My one problem with my greeting card company is that I constantly come down with a case of writer's block. I just can't seen to find anything to write about. Fortunately, my prayers were answered when I received this email today:

Hi! My name is Sally W. (name changed to protect the innocent) and I am a freelance greeting card writer. I would love to submit greetings for your company. To give you a short bio, I've had greetings accepted by Graphique de France, Peaceable Kingdom Press, Yippie Cards, Chuckleberry's, Gallant Greetings, etc.

Below are five greetings I'm submitting for your consideration.

If you have writer's guidelines and/or a needs list, I'd really appreciate receiving them. Many thanks and I look forward to hearing from you.

Best, Sally (W.)

l. B-628-1 Birthday

Art: Picture of a jazzy lady with a lot of outfits.
O) Thanks much for letting me borrow your outfits...
I) ... I feel very clothes to you!
Happy Birthday!

2. B-628-2 Birthday

O) Don't worry that your kids gave you a hard time giving birth to them.
I) ... It won't happen again!
Happy Birthday!

3. B-628-3 Birthday

Art: Picture of an impish character wearing a hula skirt.
O) If you live in Hawaii...
I) ... you'll always get a lei!
Happy Birthday!

4. B-628-4 Birthday

Art: Two women talking.
O) Remember, there's nothing wrong with having another birthday...
I) ... as long as you're dating two hunky twenty-year-olds!
Happy Birthday!

5. B-628-5

Art: Woman with a somewhat big tush.
O) The trouble with resting on one's laurels is...
I) ... the more we rest on them the bigger they get!
Happy Birthday!

Not only did Sally W. give me some much-needed birthday greetings (they do account for around 70% of all card sales), but she nudged me out of my writer's funk. Here are some of my new ones . . . which I'll include with hers . . . kinda goes without saying:

1. B-789-0 Birthday

Art: Man with large testicles hanging from a flagpole.
O) Check out my large testicles . . .
I) . . . You can have them since it's your birthday!

2. B-054-9 Anniversary

Art: Dog licking a cat's vagina.
0) There's only one thing you need to do on your birthday . . .
I) . . . Buy a timeshare in Myrtle Beach, you jazzy hag!

3. B-231-6 Funeral

Art: Motorcycle burning in a lava pit.
0) I feel like it's your birthday again . . .
I) Guess we should take that trip we always talked about, you filthy whore!

4. B-752-3 Jew Holiday (for Yonteff)

Art: Astronaut swimming in the Arctic Ocean with otters.
0) How about calling your birthday off?
I) Better yet, how about calling me "daddy" and letting me "rape" your "ear" "holes"?

5. B-912-8 Wedding

Art: Country bumpkin playing the fiddle while children are singing along in overalls and bowler hats.
0) You say it's your birthday . . .
I) That must be why I'm going to present you with a bag of diarrhea on your birthday. Happy birthday!

Like T Rav's MySpace page, like Dick Clark, like that snuff film you keep behind your wool sweaters, like molesting your neighbor, like farting in church, like Robbie getting punched out by Johnny Castle, like waking up in someone else's vomit, like a toast with the lines "We've got too many stories to name just one, so I'll just say you've got your hands full. (Wait for laughter.) Full of an awesome person!", these never get old:

Love:



Rejected:



I also never tire of David Shrigley. Or Fensler Films:



In case that one won't load.

Oh, and I also never tire of Hand Banana.

T Rav just can't stay out of my blog. His MySpace page is bumpin'. And his endorsement of Rudy is on point. I love you, TR. Let's pretend we're bunny rabbits.

It's not just a line from "Trani", it was Thomas Ravenel's campaign slogan (looking back, we should have seen this coming). Anyway, that's what he pledged to give the good people of South Carolina when he ran as our Treasurer. And he lived up to his promise. Unfortunately, making sure no kid is left behind without an 8 ball is somewhat illegal. Thomas Ravenel is now in a world of trouble that not even a nude dip in his jacuzzi will fix. Hey, I know! Maybe some cocaine will make it all better! Oh . . . right. Forgot. Anyway, TR needs your help. So if you were on the other end of one of his keys, do the right thing and write the guy a note telling him you're there for him, man. Well, not there in prison for him. Or there with cash to pay his fine, man. But there with him when he gets out and doesn't have to do any more community service. And when no one else will see the two of you together. So pretty much you'll call him later. But you're there for him, man.

