Thus Always to Tyrants!

Just when Helen Mirren puts on a great performance and puts me in a pro-monarchy kind of mood, Prince Charles goes and does something stupid, and now I'm ready to bring down the whole fake British Government. It's not like their needed. What, Tony Blair can't wave a scepter and cut some ribbons between press conferences announcing that he completely supports the President's new commitment to Iraq and another one announcing he's pulling all his troops out...but he really supports the Iraqi effort. Bill Clinton did plenty of "Public Relations" stuff between his flip-flopping. In fact, some say he did far too MUCH "Public Relations".

What is it that put me in this regicidal mood (Dictionary update: While "regicidal" is not a word, "regicide" means "to kill a King", and homicidal means "contemplating homicide", thus is born the new, and positively scrumptious, word, regicidal)? Did they try to annexe the East Coast? Did they disparage American football? No. Prince Charles' offense was to the very heart of our American spirit (and waistline). He suggested we abolish McDonald's worldwide. And for that, he might need to die.

Alright, I'll admit that is probably overreacting a little bit. Surely there is a more appropriate reaction. I know, let's lock him in London Tower. You know, man-in-the-iron-mask style. Wait, that was the French, wasn't it? Well, the idea still applies. A couple of years in there eating gruel and I bet he'd beg for a Big Mac. It's not like we shouldn't have seen this coming. For more than two hundred years those Brits have continued to refer to us as "the colonies," treating us like the Down Syndrome giant at the world's dinner table (You don't point out that he's spilling his soup all over the place because he could literally crush your skull, but after he leaves the table you don't invite him to play Bridge with the adults).

Well, consider me one pissed off Down Syndrome giant...wait, that didn't come out like I intended. Suffice it to say I'm pissed off. McDonald's is quite emblematic of our nation as a whole. It started with a couple of brothers working hard to make a way for themselves, providing wholesome food and friendly service to their neighbors for a fair price. Then a businessman bought the idea, slashed the quality of food to lower overhead, put it all in a colorful bag backed by an expensive ad campaign with a catchy jingle, and franchised the idea to every corner of the globe. It's really the story of Democracy. Brings a tear to my eye. Give me a minute.

Alright, I'm collected now.

So, while I may just be one man against the entire British Empire (who are we kidding, there hasn't been an Empire since Churchill hung up his whiskey bottle and retired), I've got a plan to showcase my disdain for Prince Charles' statement as well as his generally smug, self-satisfied, attitude. The plan is in five parts:

1. Start Wearing a Guy Fawkes mask at all times and speak only in rhyme -- It worked for Hugo Weaving when he brought down the tyrannical leader of Britain in his time, and I think we have a lot to learn from history.

2. Begin a petition to officially change the name "Great Britain" in all textbooks to "Horrible Britain" -- Just think about the time we hated France...no I mean the last time. Within a couple of months we had everybody calling "french fries" "freedom fries". I think this one could catch on too.

3. Set up elaborate photo shoot for the entire British Royal family, put all electrical equipment in water, everybody gets electrocuted then John Goodman becomes King -- This is maybe my greatest plan. There is no way that Roseanne's husband would abolish fast food...although, if memory serves he actually prefers Burger King...I'll have to work on this one.

4. Expose Prince Charles' longstanding affair with Camilla, his high school sweetheart, thereby destroying his public image and costing him any future chance at the crown -- Wait...you're saying the public already knows about this? They're married now? Weird.

5. Put him on the "No Fly" list -- Then let's see how he makes it to his little Polo matches on time. That pansy. What's that? The "No Fly" list is an American thing? Hmmm. Can't we just have Homeland Security pick him up as an enemy combatant? It worked for Michael Moore!

This is a call to arms, my friends. Our very way of life is at stake. There is no room for capitulation and compassion. You are either with us or against us. So in the tradition of Brutus, The State of Virginia, and John Wilkes Booth, I say to you, "Sic Semper Tyrannis" Thus Always to Tyrants!

Marital Problems

The title of this post is a cheap shot. No, Mrs. Rogue and I aren't really having problems. But we might after she finds out how madly in love I am with a man by the name of Tim Kring. Who is this mystery man, and what has he done to win my affections? He's the writer behind shows like "Crossing Jordan" and "Chicago Hope" as well as films like "Teen Wolf Too." So, I'm in love with the guy who created "Teen Wolf Too"? Yes...and no. I do have a serious man-crush on Timmy, but not because of his excellent work with Jason Bateman. He's been busy recently with a little show called "Heroes" and last night, his "little show" put on the best hour of television in years.

"Heroes" is (as I've described it to friends) what would have happened if Stan Lee created the X-Men after watching "Unbreakable" by M. Knight Shymalan. Gritty, realistic, exciting and damn good television. Using comic book methods like cliffhanger "to be continued..." storylines and camera angles that Alex Ross would appreciate, "Heroes" has brought the enduring archetypes of superheroes to the small screen, and to mainstream America.

The characters that Kring and his team introduce us to are not two dimensional. They have thoughts and feelings, hidden motivations and alliances, and act based upon their circumstances, not some idyllic sense of right or wrong. They are real people. Or about as close as television comes to them anyway. Is it Shakespeare? No. Does it go as far towards creating its own language as "Deadwood" did? No. Does it tackle societal questions every week like "Battlestar Galactica"? Not quite. Is it consistently compelling television, significantly more entertaining than any other genre show on TV? Yep. Without a doubt, including "Lost" and the aforementioned "BSG". It's that good. Or at least it is now.

You'll notice I'm not talking about specifics. That's because this show is far too good to spoil (especially last night's episode). If you are not watching this show, do yourself a favor and jump on the bandwagon. The ratings are just going to go up which means if you are not already missing out talking about this show with your co-workers you will be soon. It's classic water cooler stuff. But Joel, you ask, how do I catch up now? Log on to your computer and watch the episodes for free on NBC.com, or buy them from iTunes, or heck download them illegally (not that I condone that kind of thing) just do what you have to do to catch up with this show. The good news is, you've got some time to do it. After next week's episode (which looks to be almost as good as this week's) "Heroes" goes on hiatus until late April before wrapping up the season with five episodes week after week. So, get cracking. You've got two months to figure who these "Heroes" are and why Joel might want to marry their creator.

I Hate Oscar! (**Sarcasm required**)

The elitist Academy proved once again last night that they've hidden their heads in the sand and made the safe and predictable choices instead of awarding the truly deserving. Is Martin Scorcese really the best director this year? Or is he just an Academy darling who wins every award he's up for? That's what I thought!

Jennifer Hudson winning an Oscar! Simon Cowell thought she was "out of her depth" and who is the Academy to second guess the fantastic judges of "American Idol"? You wanna know what the "Best Picture" was this year? I have two words for you. Ricky. Bobby. Will Ferrell could act circles around Leo Dicrappio, and in a heated back alley battle royale my money is still on Ferrell (I've seen what he can do with a pitchfork).

The rest of the awards weren't much better. Idi Amin won for "Best Actor" proving once and for all that Hollywood IS on the side of the terrorists (look forward to next year's feel-good film, "The Last Sheik of Baghdad: The Saddam Hussein Story." It'll probably win George Clooney another Oscar). "Borat" was cheated out of the "Best Adapted Screenplay" award. To showcase the glaring error the Academy made on this one, here's an excerpt from "Borat":

Borat: I like you, do you like me?
Driving Instructor: Of course I like you.
Borat: You are my friend?
Driving Instructor: You're a nice young man and, yes, I am your friend.
Borat: You will be my boyfriend?
Driving Instructor: No, I won't be your boyfriend.
Borat: Why not?
Driving Instructor: Okay, yeah, I guess I can be your boyfriend.

