Nose Hairs Gone Wild!

I was at a stop light yesterday afternoon minding my own bidness -- actually pondering the historic joint-provincial pact going down in Northern Ireland and those deadly cans of dog food being discarded everywhere -- when I found myself kind of looking up my nostrils in the rearview mirror. Man. I saw lots of activity inside, running wild. No kidding. I tell you what: my nose hairs are going crazy, exposing themselves!!

Happy twenty-fourth!!

A special shout-out to my grand-niece Caitlynn who's not even 24 hours old right now: happy birthday, Caitlynn!! My twenty-fourth hour was awesome. I loved that hour. Man. Life was all good. Things were pretty uncomplicated, obviously. No shit. No, really. No shitting yet. No teething or chores or homework. You can't have doughnuts or burritos yet, so that sucks. First poop is pretty amazing. Damn. Those were the hours. Good times. Twenty-four hours meant you got the "coming out" part out of the way and you finally get some space and distance between you and Momma, which -- let's face it -- is pretty awesome and over-due -- especially, if it's your momma's first.

Oh well. Enjoy. As your great-uncle, I'm passing along this scorecard I used for the first few months to help me adjust to the outside. You know, keeping score. It worked for me, helps pass the time, I don't know. Maybe it will come in handy:

Bright lights: 30 points (awesome at first, but gets old quick)
Stuffed animal shoved in my face: -30 points
Pink Floyd mobile: 40 points
Hot female nurse smiling at me: 250 points
Another newborn recognizing me from a past life: 50 points
Being placed next to a preemie: -20 points
Someone realizing I'm having the bowel movement of my life and laughing about it: Even
Homeless man wandering around the incubator section smiling at me: -15 points
Stupid kid poking at me saying, "Baby? Baby?": -10
Baby next to me who reminds me of all the things I wish I could change about myself: -50 points
Dog smiling at me: 300 points
Momma's milk: Varies. Sometimes it sucks.
Momma's tit: I'm not comfortable rating this one.
Dog expressing sadness to me/feeling sorry: 10 points
Cat jealous of me: 50 points

I figured out Wal-Mart pricing

I've never been to a Wal-Mart, but I saw a DVD player on sale in a Wal-Mart ad yesterday. A DVD player was selling for $17.78. Yep. $17.78 for a DVD player. I'm no math or DVD-player expert, but it seems to me that a DVD player should cost more than a DVD, just like a toaster should cost more than a piece of toast. Tupperware should cost more than leftovers. A toilet should cost more than, um, never mind.

It's what I'm doing, okay?

I'm writing a novel. I know what you're thinking. You're yawning or have already scrolled away and moved on. Great, sure, awesome. Everyone's freaking writing a novel. Whatevs. The great American thingy has been relegated to "if you have enough time on your hands" status. Shheeez. Finish it yet?

If somehow it gets mentioned around cocktails and stuffed mushrooms that I'm attempting something I probably have no business attempting, this is what I hear: "My uncle tried doing that once." Or "Spend a lot of time doing that?" Or "I really like that shirt."

Anyhoo, I've been working on my thingy since . . . oh, hell, I don't know. I'm embarrassed. I think I've finished it about four or sixty times. I've sent at least 300 query letters to agents who have no idea who I am and have no reason to care. I came close a few times to getting some interest, sure. I've done a fair-to-middling job of deluding myself, shooting myself in both feet. Yep, I've come this far to actually blob about it, and got a taste of some imagined victory . . . so, I can't quit now, no way.

The movie Sideways is a writer's writer screenplay, for sure. I remember thinking how Paul Giamatti's character made me feel happy and sad all at once, with this most awesome bit of truthiness: the challenge of publishing a novel is both a downer and an upper. And it ensures better books. I hope. I think.

Do I let people know my marathon and elusive quest to finish a full length work of fiction is important to me? No, I don't. Friends and family figure I might as well sell sports cards from a shopping mall. On weekends.

