Let's Get Ready to RUMBLE ! ! ! ! !

...and how was YOUR day?

A friend of mine, M*, a lovely young mother with a cool dude of a husband, G*, told me her tale of woe from just the other day...

So, her mother and grandmother came to town to visit with their child, M*. G* had had previous experiences with them, and he knew that his restful day off would be more a curse than a blessing... sometimes, that's just how it goes with the in-laws, right?

Well, mom and granny rolled into town just the other day. Lucky for G*, he was at work. (See, even having to open a store at oh-dark-thirty in the morning can be a blessing sometimes!) Mom and granny decided they wanted to go shopping with their lovely offspring, M*, but first they needed to run by the drugstore.

You know, I never knew that running over a mailbox was included in running to the store.... must be a family tradition or something cause Mom took that bitch right out. Knocked it flat, crushed, smashed, and took out one of the little driveway lights along with it.

The driveway lights were put in just last week. Can you say, "Hooray?"

So, they finally go shopping. M* drives them in her Liberty and takes them out to the big, new walkabout mall. This requires a ride on the interstate in these parts. Well, somehow, along the way, mom and granny decided to get into an argument.

Now, these are two women born and bred in THE BRONX. Do you know what women who grow up in the Bronx are like? Do I really need to go into details? Well, let's just say, to simplify things a bit, that they do not pull ANY punches. They don't exactly speak all lady-like at all times. And they certainly have plenty 'nuff New York attitude to lay it all out there. Harridan. I think that's the word I am looking for.

Well, they start with the arguing. The arguing leads to cussing... and in true New York fashion, again, no holds barred. Granny even goes so far as to call Mom a C*NT. Yeah, you read that right here...

So they get to fighting. And when I say they get to fighting, I mean they start swinging fists. Mom hits granny on the shoulder. Well old G-Ma ain't having none-o-that. Oh, HELL NO! She whips out her CANE and starts whacking on the mom with it. All this while M* is trying to drive down the interstate. Stray blows are popping poor M* in the head... so there they are, swerving down the interstate at about, oh, 65 mph, fists a flying, cuss words a-rolling...

Can you just picture this lil old lady, must be somewhere near 70 or more, whipping her cane out on her daughter, a woman who must be in her 50's, IN the car, ON the interstate, while the poor grandchild is driving?

And what up with the cane? And cussing like sailors?

Damn. Don't you just love visits from the family?

Jesus... if NOTHING else belongs on THIS blog, well... this SURELY fits.

Some straight up redneck hoo ha from New Yorkers. I love it.


Maybe it's just me, but I was so stunned that, well, I laughed my ass off about it, after the fact... of course.

HNT - Hot Neat Tasty

Well, here it is... HNThursday once again... and once again I have no picture.

Sorry, people. I had to play a gig last night... wish I had taken some pictures. Oh well. Suffice it to say that we had a very large time. The drummer for the up and coming heavy rock band, Force of Habit came out and sat in with us. It was all very cool having a drummer throwin' down the beat behind us.... ahhh...

reminds me of days gone by... like, just a couple of months ago. Damn!

Ahh, the good old days.... yep, I miss 2005... it seems so far away now...

Eat a PETA

So what the hell is PETA, anyway?

PETA = People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals?

or could it be

PETA = People for the Early Termination of Animals

or possibly

PETA = People Eradicating Tons of Animals

or, my personal favorite

PETA = People for the Eating of Tasty Animals

Well, PETA CLAIMS to be for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, that seems to be much further from the truth.
In recent events, two North Carolinian members of PETA, were arrested for stealing animals from rescue shelters and illegally euthanizing them. Umm... so THAT's what they mean by ethical? One of the two apparently goes by the nickname "Mother of all Animals"... sounds a bit too much like "Mother of all Wars" to me. (.see story.)

And see THIS STORY - the sick details of some of PeTA's actions

Now, don't get me wrong. I love animals. I think they should be treated with great respect. I would definitely wish (or perhaps even DO) harm upon someone who harmed an animal intentionally. But PETA uses the most ruthless of tactics and the slickest of lies to get their own personal agendas across, regardless of whether or not it holds true to their so-called ideal.

Evidence of this is given by this website : petakillsanimals.com

PETA apparently kills more animals than it adopts out. Lots more. And they do a lot of them illegally. They've gone so far as to steal animals from rescue shelters, as indicated in the story above. They have also been known to go to animal hospitals, which regularly get strays, and tell them they will care for the animals and see that they are adopted out.... and then kill them less than 24 hours later - this last story mentions one round of killing occurring WITHIN AN HOUR of picking the animals up, on the pretense of adopting them out.

Yep, sure sounds ethical to me.

But, PETA does have one saving grace. They have one great slogan that makes me laugh every time I see it:
Mmm... I wonder if PETA members ever catch themselves saying, "mmm, tastes like chicken" ? sick, evil bastards...
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Tales from the Drunk Side

So I heard some stories the other day when we partied like rock stars (go to the band's myspace blog for vague non-details...) and I heard a few tales...
---------
This young woman, who may or may not be acquainted with me, was in a mood. A good kind of mood. A REALLY good kind of mood. Unfortunately for her, her husband was TWO hours away with HIS BOSS trying to pull off a big sales deal.

But she was definitely in a mood.

The kind of mood that doesn't let you go...

Okay, she was HORNY, people. Do I have to spell it out for you? H.O.R.N.Y.

She was practically in a lather....

and she loved her man so...

and she wanted to be all warmed up for him...

let me just interrupt this tale to say that nipple clamps and baby oil are NOT a good combination

Sure, it all starts out fine - the intense pressure, the slickness of the oil, just getting herself all worked up for when her man comes home...

mmm... a pretty picture, eh?

yep, all so right until it starts to hurt...

and so you try to take them off but...

you can't get a grip on the clamps...

so maybe you can go wash your hands...

but the door is closed...

and the bathroom is on THE OTHER SIDE of it...