Moving. Compassionate. Challenging. Those are just a few of the words I could think of to describe that passage. It's genius my friends, overlooked genius. Now here's an excerpt from the film that beat out "Borat", "The Departed" adapted by William Monahan:

Frank Costello: Church wants you on your place. Kneel, stand, kneel, stand. If you go for that sort of thing, I don't know what to do for you. A man makes his own way. No one gives it to you. You have to take it. "Non serviam."
Young Colin: James Joyce.
Frank Costello: Smart, Colin. Guineas from the north and down Providence try to tell me what to do. And, uh, something maybe happen to them. Maybe, uh, like that.
[cuts to Costello executing two people on beach]

Well, you can't make it much more plain than that, can you? Not only could Mr. Monahan not write a movie on his own (he had to translate somebody else's) but then he goes and quotes other authors. It's called plagiarism buddy, and like Borat feels about Jewish people, I don't like it!

There were some things I liked about the awards:

1. With the invention of Tivo and the ability to skip commercials, the ceremony can now be viewed in just under 16 hours!

2. The lingering rumor that Martin Scorcese and George Lucas are actually the same person can finally be put to rest, since they appeared on stage together...of course, their best friend is Steven Spielberg...Lucas does own ILM...could it have been CGI'ed?

3. Al Gore didn't announce that he's running for President again, but he did imply that he invented motion pictures.

4. Since Eddie Murphy wasn't the one that beat Mark Walberg for "Best Supporting Actor" he gets to live. Sadly, Alan Arkin is not so lucky. Watch out for the Funky Bunch, Alan.

5. Jack Nicholson showed solidarity with his new love, Britney Spears.

A Drunken Exploration of All Things Snooze

I publish this blog both on Blogger and at my digital domicile, MySpace. I know my inability to commit to one or the other frustrates some of you, but there's just too much Rogue to be held down by the bonds of digital monogamy.

That said, I have friends that refuse to give in to the allure of MySpace. They decry the (vast) number of fake profiles, or the cookie-cutter page layout. There are a million reasons not to be on MySpace, but last night I was reminded of a very good reason why I'm glad I am. A cousin of mine, whom I haven't seen in years, found my page while browsing one of our old friends sites. So now, however superficially, we are back in touch. In her first foray into MySpace blogging she opined about her adoration of the snooze button. So in honor of her, and MySpace's ability to bring families together, here's my take on man's greatest invention...you know, besides the internet.

The Snooze That Almost Was

It's a scientifically proven fact (not really, but we'll act like it is) that ill-begotten sleep, sleep stolen from your daily routine, is actually three times as effective in restoring the body and mind than regular night-time sleep. No matter whether you prefer the nine minute variety, the five minute variety, or the clock chooses randomly how much I snooze (alright Mr. Fancy Pants!) variety, those stolen moments generally are much more relaxing and important to us than the hours of sleep that preceded them. It was with this discovery in mind that Alexander Snooze made a suggestion to his friend and partner, Levi Hutchins.

Levi was a bit of a stuff-shirt, even for the late 1700s. At 26 years old, the clockmaker wasn't clubbing with his colonial buddies until the wee hours of the morning. No, Levi liked to be up early, slaving away before the sun came up at his job. The problem was that occasionally, Levi would miss his 4am wake-up call (you just can't trust those roosters to be punctual). So he set about building the world's first alarm clock. Once he had the idea to use a clock to set off a bell at a desired time the execution was actually fairly simple (for smart people, slackers like you and me...and Alexander Snooze for that matter probably never would have figured it out). The invention was a success. The neighbors didn't like it, but Levi figured they could bite ye olde big one.

Alexander was impressed with his buddy's invention, and encouraged him to sell copies (slackers are almost always business minded). Signore Snooze did have one recommendation though. Why not add the ability to delay the alarm once it actually went off? This way if you'd had one too many pints of mead the night before (or maybe had been to a bitchin' tea party) you could get those extra few winks you needed while not missing the days labors entirely.

Levi was shortsighted though. Not only did he not implement the brilliant "Snooze Feature" but he never even patented the idea for the alarm clock. He is now long dead and buried, remembered only as the imbecile that let one of largest theoretical payouts in human history go to some other dude. Alexander Snooze, on the other hand, not only lives on in the name of his greatest idea, but also became one of the most beloved, if wholly ineffectual, Senators in the early history of America. It seems the desire to sleep in, especially at the expense of your job, is a plus in politics.

Let this be a lesson to all of you. The Path of the Rogue doesn't always have to be drunken, but it does require an above average commitment to procrastination. Alexander Snooze, I and fellow Rogues everywhere salute you!

Is It Too Late For Me to Be a Heavyset Black Woman?

Did I miss my chance? I know that there have been amazing advances in plastic surgery (just look at Michael Jackson...or Tara Reid's stomach), but this may be asking too much. I'm interested in exploring my options though.

What brought on this newfound interest in sexual and racial reassignment surgery? I found out that white people (particularly men) have no business even standing anywhere near a good black female singer. Don't believe me? Just ask the contestants on "American Idol."

Lakisha Jones is a name you don't know (unless you were watching last night), but you will very, very soon. She just not only became the front-runner, but with a 90 second performance last night, made Jennifer Hudson and her show-stopping performance in "Dreamgirls" look a little dusty. Jennifer was preparing for her moment of glory in "Dreamgirls" for literally months before filming. Before being cast she had been a struggling professional singer for a couple of years. In the song, "I am Telling You," Jennifer's character gets about five minutes to build up to the "money part". Last night, Lakisha Jones just cut straight to the point. Coming on to the stage cold, with a band she's sang with only for the last week or so, in front of about 30 million people, this former bank teller and young mother introduced herself to America with authority, and in the process had me feeling a little envious.

I like to sing (though some of my co-workers would sometimes rather I didn't). But I may as well give up anything stronger than humming and tapping my toe. What I do does not qualify as the same thing Lakisha does. We'll just call it rhythmic melodic chanting. That sounds like something white people would be good at.

So, while last year's attempt to become a professional basketball player didn't work (I'm still barely 5'9" and over 210lbs), I've got high hopes for my new career path as a heavyset black female singer. Aretha here I come!

She's Breathing My Air: Ode to My Baby Sister

Being a kid is fun. You've got lots of free time on your hands (between coloring and not washing behind your ears), very few financial responsibilities (it pretty much boils down to not losing your milk money), and a built in enemy/accomplice in your siblings. This is particular true of younger brothers and sisters. My older brother and sister are more than ten years my senior (they're my half-siblings so, no, my Mom's not old. She'd kill me if I didn't point that out) so growing up, Jena and I were the only real "kids" in the house.

From time to time she served as an admirable officer in my war on adults. She was a good follower and even as a baby had an unnatural ability to scale tall objects (I remember her sitting on top of the refrigerator more than once). But more often than not, she served as the cold Russian winter to my Napoleonic ambitions. That's right, I just made a Napoleon joke. Who says I'm not brilliant? Well, Sister Rogue is turning 23 tomorrow (Wednesday) so I thought it might be appropriate to throw a few props (that's actor speak for heavy objects) her way.

