My life as I see it

SUPER MULTI ETHNIC MULTI TALENTED HOMEMAKER GRANDMA

Tony — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 07:05:00 GMT

All hail The Duchess of the Blogworld….

Ann Imig from Ann’s Rants is one of the most amazing people that I’ve never met in real life, but through her blog and various emails I have to say that she is like blogging royalty. I would say she is the Queen, but when I think of a queen I think of an old lady with man hands and Ann is much too pretty to be an old queen, so I think of her as The Duchess.

Ann is not just a blogger, she has become a friend who has helped me out in many ways during my time blogging - she’s always there to give a hand or spread some praise when I felt like I needed someone to just say, “you’re doing a good job” She is one of the few people I’ll go to when I need help with my own blog and I know that no matter what she’s doing she will find time to help me. I couldn’t have done any of this without her

Thank you Ann for the guest post

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SUPER MULTI ETHNIC MULTI TALENTED HOMEMAKER GRANDMA

By: Ann Imig from Ann's Rants

The very day that Tony asked me to guest post about being a superhero, I was party to a bank hold up. Seeing a dude jump behind the counter and command us to “Get on the floor” exceeded my quotient of live action/adventure for the next four score and many years. No, if I had super-powers I would put them to beautifully mundane, yet practical use.

I’ve often dreamed of having my own, live-in set of Grandmas. Wait--Justice League of Grandmas sounds more super-heroic. After weeks on end of soup and sandwich meals (read: cereal and milk), I’ve longed for Grandmas authentic to the cuisine we prefer. Monday night? Italian Mamamia cooks spaghetti Bolognese. Tuesday? Enchiladas de Abuelita. Friday? Roast chicken ala Bubbe. My Justice League of Grandmas could live in their own multi-unit Grandma commune next door—sort of like Golden Girls but much more focused on the needs of my family. I guess that would make them Beholden Girls.

Now that awesome story-telling Tony has granted me my own superpowers…enter my alter-ego: A salt and pepper once a week salon-set hairdo, and a faint eau de cookies scent….I’m…SUPER! MULTI! ETHNIC! MULTI! TALENTED! HOMEMAKER! GRANDMA!

My alter ego spends only $100 a week at the store—shopping only on that infamously healthy perimeter, buying natural ingredients in bulk. She cooks three meals a day from scratch, pouring patience and coziness into each serving (as opposed to, say, boiling pasta AGAIN accompanied by deli turkey AGAIN with a side of ONCE AGAIN baby carrots).

Did I mention that SUPERMULTIETHNICMULTITALENTEDHOMEMAKERGRANDMA truly enjoys some zen-scrubbing? She spends her days scrubbing floors, because my fictional alter-ego loves to clean with non-toxic and once again made from scratch, vinegar/bakingsoda/grandma magic compounds. No sighing. No passive-aggressive whistling. No negative comments about the hereditary-on-your-Dad’s-side lack of pee stream/toilet water coordination.

Then, once my home is made, she powers up her super-never-ending-energy-for-children. In one mystifying swoop, which might look more like a hobble punctuated with a loud “OOF” she gets on the floor and holds my children in her lap and weaves stories of days gone by. Stories they are enchanted by (as opposed to, say, bored with due to many umms and long pauses where the storyteller kindasorta drifts off)

My SUPERMULTIETHNICMULTITALENTEDHOMEMAKERGRANDMA is also very crafty and gleans great pleasure in setting up projects for my children—from sock puppetry to burlap millinery! Yes the children forget about screens altogether in the presence of such authentic downhominess.

And when the day finally winds down, my children conga out the door behind her—all to the tune of Beastie Boy’s Boomin’ Granny.

Thank you Tony. Make it come true, Tony. Say you will.

all copyrights reserved by the original author

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Superheroes, Droids, and Muppets - what happens at wing night doesn't always stay at wing night

Tony — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 08:00:00 GMT

A few weeks ago, my friend Dave and I had a strange conversation during our weekly Chicken Wing Night. I don’t know who started the talk about superhereos, it was probably me because I’m a lot geekier than Dave, but the question was asked; if you could be a superhero what would you call yourself and what would your power be?

I told Dave that once, as I was standing in a long line at the bank waiting to withdraw some money I started thinking about different things. One of the thoughts I had was what kind of superpower I would like if I could choose any superpower. Dave said something about me being a real big geek, but I continued with my story. I told him that I looked at the line and thought that if I had the “Stink Power” I could make myself start to smell a little bit - maybe a whiff of armpit, then mix it with a little ass smell and continue until it got so bad that the person in front of me would breath in the smell and just pass out. I would simply step over that person, start the stink power up again and knock the next person unconscious with my power and step over them too. I would keep doing this until I got to the front of the line.

“I never realized just how geeky you are.” Dave said.

“That’s just part of my charm” I smiled. “So, what kind of a superhero would you be?”

Dave thought for a bit then answered, “I’d be a sidekick. I‘d be your sidekick” He looked at me, took a bite from his chicken wing, pointed at it and added, “I’d be your wingman. Get it, your wingman?

“Yeah I get it”

“I’d be the best sidekick ever.” He licked the wing sauce from his lips, “Yeah that’s what I’d be, your sidekick.”

“You can’t be a sidekick.” I said, “especially mine. If anything, I’d be your sidekick.”

“Why?”

“Dude,” I said taking a bite out of my own chicken wing. “You’re huge. You’re what? Six feet six inches tall and I’m five feet ten.”

“So?”

“So”, I said my mouth full of chicken wing, “the sidekick can’t be bigger than the hero. It’s just not right. That’s not how things are in the superhero world.” I didn’t even mention that fact that he has arms as big as my head and that last time we worked out together my maximum bench press was only warm up weight to him.

“The times they are a changing, so if our times are changing then maybe so are the times in the superhero world, maybe in this new time sidekicks are bigger than the heroes.” He looked at me and cocked one eyebrow up in a quizzed expression. “Why does the big good-looking guy always have to be the hero?”

“Shut the hell up. Dude, that’s just plain dumb, besides I didn’t say you were good-looking. Everyone knows that the hero is just bigger than the sidekick.”

My friend looked like he was about to give up and give in to my idea that the hero was always bigger than the sidekick, but then something came to mind. He looked at me and smiled a goofy smile. “What about Chewbacca and Han Solo? Chewbacca is the sidekick and he’s a lot bigger than Han Solo.” I thought about that for a minute and before I could say anything Dave added, “And what about C-3PO and R2-D2? C-3PO is bigger than R2.”

“How can you say R2-D2 is the hero?”

“He’s the hero because he saves everyone’s life many times during the entire Star Wars saga. What does C-3PO do besides whine and prance around?” He cocked his eyebrow again, which was starting to get on my nerves.

“In Star Wars C-3PO saves everyone from being crushed in the trash compactor.”

“Oh whoop de do” I never heard Dave say ‘whoop de do’ and for some reason it sounded really funny to me. “He saved them one time and he was a whinny cry baby about it. I seriously think he’s gay.”

“Whose gay?” I asked confused. “C-3PO?”

“Yeah, I think he’s gay. He’s got that English accent and he walks around all gayish.”

“Dude,” I laugh, “he’s a droid. Droids aren’t gay, they’re just robots. A droid can’t be gay just like a Muppet can’t be gay. C-3PO is not any gayer than Ernie or Burt.”

“What do you mean, they’re not gay? They’ve been living together for as long as I can remember and I don’t ever remember Maria or Prairie Dawn ever going over to visit. I bet Burt and Ernie had some wild, freaky Muppet sex.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

Dave looked at me and said, “Yeah, and somehow I have a feeling it’s going to end up in your blog.”

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	Comic Oasis 3121 N. Rainbow Las Vegas, Nv 89108 (702) 212-8885

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No more superheroes

Tony — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 07:05:00 GMT

This next blogger is one whom I think of as someone who is refined and classy - yeah, I do wonder at times why he reads my blog since it’s far from refined and classy J I have the up most respect for Nota Bene from Don't panic. RTFM. He’s the kind of person I’d like to be when I’m a little older. The first thing I always think about when I read his blog is how intelligent this man is - sometimes his blogs just blow me away. His blog is one filled with stories of his life with his teenage son and some of the things they go through. I enjoy it because not only are his stories real, but they give me a glimpse of what life is on the other side of the world. Thank you sir, for the guest post ********

No more superheroes

By: Nota Bene

I’m desperately worried. As worried as worried can be. The world is going to rack and ruin. We have terrorists hiding under the beds, we have global warming accelerating, we have bankers pilfering our wallets, we have earthquakes here there and everywhere, and we have more bent coppers (that’s police to you) than we know what to do with.

