Well, I promised I would have an amazing day today. I think I was fairly successful in that endeavor. It started off well – took my car to Nissan because if there was ever going to be paradise, I didn’t want it to be by the Check Engine light. The Nissan guys were in good spirits, laughing and whatnot. Little did I know that was all just to loosen up my purse strings. This isn’t supposed to be about my car, but let’s just say there was enough wrong with it that Nissan asked to sleep on it.
In exchange for my 2004 grandma colored Altima, they gave me a 2010 slate colored Altima. Slate might be the coolest color name outside of orange, and that’s only because you can’t eat slate. Slate you glad I didn’t tell an orange joke?
After they verified I knew how to operate a push-button start, I drove away to discover that the guys at Nissan had set all of my presets for me. Let’s just say 107.5 was the closest any of the six stations got to country. In lieu of hunting for stations, I decided to live it up.
In a perfect world, I would live every day in a musical like the Scrubs musical. Today was close to perfect in this regard.
Midday, one of my friends managed to get Tender Tennessee Christmas stuck in my head for at least the 6th time this year. That sentence wasn’t meant for humor, or even to tell you about my day. It was more to remind you that they say in L.A., it’s a warm holiday, it’s the only place to be. But it doesn’t matter. Give me the laughter.
While living it up this afternoon, James Brown informed me that Santa Claus goes straight to the ghetto. I can’t think of anything that says two days before December like thinking about Saint Nick in the hood.
A few songs later, I had the privilege of hearing Akon and Michael Jackson’s new song. This made me wonder a few things…
One. If Michael Jackson were still alive, would he do a song with Akon? As screwed up as he was, MJ had one of the most impressive voices in culture, pop or otherwise. Akon’s voice has never been heard. There weren’t a lot of words in “Hold My Hand”, but even without any blowfish, I enjoyed that 4 minutes… Glad Konvict Muzik purchased the rights to Michael Jackson's leftover syllables.
Two. How long do we have to wait for MJ, Tupac, and Elvis to release the most impressive single ever to hit the airwaves? Seriously, gentlemen, make it happen. Life on that island must get boring. I don’t know if there’s room in your mouths for me to put words, given the coin in there for Charon the Ferry Boat Man, but this could happen. “I’m Starting with the Man In the Ghetto Gospel” – there, that should give you some common ground to start on. Feel free to go in whatever direction you choose… I trust the Decomposed Amigos.
Three. If I had to choose between being blind or def, I’d choose blind in a heartbeat. Sure, there are tax incentives for being blind, but also, if you were def, you’d never get to hear Nelly’s "Just a Dream". But those of us who were blind would get to hear it every time we turned on 106.7. I am excited to live in a world where Nelly is back on the radio, but the number of times that song gets played per day is St. Lunacy.
Well, in case you can't tell by the volume of hyperlinks, I have full internet now. Lookout, world.
11.26.2010
Time for Giving Thanks Has Passed
I was far too preoccupied yesterday with dressing to be thankful. The food group dressing, not the act of putting on clothes. As such, I shall be thankful tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful for a lot of nouns (you know, persons, places, things, and ideas), but tonight I choose to focus my finger calories on the nouns I am thankful for, but would also be interested to live without for a short amount of time…
Cell phones. It’s nice to be able to reach anyone anytime. It is not always so nice to be expected to be reached at any time. Plus, rotary phones way more reliable than an iPhone.
Marching bands. No disrespect intended to the band geeks out there. Drumline is one of my top 4 movies of all time. However, if there were no marching bands, there would be far less Rocky Top.
Cars. They’re supposed to fly by now, you know. Plus, mine currently has the check engine soon light on.
Social Media. Ironic, I know. I love a good tweet as much as the next guy, but I have no interest in the airing of your proverbial laundry on your facebook wall. Nor do I have an interest in you flaunting your literal laundry or lack thereof on said facebook.
Toenails. I’m sure they serve a purpose, but why must they grow? And collect sock gunk in their corners?
Electricity. To be blunt, humans are soft, and fire is fun. In immediate retrospect, I may be more thankful for electricity than I thought.
