Glossy Pages

"We take all kinda pills that give us all kinda thrills, But the thrill we never know, Is the thrill that'll gitcha when ya get your picture, On the cover of the Rolling Stone" Dr Hook from "Cover of Rolling Stone"

The nurse has this habit of stealing magazines from the dingy lobby of the Asylum. She could buy her own, but she doesn't. But she reads then sitting outside my room for hours on end. It's always the sound of the rigid page turning, the stench of whatever new rapper inspired cologne that is being shilled, then the grunt of her disgust at the model or article that she sees. It makes me wonder if she only reads them to pass the time and piss her off, or if she actually doesn enjoy the pictures, cause reading above a fourth grade level would be a Reed Richards like stretch. And let's face facts, the Asylum doesn't have the greatest array of periodicals to being with.

When it comes to me shelling out five to ten bucks for a magazine the content if really what's important. Every guy who reads Playboy does so because it's the classiest way to ogle naked women. However, the writers for Playboy win awards, it's informative, and a hoot of hilarity, but when the last article has been read we keep the stroke book lingering in the bathroom for the pictorials. Didn't mean to break any man codes, but it's true.

Rolling Stone used to be the pinnacle source of music news and interviews with some of the greatest musicians, politians, and entertainers of all time. To hell with Parade, Spin and Circus. Sure Lester Bangs did bring some street cred to Cream, but there is only one Rolling Stone. Now, I'm as liberal as the next Obama supporter, but Jan Wenner and team now take themselves way too seriously. They used to have PJ O'Rouke there to even things out, to give the conservatives a voice, because even Republicans like music, I think. The once proud musical beacon in now just a Bush hate factory and Blender is a far more reliable way to get music news. When I'm really interested in finding something new, it's Blender that I turn to, not the quintesential rock magazine of the last 40 years. Maybe when Rock-n-Roll died it should have taken Rolling Stone with it.

When it comes to a men's magazine I'm no GQ fan. There is very little, if anything, in that ad over-packed fashion disaster that I can actually relate to. Instead I turn to the man's man's magazine, Maxim. Now here's a rag that has it's fair share of hot women, great articles on sports, drinking tips, plus you can learn how to survive a natural disaster. You think Reader's Digest can deliver all that? Of course not. Niether can "O". Have you ever noticed that only one person has ever been on the cover of that waste of paper? What the hell is that about? Even in the Asylum had it's own magazine I'd put Dr. Dot on the cover before me, some people just have ego issues I guess.

As for some of those super market scandal rags, well, I miss the Weekly World News. It was a fine publication that wasn't bogged down by silly things like facts and the truth. It did more for the phrase "sources close to" than the National Enquirer ever could. And I do love the celebrities that file lawsuits against the tabloids. It's like admitting to the world that these fish wraps actually matter. The best advice I could give the celebs is this "It's the fucking National Enquirer, it matters about as much as "O"."

With the increase in Internet traffic, I think it's only a matter of time before all print publications go the way of Jessica Hahn, gone and forgotten. I will miss them, but "sources close to" the Asylum don't think "O" would be missed by anyone.

Dou you read any magazines? Do you think they are going to disappear?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Weekly World News.

Hazards of Duke

"Southern man better keep your head, Don't forget what your good book said. Southern change gonna come at last, Now your crosses are burning fast." Neil Young from "Southern Man"

The nurse was outfitted in a T-shirt from her so-called med school which bore the statement "Nurses do it because they care." Sweet sentiment. Must have been a wonderful educational establishment, I mean as wonderful as one can be when it's located above an auto repair shop. But I was still kind of envious of her for sporting the alma mater's gear. I never attended college, so I can't wear sweatshirts emblazoned with Screaming Eagles or anything like that. And I won't shill for a college that I didn't attend, unlike my other cohorts down here in the Slow. I can't get two feet from my gurney without seeing a Duke University hat. It's one of the constant reminders that I am not in Los Angeles anymore. But it's not really the head wear that picks at me, it's the fact that I had no idea what the South was gonna be like when I moved here and seeing the nurse wearing her college togs got me thinking about the place I live.

Being a native of California, my only real exposure to the South came in the form of movies like Deliverance and television programs like the Emmy winning "Dukes of Hazzard" What do you mean it never won an Emmy? Surely if the Six Million Dollar Man could garner a statue, then Bo and Luke Duke were deserving. Oh, I see, Six Million Dollar Man never one either, go figure. Anyway, the point I am getting at is that no yokels have yet to anally rape me while demanding that my squeal sound like swine.. But the similarities to the Dukes of Hazzard are uncanny.

