Amazing Larry

And So This Is Father's Day.

Many moons ago when Motley Crue's Theatre of Pain tour came to St. Paul my Aunt Cookie and I were eagerly waiting in the box office line the day of the show for tickets. Regrettably the show sold out a few dozen people ahead of us. Pee Wee's Big Adventure was fresh out in theaters at the time and neither of us had seen it yet, so in an effort to alleviate our sorrows we headed back to the car in the parking ramp and off to the movie thee-ay-ter to take in what would instantly become one of my favorite movies of all time. I found a Footloose soundtrack cassette on the parking ramp floor as we walked back to the car which was pretty sweet. It had been run over a few times but much to my surprise when I got home and popped it in the ol' boom box it still worked.

One of the hardest laughs I got was when Pee Wee yelled at his friend Amazing Larry. Larry happens to be my dad's name, so as a result since day one he has always been my first point of reference whenever I hear that name. When you're 12 or 13 and don't see it coming, Pee Wee Herman Yelling "IS THIS SOMETHING YOU CAN SHARE WITH THE REST OF US AMAZING LARRY?" followed by the scene at the left is some funny shit. Especially when your dad is named Larry.

I think we need to start calling my dad Amazing Larry. Why? Well let me crack into a Top 11 list like I did for my mom and explain why. The idea behind a Top 11 List is 11 has one more 1 than 10 which makes it one more awesome than 10. And it consists of all #1's. That's how #1 my parents are!

Amazing Larry's Top 11 List

1. He busted his ass and took care of his family. That's golden rule #1 of being an awesome dad. He didn't go off having a bastard son with the family maid like that Terminator guy did. We never had a maid but that's beside the point.

1. When mom called upon him waking him up (easy thing to do, he worked nights) getting final approval to spend his hard earned money on my first real guitar amp, he said yes. There was never a moment with either of my parents where they weren't supportive with my obsession with the guitar.

1. On that note, my bedroom was right next to his and he worked nights. I liked to play my guitar. A LOT. Do the math on that one. While he was next door attempting to drown the noise out with a fan and saw logs for his next 12+ hour night shift at 3M, I was cranking the likes of KISS, Overkill, Van Halen, Motley Crue, Megadeth, Nuclear Assault, Slayer, Exodus, and Death Angel to name a few. Imagine trying to sleep while a wall-muffled version of this shit was blaring next to you. Add my trying to learn those guitar riffs into the mix, listening to these songs over and over... it's a wonder why he didn't come in and Bluto my guitar. I still listen to That Shit on a regular basis and love it. Sorry for the years of torture, dad. If it's "a phase" as people sometimes like to say, I'm still stuck in it!

1. The many times I was brought to the Bad Report Card Altar of Sacrifice (usually prior to his pre-work nap) he never sacrificed me. I got a good talking to, believe you me. I suppose it was more of an altar of verbal sacrifice. I certainly deserved it. Like the aforementioned loud music I often think he must have had to sit on his hands to keep from strangling me sometimes.

1. This kind of applies to the last 2 #1's, but after the Report Card tongue lashings I'd usually end up grounded and sitting in my room. And like I said, they were always supportive with my craving to play music so never took my guitar away. Being imprisoned to my room for bad grades meant more time with my guitars and KISS records. Thank you for grounding me!

1. I can't tell you the number of times he's come to rescue all of his wonderful delightful children (and wifey-poo) with cars that were either stalled or had keys locked in them. He drove all the way out to Minneapolis and crawled under my dead station wagon that was on a busy street a time or two. Amazing Larry was and is the go-to dude for all of our emergency car repair needs and questions. I don't have a car anymore so he's kind of off the hook with this one... but I can't thank him enough for saving my arse so many times.

1. He makes a boooooooooya that is fit for a king. That word is funny, "booya". The recipe is a secret which I don't know if anyone but Amazing Larry will ever know, and when he makes it there's enough to feed a large army. If it weren't for freezer containers he'd need two bathtubs to contain all of that succulent booya. That stuff is some of the most delicious, savory liquid food with chunks ever. I wish it could be mailed to me.

1. He is the grill master. I got a few lessons from him back in day of how to season grass-fed cow meat, shape it into exquisite patties, and grill those little pucks of deliciousness up. I've tried my hand at grilling over the years but it's just not the same as when Amazing Larry does it. A few years back everyone came to our apartment in Minneapolis where I did the grilling and felt like I was writing a song that Paul McCartney was going to listen to.

