Badabing's Badaboom

Let Me Hear a Melody...

2011-06-15T18:31:00.005-04:00

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 neuropsychologic transferrence. Okay, okay...so I made that term up. 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.

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:

Let me hear a melody...I 'd like to sing along...loud and strong…

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.

Anyway...let me get back on point.

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 "Oh My Gawd..he's got to be kidding." Well, I kid you not. We entered.

We decided to call ourselves Mondo's Boys in honor of our backfield coach...whose name was Mr. Kane. Yeah, yeah...I can smell the wood burning now...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.

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. I know you're dying for me to tell you about them...but I'm not going to...except for the part about the women in Lapland who would bite the b---s off reindeers. Aren't you glad I mentioned that? I thought so.

So how does that relate to the coach and the group's name? 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...Candy ____... Which rhymes with...K-A-N-E. Oh...and did I mention that the coach was a bit rotund? (Think mondo->world->round) Now...do I need to connect the dots for you...or can you see how the name Mondo's Boys was born? Clever huh? I think a few six-packs of beer may have played a minor role in that exercise as well.

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.

We were given time to perform five songs: I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover, Ain't She Sweet, The Man On The Flying Trapeze, By The Light Of The Silvery Moon, and Down By The Old Mill Stream. I can still remember the words to those songs.

We opened with I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover, performed in classical Mitch Miller full-chorus style:

"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..."

Our second number was Ain't She Sweet...performed in conjunction with a soft-shoe routine. Oh yes, we could dance too:

"Ain't she sweet...see her walking down the street. Now I ask you very confidentially...ain't she sweet…"

The third number was The Man On The Flying Trapeze in which I had a solo part:

Chorus: He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease...the daring young man on the flying trapeze…
…
My Solo: "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"
…

And our fourth number, which brought the house down, was By The Light Of The Silvery Moon. We decided to give it our own personal touch:

Main chorus: "By the light..."
Back chorus: "not the dark but the light"
Main chorus: "of the silvery moon..."
Back chorus: "not the sun but the moon"
Main chorus: "we love to spoon…"
Back chorus: "not knife but spoon"
Main chorus: "to my honey I croon love's tune…"

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.

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The Flora Dora Sisters

2011-06-09T10:28:00.003-04:00

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.

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.

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.

Whenever they'd see me they would always ~~attack~~ 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 ~~slobbering~~ 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.”

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.

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Expanding My Vocabulary

2011-01-19T15:40:00.003-05:00

There 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.

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.

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.

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.

"Did you hear about Jimmy's Taxi?" she asked.

"No."

"He died in the saddle. They found him parked in his car on Taylor Road."

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.

"Billeee…," she yelled. "Come out here and educate Joey."

She resumed her laughing until Billy came into the kitchen.

The first thing Billy said to me was "You hear about Jimmy's Taxi? He died in the saddle last night."

"Joey doesn't know what that means," his mom said. She was now laughing so hard her face had turned a beet red.

"He was porkin' his girlfriend in the car and had a heart attack," Billy said. "Died right there on top of her."

"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."

"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."

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.

On the bright side…my vocabulary was enhanced a bit that morning.

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.

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Badabing Is Back

2011-01-14T16:09:00.005-05:00

I can't believe it's been more than a year since I've posted here...but, I'm baaaack!!

Oh...and Happy New Year to all. Here's how mine is going so far:

I came down with a nasty sinus infection on New Year's Eve...that I'm just now getting over

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?

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

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

Other than that...everything is just dandy.

Badabing Badaboom...

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The New Economics

2009-07-29T13:44:00.003-04:00

Damn...almost three months since my last post...I've been spending too much time on Facebook, I guess. Anyway, I couldn't resist posting this.

Badabing Badaboom...

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My First 100 #$#%^&^ Days

2009-05-06T09:58:00.003-04:00

Actually...my first 126 days...but who gives a smelly poop...close enough. Just a few of the 'publishable' highlights of my year so far:

All clients but one put their budgets on hold...indefinitely!
Biggest client filed for bankruptcy...did I mention they're into me for five figures?
An engagement I was counting on for May was postponed for two months
Submitted a proposal I was a shoe-in for...twenty minutes later I heard on the radio that an organization-wide spending freeze was announced
As a result of the above, I haven't traveled much...so I have little in the way of "Badabing's Travel" stories to post here
Dog died
Deer hit my car...no insurance coverage...I have to get in & out via the passenger door and climb over the stick shift
Two rental properties are vacant
House needs a new roof
Driveway (1/2 mile long) needs resurfacing
Need a new AC unit for upper floor...probably a new furnace too
Spent inauguration day in the ER
Had two gout attacks in two weeks...#$#%# ouch!!
Reneged on my New Year's resolution to post here at least once a week
Got a flat tire this morning, so I won't be able to meet with prospective tenant this afternoon. To make things worse, the tire doesn't fit into the trunk so I have to drive around with it partially opened. Did I mention that the tire has to be specially ordered & I need to buy two of them?

Other than that, I'm having a great year so far!!

Actually, on the bright side, I have been spending a lot of time on Facebook connecting with high school pals.

Gotta' go now...Geithner's calling me on my cell phone...gonna' share some advice to help me with my tax problems.

Badaboom Badabing...

Just Call Me Foxtrot Freddy...

2009-01-16T13:04:00.003-05:00

Here's a clip of me doing a foxtrot routine back in November. The music is kind of slow, but the judges gave me a great score because it is very difficult to dance to slow music like that...tends to bring out your flaws or showcase your technique, depending on whether you're a pessimist or an optimist.

Here's a direct link in case you have difficulty playing the embedded one above.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Happy New Year

2009-01-13T14:29:00.004-05:00

Happy New Year!!

I was trying to think about which of several humorous stories I should use as my first post of the year.

Then...someone sent me this.

A man sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin. It was a cold December morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that a thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and without stopping continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a 3 year old boy. His mother tugged him along, but the child stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only 6 people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk their normal pace. He collected $32.

When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth over 3.5 million dollars. Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theater in Boston and the seats averaged $100.

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people. The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience couldbe: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

Mabye this year would be a good time to stop and smell the roses...and and hear the music.

May your new year bring unexpected beauty from everyday life!

Badaboom Badabing...

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NaNoWriMo Opening Scene...

2008-12-02T10:21:00.003-05:00

Some people have asked if I was going to post my NaNoWriMo novel. Probably not...it's way too long and unedited at this point. But...here's a piece of the unedited opening scene. I'm planning to go back and read the whole thing later this week to see if it makes any sense.

THE BOCA WIVES CLUB

Manny’s Lounge was half full and the three women were getting their share of gawks and stares from the male patrons. The third round of drinks flushed away any inhibitions the women might have arrived with.

The men didn’t mind one bit. In addition to catching glimpses of cleavage and tanned skin, they enjoyed eavesdropping on the game of truth or dare the thirty-somethings were playing.

“Okay, this one is for Kim,” said Robyn, the curvatious brunette with an obvious boob job. “Truth or dare?”

Kim looked up at the ceiling, her dark almond-shaped eyes accenting her Asian heritage. “Hmm...truth.”

“Okay. How often do you have sex?”

“Ooh, getting personal, huh?”

“Come on, we agreed. Anything goes.”

Kim took a sip of her chardonnay. “Three times. Maybe four times a week.”

Several cheers of approval chimed in from the eavesdroppers.

“You’re kidding,” Robyn said. Her eyes widened in awe. “God bless you.”

“My turn,” said Kim. “Melanie, truth or dare?”

Melanie brushed a wisp of long blond hair behind her ear. “Truth.”

“Same question for you. How many times a week?”

“Three.”

“Three? My God, I so really hate you two,” Robyn said.

The cheers were louder this time.

“Okay, now me,” Melanie said. “Robyn, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Melanie cocked her head in thought.

“Okay. See that hunky bartender over there? I dare you to go over and grab his ass.”

....

Badabing Badaboom...

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Those Two Little Words...

2008-11-28T14:32:00.006-05:00

I did it!!

At precisely 2:32pm today I typed those two wonderful writer words...THE END...and finished my NaNoWriMo challenge. Here's my official badge to prove it:

Yeah, the colors are a tad pukey, but who gives a flying you know what. I ended up with 50782 words. A few days ago I thought I would have closer to 55,000 words, but as I got closer and closer to the goal I guess I became more concise.

I will probably post some thoughts on my NaNoWriMo experience in the days ahead, and will restart making my blog rounds, but for now...

Excuse me while I do my laundry. I'm tired of ~~triple~~ double dipping into my tighty whities.

Badaboom Badabing...

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NaNoWriMo Update

2008-11-24T18:15:00.003-05:00

Yee Ha!!! I'm in the homestretch. As of 6:15 tonight I have written 41,211 words. About 9,000 words to go to make the target...and I have until midnight Sunday to do it, so I'm going to make it. Yeah, yeah...I already thought about that...but just 20 minutes ago. I did back up my work.

It's going to be interesting to see how this style of writing works for me. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. We shall see.

But now, how about I start the week off with a little humor.

Hung Chow calls into work and says, "Hey, I no come work today, I really sick . Got headache, stomach ache and legs hurt. I no come work."

The boss says, "You know something, Hung Chow, I really need you today. When I feel sick like you do, I go to my wife and ask her to give me sex. That makes everything better and I go to work. You try that, okay?"

Hung Chow says, "Okay, boss, I try."

Two hours later Hung Chow calls again.

"I do what you say and I feel great. I be at work soon."

"Very good, Hung Chow," the boss says.

"By the way," Hung Chow says, "You got very nice house."

So much for the humor...I'm not feeling too well. I have a headache, stomach ache, and my legs hurt. I can't write anymore today. Maybe I need to do a Hung Chow. :-)

Actually, I need to get to dance class.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Happy Birthday Daddy

2008-11-17T18:26:00.004-05:00

Halloween 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.

Inside, the message was See, there are things more frightening than Halloween.

I wonder who she inherited her ~~warped~~ 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?

I know my friend Old Horsetail Snake is gonna' love this since he's such a fan of butt crack...only kidding of course.

That's all for now...I still have 700 more words to write in order to make my NaNoWriMo budget for the day.

Badaboom Badabing...

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NaNoWriMo Update

2008-11-11T16:14:00.002-05:00

Ha! I just realized that if I can't think of anything else to post here I can always do a NaNoWriMo update...not that anyone gives a flying you-know-what.

Anyway, on Sunday I went to something called a Write-In. A bunch of NaNoers get together and write for a few hours. I'm really glad that I went. Met new people, got a few thousand words down, etc. Had I stayed at home I would have procrastinated away half the day...and would have spent the other half kicking myself in the ass for not writing.

One of the things we did at the Write-In was to have a few word wars. Someone sets a time limit, like 30 minutes, and everyone tries to write the most words in that time period. I almost opted out, because of my 'edit-as-you-write' style, but decided to participate. After doing it, though, I realized that it could be looked at as a form of stream-of-consciousness writing, which is something that I use and teach in my consulting work. Duh...it never dawned on me before. I actually used this technique to get myself going today.

I calculated that if I write about 2,200 words per day I should be able to finish this thing. So far today I did 2,521 words and have a grand total of 12,963, even though that grand total hasn't been showing correctly on the NaNoWriMo widget.

Oh well...off to crank out a few more scenes before cocktail hour.

Badaboom Badabing...

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NaNoWriMo Update

2008-11-09T12:39:00.003-05:00

Well, since Friday afternoon, I've written a little over 4,000 words for my NaNoWriMo novel challenge. Only 46,000 more to go by the end of the month. So far I'm finding the biggest challenge to be resisting editing as I go. I normally edit as I go, but the idea behind this project is quantity over quality...you can always go back and edit when you're done.

Another cool thing with NaNoWriMo is that you can sign up with regional groups, and various subgroups with a region hold write-ins throughout the week. I'm participating in one today.

Now, for a little humor.

Hung Chow calls into work and says, "Hey boss, I no come work today. I really sick. Got headache, stomach ache, and legs hurt. I no come work."

The boss says, "Hung Chow, I really need you today. You know, when I feel sick like you do, I go to my wife and ask her to give me sex. That makes everything better and I go to work. You try that."

Hung Chow says, "Okay boss. I try."

Two hours later Hung Chow calls again. "Hello boss. I do what you say and I feel great. I be at work soon. By the way, you got nice house."

And with that, I'm off to my writing group.

Badaboom, Badabing...

I'm Gonna Try The NaNoWriMo Thing

2008-11-06T09:57:00.005-05:00

I meant to try the NaNoWriMo thing last year...but forgot. I forgot about it this year as well, but got reminded when I was visiting Claudia's blog today.

For those not familiar with the acronymn, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. You have the month of November to write a 50,000 word novel (about 175 pages) from scratch. The whole idea is to focus on output and not quality. If anybody's interested, just click on the NaNoWriMo link on the right side of this page.

Of course, I'm so damn busy with other stuff I hardly have time to take a daily dump. Butt, speaking of dumps...I've had an idea for a novel in the back of my mind for two years now, so this might be a good opportunity to dump it out before I forget it.

Since I'm already six days behind, I'd better get my ass in gear.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Now, This is Some Kind of Talent

2008-11-02T10:07:00.002-05:00

This cracks me up everytime I watch it.

Badaboom Badabing...

U.S. Replaces Eagle As National Symbol

2008-09-29T12:37:00.003-04:00

I just couldn't resist posting this.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Sometimes It Pays To Procrastinate

2008-09-09T16:42:00.005-04:00

My wife has been ~~bugging the shit out of me~~ urging me for ~~weeks~~ 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.

Each time this happens I counter with something like...the tree surgeon quoted at least $1,000 per tree...hell, I could have real surgery for that kind of money...I'm sure I can find someone to do it cheaper...blah, blah, blah. You get the picture.

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.

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.

Now, there's still a few more trees that wifey is ~~bitching~~ concerned about, so I'm hoping Ike does the right thing if he passes by our way. :-)

Of course the lesson to be learned here is...to misquote Benjamin Franklin (I think it was him)...Always put off till tomorrow what will cost you a shitload of bucks today!

Badaboom Badabing...

Where In The World is Badabing?

2008-09-08T17:52:00.002-04:00

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.

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.

Still can't guess? Here's another hint.

I selected that pic because my wife thought it looked like me...when I was much younger.

Give up yet? Go here to find out.

And yes, that would be Mrs. Badabing in the picture.

Let The Weekend Begin...

2008-08-08T12:54:00.003-04:00

Here's a little somethin' to start the weekend off with...do this BEFORE you have a drink :-)

Badaboom Badabing...

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Couldn't Think of Anything Else to Post...

2008-08-05T17:56:00.003-04:00

Checkout this video clip of a huge dead snake.

For anyone who has trouble getting this to play in your browser, try here.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Pick Me a Winner...

