Brought to you by the Roman numeral XIII and the Norse god of thunder

A long time ago, in a blog not that far away, there was a weekly blog meme known as the Thursday Thirteen.  The premise was straightforward: Blog a list of thirteen things.  It could be your thirteen favorite Keanu Reeves movie quotes ("Excellent!" "Party on, dudes."), your thirteen favorite Oprah giveaways, or simply thirteen random thoughts.

With all it's alliterative allure and randomness, how could I refuse?  So I participated for a few weeks back in late 2005 and early 2006.  And here's a bit of Bone trivia: The Thursday Thirteen was how I "met" Renee (I'm pretty sure).  An encounter which has truly enriched her life (less sure).

So for old times' sake...

I.  I watched "Sharknado 3" last night.  I never saw "Sharknado 2" so I was a bit lost for the first few minutes.  Spoiler alert: The movie ends with David Hasselhoff floating off infinitely into space.  Which, coincidentally, is where I thought he had been all along.

II.  Summer TV: 200 channels and "Full House" reruns are still the best thing on at least four nights a week.

III.  Sticking with the TV theme, Monday is Luke Spencer's final day. 



IV.  "How do you tell somebody that you care about deeply, I told you so?  Gently, with a rose? In a funny way, like it's a hilarious joke?  Or do you just let it go, because saying it would just make things worse? ...Probably the funny way." ~ Michael Scott.  (I've been rewatching a lot of "The Office" on NetFlix lately.)

V.  I'm in between books right now.  Waiting for "West of Sunset" to come out in paperback, 'cause that's how I roll.  And wondering should I read "Go Set a Watchman." 

VI.  Dad turned 65 this week.  I bought him some Fender wall art at Hobby Lobby for his guitar/amp repair shop, then signed his card, "Love, Bone: The Fender Stratocaster of sons."

VII.  Mom slipped "POTUS" into a conversation yesterday.  Which prompted a "Whoa, whoa, whoa!  WHAT did you just say?" response from her firstborn.  "POTUS?" she repeated, sounding a tad uncertain she had used it correctly.  I continued. "First you get an iPhone.  Now, POTUS is part of your daily vernacular???"  This is a woman who cruised through the 80's and 90's never even attempting to figure out how to program a VCR.  I'm gonna need some time to process.  I don't understand the world anymore.

VIII.  "I wish you would post even more political and religious stuff on Facebook," commented no one, ever.

IX.  We went to see the musical, "Oklahoma!" last week.  I think I can sum it up in one word:  long.  It was an hour and forty-three minutes before they got to intermission!  I wasn't sure I was going to make it.  Hopefully, I scored some bonus points.  Although I may have just been making up for some previously accrued demerits.  I firmly believe some mysteries cannot be known by mortal man.

X. The same local troupe that did "Oklahoma!" is doing "As You Like It" later in the season.  I'm thinking it's a go.  After all, can one desire too much of a good thing?  And by desire too much of a good thing, I mean, accumulate too many bonus points. What sayest thou? 

XI.  In honor of the 46th anniversary of the alleged moon landing... We can put a man on the moon but we can't put a small, respectful partition between every single urinal in every single public restroom in this country?!  (Sticking with the Shakespeare theme) I think no partitions is taking this "All the world's a stage" thing a bit too far.

XII. There are 44 days until college football season.  "I can tell you who time strolls for, who it trots for, who it gallops for, and who it stops cold for."  And I can tellest thou who it dost moveth like a snail for. (Hint: It's a blogger who accrues demerits at a sometimes frightening pace.)

XIII.  I've been listening to the new Jason Isbell album.  (I had to do something to get "Oh what a beautiful moooooor-ning" out of my head.)  After the brilliance of "Southeastern," I was afraid I'd be disappointed in whatever came next.  Kinda like losing the best girl you ever had.  But music is not like women, so I needn't have worried.

Even though the album only came out this past Friday, the folks at YouTube are all over it.  This is one of my favorites so far.  The hook line is sort of a theme woven throughout the album and many of the characters he paints such vivid pictures of.  It poses one of those profound, make-you-think questions.  I know I've been obsessing over it for days now...




"Are you living the life you chose?  Are you living the life that chose you?"

Music Monday: Winter plods on

Alas, with football out of the way, now there is nothing.  Winter plods on.  And will for six more weeks, that is if you're inclined to believe a rodent from the Quaker state, or the creator of the Gregorian calendar.

Most of the things that have been on my mind to write are rather heavy.  I feel I'm in danger of entering the blog equivalent of Picasso's Blue Period, except with less fame.  Some fame, just less.

Wanting to ward that off for your benefit, I offer instead some lighthearted fare.

For once the Super Bowl was, well, super.  I actually had a nice little Super Bowl party, for one.  But it was catered.  By Domino's.

Everyone's talking about "the call."  Might I suggest Seattle change its name from the Seahawks to Mitt Romney?  That way, the next time they decide not to run, no one will be all that upset.

And can we stop making the Super Bowl commercials "a thing?"  They're annoyingly lacking in creativity and let's be honest, they've been going downhill for the past five years or more.  Which, strangely, is not unlike this blog.

Making it worse, I felt like the ads were super depressing this year -- childhood deaths, Cats in the Cradle, Jeff Bridges trying to salvage a once-passable career by begging people to visit his new website.  Thank God for Doritos and Lindsay Lohan!  Which, strangely, is not the first time I've uttered that sentence -- or as I usually refer to it -- sincere prayer of thanksgiving.

Speaking of Lindsay Lohan, why must the Super Bowl always make you think of your ex-girlfriend, amirite?

At least January has abated.  February isn't worlds better, but it's short and close to March.  I mean, it's not related to March or anything, but they know each other.  January and March have never even met.

I was involved in a 20-some-odd email thread about General Hospital today, so things are looking up.  I mean, what if Fluke really is the old Luke and he was hallucinating and fighting with himself in the basement?!?!  What if Helena has brainwashed him like she has Jake/Jason?  I know, but then why would Eckert's grave be empty?  Unless real Luke wanted to throw everybody off.  But then why did he seem so upset when the grave was dug up?  I can't take it!

Oh, and Harper Lee is releasing a new book!  I can think of no better news than that for a cold winter's day.

This week's Music Monday offering is one I've had on repeat quite a bit the past few weeks.  It's by Adam Cohen, who is the son of Leonard Cohen.  The lyrics just kill me.  Every time.



"I know the kind of thing that makes you laugh / The way you tilt your head for a photograph / What other guy knows you like that?"

Life at up to 30 Mbps

It's been tough again for me to write.  First, Boston, and then West, Texas, just took my heart.  And yet, the days keep coming.  The world keeps spinning.  Somehow.

The human spirit again proves irrepressible.  Still I wonder how much more we can take.

Some have said the thing to do is to live your life.  Go out.  Run another marathon.  Hop on a plane.  Blog.  And so, here am I.