1. He can sing like a mo-fo. The Three Tenors should have been the Four Tenors, Amazing Larry being the fourth one. Now that Pavarotti isn't in the mix anymore perhaps he should fill out an application to take his spot.

1. He took guitar lessons way back when I was a wee lad and kept his nylon string Sigma guitar in a black case under his bed. I used to sneak in there and crack open the case to pluck the strings long before I knew what all of those frets and tuning pegs were for. Some dads keep loaded guns hidden in their bedrooms... mine kept a loaded guitar. AW YEAH.

1. He had (and probably still has) a "guy drawer" in his dresser that I used to snoop around in after I was done with the guitar. It consisted of coins, combs, credit cards, and a vast assortment of other belongings that didn't really have a proper home.. so they went in the guy drawer. I always thought that was really cool.

1. He led by example with the DO IT YOURSELF super power. That's the one where you can either a) do a kickass job of fixing something on your own or b) pay someone else a lot of money to do it for you and almost always opt for number A. Fixing cars, remodeling basements, bargain hunting, electrical wiring, duct work, you name it... he is to that stuff like my mom is to sewing, cooking, and pianoing.

*******

This list was just off the top of my head and I could keep going to 111. It's too easy to think of stuff. I think this list actually has twelve #1's... oops. But that's the beauty of the top 11 list. It can have 1 more #1 in it that it's supposed to. I'll hang it up for now but pick up right where I left off next year.

Happy Father's Day, Amazing Larry - Wish we were about 1,170 miles closer so we could cruise over and party with you today!

Amazing Larry Photo by Amazing Chad Richardson Photography 07.07.07

11 Awesome Things About My Mom

All of them are #1 because MY MOM FUCKING RULES. This was going to be a list of 10 items but I made it 11, because it has one more 1 in it which makes it 1 more awesome than 10. That's how #1 she is!


1. She drove me all over the place to buy my first few guitars and amps. Dad would have too but he worked nights to pay for things like my 2nd guitar and amp and various effects pedals so he was usually sleeping during the day.. I guess I can let that slide, Dad. But hey, more about him on Father's Day.

1. She stands up for her right to eat sardines in the house even though everyone else says they stink

1. My sister and I (I think?) were bickering in the car while Mom was driving and we were annoying enough to disgust her to the point of making her throw her chicken sandwich out the window. Yet she still kept us! Yay for not being sold to a third world country and subjected to a life of sewing soccer balls together or making socks at the Hanes factory for 18 hours a day!

1. Mom makes the coolest quilts ever (ours has KISS pajama patches in it and even a pocket)

1. Mom makes the best bread in the world and killer mochas

1. Back when we lived in MN I was always sent home with white containers of delicious homemade Mom food

1. She subjected me to good music when I was a kid

1. She knows how to send the email on the internets and use The Facebook

1. She used to take me along on midnight shopping trips to Cub Foods and buy me issues of Hit Parader and Metal Edge

1. Before I knew her she was hot. I can't say she's hot after being born because that's kinda gross, but I've seen pictures of her back when my Dad was courting her and yeah, she was hot. She probably still is but like I said, I just can't go there. I'm her son, for crying out loud

1. She makes cakes that are 10 times better than any of that crap you pay 10 times more for at a bakery. For reals. Hit her up for a wedding cake sometime, even if you're not getting married.


There you have it. There's a million more #1s about her but what do you think I do, sit around and write 11 Awesome Thing Number 1 lists about my Mother all day? Only people who are sick in the head or still think their mom is hot do that. I've got an iced mocha to drink and fingernails to clip. Time is money. Chop chop!

Love ya Maw - Happy Mum's Day!

Sounds like I'll need to wear Depends on Thursday

I've been emailing back and forth with a vendor about getting a computer part that I need to have in my meat hooks ASAP and asked if they could reroute the delivery address to my workplace instead of our apartment. In his replies I'm noticing that although he seems to have a relatively firm grasp on how our language works, there are still a few wires under the hood that need detangling. Either that or he knows something I don't know... will the restrooms at work be out of order on Thursday? Am I going to be so excited about this package arriving that I'm going to lose control of my own package? Why is he suggesting that I may be less likely to lose control of my bladder if FedEx delivers on Saturday?

