They'd be talking about this party for decades to come...

Okay. I've been out of pocket a day or two. I know. But I'm not quitting on you!

Sometimes writing for you comes easy. Sometimes...well...not so much. Funny how the brain works that way. I'm coming off hiatus today because tomorrow is one of those milestone days, and I feel compelled to share a few thoughts. That's right. Tomorrow is...

My birthday!!!

(cue falling balloons and circus music)

Honestly, I'm not one of those narcissistic types that thinks even DisneyWorld should be in celebration for the big day tomorrow, but Mrs. Tony C makes a big deal about birthdays around our home, so I'm not going to be accused of being a wet blanket...ahem...again.

I do, however, have a ton of things to be thankful about including the fact I've made another successful trip around the Sun. When you get to a certain age, birthdays take on more of a reflective quality than a celebratory one. Sure. I love cake and ice cream. I'm a little giddy some people will be losing money again tomorrow since I've reached another birthday alive and mostly intact (pay up suckers!). I enjoy Facebook threads that are focused on just little old me. Who doesn't?

So, I could list the things that I'm most appreciative for at this point in my existence...but...zzzzzzzzz! I'll save that for some sappy sentimental post around Thanksgiving or Christmas. Seems more fitting.

Today, I'm going to share my ideas for my ultimate birthday party if common sense, funding and generally accepted social practices weren't an issue/obstacle. Don't worry. It's still G rated...mostly.

Theme-
That's an easy one...luau style! Who doesn't have fun at a luau? Complete with Aloha shirts for the guys and coconut top/grass skirt attire for the ladies and leis for everyone . Spray-on tanning would be available at the door for the self conscience or snow-blindingly white complected (like my yankee friend David Jonhdrow..I'm sure). We'd need at least a couple of acres of flat, grassed area surrounding a huge pool and hundreds of tiki torches.  Of course, there would be a beach area with brought in soft, white sand and a wave pool complete with water slides.

Food would compliment the theme with a few imu pigs in the ground and every drink having a little umbrella. Those little umbrellas just screeeaaams party! We'd also have ribs and wings galore..and a whole pineapple at every table for people to just slice off what they want when they want.

No birthday cake. Sorry. Way too cliche. Instead, we'd do it Rain Forest Cafe style and when someone was ready for dessert, a molten lava cake would be freshly prepared and served while everyone yelled 'Volcano!' every time one appeared...and without the $13.99 price tag you get at the Rain Forest Cafe (Ouch. I was screaming something completely different when we went).

Entertainment-

Another factor not requiring much thought for me. Aside from the go-cart race track and helicopter rides available to everyone, I'd have a mock up of the Wipeout obstacle course from the TV show for the really brave-hearted. I'd sit and watch my friends try taking on the daunting course and just laugh and laugh as they slipped and slid into mud and water...that would never get old...at least for me!



Music? Hootie and the Blowfish of course! Maybe not completely in line with the theme, but hey...it's Hootie and the Blowfish! Wouldn't it be fun listening to everyone try to get into key with Darius Rucker's raspy, bluesy vocals on the Happy Birthday song? I wouldn't let him do any of that country crap he sings now. Just saying...

Not that she's all that entertaining, but Courtney Cox...whatever her last name is now...would be there to help me do commentary as friends went through the Wipeout course (my friends, not hers). Why Courtney Cox? Because we were born on the exact same day and will forever share that common bond. Well, at least in my mind.

I'd try to work Rick Flair into the mix somehow. I mean, come on! What's a party without Space Mountain? Wooooo! He could be at the memorabilia picture station and have his picture made with the guest as they arrived. All free...of course. Now wouldn't that look cool hanging on the frig?! Wooooo!

The characters from The Banana Splits and H.R. Pufnstuf of 70's TV fame would be walking around in costume throughout the party too. Sure the kids might get a little freaked out by the over-sized, alien characters...but hey...this is my birthday people!

Guest-


The most important factor of the whole gig. An invitation and means of travel would be extended to anyone and everyone I've ever been friends with through the years. All family, naturally, and extended family. Facebook friends. Work customers. The Laker Girls. Steve Mann and the morning crew from the WXSM Sports Monster. Chevy Chase. My blogging friends.  Karl Pilkington and Ernie 'Turtleman' Brown. All the residents and employees of the Church Hill Health Care and Rehabilitation Center. Phil Jackson. Current Vanderbilt NROTC staff and faculty. Vince Scully. My high school English teacher, Shirley Whitt. Shemar Moore (for Mrs. Tony C to watch).

Too bad Andy Rooney died. He'd be on the list for sure if he hadn't. I can just picture him at the end of the huge conga line that's sure to form at some point in the festivities.


Not a bad plan overall. At least a good start anyway. Maybe I'll keep working on the plan and start buying lottery tickets...the big 5-0 is just right around corner...

You're only as old as you look...feel...I mean believe, yes believe!

It all started so innocent enough. A little gray hair, weight not coming off so easily, a few cracking joints in the morning, etc...

Then came phase two. A case of gout. What the heck is that? Doesn't that effect only old people. Next came the need for a prescribed 'fluid pill' due to excess fluid build up. Dear Lord. I'm a 'nerve pill' prescription away from being my grandmother...and she'll be 98 next month!

Today, I enter a completely new phase of sun-setting life...today I became...a mall watcher.

gasp

Not a 'mall walker' mind you. Oh no. I skipped that level completely and went straight to going to the mall, parking on a bench all by myself, and watching people go by while making mental observation all to myself. What next? A Hoveround. Oh the humanity!


