Tagged to do one of those memes everybody says they hate but they do anyway. No way out of this one thanks to Jolie.

Anyone may grab.

You are asked to do the following...





Instructions:

1. Go to Wikipedia.
2. In the Search box, type your birth month and day (but not year).
3. List three events that happened on your birthday.
4. List two important birthdays and one interesting death.
5. One holiday or observance (if any).

Here are mine...

Events:
4004 BC - On the preceding eve of this day (in the proleptic Julian calendar), the universe was created, according to the archbishop James Ussher in his Ussher-Lightfoot Calendar.
1983 - Lebanon Civil War: U.S. Marines barracks in Beirut hit by truck bomb, killing 241 U.S. servicemen.
2001 - iPod released in USA.

Birthdays:
1844 - Sarah Bernhardt, French actress
1942 - Michael Crichton, American writer

Death:
42 BC - Marcus Junius Brutus, Roman senator

Holiday/Observance:
Chemistry: Mole Day

So there you go... My Birthday; The world was created on the preceding eve, the iPod was released, and this is Mole Day in the world of Chemistry.

Anyone who can't see the hand of God in this is blind, sir. BLIND!

It's freakin WET out there!

But Prego hosts the Roundtable whether I'm in town or not because that's the kind of a guy he is. Just the kind of guy I can't see prancing around on stage in spandex when he's over 60 like Mick Jagger.

Eeew...

That is; if I've been boring all along I could at least hold onto the luxury of fooling myself that I wasn't. But what I'm saying now is that I now know I'm boring. Without a doubt.

If reading a 1200 page history of Julian the Apostate and thinking watching Stacy London is life to its absolute top didn't qualify me as boring the latest thing in my universe tips the balance. And never mind the nightly glass of Madeira like an old man, or being the guy who, when asked what he wants for Christmas, answers "a safe" - I have taken boring to a whole new level.

No. I have now become a fanatical saver.

It started slow enough but has grown now into an obsession. I'm not talking coupons or string or cans (though cigar boxes do pile up - but hey, they come in handy!) or just useless junk. I'm talking about money. Bread. Moolah. Specie. Coin of the Realm.

Each and every day I empty my pocket change into a huge plastic bucket that used to hold millions of little pretzels. It doesn't matter if it is just a dime. It wouldn't matter if it was a mere nickel I found on the sidewalk. Fact is it probably wouldn't matter if it were two stinkin' pennies from the bottom of a drawer. I want to hear that clink at the end of the day. And the heavier or more numerous the clinks the better.

I come back from the pop machine at work after putting a dollar in and, when my forty cents comes out, I'll grab it before I reach in for the 7-Up. Heh heh. There'll be some clinking today! I've actually counted the change in my bucket at one point just so I can estimate how much is in there in future, as I build it up. I've marked $100, $200, even $500 (like I said, it's a HUGE pretzel bucket). Ha!

Also, I don't cash in my lottery tickets right away. I stash them in an envelope. Little $1 and $2 and $10 winners in a bunch. A pack of them that I will bring into the White Hen and piss off the clerk with - cashing two or three dozen tickets at a time. Then I take the bills and put them in the bucket. Hahaha haha.

And then I work on it and work on it. And when the change gets to the $500 mark I unroll the bills and march the coins to the bank where I cash them in in one gigantic RIVER OF CLINKING, SHINING COINS!! I get my cash and scurry off to the coin shop meh heh hoo heh... and I buy a gold coin. A Krugerand or an Eagle or just a Johnson-Mathey one ounce bar if they have it. Then I slither back home where I open my safe and drop the gold coin into another bucket where I stash my gold and silver and amethyst and diamonds eh heh heee.

Soon I will rule the world and all will bend to the will of my monied power! I will be able to buy anyone or anything to do my bidding, and be the richest man in the world! MWA HA HA HA MUUU HOOHA!

Of course if I didn't buy those 7-Ups at work or spend $10 to make $1 on the lottery I'd get to rule the world a whole lot sooner...



Shut up.

When we started the hot dog controversy here the other day I certainly didn't mean for it to get nasty. But I do recognize that there are certain subjects that just get touchy after a while. Religion. Music. Politics. Hot dogs.

