THE JOY OF BARBERING       

I hate getting my hair cut.

It's not that I want to be some shaggy-headed hippy freak, or anything. I do keep it short. It's just that I hate the time in the chair. I'm a busy guy, I've got a lot to do, I'm not getting richer in the process of getting my grass mowed, and can you please just get me out of here so I can get on with my life?

I used to got to random, conveniently-located hair salons and just tough it out. After all, there's something not entirely unpleasant about having a woman gently stroking your scalp, even if she isn't standard Playboy issue.

But oh, the hot-knife torture of dead-dull conversation between we've-got-nothing-in-commons. I just couldn't stand it.

Eventually, though, I found a place where the process was practically pleasant. A barbershop. Preferably with some guy who's been cutting hair for at least 20 years. Instead of brainless yammering about 6 months of "beauty school", I get an entertaining monologue about quality guy stuff: sports, cars, sports, politics, and maybe some sports, too.

A decent-looking 'do & witty banter. Can't beat that.

Via CotV#45, mtpolitics.net comments further (and much better) on what a wonderful world it can be when you have the right pair of hands wielding the scissors. If you like your barber, you might want to hand him a copy of it along with his tip the next time you pop in for a little off the top.

ART FOR POLITIC'S SAKE

I find Socialism somewhere between disagreeable and repugnant, depending on my mood. Mostly repugnant, because I have an engineer's heart, and I HATE things that don't work.

Via CotV#45, I've found Reflections in D Minor's very apt metaphor for Socialism's central flaw:

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This is why so many artists and intellectuals - genuinely intelligent people - believe in socialism. It's a beautiful system; it's logical and moral but, like many beautiful and well conceived works of art, it cannot exist in reality. Trying to make socialism work in the real world is like expecting the physics apparent in an M.C. Escher drawing to work in the real universe.

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She goes on from there in elegant fashion. It's a good read. Short, and full of creamy, sensible goodness. Stop by & you'll see what I mean.

DOING HIM JUSTICE

I've wanted to say something about the passing of Bob Hope, but I never felt up to the task. I mean, yet another piece of sappy, blogospheric tripe about "he was a great entertainer, he supported the troops, blah, blah, yadda, blah"?

But, over at Reflections in D minor, I found someone who found the words for how I feel:

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So what was it that made Bob Hope one of those special people? He made movies but he wasn't a great actor. He told jokes but he was not the funniest person ever to get up on a stage and tell jokes. All those trips to entertain the troops in WWII, Korea, Vietnam and Gulf War I - every Christmas for years and years and years - must have a lot to do with it. But I think that his personality and humor had a great deal to do with it also. His monologues were full of innuendo but never profanity or indecency; teasing insults but never mean-spiritedness. And there were the eyes - sometimes a look was all he needed to get a laugh.

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Bob Hope was subtle. That was his strength. And I don't think there's anyone alive today on the comedy circuit who plays that technique. I don't know if he ever actually made me laugh out loud (and I watched a LOT of his TV specials in the 70's since Dad ran the house, there was only one TV, he liked Hope, end of discussion), but I know he was a class act and I know he at least always made me smile.

And I know I feel sadness at his departure.

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY



Meanwhile, in an alternate universe, Two-Face crushed Batman & Robin into a bloody paste, blew Riddler's head off during a mood swing (hey, he came up tails), overthrew the US government, and issued new currency more suitable to his Empire's theme.

TIME TO VOTE

Frank's got the poll up for Group F. I'm in it. Please go vote now. Don't worry about trying to figure out which one's mine. Just vote for the best entry.

Which is mine ;-)

Polling closes at 7:21am Friday, Central Time, so move fast.

*SIGH*, YES DEAR, IT'S FUNNY

I hate country music. The twangy accents, the mopey subject matter, the overly-simple melodies and the single-beat drum riffs all combine to make me nauseous.

Naturally, I married a woman who loves country music.

So, because I love her, and because (to give due credit) them rednecks really got a way with a song title, I'm linking this list of amusing country song titles.

Found via Carnival of the Vanities #45, which is now up at Lies, Damn Lies & Statistics.

GEORGE IS WHERE?

In the comments to this post, Susie asked if I see a lot of wheresgeorge.com bills.

