Richard Pryor, RIP.

Hard to believe that he started out his comedy career trying to be cleaner than Bill Cosby...and ended up being the man that made the word 'nigger' acceptable to black people--something he later renounced. One of the funniest men to ever live, he poked fun at everybody without prejudice--white or black. One of the writers of Blazing Saddles (Mel Brooks wouldn't cast him because he was afraid he was too vile--and too erratic) and a formidable acting talent as well. Rest in peace, Richard.

Go Cougars! (Or, How Montana's Gonna Get A Spanking.)

For Mary Mary....from 923thefort.com...

The Cougars are gonna SPANK Carroll next Saturday!!

Show Off Your Heritage.

From the Associated Press.

CAPE GIRARDEAU, Mo. -- Members of a Scottish group are calling for a Missouri high school principal to apologize to a student who was asked to change out of the kilt he wore to a formal dance.
An online petition has accumulated more than 775 signatures from across the globe.
Members of the Clan Gunn Society of North America also are putting together a registry to receive donations to provide Jackson High School senior Nathan Warmack with the rest of the items he needs to complete his Scottish ensemble.
A letter attached to the petition speaks of "the courage it takes young people to show pride in their families' heritages."
The Jackson school superintendent backs the principal, saying it was his decision to make.

I applaud young people's interest in their heritage, and encourage them to express themselves in ways that exhibit their interest. It can't be anything but healthy to find out where you came from. Take the young people here, for instance....also expressing their Scottish backsi..er, backgrounds....

A Holdiay Gift Wish Update. (Or, How Did I Survive Without This So Far?)

USB Turntable (More Vinyl to CD Goodness)
READ MORE: Home Entertainment, ION, ITTUSB, TOP, Turntable, gift guide
You kind of liked the idea of that TEAC turntable that could rip vinyl right into a CD (though many of you seemed to wonder why it took so long for the combo to be marketed together), so you may also want to take a looksie at ION’s ITTUSB. This USB turntable is being touted as the first ever of its kind to let you instantly convert your vinyl to CD or MP3 with included recording software (no special drivers required). Basically, the ITTUSB is compatible with any software that supports USB audio input sound cards, but comes with Audacity software for Mac or PC. On the hardware side, the turntable supports 33 1/3 and 45rpm, has an adjustable anti-skating control for increased stereo balancing, supports high-speed vinyl recording, has adjustable pitch control (+/- 8 per cent) and comes with line level output that lets you connect to your home stereo with CD or auxiliary inputs. Just $139.

From Gizmodo.

Sex Toys And Mashed Potatoes. (Or, A Look At No Love Thursday.)

Last night was the meeting of the Nanook of the North Chapter #469 of the No-Love Drinking Club and Mutual Aid Society. The actual meeting was extremely brief, made briefer because the seargant-at-arms had had several cocktails by the time official business was conducted. Present at various times, due to the deteriorating condition of the roadways of this fair city; and the staggered work schedules of all, were: John Q. Public, his lovely bride Mrs. JQP, Pastor Bob, BBG, M. Chamberlin Newspaper Man, Tony Two Times, President Flavia Puff, Sky Captain, Pete the Fireman, and this reporter (an impressive turnout considering the 4 inches of snow that had fallen since noon.)

Cocktails were had, and civil conversations ensued, except for a slight difference of opinion concerning U2 and the poor and starving between myself and Tony 2X; and a confession from one member (FP) concerning the correct way to use a certain type of sex toy, for which we all gave pointers and a few hearty laughs. It was a remarkably low key evening for a bunch of high strung members of the intellengensia. Songs were sung, toasts were given, and the usual witty chatter and sex talk was bantered around. With the exception of what may be the most pathetic excuse for a hot toddy in bartending history (it tasted, all members agreed, "like foot",) it was a cordial and friendly gathering. All in all, a refreshing evening.

I encourage other locales to start their own chapter of NLT. Contact this reporter (National Director of Membership) for more details on how to bring this fun loving celebration of 'life and its pitfalls' to your neighborhood bodega, public house or inn.

Maybe He Should Outsource To China. (Or, A Holiday Poem.)

'Twas the night before Christmas--Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my ass for damn near a year,
Instead of "Thanks Santa"--what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause I work late at night.
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids.
Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS.
And just when I thought that things would get better
Those assholes from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little shits
I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--No request for them,
They want computers and robots...they think - I'm IBM!

Flying through the air...dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season

A Snowy, Cold Thought For The Day. (Or, Please Come To Knoxville.)

There have been two major experiences in my life where I have 'felt the pull', so to speak. They both have to do with people I love. The one I can discuss is the pull of the Smoky Mountains, and East Tennessee....where my babies reside.

For some reason I was sitting here, and Dave Loggins popped into my head. This is damn close to being a perfect song. I'd love to live in any of the places he names....being a ramblin boy myself. And in the end, he finally gets to be with the one he loves...and they end up in Tennessee. A fairy tale ending if ever I heard one.

Please come to Gatlinburg? Maybe a fourth verse is in order. Nah...don't have anyone to sell paintings on the sidewalk...No fairy tale here....yet. But I still have hope....