The spring has found me busier than usual, which let's face it, wasn't very busy at all.  I've taken on some freelance work on the side, and have also started a lawn care business.  At present I have precisely two clients.  That may not sound like much to you, but it's about fourteen steps further than most of my ideas ever get, which in case you're wondering, is usually about the point where I think, "Hmm, that's a good idea, I should really look into that.  Woo, I'm sleepy.  Nappy time." 

It's all in the name of not only making ends meet, but perhaps even having them overlap a bit.  My apologies to those of you whose image of me was that of a kind of southern Kardashian, independently wealthy and making millions more from this blog.

Today, that image has been shattered.

The freelance job forced me to finally do something about my internet.  My AT&T DSL, which for years was decent, had in recent months been doing a dead-eye impersonation of dial-up.  Dead being the operative word there.  So as of this past Tuesday (martes, for my Hispanic readers), I'm on cable internet.

Oh. Em. Gee!

It's like I hopped in the DeLorean un martes tarde to go for a drive, hit 88 miles per hour, and boom!  Instantly I have been transported from 1997 to 2006.  And while I do kind of miss Hanson and Mark Morrison -- I mean, I think we all thought they were here to stay -- now my Netflix doesn't freeze five times during a half-hour show!  I never said anything before because it was so embarrassing.

I feel like I just got indoor plumbing for the first time.

To celebrate -- the internet, not the plumbing -- I watched two episodes of The Hills on Netflix.  Ugh, that Heidi.  Even in reruns, she just... ugh!  Don't get me started.  Oh, oh, OH!

And...

They brought me out a cable box.  See, I'd been getting my cable straight from the wall all these years, which evidently was robbing me of HD and limiting my number of channels.

Whatever.

The only thing you really need to get from all this is:  I've got SoapNet back!  So now I can watch my stories every night!

I haven't been this excited since... have I ever been this excited?

Probably not.  Especially when you consider there is a channel that shows WKRP In Cincinnati at night, AND there was an ABBA movie on last night!!!  I didn't even know there WAS an ABBA movie!!!  (Also, if I ever learn how to make that backwards B, I may just retire from the internets.)

Anyhow.  Naturally, I watched General Hospital the past couple of nights, and began to catch up with Luke, Laura, Scott, Dante, Lulu, Patrick, Brenda, Sonny, Nikolas, Michael, and unfortunately, Carly.  However, I'm still not sure how Stavros managed to escape the bottomless pit Luke pushed him into all those years ago?  That's seems a tad unrealistic, GH.

After that, The Young & The Restless came on.  Now I've never watched the show (honest!) but I left it there, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jason Morgan.  At first there were two old guys on there I didn't recognize.  Personally, they didn't look all that young or restless to me. 

And then...

There he was.  The gangster/coffee importer/main-reason-I-own-a-black-leather-jacket formerly known as Jason Morgan.  In all his perfect-hair glory.

I'll admit, it was tough.  I mean, this is a guy I modeled much of my life after.  At least, my stoic facade and my cool manner with the ladies.

It was like seeing an ex-girlfriend you dated for years, but now she's married to someone else, and he's a nice enough guy and she acts happy, but you know they'll never have what you and she had, and sure you made mistakes but who doesn't, your story wasn't over yet and how could she give up on that and settle for him when the two of you had so much left to do!  And why?  Because it's convenient???  Well love's not always convenient!!!!!!

So... uh, yeah.. it was a lot like that... 

Here's a fact you may find amusing.  This actually started out to be a Music Monday post.  I know, normally I post those on Tuesdays.  But anyway, that just goes to show you how much I procrastinate, er, like to plan things out in my head for a few days before actually getting around to doing them.

It's one of my endearing qualities. I like to pretend I have several.

Monday was Glen Campbell's birthday.  As I was googling and listening to some of his music, I hadn't realized how many songs he'd done with a positive, upbeat message.  Sure some of them were a bit hokey.  But after the previous week the world had seen, I was in the mood for some hokey.

This is a song called "I Will Never Pass This Way Again."  It definitely has a bit of a gospel feel to it.  The time stamp is a little distracting, and the audio and video are a tad out of sync.  Hey, it was 1973. I'm sure it was a crazy time for us all.



I also came across Glen's version of "MacArthur Park," a song I've loved from the first time I heard it.  I really like Waylon Jennings' version of this, but it wasn't Waylon's birthday, so...



"I will taste the wine while it is warm / And never let you catch me lookin' in the sun..."

A penthouse in Port Charles to a pineapple under the sea

News like that isn't shared lightly, but you know you have to.  I thought it better to get it over with quickly.

First, I texted LJ.  Yes, texted.  Because, well, if there was a chance either of us were going to become emotional, I didn't want it happening on the phone.  That would be the most uncomfortable moment in both of our lives.

"You see where Steve Burton is leaving GH?"

His reply was quick, pain-drenched, and expected: "Nooooooo! It's the first day of college football season and you had to go and ruin it." (Actually, he texted "football reason" instead of season, but as he only recently got his first-ever cell phone, I let it slide.)

We commiserated briefly.

Next, I texted Wolfgang.

His reply?  "Cool."

I immediately unfriended him.  Not on Facebook, in real life.  I can't surround myself with such callous, uncaring energy.

And so, as August gave way to the first tinge of fall in the air, I was already feeling the cold, cruel winds of winter.  For the day I had feared, dreaded, and hoped I'd never live to see, had arrived: Steve Burton, the actor who has played Jason Morgan on General Hospital for the great majority of my post-pubescent life, was leaving the show.

For so long, Jason has been one of my heroes, right up there with Mike Seaver, Luke Duke, and obviously, the Karate Kid.  I can't count the times I've compared myself to Jason Morgan.  He was often the voice of reason in Port Charles.  Somewhat remarkable considering he's in the mob -- er, coffee importing business.  And now?  He's leaving.

How will I cope without one of my heroes?  By bottling my feelings up inside, of course, in true Jason Morgan fashion.  Also by following Steve Burton on Twitter.  I don't know that it helps.  (Yes, it does.)

By the way, all this occurred over Labor Day weekend.  And yes, I'm just now getting around to writing about it, in true Bone fashion.  Apparently, posting five times in August left me scribically exhausted.

So I played laser tag later that weekend.  What, I was clearly disillusioned.  I've been trying to figure out how to smoothly transition between topics, but there's just no connection between Jason Morgan and laser tag.

Or is there? (Duh duh duuuuuuuuh!)

It was my first time to ever play laser tag.  And how shall I put this?  Well... I was dominating the dojo.



Did I mention I was mostly facing children?  What?  Most of them had obviously played before! 

Now I may have fudged on the rules a little.  They say "no running."  But I figured if things escalated to a physical confrontation I could take either of the three teenaged female game masters.  Or at least, outrun them.  And I did wind up shooting my own team members a few times, but thankfully that doesn't count against you.

