Ann Womack, who just happened to be one of the hottest singers at the time. Unfortunately, most people wanted to talk about her, so I had spent our time at dinner making small talk about baseball.

Finally finished, we pulled on our winter coats and headed toward the door. Our thoughts moved toward finding a beer and a television - it was basketball season.

When we reached the sidewalk outside, we stopped to enjoy the chill in the air and Jason lit a cigarette. I turned back to inspect the restaurant once more and saw an older gentleman exiting behind us, pulling his trench coat over his shoulders as he walked. I did the classic double-take.

"You guys know who that is?" Scot knew, Jason didn't. It was 'The Man'. I could see in my mind the baseball card I owned as a kid. He played from 1941 to 1963, and only for the St. Louis Cardinals.

We stood motionless and quiet as Stan moved toward us. I had to say something to him, he had been my idol for 25 years. "Mr. Musial?"

"Yes sir, that's me," he said. He wore a wool beret and had a gleam in his eye. It was obvious he had never grown tired of fans.

"Did you get enough to eat in there?" I fumbled for something to say other than an obvious fan reference.

"They don't serve anything small, do they?" he quipped. I slipped my hands in my pockets as we laughed.

He had stopped to exchange pleasantries, but his glance toward the parking lot told me he was ready to move on. I decided to take the plunge. "Sir, I don't want to intrude on your evening, but I just wanted you to know that my friends and I have always been inspired by the way you played baseball."

He leaned forward a little, looking me straight in the eye. "Thank you son, I never get tired of hearing that." Then a smile crossed his face as if he'd remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a stack of cards. "Would you mind if I give you guys a little something to remember this evening?" His speech and demeanor seemed reminiscent of another era. It felt a little eerie.

Jason, suddenly conscious of his cigarette, tossed it away. The last of the smoke hung in the air and mixed with the smell of the restaurant kitchen. Stan signed three baseball cards and handed one to each of us. I waved mine around in the cool air to dry the ink, then slipped it carefully into my pocket. "Thank you, sir." I shook his hand, then a flush crossed my face as I thought how he probably just wanted to get in his car and go home.

"What are your names?" he inquired.

I introduced the group and he shook each of our hands. I bragged that Jason was an up and coming country music star.

Stan's eyes lit up. "Is that right? I love country music! I loved listening to the Grand Ole Opry and square dancing when I was a younger man." As he spoke, I started thinking about the places he'd been and things he had seen.

He reached into his pocket again, this time pulling out a harmonica. "I can even play a country song or two on this," he said as he examined it thoughtfully.

We looked at each other, wondering if just maybe...

"Tell me what you think," he said, putting the instrument to his lips. The first few notes were all we needed, he was playing The Wabash Cannonball.

We tapped our feet and watched in amazement. He was very good, and indulged us with the entire first verse. When he finished and slipped the instrument back into his pocket, we erupted in applause. He took the slightest hint of a bow and smiled.

"Well, good luck Jason, I hope to hear you on the radio." He tipped his hat, nodded to each of us and strolled off into the evening. We said goodnight and watched him walk away. I sensed a spring in his step, and it was obvious he enjoyed playing for us as much as we enjoyed listening.

A solemn quiet came over us, standing there on that sidewalk. It was almost as if we'd seen a ghost. We watched as his car pulled off the lot and floated into the night, the exhaust hanging in the air.

Scan of my card from Stan Musial

Dave's Friday Photo

"Last one in is a rotten egg!"

My backyard is very happy it's spring.

Politicians

I must say, the budget of the state of Missouri is stretched tighter than a gnat's ass over a rain barrel. Dollars are short, there is always too much month at the end of the money.

So recently, the Missouri legislature voted to cut medicare benefits to many residents - and those kinds of cuts hurt. It affected my Mom, for instance, who's challenged by many medical problems. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a proponent of programs that allow people to be lazy... the state doesn't owe you a living. But this is one of those ironic situations where the cut hurts those who work, but don't make enough to pay for medical expenses.

