Thursday, May 22, 2008

Gotta Get Back in Time

I'm so having an 80s flashback. First, the new Indiana Jones movie, with Karen Allen no less. I'm having such an overwhelming urge to buy a Harrison Ford poster to put on my door so that I can kiss it every time I leave. (Call me, Indy! We'll make out!) I don't know what Allie McBeal is doing to keep him fit, but kudos to her.

Second, I'm going to see Huey Lewis & the News at a street festival in Arkansas this weekend. We're talking about a girl who knew the entire Sports album, backwards and forwards (stop judging me!!). I see much 80s dancing in the next 48 hours. Yes, it's true, the heart of rock and roll believes in love.

Third, I'm finding my late 30s to be My Awkward Years 2.0. I feel goofy, weird, awkward, silly, jumpy, anxious, giggly, moody. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm like one big John Hughes movie. One big, old John Hughes movie. And I'm not somebody who looks back at my teen years with excessive fondness. Not my glory days. But here I am again. Shouldn't I be too old for this crap?

It's all conspiring to plummet me into my misspent teen years. I feel a need to eat Jolly Ranchers and feather my hair. I feel the need to buy a linen look jacket and push the sleeves up. I feel the need to crank call someone. I feel the need to have a slumber party and stay up to 2:00 am eating french onion dip straight out of the tub and talking about boys. Oh, crap. I think I feel a zit coming on.

Moto Cop

And I thought I had enough trouble taking bicycle cops seriously. Lookie lookie at what the Dallas cops are toodling around downtown on. I just started giggling when I saw these little scoobies parked outside a restaurant. I haven't seen anyone humming along on one, but I'm reliably informed that it's a really special sight. And, why, yes, that is a bicycle helmet hanging from the handlebars. Just to complete the image.

I understand the need to keep up with the times. But, fer real, Dallas has too many chubby cops to be able to excuse these things. Some of them verge on the, if you'll forgive the word, porky. Walking a beat wouldn't hurt them any. Maybe they should be earning the name "flat foot", instead of zipping around town on grandma's Hum-a-Round.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Out, out damn germs

Okay, long story short. The gal who doesn't wash her hands handed me something.

It's true. The world does slow down in that sort of situation. I could see it coming toward me. Growing larger and larger as my eyes focused on it plummeting toward me. I got tunnel vision. The blood rushed in my ears. Oh, god, what do I do? What do I do?

I took it of course. She seems like a nice lady. And screaming and smacking the object to the ground would seem to be a bit of an over reaction. Just a smidge. Do I touch ookie stuff all day every day? Prolly. People do nasty stuff all the time out of my line of sight. And lord knows what you touch just going about your day. But generally, I am unaware of the proximal cause of any ookiness. And if I might as well lick a petri dish as touch that door handle, I'd just rather not know. Ignorance is, if not bliss, at the very least not anxiety provoking.

Warp speed!

Okay, keeping in mind that as I read this article, I got to the part where they said positrons, and it was like, "Okay, dude, I'm out." I might as well have been banging on my head with a Van's tennis shoe. But what I did take away is that I might actually live to see long-distance space travel. Nuh-uh!

I had long ago given up any expectations that I'd live to see any of the truly cool stuff from sci-fi. I mean if I hadn't given up my Jetsons dreams, I'd be really crushed right now that I don't have a flying car and a robot maid to do my dishes. Actually, world weariness aside, I'm still kind of crushed about that. Yeah, we've got cell phones, but that's not exactly a transporter is it? And sure, you can get an electric car, but it's not exactly rocket pack. And when I was a kid, this was all going to happen in the future. Like 2010. And do I have a light saber? No.

But this, which is really bigger than all the rest, might happen. We might have the capability for inter-stellar travel before I die. Carl Sagan must be Rockette kicking in his grave. And as Mr. Spock might tell you, the first thing we should be looking for is a nice class M planet. We've kind of effed up the one we've got. The chance to use an antimatter drive to get off this rock can't come soon enough.

