tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-307520892024-03-07T04:22:53.339-05:00Badabing's Badaboom<center>Musings, Rants & Real Stories From a Horny Old Baby Boomer
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<em>"The only way to deal with temptation is to give in to it" -- Oscar Wilde </em>
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</center>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-21135616113774987312013-06-21T15:06:00.002-04:002013-08-16T18:25:03.432-04:00A Tribute To James Gandolfini aka Tony SopranoYesterday was a good day...and a bad day. I learned somewhere that one should always deliver the good news first. So...the good news is that yesterday I ended my blogging hiatus. I updated this blog with a fresh new look and made my first post in years. Okay, so maybe that's only good news for me and the one other person that reads this blog...thanks, mom...but it is what it is.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano</td></tr>
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Now for the bad news...talented actor James Gandolfini died unexpectedly a few days ago at age 51. In case you don't recognize the name, look at the picture. Most people will recognize him as Tony Soprano from the award-winning HBO series, The Sopranos. That was my absolutely favorite show of all time...and virtually the only television I watched for years. Anyway...more about our family Soprano ritual will probably appear in a future post.<br />
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James Gandolfini was a wonderful actor, and I enjoyed his performances in several movies. But, to me, he will always be Tony Soprano. That show brought back some wonderful memories from my childhood growing up in New York. I don't mean the mafia aspects of the show, but rather the gestures, expressions, and slang words used by my Italian/American family and friends. They were virtually identical to those used by the show's characters. Even my children recognized them.<br />
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A few years ago, I made a post on this blog entitled <b><i>N'Italian Lessons 101</i></b>. It was the most popular post I ever made, getting thousands of views and more than a hundred comments. If you google it it should come up in the top three or for search results. The post listed a number of expressions used by my family and friends...and they were a wonderful part of my life. As a number of these were also used in the Sopranos show, I thought I would post them as a kind of tribute to James Gandolfini. Anyone who was a fan of that series will certainly remember some of them.<br />
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In the New York - New Jersey area in particular, many people of Italian-American descent have developed their own version of Italian slang, that I call <strong><em>N'Italian</em></strong>. Granted, some of the slang is a pretty brutal bastardization of <em>la bella lingua</em>, but, I grew up with them so they are near and dear to my heart. Some words and expressions have many variations in spelling. For example, the letters 'c' and 'g' are often used in place of one another. Some also have multiple meanings…so hand gestures, facial expression, and body language are often needed to make an accurate interpretation of context…these will be the subject of a future post. They also have their own English slang expressions...that too will be the subject of another post.<br />
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Here are a few samples of <strong><em>N'Italian</em></strong>:<br />
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<strong>gabagool</strong>. This is pronounced <em>ga-ba-'gool</em>. It's slang for cappicola, a highly seasoned type of ham that is a popular cold cut.<br />
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<strong>proshut</strong>. This is pronounced <em>pro-'shoot</em>. It's slang for prosciutto, a salt-cured type of ham eaten as a cold cut and used in Italian cooking.<br />
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<strong>madonna</strong>. Pronounced <em>madonn'</em> or <em>mah-'dawn</em>. The literal meaning is 'virgin mary' or 'mother of God,' but its slang meanings are "Oh no!" or "That's too bad" or "Holy shit!" A variation is the expression <strong>madonna mia</strong>. Sample usage:<br />
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Paulie: "Tony, I'm stuck in friggin' traffic, so I'm gonna' be late for the meetin'.<br />
Oh yeah. And I forgot to pickup the gabagool and proshut."<br />
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Tony: "Madonn', what the hell else is gonna' go wrong today?"<br />
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<strong>ming</strong>. Pronounced <em>ming'</em>. Often used as a substitute for <strong>madonna</strong>.<br />
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<strong>goomah</strong>. Pronounced <em>goo-'mah</em> or <em>coo-'mah</em>. This means 'girlfriend,' but it must be used in the proper context. If you're single and have a girlfriend, she's your <em>goomah</em>. Your wife or fiance is <strong>NOT</strong> your <em>goomah</em>. If you're married or engaged, a <em>goomah</em> is someone you're seeing on the side.<br />
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<strong>stunad</strong>. Pronounced <em>stew-'nod</em>. A person who is stupid, thick, dense. Sample usage:<br />
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"I tell him how to do it five times, and he still screws it up. Ming, what a friggin' stunad."<br />
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<strong>oobatz</strong>. Pronounced <em>oo-'botz</em>. It means 'crazy' or 'you're crazy.' Sample usage:<br />
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"Friggin' shyster sends me a bill for five grand. I call him up and say 'You think I'm gonna pay this? Oobatz.'"<br />
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<strong>stugats</strong>. Pronounced <em>stew-'gotz</em>. It means 'balls' or 'big balls' or 'you've got some balls.' In the Sopranos, Tony's boat is named Stugats.<br />
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<strong>fancul</strong>. Pronounced <em>fon-'gool</em>. It means to 'go f--- yourself' or 'f--- yourself up the a--.' Variations include <strong>va fancul</strong> and <strong>a fancul</strong>.<br />
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<strong>fanuk</strong>. Pronounced <em>fa-'nuke</em> or <em>fi-'nuke</em>. A guy who is gay. Think Vito in the last few episodes of the Sopranos.<br />
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<i><b>Thank you James Gandolfini for bringing these to life for me. May you rest in peace.</b></i></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/b006lab78m"><img align="left" border="0" hspace="15" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsB8sLU_Zg9WD9y_fQoOQuIAMnmQAWp1HqPDa1wiRQDhPy0zKnpA0fE9v2MfmMZArhZN-lOdgp7-HZs5ZD1tJORZvQDpn4ZBn5MF4mKiql4RIX9UKmvHfiKEy9okNsLfHaTCKAaw/s1600/chancecover100x150.jpg" /></a>
More words like these, and characters like those in the Sopranos, can be found in my buddy J.D. Cannon's fast-moving suspense novel <b>Just By Chance</b>...rated <b>5 Stars</b> on Amazon. Mobsters, a beautiful high-class escort, and a sexy tropical setting...what could be better than that?
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Check it out...click on the cover image or <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/b006lab78m">here</a> to learn more.
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My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Home</a> Page</div>
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Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-74398899470908416202013-06-20T20:26:00.000-04:002013-06-20T20:31:21.526-04:00Something In The AirMemory is a funny thing. I woke up this morning and decided that it was time to end my blogging hiatus. So, I upgraded to this new Blogger template, but couldn't figure out what to blog about. A phone call from a friend solved that problem. For whatever reason, I recalled an evening that we had dinner together during one of my business trips, and decided I'd re-post a story I told here some time ago.
