floydjoy

Lord help me but it's time to write at length about a subject no one but me, Paul Simon and possibly Rick Springfield care about. I'm surprised no one's covered it; there's not a lot of awareness about it quite frankly. But if I and two certified legends care about it, there's no doubt that it deserves to be discussed. At length. So here we go: ****redacted**** Thank God it's out there now for everyone to see. No turning back now.

... a new posterous.

I created a second blog just for fun. Check it out! Rocket Ship To Mars

If you had a pulse in 1983, then you are already aware of the Journey song “Faithfully.” For those of you less fortunate, or who have lived under a rock or in outer space for various periods of time including 1983, let me fill you in: the Journey song “Faithfully” was quite popular in 1983. With me? Good. I’ll move on. Flash forward to Tuesday night. I had just pulled six days of long hours and late nights at work. Now, I love my job. Sometimes you have to do what it takes to get things done. I understand that, and was glad to do it. But the fact remains: I did not see my family for any reasonable or meaningful stretch of time for six days. I got home at about eleven. My wife was waiting up for me, watching TV. To give you an idea of how tired she was – looking after a nineteen-month-old 24/7 by yourself for six days will do that to you – let me just say that the channels were flipping, but she wasn’t really watching. I could DEFINITELY relate. But that’s not nearly as important...

Tumbleweeds drifted across barren keys. A soft wind blew past a dimmed screen. The power button yearned to be turned on, disillusioned and graying over time. The touchpad, sadly, lay untouched. A faint web stretched lazily across the long unused USB port, climbing halfway up the side of the lid. Echoes of a time long past emanated from dead curcuits, reminding the few who still cared of the salad days of a life ago. A lilting, tossed-off bon mot here. An overwrought, clearly ridiculous piece of seriousness over there. A random Shatner lamentation. Vistas of dusty fields filled with rich green and dandelion. Amazement at the world not revolving according to true Floydian virtue. A tossed Payday wrapper. Sunflower seed shells in and around the wastebasket. These are the things that are remembered, and in some parts of the Intertubes, rather fondly. Others callously disregard and harrumph the day away. These are they who must be held at bay, the whispering tones of discontent; no more can...

Okay, I’m not Mr. Spock or anything, but most of the time I do try to be like the Fonz when it comes to hard-hitting, emotional moments. In other words, I try to play it cool. Real cool. But every so often something hits me just right and it’s all I can do to hold things together. I never see this coming, by the way; it always appears out of nowhere, like a stealth ninja or the train in Stand By Me.

Ever find something you did a long time ago and realize that you don't remember doing it at all? No? Then I guess I am alone. Again. Naturally. So I was just looking through some old Word files when I came upon what looks to be a fabulous opening to a short story. Check it out: *************** ROCK’N’ROLL VAMPIRES FROM OUTER SPACE Jimmy Blasewell stood behind the counter, eyeing the scraggly dude in the worn Army jacket down the chip aisle. *************** That's all there was in the Word file. Now I'm pissed that I never finished it because that's a story I'd really like to read.

I have concluded that two eyebrows are better than one. Let me back up. I’m not saying that there’s a huge push towards sporting a one-eyebrow look. Nor am I saying that people with unibrows are somehow less than the rest of us. And finally, let me dispel any notions that I am talking about galaxy-traveling aliens or deep sea-dwelling creatures with only one eye – and by extension – only one eyebrow. Hmmm. This explanation is not going all that well. I’ll regroup. Let’s start from the start then, somewhere around five years ago. Desperate for a haircut, I pulled into a parking lot off of Greenville Avenue and walked into, I think, a Supercuts. Or maybe it was a ProCuts. Or Cuts-R-Us. Or The Cutting Edge. Or A Cut Above. Or Cut’n’Run. I don’t really remember, but it wasn’t the Follicle Factory, the Follicle Follies or the Haircut Hut either. I’ll just cut to the chase – ha ha, I said cut – and call it a barbershop. Well, in this particular barbershop lived a mid-sized African-American m...

