Friday, August 31

The CDP Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade!

The CDP Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade!

It's go time, kids!

After extensive laboring, uploading e-mail addresses and building one of those spinny-wheels with the Bingo balls in them, I have finally come up with the 18 pairings for the CDP Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade. Everyone that signed up has someone that they will create a mix-tape for, and in tune they have someone who will make one for them.

The pairings are as follows. The drawing was random; a co-worker picked a number, and I eliminated the names, 'MASH'-style:

Benjamin will be making a mix-tape for CometStarMoon.

Blustacon will be making a mix-tape for Raif.

Cargirl will be making a mix-tape for Sherry.

The CDP will be making a mix-tape for Cargirl.

CometStarMoon will be making a mix-tape for The Missus.

Halo will be making a mix-tape for Benjamin.

HeyFakeDomsar will be making a mix-tape for Kenny Frankly.

JT will be making a mix-tape for Moe Greene.

Julia will be making a mix-tape for HeyFakeDomsar.

Kenny Frankly will be making a mix-tape for JT.

Kevin will be making a mix-tape for Halo.

Maus will be making a mix-tape for The CDP.

MikeHos will be making a mix-tape for Julia.

The Missus will be making a mix-tape for Will.

Moe Greene will be making a mix-tape for Kevin.

Raif will be making a mix-tape for Maus.

Sherry will be making a mix-tape for MikeHos.

Will will be making a mix-tape for Blustacon.

Wonderful. Here's what we all do next:

1. I will be sending e-mails out to everyone over the next few hours, reminding them who they need to create a mix-tape for, and what that person's e-mail address is. For example, your e-mail from me will look a lot like this:

"Maus, you will be making a mix-tape for the CDP. His e-mail address is communistdance@yahoo.com. Please contact him and get his mailing address."

2. It will then be up to the creator of the mix-tape to contact the recipient and get their physical mailing address. For example:

"Hey CDP, it's Maus. I'm making you a mix-tape, so give me your mailing address so I can send you some sweet-ass tunage!"

3. One you get the mailing address of the person you're sending a mix-tape to, SEND IT! Everyone has a buddy; it would really suck if someone get left out because you suddenly decided to go deadbeat on them. My goal is to have ALL MIX-TAPES MAILED OUT BY FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7. Now that you know who you're making a mix for, you should have plenty of time to whip it up and get it mailed out within 8 days. If someone gets left out, I'll feel personally responsible, so please don't make an ass out of me.

4. If you're having a problem contacting anyone, an e-mail address is dead or anything else goes wrong, feel free to contact me and I'll sort it out. I'm pretty neat like that. If everyone gets their mixes mailed out by Friday the 7th, everyone should get their packages in time to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in style. Of course, once you receive your mix-tape, sound off in the comments section so we all know the status of everyone's packages.

5. Here are some assorted FAQ's about the Trade:

Q: Does it have to be on a CD? I want to go old-skool, and put it on a cassette!
A: Although your recipient might not like it, you're more than welcome to go totally 80's and make a mix-tape the way God intended.

Q: What should I put on the mix-tape?
A: Anything you want! Here's a great definition from Wikipedia:

"A mixtape, which usually reflects the musical tastes of its compiler, can range from a casually selected list of favorite songs, to a conceptual mix of songs linked by a theme or mood, to a highly personal statement tailored to the tape's intended recipient. Essayist Geoffrey O'Brien has called the personal mixtape "the most widely practiced American art form,"and many mixtape enthusiasts believe that by carefully selecting and ordering the tracks in a mix, an artistic statement can be created that is greater than the sum of its individual songs, much as an album of pop music in the post-Beatles era can be considered as something more than a collection of singles."

And here's a paragraph from the book High Fidelity:

"To me, making a tape is like writing a letter — there's a lot of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind," but then realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules."

I've created many a mix-tape for many a person, and I strongly believe that it's not only a chance to share musical interests with others, but a chance to connect with them on a slightly higher plane than mere conversation. I take it really seriously though, so your results may vary. I used to put together 2-hour long cassettes with seamless fade-outs, perfectly timed side-endings and detailed instructions on how to correctly listen to it. Brilliance, yo.

Q: I don't know the person I'm sending the mix to? What should I do?
A: Well, this is really the point of the whole Trade. Express yourself and say hello through your mix. Who knows? You might make a new friend out of the deal. But probably, you'll just realize that your taste in music is horrid. Be creative or be lazy; just do something and mail it out in time.

Well, I think that's about it. Wait for my e-mail and go from there. Any questions, comments or concerns? Sound off in the comments section or drop me an e-mail. Let's freaking do this!

MONDAY:

The 3rd Annual CDP Fall TV Preview!

Wednesday, August 29

Snap, Crackle, Poop.

I'm Gunna Puke My Pants!