Is there stuff that you could jump a car over? Hell yeah. Almost everywhere one looks there is something broken down or boarded up that would be perfect fodder for a bitchin car jump, provided your car was a big enough heap of crap that you didn't mind bending it like a Gumby doll. There are gully's, ravines, and downed trees around every turn. I was thinking of welding the doors of the cruiser shut, but who am I kidding, I ain't fitting through no car window without a girdle and two pounds of Crisco. So, no, I won't be doing any high flying stunt jumps with Dixie blaring from the horn.

What about Daisy Dukes? Now mind you, summer hasn't arrived yet, but unless the women down here lose weight like Al Rooker, I don't want to subject my orbs to a bunch of Daisy Dukes. You all know that I have no problem with a plus sized girl, but there are some things that you don't show off in public. I mean, I don't go around shirtless because I have respect for you, well that and the pointing and gagging is a bit much to take. The point is, same rules should apply to the gals. Be big, be sexy, but that doesn't mean putting on a handkerchief and calling it a top.

Does everyone sound like Paula Dean? If you don't know Paula then you must be an anorexic, because those of us who eat think of Paula as the Butter Queen. Her accent is so thick that you may wonder if everyone here says "y'all" in every sentence. Um, yeah, they do. I was talking to a customer at HellJob who asked where I was from. I asked if he knew my origins lie elsewhere because of my lack of an accent. He said "No, but y'all are wearing them shoes" Of course referring to my Chuck Taylor All Star's, which are apparently the official shoe of the West Coast in the eyes of my Southern friends.

Is everyone like Roscoe P. Coltrane? No, not really, the people are actually pretty friendly, but not as open as I'm used to. In LA I swung with a group that was pretty inviting to strangers, sure we had tons of inside jokes, but we allowed others a chance to be the butt of their own new jokes. Here they don't invite those they don't know, but time will determine the outcome, maybe they just have a longer incubation period.

Any questions about the South? Or thoughts on the Dukes of Hazzard? Or Paula Dean?

Dixie Cup of Love: Catherine Bach

Don't Pick At It

"People act so proper when they're going 'bout their business Cup of coffee, friendly conversation 'Til they get home, 'Til they get home . Turn the phone off, lock the door and shut the curtains, Make sure that the neighbors are without suspicion, No one will know, No one will know. Nasty habits, I must condone, No one knows what I do when I'm all alone" Oingo Boingo from "Nasty Habits

When the nurse came in to give me my daily dose of happy pills I couldn't help but notice that her finger nails have been gnawed down to stumps. It's a bad habit, but in the realm of horrifying rituals it only ranks about a 2 out of 10 on the destructive scale. Tolerable, but still something that she should have some control over. But isn't that where we all fail? Self control? Looking at the nurse and her gnarled up piggies got me thinking of my own lack of self control.

When it comes to bad habits I have a few that I could do without. I have some that I enjoy too much to let go of, smoking cigarettes for one. I'm not one of those smokers who is constantly trying to quit, I've never even tried to stop, it's just one of the joys in my life. Oh sure, I know it's killing me, but since when should mere mortality make me quit doing anything.

Lately, I have been drinking a little more than I would like to. It's the "New Kid in Town" syndrome. It's a trying to find new friends mentality that keeps me heading for the bar. I've been in trouble with booze before, too much drinking and driving, too many black-outs, too much of the curse of the Captain. The curse being it doesn't start tasting its best until I'm out of the realm of soberiety. And I'm not enjoying myself like I used to, so, I think me and the Captain are going to part company for a while.

The hardest habit for me to break is this cycle of depression that I spiral into everytime I think something might be going against me. The first reaction I have is to head to the bar. I've been good about not doing that, except for the last few weeks, and seeing that I recognize the potenial in the problem behavior I can make advances towards curbing it like a broke down Impala. Which leads me to dealing with the overall depression.

Like most everyone on the planet I get into moods when I don't feel worthy, necessary, or wanted. These are the days when I am at my darkest. Sitting in the pitch black, listening to a haunting melody, thinking questions like "why me" this and "why not me" that. Usually it revovles around one of two things. A dame that I am fully into who doesn't quite feel the same intensity of emotion towards me. Or that I am unhappy with what I am writing. So I stoop to different levels of denial. I write things I know will please, even if I hate them. I start dating people that I have no chemistry with, whether it be her inability to make eye contact, a sure fire hint that the chemistry set is out of juice, or my own personal foibles. It feels worse than being alone.

