I'm on a Mexican radio ...

Actually it's Royal Oak. And it's a podcast, not the radio.

So people if you've ever wondered "what does he sound like? ...

If you've ever wanted to know if he's as verbally witty as he is textually ...

If you've ever been curious as to whether the rug matches the drapes ...

 

 

Go to theoddist.com

I recently received a message from someone I hadn't seen for quite awhile.

"Hey Robert. I hate to say it, but when we get together soon, you are going to have to fill me in on your myspace friends. It's kind of entertaining to read."

 

Obviously you've made a wonderful impression! So take a bow - and take this opportunity to supply one or two sentences that truly sum up your innermost selves. I'll bring along a copy when I drop by Starbucks in a week or so.

Try not to exaggerate. And this is about you - not me!

 

 

In a few short days a friend is going to interview me on a podcast. I was asked to supply a few autobiographical notes. Some of you have been inquisitive in the past about me, so I'll share these with you ....

 

1. I was born and raised in Detroit. Vivid memories of 67 riot and 68 World Series.

2. Father was Cuban-American. Childhood was a cross between I Love Lucy and an off-broadway production of Long Day's Journey into Night.

3. Education first entrusted to magisterium of Mother Church. Have tried (without success) to rid myself of most of the theological fascism I was imbued with in those days.

4. Nun in third grade called me the anti-Christ when I compared the Holy Trinity to the Dating Game.

5. Punched Capt. Boblo after he pinched my 17-year old sister's ass.

6. Inevitable move to the burbs when I was 10. Can recall farm buildings and silos still standing near Adams Road and Wattles. Yes, fuck you - I am that old!

7. First foray into romance proves disappointing. Girl down the street asks if I want to play "doctor". I agree. Discover too late that holding "a Ph.D in theoretical physics from Harvard" just doesn't excite the ladies. Girl moves on to another boy in neighborhood with ADD and the third largest collection of Hot Wheel cars in Oakland County.

8. Convinced that our neighbor was the Oakland County Child Killer, commenced independent investigation armed with the Hardy Boys Detective Handbook. Suspicions proved false - but was happy to discover that neighbor's wife was into leather.

9. Asked by Troy Police Department to cease independent investigation. Also asked to stop looking into people's windows at night. Later observed that the cop with the helpful advice was occasionally dropping by neighbor's house when husband was away.

10. Won Talent Contest in the fourth grade for mimicry and impersonations. Future career as the next Rich Little destroyed with onset of puberty - but I can still do a GREAT Felix the Cat!

11. Never achieved "solitary satisfaction" in a Foot Locker or any other public establishment. Will admit, however, that there are certain episodes of Gilligan's Island that I will always look back upon with great fondness.

12. Hated the 70s! Still hate the 70s! Found solace by reading banned books, listening to classical music and jazz, and watching black-and-white films either on the late show or in the company of the immortal Bill Kennedy.

13. 1972. Halloween sees me Trick-or-Treat for Unicef. $87.36 total. Keep half the money. Other half donated to Committee to Re-Elect the President.

14. Fourth DNA test proves conclusively that I was sired by Dad. Pop admits that my conception was largely due to a re-run of Get Smart that he didn't feel like watching one June night. We agree to make the best of it.

15. Go to Cranbrook. "Young man, you are a half-baked pimply youth in search of the Absolute. God bless you!" Classmate of Bob Woodruff, known chiefly today for making a great career move in Iraq. Bob took my junior prom date for a ride in his new car - something about "great stereo set-up." I miss the afterglow.

More coming ....

I think I need a new song. She Hates Me ended up being the profile ditty chiefly because

a) I like it

b) It was my first suggestion after my eight-year old niece asked me what melody I wanted posted. This after I spent forty-five minutes trying to put a song - any song! - on the damn page. She did it in ten seconds or less, then went back to playing with her Barbie and studying for the LSAT. Go ahead and laugh. She did my taxes this year and I got two grand back from Uncle Sam.