My written confession might lead to open weeping. I'm glad my dear readers can't see me right now. Shameful.

No. I can't explain why. I thought the Crocs, the ZUMBA, the Just for Men were all great tools to help me fight off that plummet into the old person abyss of condo-living in Florida and Bingo on Tuesday and Friday nights. Apparently not.

The sad part about the whole affair is I didn't even realize I was doing it...mall watch that is...until the task was well under way. It all happened so fast! I went to the mall to get the teenager a pair of shoes, a bite of lunch and then...wham, bam, Son of Sam...I'm anchoring down one end of a bench with a tag team partner on the other end obviously well into his 70s.

Warm weather we're having for the first week of May.

Yes sir. After that nonexistent winter, we might be in for a scorcher this summer.

The weather?! I'm sitting on a bench in the mall talking to an old man about the weather?! Why does my ankle hurt? On no...not gout. Not gout again...

This weather sure messes with joints. Knees hurt so bad I can't sleep at night.

Weather. Knee pain. Maybe that's it. Maybe it's not gout after all. Maybe, just maybe, it's barometric pressure related rheumatoid...arthritis...oh sweet fancy Moses...please be gout! What's happening to me? I need to lie down...no!...I don't need to lie down! I perfectly okay! I'll do ZUMBA tonight, a little bow-chicka-wow-wow later tonight. Yes! I will be just fine...

These young people and their phones. Walking around texting not watching where they're going. Why aren't they in school in the middle of the day?!

Oh look at the time! I'd better be getting back to work myself. Hope you have a good rest of the day sir.

Work? Oh yeah. Good talking to you.

I'm officially avoiding the mall for the rest of the summer. I'm too young to be old! That's right...you're too young to be old Tony C. You're to young to be old. You're too young to be old.

I missed ZUMBA tonight because my stinking ankle is killing me...dang this gout stuff hurts.

No Cracker Barrel for me this year...just Zumba!

To say I love my wife would be the greatest of understatements...

My one and only Valentine today is everything to me. But I'll spare you the mushy, sloppy details. I need to say no more about my love and commitment to my Mrs. Tony C than this:

I'm going to Zumba tonight! Eyah!

That's right. Not some fancy restaurant with low lighting and half chocolate covered fruit. Not a quick overnight get away with no kids present or pajamas required. Not even a simple date night of nothing more than Applebee's and a chick flick. Nope.

Instead, I'm going to a room full of women people and sweating like a...well, you know...while I shake my groove thing.  Just call it love.

Truth be told, I'd do it naked in my front yard (at least until the police arrived or my neighbor mercy killed me with a head shot) if that's what she wanted. I can say that with complete confidence because I know good and well Jesus will be back before that thought ever transposes from her mind to mouth. But I'd sure do it!

It's just too easy to Hallmark or Russell Stovers your feelings on a day like today. Don't get me wrong... I respect and applaud those of you making that effort. I've just used up all such simplistic offerings of affection while making up for my many other bonehead moves and comments through my near eight years of marriage to the most of perfect of brides. An angel on Earth if there ever was one I tell you! 

Yep...I'm working on a whole different level here guys. Not to mention in just a mere 90 day window, I go through Christmas, her birthday, Valentines Day and our anniversary...celebrating the absolute greatest day of my life!

Poetic justice on a guy who once loathed and despised Valentines Day.

So tonight, I'll don my stretchy pants and vest and anchor that back row down with hooting and hollering as if Ricky Martin himself were leading the class. Wait...that was way too gay and dated...as if Selena Gomez were up front.

No wait! My wife leads the class! And does the absolute best job ever too!

Wonder if it's too late to get roses...

Just what the heck is going on here Al Gore...

It's 72 degrees with 66 percent humidity as I write this in Kaneohe Bay on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.

In Johnson City, Tennessee, the temperature right now is 63 degrees with 40 percent humidity.

While one of those stats is completely normal for any given Groundhog's Day in recent past, the latter is a tad bit unnerving.

Before you go flying off the handle ranting and raving about 'normal weather cycles' and 'global warming quacks', the average high for this day in East Tennessee is 46 degrees with the record high being set in 1989 at 70 degrees. The record low is 0 in 1981. Unfortunately, I remember that winter all too well.

Now maybe you're one of those people who want to blame that drastic temperature swing on the spike in minivan sales in the 80's, or maybe you believe there's a government cover up of alien terraforming in Central America that will soon be exposed by Charlie Sheen on YouTube. Hey...I'm not here to judge. All I know is something freaky is going on, and if things don't change, I've got a couple of unused sleds for sale...real cheap.

When Mrs. Tony C and I bought our current abode in 2008, I was excited about the location on a hill that was primo for sledding action. Finally, the Crazy Tomato is of sledding age, but unless we make a major investment in an artificial snow machine, she's stuck with scooter propulsion for the foreseeable future.



I'm guessing I'd be far more popular with my water department than neighbors if I took that leap...

The real problem is she doesn't really know what she's missing! With no prior sledding experiences to reference, all the Crazy Tomato knows about sledding she learned watching Frosty the Snowman a few weeks back and maybe an episode of Dumbest Stuff on Wheels...which I will neither confirm nor deny she watched with me one night while her mother was gone.

All I'm saying is while I'm thankful for wearing a short sleeve polo and Crocs to work today...wait...I wear that every day.

