Friday, January 26, 2007

It is hard out here

In Memory of Our Old Crazy Family Dog, Charlie

Let’s face it, if you’re not a dog lover you think dogs owners are nuts. I thought dog lovers were nuts and my Mom was a really nutty dog lover. The fact that I wasn’t a dog lover might have had a lot to do with the fact that our family dog, Charlie, was mean and crazy as a snake.

Charlie was a poodle. No, not one of those goofy lap dogs, we didn’t have him clipped to look gay. Charlie was cute and scruffy and bigger than those annoying toy poodles, but not as big as a huge standard poodle.

His fur was the color apricot, he stood about one and a half feet at the shoulders with bright dark brown eyes and a black button nose. Charlie was smart. That was probably his biggest problem. Charlie was too smart. My Dad called him the world’s first neurotic dog. Charlie once got thrown to the floor of a car in a car wreck with my Mom. Mom and Charlie were OK, but Charlie would never go into a car willingly again.

Charlie loved my Mom and vice versa but that is where the love stopped. Charlie would act like he loved me in front of my Mom or when he needed something, like a walk or food or water. But if you wanted to pet him without Mom around, Charlie would growl for you to leave him the hell alone.

When Charlie wanted to go for a walk, he would wag his stumpy tail and brush up against your leg to get your attention, then he would considerately run halfway up the stairs so you didn’t have to bend over to put on his leash, smiling and wagging his stumpy tail the entire time.

When you got home from the walk, however, it was another story. Charlie would not only not run half way up the stairs, so now you had to bend over to clip off the leash, but no lie, when you did clip off his leash from his collar, Charlie would give a quick growl of contempt as if to say;

“Piss off, I don’t need your sorry ass anymore.”

When my Mom was home, when my Dad came home from work, Charlie would greet my Dad like a conquering hero, yelping and jumping and spinning around in delight. But when my Mom wasn’t home and my Dad came home, Charlie wouldn’t even bother to get up. Greeting my Dad was all a ruse for my Mom's benefit.

Charlie was the world’s only duplicitous dog.

When my Mom really wanted to annoy my Dad – which I now know is a thing wives like to do from time to time – she would invite Charlie on her lap after dinner and she would cradle him like a baby, rub his tummy and he would grunt and groan and coo with delight as she translated for him;

“Oh, I know, Charlie, Charlie says I guard the house all day, and greet everyone when they are home and what’s the thanks I get? Alpo and a lousy walk or two. Is it asking too much for a guy to get some appreciation around here?”

My Dad would just roll his eyes and say;

“Oh, Ann.”

It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out Mom was projecting through Charlie, but it was a mutual love fest to behold.

Of Charlie’s many self-appointed jobs, his favorite was being the purveyor and judge of our street. His post was the bedroom sofa chair by the upstairs master bedroom window. He would stand on the seat of the sofa/chair facing the window with his paws on the top of the back of the chair which gave him a perfect vantage up and down our Elm street and he would rule on all things that passed. A tail wag was an indication of approval otherwise he would give a displeased woof or an outright bark of condemnation.

Charlie’s harshest criticisms were aimed at a dog down the street, Wotan. Wotan was of an undeterminable breed of a combination of scary looking dogs. He was mostly Huskie but I am sure there was some Rotweiler in there somewhere. This was a dog you did not want to mess with and Charlie, who, like people who are too smart, would do some really dumb things but one of the dumbest was to constantly bark and taunt Wotan whenever he got a chance.

When he was on a walk Charlie was smart enough not to incur Wotan’s wrath until he was within running distance of our front door, then Charlie would let fly with his “Oh, you think you’re so tough, do you? Well I think you a big doofus” bark and if Wotan so much as looked at Charlie –which he rarely did - Charlie would scamper inside the house leaving a trial of dust like a cartoon character.

Apparently even dogs have a breaking point.
One day Charlie was coming back from a walk with my brother John and he was on our front walk when he saw Wotan on his leash across the street. Charlie thought he was close enough to our house to be safe and so he let Wotan have it with his most taunting barks. Wotan immediately bolted and the leash slipped out of Wotan’s owner’s hands.

