Wednesday, July 26, 2006

There Are No Losers

If you're in New York on the 31st, you've got to check this out. It's the Countours International Lingerie Awards at the Waldorf Astoria. The event will "celebrate the industry and acknowledge the high levels of creativity and design, and innovation of modern day fit and comfort that have been achieved." It's not just a scam to look at boobies. It's not, I tell you.

There are 17 categories including best T-shirt bra, best daywear, best technical innovation, best D+ size and best maternity.

Now I'll have to confess my ignorance of this topic. All I know about bras is that I like what's in them. Especially when they're out of them.

But there are t-shirt bras? What's the diff from a regular or non-t-shirt bra?

I'm just glad I didn't have to write the press release that pimps this. I think I'd have gone with just the headline "Who wants to look at boobies?" No one appreciates the direct approach though.

I've also never heard of Contours Magazine. But then I've never really understood lingerie. I mean, lingerie never clinched a deal for me. By the time I ever saw the underthings of a potential mate, the deal had been clinched. Good underwear (or bad underwear) wouldn't have changed how things were going to work their way out. It's like a great present wrapping job on a pair of socks. The wrap job won't change how I feel about the present.

I just hope the Cleavacious is going to get recognized. You remember the Cleavacious. It's the magic adjustable bra that allows you to pull up "the girls" for enhanced demonstration.

If the Cleavacious doesn't win, this thing has got to be a scam. It's not about the lingerie. It's all about who the lingerie knows.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

I Love a Good Art Joke

I can't say why I'm so enamored of the Ohio crazies. They just take it to 11. We have crazy in Michigan. But not the kind of crazy they have in Ohio.

An example, you say? How about an art display in a toilet? Well if you're near Yellow Springs, Ohio, you can take in the Chamber Pot Gallery. In the restrooms of a replica of an 1880 train station, they've hung original works of art. And I think I know why the Springs are yellow.

Now I've never been to Yellow Springs and I sure as hell wouldn't go to a replica of a train station, but the article describes the town as having "a 1960s feel with people in tie-dyed clothing and other hippie-like attire frequenting streets lined with artisan shops." I wonder what's causing such a tourism problem that they've desperately started to decorate the commode? Nothing says tourist fun like fashion from 40 years ago.

They've masterfully tricked people into coming back if they want to see all the art. They're swapping the men's and women's art after 6 months. Like the line for the women's art isn't long enough. And there's always that rebel art aficianado who'll ditch the women's art and just go for the men's art because the line is too long while her boyfriend plays look out.

But I think they need some slogans for the big art display in Yellow Springs. May I suggest the following:

  • Leonardo in the Loo
  • Picasso in the Pooper
  • Cezanne in the Crapper
  • Michaelangelo in the Men's Room
  • Lorenzetti in the Ladies Lounge
  • Warhol in the Stall
  • Rockwell in the Restroom
  • Uccello at the Urinal
  • Toulesse in the Toilet
  • Going and Gainsborough
  • Whizzing With Whistler
  • van Gogh Vacuation
Wow, who knew that semester of Art History would ever come in handy? Feel free to play along at home, kids.

But they probably should go with a classic.

Here I sit,
Amidst the art.
Came to poo,
Could only fart.

When someone says that this art stinks, you'll know why.

Monday, July 24, 2006

This Time It's A Little Creepy

The Ohio crazies seem to be breaking their meds in half. Take the whole pill people!

In Cleveland, the MAN went to a house to serve a warrant. An 80 year old woman denied them entrance to the home and said her mother was sleeping. When they finally persuaded her to allow them inside the house (I'm guessing this "persuasion" involved cursing, gun brandishment and threats to the door) they discovered that her Mom was a skeleton.

How'd you like to have the cop who had to pull that blanket back and find a skeleton? I'm guessing that person is going to have nightmares and need a little liquid therapy for a while.

And while they didn't release the 80 year old's name, I'm guessing it's Bates.

Best part of the story, the warrant was for "housing and health code violations." Ewwww. Yeah, that poor cop is definite going to need a leave of absence.

Friday, July 21, 2006

I'm Not Drunk, I'm Fighting Cancer

If this isn't an excuse to drink 17 beers, I don't know what is.

If you're a Beaver, make sure you buy Mad Scientist Fred Stevens a beer or 17 over at the College of Pharmacy.

Funky Fred is studying a compound called xanthohumol. Xanthohumol is one of a series of flavonoids. Flavonoids are thought to trigger cell death to control growth. Thus, your prostate shouldn't swell. Many people don't know that flavonoids are a secret ingredient of Duff Beer. Enough getting our geek on. If you want all the science, go read the article, Einstein.