Try this new math out:
Baby oil
+
doorknob
=
something akin to my first prom date...

which is to say:
NOT MUCH HAPPENIN'

baby oil has this way of just sticking to you... wiping on the sheets doesn't really help much... and the pain does start to get to you after a while...

I mean, I don't know PERSONALLY, but I imagine it does... that's what I've HEARD.
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yep, so there my man was, on site, 2 hours away, when he gets this frantic phone call, an emergency call from his wife saying he HAD to come home.
.
Yep.
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He flew home. He loves his wife. A good man.

Gets home. No fire trucks. hmm.

No police cars... well, THAT's a good sign

No ambulance... no Bambulance, for that matter...

rush in...

he hears her pleading wail from the bedroom...

could it be... AN INTRUDER???

He runs... he slams the door open...
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Can you just picture it?

Like I said, it all sounded like such a good idea at the start.
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We Might Have a TV Show

Yeah, I know... I wouldn't believe me either... but it's true.

We're still hammering out the details and trying to find the proper venue to host it... but we're working on it. You never know, right? Who knows just what this could lead to? At the very least, it will be a hell of an experience...

I know I could have said hella experience and that it would be hella good... what the hell? That elitist linguist in me is sticking out his ugly head now... Why did hella even come to be? Are we just that damned lazy that we can't take the time to type, much less say, a couple more letters?

Geez!

And, from what I understand, "it's the bomb" is way passe'... that changed to "it's bum"... WTF? I think you can combine these into "it's hella bum" to describe something completely awesome... but I could be wrong.

Why do I even bother trying to keep up?

The more these kids speak, the worse it all gets. And GOD FORBID you use the wrong term as an adult. Best to simply stick to proper english, then them evil youngins can't crucify you for it.

Dammit.


Where was I?

Oh, yeah, TV show. When I know, YOU'LL know. Let's just say it combines 2 or 3 of my favorite things, plus it will give me some air time so I can REALLY make an ass out of myself... sometimes that's exactly what is needed to get noticed.

Wish us luck!
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TGIF

What does it mean?

to working schlubs, like me - Thank God It's Friday

to a blonde - Toes Go In First

Men, on women - They Get Irritated Fast

Women, on men - Thank God I'm Female

Rednecks on gay men - Them Guys Is Flamin'

Men who know - Tongue Gear Improves Fellatio

Swat in San Fran - Tear Gas Is Fab

My buddy Lisa & I on Mr. Sub's gyros - Tasty Goat Is Fine

Most adults - Teenagers Get Irritating Fast

describe myself on this post -Touchy Git is Insufferably Flatulent
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Some days...

A Band Cannot Live By Bread Alone.

We need cheese too. Or peanut butter.

I look at all these lyrics I write... sometimes I think they're very good... and then there are other times when I read them and I think to myself, "Damn, Wop. It's a good thing you've got a day job." But last night, at this little Open Mic thing at a West End pub known as the Pour House, I did receive some very gratifying responses. The kind of roars, laughter, and shouting that reaffirm your faith in the effort... the kind that answers the question of "Why the hell do I do this again?" The sort of response you can ONLY get when you've got a drunk, rowdy crowd on your hands... unless you're Jesus, which I am not. (nope, and I don't play one on TV neither)

I think many of you fellow bloggers out there feel a bit of this yourselves. Isn't it nice when someone puts down a comment on your blog, throws out a little nugget of affirmation by saying something like, "great post" or "You are SO right!" or "You go, girl!" ... okay, that last one doesn't work so much for me, but you get the general idea, right?

I know a lot of people lurk out there and never say a word... and that's all good and well, but it's a bit like being someone who goes to a concert and just sits on their hands, never applauding or booing or screaming or anything. And while this isn't the most interactive of environments, there is still a bit of feedback that goes on... I don't know about you, but that seems a bit dull... so have some fun with it... your comment could become the reason for a tailor-made entry... truly.

And I'm not complaining - I'm just thinking maybe you might want to post a thought. Hey, lots of us accept anonymous comments, for good or ill. And don't be insulted by the WORD VERIFICATION (cue the dramatic evil music) - when that is NOT turned on, I get a ton of comments, all from crappy autoposting programs - basically online telemarketers wasting my time and yours.

And, hey, I do my best to respond to any and all comments, so you'll get a little response back with every poke you send my way.... unless I somehow become UBER-popular, which seems unlikely in the extreme.

SO, if you like the blogs out there... take a few seconds to let the blogger know so... each word you send out is a nice thank you, in and of itself.

And really, is it so bad for people to be kind?
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Me Me Monday #27

Yes, I KNOW it's Wednesday... but my Monday post came up out of the blue and then blogger has been having shits for the past few days so I couldn't do this anyway... so a bit of a time warp for you... 27. I'm an "Elvis"-man with "Beatles"-man tendencies

I bet some of you are simply scratching your heads and wondering - what the hell is he talking about? Well... I suppose it's one of those things you just have to GROK. It's not really something you can simply explain... you just have to know it. It's not even about knowing or being a fan of either Elvis or the Beatles. You can be a complete Elvis man and not even know any of his songs... although I would really have to wonder which rock you'd been hiding under all these years if you didn't know ANY Elvis songs... or Beatles tunes, for that matter.

I have read a number of bits on the web where people discuss it - it was even brought into the modern pop culture via "Pulp Fiction", a fine movie with some fine dialogue, to be sure. A lot of those people mistakenly believe that it has something to do with the music... and in a sense, it does... but truly, it does not. Not directly, at least. Not in its entirety.

Batmobile sighting in Anchorage, Alaska

In a way, it's a bit like trying to know what it is to be a bat. What is the nature of a bat? Is it having the wings and the sensation of flight? Is it hearing your way to sight? Is it eating mosquitoes and fruit in the middle of the night? Yes, it is ALL of those things, but is that the essence of being a bat? And you can't simply hold the shape of a bat and understand what it IS to BE a bat - you would simply be a human in the form of a bat.. and that's not the same thing. To KNOW what it is to BE a bat, you must actually BE one... and when that happens, you will not be able to speak what it is... you will simply know it. You will GROK Batness.

