First off I want to apologize for my blogging tardiness. Alas the 4am puppy alarm clock that is on 7 mornings a week here at the FrankenGreco ranch forces an early rack time (not something I’m a fan of by the way as there is a little bit of vampire in me).

Anyway back I am and a little bit older as I celebrated another birthday last week. I realize they do come every year, amazingly right around the same time, but these days, as I’m sure some of you would attest, it seems to happen a little faster than would be liked. So when I went to get my hair cut a couple of days later the additional request that I get now on a regular basis from the stylist as to whether I would like my eyebrows and ears trimmed pained me a touch more than usual.

But for the birthday I took my Maria to see the Yankees down at their new digs. Not brand spanking new anymore but new to Maria as she hadn’t been down there since it opened. Now for those who know me well or actually for those who know me only casually or for those who just pass me in the street I’m sure you’re saying “You took your Maria where for your birthday Frankenberry?” To Yankee Stadium? Yes I did. “But don’t you hate the Yankees?” As a matter of fact I do, to the core of my being. “You did say it was your birthday right?” That I did and that it was. “But isn’t whoever is playing the Yankees your second favorite team?” Yes, but to stop you before you talk again because you’re annoying me now I took my Maria to the game on my birthday because I realized it was probably the only chance we would have for her to see her boys this summer. She gladly weathers at least one boring (for her) Bucco/Met game with me every summer so it was the least I could do. Maria is a big Yankee fan and I’m the only non-Yankee fan she’s ever dated (which I am reminded of often) so she misses out on that relationship camaraderie of cheering and hugging and high-fiving precious victory moments together that only shared fandom and relationship building can bring. I know she misses such bonding too because last fall she asked if I would join her to watch the last out of the Yankees World Series victory and cheer them on for her sake. She even played the tried and true “If you love me” guilt card. I left the room. I know, I’m not good at this.

So I thought I’d take her to see a game, let her check out new the ballpark and if I did so on my birthday all the better for me to maybe build a little bridge over those troubled shared fandom waters and alleviate some of that “If you love me” guilt. Plus with it being my birthday I figured I would get at least one $400 beer gratis…but then I felt more guilt and paid for everything. I even bought beers for Val (from Mix 97.7) and her friend who went with us, big Yankee fans both. Yes, guilt slides.

Maria enjoyed herself, though, as well as Val and her pal. For my own piece of mind I did tell them that I would be rooting for the Mariners, which I did, and then I quietly left our seats to hang out by the men’s room (I felt a pee coming was my excuse) as the painful sea of blue and white rose and cheered the great Mariano for the last out. But the gals were happy with their day and victory and we closed things out at my favorite watering hole, Maroney’s Hub in Beacon, at my request, for some wings and a few beers that were on somebody else. Thank you J.J. It was, in the long run, a good day and I think my Maria still loves me, Yankee fan or not. Doubly good.
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Now you have to be really loaded to be rocking to these guys, who are so good that everybody at the show must be at the bar with their backs to the racket because look how long it takes for someone to get to miss face down.

http://www.ebaumsworld.com/player.swf

…and round one goes to Cat!

http://embed.break.com/MTg3MjI4MA==
Genius Cat Uses Forcefield Against Dog – Watch more Funny Videos

“…Ohhhhh that feels sooooo good it makes me feel a little evil…awwwww yes…bring out the devil in me!!!”

Serene and terrifying at the same time…

There is cute (yes i’m confident enough in my masculinity to use the word cute…right honey?) and then there is this.

You know sometimes the best comedy doesn’t get written solely from the mind of the author. As he or she draw on facets of everyday life they find humor and then do their best to poke fun and be as original as possible within the confines of whatever subject it is they are lampooning. It is work.

But sometimes, as I mentioned above, the occasion, or occasions arise that make the work of writing comedy easier, and less work, because, well, the details just write themselves in a “you can’t make this stuff up” kind of way. Anything Sarah Palin for instance or in this case, my current subject, Tyra Banks.

Here are the easy details. Tyra is writing a book. Not just one book, mind you, but a series of them. About models. In a fantasy world where models rule the land. See? I’ve only given you the basics and you’re already snickering. Keep in mind, amidst your chuckling, that I haven’t really written anything yet.

In this fantasy land where models rule (don’t they already?) Tyra is going to call them “intoxibellas.” In what, I’m sure, was a flash bulb moment of inspiration she has combined the words ‘intoxicating’ and ‘bella’ to produce a powerful heroine who is in control of all that she surveys and most probably too much for any man to deny. They, according to Tyra, will have superpowers and have “edgy, sexy, exciting adventures.” Again, I haven’t really written anything yet.

