I, For One, Welcome Our Robot Overlords

If this is how Skynet's takeover of Earth begins, I gladly surrender.
Bring on the Terminators!

"Come with me if you want to drink."

Back in Black ( & White)

To the very few of you who actually take the time to read this thing, I'm back. I haven't posted in a couple of weeks due a perfect storm type situation in the real world. Work went nuts, my sis had some pretty serious medical issues, and we learned of a potential problem with Baby Riley, who, for reasons soon to be revealed, has shed the "Seven" nickname, and will, from this point forward, be referred to as Skeletor.

Well the storm has passed, things went (and continue to go) well for my sister, and the potential problems for Skeletor proved unfounded. The Mrs. and I have been able to take a much needed deep breath, and a return to as close to normal as we'll ever get.

I'll try to get back on my normal posting schedule. I know your lives have been empty without my witty commentary, but in the meantime, amuse yourselves by taking a look at my kid. (Now do you get the Skeletor reference?)

"Curse you He-Man!!!"

That Brightly Dressed Man Has Ruined the Sanctity of the Super Bowl

"Oh crap...one of my high heels is caught in the turf."

Morality watchdogs have found another target for their outrage in the Super Bowl halftime show performed last weekend by Prince. Apparently, more than a few people have taken umbrage with Prince's silhouetted guitar solo during "Purple Rain," saying that his shadowed instrument (hee hee) is a blatant phallic symbol.

My response..."Yeah...and?"

"No, no Doc, the Cialis is working just fine,
I just have a question about this growth underneath my penis."

Listen, it's entirely possible that the whole thing was unintentional and this was just another case of something looking sexual when it wasn't meant to be. On the other hand, we're dealing with Prince here. I'm guessing he probably knew what he was doing. And if he did do this on purpose, should we be surprised?

This just in...Prince does something sexually provocative.
In other news, the sky is blue.

Prince is a phenomenal musician. Sure he's a little weird, but if you're looking for some high energy music to keep a crowd interested during halftime, he's a pretty good choice. But the guy just oozes sex. He performed five songs during the halftime show, and three of them were covers. Why? Because all of his songs are about fucking!! You know what you're getting into when you hire Prince. Fun, sexy music, and a 50-50 chance of seeing simulated sex acts on stage. If that's not what you're into, then don't hire Prince. A "shadow penis" is so low on the scale of things The Artist could have pulled out (hee hee) that CBS, the NFL, and every morally righteous whack-a-doo out there should thank their lucky stars.

NASA: Sending Crazy People into Space Since 1958

"Houston, we have a psycho."

I've been racking my brain all day for an appropriate way to present this story and can't come up with one. For some reason I can't wrap my head around it. It's not that someone smart and dedicated enough to become an astronaut and actually fly in space was so messed up by "love" that they would try to kill someone over it, and it's not that this is the second time since the new year that someone has gone to "extreme" lengths to eliminate the competition in a love triangle (check out the other instance here). I think the thing about this story that bothers me the most is that this woman was so focused on killing her rival, that she resorted to wearing diapers during her 900+ mile car ride between Houston and Orlando to limit the number of stops she'd have to make on the way. I don't know if I should be horrified or impressed. I've never been that determined about anything.

Depends
The adult undergarment of choice
for 9 out of 10 crazy astronauts.

There's not much more that I can add to that, so instead I'll just leave you with my favorite movie quote about astronauts, those brave men and women who traverse the starry skies, boldly going where no man has gone before:

"Your mother was an astronaut"
"My mother was too drunk to be an astronaut."

A Note to God RE: The Oscars

Thou shall not make for yourself an idol.

Dear God,

I don't ask you for much...not really anyway. And I try to be as good a person as I can, so please, please, please, won't you grant me this one wish. When the Academy Awards show rolls around later this month, and they announce the winner of Best Supporting Actor, could you please find it in your heart to make sure that Mark Wahlberg wins, and when he does win, could you please make sure they play this video and song during his walk to the podium.



