nobody asked…

As loathe as I am to memes, I will sometimes comply when tagged by a beautiful, wide-eyed girl maiden. Many might consider this a weakness. I consider it a strength. I know how my bread gets buttered. So when Janie (Sounding Forth) of West Texas Oilpatch fame asked me to participate in this, I wilted in her virtual presence and said, Of course, my dear. This came from Janie as a request to tell seven random facts about myself.

Since everything about me is random, this looked too easy, so I’m tweaking it with an assumption that what I tell should be facts not heretofore known in this here blog. Y’all know ol’ Winston — he cain’t never leave things be — always gotta be tinkerin’ and tweakin’. And in that spirit, I will spin not seven, but nine random facts y’all probably don’t know. Seven of them are absolutely, dead on, gospel true and two are made up on the spot for your readin’ and chucklin’ pleasure. We’ll see if any of y’all knows fact from fiction…

1. I’m a right decent cook. At least my chow has not killed anyone. Yet. That I know of. You name it, I’ll grill it, and you’ll love it. Back in the kitchen, I can whip up some pretty mean dishes and meals. One of my favorites is Fettucini Carbonara with a Mozzarella and Italian Tomato Salad with Fresh Basil Essence to start. Veal Picatta is another. And if you want something simpler, I make a variety of wraps that you’ll be writing home about. My baked beans are to die for, and my Super Bowl Chili will set you free…
2. I was, once upon a time, a band leader, or as we called it back then, a combo. Two members of the group went on to college on music scholarships. Music was my first love, but I knew I would starve to death trying to play clarinet in a rock ‘n roll band, so I went to engineering school, learned to blog, and am starving that way instead.
3. I love fresh cucumber sandwiches. White bread, slathered with lots of Miracle Whip Salad Dressing (no wimpy mayonaisse for me), quarter-inch slices of peeled cucumbers ( properly chilled to 44 deg F.), lots of salt and pepper. Fresh iced tea to wash it all down. Yum…
4. I was the Tennessee Competitive Snoring champion in back-to-back years, 1997-’98. In ‘97 I made it to the National Final Four and finished third overall. The next year I was knocked out in the first round of the Regionals, held in Clearwater, Florida, due to a sudden, unexpected, and unfortunately temporary clearing of my sinus passages. I blamed it on the wind driven salty air coming off the Gulf.
5. I haven’t had a bath in several years. In fact, I cannot remember the last time I had a bath. For me, it’s showers. I don’t like the idea of sitting in a tub of water in which I just washed my feet and arse. And aerated by fartation. A proctologist once told me the high incidence of hemorrhoids in the US is directly attributable to the invention and proliferation of the now ubiquitous shower. If folks would just sit in a tub of water every day to keep the rectal orifice clean and shrunken, he would be out of business. So he said after charging $10,000 for thirty minutes of time to snip mine in the bud. Still, I shower…
6. I am not driven by the clock, but am always on time. I don’t like rings, watches, bracelets, ties or anything else that binds and restricts. My underwear provides enough of that. On leaving the Great Corporate Mineshaft in the mid-eighties, I put my watch in the drawer and never looked back. My cell phone shows me the accurate time, synchronized to the AT&T/Cingular atomic clocks, anytime I have a need to know. Yet, I am always on time, usually a bit early. On the rare occasion when I am in danger of running late for an appointment, I begin to sweat and panic and do whatever is needed to make up lost time in order to maintain my record of punctuality. I know, strange…
   
