Category: Life

My mailbox at my apartment might as well be a recycle bin. Everyday I get a new eight page “newspaper” filled with nothing but advertisements for glistening slabs of beef and windshield replacements. Now if these products were somehow combined into a new form of transparent beef that would replace my chipped windshield I might be tempted to purchase but as it stands they just infuriate me. But the other day, tucked inside one of these mailers, I saw a package that made all the forest clearcuts worthwhile. By the way, my feelings are not meant to disparage the postal service. They are in a tough spot. What if someone had to hand deliver all the spam email that arrives in your inbox? What if they had to lug it over their shoulder while hoofing it up and down to every house on the block? In my mind, that is what a mail carrier’s job is and I can understand how one might get a little disgruntled now and then.

Of course the package at hand contained a new cd by the one and only Jon Solo. Simply put, this is great music. For those following Jon Solo’s career, this cd is sort of a throwback to his roots but it’s also a glimpse into a new direction. Aptly titled, Piano showcases Solo on the instrument his mind and fingers have been fused to since infancy. The cd contains inspired covers of great songs that I had never heard before and one original Solo composition which you will all hear on the radio some day. (I should note I am not a piano aficianado however, so I’m looking forward to using this cd as a stepping stone to a greater understanding of the music.)

Flat out, Solo knows what he is doing on the keys. The music is dripping with emotion and the original tune called Dreamer is possibly the most engaging of them all. It is an interesting amalgamation of all the places Solo has been in his musical journey through the worlds of classical, jazz, and R&B wrapped up in a haunting, hopeful song. And yet it’s simple, within the grasp of non-musicians, something only few have the talent to deliver.

So do what I did and buy this cd. Support a real musician. I’m getting two because they make excellent gifts and stocking stuffers.

The album can be purchased online through a cool independent label called Premier Cru Music.

1. Nacho Bell
2. Bellington Thirst Howl III
3. Bling Hamz
4. Hamenstein
5. Mr. Beldingham

CK get’s all the credit for the obvious winner on that list. We just had a phone conversation about this and he made tears well up in my eyes with Mr. Beldingham. He said it almost reluctantly, not immediatlely grasping its genious, but then when I used it in a sentence we both knew it rolled off the tongue rather nicely.

Me (recreating CK calling me up out of the blue): “So a,.. hey man… how are things up there in Mr. Beldingham?”

[Sidenote: When I said the previous line in conversation with CK I used the voice and character that I have now officially named Chucky Hasbean. Now you all know that I sometimes use voices and or facial/hand gestures to add in a little physical comedy here and there. So now picture the me you know and… forget him. Instead picture me as Chucky Hasbean (aka Chuckles the Dude, aka Chuck-E-Sleaze) who is kind of a washed-up, never grew out of high school parking lots, mindless guy who stumbled in life but who has a heart of fucking gold. That is Chucky and, damn it, picture him instead. ]

So what are the top 5 nicknames of your city?

I can’t believe I’m about to change my position on an issue as important as this…

I think Sammy Hagar might be a better front man than David Lee Roth. Wow. Even now, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Last night’s Van Halen concert featuring Sammy Hagar changed everything. It took seventh row seats and permanent hearing damage to arrive at this conclusion, but I’m officially convinced.

This is not taking anything away from David Lee Roth. He’s a legend. He was one of the few rockers that gratuitously performed the splits on stage. He could pull off the look of sunglasses and a taxi driver’s cap better than anyone. And he put Van Halen on the map.

But after the electrifying show Sammy Hagar and the rest of Van Halen put on last night, I have a hard time envisioning anyone being able to top it. They played over three hours without a break. The audience stood and cheered the entire time. We were losing circulation in our legs and our bladders were uncomfortably full of beer, but nobody left for even a minute. Van Halen flat out rocked. I held a pretty tepid appreciation of Van Halen before last night, but my level of fandom shot up tremendously after seeing them live.

