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Entries tagged as ‘damn dubious’

KanJoe

September 21, 2009 · 11 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“Shame may prevent what law does not prohibit.” –Seneca

One of the new cliches introduced in the Obama era is “teachable moment.” The idea is that shameful acts or comments can be redeemed if the offending behaviors become catalysts for greater understanding and empathy. The recent outbursts by Kanye West and Joe Wilson, the two runaway leading exemplars of boorish behavior this year, got me thinking about how they could use their collective infamy as a force for good. My conclusion? They should team up and travel through time interrupting the moments when history took a turn for the worse.

First stop–the Garden of Eden.

Serpent–Really Eve, this apple will blow your mind. Not only is it juicy delicious, it will make you really wise, like God-wise.

Joe–YOU LIE!

Eve–(startled and uncertain now) Hmmmm, it DOES sound like a damn dubious claim serpent, but what could it hurt? Maybe I’ll give it a try. (Raises apple toward mouth)

Kanye–(takes apple from Eve) Im’ma let you eat this in just a minute, but I just wanna say, them oranges over there is the best damn fruit in this whole garden, everybody knows that.

Eve–(stares blankly as Kanye returns apple and disappears with Joe in a flash of time machine vapor)

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KanJoe could also do a lot of good for humanity by correcting some more recent blunders. Let’s drop the time machine in Hollywood, 1993.

Agent–Kev-o, great to see you, my favorite client, the biggest name in the biz, have I got some projects for you. Two BIG ones. I’ve already read the scripts so you don’t have to–Waterworld and The Postman–all you have to do is sign here and I’m gonna make you boffo.

Kanye–(taking contract away as agent passes it to Kevin)–Im’ma let you sign this in a minute, but first I just wanna say Bull Durham is the best damn baseball movie I ever saw and everybody knows it, so you ought to keep doing characters like that.

Kevin Costner–Well, I pay this guy a lot to help me advance my career Kanye, maybe I ought to listen to his advice.

Agent–Kev–baby, TRUST ME, I know the biz, I know what the people want. I’m looking out for you.

Joe–YOU LIE!

Kevin–(stares blankly at the skid marks on agent’s desk as KanJoe disappears in the mists of time)

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And when they aren’t off saving the world from itself, they could moonlight as a tag team in Wrestlemania. Picture this scene:

Hulk Rogaine–(standing in the ring with a mic)–I am the Greatest wrestler. I’m the Greatest Reality TV star. I’m the Greatest Dad.

Kanye–(storms into ring and snatches mic away)–Im’ma let you finish, but everybody knows that naked dude from Survivor is the greatest reality TV star.

(The music comes on and Kanye’s mic is silenced. The Theme from 2000 A Space Odyssey blares, Ric Hair enters the ring.)

Ric–Whooooooooooooo. I’m a limousine ridin, jet flyin, kiss stealin sonofagun. Whooooooooooo.

(crowd goes nuts cheering the baby faces when suddenly the lights go out. When they come back on Joe Wilson is in the ring wearing a one piece wrestling tight with a necktie.)

Joe–YOU LIE!

Hulk–Now that’s going too far Joe. You need to apologize right now.

Kanye sucker punches Hulk in the solar plexus while Joe throws a handful of eye burning dust previously concealed in his codpiece at Ric. Kan-Joe commences to beatin down the heroes as the crowd boos lustily. Serena Williams runs into the ring after Kan-Joe has rendered unconscious both Hulk and Ric with multiple blows from steel chairs. For some reason she has on a striped shirt. She counts out both Hulk and Ric 1-2-3, shoves a tennis ball down each of their throats and raises Kan-Joe’s hands in triumph before fleeing the ring with a mob of regular refs in chase.


Categories: Humor · People · current events
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Needles

September 15, 2009 · 16 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“As a child I was more afraid of tetanus shots than, for example, Dracula.” –Dave Barry

I cannot recall the first time I had to get a shot. I do recall the screams of terror emanating from the business side of the always crowded, crummy Bible storybook and crumbling Highlight magazine-filled waiting room door in Dr. Kaluz’ Pascagoula office. Five year old TB was pretty sure at the time those screams were caused by shots being needlessly, malevolently inflicted on other innocent kids, and that my moment as the bulls eye was approaching. As I reflect on my general terror of things doctor related, I’m pretty sure the ultimate cause of my fear boils down to needles. Maybe scalpels too, but my only real familiarity with those frightening implements is from MASH. Maybe drills too, but that’s dentistry and a whole nuther category. So, yes, my terror of health professionals pretty much has to do with a trembling fear of their damned dubious penchant for needle wielding. Yet today, I submit myself willingly to the torture.