7. I’ve never been arrested for a sex crime. Or any other kind of crime. Not even charged with a misdemeanor. I’ve never sued or been sued and was only in a courtroom once — as a character witness. I s’pose all that makes me soooo boring. I should not have told y’all that. Now you’ll think I’m a goody two shoes, whatever the hell that means. I really wanted you to think worse of me than that…
8. I was a candidate for Mayor of Bellevue, Tennessee, (small Nashville suburb) as an Independent in 1988. I had never been, nor had aspirations to be, in politics. Bellevue had been my home since moving back to Tennessee a couple of years earlier. An independent citizens group approached me with a request, a plan, and a plea. With no really viable candidate in their political field of vision that year, they kept after me until I said yes. Their support of me was purely on the basis of hearing me make a couple of impassioned, emotional speeches to the Chamber of Commerce to urge backing of programs I felt important for the business community in Bellevue. We did not win, but got a lot of voter and media attention with my hellfire and damnation speeches, ate a lot of rally finger food, and had a damn good showing for a complete newbie. As a bonus, I met a lot of hot babes exciting, intelligent women during the campaign.
9. I really believe that Bush is the devil incarnate. I never realized the devil was that stupid. No explanation or further details needed. His behavior and perfomance are enough. I really believe that Bush is far too good to be President. His all encompassing knowledge, unsurpassed leadership, and uncompromised principles are recognized by all. He should be immediately removed from the Office of the President of the United States of America, and elevated to his rightful position as Supreme Exalted Holy Earthly Soverign, Leader, Prophet, and Savior of the One True Church of the One True God of Gods Forever and Ever, Amen. All men, all countries, all religions, and all corporate CEOs shall fall at his feet and squint as he passes lest his brilliance blind them.

Well, that’s pretty much it. I hope Janie is not too terribly embarrassed by my responses. If you’ve stayed with me through this grueling expose of a few of my innermost dark secrets, place your bets on which two items are fiction, leaving seven as some semblance of what passes for truth around here.

… I’m working on it and almost there. Don’t give up on me yet…

My 60+ years of circling the sun have brought much knowledge and wisdom, most of which has no known practical application and is totally irrelevant. However, there are a few nuggets that have either served me well or were learned too late to help. By passing along this rich cache of wisdom, I sincerely hope that at least one of these will stick with some young un’ out there somewhere so they do not repeat my life mistakes, but learn from them. In no particular order and with no apologies to anyone, anywhere, here we go…

• Brush your damn teeth. Every day. Twice daily, morning and night. And floss. And get regular dental checkups. Don’t and you’ll end up very, very sorry and very, very broke. Or toothless…

Read more

As the minister delivered the offertory prayer…

“Dear Lord,” he began with arms extended and a rapturous look on his upturned face, “Without You, we are but dust …”

He would have continued, but, at that moment, one very obedient little girl (who was listening carefully for a change) leaned over to her grandfather and asked quite audibly in her shrill little girl voice, “GRANDPAW, what is butt dust?”

Church was pretty much over at that point.

And now, for your viewing torture pleasure, CNET’s review of the 10 Ugliest Cars, complete with photos guaranteed to make you puke cringe. There are several that, in my opinion, should have made the top ten list — like the Toyota Prius. Is there a law that requires all hybrids by coyote ugly? Remember that this listing is for current models only, so the ugliest vehicle of all time, the 2001 - 2005 Pontiac Aztec, was not included.

It was a tough decision picking my personal nightmare favorite, especially since I’m a Subaru kind of guy. My present Subaru Outback H6-3.0 Wagon is the fourth Suby I’ve owned. The combination of pleasant styling, reliability, ecomomy, and practical utility keeps pulling me back for more. But as soon as the first Tribeca hit the dealer’s lot, I freaked out. Yikes! WTF is it? Get it off the Subaru lot before it infects the Outbacks! What’s that you say? It… it… IS a Subaru? The new Tribecca model, you say? No shit! Why did they do that? Had to be a design mistake born of an acid dream. OK, I don’t care if it is a Surabu, get that damn coyote ugly piece-o-shit off the Suby lot.

I have no idea what or when my next ride will be, but chances are it will not be one of this list of ten, and it sure as hell won’t be a Subaru Tribeca.

Can you say Butt Ugly Buggies 10 times in a row, rapid fire, without stumbling? How about twice?

In a last minute desperate act to escape the soaring temperatures and boredom last weekend, I rented a movie I had never heard of, based solely on the cast and the brief DVD case writeup.

Keeping Mum is a delightfully wicked little British comedy with a dark side. Set in a quaint village named Little Wallop, population 57, in the English countryside, the plot twists and turns around the family of absent-minded and always distracted vicar, Walter Goodfellow (Rowan Atkinson — the indomitable Mr. Bean). Kristin Scott Thomas delivers a most credible performance as Gloria, the vicar’s beautiful wife who is withering from lack of attention.