2008-07-24T09:47:00.005-04:00

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.

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...rhinotillexis. Yes, rhinotillexis.

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.

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...rhinotillexomania.

In case you're wondering how I came up with this topic...it all started last week on my way to Chicago.

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.

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.

No luck with the index finger, so after another five seconds he ended up using his thumb...obviously to get a better angle.

Finally, after another few seconds of twisting and picking...success!

In case you're wondering what he did with his new found treasure...he flicked it on the floor of the van.

Disgusting? Hey, I can think of several worse places he could have flicked it.

It gets even better.

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.

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.

As I was observing mister flicker, I looked around to see some other passengers on the van watching him too.

Guess what?

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.

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?

That's all for now...time for lunch :-)

Badaboom Badabing...

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Computers...A Woman's Point of View

2008-07-20T12:20:00.002-04:00

I just couldn't resist this one.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Another Link To Badabing's Tango

2008-07-15T12:37:00.001-04:00

Here's a new link to a web page with my tango clip for those who were having trouble with the earlier post. Check it out here.

Just Call Me Tango Tony...

2008-07-08T12:25:00.008-04:00

Or something like that.

In case anyone's wondering where I've been lately...I've been practicing my tango.

This is a clip of a recital I did with my instructor a few weeks ago. Warning...the sound quality is not good.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Have You Seen This Man?

2008-06-19T16:07:00.008-04:00

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.

I've always sucked at drawing so I decided to try and learn. I picked up this really cool book entitled Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain, 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.

Hmm...I wonder if she'll teach us how to illustrate gray hair with a black pencil?

Anyway...please excuse me while I go round up some naked female models to practice on :-)

Badaboom Badabing...

How To Spend Your Tax Rebate Patriotically

2008-05-27T11:37:00.002-04:00

The Federal Government is sending each of us a $600 rebate.

If we spend that money at Wal-Mart, the money will go to China.
If we spend it on gasoline it will go to the Arabs.
If we buy a computer, It will go to India.
If we purchase fruit and vegetables, it will go to Mexico, Honduras, and Guatemala.
If we purchase a good car, it will go to Japan.
If we purchase useless crap,it will go to Taiwan and none of it will help the American economy.

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.

So...do your patriotic duty...as often as possible.

Badaboom Badabiing...

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News Flash...Hillary Busted

2008-05-12T09:29:00.004-04:00

Rumors have been circulating for years now. Some have dismissed them...some have believed them...and some have wondered if they're true.

For those who were on the fence, wonder no more.

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.

There...now it's out.

I must say I am impressed she can do it hands-free...that's quite manly.

I do wonder though...does Bill know?

Badaboom Badabing...

Happy Earth Day

2008-04-22T17:04:00.007-04:00

Okay, okay, so I'm two days late. I had a senior moment and forgot.

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.

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 methane gas, which is 25 times more potent than carbon monoxide in contributing to the global warming effect.

And, believe it or not…cows are the culprets. Yes, cows. As in Mollie Mollie Moo Cow. More specifically, cow burps and cow farts. I shit you not.

In fact, in Australia alone, cow farts and cow belches account for 90 percent of methane emissions in the agricultural sector.

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.

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.

Unfortunately, the possibilities for mitigating the effects of cow burps are not good. See, it's really hard to capture burped up methane.

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.

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.

Bovine Beano has also been proposed a possible solution, but an effective formula has thus far eluded scientists.

So, at least for the time being, it seems we will just have to live with cow burp pollutants.

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.

Now, when it comes to dealing with cow farts, the future is much less bleak...because I have designed a solution to the problem.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Just remember that a burping cow is a polluting cow. And a farting cow is a polluting cow...but not for long.

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.

Scary, huh?

Well, not to worry. I've got a plan.

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.

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.

Another simple thing you can do is to be a good citizen and light your farts. 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!

To get you started here are some helpful tips when it comes to lighting farts:

It is recommended that one wear thin pants material, preferably in a dark color so as to mask any discoloration from flash burns.
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.
It is recommended that one use long wooden matchsticks vs. shorter cardboard book matches for two reasons:
- One, the match flame is bigger and will resist being blown out by the rush of expelled gas
- It will mitigate flashburning of the fingertips and knuckles
Better yet, and in keeping with the "green" theme…how about using a refillable lighter.

Just be sure to practice safe fart lighting so that you won't end up like the guy in the cartoon.

Well, that's it for today. I've got to go eat some cabbage and beans and then do my part for the environment.

Badaboom Badabing...

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I've Got Dance In My Pants...

2008-04-14T11:03:00.009-04:00

...and not much else!

Okay, okay...I couldn't think of a better title than that. Plus, it's Monday morning and I've only had one espresso.

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.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Finally...The End

2008-04-01T09:23:00.002-04:00

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 feel like he looks.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Now, excuse me while I clean up my room :-)

Badaboom Badabing...

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Badaboom Badabing...Get Some Of Those Friggin' Earphone Things

2008-02-26T16:53:00.004-05:00

I am sitting in the airport waiting to board my delayed flight.

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.

I guess if my voice gives out I can always entertain them with hand shadows.

I am not in a good mood...and it just got worse.

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.

It's hard to hear the passenger announcements he's got it turned up so loud.

Hasn't he heard of earphones???

Oh shit, now his cell phone rings.

"Haya baby...wazzup?" he yells into the phone.
"Where you at?"
"I be here at da airport. Where you be baby?"

I won't bore you with the rest of the conversation.

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.

Oh no, I don't believe it...now he's turning the @#$(%#)@@) volume up on his laptop...

"Hey baby, let me turn dis up so's you can hear."

In all my travels I've never seen this happen before.

Thank God, they're calling my flight...I just hope to hell he's not on it!!

Badaboom Badabing...

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I Hate It When...

2008-02-21T19:24:00.003-05:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 impossible. I calmly explained again what had happened...I explained three additional times...and he interrupted me three additional times...and gave me a your crazy or an imbecile, or both 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.

"You are on flight 623, seat 32E."

"Right. The program switched me to that flight and seat. My original reservation was on flight 625, seat 7C."

"That's impossible," he said, shaking his head. "I'd see a record if that were true."

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.

He once again concludes that what I have described is impossible. Finally, he asks, in a challenging tone of voice, whether I have any paperwork on the original reservation.

"No, but..." The dickhead smirks and interrupts me, shaking his head.

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.

"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."

So I do.

And yes, I am correct.

"Here ya' go," I said as I handed him the laptop.

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.

Friggin' dickhead.

"Thank you," I said, "for making the impossible possible."

Friggin' double dickhead.

Two Italian Men Get On A Bus...

2008-02-08T17:22:00.000-05:00

My sister sent me this and I couldn't resist posting it.

A bus stops and 2 Italian men get on. They sit down and engage in an animated conversation.

The lady sitting next to them ignores them at first, but her attention is galvanized when she hears one of them say the following:

"Emma come first.
Den I come.
Den two asses come together.
I come once-a-more.
Two asses, they come together again.
I come again and pee twice.
Then I come one lasta time."

"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."

"Hey, coola down lady," said the man. "Who talkin' abouta sex? I'm a justa
tellin' my frienda how to spell Mississippi."

Badaboom Badabing...

Former President Confirms Global Warming Data Is Real

2008-01-30T10:53:00.001-05:00

Now, 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.)

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.

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?

I mean, the State of Arkansas has even minted a quarter in his honor.

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."

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?"

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.)

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.

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.

Badaboom Badabing...

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One Plus One is...Wait, I Need to Get My Calculator

2008-01-25T10:03:00.000-05:00

Before I forget...I stumbled upon a new blog that I really like, called Suz Life & Times. 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.

She and my friend Judy both had some very funny...and scary...recent posts about how ~~dumb~~ challenged some folks are when it comes to things like simple logic and arithmetic.

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.

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. 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. 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.

Now, today being Friday, and me being the adventurous, risk-taking ~~old fart~~ 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.

Has anyone ever seen the proverbial 'deer caught in the headlights' look?

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.

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?"

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.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Key West Pics

2008-01-15T11:31:00.001-05:00

Well plunk your magic twanger froggie (who remembers where that came from?)...my readers are geographically astute.

You are all correct...the Badabings were in Key West for a few days. And for my friend Judy, here are some more pics.

US 1 begins and ends in Key West. This is a pic of the end marker, which is just across the street from the begin marker on Whitehead Street. Ernest Hemingway used to live on Whitehead Street, about 4-5 blocks from this marker. Now, while some may think that is a useless bit of trivia, knowing that got me a free drink in a Florida bar. Just goes to show you that memorizing stupid factoids can pay off sometimes.

The history lesson continues...Key West is also the southern-most point in the United States...just 90 miles from Cuba. In case you don't believe me I've got a picture to prove it.

So there!!

Actually, there were about 50 touristas lined up to have their picture taken at this marker, so I had to snap this one in the two-second interval between shifts. And, in case you're wondering, yes...the Badabings queued up and had their picture taken here too.

These are genuine official Key West chickens. You run into them pretty much anywhere except Duval Street.

The rumor is that Cuban immigrants brought their chickens with them and they proliferated...both the Cubans and the chickens. Now the chickens run wild in Key West while the Cubans run wild in Miami.

I shot this picture of an old theater, now a Walmart, from the rooftop of the La Concha Hotel on Duval Street just after sunset. At least some of the cool original architecture has been preserved.

Actually, when I shot this I mistook the theater for another place where they have nightly drag shows. And no, I did not attend the drag shows.

No photo tour of Key West would be complete without the de riguer sunset picture, so here's one that I took. Unfortunately, the sunsets were not that spectacular during our visit.

Watching the sun set is a ritual in Key West. I think the best place to watch is on the rooftop of the LaConcha Hotel on Duval Street, which is where I took this pic. Beats the hell out of the mayhem on Mallory Square.

So, there ya' go. And no...you're not gettin' any pics of the clothing optional bar!!

Badaboom Badabing...

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Go South...Old Fart...Go South

2008-01-10T10:48:00.000-05:00

The weather at home last week was a toe-numbing and d@#$-shriveling 15 degrees...that's in degrees Fahrenheit...so the Badabing's decided to head south in search of some warmer weather over the weekend.

We had to go way far south in order to find some...in fact, we had to go to the southern-most point in the United States before it was warm enough to change into shorts and flip flops.

I snapped that pic on the right when we got there.

So...can you guess where in the world Badabing is?

No? Okay...I'll give you a couple of hints:

Where is the southern-most point in the United States?
Where does US 1 start and end?
Where did Badabing just happen to stumble into a clothing-optional bar?
Where did Badabing see people wearing t-shirts with the following captions?
- On the back of a Harley Davidson t-shirt..."If you can read this the bitch fell off"

Still can't guess? Then tune in tomorrow for the answer...and more pics...but not of the clothing-optional bar...~~I'm saving those for myself~~...hehehe.

Badaboom Badabing...

Finding That Perfect Xmas Gift...It Ain't So Hard

2007-12-24T16:11:00.000-05:00

Santa was spotted doing a little Xmas shopping this afternoon. He found that perfect gift...so he may be a little late delivering ~~his~~ the kids' toys tonight.

Oh...and ~~fantasizing about~~ speaking of the perfect Xmas gift...I wouldn't mind finding one or two of these under my tree...or anywhere else around the house for that matter :-)

There's a little surprise at the end of this clip that I thought was interesting.

Merry Xmas to all.

Badaboom Badabing...

I've Been Tagged

2007-12-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

My friend Judy tagged me with this meme. It took me a while to get around to doing it, but, what the hell, better late than never, right? ~~Don't answer that.~~

I'm supposed to tag seven other bloggers, which is impossible since I don't even know seven other bloggers. So, as a compromise, I've listed 11 random/weird things about myself and tagged 3 other bloggers. The mathematically astute will note that 11 and 3 add up to 14...same as 7 random things and 7 people tagged.

So, here goes:

1. I'm a voracious reader. I normally read at least one book a week, and sometimes several per week.

2. I've been trying to write a novel for the past 4 friggin' years. I am actually coming down the homestretch and WILL have the first draft finished by year end.

3. I do most of the cooking in my home. It is one of the things that relaxes me, and people tell me I'm pretty good at it. I cook mostly Italian/Mediterranean.

4. I am addicted to ballroom dancing. Until about a year ago I was dance-o-phobic, but then started taking lessons with my wife and became hooked. See my post here.

5. One of the first posts I ever made on this blog is the most popular page visited. I get about 40 Google hits a day for my N'Italian Lessons. In case anyone has missed it you can find it here, and if you're interested in what these words and expressions actually sound like there's a link to some sound bites here.

6. I have a black belt in tae kwan do. Actually, I've completed all my requirements up to third degree black belt, but just never bothered to get officially tested.

7. I love telling stories and jokes. At family gatherings my nieces pre-introduce me to their boyfriends as the guy who'll be telling all the jokes.

8. In high school I was the runner-up for class lover. Okay, okay, you can pick yourself up off the floor and stop laughing. The guy who won actually put on a campaign, but campaigns reminded me too much of politics…which I hated even back then.

9. Speaking of which...I abhor politics and politicians. Just writing that last sentence probably made my blood pressure kick up about 30 points. I pay enough income taxes each year to pay a good portion of your typical politician's salary….shit, just thinking about that is making my head pound so I've got to stop.

10. I've spent the last 40 years trying to get over the guilt trip my parents laid on me about taking vacations being sinful. My father never took a vacation and we were raised to believe that vacations were only taken by "lazy good-for-nothings" that were pissing away their money instead of saving it for important things. That was a direct quote from my mother. I just turned 60 and I am almost over it.

11. I'm a sex addict.

Ha!! Got ya' with that last one, didn't I? Actually, ~~I wish it were true~~ it's not true.

I'm tagging Duke of Earle, Sudie Girl, and Claudia. I was going to tag Old Horsetail Snake too, but someone beat me to him.

So, here are the rules:

1. Link to the person that tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 random and or weird things about yourself.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
4. Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Someday...

2007-12-05T14:33:00.000-05:00

Someday, this will probably happen to all of us. What makes the cartoon even funnier for me is...I swear I have actually met those people in the pic.

Badaboom Badabing...

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We Could Have Danced All Night...

2007-12-04T16:21:00.000-05:00

Actually, we did.

A little more than a year ago the Badabings discovered ballroom dancing. What started out as a present of six dancing lessons to Mrs. Badabing led to an immediate addiction and a monthly dancing lesson bill that is more than many mortgage payments.

Several times per year our dance studio sponsors a program in which participants perform a choreographed routine. Last month, the missus and I did a tango-rhumba medley...we start with a tango, shift into a few rhumba steps, and then finish with another tango. Here's a clip of us doing our routine in front of an audience of about 400 people:

Just call me twinkle-toes...nah, on second thought that sounds too you-know-what.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Let These Nuns Serenade You...