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This is a true story. It really happened. It happened exactly as I describe it. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent. Oh yeah...I should warn you in advance that this is a long post.<br />
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My trip two weeks ago was to a suburb of Cleveland. A buddy and I arranged to have dinner at a trendy restaurant that neither of us had been to before. I arrived before he did. There was a waiting line, so I put my name on the list and went to the bar to wait. I knew he'd know where to find me. <br />
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The bar was packed with 20, 30, and 40-somethings pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. I was the only 'cotton head' in the place. I wedged my way to the bar, ordered a glass of wine, and retreated to the periphery to watch and wait. <br />
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A woman standing at a chest-high partition at the back of the bar started waving and smiling at me. She was tanned, pretty face, late-30's to early-40's. I looked over both shoulders to check if she was waving at someone else...then smiled back. Now, I'm a happily married guy and wasn't looking for a woman, but I figured it might be interesting to at least strike up a conversation. A few minutes later, a spot opened up next to her and I instinctively made a bee-line for it. My reflex reaction to the empty space was clearly the result of many decades of training.<br />
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As I approached, she smiled again. "Hi. Nice to see you. You're Norman, right?" <br />
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Not. There's no way in hell that I look like a Norman. <br />
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I chuckled to myself, because that line was almost identical to one of my old pick up lines back in my bachelor days…with 'Susan' or some other spur-of-the-moment female name substituted for 'Norman.' In any case, I was flattered by the thought of an attractive woman dishing me a pick up line. <br />
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Then again, it could just have been wishful thinking. Hmmm. Nah. Okay...maybe.<br />
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We made small talk and she told me I looked just like her friend Norman. She introduced herself (we'll just call her Fran) and offered to buy me a drink. It was a nice gesture, but I declined and just stuck with the small talk. She was waiting for a girlfriend. I was waiting for a buddy. She offered to let us share a table with them since their name would come up first. I didn't think my friend would be comfortable with that, so I didn't want to commit. I don't remember exactly what my response was, but it would definitely have earned me a senior position in the diplomatic corps. <br />
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And besides, I didn't know what her girlfriend looked like ;-)<br />
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I eventually bought her a drink. My buddy arrived and I bought him a drink. Her girlfriend arrived (we'll call her Carla), and I bought her a drink. Then we took turns buying each other drinks. <br />
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Did I mention that Carla was hot? Well, she was. Pretty, blonde, tanned, possibly liposucted, and nicely cleavaged. Okay, okay, I know 'liposucted' and 'cleavaged' aren't officially words. So what? I made 'em up…but I'll bet you got the picture, right? So, just think of them as my contribution to the blogtionary. Yeah…I just made up that word too…creative old fart that I am.<br />
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Anyway, we continued buying rounds for quite some time. I can't remember how many iterations this went on for, but I was way past what I usually drink and my friends were liking my jokes, so everything was right with the world. I could tell the booze was working its magic since the girls were laughing even before I got to the punchlines of my jokes. I chose to ignore this little factoid in favor of believing it was my superb delivery.<br />
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Suddenly, in mid-slur, Carla and Fran saw two open stools at the bar and swooped them up before I could even swallow a sip of my wine. I was a bit envious that they reacted faster than me. They must have had the same hands-on, hardcore bar training as me. <strike>We won't mention the roughly 20-year age advantage they had on me.</strike> They waved at us to join them at the bar, but my buddy and I decided to stay put and figure out what, if anything, we were going to do about dinner. I suggested we have another round, on me, and think about our options.<br />
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When I returned from the bar with our drinks I found my friend talking with an attractive black woman. We had a nice conversation…and she liked my jokes too, so we were off and running. My friend spent the next hour talking with her, and I shared my time between them and Carla and Fran who were still sitting at the bar. Every time I checked-in with the girls at the bar, Fran would say "Oh, isn't he the sweetest guy, my new friend?" to which Carla would (by this time semi-inebriatedly) agree. Then, Fran would say, "Poor Carla. She says she feels so old. Don't you think she's beautiful?" Of course, I would reply with "Absolutely. I think she's very beautiful," or with "Absolutely. I think she's the hottest 35 year-old in this place." Both lines got an "Oh, get outta' here" from Carla and a "See, what did I tell ya'...he's just the sweetest guy" from Fran. <br />
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Did I mention that each time Fran said how sweet I was she would punctuate it with a kiss on the cheek? Yes, that would be my cheek. She was a good kisser. I thought about telling her that, but logic got the best of me and I held my tongue.<br />
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After about ten iterations (hell, it could have been only six but who's counting) Carla started to say "thank you" whenever I paid her one of those compliments. I wonder if it took her that long because by that point maybe I started looking at her baby blue's instead of her cleavage…or maybe she was too far gone to know or care. Probably the latter, since I long ago mastered the art of inconspicuous cleavage peeking. (I'm so tempted to make up another new word here…somehow 'cleaking' doesn't quite have the right ring to it...but I shall resist.)<br />
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Oh yeah. Fran continued with the kisses, but upped the ante to two on each cheek. <br />
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Did I mention that my two new friends were getting shit-faced? Now, I like women when they're a little giddy, but when they get too drunk it can be a very un-pretty sight. That is, of course, unless I'm also shit-faced...in which case I wouldn't notice. Of course, the fact that I did notice is proof positive that I wasn't shit-faced. Wow, my logic is so perfect it scares me sometimes. (<em>quod erat demonstrandum</em>)<br />
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I started spending more time with my buddy and his new friend. She was getting a little tipsy and the conversation got very interesting. Turns out she was married, but she had a thing for older white guys with gray hair. And, as we say in New York, she was looking for a little "strange"…a little something "on the side"...so to speak. Upon hearing this I really perked up (get your mind out of the gutter…there isn't room for all of us there) and did a quick scan of the room. Well, there were only two older 'cotton heads' in the bar…and I was one of them. <br />
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Shit…she had to go and spoil my fantasy by saying she was interested in the other guy. I kidded that I was insulted. She said she was originally attracted to me…that's why she struck up a conversation with my buddy…but that after talking with me she thought I was too nice of a guy for her. The ensuing conversation went like this:<br />
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"So, you like more of the bad boy type, huh?"<br />
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"Yes. You're better looking than him, but he looks like the bad boy type to me."<br />
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"Well, I can be a bad boy too, ya' know."<br />
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"Really? But you seem like such a nice guy. It's hard to believe. I don't think so."<br />
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"Okay then, girl. Maybe I should just bend you over that bar stool and spank your ass real good. How'd you like that?"<br />
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"Oh yeah baby," she squealed with delight and grabbed my arm, "that's the kind of thing I'm lookin' for."<br />
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By the way, I kid you not. This actually happened. Verbatim.<br />
