Teacher teacher

Lulu and Megan are both teachers, and both share a lot of stories about their jobs. Gets me to thinking about how much the world has changed - and hasn't changed - since I was in school.

Megan's story about handing out stickers (as in gold stars and that sort of thing) got me thinking about my sixth grade teacher, Ms. Pav. Ms. Pav was a weirdo artist type, so of course I absolutely adored her. She used to do things like take us down into this dark basement gym and perform interpretive dances for us. One time she got on the floor under a blanket and then wriggled out from under it, butt-first. I think she called that one "The Cocoon."

Anyway, Ms. Pav also had bizarre forms of punishment for us. For example, she kept all of our names on a rolodex on her desk. If she caught you chewing gum, she would affix a pink tab to your card. And if you got caught throwing something, your card got a black tab.

Once you accumulated three tabs of either color, you were required to bring in treats for the whole class. That was the punishment.

No wonder I still have a warped attachment to candy.

Occasionally I would decide my class was in need of treats, so I would purposely get caught chewing gum and/or throwing things. (Note to self: why didn't I ever try throwing gum? Could have been a two-for-one.) Then I would lie to my parents and say we had a birthday or something and that I needed treats to share with the class. Worked like a charm.

I'm really not sure what the psychology was behind all this. I think she was fucking with us. Good for her.

Next on tap: Lulu inspires CP's own "Parent-from- hell" story - and this one's about MY MOM!

CP's short life of crime

Thank God for Dale and his story about a childhood brush with the law. If it weren't for him, I would never have anything to blog about.

I was a bad kid sometimes, even though I usually hid it quite well. When I was 7 or 8 (true ages here!) I developed a fondness for shoplifting candy from our neighborhood Rexall drugstore. It was really quite brave of me to shoplift, after having witnessed the shame my brother suffered when my dad cut Bill's hair off after he got caught stealing a candy bar from the Jewel.

That punishment was pretty traumatic for my brother. I don't even remember how he got caught - I think the store called my dad or something. But when Bill got home, all hell broke loose. My dad, usually one of those mild mannered sorts, went ape-shit on his ass, whacked him good a few times and then dragged him outside. "Sit down in this chair!" he screamed.

"Why, what are you going to do to me????" Bill stammered in reply.

"I'm cutting your hair off!"

It was like 1971 or something, and my dad was a public school teacher - enough said. At that time, it seems that adults figured most bad behavior in boys had something to do with their hair coming down over their ears. A crew cut was the only sure fire way to make a son behave.

As the dreaded haircut commenced, a passer-by would have thought my dad was skinning Bill alive, the way he bellowed, cried and generally carried on - all to no avail. My dad tore away at those mousey brown locks with the kind of furiousness normally displayed by victims of war criminals and people who have their enchiladas thrown away.

At one point my mom arrived home from work, came out on the patio and found my brother bawling, my dad hovering angrily over him with the electric clippers.

"What are you doing to him???" she said, alarmed.

"Bill was shoplifting candy at the Jewel! So I'm cutting his hair off!!!" was my father's not-so-cheerful rejoinder.

"WHAT?????!!!!"

Now it was my mom's turn to go ape-shit. She grabbed her purse and started whacking Bill, who hadn't yet finished crying over the involuntary haircut.

The whole thing was actually kind of traumatic to watch - I felt really bad for Bill. But in my classic style, I still thought to myself "Well I guess I'll never do that! Or at least I'll never get caught like that dumb ass!"

******************

Flash forward a few years. I was at the Rexall Drug with my friends, and decided to snag myself a nice Chunky with Raisins as I had grown accustomed to doing from time to time. Yummy! In my usual manner, I walked down the aisle, cupped my hand over the Chunky and then held it carefully against my pants as I headed toward the door.

I felt my heart go right up into my throat when the store owner grabbed me from behind, pinned my arms down and dragged me to the back of the store. "All right, I'm calling the police," he said.

The police! Man, if Bill got his hair cut off, only God knows what will happen to me if the police get involved in this, I thought. I prepared myself for the worst, although I could not even imagine what that would be.

When we got to the back of the store, the owner ranted and raved at me, God knows about what - I was barely listening because I was so preoccupied worrying about what my parents were going to do to me. I'm pretty sure I head the words "go out of business???" a lot, and I just kept saying "I'll bring you thirty cents tomorrow, I promise!"

