A few years ago, at about this time of year, I was sitting at home, watching something on the teevee, when my phone rang.
It was Lillian, my neighbor from across the street. "Hey, Frank. Whatcha watchin'?"
"Huh?" I replied, in a teevee-induced haze.
"Whatcha watchin' on the teevee?"
After checking behind my couch, I asked her if she was peeking in through my windows.
"Go look out in your front yard," she said.
Carefully opening my front door, I saw nothing.
"Walk out into your front yard, then turn around and look," she said.
Ignoring the voices that said, "Don't go outside!" since they were coming from the teevee (what was I watching, anyhow?), I did as Lillian instructed.
It was then that I saw the gift that Lillian had left for me. My very own Christmas decoration:
And here's the what the decoration looks like when you use a flash:
I guess that was Lillian's way of helping to make my house look more festive, and not like it was owned by some Christmas-hating curmudgeon.
I continued to put the decoration out, every year, to do my part to help brighten the mood of the neighborhood. For a few years at least, until it became too much trouble.
This year, however, my Home Owners Association is having a Home Holiday Lights Contest, so I dug my decoration out of the back of my garage, put it up, and sent in my entry. The judging is December 15, and the announcement of the winner will be the next day. Check back here then to see what I won!
I'm too busy eating and watching football to make a substantive post today (yes, today I'm THANKFUL that I have a semi-legitimate excuse), so here are a few videos that I've recently run across.
Let's start off with a nice Thanksgiving tale:
I don't really buy this, but it's still entertaining:
I love how the music is so well-synchronized with the action in this video. I can also envision the crows just egging on the cats:
I've always enjoyed listening to stand-up comedy. It's also one of those things that, in the back of my mind, I've wanted to do. In fact, I wrote the Big Pancho post towards that end. I've been to an open mic night at the local comedy club Cap City Comedy, but just to watch.
A couple of months ago, I received a catalog for the University of Texas Informal Classes. Normally, I wouldn't have looked at it, but I noticed "Stand-up Comedy" listed on the cover. It's an eight-week course taught at the Comedy Gym, culminating in a Comedy Showcase at the Cap City Comedy Club.
The first class was pretty much an introduction-type class, and we got to go up on stage to get the feel of it, use the mic, etc. We were then to go home and write three to five minutes' worth of jokes, which we would work on in the rest of the classes, to get ready for the Showcase.
My first pass at a routine started out with talking about growing up in a house full of women, transitioning into jokes about internet dating sites, and ending with "Big Pancho." When I performed this set, and delivered the "Big Pancho" punchline, I heard an audible gasp or two from the women in the class.
When the instructor handed back the copy of my set on which he had written comments, he wrote, "Good punch, but may be a bit rough for the ladies."
For the next week, I took out "Big Pancho" and replaced it with "An Oral Contract". Interestingly enough, one of the guys in the class went to high school with the woman in that story. When I performed this set in class, it took six minutes and forty seconds, much too long.
I heard no gasp from the one remaining woman in class (for some reason, the other never returned), but I felt that the bit was too long for too little payoff, so I replaced it with a bit on buying lingerie. ("Buying lingerie for whom?" you may ask, but you'll just have to wait to see for yourself.) I also took out a few other lines to shorten it up.
As I laid in bed the morning of the final class before the Showcase, I came up with a couple of lines to get some sort of rapport with the audience before I got into my jokes; I wanted to say something other than, "How y'all doin'?" After the first line, the instructor wrote, "Very old joke." How could it be very old when I just thought of it that morning? Heh. I kept it in, because I did build on it a little bit, and it got a good response from the class.
I had practiced my routine a bit, even videoing myself once, and thought I had it down pretty well. Doing it in that last class, though, in front of only a dozen people, I still felt nervous, and tentative, but I settled down and smoothed out toward the end. That concerned me a bit, since the real thing was just the next night.
