Tingley All Over

Right Here, Right Meow

2007-07-12T20:11:00.001-07:00

Rap Cat (below) is far too long and it's kind of retarded, but ever since Henrietta Pussycat referenced herself in "meow" first person, it has made me laugh like crazy person. This has only been exacerbated by the fact that Jerrett and I have taken to speaking on behalf of Kabuki, my 1,200 year-old cat, in a voice that is somewhere between Henreitta Pussycat, a French whore and Andrew Dice Clay. Yep, two grown men sitting around the house giving narrative commentary in a slightly falsetto voice filled with lots of meows and swearing. Highlights include: "Fuck meow" and "Fill meow's food bowl already - bitches." It's hysterical and yet humiliating. There, our dirty laundry is now on the world wide interweb (sorry Jerrett). So remember, when it comes to sordid secrets, click no further than Tingley All Over!

Love, Love

Love as delightful, I mean shameful, as Rap Cat

Love Meow, er uh, Jef

What's Black & White & Redheaded All Over?

2007-06-06T21:15:00.000-07:00

It's me, reporting on the O.C.(that's the Oak Cliff, not the now defunct FOX TV Program about teen angst and beach parties).

Here's my first freelance piece for Oak Cliff People:

Neighborhood Questions Tree Trimming

Love, Love

Love as "scoopy" as a trip to Baskin-Robbins

Love Jef

Yolk Better Work!

2007-04-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

I totally understand the whole Joan of Arc driven by visions thing, except mine are usually related to crafting and costumes and not orders from God. Take for example our wild and crazy Friday night of egg dying with Pam and Anisha.

Anisha is known for her culinary expertise, and I am known for my love of the Easter treat hot cross buns (side note: yes, they really do exist outside of the cryptic childhood song), so I arranged a little barter system wherein Anisha and Pam would bring over hot cross buns and in exchange Jerrett and I would provide dinner, egg dying and all the accoutrement. Good times abounded. It was fun to see how everyone's mind worked when it came to decorating the egg with their own special flair.

Saturday morning, I took the crafting extravaganza one step further by styling tiny sets for each of the eggs. I liked to think of it as Americas Next Top Eggy Model. Naturally, I played the role of Tyra Banks explaining to the bowl full of dyed chicken embryo that only 12 of them would continue on with the hopes winning a trip to the PAAS factory, a year supply of peeps and a contract as the spokesman for the American Egg Board. Your vote can be cast in the comments section below, although I cannot guarantee that your favorite egg has not been eaten or given away.

Here are the resulting shots:

Group shot of the "girls" before eliminations began

They call me "Red"

Wrong Holiday (AKA the Bat Eggs - get it!)

Blurry Trindad Egg

Salam NamastEGG

Garish Ganesh

Rhine Stones Are an Egg's Best Friend

Little Orphan Eggy

And because I'm that guy who thinks that the dogs really want to be involved in holidays, I made sure to incorporate them in the festivities as well. Here we see the fat dog adding her own special twist to hiding eggs or perhaps the term "Easter Basket." The skinny dog was less compliant and insisted upon using her giraffe tongue to investigate Jerrett's 505 Egg (a shout out to our NM roots).

As I type this, South Park reveals the "Secret of Easter" in the style of the Da Vinci Code on my Tivo. Genius. Here's a review.

Love, Love

Love as "frills upon it" as my Easter Bonnet

Love, Jef

P.S.
Since I have driven my car right off the edge of crafter's cliff, here are a few pics of my latest projects. This is a painting I did that allowed me to melt wax with my heat gun. I'm thinking of calling it "Sexy Waxy." This is a tiny statue of Ganesh I made in preparation for the Bollywood Party we are throwing in May. Stay tuned for more on this, or you'll be "sari" you missed out - nyuck nyuck.

P.P.S.
If you are one of the few who hasn't seen the Alanis Morrisette torch song tribute to Fergie's "My Humps," I'm posting it below 'cause no one loves lovely lady lumps more than Tingley All Over:

Ha Ha Heredity

2007-02-22T21:03:00.000-08:00

I have a theory that sense of humor is a total genetic trait, like a silly chromosome slipping from banana peel to banana peel down the DNA ladder to the next unwitting generation. To illustrate this point, I will use myself and my father (Big Jeff with two f's) as a case study. Now 2-F Jeff is a delightful guy and a joy to be around, but he is genetically incapable of avoiding bad puns or corny jokes.

His best material goes a little something like this:

2-F: What kind of Fish has two knees?

Unsuspecting
Pun Recipient: I dunno, what kind?

2-F: A Tuneee fish (followed by pride-filled, uproarious laughter at his own wit)

Unsuspecting Pun Recipient: [tongue out and raspberry noise and/or an audible sigh]

As a child, I shared in his giggles over "Laffy Taffy" wrapper jokes and blonde-joke gems he had picked up from guys at work, but other humor snobs sat still faced to his delivery. And today as a 31-year-old, I still find myself smiling about the classic Tuneee Fish material or chuckling at an appalling low-brow e-mail he sends my way. In fact, I believe that it is this steady diet of grade D funny that helped me choose my vocation as a copywriter.

As fate would have it, I too have had to suffer the slings and arrows of the bad-joke deprived. Recently, I helped a friend brainstorm ideas for a wine tasting event. I was so pleased with myself when I came up with the headline You Had Me at Bordeaux. So you can imagine my horror when the March issue of D Magazine wrote, "Before we knew a thing about this event, we wanted to attend just because the pun is that bad." Wait until I call them up with the Tuneee Fish bit! Better yet, I'm sending in 2-F with his entire repertoire of nyuck nyucks!

And speaking of 2-F material, here's one of his latest and greatest:

The Auburn Veterinarian School had a very rare species of gorilla. Within a few weeks the gorilla, a female, became very difficult to handle. Upon examination, the veterinarian determined the problem. The gorilla was in season. To make matters worse, there was no male gorilla available.

Thinking about their problem, the veterinarian thought of Bobby Lee Smith, an Auburn fan and part-time worker responsible for cleaning the animal cages. Bobby Lee, like most rednecks, had little sense but possessed ample ability to satisfy a female of any species. The School Veterinarian thought they might have a solution.

Bobby Lee was approached with a proposition. Would he be willing to mate with the gorilla for $500.00? Bobby Lee showed some interest, but said he would have to think the matter over carefully.

The following day, he announced that he would accept their offer, but only under four conditions.

"First," Bobby Lee said, "I ain't gonna kiss her on the lips."
The Keeper quickly agreed to this condition.

"Second," he said, "You can't never tell no one about this."
The Keeper again readily agreed to this condition.

"Third," Bobby Lee said, "I want all the childrun raised Southern Baptist."
Once again it was agreed.

"And last of all," Bobby Lee stated, "You gotta give me another week to come up with the $500.00."

Love Love

Love as Knock Knock as a Who's There

Love Jef

C'mon and Shake a Tail Feather

2007-01-31T20:24:00.000-08:00

Despite the brisk weather, I bundled up Wednesday afternoon and took my stir crazy, shut-in dogs for a stroll around the park. This is an activity we usually do in the morning, so I was a little taken back by the waterfowl scuffle waiting for us as we approached the pond.

Before I could even see what was going on, I heard a cacophony of clucks and honks from the resident ducks and geese. And there in the middle of the pond was a large brown goose flapping about madly, her feathers slapping against the water while her peers went on about their business of nibbling bread crumbs and crapping aimlessly.

"She's drowning," I thought to myself, "I must save her." Then the reality set in that geese are pretty adept at the whole water/swimming thing, and she most likely was not on her way to a watery grave. Then my second clue emerged in the form of a large lust-filled white male goose in hot pursuit of the aforementioned brown goose.

I suddenly realized that I wasn't watching a goose death, I was a bystander to a goosey sexual assault. The poor brown goose didn't stand a chance. Ol' whitey goose was relentless in his pursuit craning his neck, honkin' like angry mom drivin' carpool and pushing his victim to the bottom of the pond in his coitus pursuitus.

When Jerrett came home I told him all about the shocking crime scene. He suggested I contact the lesser-known crime drama show Law & Order: Waterfowl Victims Unit. We think that either the AFLAC Duck or the Goose from Willy Wonka could play the lead role. Hmm, I wonder which one-line actor they will get to play the role of "startled dog walker?"

Love, Love

Love as fowl as pond-side sexual harassment

Love,

Jef

P.S. And speaking of Mother Nature, here's one of my fav new You Tube pics:

I Bet You Think This BLOG Is About You...Don't You?

2007-01-19T16:23:00.000-08:00

New year, new adventures, new blogs - right? And that dear Tingley All Over reader is my pledge to you. I resolve to fill 2007 with more blogs about my comings, goings, passing fancies and day-to-day obsessions. With that said, er uh typed, I thought I would kick off this entry with a year-in-preview of sorts.

WHAT I'M WATCHING
Is there really such a thing as too much TV or too many ass-swelling hours watching movies?I say hell-to-the-NO, which is why I'm wasting precious brain cells on shows like The Girls Next Door. For those of you unfamiliar with this grade A piece of reality trash, Girls follows the lives of Playboy overlord Hugh Hefner's THREE girlfriends: Bridget, Holly & Kendra. What fascinates me most is a) the ultra white trash decor of the playboy mansion (really, pink canopy beds loaded with nappy stuffed animals) and b) the supreme delusions of these girls thinking that ol' Hef isn't going to trade them in for a younger model before you can say season two. I'm a bit of a Girls late bloomer as it came out like a year ago, but it is still totally worth the Tivo if you are looking for some very good badness.

