Jeff Kay's Blog, page 37

A Few Quick Things: A Divisive Video, Politics On Facebook, My New Gay-Approved Glasses, And A Plea For Some Cell Phone Help

About a year ago, maybe more, I discovered the video above and thought it was hilarious. I shared it here, and was surprised that many (most?) of you didn’t see the slightest bit of humor. In fact, it pissed a lot of people off. I recall being confused by the reaction. How could we be so far apart on it? It was really weird.

Just a few days ago I remembered it and went back to see if I still thought it was funny, or if I’d evolved on the issue. And I laughed so hard my stomach muscles were aching. Man, that’s some funny shit!

Why do you think it’s so divisive? It’s not that some people think it’s funny, and others do not. It’s that some people think it’s funny, and others want to start throwing haymakers. It triggers white-hot anger. Please help me understand what’s going on here. Are there any armchair sociologists in the house?

And just so you know… I was EXACTLY like those kids.

A couple of days ago I posted this on Twitter: Whenever you see a Facebook post that starts with “I generally try to steer clear of politics…” prepare yourself for pain. I stand behind it. However… if you’re going to do it, go all-in. Like this guy. Even if you don’t agree with his sentiments, you’ve got to admire his approach. Pass the beer nuts.

I got some new glasses a few days ago. The old ones looked like they were straight out of 1987, and were all messed up. One of the lenses was fine, but the other one was tilted slightly toward the ground. I don’t wear glasses in public, so it wasn’t a high priority. But, I decided to cash in some insurance benefits before January 1, and bring my shit into the modern era.

Indeed, the doctor informed me we have “kick ass” insurance. It bugs me a little when doctors are so casual. Ya know? They should be above me, high above. It’s no good when it feels like we’re on the same level. It’s no good for society, and it’s no good for humanity. My medical doctor is the same way. He greets me with “Hey, man!” What the hell??

Anyway, I checked out all the glasses in their shop for a long, long time. Finally, I had it narrowed down to three pairs, so I asked a spiffy old gay man to help me choose. He works there… it wasn’t just somebody sashaying past. He had me try on each, made an “mmm” sound with the first two, which felt like a lack of approval. Then, when I got to Number Three he shouted, “There you go! Those are the ones.”

So, I feel pretty good about it. I’m a complete dumbass, with no fashion sense. It’s great that they provide a veteran gay for folks like me. Talk about a value-added service. As the doc would say, kick-ass! I should’ve taken a photo of me wearing my new spectacles. Maybe I’ll do that next time. We’ll see.

Finally, I need some advice. I fell on my ass last winter and cracked my phone screen. It started as one straight crack, right across  the middle. But it keeps getting worse and worse. At this point I have trouble reading certain numbers and words. I have insurance, but there’s a $100 or $150 deductible. That’s why I’ve just been living with it.

But, it’s gotten ridiculous. And I’m seriously considering treating myself to a new phone. My birthday is in a few days, and that’s how I’ll justify it.

However… my contract is up in March. So, in just four months I could upgrade legitimately. Also, I’ve read a lot of horror stories about that Verizon insurance. Apparently they substitute phones on ya, or send you used versions… That makes me nervous. On the other hand, I’ve heard some good things. That they overnight brand new phones with no hassles whatsoever.

My question to you: have you ever had to use cell phone insurance? I think all the major carriers use the same company: Asurion. What was your experience with them? And… do you think I should hold out for another four months, or plunk down the hunnert now? I use my phone a lot. If I was certain I’d get a brand new one, it would make the decision much easier.

Help me out, won’t you? Use the comments section.

And I’m going to work now. Please remember to use our Amazon links while doing your shopping this holiday season. It costs you nothing extra, but is a big, big deal here at Surf Report Central.

Have a great day, my friends.

Check out Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia, Volume One for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. Now also available in paperback!

A Few Quick Things, vol. 394

Hello Surf Reporters! Before we get started today, I want to let you guys know that Volume 1 of Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia is finally available as a paperback. I had some problems with it, many problems. I won’t go into all the details, ’cause it’s boring. But everything’s fixed, and hard copies are now available for order. I have one here, and it looks pretty fantastic. Finally.

Trivia: The cover was done by a woman in Pakistan, the interior formatting was done by a husband/wife team in Australia, and the paperbacks are printed in Charleston, SC. It’s an international extravaganza of penis and shit jokes! I’m sorry… I’m getting a little emotional.

