Guess who's old(ish)!

The other day, I got this in the mail:

Gyah! The dreaded letter from AARP, which stands for "Act your Age. Really, People"! I haven't opened it but I know what it says:

"You're one of us now. You've crossed the line. Upon receipt of this letter, it is now officially embarrassing for you to chase after young girls. Embrace your sudden hatred of current pop music and your newfound love of hard candy. We're AARP and we understand and care about you...although nobody else does."

B-but I don't like to act my age. I never have. When I was a little kid, I acted like an adult. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be 40. Mostly because John Lennon made 40 sound fantastic, even though he didn't get to be that age for very long. Throughout all of it, I've bought and played with toys and farts make me laugh. I'm still incredibly immature! I'm also selfish and spoiled and I've grown extremely fond of doing whatever I want and not doing anything I don't and I don't want to be old. Not out of some irrational fear of my mortality, just because it doesn't sound like much fun.
Doesn't matter. Once they hang a number on you, that's what you are.


I'm so old, I remember when CNN was credible and reliable


Oh well. Guess I might as well embrace it. And by "embrace it", I mean pick and choose what aspects suit me, as in perks, and ignore all the rest of it. That's right, I'm going to be that old guy in front of you, hanging up the line and demanding my senior discount, and screw you, that's why. I'm old now. I may have fought in any number of wars for your worthless, ungrateful ass. I didn't, but that's besides the point. The music you like blows.
In that spirit, I looked up a list of what I get now, and this is it:

RESTAURANTS:
•Krispy Kreme: 10% off
•Shoney’s: 10% off
•Steak ‘n Shake: 10% off every Monday & Tuesday
•Tea Room Cafe: 10% off

RETAIL & APPAREL:
•Bealls: 20% off first Tuesday of each month
•Big Lots: 30% off
•C.J. Banks: 10% off every Wednesday
•Goodwill: 10% off one day a week (date varies by location)
•Hallmark: 10% off one day a week (date varies by location)
•Rite Aid: 10% off on Tuesdays & 10% off prescriptions

GROCERY :
•American Discount Stores: 10% off every Monday
•Hy-Vee: 5% off one day a week (date varies by location)
•Kroger: 10% off (date varies by location)
•The Plant Shed: 10% off every Tuesday

TRAVEL :
•Continental Airlines: no initiation fee for Continental Presidents Club & special fares for select destinations
•Trailways Transportation System: various discounts for ages 50+
•Mainstay Suites: 10% off with Mature Traveler’s Discount (50+)
ACTIVITIES & ENTERTAINMENT:
•Busch Gardens Tampa, FL: $13 off one-day tickets
•Cinemark/Century Theaters: up to 35% off
•SeaWorld, Orlando , FL : $3 off one-day tickets

CELL PHONE DISCOUNTS:
•Jitterbug: $10/month cell phone service

That's it? Seems pretty skimpy, compared to what I get if I'm willing to stay alive long enough:

RESTAURANTS:
•Applebee’s: 15% off with Golden Apple Card (60+)
•Arby’s: 10% off ( 55 +)
•Ben & Jerry’s: 10% off (60+)
•Bennigan’s: discount varies by location (60+)
•Bob’s Big Boy: discount varies by location (60+)
•Boston Market: 10% off (65+)
•Burger King: 10% off (60+)
•Chick-Fil-A: 10% off or free small drink or coffee ( 55+)
•Chili’s: 10% off ( 55+)
•CiCi’s Pizza: 10% off (60+)
•Denny’s: 10% off, 20% off for AARP members ( 55 +)
•Dunkin’ Donuts: 10% off or free coffee ( 55+)
•Einstein’s Bagels: 10% off baker’s dozen of bagels (60+)
•Fuddrucker’s: 10% off any senior platter ( 55+)
•Gatti’s Pizza: 10% off (60+)
•Golden Corral: 10% off (60+)
•Hardee’s: $0.33 beverages everyday (65+)
•IHOP: 10% off ( 55+)
•Jack in the Box: up to 20% off ( 55+)
•KFC: free small drink with any meal ( 55+)
•Long John Silver’s: various discounts at locations ( 55+)
•McDonald’s: discounts on coffee everyday ( 55+)
•Mrs. Fields: 10% off at participating locations (60+)
•Sonic: 10% off or free beverage (60+)
•Sweet Tomatoes: 10% off (62+)
•Taco Bell : 5% off; free beverages for seniors (65+)
•TCBY: 10% off ( 55+)
•Village Inn: 10% off (60+)
•Waffle House: 10% off every Monday (60+)
•Wendy’s: 10% off ( 55 +)
•Whataburger: 10% off (62+)
•White Castle: 10% off (62+)

RETAIL & APPAREL:
•Belk’s: 15% off first Tuesday of every month ( 55 +)
•Bon-Ton Department Stores: 15% off on senior discount days ( 55 +)
•Clarks : 10% off (62+)
•Dress Barn: 20% off ( 55+)
•Kohl’s: 15% off (60+)
•Ross Stores: 10% off every Tuesday ( 55+)
•The Salvation Army Thrift Stores: up to 50% off ( 55+)
•Stein Mart: 20% off red dot/clearance items first Monday of every month ( 55 +)

GROCERY:
•Albertson’s: 10% off first Wednesday of each month ( 55 +)
•Compare Foods Supermarket: 10% off every Wednesday (60+)
•DeCicco Family Markets: 5% off every Wednesday (60+)
•Fry’s Supermarket: free Fry’s VIP Club Membership & 10% off every Monday ( 55 +)
•Great Valu Food Store: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)
•Gristedes Supermarket: 10% off every Tuesday (60+)
•Harris Teeter: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)
•Morton Williams Supermarket: 5% off every Tuesday (60+)
•Publix: 15% off every Wednesday ( 55 +)
•Rogers Marketplace: 5% off every Thursday (60+)
•Uncle Guiseppe’s Marketplace: 15% off (62+)

TRAVEL:
•Alaska Airlines: 50% off (65+)
•American Airlines: various discounts for 50% off non-peak periods (Tuesdays – Thursdays) (62+)
•Southwest Airlines: various discounts (65+)
•United Airlines: various discounts (65+)
•U.S. Airways: various discounts (65+)
•Amtrak: 15% off (62+)
•Greyhound: 15% off (62+)
•Holiday Inn: 20-40% off depending on location (62+)
•Best Western: 40% off (55+)
•Cambria Suites: 20%-30% off (60+)
•Waldorf Astoria – NYC $5,000 off nightly rate for Presidential Suite (55 +)
•Clarion Motels: 20%-30% off (60+)
•Comfort Inn: 20%-30% off (60+)
•Comfort Suites: 20%-30% off (60+)
•Econo Lodge: 40% off (60+)
•Hyatt Hotels: 25%-50% off (62+)
•InterContinental Hotels Group: various discounts at all hotels (65+)
•Mainstay Suites: 10% off with Mature Traveler’s Discount (50+); 20%-30% off (60+)
•Marriott Hotels: 25% off (62+)
•Motel 6: Stay Free Sunday nights (60+)
•Myrtle Beach Resort: 30% off ( 55 +)
•Quality Inn: 40%-50% off (60+)
•Rodeway Inn: 20%-30% off (60+)
•Sleep Inn: 40% off (60+)

ACTIVITIES & ENTERTAINMENT:
•AMC Theaters: up to 30% off ( 55 +)
•Bally Total Fitness: $100 off memberships (62+)
•Carmike Cinemas: 35% off (65+) •U.S. National Parks: $10 lifetime pass; 50% off additional services including camping (62+)

CELL PHONE DISCOUNTS:
•AT&T: Special Senior Nation 200 Plan $19.99/month (65+)
•Verizon Wireless: Verizon Nationwide 65 Plus Plan $29.99/month (65+)

MISCELLANEOUS:
•Great Clips: $8 off haircuts (60+)
•Supercuts: $8 off haircuts (60+)

That's baloney. They're saving all the good stuff for all the REALLY old people! In that case, forget it. I refuse the AARP letter on the grounds that I'm not old. To celebrate this fact, I'm going to go build something with Legos and then go chase some college girls... although I do feel like taking a nap first.

