You Might Be an Observant Muslim if...

Most folks in these parts are fans of Jeff Foxworthy and his "You Might Be a Redneck if..." routines... and mugs... and calendars. My brother, the Amazing AndyMan, got me a "You Might Be a Reckneck If..." calendar last Christmas. There are some good ones, some okay ones, and some "365 days is a lot of days to come up with a different You Might Be a Redneck If joke" ones. I've gotten a bit behind in both my posts and in my calendar adjustments, so I was going through a couple of weeks of calendar readings this morning, when I caught the one for Friday, October 26th, pictured at left. I'd put it in the "okay" category. It's mildly amusing: You Might Be a Redneck If... Sitting on your sofa means waking a relative." But wait, what's that little observance notation above the date?


Go ahead and look below.

  

It says Eid al-Adha. I know President's Day, Christmas, Hannukah, and even Canada's "Boxing Day", but what the heck is Eid al-Adha? Apparently,  Eid al-Adha is a Muslim Holiday in remembrance of Abraham's obedience to God's demand to sacrifice his son, who is spared when God sends a substitute ram at the last minute (you can read about that in Genesis, if you want. It's in the Bible, so Jewish folks and Christians are stuck with it, but most of the priests that I've heard talk about this one sort of hem and haw. Islam, apparently, celebrates it. You gotta figure that family reunions at Abraham's place were, uh, strained. Abraham, "Isaac, could you please pass the yams? Isaac, "Sure, Dad, as long as I get to carve the turkey. You know how you get when you get hold of a knife!" Gales of laughter ensue.) Anyhow, I never thought of any of the Four Horses of The Blue Collar Comedy Tour as messenger of Muhammad. But then, maybe I'm a Redneck.

Teenagers, Redux.

Mostly my job is to represent grownups charged with crimes. Mostly. I do get the occasional juvenile case, though, and it gets me thinking about the good, the bad and the ugly of a teenager's lot in life ('course, I got my own teens, too, so it isn't just work that gets me thinking about teen behavior). I've posted about teenagers before. As a group, they'll drive you nuts. The experts have spilled plenty of ink on why teenagers do the stuff they do. From brain development to risk_taking. Bill Cosby talked about why parents never smile, and Alice Cooper summed it up pretty well way back in 1971 about being a teenager: "I've got a baby's brain, and an old man's heart". Here's your point/counter-point. Alice or 'Cos. Pick 'em.

Shoes.

New shoes. Old video (still pretty funny, though you have to endure a comercial).

Two Sheds are Better than One.

I mentioned in yesterday's poor orphan shirt post that I've been working on a junior shed to go with Diane's big shed. When Lowe's delivered the box, I was perplexed: the box was hardly bigger than I am. How you gonna get a shed outta this? For being mechanically disinclined, I sure do get myself into a lot of "Mr. Fix-it" jams.

Maybe my buddy, Dana, can figure it out. Reading the directions? Is that even allowed?

Really, it's all about the toolbelt and hat (and Lady Di's hamburgers, of course).

After the first foray, which included a trip to the building supply store, and several trips to Ace Hardware, we got the foundation figured out.

On day two, we started to get some walls up.

Friend Gale, ever competent and always in motion, stopped in to the shed raising.

Dana teased my poor little cordless screwdriver. Yeah, well, "I'm rubber, you're glue..."

At the end of day two, we had the walls up, but I'd lost Dana and Gale for the duration. They were a huge help, but I'd have to soldier on by my lonesome.

Daylight Savings Time is tough in the morning, but I did have enough daylight after work on Monday to finish the roof. I'd leave the doors for another day.

I finally finished yesterday.

I wonder why they gave me all these extra parts?

All cleaned up and ready to load. Just call me David "Two Sheds" Mathews.

Onan? Oh, Man!

