YPS!! Misses It's Own Bloggaversary So Bring On The Musical Guest

Well, um, oops? :)

Seems back on the 10th we were between crying about spilled cookies and getting all misty eyed about radio announcers and actually had an anniversary come and go. Sorry about that one.

Anyway, this THANG has been dragging, and hobbling and zombie-hopping along...for three freakin' years. You folks have put up with an awful amount of mental trickery, and, well, we (I for one, anyway, but I'm sure Bone agrees) thank you for everything.

We thank you for attempting to look beyond the humor, the bitching, the dark clouds, the ranting, the raving, the WIDE SWINGS of E-MO-TION and everything between.

On occasion, we've been known to actually bitch about packaging (SHOCK!!)(HORROR!!). We've posted musings on music and life in general. We've shared images and some, altered images (many of which snuck by you unnoticed). We've posted weather commentary, work commentary and haiku or two. We've gone on about our childhood and tried to sell you on the genius that is Tommy Womack. We've preached on sports, cheese, Red Hots, Peach Propel, Elvis The King of Rock N Roll, Nerds, Thin Mint Girl Scout Cookies, (Holy Shit I Love Me Some) brownies, (I Like-a Da) fish, and more. We've posted poetry, song lyrics, and so many ignored audio and video posts.

I don't know that we will be here another 3 years. I don't know that you'll be here another 3 minutes. But I do know we've enjoyed it, and mostly are enjoying it.

Thanks for listening, and more importantly, thanks for PARTICIPATING. Bone Machine and I have had years to share our twisted brains with each other, but it's a lot more fun when we can experiment on you guys.

So anyway, they have no clue who YPS!! is, and probably wouldn't care if they did...but here's a new favorite of mine and since I love the song, and the vid has grilled cheese, beer, screaming, humor, an upright bass (or some stringed thingie) and a cat in it ...well, it just seems a perfect fit. Happy 3rd Bloggaversary, Bloggolites!! Please check out the...Silversun Pickups.




KISSING FAMILIES by Silversun Pickups, on the album "Pikul"

stop the season stop the sting
a plastic mic a broken string
infected wound from a rusty ring

soon you'll be there too

kissing families can't recall
a program to derail us all
forgotten prison it's been safe 'til now

it's no wonder that we did it this way
keep looking forward on paths sideways
it's everything that is connected and beautiful
and now i know just where i stand
move on
roll along
not today
it's everything that is connected and beautiful
and now i know just where i stand

thank god you're heart is too close

this can be the bitter end
i know it wont

well someone said i made a mistake
kept looking forward on paths sideways
it's everything that is connected and beautiful
and now i know just where i stand
seasons always shift too late
spent too much time now on paths sideways
everything that is connected and beautiful
and now i know just where i stand
thank god it's over....



[UPDATE: After I put up this post, I sent Tommy Womack an email and asked him something that's been on my mind since I guess iTunes came about. Tommy says that by all means, if you're going to promote a performer that, YES, pointing people towards iTunes is a great way to do so. More digi-sales there converts to a bigger exposure in the BIG POND that is...iTunes. So please, whether its Tee Dub, or some other artist (that likely isn't half as good as Tee Dub), please at least check out what iTunes has to offer for them before making your purchases. Thanks to Tee Dub for clearing that up for me. =Bloggy]

Another one:

Stolen From His Own Comments At Another Blog

*thinks religion to some is much like being in a line in elementary school and the teacher screaming, "If you're not in line for recess, you're going to stay in the library. Jonny! Don't even LOOK at that other line! THEY are going directly to the.....library!!!" Most of the kids get cold chills at the mere mention of the library and get right back in that recess line, but a few "bad kids" seem to thrill at the idea of staying out of line.*

An actual headline...

(100% unaltered in any way)

It's "not all bad news" until it's your ass with the STD.

Well logistically-speaking, it may not be your ass that gets it, because it could be clinging to your wedding tackle instead of spelunking in the butt cave.

You acquire my drift, though.

Hunka Burnin' Arby's Lamp

Hey, Ya’ll Prepare Yourself - or - Not THOSE Spinners

It's a cold night for alligators.

Being ripped from your slumber at 6:00am and thrown into the arctic blast before making the way across the frozen tundra to the workplace is not the ideal way to start your day. In fact, it's really a rather crappy way to greet the morn. It must be how everyone's pal, Punxsutawny Phil, feels on February 2 for his namesake holiday. While the little dude certainly has my sympathy, it is one of my most favorite holidays of them all.