But like any subject we all need to keep it in perspective. Whatever we have, there's something around the corner that will make our differences vanish into thin air, and unite us again as the loving community we truly are. Like - we could all be slinging muck at one another and building up a real good hatred for the ketchup camp or the cucumber camp, when along comes a guy who dips his hot dogs in water before he eats them. Bun and all! Bang - instant friends again.

And - let's get this straight - I'm glad I can count on you to stay away from the obvious eye-rollers about sausage sucking and other adolescent meat jokes. Though it may be a little hard to swallow, some people just don't find wiener jokes funny at all. Using double entendre, and silly gags like naming certain parts of the body. Pleh! It wouldn't be funny to the guy who has been living with Oscar Meyer for TEN YEARS, I can tell you that. You wouldn't like it.

Though I found it kind of odd that at the same time that guy was starting to get over his fear of hugging people an insurance company in Britain decided to stop the coverage that was being bought by a handful of women who were trying to defray the costs of raising Jesus during the Second Coming should any of them have a virgin birth just before the End of the World.

It's too bad for them. I would imagine they are very worried. As a guy I can't imagine it at all. I suppose if I were a woman I'd worry a lot about getting pregnant by some clown. But now we know that humor increases fertility. Which does explain why there are so many idiots in the gene pool, anyway. I'll bet there was a clown involved in this somewhere.

And speaking of clowns...

But anyway, thank you all. I'm glad you've all settled down and chilled out. I can't tell you how happy I am that you resisted the jokes about multiple orgasms and getting pregnant by some clown with a hot dog. And I am truly satisfied that, now, we're all safe and sound in our little club again. After all, what could possibly go wrong now?

I looked up and it was 1978 all over again...




ON EDIT: THIS ONE'S FOR SADIE...


Past Drunks
Sid Vicious
and
The Specials

...I was driving home in the beautiful heat and saw a man sitting under a tree. He was on one of those low metal railings they put up on roadside where there are little creeks or gullies running up to the road. His silhouette in the shade struck me as being particularly sad. A little beard, head bowed, elbows on knees, hands clasped in front of him, the shadow from the tree obscuring much detail.

I registered the picture but didn't process it until I was a little further on. At his feet were a piece of luggage and a couple of sacks of things. I imagine those were his possessions. And everything sort of loose and disheveled. It was an odd sight to see on a two-lane country road. Where could he possibly be going? And I can only imagine where he'd been. Was he just tired? I wonder - because his body language looked weary in another way.

I kept on going. What was I supposed to do about him? There's no place to pull over - literally no shoulder for a mile... and I was going so fast... and the guy behind me was following so close if I'd tried to slow down and pull over he'd probably smack into me... and I wanted to get home... and he's probably beyond help...

...and a hundred other rationalizations.

Someday I will be good enough to practice what I preach. In the meantime I'm feeling just a tad useless this morning.

This is Sligo.

Sligo is a very dangerous man, in that he knows far too much about me. I would imagine that the jig, not meaning the dance, is up. It isn't exactly a wonder that he knows me very well, in that he has known me for closing in on 40 years. I want to say 40 years because one of his guises is to act as if he is still in his late 20s - but never be fooled. It is just his childish childlike mind at play. And his mind at play is a horrible sight to see.

But - 'tis true - Sligo and I do go way back. In fact when we met Lyndon Johnson was President. I'll let him - or time - fill in the details if he wants. Rest assured that Sligo and I actually go back to high school together, where I played the brooding young philosopher-to-be and he played the guy all the girls adored. You gotta love a guy like that... the brooding philosopher I mean.

Ahem.

Anyway he is a lifelong friend, and someone I visit every time I am in Northern California, who is starting a blog here, and will take "meanderings" out of his subtitle and never ever use the word "musing" or I'll kill him God help us.

I like and respect him even if he is a damned looney liberal from the People's Republic of California. And - don't get me wrong - he is that.

Say hello if you get a chance.

Not usually good for the joviality, politics has - as might be expected in time - been brought to the table.

Oh! Look! An open seat at the bar!

(sneaks off)

(Image from Lucky's. It may seem odd that I have to use a Texas restaurant to show you a great picture of a "Chicago Style" Hot Dog but it really is the best image I could steal find. Besides which it is a tribute to the authenticity and level of quality of that wonderful Texas-based establishment that they got it perfectly right, and therefore obviously serve the best hot dog in Texas!)

