During today’s walk, I saw a Mercury MONTANA, a Chevrolet COLORADO, and a Dodge DAKOTA. I am also aware that Chrysler used to manufacture a car called the NEW YORKER. Now, I certainly have nothing against Montana, Colorado, Dakota (North or South), or New York. Hell, I have friends in most of those places. However, I think it’s high time that the auto industry manufactured a car named after the Garden State.

Yo, General Motors’ Cadillac Division, I’m calling you out!

Tony Soprano drives a Caddy, as do boatloads of real-life pinkie-ring wearing, kneecap breaking guys in the Garden State. It is also the preferred ride of union bosses, doctors, and plaintiffs’ lawyers in these parts. The market is there, and the time is right. I can see the ad now:
:
INTRODUCING THE CADILLAC NEW JERSEY

For the ultimate in luxury and safety, General Motors is proud to introduce the 2005 Cadillac New Jersey. While this stellar example of the finest in American engineering has been designed to keep you safe and comfortable in traffic jams that can last for hours, the Cadillac New Jersey is also capable of unleashing its 450 horses at a second’s notice, whether on the highway, or wherever you may be when a quick getaway is a must. This beauty comes standard with a 100 watt, 12 speaker, multi-disc stereo system, which has been specially wired and calibrated to flawlessly receive a dedicated satellite feed that plays nothing but Sinatra, Dean Martin, Al Martino, and Gerry Vale, 24/7.

In addition, the Cadillac New Jersey boasts important safety features such as bulletproof windows and doors and an optional armored undercarriage. Other options include: a multi-band police scanner, pasta bar, easy access gun ports, and a hermetically sealed, steam cleanable trunk to prevent unwanted odors from entering the passenger compartment.

The Cadillac New Jersey…..It’s a great freakin’ cah.

Randy at SFO Life has posted the perfect cartoon relating to these rat bastards.

Lately I have been receiving e-mails in which the sender and subject fields are blank. Only the date appears. Of course, I don’t open those babies, fearing that doing so would render this computer a smoking mass of melted plastic.

I assume that these e-mails are generated by some kind of auto-spamming giz-whiz. However, if anyone out there has been sending me such e-mails and has been wondering why I have not responded, now you know.

Something from the mailbag*.

A guy is driving around and he sees a sign in front of a house: “Talking Dog For Sale.” He rings the bell, and the owner tells him the dog is in the backyard. The guy goes into the backyard and sees a Labrador Retriever sitting there.

“You talk?” he asks.

“Yep,” the Lab replies.

“So, what’s your story?”

The Lab looks up and says, “Well, I discovered that I could talk when I was pretty young, and I wanted to help the government; so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time at all they had me jetting from country to country, sitting in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable spies for eight years running. But the jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger, so I wanted to settle down. I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings and was awarded a batch of medals. I got married, had a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog. “Ten dollars.” The guy says.

“This dog is amazing. Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?”

“Because he’s a liar. He didn’t do any of that shit.”

*Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet.

I notice that it has become the custom (at least in these parts) for engaged couples to place a photo of themselves in the local paper. In my day (a hundred or so years after the last dinosaur threw the sixes) only the woman’s picture was placed in the local newspapers. The headline always read, “Troth Told,” as if that made any damned sense to anyone. I must confess that when I was very young (much too young to have been betrothed), I had thought that “Troth” was a typo, and that the headline should have read “Truth Told,” not that that would have made any damned sense either.

Anyway, back to today.

The photos of the engaged couples are often informal and show the man and woman tastefully dressed and posed in such a way that makes it clear that they are romantically involved. However, the other day, I saw an engagement photo in which the man needed a shave and was wearing a baseball cap turned backwards. The woman was wearing a tee shirt and looked like she did her hair with an eggbeater. It was clear that this was not a candid photo, but rather was one that they (or someone else) paid a professional photographer to shoot in a studio. I can only assume that the couple thought they looked sharp. I thought they looked like slobs who lacked a basic understanding of the “time and place” rule.

Then again, the troth is that maybe I’m just becoming an old fart.

I have been keeping up with the Blog Novella that was begun by Christina at Feisty Repartee. Five of the six planned chapters have been completed by the following amazing writers:

Chapter One — Christina at Feisty Repartee

Chapter Two – Eric at Straight White Guy

Chapter Three – Rob at Gut Rumbles

Chapter Four – Jack at Random Fate

Chapter Five – Velociman at Velociworld

This has developed into a helluva story, due completely to the creativity and obvious talent of those who have contributed. I salute them.

