Friday Random 11: RNC in the USA

The thing I noticed more than anything else at the Democratic National Convention this week wasn’t the audacity of hope, the calls for unity, or the way the Denver police enforced both hope and unity by arresting anyone who expressed anything else. No, it was the music.

Daughtry covered Foreigner's “Feels Like the First Time,” which was the theme song for the League of First Time Voters initiative—known formerly as the League of Extraordinary People Who Couldn’t Be Bother to Register Without Excessive Prodding. Nothing says “voting is cool” than an American Idol runner-up doing his best imitation of Lou Gramm.

It got me wondering about other Foreigner songs that would have been perfect. What wouldn't fire you up for Bill Clinton like “Hot Blooded”? Or the versatile“Dirty White Boy,” which would have worked for both John Edwards and the entire West Virginia delegation. The media would have expected “Cold as Ice” for Hillary Clinton, but she could have instead given us “Waiting for a Girl Like You,” which the pundits would then misidentify as “Head Games.” And the triumphant, stadium-filling finale, Obama could have come out to a medley of “Juke Box Hero” and “Urgent” so hot, Invesco Field would have burst into flames. Really, what can't you do with Foreigner?

With the Republicans ready to kick out the jams get this party started do the hokey pokey next week, I wonder what songs would be appropriate for their convention. So this week’s Random 11 will attempt to find the soundtrack for the Party of No Change.

1) “Killing” The Rapture. Nothing like scoring a hat trick on the first try. The title of course is the theme of the last eight years. The band name is what that killing is trying to trigger. And it is as annoying and unlistenable as a George W. Bush speech. Perfect for the opening montage honoring the Bush administration.

2) “Dry,” PJ Harvey. The repeated lyric, “You leave me dry,” both works for how many conservatives feel about John McCain, as well as how Cindy McCain probably feels when she sees him naked.

3) “Harden My Heart,” Quarterflash. Lip-synched by Sarah Palin as she discuss all the social programs the Republicans are going to cut, not because they want to, but because they owe it to the poor.

4) “Say Goodbye to Hollywood,” Billy Joel. Playing when the party announces that they intend to put all of Hollywood in detention center and relocate the American film industry to Branson, Missouri.

5) “Gun Sale at the Church,” The Beat Farmers. Delightfully stripped of irony by Toby Keith. This special extended version will include directions to the nearest gun sale.

6) “I’m in Disgrace,” The Kinks. Used during the memorial montage for all those party members who were arraigned before their time.

7) “Back Door Love,” Graham Parker. Piped into every men’s room. Sadly no video.

8) “Don’t Stop Believing,” Journey. There’s no real political purpose for this song, it’s just that when you have that many white people gathered in a sports arena, you better play some Journey.

9) “Lake of Fire,” Nirvana. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for our next speaker, Mr. Ralph Reed!

10) “White Riot,” The Clash. Sung a-cappella by The National Review Singers.

11) “Never,” Heart. Sweet Cookie Jesus, let's hope so.

Have a good, long weekend.

Top Ten Tuesdays: What are we doing at the Democratic National Convention?

10) Selling our new John Edwards’ Paternity Passer™—it scrubs your DNA while you stump!

9) Telling Dennis Kucinich that he and his wife are welcome, but the woodland creatures have to wait outside.

8) Polishing James Carville’s dome until you can see Senator Clinton’s forced conciliatory smile from a mile away.

7) Fluffing the Super Delegates.

6) Asking CNN’s Dr. Sanjay Gupta to perform a spinal transfer operation on Congressional Democrats.

5) Wondering how they got the Chris Matthews float to look so lifelike, until we realize that’s really his swollen, frothing head.

4) Enforcing the pants requirement at the Anderson Cooper Kissing Booth.

3) Showing how to fight Republicanism with one lobe tied behind our back.

2) Reminding a confused Senator McCain that his convention is next week, in Minneapolis.

1) Forging brass knuckles that spell “CHANGE.”

Friday Random 11: We're Getting the Band Back Together

Call me Fav-re.

