The Naked Jaybirds

Drummer "Beanhopper" of The Naked Jaybirds

Last Saturday night, I caught a musical act at a Metro area speakeasy at, as I was strictly instructed, a not-to-be-disclosed location. I approached the peephole with my secret password, which was "fuzznuts." It's obviously not a secret anymore, so I hope they change the password from time-to-time. I should have suggested that to the bouncer. There was no cover charge to get in, but it cost me twenty bucks to get out.

The featured band was called The Naked Jaybirds. The Jaybirds were indeed a pretty eccentric group, although they may prefer to be dubbed "eclectic." They offered up a mix of folk, classic rock, Irish drinking songs, and original avant garde stylings. They always walked the precipice between brilliance and sucking. They opened the show with some Irish drinking songs, and even their cover of Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter" sounded vaguely like an Irish drinking song, at least toward the end.

I managed to catch a few words with some of the band members during an interlude. The drummer, who would only identify himself as Beanhopper, said, "We've only performed for an audience twice. Usually we just practice. We've been practicing for thirty-five years." The keyboardist, Jack "The Jerk" Bond, admitted he was "nervous as a quadriplegic jaywalker."

One highlight of the evening was an original love ballad crooned by singer Simon Popehat, titled "How Can I Love You If You Won't Lay Down?" It was a special favorite with the fat girl who insisted on standing right next to me. "Nice beard," she said. I quietly maneuvered to try to get the potted plant in between me and her.

I danced with my best friend's wife. Grrrrr. Oh, and I danced with my wife too. Meh. The only thing they served at the bar was Scotch and Mojitos. And you didn't get to choose. You pretty much got whatever the bartender wanted to serve you.

Closing time was 3:30 in the a.m. Somehow, we found our way home undamaged. If you ever have a chance to see The Naked Jaybirds, don't miss 'em. They perform for the public, on average, once every fifteen years.

Please share...

My Beard

I am hirsute in a suit. My beard started by accident: I stopped shaving. I don't really need a beard. I am not sure I want a beard. The beard would have been more useful when I was a pizza-faced teenager.

It started growing in early March. You might say it brings a new meaning to the March Hair. There is a problem. I haven't purchased a trimmer, so the darn thing is getting out of control. My mustaches are real cookie dusters now. And there are these stray whiskers popping out of my cheeks like little pin worms.

When I was in Walmart on other business, I did look at trimmers, and unusually for them they had a lot of choices. Too many. I couldn't decide, so I skipped it. Maybe I'll just use nail clippers.

Something's got to be done. Watch this space.

Please share...

My New iFad

My new iFad came in the mail a few days ago - that is, my iPhone 6 Plus - and I have finally finished bumbling my way through transferring my data from the old iPhone 4. First of all, I had to have the hard drive rebuilt on my laptop, because of a recent death crash, so I had to download and reinstall iTunes.  After thirty minutes of following progress bars with intense interest, I tried to launch the application.  Not there! It didn't even show up in "recent downloads." Well, at least I could use my iPhone as a phone. But I was incensed, and pretty much resigned to a visit to the Apple store for help.

But don't call me a quitter. Next day, I decided to try again. After a parade of more progress bars, finally success! The first time I must have failed to "Accept" or "Agree" or say "Aye, Aye, Sir!" I backed up my iPhone 4 data. That is step one, no? That took quite some time, because I had a half decade of photos to archive.

With greater anticipation than pouring ketchup (catsup?), I plugged in my iFad. I selected "Restore Mike's iPhone." That's right isn't it? iTunes got busy. I wondered about the result, but then iTunes wanted to update the operating system. Already? I just got the dadgum thing. Then I must wait for iFad to restart. Do not turn off iFad.

Well, I had my photos and music, but not my apps. And why pray tell not? And also, not my Contacts. I reasoned that the latter would have to be retrieved from The iCloud. But it was late, I was tired, and decided to tackle that the Day After this breakthrough.

Next day, before proceeding to the Contacts problem, I decided to sync iFad with iTunes using a little manual cable connection performed by iMe. Sync apparently successful. Then what should suddenly appear? A prompt to log me into my iCloud! This development is the only convenient event to occur in the whole ordeal. And it knew who I was! All it wanted was my iTunes password!

And voila! Contacts appeared on iFad! You can tell from the liberal exclamatory punctuation that I was elated. Still, no apps were transferred to my new play toy.

I decided to just go to the App Store and download the apps I cared about - a lot of them news sources. Most of them took me to an iCloud icon. Oh! That's how it works. I downloaded several, and they were neatly filed in appropriately folders, with no extra administrative work required on my part, unlike the "old days."

Except for one. CNN mysteriously vanished. It was nowhere to be found on iFad by the usual user experience. But I discovered it would come up if I told my girlfriend Siri to "launch CNN." So Siri knows where it is. That secretive bunny boiler. So I have this zombie-like CNN app somewhere on my iFad I can't find. Spooky.

What else is lurking unknown on iFad? They are made in China after all. Maybe the ghost of Mao Tse-Tung is reading my blog. Okay. At least he could subscribe and leave comments.

Please share...

The Waterboard by M.W. Thomas

Is ISIS in Crisis?

The word is out that morale inside ISIS is flagging. Could it be that beheading people is positively depressing after all? With the ban on smoking, perhaps there's an entire faction afflicted by nicotine fits. I think I could use a scotch after an auto-de-fe (I don't know the Arabic word for this.) Here's a little advice for how they might lift the spirits of their bedraggled workforce.

• Have a giant game of Twister in the Arabian desert.
• Sing campfire songs about rape and pillage.
• Busting up antiquities with sledge hammers sounds like great fun, how come no workie?
• Have a camel race across Anbar province, carrying female hostages on your shoulders.
• Punkin'-chunkin' at the Kurds. I don't know if they anything pumpkin-like rolling around... Oh no! I'm not going there.

Perhaps they need to hire a cruise director. Some of those folks at Carnival are really good.

Please share...

Who Farted?

I can sniff the breeze. Somebody just polluted my environment. I didn't fart, someone else did. I know because my farts are inoffensive. Your farts stink.

The EPA has demonstrated no safe level of exposure to your farts. Therefore, they have to be considered lethal until proven otherwise. I demand that you refrain from farting within fifty feet of any entry way.

This is non-negotiable. Environmental flatus has been ignored for way too long. According to the Surgeon General of California, a fart discharge from five miles away is the equivalent of a hundred megaton nuclear detonation. It is my right as an American to object to exposure to these dangers.

I declare a no-farting zone in North America. Violators should be prosecuted and subjected to their own dangerous emissions. Not lethal injection: bring back the gas chamber.

The Waterboard by M.W. Thomas

I'm a Mini-Hoarder

I reached into the cabinet and drew down the Rare Corojo cigar box. "What is this junk?" I say to myself as I open it. Here's a partial inventory:

• An open package of AAA batteries
• A bic lighter, almost out of fuel
• Old business cards, with out-dated information (for my time-capsule?)
• Old flowchart template
• Gummy whiteout
• Mini-cassettes
• Driver's license that expired in 2007 (for my time-capsule?)

...and assorted other detritus. Why am I keeping this stuff?

I am not a major Hoarder, and I don't have to keep the blinds closed to hide my shame, but I do seem to have these little collections of piffle. A cigar box here, a coffee can there, you know the domestic bramble. I'm a mini-Hoarder.

Here's the worst part. I'm not going to throw it away. I'm going to close the cigar box and put it back in the cabinet. I can't help it. I'm sick.

Please share...