Childhood Crushes

When I was a teen, I had posters all over my wall. Posters from different women that I thought were hot. As a teen-aged boy, I was pretty picky about who I put on my wall. I didn't just go for any woman showing cleavage or bending over with a water hose. I only chose celebrities to grace my walls, especially my freshman year in college.

Although I was fond of women like Lynda Carter, Jayne Kennedy and Debbie Morgan, I was very selective of the posters that I bought. I'm unsure if posters are still huge sellers in the local Wal-Marts and K-Marts now, but when I was a teen, so many athletes and celebrities had their own poster. The first poster I remember buying with my own cash was a poster of Lisa Lisa the singer. When her album "Spanish Fly" debuted with the hit song, "Head to Toe," I instantly became a fan of hers. I can honestly say that I was just as big of a fan of her music as I was of her looks. "Lost in Emotion," "Little Jackie Wants to Be A Star," and "All Cried Out" were just a few of her hits from the mid-to-late 80's.

Thanks to Lisa Lisa, I was stuck in a light-skin/long hair phase when it came to women for a while. My dating habits reflected that as well until I got to college and met the most gorgeous, dark-skinned, short-haired beauty named Freda. Another story for another blog post, I guess.

Around the age of 16, I started playing tennis with a kid who was new to the neighborhood. He and I would go to the historical campus of Tougaloo College and play for hours. Because of my interest in the sport, I started watching more tennis on television. That's when I came across an Argentine who got my attention...

Gabriela Sabatini was a very popular tennis player in the late 80's/early 90's. On top of having good looks, she was a really good tennis player as well. While always sporting her Sergio Tacchini attire, she gave Steffi Graf fits on the tennis courts, although Steffi usually wound up winning. The very first time (and only time) I ever joined a fan club was for hers. I sent a letter off to Argentina along with $1.50 to start receiving her newsletter and also get a photo. It must have taken two months for me to receive my membership into her official club. In fact, by the time I received it, I'd forgotten I'd even sent off for it. In all honesty, I think that one letter was all I received and it did not contain a photo. It was a letter signed by her father welcoming me to the club and stating great things were to come.

Well, I'm still waiting. Gabby, you owe me $1.50.

When it was time for me to move on to college, I packed my posters and brought them with me. I'd accumulated quite a few of them and a dormitory wall seemed like the perfect gallery setting. I had Apollonia, Sheila E., Vanity, and Sheila Easton to name a few. If you have no idea who any of those women are, then you were probably born after 1985.

I treasured each and everyone of those posters in my collection, but I would have thrown them all away for one poster of the next lady...

Pamela Suzette Grier. I had no clue Pam even existed until my college roommate and I decided to rent a movie one Friday night. We wanted something we'd never seen before and it had to contain action. We stumbled across "Foxy Brown" and we were hooked like Rush Limbaugh on painkillers. Pam Grier was the absolute most stunning woman to ever grace the movie screen. If anyone wanted to argue with me that the 1974 version of Pam Grier was not the finest woman to ever walk the planet, then I would immediately Amish-rake fight them. Try me. Just try me.

My roommate and I started renting her movies every single weekend. "Coffy," "Sheba, Baby" and more. On a Friday night, close to 10 guys would be in our dorm room watching (what we didn't know at the time) the first black action heroine. Between her and Cynthia Rothrock (blow the dust off of that name), we had action-packed weekends when it came to movies. I was pretty much out of "poster mode" in this point of my life. I had my first long-term girlfriend and she "grandfathered" my old posters in, but wouldn't have been too happy about buying any new ones. Besides, Pam Grier's movies were almost two decades old when I started watching them. I wouldn't have been able to find any posters of her any way. She'd temporarily stopped doing movies during a four year stint on "Miami Vice" and never stumbled upon anything big again until Quentin Tarantino's "Jackie Brown" came out in 1997. And she was still good-looking at age 46 in that movie. But, had I been born a decade earlier, I'm sure I would have had her poster.

So, here I am now, 20+ years later, blogging about these ladies who were my childhood crushes. I decided to Google them to see what they look like now and what they're doing. Pam Grier is still in the acting business and will appear in a movie later this year. Lisa Lisa had a solo comeback about three years ago that I've yet to hear, so I'm guessing that it didn't hit the Billboard Top 100. Gabriela Sabatini is back in Argentina and doing a lot of charity work from what I've read. I also read that she's still single. No sense in pissing off The Mrs., so I'll keep my comments to myself.

Before you could follow a celebrity on a social network, you could put a poster on your wall or join their fan club to connect with them. Unlike today, where celebs saturate us with Instagrams of themselves and re-tweet more than a stuttering baby bird, you only had talk show interviews and magazine articles to learn about them.

Below are all three ladies in the most recent photos that I could find. I think that time has been kind to all three of them. I have no idea where my posters are at this time. They could have met their demise once I moved from college back home. They could be in my parents' storage room in their back yard. I haven't a clue. All I know is this: if I could find them at this very moment.... I'd sell them on eBay faster than a ho outrunning a pimp. What? You thought that nostalgia would make me keep them?

You haven't been reading my blog long enough.  Money is a motivator...