Charlie and John froze as Wotan charged and went straight for Charlie’s neck. In one chomp, Charlie fell lifelessly to the ground, as limp as a rag doll. Wotan’s owner grabbed him back and apologized profusely;

“Oh, I am so sorry, oh my word, Wotan broke your poor dog’s neck.”

Surprisingly calm for him, John picked up Charlie. Charlie’s head and legs hung down lifelessly and John carried him somberly to the front door to give us all the bad news. By the time John got inside the house, Charlie popped up wide awake and pranced off like nothing had happened.

That’s right, when attacked by Wotan, Charlie had simply feinted dead away. He didn’t even have a mark on his fool neck.
Thus ended the world’s fastest dog fight. To Charlie’s credit he never barked at Wotan again.

One time my Mom accidentally cut her wrist shoving her hand through the glass of a stuck basement storm window. It was a scary, bloody and chaotic scene to leave for the hospital that included my tall and uncoordinated brother frantically coming back from walking Charlie. He quickly put the leash on the leash hook on the basement/coatroom landing wall and we took off in great haste.

When we got back from the hospital, Mom was no worse for the wear other than twenty stitches but we couldn’t find Charlie.

“What’s that weird noise?” My Dad asked. It sounded like a small child coughing.

When we opened the door to the landing down to the basement/coat room where the leash hook was mounted six feet up on the wall, we saw that John, my clumsy brother, had indeed put the loop leash handle on the hook, but he had neglected to take Charlie’s four- foot leash off of his collar.

For two hours while we were at the hospital, poor Charlie had to dance in continuous circles on his hind legs so that he wouldn’t hang himself, yelping, barking and gagging the whole time.
Charlie couldn’t bark normally for a week. And when he did bark, it just came out a weak, pathetic hoarse "harf."

Maybe that’s why Charlie hated us.

Now that I am a self-confessed, two-hilarious-yellow-Labrador-owning dog nut, I find it hard to believe I was once so ambivalent about a dog. But, as it turns out, deep down I really wasn’t all that ambivalent. I found out the hard way that I was a closet dog lover the whole time.

When Charlie was an old dog of about 14-years, he developed a nasty cough. When I got back from my job as a camp sports director one summer - back home in Winnetka from college at Santa Barbara - two hours before my Mom came home from working at Northwestern graduate school, Charlie was coughing pretty bad.

Worried as hell, I called my Mom and then I called the vet to make a house call.

For the first time in his life, Charlie wanted me to hold him in my lap. The poor little guy was scared, so I sat on the floor of the dining room, right at my Mom’s spot at the table where Charlie had been so lavished with love and attention, and petted and soothingly talked to him as he coughed harder and harder. The brave little guy was trying to make it until Mom came home. But he didn't make it. Finally Charlie took his last gasp. That’s when I saw the spark go out from his bright little brown eyes.

As hard as I was crying when I handed his poor little limp body over to the too- late-arriving vet, I knew it would be ten times harder on my Mom. My job then was to run around the house and hide all of Charlie’s rubber toys and chewed up tennis balls and his leash - the same leash that almost hung him ten years earlier - hoping it would make it easier on Mom.

Mom got home, got out of her car and I met her at the front door.

“How is Charlie?” she asked hopefully. It broke my heart.

When Mom saw that I was too choked up to answer she instantly knew what happened. She yelled out a sob and ran up to her bedroom crying. From downstairs I could hear my Mom crying upstairs for the first time in my life since John F. Kennedy was killed when I was five.

After she composed herself, Mom heroically came down to make dinner and to put a brave front for the rest of us. She was doing really well until I heard her yell out another loud sob from the kitchen.

Like an idiot, I had neglected to hide Charlie’s food bowl.

My Mom, like “Mister Bojangles,” never really stopped grieving for that crazy little dog.

Years later when we would tell the classic family story of the more than a few times we walked in to the kitchen while Mom fixed dinner, with Charlie constantly by her side, we were veritably attacked by a horrible gaseous stench. My Mom would shake her head and look down at Charlie, and say;

“Charlie, how could you? You committed an atrocity.” Then she would add in his defense;

“I really shouldn’t feed him human scraps anymore. His little system is way too delicate.”