Of course, the low-priced ebooks are available, as well. Grab it for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. A lot of crazy stuff happened during that first Surf Report year. We certainly stayed busy, that’s for sure.

Also, if you’re planning to do your holiday shopping at Amazon, please remember to use our links. There’s always one in the left sidebar, and there are banner ads here, there, and everywhere. Any will work, and I sincerely appreciate it. Out of every dollar you spend, they’ll kick a few cents my way. It adds up, especially in November and December. Thank you guys!

And one last thing, before we get to my ranting and whining… I’ve started working on yet another novel, and think this one is going to be a keeper. I wasn’t fully invested in the last one, for whatever reason, but am feeling it with the new project. I don’t want to say too much, but it does involve Gene Rayburn. During the writing of this thing, I use multiple computers, and keep all my files in Dropbox. It’s a free cloud-based application that creates a new drive on your machine, where you can store whatever you want. On Saturday I was writing at home for a while on my PC, until I reached a state of diminishing returns. Then I took my laptop to Panera Bread, and continued working there. I no longer need to carry around flash drives (and lose them in Sheetz and nearly have a full-on stroke as a result), or have to email myself the latest version of the manuscript. I just open my Dropbox, and there are my files. I love it, and it’s free. Oh sure, they have a paid version, but I’ve never needed to pay. It’s the best thing ever, one of my all-time favorite apps. Check it out, if you’re so inclined. It’s shockingly useful. I could even edit my book with my phone, if I want. Yeah, Google has their knockoff version (always with the knockoffs!), but I prefer the original.

Speaking of Panera… It is my admittedly unsophisticated opinion that they have the best goddamn coffee anywhere. I’ve been to many fancy-pants coffee shops, and sampled any number of high-end cups o’ joe. And the Panera light roast is my favorite. It’s what coffee should taste like. I like to go there with my laptop or notebook, and rent a mug for $2. I can have as much coffee as I want, it’s really freaking good, and for some reason I work well in that setting. Fat bastards clanking their silverware inside soup bowls just get my creative juices to flowing. Who do you think serves up the best cup of coffee? What’s your opinion on this hard-hitting subject? And please try to refrain from saying, “I do, at my house.” That’s annoying, and unhelpful.

Over the weekend I peed all over myself. I was taking a leak in the downstairs bathroom, and somehow my t-shirt got between my wang and the toilet. Know what I mean? It caused a radical kickback of urine, and I had to change my shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. I also had to towel down my torso and the bathroom floor. I told Toney about it, she listened with no expression on her face, and finally said, “You’re a pig. Seriously.” Do you have any good stories — hopefully better than mine — about somebody pissing him or herself? Please use the comments link.

Yesterday I was out driving with the younger hooligan — giving him some practice before his test next week — and we got lost. We were on some unknown road, seemingly way out in the country. Then we passed this monstrosity. It’s the Nicholson Bridge, which I was aware of… but had never actually seen before. And I know this might seem weird, but it creeped me out. When we drove past it I felt an actual low-grade panic. I think it was because of the sheer size of the thing — the picture doesn’t do it justice. And it’s really ornate and borderline gothic, just out in the middle of nowhere. It felt bizarre. We drove past it, turned around and came back. I wanted to see if I felt the same way the second time, and I did. There’s something dark about that bridge. Just looking at the photo makes my stomach flutter.

A few days ago Toney and I ordered a pizza from a shop we’ve been to many times. I called, they answered like always, and I placed my order. “Twenny minutes,” the guy said. And when I arrived there, the building was empty. The door was locked, and I could see through the window that all the equipment was gone, etc. WTF?? I’d just spoken with them! My brain was spinning, trying to make sense of it all.

Then I saw an index card taped to the inside of the window. It said they’d combined with another pizza shop(?!), and were now located a couple of miles away. Weird. But I drove there, and it was not a satisfactory experience. Gone were the fat Italian men in filthy white t-shirts, replaced by hipsters sporting ludicrous facial hair.

I told the head douche I was there to pick up an order for JEFF, and he said something like “$11.27.” I handed him my debit card, and he said, “Fifteen dollar minimum.” Huh? In 2015?? That’s bullshit. “There’s an ATM in the corner,” he mumbled. “And probably a big fat fee, too?” I said. He shrugged, like he didn’t give a shit one way or the other.

