Bone’s 3rd Annual Festivus For The Rest Of Us

I’ve written quite a bit about Festivus on this blog. Well over twenty posts make mention of the F word, with several of those dedicated solely to that greatest of all non-religious, non-commercialized holidays. So when you do a google search for “festivus traditions” guess what comes up #2, right behind Wikipedia?

That’s right, friends. Me. Number two! Behind my beloved Wikipedia! Do you realize what this means? Well, neither do I. But rest assured if I figure out what it means that I will take whatever it means very seriously. I can only hope I have made Frank Costanza very proud.

With that being said, the day is fast approaching. I sent out my Evites today. Bone’s 3rd Annual Festivus For The Rest Of Us Shindig, Banquet, and General Gathering Of Discomfited Individuals will be held Saturday, December 22nd, at 6 PM. And you’re all invited!

Sequels often leave something to be desired. But hopefully, this one will be kinda like Friday the 13th, Part 3, except without all the violence. Or the brief nudity. Or the hockey mask.

Don’t worry about bringing anything, either. Though I will need one of you to be in charge of coats. (No “man furs” please.) And I’ll need someone else to stand by Gabe Kaplan’s tank and make sure no one taps on it.

I might also recommend that you have some sort of signal in case you get into a bad conversation with someone. Head patting is good. Although personally, I prefer the slightly more subtle chicken wing.

So many great memories have already been made during the first two Festivus celebrations, most occurring during the Airing of Grievances. Like last year, when Lil Bootay said she didn’t like Three Word Wednesday.

My response? “Oh yeah? Well, the jerkstore called. They’re running outta YOU!” OK, so I didn’t really say that. I didn’t think of it until after everyone had left. But that line would’ve really smoked her! Don’t you think?

Again this year, I’m planning to serve pizza for the Festivus Dinner. We’ll watch “The Strike” episode of Seinfeld. And of course, we’ll have the Festivus Pole and the Feats of Strength. All the usual Festivus Traditions you’ve come to know and love.

Although due to an obscure city ordinance, there’ll be no cockfighting this year. So we’ll have to think of something else for the Feats Of Strength.

And now I leave you with one of the memories burned into our brains from last Festivus. And don’t worry, the party wasn’t this wild the whole night. People were just hopped up on Twix and black and white cookies at the time.

The lyrics for “Silver Pole” written by Bone. Music by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans. Proceeds from Festivus will benefit Kramerica Industries: A solitary man with a messy apartment which may or may not contain a live chicken. And the Human Fund: Money for people.

“All these worksheets, grievance worksheets, lined with blanks yet to fill. In the air there’s a feeling of terseness…”

iTunes aNonymous

Last Wednesday evening, a blogger you know ventured into the iTunes store, for the first time ever.

It started off innocently enough, a single, heterosexual, 34-year-old male in search of the song “I’m Your Man” by Wham. I mean, what’s more normal than that? A user name and password were selected. An account was created. A search was conducted. The song was located and downloaded.

And then…

Oh my darling, Clementine! Everywhere I looked, songs I loved were calling out to me. Down every corridor were private eyes, naked eyes, or an eye in the sky. It was like Behind The Music and Surreal Life had opened up a Sam Goody!

Yes, I realize I am late coming to this party, but I’ve only had my iPod since last Christmas. Besides, I never claimed to be on the cutting edge, just the opposite, actually.

By the end of that first night, I had downloaded fifteen songs, including but not limited to Erasure, P.M. Dawn, Steve Winwood, Tabitha’s Secret, and yes, even Hanson. (At this point, I will completely understand if you never read my blog again.)

Still, I felt pretty good. I’d told myself I would not surpass twenty songs, and I had stayed within that limit. Then came Thursday. By the time head hit pillow Thursday night, I had downloaded thirty-four songs and may or may not have promised my firstborn to Steve Jobs.

Sure that sounds drastic at first, until you learn there are twenty-six available downloads for Wham on iTunes. Suddenly, I’m like a song-starved Esau in search of musical pottage.

I need help. I’m addicted. How can I not be? Apple just makes it so easy. I don’t have to get dressed or leave home. Plus, 99 cents seems like such a nominal fee for cheesy musical goodness. Who amongst us can resist? I’m only flesh and blood, for crying out loud.

People I’ve talked to say it will get better. That eventually, I’ll exceed my credit card limit, be unable to pay my bills, and my internet will be disconnected. Problem solved.

I hope so. Because right now, iTunes, you are an obsession. I can’t fight this feeling much longer, and I’m quickly forgetting what I started fighting for.

In closing, I would like to wish a happy 44th birthday to my favorite male figure skater, Olympic gold medalist Brian Boitano. Ooo, I wonder if they have that song on iTunes!

