Are You an Apple or an Orange?

I received an email yesterday from a former member of our wine club who was hopping mad. Seemed he took offense at a comment I made in high-profile wine magazine. In this article I had made mention that - having closed my winery - I was looking at the possibility of returning to The South. I was quoted as saying that I never really felt fully acclimated to life as a west coaster, and that my heart had always resided south of the Mason-Dixon. While I haven't made any serious plans to return back to the Southeast, I have to admit that the quote was, by and large, correct. I reckon that I am living proof that you can take the boy out of the South, but you can never take the South out of the boy.*

In this email, I was all but called a traitor. My correspondent tried to defend the West Coast way of life, and claimed that anyone who didn't think this lifestyle superior to all others was obviously lacking in both taste and sensibility. I responded that trying to compare the two was tantamount to comparing apples to oranges, and that just because I have a stated preference of one over the other didn't mean I couldn't (and I didn't) appreciate both.

So, what exactly differentiates a Southern way of life from a West Coast one? That's a good question...and one that I often am at a loss of words to answer. So instead, let me try to explain by use of the following photographic images.

1.) When you hear the words, "Beach Music", do you think of:
- or -
2.) Do you own a pair of moccasins that look like:
- or -
3.) When you get hungry for barbecue, does your mind turn to:
- 0r - 4.) When you go scuba diving, are you dressed like: - or - 5) In preparations for an afternoon at a college football game, do you require: - or - 6.) When you hear the word, 'summer', does your mind turn to: - or - 7) Taking current events out of the equation, do you consider America's
last big military debacle to be: - or -

8) When preparing a glass of tea, do you turn to:
- or -

9.) Hearing the term, "the arches", does your mind race to:
- or -

If you picked the first of the two photos accompanying any of these questions, chances are you're living on the west of the Mississippi. If you've consistently picked the second, you no doubt feel my pain. Again, it's not that any choices are necessarily 'better', they're just different.

And different is good. Trust me. I know.

*And, just to clarify to those would-be employers out there, I am more than happy to remain an expatriated Southern Boy if offered the right job.

Don't "Taze" Me, Bro!

Least we forget it, we Americans love a good fad. Hula-Hoops, disco, pet rocks, yappy rat-like miniature dogs, you name it, we love it. And it would appear that Iraqi reporter Muntazer "Taze" al-Zaidi has his pulse firmly on the collective American psyche when - just last Sunday - he began a new craze: throw your shoe at The Man.

Seems shoe throwing - both literal and figurative - is all the rage...when you're in a rage. Jeez.

Just this week, talking heads were all a-buzz with the latest shoe sightings. Three days ago a Bronx fireman gets pissed at a fire chief closing a firehouse...and pretends to throw his shoe at him. The View's Joy Behar slips off one of her C.F.M. pumps and pounds it, Khrushchev-like - in a rage because poor ol' Elisabeth Hasselbeck gets dissed*. And then today, some Schmo goes to a New York Transit Authority public hearing and threatens to throw his shoe at the head transit guy!*

Merde.

And you can now buy "I Love Shoes" and "Bagdad - I Throw a Shoe at You!" t-shirts. That's right...and you can buy them here.



Please. Make it. STOP.




Now that's what Ed would call a 'really big shoe'. A really big shoe full of crap.



*Note to Joy Behar: next time you take your shoe off, please do us all a favor, and drive that spiked heel through Elizabeth's forehead. Not that it would damage anything, mind you...but at least you would finally get me to watch your show.

*And did you see that?! Before the guy was able to take his shoe off he was surrounded and tackled by many NY transit cops. Which goes to show: New York cops can beat the crap out of Iraqi cops. With or without shoes.

Favorite Photos of 2008.

Hard to believe it, but it's nearly time to put 2008 in the archives. Where does the time go? Before we both get neck-deep in holiday festivities, I thought I'd share with you some of my favorite photos from 2008:

Here's our VIVI, taken the in late January, shortly after I brought her back from Georgia. She's since grown to nearly 60 pounds! She snores, farts and can often act like a bull in a china shop, but we love her all the same.

This is a shot of our two boys boogie boarding on Pismo Beach. When the weather permits, these two are always ready to hit the surf.

Thom and Jack again, here coloring Easter eggs. I may be a bit prejudiced, but aren't these two handome boys?

