But I like to think of this thread as a place where we can all get in touch with our Inner Redneck.
You know y’all got one.
Moving to Virginia? But you’re in Arlington! Maybe you’ve moved to Virginia, but you have yet to set foot in … Vuhjinya.
I mean, in Arlington you must be a two-hour drive from the nearest bait shop but no more than walking distance from a meal of hummus, kimchi and falafel.
(Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Besides, a two-hour drive in Arlington only gets you five blocks anyways.)
Arlington? I mean, even get a couple hours outside the Beltway and you might be in Virginia horse country. That’s an area that still bears the terrible scars of memories of a Northern invader. Yes, I’m talking about (shudder) Kennedys. Historians say they once hung out in the area to horse around – in more ways than one.
Now, if you really want to see the real state, you should make a pilgrimage to Bumpass, Virginia.
Not that I’ve ever been to Bumpass, Virginia. I just love the fact that there is a Bumpass, Virginia.
That’s your back yard?
But I’m not seeing any yard. Where do you put the pig cooker? You need to get you some fill dirt.
(Looks up Sturgeon Bay.)
Okay, you’re going to need a lot of fill dirt.
So let’s just make do with this sandy patch along the beach there. I’ve designed a master plan for duding out your yard in straight guy style. The picture looks kind of dark, so first order of business is to string up some lights. Then I figure the entrance to it ought to look something like this.
Now since you’re in Wisconsin, I figure you’ve already got the appropriate headgear. If you’re a traditionalist, you could always go with some plain old pink flamingos. But I found these, which apparently are mutant flamingos that can blow a plume like a blue whale. Or maybe they’ve developed the ability to skunk-spray their enemies. Either way, they’re kind of scary, actually.
But because you’re in Wisconsin, that opens the possibility of the scariest yard ornament of them all. Man, I thought some of them Tiki statues was weird, but this one would give me nightmares. If I had me one them, I’d customize it with a scale model of Tokyo around the feet. And plastic tanks being crushed and melted.
A’course, you’ll want a for-real, authentic tiki mama statue. You might have trouble telling it from the cow, though.
'Fraid I’m not going to be much help here, Newcrasher. All I really know is that you should avoid them lightweight chews they put out for beginners. That’s like trying to prove your drinking credentials with a bottle of Boones Farm or a can of Zima. (Come to think of it, I’m not sure what I had was Zima or somebody’s spit cup.) As for disposable spit cups – good idea. I proved this with a buddy once. Sometimes he’d pick up chicks at the bar, and sometimes he couldn’t buy a date. So I asked him to keep track of one little variable: how did he do on the nights his spit cup was sitting there? You could see the lightbulb go on over his head.
Of course, he did pick up some chicks on the night his spit cup was out, but you’d pretty much want the Orkin man to check those ones out first.
Me, I’ve always had mixed feelings about chew since I was a kid riding with my grandpa, who put an old coffee can on the bench seat of his Ford pickup. His spit can. He didn’t empty it often enough to suit polite society, either. I dreaded the idea that he’d take a corner too sharp and I’d be hit with a sputum tsunami. I prayed to the dashboard Jesus that if we were in a wreck, to just let me die. I didn’t care to emerge covered in the contents of PeePaw’s spit can.
After all these years, I found out where he emptied all those cans.
It’s now a Superfund site.
I might be. You wouldn’t happen to be mostly female, would you?
Never can tell in a thread like this.
Are we in a Band Name thread?
I want to thank you for your, ahh, proposed landscaping layout. Capital. I’ll make sure the local neighborhood association approves, check with the DNR (Wisconsin Dept of Resources) and the Feds, since Lake Michigan is their territory, get all the required permits, and take out a small, nuclear loan. Should be no problem. Then we’ll shoo off the gulls, drain the lake, and get right to work on construction. With any luck, we’ll be interrupted by an oil discovery.
You forgot the large sign giving you credit. I’ll make sure it is carved out of cheese and posted on the biggest cow-pile.
Andy, I almost forgot. I will have to move my 8-foot cow statue, "Cookie,"around from my back yard to the front. That should match the Tiki Gods you have planned.
Dear Straight Eye Guy -
Ever since we got married, my wife and I have been having a discussion, and sometimes it gets serious.
She is not sure where the relationship is going. Yes, she loves me, and we have a lot in common. We both love our kids, and we have pretty good jobs, but sometimes she wonders if there isn’t more to our lives than we now can see. “Are we really right for each other?”, she asks me sometimes. “Do we really bring out what is best in each other, and lead each other to grow? Or are we throwing away real, present happiness in favor of some imaginary Hollywood ideal?”
