Crazy-Pops

Keith Richards Suffers Concussion

I saw this headline and wondered, "Did Flod go to Vegas without us?"

Police Arrest Nude Man Stuck In Chimney

This would have been my favorite website in college.

http://www.ramendepot.com/

Every time we go to Vegas – which is twice a year, these days – we have an award. A Stupid Award. Not “stupid” as in, “let’s give the winner a cheese ball as a trophy,” but “stupid” as in, “The winner is whoever does the most overall stupid things on this trip.” I’ve won it once, when it was just Dukey and I, because I puked in public at a monorail station one morning, but Flod’s won it both the other times we’ve awarded it, for reasons that probably can’t be discussed. Sure, I was in the running, what with my spilling beer on waitresses and dropping gift shotglasses off of escalators and such, but Flod’s ultimately gone waaaay off the charts and taken the prize each of the two times he’s been with us.

Well, I’d like to announce my early candidacy for The Stupid Award, 2006. That’s right – last weekend, I had such a Stupid Weekend that I think I’m easily going to be standing at the podium, talking over the “Please get the hell off the stage music,” as I thank my mother for making me so stupid and accepting The Stupid Award 2006. It all started like this:

First of all, Saturday morning I took my two boys (who I’ll call The Mixmaster and The G-Man) to a “learn to skate” class at 10:40 am the University of Denver ice arena. The Mixmaster has been skating several times and likes it and the G-Man is typically a daredevil anyway, so I thought that would work out well. It didn’t. We got there just before class, because The Mixmaster and The G-Man’s mom had an errand to run prior to class, and their father (yours truly) had failed to sign them up for class because he couldn’t make up his freaking mind about whether or not he wanted to tackle this particular project at this particular time. Anyhow, so we went, with my wife, and we got to DU, and I had to sign the boys up for class and I got them skates and gave them to my wife to get them ready, and then I went to the desk and the people who worked there were a little frantic. Which, given that there were about 180,000 3-6 year olds and their parents running around trying to sign up for classes and put on skates and not kill each other, was understandable. So it took me a while to sign them up. And, by the time I got back to the boys and the wife, they were crying. Well, not the wife, she was just glaring. Apparently, the boys both melted down whilst waiting for me. Great. But I don’t necessarily believe in giving up on things, particularly with children, so I soldiered on. But The Mixmaster, who likes ice skating, absolutely refused to go on to the ice with the 179,999 other kids. He doesn’t like crowds, at all. Fine. I told him, “then you’re taking swimming lessons starting in two weeks, you little bastard!” Then I put The G-Man (who’s almost 3) on the ice with his little helmet and his little ice skates and he just started crying and crying and nobody could console him. So I asked the instructor if I could come out on the ice (I had my skates in the car, just in case) and they said, “There’s a parent-tot class at 10:00 that you can come out on the ice for.” Great. So I cancelled the Mixmaster’s class and signed The G-Man up for the parent-tot class, starting the next week, because I’m not about scrap the entire thing and get the, “Are you sure that was a good idea” scolding from the wife about it. Her glare told me I might get that, and I’ll go a loooong way to prove that I know what the hell I’m doing. Even when I don’t.

So then we went home. And it was a very nice day, the kind of spring day that makes you happy to be alive. And it sure looks like the weather is going to hold, with no more freezing, so I went out to turn on our sprinkler system. I turn it on, start checking things to make sure it’s working, and I notice water all over the place directly under the valve thingy. Sure, that’s a technical term; I’m a sprinkler expert. So much so that apparently I didn’t drain the pipes properly last fall and now I have a busted water pipe just below the valve thingy and it leaks and I had to turn it off. Great. My wife, who’s glaring again, asks me, “Can it be fixed?” “Sure, honey, let me get out my pipe wrench. I’ll go out, pull the piece out and go get a new one.” So I get out my pipe wrench, and I go out to take it apart and the thing is freaking soldered to the other pipes! I can’t fix it! I have to freaking HIRE somebody to fix this mistake. Fantastic. More glares from the wife. Oh, this is going to be a fantastic weekend.

