You’re Probably Doing it Wrong, Screw-Up #432 and “March Madness” is Driving Me Apeshit

‘sdoing it wrong

“Isn’t that cuuuute? BUT IT’S WRONG!!!”

It’s good that I had the foresight to DVR some old 2 Stupid Dogs episodes.  It would have been better, if I could hear the cartoons and Top Gear episodes over the man-yelpings in the next room.  I know Jerry gambles on just about anything anyone is goofy enough to organize a pool on, and he really gets into that brackets noise.  He is also a big Ohio State fan, so I’ve been having to endure both the football season and basketball season.

I am so glad he has his own TV.

In a twisted way it’s almost nice that Jerry’s so occupied with basketball.  It gives him less time to complain about other things, and that’s almost a relief.  It does not,  however, keep him from his incessant whining over food.

If I fix something nice and homemade such as chicken-n-noodles:


I even make my own noodles- flour, eggs and a lot of rolling and cutting-

Then Cap’n Happy will decide he wants something salty and processed such as:


Admittedly, they’re tasty, but I’m sure there’s not much nutrition going on here.

The only reason why I have even a passing interest in eating for health is because I’ve pretty much been forced into it.  There was a time in my life when the “four food groups” consisted of caffeine, nicotine, sugar and grease, remembering always that alcohol is a sugar.  That worked for me for awhile- until my health crashed in my late 20’s-early 30’s- and I had to pay attention or else.  I really don’t care what other people eat, and I really have no desire to impose my dietary preferences / restrictions on anyone else, but generally it means I get to fix two meals- mine, and whatever junk food du jour that Jerry wants.

I still miss looking at a créme horn as a mid-morning snack and/or lunch substitute sometimes.  I remember days where my eating schedule would look like this:

6 AM: Black coffee, brewed to espresso strength, 32 oz tumbler to get started, another 32 oz to last the rest of the day.

11 AM: Créme horn scored from sales department’s leftover donuts, coffee, coffee, coffee

6 PM: Quarter Pounder with cheese, large fries, coffee

6:30-9:30 PM: Wine coolers and/or Bailey’s & coffee, or Kahlua and coffee

Of course, other days would look even more bizarre, like the two months somewhere in the mid-90s that I lived on nothing but Slim-Fast and coffee.  My abysmal nutritional habits in those days were supplemented by packs and packs of 120 menthol cigarettes.

gross ashtray

Nasty, I know.

So I am the last one on the planet who should be lecturing anyone on health and fitness, except maybe to serve as a warning.

I’ve always been the one to find the exception to prove the rule.  I’ve always found the movie Grumpy Old Men to be hilarious.  Burgess Meredith played the senior John Gustafson.  (See the classic bacon and beer tirade video.) His character reminds me of Jerry- cranky, fussy and of course, enamored of bacon and beer.  These are the guys who live to be 120, like the Russians who swill vodka and toke cigars their whole lives.

burgess meredith

I can’t help to think this will be Jerry in thirty years- drinking up my life insurance.

Maybe when I die and he gets all that cash (if he doesn’t blow it all on Natties and gambling) he might be able to afford real beer, like maybe Bud Lite.

Someone like me, well, I can watch everything I eat, work out 3-5 times a week, and will likely be taking the Dirt Nap by age 60 no matter what I do.   It must be my lovely type-A personality. I’d also speculate that my piss-poor draw in the genetic lottery didn’t help much either.

ohio_state basketball

I’m glad they’re winning, if for no other reason than it makes Jerry happy.  But why does a 1 hour game merit a week’s worth of commentary?

And why can’t they use the Oprah channel for all these damned games instead of TruTV? Or some other channel I don’t watch…like one of the 400 ESPNs?  I understand that there’s not much good on TV right now because all the jocks and wanna be jocks, and people who will bet on anything are watching basketball, but come on!  There is a niche out there called the Non Sports Fan.  It’s OK to pander to that niche, alright?

But just as I thought of my Non Sports Fan category of TV viewer, I thought of something non-sports that I loathe even more than 24-7 sports.  I absolutely can’t tolerate “Chick TV”: i.e. soap opera type fictional shows that do not involve either gratuitous sex or things catching on fire, anything involving non-talented schmucks trying to perform glorified karaoke, anything fictional and designed to make one cry, and worst of all, “improvement” type shows where some jackwagon from either coast tries to tell me how to dress and/or do interior design.