The Final Chapter will be written by Mr. Helpful. Very tough assignment you drew there, Mr. H.

So, get yourself a cup of coffee or something stronger, and read the first five chapters. You won’t be sorry, and, like me, you’ll be anxious to read the Final Chapter.

I had seen Indian Larry on television about a year or so ago on one of those Discovery Channel – type programs. I believe that the program involved Jesse James, another motorcycle guy who has hit it big with Monster Garage and similar programs. In this particular episode, Jesse James and Indian Larry were traveling on their custom choppers from point X to point Y for one reason or another. I recall that it was a long ride.

At one point, the camera cut to Indian Larry blasting down a straight stretch of road somewhere out west, and he was STANDING on the seat of the motorcycle, with his arms outstretched, and with his long hair blowing in the wind (i.e. no helmet). I remember thinking back then that “That is one crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

One day sometime after that, I was shooting the breeze with a guy at work, and I happened to mention Indian Larry and the stunt I had seen him do on television. The guy I was speaking with said, “He’s dead, you know. He recently died doing that stunt you just described.” At that time, I was too taken with the seeming coincidence of my mentioning Indian Larry’s stunt and learning that he had died to think very much about the man – Indian Larry.

I have since watched a couple episodes of “The Great Biker Build-Off” on television, filmed before Indian Larry’s death. The idea behind this program is that two custom chopper builders start from scratch to design and build a custom bike, and then the two of them ride together to the scene of the judging.

In the episode I watched, Indian Larry was competing against (I think) Billy Lane. Billy Lane could not get his bike started, no matter how hard he tried. Indian Larry showed up and broke his ass trying to help Billy Lane, his competitor, get his bike going. Once they managed to do a few carburetor changes and get the bike started, Lane and Indian Larry set off for Sturgis for the contest.

At Sturgis, the producer of the program announced that the winner of the contest (based on votes of the spectators in attendance) was Indian Larry. Much to the producer’s chagrin, Indian Larry came to the stage and said that neither he nor Billy Lane deserved to win, and neither of them deserved to lose, and that the contest was a draw. Using his metalworking skills, he cut the trophy in pieces, giving Billy Lane a piece, keeping a piece, and tossing pieces out to the audience.

Covered with tattoos as he was, and being the kind of guy one doesn’t find in the typical corporate boardroom, he was, nevertheless, a class act. He was devoted to his unique form of art, and he lived large until his death on August 30th of this year while doing his trademark standing-on-the-seat stunt without a helmet. Larry Desmedt was 55 at the time of his death.

I wish I could have met the crazy son-of-a-bitch.

TJ has finally gotten around to posting something.

If she hadn’t sprung from my loins, I would have removed her from the blogroll due to inactivity. I’m kidding, of course, as I know that she and her husband have had lots of things to keep them busy, including new jobs and a new house.

I’m glad to see that she is back, particularly today when, other than this post, I cannot think of a damned thing to write about. I figure that my three-mile walk this morning, when the temperature was eleven degrees and the wind was gusting to 30 mph, may have frozen the “creative” neurons in my cruller.

Maybe something worth writing will occur to me later.

At one of the many Christmas, holiday, almost winter, end-of-year, seasonal get together parties I have recently attended, I had the good fortune to do a couple tunes with this most excellent musician, singer and performer. Some of the people at the shindig who had previously seen me do the guitar thing twisted my arm requested that I sing with Dee Cannizzaro. Being an exceedingly shy guy a ham extraordinaire, with a couple cocktails in me, I gladly did so. It would not be an understatement to say that singing with Dee’s piano work was like rolling off a log. She’s excellent.

Because of my years of banging around the music business, I am often asked by friends and associates for recommendations for hiring musicians to play at affairs in the New Jersey area. After having heard her play and sing, I can easily and confidently recommend Dee. She is an accomplished pianist and vocalist, who is comfortable performing a wide variety of music.

You might want to check out Dee’s website, where you can hear samples of her work. She also performs with a band, and you can hear that on her site as well.

On top of it all, she’s a very nice person, and I hope to catch her act again some time.

By buddy Eric, the Staight White Guy, revisits the Billy Joel classic, Piano Man, from a new vantage point. As usual, he scores a bullseye.