Another “You Had To Be There” Joke

There was no Ranger game on Austin TV tonight so I took a break from following the action online to lay down with Dawn on the couch downstairs as she cleaned up our DVR. (I had no idea how many episodes of “Leave It To Beaver” that TVLand airs in a single day. After all, there never seems to be an episode on when I am in the mood for accidental sexual innuendos.)

Part of the hard drive clean-up included watching episodes of “Jon And Kate Plus 8″. I have mentioned this show before because I am of the belief that Kate is an unrelenting bitch that makes my blood pressure rise when I see the way she talks to her husband (who reminds me an awful lot of Ray, by the way).

So Dawn was really excited because they were showing the episode in which the family loads up all the kids - plus a Uhaul trailer for the luggage and snacks - to visit Disneyworld. Jon began driving the family down around 5:00 in the afternoon with the intent of making it from Pennsylvania to South Carolina before stopping at a hotel in the middle of the night.

And here is where the joke kicks in: Dawn remarked about the shoddy place to stay that they picked. “You’d think they would stop somewhere nice”, she said, “but that place just looks like a Motor Inn.”

So I replied, “What’s your price for flight?”

And I’m still not sure what is worse… that I issued the “joke” or that Dawn got it.

Sometimes, being a simpleton is nice.

I Might As Well Wear Panties

Ok, I admit it: I am an American Idol geek.

I’m not sure how this happened, either. Even after Kelly Clarkson won in season one (have you heard that she and I are from the same town?), I still somehow eluded the allure of, well, spares.

Until the last few years, that is.

Now I find myself tuning in whether I want to or not. And, true to the viewing public, I have some inadvertent hot sports opinions about the show. In fact, this may turn into a rant.

1) “Beatles Week” was cool… the first time. But the producers of the show were so happy that they had secured the rights to the Lennon/McCartney (and even the underrated Harrison) catalog that they drew from the well a week too long. Thank God that no one sang “Yellow Submarine”, though.

2) Mariah Carey? Really? Show me her tits, sure (or even better, Dolly Parton’s from the previous week), but don’t drag the TV viewing audience through her song catalog that bores me to tears.

3) Is there a number three?

4) I am so pissed - beyond pissed - that Michael Johns was voted off. Two weeks after he had what, to me, was the best performance I had ever seen on Idol (Dolly’s “It’s All Wrong, But It’s All Right”, though David Archuletta’s version of “Imagine” comes close), the hunky Australian was given the proverbial boot. Nothing short of shocking, if you ask me. All that proves is that too many retards have phone access.

5) Carly Smithson? Kinda hot… but enough with the sleeveless shirts. I think your husband’s tattoo shop is going to do fine without your shameless promoting.

6) Brooke, you are growing on me. And not like a wart.

7) Enough with the booing every time Simon gives feedback. Admit it: he is the only reason you watch the show.

Paula Abdul is so overly positive that the kiss of death is when she opens her critique with “You look great.” Girl, you know it’s true.

9) I’m really surprised that Jason Castro doesn’t open up a bag of Doritos after singing any of his pot-induced, ukulele warbles thanks to ganja munchies.

10) I’m still rooting for the underdog, Kristy Lee Cook, because she is a look alike for my cousin Hollie. (Truth be told, though, Hollie has a better voice. Really. Honest.)

11) I still contend that losing Idol opens more doors (Clarkson excluded because she was the first). I would rather finish number ten than win and be beholden to Fox and their “exclusivity” terms that are tantamount to slavedom.

So now, in true laziness blogdom fashion, here is the Michael Johns performance of the Dolly Parton song.

Love you.

In Your Garage

It didn’t take long after we moved into the house to realize that we live in Garage Sale Central. Every weekend we see signs in our neighborhood haphazardly taped onto street signs promoting, well, crap. Or treasures. It depends on how you look at things.

So it has become a ritual of ours to browse on every Saturday morning. After all, there is no shortage of driveways to invade.

In the past few weeks we have garnered the following: an armoire entertainment center ($47), the coolest coffee table EVER ($40), some hardback books (25 cents each), some TV trays (five bucks), and a kick-ass backpack for hiking ($10 - and well worth it). We also got some lawn tools because, as someone once said, you ain’t lived until you’ve bought a hoe ($1).

And every time we are garage hopping, I am reminded of a great bit by stand-up comic Jake Johannsen…

There is always this old woman standing there, with her can of Diet 7-Up equipped with a bendy straw, looking at something marked 25 cents while saying, “I wouldn’t pay more than a dime for that.” To which Jake replies, “Lady - it’s a freaking quarter.”