At the end of the match, or battle, or recital, or whatever it's called, you push a little button on your electronic thingie and it tells you what your game name is so that you can find your score.

I finished 2nd!  And no, that wasn't out out of three.  There were actually thirteen of us playing, although I'm pretty sure a couple of the kids were too small to actually make their gun fire. 

My game name?

SpongeBob.

And suddenly, a new hero is born.

No?

Well, we gotta do something, because Frisco Jones isn't walking through that door.

"All I need / Is just a little more time / To be sure what I feel / Is it all in my mind / 'Cause it seems so hard to believe..."

There is no joy in Port Charles

We now interrupt what I had originally planned to post for today, which was nothing, to bring you a matter both of extreme importance and immense sadness.

The news came yesterday, in an email from a trusted friend. Her words: "I wanted you to hear it from me first." I clicked the link. My heart sank when I saw the headline:

Curtain To Fall On GH

I wanted to believe it wasn't true. That somehow there had been a mistake. But deep down -- in that part of the heart reserved for secret hopes, dreams, and fond memories of Luke & Laura and Frisco & Felicia -- I knew. You can't fight Katie Couric.

I just like to come home from work, take off my pants, get a snack, lie on the couch and watch my stories. It's one of the few simple pleasures of this workaday life. And now even that has been stolen from me.

By Katie Couric. Seriously? How many shows does one person need?!?!

It's been a rough past decade-and-a-half for me. First Opryland closes, and now this. I have watched General Hospital, sporadically, for the majority of my life. Tony Geary is on my mental top ten list of people to meet. (I say mental because I haven't gotten around to writing it down yet. Also, I've only come up with eight people so far.) And some might assume my rugged, stoic, somewhat emotionless facade was heavily influenced by Jason Morgan. And I cannot say for sure that they would be wrong.

Several concerned friends have asked if I'm going to be OK. And honestly, I don't know this time. Maybe this is the end of the road for me. I mean, let's face it, I never really figured out this whole, quote, "life" thing anyway.

Eh, who am I kidding? I don't even have a will. And I can't risk having my most prized possessions -- namely my Milli Vanilli CD and my Welcome Back Kotter DVDs -- falling into the wrong hands.

Besides, according to the article, it's not happening until the fall of 2012. So that leaves a little over a year. Those will be good times. Assuming, of course, that by some small chance the Mayans were wrong.

Maybe we can fight this. Boycott ABC daytime. Take it to the streets. Bring back our soaps! Are you with me, ladies... and, uh... guys?

"Now I'm sittin' here, I'm wastin' my time. I just don't know what I should do. It's a tragedy for me to see the dream is over..."

I'm not sure I remember how to do this

It's been awhile. I'd like to tell you I have a great reason for being absent, like I quit my job and have been under the tutelage of David Gibson in preparation for this year's World Scrabble Championships. But I have no grand reason. No excuse.

Although my hours at work changed a few weeks ago. I now have to be in at Brandt-Leland each morning by 6 AM. It's kinda thrown my whole routine off. OK, so one excuse.

My first week working the new hours, I woke up one morning at 5:52. I shot out of bed and rushed into the bathroom in a panic. As I brushed my teeth, my mind raced. Why hadn't my alarm gone off? Or had it, and I turned in off in a semi-conscious haze? And what about my phone? I never turn my phone alarm off.... except for weekends... which must make this a... Saturday! It's moments like these that never allow me to think too highly of myself.

I've always been a night owl and I'm not sure I'll ever be fully transformed into one of those early worms. But there is one good thing about the new hours: I'm off in time to catch General Hospital most days now.

Speaking of, I'm pretty sure I had a small coronary when I read the headline "ABC To Cancel Two Of Its Long-Running Soaps" a couple weeks ago. Thankfully, GH survived. And so did I. Did you know we may experience hundreds of tiny heart attacks and never even realize it? On second thought, maybe that was hundreds of tiny earthquakes...

Spring was nice this year. It arrived on a Wednesday and was gone by the following Sunday. Like a girl you go out with a couple of times and she's not your favorite but then when she's gone you start thinking she must have something going for her if she's not waiting around on you. It would have been nice if spring had stayed a little longer. Not that I would ever complain about summer. Or girls.

I earned my first sunburn of the season last weekend at the Alabama A-Day game. You might recall that's where ninety-thousand-plus fans show up to basically watch the team practice. Yeah, there's not a whole lot to do around here.

Nephew Bone went to the game. He's learned to put his hand over his heart for the national anthem. So on over in the game a bit as the band was playing the Alabama fight song, I looked down and Nephew Bone was standing with his hand over his heart until they were done. My heart melted a little.

Otherwise, I've been golfing a bit, running a bit, and going to bed earlier than I ever dreamed possible. (Not that I have ever actually had a dream about going to bed early.) And even though I would think about blogging, it became easier and easier to let it go for another day.

It's kinda like a relationship where you stop communicating and walls start to form. And you know you need to talk but with each passing day it's just easier to watch TV or read. And so you let the distance continue to grow until finally... You know, actually these relationship analogies are starting to hit a little too close to home.

So anyway, I'm back. For better or for worse.

And if there should ever be another prolonged hiatus, just assume the Scrabble thing.

"A good muse is hard to find. Living one word to the next, one line at a time. There's more to life than whiskey. There's more to words than rhyme. Sometimes nothing works, sometimes nothing shines, like Hemingway's whiskey..."

There are 10 kinds of people in this world

I suppose my disdain for bumper stickers could be traced to my formative years. My mother insisted on proudly displaying a "Willie Nelson For President" sticker on one side of the rear bumper of our maroon 1977 Cutlass, and a "Honk If You Love Willie Nelson" sticker on the other side.

And sometimes people honked!

Several years ago when I was at a different job, some girl -- for reasons unbeknownst to me -- bought a "Pimp Daddy" bumper sticker and gave to me one day at work. I did not display it on my vehicle. I did not see the point. For in my mind, having the sticker on my car made me no more or less a pimp daddy than I already was. Also, there would have been questions from my mother. And I didn't feel all that comfortable driving it to church like that.

I do not care for bumper stickers. I do not generally find them all that clever or witty. And I do not think their little sayings are influencing anyone to change their opinions or views. It's a stretch for me to believe that JoeSUV is going to sell his car, start biking to work and become an avid recycler just because of something he read on the back of a '94 Geo Metro.

I'm also ashamed to admit that I have been and continue to be guilty of sticker profiling. If I see a car with a bumper sticker or stickers on it, I immediately stereotype the person in that car. How I stereotype them depends on the type of sticker, the number and placement of stickers, and how many of them are outdated.

For example, peace-loving environmentally-conscious people with more than five bumper stickers tend to not be all that concerned with washing their car. And the more stickers they have, the less concerned they seem to be.

What? Don't hate me. If I do not stick, do I not bleed? Maybe I can go to bumper sticker sensitivity training or something.