So it is with being an Elvis man vs a Beatles man... you just know.

Now, I dig the Beatles, I truly do... moreso than, really, a lot of Elvis' stuff... but I'm an Elvis man, through and through... though sometimes I do show a few of those tendencies that make a Beatles-man.

I wish I could somehow make you see, make you grok Elvis-man-dome...

but I can't make you a bat, can I?
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Move along... move along...

Nothing to see here. Nothing important going on here...

move along...

move along...
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(this means that I am busier than a Vegas ho in convention week and have no time to be witty AND type it all in...)
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Busy Busy Busy

We busy with making the American Cheese Dream come true so no real post today... but you can check out our work so far at:

MYSPACE.COM/uscheeseclick me

That's us. And that song there is only half done - like I haven't even gotten MY parts recorded on it yet... but link us and check us out. We're there!
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Quotes and Misquotes

You really sound like you need a Prozac.... and I think you should go get some counseling for that drug problem you're developing - This is funny in and of itself, but the best part of this quote is that the speaker is a semi-recovered heroin addict. Yeah, go 'head pot, call that kettle black.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Her - there ain't NO way I'm gonna let no woman stick her p***y in my face
Him - *disappointed sigh*
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Loved the set. Hated the boobie song. - which is too bad... the song was practically written for her (or should I say "them").... well, not really... but it sounds better that way.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
By the time I am done with her, she's gonna be nothin but a quivering pile of "oh shit that was good." - and, NO, I wasn't the one saying it. No. Really, I wasn't.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
She's so fine... yep, that there is my future ex-mistress. - Okay, I can neither confirm nor deny the speaker here.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Bitch. - Hmm... you just had to be there for this one.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
How can I make love to myself when I have no fingers? - Yep.. that pretty much says it all, really.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
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Songs to Learn

This picture has NOTHING to do with what follows... but I just couldn't help myself.
The pic takes you to the site of some of my future purchases, I am sure.

Okay, I think I may be going senile. I come back to this log time and again and I recall things I write here ... some of the time. WIth that in mind, AND, knowing that I have a long list of songs to learn, I'm going to be Senor Slackamundo and write that list here - this will serve multiple purposes, so this should make any efficiency experts happy:

1. I will have my list of "to learn" songs typed out in a format that will allow repeated printings - I have been using paper to make these lists in times past. The simple fact is that I often misplace these lists or flat out lose them. This, in turn, requires me to write the list down again. I swear - I have written about 20 "to learn" lists in the past month or two. Sad. Very sad. But now, I can just come to my blog and print them off.
2. It will give you adoring (and not so adoring) readers out there a small glimpse into what I play... and feel free to make suggestions to add to the list - when I get famous (yeah, right), you just might get to hear me play it JUST FOR YOU. Nice, yeah?
3. Since I keep coming back here all the damned time, I'll have to read the list again and again, thus prompting me to actually go about learning them.
4. It doubles as my blog entry. This is a good one. A major one really - I had nothing else when I started it.

So, here you go - feel free to make comments and complaints as desired - I'm open to all kinds of input... musically, at least:

• Dave Matthews : Say Goodbye - this one really requires a percussionist and would do well with a band... and there are very few people who can make a song about a one night affair between friends, friends who have significant others, and make it sound like a REALLY good idea.
  
• Ben Harper : Walk Away - simple tune... only he makes it hard to play and sing with his offbeat vocals. Or maybe I'm just not that good. Hmm... could be. Played it last night and it came out... okay. Not great. Needs work. The little hottie girl that requested I learned it gave me big hugs and a kiss... hmm, maybe there really IS something to this being a musician thing. Girl had ghetto-booty, for real... mm.. where was I? oh yes...
  
• Ben Harper : Burn One Down - a band. I need a band... really, this means I need a drummer, bass player, and a percussionist... a keyboard player would be just too sweet, but who am I kidding? It's hard enough finding a bass player who can play funky AND rockin'.
  
• Jack Johnson : Taylor - you know, Taylor WAS a good girl... last time I checked, anyway.
  
• Simon & Garfunkel : Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover - I can already envision this funked up version of it... dammit, I REALLY need a percussion section and funk bass master.
  
• Simon & Garfunkel : American Tune - I just like that song. So sue me. Well, first go get high, then listen to the song, THEN see if you still WANT to sue me.
• Jimi Hendrix : All Along the Watchtower - Well, yeah. I know it's a Dylan song... but Jimi's version is the sh1t!
• Kenny Wayne Shepherd : Blue on Black - and why not? Oh, that's right... we need that drummer thing..
  
• Gram Parsons : 1000 Dollar Wedding - come to think of it, when he wrote it, a thousand dollar wedding was a BIG to-do. Nowadays it gets you a justice of the peace, some finger sammiches, a dj with an iPod, and beer - unless you KNOW people who can give you the hookup.. for real. Weddings are DANG expensive.
• Extreme : More Than Words - hey, the chicks LOVE this song. It's really not THAT difficult a song, so long as you have the vocals for it
  
• Elton John : Funeral For a Friend - did I mention needing a keyboardist?
  
• Led Zeppelin : Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You - of course... who the hell could actually SING it like my man, Robert Plant? Damn. Guess I'll just stick to the Paul Simon and Ben Harper type material
• Led Zeppelin : Immigrant Song - that song always gets the blood pumping. Can't help it. Even I feel like I am descended of Vikings when I hear it.
• Tenacious D : Tribute - I can play it. I can sing Jack's part. I can even do that scat bit in the middle... I just need someone else to play it with so we can do that harmony and the scat thing in the middle of the song - it really makes the song. That, plus drums... and bass... You're getting tired of hearing me bitch and moan about not having a bass player or a drummer by now, aren't you? Well, imagine how tired I am of not having one. What Would Jesus Do without a bass player? He'd bitch about it to... only then he could split the heavens and make one, right? Dammit. Wish I were Jesus. He had 12 dudes backing HIM up... that's like a whole rhythm section PLUS he's got a whole horn section and, hell, a whole choir to do backup vocals for HIM...
  