Lisa (Lisa) Velez, 46; Gabriela Sabatini, 41; Pam Grier, 62

Who were your childhood crushes?

Flashback to a Reality Show!

At least once a month, I'm going to flashback to previous posts for my new followers who may have missed out.  A year ago today, I had a crazy idea come true.  I wanted to take a bunch of bloggers and compile their creativity to create one crazy fictional story.  They all decided to take the plunge with me and create a story about all of us. The first story didn't release until 5/9/2011, but everything came together last year on April 27, 2011.

I present to you "The Real Blogger Shore's Amazing Undercover Idol Intro."

"I know you're staring at that title and wondering if I've officially lost my mind.

Maybe. I was on the Yahoo! homepage and I noticed some "news" stories about one or two reality shows and it gave me an idea: I'm going to write a reality show idea about bloggers and pitch it to FOX!

It will be called: The Real Blogger Shore's Amazing Undercover Idol! (Did I hit every major reality show title in that?) Basically, it's about some stereotypical bloggers who are stashed in a posh mansion in Helena, Montana. Why Helena? Because the mansions there are cheaper to rent than Beverly Hills. We're on a budget, you know? Now, stay with me.

This show will be very similar to MTV's "The Real World" which some people call the first traditional reality show. Like "TRW," you need an interesting blend of characters to sell the show. Here are my list of bloggers to join the mansion:"

Each one of us tells a part of this story, so you'll travel to each blogger's site to read "The Greatest Story Ever Told!"  You can find Part I here and don't say that I didn't warn you.  :)

For the people who participated in this, what's your take a year later?




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Conversation Starter

This is my shirt. I got this for my birthday a year or so ago. The Mrs. thought it would be funny to buy me something my dad would probably be proud to wear. However, there were stipulations to owning this shirt... Well, really, it was only one: I cannot wear it in public. Why? Because it's a corny shirt that, like I said, my father would wear. He's 70.

Well, since I was on vacation and could care less about any "stipulation," I wore the shirt last Monday. I thought to myself, "It's my vacation, so I'm not freakin' ironing any clothes! I'm just going to throw on this t-shirt and I don't care who sees it."

What did I do that for?
I had absolutely no idea that my wardrobe would be a conversation starter. I left home around 11 AM to run some errands with The Mrs and by 12 PM, I was sick of having everyone stop me to read my shirt. First of all, if someone can't read this shirt in the act of me walking by, then they need Hooked On Phonics. One guy, who read it aloud, misread it and thought "difficult" was "deceitful." He said, "Well, at least you're honest about it."

Ugh. Secondly, I don't need someone to validate me wearing this shirt by telling me how hilarious it is. I know it's funny. That's why I wore it. Continue to pester me and you'll find out just how accurate it is.

By that evening, I was to the point that I was thinking of just wearing the shirt inside-out. Next time, I'll listen to The Mrs.

Ever wore anything that attracted strangers to you?

Real Housewives of Panama City Beach

Last week, while on vacation, I was part of a reality show without realizing it. The Mrs. and I were on vacation in Panama City Beach, FL and decided to hit up a restaurant called The Egg & I. Great restaurant, by the way. Anyhoo, we were seated right next to a couple of ladies who had plenty to say and didn't use their "inside voices."

One lady was blond and looked to be in her late 40's. She was dressed in a really nice slimming dress and her heels looked expensive. Her makeup was well-done and her hair was in place. The 2nd lady was brunette, looked late 30's and I didn't get to see her ensemble since she was seated already by the time The Mrs. and I were seated. However, she was "reality show attractive" with her hair and makeup in place.

The blond and I are sitting back-to-back in our booths, so everything she says is loud and clear to me. However, I simply tuned her out and The Mrs. and I ordered our food (pancakes, scrambled eggs and turkey sausage) and she started surfing on the iPad while I checked Twitter. As I'm perusing my tweets, I tried not to do so, but couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the two ladies seated behind us. It went something like this...

"I'm going to get my tits done and when I do, my husband is not going to benefit from them one bit." said the blond.

"You're leaving him?" asked the brunette.

"He bores me." replies the blond.

I pay the conversation no mind, but the next sentence I heard really got my attention...

"I had to rush to get my taxes done," started the blond. "I got someone to do it for me for free. I had to give him a blow job first though."

"Really?" replied the brunette as if that's an everyday thing. "Girl, at least yours are done."

Now, my ears have perked up like a police dog. Did I hear her correctly? She went "bobbing for taxes?" I hope she at least has a refund coming. I listened closer to their conversation...

"Did you see what Debra had on today?" asked the blond.

"No, what was it?" the brunette inquired.

"She was wearing her 'come rape me' dress" the blond answered with a sarcastic overtone. "The same one she wore the week before she got that new advertising account."

"Girl, it must be working then because she's been all smiles with her commission checks" said the brunette.

So, our food arrives and I'm distracted from the conversation. The Mrs. keeps looking at me oddly because my eyes are bigger than hubcaps. "Can you hear these ladies behind me?" I whisper.

"What?" she asked more focused on her turkey sausage.