All that aside, my #1 issue with bumper stickers -- other than the tackiness -- is their humor, or the lack thereof. I feel like I have a pretty broad sense of humor. But at least 95% of bumper stickers that are supposed to be witty only make me cringe. I don't find them funny in the least. Not even in that corny-joke-that-dad-tells-in-front-of-everyone-at-Thanksgiving-dinner sort of way. And as a sorta-wanna-be comedian, it bothers me greatly to think that someone somewhere is laughing at some of these things.

I don't even really think bumper stickers were intended to be around this long. It is my personal belief that they were originally designed to be a passing fad. Like "Baby On Board" signs, smoking, and Survivor. In any kind of movie or show from the future that I watch, there are no bumper stickers. I don't recall any "My Klingon beat up your honor student" sticker on the back of the Enterprise.

Over the past thirty-some-odd years, I have read hundreds and hundreds of bumper stickers. Unfortunately, I have forgotten nearly all of them. But here are a few I've seen recently that I would like to examine more closely:

Drunk Like Bible Times - I went back and forth between thinking this one was a pro-alcoholic sticker or a religious one, but I think I've settled on the latter. I never came away from reading the Bible thinking that drinking and revelry was a central theme. I don't recall reading the verse "Gad and Asher gotteth plastered around the ninth hour" anywhere.

Charlton Heston Is My President - This one was also a bit nebulous, as I didn't recall Heston ever running for the oval office. Then a light bulb went out. No really, one did. In my office just now. That was a little freaky. It was the Gad and Asher line, wasn't it?

Anyway, I figured out what it must be. Charlton must have played the President of the United States on some old movie and this poor, misguided soul got confused and thought it was real life. I understand. Happens to me all the time with General Hospital. I sped up to try and explain things to the guy, but his truck seemed to be lacking any semblance of a muffler, so he wasn't able to hear me.

Well Was Full, So I Came Back - We saw this one on the way home from the beach this summer and it completely befuddled me. Then, weeks later, it hit me like a bolt out of the blue. It said "HELL was full," not "Well." Oh!!! Well that... still... isn't... really... Fail!

Now before you go calling me the grinch who stole your W The President sticker, let me say that there are some good things about bumper stickers. For example, the smell. They are a rare and delectable olfactory treat.

And there is the occasional cleverly concocted witticism printed onto a piece of flexible plastic with adhesive backside that even I find irresistibly hilarious. For example, here's one I came across on the internet the other day that amuses me to no end:

"Remember, there are 10 kinds of people in this world. Those who understand binary numbers, and those who don't."

That's gold! Granted, I would never stick it on my car, but that's not the point. Or actually, I guess it kinda is.

"Now they ain't made the sticker for my bumper just yet, but I brake for brunettes..."

Did someone grant me three wishes that I wasn't aware of?

I don't know if any of you have noticed or not, but lately I have been drifting, aimlessly. I had no center, no direction. Sometimes it felt as if I were merely existing, rather than living. Well, I finally figured out what was missing in my life. A girl? A family? Motivation? Ambition? A social life?

No! Seinfeld!

It was revealed to me a couple of weeks ago when I saw a commercial for the new season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. And what were they promoting but a Seinfeld reunion!

Of course. How did I not see it before? In the eleven years since the show went off the air, I still haven't moved on. Oh sure, I have a pretty steady thing going with The Office now, but I've never really gotten over my one true love. To this day I still reference Seinfeld every chance I get, to the delight of all, I'm sure. And somewhere in that deepest part of my heart which holds my most secret desires and dreams, I clung to the past, and a tiny shred of hope that someday there would be a reunion.

Now the day I have been waiting for, lo, these many years has arrived. My ship has finally come in.

Of course, Curb Your Enthusiasm comes on HBO, which I don't have, but thankfully you can watch everything online these days. Not that I wouldn't have ordered HBO or found some way to get it illegally. That's not to imply that I'm getting any channels illegally right now, nor have I or would I ever. What I meant to say is that maybe I could get a free trial period of HBO from my cable or satellite provider--whose name happens to be Mason. As in, jar, or Dixon. He can also start your car or get into your house without any keys. And he only accepts cash, or ammunition.

Now if this had been the only piece of good news I received all year, that alone would have been enough to make this one of the best years of my life--right up there with the year I got an Atari, the year I discovered Clorox disinfectant wipes, and the year I stopped peeing the bed. But more good tidings were yet to come.

Days later, General Hospital posted a message on Facebook that Jonathan Jackson would be reprising his role as Lucky Spencer beginning in October.

This had been my dream! For years, I told the Darryls and anyone else who would listen that I wished the original Lucky would come back. (Also, that Frisco and Felicia would come back, and Robert and Anna and the WSB, but let's stick to one dream at a time here.) I could scarcely believe my eyes. I even Google news'd it to make sure it wasn't a hoax. It wasn't. No more weird middle Lucky or lame third Lucky. (Sure, third Lucky has lustrous hair and rugged good looks, but I need more. The character had become about as exciting as an all-day scoliosis screening.) At long last, the original Lucky is returning!

I simply cannot believe my luck. It's as if a genie visited me while I was in a deep sleep one night and granted me three wishes, two of which have already come true. I'm bursting! We're talking Tom-Cruise-on-Oprah's-couch happy. No, happy as a lark. I'm a lark jumping up and down on Oprah's couch.

So let this be a lesson to us all. People may tell you not to cling to the past, but clearly that has been proven wrong. And sure, most hopes and dreams die hard, never having been realized or even chased, but... uh, I need something uplifting here. Hmm..... well, anyway.

As for my third wish? I have considered several obvious possibilities: A Wham! reunion; that Tab would make a comeback; that just once I could play the word QUETZALS in Scrabble covering two triple word scores and get the maximum 347 possible points.

But in the end, I passed them all over. Now I don't want to jinx anything by telling you what I finally decided on, but I will give you a couple of clues.

Clue #1. Two words: Brandon. Walsh.

Clue #2. Blank-0-2-1-0.

Happy sleuthing!

"I'm a genie in a bottle. You gotta rub me the right way. If you wanna be with me, I can make your wish come true..."

Here comes the sun

Riddle me this: Somewhere in Alabama today, a three-week-old child asks, "What's that in the sky, Dad?" "That's the sun," is the reply. The child had never seen it. Smart kid? Well, he was talking at three weeks. On the other hand, he didn't know what the sun was. Also, the dad was the child's mother. So maybe not so smart after all.

The sun finally came out here today, for the first time in three weeks. Thank goodness, too, because the constant cloudiness and gray was starting to fool my body into thinking it was winter. Which would have put me in danger of catching a case of the non-seasonal Januarys. Which is rare, not to mention more resistant than the regular Januarys.

How bad has it been? During a recent performance of Annie, when they got to the line "The sun will come out tomorrow" an angry audience member stood up and yelled, "You lie!"

