Another day

I find myself in the same position. I've fed the teaming masses, and now I am once again lurching over 44 keys, looking for some redemption. Stop it asshole. No on wants to hear your pathetic whining. I'm thinking that my middle name should have been "qwerty." Do you think anyone is going to catch that? A couple of computer nerds who also know a Dvorak keyboard. You're worse than useless, you emotional invalid. Sometimes. Just sometimes, I think I'm losing it entirely. Just now? I've been the strong one through all of this. I'm faster than you, stronger than you, more calloused and more ready to do anyone and anything that get's me closer to my goals. I've made some mistakes in my past, I know. Oh. Do you think? How often can you apologize? Do you think anyone cares?

Thank heavens, my alter ego is not here. He can be a right bastard at times. Oh really? Seriously, at times he worries me. Sometimes I get very unsettled with the Fox News Network and I feel him. It's like he's inside my head, and promoting a hatred I really should not feel. I snort. I snort at thee. Hatred is a gift. it's about the only passion left to you now that your sorry self is no longer desirable to others. Terri's mom called from Florida earlier. She was going to warn us not to go to the ocean because of the possible tsunami's. Hey, thank's mom, we figured that out. We were in the middle of a rainstorm, we didn't much plan on gong anywhere. We do have to go out tomorrow, or I should say this morning. No cat litter, no bread. that type of thing. We are responsible parents. Odd how you can put so much of your lifeforce into a relationship with your pets when you can't even feel for the humans around you, don't you think? What a sorry sack of shit you are. Ollie (ter's mom) did mention that President Obama was going to be doing an address to the Hawaiian Islands, "Where he's supposedly from," was her exact words.

To Ms. Ortiez, and all the other birthers. I will welcome you in Hell. You think I have a bad side? Stand back. When you have fully earned my hatred, it is eternal, and it is forceful. Shit. I actually agree with him on this one. How often does this happen? I may not be able to take you all on, or the network that promotes your crap, but that doesn't mean I will not kill you on sight. Damn. We're on a roll here. He's moving to the dark side, where we belong.

Of course, I could never condone violence of any kind. Fuck! We were doing so well here for just a minute. Surely calm and reasoned dialogue will help us event the problems of racism, violence and intolerance. 'Scuse me moron, that has never helped anyone. I firmly believe that if the pundits who still perceive their positions to be one of swaying the opinions of the ignorant and intollerant, can be convinced that their rhetoric is indeed damaging and hurtfull to this nation. Even if it get's them ratings. What a a cop out here. you were with me just a bit ago, we were going to kill them. Grow some you ass-hat. We had a plan going there.

I'm so thankful to have this opportunity to speak with you alone, by myself, with no interruptions. Right cream puff. You're the one with the clever words, but I was the one having all the sex.

My best from the ether.

Light showers today

That's what they claimed. In reality all of the old Gods have been pouring buckets of water and blowing with their fierce breath all freaking day. It's not too particularly cold, but the spashback from the falling water is so high that I can't open any doors to let in some fresh air. Every Feburary since we moved up here has been a wet one. Perhaps I am to blame for this. We took possession of this place on Feb. 1, 1999, and were treated to eight straight days of downpour while we moved in. And the laundry room with it's newly purchased washer and dryer, flooded grandly. Seems today that the calm and sunny weather we had in the middle of the month was just a tease. February is going out with a torrent. Well, at least it washes the Van, and the strong winds are helping the zen experience for the tall palms whose branches just didn't fundamentally want to be on the tree any longer.

I was up pretty late last night, so I am again worthless during daylilght hours, but now that the sun is preparing to set, my true nature begins to emerge. Perhaps it's time to clean up the kitchen and load the dishwasher. Truth be told though, if you run hot water over your dishes and scrub them with a soapy sponge, haven't you already washed them? Who am I to fly in the face of convention, however. I should cook dinner also, although I am not hungry. I can't remember if I took my pills this morning. You didn't butt-head, I did.
I'm generally pretty good at that, but you know how it goes. You suck at this, and you know it. One pill you're supposed to take with food, and another you're supposed to take on an empty stomach, and you take them both at the same time. What a moron you are.

Well, I should sign off before my evil twin tries to take over. Take over? Get real, You have nothing that I want. You're simply in my way.

My best from the ether.

Color me surprised

Just realized while doing an edit to a post that I've posted 76 entries here in the ether. I didn't know I had it in me. Just goes to show you, if you kick me when I'm down, I will probably live to tell the story, and moreover, I will steal the pair of socks from you and make them my own. Let's not get me started on socks again, however. Still though...(Oh shit, he's going to do this) remember your bad kung fu movies? Try it with new subtitles. "Socks of Fury," "Enter the Dragon's Instep," "Chinatown Sock Wars," etc. and then there's porno. (oh God he's really going to do this, someone stop him, please) "I am Curious Tube-Sock," "Behind the Green Door in my Socks," "The Devil in Miss Jone's Socks," "Deep Socks," "Suburban Sock Sluts," and the ever popular, "I was a Teenage Sock Whore."

O.K. I think I have him under control at the moment. Oh you do? Do you? I'll try and reign him in a bit. Like hell, you bastard, I am the dominant personality here. See? I'm in control again and would like to talk to you all about a healthy diet and exercise plan. Like hell. Eat what you want. You're going to die anyway. Why do it with excess fiber in your mouth? I do believe that a proper diet and exercise plan can increase longevity and make your life better for you and all those around you. Who are you kidding, Asshole? No one gives a shit about you. They never have. All you have is the moment, and the moment is telling you to eat the god-damned apple fritter, right now. When you take pride in your appearance, others will respect you. Like hell, butthead. grow a ten inch cock and others will respect you. With mutual respect, we can learn to live in harmony with ourselves and our enviornoment. You say that now, but I was the one who got a firearm certification when I was ten. I have always tried to be politically active in important causes. You were trying to get laid, fool. Don't mistake atruism for a hard dick. I think that the balance between body and soul is an important part of becoming "of the whole." Whose hole, dick-wad? You've never been picky in your life. Remember San Francisco? Remember Florida? The whole freaking state?  I stand with Al Gore in his movement against global warming and for the environment causes he repesents. You just thought he looked hot with a beard. I believe firmly that it is imparative for us as a species to stand together. Yeah. As long as you get to be in the middle of that sandwich. Working together, we can thrust ourselves into a new era of peace and prosperity. Oh please. Do I even need to comment on that?

I'm glad I had the chance to share this unguarded moment with you. Who do you think is on the computer when you are asleep, ass-wipe? Thank you for your continued patience and understanding. And then send me photos of you doing unspeakable things. Yours get's you mine.

Good night from the ether.

Ode to a pair of socks

Oh socks. The only garments which cover ny feet. Oh socks. I have 114 pairs of you and they are all white. Oh socks. You remind of what it was like to put on a condom. Oh socks. Your whiteness reminds me of how dirty my floors really are. Oh socks. You become holy with age. Oh socks. You can be recycled as cat toys when filled with catnip. Oh socks. You can be used as dust rags. Oh socks. I can wear you to bed in winter and pretend I'm doing a 60's porno film. Oh socks. When I hang you up in December, nobody fills you. Oh socks. When I run out of kleenex in bed I can blow my nose on you. Oh socks. When I wear you on my ears I look like a bloodhound and frighten the neighbors. Oh socks. You have traveled to as many states as I have. Oh socks. The first black president named a cat after you. Oh socks. Every time I wash a load of you, one of you manages to escape. Oh socks. When I fill you with rosemary and corriander and beat my pork roasts with you, people look at me funny. Oh socks. You have never borrowed my car without asking. Oh socks. Your tenacious nature sticks to my feet, even when I skip down the street, singing La LA la LA la LA, LAAA. Oh socks. You are seriously difficult to put on over my sandals. Oh socks. I love that you caught that joke. Oh socks. You always make a perfect couple. Oh socks. You still fit my feet, even on my birthday. Oh socks. You are less binding than briefs. Oh socks. You never ride up my ass like boxers. Oh socks. You cover up the fact that my toenails need serious work. Oh socks. You have never complained if I borrow a pair from another when travelling and away from a laundry. Oh socks. You have never gotten me drunk and involved in a bar fight in Mexico. Oh socks. When I did end up in a mexican jail, you stayed with me. Oh socks. You did not complain when I accidentally pee'd on you. Oh socks. You did not complain when my cell mate did the same. Oh socks. You have never run up my phone bill making prank calls to Republicans in Alaska. Oh socks. Every time you've kicked a morman missionary, I knew you were not at fault. Oh socks. You have always been there to staunch the bleeding when I've fallen and cut my head. Oh socks. You help keep the bleach industry afloat. Oh socks. You were there when I had my first orgasm, and you never mentioned it to anyone. Oh socks. You have never attacked me late at night with my steak knives. Oh socks. You were with me on every run I made to Pacific Beach in the 80's to buy cocaine. Oh socks. You absorbed the copious sweat coming from my body when I was being tailed by a police car coming home with 28 seal packs of same in my glove compartment at 1:00 a.m. Oh socks. I trusted you over the room safes in Vegas hotels and you have seen more of Benjamin Franklin than any other item of clothing I own. Oh socks. When I got into a motorcycle accident, you were there, over my head, as the rest of me hit the ground, very hard. Oh socks. You take every step I take. Oh socks. You can't sing along with albums either, even when I put you on my hand as a puppet. Oh socks. The only time I've ever seen you smoke in my presence, I was on fire. Oh socks. With one exception, every time I wake up not knowing where I am, you're still with me. Oh socks. You were with me during my roller blade expereiences, and never once complained. Oh socks. You were the sole source of lightness in the black clad suits at my dad's funeral. Oh socks. You never repeatedly raped me as a child and passed me around to your friends. Oh socks. When I was on the Queen Mary taking pictures and fell down, you were with me, along with several startled tourists. Oh socks. When I nearly died in that car accident on I-5 in the central valley, you were the last articles of clothing they cut off me. Oh socks. You forgive me for abandoning you summers, and still allow yourself to comfort me in the fall and winter. Oh socks. You feel the same way as I do at some times, but you have the sense to keep your mouth shut. Oh socks. You saw right through the phrase, "If it doesn't fit, force it," right off. I was a slow learner. Oh socks. When we were both threadbare, and damaged goods, you keep me on my feet. Oh socks. You've been to as many funerals as I have. Oh socks. Through all the incredible ways I have embarrassed myself, you've stuck with me. Oh socks. When I roll you up and stuff you into my jeans, people stare at my crotch quite a bit more. Oh socks. You should stay up in my crotch, because when I walk around, you head to my knees and people think I have a tumor or something. Oh socks. You have never once over spiced a side dish, or scortched a soup. Oh socks. I know it was not you at the office X-mas party ordering another round of margarita's saying "No one leaves here alive." Oh socks. You weren't responsible for what happened afterward, either. (No. No. No harm no foul.  Everyone got home safe, I just got to a few homes before I got to my own. And my socks were still with me.) Oh socks. You let me take you to Utah almost every year. Oh socks. You were with me when I saw my first cremation in toto. And you didn't flinch. Oh Socks. When you're not crammed into a suitcase, you're stretched around my oddly dainty feet for a person of my size. Oh socks. You forgive me for growing into the creature that I am. Oh socks. I know you were not made in America, but that doesn't mean you can't be 'commander in feet.' Oh socks. We actually saw a chicken cross a road once, and we both held our tongue. Oh socks. In the past you have been my special friend at night, even though it's a doomed relationship. Oh socks. You've been with me through the car lots of life. Kicking the tires, but never making a firm offer. Oh socks. Oh socks. Oh socks. Oh socks....


