A Few Small Issues

I'm laying low, as there's a rumor that the Rosie hit squad is looking for me.


Not That There's Anything Wrong With That....
Someone referred me to this blog entry, and I thank them for it. I always love a good prank, although not sure if I could have done this myself, it deserves kudos.


"Now where did I put that clamp..."
A study on medical mistakes found operating room teams around the country leave sponges, clamps and other tools inside about 1,500 patients every year, largely because of stress from emergencies or complications discovered during surgery.

There's now a show on Discovery Channel about it. Of all the things they're going to leave in me, I hope it isn't their feckin pager, because that is going to be a real problem. With my luck it would have one of those damn Lithium Ion batteries that lasts for 2 years.


Poll: Harvard Students Mostly Unhappy
A long-held stereotype that Harvard undergraduates feel neglected by their professors and don't have as much fun as students at other colleges now has some data to back it up. Student satisfaction at Harvard College ranks near the bottom of a group of 31 elite private schools, according to survey results outlined in a confidential memo obtained by The Boston Globe.

Boo freakin hoo, cry me a damn river. I mean, c'mon? It seems to me there is a wicked easy answer to this problem, you can always go to SUNY Albany or someplace easier, like Brown.

Conspiracy Revealed!!!

In a total flashback to college, when the school newspaper was shut down for revealing the corrupt underbelly of both the Student Association (student body government) and the Administration, Blogger is trying to prevent me from revealing the true nature of the issues they are facing.

The technical issues are hard to miss. Pages won't load, you can't comment, and you can't post. On the surface, it would seem that expanding membership is taxing their resources - or is it something else? Could it be that ONE site in particular is hoarding all the server space and processor? Your friend Shamus has been V E R Y busy on this issue, and it can NOW be revealed that it is, in fact, one site.

The site belongs to a defunct entertainer, false humanitarian and overall morally bankrupt ex-talk show host Rosie O'Donnell. That's right, the "Queen of Nice" is now the "Queen of Blogger Resources".

Exhibit A



Exhibit B



Rosie O'Donnell, please leave Blogger so the rest of us can enjoy it once again.

Someone Wants to Meet YOU!

I had a great posting for today but Blogger refuses to let me post it. It comes through all messed up. I'll try again some other time. F-U Blogger. Instead, you can have a look at a dumb piece of junk mail I got yesterday...

Someone Wants to Meet YOU!Find out who your match could be...Click below to view singles in YOUR area! Click Here - FREE!

To no longer receive offers like this for SingleMe Click Here. SingleMe postal address: #538, 9768 - 170 Street, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, T5T 5L4


How stupid do they think people are? Or, how stupid are people that would fall for this? And why are Canadians trying to hook me up with singles in my area?

Hey, do we have to come up there? Because we will.

Trouble at the Big K

Remember when Kmart was the cool, hip place to shop? Me neither. They did have a few things going for them, the Kathie Lee Gifford collection for one (or is it former Charlie's Angel Jaqueline Smith? I don't know).

I work in a suburban area, and in the last year a Wal-Mart reared up took a bite out of the hindquarter of the local KMart, which had been serving savings to the area for over 20 years. Another discount retailer, AMES, closed it's doors at the mere mention that a Walmart was coming. Cowards. At least KMart had the cahones to stand shopping cart to shopping cart and look their foe in the eye.

Being a crusader for lost causes, I have been trying to go to KMart first when running my mundane errands. I WANTED the big K to pull out a victory and send a message that just because you have the lowest prices and best selection doesn't make you the BEST. Well, OK, so it probably does. I confess, I can't go to the local KMart any longer.

The place has given up. The pale yellow light inside the store seems a bit more pale, more dim. The shelves are still stocked, but the merchandise just isn't moving. Why? Well I'm glad you asked, because I have some ideas....

1) Could you shop in a place where there is a loud, constant BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ in the air? It's like they ran the overhead speaker wires too close to a high voltage line, and so all the speakers in the store have this annoying feedback-type hummmmm that is freaking annoying. Instead of addressing this problem (it's being going on for many months now) they just turn the music up. Today the featured 80's vintage Technotronic. Even their discount music bins have better stuff than that. Well, barely.

2) Apparently all their competent help got jobs over at Wal-Mart, because they have a staff of people who look so depressed you wouldn't want to leave alone near an open window in a high building. I wandered around watching them going through the motions of pushing carts, moving merchandise around and staring off into space like they were under a hypnotic trance. Maybe its from hearing that constant buzzzing all day. There was one register open, which was also the returns counter. I was just buying a jug of washer fluid. I noticed someone in a checkout line without the light on. I went for broke and asked her, "Are you opening?" "In a MINUTE!" she snapped. "I NEED to get the till in FIRST." I quickly started humming the buzzing sound hoping it would soothe her, and it did.

3) In two places in the store I saw those 10 gallon storage tubs just sitting in the isle. Looking in, I saw they were half full of discolored water. I looked up and discovered the source. Tin roof, rusted. For their sake I hope we have a dry summer.

The Wal-Mart is no bastion of amazing service either. They have a 1-60 ratio of employees to customers, and I've never seen more than 3 registers open at once. It forced me to use the unmanned, automated checkout line, which is perhaps the most demeaning thing ever. At least put a robot there so I can feel like I'm getting a sliver of service. And I'm willing to forgo the useless "greeter" at the front door if I can get someone to bag my purchases for me. I hate self-service, but I can foresee that this is all we'll have in 2 or 3 years. But I digress....

Sorry, Big K. I give you 6 months. There's rumor that a Target is coming in down the street, and that's a whole 'nother world of hurt. If you thought it was painful taking one in the keister from Wally, no amount of structural repairs, rewiring or rehiring is going to make things any easier when Tar-jay sticks it to you. I will miss your flashing blue light, that beacon to savings for some many years.

Au revoir, my discount friend.

Not A Movie Review

You can’t spit in Blogville without hitting a site that is giving a movie review. If you know the person, and you know their taste then I guess that’s fine. Otherwise it’s just more noise.

When I’m trying to get a read on a movie, Siskel and Ebert used to be my trusty source. This was my old scale for reading their reviews:

• Siskel Thumbs Up, Ebert Thumbs Up - Movie is probably ok.
• Siskel Thumbs Up, Ebert Thumbs Down - Movie is probably really funny. Siskel had a more warped sense of humor than Ebert, and twisted humor usually pissed off Ebert so he gave a thmbs down.
• Siskel Thumbs Down, Ebert Thumbs Up - Art flick full of metaphors and subtitles. Skip it.
• Siskel Thumbs Down, Ebert Thumbs Down - Tough call. The movie could either be a cult classic-to-be like Buckaroo Banzai, or it’s legitimately a stinker.
  

