Happy Leap Day

Today is Leap Day.

Every four years, we add an extra day to the calendar. Has to do with… aw, hell, I don’t have the first clue why we do it, we just do. (NOTE: after a quick glance at the place to go for questionably accurate information on everyone and everything, Wikipedia, I have learned that the reason Leap Day exists is because a complete revolution around the sun actually takes 365 days and 6 hours, so to make up for that quarter of a day that results each year, we throw in an extra day every four years, to balance out the cosmos or something along that line. Now whether that’s actually the reason, or whether some idiot Wikipedia “contributor” made that up just to be a dick, I have no freakin’ idea.)

Anyway, I have long been intrigued by the people who happened to have been born on February 29th. The idea of actually being 16 on your fourth birthday has always made me wonder- do people born on February 29th actually consider their age to be the number of “actual” birthdays they’ve had? In that case, I’m sure there are some “17-year-olds” out there that look like hell, and probably feel just as bad. No matter, though- whether you’re celebrating your “12th” or your 48th, or your “1st” or your fourth, Happy Birthday to you.

Just for what it’s worth, and just to give me something with which to waste your time, here are some notable Leap Day babies.

• Pope Paul III (pope), 2-29-1468
• Jimmy Dorsey (bandleader), 2-29-1904
• Dinah Shore (singer/talk show host), 2-29-1916
• Joss Ackland (actor), 2-29-1928
• Alex Rocco (actor), 2-29-1936
• Dennis Farina (actor), 2-29-1944
• Richard Ramírez (serial killer a.k.a. the “Night Stalker”), 2-29-1960
• Ja Rule (rapper), 2-29-1976

And a couple of notable events that occured on Leap Days gone by:

• St. Petersburg, Florida is incorporated; 2-29-1892
• In South Carolina, the minimum age for factory, mill, and mine workers is raised from 12 to 14; 2-29-1916
• Hattie McDaniel (Gone with the Wind) becomes the first black person to win an Academy Award; 2-29-1940
• Dwight D. Eisenhower announces his bid for a second Presidential term (he won); 2-29-1956
• An earthquake in Morocco kills more than 3000 people; 2-29-1960
• Über-sappy comic strip “Family Circus” makes its debut; 2-29-1960
• Hank Aaron becomes the first player in MLB history to sign a $200,000 contract; 2-29-1972
• Gordie Howe makes NHL history by scoring his 800th goal; 2-29-1980

Anyway, enjoy your Leap Day. And if today happens to be your birthday, Happy Birthday.

Guess I have to come clean now

On this blog, I have taken shots at Scientology, Hillary Clinton, Britney Spears, Barry Bonds, “integrity” in sports in general, and Amy Winehouse, just to name a few. My last post was about snobs- beer snobs, coffee snobs, car snobs- and it apparently struck a nerve. I guess it’s acceptable to ridicule celebrities, but make fun of someone’s choice of beverage, and holy shit, there’s a fight on your hands.

I do get rather uppity in some of my comments. Going back and reading some of my older posts, I think, “damn, that was kinda pissy”. But I hate stupidity. I feel stupidity needs to be pointed out and ridiculed at any and all costs. I freely admit I have gotten some of my rants turned back on me to the point I’ve eaten more than my fair share of humble crow pies, and rightfully so (sometimes). But even so, when someone points out my stupidity, I’m man enough to own up to it.

But here’s the big key, folks- some of you need to lighten up a little. You believe what you want to believe, but I purposely paint with a ridiculously broad brush here. Sometimes I do go to an extreme on things, and sometimes I do actually go too far. In society nowadays, everything is “either-or” any more. There is no multiple choice. It is or it isn’t. Some things, you can be either-or with. However, most things just aren’t that neat and tidy. You actually don’t have to choose Pepsi OR Coke. You actually don’t have to be a dope-smoking treehugger liberal OR a Nazi war monger conservative. Heaven forbid your ideologies fall somewhere in between, like mine actually do. If you’re “somewhere in the middle” or “a little of both” or “can’t decide”, then you’re accused of being unable to make a choice, or called a waffler, or just plain weak because you’re not “this” or “that”. THAT in and of itself is stupidity that must be exploited. I love pointing out hypocrisy.

And here’s the other thing- I do have strong opinions on some things, and I admit I get a little snippy sometimes. Yes, I really DO think Amy Winehouse is a no-talent crack whore. Yes, I really DO think Hillary Clinton is a whack job that, were she to be elected President, would fuck the entire country up in a heartbeat- not that Obama will be that much better, but he certainly can’t be worse (I hope). Yes, I really DO think Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and all their compadres that ever took HGH and/or steroids have ruined the game and it’s too bad they can’t be kept out of the Hall of Fame, especially when Pete Rose can. And yes, I DO despise uppity people that feel they are better than me because they drink faggotty Euro-trash coffee or a beer that nobody’s ever heard of that is brewed in a porta-potty in Montana. I don’t despise them for drinking it, I despise them for being uppity about drinking it. But here’s the kicker- A, I know that realistically, I’m neither right nor wrong in thinking any of those things, and B, regarding the grand majority of most things, especially anyone’s choice in beer, I really don’t care THAT much.