(You may click the image to study more closely) I would like you to note the absent ketchup. I would also like to point out to you that if you like ketchup on a hot dog you are probably a communist. Or at least a traitor to America. Outside of that it could be that you are merely immature, and your taste buds haven't grown up yet. It is alright to have ketchup on a hot dog if you are maybe 3 years old, or perhaps 6 or 9, tops. 12 years old if you are a spoiled brat or a Momma's Boy. But at some point in your life mustard will have to supplant the infantile and/or treacherous (we'll be the judge of that) belief that you have to have ketchup on a hot dog.

There are other styles of hot dogs. I won't link to them because of their obvious inferior design and execution, and I only want my audience to have the best. But there's the dull-witted Nathan's Coney Island Dog from New York. A bun, a hot dog, and sauerkraut. That's it. Fit for a weakling and just vapid in its execution. Bleh. Down south they put cole slaw on a "wiener." Well - if you call it a "wiener" you obviously need some serious help here. Cole slaw goes with, like, fried chicken - but on a hot dog...? Nah.

The correct way to make a Chicago-style hotdog is as pictured. If you can't get a Vienna-Beef hot dog making sure the hot dog is at least kosher is important. You want a beef hot dog. A boiled or steamed hot dog is the real thing - a grilled hot dog is "ok" but then it becomes a "Chardog" - this is a very important distinction! The bun must be steamed and encrusted with poppy seeds. It must have enough poppy seeds for you to fail a drug test or insanely kill you if you suffer from diverticulitis. Yellow mustard (Brown mustard is not considered a high crime, and some do respect the increased heat others are willing to endure, but it does stretch the authenticity a little) is aided by bright green relish. THIS IS WHERE YOU DO NOT ADD THE KETCHUP.

Tomato wedges (the ultimate here is where the tomatoes are home-grown and not store bought. There is a strong undercurrent of belief that one should reserve tomatoes from the garden for this part of the deal. In any case, they would represent the ultimate) are matched with sport peppers, diced onions, and a kosher dill pickle.

It should be noted that the purist will demand the dill pickle be left in the bun - but a sub-culture of "pull the pickle out and eat it as an attending side dish" is not a high crime either. Weird - but not a high crime. I myself will do as well, depending on the mood. Then there is the dash of celery salt. Sorry - not authentic without it.

And finally, though I touched on it briefly above, you must know what you are eating. It is not a wiener. It is not a sausage. It is not a weenie either damn it. It's a hot dog. And this is the only way it should be legal to eat one. It is certainly the only true American way to do it, anyway.

A public service announcement in anticipation of the coming of the Glorious 4th

MORE INFO

Labels: my usual whining, restaurant reviews, self-improvement

So... I'm sitting at Sunday meeting yesterday and in walks Muriel Anderson.

Not with her guitar you dummy! Once again the famous and near famous walk by! Turns out she "grew up" in the meeting. Imagine that.

And of course I did the usual when I walk near to fame: I LEAVE THEM ALONE. Though I dare say it would have been alright to say hello in that setting.

But I usually try and save myself for the big events like the time Bill Veeck talked philosophy with me and then bought me a beer. Didn't I ever tell you about that one? Hmmm... I will have to one of these days.

Anyway - You should check out Muriel's work sometime. If you like guitar...

I do believe there is stuff men are no longer passing down to their sons. I say this because I find myself observing young men who don't seem to know what they're doing out in the world anymore. Is every third guy under 30 a complete asshole or is it just my imagination? Maybe it is all because their fathers never told them this shit, or they don't have any idea who their fathers are. But somewhere along the way - as a society - we pretty much dropped the ball on this part of the deal.

I guess most fathers in America either weren't there, were there but couldn't be bothered, or couldn't break away from the lifestyle and friends they had when they were single, when the time came to give their sons a little direction in their lives. And so the rest of us end up with their selfish, mouthy young men. Nice going.

And I suppose I'M supposed to straighten them out. I'm not sure you want that, but I will give them my three very simple rules for young men whose fathers were asshats...