WHAT I'M READING
Always on the lookout for the next Auguston Burroughs or David Sedaris, I saw David Rakoff on "The Daily Show" and decided to give his novel Don't Get Too Comfortable a scan across the peepers. Although it didn't make me laugh out loud (usually a trait reserved for reading in a public setting that makes me look crazy), I did find it interesting. More than anything, I totally self identified with his chapter about crafting and the zen-like focus that comes from a mound of modge podge or a hot glue gun. He also shed some light on the fact that when one gives a home crafted present to someone, "it might appear very generous on the surface, but in another sense it's an act of bullying...it's an attempt to curate someone else's tastes." How do I plead to such an offense? Guilty as bedazzlingly charged!

Side note on the David Rakoff book - he's a bit of a word nerd. I found myself underlining words that I had to look up later in the dictionary. The two that I've adopted for my own vocab are "effluvial," meaning emanating odor (e.g. My dog Fatsy Cline has an effluvial mouth) and lugubrious meaning boring (e.g. defining words in one's blog could be considered lugubrious by some).

WHAT I'M OBSESSED WITH
I have seen the future and it is an $8 toy game from Wal-mart called the 20Q. Take the innocence of the car-trip-staple twenty questions and fuse it with the heart and robotic soul of a cyborg, and you have the 20Q. Jerrett and I have spent hours trying to stump it only to have it guess even the most random things 9 out of 10 times. And even when it's wrong, it's still eerily close to the answer. For example, I figured I would throw it for a loop with "vagina," but it guessed "sphincter" then "womb." For a small piece of circuit boards and plastic, I gotta say, sphincter womb ain't just whistling dixie.

WHAT I'M LISTENING TO
(AKA WHAT I'M CREATING DANCE NUMBERS TO IN MY HEAD)
Dreamgirls. I know, I know, show tunes, how shocking? But what you don't know is that underneath my pasty hide beats the heart of a soulful Jennifer Hudson and upon hearing a soaring ballad such as "And I am Telling You," the JHud within is released. With a flip of the hand, a toss of the head and a quiver of the lip, I can convince even the most harsh critic that I too have my rightful place next to Dina and Lorell... and I'm not goin' nowhere. So if you pull up next to me on the street and see me twitching and convulsing, or you catch me strutting about the house doing my best turkey neck - I'm not having a seizure. I'm just feeling the dream girl deep inside!

Love, Love

Love as disco-riffic as my rendition of "One Night Only"

Love, Jef

Six Degrees of Number Two

2006-09-23T07:43:00.000-07:00

Spoiler alert: If you want to be surprised by Jackass: Number Two, read no more!
Don't you just love it when people name drop their connection to celebrities? Like when a friend tells of a cousin's sister who knows the mechanic of some A-list actress, or of an awkward one-time handshake with some Oscar-winner in an airport bathroom. Well, dear Tingley All Over reader, I am here to be that guy and boast about my one-degree of separation to the cast of Jackass: Number Two.

Not only is my dear friend Sarah the costume designer for the film, she even shows up on screen. Yep, for those of you who have seen it, that is my sweet Sarahbelle spirit gumming copious amounts of the cast's pubic hair to some guy's face who thinks he's getting a beard applied for another physical-comedy-meets-poop-humor prank. Ah, it seems like only yesterday Sarah was practicing gluing pubic hair to her Ken doll's face.

No, all kidding aside, I'm so thrilled to see my friend all famous and on the big screen. And, her costumes for the closing finale are fabulous (I'll not spoil that part just in case you haven't seen it yet). But, I like to think that my years of forcing her to listen to showtunes helped guide her vision. Oh, and while I'm bragging about fancy-pants S, you should also check out her other movie, Sleeping Dogs Lie, coming out this fall. I'm going to the premiere in October and will be blogging all about it.

Ship of Fulanitos

I know I've been a negligent blogger, but I had one other story to tell. So, our friends Michael and Adrid came to visit about a month ago. Michael is a New Yorker by birth with Puerto Rican heritage. Adrid grew up in Cuba and moved to the states about three years ago. Needless to say, we embraced all things tacky and Texasy for their amusement taking them big belt buckle shopping and, of course, to the Round Up. Afterall, it was our duty to show them the Dallas version of Brokeback Mountain.

One night, after boot scootin' and a rousing game of Loteria (Mexican bingo), we started talking about the little differences between the New Mexican Spanish Jerrett and I grew up with, the Puerto Rican Spanish Michael knew and loved, and the Cuban Spanish Adrid deemed superior to all the rest.

Michael revealed that for months he had heard Adrid's mom talk about "Fulanito," who he assumed was an uncle or cousin. But after a while this Fulanito character seemed to be in every story, so Michael finally asked Adrid when he would meet this mystery relative. Well, turns out that Fulanito is the Cuban version of Joe Schmoe, hence his being omnipresent. I was so delighted by this that I claimed Fulanito as my ethnicity right then and there. Next time someone asks me about my lineage, I'll say that my mother was Irish and my father is 100 percent Fulanito.

The other language comedy of errors came about when we started talking childhood cartoons. I learned that in Cuba, the Smurfs are the Pitufas. Kind of makes you giggle, doesn't it! It gets better. Papa Smurf is Papa Pitufa and Smurfette is Pitufina. But the best was the translations of the names of the Flintstones. In Cuba, Fred Flinstone is Piedro PicaPiedras (aka Peter Picks-Up-Rocks) and Barney Rubble is Pablo Marbol (aka Paul Marble). I have know idea if you will find this amusing, but it killed me dead. And I can't close this little Tingley All Over language lesson without sharing another favorite - Pato Lucas (that's Cuban Spanish for Daffy Duck).

Love, Love

Love as flying proud as my Fulanito flag

Love Jef

What Happens in Vegas ... My Ass

2006-06-08T17:11:00.000-07:00

Stays in Vegas, schmays in Vegas - this picture is too great (read: mortifying for all involved) not to share with Tingley All Over readers. In case the sparkly g-strings didn't tip you off, we just returned from a fabulous Jerrett 30th B-day celebration in sinful Las Vegas. How delighted am I that I will always remember ringing in the dreaded June 6, 2006 (AKA 666 sign-o-the-beast) while sucking on a turkey leg at an all you can eat buffet and playing "Playboy" penny slots?

Although I must admit that Vegas has lost a little of its naughty street cred. The headache-inducing clanking slot wins have been replaced by silent bar code totals. The hotels have risen to uber Disney proportions filled with way more shopping than chip shuffling. And the local porn peddlers no longer shout at you like carnival barkers, instead they simply flick their girly flyers in your direction with a sound reminiscent of a playing card crammed into a spoked wheel.

Don't fret though, the trashy side of Vegas can still be found in downtown's Freemont Street. It's here you can bask in the glow of old-school neon lights, take in a topless review that may or may not include a midget wearing an eye patch and gorge on a buffet of anything that could not crawl out of the deep frier.

But as always, why tell you about my adventures when I can show you:

Wall of Shame ... uh, Fame

Gratuitous Artsy Hotel Room Shot

The Sphinxter

Judy's Chicken Challenge

In The Presence of Royalty (read carefully)

Fun (And Vomit) By The Yard

Who you Callin' Loose?

Love, Love

Love as Glitzy (or Gritty) as the Girls of Glitter Gulch

Love Jef

P.S. Totally unrelated to Vegas but delightful in it's own regard, here's a lil' link to some Bush hating too good to pass up. Turn up your speakers!

White Trash, Thy Name Is Wal-Mart

2006-04-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

I have no comments that can make this better than it already is!

Love, Love

Love as fancy as my furry house shoes I plan to wear on my next Wal-Mart expedition

Love, Jef

P.S. The Web site recommendation of the week is www.waxhoff.com. If you love Knight Rider, Bay Watch and hair removal, this is for you. Thanks Melanie for this delicious bit of internet trash.

The Illegitimate Love Child of Helena Bonham Carter and Patrick Swayze

2006-04-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

Perhaps it was her Persian-cat face or maybe his dirty dancing , but somehow Patrick Swayze and Helena Bonham Carter got busy 30 years ago and begat me. Or at least that's what I can tell people thanks to myheritage.com, the new Web site that determines which celebrities, both male and female, you most resemble.

Depending on the photo submitted, one can either feel quite complimented or down right insulted. In my good photo, I had a high-percentage resemblance to some real lookers:

75% Patrick Swayze
72% Gene Kelly
71% Woody Harrelson
68% Rupert Everett
67% Neil Sedaka (okay, not so much a looker)
66% Ben Stiller
66% Katie Holmes (pre-pregnancy, I hope)
66% Helena Bonham Carter

In my bad photo (where I'm greasy like a 7-11 hot dog), I resemble:

71% Alain Prost (the white-trashy NASCAR racer)
63% Ralph Nader (enough said)
55% Kirk Hammett (that's right, the maybe-Asian guy from Metallica)

Talk about crushing blow to the ego - they're hard on the eyes and not even on the celebrity A list!