Here's where I have a problem with politicians. When a (highly symbolic but meaningful) proposal was floated by a few state lawmakers to cut their own medical benefits by 20 percent... guess what. They voted NOT to.

As I've said before... and will until I see evidence to the contrary... politicians suck in the worst way.

It was just a freakin' OIL CHANGE!

In the past two weeks, we've had the oil changed in both vehicles. Directly afterward, we received in the mail exactly two customer satisfaction surveys from the dealerships. Each survey was at least two pages in length.

If you don't fill out the survey and return it, they call you. And if you DO fill it out but indicate a less-than-glowing experience, they call you.

Note to dealership: I'm sick of the surveys. Pleave me and my freshly-oil-filled vehicles alone. You want praise... we get it. But for chrissake, it's an OIL change.

Not an engine rebuild.

Hey Eric, God doesn't support you - he thinks you're a jagoff

A defiant Eric Rudolph pleaded guilty Wednesday to carrying out the deadly bombing at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics and three other attacks, saying he picked the Summer Games to embarrass the U.S. government in front of the world “for its abominable sanctioning of abortion on demand.”


Guess what... there's a jail cell with a bed, a head and a horny man just waiting for you, my friend. No, wait... I mean asshole.

And the thermostat in hell has just been turned up a little in honor of your pending arrival.

Uh oh

It's a "family emergency" kinda day, so I'm having coffee and trying to get a few things done before I leave town. This picture will hopefully tide you over.

They're manatees.

Question: could it REALLY be possible these are the origin of the legend of the mermaid? If so, what kind of women did the early explorers date, fer chrissake?

A leech? In her WHAT?

A story which made me nearly lose my omelette.

Here's the link

And here's an exerpt:

"...could have suffocated the woman if it had moved into her larynx..."


Thanks to Chris at El Cajone

Nifty notification tool

A few friends have asked if I can send them an email notification when I write a piece on my site.

These people clearly:

1- Have lives mostly devoid of personal pain and torture, and would like to add some... or
2- Have a lively interest in what I have to say. (therefore, certifiably insane)

I've found a service that does it... it's your chance to be notified when I've posted something new, so you don't have to stop in 8 times a day in rabid anticipation. (I crack myself up!)

Just scroll down on the left side of this page, look for the Bloglet registration tab and enter your email address. There will be no spam sent, you won't be added to any list. Just an automated email whenever something new appears here. And if you don't like it, you can easily unsubscribe. I won't know who's subscribed so your stalker status will be secure. (still cracking myself up!)

Or, simply ignore all the above and read on...

More things about Dave (aka - a chance to scroll down quickly)

Second installment. Feel free to criticize, demean and demoralize me, but they're all honest.

11- As a child we had no money, so I had a poor wardrobe. Sometimes I had to wear pants 2 or 3 inches too short. To this day, I feel strange if my socks are showing.

12- I have only known my Father for 9 years. He and Mom split before I was born, and I was almost 32 when I first met him in L-A in 1996.

13- My golf handicap is probably about 25. I suck, suck, suck. Suck. But I received a package of 4 lessons for Father’s day last year, so I’m planning to get better.

14- My drink of choice is Scotch. Lagavulin is my favorite brand, but generally I drink Glenfiddich or Glenlivet. I own a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label – but it’s priced such that I only drink it on special occasions.

15- I was a band geek in high school. I never got into sports, but wish I had. I can make good contact with a baseball, but we didn’t have a team at Warsaw High School.

16- I can eat an amazing number of tacos. When I was younger, it was upwards of 20 tacos, but now I can probably knock back 11 or 12 on a good night.

17- My favorite artist is Van Gogh. He is able to communicate more in a painting than most people can with a 10-thousand word vocabulary.

18- I dig Dennis Miller’s sense of humor. He’s smart and sarcastic, two personality traits I can relate to. Most people either really like him or really don't.

19- I have never broken a bone. I have had many opportunities, but mine must be very flexible.

20- I hate minivans. I question why people who have one child believe they need one.

Ready to slit your wrists yet?