While I can’t recall the shots of early childhood, I vividly recall a couple from my teenage years that served to confirm these fears were well placed even if the basis of them was long forgotten. Pascagoula Junior High in 1984 was victimized by vandalizing pranksters. They broke into the school in the dead of night and unleashed all of the emergency fire hoses, flooding the school. This was true greatness and the pranksters were never caught. I have no idea who did it. But I digress. In spite of the admiration I still carry for a deed well executed, this vignette is imprinted in memory for a different reason, one involving a needle.

Because of the flood the carpet was removed from the whole school and a relatively flat concrete surface was exposed. Onto this surface some other prankster hellbound sadist had torn off a pencil eraser from a two-inch long number 2 stub, sharpened the point and left it sitting on the floor near my desk in Mrs. McDevitt’s room. I finished an exam, first in the class as I recall, and I triumphantly rose and headed for the teacher’s desk to turn in my work. In route I stepped on the pencil. The sharpened lead pierced my treasured canvas Nikes, entered my heel with the impetus of my full weight, and snapped off about a quarter inch inside, causing me a certain measure of pain. Within the hour I was sitting in the emergency room awaiting its extraction with my sister who was reluctantly forced to take action as guardian due to the absence for the day of our folks. Within another four hours I was relieved of the intruding lead, but not before a needle was shoved in alongside. I am forever thankful it was my sis and not my Mother who heard what spewed forth from my heretofore (mostly) innocent tongue. Even if you are brave, my friends, you do not want a long needle stuck in your heel. Much less two–one for tetanus and one to kill the pain that I guess came from a scalpel next–I don’t recall that part, must’ve fainted.

When I was eighteen I subjected myself to another needle that will go down in infamy. A shoulder injury was evident but the cause and treatment of the injury could not be settled on by any of the local doctors. Left with no idea what to do I suppose, one of the docs decided to treat the pain with a cortizone shot. This sounded pretty good to me as I had heard of football players getting these shots to be able to play with injuries and I figured it must not be too bad and was probably worth it to get my mojo back. I began to doubt the cost-benefit analysis when that bastard pulled out his needle. I swear to God if it was an inch it was a foot long and squared off at its tip, it would’ve made an Inquisitor flinch. I looked away in resignation and held hands with, this time sadly, my Mother, and braced for impact. When he stuck me I clenched her hand and uttered obscenities that would’ve cowered the Diceman and made even Bob Saget blush with shame. I recall Mother’s words as I crushed her feeble metacarpals, “letgo-letgo-letgo-letgo”. I did let go, though she can no longer open doors with the injured hand, much less twist open a jar of mayonnaise. Cortizone shots–I can only shudder. Months later I heard my Mother telling the tale to her sisters. I had assumed her own pain had blocked out the elaborately woven tapestry of profanity from her delicate ears, but learned  in my eavesdropping this was not the case. For a moment I was aghast that she knew now the capabilities and depth of my inner depravity, but breathed a sigh of relief when I heard “you should’ve seen that needle, I couldn’t blame him.”

So its off to the flu shot I go. We have to get two of them this year. The good news is, the flu needle is pretty small and if given well you can’t even feel the shot. The bad news is I’m scarred for life on needles. Hmm, “scared” for life would work there too. Oh well, I’m pretty scared of the flu too.

Categories: Humor · Life
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Ignorance, Tyranny and Health Insurance

August 19, 2009 · 31 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.” –Act IV, Henry VI, William Shakespeare

Today’s QOTD is TB’s all time favorite widely misunderstood quotation. The line was written not in commentary of lawyers filing too many lawsuits, nor defending murderers, nor becoming too wealthy, but rather as the first step in a plot to overthrow the government. The rebels knew it was lawyers who would oppose them through both the judicial process and in the court of public opinion by exposing the liberties being attacked, and who in the long run most threatened their violently seized political power. Rather than being offended by this famous line, most lawyers take it as a tremendous compliment, and something of a reminder of our ultimate function in society.

I became mindful once again of the widespread public ignorance of this quote in recent weeks as I’ve watched and read news coverage of the angry protests at town hall meetings over the issue of health care. What has been proved amidst the ballyhoo of the August Congressional recess about health care is not that it “must be passed” or “must be stopped” but that the overwhelming majority of us are arguing from a position of pure, unmitigated ignorance, not unlike the mass ignorance of the true meaning of Shakespeare’s line. I don’t exempt TB from the indictment. After all, I haven’t “read the bill”, actually, none of the several early stage bills. And I won’t read a final bill should one come to pass. Generally, I support a health care bill. I think the current state of health insurance is so bad that I’m willing to support virtually anything the insurance industry opposes. And I get that there are many that oppose government reform of health insurance as a general principle, from political dogma, or even from a cost/benefit point of view.