Time will tell. Without further ado, here's his note.

Package is signature required so UPS won't leave it untended

If they wont be able deliver it on Thursday let me know we'll reroute to your work address. Unfortunately we can't reroute right away becose UPS have to make one delivery attempt

Sorry for any incontinence

If it is going to be more continent we can ship it VIA FedEX so it can be delivered to you on Saturday

Tank you 

My chili contains oatmeal, therefore it is good for me

Last night while busting out the Hebrew Nationals and can-o-turkey chili for a kickass Chilidawgs au Tabasco dinner I realized something about the can of chili: back in the old days we used to have to use a can opener to access our chili.

As you can see by observing my photo to the left, no can opener required nowadays. There's an easy open tab on top of the can! I'm so glad that Hormel has incorporated this convenient feature into their packaging. In the 1990s if I was on the train or bus and came across a can of chili when digging around in my backpack for an item to snack upon, there's no way I'd be able to access any of that delicious chili without the aid of a can opener. I'd have to opt for the CLIF bar instead, and sometimes I'm just not in the mood for a CLIF bar. From now on I'm always keeping a can of Hormel chili in my bag. Alls I have to do is pull that tab and drink up as much slightly-colder-than-room-temperature Hormel chili as I can muster.

As an added bonus, the lid would serve as a personal safety device. I don't need no knives or guns, oh HELL no. All I need is the chili lid. Let's say a bunch of seedy thugs were to board a train that I was on and there was the funk of imminent trouble in the air. They'd think nothing of it if they saw me dig my can of chili out of my bag. "It's cool, dudes, just gonna drink some chili. Long day at the office, ya know what I mean?" They'd let their guard down after realizing I wasn't pulling a piece out of my bag. Little would they know as soon as I put my index finger in that can opener ring and ripped it off, well... "Say Ello To My Little Frend". As soon as they started getting up in someone's shit I'd jump up and start swooshing my canblade through the air. "YOU WANNA FUCK WITH PEOPLE, HA? WELL YOU PICKED THE WRONG TRAIN TODAY, MUTHAFUKKAAAAAS!!" With a few lightning fast swoops of my canblade ring I would have all but one of them decapitated. I'd let the last one go so he could run crying back to their leader like a little baby with a gigantic warm pee stain on the front of his trousers. But before he ran off I'd let him know: "Tell the boss man that he can thank Canblade for sparing your life."

*******

When looking at food packaging it's interesting to think that someone actually takes the pictures on those labels. There were probably a few hundred photos of chili taken that day and they probably all looked roughly the same. A team of experts was then called in and paid to sift through them all and pick the best picture of a bowl of chili. Imagine how much pressure there must be to do that job.

"The cloth napkin is a little blurry in this one."
"This one's good but the steam wafting off of the chili just doesn't speak to me."
"I like how clear this one is but the beans aren't evenly distributed."
"Does anyone have a magnifying glass? I think I see the tip of a talon."

I'd definitely need a strong cocktail after a day of that. Once the final decision is made, off it goes to be printed onto a paper cylinder which is then adhered to a chili can. Billions of these are made and sold around the nation. It's sad to think that not even a small fraction of those who purchase Hormel chili stop to appreciate the photo and the hard work that must go into it. It brings chili consumption to a whole new level of artistry and appreciation. I wonder if the guy who took the picture on the Hormel can stands in the chili aisle and watches how people respond to his work. I should hope not, because he would eventually feel so unappreciated that he would start seeking for some sort of appreciation elsewhere, most likely at the bottom of a bottle of vodka. I doubt that there is therapy powerful enough to compensate for the lack of recognition that comes with being a chili photographer. But it must be pretty cool to see your work every time you go to the store and see chili cans. Yep, I did that. It probably gets the person a lot of action at parties, and I'm sure there's other fringe benefits as well. At popular nightclubs for example. "Sorry sir, the club is full. What's that? You took the picture of chili that's on the Hormel cans? Shit, dude... my apologies. Right this way." And the maroon velvet snake rope fence is unlatched from the gold post and raised just like that.