Eventually he asked for my phone number, and I gave it to him - like a dumbshit. Then I was dismissed.

When I got outside my friend Karen was waiting for me.

****************************

"What did he do???" she asked.

"Nothing really. He just yelled a lot, told me he was going to have to go out of business, and then made me give him my parents' phone number. They are going to kill me," I replied."

"And you just GAVE it to him??? You gave the guy your parents' phone number???"

"Uh, yeah...what was I supposed to do?"

"Thomas, you're a dumb ass! You should have given him my number! My mom wouldn't even know what the guy was talking about if he called!" Most of my friends were a few years older than me and much more worldly. Live and learn!

****************************

Later that afternoon, I was home in my bedroom when I heard the phone ring. My mom and I both picked up different extensions at the same time. I recognized the voice immediately: it was the store owner. I almost suffered a mild heart attack.

"Hello, is this Mrs. H?" he said.

"Yes, this is she. How may I help you?"

"Ma'am, your son Thomas has been hanging around the corner drug store too much. You might want to keep an eye on him."

"Ok, will do. Thank you for calling." Then they hung up.



Hanging around the drug store. Keep an eye on him. Hung up.



I could not BELIEVE my good fortune. I would have to wait years until my next crew cut - which did not occur until my junior year of college when I hacked off my hair in a fit of rage over the humid weather. (Unrelated story.)



Despite my overwhelming gratitude to the Rexall Drugstore owner, I never did shop in his store again. For which I've always felt just the slightest bit guilty.

I've been link-dumped

Gentle Readers,

I enjoy reading everyone on my link list, though I don't always find the time to visit every single one of you each day or even each week, depending on what is going on in my life. Hell, just tonight I realized I hadn't been to my own sister's blog in weeks.

Tonight I have insomnia (gave all my damn pills to Lulu!) - so I'm awake and doing some catch-up work. I just came to the crushing realization that I have been link-dumped by at least one of my gentle readers. Ostensibly for lack of visiting lately.

I feel like shit. It's been a long time since I've been broken up with, but I think this is kind of what it felt like.

Oh, and there are a few of you out there to whom I have promised links. It's all coming. Sometimes I just can't bear the thought of opening that damn template file, so please understand.

Sniff.

Drill, bill & feel

I regularly siphon my blogging ideas off of our friend Dale. My most recent attempt at near-plagiarism was the result of his recent goofy-parent-story, which inspired me to relate a goofy-parent-story about my friend Kapa's visit to her childhood dentist.

Never a blogger to be outdone, Dale took my theme of near-plagiarism to a new level by latching onto my dentist-story idea and writing about some of his favorite dentists.

Well Dale, here's to you. I see your dentist story and raise you one that involves bad touches. Let's see where you go with this.


********

My childhood dentist had a small practice with two other dentists. When I was a senior in high school, one of the three retired and was replaced by a vigorous young man who was not completely unfortunate-looking.

One day I showed up at the office for some routine maintenance to find that my regular dentist was out and had passed me on to the young strapping Dr. A, who greeted me with a hearty handshake and a slap on the back.

He chatted me up quite animatedly while he prepared the usual instruments of torture. Asked me about school and my upcoming departure for college. Noted that my family had been coming to their office for many years. Talked about his wife & kids. Asked me more questions about how I spent my free time. That sort of thing. Dr. A really seemed to like me quite a bit.

When we had completed our business activities, I got up out of the chair. Dr. A grabbed my hand, shook it heartily, looked me straight in the eye and said "Well Tom, enjoy college and be SURE to come see us when you're home on vacations."

"Ok, will do," I replied, curious about the unusual amount of enthusiasm Dr. A was displaying.

As I turned to leave, I felt his hand give me a little slap on the behind. And if I'm not mistaken, his hand lingered there post-slap for a second or so.


I'm fairly certain that Dr. A copped a feel.


I wasn't offended, as much as confused. "Did the family dentist really cop a feel?" I thought to myself for years.


*********

Both of my parents still go to Dr. A. I haven't seen him since that day in 1984, which would now be 23 years ago. But just the other day, my dad told me "Hey Thomas, I saw Dr. A the other day and he asked how you were. He always does."

So Dale, while one or more of your childhood dentists may have been sadists, mine has been fantasizing about me for over 20 years. How many of us can say that?