Twenty-two consecutive days with rain combined with the Darryls each somehow acquiring a girlfriend has also cut into my already less-than-sterling golf game, er, social life. And when you add to that the fact that football is now on TV every night of the week but Tuesday and Wednesday, well let's just say that I don't get out much.

This makes it all the more difficult to understand how I missed the season premiere of The Office last week. Fortunately, you can watch everything online now, which precludes any need that I might have had to purchase one of those newfangled DVR players, for now anyway. Is this a good time to admit that I may or may not still use a VCR to record things on occasion?

It's hard for me to commit to very many TV shows at one time. They're like girls. I can only handle so many. There's a long-term obligation involved, not to mention the emotional strain some of these shows put on me. I watch Mad Men and Burn Notice when I remember, which usually winds up being about once every three weeks. Always The Office. And then parts of General Hospital during the day. I can't commit to any more. Pretty soon I've spread myself too thin and no one's happy.

Getting back to the Darryls, what is up with the girlfriends? I watched the Newhart series finale. I don't recall the Darryls ever getting married. Did I miss something?

Maybe it's time for me to spread my wings, move to Seattle and have my own show, a la Frasier Crane. It would be a spin-off--a reality series about Larry trying to make it on his own, sans the Darryls. It could be called Just Larry.

Is this the end of life as I know it...with the Darryls? Would you cry? Will I?

Stay tuned.

"Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear. Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun. And I say it's all right..."

What you missed this week on Facebook

I was Wiki'ing tonight. And, well let me get right to the point. So in that old windshield wiper commercial, that wasn't really Laurel and Hardy? And not only wasn't it them, but they were already dead?!?! I feel so disillusioned.

It was a fine week here in Bone Diego, USA. Several of us attended the Braves/Brewers game in Atlanta last Saturday where we enjoyed seeing the Braves light up the scoreboard with zero runs. The week also included a round of golf, dinner with Lil Bootay, as well as spending time with the nephew, the godson, and the Darryls (all at different times and different locations). Wow, all that wouldn't even fit into one Tweet. I guess I really was the proverbial social butterfly this week. As opposed to my usual anti-social caterpillar-that-likes-to-nap persona.

But enough about life away from the computer. Let's get to the important stuff. Here at IYROOBTY, we are all about inclusion. So here are a few things you might have missed on Facebook this week. You know, if you actually have a life and aren't on Facebook, or if you are on Facebook and just haven't accepted any of my repeated friend requests.

Little Joe and Wolfgang each created "How Well Do You Know Me" quizzes. I scored 50% on Wolfgang's and 66% on LJ's. I was pleased with those scores--not terrible, but low enough so as to still appear hetero. Wolfgang, however, scored 100% on LJ's quiz. I suppose that's only natural though. After all, they are the Darryls.

What's even funnier--if that's possible--is that LJ's girlfriend took the quiz and only got 83%. We joked and joked about that. Or, I joked and joked about it.

Oh that's right, we finally got to meet the girlfriend last weekend. A few days before the big event, I had "the talk" with LJ:

"Does she watch General Hospital?"
"I don't know. I haven't told her about that yet."
"Well, what are you gonna do when we start discussing it Saturday, just pretend you have no idea what we're talking about?"
"I guess I need to tell her."

He did. She doesn't. But she has agreed to accept his lifestyle. Wolfgang and I have decided this is it for LJ, you know because clearly that's our decision to make. He asked me the other night,"If LJ gets married, where does that leave us?" I've often wondered the same thing. I mean, what are you talking about? There is no "us."

In other what-you-missed-this-week-on-Facebook news, I took the "What Kenny Chesney song are you" quiz and got the result "Soul Of A Sailor," which I don't even really know. Soon thereafter Wolfgang and LJ took the same quiz (because apparently I'm their leader). Thankfully, they each got different results.

Then last night, I noticed LJ had taken the quiz a second time. Odd, I thought. Even more odd was the message that had been typed above his result. Evidently, his girlfriend had taken the quiz under his name, and had typed a little love note on his wall for all the world to see. But as she was signed into his account, it appeared like this:

Little Joe: "I love the man I'm with, and always will."

Clearly, that needs no further embellishment or explanation.

Let's close now with some final tidbits from the past week in Facebook, or what I like to call, Facebits:

I received a friend request from a girl I made out with one time in high school. She, of course, is married with two teenage kids now.

I managed to avoid being poked, prodded, or kidnapped the entire week.

I scored a bingo in Lexulous (aka Facebook Scrabble) with the word "detente."

And last but not least, I posted this picture of Uncle Bone and Nephew Bone (but mostly Nephew Bone):


(Memorial Day 2009, circa 9 months)

And that's the week that was in Facebook.

"Too old to be wild and free still. Too young to be over the hill. Should try to grow up, but who knows where to start..."

The reason for Febrezin'

A funny thing happened on the way to playing golf with the boys this weekend. We met at LJ's and as we were getting ready to leave LJ discovered he had locked his keys in the house.

Fortunately, he has a spare key hidden. Unfortunately, the spare key was hidden in the garage. Even more unfortunately, the garage was locked. Fortunately, it's not the best area--LJ's actually had a few things stolen there before--so none of the neighbors thought anything of seeing three guys prying open a garage door in broad daylight.

Golf was good. We went to Valley Landing. I shot a 101 and got a little bit sunburned. In March! I actually sort of like the first sunburn of the year. It's invigorating. Just another little reminder that summer is on the way and the seasons will be following their usual pattern just as they have since the last ice age. It's comforting. Well, besides the pain and burning when I shower.

After golf, we decided to hang out at LJ's and watch some of the NCAA tournament. I don't think I'd even sat down yet when I noticed it.

"Did you vacuum?"

"Yep."

Well that can only mean one thing, my friends: He's having a girl over.

We bachelors sometimes have a tendency to let things go a little around the house. Laundry piles up. The kitchen table becomes a collection area for junk mail and last year's Christmas presents. With our busy golf-a-day lives, menial tasks like dusting, vacuuming, and putting a trash bag in the trash can sometimes get put on the backburner.

But as soon as there is the impending presence of a female on the premises, we all turn into tub scrubbing carpet cleaners.

To my knowledge, LJ hasn't dated much recently. We're not talking in terms of months or years here. We're talking Presidential administrations. So I could not say with 100% certainty that he had ever cleaned his house since he moved in a few years ago. I guess that's why the clean carpet stood out to me almost immediately.

The Darryls went to a speed dating thing a few weeks ago, which is where LJ met this girl. (Girl, woman, which is it? At what point does a girl become a woman? Nevermind, don't answer that.)

So, it appears the latex glove is on the other foot, er, hand now. On the plus side, I'm looking forward to a much cleaner, more fastidious environment for our future GH roundtable discussions.

Kidding around, sort of, I told LJ we were going to have to live vicariously through him now that he has a girlfriend. He remarked what a change that was as they were usually the ones living vicariously through me. At which point I remarked about how very sad that was and spent awhile contemplating my life and wondering where it all went wrong.