My stomach got pretty queasy that evening, and wasn't feeling any better when I woke up on Monday, the morning of the Showcase. I didn't know if it was nerves or maybe the chicken I ate for dinner was a bit too old. I felt so bad that I didn't eat breakfast or have any coffee. Lunch was toast with peanut butter and honey, and I didn't feel up to eating dinner, either.
I got cleaned up and headed toward the club. I thought about making up some note cards to take up on stage, in case I lost my place, but decided against it, as I thought I knew the material pretty well, and it was only five minutes' worth.
My sister was bringing my mother from home, two hours away, so I had asked my instructor to put me in the second hour, because I didn't think that they'd make it by 8pm, and he said that wouldn't be a problem. When I went to look at the schedule, I was the sixth person to go up.
Urgh.
Luckily, the show started about 15 minutes late, and Mom and Sis got there when the third comic was up on stage.
I was more anxious than nervous, waiting for my time to come up, even though I was having trouble remembering some of my bit. I figured it would come to me once I got started.
Gotta go, they're calling my name....
Well, now, that wasn't so bad! I wasn't as jittery as I was on Sunday. The only thing that I found a bit disconcerting was that I couldn't see the crowd, at all. I'd like to have had something to focus on while I talked. I think I did pretty well. The only flub I made was forgetting the chemistry.com joke until I had finished the eBay joke, but was able to slip it in right away, and it wasn't too far out of place. People also didn't seem to get my eBay joke. Oh, well....
BONUS: Feeling pretty good about Monday's set, I decided to do an open mic night, at the same club, on the following Sunday. I even came up with some new material. I wasn't real happy with the first two minutes, but decided to try it anyhow, since it was "just" an open mic. Here are the results:
I almost walked off the stage, until someone in the crowd yelled, "Keep going!" The awkward pause seemed to last much longer than it was. I'm just glad that I was able to start back up and keep going (finally).
Well, Fall has sprung upon us, bringing along with it...what? What do you associate with the different seasons?
Some associate sports:
Winter: Hockey, Basketball
Spring: Baseball, Basketball
Summer: Swimming, Basketball
Fall: Football, Basketball
Some associate clothing:
Winter: Parkas, Muffs
Spring: Easter dresses, Bonnets
Summer: Shorts, Swimsuits
Fall: Sweaters, Boots
Some associate seasonings:
Winter: Salt, Pepper
Spring: Rosemary, Thyme
Summer: Mustard, Garlic
Fall: Allspice, Oregano
But those people are just jerks.
Me? I associate seasons with fruit:
Winter: Pink Grapefruit, Oranges
Spring: Strawberries, Blueberries
Summer: Peaches, Watermelons
Fall: Apples, Apples
So, according to this, Summer is my favorite season, because peaches are my favorite fruit. Some people like their peaches soft and juicy, so that the juice runs down their chin. Not me (the beard may have something to do with that). I'm all about the texture; I like my peaches nice and crisp. I have fond memories of climbing in my grandmother's peach trees and picking green peaches, about the size of a golf ball, and munching down on them. I was told that they'd give me a stomach ache, but they never did.
Fast forward 30 years, to a produce department in a local grocery store. I'm trying to buy some peaches, but all of the ones they have are soft and mushy. As I'm looking for some that are to my liking, a rather attractive woman, whom I had noticed when she walked into the store, sidles up next to me and also starts checking out the peaches. She picks one up, and gives me a bit of a quizzical look.
"Yeah," I said, "I like mine hard."
She didn't respond. I soon realized what I had just said, set down the peach in my hand, and left, my face turning as red as the beets in the next aisle.
Then, think of things that the hunter can do with the bear. Yes, they seem to have anticipated your perverted suggestions. This is a screen grab from one of my favorites.
So, you're having a rough day at work, thanks to one of your coworkers? Or maybe the paper boy threw your paper on the roof. Again? Where's that good insult when you really need one?