All I'm saying is while I'm thankful for not having to commute 23 miles in slush while surrounded by idiots with misplaced expectations for their four-wheel drive vehicles, it would be nice to do a little downhilling in the backyard with the kids at least once before time Springs forward and we're back at the pool.

Don't even get me started on the whole time change thing. What a crock (with a 'k') that is. I might move back to Hawaii where they don't change the time because someone in the government thinks it's a good idea.

For sale: Two unused sleds. Brand new. Be the first to break them in this winter. Buy one, get  one free...

But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man...and don't call me Lola!

My masculinity has been called into question of late, and I'm mad as heck about it too!



There. That sounded pretty forceful. I've been called a lot of different things in my life, but accused of being dainty or effeminate (read sissy) are tags I've never had to wear...for good reason.

While there have been a few descriptive adjectives thrown my direction in the past that, admittedly, made me a bit uncomfortable, I won't rehash said accusatory attributes to avoid giving credence. However, I also won't deny many...okay, maybe most...were easily justifiable.

But I'm drawing a line in the sand on being branded unmanly!

Metrosexual I'll accept...renaissance man I prefer. I honestly have Mrs. Tony C to thank for it coming to this showdown too. She's always going on about what a great cook I am, and how I do all the clothes ironing and how easily I get flowers to grow, and yada...yada...yada. What's she doing to me! She's destroying my very manhood!

I've been a football player, a jock, a competitive power lifter, a hunter and outdoorsman... a United States Marine for the love of God! I can fix the brakes on my car, repair major appliances around the house, fix holes in sheet rock and even fix a busted toilet. That's plumbing! You hear that? Plumbing! Nothing is more masculine than plumbing! That's right...I said that!

Okay. Maybe I am one of very few men to be found using Pinterest. What's the big deal? I've gotten some great ideas for the garage, projects lined up for the yard come Spring and... okay, a few pretty awesome recipes. Doesn't mean I wear lacy panties! I'm just a refined consumer of available internet information using the most efficient means available to me. I've got an ESPN app on my phone too!

Big deal I do ZUMBA.  I told you last year I made a commitment to Mrs. Tony C to improve my overall health. After eliminating sodas and a few other small dietary changes, I shed 30 lbs by Christmas. Granted, the y-axis on my line chart (where y represents weight and x represents time) probably made an upward tick in December. Actually...it assuredly spiked upward which resulted in a need to kick it up a notch  put things into a higher gear! Since Mrs. Tony C was instructing her own ZUMBA class three times a week, I just wanted to be a supportive husband. It was the best of both worlds! I get in shape and brownie points for being supportive. Win-win!

What's ZUMBA you ask? Well, it's part aerobics, part dance and a lot of moving. ZUMBA is really hard to describe, so here's a video that shows you...





Okay. Maybe that was a mistake. But I don't do all the moves! Well...I can't do all the moves. Mrs. Tony C can bend like a willow branch and comes in at a 100+ pounds lighter. I'm no pansy...or fool.

Look. There's no way I can be accused of being effeminate and here's proof why. I made an unfortunate bet with a fellow sports radio broadcaster years back when our respective teams played each other and lost. The pay up? Going to the rival school's pep rally dressed in formal prom attire...for a girl!

There won't be any pictures posted, but believe me, it was scary ugly, and I nearly killed myself trying to walk in a 2 inch heel...case closed.

Let's take a cup of kindness people...for auld lang syne!

If you think I'm at all worried about the impending destruction of the world this year...better think again Jack.


I find a tremendous amount of humor in the time and energy spent discussing and debating the 'great end of the world' as allegedly predicted by the subsequent ending of an extinct culture's calendar.

Has anyone stop to think maybe Mesoamericans couldn't count past 1,383,136? Maybe there is no 1,383,137 in their numbering system? How about the fact that the end of the current Mayan Long Count Calendar is the thirteenth such ending without a major hitch...well...aside from the fact the Mesoamerican culture ended in the 16th century, and their calendar sure didn't predict that.

Yep, not losing much sleep over this one.

Plus, I've resolved to be more positive in 2012, and fixating on global destruction kind of goes in a different direction. Keeping resolution is hard enough without the looming fear of end of times. Think about it...if you resolved to lose weight this year and hold to the belief the world is coming to an end in December...what's the point? I say die fat and happy! Besides, we're all getting new bodies on the other side anyway.

If you've resolved to save more money in 2012 but feel validity in the global demise on the forthcoming winter solstice...duh...you can't take it with you, and who really cares about a plump portfolio when plumes of inter-Earth fire are springing up all around us! I say investing in a fire-proof safe room for your house or at least a swimming pool might be a smarter move than the IPO of the month.

So, you've resolved to learn a new language, get more organized and/or give up that lifelong vice in 2012 but know time is short with less than 353 days to go until...bam...world destruction.  Look on the bright side Sunshine. This is a leap year and you have a whole extra day to get it done (or maybe undone if applicable)!

Three days in...I'm still resolution strong and charged like an ion.

Happy New Years to all. Let's have a great year together!





 

I draw the line at donning any gay apparel...

We've added a new holiday tradition to the Tony C household, and I must admit I've gotten into it...just a little bit.