Seriously, though, how could we ever trust a Treasurer who would give away cocaine? You're supposed to be good with money, TR. At least sell the stuff. Ah, rumor has it people will pay good money for it.

Another side note, I went to Doolittle's yesterday to buy my dog some raw meat, and since I spent two month's salary on her food, they gave me one of their bumber stickers. It couldn't have been more timely . . . or more appropriate for TR's new campaign. It simply reads:

Been There. Sniffed That.

All you'd need to add is Ravenel '08.

And maybe pretend this letter never happened.

Or this one.

And maybe ignore all the free press.

All the free press.

Whooooaaaa!

If you're not watching your not TV, you should be. This show is fantastic. Tenacious D meets Prince meets Stephin Merritt meets Strangers With Candy meets Mr. Show meets Grease. Pretty much all of my favorites wrapped into one. Sure, it's fluff, but it's darn funny.

You don't have to wait until the little clock finishes, you can simple click play and it should begin. Also, Jeff, you should know that Sally, that girl (great song in itself, btw), used to date Bret, the guy without the mutton chops. Jemaine (muttons) has recently taken a fancy to her. In fact, he says she might be the one. Well, one of the ones.

The meeting:



And then the breakup:



Oh, and here's a better explanation of the series.

Do you have friends? I have some. Most of them are like me: hot, really cool, hanging around the beach, complaining about Charleston's terrible radio stations, bitching about car taxes and debating The Sopranos ending. Even the ones with kids aren't too different from me. Sure, they change diapers, but we're still in the same circle doing the same sorts of things.

And then there are two of my friends who are very unlike me. At least they are doing things that are far removed from my world of Moe's Crosstown, the Chartleston Rifle Club and Station 18. One is in Afghanistan and the other is in Africa. I get emails from both. The guy in Afghanistan sends me (along with others on his mailing list) reports of the daily routine in the Army. It goes something like this:

Another day in Afghanistan. We have a countdown on an Excel spreadsheet; it computes the months, weeks, days, hours etc. It has a pie chart to tell you how far along you are. The good news is that I am hearing rumors that the teams we are on are not deployed for 15 month rotations. The army came out that units would be deployed for 15 months, instead of the already-too-long 12 months. With that, I think the military will see an exodus of personnel. Other things I do to count it all down is a bottle of anti-malaria pills . . . when they are gone, the deployment is over, and also a Family Guy calendar. It's the little things.

One of our convoys was riding out to provide medical support to a village, part of winning the hearts and minds of the Afghan people. It hit an IED. This was an armored Humvee. Engine was pushed up into the frame of the vehicle, and both tires were sent far away. No one was hurt. People that were sitting in the truck emailed pics back home, and those made it into the media, and the Army here was not too thrilled. You have to be careful with the media, it is amazing how stuff gets around.


I went to Qatar for a four day pass. Qatar is another country here in the Middle East, it has a healthy US Military presence. We flew to it on a cargo plane from the Air Force, flying around Iran (can't fly over their airspace, not without getting shot down). I think Saudia Arabia asked us to leave their country, and Qatar took us in, but I don't do history and politics, so I could be wrong. Qatar is a friendly country, and it once held the Asian Games, whatever those were. So I got to see Arabs. The women wear veils so that only their eyes are shown, and because of that, they really do up the makeup around the eyes. They looked pretty good. The food was okay. The county had lots of construction, and some really nice cars, shopping malls. Inside the shopping mall was a TGI Friday's, a KFC, and a McDonalds. I purchased a memory card for my camera at the Fugi Photo shop. I think the country makes money off of oil.

The Afghan soldiers are pretty good people. They want what everyone else wants: a stable life, healthy children, etc.. There is some corruption, but the definition of corruption is different. On one of our Village Medical Outreach missions, some of the soldiers took some of the food home with them. Technically, it is stealing, but you really can't blame them if they have hungry family members. We accuse them of taking anything they can and selling it at the Bazaar; this is particularly a problem with fuel and ammunition. The Americans control both, but we have to keep an eye on them. Someone once said that the Afghans don't realize that when they steal, they are hurting themselves.