I’m bringing the Random 11 back for a number of reasons. First, I need it. My creative well has hit a dry spell since Libby was born. Don't get me wrong, I love being a dad. Libby is amazing and I have happily channeled my energy into spending time with her. I miss teh funny, however. It's still there, lurking in things like the inappropriate comments I make when TLB and I watch Paranormal State (I tend to charactize the ghosts and demons as being somewhat lecherous toward the female members of the team). But my battery could use a jump, and the Random 11 is perfect for that.

The other thing is I loaded up with a lot of new music over the summer, and I hate keeping my opinions to myself.

1) “Hang on to Yourself,” David Bowie. Ironic title considering I can think of few artists who have changed their images more than Bowie. But what better way to get back to rockin’ than with a fat, glammy guitar riff.

2) “Fly by Night,” Rush. I am pretty sure Kim Carnes stole Alex Lifeson’s hair from this video.

3) “Sea Legs,” The Shins. I have to say, the last Shins album didn’t do a lot for me, and this song kind of sums up why. The pieces are there, but it lacks the charm and melody that made their first couple of albums so life-changing. However, it does use “pyre” and “labyrinth” in the same song. So that’s kina cool.

4) “Tij,” Battles. I am but a simple caveman. Your math rock-inspired sound collages frighten and confuse me, with chaotic time changes and sound collages that sound like methed-out carnies jumping on random instruments. But I do know this: making instrumental avant-garde music that has no rhyme or reason to it is a great way to get rock critics to jizz all over themselves in an attempt to show how much smarter they are than everyone else.

5) “Heavy Metal Drummer,” Wilco. That’s more like it.

6) “Summertime,” The Sundays. I will say this for the UP: the summers here are the best I’ve had since I lived in San Diego. I am so sad that they are almost done. My snowblower is already snickering when I go in the garage.

7) “Partie Traumatic,” Black Kids. They are to The Killers what Krusty the Clown was to Steve Allen.

8) “Scoff,” Nirvana. Grunge seems so quaint now. Just yesterday, I wound up talking to a younger colleague of TLB’s about grunge, and she was explaining how everyone used to wear flannel to this one bar they used to go to. It feels like that happened in the 1890s. Most of those bands deserved to die a quiet, unplugged death, but Nirvana still rocks my socks off.

9) “Vietnow,” Rage Against the Machine. Speaking of subgenres that went extinct. Rage in particular almost seems lost in time: the faux-Students for a Democratic Society lyrics rapped over guitar effects that wouldn’t have sounded out of place on a Steve Stevens-era Billy Idol album. They are so cute when they are angry. Yet still amazing to work out or play Guitar Hero to. Bonus: live video from the Tibetan Freedom Music concert. I believe that’s been eclipsed by a giant moon made of gold medals....

10) “Radio Nowhere,” Bruce Springsteen. This is to R.E.M.’s Accelerate what Steve Allen is to Krusty the Clown.

11) “Love Hurts,” Gram Parsons. But it’s even worse when love burns. And itches.

That's the kind of high-brow entertainment I have really missed doing each week. Have a great weekend.

Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we choosing a running mate?

10) By inseam.

9) Looking for someone who is more likely to get assassinated than we are.

8) Asking Paula to break the deadlock between Simon and Randy.

7) Holding time trials for falling on swords.

6) Examining the entrails of dead elephants and donkeys.

5) Constructing one out of duct tape.

4) First one to answer the phone at 3 a.m. wins.

3) Strengthening the ticket’s appeal to Evangelicals by requiring candidate to sacrifice first born on Mount Moriah.

2) Picking the one with the most patriotic tattoos.

1) Whoever can capture Vice President Cheney and send him back through the portal to his plane of existence will be the chosen one.

Top Ten Tuesdays: How did we spend our summer vacations?

10) Learning how to play “Georgia on My Mind” with bursts of AK-47 fire.

9) Sucking exhaust pipes to prepare lungs for Olympic competition.

8) Putting fresh onions on Senator McCain’s belt.

7) Pulling out apology about not pulling out.

6) Continuing to dig a deeper political hole until we’re running for president of China.