Happy Whitest Holiday There Is

Like everyone, I spent Saturday enjoying the twitter meme, #whitemenmarchprotestsigns. Pretty funny stuff. Imagine my horror when I realized after a few hours that the White Men March was a real thing and not just a comedy premise thought up by a bored Twitter user.
Once again, I find myself on the wrong end of something I don't understand. I mean, somebody has probably spelled out an argument for why such a thing is necessary and I could find it fairly easily with just a few clicks. I don't really... well, care, for one thing. For another, I don't really need any Neo-Nazi web sites nestled into my online search history. Without the benefit of bothering to find an argument otherwise, I'm just going to go ahead and declare this a dumb and unnecessary idea. I mean, I'm a full-fledged member of the group supposedly under attack and don't associate "diversity" with "genocide". I don't even feel remotely genocide-ally eligible. Even people who hate me don't want to genocide me. Do I recognize that people who have been traditionally denied opportunities might want a shot, a bigger slice of pie than they've been allowed before? Sure I do! Why wouldn't they. We (white people) have had it pretty sweet, and by "it pretty sweet" I mean "every conceivable advantage". Not all of us as individuals, of course. But as a group? Of course we have. It doesn't mean I feel threatened in any way. If I look around and see some advantage that I don't have, I don't have to look farther than my mirror to see why. I do wonder who these marchers are talking to. I mean, we/they are still the people in charge

"You know, they/we have a point. We/they should make sure they/we are taken care of. Oh, we/they already are? Okay then."

It might have been fun to lead some chants though.

"1, 2, 3, 4,
What the hell are we marching for?
No seriously,
What are we doing here?" 

Oh well. Enjoy your St. Patrick's Day.

Why you should love Wes Anderson and his movies

In case you didn't know, I work a few hours a month at the world renowned Tampa Theatre as a projectionist, a craft I learned under sink-or-swim circumstances when I was hired to manage the box office and concessions at Sarasota's Burns Court Cinema a long, long time ago. My pal Steve knew this about me and sent me this note yesterday:

"Is this a cool move or does it bother you: Instructions for projecting 'The Grand Budapest Hotel'. It's instructions from Wes Anderson's people on how to show/project his new movie. I was just curious if as a projectionist you find this uppity or helpful. Or I guess...both."

My answer to Steve, and to anybody else interested in my opinion the matter, is that I think that's very cool and don't have a problem with it at all. It shows that he not only cares about his work but his audience as well. You have to respect a filmmaker that pays that much attention to detail. Over the years, I have assembled hundreds of 35mm prints and presented thousands of movies as a projectionist and I've seen instructions like this maybe three times (I think I received similar instructions for a Woody Allen film back in the '90s, possibly "Bullets Over Broadway"). I won't say that means that most filmmakers don't care about how their work is presented, but very few go to these lengths to make sure it's done right. That's a filmmaker who not only cares about their hard work, but one who genuinely cares that audiences who shell out good money to see it, see it the way it's meant to be seen. Again, I won't say that most filmmakers don't care about their audience, but very few will go this far on their audiences behalf.
A good projectionist takes pride in their work and considers their role in the presentation of a film as important as anyone's who worked on creating it, something I learned from working with and under some truly great projectionists, including Tampa Theatre's Mike Hurley. That might sound overblown and self-important at first, but it's really not, if you think about it. Think of a film as a painting and the movie screen as a frame. Doesn't it make sense that an artist who works hard on a painting wouldn't want somebody doing a shitty job of putting a frame on it? As such, any good projectionist would have no problem with receiving direct communication and precise instructions from the film's director.
The bottom line is, even if you don't consider yourself a fan of Wes Anderson and his quirky, awkward, somewhat dark comedies, you should know that he cares a great deal about his work and how you experience it.

Listen to me!

I was on a show the other day, specifically the CCPT (which stands for Connect Community Puck Talk, in case you're worrying about getting audited or locked up or deported, which doesn't happen. Hello NSA!) Hockey Show, which is run by two of my favorite people, Cassie McClellan and Su Ring.
Check it out!

Also, I have been having conversations like this lately:

"So what's this Spike on the Mic Show you keep talking about?"
"You mean when I say, 'Hey, tune in to the Spike on the Mic Show!'?"
"Yes."
"Well, do you tune in?"
"No."

Here's your chance to do so without doing what I say.
Check it out!

Interview: Michael "Jordi Scrubbings" Lortz

Have you ever been out and about and seen somebody running around in an Afro wig and thought, "what the hell is wrong with that kid"? Well, The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast is back and this month's installment is an interview with Tampa Bay bon vivant, and sometimes guest contributor here on the old-timey Trickle blog, Michael Lortz, also known to many as Jordi Scrubbings. Huh? Don't worry, all that is explained in this month's T.R.I.P. Check it out.

Also, a bit of pluggery, The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast is now available via iTunes! Just click this link or open up the program, go to the "Podcasts" section in the iTunes store and search for it by name or just use by my name, "clark brooks" and you'll find it. Download and listen to old episodes and subscribe for new ones. Best of all, it's free!

Now all up inside of your iTunes, baby!

The yogurt shuffle

I'm not good at grocery shopping when it comes to making it an expedition where hundreds of dollars are spent and enough food is purchased that a return trip to the supermarket isn't necessary for a month. What I am good at is wanting/needing three or four different things at a time, necessitating several trips a week to the supermarket. I know that isn't efficient but I don't mind. When you're only picking up a few things, you can breeze right in and out, and you always get to use the express line. In fact, I like grocery shopping. It's fun! Usually.
Last night, I went to the supermarket, focused on picking up exactly three things: bananas, orange juice and yogurt, for lunches, because I'm (at least temporarily) a vegetarian now.

STEP 1 - Bananas: No problem. Swing through produce and grab a bunch of bananas. Boom! Is there a fruit that comes more perfectly packaged by nature than bananas? Not only the container but the means of carrying them.

STEP 2 - Orange juice: No problem. I'm already in produce; the orange juice is right there! Damn, I love orange juice! Grab a gallon, with as much pulp as possible, please. Yum!