Now. Shall I start on my trousers?

Yours from the ether, and the Goddess help us all.

Bipolar Rules!

No. Just kidding. Was in a manic phase the last five or so days, last night, hit the wall. Now the rampant creativity loses its luster, and I spend idle hours wishing I had never given up my firearms. When you think about it, personal protection can also be protecting others from your person.

Just thought I'd start out with a joke. Seriously, I did get some stuff done today. Got the kitchen cleaned and in that process, discovered that there was no more cat food in the house. Went to 'berts (Albertsons), which I have been going to since we first moved up here, and one of the managers, Angie, was nice enough to mention, "Jesus, Donnie, you look like shit." Never tire of hearing that. On that note, I have never loved being called 'Donnie," either. I could probably handle it if my name had ever been "Donald," and my mom called me that in affection, but in reality, the only people who generally have called me that are pretty much flaming queens. I know it is a term of approbation and affection, so I try never to visibly flinch when I hear it, but it is not an appelation to which I desire to be addressed. My real name is bad enough, and it is one that does lend itself well to a cute abbreviation. over the years, A number of close friends have referred to me as "D" at social gatherings and such, and I spend the rest of the evening being called 'Dean," or something by all the men. I'm sure that if I had been named "Phallus," as a child, I would have been quick to learn to introduce myself as "Phil."

Tangent, again. Sorry. I got Terri's taxes e-filed this afternoon also. I did a trial run on mine, hoping that if I claimed just a bit under $600 income for the year I could qualifiy for the $400 working tax refund, but alas, this is just not the case. Still this was a heavy day for me, particularly when I am in a depressive phase. I missed Ellen, as well. As a matter of fact, I believe I was missing it as I was being cheerfully reminded what a shell of a sad sack of shit that passes for a human being I had become while I was at the store.

I've gotten up twice now to crack open the front door because I heard someone talking outside. Just now I realized that Bubba, who is sleeping behind me, is snoring, just like his dad. The vocal ranges of cats far surpasses our own. Even now, if I'm not paying attention, I could swear there's someone outside complaining about Rosie O'Donnell. It's eerie.

Going to try and stay up for Chelsea and Craig before I take a bit of a laydown.

Yours from the ether.

Red Dress List

This is a new feature for my blog. It's called the Red Dress List, and it came from the film "Moonstruck." Cher's character is having an argument with another character who curses her and she replies, "And I'll go to your funeral in a Red Dress.!"

Now, I am no one to arbitrarily take a lifeform of any kind, particularly ones that masquerade as human, but I can set forth now and again the "personalities" to whose funerals I would happily attend wearing red, and probably with some balloons and a kazoo. The ones who immediately come to mind, and this is in no particular order, are:

Glen Beck, Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, Michelle Bachman, Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, John Boener, Michael Steele, Orin Hatch, Sarah Palin and the "First Dude." (There are  more, but they'll have to wait for my next list.)

I don't want you to think this is all a political statement, there are many others:

The dudes on the FreeCreditReport.Com ads., Cal Worthington (seriously dude, it's time), Rupert Murdock (and take most of your Fox News Anchors with you in a bizare and scandalous fashion), Pat Robertson, Lindsey Lohan, Brittany Spears, The Kardashians, Joe the Plumber, Tia Tequilla, Bobby Flay, and Nancy Grace.

Again, these are the ones that just pop into my mind as I write the first of these lists. I haven't even gotten to the non-american citizens yet. Many of you will probably want to start picking out some scarlet red clothes to join me, but if not, I'll go alone. I've gotten used to that. Feel free to join in with choices of your own. This could be the freshest Parker Brother's new interactive party game.

On a more pleasant note. I had a great weekend with my BFF. We laughed ourselves into the wee hours to the point of oxygen starvation, which only makes things funnier. He had to leave for the wilderness (La Mesa) around noon, as he has to get up early to teach his intellectually challenged students at SDSU in the morning. It will be at least a month before he'll probably be able to come up again. Still hoping to do a photo journey up to Morrow Bay with he and Terri in the next month, but between the issues of our relative poverty, my health, and the lack of anyone up here to babysit the kids (one who is as close to be ready for cremation as you can get without actually being in an ICU), we do have some hurdles to overcome for a pleasant, worry-free trip. Still it would be fun if Ter could get up there. She's never been, and never to Hearst Castle either. Seems a crime when we're this close, but that's the way things work sometimes in So. Cal. Yes, you have everything within a few hours drive from you, but you have to work so hard to afford living here, that you never have the chance to do anything but describe their availability to people living out of state.

Quick shout out to Bode Miller, who lives not very far from us. You rock.

Yours from the ether.

New Experience

I mentioned that my BFF came up for the weekend, and he treated me to the film "Avatar" in 3D. It was a bit costly, even at matinee prices, but I'm glad I got a chance to see what everybody's been talking about. It's almost three hours long, which is a stretch for me these days. My bladder, and to a lesser extent, my brain, has only two speeds. On and Off. It would be oddly symbolic if my dick was actually just a toggle switch. Go down, you need to pee, go up and you shut down for a bit. So, given this state of events, the fact that I sat through three hours without doing either is quite an accomplishment. Goes to show that good posture is important.

But back to the film. I was immediately and deeply impressed. This is a technically brilliant film. Hands down the most impressive thing I think I've ever viewed. Beautiful in its use of color, depth, and imagery. Now the bad news. And this can be forgiven to a point in the overall experience; Cameron is not that great of a screenwriter. All the characters are either "good," or "bad." Just no gray scales in between. The battle of self-indulgence to self-denial is predictible, and the characters sins and redemptions, have a very familiar feeling about them. I'm not trashing the film, not by any means, I'm just pointing out that with this much power in his hands, it could have been more than a scenic tour-de-force. Alan also treated us to Taco Bell for dinner, and I could probably give the same review about the food there. Both experiences, however, were appreciated.

I know you are supposed to recycle your 3D glasses after the movie. I kept mine. At these prices, I wanted a souvenir. Plus as Alan cleverly modeled after we got back to the residence, they look just like the sun glasses Tom Cruise wore in "Risky Business." How cool is that? I put them on myself when it was time to feed the cats, and I could swear Bubba was coming right at me. I had to clean the litter boxes next, and the illusion is so real, you could almost smell it. O.K., you know I'm fucking' with you here. I had a bunch of other analogies in mind and metaphores of dubious taste, but I will resist the urge.

No need to thank me, but I do accept PayPal and other forms to make 'Love donations," which are totally non-taxable to me. I'm still on a working title for my ministry, but it will probably end up like, "Thank God he Held his Tongue for Once," or, "Our Lady of Blessed Restraint."

Yours in the ether.

A welcome gift

My friend Alan managed to make it up this weekend for a visit. We all laughed as we trashed the olympic coverage and the insane commentators. Seriously, I could never do this job. I could not keep my mouth in any control whatsoever. I particularly love it when the commentators, wanting to show how knowledgable they are, choose to reveal personal facts about the atheletes, which you in no way need to know when viewing the competition. Tonight there were quite a few examples. This like the Downhill. "He certainly seems agressive here, he want's to go fast."  Really? No shit? What on earth would make him want to post the fastest time? Oh yeah. There's that pesky medal thing. The ice dancing was choice also. I don't know, didn't catch, or was just suffering from hysterical laughter, the name of the lady member of the team covering the event, but she was choice. Her ridiculous comments actually shut up two talking-head men. That, is quite an accomplishment. My personal condolences go out to the poor woman who got singled out as having the most beautiful feet of all the pair competitors. Do they actual have official olympic bongs? Come to think of it though, I saw that Phelps was there. Hope he wasn't trying to "Blend in" with the crowd. He has about as much of a chance as Tiger Woods at this point in his life.