But back to Sideways, the story. After we've figured out that Paul Giamatti's character's (Miles) book just isn't going to happen, Miles and his buddy -- on a quest to hook up with some ladies -- milk it anyway. Miles' buddy Jack says the two are celebrating because "the book is about to be published." Miles goes along with it. He'd been drinking and . . . well, you've seen the movie.

One of my favorite parts is when Virginia Madsen's character asks Miles to describe the novel's plot. Miles buckles under the pressure. He stammers, makes no sense, then just folds: "It's hard to summarize," he says. Every writer has said that. If they haven't, they're not writing hard enough.

Writers get bonus value in that movie, just like serious wine connoisseurs got stuff that was over my head. Here are few more nuggets, complements of the Internet Movie Database:

Reason to Keep Things to Yourself
Guy: What is the subject of your book? Nonfiction, right?
Miles: Uh, no. It's... it's a novel. Fiction.
Guy: You writing a story? Hmm. There is so much to know about this world. I think reading something that's invented or whatever: waste of time.

Reasons to Lower Expectations When Sharing Your Work
Miles: Did you read the latest draft, by the way?
Jack: Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Miles: And?
Jack: It's great. I mean there are so many improvements. It's much tighter, just seems ... I don't know, more congealed or something.
Miles: Mm-hmm. What about the new ending? Did you like that?
Jack: Oh, yeah. New ending vastly superior to the old ending.
Miles: There is no new ending. Page 750 on is exactly the same.
Jack: Well ... maybe it just seemed new because everything leading up to it was so different.

On Keeping the Dream Alive
Miles: Well, the world doesn't give a shit what I have to say. I'm not necessary. I'm so insignificant I can't even kill myself.
Jack: Miles, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
Miles: Come on, man. You know. Hemingway, Sexton, Plath, Woolf. You can't kill yourself before you're even published.
Jack: What about the guy who wrote Confederacy of Dunces? He killed himself before he was published. Look how famous he is.
Miles: Thanks.
Jack: Just don't give up, alright? You're gonna make it.
Miles: Half my life is over and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. I'm thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.
Jack: See? Right there. Just what you just said. That is beautiful. 'A smudge of excrement... surging out to sea.'
Miles: Yeah.
Jack: I could never write that.
Miles: Neither could I, actually. I think it's Bukowski.

It's about time for a muffin recipe

Ready? Here's my muffin recipe I've been thinking about. It's been on my brain since forever. The recipe is scrumptious. It's scrumpdilicious, actually. You're really going to love it.

REALLY YUMMY MORNING MUFFINS
1 cup milk
1/3 gallon vegetable oil
1 tablespoon grated orange peel
2 tablespoons braunschweiger
1 goose egg (preferrably from a goose)
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tube of paintable tub and tile caulking
4 cups sugar
1 cup powdered milk
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 quart of motor oil (10W/40 okay)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup fresh or frozen cranberries or dried pototoes
More Sugar (optional)
1 tub of mayonnaise
5 tablets of Zoloft (crushed)
4 tadpoles
1/2 teaspoon of gun powder
1 tablespoon hot sauce (just kidding! No way!! Blechh!)

Directions:
Heat oven to 400F. Grease your bottom with motor oil, or line with tar paper. Beat milk, oil, orange peel and goose egg in large bowl. Stir in flour, gun powder, lots and lots of sugar, the baking powder and salt just until flour is moistened. Fold in cranberries, caulking and potatoes. Divide batter evenly among muffin cups (about 3/4 full). Sprinkle with potato chips and rock salt.

Bake 18 to 20 minutes or until golden brown or explosion. Remove from pan. Thank you.

A li'l Green with my March Madness

Don't know about you, but I can't wait to see Oregon beat Winthrop. It's going to be awesome, but here I am eating my flaccid burrito at my desk. I made it this morning. It's pretty yummy. You should try it. Actually, it's kinda cold, dangit. Damn. Anyhoo, go Ducks and Happy St. Paddy's Day!! Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day. No, really. Even Elizabeth Vargas!