Thanks God. I know this isn't a really important wish, with war, and disease, and famine going on out there, and I know you're a big fan of Little Miss Sunshine and Alan Arkin, but I promise, if you make this wish come true, I will devote the rest of my time here on earth to living life to the funkiest.

Amen

Happy Groundhog Day

Punxsutawney Phil, and his lesser known, albeit smellier compadre, Staten Island Chuck, both failed to see their shadows today, which means, I guess, an early Spring.

I'm going to look on the bright side of things today, ignore the brief winter we're having as being the undeniable sign that our world is slowly swirling into a global warming nightmare that will eventually lead to massive floods and the seas boiling, and instead focus on the fact that I might be able to go see a baseball game in April without needing to wear a parka and mittens.

Hooray Global Warming!!! Hooray Groundhogs!!!

Return of the briPod

I listen to music...aren't I cool?

Because I know that your wouldn't be complete without finding out what I listened to on my iPod this morning while commuting to work, here are the five songs that kept the insides of my ears warm while the rest of me was freezing.

Put Your Hand Inside the Puppet Head
by They Might Be Giants
Pretty much every TMBG song I've ever heard makes me feel smart and stupid at the same time. This one is no different.

Level
by The Raconteurs
I've been trying to resist the Jack White cult for as long as I could, but I was persuaded into buying Broken Boy Soldiers by their first single Steady as She Goes. I actually like this song even better. It's a good album all around, but there's still something about Jack White that irks me. I think it's his hair. It seems unnaturally straight and way too black.

Satan Is My Motor
by Cake
Satan may be your motor, but Jesus is my homeboy, and Buddha is my airbag.
Side note: I like cake...both the band and the dessert item, especially the yellow type.

Stand Up
by Jet
My favorite song ever used in a commercial for the Discovery Channel.

'Zat You Santa Claus?
by Louis Armstrong
Umm...I forgot to take my Christmas music off my iPod. At least my tree is down.

Whenever I find myself feeling down...

A couple of years ago, I was flipping through my local newspaper, and I found this piece by advice columnist Ann Landers. The plight of the man who wrote in, and the advice she offered to him moved me so much that I decided to cut the column out and carry it around in my wallet, pulling it out whenever I found myself feeling down. A quick read always seems to make me feel better. It never fails. Having access to a scanner, I decided to post the column here, to try and spread the joy. Here it is. I hope it helps you as much as it helped me.

(Click Image to View Larger Version)

Meet the New Star of My Nightmares

This story broke a couple of days ago, but I haven't had the time to actually view the video until now. This rare species of shark, called a frilled shark, is rarely caught on film while alive since it's normal habitat is usually around 2000 ft. below this surface. This particular specimen was caught in about 5 feet of water. As a result, I am now officially terrified of going swimming. This fish is absolutely hideous. I'm pretty sure it's going to haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.




***UPDATE***
Apparently YouTube was forced to take the video I have posted above down, so clicking on it won't let you see anything. There's another video of the shark posted here, this time with Japanese commentary.

For those of you so enamored with my blog that you're afraid to navigate away, I've posted this picture:

"Boo!"

If man were meant to jump out of an airplane...

god would have pushed him.

"I immediately regret this decision!"

Now, I'm no expert in skydiving, never having jumped out of an airplane myself, but I have always thought that the sport was a pretty stupid way to get a rush, especially when much safer alternatives exist. You know, like smoking crack. I never really saw the attraction to trusting you life to a piece of fabric with some rope attached to it. Well apparently, skydiving mishaps are pretty rare, especially amongst experienced jumpers, but there's always room for an "accident".

This story, out of England, involves a love triangle, a sabotaged parachute, and a woman plunging 12,000 ft. to her death. Apparently, three skydivers, one male, two female, made a jump together about two months ago. The male, named Marcel, was romantically involved with female #1 (named Els) but was seeing female #2 (also named Els...I guess that helps avoid awkward boudoir situations) behind female #1's back. Having found out the situation, Els #1 didn't let on, but instead tampered with Els #2's parachute before their jump, causing it to fail, sending it Els #2 to her death. A two-month investigation followed, and Els #1 was arrested last week. In addition to this, the suspected Els (not the dead one) had been previously arrested for trying to run over a boyfriend she suspected of cheating. She wasn't charged.