It's kind of another night/early morning here when I have not yet gone to earth. This truly means I will not be worth shit tomorrow, but how can you fight nature? In the words of the immortal Warren Zevon, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." Of course, Warren wrote many of the lyrics of my life in his short career. "Send money, guns, and lawyers, the shit has hit the fan." Funny I should be thinking of Warren now. I've got the old Lon Chaney movie, "The Wolfman," on as background. "Warewolves of London" was one of Warren's biggest hits. I still remember seeing him at the open air amphitheater at SDSU, and the crowd spotaneously singing along with the chorus. He had three brilliant albums, got sober, and promptly died. This is not the success story you will hear at your next AA meeting.

Well, I'm off all over Katy's Barn again, just all randomly firing synapses. I have managed to write something, even if it's only a few pages at a time, every evening, and still post something for my blog. This may not seem like much to you, but it is something for me. I managed to finally clean my bathroom, change the sheets on the bed for my guest, and still cook dinner.  This is like a podium moment for me. I want my Gold Medal, and I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

After the olympics, I showed Alan the latest concert video from Eddie Izzard (Live from Wembley). I don't think there is another comedian who can match his sheer socio-conceptual observations. If you haven't seen one of his DVD's, give him a try. You'll either like him, or hate him. He's quite polarizing. Then, Alan went to bed, I watched Craig Ferguson, then went to the 'puter, and here I am, still at the keyboard. I truly have come to believe that other than my occasional forays outside to go to the store, or whatever, and what little housework I do these days, the only muscles which get any use whatsoever the ones controlling my fingers, and that big muscle in my head, which is the same gray and pasty color as the rest of me. Well, that's not entirely true. My scars are a very valentine's day red, and my ass is so pale that many astrophysicists at JBL are still trying to measure it's albedo (reflectivity) when seen from space.

Well. Nothing much left in me to say at the moment, and coming from me, that is quite a statement.

My best to all from here in the ether.

Condoms.

100,000 condoms at the Olympic Village? Really? That's 45,000 more than Brazil was handing out for the carnivale. I don't know what this says in a sociological way, and I'm not writing a thesis here, but I'm thinking they should dunk the whole 'Jersey Shore' reality show though, and go straight to shooting "Olymipic Village." Who will remain standing after the medals are given out? This is in Canada, folks, I didn't think they even had a hundred thousand condoms up there. Was this like a special National Guard airlift? "No. Dude, I got out of the Aganistan deployment this time, we're dropping condoms on Vancouver."

I can see the planes now. Each one painted like a police car. "To Preserve and Protect" proudly displayed on the sides.

Yes. I know I'm a bitch, and Yes, I've been informed I'm going to hell. Get over it. I'm looking forward to the company. I'm used to hot weather. "Hell. It's a dry heat" T-shirts anyone?

I've gotten a little too tied up in Ter's Star Wars universe lately. I keep taking the inappropriate sexual liasons between the characters, and just running with it. If this keeps up, I will have about 600 pages of shit that will be banned in 34 states. I still don't get it right all the time though. Seriously. The sex parts are pretty good, hard to spell nasty bits wrong, but I have this uncanny ability to fuck up proper nouns. Maybe if I put "thrusting," "turgid," or "tumesence," in front of them I could get the spelling right. Then again, maybe not. I never worried about my English teachers or professors when I was in school. I made it rather a point to sleep with all of them. Sad, but true. I was notorious in three states. I can however, claim to be able to spell 'Diction" on a keyboard without using my hands.  See how I cleverly worked that in there?

Another night in which it appears I should not bother going to bed. If I do, my alarm will be set to go off in an hour, and by the time I settled in and get warm and cozy, well that's it. The horrid beeping noises commence. Better to just catch up on the Olympic coverage and wait for the dawn. Wish they allowed a lot more "behind the scenes" camera's. Really. With 100,000 condoms up there, I'm thinking the network's "Up close and personal," shorts would be a real hit, and a YouTube treasure.

I know who won the Gold in the men's figure skating, but I have yet to see the performances themselves. Maybe this morning. The network always saves the stuff you actually want to watch until the last possible moment of their broadcast. This should give them an hour or so to stop showing "I'm skiing, now I'm shooting, I'm skiing, now I'm shooting...Seriously, this is just a typical winter in Michigan." I'm thinking that even Ms. Palin, who is no stranger to this, would be bored by this coverage. Although she's probably wondering more why they don't just shoot from a helicopter, like a normal person.

Chelsea Handler had some hysterical comments tonight on a new study of men's dissatisfaction with ill-fitting condoms. I won't go there, but she was pretty much spot on. She recommended a new label system. Stop with the small, medium, large and extra-large, and go straight to "Black, White, and Asian." I know, but I'm already going to hell, and I'm just repeating here. One of the panelists on her show said that he was waiting for condoms with vertical stripes. If you're not laughing now, it will get you in a minute.

Then, as usual, watched Craig Ferguson. Whom I swear is one of the most consistently funny men on television.

I did finish my draft for Ter, and it's awaiting her cheery, happy face when she drags her ass to work tomorrow. Having a cup of coffee ready for her is definetely a must here. It would further help if I used hundred dollars bills as coasters, but that isn't about to happen, much to my dismay.

My best from the ether.

Sleep? We don't need no stinkin' sleep.

Did the usual last night. Switched to Chelsea Lately at 11, then on to Letterman until Craig Ferguson came on. I was so knocked out by the rapor between Craig and Bob Saget, I laughed hard enough to jolt a cat from my lap. Then, nothing else being too worthy of note, I switched back to the Olympics, which actually had some good programming from 2:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. WHY, I might ask. The Olympics are in my own time zone. I can understand a bit of a delay to feed the prime time advertising dollars, but get real. Everybody's tweeting the results half a day before you show it. Regardless, it was good background as I slaved away at the computer writing back-stories, and "cute-meet" senarios for Ter's slash fiction.

I must admit, I'm getting some personal enjoyment out of writing again. Maybe I'll start some new slash of my own. The Star Wars Universe is so tightly controlled that every thing has to be re-written at least three times, as someone will undoubtedly take offense when you go against cannon. Little things, like, "You said Wedge licked his ass like frozen yogurt. If you look back to the third Rogue Squadron book, written by --, published on --, on page 117, paragraph 4,  it is clearly put forth that Wedge prefers Ice Cream." Stuff like that. Kind of takes the fun out of writing about hard-ons.

There are a lot of things out there that are dying for some off-beat sex stories. And then, there is Betty White. No. I'm not going there, I'm just saying that if she could survive the Hundred Years War, and still be able to make baudy jokes and off-color innuendo, I'll write to an audience like her. Funny thing that most slash is inappropriate male-on-male pairings, and the majority, if not all of the reading and submitting audience are women. Ladies...don't get me wrong here, but you don't have the parts. I don't mean to get too graphic here, but if you're going to describe in lurid detail how a cock feels when it's being stimulated, it kind of helps if you actually have one. Slack off on the 1970's porno dialogue also. If I'm making love to a woman and she says "Plug my hole," I'm seriously going to get up and go to garage looking for cement or patching compound and a trowel. Imagine me writing the instructions for tampons. "O.K., this bit goes, down there, you know...in the lady bits, and I think the string should be on the outside. Kind of like holding on to a kite I guess.." You see what I mean.

I'll let you know if I spin off the wheel here and start making a forceful, throbbing, turgid, stab at the tenderness of further slash fiction. If you've never read any, you should. Some of it is hysterical.

Well, I'm heating up the ether here, maybe more later, if I am still awake.

Happy Fat Tuesday

After some cold weather here, and a bit of rain last week, it is back to shorts and no shirt weather around the house now. Taking advantage of this, I have decided to do some housework. (Much needed, I might add.) I had gotten one of those large gallon jugs of fruit punch to dilute my vodka with, and it leaked in the refrigerator, looking like the end scene from the St. Valentine's Day massacre. Here's a health and safety tip for you all. Do not. And I can not stress this enough, Do Not, sponge the glass shelves in your refrigerator and freezer without wearing a shirt. Your nipples will thank you. I managed to somehow... Well you know the old sight gag about your tongue freezing against a pole, or whatever? You see where this is going. I'm just glad I was wearing shorts. It could have gotten ugly.

Truly, the housework is so far behind I border on despair at times. I don't have the energy I used to, and when I start to feel a bit stronger, another cold or flu comes home from Terri's work, and I get laid out again. I rarely ever got sick a decade or so ago. It just seems like I am susecptible to anything about now. Good thing I am not a woman of child bearing years, I'd get knocked up from the guy masturbating next door. My. That's a colorful image, isn't it. Sorry friends, that's just how my mind works. Where was I? Oh yes. A short story, my immune system is shot to hell, and without benefit of STD's. You'd think, and rationally, I might add, that if you use alcohol to sterilize an open wound, what passes for blood in my body should be defense against any invaders whatsoever.