That's not the person I want to be, so I'm not gonna. Right now, I'm in a good head space, sure lonely, but not depressed, not over joyed, but content. So, no more. No more wasting my time looking for that which I can't find. No more wasting my will on things that will not change. No more negativity, yeah right, who am I kidding.

These habits can be a part of me, but they can't be me. I have the will power to stop the cycles, to reamin happy regardless of the circumstances. No matter if it be HellJob, the Asylum, or other people, I will not let others nor myself to be brung down.

What bad habits do you have that you would like to change?

Dixie Cup of Love: Me.

Some Say Monkeys Play Piano Well

"The Ants are my friends, they're blowing in the wind, that ants are a-blowing in the wind." Bob Dylan from "Blowin the Wind"?

When the nurse came in to give me my daily Dixie cup of Chemistry I heard her say something that shocked me to the bone. I thought I heard her say "Wake up dead dick!" I mean, how the hell did she know that the old tentpole wasn't hoisting the canvas? Instantly I went into defensive mode as any guy does when his manhood in challenged. My first line of defense was that it was the medication keeping Sargent Stiffy from standing at attention. When she didn't respond to that, I immediately attacked her appearance. I shouted horrible things about her hair, her make-up, how the left boob was bigger than the right, all sorts of hideousness. That's when she clarified that she said "Take your meds quick." Oh, well, that's, um, I hate when I hear things wrong.

As a musical snob there is nothing I hate more than being in a car with someone that butchers the lyrics to a song like it was a side of beef at Sam's.. If you don't know the words, just shut up, don't attempt to fill in for Kurt Cobain. The line is "Here we are now, entertain us." not "here we are now in containers." That doesn't even make sense. Why would the be in Tupperware, why?

The most common misquotes are "Excuse me while I kiss this guy.", "There's a bathroom on the right." and the line from Manfred Mann's Blinded By The Light is "Revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night." It has nothing to do with feminine hygiene wash, I swear. But in doing a little research for this here bloggity blog, oh yeah, I do research, I came across a few things that cracked me up.

In Addicted to Love Robert Palmer does not say "You might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove." It's not even a song about Michael Jackson. In the "Summer of 69" Canada's greatest disgrace Bryan Adams "got his first six string at the 5 and dime" not "got his first sex dream, I was 5 at the time." besides the next line is played it till my fingers bled, the wrong way is just gross. Johnathan B. Jovi did not say "It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not." he cared whether or not they made it, the fact that they were naked is a given because he's J.B.J.

But the worst is what you people do to Bennie and Jets. There's no funny lyrics for you on this one, you all kill it in your own unique way, so as a service to Sir Elton John I present you with the actual lyrics to the most butchered song of all time.

"Hey kids, shake it loose together, the spotlights hitting something that's been known to change the weather.
We kill the fatted calf tonight, so stick around.
You're gonna hear electric music, solid walls of sound.
Say Candy and Ronnie have you seen them yet, but they're so spaced out.
Bennie and the Jets.
Oh but they're weird and they're wonderful, oh Bennie she's really keen.
She's got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine.
Bennie and the Jets.
Hey kids, plug into the faithless, maybe they're blinded but Bennie makes them ageless.
We shall survive, let us take ourselves along.
Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find out who's right and who's wrong."

No shit.

Do you butcher songs? Any lyrics you aren't sure of? Do you make up the words you don't know?

Dixie Cup of Love: Sir Elton John

PS - To understand the title of blog, sing Michelle by the Beatles until you get to the section in French.

The Face

"I've just seen a face, I can't forget the time or place, That we'd just met, she's just the girl for me, And I want all the world to see we've met" The Beatles from "I've Just Seen A Face"

I was thinking about how I would react if another inmate stole my nurse. Not exactly an actual possibility, but an interesting "what if". Would I fight for her? Would I let her go to happily medicate another sociopath for ever and ever? Would I declare all out war in an effort to win her back? I didn't get the chance to fully think these ideas through when the nurse entered with her normal zest, like a Gothic kid watching Donnie Darko, apparently everyone's top 5 movie of all time, I wasn't that big of a fan. But anyway, as she walked over with my Dixie Cup I knew the answer in one bolt of lightning. I would definitely declare war.

Helen of Troy was nothing but a cheating whore. She may have been "the Face that launched a thousand ships" but I wouldn't have sent so much as a frigate to get her back. If I had been Menalaus I would have kept my warriors, like Ajax and Achilles, close to home. Hector and his whore stealing brother Paris would never have been the tale of legend that they are today. Instead the history books would say that the Spartan King Menalaus once had a wife who ran off the be anally penetrated by a dirty Greek. He soon remarried a woman who understood what it meant to be a Spartan queen. End of epic.