• Blake Shelton : Rednecks of the Free World ( or something like that) - It's some medley like song someone asked me to learn. That's definitely not the right title... it's a country song. That's why I don't know the title - I usually don't do country...
  
• Sublime : Santeria - no problem. Been bugged by too many people to learn some Sublime... so I might as well learn one, right?
  
• Sublime : other stuff - well if I only had a horn section to go with that bass, percussionist, drummer, and keyboard... man, I'd be SET. And I've really, REALLY been hit up for Sublime... so people like 'em, right?
  
• 311 : Beautiful Disaster - yeah. Again with the drummer thing. Dammit.
  
• Prince : Alphabet Street - my sister, Ant-i, would DEFINITELY appreciate this.
• Prince : Let's Go Crazy - "... dearly beloved... we are gathered here today to get through this thing called LIFE.... electric word life, it means forever and that's a mighty long time, but I'm HERE TO TELL YOU... there's something else.. (keyboard roll) .. the Afterworld... a world of never-ending happines... You can always see the sun... day... or night... so if you call up that shrink in Beverly Hills, you know the one, Dr. Everything'll-Be-All-Right,... instead of asking him how much of you time is left... ask him how much of your mind, baby... Cause in this life, things are much HARDER than in the afterworld... in this life...? You're on your own!!! . . . And if the elevator tries to bring you, go CRAZY. Punch to a higher floor" ... Need I say more?
• Bob Dylan : lots of stuff - people keep asking for it. Who am I to argue with them? Besides, the man could plain f**kin write some lyrics and music.
• Phish : Y.E.M. - If I can play this song at anywhere NEAR the speed Trey does, then I will consider myself to finally be a GOOD guitarist. Until then, I consider myself lucky that I have a decent voice and can play a middling guitar. Yeah, most musicians I know always talk down on their abilities and always talk about this cat or that dude who can "flat out play". We are usually our own worst critics. But I promise to consider myself "GOOD", as opposed to just "DECENT" when I can play this song. Promise.
• Grateful Dead : Sugar Magnolia - always a good song for dancing
• Black Crowes : Remedy - if we only had some "Blackup singers". Hey, I think that's an industry term, so back off...
  
• something by Matchbox 20 - again, it's all for the wimmins...
  
• something by Three Doors Down - "the chicks dig it"
  
• Johnny Cash : Ring of Fire - You just can't do without the Man in Black... albeit I pictured a very, VERY funked up version of this song
• The Gourds : Gin & Juice - A lot of people seem to think Phish did this cover of the Snoop Dogg tune. I'm here to testify to you that, FOR A FACT, it was NOT Phish. It was this not well known group, the Gourds. I have the CD. I won a 100 dollar bet that it was NOT Phish. Well, 100 bucks worth of drinks. Collecting it all was a lot of fun, if messy, and painful in the morning after...
• Doug Powell : Your Mom - comedian out of Baltimore, methinks. Funny cat... always meant to write a 'yo mama' song but he beat me to the punch... and did a find job of it. Click the link and check it out. If you live in the area, go check him out live. Tell him Wop sent you.... he will then look at you and say, "Who the hell is Wop?" as if he doesn't know me.... well, it's cause he really doesn't... whatever. Go check it out. That's a Wopter's orders.
  
• Bloodhound Gang : some song about a Lap Dance or other - dunno the title... I'll ask Kirk
• and, of course, I guess I should really learn to play all the songs I wrote, eh? Well... there are dozens there... dammit.
  

And while we speak, there is RECORDING happening... CD to come within the next few months, we hope... at least a demo version...

Will keep you posted... get it, posted... aw hell.. never mind.
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3.16 update:

• Santana : Smooth - this song is exactly what the title says it is. Santana. That man can "flat out play"
• Santana : Black Magic Woman - suuuure, it's so "done". It's also so very Santana

3.21 update:

• John Prine : not sure which song - but people keep asking for some Prine... there must be something out there, right?
• Rolling Stones : Sympathy For the Devil - we can already hear the arrangement in our minds... unfortunately, it includes a funky bass and a mad percussionist... dammit, can a brother get a rhythm section PLEASE?
• Grateful Dead : Scarlet Begonias - yet another crowd favorite. You can hate the Dead all you want, but some of their stuff is just good.
• The Wallflowers : 6th Avenue Heartache - the same black line that was drawn on you, was drawn on me, and not it's drawn me in... just like this damned song.

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More Abusive Language

Summer, she of the Shizzle, posted this comment on my last entry:

I was wondering how to pronounce the first syllable of wopanese. I was thinking it was like whope...
But, then I have no idea what "wop" means.

Well, thank you very much for playing, Summer. You have given me the topic of the day - that ever elusive question that I KNOW is burning in your minds out there....

WHAT IS A WOP?

Wop is a derogatory term for a person of Italian descent. In fact, while we are it, here is a list of various derogatory nicknames for people of various heritage, and some of their supposed origins:

• Irish : mick - originates from the nature of Irish names, such as McHenry, McDoogle, MacDonald - the Mc/Mac part means "son of".
• Spanish : spic
• Puerto Rican : PR
• Hispanic person from New York : New Yorican
• Mexican : wetback - their backs get wet from swimming across the Rio Grande to get into the US
• Chinese : chinks
• Korean : yohos, wannabe Japs
• Asian people in general : slanteyes, Yellow Horde, chink
• Phillipino : flip, PI (in Hawaii), manung (also from Hawaii)
• French : frog
• German : Kraut - must be from sauerkraut, jerry
  
• Jews : kikes (sp?)
• rich Jewish girls living in the US : JAP's (Jewish American Princess)
  
• Italian : Wop - see below for the various origins
• Other derogary Italian nicknames : dago, d-nose, spaghetti-head, guinea (a personal favorite of mine)
• Japanese : slopehead, Japs
  
• Black : nigger - from negro
• Other derogatory Black terms - (this is a long list) : spook, spoolie, spearchucker, jiggaboo, porchmonkey, darkie, moolie (from Italian)
• Vietnamese : VC, Charlie
• muslin : pull-start - as in the turban - you pull it to start a lawnmower
• Indian : dothead, 7-11 employee of the month, push-start
• Middle Easterner : sand nigger, camel jockey
  
• Native American : Injun, Redskin
• white people : cracker, redneck, honkie (old school!), men who can't dance

The list of the various derogatory names goes on and on - I am sure I am missing several - feel free to throw more in, if you like.