I was on the cusp of walking, but for whatever reason… went to the ATM. The fee was $3. Grrr… When I returned to the counter I gave the guy some grief about it, but he didn’t care. He’s just some hourly sumbitch. But the thing about it? I’ll never return. I will never set foot in that building again. They’ve lost all my future business. They can go fuck themselves. There’s a kickass pizza joint on every corner in this neck of the woods. What kind of idiotic crap is this?? I’m getting all worked up, just remembering it.

I know they have to pay a small fee on those transactions, but it’s not 1994 anymore. It’s the way people do business these days. They can ram it deep and on a slant.

And I have more, lots more, but need to call it a day here.

I’ll see you guys again soon!

Check out Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia, Volume One for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. Now also available in paperback!

5 Difficult Life Lessons I Learned As A Boyhood Fan Of The Cincinnati Reds

A Surf Reporter, who may or may not want to be identified, sent me this Smoking Fish photo from the just-ended World Series. Very cool! Much appreciated. Although it might be time to update your Fish flier. Sweet Maria. That thing looks like a relic from the Spanish-American War.

In any case, it reminded me of the only World Series game I’ve ever had the pleasure of attending — Game 2 of the 1976 Series: Reds vs. Yankees, at Riverfront Stadium in Cincinnati. I was 13, and our seats were located approximately where that Spanish-American photo was taken. It was the first Sunday night game in World Series history, and it was COLD.

As I was remembering that game (Tony Perez won it with a walk-off single), and my general obsession with baseball in those days, I realized that I learned quite a few not-always-pleasant things about human beings by being a young Reds fan. And today I’ll list five that popped immediately into my head. There are undoubtedly more, but we’re gonna go with five. I mean, what do you want from me? I’m a very busy man, and also quite lazy.

Be fearful of people who feel the need to justify their positions

After the Reds swept that ’76 Series, winning their second World Championship in a row, the Reds front office did the next logical thing: they traded Perez and screwed everything up. Those guys above, now known as The Great Eight, were one of the best starting lineups in the history of baseball. Why mess with it? Why?? It still makes no sense to me. Yeah, I know… they had a young up-and-comer (Dan Driessen) sitting on the bench, and Perez was getting a little long in the tooth. But you still don’t screw with the fragile magic that has just delivered two World Series trophies to your city. Right? Man, I’m getting all worked up again, just thinking about it…

Years later, when I was in the entertainment biz, a similar thing happened. Our company was super-successful, and the whole division was awash in money. I mean, they were practically trucking it in via tractor trailer. I’d just been promoted, and life was good. Then the consultants showed up…. These were people being paid a large salary, and expected to shake things up. But, again, why?? Their ideas were ludicrous, and the resulting “improvements” cost a bunch of good people their jobs. I survived, barely, but it was only a matter of time. And I’ve seen it happen again and again.

Be fearful of people who feel the need to justify their positions: bosses, politicians, and especially consultants.  ‘Cause you’ll likely end up holding a bloody rag to your anus before it’s all over. You know, metaphorically speaking.

Some people are just dicks, plain and simple

After Perez was traded, and my entire childhood was knocked off its axis by seeing that great man wearing (are you ready for this?!) a Montreal Expos uniform, everything went to shit. Within a couple of years other members of The Great Eight — including Pete Rose and Joe Morgan — were playing for other teams too. I mean, WTF?? Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, they fired their legendary manager, Sparky Anderson. They destroyed his team, then fired him for not continuing to win?! Everything was spiraling down, down, down.

I can remember exactly where I was standing when I heard the news about Sparky. I’d just left Dunbar Junior High, at the end of the day, and was walking toward my paper route. Some kid ran up to me and said, “Did you hear about Sparky Anderson?” Huh? I had no idea what he was talking about, and he was delighted when he realized it. You could see the excitement register on his face. He was going to be the one to deliver this devastating news!

Indeed, it felt like somebody ran a sword straight through the front of me, and out the back. I’m sure I had the Thousand Yard Stare, like some soldier who’d seen a bit too much. And it made that kid’s day. He was practically dancing and clicking his heels as he walked away. Dick!

That kind of thing still happens all the time. People LOVE to deliver horrible news. “Did you hear about Patti?! She’s dead! Fucking dead.” Wow. I haven’t seen you this excited since they moved the accounting department to Houston, and all those people were plunged into bankruptcy. This must be quite a memorable day for you. Dick!