Look, people, it’s a role I play here. I try to provoke thought in people; I try to provoke commentary. Admittedly, I’m not very good at it… but I do purposely try to incite people. I am being 100% genuine in that I do NOT purposely set out to offend anyone- sometimes what sounds good or funny in my head comes out completely wrong. But, by the same token, people nowadays are WAY too fucking touchy. Lighten up. My views don’t correspond with most people’s views in this politically corrupt correct world that has been created, so I purposely go overboard with it most of the time. But again, I really don’t care THAT much on most things.

Were it not for my brother, our folks, a very select few that drop by now and again, and the thousands that find it by mistake, this blog would have absolutely no traffic, let alone any commentary. Nobody bothers commenting on a middle-of-the-road post, but by God, you call someone out, and they sure have something to say back. But holy crap, people- lighten up. I honestly DON’T give two shits what kind of beer you drink.

Bottom line, you’ll never fully know whether I’m telling you the truth, or whether I’m completely and accurately giving you my views on things. But that’s part of the blog experience. You as commenters are as anonymous as you choose to make yourselves- you can present yourselves in any way you wish without fear of retribution. Yet, so are we as bloggers. If you want to believe I’m some hyper-uptight self-righteous twit, knock yourself out. Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.

But it did get you to read my blog, didn’t it…

Lighten up, people. I can freely admit to all of this. Can you?

Snobbery comes in many forms

Today’s bitchfest is about snobs.

Not necessarily snobs in the “normal” sense of the word, like the rich girl in high school that thought WAY too much of herself and the Audi that Daddy bought her on her Sweet 16. There were quite a few of those at SSHS in the early 80’s, thanks to the kids who lived on the lake. A perfect example are the quartet of bimbos from “Mean Girls“.

I’m talking about item-specific snobs.

For example, you have car snobs. You all know them- people who call their car by its manufacturer or model, instead of just calling it a car, as in “my Beemer has diamond-encrusted accents”, or “I just had power ball scratchers installed in the Lexus”. People that really believe that what you drive tells people what kind of person you are. To an extent, I guess that is true. Most people that drive BMWs and Lexuses (Lexi?) and {insert mid-life crisis sports car of your choice here} usually are shallow pretentious asswipes. But it’s got nothing to do with the car, it’s got to do with the shallow pretentious asswipe driving it. It’s a friggin’ car, Biff. Get over yourself. Your $57,000 dick substitute makes you no better than the guy tooling around in the ‘72 Buick Opel. Or me in my daddy car. Dumb ass.

Then there are the far more populous coffee snobs. I admit, I have become a major, MAJOR anti-coffee-snob snob, just out of principle. The coffee snob has just sort of been genetically engineered in the last decade and a half or so, thanks to the Starbuckses and Paneras and Barnes & Nobles and all the other pretentious coffeehouses, whether corporate or Mumsy and Daddy (snob-ese for “Mom & Pop”) that have raped and impregnated the landscape from here to Rancho Cuc-amanga. Coffee snobs not only drink that nasty-ass Euro-trash crappacheeno, but they actually look down on those of us that don’t buy in to it. And that’s just it- it doesn’t even bother me that people drink that dysentery in a cup- to each their own- but the reason why at least some people drink it. It’s trendy to. It’s “cool” to. It’s “chic” to. What a bunch of fucking lambs. Frankly, the coffee isn’t all that great at those places, folks. Pretty much any greasy spoon diner makes better coffee. Hell, I can make it a hell of a lot better at home- and for a lot less money. For what you pay for two or maybe three cups of that swill at Starbucks, I can get an entire 3-lb-plus can at the grocery store that lasts me for over a month. I won’t even get into having to learn a whole set of jargon just to order. Tall. Venti. Dolce. Skinny. Starbucks.com has a downloadable “A Lesson in Coffee Speak” file to teach budding coffee snobs how to “properly” order. Give me a friggin’ break. Whatever happened to small, medium, and large?! Worse yet, in some places, “tall” is actually the smallest size. Duuhhhhhh, gee, Tennessee. Even McDonald’s has started catering to coffee snobs. Finally- I can drink premium McCoffee as a companion to my McBiscuits and McGravy.

I like going in these types of places and ordering a cup of plain black coffee just to watch the idiot 19-year-old chickie, called a “barista” (apparently, coffee snob tradespeople get to invent titles for themselves- where I come from, people that serve coffee are called “waitresses”), with way too many facial piercings get that deer-in-the-headlights look and go find the manager for instruction. Not to mention the simple fact that you completely ruin coffee by putting shit in it, whether it’s milk, sugar, cream, chocolate, fruit flavor, nut flavor, mint flavor, or whatever. But that’s just me. Drink it black, the way nature intended. About the only non-black coffee I would even consider drinking is Irish coffee, because I like my coffee like I like my women: full of booze.

What? How else would a guy like me have been able to get married?

Then we have the beer snobs.

Beer is the alcoholic beverage that the common ordinary folks- those that aren’t wine snobs- drink. Beer is universal- it goes with everything. Steak. Pizza. Wings. Tacos. Seafood. Doesn’t matter what you’re eating- with a few exceptions, I suppose, if you can eat it, you can drink beer with it. Alas, even beer has been invaded by snobbery.