So ignorance I can accept, to a certain degree. There is a point at which it becomes absurd, however, where it fairly drives me to hopelessness, blankly staring down the barrel of a bleak national future. Death panels. Tyranny. Nazism. Really? This is the opposition? I will readily concede the complexity of the issue of health insurance reform. I understand concerns of intellectual right leaning thinkers who point out the long term financial implications, the issue of physician compensation and the problem of overwhelming a system with too few general practitioners and nurses. I even can see the possibility that health care will be “rationed” because of these issues, though it should be clear in any honest consideration of the issue that rationing is already rampant in our system, and is in fact the main reason reform is so badly needed. But when I hear opposition centered around death panels that will “pull the plug on grandma” or that Obama is a Nazi, I am driven away from considering legitimate opposition to blindly supporting the side whose rhetoric is exponentially less damn dubious. The Nazis are FAR RIGHT WINGERS on the political spectrum for chrissakes! Let them call Obama a Stalinist and I will applaud the mob’s improving intellect.

As for tyranny, the quote that keeps appearing on the news is one of Thomas Jefferson’s most well known. I had to look it up to learn its context as I was previously ignorant–same as Timothy McVeigh likely was and the health care mob certainly is–of the background for his line, “The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time by the blood of patriots and tyrants.” * The sentence is lifted from a letter written by Jefferson in 1787 in which he comments on Shay’s Rebellion, a Massachusetts uprising that stemmed from opposition to high taxes and a mounting foreclosure problem (sounds familiar). Jefferson, in full philoso-tom mode, wrote of the benefits of such a rebellion, mainly that an occasional outbreak of citizen fury would remind those tasked with governing that they remain answerable to the people. What is even more interesting is that Jefferson found the rebels’ motivations “founded in ignorance, not wickedness.” Again, it sounds familiar–mass anger, misapplied. If you are on the side of thoughtful opposition to health care reform you ought to remember the part about ignorance before you rush to the defense of your fringe allies. It is a defense that only weakens in the long run the legitimate criticisms of those opposed to health insurance reform. And if you are on TB’s side, you might consider joining me in noting the certainty that the shouters’ motivations are in most instances not founded in “wickedness” and that their boisterous presence at the town halls can serve a higher purpose of reminding all our politicians to whom they are ultimately beholden. Even if the whole affair is plagued with ignorance, from top to TB to bottom.

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*I find it ironic and slightly humorous that the next sentence in his letter reads, “It is it’s natural manure.”

Here is a link to the full letter containing Jefferson’s “tree of liberty” quote.

Categories: History · Philosobaen · Politics · current events
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TB’s Society Page

August 17, 2009 · 5 Comments

Quote of the Day:

“I am who I am, I am what I am, I do what I do and I ain’t never gonna do it any different. I don’t care who likes it and who don’t.” –Buck Owens

Let me place a disclaimer right here at the outset. The couple I saw get married this weekend are beautiful people, obviously deeply in love, and I was pleased to be present at the beginning of what will be for them a wonderful life together. And now, on with the post…

TB ain’t one to go around repeatin gossip. So you better be sure and listen close the first time.

I drove three hours Saturday to attend a small wedding ceremony way back in what some people might call “the woods.” The wedding took place on the bride’s grandparents’ farm. It was a beautiful place. Looked something like this (the place and the grandpa)(*ed. note, some photos below are artist reproductions of what was actually witnessed):

Hee Haw

Guests to the festive event were welcomed by frat boys in charge of parking. This guy was in charge:

Hee Haw

All were then were ushered to a table to sign the guest list and pick up their complimentary bottle of water and to use the communal bug spray. The water was for poring over your head in the 90 degree heat and the bug spray was for minimizing bee stings as hordes of “sweat bees” were on hand. The Bride’s family was simply too polite to turn back gate crashers. Those attending the wedding were dressed in a broad range of attire, from traditional coat and tie to bermuda shorts and flip flops. While some looked ridiculous, others felt so.  But let us not forget that it is better to look mah-ve-lus than to feel mah-ve-lus.

And the Bride and Groom looked just so. With anticipation built to a frenzy amongst the bee swatting congregation, the Bride finally made her appearance, being delivered to her Groom via camouflage golf cart.

Well, I'll be dang

Well, I'll be dang

IMG_0427

Never seen that before

The ceremony featured traditional prayers, vows and tears and the joyful couple performed brilliantly. An unusual highlight of the service was a congregational hymn, at the conclusion of which your correspondent’s own daughter loudly and aptly exclaimed, “Good Job! I  LIKE that song!”