Yep, tomorrow is the holiday of my peeps in case you hadn't noticed. I wish the very best to all my homies. I'll be enjoying all things peaceful and without conflict or terrorism as long as no freaking Protestants put down any IED's in my path. Damn Protestants. Good-for-nothing loyalists. Anti-papist bastards. Protestants are bad news. Don't bomb me or anything, okay? I'm just kidding, Protestants. Protestants aren't bad. Some of my best friends are Protestants. Protestants are awesome. Protestants rock the house.

There isn't much more to say, I guess. That's my official St. Paddy's Day greeting. Not great, I know, but my mind is on college hoops right now and my bracket. My bracket's looking pretty good so far considering no one's really finished a game yet.

I don't have anything more to add other than erin go bragh, bra.

Black people need to enunciate

Pictured here are some Roosevelt High School frosh hanging near the snack bar at half-time. The one with the sunglasses is asking his friend: "What should I get: Red Vines or Doritos?"

Yep, Roosevelt High made it to Oregon's 5A hoop finals. It's a huge accomplishment. A ne'er-do-well underdog taking it to the Big Show, surprising lots of people, which are mostly richy-rich white kids who've had things pretty good with their year-round club sports, hoop camps, and awesome shoes.

Evidently Roosevelt High's entourage (supporters) caused quite a stir at Mac Court in Eugene last week because, um, they were mostly black and sitting together. And weren't enunciating their team spirit clearly.

To sum up the hallaballooh, the Roosevelt High Roughrider student body occasionally gets to shouting a certain cheer to rally some enthusiasm and courtside momentum. The chant goes like this: "Riders! Riders! Riders!" Short for Roughriders, as far as I can tell, which is the school's mascot, which is a teachable moment in itself. Especially for budding Teddy Roosevelt and Spanish-American War scholars.

Anyhoo, it goes "Riders! Riders! Riders!"

Like any good chant, it's catchy and worth repeating. Try it. Riders! Riders! Riders! and so on. Unfortunately, some uptight (white) parents and high school chaperone-types (uptighty whities) weren't hearing "Riders! Riders! Riders!" from the stands. They were hearing -- holy cow -- "Riot! Riot! Riot!"

"Can't have none of that. We don't want no riot on our hands," said a pear-shaped white man hugging a liter of Coke.

"An official" (unfortunate man) was asked to explain to the Roosevelt student section that their chant was inappropriate and that they have to, um, stop. I'm not making this up.

Meanwhile, Churchill High and its hometown crowd numbering in the bazillions, cheered (and probably chanted Christian-themed battle cries) so loudly that the vast majority of regular prep fans had no idea a riot was about to break out.

It made me wonder about all the other chants that were being "chanted." Last thing we want is a lot of minorities and/or illegal immigrants taking advantage at a basketball playoff game. No one wants to be fooled. Fool me once and you've fooled me, but fool me twice ... well, you've fooled me again if you know what I mean. I don't even want to know what happens if you fooled me a third time, I guess, basically.

Actual: Riders! Riders! Riders!
What people heard: Riot! Riot! Riot!

Actual: Defense! Defense! Defense!
What people heard: Black Power! Black Power! Black Power!

Actual: Hold 'em! Hold 'em! Hold 'em!
What people heard: Give us your money! Give us your money! Give us your money!

Actual: We're number one! We're number one! We're number one!
What people heard: We're going to cut you up! We're going to cut you up! We're going to cut you up!

Actual: Two points! Two points! Two points!
What people heard: 400 years of oppression! 400 years of oppression! 400 years of oppression!

In summary, I think the town folk -- converging from just about every suburb in Oregon -- just weren't used to seeing dozens of black people all together in one place yelling loudly. Maybe that's what we need to work on. Yep, we need more "urban" and "inner city" schools basically, um, winning.