There is more funny stuff out there than most people realize. This generator is behind a fence that I pass every day as I walk to work. Why do I chuckle when I see it? My dad always told me a joke isn't funny if you have to explain it, but dagnammit, I can't help it. o\Onanism is a woefully under-used term (go ahead and click on it. I'll wait). "Onanism" came, as it were, from a dude in the Bible named Onan, who was supposed to sire children by his dead brother's widow for the benefit of said dead brother. He got the goody, but didn't do his duty:

"And Onan knew that the seed should not be his; and it came to pass, when he went in unto his brother's wife, that he spilled it on the ground, lest that he should give seed to his brother". Genesis 38:9 (King James Version)

God ultimately gets pissed at Onan, and kills him; ever after, Onan's name is synonymous with baby-less sex. To generate is to beget or procreate. So what's this dude's name doing on a generator? Seems kind of, ahem, counter-productive, if you catch my drift.

Anyway, against my better judgment, I'm including Monty Python's take on the matter:

Conan, the Librarian.

When I saw this "Pearls before Swine" yesterday, I chuckled. The juxtaposition of the generally held perception of librarians as orderly, quiet and meek with physical violence is funny stuff. My mom was a librarian, before she became a nun. Talk about Life in the Fastlane! Conan, the Barbarian, was a comic book hero of mine before Ah-nold portrayed him in the Hollywood version. Barbarians mean dis-order, boldness and a general disregard for civilization: the opposite of librarians. Anyway, for years, the verbal juxtaposition of those contrary concepts has been swimming around in my head as "Conan, the Librarian". Evidently, I'm not the first to have this thought:

What the Kids are Watching Smackdown

WARNING: Some of the videos below are inappropriate for children and some adults. If any portion of Animal House bothered you, you might ought to skip this post.

In the last Smackdown, looks like y'all were Crazy about Aerosmith, which narrowly rode past Ozzie's Crazy Train. Oldest son, Davis, occasionally cues me in to what the kids at Sewanee are watching. He hooked me up with four videos that range from pretty funny in a conventional way, such as the Will Farrell skit, The Old Prospector; to a couple that are funny, but pretty raunchy; to one that is just bizarre. Anyway, The Old Prospector is pretty safe, but I can't embed it. If you want to watch it, you'll have to click the link above. What the kids dig the most is that the other actors can't keep a straight face while Will waxes crusty.

The second video is also by some SNL affiliated folks. The Lonely Island did their own thing before the boys joined SNL. This video is not for the easily offended (think "dick in a box"). It's pretty funny, though, and I love the cameo by Justin Timberlake as the "clean-up on aisle three" guy.


What do you get when you mix an innocent kids' show with gangsta rap? A natural! Lazy Town, Davis tells me, is a Nick, Jr. offering in the style of "Barney"; Lil John's nasty lyrics and raunchy style seem an oddly perfect pairing. Cooking by the Book became an immediate favorite (and one of the songs that Davis' friends played for him when he completed his comprehensive exams a few weeks ago). Nasty, but hilarious:



The last one, Shoehorn, is just... weird.



I'll post the poll tomorrow.

Camp and Jerry Clower.

Jerry Clower was a good old Southern storyteller. He was generally called a comedian, but that's not really accurate; he told stories in his Yazoo City, Mississippi way, and they sounded funny, but mostly they wouldn't be funny if anybody else had told them. I hadn't thought about Jerry Clower in quite awhile. His "heyday" was in the 1970's, and my buddy Russ played some tapes of him for me. What's the camp connection, you say?

In the Summer between my Sophomore and Junior years in college, I was a camp counsellor at Alpine Camp for Boys in Mentone, Alabama. I'd worked the previous Summer in an environment of faithful, caring Christians, and I'd actually prayed that I might be given another opportunity to work around loving people. Within a week of that prayer, a fellow football player, Woody Ledbetter (actual name. Woody also tried to teach me to play guitar and apparently still holds the long jump record at Sewanee. Hey, how 'bout that, my old fraternity brother, Herb Sparks, still holds the record for the hammer throw!), told me that about Alpine Camp for Boys, and that, for the first time in years, they had a shortage of counsellors, and would I like to work there? Sure seemed like an answer to my prayer. I still believe it was. Anyway, I digress. While at ACB, one of my campers was from Yazoo City, MS. I noted that Jerry Clower was also from Yazoo City. "I know. My dad is his friend and we see him all the time". "Sure you do", I said. Anyway, a few weeks after the end of camp, I got the autographed picture posted above. Jerry evidently liked his chainsaw story enough to put a chainsaw in his picture, so I guess that's the one I'll post:

Spam!