STEP 3 - Yogurt: Problem. I steer over to dairy, past the milk and cheese and sour cream and there's the yogurt. Camped out in front of the store brand (10 for $5!) is some guy and his cart. He's squatted down and grabbing containers of yogurt, looking at each one, shaking some of them, smelling others. He puts four containers in his cart, takes three out and puts them back on the shelf. He does this with different quantities until I'm positive he's handled every container at least twice. Every now and then, he counts how many are in his cart. In the middle of this, he calls someone on the phone to discuss the situation. It's taking a really long time and nobody else can get to the yogurt. If he moves his cart just six inches in one direction or the other, another person could easily get in and shop for yogurt, too. And the thing is, he sees me. He knows I want access to that smooth, creamy goodness and he won't... he won't fucking move! Now, you know me. In situations like this, I'm just a peaceful, "live-and-let-live" guy. On the outside, I mean, because I dislike confrontations. Meanwhile, in my head I'm praying silently-but-urgently for his immediate and painful death, wondering if there might be a way that an over-handled container of yogurt could explode and tear his head completely off,  like a normal person. But this is ridiculous. I start shifting my weight from foot to foot, putting my hands on my hips, sighing loudly, looking at my wrist for a watch I don't have on. He's not only not taking the hint, he's doing new stuff like looking at the bottoms of the containers and lining the containers up in neat little rows in his basket. Finally, he finishes and moves on. I step in and use my arm to simply sweep whatever 16-to-20 containers are in my reach into my basket and storm off.
Now I get to the front of the store and I see him ambling towards a register and I recognize this as an opportunity to get payback. I position myself so I can get in line just before he does. Not in a swooping, "AHA!" way, but a "Oh, hi. Looks like I made it here ahead of you. Ha ha. I almost wound up behind you but I wound up in front of you instead. Not that it matters. We're all just grocery shoppers and not competing or anything like that. Isn't life funny?" way. I don't do it perfectly because there's one person in between us. I feel bad but this person is going to be a casualty of war. Sorry.
I start unloading my stuff on the belt. I do this like a normal human being with the bananas and orange juice. Now it's time to put up the yogurt, which I do one at a time, and then picking some up, looking at them, putting them back in the basket, examining the lids and the bottoms, taking them back out of the basket and back on the belt, I handle some of the containers three and four times. I do it very slowly and precisely and I know the cashier and the person behind me are looking at me like I'm out of my mind. I'm really wrapped up in it now and I start smelling the containers. Now I'm laying them on the belt and leaning down to and looking across the tops with one eye, to make sure they're all uniform height. A couple look like they might not be so I pick them up individually and examine them very closely before putting them back on the belt. I'm shifting them around like the world's slowest and strangest shell game. "Yeah, motherfucker. How's it feel, huh? How does it feel?", I'm thinking to myself. This is when I request that the cashier ring them up in alphabetical order so it comes out that way on the receipt. I am especially pleased with myself for coming up with that because that brings the process to a total standstill. I'm in the middle of being pleased with myself when I see Yogurt Guy leaving the store, carrying his purchases. They opened another line and he moved over without noticing anything I was doing other than taking too long. I never saw him move but the whole absurdity of it was completely lost on him because he didn't even know I was doing it! Now I just look like a weirdo in front of the cashier and this person behind me.
So anyway, obviously, I can never buy yogurt there again.

Lent, or something like it

Last night, I had dinner with a friend of mine who is Catholic.

ME: Hey, so you're Catholic, right?
HER: (Sighs, rolls eyes, sets silverware down, folds hands and puts them in her lap) Yes. Why?
ME: Because as you know, I'm an ordained minister.
HER: Of course. How could I ever possibly forget? (rolls eyes again)
ME: You're pretty good at that eye-rolling thing. But back to the matter at hand, I really like what your new guy is doing.
HER: Yes, Pope Francis is the dynamic and innovative leader that the church has needed for some time.
ME: Yeah, he's cool. Radical new ideas regarding love and acceptance, transforming an established, traditional institution from the top down. I dig that.
HER: Well, thank you.
ME: So I think I want to Catholicize my act a little. And this being the day before Lent begins, it seems like now would be a good time to kind of check it out.
HER: And what does that mean exactly?
ME: As far as forming the philosophy behind my ministry, I sort of go through the various religions and pick the stuff that sounds good, kind of like a sushi menu. "Oh, I'm not doing that. Ooh, that looks good!".
HER: I didn't know that was allowed.
ME: I'm not sure it is but it keeps me from having to support questionable standards and practices. It keeps me open-minded to the views of others and allows me to serve as a spiritual leader to those who might need me to serve as such and whatever.
HER: I don't believe you have any followers and I'd be nervous if you did but overall, that actually seems reasonable. All right, what do you want to know?
ME: Here's what I know about Lent; I'm supposed to give up something I enjoy for the 40 days as an act of sacrifice leading up to Easter Sunday.
HER: That's... kind of mostly correct. It's to prepare you through prayer, penance, atonement, self-denial and repentance of sin for the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ on Easter Sunday. It's also observed by other churches. It's not strictly a Catholic thing.
ME: Right. That's what I said.
HER: You should think of it as more than doing without something you like for 40 days; you should use that time to be more humble and contemplative.
ME: Ooh. Ooh ooh ooh.
HER: Why are you ooh-ooh-ing?
ME : The humble and contemptuous things are not strong suits for me.
HER: Contemplative. And if you know you're weak in those areas, this would be an ideal time to work on them. So maybe this is more than a big joke to you and actually a good idea. I'm interested to see how you deal with it.

Oh, me too.

Anyway, the bottom line is I'm doing Lent this year. It took me a while to figure out what to give up. I stopped drinking soda a few weeks ago, otherwise that would have been the obvious, easy choice. I don't indulge that much in sweets so that would have been to easy. I eventually decided to give up meat. I'll be a vegetarian. That's a fairly drastic change for me so this will be a good test for me. We'll see how it works out.

This is going to sound crazy...

...but I think somebody is mowing my lawn.
I moved in to the house back in September. At the time, the lawn was pretty shaggy, due to the house having been unoccupied for a little while. Not long, like the code enforcement people noticed and sent a city employee in with a tractor because the grass was so long that bobcats could hide in it. Just kind of sloppy. I got that taken care of right away, hiring some kid with a mower to cut the grass along with some weeds and crap that needed to be pulled. That was the one and only time I had the lawn mowed.
Winter time in Florida, not like everywhere else with the snow and ice and madness, is still cold enough for plants and tress and grass to go dormant, so the grass didn't grow for a long time. Lately, things are warming up again and I noticed that the grass was getting long again. I remember thinking I needed to find that kid's number soon and have him come out. Except today, the lawn looks like this:

That's nice and tight. Nowhere near needing to be mowed.

Further, to me this looks like somebody did some edging. Rain wouldn't have drawn that line between the leaves on the driveway and the edge of the lawn. At least not the small amount of rain we've had. At any rate, the grass is shorter than it was a week ago. Now, I'll readily admit that I don't know exactly all of the ins and outs of how grass works, but I'm pretty sure it either grows or dies. That's it. I don't think it grows and then changes its mind and then shrinks or retracts. Which means somebody came by when I wasn't home and cut my grass. I damn sure didn't do it; I don't even own a lawnmower and I'm not so inclined. In that case, either somebody made a mistake, cutting my grass instead of someone else's, or somebody did it out of the goodness of their heart. I think we can safely rule out the latter so now, while I'm happy to be the recipient, I still feel kind of bad that somebody did work for which they weren't paid. I'd feel worse except I'm taking enormous satisfaction in the fact that I have taken care of my lawn myself exactly one time in six months.

Dirty dining, an American tradition

"Our metal tubs of steaming goo await you!"

Few things speak to how wonderful America is in terms of having an abundance of valuable resources like the all-you-can-eat buffet. Not that the buffet itself is wonderful; it isn't. In fact, it's awful. But the fact that it exists is truly spectacular. And not just one of them, like the Grand Canyon or Old Faithful. They actually exist by the thousands. In some places, there are several of them within walking distance of each other. There are people in the world who are utterly incapable of processing that fact.