*******

Right beside the photo of the chili on the can are the words SERVING SUGGESTION.  Every time I crack a can open I'm tempted to put my chili in a ceramic bowl and gingerly place a light green leaf and a chip that's shaped like a hexagon on top of my chili. I would also fold a cloth napkin just so and position it as close as I could to the way it is in the photo on the can to obtain the most accurate chili reenactment possible. It has to be the SERVING SUGGESTION for a reason, right? This may very well unlock a secret chili experience that takes the already hypnotic canned chili bliss to a totally new level otherwise not achievable without the aid of illegal mind-altering substances. I never seem to have the right materials for a proper chili can photo reenactment, but someday I will. I'm sort of afraid of what might be waiting on the other side. What if it's so amazing that I only leave the apartment to get more cans of chili? Or maybe I would even just have it delivered. Leave it at the door, man, and I'll slip the money under the crack after I hear the secret knock. I have this vision in my head similar to a severely discombobulated Howard Hughes sitting alone in his room with his unkempt Forrest Gump-jogging beard surrounded by bottles of pee, but in my case it would be empty Hormel chili cans.

I was quite surprised when looking at the ingredients. Although disturbing, they're not quite as disturbing as I'd expected. Everything in there is pretty good for you maybe with the exception of the salt and the "meat". I had no idea that there's oatmeal in my chili. It's almost healthy! One cop out that always gets me with food labels is the use of the word "Flavoring". Sit and observe the chili for a bit while reading into that word and just you try to refrain from getting sucked into a grossout spiral. "Flavoring" could really be anything. Aspirin, for example, has flavor. So we could presumably classify it as "flavoring". I'm sure that bleach has a flavor. Rats and rat excrement which happen to fall into the chili cauldron at the Hormel factory? They probably add some flavor. Very little flavor due to the size of a rat (or rat dropping) vs. a gigantic cauldron of chili, but it's flavor nonetheless.

"Spices". That's another cop out. No shit there's spices. But which ones? Why even put that word on there? What if I'm allergic to turmeric? That would completely discredit the "Hey allergy freaks, it's all good!" message on the ingredients label. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen.

My wiener of choice.

The more I think about this chili, the more at war I am with myself for ingesting it. I don't eat it all that often, but one side of me is saying to not buy it anymore.. but then this whole new Canblade revelation I've had along with the convenience of being able to drink chili during my commute sort of cancels out any minor truth stretchings that lie within in the Nutritional Information.

It's a good thing that I don't eat it on its own. It goes right on top of my Heeb National hot dawgs which are made with 100% kosher beef. There's certainly nothing bad for me in those... nope. They are the ideal canvas for my Hormel turkey chili. Rather than its religious meaning, I take the word "kosher" for its informal definition which is "Genuine or authentic." My hot dawgs contain only 100% genuine or authentic beef. I suppose there could be other ingredients in them, because beef certainly does not resemble a pencil eraser when it comes off the cow.

OK. I really need to stop thinking about this while I'm ahead of myself. Flavoring is good for me. Spices are good for me. Mechanically separated turkey is good for me. These are not the droids I'm looking for. These are not the droids I'm looking for. These are not the droids I'm looking for.

Addendum

After finishing this blawg entry another thing dawned on me with the whole Canblade thing. If I were to save up 8 of those, I would be fully equipped for heavy combat. I could wear one on each finger and be the Freddy Krueger (or maybe even Wolverine if I did my hair right) of canned chili. Sorry Nutrition Information angel on my shoulder, but you just got knocked off.

"What IS Sylvester Stallone" thought spiral

I sometimes wonder what Sylvester Stallone is going to look like when he gets old and then something occurs to me: I probably first saw him when he was around 27 and ice skating with Adrian. Whether I like it or not that will always be my primary Sylvester Stallone point of reference and the image that appears in my brain's slot machine every time that I hear his name.

It's 2011 now and he's approaching 65 years of age... but he certainly doesn't look 65 to me. It almost sounds like I'm complimenting him. Not really the case. There are additional words that follow that glob of words which funnel said glob of words into a proper What IS Sylvester Stallone perspective, and they go like this: He doesn't look 65 at all. He doesn't look 75, he sure as Hell doesn't look 55, and 45 is way out of the picture. He doesn't look 70. Or 60. Or 63. Or 47. He doesn't really have any sort of age at all, he's just this weird looking thing now that's not a person anymore. He's Sylvester Stallone.

