Last minute trip to NYC popped up and now I have one of the worst relics of the eighties stuck in what's left of the gelled gray protein sloshing around in my skull. Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to have Glenn fucking Frey shit out a song about living in "the city"? It's the dentist office version of "In the Ghetto". I was up for hours last night with this goddamn earworm and flashing back to some asshole wandering around pre-boom South Beach in espadrilles without socks. There are German homos in sequined thongs and ermine capes rollerblading past, eyeing up ol' Don Johnson and thinking, "No belt? That shit's tacky." At any rate, Glenn Frey? The muse of the Urban Hipster? Wasn't he in some shitty fake country seventies band? Flat bed truck may ass, that man has grit! Concrete under his feet! Makes me want to jam a Blade Runner DVD down Michael Mann's throat... That's urban desolation motherfucker! And don't give me any shit. The Eagles suck. The only man I've ever killed in anger was a shithead who said this song ROCKS! when "Life in the Fastlane" hit the muzak while I was taking a shit in the airport bathroom. I followed him home and force fed him Spaghetti-O's until his colon spontaneously jumped from his body and went out for some KFC. The Eagles don't rock. They don't roll. The Eagles are nothing but the Washington Generals of the music world (and NFC Playoffs). Rich Kotite could have written all of their songs. The only people who like the Eagles are the jackasses who want you to be calm in the dentist chair and fat, bald men who own fat, slow, expensive motorcycles. Most have a beard they think makes them look dashing or tough, but when people look at them all they see is a talking vagina. Like Glenn Frey and the black guy he had to hire to pretend to play his fucking computer-generated saxophone solo.
Did you know that there is an “ascetic populism [added to] to the inherent machismo of the engine-revving manual transmission”? Seriously, how did he type that with that dick in his mouth? I'm not linking to the original article in Salon, you can do that. I'm linking to the righteous smackdown of said article by Jack Baruth at The Truth About Cars. I don't have the chops to rip one out like this any more, so I'm glad there are more and more people out there who can do it for me. Like "macho" at the end of the 1970's we will see a return to good old masculine values after a decade or so of androgynous, "sensitive", pussy-whipped public men. The bitches on reality TV will be replaced A-Team types who get things done with little drama but many explosions. And riding a bicycle will return to its original purpose of fun, exercise and cheap transportation from the exalted and serious heights of the new eighth sacrament. At least I can hope.
No. Not this time. I'm just kidding. I saw this link about "How to age weel" out on the innertubes this am, and had my kid show me how to click on it, cut and paste the relevant passages into an email that I subsequently forwarded to all of my contacts. Kidding again. Sorta. I blogged it. Almost as bad. “For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’” I actually didn't read the article, because somewhere in the 1700 posts (1700? Isn't that when I was born?) on this here blog is my own take on how to age well. Strike that, it's not about how to age well it's about how I am going to age, well or not. The Greeks, as often pointed out by that sage of the interwebs, maddad, thought Nostalgia was a disease. So do I. So by not dwelling on the past, I am better than you. Probably much better than you, because I also quit smoking at some point and, because you are reading my pixels on the information superhighway, I am obviously better informed, have more clear, well thought out opinions, a higher IQ, and a giant penis that I share with several thousand young Russian girls and singles from my area. Actually, I realized that by age 34, if I wasn't going to be any of the things I thought were the end all and be all when I was a kid, I had better change my focus. I started this blog at 34. Funny. I wasn't even thinking about that when I wrote that last sentence. In any event, I wasn't going to be a rock star, movie actor, famous novelist, Phd, inventor, juggler, brooding "man with no name" leaving thousands of broken hearts and wet panties in his wake, millionaire or race car driver. I was going to be "maddmom's husband" and "Dad". Not my dad, but my kid's dad. So I beat the suckers like the Chinese do when their kids fail a math test. I figure that will help motivate the little bastards into making something of themselves so they can buy their mother a new house and Cadillac and I'll have a nice apartment over the garage where I can live out the rest of my short, hard life only occasionally embarrassing the family when I get picked up for drunk and disorderly for starting fights in the parking lot of a college football game. What? Those college boys ain't better'n me! THEY AIN"T BETTER'N ME! I do have at least one regret. OK, two. When I was first moving out here, I tore up my right foot right after the closing inspection on our new house. I probably broke it. But I was late for a plane, so I tied my shoe real tight and flew back to New Jersey. I probably should have gone to the hospital and had a cast put on, but I didn't. Now, when I'm lucky enough to have feeling in that foot, it hurts. When you're 28, you don't think about stuff like that. I figured I had, max, two years left on the clock, that foot will take care of itself. All of my ills nowadays are because I, as a younger me, thought I didn't have to go to the hospital. Knee, shoulder, back, foot, hip... the only thing I was smart about was my teeth (knock on wooden incisors). The only reason I was smart about my teeth was because at some point I heard my father tell someone once that the only thing he would have done differently in his whole life was to take better care of his teeth. I'll give him a pass for his trench mouth though, he was born in the UK. If I had gone and gotten these things fixed when they happened, I would not only be in less pain today, but I'm certain it would be a lot easier to stay in shape. I have to stay in shape, maddmom insists. I am always ten pounds over my target, but it's hard to do the strenuous stuff that it would take to get where you need to be when you don't have time and it hurts like hell. The second regret I have is that I didn't figure out that I had ADHD until I was an adult. I know there's a lot of people out there who don't believe in ADHD. That's OK. They don't have it. I didn't think I had it, I thought I was depressed. I probably was, but if I was it was because I had ADHD. I take pills for it now. Occasionally. When I don't get distracted. I should probably take them all the time. Now would be good, since I'm typing this instead of doing the stuff I planned on doing today. So more on this later, after I take care of all these single ladies in my neighborhood who want to meet me (because of my enormous, smart penis).