My question is, who do you like for the World Series this year?
Regards,
Shodan
Dear Straight Guy,
I live in a small town without a proper dance club. The biggest club here in town is a warehouse size Country bar. Inside this bar is a smaller room where they play dance music. But you have to pass through the larger country dance side to get to it.
If I wear my Catcher t-shirt to the dance club, will the Jethros in the country side know what it means? How should I disguise my somewhat flamboyant self so as not to get my ass kicked on the way through the mass of cowboy boots and big-haired women?
Sincerely,
Homebrew
Dear Straight Guy,
I’ve got a little problem with ethics. Should my coon dog Jake be in the front seat with me when I’m driving my F150 to the race track, or should he be in the bed? I could slide open my back window and let him crawl in and out as it suits him, but I’ve usually got my 30 aught 6 and my 12 guage on the gun rack, and the only time I ever took them down was to put up my Dale Earnhardt number 3 car lights for Christmas.
You watch baseball? What about Irish Hurling?
While a coon dog in the bed of a truck is a long-standing and cherished tradition, you must think of safety. He is, after all, a loyal and valuable animal whose life is entrusted to your care.
So let him ride in the cab with you.
Have your mother-in-law ride in the back.
Dear Homebrew:
Never underestimate the density of straight guys when it comes to gay slang. If it hasn’t been picked up on “The Man Show,” you’re probably safe.
But if “Catcher” means what I think it means (and I think I know, because I saw “Looking for Mr. Goodbar”) then you might want to have a contingency plan before wearing it to that particular nightspot. Say you’re on your way to the smaller room when some guy asks you about shirt, with a hostile look in his eye. You could turn to a group of even tougher guys nearby and say, “Oh, man, we got us a guy here who seems to know an awful lot about gay slang.” While the results could be very rewarding, I can’t promise that it won’t involve cussing, gunplay or beer-bottle squalls.
So I have a better idea. Get you one them shirts with Velcro lettering. Then spell out “Hatcher” on it. Guys will think you’re a fan of Teri Hatcher. When you get to the back room, sub the “C” for the “H” and you’re there, with your Catcher shirt, no sweat.
In fact, you could get real creative with this. Before you go to the bar, take the shirt and spell out LeAnn Rimes. She’s a real sweetie. Then when you get to the dance room, you can re-arrange the letters to say “men nailers.” It will also spell out “male sinner.” Or, depending on your mood, “ream linens.”
Or spell out “Merle Haggard.” Hey, no one could quibble with that, right? In the dance room, it nicely re-arranges to say “large, hard gem.” Or “me gargle hard.” If the crowd out front prefers Dwight Yoakam, you can turn him into “gay width amok.”
Want song titles? Take the Travis Tritt classic “Here’s a quarter” and it spell “rather as queer.” And don’t forget the duo of Brooks & Dunn. Ditch the ampersand, and it spells “nob rod sunk.” Which, if I understand things right, is about the same thing as “catcher” anyway.
Of course, as you get progressively drunker, you’ll probably wind up spelling things so that you can read them – looking down – so it’s upside down to everyone else. Can’t help you there. You might wind up spelling out something really obscene in leet-speak. But since they don’t serve 14-year-olds at most bars, you should be okay.
Dear Straight Guy,
I have so many fond memories of my father staring at sports for hours on the television, cursing referees and umpires (and my mother and I if we had the nerve to interrupt him). But my husband is focused on Japanese anime.
Now granted the big-busted babes and panty shots do make me suspect this may be an acceptable subsitute. And when the thinner girls all turn out to be guys I just shrug it off. But is there any way I can make my husband’s viewing habits conform to the guy ideal?
Dear Straight Guy with an Eye,
I’ve been thinking of becoming a metrosexual.
Right now, I’m your pretty run-of-the-mill straight guy-- my home, my wardrobe, etc. pretty much fit the bill as “straight guy stuff.”
But damn I look good in eyeliner.
What are your thoughts?
Happy
Hey straightguy,
Hurling is a game similar to hockey, in that it is played with a small ball and a curved wooden stick. It is Europe’s oldest field game. When the Celts came to Ireland as the last ice age was receding, they brought with them a unique culture, their own language, music, script and unique pastimes. One of these pastimes was a game now called hurling. It features in Irish folklore to illustrate the deeds of heroic mystical figures and it is chronicled as a distinct Irish pastime for at least 2,000 years.