At this point, despite how good my raspberry granola pancake looks, I try to get refocused on the conversation behind me. It's like listening to the "Real Houswives of Panama City Beach" or something. Maybe I should be looking for a camera crew...

"Girl, who did your Botox last time?" the brunette asked.

"I can't remember his name because he sucked," started the blond, "I had to tuck my cheeks behind my nose less than a week later because of the crappy job he did."

"Girl, you should use my guy" the brunette says. "He did my lips, too."

"They do look good!" the blond compliments. "Maybe you can get your taxes done, too!"

(They LOL!)

At this point, I couldn't make out the conversation as much. However, what I heard was an earful! I know everyone has a friend that you may get down and dirty into conversation with at times, but that loudly in public?

Here's what I said on Twitter while the conversation was going on. Start at the bottom and work your way up.

Have you ever overheard an inappropriate conversation?

TQ Presents... @According2Jewls

I generally try to put out three blog posts per week, but from time-to-time, I get caught up with other things: The Mrs., work, football, etc. This time, I'm on vacation. Hopefully, by the time you read this, I'll be back home from Panama City Beach, FL. So, I figured, why not solicit some of my favorite bloggers to take up the slack for me. Yeah, that's right, I can facilitate my blogging duties to others! How lazy wonderful is that?

I've asked my blog crush, who once called me a BILF, to pretty up my blog a bit. She has tons of writing talent and if you've never seen her site, then do yourself a favor and check her out at According to Jewels.

Well, I'm going to let her do her thing. Take it away, Jewels.

Get Your Hands Off Me

I have always been jealous of women with good hair. As a kid I had hair so long I would sit on it in school and yell at the kid behind me for pulling it. It was a medium blonde shade and beautifully wavy. Somewhere along the line hormones and genetics caused my gorgeous hair to convert to a mass of dark brown curls. I’m talking curls!

It took a while…a long while and a lot of tears but I love my curls now. I have embraced them and I think they are sexy. Despite the fact that study after study have reported that men prefer straight haired women (abc news did a study that showed the same woman pictured with straight and curly hair received higher marks from men when she had straight hair) over curly haired. Sure it takes a little extra prep time to get ready to head out and yes, I check the weather and the humidity levels before deciding to wear my hair up or down.

I know plenty of women who say that they love to straighten their hair (my sisters included) and I think they are insane! My hair is thick and insanely curly and the few times I’ve let people straighten my hair…it takes FOREVER and at the slightest hint of moisture it curls again…why freaking bother!

"Touch my hair, lose your hand."

My hair gets brushed ONLY when wet. That’s just the way curly hair works. You see my hair is full of individual ringlets; beautiful spirals of silky dark brown hair that shine in the sun. Those ringlets are say 20-40 hairs thick, coiled around each other in a lovely way, embracing one another and when that ringlet is brushed out those hairs separate and a white girl afro appears in that ringlets place. It is NOT pretty!

While I wish my hair was the kind a man could run his fingers through, its not. When the little girl I nanny for wants to play and brush my hair I have a mini panic attack. When guys want to pull on my curls and run their hand over my hair I want to slap their hand away. Don’t ask, “Is your hair naturally curly?” then reach out to touch it before waiting for a response! Yes, yes it is and it’s temperamental so lay off. Do not coo, “Oh my gosh, look at that precious ringlet! It’s so tight and bouncy!” and then tug it down to watch it spring back up. That is only fun for you and will seriously piss me off. Do not say, “Do you know how much I’d pay for curls like that!?” and then pet my head…I don’t care if you have to pay for it…I have to manage it, get off!

If I’m in a relationship with somebody then chances are they have seen me in the morning or after being caught in the rain and therefore witnessed the afro so I’m not as worried but for the average guy at a bar just talking to me…if you try to touch my hair you WILL lose a hand. Period. There are times when I don’t care if you touch my hair. If we are kissing and you want to frame my face or tuck it behind my ear or play with it I’m fine with it. If we are having sex…by all means get in there! I love well placed tugs and pulls on my hair and don’t care if you turn into the King of Clips in order to get a better view of me going down on you. If it’s already humid out and it’s beyond help anyway then you’re safe. If we aren’t going out and you want to play go ahead…as long as I don’t need to be seen in public I’m cool.

Okay…now I sound psychotic…in reality I have never lashed out at anyone who touched my hair…but I’ve wanted to. And little kids with brushes who want to play with it really does make me panic. I sometimes wish it was nice and straight and smooth and guys could run their hands through it without getting their hand stuck in it but that’s just not my lot in life. I wish it was something I didn’t have to think about but it is. I am at a point where I’m not going to kill myself 45 minutes to an hour a day to make it straight, damaging my hair in the process, and then obsessing over if it’s straight enough. My hair is curly, it’s always been wavy/curly and it always will be.

#According2Jewls

TQ Presents... @LadyEstrogen

I generally try to put out three blog posts per week, but from time-to-time, I get caught up with other things: The Mrs., work, football, etc. This time, I'm on vacation. Hopefully, by the time you read this, I'll be some where on a beach in Panama City Beach, FL. So, I figured, why not solicit some of my favorite bloggers to take up the slack for me. Yeah, that's right, I can facilitate my blogging duties to others! How lazy wonderful is that?