Here I am with two of my favorite people on the entire planet. That's Bob Lindquist on the left, and Daniel Ravier in the center. Bob owns Qupé Wine Cellars, while Daniel is the winemaker and General Manager of Domaine Tempier. Great guys, great wines.

Here's one of me and James Hunter...hands-down winner of the "Who's Mat's Favorite Musician of 2008?" His music (which I've talked about here) is amazing.

The onset of Fall means one thing around my house: The Return of Georgia Football! The first game I attended was in Tempe, Arizona, as UGA took on (and took apart) Arizona State. The day before the game, I hung out with Sonny Seiler and his son, Charles. The Seilers are the owners/caretakers of Georgia's beloved mascot, UGA. Here's a photo of UGA VII taken in the Seiler's hotel room. UGA just so happens to be VIVI's brother, and share UGA VI as their daddy.

Two weeks after meeting up with the team in Arizona, the family and I flew out to Athens, Georgia to take part in the UGA game versus Tennessee. My sons were invited to be the tee retrievers for the game, and the three Garretson boys watched from the sidelines as Amie watched from a Sky Box. That's Bulldog wide receiver Mohammad Massaquoi on the left, some UT defenders on the right, and me and my boys in the middle.

Here's one of the whole family shortly after the end of the game. The boys and I were able to spend some time in the locker room with the team. Both Jack and Thom felt so at ease, they didn't ask their dad to introduce them to anyone...they did it themselves. It was great watching them catch up with Matthew Stafford, Knowshon Moreno, etc., etc. This photo was on the short list of possible Christmas Card contenders. It was knocked out in favor of this one:

I've said it before...and will no doubt say it again: our two boys are drop-dead handsome! This is the photo we've sent out with our Christmas Cards.

Happy Holidays!

Wonder of Wonders, Miracles of Miracles.

As if to downplay my discovery of 'the miracle bacon map of California', a lady in Fort Pierce, Florida now claims that an MRI photo of her brain taken six years ago has an image of the Virgin Mary.

Here's the image. Hmmm. Perhaps she does have a point.

She's decided that her six-year sabbatical has provided her with enough time for reflection as to what to do next. Taking a cue from the lady who found Mary in her toast, this woman has decided to hawk her MRI photo on eBay.

As of this writing the bidding is up to $225.00 Uh-huh...Two-Hundred and Twenty-Five Dollars for this image. And people say there's an economic crisis.

Makes me wish that I would have shown some restraint, and had not eaten 'the miracle bacon map of California' after I had taken its photo. I could have put it on eBay and the dough would roll in. But, then again, perhaps it's not too late? Perhaps there's a living to be made in selling old MRIs with hidden images? I've looked at mine (shown below), but I can't seem to find the Virgin Mary or a slice of Bacon. How about you?:

Ummmmm. BACON.

You can't fry humor-blogs.com in a pan, but it sure is tasty.

It's a Miracle!

I've heard tell of a kindly old lady who toasted some bread that resulted in burn marks which looked a lot like the Virgin Mary. I've even read about one guy who was at Graceland the day Elvis died, and he witnessed a cloud that looked like The King in profile.

Now I would usually dismiss such proclamations as the ranting of a dangerous mind. But after what I experienced today I am not so sure. As you can see below, my breakfast certainly resembled the shape of California. I'm thinking of preserving this piece of pig belly. It could really help me out when folks ask me, "Just where in the heck is San Luis Obispo?!"

Could be quite the conversation starter. I ended up thinking the better of it...besides, I'm a sucker for bacon!

And you can go be a sucker for humor-blogs.com.

A Sheep in Lion's Clothing.

I pity poor James Sheep. Since January of 2007, James has served as the mascot for the Penn State Nittany Lions. In my humble opinion, that Penn State's mascot ranks among the worst in college football. The outfit Sheep has had to endure for nearly two years looks like the lame creation of some low-budget, local cable access kiddie show. It looks to me like a rat with a thyroid condition. It's similar to a lion only in that it begins with an "L" and has four letters. L-A-M-E.

What exactly is a Nittany Lion, anyhow? They say the name honors the mountain lions that used to roam Mount Nittany, which is located near the school's campus. Uh-huh. I've been to College Station, PA, and have even had dinner with Joe Pa and his wife at his house. Twice. While there, I have had ample opportunity to see Mount Nittany up close. To me the mountain looks like a big meat loaf. Hillock, definitely. Hill, maybe. Mountain? No way. If mountain lions once roamed that turf, I'm betting my neighbor's cat could beat the crap out of one.