VISITOR FROM ANOTHER COUNTRY: (Sees pan of food) I-I can eat that?
BUFFET SERVER: You sure can. As much as you want!
VISITOR: All of it? Everything in the whole pan??
SERVER: Well, yeah. But that means you'll probably get full before you can try the other food.
VISITOR: Other food?!? (Glances to left and right, sees what looks like endless rows of pans of food, gets dizzy, drops to one knee)
SERVER: I'm sorry, sir. If the selection here doesn't please you, there's another buffet across the street.
VISITOR: (Head and stomach explode)

Yes, the existence of the all-you-can-eat buffet should be a source of national pride. What a shame they're all so disgusting.
Last week, a local TV station did a story on a local buffet restaurant, the Fresh Point Country Buffet on U.S. 19 in Pinellas Park, that racked up a whopping 112 health code violations during four separate inspections in one week during January. This is a development that should be filed under "Of Course". Considering that the food, all of which, from the fried chicken to the mashed potatoes to the sweet corn to the pizza, takes on a gelatinous consistency over time, is prepared in mass quantities by people who have never in their lives been eligible to attend the Sorbonne, and is "served" by leaving it in open containers where diners with widely varying levels of ability in manipulating serving utensils and who may or may not have washed/licked their hands recently scoop it out and on to their plates, 112 violations sounds about right. In short, you sort of know what you're getting when it comes to the all-you-can-eat buffet, and it ain't good. You're not allowed to be shocked when TV tells you what you should have been born knowing by virtue of having enough common sense to figure out how to open and close your mouth for the purpose of getting food inside of you.
Also from the "Of Course" file is the fact that the restaurant didn't close and that was just fine with customers:

"I'm happy to come here," said customer Everett DeWitt. "It doesn't scare me a bit!"

Dine on, Everett! This seems like an ideal setup, actually. After choking down as much as possible at the disgusting restaurant, you can lurch your way next door to the disgusting La Quinta, grunting and sloshing like a garbage bag full of gravy, where you collapse into a coma and sweat it out before staggering back for dinner.
USA! USA! USA!

Let me sell your stuff!

Blabbity blab blab blah!

Hey business people or those of you who have something to sell, I'M LOOKING FOR YOU!
Oh hey, there you are. How's it going? Listen, I have this blog and recently I launched a podcast. And now, I am looking for sponsors.
STOP!
Hear me out. First...and best... of all, this will cost you nothing. Zero dollars. No money whatsoever. I will advertise your product or service for free.
What's the catch, you ask? Well, in terms of money, there isn't one. I was totally serious about this being free. Free now, and free forever*. But yeah, of course there's a catch. Ready? Here it is: I get to write the ad. Meaning, I get to say whatever I want. Some of you might be saying, "Yep, knew it. Bad idea. I'm out" because you automatically assume I'm going to say terrible things about whatever it is you're selling. And you're correct... if what you're selling is something terrible. Otherwise you're fine and have nothing to worry about. Here are two concrete examples of what I'm talking about...

GOOD PRODUCT
This month's episode of The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast is brought to you by Girl Scout Cookies. That's right, fantastic, wonderful Girl Scout Cookies. Order some today!

BAD PRODUCT
This month's episode of The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast is brought to you by the Westboro Baptist Church. That's right, the Westboro Baptist Church, the most inept hate mongers since the Nazis in a Mel Brooks movie. Fuck those guys!

See? Absolutely nothing to worry about unless you're responsible for some shitty product that makes life worse for people. And even then, it's still free! So sign up today, because we're planning March's podcast already!




* That's if you get on board now; I reserve the right to charge people up to their eyeballs if this thing takes off some day.

I'm taking credit for this

On Monday, December 30, 2013, I posted this blog entry:
"How to fix the Bucs"
Which contained this line:

"We should probably do something about that godawful combover first. You're a frightening skull; just because the last logo had a glorious, long-flowing mane, you don't need to be self-conscious about your 'do, man!"

On Thursday, February 20. 2014, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers changed their primary logo from this:

To this...

Coincidence? I think not. Either way, you're welcome!

Storms are scarier than they used to be

Things change when you get your own house. For starters, it's better. Don't let any of the negative things I'm about to type make you think otherwise; having a place truly of your own is so much more better than renting an apartment that it's disgusting. Granted, circumstances can differ: having a nice apartment in New York might beat the daylights out of owning a house there. But from where I'm sitting, which is my house in Tampa, Florida, it's really a simple case of wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!
There are some drawbacks, though. I was reminded of one yesterday when I was out on a grocery run during a nasty thunderstorm. That's when the radio broadcast was interrupted by a storm warning, or tornadoes actually. Bad weather is always scary because ultimately, you can't do anything about it. You can't call the cops about lightning strikes. You can't get a bunch of your friends together to look tough in your front yard when a tornado drives by. Basically, all the authorities can do is say, "good luck because we're all kinda in this together."
When I lived in an apartment, I'd hear these warnings and be mildly concerned, but it didn't go much further than "guess somebody's going to be getting me a hotel room because my lease is paid up". Now it's more like, "Oh please, please, don't tear up my shit!" That is scary.
It doesn't help that the warnings themselves are so creepy. They break into your favorite radio broadcast with this screeching noise:

ERRK! ERRK! ERRK!

Then a poignant pause.
Then again with the

ERRK! ERRK! ERRK!

Another dramatic pause, and then a recorded speech:

"The National Weather Service has issued a Tornado Warning for the following counties: Polk, Hernando, Hillsborough, Pinellas and Manatee until 6:00PM. Conditions exist..."

But it's not a real human, it's a computer generated robo speech, so it comes out like this:

 "Thee National Weather SerVICE has issued a tornadowarn ing for THEE follow ing counties: Polkernando, Hillsbor-ough, Pin ell us and Monate until SIX pee EM."

Ugh!! That robot doesn't care enough to pronounce our counties correctly! What concern is there if we're safe or not?!? That part of the process can certainly be upgraded. They can digitize everything these days, why not pay a huge grant to PBS in exchange for the rights to digitize the voice of the late Mr. Rogers for the sake of recording all our warnings?

"In times of stress, the best thing we can do for each other is to listen with our ears and our hearts and to be assured that our questions are just as important as our answers. Now, In this particular time of stress, I need you to listen with your ears because there's a tornado warning for Polk, Hernando, Hillsborough, Pinellas and Manatee counties until 6:00PM. Have you ever seen a manatee? They have whiskers! Do you think a manatee can tell time? No? Me neither. So we all need to watch the clock together until 6:00PM when we'll all be safe again. Can you do that? I know you can!"

Interview: Spike "Spike on the Mic" Slater

The podcast was so nice, we're doing it (at least) twice!
That's right, once again we take a break from the keyboard and get behind the microphone with the return of The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast (or TRIP if you like unintentionally cool acronyms). This month, in honor of Black History Month, I'm talking to an actual black guy, a guy who is no stranger to the microphone, the legendary Spike Slater. Spike is the host of the award-deserving "Spike on the Mic Show"*, a show that I appear on fairly regularly, but he's been a part of the local radio landscape here in Tampa Bay for the better part of the last decade. He's also the last black man to kiss me.

Give this one a listen and learn how the two of us tackle all of the issues between white and black people (mixed results, at best) as well as all kinds of things you didn't know about Spike himself. THIS is the definitive Spike interview (in case there are other ones out there).

Click here to check it out.

* On a related note, consider this your personal invitation to check out the "Spike on the Mic Show" itself. We broadcast live from Pin Chasers Bowling Center at 4847 N. Armenia Avenue in Tampa Monday nights at 7PM. You can pick it up live at www.spikeonthemic.com. You can be a part of it by calling in at (813) 66SPIKE (813.667.7453). Not only that, but you can also join us in person! We do it at a bowling alley, so you can get food and beer and stuff. Why not? It's good times. If you haven't listened before, you'd be doing us a favor because we're only 189 unique viewers from 2000, a mark we're trying to hit before March 1st because there's a prize or something. I really have no idea.