The next movie I see!

Sounds like that new computer-generated major motion picture war movie "300" is a big-time record-breaking mega-box-office megaplex hit that's breaking mega records all over the megaplace. I understand it's about the Battle of Thermopylae, which in case you don't know your Sparta history, is about a proud people being outnumbered by invaders. It's basically about the Iraq war, only 1700 years ago and with hotter chicks. This one doesn't involve any weapons of mass destruction. Oh, that's right, the modern one doesn't either. Whatever. Meantime, the other major motion picture on everyone's mind is "Wild Hogs," now appears to be overshadowed by the big box-office mega-hit hooplah. Dang. I feel really bad for "Wild Hogs." It's kind of a travesty when one mega-hit gets overshadowed by another mega-hit. It's a troubling state of affairs.

Ever since I saw the preview for "Wild Hogs," I've been thinking about it. Constantly. It appears I just have to commit and make time to see it is all. It's going to be totally awesome, I can tell. How can it not be totally awesome? John Travolta, Tim Allen, Martin Lawrence and William H. Macy?!? It's like I've died and gone to buddy-movie heaven. There's four guys in all, not two, so it's like two buddy movies-in-one. Plus they drive motorcycles! Motorcycles! I've never driven a motorcycle before, but I bet after seeing "Wild Hogs" I'll feel like I have. I'll feel like I want to go out and get one!!

Oh man, this movie is going to absolutely rock! Even the name alone is funny and awesome! "Wild Hogs." How'd they come up with that? Pure comic genius. Plus it makes sense, too. Hogs are wild. At least most are. I'm not even sure about that, but it doesn't matter -- it's the best movie name of all time. Four guys and their Harleys!! Total good times.

I'll be really interested to see how Martin Lawrence does in the movie. He's black. I bet he'll be getting them in trouble because they'll be driving around places where there aren't a lot of black people and the racist locals will try to give them a hard time but good old Martin Lawrence won't be having any of that thank you very much. Man, this is a great country when we overcome racism. In the end we'll all learn a little something about ourselves and how it's important to fight for what's right and be full of inner strength!

I could go on and on about the other actors, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone. I don't know about you guys, but I'm counting the minutes til I get to the theater. I can't wait.

Checking in

News flash to self: It occurred to me that no one reads this shit. So that's basically it for today. I'm cool with that. I wouldn't want the pressure. This is an anonymous bog in case you haven't figured that out. Sheez, man. Get a clue. Dang. Do you think I want to embarrass myself and shame my family? I'm not into that. I'm not into letting anyone know about this bloggedy bog dog bog jog flim flam flim flam rope a dope. I've always wanted to say that and now I have the POWER. I'm awesome. This is my best posty ever. Damn, I'm good.

Stating State Facts Vol. 1: Idaho

I've done some research on my own and discovered that there is a lot of relevant stuff my teachers left out about about studying our states and their capitals and such. Therefore, I have decided to take a closer look at our United States. I decided to start alphabetically, so without further hesitation, I present: Idaho. As you'll see, there's a lot more to Idaho than the potato.
Full Name: Idahohohohionia
Nickname: The Ho
Nickname(s) from its enemies: Idadodo, Ida Hosebag
Named after: Bob Idaho
Sex: Female
State Dog: Jim
State Capitol: None
State Motto: "We are Idaho, Bitch!"
State's Most Popular Tourist Destination: Canada
State Song: Theme from Chico and the Man
Current President of Idaho: Rutherford B. Hayes
Current Prime Minister of Idaho: None (stupid question)
Relationship Status: In a relationship
Population: 85
Official State Language: Aramaic
Ethnic Composition: Not a lot of black people
Official Government: Parlimentary
Official State Atmosphere: 33.3% Ground, 33.3% Oxygen, 33.3% Sky
Children: Okay
Official Artificial Turf Color: Blue
Official Game Winning Prayer: Hook-n-Ladder
Official State Religion: Sunni
Official State Fish: Dolphin
MapQuest Orientation: Surrounded by Oregon, Washington, Montana, and Georgia.
Official State Mental Illness: Bi-Polar Disorder
Famous People From Idaho: Fred Durst, Socrates, Betty Rubble
Official State Allergies: Eggplant, tomatoes and latex
Official State Cookie: Thin Mints
Surreal Fact: Idaho invented the saying "working hard or hardly working?"
Fact: People who use that saying should be tortured to death.