Somehow, after Charlie had gone to the big kennel in the sky, his occasional atrocities mysteriously continued. (Sorry Mom) When busted on this, my Mom, being a good sport, would laugh hard, then smile, and then say;

“Poor Charlie.” And then she would tear- up all over again.

So it gives me great pride to say that, like my Mother, I am also a nutty dog lover.

But I really shouldn’t feed Kasey and Wrigley human scraps anymore, their little systems are way too delicate.

It is hard out here

Shake your junk and throw down the funk, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Hate to hear that
John Kerry is not going to run for President in 2008. It’s probably just as well, the last time Kerry threw his hat into the ring, his head is so big, the hat broke the ring.

The final tally
President Bush gave his State of the Union address. The speech was 49 minutes long and was interrupted 62 times by applause and three times by Dick Cheney’s heart attacks.  

She is out of here
There is a bill introduced in California to ban spanking. Upon hearing this, Paris Hilton, put her Beverly Hills mansion up for sale.

Not good
President Bush gave his State of the Union address. Did you see Vice President Dick Cheney sitting next to house majority leader Nancy Pelosi? Pelosi and Cheney looked like the worst MySpace date ever.

President Bush gave his State of the Union address last night. House Majority leader Nancy Pelosi did not look happy. At any second I expected Pelosi to put President Bush in a time out.

Analysts described President Bush’s State of the Union speech as somber; in fact, the speech was so somber that Vice President Dick Cheney wasn’t the crankiest looking person there.

Attention Deficit whatever-it’s-called
This Friday “Epic Movie” opens, it combines about ten hit movies into one; how bad is our attention deficit disorder when they have to combine ten movies into . . . oh my gosh, a women in a white blouse.  

That’s a lot of work
President Bush gave his State of the Union address last night and Hillary Clinton gave a rebuttal; rumor has it that Hillary has had millions of dollars of plastic surgery. In fact, Hillary has had so much work done that Bill accidentally hit on her.  

Quite a scene
At his speech, President Bush introduced the man who threw himself on top of a fallen stranger to save him from getting hit by a subway train. To give you and idea how brave that act was, all the New Yorkers on the platform who saw it happen actually stopped urinating to applaud.

It’s finally official David Gest and Liza Minelli’s marriage is over; in fact, David has already begun not having sex with other women.

What a coinky dinky
A survey revealed that women say the most dateable men’s jobs are doctors, architects and lawyers. In a shocking coincidence, the highest paying jobs are doctors, architects and lawyers.

Maybe it was just me
At the State of the Union speech last night did you Laura Bush sitting next to Seven foot NBA star Dikembe Mutombo? When they stood up, Laura Bush looked like the arcade game where you pound the gopher down into the hole.

Since you asked:
Here is my eight-year-old daughter Ann Caroline’s favorite joke. I told it to her after I heard Larry Miller tell it on “The Aristocrats.” Please, do not confuse that with Disney’s “The Aristocats.” “The Aristocrats” is gloriously filthy and not suited for anyone but thick skinned adults. But this joke is great for kids.

Cut to: a primordial fetid swamp with dragon flies buzzing, mosquitoes and bats swarming, crocodiles scurrying down the river banks and snakes slithering through the thick overgrown gnarled vines overhead.

Slowly two hippopotamus heads gradually emerge from the steaming murky water. One hippo tilts his head towards the other and says;

“I just can’t seem to get it in my head it’s Tuesday.”


Wednesday, January 24, 2007

It is hard out here

We gonna find out what time it is up in this beeeeeyaahitch, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

US Weekly announced that Paris Hilton is going to lose her Nick Carter butt tattoo. They can’t completely erase the name so they’re going to change it from Nick Carter to Next Customer.

Sharon Stone's breasts have been nominated for Worst Screen Couple in this year's Razzy Awards. Not only that, but Stones bra was nominated as worst supporting actress.

So nasty
James Brown’s body has still not been buried yet. The man died on Christmas Day. It’s getting bad, he’s starting to smell like the Rolling Stones.