Green shirt and green tie? That blecchy green?  And you’re going to tell me how to dress?

I have the 3 “c” rule: is it comfortable, cheap (as in inexpensive) and does it afford good coverage?

So what kind of programming is left for me?

Top Gear.  But only the BBC one.  The one with Jeremy Clarkson.

World’s Dumbest

-Anything on Investigation Discovery

-Most of the programming on The Military Channel, The History Channel and The Military History Channel.

-Some programming on Comedy Central, i.e. Tosh.0, and South Park

-Most of the programming on Boomerang and Cartoon Network except for Pokèmon and some of that other bizzaro anime stuff.

-Most of Adult Swim, except Family Guy.  I just can’t get into that show.

1000 Ways to Die

If I didn’t pay the big bucks for cable, I would really be going nuts by now.

The Three “Esses,” a Walk in the Graveyard, and a Limited Time Offer

I always knew that guys had it easier in regard to a lot of every day things.  Their morning get-ready routine goes as follows: Shit. Shower. Shave., which are known collectively as “The Three Esses.”    No fussing about with makeup or hair styling or any of that noise.  Their haircuts cost less.  They don’t have to fuss over clothing choices (usually) and generally aren’t that picky as to whether or not their clothing is clean.  It took me years to convince Steve-o that sniffing the crotch of one’s pants is not an acceptable method to discern the difference between “soiled” and “fresh.”   They eat anything as long as it contains the three food groups- caffeine, nicotine, sugar and grease, remembering always that alcohol is a sugar.

The bad thing is that some of the guys I know probably have to have someone write down the Three Esses on their bathroom mirror, lest they forget them.  Of course I would have to add a bit of a dental hygiene regimen to that- please brush your teeth, and Listerine is not a bad idea either!

I finally figured out what the major advantage is to being born male:

When a male child is born it is as if the universe makes a statement to him. You are made exempt from household chores by the magical power of possessing the Twig and Berries!  Schwing! Jerry never literally spelled it out that way, but in practical application he might as well have. A swinging Johnson apparently gets nearly half of the human population out of a LOT of work.

I did manage to take a nice, long wander about in the Marion Cemetery yesterday.  I dumped a lot of the crap in my memory card (several times) and still didn’t scratch the surface as to cool old gravestones to take pics of.  The angel (above) really struck me.  I hadn’t noticed it there before, but the entire cemetery is about two square miles which is a lot of wandering about.  Most of my wanderings yesterday were in the old / high faluting part of the cemetery with the really over the top monuments.  For those who think old ostentatious grave markers are really way cool also, you can view the slideshow on Shutterfly .  Nobody did death like the Victorians.

I was shocked by the number of stillborn infants, very young children, and women who died in their early-to-mid twenties, though I shouldn’t have been.  In the 19th and early 20th centuries one in four women died in childbirth and infant mortality was at times almost 50%.   Usually there were no causes of death on the gravestones except for the some of the Civil War Veterans who were killed in action.

I find this one particularly sad.  Either Wallie was an only child, his parents had a lot of money, or both.  It’s beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

Life is a limited time offer.  I guess that is the lesson to take away from an afternoon in the graveyard.

Lust?  What’s that?

Oh, yeah.  It’s been a very long time.


Things to Add to the Bucket List, 30 Years Ago Today, and Simplicity is Complicated

On with the February funk, including the whole death theme, because it just plain fits.

I’ll put it this way.  At the end of this month I will be 42.  I have no illusions.  At least half of my life is most likely over, because I honestly don’t anticipate being able to make it to 84, barring extreme advances in medical science and some pretty serious Acts of God.  I know that if God wants to keep some poor sucker lingering about far beyond what we perceive to be his/her useful life He can and does, but I hope and pray I don’t outlive my purpose.  This being said, I still have no clue why I’m taking up valuable oxygen, other than (maybe?) to keep a few people entertained.  It’s not my place to know and I understand that.  I also understand that there have been at least three instances in my life where I narrowly escaped the Reaper:

1. I spent the first week of my life in the hospital with pneumonia and my entire childhood battling various respiratory ailments (as well as getting regular beatings from my sisters, their friends, and kids at school.)