In my mind, Phil would be elevated to national hero status if he'd bite the shit out of the handlers that pull him from his warm bachelor pad just so he can give some hollowed-out meteorological prediction. Hell's bells, if board-certified weather folks cannot give a semi-accurate prediction (and they don't), then how can we expect a groggy, cold, and irritable groundhog, sans Doppler Radar equipment, to deliver the goods?

But I digress. It's not Phil's day yet, so I will save that tribute for next month. This is about dragging my already dragging (pre-dragging, if you will) carcass from the relative tranquility of my quilt and putting it in the same building where most of my life passes me by like some kind of incredibly boring parade. When it comes right down to it, most parades are really rather boring and for the most part, they're really kinda gay. It must be the pageantry. The only exception is when the horses drop a plop in the middle of Main Street of any town, USA. Oh what the hell, let's make it worldwide, because other countries probably appreciate horses taking a crap in the middle of the street just as much as I do. As Confucious said in one of lesser lesser known works, "It's all fun and games until it's your shoe going into the goo." Society in that time probably considered the mention of the word "goo" in any context as working blue.

Now that I am at the helm of the educational Good Ship Lollipop and said ship is currently hitting the aquatic equivalent of a cruising altitude. My brain is officially on auto pilot and now that I am in a warm (73.3 degrees) environment, things are as good as they can possibly be in this scenerio. It certainly beats the shit out of walking from literally the farthest possible point in the parking lot in conditions that are not fit for man or beast (fortunately or unfortunately I'm covered by both categories).

As it all went down (so to speak), I got out of my semi-warm mode of transportation and no sooner than the hellacious gust of wind slapped against my bones, the word "Motherfucker!" leaped from my lips. After that initial shot was fired, it was like a vulgarity conga line coming out of my throat. Sort of like a profanity version of Hands Across America. It's colder than the proverbial brass monkey and by the time I made it to the office, my eyes were watering, snot was flowing, and my cheeks hurt. As someone who is perpetually a whiter shade of pale, I think it amazed the office folk that I actually had some color in my cheeks (the facial cheeks and not the assticle cheeks, because waving the south of the border cheeks freely in this town would get a gent arrested or a date with a biker and I want no part of either one). The downside is that the color was probably just the early stages of frostbite.

As someone who has declared war on Nature, Inc., I will close out this crapola by saying that winter sucks. For you mathematical types, I'll go as far as chucking out an equation that may sufficiently illustrate it for you.

winter = shit

Until next time, keep a little sunshine on your face and may your cheeks be free of frostbite.

Prepare for Next Year

I created and used this as stocking stuffers this year and thought you might find this handy to have. You know, just in case.

The Great Folded Sticker Asks...

Well? Are you?

In This Town, If You Were My Mailman

In this town, if you were my mailman I’d owe you at least one more apology for giving you a frog on your right thigh out in front of the middle school. I’d still be wondering what it must have been like for you to change your last name to your father’s, even though you never met him. I’d also be wondering how your little brother is fairing after all those years of your suggesting he go home and play with his “BB’s”. You’d also likely remember the time my sister made her finger sore by jabbing it into your chest and telling you off for being rude to me back in the ‘hood.

If you were my mailman, you’d know I get a late notice now and then. (What good does it anyone to change the color of the notice?) You’d also be cussing my name each and every time you stepped around the sticks I don’t pick up and take to the curb.

If you were my mailman you’d hear strange things coming from inside the Home Bloggerific. You’d hear repeated strains of, “Oh, SHUT UP Simon!” You’d distinctly hear a barking dog, though our dog Jack reserves his barks for outside. You might wonder why the adult inside thinks he can sing along to Creedence. If you were my mailman, you’d likely hear heavy metal drumming being thumbed away on the top of a computer desk.

If you were my mailman you’d know that I like to start Christmas shopping early, but don’t always get to. You’d also know that I’ve completely given up on sending out Christmas cards of any sort.

If you were my mailman, you’d likely have gotten scratched on the same sharp point of the lid to the mailbox that I’ve gotten scratched on. The same point my son has gotten scratched on. But you might not remember that it was also my grandmother that lived here before us that also likely got scratched in the same manner.

If you were my mailman, you’d come and go long before the explosions and killings in Xbox-style would be blasted through the walls. You’d never hear a television on, with the exception of maybe Oprah when you’re running late.

If you were my mailman, you’d notice that I don’t have any outgoing mail these days. Would you notice that the timing of this would coincide with the fact that you’re no longer required to pick up if you don’t have anything to drop off? Would you know that if I’m anxiously expecting something, I have it sent to the office instead because the mail arrives there much earlier in the day?

In this town, my son would ask “Was that Tim?!” EACH and every time we see a mail truck pass by.