Here are some highlights of the evening in bulleted format…

• Eddie performed a 20-minute guitar solo. Twenty minutes. At one point he crawled into the fetal position and put his head next to a wall of speakers. His guitar screeched as the audience wondered if he was attempting to commit suicide through massive amounts of feedback. It was a stellar performance though. He played like he had bet the Devil his soul against a fiddle made of gold.
• My only complaint against Sammy Hagar was that he wore a pair of red Capri pants during the show. This bothered me the whole concert. I studied his pants closely, and honestly, I think my wife bought the same pair of pants at the GAP last weekend.
• The bass player had a bass guitar painted like a bottle of Jack Daniels. The best part was that his guitar functioned as a Pez dispenser for those little mini liquor bottles you see on airplanes. Periodically throughout the concert, he’d pop out a shot of whiskey, down half the bottle and throw the rest into audience. That, my friends, is showmanship.
• The band split evenly into shirts and skins. Eddie and Alex Van Halen went shirtless, apparently ready for a pickup game of basketball after the show.
• Rest assured, Eddie Van Halen is still the master of doing the jumping scissor kick while playing the guitar. He proved this time and time again.
• Midway through the concert, they announced the score of the Yankees-Red Sox game. Judging by the crowd’s reaction, apparently I am the only person on earth that was rooting for the Yankees. In my opinion, as impossible as this may sound, the Red Sox were less likable than the Yankees.

  Let’s face it, most of the Red Sox players look like juvenile delinquents. If you removed their hats, it wouldn’t surprise me to see curse words shaved into their hair. I don’t know, all the wild haircuts, punk behavior, scruffy goatees… They looked like they belonged at a skate park instead of on a baseball diamond. (I know, I know, as the bumper sticker on the Allen family minivan proclaims: “Skateboarding is Not a Crime!!“) The Yankees on the other hand, looked clean-shaven and professional. They looked like they could have been heading to a job interview after the game. Sometimes it’s just nice to see the team with better grooming habits win. I’ll leave it at that.

• Remember the scene in the movie “Old School” where Vince Vaughn performs a gymnastics routine while smoking a cigarette? It is arguably the funniest scene in the movie. Anyway, at one point Eddie lit a cigarette and performed his usual jumps and spins around the stage. It was probably the closest thing I’ve witnessed in real life that essentially duplicated that scene from the movie. There were 10,000 people screaming wildly in the arena that night, but I think I was the only one holding in laughter.
• Throughout the concert, several girls threw their bras and panties up on stage. Sammy would collect these undergarments, hold them up for the crowd, and then drape them over his mic stand. I had no problem with any of this.
• Like a lot of aging rockers, Eddie Van Halen, sadly, is looking a little fried. The few times he addressed the crowd, he mumbled, rambled and managed to say things that were completely unintelligible. Granted, he’s far more coherent than Ozzy Osbourne, but at the same time, I’m not sure if that is a yardstick you want to measure yourself against.
• At one point, an audience member threw a giant banner onto the stage that read: “Sammy for President.” Seizing the moment, Sammy waved it around onstage for several minutes and then tied it around his waist like a sarong. I think I speak for most people when I say this: Provided his whiskey-swilling bass player was his running mate, this is one Presidential ticket we could all get behind.

I consider myself a man of letters, a scholar, a learned gentlemen of the zillionaire persuasion, if you will. When I’m not brushing up on my Latin, you can usually find me buried nose-deep in the written word. I’ve studied the works of the masters and spent hours debating the likes of Joyce, Hemingway, and Suess. But that was before I had this leach called “Work” suctioned to my spine, sucking out all my motivation, energy, and will to live. My brain has atrophied to the point where my head now makes a sloshing sound when I lay it down on the pillow at night. With my last firing synapse, I’m trying to remedy the situation by delving back into books. Through painstaking research I’ve discovered that books are the best jumping off point for actual reading.

The fruits of my research grew slowly, however. The first week all I did was admire the book. Week two was spent examining the dust cover. By week three of my program I decided to start sitting down in a comfortable chair while holding the book. I would prop the book open in front of me for long stretches of time, regaining the strength in my wrists, forearms, and biceps. The sorer my arms felt the more work I knew I had ahead of me.

