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Edi-turd's note: This is not a new list of band names. As the title suggests, it is a tasteless trip in to the rather flavorful mucus clogging my head. You'll need a strong stomach to proceed.
It's been a while. . . sue me. Truth is, I ain't felt much like nothin'. A glob of green slime has taken-up residence in my frontal lobe, and try as I might, I ain't been able to evict it. It feels like someone took an ice pick and jammed it up my left nostril. A searing pain sort of radiates from there and encompasses what's left of my face.The past week and a half I've washed down three Benedryl with a shot of Nyquill and drifted into a medically induced coma by 8:30, only to wake up around 1am and do it all again.If we weren't so damn short at work, I would have called in sick days ago. But the holiday season brings on all manner of off-time, and those who are left have to pick up the slack. . .Sorry, had to spit. Not even Crayola has a name for what just came out of me. Remember the old spin painters when we were kids? Imagine a dollop of blue, yellow, green and just a dab of red sitting on the center when you turned it on -- delicious.Where was I? Picking up the slack . . .yes. I cough and wheeze my way through each day, wiping the fungus flowing from my nose on the sleeve of my station fleece . . . hell, I'd wipe it on a flaming yule log that would make it go away.Outside ain't so bad. Something about the cool temps and the humid air seem to mollify the drip. But as soon as I hit the door my nasal passages leak all the way to my belt. I may just start wearing a bib like I put on my kids while they were teething. By the end of the day, my goatee is glazed.At night, it's another Bene-quill cocktail or two.It's a good thing I don't whine when I get sick, or the STW would have thrown my ass out a week and a half ago.
It's not much of a secret. Lately, I've had thoughts of flushing this shitty screed. The new restrictions I've placed on myself since my diarrhea of the mouth landed me in time out have taken some of the fun out of waxing craptastic. But Friday gave me hope and has liberated the turd-nation.No longer must turdiacs cower in the corner or hide in the dark as they peruse their guilty. Friday, TV Jobs, the industry's employment clearinghouse, added a slice of respectability to this fecal-colored page with a link to a recent post.Right on the front page, next to names like Broadcasting and Cable, USA Talent, The Bakersfield Californian, CBS News, the Fil-Turd waved proud.Now that I'm a legitimate news source and all, I gotta clean up my act, start using $10 words, get respectable. . . Wait we already got one of those in the photog nation. Guess I'll just go back to calling it like I see it, through shit-colored glasses.
I don't know who Mike Mcguff is, or how he stumbled onto this shitty site, but one mention on his media blog sent my lowly shitcounter spinning way into triple digits.Thanks Mike. I owe you a solid.And while I'm at it, I got give a solid to the folks at a like-minded site I fell across by accident.
With my propensity for shit-talking and my turdpolishing career, I don't know how I missed this one, but the folks at Dr. Guff's Turdpolish seem like a natural fit. The promotional info says the poo paste lovingly laid by Dr. Guff himself will put the shine on any crappy product. And in his bio, Doc claims to be an engineer who was constantly being directed to rush product design and development to meet an unrealistic deadline. Sounds like a broadcast professional if I ever heard one.
And since I'm all out of Turd-L-Wax, I ordered my first can of Dr. Guff's Turdpolish last night. I'll let you know if it gives the news that same high sheen I'm used to.And while I was at it, even though Swamp Ass season is almost over, I ordered a heaping jug of Anti-Swamp Ass Powder. But mostly as a novelty. You're gonna have to fight me for my Boudreaux's Butt Paste.
It's a feat never accomplished in the history of organized football -- even in the pros. A team goes up 21-0 without running an offensive play. It happened this weekend. Not on the plastic grass of paid professionals, or the groomed grid iron of the college ranks. Not on a high school football field in Cap City. No, it happened in the middle school game between the St. John Eagles and the St. Jean Vianney Gators. And it was something to behold.
Through the entire first half, the Gators ran exactly zero offensive plays and racked up three touchdowns. The defense returned one punt for a score. Intercepted a pass for another touchdown. And blocked a punt which they returned for another six.It brought me back to my days as bench warmer for the E.D. White Cardinals. I still remember Coach Mike Boyer, chaw firmly embedded in his cheek, egging us on. "110. 110. 110" Our pre-pubescent voices warbled and creaked in a chorus of middle school machismo. But I didn't sign in to reminesce about the my own grid iron glory (even if I did hold the record for most yards per carry on my 8th grade football team).
The Littlest Loaf Pincher is following in the big Turd's footsteps. An amazing feat when you consider he inherited his athletic ability from a man with the athletic prowess of Spanish moss.And follow in my foot-steps he did, right onto the kick-off team. That's where generous coaches put the guys too small or too slow for the first team.
That's him, number 34 tackling that Eagle schmuck who thinks he's going to score. Because it was a rout, he and the rest of the second string got to play a lot of defense.In this day of high-dollar heros and grid-iron gangstas cavorting and showboating on the field, it was good to see kids playing for fun. Sure, they wanted to win, but the Gators and the Eagles came to compete and shake hands at the end of it all. Something that is sometimes lost on coaches and parents in the stands.