Going to get to the outside plants now. They need to be watered. I will put on a shirt over my poor inflamed nipples however. Not just for the sake of the neighbors being spared the glare from this great white whale, but a semblance of propriety should be observed, and they have scars of their own. They probably don't need to see mine. Then again, it could be a conversation opener. This is a retirement community. Kind of "Surgery Anonymous," Hi. My name is Don, it's been nine months since my torso was last sliced open. I can imagine the coffee-klatch after the meeting. "They gave you general anethesia? All I got was a lidocaine topical!" Sorry, there goes my mind again. That's just how my thoughts process. Remember the old sketch from the Mary Tyler Moore show, when Rhoda and Phyllis were arguing over their respective diet regimes and the denial and hardships get to the ludicrous? Rhoda finally says "I'm only allowed 8 ounces of water a week," to which Phyllis replies, "They let you have water?"

Well, rested from my earlier endeavours, It's time I get moving again.

My best from the ether, and a shout out to Kellie Pickler, who is probably the smoothest natural portrait of a southern lady I have ever seen.

Happy President's Day

O.K. Who is your favorite so far. If you're like me, you're thinking "Millard P. Fillmore."  Fessing up here, I just love the name. Every one else has been George, William, Theodore, John, Paul, and Ringo (Oh wait, I think I'm going off topic here), or some normal names, but Mil-Lard, two sylables, say it with me, that's a name. I hear he was quite the dandy also. Speaking of dandies. Rowdy Presidents; Huh? I think I am only old enough to remember that JFK (and I believe the FK has some letters missing), pretty much spread democracy everywhere he looked. Really, it wasn't until Bill, than any other administration had so much life breathed into it.

I'm probably going off on this topic now as I have pretty much put the ending touches on Terri's porno short story. I've written my share of slash/fic before, but I had no idea how precise I had to be in my referenences. Apparently the Star Wars crowd is fully and totally conversant with the personal statistics, family and natural history, and seemingly credit scores, of every character, so you have to re-edit every time a fresh reading is done by a devotee. I kind of miss the old days, when I could sell short porn for $75 bucks a pop. All you really needed to know back then were a few verbs and adverbs. Hard, Turgid, Throbbing, Moist, Engorged, Wet, Willing, Thrusting, Bucking, and maybe Squirt. Well you get the idea. I'm sure Tolstoy went through the same thing when he tried to get into more mainstream literature. I have, however, over the years, come to the conclusion that it should be about the seduction as much as the sex.

Sometimes, and I think I am not alone here, the promise or the tantilization of the sex, far outweighs the sex itself.

Maybe THIS should have been my Valentine's Day post, instead of todays?  I hadn't really though of the fact that most of my valentine's day was indeed spent writing porn. What type of a sad, sorry sack must I be. I don't charge extra for alliteration. On the plus side, though, I think it's pretty good porn. I sent a copy of the draft to "the Lady Heather," who is the acknowledged arbiter of such things. She will probably come back at me with things to change from the first word, but I do value her opinon. I hope she get's a chance to read it.

Goodnight from the ether my friends. Terri's talking about her next proposed story for the slash site. Not like I don't have enough keeping me awake at night, let's hit him with the tough ones. "O.K., so remember Lt. Grimes from "Empire Strikes Back?" he had only one line, but I think he had a past with Dak, you know, the one trapped with Luke in the snowspeeder as the Imperial Walker was about to step on them. I think there's a story there."

Valentine's Day

Happy VD to everyone. I tried this joke at the store earlier, and it did not go over well. Funny, I was showered and everything, I thought I looked respectable, but you don't know, you can't know. I had better luck at the liquor store when I went in to get some cigarettes. Terri gave me $27 in ones, to get as many packs as I could. I apologized to Ben, the cashier, saying that these ones were my tips from last night's strip off at the Senior Center in lake San Marcos. Maybe it's just my delivery, but he believed me for a minute. He caught up quick though. They have an over 90's club for widow's at the Lake?  We had a nice laugh. (Little does he know, they actually do.) One of them is an ex client of mine, who I got divorced from her 89 year old husband. It's too weird to get into, but they are both charming and personable, and it was one of the least stressful divorces I have ever handled. She complained at the signing of the final papers that he was already being chased by "every floozy in the place." Hey. If you can die of massive cardiac arrest while making love at that age, then I am all for Viagra.

Spent the rest of the day kind of editing a slash fic that Terri has been working on. She wanted some help with the sex scenes. I know, you can stop laughing now. Hey, let's get the eunuch to write the sex scenes. But I'm serious. Terri's justification was valid, She didn't know how to write sex scenes with a threesome. Pity on that score. This is like a nutricious breakfast. Everybody should have that. I did my best, and the paragraph which Terri had set aside for "insert sex scene here," turned into six pages. Single spaced. What can I say? If I am writing a dramatic scene, I want it to make me cry. Same thing. I was actually so into this at one point I was getting some wood myself. Apparently they have an adult's only web site for all the Star Wars Slash Fic. I hope so. I wasn't pulling any punches. If anyone is interested, I think I can put this on my site, but you really should think at least twice before making a request. I have been, for a number of years now, not quite responsible for myself. I don't know for sure, but I think if she posts this one, she's going to get some major street cred.

I've been kind of on-and-off watching the Olympics, but for some reason, I just can't seem to get into them much this year. I'm a little more concerned that apparently all the other networks just seem to give up and provide lousy programing during this time. Again. Oh Gods of Streaming Video, I bow before thee. Let me partake of your infinte programing choices and bask in all your tidings. Amen.

Wow. How many times can I actually ensure I'm going to hell? You don't know the half of it.

My best from the ether.

Opening Ceremonies

Watching the Olympic coverage. After two hours of fluff "We'll be back with the Openeing Ceremonies in just a few moments..." Ter and I both had a bit of a nap while waiting. I don't think that Bejing had anything to fear about being upstaged on showmanship and sheer spectacle.  Of course, China didn't have the huge Ice Scupture Didlos. A quick comment here, even though Vancouver had to truck in 1,500 tons of snow for this event, and it is raining more than snowing, all of the winter scenes will be used by Fox News to discredit Al Gore. Can you believe that shit? Seriously, did no one watch the hit film, "Day After Tomorrow?" It was all pretty well explained there, and every responsible journalist is aware of the truth. I guess, that pretty much explains it; I said responsible journalists. What luck that one of the networks that is most trusted is...You guessed it. If I was super wealthy, I would buy the Fox network, and after sacking the fucking lot of their on-air talent, do an entire Charton Heston thing on air. "God Damn you, you did it!, you finally did it!," followed by, "Soylent Green is people!." I would then do a month of "de-programming" the viewers to hopefully wean them off of their absurdist, cultlike devotion to listening to only what they want to hear, regardless of facts or even reality. Then, after the burn down, the new President of Fox News, Rachel Maddow, would hit the misinformed masses like the quake at Port Au Prince.

Gosh. Gives me goosebumps just to think of it. I may even be getting some 'wood' in my sweat pants. I've said I live in a rich fantasy life. It's not all just me, me. My elaborate fantasy world is for us all. I just get to be young, beautiful, and fabulously rich while I care for those around me. That's not too much to ask is it? Oh by the way, I am also incredibly endowed and have super powers. What? Too much to ask for? I swear my fantasies are for the good of the nation as a whole. Surely, I am allowed a little bit of leeway here.

Off track again. So the Olympics. The parade of countries goes on. Can you imagine the pressure on you if you are the ONLY athelete representing your country? Jeez. Talk about test anxiety. I admit I cheated a bit on the olympic coverage. I generally follow celebrities and personalities on twitter, and they had been giving, in some cases literally, blow-by-blow commentary on the opening ceremonies an hour or so before they showed it here in prime time. No big surprizes in store anymore. Twitter has taken that away forever. On that note though, a moment of silence is in order. Paris Hilton lost her BlackBerry while she was racing to the private jet to take her to the carnivale in Rio. Poor thing, she is having to use her back-up BlackBerry, and it doesn't have all the current numbers of her BFF's. I know Rio is in Brazil, but the haunting lyrics of "Don't cry for me, Argentina," seem to fit here. I did see that for the carnivale, the government of Brazil is equiping street vendors with 55,000 free condoms. Good on you, Brazil. Hope this trend catches on here, and especially in Alaska. With Fat Tuesday coming up, and New Orleans already in full party mode, I think FEMA should make up for their earlier colossal fuck-ups and start air lifting condoms now. They could set up the distribution center at the Super Dome, which is oddly fitting in a way. It is an enclosed sporting arena, after all. Should I keep up with this runaway train of thought, or just let it go? All right, I'll stop. But I have plenty of stuff left.  Really, what great PR for the National Guard. Hunky young, civilian/soldiers coming (and I mean that in a good way) to the aid of drunken hot chicks at mardi gras. Whoops, I said, I'd stop, didn't I? My Bad. There's just too much to work with.

I've actually done the mardi gras a couple of times. It is a life changing experience. All of the voyeurs spend their entire month's salary buying the plastic beads so they can throw them to the crowds who will either flash them their breasts, or if you're a man, that other bit beneath your belt. I have a LOT of plastic beads. Truly, after midnight, there's no reason to buckle up at all. I never once made it back to my hotel with the belt I wore on the way out. Then again, here I go. I'm like a free-range chicken. And just about as bright. I just wander about pecking at anything.

I'm going to swtich over to Chelsea Lately at 11:00, as the olympic coverage does not seem to be in mood to ever end.