Helen of Troy cheated on her husband. Now, I'm not saying that in those days women had the right to say no, as a matter of fact they didn't have rights period, but a Spartan queen? A higher honor there could not be. And to top it all off she chose the lesser of the Greek brothers. Were history has painted Hector as a warrior and a hero, Paris is considered a pretty fey boy. A coward. All Helen saw in him was a reflection of her own self, skin deep beauty and nothing more.

Now, why am I ranting on about Helen of Troy? Reasonable question. I have been thinking a lot lately about what I consider to be beautiful. There are things that I look for on a purely plastic, superficial level. I like blondes, I like big boobies, I like curves. But I also like sex appeal. That's something different from good looks. Sex appeal is Marilyn Monroe, Jane Mansfield, Rachel Welch, Monica Belucci. It's a want and desire to get naked with someone. It either exists or it doesn't, and I'm not sure if it can be learned. Without it I can't feel chemistry for someone. And I'm guessing that Helen of Troy had it in spades.

The really strange thing I am finding about sex appeal is that it doesn't have anything to do with beauty or size. It's an interesting commodity in that the only cost is enjoying and oozing of sex, yet still it is in higher demand than sticky green buds of Danger Girl down here in the Slow. If ever there was a substance that could flood the market and still remain in higher demand than a President who isn't a complete imbecile, it's sex appeal. So, what are we gonna do about this problem? Where's my national campaign to bring the sexy back? My God, I'm referencing Justin Timberlake, time to go.

Are you sexy? What's sexy to you? Can sexy be learned?

Dixie Cup of Love: All the sexy people, except Helen of Troy.

The Team That George Bought

"Hey Mr. Pinstripe Suit. Hey Mr. Hi De Hi De Ho. Well I know you got the answers that we all wanna know. Hey Mr. Wingtip Shoes. Hey Mr. Always On The Go. Well I know you got the answers that we all wanna know." Big Bad Voodoo Daddy from "Mr. Pinstripe Suit"

The nurse thinks that sports are about as useful as filling a hand gun with blanks. Kind of fun, but not exactly helpful in a life threatening situation. She doesn't understand the way that cheering for a sports franchise can fill a spot in a man's soul that no amount of love, or sex, well okay, maybe some scandalous sex with paternal twins, not fraternal ones cause, sorority girls are tight assed. I mean the twins that don't look alike. If you're gonna forgo the big game for a threesome the girls shouldn't look the same.

Alright, I'm gonna admit something here, I'm not afraid, I'm strong, and yes, I'm a Twins fan. Also a Vikings fan, but that's the agony of another blog. For this one, what's important is that I bounced at a bar that was adjacent to Anaheim Stadium. The groovy thing was I ended up meeting a lot of the players from the Angels and the other teams throughout the American league. But once a year, the vibe in the bar would change, the accents would start to thicken up, we'd start selling a lot more pizza, only one thing could explain this phenomenon. The Yankees were in town.

The first time I met anyone from the Bronx Bombers it was future hall of famer, Bernie Williams. Let me say that if nice was a batting average Bernie would be batting around .700 in life. He was unpretentious, unassuming, funny, and a good sport. See, the bar was divided into two sections. On the restaurant side I was the sworn protector of the ballers that didn't want to be pestered by mere fans. The were untouchable in the restaurant which is where people like Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey, and A-Rod always sat. On the other side was the bar and pool tables.. There the protection was limited to physical altercations. Bernie played pool and always seemed to enjoy the bar side. Any fan that approached him with a baseball would leave with it signed, he would chat, I mean, seriously, he is a nice guy.

As I worked at the bar for six years, I got to know some of the players on a different level. Angels relievers Mike James and Troy Percival I could call friends. Jamie Moyer from the Mariners, Matt Stairs from the A's were frequent guests. But it was the Yankee players that I grew to like and party with.

David Cone and I used to smoke in front of the bar together. Jorge Posada, Tino Martinez, and I played pool. After a couple of years I even got to be pretty tight with Derek Jeter. One night before the Angels home opener against the Yanks, I was sitting next to Derek as we watched Tino and Alfonso Soriano playing a game of nine ball when a female regular of the bar rushes up to me and asks me if Derek Jeter is in the bar. Mind you the guy is sitting right next to me. I look at him and ask if Jeter is indeed in the bar. Without missing a beat he looks around casually and tells the girl "I think he just left" She got totally pissed off and storms away. The four of us laughed for an hour, none stop. It was a riot.

Who is your favorite ball player or team?

Dixie Cup of Love: The Bronx Bombers