Happy Presidents' Day!

Welcome to Presidents' Day, or as it is officially known, Washington's Birthday, which was originally intended to celebrate George Washington, the first man elected to the office of President of the United States and the last white man to be named Washington. Now we just call it Presidents' Day, to commemorate every guy (sorry, ladies) who has ever held the job.

"I'm out, bitches!" (Not shown: dropped mic)

So take some time today to think about those who accepted the challenge of holding the position of leader of the greatest and most powerful nation on earth (sorry, ladies and most non-white dudes), kick back and enjoy one regularly priced Big Mac or Quarter Pounder with Cheese and get a second one for only a penny from McDonald's!



PICTURED: Manifest destiny
(NOTE: Actual sandwiches never look like this)

 Hey, thanks, Presidents of the United States!

In other words, perfect

He couldn't bear the thought of being one of those scorned, ridiculed and pitied for being alone on Valentine's Day. It was unfortunate that he came to this realization on February 2nd, as it put him behind schedule but he was undaunted. He'd identified a suitable object of affection. She was attractive but not to the extent that she would be put off by his advances. He imagined that her speaking voice wouldn't be too grating and that her laugh, if she were inclined to find something humorous, would be pleasant and not too overbearing. In other words, she was perfect.
He decided that in light of the time constraint imposed by his hasty realization that what was needed to get her attention was a single, grand and spectacular gesture. He thought relatively long and hard about what to do before eventually deciding that he would steal a motorcycle and give it to her as a present. His reasoning was sound: women like tough guys, tough guys ride motorcycles, women like nice guys, nice guys give presents, women like men who steal things, a man who steals motorcycles to give as presents is ideal. In other words, perfect.
This was, sadly, the best and most logical plan he had ever come up with. What made it sad is that she was entirely unimpressed. Mostly because she didn't know anything about it. He had been caught in the act and apprehended. In other words, beaten severely by the owner of the motorcycle.
He pleaded incessantly with the doctors and nurses at the hospital, imploring them to release him so he could secure his intended sweetheart's love in time for Valentine's Day. They rejected his pleas on the grounds that a man whose injuries were so severe as to require the removal of his spleen should take a few days to convalesce. In other words, lay around and do nothing.
This displeased him but he had no choice. As he lay there in bed, he thought about his plan and tried to figure out how it had failed. He ran it over and over in his mind and eventually came to the conclusion that it had been too grand and spectacular. A smaller, simpler gesture would have been much easier to execute and could have just as much romantic impact as a grand, spectacular gesture. Women are simple, foolish creatures when it comes to romance, he reasoned, without the discernment to tell the difference between small and simple or grand and spectacular. He was pleased with himself for figuring this out, mostly because he had done so on February 13th. In other words, he still had time to commit the small and simple gesture that would win her heart in time for Valentine's Day.
With mighty effort he pulled himself out of the hospital bed. Taking slow, painstaking steps down the hall to the hospital gift shop. With the last bit of money he had, he purchased a shiny, red, mylar balloon in the shape of a heart and filled with helium. He shuffled out of the hospital before an orderly could stop him and immediately stepped into the path of an incoming ambulance. It started to rain as the heart-shaped balloon slowly floated up into some overhead power lines, causing a transformer to explode, knocking out power for four blocks, including the hospital. In other words, a whole bunch of people in the hospital died.
Somewhere across town, the woman he had hoped to woo watched the story of the hospital blackout on television and expressed scorn, ridicule and pity towards somebody who would equate love with a single, arbitrarily selected date on a calendar and kill a bunch of people in a hospital while getting run over by an ambulance as a result of this confusion. In other words, perfect.

Let us heal

As many of you are aware, this is Black History Month. I'd like to take this occasion to bring to light an egregious situation that has existed for far too long. It never should have existed in the first place and the fact that it continues now is beyond embarrassing. Well, it ends today, people. Right now. This can not continue for one more day, all right? It's time for us to finally unite as one nation and right this wrong.

This is not Mushmouth. This is Dumb Donald.

THIS is Mushmouth. He's not dumb; he has a speech impediment. Donald is dumb, hence the name "Dumb Donald". 

Let us pick up the pieces and move forward from here.
Thank you.

Have a heart for HART

Longtime readers probably remember some of my adventures riding the local bus lines, operated by the Hillsborough Area Regional Transit (HART). I don't really miss those days, although the stories were fun to write and I'm certainly glad that I could rely on their services when I needed them.
The other day, a friend on Facebook posted a lengthy post complaining about the service they received at the Gasparilla Night Parade. I can't comment on anybody else's experiences but all I know is I was without a car for the better part of a year and I was able to keep my job because of HART. I don't know about the special event services but as far as the day-to-day service was concerned, they were reliable enough to get me to work, pick up my dry cleaning, go grocery shopping and generally manage my affairs. Any time I had a problem, which was rare, it was responded to quickly and professionally. If I'd lost my job, it's not a stretch to say I'd be out on the street right now. As it is, I now own a car and a house this past fall. If I don't owe my life to HART, I owe them at least partial thanks for where I am now.
I don't know what happened at the parade but I just kind of felt obligated to put that out there.

Checking in with the happy couple

Do you remember Tom and Rachel, the couple I married at Jimbo's Pit BBQ back in October? Well, they are still married! That was over three whole months ago, which means I am very good at marrying. You should keep that in mind if you're planning on getting married. Ooh, I will marry you so hard. I will marry you all night long!!
For Christmas, Tom and Rachel had me over for dinner (shrimp boil!) at the home they moved into after getting married. Dinner was great (shrimp boil!) and the house is lovely. It's got a caged pool and a rec room. It's really nice. Of course, things being hectic as they are these days, they're still in the process of making it over into their home. One of the areas they have yet to make over is the bathroom adjacent to the rec room.

RACHEL: "Please try not to notice the wallpaper. It's horrible and embarrassing."
ME: "Hey, no problem."
(approximately four minutes later)
ME: "Rachel, I noticed the wallpaper. It's horrble and embarrassing."
RACHEL: "I told you!"
ME: "I'm afraid you know what has to happen now."
RACHEL: "Oh God, please don't blog about it. We're replacing it soon!"
ME: "I'm sorry. I've already taken pictures. There's nothing that can be done now."
RACHEL: "(Sigh) All right. Fine."

Rachel, unfortunately, know how things work. Anyway, here are the pics. Enjoy and have a great weekend!

First of all, in my own defense, I'd like to know how I was not supposed to notice this?

I mean, considering that it was everywhere. Did someone wearing a muumuu explode?

I'm told there's a cabinet in here somewhere. I think you have to hit a secret panel or maybe tilt one of those soap dishes to open it.

Hey, does anybody remember empathy?

