Doppelgangers

Last weekend I took a few minutes and Googled myself. I like to do this every once in a while to catch up on what I've been doing.  The answer is invariably "Not Much". There was the usual stuff about me working at the Naval Postgraduate School Department of Computer Science Room GE-110 1411 on Cunningham Road in Monterey, California.  And that I had developed a multicast performance test suite and played a key role in MCI's content distribution and video strategy.  Plus I had robbed a couple of banks and jewelry stores.  I know, it sounds like I have been really busy with some really fascinating things, but alas, these accomplishments belong to other people who merely share my name.

And it's just as well, since I value my privacy and don't want to be splashed all over Google for everyone to see. I heard somewhere that you're supposed to feel ashamed if you Google yourself, because it's supposedly the sin of pride, or some shit like that.  But I don't see anything wrong with it.

What I've never heard of is people facebooking themselves.  This seems like some sort of basic omission, because who wouldn't want to see what other people who share your name look like?  It is said for every person on the planet, there is a twin lurking about.  Whether or not this is true is subject for debate, but wouldn't it be very cool if you not only had a twin, but they had your name too?  So, in the wee hours of this morning, I typed my name into the "friends" tab in facebook, and much to my surprise, over 200 names appeared!  Let's see if any of them look like me.  You can compare them to my distinguished photo in the sidebar and judge for yourself.

Pleasant enough, but he's bald ... and crooked.

No.  I have eyelashes.

I think I saw him in the nightclub scene in "Scarface".

What the fuck?

Nope.  Not even close.

Aughhhhhh!!

Closer.

Closer ...

Wait for it ...

Almost there ...

Bingo!!  An exact match!

Okay ... maybe not.  I'll keep looking.

Out & Out Thievery

It's been a hard week sitting on my butt at work, organizing and reorganizing The Penske File.  So I'm kind of tired tonight.  I was all set to write another one of my deep thought provoking pieces, but saw something on another blog that reminded me of something that happened at the market earlier this week.  I fished a 20 out of my wallet to pay for a beef jerky, a Zero bar and a pack of Virginia Slims Menthol, when I noticed that someone had written on the bill "Mike Ditka's IQ", with an arrow pointed to the "20" up at the corner.  I thought someone must have either been incredibly bored or really hated Mike Ditka to deface good old U.S. currency in such a manner.  But then I ran across the following and realized that the guy who had scrawled on my bill was a rank amateur.

Yes, I'm ripping off someone else's blog, but they ripped it off from someone else, who probably ripped it off from someone else. And so on, and so on ...  BFD.

Tron-ist Abe

Boba Fett Washington

Georgie Makes An iPod Commercial

Mario Lincoln

Bazooka George

Alexander "Ninja" Hamilton

Mad Hatter George

Teenage Mutant Ninja Abraham

Andy "Kiss" Jackson

Abe Gets "Boothinized"

Quick now, how much money was represented above?  DON'T LOOK!  Did you guess 51 dollars?  Well, you're wrong ....

I Never See Anyone Famous

My cube neighbor and I were talking the other day at work, and somehow the subject of celebrity sightings came into the conversation.  She had been in a classroom in the Lake Forest high school where Robert Redford was shooting a few scenes from the movie "Ordinary People".  Bobby was taking a break and walked into her classroom and sat down for a few minutes, disrupting the teacher's lecture.  Fucking Hollywood assholes anyway ...

So, after gushing about that for a few minutes, she realized she was making a fool out of herself and asked me, ever so politely, if I had ever had any candid celebrity encounters.  And of course, leading the sheltered boring life I have, I couldn't think of any. Later, I made a conscious effort to remember if I actually had seen anyone famous in an everyday setting, but could only come up with a handful, with fingers to spare.

There were three.  Not a lot, but of course there are very interesting stories behind each one of these encounters, so prepare to be entertained.

Leslie, You Silver- White Maned Devil!

Leslie Nielsen.  I spied Leslie in a departure lounge at the Pittsburgh International Airport in the early 80's. He was an imposing figure with a fine mop of silver hair.  I nonchalantly breezed by him several times to make sure it was him, but didn't speak because he was surrounded by his goons.  He was wearing a silver Members Only jacket with "Naked Gun" embroidered on the back.  I was so impressed that I immediately ran to a pay phone to call Jan, who responded "That's nice dear ..."  I'm sure she was seething with jealousy though.

Mr. Cholesterol a.k.a. Jack Eagle.  Jack was the evil Mr. Cholesterol in the Fleischman Margarine commercials for all of you heathens who don't remember.  One day I was walking down the Allegheny Airlines concourse at the Pittsburgh International Airport (yes, I spent a lot of time at that fucking place for a few years) and spotted Mr. C walking toward me.  He effortlessly glided past me and I turned around to watch him waddle into the distance.  I immediately ran to a pay phone to call Jan, who responded "Who?"  I'm sure she was peeing her panties with envy though.

This Was As Close As I Could Get To A Picture Of Jack

Noreen.  Okay, so this one is a real stretch, I'll admit.  I grew up in the early days of television, and in my hometown of Springfield, Missouri, no one was a bigger celebrity on "the TV" than Noreen ... owner and spokesperson for the Plaza Shoe Store.  She was the epitome of style and class throughout the Ozarks, in fact anywhere within the broadcast range of KYTV.  Do you honestly think Cher was the first one to be known by only her first name?  Hell no!  It was Noreen.

Noreen And Her Famous Wolfman 'Do!