The squirrels think so too, apparently. Just a few moments after realizing that I was probably going to spend a couple hundred bucks paying somebody to clean up my stupid pipe mistake, my wife says, “Do you realize that squirrels are going in your Jeep?” I took the hard top off of my Jeep a couple of weeks ago and am driving around with a “flip top,” where the front part of it flips back, like a sun roof. Because I don’t want to burn The Mixmaster and the G-Man as they sit in the back of my Jeep, but I do like to feel like I have some sort of Tropical Island Lifestyle in the summertime. Mid-life crisis be damned. Anyway, apparently, if you leave your Jeep out on the street in the spring with the flip-top flipped back, squirrels jump in, looking for God knows what. In this case, I hope they like Tootsie Pops. ‘Cuz that’s what I have lots of in my Jeep. So I, under the watchful glare of my wife, go out and put the top up on my Jeep so it’s closed. Can I get a drink at this point?

No, because the fun’s not over. I go out to the backyard to clean the back patio. It’s really a nice day and I’d like to clean up a bit, so I can spend more time outside. So I move all the patio chairs and table and market umbrella off of the patio and I sweep the patio. It’s a flagstone patio, which is a detail that doesn’t affect this story, but I’m just sharing. Anyway, I put the table (it’s a glass top table with metal legs) back and the chairs, and then I go to put the umbrella back in the center of the table, where it goes, and I mishandle it, and it starts to lean over while the bottom of the umbrella pole is in the table and the next thing I know, CRASH! The table has freaking broken. That’s right. A 3 feet by 8 feet glass table has shattered, into a bazillion pieces, all over the patio that I just cleaned. At that point, I sat down, muttered several curse words, and had a drink. Because, really, I’m stupid.

And then on Monday my hockey team lost in our championship game (we got smoked, really, like salmon) and on Wednesday my improv group put on a crappy show – our first crappy show in some time, actually. So, really, I guess it was a Stupid Week. A whole week. Great. Fantastic. Swell, even. I’d like to thank my Mom, for making me stupid, and my sisters, for beating me about the head and face when I was a child, and and and….

Following are the rules. I don't know where they came from, but they are indisputable truths. Pay particular attention to #62. Tim and I are definitely okay, because we're related. But the two of you..... Well, according to the rules, we'll get to call you both "Princess" the entire trip.

1. If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever! Unless you actually marry her.

2. When questioned by a friend's girlfriend, you need not and should not provide any information as to his whereabouts. You are even permitted to deny his very existence.

3. Unless he murdered someone in your immediate family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 24 hours.

4. A best man's toast may not include any of the following phrases, "down in Tijuana", "one time when we were all piss drunk", or "and this girl had the biggest rack you ever saw".

5. You may exaggerate any anecdote told to your friends by 50% without recrimination, beyond that anyone within earshot is allowed to yell out "bullshit!". (exception: when trying to pick up a girl, the allowable exaggeration is 400%)

6. Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

7. The minimum amount of time you have to wait for another man is 5 minutes. The maximum is 6 minutes. For a girl, you are required to wait 10 minutes for every point of hotness she scores on the classic 1-10 scale.

8. Bitching about the brand of free beverages in your buddy's refrigerator is forbidden. But gripe at will if the temperature is not suitable.

9. A friend must be permitted to borrow anything you own - grill, car, firstborn child - within 12 hr notice. Women or anything considered "lucky" are not applicable in this case.

10. Falling on a grenade for a buddy (agreeing to distract the skanky friend of the hot babe he's trying to score) is your legal duty. But should you get carried away with your good deed and end up getting on the beast, your pal is forbidden to ever speak of it.

11. Do not torpedo single friends.

12. On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest.

13. Before dating a buddy's ex you are required to ask his permission. If he grants it, he is however allowed to say, "man, your gonna love the way she licks your balls"

14. Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game and the ability to pick a Buffalo wing clean.

15. If a mans zipper is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything!

16. No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. (in fact, even remembering your best friends birthday is optional)

17. You must offer heartfelt condolences over the death of a girlfriends cat, even if it was you who secretly set it on fire and threw it into a ceiling fan.

18. While your girlfriend must bond with your buddies girlfriends with in 30 minutes of meeting them, you are not required to make nice with her gal pal's boyfriends- low level sports bonding is all the law requires.

19. Unless you have a lucrative endorsement contract, do not appear in public wearing more than one Nike swoosh.

20. When stumbling upon other guys watching a sporting event, you may always ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.