I digress. Anyway, back to James Sheep. He's been parading around in this outfit for TWO YEARS. It must be enough to drive a man to drink. Well, it looks like it finally has...or has at least has resulted in James getting too drunk to drive. At 3:15 a.m., the morning of Penn's 49 to 18 beating of Michigan State like a drum, ol' James was out with his possé, getting a little 'pregame attitude adjustment'. A momentary lapse in judgement caused Sheep to decide to drive his car. Well, James was pulled over by a University police man, and - can you believe it?! - he was found to be drunker than Cooter Brown*. Now, I'm all for starting your pre-game tailgaiting early, but not 13 hours before a game, and certainly not while driving in the car. I guess Big 10* schools are a bit different than the SEC*.*

Luckily for James Sheep his incarceration ended in ample time for him to take part in his much-anticipated sideline hijinks, which were no doubt viewed by a bunch of drunk fans. And it was a good thing he made it. At halftime Penn State honored Sheep for his exemplary services as mascot for two seasons! Ah, the sweet irony of it all.

I could not imagine donning the Nittnay Lion mascot uniform in anywhere near a sober state. I could only imagine what it felt like to do it hungover.

Poor James Sheep.

Rumor has it that University officials are seriously considering not allowing James Sheep to travel with the team for the Rose Bowl. I for one think they should let him go. And if they're short on cash to send him, they could probably score some big-time endorsement moolah for his appearance, too. Think of it: "The Penn State Halftime Show with James Sheep! Sponsored by Jaegermeister!"

The only thing they need to worry about is if Sheep gets a bit too into his routine, and the bottle. I'm betting that, if he did, Penn State would be penalized for excessive end zone celebration.
*Now, to be fair, I really don't know anyone named "Cooter Brown", so I've really no idea as to how drunk he can get. The saying is fairly popular in The South, which is where I grew up. I would imagine that if my parents had named me "Cooter" I'd be a fairly accomplished drunk, too.

*And that's another thing. Why is the Big 10 comprised of eleven teams? I'm betting their math skills aren't all that good. And guess which was the last team in the Big 10? You guessed it...Penn State!

*Yes they are in that they suck at football!

*Look at me! Three side notes in one paragraph! Um...guess this one makes four. Now I can finally relate to the Big 10!

Stop looking at these asterisks and go check out humor-blogs.com.

My Left Foot.

I have to say that I lead a fairly charmed existence. Throughout my life I've been incredibly lucky. On the whole, good things seem to come my way. And when I say, "on the whole", I mean for most of my body. The same cannot be said about my left foot. It seems to be cursed. For the last two decades I've been injury free...with the exception of damage I've incurred to my left foot.

This discrepancy in an otherwise charmed life recently came into focus - painful focus - this morning. I was walking from the kitchen to the dining room when I stubbed my fourth left toe on the leg of a chair. Here's a photo of my foot (above). You will note that the aforementioned toe is now black and blue...not to mention a bit swollen. I reckon it's broken, but what can you do? There's not much a doctor can do for a broken smaller toe except to say 'live with it'. That and, 'that will be $100, please'.

You may also notice that the nail of my big toe is just now starting to grow back. I lost this toenail on October 8th in Chicago, Illinois. My family and I were relaxing in the Admiral's Club at O'Hare, and - when I went to retrieve our bags from a closet, the heavy door came into contact with my big toe. The door won.

This is the second time I've lost this toenail in 15 years. The other time was caused by 'catching' a falling wine bottle on my toe. At least the bottle didn't break.

And two years back I broke my fibula, just above the left ankle. It broke while showing my boys "the agony of defeat" move on the ice rink of our resort in Squaw Valley. The ice won that time. I spent the evening medicated by Bourbon, and the next six weeks in a walking cast. In a cast I walked with in England, in France, in Miami, in Chicago, in Texas and California. That boot was made for walking.

I dunno. Perhaps it's kinda like The Picture of Dorian Gray. Maybe my left foot is my 'picture in the attic'? Or perhaps my left foot is my Achilles' Heal? Or perhaps it's high time I stop wearing sandals all of the time?

Well, I would start wearing more closed toed shoes, but with the condition my left toes are in, it's downright painful to wear anything but sandals.

Just call me hop-a-long.

Space Cadets.

I tell ya, I love watching college football. With the regular season coming to a close, I'm feeling a tad bit maudlin. There's nothing quite like settling in to a comfy chair on a Fall Saturday to watch a game or two with friends*. I'm going to miss it when it's gone.