Siskel got cancer in the mid-90’s and was taken to that great Mann’s Theater in the sky, which left me with just Ebert and a slough of stand in’s who were useless because you couldn’t trust them at all. Finally Ebert found Roper, and they have been a good pairing since. He has the same general taste as Siskel, so my scale is intact.

I told you that, to tell you this: I saw a pretty cool movie over the weekend that was a Two Thumbs Up from Ebert & Roper. I hadn’t heard of it, so I relied on my boys to steer me right, and they came through.

It was called “Deckchair Danny” and stars Rhys Ifans, who you might know from such movies as “Notting Hill”, where he played the wacky roommate of that whore-chasing Hugh Grant. I won’t try to explain it (click on movie title to read a review if you want) except to say that this is a good date movie that isn’t a date movie. I hate movies that get advertised as a date movie, because that means it’s going to have a sappy, neutered actor in a retarded love story and no man would feel right watching it alone.

Not the case here. Ebert and Roper picked a winner. It falls into the “Groundhog Day” category.


PS: So we took the kids to Easter Mass and the Rev told a joke about the Easter bunny getting pasted by a car and killed. As he's describing the bunny getting hit by the car (with a nice sound effect thrown in for good measure) a baby starts crying (unrelated resaons I'm sure, but a nice coincidence). The look of horror on the kids faces was friggin priceless. There is a happy (corny) ending to the joke, but I thought it took balls for him to lead off with it.

Ok, so if you really want to hear the joke, email me and I'll send it, but it's really not that good, which is why I ain't postin it.

Art Smuggler

Man smuggles own art into MoMA
NEW YORK (Reuters) A British graffiti artist who goes by the name "Banksy" smuggled in his own picture of a soup can and hung it on a wall, where it stayed for more than three days earlier this month before anybody noticed.

The prank was part of a coordinated plan to infiltrate four of New York's top museums on a single day.

The largest piece, which he smuggled into the Brooklyn Museum, was a 2 foot by 1.5 foot (61cm by 46 cm) oil painting of a colonial-era admiral, to which the artist had added a can of spray paint in his hand and anti-war graffiti in the background.

Speaking by telephone from an undisclosed location in Britain, Banksy said he conducted all four operations on March 13, helped by accomplices who filmed him and provided distractions where necessary.

"They staged a gay tiff (lovers' quarrel), shouting very loudly and obnoxiously," said the artist, declining to give his real name or any personal details beyond his occupation as a professional painter and decorator.

Last year he smuggled work into the Louvre in Paris and London's Tate, attracting attention in the British media.

He said the painting in the Metropolitan Museum, a small portrait of a woman wearing a gas mask, had been discovered after one day, while the others stayed up for several days. The paintings were fixed to the wall with extra-strong glue.


How can you not love this guy? It is both a funny prank and a statement about the corporate-ization of art museums. Can you imagine smuggling in a picture INTO the Louvre? That's balls, pure and simple. And the diversion by having not just a couple fighting, but a gay couple, genius. Guards would be way more cautious busting one of those things up.

The library in my little town hosts art and photo showings every month with different themes. They are hung in a very accessible place, and I'm thinking this might be a funny thing to try. I'll have to comb my vast art collection and see what might fit in down there. Like this one.....

Nice frame, huh?

Mor Food

My kid Emily is a prolific writer and artist, and has a few books under her belt already. I think I was learning how to print by grade 1, but I certainly wasn't reading and writing anywhere near as much or as well as she is at her age. Kids today are such overachievers.

When she first started to write, we got a small whiteboard she could doodle on. She saw we used one for daily reminders and such and wanted to have her own platform to contribute.

One Saturday morning last year I found it posted on the fridge with this message....



It says "I want mor food!". Apparently her morning forage for grub had not been up to her level of satisfaction, and she decided to complain to management. I had to sit down I was laughing so hard.

I knew there was a reason I had kids.

Ski Pranks

I heard from my friend Leigh the other day. He's my former roommate, coworker, dive buddy, Ski Photographer partner and noted seafaring explorer who came along on the famous Coon Tail Pass expedition of 1993, which we all barely survived.

Our lives have moved in different directions and we rarely have time for a pint any more, which is a shame because there is no finer time spent that over a pint with a good pal and good conversation. We used to hatch many amazing ideas during those sessions, including one dandy which would have increased tourism to Lake George by creating a working sea monster. I still like the idea.

After hearing from him, I was talking to a coworker who was relating a ski trip the previous week where they had good runs but the slow chairlift rides bored them to tears. Recalling something Leigh and I used to do, I mentioned that you can turn those lift rides into hilarity. It's part of my "Ski Pranks" collection.

For most of these you need two people and a triple chair. The third rider should be a stranger, as this won't work with people who know you. So you invite a single to join your chair as you prepare to board, and sit with you and your friend on the ends, the stranger in the middle. Here are the games you can play:

"What did you say?" - For this game, Player1 strikes up a conversation with the stranger. After a few minutes, Player2 leans over to the stranger and asks a questions that's already been asked, although slightly loud. Player1 explains quietly to the stranger that Player2 is a bit hard of hearing. Player1 resumes the conversation with the stranger, and Player2 jumps in with already asked questions. Soon, the stranger will be yelling his answers at Player2. This is a hard one not to laugh during, especially when the stranger gets sucked into the game.

"He's from Norway." - Same scenario (2 players, 1 stranger, stranger in the middle). After Player1 converses with the stranger for a few minutes, he begins rapidly speaking some kind of foreign language to Player2. Nordic languages are good because there are less known than say, French. Soon, Player1 is interrupting the stranger to provide concurrent translation as the stranger speaks. The stranger soon gets frustrated trying to talk, but Player1 keeps initiating conversation, and where's he going to go? The trick here is to keep it authentic sounding, and hope your stranger is not from Norway.

"Mr. Sarcastic" A.K.A. "The Bickersons" - Same starting scenario. As Player1 talks to the stranger, Player2 interjects with sarcastic comments about what they are talking about. Example:
P1 'We were at Okimo last week and runs we just beautiful'
STRANGER 'I've heard that's a great resort.'
P2 'Yeah it was great, we were there on coupon day. You wouldn't have believed the losers that showed up. It looked like a refugee field trip."

You get the idea. You can play it one of two ways. Either P1 remains oblivious to P2's comments, or they engage in some verbal sparring. I prefer the sparring, because you can really make the Stranger uncomfortable.

P1 'Yeah, well we wouldn't have had to go on coupon day if you would get your lazy ass out of bed on a weekend.'
P2 'Hey, it's this lazy ass that keeps your ass in silk briefs. Don't forget THAT.'

No matter which one of these games you play, the Stranger regrets getting on this your chair and has a funny story to tell back at the lodge. And isn't that what it's all about?

We got 7 inches of heavy snow last night, which is NOT funny at all.

Teen Girl Squad

The Brothers Chaps created a site that has become one of the funniest diversions on the web.