5) Feeding family by draining ethanol out of neighbor’s gas tank.

4) Discussing plans to become male strippers while standing in the unemployment line.

3) Watching our political career go down a series of tubes.

2) Enjoying the nice weather from inside, where it’s safe.

1) Reminding the entire world why you should never, ever, ever, elect your beer buddy as President.

Reach the Beach

I had hoped to regale you all with tales of my brother Tickle's wedding, or at least post more than a top 10 and a picture of one of my cats. But alas, I once again found myself with not enough time to get everything done that I wanted to. That's a common theme these days.

Tomorrow, TLB and I head out with Libby for our annual beach vacation with TLB's family. I will not be teaching my daughter how to Skimboard or drink a 5-liter mini-keg of Warsteiner beer by herself because no one else in the family will touch it. But I may show her how to spot fake boobs and laugh at guys with lower back tatoos.

Back at the end of next week. I hope to write about Tickle's wedding while I'm gone and post when I get back. Who knows, maybe I'll even find a little time to think of some comedy for this here blog.

I think your blog would be better if you posted pictures of cats with amusing captions

Courtesy of the new camera from my parents, which is supposed to be used for pictures of their granddaughter.

Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we improving toy safety?

Special extra precautions edition!

11) Choking-hazard parts can no longer be covered in delicious candy-coated shell.

10) Discontinuing production of the Venus Fly Crib.

9) Enacting constitutional amendment forbidding the marrying of two Ken dolls.

8) Testers must scatter toys on shag carpeting and walk barefoot across them in the dark, then check for lacerations and tetanus.

7) Replacing all lead in toys with corn-based ethanol.

6) Game of Operation requires proof of health insurance before purchase.

5) Chinese-made rubber duckies can no longer be made out of leftover General Tso’s Chicken.

4) Fisher Price’s My First Meth Lab must include number for addiction recovery hotline.

3) Only allowing production of toys mentioned in the Bible.

2) Installing foam locks on all Nerf guns.

1) Telling children they can no longer take any toys out of the packaging.

I'm back

Tickle survived his wedding. More importantly, Tickle's marriage survived his wedding. Post detailing the random hilarity will come soon. I will deflate expectations proactively by saying it was not Vegas-trip crazy. But then again, if it had been, none of us would have returned with our wives.

On the road to Tickle's wedding

I couldn't get to a Top 10 yesterday because my awake brain cells were limited by a certain little girl who wanted to party all night. Thankfull she didn't repeat the performance.

We're also heading out today to go to my brother Tickle's wedding. The day of reckoning is at hand. Nearly all of the cast from the various Vegas trips will be there, so it's possible this will outdo the weddings from Old School and Wedding Crashers. Hopefully there won't be any divorces come Monday monrning.

I'm hoping to do some blogging later, but I can't promise anything since my brain cells are no longer under my control.

Mobil H

A DRIVER guides his Hummer down the street. He passes gas station after gas station and sees the prices: $4.19, $4.39, $4.59. He shakes his head.

NARRATOR
The high price of gas has hit all of us hard. Rising prices not only cost us money, they cost us peace of mind.

The Driver sees the green Mobil sign showing “Mobil H - $15.99.” He smiles widely.

NARRATOR
That’s why Mobil is doing something to bring you the relief you need.

“Lust for Life” by Iggy Pop starts playing.

The Driver jerks the wheel and cuts across two lanes of traffic, drives over a curb, and hits a trash can before stopping in front of the pump. He jumps out and grabs the pump, which has a rubber hose and a needle dangling from it. The Driver wraps the hose around his upper arm, holding one end in his teeth, and guides the needle into his forearm. His face sweats and his hands shake as he guides the nozzle into the tank and starts pumping gas.

NARRATOR
Introducing Mobil H, the first gasoline that gives you something back.

The Driver pulls the rubber hose loose and smiles, falling back into the side of his SUV.

NARRATOR
With each gallon of gas that flows into your tank, sweet relief flows into your veins.

On the gas pump, the price keeps going up, going to $100, $200, $300, and $400.