I've asked a recently-found favorite of mine, Lady Estrogen, to pretty up my blog a bit with her insight!

Well, I'm going to let Lady Estrogen do her thing. After you read this and enjoy her work, then cruise on over to Adventures In Estrogen and subscribe to her blog. It's good stuff. It wouldn't be on my page if it weren't. Take it away, Lady E.

Intellectual Dummies

Our generation is, for the most part, the first majority to have gone through some form of post-secondary schooling – on average. I know there are some families that are already on their 3rd generation of Harvard alumini – and to them, I say, “Piss Off” – this article isn’t about you – although my underlying point will likely apply to you as well, as you shall see.

For MOST of us, our parents completed maybe a year or two of Community College, if that, but it didn’t matter – these lucky baby-boomers still landed jobs that now pay in the upper regions of 75-100k per annum or more. My father is a prime example of this – his 2 years of College back in the early 70s landed him a sweet job for IBM, which, by today’s standards, one would need at least a Master’s Degree in Computer Science or Engineering before they even took a sniff at your résumé. Whether it is sheer progress or a case of supply & demand, it really has changed in the last 30 years.

Because of this shift, (and our parents being aware of this) they insisted that their children went to University to “have an opportunity that they didn’t have”. From a very early age, we were coached to understand that high school was just the beginning and that there was much more learning to do. Study, study, study! Even my school was on board – I’ll admit, it was a very middle-class-centric school that I attended and there were not many ‘practical’ classes to take. I think there was a Home Economics classroom somewhere... not that I ever entered it – it was not compulsory, not even in grade 9.

When my guidance counsellor suggested that with my interest in the Creative Arts, a good Art College could be an option for me (meaning NOT University). When my mother found this out, she went completely ballistic... OK, never mind... University it was.

So, we all went off to University – thousands of us – and after 4 years, what did we have to show for our $25,000-$60,000* education? I’ll tell you – poor eating habits, a fat ass, a stack of essays... and knowledge essentially good for nothing more than competing in Jeopardy. Yes, it nurtured our critical thinking, but if you didn’t have it to begin with, University doesn’t magically create it. Unless you were going to do more school in the form of Post-graduate certifications, Masters, PhD, etc, an Undergraduate Degree gets you sweet fuck all. The worst part, which is what I’m essentially observing these days, is that these thousands of University graduates cannot do ANYTHING that requires a practical everyday life skill.

We cannot fix anything.
We cannot build anything.
We cannot do anything that requires manual knowledge.
We are fucking useless.

And the guys back in high school that we stuck our noses up at because they were in the Wood Working class or other applied subjects are now the guys that are laughing their arses off – all the way to the bank. They are clearing $100k per annum because no one else knows how to do their job and they can charge extortionate prices for their services – knowing full well that we’d be screwed without them. Yes, my father was lucky and got a fantastic job back in the 70s, but even he can barely change a light bulb! The majority of us now are in high stress, under-paying jobs – most of which have little or nothing to do with what we originally went to University for. I am generally in the same field that I attended University for, but only with an additional 2 more years of Post-graduate studies and a lot of luck.

I don’t want to blame anyone – it’s just another one of many symptomatic back lashes from the baby boomer generation; I doubt anyone could have foreseen this. It is not like, as a 16 year old, I thought to myself, “Gee, when I’m 35, I sure would like to be able to sew and cook.” Of course I didn’t; if I had the gift of foresight at 16, We all would have done things differently, I’m sure of it. I also should acknowledge that there was the strong feminist movement blowing through at that time and the idea of a young woman wanting to sew and cook instead of wanting to become an astronaut was like a crime against our sex.

Some people say, “Well, go back and learn that now!” OK, with what time, exactly? Between babies, mortgage & car payments, full-time job, laundry, groceries, hockey practice, swimming lessons, marriage and generally attempting to keep the house from falling apart, when is there time to do that, seriously? I’m happy when I get time to enjoy a coffee that is not served in a disposable cup! That is why we go to school when we are young – because it’s when we have time for it.

The sexiest man I have met in a very long time was the handyman that we hired to do some jobs around our house. He could lay flooring, install a tile back-splash and put up a railing – and it totally turned me on! I love my husband, but these are things I really wished he could do – or even myself – but we cannot; we are both intellectual dummies. I’m sure even that 3rd generation Harvard graduate wouldn’t know the difference between a drywall screw and a wood screw to save their life. The person they have to hire to do their manual labour is likely making more money than they are – how's that for a hot slurp of irony?


So, of course, if my children know early on that they want to become doctors or teachers, or something of that capacity that genuinely requires a University education, they will be given that opportunity – no question. However, if they aren’t sure what they want to do, I would much prefer to see them go to College and learn a practical trade, rather than wasting 4 years getting a useless general arts degree – or worse, social science.

What a joke.

