Symphony, Tuerette's, and Fart Music

I went to the symphony the other night, and I was surprised how much I enjoyed it. There really is no substitute for seeing that type of music live because as you see each group of instruments playing, you can hear it coming from those various places, so it really is an incredible sensory experience. It makes me wonder just how in the hell someone could write all that, thinking who would be playing what. Also, seeing that makes me feel like an idiot for being such a fan of rock music, but I know it's only rock and roll - but I like it. Like it. Yes I do.

I was with a lady friend, and we were trying not to stop laughing at an old and fat trombone player who appeared to take naps in between his sections, slumped in his chair with his eyes closed. Ladyfriend was saying that perhaps he is a narcoleptic, and it would be even more fun had he had Tuerette's Syndrome. I'm thinking even better to have a Tuerette's conductor, blurting out "cocksucker, shit . . . tit!" That would not be too classy.

Speaking of which, when I went to take a pee, a guy was blasting out epic splattery diarrhea farts in one of the stalls, and I was thinking that wasn't a classy maneuver either. It sounded like a b flat, perhaps from a bassoon. An orchestra of farting would be so awesome because it would add smell into the whole sensory experience I spoke of earlier. Maybe I'm nut cut out for a life of "culture . . ."

The Iron Sheik

The best things about this clip of 1980's professional wrestler, The Iron Sheik, going bananas in order of their occurrences in this clip are . . . (and don't forget to turn off the music player on the right before hitting play)

1. His rapid mood change of nostalgia and happiness to outright disgust and contempt when the name of The Killer Bee's tag team member, Brian Blair, comes to his mind.

2.Sheik accidentally saying that Blair is a "fag" worse than Michael Jordan, but then immediately correcting himself to say "Michael Jackson." I must say, I was thrown at first at his mention of Jordan.

3. He comes out of his scowl to give respect to the other member of the Bee's, "Jumpin" Jim Brunzell, especially for being a good high jumper, but then the scowl returns as the subject comes back to Blair - and again, he is said to be a bigger "fag" than The King of Pop.



4. I like the process of breaking a man's back, making him humble, and then fucking his ass. It seems to conflict with his views on homosexuality, but we won't question the Sheik's methods.

5. He then says that he would have engaged in that whole ordeal mentioned in number four of this list, but he had too much respect for his "sport" and for his boss, Vince McMahon. But, had it not been for that, he would have done the ass fucking, part of the "old country way," but this time the steps are a little different. Now, he says he would first suplex him, then put him in the camel clutch - breaking his back, then fuck his ass, and then make him humble.

6. Now he says that he wouldn't do all of this because of God, Jesus, Mr. McMahon. But, again, for the third time, he says that Blair out-fags Michael Jackson, and he would have gladly, also for the third time, done some back breaking, ass fucking, and humble-making.

7. Now he says that he's worse than Hulk Hogan. It seems like everyone hated Hogan because he was a crappy wrestler with limited skills, but in spite of that, moved up the ranks strictly based on his showmanship. But, did he mean worse in that sense or in the gay sense? That's what's unclear here, Iron Sheik.

8. Besides all of the urges to break backs and sodomize someone, "everything was great." Love that ending! Thank you, Sheik!

Dr. Bill

I met a guy named Doctor Bill last night at a fundraiser, and he sucked. Actually, Bill wasn't his real name, but it was Doctor and then his first name- and that's how he introduces himself and others introduce him to others. Again, he sucks.

The doctor was introduced to me by a ladyfriend who's friend organized the fundraiser. This friend actually brought this nimrod from across the bar, and said, "Have you two met Dr. Bill?" Now, the ladyfriend and I are new in our relationship, where talking to each other is still very exciting, and getting stuck with this d-bag was not a place we wanted anything to do with. Let me just tell you, oh my seven readers, this butthole just talked and talked without taking a breath, and let me just tell you about what he looked like.