1. Do not scare old ladies in the supermarket. Especially while running at full speed, loud enough to frighten her into a coma. People who walk slowly and are like 80-ish and are going about their business are not put on Earth strictly to be in your way. The chances are very good that this 80-ish person had to at one time put her life on hold while her generation participated in a little known historical event that may have bored you to death in school but ended up saving your father's sorry little ass from a lifetime of misery. It doesn't make you look cool and it doesn't make the old lady look inferior, it makes me want to smash your face in with my frozen pizza just to teach you the manners your father was obviously too much of a junkie to bother with.

2. Save your language for the right place. Keep your language for the places it belongs. Out in public amongst people where there are kids around I don't need your filthy blue streak mucking up the airwaves. I'm not a fucking prude; but you are certainly an asshole. Wake the fuck up. You don't yell at the motherfucking ball when it doesn't go under the windmill at miniature golf when there are fifty kids around and everybody can hear what a prick you are. Save your dirty language for in the trailer when you're screwing your mother while your Dad is still in his alcoholic stupor, you misguided little bastard.

3. Learn how to do it right, shit-for-brains. You tie a bowtie just like you tie a shoelace. Once you use a knife and fork at table (presuming you do eat food that requires it once in a while) the knife or fork never touches the table again! Put what you aren't using on the side of the plate - not half on and half off like a God damn GANGPLANK. Hold the wine glass by the stem. Open or hold doors - not just for women - but anybody else coming or going at the same time. And stop picking your fucking nose.

Maybe your Dad should have taken the time to teach you these things. Obviously he wasn't much. Now go write your Ode To My Father crap that is going to petrify the blogosphere today and leave me alone...

We seem to have fallen into a rut around here, and it seems my natural coolness is just not enough to gain an audience.

This blog seems to hit levels and then die back. There's a surge of readers and then once they realize I'm full of shit once people get busy with other things their participation falls off.

I don't think my subjects or presentation are all that bad, but I am becoming certain I don't understand this game. I mean, as I travel Blogland I am amazed at what seems popular out there. On the one hand there are hilariously creative blogs where the writer can talk about egg sandwiches and draw a crowd because they do it funny or are engaging or have a wit that is durable or a personality people like to "check up on today." Then on the other hand there are blogs where the writer puts down a rambling line of boring horseshit about lemonade not being what it used to be and 67 people have to say "just stopped in to say you're just sooooooooo funny!" And I'm like - what the hell was THAT all about????

So I think the time has come to get busy!

I guess I fall into that 97 percentile range of bloggers - the ones where on the one hand I have to face the fact that - when all is said and done - I'm not really all that talented; and that I haven't been able to tap into a mass of lonely, fawning females and toady guys just looking to say how funny I am because they've given up on their own creativity twenty years ago. Or their boobs are starting to sag and it is really bugging them that they haven't been laid in three years. Especially the boobs on the guys.

So I need a hook. Something to draw people in and keep them here.



What I've decided to do is announce to the world that I've discovered the image of the Virgin Mary on my grilled cheese sandwich. It doesn't matter that it actually wasn't mine and I just found it when I entered "virgin+mary+image" into Google and clicked "images" - I'll just steal it. That way the millions of people who look up "virgin+mary+image" every day will see a link to here and we'll have a good start on people who are good at the "fawning" part. Once I have accumulated an army of harmless sycophants I will generate some controversy.

I was originally thinking that one of the best ways to proceed from there would be to get myself into a raging flame war with another blogger. Just a knock-down, drag-out, your-mother-makes-love-to-the-barnyard kind of thing that is completely devoid of sense and reason. You know, the kind of internet drama that attracts MILLIONS of otherwise dull-witted lemmings. But the guy I'd really like to start that with said he probably can't schedule that with me until at least 2018.

So the next best thing is to pick on an easy target. Probably these guys will do. Nothing is funnier than kicking sand at skinny guys in brown shirts and armbands who are convinced if they cut their hair short and call everybody a nigger or a heeb and act like that is the newest idea in free speech they will finally get a woman. I know - it is kind of a no brainer, but when they start flooding the comments with threats and invective I will generate a lot of sympathy - and this will be really good for building readership too! I would love to turn on the computer in the morning and see six dozen "hang in there RW" messages from old friends who have suddenly erased their avatar and don't have a link back to their site anymore - but love me just the same!