Stupid, cliche list

My friend Gene, aka Hoss, has started a movement in the world of the internet - to stop using the word "blog." He wants to start calling the stories, anecdotes, opinions, etc. recorded here "pieces."

First step - getting the people at Blogger to rename their service "Piecer," but hey, a movement has to start somewhere.

For the record, I support Hoss in his quest, and from now on will avoid using the "B" word. Unless I forget or something.

Something you'll see on a lot of people's bl... um, personal sites... (how my doin' Hoss?) is the "(insert person's name here) Top 100 Fact List." As mundane and cliche as it may seem, I have read others' lists and found them beguiling. It's always fun to see how people actually describe themselves. (honesty seems sorely lacking in some of the lists I've seen)

I will now give you the first 10 items on my list of Dave-facts. I promise they will be honest, not contrived, and completely boring to you.

1- I am a fairly good saxophone player, but hardly ever pull out my instrument. (I love the phrase "pull out my instrument") I also play trombone and piano, neither very well.

2- I have my own business, and I owe my success to Bob Grayson and Emmis Broadcasting. Bob’s the first guy who hired me for imaging voice overs, Emmis paid out my contract after I quit, when they didn’t have to.

3- I am 1/4 Indian, and as a consequence, have little body hair. I only have to shave 3 times per week.

4- I love crossword puzzles but haven’t done one in years. I get addicted too easily.

5- I used to purchase cans of coke in the teacher's lounge at school, pour out some coke and add Jack Daniels I carried in a flask in my saxophone case.

6- I don’t really have a favorite kind of music, but I equally like country, jazz, classic rock, standards and old-school R&B.

7- I have a daughter from my first marriage. The marriage only lasted a few years, the daughter has now lasted almost 16. Lord, help me.

8- When I bought my first CD player, (1986) I also bought two CDs – Bon Jovi “Slippery When Wet” and Carpenter’s “Greatest Hits.” Advice: never put those two CDs in at the same time on shuffle.

9- My favorite book of all time is Robert Fulghum’s “Everything You Need To Know You Learned in Kindergarten.” I still believe it’s true.

10- My first car was a 1965 Dodge Coronet. It was my grandparent’s car, who sold it to my aunt, who later gave it to me.

More later, I'm even making myself sick.

Weekend Recap

Tiger won the Masters, the Cardinals lost two out of three to Philly, and I lost a monumental amount of cash. And lost my dinner Saturday night at the hands of that vicious yet bewitching nectar that is tequila. Damn you Masters tournament. DAMN YOU!

I learned that a hangover can be conquered with the following (in order):

1. 1 half bottle Pepto Bismol
2. 5 advil
3. 1 half gallon coffee
4. 1 bloody mary, extra spicy
5. 2 dozen fried mushrooms with plenty of horseradish
6. 2/3 pound bison burger with bleu cheese 'n' bacon & greasy onion straws
7. 2 gallons water
8. 1 warmed over ham & egg "Breakfast Jack" sandwich
9. 2 more gallons water
   

By 5 pm Sunday, I was again functioning at a full 65 percent. This morning I feel great, except for having to sell my watch collection and big screen.

Note to self: arrange untimely death of "Sam the bookie."

Pope pourri

Even some of the world's lesser beings (aren't we humans arrogant?) have a morning ritual. The birds outside my bedroom window have one, which is to begin annoying me around 6:00 am. (therefore, the first item on MY morning ritual is to close the window and sleep another 2 hours)

At around 8:00 I slide out, "check the plumbing," feed Regis and let him out, feed Kramer and make coffee. Okay, some of those things my wife does. Like, oh... all of them except the plumbing part. But I'm always careful to tell her how good that coffee tastes, so get off my back.

Then it's to the laptop for blog-hopping and a news update. I generally read about 30 blogs during the course of the day, migrating from the hard news to the goofy/entertaining ones as I go.

Then I finish coffee, shower, dress and get into the studio by 9:30 or 10. This ritual is fairly important to me, and I must say if something crops up to disturb it, I'm just not myself that day.