Whales. They’re majestic creatures, truly. However, if there were no whales, there would be no Whale Wars on Animal Planet. On the other hand, Willy would have never been in captivity and that cool Native American guy wouldn’t have blazed the pop culture trail wearing his puka shell necklace. [Ironically, per IMDb, that guy’s name is August Schellenberg.]
Seven seems like a good enough number for this category of thanks. I could go on, but really, seven's plenty.
A quick rundown of things I’m thankful for and thankful that I don’t have to live without (in no particular order): Hot Pockets, family, Glee, church in the hood, TSA agents, blankets, Mom's lasagna, Sean Connery movies, Memorial Gym, you (inasmuch, not leaving you out), adjectives, good drivers, flannel sheets, and “chocolaty goodness”.
To close motivationally, per usual… A portion of tonight’s [Note: I wrote this a couple of days ago and was inhibited from posting] Thanksgiving Wednesday night devo thought made me ponder [I may be going out on a limb when I say the percentage of crossover between the audience reading this and the 47 people at church tonight is relatively low]… “Live life, just as you have it... Smile, even if you have no idea what’s going on.” Tomorrow’s over/under is set at 5,400 calories. [Editor's Note: If you took the under, please make your payment accordingly. I will accept PayPal.]
Crank up the Christmas music.
Cell phones. It’s nice to be able to reach anyone anytime. It is not always so nice to be expected to be reached at any time. Plus, rotary phones way more reliable than an iPhone.
Marching bands. No disrespect intended to the band geeks out there. Drumline is one of my top 4 movies of all time. However, if there were no marching bands, there would be far less Rocky Top.
Cars. They’re supposed to fly by now, you know. Plus, mine currently has the check engine soon light on.
Social Media. Ironic, I know. I love a good tweet as much as the next guy, but I have no interest in the airing of your proverbial laundry on your facebook wall. Nor do I have an interest in you flaunting your literal laundry or lack thereof on said facebook.
Toenails. I’m sure they serve a purpose, but why must they grow? And collect sock gunk in their corners?
Electricity. To be blunt, humans are soft, and fire is fun. In immediate retrospect, I may be more thankful for electricity than I thought.
Whales. They’re majestic creatures, truly. However, if there were no whales, there would be no Whale Wars on Animal Planet. On the other hand, Willy would have never been in captivity and that cool Native American guy wouldn’t have blazed the pop culture trail wearing his puka shell necklace. [Ironically, per IMDb, that guy’s name is August Schellenberg.]
Seven seems like a good enough number for this category of thanks. I could go on, but really, seven's plenty.
A quick rundown of things I’m thankful for and thankful that I don’t have to live without (in no particular order): Hot Pockets, family, Glee, church in the hood, TSA agents, blankets, Mom's lasagna, Sean Connery movies, Memorial Gym, you (inasmuch, not leaving you out), adjectives, good drivers, flannel sheets, and “chocolaty goodness”.
To close motivationally, per usual… A portion of tonight’s [Note: I wrote this a couple of days ago and was inhibited from posting] Thanksgiving Wednesday night devo thought made me ponder [I may be going out on a limb when I say the percentage of crossover between the audience reading this and the 47 people at church tonight is relatively low]… “Live life, just as you have it... Smile, even if you have no idea what’s going on.” Tomorrow’s over/under is set at 5,400 calories. [Editor's Note: If you took the under, please make your payment accordingly. I will accept PayPal.]
Crank up the Christmas music.
11.15.2010
If You're Lost , You Can Look...
So, North Nashville recently got a new Super Wal-Mart. By North Nashville, I mean Madison, specifically Dickerson Road. Yes, that Dickerson Road. However, even on this infamous Nashville roadway, the Super Wal-Mart crowd is 47% less sketchy than the regular Wal-Mart in Rivergate. All that to say, I bought some new sheets.
When I was little, I always had a favorite part of wintertime, outside of the obvious gift-receiving. There was the time that I thought I would have fun and help out by breaking the ice off of the sliding glass door, only to have my father inform me that the ice was in fact the outer pane of what used to be a dual pane sliding glass door… But, alas, that wasn’t my favorite yuletide of my youth event. Nope… that title was reserved for when Mom determined it was time to put the penguin sheets on my bed.