Bonus, Today’s Songs O’ The Day:

Creedence Clearwater Revival
It's Just A Thought

It's just a thought

But I've noticed something strange,

Getting harder to explain;

All the years are passing bye and bye,

Still I don't know what makes it go;

Who said to wait and you'll see?

It's just a thought

But I wondered if you knew

That the song up there is you.

They can't take it from you

If you don't give it away;

Don't give it away; Ooh (It's given away.)

It's just a thought

But the word has come too late

That a bad idea will take

Just about a lifetime to explain,

And don't you see,

Good one's gonna be much longer;

Who's gonna wait, just to see?

The Who
Eminence Front

The sun shines

People forget

The spray flies as the speedboat glides

People forget

Forget they're hiding

The girls smile

People forget

The snow packs as the skier tracks

People forget

Forget they're hiding.

Behind an eminence front

Eminence front - It's a put-on.

It’s an eminence front

It’s an eminence front - It’s a put-on

An eminence front

Eminence front - put-on

Eminence front

It’s an eminence front

I’ts an eminence front - It’s a put-on

It’s a put-on

It’s a put-on

It’s a put-on

Come and join the party

Dress to kill

Won't you come and join the party

Dress to kill

Dress to kill.

The drinks flow

People forget

That big wheel spins, the hair thins

People forget

Forget they're hiding

The news slows

People forget

The shares crash, hopes are dashed

People forget

Forget they're hiding.

Behind an eminence front

An eminence front - it's a put-on

It is an eminence front

Eminence front - It’s a put-on

An eminence front

An eminence front - put-on

Eminence front

It’s an eminence front - it's a put-on

It’s a put-on

It’s a put-on

It’s a put-on

Come and join the party

Dress to

Come and join the party

Dress to

Come on join the party

Dress to

Come and join the party

Dress to kill

Dress yourself to kill.

Globules of Joy for your Weekend

Upon entering the work kitchen to wash my travel mug for the return home and be ready for the upcoming work week, I was a little over zealous in the opening of the door (Krameresque if you will) and bumped into the trash can, which in turn, bumped into the cabinet. Out of the corner of my eye, I still don't know how, I noticed movement.

Once the eebie jeebies left, I recorded this presentation of Globules of Joy to share with you.


I hope you enjoy.



(it's silent and only lasts 15 seconds, press the damn play button for once, take a chance, you might enjoy it, sheesh)

The good time boys...

and the trio of rotten pumpkins now residing on my work desk

From the “In this Town” Series: Bloggy’s Turtle

In this town....


In this town, as a child, you can feel the excitement in the air as your parents come home talking about the latest, best, most interesting customers. You can hear how these new customers, a married couple, pay in advance for fairly good-sized orders. In this town you can learn how friendly this couple is and how they like to talk, instead of just getting down to business. You can see how much your parents are enjoying working with these customers…whom they’ve never met. You can be reminded how one day they got a call on the telephone and how this couple inquired about a certain hard-to-find item and how your parents happened to have this particular item in stock. You can sense their reluctance to ship the item off to people they’ve never met. But when the offer was made to pay for the item before being shipped, you can hear how astonished they were when the check actually came in the mail earlier than expected.

In this town, as time goes by, your folks begin to include their customers in discussions at the dinner table; all while using first names instead of titles. In this town, you can have that very same meal interrupted by those very same names as they become friends, though they live so many miles away and you’ve only seen a vacation photograph of one of them. You can glean the photo of the lady with an exotic bird that was shipped in a box accompanied by the most foreign real-life flower you’ve ever seen. You can sit staring at the flower and the photo and imagine long sandy beaches and sunrises, while you long for the last slice of meatloaf and a seat on the opposite side of the table so you can see the television during meals.

In this town, you can examine every card and letter that comes in the mail for “Jim and Shirley’s” decorated envelopes. You can smile at the familiar stickers of Snoopy posing as “Joe Cool” and look around to find Woodstock fluttering about. In this town your ears perk up when you hear your own name mentioned in the letters and the comments and compliments of how you’ve grown over the series of photos that were sent their way. In this town, you can get extra presents in the mail at Christmas time. Just like the letters and cards, they’ll be decorated with far-away stamps and cartooned stickers. You’ll find yourself amazed as each separately wrapped gift within, even those not for you, is opened. Each box coming out of the big box, one-by-one, with different wrap and a different name on a different card, causes delight. Your siblings will be making faces as they’ve just tried pineapple candy and edible paper, while you’re holding on for dear life to what surely must be the best prizes out of the whole lot; a stuffed Snoopy and a stuffed Woodstock. In this town, you’re not sure if they’re yours, this Snoopy and Woodstock, but you pray that they are. Just as the last box is open, you’ll wonder just what the heck “origami” is while you’re glaring at some wonderfully colored squares of paper.