2. I had rheumatic fever when I was 10 years old.  Save for a  two week long series of painful penicillin shots in the butt, and a year-long course of penicillin pills, I’d been worm chow over 30 years ago.

3. I understand first hand why at the turn of the 20th century 1 in 4 women died in childbirth.  In spite of an eleventh-hour c-section, (the whole Murphy’s Law as it applies to childbirth thing, believe that) I was almost one of them.  That was the closest I’ve ever gotten to the Dirt Nap, and at that time I was ready to go ahead and take it.  Some days I’m still very open to the possibility, though I believe the length of my time here is God’s decision not mine.

Again, somehow, I am still remaining vertical almost 20 years later, so there must be some reason why I continue to display vital signs- though said reason continues to elude me.

Before I go take the Final Trip, there are a few things I’d like to do.  Of course the Cougar Cruise is one of them, but I’d be happy just to go on a regular cruise with all the other geezers and so forth.

I’d like to do some international travel.  Granted, I’ve been to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls which was pretty cool, and I was in Windsor, Ontario for an afternoon as a little kid. Windsor is more or less Detroit’s French speaking quarter, and not much to write home about.  I did learn that Dad does not speak French.  I would caution that one does not go to Canada for the cuisine.  Everything we ate in Niagara Falls tasted like greasy Clorox.  It might simply have been the establishments we had the bad luck to choose, but from what I experienced it seems Canadians use grease like Cajuns use spice- and apparently Clorox is the spice.  Acck.  Then again, I believe the national entree of Canada consists of French fries smothered in gravy.  I don’t think I’ll be going for the gravy covered fries any time soon.   I still remember those nasty bland Cloroxy, greasy, slimy, luke-warm chicken wings we had for dinner one night, but even in the States, Hooters’ is not renowned for their culinary acumen.  There wasn’t even any hot sauce on the side to give them a hint of flavor.  It was as if they had never heard of Tabasco or habanero sauce.  Leave it to Jerry.  We had to eat there because Hooters’ was just across the street from the hotel, and they had American beer.  I hope it tasted like Clorox too, but even that would have been an improvement over Natty Lite.

I’d like to go to Europe, even though Grandpa said he didn’t lose anything there and there was no way in hell he would want to go back there.  When he went there, it was during the war.  It makes sense not wanting to go back to that. 

Australia sounds interesting too.  Aussies speak English so that’s a plus already.  The only thing that might not be so fun about Australia is all the venomous critters that seem to live there.  Perhaps I watch Animal Planet and Discovery Channel too much, but I might have to take a pass on the deadly spiders and the box jellyfish.

In a way I’d like to go to the Holy Land, but with all the foreigners fighting over there, I think I’ll have to settle for the shows on History Channel and so forth.  I’m not afraid to die, but I am afraid of torture and rape.

30 years ago, one could get a coveted ticket to see Journey on the Escape tour, which would be the one and only reason why I would like to see time travel made a reality.  I never got to see Steve Perry with Journey, live and in the painted-on jeans.  I’ve seen video with Steve Perry, which is sweet, but it’s not quite the same as being there live.   I’ve gotten to see Journey-which was awesome- once with Steve Augeri, and once with Arnel Pineda, but I never got to see them with Steve Perry, and barring a miracle, I probably never will.  I can’t blame him.  If I were 62 years old and had the life he did, I’d be happy to be retired with my memories and cats.

Today we get a lame-ass half-time show by the Black Eyed Peas, who never really impressed me to begin with.  New music absolutely sucks and no it’s not just because I’m old.  They’re trying to substitute sleaze and special effects for no-talent losers.  Give me a band who can actually play, and singers who can actually sing, and screw the costumes, the sleazy dancing and the light shows.

I’d love to get my life down to being more simple, but that would mean in some ways it would have to be more complicated, which doesn’t seem to make sense on the surface. 

All I can say at this point is that if I have 40 years or four seconds left, I can only pray for the strength to get through it- and to make something worthwhile of the time.