“Sugar Foot”!

This song by Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears doesn’t make me want to dance — it makes me NEED to dance.

Perfect get up in the morning music.

There’s An App For That

Want to find out what kind of burritos “Humble Bob” Shoudt ate when he won the 2009 World Burrito Eating Championship by eating 331/2 of this mystery kind of burrito in ten minutes? Chicken? Beef? Carnitas?? Bean??? There’s an app for that.

Need to figure out what happened to your dignity after ten 40 oz’s of Mickey’s on ECW and $5 Little Caesars pizza night last week? There’s an app for that.

Ever wondered what happened to the guy who played Schneider on One Day At A Time? There’s an app for that.

Want to bake a quiche but have no eggs yet stubbornly refuse to give up on baking this quiche that now haunts your every moment to the point that you start wondering if there is some other ingredient in your house, perhaps Kraft American Cheese Slices or butter or soap or cork that you could use as a substitute for the eggs for the quiche you want to bake? There’s an app for that.

Ever thought about teaching yourself how to kangaroo-style box Andy Richter in some kind of underground boxing ring? There’s an app for that.

Tired of that bumpy backed freak, that– that furry flying dragon pervert Falcor not getting back to you about movie night this Thursday? There’s an app for that.

Want to know what that smell is? There’s… yeah… an app for that.

Troubled by the fact that your God has forsaken you and everything you believe in because, what? I mean, why? Because you made some bad decisions? Because you zigged when you should’ve zagged? Because you wore track pants and a button-up shirt at the same time that one time? There’s, siiiiigh, an app for that.

Are you a little writer-type who is writing some silly bloggy post and wondering if the idea is simply unoriginal or if it’s completely fucking unoriginal? There’s… an… app… zzzzzzz…

If You Dare Wear Short Shorts

Currently on Ohio leave and staying at the house of my good friends the Branums, I found myself home alone in the afternoon, as there is gainful employment and helping out at schools to keep other adults busy while I try to watch the shows I missed last night online despite an unpredictable internet connection.

After a crack at this, getting nowhere due to the apparently constant need for buffering, I decided to work on my novel. Yeah, that’s right: novel. All words. Okay, sure, it’s a basic story I’ve been working on for various mediums since… crap… 1997??? But, still, when at a loss for something to write, I figure basically adapting my own work, written by a younger and more productive me, is better than doing ill-advised Facebook searches or debating whether or not to download some self-help e-book that costs $39.99 and probably wouldn’t help me anyway.

I opened my novel’s Word doc for the first time in a couple months (yeah, not that productive) and sat down at the Branums’ dining room table to get started. Then I realized I was thirsty and stood to get some water. On my way back from that short ten step trek, I saw out the window that would be behind me once I sat down to write (kinda) at my laptop a bronzed, white haired, shirtless older gentleman. Did I mention the beard and the cigarette clenched in his teeth? No? Well, now I have.

He was either sweaty or oiled, and, dammit, though likely over twice my age, in better shape than me. But as I approached my chair, getting closer to the window, I noticed his attire from the waist down.

Denim cut offs. Jean shorts. And short ones at that. Yeah, there might’ve been some inner pocket peaking out at the bottom. I’m not sure, because as soon as I saw this almost orange old fella in Daisy Dukes, so close to the window doing I’m not sure what, I had to sit down and turn my back to him lest I stared.

Now, it was a nice day out, but I was comfortable in uncut jeans and a polo shirt. This fella, though, dammit, he was hot apparently. Walking around way too close to other people’s windows, smoking like only old men smoke, and, dammit, a shirt’d just add to that heat! You know what else is? The legs to these damn jeans. Why not cut ’em off? Okay! And let’s see how much leg can be kept bare to appreciate the breeze generated by the determined walk. Also want to get that dark tan as high up the thigh as possible, right?

I couldn’t help but turn around to look at him again, hoping he didn’t notice me through the window, imagining perhaps that I was safe inside the house, unable to be seen by the outside world. He picked up a hose and started watering some sort of vegetable garden right outside the window. Smoking billowing from his quickly shrinking cigarette. Free hand perched on his slightly protruding hip. Nearly completely bare legs spread.

Standing with purpose. With some sort of fire in his belly.

In tiny, tiny cut off jean shorts.

Fuck it, he looked good. With the right attitude and sense of purpose, anyone could look good. And this old fella was what he was and didn’t give a damn if anyone had a problem with these shorts that’d be oddly short even on a hot young lady.

I turned around and started writing this instead of working on the novel. (I’ll get back to it after I post this. And nap… maybe.)

EXTRACT movie review


… Mmmaaaaybe I should type a little more since I called this a “review.”

Okay, I’m a big fan of Office Space and an almost as big fan of Idiocracy. King of the Hill can be pretty funny, and Beavis & Butthead definitely gave me some laughs growing up. Basically: I’m a fan of Extract writer/director Mike Judge. So, yeah, I suggested to my mom and sister that we see this movie on our “mini-vacation” to Columbus, OH.

About 30 laugh-free minutes in (with only one other person in the theatre with us), I began to feel guilty. This is what I do. I didn’t make the movie, but I like the filmmaker, read good reviews, and didn’t want to see the new Sandra Bullock movie (All About Steve), so I suggested Extract. And though I didn’t make it boring or unfunny to us, I felt bad about picking it for us.

Not sure what happened with this flick and me. I know it was low key and not going for huge laughs the whole time, but I was just not into it at all. Jason Bateman is always great. Mila Kunis is really pretty. Ben Affleck is also really pretty (even with the beard), JK Simmons is often hilarious, Dave Koechner is usually a hoot, and Kristin Wiig can be darn funny. But nothing clicked for me in this flick.

How did vanila extract, testicular damage, a dumb gigolo, and paranoid weed humor barely make me (or my mom and sister) crack a smile? Weird.