Well, here are a hundred of 'em, take your pick from this NSFW video:
A list of the movies that these were taken from can be found here.
If I had been a Boy Scout, my motto would have been, "Be Prepared," but I wasn't. That doesn't mean, however, that I can't still be prepared.
For example, what if I were to ever appear on The Late Show with David Letterman? Why would I appear on that show, you may ask, and that would be a very good question, but one that could possibly get you removed from my Facebook Friends list. (I know, it's a small threat, but it's all I've got.) But to answer your question, who knows? Maybe they'd mistake me for someone else.
But that's all beside the point. The point is, what would me, a guy who has nothing to say, have to say to Dave? Well, as luck would have it, that conversation came to me tonight(*).
Me: So, Dave, do you ever pee in the shower?
Dave: Um, no. No, I don't.
Me: I didn't either, until I saw Madonna on your show, and she said that it helps to cure athlete's foot. So now I do. I learn a lot of stuff on this show, Dave. You know kids could learn a lot on this show, too, if only it weren't on so late. Maybe you could change to the 10pm time slot or something.
Dave: Um, no. No, I don't think we'd want to do that.
Me: Have you ever had athlete's foot, Dave?
Dave: No. No, I don't believe that I have.
Me: I've never had it either, but, from what I've seen on TV, it looks like really nasty stuff. Flames coming off of your toes and everything. It seems like you'd go through a lot of socks that way. I guess if you ever had athlete's foot, though, you could just wear some of those Nomex socks that your Indy car drivers wear. They're fire proof.
Dave: Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I could.
Me: The other bad thing about having athlete's foot, Dave, is that you'd probably get a visit from John Madden. That guy scares me, the way he yells, "BOOM!" all the time. You get athlete's foot, and John Madden's in your living room, watching the flames shoot off of your feet, then he yells, "BOOM!" and throws a can of Tough Actin' Tinactin at you.
Whoops! Is it ok for me to say "Tough Actin' Tinactin" on here, or does that count as a plug? Oh, well, now maybe they'll send me a case of it. But that would be kind of ironic, wouldn't it, since I don't need it, because, you know, I pee in the shower and all, thanks to Madonna and your show!
Dave: Yes, yes, that would be ironic. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bush, that's all the time we have tonight. Please tell Former President Bush (your husband, not that other one) I said 'hello,' won't you?
(*)No, I'm not going to tell you where I was when I thought of this discussion, or what I was doing in the shower.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I was headed up to the East Coast, so I decided to look in on some new old friends, Mala and Bev. I had mentioned to Samsmama that I was a bit worried that I'd not be able to keep up with the antics of the Wild Women of New Hampshire, and she said that she was sure of it, and that I shouldn't even try. That was, in its own way, comforting.
It was decided that we'd meet at Boston's Fanueil Hall Marketplace, outside of the Cheers bar, eat dinner at McCormick and Schmicks, and then catch the comedy show at Cheers. I got there a bit early, and like any good stalker guy with extra time on his hands, decided to scope out the area, to find where we were supposed to meet and eat. I found the outdoor Cheers area easily, and kept walking around the building. When I got to the other side, there was another outdoor Cheers area. Hmmmmm. I thought I saw La Bev y La Mala sitting at a table there, but they were sitting with what appeared to be some homeless guy, and if they had thought that was me, I was going to be disappointed. Also, the woman that looked like Bev seemed to be a bit bored, and somehow I can't imagine Bev ever being bored.
I decided to sit at the side of Cheers that was nearer to McCormick and Schmicks, both because it seemed the more obvious meeting place, and I'd have to walk less to get to dinner. (I'm nothing if not lazy efficient.) I sat there watching people go by, seeing if I could spot B&M before they spotted me.
Not them. Too short.
Nope. Too old.
Probably not in the group of 47 kids.
Uh uh. Too much facial hair.
A few minutes later, I was approached by a couple of women, one of whom was quite bevalicious, and the other who was muy malarrific. The bevalicious one whispered something in a soft raspy voice.