"I won't be ignored!
Hey...wanna go jump out of a plane?"

This is clearly a unique situation. One involving a person with both anger issues and mental problems (and poor taste in men, apparently). But it opens up a can of worms. Why even put yourself in a high-risk situation like that? Now I'm no adulterer (you hear that sweetie?), but I have been known, on occasion, to piss off a person or two. Hopefully not enough to inspire murder, but one never knows. You can never be too careful. And that's why I'm going to continue to avoid skydiving. You never know when you might be jumping with an enemy. A car speeding at me, I might have a chance to dodge, but you have no where to go when it's the earth that's speeding at you.

Does this freak anyone else out as much as it does me?

Is your baby a her or he?
Now YOU can decide.

When my wife and I were first trying to get pregnant, we did a lot of reading on the subject. We checked out a few books and magazine and looked at a bunch of websites (and there are plenty). During our "research" we came across a couple of different theories regarding baby gender. There are supposed to be a variety of things you can do to help your odds at conceiving one gender baby over another: certain foods or drinks to consume, the date and time you try to conceive, temperature changes; you name it. In the beginning we toyed with the idea of trying some of them out, but in the end, we realized it was kind of silly and we'd just roll the dice and see what fate gave us. Well my wife got pregnant, and while we don't know whether we're having a boy or a girl (and we've decided we want to be surprised), the bottom line is that we're pretty psyched about becoming parents and we can't wait until he or she gets here.

"I case you missed the earlier post with my picture,
here I am just chillin' in the womb.
Don't I look like a genius?"

So fast forward to today: I was surfing one of my favorite Yankee blogs (Peter Abraham's blog), hoping for any sort of nugget of information in this slow season for baseball news, when an ad banner on the side of the web page caught my eye. It mentioned something about baby genders, and being a father-to-be, I decided to give it a click. The link brought me to a web page for The Silverman Center for Gender Selection. The site is for a medical center in Westchester, NY that will pretty much allow you to choose the gender of your baby. They have a process that will allow you to select only specific sperm cells to fertilize an egg, with the end result being the baby gender of your choosing. Is anyone else weirded out by that? I may be making a bit of a leap here, but how long until we start deciding hair and eye color? Or athletic ability or smarts? Hell...people love celebrity baby names, how long before people try celebrity baby genes? Doesn't there have to be a line somewhere?

"Don't you wish your baby was hot like me?"

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not an anti-science guy...far from it. I'm all for taking every advantage that science has to offer to make sure that your offspring are born into this world with the greatest chance to live a long and happy life. If there is someway to genetically detect and correct potential problems in your unborn child. I'm all for it. Why shouldn't we use our knowledge to our advantage. But there's something about using it to make sure your baby is a specific gender that gives me a creepy feeling, you know? I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, and I might not be for a while. After the trouble we had when we first tried to get pregnant, having a healthy baby of any sex seems like a big enough deal to me. Who knows though, maybe I'd change my mind if I was the father of four boys.

Anyway, it kinda feels like we're beginning to hurtle towards a weird science fiction future where big brother is always watching, and people are genetically altering their DNA to breed super babies and it's starting to freak me out a little, though I'm all for jet-packs and hover-cars. I can't wait for hover-cars.

"Fear my genetically bred Atomic Super-Men!"

Tattoos on the Head, Mourning on my Mind.

RIP Bam Bam Bigelow (1961-2007)

When I was a youngster, way back in the 1980s and early-1990s, I, like most American males, loved professional wrestling. It probably stemmed from the same part of my brain that likes comic books. There, on the TV, were larger than life figures, some good, some evil, battling each other for...well who knows really, but it involved a lot of punching and kicking, and that was cool with me. Anyway, Bam Bam was one of those guys that always fascinated me. Probably because of the tattoos on his head. All I know is that he was one of those people on TV whose physical appearance mesmerized me. Him and Fred Gwyne...the guy who played Herman Munster. I think that was mostly because I thought his head was actually square.