Wow, this tastes funny

Sometimes multi-tasking is a bad thing.;_ylt=Ajb3_NR.YCHHCh4lWrRE9vEPLBIF

It's for charity!

Not for nothing, but wouldn't they make more money if they would have an auction to see how much money Warren Buffett would pay to have lunch with, say, me? Cause I can guarantee that Buffett has more money to blow on having lunch with somebody he's never heard of than I have to spend on having lunch with him.

And if he did win lunch with me, he'd damn sure be buying.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Maybe it's a tumor

In all honesty, and will all due respect to the immense legacy of the Kennedy family in the US, can you really say that the second you see the headline that your instant mental response is (in your best Arnold) "It's notta tumah!"?

Can anyone remember what the plot of Kindergarten Cop was? Can you remember any image other than an enormous Schwartzenegger surrounded by teeny-tiny 5-year olds? Can you remember any other actors in that movie?

But there it is. In all it's beautiful, wonky, non-sequitoricity (not a word, but go with it). The impression that even your grandma can do. That irrascible, Teutonic growl - "It's notta tumah!" Ready to hit your funny bone, even at the most inappropriate of moments.

Even stranger, who is Ted Kennedy's nephew-in-law? Six degrees indeed.

Hey, look at the MPG on her.

I was listening to the radio the other morning, and they started talking about what cars are hot for a girl to drive. Now, you can tell this was Texas, because one of the first mentioned was a Ford F250 dually. (And I'm kind of embarrassed for that guy. Any dude who gets turned on by tow capacity has a few issues.) But others mentioned were Escalades, Camaros, Ferraris and Bentleys. Other than big price tags, what do all these cars have in common? Crap for gas mileage. Obviously, practicality is not a quality that makes a fella's little heart go pitter pat, or other parts of his body go schwing. I don't remember which cars were on the not-hot list other than the last one - anything older than a 2000. Whoops. Guess that lets me out. Barney the Wonder Truck is evidently not a man magnet.

So rising prices at the pump are making the little old gas sipper a much more attractive prospect on the car lot. And every time somebody drops $70 (and rising) to fill up the tank on an F250, it's going to get to be less and less of a turn-on on wheels. Even in Texas. And instead of a need for speed in a Ferrari, people may be a little more content to go for a putt-putt in a some banged up old scooby that gets substantially more than 8 miles to the gallon.

But will the Metro ever be a hot car? Mmmm. The times, they are a changin', but I doubt they'll change that much. My other car is big, yellow, runs on electricity and I can fit in 300 of my closest friends. But I doubt that the train is ever going to be sexy either. Eco-friendly? Yes. Economical? Hell, yes. Hot? No. Frugality will never make you a popular girl. Ah, well. I'll have my bank account to keep me warm at night.

Monday, May 19, 2008

The Tall and the Short of It

And you know what, while I'm issuing cease and desist orders, how about this one - short people should stop dating tall people. And if they feel like they must (but we love each other, blah, blah, whine, whine), then under no circumstances should they attend a concert together. Especially one where they stand up. Because you will insist on standing next to each other. Rude.

Because here's the deal, the taller of the two, usually the guy, will want to push closer to the front "so my girl can see." But then you, tall boy, will block the view of everyone behind you. Because evidently your girlfriend is a dimwit and can't be left unattended in a crowd situation. All I'm saying is that your insistence on hand holding is leading to a non-uniform crowd density.

In fact, I think that it's possible that a higher level of organization may be necessary in concert crowds. There should zoned areas in the audience: short people, tall people, people who aren't there to see the show and merely attended so that they can walk back and forth in the crowd*, people who can't stand still and switch back and forth between their feet, head bobbers, beer spillers, dance like you're off your meds people, dancing sexy/gropey-gropey couples. You could probably come up with about 20 solid classifications. And I'm not saying you'd need actual ropes to cordon off the zones, but perhaps little lines drawn on the floor that show you your designated spot might be effective.

