February 23, 2006

The wife and I were watching Boston Legal last night, and Tom Selleck was on. Now, I am not envious of too many men on earth, but I have always wished I looked like him. Even old, now, he is a friggen stud.

I paused the show, and told the wife this, that even now, I wished I looked like him.

She snorted and said “On his best day, he’s not as good looking as you…”

Not true, but it made me feel good. I said that, and she got pissed, and told me to shut up.


Read This, And Tell Me Again…

February 23, 2006

…how sacred the Arabs hold their mosques.

Product Placement…

February 23, 2006
I have been testing this product since receiving it as a gift on Valentine’s Day. The Gillette Fusion Power 5-blade razor.
First impressions, for a man, is YEE-HA! when you see it. Looks like a space battle-cruiser. Impressive. Gnarly. Substantial. Slap in the battery, turn it on, and your wife’s ears will prick up from across the room.
The let-down comes during the actual shave. Long story short, with caveates, is that the three-blade power razor gives a better shave. BUT! The single blade ‘trimmer’ feature on the back is to die for. I wish I could buy a powered single blade razor. It is perfect for around moustache and sideburns, and for clean-up of those areas on your face that are always left with stubble unless you just grind and grind into it, i.e., the sides of my throat under my chin.
With the three blade razor, I can shave dry if I want, though it decreases blade life. With the five blades, I am really glad that the wife bought the shaving cream that is supposedly designed for the Gillette Fusion. You place those buzzing blades onto your stubble, and you KNOW you are getting a shave. It growls like a lawnmower in tall grass. You must rinse more often, because it fills with whiskers quickly.
It pulls at them, too. I never yet have felt pain with the 3-blader, yet the 5-blader hurts me occasionally. Makes me bleed sometimes, and the 3-blader never has.
All that having been said, in fifteen years of marriage, the wife has never remarked on my shave, until now. She says she notices the difference, and likes it. A lot. The razor stays.
I used to be a shower shaver, and I have a mirror in there. Now, I shave and trim (gosh, I love that single blade trimmer!) at the sink, and keep the 3-blader in the shower to bat clean-up on any spots I missed.
All in all, I think it was worth the money, so far. That will depend on how long the blades last. They are expensive for both powered razors, but I use a 3-blader for up to two months, and I shave every day except Sunday.
Honestly, though, if I knew then what I know now, I would buy a powered single blade razor (if they made such a thing, which I doubt) and stick with the 3-blader.
I will stick with powered razors until they quit making batteries. They just don’t make you bleed. All my shaving life, before power, the sink looked like I’d sacrificed a chicken in it when I was done. Now, the worst I get, is maybe one oozing pore, where a hair got pulled out.
In summation: The Gillette Fusion has the single edge ‘trimmer. It works perfectly, especially up under the nose. You can sculpt facial hair, and I would own this even if I had a beard. It gives a lovely razor cut.
It has a LOW BATTERY INDICATOR LIGHT! Is that the coolest, or what?! It also has an automatic shut-off feature (after six minutes) in case is gets turned on by accident. MORE COOLNESS!
It looks like a friggin Ferrari, and will flat cut the piss out of your whiskers.
Two thumbs and a wagging weiner up!

Vote With Your Feet…

February 22, 2006

Well, right now, I’ve got hardly any voters at all. My traffic has died, but I know who my friends are!

So, here’s your chance. I have three blogs, as of this week, all parallel universe versions of BaneRants. Out of courtesy, I have been posting the brain-cramps that fall into my head on all three sites, for the most part.

I like WordPress, I really do. It has nice aspects. I am still not satisfied with it, and it bewilders me as yet, but I like it.

I am terribly fond of my old blogger blog. Though it vexes me, as it is a poor, broken thing. My archives went to shit, and I blame WordPress, for shitty transfer code. Yet, it is broken, and has been for some time. Still, it has my ads, and my tip jars, and the bloggy things that make me smile. WordPress’s sitemeter app is Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, and even if I could figure out some way to display it (guess what: I can’t) I wouldn’t, because it is illogical and stupid, and doesn’t synch with any time in any known universe.