NARRATOR
And with the more you pump....

The driver gives the pump a few squeezes as he tops off the tank, tenses and releases with orgasmic pleasure, until the price reaches $500.

NARRATOR
The better you’ll feel.

The Driver gets back in his car, driving with half-closed eyes as he nearly hits a dog, a bicyclist, and some kids crossing the street.

NARRATOR
High gas prices may never go away...

The music stops as The Driver pulls into his garage, next to another car. He puts it in park and stays in his seat for a second.

NARRATOR
But we don’t want that to keep you from coming back.

“Lust for Life” plays again as The Driver gets out of his SUV and into his other SUV, peeling out in reverse, flipping the front onto the street, and flooring it back toward the Mobil station.

NARRATOR
Mobil H. Available in regular, premium, and madman.

It's like a geek threesome

Stephen Colbert, Canadian super-prog group Rush, and my inner geek, all together.

I'm sending this out to Billy Pilgrim, who is having a rough time of it. Music and laughter may not solve your problems, but they at least ease the pain. One of the interview questions in particular made me laugh hysterically:

Have you ever written a song so epic that by the end of the song you were actually being influenced by yourself in the beginning of the song?

Also, instead of Colbert's theme song, they played Rush's "Limelight" over the opening credits, which explains the start of the following segment...

Top Ten Tuesdays: How are we trying to stimulate the economy?

10) Putting our stocks in bond-age.

9) Drilling everything we can until we're lubed with cheap oil.

8) Trimming interest rates to make our borrowing power look bigger.

7) Sticking a large rescue package into the biggest Fannie.

6) Keeping inflation slow and steady so rising prices don’t shoot up too quickly.

5) Getting the dollar to change from a bottom back to a top.

4) Selling Hummers.

3) Shaving costs until we can see the bottom line.

2) Merging our assets together in the Mile High Club.

1) Trying to keep our rosy Bush from getting covered with massive amounts of Bernanke.

He's not dead, he just restin'

Sorry for the lack of updates and also being absent from other blogs the last couple of weeks. I started back at work on Monday and have had my hands full with catching up, then spending my evenings with my lovely daughter. I do have some new post ideas kicking around and hope I can have a little time to put them up this weekend.

Libby is doing great, eating like crazy and growing and looking at the ceiling fan like it's the coolest Pink Floyd laser show ever. The Lovely Becky is tired but hanging in there. There are certainly days when she feels like a human feedbag, but she nevertheless feels like a very lucky human feedbag.

One anecdote: We took Libby down to the local harbor on Fourth of July. She wore a cute little American flag dress that my aunt and uncle sent. Of course, there was red, white and blue up the ying-yang, including one boat that I swear had at least a dozen flags or flag-ish items on it. How did my daughter react to all this rah-rah patriotism?

She pooped herself.

That's my little girl!

Top Ten Tuesdays: What alternative energy resources are we considering?

10) Heating homes with hot air of Fox News pundits.

9) Steam engines powered by burning piles of cash from A-Rod’s divorce settlement.

8) Fusion reaction triggered every time Bush says “nookular”.

7) Taco Bell-based propane.

6) Kinetic energy captured from masturbating virginity pledgers.

5) Hunting Jonah Goldberg for his oil-rich blubber.

4) Hyrdroelectric waterboarding.

3) External suicide bomber combustion engines.

2) Combustible sludge produced by decomposing Will Ferrell movies.

1) Machines powered by perpetual flip-flops.

Top Ten Tuesdays: What covert operations are we using to destabilize Iran?

10) Replacing Iran’s yellowcake uranium with Sara Lee pound cake until their nukes explode with flavor.

9) Sponsoring new reality show, So You Think You Can Overthrow the Iranian Government?

8) Smuggling in Chuck Norris’s beard under a burka so it can take out the entire Iraninan government with one whisker.

7) Disgracing President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad by digitally inserting him into famous pictures from Israeli history.

6) Shipping in bacon cheesburgers, Krispy Kremes, and PlayStations until Iranians are too fat and sluggish to promote terror.

5) Sticking bananas into the tailpipes of their tanks.