But I have to say there's one thing I won't miss about watching football on TV, and that's the commentator's use of the phrase, "in space". Those two words seem to be on the lips of every talking head in football. And it's annoying. "He's a great quarterback, because he's able to read the defense, and get to his receivers in space", or, "his coaching ability allows him to manage his players in space".

Come on...it's football, not rocket science. No matter how hard you try to make it rocket science.

Perhaps they're trying to sound technical, or are trying to elevate the sport of football to another level. To me they just sound like jerks looking for a new way to talk about a sport that enjoys great traditions.

*Okay, so there is something better than watching it on TV. And that's watching it from the sidelines. I had the opportunity to do that a few times this year, cheering on my Georgia Bulldogs. Here's a photo of Mohammad Massaquoi outrunning a few Tennessee Volunteers at this year's game in Athens. Notice me with my sons in the background??

Snatching Defeat From the Jaws of Victory.

Ouch.

Just watched my Georgia Bulldogs give away an assured victory to Georgia Tech. No doubt those idiots from Tech are ripping out pieces of our beloved Hedge as souvenirs.

Georgia was all over Tech in the first half. They were beating them liked they owned him. The second half? Not so much. It's as if we substituted our guys for the fourth-string team. Fourth stringers from a high school for the blind, that is. Yet another game where Knowshon Moreno rushed for fewer yards than we were penalized.

It makes me sick to my stomach. But, hey! Gotta Look on the bright side! Now that my stomach's been emptied, I've got a whole lot more room for Thanksgiving Day leftovers!

Next year...next year.

Go drown your sorrows in a big bowl of humor-blogs.com.

Of Human Bondage.

Last week, while my two sons were out with their grandfather, my youngest, Thomas, purchased a toy gun and handcuff set. Like any eight year-old boy, Thomas wants to be a policeman when he grows up. At least he does when he doesn't dream of being the next star football player for the Georgia Bulldogs.

I happened across Thom's toy handcuffs while cleaning up the family room yesterday. Looking at them had me thinking - like any 46 year-old boy might - 'why on earth would anyone find being handcuffed remotely sexy?'

The answer came to me a few minutes later while vacuuming. All adult role-playing involving bondage themes really boil down to one thing: the party that's being bound is lazy. That's right...lazy. Instead of admitting they're lame Lotharios, they tell their partner that they're into being handcuffed to the bedposts en flagrante. In this way they can blame their inability to reciprocate in any sensual manner on the hindrance of the hardware.

That's got to be it, right?

Yeah. Deep thoughts on a Saturday morning. Now you can do what I'm going to do...go enjoy the last weekend of regular-season college football.

And when you're done with that, go check out humor-blogs.com.

Two Turkeys for Thanksgiving.

I know. I'm in a rut. It seems all I can do is post these semi-silly riffs on motivational posters. Perhaps I'm conserving energy in preparation to digest that BIG Thanksgiving meal. But seeing how the college football regular season comes to a close this Saturday, I thought I'd post a few aimed at folks living in Alabama and Florida. Y'all suck.

I promise to get more creative for my next post. And, no, it won't involve poster art. In the meantime, I hope that you and yours have a wonderful Thanksgiving celebration. And, for those of you who live outside of the U.S. (and may therefore be unacustomed to our quaint holiday), please spend the rest of this day over-feeding yourselves.

GO DAWGS!

Like art, humor is in the eye of the beholder. But humor-blogs.com is pretty damn funny.

Motivation for the Final Frontier.

In yesterday's post I admit that I took the lazy way out. Instead of writing something pithy, I fell back to Photoshop to create a few 'motivational posters'. One of these posters had a Star Trek theme, the other played on my hatred of cats. Being somewhat of a Trekker (a fact for which you can confirm here), I thought today I'd share more Trek-related photos rendered like those lame office motivational posters that seem to be all the rage...that is if you believe what you read in Sky Mall is any.

Many thanks to the folks over at eRobertParker.com for providing some of these lines. You allowed me to be even lazier that yesterday!

Get of your lazy keester and go check out humor-blogs.com.

Phun With Photoshop!

My contribution to the slew of motivational/inspirational posters that are all-too-often seen in work environments:

Ho-hum...back to work.

And you can go head back to humor-blogs.com.

Reading and Sh*t.