2007-12-03T10:26:00.000-05:00

I always say that a little music is good for the soul...so I couldn't resist posting this to get the week started with a little humor.

If you're in the mood for a little holiday melody...try the middle preset button...the presets are the three small white buttons just under and to the righ of the nuns.

Badaboom Badabing...

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If You're Under 17, Stay Away Unless...

2007-11-30T09:05:00.001-05:00

I'm still playing around, doing meaningless things, so I resubmitted the blog to that rating site and got an R rating...which I think is much more moi (that means 'me' in case you're not a francophile).

This time because I used the word crack six times.

I wonder what would happen if I used jugs, hooters, headlights, cheeks, boobs, breasts, cha cha's, and rack?

Yeah, yeah...I know already...I am a dirty old man...so if you're under 17 you can't visit my blog unless you're accompanied by your crack whore mama who's got a nice set of headlights and is showing her ass crack.

Badaboom Badabing...

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This Blog Is Rated PG

2007-11-29T07:47:00.000-05:00

That's right...parental guidance is recommended...I guess because my posts are so risque. Yeah, right!!

Anyway, I was bored yesterday, so instead of working on my novel or doing something meaningful, I went over to this rating site, submitted my site, and it came back with a PG rating. The reason? Because I used the word crack one time, somewhere.

I guess it's a good thing that smoke crack, butt crack, ass crack, or crack whore wasn't found.

So now I'm going to be sporting this cute little rating notice somewhere over on the right side of the page...as soon as I have the time to size the graphic properly.

Badaboom Badabing...

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I Like My Cigar Too, But...

2007-11-26T09:55:00.000-05:00

I don't know why I've been percolating up memories of old 50's shows lately, but after writing the Ozzie & Harriet post a few days ago I was thinking about the "You Bet Your Life Show" with Groucho Marx. There was supposedly an infamous episode, that I didn't see, that went something like the following:

Groucho: "Well hello there sir, and what is your name?"
Guest: "Haylo Meester Groucho. My name ees Gonsalez Gonsalez."
Groucho: "And where are you from Mr. Gonsalez?"
Guest: "I am from Guadalooopay Mayheeco, Meester Groucho."
Groucho: "Mayheeco, huh? Is that anywhere near Mexico?"
Guest: "Oh, si, Meester Groucho."
Groucho: "Are you married, have any kids?"
Guest: "Oh, si, Meester Groucho. I am hapeely married and have 15 woonderful cheeldrens."
Groucho (eyebrows raised): "Fifteen children? How do you explain so many children Mr. Gonsalez?"
Guest: "Well, Meester Groucho, I luff my wife Rosalita very mooch."
Groucho (taking cigar from his mouth): "Well, I love my cigar too…but I take it out once in a while."

I have heard from many sources that this actually got him kicked off the air…but, that's probably myth since tv was so heavily edited back then. In any case, those of you of my vintage might be able to imagining him doing a little skit like that, raising his eyebrows, making those facial expressions, etc.

Even though I was only a kid I loved his sense of humor. Some famous Groucho quotes:

A man's only as old as the woman he feels.
Behind every successful man is a woman, behind her is his wife.
From the moment I picked your book up until I laid it down, I convulsed with laughter. Someday I intend on reading it.
I don't care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members.
I find television very educational. Every time someone switches it on I go into another room and read a good book.
I have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.
I never forget a face, but in your case I'll be glad to make an exception.
I remember the first time I had sex - I kept the receipt.
Marriage is a wonderful institution, but who wants to live in an institution?
One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I don't know.
Only one man in a thousand is a leader of men -- the other 999 follow women.

Badaboom Badabing...

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White Meat or Dark?

2007-11-23T15:51:00.000-05:00

My friend Duke of Earle posted a turkey picture the other day, so I thought I'd share mine.

Hmmm...wonder which would be better, white meat or dark?

All right all ready...what can I say...I'm just a dirty old man.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Been A Traveling Man...

2007-11-21T09:58:00.000-05:00

"I'm a traveling man…made a lot of stops…all over the world…but in every port I've owned the heart of at least one lovely girl…"

I don't know why, but the words to that old Ricky Nelson song just popped into my mind this morning…I guess because I've been traveling every friggin' week for the last two months...and haven't had any time to tend to the blog or to visit my usual ones.

As I write this post some more Ozzie & Harriet memories are bubbling up from my subconscious:

"Hi dad."
"Hi dad."
"Hi Dave. Hi Rick."
"Hi Mr. Nelson."
"Oh, hi Wally."
"Hi boys."
"Hi mom."
"Hi Dave. Hi Rick. Gee, you boys are home early."
"Hi Mrs. Nelson."
"Hi Wally."
"Gee mom, I sure am hungry."
"Well, why don't you boys have a seat while I go get some milk and cookies."
"Gee, thanks Mrs. Nelson, that would be swell."
"Oh, you're welcome Wally."

"Uh, gee Rick, you look like you've got something on your mind."
"Oh, it's nothing dad...I guess"
"Go ahead Rick, just tell Dad."
"Uh, uh…what is it Rick?"
"Well, gee, dad…it's Ginger."
"Ginger? Gee I hope she's okay, Rick. She's a swell girl."
"You can say that again, Mr. Nelson."
"Be quiet Wally."
"Yeah, be quiet Wally."
"Sorry Dave. Sorry Rick."
"Gee dad…uh, you see…uh, Ginger is pregnant."
"Well, uh that's all … Harriet, Harriet … can you come in here for a sec…"

Okay, okay…so I made some of that up...but it might bring back some memories to those who are of my generation.

Badaboom Badabing....

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The Camera Never Lies...Unlike Some People

2007-11-09T08:36:00.000-05:00

It's Friday...I'm in Pittsburgh...I had to go to the ER for an eye infection last night...it's cold...it's snowing...so I think a bit of levity is appropriate.

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I Just Couldn't Resist...

2007-10-29T10:09:00.000-04:00

Bill Clinton is placed against the wall, and just before the order to
shoot him is given, he yells "Earthquake!" The firing squad falls into a panic and Bill jumps over the wall and escapes in the confusion.

John Kerry is the second one placed against the wall. The squad is reassembled and John ponders what his old pal Bill has done. Before the order to shoot is given, John yells, "Tornado!" Again the squad falls apart and Kerry slips over the wall thus making his escape.

The last person, George W. Bush, is placed against the wall. He is thinking, "I see the pattern here, just scream out a disaster and hop over the wall." As the firing squad is reassembled and the rifles raised in his direction, he smirks his famous smirk and yells, "Fire!"

Badaboom Badabing...

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Five Reasons You Should Have a Camera Phone

2007-10-25T16:08:00.000-04:00

And no...these are NOT my vacation pictures.

Badaboom Badabing...

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Hola From Barcelona...

2007-10-14T17:42:00.000-04:00

Okay, okay...so I lied.

I started to write this post as I sat in a sidewalk cafe on the Via Laietana, sipping caffe con leche ~~and watching the women~~. I was going to post it while in Spain, but decided against it because it was my friggin' vacation...the first vacation in more than ten years that lasted more than a few days. Anyway, this is me at the cafe having my coffee...just so you don't think I'm making this stuff up :-)

We had a great time exploring the beautiful city of Barcelona, soaking up the culture, atmosphere, wine, eating delicious food, practicing our Spanish, and taking lots of photographs. Did I mention soaking up the wine? We did...lot's of it. The guy in the picture can verify that. He's our friend Omar, the bartender at our favorite tapas bar. You can't really see it too well in the picture, but he's sticking his tongue out.

As often happens on my business trips, I found myself in some interesting situations...including some encounters with gypsies...so I will have some interesting stories to share over the next few weeks...or whenever the hell I get around to it. But for now, here's some of the observations I jotted down while basking in the Spanish sun:

The city of Barcelona is quite beautiful and very cosmopolitan. The architecture is an amazing blend of classical European and ultra-modern. Many claim the city was reborn as a result of the Olympic games in the 90's.
The temperature was damn near perfect (60's to mid-70's) the whole time we were there. The sun and a proliferation of palm trees and wild parakeets gave the place an almost tropical feel.
The people were quite friendly and appreciated our efforts to speak in Spanish. One thing that took us a bit to get used to was that their Spanish didn't sound or look exactly like the Spanish we were familiar with. Turns out that the official language of Barcelona is actually Catalan, though everyone speaks both Spanish and Catalan and many street signs are written in both languages. Catalan, when you see it written, looks closer to French than it does Spanish. That was actually helpful for me because I know a lot more French than I do Spanish, and I was able to use the combination of languages to figure out what things meant. The tricky part was that people sometimes used a combination of the two in a single sentence.
The Americans are easy to spot. There are six things that give us away: first, we don't make much of an attempt at speaking Spanish; second, we weigh about 40 pounds more than everyone else; third, the way we dress gives us away...overweight men wearing white knee-high socks with shorts and brown shoes is not very European...kind of sticks out in a crowd; fourth, we order Budweiser (without using a word of Spanish) and bitch when told it is not available; fifth, we frequent the many Starbucks located all over the city, where everyone, of course, speaks English; and sixth, we are looking for places to eat lunch at noon and dinner at six...lunch in Spain never starts before two and dinner never starts before nine or ten.

Thankfully, I don't fit the weight stereotype. I did, however, try to look like less of a gringo by rolling my white knee-high socks down to my ankles (like some elderly women do with their stockings) and by substituting the local wine for the Bud. And my wife wouldn't let me set foot in a Starbucks. Oh yeah, I even spoke Spanish. Unfortunately, it didn't work...they still had me pegged as a gringo. Maybe it had something to do with the Yankees baseball cap and Redskins jersey.
After the Americans, the Brits, Dutch, and Germans are the next easiest to pick out of a crowd. They are as big as the Americans but tend to dress a little more inconspicuously. They also travel in larger groups.
The Italians and Scandinavians are on the slim side, as are the Spanish, and, Scandinavians excepted, it is more difficult to tell them apart.
The French are also on the slim side, but you can pick them out easily because their noses are constantly held upward at a forty-five degree angle and they refuse to speak Spanish.
A lot of people smoke. Many of the twenty-somethings actually roll their own cigarettes...something I haven't seen since the 70's. Actually, in the 70's it wasn't tobacco people were rolling.
Piercings and tattoos seem to be the de riguer body adornements for the under-35 crowd. Pierced lips, tongues, and metal protrusions on each side of the mouth and randomly placed about the face are as commonplace as backpacks. I know tattoos and piercings are common among that age group here in the US...but over there it was pretty extreme. After a few drinks one night I offered to treat my wife to a tattoo and lip piercing...I took the kick in my ass as a definite 'no'
There are more motor scooters and motor bikes in Barcelona than in any city in Europe. People park them handlebar-to-handlebar on the streets and sidewalks.
I have seen more happy-looking dogs here than anywhere else in the world. They trotted happily alongside their owners, and I swear they were all smiling. I have made this observation both pre-wine and apres-wine. My wife has confirmed this as well.

That's all for now. I'm in Atlanta this week, it's almost 8:30, and I've yet to have my ~~wine~~ dinner.

Badaboom Badabing...

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No, I Wasn't Kidnapped By Gypsies...

2007-10-14T17:23:00.000-04:00

But I did have a few interesting encounters with some while in Spain, and I will try to post about it in the next few days.

In the meantime, here's a little snapshot I got a kick out of.

Badaboom Badabing...

Where In The World Is Badabing?

2007-09-28T04:19:00.000-04:00

Hola todos! Badabing es en Barcelona :-)

Yes, that's right...I am in Barcelona...that would be the Barcelona in Spain. The wife and I are celebrating our 30th wedding anniversary here. So far, the weather is perfect and the food is great. I will be posting over the next few days and hope to have some interesting stories to share.

And just in case you're wondering "has he been hanging out at the bars?" ... abso-friggin-lutely.

Hosta pronto...

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A Little Trick I Learned

2007-09-17T11:23:00.000-04:00

For someone who teaches graduate level computer science courses I am sometimes a friggin' stunad when it comes to my own computers. For those who don't know what a stunad is...let me refer you to my N'Italian Lessons 101 link.

Anyway, last week I felt like I was walking around with a big "Kick Me...I'm a Stunad" sign on my back. Let me start from the beginning.

There I was, sitting in O'Hare Airport, working on my laptop while waiting to board my flight. They called my flight, I powered down...yada yada yada. The next morning I did my usual routine...went to Starbucks, ~~leered lasciviously at the women~~ admired the pretty women,had an espresso, powered up the laptop, powered up the laptop, powered up the laptop...oh shit. Nothing happened.

I didn't bring the power adapter with me so I wolfed down the coffee and raced home.

I plugged in the adapter and powered up.

Guess what? Nada...nothing...zero...zip...zed...null...zilch...no lights, no beeps, no friggin' anything. Shit!! No...actually something a bit stronger.

I could really relate to this song...

I could hear my heart thumping and feel the old blood pressure spike up a good forty points. I know what you're thinking...Did he backup his data?

Of course not.

Well, I actually did, but it was from several weeks prior.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I figured my hard drive was fried...this has happened before, so I knew that the good news was there'd be a chance I could recover some data.

So, what was I in jeopardy of losing? Email (the important ones were replaceable), client notes (not that big a deal since I finished the project), and eight chapters of my novel (irreplaceable).

After kicking myself in the ass for fifteen minutes, and vowing to religously do a weekly backup (was it by chance that my eye caught that external disk drive on sale at Circuit City the weekend before?), I called Computer Geeks and scheduled a house call, then went on to my dentist appointment.

I was really worried that I wouldn't be able to re-write the lost novel chapters and make them as good as the originals. Shit, shit, and triple shit. So I whined and bitched and moaned, beat up on myself a little more, threatened to shitcan the whole novel project (even though I've only got a dozen chapters to go), and watched my face turn red in the rear view mirror.

I got to the dentist's office, sat in the chair, and he asked if there had been any changes to my health, medications...yada yada yada...since he last saw me two weeks prior. He said he's only asking because I look a little stressed and my face was red.

I shared the events of the morning with him, he nodded compassionately, and started working on me. He proceeded to tell me that he'd had a similar experience with his office computer. He was able to restore his data, but had to match up 5,000 mouth pictures to patient records manually. Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad.

As I was scheduling another appointment with the receptionist, he came out and asked if my computer was a laptop. He then told me to try taking the battery out and putting it back in...already did that. He then suggested I try removing the battery and attempt to power up using just the power adapter...that had worked for a friend of his, but he didn't know why.

Bingo...all of a sudden five years of engineering school bubbled up to my conscious memory...the design of the computer was such that the battery would be recharged when the power adapter was plugged in. In order for the battery to charge, current had to flow through it. So...a bad battery might short the circuit...yada, yada, yada.