Little Known Facts about Jena (Sister Rogue)

1. She houses and feeds an illegal alien -- No, I don't mean Pedro, her Guatemalan boy toy. I'm talking about the UFO-type aliens. She claims he is a "basset hound" but those that have met this interloper know the truth. He is an intergalactic bum, hellbent on spreading his outer space germs to unsuspecting guests visiting Jena's house. Fred (the Earth name she has given him) may look unassuming and gentle, but let down your guard for even a minute and his infectious mucous will cover you. Be ever vigilant!

2. Her tenure at Louisiana Tech has actually made me look like an accomplished student -- After spending all of five years attempting (and finally finishing) my undergraduate studies, I was sort of looked on as a slacker in the family. My mother had completed her BA in only three years (suck-up) and it was generally believed that I had just goofed off. Then along comes Sister Rogue. With five years already in the bag (including summer sessions, which I never attended) and at least another two quarters between her and graduation, Jena has made my path to graduation look almost fleet-footed. Thanks, Sis.

3. If I keep implying that she'll be my publicist when I get famous, I can talk her into doing stuff for me now-- "Jena, you know how when I hit it big I'm gonna put you on the payroll as my publicist? Well, right now the writer is not feeling so well and Ella's at work. Can you bring me something to eat?" or "Hey, Sis. I was just looking at the bank account and it seems like I'm a little short for the gas bill this month. Too bad I'm not a big famous writer yet, and you're working as my publicist making loads of money too! Could you loan me $50?" It's not that I abuse it, but it's nice to know that I've got her on a string.

4. She loves moving other people's furniture and belongings -- She wouldn't tell you this, but I know that it's true. Not once, but twice during the time we were both in college, Jena moved for both of us while I was working in Ohio. Sure, she complained about it at the time, but deep down I knew how much she liked relocating my junk. The sparkle in her eyes was enough to tell me how she really felt. So the next time you need to move, just get a hotel for the weekend about three states away. Then call Jena and tell her the keys to your new place and the old one are under her mat and the landlord wants you out before Sunday night. I'm sure she won't mind.

5. She's a true blond -- I may get disowned by her for telling this story, but journalistic integrity demanded it. One of Jena's best friends from high school has a reading disability. When it came time for them to get their Driver's Licenses, her friend passed with flying colors her first time. Jena asked about how hard it was and her friend replied, "It wasn't too bad. The sign test was a little confusing, but the written part was easy, since the tester read the questions to me."

This confused Jena, "They'll read the questions to you?" Before her friend could even confirm the DMV's allowance for her reading disability Jena continued, "Well, I guess they'd have to. You know, for the blind people."

Happy Birthday, Sis. I hope it's a great one. May you have as much fun in your 23rd year as you deserve (and only half as much as I did, not many humans can handle THAT much fun). From The Drunken Rogue to Sister Rogue, I love you...now watch out for those blind drivers!

Pleasantly Plump Tuesday

Many people think of Mardi Gras as a day for debauchery and drunkenness. Others look at it as one last day of preparation for Lent. All of those people are wrong. If you're looking for the real reasons we all strip down and beg for beads while imbibing as much alcohol as we possibly can (and sometimes exceeding that limit), then you've come to the write place (do you see what I did there? I made an author joke). Here without further ado:

The Secret Origin of Mardi Gras: A Drunken Rogue Investigative Special Report

And truthfully who better to investigate the origins of "the little festival that could" than the Drunken Rogue himself? I set out to get to the bottom of this story (preferably in time for the best parades), but to do that, I'd have to make my way to the Big Easy. But Britney's bodyguards were uninterested in my attempts to interview her, saying that everybody's favorite bald pop-star-gone-bad didn't know anything about Mardi Gras, so I was on my own. I'm a loner by nature so Mrs. Spears/Federline's rejection didn't derail me.

I decided the best place to start my investigation was with the name of the festival itself. What's with the silent "s"? I wasn't sure, but that sounded like the kind of thing Canadians are very fond of doing so I called my contact in the Canadian Government, Doug McKenzie. Through the "ey's" and "aboot's" I was able to discern that Doug's position as driver for Niagara Falls tour buses, while making him eligible for Canada's splendid health-care plan, didn't clue him into the secrets of Mardi Gras or the importance of the silent "s". I called him a useless Canadian and he called me a "hoser" (which I think is Canadian for great American) and we said goodbye.

Doug had intimated that since I lived in Louisiana, it might be easier to find out about Mardi Gras and its mysterious origin by speaking to those around me, so I asked my neighbor, Abdulla, the Ugandan exchange student currently pursuing a degree in Biomedical Engineering. He told me that in Uganda they celebrate "Garunda Bicknalla" (that's spelled phoenetically) or "The Festival of Grasses." The villagers all collect their favorite weeds and non-flowering plants, throw them in a big pot together, burn them and inhale the smoke of them all until they pass out. This is generally followed by "Barova Cumbillis" which roughly translates to "rebuild your hut after the massive fire day." That's sort of like Ash Wednesday, but it didn't seem to be connected to our own Gras(s) festival.

That's when it hit me. I had been stumbling around deep in thought and I didn't even notice that the "Do not Walk" sign was flashing. Lucky for me, the Dodge Neon is just not made for pedestrian homicide. I left a much bigger dent in it than it did in me. While lying on the asphalt recovering from my brush with death and mediocre automobile construction, I heard the voice of an angel...well not really. I heard the voice of a coonass. But since I was looking for the origin of a Cajun festival, that was a good thing.

His name was Boudreaux (though I probably left out some vowels in the spelling), and he was a recent New Orleans transplant. After losing his home and job in Hurricane Katrina, Boudreaux fled to the higher ground of North Louisiana. He didn't have an excuse for bringing the Dodge Neon with him, but he did give me a few tidbits about the origin of Mardi Gras. Apparently all the talk of a connection to Catholicism was in fact true. Boudreaux told me that it began as an informal party for parishioners to indulge (and overindulge) in whatever they were giving up for Lent. While not exactly in the spirit of denial and sacrifice that the Church would prefer, the idea of storing up a month's worth of chocolate/beer/sex etc. in one night (now more like a month's) worth of partying had become very popular. Imagine that, overindulgence is popular, maybe that's why we are the most obese nation in the world.

While I had expected to find some deep dark secret about pagan rituals and a history crossing cover-up (I'd already sold the idea to a publisher as a "Davinci Code" meets "A Streetcar Named Desire" type novel), instead I'd found a new friend (and some nifty Ugandan Grass Festival T-shirts). Boudreaux and I decided to celebrate Mardi Gras (that silent "s" still bothers me) together. Me swinging cheap plastic beads over my head, and him flashing the cars that passed my front porch screaming "Trow me sumpthin' mister!". At least that's what it sounded like he was saying, the combination of accent and alcohol made it rather difficult to decipher his words. We even urinated on someone else's driveway before passing out in our lawn chairs. Boudreaux said it felt almost like home.

So my investigative research might have been a little bit of overkill since the answer turned out to be the one I already knew (I should have known better than to question the Catholics), but because of my investigation I got to live through a real live New Orleans' Mardi Gras...but you know, not in New Orleans...and without the floats. Now Boudreaux and I are looking forward to sharing our next cultural holiday, St. Patrick's Day. I fully intend to intend to share all of my extensive knowledge of Irish culture with him. We're going to eat French Fries, drink beer, burn the snakes out of the backyard (just like St. Patrick) and curse the Italians for taking all of our jobs. It's gonna be a great St. Patty's Day!

Happy Mardi Grass, everybody! And Buenamios Garunda Bicknalla, Abdullah!