Some of you may be familiar with Elf on the Shelf. Until this year, I was not. Here's how the racket works according to the company's propaganda:

Every day from Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, each family's scout elf watches over the children and then at night, once everyone goes to bed, the elf flies back to the North Pole to report back to Santa about what activities, good and bad, took place throughout the day. Before the family wakes up each morning, the scout elf flies back from the North Pole and hides. By hiding in a new spot each morning around the house, the scout elf and the family play an on-going game of hide and seek. The Elf on the Shelf explains that elves get their magic by being named. In the back of each book, families have an opportunity to write their elf's name and the date that they adopted it. Once the elf is named, the scout elf receives its special Christmas magic which allows it to fly to and from the North Pole. However, the magic might go if touched, so the rule for The Elf on the Shelf states: "There's only one rule that you have to follow so I will come back and be here tomorrow: Please do not touch me. My magic might go, and Santa won't hear all I've seen or I know." Although families aren't supposed to touch their scout elf, they can talk to it and tell it all their Christmas wishes so it can report back to Santa accurately.

So Mrs. Tony C plopped down the cash for the book and elf, read the story to the 4-year old, and then gracefully bowed out of the picture leaving yours truly to do 'the fun stuff.'  First order of business, giving the mischievous little snitch a name...

Now, I've previously documented my apparent ineptness at naming inanimate objects (remember Joe Pony?), so when pressed by my beloved Crazy Tomato to help her think of a name, the best I could beget was...Blue.

Crazy Tomato: Blue?

Tony C: Blue the Elf. He has blue eyes...

Mrs. Tony C: (mocking eye roll) Geeezzz

Crazy T: I like it daddy! His name is Blue the Elf!

Mrs. Tony C: Blue?! Seriously? Blue the Elf?

Crazy T: I want it to be Blue mommy. Put it in the book!

There's a tremendous amount of responsibility that accompanies the power of influence I wield at my home. The burden at times is absolutely crushing...ahem...but I love my girls and take it very seriously.

So then began the routine of placing Blue in a new spot and situation each night after my own little fruit-nicknamed elf went to sleep. Why did this ultimately fall to you Tony C? That is a wonderful question my astute readers.

Another household custom not tied to the seasons in general is bedtime at the Tony C estate. The ritual goes like this...the Crazy Tomato will not go to sleep in her bed without the accompaniment of one Mrs. Tony C...every single, stinking night! Also falling asleep in these accommodating circumstances would be one Mrs. Tony C...every single, stinking night!

I might be harnessing a few ill feelings about this situation, and in the spirit of the season, I sincerely apologize for my pithiness.

I said pith-i-ness! Come on guys! You know I don't use such language! This is a family show!

Back to the elf. So each night, I look for creative places and circumstances to place Blue and bring joy and a chuckle to my Crazy Tomato the next morning. I already know what you're thinking...you can come up with creative circumstances to build a continuing story around a toy doll, but you can't come up with a better name than Blue the Elf?

Google my friends. I ain't blazing a new trail here you know.

Can't wait to paint her nose red tonight and pin it on the fairy. I might even try to get away with a two-for-one...I'm still feeling a little bitter.

Happy days are finally here again...

My plans are to share in my good fortunes with all my loyal readers...


Seems like the right thing to do. Naturally, I'll start by paying my tithes to thank the Lord Almighty for I'm sure His divine intervention on my lowly behalf. Now I'm not completely sure what has happened to yours truly is absolutely a  gift from above, but I'm not taking chances either.

I'll be sure to take care of my family. Having three weddings and three college tuitions to pay at some future point was beginning to weigh heavy on this old bloak.  Lots of sleepless nights.

Well okay... I've had a few nights it's been hard to go to sleep. That may have been Coke Zero related now that I think about it.

I'm so sorry! I'm getting way ahead of myself here! The excitement has just been building around my house and I'm just a mess. Let me explain...

I've been getting these legal notifications that I'm part of several separate class action law suits currently in litigation. Honestly, I've not paid much mind to them until last week. Let's see... there's one with iTunes, Amazon and Ameritrade ongoing...and I just received a settlement check from the Yingling v. Ebay, Inc case. I didn't have to do a thing! They're just sending me money for free!

Pinch me...it can't be so.

After talking distribution over with Mrs. Tony C (whom I must admit seemed quite apathetic), she agreed I could follow our standing family values guide of God, family and education...wait...that doesn't work...God, family and all others. You are the all others!! I just knew in my heart this day would come, and I would be able to give back to my loyal readers as an undying thank you in the form of every one's favorite gratitude...cash.

Well, the eBay settlement check is in people!



Once I get the other three suits settled, just send me a self-addressed stamped enveloped, and I'll send your part right away!

Hope this helps makes your Christmas (or Festivus) just a little bit brighter...

Okay, I'll admit it...I just want the candy.

(Original post from October 29, 2010)

I'm probably going to offend a few people today...

But then again, when has that ever stopped me from writing something? I just want to plead with Christians to lighten up a bit when it comes to Christmas, Easter and...Halloween!

Egad!

Not the eve of evil, the celebration of satanic, the ALL HALLOWS EVE! As God fearing faithful, we can't condone the night dedicated to the living dead! What are you thinking?!

The blogosphere is full of post today addressing the issues of Halloween, so naturally, I'm jumping in with mine. I mean seriously, do you think my 3-year old has any idea the origin hails back loosely to the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain? I'm pretty sure she doesn't even know any Celtics...besides, we are all Lakers fans. Purple and gold baby!

Every holiday season, the Celebration Police show up and start spouting off about the secular roots of this, the demonic connections to that, the square root of...anyway. Most do it in the name of Jesus. Funny thing is...I don't ever remember Jesus ranting about any of this nonsense. To me, the Celebration Police come off a lot like the...no Tony C...don't go there...don't say it... a lot like...don't say it Tony C... the Pharisees!


I can't believe you went there!