My other friend relocates African refugees. His emails go something like this:

From the perspective of a speeding automobile, African village life seems to oscillate from the bucolic to the destitute. The reality is that it is both and it is neither. I say "neither" because what may be bucolic to one observer may not be to another; and what may be destitute to one perspective is in fact normal, even comfortable, to another. The village life that flashed between the supremely sublime lake scene was harsh: hard work isn’t rewarded, people are born into a poverty that they may never escape. When not drunk on fermented bananas, men scramble for coins: shining shoes, hauling hand carts of produce, peddling charcoal, fixing broken bicycles and radios. The African women, saviors of the continent, press ahead - saving money, investing, rearing children, raising crops, fetching water.

And, at times, this:

The genocide in Darur enters its fourth year. When I started blogging on Darfur, 30,000 people had been killed. Now the count may be as high as 400,000. Due to War on Terror alliances and a host of other political alliances, the world has done far too little to help end the Darfur crisis.

Both of these guys grew up in my old, Rockwellian neighborhood in Spartanburg. Craig, the guy in Africa, went to Davidson, moved to Japan for a couple of years, and then went to grad school in Denver for International Studies or something like it. He spent some time in Africa before Denver, but it wasn't until he left the mile-high city that he assumed this larger, seemingly selfless role in Kenya.

Jim Duncan, the army of one, grew up on my street. We all played manhunt in the woods, smoked cigarettes on rooftops and drank at the end of undeveloped cul-de-sacs (which, seeing as how our negihborhood was old, were not in our neighborhood). I abhor cul-de-sacs. But they are good for boozing teens. We also learned to ride skateboards together, broke out our sleds at the first sign of snow, talked about girls (which we lacked) and wondered where we'd be in twenty years. Going back is like a scene out of Beautiful Girls, minus the bitter winters and Uma. And going back reminds us all that we didn't quite do the things we thought we'd do by this point in our lives. I always wanted a creek running through my house. The closest thing I've got to that is a dog who urinates on the floor occassionally. I imagine Craig and Jim Duncan never thought they'd be where they are now either.

We had a going-away party for Jim Duncan before he was deployed to Afghanistan. I didn't want to say it then, but it felt like a fucking wake. The food and small talk and all. Fortunately, Jim Duncan isn't in Iraq, so it just felt like a wake; it wasn't portentous by any means. Craig was there, as he does make it back to the States 2-3 times a year. And many of the other guys who grew up going to Pine Street School were there, too.

Receiving their emails makes me think about how nice I've got it here in Charleston. How easy my life is. How ridiculous my complaints are about overdraft charges and slow drivers. So log onto Craig's blog (I wish Jim Duncan had one) and forward it around. He's a good writer and certainly covers an interesting topic, albeit a foreign one. A very, very foreign one.

After sitting with it for 24 hours, I can say that I am happy with the ending. I don't think it was a dream sequence. I think it was whatever we wanted it to be. It was everything and it was nothing. And as far as jukebox songs, I made one glaring omission: "Any Way You Want It". It was the B side to "Don't Stop Believin'" on that little jukebox. And that's pretty much how it ends . . . any way we want it to. I don't think there will be a movie. I think this settles things perfectly. David Chase is one clever mofo, by the way.

For those living under a rock that is itself under a larger rock (to borrow a phrase from some really funny person), The Sopranos ended their eight-season run tonight. I've been no more than a casual watcher for every season but this last one (which many think has been boring by comparison). I haven't missed a beat since April. That was until tonight. Oh, I watched it. I'm just not sure what to make of it (though I was thrilled to see Phil do his best impression of a speedbump). The best explanation I can come up with for this finale (if there won't be a movie like some predict) is that Tony gets whacked while Steve Perry sings "believin'". My only basis for this is that Tony has said when you die you don't see it coming. It just goes black. He said something like that to Bobby (I think) anyway. And that's exactly what happened.

But what was with Meadow's parking woes? And is Paulie Walnuts a snake? That last scene with him made me believe he might not be the most trustworthy guy on the block. Not to mention, he didn't really have a good reason to not head the job that Tony offered him. Then again, it could just be David Chase being David Chase. No explanations. No rhyme. No reason.