My friend Molly Field recently wrote this piece on the passing of actor Philip Seymour Hoffman. Specifically, she wrote about somebody she knows who felt it necessary for some reason to respond to the news of Hoffman's death by labeling him a "bum". Actually, "a self-interested bum" to be precise, presumably because initial reports indicated that Hoffman died of a drug (heroin) overdose. I enjoyed his movies and appreciate his talent, but beyond that, I don't have any kind of tangible connection to Philip Seymour Hoffman and I'll bet this associate of Molly's didn't either. I don't feel I'm qualified to proclaim Hoffman a hero any more than this other guy is qualified to condemn him as a bum. More importantly, who cares what we think? Even more importantly, why would we think it matters to anybody what we think? Talk about "self-interested". What propels us to rush out and cast a verdict on people based on a relatively trivial factoid we just learned about them?
People are going to blame the internet. "It's Twitter and Facebook and all this stuff that lets people be anonymous and makes them say terrible things", they'll say. To which, I reply Bullshit. Why are an overwhelming majority of the rash, impetuous things people say on Twitter and elsewhere nasty and vitriolic? How come nobody ever has to go back and retract something they said because it was unjustifiably nice? Is Twitter responsible for the spite and meanness that people spew and if so, exactly how does that work? Seriously, tell me how to make it do that, because mine will only spit out whatever words that come from my head that I type into it with my fingers.
We just got finished with the Super Bowl, during which we ran Richard Sherman, a professional football player who most of us had never heard of before, though this instant judgment/trial by no jury process, based upon a TV appearance that lasted less than a minute:

• "He's a thug." = "I mean, just look at him." - Most of us who knew nothing about him
• "He's not a thug; he went to Stanford" = "Nobody who ever went to a good school ever did anything wrong" - Most of us who knew slightly more than nothing about him

And the thing was, it seemed to matter less who was right and who was wrong than it did how quickly you could get behind an argument. When that's not only the goal but also the criteria used for achieving it, it's pretty obvious that not a lot of value is placed on introspection or consideration and that the good ol' benefit of doubt is going to be a casualty. Why is that? Who decided that the rush to judgment is more important than any kind of thought that goes into that judgment?
Without knowing Philip Seymour Hoffman, I don't feel comfortable saying he was a hero or a bum. However, with the benefit of a doubt, I do feel comfortable in guessing that he was a person with problems and that he did what he thought was best on a daily basis in dealing with those problems. That description applies to virtually every person I know, although the individual circumstances and results may differ a great deal. He wasn't perfect but neither is anybody I know, including the ones currently "making it". It definitely applies to me. As a result, I have no reason to believe it doesn't apply to the vast majority of people, known or unknown, just out there walking around, doing things and trying to keep it together in a possibly doomed-from-the-start effort to experience more happiness than sadness before they die. Life is a sytruggle. Some people deal with it better than others. Philip Seymour Hoffman was one who didn't/couldn't handle it well. He's gone now and people whose lives were touched by him are sad about that. All those people are just like you and me and they deserve better than scorn and derision when they "fail". They certainly deserve better than you being "FIRST!" to point it out in some stupid and ultimately meaningless on-line forum. They deserve some empathy, because that could just as easily be you. Or me, or somebody who looks like they have it all figured out.
Listen, the next time something like this happens... and it won't be longer than a few days at the most... stop for just a second and do the following:
Reclaim your right to think.
Reclaim your right to feel.
Reclaim your connection to your fellow human beings, with whom you have more in common than you probably realize.
And go ahead and be totally selfish about it. Do these things for yourself and nobody else. I promise we'll all be better off for it anyway.

Murderstall

Hey, here's something that happened the other day.
First, while this may qualify as TMI, it's important for the sake of the story that you know that when I visit a public restroom, I will take every possible step to avoid using a urinal. I think they're gross. There's the whole splash-back factor plus a lack of privacy between neighbors. I will always wait for a stall with a good ol' toilet in it. And if there's no particular demand, I'll hold out for the accessible stall, the one designed for people in wheelchairs and with other impediments. Those are downright plush. They're self-contained miniature domestic environments with their own hand sinks, soap dispensers and paper towels. Some of them are bigger than apartments. I get in there and I immediately feel comfortable. I feel like I can relax, get all the way naked if I want to, walk around, stretch out, collect my thoughts, and do whatever I need to get myself together and face the world. It's truly a rest room under those circumstances.
The obvious drawback is what, though? That's right; keeping someone who actually needs it from using it. That's a truly awful thing to do to another person so I never go in there ahead of anybody who obviously has some special needs. But there's always the threat of coming out and encountering someone waiting, scowling at you as you walk out. For that reason, I have an appropriately indignant response prepared if that somebody engages me in a conversation about it.

"Hey man, just because I'm not in a wheelchair doesn't mean I'm not disabled. You don't know. I might have been injured in combat and it's like ham salad down there. I mean, I didn't and it's not. The point is you don't know what I have going on and so you can't judge me. Don't judge me!!"

By then, I will have been able to get out of there and if he actually needs to use the facilities, which he probably does, he isn't going to follow me. Take that, wheelie!
The other night, I was at the grocery store and went to the restroom, where I occupied the preferred accomodations. I came out and there he was, a guy in a wheelchair, scowling at me. The first thing I notice, aside from the scowl, is the jacket he's wearing with the Brazillian flag on it. Right after that, I notice the words "WHEELCHAIR RUGBY". If I'm not mistaken, and I'm not, that's the sport that's also known as Murderball. And who plays Murderball? Logic would dictate that the answer is murderers. I worked all of this out before I noticed the four guys behind him in wheelchairs, wearing the same jacket and very similar scowls. Good thing I rehearsed my response for this exact situation.

"Hey man... Hey. I'm not... I'm not in a wheelchair. I'm not...uh...disabled. You know. I might have been injured. Ham salad, uh, down there. I mean... it's not. The point is... the point is you don't. Don't judge... Don't kill me!!"

I think that went about as well as could be expected.

Now I have a podcast Ho-Ho-Ho

Have you ever wanted to read my blog but thought, "Gee, I sure wish I could just hear this dude say things instead of having to sit here and run up the minutes on my eyeballs. Dang."
Well, that's weird, but okay. Guess what? Today is your lucky day! Today, we (big Thanks to the maestro, PW Fenton) officially launch "The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast". Once a month or so, more or less, we'll do a new one and it will serve as a companion piece to this here blog. Not exactly the same stuff, but new and different stuff that also kind of goes with this stuff. It's synergy, something that is suposed to be very important from a business standpoint. Go ahead and give it a listen to learn more (about the podcast, not about synergy)!
Also, it's not officially up on iTunes yet, it will be in a few days. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, go ahead and check it out from here. It's a lousy 6:25 and don't cost nothin'. What, you got somethin' better to do, hotshot?)

Yeah, Let's Talk

Yesterday was Bell's annual "Let's Talk" day, designed to be a "first step towards meaningful change and building greater awareness, acceptance, and action" regarding the stigma of mental illness.
Here are the particulars...

Today, let's talk.
Bell will donate 5¢ more to mental health initiatives for every:

• Text message sent

• Mobile and long distance call made

• Tweet using #BellLetsTalk

• Facebook share of our Bell Let’s Talk image

I hate this kind of thing. Not the fact that a corporation has launched an initiative to bring attention to and raise money for an issue that needs both of those things. That's actually lovely. Not the fact that it's a pretty blatant publicity grab. I don't have a problem with a big corporation doing something to help people puffing out their chests a little bit. Go ahead and take a victory lap, Bell.

No, what I hate is when corporations tie their donations directly to performance measures that customers have to achieve. Look, you've got $X million in the budget for this? Great. Fork it over. Let's go. Give it to us. I mean, please and thanks and all but don't dangle it like a carrot and sit back watching people engage in a series of stunts for your entertainment. That doesn't seem nice at all. 

"Look! We had more money! Too bad we didn't see a few more of those hashtags, huh?"

Yoplait does this with their foil lid collection and so does Major League Baseball with home runs. I hate those programs too, for the same reason. Especially baseball's "Home Run Challenge" where each home run hit during a certain period equals money donated to the fight against prostate cancer. Why? Because the very real possibility of this happening...

"Wow, what a fantastic catch by Rios! Boy oh boy, he must really like cancer!"