21. If your girlfriend asks to set your friend up with her ugly, whiny, loser friend of hers, you must grant permission, but only if you have ample time to warn your friend to prepare his excuse about joining the priesthood.

22. Only in a situation of mortal danger or ass peril are you permitted to kick another member of the male species in the testicles.

23. Unless you're in prison, never fight naked. This includes men who aren't wearing shirts. If your buddy is outnumbered outmanned, or too drunk to defend himself, you must jump into the fight. Exception: if during the past 24 hours your friends actions have caused you to think "what this guy needs is a good ass wuppin", in which case you may refrain from getting involved and stand back and enjoy.

24. Friends don't let friends wear speedos. Ever. Case closed.

25. Fives must be called at all times when getting out of your seat. If not, your seat is up for grabs. However, "house rules" may come into effect, in which case it is left up to the owner of the seat.

26. Shotgun can be called on anything where a shotgun applies., as long as you are in eyesight of the object, or it is at a reasonable time.

27. When picking players for sports teams it is permissible to skip over your buddy in favor of better athletes- as long as you don't let him be the last sorry son of a bitch standing on the sideline.

28. If you ever compliment a guy's six pack, you better be talking about his choice of beverage.

29. Never join your girlfriend in ragging on a buddy of yours, unless she is withholding sex, pending your response.

30. Phrases that may never be uttered to another man while lifting weights:
"Yeah, baby, push it!"
"Come on, give me one more, harder!"
"Another set and we can hit the showers"
"Nice ass! Are you a Sagittarius?"


31. Never hesitate to reach for the last beverage or pizza, but not both. That's just mean.

32. Never talk to another man in the bathroom unless you are on equal footing: both urinating, both waiting in line for all other situations an "I recognize you" nod will do just fine.

33. Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch nearby, hang up if necessary.

34. You can not rat out a friend who show's up to work or class with a massive hangover, however you may: hide the aspirin, smear his chair with limburger cheese, turn the brightness on his computer way up so he thinks its broken, or have him paged every seven minutes.

35. If you catch your girl messing around with your best friend, let your states crime of passion laws be your guide.

36. If your buddy is trying to hook up with a girl, you may sabotage him only in a manor that gives you no chances of getting any either.

37. Before allowing a drunken friend to cheat on his girl, you must attempt one intervention. If he can get up on his feet, look you in the eye, and deliver a "fuck off" then you are absolved from all responsibility. Later on it is ok that you have no idea what his girlfriend is talking about.

38. The morning after you and a babe, who was formerly "just a friend", go at it, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason not to jump on her again before there is a discussion about what a big mistake it was.

39. If a buddy has lint, an eyelash, or any other foreign object on his hair or face, under no circumstances are you permitted to remove it. However an appropriate hand gesture may be made to make him aware of it.

40. An anniversary is recognized on a yearly basis, under no circumstances will anything be celebrated in an interval other than a year

41. When using a urinal in a public restroom, a buffer zone of at least one urinal will exist at all times. If the only empty urinal is directly next to an occupied on, then you are still required to wait. (Exception: at a sporting event where a line has formed to use the pisser). Here's more guidance on this.

42. When coming to a room which you know is occupied by your friend and possibly another girl, you must knock and wait for an adequate response. If no response occurs, and the door is locked, a 10 minute period is required before knocking again.

43. The only time dicking over a buddy for a girl is legal, is when the girl ranks a 8 or above on the 1-10 scale. (exception: a girl may rank from 5-7, as long as there is oral sex involved).

44. A mans gotta scratch what a mans gotta scratch. This applies to picking as well. Let the man be.

45. No man shall ever watch any of the following programs on TV:
Figure skating
Men's gymnastics
Any sport involving women (unless viewed for sexual purposes)

46. If you accidentally touch or brush against any part of another man below the waist, it is an understood accident, and NO apologies or any reference to the occurrence is necessary.

47. No man shall spend more than 2 minutes in front of a mirror. If more time is required, a three minute waiting period must be allowed before returning to the mirror.

48. Any dispute lasting any longer than 3 minutes will and must be settled by rock, paper, scissors. There is no argument too important for this determining method.

49. No man will ever willingly watch a movie in which the main theme is dancing, and if a man shall happen to view such a movie it is only acceptable if its with a girlfriend.