Baby blue sheets full of vibrant penguins living the dream. The best part of the sheet change? Those punderful penguins were made of flannel. Flannel sheets make a man think that Al Borland had it right all along. To draw a terrible and disgusting analogy, flannel sheets are a grown man’s womb. But instead of going through the awkward process of taking a wrong turn and wandering off into some dark fallopian tube, a man can simply peel back the covers and climb into the warmth and security of a good set of flannel sheets.
Some relatively young adults might be more inclined to seek out high thread counts to impress their overnight visitors. Those folks are seeking the warmth of a woman. Or an STD... Me? I’m seeking the warmth of the Wal-Mart sheets I got on sale for fifteen dollars. That included two pillowcases, a flat sheet and one of those physically unfoldable sheets. And, one day, I’ll marry that mountainwoman that will climb in those flannel sheets with me. We can save the Egyptian cotton for summertime.
So, let’s close this out with a little motivation… Maybe you can easily remember your favorite part of childhood. Maybe you don’t want to remember your childhood. Hopefully, your best days are ahead of you. A wise man once told me if these were the best days of my life, I should kill myself. Don’t go that far, but do take the time to do something that makes you truly happy.
Find your flannel.
When I was little, I always had a favorite part of wintertime, outside of the obvious gift-receiving. There was the time that I thought I would have fun and help out by breaking the ice off of the sliding glass door, only to have my father inform me that the ice was in fact the outer pane of what used to be a dual pane sliding glass door… But, alas, that wasn’t my favorite yuletide of my youth event. Nope… that title was reserved for when Mom determined it was time to put the penguin sheets on my bed.
Baby blue sheets full of vibrant penguins living the dream. The best part of the sheet change? Those punderful penguins were made of flannel. Flannel sheets make a man think that Al Borland had it right all along. To draw a terrible and disgusting analogy, flannel sheets are a grown man’s womb. But instead of going through the awkward process of taking a wrong turn and wandering off into some dark fallopian tube, a man can simply peel back the covers and climb into the warmth and security of a good set of flannel sheets.
Some relatively young adults might be more inclined to seek out high thread counts to impress their overnight visitors. Those folks are seeking the warmth of a woman. Or an STD... Me? I’m seeking the warmth of the Wal-Mart sheets I got on sale for fifteen dollars. That included two pillowcases, a flat sheet and one of those physically unfoldable sheets. And, one day, I’ll marry that mountainwoman that will climb in those flannel sheets with me. We can save the Egyptian cotton for summertime.
So, let’s close this out with a little motivation… Maybe you can easily remember your favorite part of childhood. Maybe you don’t want to remember your childhood. Hopefully, your best days are ahead of you. A wise man once told me if these were the best days of my life, I should kill myself. Don’t go that far, but do take the time to do something that makes you truly happy.
Find your flannel.
11.08.2010
Cute Girls on the Short Bus
I'm about to get my Natalie Merchant on...
So I’ve been doing this blog thing for a little while now… This is post number 20 in fact. A milestone of sorts. I don’t have any intention of being the guy who writes for a little while, finally gets a following, and then forgets about the folks that got him there. This is for you guys… It’s easy to get on the bus when the going is good, but you all started on the bus. Sure, it may not be a big bus yet. But the people I want reading my blog are the people who are willing to be the first ones to hop on the short bus on a cold morning.
I want this to be as enjoyable as possible for you guys. I want you to get rewarded for being first on the bus – not only by getting the back seat where you can spend the ride imagining what would happen if you opened the emergency door, but while you’re back there reading the instructions on how to open the door, the cute girl comes and sits beside you… Not the cute girl from your grade, but the grade above you.
Allow me to say thank you. Thank you to the folks in Denmark who keep looking at this thing. And thanks for starting to tell your friends in Sweden... Canada, the UK [Is The United Kingdom like The Ohio State? Additionally, while watching The Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader a while back, they tried to tell a guy there were only 3 adjectives in a sentence. However, there were two additional “the”s in that sentence, bringing the grand total of adjectives to five. Sure it’s an article, but an article is an adjective] , Mexico, Germany, Singapore, Israel and Pakistan, I see you too. Like ZZ Top, this blog is bad and worldwide. Probably more the former than the latter.