In times gone past this would not have been a problem. After all with the likes of Batman, Superman, Spiderman and Thunderbirds, I knew the world was safe. Not that I was ever allowed to read about these Superheroes…strict middle-class parenting meant that I was restricted to educational comics (Look and Learn and World of Wonder – but I somehow doubt they crossed the pond), and only occasionally allowed to watch Batman on TV…when it starred Adam West and Burt Ward. My vague awareness that there were Superheroes floating around in far off places like Gotham and Metropolis was sufficient to let me drift off to sleep in blissful comfort.

The boy was allowed more access to the world of Superheroes…well when I say allowed, I don’t think there was much choice for me….TV is a 24 hour phenomenon now, and the internet has fundamentally changed how we access these things. So for a few years, we had Batman and Spiderman cartoons and films. We had Superheroes that I had never heard of. Electra, Daredevil, X-Men and more. We had all sorts of toys to be thrown around the room as the goodies beat the baddies. And they were consumed with relish by a wide-eyed innocent who understood there were goodies and baddies and nothing in-between…the boy also thought they were pretty cool too. I’m not sure why, but Superman was not part of his repertoire. He never quite got into the comics – but more recently has taken to borrowing friends’ Manga comics – I don’t get these…they all just seem to be baddies.

But back to Burt Ward. He has a lot to answer for. After all, once the Batman TV series finished he struggled to find work and ended up in a porn movie. Everyone knew this; I don’t know how. And from that moment Superheroes were a tainted breed. The world was no longer black and white…it was shades of grey. And so our Superheroes changed too.

We walked out of Hulk…we were there for the bangs and crashes, and all we got was two hours of soul-searching and human frailty. The boy was devastated. Bangs and crashes should have been the order of the day. We watched The Incredibles…amused, perhaps bemused by the thought of Superheroes living in suburbia hiding away from the lawyers waiting to bust their asses. We liked The Spirit…but he was as weird as they come. What about Hancock? Erm, well, erm. And we watched the latest run of Batman - Christian Bale - movies, closing our ears and eyes to the humanisation of the character and only opening them when there’s some real Superhero action. That’s what we want. That’s all that we both want. We want Superheroes to be Superheroes, fighting and very nearly defeating deadly villains – but not quite because we want them to come back for another round. We want a simple life knowing who is good and who is bad.

With the media masters giving human frailties to our Superheroes, it’s no wonder that they have tried to give Superhuman powers to humans. So Tony Blair was elected in 1997 to change Britain, if not the world. And indeed he did…but not in the way we were expecting. He is now arch villain. And poor, poor Barack Obama….a world has held its breath in anticipation of him donning a cape and solving every problem we can think of. And all within a few weeks of being elected. For some reason that doesn’t seem to be happening. Evidently no Superhero.

I’d like there to be a new Superhero. The boy would like there to be a new Superhero. And I suspect a good many people would too.

all copyrights reserved by the original author

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Be Careful What You Wish For

Tony — Fri, 05 Mar 2010 07:00:00 GMT

I couldn’t have done the “Kick Ass” guest blogs without asking Ian from Idiot’s Stew to do a guest post. Last year he asked me to participate in what I hope will become a yearly event, his Turkey Palooza. I was thrilled that he asked me and happy that I participated because through the entire time we were in contact Ian was very supportive and showed me just what kind of guy he is. Be sure you check out his blog Idiot’s Stew and you too will see how smart and what a good person he is and you will be amazed at what a great writer he is

Thank you Ian for the guest post

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Be Careful What You Wish For

By: Ian from Idiotts Stew

There’s no work for super-heroes anymore unless you consider circus-side-show-freak a viable career (and Zero certainly does not). But that’s what happens when you commit yourself to a goal and work like hell to achieve it; eventually you work yourself right out of a job. Zero tried to explain it to the dumbasses down at the Hall of Justice; tried to tell them to cool it. “We have to pace ourselves. If we wipe evil off the face of the earth, who are we gonna fight? What will we do with our days? How we gonna get paid?” But they wouldn’t listen. Wonder-Woman held all the political cards back then; she had the real super-power. Being able to fly and see through walls with x-ray vision doesn’t mean much when you are up against a large-breasted Amazon chick in a spandex leotard and gold lamet go-go boots. The horn-dogs did everything she commanded and they competed with one another for her attention until all of the villains were defeated. And then came the lay-offs.

Zero’s pension keeps him in beer and cigarettes. He “fills” his days now with TV and memories. He’s out of shape and his powers are faded. He recently attempted a simple “turning-back-of-time” (one of his trademark tricks) and completely exhausted himself without so much as getting one second back. If he could, he’d spin this earth all the way back to the days when there was bad for the good to battle. That’s when life made sense. That’s when there was balance.

Still, he believes he could make a comeback if he was given the opportunity and a membership at Gold’s Gym. He maintains the service on his hot-line phone, just in case.

Zero steps out of his travel-trailer home and into a sandstorm. Sixty mile an hour winds have brought the brown blizzard to the north end of the Coachella valley again. Inhaling deeply, Zero feels the dirty needles tearing at his throat and lungs. Generally speaking he can take 2 or 3 full breaths before his windpipe closes off and the hacking begins. Eventually he’ll be vomiting and up will come bloody dirt and the mornings’ toasted peanut-butter sandwich.

all copyrights reserved by the original author don't forget your chance to win a signed "Kick Ass" comic book #1 in

Wham! Pow!

Tony — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 07:00:00 GMT

I’m thrilled to announce that in honor of my “Kick Ass” contest I’ve gathered some of my “Kick Ass” blogger friends and have asked them to write a guest post. Each of these mild mannered bloggers were given the task to write a post that had to do with either superheroes or comic books. You are in for a treat as these “Super-bloggers“, are well known in the blogginng world, each one has the gift of being a great writer who can make you laugh or bring a tear to your eyes and a lump to your throat by their written words. Although each piece has a different feel to it, they all share one thing - they are all great. I feel proud and honored that this bunch of people have accepted my humble request.

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To start this “KIck Ass” contest we have Doug from The Boomer Musing. When I thought of doing this contest and having guest posts, Doug was one of the first bloggers that came to mind. No matter what you find on his blog you know it’s going to be good and a lot of times thought provoking.

There’s something about Douglas that I can’t explain, he gives me a feeling that he’s a lot like that one cool uncle in the family - you know, the one who will sit on the floor with you and listen patiently as you go through your box of comics explaining the origins of each superhero.

I’m proud to have him start this “Kick Ass” giveaway. Thank you Doug

"What do tigers dream of, when they take a little tiger snooze. Do they dream of mauling zebras, or Halle Berry in her cat woman suit…”

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Wham! Pow!

By: Douglas from the Boomer Musings

I am writing here today because Tony asked me to. And he seems like a nice guy. And I have this ego issue where I cannot refuse someone's request, especially nice guys like Tony. If you do not know who I am, I write the Boomer Musings blog where I muse over things and wax nostalgic about my almost forgotten youth.

Comic books were a major part of my life as a child. I practically learned to read because of them and through them. I started with comic strips, of course. Listening to the radio where, each Sunday morning, some voices on the radio acted them out while I followed the pictures in the colorful "Funny Papers" of the Sunday newspaper. Yeah, I am that old. My family had not yet bought a TV because they were luxuries at the end of the 1940's and we couldn't afford luxuries. And radio was still full of shows, having not yet devolved into just music and DJ's, that were to eventually end up on TV.

When I went to school in the first grade, they began to teach us to read. I was excited about that because I wanted to read very badly. I didn't want to depend on someone else to tell me what the words in the balloons above the heads of the characters in the funny papers and comic books were. I wanted to be able to sit alone somewhere and read them for myself.

But school didn't give me much to read.

"See Dick."
"See Jane."
"See Dick and Jane."

Yadda-yadda-yadda.

Yeah, not exactly riveting prose.

I was already getting involved in Superman and Batman at home. I knew they didn't talk like that or just do things like run around in the yard with a dog. They flew and jumped and battled bad guys. They had adventures! And I wanted to read about them, become involved with them. When you are 5 or 6, you have a purity of imagination. You believe these things.

