Way back in the days of yore, about the end of April, I invested twenty bucks in some potting soil and a couple of those TopsyTurvy upside-down tomato planters.
It was springtime. My mind was full of dreams of July when I would be picking fresh, vine-ripe tomatoes and eating them right off the plant while they were still warm from the heat of the summer sun.
But then a few storms hit. My tomato plants were pummeled with rain, the new vines broken. Sure, they recovered. Tomatoes are hearty plants. But the combination of spring abuse and a relatively cool, cloudy and wet summer meant that it wasn't until late September that I would be able to enjoy the upside down fruits of my labor.
Today is a big, big day in our little corner of the blogiverse. It's a day we honor one of our own. One Mr. Xavier Onassis is coming face-to-face yet again with another year of his seemingly eternal misery.
Although we know today is his birthday (he's told us as much) nobody knows for sure how old XO actually is. We sent a DNA sample away for carbon dating (kudos to Keith for obtaining the sample, that couldn't have been pleasant) and the result pegged his birth to sometime in the late Triassic.
But today we come not to praise XO, but to bury him. A few of his best online friends have come together to present this bloggy birthday present.
Happy B-Day XO! Here's your Virtual Birthday Roast!!
You know how this works. We all submitted a few short remembrances of our favorite stories about XO. For example, there's the time when a slightly less geezery Xavier Onassis yelled at Moses to "Get off my lawn, ya' damn kids!"
In fact, Xavier Onassis is so old, he calls Walt Bodine "sonny."
Anyway, I don't want to hog the stage. Let me surrender the dais to some other people who have contributed their thoughts. Just remember, it's all done out of respect.
We kid, because we love.
"XO is still trying to figure out how to tweet with his abacus!"
"Legend in Ireland has it that Xavier Onassis was the model for all the Old World carved phallic stones, but he left for the New World when the Christians came and started carving crosses on every phallus they saw"
Absolutely Feisty says...
XO... Okay... I LUMI XO too much to ever provide you with an insult... but I will say this... XO IS the best friend I have ever had in my life. I am a better person for having met him. I consider myself a lucky person to know him. I tried all day to find an insult.. and as much as I do insult him in person... regularly =) Today, I am short of those words. I appreciate every fiber in his being.
okay... wait. lol I can't be the only one who doesn't have an insult... lol how about this...
XO is SO old... the only gift he could think to ask for was a video of Woodstock, as if those were the BEST days ever, and I'm not even sure in what city Woodstock was held... maybe my mom knows?"
Muddy Mo says ...
XO's idea of an exciting night is to sit and watch his leg fall asleep.
I was so impressed when I first met XO. He seemed so life-like.
XO is so old, his favorite porn download is "Debby Does Dialysis".
When XO dreams, everyone has @ symbols where faces should be.
People don’t invite XO out anymore — they go without him and livetweet him about it.
Shane says...
Eve's original sin: She was XO's first wife.
XO's an atheist. As a Christian, I'd have a problem with that but then again, he's old enough that he was around for the Creation, so he would know..."
Nightmare says...
XO was asked once "Boxers or Briefs?" he responded "Depends"
XO is so old that when he takes a walk in the park Trees salute him.
XO is an avid left wing anti Gun nut or as we like to call him.......Bait
Saying XO is a leftist liberal wing nut, not only is unfair to Wing nuts, but also means he is wrong.
XO is so cranky his hair died outta spite.
XO has a collection of Playboys dating back to when they were known as cave paintings.
XO was brought to the Florida Hospital ER with a fractured hip. The ER doctor knew that surgery would be in order for the patient
“Have you ever undergone surgery?” he asked.
“Yes,” XO said.
“Remember what type of surgery was it?”
“I’m not sure,” XO said. “It was a long time ago.”
The physician noticed a scar on the right side of XO’s abdomen. He pointed to the scar. “Is this where you had the surgery?” he asked.
“No,” said XO. “It was in Brooklyn.”
Cara says...
I'm not saying XO is old, but damn has he had his share of wives. When his first wife used to say, "get out the plastic" he'd get out a condom. When his second wife said, "get out the plastic" he'd get out his credit card. Now when a woman says "get out the plastic" he gets out his bed sheets.
from Doc...
It is said that one of the most unexpected things that happens to a man is old age. perhaps that's just a perspective thing: reading X.O. you just know he was old loooooong ago, perhaps as long as 20 years ago...when he was 40.
from what Spyder says, X.O.'s aging with a vengeance: first he just forgot the occasional name; next it was faces, followed closely by asses. Then, so Spyder swears, he started forgetting to pull up his zipper. Now he has now forgotten to pull it down...