"What?" I replied, "YOU WANT ME TO STICK IT WHERE?"
Oops. I guess I had misunderstood what she said.
It was Bev and Mala! (Though they tried to convince me that it was Mala and Bev.)
I reached into my back pocket for the weeds flowers that I had pulled from a yard bought at an expensive florist earlier in the afternoon and presented them to my newfound old friends. Bev's reaction? "How long do I have to hold this?"
We then went to dinner, where Bev and Mala instantly started to peruse the wine menu. When I ordered iced tea, Bev asked me if I wasn't going to join them.
"Why, are you falling apart?" I asked. (And Samsmama didn't think I'd be able to keep up. I think I just put that silly notion to rest.)
Dinner was good, even though the waiter got my and Bev's dishes mixed up.
As we were finishing dinner, Mala spied the "Special Drinks Menu," so we all had Bacon and Bleu Cheese Martinis for dessert. These were just regular martinis with bacon and bleu cheese stuffed into the olives, so as long as you kept the olives out of the gin, they were ok, but as soon as you let your olives dip into the juniper berry elixir, all bets were off, as the martini quickly became a milky sludge.
Mala uses gin to wash away the wine on my arm.
Checking the validity of Bev's claims. Yes. Very.
After I helped Bev finish her dessert, we headed over to Cheers, only to find that the comedy show was not going to happen. After Bev and Mala finished terrorizing Norm and Frasier, we went off to mingle with the locals:
Bev's are nicer.
and find the improv club that we were told about. We got there about an hour early, so got drinks (What? No gin? No bacon? No bleu cheese? I'll have a glass of wine, I guess.) and waited for the next show.
Is this an improv show, or a peep show?
During the intermission of the improv show, Bev whispered those three little words that brought joy and happiness to my ears:
"Can we leave?"
So we high-tailed it out of there, and went over to the Hard Rock, where we checked out stuff:
Mala checks out Ian Anderson's blouse, I check out something else.
For some reason, we were the only party they sat outside. They must have heard us coming. Maybe we should have arrived in the Hummer limo that Bev accosted on the way, surely they would have given us a better table, then! At least they had gin, so I was happy.
A few more pictures taken, a few more laughs shared, then, alas, it was time to go our separate ways, and we each had hour-long drives ahead of us.
It was a great time, and well worth the trip to Boston. Thanks, ladies!
All of the restraining orders have expired (I think), so I'm heading up to the East Coast this weekend. I'm going to start out in Boston, and if I survive Friday night with Bev and Mala, I'll fly down to Maryland to watch my nieces graduate from high school.
So, I'll be in the MD/VA/DC area, if any of you want to have lunch or something. The best time for me would be Saturday, May 29, as the family will be off to see some play about an opera.
Whiskeygirl, Wendy in RI VA, what do y'all say? Batter of Tact Commie, you bring AL and I'll bring the sandwich bags!
Leave me a comment, or e-mail if you want to get together.
Keva and OBMJ, I'll wave as I fly over your state.
Do you remember the first time you uttered a swear word? I do. I was about six years old, and down the street, watching the big kids play pool. One of them missed a shot and said, "Shit."
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"Uh, that means nothing," one of the big kids replied.
When I later returned home, one of my cousins was playing cards with my sisters. I looked at her hand, and saw that she had nothing. Huzzah! This was my chance to show off my expanded vocabulary!
"You've got shit," I said, proudly.
"What did you say??" one of my sisters asked.
"I said that she has shit. It means that she has nothing." Cool, I was already getting to teach my new word to others.
I was quickly told that I was not to use that word again.
Fast forward about 20 years, to Christmastime at my mother's house. Mom and I were sitting at the breakfast room table with my four year old niece, K, while here mother, D, was in the kitchen. D dropped something and said, "Dammit!"
"Deeeeee," Mom said, pointing at K.