Hee Haw

The couple’s union was then sealed and the congregants were dismissed to a good old fashioned alcohol, music and generally pleasure-free Baptist reception, from whence members of the Groom’s extended family were seen to sensibly depart before even the arrival of the celebrants. All manner of the latest in modern transport were used to transport the well wishers to the party.

Look closely, that's folks back there.

Look closely, that's folks back there.

The reception feast included a selection of delicacies recommended highly by this guy, from his inspection of the wonders of Sam’s Club:

Grandpa Jones - "Hey Grandpa, what's for supper?"

A bit of miscellany–Musical selections were generally traditional except for the recessional tune which was “Bittersweet Symphony”, a tune TB simultaneously found awesome and damned dubious. When asked about her opinion of the overall event, this guest could only stare blankly at your erstwhile reporter:

The parking area. Yep, there's tractors under that shed, scrap metal too.

The parking area. Yep, there's tractors under that shed, scrap metal too.

A good time was had by all.

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And on a completely unrelated note, except that it happened while driving this weekend, I include for your collective enjoyment, particularly for friend of the blog Calico, a photo of two cool clouds.

Seems obvious to me, but what do you see?

Seems obvious to me, but what do you see?

Categories: Humor · Life
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Philosobaen (a list to live by)

June 14, 2009 · 16 Comments

Quote of the Day: “All generalizations are false, including this one.” –Mark Twain
TB’s been using the philosobaen tag since the blog started, and lately its occurred to me the credo of philosobaenism ought to be recorded. I imagine this will be a work in progress, but here’s what I’ve got so far. Feel free to add your own personal tenets below. Some aspects of PB’ism are original and some are not, and some are forgotten or at least stuck in the subconscious for the time being. But they are all life truths, certainties. Except for when they are wrong. Apply liberally but cautiously, as you see fit.
  1. Sometimes you gotta laugh to keep from cryin.
  2. Tan fat beats white fat.
  3. Getting older sucks but it beats the heck out of the alternative.
  4. You can’t pigeonhole me.
  5. Don’t patronize me.
  6. It only takes one.
  7. Things emphatically do NOT always work out the way they are supposed to.
  8. Eat whatever the hell you want to and don’t criticize anybody else for what they choose to eat.
  9. 9 times out of 10, 2 lanes beats 4 lanes.
  10. If it outrages you, question the source. If you read it on the web, check it on Snopes. If you hear it second hand, take it with a grain of salt. Above all, figure out what questions need to be answered before you join a mob.
  11. Ain’t no good gonna come out of a married person being out drinkin without their spouse more than every once in awhile.
  12. I wanna hold on to my own damn money. And I’m just as stingy about it being taken away by corporate America multinationals as I am government.
  13. Most folks are doin the best they can. (This one I have trouble remembering sometimes, but it is the truth.)
  14. You need to know how to throw a knuckleball in case the wind’s blowin out.
  15. Daylight drinkin is classier then nighttime drinkin.
  16. The best relationships short of marriage follow the three week rule, and by no means are they mathematically capable of lasting more than six weeks (at a time.)
  17. If you wanna stay friends with some people you gotta overlook their faults, forgive ‘em when they need it, and keep your damn mouth shut about their business, especially if you’re the type that needs a friend who will do the same for you.
  18. Mississippi State and Ole Miss are scared to play USM in football and its embarrassing. All those reasons not to play are just excuses.
  19. If work was supposed to be fun they’d have called it “fun” instead of “work.”
  20. Very few people who ain’t born to it will ever be admitted to the country club. But most everyone thinks they have a chance.
  21. If you ask, I’ll tell you what I think. Sure, I’d be better off to hold my cards a little closer to the vest, but it just ain’t my style.
  22. When the rules don’t make sense, but there’s no jail time for violations, break ‘em.
  23. Ain’t nothin gay about poetry, red wine, or convertibles.
  24. Some things ought to piss you off. Dependin on what it was, at some point you need to get over it.
  25. If you’re in a conversation with someone who ain’t your asshole runnin buddy and they say something that’s damn dubious you have to make the call in a hurry rather to reply or whether to stare blankly in return. It’s almost always best to bs.

