Creator Says, 'Hey!'

And the Lord said, "Apostrophe. Maybe some quotation marks, and, I thinketh, one of those li'l dot jobs on the end."


Courage: 1532, 'Mommy': 2009

MARIETTA, GA -- We saw Theatre in the Square's "gripping recounting of Sir Thomas More’s moral struggle to obey his conscience," "A Man for All Seasons."

This exemplary, unwavering gentleman proved without a trace of uncertainty that I am, by comparison, "A Man for Only About an Hour or Two on Occasional August 19ths if There's a Nice Breeze and the Relative Humidity Falls Well Under 35% and There Is No Hulking Meany Burpin' Tuna Fish Fumes Into My Nose While Thumb-Twisting My Earlobes for My Lunch Money and I Remembered to Stock a Goodly Supply of Bactine and a Band-Aid With a Hello Kitty on It and the Light Is Left On So I Can See When I Come Out From Under the Covers and, First, I'll Need a Drink of Water and a Snack Pudding: Chocolate."

In Color.


Egg Shaped Chalk

Wow! Seeing these brought back the memories.

Mike: Mommy! Can I? Can I?!

Mother: Michael, no. I am not buying those. You do not need them. We've got kidney stones at home.


More Madvertising

Continued From: "Madvertising"

The Google Adsense computers, which select many of the advertisements on this blog, work in miraculous ways. What they do is visit my articles and decide what to publish alongside by carefully analyzing the content.

When I've written about movie theatres, I've seen contextual blurbs for popcorn machines. When I mention my cat, there will often be pet product ads. Those types of placements.

Here's a screen shot taken on St. Patrick's Day:

The featured confession, "One Night Only! The Mike Durrett Dancers!" It was an innocent event, where I performed traditional Irish stepping, backed by some talented local gals, lovely personalities, and my clones, Lester and Connie.

The adjacent ad:

Et tu, Google?



The selection of specific advertisements served to this site by Google are beyond my control. I am as surprised as anyone by the items I see displayed on these pages. Here is a screen shot of yesterday's post:

What is this?

"Boy Dress"?! JC Penney is selling boy dresses?

What is going on, America? Are our children coming out of the catalog?

Sheesh. That's changin' we can bedazzlin'.

And "Solid Black Men" Suits?!!

I guess Wimpy Fo Shizzle White Guys need not inseam measure.



Follow Mike on Twitter

My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

I woke up to my cat meowing that song, "Let's Go Fly a Kite." I gave him the ball of string and he shut up.

News Item: "Woman blames DWI on liqueur chocolates." Well, OK, if we can blame pirating on Jolly Rogers & hiding divorce assets on Cadbury.

I missed an episode of THE OFFICE due to a TiVo mishap, but just made good, watching it online. I wish making up for lost lunch was so easy.

I've taken to watching THE OFFICE while working at my desk. The camaraderie has been a real morale booster for my stapler and gel pens.

News Item: "Banks with a high 'misery index.'" That's absolutely true. The lollipops atop the teller counters suck.

I touched on this in my blog, how seeing half a pie 4 sale disturbs me. It's like buying a sandwich with a bite out of it.

What I luv about Twitter: I just learned @TinaFey is presently eating Famous Amos cookies, while I'm eating grits. We're soul food mates!

News Item: "Baby boy born with two penises." He's got it coming and going.

I found surprising gunk in a coffee mug this morning, causing an epiphany. My country life is decidedly less gunky than in The Big City.

I'm sitting here with my pal Rob, showing him all about Twitter. Rob & I were in the first grade together, back when we tottered & tittered.

My wife has put her foot down. She will not let me become a teenage mom. I never have no fun.

News Item: "Jail considers making inmates pay for toilet paper." Currently, crime doesn't pay.

...Please don't squeeze the warden.

Reading a claim: "Eighty percent of married men cheat in America." I am such a slacker. I should try to do worse.

News Item: "Star Trek Cologne Boldly Smells Like Nothing Has Smelled Before." I hope that means it doesn't smell like Shat.

Follow Mike on Twitter
Follow Me on Twitter

Twitter Birds by SpoonGraphics


100 Things About Me #168

Birthday Boy Debut
Today is the anniversary of my arrival on your planet, popping out with an introductory "TA-DA!"

And, amazingly, exactly one year to the day later, my mother arsoned a cake in my honor.

(I'll have you know, I can still squeeze into this chair.)

"Garçon! ... Bosco!"

100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next


One Night Only! The Mike Durrett Dancers!