Thank you to my second leading source of volume, the high Simmons. [First hyperlink of my young blogging career]. Mile high. Taking the occasional break from studying the laws that govern the greatest country in the world and shaping the young to become President so that they can go to any sporting event they want, the Skeets have been kind enough to let some of their loyal readers stray off the path and into the rocky soil.
And there are a couple of more groups I need to thank. First, thank you to the people who come here by clicking the “Next Blog” button. Sure, you’re probably looking for some creepy erotic blog, but, alas, you stumbled upon this creepy non-erotic blog. Thanks for stopping by.
Lastly, thank you to the creepers. I know your kind. You claim “Hey, he’s putting it out there, he doesn’t need to know I’m reading it and taking notes on his life.” And you’re right. Lurk away. You’re an important part of society. Without you lurking, I wouldn’t have to worry about staying true to my blog. It’s you who is going to call me out about anything contradictory to something I posted on here. And it’s to you that I promise to never again use the phrase “stay true to my blog”.
Remind me to remember you all again in a few years when Mark Zuckerberg, Jay-Z, Rosie O’Donnell, Bruce Willis and Taylor Swift are on my blog's board of directors.
I want to thank you. Thank you.
So I’ve been doing this blog thing for a little while now… This is post number 20 in fact. A milestone of sorts. I don’t have any intention of being the guy who writes for a little while, finally gets a following, and then forgets about the folks that got him there. This is for you guys… It’s easy to get on the bus when the going is good, but you all started on the bus. Sure, it may not be a big bus yet. But the people I want reading my blog are the people who are willing to be the first ones to hop on the short bus on a cold morning.
I want this to be as enjoyable as possible for you guys. I want you to get rewarded for being first on the bus – not only by getting the back seat where you can spend the ride imagining what would happen if you opened the emergency door, but while you’re back there reading the instructions on how to open the door, the cute girl comes and sits beside you… Not the cute girl from your grade, but the grade above you.
Allow me to say thank you. Thank you to the folks in Denmark who keep looking at this thing. And thanks for starting to tell your friends in Sweden... Canada, the UK [Is The United Kingdom like The Ohio State? Additionally, while watching The Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader a while back, they tried to tell a guy there were only 3 adjectives in a sentence. However, there were two additional “the”s in that sentence, bringing the grand total of adjectives to five. Sure it’s an article, but an article is an adjective] , Mexico, Germany, Singapore, Israel and Pakistan, I see you too. Like ZZ Top, this blog is bad and worldwide. Probably more the former than the latter.
Thank you to my second leading source of volume, the high Simmons. [First hyperlink of my young blogging career]. Mile high. Taking the occasional break from studying the laws that govern the greatest country in the world and shaping the young to become President so that they can go to any sporting event they want, the Skeets have been kind enough to let some of their loyal readers stray off the path and into the rocky soil.
And there are a couple of more groups I need to thank. First, thank you to the people who come here by clicking the “Next Blog” button. Sure, you’re probably looking for some creepy erotic blog, but, alas, you stumbled upon this creepy non-erotic blog. Thanks for stopping by.
Lastly, thank you to the creepers. I know your kind. You claim “Hey, he’s putting it out there, he doesn’t need to know I’m reading it and taking notes on his life.” And you’re right. Lurk away. You’re an important part of society. Without you lurking, I wouldn’t have to worry about staying true to my blog. It’s you who is going to call me out about anything contradictory to something I posted on here. And it’s to you that I promise to never again use the phrase “stay true to my blog”.
Remind me to remember you all again in a few years when Mark Zuckerberg, Jay-Z, Rosie O’Donnell, Bruce Willis and Taylor Swift are on my blog's board of directors.
I want to thank you. Thank you.
11.03.2010
For a Smile They Can Share the Night
Because you have no reason to read this, I don’t have to have a reason to write it. Today’s topic: stereotyping. Why you ask? Well, in a world of coincidences…
I spent the early evening in deep discussion about the stereotypical Brentwood girl. After all, it’s No-Pants-and-Uggs season. If you haven’t purchased your Cleveland Cavaliers 2011 calendar… you know, the one with LeBron James on the cover because they print those things way too far in advance… if you haven’t picked up your 2011 calendar, No-Pants-and-Uggs season runs from September 2nd through June 28th.