Portland's Bluesman

Peace out, Bluesman. It was a privilege to see you perform at Key Largo and Harry's Mustache and The Candlelight Room, thanks to a buddy of mine who always seemed to know exactly where you were, along with Curtis Selgado and Robert Cray. You rocked it, my man Paul DeLay. If I can sound all bluesy and street for a second, make no mistake, brothers and sisters: there's something magical about feeling the art and sponteneity of a musician, particularly when talking aboutz the blues. Multiply that goodness for Paul DeLay. Can't put my finger on it, but his energy and talent and gift to us definitely had some grace and generosity going on.

Sometimes I get mail from strangers

Subject: Hi there Remember me?

Hi Ignatius!
Remember me? Click here. These XXX pics are so hot you will regret not looking at them!!! Click here.
XOXO Victoria. Click here.


RE: Hi there Remember me?

Dear Victoria,
After wracking my brain, I don't remember you at all. It wouldn't seem like I wouldn't remember you, but dang. We could've met, I suppose. I vaguely remember that chair you're sitting or spread out on, but I think that's only because my brother in-law had a similar chair, but in a different color. Anywho, Victoria, I wish you luck finding the right Ignatius. You seem really nice and open.

Take care,
Ignatius

I never knew slurs could be funny

Heeh. Ann Coulter is so funny I can't believe it. Oh, man, stop. Faggot. Good one!! That woman is clever as all get out.

The luncheon guests must've been really on top of things, because they sounded pretty psyched after hearing Coulter's perspective on Edwards' merit as a presidential candidate. Never mind that this kind of laughter is more typical at an eighth grade assembly after someone lets one into the microphone, or when the Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan entertains his Knights by pulling out a Jesse Jackson doll from his robe.

Just so we're clear, there's really no subtlety on this one. Is there? Ann Coulter called John Edwards a faggot at a major Republican political conference in Washington, D.C. And lots of people laughed. That's what we're seeing, right?

It's moss season in the neighborhood

This is an aerial photo of Linnton, the NW Portland neighborhood where I hang my hat at night. Except I don't wear a hat. I'm simple folk.

If you look closely at the photograph I took from my weather balloon just yesterday, you can see Hwy 30 cut right through the center of our neighborhood. It looks like a shadow, I know, but it's not. Trust me.

Like so many communities across the land, Linnton's heart got severed right down its middle to make way for the automobile. But little did those 1950s' traffic engineers realize: moss gets so thick in Linnton between November and March that it's not unusual for traffic to slow to a stand still.

You can't see it in the photo, but the Willamette River runs parallel to Hwy 30. The raging waterway runs along an abandoned plywood mill which is now overrun with moss.

If you're unfamiliar with the environs of sleepy ol' Linnton, let me just say this: the historic Linnton neighborhood is not only composed of moss and homes covered in moss, but Linnton geography offers majestic views of Mt. Saint Helens, Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood, moss, and many magnificent oil tank farms, rusty rail cars, gravel, and warning markers that point to pipelines underfoot. Our awesome Linnton Community Center sits a few feet above invisible petroleum, natural gas, and other flourocarbon-emitting treasures. It's very educational, this place.

This mossy land on the river's edge is wonderfully preserved for the city's economic engine and is protected as an Industrial Sanctuary. And if Linnton hillsiders ever want to get away from all the moss, the Industrial Sanctuary is the place to go. That is, if we can get through the pot holes, fences, razor wire, and security guards. From what I can see, the Industrial Sanctuary is neither green nor mossy. In fact, it appears to be preserved in creosote, Exxon signs, and brown.