While we were shooting pool, LJ's woman called. (See? Now I'm calling her woman. I don't get it.) After trying a couple of shots with the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, he put the phone down on the table without saying a word and shot while she yammered on. Wolfgang and I were literally in the floor laughing.

Then I suddenly remembered having done that very same thing before. At the very same table.

Of course, that occurred during a previous administration.

"Now I'm holding umbrellas and openin' up doors. I'm taking out the trash and I'm sweepin' my floors..."

That hardest and most wonderful of all years

Dad called the other night. "We're just sitting here enjoying these cute pictures of Nephew Bone." (One of the things I gave them for Christmas was a Nephew Bone calendar I made at Walgreens.com. Also, he doesn't actually call him Nephew Bone, which I find odd.) "There's just one thing we don't understand."

"Uhh, OK?" At this point, I'm thinking I got someone's birthday wrong or something.

"What is this fes-TEE-vus in December?"

And I thought he read my blog.

Festivus IV was a rousing success. There were thirteen survivors in all this year. That's one shy of the all-time mark set back in 2006. In hindsight, I'm glad I decided to have Festivus again this year. After all, airing the grievances I have against myself gets old after awhile.

Highlights included some of the Festivian children learning the difference between a Festivus pole and a shower curtain rod in a tree stand. The group singing of Silver Pole was a hit, as usual. Next year, I think we may try it in the round. (Or whatever you call it when you sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and everyone starts at a different time.)

The Festivus Dinner featured a tempting schmeer of pizza, cupcakes, chips and salsa, and Twix--the only candy bar with the cookie crunch. As an added feature this year, we watched The Dealership episode of Seinfeld, which features George's candy lineup. ("Please, I think I've reached the point in my life where I can tell the difference between cookie and nougat. So let's not just say things that we both know are obvious fabrications!)

The Feats of Strength this year featured two card games of immense skill and lightning quick reflexes: Spoons and Egyptian Rat Screw. I wanted to play Scene It Seinfeld, but got out-voted like twelve to two. (I voted twice.) Wolfgang and Little Joe were the first people knocked the first couple games of Spoons, which resulted in Wolfgang letting the expletives fly. Fortunately, the children were gone by that time.

I also received a The Office wall calendar from LJ. Then later I found out he got Wolfgang a calendar featuring scantily clad women giving golf etiquette rules. "I didn't want to get ya'll the same thing," he explained. And here I thought he was just impressed with my golf etiquette.

So, grievances have been aired and the pole is back in the crawlspace. All that's left now is to repair damaged friendships and reflect on another year that has passed us by. And I will do that now.

Two-double-naught-eight. It was the year I first had something I'd written published in an actual book. It was the year I first became an uncle and a godfather. The year I visited Myrtle Beach for the first time. And of course, it was the year Bama spent seemingly half the season ranked #1.

But most all all, I will remember 2008 as the year the each member of my immediately family experienced one very significant event. The year began with Mom recovering from her minor stroke. Then Dad found out he needed open heart surgery and had a successful triple bypass in April. And then in August came Nephew Bone. Now the world revolves around him, and no one would have it any other way.

The worry and uncertainty about Mom and the hours sitting in the waiting room as Dad underwent his surgery were the most anxious moments of my life. Then there was the indescribable wonder, joy, and hope Nephew Bone brought with him into the world. Those are the reasons that 2008 was the hardest and most wonderful of all years.

Thank God that Mom and Dad made it through everything OK. And thank God for Nephew Bone.

In a few hours, the ball will drop on 2009. Though personally, I would prefer not to spend New Year's Eve with Ryan Seacrest. I mean, does he have to take over everything? First, it was American Top Forty. Then it was Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. Next thing you know, he'll be guest starring on General Hospital and dating Audrina on The Hills. At which point, I will not be able to take it anymore!

I wish you all have a happy and safe New Year's and an amazing 2009.

"Today, you know, that's good enough for me. Breathing in and out's a blessing, can't you see? Today's the first day of the rest of my life. And I'm alive, and well..."

Have you Scene It?

It was your typical weekday afternoon. I was fighting to stay awake for another hour or so of work, trying to get over the shock of seeing Sonny Corinthos stabbed and dropped in the river with cement blocks chained to his feet. (Fortunately, Carly happened by the waterfront, dove to the bottom of the river, somehow picked the locks on Sonny's chains, unchained him, and swam him back to the surface, all while holding her breath.) A commercial break came on, and that's when I heard it.

"General Hospital, brought to you in part by Scene It Seinfeld."

Wait. Did I hear that right? It couldn't be, could it? Two of the very cornerstones of my life coming together? Apparently, the answer to those questions is yes. Yes I did. Yes it could. And yes they have.

My initial reaction was probably not unlike many of yours--after all this time, my Nuvaring post was finally paying off! At last, they've begun marketing to the 25-39 year old straight male soap viewing crowd. And why not? There must be dozens of us out here.

Next, a Vagisil commercial came on and my thoughts turned to this new product: Scene It? Seinfeld. They've done it! It's been done.

The problem here is the same problem I always face with Seinfeld-related releases, especially around the holidays. Either everyone will get me one and I'll wind up with like four, or no one will get me one because they think everyone else will be getting me one. It can be quite the conundrum.

It didn't take long for people to start contacting me. I must say, there is something quite comforting about friends--even those I've not heard from in awhile--knowing me so well that I'm the first person they think of when there's news regarding Seinfeld, Matchbox Twenty, or Lindsay Lohan.

The female half of Kywana IM'd me one morning to see if I'd heard about it. We discussed what a great addition this will be to this year's Festivus celebration. Then Friday, a girl I've spoken to maybe once in the past year called to tell me about it. She also raised an issue I had yet to think about, saying, "No one will want to play with you because you'll know every single answer."

Drat! She had a point. I would dominate. It'd be like Kramer fighting children in karate. After careful consideration, meditation, and asking myself what would Jason & Jerry do (WWJJD), I came to a decision.

I've decided that I'm perfectly fine with always winning.

"Master of the house, doling out the charm. Ready with a handshake and an open palm..."

Babies R Us

Guess what.



If you guessed that I shaved my facial hair, you are correct. I actually did it a few months ago. It was a pretty big decision, but I figured it was time.

Did you notice anything else different in the picture? Look closely and see if you notice... A WHOLE OTHER PERSON!!!

That's right, my friends. After all these years, I've finally done it. I'm an uncle! Say hello to Nephew Bone. (He's the one on the left.) This picture was taken just as I was telling him all about blogging.

My sister was admitted to the hospital early Tuesday morning to be induced. Nephew Bone finally arrived Wednesday evening at 8 pounds, 3 ounces. I figure thirty-six hours isn't that long to wait for a whole 'nother person, right sis? And no, they didn't name him Seven or Jacob Martin, despite my constant urging friendly suggestion.

