Need a couple days off

Phone cam round up

Hi FACE. I'm ERIN.


Nice chair and I love it.


Should I have picked it up and tried to sell it?


The really good stuff is NEVER in my size!


Okay, got any green ones?


Hey sewer face don't yell at me!


Floatie purple foot in the discount grocery.


My Mini Cooper is taller than your Lotus.


Dude, you dropped your underwear.


Whoe little turtle! Don't try crossing the street here.


Wild lobster.


Hey man, does that TV you're throwing out still wo-- Oh ... um ... never mind.


Jingle fringle.


I guess you're only supposed to open one end, but which one?


Howdaya like that? I need a fast sign too.

* * *

Dedicated to Philbilly.

* * *

You don't have to know all the consequences to know that there are consequences--or--I think Nicole Ritchie is the new Twiggy

Craptastic

If something is crappy and fantastic, it's craptastic.

Suave shampoo is craptastic.

DQ softserve? Craptastic.

Pabst Blue Ribbon, my 88¢ sunglasses and Dinosaur World are all craptastic.

Craptasticity rocks my face off.

* * *

Color by numbers

Number of BB Bats flavors: 4

Number of keys on my keychain: 7

Number of steps between our downstairs and upstairs: 10

Number of days I've had my Mini Cooper: 2,550

Number of Goats I've married: 1

Number of calls I've received on my cell phone since June 1, 2010: 13

Number of calls I've received on my cell phone from the Goat since June 1, 2010: 7

Number of calls I've received on my cell phone from Lil' OB since June 1, 2010: 2

Number of calls I've received on my cell phone from numbers I don't recognize since June 1, 2010: 4

Number of Jelly Bellies in Planet Jupiter Eating Space Jelly Bellies.Crayola on paper, 2008, by Lil' OB: 9


Number of days I've been alive: 16,518

Number of days my dad was alive: 23,627

Number of days my brother was alive: 12,378

Number of beans on the Goat's bean plant: 3

Number of songs in my iTunes library: 3,049

Number of books I've written: 4

Number of books I've published: 1

Number of my published books that's out of print: 1

Number of hairbrushes in my bathroom vanity: 3

Number of jigsaw puzzles I own: 41

Number of marital aids I own: (undisclosed)

Number of miles I usually walk: 5

Number of novels my brother wrote: 4

Number of novels my brother published: 1

Number of my brother's novels published posthumously: 3

Number of bunnies we own: 1

Number of turds the generated by bunny each day: 2,700 (estimate)

Number of articles I've written for these people: 57

Number of dollars they pay me per article: 15

Number of days my dad's been dead: 2,796

Number of days my brother's been dead: 5,916

Number of days my daughter's been alive: 4,871

Number of tears I've cried:

Number of days until tomorrow: 1

* * *

Sorry folks--particularly to those who left kind words--but I need to close the comment section.

* * *

Father's Day, 2004

Lil' OB and No. 1 Dad.

* * *

The Life of O'Brien

So I'm on my regular five-mile walk, mumbling to myself and thinking my usual moronic and disconnected thoughts.

Don't be an asshole.

Yeah, but Robin Meade IS a lot younger than you.

You either left it in your purse or it's on the dresser.

I come upon a stack of boxes in a garbage pile. (Regular readers of this blog know that I pay close attention to all detritus on the road. Why, just the other day, I found a personal check, which I picked up, inspected, and then called the number in the left hand corner and arranged to return said check to the relieved checking account owner before he was obliged to make a stop payment, which is exactly the type of pro-karma activity that was about to pay off.)

The boxes were full of vintage print. Oh darling joy of life!


There were tons of booklets from county and state fairs and kitschy decorating guides from the 50's and 60's. I pulled out beekeeping guides, the 1966 Sears Business Equipment and Supply Catalog and home handyman booklets such as the 1957 Sherwin-Williams Home Decorator and How-to-Paint Book.


Rabbit books. The Chevrolet Story from 1961.