Square-headed monster where are you?

Apparently I had some sort of obsession with heads when I was a kid. Young boys throughout the country were crushing hard on Winnie Cooper, and I was staring at the heads of professional wrestlers and 1960s sitcom starts. I was a bit of a weirdo.

Where have you gone Winnie Cooper?
A nation turns its mourning eyes to you.

And now Bam Bam has joined Herman Munster as a member of the deceased, not that their deaths were related. And that kinda sucks. Fred Gywne wasn't really an old man, but he was in his late 60s when he passed in the Early 90s, so that's not entirely out of the ordinary. Bam Bam was only in his mid-forties...too young for anyone to go. I always wondered if the tattoo on Bam Bam's head would seep into his brain and kill him. At this point, the cause of death hasn't been determined, so I'm just going to assume that yes, he was killed by tattoo ink. Another reason not to emulate professional wrestlers kids.

***UPDATE***

It's been brought to my attention by one of my adoring fans (thank you Steve) that Winnie Cooper herself had a melon head. Maybe there is something to this. Maybe I am obsessed with the cranially unique. (I think I just made up a word. Hooray for me!).
More to come.
In the meantime:

"HEAD! MOVE! NOW!"

Look What I Made!!!!

Say hello to Seven.
That's what we're calling the baby, since we're not going to find out the sex before he/she is born. We're both Seinfeld and Mickey Mantle fans, so we thought it fit for now...and it works for a boy and a girl.

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out Kid!

Just a quick peek at the Christmas card we'll be sending out to friends and family.

Happy Holidays!

Lizard King of the Jews

This story on CNN.com about a Komodo dragon named Flora that's about to give birth to a litter (is that the right word?) of baby Komodos while still being a virgin is weird enough, though not unprecedented (see Jurassic Park). What does make it freaky is that the baby dragons are expected to be born on Christmas Day. Has Jesus decided to come back to earth in the form of a lizard? Is this the beginning of the rapture? Somewhere out there, is there another virgin lizard giving birth to the lizard Antichrist. Be warned people. Christmas this year may mark the beginning of the end. Look to the skies...if the Four Horsemen appear riding giant flaming lizards, you'll know I was right.
If anything at least the new savior will be kick ass. Combine the power of Jesus with the power of a giant lizard. Man...he would OWN the competition.

Brian the Suburban Cowboy

This is NOT as easy as it looks, and it's a whole lot more painful.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

A day early, but I'll be busy celebrating tomorrow. Happy Birthday Sweets. I love you!

A-Clutch!

Take THAT Haters!

They Say Nothing is More Beautiful than a Pregnant Woman

Well scratch THAT theory.
I don't know anything about this so-called "glow" that pregnant woman get, but if by "glow" they mean "ability to make me throw up in my mouth," than Britney is glowing like a MoFo.

The Break-Up: Scariest Movie of the Year

So this commentary is a little late, but it has to be posted, if only to save a few relationships. My wife and I saw this movie, in most part, because we both love Vince Vaughn. I figured I could handle a little romantic comedy cheesiness for the comedic gold that VV brings to the screen. Well watch out fellas, cause Wedding Crashers this aint.
While Vince does have a few worthwhile moments, this movie is NOT a comedy. It's not even a romantic comedy. It was a depressing look at the collapse of a relationship that was depicted as almost entirely the man's fault. That's fine. Oftentimes one person holds the lion's share of the blame for a relationship's demise. In this movie, Vince Vaughn's character caused the relationship to fail because he didn't make a big enough effort. Also fine. The problem, and potential killer for all men out there, is that his lack of effort was presented to the audience basically by having him come home and open a beer and watch the game or play Playstation.
As soon as I thought this I thought "Oh shit." That's basically every day of my life. I do tons of other things around the house, but those few acts are brought into focus in the move, and I spent the rest of the time in the theater trying to figure out how to defend myself when the credits rolled. All I could come up with was "Please don't divorce me."
So be warned men...this is not a raucous Vince Vaughn comedy, and you will be grilled on the car ride home.
Avoid this film if at all possible, your relationship may depend on it.