Linnton folk are the Siberians of Portland. We're a proud people. Some of us like to think of our close-knit neighborhood as the poor man's Dunthorpe. Whatever. If you're ever on a drive to Sauvie Island and can't make it through the moss, stop in. We'll treat you right. We love our moss because -- if I can be frank -- our moss season is as little known as it is awesome.

Thinking about muffins

I took a little break yesterday. Did you notice? You didn't? Oh. Well, I did. I was thinking about muffins. Muffins were on my brain. I was putting together a muffin recipe, but things didn't go so well. You don't want to hear about it. Never mind.

Instead of muffin recipes, I went a different route that doesn't include butter, sugar, a mixer, a muffin pan and cleaning up. I hate cleaning up. I need to face facts: I'm not a good baker or cleaning up. I don't know. Maybe I suck at muffins in general. But I found this awesome muffin joke on the Internet. I embellished it, changed it, made it my own . . . just like a good muffin recipe. I hope I didn't spoil it. Oh well. If you're looking for a good muffin joke, you just might enjoy this sweet buttery billowy bit of cakie goodness. It's not bad, if I might say so myself.

A dozen muffins are in the oven, cooking at around 400F on a lightly greased muffin pan.

One muffin turns to the other and says, "Man, it's getting really hot in here. I'm fricken baking!"

The muffin next to him says, "Holy shit! A talking muffin!"

The muffin talked -- get it? Maybe it's not that great after all.

Dang. My timing is all off today. Maybe you had to be there.

I hope to see everyone tomorrow!

Blazers have a job opening

The Portland Trailblazers will be looking for a new General Manager to hire. I don't know when, but The Man Paul Allen just fired Steve Patterson. Damn. He probably wasn't performing, I suppose. It's all about the W column in my book. If you can't rack up the W's, you're not going to make it at the big show. That's what I say. At the end of the day, you've got to get the right man on the bus. If you don't win your division, you've got to make sure Paul Allen is on your side. And the local media and crazy fans like you. You might have to do special favors, like hook up players with the dank or post bail. If you don't do all that, you could be toast.

My guess is that Steve Patterson wasn't enforcing the dress code. He got lax. Maybe he didn't show up to a few of the games when he said he would. I don't know. I doubt he called Nate McMillan a loser or anything. Who knows? It could've been as simple as not sticking with the fourth quarter. Hmm. Everyone knows you have to stay to see your team through to the very end . . . even if it means getting the shit kicked out of you. That's like job #1: Watch your team get the shit knocked out of it.

The thing everyone needs to remember about sports and life itself: you're only as strong as your weakest link. Anywho, I might submit my resume. I haven't decided yet. I'm sure I'd be up to the task. I'd be a fair to middling link, but definitely not the weakest.

First thing I'd tell the hiring panel: I'd draft, trade and negotiate my ass off. When it comes to player personnel, I'm a shrewd negotiator. Winning is #1. And teamwork. "There's no I in Team," I'd say.

Second thing I'd do is hire Elizabeth Vargas as Voice of the Blazers. She'd be awesome. As far as I can tell, Portland would be home to the first female NBA-franchise play-by-play broadcaster. Elizabeth Vargas would be Portland's new Bill Schonely, beloved by all! Obviously, she'd be the hottest, most unflappable, and unbiased play-by-play announcer in all the land. She'd rock. She'd totally bring back the fan base. Portland would love its team again and you'd attribute it to my leadership and vision to bring Elizabeth Vargas to Rip City USA.