Go figure
Pfizer, the makers of Viagra, had to lay off 10,000 workers. Ironically, they just couldn’t get their earnings up.

Quality time
Dallas Cowboy coach Bill Parcells announced he is retiring. Parcells wants to spend more time with any family that doesn’t have Terrell Owens in it.

In the Indianapolis Colts comeback 38-34 win over the New England Patriots, Colts QB Peyton Manning set an NFL record for more commercials than completions.

Hillary Clinton is running for President and her slogan is “In it to win.” That’s funny, “In it to win” is also Bill Clinton’s Hooters slogan.

Stop it
Kansas Senator Sam Brownback is running for President announcing he is on the yellow brick road to the White House. So apparently he is going after the gay vote.

Babe magnets
A survey revealed that the women say the most dateable men jobs are doctors, architects and lawyers. What a shock, I thought the babes went after Blockbuster clerks, Radio Shack cashiers and Starbucks baristas.

A survey revealed that the most dateable jobs for men are doctors, architects and lawyers. The least dateable job? Kevin Federline’s personal assistant.

Lost in translation
Selma Hayek announced the Oscar nominations with her Spanish accent. Apparently two of the nominees are an actor named Wheel Smeeth and a movie called “Leetle Meese Soonsheen.”

So special
There is no football game this weekend before the Super Bowl, “Dream Girls” is in theaters and “Brokeback Mountain” is now out on DVD or Ryan Seacrest calls it: his dream weekend.

Brokeback Mountain is now out on DVD. It’s embarrassing for guys to rent. Your buddy catches you with it at the video store and you have to say “Brokeback Mountain”? Shoot, I thought it said “Brake pad Mounting” I’m putting new brakes in my pick up truck.

People are still wondering if Paula Abdul is out of it on “American Idol.” Like whenever Randy Jackson calls someone dog, Paula tries to feed them a Snausage.

If you get offended by dirty gay jokes stop reading now, but I love this one:

Gay guy walks into an old-school Manhattan butcher shop and orders two pounds of pepperoni.

Butcher asks him if he wants it sliced. Gay guy says;

“Just what do you think my butt is, a piggy bank?”

Since you asked:
Is it just me or is the chasm of humor and entertainment quality between the two “Saturday Night Live” shows, “30 Rock” and “Studio 60” growing very wide? In my humble opinion, and, for your information, this is about the only place where that counts for anything, “30 Rock” is getting funnier and “Studio 60” is getting more and more cumbersome.

Wasn't it the great Tina Fey who, when asked to describe the differance between the shows, replied it's the differance between "Hogans Heroes" and "Schindler's List"?

Remember the hard-learned Bill Cosby rule: you can take a comedy show way too seriously if you want, but it will kill the frog. Wait, I mean, you can disect a frog but then you kill the comedy. No, I mean, you can't kill a comedy by killing a frog unless the frog is Kermit, oh forget it. You know what I mean.

In fact, you could say that truth-in-advertising laws may force “Studio 60” to change its name to “Aaron-Sorkin-is-so-clever-that-an-idiot-like-me-can-barely-follow-the-razor-sharp-machine-gun-fast-dialogue-that-has-never-ever-occurred-in-real-life-outside-of-“West Wing.”

For me clever conversations on sitcoms can be as annoying as musicals, even if they are good, for the same reason: they don’t occur in real life. (See: any show that had the name Cosby in it)

As I’ve said, I get as weepy during “The Sound of Music” as the next guy, but how often have you been, let’s say, standing in line at the ATM when everyone spontaneously bursts out together in song and dance? Well, for those of you who don’t live in Greenwich Village, I mean.

That is the way the dialogue on “Studio 60” strikes me. Is it clever? Sure. Is it witty? You bet. Is it well written. No doubt. Could I write something as good? We both know the answer to that one, don't we? However, is it also unrealistic to the point of annoying the cr@p out of me? A kinda little bit.

Let me ask something: if making a television sketch show like “SNL” is as exhausting and time consuming as everyone says, why do the characters on “Studio 60” spend so much time doing other things, like looking for love in all the wrong places? Practicing endless spit takes? Spending half of their time at wrap parties?