Listen big corporations, you can still have your promotion. You're still entitled to all the publicity and credit you can generate for doing it. All your efforts will be appreciated just as much. Just give us the money, okay?

Sick day. No jokes today, Come back Wednesday

The headline and the picture below basically spell out the situation, but yeah, I have no material for you today. I'll be fine after I spend all day today in bed because I am an adult American male and when I get the sniffly wifflies and/or the pukey wukies, lying in bed and moaning is all I'm capable of.
And now, in what I would like to think of as the grossest segue ever, I'd like to invite you to check out my friend Clare's new blog "Puckology" whilst you wait for me to be suitably mended as to be able to render new fart jokes. Don't be deterred by the title, non-sports fans. She goes deeper than hockey. A lot deeper. Check it out.Just don't like her better than me (if you do, don't tell me about it).
I have to go now; I'm in the kind of pain that is surely worse than that experienced by ladyfolk during childbirth.)

Shown here: My stomach

On Richard Sherman and athletes talking about stuff

I didn't want to have to write a post about this because I was bored with this story within hours of it happening and I'd hoped people would have stopped talking about it by now. They (you) haven't so now I feel obligated to chime in. Here goes:
I'd like to think that I did not form an opinion of Richard Sherman and his character based on the brief "interview" with him conducted by Erin Andrews (who never even got her initial question answered) after the Seattle Seahawks defeated the San Francisco 49ers for a berth in the upcoming Super Bowl. Mostly because I'd like to believe I'm not the kind of person who would do that, but I'm only human and there's all that stuff about first impressions. I do remember watching the interview and saying, "Well, here's hoping you lose the Super Bowl" so maybe I'm guilty. Although I'm pretty sure that sentiment was motivated by the arrogance he was displaying and not his race or character. That's only because I like seeing arrogant people have to eat it and in the world of sports, there's no eating it like proclaiming yourself to be the best and then coming up short in the championship. Even then, the satisfaction would come from it being hilarious and there wouldn't be any anger or vitriol attached to it, and certainly not driven by anything to do with his race. Doing just cursory research on the guy (ie: Googling) reveals no shortage of news articles, interviews and profiles that all indicate that he's a very intelligent person with high moral character, and I'm genuinely pleased to know that. So I'm pretty sure I have exactly zero hard feelings toward Richard Sherman as an individual.
No, the only thing I come away from this with is a sense of disappointment that we can only expect two kinds of responses from athletes: bland, mindless cliches or grating, self-promoting "trash talk". And that makes me sad. You know the cliches:

• I'm really proud of the way our guys hung in there. 
• We were really on our game. 
• We came to play. 
• A win is a win.
• It was a total team effort. 
• I was just doing my job.

When athletes fall back on this kind of stuff, they're telling us absolutely nothing so there is literally no value whatsoever in hearing them speak. A lot of people who immediately came to Richard Sherman's defense said he he should get credit for being "real", even though what he said was actually a play on the biggest, most tiresome cliche of them all, the modern athlete and how he's not getting his due respect.
See, I'm a sports fan because for me, it's a form of entertainment. I don't expect athletes to raise the children or otherwise heal society. I appreciate it when they don't engage in actual criminal activity but I don't expect them to establish standards for how a human being should live a purpose-driven life. Either way, I don't begrudge them for the money they make. But is it too much to ask that intelligent, thought-out answers in interviews be among the higher standards (jump higher, run faster, throw harder, sign all the autographs, do work for charity) we hold our professional athletes to? I don't think it is. Erin Andrews asked him to take us through the key play that cemented the victory. I'd actually kind of like to hear his thoughts on that (it really was a spectacular play) but he didn't offer them. That's all I really wanted.
Granted, some people are more articulate than others and having a microphone or three thrust into your face within seconds of intense physical activity is weird for anyone. It's not realistic to expect a Robert Downey Jr. level of sophistication, charm and wit under sweaty circumstances like that. If anything, I'm more disappointed in us, fans and other ham-and-eggers who set the bar so low in terms of expectations than I am with those athletes who don't feel compelled to exceed them. We expect all of these people to be role models for kids but we don't expect them to string together a couple of original thoughts? Seems like a disconnect there to me.
I also understand my concern pales significantly to the question that this issue supposedly brings to light, that being a discussion we need to have about how we perceive successful and confident/arrogant black men. After all, the word "thug" was apparently uttered 625 times on TV the following day and Sherman believes "thug" is an acceptable way of saying "nigger", which brings this to mind...
I have a feeling he's probably right about that but I suspect it's less a matter of us being ready to have that discussion and more like this being a slow-flying goose that wound up in front of the jet engine that is the Super Bowl hype machine. Mine is more immediately manageable, I think, but if we're really going to address the big, difficult problem, I'm willing to wait. Meanwhile, there's a young pitcher for the Tampa Bay Rays named Chris Archer. I like him because when he's interviewed, you can actually see him stop, think for a second, and then answer the reporter's question. I'd just like to see more of that and less than the other, if that's okay.

More players like this, please

The National Anthem Singer Show!

Hi folks. Welcome to the National Anthem Singer Show, where we fairly and objectively rank those who sing "The Star Spangled Banner" and sometimes "O Canada" prior to your favorite sporting events. I'm your unbiased host, Clark Brooks. We have some great singers here for you today. Let's get to it, shall we?
First up, let's see, it's Ms. Linda Haverlin of Pocatello, Idaho. Okay, Linda let's see what you've got.

LINDA: Thank you. I'd just like to say that this is such an honor and opportunity for me.

Well, thank YOU, Linda! So before we hear you sing, let me just ask you, how much of an influence has Vanessa Rodriguez been on you, and not just your singing but everything in your entire life?

LINDA: Um, I'm not sure I know who that is...

All right. Sing anyway, I guess. Go.

LINDA: (sings Star Spangled Banner)

Okay. That was fine, I suppose. On a scale of zero to Vanessa Rodriguez, with Vanessa Rodriguez being the best and zero being just godawful, I'd say you're a four. Or 40% as good as Vanessa Rodriguez. It's not good but you have something to build on. So that's it for you.

LINDA: Oh. Okay. Thank you, I...

Get out. Next.
Okay, next up it's, let's see here, Mr. Guy LaPlouf of Montreal, Canada!

GUY: Oh thanks, eh? It's great to be here!

Well, we're pleased to have you here. Before you start singing, did you happen to notice Vanessa Rodriguez out in the lobby?

GUY: Uhhh, no, no I don't think so...

Oh. Okay. Sometimes I just like to check, just in case she decides to come by and check out the show or whatever. It could happen, right?

GUY: Yeah, I suppose so. But I didn't see anybody out there, so...

All right, all right. We'll listen to you instead then. Go ahead.

GUY: Okay then! Well, I'd like to perform the Canadian national anthem of "O Canada", but with a twist; I'll be performing it in French!

I think we've heard enough.

GUY: But I didn't even...

No, no, I get it. "O Canada, our home and tra la la. Je suis croissant and maple-flavored ham." Very nice.

GUY: Those aren't the lyrics and that's very offensive.

Look, I don't like you, I don't like your attempts at fancy trickery, I think your haircut is ridiculous. On a scale of zero to Vanessa Rodriguez, I'm giving you a one. And that's because you're wearing a bow tie and I know those are not easy to tie. Bon soir and vios con carne, mon ami. Who's next? Is it Vanessa Rodriguez? No, of course not. Who is it?

ANNA MAE: It's me, sweet little Anna Mae Daffledecker of Crossbreeze, Oklahoma!

Oh boy.

ANNA MAE: I've been performing on stage since I was five and just this past spring I was the lead in the Crossbreeze Community Players' production of Annie!

