June 7, 2007

-- Every morning I wake up and shuffle down the hall to the Small Room, have myself a good shiver, go downstairs for coffee, then let Andy outside. And that’s usually when I get annoyed for the first time of the day.

The newspaper is always on the front porch, and as our dog tip-toes through the wet grass, I notice it and get irritated. It’s the rubber band that does it, you see, and sometimes even a plastic bag(!!). 

When did paper delivery become so pansy?! I was a paperboy for a long time, and our family would’ve been forced to sell the house and move to another community if I’d ever used a rubber band on a paper. Good God, don’t even get me started on those prophylactics...

Hell, it’s not even boys delivering the papers anymore. It’s men, driving around in cars. Sometimes it might be a seasoned citizen, but more often it’s just some big douche nozzle in his twenties. With a fanny pack full of rubber bands.

The whole thing makes me sad.

Within twenty years, I’m convinced, nobody in this country will know how to fold a newspaper in the classic paperboy style. Until recently this was a skill passed on from father to son, brother to brother. No more. Nowadays they just go to Staples, scratch their nuts, and drive on.

I’m starting to get all worked up here… If you’ll indulge me for a few seconds, I’ve taken the liberty of illustrating it for you folks. Right here.

Now let’s move on before my blood pressure spikes and crashes, and somebody is forced to ram a Baby Ruth bar down my throat. Or whatever.

-- Brad sends along this video follow-up to last week’s discussion about pants-shitting. And just so you know, I’ve watched it roughly thirty times now, and laughed every time. It’s that “holy shit!” that gets me.

-- And since we’re watching videos, this is Dave and Steve’s Gay Vacation.

-- Have you ever been to a Guitar World store? They just opened one here, and the Secrets always want to go inside. I’m not really a fan. The place is always crawling with people who think they’re too cool for the pool, and who look like they forgot to wash the conditioner out of their hair.

Also, they carry their keys on great lengths of rope, or rigging of some sort, which they allow to dangle from their pockets. What’s that all about? It makes me want to start kicking balls, all willy-nilly.

No, I don’t much care for Guitar World. And it has nothing to do with the fact I love music, but have absolutely no musical talent of my own. You can just get that ugly thought out of your head right now, bucko. ...No, seriously.

-- I read something in a Bentley Little novel last night that actually shocked me. I’m not shocked easily; I’ve been on the internet for years. But he somehow managed it, and I’m both in awe and repulsed by his fucked-upness. 

I’m not going to tell you about it because I’d have to take another shower, and I’m a very busy man. Here's the book, though. Read at your own risk.

When was the last time you were genuinely shocked by something? And I'm talking about real shock, not phony-baloney political outrage. Tell us about it, won't you?

-- Since we're on the subject, I find this to be quite shocking as well. But for different reasons. 

-- And here’s part of an email I received from a friend a few days ago:

Last night i had a dream that i was in this big auditorium, and at center court i could hear (but not see) Mick Jagger doing an acoustic solo set of Stones songs. I worked my way down there, only to discover that he was being accompanied by you on guitar and Steve on bongos. 

I used to dream about Loni Anderson.

-- I don’t have a decent question for you today, so I’ll just share with you something that’s already weighing heavily on my mind, in advance of the weekend. I hope you’ll join me in willing this event to occur.

See ya tomorrow.




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Last updated
01/17/12 12:13 PM

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