Some people are beer snobs out of the aforementioned “chic” factor. Some are beer snobs out of the whole “death to the large corporation” factor. (But I have news for you, you “fight the power” beer drinkers- Blue Moon is made by Coors. Keep sticking it to The Man.) Some are beer snobs simply because they don’t care for the taste of most mass-produced beer. And that’s fine- that’s their choice. I don’t agree, but again, to each their own.

Personally, I think Anheuser-Busch makes fine, fine beer. Budweiser, Bud Light, and my new favorite (and even it borders on “snobbery” somewhat), Michelob Amber Bock, among others. I drink MGD and Miller Lite. I drink Coors and Coors Light. And I even drink Corona. Sometimes with a lime, sometimes without. Admittedly, there are some brands that I am “snobbish” about (Milwaukee’s “Best”, PBR, Hamms, things like that), but that’s more out of good taste (in both senses of the phrase) than being snobbish. Some of those, especially the Beast, are just plain awful. Now there are pale ales, stouts, imperial stouts, darks, and numerous other “craft beers”, as they’re apparently called (complete with more categories and sub-categories than one can shake a stick at), and the inconceivable “seasonal” varieties that are only available at certain times of the year. Who the hell wants to wait 10 months to drink a beer? Bud Light is in the cooler 24/7/365. Waiting around for a certain type of beer makes no sense. It just means you’re way too picky.

Microbrews, at least the very few that I have sampled, suck. They taste extremely bitter and have an aftertaste that is reminiscent to me of that taste in your mouth after you’ve vomited beer. Especially darks. Dark beer looks, smells, and tastes like a glass of Red Man spit. Not that I’ve ever drunk a glass of Red Man spit, but you get my point. And some beer-snob beers come flavored. Some are flavored with anise, ginger, allspice, even cinnamon. There’s raspberry beer and cherry beer and peach beer, among numerous other flavors. There’s one kind that smells like Fruity Pebbles- and even tastes a little like Fruity Pebbles. Well, okay, Fruity Pebbles that had beer poured on them and were left to sit outside for a week in August, but you can still get a small Fruity Pebble “bouquet”. There are even pumpkin-flavored beers. A lot of beer snobs are probably laughing at me for admitting I occasionally drink Corona with a lime. At least with that, I can choose whether or not I want the citrus flavor. And at least it’s actual lime flavor from an actual lime. I’m not stuck with some sour fake “flavor” whether I want it or not.

As with the coffee snob, I don’t begrudge the beer snob for their choice of beers. Just don’t get all uppity on me for not having your supposed refined tastes. I like normal beer, just as I like normal coffee. Sue me. Maybe I am just a neanderthalic simpleton. Or, maybe it’s just a generational thing. There just weren’t many non-AB, Coors, or Miller beers (i.e. mass-produced, “corporate” beers) around when I… well, let’s just say when I was honing my beer palate. Maybe if there were, I’d have more of a taste for some of the little weenie yuppie beers that are out there nowadays. But then, there are a lot of 50-and-up-year-olds that drink little weenie yuppie beers, so I guess that kind of kills the generational argument. Neanderthalic simpleton it is, I guess. Guilty as charged.

Beer should taste like beer, and coffee should taste like coffee. Beer should be cold, coffee should be hot. It’s just how it is. And if you judge people on the kind of car they drive, so you shall be judged as well on yours.

Therefore, sorry about your impotence.

Not that anyone missed me…

…but I’m back.

My ISP has changed from Insight to Comcast, which means I have to change my freakin’ connection information, send emails to everyone I know with my new address (once they finally decide they’re actually going to change it: “look for information coming soon”), change all my mailing lists, blah blah blah blah. Any of you unfortunate souls with the same ISP, you get to do that too. Be prepared.

Well, it turns out that for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but Comcast, they just up and deactivated my modem Wednesday. Mrs. Johann called them this morning to see if they could tell us anything (this was obviously before I found out they deactivated the modem), and the friggin’ Mensa president she spoke to told her they “shut off the internet to the entire Springfield area”.

As before, any of you other unfortunate souls that have Comcast know that would be incorrect.

So this evening, I decided for shits and giggles to call Comcast and find out when they might be “turning the internet back on to the entire Springfield area”, at which time I was told they didn’t (”nor would they”) shut off the internet to an entire area (unless there was some major technical problem) but that they deactivated my modem. I told the surprisingly helpful girl on the phone (thank you, Lisa) that it would sure be “Comcastic” of them to RE-activate my modem. She did, and said she will even give us credit for the two days we were without service. We’ll see if THAT comes true or not.

Anyway, I’m back, ready to once again piss people off with my completely irrelevant tirades about completely irrelevant things. I just hope this isn’t the start of some big ongoing catastrophuck that will result from being unwillingly switched to Comcast.

Happy Birthday to Tony Barbazuko

Today is the 54th birthday of John Travolta, ac-TOR.

Best known (depending on one’s age) for his breakout TV role of Vinnie Barbarino on Welcome Back Kotter, the movie role that made him a mega-star, Tony Manero in “Saturday Night Fever“,  Danny Zuko in the movie version of “Grease“, Vincent Vega in the Quentin Tarantino mega-turd “Pulp Fiction“, or in drag in a fat suit as Edna Turnblad in the 2007 movie version of “Hairspray“, he has had many highs and lows in his acting career.