50. Only acceptable time when a man is allowed to cry:
when a heroic dog dies to save his master.
after being struck in the testicles with anything moving fast than 7 mph.
When your date is using her teeth.
The day Anna Kornikova chooses a husband.


51. If a bet is made, and the challenge is completed, then the bettor may recoup his money by immediately completing a more daring challenge. If he refuses the challenge or chooses not to propose one, then and only then, must the money be paid.

52. Masturbate often. (exception: if your roommate is due back within the hour)

53. If a hot girl shall happen to pass by while you are in an arms reach of your buddy, you must, and will, tap him on the shoulder to make him aware of the babe.

54. A man's shoes may not intentionally match any other article of clothing on his body.

55. No comment shall ever be made to a man about how much he is sweating. In fact, there is no need bring notice to any body part which he may be sweating from.

56. No man shall ever allow anyone to speak ill of The Simpsons or any Rocky movie. (Exception: Rocky V)

57. You have not made any mistake if you find that there are extra pieces after reassembling or assembling an object. In fact, you have just found a way to make that object more efficient.

58. There are is never an occasion in which any shirt without buttons may be tucked in. (Exception: when you are participating in a organized sporting event)

59. Unless you are under the age of 11 or wearing a bathing suit,, DON'T wear whitey tighty's. It still escapes all reasoning as to why they even make them in adult sizes.

60. Any object thrown with reasonable speed and accuracy, MUST be caught.

61. No man shall ever keep track of, or count, the amount of beers he has had in a night.

62. Under no circumstances may two non-related men share a bed or anything which can be perceived as a mattress.

63. In an empty room, car, ect., a man can not ask another man if he is mad because he isn't talking.

64. If you jiggle more than twice, your playing with it.

65. A man shall never help another man apply sun tan oil.

66. The guy who wants something the most is responsible for getting it.

67. If your friend says "Lick my nuts" as a way to put you down, don't try to be funny by saying "OK" and moving your head towards his crotch, two homosexual references in a row are just plain scary...

68. If you say ouch, you are a pussy!

69. It is the God given duty of every man to assist any other man that may be in need of assistance in obtaining every guys dream (threesome with two girls)

* with every set of laws, there are appropriate punishments. If any man shall happen to break any one of these codes, he will be found guilty, and will, for 24 hours from the time of the violation, be considered NOT A MAN. During this time he will not be referred to in any masculine way, and he shall bear the name Princess

Jefe - Hope your show--and your pre-show concert--was BLISTERing. There probably wasn't a box big enough to hold all the panties that were thrown onstage.

By the way, if the rodent in your posting below needs a drummer, I think I've found one...



By the way, regarding lower back tattoos, GO FOR IT! There's a product to get rid of them if you don't want them!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20060420/od_nm/breasts_dc_1

Tomorrow night's our big third anniversary show, and, because we haven't scheduled an opening act (our last two shows we've had opening acts, because, well, frankly, they bring their friends to our shows and we'll do just about anything to get butts in seats), I'm going to "sing" and play my guitar. And, because it's our third anniversary show, I'm going to play a medley that combines together the following number-oriented songs. I'm calling this medley "Numerical Shnumerical":

"Three Is A Magic Number" from Schoolhouse Rock.

"99 Luftballoons" by Nena(?)

"40" by John Eddie.

"867-5309" by Tommy Tutone. They played at my high school grad night. Oops! Have I just given away my age?

"One" by Three Dog Night.

And, lastly, "Three Times a Lady" by the Commodores.

You really should come check it out. 'Cuz I'm only going to do it once. That's my favorite kind of art: Disposable. The kind of art where you say, "You really should have been there." Or, perhaps, in this case, "You're really glad you weren't there." 'Cuz, honestly, I don't know how to play half of those songs. By tomorrow night, however, I still won't know how to play half of those songs. But I'll have enough pre-show adrenaline running through me that I'll be able to fake it.