It seemed like it took me ages back then to build enough of a vocabulary to really understand what I was reading. But I did. And I read every comic book I could get my hands on. D.C. Comics were, hands down, the best. I found out about Krypton, and Smallville, and Metropolis, and The Daily Planet. Also about Gotham City, and Bruce Wayne and his ward (and what a "ward" was). I also learned about imaginary places where people could fly and do amazing stunts and always win out in the end. Very different than my personal reality.

My favorite place in all the world during those years was the closet in my Uncle Eddie's bedroom. The closet was on the second floor of a townhouse in Queens, New York. It was a magical place. In that closet, you see, was a big stack of comic books. Not just ones with Superman and Batman and Aquaman but horror comics and Mad comics (which became Mad Magazine). This was a whole new world to me. A darker one and utterly fascinating. A journey into the mind as well as for the mind.

I also found, around that time, a series of comic books called Classics Illustrated. These were renditions of classic books and stories laid out in comic book format. They were part of my moving away from comic books to regular books; un-illustrated books where I had to use my imagination to draw the pictures that the words described.

By the time I was in my early teens, I had wandered away from my love of comic books and moved into traditional books. And began a love of the written word which has sustained me all my life.

I owe it all to comic books.

all copyrights reserved by the original author

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A "Kick Ass" Giveaway Contest

Tony — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 12:45:59 GMT

Here is your chance to win one awesome prize.




	Comic Oasis 3121 N. Rainbow Las Vegas, Nv 89108 (702) 212-8885

Presents...

I’m proud to announce that my friend Derrick at Comic Oasis in Las Vegas Nv has given me a “Kick Ass” comic book #1 (how cool is that - and I didn’t even have to beg very much for it) If you’re a comic fan or a “Kick Ass” fan you know how hard this comic is to find and once the movie comes out - well, good luck in finding one. To make this an even sweeter deal, this comic is signed by both Mark Millar and John Romita Jr - the writer and the artist of this oh so violently good comic book - it‘s not for the kiddos. This comic will come with a board and a protective bag to keep it in mint condition until it gets into your hands, then you do what you want with it. This also comes with a Certificate of Authenticity that certifies that the signatures of the people portrayed on the comic are guaranteed authentic and that it was signed in person before the guarantor, agent or representative - that just means that this is the real deal boys and girls.

This is such a cool comic that I wish I could keep it myself, but that wasn’t the deal - the deal was that we were going to give it away in a “Kick Ass” contest on my blog, so as much as I hate to part with it, it will be given away to some lucky winner. I bet you're wondering, how do you win it?

In case you don’t know, the best way to describe the movie and the comic is from the website --“Kick-Ass tells the story of average teenager Dave Lizewski, a comic-book fanboy who decides to take his obsession as inspiration to become a real-life superhero.

As any good superhero would, he chooses a new name — Kick-Ass — assembles a suit and mask to wear, and gets to work fighting crime. There’s only one problem standing in his way: Kick-Ass has absolutely no superpowers.

His life is forever changed as he inspires a subculture of copy cats, is hunted by assorted violent and unpleasant characters, and meets up with a pair of crazed vigilantes, including an 11-year-old sword-wielding dynamo, Hit Girl and her father, Big Daddy.”

So, I was wondering, what if everyone decided to “take their obsession as inspiration to become a real-life superhero.” What kind of superhero would you be? In the movie/comic “Kick Ass” does not have any superpowers but for this contest your superhero can have them, if you choose to have powers.

How to Enter:

Post an entry on your blog with your submission(s) - if you don’t have a blog then you can post it on your facebook, myspace, etc.
Comment on this post with a link to your submission before Midnight PST on Friday March 19th.

The reason the contest is running so long is because I’ve asked some of my own “Kick Ass” blogger friends to send in guest posts about superheroes or comics and I will run them during this time.

You can enter as many times as you like, but each entry should be unique and have a comment to this link. The winner will be determined by a panel of my “geeky” friends, so with all that being said - have fun and good luck.

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I've posted this before, but so far it's my favorite trailer - for those of you haven't seen this, it's the red band “Hit Girl” trailer which is full of graphic violence. (you've been warned)

I'm a geeky Kick Ass fan, so I'm looking forward to this movie. The scenes I've seen from the movie so far leads me to believe that this movie is going to be...well, Kick Ass.

Coming Soon ... A Kick Ass Contest

Tony — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 07:00:33 GMT

Coming soon ….

Comic Oasis
3121 N. Rainbow
Las Vegas, Nv 89108

(702) 212-8885

PRESENTS...

Stay tuned for details...March 01, 2010

Anything and everything you've wondered about farts

Tony — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 07:00:00 GMT

normally I don't post things like this but a good friend of mine sent me this in an email and for some reason it just seemed like the thing to post on this blog. So, here it is just about anyynig and everything you'd ever want to know about farts:

I've always said that "I've never claimed to be gentleman" and now I can say that "I've never claimed this blog had class."

Emergency Room Visit

Tony — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 14:58:00 GMT

“Wake up! We have to take Melanie to the hospital!” those were the only clear words I heard as I was awaken from a sound sleep at three in the morning. I threw the covers off and heard something smash against the wall in the darkness, later I would find out it was my cell phone had somehow been whipped off the night table by the covers as I threw them off - I have so much bad luck with cell phones.

“what’s going on?” I asked as I jumped into my clothes and could feel myself starting to hyperventilate.

“she’s having trouble breathing!”

My niece was laying on the sofa, her breathing was shallow and rough sounding.

She looked up at me and through labored breathing and said, “I love you with all my heart.”

Any tough guy, macho facade I may have had at the time just melted as I said, “I love you too baby. You’re going to be ok.”

“ok,” she said and closed her eyes.

I kissed her on the forehead, wrapped her in a blanket and buckled her in her seat, then I jumped into the driver’s side of the car and drove to the hospital, well, more like flew to the hospital with my emergency lights on. Calls were made as we drove to the hospital, so my niece would have three of the important people in her life there with her, her mom, her grandma and myself.

My mom and sister took her into the emergency room while I parked the car. By the time I got back they had already taken her back and put her in a room so I sat in the waiting room waiting and watching the other people who were there with their own sick children, but not really paying attention to them. My thoughts drifted from memory to memory of other visits to the waiting room. I thought about the time when we brought my nephew in for almost the same exact thing and how rough that experience had been. I thought of the time I was sitting in the waiting room and my mom told us she had cancer and I thought of the time so many years ago as I waited on that Easter Sunday for the paramedics to come out and confirm that the little girl I loved so much had been killed by a drunk driver and how my life would change forever after that. I let the thoughts come and go, but I didn’t linger on them long. I was there for my niece and had to focus on that.

I thought of the look in her eyes as she struggled to breathe and how she said she loved me with all her heart and how she didn’t question my words when I said she was going to be ok. She had no reason not to believe me, I never lie to the kids. I want them to know that no matter what I will always tell them the truth. This time I didn’t know what was going on but I had to believe that she was going to be alright and that was all she needed. I had to go outside to be alone and clear my head.

Please let her be ok.

My sister was waiting for me when I went back inside the waiting room. “She wants you. She wants her uncle.”

When I walked into the room, she reached out to me and called out my name. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. “I threw up.” She cried.

“It’s ok.” I said pushing her hair from her forehead.

The nurse came in, “we need to give her a shot because she threw up her medicine.”

my niece looked up at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. “I don’t want a shot. It’s going to hurt.”

“It will hurt for a little bit, but then you’ll feel better after that.” I told her as she reached for my hand.

“Ok.” she knew I was telling her the truth.

The nurse wiped a spot on her leg, then jabbed the needle in. My niece held my hand and then she cried. The nurse put a “Hello Kitty” on her leg and right away my niece started to feel better. As the nurse prepared the breathing treatment I ran my fingers through my nieces hair and said to her, “I love you with all my heart.”

She smiled at me. “I love you with all my heart too.”

The nurse put the breathing mask on her and soon she was sound asleep. I watched her late into the night and then into the early morning as she inhaled the mist that helped open up her airways so she could breathe. I don’t know when, but sometime during the early morning hours I rested my head next to hers and slowly fell asleep.

“Everything was going to be ok.”

I had a new post, I really did

Tony — Fri, 12 Feb 2010 11:37:00 GMT

Well, I had a post all ready for today but my computer froze up and being the dumb-ass that I am I didn’t save it, so it was lost. Instead of going the day without posting anything I decided that I would let you all check out this trailer for the new movie “Kick Ass” that is out in April.

