happy new year!

New Year's is this weekend, you know, so here are some helpful tips (probably mostly revolving around drinking), bulleted for your visual pleasure:

• Eat folks. Get a good base of like a large pizza or McDonald’s extra value meal, super-sized with a large coke, maybe work a Wendy’s frosty in there somewhere. You want to give yourself a good 45 minutes between finishing your meal and arriving at the party/your first drink (these are nearly simultaneous events). You want super-absorbent food in your tummy for when the booze comes sliding down, but you don’t want to eat too late or the bloats come. That’s no fun for anyone.



• Make out with somebody random. I want like half of you to be reminiscing with your friends a few weeks from now and you say, “Yah, who WAS that guy?” I will be especially proud if you’re saying this as a guy who’s straight.



• Between you and me, you probably don’t need to bring champagne. Most parties average like 1.5 bottles per attendee. I have an empty bottle with a super-glued cork that I take around from place to place every year. Works like a charm. Then if you really want champagne just stand next to someone who’s opening their bottle. After they take that first swig and have that look on their face like, “Why did I just drink half a bottle of champagne?” you swoop in, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and polish off that bad boy.



• It’s fun to get a little dressed-up for New Year’s, but remember the chafing. And is it just me or have you bought all your “nice” clothes when you were at your current height, but your absolute skinniest? And then every time you wear your nice clothes, all you can think about is what a fat@ss you are? And maybe it occurs to you that, “Wow, I must have been smokin’ hot when this waist band wasn’t cutting off the circulation to my legs. Hey, my toes are purple!” Why does skinny Roger love to buys clothes so much anyway? Fat Roger has had enough. He’s buying a silk moo moo immediately.



• Right about now I’m really glad I didn’t use a numbered list because 4 items doesn’t really do it for anyone.



• Crash. Really, passed out sleeping is pretty undesirable, regardless of locale. No need to compound your problems by driving home drunk. A discreet pillow/blanket travel pack comes in handy. And if you wear contacts, bring a contact case already filled with solution. If you really want to make things happen, pass out at like 9:30 and you’re sure to get a bed. Otherwise, don’t sleep in front of the bathroom. If you’re that sick, sleep IN the bathroom, maybe with your face on the seat, depending.



• Confetti is a friend to no man. You will be picking it out of things weeks from now.



• Finally, and most importantly, have fun. It should go without saying, but inevitably there’s some kind of conflict with somebody’s schedule or who you’re going to hang out with. Go with the flow, take another swig of champagne and always remember the chafing.

All right, hope this helps. Have a great end of ’06 and a bitchin’ ’07.

no way

I have a really hard time believing it's going to be any good. But here's to hoping.

When the Jazzman's testifyin', a faithless man believes.

Finally I can feel superior to everyone. I have some jazz albums.

I always figured I'd get into jazz at some point. Long the days I resisted this assumption. It wasn't until I started trying to learn piano (yes, "started trying to learn piano" is the perfect construction here) that I really began to listen to music. This sounds so stupid. It wasn't that I wasn't listening before, just that every now and again I would hear something and my brain would chime in with, "It would take me 6,000 hours to learn to play this." I was never so naive to think it was "easy" to play these things, but the staggering breadth of the talent demonstrated inspired me (though I'm sure I'll never be any good at it). This realization opened my mind to new and exciting things, especially solo-type piano performances, of which jazz is amply stocked.

That was the small hurdle. The larger hurdle was the smug uglies demonstrated by jazz afficionados. You like jazz; therefore, you are better than all those who do not like jazz. Agreed. Agreed? Isn't this the vibe you get from jazz people? I had to walk amongst their circles in a previous life. It would be offered, "Roger does not like jazz." I would suggest that it, "wasn't my bag - daddio." Sometimes, that was met with a sigh and a genuine sorrow for what the lad/lass felt I was missing out on. But most often, it was a sneer and a tisk, tisk - an implied admonishment for being so [fucking] stupid. This turned me off to the whole genre for quite a while.

But now I'm turned on. Watch this space for future ostentation.

about a boy

So theMonica, Alan, Dan and some other folks went to the most recent Machine Go Boom show at the Happy Dog (where, incidentally, there was a happy dog and a happier dog owner; though the dog was probably not really hammered).

The opener was a guy called Ukebox. He played a ukulele and sang songs about . . . uhhh, pretty much anything, really. I think he had a song he opened with, "This is a song about playing the Happy Dog on December 2nd, 2006." Another buddy of mine said, "This is guys is like, 'Here's a song about a dump I took this morning.'" Little blue for me, but it captured the spirit of Ukebox fully.

The show happens and whatnot. And actually, some of the members of the other band from my last post that was exactly like this one, Bears were there in an audience capacity. I was returning from the bathroom and had to walk right through the middle of them. So, I stopped and said, "Hey, I really like your album." And they just kind of stared at me for a while. Have I ever mentioned I embarrass easily? If I'm intentionally making an ass of myself, I don't embarrass easily, but during this kind of unintentionally uncomfortable social encounter, I feel really, really self-conscience. I kept thinking, "Why did I tell these people I liked their album? Aargh!" (See, if I only had my pirate gear on, this bit would have been much less awkward.) Finally, one of the guys introduced himself and it was somewhat less awkward. Even so, my getaway line was, "Wow. That was really awkward."

I'm not sure why. Maybe they are famous or something. Generally, if they are just people (not famous people), it's not awkward at all to pass along a compliment and have them say, "Oh thanks." Like: "Sweet 'stache." "Thanks bro." But there's a certain level of fame where this gracefullness short-circuits (there's a false gracefullness that develops when fame grows even more), I once asked the guy from The Aislers Set if I could get their albums on-line (we were at the merch table and I was short on cash.) The look on his face said, "Do you live on the fucking moon? With no interwebs access?" I kind of apologized to that guy and scurried off. Maybe they should wear the scarlet F for "Famous."

. . . Thus endeth this long side track, The Ballad of Awkward Roger.

Anyway, at the show some chick starts talking to (hitting on?) theMonica while I'm rocking the party that rocks the body or however that saying goes. theMonica tells this girl that she's with me. This girl, dumb bitch, we shall call her, is like shocked and says that theMonica couldn't be dating me because I "look like a boy." theMonica, pedophilia accusations notwithstanding, laughs it off deftly. Later on, she's telling me the story - the one where I'm 30-years-old and look like a boy. And whatever, I dropped a WTF or something and did a shoulder shrug at theMonica. Then she says, "That's one of the things I like about you - your boyish face." So I'm 30 and I look like I'm 10. I'm a reverse Mitch Taylor.

hello Cleveland!

Last week, theMonica, Alan and I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. If you're ever in town, not only should you have a beer with me and see how much cooler I am in real-life (as opposed to this blog), but you should also check out the Rock Hall.

It was a rockin' good time really. While I'm predisposed to liking history in general, I was amazed at the show outfits. From the scary, green, be-eagled Roy Orbison one-piece, to the giant shouldered David Byrne Talking Head get-up, I am always transported to the moment when the artist green-lighted the idea of wear such ridiculous attire. "Tight crotched, striped, unitard? Butter me up and roll me in!" I am also amazed at how tiny some of these people are. There was a couple of Christina Aguilera costumes there, including a yellow singlet (it's all singlet with these people) that was exceptional only in its tininess. You could honestly put the girl in your pocket. You'd probably be annoyed and toss her after five minutes, but she is that small.

After the trip, we went to dinner. Apparently, the commenting around here has been pretty lacksydaisyall. I am here, all day, blogging my ass off and people are not commenting! I had not noticed all the slacking, but these are my most trusted peeps and they informed me a few posts were left friendless over the past week or so. I must believe them and despise all of you! Just kidding, but no, if you don't find me funny, you should at least PRETEND. Didn't your parents ever teach you about being polite - like if you don't have anything nice to say - oh that's right. Forgot all that stuff I just said. Thanks for being kind.

Sarah - Netflix is SUPER-DOUBLE-PLUS-AWESOME!

I thought I had made myself perfectly clear, but I guess I need to be more explicit.

thought . . .

If I normally grow a beard in the winter and this year I didn't, does that make me lazy?

Stampy!! NOOOOOO!!!

Update: Also from Neatorama, the inspiration for Weekend at Bernie's.

the beta, she teases

Blogger has a beta version that has a couple of new features. One of which is tags or "labels" as they call them. To get on the beta you need a google account (check) AND you have to be invited to upgrade. (A little "Upgrade to Beta" appears on blogger's dashboard.)

I got the invite earlier; I was totally pumped. I hit yes. I took the tour of new features. I watched Sylvia Brown tell some people that their daughter was shot when she actually collapsed in her bedroom. Then, I had to confirm my password with blogger to initiate the upgrade process. I do that and then beta says, "Sorry. We can only upgrade a certain number of people at a time and now is not your time."

So if you're on blogger and you're waiting for the upgrade beware her siren song.

ha ha, old people

A friend emailed that this house next door has some sort of bright spotlight affixed to the roof, which shines brightly upon her bed every night. To which I replied, "Are they old? Old people are afraid - of everything. Especially robots."

For some reason I think I'm being hilarious today and that's like the funniest thing I've said so far. But hey - it's still early. Check back often to see if I redeem myself.

Speaking of hilarious, there is in existence footage of my first stand-up gig. (If you say "first stand-up gig" it makes it sound like you've done more than a handful of open-mic nights.) This particular event occurred in college during a "talent show." Sensitive saxophone guy (SSG) handed me my hat, to be perfectly honest. The cards were stacked against me. All the judges were from the music department and they were not Tenacious D - so WTF did they know about funnytime? I consoled myself with being the crowd favorite as I got way more laughs than SSG.

At any rate, I was contemplating putting it on YouTube. But then I think that I would need some sort of VCR to intertube interface (interestingly enough, this occurred before the whole digital media fad - or BTWDMF). Does anyone have access to a VCR-to-interweb tube?

You know, the more I think about it, I am way too lazy to make this happen. Let's just hit our mental backspace buttons all the way through those last couple of paragraphs - hell, the whole damn post. If you have a clever mind, you can shift+up arrow (+ home on the top row) then backspace the whole thing out at once. This is much easier than me not hitting the "publish post" button ("publish", thanks to blogger for making me feel important. "Publish or perish y'all!")

uberblog

Somebody translated my Mary Lou Retton post into German or something and then it showed up in sitemeter (It sees all!). My apologies to my German friend because, really, that wasn't very funny and probably didn't make much sense.

merry freaking christmas

A co-worker of mine gave everyone in our group a box of Nestle's Mint Holiday Gems. They are "Mint Semi-Sweet Chocolate with Red and Green Nonpareils" (sprinkle dealies to you and me).

This selfless expression of holiday cheer should only please me. Except, I hate mint. And what's the deal with screwing me on the sweetness coefficient? I have few uses for mint. Mint can be used for a decongestant, the occasional mint gum chewing or for scrubbing floors, but for eating wholesale? As part of otherwise, perfectly good chocolate? Spare me. I know I'm pretty much alone on this one, but so be it. How do you people keep from eating your toothpaste?

That is all I have to say on behalf of mint, in any form. Now I must destroy the box of confections.

to all my canadian peeps . . .

What is going on up there (or down there - however you want to put it)?

my thanksgiving was vomitlicious, yours?

Friends, I am on a two-week lag. I've had proto-posts on a number of subjects floating around the ether (and sometimes my computer). Such is being busy at work, it makes the day go much faster, but no time to hash out my blog posts. I work; you suffer. I suffer too. Who benefits? Follow the money.

So, pretend this bit was posted a little more promptly:

Well, I hope everyone’s Thanksgiving went well. Mine was cool except for the horrible, horrible illness I fell under. I like to call it, "unintentional bulimia." You see, I had imbibed a few too many of the adult beverages on Wednesday night – the repercussions of which I felt in spades, my friends, in spades. I am getting old, you know, but I still like I'm not so feeble so as to be knocked out of commission by the prior night's activities. My theory is that I was poisoned by some ill-willing arch-nemesis that I don’t even know about yet. It's was probably meant to be deadly, but I'm really tough, you know? As it was, I was so sick that I contemplated skipping ALL the Thanksgiving festivities. But, I sucked it up and went to my sister’s house for din-din. Upon arrival, around 3 p.m., I immediately had to cut off my aunt’s chat about VCR-setting problems and run to a bathroom to “talk to Ralph on the big white phone.”

This abrupt trip to a foreign bathroom was like the 800th time I had thrown up in the previous 12 hours. It was really a lot of fun. The thing about puking is that it really shocks the abs. If you do it right, you’re cutting calories AND working on a killer 6-pack. Actually, I wasn’t cutting any calories because it was no longer food, just the ginger ale or whatever I happened to be keeping down those past 10 minutes. To answer the question that’s on your mind, I’d say, not a lot. I had maybe 6 or 7 drinks. A couple were shots in celebration of my buddy’s birthday, but that was it. Like I said - poison! In the end, I was able to hold down a few bites of food, but I had to take my turkey leg to go.

probably won't seem as funny as it was (for serious)

I am having lunch with a couple of buddies. A woman is walking by with red (more maroon?) hair which she has styled like Susan Powter and a smart looking pants suit.

buddy: She was electrocuted.
me:: By fashion!