Obviously,”Grease” and “Saturday Night Fever” were huge, HUGE hits, but then he also made such toxic dumps as “Blow Out“, “Moment by Moment“, and “Perfect“, and the aforementioned “Pulp Fiction”.  Inexplicably, “Pulp Fiction” was a big box-office success and continues to have lucrative DVD sales as well, even though the movie sucked like… well, like a wannabe actress on her first day “in the business”.  For the most part, though, I would call Travolta a decent actor.

Oddly enough, 2-18-54 not only was the day Travolta was born, but also happens to be the day that the Church of Scientology (of which he is a member) founded their Los Angeles… chapter, I guess you’d call it.  The Scientology cult has gotten its fair share of bad press in the last 50 years, most notably (and most recently) the bizarre ramblings of one of its more loquacious whackjob members, profoundly bad actor Tom Cruise.  (I don’t recommend watching the video, but if you feel you must, knock yourself out.  After watching it, you’ll probably want to knock yourself out.)

John Travolta may well have the exact same mindset and completely insane views of himself, post-partum depression, and life in general that Tom Cruise does, but if he does, you have to at least credit Travolta with having enough common sense and/or decency to more or less keep them to himself.  That and the fact that he has a mega-hot wife.

So go rent some DVDs and have yourself a little Travolta-thon tonight in honor of his 54th birthday, and quietly thank him for not being Tom Cruise, whether as an actor or “religious” spokesman.

Another disingenuous holiday in the books

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I was all set to post this yesterday, on Valentine’s Day, but my “conscience” got the better of me. (I know, it sounded funny to me, too.) Anyway, I decided not to put a little raincloud on everyone’s “special” day (also, I didn’t get time to actually type it up), and decided to post this today. So that being said, here goes:

Valentine’s Day has come and gone. Yeessssssssssssss!!!

Is there any more ridiculous, contrived, meaningless holiday than Valentine’s Day? I think not. First of all, the only people who benefit from VD (meaning “Valentine’s Day”, not “venereal disease”, though both have about equal significance in life, as far as I’m concerned) are the Hallmark Corporation and snotty pretentious women who have significant others that make (and spend) enough cabbage to keep them happy. Or quiet. Or both.

Where shall I start- first of all, this post gives a nice little lesson to us loser men with regard to what and what not to buy for VD (maybe I should abbreviate it “V-Day”…), and also very helpfully explains what all our loser gift ideas “say”, either about us or about what we’re supposedly “saying” about her by giving her the P.O.S. gifts we give. If you want to read the post, fine, but I can sum it up in three words: make… it… expensive. Some highlights:

• “Flowers: … a dozen red roses are safest. But then, red roses are so passé. And hey, flowers are only an accompaniment- they are not a gift!”
• “Chocolates: … none of us will like the stuff you get in the grocery store. … No, it has to be Swiss chocolate or the gourmet stuff. … But chocolates are not gifts by themselves. Unless, perhaps, they’re gold-coated chocolate hearts (or the $25,000 Frrrozen Haute Chocolate). Otherwise, they are just accompaniments to the main thing.”
• “Perfumes: No way. What are you telling us- that we smell? Plus, we don’t think too highly of your taste in perfumes anyway. You are very likely to buy something that smells like old leather shoes. …”
• “Jewelry: We love diamonds, of course. You cannot go wrong with diamond earrings, or pendants. What’s more, diamonds do count as gifts (with or without the roses). … Don’t buy us the cheap cubic zirconia instead, we will always know the difference. … Whatever you do, never buy those cheesy heart-shaped earrings. Do you really think we would like them, or wear them to work?”

I could go on; that’s merely a few of the pissy, petty little requirements presented to a worldwide blog-reading audience. Call me a cherry-picker if you must, but I’m sensing a theme here: P-R-E-T-E-N-T-I-O-U-S G-O-L-D-D-I-G-G-E-R. Don’t believe me? Read the whole post and see for yourself. To be fair, the author did categorize it in “Humor”. If it was in fact meant as a joke, satire, or whatever, I’m not amused.

Then there was the blip in the SJ-R yesterday where readers had submitted their plans, gifts they were giving, gifts they wanted, etc., for V-Day. There were your typical “dinners with the hubby/wife”, “flowers and chocolates”, “nothing”, things like that, and then there was this little gem, pardon the pun:

Candy? HA! Indicates “diet issues”. Lingerie? HA! Warrants a “Not in the mood issues”. Flowers? HA! Pay big money for something that dies in hours. The only true choice is jewelry!

My, aren’t we a greedy bitch high-maintenance?! People, this “holiday” is supposed to be about expressing one’s love for their… well, their “true love”. Now, with regard to that statement, that really kind of leaves single, divorced, widowed, and otherwise unattached people S.O.L. from the get-go, doesn’t it? Secondly, the cost of the gift that is given should have no bearing on the actual or perceived amount of “love” the giver has for the recipient. The man that gets his wife nothing more than a card and tells her “I love you” is no less a good husband than the man that buys his wife a $10,000 necklace. Actually, just the opposite is true, as far as I’m concerned. A billion-fold. Not to mention, the former is a helluva lot smarter.