Today is one of those days. The only time they can do an oil change on my car is 11 am. ELEVEN. AM. Could it get any worse? It breaks up my session times, puts my day in a lurch, screws up my tea on the veranda, and forces me take another one of those little pills the doctor told me would make things alright. WHY, oil man? WHY!?!?!

Side note: I should point out I'm completely capable of changing my own oil, but the lease on my car prohibits me from doing it. The dealership must do it, and they never charge for routine maintenance. But thanks for just assuming I was an incapable hack.

Oh sure, I'm fine now, but I wanted you to know up front... later today I will be a different person. Maybe not on the surface, but after the ritual-disruption there will be unpredictable undercurrents.

_____________

This weekend is the annual weekend-long Masters Tournament party at the Morris compound. I know what you're thinking, try to contain yourself. It's five buddies who will use any excuse to burn brats, smoke cigars and drink beer. There will be bursts of personal body gas, scratching and cussing. Lying and bullshit will abound.

Sounds fun, huh? (and word to my friend Greg - Vijay is on fire this year, my "benjamin" says he's the man)

_____________

I reserve most evenings at around 9 or 10 to visit the blog of a real writing genius, a throwback to the old west. He's a squinty-eyed modern-day gunslinger named Latigo Flint. Please bookmark his site and go back often. He's a gentleman and a thigh-slapping iron-shucker. A real mother-shucker, too.

_____________

The pope's funeral was this morning, a full week after he died. Probably Correct pointed out the grisly truth about the customary embalming procedure Papal bodies undergo after death. Did they REALLY have to close down the viewing to apply more makeup so you couldn't tell the Pope was decomposing already? How gross is that?

I was told the other day that Catholics don't believe in cremation because you will have to use your body again when it's time to... uh, I guess go to heaven. I wonder if that's true. And what about the billions of people who have been dead for hundreds of years and whose bodies are now soil?

I suppose we're not supposed to question those things. Sorry.

Value of a dollar

As a child, my family (which was composed of just Mom and me most of the time) was about as poor as we could get. I got free lunch at school, wore hand-me-down clothes from neighbors and ate a steady diet of government cheese... the only thing missing was the van down by the river. (who could afford a van?) Mom was divorcing her husband at the time - he was a Green Beret at Fort Bragg - and we were going through some generally hard times in Fayetteville, NC.

I was 11, and attended Alger B. Wilkins elementary. Oddly enough, my most vivid memory of that school was breakfast. I had never attended a school that served it, (it was free for me of course) and it was always the same thing... a lump of grits, a flat, dry sausage patty and some powdered eggs. I remember how thankful I was because sometimes it was hard for Mom to afford to do breakfast. (I also remember how hard school was in Carolina, they were almost a year ahead of the schools in California and it took me a while to catch up)

Money had always been scarce, so I found ways of scratching together occasional candy funds by doing odd jobs for whomever might pay me. About a block up the street from us was a laundromat, and one day I dropped in to see if the attendant might need some help. She said she didn't have money to pay me, but if I wanted I could sweep the floors every day and keep any money I found. Opportunity had knocked and (since the door didn't have a peephole) I answered!

Most days I'd find 75 cents or a buck, some days a quarter is all I could scrounge, but it was great extra cash for a kid. Eventually the attendant started letting me fold laundry, and in return she'd round my findings up to the nearest dollar. Mom asked one day if I had been hired on full-time, because after school I'd make a beeline straight to the laundromat from the bus stop, and sometimes wouldn't make it home until dark.

And I'd never go straight home - always took a detour across the parking lot to the liquor store for the ritualistic "spending of the cash." Candy bars were 10 or 20 cents (Three Musketeers and Bit O Honey were cheapest) and sometimes I'd even splurge for a soda, which was 20 cents. Then I'd get home and slip the rest into the piggy bank for a rainy day.

That rainy day came when Mom decided to move us to Missouri where my Grandparents lived. We needed gas money for the trip and the extra cash was a godsend. We never would have made it without the laundromat money and I'll never forget how proud it made me feel to contribute.