I'd say roughly 1 out of every thousand. And I used to enter them all (I've entered 434 of them so far), but lately I just haven't had the time. Too busy surfing the blogosphere in search of new material....

... Uh, I mean, serving my valued customers by addressing their banking needs.

Anyway, if you do see one, I strongly recommend taking the time to enter it for two reasons. First, it may help a child learn something. I got an e-mail once from another Georger, thanking me for entering his bill, because he uses WG.com to teach his children about how money circulates.

Second, sometimes it's just cool to see where your bills have been. My favorite was 2 relatively new bills that had arrived in Wisconsin together. According to WG, he put them into the same soda machine (one for a Dr. Pepper, one for a Mt. Dew) a few hours apart.

In Georgia.

How they stayed together all those miles still puts a "damned if I can figure it out" look of puzzlement on my face whenever I think about it.

Anyway, go there and enter any bills that you find. You'd be surprised just how far a dollar still goes these days ;-)

AS GOOD AS IT GETS

Dean scored himself an interview with the BEST damn political cartoonists on planet Earth: Cox & Forkum. They're entertaining conversationalists, and the interview is heavily sprinkled with some of their best work.

A "do not miss" if ever there was one.

If for no other reason than to attempt to discover the meaning of the phrase, "curious green ideas sleep furiously"

HOW TO PROPERLY LOAD A GUN

Another one for brother Roy. Who should really get a blog of his own. He's the best story-teller in the family and he's got 20 years of sea-stories under his belt. Stuff like dog-burgers, the wrong way to extinguish an "eternal flame", and choosing the best time to point a loaded shotgun at a superior officer.

Anyway, Cold Fury links to Kim DuToit, who gives some hot tips on what ammo to use in your favorite "home defense piece".

HINT: see what your local cops are using.

There's also some sage advice on how to keep your kids safe when you have guns in the house. Go take a peek.

THE DOCTOR SAYS CAFFEINE MAKES ME NERVOUS

Someone finally figured out how much caffeine is too much, and the Photodude is spreading the word.

I'm dedicating this post to my brother Roy, who once told me "I'm fine after my second pot of coffee in the morning....yes, I said pot."

WHEN LIFE HANDS YOU LEMONS...

Susie was kind enough to point out that The Lemon has updated. He'd taken a long pause after issue 17, and I feared the worst. But he's back, and still cranking out delicious right-wing satire. It's like The Onion for people with short attention spans. Drink alert in effect. 

GRATUITOUS FRENCH BASHING

My brother Roy sent me this and I just couldn't resist sharing:

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The old American gent arrived in Paris by plane. At Customs, he fumbled for his passport. "You have been to France before, Monsieur?", the Customs officer asked sarcastically. The old gent admitted that he had been to France before. "Then you should know enough to have your passport ready for inspection!", snapped the irate official. The American said that the last time he came to France he did not have to show his passport. "Impossible! You Americans always have to show your passports on arrival in France." The old American gave the Frenchman a long hard look. "I assure you, young man, that when I came ashore on Omaha Beach in 1944, there wasn't a Frenchman anywhere in sight." SEMPER FI HOO-RAH-DEVIL DOG

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WHY BLOGGERS MAKE TYPOS

Frank is a little sensitive about typos in his posts. More specifically, he doesn't appreciate being treated like a grammar-school dropout in the process of having them pointed out in his comments.

Hmpf! He should just be grateful that he has readers who love him enough to comment at all. Personally, I can never get enough (I'm looking at you, Susie). Of course, that could change if the trolls ever find this place.

Anyway, he gave me one of those "a-ha!" moments when he mentioned why bloggers tend to make typos:

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You see, before you write something, it first appears in one’s mind as the spoken word. Instead of very carefully typing each word out and pausing to make sure it's spelled correctly and make grammatical sense, the subconscious quickly takes over and takes the spoken thought in one’s mind and transfers it to written language using a number of heuristics it has picked up throughout the years. It is extremely flawed. It will often write the wrong homophone (and forget the question mark for a question... but that's neither here nor there). That's why there is a thing called proofreading. The problem with blogging is that I want to get a post out quickly, and thus I am forced to proofread right after writing. That usually doesn't work too well since what was meant (not typed) is still fresh in mind.