Recently I received an email from a woman who worked at Hachette Book Group, a not-so-diminutive publishing house which Americans may know better by their Little Brown marque. It seems this lady had read my blog (amazing in and of itself), and thought my blog was funny. Or, at least she thought it funny enough to think, "Hey! I should send this guy some of our humor books! If I do, perhaps he'll even write about them on his blog!?"

Well, call me a shill, but she did send the books, and I'll now write about one of them. After all, I used to review movies and wines, why not an occasional book? Now if only someone from Cunard would write to offer me free First Class accommodations on the Queen Mary 2! You can bet your patootey that this blog would be re-titled, "Cunard Is The Greatest Thing Ever".

Of the three books she sent to me, I've only had the opportunity to read one. It's titled, "Is it Just Me or is Everything Shit?" It seems that this is the Americanized version of a hugely popular book in the U.K. Or, at least it's popular enough that they've printed a Volume Two. I was drawn to the book for three reasons. The first being that I often think that much of modern society is a load-a crap...and my observations form the basis for quite a number of my postings. The second is that for the U.S. edition of this book (How do you shorten it? "I.I.J.M.O.I.E.S."? "Shit"?) the publishers called on the pen of Brendan Hay, a one-time writer for The Daily Show With Jon Stewart and The Simpsons, so I'm thinking to myself, "It's got to be funny." Lastly, I am, with very few exceptions (read: The Benny Hill Show, Are You Being Served? and No, Honestly) a fan of British humor. Having lapped up everything from Dave Allen to Monty Python, from Alas Smith and Jones to the Blackadder*, I imagined that this book would hit my funny bone.

Now, when you read the words "for fuck's sake", or "fucktard" there is one thing you can be assured of: the writers are British. Both terms are liberally sprinkled throughout the pages. So this book - while edited for a U.S. audience - still has plenty of humour. The observations are, for the most part, dead on. And, again, for the most part, their riffs on modern life are pretty damn funny. But the book is a lot like a Whitman's Sampler Pack. Some of the offerings are incredibly indulgent, while some are just not to my taste. That, and like the Whitman's, you best not consume it in one sitting...or it's going to make you sick. This book is best consumed a few bites at a time.

So, if you're looking for a stocking stuffer for that curmudgeon on your list, or looking for a good addition to your lavatory library, I'd suggest checking out this title. As for me, I'm going to sit here and wait until I get that call from Cunard!

*Blackadder is easily the funniest show ever to grace a television on either side of the pond. And before you go off saying, "Hey! That's not British! Rowan Atkinson is from Australia!" Let me just say this: "No he isn't, that's a popular misconception", or "Even if he was, it was broadcast on the BBC", or "Get an f-ing life". Feel free to take your pick

And now you can go off to humor-blogs.com with my blessings.

You're Overdrawn on Your 15 Minutes, Lady.

This just in to our "I'm trying to milk and extra second more than my 15 minutes of fame" department. And, no - thankfully - I'm not talking about Sarah Palin or Joe the Plumber, but, rather, Ashley Dupré. You remember her...right? She was the call girl who's affair with New York Governor (and self-professed "Mr. Clean") Elliott Spitzer earned her her 15 minutes, and Spitzer a lifetime of shame. That and an eternity serving as blog fodder.

Well, Ms. Dupré was interviewed Friday night on 20/20 by Barbara Walters. Wow...a hooker being interviewed by a tramp? Talk about 'Must See TV'! Well, not for me...I was watching the Marx Brothers' A Night at the Opera with my boys. Much more entertaining. And Kitty Carlisle was hot back in 1935. At least hotter than Ashley Dupré.

For those of you who are wondering, "Who the f*ck is Ashley Dupré?" I salute you. And I provide this picture of her for your edification. I know what you're thinking: "Elliott Spitzer paid $4,300 an hour, and ruined his life for her?"

Everything about Dupré screams trash. I especially like that oh-so-tasteful tattoo she's sporting above her bikini line. I wonder what it reads? My guesses?:

• You Must Be Taller Than This to Ride.
• Exact Fare Required.
• No Refunds.
• Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter.
• Slippery When Wet.
• Inspected - USDA Skank.
• Spitzer Was Here.
• Thanks...Come Again!*
• Objects Are Smaller Than They Appear.
• Do Not Talk to Driver While Vehicle is in Motion.

*Can't take credit for thinking up this one. Thanks, Jack J. Bulkin!

There's no doubt thousands of Dupré riffs to be found on humor-blogs.com.