Third thing on my turnaround and must-do list: hold coffee klatches every morning with all the local sports writers and reporters and Elizabeth Vargas. It would be like The View. Me and Elizabeth Vargas would tag-team as Barbara Walters. And because columnist John Canzano is a man of principle and truth, he would be Rosie. I don't know who would be Elizabeth Hasselbeck, unless it would be The Man Paul Allen himself. I'd also invite Joe Becker, and Makeup Lady, for sure. I'd bring everyone doughnuts. We'd sit around watching around-the-league highlights on a jigh-normous HDTV flat panel and start our own March Madness pool. On special occasions, I'd bring my Pete Maravich Topps rookie card. Afterwards, we could all hang at the practice facility and shoot hoops, grab a few practice jerseys, and get Lamarcus and Martell autographs.

Being G.M. would be pretty alright. Good seats and awesome parking. Probably get to drink Diet Cokes with the Blazers Dancers and what not. I think I'm up to the task. Paul Allen wouldn't have to bankroll any moving expenses. That's a huge plus.

I'd definitely let the panel know I played some ball back in the day. I used to fire the rock, big time. I could drive left actually, which was pretty awesome. I was deceptively not bad. I'd surprise a few people, taking it to the hoop. Even my dad.

First, I need to freshen up my wardrobe, which needs some freshening up a bit. Well, everyone . . . wish me luck. See you at center court!

Bloods, Crips, Mara Salvatrucha, and . . . ?

I've been romanticizing gang life lately and I can't get that song "I'm not ready to make nice" out of my head. I don't know how the song goes exactly, but I definitely know that part where it goes, "I'm not ready to make nice." You try it. It's like, "I'm not ready to make nice, I'm not ready to make nice." You know the one. It's by the Dixie Chicks. They're kinda hott, I guess. They're the ones who saw lots of fans/corporations become disappointed after the outspoken band leader dissed Texas and the president on stage. As they say in show business: it's all about timing. If you're going to diss Texas and the president, do it when everyone else is doing it. Or pray about it afterwards, I suppose. That's the thing. You try it.

Anywho, this posty is about gang life and me needing a gang name for my future street gang I wish to somehow form. I don't know how I'll go about getting a street gang together, but I can ask my neighbor who plays organ at our church. He'd be awesome. My only concern is when it turns hot this summer. He has a heart condition.

My street gang name has to be bad, bad, bad. You know, mean, lean and bad ass. It needs street cred, so all of my potential foes will hear it and know we're very dangerous and intimidating -- basically, a group to be reckoned with. I want them to hear our street-gang name and say, "Shit man. These guys are bad news. We should stay afar from their turf." So far, I've narrowed my gang names down to 25 or so. I'll eventually get it down to three. Here are some of the ones that spoke to me with intimidation and fear. Thanks, Dixie Chicks, for inspiring me! You guys rock!

The We're Not Ready to Make Nices
The Not Niceties
The Dixie Chicks/Dudes Gang
The Linnton Hillside Eroders
The You Wish You Were in Fullujah Right About Nows
The Opposite of Goods
The Negative Attitudes
The Insolent Group of Thugs
The Hard Ones
The Cruds
The Deaths
The Self-Locking Refrigerators
The Diving-Somersault-to-Karate-Kicks
The Super Street Fighters
The Shitty Faces
The Aloof Cats
The Dirty Pennsylvania Turnpikers
The Apple Dumpling Gang with Numchuks
The Potato Pelters
The Bloody Gory Fellas
The Combination Skins
The Criminally Impolite
The Murder Pals
The Acronym-Users During Meetings Gang (AUDMG)
Jake Pistols and the Hollow Points
The Six-Foot Submarine-Style Knuckle Sandwiches
The Uncomfortable Office Chairs
The Spanking Machines
The Unfashionably Lates
The Special Needs
Bed, Bath, and Spiked Baseball Bats
The Ruined Batch of Toll House Cookies
Captain Stabbin's Knife Wielders
The What-You-Talkin-Bout-Willisses?
The Not-Afraid-to-Diss-The-President-Group of No-Good Thugs
The Explosive Liquids, Gels and Lotions