(*based on Canadian tuition fees; the high end is including residence fees)

@LadyEstrogen

TQ Presents... @MoonerJohnson

I generally try to put out three blog posts per week, but from time-to-time, I get caught up with other things: The Mrs., work, football, etc. So, I figured, why not solicit some of my favorite bloggers to take up the slack for me. Yeah, that's right, I can facilitate my blogging duties to others! How lazy wonderful is that? Over the next week or so, you'll see guest posts from some of my favorite people!

I've asked my ol' buddy, Mooner Johnson, to liven up my site with his randomness! Mooner, the only blogger buddy that I've ever met in person, is not just a blogger. He's also an author of an extremely funny book. Prepare to be appalled and entertained at the same time!

Well, I'm going to let Mooner do his thing. After you read this and enjoy his work, then cruise on over to MoonerJohnson.com and subscribe to his blog. It's good stuff. It wouldn't be on my page if it weren't. Take it away, Mooner.

So. When my buddy Quincy asked me to hold his stead while he takes a well-deserved vacation, I was quick with an instant “Of course” and a “No problem” as well. When I asked him about rules and guidelines and stuff, Q told me, “No reservations, Mooner. It's your forum for a day.”

It isn't often that sane people turn me loose without any reservations because without rules and guidelines, I tend to go way off the reservation. While I'm but one-sixteenth American Indian/Native American, that small part of me dominates all reservational conditions. Said another way, if I don't have something to hold me back—if there are no dumass conditions or stupid rules to tether my actions—then I have trouble getting untethered.

Another issue lying herein is that Quincy is all about having common sense, and then using it. I've got no common sense—an admitted fact—and many say I have no sense at all. My own mother tells everyone at her church, she'll say. “Oh, you just need to ignore all of those heretical things Mooner writes about. My son doesn't have the good sense God gave a grape.”

I do, on the other hand, sense that you readers of this bloggie, Quincy's bloggie, have enough going for you to pick through the bullshit and find the meat of matters. Which reminds me. How about that pink slime, huh?

I know that you are already saying to yourself, you're saying, “Holy shit, Grandma, but this Texas boy is confusing the ever-loving bejesus right out of me.”

Welcome to my world.

As a life-long sufferer of the dreaded ADHD and its tamer little brother, ADD, the obfuscations already contained herein are but the standard contusions of daily life as manifested through the distractions of life, as said life is lived by me. Again said with a slightly different twist, my ADHD is highly contagious and the first symptom is when you shake your head and reread sentences.

Having said all of that, since Quincy always asks a question with his postings, I'm going to present you with one of my dilemmas and see if you can assist me with its solving. OK, stop. Do you solve a dilemma or does it just go away when its causes subside? Are dilemmas like hemorrhoids and need to be removed for a permanent cure, or are they more akin to poison ivy, wherein you stop scratching and it just goes away?

I got poison ivy this one time when I was a teenager. A neighbor cleared some land and burned the cleared vegetation. I breathed and walked through poison ivy smoke that resulted from the burn. Got that shit in my nose and sinuses, my eyes and throat, in my ears and all over my pecker and balls. If memory serves me, the pecker and balls eruptions were secondary afflictions. Since poison ivy's rash spreads from contact and I was a teenage boy, I managed to spread my secondary eruptions over most of my body not already covered.

I spent about six-weeks covered head-to-toe with calamine lotion. Gram called me “The Pepto Bismol Man” and made me a white hat shaped like a bottle cap to keep the sun off my blistered scalp. Sunshine makes the rash itch even more and seems to promote fatter blisters, and my Gram can be seriously funny.

Anyway, the dilemma-of-the-month is this. My adopted 350-pound African ostrich, Rick Perry, wants to get breast augmentations so that he can better please his gay lover. Said lover, the 550-pounds of domesticated pig named Rush Limbaugh, is a breast man as it turns out, and Rick Perry wants to be able to fill-out a wedding dress for Rush's benefit. I'll not go into the wedding dress aspects here as we don't have time. Quincy told me he likes to keep things short here to his place, so just know that the big bird has sound reasons for getting giant rubber titties—some logical reasoning and some purely emotional in nature.

Personally, I feel that Rick Perry has a way-plenty ample breast for any man. Have you guys ever seen a full grown African ostrich up close? There has to be a hundred pounds of brassiere meat on a mature male ostrich. But love and vanity are distant relatives to common sense, and he wants this in the worst way.

I'm pretty liberal about all things Love, so my reticence is all from the practical perspectives. The bird is already so top heavy he can't fly, and I'm concerned that the additional high-front ballast will make him walk funny and maybe hurt his back.

Then there will be that whole nipple and aureole dealie. Rush Limbaugh is a piggish fellow and he has already asked me to get him nipple clamps for his birthday. I went shopping for them last week and brought home replacement ends for truck jumper cables. I had Gram make purple velvet pads for the clamps. I hope they'll be big enough.

But where will the doctor get the skin and flesh to form nipples from? Other than his breast, the only meat on the silly bird is perched on his tight little ass. Maybe he can use those spurs on the back of Rick Perry's feet. Nipples made from the spurs would always be hard and I know that would take a lot of the fun out of playing with them. At least they'd never get sore.

