These shoes are made for walking...

Tuesday during my routine visit to Best Buy for the week's recent releases, I spotted these high heels in the parking lot. Normally I do not play the part of a pervert by aiming my cell phone camera to capture images but this was different: Not because I was attracted or enjoyed her legs---so far from the case. This woman obviously strapped on those high heels for the first time that Tuesday morning.

Stolling from her car to the entrance door, she stumbled and buckled like Bambi the first time he and Thumper discovered the frozen pond. My ankle instantly began swelling with every agonizing step delivered towards the entry way. She was probably mid-40s and six foot. The balancing act however made her appear ten feet tall and age 12. I was astonished to say the least.

In conclusion, high heels are a wonderful addition to an outfit only if a balancing pole is not required.

I am uncertain what became of Miss High Heels following this photo. While exiting however I do recall an overhead announcement---"Clean up toppled display cases on aisle 9...10, 11,12."

Hmmm...I wonder if her name was 'Bambi'?

Christmas in April

Today is April 26th.  This is my good friend Jeff.  This is Jeff's Christmas tree.  This is Jeff taking down his Christmas tree on April 26th.

Congrats on your new house, Jeff.

Move Over Nyquil

Today I made another great discovery in modern medicine---Aleve Cold & Sinus.

Suffering from the joys of West Texas seasonal allergies, I may have found my new best friend for this upcoming summer. I took a tablet an hour ago. All the snot and pressure is completely gone.

Now...if medical researchers can combine both NyQuil and Aleve, there would be no pain and suffering in the world. Get with it scientist people!

Remember when Barbie was a big deal?

Last week, I watched a movie called "Lars and the Real Girl".  Great flick starring Ryan Gosling.  If you haven't seen or heard of it, check it.  Very interesting concept.  Basically, it is the story of a man who has a serious relationship with a RealDoll, treating "her" like an actual person and his companion.  Now, I'd forgotten about RealDolls over the years.  I'd initially heard about them through HBO's "Real Sex".  Reading that sentence, if you didn't know what a RealDoll was, well, you have a pretty good idea now; and you're seriously thinking about renting "Lars and the Real Girl" this weekend.  

Real Dolls are state-of-the-art life-size dolls with durable, poseable skeleton and silicon flesh designed to recreate the female form.  Clients have the dolls created to their personal specifications and desires.  Extremely creepy.  

But it gets creepier.  Check this out:

People never cease to amaze me.

Expired

This photo was taken Sunday, April 20, 2008.

More about this later.

Paid Service

Curbside peddlers and transients I do not fully trust.  

I wonder if money donated will be used for good, like a decent two dollar meal; or, if the money will go towards drugs, alcohol or even pornography.  For the latter reason, I no longer hand out money.  But I feel bad.  

The solution: When approached for money, I request the individual perform a five minute dance routine or magic trick.  Now, I am paying for a service.  

Any money earned is no longer a concern of mine and I've taught someone a very important lesson.

Shakin' Those Haters Off

I feel like I have the flu.

Yesterday some bug hit me around 3PM. My stomach knotted; I had
chills; and my body was drained. I put my head down on my desk. Two
hours later I was at home in bed. Exhausted.

I hate being sick. Especially in spring or summer. Especially when it
feels like the flu. Especially when it forces me to bed early.

NyQuil is greatness. I am convinced if taken in its earliest stages, I
am almost certain, NyQuil could probably halt the AIDs virus. Maybe
Magic Johnson took it. Any time I feel any symptoms of ill trouble, my
immediate reaction is to grab the NyQuil. Last night was no different.
Today the chills and aches have subsided. I'm just tired. Ughhh...

Thanks, NyQuil!

Tonight I plan to spend another evening in bed. I feel much better.
Plus nothing beats a NyQuil dream. Gives me something to blog about.
Speaking of, why did one of my friends Scott Lewis turn into Neil
Patrick Harris in last night's dreams?

sent from patrick's iPhone

Defrag.