You could go that way or you could go on another tangent. Start seriously backing these people or something. That is usually good for roiling up the Bambi-tree-hugging-don't-eat-your-little-friends crowd. Animals are people too... Give them the vote... etc etc. Because it is a proven fact that if you get a certain segment angry at you your readership is virtually assured. Not only do you get people who will hate you, but you will also attract the people who follow them around online and voila - instant audience!


It is either that or constantly publish pictures of Sophie Marceau. I know it would work because, after all, she is the best... except I already know a guy who has used the angle (with another gorgeous female star) for ages, and so that would only be copying. Not like the Virgin Mary in your grilled cheese sandwich or anything - you can DO that. Besides, he does it better than me. Then again just publishing Sophie's picture occasionally wouldn't hurt. It probably wouldn't be good for generating legions of fawning, lonely women, but it might tap into the frustrated guy over 45 crowd really good!




Anyway, I don't know. I'll figure it out. All I know for sure is, the guy who said that "Hip is more than a goatee and shades" never met the blogosphere.

I need a beer.

I keep defaulting to music on GDFridays because I wanna dance. In this case a little Pogo would be in order.

In the late 70's (my mid 20's) when all "my music" happened I was single / about to get married. I eventually married the person I married and am still married to. Had she not hit me in the head with a board, however, who knows what the logical progression of my life would have become. If it were anything like the people I was hanging with - I'd probably be dead by now. So I look back - grateful - scratching my head at the music of my yoot and then (on orders) drink, and blog.

Go therefore...

Do likewise...

A few have now asked and I just want to put down a track about it and move on. It may be of interest to some. But there is a reason I don't do much politics; I found I always ended up making liberals and conservatives equally mad at me. It isn't I was a wild moderate, but I did come from a different perception of things.

For me, modern conservatives have lost their compass and modern liberals are just plain goofy sometimes. And so, expressing why I feel as I do about things - as you could imagine - has caused some glitches.

I'd rather my politics be local. Help people less fortunate if you can. Solve what is in front of you. Quit this "save the world" shtick - from the Right or the Left. Get a life.

My swan song letter to a crew of old friends (under my old pen name) - left on a practically dead old blog by now - can be found here. If you'd rather not be bothered, no one needs to go. But enough have asked, and so I respond.

I'm sure most could live with out it by now. Tomorrow is "Get Drunk Friday." And do I have a musical treat for YOU!

Everybody does it - come on now. Fess up.

Lauren hosts this week's Roundtable and doesn't care about your monkey dreams. She's talking the first time here.

What was your first concert? CONFESS!

Lauren says this answer speaks a lot about you. To me it just says You're a HIPPIE!!!

Ha ha ha.

You would think I'd be realistic about these sort of things by now. Studies have shown, odds are known, and money has been blown enough to demonstrate; you have a better chance of getting hit by lightning than you do of winning the lottery.

Still, I drop around $20 a week on the stupid thing. You do realize, of course, that that is $1040 a year, don't you? And if I had simply put a Twenty in an envelope every week for the last - oh - ten years I've been a regular player I would have an envelope with $10,400 in it, right?

Instead I have an envelope with little "winners" totaling maybe $40 right now from about Christmas which I will cash in another week or so and just continue to supplement my cigar cravings. The cute little Polish girl at the counter will smile at me like I'm a big winner as she cashes dinger after dinger and hands me two Twenties like it is a big deal (Never mind I'm Ten Thousand in the hole right about here).

The thing of it is - I walk out to the car in the morning and it is just too beautiful to go to work... but there are bills to pay. Then I climb into airplanes every other week and end up in bad chain restaurants near lumber yards and industrial parks after which I stare at the TV in the hotel room just. clicking. channels. And time just goes by. My dream, as a kid, to see the whole world is forever on hold (and nowadays everybody hates us anyway so what's the point?).

And if I had 25 or 180 or 697 Million Dollars I could walk out in the morning in June and just stay in the weather and read the paper. And "working for somebody else" would be a bad memory or a good laugh.

Yet a lot of people are telling me they'd go stir crazy if they didn't have a "job" to go to. I know people who dread retirement. They tell me they'd be bored to tears, and probably pick up some kind of odd job just to stay active. This would not be a problem for me. Hell - I'm doing everything I can to put enough money aside to retire as early as possible; I don't want to hear about how bored you'd be!