As his father, it is my responsibility to advise him and insure that I only give him my best advice. He's a grown man and I won't tell him what to do, but let's face the facts here folks, Rick Perry is not all that smart. He's got a very pretty head but it's mostly thick skull and just a tiny little brain. Rick Perry isn't smart enough to know just how stupid he is.

Which reminds me. My ostrich's namesake, the pompous dickhead Governor of Texas, just made a big speech about pink slime and how people need to just shut up and eat it. He made this speech because most of the pink slime is made by the big agricultural conglomerates in their plants up to the Texas Panhandle. Don't know if you noticed, but Rick “the Prick” Perry didn't eat a plateful of that shit at the news conference.

Help me here, guys. What advice would you give your son if you were me? Do I suggest he see a psycho therapist or should I just buy the damned things as a wedding present? I must admit that I bought a pair once before as a birthday gift for one of my ex-wives, and I must also admit that I liked them. Still do. Ingrid owns Ingrid's Hot Wax Emporium and, well...

OK stop, as I've left the tracks in the altogether. Ingrid is an incredible woman but has nothing to do with what I need from you guys. What I need is some serious insight from people with common sense. I need a common sense solution for an uncommon problem.



So, help a brother here. What would you do if your child wanted breast implants?

@MoonerJohnson
Go here for a follow-up on this blog.
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X

No, the "X" doesn't represent the letter, a Family Feud strike or anything like that. It's the Roman numeral letter for "10." 10 years ago, I married The Mrs. and I just wanted to take a moment to share with my followers our milestone of double digits!

To celebrate, we decided to roll back down to our honeymoon spot in Panama City Beach, Florida. What was so cool about the 6.5 hour drive was that we did it without even turning on the radio. We still have conversation for one another after all of this time.

It's been a great 10 years and I look forward to 10 more. Thanks for allowing me to be me!

Honeymoon: Panama City Beach, FL - View from our resort room

Anniversary #5: San Antonio, TX - The Alamo

X: Back where it all started in Panama City Beach.  View from the Origin @ Seahaven hotel.

YouTube Killed The Radio Star

Worst YouTube video ever: "It's So Cold In Tha D"

I was talking to a friend of mine recently (M&M) and he brought up something I'd never considered before: YouTube Killed the Radio Star.

As recently as the 90's, one had to have talent in order to have an opportunity to be called a "star" or "an artist." Those days are long gone. Now, all a person needs is a camera and a YouTube account. It doesn't matter how well you play or sing. It only matters if you're trendy enough to "go viral."

There were two televised talent shows that I remember watching a lot while growing up: "Star Search" and "Showtime at the Apollo." Those were basically the only two options of being seen in the world in hopes of becoming a music legend. You even had to beat the odds just in order to make it as a contestant on one of those shows. Now, there is no direct competition to getting an opportunity to be seen. There is no more "8 Mile" as "M&M" said. There's no more separating the best from the wack. There's no more school talent show to see who's good enough for regional, good enough for state, good enough for a national contest.

So, there's no way to weed out the non-talented from the talented. If you want an opportunity to share your skills (or lack thereof) to the world, just shoot a video. It's free and it's easy. Ask this guy...





When I first saw this video, I thought it was a Chappelle Show skit. It was almost a week before someone convinced me that it was supposed to be a serious video. Over 8 million hits for his rapping "skills." Now, I'm not sure how many of these millions watched this because they thought Yung Humma had talent. I'm also not sure how many millions watched this because someone sent them there for a good laugh (I fall into this group). People get on YouTube, rap/sing and then parade around like stars. And some people are crazy enough to believe that they are stars simply because of the number of hits that they have.

M&M was onto something when he brought up this concept and if you want more of his "M&M'isms" then check him out here. Now, don't get me wrong. There are some extremely talented people on YouTube who rap, sing and even act. There's Issa Rae, Real Dondada and this young lady below who goes by the name "Jane Doe." The problem is that they can't always get traction on page hits because people like the Numa Numa guy and Why Must I Cry guy get all of the attention. After all, Americans love a train wreck.

So, if you're going to check out YouTube videos for performing artists, then do us all a favor: please show your support for real talent, like Jane Doe, and give a thumbs up. And for the "Lemme Smang It" types, please thumb them down so the rest of us can be forewarned. Let's focus on real talent and not gimmicks. I can only take so many Nicki Minaj songs.



Be sure to give Jane Doe a thumbs up if you appreciated her vocal talents.

Do you think YouTube has dumbed down our expectations of talent?

I Have One Lovely Blog!

Props to Vinny C over at "As Vinny C's It" for the blog award! I now have the opportunity to share seven things about myself that you don't already know. Yeah, good luck with that. With over 300+ posts, what have I not told you yet? I've recently told you about getting trapped in an elevator with a wild animal. I've also shared how my college roommate and I took down a killer. I've even shared how I almost went to jail over a hamburger.

What seven more things could I possibly add at this point?

Well, since Vinny was nice enough to bestow the award upon me, the least I can do is reach deep into my brain and pull out seven new things. Here we go (and no, I'm not calling the dog from the beer commercial):

1. I've fulfilled two of three dreams I've had since being in my early 20's: being a sportswriter (for my local newspaper) and hosting a radio show. The third dream is to be a contestant on Jeopardy, but in all honesty, I've had second thoughts about my desire to be on a game show.