No doubt, reality is boring and if the show was more realistic, it wouldn’t be as entertaining. But some of the lines from “Studio 60” land on the ground like the result of a camel with food poisoning. For example, that momentum killer from the one guy’s dad:

“Your brother is standing in a field in Afghanistan.”

Somebody had to clean that mess up. It is so bad it reminds me of that scene-chewing movie-killer Madonna in “League of Their Own.” "LOTO" is -as Grandma Rodgers would have said - a right cute movie and the momentum builds and builds until the dugout scene. The dugout scene where the guy running the league informs the team they are in jeopardy of closing and Madonna lets fly with her spew;

“I ain’t goin’ back to that strip joint to have guys sweat gin all over me, you hear? I says I ain’t.”

You can actually see the other actors thinking; “Whoa boy does she suck.”

Even Rosie O’Donnell. Remember back then when Rosie didn’t scare everybody half to death? That Rosie reminded me of a big, cute furry puppy.

Today's Rosie reminds me of Cujo.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

It is hard out here

How you feelin’ how we roll now, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?

That’s nice
Hillary Clinton has thrown her hat into the ring. And it’s a nice hat, it matches her pants suit.

Hillary Clinton has thrown her hat into the ring. The bad news for Hillary? Her hat fits perfectly on Barack Obama.

Hillary Clinton announced she is running for president. In equally shocking news, somebody in the Middle East got mad at something.

No Paris, oh forget it
In sad news, Alice Coltrane, a jazz performer and wife of late saxophone legend John Coltrane, died at 69. Upon hearing she died at 69, a worried Paris Hilton asked; “You can die doing that?”

Tension city
There was tension on the set of the last “American Idol”; Paula Abdul screamed; “Hey, who the hell put Coca Cola in my Coca Cola glass?”

Paula Abdul appears intoxicated on the last “American Idol” shows. How intoxicated? Rumor has it that Paula was so drunk that even the contestants who didn’t make it through made it through with Paula.

It is hard out here

Since you asked:

Anyone see “Wedding Crashers”?

That incredibly obnoxious boyfriend of the girl that Owen Wilson steals does a dead-on portrayal of rich, Ivy League arrogant preppies. Growing up outside of Chicago, I knew guys who went to Eastern prep schools but they were nothing like the characters I met while working on Wall Street.

The pompous arrogance of these privileged schmucks knows no limits. You simply cannot imagine the deepness of their smugness combined with their deep-rooted condescending distain for those of us not as fortunate.

This universally despised image of the snooty prep school stereotype is probably why the Duke Lacrosse team was rushed to judgment by so many in the press and in politics.

When you and I talk excitedly about going skiing at Mammoth or Lake Tahoe, they are talking about jetting to Val d ‘esire. When we say we want to save money and go to Maui or Las Vegas, they are taking about a yacht off the coast of a Greek Island or Nice, France, the Bahamas or Monte Carlo. And that is all happening while they are still in prep school.

These clowns live in an entirely different world than almost all other people, they even have their own lock-jaw language of slang, so, naturally, they cling to each other. Their powerful and wealthy parents were too busy partying to raise them so they were shipped off to boarding schools where they knew, no matter how drunk, stoned and coked-up they were, they would end up in the Ivy League school of their choice.

It’s the exact same thing when they get to Harvard and Yale; those of the elite know they will graduate so why bother to study? Not only that, no matter how much they don’t study, they also know they will land a huge high profile job on Wall Street or Madison Ave or in politics.

That is why we are seeing so many amazing people, like the Google guys, coming out of Stanford. Stanford’s mission statement has always been to not be like Harvard and actually make the students work for their degree.

But guess what? Does the preppies lifetime of no work and no education catch up to them like it would for you and me? Hell no, their amazing connections land them huge business deals and the unfair process begins all over again.

In Southern California this phenomenon is known as USC.

