Marchtache

There comes a time in every man’s life when he inexplicably decides “Today is the day I grow a mustache.”  It’s a longstanding biological cycle that dates back two millennia, around the time when Jesus Christ grew a handlebar mustache during his forty day temptation in the desert (picture not available).  Recently, following in this great tradition, I have taken the plunge into haired upper lip-dom.

Right now I’m on about Day 3 and, quite frankly, things aren’t going so well.  At this point I’m still in the thirteen-year-old-kid-who-hit-puberty-early-but-doesn’t-have-a-father-to-teach-him-shave phase, so I kind of look like Brian did.  If you don’t know Brian, just think of the kid you went to middle school with that fits the description of the above hyphenate—that’s Brian.  Remember Brian?  Dude had a hairy lip.

Despite my slow start, I have high expectations.  The artist’s rendering below gives an idea of what I predict my fully grown mustache will look like:

At this stage in its growth, t.j.’s mustache has developed a heightened sense of awareness and preliminary memory capacity.

To say the mustache will be Super Mario-esque would be an understatement.  I expect greater volume, thickness, and food-storing capacity than the lovable Nintendo star’s nose tickler, plus the added sexiness of Luigi’s.  On top of that, you’ll notice that my mustache has a few hints of gray, giving it a distinguished quality that only comes from years of mustache experience.  I anticipate my body will sense my commitment to the mustache and instinctually generate gray hair to fit this assumption, despite the fact that I’ve yet to find a gray hair anywhere else on my entirely blonde head.  In the event that I can’t bend the rules of my own physiology, there’s always Touch of Gray®.

It could be a tough road, but no one said it was going to be easy.  When Jesus rocked that handlebar for forty starving nights, the Devil didn’t give him pointers on proper trimming.  When Brian grew his first fuzzy meal saver, his father didn’t come rushing home from his new family’s house with an Art of Shaving kit.  No, they did it on their own and so will I.  This is my destiny.  This is my manly rite of passage.  This is my Marchstache.

My name is t.j. and if this blog inspires you, then join me.

A Night with the Ghost and the Darkness

(posted by t.j. peters)

While reading through my American Way magazine — yes, that’s the in-flight magazine for American Airlines, and yes, I also have subscriptions to Hemispheres (United), Spirit (Southwest), and Morning Calm (Korean Air) — I came across a very interesting article in the “Up Close” section.  If you’re looking through your stack of Way’s right now, pick out the March 1 issue.  It’s on page fifteen.

As described in the article “Night at the Museum (or Zoo. . . or Aquarium)”, apparently many museums, or zoos, or aquariums across the country have started late night and overnight programs designed to create new interest in science and nature amongst adults.  Though it sounds like a noble goal, I see right through their “making education fun” façade, especially in the case of the San Diego Zoo’s “Roar and Snore Sleepover Program”, which is essentially a slumber party on the grounds of the park.  My suspicion of foul intentions inspired me to do a little more research, so I visited the SDZ’s website and read their description of the event.  In one excerpt, it eerily notes:

Start your evening with a’ Journey into Africa’ tour focusing on the fiercest competitors out in the field. Then start stretching, because the race is on! Hope you listened during that tour. . .

Oh how quickly this has become a Tsavo maneaters situation.  Do you see it now?  The San Diego Zoo is luring unknowing men and women to their Wild Animal Park in the dead of night under the guise of “adventure” to race the fiercest competitors they have?! “Roar and Snore” visitors, I hate to say this, but you’re the late night snack at this slumber party.

Here’s the Zoo’s strategy, best I can tell:  Most predatory animals hunt at night, making the daytime patrons safe, so the SDZ devised a plan to get prey in the park at feeding time.  It makes perfect sense.  Have you ever seen a lion at the zoo?  I’m sure you have, and if your experience was anything like mine, he looked something like this:

This animal, like me, is not dangerous between the hours of 8:00 AM and 7:00 PM.

On multiple visits I’ve spent thirty minutes or more at the lion cage waiting for that supposedly savage beast to kill something and this is what I get every time—Lazy Leo sunbathing with his fuzzy balls staring me in the face.  But I guess if I want the real deal, I have to attend the SDZ’s “Roar and Snore (and Have a Lion Rip Your Fucking Face Off) Sleepover Program”. . . so, despite my fears, I will.  As of right now, I’m planning to attend the event on June 26.  Mark your calendars, Poop or Chocolatiers, because from here on out all you can do is prey for the hunters. . .

My name is t.j. and the cost of being eaten by a lion “varies, depending on the program.”

The New Old Face of LowerMyBills.com

(posted by t.j. peters)

I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but I did and it looks like this:

Damnit, LowerMyBills.com, I thought we already talked about this!  When I said that Earl lacked the sex appeal and humor to be a model, I wasn’t saying that you should go out and get Earl’s scowl-faced, monstrously ugly grandfather.  But here I am, staring directly into the beady eyes of the most sinister-looking World War I veteran on the planet.  We’ll call him Mel.