“What would Brian Boitano do if he was here right now? He’d make a plan and he’d follow thru. That’s what Brian Boitano’d do…”

Taste of rain

I was halfway thru my first lap on the three-quarter mile track when the first drops of rain hit my skin, one on my right arm and one on my face, right in the middle of “Brass Monkey,” jarring me from my iPod induced trance.

Within seconds, it was pouring. My first inclination was to throw myself into the fetal position, using every bit of clothing and body mass I had to protect Nan until the rain stopped. But she was in her iPod cover, and tucked underneath my shirt, so I thought she would be OK.

My next inclination was to throw up my hands and scream, “Why! Why does it wait to rain until the minute I start running?” But I refrained.

And then something happened.

I found myself enjoying the rain. I didn’t speed up. Instead I continued to run at my usual pace, listening to the quiet noise the rain made falling thru the trees, feeling its coolness hit my skin.

By the time I got back around to the parking lot, I was drenched. My clothes felt heavy. I wanted to laugh. Part of me wanted to keep running.

Slowing to a walk, I looked heavenward and opened my mouth, letting the raindrops hit my tongue. It reminded me of being a kid. It reminded me I was alive.

I don’t know when or where my sometimes frustration with rain began. But today I remembered something I knew all along. There are much worse things in life than getting caught in the rain.

Sometimes there’s nothing better.

“I hear it talking through the trees and on the window pane. When I hear it I just can’t believe I never liked the rain…”

Who’s bad?

Today is the day!

Occasionally I wonder if people get tired of reading the same old things here on ye olde blog. Especially when every weekend lately is the same old thing: football, girls, and golf. I mean, seriously, anymore golf and I’d have to change the name of my blog to Greenside Chats With Bone.

Besides, there’s more to life than that, right? There’s video games and Seinfeld and… well anyway. In an attempt to change things up and show another side of this bachelor you know as Bone (but mostly because I was craving something sweet), I added another element to my weekend.

Friday, I attempted to make some cookies. Unfortunately, I was on the phone while making them. Bad idea. Let’s see, how shall I describe the end result? Have you ever bitten into a stick? Well, they were dryer than that.

By the way, on a completely unrelated note, did you know peanut butter can go bad? Sure, it might take a few years, but trust me, it can happen. Who knew!

I also went to the driving range Friday, then spent the rest of my evening watching the South Florida/West Virginia game and image googling Hope Solo. Hey, I gotta fit girls in there somewhere.

One might think that would have been the highlight of my weekend. Think again. Little Joe and I went to play golf Sunday afternoon. I was standing behind my car when he pulled up and opened his door. His radio was blaring “Bad” by Michael Jackson.

My first instinct was to say, “Turn that down before someone hears!” You know, because that’s what I do anytime I’m jamming to George Michael or Bobby Brown and I think someone might be able to hear. But I kept my mouth shut. I mean, you take away a man’s music, you take away his spirit, his will to live.

As we were walking towards the clubhouse, LJ informed me that he had come across an old Casey Kasem countdown on the radio and that’s what he was listening to. Friends, at that moment, I wanted to suggest that we skip golf entirely and just sit in the car together listening to AT40 with Casey. But I felt that would be socially unacceptable, so we golfed.

Sunday night, not to be defeated by my earlier misadventure, I tried making cookies again. Except I didn’t have enough of the required ingredients remaining, so I decided to halve the recipe.

Well, I’m not sure if I got confused with the fractions or if some recipes just aren’t meant to be halved. I mean, do you halve the cooking time, too? Suffice it to say I was 0-for-2 on baking this weekend. I guess lessons learned during my one semester in 8th grade home ec have been forgotten.

I feel much more at home on the patio. So last night, I grilled, trading in my wooden spoon for tongs and an oven mitt. Apparently, the King of Pop isn’t the only one who performs better with one glove.

“And the whole world has to answer right now just to tell you once again, who’s bad..”

Opening up the AT40 Vault

(The setting: A football game. During a break in the action, cheerleaders began throwing t-shirts into the stands. None of them are quite reaching our seats on the eighth row…)
Axl: “Aw man. This sucks! What they need is one of those slingshots to get the shirts up here.”
Bone: “Yeah. Or a cannon.”
Axl: “No, they don’t need a cannon, just one of those big slingshots. Two girls hold the ends and one pulls back in the middle-“
Bone (interrupting): “I’m aware of how a slingshot works.”
Random guy in front of us who has apparently been eavesdropping laughs heartily.

Driving home Friday night, I was scanning the radio when I came across a station playing “Everybody Wants To Rule The World.” Obviously, I stopped scanning. When the song was over, a familiar voice came on, a voice I hadn’t heard in many years. It was the voice of Casey Kasem.