Production Assistance by JibJab

I can't believe I let Lester talk me into this. He yearns for me to be on "Dancing With the Stars," something I absolutely refuse to consider. I have no desire to trip over Leeza Gibbons' feet.

"She seems very nice," I said. "I'd split a sammich with her, but no bolero-mambos."

"What about St. Paddy's Day with The Mike Durrett Dancers?" Lester asked.

"There are no Mike Durrett Dancers, guy. I set 'em free after the fair."

"Oh, Connie and me can do it," he begged, "and we'll slip some cheeseburgers to a couple of homely girls down at the Sonic."

"Yeah, you do that, Lester," I said dismissively.

The next thing I knew I was before the cameras this evening, dancing a jig on our local public access television station. We were on after the religious ventriloquist, us doing the warm-up for the elderly lacing footballs.

The musical clip posted above is the result. I'm the man in black. Lester and Connie, my clones, are in the line. I refuse to single them out because, frankly, they embarrass me.

What you see is my luck, the luck of the partially Irish. Now, I've got some more exhaling to do....



Follow Mike on Twitter

My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

We're now on Daylight Saving Time and I find out Bernie Madoff swiped my clocks.

@luckyshirt sez: "Daylight Saving Time! THE ROAST OF LARRY THE CABLE GUY moves forward an hour." Correction: sometime between noon & 10pm.

I've been disappointed with MARMADUKE for 50 yrs. and now there's a movie coming? I'm already not queuing up. Bad dog. Big dog.

I'm bringing in the stray cat I feed because of 11 degree chill & I need someone to try out jokes on. Cruelty? How dare you?

News Item: "Waffle House Invites Customers To Get 'Scattered, Smothered, Covered' In Romance." Oh. That explains their mens rooms.

I was up to 4AM, writing. It's so swell to be able to lose sleep, health, money, self-respect, and dignity all at the same time!

I've always felt the perks of the writing life are the commute from the bed to my desk and, of course, the underwear thang.

Went to a play, SECRETS OF A SOCCER MOM, where these women yelled at brats playing ball offstage. I missed the goal, skinned my knees.

Watching Abbott and Costello IN THE NAVY. These guys should not be sent to the Persian Gulf.

I may change doctors. At my blood test today, there was a pop quiz on oxygenation. I took a deep breath and was accused of cheating.

Follow Mike on Twitter
Follow Me on Twitter

Twitter Birds by SpoonGraphics


From Olivia, Forward to the Past

Epilogue to: "Don't Stop Believin'"

After the fourth costume change of Olivia Newton-John's concert, Donna turned to me and said, "Stop. Sit!"

I sat, stuck in the blue denim long-sleeves and khakis for the remainder of the evening.

And I was going to wear pleather.

Following the show, I collected my discarded brown shoes, assorted tux shirts, striped pants, and "Xanadu" skates from beneath our chairs on row DD.

I located the cummerbund and one argyle sock back on row LL, proud I must have some impressive swing.

I did glimpse a mezzanine usher parading about in my sparkly bow tie, but I said nothing. He'd only want to know how to make it spin.

Cramming the last pocket square and cowboy hat into my "Totally Hot" duffel bag, Donna remarked, "You know, we have tickets for these very same seats to see Brian Regan."

"What? You are kidding me."

"No," she said, "I compared the numbers at the house. We'll be parked right here in three weeks."

"How about that," I adlibbed. I, too, can be remarkable. "We ought to do something."

"What do you mean?"

"Um, we could leave a note from the Mike and Donna of today for the Mike and Donna of the future!"

"Of ... the ... future. That would blow their minds! We could tape the note underneath," she plotted. "Do you think they would look under these seats?"

"You know me and gum."

"Let's do it," Donna said, digging through her purse for a pen and paper. "What should we write?"

"I got it. How 'bout: 'HEY, DURRETTS! YOU SUCK!'"

Donna squealed with glee, then, "Perfect!" She scribbled away, using my shoulder as a desk.

"Don't sign it. Keep us guessing."

"LOL!" she laughed out loud.

I rolled around on the floor, assed off, bumped into the elusive argyle, taped up the note, rolled out to the car, and drove home.


Don't Stop Believin'

I've been floating on air since seeing Olivia Newton-John in concert last night. There I sat, nine rows back from the stage and my celebrity girlfriend of some 35 years. It was our anniversary!

Sure, my wife, Donna, a sporting, brave lass, knows about our special love, although I am still waiting for Olivia to get back to me on that. Since the songbird lady was married recently, I may have to be patient until after all their Thank You notes go out.