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The woman ultimately left to pursue the remaining cotton head, and I got tired of standing, so my buddy and I found a couple of lounge stools and we shot the shit for who knows how long. In case you don't know, 'shot the shit' is a technical term meaning we talked. <br />
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Suddenly, there was a bit of a ruckus at the bar, but all we could see was a crowd of people stepping away from it as we heard the sound of glasses shattering on the floor, and cries of "Oh my god" and "Are you okay?" <br />
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It took a few seconds more for the unmistakable scent of vomit to waft our way. <br />
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First the bad news. My new friend Fran had just up-chucked at the bar. The good news is that the empty bar stool to her left was the only victim. Carla would normally have been sitting there, but, fortunately for her, she was on a potty break.<br />
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After the air cleared, literally and figuratively, I went over to see if Fran was okay. She started into a glassy-eyed "Oh, here's my sweet friend. Isn't he…" but I stopped her in midstream because I sure as hell didn't want that peck on the cheek. Instead, I took her hand. <br />
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Big mistake!!<br />
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Everything got cleaned up pretty good. Everything but Fran's hand. <br />
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Yes. That's right. I was holding a gooey vomit hand. A very gooey vomit hand. It was wet. It was clammy. It was sticky. It had little solid vomit bits mixed in. Arggh.<br />
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That was my first time…my first time holding a gooey vomit hand.<br />
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Aren't you glad I shared?<br />
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<em>Badaboom Badabing...</em>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-59371892907654159642011-06-15T18:31:00.005-04:002011-06-22T09:57:45.059-04:00Let Me Hear a Melody...So...I've been hanging out at Facebook with some old friends from high school, and I saw a picture of our old football coach posted that triggered an acute <em>neuropsychologic</em> transferrence. <em>Okay, okay...so I made that term up</em>. In layman's terms it means that a memory bubbled up from the subconscious to the conscious part of my brain...and that's what triggered this post.<br /><br />If you are of a certain vintage you might recall the Mitch Miller Show...it aired in the 60's. The theme song went like this: <br /><br /><center><em>Let me hear a melody...I 'd like to sing along...loud and strong…</em></center> <br /><br />The Mitch Miller singers would sing all these old tunes and a bouncing ball would appear on the tv screen over the lyrics. Why? Well...in case you wanted to sing along, of course.<br /><br />Anyway...let me get back on point. <br /><br />Every year the junior class of our school would sponsor a talent show...called...you guessed it...the Junior Class Talent Show. A couple of us from the football team decided that we would enter...and sing some Mitch Miller songs. Alright, alright...I can hear you saying <em>"Oh My Gawd..he's got to be kidding."</em> Well, I kid you not. We entered.<br /><br />We decided to call ourselves Mondo's Boys in honor of our backfield coach...whose name was Mr. Kane. <em>Yeah, yeah...I can smell the wood burning now</em>...you're trying to figure out how in hell that has anything to do with the coach's name. Well...read on and ye shall be rewarded.<br /><br />During the 60's there was a movie called Mondo Cane (Latin translation...Dog's World). It was one of the first "shocumentary" films of that era and it featured some of mankind's cruel rituals and bizarre behaviors. <em>I know you're dying for me to tell you about them...but I'm not going to</em>...except for the part about the women in Lapland who would bite the b---s off reindeers. <em>Aren't you glad I mentioned that?</em> I thought so.<br /><br /><em>So how does that relate to the coach and the group's name?</em> I know that's what you're thinking. Please be patient. Okay...so if you were a Latin afficionado, you'd know that the correct pronunciation of Cane is Cah-nay. But... if you were a dumb football player...like me and the boys...how might you pronounce Cane? I'll give you a hint...fill in the blank...<em>Candy</em> ____... Which rhymes with...<em>K-A-N-E</em>. Oh...and did I mention that the coach was a bit rotund? (Think mondo->world->round) <em>Now...do I need to connect the dots for you...or can you see how the name Mondo's Boys was born?</em> Clever huh? I think a few six-packs of beer may have played a minor role in that exercise as well.<br /><br />So...Mondo's Boys was born. And here's a picture of us. In the back row is Jimmy, JJ, me, and Earl. In the front row there's Carl, Simo, and Ronnie. And Billy aka "Gertie" is at the mike.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJUZ4Fv3xtVhEYjpQKK2tT5ML6TZQjlcZXEwcuL00FIPoMJfy5THCSRJCwkP7p8Di1qldnsvbtPGTmxJXZRUwzXFWrfaykZaDZhshhTQerIIEHi-S7Skks3av_Lt5ro_nc16xtA/s1600/mondos+boys.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGJUZ4Fv3xtVhEYjpQKK2tT5ML6TZQjlcZXEwcuL00FIPoMJfy5THCSRJCwkP7p8Di1qldnsvbtPGTmxJXZRUwzXFWrfaykZaDZhshhTQerIIEHi-S7Skks3av_Lt5ro_nc16xtA/s320/mondos+boys.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618579286986982290" /></a><br />We were given time to perform five songs: <em>I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover</em>, <em>Ain't She Sweet</em>, <em>The Man On The Flying Trapeze</em>, <em>By The Light Of The Silvery Moon</em>, and <em>Down By The Old Mill Stream</em>. I can still remember the words to those songs.<br /><br />We opened with <em>I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover</em>, performed in classical Mitch Miller full-chorus style: <br /><br /><center><em>"I'm looking over a four leaf clover...that I've overlooked before. One leaf is sunshine...the second is rain. Third is the roses that grow in the lane..."</em></center><br /><br />Our second number was <em>Ain't She Sweet</em>...performed in conjunction with a soft-shoe routine. Oh yes, we could dance too: <br /><br /><center><em>"Ain't she sweet...see her walking down the street. Now I ask you very confidentially...ain't she sweet…"</em></center><br /><br />The third number was <em>The Man On The Flying Trapeze</em> in which I had a solo part:<br /><br />Chorus: <em>He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease...the daring young man on the flying trapeze…</em><br />…<br />My Solo: <em>"Oh, once I was happy, but now I'm forlorn…like an old coat that is tattered and torn…left in this wide world to fret and to mourn…betrayed by a maid in her teens"</em><br />…<br /><br />And our fourth number, which brought the house down, was <em>By The Light Of The Silvery Moon</em>. We decided to give it our own personal touch:<br /><br />Main chorus: <em>"By the light..."</em><br />Back chorus: <em>"not the dark but the light"</em><br />Main chorus: <em>"of the silvery moon..."</em><br />Back chorus: <em>"not the sun but the moon"</em><br />Main chorus: <em>"we love to spoon…"</em><br />Back chorus: <em>"not knife but spoon"</em><br />Main chorus: <em>"to my honey I croon love's tune…"</em><br /><br />Anyway...by the time we finished we got a standing ovation...and won second place. Unlike us, the winners...a jazz & vocal trio...had some real talent.<br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-70088693479591549322011-06-09T10:28:00.003-04:002011-06-09T10:37:41.680-04:00The Flora Dora Sisters<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxP4jmRnuOgylGVaq5uAmL43aCXdOJXywaPaay4xuzm34WsEGx_0y5YRm_-zNr3QhBy-sIWaAtzeMTgZMstKjFtTTVPX8U_GPzZd7j2rP6roLiuTWsGKecguWccVadFTvE4HNTwg/s1600/445browntwins1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxP4jmRnuOgylGVaq5uAmL43aCXdOJXywaPaay4xuzm34WsEGx_0y5YRm_-zNr3QhBy-sIWaAtzeMTgZMstKjFtTTVPX8U_GPzZd7j2rP6roLiuTWsGKecguWccVadFTvE4HNTwg/s320/445browntwins1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616227399123496482" border="0" /></a><br />An email from my sister, mentioning some very old relatives, was the catalyst for this post. Two twin sisters, known affectionately as the Flora Dora sisters, are cousins of mine...probably three or four times removed. Those are not their real names, but that's what we’ve always called them. They lived together, always dressed identically, and for the whole time I've known them I couldn't tell Flora from Dora.<br /><br />For my entire life the Flora Dora sisters have been fixtures at family weddings and funerals. I remember my mother telling me that they loved to dance. My only memory of them dancing was at a cousin's wedding when I was in my 20’s . Every time the band played they’d stand up, clap their hands to the beat, and shift their weight from one foot to the other. I guess that was dancing to them, but to me it looked like two little wooden soldiers marching in place to the music. Not to be too critical…at least they kept time to the beat.