Also, look at V-Day cards themselves. First off, they sell “to my one true love” V-Day cards. In convenient boxes of 12. Secondly, the fact that one can buy V-Day cards for one’s spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/love slave, one’s kids, one’s grandkids, one’s parents, one’s siblings, one’s siblings’ kids, one’s grandparents, one’s pets (WTF?!), one’s grandparents’ pets, one’s co-workers, one’s co-workers’ pets’ grandparents, and pretty much any other person or animal that one encounters in the course of their lives, really rather waters down the whole idea behind this ridiculously stupid day. I mean, I have no problem buying my kids V-Day cards (which I did, and they loved them) or even small inexpensive gifts some years, since they’re my kids and I love them more than I love anyone or anything on God’s green earth (save maybe for their mother), but since, apparently, anyone can be anyone else’s “valentine”, it pretty much defeats the whole “special someone” purpose. You’re special. But so are you. And you. And you, too. And you over there. And you- what’s your name? Pehhh, doesn’t matter- you’re special too.

At risk of pissing off any women that may read this, V-Day is basically a woman’s holiday. Ask the majority of men what they want for V-Day, and they’ll likely say “nothing”. Or maybe “a hummer”- that’s just how most men are. But most men, truthfully, really could care less about V-Day. Many women (I did NOT say “all women”, so don’t get your knickers in a twist, ladies) want and/or expect flowers, diamonds, chocolates, expensive dinners, and oodles and oodles of “romance”. Honestly, that really kind of pisses all over the romantic aspect of it if it’s expected. Basically, ladies, you’re expecting your loser husband or boyfriend to jump through all these hoops and shower you with expensive gifts to “prove” he loves you. Nice. Women tend to put way too much thought into, and place far too much importance on, V-Day and romance in general, IMHO.

Oh, I’d be remiss if I didn’t link to this at some point in this diatribe- read this for a great, GREAT V-Day story that really kind of {far less caustically} backs up that last paragraph- or at least the last sentence- with the Zits comic at the end as a perfect exclamation point. (You have to know the author of the post to fully appreciate the relevance of the comic, even beyond the fact that the comic basically mirrors the story.)

Don’t get me wrong- romance is fine. I have no problem with romance or trying to be romantic- but ladies, everyone’s idea of “romance” is different. Maybe your man’s idea of romance is ordering a pizza and NOT watching sports. Maybe your man’s idea of romance is a hot sweaty romp in the sack. Maybe your man’s idea of romance is that YOU give HIM flowers. Maybe your man’s idea of romance is actually a horse-drawn carriage ride and a fondue dinner. Maybe your man’s idea of romance ought to be considered in the first place, little Miss “It’s All About Me”. But there again, most men just really want to do whatever will make their women happy, even if it makes them miserable. That’s just how we are.

Even so, did you take a second away from your Things I Demand For The Perfect Spontaneous Valentine’s Day Checklist to consider what he might want (or, for that matter, should be able to “expect”) from you on V-Day? Not even taking into account the icky sexual ramifications of that question, he just might want flowers and/or candy himself. He just might want a nice dinner, whether cooked at home or eaten at a restaurant. He might want a book. He might want his favorite movie on DVD. He might, heaven forbid, just want to hear you say you love him. Why is V-Day always about only what the woman wants? Isn’t it a two-way street? Look at it this way- how would (do) YOU feel if (when) he expects a bunch of far-fetched things or high-ticket gifts of you? Okay, then. What’s good for the goose…

It’s like this: wanting “romance” is like drinking alcohol. A little now and again in moderation is fine, but too much at one time can seriously impair your judgment. What I mean by that is that many women’s idea of what “romance” entails is often this ornate, elaborate fantasy (usually, á la the most recent chick flick or episode of Grey’s Anatomy that they may have watched), full of ridiculously high expectations, that realistically and/or logistically can’t possibly be achieved, to which whatever he does come up with will be harshly compared and thus doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being as good as what she had in mind. And again, pardon the generalization, but I didn’t say “all women”, so bite me.

As for me, I gave Mrs. Johann a vacuum cleaner for V-Day a few years ago. Why? Because I’m an insensitive prick, right, ladies? This time, that answer is wrong. The correct answer is because it was what she wanted and it was what she asked for. I was, admittedly, petrified at the idea of buying her a vacuum cleaner for V-Day, even if she DID say she wanted it. But get this: she loved it, we still use it, and we’re still very, VERY happily married. I very quickly concede that there is absolutely nothing romantic about a vacuum cleaner. But what IS romantic is that we love each other every day and don’t need some obligatory-exchange-of-gifts day to prove it. Matter of fact, in our world, our anniversary is a far more important day of celebrating our love than is V-Day. We express our love for each other in bits and pieces every day, not superficially on one single day. But that’s just us. Y’all do what you want.

Also, with regard to the whole flowers-on-V-Day thing, Mrs. Johann would much rather receive a $3 rose I picked up at a gas station on some random day than the obligatory dozen roses on V-Day. In her words, the gas station rose says to her “I was thinking about you for no special reason”, whereas the V-Day roses say “I bought these because I figure you’re expecting them”. (In case you’re wondering, this year Mrs. Johann and I exchanged cards- including one I gave her that I butchered wrote in Spanish- and “I love you”s and gave cards to our kids, basically because they are kids. That was the extent of V-Day in the Johann house. And strangely enough, we all still love each other even more today than we did yesterday.)