Categories: Life · Lists · Philosobaen · Uncategorized
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The Mad Man

June 10, 2009 · 18 Comments

ed. note–”The Mad Man” is a Hemingway-esque melodramedy with a twist of TB. The story incorporates 15 random words and phrases chosen by The Daily Wit and appearing in the post previous to this one as well as on TDW’s page. The story with 15 randoms is a post modernistic writing technique now coming into vogue heavily influenced by the uncertainty in today’s world, the search for meaning, the shedding of cynicism and the frenetic pace of a new lost generation of rapidly aging gen-x’ers. The Daily Wit is the patriarch of this new, frightening roller coaster school of writing and the best known master of the genre. And now, without further ado, I give you,

The Mad Man

The old man was almost out of toothpicks. For a week now he’d been sitting on this mountain thinking of nothing but revenge. The anger radiated and even the local bears must’ve been intimidated because they kept their distance. He looked in his knapsack–some called it a manpurse–the one he thought of as his ticket to success if he ever tried to get on Let’s Make a Deal. Glue. He stared blankly into the fading sun. After a few moments he shrugged his shoulders as if the decision had been made for him, picked up his Elmer’s and sniffed. He tried again, inhaling deeply. Nothing. “Dang,”, he muttered aloud. “I sure wish I had one more fifth of Jack Daniels“, but the campfire was surrounded by nothing but empty bottles, gum wrappers, chewed toothpicks and spent sunflower seeds.

“Neptune! Get over here boy.” The dog sauntered lazily, but obedient toward his master. The old man watched his friend walk over and laughed about the day he found him long ago, barking fiercely in the African desert at a tarantula that was innocently moving about its business. The dog was scared out of its mind, but not enough to leap into the certain safety of the oasis at his back. The old man understood, so he saved the dog and he never could teach the dog to swim and they became friends but the dog had still not forgiven him for the ironic name now on his collar.

The anger subsided a little bit more as the old man continued to rummage around in his pack. A lot of memories were in that pack. Beneath the double bubble he felt a tin can and grinned. “It’ll do.” He thought back to that African summer when he’d heard about micro-lending for the first time. He’d lent a hundred U.S. dollars to a local who was starting a mail order Ugandan coffee selling business. He never did get the money back and he never would, and he knew it. But he received each year on May 29 a tin can full of the shittiest coffee he’d ever known, and the thought of that made the grin spread a little wider, though in his eyes the fire still burned. He looked at the label. Torquemada. It seems another lender had sent the Ugandan 150 bucks and wanted the coffee named after the Grand Inquisitor under Ferdinand and Isabella. “Damn anti-Semites”, he spat, and the anger welled up again. He was out of the sugar packets hoarded weeks ago from Cracker Barrel, so he opened a piece of gum and began to chew. You couldn’t drink this Ugandan crap without sweetener of some sort. As the minutes passed and the stars began to rise, he found himself ignoring the coffee and thinking about the immediate problem of where to find booze this night and putting off for a few minutes his plans for revenge, blowing bubbles, one after the other, popping them loudly and enjoying the echo hurtling across the canyon below.

His mind wandered. “Damn dubious 12 step programs. All they do is let some college sport preach at people while they sit around staring blankly at one another; a vacant lot, the whole bunch of ‘em.” The old man loved a bad pun. He shivered as he thought about those 6 hours last year when they tried to make him give up the whiskey. “Much like radioactive isotopes,” he considered, “the programs can do as much harm as good if not handled properly.” He wished someone had been there to see that he was not all about anger and booze and chewing gum, but so much more on the inside. “Bastards can’t pigeonhole me,” he sneered.

“Neptune, I’m too easily distracted”, he said. “I’ve got a revenge to get on with.” The dog barked once, and they both listened for the echo.

He opened up his laptop and clicked the link to the Mad Dawg/Rebel Yell political page and started to type.

Categories: Humor · Writing
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The Walk of Shame

May 25, 2009 · 21 Comments

Quote of the Day:     “The only shame is to have none.”     –Blaise Pascal

TB always gets good blog material on my frequent trips to Oxford. Sunday morning I was in charge of breakfast so I drove to the square to pick up pastries from Bottletree. Cruising down Lamar I spied ahead of me through the light misting rain a lumbering, large and fast moving figure. “What in the world is that broad doin?”, I wondered. Her black skirt slightly askew, hair mussed, shirt partly tucked in, purse nearly dragging, and jewelry laden, what was most wrong about her were the heels. So high, so impractical for a Sunday stroll on an uneven sidewalk, so…..wrong. I am getting old. It was several seconds after I passed by her, recoiling at her fierce countenance, that I realized it. She was making the walk of shame, and to add insult to injury, the worst known version.

The mildest form of the “walk” is the one where you have to greet the roommates. Generally, everyone has a little slightly embarrassed laugh, followed by the offer of a soda and often a period of relaxing where walker and watchers can catch up on mutual acquaintances or an upcoming exam. Some walkers prefer to head straight for the door and make a quick exit. At any rate this walk involves only a brief period of shame and is possible when the walker has a car parked outside. Even a ride will do.