I rushed home, took the battery out, plugged in the adapter, pushed the power button, and....the little sucker booted up just fine. Whew!!!

I should've thought of that current thing right off the bat...so the joy of not losing my data was quickly replaced with my feeling like a stunad...for about five seconds anyway :-)

So...there's a little trick you can try if your laptop happens to crap out on you.

And, yes, I now have my novel backed up onto three separate computers and a CD-ROM.

Badaboom Badabing...

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And The Fishin' Was Good

2007-09-17T11:14:00.000-04:00

I really haven't been fishing since my last post, but my son has. He caught this largemouth bass in Southern Maryland last week...Just a half ounce under six pounds.

Mr. Fish has since been filleted and frozen and will be consumed shortly.

Damn...why can't I catch one that big?

Gone Fishin'...I Wish

2007-08-28T11:38:00.001-04:00

I didn't realize that it's been more than a week since my last post, so I figured I'd put up this sign. Been up to my eyeballs with work...will be back in a few days.

Badaboom Badabing...

Women Love Golf

2007-08-17T09:23:00.000-04:00

I'm not gonna' say a word

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I Hope It's Not a "Nucular" Crisis

2007-08-17T09:02:00.000-04:00

I am truly at a loss for words

Badaboom Badabing...

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They Can't Take That Away From Me...

2007-08-15T10:19:00.000-04:00

Our world has become so technical and complex that we often forget to give proper focus on simple everyday things that touch us, and we are sometimes unaware of how so-called advances are robbing us of our most basic freedoms.

Take, for example, the common bowel movement. Don't say "yuck"…or "disgusting"…or anything like that. This post is both factual and educational, so just keep quiet and read, and…to borrow a phrase from comedian Dom DeLouise…"hold it till the end." I shall do my best to keep the tone of this posting dignified, informative, and most of all…business-like, and to share with you the lesson that there is money in the mundane...sometimes at the expense of our most basic freedoms.

Now, back to the bowel movement, a common excretory event that most people experience on a generally daily basis…except for those poor souls who are, let me use a politically correct expression here, constipatedly challenged (okay, okay, so I made that up.) Those of us not afflicted with said malady ~~enjoy~~ ~~endure~~ experience this event in the privacy of our homes, in the workplace, in public restrooms, and even while traveling at 30,000 feet. For those who engage in said event in the workplace or in public restrooms...be forewarned...your bowel movement experience is about to be changed...forever.

You see, ~~big brother~~Kimberly-Clark has invented an automatic toilet paper dispenser that will limit the issue of tissues. Put in non-technical jargon, this new device will dispense exactly five...count 'em...that's five...squares of toilet paper...exactly twenty inches of paper. You wave your hand and out they come.

The company conducted years of research and concluded that five standard squares of toilet tissue is optimal. I wonder what it was like to work in their test department...betcha they got their hands on all the data they could. Now, whenever I see the word optimal, I get suspicious. How did they define optimal? I'll bet they'll never tell...but, they can't fool ole Badabing with their corporate mumbo jumbo...so I'm ~~giving you the straight poop~~ spilling the beans here and now.

It all boils down to money, averages, and psychology...so pay attention.

Let's start with the money aspect. The bean counters at Kimberly-Clark hope that this new device will help them capture more of the $1 billion away-from-home toilet paper market. That's a lot of beans. How will it help them increase sales? That's a no brainer. They sell them to businesses, and the businesses can cut down on their toilet paper costs. As an example, let's assume a company spends $150 on toilet paper for its employee rest rooms each year. Actually, that figure is a drop in the bucket but it will illustrate the point. The new machines will dispense 20% less paper than the average arm pull, so the company's paper cost will be reduced by $30 per year. Since a basic machine costs $30 (the souped-up chrome-plated model sells for $55 and would probably be used in executive washrooms only), the company breaks even the first year and the future savings are even greater since replacing the batteries is the only maintenance required. Couple that with the ability to adjust the machine to dispense a mere four squares of tissue...a mere 16 inches...and you can see how the savings add up. Of course, the possible downside to this from the employees standpoint are grumblings about the "Toilet Police," but who the hell cares about employees anyway.

Oh yeah, and I'll be the people who sell the new gizmo throw in some motivational gimmicks as well. You know, like little placards that could be attached above the dispenser with motivating phrases like:

"Strive for Five," "Dump Poop...Not Paper," "Save More With Four," "Help Wipe Out High Costs," "Dump Once...Wave Once."

Ooh, and here's a neat little branding idea...right above the little window where you wave your hand they can put a label that says "Gimme Five." Hell, might introduce a whole new slang expression into corporate America just like Xerox did with the copier. You know, "I'm going to make a xerox of this." So maybe people will start to say, "Excuse me while I get five," instead of "Excuse me while I take a dump." Hey...it could happen.

Okay, let's move on to the averages. Their research has shown that the average American uses an arm's length pull of toilet paper for his or her average excretory experience. Now, my own calculations estimate that, at least for the average adult American male, an arm's length pull results in several feet of said tissue...on average. That's a lot of toilet paper...twice as much, in fact, as the average European uses (just thought I'd throw in that little factoid...and no, this doesn't mean that American arms are twice the length of European arms.) The marketing folks will try to sell these new devices based upon averages...and that normally works well from a marketing standpoint. But, you see, there's a problem designing to averages.

There's a little design secret I learned in engineering school...designs shouldn't be based soley around averages but around the variations that exist around averages...otherwise, things won't work when you have an unexpected (un-average) deviation from the average. For example, you don't design spacecraft using averages. Sound a bit theoretical? Okay, let me give you a "hands-on" toilet paper example. I don't know about you, but sometimes one pull just ain't enough for me...it really depends on...well, you get the point. In my own case, I'm probably a two-pull guy every time, and sometimes even go for a third and (heaven forbid I had some spicy chili) occasionally a fourth yank. This makes their device problematic for me, because my average pull would be four feet (not factoring in the variances), which is a huge deviation from a mere 20 inches...and my arms aren't even that long. Okay, okay, I'll stop with the math already...before I get into Beta distributions, bell-shaped curves, confidence intervals, and standard deviations around the norm. Suffice it to say that I have a "length" issue with their device. (Hmmm...ya' think there might be a pill for that?)

So much for averages, now let's talk about psychology, because this is the key to making the contraption feasible. You may be thinking "what's the big deal...someone could just wave their hand as many times as they want...and get as much paper as they want." See, I knew you were thinking that...and if you weren't you were either still reeling from the mathematics discussion or you haven't had your coffee yet this morning. Well guess what? Kimberly-Clark did research on that too. Rather than telling you, in my own words, what they found, let me share with you a quote from the guy who was in charge of the project.

Richard Thorne, who directs the company's washroom business explained "Most people will take the amount given." Then he went on to add "People generally in life will take what you give them."

How does that make you feel?

Well, I for one won't stand for it...I'm gonna' wave my friggin' hand until I get five feet of paper each time...that includes my normal average plus the average variation around the average. Ha! Take that you mercenary-minded corporate maggots. No sir, I want my toilet paper...they can't take that away from me.

I wonder what kind of bonus that executive guy is going to get?

Never satisfied to rest on his laurels, he admits the company won't truly achieve a "touchless" bathroom until it develops a toilet that does the dirty work for you.

"And that," he says, "is going to be interesting."

Yeah, I bet it'll make great dinner table conversation.

See...I told you this post was going to be informative. In case you'd like to read more about how there is money in the mundane, you might want to check out these ideas...which have been patented:

US Patent #6401264: A toilet seat comfort device for preventing the heat transfer from a person sitting on a toilet seat to the toilet seat
US Patent #5884345: A sanitary device for washing private parts of a person sitting on a toilet bowl

Just remember...the job's not over until the paperwork is done!!

Badaboom Badabing...

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Beauty And The Beer

2007-08-13T16:46:00.001-04:00

Everyone's heard the phrase "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

But...it's also directly proportional to the amount of beer one consumes.

Believe me...I can personally vouch for this :-)

Taste Like Chicken?

2007-08-08T17:50:00.000-04:00

Well, my travels over the last few weeks have been rather uneventful...this little tidbit is about the most exciting thing that happened.

Two weeks ago I was in a suburb of Chicago. When I'm in this particular area I like to go to a restaurant called Tuscany where they serve one of my very favorite dishes...grilled octopus.

Now...stop before you start...no noises or making faces allowed...fuggedaboud' it...just pay attention.

As usual I sat at the bar. It was fairly empty, only about five people were there in total. I ordered a glass of wine, and when the bartender served it I ordered my dish...in Italian. In case you're wondering, polpo is the Italian word for octopus. It's pronounced pretty much the way it looks, but the 'pol' part sounds more like 'pole.'

The two women sitting to my right looked at me a little strangely. One of them asked me, in a very raspy voice, "What's that? It sounds really weird."

I was tempted to tell her "poo poo" but, with great discipline, managed to resist. Instead, I just said "polpo" in my best Italian accent.

"What's that?" the other one asked.

"It's very delicious. Very hard to find in many restaurants," was my answer.

"But, what is it?" the first one rasped again.

"I'm going to make you guess...after you see it," I replied with a smile.

Now, at this restaurant they give you the option of having the octopus served whole or cut up. I usually have them cut it up for me...so...as the bartender approached, dish in hand, I made a cutting motion with my air knife. He nodded, looked for a knife, and began cutting my octopus into bitesized pieces.

That particular octopus was particularly tough, because it looked like the bartender was sawing wood. This caught the attention of the two women who again asked what the dish was. I repeated that they would have to guess, then, watching the bartender still working away, added "If he breaks into a sweat or takes out a chain saw, I'm going to send it back and have them cook another one."

This restaurant serves the octopus as a salad, drizzled with a little balsamic vinegar and olive oil, some field greens and a fresh lemon on the side. When it's cut up into little pieces it's hard to tell what's really in the dish...unless you know in advance.

The bartender ultimately served me and the two women peered over at my dish. With dramatic flair I took a forkful and made a satisfying "Hmmmm...good" sound as I looked towards the women.

"What is it?" one of them inquired once again.

"Can you guess?"

"No idea," the raspy one said.

"I know it's not chicken," the other one astutely observed.

"Okay, I'll let you off the hook. It's octopus," I replied.

They went from curious to horrified in a heartbeat.

"Would you like a taste?" I offered.

"Ewwwwwww," they said in unison, looking like they were about to upchuck their last meal.

For a brief moment I considered betting them a round of drinks if I could guess their next question, which I thought would be "What does it taste like?"

However, as I took a second mouthful and made more yum yum sounds, the expressions on their faces were saying "How on earth can you eat that stuff?" so I decided against the wager.

Instead, I just replied "And, no...it doesn't taste like chicken."

"Ewwwwwww, that's gross," they echoed in unison.

Oh yeah...they left shortly after I took my third bite?

Now, just in case you're wondering what octopus looks like when it's cooked, here ya' go...

Looks kinda' like a starfish...don't ya' think.

Badaboom Badabing....

The Naked Cowboy

2007-08-07T18:01:00.000-04:00

The Sheriff in a small town walks out in the street and sees a blonde cowboy coming down the walk with nothing on but his cowboy hat, gun and his boots, so he arrests him for indecent exposure. As he is locking him up, he asks "Why in the world are you dressed like this?"

The cowboy says "Well it's like this Sheriff... I was in the bar down the road and this pretty little red head asks me to go out to her motor home with her... so I did."

"Then what?" asked the sheriff.

"Well, we go inside and she pulls off her top and asks me to pull off my shirt... so I did."

"Then what?" the sheriff asks again.

"Then she pulls off her skirt and asks me to pull off my pants... so I did."

"And then what?" the sheriff asks a third time.

"Then she pulls off her panties and asks me to pull off my shorts... so I did."

"And?" the sheriff urges him to continue.

"And then she gets on the bed and looks at me kind of sexy and says, 'Now go to town cowboy'... And here I am."

Finally...an answer!!

2007-08-06T18:15:00.000-04:00

A chicken and an egg are lying in bed. The chicken is leaning against a pillow, smoking a cigarette, with a satisfied smile on his face.

The chicken takes a puff of his cigarette and asks the egg, "Was that good for you, baby?"

The egg, looking a bit pissed off, rolls over, and says, "Well, I guess we finally answered THAT question."

A Thoughtful Gift

2007-08-03T18:02:00.000-04:00

It's Friday afternoon and I'm burned out from working so hard this week. I thought a little humor might be in order...

Four brothers left home for college. They became successful doctors and lawyers and prospered. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the holiday gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother who lived far away in another city.

The first said, "I had a big house built for Mama."

The second said, "I had a hundred thousand dollar theater built in the house."

The third said, "I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600."

The fourth said, "Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible and you know she can't read it anymore because she can't see very well. I met this priest who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took twenty priests 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge to contribute $100,000 a year for twenty years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse and the parrot will recite it."

The other brothers were impressed.

After the holidays Mom sent out her Thank You notes.

She wrote: "Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room,
but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway."

"Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay home, I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes. The thought was good. Thanks."

"Michael, you give me an expensive theater with Dolby sound, it could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I've lost my hearing and I'm nearly blind. I'll never use it. Thank you for the gesture just the same."

"Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you."

Pinocchio...He's a Smooth Operator

2007-07-19T18:09:00.000-04:00

One day, Pinocchio and his girlfriend were in bed doing what girls and wooden boys love to do. As they were cuddling later, Pinocchio could tell that something was bothering his girlfriend.

So, he asked her "What's the matter, baby?"

She gave a big sigh and replied, "You're probably the best guy I've ever met, but every time we make love you give me splinters."

This bothered Pinocchio a great deal, so the next day he went to seek some advice from his creator, Gepetto. Pinocchio thoroughly explained the perplexing matter, and Gepetto suggested that sandpaper might be able to "smooth out" Pinocchio's relationship.

Pinocchio thanked Gepetto for the advice and went on his way.

Gepetto had not heard from Pinocchio for a while and therefore assumed that the sandpaper had solved all of Pinocchio erotic problems.

Some weeks later, Gepetto was in town to have some of his wood-working blades sharpened at the hardware store when he ran into Pinocchio.

Pinocchio was buying up all of the sandpaper that would fit into his shopping cart.

Gepetto remarked: "Wow! It looks like things must be going pretty damn well with the girls."

Pinocchio replied: "Girls? Who needs girls?"

Badaboom Badabing...

Jay Leno's Favorite Interviews

2007-07-18T13:53:00.000-04:00

What can I say...hilarious!!

Boobs

2007-07-17T08:41:00.000-04:00

Ha!! That got your attention didn't it.

I can't help it...I saw this over at Miss Cellania and I just had to lift it. She's got an interesting post on breasts, including the results of an MIT study about why men's eyes gravitate to women's breasts.