The land they inhabit, one of models, does need a name though. Yet again I’m not really required to write anything as Tyra has already supplied the name for her fantasy world. This, probably, for Tyra was a little more of a labor (the flash bulb of inspiration for “intoxibellas” having worn her out) but she was able to come to literary genious once more and see that a grand land ruled by models would be a land of models, or, a “Modelland.” Brilliant!

Thank you Tyra. You have given this simple writer five paragraphs of material without having to actually write anything.

“Hey did you hear Tyra’a writing a novel?…Thank you…Thank you…I’m here all week, try the veal.”

I look forward to the Oprah “O” of approval and waiting in line.

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Though fans of Glenn Beck wouldn’t understand while reaching for a gun this is absolutely brilliant. Though of course it is Lewis Black, so that’s kind of a given.

<td style='padding:2px 1px 0px 5px;' colspan='2'Back in Black – Glenn Beck’s Nazi Tourette’s

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon – Thurs 11p / 10c
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So we’ve added to the menagerie here at the Franken-Greco Ranch, the furry one, much to the dismay of Bob, my sleep, if it were to be personified. The additions go by the names Jackson and Brady. In the animal kingdom they are simply classified as canines. At the Ranch they are classified as “Jackson, that’s my chin!” and “Brady! No not there…sigh…honey!…more paper towels!”

Yes, we have added puppies to the mix of animals that I’ve already aquainted you with here in the attic, Shana (existing Maria and Jagger dog) and Benny and Shoes (existing Steve cats). There is a certain dismay on their parts as well, as the mad rush of curiosity towards any of the three, should there be face to face or nose to butt scurrying, is usually met with cries, yelps, hisses and the occasional “talk to the paw ya’ baastaads!” It can be a fun disarray, though I’m sure if any of the three existing furry ones could talk “fun” wouldn’t be a word in the conversation and words I shouldn’t use here would.

Maria and Jagger had wanted to add a puppy to the gang for the longest time while I was a touch more, shall we say, reticent. I was pretty happy with the existing mix especially with the fact that after 3 + years together they had finally reached an almost peaceful coexistence. Shoes and Shana had never really had a problem with each other except for the occasional “Hey! Get out of my ass!” but Benny was the much harder sell. Eventually though, Benny seemed to find a comfortable place in his distate of the fact that every morning that slobbery mess was still here, maybe even licking my face. So for the longest time I was able to keep at bay the inevitable puppiness with logic, reason, time concerns and even finances. Soon though all I had left was “wait until spring.” Well, calendars and tax returns have an annoying habit of keeping up with the march of time.

So we went to visit the puppy at the apartment of Cait, the New Paltz student fostering him. (Note: I said “puppy” in the singular for the moment). Maria said we had to make sure that he was right for us, in my mind I responded “well, unless when we get there he’s eating his foster care mom’s face, he’s, well, a puppy.” I also had been told that his current name was Stevie which, I guess, in a vain way, had warmed me to him even before we met. I also had acceptance at this point and 3 groundrules laid out with the two puppy perps. 1. I was not to become the main puppy caretaker, 2. The attic would remain off limits and the refuge of myself and my boys as they were sure to be driven northwards and 3. That the two of them were not allowed to get pissed off at me if the puppy liked me too much. (it is often claimed at the ranch here by the two of them that I “stole” their dog…Ah, Shana loves her Stephen).

With this in hand I, we ventured into Cait’s apartment, said our hello’s and made our way over to the pee-pee pads, towels and pillows set up behind a gate in the apartment’s kitchen. As we peered down behind the gate we saw a napping Stevie all snug on a soft black pillow. As a first puppy meeting it was as cute as cute could be, especially when Stevie peered up at us, gave a little yawn and stretched with sound. Then his soft black pillow did the same. Stevie had a brother pillow. Puppy became puppies. I silently said “son of a bitch.”

Well, here we are again at the Franken-Greco Ranch, with this new true menagerie of fur and human all learning anew to coexist. I now, though, have 3 alarms in the morning. One at 5:30am, which I don’t set on the clock that involves a waking, yawning, barking excitement, replete with a pee and return for breakfast followed by another pee and a poop. A second alarm is set on a clock for the less furry with a waking, yawning, growling 10 year old’s discontent, replete with a pee, clothes, a tooth brushed or two and a school bus. The third alarm is also set on a clock for another less furry with a waking, yawning, and occasional curse, replete with a trip on a dog toy, a pee, shower, and a car to work.

For the 3 groundrules? #1 has been bent but not broken as the puppy perps are doing their job at the end of the day.

#2 remains steadfast, though the gate is only puppy tall at the moment. That one remains up in the air.

#3 may be a matter of time, though, for now, the licking, the chin biting and the squirmy lap time loving has been distributed pretty equally.

As to Bob, my sleep? He doesn’t like me much.

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Now this is one Kool Kat on the dance wall!