<br /><br />There aren't too many weddings anymore, so for the past few decades I've only seen them at funerals. They’ve always prided themselves on never missing a funeral...and would always seem to show up before anyone else...rosary beads in hand... dressed in identical black mourning clothes. I have this mental picture them showing up at the funeral home 15 minutes beforehand waiting for the doors to open. How quickly they found out who died remains a mystery to me...Facebook perhaps? I think not.<br /><br />Whenever they'd see me they would always <strike>attack</strike> approach in tandem, arms outstretched, surround me with hugs, and plant very wet kisses all over my face. Did I mention they had whiskers? Anyway, after <strike>slobbering</strike> smothering me with kisses, they’d nod towards the coffin. Then Dora…or maybe it was Flora…would invariably say “Such a shame”dabbing her eye with a tissue…and her twin would say…nodding her head knowingly…“God decided to take him.” The only variation in this statement over the last 40 years was that sometimes “her” replaced “him.”<br /><br />I have no clue how old they are...they've always looked 80-something to me. The family joke was that they'd probably outlive everyone else, and when they died there wouldn't be anyone left to attend their funerals. I'm not even sure if they're still alive...guess I'll have to wait until the next funeral to find out.<br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-18447228800436949602011-01-19T15:40:00.003-05:002011-01-19T15:53:41.676-05:00Expanding My VocabularyThere was this guy who lived in my neighborhood when I was a teenager. We called him Jimmy's Taxi…because his name was Jimmy…and he drove a taxi. Yes, we were very creative back then. Anyway, Jimmy was probably in his 30's or 40's, and single. He rented a room in a house about two blocks from mine. His taxi was old…real old. It was painted a bluish gray…with "Jimmy's Taxi" displayed in faded red lettering on the two front doors.<br /><br />Several evenings per week Jimmy would park his taxi on Taylor Road, which was kind of an access road that ran parallel to the parkway across from my house. It was a very wide road, with houses on one side that were set way back. I'd often see him there when I took my dog for a walk at night. Sometimes he'd be there by himself, smoking a cigarette while lounging back in the front seat with his long skinny legs sticking out from the driver side window. More times than not I saw him with one of his girlfriends. And sometimes I just saw the car…rocking up and down…a definite sign that Jimmy was gettin' some. I often wondered how he could manage a prone position without his feet jamming up against the window because he was more than six feet tall.<br /><br />Well, one night the car was bucking up and down with more than usual vigor. The front window was open a bit, and I could clearly hear the grunts and groans as I walked the dog on the opposite side of the street. I was tempted to get closer and maybe catch a peek of the action, but was worried that the dog would get spooked by the mating sounds and start barking…and I didn't want to put the kabash on Jimmy's fun. Instead, I just continued down the street.<br /><br />On my way to school the next day, I stopped by my friend Billy's house. Billy wasn't quite ready, so his mom told me to have a seat at the kitchen table while I waited. Billy's mom was really cool. She was a big, rotund woman. She always had a smile on her face and she had an incredible sense of humor.<br /><br />"Did you hear about Jimmy's Taxi?" she asked.<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"He died in the saddle. They found him parked in his car on Taylor Road."<br /><br />The look on my face made it clear that I had no clue what she meant by dying in the saddle. She broke into a laugh. I shrugged my shoulders and looked at her expectantly. That made her laugh even harder.<br /><br />"Billeee…," she yelled. "Come out here and educate Joey."<br /><br />She resumed her laughing until Billy came into the kitchen.<br /><br />The first thing Billy said to me was "You hear about Jimmy's Taxi? He died in the saddle last night."<br /><br />"Joey doesn't know what that means," his mom said. She was now laughing so hard her face had turned a beet red.<br /><br />"He was porkin' his girlfriend in the car and had a heart attack," Billy said. "Died right there on top of her."<br /><br />"You're shittin' me," I said, forgetting for a moment that Billy's mother was there. "I saw his car there last night when I walked the dog. He was really going at it."<br /><br />"They had to call the fire department to pry her loose," his mother said, wiping the tears running down her cheeks. "God, I'd give anything to have seen the look on her face."<br /><br />Now...I know we should have felt sorry for Jimmy, but for some reason all we could think about was the image of the firemen showing up and finding the two of them like that. I almost peed in my pants laughing.<br /><br />On the bright side…my vocabulary was enhanced a bit that morning.<br /><br />By the way, this is a true story. It was inspired by my connection with an old neighborhood friend on Facebook a few days ago. He lived about a hundred feet from where Jimmy died.<br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-88258653283790982802011-01-14T16:09:00.005-05:002011-01-14T16:27:29.554-05:00Badabing Is BackI can't believe it's been more than a year since I've posted here...but, I'm baaaack!!<br /><br />Oh...and Happy New Year to all. Here's how mine is going so far:<br /><br /><li>I came down with a nasty sinus infection on New Year's Eve...that I'm just now getting over<br /><li>Went to the doc to get something for it and find out that my blood pressure and cholesterol are both sky high...what's with that?<br /><li>Oh...and the doc wants me to have an MRI of the brain...no, not to see if I actually have one...to see if I'm about to have a stroke or something<br /><li>The weather here is cold enough to freeze the ballinos off a brass monkey...and my heating costs have increased 300% over the last 10 years...about the same amount as my income has decreased<br /><br />Other than that...everything is just dandy.<br /><br /><br /><em>Badabing Badaboom...</em><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-6386834387549201472008-11-17T18:26:00.004-05:002008-11-17T18:40:12.162-05:00Happy Birthday DaddyHalloween was my birthday. My daughter cooked me an excellent meal of veal scallopini, and we had a decadent dessert of handmade chocolates and thirty-year-old port wine. Here is the cover of the birthday card she gave me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr9E69yNTLQwXsttZRD6td6UFimEUJKjLxAD_vwT907S9ehVsTk0IZwdw3rdPCXVHJKXl9PVT_MSpX8KFNHOnwpLzjouAWm78vNI0eQ9bSF5vn_RqlbvdcTet486GTpR4lCIMDQ/s1600-h/My+Birthday+Card.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYr9E69yNTLQwXsttZRD6td6UFimEUJKjLxAD_vwT907S9ehVsTk0IZwdw3rdPCXVHJKXl9PVT_MSpX8KFNHOnwpLzjouAWm78vNI0eQ9bSF5vn_RqlbvdcTet486GTpR4lCIMDQ/s320/My+Birthday+Card.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269772686024131250" /></a><br /><br />Inside, the message was <em>See, there are things more frightening than Halloween</em>.<br /><br />I wonder who she inherited her <strike>warped</strike> sense of humor from :-) Would you believe me if I told you that the dinner conversation included a discussion of whether the guy was wearing a thong...or nothong at all?<br /><br />I know my friend <a href="http:/www.oldhorsetailsnake.blogspot.com">Old Horsetail Snake</a> is gonna' love this since he's such a fan of butt crack...only kidding of course.<br /><br />That's all for now...I still have 700 more words to write in order to make my NaNoWriMo budget for the day.<br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-61409411159139096622008-09-29T12:37:00.003-04:002008-09-29T12:42:42.215-04:00U.S. Replaces Eagle As National SymbolI just couldn't resist posting this.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitE3bW0vvZbgtDX4XG1H4gGZxTRqQmFpXEI9i7V3LyQGIqbzzEmZjlv9n3X5ZNf-0_rI6lP075qMU5oYElyA1Qv8O4YGjzrYL3tJ6ppMjEwYRT-Yk11gU_awkXJP0mU9-KsbDpgA/s1600-h/condom+policy.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitE3bW0vvZbgtDX4XG1H4gGZxTRqQmFpXEI9i7V3LyQGIqbzzEmZjlv9n3X5ZNf-0_rI6lP075qMU5oYElyA1Qv8O4YGjzrYL3tJ6ppMjEwYRT-Yk11gU_awkXJP0mU9-KsbDpgA/s320/condom+policy.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251483935791178498" /></a><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-20555678220903822382008-09-09T16:42:00.005-04:002008-09-09T17:23:03.882-04:00Sometimes It Pays To ProcrastinateMy wife has been <strike>bugging the shit out of me</strike> urging me for <strike>weeks</strike> at least a year to have some trees cut down around the yard. Everytime a storm comes through she looks out the window, shakes her head, and mutters expletives that I'm glad I can't hear. <br /><br />Each time this happens I counter with something like...<em>the tree surgeon quoted at least $1,000 per tree</em>...