Orwell once said that at 50 every man has the face he deserves. if that is the case, X.O must be ashamed of his. why else would he post an image of himself on his blog from 30 years ago?
but enough with the insults, a piece or two of advice, X.O. i barely remember when I turned 54. it is nowhere as bad as I had thought . sure, all of a sudden i had many, many little lit rooms inside my head, and people in them, acting out various conversations, plays and memories. that was the fun part. and, eventually, i got used to the fact that i knew all these people, but just couldn't quite put names to them. you'll adapt also. after all, as bush was heard to mumble between misunderestimating children books to himself, "Old age is no place for sissies."
Many happy returns on the day...as far as you know.
I'd pick on XO's age, but with that many digits it is too easy a target.
If we all pooled our nickles and dimes we could buy XO a dream present for his birthday, a trip to space. One way. I didn't say it was HIS dream present.
When emaw asked me to take part in this Eulogy, I jumped at the chance to say a few words over XO....What's that? He's not dead? Shit, and here I thought I wouldn't have to suffer through another, "Why conservatives suck" posts.
What can you say about a guy who is over a half a century old, who once drove an Ice Cream Truck, plays with swords, heh, and has been known to wear tights and a cape? I've checked the sex offender registry, so I can say "he's clean", at least in Missouri.
All kidding aside, Xo is a generous guy. I met him for lunch a couple of times. He left the waitress 50 cents and a jesus fish with the head bitten off.
And don't even get me started about XO and his Obama love fest. If XO was any more infatuated with the President, the Secret Service would have him under surveillance.
And lonely! Jaysus christ, this is one lonely fucker. Ladies, hookers, short balding men, send him an email. If I have to suffer through another of his Dating Website posts, I'll remove my eyes with a spoon. At one point he thought he had made a love connection. Her name was Lena. She had a wooden leg with a kickstand on it, a Star Wars Millennium Falcon tattoed on her ass, and was a card carrying member of the World Socialist Party. Then he found out she was also packin a light saber. XO don't play that, at least not since that drunken transgender drum circle back in the 70's.
I kid. Happy Birthday XO. Here's hoping you get everything you have coming to you, even if it means more taxes for the rest of us.
from Chris Packham...
I want to descend into old age gracefully, or at the very least not with a wet, farty splat on the pavement accompanied by a clattering spill of loose dentures and insulin injection paraphernalia. So I've been looking around for old-guy role models other than Colonel Sanders (I cannot tie a string tie) or computer-generated Orville Redenbacher (I cannot tie a bow tie). So when my grandchildren ask me why I'm wearing a Kangol hat with my Star Fleet dress uniform and my replica of Legolas' sword, the answer will pretty much be that George Clooney set way too high of an Old Guy standard and I had to lower my sights. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, X! --
from Erin...
XO is so old that the first time I met him he told me he would send me an Internet to tell me where his tube was in the series.
XO is so old he thought Tumblr was a dryer setting and Twitter was a part of the female anatomy.
XO is so old that back in his day kids didn't have computers, they just drew on the walls in their caves.
XO is so old that when AOL told him he had mail, he went outside to check.
So there you go, XO. We all did our best to make your birthday a memorable one. Sure, maybe you didn't get the Samurai sword or the Bugatti, but maybe next year.
At this time I would invite anyone else to say a few words of encouragement/condolence in the comments.
This quiz seems somehow apropos, what with all the blather and bluster about the supposed millions of parents supposedly keeping their supposed kids out of school earlier this week.
When a simian like me is scoring above 90 percent of the population, my friends we have trouble, right here in River City.
I suspect the latest brouhaha was severely overblown, and that the number of children absent from school was probably about the same as any other day when the president wasn't giving a speech. But let's face it, when nearly half of the participants can't even score 50% on this test, well we've got bigger problems than people not listening to presidential speeches.
Like a lot of people I gave an internal smile of satisfaction when I saw the video a couple of weeks ago of Sen. Barney Frank chastising a woman at a healthcare town hall meeting.
Like a lot of people who lack the topical knowledge or just plain smarts to make a good argument, the young woman in the video resorted to likening President Obama to Adolph Hitler. It's pretty well accepted that once you bring up Hitler or Nazis, you've pretty much lost the argument (unless you're arguing about whether Hitler could take Macho Man Randy Savage in a WWE Cage match, then I guess the Nazi references would be appropriate).
But the young woman in question brought upon herself the Barney Frank tongue lashing. She deserved it, and maybe she'll find a different, more appropriate and clever metaphor for her poster at the next healthcare town hall meeting (assuming someone lets her know what a metaphor is).
So yeah. Nice to see Frank callin' her out.
But then as I thought about it a little more, I realized I was feeling a twinge of ... something. There was something, I don't know, not quite right about the whole exchange (I mean aside from the obvious ridiculousness of the entire affair).
Then I realized that it was actually Frank who lost. By engaging the woman in the caliber of conversation with which she tried to engage him, Frank actually lost. He didn't realize that in this kind of un-argument, you can't win if you participate. That's a surprise given his vast political experience.