So here are some garage sale-related quick hits:

• Enough with the computer monitors, already. I swear that every single garage sale has at least one bulky monitor for sale, and most have several. Perhaps it is because we are so close to Dell headquarters…
• Pricing is so subjective. We stopped at one sale because Dawn saw a ceramic pink flamingo - about a foot tall - that she thought would look kitschy in our backyard. The price on it? Twelve-fucking-fifty. So she bought a cast iron kettle for a buck instead. Go figure.
• A lot of people use garage sales to meet people, especially the transplants (like us). Sad. Whatever happened to bars?
• Most of the books at these sales are books that I have already read. John Grisham, “Sex For (Or With) Dummies”, etc.
• One woman was hosting her sale for charity. Now that’s the spirit. (And thanks for inadvertantly making me feel guilty for not buying anything. Bitch.)

And now, if you have an hour to kill, watch this video aptly titled “This’ll Take About An Hour” to see the stand-up brilliance of Jake Johannsen. Ranks right up there with Stephen Wright, Dmitiri Martin, and the late Mitch Hedberg. Indulge me.

An Obligatory Music Entry

I’ve pissed a lot of people off during the last week so now I’ve decided to put some final nails in the proverbial coffin by writing about, of all things, music.

I used to avoid this topic because many readers just don’t give a shit. However, I have now reached a point where I don’t care about the folks that stop by here just to see if I’m in jail yet. (The answer? YES. And the internet connection here is the shiznit.)

I have, at best estimate, three readers who actually care about my music opinions: Devin, Ed, and Cliff. This entry is for you guys because I made two mix CDs titled “Life In Austin”. Thirty-three songs that encapsulate life here in the hill country. Some are songs that I heard for the first time after the move, some are songs that I hear regularily on the greatness that is KGSR. The rest are songs that just remind me of Austin for whatever odd reason.

If you want any of the following songs emailed to you, you know how to reach me.

1. Everyday (The Bodeans)
2. Killing The Blues (Robert Plant and Allison Krauss)
3. Please Read The Letter (Robert Plant and Allison Krauss)
4. Snake Farm (Ray Wylie Hubbard)
5. (Nothing But) Flowers (Talking Heads)
6. Gone Gone Gone (Done moved On) (Robert Plant and Allison Krauss)
7. I’m Losing You (John Lennon on vocals, Cheap Trick rocking the instruments)
8. Read My Mind (The Killers)
9. Across The Universe (Robyn Hitchcock and Grant Lee Phillips covering the Beatles)
10. Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol)
11. Diablo Rojo (Rodrigo y Gabriella)
12. Everybody Knows (Ryan Adams)
13. New Shoes (Paolo Nutini)
14. Hot Blood (Lucinda Williams)
15. In Spite Of Ourselves (John Prine w/ Lucinda Williams)
16. Bedspring Kiss (Jellyfish)
17. The Way I Am (Ingrid Michaelson)
18. Girls In Their Summer Clothes (Bruce Springsteen)
19. I Will Follow You Into The Dark (Deathcab For Cutie)
20. 9 Crimes (Damien Rice)
21. Gotta Serve Somebody (Bob Dylan)
22. Back To Black (Amy Winehouse)
23. It’s Alright (Big Head Todd and the Monsters)
24. Hey There Delilah (Plain White T’s)
25. Don’t You Evah (Spoon)
26. Jenny Don’t Be (Hasty (Paolo Nutini)
27. Shut Your Eyes (Snow Patrol)
28. Big Machine (Velvet Revolver)
29. All These Things That I Have Done (The Killers)
30. Smile Like You Mean It (The Killers)
31. Fadeaway (The BoDeans)
32. Life During Wartime (Talking Heads)
33. Road To Nowhere (Talking Heads)

Top that playlist. I triple dog dare you.

And Now We Return To Our Scheduled Programming (20 Year Version)

So you read about my high school years (if you did, indeed, read the last entry). And now they are about to happen all over again in a sense.

Yes, this is the year of my 20th Reunion.

Twenty percent of me looks forward to it, and the other 80 percent of my body dreads it. I know that I shouldn’t feel the need to “live up to expectations” when stuck in a large room with approximately half of my 400 classmates. But the pressure is still there, as silly as that is. After all, I know from my 10 year reunion that anyone I give a crap about doesn’t give a crap about “status”.

The odd thing is that I only have contact with two of those people all these years later: my friend Scott (I was president of the computer club in middle school and he was VP) and Cherry (a fellow “gifted and talented” student who is apparantly kicking ass in musicals in New York). Scott found me (or was it vice versa?) back when I had a MySpace page and Cherry found me on Facebook. In fact, I got to hang out with Scott last year on a trip to Austin when Dawn, Katy, and I attended a dinner party at his place. (We inadvertantly brought out the Burleson in him, and I don’t know if his significant other - a female, quit the speculating - will ever forgive us.)