My new Blogger blog is shiny. And new. And everything works. I would have done it before I went to WordPress if I had been thinking clearly, which, obviously, I was not. It looks more Baneish than the WordPress blog, though it is austere, and looks kinda high school.

One of my dear, dear friends and patrons made me a .jpg of my old blog flames that appears to be perfect in every way, yet I lack the skill to insert it.

So…I think I have answered my own question.

Fuck you, I do what I want. I will continue to take the extra minute and a half to post at all three, and count up the comments on all three in a few weeks, and make my decision then.

Back to square one…


The Goddess Speaks!

February 22, 2006

Go, and worship!

She presents an opposing view to mine, and yet my needle begins to waver, due to her words. She makes several convincing points, and may just be the sobering slap to the face I needed.

We shall see…

With The Force Of A Million Tons Of TNT…

February 22, 2006

…it fell, and sounded like a bomb had gone off downstairs. I actually armed myself, because I thought Jihad had come to my house.

We were all upstairs, thank God, when the ceiling light globe, no doubt loosened by all of Johnny’s dancing upstairs over the years, crashed down to the laundry room floor with the force of a million tons of TNT!. The wife is currently doing what all wives should do: clean it up.

What? Well how do you, or anybody else know what a million tons of TNT! sound like going off? You cannot safely extrapolate from one pound, and then multiply. There are factors we don’t even know about yet in a conventional explosion of that size, and yet men in white coats will go on TV and intone their high-toned rubbish as if it were gospel.

Probably with the same face on the village barber had when he told you that the only way he could cure your child’s asthma was to bleed them.

That’s why I get a chuckle when some wide-eyed acolyte of Science As Religion assures me that his facts are correct because, well, they’re infallible, and unchangeable. At least until the next directive with the new facts is put out.

And have you ever heard two high level mathematicians aguing over their own arcane magicks? Two learned men, each convinced the other is an idiot for believing in the solution they came up with? And a fatwah from an Evolutionist is something to be feared. They will come to your house with torches.

Oh well, Christians can get goofy, too. I am so sick of Donald Wildmon ruining good television for me I could just puke. Put him and Fred Phelps and all of their followers into a large vacuum container, suck out all of their air, and the world would be a better, saner place. ‘The Book of Daniel’ was one darn good, cute, funny show, and I always got a laugh, and it made me think.

And speaking of sucking, now I have to buy a light cover. And that sucks. See?

I know I make this look easy, but don’t try this at home, folks. You could pull something.

The Poo Containers, They Plot…

February 22, 2006

I hear them there, there in their big brown bag, whispering and giggling. They know they intimidate me, and they can smell fear.

Yes, I have been even more procrastinary than usual, and have put off collecting my Secret Sauce, and yes, I could die from such behavior, but quite frankly I do not care. In fact I believe I’d rather.

Oh, to be sure, I’ll have a good look at my poo, before sending it on it’s way to the Poo Men. Okay, I might poke at it a bit, to uncover some interesting looking treasure, but actually handle it on purpose? Egads. 

Aha! My Mom is a nurse! And she’s both seen my bum and handled my poo before. Of course, it has been awhile.

I am vexed. We have finally found something the wife won’t do for me. Well, that, and let me push in her little hemorrhoid I gave her by virtue of too much, shall we say, enthusiasm on my part. It’s not that she holds it against me, it is more that she refuses to, no matter how I beg. When Gargantua attempts to slip near there, she tenses up, and her hand begins to slide towards the 5 cell Mag-Lite she keeps by her bed.

He and I slink off, bereft, yet she will make no butts about it.

Pity me.

Once again, I did not win the lottery, so I am unable to hire someone to handle my poo for me. Instead a bunch of meat-slinging yahoos and Viet Cong get it.

There goes my investment portifolio…