Not all of Fred's ideas are good ones. He suggests that drug companies could develop pills containing concentrated doses of flavonoid. Don't be such a nerd, Fred! That would keep us from needing to drink 17 beers.

At the very least, you ought to get to have a couple of beers before you get your prostate checked. Is it smaller now? *drinking* How about now? *drinking* Now? *yet more drinking*

This weekend do your prostate proud, kids! Prostate Pride sounds like a pretty good t-shirt.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

At Least It's Not Four Dead in Ohio

We have an amazing thing today! It's all thanks to the power of the interweb and one of the guys in Berea who actually lived to tell the tale.

You may remember when some folks in Ohio lit off a jillion sparklers all at one time. It ended badly then. And according to reports, it was between 50 and 200 sparklers before it exploded.

We have it on good authority from someone I'll call Berea Boy that it's worked before. He left a comment on an old post and gave us video goodness to prove it can be done. That's not even the most they've lit off. They keep working up to about 500.

Here's the swell link.

I wish Berea Boy had provided a bit more info, so I'm hoping he'll come back to the foolishness that is this blog and enlighten us about the past hijinx.
  • Was alcohol involved?
  • What went wrong this time?
  • Where do you buy a that many sparklers?
  • Was he hurt in the explosion?
  • If yes, what were the extent of the injuries?
  • How 'bout your co-conspirators? Are they okay?
  • You're doing this again next July 4th aren't you?
Now I'll confess to having more than a passing interest in pyrotechnics. I have worked in a fireworks factory. And I've managed to put on displays that did result in fires. No explosions, but I did burn some bushes one summer. And I've also emptied all of the powder out of my brother's model rocket engines so my friends and I could play Kiss. Luckily, Toby's eyebrows eventually grew back.

So I feel your pain, Berea Boy. One great experiment gone wrong and you're labeled. Your gang is probably called the Explosion Guys or Sparkler Guys now. You shag one sheep and suddenly you're Tom the Sheep Shagger.

Hats off to you, Berea Boy. Keep the antics coming!

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Batwoman Comes Out of Her Cave Today

I know you've all been eagerly awaiting the debut of the new Batwoman comic. It's today!

And while you've probably been camping out waiting for the ComiCave to open early, you still had time to come read this. Thanks, kids. You're the best. I'm sure you're as excited about the prospect of a Lesbian superhero as I am. Unless, of course, you're counting Wonder Woman already.

While some people in the media are content to merely speculate about Batwoman's gayness, thanks to this reporter's extensive network of operatives, I've been able to score an advance copy of the comic book. Oh, sorry, graphic novel. Thanks for the correction, geek.

In this first issue, Batwoman has to recover the sofa-sized check from an LPGA event when it's stolen by the arch-villian The Flannel. The Flannel is initially able to avoid capture by blending into the crowd at a WNBA game but is later caught when she attends Comic-Con dressed as Xena the Warrior Princess. And she didn't even get to meet the cast of Viking Quest or Johnny Drama.

Future Batwoman adventures include price fixing at an antique store, finding just the right Chardonnay to go with fish, someone stealing a pair of Birkenstocks and a biased umpire at the softball tournament.

Oprah and Gail have also issued a press release saying they've never even met Batwoman. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Enjoy all the lesbian crime fighting action kids. Pow, Biff, Bam.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Round on the End and Hi in the Middle

Ohio now has mutant kitties.

Run for the hills!

I'm so going to have nightmares now.

There must be something in the water in Ohio that makes them all crazy and mutanty.

Do you think he eats twice as much?

Monday, July 17, 2006

This Just In From Ohio

I got nothing this morning. It's Africa hot in the great, grey North and I'm completely unprepared. A big hunk of sugar like me just melts in weather like this. Even driving with the top down and eating ice cream wasn't enough to cool me off so I could come up with some witty repartee. So in the event of heat brain cramp, go with your old standby--making fun of Ohio nutjobs.

This is pretty hard to believe. You know those swell live on the scene reports you see on tv. Well they may be staged. I'm shocked to find gambling in Casablanca. Even more so to find it in Ohio.

In Norwalk, Ohio, television camerman Gary Abrahamsen of WEWS in Cleveland (and yes, you should be hearing that in the voice of Ted Baxter to make it more tv sounding) allegedly asked a couple of teenagers to ride their bikes through some floodwaters. And in return, they'd get to be on tv! Wow, a real live tv appearance! Woo hoo!