For those of you sweet innocent girls out there, I’m not upset that you choose to wear tights under your dress or your strangely long, ridiculously overpriced t-shirt… No-Pants-and-Uggs season is geared more toward those girls who are genuinely offended when a male is suckered into glancing at the Urkel-high thong popping out of your low-rise paint pants.
Anyway, so I spent a decent amount of time making casual references to the anything but casual attire one might find at the local frozen yogurt store in the upper-class part of town. [Note: I mean, really, a store that sells only frozen yogurt? ] Don’t get the wrong idea, Brentwood girls are great people… even the ones with vicegrip pants, but they are fairly easy to pigeonhole (thank you, Microsoft Word synonym finder).
So I stopped at my slumdog shell station on the way home from that conversation. While I’m waiting for my tank to fill, a set of rims pull up to the pump on the opposite side of the parking lot. [Note: The car the rims are connected to doesn’t really matter in Inglewood.] So the rims pull up, with their tinted windows and sound system blaring. Now that you have all joined me in my first stereotype, the song blaring from the rims? Don’t Stop Believing. So, I transitioned from stereotype 1 to stereotype 2. I went from thinking a young male with his obese father’s pants around his ankles was going to step out of the rims to thinking a high school kid who has been given a little too much of his parents’ money to do with as he so poorly chooses. Then the guy stepped out of the rims.
As I try not to commit manslaughter with suspense, let me tell you a little about the man who stepped out of the rims. While I’m pumping gas like Alshon Jeffery, singing along to Journey, a middle-aged man with his white shirt and red tie, with his driving cap atop his smiling head, danced out of the rims and into the gas station. That’s about as close to unstereotypable as a situation can get… unless he had let his mother drive.
So what did we learn today? You can’t judge an audio-book by its case. Everyone is living just to find emotion. Journey went on and on and on and on, long before Lamb Chop. And when we’re all singing to the same song, we’re never really strangers.
I spent the early evening in deep discussion about the stereotypical Brentwood girl. After all, it’s No-Pants-and-Uggs season. If you haven’t purchased your Cleveland Cavaliers 2011 calendar… you know, the one with LeBron James on the cover because they print those things way too far in advance… if you haven’t picked up your 2011 calendar, No-Pants-and-Uggs season runs from September 2nd through June 28th.
For those of you sweet innocent girls out there, I’m not upset that you choose to wear tights under your dress or your strangely long, ridiculously overpriced t-shirt… No-Pants-and-Uggs season is geared more toward those girls who are genuinely offended when a male is suckered into glancing at the Urkel-high thong popping out of your low-rise paint pants.
Anyway, so I spent a decent amount of time making casual references to the anything but casual attire one might find at the local frozen yogurt store in the upper-class part of town. [Note: I mean, really, a store that sells only frozen yogurt? ] Don’t get the wrong idea, Brentwood girls are great people… even the ones with vicegrip pants, but they are fairly easy to pigeonhole (thank you, Microsoft Word synonym finder).
So I stopped at my slumdog shell station on the way home from that conversation. While I’m waiting for my tank to fill, a set of rims pull up to the pump on the opposite side of the parking lot. [Note: The car the rims are connected to doesn’t really matter in Inglewood.] So the rims pull up, with their tinted windows and sound system blaring. Now that you have all joined me in my first stereotype, the song blaring from the rims? Don’t Stop Believing. So, I transitioned from stereotype 1 to stereotype 2. I went from thinking a young male with his obese father’s pants around his ankles was going to step out of the rims to thinking a high school kid who has been given a little too much of his parents’ money to do with as he so poorly chooses. Then the guy stepped out of the rims.
As I try not to commit manslaughter with suspense, let me tell you a little about the man who stepped out of the rims. While I’m pumping gas like Alshon Jeffery, singing along to Journey, a middle-aged man with his white shirt and red tie, with his driving cap atop his smiling head, danced out of the rims and into the gas station. That’s about as close to unstereotypable as a situation can get… unless he had let his mother drive.
So what did we learn today? You can’t judge an audio-book by its case. Everyone is living just to find emotion. Journey went on and on and on and on, long before Lamb Chop. And when we’re all singing to the same song, we’re never really strangers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)