Caption Contest

Be creative.


Thought starters:

1. The tie.
2. Male pattern baldness.
3. What's he looking at?

Leave a comment with your submission. The best one wins.

Nervous

For a few years, I've done voice overs for radio stations big and small, all around the world - but my audition this morning was for a TV station in Boston. If I get the job, I will be the voice that says:

"Tonight on CBS-4, an investigative report: why your tax dollars are being wasted on hookers and crack. Fern Knudsen reports at 11 on CBS-4."

It will be a big deal - my first television client. Obviously I was nervous and wishing for liquor.

The audition was to be conducted over a connection called an ISDN. It's a studio-quality phone line, and the decision-makers would be on the other end listening through a big set of speakers.

The day's beginning was coarse. The first thing I learned when I rose and opened my laptop was that my audition was an hour earlier than I thought. Which meant I would have to make it downtown in rush hour traffic in 25 minutes. No problem, with the help of the growling 325-horse engine in the 745Li, I accomplished the feat... only to learn the studio engineer - the guy who knows how to make the ISDN work - had overslept. It was up to me to set things up.

I don't need to tell you how ridiculous that concept is.

No matter which buttons I pushed, I could not determine why they could hear me but I couldn't hear them. With no hope of reaching audio nirvana without the help of hungover-sound-guy, we agreed to move the session back 45 minutes. What a GREAT first impression! Shit.

Finally the engineer guy arrived, he un-pushed the buttons I had pushed and we got things ready to go. The line connected, I exchanged pleasantries and apologies with the director in Boston and we were underway. I read a couple of fluff pieces for them, which were fine. I'm a real fluff kinda guy.

Then it was time to convince them. They wanted me to read the nightly news intro, the grandaddy of all voice over lines. It will be played over an official sounding news bed with drums, horns and strings, so I have to be good. I reached way down deep to muster up the serious, ominous tone it would require to accomplish my goal... and I let 'her rip.

"LIVE AT 11.. THIS IS YOUR LOCAL NEWSTATION... CBS 4 NEWS... WITH LISA HUGHES AND JOSH BINSWANGER."

A moment of silence, then they pop on. "Can you give us a little more umph, more authority. And be more serious, less friendly."

Gulp. Huh? Are they kidding?!? Nope, they wanted more. "Okay," I responded, "no problem!" My mind started changed gears. I had to go to a mental place I had never been before. I had to imagine I was someone else... somewhere else... in another time.

Yes, suddenly, I was Lord Fontleroy issuing a declaration of war over the huns of the valley.

Me: "LIVE AT 11.. (dramatic pause) THIS IS YOUR LOCAL NEWSTATION... CBS 4 NEWS... (dramatic pause) WITH LISA HUGHES AND JOSH BINSWANGER."

I should tell you how difficult it is to say "Binswanger" in a serious tone. Binswanger. BINZ-wang-er.

Another moment of silence. Their microphone clicks and I hear room noise, but nothing more.

Silence.

Then, a clap. Another clap. Someone else joins in. Suddenly, applause erupts throughout the room and the director says "that was PERFECT!"

Audio Nirvana.

So what could a guy like me possibly do at a moment like this - but spill his coffee.

All over the control board. All over my pants. Shorting out the microphone and sending a small whisp of smoke toward the ceiling.

And losing the connection with Boston.

I smiled. What more COULD I do? There are just some days you wish you could fast-forward through. I picked up my cell phone, dialed the television station, thanked them for their time and sunk back in my chair. It was time for a double Lagavulin on the rocks.

I'll let you know if I get the gig.

"If the coffin fits..."

He died rather young, age 67... I can only suppose he ran out of appeals.

Dear public school:

As a parent, I just wanted to thank you for doing your part in helping America claim the title of WORLD'S FATTEST NATION.

It's no easy feat, so we should be proud of our status. Eliminating the requirement of physical education classes was brilliant! Who needs physical activity in today's world? We're preparing our children for jobs that are mostly sedintary in nature, why waste time with PE? Let's get those guts and butts growing early!