Now, as to the origins of Wop. Let me go into *History Channel mode*

Back in the early 1900's, immigration to the United States was rampant. New York was flooded by people of all sorts and nations coming in search of the now-so-elusive "American Dream". Irish, German, Polish, Italians, and many others, by the thousands. Due to the nature of the Italian government at that time, many Italian immigrants simply got on boats, packed liked sardines, to come over to America... and many, if not most of them, did not have their official immigration paperwork. Because of this, they were given American documents stamped W.O.P. - without official papers - and sent to Ellis Island until they could be properly routed. So there you go. WOP = Without Official Papers.

Speaking of which, Ellis Island has become a memorial of those immigration days - and my family contributed to the Ellis Island fund to have a brick dedicated to my grandfather, who was one of those immigrants who came over on the boat. Not long after the brick was placed for viewing, amongst thousands of others, they went and visited and got a pencil etching of the brick when they located it out of all the many there. It's kind of cool knowing there is a bit of permanence out there attached to your family, although true immortality comes from the spirit, memories, and family, a little edifice with your name on it is kind of sweet, eh?

Now, before you go all uber-liberal on me and tell me how using such derogatory terms is, well, degrading - let me say this - If you cannot laugh at yourself and have other laugh with you, how will we EVER learn to live in peace? If we take everything seriously, how can we ever share a laugh? Stereotypes are not an evil thing in and of themselves - it is when you apply such generalizations to a specific individual that problems happen. Why can't we just all laugh when someone talks about bad Asian women drivers? You've driven behind them... you KNOW what I mean. But my mom doesn't drive that way. Why CAN'T it be funny for black people to eat watermelon? A lot of them do. Is that so bad? Why is it so wrong to say white people can't dance?? It's OBVIOUS it's not true of EVERY white person - Mikhail Barishnikov was white, and he could surely dance. But average joe at the night club is just funny to watch sometimes, no??

If you cannot laugh at these things, then you are more a part of the problem than the solution.

Back to the origins of "Wop"... I was kidding about that WOP story. The true story is somewhat ... dull, to be quite honest - the Immigration story is much better... and funnier. A much smarter man than I, or at least wittier, once said:

"Never let the truth get in the way of a good story."
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Now, Here are a couple of bad Italian jokes:
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Did you hear about the new Italian tires?
(FYI = Dago is pronounced DAY - GO.)
Dago through rain. Dago through snow. Dago through sleet. But when Dago flat, they go "Wop, Wop, Wop".
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Hear that new Italian Helicopter?
It goes "wopwopwopwopwopwopwopwop"
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What sound does an Italian make when you throw him up against the wall?

WOP!
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Thanks! I'll be here all week. Try the veal...
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Me Me Monday #1

1. Most people call me Wop, including close friends, some of whom do not know my REAL name.

It's true. It all started a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.....

( cue the epic John Williams sountrack)

Okay, well... it was a bit more local then that...

It really all started in Hawaii..

( cue the overdone stock cheesy ukulele muzak)

I was an impressionable youth, quiet and shy, never cussing, full of the spirit and faith, a regular chuch-goer, and member of the church youth choir in the tiny planned residential community of Mililani Town. Before I continue, let me reiterate that I was, indeed, quiet and shy. I know that most of you would hardly believe or accept this fact but it was the God's Honest Truth.

Seriously.

I mean it.

In any event, one day I saw my elder brother sporting this cool yellow t-shirt with this sweet surfing design on it, on the back of which were the prophetic words : "Wopanese Make Better Lovers" in big, bold, capital letters... At the time, I didn't know what to make of it - I was young and naive... innocent, even. I didn't know what "a lover" was. I wasn't quite aware of sex at the time - I was 12 then, okay? And in Hawaii, things seem to move at a bit more of a casual pace out there. There is a reason that the term "Hawaiian Time" exists, okay brah?

Now, fast forward a few years into high school. I took to using the nickname "The Wopanese Kid". Of course, where you put the emphasis changed the meaning... as indicated below:

• THE Wopanese Kid - The one and only... which was obviously not entirely true, seeing as how I had three siblings at the time.
  
• The WOPANESE Kid - Putting the emphasis here in order to "confuse the enemy" and pay tribute to my Meditterasian heritage.
  
• The Wopanese Kid - no real emphasis anywhere... my foolish youthful tribute to the rebels of the Wild, Wild West... hey, it worked for Butch and Sundance, right? I mean, all the way up to that little incident with the ENTIRE MEXICAN ARMY.

I even went so far as to have a t-shirt made with that on it. And just so you know, it is pronounced as follows:

• Wop - rhymes with POP. NOT Woe-p or Whoop. Wop. As in I'll "pop" a cap in yo ass if you mispronounce my name. I'm Rick James, bitch!
• a - as in DUH
• nese - exactly like knees... as in the "...the girlies wear their skirts up to their kneeses, and shows us the thing that teases and pleases and gives us diseases, by Jesus..." - or something like that. I don't remember the full toast, but I do know the internet... google rules and sent me HERE where I got this bawdy toast:

Here's to the breezes that blows through the treeses

And lifts the girls skirts up above their kneeses
To show us the things that teases and pleases
And gives us diseases
By Jesus

SCIENTIFIC HYPOTHESIS:
There is something I have noticed about most people: they have a much, MUCH simpler time remembering names of only 1 or 2 syllables. You get to 3 and people oft forget your name. I wonder if any scientific study has been done to show the correlation? In any event, most people, rather than calling me Wopanese, which was far too long and unwieldy for everyday conversation, chose to call me Wop. Wop as a name has several advantages over my real name, a VERY common 3-syllable Italian name