I have to warn you that the comic book this movie is based on is graphic and violent, and it looks like the movie stays true to the comic - this is the red band “Hit Girl” trailer which is full of graphic violence.

I'm a geeky Kick Ass fan, so I'm looking forward to this movie. The scenes I've seen from the movie so far leads me to believe that this movie is going to be...well, Kick Ass.

Bean Soup Part I

Tony — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 15:16:00 GMT

When I was a kid my mom used to love to go play BINGO. As a matter of fact most of my aunts and some of my uncles would get together and go play BINGO, leaving us kids at my grandmother’s house while they were out. I don’t know if they really enjoyed playing BINGO or if it was the fact that for a few hours they got to spend time together without the kids yelling and running around, not to mention the fact that there was a possibility of winning a hundred dollars for a straight bingo and five hundred for the last coverall of the night.

As kids, neither my cousins or myself minded the fact that we were dropped off at the my grandmother’s house - if we were lucky we would get to spend the night there and the whole night would be spent playing spies, as we tried to sneak into whatever room my grandparents were in and try to do it without them noticing us. We would crawl across the floor and hide behind sofa’s, under tables, etc. trying to be the spy who get the closest without being caught.

One of the things I remember about Bingo Night is that my grandmother would make a bean soup that she would serve us. Through the years I’ve sort of faked myself out telling myself that my grandmother was a great cook, so much so that I actually started to believe it was true, but if truth be told, the fact is that she wasn’t the best cook around. It seems that her specialty was either scrambled eggs with lots of white in them and bean soup. I hated scrambled eggs with lots of white in them so much that no matter how much ketchup I put on them I could not eat them. I would always give them to my cousin, Emilio. He would eat almost anything and everything that no one else would eat. I could handle the bean soup because it wasn’t near as bad as eggs with lots of white in them. My grandmother would boil pinto beans and once they were tender she would serve them with the broth and we’d have bean soup - simple as that. We soon learned that the best way to stomach them was by adding butter and lots of salt to the broth in our bowls

Everyone of us would sit at the table and eat the bean soup, which was not a good thing if your parents were picking you after Bingo because on the drive home you’d sit in the backseat of the car, with that bean soup bubbling in your stomach, gases building up, until you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You’d either unleash a loud, apocalyptic fart that would make your mother turn her head and look at you with disgust on her face. If that happened to me I would just close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, so I wouldn’t have to hear my mom talk about manners and how it was bad manners to fart in the car, especially during winter when it was too cold to open the windows. If you didn’t let one of the those loud butt trumpet sounds you’d be sure to let one of those silent ones that no one hears but in a few seconds has everyone in the car is gasping for air as their eyes water profusely, their brain itches and their nose hairs shrivel up and burn. Whenever that happened to me I would blame it on my younger brother and my parents would believe it was him, unless he farted first and blamed it on me.

“Oh, come on you guys,” my mom would say as she rolled down the window, “that’s disgusting.” And then, she’d go into her “you should know better than to fart in the car…you were raised with more manners than that” speech.

“But Grandma says that it’s dangerous if you try to hold a fart inside of your stomach” I protested, “because you can blow your insides out”

“Yeah,” my brother said as he let another silent, deadly one. That bean soup was powerful that night. “She farts all the time and she don‘t even care whose around when she does it. She just goes around BFFFT, PFFFT, ERT, BUUUURT all day long not caring if it stinks or not” My brother jumped in his seat as he made the fart noises with his mouth.

My dad started to laugh at the farting sounds my brother was making, but stopped when he saw the look on my mom’s face. Whether she admitted it or not my brother was right. My grandmother would fart whoever she felt the need to and she didn’t care where she was or who she was with. She could be outside watering her garden and talking to the lady next door and all of a sudden she’d lift her leg and let one rip just like she was a dude. Once she even farted right before they sang “Happy Birthday” to me on my birthday. I remember it was so loud that one kid even screamed from fright and for a second, just a split second I was afraid she was going to blow the candles right off my birthday cake. I know that’s impossible, but funny things go through a kid’s mind, especially when that kid is me.

“It’s true” my dad, looking at my mom.

“And sometimes she blames grandpa for it and sometimes she even blames the dog.” I said, “and the dog died like three years ago. How can a dead dog even fart? It‘s just not possible. It‘s her farting, I‘m telling you. It really is.”

“blrrruupp” my brother made another farting sound

“Stop it, all of you stop it.” My mom would finally say on the verge of laughing herself, “I don’t want to hear anymore about anyone farting.”

“Pffffffftttt!!!” My mom and I both looked at my brother as he made another farting sound, but this time he didn’t make it with his mouth.

Skating

Tony — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 08:59:00 GMT

It’s been a long time since I’ve been skating, but this was my nephew’s seventh birthday and he wanted to skate, so I would at least give it a try. When I was a kid I used to skate all the time with my friends and I remember that I used to fly around the rink and in my mind it was almost as if nothing existed except for me, my friends, and the music. I wondered what it would be like to be on the rink again after all these years. I was excited but at the same I was a little nervous about it.

I walked into the skating rink and it was a lot like the rink I remembered from my childhood. It even had that smell that was a bit musty with the sweet smells of the concession stand and just a hint of the spray they use to disinfect the skates when you turn them in. When faced with the thought of actually putting on the skates I hesitated a bit; what if I fell? What if I got hurt? What if I slammed myself into the wall?

I waited for my best friend Dave and his family to show up before I got my skates, mostly because he encouraged me to get them. My friend Dave is six feet six inches tall without skates so with skates on he’s like seven feet tall.

“you better not fall” I told him, “because if you do, you might squish three or four kids.”

He looked down at me, laughed and sarcastically repeated, “you might squish three or four kids hahaha. You’re a funny man.”

I laced up my skates and realized that I wasn’t ready for skating. “I don’t think I can stand up on these.”

“Just stand up.:” My friend encouraged.

I stood up and things were going good. I rolled walked on the carpet and made my way to the wooden rink. As soon as I stepped onto the wooden planks my legs started going wild. It was kind of the dance the scarecrow does in the Wizard of Oz and if I only had half a brain I wouldn’t be out there trying to relive my childhood.

“you got to let go of the wall” Dave said as he skated backwards trying to get me to skate.

“I don’t want to let go of the wall. The wall is my friend.”

“You can’t skate if you don’t let go of the wall.”

I tried to push myself, letting go of the short wall for a little bit thinking that by magic I might just start skating like most of the others at the rink. As I passed a girl that was leaning against the wall watching her friends skate she said, “you have more balls than I do for trying to do that.”

I looked at her and said the first thing that came to my mind. “I certainly hope I do.”

She laughed. When I realized what I said, I laughed too. My friend, Dave continued to encourage me. “Let go of the wall.”

I decided he was right and if I wanted to skate I would have to let go of the wall, so I did. I let go of the wall and started skating toward him like a giant five feet ten inch baby taking his first steps as his dad held out his hands, excited at his son’s first stumbling steps. I was skating when all of a sudden my other friend Tamika and her daughter Jessica came skating behind me. Jessica reached out toward me and yelled, “you’re going to fall!”

My arms started pin wheeling as I stumbled toward my friend who caught me like a little kid before I hit the floor. I had him in a bear hug as my legs were sliding every which way under me. I finally got my balance and made my way back to the wall. I always knew that Jessica hated me and this just proved it. She always looked at me with those “I hate Tony” eyes.” Above everything: the kids laughter, the load music, and the sound of thousands of wheels rolling over the wooden floor I could hear Jessica’s evil laugh as she watched me almost fall ”Wahahahahahaha: and then she skated away.

I grabbed the wall and continued my journey around the rink. It wasn’t long after that when my Dave’s wife came up to me and said, “they need you at the birthday table right away.” I was halfway around the rink, still holding on to the wall, and taking little baby roller-skating steps; I wasn’t going anywhere right away.

“Come on,” my friend Dave said.

“huh?” I looked at him with that same confused look that I have when I talk to my cousin Jason who graduated from MIT and is a doctor now. “what?”

“Grab hold of my shoulders and I’ll lead you there.” Now, that’s what I call I friend, someone who does not care how goofy he looks leading another grown man through a crowded skating rink

I felt a bit dumb being led around the rink by a big, muscular 6’6 foot white guy with a military hair cut. It’s different when you’re the leader and when you’re the one being led. I looked around hoping this wouldn’t somehow end up on Youtube. I held on tight as Dave’s shoulders as he skated around the rink faster than I thought anyone could skate with another person holding on to them.