The next level up on the walk of shame scale of shame builds upon the first. Only no car and no ride are available so the individual with whom one has just shacked up is forced to provide a ride either home or to the shackee’s vehicle left at a bar. The stilted conversation and awkward farewell are the worst parts of this WOS. Sample conversation:

Walker–So, uh, what was your last name again?

Driver–Ummmm, Smith. Yeah, that’s it. Smith. Hey, I had fun last night.

Walker–Great. Did I?

Driver–Ha. Funny.

Walker–You know, I NEVER do this. I can’t believe I did it last night.

Driver–Oh, me neither. 

Walker–That’s me over there–the Sentra.

Driver–Ok, well….ummm….be careful. You didn’t forget anything did you?

Walker–If I did just keep it.

Sometimes a number is exchanged, sometimes even an uncomfortable hug and almost always a brief blank stare. No one ever looks back.

The poor lass I saw this weekend however was forced to endure the worst of all walks of shame. The one where she had to walk past the roommates, had no ride, had left her car back at the bar and received no half-hearted offer of a ride. I can imagine her host woke up and decided he’d made a damn dubious decision to bring this girl home last night and stayed in bed after she finally rose. Undoubtedly his roommates provided no Diet Coke. And it was raining. And she was on the main drag in town. She did the only thing she could do. She grabbed all her crap, slipped on those pumps and started hoofing it. Her shame was only matched by her ire. Though I kept my distance and quickly left her in the rearview mirror, I could read her mind.

Never again.

But deep down she knows that’s a lie. Just like it was the last time.

Categories: Humor · Life
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REBRANDING! It’s the Latest Party Craze

May 14, 2009 · 34 Comments

Quote of the Day:     “In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act.”     –George Orwell

The Michael Steele helmed GOP is a blank stare creating machine. Politico reported yesterday (May 13, 2009) that at the next meeting–check that, the upcoming EXTRAORDINARY SPECIAL SESSION– of the Republican National Committee, a resolution rebranding the Democratic Party as the “Democrat Socialist Party” will be approved. TB thinks this is just a, um, grand idea. Of course it has the word “socialist” in it which is bad, except in areas socialism is supported by Republican legislators like in farm subsidies and highway building and postal service and even social security and medicare. But never mind that. What’s even better is that it rolls off the tongue so smoothly. The “Democratic Socialist Party” would sound far too, um, democratic. People like that. I guarantee you some RNC member’s sister or uncle or dog owns the public relations firm/ad agency that got paid a million bucks to come up with dropping the “ic” to make it sound worse. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I have no quarrel with the rebranding game personally. After all the RNC has to do something to deflect attention from the growing sentiment that their party should be renamed the PON–Party of No. Or, worse yet. the Party of “who got us in this mess in the first place.” Plus, rebranding sounds like fun. It’s kind of like that Seinfeld episode where George wanted to be called “T-bone” but instead got nicknamed “Coco.” Because he looked like Coco the monkey. A grand old party game indeed. I want to play.

First, as a Mississippi State Bulldog, I am entitled to rebrand Ole Miss. Our new coach has already christened them “The School Up North.” I like that–it has accurate geographical information and delicious irony. I think his choice of the word “school” was a mistake though. People respect schools for the most part. I am going to slightly rebrand Coach Mullen’s rebranding and resolve that Ole Miss should now be called “the Terrorism Training Camp Up North.” Yeah, that’s the ticket. And instead of “Rebels”, I hereby rebrand them “militants.” (Oooooh, this reads good.)

Who’s next? How about “Country music.” From now on the fluff coming out of establishment Nashville will be known as “Twangy Pop.”  Presbyterians will now be “those sinners who get out five minutes before us and clog up the line at McAllister’s.” Auto mechanics are “muggers.” The casualty insurance industry is now the “Screw You Cabal.” Fox News will be referred to as “Carrie Prejean’s Next Employer.” The Drudge Report will be called…..actually, I’m pretty satisfied with that name.

Finally, TB’s blog and email political nemesis Mad Dawg is due for rebranding. It is troubling to me that many people might see his name and mistakenly believe he is just another typical christian, scholarly Bulldog fan when in fact he is not. And the fine spirit from which he takes his name conjures fond memories of youth. Neither of these angles suit me. So he is officially, for the duration of this post rebranded as “Rebel Yell.” It’s a whisky of damn dubious lineage, the “yell” properly captures the tone of his debating style, and Rebel harkens back to his fanship of the promising football team now known as “The Terrorism Training Camp Up North fightin Militants.” 