Just Shut Up and Sing: Fame, Speaking Your Mind and Responsibility

No, I'm not talking about the Dixie Chicks...well, not specifically. For those that haven't heard, a former NBA Player, John Amaechi, recently announced that he is, and has been, homosexual. For those that don't follow professional sports, that's a pretty big deal. Male athletes, do not come out of the closet. That doesn't mean that there are not homosexual athletes. Gays make up a sizable enough segment of the population that statistically there have to be some playing football, baseball, basketball etc. for money. This was (and remains) a big story. Pretty much any NBA player interviewed since this announcement has been asked their opinion on this issue.

Tim Hardaway is a former NBA player. During his 13 years in the league he was voted an All-Star 5 times. He now works mostly as an NBA analyst and commentator. When the question of homosexuals in the locker room was posed to Tim, he had this to say, "I hate gay people." He said some other things too, "I wouldn't want him on my team..." and "I would try to distance myself from him as much as possible..." but the crux is "I hate gay people."

Understandably sports talk radio (and TV for that matter) has been largely focused on this story ever since his remarks. It's a big deal when someone says they hate a segment of the population (remember when Mel Gibson's Dad said the Holocaust didn't happen). Around our radio station (we own an ESPN affiliate) the general opinion is that no one cares. The question has been raised, "Why do we care what Tim Hardaway, or any celebrity, thinks about these issues?" That's what I want to talk about today. Not homosexuality, or the war on terrorism or even whether psychiatry is evil (thank you Tom Cruise). I want to talk about our (and celebrities) right to talk about these issues.

Chances are good that you are free to speak your mind on political and social issues at your workplace. If you know that your boss disagrees with you, maybe you don't speak as loudly as you would, but you don't keep silent about your opinion when asked. That's the beauty of living in a free society. No matter how unpopular an opinion is, we are allowed to have it, and shouldn't be discouraged from sharing it with others (just as long as we don't shove it down their throats). Why would this freedom of expression go away if we become famous?

That's what we're saying when we suggest that actors/singers/athletes should just "shut up and sing." We, as a society, have placed a great importance on athletic ability, and fame. We spend millions of dollars on magazines, television programs, and websites that track celebrities' every movement. We support (even demand) that paparazzi follow them shoving a microphone and a camera in their face at every opportunity. How can we be mad when they say something other than what designer they are wearing?

This is not to say that all celebrities have valid points or even know anything at all about the issues they discuss. There is obviously a difference between Tom Cruise decrying the evils of psychiatry and Bono (of U2) and Angelina Jolie discussing the plight of Africans. Some celebrities are smart, some have researched the problems they are discussing forming valid well-reasoned opinions on how to solve these problems. Others have not. Nobody's saying that the celebrities are right. But nobody says we are right when we are mouthing off around the water cooler either.

There are consequences of course to discussing your opinion, especially if it's unpopular. The Dixie Chicks found that out, when they said they were ashamed of the President. A President that was incredibly popular with their core audience. But if that's what they believed, don't you want to know? Let's say you were a Dixie Chick fan, and once they spoke out against the President and the war in Iraq, you want nothing more to do with them. Well aren't you glad you know how they feel now? Would you rather they kept their mouth shut, so that you continued to buy their albums, making them richer and supporting their political donations by proxy? Likewise, if you were a John Amaechi fan, and knowing that he is homosexual makes you detest him, aren't you glad you know?

I think Tim Hardaway showed ignorance and bigotry by making a statement like, "I hate gay people." But if that's how he feels, I'm glad he said it. It's nice to know what kind of person he is. We appreciate and expect honesty from our friends, we honor it (sometimes undeservedly) in politicians, why shouldn't we applaud it in our celebrities? Here's the dirty little secret, we do applaud it when we agree with them.

Bono has become a respected man in circles that have no idea about his music. That's because anyone with any compassion feels for the poor worldwide and especially those that are suffering an AIDS epidemic in Africa. We like the cause that he's speaking about, so we don't mind when he talks. When Bruce Willis made such a public display of supporting President Bush and the invasion of Iraq (especially in my area of the country) he became a favorite movie star again. When Toby Keith told Osama Bin Laden (musically) that we were gonna shove a "boot in your ass," country fans cheered (most of them anyway). These people were applauded, because they made popular statements. Nobody (or not many people anyway) told them to "shut up and sing."

I loved "The West Wing." Aaron Sorkin's creation remains one of the best television series ever, in my opinion. Even after Sorkin left and the show was a shell of its former self, it was still better than 80% of the crap on TV. That was largely because of Martin Sheen. Martin is one of the most outspoken (and active) liberals in Hollywood, particularly where the current administration and its War on Terror is concerned. I disagree almost completely with Sheen's opinions on these issues. But I applaud him for speaking his mind. The fact that I think he is wrong doesn't affect my opinion of him as an actor at all. I'd love to debate the issue with him, because I appreciate anyone who's passionate about important questions. What I don't understand is the idea that if he just kept quiet, we could still like him as an actor. If I kept quiet about my beliefs (religious, social, political, etc.) then I would be hiding a part of myself. Those that came to know me, wouldn't know me at all. They would know (and like or dislike) the public front I put on. Who wins in that situation?

I'm glad that I know that the Dixie Chicks dislike President Bush. I'm glad that I know that Tim Hardaway dislikes homosexuals. I'm glad that I know that Martin Sheen feels we are making a grave mistake with our current occupation of Iraq. I'm glad that I know that Sean Penn pays little attention to what's actually going on, but likes to be there with a camera when something happens. I'm glad that I know Tom Cruise is beyond insane and is spending his millions ridding his body of intergalactic evil spirits. I'm glad you know that I want my voice to be heard, and that I don't mind listening to others.

W's Second Life

The Baby Boomer's, a generation that is swiftly approaching retirement age, will be the most active senior citizens in the history of mankind. Many of them will take up new hobbies and pastimes while some of them will take up a whole new career. George W. Bush is perhaps the most famous Baby Boomer, and his current job is about to throw him out (with a big parade and a fancy military band, but he'll be on his own regardless).

His would-be successors are lining up, and there seems to be a boatload of them. We've got Hillary, Obama and Edwards on the left, and McCain, Giuliani and Romney. Nothing like shaking hands with the guy (or girl) that's gonna have his feet up on your desk sooner than later to make you start looking towards the future. He is far too young and healthy to just fade off into obscurity building his museum. So I thought I'd give the Pres (that's my nickname for him, he and I are good buddies) some ideas that he might research during the upcoming election to replace him.

Job Opportunities and Personal Pursuits for G. W. Bush

1. Pitchman for Insurance Agency -- With the recent Super Bowl, Kevin Federline (or Mr. Britney Spears) made waves with his commercial lampooning his own fall from semi-stardom. The tagline for this ad is "Life Comes at You Fast." I think it's a perfect fit for W.

We could see him speaking in the Oval office, waving at adoring crowds, and standing in front of the now infamous "Mission Accomplished" banner all at the height of his popularity. Then we'd see him flipping channels at his Crawford ranch, while the news broadcasts images of Speaker Pelosi and President Clinton (the second one). George could look longingly at his Presidential portrait hanging over the fireplace and then the announcer throws out that catchphrase, "Life Comes at You Fast."

Genius. In fact it may resurrect his public image. You remember what the Viagra commercials did for Bob Dole.