It would take way too long to explain the site, but if you've got the time to waste, check it out.

My favorite character is Strong Bad, who answers emails in his section, "sbemail". He also has some other features, including Teen Girl Squad. It's wacked. The latest one is a masterpiece.

And another funny thing found on WaiterRant the other day, a hilarious Onion-style newsletter about wait staff called "Don't Tip The Waiter".

There, you can't say you don't gots nothin to do today.

Bad Housekeeping

While in Boston over the weekend, we got to hang out with some friends of my brother and his wife who they went to college with, Rob and Ann. We hadn't seen them in quite a while, but the inevitable occurred, the story of the drunken housekeeping came up.

Way back in BK (before kids), we all went on a cruise to Bermuda. It was a mixed set of couples and relatives, and Rob and Ann were part of the group. We were leaving from NYC, and upon boarding we found we were all together in the same part of the ship. When you board, all the rooms are open, your luggage is delivered and you card keys are inside the room. We settled in and noticed that Rob and Ann weren't there yet. We wandered into their room and saw that they had 3 keys, not the usual 2. Zoink! We quickly helped ourselves to the spare. We then had a few beers and thought about how we could have some fun.

So started the Bad Housekeeping Prank. Every day after the housekeeping team had been through the cabins, we would make sure Rob and Ann were busy elsewhere and one of us would slip into the room and so *something*. Mess up the bed a little, move the chairs so that it looked like a small meeting had occurred, and left the tv on to the Spanish station, or the radio on some strange music.

Rob and Ann are very cool and polite and didn't say anything for DAYS. We kept RAVING about how great the housekeeping was, and they would look at each other but remain mute. A few days in, they let a few minor comments slip about it not being as good as ours sounded. We let it pass without comment.

It was a fast week, as cruises tend to be. On the last full day at sea, we made it look like housekeeping had had a little drinking party in their cabin. Shot glasses were left out, the Tequila bottle they had in their room was left with the cap loose, and the room was a bit more mussed than usual.

That night, we hosted a pre-dinner party in our cabin. They brought their Tequila, and others brought their bottles, so we had a respectable selection and a nice full room going. Lubricated by the alcohol, Ann finally revealed that they were not happy with the housekeeping and suspected that they had been drinking in their room earlier. We acted incredulous. No way, we said.

Our Steward (who oversees the housekeeping for our section) poked his head in. Now, this guy had been great to us all week. He busted his butt and was always very jolly and funny, kind of like a skinny Malaysian Santa Clause in a nautical suit. We invited him in for a drink, and since it was the last night, he let the rules be damned and accepted.

"Wine, beers, vodka?" we offered.

"I'll have some of that." he said, indicating the Tequila bottle that he spied among the collection. We couldn't have scripted it better - here he was asking for the very beverage that had been imbibed in Rob and Ann's room earlier by *someone*. Rob and Ann traded knowing glances at each other, like "A-HA! We KNEW IT!"

Well, the night got a bit crazy and none of us thought about it again, until.....

Flash forward 2 years. We're at a party in Boston at Tim and Karen's house. While reliving some memories of the cruise, Ann comes out with, "I remember the housekeeping staff used to party in our room!" We all lost it, realizing we had never clued them in on the prank. It took 10 minutes to get it all out because we were laughing so hard.

Ah, good times.

I Got A Clue

Last Friday I had a note on which I had written:
"Run Against Empty File"

Well somebody came looking for the results. I scared them when I jumped up and smacked my head, saying, "Oh! It was YOU!"

The note makes perfect sense to me now. See? I told you I'd figure it out on Monday.

Comedy Gold

Here's a big revelation, I love live comedy. I was reminded of this because usually when we get out to Boston we see a comedy show.

The best show ever was when I saw Harland Williams. You might know him from such movies as "Rocket Man" and "Something About Mary" among others. The guy live was amazing. The topics came from every which way, each one nuttier than the last. It seemed so random, yet very polished. What made the experience even better was I was there with My brother Tim, who shares the same sense of humor. The wives enjoyed it, but maybe not as much. "He was weird." was one quote I heard from them as we left. Well I went up to him at the bar afterwards and shook his hand. Seemed fine to me.

The most unusual experience I ever had at a comedy show was with my baby sister Anney, who is now getting up there in age. Former amateur golfer, Callaway employee of the month and now world traveller, Anney was in town visiting last summer and we took her out to a show on a warm August Saturday night. The 8pm show was dead, there were maybe 10 people there. Weekends in August are spent at Saratoga, or SPAC, Lake George - anywhere but downtown Albany, so the attendance was very sparse all over, not just in that club.

"This isn't good." I warned. "The comics don't have much of a pool of people to pick on."

Sure enough when the comedian started, the memorized material ran out quickly and he started working the meager audience. He worked a small group to the right of us, hassling them over their middle-east names. He then moved to a pair of lovebirds at a far table. Not much to be had there, so he moved on to us. Kelly was way too normal, so he quickly moved off her and started on me. I was wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt, which gave him some hope. When he asked me my name I said "Magnum PI." There's nothing comedians hate worse than an audience member who thinks they're funny. So he spent a few minutes giving me a working over. I was well lubricated and an amicable guy when in that state, so I just laughed along. I think he was hoping for some retaliation, but I was just laughing. He started calling me Don Ho and I was cracking up. But that got old quick.

His gaze went to Anney. Yahtzee! First off, she admitted she was from out of town (5 minutes of material on that), then that she was a foreigner (yes, Canada counts as a foreign country - 10 minutes of Canada jokes). When he started to wind down I helped out by feeding the comic interesting facts about her. Suddenly he was liking Don Ho and he got another 10 minutes going through a brief bit of her love life and other things. Anney had a smile on and was being a good sport, but I knew she wanted to kill me. She was kicking the crap out of my leg under the table which was an excellent indicator.

The best part of the show was a burly construction worker with a beard who resembled a biker who had been taken to church. He looked uncomfortable in his nice clothes and sat stone faced next to his wife he entire show. When the comedian had tried to pry into his life with the usual questions, Biker dude had shut him down with one-word answers and a steely gaze. But when
the waitress arrived at his table and deposited two pink drinks in stemmed glassware in front of the couple, the comedian couldn't resist. "Uh, waitress? I think you forgot the umbrella for that man's drink."

Gold, Jerry. Gold!

Hockey Stink

I accompanied my bro on an errand to his local hockey store to pick up jerseys he was getting his name put on the back of. His wife had tried to drop them off earlier in the week, but the store had rejected them. "These are a health hazard. Please wash them." was the reason given.
Apparently the hockey stink was a bit too stong, even for these people who probably deal with it on a daily basis. That's saying something. So they had been washed, dried with 7 dryer sheets and then, for good measure, sprayed with Fabreeze.

