If I Show You Mine, Will You Show Me Yours?

Now that the new Fall television season is upon us, our DVR is preparing for an onslaught of series recordings to begin occupying space on its hard drive.  Here is the comprehensive list of shows that we love to watch at our convenience without commercial interruption:

The Office – This show really fires on all cylinders when the producers involve the entire cast and not just the principal players.  A perennial go-to favorite regardless.

Weeds – We’ve been absolutely loving this new season.  But that’s what we say every year.

Parenthood – This one is more in Fehmeen’s wheelhouse than it is in mine.  I pay attention occasionally when it gets good.  Keyword occasionally.

Eastbound & Down – Only four more days until the premiere on Sunday! Kenny Powers rules!

Real Housewives of DC – Technically this is a holdover from the summer but I can never get enough Bravo-style reality show drama.

Boardwalk Empire – I’m not quite sold on this one yet.  I still remember all the hype about John from Cincinnati.

Bored to Death – This little gem also returns for a second season on HBO this Sunday as well.  Best show on television imho.

Now that I’ve shown you mine, I would love to see yours — DVR record list, that is.

Seriously, post your list.  Please.

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The B. T. G.

Former Surgeon General C Everett Koop was a BTG.   I remember my childhood pediatrician Dr Leavitt was a BTG.   One of my old tutoring student’s father — who is a colorectal surgeon and whose own family lovingly refers to as the Butt Doctor — is a BTG.   Even actor/comedian Paul Reubens, when in-character as Pee Wee Herman,  is a BTG.

So what the heck is a BTG and why am I so seemingly obsessed with them?

Well,  a BTG is a Bow Tie Guy and I have always held a peculiar fascination for the men beneath the bow.

I have always been curious as to what makes a man decide to become a Bow Tie Guy.  Is it something that he just knows instantly is going to work for him style-wise or is it the product of years of failed neckware decisions that led him down the Bow Tie road?   Do people notice to the degree that they are curious enough to ask him about it or is it more of a hushed whisper thing that folks clandestinely chat about around the proverbial water cooler?   Or perhaps I stand alone with my need-to-know attitude about the BTG?

And please don’t misconstrue my interest in this topic for my putting down the style when in fact the opposite is true.   I am a fan of the look for sure but just not on everyone.   For example,  Dr Oz tried to wear one the other day and he looked completely ridiculous.

So I guess what I’m getting at here is this:  If you,  or someone you know,  is a BTG,  I am on the edge of my wheelchair dying to know why,  oh why, are you a Bow Tie Guy?

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Falling on a Grenade

Love ’em or hate ’em,  you just gotta respect ’em.

Philanthropic to a fault and more courteous and respectful than a young man asking his potential future father-in-law for his daughter’s hand in marriage,  these eight raven-haired ambassadors of decorum and dignity have burst onto the pop culture scene with such panache and aplomb that they are collectively destined to extend Mr Warhol’s statute of limitations with regard to fame for at least an additional ten minutes,  twelve minutes max.

Have you ascertained the identities of these eight upstanding citizens yet?

Do the letters G,  T,  and L hold any special significance for you?  How about if I spell it out for you?  Can I get a little Gym,  Tanning,  and Laundry around here?

Still stumped?  Then consider yourself lucky.  The folks to whom I am referring are none other than those lovable scamps known far and wide as the cast of Jersey Shore.

Oh yeah,  those guys.

Rather than blather on and on about how incredible this new season is and how you should be watching it,  I will respect the fact that most of my readers absolutely detest these talentless twits.   Which is why I feel the need to ask you all the following question:

Let’s suppose for a moment that the world is about to end and the only way to prevent its destruction falls squarely on your shoulders.   You must spend a consecutive twenty-four hour period with any cast member of your choosing.   You are such an altruistic person that never for a single second would you ever think about abstaining from participating so you are not allowed to play that card.

I have provided a photo with names to help those GTL virgins amongst you to make a more informed decision.   I will also include an anonymous poll for you to cast your vote.   Only the bravest will dare to leave a comment in the usual place.