Some people like to pretend they’re smart by being contrarians

Johnny Bench was my favorite player when I was a kid, and he was considered by most sane and educated people to be the best catcher of his era. This was almost settled science, as they say. There were few serious folks who would dispute this claim. However… I was constantly put into the position of defending my boyhood hero to assholes with dubious agendas.

“Sure, Bench is great and everything… but when you take a look at the big picture, I just feel [plug in some laughably inferior player here] edges him out. You know, when you’re talking about the complete package.” The most common players I got to hear about were Carlton Fisk, Ted Simmons, Gary Carter, Thurman Munson, and Manny Sanguillen. And all I have to say to that is HA! Especially those last two. Are you on acid?! Seriously? Or have you recently suffered some sort of catastrophic head trauma that’s making it difficult for you to parse reality?

Yeah, some of those people were simply trying to get a rise out of me (successfully), but quite a few just had annoying personalities that made them default to a contrarian setting. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with questioning conventional wisdom, I do it all the time. That’s not what I mean. I’m talking about shitheads who just automatically go against the grain. Or, even worse, the ones who believe it makes them seem smart or cool.

You see it all the time: people who claim the Beatles are overrated, that Alfred Hitchcock was a hack who got lucky, or that Seinfeld was a terrible sitcom for “the sheeple.” Hey, if you believe it, more power to you. But when everybody who knows you, from your mailman on up, is aware of your feelings on the matter, I get suspicious. It’s one of your “things.” And nobody should ever trust a “thing.”

Many people have a dynamic and pliable sense of right and wrong

In 1989 Pete Rose, now manager of the Cincinnati Reds, was issued a lifetime ban from baseball for gambling. He was reportedly betting as much as $20,000 per day, and there was evidence he was wagering on the outcomes of Major League Baseball games — while participating in Major League Baseball games. Years later he admitted as much, after denying it for more than a decade.

Baseball was nearly destroyed in 1919, when it was discovered that members of the Chicago White Sox had taken bribes to throw the World Series, and help gamblers. Shoeless Joe Jackson, one of the greatest hitters of his day, was barred from the sport as a result. He spent the rest of his life in obscurity and disgrace, playing for and managing ragtag semi-pro teams in the South and working in a dry cleaning store.

And so, MLB’s stance on players and managers gambling, or even consorting with gamblers, was clear and unambiguous. The consequences were equally known. Just ask Shoeless Joe. But, when Pete got caught up in it… well, that was somehow different. Especially in and around Cincinnati. The justifications and moral-equivalency arguments have come unabated for more than 25 years.

It’s nothing to do with morals, it’s to protect the sanctity of the game, but everybody uses that as the argument. “If you start banning all the assholes, the Hall of Fame will lose half its players,” people say. “Hell, Babe Ruth killed a whore!” Um, no he didn’t. And anyway, you’re missing the point, whistle-dick. If fans start to believe they’re watching some corrupted exhibition cooked up to benefit the mafia or whatever, instead of an honest contest, the game won’t last. It’s about self-preservation.

But, people love Pete Rose, and use pretzel logic to come up with reasons why he should be reinstated. Even though he knew the rules, and knew the consequences, and did it anyway. Heck, I loved him too. And it would make me happy to see the man elected to the Hall of Fame before he dies. You know, on an emotional and human level.

But, if it doesn’t happen, I’m OK with that too. I don’t want to be like one of those college football fans, reacting to a player arrested for punching his stripper girlfriend in a drunken altercation at a dance club:

Player for my team: “Give the kid a break! He’s young and headstrong, and full of enthusiasm. Hell, when I was his age I did a lot of stupid shit, too. This is hardly grounds for a suspension. He should be pitied, really. That’s right, when it gets right down to it, he should be pitied. We put so much pressure on these young men, it’s a wonder more of them don’t get into trouble with drinking and loose, slutty women. I say let him play!

Player for the other team: “This is a monster we’re talking about! That man shouldn’t be anywhere near a football stadium, he should be in prison or a mental institution. What does it say to the youth of America if this maniac is allowed to play on Saturday? I can’t even imagine the horror that that sweet young lady endured at the hands of this out-of-control lunatic. I say enough is enough!”

It’s usually best not to meet your idols

When I was a kid there was a Triple-A baseball team in Charleston, WV, a stone’s throw from where I grew up. They were called the Charleston Charlies, and were affiliated with the Pittsburgh Pirates. They played at a stadium called Watt Powell Park, which is gone now, and brought in many former (and a few active) players, to drive ticket sales.