Residing within my hard drive I have a folder I've cleverly named "Mail Junk". Its contents are photos and videos I have downloaded from various email forwards from family and friends. Keeping items in this folder helps to later locate and discard which I do every 4 months or so. Today however I cannot recall the last time I deleted the junk. Perhaps explaining my poor computer performance as of late. Sadly, cleaning never seems to help does it? Seems like once you litter your system with AOL, junk mail forwards and personal photos, the computer always moves a little slower than those first months you got it. Hmmm...maybe because this is a PC. Man, I sound a bit snobbish now that I own Macs which are superior machines by the way. But I digress...

Continuing, cleaning provides another chuckle or two while browsing over the photos and videos. Before ridding them off my hard drive, I will share some with you. Hopefully, I can explain each and make this into a delightful blog entry---but don't hold your breath; there are never any guarantees with my writing. Be warned: Some items may be explicit as guys do tend to forward items about boobies. We're guys. We can't help it. Boobies are fascinating.

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1. Anyone with an e-ddress and at least one friend has received a joke featuring a notorious young character known as Little Johnny. It is a bona fide fact that every 15 seconds someone receives a "Little Johnny" joke. Amazing. Truly amazing. Directly to the left is one, I believe, I received 184 different times over a period of two months. Generally, the jokes are not accompanied with a photo. Obviously this marks a special edition of some sorts. Perhaps the gazillion time it was forwarded that first morning . Whoever started the "Little Johnny" phenomenon is laughing his ass off to the bank these days (maybe he struck some type of deal with royalties or even the McDonalds). I wonder how he started? Was there really a Little Johnny? Was he perhaps the child's father or distant relative?

Here is my theory on these infamous Little Johnny stories:

Back in the 50's, a teacher talked her spouse into attending her annual Christmas party for work. We will call them Fred and Helen for the sake of the story. Reluctantly Fred agrees simply to avoid spending the holidays being bitched at for "not caring about someone's feelings" and "being a selfish son-of-a-bitch". During said Christmas party, Helen hits the sauce a little too hard with her teacher friends, including the sexy, full-figured music teacher who as the rumors had it knows her way around the men's locker room quite well. Unfortunately for Fred, the Christmas party turns into a post-party gathering at a nearby tavern where he finds himself in the company of several intoxicated teachers, including the music instructor, which is definite proof his dear Helen is three sheets to the wind because she had spent many nights complaining and spreading rumors about the buxom songstress.

One drink leads to another and poor Fred is bored out of his everloving mind. His only saving grace is entertaining himself with a list he has secretly penciled on a bar napkin; it consists of special "favors" he believes he deserves for sitting through this hellish evening. Occasionally Helen glances at him prompting the list immediately into hiding. Knowing his wife, the list is purely fantasy, but jotting it down certainly is entertaining. Sixty minutes later, he is exhausted from hearing the intoxicated rants regarding school board politics, text books and daily lesson plans. The only thing keeping him from sitting outside in the car blazing a pack of smokes is watching Little Miss Music's exposed nipple peakaboo out of her tight blouse every time she giggles.

Eventually, the conversation turns from school curriculum to more confidential matters: the student body. Oh brother, thought Fred, until the discussion spotlights one particular student, a troubled third grade boy named Johnny Tucker. Still second guessing his decision to wait in the car, Fred overhears the words 'fuck' and 'vagina' coming from Miss Exposed Nipple and springs to immediate attention as if he'd been poked with a branding iron. Better yet, Helen is hysterically laughing and sharing her own Little Johnny stories. Four letter words and body parts included as well. This is a side of Helen that Fred hasn't seen since their second year of dating---October 18, 1956 to be precise. She is a bit of a prude, even blushes at the word 'pee pee'. Fred listens to every word pouring from his wife's mouth. He is captivated. Helen's recollections are as colorful and brilliant as the others---and she isn't holding back on the explicit parts either.

Turns out this little Johnny kid uses these words and a collection of others with eased consistency as most would use 'dog' or 'cat'. Visits to the principal's office only inspire him. Basically, he does everything Fred wished Denace the Menace would do---pulling down his pants to expose himself, smacking woman on their asses, substituting letters on English homework to create profanity. This Johnny kid is priceless. If he were older, Fred imagines, they would be great pals and chase skirts around town while Helen attended her PTA meetings. The stories were brilliant. Suddenly this Christmas party has some flavor.