2. I will kill you if you attempt to put a snake, real or fake, on me. That's pretty much self-explanatory.

3. I've visited 16 states so far in my life. I still have 33 to go (Alaska is out of the question). The next state to cross off of my list will probably be either Nevada, Arizona or California.

4. I once beat Samuel L. Jackson's relative in a game of Mortal Kombat. When Sam was shooting "A Time to Kill" in a neighboring city, he came to the mall with this kid. At the time, I thought it was his son, but I later found out he doesn't have a son. Whoever it was, I was destroying him when Sam walked into the arcade with his beefy, female security guard and told him that it was time to go. It was probably the first time I'd ever had a conversation with a celebrity (although it was only two sentences).

5. My brother had two scenes in "A Time to Kill."

Guess which one is him?  And no, it's not Photoshopped. 

5. I guess that one doesn't count since that's more about my brother than me, so I'll do another #5. One of my influences from television when growing up came from James Bond movies. I was always quick-witted thanks to my father's genes, but Bond taught me timing. It's not always how you say something, but when you say it. Knowing when to be funny and when to be serious is important.

6. I watch Univision multiple times a week because I miss being able to speak Spanish fluently. In high school, I won multiple competitions (for skits) and was vice president of my high school's Spanish club. I once spoke it very well, but now mi espanol es muy malo. I still watch Univision with the closed caption on and try to recapture what I once had.

7. I love accents. My favorites being New Orleans and Jamaican accents. Now, I only like them when it's a female speaking. Hearing dudes speak in any dialect means nothing to me, but a good "Nolia" accent or any form of patois spoken by a woman will make my ears perk up like a German shepherd.

Okay, those are seven new things that I've shared about me. I will now pass this award on to three people to do the same:

Cari from Bubble Gum On My Shoe
Christina from Solitary Mama
Marjorie from Don't Call Me Marge

Now, ladies, if listing seven things about yourself is simply not your thing, ladies, then feel free to just accept the award and keep it at that. I just wanted to let you know that your blogs are definitely appreciated!

Two True 2

Okay, I have two true stories to tell, but I'd love to hear your comments on how you would have handled these situation if found in the same predicament. The first story can be found here.

Story #2
It's Summer of '97 and my cousin, Jay, my homie, Shawn and I were hanging out at a nightclub called The Pinnacle. We don't go to this particular club very often because it's just not high on our list of places to go. Normally, we'd go to Inez's, which was a hole in the wall, or The Millennium, which was a nice spot and the location of story #1. The Pinnacle was a club for people ranging from ages 28-40 and at the time, I was not in that age range. This was before the term "cougar" was created, but that's what me and the guys had in mind when we walked into this club that night. We wanted to find an older woman to spend some time with that evening.

There was this long-legged lady who was at the bar across the room from us. We could never see her very well thanks to the low lighting in the club, but we could tell that she had a banging body. She appeared to be kind of tall and since I'm not, I kind of crossed her off my mental list of women to try and get familiar with that evening. After all, I'd recently dated a woman who was five inches taller than me and aside from slow dancing with her, it wasn't all that fun. Especially when she'd mess with me and rest her elbow on my shoulder like I was a gnome or something.

But, I digress. This mysterious lady's height wasn't an issue for Shawn or Jay. Shawn is 6'2" and Jay is 5'10". I'm stuck on 5'6" thanks to not listening to my mom when she told me to eat my vegetables as a child. So, Shawn and Jay kept an eye on her, but didn't approach since she was occupied at the bar with another dude.

Then the mood of the music changed and things got a little more uptempo. The lady stepped her way onto the dance floor and we could get a better look. She was roughly 5'10" in her thigh-high black boots and her dress stopped just a few inches above those boots. She had a short haircut and enough cleavage to hold a peanut M&M steady. It was still dark in the club, but anyone could tell that this woman was a stunner.

There were a lot of older guys in the club and none of them would dance with her (or could hang with her).  Before we knew it, she walked over to the table and asked Jay to dance. Shawn and I looked at him as if he had won the babe lottery. Younger women in the clubs we frequent won't normally ask a guy to dance, but older women seem to go for theirs. They sashayed their way onto the dance floor and she was all over Jay like wet polyester. Shawn and I had to pick up our jaws from the floor. Not only did the finest woman in the club just walk over and grab Jay, she was grinding all on him.

But, after a minute or so, you could detect that something just wasn't right. Jay didn't seem to be enjoying himself. He seemed as if he was distracted or repulsed whenever the lady tried to talk to him. Immediately I started thinking to myself, "Maybe she has bad breath from drinking Heinekens or something. Surely Jay can power through that."  Robert Townsend once said that you don't sell a Mercedes because there's a dent in the door and bad breath can be easily cured.

After the four minute dance, Jay made his way back over to the table with the lady following him. It was very unlike him to sit down after one dance. Jay was a guy who could dance for an hour very easily. He sat down next to me and the lady walked over and asked Shawn to dance. Shawn, who was invoking man code, politely said "no" in order not to throw salt in Jay's game. After all, first come, first serve is the man code and Jay was first to get an opportunity with her. I also did the same and refused to dance with her despite the fact that I was willing to throw away my ban against taller women just to see what those curves felt like on the dance floor.