4) Hiring Fidel Castro to consult on how to assassinate heads of state.

3) Jamming all Tehran broadcast transmissions with Mind of Mencia reruns until Iran nukes itself.

2) Designing a transportation infrastructure completely dependent on fossil fuels and totally ignorant of fuel economy, until Iran has no choice but to expend all its time and energy invading countries for their oil!

1) Getting the Iranian Supreme Court to make George W. Bush the next Iranian president.

Let There Be Libby

It’s been a fun week.

I expected the birth of my baby to be a lot of things: amazing, incredible, intimidating, frightening. All of my expectations—happy and scary—were so very serious. I imagined I would be Transformed Brando, overcome with weepy emotion at the sight of my child. Or I would be Overwhelmed Brando, overrun with childrearing responsibilities like a fatherhood version of World War II Poland.

Instead, I have been having a ball. Libby is every bit the source of joy and wonderment children can be. But she’s also hilarious. She makes faces, kicks her little feet in the air, emits a wide range of gurgles and grunts, and makes me laugh more than I thought a baby could. That’s been the coolest thing for me.

The week got off to a not-so-fun start. When The Lovely Becky and I checked into the hospital last Sunday, we almost immediately heard some poor woman in the throes of labor in the room next door. The walls were thankfully soundproofed, but no padding could hide the cries, groans, and moans that we heard. We sat, enraptured, listening as the mother’s vocalization of her pain became louder. Rising with each contraction, she finally emitted a horrible noise before screaming, “GET! IT! OUT!”

“Jesus, I hope she’s doing natural childbirth,” TLB said.

“That’s got to be natural,” I replied. “Got to be.”

I say the following with no intention of being a patriarchal penis-waggler who tells women that they don’t have the right to forgo drugs and utter soundproof-blasting wails of agony while their bodies imitate a snake eating in reverse. But seriously, why would any of you refuse drugs? I know that it’s hard to know when to push and you don’t want to interfere with the natural experience and yadda yadda yadda, but OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF THE HEAD?

No man would refuse painkillers. Could you imagine that guy at the beginning of Dances with Wolves, the soldier in the field hospital screaming in agony as they saw off his leg, saying, “Doc, whatever you do, don’t give me anything to numb the pain because I really want to feel my leg as you remove it. If it gets bad, I’ll just breathe.”

My lovely wife, being my soul mate and all, wanted painkillers. She had her epidural, and she felt so good, she took a nap. Until her epidural wore off. We didn’t realize her epidural wasn’t working properly until it got too late to do anything but try to breathe through the wracking contractions. TLB was a trooper, getting through the pain with grit and determination and lots of breathing. Still, I’d have to score it Labor 7, Hee-hee Hoo-hooing 0.

Luckily, by the time she got ready to push, the pain returned to manageable mode. The only problem was that TLB stopped dilating. So after a full day’s supply of labor, we had to scrap the launch and go to C-section.

It is amazing how quickly a pregnant woman can go from pre-op to pulling a rabbit out of the hat. The doctors prepped TLB and wheeled her in the operating room. I waited five minutes for a nurse to come get me. When I entered the room, TLB lay stretched out on the table like Jesus, the incision already made. I came in, sat down by her head, and before you could say get it out, the doctor reached in and pulled out Baby Libby. They had TLB sewn up and back in the room about 20 minutes later. It was the Miracle of Life meets Jiffy Lube. I think they even rotated TLB’s ovaries at no extra charge.

As I don’t have to explain to anyone, being handed your child the first time is heavy. Especially when your child weighs ten pounds, three ounces. But like the fun factor, the initial feeling hit me differently than I anticipated. I envisioned Biblical transformation, a Paul-to-Damascus conversion where I would hold my child aloft and announce in the voice of James Earl Jones, “Libby, I am your father!”

Instead, I sat quietly awed by the whole thing, overcome with a huge wave of happiness that felt like being drunk. With one incision, with one tug, our War Against Childlessness was over. It didn’t really sink in and start to feel real until, after TLB breastfed her, I got to hold my daughter in my arms and rock her to sleep.