But if you "hit" and could do what you wanted, would you go nuts without the daily grind? Or even a wee little grind? And if early returement is the goal - shouldn't I just be putting that weekly Twenty aside? Or is taking a long-longshot chance at a one-time bingo worth it?

Cigar by Henry Clay. "Zombies ate my brain" shirt by Dave2. Model by Binney & Smith Inc.

There, indeed, was a bare light bulb. I stood in the corner with my faux-swastika armband (except my symbol kind of looks like a cold duck salad), waiting. When they tied her arms behind her back I had to bite my knuckles to keep my twisted sense of the deeper meanings of relationships to myself, but when it was my turn to prod the captured agent with my burning questions I held my composure and tried to remember the Empire was depending on me. I calmly began and - like my own "good-cop", won her trust before springing my trap...

AH-HAH!! Why do fat, toothless women with tattoos wear spandex in WalMart!!??!!??

But...No! She blithely parried my killing thrust. Just as she had done to all the others in their turn. And in the end, even the "Lightning Round" did not break her. Damn this new generation of alien operatives! Where are all the weak, pitiful women in the modern world anymore!? Why don't women fear deep-voiced threatening old men with growing beer-guts like they did in the good old days of film noir and German accents? (insert sob) The whole world is just topsey-tiery. Nothing is jiggity-boo anymore.

But at least once the War Crimes Tribunal sees what happened I won't be the one sent to prison for violating the bylaws of civilization!

Here is a transcript of the session.

Judge for yourself just who abused who!

This is a bit of autobiography tossed together with a little stretching of my limited html skills. What is supposed to happen here is you see a map of a part of Chicago and are able to click on the red X's to take you places. So far in the previews it is working but I have about as much faith in Blogger as I do my ability to do this so... you pros can just quit laughing RIGHT now!

The map shows an address at the bottom. This is where I grew up. If you click this X you're supposed to go to a google map, but when you get there I would recommend you switch to the satellite picture because that is much cooler. The problem, though, is that it will show you a relatively new house in that lot - as the one I grew up in is long gone. But you'll also see St Mary's where I went to school, and other bird's-eye type stuff.

Photo from
RCNet

Then there's a red X in the upper right where Wrigley Field is. Spent a lot of time there as a kid even if I liked the team on the other side of town better.

Finally there's another X to the upper left. This is Belmont & Western. And it is a funny thing about Chicago; if you are from Chicago and are over 49 there's a very good chance "Belmont & Western" is just about all I'll have to say for you to know what I am talking about. For everyone else, this is the location of a place called Riverview. Now gone for quite a number of years. And the world a sadder place for it.

In a world where some people make great excuses for their poor behavior based on their childhoods (which serves both as a rationalization for themselves as well as a marginalizing of people who were seriously abused as a kid) I suppose the plain fact is that I have no excuse for my poor behavior from that aspect.

Anyway I hope all this hocus-pocus works out, and wasn't too boring for you.

Hello, you've reached George Halverty. I'm not available to take your call right now. Please wait for the beep and then leave your name, number, the time you called, and a brief message, and I'll return your call as soon as possible. Thanks and have a blessed day!

To page this person press 1. To leave a message stay on the line or press 2. To leave a call-back number press 3. To leave a numerical page press 4. Press 5 for more options. Press 6 to get the time and temperature. To end this call press 7 or just hang up. To engage the explosive device press 189. To turn yourself into a Jedi Knight press O-B-1-KN-O-B.

Oh great - now that I have totally forgotten what the hell I was going to say. Screw it... leave your name... number... and a brief time you called... Ok...

Hi this is Bob. My number is 63...

BEEEEEEEEEP

Hi this is Bob. My number is 63...

Thank you for calling. Good bye.

Shit! Crap!

I'll call Ed. Maybe he can get through.

Deep-dip-doop-doop-deep-daap-doop...

MOOOOOODLE-OOOOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOO...
MOOOOOODLE-OOOOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOO...
MOOOOOODLE-OOOOODLE-DOOOOOOOOOOOOO...

"Hello...?"

Hi Ed it's Bob...

"...I'm not here right now. Please leave a message."

I HATE YOU ED. I HATE WHEN YOU DO THAT!!!

BEEEEEEEEEP

...and it makes Donny glad he's gay. I admit, after viewing, that I am as equally non-plussed - but then I still miss Harriet Wheeler.