2. Search for Weapons of Mass Destruction -- George is likely to have 30 years or more of active life left after he leaves office. That should be plenty of time to find SOMETHING that Saddam wanted hidden. He could recruit some great help too. I'm thinking O. J. Simpson is probably free since I hear he's finally given up looking for the "real killers". In between shooting his best friends and recovering from heart attacks, Dick Cheney could probably even lend a hand.

Just think how satisfying it would be to drop a big "I told you so" on his detractors 20 or 30 years from now as he slaps down a Soviet suitcase nuke dug out of the sands of Baghdad. Then imagine the look of surprise when it explodes from being slammed around...On second thought, W, let's let sleeping dogs lie.

3. Become an "elder statesman" uniting with former political opponents to serve a greater good. -- Think back to the election of 1996. George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton were locked in a bitter race, as the elder Bush struggled to "not be a one-termer." Fast forward to last year as Bill and Bush traveled the country putting a face on Hurricane Katrina Recovery.

Couldn't the younger Bush pull this off in a couple of years? Can't you see him riding the roads with John Kerry, raising money to aid in some pressing national problem, putting aside political divisions, playing golf and joking about growing older? Alright, me neither. Let's just scratch this one off the list.

4. Start a film career. -- Many former entertainers have made the transition into the political arena, not the least of which is Bush's hero, Ronald Reagan. Why can't W go the other way? He already has a reputation as a strong-willed, swaggering cowboy. I'm thinking he would make a great on-screen companion for Tommy Lee Jones. Or how about putting him in an odd-couple type film? I'm thinking a remake of "McLintock!" starring George in the John Wayne role and Barbara Streisand in the Maureen O'Hara role. Tell me they wouldn't have chemistry! The spanking scene in particular would have a lot of fire in it.

5. Announce the dissolution of Congress and claim the title of President for Life. -- This is a long shot, and almost definitely unconstitutional, but who knows? We live in a different world since 9/11. The enemy we face now doesn't carry a flag or declare their intentions to make war, they strike without warning and hide amongst us. Do we really have time to debate legalities, and change leadership every four years when we are at war? I think not, and I'm pretty sure W might just agree with me.

Well, we've given the Pres a lot to think about. He's not exactly under the gun yet, but his time for choosing his next path is drawing short. I know how he likes to make his decisions all alone without outside influence or opinions so let's just leave him alone with his thoughts.

**Author's note** For those that don't know, I'm a Republican. I'm fairly conservative (as far as foreign and fiscal policy goes), and despite his flaws (which are many) I've proudly voted for W twice. I also like a good joke, and think that without poking fun at our leaders we get far too caught up in the rhetoric to get along. Laugh at the politicians, they're funny. Then vote your conscience. **End Author's Note**

A Drunken Guide to Valentine's Day

Ahhh, St. Valentine's Day. The holiday for lovers...and candy companies...and Hallmark cards...and suicide, you know for the lonely people.

Once again the day to honor the one you love is upon us and chances are good that most of you reading this haven't prepared at all (you've been far too busy reading my blogs and then researching my pop culture references. I understand). But not to worry. The Drunken Rogue (as usual) is here to save the day. So for all you boyfriends, all the girlfriends, the husbands, the wives, the pathetic singles that have constructed complicated and thorough fabricated significant others fooling not only their friends but themselves, this is for you.

**Author's Note** the following suggestions will all assume that your beloved is a woman. If that is not the case, please feel free to change she to he and her to him etc. in your head. It takes too much time to write he/she or him/her every time I want to use a pronoun and I just refuse to write a bunch of ways to shower love on a dude. That's just weird.**End Author's Note**

1. Start the day off with a bang -- Okay, so I'm not publishing this until the afternoon of Valentine's Day, but you could always use it next year (chances are you'll still be hopelessly clueless then) or even fool her into thinking that tomorrow is actually Valentine's Day and people have been goofing with her all day long, then pull this stunt tomorrow morning. Sure, she'll figure it out eventually, but it'll work in the immediate. Maybe long enough for you to get lucky. Here are some suggestions for morning displays of affection.
a. Make her breakfast in bed. It's a classic, but it became a classic for a reason. Some foods however do not work well in bed. Maple syrup with her pancakes is just asking for trouble. Scalding coffee, while guaranteed to get her going, is also fairly certain to scald when she spills it all over herself. Let's just leave those in the kitchen.
b. Leave a treasure hunt of notes for her to follow throughout the day towards her present. This will take some forethought, planning, and exertion on your part (again, maybe this one's better for next year) but the payoff is huge. A bonus of using this plan is that you'll get practice for when you're an eccentric millionaire making your heirs hunt for their inheritance.
c. Pour a pitcher full of cold water on her about five minutes before her alarm is set to go off. She'll scream, she'll curse, she'll probably try to do you physical harm, but trust me. That's just her way of showing she appreciates you. **Bonus Points available if before dousing her, you move the bed outside into the cold. It'll be tough to move without waking her, but worth it for the look on her face.

2. Stay away from the tried and true. -- Chocolates and roses are for suckers, and herd followers. You're not a herd follower, are you? I didn't think so. That's why you'll keep your present list to unexpected and original ideas. Here are some for you to copy:
a. The Flowbee. It's sensible, it's stylish, and it'll save her hundreds yearly on hair cuts. Available at fine retailers everywhere.
b. A new High Definition TV. She says it's silly to spend thousands on a television, but we all know that women don't mean what they say. Wait 'til she says her favorite programs in High Definition. You know, "Will and Grace" or..."Baby Story"...whatever it is that women watch.
c. One word, thongs. Everyone knows that women like to feel sexy, and what makes you feel sexier than underwear that lodges itself in regions where not even your doctor would know his way around? **This present in particular works well for either gender**

3. Take her out to dinner. -- Remember when you were first dating, and a nice evening out meant a whole value meal instead of just a couple of items off the dollar menu at McDonald's? Relive those days, and recapture the romance you used to feel. She'll understand exactly what she means to her, when you tell her "Order anything, babe. Anything at all...except for the Premium Chicken meal. 6 bucks for a chicken sandwich is just silly." Remember, folks. Value menu is French for "I love you." **Translator's note** This is neither true, nor funny. Thank you.**End Translator's Note**

4. Remind her how desirable you are. -- There are plenty of ways to do this (you could spend months working out getting that hardened body back, or just pick up a new suit instead of taking her out wearing your too-tight, hole-filled blue jeans) but my suggestion would be to make a date with that cute secretary from the office. Tell your significant other to meet you at the restaurant and then when she shows up just say, "Oh my. This IS awkward." She'll realize she's been taking you for granted for far too long. You wanted spice in the relationship, THIS will bring back the spice.

5. Pull-out the fail-safe. -- It's four-forty five on Valentine's Day afternoon. You didn't have a card for her this morning. You didn't send flowers to her office. You have planned absolutely nothing for the afternoon, and all the best cards are already taken at Wal-Mart. There is only one thing left to do. Tell her you don't believe in Valentine's Day. At first she'll probably assume you just forget about it until it was too late, but if you rant long enough and with enough conviction (keep repeating things like "invented by the greeting card industry" and "I show my love for you all year long, why would I box it in to just one day") she just might eventually buy it. If she doesn't, just remember there's always that cute secretary from the office.