Of course this means I can never see Dr. A again. Getting a close-up look at me today would only serve to ruin his fantasies, and that would be wrong.

Sometimes in life you simply need to take a stand.

Kapa's weird parents

Dale recently posted a funny story about yet another Seinfeldian interaction he had with his parents. As we have reviewed previously, I am incapable of developing original ideas and therefore need to rely on my blogger friends to inspire me to tell my own stories.

And this time I'm not even telling my own story.

Dale's nutty conversations with his parents remind me of my friend Kapa (aka Catherine) who has been blessed with her own set of nutjobs.

Recreated below is a dialogue she enjoyed with her parents during one of the summers she was home from college when she was about 19 or 20.

*******************

Kapa: I'm going to the dentist tomorrow for my checkup and cleaning.

Mother: What dentist?

Kapa: What do you mean "what dentist?"

Mother: Which dentist are you going to?

Kapa: Mom, what are you talking about? I'm going to the same dentist I've gone to my whole life. I've never even been to another dentist - you know that.

Mother: Yes, but why are you going to him?

Kapa: ???

Mother: I heard he was being sued.

Father: I always thought that guy was a quack anyway.

Kapa: What??? Then why did you make me go to him all these years???

Mother: We never made you go, Catherine.

*****************************

If it makes any of you feel any better, I've decided that if I had kids I would make every attempt to be that weird.

Just taking a quick poll

Is anyone else as lucky as I am? Does anyone else have a Poor George to make you homemade chicken soup when you have a cold?

Cough. Sniffle.

Gross airplane food story

Mindy recently posted a gross editorial about various airplane issues. It reminded me of an important story I need to share with my own Gentle Readers.

I used to travel by plane a lot in my work, at least once every other week. Oftentimes it was just for a night or two, which means I used a fairly small travel bag. Less often I would be gone for a week or so, prompting me to use a larger suitcase.

The night before one of these longer trips I got out my large suitcase, which hadn't been used for several months. Upon opening one of the outside pockets, I was horrified to see that I had shoved a United Airlines lunch box into the pocket and, obviously, had forgotten all about it. These lunchboxes usually contained a small meat and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips and a cookie. I had eaten hundreds of them in the course of my travels.

I gingerly carried the box into the kitchen, put it in the sink and got ready to open it, bracing myself to behold the science experiment that would likely dwell within. I plugged my nose in anticipation, just to be ultra-prepared.

Ever so gently, I lifted the cover of the box.

Inside was the small meat and cheese sandwich I had anticipated. In absolutely perfect condition.

Not one trace of mold, slime, or other evidence that the sandwich might be inedible.



Lord, please save us.

Just as an FYI

This morning my kitten Ava (aka Lovey) was cuddling in bed with me. I was shirtless, and she nuzzled her furry little body against my bare skin, purring up a storm. How sweet.

Lovey turned toward me and started in with that paw-kneading thing that cats do when they're hungry. They think of their humans as mother figures, and they're trying to stimulate milk production.

This was all well and good. But then she actually tried to suckle.


I screamed.


I may be instituting a t-shirt policy in bed from here on in.

Family blog!

A number of my Gentle Readers already do the whole "secrets of the site meter" game on a regular basis, so normally I don't go into it because, well, I don't steal from y'all every day. I'm not Echo, after all.

But this one I can't resist. A few days ago I discovered that a Gentle Reader from Puerto Rico made his way to CPW with the following search string using MSN's search engine:


Free video of female dog fuck by mans


Not only did that elegantly crafted query bring this reader to CPW, the Internets' warmest and most welcoming family-friendly webspace; the search above also put CPW as #1 on "Pagina 1 de 22,925 resultados."

Isn't that just great?

I don't like my job as a Strategic Sales Executive

There are steps I can take that may help me begin to like my job, but I keep putting them off. This is exacerbated by the fact that I am the world's worst procrastinator. Just this morning I looked at a few websites designed to help you stop procrastinating, but I was overwhelmed by the amount of work it would take to do the things they suggest.

I read "The Road Less Traveled" a number of years ago. The author, M. Scott Peck or whatever his Kristian name is, wrote at length about doing clinical therapy for years on end with a woman who could not stop procrastinating at work.