And so, I got to meet some of the greats… I was a young baseball freak, and had regular access to many of the best players of all time. It was pretty crazy, now that I think about it. Today it’s all big money, and $75 autographs. But back then it was just a mob of kids surrounding some old dude in a leisure suit.

Almost all were aloof, and clearly wanted to be somewhere (anywhere!) other than this. It always broke my heart a little. You mean you don’t want to spend a few minutes with us? We LOVE you! People in this category included Mickey Mantle, Pete Rose(!), Sparky Anderson(!!), and Willie Mays.

Only one was a certified asshole: Hank Aaron. And two stick out in my mind as absolute delights: Bob Feller and Satchel Paige. Heck, Feller was pitching to kids before the game. How cool is that? And Paige acted like he was having the time of his life.

But, generally, it was a bummer. It was a contractual obligation, and their presence was their present. They did nothing extra, other than make an appearance: “Where’s my check, goddammit?” It made me realize that some (most?) of those guys were just mortal human beings, and how depressing is that?

And that’s going to do it for today, my friends. I’m off to my parents’ house this weekend, returning on Monday. It’s a quickie visit, squeezed in at the last minute before they go to Florida for the winter. I’m sure I’ll have some road tales for you guys. I’ll see you again soon!

Check out Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia, Volume One for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. Now also available in paperback!

In Celebration Of Wild Drunken Weddings!

I haven’t been to an enormous number of weddings, and of the ones I have attended… many were in West Virginia and featured a reception in the basement of a church or something similar. There was no booze at most of these shindigs, just non-alcoholic punch and a sheet cake from the Kroger deli. I’m getting a little sad, just thinking about it.

Needless to say, my own wedding was the exact opposite. Toney and I went to the office of a local judge with his own radio show (Legal Action with Gary Jackson), and he did the “ceremony” right there between the conference table and a fire exit. Then we had a booze-fueled party at Swissotel in the Buckhead section of Atlanta. The food was great (I hear), and the alcohol was flowin’. Much of it was a blur, but at one point I was dancing to Kool and the Gang with Sunshine. Ha! It was a good time.

There was a lot of drinking at my brother’s wedding, as well. In fact, I made the indefensible error of mixing wine, beer, and liquor that night, and things took a dark turn. The next day I felt like I’d been embalmed. We had to drive from somewhere in Pennsylvania (Busted Whistle? Upper Slackjaw Township?) to Columbus, Ohio. It’s a long story… But Toney was pissed at me, on account of my asshattery the night before, and I felt like I was in the late stages of cholera, or somesuch. It was one of the more miserable days of my life.

Toney and I also attended a wild wedding on Jekyll Island, Georgia. Supposedly all bar tab records were broken that night, and that hotel has been in business for a LONG time. It was a lot of fun, and people were certainly boozin’ it up. But things didn’t get too far out of hand, as far as I know. Nothing like this happened, unfortunately:

And so… my exposure to wild drunken weddings is somewhat limited. Our older son, however, works at a country club, and comes home with some amazing tales. This place is fancy-pants indeed, and the boy manages the pool during the summer, and works in the dining room during the cold months.

They rent to non-members for special events like wedding receptions, awards ceremonies, etc. Usually it goes reasonably well, but every once in a while they get a rowdy bunch in there. A few weeks ago they had a wedding that was quite possibly the craziest of them all. At least during his two-year or so tenure.

He said a woman well into her 50s slumped forward in her chair, out on the patio, and they thought she’d stopped breathing. An ambulance was called, and paramedics determined she was just very drunk. Also, a guy wound up and hurled a rocks glass across the dining room, like he was Cesar Geronimo trying to throw a runner out at home plate — for no known reason. They called the police and had him removed.

Later, the boy and a couple of other workers were on the patio moving some furniture around, and noticed some dude across the road walking along a high stone wall. He was clearly drunk, and was just walking along. Whatever. They continued to work, and our son said he looked over just as the guy fell off, and did a full header on the lawn. He said he must’ve just passed out in mid-stride, because he didn’t even use his arms to break the fall. They ran over to check on him, and he seemed OK.

A little while later the guy returned to the dining room, covered in dirt and grass stains, and tried to order another drink at the bar. They wouldn’t serve him, because he was so sloshed, and he went wild and touched off a giant fist fight. He was reportedly calling everybody — male and female — a “bitch,” over and over again. The cops were summoned for the second time, and a few people were hauled away.