From what I can tell, here is a breakdown of how Nephew Bone spends his day:

Sleeping - 70%
Eating - 15%
Causing people to swoon by opening his eyes - 10%
Whining at bothersome, albeit sometimes attractive, nurses - 5%

Total time spent looking cute = 100%

I want to be the best uncle ever. And by best uncle, I mean, fave uncle. However, I've been unable to find any books on uncle-ing, so I've had to come up with other means of research. I have devised what I think you will find is a simple, yet comprehensive two-pronged approach.

First, I have been trying to recall things my uncles taught me. Things like if you hit a golf ball just so, it will run along the cart path and greatly increase shot distance. Although I guess I would have eventually figured that out myself.

Secondly, I have been trying to catch reruns of Full House, Dukes Of Hazzard, and My Three Sons whenever I can. I figure the knowledge I can glean from Uncle Joey, the Uncles Jesse, Uncle Charley and other famous uncles will be invaluable. And what about that old guy on Lost In Space? Was he an uncle, or just some odd character they picked up somewhere in the galaxy?

It is an incredible thing hold a baby while thinking he wasn't even born a few hours before. To experience the miracle of life is... indescribable. I can only imagine how it will be someday when I finally impregnate some unsuspecting girl.

What? I didn't want you to think this was going to turn into one of those boring uncle blogs. I promise a return to golf, General Hospital, and other uninhibited bachelor tales very soon.

I also want to say congratulations to Kywana on the birth of their son this past Monday. He is beautiful! And thanks for letting me be part of that. Well, a small part. It's not like I was there for the delivery or anything. I am also honored they have chosen me to be Kywana Jr's godfather. Starting immediately, you may refer to me as Godfather B.

It's been a busy week around here. Lots of time spent in hospitals. I am most thankful that everything went smoothly (easy for me to say) and that everyone is healthy.

There are two less pregnant women in the world. Two new beautiful Bama fans. And one proud new uncle and godfather.

"His fingerprints are everywhere. I just slowed down to stop and stare. Opened my eyes and man I swear, I saw God today..."

Obligatory Olympics entry

I've never had much of a problem going along with the crowd. When I was four and some neighborhood kids were taking turns throwing bricks at a wall while one person stood against the wall and tried to dodge the bricks, with mortar stained hands I willingly participated. In 1987, I was rolling my jeans so tight and so often I'm surprised I don't have long term chronic circulation problems in my feet.

Tie dye, slap bracelets, talk to the hand, 90210 sideburns, the Rachel haircut, you name it. Whatever the crowd was doing, there I would be, following along and trying not to stand out. Just put a numeric neon green pager in my hand and prepare to be amazed by my upside down spelling abilities. So in the spirit of fitting in and going along with the blogging crowd, I now present my obligatory Olympics post.

I wasn't all that excited about the Olympics before they started. I figured I would watch Misty May and Kerri Walsh, maybe some of the basketball, and not a whole lot else. Then Jason Lezak happened. By the time he had smashed the French and I found myself standing up yelling "(non child friendly word) France" all alone in my bedroom, I was hooked.

The past ten days, my TV has been on something other than the Olympics and General Hospital for maybe two hours. I'm watching NBC, CNBC, MSNBC, and USA. Men's water polo, team handball, women's double skulls, you name it. Morning, afternoon, evening, and late night. I get very sad when I can't find Olympics on any channel.

A few other thoughts...

Why are they taking softball out of the Olympics? How is BMX a more popular sport than Jennie Finch, I mean, softball? A bunch of twenty-something-year-old guys riding around on dirt bikes? Please.

One sport I truly don't understand is the 3000 meter steeplechase. They run around, there's a hurdle every once in awhile, then once a lap they go completely off the track to jump a wall and land in one or two feet of water. It just seems all really bizarre, and I'm not sure what it determines. Maybe if there was a small flood or water heater disaster and you needed to jump out a window and run thru standing water--but not a lot of standing water, just a couple of steps--to safety, these would be the best people for the task?

Anytime I get a little fed up with Bob Costas, Jim Lampley, or Mary Carillo, I just remind myself, "Hey, at least it's not Joe Buck or Chris Berman."

Why is there no 100 meter doggie paddle?

Here's maybe the oddest fact I've learned during the Olympics: Georgia's men's volleyball team is made up of two Brazilians named Geor and Gia. Seriously? That's an onomatological phenomenon! That'd be like if the US team was made up of two Serbs named Bratislav United and Nikolai States.

But of course, our men's beach volleyball team are the dynamic duo of Todd Rogers and Phil Dalhausser, the latter of which George Bush affectionately nicknamed Big Fella. I can only imagine how that came about. I'm guessing it was after several failed attempts to pronounce Dalhausser.

I think if I were a diver, and I was way behind going into my last dive with no hope to medal, I'd have to try a cannonball. Oh come on, like you hadn't thought the same thing.

I love Dara Torres. And here's why. When I watch these teenagers and twentysomethings winning medals and representing their country, inevitably I begin to examine my life and how very little I've done with it. Of course, it doesn't help that as I'm watching, I'm lying on the couch trying to lick the last bit of icing out of a cupcake wrapper. But then I watch Dara Torres and I think, "Eh, I've still got time." She's like the Kenny Rogers of the Olympics.

I love Natalie Coughlin, too, but for entirely different reasons.

"When Brian Boitano was in the Olympics skating for the gold, he did two Salchows and a triple Lutz while wearing a blind fold..."

Expectant mothers, Nintendo, & the bachelor

Well, I haven't been blogging much lately. That could be attributed to a number of things, such as being exhausted from NaBloSoThaDraWe, which with at least two participants including me was a rousing success. (Thanks, Eileen.) But I think mostly it comes down to the fact that I haven't been typing things in this box and hitting publish much lately. I've done that like zero times in the past ten days.

It was quite an eventful weekend for me, though. Friday night, I hung out with the Darryls. We did your typical guy stuff. Shot pool, discussed the latest happenings on General Hospital, and even sang a bit of karaoke without music. (I know what you're saying. Is it still considered karaoke without the music, Bone? And all I have to say to that is, probably not.) It was all very manly though, not that I needed to clarify that or anything.

Saturday night, I went to a friend's 40th birthday celebration. At some point in the evening, I found myself in a not uncommon position for a bachelor, wedged between two pregnant women. Not physically. Well, sort of. Anyway, that was even more fun than it sounds.

Unfortunately, I didn't plan ahead, and had no signal to get me out of a conversation, such as head patting or chicken wing. So there I sat, as they discussed contractions, itchy stomachs, minivans, and dilations. Who knew pregnancy affected the eyes!

I found myself unable to contribute much to the conversation, since my gynecology knowledge is pretty much limited to Nuvaring commercials. But I wanted to learn what I could, figuring it could always come in handy later. So during a break in the conversation, I chimed in with, "So what exactly does a contraction feel like?" Not long after that, I went over and started petting the dog.