Truth be told, I’m honestly not faulting anyone- male or female- that wants, expects, gives, or receives flowers, candy, jewelry, cars, or whatever on Valentine’s Day. To each their own. Just don’t look down on Mrs. Johann and me for not buying into it. Literally or figuratively.

10K

Holy crap.  10,000 hits and counting.  Who’d have thunk.  Certainly not me.

Thanks to my regular reader(s?), to the people that check in on occasion, and even to the people that come here by accident.

You guys rock!!!

The best singer nobody has heard of

Okay, so in a recent post (see below), I was ripping on Amy Crackhouse Winehouse specifically, but in general, on the fact that about 98.792% of music nowadays really sucks, IMHO.

Well, I decided I’d sing the praises (pardon the pun) of a young woman who has an exquisite voice.

Her name is Hayley Westenra.  She is only 20 years old but she has already been performing professionally for more than 8 years.

Her first few albums were huge hits in her native New Zealand, but the Decca Records release of Pure in 2003 made her an international star.

She was featured on the “Mulan II” soundtrack, she performed for the Queen of England, British Prime Minister Tony Blair, Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice, and President Bush, and she won a Japanese Grammy in 2004 for her rendition of “Amazing Grace” and for her album Pure.

Okay, okay, enough of the lovefest.  Truth be told, I don’t particularly care for her style of music.  It’s kind of opera-meets-Celtic-meets-New-Agey-crap, and that’s just not my thing–especially the New Agey crap part.  At first listen, I thought, who is this, Enya’s little sister?!!  Honestly, I probably never would have known anything about this girl had I not received the Wii video game Endless Ocean from my sister for my birthday.  Young Miss Westenra’s vocal talents are featured throughout this game.  Between the relaxed feel of the game itself and the mesmerizing effect her voice has, I absolutely love playing the game.  I could go on and on about the game, but I’m still talking about Miss Westenra’s voice. Her single “Prayer” is the opening-credits song (some of it can be heard if you click the link above and do the “Launch the Site” tour… it’s worth the listen, I assure you.) and can also be played throughout the game, as can her fantastic version of “Amazing Grace” and 6 or 7 other songs by her.  Simply beautiful.

I’ve gone so far as to download all of the music that is featured in the video game from iTunes.  I’m not turning over a new musical leaf by ANY stretch of the imagination- I am NOT going to become one of those New Age fr people… I still like my Rush, my Van Halen, my cheesy 80’s music, my lame 70’s music, and my “oldies” way, WAY too much to give it all up for twinky stuff like this.  But I can also appreciate talented musicians, no matter what their musical genre, and this little girl is a VERY talented musician.

Amy Crackhouse Winehouse, on the other hand, is not.

They’ll give Grammys to anyone nowadays

Apparently the Grammy awards were handed out last night. Did anyone know? Did anyone care?

From what I read in the SJ-R this morning, this Amy Winehouse chick, pictured at left, won 5 out of the 6 Grammys (or is it “Grammies”?!) she was up for.

I’m extremely happy for her- she can sell the awards on the streets of London and buy more smack. Look at this broad! Has anyone this side of Courtney Love screamed “I’m a crack whore and I’m proud!” louder than this scary… um… “woman”?! And people think she’s hot? Eeeeewww. And that song of hers, that “Rehab” song?! Good gawd, what an obnoxious freakin’ 3 and a half minutes that is. I’d rather listen to cats fuck.

“They tried ta’ make me go ta’ rehab, and I said no, no, no”

Classy lyrics, babe. Back away from the microphone and smoke another rock. That’s pretty much all you are good for. I mean, a judge refused to allow her a visa to come to America for the awards show- what’s THAT tell you? But getting back to the “song”, the beat sounds like a song by some 60’s girl group (this innocent enough little boom-clap-clap-boom-clap, boom-clap-clap-boom-clap), á la the Shirelles or the Ronettes or someone like that, but then the most irritating voice I’ve heard since… well, since Courtney Love… overtakes the rhythm and your eardrums instantly start to bleed. Hmmmm… notice that you’ve never seen Amy Winehouse and Courtney Love in the same room at the same time…

Seriously, though- the way I heard it, the people who decide who wins awards actually had a hard time deciding on Best New Artist, Best New Album, and Best New Song, simply because there haven’t been any good new artists or music for years.

Hey, that’s just how I heard it.

Anyway, congratulations to any real artists that may have won awards or were at least nominated. I’m sure some had to have been deserving. At least more so than this broad. Someone like… Herbie Hancock, for example- who, as I understand it, apparently won the award that turned out to be the only one Amy Winehouse was up for and didn’t win. Herbie Hancock is a superbly talented musician and is a classy guy and has been for years. And I don’t really even care for his music all that much. Glad to see the Grammy people came to their senses at least once last night.

There is no place in sports for sportsmanship

Last week, the University of Chief Illiniwek basketball team hosted the hated rival Indiana Hoosiers. The underlying story line was that there was a kid for Indiana, Eric Gordon, that, in the minds of Illiniwek fans, reneged on his commitment to play for the Illiniweks and ran off to Hoosierville. Thus, at this meeting in Champaign, a portion of the crowd shouted obscenities at young Master Gordon, and his coach Kelvin Sampson, laced with F-bombs.