* And just to share information. Because of the girls who can't stay in one place and want to walk through the crowd, using their bosoms as battering rams, I now know what fake boobs feel like. Mildly disconcerting to say the least. Not that I have a wide basis for comparison. I only have extensive knowledge of my own chest. But on that limited basis, I can say that the level of firmness in a fake set is really a little bizarre. So to the boobie bumper girls, there's really no need to push me out of the way with your breasts you bought. A simple "excuse me" will suffice.

Toe jelly

Holy skunk feet, Batman! Why do they keep trying to bring these things back? Jelly shoes have had more lives than Jason Voorhies. And much like Jason Voorhies, these toxic toe shoes should die, die, die!

Okay, they aren't the ugliest shoe out there. The candy-colored combo work boot/stiletto that all the hip hop girls were styling a few years ago are by-far uglier, no question. And those tennis shoes with the round bottoms that are supposed to workout your legs are heeeeeiiiinous. And okay, also, these are a vegan alternative. If no cows must die for your footwear, this might be a logical choice.

But let's face it, nothing gives you a case of the funky foot like a pair of jellies. The amount of sweat these things induce is just appalling. Feet just marinate in their own sauce in there. Not even crusty Birks feet are as bad as jelly stink. Believe me, if you've ever been in a room where 6 teenage girls kick off their jelly kicks, you will have flashbacks for the rest of your life. I'm surprised the fire alarm didn't go off. Huuuuuh!

And now they rise, like the undead villain that just won't stay down. That particular pair was going for "are you insane????" price of 45 smackers on Amazon (yes, you read that right. $45.00 There's just no reason for this. I'm filing a cease and desist order. No jellies on anyone over 5 years old. And don't try to tell me you are a special case, and your feet don't stink in 'em. I know the do.

Rock Back the Clock

This weekend, I went to 2 days of the Wildflower Festival here in the DFW area. Wildflower focuses heavily on music, both up & coming/under appreciated acts and bigger headliners. The bigger headliners tend to be sort of on the downside of their career, either staging a comeback and looking to get their new music in front of a live audience, or they just really enjoy playing and want to keep going even though they can't sell out an arena any more.

The two headline acts, Everclear (Ah SUM) and Bret Michaels (surprisingly awesome), really showed the best of that "the far end of fame" phenomenon. Everclear was in fine form. They played the older songs with all the piss and vinegar they had in the 90s (Father of Mine kicked ass). But they also showed that they have grown in the last 10 years, and played some new material that showed an edge of maturity. They even stepped to the front of the stage and sang an a capella number. In rock guys, that shows balls on a major scale. And through it all they were upbeat, having fun and really very kind and warm towards their audience.

The next night, Bret Michaels was a trip. He was obviously having a blast, and was very happy that an audience full of people was there to have a blast with him. I was never really the Poison target market. I knew the hits. Who didn't? At one point Every Rose Has A Thorn was inescapable on pop radio. And who wasn't looking for Nothin' But a Good Time in the 80s? But I can't say I ever went to one of their shows, or bought an album. But there were a bunch of old school metal heads out in force. Devil fingers everywhere (Note: people of Texas, there is a difference between devil fingers and hook'em horns. Let's get it right.). And Bret Michaels was being the ringleader of fun. I think one of the best descriptive words would be generous. He really was putting himself out there, and the crowd was loving it. [Sidebar for any Rock of Love fans: There were a bunch of girls hanging just off stage. Couldn't tell if any of them were from the show.]

I have been to a lot of these music festivals. And some of the once-were bands can be really pissy. Not at all happy to be back playing for a small crowd. And the arrogant, above-it-all air really just reeks from the stage. The point is, that there is a whole market out there for acts that are just there to play for an audience. Some people, me included, can't or don't want to pay $100 to see a band. But there are plenty of bands I'd love to see still, even though they aren't played on top 40 radio any more. I'm willing to scream when the old hits get played. And I'm willing to listen to new songs if you want to throw a few in. And let's face it, a cover song or two ain't a bad thing. But some bands could really take a lesson in being appreciative of the audience they have. If you're getting to play music for a living, a little graciousness can carry you a long way. And if you don't love it any more, why the hell would you still be doing it?

TIME: Quotes of the Day