Do we despise these people? Of course we do. Why wouldn’t we? They are utterly loathsome. But do we also, deep down, greatly admire them and feel envy and inferiority? Yes, sadly, we do. It’s the same with Royalty in England. No matter how much Americans make fun of them and joke about them, we are still impressed by English Royalty. (Although I never got the Lady Di thing)

As we are, most of us, descendents of poor immigrants, slaves and red-headed step child colonists, we just can’t help but worship these blue bloods, it’s in our DNA. And the closest thing that resembles British royalty in our country are, sadly, these rich, arrogant spoiled preppie brats. Like it or not, these world-class jerks are our princes and princesses.

When I worked out at the Downtown Athletic Club after working on Wall Street in the eighties, more than a couple of times I shared the bench press with the closest thing our country has had to a real prince: John F. Kennedy Junior. Was I star struck? As I lifetime Kennedy-nut, you bet. Was he a nice guy? He sure was. Was he friendly? He sure was. Was he handsome and buffed? For fear of getting all Brokeback on your behind, yes, he was. His hair alone was amazing. Stop it, you savage.

But was he also a vain, mouth-breathing, gum-chomping, chucklehead? Hate to say it, but he kinda was. We didn’t become close buddies or anything, but I was around him more than long enough to gather a strong impression that, brain wise, this apple had not only fallen far from the tree, it had hit the ground running and then rolled down the hill. Nobody who spent any time around JFK Jr. was surprised to learn he flunked the New York bar a thousand times. It was a miracle that he ever passed it at all.

And yet I saw the media, with the help of his handlers and an adoring American public turn this – sorry to say – Himbo (Him plus Bimbo) into the personification of American royalty.

So we keep hiring them and electing them to office in spite of ourselves.

Think about that tonight when good ol’ pull-yourself-up-from-great-granddaddy’s-bootstraps George W. tells us all to cut down on our gas use. And then watch as he doesn’t blink to jump in his twenty car motorcade that speeds him to his helicopter that whisks him to Air Force One to fly all night to strike a sweetheart oil deal with the Saudis.

I’m not talking about right or left wing politics here. John Kerry is the exact same thing, so were and are all the Kennedys. I am talking about undeserved, unearned blinding arrogance that is getting more and more watered down with each generation. The kind of unqualified smugness you can only find in impossibly wealthy Ivy League graduates.

And the French.

But this same phenomenon of royalty hating/worshiping , when it happens in Hollywood, is hilarious. Come on, Detroit blue collar high school drop-out gutter-slut Madonna with an English accent? That is hysterical.

At least the preppies have some kind of lineage, history and precedent to go by. Movie stars and models, for the most part, come from unprivileged backgrounds. That is why rubes like Naomi Campbell and Russell Crowe throw phones at the help. They didn’t learn manners at the country club or the boarding school. They think that is how rich and famous people are supposed to act.

There are exceptions like George Clooney and Tom Hanks, but for the most part, anyone who would devote their life to being a famous movie star these days is simply is out of their freaking mind. (See: Barking mad Tom Cruise) These people not only have not been well educated, they are attention junkie kooks. Is there anyone in Hollywood right now who hasn’t been to or isn’t currently in rehab right now?

Despite all of their vast character and educational flaws, when the movie stars do hit it big, we, again, treat them like American royalty. The same goes with our athletes. We can’t help it. Not only that, these idiot movie stars then have the gall to lead these horrific examples of wretched excess and unexamined lives and then they have the balls to turn around and tell the rest of us how we should live and vote.

In the end I guess it comes down to the fact that we get the celebrities and the politicians that we deserve. Yes, in some dark and awful example of bad karma coming home to roost, we deserve Paris Hilton.

That doesn’t speak well of us, now does it?

Monday, January 22, 2007

It is hard out here

Living the dream and making them scream, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

Anchors away
The Navy said that its next aircraft carrier will be named the USS Gerald R. Ford, in honor of the late President. This will be like a regular ship except its anti-aircraft guns will shoot golf balls.

Une chose sûre
French President Jacques Chirac cannot decide if he wants to run for another term; he may just quit and surrender altogether, which, in France, would result in Chirac winning by a landslide.