Due to some kind of archaic Ohio legal mumbo jumbo, intrepid cameraman Gary Abrahamsen got in trouble for this. He paid a fine of $145 to settle a charge of misdemeanor disorderly conduct. And he was just making swell tv.

Now I don't know what type of conduct is considered misdemeanorish or disorderly in Ohio, but to fine this swell tv type just for talking some teenagers into riding into floodwaters seems a bit extreme. I mean it was for tv for crying out loud.

And since they made their own reporter go into the water as well, it couldn't have been that dangerous. You can't get into any trouble with electronic equipment around water, can you?

I'm just proud to live in a country that allows us to do stupid stuff and put in on television. Especially Ohioans doing stupid stuff on Ohio television.

Now do we have any more shots of people I don't know getting hit in the groin? Man, that swell kind of tv never gets old.

Friday, July 14, 2006

My Life Amongst the Squinty-Eyed Carny Folk

While some people are enjoying microbrew and famous authors, I dwell in the hinterland.

People who have never been to Michigan think it's is all about Detroit. Motown. Hockeytown. Where the weak are killed and eaten. It's all suburban sprawl because everyone has a car and no one actually lives in Detroit.

But outside of the land of eternal suburbia, there are the wilds of Michigan. The place where Hemingway vacationed as a kid and learned to hunt and fish. The Upper Peninsula (or U.P for short) has no one up there. It's a vast wilderness. And in the rest of the state it's either waterfront or farm land. And I'm in the farmland.

I've delayed writing about this because it didn't go well for someone I really like. His name is Mike Birbiglia and he's very funny. He even has a Secret Public Journal that he'll let you read and listen to.

Now because I live with the hicks in the sticks, we have our comedy shows outdoors.
At the fairgrounds.
The day before the tractor pull starts.
No, I'm not making any of this up.

And the lineup was very good. Dan St. Paul who does a great bit about the first baseball game ever broadcast (with a dead on Harry Caray impression), Tim Bedore (chronicler of the animal conspiracy), Tim Cavanagh (the master of the one minute song) and Mike Birbiglia. They're all great and if you get the chance to see them, please do so.

But the stage set up was very oddly. It was a covered grandstand but they had the stage on the infield. And yes, the tractors that would be a pullin' later in the week were already out on the rest of the field. So yes, there were comedians and behind them were a couple of trailers/dressing rooms and behind that there were an odd assortment of John Deere tractors.

And because it was at the fairgrounds, they had beer. And I'm not talking normal beer. They only sold Jethro-sized draft beer in 32 oz gigantor glasses or 16 oz tall boys. Now I'm never one to complain that there's too much beer. That's an uptown problem. But a comedy show (unlike the interweb) isn't really meant to be interactive. So when the audience begins to participate (usually by yelling inarticulate, rambling incoherencies at the professional comedian) it won't go well.

And some woman decided that she'd start yelling at Mike Birbiglia. I don't know what conversation was happening in her head, but it didn't make a lot of sense to the audience or to Mike. And Mike politely tried to tell her that he's there to tell his funny stories to everyone not just her. If she'd let him do that, maybe he could talk to her later. Which only resulted in more incoherencies. This exchange went on for about 4 minutes. Which in a really uncomfortable setting that involves several thousand people lasts forever.

Now Mike has the rare ability take any awkward situation and make it even more awkward. He tells a story about how when he was moving into an apartment, a lady let him in because he had his bed with him. She said, "I'll let you in because a rapist wouldn't bring his own bed." Now the correct response is nothing. But he said, "Oh, you'd be surprised." Like I said, the ability to make any awkward situation even more awkward.

I always thought the standard response to any heckler was, "Hey, I'm trying to work up here. I don't come down to where you work and slap the dick out of your mouth."

But Mike didn't go with the standard response and tried to reason with her. He asked if she could just wait a bit to express her great enthusiam and let him go on. And I just don't think she was in a reasoning mood. Eventually her friends quieted her down, or she fell asleep or fell through the grandstand and hit her head and died a painful death. But you could tell it flustered Mike.

And he didn't seem to deal with it very well and never really got back on track. I just felt sorry for him because he could never get his rhythm back or the crowd back.

I've never really felt sorry for a performer before. Even mimes. I mean they're in that imaginary box by choice.

But I felt sorry for Mike that night. I hope he comes back because he's really funny. But he probably just thinks that farmers are stupid drunks who won't even let him tell his swell stories.
We apologize for the drunk lady everywhere Mike. Come back, Mike. Come back.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

Get a Location on Boris & Natasha

If you live in Romania, I pity you. Because apparently your Senators are even worse than ours.