The differences between my brothers' town and mine are, well, stark. His is a suburban yet dense New England town, with that quaint kind of feel, where mine is much more farmy. One case in point - traffic lights. We only have one in out town, and they are the suspended model. That is, they are suspended by wires in the middle of intersection. This is pretty much standard all through the state, and many others. Not so in New England. They have theirs on posts at the SIDE of the road. This takes some getting used to. Even for locals.

We were heading down to pick up the jerseys and a block away from the store one of Winchesters finest gives him the gumballs and pulls him over. Tim had just taken a left at a corner, and as far as I could tell, hadn't broken any laws I knew about.

The cop asked him if he knew why he was pulling him over, and Tim said. "I was just talking that over with my brother, here. We had a green light, was that a no left turn corner?"
"You ran a red light." Apparently there were two signals. One for going straight, one for turns. I hadn't seen it either.
Tim apologized and handed over his license and registration.
"Any warrants?" I asked Tim, wondering if I'd have to post bail or something.
"Not that they know about." Tim said. Apparently some friend up in Cananda had been using Tim's name up there and getting him some appearance tickets.
"Do you have a good lawyer?" I asked him (he is a lawyer, so that's my joke)
After 10 minutes, the cop came back, told him to drive more carefully and gave him a written warning.
"Third one in a year." Tim smiled as he drove away.

He has always had the ability to get out of tickets, going way back to our teens. He even got our pal Stinky out of the back of an RCMP patrol car once, when he was on his way to the pokey. Stinky had been roaring drunk, stolen his friends car and launched it into a construction site, killing a few sapling maple trees. The car had to be towed out but was relatively undamaged.

Tim convinced the officer that Stinky was a law student and being arrested would kill his chances of having a career. The Mountie sent Stinly home with Tim and four appearance tickets. Stinky awoke the next day to his mom waving the tickets in his face and demanding to know what he'd been up to the night before. Stinky wondered as well.

I never get out of tickets. Feckin pisses me off.

We finished the mission by picking up his newly printed-on hockey jerseys and I could smell the hockey stink through the fabreeze. It just served to remind me that my season is over. The Red Wings finished 3rd, major improvement from last year but still left us wanting more. More hockey stink. Much more fabreeze.

Boston Cousins

So we're in Boston this weekend, hanging out at my brother's place just up RT128 from the Beany City. It's always an adventure - the kids go nuts when they get together. Some kind of chemical reaction fueled by sugar, cartoons and being around their cousins that will turn calm kids into demons of destruction. OK so I exaggerate.

They all get along great, especially the two oldest girls who act like sisters and demand to know why me and Tim dare to live 3 hours away from each other, which is a great inconvenience to THEM.

Big day ahead so I have to run, but here's another joke for ya:

An Irishman's been at a pub all night drinking. The bartender finally says that the bar is closed.
So he stands up to leave and falls flat on his face. He figures he'll crawl outside and get some fresh air and maybe that will sober him up. Once outside he stands up and falls flat on his face. So he crawls home and at the door stands up and falls flat on his face.
He crawls through the door and up the stairs. When he reaches his bed he tries one more time to stand up. This time he falls right into bed and is sound asleep.
He awakens the next morning to his wife standing over him shouting at him.
"So, you've been out drinking again!!"
"How did you know?" he asks.
"The pub called, you left your wheelchair there again."

No Clue

I wrote a note to myself before I ran out to my lunch date with Carly. It reads;

Run against empty file

It's underlined three times, which means it must have been important. I have no clue what it means. I'm usually very good about this kind of thing, but now I'm absolutely stumped.

Maybe it will mean something on Monday.

Je Ne Sais Pas

(CNN) -- On Scott Peterson's first day on death row, two women called California's San Quentin State Prison to say they were interested in marrying him, according to prison officials. (continued....)

Women always say they don't want a bad boy, but someone who will care about them. Hm, let's see.... he's been convicted of cold blooded murder of his wife and unborn child. Yup, he sounds like a good catch to me.

I realize the women that are clamoring to be the next Mrs. Peterson are probably severely mentally disturbed, but I still don't understand.

St. Patrick's Day

A man stumbles up to the only other patron in a bar and asks if he could buy him a drink.
"Why of course," comes the reply.
The first man then asks: "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Ireland," replies the second man.
The first man responds: "You don't say, I'm from Ireland too! Let's have another round to Ireland."
"Of course," replies the second man.
"I'm curious," the first man then asks: "Where in Ireland are you from?"
"Dublin," comes the reply.
"I can't believe it," says the first man. "I'm from Dublin too! Let's have another drink to Dublin."
"Of course," replies the second man.
Curiosity again strikes and the first man asks: "What school did you go to?"
"Saint Mary's," replies the second man, "I graduated in '62."
"This is unbelievable!", the first man says. "I went to Saint Mary's and I graduated in '62, too!"
About that time in comes one of the regulars and sits down at the bar.
"What's been going on?" he asks the bartender.
"Nothing much," replies the bartender. "The O'Connor twins are drunk again."





May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.



May you live as long as you want,
And never want as long as you live.
May you have warm words on a cold evening,
A full moon on a dark night,
And the road downhill all the way to your door.



thanks for the art, A-G!

Pizzaman (Part2)

So I mentioned I used to be a Pizzaman. On my drive in or home from work I often find myself daydreaming about something. It's an easy ride, country roads and limited traffic, and every so often I'll be pulling into my driveway or the work parking lot and not be able to recall a single event from the ride. Too much sharing? I think yes. Forget that last part.

The other day I got to thinking about the whole pizza thing and if I had gone that route, what my perception of the perfect pizzeria is. Here are some key ingredients, if you will:

1) You need a good name for the Restaurant. - "Shamus' Pizza Place" is NOT a good name. Never mix ethnicity, or call it a "place". Other bad names: "Ratso Pizzeria" and "Happy Pizza". Laugh, but these names exist. Good names almost always use a ladies name in combination with "Pizzeria". For example, "Angela's Pizzeria", "Sophies Pizzaria","Mama Leone's Pizzeria". Why is that? My guess is that using a woman's name let's people imagine an old Italian mother, and everyone knows they are great cooks. Check it out, you'll see I'm right.

2) Authentic atmosphere is a must. Kind of like number 1, basically just don't have an accent other than an Italian one. Hearing your pie order yelled out in some Hindi dialect just doesn't seem as cool. Plain American is ok, although many pizza slingers tend to take on a kind of slang accent. Around here, they tend to talk like NYC cab drivers, or Boston cops. As far as fixtures, etc, don't hang sheevas, leprechauns, Chinese dragons or other ethnic paraphernalia. Kills the mood, ya know? A nice picture of Italy is usually appropriate, maybe some casks of vino, and fake herbs hanging by the counter. A framed picture of Tony Soprano is always a nice touch. The Greeks for some reason think that nobody notices the difference between Greece and Italy. We notice. The big giveaway is feta cheese on the toppings list, or gyros on the menu board. Sorry, Kristoph. I'll pass on the souvlaki today. I'm in the mood for Hawaiian pizza.