Of course, I am only interested in this topic because of the science...not the pictures.

Hmmm, and speaking of science, I wonder if those MIT researchers got their hands on all the data available before arriving at their conclusion.

Badaboom Badabing...

Oh Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone...

2007-07-13T17:22:00.000-04:00

My day was completely wasted on errands so I need a little humor to lift me out of the "kicking my ass around the block for not spending my day working on the book" frame of mind.

I actually knocked out two chapters earlier in the week before leaving for my business trip. Sadly, I don't have any stories to tell about it...must be losing my touch.

I've had to bump out my target date for finishing the first book draft to the end of the month...maybe I'll make it this time.

On the bright side...if the woman in the pic happened to have beans for lunch she'll probably find her dog shortly :-)

Badaboom Badabing...

I'm Not Gonna' Make It, But...

2007-06-27T18:10:00.000-04:00

An update on my book progress.

Since Tuesday a week ago I've completed six chapters. This week I'm out of town on business until tomorrow night, so I'll be lucky to get another chapter done.

There's no way I'm going to meet my original goal of having a first draft done by the end of the month, but I think it was a good catalyst to get me crankin'. The new goal is July 15, which I think is doable.

Now it's off to meet a friend for dinner.

Badaboom Badabing...

All Alone in San Antone...Sort Of

2007-06-22T10:05:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm all alone in San Antonio...at least for the next hour or so while my wife treats herself to a facial at a local spa. Figured it would be a good time to sit in Starbucks, have my morning espresso, and do this post.

I am sorry to report that I have no interesting bar stories to share...yet. Simply because I haven't been in a bar...yet. But, the weekend is just beginning.

I do, however, have a little story about my flight here a few days ago.

The wife flew in before me so she could catch up with some friends and family. I flew in alone on Wednesday. Long trip. Full trip. Tight trip. Hot trip..but not in a good way.

I can see why Southwest Airlines is one of the few making money. There wasn't a single empty seat on either leg of my flight...and that's where the story begins.

I'm lucky enough to snag an aisle seat near the front of the aircraft, which is my first choice. So far, so good. On the first leg of the trip, the people who sat next to me were average in size, so the trip was pretty comfortable. So far, so good.

On the second leg the crew announced that all seats would be occuppied. A bit of gray portending clouds on the horizon, both literally and figuratively. The woman who was sitting in the middle seat next to me on the first leg slipped over to the window seat. I jokingly remarked "Let's pray for a skinny one." She looked at me like I had a big green booger hanging out of my nose...so I guessed she either wasn't religious or she was a travel newbie.

People started boarding, and I kept a discreet but watchful eye for the point in time when passengers kind of pause to look for seats closer to the front of the plane rather than just going for the rear. My goal was to attract the attention of a no-more-than-average-sized person and offer the middle seat. So, each time such a person came near I would try to make eye contact, stretch and yawn to visibly attract their attention, etc., etc.

This failed to work, but there appeared to be a bright side. Everyone had moved past my row, and no new passengers were entering, so I thought maybe I lucked out and the middle seat would be empty. So far so good.

"That seat available?"

A woman, who had approached from the rear of the plane was standing in the aisle next to me. Apparently she had gone to the rear, found no seats, and worked her way back to the front.

I stood up and stepped into the aisle to let her get to the seat. Did I mention she was large? Yup, to say she'd weigh in at 250 would be extremely complementary. And she was only about five foot six. Think about it. Five-six, two fifty plus. Are you getting an image of short and wide? Very wide? Like in brick shithouse...very wide brick shithouse? Okay then, I'll continue.

I slip back into my seat, fasten my seat belt, continue reading my book. But I notice she's trying to get the attention of the flight attendants...probably to get one of those seat belt extensions. Then I also notice that her head is higher on her seat back than mine is, which is strange because I'm several inches taller than she is. She kept leaning forward, her head touching the back of the seat in front of her, then she'd lean back and try (unsuccessfully) to sit straight up, and then repeat the leaning, etc. I pondered this for a good three or four minutes.

Then the sound came. A little "thwoosh" sound. And a little, barely audible, sigh of relief from her. And all of a sudden her head was almost level with mine.

Now in case you're having trouble visualizing what happened, let me spell it out. She tried to squeeze into the middle seat, but she was so wide her body couldn't fit between the armrests. So, she just kind of sat there, suspended between the armrests, contorting her body until her flesh gave way to gravity and she was wedged into her seat. Wedged in so tightly that she couldn't sit up straight, so she spent the entire flight leaning forward.

Oh yeah. And her flesh also expanded sideways, up and over the armrest...and into my seat space. So I had to lean into the aisle...for two and a half hours. Oyyy, my aching back.

And then the heat came. Body heat. Sweaty body heat. Sweaty body heat you could feel all the way into the aisle. And she kept dabbing herself with a handkerchief. Her face. Her neck. And, errr, yes...her armpits.

I guess it could have been worse...she could have dropped the handkerchief on me. And, at least she helped prepare me for the heat and humidity here in Texas. :-)

Come to think of it, I probably should have joined my wife at the spa this morning to get a massage and work the kinks out of my back.

Badaboom Badabing...

How Did We Ever Survive?

2007-06-18T09:20:00.000-04:00

Someone sent a version of this to me over the weekend and I thought I'd share it here.

This is post is dedicated to all the kids who survived the following:

First, we survived being born to mothers who may have smoked and/or drank while they were pregnant. They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.
Then after that trauma, we were put to sleep on our tummies in baby cribs covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes we had no helmets...not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.
As infants & children, we would ride in cars with no car seats, booster seats, seat belts or air bags.
We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle...and NO ONE actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank koolade made with sugar, but we weren't overweight because...WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING !
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day...and we were O.K.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times we learned how to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 150 channels on cable, no video movies or DVD's, no surround-sound or CD's, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or chat rooms...WE HAD FRIENDS...and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and chipped teeth...and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt...and the worms did not live in us forever.
We made up games with sticks and tennis balls or whatever else we could find laying around...and...although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or stood at the back door and just yelled "Hey, Billeee"
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of...they actually sided with the law!
If we didn't make the school team...or if we did, but didn't get to play much...our parents never went to the coach or the administration and whined!
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned...HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL!

If you survived any of these you were probably born between 1930 and 1970...CONGRATULATIONS!!

These generations have produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!

You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as KIDS, before the lawyers and the government regulated so much of our lives for our own good.

And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave (and lucky) their parents were.

Kind of makes you want to run through the house with scissors, doesn't it?!

Badaboom Badabing...

And Another One Bites The Dust

2007-06-13T21:56:00.000-04:00

Oh what a good boy am I. I just finished another chapter of the novel. Maybe Friday's post was a good thing.

I'm really getting back into the story. I only wish I didn't have to work the next two days so I could devote more time to it.

So now, to celebrate, it's off to Ristorante Tuscany to have some grilled octopus.

Don't say yuck...it's delicious...and no...it doesn't taste like chicken.

Another Bar Story...This One's For Duke

2007-06-13T18:48:00.000-04:00

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know I probably spend too much time in bars, but if I didn't where would I get all these stories to share?

Actually, I wasn't going to post about this until the weekend, since I should be working on my book, but after reading my friend Duke of Earle's post today about his trip to Austin, I figured he could use a story.

I'm in Chicago (actually a suburb of) this week. Last night I tried this place for dinner and, as usual, decided to sit at the bar and eat (see...I don't just go to these places to drink). It was packed and I figured there was a good chance of getting into one of my usual discussions with people. As it turned out, I was more of an observer this time.

So I'm sitting at one end of the rectangular-shaped bar. Right about in the middle of the bar are three twenty-something Hispanic girls sitting with a guy...two to his left, one to his right. The one to his right was extremely overweight...we're talking 200-pounder...and she was taking turns giving me the eye and talking with the guy, which I have to admit was flattering considering our age difference. After half an hour she got up and went home to take care of her babitas. One of her girlfriends then turned her attention to the guy.

Did I mention that they were pretty drunk? And, they spoke perfect English, no trace of an accent until they got really shit-faced.

Anyway, I couldn't hear all the words in the conversation because the place was pretty loud (ahem...not that I'd ever eavesdrop), but I (and everyone else at the bar) did catch a few of the phrases she shouted over the roar of the crowd:

"Fuckin' Sox rule!" (the Sox game was playing on the tv)
"I probly shouldn've beat my fuckin' daughter so much..."
"I used to beat her fuckin' ass so much man..."
"I grew up in New York City, man. You don' know shit. You grew up in a fuckin' white bread box, man..."
"Are you Norte Americano, or are you just gay?" (to the Hispanic guy stocking the bar with fresh glasses)

Meanwhile, her other girlfriend, who was even drunker, was talking to the air. I couldn't hear what she was saying, but the bartender had to tell her to be quiet several times. She started looking left and right, a mean look on her face, like she was looking for someone to start a fight with. The blondie girls to her left turned their backs to her, I guess so they wouldn't make eye contact. Finally, she called someone on her cell phone and started cursing at them.

The guy talking with the child beater got his check and left. The child beater went running after him. Just as he pushed through the revolving door I heard him yell "No way," to which she replied "Why the fuck not?"

Right about that time the Jimmy Buffet song "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw" popped into my mind. I was tempted to start singing it, but feared it might make me her next victim, so I decided to hold my wise-ass tongue.

She then returned to her seat and proceeded to argue with her girlfriend. By this time, the bartender was ready to cut them off, and asked if they needed a ride home. They didn't like that at all, and insisted that they were okay to drive. The bartender pushed to let her call them a cab.

"Fuck you. I'll get my own fuckin' ride, fuck face."

A guy shows up, and one of the girls starts slobbering all over him. Turns out he was going to drive them home. They had a few more drinks and left. As they were leaving they passed by two elderly guys and decided to hit on them.

"Hey man, you like whad you see?"
"Hey man, you wan' some a this?"

The guys just turned away from them and continued their conversation, to which one of the girls replied:

"You don' know whad you missing, man. Whad', you no like some chica poosie?"

The last thing I heard their male friend say was "You better not puke in my car."

As soon as the chicas left, the blondies who had been sitting next to them started gossiping like a bunch of barbie bitches.

Oh, and I stopped for a drink at another place on the way back to my hotel...and there's another very different story there. But, that's another post.

Now I need to get back to the novel...before I head out again tonight.

Badaboom Badabing...

Progress-to-Date

2007-06-11T18:18:00.000-04:00

I decided that I'd try to post every day or every other day with a summary of my progress. I'm hoping that's motivation enough to keep writing.

I played hooky this weekend, but knocked off two chapters today, and started a third which I will finish tomorrow.

So far so good.

Maybe Worth a Shot...

2007-06-08T14:45:00.000-04:00

This is not my usual type of post but, what the hell, maybe it'll help.

I've been working on this novel for the last several years. Too many years! It's just a personal little project to help myself explore whether I've got even a smidgen of creativity mixed in with all the technical skills I've accumulated over the decades. I only half care if it ever gets published.

In the past, I've sometimes let working on the book go by the wayside for up to six months before I get back to it. I really want to finish it. I'm about halfway, maybe a little more, finished at this point. So, I've set myself a goal to finish the first draft by the end of this month. Ambitious? Yes. Make that a friggin' yes! Reaching the goal will require me to complete 20-30 chapters, meaning I'll need to write an average of 1+ per day (aren't you awed by my mathematical prowess), roughly. My chapters average 3-5 pages, so they're more like scenes, and I've got about a dozen of them kind of identified already. I think 150 pages may be doable (is 'doable' even a word?)...if I can stay focused. Believe me, staying focused is the big problem.

Anyway, I got the idea that if I posted about this maybe some of you will ~~brow beat me~~ inquire about my progress and it might help me to stick to it. Figured it might be worth a shot.

Now, it's off the blogging and back to making stuff up...

Like Brother Like Sister...Or Vice Versa

2007-06-07T10:45:00.000-04:00

I got the inspiration for this post as I was making a comment over at Viki's blog. It's amazing how the mind bubbles up some interesting memories...things you've totally forgotten about. This one was from about ten years ago.

At the time, my son was a very heavy duty tennis player. I won't go into details...suffice it to say he was highly ranked in the USTA junior program. Anyway, some friends in New York gave him a standing invitation to play at their country club anytime he was up visiting. So, one Sunday when we were up there he went over to play.

After about half an hour a pretty sizable crowd started to gather and watch since no one had seen him before and since, with his ability, he definitely stood out.

Then along comes my sister...proud aunt that she was. She hadn't watched more than a minute when she began jumping out of her chair to cheer him on. A few of her more memorable words of encouragement:

"Kill the bum!"
"Ram it down his throat!"
"Knock him on his ass!"
"No mercy!"
"Take no prisoners!"

There were a few more but I think I'll stop right there...though I still can't figure out how you knock someone on their ass in tennis. ;-)

Do I even need to say that she stood out as well...but in a different way?

So, being the ever dutiful father, brother, friend, and to spare everyone any further embarassment, I gently informed her that tennis spectator etiquette is a little different than in other sports. For example, clapping is permitted, but only if you clap for both opponents (she didn't like this one), and the occasional "ooh" or "ahh" is tolerated (this was a real test of her self-discipline)...and that's about it.

Fortunately...for everyone...she was a fast learner and complied.

Now, what I thought was kind of funny about this incident is that just a few years before it happened, when I went to my son's first tournament, I have to admit that I was almost a clone of my sister. Luckily, a friend sitting in front of me gently...and quickly...taught me the proper etiquette.

Ciao for now.

Badaboom Badabing...

Heuristic Cyclic Path Algorithms in Stochastic Neuro-Optical Networks

2007-06-06T10:07:00.000-04:00

Okay, Okay, I couldn't resist waxing a bit academic, so I just made up that title. But I think this reading test is pretty cool.

Grt txe pykutre?

Go Granny, Go Granny, Go Granny Go...

2007-06-05T13:58:00.000-04:00

I ran into this over at Theater of the Absurd and just couldn't resist.

Badaboom Badabing...

Pretty in Pink...Redux

2007-05-31T16:13:00.000-04:00

A continuation of yesterday's morning post...

So, I got my hetero ass out of Starbucks, did my morning errands, and headed on home. On the way home I spotted Pinky at the bus stop, listening to his iPod and wagging his ass to the music. He kept looking up and down the street…like a hooker looking for a John.

Later in the day I had to go back to the shopping center (where Starbucks is located) and drop some things off at the dry cleaners. It was hot, and I was thirsty, so I thought I'd drop by Starbucks and get one of those blended fruit and tea drinks.

I ordered my drink, sat in the same chair I used that morning, and started browsing through one of the new books I'd just purchased (Einstein: His Life and Universe...in case anyone's interested).