Believe it brother, that just actually happened. Christians need to accept we live in the secular world. Our job is to put God in all we do. That's how we don't become of the world. I could care less where Christmas started. In my home, we focus on the Christ element of the season. Same with Easter. Halloween is a little more challenging, but I've found a few costume idea's that might appease the Celebration Police just a tad:

Where it all started...

With thanks to David Johndrow at Fire & Grace, nothing screams Christian like the fall of man. (Recommended for adults only)

God's Holy Word

Ring doorbell. Say 'Trick or Treat.' Receive candy. Jump on top of them. Bible bashing on a whole new level. Amen.

Eternal Lake of Fire

One of my personal favorites. A little tricky getting in and out of the car.

Wow...oops!
Sorry. I was emailing that to Mrs. Tony C for a Christmas present idea (how embarrassing).

If you chose not to celebrate Halloween this or any other year...more power to you. That's your call, and I respect that. But if you get a hankering for a Twix bar Monday night...swing through Stone Edge Subdivision. I'll be dressed like an Egyptian handing them out.

.

Nothing displays your true character quite like sticky-backed colored paper...

There are a number of things I observe and find amusing while on my daily commute to and from work each workday...

I love to see people jamming and singing in their cars because...well... I too am a rock star on wheels with a range of vocals, air instrument talents and genres that put Burt Bacharach to shame. Okay... maybe that's just Sesame Street's Bert to shame. Concerts daily for two shows only.

Then there's the 'dodge and weave' drivers that I just love bottling up with the strategic cooperation of a slow, left-lane driver. Slow down fool!  Bwhahaha! Very entertaining. (I just might have control issues...)

But oh how I love the bumper stickers! I got this picture sitting at a red light watching a middle-aged white guy smoking a cigarette waiting for the light too. Buddhist in East Tennessee?! That would be quite unique. Wonder what the Tibetan Monks would think about him flicking his cigarette butt out on the ground?

Let's take a look at a few of my favorite bumper decors I see with commuting frequency-

Hmmm. What Good Book they are reading?

Mean? Yes. But I chuckle anyway.

No...this isn't my pastor's vehicle. (He has the Rosie one)

Might be a bit of a mixed message. Doesn't make it not true though...

I'd just like to...nope...second thoughts...leaving this one alone.

Fellow graduate from the Academy of Sarcasm.

...

Then there's the one that drives my absolutely crazy (previous rant)-

I've got an idea to fix and correct this pop culture poison...what do you think?

Pretty sure I'll be hearing from the political correctness police or somebody's attorney soon...

Go Tony C. Go!

I had the weirdest dream last night.

Not one of those NyQuil-induced, running from zombies kind of dreams either. I dreamt I was actually in the book Go, Dog. Go! Okay...so maybe is was like one of those NyQuil-induced, running from zombies kind of dreams...but I was cold medicine clean on my word.

Anyway, the 1961 classic by P.D. Eastman has always been one of my favorites. I believe Eastman understood the repetitive nature for parents of reading books to young children and managed to layer the book to appeal to adults as well as kids.



Then again, maybe I am just really that jejune.

So,  here I am in the middle one of my all-time favorite books going through the story. Now, I know I've read this book a thousand times to both the teenager (when she was younger, of course) and now the Crazy Tomato. Baby C is on deck for what's sure to be more recital than readings for her turn at the classic tale of dogs gone wild. To say I'm familiar with the story, plot and characters is attuned to saying  Ronald McDonald is familiar with Happy Meals...hey wait...okay, go ahead. I set that one up for you way too easy.

I was driving to work this morning seriously wondering if this is how it all starts. First, you begin dreaming you're part of childhood stories. Then, you begin exiting the mall looking for your parked car wandering aimless before finally realize you didn't even drive. Next, you start repeating the same stories over and over completely oblivious to prior tellings. Somewhere around here in the analysis I realized...that all of the above already apply to me! GASP

I changed my destination to Walmart  before work to pick up some adult diapers. I mean...that's obviously next in my rapid decline into dementia, and I wear Khaki pants every single day. Not going to chance 'it' happening and me not even realizing 'it' while walking around the office. SIGH

About this point, I looked around to survey the progression of my daily commute. Line of cars bumper-to-bumper, full speed ahead. Typical. Wait a second...this looks very familiar. Yes...it...does. Hey! My daily commute looks a lot like...

...come to think of it,  I know Mrs. Tony C and I have had exchanges like this (maybe not about hats) too many times to count...

     ...this, looks a lot like...

Earlier Saturday mornings at the Tony C estate...

Finally I realized...that's it! I didn't just dream I was in Go Dogs. Go!...I actually live there nearly every day! The hectic pace of modern day life in a dog-eat-dog world...there's an obvious connection! Maybe I'm not ready for the Haldol just yet after all. SHEW

It's also reassuring to know that even in my kooky dream last night, there was Mrs. Tony C cheering me on...

...but I won't be sharing that part of the dream with you folks. Sorry.

Just hang on…I’m about to get jiggy with it.

I had the privilege of stepping up and helping a couple very dear to me this past weekend. Two young people from my Sunday School class entered into the sacred bond of matrimony on Saturday afternoon, but it wasn’t pulled off without a few kinks in the works…naturally. 

The week prior, the bride discovered that the band she had booked for the reception was bailing on her. In the realm of Murphy’s Law, weddings and receptions are always ground zero. But alas, for every problem, there is always a solution! So a quick text to yours truly and the reception music void is filled by DJ Tony C…

Okay. When you stop laughing, I will finish the story.