3) Red checkered tablecloths. Is that asking too much? I don't think so.

4) Bathrooms with the raised tanks, the kind with the pull chains for flushing. That way if the mob ever needs to conduct a hit on your premises, you provide a familiar stash for them. If you didn't get this one, rent Godfather 1.

5) Music - Again, restrain yourself from Turkish bathhouse tunes or Japanese kabuki showtunes. Try some Frank Sinatra, maybe some gentle Pavorotti or Me First and the Gimmie Gimmies version of "O Sole Mio". Here's another area where the Greeks seem to think that we won't be able to tell John Poppas from John Bertino. Skip the sirtaki tunes and stick to the program, Pouloppouos.

6) The Pizza - You need to get this right, if nothing else. Everybody has a different crust; thin, thick, bakery style and stuffed. The big thing is the ingredients. Don't use canned toppings and don't skimp on the cheese - these are the two big no-no's in my book.
The rest is however you put it together. If you can't cook a pizza then non of the other stuff matters so I'm assuming you can.

7) Coke products. Just goes better with pizza, is all.

Hard Time Don't Scare Bernie

NEW YORK (CNN/Money) - Bernard Ebbers, the former CEO of WorldCom, was found guilty Tuesday for his role in the mammoth accounting scandal that resulted in the largest bankruptcy in U.S. history.



He doesn't look all that worried to me.

Maybe he had a chat with Martha Stewart about what it's like to do "hard time".
If there was any justice, he'd be scrubbing toilets the rest of his miserable life and have all assets liquidated to repay some of the retirees that he bilked and destroyed.

Hope ya catch a shive, Bernie.

Ninja Mamas

Iranian female police cadets stand in front of a group conducting a drill during a graduation ceremony of Iran police academy in Tehran March 12, 2005. REUTERS/Raheb Homavandi

I'm gonna have nightmares about this picture.

Psychic Friends Should Be Eaten

Princess Sophia posted a great link to a test to see if you have psychic abilities. I predict you will give it a try.

I have an issue with psychics, and have spent a god deal of time confronting them and spotlighting their activities. I believe they prey on people who are emotionally vulnerable, and exploit it for their personal gain. I don't think people that believe in this stuff are necessarily gullible, but rather good natured and loving people who are trying to remain open to the idea of contacting deceased loved on one or getting a connection with them, if only for one more time.

In college I went after a local lady who used to come to school and hold “meetings” where people could ask questions of those who have passed on. I saw her outside getting into her new Mercedes and asked her how she slept at night. She smiled and flipped me off. Later I wrote some letters that exposed her a bit and that made me feel better. She still is in business, the boom of the characters on t.v. over the last few years have breathed life into her profession.

It is my firm belief that anyone who preys on the grief or emotions for their own profit should be set adrift on an iceberg with a really hungry polar bear. But that's just me.

The test above is fun. I scored a 5, but if your psychic, you already knew that. You also know that today is my little brother Pat's birthday. Happy birthday Pat!

Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

Robots to offer warm welcome at Japan's World Expo

NAGAKUTE, Japan (AFP) - Japan will welcome the millions of guests at the World Exposition opening this month with hosts trained to greet them in their language, entertain their children and perform rap music with them. The gracious hosts are robots.

I had the good fortune of living in Vancouver during the 1986 World Exposition. It was an amazing event, with thousands of people coming from all around the world to litter in that great city. Hundreds of local kids worked at the site, everything from garbage pick up duty to welcoming guests. It's amazing that robotic versions of those kids will be working
the Japan Expo. But not necessarily a bad thing. Those kids didn't work so hard, as I recall.

Guests will find that the young women at the information booths who speak four languages are humanoids, that the security contingent includes robots on wheels and that tiny colorful machines will sing for the younger visitors. The robot may refuse to answer to sensitive questions for "privacy reasons," making an X with her arms and bowing.

There were some really hot girls who worked the information kiosks at the Expo, and it was a scam to go up to it and ask questions with fake accents, just to give you an excuse to talk to them. Who's going to want to get a hot date from a robot. Well, besides those horny Austrian visitors. I like the bowing thing. I think we should do more of that.

The Alsok guard robot, developed by Sohgo Security Services, will provide directions to visitors as it is equipped with a touch panel in its chest. But it serves a double function and it can try to scare away suspicious people with sirens and light and can detect fires and report them to a security center.

What they don't mention is that Alsok also carries a Glock and is licensed to kill. And these robots have non qualms about greasing your foreign ass if need be, so don't try and push them around, sparky.

For small children, the electronics giant NEC will have on offer the child-care robot PaPeRo. The PaPeRo also sings with children or quizzes them, recognizing who said what even if they answer is in chorus.

Can we change the name of this robot? Maybe make it a bit more kid friendly? How about Sponge Pa? I would buy one of those things for sure. I envision a robot that looks like the housekeeper on the Jetsons and is 100% no nonsense.

Japan's top automaker Toyota, which is based in Aichi, has said it would welcome guests at its pavilion with a diverse array of music ranging from a brass band to rap -- all performed by robots. The show will feature a two-legged humanoid on the trumpet jamming with fellow robot virtuosos on tuba, trombone, horn and drums.




Big deal. The Cars, Men Without Hats and Devo all perfected the robotic performance way back in the 1980's.

Actually, I'm sure the show is pretty cool. I'm counting on the Japanese for delivering on the home robot in the next five years. It will do my taxes, preform minor home appliance repair, sew up my ripped hockey pants and answer the phone with grace and panache.

Fat Actress

We had free Showtime over the weekend and that carried over until Monday, so we were treated to the debut of a new sitcom called "Fat Actress" starring Kristy Alley. The show begged the question, "Can anyone have a tv show on cable?"

The answer is a resounding "Yes. Kill me now."

"Fat Actress" is a blatant rip-off of the brilliant Larry David HBO show "Curb Your Enthusiasm", and unabashedly tries to mimic the creative format and reality style. The similarities end there, as the Einsteins behind this steaming pile of pigeon poop forgot to steal the interesting and funny story and script ideas.

The only joke they have to work with is that Kristy is really fat. Exceedingly fat, as it turns out, and this is beaten into viewers relentlessly over the course of 30 minutes. The premise is that she's trying to get work in Hollywood (tv, film, anything she can get). Everybody looks at her and says, "You're fat". Some of the executives wait until she leaves their presence before exclaiming, "Holy crap, she's fat!".

Kelly and I watched, curious to see if the show could progress past that one joke (and I use the word joke loosely), but no. In fact, it hit a scene that was so repulsive, that I threw up a little bit in my mouth while watching it. Kristy was seated in front of an open refrigerator with a man she was seducing, and they were feeding each other from the leftover containers. By feeding, I mean stuffing huge quantities into their mouths. Each item of food became increasingly more strange, but the look of joy on her face as she tore into a giant turkey leg was not acting. And that was the scariest part of all. You knew that this scene HAD taken place in real life. How she became 400 lbs was abundantly clear at this point.