I was enjoying the first couple of chapters (and enjoying even more the scanti-clad thirty-something mom's who were stopping by on their way home from the pool)…when…guess what…yep, here comes Pinky, slinking up to the cash register. Thank God there wasn't a line or he might have wiggled his butt in front of me again.

Having said that, I'm very liberal when it comes to one's sexual preferences, and I'm certainly not a homophobic guy. But, I hope to hell he isn't going to be a new fixture in the neighborhood. Hopefully, his trolling for c__k su__ers will fail and he'll move on.

I did notice that most of the young moms were holding their kids a little closer to themselves and giving Pinky a wide berth. Quite a few of the kids were bug-eyed and couldn't stop staring and pointing at Pinky. I wonder how mommy replied to their questions.

Badaboom Badabing...

Pretty in Pink?

2007-05-30T10:36:00.000-04:00

This is coming to you live…well almost live...from my local Starbucks. I say 'almost' because it's taking me more time to write about the scene than it took for the scene to happen in the first place.

I'm sitting in Starbucks as I write this...having my usual double espresso, reading my favorite blogs, and ~~leering~~ discreetly glancing at the pretty women...when...out of the corner of my eye...I glimpse an ass dressed in a pink mini-mini skirt wiggling about two feet away from me. Yes, wiggling. Wiggling like in "Hey sailor, lookin' for a good time?" kind of wiggling. Wiggling like when hookers wiggle their ass on the street corner…that kind of wiggling.

What can I say, I have to stop and look, right? I mean I have no choice anyway since it's a reflex reaction, right?

Okay, so I look.

Oh my gawwwd!

It's a pink mini-mini skirt all right, and it barely covers the butt cheeks. My eyes float upward…a white sports bra top, about two sizes too small. My eyes drift downward…pink flip flops decorated with fluffy pink flowers. The toes were painted…you guessed it…pink. The oversized purse was slung over a shoulder and was, of course, also pink. And did I mention the pink headband.

And the wiggling ass…well, it was still wiggling, and now only about a foot from where I'm sitting.

Now that I've got you all hot and bothered you're probably wondering about the rest of the body, right?

Okay, let's start with the legs and work our way up. The legs are long and slender with just a hint of muscular definition.

And hairy. Yes, I said hairy. Hairy as in more hair than I had on my legs when I was twenty. Hairy as in manly hairy.

The tummy. It's not flat. It's a beer belly. A hairy beer belly. A hairy beer belly with an 'outie' belly button. A very outie 'outie'…a 3/4-inch outie.

Have you guessed it yet?

No?

Let me get you off the hook.

It's a friggin' man wearing that outfit. I kid you not. A man. Well, I'm 99.99% it's a man, but I'm sure as hell not going to check under the skirt to see if he's got a quarter pounder.

Oh yeah. I forgot. He's wearing these little crushed velvet bracelets too. You already know the color.

I guess one could say he's really 'out' there. (get it?)

So, let me repeat…Oh my gawwwwd!

This is true...every pinkin' word of it. Now I'm gettin' the hell out of here before he thinks I'm interested.

Badaboom Badabing...

Where's Pythagoras?

2007-05-25T17:17:00.000-04:00

American students are falling behind many European and Asian countries in math and the sciences. With test answers like this is it any wonder??

Or maybe the question was just ambiquous? Not!

Talk Talk Talk...Can There Be Too Much of It??

2007-05-23T10:52:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago I wrote a note to myself questioning whether I use too much dialog in my writing. Now I'm not referring to what I write in my blog. I'm referring to a novel that I have been stutter-starting on for the last few years and that I have promised myself I would finish by the end of June. Well…at least the first draft.

I like dialog and find it easy to write…I really like to write dialog. The majority of many of my scenes are heavy with dialog. Personally, I find the dialog easy to read…but, I may be prejudiced because I'm the one who wrote them. Ya' think? Anyway, I never realized I used so much dialog, and wondered if that is bad style.

I just finished reading James Patterson's newest novel, The 6th Target, and I noticed he uses a combination of styles. Some of his chapters have no dialog, some have one to three sentences of dialog, and some are virtually all dialog. He really mixes it up, and since most of his chapters are three pages or less his stories just zip right along.

On the other hand, I just started reading Elmore Leonard's new book, Up In Honey's Room, and he has a completely different style. After reading the first few chapters, I noticed that they were almost pure dialog. I spot checked random chapters later in the book and those chapters appear to be almost 100% dialog too. Chapter after chapter after chapter...

I'll have to double check, but I think I read somewhere in one of those "how to" books that Leonard is supposed to be a master of dialog. Personally, I found his dialog hard to read. It could have just been me…it was late at night and I was tired…or maybe not. I guess I should re-read and see if I have the same reaction…

Okay, I did just that. I re-read some chapters and made a decision…I'm shit-canning his book. That's a technical term meaning I'm not going to read it…which is something I very rarely choose to do.

I did the same thing for my novel. I went back and re-read a dozen scenes, and I think there is a good mix of narration and dialog. Yes, several scenes are almost pure dialog but they seem to work, IMHO.

So I guess I'll keep plugging along…June is just around the corner.

Badaboom Badabing...

Business Was Picking Up...

2007-05-16T09:45:00.000-04:00

Last week kenju made a post about her favorite job when she was growing up. It brought back memories of my summer jobs and I got to thinking about which one was my favorite.

And the winner is…garbage man.

I kid you not. When I was in college I worked as a garbage man one summer. That job was head and shoulders the best job ever…for a summer job anyway.

So, how come it was such a great job, you ask? Well, first, there was the money. I can't remember exactly how much it paid, but it was about $80 per week…that was good money for a college kid in the 60's.

There were also some interesting perks. If you were lucky enough to get on a route that included business establishments...restaurants, bakeries, bars, for example... you got freebies every time you picked up. I ate a lot of free breakfasts and lunches, brought home dozens of pastries, and, yes, drank a considerable amount of beer.

You couldn't beat the hours. We started at 7:30am, but you were done after making two trips to the dumps. On a slow day, if we got partnered up with an old fart, we were done no later than 3:00. Many of the drivers lobbied to get two college kids assigned to their trucks. We'd run between houses instead of walk, and would toss cans back and forth between us instead of carrying them to the truck. It was quite a beautiful thing to see (you have to let your imagination go here)...full garbage cans launched into a perfect parabolic arc from the kid at curbside to his waiting partner, who, in one fluid motion, would dump its contents into the truck and send the empty can flying back. Without spilling anything on the street. There were dual benefits to this: First, it was great exercise. Second, and most important, we'd usually finish our second trip to the dumps by noon, and then hit the beach for the rest of the day.

To be fair, there were also a few downsides as well.

The job was absolutely mindless. After a few weeks of working the trucks your mind went to mush, and even reading the newspaper (and I'm talking the Daily News here, not the New York Times) became a challenge.

And then there was the vocabulary. The regulars who worked on the trucks had a vocabulary that was pretty much limited to four letter words…and we absorbed them through the process of verbal osmosis (okay, okay, I'm back to making words up again.) One of the kids was the son of a devout minister. He came in one day telling us that at dinner the night before he said "Mom, can you pass the fuckin' potatoes, please?" He didn't even realize what he had said until his parents recovered from the shock and filled him in.

Oh yeah, and the nicknames some of the regulars had...Sitting Bull, Nobby, Eight Ball….

I could go on, but I've gotta' go.

Badaboom Badabing...

Who's Got The Biggest One?

2007-05-11T10:16:00.000-04:00

There are big fish stories, and there are ...

Badaboom Badabing...

"Just how big was it Madame Secretary?"

2007-05-10T16:46:00.000-04:00

I just couldn't resist :-)

Quote of the Day

2007-05-09T11:24:00.000-04:00

I ran across this quote and just couldn't resist posting it.

"I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book." - Groucho Marx

A Good Time Was Had By All

2007-04-27T16:18:00.000-04:00

Last week I went to Milwaukee. It's one of the few cities I'd never been to before.

I stayed at a really nice hotel, the Hotel Intercontinental. The place had several nice bars and restaurants so I was looking forward to an interesting evening.

I moseyed down to the main bar during happy hour. It was fairly crowded, so I thought I'd probably get into one of my typical conversations. Normally I manage to strike up conversations with people while on my travels, but nothing was happening. Nada. Zilch. I had just brushed my teeth, so I knew it wasn't my breath. I discreetly whiffed each armpit and ruled out GAPO (Gorilla Armpit Odor for the uninitiated.) I didn't pick my nose...I'm pretty sure I didn't. Maybe after the prior week's trip to Cleveland my expectations were running a bit high. Maybe I was just giving off bad vibes. Oh, and here's a thought…maybe it was just the crowd. So, I went and had dinner then returned to another one of the bars in the hotel where a DJ was spinning tunes. The sound was a little loud for my taste but the music was good and the surroundings were attractive. I felt like I was sitting in a club.

The place was almost empty. I was the only cotton head there. An attractive blonde woman, mid-30's, was a few seats to my left, talking on her cell phone. Off to my right, at the other end of the bar, a young couple were billing and cooing and drinking martinis. Strains of "I'm just a lonely boy, lonely and blue..." played inside my head. About the best I could do for entertainment was to try my hand at teasing the pretty young bartender…I asked her to recite the wine list in reverse. She was a good sport and actually tried, but couldn't do it. Geez, it was almost 9:30 and that was the highlight of my evening so far. I seriously considered going back to my room and watching American Idol…well, almost seriously. I'd have to be incredibly dire straits to do something like that...I'm not a tv-watcher, unless it's something like the Sopranos.

I had another drink and listened to the music. I had a clever thought, something I might be able to work into a story someday, so I opened my journal to write it down.

"So, you're a lefty, huh?" It was the pretty blonde.

"I don't know many lefties," she continued.

I told her she was about to add one more to her list and introduced myself. She said something about lefties supposedly being very intelligent.

"Do I look intelligent?"

Of course she said "yes" (smart girl) so I figured I'd just go with whatever came to mind. I told her I was semi-ambidextrous...I play golf right-handed and bat right-handed in baseball. This is actually the truth, though I must admit I haven't played baseball in 20 years. I figured I'd lay it on thicker.

"I'm also ambimoustrous."

It only took her half a beat to catch on, so I knew this was someone I was going to enjoy talking with.

Okay, okay. You know I like to make up words sometimes. Yes, I made up 'ambimoustrous.' It means I can use a mouse equally well with either hand. A computer mouse. Now, I didn't make that word up on the spot. I've actually been using it for years. Of course ambimoustrous is a form of ambidexterity, but there is a distinction...it only applies to working with a computer mouse. Applied to the rodent variety of mouse the proper descriptive term would be ambidextrous...as in having the ability to hold a dead (rodent) mouse by the tail and to be able to throw it into the woods behind my house (or at someone) equally well with either my right hand or my left hand. Yeah, in case you're wondering, I just made that up. But, when you think about it, it makes perfect sense, right? What the hell, it's almost happy hour and my creative juices are starting to flow.

Anyway, our conversation ultimately drifted into what we did for a living. When it came to sharing my profession I was very tempted to respond with "pornographer," "astronaut," or "brain surgeon." Since I couldn't decide between the three I just told the truth.

It turns out she was an artsy type and proved it by doing a pen-and-ink drawing of me in my journal. Actually, it was a drawing of my face, not me in my entirety. No one had ever done a drawing of my face before. It was a sort of caricature, and when I looked at it I saw my son's face instead of mine. It kind of blew me away, because if you put photos of my son and myself side by side those similarities would never be apparent. (Actually, my kids are lucky to have inherited their mother's looks instead of my looks...she is quite beautiful.)

We talked for almost an hour. Then her boyfriend came in. We had more good conversation. We bought each other drinks. They were really nice people and we all hit it off extremely well. I must admit to being a bit envious of him. He was a year younger than me...with a thirty-something goomah. See my N'Italian lessons here if you need the definition of goomah.

They invited me to go to one of their local hangouts. It was great. There was a piano player doing Frank Sinatra songs, several people got up and sang. We had more drinks and more good conversation. I stayed up way later than I should have, but all that good energy easily carried me through the next day.

To me, encounters like this put a lot of fun into life.

Just another episode in Badabing's travels.

Badaboom Badabing...

My Very First Time

2007-04-27T11:49:00.000-04:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

As I approached, she smiled again. "Hi. Nice to see you. You're Norman, right?"

Not. There's no way in hell that I look like a Norman.

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.

Then again, it could just have been wishful thinking. Hmmm. Nah. Okay...maybe.

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.

And besides, I didn't know what her girlfriend looked like ;-)

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.

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.

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.

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. ~~We won't mention the roughly 20-year age advantage they had on me.~~ 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.

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.

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.

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.)

Oh yeah. Fran continued with the kisses, but upped the ante to two on each cheek.

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. (quod erat demonstrandum)

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.

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:

"So, you like more of the bad boy type, huh?"

"Yes. You're better looking than him, but he looks like the bad boy type to me."

"Well, I can be a bad boy too, ya' know."

"Really? But you seem like such a nice guy. It's hard to believe. I don't think so."

"Okay then, girl. Maybe I should just bend you over that bar stool and spank your ass real good. How'd you like that?"

"Oh yeah baby," she squealed with delight and grabbed my arm, "that's the kind of thing I'm lookin' for."

By the way, I kid you not. This actually happened. Verbatim.

The woman ultimately left to persue the remaining cotton head, and I got tired of standing, so my buddy and I found a couple of lounge chairs 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.

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?"

It took a few seconds more for the unmistakable scent of vomit to waft our way.

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.

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.

Big mistake!!

Everything got cleaned up pretty good. Everything but Fran's hand.

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.

That was my first time…my first time holding a gooey vomit hand.

Aren't you glad I shared?

Badaboom Badabing...

Global Warming Is Real...I Have The Proof

2007-04-26T09:50:00.000-04:00

Earlier this month my friend the Duke of Earle made a post about global warming. I have been thinking about this topic ever since. Being an engineer by training, ~~and having a little too much time on my hands,~~ I have been searching far and wide to get my hands on all the data I could to prove whether this phenomenon is or isn't real. I now have irrefutable (and tangible) evidence that global warming is, in fact, real. See below.

The data speaks for itself. Q.E.D.

Badaboom Badabing...

Kids Say The Darndest Things

2007-04-25T12:22:00.000-04:00

I'm trying to recover from a really nasty cold, so my head is too foggy to compose one of my usual posts. But...I just couldn't help lifting this from Old Horsetail Snake's blog. I'm still laughing my ass off.

Some People Shouldn't Drink & Chew Gum At The Same Time

2007-04-04T18:09:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here in my motel room, somewhere in the belly of North Carolina, visiting some of my favorite blogs and trying to figure out where I can get a decent meal, and I realize I haven't posted anything in several weeks. Now, unlike my friend Viki, who thinks nothing of abandoning her readers for weeks on end, I've got the guilt and figure it's about time I post something for my two readers.