I am not particularly mellow, no. Never have been.

I've watched and heard Olivia sing five times around Atlanta: the new Cobb Energy Centre on Tuesday, three summer nights in the Chastain Park Amphitheatre, and the 1981 spectacular at the Omni arena. That was the "Let's Get Physical" event.

I still possess my "World Tour" collector's t-shirt. I considered wearing it to yesterday's show, pulling the garment out of the closet to discover someone had altered the text to "Let's Get Geritol."

I shall interrogate Donna. When I get the nerve.

I'd better go take my supplements.


One Singular Summation

I made my way to an Atlanta performance of the national tour of "A Chorus Line," thrilled it was too, too hot outside for the obligatory leg warmers and arm warmers over sleeveless muscle man blouse.

If I may be so bold to speak for her, I believe my wife was thrilled for me, also.

I love this musical. I've seen it three or four times over the decades. There is little more impressive in the show business than intricate synchronized dancing (and the young Barbi Twins -- and Speedy Alka-Seltzer taking a sitz bath).

This production is such an athletic workout I pulled a hamstring watching.

(I don't care for the film version of "A Chorus Line." The boneheads cut away from the production numbers to offstage drama. Sheesh. What makes the spectacle soar is the dancing, not finding something for Michael Douglas to do.)

My favorite songs are "What I Did for Love," "One," and that curvy cutie boasting of her store-bought "tits and ass."

After the curtain call, we shopped at the memorabilia counter in the lobby. Donna considered the t-shirts, coffee mug, and recordings. I said, "I'd like to buy some tits and ass."

I hope to get out of the slammer in time to go to a concert on Tuesday night.

Yes, I'm the artsy-fartsy type. I do enjoy broccoli and a show.

We have an audience with Olivia Newton-John. She wants me to let her hear my body talk, my body talk, she wants to hear my body talk--

Donna just told it to shut up.


100 Things About Me #167

Why Why Missed American Pie?

Whenever I see half a pie for sale, I wonder what exactly is going on back there in the Break Room?

100 Things: #1 | Previous | Next


Hair: The Michael

Tuesday was Haircut Day for Mikey, but I got a wake-up call, informing me all appointments had been canceled: Grow Day.

Instead, I had lunch with a lifelong friend, who asked me, "Do you color your hair?"

I was taken aback. "Who in the world colors his head gray?" I sputtered. "If I were to color my hair, I sure wouldn't be gray. Obviously, I'd go with my natural brown or paisley."

I'm burrowing into a cap.

When I was a toddler, my hair was blonde for a few years, but went away after the cease and desist order from Little Miss Sunbeam. D'oh!

About a year ago, my wife and I attended a very nice wedding in another state. At the sit-down dinner, I became unnerved when I noticed a stranger staring at me from across the large table. She didn't smile or avert her eyes, although I repeatedly gazed her way to determine if I might be undergoing a voodoo trance. I gathered chicken bones for a necklace and placed a garlic butter pat in each pocket.

Later, when I meandered off (without lurching helter-skelter to ritual drumbeats and a rogue raven pecking my cataract), this woman approached Donna, fawning over my "movie star hair." Those were the stalker's words. She was transfixed by my thatch and had corralled other women to gawk at the nattily-attired follicles.

Me, movie star hair? Yeah? Who?

Rogaine Flipper?

Anyway, today was Haircut Make-Good Day and my elongated grays got sheared back to Hollywood standards. There was no bloodshed. The auditor certified I walked away with two ears, both mine.

I'm pictured above several hours afterwards, windblown, and, apparently, inflated by a bicycle pump.

The grooming session did take longer than I anticipated. There was a make-good 'poo. Make-good rinse. Make-good repeat. Followed by 'poo. Rinse. Repeat.

Personally, I prefer to sport my hair longer, but I'm told my current trimmed tresses are 21st-century ready. I don't know about that. I fear the short length accents my movie star jowls.

Yeah. Who?

Sammy the Way-Out Seal.

And on weekends: Droopy.



Follow Mike on Twitter

My Recent Confessions and Observations on Twitter, Where Everything Must Be Said in 140 Characters or Less

Been outside with the cat, playing Slumdog Little Ball With a Bell in It.

My pal ran the follow spotlight on Robin Williams at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta last night. 30 years & counting, I'm still chasing Mindy.

Next, "RT" means "ReTweet" (i.e. quotation). In this case, I shared and commented on something atomcomedy wrote...

@atomcomedy RT: "Having never watched THE BACHELOR, I am somehow still riveted by just what a douche that Jason guy is." FRI. THE 13th, too!