Saturday wasn’t my first music-spinning rodeo. I’ve been booked on a number of special occasions, including a wedding, to man the mike and the mix. My…ahem…skills come with two special features- 1. I can be counted on to be there, and 2. I’m cheap…as in free.

Of course, Mrs. Tony C immediately meets hearing the request with skepticism. She quickly makes two of her own counterpoints- 1. You don’t have DJ sound equipment, and 2. Nobody wants to listen to that old crap on your iPod.

Ouch. That really stings. My music is considered classic…not old…thank you very much.

As I pointed out prior, this wasn't my first gig, and I had a secret weapon to address one of her two issues. DJ Tony C happens to come with the best sound man in the business (aka Sound Daddy Grand) who happens to be equipped to the teeth. Not only that, in all of my prior performances, said Sound Daddy Grand sets everything up, sound checks and has the rig ready to roll when show time comes. Yes. He’s really spoiled me.

DJ equipment- check.

Without hesitation, I jumped into the request with both feet. The concept of an old dude cranking out tunes at a young people wedding never phased me. Why? Quite simply…you just have to let the bride decide the music! Brilliant.

iTunes to iPod + Sound Daddy Grand’s set up=good time had by all.

So, a quick text to the bride and this party is ready to get started. I’m going to apologize in advance because I might get a little teary eyed at this next part. The response I received was…gold. The bride wanted her first dance to be to When I Say I Do and the daddy/daughter dance to Cinderella.

Check and check.

When I inquired what kind of music she liked, I believe God Himself smiled upon me. She replied she loved…80’s music!

Big check and a plus sign to boot!

DJ Tony C: She likes 80’s music. Hear that…80’s music. Journey is her favorite (tear)! 
Mrs. Tony C: No way! She really wants 80’s music? How are we dancing to that?
DJ Tony C: Like MC Hammer baby! (breaking into side shuffle)
Mrs. Tony C: Please don’t do that at the reception. I beg you just please don’t. Are you crying?

Just to get Mrs. Tony C off my back, I download something called Cha Cha Shuffle and Cupid Slide or Cupid Shuffle and Cha Cha Slide. Apparently, there’s an overwhelming need at a large gathering of celebratory white people for line dancing. I’m just saying…it’s indeed a sad spectacle.

Things only got better for me when the wedding planner gave me the emcee agenda and directed that soft, mellow music be played while people were eating so they could comfortably converse.

Soft, mellow music like Five for Fighting, James Ingram, Aaron Neville and James Taylor? Check, check, check and check.

I must admit final validation came when a younger, 20-something female approached my station:

Young female: What is this song playing?
DJ Tony C: Donny Osmond. Sacred Emotion from 1989.
Young female: Donny Osmond? Wow. I really like that.
DJ Tony C: It is a nice song for a wedding reception (Yes!).

Granted, Mrs. Tony C was looking way hot at the wedding and reception…but it was DJ Tony C burning down the house with the best sound outside of any known elevator. Now I’ve just got to get that shuffle/slide crap off my iPod in case I’m ever in a car accident.





DJ Tony C with the lovely newlyweds

Pasteur?! Like we wouldn't have eventually figured that one out on our own...



I had to chuckle today when I came across a short article about the origin of the idiom pardon my French. No. There weren't really any major revelations or even an interesting Paul Harvey-esc Now you know the rest of the story moment. Truth be told...no one seems to really know from where the expression hails.

It's no secret, after all, that most Americans closely associate the French with profanity anyway. And why shouldn't we? The European country seems to have quickly forgotten that German would now be their nation language if not for a few of the homeboys travelling over to help out a couple of generations ago. Thus, the prevailing condescending attitude of their red, white and blue directed at our stars and stripes is enough to make a red-blooded American want to...well...curse.

Calm down mom...I said want to. Put your soap bar back up.

To make matters even worse, Spike TV opened the third season of Deadliest Warriors with a head-to-head battle between General George Washington and Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and declared Washington a narrow victor.

Shut the front door!

That little...weasel... wouldn't stand a chance against our nation's first president. If Napoleon couldn't get the better of a Duke named after a fancy-smancy beef dish, how in the world could he beat a man who turned down being a king?! Turned...it...down!! Washington was a man among men...and great men at that.

If you're a conspiracy theorist, the French are straight in your cross hairs as a major reason for child obesity in this country. What innocent 4-year old doesn't love french fries or french toast? Maybe the master plan is leading our nation into eating its way to third-world status with the French, Chinese, Mexicans and Italians behind it all?

Sweet fancy Moses!

Back to the French and profanity link.

So, exactly why do we use the common apologetic expression after a slip of the tongue? Why not pardon my German or pardon my Swahili? How about a nation-neutral pardon my rudeness or pardon my lack of verbal sophistication?

Personally, I would like to hear pardon my ignorant, unsophisticated use of the beautiful English language and for subjugating you to this verbose and awkward disclaimer. I'm neither an attorney nor an attorney spokesperson. I'm just a neanderthal-like knucklehead who often forgets four-letter words never, ever actually make people take me more serious.

Brilliant!

Looking back over that statement, I suddenly have a clearer understanding of why I don't drink champagne, eat Dannon yogurt, read Women's Day magazine, drive on B.F Goodrich tires, use Bic razors, wear Mephisto shoes, watch Jerry Springer (look it up) or cook in T-Fal cookware.

And by the way...I think Dijon mustard taste like...poupon!  Pardon the French.   