While their offerings are enough to make the movie enjoyable, it is the magnificent performance by Maggie Smith as the mysterious housekeeper, Grace, that renders the 104 minutes irresistable. NYTimes movie critic Stephen Holden said, “Keeping Mum, directed by Niall Johnson, doesn’t pretend to have anything to do with reality. It is as determinedly British and old-fashioned as an Agatha Christie mystery consumed with cucumber sandwiches and a spot of tea.”

If you have not seen it, what are you waiting for? You’ll laugh your arse off and then you’ll thank me! You’re welcome…

I told the doctor I broke my leg in two places. He told me to quit going to those places. — Henny Youngman

This is also good advice for Adam “Pacman” Jones, the former Titan who just cannot seem to stay out of fights in stripclubs as sunrise approaches. He won’t listen, of course. That’s why he is a former Titan. Most Titans fans no longer care. Let him rot in a back alley or in jail. Just don’t let him come back to Nashville. What a tragic rags to riches to rags story…

No, really…

UPDATE: I’m not sure what happened, but NBJ has apparently taken down the link shown below. If they did this intentionally, shame on them. Pressure from the Chamber? At least we can still rely on Nashville Scene’s Pith In The Wind to not pull such shenanigans. Can’t we?

Nashville proudly joins the ranks of Sweatiest City in America, placing 37th on the list published yearly by Old Spice as a part of its marketing of Old Spice Red Zone deodorant. This press-stopping news was reported by the Nashville Business Journal. Additional details are available at the NBJ link.

It is not too early for us to organize and promote sweating in Music City so that next year we are in good position to move up the ranks. We are already ahead of cities such as Las Vegas, Memphis and Chattanooga, but behind Knoxville, Charlotte and Los Angeles. C’mon people, we can surely overtake Knoxville!

Show ‘em your sweat!

Daddy died of a heart attack in the Spring of 1995, a couple of days shy of his 74th birthday. But he is still with me and always will be. People frequently tell me “You look so much like your Daddy.” Seeing snapshots of myself, I realize they are right. Daddy couldn’t dismiss me as adopted or the result of a hushed indiscretion. Daddy was short, about 5 feet, 8 inches, at least a full inch shorter than my Mom. I stretch a full 6 feet. Aside from height, checking facial features and expressions, the stooped shoulders, the general body build, there is no doubt he’s my Daddy and I’m his son.

Beyond the physical attributes, I wish so much to be like him in demeanor, attitude, and grace. Daddy was a gentle man, a quiet man. When he did speak, everyone knew to listen, for he was also a very bright, intuitive, and perceptive man who Read more

A guy goes to the supermarket and notices an attractive woman waving at him. She says hello. He’s rather taken back because he can’t place where he knows her from. So he says, “Do you know me?”

To which she replies, “I think you’re the father of one of my kids.”

Now his mind travels back to the only time he has ever been unfaithful to his wife and he says, “My God, are you the stripper from my bachelor party that I made love to on the pool table with all my buddies watching while your partner whipped my butt with wet celery???”

She looks into his eyes and says calmly, “No, I’m your son’s teacher.”

[Thanks to Pita for this jewel…]

vexillology

vex·il·lol·o·gy (věk’se-lŏl’e-jē)
n. The study of flags.
vex·il’lo·log’i·cal adj., vex’il·lol’o·gist n.

Vexillogolists perform scholarly studies and investigations of flags, producing papers with titles such as A Review of the Changing Proportions of Rectangular Flags Since Midieval Times and Some Suggestions for the Future. (Can’t you just imagine how exciting a read that would be!) The word did not appear until the late 1950s when it was coined by these focused practioners. The word is derived from vexillium, the Latin term for a square flag or banner in the ancient Roman cavalry.

NOTE: Not related to the word vex, meaning to annoy, harass, or piss-off, which has roots in the Latin vexare.

[Credits to Merriam Webster’s 365 New Word Calendar

from pageaday.com, June 14, 2007.]

This wild feral hog, thought to be a cross between a wild boar and a large domestic hog, weighed in at 1,051 pounds and measured 10 feet, 7 inches from hoof to snout, according to a recent article in The Tennessean. Ugly sumbitch, too.

Trust him with your daughter or mother?

How about your bank account?

Would you even want him on your street once a week picking up the trash?

Let him run your country?

Yeah, I thought not…

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