More on Bangs, Nothing on Beer

I apologize for the silliness of this post. It's what happens when yott,;lk';;jm sorry my hands were shaky there....when you can't blog about beer.

Which brings up a question. Is saying you're not blogging about beer actually blogging about beer?

Anyway, thanks to everyone for their support--it seems more guys are over here commenting when I don't blog about beer (such as Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA) than when I do blog about beer (such as Great Lakes Commodore Perry). But back to my bangs.


As requested, I will now reveal my latest effort not to look like Susan Sarandon. First, a disclaimer. Do you know how freakin' hard it is to take a decent picture of yourself?


There's the matter of the flash:



Then the positioning of the camera:



Decisions like glasses on:



Or off:



Or hair down:



Or up:



And after all that, you realize how stupid your bangs are (and that you need braces and botox) and you secretly wish you looked more like Susan Sarandon.

It's enough to drive one to drink (but not beer, definitely not beer).

And speaking of other bloggers who don't and never will look like Susan, JT at The Goth Mom tagged me for my first meme--three things my spousal unit would say about me. Most of them I can't repeat on my blog, but here are three I can:

1) I blog too much.

2) I talk about John Cusack too much.

3) I show too much cleveage.

Stay tuned for my next post where I reveal my cleveage. Just kidding. This is a family blog after all.

For more family blogs, go to Humor-Blogs and vote for me by clicking that odd little PAC MAN guy. It's been two days of not blogging about beer and I need something to look forward to.

p.s. is Pac Man one word or two?

In Which I Blog About Bangs and Not Beer

Day one of not blogging about beer: I've heard from a faithful reader that I blog about beer too often. And with you all as my witness I will stop. Here and now. Cold turkey. I’m all about pleasing my public, for why else would I click that 'publish post' button instead of restricting my dysfunctional life to notes on pub coasters.

Of course I also click that 'publish post' button so you all can click that Humor-Blogs button so I get beat the crust off of Honey Pie--which just ain't happening. (BTW, I recently voted for my own post not because I think I'm funny, but because Hamell is funny. It seems some of you missed his video clip called Ann Coulter's Snatch. Folks, please, even if you don't like the C word, even if you disagree with Hamell's politics, this is one clever guy. Scroll down and be prepared to laugh. And if Ann Coulter doesn't amuse you, try one of Hamell's songs about fast food or drug use or beer...Oops. Sorry. Must not blog about beer).

Anyway, I'm also backing off on blogging about my 3 Handfuls, who drive me to drink. Of course I say that tongue and cheek. I don’t need an excuse to drink. Rather, I mean, I like to drink. I mean, not to to drown my sorrows or to get drunk and dance on the tables at Mickey Finn's (this is a purely made-up example). No, I drink micro-brewed IPAs for that bitter, hoppy flavor which…Oops beer again. Sorry. This is really hard.

Anyway, today I am blogging about my bangs. A few weeks ago while on vacation in CA, I was told by the Tonight show crew that I looked like this woman:



Thanks to all who said it was a compliment. But Susan Sarandon is like, old. And even though she has Tim Robbins who is a buddy of John Cusack, I used to be told that I look like Meg Ryan who’s actually had John Cusack, if you know what I mean.

So I’m on a mission to look younger.

I go into a hip music store and ask Hot Clerk With Sideburns to help me find a youthful shirt.

Who’s it for?

For me, I say, admiring his high tops.

OK. How’s this? He holds up a shirt with anime characters on it. It was youthful all right--12-year old teenie bopper youthful.

No, that’s not quite right.

Hot Clerk With Sideburns And High Tops leads me to a different table. How’s this one? he says.

This one’s 19-year old cardboard guerilla death metal youthful. At least we’re heading in the right direction.

I shake my head.

Who is this for, really? Hot Young Clerk w/SAHT asks.

Dude, it’s for me.

He walks to a rack under a poster of My Morning Jacket and pulls out a gray shirt.

This one is perfect for you. It has a message on it.

Now I am reduced to Ms Clichéd Customer who’ll wear a shirt with a message. I look it over. I quickly consider the anime. But I don't want to disappoint Hot Young Clerk, so I take the message. And it is a pretty cool message:



It features guns turning into musical instruments and says 'Weapons of Choice.'

One problem. I consumed so much beer, I mean, barbeque on vacation that the shirt is too small for me. So what do I do? I cut my bangs—not unlike a 12-year old teenie bopper’s.

Did it work? Do I still look like Susan Sarandon?

Dang. I forgot to take a photo of myself with my new bangs—kind of like sending an email and forgetting the attachment.

OK. Well. Stayed tuned for the next post in which I reveal my bangs (and not how much I love Stone Brewery's Ruination. Sorry. More beer. I guess I suck at this).

p.s. Is there an age cut off for high tops?

HELP!!! My ratings are sinking and it's enough for me to crack open a b.... never mind. Just please click here.

In Which I Stalk Close to Home

I wear black of course. It’s youthful. It’s thinning. It’s dark. I walk towards the club slowly contemplating my move. I stop in my tracks, there he is. Him. There. Sitting on a stool on the sidewalk. This guy:



If you are one of my three faithful readers you’ll remember Hamell on Trial. He's the original irreverent, crude, political, whimsical, folk-punk guitarist from NY who sleeps in his VW and tours with Ani DiFranco.

I casually introduce myself. We begin to chat. Then the unthinkable: Roadie Dude approaches and asks Hamell if he needs an ice pack. A trip to Urgent Care. Hmm. Time to go inside.

If this man was feeling his age in any way, you couldn’t tell from his performance. If I was feeling my age in any way—me, old enough to be the parent of everyone in the crowd—you couldn’t tell from my response. Hamell was fabulous.

After the show, I vie for his attention with a few other Hanger On-ers. But Hamell is clearly looking forward to that ice pack. He does, however, say something extremely personal, almost sexy to me.

“I like your bangs. They are very becoming on you.”

He likes my bangs, Internets. Hamell likes my bangs. Of course it occurs to me that Hamell might like anyone's hair since he has none, but nah....HAMELL LIKES MY BANGS!!!!!!

I’m dedicating this Hamell video to my blogger friend, Jim at Framed. Jim does politics, music, Don S. Davis, and humor (or so he thinks). Jim is a faithful reader, although he admits he doesn't like my blog. His wife, Susan, is not a faithful reader, but likes my blog. Both like my bangs.

Warning: this is not for those easily offended. Which obviously doesn't include the folks at Humor-Blogs.



Stay tuned for my post in which I show the world....my bangs.

I Say, Let Them Be As Miserable As The Rest Of Us

Gays, that is. If they think being married is so special, I've got some land I'd like to sell them along the Mississippi. I mean, as far as I'm concerned everyone has the right to be stupid and miserable and married. But it seems a group of Republicans don't agree.

This week they re-introduced the Federal Marriage Amendment to the Constitution which essentially says that marriage is between a man and a woman, which essentially excludes marriage between those who pee the same way, which essentially means by prohibiting gays from marrying, Republicans are actually promoting premarital sex.

But that's not the odd thing.

Supporters of the bill include Senators David Vitter (R-LA) and Larry Craig (R-Idaho). Remember them? Vitter hired prostitutes and Craig was caught soliciting gay sex in an airport. Not actually poster boys for the sanctity of marriage between two people who pee differently.




I mean, this kind of stuff is why I Prefer My Fantasy Life folks. And why I prefer those Humor Blogs.