Classy, folks. Real classy.

I can appreciate that Illiniwek fans could feel “betrayed” by this kid changing his mind, and “sabotaged” by Sampson who supposedly “stole” the hottest prospect the Illiniweks have seen in years right out from under them. I can somehow appreciate that, even though it has absolutely NO effect on said fans’ lives whatsoever. But good gravy, people–get over it. So the kid went to play for the arch-rival Hoosiers. So what? Is it THAT big a deal that you need to embarrass yourselves, the school you supposedly support, and the entire state of Illinois by screaming “Fuck You Gordon” every time the kid touched the ball? Whether it was right or wrong for him to renege on the commitment, whether it was right or wrong for Coach Sampson to “steal” him away, or whether either actually happened the way you choose to believe it did (or at all) is no longer the issue. The issue is now what a bunch of freakin’ derelicts the country views Illiniwek fans- and Illinois residents in general- to be, by your shouting obscenities at a 20-year-old kid because you can’t let go of something that has nothing to do with you in the first place.

Here’s an idea: instead of being pissed off at Gordon for changing his mind (and Sampson for “stealing” him), why not be pissed off at the Illiniwek basketball team (and your do-no-wrong hero, Coach Weber) for wallowing in mediocrity this season, and being unable to hit water by falling out of a boat, let alone their field goals or free throws? Or better yet, how about simply growing a little bit of maturity, decency, common sense, and sportsmanship, and just watch the game?

Support your team all you want. Scream until your larynx bleeds. Paint your balls orange and blue. Dress up like the Chief and try not to get escorted out of the Assembly Hall for three hours. Just don’t make me, as a resident of Illinois, look like a heathen because you’re an idiot with no toe hold on reality.

Dumb asses.

Time to vote

All right, boys and girls and assorted other, today is “Super Tuesday” (what’s so “super” about it, I don’t know) in Illinois, meaning it’s the primary elections where you- that’s right, YOU- can help decide who will be on the ballot in November.

Even if you’re going to vote for Obama or that socialist warthog Hillary Clinton, go out and vote. You really don’t have any right to bitch about who won or lost if you don’t vote. I hate hearing people bitch and moan about a particular candidate or incumbent or whatever and then find out that bitcher in question never even voted. As long as you vote, if your guy lost, or if your guy won and is doing a shitty job, THEN you can complain for his or her entire term. If you don’t (or worse yet, won’t) vote, then shut your fuggin’ pie hole. Yeah, I know the George Carlin routine about how he didn’t vote for Politician In Question, therefore it’s not his fault. But in this case, not being part of the problem is a bigger problem than is being a part of the problem, if that makes any sense.

Vote for McCain. Vote for Obama. Vote for Pedro. Vote for yourself as a write-in candidate (I actually did that once ). Hell, vote for anyone besides Clinton.  Or, if you’re THAT excited about the prospect of a socialist America, then vote for Clinton.

Just go vote.

The Giants win the penn… um… Super Bowl!

Did you all see that game?

I was convinced it would be a massacre.  Patriots 42, Giants 9.  Patriots 38, Giants 0.  Patriots 56, Giants 13.  I was so confident these two teams were so grossly mismatched that the game would be over by about 2:15 left in the first quarter.

I’ve never been more happy to be wrong.

What a great game that was.  Low scoring- which, this time, meant GREAT defense.  New York’s defense pretty well bitch-slapped Mr. Perfect for most of the entire game.  I think he was sacked like 5 times or something like that.   Friggin’ awesome.

I gotta tell you, though:  I pretty much gave up when Mr. Perfect threw that TD pass to Moss.  I thought, there’s plenty of time, but there’s no way Eli will be able to pull this out.

Again, I’ve never been more happy to be wrong.

With a couple amazing passes- and an improbable catch by David Tyree- they get deep into Patriots territory when Eli found a wide, WIDE open Plaxico Burress.  I couldn’t believe it.  I’m not a Giants fan, but I hate the Patriots.  I do respect the Patriots but I hate the Patriots.

For one thing, I hate “dynasties”.  Other than the Montana-Rice 49ers in the 80’s and early 90’s– that’s different.  (These are my rules, folks.)  The Patriots are basically the Yankees of football now.  The only difference is that I respect the Patriots.  At least as of right now, I still respect the Patriots… look, folks, dynasties are boring.  Sure, there are Patriots fans that love dynasties.  But for those of us that don’t work for ESPN, many of us would like to see different teams now and again.  It’s friggin’ boring seeing the same friggin’ teams in the friggin’ playoffs every friggin’ year.  Same with baseball.  And it makes it worse when ESPN anchors sit there on TV jacking off the Yankees and Red Sox for seven months.  Memo to ESPN: there are 30 teams in Major League Baseball, guys.  I’m surprised ESPN hasn’t petitioned Selig to move one of the teams to the National League so they can have their monster-orgasm-producing Yankees-Red Sox World Series.  Hell, even in the NBA (which I haven’t watched in well over a decade, but for different reasons)… when the Bulls won their first championship in ‘91, I thought it was awesome.  Michael finally got a ring.  Then he wins three in a row and it’s like, okay- enough already.  Then they turn around and win three more two years later.  Yawn.  Dynasties… are… boring.