<em>hell, I could have real surgery for that kind of money</em>...<em>I'm sure I can find someone to do it cheaper</em>...<em>blah, blah, blah</em>. You get the picture.<br /><br />So...while I was playing in the mountains out West, Hanna blew by the old homestead and left this little present to welcome me back.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi921BBE3BSCSsE5PG6yNSPksMXY4w0zqgHjMTjZHxKWeA9QjcH4w8dkUGD9LWCXToGFwUzaOosU95X0xcM_e-mwyaKvmY3TsGhzLJvva2M_ZdlR0z0k5zUAVisBwiQAgX7rZrtEw/s1600-h/hannatree.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi921BBE3BSCSsE5PG6yNSPksMXY4w0zqgHjMTjZHxKWeA9QjcH4w8dkUGD9LWCXToGFwUzaOosU95X0xcM_e-mwyaKvmY3TsGhzLJvva2M_ZdlR0z0k5zUAVisBwiQAgX7rZrtEw/s320/hannatree.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5244125837133614178" /></a><br />My son was able to cut up the smaller pieces with our chain saw, but I had to call for help to tackle the big guys. I managed to find someone locally who cleaned it all up in an hour or two.<br /><br />Now, there's still a few more trees that wifey is <strike>bitching</strike> concerned about, so I'm hoping Ike does the right thing if he passes by our way. :-)<br /><br />Of course the lesson to be learned here is...to misquote Benjamin Franklin (I think it was him)...<em>Always put off till tomorrow what will cost you a shitload of bucks today!</em><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-297409199858975732008-09-08T17:52:00.002-04:002008-09-08T18:29:37.836-04:00Where In The World is Badabing?I can't believe it's been a month since my last post. I've definitely got to get some discipline here...another New Year's resolution down the tubes.<br /><br />Anyway, can you guess where I am? Actually, that's not where I am...it's where I was last week. Here's a hint.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/otc2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/otc2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br />Still can't guess? Here's another hint.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/otc1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/otc1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I selected that pic because my wife thought it looked like me...when I was much younger.<br /><br />Give up yet? Go <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/OlympicTrainingCenter.html">here</a> to find out.<br /><br />And yes, that would be Mrs. Badabing in the picture.Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-6154818366914629972008-08-08T12:54:00.003-04:002008-08-08T12:59:23.096-04:00Let The Weekend Begin...Here's a little somethin' to start the weekend off with...do this BEFORE you have a drink :-)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQqVMAOO921SFk1uLTaW21PT-sWRWVWvTbg3fcK5RGa-TvsZpOsZxUVSjx53KXELFBVhz6r_L9AE67dHhsn13hPAP05Nz_azQdtY_pAoYO-xwtn6JZcar8Jl0ATI2vEOQLwq8NQ/s1600-h/lines.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIQqVMAOO921SFk1uLTaW21PT-sWRWVWvTbg3fcK5RGa-TvsZpOsZxUVSjx53KXELFBVhz6r_L9AE67dHhsn13hPAP05Nz_azQdtY_pAoYO-xwtn6JZcar8Jl0ATI2vEOQLwq8NQ/s320/lines.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232192094386200210" /></a><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-49401786739618532812008-08-05T17:56:00.003-04:002008-08-05T18:46:00.136-04:00Couldn't Think of Anything Else to Post...Checkout this video clip of a huge dead snake.<br /><br /><CENTER><br /><p><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/clips/LargeDeadSnake.wmv" autostart="false"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/clips/LargeDeadSnake.wmv" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350" autostart="false"></embed></object></p><br /></CENTER><br /><br />For anyone who has trouble getting this to play in your browser, try <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/clips/LargeDeadSnake.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-24776673196653825122008-07-24T09:47:00.005-04:002008-07-24T10:40:17.547-04:00Pick Me a Winner...You know how when someone yawns it becomes contagious? Well, I just discovered another little habit that is also contagious and I thought I'd share it with you.<br /><br />A warning...some readers may find that the subject of this post a bit unappetizing...or even downright disgusting...so I shall start by using the proper medical term to describe this benign contagion that I guarantee everyone you know...including yourself...has at one point or another had first hand experience with...<strong>rhinotillexis</strong>. Yes, rhinotillexis.<br /><br />In case you're wondering what the hell rhinotillexis is, I'll give you a hint: First, look at the title of this post. need a stronger hint? Look at the picture below.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRwCxKrvpAu6Hv4qScYbaXjPot8WelMr91Hr53lWGcjMDF-WZD7gApsiIUd9uKxctGxnbhcPQmElUuVD3n3VgF_ptDH4m7UXd9lgO6JXGG9XZcUGEsMsYtFhO9zO4XdMI2u3gpcg/s1600-h/nose_picking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRwCxKrvpAu6Hv4qScYbaXjPot8WelMr91Hr53lWGcjMDF-WZD7gApsiIUd9uKxctGxnbhcPQmElUuVD3n3VgF_ptDH4m7UXd9lgO6JXGG9XZcUGEsMsYtFhO9zO4XdMI2u3gpcg/s320/nose_picking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226580243204782050" /></a><br />Yep...that's right...good old-fashioned nose picking. Who'd have thought there was a medical definition of this. There's even a term to describe extreme nose picking...<strong>rhinotillexomania</strong>.<br /><br />In case you're wondering how I came up with this topic...it all started last week on my way to Chicago.<br /><br />I was on the rental car shuttle bus going from the airport to the car lot...just minding my own business like I always do. I took notice of this guy who was standing about five feet away from me.<br /><br />He had his pinky finger stuck up his nose. It took him about 10 seconds of vigourous picking to realize that a pinky wasn't the right tool for the job, so he inserted his index finger.<br /><br />No luck with the index finger, so after another five seconds he ended up using his thumb...obviously to get a better angle. <br /><br />Finally, after another few seconds of twisting and picking...success!<br /><br />In case you're wondering what he did with his new found treasure...he flicked it on the floor of the van.<br /><br />Disgusting? Hey, I can think of several worse places he could have flicked it.<br /><br />It gets even better.<br /><br />He started on the other nostril. Now, I've got to give the guy credit...he was a fast learner. This time he didn't waste any time using his smaller digits. No, he went with the big gun right away. Of course, to get the right angle on the booger he used the opposite thumb this time.<br /><br />All the way to the car lot, about a 10 minute ride, he picked and flicked and at the same time maintained a conversation with a colleague of his. Fortunately for me, the van was not full and I was able to slide out of flicking range.<br /><br />As I was observing mister flicker, I looked around to see some other passengers on the van watching him too. <br /><br />Guess what?<br /><br />Several other passengers began picking. I kid you not. Hell, I almost started too, but I caught myself and realized what I was doing just as I pinched my nose between thumb and index finger.<br /><br />So there...be very careful and on guard the next time you pull up to a traffic light and notice the driver next to you rhinotillexing in the privacy of his or her own vehicle. Now...doesn't that sound much better when you use the medical term?<br /><br />That's all for now...time for lunch :-)<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-53160648758150789952008-07-20T12:20:00.002-04:002008-07-20T12:24:42.282-04:00Computers...A Woman's Point of ViewI just couldn't resist this one.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgNgP6yybVPeoiEoE5VvLw46DKdMyNSb4gT3wOLpQP-HYQqye5kgg1N6m8krzm4s9TTGaGnhN1QG06vDpaKo5qdUGcM-etbT-LOaonN9XT9qHT2UAxRT-z1fmOA2kQzGZSD8lFg/s1600-h/image001.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgNgP6yybVPeoiEoE5VvLw46DKdMyNSb4gT3wOLpQP-HYQqye5kgg1N6m8krzm4s9TTGaGnhN1QG06vDpaKo5qdUGcM-etbT-LOaonN9XT9qHT2UAxRT-z1fmOA2kQzGZSD8lFg/s320/image001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225132379794409282" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />Badaboom Badabing...<br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badaboomsbadabing.blogspot.com">Home</A> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-92185315368708175542008-06-19T16:07:00.008-04:002008-06-19T16:30:58.789-04:00Have You Seen This Man?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZi7nlOMOlm6TI5yA40F4n5IUdazyftWficboWJtU789CzpWeyB4j3o0CAX6cptfpeRJOZ5ESmbzM667cnxsziKd3zDs-lv9_TSocWz_yPD1LyyQ6w-HXPMXfmOo8zx4AAXKR2DA/s1600-h/selfportrait.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZi7nlOMOlm6TI5yA40F4n5IUdazyftWficboWJtU789CzpWeyB4j3o0CAX6cptfpeRJOZ5ESmbzM667cnxsziKd3zDs-lv9_TSocWz_yPD1LyyQ6w-HXPMXfmOo8zx4AAXKR2DA/s320/selfportrait.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213689424603774370" /></a><br /><br />No...that is not a sketch from America's Most Wanted...it is supposed to be me. Hah...it's a self-portrait. Hey, at least it looks human...but it doesn't look like me except for the shape of the hair and the forehead wrinkles...and, according to my wife, the piercing eyes.