1. Wop is nice, short, sweet, and to the point. This is, of course, completely in contradiction to me, especially the part about being to the point, as if you hadn't noticed...
2. Drunk people love, and I mean LOVE, to say Wop... When I meet people, and they are drunk, and I tell them I go by "Wop", they usually burst out into laughter... and then they say, "Wooooooo-p! Wop wop wop! Dude, that's f**king GREAT!"
3. Wop is EASY to remember
4. Wop is not likely to be anyone else's nickname, especially not if he's Italian. Most northerners, and by that I mean the "Civil War North", as in the Northeastern US. That would be Maryland and north thereof, Ohio and West there of (and maybe Chicago). They know what Wop means - and it's not a nice thing to call an Italian, mmkay? Most everyone else has no clue... unless they know, or have been to, "the North"
5. It's only 1 syllable, unlike my 3 syllable, obviously Italian, real first name. In fact, my whole name is overtly Italian, if Americanized somewhat in spelling... somewhat.

In high school, I never really paid it much attention - everyone knew me as "Wop" and it was easy to get in touch with people. I knew everyone who knew everyone and everyone had everyone else's number and we all knew where our friends lived so it was never really an issue.

And then I went off to college. After a couple of years, I decided to join a fraternity...
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more details tomorrow when I have more time
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Nothing Special To Report

Nothing happened of much note within my localize area so I really have nothing new to write about.

You know, I've read a lot of blogs that have an entry similar to the above. I have to wonder why this happens. I know that we are all thinking something... maybe we just don't feel they are worth writing about, or perhaps, READING about. Lucky for you people, in general, I'll go ahead and write it anyway, simply because, whether or not my crap is worth reading or not.

Which makes me wonder... crap reading. I've heard of reading tea leaves and tossing bones... they seem so unrelated to an individual. Now, phrenology... is that not the reading of the bumps on someone's noggin'? So, if I think the reading sucks... does that mean I can simply go bash my head with a bat to improve my future? That would be a BASEBALL bat - do you take me for some kind of Ozzy wannabe?

That reminds me of days gone by in high school. For some reason, these cats in my classes - a certain group of disreputable cretins (ahh, a chance to use that word!) decided that I looked like Ozzy Osbourne - no, not the barely comprehendible, painpill poppin, semi-invalid near-ex-rocker that he is now - no, that was YEARS AGO, when Ozzy was in his prime partying years - he could do more than hop 3 inches at a show... it was also when he had that incident with the bat.. or live chicken... or something.

Anyways, they decided to call me Ozzy... for months. I don't get it - I didn't really look the part. Well, except for maybe the hair - it was more Ramones than Black Sabbath, but okay - whatever floated their boat, as it were.

Anyway, about bashing my own head with a bat. See, that would produce a different lump structure, right - and in this sad theory, a different reading for my future. Right? Are you with me here? Well, that seems a bit counterproductive, of course... maybe my future will simply be better because, hopefully by then, the headache and skull injury I may have inflicted upon myself will have healed and the pains will go away... right? Likely a self-fulfilling prophecy then, eh?

1. Read lumps
2. Lumps say bad things coming.
3. Bash skull to improve reading
4. Ouch. That hurt.
5. Wait months for skull fractures to heal
6. Gee, that sucked.
7. Viola, the reading was accurate.

So, back to crap reading... and reading crap. I know people keep coming up with new "ways of reading the future" and one has to gather that psychic energy is bound up in the things we keep upon us, right? I mean, moreso than some tea leaves we never touched, or some bones from someone ELSE's relatives tossed by some voodoo priestess... right? So I just wondered if someone does psychic scatography?? I know, I'm not right. That's disgusting.

Yep. It sure is. Then again, I never said I was right in the head, did I? I certainly wouldn't put such a silly label as that upon myself. So with all that in mind...

If bumps on the head can indicate your future, do zits on your face not count? Just curious. Just asking little questions. I mean, what if you had an ingrown hair up there? And why on the skull? Why not on the back area... or the chest? Would this then lead to nipple-reading? They are all different, after all. They vary in size and shape in an astounding number of ways... and some, ooh, have hairs... and some don't... although, I begin to believe that some people actually PLUCK them.

You know, I once dated this... oh, never mind.

So what is the big thing with armpit hair, anyway? I know that modern society, in America especially, frowns upon hair in almost any form on a woman except her head and in her, ooh, nether regions. Shaved legs. Brazilian waxing, wow. That just sounds like a painful proposition, although some people claim it gets a lot easier if you do it more often. Hmmm. I wonder if it would work on me. No, really. Shaved armpits. You know, it's not like I'm going to stuff my face in there and lick... well, okay, MAYBE I would - I'm not going to say as this is not one of THOSE kinds of blogs.

Speaking of which, there is apparently a giant community of THOSE kinds of blogs. I suppose this is just one more extension of erotica into the net - you know, at last estimate, 90% of the traffic across the net is for porn. Maybe it was 95%. It was an astoundingly large number, to be honest. I sometimes wonder at that number until I get home and check out my email. Someone borrowed my pc once (SUUUURE, Wop, SUUUURE!!) and the next thing you know, I'm getting 200+ emails a day from various porn and related sites. Hey, at least I know where I can get some pills to ".. maximize my manhood" so I can ".. satisft ANY woman" and have more "... staying power" and have "... an erection all weekend long"...

You know, I'm not entirely certain that I would WANT an erection for a whole weekend. I mean, aside from the obvious medical risk - bad things can happen when you get a woody for days on end, so I've read - it sure does make getting dressed difficult. Zippers become the enemy. And you can't just wear ANYTHING, unless you don't mind being called "that guy with the boner".

Does anyone else, and by anyone else I mean any other guys, recall getting that unintentional spontaneous erection in school? Sure, they make fun of it in just about ANY show that has teenage males in it, usually in that tired-ass same way - covering it up with the notebook, not wanting to get up in front of the class, etc... Well, someone I know, and I won't admit it to being me, actually got up in class once, hips thrust forward to make SURE it was noticed, to go to the blackboard, proudly displaying the waterworks for all to note... or at least to say, "Here is a tent." But it wasn't me. No, really. It wasn't. (Like I said, I admit to nothing.)