COLOR ME CONSPIRACY
Now, I'm usually not one to buy in to the whole government-agents-doing-sneaky-things-behind-our-backs concept. I leave that to the Tom Clancy novels. Maybe I'm a bit of an ingenue in that regard, but the conspiracy theorist in me has issued a "Jef threat level 6" for myheritage.com. It's something about the way the software can instantly zoom in on your face no matter which picture you submit. I just have this nagging feeling that somewhere in some hidden bunker my pop culture tryst is really adding my photo to some uber government I.D. list. That, or myheritage.com is busy photoshopping unwitting people's faces onto nude bodies and will soon be extorting millions of dollars from all of us happy celebrity seekers in exchange for not posting the fake porn. Either way, don't say I didn't warn you!

Love, Love

Love as ready and willing as I am to stand in for Patrick Swayze should they ever film To Wong Foo II

Love, Jef

A Birthday Blog For Judy

2006-03-28T19:51:00.000-08:00

On a chilly March 30th, many moons ago

A sassy, silly infant was born in the frigid Chicago snow

Perhaps it was the city, or maybe the lingering chill

But that day begat our Judy, everyone's favorite "bitter lil' pill"

From an early age dear Judy knew how to get one's goat

He'd parade around in mom's high heels, or at his brother he would poke

In the 80's Judy blossomed into a "typical" teenage boy

Be it body wave or clean white keds, the trends he did enjoy

In the 90's it was nursing school and the thrill of saving lives

Assuming of course that a smoke break came first, he knew how to prioritize!

Now Judy is all grown up, with a mortgage and bills to boot

You can even find him doing yard work in his skorts and do-rag suit

So Happy Birthday Pinocha, you finally got your blog

Now go watch some Steel Magnolias while wearing your man clogs

Love, Love

Love as frequent as your trips to the post office

Love, Jef

BLAHHHHHG

2006-03-19T13:06:00.000-08:00

To paraphrase the late, great Karen Carpenter, "Rainy days and [Sundays] always get me down." It has rained all weekend, and I am truly one sad clown with no hope of turning my frown upside down.

Actually, I guess I'm more of a bored-out-of-my-mind clown. And for the record, clowns are terrifying so I really should stop comparing myself to them.

Nonetheless, I am filled with that ennui that only a day of incessant rain can bring. You know, that weird drive to be busy that's overpowered by the urge to lay around and do nothing while gorging mindlessly on comfort food.

And to make matters worse, I have totally exhausted my TiVo and Netflix reserve. I had hours of Netflixed Veronica Mars Season 1 all ready to go (don't judge) , but I got too greedy and watched them on Thursday night. Damn my thirst for teen angst TV! As for the TiVo, I'm all caught up on Real World Key West - so far, I'm routing for that sassy straight-talker Tyler.

I've also depleted all my repertoire of nerdy housey design/improvement shows, including my latest fav Neat - the trials and tribulations of a professional organizer.

In my boredom, I even looked up all the people who do the voices for Drawn Together online. And Jack Plotnick, if you are reading this (and I know you are) just know - I HEART you.

Love, Love

Love as rhinestone encrusted as the lining of my rain cloud

Love, Jef

The Siren Song of My Space

2006-02-27T20:23:00.000-08:00

Okay. Okay. I gave in and created a My Space account. I simply couldn't miss out on this cyber-friend-party meets "whatever happened to that guy" experience any longer. So, you can now find me at:

www.myspace.com/tingleyallover
(no worries, www.tingleyallover.com isn't going anywhere)

Now, I know I need to spend more time online writing profiles and taking mindless surveys like Delta Burke needs bigger shoulder pads, but I just couldn't resist.

And since I have joined the masses, it is important that I fill, fill, fill my friend list. That is where you come in loyal blog reader. I need you to make me the most popular boy in school, ney cyber space. Otherwise I'll end up like Sissy Spacek in Carrie covered in pig blood ... and you will bear the brunt of telekenetic rage (okay, maybe that's a touch dramatic).

Nonetheless, you should totally be my online friend so I don't get a complex that no one loves me. Just get a my space account (free and obsessive) at www.myspace.com, then track me down at Tingley All Over and send a request to be my friend. I promise to add you. I may even raffle off some craft prize as an incentive for signing up - anyone up for a kitty menorah?

Act now and when you visit my My Space account, you can hear the creepy Imogen Heap song that taunts me so. It's catchy and disturbing all at the same time.

Love, Love

Love as possibly unhealthy as my complete obsession with the online trend

Love, Jef

P.S. I also recommend Pink Is The New Blog for your daily dose of pop culture/celebrity goodness.

Ettes a Whopper of a Problem

2006-02-09T19:36:00.000-08:00

I'm the first to admit that I tend to become a little obsessed over pop culture du jour. From Pokemon to that damn singing Billy Bass Fish, I've been there, done that and in many cases written the blog about it. But my latest fixation takes the cake, or in this case, the burger.

I have a problem and its called the Whopperettes.

Since I first layed eyes on this lavish commercial of ladies dressed as couture burger toppings, it's all that I think about it. To make matters worse, technology has allowed me to spend an unhealthy amount of time on the Web site creating cyber sandwiches to my heart's content. There's just something so right and so very wrong about a woman dressed as a meat patty or tomato slice in a full-out Broadway musical production. Did I mention one of the girls even gets shot out of a canon!

I even downloaded the ring tone for my cell phone - pathetic, huh. But if you would like to join me in this corporate sell out low, click here and go to bonus material, then mobile.

By the by, the new commercial in the Whopperettes series entitled "Extra Cheese" debuts February 14.

And if making this my own obsession isn't bad enough, I've pulled my friends into this dark underbelly of fast food fashion culture threatening to make them dress as toppings for Halloween. Here's a few excerpts from our e-mail tet-a-tet:

My message:
"I think it is only fair that you join me in dressing up as "Whopperettes" this year. Originally I was going to claim role of "top bun," but I will let it be a sandwichocracy if you will. According to my count, we have five available slots. Here's what I would recommend, but I will let the voters decide:

Jerrett - Bun (the leader of the pack)
Ted - Meat Patty (brown and proud)
Kevin - Ketchup (lady in red)
Judy- Pickle (green with envy)
Jef - Onion slices (pure as driven snow)"

Kevin's Reply:
"Don't get me wrong, but I really think the role of onion slice should be reserved for Tara, who truly is pure as driven snow. Maybe you would be better cast as a cheese slice, since you have orange hair and like to dress in plastic. Just a thought." (editor's note: Can you feel hate? Plastic, really!)"

Ted's Reply:
"I thought [Judy] could be a meat substitute...almost chicken, or something like that. Then again, I think beef is the star of the show, and I don't want competition. We are a proud people. I thought better of getting into a top bun/bottom bun discussion. Thin ice. We do need 2 buns though, methinks."

And so loyal blog reader, I leave it up to you. Now I know many of you don't know all of the key players by name or face, but why should that stop you from casting a vote (in the comment section below) as to who should star as which member of the food group in my latest pop culture/corporate compulsion.

Love, Love

Love as fire-grilled as my passion for the Whopperettes

Love, Jef

I'm your biggest FANimal

2006-02-01T17:54:00.000-08:00

Just when I thought that I was the funny one, along comes this blogger extraordinaire. This site made me bite on a wooden spoon over the cuteness, while simultaneously peeing my pants over the hysterical commentary.

http://justalittleguy.blogspot.com/

Love, Love

Love as missing the baby mammal boat as yours truly

Love Jef

Jef-N-Stein

2006-01-27T19:12:00.000-08:00

Ta Dah! A Celebrity photo to grace the pages of Tingley All Over. Yep, that's me and Ben Stein. Nope, he did not say "Bueller, Bueller, Bueller" to me nor did I win his money. However, he did tell a "rabbi and Jerry Falwell walk into a bar " type joke in a room filled with actual rabbis. Genius!

Love, Love

Love as clear as my eyes after hanging out with Mr. Stein

Love, Jef

P.S. Here's one newly acquired picture from Halloween of Gary and Robert in the fabulous Lion and Lion Tamer costume. I think Gary looks a little like the love child of Tyra Banks and a puma. Grrrrrr.

The Tingley All Over New Year's Challenge

2006-01-01T20:23:00.000-08:00

I know the phrase "challenge" when paired with "New Year" sends visions of weightloss and a pudgy Kirstie Alley dancing through your head, but this is different. After ringing in 2006, I attempted a very trying memory game of recalling, in chronological order, where I had celebrated the Nuevo Ano of days gone by. It's actually much harder than one would think (unless you are one of those savant-type people with the memory of an elephant). With Jerrett's help, I was able to think back to 1999. Below is a lil' recap. Read through, then post your own stroll down "pressure to have the best night ever" lane in my comments section.

2006: Who BURNED My Cheese?
Fondue, champagne and board games at Jack & Suzi's house. After an incident with a wayward sterno flame, my fondue became a fon don't and stunk up the place like the bog of eternal stench.

2005: Consumption Junction, What's Your Function?
Stricken with the consumption, the black lung or some sort of debilitating cold/flu action, Jerrett and I sat on the couch watching movies. We briefly managed to make it to the front porch for the stroke of midnight where neighbors greeted us with champagne. Alas, our taste buds were already adrift in a sea of mentholatum cough drops making for a very unpleasant taste sensation. We were asleep by 12:10 a.m.

2004: The Year of the Great Party Hop Flop
Kicked off the night at Gary & Robert's New Year's extravaganza then raced back to the OC (Oak Cliff) for a party at Pam and Dan's. Unfortunately, most of the partygoers had rung in the New Year Eastern Standard time (aka 11 p.m.) and had already gone home.