I love this game.

Categories: Humor · Politics · current events
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Times Are Tough; Be Prepared

March 30, 2009 · 6 Comments

Quote of the Day:      ”When you are asked if you can do a job, tell ‘em “Certainly I can!” Then get busy and find out how to do it.”     –Teddy Roosevelt

One of the risks of having a blog of observation, instigation and conversation is that some day in the invisible future somebody I might ask to give me a job might run a little internet search and find this little corner of the universal web and might not care for Philosobaen, Radicalbaen, or even pickinbaen. It’s never been easy for TB to get a job and with the economy shedding jobs like Paula Abdul sheds brain cells, it occurs that it might be tough for a lot of folks to get hired and that I might use this little forum to provide you with a few tips for your next interview, along with an illustration of a true interview transcript from TB’s past.

In your interview, here are some Do’s and Don’ts:

  • When asked where you see yourself in the company, DO say “in your job eventually.” DON’T add “cause you don’t do jack!”
  • When asked what your hobbies are, DO say, “I like to read.” DON’T follow that up with, “Say….you ever check out Travellinbaen?”
  • They will usually ask you about your salary requirements. DO say, “I need my pay to be comparable to the prevailing wages in the area for this job.” DON’T add “but even that’s not enough to buy enough weed AND booze  to get me through the week so really, you’re gettin a bargain.”
  • If they want to know how you heard about the opening, DO say “your wife mentioned it to me through a mutual acquaintance.” DON’T say that “by the way she’s got a nice ass. Really, I like ‘em big like that. So does my buddy. That’s why he became a gigolo.”
  • And if they want to know if you have experience in front of a crowd, DO say “I sang a little at this club when I was in college.” Leave it at that. DON’T say, “I call it the Proud Larry’s story…..”

And now, the promised transcript, exactly as it happened almost exactly eleven years ago:

Larry–Good morning TB. Thanks for dropping by.

TB–Well, I had court in town this morning and it was convenient. I’m really interested in your opening and I think I’m just what you’re looking for.

Larry–Great. Well, let’s get started. Do you have a resume I can look at?

TB–Uhhh. No. I didn’t even know I’d be coming by to talk to you until I got a call from JBE yesterday.

Larry–Oh, sure. No problem. Tell me about your law school career. How were your grades?

TB–(seeing the writing on the wall–I ain’t getting this job)–I had a 2.46. People say I should round it up to 2.5 but I kind of like to be more specific.

Larry–Ummm. Ok. Well, how about extracurricular activities? Law Journal? Moot Court? Legal fraternity?

TB-Nope, none of that.

Larry–Well, how’d you do in undergrad?

TB–3.24

Larry–That’s pretty good. What did you study?

TB–History

Larry–Oh. (pause) How about extracurricular activities in undergrad? Were you in a frat?

TB–Nope, GDI. But l I did play a lot of intramurals. Mainly I just drank a lot of beer and chased girls. Pretty much the same thing I did in law school.

Larry–High School? 

TB–Mostly B’s. I played baseball a couple of years.

Larry–Were you in Beta Club? Key Club? AP classes?

TB–Nope. Wait, I think I got inducted to Key Club in 12th grade, but I never went to a meeting or anything. I’m in the yearbook picture so I guess that’s close enough.

Larry–(at a loss for words)<blank stare>

TB–<blank stare>(letting the silence hang uncomfortably for a few moments; then,)–Look, here’s the deal. If you want someone with good grades, a lot of college activities, frat connections and that sort of thing, I’m not your guy. But if you want someone who knows how to try a case, has two years of experience going to court nearly every day, can step in and cross examine a witness on day one and will work cheaper than anyone else you’re going to interview, I’m your man.

Maybe you’re damn dubious about whether it happened this way, but it did. And for some reason I got the job.

_________

A little lagniappe–here’s Elizabeth Cook, my favorite XM 12 DJ who I have a bit of a crush on (Larry I bet you like her too) singing “Times Are Tough in Rock and Roll.” The lyrics are pretty bland and the accent is borderline offensive, but the overall tune has a hypnotic effect on TB and I kind of dig it. MD, don’t click. It will make your head explode.