So I don't know what to make of the last episode. If you have any thoughts, let me hear 'em. And if you want to read some interesting Sopranos articles, you can start with this one from the New Yorker (before the finale).

And this writer makes the point that when you're in Tony's line of business, your life is never your own. You're constantly looking over your shoulder. There was a lot of that going on for sure.

Another good point: It's no coincidence that Dr. Melfi just terminated his treatment. Her appalled fascination with Tony has always mirrored ours, and when her shrink alerted her to studies suggesting that sociopaths use talk therapy to sharpen their con-man skills, we all started looking at Tony in a harsher light.

Some various comments on the final episode.

The HBO community. If you wade through the OMGs and LOLs, you'll find some interesting points, one being that the entire last scene was a dream. And I agree with viewer who thought he saw Tony sitting at the table in the diner - looking back at Tony. Weird. Fuck! Just put two and eight together and realized the Little Feat song playing as they walked in was "All That You Dream". Hmmm.

Also, I'll just say that I always look forward to their music and tonight's show left me angry about the silence over the credits. But I've had time to think about it, and now I love it. I also loved the Journey.

Okay, I just paused the diner scene. I noticed the Jay and the Americans ripoff of The Drifters' "This Magic Moment" as one of the songs in the tabletop jukebox when I first watched, but how about these other titles:

"I'm Alive"
"I've Gotta Be Me"
"A Lonely Place"
"Those Were The Days"
"Turn, Turn, Turn"
"Only The Strong Survive"
"Who Will You Run To"
"Magic Man"

I'm definitely voting on the diner being some sort of a dream. More on all of this later. Thoughts??

A lot has happened since we last spoke. The Officer and a Cheesedick jilted the psychotic Bevin. The Cavs (aka LeBron) knocked the Pistons out. The Yankees have managed to suck even harder. Billy Donovan flexed his vagina. Michael Vick flexed his thug. I think that awesome show The King of Queens went off the air. Blake lost Idol. Lohan tried drugs. Paris went to prison. Dr. Death got out of prison. And I got a dog from the shelter. Whew! Oh, and W The President continued to rule with an iron skull.

What have I been doing? Besides watching way too much TV and trying to get my new dog, Beulah, to fetch? Bowling. This past Saturday we had a magnificent turnout for our first ever Bowling For Important Stuff party at the Charleston Rifle Club (which is well on its way to being overrun by retards like myself). We raised around $1500 for School's Out, a non-profit I help out with occassionally (so that I can put it on my resume). I'd say about 70 people showed up - and showed out. Lots of dancing, bowling and cheap boozing. I broke someone's digital camera. And then broke it beyond repair when I tried to fix it. Let's see. What else happened? Nothing really.

As far as the news I failed to cover, a few things still stick out. Obviously, my adopted dog. She's great. A little Doberman/Rottweiler mix.

Which brings me to Michael Vick. I'm gonna go ahead and go all Nifong on him here: suspend the idiot for a year. He's guilty as sure as he's a risky starting fantasy QB. The dude has thug written all over his face. And I don't care what the culture is - that doesn't excuse it. Scoop Jackson, or whatever his name is, was kind of justifying dog fighting as part of poor, Southern culture. He wasn't necessarily condoning it, but he was, in a way, sticking up for Vick. You know, there's another part of Southern culture that is hard to understand unless you grow up around it. It's called racism. Yeah, you wouldn't understand it. It's just part of the culture. Seriously, if you watched that dog fighting video on Outside the Lines, you'd want Vick to clean out his locker. It was sad and disturbing. And, like racism, there is absolutely no excuse for it . . . and no place for it.

The other thing that really bothers me is the Billy Donovan thing. This is the latest trend in sports: people going back on their word like they've just misordered at Applebee's. Dude, you've had weeks to figure it out. How can you fuck it up this badly?

As far as the Weekly Geekly column goes, I missed my deadline. I was out of town for a bit and then I spaced because of the bowling party. That after I hounded the guy about writing for them. Awesome. The cool thing was that it was going to be a competition. All of the potential writers were to write a 500-word piece on the latest lame-ass networking site where pet owners live vicariously through their pets, and the folks at The City Paper were going to pick the best writer. I was excited about it. Oh well.

Til next time, I'll be slacking off . . .