Producers of Sarah Silverman's sitcom: "Concerned they won't be able to maintain the integrity of the show." LOL, integrity!

Going around: The Octo-Mom Breakfast at IHOP: It's 14 eggs, no sausage, and the guy next to you pays for it.

Got a follow-up on my medical physical last month and all appeared well. Especially the wallet photos.

"Woman's 38KKK breast implants have a gallon of silicone." Not a bigot, just big 'uns. Welcome to Silicone Valley. http://snurl.com/bdd6x

I'm not buying anything like hotcakes today. But, I am taking the garbage to the dump like hotcakes and later I'll be napping like hotcakes.

Finished napping like hotcakes. Grateful I didn't snore like garden omelets.

I'm back from a five-hour long distance trip to have a sandwich with my wife. Yes, it was romantic. I got to hold her mayo.

Follow Mike on Twitter
Follow Me on Twitter

Twitter Birds by SpoonGraphics


Meats for My Sweet

This is the lovely candy aisle at our Walmart. The entire corridor, both sides from one end to the other, is devoted to candy (and support beams). The whole aisle is candy, except...

This section, sandwiched between candy and candy, is stocked with beef jerky and bottled sausages (not shown due to just full out nastiness, blech).

Since when are dried and pickled spare meats candy?

Maybe beef jerky sticks are redneck Twizzlers?

"Uh, darlin', we gots any more Swee' Tarts 'n gristle? How 'bouts Milk Duds 'n cud?"

"Ah'm gonna gnaw on this here mystery bull strip taint, then ah'm comin' after you, Sugar Boobs. Wear the rope belt."


A Jury of Peers

Continued From: "I, the Jury," "Justice (Some Assembly Required)," "Contempt of Court," "Jaw and Order: The Man With the X-ray Thighs," and "Juror Prudent"

My obligations to my community and to my country have been fulfilled, alongside noble citizens.

The dramatic life of a criminal court juror (an abridgment) follows.

Monday: Meh. Nothing to do, dismissed early.

Meh redux. Nothing to do, dismissed earlier.

Wednesday: Nothing to do, dismissed early Tuesday evening. I went to the courthouse anyway, so Security wouldn't be lonely. Forgot s'mores.

Nothing to do, dismissed early forever with thanks for all we accomplished.

For the record, here is our only accomplishment:

Jury Doodie


Juror Prudent

Continued From: "I, the Jury," "Justice (Some Assembly Required)," "Contempt of Court," and "Jaw and Order: The Man With the X-ray Thighs"

Chit-chatting the security guards at the courthouse is neighborly wholesome fellowship. And they like it. They're hanging out in a lobby all day, all life for goodness sakes.

"Sir, put your personal belongings into the tray" never ceases to be the greeting remark upon my stepping up to the border checkpoint, like on Wednesday.

"Is that Juarez on that side?" I asked the cop.

"No, sir, that's Beverly from the Tag Office."

"Which way is Mexico? I need some fun in Acapulco."

"Sir, empty your pockets, please."

I handed over my keys and change, looking hither, commenting rapidly, "Where are the passion fruit chunk sangrias with the festive teeniny umbrellas? Could I get a high stool with a back cushion in the shape of a heart? Near the window? Away from the spycams?"


I flashed my wallet.

"You don't mind I have shots of underage Cabbage Patch Kids frolicking in Vinaigrette, do you? I can get you tadpole Polaroids for your pretend squad car with the golf club holders and fringe on top--"

"Sir, put that envelope in the tray."

I'd brought it along to share with the gent x-raying my stuff. Inside were my x-rays -- chest and bicuspids.

I leaned over to whisper to him. "I'll need a prescription for salves and Extra Strength Dentyne. Can you fax the pharmacy or should I meet you behind the Blimpies? Grease spot near your Gremlin, sixish?"

"Sir, I need you to push the tray into the machine."

"Certainly, but from you I'm gonna need a baggage claim slip."


"Can we get a bellhop over here? How 'bout some more chips?"


"Oh, don't forget this," I added, rolling my big ball of lint onto the conveyor belt. "Keep it. I'm giving it up for Lent."

"Sir, walk this way."

"It's the American way. Don't be too free with your hands. I'm ticklish. The password is "swordfish." Thank you for your service. Can you check the oil and tires and bring my car around front? There may be a shiny quarter in it for you. Is it okay to feed the heroin mules? What about rides around the holding pen? Would there be a marijuana pony? I'm going to have to ask to see your green card...."
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...