2003: E-I E-I Road Trip
Drove 3 hours west of Fort Worth to Throckmorton, Texas and stayed with Felix's parents. City boys gone country - we were so the precursors to Paris Hilton and her Simple Life. Highlight of the trip was firing the shotgun at midnight and chasing chickens at sunrise.

2002: Fun with Shut-Ins
Don't know how I remember this, but we rented Xanadu and The Wiz. I think Judy and Felix came over. Then we eased ourselves on down the road to lushiness with cocktail consumption.

2001: Neither Rain nor Blinding Blizzard ...
Despite a blizzard, we trekked over to Las Colinas for a party at Liz and Chris' new house. The cliques of people never really merged. Jerrett and I spent the majority of the night sitting with Liz on her new sleep number bed trying to find out if we were a firm 72 or a soft and cushy 28.

2000: Y2Que?
Who doesn't remember where they were? Surprisingly, we were not hunkered down in a bomb shelter with extra water and spam. Instead,we were in Albuquerque in Beth's apartment. I wore one of those tacky New Years party hat/tiara things that said 2000, and I think it is on my head in every photo taken that night.

1999: Movin' On Up?
I'll never forget this one. I was driving from Albuquerque to Dallas to begin my new job in morning radio. My Volkswagen Jetta was filled to the brim like a hillbilly mobile with all my belongings - pillows, lampshades, books. Unbeknownst to me, my alternator was dying. So, as sundown came and I turned on my lights, my car coasted to a stop just out side of Decatur, Texas. I called AAA for a tow truck only to pronounce the town "De' Couture" like some prissy French bitch (Jerrett, incidentally, was the true prissy French bitch celebrating 1999 in france). The town is actually pronounced "Decay ter"- as in to decay or rot. Two or three hours later after sitting silently in the front of the tow truck I arrived at the hotel, joined Gene & Julie for one glass of champagne then went to bed. Luckily the bad car ju ju was not an omen of a bad year to come.

Love, Love

Love as Auld as a Lang Sine (whatever the hell that is!)

Love, Jef

Dolly-licious, Dolly-lectable, Dolly-lightful

2005-12-02T17:22:00.000-08:00

I am happy to report that I get to check one more item off the "Do Before You Die" list having just seen an in-the-D-cup-flesh concert of Dolly Parton last night as part of her "Vintage" tour. Yep, Dolly did indeed do Dallas, and lucky me was perched high in recesses of Nokia Theatre to take it all in (a big thank you to my personal activities director Ted for pulling it all together). Actually, I prefer to call our seating section the misanthrope mezzanine, since we didn't have to sit near any other concert goers making the evening even more delightful.

Appropriately enough, we began our evening with the Smokey Mountain chanteuse in a Wal-mart parking lot. That's where we met our friend Kevin to carpool to Grand Prairie for the fun. As we pulled up to find him leaning against his car, I couldn't resist a wolf whistle and the gratuitous "hey sailor, new in town." After all, it isn't everyday you get to pick up men in Wal-mart parking lot.

The concert itself was like a big ol' plate of comfort food - maybe meat loaf or mash potatoes. There's just something so warm and familiar about Dolly. I don't know if it's because I grew up listening to her music and her almost-naughty booby banter, or because I continue to avidly listen to her music to this day. Either way, I feel like we go way back.

She opened the concert with Those Were The Days, a crowd sing-a-long favorite which oddly didn't really get our crowd's motor going. But, there were squeals of joy when she transitioned into 9 to 5. She also announced she's working on the score for a broadway musical of 9 to 5. Disgruntled self-empowered secretaries, showtunes and Dolly - sounds like nirvana to me. Here's a link to the full story.

Next up was Jolene. According to Dolly, there really was a Jolene. She worked as a bank teller and tried to woo Dolly's husband away. Guess the song worked, because Dolly and her hubby are still together and going strong 40 years later.

The hits kept coming all night along, there was Tennessee Mountain Home, Appalachian Memories and the gets-stuck-in-your-head for eternity Here you Come Again. Each one had a great set up and personal story to go with it that felt like Dolly was sitting in your living room and telling it over a cup of coffee. The highlight of the evening though was when Dolly prepared to play the harmonica (one of many instruments at which she excels). A wayward hair had found its way into her lip gloss, and as she plucked the hair from her head she said "it ain't gonna hurt me none, but somewhere in Korea some girls cryin'." Ahhh wig humor from a Double D celebrity in a bugle bead covered gown - does it get any better?

I can't wrap up my Dolly blog without commenting on her rendention of Coat of Many Colors - my all-time favorite Dolly song. She did a very simple version on a mandolin and, as predicted, I cried like a school girl the whole way through. The only thing missing from the evening was a performance of Islands in the Stream or Hard Candy Christmas - two more favorites.

Love, Love

love as tiny-waisted and ample-bosomed as the iconic Dolly Parton

Love Jef

A Crappy Day in Texas

2005-11-08T22:23:00.000-08:00

Now I know Tingley All Over isn't usually your one-stop-shop for political commentary, but the out come of today's voting has shifted my focus from TV trivia to the passing of my civil rights. Today, Proposition 2 was passed in Texas amending the constitution to define marriage as an act between a man and a woman.

Am I surprised it passed? No, c'mon it's Texas, the whole world already thinks we're slack-jawed rednecks. Is it really marriage I was after anyway? No, my seven-year relationship is much stronger than a piece of paper or a mash potato bar. The issue is bigger than that. Today was a crushing blow to that optimism that my vote can make a difference. I also feel cheated, like the language on the ballot didn't truly elaborate its ramifications and bigoted sentiments.

Today's vote makes me a second-class citizen. Thanks to the loose wording of the proposition, every aspect of my life is a pending legal battle. From the paper-work intricacies of owning a home, to life-threatening issues like power of attorney, Jerrett and I will have to work twice as hard to make sure we're protected.

I guess I also feel betrayed. I know there are people in my life who love me but voted yes. People who for whatever reason, be it fear or ignorance, chose to help civil rights take a giant step back. Those same people who gathered in Cedar Springs for the wacky gay Halloween festivities or laughed their asses off at that episode of Will & Grace.

If I had one wish right now, I'd zap all gay people out of existence tomorrow. Take all of our creativity, talent and wit out of the world for a day and just see what's left. And it wouldn't just be the stereotypical professions like hairdressers, Broadway dancers and ice skaters going either (although seeing those Highland Park bitches with a limp coif might be worth it). I'd take the gay accountants, garbage collectors, professors - the whole lot of us. Then we could really see where today's outcome has us headed.

I was so disgusted by tonight's vote, I asked Jerrett if we should move. You know, just pack up and take our tax-paying, lawn-mowing, good-friend-and-neighbor selves elsewhere. But in his trademark wise and patient tone he said "no, because that's exactly what they want us to do."

So I'm staying in Texas! I'm getting more involved in ways to defend my civil liberties. And, I'm hiring a good lawyer to draft up the paper work to protect my home, health and family.

Thanks to everybody who voted against proposition 2. We may have lost today, but we can't give up the fight! Live your life, live out loud and to quote Oscar Wilde, "One can survive everything , nowadays, except death, and live down everything except a good reputation."

Love, Love

Love as bruised, but not broken, as my spirit and civil rights.

Love, Jef

B-Movie Robots Get A+ Response

2005-11-01T21:23:00.000-08:00

Domo Arigato Mr. Robotos
(turn your speakers up)

Here's the thing - I love Halloween. If I had my way, it would be totally socially acceptable to wear costumes everyday. Forget casual Friday, in my world workdays would be filled with swim fins, tutus or maybe a gorilla suit - whatever struck my fancy that morning. Think of the levity it would bring to board meetings if your boss was dressed as a pregnant nun or mad scientist? Nonetheless, I'll settle for my one day a year where I can duct tape, spray paint and bedazzle myself into a state of euphoria as I prepare my high holiday - HALLOWEEN.

The Nuts and Bolts of It
This year's motif was B-Movie Robots, you know the one's from 1950s Sci-Fi flicks hellbent on wiping out the human race. It started with me in Home Depot, surrounded by contractors, trying out various AC and heating vents on my head to find the correct size. Needless to say, I don't think the construction community took to kindly to this, so I quickly gathered up my gear and headed home to craft in private. A few tap lights and ray guns later, and our robots were ready for the runway.

In Dallas, the big Halloween hoo-hah is a street party held the Saturday prior to October 31. There's a nip in the air and plenty of nipple to be seen at this shin dig. Girls and boys alike use it as an excuse to wear underwear/lingerie in pairing with wings, fuzzy ears or hats for a menagerie of naughty fairies, kitties, nurses, etc. And , as expected, there were plenty of costumes du jour namely Katrina and Rita victims and the hurricanes themselves (bearing slogans like "Giving The Best Blow to the Gulf Coast"), a flurry of Fanta Girls and wall-to-wall Willy Wonkas.

If I do say so myself, our costumes were a total hit. We were totally paparazzied (yes, it's a verb) all night posing with every tom, dick and harry werewolf in the place. The best encounter was with a camera crew- not CNN or FOX, but some local "independent project." The reporter apparently had us mistaken for robots at a trekkie convention who thought they were actually the character. She cornered us for five minutes posing random questions like "where were you built?" and "how much did your helmet cost?" Incidentally, I told her we were built in Oak Cliff and that my helmet was couture and made of powered plutonium, but that she could get a knock-off version at Sam Moon. I also told her that we were programmed to destroy all who did not dress up.