My best from the ether. And by the way, olympic organizers, did you think I would forget? Don't build the fastest luge course of all time and not pad the steel beams. What were you thinking? I may forgive you, but Georgians may not be so inclined.

Just a note

I got most of my steam out earlier, so I promise this will be a civil post. Just watched Chelsea Lately on E, and have done the ritual switch to Letterman waiting for Craig Ferguson. He is tweeting as 'craigyferg' in case anyone didn't know this already. He has been posting a lot of behind the scenes photos of his crew and the set that are very entertaining. I have a minor dilemma, as Jimmy Kimmel actually has some guests on I want to see also, but the time conflicts. I know. I know. I can record or view by streaming on the 'puter, but being fundamentally lazy, I just want everything I want to watch to come on sequentially. I would also like it to pause itself when I have to take a leak, and bring me refills on my drink and some snacks occasionally. Come to think of it. I don't need a new electronic gadget, I need a waiter. I wonder what one of those goes for these days? I could pay them under the table, you know, I have no plans to run for office. Hell, I have no chance of even running, period.

Is there anyone on television who has not done the crib notes on the palm jokes yet? Besides Fox News personalities (you just can't say journalists here), I mean. Maybe, Judge Judy or Martha Stewart. Although I do have it on strong authority that Paula Deen etches her lines on the sticks of butter she uses in every recipe, even mixed drinks. Everyone else has been on this bandwagon since Monday. My favorites; Colbert and the White House Press Secretary, although Stewart's was pretty good also. Enough though, it's coming on Valentine's Day and we should cut this poor woman some slack. It's cheaper than sending a card (which she would probably have to have someone read to her anyway), and shows that we, as a nation, do not discriminate against the retarded.

Whoops, my phone is ringing. Hold on... "Hello. Yes, This is he. What? Again? Damn it, Sarah, your child is not retarded, he has Down's Syndrome. Big difference. I will not apologize that you are too inept to take procautions or do the world a favor and keep your knees together. Something tells me you'll have no shortage of babies around your household for awhile. Don't call me again!"

Sorry about that. This whole FISA thing is real pain in the ass.

On a serious note though, I got a security warning once before, that someone was trying to break into my computer's firewall. I wondered why until I realized that the last e-mail I had sent was to a friend who was looking for colorful Russian epitaphs, curses, and swear words for a story they were writing. Coincidence? you tell me. Nobody's ever found my computer too interesting in the past, and heaven knows I spill my guts out on my blogs every day. What did I send? They don't really translate into English well, but if you've been forced to listen to misogyonist rap, you have probably heard many of them, although the Russians are a poetic lot, and some of their curses are quite entertaining.

O.K. back to cheery and light. Did everybody catch Drew Brees on Ellen today? What a sweetie he is. The curse of San Diego professional sports got him, but he regrouped with the Saints, and is now an SB MVP. Way to go Chargers, once again. Speaking of San Diego pro sports, wouldn't it be totally bitchin' if A Rod played for the Padres? A real boost for tourism to have every starlet and skanky old ho hanging around for the paparazzi to stalk. Hey, they've got to eat and stay in hotels too. The paparazzi, I mean, the skanky women have probably never slept on a set of their own sheets since they were 18. Yes. I am a bitch, and yes, I'm aware I'm going to hell. One other Russian phrase is good here, and translates well: You go to Heaven for the weather, and Hell for the company. This works for me.

Craig is about to come on, and I can't find the waiter, so I'd best freshen my own drink and get ready to watch him. I still have to edit a story for Terri after the show, so it looks like another long night. I think the liquor store opens at 6:00 a.m., so I will probably have an outside adventure tomorrow morning. These 20+ hour days tend to reek havoc on one's liquor supplies.

My best from the ether, and a shout out to concerned citizens everywhere, who try to make their world a better place.

Startling Revelations

I rarely post in early afternoons, but it came to me that all the folks I admire to bring me honest and for real unbiased news are women. This, when Ana Marie Cox is back doing the Washington bureau for GQ. Even men's magazines have come to realize that men are actually pretty dorky when it comes to journalism. Regardless of what they report, their own opinons tend to over-ride the story. I would say this to all the male pundits on their own programs. Watch Rachel Maddow and learn. I beg you guys. Really.

Following this relevation was that all the talk shows that I actually religiously follow are: Chelsea Lately, the Wanda Sykes Show, the Ellen Show, the Bonnie Hunt Show, and Craig Ferguson's late, late show. Craig has to be included, as he takes sexuallity into a total ambivalence, which renders him effectively gender neutral, yet still funny as hell. Am I wrong here? I generally have Letterman on in the background while I'm waiting for Craig to come on, but he has gotten kind of stale. I caught the Jimmy Fallon show the other night because he had Brian Williams as a guest. His monologue bombed, and when Brian came out, he was the comedian, and Fallon the straight man. Seriously, a major network news anchor is funnier than you are on your own show... Just sayin' here, maybe it's time to re-tune your act.

I'm not being anti-mysoginist here. I do watch the Daily Show and Colbert Report, and appreciate both. Stewart and Colbert recognize the futility of actually informing the vast majority of the populace that has no desire to be informed, and play with it. Relentlessly. Colbert is a particular master of this, but sadly, he is so sly, the people he needs to reach think he is on their side.

So. On an off-topic here. Dream Presidential Tickets: Maddow/Olbermann (her for the smarts, him the fire, but in a non-embarrassing make a verbal gaff or shoot your friend in the face type of way); Stewart/Colbert (both for the smarts, here); Sykes/Handler (hey, we managed to get a black man elected, it's time dude, really. Wanda has a secure vision of what's f**ked up in this country, and Chelsea can come in like Dick Cheney to handle the "terminator" work. Blonde with Balls, I can see the bumper stickers now. That last ticket would give Mrs. Palin a run for the money, wouldn't it? Hey Bitch, we can be attractive media stars and still be able to form a cohesive sentence. The debates alone could almost wipe out the deficit if we charged admission. Kind of like Open Mike Night, on a national level. Poor Sarah would not stand a chance against a real woman, with real opinions not based on early 80's idealogues.

My afternoon talks are coming on now, so I should sign off. Just one last thing though, City of Lemon Grove. California, Maybe It's time for a change. Really. Ask youself who your mayor really looks out for. How much did you contribute to the campaign? Nothing? Then that's what you might expect to get in return. Typical political machine. You want to be heard? Bring your checkbook. Find someone who actually cares about your community and not the endorsements or finances. If we can't be responsible on a local level, how can we expect to do so on a national level? It's not the money, folks, it's the commitment. Choose wisely.

Yours from the ether.

Today is the Wednesday of our discontent

I don't think that is the real quote, but it sounds kind of formal, yes? What's that? Winter? Oh I see, Winter of our discontent. Much better. Are you from D.C.? Uh huh, I see, whole city shut down. My, that must make it hard to get any politcal appointments confirmed or recognizably beneficial legislation passed. What? That was the idea? Wait a minute, you'd acutally shut down an entire ecostructure just to shit where you eat? Oh. Really? Wow. What dedicated public servants you must be. What's that again? You actually agree that action must be taken? Then what... Oh. I see. The tree falls in the forest thing. If you don't do it, you won't let it get done. Very Zen. So you're going to be jumping in with your own legislation, then? No? I see. Terrible burden to keep track of all the special interests, fringe groups, racism, fund raising, and still keep a stiff stance against any change which not did come from the people, persons, or coporations which you represent. Quite understandable, old chap. No need to apologize to me or the 300 million other people who pay you to represent our interests. Really, in this economy, you need to remember, your job, and keeping your job, is job one. No. I'm sure everyone can understand this. There may be a few who resent you. You know who they are, the people who actually watch and view news channels which actually employ fact-checkers and form their own opinion based on the facts, but then again, all you have to do when caught in a lie is to fight back against the abusive media so you are the victim. Oh, I see. you've already thought of that? Oh. I see, nobody in this country has a computer, so as long as you have Fox News, you control the media. Yeah. Got that. Oh. Wait a minute. There are as many people with computers as there are people with televisions. This must be a problem for you, yes? Ah...I see. That secret project up North. The development of the "Palin" bomb. Rumor has it that this is a fizzle at best you know. What's that? Perception over reality? Who would buy that? Tea? No, I'm good, I've got my coffee here. Tea again? Honest, I'm good here. I do have some tea in the house, but it's kind of a luxury item these days. With the cost of groceries and gas for your car, and so many people out of work, who would possibly waste tea bags by wearing them? Get real. Nobody is that stupid. What's that? A convention? Really? You're shitting me, right? They paid what? To see who? I am definetely in the wrong profession. Good luck with this you guys, I think you're going to need it.

So. A new first. I got the politics right out of the way first. No cute stories about the cats, or how I easily fall down, a little Dragnet. "Just the facts, Mamm." Funny. I use that word all the time, just as I would 'Sir," but it is much harder to spell, and I'm not sure I got it right. I came from the last generation who actually used these terms, I believe. Even at my short spell in retail, you say "Can I help you Sir," instead of "What's you looking for dude." Not saying my way is better, just that it sounds a little more like what I would like to hear If I were a consumer. I never had the experience of a proper military mind-set (I missed, very closely, the draft), but I still believe that courtesy and manners are a worthwhile thing. On the other hand, I still believe in cursing like a drunken sailor on an R&R in Tailand, but I keep that in check when there are other humans in hearing range. Honestly, there could be children present who could learn terms they hadn't already picked up at recess in grade school. Although truth be told, most of these little pischers could put me to shame, and they're what, six or seven? The educational system in many parts of this fine country are prep schools. We're training a fine new generation of stevedores. O.K., so I didn't get all the bile out of the way in the first paragraph. May never happen. Watch this space.

