Big Weekend

Big weekend, discovering an inexplicable Light-Up Tiara under my car seat.

Darn joyriders.

Shovel-Ready Throb

Continued From: "Big Weekend," "Meanwhile...," and "It Sucks to Be Mikey" 

After forking over $600 to have our septic tank pumped, I discovered it was not enough money to get the dirt placed back into the hole.

Silly me.

"Okay, I'll do it," I told my wife. And she let me.

I figured I'd save another couple of hundred bucks and, at the same time, tone and glisten the exotic sinewy musculature we all call "Golly!"

My cats were chagrined I didn't cover up the box with my feet, but that would have meant getting onto all fours and violating my 30-year-old sacred oath: "No push-ups."

No. No. Nope. Too close to push-ups for comfort.

Besides, my godsons read these pages.

I'm faithful, young men! Church, more church!

100 Things About Me #183

A Boy of Color 

I made a conscious decision as a teenager that I would not grow up to be The Old Man. You know, the coot who spews on about how life was much better when he was a lad. Cats' pajamas, poodle skirts, salt water taffy, muskets, Buddy Ebsen, and all that junk.

So, I'm not doing it here. I'm being delightfully informational in a happ'nin' gnarly bebop sort of Fizzies Party.

Kids today don't have any idea of what hell is.

Hell is watching "color presentation" logos, like the NBC Peacock below, in front of every television show on a black-and-white set for years and years until Mom sees a need to upgrade to the new technology.

"Michael, color TV? Reds and blues and yellows? You don't need reds and blues and yellows. Have you done your homework? Take out the garbage. Have you done your homework? Eat this orange. It's orange...."

NBC Peacock Logo (1960s) via YouTube
I was monochrome 'til age 16, when we got color and I had begun to gray.

I am scarred.

I'm mooning the peacock and these kids today....


100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next

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Thanks to Yowp

Oh, My, This Is Movie Theatre Employee P*rn!

--And just too exhilaratingly wonderful not to share. 

As you may know, I have worked in motion picture theatres off and on since Kiddie Mike in 1962. I'm also a moviegoer and I DETEST the cretins and jerks that bottom feed their ways into decent audiences conducting themselves all polite and quiet.

The Alamo Drafthouse Cinema in Austin, TX, with the sentiments and video below, has become one of my favorite places on Earth -- and I've never been there.

Take it away, Alamo idols. Kudos!

We do not tolerate people that talk or text in the theater. In fact, before every film, we have several warnings on screen to prevent such happenings. Occasionally, someone doesn't follow the rules, and we do, in fact, kick their asses out of our theater. This video is an actual voicemail from a woman that was kicked out of one of our Austin theaters. Thanks, anonymous woman, for being awesome.

Hang on, explicit language ahead. Here's one of America's bright and classy people working that phone.



"Don't Talk - Angry Voicemail" via YouTube and Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule: "The Alamo Drafthouse's 'Magnited' Campaign Against Movie Theater Morons"

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Emergency Underpants Dispenser

Let's roll! Party in my pants! 

Not going to happen, thanks to the gross neglect of Mr. Claus. Here's your tighty whitey, Tubby.

These underpants are "Safe, Secure."

Yay to that. I wouldn't want anyone cracking my assword. My exit strategy is between me and the veggies.

I also prefer my shorts to be "Sanitary." You know, in case I'm in a wreck or have to moon the Sanitation Dept. I wish I had a nickel....

Actually, I mostly wish the underpants had the current and future centuries embroidered on them.

People ask me, "Mike, instead of the Emergency Underpants Dispenser, wouldn't you like the Underpants in a Can?"

"No. That would be redundant."

And then people go on to ask, "Mike, how about you fashion accessorizing with an Emergency Underpants Guy hat?"

"Not if it means I must complement the look with a red bow tie weave in my luxurious chest pelt."

And then people continue their interviews, "Mike, you take issue with the Emergency Underpants Dispenser slogan, 'Just Grab & Go!'"

"Yes. Obviously, the actions are reversed -- unless these underpants are marketed for dyslexics. Write this down:

1. Go.
2. Grab.

Dyslexic or otherwise, one size supposedly fits all, which might include me (I shall check the carry-on regulations), but beware of the misleading instruction. Be springtime fresh, people, and, of course, summertime, falltime, and wintertime will follow in the U.S. and its territories. Not applicable in Butte, MT.