He was a man of around 5'6" in height, he had a big belly, a shirt and tie with his pants jacked up above his navel and his cell phone fastened to his belt (I hate that move). I think I asked him what he did for a living, and then he pretty much talked "at" us for the next half hour. He is a, and I'm going to change the name of this too, Meccaphysiologist, and he believes that we can control the universe, kind of like Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars. Because he finds that most anyone would agree that the universe was created by something we can't fully understand through science, and because things in the world like the atom are perfect - not accidental but designed a certain way, he thinks that nothing in the world is coincidence. He goes as far as to say that every time you hope someone will call you on the phone, and then they do, that you actually willed them to call. He then told two very boring stories about needing people to call him because he didn't have their number, so he'd say, "Jill, call me. Jill, call me" for around 5 minutes, and they called! Wow! Is that how he meets women? He does Jedi mind tricks on them? He was chatting some up later . . .

I asked him if he thought that maybe I had an impact on the Northwestern VS Michigan State game because right when I turned the game on, The Wildcats stopped doing anything right. This happens to me a lot, so I asked if maybe I'm a jinks. He could not confirm or deny that, but he did say that if I live my life thinking things like I'm a jinks, then it will be more likely to come true. That's kind of true, actually . . .

Ladyfriend does not have the patience, poker face, active listening skills, or general interest in weirdos that I possess, so he was distancing himself from her and zeroing in on me. Right when I thought he might invite me to a seminar or throw me into the back of an unmarked van, I said, "You know, Dr. Bill, I think I might mosey on over to the other end of the room and try out some of those meatballs I've been hearing about." Ladyfriend met me over by the meatballs, and we both fell out laughing. I still plan on paying back her friend for sticking us with that odd duck, but at least I got a blog post out of it.

How about you all, Seven Readers? Can you tell us about a time you got caught talking to someone God awful?

Set Ups

When you're single and people think you're not a psycho and a decent human, women are wanting to set you up with their friends all the time. This usually isn't good because it makes you feel like you're going to disappoint someone if you don't hit it off with the friend.

So, the other day we're having lunch at work, and one of my coworkers says she has the perfect girl for me. Luckily, my good friend was on the scene with some valuable information, and he said, "You try to set her up with everyone, so what's wrong with her? Is she desperate? Plus, she's not that great looking. I've been out with Dr. Ken, and he gets tens.*" Then the female coworker countered with, "She is, too, pretty. I mean, Dr. Ken, you're not going to hear "Who's That Lady?" when she walks in the room."

But I want to hear "Who's That Lady"; that's just it.

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*I don't get tens. Plus, I don't want to date tens because really, really hot women have Hot Girl Entitlement Issues (HGETs), they have a warped sense of reality because everyone treats them extra nice their whole lives, and they're hit on all the time, so you're fighting off every penis in the room with a stick. But, I'm a little ashamed to admit that I like that feeling of walking into a room with the prettiest girl under my arm, and it's nice to be loved by a beautiful woman as opposed to a so-so one. Let's face it: I'm dying alone.

Amigo

I need to stop calling every kid at work "amigo" when I don't know his/her name - especially the Hispanic ones.

Darling Vicki

I was briefly dating someone a few weeks ago, before doing the classic, classless Dr. Ken phase out, and at the time, I was helping her brainstorm for costumes. I actually think I nailed the perfect getup for her. Because she is about 5'1", and she sort of looks like a little girl in that regard, I thought she should dress up as Vicki the suburban robot girl built by her father, disguised as a regular girl, despite talking just like a robot, from the God awful 1980's sitcom, "Small Wonder." Only here is the twist: a slutty version, since that is the common twist in Chicago and probably everywhere else.

I thought that Darling Vicki would be the perfect name for this costume since Prince had a song in the 80's called "Darling Nicki" that got on Tipper Gore and her Parent Music Resource Center's list for dirtiest songs, probably because Prince's Nikki was known to "grind" and masturbate to magazines.

So, the outfit would essentially be the red and white plaid Bob Evans dress, only cut down in slutty places, and then a panel in the back where you can open her up and fiddle with her robot parts.

I guess since the subjects of this costume are both very 1980's, it's not very topical in this day and age. I suppose that's why I'm also the type of guy to dress as Johnny Lawrence, the bad guy from Karate Kid, portrayed by William Zabka, the a-hole in just about every movie back then. However, not only do I have a pimped out Cobra Kai gee to wear, but I'm going to grow my naturally blond hair out in the next couple weeks so I can have that piss poor feathered look. I'm not likely to be very attractive in the 2000's with that kind of hair, but it's just too funny not to try to pull that look off.

