THE AVN ADULT FILM AWARDS

Another Bonehead Backstory.

There’s really no rhyme or reason to the order of the Bonehead Back-story theme. There is no timeline, because time doesn’t actually exist…and life is simply a series of events that are conveniently placed in the order of what we perceive as time.

While you chew on that pearl of shit, I should tell you of the night my lovely wife and I walked the red carpet in Las Vegas at the Adult Film Awards.

Oh, trust me – if you knew us like our little circle of trust does – you’d really think nothing of it, we just found it an amusing thing to do at the time – plus we had some time to kill before we went off to see Carrot-top.

It was January 2008 – we were in Las Vegas for a few days of debauchery and it was a Saturday night. The NFL Playoffs were in full swing and it was the night before the Giants took out the Cowboys. Of course we didn’t know the outcome of the game then – although it would have been great if we did, being in Las Vegas and all, but I digress. Plus any chance I get to poke fun at the Cowboys  I’m going to take it.

Ok – back to the porn awards. We have tickets to the 10pm show at The Luxor to see the multi-talented Carrot Top . We figure, it’s Saturday Night, we’re in Vegas, so we were dressed, in our “we think we look cool” clothes – and we’re out at a bar, skipping dinner, watching the games, little wagers here and there, it’s like 8:00pm, plenty of time. So we walk next door to Mandalay Bay and there seems to be something going on – you might even call it a ruckus. Of course we have to check it out.

There’s a long red carpet and miles of velvet rope. Being a couple of New York’s finest assholes, we work our way right up to the front to see what the commotion is all about. It’s the annual AVN Adult Film Awards – the biggest night in the adult film industry. And there’s the Giddy’s, right at the entrance with all kinds of paparazzi, wannabe’s and gawkers. The group of photographers we were in with were really cool – with all sorts of sarcastic observations on the spectacle this was attracting. We were too busy laughing with them however to remember to shoot enough of our own photos, but we did grab enough for posterity.

I’ve never been in one place with so much saline , mascara and petroleum jelly, I was growing concerned that all the chemical accoutrements would combine with the high levels of alcohol in my system and cause spontaneous combustion.

We hung around long enough to see some recognizable porn stars – Jenna Jameson, Ron Jeremy, that blond guy , and we start heading back to catch our 10pm Carrot Top extravaganza.

Working our way through the crowd, we notice how substantially it has grown since we’d arrived. This event was a big deal – there had to be over two thousand people crammed into that lobby. Also having grown is the red carpet – it seems to have gotten even longer, and stars from the porn industry are still making their way along, smiling, waving and secretly hoping their augmented appendages don’t spring a sudden leak.

Chrissy: “Wouldn’t it be fun to jump on and walk the carpet?”

Me: “Ahh – we’d get caught…”

Chrissy: “Yea…you’re probably right…”

Me: (Spotting a slight break in the crowd as we approach the end of the carpet) “NOW!”

And with one swift move, we were on the carpet – arm in arm – walking along doing the royal family wave. We must have looked like we at least belonged, perhaps we were nominated for catering or something. As we walked along, we looked into the photographers lenses lined along each side of the carpet. They were shooting us as if we were supposed to be there. Score!!

We caught a few comments along the way, along the lines of

“Who the fuck were they?”

“What was she wearing?”

“He’s just one tall drink of water!”

OK – look, it’s my blog and I can embellish whenever I feel like it. Nobody actually asked who we were.

Walking along, waving and having a grand old time we noticed we were approaching the entrance – where the heavy security, and the paparazzi we were just hanging with were, we start our eyes darting left and right for a way to make a graceful, if not unnoticeable exit from the carpet. A break presented itself and we were out.

Swiftly, yet calmly we snaked our way through the crowd once again laughing like a couple of nitrous snorting fools. We get past the end of the carpet and knowing that no one any longer cares, we stop and bask in our moment of pure stupidity. Forgetting it’s nearly 1am back east – we open our cells and start calling our friends to share this latest bout of drunken decision  making. They really didn’t seem to give a shit, most of them were sleeping. Eventually we realized they’d all probably prefer we call tomorrow, or better yet – leave them alone.

Here’s the topper – we get to the ticket window at the Carrot Top show – and they hand us a pair of tickets – front and center row. Perhaps you’ve read in some of my other posts, at comedy shows, we’re always given tickets or table’s right up front. We’ve got to look like people that are used to being the butt of jokes.

Well, that or porn stars.



MORE BONEHEAD BACK STORIES TO WASTE YOUR TIME!

THE DODGE CORONET PART TWO

THE DODGE CORONET PART ONE

HOW GI JOE MADE MY SISTER A MORTICIAN

NO SHIT SATURDAY

C’mon – the last time this could have actually happened at a book tour probably would have involved Jesus.

Fiction.

Was it doctored?  Well, looks more like some footage from the Presidential campaign wouldn't you say?

No Shit.

Oh, and it’s Saturday.

MOVIN' ON UP

We have a winner!

Last Friday we posted an article about questions and asked our fine readers if they had opportunity to ask one public figure one question – who would it be and what would they ask?

Our second Boner has been awarded to Lauren at Think Spin for her creative concern as to why former congressman William Jefferson why he hid the $9,000 in his freezer, instead of under a mattress or in a shoe box in the back of his closet. Seeing as how that would be the first place she would have checked looking for ice cream, waffles, or a frozen pizza.

Besides, we’re big fans of George and Weezy here in Giddy-land.

So congratulations on your Boner Lauren! Look for a Think Spin badge here on Bonehead’s highly utilized sidebar soon!

And till the next Boner opportunity presents itself – keep thinking everyone!

QUESTION

BONEHEAD ACCEPTS!

There are so many things Bonehead does not have.

Psoriasis

A personal assistant

A job

But now there is something that I can forever cross off my bucket list. Bonehead has earned an award, and is most thankful.

A big thank you to Lauren at Think Spin – a wonderful blog (please visit her now). Lauren selected me as one of her list of 9 heartfelt blogs – and presented me this prestigious award proudly displayed above!

I’m sure y’all will also give her thanks for saving you the bombardment of yet another post with the stupid bonehead pasted over some other unsuspecting persons face.

The Heartfelt award is representative of a blog that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Not always descriptive of Bonehead I guess, I’ve heard that I can cause others to feel…

Cold and Scratchy

Frosty and Queasy

Flu-like and Frightened

So I felt most honored to be recognized as something a little more tolerable for a change.

The award does have some obligations – and so let me explain …

The rules of the Heartfelt Blog Award are:

1. Display the logo. That’s easy.

2. Nominate up to 9 blogs that make you feel comfy or warm inside. I can do that too.

3. Link to your nominees. See those below!

4. Let them know they have been nominated by commenting. Surprisingly, bloggers like comments – even if they’re from Bonehead!

5. Link to the person from whom you received the award. Did I mention Think Spin?

Ok – without further adieu…here are the blogs I enjoy visiting for the feeling that warms me to the Bones!

I’ve of course already mentioned Think Spin – but would no doubt list it here.

Then there’s also our friend Glenn from Man Over Board

I’m sort of partial to the lovely lady who does Spot On Long Island

I think the Screaming Me Me is very funny!

As is Nanny Goats In Panties

Just found out the author of After Cancer Now What went to school with my sister, another cancer survivor.

He doesn’t post very often – but when he does it’s incredibly insightful –
Nothing Profound – The blog is Out of Context: Pieces of a Life

Ann's Snap Edit & Scrap always does a great job of combining a personal touch to her informative blog posts.

Terrific writing from someone who thinks better at night – just like Bonehead is always found at The Incurable Insomniac!

Nominate your favorites today!

THE DODGE CORONET STATION WAGON – Part Two

I hate directions – never read them. But I’m hoping you’ll read this – if you haven’t read Part One yet – please click here, then come back for more!

ANOTHER BONEHEAD BACKSTORY!
It was a Sunday morning, after a fairly good overnight snowfall. The usual crew spent the night in Bernie’s basement as we often did, because that’s where the beer was. We get up to see the snow and decide to take the Coronet up to the mall to practice skidding and sliding. It’s only a mile away and it’s early on Sunday – so there’s no cars in the unplowed parking lot and very few on the road.

We hit the virgin snow with a vengeance – taking turns giving it gas then slamming on the brakes, resulting in some sweet spin-outs. A bunch of junior Steve McQueen’s  we were! Problem was, all that spinning moved around most of the powdery snow, leaving slippery ice patches on the asphalt. Oops. Bernie, in a glorious move hit one hard, sending us spinning endlessly around until one of the tires hit something and the car flipped over onto its side. Now what?

Nobody was hurt, and we all climb out. Now we’re four boneheads standing around the car that’s sitting on its side wondering what our next move is. To this day I wish I could have been in one of the passing cars looking at us and mocking our utter stupidity. You have to realize too – this was long before cell phones, so we were only concerned if a police car passed, we figured we had enough time in case anyone saw us, then went home to call the cops.

Ok, so our plan was to push the car upright, get back in and get the hell out of there. Not as easy as we thought it would be. You see, there was ice and snow…right. It was fucking slippery. We couldn’t get a lot of leverage, so we simply left. Actually, we ran back to Bernie’s house to get his brother to help us out.

His brother had a tank – a late 60’s Buick LeSabre – which weighed about twelve tons, plus he was completely insane and probably would get a kick out of this. We got him out the door, got some chains and ropes from the garage, jumped in the Buick and went back to the mall. Surprisingly the car was still there on its side – untouched, no snow plow had visited the lot as yet, so we thought we could pull this off.

We managed to run some of the lines around the undercarriage of the car and attached them to the trailer hook and trunk latch of the Buick. We think one quick pull will right the wrong – but we were mistaken. All it does is drag the car a few feet, scraping huge swaths of paint along with it. We try putting some of the lines higher on the car, but this time when the he hits the accelerator, the Buick konks out. It’s right about at this time we’re thinking we’re truly defeated, when a Police car shows up with a tow truck. Now we know we’re defeated.

The Police received a call of an abandoned car on it’s side, so we knew nobody reported us screwing around and causing the accident, but the evidence was pretty overwhelming – what with a parking lot full of figure eights and skid marks in the snow. The experienced tow truck operator was able to right the Coronet quickly, and the damage was pretty extensive. They had to call a second truck to come and get the Buick, turns out the engine seized, not totally because of our efforts to pull over the Dodge, but also because Bernie’s lame-brained brother never put oil in the car. So the family was down two cars on one snowy Sunday morning.

As I recall, Bernie had to take a lot of extra shifts at the Taco Bell  we worked at. I think I recall having to drive him to work an awful lot those days too.



Did you ignore the directions and not read part one?  Here's another opportunity:

THE DODGE CORONET STATION WAGON PART ONE

BONEHEAD BACKSTORY

Young Junior Miss Giddy once told me that she wished she had more stories. Asking her what she meant – she said that she wanted to have some boneheaded tales to tell everyone. Over and over again.

Sure, there was a little sarcasm there. I do tend to repeat things, particularly those little events from life that have developed into what those around me who put up with them now refer to as; “my stories”

So tonight we embark on a new chapter here on Bonehead – what we’ll categorize as Bonehead Back Stories, because it’s sounds a little more hip than “Old guy repeating the same shit again.”

Tonight – let’s start out with …

The Dodge Coronet Station Wagon – Part One

Nope this wasn’t one of my early vehicles. It didn’t even belong to one of my friends. It actually was owned by Mrs. M – my pal Bernie’s mother. I’m not trying to hide anyone’s identity here – it’s just that their surname was a very long and difficult to pronounce phonetically German name which was terribly misspelled in my high school yearbook – so I wouldn’t do it any justice to try and pretend I knew how to spell it now.

Anyway – it was a 1968 or 69 – puke gold Dodge wagon. A lumbering hunk of Detroit metal , belching oil and leaving loose parts in its wake. It was the vehicle Bernie learned to drive in, and wound up borrowing way too often after the State of New York had a brain-fart and anointed him as a licensed driver. One of my fondest memories is hanging with our crew at Bernie’s house, when he decided he should practice some parallel parking for his road test the following week. He persuaded his mother to give him the keys with the promise that he’s just do some parking drills in front of the house and maybe a couple of three-point turns.

This is what he did. For the first three minutes as his mom looked on from the front door. Trouble is, it was winter and kind of chilly. So, sensing that her son was going to be a responsible child and remain slowly parking and turning in the area of the house, she shut the door and continued with whatever it was she had to do inside.

Bad move. With the door closed and the sudden freedom of being removed from under mom’s watchful eye, Bernie did a quick three point turn (nailed it too) and sped off down the block. There were four of us in the car, Bernie, me, Larry and Bullet Bob. When he got to the corner, three other idiots jumped in. Then Bernie turned around again and headed back up the block, slowing down to pass his own house, then speeding up again to get to the other corner. This is pretty much where it all went to shit.

It’s a big wagon, but there were now seven of us in the car, so it was getting tight. Bernie spotted Tom Jones (not the singer, a rotund stoner  vintage 1979) and his brother Tim. Seeing as how it was a little cramped inside, they thought well, why not jump up on the roof – they could hang onto the roof rack. Guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Bernie hits the gas and we fly down the road – the assholes on the roof hung on and had a grand ole time. Believe it or not – now back once more at the far end of the block we meet up with some other clown from our crew – little Ricky Fiedler, who’s had a death wish since he was a toddler.

Ricky thinks it would be swell to ride up the block on the hood of the old Dodge, seeing as how the Jones brothers made out ok up on the roof. He jumps on, leans his back on the windshield and we take off. In all the excitement however, Bernie forgot to slow down approaching his house. As we speed by with six asshole teenagers inside the car hanging out the windows, three even bigger assholes literally hanging onto the speeding vehicle and the biggest ass of them all behind the wheel we notice the front door to his house opening.

It’s said that when you’re in a train wreck, everything slows down the moment you realize disaster is imminent. That’s how we all felt at that particular moment.

Bernie’s mother had just stepped outside for a smoke and to see what we were up to. She got a full on view of her station wagon laden with idiots in black concert t-shirts tearing up the residential block at probably twice the speed limit. We’re all shouting and laughing, but we all fell silent at precisely the same moment that our eyes met hers. Unfortunately, that was right as we were passing by – no where to hide this time.

I can’t say I can recall the look on her face. Like each of us (well, not Ricky) we were in a state mixed with shock and fear. I can recall the look on Bernie’s face however, and it is the look I always conjure whenever I hear the phrase “Oh Shit!” Of course, he slowed the car to a stop and most everyone took off. Not me, what was I going to do – she was my ride home. So he drove the car back into the driveway, and sheepishly stepped out. He tried to create some sort of diversion by explaining that the extra teenagers had fallen from above, but she simply laced into him in German , which made it all that much more frightening.

He couldn’t have anyone over his house for a few weeks, and his driving privileges were relocated to practice with his mother in the car. He did pass his road test, and was actually allowed to use the car thereafter on a fairly regular basis.

The car and Bernie’s ability to use it or any other family vehicle met a nasty end later that winter. More on that next time!



Read the first actual Bonehead Backstory....
HOW GI JOE TURNED MY SISTER INTO A MORTICIAN

FRUSTRATED

This is certainly not what I planned on posting. It's boring and sad.

I wrote something up I would have liked to put up this evening - but first I couldn't access my blog for almost two hours.

Tried to on 3 different computers - and different browsers (IE, Chrome and Firefox) all resulting in broken links.

Then when I finally was able to load the damn site, it screwed up the formatting and it wouldn't allow any pictures to upload into my post. What's the point of spending the time putting the fucking Bonehead on places it doesn't belong if I can't share it with everyone? Someone has screwed around with my Blogger resulting in errors that are apparently beyond my control.

This isn't supposed to be work, and I hate to wait.

Guess I might as well try to find a damn job.

NSS – NO SHIT SATURDAY

Nothing at all new here – Just a simple repost of an article I stumbled across earlier. All I’d like to know is how they got the funding for this study. I mean really? Pot might ease stress?

No shit.

Oh, and it’s Saturday.

Pot Might Ease PTSD: Study Synthetic marijuana reduced post-traumatic stress disorder in rats -- Robert Preidt

FRIDAY, Nov. 13 (HealthDay News) -- Marijuana may help people with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), according to a new study.

PTSD affects 10 to 30 percent of people who experience a traumatic event, such as a car accident or terror attack. These people continue to suffer stress symptoms or months and even years after the incident.

Israeli researchers conducted a series of experiments in which rats were subjected to stressful experiences, such as receiving electric shocks. The study found that the rats' stress levels could be reduced by giving them a synthetic form of marijuana that has properties similar to that of the natural plant.

Further investigation revealed that the synthetic marijuana prevents increased release of a stress hormone the body releases in response to traumatic situations.

"The results of our research should encourage psychiatric investigation into the use of cannabinoids in post-traumatic stress patients," wrote study author Dr. Irit Akirav of the department of psychology at the University of Haifa.

The study was published in a recent issue of the Journal of Neuroscience.
SOURCE: University of Haifa, news release, Nov. 4, 2009

QUESTION

Time for a new Boner Contest. Our occasional random open opportunity for you to win a prestigious Boner Award. Imagine how proud you’ll be showing your friends, family and co-workers your Boner. Good times.

Don’t forget – in addition to the glorious trophy – your site will also be featured with a fancy 125 x 125 badge in our highly visited sidebar – it’s almost as good as being in the studio for an Oprah taping on New Car for Everyone Day!

Ok, down to business. Past couple of days, in between trying to complete actual constructive work on things that earn money and jotting down some notes on pandemic hamsters, I’ve ventured into that nasty territory I jokingly refer to as “Can’t think of shit to write about” (CTOSTWA for short).

My lovely wife has been getting herself loads of interviews for her online magazine SpotOn LI. This morning she spoke with Joan Osbourne. You may know her from her smash hit “One of Us” in which she wonders “What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us…”

Not Joan…



Got me to thinking – there must be something interesting here that I can turn into a fun-filled blog post with stupid pictures of Bonehead on other people’s bodies.


How about a blog about God? Nah – religious discussions rarely invoke much in the way of opinions and comments, people don’t care what your religious views may or may not be.

Hmmm…so, then it hit me – like a shoe upside the head. Questions, people love to ask questions, and often, they love to be asked questions. I find I’m always giving answers, even though I’m usually unsure of the question. Before each interview we try to come up with a few thoughtful queries to pose to the guests. Touching both on topics we know they wish to discuss, and also to try and discover some small fact that perhaps they haven’t shared with anyone in the past.

So here’s the contest – if you could ask any public figure only one question – who would it be and what would you ask? Remember – it must be a public figure, not your long lost 8th grade crush, chances are we wouldn’t know that person, thereby negating us the ability to appreciate your creative flair for the question.

It’s all about creativity here – so give it some thought. A Boner could await you!

As an added bonus (ok, a tragic waste of your time actually) I thought it might be amusing to share a little Bone insight with you. I’m still at a loss of anything creative to write – so I’m actually just filling some space with a little chestnut from long ago. Below are my asinine responses to one of those personality profile notes everyone passes around on social media sites – I think this one was from a cold Friday night last February.

DESCRIBE YOURSELF USING ONLY ONE WORD! It's not as easy as you might think! Copy and change the answers to suit you and pass it on. It's really hard to only use one word answers. Be sure to tag the person you received it from!

1. Where is your cell phone? Crisper

2. Your significant other? Sweety

3. Your hair? Multi-color

4. Your mother? deceased

5. Your father? Ronkonkoma

6. Your favorite food? Cheeseburger

7. Your dream last night? Cloudy

8. Your favorite drink? Beer

9. Your dream/goal? Contentment

10. What room you are in? Media

11. Your hobby? Phlebotomy

12. Your fear? Fear

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Pittsburgh

14. Where were you last night? Floor

15. Something that you aren't? Mexican

16. Muffins? Doughnuts

17. Wish list item? Philanthropy

18. Where you grew up? Ronkonkoma

19. Last thing you did? Sneezed

20. What are you wearing? Toga

21. Your TV? HD

22. Your pets? Flatulent

23. Friends? Worried

24. Your life? Odd

25. Your mood? Disturbed

26. Missing someone? Sure

27. Car? Clown

28. Something you're not wearing? Jockstrap

29. Your favorite store? Dick’s

30. Your favorite color? Cerulean

33. When is the last time you laughed? Recently

34. Last thing you ate? Shoe

35. Who will resend this? You

36. One place that I go to over and over? Bathroom

37. One person who emails me regularly? Viagra

38. My favorite place to eat? Table

39. One place I would like to vacation? Mars

40. Favorite junk food? Fiberglass

Enter the contest! The question again: If you could ask any public figure only one question – who would it be and what would you ask?

Most creative answer wins – winner will be selected and announced next Friday November 20th – probably in the evening. Not a morning person.



The First Boner Contest

First Boner Winner

PANDEMIC HAMSTERS

Injustice? Or our own damn fault?

Have you been reading about the theories surrounding the swine flu pandemic in the Ukraine? There are many who believe that what’s going on there is not actually the H1N1 / Swine Flu, its bio-terrorism resulting in a violent strain of the pneumonic plaque, and it’s only a small sampling of the injustice that’s yet to come. You know the old story, governments release a horrible disease on the world, people are sick, dying, martial law takes effect – all in an effort to distract us from the fact that it’s being done to weed out enough of the population to ease the economic burden all of these people are inflicting upon the world, while shifting the currency standard away from the greatly devalued US dollar to the Amero, or perhaps the Renminbi.

Nothing like a worldwide outbreak of a deadly disease to take peoples eyes off the ball. Yup, a case of exploding lungs can go a long way to cause folks to let their guard down to what’s being done around them. A diversion tactic of the highest order.

Here in America however, we’ve proven it really doesn’t take as much as an incurable worldwide plaque to distract us. For example – of great concern right now is the fact that parents are having a difficult time finding Zhu Zhu Pets to put under the tree or bush this coming Holiday season.

Zhu Zhu Pets are effectively battery operated hamsters that are about as close as one can get to an actual hamster experience without having to own a living, breathing hamster. They come in an assortment of whimsical colors and sport cute names like Mr. Squiggles and Chunky White. I shit you not.

People are going insane looking for these fucking fake hamsters – already spending more than four times their original retail cost if they’re able to find them, $40, $50, $60.00 each. For sixty bucks you can sashay down to the local pet store, buy a whole family of live genuine hamsters, enough food for a year, a habitrail wonderland and maybe even a few gerbils and a turtle. But, the Zhu Zhu shortage is a great concern today for a vast majority of our materialistic populace. The systematic elimination of a greater majority of the world’s citizens be damned. Yup – we really apparently need an electronic hamster.

Every year there seems to always be one very hot toy for the holidays. Remember Cabbage Patch Kids, Tickle-Me Elmo, Gonorrhea Gabby? This year it’s a robot hamster. Go figure.

At least this year there’s a logical explanation to the shortage. It’s the economy. Retailers are slow as shit, and they didn’t want to get stuck on December 26th with a warehouse full of unsold hamsters, so they limited their advance orders. All of sudden, we, as a strong, advanced nation decide that we’re tired of Elmo and real living hamsters, we’d like some cheaply made synthetic furred fake ones with AAA batteries (not included) shoved in their ass. Who knew? Hence the shortage.



Sort of makes you miss the days when if they were out of Hula-Hoops, you’d be happy with a Rock-Em-Sock-Em Robots toy. If the stores were out of the Robots, a Mr. or Mrs. Potato Head served you well. If there were no more Potato Heads, at least you didn’t have the internet to tell you that there’s bio-terroristic activities being perpetrated in order to reposition our economic society for the sole benefit of the World Bank.


Maybe that’s a little too strong of an analogy, but you get my point. We’re just too easily distracted. Do we really need a pneumonic epidemic to turn our attention inward? Or would a small army of battery-operated hamsters suffice? My guess, is that’s somewhere in the middle.

Either way – save Renminbi, get a real hamster this holiday season. If it all falls to hell, they go great with Saltines.

FRANK

My recent posts have mentioned my displeasure with Halloween and lament about being so busy even though we’re unemployed. Bitch, bitch, bitch.

Got me to thinking that today would have been a wonderful day to make a “Frank” day.

It didn’t happen, but it was a nice thought. Wound up getting wrapped up in yelling at the TV during the Giants game and yelling at my laptop working on a website. Perhaps we’ll shoot for next Sunday, it’s ok.

So it seems then like today is a good day for me to spell out my theory as to why the Pythagorean Theorem holds the secret to resolve our current economic malaise. Here goes…wait, what’s that?

What’s a “Frank” day you ask? Hmmmm, well, let me explain.

Frank isn’t a person – Frank is a shirt.

Frank is the brand name on the tag inside the shirt.


Frank is also a pretty ugly shirt. More colors than Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, short sleeve, and pretty ratty now too since it’s probably more than a dozen years old. So old in fact I don’t recall exactly where Frank came from nor how it came into my possession, but I do know that every time I wear it someone invariably comments on its sheer ugliness.

Frank however, is more than a haberdasher’s nightmare. Frank is a state of mind.

You see, typically, whenever I so choose to don the shirt, everyone (ok – my wife, maybe the dog) knows that it’s a Frank day – so warn the neighbors.

When you’re away on vacation at one of those island resorts, the one’s who attract folks who like to drink booze with a straw and stew in highly chlorinated hot tubs with bacteria-infested strangers, it’s not all that unusual to find a bunch of bodily-challenged middle aged men meandering about wearing the most hideous shirts. These men are sending a signal out to anyone within view that they’re off, from whatever it is they do, and the world and it’s problems should just leave them the fuck alone. That’s sort of what a Frank Day is. Being off.

Oh sure, I can hear you all now – shouting, loudly “Hey Bone, you’re an unemployed bum – you’re always off!”

Turns out I’m not. There’s always something a afoot here – I guess in these times that’s good, but looking back at some photos from this past Labor Day – seems it’s been too long since Frank took charge and let us free our minds for a select few hours.

Typically, we try and create a vacation-like environment right here in our backyard. We move the trip indoors when it’s chilly; Frank is after all a short sleeve shirt. This involves, pretty much hanging out by the pool, or the bar when it’s chilly and drinking generous amounts of rum-based concoctions churned out from the blender. The TV is off, the phone is turned off, even the computers are turned off with the possible exception of searching for old Neil Young videos. We’re all about escaping.

There’s usually something barbequed, or sandwiches. Lots of salty snacks. We never order delivery however, as there’s not a chance in hell we’d hear the doorbell. The pizza delivery guys in our neighborhood get very angry when you don’t answer the door within thirty minutes.

Oh, couldn’t hear the doorbell because we play the stereo loud - which probably annoys the neighbors. Obnoxious, but we try to keep the play list odd enough to scare away anyone who might wish to voice a complaint. We venture from Myles Davis to Marilyn Manson, Spinners to Coldplay, Grunge to Ambient Trance, Elvis to Iggy Pop. Usually all within the first few minutes. It’s weird, I know.

Taking a Frank Day break requires no specific rules beyond wearing the shirt, as it’s all about clearing your head. If you should ever choose to engage in your own Frank Day, I would say it’s best to be spent with someone who happily understands the true meaning and benefits. I’m lucky in that although she really hates the shirt, my wife is always up for a properly executed Frank Day when I pull it on. It’s nice to hang out and talk about anything that doesn’t involve any real effort with someone you love.

Thinking back to the last Frank Day, I recall the conversation including a wide array of topics from northeastern fruit bats to things that we like to eat with a spoon. Invariably, as she always seems to do, she swayed the chit chat down the road of vacation destination possibilities. Seems her birthday is coming up within the next several months, so she suggests that a vacation to Jamaica might be in order. I recall suggesting that we’re out of work and food stamps might be more in order.

Sitting here thinking how a Frank Day might have been a nice way to spend today, instead of watching the Giants blow another game and shouting at my computer, I came up with a great idea! She doesn’t have an equivalent shirt or accessory that necessarily represents the same ideal as Frank. Since we have the ability to transform our own humble abode into a veritable vacation destination – an ugly shirt might be the gift that shows meaning is truly most in order. A perfect birthday gift!


My luck, she’d find out there’s no big vacation planned, and probably hit me in the head with a shoe. It’s ok though – would give us something else to laugh about on Frank Day.

Now about that theory....

HATERS

Quick rant here.

OK – I know – I’m never quick, deal with it.

How has social media affected the way we enjoy those too rare moments in life when you get to grab some happiness? Here’s a personal bonehead observation…

I’m a lifelong Yankee fan, since I was a little Bone.
Historically, the Yankees have been a winning team – more championships than any other professional sports team in history matter of fact. I’m also way older than Joe Girardi, so some of my earliest recollections are from when the team was really bad. I think they finished in last place or close to last most of the few first years I began following the team. First game I went to in 1974 there were less than 10,000 people in the stands, Horace Clarke was the second baseman and Fritz Peterson was the staring pitcher. Obviously, they’ve come a real long way since then.

I state this simply as a point of reference. Became a fan when they sucked, I’ve followed them forever and have always been a fan, not a front runner.

It shouldn’t have amazed me as much as it did – but I could not believe how much bitter hatred came out over the past twenty four hours among so many of my contacts on facebook.

Call me over-sensitive. I’m really not. Really.

Call me humor-less. If you saw what I looked like – you’d know that wasn’t the case.

Call me a prick. Well, ok you got me there.

I was really bothered by the amount of comments that all basically stated things like…

“The Yankees bought the championship”

This posted mainly by New York Mets and Boston Red Sox fans – the #2 and #3 spending teams in the big leagues.


“A-Rod does steroids”

Face it – every team has had players who did steroids. Who the fuck cares really? You’re all happy when your team wins and if the winning run is driven in by someone who injected something into their ass at some point to make them hit the ball further – would you really be upset?

“Yankees suck”

Yes – of course they do asshole, that’s why they just knocked off last years champs to win the World Series.

I’m all for the banter and smack talk between rivals, when they’re playing one another. At the end of the contest – typically the loser offers congratulations to the winner, albeit unhappily. I don’t think that’s idealistic – but if it doesn’t end up that way, then someone is simply a sore loser, and that’s a sad character trait.

Here in New York, there’s a lot of Yankees fans who could either care less about, or perhaps wish the best for the Mets. So many Mets fans however, who out and out hate the Yankees. Jealousy perhaps? Yankees have won like what…27? The Mets, uhh 2? So, many Mets fans chose today to go out and post their disdain and contempt for the Yankees, by posting mostly hateful, and I assure you, never funny (perhaps clever was the attempt?). All I can ask is why?

Let’s examine their thought process.

“I think I’d like to broadcast to the world that I can’t be happy – so let me say something obnoxious to everyone who may have just found some of that elusive happiness”

That’s probably not how it really goes.

Look - I’m an asshole. I do all kinds of stupid things, I say what’s on my mind, usually, it’s to try and get somebody to laugh. I like that, making somebody laugh. Maybe I like it when people are happy – I don’t know, that’s just me, like I said, I’m an asshole.

I look at it more as a sorry statement of society, perhaps that’s why it’s bugging me so much. I don’t give two shits if you don’t like my team – everyone is entitled to their opinion.


But why do so many people think it’s a great idea to piss on others momentary happiness by spilling their own misery all over them. And I’m not talking about Philadelphia Phillie fans – the ones on my network were nothing but sad for their team, and some even were congratulating the winners. It was primarily the poor jealous Mets fans.

Is it that desperate a situation for them that because they can’t be happy with their own choices? How does it help someone so sad to present themselves as an obnoxious ass? Does it really help? What strikes me as odd – is that they’re doing it in a forum where they broadcast their feelings, thoughts and opinions to their “friends”. Doing it as well with absolutely no regard as to how it might make them be perceived as small, sad, sore losers.

Sadder still, most of them didn’t even get to compete in the game.

Get your Yankees championship gear at DicksSportingGoods.com!