After several years of working with her, he gave up and basically told her "you know what your problem is? You're fucking lazy."

I am doomed.

Rachael wants my donuts!

I live in a really weird Brooklyn neighborhood, surrounded by drunk Irishmen, junkies, Asian immigrants, Mafia gangsters and women in burquas. No wonder I'm always in the middle of an identity crisis.

One thing my neighborhood has to boast for itself, however, is the food. There is a lot of food here, most of it delectable and just about all of it at least 30% less expensive than Manhattan - probably because it fell off a truck, but we try not to talk about that. For a foodie who usually can't stop stuffing his face long enough to burp, it's heaven living here. Some of the restaurants in my neighborhood are a little scary, but as long as you remember not to use your credit card in any of the Italian places, you are generally fine.

One of my favorite little haunts is Mike's Donut Shop, just up the street from us. It's a small, independent donut shop where they do the baking right on the premises. Who needs Krispy Kreme? Mike's Donuts are delicious, and available to me at intervals when I decide I'm too depressed to get on the subway without a little bag of sugary treats to keep me warm and fat.

And Mike's is cheap! You can go in there and order several coffees and half a dozen donuts, and the bill will come to some ridiculously low price. One time I brought a Manhattanite friend in there for a snack. He ordered a large latte, I had a regular coffee and we each had several donut treats. My friend was in a generous mood and decided to treat me. The cashier told him "$2.50."

"No, I want to pay for his too."

"$2.50."

"Each?"

"No, $2.50." The cashier was starting to look annoyed, so I hissed at my friend just to give the guy $3.00.

I passed by Mike's today while I was out doing errands, and saw a sign in their window to watch for them on Rachael Ray's show this week! Yes, Gentle Readers, my girlfriend Rachael Ray has finally discovered Mike's Donuts.

It's one of those days when all is right with the world.

High school survey

I copied this survey about high school years from Katy. I like reading about what my Gentle Readers used to be like in their youth, so I'm tagging y'all.

I've recently taken a shine to the word "ya'll," by the way.

Love,
CP

**********************************
1. Who was your best friend?
For the first two years, Gretchen, who is now a Mormon and has little contact with me. My junior year I was living abroad and got very close to Sarah, who now lives in Sacramento. My senior year I was closest with Beth. (I didn't start having a lot of guy friends until college for some reason.)

2. What sports did you play?
Cross country running. I was REALLY REALLY bad at it, too.

3. What kind of car did you drive?
My dad's Chevy Chevette. Confidential to KC & Min: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!

4. It's Friday night; where are you?
Since high school ranged from ages 14-18, it varied drastically. Earlier on I was usually out to eat with my parents on Fridays. Later on I was with friends.

5. Were you a party animal?
You know it's funny - I was just talking with someone about how I hate parties. I used to like them, mainly for the drinking. And yes, I used to get very drunk and rowdy in high school, so in that sense I was party animal. But I was very good at getting into mischief without getting caught.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
Hardly. It was a miracle to get me to look someone in the eye.

7. Ever skip school?
Twice. Managed to lie my way out of punishment for both, as well. See #5.

8. Were you in any clubs?
I did a lot of activities, mainly in music and theater (how shocking!) Those weren't "clubs" but they took a lot of time. The only official "club" I was in was the Foreign Exchange Club where I was elected President and didn't do jack shit. But I enjoyed the lofty title.

9. Suspended?
Are you kidding? I was a parent's wet dream.

10. Can you sing the fight song?
Only the first two lines. My school was so jockish that they used to force us to attend "pep rallies" in the middle of the school day any time there was going to be a "big game" such as Homecoming or when the high school basketball team made it to the state championship finals. I thought that was the most retarded thing in the world. If I'd been the type to smoke pot, I surely would have been under the bleachers with the other stoners.

11. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mrs. Trethaway for English. she was some bitch, but smart as a whip and really good. Plus she introduced me to Holden Caulfield and therefore is a saint.

12. What was your favorite class?
Aside from Mrs. Trethaway's English class, I enjoyed French Conversation the most. This was when we were fairly advanced in our language skills, so class consisted of putting the desk/chairs in a circle and discussing random topics, which sometimes morphed into Franglish when the subjects became heated, causing the teacher to lose control temporarily.

Tom: L'ancien boyfriend de Mary va se marier avec un Freak.