At this point I have to assume that LowerMyBills is in on the joke.  With the Earl ad, there was still a possibility that LMB had unintentionally made the worst advertising mistake of all time.  However, with the introduction of Mel, there’s just no way this is true.  And I have to say, I commend you, LowerMyBills.  Your extremely bizarre promotional tactic has stricken my interest twice now, so clearly you’ve succeeded on some level.  Have I clicked on the links connected to the ad?  No.  Am I any closer to using your services to refinance my home?  Also no.  But will Poop or Chocolate try to sell you ad space once the site expands?  Absolutely.  It would be a win-win for. . . OH COME ON!  Now you’re just being greedy!

My name is t.j. and this blog follows up.

What’s for Dinner?

Seriously, what should I have for dinner tonight?  It’s Friday, so that screws everything up.   I kind of want to get things going, but I can’t spend a lot of time preparing a meal, you know?  I’ve got plans that begin around nine—and I guess it wouldn’t be a huge deal if I were late—but I hate racing against the clock at the sacrifice of getting proper sustenance.   If it were Wednesday, I’d take the time to grill some chicken breasts with a little lemon pepper and throw it in a Caesar salad, but things aren’t that fucking simple tonight.  It’s Friday.  Man, I hate this.  Not that it’s Friday—I love Fridays.  It’s just. . .  I don’t know, the other nights of the week are so much easier to prepare for.  Take Monday, for example.  Even though it’s the beginning of the week and the weight of the world is on my shoulders, I’m motivated to boil some pasta, at the very least.  More than likely, I’ll sauté some mushrooms and red onion to combine with a pre-made four cheese marinara.  It’s a totally Monday thing to do.  But here we are, 8am on Friday, and I’m already battling my indecisiveness.  God, if only there were six days a week instead of seven.  Even Saturday is easier!  With nothing but time on my hands, I can mentally prepare for the seared salmon and wild rice slated for the night’s menu.  It’s simple.  Fuck, I hate fucking Fridays.  What am I supposed to do?  Order a pizza?  Yeah fucking right.  It’s like the busiest night of the week for delivery and, to make things worse, Nutty Professor II is on TBS!  That’s an automatic fifteen to twenty minutes added on to the delivery time.  So what then?  I’m left tapping my foot while the pizza arrives at 8:45, end up taking it out on the delivery guy by giving him a shitty tip, leading to really bad karma for the rest of the evening (the last thing I need on a Friday night) and now I don’t even want to leave because I’m hooked into the Klumps.  No fucking way, I am not ordering a pizza!  . . . I don’t know, man.  This shit is bogus.  I just. . . maybe I’ll just go out.  Maybe Friday’s.

My name is t.j. and I want you to let me know what’s cookin’, good lookin’.

Public Notice with t.j. peters

(posted by t.j. peters)

“An Open Letter to Gerry ‘The Mentalist’ McCambridge”

Dear Gerry,

I recently attended your show at the Planet Hollywood Casino in Las Vegas and, I have to say, I was very impressed.  Your ability to use suggestion and manipulation to extract otherwise unknowable information from the audience was truly astonishing and for that I feel I owe you a special congratulations.

I am lying (but you already knew that).  In fact, I do not wish to congratulate you any further than you already did during the five minute video montage that opened your show.  You know, the one that featured poorly taken photos of you with celebrities you met at parties and highlighted the local morning programs you appeared on in the early aughts?  What am I saying?  Of course you know!

Here, let’s try this.  Guess what I’m thinking and then I’ll write it out at the beginning of the next paragraph.  Let’s see if you’re right.  (No peeking. . . not that you need to!)

I loved the third part of your act.

Didn’t see that coming, did you?  It’s true, though, I swear.  As you know, your show is broken up into four parts.  You tell the audience that there are three, but as we all experienced, the third portion is not actually your final trick, but rather an extended period of recounting your accolades, name dropping, and pitching your DVD.  Let me tell you, nothing gears people up for a finale like a lengthy sales pitch, especially when those people are only attending your show in the first place because they received free tickets during the four hour timeshare explanation they sat through earlier that day.  (I assume you already knew that, yet you did it anyway.)   I was especially captivated at the point when you ran out of things to commend yourself on and simply muttered “. . . David Letterman”.  Using my own mentalism skills in that moment, I sensed the audience collectively thinking, “This is awkward” (which apparently you didn’t pick up on).

Of all your clever manipulations, however, I have to say that my favorite was your misdirection between “The Mentalist” (the short-lived reality show you starred in) and “The Mentalist” (the CBS prime-time drama).  As you explained—and also detail on your website—you are the inspiration for the title character of CBS’s “The Mentalist”, as well as the creator, executive producer, and star of “The Mentalist”.  Now, for all I know, the first part may actually be true.  After all, you are not just a mentalist, but “The Mentalist”, implying that you are the one and only, or perhaps just the best, much on par with other Las Vegas stars such as David “The Magician” Copperfield and Carrot “The Comedian” Top.  However, I can definitely confirm that you are not the creator, executive producer, or star of CBS’s “The Mentalist”, though obviously that’s what you’d like to convince your audience to believe.  (But you already knew that).

You are not this man, Gerry.

I don’t mean to totally discredit you, as you are honestly a very good entertainer and truly gifted at your craft.  I wish you continued success, regardless of whether or not you ever reach the pinnacles you already portray as reality.  I guess when it comes down to it what I’d like to say is, “Good act.”

At the Beginning of This Letter You Were Predicting a Complimentary Close,

t.j.