But aside from the photo ops, the best part of the night was my adventure in the porta-potty. Now before you start thinkin' nastiness, let me explain. My costume had two tap lights on it - one on my belt and one on the top of my helmet. In my amusement of the eerie light my belly light cast across the filthy john, I apparently tipped my helmet too low. With a thud and a swirl, my head tap light fell off, circled the rim of the bowl and plopped into the murky depths providing and eerie red glow for the next toilet guest.

I could go on and on with my Halloween high jinks, but it's really a holiday of pictures, not words. So without further ado, I present:

The Tricks & Treats of Halloween 2005:

Hunky Firemen (insert hose pun here)

Feathery Poodle Drag Queens

Willy Wonka

Marilyn Mon ... no she din'nt

Moon Walkin' with Humanoids Tracey & Jason

Destroying Earthlings

Man Overboard

She liked us so much, she got the tattoo

Intergalatic Planetary with Suzi & Jack

Jetsons looking for their Rosie, but we don't do windows!

Obligatory Pope Pic

Love, Love

Love as ever-present as danger for Will Robinson

Love, Jef

ISREALITY Check

2005-09-24T14:24:00.000-07:00

How could I have guessed when I started this blog in March, that lil' old shut-in me would be using it as a tool to document my world traveling? Thirty is really turning out to be the age of change for me, a time to let go of my anal-rententive urge to plan every detail and just embrace each day for what it has to offer. And with that said, I now report back to you on my trip to Israel from September 15-23.

The Western Wall at Sunset

Jerusalem Cruisin'
My visit to the promised land kicked off on a Friday morning in Jerusalem. It's really a stunning place and so packed with religious and historical significance that you feel like it should be coated in scotchguard or plastic, you know like that sofa in your aunt's living room.

In addition to consuming copious amounts of falafel, I took in all the tourist sites- the Tower of David, The Church of the Sepulchre and, of course, the Western Wall. But the real gem was the Arab market. It felt like I was an extra in some movie about the Middle East as I strolled though narrow alley ways jam-packed with merchants peddling everything from fan-tailed pigeons and jewel-encrusted sabres to cheesy "I heart Jerusalem" tees and viles of "holy land sand."

It didn't take long to learn how to work the market either. First, you had to look uninterested in everything - one overly enthusaistic glance and the shopkeep was all over you like humus on a pita. Nothing was priced, so you had to just kind of hold something up and make a nod gesture at it. This was the cue for said shopkeep to rattle off some cost - say 40 shekels. Then you had to frown and put the item down. Suddenly the price would drop. "For you, 30 shekels," he would say with his best used car salesman grin. But you couldn't give in, you just kept your eyes down, poker face on, turn and keep walking. The farther you walked from the store, the lower the price went until a 40 shekel item was suddenly reduced to 10 shekels.

Using this technique, I am now the proud owner of a ornately sheathed sabre, a pretty mosaic mirror-encrusted tapestry and two stuffed camels that sing Arabic love songs when you squeeze them. And despite my urge to come home with a triple-decker giant hooka because they were really cool looking - I declined. I figured that might be pressing my luck with customs telling them that it was for decore purposes only.

Bamba-bastic, it's fantastic
I knew I would love the food in Israel, but what I did not know is that I would find the best snack food and chocolates in the world. Imagine if you will the delightful texture of the cheesepuff (the really white trash kind) with the greasy, yummy flavor of peanut butter and you have Bamba - Israel's number one snack! With it's weirdly foreign oversized kid logo and coat-your-mouth goodness in mind, I have spent my days in the states planning future uses for this tasty treat - bamba and banana sandwiches, bamba crusted peanut butter pies ...really folks, the possibilities are endless.

My second Israeli love was the chocolate. The Kit Kat (or Kif Kif in Hebrew) is like it's American cousin but ten times more delicious. I think the secret lies in the wafer part that seems to be just a tad coffee flavored, making them far superior. And then there's a little candy called the 4 play (and yes I only bought it because of the implied naughtiness of it's name). Much to my juvenille humor satisfaction, it kind of resembles two chocolate boobs filled with an uknown, yet yummy, creamy filling.

And I can't report back on Israel without a note about the "traditional" Israeli breakfast (I use traditional here loosely as I only experienced it in my hotel). You can sum it up in three words: cucumbers, tomotoes and cheese. Every morning it's diced, sliced or chopped cucumber and tomatoes accompanied by endles supply of soft cheeses - goat cheese, dill cheese, etc. It was new and exotic the first few days, but by the end I would have shelled out the shekels for a bowl of corn flakes or a pop tart.

Israeli Idol and Hebrew for Dummies
After leaving Jerusalem, we traveled by bus three-hours north to Akko in Israel's Western Galilee. It's a small town in Israel bordered by Lebanon and the Mediterranean Sea. Here's the view from my hotel room.

I was so surprised that being halfway around the world reminded me so much of growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Despite the whole sea thing, the temperature and landscape of Akko and the surrounding country side reminded me a lot of the land of enchantment. There were hills, trees, endless blue skies and that great hot-in-the-daytime, cool-at-night weather you just can't duplicate.

Since my purpose on the trip was to learn about my work's relationship with the region (which is kind of like our sister city) and not to train for emergency preparedness at Western Galilee Hospital like the Americans doctors I was traveling with (click here for the work recap of the trip) I got the benefit of a personal tour guide. His name is Eliad Eliyahu and not only is he my new pal and Hebrew instructor, he also has a number one hit on Israeli radio.

Each day Eliad and I set out on new adventures. One day was a visit to Rosh Hanikra, a sparkling white cliffside that has tunnels you can walk in that were carved by the sea, then the next day it was the Old City of Akko which was a crusader's castle hundreds of years ago or a stop by his synagogue which was coated floor to celing in the amazingly detailed mosaic telling stories through the ages. Words simply can't do justice to the beauty, the history and the whole experience.

One of our favorite games to play was to make waitstaff guess where I was from. My "gingy" or read hair was not a dead giveaway of my American-ness and the typical guess was that I was from the U.K. or Sweden. I take that as a compliment, I think?

Along the way, I also learned a little bit of Hebrew. Nothing that will ever come in handy of course, as I am a Hebrew savant, but a few fun words and phrases I thought I could share:

Bokor Tov - Good Morning
Toda Ro bah - Thank You Very Much
Ken - Yes
Lo- No
Sababa - Cool, Okay, Great (Basically use it as you see fit)
Layla Tov- Goodnight
Yalah - lets go
Kelev- Dog
Chatule - Cat
Tavas - Peacock (I've decided this will be my Hebrew name)
Ha Chatule Ohel Falafel - The Cat Eats Falafel (here's the pic - Israel has MANY cats)

How do I end the blog about Israel? What can I say to put my emotions into word? Nothing I guess, but I will say that it was amazing and I feel so fortunate to have had the experience and to have met some new friends. It was also refreshing to know that even half way around the world, in a land where I didn't speak the language or know the customs, I could feel safe and at home.

Here's some more photos:

My Superman Kippah (or Yarmukle) to cover my head at holy sites

Me & Eliad in the tunnels under the Old City of Akko

With a camel near the Western Wall

On an IDF Soldier base right by the Lebanon Border

Atop Rosh Hanikra

Love, love

Love as addictive as Bamba ... and the beauty of Israel

Love,

Jef

Holy Hogwarts, I'm Off To London

2005-08-23T20:56:00.000-07:00

Editors note: get ready for a lengthy blog, I had eight days to recap!

What better way to celebrate the big 3-0 than with six-hours notice that you're going to London? That's how my morning began July 22 at 7 a.m. Jerrett woke me up with an urgent nudging to open a pre-birthday present, a series of three unassuming gift-wrapped masses. To my confusion, the first package was a highlighter pen and document flags (Happy Birthday, I guess?). The second was a Time Out guide to London (slowly the reality began to sink in). And the third was a book to read on the plane (Eureka, the brain has processed the information). I was sleepy, I was stunned, but most of all I was thrilled beyond words and headed to the UK. "What about work?" I asked. "Taken care of," he replied. "And the birthday party I had planned?" That too all wrapped up and postponed to a new date (see Gay Cliché blog below). And as my "what abouts" continued, it became clear that this was no simple undertaking. It was a grand-scale conspiracy straight out of a John Grisham novel comprised of neighbors, friends, co-workers and Jerrett all lying to my face and chatting behind my back for months to make my 30th something I would never forget. And to add oblivious insult to clueless injury, I had no idea any of it was happening. Note to self: never trust my friends and loved ones again.

Day One: Narcolepsy and the Double Decker Bus
Jet lag is a fiendish foe. To fight it off, you're supposed to just stay awake - forever - or at least until you can get your circadian clock cleaned. Easier said than done after an all-night flight across the Atlantic. After clearing customs, we made it to our Trafalgar square adjacent hotel with time to kill before the room was ready. So, we heeded the advice of London-traveled friends and found the double decker bus tour to survey the land. And survey we did with our heads down and our eyes closed. It was that crazy geometry class kind of sleep where you feel like your head is inside a jar of Vaseline. Surprisingly, between the two of us, we remembered odd little tidbits about all the sights to share throughout the trip. For example, London's newest statue is dedicated to beasts of burden and showcases a donkey, dog and some other critter (who says my blog isn’t educational?).