Hours later, Fred, Helen and music teacher are the lone leftovers from the company Christmas Party. Hammered and hysterically laughing, they order more drinks, tell more stories and before you know it Fred has pulled out his list. On his deathbed, Fred would later recall this night as the greatest of his life.

A few weeks later at the bar, ol' hubby Fred starts telling his buddies about this legendary kid in Helen's class. Eventually the entire bar is howling over these "Little Johnny" stories. Strangers are patting Fred's back and buying him beers. A skilled raconteur, he is the highlight of the bar. Draped by women, his pit of stories are as bottomless as the glasses of beer each story is rewarded. With his marriage on the rocks, he comes back every night with more anecdotes. Helen's no longer talking to him by April, so most of the stories are complete fabrications. He learns, the more vulgar the better. A year later, Helen has filed for divorce and no longer lives in the same city. Meanwhile the stories have spread from Joe's Bar Tavern in Philadelphia to Vernon's Liquor in Charlotte to the Horse Shoe Beer Factory in Oklahoma, eventually reaching the West Coast and every little tavern across America. Everyone knows a tale or two, no matter their age, religion, sex or financial status. Like rumors often do---fade over a period of time---the "Little Johnny" anecdotes lose their original names, origins and facts. However, one consistent remains: In each story the boy's name is always Little Johnny.

In the above forwarded image, Little Johnny---several generations removed---is easily recognized. That little Johnny, he's something.

2. Yeah right. Like she'd walk around in public like this. With all the media hounds constantly following her. Whatever. Hmmm... What if it is her? Can it be? Regardless, I wished I'd watched more episodes of "Friends".

3. You never know a person until you've walked a mile in his shoes---or in my case taught him how to wash his hands or prepare a meal. Having worked with MHMR programs, this one gives me a chuckle. Until I came to really know a mentally challenged person, I perceived them to be completely different than me or anyone I hung out with. I was ignorant. Like everyone else, we put our pants on the same---only it takes some a little longer. This picture and caption crack me up because there were times at work when I'd overhear an instructor and immediately roll my eyes thinking "What the fuck is she talking about"; and then I'd look at the group and sure enough at least one of them would make eye contact with me while thinking the same thing--What is this bish talking about?

4. Any explanation needed?

Damn I love Chappelle. Too bad Family Circus isn't really this funny.

5. Trick-or-treating is fun for all ages. But be careful of the tricks though.

I remember one Halloween night when my aunt Margie---the one who slept on my parents floor after seeing The Exorcist---bravely looked into a coffin on a neighbor's front lawn. She immediately ran squealing when something within squirted her between the eyes with water. Frankly, I thought she was lucky. The kid who lived there always picked his nose.

4. OK...I'm a guy. I have guy friends. Guys like boobies. Do women send these types of forwards but highlighting parts of the male anatomy? Interesting thought.

This particular forward is truly for the safety of male motorists across the world. Incidentally, I drove around for hours immediately after reading. Not a damn thing happened.

Lesson: Don't believe everything forwarded to you no matter how much you pray, think positive thoughts and drive around corner after corner, street after street, city after city...

5. I may not trash this one. Good stuff.

As much as men like boobies, we like peace too.

Hopefully, you enjoyed this journey through my hard drive.

Until the next cleaning.......

patty boy

Spooky Good Times

Last week, I saw a movie trailer that actually gave me chills. It really spooked me. Yes - ME. Amazing. Now, I am not one easily spooked or frightened by horror movies. Especially the so-called horror movies made over the past, say, 10 or 15 years. For some reason, these days people confuse horror with gore. Movies like Saw and Hostel are not horror. I repeat, not horror. There is nothing scary about torturing victims by cutting out their eyeballs while they scream, or seeing someone decap'ed by a weight machine. On a late Saturday night with a box of buttered popcorn, it can be entertaining, but, nah, it doesn't do it for me. Horror, to me, crawls into your head making eerie noises and whispering until you feel it peering over your shoulder and scaling down the spine of your back. It instantly causes your nerves to tense and covers your body in goosebumps. It makes you look in your backseat or leave the lights on in the spare bathroom. I haven't felt those things in a very long time. Especially in a movie theater. Not since The Blair Witch Project perhaps---which might I add is highly underrated in terms of great horror movies. If the sound of children outside their tent that night, then watching them run screaming into the darkness did not give you a slight rush of fear, you and your imagination missed out.