Categories: Humor · Life · Lists
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TB Responds to Outrageous Accusation, and Other Selected Moments

March 24, 2009 · 33 Comments

Quote of the Day:      “Don’t tread on me.”     Early American motto appearing on the Gadsden Rattlesnake flag

The keystone of TB’s entire philosophy on life, the universe and everything (to borrow a phrase) is that I want to be left the hell alone, except in the few circumstances I don’t; and I pretty much will leave everyone else the hell alone, except in the few circumstances I won’t. This is commonly, pithily described by many as “live and let live.” One of innumerable sub-nuances of this tenet of Philosobaenism is that I don’t like strangers coming to my front door. I don’t like politicians coming, though I can still appreciate their effort. I don’t like school kids coming, though I realize and empathize with how difficult it is on them. I don’t like religious zealots, though I have some sympathy for their fears of going to a fiery hell if they don’t come see me. And I despise door to door magazine salesmen, though I can still generate a bit of good will for them, understanding the financial plight they must endure that leads them to such an onerous vocation. So when these people come to my door, assuming I am unable to credibly act like I am not home, I generally smile, wish them well, and send them on their miserable way. (Not counting the hundreds of neighborhood kids who I have a policy to buy one item from per school year.) Almost always, the intruder will accept the rejection genially and trapse off across my lawn and through my azaleas to the next house.

But yesterday a young, attractive African-American girl happened by and rang the doorbell while my daughter was taking a much needed nap. I answered the door in my usual fashion, and let the girl go through her script until she came to a pause to ask me a question. Here’s how our conversation transpired:

Trespasser–blah, blah, blah, sales script, blah, blah, blah…Have you ever heard of the “Laziness Project” sir?

TB–(to self–the Laziness Project? Are you kidding me? That’s a damned dubious name for an outfit.); (out loud, smiling and gently closing the door); No, and I’m not really interested, but I wish you well.

Trespasser–But here (thrusting envelope through door) don’t you at least want to read about it before you decide you’re not interested?

TB–No thank you. I know I’m not interested. Have a nice day.

Trespasser–Is you a racist (sic)?

At this point, I was taken aback. Several responses shot into my brain at once, ranging from defensive options to smartass retorts to verbal beatdowns. Among them were:

Defensive–”NO! I voted for Obama!” and “NO! I have plenty of black friends!” and “NO! Why don’t you ask my neighbors?” Crazy, I know, but we’re not talking about a debate in which I was prepared to engage. These were simply among the immediate options that came to mind.

Smartass–”No, I isn’t….errr aren’t-ain’t!” or “I don’t really like any group of people so you need to find a stronger word.”

Verbal Beatdown–(redacted)

In true Constanza like fashion though, I simply said “Have a nice day” and shut the door as she stalked away muttering, “I knew you was a racist as soon as you come to the door.” In retrospect, I wish I would’ve explored this observation of hers further.

Anyway, the title to this post includes the word “Responds” so here’s my response, as eloquently as I can put it:  

^   ^

——–

There were a couple of other moments from the most recent rotation of our planet I thought I’d pass along too. 

TB is cognizant of the need to lead a more “green” lifestyle, and I do my best to turn off the water when I brush my teeth, keep the lights off in rooms I’m not using, and try to accumulate fewer plastic bags so they won’t end up part of the floating Pacific Ocean garbage island, for example. But yesterday, as I stood in line to buy balloons, I was subjected to a display of self righteousness that left me nonplussed. The lady in front of me had a full buggy of party goods, undoubtedly paper and plastic and all the usual things we would buy from such a store. She also had two styrofoam cups and a styrofoam dinner container, and it didn’t occur to me until much later to wonder why she brought her lunch in to shop at Party City. As she was completing her transaction, she stopped the cashier and turned to project her voice back to TB, the other Party City employees and a couple of more customers, and loudly proclaimed, “I DON’T NEED ANOTHER BAG FOR THAT PACKAGE OF BALLOONS. JUST PUT IT IN ONE OF THESE OTHER BAGS. I DON’T WANT TO DESTROY THE RAIN FOREST OR THE ENVIRONMENT. I WANT TO SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT.” The cashier just stared blankly at me and I dutifully returned the look, while the self satisfied Johnette Appleseed high-stepped out the door and loaded up her Expedition. Now, I don’t begrudge her any of this. It’s just that she could’ve said in a normal voice, “I don’t need a bag for those,” and left it at that. But maybe I’m too sensitive about these things.

Finally, TB has stated before his distaste for televised news these days. Every time I listen I have a visualization in my head of footage of the Hindenburg explosion and a commentator on the ground exclaiming, “OHHHHH, the INANITY!”  You may recall that I posted not long ago about a Fox News report and graphic telling the world and TB that obese people were 55% (give or take) more likely to die. Not to be outdone, NBC News just this morning advised that older people who consume red meat and processed meats were 30% more likely to die according to a new study. It begs the question of course, if a fat man eats steak is he thus 85% more likely to perish?

Keep staring blankly my friends……

Categories: Blank Stares · Humor · Life · Philosobaen
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