I arrived at the party table and was greeted by our “party hostess,” a young girl who had introduced herself at the beginning of the party, but whose name I had already forgotten. She said, “we’ll be bringing out the pizza shortly if you want to gather the kids.”

I thought to myself, “this is why they needed me right away?” “Ok,” I answered.

We gathered the kids and as they were eating pizza I decided that I was going to go out on the rink and conquer my fears - I was going to skate even if it killed me. I knew that the first thing I had to do was lose my fear of falling or whatever fear I had, so I decided that I would psyche myself out by telling myself that I had no fear.

I stepped out on the rink

No fear.

I steadied myself and let go of the wall.

No fear.

I started to roll slowly at first.

No fear. No fear

I was skating!

No fear

I started to skate faster.

No fear

I went faster and faster until everything just looked like a blur and then I went even faster.

No fear. No fear. NO FEAR!!!!

And then without warning, I hit the wall and then fell backward on to the floor - the fear was back and it kicked my ass.

Garage Sale - Vegas Style

Tony — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 07:46:00 GMT

I have a friend that swears by Craigslist. He and his wife just bought all the furniture for their new baby’s room from different people that listed their old stuff on Craigslist. I’ve heard about it long ago, but I’ve never actually gone on it looking for anything. Today I decided that I would check it out just to see what I could find. I typed different things and saw that it was almost like Ebay, I could find just about anything I wanted on Craigslist. I decided that I would try typing “Star Wars” to see what I could find and boy did I find things. One of the things that caught my eye was a listing that said

Huge Garage Sale

1000’s of Star Wars toys, many from the 70’s and 80’s including many lose and carded figures. If you’re a Star Wars fan or collector you can not miss this sale…everything must go!!!

We are also selling lots of Elvis and Rock ‘n Roll memorabilia

I typed the address into my phone and let the little electronic voice guide me to what I was hoping was the Mother Lode of Star Wars toys. In my mind I was that little kid circling all the toys I wanted from the Christmas Flyer from Toys R Us imagining that I would get them all, but somehow knowing I would be lucky to get one thing from my list. In my mind I imagined all the Star Wars things at unbelievable prices - I was going to build up my collection of Star Wars toys (which is already more Star Wars toys than one grown person should own).

I told my nephew that when he gets bigger he’ll probably get my Star Wars stuff, so the other day I find him going through my stuff.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Nothing.” he says. “I’m just looking at your Star Wars stuff”?

“Ok,” I was curious, “and why are you going through my stuff?”

“I want to take out the stuff you can give me for my birthday.”

I looked at him puzzled. “I’m going to give you my stuff for your birthday?”

“Yeah,” he didn’t look away from the figures he was fingering in my space case. “On my birthday I’m going to be seven and when I turn seven I’m going to be bigger and you said I could have your stuff when I get bigger.”

How could I argue with logic like that?

I drove to the garage sale thinking that maybe not only would I find stuff for my collection but I might a starter collection to give my nephew when he turns seven and gets bigger.

I drove around until I found the place. It was a regular house nestled in a nice community of regular houses. There weren’t any signs that I was about to hit the mother lode of all Star Wars toys or of any Rock ’n Roll memorabilia except for a cardboard cut out of Elvis holding a cardboard sign that said “Garage Sale” on it..

I pull up to the house and start my walk up the driveway. There is a man sitting in a small chair off to the side. He’s busy going through paperwork and mail, too busy to even look up at us as he says. “There’s some knock-off purses in that box over there and they’re two for thirty dollars or twenty dollars each.”

“thank you” I say walking toward the stuff in boxes that he’s selling expecting to find the mother lode, but all I see are fake Coach, Dooney Burke purses. I look over at the guy whose still busy with his paperwork and realize there is something familiar about him. I don’t know why but for some reason I notice his feet. He’s wearing sandals and his feet are huge. They are the feet that belong to a giant or to a Montenegrian. Finally I have to ask, “Do you have any Star Wars stuff?”

“Oh he says, ‘you seek Yoda’” and he laughs at his joke. “You’re here because of the ad in Craigslist.”

“yeah,” I answered. “Do you have anymore Star Wars stuff?”

“No” he said, finally looking up from the paperwork that he had on his lap. “I sold it all to some lady for $3,500” As he stands up I must have looked at him really funny because he asked, “What?”

He’s about 6’8 and as I look up at him I realize why he looks so familiar. “Has anyone told you that you look like Elvis?”

“Thank you. Thank you very much.” he says sounding like what I believe Elvis sounded like in real life. I can’t remember what the real Elvis sounded like because all I’ve heard were imitators pretending to be him, so to me he sounded like Elvis.

“You look like Elvis only supersized.”

The Giant Elvis chuckled. “ain’t never heard that one before.”

“so, no Star Wars stuff, huh?” I asked looking around.

The Giant Elvis looked around too and said, “Now the stage is bare and I’m standing here with emptiness all around.”

“Ah, ok” I said not really knowing what to say. I picked up a little blue dog that had a tag that identified it as a 2009 Elvis Christmas ornament - I guess it was a blue suede hound dog. “You know, my birthday is January 8^th” I don’t usually go around telling people my birth date but it seemed fitting at the time because January 8^th was the same as Elvis’ birthday used to be. Any fake Elvis worth his weight in spit should know that, I thought.

“well, happy birthday to you” the giant Elvis said not really getting the connection.

“Thank you” I gave him a sideway glance and did my best impersonation, “Thank you very much.”

“you should leave the impersonations to the professionals”

“Ok” I said, agreeing that my impersonation was pretty bad. “How about you show me a little bit of Elvis”

The giant Elvis started singing, “You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain. Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain, waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets …”

“Ah” I interrupted. “That’s not Elvis, that’s Bruce Springsteen.”

Giant Elvis looked at me with a puzzled looked on his face. He raised one eyebrow and asked, “are you sure?”

“Yeah I am. You’re singing Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen. I’d bet your life on it.”

Giant Elvis looked at me but didn’t say anything. He started singing at the top of his lungs.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too … I can‘t help falling in love with you” he stopped and asked, “that was Elvis? Wasn’t it?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah that was Elvis. You’ve been quoting Elvis since I got here but you can’t remember the songs?”

“You’re putting too much pressure on me to perform.”

I didn’t even want to acknowledge that statement - it just seemed kind of weird to me.

It was at this time that a blond woman came out of the house. “Hi sugar” she said to me in a baby type voice. ”We have a big sale on knock off bags today two for thirty dollars.” She winked at me and said, “but for you honey we may even sweeten the offer.”

Giant Elvis put one arm around my shoulders, which really bothers me when strangers do that, “this is my wife. Do you know who she impersonates?” He asked as I moved away from under his arm.

“Marilyn Monroe?” I took a guess.

Giant Elvis laughed, “show him babe.”

The blond woman got on her knees, began rubbing her hands over her breasts and down over her legs as she sang, “like a virgin…touched for the very first time…like a virrrrrrgin…oh…oh…oh.”

I stood there not believing what I was seeing when Giant Elvis said, “you have to imagine her breasts have big cones over them.”

I looked at Giant Elvis and asked, “you said you had knock-off bags for sale?” I didn’t wait for an answer I started making my way to the car. As I got in my car to drive away Giant Elvis knocked on my window. He smiled as I rolled down the window and he gave me a picture of himself dressed in a glittery, rhinestone jumpsuit.

As I drove off I swear I could hear Giant Elvis sing:

“Well, it's one for the money,
Two for the show,
Three to get ready,
Now go, cat, go.”

I’m not sure I’ll be using Craigslist again.

The Holiday Spirit - Happy New Year

Tony — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 22:07:00 GMT

I went out of town for Christmas this year so I didn’t get the chance to buy all the gifts I wanted to buy before leaving so I decided to go Christmas shopping for those people that I still haven’t seen and didn’t have gifts for so I’m driving along minding my own business, singing to whatever song is playing on the oldie’s station at the time when I put my blinker on to signal that I’m going to turn into the Target parking lot. As I’m making my turn some guy comes racing along and cuts me off turning into the parking lot from the lane beside me. Instinctively I honk the horn mostly because I really thought he was going to hit me and I don’t want to have to go through all that hassle I went through last time someone ran a stop sign and hit me. The driver of the other car flashes me his Happy New Year finger as he pulls into the parking lot. I pull in behind him and actually find a spot before he does. Well, Mr. I don’t know the fuck about driving laws pulls up behind me, gets out of the car and starts yelling at me about my lack of driving skills.