<br /><br />I've always sucked at drawing so I decided to try and learn. I picked up this really cool book entitled <strong><em>Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain</em></strong>, by Betty Edwards. She's an artist with a PhD in psychology and has studied why many people have so much difficulty with drawing. The book contains a set of exercises designed to let the brain's right hemisphere dominate and help one to learn how to draw. Before teaching the techniques she asks students to do a self-portrait and a sketch of their hand. These came out better than I ever imagined. The thumb actually looks like mine.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdTZ-zD0sx02XtX-ze9Gaxrh9EOVFzDJULPNa11XaHjrB1Ttong37l1n6Gm7Ev0KuLCIf5z7GWegsVa8ToHoKWxfGlRESB2AxT0gralTT3RBrllcbYebO9nTYnfgJhFzik8M9wQ/s1600-h/handsketch.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYdTZ-zD0sx02XtX-ze9Gaxrh9EOVFzDJULPNa11XaHjrB1Ttong37l1n6Gm7Ev0KuLCIf5z7GWegsVa8ToHoKWxfGlRESB2AxT0gralTT3RBrllcbYebO9nTYnfgJhFzik8M9wQ/s320/handsketch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213688811520861922" /></a><br /><br />Hmm...I wonder if she'll teach us how to illustrate gray hair with a black pencil?<br /><br /><br />Anyway...please excuse me while I go round up some naked female models to practice on :-)<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-68529879136600580542008-05-27T11:37:00.002-04:002008-05-27T11:40:57.829-04:00How To Spend Your Tax Rebate PatrioticallyThe Federal Government is sending each of us a $600 rebate.<br /><br />If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, the money will go to China.<br />If we spend it on gasoline it will go to the Arabs. <br />If we buy a computer, It will go to India. <br />If we purchase fruit and vegetables, it will go to Mexico, Honduras, and Guatemala.<br />If we purchase a good car, it will go to Japan.<br />If we purchase useless crap,it will go to Taiwan and none of it will help the American economy.<br /><br />The only way to keep that money here at home is to spend it on prostitutes and beer, since these are the only products still produced in the US.<br /><br />So...do your patriotic duty...as often as possible.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabiing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-19609178381563215162008-05-12T09:29:00.004-04:002008-05-12T09:49:31.064-04:00News Flash...Hillary BustedRumors have been circulating for years now. Some have dismissed them...some have believed them...and some have wondered if they're true.<br /><br />For those who were on the fence, wonder no more. <br /><br />Badabing, ever the intrepid photographer, snapped this photo of the unsuspecting senator with her fly open in a West Virginia men's room this weekend. And, as we all know, the camera does not lie.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX6WQietTfGK-qk3HywE2Ei-IYp-4BcpdRSG16P-P0u_bYdsu0BYndMjqkJ3oHpToKIr-e0HOGGtwMRUD_s7yMAdPNWSnyUVlvRyuVIjMk-f8wkXI5S8-6iYyIN-9ywgty1vTvQ/s1600-h/hillary.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAX6WQietTfGK-qk3HywE2Ei-IYp-4BcpdRSG16P-P0u_bYdsu0BYndMjqkJ3oHpToKIr-e0HOGGtwMRUD_s7yMAdPNWSnyUVlvRyuVIjMk-f8wkXI5S8-6iYyIN-9ywgty1vTvQ/s320/hillary.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199484579976718546" /></a><br />There...now it's out. <br /><br />I must say I am impressed she can do it hands-free...that's quite manly.<br /><br />I do wonder though...does Bill know?<br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-1716237073385155882008-04-22T17:04:00.007-04:002008-04-24T10:16:36.258-04:00Happy Earth DayOkay, okay, so I'm two days late. I had a senior moment and forgot.<br /><br />Anyway...a while ago, I did a post about the evidence that has come to light regarding global warming. Today, in honor of Earth Day, I shall post one of the primary reasons behind the global warming crisis…and it will surprise you I'm sure.<br /><br />When most people think about global warming, they think of carbon dioxide as a key driver of the crisis. Scientists have recently discovered, however, that the new threat is really <strong>methane gas</strong>, which is 25 times more potent than carbon monoxide in contributing to the global warming effect.<br /><br />And, believe it or not…<strong>cows are the culprets</strong>. Yes, cows. As in Mollie Mollie Moo Cow. More specifically, cow burps and cow farts. I shit you not. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidybeEwl9FRVBHUircHwqZcO12owHmeA_K2p_0XL1doglRQK4Q4gjgi6qvgv9ClRrxDJNd8VvndM2acSA9MM0Jg9PRiE3VB-r9_Wu699vUyCnfkvnJYCfVZacperatkKZMabznag/s1600-h/cows.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidybeEwl9FRVBHUircHwqZcO12owHmeA_K2p_0XL1doglRQK4Q4gjgi6qvgv9ClRrxDJNd8VvndM2acSA9MM0Jg9PRiE3VB-r9_Wu699vUyCnfkvnJYCfVZacperatkKZMabznag/s320/cows.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192182284632839042" /></a><br /><br />In fact, in Australia alone, cow farts and cow belches account for 90 percent of methane emissions in the agricultural sector. <br /><br />Let me start with cow burps. At first thought it's hard to imagine this being harmful...but, I have done the research and what I have found is not pretty.<br /><br />Scientists have estimated that your average cow burps up 140 liters of methane gas daily…that's about 140 2-liter soda bottles worth. Unfortunately, burped methane is difficult to contain, with the result that about six million metric tons of it float blissfully up into the atmosphere each year. And that's just from cows in the United States. To make matters worse, the world cow population has doubled in size over the last 40 years, to more than 1 billion polluting bovines.<br /><br />Unfortunately, the possibilities for mitigating the effects of cow burps are not good. See, it's really hard to capture burped up methane. <br /><br />One group of scientists have proposed a sort of one-way pacifier device. Inserted in the cows tracheal tube, it would allow food to pass in but not allow anything to pass out. While early tests showed encouraging results, all involved agreed it would be quite expensive to fit the world's 1 billion cows with such a device. <br /><br />The real kicker, though, came from PETA, which claimed that this action would be abusive to the bovine community and also result in suppressing the traditional moo sound made by cows…thereby depriving them of their ancestral right to burp.<br /><br />Bovine Beano has also been proposed a possible solution, but an effective formula has thus far eluded scientists.<br /><br />So, at least for the time being, it seems we will just have to live with cow burp pollutants. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTWXsavNzI6uDa2yWfvOyOr61PL8tQoJY5BRyxvEm9jyJ41KmIPZNk2avLdFSghdx6vTXNroz70HMjSEmsQOQQ7tQuHmq_zIQJuBA4eflhxUDRz6WmfHhCSq73P9gJkgHdmU-2g/s1600-h/cowfarts.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTWXsavNzI6uDa2yWfvOyOr61PL8tQoJY5BRyxvEm9jyJ41KmIPZNk2avLdFSghdx6vTXNroz70HMjSEmsQOQQ7tQuHmq_zIQJuBA4eflhxUDRz6WmfHhCSq73P9gJkgHdmU-2g/s320/cowfarts.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192812579673461666" /></a><br /><br />Scientists are now in the process of measuring the quantity of methane gas in cow farts, and preliminary research indicates that the total quantity of methane gas contained in cow farts is essentially the same as the quantity in cow burps.<br /><br />Now, when it comes to dealing with cow farts, the future is much less bleak...because I have designed a solution to the problem.<br /><br />And...I've already talked to my patent attorney about it. So watch out Warren Buffet…my name's gonna' be right up there next to yours on the world's richest men list real soon. <br /><br />Because I'm such a nice guy, I will share my idea with you. Very simply, it's for a fart lighting machine. Specifically, and this name was recommended by my patent attorney, we are calling it "A Methane-Sensitive Rectal-Mounted Bovine Incendiary Catalyst System." We are thinking about dropping the 'bovine' modifier so that the patent will be adaptable to any rectal-mounted fart igniting device, but the first application will be directed specifically to cows.<br /><br />The idea is quite ingenious if I say so myself. We start with a sleeve-like device that slides over the cow's tail and protects it from flashburn. At one end of the device, near the anus, is a little gizmo that constantly senses for methane. When methane is expelled...badaboom badabing...the device simply lights the fart...eliminating the methane contaminant. An optional accessory would be an attachable fire-resistant shield that could be mounted on the rectal end of the sleeve and would help protect the cow's ass from flashburn caused by the ignition. My attorney believes that as long as cows are allowed to continue to fart and we protect them from burns, the PETA folks should be satisfied.<br /><br />So, this is my good deed in honor of Earth Day. I'm just hoping we can push it through the Patent Office before it's too late.