Kind of like how Oprah is. I grew up back when Oaps was just a talk show host. At some point in the late 80s or 90s she crossed over from being a daytime talk show host to being a mascot of herself, for herself. She has been completely de-personed. What does she reward only the most dedicated viewers of her show with? The gift of experiencing being in the same room with Oprah Winfrey. That's what. And now she's got her own TV network. Her OWN TV network, that is. How about that for a network name? And guess who's going to be on the next cover of O Magazine... would it be Oprah by chance? I'll bet her bed is setup to dispense 1500 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets like Kleenex. If she perspires ever so slightly while on them, fwwwwwwwwip - pull those old ones off to dispense the next ones and call your Oompa Loompas in to take the used ones to Oprah's Personal O-Incinerator.

So annnnnnyways. Back to Sly. The only age I ever remember him being is late 30s or early 40s. I'm talking about Rocky III and First Blood. You can at least look at him and picture him as being your friend's cool single dad or something.

See what I mean? That's from Rocky III, my second favorite of the Rocky movies right below the first one. That's a 38ish-to-42ish year old if I ever saw one. Check out how badass his opponent Clubber Lang is. Holy crap, now there's a guy I wouldn't want to piss off. Like if I worked at his local video rental store back in the day and he returned his VHS tapes without rewinding them, I probably wouldn't say anything to him, nor would I charge him the 25 cent fine for not being kind and rewinding. I'd just let it go. It would certainly be a better alternative to potentially watching all of his sweaty hate unfold point blank into my face. Mr. T was in a movie called DC Cab which I rented after seeing his bad ayuss in Rocky III. I remember that I didn't really understand DC Cab and got pretty bored with it after about 20 minutes. I drew pictures as I watched it which is a telltale sign of its inability to keep my attention. Right around that time my brother received an LP entitled Mr. T's Commandments for his birthday. It was an entire record of Mr. T angrily reading positive rhyming affirmations for children over music which at the time I categorized as "break dance music". The break dance music which he angrily spat rhymes upon sounded like it was put together by a freshly castrated Quincy Jones taking his depressing post-surgical woes out on a Casio keyboard. I have it in my iTunes and listen to it on occasion for a good chuckle. Like Sylvester Stallone, it's aging at a rather awkward curve. 

*******

OK, so I started writing this with the intent of trying to crack the code that is Sly Stallone and have digressed a few times already. I'm digressing because the more I try and venture into the "What IS Sylvester Stallone" spiral, the more uncomfortable I get. How long has he been taking steroids? He takes 'em, right? Does he really look that way because of the steroids? Was he really born in 1946 or is that when he was left here on our planet in a smoldering black crater caused by the UFO which intentionally left him here and took off in a hurry?

Perhaps Brigette Nielson was behind the baseball-faced meathead he has mutated into. Let's say that Sly was enjoying a cocktail in a hot tub with Brigette back in the day. I know, it's a rather arousing thought but stick with me for a few more minutes before going to grab a tissue to dab the lustful sweat beading on your foreheads. Perhaps said cocktails were ingested after Brigette had discovered that Sly wasn't filming Cobra II as he'd told her and that he was actually having adult relations with a hot bikini model. Brigette being all shitfaced and high on goofballs 24/7 like she was back then decided to seek revenge and tainted his beverage with some sort of toxic concoction akin to Smilex. "Oh NOOO deea, ze maid just geef you voad-ka and toan-eek like you alwiss have," she'd say after he took the first sip and commented on how it tasted like aspirin. He would also attempt to comment on how his vodka and tonics aren't usually green and bubbling, but she'd say "Shhh sh sh sh shhh... dreenk aahp" and tip the cup against his crooked lips until the liquid poured in and ceased his ability to render his observations into words. This toxic cocktail then cast a freaky-ass spell upon poor Sly's development as a living thing rendering him immortal but tricking 50% of his body into forever thinking it was 16 years old.

I dunno. Does he really look like he's 65? I'm not seeing it. I don't see any age at all. Kind of like another Sylvester: Sylvester the cat. I can't look at him and give you an accurate age estimate. I just look at him and say "Yep, there's Sylvester the cat." Guess how old Sylvester the cat is? I just Googled him and he's 66. He was created one year prior to what IMDB says Sylvester the Stallone was created. Interesting.

I give up. I should really stop before I transition into my conspiracy theories on those weird looking old puffy guy masks, teeth, and wigs that Mickey Rourke wears.