What are you going to be for Halloween, Seven Readers, or do you have some good ideas to throw out there to the community (of seven readers)?

Can a Boob Lover Change His Ways?

Gosh, I hope so. I'm not a boob man by choice; I inherited it. My dad is the only bigger fan of mammarian protuberances than myself that I know. I really do think that it's been a lifelong thing for me, ever since my first uncomfortable woody that came at the hands of some big booby girl on "The Benny Hill Show." I was sitting on the carpet watching with the family, and I remember being scared that something was wrong with me, and I had to get up and leave the room with an awkward gait, pushing my little (at the time) business downward. Damn you, Benny and your fast motion boob women and the little old guy patting everyone on their heads! And damn you boobs in general!



I don't want to like them so much. I really don't. My brain knows that they're nothing more than fleshy mounds of fat, so in the grand scheme of things, they shouldn't be a deciding factor in how I choose my mate. Sense of humor, intelligence, a good conversationalist, and being a good human being are way higher on my list, but when I come face-to-face (or face to nipple(s)) with a nice set, the whole organizational chart of my criteria shifts dramatically. And that's just wrong, right?

I even try to literally ween myself off of them, tricking my brain by watching . . . movies of women with not so big "thingies," but I always end up . . . finishing up with some buxom, coked up "actress." Again I say damn you, titty women! I don't want to like you anymore. Your giant chests cloud my judgment and throw my priorities all out of whack. I want to meet the woman who stimulates my mind and makes me laugh every day, not just a woman who fills out a sweater really well. I'd like to say I could get both in one, but we all know that's a pipe dream; just isn't happening. That's like chasing the "white whale."

How about you, Seven Readers? Do you like something in a mate that you wish you didn't?

I Wear a Custom Fitted Mouth Guard At Night . . .

. . . because I grind my teeth in my sleep. Maybe that means I'm stressed out, tense, nervous, or just a plain freak. All I do know is that if I don't wear it, I wake up with my whole jaw hurting.

It's not the kind that looks like a football mouth guard; rather, it's a hard plastic impression of my front two teeth. Now, there's a bump that I can feel pointing towards my mouth, and there have been a couple of times where I have woke up to myself tonguing that little ridge - and the dreams have been about licking a woman's excited, ummmmm . . . bump.

I've only had this happen a few times. In some instances I've woke up to a morning Woodrow Wilson, in others the dream has involved the "bump" of someone I really shouldn't be thinking about, and in some cases both.

It's good that I have this safe place to share this sort of thing, as I haven't relayed this bit of information to anyone else. I can trust the seven of you with weird, perverted stuff like this, right?

Anyone have any dirty dreams they want to tell us about so I'm not the only one putting it out there?

Scene:

Jackson and Maya run in the same social circle and have been falling in love with one another over the past few months, and at this point, they have always stopped themselves at kissing. The only problem is, Maya is engaged to another man. The two have agreed to back off from one another until she has figured her situation out, as she says she's not being fair to all three people - something Jackson agrees with, but on this night, in a crowded bar, after numerous drinks, he just couldn't take it anymore.

The two keep sharing glances that alternate between smiles, looks of desperation, and looks of outright sadness. Suddenly, Jackson plays off like he's walking past her to go to the bathroom, but instead, he takes her hand, and leads her to a corner of the bar where they can talk. Granted, it's still loud from the music, but there is slightly less screaming and lousy singing there from the clientele.

Maya: Jackson, I can't.

Jackson: No, don't worry because I didn't pull you over to plant a kiss on you, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking of it all night.

Maya: Yeah, me too, but . . .

Jackson: Well, don't worry about it because I'm a man of my word. Yes, I think this guy is a tremendous asshole, and an asshole that seems unwilling to change, and the brand of asshole destined to make you miserable - but here's the thing: I said I would "back off," and I am. I just want to know a few things because I can't just move on until this thing is settled. I can't go on thinking "what if."

Maya: Okay, what do you need to know.

Jackson: I have been thinking that maybe we've been idealizing each other because of our respective situations - because we know we can't go through with it. But, maybe we'd never work out to begin with. Maybe there is a big fat deal breaker that we haven't even thought of. For instance, when one person is a lousy kisser, everyone knows a suck-ass kisser is game over, but that's not a problem for us. In fact, that seemed pretty damn incredible on this end . . .