Please come to Boston for the springtime
I'm staying here with some friends
And they've got lots of room
You can sell your paintings on the sidewalk
By a cafe where I hope to be workin soon
Please come to Boston
She said no, boy you come home to me
And she said, ramblin boy why don't you settle down
Boston ain't your kind of town
There ain't no gold, and there ain't nobody like me
I'm the number one fan of the man from Tennessee

Please come to Denver with the snowfall
We'll move up into the mountains so far we can't be found
And throw I love you echos down the canyon
And then lie awake at night until they come back around
Please come to Denver
She said no, boy you come home to me
And she said, ramblin' boy why don't you settle down
Denver ain't your kind of town
There ain't no gold, and there ain't nobody like me
I'm the number one fan of the man from Tennessee

Now that drifters world goes round and round
And I doubt it's ever gonna stop
But of all the dreams I've lost or found
and all that I ain't got
I still need to lean to
Somebody I can sing to

Please come to L.A. to live forever
California life alone is just too hard to build
I live in a house that looks out over the ocean
And there's some stars that fell from the sky
Livin' up on the hill
Please come to L.A.
She just said no, boy won't you come home to me
And she said, ramblin' boy why don't you settle down
L.A. can't be your kind of town
There ain't no gold, and there ain't nobody like me
I'm the number one fan of the man from Tennessee

An Uplifting Thought For The Day. (Not Like The Usual, I'll Admit.)

And just when you thought I'd slipped into an overworked, pre-holiday funk that would take me through the end of the year, along comes an email from my friend Rita that kicked me in the ass and made me think. Guess it's true what they say...when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Even to a cynic.

RED MARBLES
Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature,ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket offreshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr.Miller and the ragged boy next to me. "Hello Barry, how are you today?" "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas . sure look good." "They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?" "Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time." "Good. Anything I can help you with?" "No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas." "Would you like to take some home?" "No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with." "Well, what have you to trade me for some of thosepeas?" "All I got's my prize marble here." "Is that right? Let me see it." "Here 'tis. She's a dandy." "I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" "Not zackley . but almost." "Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble." "Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller." Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, perhaps." I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could. Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my handand led me to the casket. "Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size ...they came to pay their debt." "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of thisworld," she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho." W ith loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today .. I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ... . Af resh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself .. An unexpected phone call from an old friend .. Green stoplights on your way to work . The fastest line at the grocery store . A good sing-along song on the radio . Your keys right where you left them.

They say it takes a minute to find a special person, An hour to appreciate them, A day to love them, But an entire life to forget them.

A Thought For The Day. (Or, Theology Meets Psychology.)

Another story told to me as true....this one from Pastor Bob's wilder, single days.

Pastor Bob goes into a bar and sees a beautiful woman sitting at the bar. After an hour of gathering up his courage he finally goes over to her and asks, tentatively, "Um, would you mind if I chatted with you for a while?" She responds by yelling, at the top of her lungs, "No, I won't sleep with you tonight!" Everyone in the bar is now staring at them. Naturally, Pastor Bob is hopelessly and completely embarrassed and he slinks back to his table. After a few minutes, the woman walks over to him and apologizes. She smiles at him and says, "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. You see, I'm a graduate student in psychology and I'm studying how people respond to embarrassing situations." To which Pastor Bob responded, at the top of his lungs, "What do you mean $200?"

Those Sliders Will Kill You. (Or, Maybe We Should Eat At Steak And Shake At 3AM Instead.)

From the Minneapolis Star-Tribune.

The body of 25-year-old Kemonte I. Fair was dumped in St. Paul's Thomas-Dale neighborhood early Sunday after he was shot at a nearby fast-food restaurant, authorities said.
Patrol officers found the St. Paul man in the street near Sherburne Avenue and Galtier Street about 12:30 a.m., according to St. Paul police. He had gunshot wounds to his torso and was pronounced dead at the scene.
"It does not appear he was a random victim," said police spokesman Pete Crum.
A 37-year-old man and a 33-year-old woman, both of St. Paul, were arrested about 1 p.m. Sunday in connection with the shooting, police said. The man walked into police headquarters and was arrested, and the woman was stopped nearby in the suspects' car, Crum said.
The victim and suspects knew one another and lived nearby, Crum said. They were involved in an altercation inside a car in the White Castle parking lot on the corner of Sherburne Avenue and Rice Street, police said. Fair was shot and his body dumped a few blocks away, Crum said.
Police refused to discuss a motive.

How pathetic would it be to die with a headline, "Man Killed At White Castle?" I mean, when I go, I want to at least be in the first paragraph in a front page story....not buried on page 6 of the Metro section with the bankruptcy filings. Although with my luck, the way things are going, I might get to appear in both places. Yay!!

Monday Monday. (Or, At Least It's Not The Weekend.)

Long weekend.....

I had a dream that I was standing in front of friends and co-workers in my underwear, and getting no love at all--and it wasn't even Thursday. Oh wait. That actually happened. That was my Friday night.

Saturday was three hours of work...followed by five hours of show....followed by four hours of giveaway fun. Hard to make going to the bar and hanging out a chore, but those of you who have been in (or married to someone in) my shoes know that it IS possible.

Sort of makes the 22 hours I've put in so far this week look kinda calm and refined by comparison...but still, long hours and lack of time with loved ones sucks. As you can tell, the bile's almost fully heated and ready to be spooned out here. I need to be out of the snow...and closer to the mountains and the beach. But the time isn't right just now. So I continue to toil.

But...that's why they call work 'work', I suppose. And as for Friday's debacle, I would expect no less than total apathy from a group of people who have been slowly herded toward the apathetic side of my business for the past several years. Guess it was just an example of the success we've had in assimilating the two cultures. Let's celebrate our success!

Props to my two co-workers for humiliating themselves right along with me; to the Newsman (not even a co-worker, but still in the spirit) for his tribute to CBGB's most famous alum; and to my brother RJ Zappa for having the imagination and the balls that most of the others lacked. Onward into the B's!!