Day Two: An Open Letter to the British Museum
After breaking from jet lag's spell and waking at noon, we headed off to the British Museum. It's like NYC's Metropolitan on steroids. They have everything, and do I mean everything. You like Greece and Rome? Oh, they got it. Egypt? Got that too. Welch soldiers preserved in peat bogs? Got three of those. I guess that comes with being a world power - you just take shit. And I loved seeing it, but there's a little part of me that thinks maybe they should give it back. I mean, I know the Parthenon is nice and all, but I bet Greece misses it.

After the museum it was off to Regent Park, where posted signs warned us not to let our dogs FOUL THE GARDEN. Damn, I just love the brits, even their warning signs are polite and sassy. The gardens are perfectly coifed due in part to the fact they are "royal parks" and funded by her majesty's piggy bank. They may also be one of my favorite places on earth. Here's me at the Triton Fountain in Queen Mary's Gardens.

Day Three: Fish-n-Chips-n-Barf
Part of traveling is experiencing local cuisine, so it was no surprise that we felt obligated to partake in some fish-n-chips while "across the pond." But like all local dining, there are the good places to eat and the not so good. In our case, we found the wrong end of the fish-n-chips spectrum at a pub called Pillars of Hercules. The greasy slabs of haddock they dished up tasted more like they were made in the armpit of Hercules than in the sea. And to top it off, they were accompanied by a heaping helping of barely dethawed frozen peas - barf.

Despite our fish failure, we did find a few yummy places to eat. One of which was a chain-esque noodle house called Wagamama that dishes out all sorts of Asian goodness including a suprisingly tasty wasabi chocolate cake. Another fav was the unavoidable Pret of Mange. This sandwich-for-the-taking restaurant is literally on every single corner – worse than the American Starbucks epidemic. But who can hate a store that has a delicious baguette with mozzarella, basil, tomato and pine nuts just waiting for you at any hour of the day?

And for those of you waiting with baited breath (forgive the pun), we did ultimately find fish-n-chips glory during a second dining attempt while in the seaside town of Brighton. Go figure, fish tastes better the closer you get to the ocean.

Day Four: I see Your Quidpence and Raise You a Hufflepuff
Thank god my first trip overseas was to an English speaking country. Before leaving I had fancied myself the most adept world traveler, but soon came to realize that I am a foreign custom retard. While walking about town, I kept noticing signs that said "Space To Let," which I perpetually read as "Space, Toilet." This coupled with the fact that I could not get it through my head to look the opposite way when crossing the street (since Brits drive on the left) led to me almost peeing in empty apartments or getting my ass run over by a tiny eurocar.

My other foreign downfall was change - specifically coinage. Color me an old school American, but I like the paper U.S. currency. It’s shape fits nicely in my money clip, it’s not too flashy and it’s downright practical. There’s a reason the Sacajawea coin never really took off in the states folks. Time after time, some British shop keep would gleefully take my paper pounds only to give me change in the form of a handful of odd shaped, heavy coins. I was irritated by their overall girth, and the rattle they made in my pocket. So, I kept trying to pass them off to Jerrett. The exchange went a little like this:

Me: Jerrett, take these. I don’t want them.
Jerrett: But that’s 10 pounds, why don’t you want it?
Me: ‘Cause it’s weighing down my pocket, c’mon please take my "quidpence."
Jerrett: They’re not "quidpence," that’s like saying "buck penny"
Me: Fine, just take these two "Hufflepuffs" and three "Gryffindors."
Jerrett (puzzled): What are you talking about?
Me: I can’t be bothered to learn the new names of change. So hence forth, I will only refer to them in Harry Potter terms.

And that’s just what I did, joyfully handing off handfuls of "Slytherins" in exchange for goods and being delighted at my mockery of her majesty’s money.

Day Five: Drunk on Fashion Power
You’ll be happy to know that the mullet is alive and well in Europe. Not the achy break heart, rat tail version, but a new and improved kind of spiky version that I must admit is pretty fuckin’ cute. And speaking of cute, that’s how we felt in London because we had found the motherland of pasty, skinny boys. Add to that a no-holds-barred kind of fashion and within one day, Jerrett and I were dressing like Europeans and strutting our stuff like waify models on the cat walk.

London fashion is an odd mix of colors, textures and layering that’s somewhere between colorblind madness and hobo chic, but I love it. For example, Jerrett had no problem wearing a navy tee-shirt, layered with a pink polo (collar popped, of course), a mustard colored v-neck sweater and a distressed looking army jacket/blazer combo. As for me, I not only layered at will, I was brazen enough to wear the asymmetrical tied yuppie sweater, as seen here in this photo of me in Hyde park.

We were so delighted by these new devil-may-care fashion rules that we vowed then and there to dress like brits even in the states. So don’t be surprised if you see us running about Dallas in cloven-hoofed shoes with no laces, ridiculous aviator sunglasses, brightly-hued polo shirts with upturned collars and maybe, just maybe, the new European mullet version 2.0.

Day Six: High Tea and the Mazzerati
As fate would have it, when Jerrett was about 11 years old living in Hobbs, New Mexico, a British foreign exchange student by the name of Charlie came to live with his family – talk about getting the raw end of the exchange stick. Knowing that we were headed overseas, Jerrett looked up Charlie even though they had not seen each other in 18 years. Long story short, we met up with Charlie at a Pret a Mange (after accidentally waiting at two wrong locations since they are on every corner). He was a wonderful host and spent the whole day zipping (and I do mean ZIPPING) us all about town in his mazzerati. Here’s Jerrett and Charlie at the Natural History Museum.

It was a great departure from the tourism-heavy trip we were experiencing. We got to see parts of London that we would have never otherwise ventured to – Chelsea, Knightsbridge, Belgravia and even Richmond Park where the wild deer roam free. And since we had a real live Londoner in our presence, we made him take us to Harrods for High Tea. The Texas equivalent of this is making a local take you to the West End to eat Bar-B-Que – it’s degrading for the host but delightfully touristy for the guest. Besides, Jerrett and I were convinced that learning how to behave at a fancy afternoon tea would come in handy (you know, should we ever retire and become ladies how lunch).

Harrods is the uber department store. It’s miles and miles of expensive crap, from deli meat to all glass player pianos and everything in between. After the death of Princess Di, it was purchased by some Egyptian guy who really "fancied up" the place (read: covered it in tacky Vegas-style decore) with a gilded fountain in memorial of the princess and over-the-top pharaoh motifs everywhere. Apparently, the owner has some theory that Di was pregnant with some commoner’s baby and the royal family had her whacked hence the memorial.

Despite the "makeover" of Harrods, high tea was delicious. We sipped tea with pinkies held high and worked our way from bottom to top on the fancy food tray. The first floor was cucumber sandwiches with crusts cut off of course. Next stop, scones with clotted cream. Charlie informed us true brits pronounce it sconz. And as for clotted cream, it’s really just thick butter, but whatever – when in Rome? The last tier was yummy pastries and other goodies. So, should you want to have Jerrett and I over for tea sometime, bring it on!

Day Seven: It's a Jolly Holiday in Brighton
According to my Time Out Guide to London, Brighton is "one of the youngest cities outside of London with 60 percent of the population under the age of 45." It takes about an hour to get there via train and it was the perfect day trip. Aside from even more great shopping, Brighton has a wonderful olde timey pier complete with carnival games, ice cream and I’m certain man-eating sharks waiting below (my fear of the ocean is trans-continental).

The beach is rocky, but I’m not one to complain. Since my pastiness is a tan for some folks there, I had no problem shedding my shirt and nestling into the rocks like an albino sea turtle. It was kind of nice not to be the honkiest-cracker white boy for once.

Day Eight: So Long SoHo
Our last day was bittersweet. We were excited to come home to tell everyone about the trip, but sad to leave the experience behind (and we were missing SoHo pride by one day). But we made the most of it doing more shopping, cramming in more walking through the parks and appreciating the cosmopolitan-ness of a city where Mary Poppins the musical plays right next door to a leather bar, a fancy five star restaurant and red light district.

And to close out the perfect trip, we were bumped up to business class for the flight home. Don’t get me wrong, I will fly steerage to the UK any day. However, it made the experience all that more rewarding to stretch out next to my babe in a reclining seat as we watched bad movies, giggled every time the British Airlines flight attendants said "cheerio" or offered us tea and reminisced about the best birthday present ever. Thanks Jerrett!

The Gratuitous Photos
Atop the LondonEye
Jerrett as St. Paul
On the tube (mind the gap)
Head choppin’ at the London Dungeon
Avoiding the pigeons at Trafalgar Square

Love, love

Love as over used and pompous as the phrase "In London they…," which I will be saying for the next six months, so get used to it!

Love (and cheerio)
Jef

Welcoming 30 with Spirit Fingers

2005-08-16T19:48:00.000-07:00

As if a surprise trip to London for my 30th wasn't enough (blog coming soon, I swear), I milked my double quinceanera for all it was worth with a sassy little party called Jef's Big Gay Cliche which was held over the weekend.