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Very true, very obvious once it's pointed out, but I never would have thought of putting it just that way. It's just one of the many reasons why IMAO is one of my "gotta, gotta, gotta" daily stops.

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY 

 

Run for your lives! Abe's got Rabbititis!

BURN BABY BURN

The Bonfire's burning again, and these atrocities can't burn fast enough (especially my disaster). Wizbang's put the torch to a 4th pile of bloggery badness, and it's an event not to be missed. Remember to check the comments for my disclaimer, too.

Personally, though, I think some people are actually sending good posts, and should be flogged for violating the Bonfire's spirit.

Heh. Purple polar bear.

A TISSUE & A PAT ON THE HEAD

Susie came in third in Frank's contest. What a crock. Obviously she had the best answer, because everyone knows the answer to communism is capitalism - lots of it, and right now, if you please. It was the one I voted for.

Anyway, she's feeling a little sad, so I'm posting this link in a clumsy effort to cheer her up.

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY



Time to reach for the Extra-Strength Clearasil Pre-Prom Party Pack.

WHO GETS WHAT WHEN

The most important thing I learned during my long, hideous year in law school was how to write prose so convolutedly turgid that it would snap a double-espressoed jackrabbit into a 12-year coma.

Another thing I learned was that each of the three governmental branches possess certain characteristics which are specifically appropriate for making particular types of societal decisions.

Ok, so I didn't actually learn that. More like I did some semi-somnambulistic scrawling in a notebook, which I later stared at until uncomprehending blood poured from my eyes in an attempt to assimilate this and many other seemingly random professorial assertions.

At any rate, Boots & Sabers has a brief, clear discussion of what the legislative and judicial branches are good for, in the context of a post on some pending Wisconsin legislation giving gun manufacturers immunity from lawsuits.

If only my teachers had had Owens penchant for clarity & brevity... *sigh*.

BETTER HIM THAN ME

Once again, I'm reminded of just how big of a winner I picked in the wifey SuperLotto. For those of you "not so lucky", or those (like me) who just want to see how the other half lives, I give you a web site dedicated to the exploration of inter-gender petty disputes:

THINGS MY GIRLFRIEND AND I HAVE ARGUED ABOUT

a sample:

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Margret doesn't like to watch films on the TV. No, hold on - let me make sure you've got the inflection here: Margret doesn't like to watch films on the TV. She says she does, but years of bitter experience have proven that what she actually wants is to sit by me while I narrate the entire bleeding film to her. 'Who's she?', 'Why did he get shot?', 'I thought that one was on their side?', 'Is that a bomb' - 'JUST WATCH IT! IN THE NAME OF GOD, JUST WATCH IT!' The hellish mirror-image of this is when she furnishes me, deaf to my pleading, with her commentary. Chair-clawing suspense being assaulted mercilessly from behind by such interjections as, 'Hey! Look! They're the cushions we've got.', 'Isn't she the one who does that tampon advert?' and, on one famous occasion, 'Oh, I've seen this - he gets killed at the end.'
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Go, and enjoy either the cushy joy of snooty blessing-counting, or the cold comfort of "at least I'm not the only one." Whichever camp you fall into, you'll have a damn good time.

(Hat tip to Boots & Sabers for the pointer)

AND YOUR POINT IS...?

One of the very few things I learned in high school was the bare-bones mechanical technique for writing a persuasive essay. The basic method is to concede that your opponent has some valid points, then refute them to at least some degree. Finally, you conclude with your strongest argument.

Boots and Sabers has an excellent post, wherein an opponent of a proposed Wisconsin concealed carry law does a 4.0 job of conceding the pro-CC argument, but then proceeds to confusedly wet his pants and wander off to play in traffic (rhetorically speaking).

Before I read this fuzz-brained editorial, I thought there might be an actual argument against concealed carry of which I was not aware. But since this bit of ignorant drool was considered publishable by an ostensibly serious, large-circulation, for-profit newspaper, I'm beginning to think maybe I was wrong.

Which makes me very happy, in an annoyingly smug sort of way.

JUST FOR FUN 5

Group D's responses are up, and the Group E question has been posted:

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Everyone knows my solution to random ninja attacks. In 200 words or less, describe your own solution. Remember, while people hate getting randomly attacked by ninjas, they also hate high taxes, so try and keep your solutions cheap.