"I guess it's you again, babe!" she said as she grabbed Jay by the hand and pulled him out of his seat.

"I'm tired." Jay lied.

"No, you're not!" she said grabbing him around his waist. "Get out here!"

That's when Shawn and I got a really good glimpse and realized what it was that was plaguing Jay. This lady may have had 16 teeth in her mouth and two of them appeared rotted. Imagine Halle Berry with a mouth full of dominos or a 5'10" version of Jada Pinkett-Smith after eating Oreos.

If you were Jay, what would you do?

Hold The Rat Poison, Please?

Half of the country was lined up in front of stores last week to get a shot (or shots) at winning $640 million being offered in the Mega Millions lottery. It was the largest jackpot I can ever remember seeing. Three people had the winning numbers and all have claims on the prize money which will divide three ways between $105 million - $158 million (lump sum pay out) depending on which publication you read. Well, one of those people may have to spend some time in court before she can lay her hands on any money.

Meet Mirlande Wilson. A 37-year old, single mother of seven who works at McDonald's. Well, Mirlande went to the local convenience store and bought some tickets for the lottery. She was also in charge of buying tickets for 15 of her co-workers as well. You see, they had all decided to pool their money to take their shot at the jackpot. Each of them chipped in $5 for tickets.

Enter controversy.

Mirlande, after winning, said that she won with a ticket that she bought with her own money. Yeah, right. Mirlande bought tickets for the group and had those tickets put into a safe. Later that day, her boss gave her more money and asked that she get more tickets for the drawing. Mirlande bought those tickets and took them home, never revealing the numbers. After the drawing was made, she claimed that she bought an additional ticket with her own money and that's the ticket that won. She even had the audacity to call one of her co-workers screaming, "I won! I won!"

Not "we won."

She later claimed that she is not sure if she won and surveillance cameras even show that a man actually bought the winning ticket. So, who knows what really happened? Needless to say, there are some very angry, $7.50-an-hour-making McDonald's employees in the state of Maryland who think they're missing their fair share of $7+ million. All I know is this: my advice to Mirlande is to get out of town quick, fast and in a hurry! And since so many people recognize your face across the country by now, the next time you order a Big Mac, make sure to tell them to "hold the rat poison, please?"

Is Mirlande right or wrong to not split the winnings that she can't legitimately prove she paid for?

"We will spatula-slap her if we see her around these parts again!"

Two True

Okay, I know today is April Fool's Day, but I have two true stories to tell, but I'd love to hear your comments on how you would have handled these situation if found in the same predicament.

Story #1
It's Summer of '95 and my friend Shawn and I are chillin' at our favorite club back in the day. It's 2 AM and the crowd is starting to thin out a bit, but the music is still pumping strong. I'm having a conversation with a young lady named Lyn. She had become a regular dance partner of mine at this club that I've been frequenting since my last girlfriend and I broke up. I'm talking to her and Shawn is standing next to me bobbing his head to the music. Lyn's very attractive cousin walks up. Her name is Patty and she's just arriving to the club after work. Patty is wearing a pink tank top, denim shorts and heels and looks better than a bag of snacks. She walks up and before Shawn and I even get a good look at her, she grabs him by the hand and pulls him onto the dance floor. He smiles back at me as he get pulled onto the floor. I once had a problem deciding upon Lyn or Patty when I first met them, but Lyn helped me make that decision by being aggressive.  That left Shawn open for a shot at Patty.

The music is still jumping and as I look out onto the dance floor, I see a bunch of happy drunks doing their thing. Whatever song was playing at the time gave the instructions to "throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care." I turned my attention from the dance floor and back to Lyn. "So, do you want to get something to eat when we leave?" I start.

"You act as if I'm leaving with you." she smirked.

I smiled. Playing hard to get wasn't a deterrent to me at all. Besides, I figured if Shawn was doing his thing, then he would be joining us along with Patty. As soon as that thought entered my mind, I look up and Shawn is walking across the dance floor with a look on his face I've never seen. It looked as if he was constipated and had seen a ghost. Patty is still on the dance floor dancing in front of the mirror. Immediately, I started thinking about how my plan would fall apart if Shawn didn't occupy Patty while I made the moves on Lyn. I pulled Shawn to the side. "What's wrong?," I started, "What are you doing?

"Man," he started with almost a tear in his eye, "that chick is husky!"

"What?" I asked trying not to explode into laughter at his choice of words. "Husky? As in smelling bad?"

"Yeah, man." he replied. "She threw her hands in the air and I almost threw up my drinks on the floor."

"What did you say to her to get away?" I asked trying to hold back a laugh. Sorry, but "husky" is just a funny word to hear when referring to a woman.

"I told her I had to go to the bathroom." he said.

Patty then danced her way over to Shawn and threw her arms around his shoulders. "I thought you were going to the bathroom," she said. "Let's dance some more!"



What would you do?



The 2nd of two true stories can be found here...