The stick, or “hurley” (called camán in Irish) is curved outwards at the end, to provide the striking surface. The ball or “sliothar” is similar in size to a hockey ball but has raised ridges.
Hurling is played on a pitch approximately 137m long and 82m wide. The goalposts are the same shape as on a rugby pitch, with the crossbar lower than a rugby one and slightly higher than a soccer one.
You may strike the ball on the ground, or in the air. Unlike hockey, you may pick up the ball with your hurley and carry it for not more than four steps in the hand. After those steps you may bounce the ball on the hurley and back to the hand, but you are forbidden to catch the ball more than twice. To get around this, one of the skills is running with the ball balanced on the hurley To score, you put the ball over the crossbar with the hurley or under the crossbar and into the net by the hurley for a goal, the latter being the equivalent of three points.
Each team consists of fifteen players, lining out as follows: 1 goalkeeper, three full-backs, three half-backs, two midfielders, three half-forwards and three full-forwards.
Players wear a jersey with their team colours and number on the back. Both teams must have different colour jerseys. The goalkeepers’ jerseys must not be similar to the jersey of any other player. Referees normally tog out in black jerseys, socks and togs.
Goalkeepers may not be physically challenged whilst inside their own small parallelogram, but players may harass them into playing a bad pass, or block an attempted pass.
Teams are allowed a maximum of three substitutes in a game. Players may switch positions on the field of play as much as they wish but this is usually on the instructions of team officials.
Officials for a game comprise of a referee, two linesmen (to indicate when the ball leaves the field of play at the side and to mark ‘65’’ free kicks and 4 umpires (to signal scores, assist the referee in controlling the games, and to assist linesmen in positioning '‘65’ frees).
A goal is signalled by raising a green flag, placed to the left of the goal. A point is signalled by raising a white flag, placed to the right of goal. A ‘45’/‘65’ is signalled by the umpire raising his/her outside arm. A ‘square ball’, when a player scores having arrived in the ‘square’ prior to receiving the ball, is signalled by pointing at the small parallelogram.
Just thought you’d like to know
Umm, uhhh… Buzkashi. Now there’s a game for real men.
No, no, no. I said Irish hurling, not hurling Irish.
Dear TeaRoses:
Thank you for your question.
I’m glad you addressed this issue. Open communication – that’s what marriage is all about, isn’t it? Never underestimate the power of talking about our lives, so we can arrive at a deeper and more fulfilling understanding.
And that is why I say …
Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!
We watch baseball and what happens? Women complain that we watch baseball! So we don’t watch baseball, and women complain … that we don’t watch baseball! And the kicker is that he is learning interesting lessons about a foreign culture. He is exploring their art and thought as reflected in popular entertainment. Tapping into the neo-mythological exploration of dystopian futures as they reflect the anxieties of a post-militaristic society grappling with its inherent dichotomies. Plus big-busted babes.
So it is your heartfelt desire that your man spend a lot of time watching baseball? I gotta say, you have officially established yourself at the Ultimate Dreamgirl of half the guys reading this.
But now, back to your homelife. If he’s watching an awful lot of anime, maybe he’s (heh, heh) turning Japanese.
Have you tried nagging?
Not that I think it will work. I just don’t want to suffer alone.
No, seriously. I think you should try to get into the spirit of this with your husband. Not just by watching anime with him. No, indeed, you ought to go one step further – by dressing up as Sailor Moon. I can’t think of any relationship that wouldn’t not be vastly improved by one or the other partner dressing up as Sailor Moon.
Then, when hubby is lying on the sofa, you can walk by – so he can look up your skirt – just like in real Japanese anime! Make his dreams come to life! Maybe you could build raised catwalks all throughout your house, just so he gets the view.
And I want to assure everyone that the link above is work-friendly. In searching for Sailor Moon costumes, I had to surf through a lot of them that weren’t. The things I do for you! (Before now, I never realized that so many people get turned on sexually by The Simpsons.)
And among the costumes that really caught my eye was the Sailor Heavy Metal Pappillion
I am sold already.
My eyes glazed over so badly at the thought of this that I actually read it four times before I realized they said “frabric.”
I guess they’re serious about that frabric business.
I gotta say, this is worth it alone for a “blue fuku flap.”
I got no idea what a “blue fuku flap” is. But I’m already having fantasies about giving a girl one.