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The only thing more powerful than a ninja’s stealth attack is a Frenchman’s annoying cowardice. Since the French lost all their land to Uganda during the bombing of Paris, we might as well bring them here to protect us from Ninjas. I envision the following scenario:

Ninja: Soon I will randomly attack an innocent American…

Frenchman: Bonjour, monsieur Ninja.

Ninja: Gah! Don’t sneak up on me like that!

Frenchman: Pardon moi, but I sense that you are superior to me. Please accept my surrender.

Ninja: Uh, look buddy, I’m kinda busy randomly targeting Americans right now. Can you come back a little later, maybe?

Frenchman: Non! I am cowardly and must surrender immediately!

Ninja: No, seriously, I’ve got this evil plan to carry out, and… *sniff*… DAMN! Is that smell coming from you?

Frenchman: Oui! It is part of our national odor! I am most proud of it! But I would be even more proud to be your prisoner.

Ninja: No! Go away!

Frenchman: But I give up!

Ninja: Leave me alone!

Frenchman: At least call me a coward.

Ninja: SHUT!… UP!

Frenchman: I look most handsome in prisoner’s garb.

Ninja: AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH**GAAK** (impales self on sword in despair).

HIS LAST SAD MOMENTS

There was an old Twilight Zone episode where an old man got 4 wishes. His third was for political power. He wanted to rule a foreign country without having to worry about ever being voted out of office. He wound up as Hitler, in April of '45, in a bunker.

His face was covered in sick, doomed sweat, and he trembled in terror at the prospect of his imminent demise. Whenever I think of Hilter, I like to think of that look of terminal fractured despair. It makes me feel better.

Someday soon, American forces are going to catch up with Saddam, and, as with his sons, they'll probably kill him way too fast, leaving me feeling less than satisfied. However, Bigwig over at Silfray Hraka has an imaginative post giving a snapshot of what might run through that bastard's mind in the few short hours between his discovery and his death. It's a dark, psychological scenario, laced with the sensations of cobwebs and rotting meat, providing a schadenfreude-laced thrill of knowing how an evil man will suffer, no matter how quickly the end arrives.

If you want Saddam to die slowly, but fear the disappointment that he won't, this piece is the next best thing.

(hat tip to the Emperor for finding this for me)

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY



...smoked two joints, and wrote this little song.

MATT MILLEN FINED $200G

My beloved wife and my favorite mother-in-law (I have two) hadn't heard about the above-mentioned story. So, in the interest of entertainment, I'll just link to the ScrappleFace satire on the subject, wherein a link the the actual story can be found.

MY KINDA CHEESE

Being very currency oriented, I must say that if I were ever going to open my own cheese shop, this product would be the special every day. (via CotV#44 and thanks to Greg at My Life as a Fisher)

GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT

While in the Navy, my least favorite question was, “So, what do you do on the Enterprise?”. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to vent on the topic, it’s just that there’s honestly no normal, everyday, civilian equivalent in terms of which to describe the experience. I worked in the engineering spaces, which equates vaguely to “somewhere under the hood of the car”. It was hot, noisy, hot, smelly, hot, dirty, and hot.

Did I mention the hot part?

The closest I could get was in one letter home to my girl, with something along the lines of, “You’re in Arizona, it’s August, you have no air conditioning. You run upstairs, look at a couple dozen thermometers & write down the readings. You run downstairs & do the same. Repeat twice an hour for four hours, remembering to add in the smells of hot metal, hot oil, and the reek of your own foul sweat.”

For his part, LT Smash does a much better job of describing life in the Iraqi sandbox, and even the most pampered civilian will come away feeling amused, educated, and, most of all, grateful that it’s not their job. Go read.

GEM IN THE NEW BLOG SHOWCASE

Via the New Blog Showcase comes this beautiful piece from Matt at Blackfive. First, a bit of light criticism, in that the setup is overly long, and the first part probably should've been in a separate post and shortly summarized before the more relevant part of the story. However, this in no manner takes away from the pants-wetting funniness of the pay-off line, and I still recommend it as a must-read for anyone who has less-than-favorable feelings about the French.

Drink Alert in effect.

WHA?

Granted, I don't know the gritty inner workings of Google, but how the hell did my blog get hit during the search for "cover of Playgirl july 2003"?