The rest of the hospital time passed uneventfully. TLB wrangled with breastfeeding a bit, as Libby sometimes fought her off—again, as a man, I don’t understand how someone passes on a free breast. But we got the hang of it enough to come home Thursday.

We pulled into the driveway and carried Libby into the house as my mother-in-law videotaped the homecoming. At which point one of our hairy, meowing children taught us a valuable lesson in Homo sapiens parenting: "Never Turn Your Back on Your Children," the A-side to the B-side of "Give Them an Inch and They’ll Take You a Mile." Jonesy, our youngest cat and the biggest flight risk, sensed weakness in our usually tight Front Door Defense. He launched a sneak attack like Al Catta, darting out the door and out of sight before we even realized he was gone.

Instead of enjoying the monumental moment of bringing my daughter home, I circled the block, uttering the kind of phrases even George Carlin would agree were too hot for prime time. I could not believe that this moment would be spoiled by a four-legged furball who didn’t realize that thousands of cats would kill to have his pampered Little Lord Shitleroy lifestyle. The little bastard’s plan was foolproof, because although I wanted to kill him when I caught him, any willful catricide would definitely spoil the mood. I had to capture him alive.

Luckily for me, Jonesy exhibited standard criminal behavior, not only lingering near the scene of his felonious flight, but also making the tactical error of being in a neighbor’s garage when I found him. In a scene reminiscent of Puss in Boots being busted by the cops in Shrek 2, I ran Jonesy down, grabbed him, and hauled his idiotic ass home. I didn’t even have to pull a Gaylord Focker and paint his tail.

However, the little fucker served as an allegory for the journey ahead of us. Our “baby” runs away, worrying us to death, angering us to the point of wanting to inflict death, all of which washes away the minute I realize my worst fears remain fears instead of reality. There really is nothing worse than being taught a life lesson by someone who licks himself.

We’re now settling in nicely. I have been surprised how natural this stuff feels. Sure, we’re dealing with standard infant issues—constant eating, which leads to not enough sleeping, worrying about every stupid little thing, and so on. But even when I had to take our very awake daughter downstairs at 4:30 a.m. so that my extremely tired wife could get a couple of hours of sleep, it’s been great. Libby and I parked on the couch, watched SportsCenter together, and hung out until she fell asleep. I think she even grunted when she saw the Cubs got swept by the White Sox.

This is going to be fun.

We are no longer the Knights Who Say TBD

We are the parents who say...please welcome our daughter Elizabeth Adele, aka Libby.

Like we always do, she squeaked in under her deadline, making her debut just as the last rays of daylight clung to June 23.

Details and pics to come later, sleep to come now. And let the gender prediction gloating begin.

Also, my apologies to Illiterati readers -- the hospital is blocking me from logging into Typepad, so I couldn't put a notice on TLB's blog.

Update: here's out little girl peeking out at the world--

TBD still TBD

Update 6/23: We're at the hospital, drugs are flowing, but TBD is still holed up like Butch Cassidy and/or the Sundance Kid. We're trying to convince the child that there are two eager parents waiting for him/her, not an armed and angry Mexican army. We hope to resolve the standoff peacefully.



Well, we haven't even had our baby yet and already TBD is rebelling. The initial pharmaceutical artillery failed to soften TLB enough, to the point where the doctor said inducing labor would probably not produce a baby. Labor without a baby...that's a pretty easy selling point to resist.

So, we have returned home for resting and will return Sunday night for more shelling and hopefully a full offensive on Monday morning. Sorry our fertility is jerking everyone around like the writers from Lost. And thanks for all the good wishes -- you all are putting some big ol' smiles on our faces.

In the meantime, this clip seems appropriate:

The waiting is the hardest part

It looks like our parent initiation will be put off one more day. The hospital is apparently chock full o' delivering women, so there's no room at the inn unless we want to deliver TBD in a stable. The plan is to get The Lovely Becky in the hospital this afternoon and induce tomorrow morning. Since we're just hanging out and waiting, I'll turn things over to today's house band: