5 Ways to Better Spend Your Pre-Storm Energy & Save Money Preparing for Frankenstorm

Tip #1:  Don’t freak!

My kind of storm!

Fill up your gas tank?  Sure, you can charge your cell in your car if the outage lasts.  Buy batteries?  If you don’t already have them in your flashlights or in junk drawers, maybe pick up a pack.  Matches & Lighters?  Sure.

Tip #2:  Avoid mobbed stores! 

Yes!  Go through your freezer!  If you have an electric stove you should be preparing frozen meats now.  Make a giant meatloaf with ground meats & vegetables.  It will make for fine leftovers with or without power (hot & cold).  You save now by not going into crazy New Englander/squirrel mode and in the case of a prolonged outage, you’ll have less waste and/or clean up.

Tip #3:  Boil eggs!

Hard boiled are better than rotten. If you don’t have a gas range, boil ’em now! They’ll keep in the fridge or on ice if the power fails.

Tip #4:  Make your own ice! 

In this case, we had plenty of warning.  Make ice ahead of time and reserve in your freezer until a power failure.  Be sure to have your cooler on standby.

Tip #5:  Take a caffeine break! 

Make coffee now!  If you depend on electricity to even boil water (as do I), make plenty of extra coffee while you still can!  Then, if you do lose power, you can lie back and relax.  As always, enjoy the storm!



As a by-product of my most recent effort to become a writer who knows the names of more actors, I uncovered a closeted cloning caper.  The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences began their first cloning endeavor in 1954 when they chose to clone Henry Dean Stanton, then 28.

Henry Dean Stanton is…Cloned!

The fact that Henry’s career took off in 1954 should not escape your attention.  What happened to the clone of Henry Dean Stanton?

I might have guessed you’d wonder.  As a matter of fact, I have an answer for you inquisitive types.  You need only look to one Griffin Dunne.

Griffin Dunne (First Successfully Cloned Actor)

Successfully cloned and categorized as “lab grown” as of June 8, 1955, he too is now a moderately successful actor.

Since the first successful cloning went off without a hitch, Johnny Dangerously not withstanding, a second attempt was made in 1971.  To insure an even greater successful outcome with subsequent attempts, Harvey Weinstein was consulted.

“I didn’t know cloning would leave a mark.”

A French actor, Francois Cluzet, was chosen as the next candidate for cloning.  The reason for Cluzet’s candidacy is not yet known, since he did not become famous until nearly six years later. His first role on a French television series, as a guy named Jim, occurred in the late seventies.  Sources assure Harvey Weinstein was directly involved in the selection process.

“If you’re wondering why I look exactly like Francois, only younger…it’s because I’m cloned, you stupid American. The dog from The Artist was cute, no?”

The attempt was officially lauded a success when Jean Dujardin was cloned from Francois Cluzet on June 19, 1972.  Rumors of a new “Best Clone” category for the 2013 Oscar ceremony have been circulating.  The Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences could not be reached for comment.  More on this later…

What the Hell is Happening?

What the hell is happening?

Link to NPR article (October 12, 2011)

I can hear my inner monologue…like an old Italian mother…

“What’s the matter with society?  Unemployment is at 9.1% and rising; politicians are afraid to tax the morbidly wealthy; now the state of Kansas can’t afford to keep degenerates in line?  The world’s goin’ down the toilet!  Get your heads out of your asses!  Do what’s right, for Christ’s sake!”

Moonstruck, Lovestruck. Don't get struck in Kansas...or you're SOL.

If only Kansas’ Shawnee County District Attorney Chad Taylor had an Italian mother…If only.

For your viewing pleasure…

Using the Phrase “My Bad” is Not a “Good Time,” and Jeff Garlin Agrees

A long time ago, in a land far, far away, I rented Young & Handsome: An Evening with Jeff Garlin.  You can rent it, as I did, from Netflix and I highly recommend doing so.  While enjoying his routine, I was pleased to learn he agrees with me on a very important issue.  An issue which has brought great grievance to my heavy heart.  It was at this point I realized he even agrees with me about the apparent mental deviancy behind this perverse act.

“My bad.”  The phrase hangs in the air like wet mucus, ejected from the infected mouth and nostrils of a commuter on a mid-town bus or cross-town train, too lazy and, perhaps, too thoughtless to sneeze into his elbow.  Whether on a train or a bus, flying mucus is just nasty.  And “My bad” is just as nasty to hear.

The phrase “Good times,” like a vindictive teacher’s nails on a chalkboard, you were made to stay after to wash because a friend misbehaved and blamed you.  The penalty is a bitter pill to swallow, as bitter as these debauched words forcing themselves upon your eardrums.

Jeff, like me, believes that whoever coined “My bad” must have picked it up from a mentally challenged person.  Stop it.  Be honest.  It does sound retarded.  In the same way, “Sloth love Chunk,” sounds retarded.

Let it be known that I had already come to the realization that the use of these words, together, was worse than merely bad syntax.  It was and is an assault on language, itself.  Webster was rolling over in his grave feeling as though someone had violated, not only him, but his sister, his mother, and his grandmother too.  It pained me, and still does, to hear these words spoken aloud.

Knowing how Jeff felt about “My bad,” I took the opportunity, in one of my sample Curb scripts to have Jeff take issue with my nemesis phrase, “Good times”.  I knew it would ring true, seeing as how we held a similar belief.  Keep in mind, I had already formed my own opinion, filed a complaint with the grammar police, and put in a grievance with the syntax union by the time I saw his act. I feel I need to mention this both for posterity and to protect against accusations of plagiarism and/or hack-ism.

In my sample, Jeff airs his grievance regarding “Good times” to Larry and Leon.  He criticizes two dining patrons for not forming complete sentences, adding that “Good Times” should only be used to reference the old TV sit-com about life in the ghetto.

Many people I know and associate with still use these repellent phrases.  I petitioned for euthanization, but it’s still against the law.  So, I felt genuinely vindicated when I saw that Jeff was on my side.  Sort of.

The purpose of this blog posting is to (hopefully) enlighten and to perhaps allow folks to see the error of their words.  For the love of Jeff, for the love of the English language, for the love of Strunk & White and all things elemental and stylistic, I respectfully request that you abstain from using “My bad” and “Good times” in conversation or anywhere else.  It not only makes you sound mentally incompetent, it’s just bad grammar.  Alternatively, if you insist on sounding like Sloth, just know that Jeff and I will be making fun of you.

bad grammar

Bad Grammer.

France to Tunisians, “Sorry, you do have to live like a refugee.”

For those of you not familiar with blogging, please click on the highlighted terms for little surprises.  Thank you.

“Not in our backyard.  Get out you…you, you hamp-stair!”

On September 12, 2011 Stephen Beard reported on the Tunisian refugees in France for Marketplace on NPR.  You might say it’s easy to make fun of the French.  Well, this was even easier.  Please take a moment to listen to the following snippet regarding “How immigration is like mayonnaise” (21:33).  Go ahead.  I’ll wait here, snickering to myself.

Yes, actually.  Immigration is just like mayonnaise, in the way that consumption past the expiration date can lead to dire consequences.  Tunisian refugees have reached their expiration date and they must get out of France now.  Says the French government, “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.  If we wanted your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, we’d have kept the stinking statue.”

Pot:  Kettle, you’re black!  For those keeping score, she’s French too.  Canadian, yes, but still.  It counts.  I checked.

Beware of French bearing gifts…

Me thinks the French are behaving a bit like the sibling who shirks responsibility for the aging parent, running off to Monaco with Guillermo, counting on the more responsible, younger sister country to pick up the slack.  “But you like taking care of poor people.  You’re good at it!”  Suuuure we are.

Best advice for the refugees?  Grab some pommes frites with your 300 euros and thumb-it to Spain.

When the French were contacted for comment (no, not really), someone who sounded very much like John Cleese, doing a French accent replied, “We already have a grail, you sons of a silly person!  Beat it, Tunisian pig-dogs!” 

Honk if you like pommes frites!

Link to the full article with access to the podcast.

How to Survive Hurricane Irene Survival

The key to surviving a New England weather “situation” and avoiding frustration at the market is to beat the system by counteracting the effects of freakishly over-zealous consumers. While most are buying up batteries & H2O as if it were Doomsday, try to remember we’re only squirreling away for a few days (a week, tops), not an eternity. Most people have enough batteries in their nine different remotes to get them through Doomsday, anyway.  This is America.  If you don’t have at least four television sets, you just ain’t livin’.  Therefore, I urge you to take this opportunity to stock up, now, on what’s really important. Like Ben & Jerry’s and potato chips. I recommend Jimmy Fallon’s Late Night Snack, Boston Cream Pie & Red Velvet Cake…and Cape Cod or Lay’s Salt & Vinegar chips.  One of each ought to do it.  You might even want to pick up some baked cheese puffs/balls. The stores still have plenty of these wildly important and yet consistently overlooked items. I’d rather have to dig my way out of Shawshank with a spoon than be holed up for any length of time without one of these things when a craving hits. It may never hit.  The same goes for Irene, but better safe than sorry.


Given the recent Bachelorette saga, the subject of large versus small boobs has been the subject of much debate.  I believe one of the losers, I mean bachelors, stated that 60% of men prefer large breasts.  I doubt this is true.  I’d wager to say that 100% of men prefer large breasts.  Whether they have what it takes to get their pick of the litter, is a different story all together.  Anyway, interesting factoid or not, I wondered about that supposed 60% and if 100% of that 60% had small penises, infinitesimal intellect, and a corresponding lack of wit.  In either case, I think I’d prefer to take my chances with the remaining supposed 40% of the dating population.

Granted, guys like large breasts.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  They can be misshapen, asymmetrical; they can even have warts on them, just as long as they’re big.  And don’t skimp.

I’m going to go out on a limb here and wager that a guy who would prefer to date someone who looks like she climbed out of the ashes of Chernobyl or from a Picasso painting is not someone I’d have a whole lot in common with anyway.  Que sera sera.

I once overheard a man say, “I like my boobs like I like my TV:  big!”  Now, assuming he wasn’t actually referring to his own set of man knockers, I’d like to point out two small things (yes, pun intended):  a.  Projection models are out and b.  Flat screens are in.