Life wasn't always easy, but I wouldn't trade the lessons or memories for anything. I wish my kids knew the value of a dollar.

Too bad we don't live anywhere near a Duds in Suds.

***

Screw OPEC

Okay, time for a reality check.

Oil closed somewhere in the mid 50's per barrel today, and the gas-guzzling GMC "cowboy cadillac" sitting in my driveway costs nearly $60 per fill-up. Between our two vehicles, we "shell" out $430 a month for dead dinosaur juice!

Having said that, let's examine gasoline's relative cheapness. You heard me, it's cheap.

Consider these admittedly ridiculous scenarios:

If my truck burned Gatorade, at a cost of $10.17 per gallon, it would cost $254 per fill-up - over a grand a month. (but imagine that electrolyte buzz)

If it burned Evian bottled water, I'd expect to peel off 21.19 per gallon - or in excess of $2,100 per month. (but wouldn't I look sophisticated?)

Filling up a truck's tank with Scope mouth wash for a month, 9 thousand dollars. Never having to worry about foul-smelling exhaust, priceless.

Then there's Nyquil. In the incredibly farfetched event my truck burned the "nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, so you can rest medicine," I'd be getting a "damn, freaking, son-of-a-bitching, shitting-my-pantsing, MF-ing loan" for $17,800 per month in order to keep the tank full.

(if you're easily offended, at this time please page down to my article about Easter because you probably don't want to know about the following price comparison)

Years ago, I considered making my contribution toward advancement of the human race by giving a small "DNA sample" at a "repository" down the street. They were offering 200 bucks per "donation," and I definitely needed the "money." (why am I putting quotes around everything?) Long story short, I decided I couldn't withstand the embarrassment of the "handoff." But, at a price point of 200 bucks per "shot..." if ol' Betsy burned "baby batter..."

Know what? Never mind.

Next time you look with disdain at the gas station sign, instead just be happy your vehicle doesn't guzzle any of these, uh, products... and FILL 'ER UP! It's ONLY a second mortgage.

***

Dave Morris

Ever Google yourself? It was less of an ego thing than a "trying to find a new web address for myself" thing.

Just kidding, it was an ego thing. I don't show up on Google until the very bottom of page 3. Sucks to be me.

www.davemorris.com is taken by a writer as his personal website, complete with family pictures, etc. How dare he? It is a pretty cool site and I'm envious of the web address.

www.davidmorris.com is a jeweler in London. Wish I had a few of his bucks. I wonder if I could talk him into taking www.davidmorris.co.uk... it's available. Problem is, nobody wants a web address that doesn't end with dot-com. Do you? See, told ya.

www.sonofabitch.com is taken, too. If there is a nickname to which I've become most accustomed, that would probably be it.

Ever meet someone with the same name as you? Strange the feeling of kinship you get when considering it. You wonder if they were similarly taunted in school. "Hey, Morris the cat! Here kitty kitty!"

"Yeah, well at least I can lick myself!" Followed by a quick right upper-cut. Then blood.

You wonder if other Dave Morris' also get sick of the sound of their name. Or if by chance they have been assigned similar nicknames. Or what they've accomplished with their lives. There's a professor at the University of Lethbridge, a photographer, a women's soccer coach and a published author all named Dave Morris. Google said so.

There's a lot to a name. It's the only thing you come into the world with, and the only thing you'll have after you're gone.

Probably all of us have scoured the search engines looking for ourselves.

Caption Contest, Part Deux

Another week, another fun caption contest!

I know what you're thinking - Dave must have writer's block. Of course this is not the case, I've brought back the caption contest BY POPULAR DEMAND.

AND I have writer's block. Sue me.


Your creativity on this one won't require any prompting from me.

Best one wins. I've primed the pump with my own entry, I just couldn't resist.


*I have no idea who this poor guy is, but we'll have fun at his expense*

***

Brief, stupid thought

(as I'm replacing the lid)

Do Bacos ever REALLY make it onto a salad?