NaviGAYting the terrain
A subtle mix of hot pink and rainbow, the cliche was part theme party, part homo museum and just a dash of carnival goodness. Guests were greeted with a yellow brick road as the sashayed their way to Judy Garland's Emerald City Porch where various versions of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" played on an endless loop. There they could pick up a Guide to the Jef's Big Gay Cliche warning "past this point there be dragons ... or is it drag queens." Next stop was Joan Crawford's Parlor of the Stars featuring a bevy of tabloids filled with celebrity gossip or a visit to the Oscar Wilde Suite to take "A Picture of Dorian GAY." Then there was Rupaul's Rainbow Room, where supermodels could work their way over to nosh on a quiche; The Golden Girl's Lanai Lav, complete with Blanche and Rose soaps; The Cher-aoke Lounge, a karaoke crooner's dream; The Designing Women Powder Room; Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings" Wing; and Dolly Parton's "Islands In the Stream" Cantina, home of the house cocktail - the Tingley All Over. Rounding out the fun was the Charles Nelson Reilly Center Square Gazeebo, where guests were invited to craft their own neckerchiefs to attach to the 10-foot-tall CNR totem pole and the Madonna-Rama Bead Toss, a gay cliche twist on a Mardi Gras favorite allowing partygoers to test their underhanded pitching in hopes of ringing Madge's ostentatious aureola.

The Gay Cliche Gliterrati Guest List
Now I'm usually not one to drop names, but this party was dripping with celebrity decadence. Among the who's who that made a cameo were:
Liberace
The leatherman from the Village People
Tinky Winky
Freddy Mercury
Cagney & Lacey
South Park's Own Mr. Garrison
Rosie the Riveter
The Sheriff of Sass (that's me)
A Flock of Fairies
MAC Makeup squad
Female Fed Ex Workers
Desperate Housewife
Mr. Anonymous One Night Stand
A couple of "don't ask, don't tell" soldiers
and faggle (think gaggle, but gayer) of feather boa wearin' fellas

Lessons on Living Lavishly
Although the cliche was a huge success, there were some very important lessons learned that night:
1. Never make your guest dress in costume in August in Texas. Cagney's panty hose nearly spontaneously combusted and Liberace's lace almost led to a trip to the emergency room.
2. If you do have a chap-clad leatherman at your party, make sure he can pick up a quarter with his butt cheeks. It really raised the bar on any kind of party parlor trick I could have ever planned. For those of you who doubt the sincerity of this statement - you really had to be there.
3. I'm the luckiest guy alive. My friends went all out to indulge my hair brained party ideas and to make sure that I will never forget the passing of my 29-year-old youth.

Love, love

Love as heinous as the gayness

Love, Jef

AC for ME

2005-06-27T18:50:00.000-07:00

Before you read one more word of this blog ... stop and kiss your air conditioner - that precious trooper of an appliance. For it is that little hunk of metal quietly purring away that is the only thing saving you from your own personal hell on earth. I know this from just having lived 36 hours without one, in Texas, in 100 degree heat, with two dogs, one cat, one boyfriend, a roommate and a consistent poop-eating frown on my face.

Oh how cocky I was in the days leading up to the meltdown flipping the thermostat dial down and down, never thanking my frigid friend for defending me from the elements. I would take and take and take and bask in its coolness, but I never gave. But those days are over. I've converted to the church of the AC. Each morning I will bow down to my chilly god and thank it for giving me another day of life without sweat drenched brow and pits.

For those of you who have never experienced AC-less life in Texas, in Summer, let me give you little a play by play:
7 a.m. AC dies with a faint click,click,click FZZZZZ. Call air conditioner repairman even though
it's Sunday morning.
8 a.m. Temperature begins to climb to 78 then 79 degrees. Claustrophobia and panic set in.
9 a.m. I long to open the blinds and the drapes but fear the cool will leave me like a one night stand, so I wait in the dark absorbing the fading precious chill (think Gollum from Lord of the Rings)
11 a.m. We're up to 83 degrees, and I've taken to fanning myself with a homemade fan like some vixen from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
2 p.m. It's 86 degrees, the cat has gone under the ottoman to her secret dying place, she can take no more and who can blame her? I contemplate following her.
4 p.m. The dogs collapse onto the floor like a tiny doggy Jonestown (mmm Kool aid), someone comes to the door but they are too weak to bark and barely lift their heads.
7 p.m. Jackpot, 90 degrees. In various states of undress I stagger outside to bask in the "cool"
weather. I contemplate taking the TV outside and watching it on the porch, then recoil in horror at the white trashinesss of the idea. Has the heat cooked my sense of cooth?
9 p.m. Borrow a fan from a neighbor that resembles a Hollywood windmachine. Despite the deafening roar, eathquake like vibrations and the fact that my curtains are now hanging horizontally ... it's a welcome change.
11 p.m. What the fuck! It's 92 degrees. Science be damned, it actually gets hotter at night or my house is built over the mouth to hell.
12 a.m. Take a freezing cold shower that nearly stops my heart in an attempt to trick my body that I'm secretly in Antartica. My efforts are futile.
1 a.m. Prepare for sleep. Valiantly defend the cat from perching on my chest and stealing my breath, while forbidding Jerrett from letting any part of his searing hot limbs come in contact with me.
2 a.m. Pretend to sleep while having recurring dream that I am that Arian-lad Hansel and have indeed met my untimely end in the witch's wood-brick oven. For the love of god, cook me already, eat me and crap me into the sweet relief of a soothingly cool toilet bowl.

The dreams continue through the night until I have time to wake up, avoid a hot cup of coffee, take yet another cold shower and eagerly head to work where I will be greeted by loving AC.

Love, love

Love as hot as a nanny goat in a pepper patch

Love, Jef

Goatee or not Goatee - That is the Question

2005-05-10T19:09:00.000-07:00

There comes a time in every young man's life when the chameleon-like ability to grow facial hair begs to be explored in all its depilatory-free majesty. For me, that time was last week. Now I know that you are thinking, but why have you waited 29 years to don some whiskers? The answer is that it has literally taken me that long to be able to produce them in full enough quantity to move-up from cookie duster lip hairs to Magnum PI mustache.

Nonetheless, after a recent three-day respite from shaving, I decided to manscape my stuble into a mustache/goatee combination platter. I orginally thought this was called a fu man chu, but have learned upon investigation that the fu man chu is more of an evil-looking handle bar mustache with an asian twist.

The first few days of the new-found facial hair was very empowering. I felt older, wiser, sexier ... like I should be playing pool and drinking beer in a commercial. It also inspired new fashion: untucked ringer t-shirts, jeans, flip flops and a California surfer-boy swagger. After all, I was facially disheveled without a care in the world.

By about the third day, the mustache part of the fashion trend really started to kick in. No longer did I have the pouty upper lip speckled with 5 o'clock shadow. Suddenly, I had tiny red and blonde porcupine quills hanging over my lip catching lint and wayward food particles. The magic was gone. Not only did I start to feel like a reject from a low budget porn movie, but I developed a new habit of incessantly stroking my upper lip with my pointer finger. It gave the impression that either a) I was continuously smelling something bad, or b) I had decided to reinact the "time to make the donuts" commercials from my youth where the Dunkin Donuts baker (creepy link, huh) went in drag hiding his furry face with a lone digit. Either way, it was not very attractive or hygenic.

So last night, I bid adiu to the mustache portion, but kept the goatee on for a few more days of evaluation and observation. Now I would say that my new look is kind of artsy, but to my surprise, today a co-worker called it "beatnicky." Hmmmmm beatnicky (I say stroking my goatee, because I can). Not quite the look I was going for. Now I'm suffering from a Shaggy from Scooby Doo complex fearing that I will begin blurting out uncontrollable "ZOINKS" at any moment.

So now what? I'm giving it a few more days. After all, its just hair and there are so many options. I mean the true defintion of a goatee is "a man's beard so trimmed as to resemble the pointed beard of a goat." Perhaps I will grow it long and wrangle it with rubber bands like the former WWF star Captain Lou Albano. But most likely I will just shave it off and begin anew.

Love, Love

Love as pro-facial hair as this creepy book I just found online in my beard reasearch. Yikes!

Love, Jef

P.S. I'm thrilled to announce that my Paulette Goddard y Flora painting won a first-prize blue ribbon at the Lakewood Library Art fair (they like me, they really like me). It will be there on display through June.

Guitarist Interruptus

2005-04-18T19:56:00.000-07:00

Just coming off the heels of a delightful weekend. . .Friday night was an All About Eve themed birthday party for my friend Ted. Knowing that I would use my crafting powers for evil, I was enlisted to help decorate. The end result was Ted's head photoshoped over Bette Davis from the movie poster with a beady-eyed Anne Baxter peering in from the distance. This picture was then turned into a center piece and plastered about the room amongst a host of memorable quotes including:

"I developed that cynicism the day I discovered I was different from little boys!"
- Karen Richards

"I'll admit I may have seen better days ... but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut. " - Margo Channing

"I'm a junkyard." - Margo Channing

After meeting for cocktails and the photo reveal, we headed off to Ciudad for birthday dinner. There were about 10 of us seated outside on the patio enjoying a perfect night and the complimentary margaritas given to us to ease the pain of waiting 45 minutes despite our reservations. I was engaged n conversation, when I suddenly realized Jerrett (my babe of 7 years) was being serenaded by a strolling guitar player. And it wasn't just your run-of-the-mill love song, our songster had created his own lyrics all centered around Jerrett's name and how beautiful he was. Enchanted by Jerrett's moment in the sun, I grabbed his hand at which point the chanteuse immediately stopped his song - either embarrassed at his ostentatious flirtation or fearing that I would attack him like a puma in a bar brawl. He then asked for my name, but instead of singing a love song to me ... he sang about how I better take care of Jerrett or he might run off to the parking lot with the guitar player. Well I never...