Good grief.

ANNA MAE: And now, for your viewing and listening pleasure, I will now perform The Star Spangled Banner, in the style of Christina Aguilera!

Ooh, ooh, ooh. Hold on a second. Do you think you could maybe sing it in the style of Vanessa Rodriguez instead, Anna Mae?

ANNA MAE: (Giggles) I could, but I've never heard of her, silly!

Get out! Get out, get out, GET OUT! I want you to leave, right now! Go! Go back to Oklahoma, forget about Christina Aguilera, study Vanessa Rodriguez and don't come back until your mere presence doesn't make everybody, including World War II veterans, hate America!

ANNA MAE: I'm only 11 and you're frightening me!

I swear to God, I will throw a lawn mower at you if you don't get out of here right now. And if you don't think I have a lawn mower, you just stand there five more seconds AND YOU WILL FIND OUT THE HARD WAY!!!
Well, that's our show, folks. Sorry to say, once again we see that there is a complete lack of Vanessa Rodriguez-like talent out there. Tune in next week and see if that changes, but don't get your hopes up. Good night.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really like Vanessa Rodriguez

Jammin' Monstrously

There's a radio announcer out there who does the ads all the motor sports shows plus some NFL football games. He has this crazy exaggerated growl of a voice that just cracks me up. I don't know his name or what he looks like in real life but I imagine him being 18 feet tall, made out of horses, motorcycles, flying V guitars, wearing a long leather duster and completely on fire. When Satan had an answering machine, this guy would have done the outgoing message on it. I do an impression of him for my own amusement from time to time (a significant portion of my waking hours is spent doing things that amuse me from time to time), and I actually think it's pretty good. Tampa had a motor sports events, specifically "Monster Jam", this past weekend. There's another one in about two weeks and he's been on the radio a lot. As a result, he was on my mind when I got home the other day and found a notice in my mailbox. So I called the automated bill-pay line as that guy and paid my bill. That went like this:

THEM: Thank you for calling the automated bill pay system. Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.
ME: 1-800 ASK GARY and Metro PCS present Monster Jam!
THEM: I'm sorry. Is this a number associated with your account?
ME: Yes.
THEM: Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.
ME: 1-800 ASK GARY and Metro PCS present Monster Jam!
THEM: I'm sorry. I'm unable to access your account.
ME: (presses #)
THEM: Thank you for calling the automated bill pay system. Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.
ME: (enters correct phone number.)
THEM: For security purposes, please enter the last four digits of your social security number.
ME: GRAVE DIGGER!!
THEM: Thank you for calling the automated bill pay system. Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.
ME: (enters correct phone number.)
THEM: For security purposes, please enter the last four digits of your social security number.
ME: (enters last four digits)
THEM: Thank you. Your current balance is $64.58. You can either pay this amount, pay a different amount of your choice or set up a payment plan. Would you like to hear these options again?
ME: Pay it all off.
THEM: I'm sorry, I was unable to understand your response. You can either...
ME: PAY IT ALL OFF!!
THEM: I'm sorry, I was unable...
ME: GRAVE DIGGER!! AUGHHH!!!
THEM: (pause) Thank you for calling the automated bill pay system. Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.
...(all the steps necessary to get back to the three options...
ME: I would like to pay off my entire balance.
THEM: Okay. You would like to pay your current balance. Is that right?
ME: YES!!!
THEM: All right. We accept Visa, MasterCard, American Express or Discover. I'll wait while you retreive your...
ME: I'm ready
THEM: Okay. Please say or enter the card number.
ME: 1-800 ASK GARY and Metro PCS present Monster Jam!
THEM: I'm sorry. I'm unable to recognize a valid credit card number...
ME: GRAVE DIGGER!!
THEM: (pause) Thank you for calling the automated bill pay system. Please say or enter your ten-digit phone number, beginning with the area code.

This went on another 10 minutes or so. Then my throat started hurting so I just paid the bill and went to bed.

I understand, Clark, and I'm on your side

"Yes, the revulsion toward Clark cuts across cultural boundaries." - Jon Greenburg, ESPNChicago.com


People who know me in real life as well as people who have been reading this blog for a while know that whining about my name is something that I do now and then. In reality, it's something I've gotten over for the most part. I mean, honestly, what am I gonna do? Change my name? Of course not. That doesn't change the fact that there is still a dearth of people and things out there representing the name "Clark".
Imagine my excitement waking up the other day and finding an email from my sister in my inbox:

"I’m sure you have heard already, but it was on the news this morning that the Cubs have a new mascot. Clark the Cub. What took the so long to recognize your greatness??"

Well, I hadn't heard already but my first thought wasn't about overdue accolades. It was something along the lines of, 'Of course it's the Cubs. Of course it's the team that hasn't won a championship in 105+ years (the + symbolizes the season that doesn't begin until April during which the Cubs won't come close to making the playoffs again). Of course it's the franchise that has come to symbolize losing like no other in all of professional sports. Of course.'
Other people sent similar notes and I started warming up to the concept. I grew up a Cubs fan because they were on TV where I lived and while I'm not 100% devoted to them, I do root for them when doing so doesn't conflict with supporting my true love, the Tampa Bay Rays. I love visiting Wrigley Field, home of the Cubs, as it was the first stadium I ever visited. And now, it will have plenty of souvenirs with my name on them, so that's nice. I not only accepted the development but began to embrace it as something not half bad. Then the media and the internet started weighing in:

• "Widely reviled" - USA Today
• "As if being a #Cubs fan wasn't laughable enough on it's own. Now we get the rejected cast member of "Talespin" as the mascot." - @PAshleyWalden (Twitter)
• "The Cubs' New Mascot Is A Nightmarish, Perverted Furry" - Deadspin
• "Clark the Cub looks awfully happy to be representing more than a century of sadness." - @EliseMichelle (Twitter)
• "Cubs lose! Cubs lose! with new mascot Clark" - Chicago SunTimes
• "Clark the Cub: a mascot that is somehow worse than Wally the Green Monster." - @AlanGreenback
• "The Chicago Cubs Make Clark the Latest Bad Baseball Mascot" - The New Yorker
• "Finally, a reason for Pierre the Pelican: KILL CLARK THE CUB." @RKallland (Twitter)
• "Cubs’ fans don’t get a contender, they get Clark" - Chicago SunTimes
• "Isn't wearing pants" - Everybody

Wow. The last one isn't even a valid complaint. Who would ever wear pants if they didn't have to? Aside from that, even at my absolutely most self-conscious and paranoid, I never faced that kind of persecution and vitriol. Like right now, I'm pretty sure there is only one person who hates my guts but I haven't seen anything in writing. Well, now that I knowg that sportswriters and Twitter users hate Clark, I officially love him. Most of you know that Twitter is the home of some of the most miserable people on earth. The rest of the most miserable people on earth, who may also have Twitter accounts, are sportswriters. I know this from experience. Sportswriters hate everything. If you as a fan think your local team and the players hate you, well, you may be right. I don't really know. But I promise you that your local sportswriters definitely hate you. Mostly, they think you're stupid but they hate you because of your perceived stupidity. They hate writing stories for you, they hate asking players questions on your behalf and they really, really hate you for having your stupid opinions. I don't know why. I love all of that stuff. Maybe it's because I've only been doing it for a few years and they're older and jaded and bitter. All I know is that they're so goddamned negative about everything that I almost feel obligated to push back. I certainly feel justified in doing so.

And it doesn't look like the people whose opinions actually matter on the subject have a problem with him.

CLARKS OF THE WORLD UNITE!