I'll bet Lucy will get me a few bucks on eBay and dig that old Montgomery Ward catalog.


They had chickens for sale in there!

Then lookie lookie lookie what else was in the piles:


Vintage porn! This Raw Flix is denoted as Volume One/Number One/Summer 1967. It features stills from skin flicks of the day. No ads, published quarterly by Health Knowlege, Inc. NY, NY.


But this is definitely my fave--a May 1967 copy of DUDE (60¢). It was neatly ripped in two, perhaps the work of a furious wife or girlfriend.

I don't know about you, but I was smoldering with curiosity over "The Erotic Power of Hypnosis."


I loved the ad copy in the back. Oh? And that hypnosis article? Here's an excerpt:

But what about the amateur who wants neither to cure anyone of nervous disorders or to put on a show for a large audience? Suppose he just wants to put someone--say, a big-bosomed blonde--UNDER HIS CONTROL--in private.

Well, it may come as a surprise to some of the doubting Thomases, but his chances are pretty good. Now here comes the if. IF he knows what he's doing.

Fortunately for the big-bosomed blonde contingent of 1967, I think that "IF" was a fairly prohibitive stumbling block for DUDE clientele.


The classies are a riot, but oddly familiar to anyone who's perused a 2010 spam folder:

YOUNG ENGLISH GIRL wants to hear from any gentleman interested in obtaining photos, slides, negs or films of an unusual nature. Send no money, just write to ...

See what I mean? There's an ad for teeth whitener in here. What are the chances it's exactly the same stuff advertised on my Yahoo inbox page?

RAM enterprises had a Sandy doll for sale, "You'll like her," says the copy, "everyone does in the end!" The address lists Mentor, Ohio, which is east of Cleveland. I wonder if they're still in business.



There is one big difference. Save for these hand-draw boobs in the lingerie ads, all the boobs in these rags are real.

* * *

Big trouble for big Jesus

June 15, 2010, Monroe, Ohio: A six-story-tall statue of Jesus Christ with his arms raised along a highway was struck by lightning in a thunderstorm Monday night and burned to the ground, police said.

The "King of Kings" statue, one of southwest Ohio's most familiar landmarks, had stood since 2004 at the evangelical Solid Rock Church along Interstate 75 in Monroe, just north of Cincinnati. --Yahoo News

Some things are just too poetic for commentary.

* * *

Parade the Circle

Where the wild things are.


Hey--you guys forgot the Erin-face flag!


Frequent Owner's Manual commenter, Bill.


Whoa. That's some grouchy tree.


Pretty ladies.


Swirly and tall.


Cool man.


Baby, you and me could make beautiful music together.


Dig the band.


Big hat and flowers


Don't bite me, scary dude!


More pretty ladies.


All right already! You're in charge!


Thanks for holding off until the parade was over, rain.

* * *

The edge of hubris

Dear righties,

Get ready for LOTS of this as the midterms near:



Not withstanding the thousands of gallons of oil pumping into the coast, there are precious few places left to drill, babies. US oil production peaked in the 1970s and has been declining ever since. The low hanging fruit is all but gone. You want to drill, you're going to do it in densely populated or environmentally sensitive areas or in deep off-shore water.

We've arrived at the edge of our hubris. We either get ourselves into oil rehab or drown in our addiction.

When will you realize that?

* * *

Ghost buster

When I croak, I'm totally going ghost.

You go in your bathroom? You think, wait a second, I left my toothbrush on the right side of the sink and get all confused? Twist up your eyebrows and start saying, hey hon, did you move my toothbrush?

And while she's telling you, no, why would I move your toothbrush? I'll be floating around your shower stall loosening the caps on the shampoo and gel soap. Then I'll slink down to the kitchen and pull all the chairs out from the table like in that Poltergeist movie.

I'm going to fly all over creation with this act--a regular Erin ghost wisp. Or maybe I'll beam around all Star Trek-like. One minute I'll be freaking out some goon in Los Angeles, next I'll be over in Minnesota turning everyone's socks inside out.