Well, in the words of a very wise woman. Time to get horizontal and take my pill.

Love to all from the ether, and particularly, the above said wise woman.

Tuesday, Tuesday, La, La, La, La.

I had a feeling this was not going to be my day. I finally fell asleep at around 4 a.m. Today is trash day here, as I have no doubt mentioned before. They normally pick up around 9-ish. I woke enough to look at the clock at five till, and burst out of bed like a champange cork in a sauna and raced to the kitchen to get everything in bags to take out. Still barefoot, bathrobe barely closed, and resplendent looking in the hair department (we always used to call it "f**k hair), I managed to just barely get it out to the bins in time. Naturally, I also ended up flashing the neighborhood when my robe came undone. By then, I was pretty much awake (and cold), so I sat down to figure out what else would go wrong today. Good news though. After the initial bad indicators, the rest of the day has gone pretty smoothly, and I was able to see all the great footage from the Ellen Show's Super Bowl guests. Plus, while I was waiting for Ellen, caught up on some of the Craig Ferguson shows that I had missed on streaming video. If you're not following him on Twitter, you should be. The novelty will probably wear off for him soon, and he will tweet less often.

Made the mistake earlier on the phone by mentioning that something was flame-retardant. As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again, and it was Sarah Palin demanding an apology and my resignation. I told her to blow some Limbaugh-ger head cheese, but make sure she first writes on her palm, "Blow is a misnomer, you actually suck." I hope she takes my advice there, that last thing Rush needs is to be more full of air. Well, got my politics out of the way early this post.

Ter and I are going to run out to the pharmacy at Ralph's when she gets home from work. I would have gone earlier myself, before it started raining, but I don't think she trusts me with her credit cards, and past performance suggests this is a wise decision. Bravin' the rain, pickin' up drugs...Wait a minute, wasn't this a Michael Douglas movie? If I'm doing the remake, do I get to meet Catherine Zeta-Jones? Good heavens, when you look in Webster's, next to the word "hottie" is her picture. He said in an interview not long ago that he was thankful for Viagra. No press release from her on that subject followed.

Ah, I hear the front door. Ter's home and we should get going. If I don't keep on this medication, I won't be able to make so many jokes about my uncanny ability to fall down. Oh, just as an explanation, the falling in the shower thing--the lightheadedness and dizzyness is exacerbated when you close your eyes. A common thing to do when you are shampooing your hair. I have learned to brace myself pretty effectively, but when it doesn't look good, I will take one of the plastic paito chairs into the shower with me. Keeps them clean too.

Yours from the ether (land of the Saints).

Not again

Weird o'clock in the morning again, and I still can't sleep. Watched both Chelsea Lately Shows, and now am on to Craig Ferguson. All the white men brigade of late night want to put forth edginess and some street cred, but Craig doesn't even have to try, he's a natural. I love the way he deals with guests of all sexual persuasions. Absolutely no fear of his sexuality at all; he's every gay man's girlfriend. At the same time, he deals so well with women, and his self-depricating humor is a rare change for the egos that normally inhabit late nights. I remember when Neil Patrick Harris was on and told Craig that his was the gayest show on television. A rare gift, and his off-the-wall stage productions are laugh-out-loud funny. I just about blew chunks when he did the cover of Robert Palmer's 'Addicted to Love,' and even the puppets had too much lipstick on. If you missed it, it is available on CBS.com.

Doesn't help much (the sleep part) that I got the head-cold/flu that Ter brought home from work, and my head is stuffed, my nose is running like an olympic track star they can't determine the sex of, and my lung is so full of stuff that I can not take a breath without coughing up some unpleasant wet stuff. I did have a bit of a lay down earlier on the sofa, but woke up choking and decided the recumbent position is not for me at the moment. Oh well, this too shall pass, and at least, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed, this one will not involve new and colorful surgical scars on my rather ravaged torso. If you ever wonder why they have never came up with a birth control method for men other than condoms, I would point out that a beer gut, sagging ass, going bald, and having scars, is a sure-fire means to make certain no fertilization will ever take place for the simple reason that copulation is right out of the question.

Drew Brees, fresh off his steamy shower commercial for Dove Soap, was on Letterman earlier. He seems like a real down-to-earth guy. If you missed the shower shots, go to HuffPost in the "Sports" category. No nasty bits, but my initial thoughts were correct. He is much more photogenic than Manning. I read that General Motors, who generally give away any car of their choice to the MVP, decided not to do it this year. Sour grapes, or what? They'll hold on to their own corporate jets and bonuses, but stop tradition of giving away a car, of which they have so many they can't sell them all without discounts and rebates anyway, this very year. The caddy spokeman said that they would be happy to hook him (Brees) up with a good deal to purchase one. I haven't seen their financial reorganization papers, but I am willing to bet that they didn't put "big balls" down as a corporate asset, and they should have.

My, how I do go off topic. I'm looking forward to the Ellen Show tomorrow (today, actually). Her mom and intern Andy were in Orleans and took so much footage that they couldn't get it all edited in time to get it on the air today (yesterday). She leaked some stuff on Facebook earlier, but I am going to wait to see the whole piece.

Craig just put forth his new twitter address (he just joined today), so I'm going to swtich over so I can "follow" his posts. My best from the ether.

Post Game thoughts

I can honestly confess that the SB44 was the best one I have ever seen. I can safely say that because 1) I don't always watch them, 2) The little team that couldn't, DID, and 3) I never really appreciated just how deadly Peyton is with that arm of his. He was making passes I would have thought impossible. Just his luck that the Saints were on fire and were able to deflect, and in one game changing moment, get in front of one. This is just a personal note here, but Terri and I were talking during the game about the difference in appearance between the teams. The Saints looked lean and mean, and the Colts looked like the guys who get in front of you in line at a fast food restaurant and take forwever, as they have ordered half the available menu. If you don't believe this, ask yourself, how many men that size can look good in gold lame' stretch pants? The Saint's quarterback used to play here in San Diego, but the move to the Big Easy seems to have worked some magic on him. He's actually more photogenic than Peyton, maybe we'll be seeing him in more commercials now. Maybe? who am I kidding, his agent has probably burned out six cell phones by now.

I think another thing that helped the game was that the commercials were so genuinely bad that they didn't distract from the game whatsoever. I think the google ad was the only one I liked. All those websites that do the "best Super Bowl Commercials" are just shit out of luck this year. I do blame CBS for this. In the end though, who cares. I was for the Saints, and they pulled it off. I can't imagine what it must have been like in the French Quarter earlier this evening. Shit, who am I kidding, it's probably still apeshit going on now and it's weird o'clock in the morning here on the pacific coast. Anyone want to wager on the absenteeism tomorrow in New Orleans? Those precious few who do show up for work will be worthless anyway, and if they are able to raise their head and make intelligible sounds, will be dissecting the game all day. Better to just close the city for a holiday and let people get it out of their systems. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I do have an Aunt and Uncle in Orleans, but I was unable to get through to them after the game. It's about 4:00 a.m. there now and I could probably get through, but I doubt they would appreciate my cheeriness and well wishes at this hour.

I did miss the first twenty mins. of the game. Terri needed gas in her car for the upcoming work week, and we were almost out of cigarettes (I know, bad habit, and you only have one lung you freakin' fool), so I ran out real quick. Real quick being the operative term here. No one on the roads. Two persons at the gas station (both were women), and liquor store which was void of life also. The guys who run the Liquor Stop, where I have bought my cigarettes and booze for the last eleven years, are from the middle east, and I made a wretchedly awful joke when I found out that the lone guy working the store didn't have a TV to turn on for the game. I mean REALLY awful joke. Fortunately, I am such a good customer (I believe I am listed as a reference on their credit reports), that I can get away with it. You know how on Cheer's you had a bar where everbody knew your name? Same principle here.

Am currently watching "On the Beach" while I type this post. Such a killer film. They should never have tried a remake. I generally read a book a day, and am consistenly amazed when all the movie people can't come up with anything new to film. If I had the funds to be a producer, I would be optioning shit like a madman. Stopping only when Nurse Ratchett wacks me up with thorazine. There is a lot of good, original stuff out there which begs to be on the screen, and we get pale remakes and a lot of movies which end in roman numerals. Does anyone really care to see Saw XVII? Most of what is released today is either fit for "straight to DVD," or really misses out on the death of Drive-In movie theaters. I don't know about anyone else, but I miss Drive-In's. A way to watch a bad movie with friends and connect with society, while still maintaining the bubble of privacy provided by your vehicle. Much easier to be a bit "flagrant" also. Once the windows are already fogged up, who's to know?

As usual, I'm all over the place here. How I got to drive-in's from the super bowl is best left to my shrink, I guess.

My best from the ether, where the Saints reside.

They came "Marching In."

Yo. Love an upset, and love the Saints. What could be better than the second half? Warned all that yankees playing in the south would not do as well as planned. I imagine Ellen, Harry Connick, and a lot of others are just about floating off the floor about now. Very satisfying. I tried to get on "twitter," but for reasons which are probably obvious, they are over-loaded and down for new posts now. No matter, it will be self-news feeds for quite awhile. Congrats dudes, you deserve it.