So, there you go... as I stated above, I pretty much have nothing of import to say today. So have a great weekend!

Moncks Corner's Revenge - Part 7c

So I walked into the diner...

The door was in the middle of the long glass wall of the diner. To my right, at the far end of the bar, an elderly couple sat in a booth, sharing some late afternoon chit chat over coffee. They both looked up when I entered and I received a double-barrel glare of "what the hell is this strange Mexican doing in our diner" before they returned to their conversation, now with an apparent new topic. Just to my left sat a pair of women in a booth against the bar, having an animated discussion, most likely the newest gossip about Billy Bob or Bobbie Sue, sitting facing one another. It was evident that at least one of them was a mother, if not both, as there were 3 young children sitting the next booth past them, the youngest, a small girl, perhaps 4 years of age, and the oldest, a boy, not likely more than 7 or 8.

As soon as I set foot through that diner door, that boys eyes locked onto me as if he were a roach and I was a D-Con Roach Motel. He had been animatedly talking until his eyes caught mine... as soon as they did, his mouth simply stopped moving, leaving it somewhat agape, and his eyes grew to the size of tea coasters. I took a quick inventory of myself to make sure nothing was entirely amiss with my outfit.

Pants - on. Check. Polo shirt - unbuttoned but unstained. Check. Shoes - untied but on. Check. Fly - closed. Check.

I had carried my backpack in with me to go over some notes from the job I had just completed and to work on a poem and I casually shifted its heavy weight higher up my shoulder with the standard "toss and shrug" maneuver.

The boys eyes never left me.

I walked calmly past the moms and past the children, my destination being a window booth towards the far end of the diner.

The boys eyes never left me. They blinked once as I walked past him. His head tilted up and he shifted his body and turned around as I continued past him. He turned completely around in the booth to stare at me, his eyes flicked over to look at my long, dark hair, and then back at my face as I proceeded down the aisleway.

His eyes blinked again in disbelief. His mouth was still open in the basic "oh my Gawd" expression.

I turned and tossed my heavy backpack into the booth seat facing the moms and the kids and "Stare" boy. He just kept on a-lookin'.

I then gave him what I will admit to have been an irritated glare at his unbroken staring. It didn't faze him in the least. Nope. He just kept on gawking at me.

And as I started to sidle in to sit down, the boy slowly raised his right hand up, as if to take the oath of office, palm facing me...

and he continued to stare...

and quite seriously, he uttered a single word to me.

"How"
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Moncks Corner's Revenge - Part 7b

The inside of the diner was populated by just a few customers, one waitress, and a cook. There was a long counter where patrons could eat, as well as a number of booths on either side of the counter and a few along the window. The far end of the counter curved and there were a few more booths at that one end. All in all, the layout was none too different from many a Waffle House I have been too, and having been to a few, I would dare say that I am an unfortunate expert in these places.

Waffle Houses are notorious in this area, the South, if for one reason alone - there is almost nowhere else you can go at 2:30 in the morning and get yourself a bite to eat. Not so coincidentally, that is shortly after the time when the typical barfly and lounge lizard have been removed from the premises of their favorite watering holes (aka meat markets) and have suddenly found themselves with nothing better to do... and hunger for some form of consumable materials with which to soak up the various flavors of alcohol that had been ingested earlier in the evening, now morning.

There are OTHER options, to be sure. There's always Denny's. Yes, yes, yes, I can hear the sounds of disagreement on what constitutes food... believe you me, whether or not Denny's counts as a food provider has been a topic of conversation I have had before, with other people, in other places, in distant lands... suffice it to say that they do put a substance upon a platter, serve it to you with dining utensils, and that substance can, indeed, be put upon the end of fork or spoon (or spork, if you stole one from KFC), placed in the mouth, chewed, and swallowed, much like food. But I am not here to debate the theories of what is and is NOT food. That is for people better than I to discuss. Let us simply agree that Denny's CAN, in fact, be used as a replacement for a 2:30am visit to the Waffle House.

There are also various and sundry local establishments, of varying quality, for the drunk and hungry, that are open at that magical hour. In Chesterfield County, there is a place known as the Chesterfield Diner. Let me describe it with one simple word.

NO.

In downtown Richmond, the 3rd Street Diner will serve you food with 'tude, if not flat out rude. Of course, part of that simply may be the natural bearing of the many hottie goth chicks that work there - I'm certain the many nights of experiencing drunks of all types and sizes, from goths to bikers to preps to fraternity boys to businessmen (AND women), have left them with very little to no reason to be kinder than they are. Still, it always makes me wonder how much of the juice on that philly steak is REALLY steak juice. I mean, you KNOW how bad people in restaurants can get you back, right?

Just a block over is 4th Street... and that place, well... the food is great. Really. Sometimes it depends on who is working that night, but overall the food simply tastes better. They also have, flat out, the best fries in all of Richmond - and this is coming from a french fry connoisseur. You can trust me on this one. They simply have the best Boardwalk Fries you can get in town.

Unfortunately for me, I am usually on the other side of the county/city from 4th Street... but I still make the occasional visit to the mecca of edible tubers.

And that's all my time for today... Very soon, you will see what I saw in that diner...
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yes, I do suck terribly, don't I?
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Moncks Corner's Revenge - Part 7a

... now then, where was I?

Ahh, yes. Moncks Corner. Again.

First, let me describe myself in general, for those of you not "in the know". I'm of about average height... whatever THAT means - it seems 6' is average for the USA, but the world average is only 5'8" - I'm guessing 1.2 billion Chinese bring that number down quite a bit all on their own. I am also somewhat stockily built, with broad shoulders. This is good, cause it helps keep me from looking like a barrel. I have a somewhat permanent olive/tan to my skin - inherited from both the ruddy Italian side AND the olive of my Japanese mother. Considering it was late Spring, I had actually gotten some sun, so at the time of this tale, I had a decent tan.