And now that we live in the Austin area, about a half mile from Scott’s Dell workplace, we have yet to get together with him. Truth be told, that is probably a reflection of the way the dinner party went. Some people grow up, others grow down. I was so serious during my formative years that I belong to the latter category.

And Dawn? Well, she can just be shockingly honest, political corectness be damned. I doubt she has ever changed.

So the other day we were talking about the upcoming reunion because of emails I have been receiving. Since we grew up on bordering towns, and within one graduating class of one another, we knew a lot of the same people. And that led to the following conversation about a cheerleader from my school.

Me: She is a “butter” girl.

Dawn: A “butter” girl? What does that mean?

Me: Well, she had a great body… but her face…

It might help to read the above aloud, a common denominator of most of my jokes. In other words, most of the time you have to be there.

When Cooler Heads Prevail

Man, about an hour ago I was all set to burn bridges. I was about to write an entry that would make the Anger Blog look like a Jack Johnson song from the Curious George movie. But, thanks to my wife forcing me to adhere to one of my taoist principles (the cooling off period), I just have a story to tell that contains a lot of background info…

(Long story alert, but it will make me feel better.)

My mom is the greatest woman in the world. I’m not just saying that. And if I had plenty of money, there is no doubt that she would live like a queen (if she even wanted to, which is highly doubtful). I would buy her the finest things - whatever she wanted. However, knowing her, she would probably just request black oil sunflower seed to attract songbirds rather than the generic wild bird seed she usually buys for her feeders.

But, going back further…

As soon as I turned 16, I went to the local McDonald’s and got a job. Sixty days later, I was selected as Employee of the Month. A few months after that, I garnered the honor of Employee of the Year. I kept getting raises and promotions, which I took on with enthusiasm, because I helped my mom with the bills. Forty hour weeks were more than commonplace from my sophomore to senior years in high school. Most nights, I would not get off of work until 1am. Then I would wake up in the morning and go to school, all the while making great grades while taking “gifted and talented” classes. And that doesn’t even mention my place on the baseball team.

I held absolutely no grudge for all this. It helped make me who I am today, although it also may have something to do with my quasi mid-life crisis burnout. But I was happy to do it because I was damned good at what I did… and I knew that my mom was working two jobs to help make ends meet. As the youngest of five kids, I was one of two left at “home”. The other was going to night school and playing in a band, while also figuring out who he was. It all worked out for him: he eventually got his degree, got married to someone I respect immensely, and fathered a little boy who will more than likely change the world one day.

But, hey, isn’t this blog about me?

During my junior year of high school, I cut my hours at work to weekends only so that it would not interfere with my afternoon baseball practices. Then, on one fateful day, the coach announced an impromptu Saturday practice. Uh, oh. I told him that I had to work that morning and he told me that I needed to make a decision: work or baseball.

And, as much as I loved the great game, the decision was easy for me. My mom meant more. And that was the temporary end to my high school baseball career.

I worked like a dog during my junior year. I was so synonymous with the golden arches that everyone at my high school knew me as “McJohn”. While some people might consider that a little demeaning, I didn’t. I have always taken pride in my work - whether on the job or on the baseball field - and the moniker just solidified that for me.

During the last week of school that junior year, I was approached during lunch by the baseball coach. He asked if he could talk to me when I was done eating. I said ok and he took me into a nearby bookroom. And, although this all sounds seedy, he spent a good five minutes apologizing for the position he put me in regarding my job. I let him talk, and he ended by telling me that if I wanted to play during my senior year, he would be more that happy to work around my work schedule.

“I sure could have used you at second base this year.”

Then he said something that has stuck with me forever: He mentioned how proud of me he was for helping to take care of my mom. Then he said, “Just remember that Coach loves you.” He gave me a hug, and of course I played for him my senior year. I batted cleanup for the majority of the season, right behind a guy that was getting scouted like crazy. Sure, my baseball career ended in high school, but the lessons didn’t.

My dad came to one game during that senior year. In that game, against Dallas Bryan Adams (not to be confused with the Canadian songster), I went 3 for 4 with a double off the fence in far left-center. It was about 3 feet from being gone. My buddy Mark Jones (who went on to play college ball) told me that he thought it was gone when I hit it. I did, too, for that matter. And that was the last time I was cocky while knocking the crap out of the ball. From then on out, I ran out everything at full speed.

And my mom? She was at every game. During my senior year, she took on a third job so that I could work only on weekends. Though I still feel guilty about this, I know that she is such a sports fan (baseball especially) that it probably meant more to her watching me play than it did when I would make a diving catch in the outfield against a guy that would end up being drafted by the Texas Rangers after a time at UTA. (Lawrence Hanlon (sp?) from Grapevine, where art thou?)

Despite my crazy work hours and tough classes, I ended up graduating 9th out of almost 400 students. I had a full academic scholarship to a private university that I ended up throwing away for various reasons. I always tell people that I was young, stupid, and thought I was in love. But I think the truth is that I just went to the wrong school. My mom and I actually talked about this a few days ago. She was blaming herself for not making me go away to school, but I contended that college just wasn’t for me. I burned myself out in high school and could just never recapture the fervor required for someone with such “potential”.

If I had gone away to school, rather than choosing the local one that offered me the moon, things might have been different. But I could not bring myself to do it because, at that time, I was the only one looking out for mom. My four older siblings were all busy with life and all that that entails: kids, jobs, gigs at local bars, etc.

But, my, how times have changed.

All my elders are doing great while I struggle to get my business up and running. And I was actually called out today by one of them regarding some car repairs that my mom needs. One line from the email read “By the way, Mom needs $600 to get her car fix - too bad you can’t help”. (I could make some remark about ‘fix’ versus ‘fixed’, but I am better than that. I won’t mention the other grammatical errors in the message because it’s all about the paycheck, isn’t it? I wonder where this person was while I was working my ass off in high school, making kick ass grades, batting cleanup for the varsity baseball team, and taking her to baseball games at the old Arlington Stadium. The phrase “catch a buzz” rings a bell.)

In closing for this way-too-long narrative, let me just say that if I had the money, my mom would not want for anything. Hell, I used to make a 30 mile drive to get bird seed out of her trunk for her because no one else (within 5 miles) could find the time for her. And while it is true that one of her kids bought a house for her to rent, she was always made to feel like a burden, even if by accident.

But I can hold my head up high because I was always there for the little things - the things no one else (except for Bob) ever had time for. And I do not feel the need to apologize for moving to Austin or for the economy going into the shitter which led to a layoff. We can’t all maintain jobs we hate.

If that were the case, the golden arches would have my face on them.

Baseball Time In Texas

As somewhat promised, I have created a new baseball blog for my thoughts on the greatest of games. Go there. Read. Bookmark.

And don’t jar.

It’s A Dirty Job, But…

My Aunt Jo is a nut - but in a good way. She likes to give me the business about leaning liberal versus conservative, but she does make a pretty mean batch of scalloped potatoes. So I guess that evens out in some weird, culinary/fascist kind of way.

Another thing she likes to do is say that I look like Mike Rowe from the Discovery Channel’s Dirty Jobs. And the only reason I bring this all up is because…

… my feet stink. I mean, they absolutely reek. They sweat like a mountain gorilla in heat, thus permeating the socks and the shoes. When I take my shoes off at the end of the day, the dogs in the neighborhood quit barking, our cable goes out, and the national terror level is bumped up a notch.

Yes, it is that bad.

So, with Dawn’s urging (if one can call a bull whip and a serrated knife “urging”), I bought a can of fast-acting Tinactin and Odor Eater insoles the other day. And here is how all this ties back in with Mike Rowe.

Most feet are generally offensive anyway, but I would hazard a guess that feet requiring charcoal-lined insoles are the worst. Yet, on the package is this comment:

Unconditional six month guarantee. If you are not completely satisfied, return insoles for a full refund to…

Holy shit. How would you like THAT job? Opening envelopes full of funk that even charcoal cannot diffuse?

Mr. Rowe, one of my many dopplegangers, I smell an episode…

Happy 75th!

It’s a good day… Today is the 75th anniversary of the end of prohibition in these United States of America. Celebrate accordingly.

(Could marijuana be far behind? There is talk of legalizing it in Austin. More reasons for the friends to visit.)

In other news:

• There are eight large trees in the backyard and Dawn and I took full advantage of the mid-80s temperatures and the shade afforded by said trees by grilling out on both days of the weekend. What a life.

• The baseball season is only a week old and I feel the writing bug hitting me. It might be time to start a “baseball only” blog since the paying gig is long since gone.
• Has anyone watched “Leave It To Beaver” lately? We like to watch the 4am showing on TVLand. That show’s humor stands the test of time, not to mention giving Dawn and I new catch phrases. (My fave? “Quit giving me the business!”) And I miss the days in which “sock” stood for more than something to cover a foot.
• In regards to the above, it is still funny (although a bit juvenile) to hear a line like “I gave the Beaver a bath last night”.

Enjoy the holiday.