Guess what? I just figured out how to embed music on my blog. Now every time you visit, you'll be treated to one of Floydjoy's Fave Raves. You're welcome. Of course, if you just can't stand my tasty selections, or you just plain want to watch a video, all ya gotta do is stop the player. What ... I can't do everything for ya. In other news, Elliot had his first laugh tonight. Two of them, actually. Woo hoo! If only he knew how he did it. But let me tell you, being a parent doesn't get much better than that. Robin got him to do it by rubbing lotion on his hands. Guess she hit a pressure point. As soon as he did it, my ears perked up like "Whaaa???" If only I could bottle these moments. Hey, the rest of you stop listening for a minute, I've got to say something to my son. Elliot, I don't know what it is, but you do something every day that lights me right up and leaves me with a big, stupid grin on my face. Stay gold, Ponyboy. Also, the guys who g...

Here's a little piece of greatness that's sweeping the Interwebs. And here's another.

Elliot is almost three months old now. And last night, he hit a big milestone - he slept through the night! Maybe not such a milestone for him as it is for Robin and I, because we might actually get decent sleep now. Anyway, here's a picture of the little bugger. Ain't he cute?

Twelve ways Patrick Swayze and his mullet will change your life. I’m on the couch flipping channels. Not looking for much, just something to watch. The Bachelorette? Uh, no. According to Jim? Double no. Law and Order? No, three channels in a row. Then, a smile breaks out on my face as Patrick Swayze comes into frame on the next channel – probably TNT – and slams some poor dude’s head through a table top. Awesome. It’s Road House. I throw the remote aside; it’s useless to me now. A couple of quick facts. FACT #1: There are literally thousands of people who say that Road House is a bad movie and has nothing substantial to offer. FACT #2: These people are spectacularly wrong. FACT #3: Road House is one of the greatest films ever made. FACT #4: Road House may very well be the only self-help guide you’ll ever need. Like it or not, these are the facts. And yes, I’ve heard all the arguments. “You can’t be serious,” the elitist cineaste might say over a hot cup of Earl Grey. “For example, the ...

I don’t know what album I need to break out right now, but I sorely need one. I’ve got a lethargy to end all lethargies. Usually, I can find music of some kind to help lift me out of it, but today? No dice. Isn’t it interesting how the right music can elevate you out of a mood, or put you further into one? I’m not talking just one song, either — although that in itself is a cool enough notion — I’m talking about full-on albums. Anybody can listen to Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” and get pumped about working out, running, playing a game or just simply getting off the couch, but the extended feeling of a well-crafted flow of songs into a single experience can transport your state of mind into something else entirely. It’s about the feeling you get. You can wallow, celebrate, whatever you want, if you’ve got the right tuneage. So herewith, my favorite mood-changers, enhancers and comfort foods. It’s raining outside, I’m somewhat melancholy and want to stay that way. My first instinct? Bre...

Me! Well, me and my wife Robin. While the grammar police decide whether to issue me a warning or just plain give me a ticket for that last sentence ... I don't really care. Sorry. Too busy celebrating/freaking out about looming responsibility. It's pretty cool, actually. This will be a grand new adventure. My friend Jeff voiced his concern however, and rightfully so, that I - me, floydjoy, the goofball he's known since forever - would be responsible for another human. While I understand he was largely joking, let me just say ... concern noted. In fact, I've got that same feeling myself. Anyhoo, come late July, a little bundle of floydjoy will be here. A little boy. Nope, no names yet. Okay, some fun, obviously NOT suggestions that have been offered up: "Copen" Eggen Worf Tiberius Eggen Jack Bauer Eggen Landry Staubach Eggen Indiana Eggen Brett Favreneggen Yup. That's me, baby, all class.