I'm not watching it anymore, in case that point didn't come across. Not when"Survivor", "Scare Tactics" and "To Catch A Thief" are on.

A funny programming coincidence (or maybe not) but they had Penn and Teller's show "Bullshit!" on right after the Fat Actress disaster and it was an expose on exercise equipment that doesn't do squat for your buns of steel. The show was awesome. No, Teller doesn't talk, but he contributes. There aren't many shows I laugh out loud at when watching, this one did it to me. Nice one, guys.

Rebuttal by a Pirate

Arizona student guilty of Web piracy
By Matt Hines

A University of Arizona student is believed to be the first person in the nation to plead guilty under state Internet piracy laws. Parvin Dhaliwal, 18, entered a guilty plea to possession of counterfeit marks, or unauthorized copies of intellectual property, a Class 6 Felony under
Arizona's new piracy law, according to the Arizona state Attorney General's Office.

Dhaliwal was sentenced in January to three months in jail, three years probation and 200 hours of community service. He must also pay a $5,400 fine and take a university class on copyright issues. The illegally copied movies included ones that were still playing only in theaters at the time of their theft, including "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," "The Cat in The Hat" and "Mona Lisa Smile."



Rebuttal by a Real Pirate
By Harold P. HornblowerPirate, Notary Public

Ahoy there, readers! I've put Shamus in irons so's I can get a word in edgewise on this here topic. The pirates voice has been in lost in the sea of corporate land sharks and watered down by bad movies starring Johnny Depp. Though he did look good in that bandana. Arrr.

Piracy has been around since the birth of man, second only to female company as far as oldest profession goes. Through the centuries, my brothers in giant belt buckles and hats with feathers have swung dangerously on ropes, engaged in sword duos, close quarters knife fights and rousing drinking binges that last to the wee morning - all in the name of this great and noble career.

Sure, people lost legs, gangplanks were walked and parrots were hurt - but that's our lot in life and we just accepted it as we did the spoils of our efforts. Our dental plan isn't the best, but you get all the gold fillings you can handle, matey.

Then came that scabby Jimmy Carter with his anti-pirate legislation and his "Coast Guard" and we had to move to the less developed areas of the world, like the Philippines and India. Sure, the treasure wasn't as sweet, but the women loved the patches and scars and stuff, and we didn't have to put up with that rock and roll garbage blaring from the motor boats. Pirates hate your rock and roll, by the way. We love jazz and anything by Ravi Shankar, especially his "Pieces of Eight" album.

Now Pirates are being blamed for stealing things using something called an Inter net. Speaking as the chairman of the West Burma chapter of the Pirates, whoever these guys are, they are not affiliated with us. If you're going to keel haul these people in your media, don't use our good names to do so.

We (The Pirate Council) hereby demand you to cease and desist from calling them "Pirates" tm, and find another moniker that will not besmirch our historic name. That reminds me, please stop using our name when describing homosexual activities either. We've been told that "Butt-Pirates" and "Sword Smuggler" have been used in less-than-flattering ways of late. Don't shanghai our verbiage for your sick enjoyment, or I'll cut you ear to ear.

See you in your dreams, me hearties.

King of the Big Slide

I have to say that I've been enjoying the blogging thing. In just a short while I have met some hilarious and equally (if not more) demented characters, several people who could write me under the table with their amazing prose, a few people who I would dare to call new pals, and a few surprises. Like this one...

Just the other day I got to talking to a person who hailed from Vancouver BC, which is near my home town and after several emails, it turned out she came from the same general neighborhood and also attended the catholic elementary school me and my family went to. She was a few years behind me, but knew my sisters and younger brother.

It was a kick talking to her and hearing the names of old teachers that I'd long forgotten, and a few students as well. The nuns there were brutal, beating and whipping us and verbally assaulting anyone who drifted out of line. I recall going back years later and towering over them, surprised to find that they turned out to be around 4 feet tall. They could still scare the bejesus out of me with a look.

The worst thing about the school was it was two towns over and a 30 minute bus ride each way (you might recognize Cloverdale from such popular tv shows as Smallville, which shoots outside locations there). The ride was through a farming landscape that was often ripe with manure. While my friends were riding their bikes home from school I was riding on the suffocating tin can trying to block out the smell of polyester and animal bowel movements.

I'm scarred to this day. The playground wasn't made of grass or dirt, it was wood chips. If you slid on that stuff (or tripped) you ended up with legs full of splinters and I still have a few souvenirs lodged in there. In one corner was the big slide, a wooden structure like a big fort with steps and a slide. A daily game of "King of the Big Slide" was inevitable, with bodies flying in all directions. And if you did get tossed, where did you fall? You guessed it, the damn wood chips.
If you survived the wood chips and the Big Slide there was the slab. It was a fenced concrete block the size of a tennis court where we played street hockey. There were more teeth dislodged on that slab that local dentists called it "the chicklet dispenser".

You didn't dare come in from recess or lunch break complaining about an injury, or you'd be sent to the "nurse", a small room which smelled like formaldehyde Most kids passed out within a minute of being there. They never sent you home, you stayed there until you claimed you were better or the bus came. Bones were set and stiches sewn after you arrived safely home.

I look back at that time and see it was a wonderful preparation for my high school years, under the bats and straps of the Christian Brothers. But, that's for another day.

Whores and Hockey Players

This joke cracked me up today....

A man in the Florida supermarket tries to buy half a head of lettuce.

The very young produce assistant tells him that they sell only whole heads of lettuce.

The man persists and asks to see the manager.

The boy says he'll ask his manager about it.

Walking into the back room, the boy said to his manager, "Some asshole wants to buy half a head of lettuce." As he finished his sentence, he turned to find the man standing right behind him, so he added, "And this gentleman has kindly offered to buy the other half."

The manager approved the deal, and the man went on his way. Later the manager said to the boy, "I was impressed with the way you got yourself out of that situation earlier. We like people who think on their feet here. Where are you from, son?"

"Canada, sir," the boy replied.

"Well, why did you leave Canada?" the manager asked.

The boy said, "Sir, there's nothing but whores and hockey players up there."

"Really?" said the manager. "My wife is from Canada."

No shit?" replied the boy. "Who'd she play for?"

German Rock Scandals Are Lame

Sorry Deutchland, but it appears that your lame taste for rock stars (see: Herr Hasslehoff) carries over to what you laughably call a "scandal" :


Aging Singers Hit Wrong Note with Fans

BERLIN (Reuters) - Two aging German pop stars, known for their sentimental style, kitsch songs and dating younger women, are under attack for calling their fans brainless and being disparaging about older women's sexual appetites.