It seems I’d found the American Top Forty Countdown. Yes! I thought. No more Ryan Seacrest. Casey’s back! But why is he playing Tears For Fears? I hadn’t really been listening closely, so I figured it was probably a countdown flashback, like the number one song twenty years ago this week or something. A commercial came on next, but I couldn’t turn away from that voice.

Casey Kasem was as much a part of my formative years as Bob Barker, General Hospital, and riding around in the car everytime there was a tornado warning. He’s the main reason I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, my inspiration to keep reaching for the stars.

In ninth grade, I would lie in bed every Sunday night listening to the countdown on my Sony Walkman. OK, so I didn’t really have a Sony Walkman. I had an off brand imitation Walkman, but do we really have to get into that here?

The countdown would go off around midnight and I would drift off to sleep shortly thereafter. The next day at school, I would ask my friends if they heard something Casey had said on the countdown, or if they heard what the number one song was that week. Time and again, their answer was no.

Anyway, back to Friday night. When the commercials were over, the countdown came back on at number twenty-three. Casey said, “Here’s Englishman Howard Jones with Things Can Only Get Better.”

Whoa-oh, oh oh oh, whoa-oh oh oh, I was blown away! In addition to Tears For Fears and Howard Jones, I heard Donna Summer, Depeche Mode, and DeBarge. And not even a real popular DeBarge song, but “Who’s Holding Donna Now!” I was in Frequency Modulation Heaven.

Casey came on saying it was the top forty countdown from July 13, 1985! What was going on? Had I hit 88 miles per hour and gone back in time while driving down the interstate? I looked around. Lots of SUV’s, no Chevettes. No, this was still 2007.

Finally, a promo came on the station. They were having a Casey Kasem marathon weekend! When one countdown went off, another would come on. When I was a little boy listening with my headphones–of which the foam pads had come off, so the hard plastic hurt my ears–everytime the countdown would go off, I would wish it wasn’t over. And now, those dreams were finally coming true, albeit twenty years later and only for one weekend.

I didn’t want to go home. I just wanted to ride around in my car and listen to Casey all night long. But then I calculated that at 60 miles per hour and 28 miles per gallon, assuming the average song was four minutes long, and with gas at $2.59 a gallon, each song was costing me about thirty-seven cents. So I said good night to Casey.

When I got home, I wiki’d a few things and discovered some radio stations are airing Casey’s countdowns from the 70’s and 80’s once a week! American Top Forty: Eighties can be heard on great radio stations around the land like Magic 97.9, WMGA, Huntington, West Virginia; Classic hits 94.3 The Fox, in Traverse City, Michigan; and 106.1, KQLL, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Now on with the countdown…

“People are people, so why should it be, that you and I should get along so awfully…”

An ode to Mike D

So am I the only one excited about this Scott Baio Is 45 & Single show?

*crickets chirp*

OK, well so maybe I am. But I think his life and mine share several parallels. We’re both single. Neither of us have landed a prominent acting role in the past fifteen years. And while we’re at it, whatever happened to Buddy Limbeck?

The first time I remember hearing the Beastie Boys, I was in eighth grade. And while “You Gotta Fight For Your Right” was about as rebellious as I was to get, it was their other songs that got me hooked on the Beastie’s catchy rhymes and def beats.

Lyrics like “we went to White Castle and we got thrown out” or “he recognized my girlie from the back of her head” seemed to speak directly to my 13-year-old soul.

I recall sitting in my eighth grade English class rapping back and forth to “Paul Revere” with Axl, as Tabitha Aldridge, a cute cheerleader in our class, listened intently. She was smiling and obviously amazed by the sheer magniture of our Beastie-ness. When I got to the wiffle ball bat line, I knew by the look on her face that girls loved rappers.

Thus began my phase of composing three-part color-coded rap lyrics for Axl, Hollywood, and myself. I used the classic four-color blue-barrelled Bic pen to compose my def jams. Most were written during Home Economics, in between knitting Jam shorts and baking peanut butter cookies. I was hardcore.

The words juice, jammy, and girlie dominated my vocabulary in 1987 and 1988. But as time passed, the Beasties changed, and so did I. Cargo shorts and flip-flops have replaced my Jams and British Knights. And I now prefer the single-colored Bic Cristal Classic ball point pen, or the charcoal-barrelled black felt tip pen with the yellow-ended cap.

The Beasties became involved with various causes and charities. They organized and performed at the New Yorkers Against Violence Concert in October 2001. Their music has continued to evolve as well, yet the one constant remains their fresh, clever rhymes. After all these years, the Beastie Boys have managed to remain chill.

So here’s to Mike D, MCA, King Ad-Rock, and doing whatever it takes to impress the girlies. Some things never go out of style.

Suddenly, I’ve got a hankering for some White Castle.

“Well, now, don’t you tell me to smile. You stick around I’ll make it worth your while. Got numbers beyond what you can dial. Maybe it’s because I’m so versatile…”