The boy said they had to keep running drunk ‘n’ wandering people out of areas of the club that were off-limits, and he and his co-workers were outside with hoses spraying vomit off the pavement at 2 am. After everybody finally left, he said, they found about a dozen suit jackets and several shoes — a few pairs and a handful of singles. Heh.

Man, I wish I’d been there. That would be an evening of primo people-watching, right there. I’d just sit back, sip a few Yuenglings, and take it all in.

Have you ever attended an especially crazy wedding? With fist fights and the police, and that sort of thing? Or maybe it was crazy for other reasons? If so, please tell us about it in the comments. I’ve apparently lived a sheltered life in this regard, but hopefully you guys have some stories to tell?

And that’s going to do it for today, my friends.

I’ll see you again soon!

Check out Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia, Volume One for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo! 

Craving Some Hard-Hitting Fruit And Vegetable Talk? You’ve Come To The Right Place!

A few nights ago Toney and I were watching some generic and forgettable show on cable, probably about flipping a house, buying a house, renovating a house or something similar. I’ve started renaming these programs, by the way. I always feel like I can do better… Yesterday, for instance, we watched a couple of episodes of Toothy & Mule-Face, and last night before bed we watched at least three episodes of Poofters In Paradise.

Anyway, in these shows they almost always feature the homeowners chopping produce for some reason. And in one of them a man was slicing corn off a cob, and Toney said, “Y’know, I don’t really like corn. Never have.” That touched off a ten minute conversation about fruits and vegetables, and the ones we like and don’t like. And you thought our lives aren’t exciting here at Surf Report Central? Ha! Consider yourself corrected.

Many people claim to hate broccoli, including Newman:

But I love it. It’s freaking fantastic. In fact, I like almost all vegetables. The only ones I shy away from are asparagus, zucchini, and squash. I can eat any of them — I don’t let ’em fall out of my mouth like Newman or a Cocker Spaniel — but I’d prefer something else. There’s a mealiness to the zucchini and squash that I don’t care for, and asparagus just tastes kinda yuk. Yeah, I know it causes your pee to take on a delightful scent, but I can live without it.

Another thing I don’t like: mushrooms. I don’t know how that crap got lumped in with vegetables, but I’ll pass on the fungus. Again, I can eat it on a pizza, but would prefer it not be there. It tastes like dirt, and is spongy and disturbing.

When I was a kid I’d just load up on vegetables and sometimes not eat any meat. My grandmother viewed this as unnatural and possibly dangerous. She’d practically force me to choke down a piece of beef the size of a paperback book to bring the universe back into proper focus. But I was fine with the vegetables. I still love ’em.

I’ve always liked salads too. The more stuff in it, the better. Go ahead and speculate about my sexual orientation, if you’d like. But I like almost everything salad-related, including radishes — another vegetable that’s hated by many. But radishes are quite tasty, and are a superior burp-generator. I recommend them highly, especially right before a night on the town.

So, I’ve always been strongly pro-vegetable. Fruit, on the other hand, falls into the ‘take it or leave it’ category. I like a lot of fruit, but don’t crave it or ever think about buying it. Toney buys grapes, or cuts up watermelon or cantaloupe. And I’ll eat it. It’s perfectly fine. But it just isn’t as good as vegetables. Not in my opinion, anyway. Vegetables are Bruce Springsteen, and fruits are John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band.

Care to weigh in on this controversial subject? Use the comments section, above or below or wherever the hell it happens to be. Tells about the stuff you love, and the things you strongly dislike. Also, can you come up with a better example of burp fuel than a radish? Tell us about it.

Before I call it a day here, I want to bring you up to date on the paperback version of Ridiculous Adventures In Suburbia. On Saturday I finally submitted all the files to Amazon, expecting the worst. With Crossroads Road we went through a frustrating series of rejections and revisions. I think they rejected it four or five times, and I was losing my grip on sanity. But, with the new book… they approved it without a single change. Crazy. They mailed me a proof copy, so I can see how the paperback will look in real life. And if it looks OK, it should be available for order by the end of the week.

As it stands, the ebook is available for Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. There are some funny stories from that first year. The one where I’m searching for a real old-fashioned barber killed me. I’d almost forgotten about it, but, man… that’s some good stuff. Check the book out, if you’re so inclined. It’s priced super-low.

And I’ll see you guys again soon.

Have a great day.

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