Time sure does fly when you're Livin' la Vida Loca...

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Did I just miss an entire month?!




As impossible as it might seem, the month of June 2011 is gone. I'm both very sad and perplexed by that fact. I'm sad because June is my favorite of the twelve months in the Gregorian calendar. What's not to like about June? No...it's not just because the anniversary of my birth is celebrated in June either. My grandmother's birthday is in June (she's seen 97 of them so far). Father's Day is in June, and I love both my dad and being a dad myself. My father-in-law's birthday is in June too. He's not that much older than me, but I'm sure he's reminded of that in the three day period between our birthdays. Well, that and the true moral of the story of what can happen when you haze underclassmen in high school...they might grow up and eventually marry your daughter! Doh!

The longest day of the year is in June. Okay. Before some wiseguy points out that all days are actually 24 hours in length, let me qualify that by stating the longest day of daylight for this particular region of the globe is in June. Sounds like something I'd comment on a David Johndrow blog post.

What a wonderful month.. June. What a wonderful word! A' la Benjamin Bufort Blue (aka Bubba from Forrest Gump)...there's June bugs which were always fun to fly on a string as a kid, June Carter, Juneberry Trees, Juneau Alaska, June apples (just don't eat too many of these or you end up with the June apple splatters- which is not a good June word, trust me), Miss June 1985....sorry, scratch that one, the word jejune which I've used for big points in Words with Friends (and pretty much describes this post), and if you really stretch your imagination, Journey. Come on! Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' fame...not the motivation poster word.

But, I've never been one to live in the past, so goodbye June and hello July.! Hey...July is a pretty awesome month. Blackberries, ripe home-grown tomatoes, America's birthday, vacation, fireworks, the best time for watermelons, Miss Jul...oh, let's skip that one too.

Have a great Fourth of July weekend everyone! Because I care, here's an awesome video clip from Mrs. Tony C's favorite movie just to kick off the holiday weekend...

I might just be in the wrong line of work...

I  was watching TV last night when an ad for the Christian dating site, Christian Mingle, aired. Sure. I've seen these ads from time to time without much thought, but what intrigued me last night was the ad was actually on The Science Channel. Not GodTV, TBN or the Osteen Channel (if there is such a thing).

So I'm sitting there watching Morgan Freeman* spew some nonsense about the fabric of time and how one day soon humans will be zipping around the universe by ripping holes in this fabric and doubling back something another when I suddenly see this commercial showing single Christians running around on the beach looking for love.

Perplexing.

My guess is all of the atheist/agnostic types watching and hanging on every word of Freeman were pretty ticked. How dare they interrupt the very proof  that I am not in fact delusional?! This stuff is science!  Whatever Thomas Dolby.

(Side bar: I find it ironic that the very actor who played the role of the Almighty so elegantly in Bruce Almighty and Evan Almighty is selling this crap...but that's just me.)

Now the fact that an ad showing single Christians (or actors playing such) frolicking around and having a good time might actually irritate an atheist brought a smile to me face. No. I know that's not very WWJD. I'm working on it.

The commercial made me realize that, as a whole, Christians don't do a lot of advertising for our faith. Why? Are we worried about being politically correct or sensitive? Bah! Nonsense. Are we falling into some type of kumbaya let's all coexist mentality? Don't even get me started on that...again. Actually, I think we've, Christians that is,  just become complacent and lazy. Commercial advertising is a powerful force in our society. How else can you  explain the commercial success of all that junk Ronco sold for years? Pocket Fishman and Veg-O-Matic...come on!

I started thinking about targeted venues that would be perfect for Christian advertisements on just how wonderful a relationship with Jesus can actually be and the overall awesomeness of God, creator of all things. Since we don't won't the proverbial preaching to the choir scenario, the intended audience would need to be mostly comprised of non-believers, backsliders and the theologically confused. Here's just a few possibilities...

1.  Popular beach destinations. No brainer. Practically the Sodom and Gomorrah's of modern days. People are half naked, all those pineapple filled drinks with the little umbrellas, and the misconception that God doesn't like hot weather. Nothing would remind people faster that God doesn't take vacations, He's still everywhere than looking up and seeing that messaged being pulled behind an airplane while you're sunbathing. Brilliant!

2.  The Disney Channel/Cartoon Network. Look at the success the tobacco industry has had getting customers started young. They've build lifetime loyalty. Albeit often shortened lifetimes, but hey...a sale's a sale...get it while you can. There's potential here for a two birds, one stone kill too. Maybe the kids will take hold of the message and minister to the very parents who neglect them by allowing them to watch too much television. Brilliant!

3. NASCAR. Whoa Nelly... wait, wrong sport...Boogity Boogity, Boogity! While Darrell Waltrip is famous for those words, he's also very outspoken about his Christian faith. NASCAR has a number of pious participants I'm glad to say, so why doesn't the Church (notice the capitalization please) sponsor a car? I can't think of a more cost effective means of advertising our faith than putting the message on a stock car going around in a circle in front of a captivated, often intoxicated, crowd of 100K plus...not to mention the millions of TV viewers. Now that's...Brilliant!

That just scratches the surface of the numerous opportunities ripe for the Christian advertising taking. Have an idea? Be sure to leave it in the comments section. I'll make sure you get credit when your idea becomes the next "Where's the beef?!"  success story. Hey...it's the WWJD thing to do.


*I confess to watching these type of shows so I can heckle and berate them out loud. I just didn't want you to think I was strange or something. 

A picture is worth far fewer words today...due to inflation of course.