You bring in some big ass ghost exterminating operation, talking about snarled energy and The Light and all that shit? I will SO laugh my ass off. I'll be hovering above you and your shitty ghost whisperer while you're being all serious. I'll snort and laugh and blow ghost farts on you.

**poof**

Dear People without Televisions,

As I sink into my nest of pillows and blankets on the couch every night before Iron Chef, The Office, America's Next Top Model, Community, 30 Rock, etc., I know this vapid fare does not make me a better wife, mother, voter, cook, or sex partner. It only serves to dull my mind as well as my body.

"Hey baby? Grab me another Bud while you're in there."

Thereby I concede: I lose, you win. You are a better person than me, wholly entitled to that smug expression. Your kids are not mentally flattened by the likes of Spongebob and Hannah Montana. Their impressionable young minds are not swirling down the toilets of the Jersey Shore.

Can we be done with this now?

Because if one more television non-owner comes up to me and manages to find a way to inform me of their non-television ownership status within the first 30 seconds of our initial meeting, I'm liable to let loose a serious string of expletives.

It is obnoxious when you say, "Well--heh-heh--having not owned a television for the past 12 years ... " three seconds after I've extended my hand and introduced myself. Did you fail to notice that no one mentioned Satan's box or any of its relevant contents? And no, your jolly self-deprecating tone does not help. At all.

Remember when the first People With Cell Phones felt the need to say, "I'm calling you on my cell," at the beginning of every conversation? That is you, except they have faded, you have not.

Now for the bad news, sugartits. Having a television set is no longer relevant. You can watch mind-sucking slop online 24/7. Courtesy of a high-speed internet connection, the Cartoon Network will gladly deliver unto you Courage the Cowardly Dog starring in "Son of the Chicken from Outer Space" in all of it's glorious mediocrity.

Gee, you're in a tough situation. You either give up involvement in the modern world or try desperately to differentiate yourself within it. Because, whether or not you choose to dip your intellectual ladle into the barrel of online sewage is irrelevant, baby. Your choices are limited.

You could simply banish the evil Internet from your life, thereby joining the ranks of Aunt Gertie and Uncle Fred. Buy a cane while you're at it so you can shake something at the kids while you croak from the screen door, "Hey you kids! Get off the grass!"

Here's my advice: Come over to the dark side, if only for a moment. Click on, log in, drop down.

Behold a darling bevy of 16 and Pregnant mother's-to-be, or the luscious queens of RuPaul's Drag Race. Do what you do best and wax superior when the hellish reality of Hoarders comes spilling from your sleek iMac. Have an innocuous tab at the ready (Salon, HuffPo, or perhaps Epinion's latest commentary on Samsung's DualView digital camera). When the Missus wanders in to see what your chortling over, with one clandestine click, you'll temporarily banish Snookie & Co. until you are alone again with your new little friends.

You have another option. You could revamp your clever unlike bottom feeders like you, I don't have a television speech to sound more like this: "Although I'm completely savvy regarding today's online media, I never, ever use my Cox DOCSIS 3.0 enhanced wireless ultimate high speed connection to watch (ahem) television shows."

Only trouble is, no one will believe you.

* * *

If the people are buying tears, I'll be rich someday, Ma

Phone cam round-up: coolio haunted house

Hey man, is this joint haunted?

Mebbe. Come on up and have a visit.


Fancy front door you have there, Ghostman ...


... and a nice front stoop.


No worries, Ghostman, that's just my Goat. He's a good Goat.


Looks like something fell down out here, buddy. You need help picking up that stone?

Nah, leave it. Been there about a-hunnert and fiddy years.


You got a Ghostlady living next door?

Ya. She's a sexy.

Cool deal, Ghostman. Have a good time.

* * *

Taken in Cleveland near the intersection of West 14th Street and Fairfield Avenue (southeast corner).

* * *