I'm in a wistful mood, so I might as well take it out on you. It's probably Charlton Heston's fault. Here I was, just sitting around, mourning his passing a little - even though I never knew him personally - and that got me to thinking about how cool it was back in the day when local TV stations had "Apes Week," where they'd air all five PLANET OF THE APES movies right after school at 3:30 or so. I loved those movies. By extension, I loved Charlton Heston. And that reminded me of how much I missed those days. Now, I know the past is the past. I also know that the past was never really as cool as the nostalgia conjured since then. There was always some drama, whether it was girls, school, friends or all in my own head. But screw all that. "Wistful" doesn't mean "reality check." After all, I can be maudlin all I want. So, forty some-odd years in, some of the long-ago things I miss. My red, white and blue Jim Plunkett/Patriots-edition leat...

Pretty sure this is what "putting the cart in front of the horse" means.

I know what you're saying. You're saying, hey man! Another post with videos? Yeah, you got me. I'm lazy. So what? The important thing is we made it to the weekend! HIGH FIVE! HIGH-FIVE HOLLYWOOD! on FunnyOrDie.com True confession: I've never seen an episode of the Sopranos. But that didn't stop me from enjoying this Kenny Mayne ESPN spoof starring Cowboys coach Tony Sparano, Tony Romo, Mark Cuban and Jason Witten. And I could listen to Journey all day (and frequently do). Cool sidenote: this video was filmed at the Local Diner, which is right across the street from my office. I eat there all the time. I don't know how to introduce this one, so I'll just ask the question. What if there's bears? What If There's Bears? on FunnyOrDie.com Ever heard of Jack McBrayer? Dude's comedy genius. Livin' 'Neath The Law with Jack McBrayer on FunnyOrDie.com This next clip just kills me. Tim Meadows tries to keep Dewey from ... well, just watch. And sa...

Okay, I'll make this short and sweet, mainly because I can barely believe I'm wasting valuable time that could be better spent pounding my forehead against a doorjamb or watching the second hand on a clock move. But I digress, as I always do. For your perusal, a rough, woefully incomplete timeline of a bizarre nature: 1. When it all began, it was pretty much common knowledge that Kevin Federline - henceforth referred to with the genius moniker K-Fed - was a no-talent layabout that lucked out; in its pure essence, his story was the equivalent of your cousin Chauncey hitting the lottery. 2. We held off making uninformed, snap judgements until ... ... his complete lack of talent was confirmed. 3. Flash-forward: Britney and K-Fed split up. And amazingly enough, if you can believe it, at this point we still had a positivish impression of Britney. 4. Britney self-destructed on a scale heretofore unimagined. (Google "Britney Spears" and you'll find all you need to know; ...

It just struck me today how we never really hear about the duck-billed platypus. Sure, we've all seen the pictures, and boy are they ugly, but you'd think with this enlightened, plugged-in culture we live in that we'd see a platypus blog. Or maybe a platypus myspace page. I cry speciesism on that. Same with weasels. They don't get their just due either. Yeah, they skulk around, doing whatever it is that weasels do in between helpings of rodent pie, but they really need to come on out into the limelight. They're sneaky, but they're practically exploding with talent. I've heard that some have beautiful voices, the kind that would make an angel cry. I want to hear one. I mean, who wouldn't want to go see a musical called West Side Weasel? I know I would. In a heartbeat. I'd also like to meet a woodchuck before I die. Is that too much to ask? Sure, you hear about them all the time; evidently they are more than capable of chucking much wood. But isn't...

Ho Ho Ho. Merry Christmas, everyone! Today, I aim to spread the merry. First up is a cool little thing I found on the Interwebs called "The Jingler." What this little cyber-elf does is take any MP3 you care to upload and transforms it into a Christmas song! Don't believe me? Prepare to have your ears blown wide open by the power of The Jingler unleashed on the Deep Purple classic "Smoke On The Water." Check The Jingler out for yourself! It's a little slow, but you can literally waste tons of time there. It's located on the World Wide Web at the confusing and much too complex addy of www.thejingler.com. Woo! Next up? Let's channel Die Hard. It's already established blog canon that I consider the first Die Hard the perfect action movie. I know what you're saying; "But floydjoy, I can't remember which Die Hard is which. Does the first one have Samuel L. Jackson in it?" To which I answer, "No, you idiot. It's Hans Gruber, t...