Maya: Yes. No problems there.

Jackson: Right . . . So, I thought of a few others that might spell disaster, and that way I can move on.

Jackson unfolds a crumpled up piece of paper that he has to stand awkwardly to pry out of his jeans pocket.

Maya: I guess you have given this some thought.

Jackson: Yes. I think about you all the damn time. I have "backed off" really effectively, per your request, and I've been all business around you, so you can't even tell, but you're on my mind constantly. You're absolutely killing me.

Maya: Yeah. I think about you too, but . . .

(Brief pause)

Jackson: So, number one, are you like a die hard Republican? It's not a subject that ever came up, but if you have extremely right-thinking politics, like you hate homosexuals or certain ethnicities, that would gross me out to no end.

Maya: (Laughs) No. I'd say I'm pretty liberal, Jackson, so that's out. What else ya' got?

Jackson: Damn it! Next up, where do you stand on religion because I'm an agnostic bordering on atheist, and it's highly unlikely that I'll ever "find God," so if you're looking for a religious guy, that's just not happening.

Maya: I think we have talked about this, and I'm pretty sure I told you that I was raised Catholic, God's a part of my life, but I don't go to church to talk to him.

Jackson: Aha! But would it bother you if the person you're with for the rest of your life is a non believer, and would you raise your kids Catholic?

Maya: No and no.

Jackson: Well, shit and shit!! Next up . . .

Maya: Stop right there. I completely get what you're doing, but I don't think finding one of these deal breakers is going to help you with whatever you're going through here.

Jackson: Well, how do you know? And don't say it's just me going through it because we know that's not true. Now, come on, I only have eleven more.

Maya: No, I'm not doing this anymore.

(Maya starts to leave and Jackson jumps in front of her)

Jackson: Wait, first off, you're saying you get why I'm doing this, but I'm not sure you do. I'm in love with you, and I can't keep seeing you and not tell you this. The reason I want to find a way that we can't possibly work is because I can't move on until I figure out you and I. I'm dating women, and I can't stand any of them because none of them are you. I'm trying with them. I'm sleeping with them, and that makes me feel even worse because my heart's never in it. My heart's with you. Okay, that sounded gay, but . . . I don't know, Maya - I just feel something, and I, like, never feel anything, and that has to mean something, right?

To be continued? Maybe, but that's all I have written right now.

Dr. Ken's Syllogisms

Listening to jazz makes me feel smart.

Drinking wine makes me feel smart.

Listening to country makes me feel dumb.

Drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon makes me feel dumb.

Therefore:

Listening to jazz while drinking wine makes me feel mega-smart, like a guy who gets New Yorker cartoons.

Listening to country while drinking PBR makes me feel dumber than in an inbred, fetal alcohol, nitwit.

Listening to jazz while drinking PBR makes me feel confused, like a bisexual sitting in front of 100 gig of mixed bag porn.

Listening to country while drinking wine makes me feel semi-classy, like a guy wearing his Members Only jacket to the symphony.

How do you feel about all of this, Seven Readers?

What is your go-to karaoke song?

I usually would go with "Cold As Ice" by Foreigner, but I got really sick of it.

Last night, a coworker and myself fricking KILLED "Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong" by Joe Cocker and whoever that chick was. Tonight I think I'm going to try "Suffragette City" by Bowie. The birthday girl, a friend of one of Dr. Ken's "special lady friends," is planning on doing Neil Young's "Rockin' in the Free World."

Which song do you hate to hear people do?

This one is a tie between anything from "Grease" and "Bohemian Rhapsody." The latter is a song I rather like, but not when people try to sing it because A) It's really long B) They usually do it crappy, and C) There are like 15 Freddy Mercury's layered on that track, so how in the hell do they think they can pull it off? Downright irritating.

Caption Contest Number Around 5

Okay, do your worst. I have no idea what's going on here, but I love that look on that sucka's face!

This Morning, Merle Haggard's "Momma Cried" Came on My iPod . . .

. . . and I thought of a regular male barfly at a bar I used to go to every few weekends called Carol's Pub in the far North side of Chicago, an all night country bar, which at the time, had live country music with no cover. We used to go there if we had struck out with the ladies at the 2AM establishments.