***Lawyer's Note*** The opinions expressed in the preceding blog are not the opinions of Blogger, MySpace, Joel, the law firm of Hookem, Catchem, and Skinem or any sane individual. They are expressed (we assume) for the intention of providing a humorous look at Valentine's Day and romance in general. Although HC and S do not find the jokes presented above funny (or even that interesting) we do acknowledge and remind the reader that they are protected by the author's First Amendment rights. Any dissolution of a relationship brought about by following the above suggestions is not the fault of the author (and especially not the fault of HC and S). You'd have to be a complete idiot to follow any of these suggestions, and while we aren't the best lawyers in the world, even we can beat a complete idiot. ***End Lawyer's Note***

Happy Valentine's Day everybody, from The Drunken Rogue

Lend a Hand, If You Can

I'm a Dj (like on the radio, not spinning the jams at a rave. No matter how many times I tell that joke it just doesn't get old...to me anyway). Today and tomorrow (that's Monday and Tuesday for those of you playing the home game) my radio station is hosting its annual radiothon for the kids of St. Jude Children's Research Hospital.

I'm a pretty cynical guy. I make fun of most people and a lot of things. But the work that ALSAC (the fund-raising arm of St. Jude) and the researchers, doctors, nurses and scientists at St. Jude do everyday is beyond commendable. It's a cause that I believe in strongly, and not only want to help myself, but I am driven to get others to pitch in as well.

I live in northern Louisiana. We're mostly rural (a couple of mid-size cities) but in our listening area alone there are 218 current patient receiving treatment or post-treatment therapy at St. Jude in Memphis, Tennessee. A gigantic portion of St. Jude's funding comes from radiothon's just like ours all around the country. We don't ask much, but I'm now asking it of you.

St. Jude is looking for "Partner's in Hope." A "Partner in Hope" is someone that makes a pledge of $20 a month for one year. Now for some of you (myself included) $240 is a considerable amount of money to just "give away," but let's break it down. We're talking about less than a dollar a day. If you average it out it's less than 66 cents a day. I did the math on that one, and it took me a while 'cause I'm horrible at math. Now you KNOW this is important to me. 66 cents a day. That probably won't even buy your morning coffee or Coca-Cola. But St. Jude will take your 66 cents, roll it together with thousands and thousands just like you all over the world, and use it to keep their doors open. And they do an awful lot of good behind those doors.

In 1962 the cure rate for Hodgkin Disease was 50%, as of 2003 it's 90. For non-Hodgkin lymphoma the cure rate rose from just 7% in 1962 to 80% in 2003. Those are just types of childhood diseases that the researchers at St. Jude are working to eradicate. There are literally thousands of people alive today, carrying out their lives as productive, healthy adults because of the efforts of St. Jude Children's Research Hospital. But they can't do it without your 66 cents.

I don't charge for these blogs (if I did, I imagine my readership would decrease significantly), so if you're on the fence about making a donation, just consider it a fee for the funny that the Drunken Rogue brings. There's got to be at least a joke or two that are worth your 66 cents...right? If you'd like to donate, you can call my radiothon at 1-800-787-5288 or online at www.countrycares.com. Either way, the money is going to go directly to the people who need it.

I understand that many of you (like most Americans) are quite generous. I'm sure you all have a charity or a local church that you like to give to on a regular basis. That's a wonderful thing, and I don't want to take away from those causes at all. But if you find yourself with an extra 66 cents burning a hole in that pocket, think about helping out the kids of St. Jude. They'd appreciate it, and so would I.

Behind the Bustier: The True Story of Anna Nicole Smith

Today, America has lost a paragon of class. One of our most talented actor/dancer/producer/marryer has died today. I'm speaking of course of Anna Nicole Smith Marshall (enter new last name here). The little stripper that could rose from obscurity to fabulous wealth, and then used that wealth to eradicate all doubt that she had any sense or style whatsoever.

Some may know her from her more mature titles produced by Hugh Hefner and Playboy Enterprises. Others may know her from her inexcusably popular television program on E! Entertainment Television. Others may know her simply as that fat blond chick that did the commercials for the weight loss pills. Many children know her as the demon that haunts their dreams. The undeniable fact is that Anna Nicole made an impression on us, and at her size, how could she not?

In an odd twist of fate (eerily reminiscent of James Brown's death) this intrepid reporter had recently sat down for an exclusive interview with Anna Nicole. In mammary...excuse me in memory of her, we present that interview below.

Drunken Rogue: Hello, Anna. Thanks for joining us today.

Anna Nicole: No problem. I didn't have nothin' to do between my fried chicken dinner and eating half a bottle of Trimspa, so it's no trouble.

DR: Umm, I don't think you're supposed to gorge and then take those pills, Anna. And I'm positive you're not supposed to take so many of them.

AN: Naw, it's okay. That's how I keep my figure.

At this point Anna began rubbing her gargantuan belly in a a suggestive fashion. It might have been uncomfortable for me, but her hand left little grease trails on her blouse. That just made it nasty.

DR: Anna, let's talk about your late husband.

AN: He's not late. I didn't even know you wanted him here for the interview.

DR: No, Anna. I mean your dead husband.

AN: Oh, him. He was always late. It's probably 'cause he was in that wheelchair, you know. Sorta made it hard for him to get around fast. Also, there's the fact that he was old. He was like 100 or something.

DR: How did you two meet?

AN: Well, I was a member of his Bridge club, and we just loved to play cards and tell jokes.

DR: Really?

AN: Naw, I'm just pulling your leg. He was a crusty old pervert that liked to come watch me shake my moneymaker.

DR: Did he love you?

AN: I don't know. I'd like to think so. I know he loved soup. But then, I'm not really that much like soup.

DR: You are thick.

AN: What?

DR: Nothing. How did it make you feel after his death when his family tried to cut you out of his estate?

AN: Well, I never fit in in that family. They were all interested in the stock market and oil futures, and I liked pink pillows and peek-a-boo tops. There was no way they were ever going to let me get my hands on his money. That's why I pursued them.

DR: Pursued them?

AN: Yeah, took 'em to court.

DR: Oh, you mean "sued" them. Yes, of course. Anna after your husband's death you actually increased your fame with a very popular and completely idiotic television show. How did that get started?

AN: COMPLETELY idiotic? Wow, that means a lot coming from someone like you, thanks. Well, I had cameras installed in my apartment ever since J. Marshall died. I was dating a lot of old geezers at the time, and if one of them kicked it while we were...well, playing patty-cake...then I wanted proof that I hadn't killed 'em.

DR: Pretty smart.

AN: Yeah, people think I'm stupid. Well, I'm stupid like a fox.

DR: I don't think that's the expression.

AN: So one day when I was leaving the house I noticed there were like fifteen people huddled in the security guard booth, all of them just laughing their heads off...well, not literally, but they were laughing a lot. Turns out they were watching the security camera video from the night before. I was watching an episode of Jeopardy, and yellin' answers at the screen. I don't what they thought was so funny, but I immediately realized that this was what my fans needed. They needed to see me in my elements.

DR: Surrounded by pervy old men?

AN: What?

DR: Nothing. So that's where you got the idea for the show, huh?

AN: Actually in the beginning I wanted to a whole network, like that movie "The Jim Carrey Show."

DR: You mean "The Truman Show"?

AN: No, it was Jim Carrey in that movie. I don't even know any actors named Truman.

DR: Anna, I'm afraid our time is just about up. Is there a parting thought you'd like to leave my readers with?

AN: Yeah, the next time you take your clothes out of the dryer, remember to clean out that little hole in the front that fills up with fuzzy stuff. I don't know where it comes from, but if you leave it in there long enough it'll catch on fire.

DR: I don't think I could have summed it up any better myself, Anna. Thanks for your time.