I do respect the Patriots, however (other than signing Randy Moss) in that they don’t necessarily go looking for the most talented players to sign, trade for, or draft.  They look for the guys that will fit in their system and will play the role the Patriots want them to play.  Guys like Bruschi and Kevin Faulk and Rodney Harrison.  Other than Mr. Perfect, the Patriots don’t have any real bona fide “superstars” (Randy Moss anointed himself a superstar back when he was in Minnesota) so they have a lot less of the baggage that comes with guys like Terrell Owens, Michael Vick, Chad Johnson, jagoffs like that.  No, I respect the Patriots, if for no other reason than the fact that, for the most part, they don’t look for the “best” guys so much as they look for the “right” guys.  That being said…

I was thrilled that New England didn’t go 19-0 since that’s what everyone wanted.  Sure, going undefeated in a 16-game season is extremely impressive, but every week after they beat the Colts in the regular season, I’ve been dying for someone to knock them off.  The Giants finally did it when it mattered most.

Eli Manning was a very deserving MVP, but on the other hand, I think everyone else got slighted.  The entire defense should have gotten an MVP award for the way they were all over Mr. Perfect.  Burress came through big finally after being a non-factor all game long, Tyree had a couple key catches, even Kevin Boss (heir apparent to Jeremy Shockey) had a very timely catch on that final drive.  A team MVP award (or 53 individual awards) could not have been argued by anyone.

It was great to see the Patriots get knocked off of their pedestal– and hard, too.  It was great to see Eli finally step out of Peyton’s shadow.  It was great to see such an exciting Super Bowl.  Not sure which finish was better, this game or the finish of the Rams-Titans SB in 2000, but it was a great, great game.  Way beyond most people’s expectations- certainly far beyond mine.  That’s the way football games, especially the Super Bowl, should go.

Sorry, Patriots fans.  hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee…

Actually, he IS more “accurate” than most, but still!

Today is Groundhog Day, February 2nd, or as I like to call it, Yaph (Yet Another Pointless “Holiday”) Day. Here’s the scoop, for anyone that lives under a rock, or at least hasn’t seen the Bill Murray-Andie MacDowell flick.

Every February 2nd, the world converges upon the small community of Punxsutawney, PA, to a spot called Gobbler’s Knob (I saw a movie by that name once) where people dress in late-19th-century garb, pull a giant rodent named Phil out of a fake tree stump, pretend to “talk” to it in “Groundhogese” (per the “official Punxsutawney website”), and proceed to announce what the groundhog “predicted” with regard to the weather for the rest of the winter.

I will resist the urge to take so many free shots at the whole hootenanny in and of itself and how freakin’ ridiculous the whole thing is-there’s no sport in it when they make it so easy. No, instead, my potshots will be aimed at the millions of people who actually believe it.

The legend goes that if Punxsutawney Phil sees his shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter. If he does not see his shadow, there will be an early spring. First, do the math, folks: there are almost exactly six weeks between February 2nd and the first day of spring, which varies from March 20 to March 22nd, depending on… I don’t know, the moon phases or something. Has something to do with when the spring equinox occurs- that could have something to do with the moon, couldn’t it?! Anyway, the point is this: I don’t care whether he sees his shadow, a daffodil, a robin, Elvis, Jimmy Hoffa, or the groundhog version of Jenna Jameson. There will be six more weeks of winter regardless.

Don’t get me wrong- I really don’t have any problem with how silly and overblown the whole to-do is, nor how completely ridiculous grown men look and act with their whole “…seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators…” speech and especially speaking gibberish to a rodent. If you want to have your little festival, you go with your bad selves.  What I do have a problem with are the throngs of people that buy into it, believe what this overgrown rat “says”, and then are shocked and amazed every single year when it stays cold and snowy until early-to-mid-April. As it does every single year. Hmmmm- go figure. “I just don’t get it- the groundhog said we’d have an early spring.”

But, in the groundhog’s defense, considering how many times it has “predicted” six more weeks of winter by “seeing its shadow”, its weather predictions are far more accurate than those of most weathermen. Actually, I wish weathermen would just tell the truth and say something like “folks, we don’t know what it’s going to do weather-wise today” or better yet, maybe something like “You have got a window?  Open it”. Or at least admit to the fact that there is a 50-50 chance of precipitation every single day- either it will rain (or snow), or it will not. All their fancy little maps with cute graphics and expensive Doppler radars are just smoke and mirrors thinly disguising the fact that they’re just guessing.

Bottom line, people- whether you value most the opinion of the folks at the Weather Channel or Al Roker or the newspaper or Gus Gordon or even a groundhog- understand that it’s impossible to completely predict what the weather will do. Your best bet is simply to understand what time of year it is, what your regional climate is (preferably, for that particular time of year), and play the odds. If it’s winter, it’s likely going to be cold. If it’s spring, it’s likely going to be rainy. And so on.

Don’t listen to rodents.  There will be six more weeks of winter regardless of what happens (or doesn’t happen) on Gobbler’s Knob.

Hee hee hee hee hee hee… Gobbler’s Knob… that’s funny.