Teacher: Comment?

Mary: ha ha ha

Rachel: Le mot "freak" n'est pas tres sympatique. Les freaks sont des human beings.

Mary: Oui, mais les freaks veulent seulement fumer le marijuana.

Lisa: So what? I toke up! Does that make me a Freak?

Teacher: Ca suffit maintenant!

Lisa: Et vous etes cool parce que vous etes des JOCKS?

Tom: Je suis desole, je croyais que c'etait marrant.

Mary, sotto voce: I hope we don't run into Rachel and Lisa in a dark alley


13. What was your school's full name?
I'm trying to preserve a slight bit of anonymity here.

14. School mascot?
The Pirate! Arrrrgggghhhh!

15. Did you go to dances?
Yes. I went to Homecoming once, Turnabout/Sadie Hawkins three times and Prom once. They were all perfectly hideous.

16. If you could go back and do it over again, would you?
I am obsessed with the idea of time traveling to go back and fix prior mistakes. So in that sense, yes. But if I had to do everything over again the same way I did it the first time, no way.

17. What do you remember most about graduation?
A singing group I was in was asked to perform the song "Hands of Time," that stupid sappy number from the movie "Brian's Song." While we were singing, a group of seniors threw those little snap-pellet things on the floor - the ones that make a popping noise when you throw them down. They did it throughout the whole song and it was really embarrassing. If anyone remembers what exactly those things are called, please tell me.

18. Favorite memory of your senior year?
Going with a bunch of friends to the Turnabout dance, and then bringing them back to my house where we partied all night and got completely wasted while my parents were upstairs in bed. I cleaned up really well so that my parents wouldn't know, but I got busted after Beth went home and threw up in her bed, prompting her mother to demand an explanation. Which Beth gave, of course.

19. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall?
No.

20. Where did you go most often for lunch?
The school cafeteria. I usually had some sort of musical rehearsal during lunch so there wasn't time to do anything else.

21. Have you gained weight since high school?
My first driver's license, which I got at age 16, listed my weight at 140. I was also 6'2". Now I'm the same height and about 80 pounds heavier. I was unattractively skinny for so long that it took a number of years of being a normal weight and/or overweight to stop thinking of myself that way. That's one reason I don't really mind weighing what I do now - I really hated being called "skinny" all my life. I just wish wearing pants was more comfortable!

22. What did you do after graduation?
Immediately after graduation I stayed out all night with my friends, partying in a hotel room. I had one of my parents' cars all night too. They were so mad at me that I was grounded for a week. The next fall I started college.

23. When did you graduate?
1984

24. Where are most of your classmates?
All over - it was a class of over 600 students. A sizeable number of them are in the Chicago area.

25. Did you have a high school sweetheart?
For a while. I dated a girl named Adriana for about six months when I was a senior. She never got any. Poor girl.

26. Have you changed since?
Yes. I'm much, much calmer. And I had my harelip removed.

27. Have you been to your high school since you graduated?
Yes. My dad was a teacher there until he retired in 1992 so I had reason to stop in there when I was home. But I've not yet been to a reunion. I plan to go to one sometime if scheduling works out.

Are you going to let anxiety control you for the rest of your life?

Why as a matter of fact, yes, Lucinda Bassett. That is my plan

Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interview with Lulu

Several of my blogger friends like Bella Rossa and Chris have recurring series involving interviews with other bloggers. In fact, Chris just recently interviewed Lulu on his blog.

Then there is Echo, whose own recent project involves stealing from others' blogs.

To honor the genius of these three excellent writers, I figured it would be a good idea to throw my own idea in with theirs by pretending to interview Lulu. See how that works? I'm stealing from Chris and Bella by interviewing Lulu, and then stealing from Echo by stealing from other bloggers. To top it all off, the idea only to pretend-interview Lulu, rather than actually interviewing her, is my own. This works well for me because I'm lazy and real interviews are more work.

And so you see, Gentle Readers, that four heads working together are much better than one!

************************************************



Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interview with Lulu


Coaster Punchman recently pretended to sit down with Blogger matron Lulu to have a chat about her sex life, former modeling career, her Monty Python Pot'o'Beans nightgown and her obsessive love for They Might Be Giants.

Ok, well the interview is really only about her obsessive love for They Might Be Giants. But we might get to those other topics eventually.