A while back the incomparable Mollod and Tesauro let MSN publish their article on "The Art Of Dating Around." And you can go ahead and read it if you want but regulars here will tell you - mention their name to me and my next move is to put my finger in my mouth and make a gag sign typical of a twelve year old. I haven't seen one article of theirs yet I could match to reality. So go ahead and brief yourself on their act and then come back here to where the REALITY is.

The benefits of multi-dating
The boys will tell you it is not only for increasing your pleasure quotient, but also expanding your horizons and enjoying the chase. They will tell you that it may be part of your growing process, or any number of New Age dehdeh-DEH-dehdeh-DEH feel good growth notions.

But the simple truth is it is a great way to get laid by lots of different people. And, if you have a moment where the luxury of self-criticism rears its ugly head - you can perhaps come to terms with the fact that the truth is you can't ever seem to get a second date let alone a little action. Then maybe you can start another kind of growth.

What to tell your dates
I think you can, by now, guess what the PC-twins say about this subject. They want you to tell other potentials what's up right from the start. As in "Hi, my name is Murray and I'm dating six other women..."

...yeah right!!

The best thing to tell your other dates is what it has always been... NOTHING. Deny everything, admit nothing, tell them you're seeing no one else at the time and - if they want to know where you've been - tell them you've been taking care of your sick grandmother or something.

Hint: Just don't run out of grandmothers. We only get two.

When the going gets physical...
To quote this article "As dating turns intimate, it i’s time to 'fess up."
Heh heh. Hahaha. BWAHAHAHAHHA! What are they - nuts? No sorry. In the real world just be sure you're doing things safely. The honest truth about life is that...

1. Don't open up about others unless she does. The original article was probably written in 1956 when it never dawned on people that single women actually had a sex life as well.
2. The real point is - if she wants to talk about it, don't get all huffed up. Accept the reality that, until you make some promises or agreements, the fact is you both get to do that.
3. So grow up.

Then the bobsey twins offer Some final tips in which they expound on not dating more than one person in the same office (Duh!), keeping pet names and communication separate and distinct (they suggest not to use form letters), and to treat everyone with respect.

Oh sure, sure, sure. They're right of course. But just remember the perfect model for the guys that really know how to Score...!

Must see! Sereena X has uncovered Hieronymus Bosch Action Figures!

I have the coolest friends in the world!

Of course this also confirms that I totally lost the 6-6-06 subject and you could always find better elsewhere... but I know what I want for Christmas now, so who is to worry about a little social disjointedness?

Am I the only person who doesn't give a rat's ass about Angelina Jolie and her baby and the country of Namibia? I don't think I am, but you'd think this was the only thing going.

Angelina Jolie reminds me of another Hollywood starlet who is equally over-rated both in talent and in physical appearance; Whatsername Roberts. Julia I think. Neither one of them can act, and neither one of them is actually good looking, if you examine them closely.





Besides which, outside of the acting part Julia Roberts looks like a horse...

... and Angelina Jolie looks like a goggle-eyed snapping turtle.

And yet these two are the icons of the world in many respects.

I think they are all part of the lessening of standards in our culture that began with shit like Liberace and Richard Nixon.

We need Cagney, and Bogart, and Calvin Coolidge back.

That's what I'm holding out for. Oh - and Sophie Marceau too! YEAH - that has a good chance of happening!

This weekend's Blog Meet Up (see below) seems to have been one of the most photographed of Meets I've seen in a while. One could get a bird's-eye-view of the event just matriculating along the links in the post below (Hi Mike! That's right - matriculating).

But reality should not be abridged.

Don't get me wrong - the people I met on this Meet were some of the brightest I've seen in ages. But as a person born while Eisenhower was in the White House and who was 25 when the Sex Pistols came to America, it was a wake up call when my friends couldn't identify this guy...



I have a distinct craving for a senior diaper.

Wah.

From left to right in this shot are Kevin, then next must be the server, and then there's Dave2 at a place called Piece on Milwaukee Avenue. The server waiting for Kevin to make out the hand signals from the far end of the table in this picture was very impressed by the group and later commented that he was grateful everyone spoke so clearly before the beers kicked in. But, in the end, he was glad they didn't interfere with the birthday party that was supposed to own half the tables they'd stolen pulled together. There was, however, a distinct disconnect between the general staff and this elite company of bloggers in that the staff had no idea just how important the individuals in the group were. If they had known just how famous we were I'm sure they would have told the birthday party to go to a McDonald's Fun Gym where they belonged. But, alas, there is no accounting for some people's lack of social awareness. It was a good intro, but the merry band then moved on to a more welcoming place.