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Americans are really mad...at just about everything you can imagine too.

A recent Newsweek/Daily Beast survey found people are aggravated on everything from the current debt crisis to even the Almighty. They're mad about the governments ineptitude to basically do anything, the economy as a whole, Democrats, Republicans. gas prices, big corporations, rich people, their marriages and even their sex lives. God only got a 33 percent approval rating! God Almighty!?

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know I'm a survey junky. While I don't necessarily subscribe to the all-telling, truistic, finiteness of practically any survey result I take in, surveys are a good quick snapshot of any given moment/mood.

 I look at surveys the same way I look at photos. Take this one above for instance. That's a specific moment in a time captured after an evening church service when the Crazy Tomato: 1. hadn't warmed up yet to the person taking the picture, 2. was tired from a rather long day, and 3. was also mad because I wouldn't let her go pound on the drums while a group of people were talking in the sanctuary.

Does that make her necessarily a hateful child in general? Not at all. Sure, she has her moments...but then again...don't we all. 

Surveys are along the same lines. Taking a quick look at the temperament of a cross-section of society at any given moment in time could result in wild deviations in the results across a broader time fame. Now before some egghead starts berating me about the scientific reliability of properly conducted surveys, let me state for the record I've had several classes on probability and statistics. While I generally hated the classes, I did pay attention. My problem with the black and whiteness of survey results is the human factor can never truly be figured into them.

Example: You are arguing with your beloved over whose responsibility it is to put a new trash bag back in the can after it is emptied. Sure, logic would dictate the person taking the full bag out, but she's standing right there!  So down the steps you go taking the trash out, when the phone rings:

Hypothetical Spouse: (answering phone) Hello.

XYZ Surveyor: Good afternoon mame. I'm conducting a survey for XYZ  that will take just a moment. May I ask you a few short questions?

Hypo Spouse (still standing by the emptied, bag less trash can): Sure. Why not.

XYZ Surveyor: Thank you. Are you employed, yes or no?

Mrs. Ton...Hypothetical Spouse: Work like a dog trying to keep this house going. Think he appreciates what I do all day from begin to bedtime? The man never picks up his own clothes, so you can forget about helping with the kid's stuff. It never stops around here. Pick up this and clean off that all day long...he thinks taking the trash out on occasion is some monumental achievement! Does he think clean clothes just appear in his closet? I can tell you this, it would take Jesus Himself telling me to put a bag back in that can before I'll do it...that's right...I said that...Jesus Himself.

XYZ Surveyor: Okay. I'll mark yes. Thank you mame for your time. (hang up)

Hypothetical Spouse: That's it?!  What a dumb survey. Stupid. Dumb.



My example isn't intended to make anyone in particular look hateful...just a snapshot in time remember. I just didn't have an actual picture to correctly depict that particular moment.

Have I mentioned the Crazy Tomato looks a lot like her mom?

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I'm no Charlie Brown...well, at least in one way.

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I've never once claimed to be the best looking guy in the world...


But, I've never felt a pressing need to 'bag it' either. My philosophy has always been life should be lived to the fullest while playing with the cards the Man upstairs deals you. It's somewhat of a mixed metaphor...but I've both heard and used much worse analogies I'm sure.


Being average is okay with me...when it comes to looks that is. Yes, that's a huge assumption on my part, but I'm pretty confident in my statement of tolerable guise based solely on the fact I have a smoking hot wife. Now, don't go trying to bust my bubble  by throwing up some freak situations like Seal and Heidi Klum as a 'stranger things have happened' scenario. Despite not being able to publicly declare the fact (at least in her presence), there have been other attractive women that crossed the path of yours truly before Mrs. Tony C. (gasp)...please forget I said that...I beg of you!

You're probably thinking about right now that I'm having some type of self-esteem issue rear its ugly head creating an anxiety that I feel compelled to release by sharing with you. Sorry Dr. Phil...just ain't happenin'! People who truly know me are laughing about now because if there's any psychological disorder at work in my over-sized melon, the diagnoses would come closer to falling on the narcissistic side of the scale as opposed to any avoidance personality issues.

Confidence has never been an issue for me...a fact that has on occasions caused major problems in my life. But while I may not make the cover of People Magazine based solely on my swagger and my mug (and pray I never make it for any other reason), I'm not a complete moron either and capable of learning from all previously ego-driven problems that have occurred....including those that may have been driving related and cost me a lot of money in the end to fix (just knew my superior driving skills could overcome a little ice and an 18 percent grade...just knew it).

Let me just tell you how much my humility has grown...

A few weeks back my doctor decided, with (ahem) a little prodding from my spouse, that a sebaceous cyst needed to come off the back of my noggin.  Apparently, all parties involved (excluding me) felt my rather bulbous head had reached maximum capacity for all but industrial-sized pillows and relief was the only plausible option.

Hey, I'm a tough guy. A little cutting and stitching never bothered me, so I show up one early morning to have the little marble-sized bugger removed. Let me state for the record, even the most egotistical jerks would be taken a bit aback by the gasp and whisper of 'oh my...'  while having the back of your head examined.  Of course, the nurse piping in with 'we have plenty more pillows if you need them' didn't help either.

But all's well that ends well as they say. With the exception of the most heinous of haircuts and sitting on the back pew at church a few weeks, I'm proud to once again be sporting a symmetrical hat rack.

Keep in mind, a block can be symmetric,  and the fact now the bag can fit better too...just in case...

Whoa...that's one really bad haircut.


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