************************************************

CP: So Lulu, I understand you did business with some Johns at least once in your life. Did you have a pimp-daddy to help arrange that, or were you on your own?

Lulu: Fuck you, CP. Go call yourself a whore for a change. I am out of here.

CP: No, wait Lu... here, I've got some bacon.....

Lulu: Mmmmmmmm, bacon.....

CP: There, do you feel better now?

Lulu: Yes CP, you are just as brilliant as ever, and gorgeous too!

CP: Why thank you! Now can we talk about these Johns for minute?

Lulu: Yes CP, I did tell you that I have engaged in a business transaction with at least one John before. However, it was not when I was out turning tricks. The John I'm referring to is one of the Johns from They Might Be Giants. He came into Starbucks when I was schlepping beans there.

CP: Wow Lu, that's really cool!

Lulu: I know! Please worship me now.

CP: I already do. So anyway, which John from They Might Be Giants was it? John Linnell or John Flansburgh?

Lulu: I don't know. I'm not really doing this interview, remember? This is just you pretending to be me.

CP: Yeah, that's right. Maybe you'll clear that up when you comment on this brilliant post. So anyway, tell me more about this chance meeting with John from They Might Be Giants.

Lulu: Well, one morning I was at work when this guy comes up to the counter and orders a cappuccino or something like that.

CP: How unusual for that to happen in a Starbucks!

Lulu: Shut your god-damned mouth and let me finish the story. You always have to be a smart-ass.

CP: Sorry.

Lulu: So I look up at the man who ordered the hot beverage and behold, it's John from They Might Be Giants!

CP: Wow! So did you like swoon or something?

Lulu: I didn't really swoon, but I did say "Hey, you're who I think you are, aren't you?" And he replied "Yes! I'm Elton John!"

CP: Elton John? Why did he pick Elton John? Is he gay or something?

Lulu: CP, I swear....

CP: Ok, ok. Go on with the story.

Lulu: So he's smirking, telling me he's Elton John. So I say "But you don't understand. I LOVE you!" And then he says "I love you too!"

CP: Oh my God. You probably giggled like a school girl!

Lulu: In fact, I did! And then I wet my pants a little because I was so giddy!

CP: You wet your pants, really?

Lulu: No, this is just you pretending to be me, remember? You're trying to embarrass me.

CP: Yeah, I keep forgetting. Well anyway, thanks so much for sitting down with us today, Lulu. It's always so great to see you.

Lulu: You too, CP. Can I get back to my own blog now? You're a real pain in my ass.

CP: I know. But I'm trying to change. Bye Lu!

These are the Johns from They Might Be Giants. One of them is in love with Lulu, but we don't know which one.

************************************************

Stay tuned for more of Coaster Punchman's Pretend Interviews with Bloggers!

Poor George's Haiku for Ted Haggard

Eyes glazed with Jesus,
Fluids dripping down his face,
What is he thinking?

CPW Confessional: Just like Ronnie sang

I don't normally think much of Eddie Money, but yesterday our neighborhood Italian grocery store was blaring "Take Me Home Tonight" and I started to sing along in the checkout line. At one point the checkout girl and I locked eyes and simultaneously belted out "Be my little babaaaaaay!"

Just like Ronnie sang.


It felt dirty, but I kind of liked it.

Pain in my ass

My cats, the cutest cats in the world, have decided they are going to be the kind of cats who jump up on tables and knock over water glasses. I've seen this problem in other cats, but never in any of the 21 cats I have owned over the years.

I always assumed the glass-knocking-over problem was merely indicative of certain personality defects in the owners of said cats. I'll admit, I have always been fairly smug about the genteel behavior of my cats.

But tonight I'm singing a different tune, because the glass-knocking-over problem is happening to me now.

I'm not going down without a fight, however. If this continues, I'm going up the river. And I'm taking names.

Hook & Eye Dutch

Legacy CPW members are well aware of my fascination with religious freaks. Ever since I declared CPW an autonomous dictatorship, there is no First Amendment here which means we are able to place undue burdens on the freedom of religion as often as we'd like. This also means that if you are religious, especially in a Celestial Underwear-wearing or dead-relative-marrying kind of way, we have no qualms about ripping you limb from limb at CPW, the Internets' most friendly, tolerant and inclusive webspace!