The trailer I saw last week was for The Strangers. Due out in May, it could be a terrible movie. This trailer however is a thing of genius. Cut and edited masterfully. Check this out:

With that chill, here is my personal list of scariest movies ever made. Please add more to expand my horror movie viewing pleasure:

1. The Exorcist. When released, we lived in NY. My aunt was visiting from Texas and saw it one of her first nights in town. The remainder of her two week visit she slept on my parent's bedroom floor. I had no idea what all the fuss was about---little girl, green vomit, devil---until I saw it years later. Holy crap. I had no clue what subliminal messages or images were - but during the flick I did ask myself several times - "Did you see that shit?"

2. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original). I grew up in Maine and NY. Moving to Texas was a cultural shock. Texas, I believed, consisted of dirt roads, carriages, lunchtime shootouts, and lizards. Add a chainsaw psychopath to the mix...again, holy crap. The grainy footage...scary. I did, however, applaud when that fat, wheelchaired bastard got it. Kid was getting on my damn nerves.

3. Carrie. With no knowledge of "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret" by the great Judy Blume, I also had no understanding of the monthly troubles the opposite sex encounter. With that said, I was perplexed and frightened from the very beginning of Carrie. Then, mid-way through, I silently wished to see all the "cool kids" dead. Then Carrie went psycho Jedi knight and killed them all. THEN, she walked home, killed her mother and met a horrific ending as the entire two-story house collapsed into the earth. Whew, I thought, it's over. Oh no. In the end, a classmate visits the "grave" where Carrie's house once stood. As she reaches down to place flowers Carrie's hand comes out of the ground and grabs her. Holy crap. Being a good boy, I did not use profanity, nor understood the proper way to string together or structure a line of profanity; however, when that hand came from the ground, I screamed 'mutha holy shit fucker ass'. My mom looked at me. She nodded.

4. Psycho. By today's standards, this movie isn't really scary-scary. It really is a cleverly disguised mystery. Can you imagine watching this back in the day at the theater when the seats shocked or buzzed during the scary scenes? Brilliance. Hitchcock was the man. Every scene is shoot with perfection. (I especially admire the above shoot when the detective gets it atop the staircase - wow.) Anyone watching the first 30 minutes or so wouldn't expect a cross-dress or skeleton mother to pop up at the end. Damn good stuff. Honestly, Hitchcock is truly incredible, but Anthony Perkins makes this movie one of my all-time scary picks. Watching him on screen makes your skin crawl. Spooky, creepy good. Norman is straight up trippin'.

5. Halloween. Normally black people yell at the screen, demanding the victims to do this or that. The first time I watched Halloween, I didn't say a word, except "Damn...I can't help ya. Go hide upstairs for a minute. Damn I don't know." The music, the shots, the mask...Michael Myers. Unlike Jason or Freddy, Mike was not the product of some hideous death; this kid was straight out the mental hospital. I could relate. Not that I came out the mental pad, but we had neighbors and friends who lived with crazy people. My next door neighbor's son, R.H., was nuttier than a Almond Joy and walked the streets every day. Sometimes he'd walk past and say, "Sure is a pretty blue car, Mrs. Collins." Damn car was white - but we'd just nod, drop what we were doing and slowly walk inside. Sometimes leaving the water running in the garden for hours before we felt safe enough to go outside and shut it off. Jason and Freddy are legit, but let me tell you something crazy is crazy. For instance, put me on a bus with strangers, point out one who has come from a mental institution. Until my stop, I'll watch his ass like an episode of Good Times. Watching Halloween was a pure joy. It actually made me think twice while trick-or-treating, especially with R.H. in the neighborhood.