And the school lunch program is a glowing example of your contribution to our world-wide distinction! Pizza, french fries, soda, snack pies, ice cream... such careful choosing of comestibles will ENSURE we retain our proud status. Bigger is better, that's what I say.

And when those inerudite, short-sighted parents complain to you periodically about the cafeteria fare, your answer is utterly ingenious... especially the part about teaching children good nourishment by giving them an opportunity to make choices on their own, even if they're the wrong choices. FANTASTIC!

With that basic concept in mind, I would encourage you to rethink your entire curriculum. Design every class around giving them both right AND wrong answers, and let THEM decide which is correct. After all, school is not an institution of LEARNING, it's an institution of GUESSING. Before long, we'll not only hold the title of fattest nation on earth, we'll also be the LEAST-EDUCATED.

Bravo! I am excited about the prospect... and hope you stay on course. CARRY ON, public schools... and remember our motto - NO CHILD LEFT (with a small) BEHIND!

Millions long for immortality...

... who do not know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

Susan Ertz

Surprise 35-year belated gift

After reading the Easter story (below) my son Danny went out and spent his own money to buy me this Easter basket, complete with rubber duckies for the hottub.

It more than made up for any missing basket of candy... and reminded me of what a great son I have.

An Easter Story

He fidgeted with the Pez dispenser, knowing that by this time tomorrow it would be full again. Click. Click. Click. Donald Duck’s head nodded, controlled by a grimy thumb.

He would have refilled it but he'd already spent his dime on a Coke this morning. He earned money by picking up trash, helping check oil, and pumping gas at the Standard station in front of the apartment where he and his mother lived. He was mostly a good helper and Sam paid him well; 10 cents a day, and usually it went right back into the cash register for candy. But not today, he would need no Pez, no Milk Duds, no bubble gum. Those things would be coming tonight for free.

What was Easter about anyway? As far as he knew, it was about eggs, candy, and baskets. Wasn’t there something else though? He strained to remember, his forehead wrinkling from concentration. If there was, he would have to think of it later. Right now he was focused on candy.

Mom had told him the Easter bunny only came if you had followed the rules - gotten to bed on time, didn’t talk back, finished your supper - and as the big day drew closer, he had made sure his record was spotless. He smiled, then frowned. It was 9 o’clock. He was pretty smart for a 6-year old, he knew 9 o’clock meant bedtime on the weekend, but Mom wasn’t home yet.

There were rules with people like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, rules that must not be broken. A big one was the “can’t be awake” rule. He scrunched his nose, deliberating. He didn’t know where Mom was tonight, so he couldn’t call her.

He walked to the window and peered into the dark. In the distance, red lights began flashing on the train crossing arm. As he watched it lower into position, he wondered if Fairfield California was at the beginning of the Easter Bunny’s tour or near the end. He watched and waited for the train to finish, hoping the headlights he could see flickering between the boxcar wheels were Mom’s. They were not.

Worried, he turned from the window and paced the kitchen. The parrot stirred in his cage, so he offered his finger between the bars to calm the bird. He considered going to bed now, so if the Easter Bunny came before his Mom got home he would at least be asleep and ready. That made the most sense to him, so he put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, washed the day’s dirt off his hands, and slipped into bed. He got back up quickly, having forgotten an important detail. The milk and carrot!

He poured the milk, but there were no carrots to be found. He looked around thoughtfully and decided a cookie would have to suffice. He placed the items carefully on the table and scurried back to bed.

________

He awoke to sunlight streaming through the window. He lingered in bed looking at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog.

His face lit up. It’s Easter!

He sat up and looked across the room. It was a small house with only one bedroom and Mom was sleeping soundly in her bed. A big smile crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a frown. Did she make it to bed in time, or was she awake when the bunny arrived? He bounded out of bed and rushed toward the door, then remembered to tip-toe so mom wouldn't wake up. He imagined how silly he must look, trying to run and tip-toe at the same time, but he knew what waited for him beyond the door.

There would be eggs hidden around the house, a huge basket in the living room, and candy everywhere. It was something he especially enjoyed, the hunt for the eggs. Last year the bunny had taken extraordinary steps to make them hard to find.