Indiana First State to Allow Citizens to Shoot Law Enforcement Officers. Um... who illegally enter your home. Now get this straight, I like and respect most police officers. They have a tough job. But... it's been legal to shoot milkmen, stockbrokers, farmers, salesmen, seamstresses, lawyers, steel workers, Indian Chiefs, doctors, hypnotists, painters, teachers, graphic designers, gas station attendants, chemists, musicians, hotel front desk clerks, accountants, cooks, landscape architects, veterinarians, software engineers, train engineers, novelists, auto mechanics, HVAC repairmen, nuns, street sweepers and window washers who enter your house illegally for a while now. Why not add cops to the list? I'm glad I no longer have to ask for a resume before I shoot the guy who broke into my house waving a gun in the middle of the night. Let's face it, this law should never have had to be written. "No knock" raids by paramilitary forces wearing masks, SHOULD NOT HAPPEN in the US. It is a violation of every principle we are suppose to believe this country was founded on. Even legal raids shouldn't have the cops waving around M16s! I saw a story on TV just the other day about a guy who's wife disappeared, the cops came to arrest him at the ice cream store where he worked with a van full of SWAT and two helicopters. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY! With the store FULL OF CUSTOMERS! In the suburbs! What, did he have a rocket propelled grenade hidden in the tub of rocky road? What makes this even better is that it turns out the guy's wife was faking her death, so the guy didn't even do anything. When government, in this case the Indiana Supreme Court and the Police, decide that they are allowed to break the law without consequence, we need to be able to shut them down. If the default judgement of our "Law Enforcement Officer" community is guilty until proven innocent, it's time to change the way laws are enforced. This is what happened in Indiana.
It's the long, slow decline. I'm hoverround bound and down. An iron lung is next, I'm sure. Then a .22 in the back of the head, a big fire and darkness. I fell down the stairs in front of my office yesterday. My right leg forgot what it was supposed to be doing and decided it wanted to take a nap or play Nintendo or something and I went ass over teakettle down ten or fifteen stairs. I had no reason to think my leg would collapse. I do have problems with my foot flopping every now and then but if I pay any attention at all I won't trip. This wasn't a trip. This was a collapse. One of the people I was with asked if I had diabeeetus. Couple of them said they thought I had had a seizure. I did not. I'm old and broken and no one likes me. Now my legs aren't even talking to me. I'm one humiliating event away from becoming a supervillian. LAMEMAN! The LAMER! DEADLEG! BROKEDOWNOLBASTARD! CREEPYOLDGUYINTHEPOWERSCOOTER! WALMARTGREETERMAN! I'm going to watch the world burn. Well, I'll probably burn too, since I can't run away, so maybe I'll just watch the world tan or something. Whatever, I'll quip entertainingly while it does it. Maybe I'll just get morbidly obese. My useless limbs will grow together and I'll end up like Jabba the Hutt. I wonder if maddmom would strangle me if I made her wear a metal bikini again? Take care of your back kids, you only get one.
I just luuuuuuuuuuuurrrv Tuesday! Not kidding. Tuesday is Tuesdayness and I am all about the Tuesdayness of Tuesdays. At least on Tuesday. Not this Tueday, but some Tuesdays. Last Tuesday was OK. Next Tuesday may be OK. I don't know. I guess I really don't like Tuesdays, really. Nope, Tuesdays are nothing special.