***

No time like the present

It's not bad enough that we still have blood lettings, peasant revolts, and oxen for transportation, (at least in my world) do we really STILL need to be changing the clocks twice a year?

First, let me clarify the term. It's "daylight saving time" - not savings, saving. The word "saving" is a verbal adjective that modifies time. Although it's been pointed out that it flows more mellifluously off the tongue when inserting the extra S, it just ain't right. (and doesn't the word "ain't" flow mellifluously too?)

It's an idea that was originally hatched by an otherwise brilliant man, Benjamin Franklin, who was CLEARLY hopped up on the goofball when this one hit him.

Contrary to popular belief, the reasons for the time shift are NOT farmers needing more time in the field, nor to please aliens from the planet Xrieke, both of which are myths. The real reasons are to have more swim, cookout and girl-down-the-street-stalking time in the evening, and to save a little energy. Was that my outside voice?

That's it. THOSE are the only justifications for this utter nonsense. And to complicate issues (he draws a deep breath):

77 counties (including Indianapolis) are in the Eastern Time Zone but do not change to Daylight time in April. Instead they remain on Standard Time all year long. 10 counties - five near Chicago and five near Evansville - are in the Central Time Zone and use both Central Standard and Central Daylight. Five other counties - two near Cincinnati, OH, and three near Louisville, KY - are in the Eastern Time Zone but use both Eastern Standard and Eastern Daylight. Not to mention Hawaii and Arizona, who are also exempt.

ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

To put a fine point on it... of all major industrialized countries in the world, the one holdout - the people who have the balls not to conform to this goofy premise - is Japan. Coincidentally, WHO leads the world in productivity? Technical/electronic innovation? Percentage of people with straight black hair?

I can give you 50 great reasons we should STOP the insanity of changing the time twice a year:

* the clock in the kitchen
* the clock in the car that nobody knows how to set
* the 48 watches I own

The prosecution rests.



***

The Pope and Gary

The 24-hour cable news networks have (over)done it again.

On the Schiavo case, by the time the poor lady passed on, Americans were case-hardened. Now with the Pope death-watch, it's constant coverage again and they've already interviewed everyone AND their brother AND their second cousin from the maternal side AND a couple of people's pets about John Paul II. Clearly they were expecting him to die yesterday, circling like rabid buzzards. But the Pope's health has shown incredible resiliency - and now as I check the multi-channel death-watch this morning, I'm ROOTIN' for him more than ever. I hope he lasts another week... and that finally, at the time of his passing, all the reporters are suffering exhaustion, nodding off on camera.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about celebrating technology, it's great to have such extensive world-wide news coverage capabilities. But USE those capabilities by following some of the 2000 other stories worthy of coverage right now. Please. Let us not mourn the passing of the Pope until it happens. I don't want to be calloused to it and have his impact lessened when that time comes.

And Godspeed, John Paul II.

___________________

Will there be beer?

That's a question my friend Gary always asks before accepting an invitation to... well, anything. The subject is near and dear to him, so when we had lunch yesterday I had to deal with an exceptional level of ribbing for not drinking.

If I drink at lunch, it is impossible for me to finish the day. Alcohol affects my speech before I even feel a buzz. I have learned this through experience, I know and accept this about myself, and so now I always avoid drinking when I have voice overs left to do.

So thanks Gary. I appreciate the SEVEN LAYERS OF SHIT you gave me for drinking iced tea at lunch yesterday.

Gary is in the drafting business, he draws blueprints for the steel part of malls, parking garages, buildings... outhouses. Oddly enough, I've noticed that some of the structures he has drawn appear to be leaning. I must assume those structures were after-lunch projects.

______________

Off to get a hair cut. Have a great weekend.




UPDATE: It was announced at 2pm, a few minutes ago, the most travelled Pope in history, a survivor of an assassination attempt and the first Polish Pope in history, passed away. Arguably the most influential, most decent man of our age.

Dave's Friday Photo

Now THESE are shirts.

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