I've got lots of stories to tell from my almost-weekly business trips, but I often forget to write them down. After a few minutes of brainstorming, I'm reminded of something I observed on one of my recent trips to Chicago.

The scene takes place at Pete Miller's Steakhouse, in a western Chicago suburb. I'm sitting at the bar having dinner. (Where else, right?)

A couple of guys are sitting on the opposite side of the bar. They're probably about my age, though they look a bit older (okay, okay, I've still got a big head from the compliments I received a few weeks ago…see here…and, get your mind out of the gutter…you know which head I'm talkin' about.) An attractive woman walks in. I'd say she was 40 to 42. She's dressed in black, blondish hair, slim and curvy in all the right places, nice tan (wonder if it's an all over tan…sorry, couldn't resist…sometimes it's hard to leave the gutter when you spend so much time there), short sleeve top sporting just enough cleavage to make an old horndog start to fantasize. In case you're wondering, the horndog would be me. Anyway, she's looking around like she's supposed to meet someone.

One of the guys gets up and goes to meet her. He introduces himself then brings her back and introduces the other guy. She takes a seat. One guy is sitting next to her, the other standing behind and leaning in to talk. While they're talking to her, she's looking around at other people, kind of like when one is at a party and talking to someone and that someone is looking around for more important people to talk to. Not that it's ever happened to me, of course, but you get the picture.

What little conversation there is seems to be strained…and she is making absolutely no eye contact. They all look a little uncomfortable. I get the feeling they weren't what she expected.

One guy says something to her. I think he's asking what she'd like to drink. She answers without looking at him. The two guys look at each other…one raises his eyebrows. They order her a split of champagne. Very little conversation for the next twenty minutes or so, and she doesn't make eye contact until she starts working on her second split. They look to me like they're negotiating something…like plans for the evening perhaps? Or maybe I was just getting carried away with my fantasizing. Oh, and did I forget to mention she's chewing gum while drinking her champagne? Classy, huh? Not.

So one guy excuses himself and disappears. A minute later the other guy does the same. They go to a corner of the bar, where she can't see them, and they start talking to each other. They're gone for a good 15 minutes.

The woman starts looking around, very discreetly, like she thinks they might have bolted (and left her with the check) but she doesn't want anyone to know.

The place starts getting crowded, with people standing behind the bar stools a few rows deep. Someone bumps her stool accidentally, and she spits the gum into her champagne glass. She looks at her drink, then looks left and right. She does this about half a dozen times. I think she's trying to determine if anyone noticed…probably no one but me did. Then, she suddenly sticks her forefinger into the champagne flute, spears the chewing gum, and pops it into her mouth.

Now, you can call me a snobolla (That's a N'Italian word I just made up, pronounced snob-'bowla), but that kinda' grossed me out.

Now maybe it was the sound of my fork dropping, or maybe it was just coincidence, but she made eye contact with me right after she scarfed the gum. I was too far away to make a wise ass remark, so I just smiled, made a chewing motion, and took a sip of my wine. For a split second I thought she was going to throw something at me (hopefully not the gum), but she just blushed and looked away.

Just another night in the travels of Badabing.

That's gonna' be all for now. According to the map I'm looking at I'll need to drive about twenty miles to a town where I might be able to get a decent glass of wine.

Badabing Badaboom...

They Can Make Your Day...Or Make Your Day Hell

2007-03-15T16:04:00.000-04:00

Now I really should be spending my time writing my novel or working on my textbook, but I wanted to post this while it was still fresh in my mind.

Last week I made a few posts about my recent trip, and how it pays to keep your cool and be nice to the airline reps. This post is about how those reps can make your day…or make your day hell.

In September of 2000 my wife and I took a trip to our favorite Caribbean island. It was our first trip there in 10 years without the kids. Everything was perfect. On our last day we checked out of the hotel, left the car in the airport parking lot with the keys in the glove compartment (how's that for security?), and checked in for our flight. We boarded, the plane (a prop job) taxied down the runway and stopped. We were waiting about 10 minutes and it wasn't do to air traffic issues…there were only 2 flights a day in and out of that airport. Eventually, the pilot announced there was an equipment malfunction and the flight would have to be cancelled. They needed to fly in parts from San Juan.

So, we went back to the terminal, reclaimed the luggage, and queued up to wait and see what the airline is going to do. Of course, there are always the requisite A-holes bitchin' and moanin' about the situation, and this was no exception. They hadn't made any announcements yet, so I got out of line and went up to talk with the airline rep. She was busy trying to placate a rude New Yawka bitch and her snotty daughter. They were bitchin' and moanin' personified, and they began to sling personal insults at the poor island girl.

Bitch: "Ya know, we come heeya several toymes a yeeah. Ow-er money pays faw yaw salree. I expect betta treetment dan dis."

Rep: "Mam, we're working on seeing what we can do. As soon as I know something I'll let you know."

Bitch: "We ah also eeleet frequent flyuhs, so we expect to get an upgrade. That's the least you can do faw ow-wer troubles."

Rep: "We're working on it mam."

Snotty Daughter (stomping her feet): "Mommy? Mommy? I'm going to miss moy appointment with Doctah Kleinfeld. Doesn't that idiot understand he's the best awthodontist in New Yawk. It's gonna' take us two months to get anutha appointment with him. God I hate huh."

Bitch: "Oh my gawd, I fawgot about dat."

Snotty Daughter: "Stupid imbecile prawbably doesn't even know what an awthodontist is."

I waited for the bitch to stop bitching, and explained to the rep that I understood it's not her fault. And, if it made logistics any easier, I said that my wife and I would be okay with staying on the island another night. I also schmoozed her a little bit to try and make up for the crap she had to take from those A-holes. She smiled and thanked me...and genuinely seemed to appreciate my effort.

Ultimately, the airline decided to ferry us to another island where we would catch a plane to San Juan, then overnight us in San Juan and fly us to New York the next day. From New York my wife and I would then catch a flight home. Not the most direct route, but whaddya' gonna' do.

The rep called each person's name and handed them tickets and meal vouchers. When I went up to get ours, the rep smiled and thanked me for being so patient. Then she said, in a voice just loud enough for the A-holes to hear, "And we've got you and your wife going back first class."

You can imagine how the shit hit the fan when Ms. Bitch heard that. Of course, I just had to rub it in a little and mentioned that I wasn't even an elite frequent flyer on that airline...at which point I quickly learned a few curse words I hadn't heard before and became the newest enemy of Ms. Bitch and Snotty Daughter.

Ah, but it gets even better. San Juan was apparently a hub for passengers traveling to New York from many Latin American and Caribbean countries, so the plane was absolutely full on the San Juan to New York leg. Now, I'm sure everyone has seen at least one movie with a scene from a third world country…a scene that involves a bus packed with locals, food, chickens, pigs, etc. Hold that vision for a second. The aircraft on this leg was a DC-10…a very large plane with 8-10 seats in the middle. Guess where Ms. Bitch and Snotty Daughter were seated? Yep, right smack in the middle of the middle…worst seats on the plane. Now this occurred before 9/11 when there weren't many restrictions on what you could carry aboard...so about the only things missing were the pigs and chickens.

I had to give her credit for persistence if nothing else. Ms. Bitch refused to go down without a fight. Before we took off and several times during the flight she complained to the first class flight attendants that she and Snotty Daughter should be put in first class and we should be moved back to cattle class because they were elite flyers and we weren't.

We just smiled at each other and enjoyed our champagne. As my wife likes to say..."what goes around, comes around."

Badabing Badaboom...

Brooklyn Tony on Math

2007-03-10T15:31:00.000-05:00

Brooklyn Tony returns from school and says he got an F in arithmetic.

"Why?" asks the father.

"Da teacher asked 'How much is 2x3,' I said '6,'" replies TONY.

"But dat's right!" says his dad.

"Yeah, but den she asked me 'How much is 3x2?'"

"What's da f---ing difference?" asks the father.

"Dat's what I said!"

Reach Out And Touch Someone...

2007-03-10T14:13:00.000-05:00

Well, kenju's recent post got me thinking about cousins today. I grew up living in the same neighborhood with my many cousins. We basically saw each other every day. Over time, most of us drifted apart. I was one of the very few "sinners" who actually left New York. As we became adults, weddings and Christmas would be the primary times when we'd see each other. As we aged, the funerals began replacing the weddings. After a couple of funerals that were only weeks apart, we decided to hold an annual cousin's party. That was incredible fun and brought back some wonderful childhood memories, but after a few years it was harder to get people to participate and it eventually fell by the wayside.

This is a picture of me and two of my older cousins. I was three years old at the time, which would have made it 1950. My cousin Anthony is the one wearing the hat and looking like a miniature mafioso. The other is my cousin John. My father was godfather to Anthony. John's father was my godfather. Anthony was the first one in our family to go to college. I was the second. Actually, my father used to joke that he was the first one in the family to go through college...in through the front door and out through the back door. (Hey, maybe that's how I got my sense of humor.)

Around Christmas time, Anthony sent me an email which was the motivation behind my Older 'N Dirt post. I sent him the above picture and he got a real kick out of it.

Now, the theme of this post is to reach out and touch someone (but not in a private place...sorry, I just couldn't let that one pass.) ... which means, try to contact someone...friend or family...that you haven't seen or communicated with in a very long time. Do it sooner, not later.

I'm going to communicate twice. First, with a very old and dear friend whom I haven't seen or spoken with in almost a year. She normally contacts me if I let things go too long, but I know she's really pissed at me because I said that I'd be the catalyst since she's been playing that role for the last 20 years. Second, I'm going to contact a relative that I've never met. My cousin Anthony found that we have relatives in Texas. He actually met some of them when they were in New York. I found out from an aunt that one of my grandfather's brothers was really the first family "sinner"...he decided to settle in Texas instead of in New York with the rest of his siblings...so all of our Texas relatives are descendants from my father's side of the family. Anyway, I am planning to contact a distant cousin via email, and maybe even meet when I'm in Texas in June.

So, reach out and touch someone...now!!

Badabing Badaboom...

Memories Are Made Of This...

2007-03-08T19:05:00.000-05:00

The more I blog, the more things from my past keep popping up. I think it's some sort of "stream of consciousness" thing. In any case, I think it's a good thing.

When I was writing my last two posts, about my recent trip, the book Gulliver's Travels popped into my mind. I don't know why, maybe I was thinking Badabing's Travels or something as a possible title. Anyway, Gulliver's Travels brought up an interesting memory from my college days, and that's what this post is all about.

A "sort of" friend and I were in the same English class in college. I say "sort of" friend because his wife worked with my girlfriend, and we'd double-date on occasion. That's how we knew each other.

I'll call this guy Vinny. Vinny was a very good-looking Italian kid...could have been a male model. He was studying to be a physicist and I was studying engineering. I thought I was a serious student until I met Vinny. His looks betrayed the reality...he was what we'd call today a serious "geek" or "nerd," albeit a handsome one. Back them we just called 'em serious students. I guess I was sort of one too, but nowhere in his league.

Whenever we double-dated the girls would be talking girl stuff and we'd usually talk about school stuff. Not that I necessarily wanted to, but that was the only thing he would talk about. A typical conversation snippet from Vinny would go something like this:

"So, have you read the latest Feynman paper on quantum dynamics? I want to get your opinion about it."

Of course, Vinny being born and raised in Brooklyn, New York, it would have sounded like this to the listener:

"So, you seen da' latest Foynman paypuh on quan'em dawynamics? I wanna' get yaw opinion aboud' it."

(As an aside, Richard Feynman was a very famous physicist of that era who won a Nobel Prize in 1965.)

Sometimes I knew what the hell Vinny was talking about and sometimes he was out there circling in his own orbit, in which case I'd have to try and change the conversation to something more down to earth...like partial differential equations or stochastic processes.

In any case, he was a nice guy, and I usually enjoyed conversing with him. However, I often wondered what the hell he and his wife talked about when they were together.

In our English class one of our required readings was Gulliver's Travels. The professor had each student give a short verbal report to the class on various aspects of the book. On the day we had to deliver the reports Vinny sat next to me and we made small talk before the start of class.

"So, Vinny, what's your report on?"

"You know about me and Angie?" he said. Angie was his wife.

"Yeah. Sorry to hear about it. You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll live."

"So, what's your topic?" I repeated.

"You're gonna' love this."

"What?" I queried.

"Okay. I have to report on Gulliver's experiences in Laputa."

"You're shittin' me," I say.

"Is that fuckin' spooky, or what?"

"That's a beer or three spooky. You up for a few cold ones after class?"

"Fuckin' a. Shoulda' had a few before I came here." He started trembling.

"Maybe just look at me while you're up there. You and I are the only ones in the room who know about you and Angie, right?"

His normally dark complexion was pasty white. "I think I'm gonna' throw up."

Now, here's the poop on Vinny and the book. Laputa was a floating island in one of Gulliver's travels. The upper crust of society lived on the island. The men of Laputa were deep thinkers, and spent most of their time contemplating and speculating on things mathematical. (Gee, any likeness to Vinny ya' think?) They were so extreme that they rarely spoke and even went so far as to cut their food into perfect geometric shapes...circles, rhomboids, triangles, etc. (And, no, a rhomboid is not a form of arthritis. Nor is it something you take Preparation-H for.)

They also weren't very attentive to the women of Laputa, who, as a result of their neglect, would sneak off the island for evenings or days at a time to satisfy their carnal desires with the "lower lifes" below. Yes...their wives would boink the commoners.

So how does this relate to Vinny and Angie? Well, it turns out that Vinny came home unexpectedly one day and found Angie in the sack with her hairdresser. Yes...the hairdresser was a guy...or they still might be married today.

In case you're wondering, Vinny did a passable job on his report, and managed to suppress a "ralph" or two while he was up there. Then he went straight from the front of the class to the men's room where he puked his guts out.

Afterwards we went out and got shit-faced.

The old "stream of consciousness" beastie bubbled up another memory from my college days as I was writing this post. Has to do with legs, sex, and psychology...but I'll leave that for another post.

Badaboom Badabing...

Same Bar, Same Seat...

2007-03-07T09:49:00.000-05:00

It's my second night on the road. I'm in the same bar as in my last post. I'd already eaten dinner elsewhere, but Duke and Maryland were playing so I figured I'd have a few pops, watch the game, work on a scene for my novel, maybe engage in a little conversation.

I'm sitting in the same seat as the night before. Different bartender, different crowd. Oh yeah, and I've officially dubbed this my "lucky seat."

A couple is seated to my left, at the end of the bar. Very attractive brunette, 30-something. Who cares what the guy looked like.