BONUS: Not a movie, but all episodes of Unsolved Mysteries. Every time I watch this show---no matter how dated the cases, or how lame---I always find myself looking over my shoulder and turning on lights before entering rooms. What the hell is it about this show?? It could be a story about Civil War ghosts, but I'm still watching my back. Seriously, will someone kidnapp me? Is the ghost of Elvis in my media room? This show...amazing. One episode re-enacted the story of this crazy bastard who dug up a body and mocked the police with letters and body parts, providing clues of his identity. Crazy fool even removed the gravestone from one of his victims and tossed it into the window of a police car while parked at the police station. Crazy is crazy. It happened in 1982 or something. Yet it still scared me. Was it the show that scared me, or that the show was hosted by a guy who looked like a walking skeleton? I don't know. But I'd almost put any episode in my top spot.

Also, an honorable mention for The Omen (original). Scary movie, but I always thought that kid just needed his ass whooped. Devil or no devil, when I grew up, you don't be actin' a fool and showing up your parents. I don't know about you, but that's just how my parents roll.

OK...your turn.

Best News Ever!

This post makes me especially happy.  For those of you who watch "Friday Night Lights" rejoice; for those of you who haven't experienced the brilliance of this show, rent the DVDs and thank me for introducing you to one of the best shows EVER.

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NBC has made it official -- it will bring back "Friday Night Lights" for a third season, and it will do so as part of an innovative partnership with DirecTV.

Fresh episodes of "FNL" will begin airing on DirecTV in October. NBC will show those episodes in early 2009, "soon after the network's telecast of the 2009 Super Bowl," according to NBC's Wednesday press release.

Season three of the acclaimed drama will begin Oct. 1 on DirecTV's Channel 101. And as a longtime DirecTV subscriber, I'm especially pleased -- I don't have to change my entertainment setup in order to return to Dillon, Texas.

NBC sources had said in multiple news reports for months that the DirecTV deal was nearly done, but it's great to have this third season officially announced by the network. Yes, I had my problems with some aspects of Season 2, but "Friday Night Lights" is still a gem of a show and its amazing cast and crew definitely deserved to come back.

"We're all about quality TV at NBC Universal and we're beyond thrilled that we have structured an innovative deal that allows us to continue to produce and air this beloved series," NBC co-chair Ben Silverman said in NBC's statement. "This landmark deal is a win-win for NBC, Universal Media Studios and DIRECTV, not to mention the many passionate fans who adore "Friday Night Lights.'"

"This mutually beneficial agreement shows that we are very flexible in providing additional platforms that will allow quality shows such as 'Friday Night Lights' to keep turning out wonderful stories," said Graboff.  "This represents a new business model and DIRECTV is the perfect partner for this new venture."

"We are excited to be a part of something that feels legitimately groundbreaking, and new," said executive producer Peter Berg.  "All of us in the 'Friday Night Lights' family are thrilled that 'FNL' will be back for a third season and look forward to working with our new partners at DIRECTV as well as the outstanding team at NBC led by Marc Graboff and Ben Silverman.  Clear Eyes. Full Hearts."

"Everyone at the show is thrilled that NBC and DIRECTV have found a creative and innovative model to keep 'Friday Night Lights' on the air," said executive producer Jason Katims.  "The entire creative team is truly excited about jumping back in and working on a show that we all feel so deeply passionate about.  But the biggest win here is for the fans of the show (and hopefully lots of newcomers), who will all have the opportunity to see these new episodes, first on DIRECTV and ultimately on NBC."

Full hearts indeed. Thanks, NBC.

Tales of Two Idiots

This Mike. Mike is my boy--- my brother from another mother if you will.

I have invited Mike to join my blog world.  Between the two of us, the blog could be very interesting. Mike rambles. A lot. Mike is reason for unlimited text messaging.

First One (kinda)

OK...  My first official blog on blogger.com.  Basically testing everything, including how to add photos (which I picked this random photo of a monkey escaping Shawshank).  Short and sweet.  The end.

pc

The Terrible Twos

Happy birthday, Harper!

Behave. 

Please.