He took the bait and lowered himself to the level of the ad hominem.
Then, a few days later I was listening to a Planet Money interview with Frank that managed to completely erase what little respect I still had for him.
Planet Money's Adam Davidson interviewed Frank, chairman of the House Financial Services Committee, about trying to come up with a non-partisan way to address reforms aimed at preventing the kind of financial and regulatory crap casserole that allowed the recent global economic meltdown.
Frank's response was that he doesn't believe in non-partisan solutions.
"We're not dealing here with arithmetic. There is never going to be a consensus answer to what happens. You're not going to get calm, reasoned, bipartisan investigation," Frank said.
Frank proved himself to be a partisan bully. This is why there's so little hope for our country. The people in charge at the highest levels see this as some sort of game. What's important isn't finding the best solution and the best policy. What's important to them is scoring partisan points for their team.
The attitude has filtered into most of the politically aware society. The actual policies are irrelevant. People only care about associating with one side or the other and the petty "victories" those sides achieve.
That's why I took advantage of some interstitial time this morning to make a quick donation to the City of Overland Park.
I had just dropped my daughters off (one at school, the other at daycare) and was cruising to work down one of the many residential side streets near one of the many suburban school areas when it just occurred to me that, hey, I should make a random donation to The City.
Sure, I pay my taxes. But sometimes I think that's not enough. I mused, if only there were a way I could give a little more on top of that during these times when the mood strikes me.
That's when I realized that Overland Park has a method for me to do just that. For, as I drove down the street I noticed the familiar form of one of the Overland Park city police cruisers parked in the shade of a tree.
I was able to get his attention and get him to follow me a few hundred feet where he pulled up behind me. He put his flashing lights on and even made the effort to walk up to my car window to talk.
I explained the idea I had about wanting to donate a little more to the Overland Park general fund. I showed him my driver's license so that he knew I was indeed a resident of our fine burg. He inspected it briefly, then went back to his squad car for a moment.
When he returned, he notified me that he had a suggestion for my quandry. He provided me with a ticket, a sort of voucher, notifying me that I had the opportunity to donate $105 to the city sometime within the next 30 days. I had the option of visiting the municipal court to get a free tour and make my donation. But I could also choose to donate over the phone at my leisure.
And not only was I able to donate this small sum, but in return I was granted a one-time opportunity to exceed the posted speed limit by more than 10 miles per hour. It was lucky, since I had done just that mere moments before seeing the officer in his patrol car.
So it was a double win for me. Not only did I get a short thrill of driving 36 mph in a 26 mph speed zone, but I also received the personal satisfaction of making a small contribution to the financial security of Overland Park.
I just hope my random generosity will be an inspiration to you all in your daily commute.
I agree with Ze Frank on this health care so-called debate.
Calling the this a national debate is like calling a WWE match a "round table discussion." There's not really any discussion going on and everybody with half a brain knows the outcome was determined before it even started.
I was hoping my result on this quiz would be "Rita Arens," but I guess Tom Wolfe is a good enough second choice.
The Which Crazy Writer Are You? quiz
Tom Wolfe
Ah, the life of a wall flower. You get to hang out with the most interesting people - radio DJs, hot rodders, hippies, Hell's Angels, Wall Street tycoons, frat boys - and are completely happy putting them into the spotlight.
You're completely happy hanging back with your martini and your little notebook, jotting down all your little observations, in sight but out of mind. Sure, everyone at the party knows who you are - but do they know the real you? And, more importantly, if you want to fade into the background, what's with the bright white suit?
I've been thinking a lot about death recently, trying to process a lot of things that are too maudlin to get into around here.
But it's what my mood is these days.
Here's a clip from top-selling album "The Prophet" by Lebanese sensation Khalil Gibran that I've found particularly helpful. Just thought I'd share it along...
Death
Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."
And he said: You would know the secret of death. But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life? The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light. If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life. For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond; And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring. Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity. Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour. Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king? Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.
This morning I stopped at the Quick Trip for a morning cuppa before work.
It's on the way to the office and I have a refillable mug and the office coffee is worse than drinking turpentine (and I should know), so there's really no reason NOT to get my java fix.
Anyhoo, I head up to the counter with my hot Colombian Supremo (with a squirt of half&half) and pay the cashier. I get my change and turn to head out the door.
As I'm turning, I overhear the woman next to me say "... sorry, I don't have the extra two cents." Turns out her items cost a total of some number of dollars and two cents. I realized that when I received my change, part of it included two pennies.
Now was my chance to do a random good deed.
"Here you go," I said as I tossed the Lincoln's on the counter.
I got the expected "Thanks" and smile. And I felt pretty good about it I guess. But I didn't do this random act of kindness for the thanks, or the smile, or even the feeling of doing something nice for a complete stranger.
Rather, I did it for the chance to be able to say "No problem. It's just my two cents."