Bottom Line

What I'd really cherish about the Emergency Underpants are the form-fitting cartoon shimmers embracing and enhancing my butt, outcroppings, and tributary.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Big Time Pimp Clock

And another thing Santa Clueless bungled and did not deliver, the Big Time Pimp Clock.

Oh, I got one of them, but not the other. Where's my Big Time Pimp Daylight Saving Clock?

This Instant Big Daddy and formerly Punctual Pimp is upset -- and will be down wit' my bad self in an hour.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Wack-O-Wax Wax Fangs & Wack-O-Wax Wax Lips

And another thing the North Pole nincompoop neglected to gift me, the Wack-O-Wax Wax Fangs, not to mention the Wack-O-Wax Wax Lips. Okay, I'll mention 'em: The Wack-O-Wax Wax Lips.

To add insult to injury, Santa did bestow upon me the unrequested off-brand Wax Uvula and the unrequested off-brand Wax Goiter.

Useless.

Clean the wax out of your ears, old man!

Well, mostly useless.

Big Weekend

Big weekend, watching the all-dancing, all-recycled-worn-out-moldy-oldies Broadway review, "Burn the Floor," or, as I like to call it, "Mambo Mia."

Curtain rises. First glimpse: a disco ball.

First reaction: Leap to my feet, "Taxi!!!"

Two hours of sweaty, herky-jerky, half-naked spunky-funky trying to convince me they are The Chosen Hipsters. That's a show; accept this $66.40.

Can someone confirm I'm not delirious? I've had no Tainted Hollandaise Smoothies. Just some Season Tickets Hell.

And nail your shoes to the floor. I'm in no mood to squint footwork.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Shiny Nativity Set

And another thing the festive failing fatso neglected to deliver, authentic porcelain Nativity figurines, including Wise Man Larry.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Hippie Generation Kit

And another thing Short Attention Spanta did not present me: the Hippie Generation Kit.

I begged him. Hippie me! I am desperate to make amends for lost time. I was lousy at turning on and tuning out in the '60s. I failed at flower child. I could never quite grasp the movement. I'm still trying to charbroil pot and I've practically given up memorizing the lyrics to "Bridget Over Troubled Walter."

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Hug-a-Pug Bingo

And another thing waddly old St. Nick failed to put under my Christmas tree, the coveted Hug-a-Pug Bingo set.

I love being the Master of Ceremonies for an exciting game of Bingo. Oh, how I ache to call out: "Under the Shih Tzu, 2."

Why Does Everyone Go Out of His or Her Way to Meddle in My Sex Life?

I know how to do it!

And it's not a button!

It's more like a thimble--

Oh. 

You meant the doorknob.

Hmm.

That ... is ... embarrassing.

Yep.

All this for nothing.

Could you get my thumbs out of my jammies' cord knot?...

Bad Day

I will spare you the details. 

Today was a miserable day. 

Epic. 

Brutal. 

Mercy. 

I'm not usually depressed to the point of immobility, but there are troublesome obstacles I will never overcome.

This evening, I had to get out of the house.

I crawled to the car and scratched off towards town.

Driving wildly into the darkness, I lowered the window, and shouted over the wind and oncoming traffic.

I heard myself scream, "Lord! Help me! What must I do? Help me! How can I go on? Give me a sign!"

I feel better.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Anti Monkey Butt and Lady Anti Monkey Butt

What respectable household would not welcome the enticement of guests with an assortment of Anti Monkey Butt powders adorning the, here you go, powder room counter top, or colorful mealtime centerpiece?

Well, it ain't happening at our home, thanks to Mr. S. Claus, and, boy, is my butt chapped about it, too.

Ideal for butt busting activities such as truck driving, motorcycling, bicycling, horse back riding, and extreme sports. May also be applied inside footwear, under sports pads, and other areas prone to chafing. Indoors or outdoors, work or play, or on occasions when you sit on your butt all day, don’t let your buns get red, use Anti Monkey Butt Powder instead!

That passage of "The Gospel According to Anti Monkey Butt" may have been translated from "The Bible." I'm not sure. My childhood Sunday School was lacking. We did talk about leper butt and locust butt, I recall, and, "Don't forget the Wednesday night Spaghetti Suppers, featuring Sopping Red Sauce Stains on Palestine Toast."

I had intended to present my wife with the Lady Anti Monkey Butt, of course, as Christmas is also for us romantics.