Also, for my bio in the show program, I wrote the following:

Jeff C's turn ons are warm summer days, bubble baths, and back tattoos. His turn-offs are rude people, that incessant telephone that won't stop ringing in his office, and anything having to do with Ashlee Simpson. All kidding aside, he does like back tattoos, and may get one on next his trip to Vegas if he's plied properly. He is the proud father of two fantastic little boys and can be found blogging at http://crazypops.blogspot.com with his also-in-heavy-denial-about-their-age friends. Quite seriously, Jeff thanks you for coming to tonight's show. And, if you want to show him your back tattoo, he'd like to see it.

http://www.tastetheexcitement.com/

My family and I live in an urban Denver neighborhood with a little shopping and restaurant area where the only “chain” stores are Peaberry’s Coffee and Chipotle. We don’t go to WalMart, we try to patronize locally owned shops and restaurants as much as possible, and our kids don’t watch a whole lot of TV outside of PBS. Still, they pick up on things:

Yesterday was one of those days where we all feel incredibly lucky to live in Denver: The sun was out, it was warm, trees were starting to bud…it was a perfect spring day. So the family and I decided to go over to the Old South Gaylord District, to my favorite sports store, to get the boys some ice skating/skiing helmets – they’re going to start “Learn To Skate” classes at the University of Denver soon, so I want to pad them up. Anyway, over at Old Gaylord, we were walking around and we stumbled on this place called “Devil’s Food,” which has pastries and cinnamon rolls and coffee. So we walk in, grab some pastries and coffee, and sit down for a nice leisurely snack on what is absolutely the most beautiful day of the year. We’re sitting there, eating, drinking coffee, and my two year old looks up with his big eyes and says, “Daddy?” “Yes, boy?” “Is this Starbucks?”

Then he starts singing “The Latte Song.” Which goes something like this (to the tune of “The Chicken Dance,” as best as I could tell):

“Latte Latte Latte,

Latte Latte Latte,

Latte Latte Latte,

Daddy Daddy Latte!”

The question struck me across the head somewhere near the sock section in the department store. It was a statement, actually. But my brain still holds onto it as a question, because as the dad of a 9-year-old going on 30, I like to think that I still need to be asked rather than told about these things.

"Daddy, I want to try on a training bra."

Because this question came on the two-day heels of such questions as "I know what sex is" and "Tell me about periods," I was able to whip the correct response out of my pocket right then and there.

"Uhhhhhhh....."

"Come on, let's go try one on."

Let's?!?

"Sweetie," I said, frantically looking around for my wife who was somewhere trying on swimsuits, "You don't have boobs."

Yes, you're right. That indeed was the wrong thing to say. But as she stood there, looking down and admiring her desert of a chest, as if little cacti were about to sprout at any moment, she said, "I know. But I wanna do it anyway."

Good Christ, fine. She'll remember this daddy-daughter bonding fondly the rest of her life.

I didn't know what a training bra looked like. And of course, the store didn't have any. The only thing they had was something called a "pre-A." Which to me doesn't even make alphabetic sense. Similar to the new math, some kind of new English. But the thing had cups. They were small cups, but cups nonetheless.

"Yes. That one. I wanna try it on."

"Can we at least look for something that might work better?" sez I.

"Okay. But if we can't find anything, I wanna try this one."

So I got a bit smarter. I started asking around the store for "something like a sports bra, you know, for little girls." Silly me. So we end up back in a dressing room, my 30-year-old-9-year-old, her 6-year-old sister, and me, staring at this pink "thing" like Xixo the bushman stared at the Coke bottle that just fell out of the sky and thoinked him on the noggin.

You'd have thought she was a blushing bride, the way she tried that thing on. She couldn't even fasten it herself. (It's amazing, I thought to myself, how I can fasten a bra in 3 seconds, but I've never been able to take one off in under a minute.) But once on, the pink cups falling forward, empty, like pink sails against her lake of ivory skin, and her giggling the whole time, it hit me how deeply and badly I had it for this girl--especially when, still barely stifling her complete joy, she said that it probably wouldn't work. "But pretty soon," she said.

Truer words were never spoken. As it is, if they made bras for personalities, Dolly Parton's would be too small for this girl.

"Can I try it on?" her sister asked (she still knows how to ask questions the right way).

"When you're older," her big sister patiently said.

Her first bra experience. And without mommy (and where the hell was she, anyway?). Plus I figure it's money in the bank. With any luck, she'll return the favor when I have to go get fit for my first manzier.

