You have been summoned for jury service. You are required to respond to this notice within 10 days at www.superiorcourt.maricopa.gov/jury Appearance Date: Thursday, October 24, 2013 Your group number: 4002 Jury ID: 101906931 My response was more “AWESOME!” than “Aw, man.” I am one of those throwbacks that enjoys voting in person at my designated polling place on Election Day… even for primary elections, bond issues and school-district overrides that will increase my property taxes to fund schools I don’t even use. (We have no kids. They don’t allow dogs on the playground. It’s a small price to pay to ensure the our next generation of policy makers is not led by feral ingrates who believe the earth is 6,000 years old and can’t find Russia on a map – even from Alaska). So for me, going to the mailbox to find a jury summons postcard is akin to having Ed McMahon show up at my door with an envelope from Publishers Clearing House. Continue reading
I met Ron Jeremy – yes, THAT Ron Jeremy – the Guinness World Record-Holder for Most Appearances in Adult Films (over 2,000 and still counting).
He was shorter in real life – at least, the part that I saw. By various published accounts, the part that I didn’t see is 9.75 inches (self-measured).
So how did I make his acquaintance and ultimately get my picture made with this legend of lechery?
As with so many of my adventures, it was a 48-hour, wine-fueled, mid-week sojourn involving corn dogs, garlic-parmesan-cheese fries, Viognier and Tilt-A-Whirls (in that order), pork belly, poetry, livestock and rock ‘n roll.
A friend of mine who owns a record store sparked a spirited debate on Facebook last week when she overheard two earnest music lovers debating “the worst song of all time that ever got popular: Witchy Woman by the Eagles or I Can’t Drive 55 by Sammy Hagar.”
Through 184 comments, her devoted followers dredged up the dregs of music history: Africa by Toto, Eye of the Tiger by Survivor, Caribbean Queen by Billy Ocean, the entire Barely Manilow cannon, Sussudio by Phil Collins… or anything by solo Phil Collins, for that matter… and of course, We Built this City (on Rock and Roll) by Jefferson Starship… or Airplane… or just Starship… or whatever the hell they’ve been calling themselves since they turned “rock and roll” into a milquetoast Top 40 exercise in stupidity.
And while all 184 suggestions made me want to gouge out my eardrums because now they are playing on an endless, middle-of-the-night loop inside my head (thank you, Starship), I would like to make the case for the Worst Rock and Roll Song of All Time:
If you are a single male, you missed a rare opportunity to find some hearty, woman-stock of child-bearing age at Tempe Town Lake on May 5.
More than 500 women gathered for the inaugural Esprit de She triathlon and duathlon. Depending on the race they entered, the ladies tallied up to 16 miles’ worth of swimming, biking and running … or running, biking and running … or if you’re me, swimming, biking, running and pissing people off.
Suffice it to say, these women have stamina – and after wearing themselves out (or working themselves into a lather) – they might have lowered their standards and perhaps would have been more amenable to your romantic entreaties. Or not.
Although I wasn’t amenable to (or eligible for) those romantic entreaties, I did survive the inaugural Esprit de She Triathlon in 1 hour, 55 minutes, 23 seconds with my dignity intact (more or less) along with my gangrenous toe. It was not a personal best, not by a long shot.
Two shakers of Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning (both open).
Three boxes of assorted teas. One dozen plastic go-cups from various Mardi Gras parades. An unopened jar of cayenne pepper. Half a container of Morton’s Sea Salt – Extra Coarse. A half a jar of creamy Jif peanut butter. A half-jar of Thrill Your Grill Pork Rub. An unopened bottle of Mrs. Dash Grilling Blends – Chicken (No MSG). Three sets of stainless steel barbecue skewers. A bottle of black pepper. A brand-new container of Weber brand New Orleans Cajun spice mix.
One bottle of Uncle Steve’s Pure Ribbon Cane Syrup “rich in nature’s flavors” and three-quarters’ full – this, in a box on the floor of the closet, right next to the hamper full of wet towels.
This is the legacy of the son we never wanted – the gifts that Ross left behind.