He stepped gingerly around the corner and peered into the living room. The basket wasn’t in its usual place. He frowned. Surely the Bunny wouldn’t have hidden the entire basket but he must have. What a clever idea! This would just add to the fun.

He poked around behind the chair, checked under the table, in the bathroom. He slipped down onto his belly to see what might be under the couch. Nothing there - no basket, no eggs. In a flurry, he ran around the house looking everywhere - under, above, behind things. Nothing. He pursed his lips and folded his arms. Hmmm…

Under the sink! It was one of the last places he could think of, so surely it would be there. He ran into the kitchen and dropped to his knees, sliding the last few feet to the cabinet. He peeked in carefully, gingerly, wanting to prolong the excited surprise he would feel when he saw the basket.

Nothing. The frown returned as he stood up and walked to the living room. Surely there was something he had missed. Surely Mom had gone to bed in time. Surely he had been a good boy. Surely.

But then he thought about that day a few weeks ago when he was late walking home from school. He had stopped at a friend’s house to see his new bike, and Mom was waiting for him on the porch. She was very unhappy with him that day.

Another time a puppy had “followed” him home. Truth be told some coaxing was involved. Mom wasn’t too excited about that either.

Another time he had slipped an unwanted ham and cheese sandwich behind the refrigerator and told his mom he had finished it. He had planned to return later and toss it outside but the dog discovered it first and exposed his transgression.

Could it be he hadn't been good enough this year? He rubbed his chin and realized it was wet. He hadn't noticed the tears that were rolling down his face. He wanted to awaken Mom and ask her advice but it was still pretty early, so he curled up on the couch and turned on the television.

An hour later, his mother woke up and walked into the room in robe and slippers. She looked at the television and noticed it was an Easter church service. She looked at him and realized what had happened.

She struggled for answers as he questioned her. Sometimes, she said, the Easter Bunny just forgets. Sometimes he runs out of candy and has to finish the next night. It could be a hundred things, but she was sure it wasn’t because he was a bad boy.

He began considering her thoughts. He couldn’t imagine the Easter Bunny would forget him, and he’s never been known to run out of candy. Was she sure it wasn’t the sandwich or the puppy? All she could do was shrug her shoulders and hug him. The candy and eggs will probably come tonight, he thought.

He got dressed, brushed his teeth, and headed to the Standard station. Sam was probably needing his help! Today's dime would go toward refilling his Pez dispenser, just in case.

"The race is long...

... and in the end, it's only with yourself."

Mary Schmich

Drinking and blogging

Do you have any idea how great it is to finally sleep in? My eyelids fluttered at 9:30, I got up around 10, lounged in my robe until 1, then began drinking Bud Light and dirty Sapphire martinis at a furious pace.

I can only imagine what the evening holds in store. I think I'll go out and blow some money. That's always what I end up doing when drinking.

Well, that... and occasionally crapping my own pants.


UPDATE: I spent 10 bucks. I didn't crap my pants.

Is it warm in here, or is it just me?

With all due respect to those offended by comparing an asshole to a method of hygene...

Here is a douche bag.

And here's why:

Is there a "hysteria" over global warming? I wouldn't call it that, but there are members of the scientific community, who stand to profit nothing, saying man IS affecting the climate of the Earth.

The ozone IS disappearing, fact. The mean temperature of the Earth IS rising, fact. We are dumping MEGATONS of fossil fuel emmissions into the atmosphere, fact. Those emmissions DO chemically alter and eliminate ozone, fact. Earth IS delicately balanced and susceptible to mass-extinctions, fact. (just look back through history) These are things that cannot be ignored, regardless of how the economy is. They are facts.

Is it doomsday? No, we'll likely survive. Science is advancing faster than global warming, we'll find a way to adapt. But are we adversely affecting our environment? Of course we are. I can hardly imagine anyone arguing that, it's common sense. (oh, wait... maybe that's the reason)

Some people ignore information, however factual, that doesn't benefit their agenda. But there is a point at which we must weigh the price of a cleaner Earth against the impact on economy. I'm no tree hugger, but we must find cleaner, less environmentally impactful energy.

Even asshole-douche-bag should be able to see that.