It was great back then because you could sit down at a table, order up a pitcher of Busch light (we had iron clad stomachs back then) and dance with mostly sub par but sometimes diamond in the rough girls. The beauty of it is, you really didn't have to know how to dance! I mean, if you did, that's a plus, but mostly if you just twirl them around a few times, and show them a good time, sometimes you could twirl them right out the door! I know, that sounds sleazy, but I'm getting back into single Dr. Ken phase here . . .

So there was this guy who would always go there alone, always had on a stocking hat, was of an age around thirty, I'd say, with a trustworthy face, and there was a time that he was telling myself an Heterosexual Life Partner (HLP) how he wanted to hear "Momma Cried" by Merle Haggard because it was one of the only songs that would make him cry. I believe he would be brought to tears because he seemed like a bit of a loser, so I'm sure he could relate to a song about disappointing his mother, but I will say he was a lovable loser. HLP and I often like to recall the time that he was dancing out there by his lonesome and said to the two of us, "Are you gonna' come out here and waggle with me?" When do you hear the word waggle outside of calling plays on John Madden Football on your Sega Genesis game system?



How about you, seven readers? Do you have a favorite bar fly? If not, which song makes you cry?

"I Watched Some of "Teen Wolf Too" the Other Day . . .

. . . and boy is it ever craptastic. I mean, at least "Revenge of the Nerds 2: Nerds in Paradise" (1987) had a couple of good moments, but this thing is just rotten. Granted, the first one was not likely to win any awards, but I'd say that the most clever thing in the entire sequel is using the word "too" instead of "two," and that's barely smart. Here are the worst things about this steaming pile of crud movie:

1. Justin Bateman just isn't as likable as Michael J. Fox. It's not all his fault. I mean, the script sucks, and I think the budget wasn't as good because his makeup for the wolf just looks creepy and cheap. Fox's wolf was charming, and Bateman's is ugly and just looks like a crappy Halloween costume.

2. Instead of basketball, this wolf's sport is boxing. Now, the thing that always bothered me about a kid turning into a werewolf and dominating high school basketball, is that there was no press coming to these games. There were literally like 25 kids at these games with risers that were no more than five rows deep. Wouldn't that be a national news story - Someone turning into a fictional lycanthrope beast and dunking in games? Okay, well, let's just say that maybe we will allow this werewolf to play basketball. Sure. But boxing? That thing's going to kill someone in that ring! If that were my kid off at college getting mauled by a werewolf in that ring, I'd be pissed, right?

3. They couldn't get Michael J. Fox back, but they did get the guy who played Chubby in the first film, the poor kid who looked so pasty and fat in that basketball jersey and clearly had no athletic ability. While they got him, they couldn't get the original "Stiles," - the guy who encouraged Fox's character to play the most reckless dangerous game of all time: Car surfing. As if standing on a van during hair pin turns isn't dangerous enough, but the wolf would turn back flips up there. Anyway, new "Stiles" looks kind of like Boner from "Growing Pains," only he has maybe the longest mullet of the 80's for a guy not in Kajagoogoo.

That's all I got for now. What do you think is one of the crummiest sequels of all time?

On a First Date, Don't Talk About Any Exes, and Don't Talk About Pissing Yourself

Finding myself single and reentering the dating scene has been equal parts weird, embarrassing, fun, exciting, awful, and scary. However, nothing has been quite as bad as a story a friend of mine recently relayed to me (same friend as this post).

Apparently, she had her first phone conversation with a guy from a dating site, and he asked her what her most embarrassing moment was. She said that she couldn't really think of one off the top of her head, and she asked what his would be. This is the time where, on their first conversation, mind you, he decided it would be a good idea to tell her about the time he was on a date with a girl where they were watching a very long movie, and he had to pee really bad but didn't want to miss anything - so he pissed his pants. Surprisingly, the girl on that date never called him again.

It gets worse. On my friend's date with this guy, he told yet another story in which he was at a bar with a long line for the bathroom, and he pissed his pants on that occasion too. Wow.

Anyone want to share an embarrassing date story? I'll level with you guys, since we're all friends here: I went on a date with a girl where there was free beer at a bar involved, somehow, and when she showed up I had maybe a little too good of a free buzz going. She said she had to go to the bathroom and disappeared. Maybe she was just scared she was falling in love with me. Right? That was my understanding of it.