And if Sunday's game is any any indication, the LLP may spend a lot less time on the bench than his old man.Now have I ever told you about how I earned a 6 yards per carry against the Sisters of Pain and Agony 5th graders? Don't laugh, those girls were HUGE. . .
Not since Eddie Van Halen ripped off brother Alex's guitar and began shredding has a rock band made such a splash on the music scene. Well, maybe I'm drinking the Kool-Aid.
Ya see, a few months back, sports dood rounded up a few hard-rock wannabes in an attempt to live out his life's dream: fronting a rock band. After a couple hastily arranged practices, the guys threw together a playlist right out of I Love the 80's, and a band was born. The only detail left was a name.
A rose by any other name might smell as sweet, but in rock and roll, the name is everything. Don't believe me? Ya think Deep Pink could have rocked Smoke on the Water? Would Molting Crew have ever been bad enough to Shout at the Devil? Would you have followed Floyd the Barber to The Dark Side of the Moon? I think not.So when it came time to name the band, these brave souls left it to the photog staff. Not a good idea. Ya see, I've also always wanted to be in a rock band, but I couldn't carry a tune if it had a handle. But I've made great use of the copious amounts of downtime we find in this business hanging around court houses, outside meetings, and kicking the curb at the cop shop. I've got a list of really cool band names.
As a joke, I suggested my favorite. Spoojitzu.
But something happened after it was summarily laughed off the big blackboard of band names in the practice garage. Sports dood began to take a liking to the sound. "We're Spoojitzu. See you next tour."
With one week to the big debut, it looked like a lock. Until someone in the band clued him in to the joke.The band debuted under the name SoundBYTE. Appropriate for a bunch of TV guys making a lot of noise in a barroom. The Burbank Road tour wrapped up this weekend. My ears are still bleeding. 
As to why Josh Meeks is swinging boxers over his head? Let's just say he's got a thing for sweaty singers.
I GOT A TAWWDY! (Actually, I'm not sure what it's called, but hey, who am I to turn down an award?)First I'd like to thank the Academy for this prestegious icon. Next, I must say thanks to Brian at newshutr's views for the nommination. You know, it ain't every day that a lowly shit shiner gets to set his eyes on something as lovely as a cartoon picture of a cubic zirconia statuet.Next, I would be remiss if it didn't thank all the little people who helped along the way. Now that I'm famous, I'll be forgetting I ever knew you. But a year from now, when no one remembers my name, I'll be back bumming a five spot for a cup of Starbucks. Actually, it's cool that folks think the blog is the shit. The way Brian explains it, a Tawwdy is the drunken brainchild of a friend of his. He ships Tawwdies off to folks whose blogs he finds "brillante." But there's a catch. Now I gotta pay it forward. So without further waste of electrons, here's my Tawwdy list, which, along with the aforementioned five spot will get you an overpriced cup-o-joe at a soon-to-be-vacant Starbucks near you.Viewfinder Blues Stewart "Lenslinger" Pittman is The Don of the blogging photog "family." Pith, smarm, and big words abound on his groundbreaking site. You can blame him for this site and all the other photogs who think they can write. Lenslinger cranks out missives from the mundane to the macho. Whether he's tiptoeing around the widow's porch or lugging his stix on a tripod safari, Stewart makes you wanna be a photog, even if you already are one.beFrank Brian Frank is the true anti-Turd. A cool guy with a great attitude that loves the TV business. Jump on his site and tag along in the sat truck as Brian does what it takes to get the story on the air. And the dood can shoot. One day, he'll rule the world.tvnewsgrapevine Run by reporter coach Randy Tatano, this site is full of the do's and don'ts of the business. Randy serves up common sense solutions to newsroom delimmas, and he does it with the same wit and dry sense of humor that made him one of my favorite all-time reporters.Stuff White People Like Take a walk on the mild side as the creators of this site poke fun at everyone lacking melanin. Written with a anthropologic bent, this site is a hoot and a first class primer for anyone looking to befriend a white person.Skitzo Leezra A look at life from the feminine side -- sort of. Leezra is the kind of girl most guys wanna to hang with. She's loud. She's bawdy. She's hot. At least that's what comes through in her writing. Skitzo covers topics as diverse as dating, rednecks, pop culture, and news. Check her out if you got the balls.Hippieville SPX Leave it to professional smart-ass El Guapo to deconstruct the life of a sports photog. From the Olympic trials, to the joys of biking around town, to the hippies that make his hometown of choice so damn much fun, Guapo's site is a hoot. But if you stop by, be ready for a foul-mouthed diatribe or two. Just the way I like it.Toucey Land So you think you got it tough? Try being the mother of three. I met Hillary Toucey on a shoot about the ultimate LSU Fan, her then 3-year-old autistic son, Eli. Since then, we've kept in touch through this blog. Now, Hillary has started a blog of her own. Take a break from the business of life and learn what really living is about. Hillary reminds us all that life ain't about what you got, but what you give. Her posts from the hectic life of a mother of three will make you laugh and cry at the same time. Check her out.Senator's Forum Fellow photog Big Rob Hollins is casts a big shadow whether in his favorite spot on the floor of the Louisiana State Capitol, or scanning the streets for random Pookie and Ray-Ray sightings. Say what you want on his blog, but make sure it's in the form of a question, did you know?