“You don’t know how to fuckin’ drive! You’re such a dumb ass that shouldn’t even be driving” He’s screaming at the top of his lungs.

I have to admit that it was a bit scary to have someone stand there and yell at me like that because you don’t know what anyone else is thinking or capable of doing. I know you’re supposed to stop and walk away from something like this so that it doesn’t escalate, but I didn’t walk away. I looked at him and said, “You’re the one that cut me off and I’m the dumb fuck that doesn’t know how to drive?”

“Fuck you, you fat ass muther fucker!”

I don’t know why but I couldn’t help thinking “Man, that’s a lot of fucks he’s using” It was at this point that I noticed the bumper sticker on his car. It was one of those religious fish with the word “Jesus” in it. I have a Darth Vader window decal on my car and found it funny that I have the Dark Lord of the Sith on my car and he has The Savior of the World on his, yet he’s the one yelling and calling me names. I pointed at his bumper sticker and simply asked, “Dude, what would Jesus do in this situation?” The guy’s face totally changed and he became quiet. He didn’t say anything else as he got in his car and drove off.

********

Well, it’s the end of another year. I should’ve written about the things I plan to change and work on for the new year but the fact of the matter is that I don’t ever make new year’s resolutions. I don’t make any, simply because I never keep them, so what’s the point?

As I wrote in my face book post, for anyone who knows me, did you really think I would let the year slip by without posting this song? It's a great cover by Melissa Etheridge

Here’s wishing you and your family “a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year … another year over and a new one just begun...let's hope it's a good one without any fear."

The Devil and Me

Tony — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 08:27:00 GMT

I had a dream the other night that the Devil came into my room and woke me up from a good sleep. I looked in his eyes and he looked deep into mine and then he wiggled his fingers, stuck out his tongue and said, “boogie, boogie, boogie.” I just looked at him, rolled my eyes, and covered my head with my blanket and tried to go back to sleep. The Devil pulled the blanket off me and stuck out his tongue and wiggled his fingers and yelled, “BOOGIE! BOOGIE! BOOGIE!”

“Dude,” I said pulling the blanket back from him. “I’m trying to sleep here.”

The Devil looked perplexed. He sat on the edge of my bed and asked, “aren’t you scared?”

“No,” I said impatiently, “now let me go back to sleep.”

The Devil scratched the spot on his head between his horns and asked, “really?”

“Really” I was tired and wanted to get some sleep before having to get up in the morning so I asked him, “If I say I’m scared, will you leave me alone and let me sleep?”

The Devil stood up from the bed and thought about it for a second. ”No,” he answered. “I won’t leave you alone because you’d just be lying to me. Most people would be terrified of me if I showed up in their room in the middle of the night, why aren’t you afraid of me?”

I sat up in my bed and moved my face closer to his, “Dude, I work with your sister and she’s much more terrifying then you are.”

The Devil shrugged his shoulders and let me go back to sleep.

Memories

Tony — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 22:41:00 GMT

When Ian from Idiot’s Stew asked me to be part of his Turkey Palooza I knew I wanted to do it, but I didn’t really know what I was going to write about. I thought I would write about one of the many childhood thanksgivings I shared with my family, but as I began to write something totally different came out. When my entry was posted I didn’t expect the response that I got. Everyone was really positive and supportive about it, but the one question that people would email me or ask me in person most was if I ever forgave my grandfather for throwing us out of his house when we needed him most. My grandfather was a great man who had his faults, just like any other person. I think the post may have painted him out to be “the bad guy” but in reality he wasn’t - well not anymore than I was the bad grandson. We are just human, neither completely good nor completely bad, besides if he hadn’t done what he did I wouldn’t be the person I am today, so in a way, I feel that I should be thankful for the way things turned out.

I was actually thinking about my grandfather this morning and about all the good and happy memories I have of him; from sitting outside on the porch of my grandmother’s house listening to his various tales that were filled with magic and always involved relatives from the past and present, to helping him plant a garden that my grandmother would love until the day she died, to walking to the store with him and always getting gum, candy or some other treat that my mom was not too fond of me having before dinner. Of all the memories I have the best one is when we first moved to Vegas. I’ve told this story before so if you’ve heard it before, then I’m sorry.

There used to be this pizza place back home that I used to love. As a teenager, my friends and cousins were always hanging out there - it was our hangout. I’m sure it was the hangout to many teenagers, but that didn’t matter because no matter how many other people were there it was always “our place”. I not only went there with friends, I would go with my family too, especially when I was younger. My grandfather and I would go eat there almost every weekend - it was one of those things that I really looked forward to, not only for the company but because it was the best pizza in the whole entire world, well at least that’s what I used to think, but again, I was very young at the time and the planet didn‘t seem so big back then.

Every time we would go out to eat I’d want to go eat at this particular pizza place, even now when I go back home someone related to me will still take me to eat there, usually my cousin Mari - and you know, I still think it just may be the best pizza in the world. Soon after we moved to Vegas my grandfather came to visit. I was excited that he was coming because there were so many Vegas sights I wanted to show him and I wanted to hear his stories again before I got too old and stopped believing in the magic that was woven throughout the adventures he would spin. I remember waiting anxiously for his flight to arrive. At that time you could actually wait at the gate for flights to arrive and you could stand there with balloons and signs welcoming your loved ones. I stood watching as one person after another walked through the hallway into the waiting area and into the arms of loved ones. It seemed like forever before I saw my grandfather making his way down the corridor. I ran up to him and gave him a big hug. It had been years since he told us to leave his house and in the time that had passed that memory was pushed to that dark corner of your mind where you store the things you never forget but that you never really talk about either. At the time he waked off the plane he seemed like this tall, larger than life man who would always be there for me. I never felt that he wouldn’t nor did I know just how little time I had with him.

He gave me a big hug and then handed me a pizza box from the pizza place back home. It was early in the day so he had called the manager the day before and told him that he wanted to bring a pizza from Texas to Vegas for his grandson, the manager went in early and made the pizza before the place opened so my grandfather would be able to bring it to me. Thinking back on it now, it makes me smile and yet it makes my eyes fill with tears of sadness at the same time. We went home and we all enjoyed the pizza as my grandfather told us one last tale of how he met my grandmother and how they danced under the stars and he knew they were destined to be together since the day they were born.

While he was here in Vegas my grandfather got sick. One day my mom walked into the room he was staying and found him laying on the floor unconscious. They rushed him to the hospital where he stayed until the night he died.

I felt like that scared little kid who ran down the alley swinging my book bag as the dogs barked and jumped at me from behind fences while I ran home after school. I never wanted to go down that alley but I had to everyday. I hate hospitals and I never wanted to go to the hospital when he was sick, but I had to go everyday. I remember walking into the hospital room and watching as the machine did his breathing and feeling so sad and helpless. I wanted to lean over and whisper in his ear that I loved him and that I was sorry for lighting that firecracker under his chair while he took an afternoon nap on the porch when I was eight years old. I wanted to tell him that I forgave him for throwing us out that Thanksgiving eve with nothing but the clothes on our back. I didn’t know if he could hear me or not - a part of me thought that he couldn’t. Maybe he was already gone and he would hear nothing of what I said, but at the same time I really believed that I had more time with him. I thought that he was going to get better so I never told him what I wanted to say. I believed with all my heart that he was going to pull through and that one day we would all sit at the dinner table and I would tell him what he meant to me and how he shaped my life. It was with that thought that I left the hospital, planning that dinner in my mind. That night I got the call from my mom telling me that he had died - I never got to tell him that I loved him and that I never really stopped loving him even after he threw us out of his house. I never told him I was sorry for setting off that firecracker under his chair as he took an afternoon nap on the porch when I was eight years old. I never told him that I forgave him for throwing us out . I never said the things I wanted to say to him.

I’d like to think that deep down he knew these things, I just wish I had said them to him…

I've gone to the Turkey Palooza - follow me there

Tony — Thu, 19 Nov 2009 08:38:00 GMT

When I first read the message from Ian at Idiot’s Stew asking me if I would be interested in writing a guest post for his “The Idiot’s Super-Duper-Amazing-Pre-Thanksgiving-Holiday-Extravaganza-and-Parade” (aka Turkey Palooza) the first thought that went through my head was “is this message really for me?” If you’re a reader of Idiot’s Stew then you know Ian is a genius and a great writer, so I wondered why he would want my humble musings on his blog - I quickly agreed to do it before he came to his senses and retracted the offer.