Today's lesson in freaky religions is on the Amish. I don't have anything against the Amish, really. As far as I know, they keep to themselves and try hard not to get involved in things like book burning or voting to incinerate homosexuals. Therefore, I pretty much leave them to their barn raisings and other early 19th-century-loving oddities.

But naturally, that won't stop me from making fun of them. What would be the point of that?

One of my favorite things is when whacked out religious groups sub-categorize themselves into even stranger subsets. Like the Mormons with their cute little intragroup arguments on the propriety of marrying off one's 11-year-old daughter to some old geezer who already has three other wives. "You won't let me sell my little girl the minute she starts to menstruate? Fine! I'm starting my own denomination!" I bet the Grand Schism of Mormondom (as I like to call it) involved a conversation exactly like that.

If you're familiar with the Amish, also known as the Pennsylvania Dutch, you may know that they also have several subcategories. My personal favorite is a subset of Amish who consider it too vain and worldly to use buttons. Yes, I said buttons, Gentle Readers. Those round things you use to fasten your sweaters and coats and such. Buttons are strictly verboten in the world of this little Amish sect, and so adherents are instructed to use other means to fasten their clothing, such as hooks & eyes - you know, those things women use to fasten their bras with.

Now don't get me wrong here; hooks & eyes are all well and good. But what really makes me laugh is how the non-Amish refer to these people. When you spend time in places like Wisconsin and Iowa, you get to talk about this stuff a lot, which to me is one of the main benefits of visiting those states.

Like one time when I was visiting Mindy's parents in rural Iowa. We were sitting around discussing corn de-tasseling or some other Iowan thing like that when Mindy's mom started talking about their "Hook & Eye Dutch" neighbors.

"Hook & Eye Dutch?" I replied. "What is that?!"

"The Hook & Eye Dutch! You've never heard of them? It's those Amish people who aren't allowed to use buttons!" Mindy's mom replied. She almost sounded incredulous, as if having a non-button-believing religious sect for your neighbors was the most normal thing in the world.

I suppose it might be when you live in rural Iowa. Which is why every time I go there I come home understanding Mindy just a little bit better than before.



*Props to Pink Fluffy Slippers for putting the whole "Hook & Eye" idea in my head when she blogged about her new hook & eye skirt. She could almost be Amish although she would have to give up her cello.

I'm a Sick F*ck - Glass Bowls

I'm a Sick F*ck is a new CPW series wherein I will share the reasons my Gentle Readers may want to consider having me committed. In fact, I might even end each entry in this series with the words "Perhaps I should be committed."

This morning I had a dream. I was at work in a new office, and needed to use the restroom. I asked someone where it was, and was given a series of confusing directions that took me down various hallways. I kept asking people along the way, until finally I was directed into the lobby of what looked like a restaurant. I saw the door that said MEN and, relieved, stepped in to do my business.

This men's room looked like a small, well appointed apartment with a kitchen and a long dining table. The table was fully set, with dinner plates and glass soup bowls. There was a family sitting and enjoying a meal at one end of the table.

I walked up to the other end of the table and started peeing into one of the soup bowls.

I was thinking "boy, this is embarrassing, having to pee in front of this entire family."

Then, after I left, I started thinking about what I had done. I felt really embarrassed because I suspected I may have been muttering to myself while I was peeing. I do that sometimes.


Perhaps I should be committed.

Let's play dodgeball

My job as a Strategic Sales Executive is sapping my time, as well as what little energy and creativity I ever had. Therefore, I can only rely on the tales of others, such as our lovely (and evil Rachael Ray hating) friend Dale, to inspire me with blog topics. Today's creative plagiarism was borne out of Dale's story of his recent brush with a Z-list celebrity.

My story begins in 1989 when I was still living in Minnesota. Mindy and I, being recent liberal arts college graduates, were working various McJobs, the kind that involve food service, retail, and other gigs that leave you plenty of time to drink and smoke. Since we both worked odd hours, I thought nothing of calling her up at 10:00 pm on a Tuesday night and saying "want to come over and watch movies?"

One night I did just that, and put her in charge of running to the video store to select some filmage. By the time she arrived at my apartment, I had a fresh batch of pig juice (alcholic fruit punch made for doing shots) ready and the VCR primed to enjoy whatever fine cinematic work she had selected. Mindy arrived with the movie "Hairspray."