Saturday night was Gay Bingo at the Lakewood Theater. The theme was Sci Fi - set your phasers to fabulous. It was my first time at gay bingo, which is a shocker considering I was kind of hooked on bingo when I was about 18. I was a little disappointed that our drag queen MC, Patti LePlaeSafe, was as bearded as a nannygoat, but had a great time nonetheless. The highlight of the evening was Jerrett's inappropriate BINGO outburst (he mistakenly thought he had it) which led to him being thrown in "jail" - a two-foot by four-foot area smack dab on stage. As he went to take his place in jail Patti commented on her glee over the "vanilla ice cream" that would soon be her cell mate. I mustered the only cash I had on me, $10, and paid Jerrett's bail as soon as possible thus saving him from becoming drag queen's dessert.

And finally, for those of you avid blog readers, I have finished the Paulette Goddard painting mentioned in my April 6 entry "Hollywood She is a Fickle Mistress." Wanna see it, click here.

Love, Love

Love as jilted as the strolling guitartist at Ciudad (who incidentally does an amazing Scissor Sisters cover)

Love,

Jef

Hollywood is a Fickle Mistress

2005-04-06T21:32:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh how quickly the rush of celebrity fades. For those of you who missed the April 3 episode of Desperate Housewives (formerly known a my cameo), you certainly didn't miss me. After reviewing it via TIVO in ultra-slow motion (multiple times), I have determined that you can possibly see my neck in what is maybe the darkest restaurant known to mankind. However, it's about as clear as those pictures of the Loch Ness Monster. Oh well, I still have pride and my $43.49 dollars.

Now that I'm no longer a member of the LA scenester set, I've gone back to my normal life. Currently, I'm working on a painting inspired by Paulette Goddard, an old-school starlet known for such timeless classics as Sins of Jezebel, Bride of Vengeance and Kitty. I'm not quite sure how she came to be the muse of said portrait. I guess it started with the movie still I found at Half Price Books. My grand plan is to showcase the painting an the 41st Annual Lakewood Art Show. As soon as I'm done, I will make sure to add a picture to the Crafts page of Tingley All Over, so you can witness it in all its amateur painting glory.

Speaking of crafts and my nerdy obsessions, I was so delighted tonight as I settled in to watch Crafters Coast to Coast. One of the first people featured was Shawn of the Shawnimals Web site. I had seen the site a million years ago on Daily Candy, and was totally enchanted with the whimsical descriptions of the fuzzy toys. And to make it even better, Shawn is kind of cutie and way spunky in real life - there's nothing worse than seeing an author or someone you like on TV only to learn that they are hideous and a jackass. The site in itself is fun, but the best part by far is the Dutch to English translation of some magazine review of Shanimals (click here). It's so foreign and weird, that I kind of have to share it with everyone.

Love, Love

Love as plushy as a Shawnimal

Love,

Jef

Desperate as a Housewife - Jef goes Hollywood

2005-03-22T14:57:00.000-08:00

So, little did I know that my conference turned vacation in Los Angeles would lead to my national TV debut. It all began in February while attending a work conference in Newport Beach. I decided to add a few days on to the trip and visit my dear friend Sarah in Los Angeles. For those of you just tuning into my life, Sarah + Jef = wacky adventures. We've been friends since high school, and our powers combined lead to many hair-brained ideas and a menagerie of really cute pets.

I knew Sarah would be tied up with work until evening (she's a costumer on Jimmy Kimmel Live), but she had proposed the intriguing offer that Amanda (Sarah's secret twin and business partner) said I could vist her "on set" (yep, I slip right into the Hollywood lingo). Set in this case was Desperate Housewives, so you could bet I was all over it.

The ride from Newport Beach to LA was perfect. The weather was in true California form, I had my trustee GPS navigation system in the rental car (I named it Sally Space box) and the radio station, Indie 103.1, was playing the Portuguese version of Life on Mars from The Life Aquatic soundtrack. I was so happy that one lone tear flowed down my face like those old commercials where the Indian cries about pollution.

Under the tutelage of Sally Space box, I arrived at a graveyard in Alta Dena, hence forth known as set. I should have guessed that my day would take a turn for the surreal when I stopped the car and noticed a chicken crossing the road. No, I'm not setting up a joke here, it was literally a feather-clad chicken (and later multiple chickens) walking in front of my car. I'm still not sure why they were there, but they were certainly something that couldn't be omitted from my adventure.

My first stop on set was a wardrobe trailer resplendent with fancy star wear and notable nametags hanging about -Teri, Nicolette, Marsha. From there we marched up the hill to the actual filming. Seeing all the celebs up close and personal was a total delight. But despite my inner glee, I managed to keep up an exterior as surly as gothic teenager - afterall, I didn't want everyone to know I was a giddy tourist. And besides, I was in graveyard and isn't proper etiquette to be all somber and reserved?

Inbetween scenes, Amanda introduced me to a few folks as her visiting friend from Dallas. In retrospect, I think the whole Dallas thing really ruined my street cred as the actors probably assumed I would greet them with a howdy y'all through a mouth clenched around a piece of straw. Nonetheless, I ended up having a delightful chat with Felicity Huffman (Lynette), who I might add is the wife of William H. Macey. She asked me about the reason for my visit, and I got to use my "I'm not Jewish, I'm Jew - 'ish' (inserting finger air quotes for the' ish') joke" to explain that I was attending a marketing conference for Jewish community workers.

After hanging about the graveyard for a little longer and watching a few more scenes, including one with Marsha Cross (Bree) dressed in a fabulous Jacquie-O-esque, black and white ensemble with oversized hat, we went to craft services for lunch. Again, slipping right into the lingo, craft services is the on set catering that is pretty fancy business. Imagine an all-you-can-eat buffet filled with only the most delicious things waiting for you everyday at lunch? Ahhh Hollywood.

After lunch, I headed into another wardrobe trailer so Amanda could talk to the costume designer. They left me alone for a moment and knowing this was my one chance to get a photo, I snapped a frantic pic of myself that ended up looking like it was shot with a fish eye lense - but it is documented proof of my Housewives adventure. When Amanda came back, she broke the good news, not only did I get to visit ... I was also going to be an extra (or background as I learned it was called) in a restaurant scene filming later that day. Needless to say, it was shaping up to be a really good day.

To get over to the restaurant, we piled in Amanda's car where we were joined by this hunky Hollywood-lookin' guy with a sparkly-white, anchorman grin. Turned out that this everyday hottie was actually Rick Ravanello, who plays Edie's hunky contractor Bill Cunningham - a new character on the show.

Again, I hung out around the wardrobe trailer while Amanda dressed an entourage of fellow extras as busboys, waiters and restaurant patrons. I ended up wearing my own clothes since I had a suitcase full of outfits in my trunk.

The restaurant scene was filmed just outside the Rose Bowl in some kind of country club building. After introducing me to the director, assistant director and countless other crew members, Amanda led me to the background holding area - think cattle car with show folks and food. All I could think of was that "I hope I get it" song from A Chorus Line as I saw the 60-70 aspiring actors milling about - all waiting for their moment in the spotlight. In chatting with the various extras, I learned that everyone was there for different reasons. There was an older lady who used to do PR for Bob Mackie, but after retiring did extra work to stay busy and make new friends. There was another guy who made his living almost exclusively from extra work, he had most recently finished a 30 day stint in the background scenes of Princess Diaries II. And, of course, there was an abundance of actor-by-day, waiter-by-night types who, ironically enough, were dressed as waiters for the restaurant scene (is that one of those life imitating art moments I've heard about?).

After hours of waiting, chatting, people watching and, of course, grazing on craft service, my big moment arrived. I was paired up with the Bob Mackie PR lady, as a mother and son going out for a fancy dinner. We were led into the dining room and placed at a booth behind Rick Ravanello and Teri Hatcher (Susan). We did about three or for takes of the scene, pretending to drink wine and laugh at my on-screen mom's jokes, while Susan was confronted by Edie in the middle of the restaurant. If it all works out, you can see me, or perhaps just a passing glimpse of my earlobe or elbow, on either the March 27 episode Ladies Who Lunch or the April 3 edpisode There Won't Be Trumpets.

But no matter what happens, I'll always have the memories of my network TV debut, the autographed picture of Bree that Amanda got for me and the $43.49 I was paid as an extra on TV's hottest show. So please tune in and keep an eye out and you might just see me on TV.

Love, Love

Love as fast and full-color as my two-second cameo

Love, Jef

P.S. For those of you who just can't get enough, take the Which Housewife Are You? test at http://abc.go.com/primetime/desperate/quiz/index.html.

My First Blog

2005-03-03T18:51:00.000-08:00

So, what's Tingley All Over? It's actually not a dirty euphamism, it's my last name turned catch phrase. I'm kind of a writer, crafter and general, all-around projector, so I thought a Web site (tingleyallover.com) and blog would do me good and give me a chance to document my wacky escapades. Coming soon .... my adventures as an extra on the set of Desperate Housewives.