Udo Juergens, 70, was called "just a stupid singer" by Bild newspaper columnist Franz Josef Wagner Monday for an interview in which the crooner, proud of his young mistresses, said: "Women's interest in sex drops sharply in their late 30s."


Woh, woh woh! C'mon guys... take it easy now. Let's not say anything crazy here.


Juergen Drews, 59, recently admitted he was afraid of former fans threatening to beat him up after the singer known as the "King of Majorca" criticized them in a recent interview as "idiots" who have "had their brains amputated."


Can you have your brain amputated? Wouldn't that mean you'd be missing the top of your mellon?


Juergens, who before the comments was especially popular with middle-aged women for his 1976 hit "Aber bitte mit Sahne" (But with cream please), was also criticized by sexual researchers who said he didn't know what he was talking about.

"His remarks are a smack in the face for women over 40," sexual therapist Christine Baumanns told Bild. "Here is a man who is likely trying to distract from his own fading sexuality." Drews, fired by the Majorca club for his remarks, has since apologized to the German vacationers who lined up to be serenaded by him.

"I was the one with the amputated brain," said the singer who is best known for his 1974 hit "Ein Bett im Kornfeld" (A bed in the corn field). Drews said he was nevertheless forced to hire two bodyguards after getting death threats.


Well, no argument there. I'd think you'd need an "amputated brain" to understand the controversy here.

Isn't this the country where Michael Jackson is greated like the second coming of Beethovan? I think this is also where the infamous "baby over the balcony" incident took place. But at least MJ didn't question the sexual appetite of the midlife woman. Apparently that's a nein-nein.

Ach tung, baby.

Train Wreck

Sunday we had a nice family outing to a Toy and Train Show at a nearby college. My son is a train enthusiast, kind of in the same way a crackhead can be called an "drug enthusiast". Since he was 6 months old he's played with them, and the interest is stronger than ever at 5. He has every Thomas the train character, miles and miles of track and plays with them almost every free hour, if he isn't reading a book. He likes to stay busy and we like that.

We've gone to this show before and he's in heaven for several hours. This year I noticed a pallor of grime I hadn't seen before. The displays lacked the usual shine and polish, like thay hadn't even taken the tracks out since the last show. The track layouts sure hadn't changed, which even Dan pointed out. D minus for effort there.

The toy collectors are what's brining the show down. They come hoping to sell their old Matchbox cars, Hess trucks and Fisher Price toys. Problem is, it's the same items they tried to sell LAST year. And most of it is broken, dirty, or both. The people behind the tables don't want to tell you about the stuff, they only care if you want to buy it and hey, tell your kid to stop touching stuff. Um, they're TOYS and he's a KID. He doesn't know it's some old toy that supposed to be worth something which, by the way, it's not. Try EBay, Einstein.

Another guy had some old Fisher Price buildings, like the garage, remember that? I has a long winding ramp and an elevator and a car lift. Well, none of it worked. Dan was turning knobs and getting pissed nothing was happening. The guy behind the table looked like he was in a coma until Dan dared touch one of the matchbox cars out on display. "Not those!" he said, getting up. "Those are rare. He can play with those over there." pointed to a different pile of cars. So put them under glass if they're so "rare". I almost laid into him, but it would be like getting mad at a mentally handicapped person. It's not their fault.

The highlight was a large derailment at the big track display, a 24 X 12 display with several tracks complete with al kinds of scenes, from trainyards, to quarry, to townships. They even have little figures and cars and tons of cool details so you can look at the setup for quite while. It hadn't changed all that much either, but it was still pretty cool.

A large coal train lost it on a turn and several cars rolled over, sending they're load spilling and the train club members scrambling. The Green-Shirted members descended on the scene like EMS workers and commenced cleanup and repair before giving the thimbs up to resume the train traffic. Dan was fascinated. He crashes everything and especially loves his train smash-ups. My nickname for him is Mr. Destructo.

We noticed a few funny details about the background buidlings this year. They had added a red light district to the end of the town scene, complete with tiny streetwalkers and a strip club. I guess these guys get a bit crazy during the train club meetings after a few beers. Kelly also noticed you could even see in to the windows of the apartments above the stripclub and make out tiny figurines inside doing something that wasn't train-related. Choo-choo!

Dan's day was not diminished by the seedy and somewhat depressing underbelly that was more apparant this year. He came home and wanted to construct his own large town for his tracks, and that should be a fun project.

No strip clubs in the scene until he's 16, that's going to be the rule.

Smell The Glove

For you music fans, this site hosts the worst album covers. Spinal Tap's "Smell The Glove" isn't there, but other gems abound. Here's a few of my favorites...

Van Halen has had made some bad decisions as a group. First they got rid of David Lee Roth, then they almost released this gem...



What were the Beatles thinking? Dismembered babies???
This one is worth big bucks if you have it, BTW.



I love the title of this one "by request only". Requested by who, Ken? Your mom?
"Ken, can you sing me that song about your bug eyes and mutton chops?"



Metal Tit. Maybe this is where Mike Meyer's got inspiration for the "Fembots" in the Austin Powers movie.



The Scorpions thought this one would fly. Um, sorry Gunter. No.


Rock on.

AOL 9.0!

My AOL 9.0 came today! Look, my life is going to be sweet with the new Optomized Cleaner. Yea! Optomized Cleaner! It's 5X faster! It's Automatic, Tough, Premium and Optimum!



Oh no. I kind of beat the crap out of my new AOL 9.0 with a hammer and then backed over it with my car.
When are they going to make packaging that can protect AOL the way it needs to be protected? Not this time, skippy.



I have no beef with AOL. I just think they are creating sick amounts of trash with these bulk mailings and so how do I protest? That's right, I turn it into trash.
Original? Maybe not.
Fun? Ohhhh yeah.

Pizzaman (Part 1)

Every once and again I wonder what life would be like if I had followed my first vocation, Pizzaman.

That's right. I worked in a pizzaria in multiple capacities; counter, cook, driver and eventually manager. I rose quickly through the ranks of the family-owned business mainly because I showed up when the schedule called for me to, which was apparently a tough task for many of my coworkers. We were all college kids with few aspirations other than making some bucks and getting some free pizza, but I was fastidious about not blowing off work. It was one of those ninja honor code things I guess.

By my second summer working at Pine Hills Pizzaria the owner gave me a sweet plum - running the second shop out in Westmere. Not a grand place, but I was cook/manager/counter dude with one driver. The business was never crazy, so the nights were easy and carefree as a French whore. Or so I've heard.

I would drive up in the afternoon in the old chevy van "The Pizza Machine" emblazed on the side. I would be carrying the dough already laid out on pie plates and whatever supplied I needed. So all I had to do was answer the phone and make the pies.The business was largely delivery, aside from the drunks who came over from the bar next door. They were grateful, those drunks, and tipped well. Some even flashed me. The women, that is.