-----------

UPDATE 3-26-05: Okay, I'm feeling a little embarrassed. Sometimes I get worked up when I write opinion pieces. Did you notice?

For fear of being categorized as a heathen, (or worse, someone who doesn't see both sides of a debate) I must scale back the name calling. Replace asshole with assHAT, and douche bag with goober.

But he's still a guy who ignores those things which are inconvenient.

Dave's Friday Photo

Must have been a damn good night. I wish I could remember it.

How safe IS Iraq?

Iraqi kids are smarter and more savvy than we might think. And probably safer than American kids!

If you click the picture, you can see why I say that. I had to share it, considering the trial is going on.

UPDATE: Fine, Quinn. It's a doctored picture. It's not real. Forgery. Photoshop masterpiece. Thanks man. Now tell me there's no easter bunny.
courtesy Probably Correct

Most of the time...

I feel like my blog is read-worthy. Mostly, I have lucid, intelligent, stupid, inconsistent, fascinating yet boring things on my mind.

The hobby of having a blog fills a hole in my life somehow.

Of course, part of my blog is my profile... in which I state that I am a "hater of hypocrisy." Do I just say I hate hypocrisy because it sounds good and makes me feel noble? Of COURSE NOT. Do I only say it so I seem like a better person? ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Uh, okay well... maybe.

I didn't THINK so until I read the blog entry of LIGHTNING BUG'S BUTT. It really was an epiphany for me.

After careful self-examination, it seems I actually hate hypocrisy... IN OTHERS. Mine is okay, it's the next guy I really hate.

Wow, a new plateau of self-awareness! Drinks for everyone!

Let's be honest, the sort of hypocrisy I hate mostly deals with the big things. Politics, right to life... religion... frequent flyer miles. The small things pass through my hypocrisy strainer and drop neatly into the puzzle that is my life. Isn't that convenient?

Side note: when I first started blogging, I felt really good about the things I wrote. I found them insightful, fascinating, interesting and well written. Since then, I've found blogs that make mine seem mundane and pedestrian. Lightning Bug's Butt, among others, is a great example.

Yet, curiously, I continue blogging.

Why?

Why do the fries in the bottom of the bag taste so much better than the fries in the french fry box? Is it some sort of mysterious "spud sorcery?"

Also, I realize that with all the hubbub in baseball right now it will be tough to avoid the word, but I'm getting tired of the overuse of the phrase "on steroids."

"Disneyland is like Six Flags on steroids!"

"The new Ford Mustang is like the 1980 Ford Fiesta on steroids!"

"My new Harley is like a moped on steroids!"

Okay, a couple of those examples are bad. Anyway...

Worrisome search words...

Every day I scan through my site to see who has dropped by, and which search words through Google, Technorati, Yahoo and others, are bringing people to my little corner of the blogosphere.

Today, I find that someone arrived at my site by searching the phrase "divorced wife and sex with teenage son." This is mortifying. I gotta stop writing when I'm drunk.

Another interesting one. "goats gay single nude men." Uh. Moving on.

How about this one. "Nissan Maxima with cuban cigars." Had I known these were an option on the new Maxima, I would have never bought that used 80 Ford Fiesta.

Can you see me now? Good.

The newest manifestation of the blogosphere has surfaced, and like blogging, has a really stupid name. Vlogging. Say it with me. Vlogging. Vlogging. Yeah, I hate it too.

It's video blogging. You record yourself through a webcam, post it and people can watch your "show." It's the natural progression from ordinary blogging.

No it's not.

The world of web self-expression is a young one. First, there was owning your own website. Prohibitively* expensive for the common man for many years. Then came our opportunity, blogging, where anyone could blather mindlessly about anything they want. Then came the audio blog, where others could hear what a moron you sound like. Now we're seeing the advent of vlogging, where anyone and everyone can eyeball you and critique every mole, tic and hangin' booger. What is it that drives us to keep putting more of ourselves "out there?" And what will it take to convince Anna Kournikova to start hers?

And... what's next? The 3D blog? The textureblog so you can feel someone's ass? The fartblog (self explanatory)? The virtual reality "head-in-a-shark's-mouth-blog" maybe?