<br /><br />Just remember that a burping cow is a polluting cow. And a farting cow is a polluting cow...but not for long.<br /><br />While the cow situation is serious enough, when you factor in the impact of human farts (fortunately, there is no methane gas in human burps) on global warming the future is quite dismal. It is true that cows emit more methane gas per unit fart than humans do. But, scientists have calculated that because humans greatly outnumber cows, and fart at least four to six times more per day, the human contribution to methane gas volume in the atmosphere is approximately the same as that for our bovine friends.<br /><br />Scary, huh?<br /><br />Well, not to worry. I've got a plan.<br /><br />I am calling on everyone out there to pitch in and do something to save the earth. What, you ask? What can I do to help? I've got two simple things everyone can do. <br /><br />One thing is to use Beano on a regular basis. That would certainly help if you are prone to fart after consuming complex carbohydrates. If you combine this with investing in the company that manufactures Beano...before the government mandates the inclusion of Beano in the American diet...you could also retire with a nice nest egg.<br /><br />Another simple thing you can do is to be a good citizen and <strong>light your farts</strong>. Yes...light your farts...on a regular basis. In light of the evidence presented it is your patriotic duty. You could also hold fart parties. Let's do our share to get rid of methane gas! <br /><br />To get you started here are some helpful tips when it comes to lighting farts:<br /><ul><br /><li>It is recommended that one wear thin pants material, preferably in a dark color so as to mask any discoloration from flash burns.<br /><br /><li>It is not recommended to engage in fart lighting when in the nude, particularly for those with hairy posteriors…the backdraft could cause a major fire.<br /><br /><li>It is recommended that one use long wooden matchsticks vs. shorter cardboard book matches for two reasons:<br /><ul><br /><li>One, the match flame is bigger and will resist being blown out by the rush of expelled gas<br /><li>It will mitigate flashburning of the fingertips and knuckles<br /></ul><br /><br /><li>Better yet, and in keeping with the "green" theme…how about using a refillable lighter.<br /></ul><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nlS_rAltCTQLvaOb83OS72pjt-v2Ej6gpwRNWVzgiwtRS6Rw9Fzm9W18z4jkVJuMeRGjq3vjgcKNhRck3MM3rRR5R5nl8SMt68Xloj4ebZ-uu6-ldE0zYqZNr6P7wuIF3qy5OQ/s1600-h/lightingfarts.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1nlS_rAltCTQLvaOb83OS72pjt-v2Ej6gpwRNWVzgiwtRS6Rw9Fzm9W18z4jkVJuMeRGjq3vjgcKNhRck3MM3rRR5R5nl8SMt68Xloj4ebZ-uu6-ldE0zYqZNr6P7wuIF3qy5OQ/s320/lightingfarts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192814259005674418" /></a><br /><br />Just be sure to practice safe fart lighting so that you won't end up like the guy in the cartoon.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Well, that's it for today. I've got to go eat some cabbage and beans and then do my part for the environment.<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-47452999629565624622008-04-14T11:03:00.009-04:002008-04-14T17:30:41.384-04:00I've Got Dance In My Pants......and not much else!<br /><br />Okay, okay...I couldn't think of a better title than that. Plus, it's Monday morning and I've only had one espresso.<br /><br />Anyway, the Badabings did a dance thingy weekend before last. This time we didn't dance together, but chose to dance with instructors. Here's a clip of me doing a fox trot with my teacher.<br /><br /><p><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/clips/Spring2008FoxTrot.wmv" autostart="false"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/clips/Spring2008FoxTrot.wmv" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350" autostart="false"></embed></object></p><br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-4016511152525100392008-04-01T09:23:00.002-04:002008-04-01T09:29:12.953-04:00Finally...The End<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM8uOqA_0nlGsHczqi1QHVz9hsXLK2OLhfXkcHP1hAnSN5xzXGA2SDjg-Ui7KJ9YGOv-Of3tUzaNmUWG8e4RFSDjHN0KpD55PtuyIAwefbDnaQC2ksRvMrTmwnk__VqCbsE7a9A/s1600-h/tiredauthor.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM8uOqA_0nlGsHczqi1QHVz9hsXLK2OLhfXkcHP1hAnSN5xzXGA2SDjg-Ui7KJ9YGOv-Of3tUzaNmUWG8e4RFSDjHN0KpD55PtuyIAwefbDnaQC2ksRvMrTmwnk__VqCbsE7a9A/s320/tiredauthor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184267490375652034" /></a><br />I can't believe I didn't make a single posting in March…either here or on any other blogs. There's a reason. I look like the guy in the cartoon. Well, not really…it's more like I <em>feel</em> like he looks.<br /><br />Anyway, the reason is I've been working at finishing my novel, and I decided to eliminate as many distractions as possible. I didn't even do any reading, which is a first for me.<br /><br />So, I finished weekend before last…and got to type 'THE END'…on the first draft…94 scenes, 70,000 words...and many lessons-learned. <br /><br />I started this project at least four years ago. It is the first attempt in my adult life to do something creative instead of technical or business-related. When I started, getting it published wasn't the real objective…I just wanted to see if I could write the damn thing. I'm still not sure if I'll try to get it published…we'll see how the re-writes turn out. <br /><br />Oh yes, the re-writes…from what I've read that's where the real work starts. Hemingway used to say that "the first draft is excrement." I'm hoping mine isn't all that stinky. <br /><br />Now, excuse me while I clean up my room :-)<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-34848368593549084912008-02-26T16:53:00.004-05:002008-03-05T12:54:26.198-05:00Badaboom Badabing...Get Some Of Those Friggin' Earphone ThingsI am sitting in the airport waiting to board my delayed flight. <br /><br />I am coming down with a cold, the flu, the dreaded lamumba disease...one of those for sure...and I have to give a one hour speech tomorrow...in front of a few hundred people. <br /><br />I guess if my voice gives out I can always entertain them with hand shadows.<br /><br />I am not in a good mood...and it just got worse.<br /><br />Some jamoke is sitting across from me playing rap music on his laptop...loud rap music...shitty rap music...inappropriate rap music. Yep, he's playing it through his laptop's speakers. Everyone is rolling their eyes while he is dancing in his chair.<br /><br />It's hard to hear the passenger announcements he's got it turned up so loud. <br /><br />Hasn't he heard of earphones???<br /><br />Oh shit, now his cell phone rings.<br /><br />"Haya baby...wazzup?" he yells into the phone.<br />"Where you at?"<br />"I be here at da airport. Where you be baby?"<br /><br />I won't bore you with the rest of the conversation.<br /><br />So, how do I know what his 'baby' said? Because he's got the god damned cell phone speaker turned on...I friggin' kid you not. <br /><br />Oh no, I don't believe it...now he's turning the @#$(%#)@@) volume up on his laptop...<br /><br />"Hey baby, let me turn dis up so's you can hear."<br /><br />In all my travels I've never seen this happen before.<br /><br />Thank God, they're calling my flight...I just hope to hell he's not on it!!<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-83854031243588717832008-02-21T19:24:00.003-05:002008-02-21T20:47:09.905-05:00I Hate It When...I hate it when software is poorly designed. I also hate it when the people assigned to help you fix the problem resulting from the poor design have an attitude. <br /><br />On Monday I left for my trip to Chicago, which is where I am right now. I got to the airport and checked the flight status board. Flights were running at least an hour behind schedule. When I checked-in at the kiosk I was offered the choice to change to an earlier flight, so I decided to do that. <br /><br />Now, in the past, when I've been offered a choice to change to another flight, to upgrade, or to change my seat assignments, I've been asked to confirm everything before the change is actually made. This is an important feature to me, because if I'm currently booked in an aisle seat (which I prefer), for example, and I'm given the choice of an upgrade or a seat closer to the front of the plane which is a middle or window seat, I will be able to decline the change and keep my original reservation details intact. <br /><br />Well...some dumbass programmer must have changed the program. (Now, I can say "dumbass programmer" because I once was a programmer...a smartass one, though.) Anyway, before I knew it I was switched to an earlier flight and assigned a middle seat in the rear section of the aircraft. I was going to decline the flight change because of the seat assignment. I had paid $60 more for my original flight so that I could have an aisle seat and more leg room. But...I was never given a chance to confirm...or to have my $60 refunded. The kiosk just spit out my new boarding pass.