In this town you’ll be surprised that the origami paper was indeed not the last prize in the box. You’ll discover down deep, ‘neath the ribbons and bows and discarded tissue is a fortified box of a perplexingly small size. You might look around, wondering who’s getting married, for surely the box holds a ring. No card is attached, but it’s YOUR name that’s handwritten on the paper you’ll rip to discover what’s hidden. In this town it is you that defines “marvelous treasure” and in this case it would be a small, delicate handcrafted turtle complete with moving legs, head and tail…all with his own dome of a home of a clear-topped case. He’ll have his own yellow tissue that must have come from a far distant place, perhaps the one typewritten on the red square on his belly. You might not know anyone from Japan, but you’ll be assured they’re very wise and talented people to have created such a fine treasure.

In this town you’ll take great care of your treasures, revealing them only to those you trust most, and only some of those will be allowed to touch. In this town, time will pass and some of those treasures will remain with you always.

In this town you’ll receive an email from your brother with a subject of “Sad news” to which you’ll hesitantly open. You’ll learn right away that Jim passed away just days before. You’ll briefly discuss with your brother a few memories of the early encounters with Jim and Shirley and you’ll instantly remember your treasure tucked safely away after all these years. You’ll run and retrieve him and photograph this most handsome turtle and share with your son the story of how this turtle came to be yours.

In this town you’ll learn not all is perfect, but life can be more than work and bills. It can be a handcrafted turtle underneath a plastic dome that travels with you from today to tomorrow, and connects all the between.

Mr. Bloggerific Himself, 01132008
______
Rest in peace, Jim K. It’s probably been 25 years or more since I personally spoke with you or your wife, but you both are part of very vivid childhood memories that I enjoy and carry to this very day. Those early memories are very important to me; for I am still just a great big kid in many ways and continue to have room for growth. You and Shirley are in my thoughts. -Bloggy

ENDED: Bloggy's Double-Dawg Aura Dare!!

This weekend marks the end of my vacation. *heavy sigh*

In between watching a bazillion DVDs I somehow managed to catch an image of my aura on my Aural Spectrometer Digimitation 4000 Dee-vice. I nearly threw it out, having seen my own aura before and all, but I thought "eh, what the heck" so here I am posting it...along with a challenge:

I hereby challenge you to...Click the image above to get a larger dose of my aura...then, using your own, or borrowing one, Aural Spectrometer Digimitation 4000 Dee-vice, snag a shot of your own aura and send it to me for addition to this post. The bloggosphere is in dire need of combining auras to combat the evil forces that cause a perfectly good box of Red Hots to go bad, and other such major important, um, stuffs, like that there.

So there it is! The gauntlet has been daintily placed on the credenza before you.

Snag that aura!

Send that aura! [bloggerific at gmail dot com]


and I, one Mr. Bloggerific Himself shall...POST that aura.

Come on, it'll be fun. You know you want to expose your nekkid aura for us all to see.

I'll post auras up until Sunday the 13th. PLENTY of time!





Ladies and Gentlemen....Bone's Aura.




Ladies and Gentlefolk....the aura of...Circus Kelli:




Ladies and Opera Goers...the musical aura of...Opera Chickeroonie:




Ladies and Aura Gogglers...the purple-ish aura of HTGT:




Ladies and Full-time Googlers...the aura of....Eeeeeee-eee-eee-e-clectic:

Apparently it's a dying art.

I'm sure that this is a phenomenon that at least some of us remember from the past. Maybe it's still going on today and I am the one that has deserted the cause since I am never above guilt and/or suspicion. I'm as guilty and suspicious as anyone on a constant basis.

I'm sure that this thing started much earlier than I am aware, but for me, I became aware of it in the late 70's and definitely throughout the 80's as it was usually a big deal to me. It would inspire a great deal of enthusiasm and excitement.

Full frontal female nudity in some crappy movie?

While that would certainly bring about enthusiasm and excitement (and believe me, that will never change), I'm thinking about the old concert commercials that would hit the radio airwaves between hearing Led Zeppelin's Black Dog for the 40 billionth time of the day or some crappy Bob Seger song about taking old records from the shelf and unfortunately not rendering ol' Bob mute with them. They would always begin with a bit of the artist's song and then out of nowhere comes...the voice. Not just a voice, but the voice.