It should be noted that throughout this process I was avidly journaling my experiences and marking my progress. This sort of stuff was bound to help others, I figured. There are no training manuals for middle-aged illiterates. There are no how-to guides for redeveloping the atrophied mind. “Aha!” I said! I had stumbled upon my first brilliant idea since reinvigorating my faculties; the only unwritten book in the popular (and lucrative) “Dummies” series. I would assemble my various scribblings, jots, and canoodlings into Reading for Dummies. I even came up with a subtitle to make it seem more legitimate, “The First and Last Book You’ll Ever Need to Read”

I ran this idea by a few trusted friends who also suffered from MPB (mash-potato brain) and they were keen on the premise, but thought a book in any form might be daunting to those who can’t yet read. After all, while the first chapter of my book entitled “What is a Book?” advocated specifically against reading and promoted “prolonged casual glances,” the advice could only be conveyed to the reader through loosely strung-together words. To top it off, I can’t and won’t compromise my feelings that picture books aren’t really books, a decision that to this day stops me from recognizing all degrees from MR’s alma mater, Central Washington University.

At this point, my bunsen burner of a neck had been lit and the soup in my skull was warming up faster than MR can write up a post about playing xbox while getting wasted with high school buddies at his wedding. In other words, brilliant idea number two popped into my head. My book would be the first book bundled with an accompanying book on tape! Books on tape and book means no more tedious lessons on all the letters of the alphabet. No more overtaxed retinas deciphering every curve and dash of ink. Say goodbye to eyebrows and eyelashes and all the other fancy ocular adaptations we evolved over the years. They are going the way of the dodo or more currently the Nealon.

It’s simple, easy, and simply easy. All you do is follow along. I REPEAT, ALL YOU DO IS FOLLOW ALONG. In fact, you can just fake follow along, changing pages whenever you feel like it. If you listen with headphones, you can pull out the book while you are on the bus or some other public place and fan through the pages in one minute, close the book and put it away. Everyone will think you are Albert-freaking-Einstein. And in a way you will be, because he couldn’t read either!

To my astute readers, the answer is “Yes.” To my Jeopardy-challenged readers, the question was, “Did you just solve the world’s education problems?” To my kneeling and praying readers, I accept your sacrificial goat-meat but warn that a great and mighty plague shall ruin your arable land unless you get me a copy of Halo 2 on November 9 at midnight.

I have a feeling that some of you doubters are reading this and don’t see the merit of my ideas. To you I say you really need a new act because I sensed you were doubting and you’ve become such a reliable force of doubt in the world that the rest of the world has written you off as doubters. There isn’t a shadow of a doubt in my mind that you doubt “doubt shadows” even exist when all I see around you is shadow all the time. No diggity. No doubt.

What about cd’s you ask? I’ve thought of that. Tapes are old and not many people have tape players anymore. So that’s why I bundle Books on Tape (or CD) and Book. If you have an archival storage media, I can and will put a book on it. Guaranteed. No matter where you go, whatever you are doing, you can be listening and learning the content of a book. That is my promise. If you are on the go, I offer Ebooks on Book, CD, Tape, PDF, and ebook. Analog or digital. Kilobyte or candy-gram. Mp3 or DVD.

The DVD option, aside from the fact that writing this is the equivalent of taking a cat o’ nine tails to the corpse of a shetland pony, could be the simplest option of them all. With a DVD, you wouldn’t even need to follow along with the book while listening, you could just watch the video of someone following along to the book on tape (or cd). They would be sitting in a comfortable chair, just like yourself, with a copy of the book outstretched before them, doing all the labor! And for all the DVD heads out there, the special features would contain alternate endings where the reader of the Book on Tape or CD would vary their tone or inflection slightly on the last paragraph of the novel.

The End.

or is it

The End

I’ve been meaning to contribute under the heading “Zillion Dollar Ideas” for some time, but I had abstained for three reasons:

1. How do you top “toilet paper gloves?” (On a side note, while this is an ingenious idea, I’d hate to see the failed prototypes…)

2. Out of sanitary, or in most cases, purely selfish reasons, there are some things I choose to keep to myself. For example, here’s a partial listing of things I don’t like to share with others: The road, my dessert, airplane legroom, leftover pizza, swimsuits, health (in a video game setting), PIN numbers, and toothbrushes. Along those lines, it just seems like brilliant ideas should be hoarded, closely guarded, and possibly used for world domination.

3. Has anyone noticed there is a major deficiency of Zillion Dollar ideas on this site? It’s embarrassing. We’ve been at this for about six months now, and we’ve come up with two. Conversely, a pair of monkeys pounding at two typewriters in the last six months could have easily churned out a few dozen Zillion dollar ideas and probably a couple Shakespearean plays as well… (And frankly, the monkeys would likely have had fewer episodes of throwing fecal matter at each other…)

As you may have guessed, I’ve dealt with this before. Fortunately, I have never been one to quit on things just because I had come to the realization that a primate could render a higher quality product and demonstrate more professionalism in the process. And on that note, I’m pleased to present the Reese’s S’more!

Now ideally, an introduction such as this would take place over a campfire, not in the cold outer reaches of cyberspace. Regrettably, due to a scheduling conflict, the Nobel Prize Committee was unable to “meet me in the woods” for a proper unveiling. I heard through the grapevine that the same thing happened to Stephen Hawking.

Anyway, for once, I won’t bore you with all the minutia about the composition of a typical S’more. It’s irrelevant. Let’s face it, the three little bars of Hershey’s milk chocolate had run its course. It was fine in the 1800’s. That’s all they had. Now, we have an endless array of candy bar options to construct a S’more with. And that line of thinking ultimately led to the Reese’s S’more…

Please understand, with most things, I am a traditionalist. For instance, I have resisted the societal pressure to order a “Pannido” at Jack in the Box. I have firmly stood my ground in opposition to satellite radio. And I have no interest in carrying around Sacajawea dollar coins instead of paper bills. But when it comes to S’mores, I tend to be a little daring. After trying several different candy bar substitutions to the standard milk chocolate, it became instantly clear that the inclusion of peanut butter was a remarkable improvement to the traditional S’more.

Admittedly, anyone can throw together an unconventional S’more recipe and win a slew of Humanitarian awards for their efforts. It’s been done. Look at Gandhi and his lentil S’more. While the ingredients are important, the true brilliance of the Reese’s S’more is derived in the preparation…

To yield the perfect distribution of chocolate, peanut butter and marshmallow within the graham crackers, the Reese’s peanut butter cup must be cut crosswise. This is pretty labor intensive, and borderline impossible to do, which is why I rely heavily on my wife during the assembly process.

First, it takes an amazingly steady (read: not intoxicated) hand to do this… Since I’m never within 20 miles of civilization or sobriety on a camping trip, I leave this delicate incision to my wife. As luck would have it, she possesses the hand-eye coordination and physical dexterity necessary in making Reese’s S’mores or dominating a game of Operation.

Also, you need to have the right knife for the job. Unfortunately, while camping, I simply don’t carry a knife with a blade less than 18 inches in length. While a knife this size is useful for chopping down saplings and performing Crocodile Dundee impersonations, it is just flat out impractical for making ultra fine slices through peanut butter cups.

Again, my wife helps remedy this situation as well. Truthfully, the Reese’s S’more could never have come to pass without my wife bringing every kitchen utensil we own on every camping trip. Only my wife could classify items like melon ballers, spoonrests and flower sifters as part of the bare necessities needed to survive a weekend in the wilderness. Thusly, when the situation calls for it, she nonchalantly removes a paring knife from our knife block and lacerates the peanut butter cup. I seriously doubt most plastic surgeons could make such a precise incision.

Finally, the speed of the cut is important too. If cut too quickly, the whole thing crumbles in your hands. Too slow and the marshmallow is stuck cooking too long, possibly catching on fire, and at that point, the whole S’more is compromised. As you have witnessed, preparation of the Reese’s S’more is a painstaking task and an artform that takes years to perfect. Attempting to master the intricate timing and cutting techniques has driven people to the brink of insanity. I can only promise that the enjoyment of this delicacy makes it all worthwhile.

The Reese’s S’more is my legacy and a gift to my fellow man. I’m disclosing this idea not for profit, but for the betterment of all mankind. I only ask that it be used for the establishment of peace, and not in the pursuit of evil. With that said, I must now begin clearing mantle space for the Nobel Prize…