Thank you for playing along.

Top: The Situation, Pauley D, Ronnie, Vinny. Bottom: JWoww, Sammi Sweetheart, Snooki, Angelina.

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Gaffe

There we were,  a few friends sitting together,  shooting the breeze,  and watching a movie on a premium cable channel when friend #2 silently excused himself.   A good ten minutes passed before he emerged from the room down the hall immediately engaging in a hushed dialogue with my dad.   The off-duty Italian-American Man Servant shook his head and headed towards the garage.   The now on-duty IAMS returned momentarily with the always reliable toilet auger and accompanied a red-faced friend #2 into the breach.

We have all lived through embarrassing moments that never seemed to end, myself especially.   I have already discussed The Piss Chaps Incident on this site.  But the gaffes don’t end there.   Who could ever forget the day that I blew out the crotch of my favorite pair of 501s when I attempted to replicate a David Lee Roth scissor-kick?   Or how about the time I spilled an entire 64-ounce Coca-Cola on a co-worker in the first inning of a company sponsored Giants game?   I will never forget that night in college when I had the most vivid dream that I was taking the most real feeling piss ever only to wake up thirty seconds later completely soaked in urine.   The most difficult part was figuring out a good way to tell my girlfriend who was sleeping next to me that I needed her help with changing the soiled sheets.

But probably the most embarrassing moment of my life occurred during a wedding that my band was playing.   Our guitarist tried to teach me how to play the Chicken Dance during a set break (For the record,  I had never even heard the song before).   As fate would have it,  the sheet music I was using had a measure missing so when we played it a half-hour later,  the song sounded like absolute crap.   For the rest of the reception,  folks avoided the dance floor as if it was made of lava.   I never played that song again.

Now that I’ve shared some of my more memorable mishaps with you,  I would love to hear some of yours.

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Name Game

Do you want to play a game?

The game is called What’s Your Adult Film Star Name. You can call it the What’s Your Soap Opera Star Name game if you want, it doesn’t really matter. The rules are exactly the same.

To find out your adult film or soap opera (or AF/SO) star name, simply follow these steps:

Take your middle name and combine it with the name of the street on which you grew up.

Using myself as an example, my middle name is John and I lived on Pepper Drive growing up so my AF/SO star name would be Johnny Pepper. Not a bad moniker for an AF/SO star, don’t you think?

Now it’s your turn to play. Please share with all of us your AF/SO star name by leaving a comment below. I will be a bit bummed out if we don’t get at least thirty responses so get your name game on now.

Thank you for participating.

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My Magic Kingdom Memories

At some point during our latest and not-so-greatest adventure,  I got to thinking about the number of times I have been to Disneyland.   By my own fairly reliable count,  I mark my tally at seven times.   And as I was reflecting back on those experiences,  certain memories supplanted others to become the top dog as far as remembered moments are concerned.

Here are those magical memories:

The first time my parents and I visited,  I vividly recall crying my eyes out in our motel room when they informed me that we were leaving in an hour.

The next time we went I remember being whisked out of some greasy spoon diner in the valley with my cousins because no one was serving our party in the forty-five minutes we sat at our table.

And who could forget the time in high school when the first girl I tried to talk to didn’t speak English.   Or how about later that night at the Tomorrowland Disco when the girl I tried to dance with rejected me by turning her back to me on the dance floor.   Ouch.

Then there was the time with my fraternity brother and his wife when we did our best Cheech and Chong impression in the parking lot and when we entered the park,  we couldn’t figure out why we were the only ones walking down the middle of the street.   I believe the answer nearly marched over us in the form of the Main Street parade that was just beginning.

Things turned around for me the next time I went because Fehmeen and I rung in New Year’s Eve 2005 with three consecutive rides on the Teacups at midnight as we watched the fireworks explode overhead.

Last year was Emma’s first time and that trip has been well-chronicled on this blog in August 2009.

And that brings us to this year’s vacation and the less said about it the better.