On a side note, I have been blessed (or cursed) with skin that tans readily... and it usually annoys the women I date, who often spend weeks trying to build up a tan that I usually get in the course of an afternoon. A few years ago I went to Bonnaroo with my then fiancee', A**, and one of her best friends, a cool cat named M**, his fiancee', K**, and a couple of M**'s friends. Hey, here's a question: why is the spelling different for male-fiance' or female-fiancee' ?? The damnable French - just have to complicate things, don't they, with their Fronch Fries and Fronch Bread and Fronch Dressing and that Peru mineral water?

Anyway, that Friday was sunny - a practically weather-perfect day, by most accounts. (Which says NOTHING about the weather we had the rest of the weekend... can you say, "Mudslides, Uncle Wop" ?) I took my shirt off so I could catch some rays - having been cooped up for most of winter and Spring in the office had done me no favors, skintone-wise. Well, A** and K** both offered me sunscreen cause they were already getting toasty from the 30 minutes they'd been up and about.... it was a pretty brutal sun, I will admit, but I declined. M*** threw some on and M**'s friends? Well, they definitely needed it, as fair-skinned as they were. They kept offering that sunscreen, warning me I'd burn... for the next several hours. And I went sans shirt and sans sunscreen... and got darker and darker.... They got more and more annoyed the darker I got... and nary a burn. A** got some burn on her shoulders even WITH the sunscreen. She said, and I quote, "You're very annoying." Oh well, sorry, ladies - I don't do it on purpose... I gotta love that set of genes.

Now then, rewinding back to the time of the Moncks Corner torture, I had what I would call a medium-large build. No, really. I hadn't yet had the time to experiment with the thing called GIRTH. Unfortunately, it seems I was a bit TOO successful in THAT experiment in the years since then, for my own personal tastes, at the very least. Suffice it to say that I am now experimenting with this thing called EXERCISE. It's a novel thing. Perhaps I will try to market it out and see if there is a business model that can succeed through this foreign EXERCISE thing... Has anyone out there had any success with this foreign creature?

so black it's blue hair

Anyway, I also had long dark hair at the time, not quite so long as it is now, but still far longer than the average mullet. At this point, it was an ex-mullet that was growing out. And it was unfortunately NOT black-blue - I often wish it were. Not for me, though - I just have really dark brown hair - looks black when it's wet, but it's just brown. Dammit. Yep, only my eldest brother got THAT color...

of course, he also got the curly from the Italian side - it would get so thick that if he let it go too long, his head would be mushroom-shaped.... we sometimes called it the "Atomic Bomb hairdo" or the "Nuclear Explosion Look" - hey, we're children of the Cold War, go figure. I'll take the brown straight hair over the Nuke Look. Lastly, I also have eyes that hint at a foreign parentage, obviously from the mom.

This will all be important at some point, to be sure.

Now, where was I again? Ahh, that's right, I had just opened the doors and stepped in...
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'Scuse the Interruption

Let me be the first one to say that I am not the neatest person in the world. My cube is sometimes (often) a wreck, my basement is in a perpetual state of "I'm still moving stuff around"-ism, and when the laundry hamper is not available... well, let's just say the world IS my hamper. (I AM housebroken and hamper-broken, however - I do use them, you know, when they're there.)

Now, that having been said, let's talk about office restroom etiquette.

Here are some big-time, BIG-TIME no-no's (particularly geared for the small office environment):

1. You do NOT leave the toilet paper roll on there with NO paper on it... and for these purposes, 5 or 10 sheets rolled around the roll in a clever fashion to make it LOOK like there is more paper is NOT acceptable
2. If the paper is almost gone, bring another roll into the john. I mean, come on - in our small office, it's a 50 foot walk to get more paper.
3. Don't piss on the toilet seat. You're not at home. What you do at home with your own bathroom is your OWN business. Here? You're sharing. And for this small office, if we have customers here, how do you think they'll react to a piss-stained toilet seat?
4. Let me reiterate the piss on seat rule. Damn. Lift the freaking toilet seat if you're gonna take a leak.
5. Shit on the seat? You BETTER clean it up - and I don't mean just wipe it off. How about some soap or lysol there, good buddy? And why the hell are you crapping on the seat for, anyway? Were you raised by bears or something? How about you buy some DEPENDS then, eh?
6. If I repeated the piss thing twice, then I DEFINITELY have to repeat the poorly aimed stool thing here. I'm still trying to figure out how that happened... are you trying to do the hover maneuver? Damn.
   
7. Leaving behind an... aroma (and you probably are)? How about using some of that air freshener? And leave the friggin' fan ON - what do you think? The smell just walks away on its own? Well, yes it does - right into the rest of damn office. Thanks. Just what I wanted to SMELL before lunch. Thanks a lot!
   
8. And, really, if you're doing ANYTHING that MIGHT leave a fragrance... do that spray. Regardless of what you may believe, your farts and your crap do NOT smell like "little puffs of lavender". You are NOT a walking Febreze bottle and you were NOT inflated with Glade Air-Freshener on the day you were born. Your ass is as a good a place as any for a StickUp, I don't care WHO you are.
9. If it's a "big-un", please make sure it ALL goes away. Flush twice. Especially if you're putting down more mortar than bricks, okay? And clean it up. I mean, everyone blows out their ASS-GASKET from time to time, but I don't want to have to suffer with you, alright? I can feel bad for you, just don't make me feel bad BECAUSE OF you.
10. Pubes. Great when attached. Funny little name, pubes. Annoying when caught in teeth or the throat. Just plain rude when left on the seat.

Well, I'm sure there are plenty more rules I could throw down there, but these are the ones most prominently in mind - probably because some asshat in this office doesn't seem to understand these basic principles on a regular basis. I mean, it's a simple thing of being considerate.... does this make me an evil "prima donna" for wanting the restroom to at least be presentable and NOT look like the indoor outhouse of a Waffle House at 2:30am (when the drunk crowd has rolled in from all the bars) ??

Is that so much to ask?

Is it?
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