Sorry it's been a while, but the STW has been cracking the whip on this home remodle project. Starting the third week and the Master Suite is coming along. Got the ceramic floors in the bathroom, vanity, and closet and the wood in the bedrooom all this weekend.
Yeah, I said wood. But I'm too damn tired to do anything about it.Enjoy an old link while I'm sleeping it off.
When it comes to handymanliness, I inherited a couple genes. Oh, I can handle a little rough carpentry, some painting. I can lay tile with a little help, and I have yet to electrocute myself changing a light switch. But when the Missus decided it was time to remodel our bedroom I was a little apprehensive.We've re-done the rest of the house. I knew I could handle our bedroom. It was the our bathroom that had me sweating bullets. I knew the crappy wall tiles around the tub, and a leaky bathtub/shower faucet were going to be the death of me.Ever the trooper, the Missus took to deconstructing the bathroom wall while I was out. (Figures she and Krusty would take the fun part) When I got home, the bathroom was down to the studs and my task lay exposed. Remove the old faucet, put in place when the house was built in 1974, and replace it with a new, un-leaky one.I hate plumbing. Nothing ever works like it is supposed to the first time I put it together. Something always leaks. I always cuss. And that's with PVC. When it comes to copper pipes. I scream like a little girl.I figured it was as good a time as any for some male bonding, so I called in the big guns to help. Pappa Turd showed up early with all his assorted tools. We shut off the water and commenced to sweatin' -- the pipes to remove the old faucet.Then it was off to the giant Lowes-rent hardware store for a new one.
Back a the ranch our open pipe just laughed when they saw what we had in store. Assembly was easy. Sweating the shit back together was a bitch. Eight hours and 80,000 trips to the water main later. The damn thing still leaked.Plumber showed up the next morning, disassembled our mess, installed new copper, and reassembled the whole damn thing in 20 minutes.Guess who won't be installing our new tub.
I didn't know there was such a thing. The Swami of the Story Idea over at tv news grapevine juts hepped me to the fact that it's National Take a Photog to Lunch Week. I remember Randy Tatano when he was buying ice-cream for sweaty photogs in Mobile, Alabama. Tatano's joined the legion of suits that like to make a living telling others how to run their business, but unlike others, he hasn't forgotten what he learned on the steets. Namely, that the way to a photog's heart is through his gullet.I'm gonna get Randy's post drafted into the form of a resolution and speed it over to the Senator's Forum post haste. Maybe we can make it official. Wonder if Hallmark has shit-brown cardstock.
Sorry to interrupt the expose on turd production so soon into series. With recent developments it would be easy to surmise that my big mouth has gotten me into trouble again. Thanks for your concern, but I was on vacation . . . a planned one.
Last Saturday, Team Polisher packed the turd-brown Taurus and headed to the land of hayseeds . . . No, not Lower Livingston. I'm talking real hillbillies . . . Gatlinburg, Tennessee where the only way to tell between a local and a tourist is to count teeth. We hooked up with the pretty side of the family for a week of good ole American consumerism.
The family spent weeks researching the best secluded cabin to stick 15 Coonasses, and settled on one far away from anyone else. The view was spactacular. The hike to the creek extreme. The drive to town long. Everything was perfect . . . until we tried to shower.The water was less than fragrant. In fact, it smelled like it had been run through a sweaty photog's ass before hitting the shower head. When anyone in the 5-bedroom uber-house turned on a faucet, the resulting odor sent coonasses scattering for the doors like cockroaches at the apocalypse.We were determined not to let a little ass-water funk up our entire vacation.
We hitched a ride with Smoky Mountain Outdoors.
Hiked Cade's Cove
up to Abram's Falls.
Jumped on an ATV or 5 to take in the back country.
We took in a couple shows,
Rode horses, raced go carts, bungee jumped, sling-shot a few cousins over the strip, sky dove in one of those wind tubes, and packed as much family action as possible into 5 days.Yesterday, we returned to the Polisher ranch. After 11 hours on the road, unpacking, washing seven days worth of clothes for four, the STW and I snuggled into bed exhausted. The light-hearted days of Gatlinburg a distant past. The stresses of returning to work a looming reality. Mrs. Polisher even said so.I cocked one leg and farted. Now our bedroom smells just like our cabin, and we can have a little vacation every time we have beans for supper.
November marks the beginning of wrestling season on the Polisher Ranch, and after a killer rookie season, the St. Michael Warrior Wrestling team is expecting a lot from Krusty the Kid. Last year, Krusty was happy enough just to wrestle. This year, things are different.
He ain't happy unless he's sticking some spandex to the floor.
So from now until mid-February, you can find me in a high school gym screaming my lungs out at a room full of sweaty high school boys.