We love you in the ether.

Super Bowl (Unrequited)

I've never been much of one to watch American football. Not that I am un-american, it's just not my sport of choice. You kind of have to watch this one though, if only for the commercials and whatever half-time controversy they can cook up and blame on someone else. CBS has done such a good job on censorship this year that the ads aren't even worth watching so far, and this at a staggering cost to the advertisers. If someone can explain to me what they mean by "morals," I would love to hear it. Then I would like to see them on the couch in front of a therapist, or on the rack in front of the Spanish Inquisition. As my brother-in-law used to say, "Pit EE Full."

I am not immune to rooting for the underdog (Go Saints), but I like to think that I keep an open mind (Go Saints) and can appreciate this special event for what it is (Go Saints), A bunch of large, hunky men in tight lycra shorts patting each other's behinds and doing their best to make a nice "pile up" every chance they get. Every time I see a ref throw a flag on "Holding," my imagination runs wild. I guess I just have a bit too much experience in the "penal" system. Take that, CBS (Go Saints).

It's almost half-time, so I will probably sign off now, but I am almost certain I will have other things to complain of later. Hey, I've been on a keyboard roll the past twenty hours, why stop now? Did anyone see the Wanda Sykes Show last night? Half-time entertainment, the WHO. Top CBS shows with introduction songs by, wait for it, The WHO. How lucky is that? Imagine the strange coincidence of being able to plug your top shows and the Super Bowl at the same time. I'm kind of hoping that Pete will cause a wardrobe malfunction and show one of Daltrey's nipples so we can go through another useless nationwide apoplexy. Hell, it might even help Pete's rep right now, he's got problems of his own. On a total side note off topic, I miss Keith Moon. He was the best three drummers co-existing in one body that nature has ever produced.

O.K. Found something else to bitch about. The "Dorittos's Wrap Up." Why are all these guys holding their microphones so close to their mouths that it borders on fellacio, and then screaming anyway? All these guys should go down to the locker rooms during the break and get it out of their systems. If you want to shove big, black nobs in front of your face, you shouldn't be sitting in a studio chair, the traditional position is on your knees.

Yours from the ether (Go Saints), and my best to all.

Going to ground soon, but still awake

Watched the Wanda Sykes Show and was able to turn to SNL in time for Weekend Update, which is my favorite part of that show. Wanda is not always spot on, but when she is, she is. I love her take on the traditional talk show format. Come to think of it, I like Chelsea Lately also, and for the same reason. These women do not care if their opinions are popular, they just say what they think. A lot to admire there. Check out Chelsea Handler's blog if you don't believe me. I always figure that anyone who reads what I write is kind of disposed to, if not agree with me, at least appreciate my opinion. When you're famous, I think it would be harder. See. The glass is half-full. Who needs fame and fortune anyway? I'm thinking however, that I need to jump on the reality show band wagon. But with a classic TV type of style. 'Chips, and margaritas,' 'Chico and the bottle,' 'Battlestar, I need a laxative,' "Bicardi 51, where are you,' 'Charlie's Angelica,' 'Sanford and sambuca,' Starsky and Grey Goose,' 'the Bars of San Francisco,' (Seriously, do you think Karl Malden was born with that nose?), 'Knot's Landing on my Captain Morgan,' (that would hurt), 'Gilligan's Island Planter's Punch,' 'Mr. Ed snorts for sure,' 'Leave it to Beaver (if I can get Brittany),' 'Father knows the best Scotch (come here, kitten),' 'The Beverly Moonshiner's, (with Anne Hathaway instead of Miss Hathaway), 'the Bong Show,' (o.k. that one was too easy) 'The Match Under a Crack Spoon Game,' 'Secret Squares (and how to spot them), 'Drag fish-Net Stockings (you know where I'm going there), 'Dynasty Distilled,' 'the Muensters and white wine,' 'the Ed Sullivan Shnapps (featuring Tipo glass of Grigio), '  'the Dukes of Hazelnut Liquor,' 'Bewitched, bebothered, and why did I wake up in chinatown naked (this is a sad but true story), 'the Wrapping Paper Chase (honest, ever try to wrap a good one when you're already gone?), 'the New Jack Benny Show (good night Glenlevitt), 'the Flying Blue Nun (brought to you by Liebfraumilch), 'the Bailey's Bunch (here's the story, of a lovely coffee...sing it with me), 'Stacy Keatch in Mike Hammered,' and lest we forget, 'Lucy Riccardo in the Sky with Diamonds (the real one, with Fred Freebase and Ethyl Propylglycine),'  'the Perry Masonic Rituals Show (featuring Della, I'm here for you baby, Street-walker),' and on that same note, 'Old Ironsides.' (o.k. that one was too easy also.)

Well, you get my drift, I could go all night with this, but I should try to go to earth eventually. This is a term I picked up from reading Anne Rice. She has a real grasp of what it must be like to live on, and on, and on. When her immortals can't handle it anymore, they just go to earth for awhile and come out decades or centuries later, ready to take on the new challenges of the day. I feel like that way too often. Suicidal? No. Pragmatic? Oh definetely. Anybody who reads this who has more than three 5150's in their medical records should please contact me immediately. I am willing to pass on the crown. If you can top my four, I will personally swear my undying allegiance to you and let you knight me with the shoe laces they take away when you're checked in.

So, I have my happy book to read. "Her Name, Titanic," by Charles Pelligrino (Honestly, I couldn't make this shit up). Not the happiest of books running about, but there is one thing I've already found captivating. One of the crew of the Titanic (who survived, obviously), went on to serve on the Lusitania, then the Empress of Ireland, and (wait for it) Andrea Doria. Just me, mind you, but this is the luckiest man alive, and I would not hire him for all the gold in Fort Knox. Even as a pizza delivery driver. Yes you got your pizza within 30 minutes, "Oh look, what's that fireball in the sky headed toward us?"

My best, as always, from the ether.

Rainy days

Little bit of a pour here. I wan't going to go out today, but discovered that I had only one can of cat food left, and that leaves me nothing for the kids in the morning. I braved that sexy looking like a drowned rat look that makes people offer to have your babies, and went to the store. Shouldn't have worn sneakers, though. They do not live up to their name when they are wet and you are walking on a linoleum floor. The whole "sneak" thing is right out. Should have said, wore my "squeekers." Makes it hard to startle other shoppers with your looming presence when they can hear you coming. And this is my favorite part of shopping. Find an unsuspecting person at the vegetable section and ask them "buttons, or pieces and stems? What do you think?" Another favorite: "Pardon me, If you mix white beans and black, do you get gray refried beans?" Another favorite in the produce section with lettuce, "Should I risk an unwashed bag, or just get head?" Don't get me started at the butcher's counter, I am not responsible for myself at times. Made the trip successfully however, and at least the kids are set through next Saturday food wise. As for the humans in the house, we'll just have to make do until I get back out again. Had a cute moment at the check-out. The checker was new to me, early twenties, at best. He was so efficient he was just bagging away before he realized he hadn't scanned some of the items. I told him not to put himself out on my account, but we had to go through the whole order again with a manager watching. I tried to put him at ease, saying that I could see the camera bubbles above the registers, just like in a casino. Told him I once had a bad experience when I threw up on a craps table instead of taking a crap like you're supposed to. I may have a new friend in him, but the manager was suspisciously absent of humor.

I spent the morning catching up on my shows (That sounds soo like I am wearing a chenille house-coat and fuzzy slippers). Oh wait a minute, I was. What with counter programing, things fall through the cracks, and the gods of streaming video will reward you if you are an accolite, which I am. So pretty much up to date now. Nothing on tonight until late. Given the fact that our economy is in the shitter, and a lot of people are out of work, could they maybe realize that programming some good shows on a Saturday night will not cause society and life as we know it to cease to exist? Oddly, on Sunday night, some of my favorite guilty dramas are on, and they are definetely adult in topic and content. "Ok. Church is over, kids are in bed, let's crack some beers and watch the unwanted pregnancies, adulterous relationships, sociopaths and psychopaths, and family intrigues and in-fighting. I think somebody's going to die soon too, over a contract dispute." (Belch) 'While you're up Louise, grab me another."

Just me, but for those of us who do not "go out" Friday and Saturday nights to see Avatar for the umpteenth time, or have a neighborhood bar where everybody knows your name, we are not represented. Or are just plain trying to stretch a buck to get by, we could use some decent programming. 'Nuff said.

The kids are sitll fine. Bubba went frantic for awhile when I went to go to the store. He thought I was leaving without feeding him first (which I was, he was way too early in his demands). He takes rejection unwell. That is to say, I have to put all the furniture back in place when I get home. We have faux Tiffany lamps, with the shades made of polycarbonite (plastic instead of glass. Good thing.) so they don't shatter when he shoves them onto the floor. I've gotten pretty used to washing my bed linens every day when I find them torn off the bed and peed on in the litter box. How did that old commercial used to go..."My cat, I think I'll keep him." Could be worse. Cats are at least pretty self-sufficient. Dogs do not take solitude well at all. Terri's sister had a basenji that would empty all the trash cans in the house, drag all the trash into the living room to form a pyramid (they are Egyptian dogs), and then pee on it. This is a true story. Given the trials they had with Sayder, I suppose I get off easy.