My first thought for a story was about the times we would get together at my grandma’s house and have thanksgiving dinner and then my cousins and I would get into dirt clog fights with the rival neighborhood kids, but as I started the story something totally different came out. I thought about our family tradition of going to the movies every Thanksgiving and how that started and that’s what I wrote about, so go check out my contribution to “The Idiot’s Super-Duper-Amazing-Pre-Thanksgiving-Holiday-Extravaganza-and-Parade” (aka Turkey Palooza) and let me know what you think.

Thank you Ian for letting me be a part of this - it was an honor for me

Blue

Tony — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 14:29:00 GMT

I know a girl named Blue. That’s not the name she was born with. She was born with a girly name such as Lindsey, Monica, or Cheryl, but somewhere between the time she was born and the time I met her she became “Blue” I don’t know how or why she choose to call herself that. Maybe Blue is her favorite color, maybe she was feeling blue, or maybe she was having a “Blue Period” much like Picasso did during the years between 1900 - 1904. I know Blue is an unusual name for a girl, but Blue is far from being the usual girl next door.

When you first meet her, the first thing you notice about Blue is the way she dresses. She doesn’t dress like other girls I know. she’s always wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey, blue jeans, and always has a blue handkerchief tied around her bald head which is covered with a Dallas Cowboy cap. At first glance she may come off as being a bit intimidating especially when you add the fact that she’s about five feet nine inches tall and weighs a good two hundred and fifty pounds.

You may or may not have guessed, but Blue is a lesbian. I’m not saying that being a lesbian is a good thing or a bad thing I’m just mentioning it because it’s an important part of the rest of this story. She drinks like a man, she swears like a man, and one time I even think I saw her adjust her balls like a man. One thing I can about her is that she’s cool as hell. I admire the fact that she speaks her mind and doesn’t care what others think about the way she dresses, the things she says, or her sexuality.

I remember one night we were all sitting around the fire-pit talking about how we all met and she mentioned that she thought my sister was beautiful when she first met her. I always thought Blue had a crush on my sister, but never said anything. One of my sister’s best friends told everyone how when they first met he thought my sister was a lesbian too because she was always hanging out with the guys at the automotive shop in school. He said that she knew more about cars than most of the guys in the class. He said that she was just one of the guys to the group until prom. His date cancelled at the last minute so he wasn’t going to go when he called my sister to see if she would go with him. He said that when he saw her he was dumbstruck because she was so beautiful and so girly. He said that everyone at the prom was shocked to see her all made up and dressed in a dress.

Blue enjoyed that story and laughed as she told us how she would drag my friend to the gay and lesbian bars because she didn’t want to go alone. At one particular bar she said she had to go to the restroom but didn’t want to go in by herself so she dragged him in there too. She said it was the more horrible of horrible places she ever had to go. She said that the floor was so nasty that you could probably name any disease and probably get it from the floor. She said that she didn’t even want to sit on the toilet not even with the ass protectors on it, so she “eagled it” I never heard that term before so I had to ask what that meant. She said that was when a girl went to the restroom and just hovered over the toilet seat because it’s so dirty - I never knew women did that until that night. The next thing she did and said made me come up with a great idea. She walked over to the cooler and pulled out a bottle of Miller Light, opened it and began to drink it. As she did she said, “Miller Light in a bottle is a lesbian drink. All the lesbians drink this stuff”

I looked at her and said, “My sister drinks Miller Light out of a bottle” and just like that the idea hit me… I would set my sister up with Blue.

It didn’t matter that my sister was not a lesbian, I was going to set her up with another girl. At the time she had been going out with good-for-nothing guys, so I figured why not try a girl? All the guys she had gone out with up to that time were almost a cookie cutter type of each other. They were short, ugly, with short stubby hair, saggy pants and no job. Most of the guys that she went out with up to that time had the IQ of a peanut butter sandwich.

When my sister found out what I had done, she went to my mom and asked, “you know what your son just did? Do you want to know what your son just did”

“What?” My mom asked.

“He set me up on a date with a lesbian."

"He set you up with a lesbian?"

"Yes. He set me up on a date with another girl.”

“Well,” my mom answered. “at least that way you can’t get pregnant.”

2009 Mr. Olympia Bodybuilding Expo

Tony — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 07:05:00 GMT

Last year, the tough guy from work and myself went to the 2008 Mr. Olympia Bodybuilding Expo. It was my first time at the expo and it was such a great experience that right afterwards we decided that the following year we would be going again. As a matter of fact we were so inspired by all the bodybuilders at the expo last year that we decided that the following year we went we were going to be buffed and muscular. We started off well, going to the gym and doing cardio

The first week the tough guy asked me, “did you work out?”

I answered, “Yeah I worked out and did cardio too.”

The second week the tough guy asked, “did you work out?”

I answered, “Yeah I worked out but I didn’t do cardio this time.”

The third week the tough guy asked, did you work out?”

I answered, “Uh…I didn’t really have time this week. It was a crazy week.”

The fourth week the tough guy asked, “did you work out?”

I answered, “No, but I passed the gym on my to McDonalds”

The fifth week the tough guy didn’t ask me anything.

This year we had a pretty good walk from where we parked to where the expo was being held. As we were walking I could feel myself feel a little winded. I told the tough guy that I really needed to get back in the gym because I was already starting to feel myself breath harder. To be fair though, I think I may have had the beginning of a cold because even now I’m still fighting off a cough and congestion, but at the time I didn’t know it. After a little bit, even though he won’t admit it, the tough guy was breathing just a little harder. I brought that up and he said he wasn’t breathing hard - maybe for next year’s expo we’ll get into better shape.

I used to think that bodybuilders in general were short little guys, but when I walked into the 2009 Mr. Olympia Bodybuilding Expo it was like walking into the land of giants. There were lots of bodybuilders, both men and women who were at least my height and quite a few that were taller than me. One of the biggest guys that I saw there was this guy:

At first when I came up to him I was like a little kid, just kind of wide-eyed and slacked-jawed. “You wanna an autograph?” the giant said.

I shook my head answering “no” but my mouth said, “yes” and like a little kid waiting for his baseball hero I waited as he autographed a picture for me. As I watched him sign his name I thought to myself this guy is not human…he’s a mutant. He handed me the picture and I asked him if I could take his picture. He flexed so I took his picture.

There was something about this next lady that really stuck me as beautiful - I don’t normally think that a woman who could body slam me is attractive --- wait a minute, yeah I kind of do, especially if she looks like Michelle Rodriguez. I don’t know, maybe it was her muscles or the fact that she was so dark, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, but the fact was that she was really dark made her muscles really stand out and I guess I liked that. Maybe she reminded me of dark chocolate and everyone knows just how much I love dark chocolate. I don’t know, but something seemed attractive to me about her. She was standing with some friends and every once in awhile someone would come up with a camera and ask to take her picture. I also noticed that while she talked to her friends every so often she would just turn, flex and someone would take her picture. As I walked by she flexed so I took her picture.

Not all the women were bodybuilders, some were just in very good shape. I don’t know what these girls were giving samples of - I don’t think most of the men that lined up at this booth knew or cared what they were getting as long as it came from these women. They could have been giving out coupons for 75% off a vasectomy and the men would have taken them with a smile.

I thought this girl was the hottest of the three

but of all the girls I talked to at the expo this one was the one that seemed the hottest to me, not only because…well, she’s hot, but because she was so freaking nice. She was so nice to me that I was ready to give her my first born if she had asked me.

This next guy is MMA fighter Frank Mir. When we first got to the expo there was a huge line to see him. To be honest with everyone I didn’t know who he was and was not very impressed. As I was walking out I saw that everyone in line had been given their chance to take a picture with Mr. Mir and had walked away with an autograph picture. A new line was being made for the next go round. I just happen to walk by as he was getting ready for his break and I thought I should take a picture of him so I could post it here. Mr. Mir’s manager told me that he would take a picture of both of us together if I wanted but I told him that I just wanted one of the fighter and then the manager said he could autograph a picture for me, but I declined that too because I’m not really into autographs unless it’s from a mutant lol.