Being located right across the street from a Pizza Hut, it wasn't long before they and I became pals, We would trade pies across the street, just for something different. The owner stopped in one night and freaked when he saw a Pizza Hut box in OUR garbage. DOH!

I smoothly made up a story of about drunk from next door who came in to complain about his bad pizza, only to have me point out that it was from the Hut was across the street. Well, not a great story, but it made the owner strut over to the window and give the Hut the bird. "You suck!" he laughed at the building across the street while I was busy trying to wipe the remains of the delicious Meat Lovers pizza from my face.

At the end of the night, the empty pans would go back to the main store and the van parked for the night. Then it would be over to the Partridge Pub or Boogies (where it didn't matter if you smelled of pizza and looked ashen from flour dust, you still outclassed 99% of the clientele) for a few brews before trotting home.

Where would I be today if I hadn't stayed in college? Well, Pine Hills Pizzeria was closed for back taxes after the owner was busted for a slight white powder abuse problem (not flour). I could have reopened it and built the PHP back up to prosperity on the backs of poor college students like the previous owner did. Hell, I might even have enjoyed it.

Then again, it might have caused me to grow up too fast. And just look what that did to Michael Jackson.

It's STREP!

I'll be enjoying some quality med-i-ca-tion from here on in.

Sw-ee-t.

Heal Me

Monday night I came down withe the fastest sore throat ever. From the time my hockey game ended until l got to the locker room, I had a blistering sore throat. I couldn't even enjoy a delicious cold beer.

So I popped a bunch of sore throat lozenges and when I got home had a bunch of other sore-throat meds. I woke up in the middle of the night in severe pain. I tried the warm water + salt gargle and nearly busted the glass in my hand at the searing stab of white hot lava in my throat.

The next day I went to the doctor at lunch, since eating food or drink anything was out of the question. Once shown into the examining room and having my vitals taken by the no-nonsense nurse, I was left alone without a word. Ok, I didn't feel like chatting anyhoo. So I started reading all the wall posters. "The Shine On Skin Cancer" , "Do You Know Your STD's?" "What's New With Irritable Bowel Syndrome" , "Diabetes, It's More Than Club Feet And Insulin Shots".

After a few minutes of reading about symptoms and signs of each of these wonderful topics, I was pretty sure I had them all. I felt like I did back in college, reading my Psych 101 book. There was a lot of self-diagnosing going on. Turns out I should have sought professional help, but that's another story.

Do I need to be bummed out by ultra-detailed pictures of my digestive track in action, or seeing the unholy amount of entrails we posses? I think not. The insides of people are pretty disgusting and I don't need to see it. Their outsides are bad enough.

I think they should put up posters of nice tropical get-aways. Big murals of people laying on beaches, some with bandaged arms, legs, heads or with IV's coming out of their arms. Because even sick people should be able to enjoy paradise, right?

Big-Ears' Bachelor Party

Topless Dancers Greet Prince Charles

ALICE SPRINGS, Australia (Reuters) - Topless Aboriginal dancers welcomed Britain's Prince Charles in Australia's outback on Wednesday, where locals were preparing to throw a bachelor party for the newly engaged royal.

Charles, who is due to wed divorcee Camilla Parker-Bowles on April 8, was greeted in Alice Springs with a traditional indigenous dance to wish him a safe journey in Australia.

Locals at the outback town's Bojangles bar were preparing to party as the future king of Australia arrived. Australia is a former British colony which retains the British monarch as its head of state.

Although Charles was spending less than five hours in Alice Springs, 1,200 miles northwest of Sydney, locals were planning to throw the heir to the British throne an outback-style "bucks night" to celebrate his impending wedding.

"We won't be shaving any eyebrows, no balls and chains, no gaffer-taping VB (beer) cans to anyone and putting them out in the park. It's a bit of wholesome fun with a bit of cheeky Australian humor," publican Chris Vaughan said.


You all know how I feel about this issue. I only hope the cheeky Australian humor includes teabagging. I tried morphing Charles' face into that pic but I gave up. Use your own friggin imaginations.

Mensa? I'm Not Impressed

For those of you who may not know, Mensa is a special organization for really really smart folks. Being really smart, they put it this way; "Mensa provides a forum for intellectual exchange among members. Its activities include the exchange of ideas by lectures, discussions, journals, special-interest groups, and local, regional, national, and international gatherings; the investigations of members' opinions and attitudes; and assistance to researchers, inside and outside Mensa, in projects dealing with intelligence or Mensa."

I'm not impressed. I reviewed their membership standards and it's not so exclusive. All you have to do for Membership in Mensa is prove you have "attained a score within the upper two percent of the general population on an approved intelligence test that has been properly administered and supervised". I scored pretty high on my driving test, maybe that would count?

But as I looked over the what the group is all about, I wasn't that impressed. The membership benefits were pretty lame as well:

• Mensa provides intriguing ways to flex your mental muscles.
  Isn't that what Jeopardy is for?
  
• Mensa offers approximately 200 Special Interest Groups, in mind-boggling profusion from African Violets to zoology.
  Mind-boggling is right. You can bet "chicks", "poker" and "sports" don't fall into that mind-boggling list. As a good friend of mine once said, "You can't get laid in a Star Trek t-shirt."
  
• Mensa meetings are anything but dull! Local groups meet at least monthly. Often it's for dinner and drinks on a Friday night, or for get-togethers featuring a speaker or a lively, freewheeling discussion.
  You want to try free-wheeling, brainiac? Spend an evening with my friend Stinky. You'll wake up sticky, broke and confused with a stack of appearance tickets from towns and cities you've never been (as far as you can recall). My 22nd birthday under Stinky's guidance started in a boxcar drinking cheap champaign and ended with me falling down a flight of stairs in a Cloverdale Exotic Dance club. I woke up the next day with wicked hang over and a small piece of paper that said "COWGIRL" scrawled on it. I still have no idea what was up with that. Top that, Mensa.
  
• There are also widely attended annual conventions offering workshops, seminars, and parties, plus numerous regional gatherings are held each year, offering social and intellectual excitement.
  Sounds stimulating. But what do you accomplish? What do you actually DO?

Here they are, a collection of the top 2% smartest people in our country and what do they achieve? They meet and solve really hard word-jumbles, or have trivia contests.

Want to impress me, Mensa? Use your collective scary brainpower to solve the following REAL problems:

• Alternate energy sources
• Socialized Healthcare
• Social Security Reform
• Prove String Theory
• Pick a disease and cure it

In the grand scheme of things, the fact you can complete the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle in 15 minutes means nothing to me. So you can retain lots of data, whoop-te-do.

Use that super cranium for something that matters, and then I'll applaud your amazing intellect. Meanwhile, shove off and take your IQ score with you.