*Sniff* AW, MAN!

I haven’t updated my old site, Rock And Roll Confidential, in nearly four years. That doesn’t stop people from sending me photos for enshrinement in the Hall of Douchebags. In fact, the shirtless mic sniffer pictured above was sent to me just a few days ago. (He’s got a whole album of photos documenting his shirtless mic handling skills. Enjoy!)

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: There, but for the grace of God, go I. There was no such thing as The Internet when I was a band dude. And thank Christ for that. I was every bit the attention whore Shirtless McSniff up there is. I would have posted every musical noodling I conceived, every thought that crossed my mind, and several photographic examples of every outfit I owned in every imaginable badass pose. I would have had a MySpace account, a Facebook account, a Twitter account, a Flickr photostream, a LiveJournal, a blog–oh, right.

Speaking of Facebook: At the behest of my father, I started a Facebook account a couple months ago. It was fun for a few weeks but the blush disappeared from that rose pretty quickly. No offense to anyone I “Facebooked” with, of course. I just didn’t like that much of my eAss hanging out in the eBreeze. My father and I mutually agreed to pull the plug on the Facebook experiment.

Speaking of my father: He now reads (and apparently enjoys) this blog, which is extremely gratifying for me. I do admit to feeling a little odd, however, when it comes to my written recollections of childhood (and teenhood) shenanigans. Granted, I got away with virtually nothing, but I would hate for dad to get retroactively angry over a stunt I was actually able to pull off without him knowing. This is a minor concern, really, as we share a great deal. Hell, I know the position in which I was conceived. (The butt.)

Speaking of the butt: Dogs smell butts and my dad’s dog, Abby, got thirteen teeth pulled this morning. Poor old girl. She’s getting on in years and the vet recommended they pull some loose and decaying teeth. My dad and I wondered on the phone how many teeth she had left. He said “Look it up on the Internet.” so I did. Did you know dogs have FORTY-TWO teeth? I sure didn’t.

Speaking of dogs: Today, a woman sent out an “All Employee” email to everyone that works at the college (which is kind of redundant, now that I think about it.) In her email she told us about the plight of two dogs who are reaching the end of their time limits at two separate shelters. Guh. She even included pictures. Double guh. If I didn’t have three cats who would hate the fuck out of me for bringing a dog into this apartment, I’d have a new doggie. So, hey, if any Ohioans out there are in the market for a sweet dog, drop me a line.

I’m going to drop the “Speaking of…” gimmick now. There’s not much else to tell about my trip to Chicago. We ate at some damn good restaurants, had a damn hell ass fine meal at Miss Black’s, met up with a few RRCers for drinks, and a good time was had by all. One of the best lines from Cookie came when she was researching restaurants online. There was one she was particularly interested in but she was feeling frugal and got a little gun-shy. (I was the one with the expense account, not her.) “Well, how much is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. They’ve only got dollar signs for prices.” she answered.

“It can’t be that much, can it?”

“This says the entrees are four to five dollar signs.”

“So?”

“I don’t want to spend four to five monies. I want to spend three monies.”

Oh, and Cookie saw Barack Obama the Friday after the election when he had the press conference about the  economy at the Hilton across the street. I did not see Barack Obama. I did see Robert Reich, though.

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