Now that I’ve shared my Disneyland number and associated memories with all of you,  I would be beyond excited to hear about your experiences.  Even if that means you have to comment for the first time.   I promise to thank you personally for doing so,  too.

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From the Mouths of Babes

“Where did my book go,  Mommy?”  asked Emma in the sweetest and most innocent manner conceivable.

“What do you mean,  Baba?” was Fehmeen’s response.

Those two questions floated around the crowded bathroom for about twenty seconds until the answer presented itself in the form of an ‘unopenable’ door.

Allow me to elaborate.

When the Picettis packed up the U-Hauls and moved to the City of Good Living (San Carlos) in the Fall of ’08, it became painfully obvious to all that I would not be able to utilize the bathroom facilities as they were originally configured for long.   So we bit the proverbial bullet and remodeled the bathroom making it the Taj Mahal of handicap accessible water-closets.  In addition to a garage-sized shower and a heated self-cleaning toilet,  we also chose to have a pair of sliding pocket doors installed as well.

At this point in the narrative I want to remind you of our initial question which was something along the lines of,  “Where did my book go,  Mommy?”  If the book — which is actually a graphic novel by the name of Invincible (trade paperback #5 for those of you wondering) — was not taking a shower nor was it swimming around the toilet bowl then where was it?   The correct response would be in between the pocket and the door,  of course.  Apparently Emma had slid the square-bound book in the tiny space no wider than a half an inch.  And even though I could personally live without that particular book missing from my fabled comic collection,  the fact that the door no longer completely closes necessitates its repair.

And try as we might for a decent part of the afternoon,  there is no way that we know of to coax that comic-book from its bunkered down hiding spot deep within the wall.

We are most certainly open for any suggestions that you may have to help us solve our little problem.

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Letting My Geek Flag Fly

There is a span of about a half an hour each morning between the time that I wake up and the time that someone actually comes around to get me up and out of bed.  Sometimes I use those captive moments to conceptualize a new blog entry or to come up with some crazy scheme for the day.  Most of the time I just lie there and do math in my head.

That’s right, math.

I am not talking about any ground-breaking “how do you like them apples” kind of math, mind you, just your typical, run of the mill arithmetic problems.   You know, stuff like long division, multiplying a pair of two digit numbers, and deciding whether or not the number on the clock radio is divisible by 3, 6, or 9. (My typist, math teacher extraordinaire “The Hen”, is offering bonus points for anyone who can explain those particular divisibility rules in the comments below.)

However, all that being said, I had a thought a few mornings ago that was sort of math related and sort of not. I imagined myself holding a digital stopwatch in my hand and how cool it would be if I was able to stop it at exactly twelve hours, thirty-four minutes, fifty-six seconds and seventy-eight hundredths of a second.  For those of you who are more in tune with your numbers as numbers, that would look like this: 12:34:56.78.

Pretty crazy, huh?

You can become my personal geek in hero’s clothing if you are able to provide me with photographic proof of my rather unique stopwatch number.  Good luck!

Pecked by The Hen again.

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Casting Call

Back when I could sing and dance, I used to fancy myself a wanna-be thespian. I even imagined playing the following roles from my favorite productions:

Brad M. – Rocky Horror …… Mark C. – Rent  …… Seymour K. – Little Shop

My fate is up to you. Vote in the poll and cast me in a role.

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Hope Springs Eternal

If I was the man in charge, I would mandate that today be a national holiday. Why you ask? Because today is Opening Day for Major League Baseball. In my perfect world even Fehmeen would rock the old orange and black with an enthusiastic sense of Gigantes pride.

I did say perfect world. Not that that would ever remotely come close to happening.

It is the day when everybody is in first place (except for the Yankees who lost last night).  Every team in both leagues has a shot at going all the way, even the Giants.

So here are my predictions for the 2010 season: The Giants will win 89 games, 15 of them will be owned by Barry Zito. They will win the Wild Card only to be swept by the Brewers in three quick games.

What are your predictions Mariners, Angels, Padres, Yankees, and any other teams’ fans?

Pecked by The Hen

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