As I was typing this I decided to google Frank Mir and now I wish that I had known more about him before the expo because if I had then I would have gladly taken my picture with him and would have accepted the autographed photo. From what I’ve read about him he seems like a truly genuine nice guy who has gone trough a lot to get to where he is now. Maybe he’ll be at next year’s expo and I’ll wait in line for an autograph picture and I’ll tell him “good job man.”

When I was a kid my grandfather would love to watch wrestling on television. I used to get a kick on how he used to cheer his favorites on and yell at the screen. As I got older I realized that it was just entertainment and it just didn’t seem to hold the same magic as it did for me when I was younger. There was one wrestler that I thought was cool, even after I got older - that was Stone Cold Steve Austin. He was this larger than life character on TV and for some reason seemed real. What I mean by real is that I had the feeling that if I ever met him in real life he would be exactly like he was on television, so imagine how I felt when I turned the corner and there he was sitting at a Muscle and Fitness booth signing autographs.

I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed at seeing Stone Cold Steve Austin. Seeing him in real life was a lot like going to a concert of your favorite rock band only to find that in real life they don’t sound as good as they do on the CD. That’s how Steve Austin was, in his movies and on TV he seems like this huge guy, a larger than life superhero, but in real life he was just an ordinary guy. He wasn’t’ much taller than me and he didn’t seem to be as muscular in real life as he looks on TV.

It’s funny because you don’t have to be famous at the bodybuilding expo to have people take pictures of you, all you have to be is big. Last year I took pictures of many people who weren’t famous but they were huge bodybuilders. This year I had to take a picture of this guy.

I don’t know who he is, probably just some fan trying to get as many free samples as possible or someone who wanted to be seen and have his picture taken by a random stranger. This guy was huge - check out how big his forearms are. The thing that made me want to take his picture is that he had purple streaks in his hair and what looked like a dark pink eye shadow. I didn’t tell him that I thought the eye shadow or the purple hair were funny - to each their own, who am I to judge besides I didn’t want him to beat my ass. I’d hate to have to tell people that I got my ass beat by a guy with purple hair and pink eye shadow.

I had a good time at this year’s expo. I missed having Ms. Tough Guy around though because last year we both stopped at every booth and tried all the samples. Last year I was filled with creatine, muscle milk, nutrition bars, fat burners, weight gainers, protein and who knows what else. This year The Tough Guy was after the t-shirts they give out, most of which are thrown out into the crowds. Last year I think I walked away with four or five shirt - this year I ended up with ten different shirts. I had a good time at the expo maybe for next year’s expo I’ll try to lose a little weight and put on some muscle…or maybe not.

I almost forgot, this is a picture for my friend Billy who likes girls with big...uh...well you know...he likes girls with big...magazines. yeah that's it.

Spots

Tony — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 14:26:00 GMT

A couple of weeks ago I noticed a brown spot on my foot I wasn’t too worried about it. I could just be getting older. Isn’t that what happens to you as you get older - you get spots? When my friend found out the first thing she said was, “You better get it checked because it could be skin cancer.” My friend is a bit of a hypochondriac and seems to think any sudden spot or change on your skin can only mean one thing - skin cancer. I know that as you age you begin to get spots and things grow out of places that you didn’t even know existed, but I guess that’s normal and inevitable, so when I saw the spot I wasn’t too concerned. I mean how likely is it that I would get skin cancer on my foot?

Needless to say, my friend’s words kept running though my mind. The more I thought about it the more I began to think that maybe it was something serious and I should get it checked. One morning I sat in the bathroom looking at my foot and the brown spot on the top of my foot and couldn’t help but notice how sharp the edges were - I didn’t know if that was a good sign or bad, but I figured it was a sign and then I noticed there was another faint spot just to the right of the first one. On the off chance that I had dirty feet, I licked my thumb and rubbed it against the spots but neither of them came off, so I didn’t have dirty feet. I had spots on my feet.

Later that day I called my friend and asked her if she could take a look at it. “You think it could be something serious?” I asked her a little worried.

“I’m no expert,” she said, “but let’s take a look.” Plop that big dog up here” she patted her lap. I just looked at her when I asked if there was something serious I didn’t expect her to give my feet an examination. I’m not a foot person - I hate having other people’s feet touch me and it just seemed sort of weird for me to have my friend touch my feet. “Come on, give me your foot” She said

“Uh..I don’t want to.”

“Oh come on, don’t be shy. You’re going to have to let someone look at it and besides how bad could they be? I have an older brother whose feet used to stink so bad that on family trips my dad used to make him ride with his feet sticking out the window.” I laughed at the image of her brother riding in the car with his feet sticking out the window. “Your feet can’t possibly stink more than that.”

I looked at her with a sideways glance, “My feet don’t stink at all.”

“just put it up here.“ I put my foot on my friend’s lap. “You’re right. It doesn’t smell.“ She leaned in a little and took a breath.

I looked at her with a strange look and slightly disgusted look on my face, who actually smells someone else’s feet? I don’t care if you’re friends or not - you don’t go around smelling other people’s feet - It’s just not right. I said, “I’m right 97 to 98 percent of the time and usually the other 2 -3 percent is because someone gave me wrong information.“

My friend just rolled her eyes and then began to look at the spot on my foot “It looks weird” she said licking her thumb and then rubbing against the spot.

“Hey!” I said starting to pull away from her, but she held my foot tightly.

“It might be dirty” She said smiling then the smile faded. “I bet you it’s some sort of melanoma”

“A whoda whada?” I asked not really hearing the word melanoma.

“A melanoma. A skin cancer.” She looked serious now and by the look she gave me I knew that I shouldn’t joke about it. ”You really should get it checked. You have three of them on this foot. Let me see the other foot.”

“Huh?” I didn’t even think to look at my other foot. I didn’t hesitate this time I put my foot in my friend’s lap and sure enough there were brown spots on it too. We just looked at each other and I think at that time we both had an idea that more than likely it wasn’t anything to worry about, but if it wasn’t cancer what could it be? Maybe I was turning into some sort of spotted mutant super-villain. I didn’t know what was happening but I did know I had to get it checked out. I’d hate to let it go and then die of some sort of rare spotted disease

Here lies Tony
He had spots on his feet
He didn’t worry about it
Now, he’s food for worms to eat

I called and made an appointment with a dermatologist . I hate going to see the doctor, even if it is a dermatologist, so as usual I paced in the waiting room. Finally, I was called back by a nice older lady who asked me different questions and asked me to take off my shoes so she could see the spots.

“I’ve never seen anything like that.” she said, “We’ll see what the doctor thinks, she should be in shortly.”

maybe there was still a chance I was becoming a mutant with evil spotted powers, was the first thought that went through my head. The second thought that went through my head was “why is this older lady looking at my feet if she’s not the doctor and why is she touching them?”

It wasn’t long before the doctor came in. It was like in a movie where the door opens slowly and you see a pair of long legs in four inch black stilettos come through first. As she walks in it’s as if she’s a model walking the runway with the wind machine blowing her hair and lab coat back in slow motion.

She licked her lips and said, “Hi sweetie, I hear you spots on your feet.” A curl of hair fell down in front of her face, she pushed it back. “lay back and lets see what we’ve got.” I sucked in my gut and melted into the examination table as she looked at my feet. ”Hummm, this is strange” she smiled. “You have six perfect circles on each foot”

“Six circles?” I sat up. “I didn’t have that many before.” I looked at my right foot and she was right there were three darker circles with two others that were not as dark. I didn’t see the sixth one, but I took her word for it - she is the professional. I looked at my other foot and I could clearly see six spots. I looked up at the doctor and asked, “What is it?”

“it’s nothing to worry about.” She kind of chuckled. I couldn’t believe that she chuckled while I was sitting there mutating into who knows what or I was on death’s doorstep with some sort of rare melanoma. “I can guarantee you that those spots are nothing to worry about” She turned and picked something up from the floor. At first I didn’t know what it was but then I saw she had my shoes. I guess that was the end of the appointment - I was definitely going somewhere else for a second opinion. “Watch this.” she said as she slid my shoes onto my feet.

As she slid my shoes on, it was so obvious that I had to laugh and wanted to slap my forehead. The holes on my Crocs matched exactly with the spots. The spots were nothing more than tanned areas of my feet.

“Wow” was all I said.

“Let’s just write this up as a free consultation.” she said as she smiled and walked out the door.