AN: Hey, on your way out will you bring me a piece of pizza out of the fridge? Oooh, and my toenail polish. It's on the counter.

There, ladies and gentlemen, some of the last final public words from one of America's national treasures. Anna Nicole, you will be missed.

Lost, Found, and the Search for an Antenna

I like TV.

To those of you that read this blog even intermittently, that will come as no surprise. But to you, Kevin, the college sophomore, who just stumbled upon this blog accidentally while searching for a recipe for that great drink your fraternity brothers served you the other night (The Drunken Rob), you probably didn't know that I liked TV. You also probably have no idea why you (or anyone else) would care. Well, first of all, Kevin, I'm a pretty good writer. Second of all "the Drunken Rob" is not a real drink, it's just the remainder (complete with backwash) of all their drinks poured into one cup together. It's named after one of them, that the older brothers pulled that trick on when HE was a sophomore. Yep, I've been to college.

Now that Kevin is up to speed, let us proceed with today's lesson. There are many good television shows on these days. There are also many horrible shows on. Let's see if you can tell the difference.

"Boston Legal" -- Good -- Bad

"I Love New York" -- Good -- Bad

"The Office" -- Good -- Bad

"My Super Sweet 16" -- Good -- Bad

Now let's see how you did. For "Boston Legal" you should have circled "Good". Very nice work everybody. For "The Office" also a circle over "Good". Excellent job, people. Oh, wait a minute. Not so fast with that circle over "Good" for "I Love New York." That one requires a circle over "Bad". And I'm afraid you've all failed the last one. "My Super Sweet 16" deserves neither a circle over "Good" or "Bad." Nope, that was a trick question. The correct answer is to write in "Illegal." Sorry about that one.

Now that we all know the difference between a good show and a bad show. Let's look at a show that has fallen into the gray area. Three years ago, the ABC network was looking for a hit. It got two. "Desperate Housewives" went beyond a success and become a bit of a phenomenon. It was one of those shows that people talked about around the water cooler at work. But in its second season the show which had walked the fine line between comedy and schlock, jumped full on into the Soap Opera category. Most of the casual fans fell by the wayside. ABC brought another new show to the slate that fall. An action/adventure/science fiction show about a group of plane crash survivors on a mysterious island. The story of their survival is combined with flashbacks from their pasts that show that these people have crossed paths in many ways before. The first season was the perfect mix of suspense, romance, intrigue, and mystery. The first season finale is one of the most talked about television episodes ever. The second season just built on the first season's successes. Adding some new cast members and furthering the development of the original castaways created one of the best ensembles on television. But then came the third season.

Viewers had complained about the interruption of the series with re-runs. A show that focuses so completely on continuity and suspense suffers when not allowed to build up momentum. The producers heard these complaints and structured a plan that would (hopefully) appease the fans, while still keeping the network happy. A six episode mini-season would run in the fall, and the show would return in February with 17 uninterrupted episodes after a three month hiatus. In theory it was excellent. The problem was the six episode mini-season just frustrated fans, as it ignored completely many of the most popular characters. But now it's February.

Tonight the REAL season of "Lost" begins. And I can't wait. The anticipation is sweetened (and tempered) by a recent acquisition of mine. Sunday night, I (and Mrs. Rogue) joined the High Definition era. Thanks to an excellent deal at everyone's favorite national retailer, Wal-Mart, and selling my (admittedly wonderful) old TV to my buddy, I stepped up to HDTV. We now have a beautiful 30" Sanyo HDTV with DVD upconversion, Divx playback, and a built in HDTV and SDTV tuner. But I'm missing one thing.

I need a bigger antenna.

For those that don't know about HDTV, one of the brilliant things is that local stations broadcast it just like they do their analog signal. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the age of HDTV is the age of the Rabbit ears!

Mrs. Rogue and I are located 35 miles from the nearest "real" city. This city has a multitude of broadcast networks, most of which have converted to HD. With the right antenna I could receive (free of charge) CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS in glorious High Definition. With my current antenna (a highly powered indoor model) I can get NBC. Monday night we watched "Heroes" and "Studio 60" in HD. I've even found myself watching "The Tonight Show" and I hate Leno. It is highly doubtful that anyone will step forward over the next couple of hours and donate a high powered outdoor antenna to me. It is less likely that I would be able to mount it before tonight's episode of "Lost." But I remain hopeful. Regardless of whether I get to see it tonight in HD or SD, I can't wait for my favorite castaways (sorry Gilligan) to begin their adventures again.

...And That's When I Decided to Wear the Diaper...

Ever been jealous?

Jealous is a nasty, nasty thing. It can ruin friendships, destroy a romance, hurt your job performance or get you locked up for driving cross country carrying a cornucopia of odd kidnapping tools and wearing a diaper to stop a romantic rival.

That's what it did to Lisa Nowak.

Do you remember when every kid wanted to grow up to be an astronaut (at least until they found out there was no real ice cream in outer space), when Neal Armstrong and John Glen were not just brave men, but American heroes. They are modern day explorers, boldly going (so to speak) and returning to tell the tale. Well, I bet Columbus never tried to kidnap an ex-girlfriend's new fling.

So when Lisa Nowak decided that her rival, Colleen Shipman (these are terrible astronaut names, by the way) couldn't be suffered what did she pack to take care of the job? Pepper spray, a knife, a BB Gun (for those pesky squirrels that might get in the way), latex gloves, a steel mallet, several feet of rubber tubing, a wig and a trench coat. I'm not sure, but she may have been planning on staging a "Three Stooges" episode. Oh, there was one more thing that Lisa brought on her little mission. Diapers. And it makes perfect sense too. I mean, if you REALLY need to kidnap (and possibly kill) someone all the way in Orlando, and you're stuck in Houston, there's no time to dilly-dally with going to the bathroom! I feel your pain, Lisa.

Now Lisa awaits trial (on bail, but with her whereabouts monitored by a tracking device), and NASA is busy answering questions about someone so obviously mentally unstable managed to make it on to a flight team just seven months ago. But come on, everybody knows you'd have to be crazy to go into Outer Space until they figure out how to give you regular ice cream!

A Primer in Music History

I am a man of many talents. I'm loquacious, charismatic, charming, musically gifted, one of the finest actors I've ever met, a writer of supreme ability and to top it all off, I'm very humble. I'm an educated man too. I know a good deal (more than the proverbial average bear) about politics, technology, sports, television, and film just to name a few. There is one area that my wife absolutely owns me in (well, there's a lot of areas but we're just discussing the one today).

Mrs. Rogue is a veritable music encyclopedia. While my appreciation and knowledge of music are pretty broad, Ella's dwarf mine. So it was no surprise that when my sister-in-law was looking to expand her musical interests she consulted not the Drunken Rogue, but the little woman. Good call, T. Tara asked for Ella to make her a CD (a mix-tape as we used to call them, back when we actually used tapes) containing the fourteen or fifteen songs that Ella considered her all-time favorites. Now, as I said, the request was to Ella but it got me thinking, what are my favorite songs of all time. More precisely, how do you even go about picking a limited number (Tara suggested 14 or 15, but let's say 20) of "all-time favorites"?

First of all, we should look at making a mix-tape (or compilation CD, if you prefer) period. Now a lot of people just take some songs they like throw them together and call that a mix-tape. This is nonsense. While it's not true of all modern albums, it is historically the case that the composition of an album is a well-thought out and deeply considered affair. Songs are chosen not only for their individual value but for the ability to pleasantly reside next to each other. If you look at an album like "Revolver" from the Beatles (one of if not my favorite album of all time), the songs flow from one to another. They sound like they belong on an album together. Your goal should be the same with a mix-tape.