Uh, no, I didn’t buy that, nope, uh uh
The annual porn convention is in Las Vegas; So, guys, now you can meet the stars of all those movies you told the hotel desk clerks that you didn’t order.

Scary Rosie
Rosie O’Donnell has now attacked the judges on “American Idol” for making fun of the contestant’s appearance. Rosie considers it mean to make fun of people’s appearances unless of course it’s Donald Trump.

You can see how that could happen
Verne Troyer, the tiny actor who played Mini Me, is in rehab; his drinking problem went undetected despite that Verne was always getting sick, crying, staggering, falling down and even soiling himself, so naturally they thought he was just a normal three-year-old.

Big surprise
The NFC Championship game features the Chicago Bears vs. the New Orleans Saints. A lot of people outside of Illinois are picking the Saints as the sentimental favorite after Katrina. Except for Rosie O’Donnell, she hates both teams.

The NFC Championship game features the Chicago Bears vs. the New Orleans Saints. Many experts feel the Bears defense will win the game. To give you an idea, the Bears defense is so scary Rosie O’Donnell is afraid of attacking it.

Hitching? Is it 1970?
The movie remake “The Hitcher” opens today and the buzz is that the two characters who pick up the hitcher, Zachary Knighton and Sophia Bush, will get nominated for an Oscar for the category of “Two Stupidest Movie Characters Ever.”

The movie “The Hitcher” opens today, this is a remake of the 1986 cult film of the same name. Incidentally, 1986 was also the very last time anyone ever picked up a hitchhiker.  

It is hard out here

Dah Bearssssssssss, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers

The Chicago Bears will face the Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl 41. Experts are saying this is the best Chicago Bear team ever that hasn’t made a truly awful rap video.

The match up between the Chicago Bears and the Indianapolis Colts in the Super Bowl is historic, not just in the 41-years the it has been played, but in the history of all professional team sports, never in baseball, hockey, basketball, or football have there ever been two coaches named Tony and Lovie.

From Janice Hough
How about that Indianapolis comeback against the New England Patriots? I knew it wasn’t a good idea when President Bush called Brian Belichick at half time and proclaimed mission accomplished.

It has been 21 years since the Chicago Bears have won the Super Bowl. Upon hearing about the Bears 21 years since a championship, the Chicago Cubs said; “21 years? That’s adorable.”

Just in time for the Super Bowl, Sharp Electronics has produced a 108 inch LCD TV. It’s called the “How Small Is Your Weiner, Dude?” TV.

Atlanta Falcon QB Michael Vick was charged when airport security at Miami confiscated a water bottle that smelled like marijuana and contained a substance in a hidden compartment. The good news is that this incident has inspired a folk song sung to the tune of "Michael Row Your Boat Ashore";

“Michael throw your weed away at the airport, Michael throw your weed away at the airport.”

An Illinois man set the world record for riding a stationary bike for 85 hours. He expended so much effort without moving so much as an inch forward that today he was named the offensive coordinator of the Oakland Raiders.

Since you asked:

I got hosed by my DVR. It was bad enough back when my TiVo thought I was gay from recording "Will and Grace" after the Cubs games to catch extra innings and all the cooking shows, so it constantly suggested "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" and shows on decorating, but at least the TiVo didn't try anything funny.

How did I get screwed by my DVR? Well, it didn't really, it is working great. What happened was that I taped the Pats-Colts game planning to watch it after taking a break after the awesome Bears win, which I saw live. So around Six, my wife informs me she and our daughter ate while out shopping and I was on my own for dinner. So I go out, get something to go, have a couple drinks and I see that it is half time and the score is 21-6. Damn, I thought, with Tom Brady and the Colts defense, this thing is over.

So I get home putter around, have a glass of wine, and around eight o'clock, I say to myself, ah screw it, I am going to watch the game from the beggining. Who cares if New England is blowing them out?

I make it to the halftime show, which by now it is about 10:30, and I fall asleep. (Wine + hard work out that morning - any naps = asleep by 10:30)

When I woke up this morning at 6:00 am I realize I didn't see the rest of the game, so when I grab the paper to see if New England scored anymore, I almost passed out. How did I miss all of that?

The DVR screwed me.