Like I said, she was very attractive. Very slim, naturally tan, long dark hair, sexy brown eyes, brilliant white teeth, beautiful smile. Her lips weren't as full as I'd have liked them to be, but...okay, okay, I'm a picky old fart.

I was writing in my journal, working on the next scene in my novel. I couldn't help it, but I kept sneaking peeks at her...especially when she gave him occasional kisses. Very soft kisses. Very wet kisses. Very sexy kisses. I could almost feel them...the kisses I mean.

Now the classic way to describe my reaction to this is something like "I felt a stirring in my loins." And, while I can be a very ~~classy~~ classic guy, the more modern interpretation is "I'm gettin' oak."

Anyway, I guess she must have noticed me stealing glances at her. She leaned towards me and asked, "You're not writing down our conversation, are you?"

"Only the parts about sex."

She cracked up. "I'll make sure we talk more slowly, then," she laughed.

"No need. I can read lips and have a bear trap memory."

"I'm gonna' go sit closer to him," she said to her paramour.

"No you're not," he snapped.

I went back to my writing, still sneaking the occasional glance, as they continued their billing and cooing. (Oh, and for any of you young 'uns reading this, 'cooing' is not a dirty word...'billing,' however, is questionable.)

Now, I had a feeling they were my kind of people, because they were well into their second bottle of wine and dinner hadn't even been served yet. The billing got bill-ier (that's probably not a word) and the cooing got coo-ier (ditto), and watching them became quite arousing for this old horndog. I even caught a few flashes of tongue.

I really needed to use the men's room...but it would have been embarrasing...if you catch my drift. You don't? Let me give a subtle hint. Go back to the paragraph where I mention I'm a ~~classy~~ classic kind of guy and search for the keyword "oak."

They're dinner finally came. Just before it was served I was tempted to say,"Wow, you two have some appetite." Reason prevailed. I held my tongue.

Portions were huge and they offered to share it with me. I graciously declined. They dined. They cooed. I eavesdropped. They left. And, yes, they did bid me good night.

Maryland beat Duke. Life was good.

There's more, but that's another post.

Badabooom Badabing...

Any Siblings? ... No, just brothers and sisters

2007-03-06T09:53:00.000-05:00

When I finally got to my destination last week, I checked into my hotel and looked for a place to eat dinner. I found a place on the Internet that was close by and looked pretty good, so I gave it a shot.

I almost always sit at the bar when I go out to eat. Less lonely, often better reading light, and I am almost always able to strike up a conversation or two if I'm in the mood. So, I squeeze into a barstool, order a glass of wine, and take a look at the menu.

A man and an attractive blonde woman are sitting to my left. He's probably mid-40's. She's more like early 40's. At first, I can't tell whether he's just making conversation or trying to hit on her. It takes a minute for my ears to adjust into eavesdrop mode, and I pick up the following tidbit of conversation.

Him: "So, do you have any siblings?"
Her: "No, I don't."
Him: "Oh, so you're an only child, then."
Her: "Oh no. I have three brothers and sisters."

He makes eye contact with me and rolls his eyes when she takes a sip of her drink. I couldn't help it...just had to laugh.

So, we just stumble into light conversation. He teases her a bit, offers to fly her to Vegas with him for the weekend, yada yada... Of course, I tell her the Bellagio is first class and that she should go.

"Really? Well, I don't know..."

Anyway, the guy asks me how old I am. I tell him I'm pushing 60. He can't believe it. Neither can she.

"Oh, my gawd, you don't even look fifty," she says with an admiring look.

Then she leans over and runs her hand over my shoulder and down my arm...did I say it felt really good?...and says, "Wow, you really look great."

Boing!! (Secret guy code)

Of course, I thank her for her compliment.

Then, the guy asks, "So, what's the secret to your youth? Do you have a daily regimen that you follow?"

Now, I could have been a wise ass and said something like "Yes, I owe it all to having incredible sex three times a day...every day...religiously." For a moment I thought it might be interesting to see how the woman would have responded. Then, maybe I'd have looked her right in the eye and followed up with "So far today it's only been twice. So I'm going to need it once more before midnight."

But, alas, I behaved, and just said "A bottle of wine and three cloves of garlic every day." She nodded knowingly, like I had just revealed some great key to life...and followed up with another pat on the arm.

Did I say I'm beginning to like this?

We talk a little more and he says, "You know, they say when a guy gets married he puts on an average of a pound each year. You don't look like you fit that statistic."

"Well, I'm actually the same weight as I was in high school." I paused.

"Really?"

"Yes, but instead of having a v-shape like I did back then, now it's more like a u-shape." (This is actually the truth.)

I looked at her and smiled. She half-smiled back, but I could tell she didn't get it. Then, she got a strange/confused look on her face like maybe I just said something dirty. The smile vanished and her gaze went back to her drink. A few minutes later she bid us goodnight and left.

No. I'm not going to make any blonde jokes :-)

Anyway, just another episode in wide world of Badabing's Travels.

Ciao for now.

Badabing Badaboom...

Road Warrior Rant...

2007-03-02T11:42:00.000-05:00

I normally travel several days per week, so I guess that qualifies me as a road warrior.

I wrote this post in my journal while sitting in an airport on Tuesday afternoon...just getting around to officially posting it today. WARNING...this is a long rant.

I'm on my way to New Haven, CT today. No direct flights there from any of the airports in my area, so I have to go via a connecting flight---something I try to avoid at all costs, particularly during the winter months. Three hours before my scheduled departure I get a voice message from the airline informing me that my departing flight is delayed and I will miss my connection...and, they're working on a new connection (but haven't established one yet.)

I'm a little worried (road warriors always prepare themselves with backups and alternatives), so I hop onto their website and see there's a 6pm connection to my destination...the last flight there. Even with the delay of my departing flight, I should be able to make the last connection, no sweat. What bothers me is why the airline didn't automatically book it for me. So, I try to re-book myself and the site won't let me unless I pay an additional $300...you know what I say about that...fuggedaboudit...I gotta' speak to a real person.

I call reservations, and wait for 20 minutes to speak to an actual person who informs me that they'll have to transfer me to someone who can help. Fine with me. I get switched to another call queue where I wait an additional 15 minutes before I get to talk with someone. Badaboom badabing...takes just three minutes and I'm booked on the 6pm connector. I ask the agent for the new departure time of my originating flight and am informed that it is 3:45.

I arrive at the airport just before 2:45, go to the carry-on check-in kiosk (road warriors never check their baggage), but it wouldn't let me check in...I must seek the assistance of a ticket agent. Now, I know from experience that this often happens when you show up less than 30 minutes prior to departure time, your flight has already left without you (Oh shit, ya' think?), or you showed up on the wrong day (I am only a senior citizen in-waiting, not a real one...yet..so I ignore this possibility.)

I tell the agent standing behind the kiosk my problem. Without even looking at me, she points to a line of about 25 people who are all waiting to check bags..."unless you're first class, in which case I can help you." Normally, I'd respond to an opening like that with something to the tune of "Then I guess I'm in the right place. People always tell me I'm a first class guy."...but I sensed that it wouldn't get me any chuckles let alone smiles, so I held my tongue (no, not literally). I look at the first class line, but there's no one on it. I inform her, but I guess she didn't appreciate the update because she barked a "That line...over there!!" and at the same time gave a very angry left-handed Third Reich salute to point the way. It reminded me of the time my teacher sent me off to the principal's office (ok, ok, it happened more than once). I've got an hour, security lines aren't an issue this time of day, it's a small plane so they'll probably board 15 minutes before departure, yada yada yada...so I get on the line (though I am very tempted to return her salute with a "Sig, heil."

It takes me about 10 minutes to get to the head of the line, at which point an agent points me to a kiosk. I explain that it won't let me check in, and she tells me to wait (yeah, while she figures out what to do). Takes her about five minutes, then she sends me over to the first class ticket agent (not the nazi fraulein...she had disappeared thru one of those little doors behind the luggage conveyor...probably her break time, even though there were now at least 20 people on line). The agent hits about 75 different keys on his console, spins around once, slaps his knee and rubs his belly...only kidding...he didn't slap his knee...then tells me it may be too late.

By now, it's 3:05...still plenty of time...so I mention that departure time is not until 3:45. He says (rubbing his chin), "Hmm, you're right. Let me call down there (to the gate) and see what's going on." He calls, plays a little more Fussball with his keyboard,prints my boarding pass, and tells me to get my ass down to gate D-45 ASAP. I know enough about the airport to know that's the furthest gate from where I am standing, but I've still got plenty of time to get there.

I enter security, the guard checks my boarding pass and ID and says, "Wait a minute, sir, I think you've missed your flight. Says here it leaves at 2:25"

"Yeah, it was supposed to, but it's been delayed," I smiled.

She nods knowingly, I breeze through security, do a semi-senior-citizen jog down to the gate, and arrive at precisely 3:17.

There's me and two gate agents. "Philadelphia," I say.

The male gate agent replies, "Already closed."

The female agent is not making eye contact.

"But, it's not supposed to leave until 3:45."

Now, I look out the window and the plane is less than 100 feet from me.

"That my plane? The one with the door still open, baggage still being loaded?"

"It was running late. But it's closed now," the guys says.

"I know it was running late," I reply. "It was supposed to leave at 2:25."

He does a (very feminine, IMHO) sigh, purses his lips just so, and turns bee-yotch.

"So, why weren't you here at 2:25?"

He says this with just enough condescension to make my blood pressure thump up 30 points. So now I'm thinking, "Why that bitchy little fanuch!!!" (see my N'Italian Lessons 101 for a translation).

The female agent sneaks me a glance and slips away. Wonder if it was the expression on my face or the look in my eyes? Pick any two. And, during all this time the little fanuch never even made eye contact with me.

Now, all road warriors know that gate agents can make your day...or make your day hell...so I hold my temper in check. Aren't you proud of me? Good thing he wasn't looking at me while all this is going on.

"I'm pretty sure the 6:00 to New Haven is the last flight out. There's another flight to Philly sometime this afternoon, but I'm not sure if it'll let me make that connection." I figure sharing this with him might save time (as well as give him a hint that he's dealing with a genuine road warrior...we always know when the last flight is).

He nods and starts doing his thing with the keyboard, and I've just gotta' tell him I'm a little pissed...but not at him. Well, okay, I'm a little pissed at him for that earlier remark, but being the nice guy that I am I'll give him a pass...this time. So, I tell him I know it's not his fault, but I'm ticked off that they closed the flight so early. I figured arriving 25 minutes before flight time would be more than enough.

He looks up. "Who told you it was going at 3:45?"

"The agent who re-booked me."

"They shouldn't have told you that."

He pointed over his shoulder to flight information board. It still had 2:25 posted as the departure time.

All of a sudden I was beginning to see little pieces fall into place. Apparently, they never really officially rescheduled the flight, so when it did come in the pilot was anxious to make up for lost time and took off with whoever was there. Some of the computers were not accurately updated, which is apparently why my boarding pass and the flight information board showed 2:25 as the departure time. The reservation agent who gave me bad info wasn't around for me to yell at, so I took a few deep breaths and let my blood pressure drift back to near-normal.

Anyway, Lady Luck was with me from that point on. There was a flight that would get me in about 5:30, if everything went on schedule. The arriving gate was F18 and the connecting gate was F9, so he thought I could make it "if you hustle."

My wiseass side almost made me say "And, if they don't leave early," but instead I settled for "I don't know how fast I can hustle. Ya' think a semi-senior-citizen jog will be good enough?"

That got a smile out of him. Even better, he apologized for the inconvenience...and was very sincere.

Maybe he's not always such a bitchy fanuch, ya' know?

So, this rant has a happy ending...even though I did manage to get lost for 45 minutes once I left the New Haven airport. I forgot how awful the signs are in New England.

Damn, I think this is my longest post ever.

Anyway, I ended up having a nice evening in Connecticut, which will be the subject of another post.

Badaboom Badabing...

Badabing: Bon Vivant, Raconteur ... Hero

2007-02-24T18:37:00.000-05:00

About a month ago I went into town to do some errands on a Saturday afternoon. As I passed the corral we have on our property, I saw a deer hanging halfway over the corral fence. It wasn't moving at all...just kind of hanging there. I stopped the truck...waited at least five minutes...still no movement. I concluded that the deer must have gotten stuck as it tried to jump the fence, had hung there for a while, and maybe died of starvation, frustration, or simply fright.

I continued into town to do my errands before the shops closed, wondering along the way how the hell I'm gonna' get rid of a dead deer in my corral. I asked the barber, who advised me not to worry since the turkey vultures would probably pick the carcass clean in a matter of days...then, I'd only have to move the skeleton. I asked the optometrist, who laughed and said he'd never heard of anything like that...I invited him to come out and take a look as long as he wouldn't mind lending a hand. By the time I got to Starbucks I figured it would be fruitless to ask the baristra for advice, so I just kept my mouth shut and got my coffee to go.

On the way back up the driveway it was still hanging there. When I got back to the house I told my wife and daughter to take a look out the dining room window and they'd be able to see it through the leafless trees about a hundred yards away. We all looked for a few minutes, and my wife suggested I call the local farmer who would probably know what to do with it. I went searching for the phone book.

Suddenly, my wife screamed. She saw what appeared to be turkey vultures attacking the carcass, but she wasn't absolutely sure since the trees were blocking the view. I took a look and couldn't see any vultures, then noticed that the deer was still alive. It was probably fatigued and resting when I went by. So, with split-second thinking rivaling that of the most accomplished emergency room surgeon (ok, maybe not exactly), I grabbed a pair of cutting pliers and we jumped in the truck and raced to the rescue.

Sure enough, it was flailing away, trying to get free of the barbs on the fence wire. My daughter wanted to hold and console it. My wife was yelling for both of us not to get too near it so we wouldn't get kicked. I approached cautiously, trying to get it freed without either of us getting hurt. In about a minute was able to cut through two layers of the fence wire.

Boing...it was like the deer had been shot straight out of a giant slingshot. In two or three seconds it had streaked about fifty yards to the other side of the corral and, this time, successfully leapt over the fence. Just before disappearing into the woods, it stopped and looked back for a moment. My daughter said, "Aw, daddy, maybe it's saying thank you."

So, now in addition to being a friend, husband, father, lover, senior citizen in-waiting, gourmet cook, wine ~~connosseur~~ consumer, wannabe novelist, horndog, witty conversationalist, jokester, skilled eavesdropper, book hound, music lover, raconteur, bon vivant, and all-around nice guy...oh, did I mention modest?...I am now also a hero...saver of deer ~~and all animalkind~~...with pictures to prove it :-)

What's that?...I hear strains of Whitney Houston singing "You are my hero..."

Ok, ok...enough. The sun is below the yardarm so it's time to start happy hour.

Badaboom Badabing...