We were hooked the second the movie began rolling. We laughed hysterically at various times, but otherwise didn't talk much because we were so mesmerized by what was happening on the screen. When it ended and the credits began to roll we both felt incredibly sad that it was over.

"I want to watch it again," I said.

"Ok, lets!" Min replied. So we rewound and watched the whole thing over from start to finish. Except that this time we got up and danced along with every dance number, and we paused and rewound repeatedly during "Ladies' Choice" so that we could each make our own selection.

It was a classic Tom & Mindy evening. Beyond fabulous.

There are many, many perfect little moments in that movie that bear non-stop watching and repeating. One such moment, which happens to be my personal favorite, is right before the dodge ball game between the Special Ed and "normal" kids. There is this blonde gym teacher who belts out in a really hot, raspy voice "OK everyone, let's go, let's play DOOOOODGEBAAAAALLL!!!"

For me, that was just about the most memorable line from the movie. My queeny friend David and I used to walk around the dark streets of Minneapolis after bar-time and randomly scream at each other "Let's play DOOOOODGEBAAAAALLLL!" As only two fags could do.

About three years later I found myself living in Los Angeles working as a technology consultant for the same company I work for today. My duties consisted of going to law firms and bullying their IT departments into installing and maintaining our software, as well as working with the customers to fix whatever bugs that arose post-installation. At certain firms I made weekly or bi-weekly visits to deal with upgrades and the like.

One of my regular clients was this blond woman, Kathleen, whom I loved visiting because she was silly, goofy and kind of a spaz. We would usually spend about half the time working with the software and the other half just laughing at each other. There was something familiar about her that I liked but couldn't quite place. I had thought she kind of reminded me of the gym teacher from "Hairspray," but I figured maybe I had met her somewhere else or something. Anyway, I visited her about once every two weeks for many years.

Flash forward to 1995. By this time I had moved up the chain and had become the Technology Manager in my division, and supervised the techs who did the same kind of work. I started sending Mark, one of the other techs, to do the software work over at Kathleen's firm. One day Mark and I were on a business trip together, and we were talking about some of our customers. I was recalling how much I loved visiting Kathleen, and Mark said "I know, she's great. She's really funny. And she played that gym teacher in "Hairspray!"


I stopped dead in my tracks, and felt the blood begin to drain out of my face. I thought I was going to faint.


"WHAT DID YOU SAY??????" I screamed.


Mark confirmed what I thought I had heard. I totally freaked out. I mean, TOTALLY. I had a complete conniption right in the middle of the street upon hearing this news. Suddenly it all clicked into place. Her goofiness. Her bawdiness. Why I liked visiting her so much. Why she reminded me of the DOOODGEBAAAAALLLL gym teacher.


KATHLEEN WAS THE DOOODGEBAAAAALLLL GYM TEACHER!!!!!


I simply could not believe my good fortune at the realization that I was already so well acquainted, and unknowingly so, with this gem of a C-list celebrity. Especially one that I went around randomly imitating as a stupid, drunk 23 year old.

Having called her weekly for over three years, I had her office phone number memorized. I ran into a pay-phone booth and dialed her right then and there. When her voice mail picked up I shouted "TRACY TURNBLAD IS A HUMAN ROACH-NEST! IS THIS THE CALIBER OF TEENAGER WE WANT REPRESENTING BALTIMORE AT THE AUTO SHOW??????" and then hung up. I was too stunned to go any further.

When I finally reached her in person a few days later, I violently berated her for having kept this juicy tidbit from me all those years. "You have no idea what that movie, and your infamous line, have meant to me!" I told her repeatedly. She giggled, and I could tell she was quite pleased with herself, and me for being such a lunatic and crazed fan.

"God, Tom, calm down! Are you obsessed with me or something? You're not going to try to kill me or anything are you?"

"No, but you do realize that we're best friends now, right?" I replied.

We did become friends after that, and she even joined me and Mindy for Thanksgiving with our friends KC and Kent when they were living in California.

But sadly, about a year later Kathleen left LA for Atlanta, and since then we have lost touch. I hope she's doing well, wherever she is.

Now that I think of it, I should really get down to cyberstalking her one of these days. I mean, what else am I good for anyway?

LET'S PLAY DOOOOODGEBAAAALLLL!