Secondly, you can't just make a CD with your 20 "all-time favorites." It would be nearly impossible to narrow it down to 20 without further limitations and even if you got 20 they wouldn't sound good together. So, what do you do? You make a primer of Music history.

Sure, we don't really mean "Music History" here since we're likely to leave out the Brahms and Beethoven, but we do mean modern popular music. I'd use the term "rock music" but people put too narrow a connotation on that label. Now how do we create a primer?

Pick 20 artists, not songs. Pick the 20 most influential, best, your favorite, whatever. By picking artists and not songs you leave yourself open to do the next step.

Pick songs from those artist that, while representing the artist and their place in music history, also sound good together. You don't have to build your mix-tape chronologically (although that would be a real accomplishment), instead focus on flowing from artist to artist, song to song. You can use tempo, lyric similarities, beat structure, chord progression or just mood to help guide you from one to another. But make sure they flow.

There you go, now you're ready to go out and create an awesome mix-tape. I'm working on my own right now. I'll gladly post the results (tracklist, not the actual album that would be illegal) when it's finished. For now here are my 20 artists that make the cut. Let me know what you think.

The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Nina Simone, Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, Elvis Presley, Aerosmith, Aretha Franklin, Counting Crows, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, The Beta Band, Otis Redding, Counting Crows, Led Belly, Weezer, Louis Armstrong, The Dave Matthews Band, and Bob Marley.

The Historical Significance of February 2nd

It is, as most of you are aware, Groundhog Day. The tradition of allowing the prognisticating rodent to determine our hope (or despair) as concerns the upcoming weather forecast first started in America on this day in 1887. Punxsatawney Phil (that's a mouthful of a name) comes out of his groundhog house (I believe they call it a burrow) every year to take a look about. If he sees his shadow and hurries back into his hole then winter will last another six weeks, if on the other hand he is pleased with the day and noses around a bit, then we have an early spring on tap.

Today, the groundhog didn't see his shadow (or if he did, it didn't scare him) so winter will soon be over (thank God! If you'd like my opinion no winter thus far check out yesterday's post). What you might not know is that alot more than Punxsatawney's debut occurred on this day in history. Let's look at some of the highlights, shall we (of course we shall, I write these things, and I want to take a look at the highlights).

2/2/1971: Idi Amin takes power in Uganda -- One of the most fascinating and terrible world leaders in history, Amin is gaining a newfound recognition among young people because of the new movie "The Last King of Scotland" starring Forest Whittaker as Amin. He took power after leading a revolution claiming to be a man with the interest of the people at heart. He ended up a despot, tyrant, alleged cannibal and mass murderer. He was also a little crazy. Alright a lot crazy. He gave himself the title of "His Excellency President for Life, Field Marshall Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of all Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea, and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular." Yep, that whole thing is his title. (In case you were wondering, Idi Amin was forced out of Uganda in 1979. He recieved asylum in Saudi Arabia and died there in 2003.

2/2/1880: First electric streetlight installed -- Wabash, Indiana entered the electric era a little earlier than the rest of us, when an electric streetlight was installed on top of their courthouse on this day in 1880. The Wabashians liked it so much, a month later the town commissioned four more be installed. It was two months later that the first argument about an electric bill occurred.

2/2/1847: First Donner Party Member dies -- Boy, it's a big day in the history of cannibals, isn't it? The Donner party, the doomed farmers traveling west through the Sierra Nevada mountains, were unprepared for the harsh winter when they set out on their trip. Almost half of the original 87 travellers died during the trip and some of the survivors were forced to eat the remains of their companions to survive during their long ordeal. The first of the 42 deaths occurred today.

2/2/1979: Sid Vicious Dies -- No, not the wrestler. The Rockstar for which the wrestler was named. Sid Vicious, bassist and member of the creators of Punk Rock, "The Sex Pistols", had just been released on bail after being arrested for suspicion of killing his girlfriend when he was discovered dead of an overdose of heroin. One thing you can say about Sid, he was not boring.

2/2/1982: Late Night with David Letterman premiers -- Other than Johnny Carson, nobody has ever been more completely suited as a late night host than David Letterman, and it all started today 25 years ago. It's hard to believe but I've never known late night TV without Letterman. I hope I don't have to for a long long time.

Hmmm. A lot happened on February 2nd over the years. I'm forgetting something though...what is it? Oh, yeah...

2/21982: Ella Claire is born -- At the time not a lot of people probably noticed this event, nor understood the importance of it, but looking back it's only second to my birth in important events in my life. Happy birthday, Mrs. Rogue. I love you. I hope your next twenty-five years (you know, the ones where we actually have money) are even cooler than the first twenty-five.

The Winter of My Discontent

This is the winter of my discontent.

I am not a sickly guy. Generally an entire calendar year can go by, and I suffer (at worst) two or three bouts of the sniffles, and the (very rare) stomach virus. But this winter, with its unnatural temperature swings and its seemingly endless precipitation, has laid me low. In the past two months I have had, at least two different stomach viruses, and three (count 'em) three separate head colds. I've lost about four days total off of work in this time and have contracted a serious case of the "I hate winter"'s.

My hetero-lifemate, Richard, once described winter as "the grey time". He said that winter (particularly southern snow-free winters) made him sad. He felt like he never got any work done during this "grey time" but just spent his days moping around, feeling introspective. I'm spending this year's "grey time" feeling sick.

**Massive Sidenote/Tangent** As I was typing the above paragraph I noticed that the word "grey" was showing up as misspelled. Pish-posh, I said to myself, I know how to spell the color "grey". But just to double check, I googled "the color grey". Guess what I found out? "Grey" is the original English spelling of the word. It is (and has been for several hundred years) the correct way to spell the color that lies somewhere between black and white. However, we Americans (along with a fondness for Fast Food, and large automobiles) like to be our own people, so we changed the spelling to "gray". In modern English, either spelling is acceptable, but "grey" is considered a little snooty. So "gray" is a color, but "grey" is a colour. Americans are so silly.**End Massive Sidenote/Tangent**

This whole thing really sucks, because generally I love Winter. It's when I get to wear all my sweaters, hoodies, cool coats etc. Christmas is in Winter and Christmas is "most wonderful time of the year" (they even wrote a song about it). As a lifelong resident of Louisiana, I have an almost unhealthy fascination with snow, and it only comes around in the Winter (and sometimes not even then around here). When I was in college, Winter Quarter had by far the most holidays which meant that the classes were never in session long enough to get boring, and occasionally (okay, so once during my five year tenure) you even got a snow day! My point is there is a lot to love about Winter. Just not THIS Winter.

So, what am going to do about my recent sickliness? Well, first and foremost I'm considering a relocation of the Drunken Rogue headquarters to a sunnier locale (I'm thinking Fiji). Second, after much insistence from my mother, the ladies at my office, and other people who are sure (as am I) that they know better than me, I'm going to start taking some vitamins. Also, I think I've decided to become a germaphobe, so look out, I might just Lysol you!

There is a sunny side to all of this recent sickness. I think I've actually lost some weight, although being sick for most of a month, you'd sort of expect that. The good news is that I do live in Louisiana and even in this crazy post-global warming world that we live in, Spring comes early here. Of course, Spring means pollen, which means hay fever. Oh, Lord.