The voice was always bassy and seemingly as large as the hand of God making even the most tame of artists seem so cool, even when most of them sucked vigorously. Just hearing that voice often whipped me into a frenzy so quickly that I wanted to see whoever it was that was coming whether I liked them or not. Usually common sense and the lack of funds slapped me upside my noggin with some reality. "HOLY SHIT! THE LITTLE RIVER BAND ARE COMING TO EVANSVILLE!!!!!! Oh wait, those guys suck."

It was all about the rock concert commercial voice.

While I can't say that I've given it that much thought lately, my less than healthy current status has me wondering whatever happened to those guys that made those commercials back in the day. Again, maybe they still exist in cities where art thrives, but in a dead zone like this place, I haven't heard one in ages.

In the 80's, Evansville typically had a big show at Roberts Stadium every few months. Some better than others but I could usually get worked up over almost any rock show when I was younger, because there was an element of danger and an excitement that I rarely get at shows these days and well, I didn't have anything better to do. Perhaps it's the fact that I've seen more than a few shows since the night that Kiss and Judas Priest rearranged the contents of my 10 year old skull back in September of 1979. I tend to be jaded about everything else in life so why not rock shows, too. It seems feasible.

Maybe I'm just an old codger with a fading sense of reality and failing hearing, but those shows seemed much louder back then to the point of almost knocking you on your keester with a single power chord. There was no reserved seating in those days and you took your life into your own hands when you stood on the arena floor. Although the crowd surfing and mosh pit nonsense had not officially become an issue in Evansville, there was more than enough pushing and shoving to get a person hurt. In spite of it all, it was actually a lot of fun and made for a more exciting evening than plopping the pooper in seat 8 on row 18 for the duration of the show in a non-smoking venue that serves smoothies at the well-lit concession stand.

While I get very nostalgic for the feeling I used to get from shows, I am equally as nostalgic for those commercials. I guess as rock shows began to sell fewer tickets and arena shows dried up in the area, those commercial guys started lending their voices to wrestling and monster truck events. I don't seem to hear them hyping local appliance stores or announcing the grand opening of yet another Subway restaurant in the area, so I wonder how they make a living in this day and age.

It seems like such a waste of a big ass voice to have them doing the work of mere mortals. Although it would be kinda cool to hear one of them working the mic at a McDonald's drive-thru window. "WELCOME TO McDONALD'S...CAN I HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP YOOOOUUUUUUUU? ...WOULD YOU LIKE FRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIES WITH YOURRRRRRRRR ORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR?" That would have me actually looking forward to the drive-thru experience rather than dreading the idea of pleading with some half-wit that I really, really, reeeeeeeeeeeally do not want cheese on my food and getting it anyway. With the big ass voice rocking the mic, I would definitely think twice about entering the building in a rage when I find cheese on my requested non-cheesed food item. Instead of entering the building with a head full of hate ready to kill anyone on sight and site and likely spitting on their door on the way out (hello Taco Bell!), I would be cowering in a heap of fear afraid of the voice. It would be like Darth Vader working the window and no one wants to mess with that guy after they saw what he did to Obi Wan. That kind of shit will fuck up your weekend.

As the Internet has taken over our way of life with Pollstar and the constant barrage of email from Ticketmaster about upcoming events, I suppose the rock concert commercial voice is a dying art and I, for one, miss it. Not enough to listen to shitty classic rock radio for more than seven minutes at a shot, but I miss the excitement that it used to inspire in me in the pre-jaded and borderline well-adjusted days of my youth.

A Close Call For Cookies - or - Bloggy Nearly Cried

I don't condone direct cutting and pasting of news articles, but I believe you will see the severity of the situation. -Bloggy

Semi hauling Girl Scout Cookies flips over

Associated Press - January 9, 2008 11:54 AM ET

PERRY, Kan. (AP) - Food safety inspectors are checking hundreds of boxes of Girl Scout Cookies that were in an 18-wheeler that overturned on a Kansas highway.

Kansas troopers said the tractor trailer was westbound on U.S. 24 northwest of Lawrence Tuesday when it went out of control on a curve and overturned. Troopers said 54-year-old James Tangard of Danville, Ky., was going too fast for conditions.

Tangard was injured and was transported to a Topeka hospital. His condition was not immediately known.

Kansas Agriculture Department spokeswoman Lisa Taylor said the trailer remained intact, and that the cookies were in their individual boxes packed inside larger cartons.

She said inspectors were at the scene Wednesday checking to make sure the cookies are still safe.

Information from: The Topeka Capital-Journal, http://www.cjonline.com

Copyright 2008 The Associated Press.

Well. It DOES!! It Ain't MY fault. Shit!

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