Well, today's Flod's birthday, and while he may, at this point, appear to simply be a figment of my imagination, he is real. I think. Anyway, earlier today he claimed to be the only Crazy Pop who's a Gen Xer. So I went to wikipedia, which is pretty much where I get all my information these days, and here's what they say:

"A popular starting year of Gen X is 1965 when North American birth rates had dropped into what is frequently called the "Baby Bust" that followed the Baby Boom span of 1946–1964. But since many notable people who are normally thought of as clearly Gen-X, such as Courtney Love, Janeane Garofalo and Eddie Vedder, were born in 1964, this year is often cited as the beginning of Generation X."

Okay, first of all, the fact that I was born the same year as Courtney Love is almost enough to make me off myself with a shotgun. Almost. Secondly, at what point does claiming to be a Gen Xer go out of style? When you get your first hip replacement surgery? And thirdly, if 1965 is the beginning of Gen X, what the hell am I? Pre-Gen Xer? Or just plain old?

Happy Birthday, Flod. Welcome to middle age. It's fun here. Until Courtney Love shows up, anyway.

Well, it's official - 67% of the Crazy Pops are going to Vegas May 13-16 - and we're staying at the Hard Rock Hotel! That's right - two 41 year old dads, one with little hair and one with graying hair, both with the fashion sense of a cheese stick and the hipness of an eight track tape, are staying at the center of the MTV Generation in Las Vegas. Fish out of water stories always make for great comedy, so we're putting ourselves right on the side of the pool (get it? Fish out of water?) just for you! Stay tuned afterwards; I'm sure we'll have some stories to share. Or not. What happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas, but I have the feeling that this is going to be funny...and we're all about the funny.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20060401/ap_on_fe_st/fish_wedding_1

This reminds me of the time a couple of years ago when 67% of the Crazy Pops were in Las Vegas for one of our semi-regular “Vegas Culture Expeditions,” where we go in search of art, literature, and opera in the City of Sin. Hahahaha! I can’t even say that with a straight face. Anyway, we were in Vegas, and we were getting ready to go see the Avs play the Kings at the MGM in their annual preseason “Frozen Fury” game. So we went to the MGM to get some pre-game dinner and drinks at a Mexican food place in the hotel. And we stumbled upon a wedding reception. And this wedding reception took place while we were eating sitting there, a few tables away, eating chile rellenos and quaffing margaritas. And this wedding reception, all kidding aside, was NASCAR based. Although the participants in said reception didn’t look NASCAR based. Of course, I am making assumptions based on their appearance which, in most cases, would be wrong, but when you stumble upon a NASCAR wedding you typically look around to wonder if a) Ashton Kutcher is punking you and b) if the people in the wedding look like rednecks. They didn’t, and it occurred to me later that they were all dressed up as if they were at a wedding, which probably made it hard to make shallow judgments about them based on appearance.

Anyway, the best man, I’m not making this up, got up and gave a toast that went something like this (I’m paraphrasing here. Or outright improvising. But this’ll be close):

“N is for the knowledge that you’ll gain in your years of bliss,

A is for always loving each other even when something’s amiss.

S is for the jacket that Jeff Gordon wears when he races,

C is for the cars Jeff drives and your 3 future kids who’ll all need braces.

A is for, um, always watching NASCAR cars when they turn left always,

R is for really really really really loving each other, um, always.”

It probably wasn’t that exactly, but the best man actually gave a toast that spelled out N-A-S-C-A-R. I choked on my relleno, fell out of my chair, spilled my margarita and almost got kicked out of the restaurant because I couldn’t stop laughing. Easily one of the top 5 most surreal experiences of my young life. Okay, old life.

My two year old was taking a bath the other night - obviously, he needed it - and we were finishing up, and he stood up in the bath and looked directly at me and said, "I'm freakin' cold, dad. I'm freakin' cold." My TWO year old.

Kids. Where do they freakin' get it?

Does anybody really know what they say at the beginning of "Come on Eileen?" It's like, "ruh-ruh-eye-ree!" Those Dexy Midnight Runners sure had their own language. What about "Too-la-roo-la-roo-la-roo-la-ey?"

Am I showing my age? Or am I just listening to too much 1980s Internet radio? You be the judge.

Uh, yeah, hi. I, uh, guess we're "blogging" or something.