Corneliu Vadim Tudor said that flooding last year in Romania was due to a metereological attack. Tudor wouldn't name the country behind the attacks but mentioned "a great power east of Romania which is increasingly annoyed by Bucharest's policies on the Black Sea region."

He continued with, "Ixnay on the Ussianrays." Okay, I made that last part up.

And sure this guy is either crazy, playing Machiavellian politics to distract his internal constituents with a fictional external foe or both. But how do we know he's wrong? If the Russkies could monkey with Romanian weather, why couldn't they do it in Pennsylvania?

Run for the hills! And bring your inflatable raft and swim fins. You're going to need them. And tovarich? I'd like a little less humidity this weekend. It's not the heat, it's the stupidity.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

The Freshman Whisperer

Not everyone understands the wisdom of Mr. Stick.

Some people are so good at protecting their child from reality that college orientations are having to provide the most basic common sense warnings.

Yup, our next generation is so coddled by Mumsy and Poppop that they lack the street smarts needed to get along in real life.

So real live colleges like the University of Massachusetss, Tufts and Boston University have to give the following basic advice for college orientation:
  • Don't try to walk across frozen rivers
  • Don't play on the train tracks
  • Don't drink until you die
  • Don't post naked pictures of yourself on MySpace
  • Don't lose all your money playing online poker
I wish I'd have known kids like this when I was in school. Because I could have taken all their money playing poker and then bet them double or nothing they couldn't walk across the river.

Because our latest generation is so lacking in street smarts, I thought I'd give them some additional advice:
  • Use a condom
  • Ignore anything your academic advisor says
  • You're not going to open up a little Philosophy Shop
  • No one who wants to be your friend the first two weeks of school is really your friend
  • No one really cares if you look different
  • None of this really matters
  • No one cares what you did in high school
  • Seriously, use a condom
  • Don't obsess about your grades
  • Who says you have to like them?
  • Just get up and go to class already

I'm sure there are other bits of advice for college kids. I wish someone would have told me what a waste those two years of Russian would be.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

The Child Whisperer

What up, llamas?

I'm often asked for parenting advice. Perhaps it's my keen observation of human behavior. Perhaps it's because I've been smart enough to avoid the guttersnipes in my personal life. Perhaps it's because I'm a gigantic man-child and know how the little buggers think.

But often my friends who are cursed with dependents come to me and ask, "My kid is doing something that's driving me crazy. How can I make the little turd stop it already?"

Now because it's obvious the parent is agitated, I patiently take the child aside and sit down and look him or her in the eyes. It's important to make sure I have their attention. Then I'll introduce them to my friend. My friend is Mr. Stick. Then I'll calmly explain that if they don't knock it off, I'm going to beat them with Mr. Stick until they stop. Be sure to whisper. You don't want to worry the parent. It's what is best for both them and the urchin.

Sure every now and then some kid wants to test me. Or maybe the kid tries to squeal that I've just threatened them with Mr. Stick. The parents and I just laugh and comment about how vivid the little moppet's imagination is. But a little stick session lets a kid know who is the boss. No, not Tony Danza.

This can happen is you don't believe in the power of Mr. Stick. Or this if you prefer peanut butter.

These kids need to meet Mr. Stick. Mr. Stick is the boss. And you'd better get the hell off Mr. Stick's yard.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Circus Love

"Last call," announced the barkeep and then their eyes did meet,
Betty the Bearded Lady and Tom the 4-inch Freak.

Tom lowered his voice and made a pass, "What are you doing later?"
Betty said, as she stroked her beard, "Nothing, sweet potater."

People pointed. Jokes were made. But it fell on four deaf ears.
Tom thrust his tiny shoulders back and ignored the painful jeers.

"Betty," he said, "the world can be such a cruel unfeeling place."
She said, "I know, my little punkin," and kissed his tiny face.

She carried him through the parking lot to the woods that lay beyond.
Never before had either felt such an instant common bond.

"Betty," he said gazing down at his tiny platform shoe,
"Tonight I would like nothing more than to make sweet love to you."

She said, "I'm a virgin."
He said, "So am I."

She said, "Don't you think that's weird?"
He said, "Not really. I'm four inches tall and, you know, you got the beard."

She pressed him close against her bosom. He inhaled her perfumed air.
He covered her neck with little hickies and stroked her facial hair.

The moonlight danced off his cowboy hat. She giggled and she swayed.
She undid his tiny rhinestone belt. A cricket looked away.

She set him down, unzipped her dress still tipsy from the booze.
She tripped pulling off her panties and crushed him with her shoes.
Bearded Betty never married.
Her mistake sure took its toll.
She still owns that pair of shoes
And Tom's still in her soul.