Say Good-bye to Chafed Thighs! Lady Anti Monkey Butt Powder is specially formulated with patented satiny smooth powder to minimize the frictional discomfort that women often experience...

Great, Santa, great, you chimp.

We're in the pink, not!

Gah, rump, um, plum plum,

We and our bums.

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Mr. Moo Nacho Cheese Sauce

I guess I shouldn't complain that Santa stiffed me on the sauce. I don't eat dairy products, so I am Mr. Moot.

Was that a crummy pun?

It's the cheesiest!

Gifts Senior Moment Santa Forgot to Bring Me: Attitude Bracelets

Here it is, February, and I'm still waiting for addled Claus to remember to FedEx the presents he failed to bestow my way on a certain recent holiday morn.

I tell you. I'm getting too old to traipse all over this country, visiting strange cities, just to lounge repeatedly in the jolly ol' soul's presence in order to relay my well-researched, impeccably typed, creatively alphabetized, and fruitcake-scented wish lists -- and then he doesn't deliver.

A dozen shopping mall Toylands and Cinnabons on Black Friday alone.

All I got was lap lag.

And a Peoria elfin hat to accessorize my magical quality or charm.

I had requested and coveted some attitude bracelets, the sports type that read, "YAY, TEAM!" or "GO FOR IT!" or "EAT THEIR YOUNG!"

I'm thinking, this year, I'll go buy bracelets more practical, like "SANTA, YOU SCROOGE, DON'T FORGET THE KID IN GEORGIA!" or "'T.P.' THE REINDEER ANTLERS!" or "NICK, NICE OUTFIT (SINCE THE 19TH CENTURY)!" or "I'M DOWN HERE! MIKE MARKS THE SPOT, YOU MISERABLE MIRTHFUL TWIT!"

And may I be the first to extend to you, dear reader, and yours, and up to five of theirs, heartfelt tidings for the happiest of holiday seasons.

The Wrong and the Ugly

It's the Strand Theatre in Marietta, GA, which underwent a multi-million dollar renovation several years ago. Actress Joanne Woodward spent much of her childhood watching movies inside the Strand.

All of those funds to restore the facility to a nice venue, yet the management chooses to offer their motion picture presentations from blown-up and blurry home-quality DVDs, according to several disgruntled customers. I refuse to go there. I won't tolerate or reward such a flagrant lack of professionalism. There are minimum movie industry standards and this place doesn't make the cut, nor, apparently, the effort.

The Strand has also developed a reputation for projecting widescreen shows with severely cropped pictures. Large pieces of the puzzles are missing! The full width is important.

My friend Randy attended "Jaws." He was sickened by the essentially straight-down-the-middle DVD he was tricked into viewing. In that particular situation, approximately 40% of the Panavision cinematography was deleted from the combined left and right sides of the image.

Randy knew it was bad when the shark jumped out of the ocean and Roy Scheider said, "We're gonna need a bigger screen."

Recently, we had dinner near the, ahem, showplace. As we headed to our cars, Randy and I looked over at the Strand marquee to see advertised, the expansive panoramic beauty, "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly."

We knew what that meant. Randy turned and faced me.

In unison, we said, "The Bad!"

Big Weekend

Big weekend, spotting this flyer and resisting the power of suggestion.

My sentiments exactly.

The Hurt Looker

I have been watching the news coverage concerning the winner of this year's best picture Oscar, "The Hurt Locker." It seems the soldier, who was the inspiration for the project, received no compensation or credit for his real-life story.

I know the feeling....

Thoughts During 'The 101 Dalmatians Musical'

• Saw spots in the first act, when I realized this production is not based on the Disney classic, as we had been led to believe.
  
  
• Saw spots when there was no "Cruella De Vil" song, as featured in the Disney classic.
  
  
• Saw spots when the human characters were different than in the Disney classic.
  
  
• Saw spots when the dogs have different love interests than in the Disney classic.
  
  
• Saw spots when the puppies never watch television and don't see the Kanine Krunchies commercial from the Disney classic.
  
  
• Saw spots when the untethered tot, allegedly seated next to me, was allowed to roam and fidget during the not Disney classic.
  
  
• Saw spots when I hollered up to Ms. De Vil to grab this little girl to make one of her coats. Cruella declined due to the lack of spots on the brat.
  
  
• ...Saw spots when I realized I had forgotten my Sharpie pen.

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