And that place was the Salud Tequila Lounge, a favorite spot of the world-famous tap dancer Jen. Jen knew the place like the back of her hand, while Ariana's clout with the staff seemed to preclude the invasion of any silly birthday parties who acted like they called ahead or something.

In the second picture we find Gary trying to critically visualize the point to Dave's shot while Kelly (aka Mochamomma) seems already convinced it is a winner. Whatever that was we can't wait to see it. I can give a clue in that it may have something to do with Jen and a certain dance move, but we will allow the readers to search out the result of that composition for themselves on the sites and connections listed here.

The idea here is to simply prime the pump of curiosity as we haven't even begun to introduce you to the group as a whole. Why - I haven't even begun to talk about Steve and Susan (the happy and sane part of the group).

And rather than hog it all here...

(How many times posted Kelly? Heh!)

I stole, of course with permission, this meme from kapgar (well it wasn't really permission, but he kinda said I could. Kinda...)

AutoMeme

1. Driver's seat or passenger seat?
2. What was the first car you owned (could have been purchased by someone else)?
3. What is the first car you paid for yourself?
4. How many cars are currently housed in your place of residence? How many are still operable?
5. If money were not a factor, what kind of car would you own?
6. If a police investigation was not a factor, what kind of car would you destroy any time you see it? Why?
7. Does driving in big city traffic fill your veins with adrenaline or your pants with something a bit worse?
8. What is your biggest pet peeve regarding driving and/or your fellow drivers?
9. What's the most expensive traffic ticket you've ever received (could be monetary or jailtime)?
10. What is the name you've given to your current vehicle (be honest, everyone names their car)?


Yes of course it is about CARS so I can't resist. My answers...

1. Driver's Seat!
2. 1971 VW Bug
3. 1971 VW Bug. See - here's the deal... when I graduated my Dad bought me a car. Well he sort of bought me a car. He gave me the keys to my Bug and then he gave. me. the. payment. book. Then he said I better get a job. My Dad was always teachin' me.
4. 2/2
5. I already have my dream car - a 2005 HyperBlue MINI Cooper! My next one will be Chili Red, though.
6. Hummers.
7. Though I live in the burbs I was born and raised in the city. It is a matter of complete indifference to me.
8. Tailgaters
9. I think $75 - speeding.
10. My MINI's name is Gracie...



Same rules apply. No one is tagged, anyone can grab.

Hello. My name is RW. This is my blog. I've been away. Miss me? No? Oh well. I can't have it all I suppose.

Checking out the latest on my favorite blogs, here's what happened while I was away...

Sadie at agent bedhead got a new compatriot. Jeff from Beautiful Atrocities has joined her team and gives forth with a comparison list facing off Wilmer Valderrama vs. James Blunt. I wonder who they are???

They did a Roundtable while I was away! Stephen Funk from Serenade in Green did a thing about paper towels. Yep. Paper towels. Only the Roundtable could make paper towels interesting.

Moving right along...

My horoscope is always crazed because my birthday falls on the cusp thing. So the astrolo-wizard Joe Wack at Hairshirt found this combination in my stars...

Libra: Remember, Libra, it hurts a lot less if you just rip the bandage off quickly. Unless it's not actually a bandage, but rather a bandage-shaped growth of some sort. In which case, you're looking at some massive pain no matter how fast you rip it off.

Scorpio: Looking for a way to make an impression on your hot new neighbor? Here's some advice: a nice bouquet of flowers may not have the impact of a burning cross, but it's much less likely to land you in jail.

And if you knew me, the hairs on the back of your neck would be standing up because that would SO creep you out to know how close that is!

Then last, but not least, Dave2 made it into the Wall Street Journal! Oh heck yeah - I know Dave! Dave and I go WAY back. Buddies we are. Sure baby, I know them all. Heh.

Ahem.

Anyway tomorrow is the great Chicago Blog Meet-Up. Looking forward to it! Pictures to be made! Bah ha ha...