I needed lunchmeat. I had a coupon. I got some Spam. Wonder what that'd be in Latin? Anyway, I've been on sort of a Spam jag for the last week or so since got 75 cents off on three tins of it. This spiced porcine product has been the subject of much mockery over the years- thanks in large part, I'd bet, to a comedy sketch by a certain English troupe in the 1970's. It's good, though. Brown two slices for a few minutes on each side and plop between a couple of slices of bread, and you've got lunch.

Monty Python's done pretty well with Spam, too. Spam is still with us, and, with their play "Spamalot", so are Monty Python. Anyway, here's the vintage spam skit:

Sew, A Needle Pulling Thread.

First of all, let me explain that I'll be watching- vigorously watching- college football later today. Aight? Okay, if we're clear on that, I'll cop to sewing last night. I'm really not sure which is worse: that I was sewing; or that I was sewing on a Friday night. Anyway, I lost a button on a shirt that wasn't yet in tatters. This isn't a very expensive shirt, but it had extra buttons on the bottom of the shirt-tail, so I assumed you're not just supposed to throw it away if you lose a button. I hate clothes shopping anyway, so I figure I'll take five minutes and sew on one of those extra buttons they give you. Wait. I don't have a sewing kit (at least there's that). Sew... er, "so" I scooted up to Walgreen's and picked up the cheapest kit they had- three dollars and fiddy cent.
To work I go. Ah, here it is. Hmmm. So-so sewing at best. Gas, time and money for the kit. And Belk's is having a sale. Now I am depressed. Maybe the Kids in the Hall can make it all better:

Comedy that Brings Tears to Your Eyes.

Comedy involving football with a philosophical bent is generally a winner in my book. You gotta love the Onion.


Pre-Game Coin Toss Makes Jacksonville Jaguars Realize Randomness Of Life

Earache My Eye.

Today is the first day of school for the Lads. Getting them out of bed is always a struggle. This is not a unique problem, of course. Just part of the on-going battle between kids and parents. I remember, vaguely, being on the other side- the kid side- of this struggle. I also remember Cheech and Chong. "Earache My Eye", along with "Basketball Jones" (and check out the guest stars on THAT song. George Harrison, Carole King, Billy Preston? On a Cheech and Chong track?) and a few other of their bits, included some pretty good music to go with their comedy (in this one, the music is first, the skit about three minutes into it). In seeking out some incarnation of Earache, I noticed that KoRn, Metallica, and Soundgarten have all done versions of it.

There's No Recovery From That.

Brian Regan is a very funny fellow. Four or so years ago, my oldest, Davis, loaned me a c.d. of some of his material.
I enjoyed the whole thing, but the beginning riff on trying not to look stupid in normal conversation had some stuff about which Homer Simpson would say, "It's funny because it's true". Here. Here's the first part of it (set to the visual background of Kingdom Hearts videogame):



One of the lines in there was, "Did you ever get somebody's gender wrong? There's no recovery from that". Well, I've done it twice. Once at a outdoor shop in San Francisco (in my defense, the lady filled out her plaid shirt exactly the same as the male attendants in there, and her voice was deeper. For what it's worth, she seemed like she'd expected it. I actually said, when she'd rebuffed me with, "It's ma'am": "Well, I guess there's no recovery from that"). The other was last night at Applebee's in Beaufort. This time, it was a baby. I've sired four babies, and I'd've probably taken offense if folks got their genders wrong, but let's be honest about this: babies look pretty much the same. Oh, sure, some are cuter than others, but, as a rule, diapers are covering up pretty much the only indication of their gender. Isn't that why parents dress them up in pink or blue? 'Course, I probably SHOULD have read the "Where's my tiara?" plainly plastered on the front of Pat's pink shirt before telling pop, "Yeah, he's gonna be a stud". Hoo, boy. Well, take luck.

Whose Your Daddy?

Been following a lively discussion on Kate's Blog, Out in Left Field, about birth control and parental rights. Obviously, this is a very important topic. Jodi, a friend from work, sent me the video below, advertising a new DNA test. If I can just help one poor soul out there...