Been really enjoying all the strange and bizarre quotes from Twitter, but then again, I make it a point to follow strange and bizarre people. I try to keep up, but I am a rank amature to some of these fine folks. Strange when you try to shock and offend with something like, 'Hemorrhoids are so huge, they look like a second set of testicles," and the responses you get are like, "Oh Hon, go see Dr. Steinmetz off of La Cienega in Hollywood, he's a master of ass work. I remember when my Harold had an anal polyp so huge it looked like he had a third cheek. Couldn't wear his sweats at all, poor thing. Had to eat standing up. Even his massuesse threatened to quit until he got it taken care of."

O.K. enough for now. I have some DVD's I haven't watched yet, and until Wanda Sykes comes on at 11:00, I'll have some time to kill.

My best to all from the ether.

Questions, Questions

Got up at my usual time this morning. My system is pretty set for around 4:30 a.m. regardless of when, or if, I get to sleep. Making sure to catch the 12:30 Chelsea Lately Show pretty much assures that I will not enjoy a restful eight hours, as is recommended. I watched Ter get off to work, and did some 'puter stuff, then sat back on the couch with a book for awhile. Reclining on couch with book generally leads to nap time, which it did today. So now I'm back up and pondering. Should I post on my blog, or just watch my shows on streaming video. Pretty much certain I will do both, but I thought I had better post first, so here goes:

Alan called me last evening and told me the photo I posted of the two of us at the Santa Monica Pier was not flattering. I assured him, everyone would be looking at my beardless, balding head, so not to worry. Here's another picture from that lunch which shows his true nature better.

There. Are you happy now? At least you have hair on your head. Complain about this one and I'll post the one with the blow dryer incident involving housekeeping that I took in Vegas a couple of years ago. Don't cross me boy. I not only know where the bodies are buried, I have pictures. Remember when we stayed at that huge suite at the Rio with the glass windows in the room that looked into the shower? Be afraid, be very afraid.

Where was I? Oh yes, so it's supposed to rain today. I can believe this from looking at the sky. Hope Ter doesn't get caught in it coming home from work. The inability of native Californians to drive in inclement weather is legendary throught the country. I've spent time living in many parts of the country, and everyone everywhere laughs about this. I think it is pure spite because all they have is inclement weather. I may try and keep my streak going and get out today for a bit. I did put new windshield wipers on the van. Speaking of the van, and this is kind of a change-up here, Ter took it to her sister-in-law's house last weekend to to bring back some plants and things that Becky didn't want to take with her in her move to Oregon. Among them, a concrete garden gnome. Now mind you, her family is from the deep south. Since lawn jockeys are not really PC, her brother bought a cast garden gnome and painted it african-american for proud display. The sucker is not only offensive, but quite heavy. I went along with all of Ter's pink plastic flamingos, but I think this piece of "art" is staying on the back patio, behind some large plants. I shouldn't really point fingers, my family is from the south also, just not the deep south (There is a difference. Still got your bigots, but no kluxers. Or then again, maybe all those "Toga Parties," were not what I thought as a child). To this day, I still smile when I see a man wrapped in a sheet, but I digress. I think I have a picture of Terri's little brother.

Yes. Found it. We all went to a party at a ranch type place out in Lakeside, CA. And matters went from "Sure, a beer sounds good," to "Is that real moonshine?" Health and safety tip here. Stick with bourbon for your boilermakers. Only a few can handle pure grain alcohol. Interestingly enough. I think almost everyone at the party has this same or a similar shot. We all just pretty much stepped over him when we had to go to the porta-potties. Later on, there are embarrasssing pictures of me also. But this is MY blog, and I don't have to show those if I don't want to. Ray was a sweet and gentle soul who would do anything for a joke. Not unlike myself. Most of my early legal experience came from being a defendant. As in State vs--or City vs--, People vs--etc. Nothing drastic mind you, just things that I thought were funny at the time, but perhaps not in the interests of public decency. There was this one time...Oh well, the records are sealed on that one, let's not go there.

O.K. I've done my post for today. Now on to my shows.

My best to all from the ether.

Special Day

Well, not for me, but it's Alan's Birthday today. Three Cheers and all that. I think he gets to be a year older than me for five months until I catch back up. Lucky him. Coincidentally, we are both born two days from a Holiday. He, two days after Groundhog Day, and me two days before July the 4th. All right, so I got a bigger Holiday, but who's counting? I found a picture of the two of us having lunch at Santa Monica Pier.

It is reasonably rare to get a picture of the two of us together, and even more so in that I have no beard and am not wearing a cap to hide my exceptionally high forehead. Pictures of me with a drink in my hand abound, however.

I sent a tweet to a celebrity who actually answered me right back. I was very excited. If you've read my blog, you know that I am a huge fan of Chelsea Lately (Chelsea Handler), a very late night talk show with a black humor that takes no prisoners. She tweeted that 'Crazy people are exhausting." I sent back "I thought you made a living off of us. Without crazy people's actions, your show would be reduced to 'knock-knock' jokes." She replied, "If you took it personally, you must be crazy and paranoid," I'm trying to interact a little more on Facebook also, but you never know how your humor is going to go over sometimes. I have received no death threats yet, but then again, most of my contacts are out of State. This gives me a certain immunity from harm. The worst they can do is "unfriend" me. In this case, Bette Midler's cardinal rule applies. "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke."

Was on MSNBC.Com last night for decent news coverage, and they had a live poll. "Who is your favorite late night talk show host?" It allowed you to choose, Leno, Letterman, O'Brien, Fallon, Fergusen, Stewart, Colbert, or Daly. Seriously, no box for "other." Where was Wanda Sykes, Chelsea Handler, and for that matter George Lopez? If you're not a white male, I guess your career is more like a hobby in their eyes. Shame on you MSNBC. I believe Fox is having a poll to name your all time favorite radio personality. You can choose either Limbaugh or Beck or O'Reilly. Do so quick, before Obama the liberal media takes away your right to vote. There are times when I regret that they took 'Celebrity Death Match" off the air. If there was ever a time to punch some holes in bags of hot air, it is now.

Ter is home from work today (out sick), which means that her latest work related illness (I'll just come in and infect everybody, then leave early) will probably be sitting on my doorstep soon. This one also appears to be respiratory. Swell. What ever happened to stomach flu? At least with diarrhea you lose wieght, but I am in no mood for more chest pains. The kids are all doing fine. Black will be 196 in human years in this month. She still manages to make a pest of herself with youthful enthusiasm. I caught Tatiana in the act of standing next to the litter box and spaying the vacuum I have stored beside it. I had always thought it was Anastasia who was doing that, and figured I had cleaned the vacuum for the last time. Not so fast, Dude. Bubba is, well, Bubba. Nuff said on that one.

My best to all from the ether.

Trash Day yet again

I title this in a good way. That is to say, it is once again a Tuesday and therefor the day I have to gather the detrius of our lives and place them to be moved somewhere else. Other than being a kind of house-husband, this is the only job I really have, even though it is a part-time gig at best. Still, a necessary one. It is somewhat of an amazement to me that I can spend twenty waking hours a day and still barely get anything done. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I kind of miss the early 80's. Back when speed meant something other than driving too fast. I'm paying for it now, of course, but I got a lot done in a day back then.

Putting up a picture Ter took of me when we were at the desert last Sunday. As you can see, when you lose weight, your once beautiful ass is gone, but after you have acheived a beer gut, that will stay with you for life. Sadly, I am in this picture, wearing the tightest jeans I own. Maybe instead of worrying about filling them from the back I should concentrate on filling them from the front? That would be a more "guy" thing, but then again, my ass used to open a lot of doors for me back in the day.

I do remember a trip I took up to Disneyland with Alan once, though. It was an occasion in which I wore underwear (I generally do without), and just for grins, I stuffed a pair of rolled up tube socks in my "tighty whities." (Boxers are useless unless you can't find your anal plug anywhere.) Women did not seem to notice this at all, but I got quite a few furtive glances from most of the men we came across. Seriously. A couple of guys nearly tripped on the strollers they were pushing. If you don't believe me, ask Alan. A strange aspect of society there. Men are more interested in what you're packing than the female of the species. I'm not claiming it is closeted homoeroticism, I'm just saying that if anyone is checking out your crotch, it will be a man. Women will look at your eyes, or notice your dimples when you smile. And then of course there's Ter, who will study your arms for any tattoos. She likes the ink. Her newest is a Celtic cat on her right wrist. Hard to believe that I, who has always thought of himself as a rebel, have never felt the need to fly a "freak flag" on my skin. Probably something to do with suicidal tendencies. I prefer to destroy my body from the inside out.

I finally found a picture of the recently departed Princess Anastasia. She was always somewhat of a recluse, so very few pictures of her exist. I have to go and pick her up today. The place we use for the kids is very nice. The ashes are in a beautiful wood box with a clay paw imprint on the top. Much more professional than the first place we used, which utilized tobacco tins or the one's you get when you buy cookies at Costco. It's funny, when they called last night to say she was ready for pick up, I was expecting a call from someone else and answered the phone in a particularly juvenile fashion. Isn't that the way it always goes? Like when you get a call from a cousin you never hear from and you're so surprized that the first thing out of your mouth is "who died," and you get a response like "My Daddy," followed by heart-wrenching sobs. No joke. This has happened to me on more than one occasion. Or when you have filled out employment applications and after a month of no calls, you figure it is safe to answer the phone "Toilet Farms, Ass-wipe speaking," only to realize that you probably won't be getting that interview after all.

Well, enough rambling. The sun is up now, so it's safe to take the trash out.

As always, my best from the ether.