So here's the deal. Most of you have grasped the finer points of my psychological make-up. Most of you have good taste in music. Most of you have a sarcastic twist to your humor. What tune is ME?

Operators are standing by.

I need a "needlessly long profile name."

Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.

Mark your calendars. I am actually hopped to the gills right now.

Bobby D. feels like a Pool Boy in the Sahara Desert right now. An impending root canal job has prompted my dentist to supply me with some pharmaceutical delights that I - an otherwise stoic individual - have surrendered to in order to enjoy a good night's sleep and still meet various deadline demands.

I am NOT USED TO THIS!

I was told by somebody that I will not remember this blogging effort tomorrow. I suppose I should now invite you and you and you over there to make some wry observations about my present state and perhaps recollect any past autobiographical events that will add to the present hilarities.

(Keep thinking of this blonde cradling a bowling ball - or two bowling balls. Polishing them until they shine with a burnished power that just screams out!)

Why does everyone in this office want to take my jelly beans away from me?

She should be a Power Ranger! The Red Power Ranger! That bitch was HOT!

It's that time of year again when my editors start asking me to compile lists. Got some nice feedback from many of you re: Best Films of 2005. What did you see this year that you liked? Caveat: Mention "Talladega Nights" and you are banished to the outer darkness forever.

Loyal readers of this blog (yes, all four of you) have inquired if I'm the same Fourth Estate Fool who pens the Drink Up column in Real Detroit Weekly. Guilty. In addition to my sage appraisal of the local art scene, my editors oblige to forsake my liver every week so the unwashed masses can turn to something else besides Bud Light in their blind quest for inebriated enlightenment. It's a tough job, but it pays off when the fringe benefits permit me to be a welcome guest at the occasional BYOB party.

The assignment, however, has taken an interesting turn of late thanks to a certain charming Platinum Pollyanna who was moved to describe libidinous interest with the cute and deathless phrase "Spinning Ovaries." Having no ovaries to spin - on my own person that is - I'll take the term at face value. However, it dawned on me that the happy combination of the two words just cries out for some alchemy involving alcohol.

So here's your assignment - open book and take home, if you prefer: Come up with the spirits that match the spirit of Spinning Ovaries. The winner will be sent a certain key chain that will (inevitably?) appear on my desk in the near or far future. I grade on a curve, too.

It is awkward (and a bit presumptuous) for me to approach a blog-mob by proxy, but since I long ago accepted the fact that most of you wouldn't give me the time of day had I not a tenuous connection with the Dharma Darling of Cyberspace ... ok, enough of that. Let me get to the root of the matter with a simple question. In view of all our musings and snivelings about karma, fate, character, and Sordid's libido, why has no one seen fit to stick in a comment or two about My Name Is Earl? Kids, this is OUR sit-com. It's the eightfold path with a wry senseof humor. Have you seen the show? Do you like the show? Does it echo or amplify the things we've discussed? Would you sell your soul for JUST ONE NIGHT with Jamie Pressley? Let's throw it on the floor and see if the pussy gets licked. The lines are open and operators are standing by. The BMSD will have to play this one by ear. Evidently she sold HER soul to HBO's Entourage.

Note: Yes, I know it's supposed to be "see if the cat licks it up", but that Freudian slip was just too perfect to delete. Call me Mr. Id. Other people do.

Maybe it's time for intervention. As many of you have already observed, I have a great many "friends". Indeed , the plethora of people (that phrase was for you, Sordid Baby Sans T-shirt) has prompted some of you to make wry comments. I let it go, but now I'm beginning to think your pithy observations may be right. Because I just realized today that some of my "friends" don't exist. Literally.

I added The Professor from Gilligan's Island two days ago. Then I saw that I also added Laurel and Hardy, Mulder and Scully, the characters from V for Vendetta and (I think) Barney Rubble.

When Betty and Veronica show up, will someone please sit me down for a good talk?