My mom and I traveled to the Plaza Shoe Store one day to get me a pair of Sunday Go To Meetin' shoes, when there behind the counter I spied Noreen herself!  I melted as she looked at my seven year old self and said in that twangy hillbilly voice "Hi y'all".  I immediately ran to a pay phone to call Jan, but suddenly remembered that I would not meet her for another 14 years.  But I imagine she would have been figuratively eaten alive by resentment if she had known.

A few notes on Noreen.  My Mom hated her for some reason and became particularly spiteful as the years went by and Noreen proved that you can't stay young forever, no matter if you are the Shoe Queen of the Ozarks.

Noreen ... Looking A Little Shopworn With The Latest Styles From 1967

You have to give her credit though, she was still rockin' the Larry Talbot look, even in her waning years.  As for me, I always liked her, especially at the tail end of her commercials when she would point at you out there in TVLand and say ...

Y'all come see me, y'hear?

Victim Of My Celebrity

Over the weekend, jammed in between cursing the damned snow that won't end and concentrating all the  powers of my mighty brain to willfully move time ahead to April, I came up with a couple of killer ideas for blog posts.

And just as I was about to lay fingers on the keyboard, I realized that all I would accomplish would be to offend people.  There was a time when this would have failed to stop me, but in the year or so that I've been doing this "blog thing", it's dawned on me that there are actually a few people who know the identity of the person behind the words.

In some ways this is "good".  In other ways, this is "bad".  Good because I've made friends and acquaintances that I otherwise wouldn't have had, and in interacting with them, have been entertained and learned a thing or two.  Bad, because I refrain from talking about certain things that would reveal me to be a closet asshat to those same people.

As Gentle Uncle Ben counseled young Peter Parker about his spidery endowment, "With great power comes great responsibility".  Only in my case, that would be toned down and the word "great" would be replaced with "not on the radar".

Still, it would be gratifying to just let loose and rip at someone or something without regard for the consequences once in a while. And to do this, I would have to become anonymous, kind of like "The Shadow" in the old timey radio days.

And this means I would have to start another blog for all of my rants.

Starting a blog is no problem.  There are so many auto-blog services out there that I could set up one in less than 5 minutes. But then I have to name it ... and pick a background ... and colors ... and a font ...and sidebar stuff ... and a cool anonymous name.

And let's face it, I'm just not that talented.  If I had worked in Detroit back in the 50's, someone else would have come up with the name "Corvette", and I would have chosen "Edsel".

But I think I can overcome these obstacles and actually have some ideas that might not be half-assed.  A cool bloggy title and a nifty bloggy name that will not only give me the anonimity that I need to tear the objects of my loathing a new butthole, but will ensure me instant readership.

I'm thinking ... The Huffington Post ... by Perez Hilton.

Catchy, huh?

Cut Bait & Run

Here in Northern Illinois, much has been said recently about the steady march of the Asian Carp towards Lake Michigan.  It is feared that once this trailer trash of the fish world reaches the Big M, it will spread to the other Great Lakes, the Erie Canal and to its final destination; Pooter's Pond in Puxwhoosits, Maine.

Uber-liberal environmental whiners claim that the carp will muscle in and destroy all indigenous aquatic life, such as the zebra mussel, and will flood the upper midwest and northeast with P. J. Changs and dry cleaners.  The last line of defense, the Chicago Ship & Sanitary canal has been poisoned, bombed and mined, with a total count of ZERO Asian Carp having been recovered.  The states of Michigan and Wisconsin have sued Illinois to close the locks on the CS&S, and Illinois has counter sued ... Michigan for producing crappy cherry wine, and Wisconsin for just being Wisconsin.

Granted, I wouldn't want these things moving in next door to me, primarily because they probably don't keep their lawns mowed, and they're not very attractive.

Butt Ugly

However, there is something much worse than the Asian Carp out there, lurking in the deep waters just off the coast of Tasmania.

Psychrolutes marcidus, a.k.a. the Blobfish floats just above the ocean floor.  This boneless gelatinous pile of gloop sloshes about, sucking in anything remotely resembling food into it's rubbery slash of a mouth.

The Stuff Of Nightmares!

Although top ichthyologists from around the world pooh-pooh the notion of this mini-monster ever migrating from it's present locale to roam among us, we all know that stranger things have happened.  The Irish, for example.

It would be simple.  I present, for your approval, the following scenario:  A trawler plying the Tasmanian coast for delicious Long John Silvers fish fillets scoops up Blobby on one of its runs.  One of the swabbos on deck takes a shine to this thing, perhaps thinking that it resembles his Uncle Omar, and transports it home to his aquarium.   Several months later, Blobby gets bored and flips himself out of the tank.  He oozes across the floor, opens the front door and squishes down the street to a nearby creek, where he splashes in ... and enters the water supply for YOUR town!

Imagine if you will, getting up at 2 a.m. to take a pee.  You're at you most vulnerable state as Blobby appears through the hellish portal at the bottom of your toilet and crawls up the side.  Closer .... closer ...

Or maybe you're just thirsty.  In the dark, you take your glass from the side of the bathroom sink and turn on the tap.  Blobby with his boneless, slimy body gushes from the spigot and fills your glass. You raise it to your lips ... and he fills your mouth with gooey gagging horror ...

In the case of the Asian Carp, some people are advocating eating it into submission.  Deranged chefs have concocted recipes for carp soup, carp casserole and sausage McMuffin with carp.

But how would one prepare Psychrolutes marcidus?  Deep fry it in transfatty oil?  Almost anything tastes good deep fried.  Perhaps as a substitute for that Thanksgiving jello mold?  Just plop him on a plate and give me a spoon.

Hold the mini-marshmallows and mandarin orange slices.