"Not supposed to say 'dammit,'" said K, in all of her golden curly haired, red-cheeked cuteness.
"That's right, K," said Grandma, proudly.
K then finished her thought with, "S'posed to say 'shit'!"
Cut to three adults, all turning their heads away from poor K, trying not to laugh too loudly.
Swearing kids are so cute, aren't they?
Ok, this one's not so cute, but it's kind of funny, when he's asked where he picked up his new word:
Goddammit, woman, put this kid in Time Out, already!
Anyhow, Samsmama and I were chatting one night, and his name came up. He hasn't shown his lovely face in quite some time. Since he got married, in fact.
Garrito's lovely face
We found him on Facebook, and each sent him a message. I didn't get a response by the next evening, so I sent a message to one of his Friends who had the same last name. She was the only Friend that Garrito had with the same last name, so I thought that maybe she was his lovely new bride. I thought it odd that she had more Friends with his family than he did, but I try not to judge. I asked her if he was still alive, or if she killed him on the honeymoon for the insurance.
The next day, I got a message from Garrito hisownself! He is aliiiiiiive! But you already knew that. *sigh*
He said that he had decided that all the time he spent on blogs and blogging could be better spent earning a living, so he had pretty much cut it out, although he still visits LOTD from time to time. He also said that his cousin now thinks that he has a stalker, "a male stalker. Ewwwww!"
It's been fun seeing what search terms lead googlers to various bloggy friends' sites, so I thought I'd look to see how people were finding my blog. Here's a sampling:
Frank Irwin blog world's best son (I think this one was from Mom) Google good book to read while I'm on the crapper innagoddadavida baby world's worst boyfriend (sadly, I think this was also from Mom) spam kabobs spam kaboobs world's best lover (I'm afraid to see who used this one) how to make a pizza using nothing but bread and catsup suki suki suki suki suki suki Sue! Make Money Fast! sex with pregnant ladies kdjfdkl;adi;adofadshd8ie to infinity and beyonce I've got nothing to say a b c d e f how do I help my dog evacuate a tampon?
And brought to you by the letters B, J, and the number 69.
It was early in my relationship with TJ when she told me that she didn't like oral sex, either giving or receiving. This bummed me out a bit, because I enjoy oral sex, both receiving and giving, but I wasn't going to let it be a deal breaker.
More annoying, however, was TJ's haranguing about my low level of assertiveness. Yeah, yeah, I'm not the most assertive person in the world, but I don't need to be constantly reminded of it, and it was something I was working on.
So, one night, we're fooling around, and she says, "You're not very assertive."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, if you were more assertive, you'd ask me for a blowjob."
"I'm not going to ask you to do something you don't like to do."
"Well, sometimes we do things we don't like for people that we care about."
"If you care enough about someone to do something for them which you don't like, you'll go ahead and do it, without making them ask you for it," I retorted. Well, ok, I didn't retort that, but I would have, if I was more, um, assertive. Instead, I just let it drop.
Some time later, TJ told me that if she were to get into a long-term relationship with someone, she would want to go to couples' counseling with them. I'm pretty easy-going (though some would say non-assertive), so I agreed. She wanted us to go to the counselor that she had been going to, since she met him in a movie theater.
Yes, that's right, a movie theater.
Some time before we had met, she was at a movie, and was crying at the end, as the lights were coming up. A guy who was sitting behind her put his hand on her shoulder, gave her his card, and told her that she could call him if she needed someone to talk to. I think he was just trying to pick her up, but what do I know. She started having counseling sessions with him.
This guy wasn't really a counselor, as he had no degree to say so, but at least he was up front about it, telling me that he's a "life coach." What bugged me more than anything was that most of "advice" came from people that he had seen on Oprah.