<br /><br />I went to a ticket agent and began explaining my problem. The arrogant little dickhead wouldn't let me finish, claiming that what I had described was <em>impossible</em>. I calmly explained again what had happened...I explained three additional times...and he interrupted me three additional times...and gave me a <em>your crazy or an imbecile, or both</em> look. I was getting really pissed, but remained calm and polite. I asked him to look up my reservation. He made a face but did what I asked.<br /><br />"You are on flight 623, seat 32E."<br /><br />"Right. The program <em>switched</em> me to that flight and seat. My <em>original</em> reservation was on flight 625, seat 7C."<br /><br />"That's <em>impossible</em>," he said, shaking his head. "I'd see a record if that were true."<br /><br />He tapped on his keyboard...he tapped on about 100 keys...then hit some with his elbow...you know that stuff that ticket agents do. (You'd think somebody would design the system so one could enter a date, a flight number and last name, or a confirmation number, hit enter and get a result...but I stray.) Anyway, while doing his little keyboard dance he was alternating between making faces at the video display and me. <br /><br />He once again concludes that what I have described is <em>impossible</em>. Finally, he asks, in a challenging tone of voice, whether I have any paperwork on the original reservation.<br /><br />"No, but..." The dickhead smirks and interrupts me, shaking his head. <br /><br />At this point I want to punch his lights out, but I am always courteous to ticket agents and gate agents since they can make your day...or make your day hell.<br /><br />"No," I repeat, this time my tone of voice just daring him to interrupt, "but I can boot up my laptop and show you the email confirmation for the original reservation."<br /><br />So I do.<br /><br />And yes, I am correct.<br /><br />"Here ya' go," I said as I handed him the laptop.<br /><br />He gives me another smirk, does a polka on his keyboard, and a few seconds later he hands me a boarding pass...for flight 625, seat 7C, my original confirmation number. He actually turned away from me while handing me the boarding pass, and refused to make eye contact.<br /><br />Friggin' dickhead.<br /><br />"Thank you," I said, "for making the <em>impossible</em> possible." <br /><br />Friggin' double dickhead.Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-57955529733752264382008-02-08T17:22:00.000-05:002008-02-08T17:28:14.109-05:00Two Italian Men Get On A Bus...My sister sent me this and I couldn't resist posting it.<br /><br />A bus stops and 2 Italian men get on. They sit down and engage in an animated conversation. <br /><br />The lady sitting next to them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of them say the following: <br /><br />"Emma come first. <br />Den I come. <br />Den two asses come together. <br />I come once-a-more. <br />Two asses, they come together again. <br />I come again and pee twice. <br />Then I come one lasta time."<br /><br />"You foul-mouthed sex obsessed swine," retorted the lady indignantly. "In this country we don't speak aloud in public places about our sex lives."<br /><br />"Hey, coola down lady," said the man. "Who talkin' abouta sex? I'm a justa <br />tellin' my frienda how to spell Mississippi." <br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em>Badabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-51075751753606136302008-01-30T10:53:00.001-05:002008-01-30T11:12:33.548-05:00Former President Confirms Global Warming Data Is RealNow, everyone knows about global warming, and most people believe that it is real...even if you didn't watch Al Gore's film (which he made a few years after he invented the Internet.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/global_warming.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/global_warming.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />For those few who don't believe it is real, I have provided indisputable evidence...just look at the picture on the right. In case you think I just made that up, you should know that I have confirmed the validity of my data with an authoritative source. I have contacted former President Bill Clinton and shared these findings with him. He has assured me that he can confirm my data without a doubt...based on his own hands-on research and experience. <br /><br /><a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/clinton_eatin.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/clinton_eatin.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Now, I don't know about you, but I don't think he'd say something he didn't mean...or worse, lie about it. Do you?<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/clinton_quarter.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.com/images/clinton_quarter.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><br />I mean, the State of Arkansas has even minted a quarter in his honor.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Anyway, he was very candid with me and confided that research into this phenomenon has been a lifelong passion that continues even today. In fact, he is anticipating even more corroborating data to be available as he travels the country to assist Hillary in her campaign efforts. To put it in his own words, "I'm looking forward to having access to a very rich source of data during the upcoming campaign travels that I can use to continue my own personal research, and I plan to get my hands on as much of it as I can." <br /><br />He then went on to promise me he would share his findings with me. When I suggested he might want to document his research with photographic backup, he said...in that infectious accent of his..."Hey, I like the way you think. Can you recommend a good camera?" <br /><br />Wow, a former president asking for my advice. It was my patriotic duty to respond, so I recommended a small video camera (more exciting to watch than still pics) with a remote control device the size of a credit card (I figured discreetness would be an important feature to him.)<br /><br />Needless to say, my conversation with Slick Willie left me pumped up and enthusiastic, so I decided to do some more research on the topic of global warming...particularly its causes. What I found was astounding.<br /><br />But, this post is already too long, so you'll have to wait until next time...when I'll reveal the true cause of global warming.<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30752089.post-48264973154175185202008-01-25T10:03:00.000-05:002008-01-25T10:45:45.789-05:00One Plus One is...Wait, I Need to Get My CalculatorBefore I forget...I stumbled upon a new blog that I really like, called <a href="http://www.suzlifeandtimes.blogspot.com">Suz Life & Times</a>. I like it so much that I've added it to my favorites list. Suz has a great sense of humor...so go pay her a visit.<br /><br />She and my friend <a href="http://www.imagineomit.blogspot.com">Judy</a> both had some very funny...and scary...recent posts about how <strike>dumb</strike> challenged some folks are when it comes to things like simple logic and arithmetic.<br /><br />This morning I had an experience that reminded me of both their posts. I started posting a comment to Suz, but it got so lengthy I decided to post it here instead.<br /><br />As I write this I'm sitting in Starbucks. I ordered my first coffee from a cashier in her 50's. It cost $3.56, so I gave her a $5 bill and 60 cents. <em>Now, not to get off track here, but if you're thinking it absurd to pay that much for a cup of coffee you should know that decaf triple-tall semi-dry cappuccinos don't come cheap.</em> Anyway, back to my story. It took her all of about 3 seconds to come up with (in her head) how much change I should get back. <br /><br />Now, today being Friday, and me being the adventurous, risk-taking <strike>old fart</strike> soul that I am, I went all out and treated myself to a second coffee. This time the cashier was in her 20's. Same price, $3.56, so I gave her a $20 bill and 60 cents. <br /><br />Has anyone ever seen the proverbial 'deer caught in the headlights' look? <br /><br />Well, that would be her. All movement stopped. She didn't even blink for a good 30 seconds. My first inclination was to tell her how much change I should get back, but I decided to treat this as a little research project so I patiently waited to see how things would play out. Finally, there was movement. Her lips began to tremble. Then she looked at me. Then she looked at her cash register. Then she looked at me again. Just when that first whiff of burning wood hit me, she got that 'Oh, I know how to do this' look. She figured out how to have the cash register figure it out for her. <br /><br />I couldn't resist...so when I took the change I looked at her and asked, accusingly, "Are you sure this is the correct change?" <br /><br />Her response? Well, let's just say that I've already seen two deer and it's not even 10:30 in the morning yet.<br /><br /><br /><em>Badaboom Badabing...</em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />My <a href="http://www.badabingsbadaboom.blogspot.com">Home</a> PageBadabinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14090557200539181943noreply@blogger.com4