I wish I could take credit for that. I can't. It's from the genius that is Paul Gilmartin.
Or listen to it if you want.

Friday, July 07, 2006

All About The Girls

It's a brief respite from crazy Ohio news today. But don't think I'm tapped out. There's always more crazy Ohioans on the horizoans.

I absolutely love this country. Where else can someone take a crazy idea and make money off of it? If you're looking for an adjustable bra (and who isn't?), here's the product for you.

According to the product's inventor, Karey Weyenberg: "Clevacious offers something no other bra on the market offers, adjustability around the ribcage for a perfect fit, the ability to move and hold breasts in position so they are more proportioned and the option of enhancing cleavage." Don't believe the puffery? Try their interactive product demonstration.

This product was recently written up in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinal.

Quote of the story: "I love the fact I have the option - during the day you keep the girls in, and at night you break them out," said a woman who I don't care about other than that she gives a great quote and refers to her mammaries as "the girls."

I just hope the Small Business Administration is giving Karey Weyenberg all the support she needs. It's difficult for a start up business to climb the mountains of paperwork needed to be successful and you've got to be able to bounce back from adversity. She probably ought to move the business to CoCo Beach where the climate is even more cleavacious than Wisconsin.

She could also get out of that Jeep and get some Winnebagoes to make her product mobile. This is going to be huge. She's got to strap in and get ready for a bumpy ride. There are always boom and bust cycles with any industry. She needs to be able to lift herself above the industry and separate herself from the competition.

Are you amazed that this whole thing was just an excuse to make some cheap boobie jokes? I didn't think so. Please release the girls.

And I thought Cleavacious had something to do with Ward.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Way To Go Ohio

God bless the Buckeye State.

What happens when you tie between 50 and 200 sparklers together, put them in a brass cylinder and then light it? It explodes. Luckily we had 5 morons in Berea, Ohio to test that for us before the guys on Mythbusters got hurt.

They had also placed bricks around the sparklers. One brick was found post explosion 225 feet away. Yikes! That's a bit more powerful than the Coke and Mentos trick.

I'm going to go on record that I'll bet a bit of alcohol was involved in this "test." I also like how the number of sparklers are between 50 and 200. That's a pretty good tip that memories are a bit foggy in their recollection of the escapade.

How do people get hurt? According to the American Pyrotechnics Association, "It's teenagers having bottle rocket wars, parents giving sparklers to 2-year-olds and people having too much to drink and putting firecrackers up their nose." At least it wasn't a brick.

Kids don't make your own fireworks at home. Go to Ohio first. And don't forget to put a cracker up your nose.

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Sweet Home Ohio

I don't know what we would do without the Ohio crazies. Probably write about people in Florida more. But there's just something so right about midwestern foolishness.

Two future scientists have been arrested in Licking County, Ohio for participating in an activity called "hill jumping." Hill jumping involves driving at a high rate of speed so that as one approaches the crest of the hill, the car actually takes to the air and then comes down on the other side of the hill. Good clean fun or an appointment with death? You decide.

First, if you're going to hill jump, you might not want to videotape it.

Second, try not to run into a house.

Third, even if you drive like the Dukes of Hazzard, you will not get to meet Jessica Simpson.

Fourth, wouldn't you figure someplace named Licking County would have something better to do than speeding on country roads?

Go see the world's coolest corporate headquarters ever for crying out loud in Newark, Ohio.

What's the chances these two geniuses thinned the gene pool yesterday? Just asking....

Monday, July 03, 2006

Benevolent Dictator for Life

Because it's officially a slack-ass Monday, I'm in charge. Yup, our entire department is gone on vacation, so the head fry guy is in charge. Because I tend to burn all my vacation at once going somewhere good rather than taking single days over the summer, inevitably I wind up with some small amount of responsibility in everyone's absence.

Rather than thinking of it as being the leader of none, I'm preferring to envision my administration as Lord of All I Survey.

Let the procolamations begin.

More live music.

It is kind of cool to be able to turn your stereo up as loud as you want.

Good parking spaces for all.

Let the peons rejoice. Yes, heavy is the head that wears the crown, but I think I'm up to the task.

Liquor in the lunch room.
Okay, so there are limits to my powers.
But I'm sure I wouldn't abuse my powers. Much. Unless I were absolutely sure I could get away with it.
My condolences to the other lackeys who are working today. I'm guessing it'll be a long one. And when you're finally headed out of work to enjoy the day off tomorrow, remember this bit of advice kids.
Liquor and fireworks don't mix. So get all your drinking done first.
Now please return to your appointed toil. Light fuse and get away.