One of the things that the counselorlife coach liked to do was to have us make "oral contracts." During one session, TJ mentioned that she didn't like riding in my car, because the A/C didn't work. The counselorlife coach asked me to make an oral contract that I would get the A/C in the car fixed. I refused to do so, because TJ preferred riding in the truck (which had a perfectly good-working A/C), and I didn't see the need to put $600 or so into the car when she wouldn't be riding in it, and I was ok with no A/C.
How's that assertiveness thing working out for ya, there, hun?
In our final session with the counselorlife coach, TJ brought up the fact that I never asked for oral sex, and she thought that I needed to work on my assertiveness. We pretty much ended up having the same discussion that we had had months before, and the counselorlife coach asked me to make an oral contract to request blowjobs.
Well, if that's the kind of thing I have to do to make the relationship work, I guess a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. This was an oral contract that I could agree to, so I did.
As we left that session, I had only one question left unanswered.
How much should I have tipped the counselorlife coach?
The local news has been talking about the Tour coming through Bryan this week, so I thought that today would be a good time to take a short ride on the bike and get out to watch the excitement. I haven't had the bike on the road since Thanksgiving, so it was a good opportunity.
The Tour, over 100 wheels strong, had overnighted just a few miles from my mother's house, and went north on Highway 6. When I was running an errand earlier in the morning, I had run into a roadblock caused by the tour, before they crossed Briarcrest. I figured that I could catch them later in the afternoon.
I got on my bicycle and headed north on Highway 6. The wind was blowing pretty strongly out of the north, giving me a good headwind. I thought that I would come upon the Tour within a few miles, but wasn't seeing any sign of them. I finally happened upon a couple of pickup trucks parked on the side of the road, with people standing beside them. Since one of them had a camera, I figured that they were waiting for the Tour to come by, so I stopped and asked them what was up.
"They couldn't get under the bridge back there," he said, "so they had to detour over to Highway 21. If you cut over there and double back, you should run into them."
I started off again, north, to the next overpass, then turned around. The tailwind was great, literally doubling my speed on the bike. I took the next exit onto 2818, and saw my first sign of the impending passing of the Tour: a gendarme on a motorcycle, directing traffic.
Feigning ignorance sometimes worked in getting around the gendarme in France, when we followed the Tour there, so I thought I'd give it a shot here.
"Bon jour, non parlo Francaise," I told the officer.
"Boy," he responded, "I don't speak none of that namby-pamby Frenchy stuff, so you just get your stretchy-pantied self and your skinny-tire bisickle off of this here road!"
I detoured off with the rest of traffic, and rode over to the Davila Middle School, where I joined other locals who had gathered to view the show.
Before too long, more motorcycled gendarmes showed up, and the caravan started showing up. I didn't hear any helicopters, which are the signal for the approaching peloton in the European Tours, but I thought that may have been due to the heavy winds. The caravan itself wasn't too impressive, consisting of more motorcycles, a few pickup trucks (this is Texas, afterall), and some trucks with "Mammoet" emblazoned on their sides.
Soon, some pretty purple trucks, accessorized with cherry pickers, showed up. They used the cherry pickers to raise the overhead wires.
Finally, what we had been waiting for, finally began to pass, at an estimated speed of 1-2mph:
This was a 1.7 million pound generator being moved, at the rate of 10 miles per day, from the Port of Houston to the town of Riesel (yeah, I've never heard of it, either). It's 38 feet wide and 100 yards long. More information can be found here.
While I'll admit that I don't know a lot about Art, I do know what I like. I recently found this picture, and, for some reason, became a bit infatuated with it.
The first thing that jumps out at me is the photographic quality of what is obviously a painting. The sharpness of the eyes and whiskers really stands out. Then, upon closer inspection, the snout really draws me in. The smoothness of the bridge of the nose, the curves of the upper lip. Yes, indeed, I believe that it is those curves that intrigue me the most. It's almost as if they jump off of the page.
If only I could see this painting from another angle.
Oh, wait, here's one:
Ah, yes, that would explain it.
Edit:
Here's another one:
I'm not sure what the dude is doing there, though.