And what an unattractive word "blog" is. Why can't we all put our heads together as a community and come up with a better word.

Like nippling.

*yep, Dave used a FIVE SYLLABLE word.

SNL making waves... just wait 'til you see what they're waving

It looks like a Saturday Night Live skit featuring a fictitious roast of Clint Eastwood slipped by the censors. David Spade, playing the part of Owen Wilson, was given a wanger-whiffer, a prosthetic penis-proboscis. Fairly realistic set of NAD NOSTRILS, if you ask me.

I'm sure after this hits the mainstream media, there will be many complaints about the spooge-moose schnoz. Ironically, it probably would have been a more appropriate make-up job for a roast of "Spurt Reynolds."

Okay, enough of that... if there were ever a question about whether or not I'm going to hell, I think it's been answered.


Courtesy Boing Boing

What a great weekend

It was relaxing, although I probably worked more than usual. I did some gardening in the atrium, cleaned up dog shit from the yards and stocked the beer fridge. Grocery shopped, bought a new TIVO to replace the one in the family room that died... it was pretty busy. But I did a lot of relaxing too. Drank a little wine, had some good food.

Okay, a lot of wine.

Now it's back to work. I'm lucky, I do all my work from home... so now I head downstairs to the recording studio to read script and build some "theater of the mind." If you're ever interested, my job is very public. Click this link to my website and then click DEMO. The RADIO audio is the best example of what I do.

Not like you care, what the hell am I saying? Have a good Monday.

I thought George Bush was different

Silly me. According to MSNBC.com:

"President Bush rushed back from his Texas ranch for a chance to sign the measure that Republicans view as an opportunity to strengthen their support among religious conservatives ahead of next year’s congressional elections."

I seem to remember President Bush staying put at his Texas ranch when a Tsunami killed over 200,000 people. But a political opportunity arises in the Schiavo case, and he's on a plane to Washington DC to build his political capital among the ultra-right faster than you can say "Laura, get me my flight suit."

I am a 65/35 moderate conservative. George Bush was someone I thought might be different than the PAC.

It appears I was wrong.

None Of Our Business

Let me make this perfectly clear... my opinion on whether Terri Schiavo should remain on a feeding tube doesn't matter. I will not bother you with it.

The only people to whom it should matter are she and her husband. That's the way the law is written, it's the only fair way to have it, and the system has worked marvelously. The law states that in this situation, the next-of-kin decides the patient's fate. It's time to allow our laws to work. It's a family issue, a personal issue. NOT a political issue.

The arrogant, self-serving Tom DeLay of Texas and others should keep their big opinionated noses out of it. Government made the laws, they've been in place for a good long time, and they work. DeLay and his ilk are masters at changing laws that don't suit them, so it's not at all surprising they are trying to push their morals and dogma on the Schiavos and others in similar situations. Those who use this poor lady to forward their "cause" will be exposed through the lucid eye of public opinion for what they are... self-serving opportunists.

What if our opinions DID matter? (which they do not) I have yet to see a poll that favors leaving Terri's feeding tube in. According to a Fox News poll a huge majority of us would want to die if we were in Terri's place:

If you were in Terri Schiavo’s place, what would you want your guardian to do? Would you have your guardian:

1. Remove the feeding tube -- 74%
2. Keep the feeding tube inserted? -- 16%
3. (Not sure) -- 10%

If so many of us would choose NOT to endure such a horrible existence, why does congress believe she would feel any differently? Mr. Schiavo says he loves his wife and will do whatever it takes to end an existence that he believes she would not want to endure. He says she would want her feeding tube stopped and that she would wish to die rather than remain bed-bound in a nursing home in a permanent vegetative state, unable to speak, respond or care for herself for the rest of her days. And honestly, isn't he most likely the last person to have discussed it with her?

Clearly, Michael Schiavo could have taken the easy way out long ago. If he only cared for himself, he could have divorced Terri and walked away. The fact he didn't speaks a great deal to his character. It should also tell us she felt strongly about the subject.

Look... through her husband, Terri Schiavo has spoken. We can argue the case all we want, but none of us matter.

Only Terri.