After the party, I went back to Kywana's for a bit. It's what the kids call the "after party." They had downloaded Super Mario Brothers for the Wii, so we were all taking turns playing. Then when it got to Kywana Junior's turn to play, she asked her mother, "What do I do?"

Oh my gosh. She's never played. It was like I had stepped on a rake and the handle smacked me in the face. Except that I didn't cry. I was sad for her at first, because she had never played Super Mario Brothers. Then I was sad for me, because I was old.

All turned out well though. It wound up being sort of like a little video game history lesson. Early Mario World Civilization 101: The Origins Of Mario Kart.

Tune in next time when I offer Bone's Helpful Lamaze Tips. And also provide an editorial commentary on why Luigi got the shaft. Or maybe I'll just blog about the Olympics.

"Her boyfriend, he don't know, anything about her. He's too stoned, Nintendo. I wish that I could make her see, she's just the flavor of the weak..."

There's nothing to see here

Believe it or not, I started out this year making sort of a silent resolution to myself to try and write at least twenty minutes a day. Oh, the irony. Instead, I've gone in the exact opposite direction and have written much less.

Lately, I feel a bit like Lieutenant Frank Drebin in the Naked Gun movies--which by the way are some of the great comedic moments in movie history--standing there saying, "Move along. There's nothing to see here." All the while, things are exploding and catching fire behind him.

Plenty has been happening in my life. Probably moreso than anytime in the past few years. Last weekend was Decoration Day. Two weekends ago I ran a 10K. I did a Nielsen Diary again this spring. In one particular eight day stretch, I played golf four times. Sonny signed over the "business" to Jason. Yet none of it seems quite blogworthy anymore. Well, except for the Sonny and Jason thing. Can you believe it!?

Most of these are things I've blogged about in the past. Maybe that's the problem. I have written about all these things before, so now it seems repetitive to do so, and difficult to come up with something new to say.

Or maybe it's something else. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on myself. Maybe anything and everything is blogworthy. Maybe I waste too much time trying to figure out how they can bring Jonathan Jackson back as Lucky.

As I write this, I realize that I am very much an annual creature, like the groundhog. As opposed to a perennial, like say, the begonia. Year after year, I do many of the same things. Winter blahs, beach fever, 10K race, beach trip, Bama season tickets, holidays. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Not that I'm complaining at all. That's not a bad year. I'm just trying to figure things out. And now that I've compared my life to Frank Drebin, a rodent, and a bottle of Prell, I think I'll stop.

Besides, we need to talk about this. I think I'm a little excited, even though it makes my Where Are They Now post outdated, if not altogether obsolete. I may go out and buy a Batman t-shirt.

"Remember when we said, girl, please dont go. And how Id be loving you forever. Taught you 'bout hangin' tough, as long as you got the right stuff..."

Tragedy, technology, & tying knots

The dull edge became a little sharper last Thursday as I received my Blackberry Curve. It immediately becomes the most cutting edge piece of technology I own, followed by my iPod, and then next would be my... um... Remington PG-250 electric shaver, I guess.

Those in the know tell me that I should refer to it as a Crackberry. I can't wait to find out what that's all about. And the girls at the cell phone place had a nice laugh over my old phone, the discontinued Samsung P107 with the 0.1 megapixel camera, which left all my camera phone pictures looking like abstract impressionist paintings.

My excitement was short-lived, however, as tragedy struck my world Friday afternoon. Shortly before 3 PM, someone I have known for roughly twenty-five years suffered a massive heart attack.

That someone is Luke Spencer.

He was found on the floor of Windermere by Scott Baldwin's long lost son, Logan Hayes. As of today, Luke is still alive, but it is unlikely they'll be able to get him to a hospital because of the storm, so please keep him in your thoughts. More importantly, please keep me in your thoughts, because if Luke goes, I... well, I'd rather not think about it.

Remarkably, I was able to press on despite that weighing heavily on my heart. As a few of you may know, I was in a wedding Saturday. My longtime friend Kyle said goodbye to the ranks of singledom and hello to a brave new world. (I was going to say "My BFF Kyle" but guys don't really have BFF's. We just have buddies, or homeboys, or longtime confidants. Wonder why that is?)

During rehearsal, the wedding director repeatedly called me and the girl I escorted "professionals." I'm not sure I want to be known as a professional groomsman. Then again, why the heck not? Maybe I could make some extra cash on weekends, legally for a change.

It was great to see several friends that I had not seen in quite awhile. And hopefully, no footage of me "dancing" will turn up on YouTube. No, trust me, you think you want it, but you don't.

As the weekend was quite busy, I haven't had a lot of time to play with my Crackberry yet. Though I did finally figure out last night how to change the ring tone. That only took four days.

Technology rulz!

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get thru this thing called life. Electric word life. It means forever and that's a mighty long time. But I'm here to tell you, there's something else..."

Nuvaring is not for everyone

To whom it may concern:

My name is Bone. I am a single, straight male who looks forward to coming home after a long day at work and settling in to watch my favorite soap, General Hospital. There are two Soap Digests on my bedroom floor at this very moment. I enjoy keeping up with the adventures and misadventures going on in Port Charles.

However, what I do not enjoy is being mercilessly inundated each and every commercial break with ads for birth control, tampons, feminine hygiene products, and Playskool toys. And if it's not that, it's an ad for problems of old age featuring Wilfred Brimley. Yes, I liked him in Our House, but that's beside the point.

The other day while watching, one particular break began with the line, "How do you say so long to a period that's too long?" I. Don't. Know. And I'd rather not think about it. Then I had to watch a 60-second dialogue about Valtrex, and how one partner had herpes and the other partner didn't want to catch it. (How about not sleeping with her, genius?) That break ended with a What About Brian promo, because we know how many men watch that.

Based on your ads, one would think your viewers were all either women who have lots of (sometimes unprotected) sex and weird cycles, young mothers, or old retired men who may or may not have problems urinating.

And that may be. But I find it hard to believe that Stephen A. Smith and I are the only two young, virile males out there who care what happens to Sonny, Carly, Jason, Elizabeth, Nikolas, Emily, Lulu, Lucky, and Luke. Besides, if, God forbid, I ever do have "weak stream", I won't need some commercial to inspire me to action. I'll run screaming to the doctor's office. Believe me!

How about tossing in a Sears commercial once in awhile? Maybe a Men's Wearhouse ad. Or at least a movie preview. And while we're on the subject, whatever happened to the Doublemint twins? They were cute.

All I'm saying is you could be missing out on a whole segment of your audience. After all, as one of your frequent ads says, "Nuvaring is not for everyone."

Indeed.

PS: Any chance Sam might be leaving the show anytime soon? Also, if you could get Jason and Liz together soon, and give Luke a bigger part, and bring Jonathan Jackson back as Lucky, that'd be great. Thanks.

"She says she's leaving on a Sunday. I don't care. I need to know where to turn. I tried it once. It never caught on. I was the only one who got burned..."