When I began training for the 'Book'n It Fun Run To Promote Literacy' back in early July, my only hope was that I didn't do anything foolish, like puke on camera or break my legs. And while there's still no confirmed footage out there of yours truly 'yodeling groceries,' I did confirm my suspicions that my right tibia had been fractured.

Come to think of it, I haven't thrown up since September of 2002. That's a long damn time, considering that I have nightly heartburn and I'm guzzling gin as we speak.

If you recall, I developed shin splints in both legs during my training, which caused me to rest for 2-3 weeks prior to the race. As the date loomed, however, I began to overtrain, heightening the inflammation of my joints and also pulling my left hamstring in the process (that's a red flag,).

Even though I was considerably hobbled on the day of the race, I ran anyway, resulting in 34 of the most painful minutes of my life. Makes sense, considering I was running on a broken bone, a pulled muscle and two severely inflamed joints. My ankles were so swollen after the race, they looked like your grandma's ankles.

My mantra throughout the entire training process was "Don't be a pansy," although I replaced the word 'pansy' for something a little less blog-friendly. You get the point. I accomplished my incredibly stupid and not-at-all worthwhile goal and was about to pay for it for the next 6 to 8 weeks.

After two weeks of limping around, downing Ibuprofen by the economy bottle and pouring Jameson whiskey on my Froot Loops every morning, I finally decided to go to the doctor. By this point, there was acute pain in my right leg (far beyond shin splints), leading to numbness and tingling running up the back of my femur. At any moment, I was expecting the entire works to crumble like an oak tree that had been ravaged by termites.

I couldn't walk around or stand up for more than a few minutes, I was acting like a real dick to my family and friends, and I was sleeping on the floor so I could elevate and ice the leg. Also, I was trying to refrain from accidentally booting the Missus in the ovaries in a fit of pain-induced rage while she slept. It was a rough 10 days.

There's something about going to the Doctor that always seems to make your symptoms go away. Every time I find myself in the office, I have to try to explain that I felt bad yesterday, but for some reason I feel 100% better today. Come to think of it, a poor man's health insurance should just consist of scheduling the appointment, watching the symptoms magically disappear, and then canceling the appointment later in the day. I understand that it's an evolutionary tactic to not show weakness in the presence of dominant opposition, but I also knew that I wasn't going to get any pain pills unless I convinced this guy that I needed them right away.

My Doctor in Middleton (The Best City In America, 2007) referred me to a Sports Physician downtown for x-rays, where after three hours of radiating and re-radiating, they finally determined that I had shin splints in the left and a fracture in the right. The x-ray technician kept messing up, so I probably got blasted with about 3000% more Tumor Juice than anyone should ever see in their lifetime.

I also appreciate that they make a point to cover my testicles with a lead blanket, as I can only handle one serious problem at a time. Something tells me that the sight of my gonads melting would have been a little too much for me to take on a Tuesday morning.

After the x-rays, the Sports Physician listened to my story, called me an idiot and told me I shouldn't do a damn thing with my legs until after I had an MRI and was put on a rehab program. They also made me take my pants off and wear a pair of communal shorts that I'm sure hundreds of tiny men have hitched up over the years.

They were green and I was very embarrassed.

I also found out that I currently weigh in at 164 pounds with all of my clothes and shoes on. While I'm in good shape and look dead-sexy in a tight shirt (still a size Small), this is the most I've ever weighed and a good 50 pounds larger than I ever thought I'd be in my life. You have to understand that I tipped the scales at 112 pounds my Senior year, where my Gangly Factor (GF) was off the charts. I always sort of thought I'd be like that forever.

I also never thought I'd be sitting in a Doctor's office, wearing someone else's clothes while a Sports Therapist tells me that my tibia was broken. Oh, and I have a hedgehog in my living room. Jesus Christ.

So, that pretty much brings us up to speed. The MRI is next week, the follow-up appointment is the week after that, and I've been instructed not to further injure myself anytime in between. Once they get a good look at me, I'll probably get a soft cast, some medication and a very busy wife. Until then, I'm limping on eggshells and avoiding concrete.

What I love more than anything is my mother, who still fully denies that there's anything wrong with me. When I called her before the race and told her I was hurt, she called me a baby and said I was fine. When I told her afterwards that I was hurt, she said I was not. When I told her I thought I had fractured my leg, she again called me a baby and said I didn't. Just today, when I told her about the x-rays, MRI and Doctor's word that I had a fracture, she told me that a fracture isn't the same as a break, and that I was exaggerating. Thanks for the compassion; I'll remember this when I choose your nursing home.

Sound off in the comments section and attempt to make sense of all this. The CDP Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade will be in the spotlight on Friday; please read this and get on board if you haven't already. We're up to 18 names, so it's already way beyond what I expected. Thanks.

Monday, August 27

I Can't Keep My Eyes Off Of You.

Jameson Plug 7-Up Equals Best Friends Forever.

Kids, daddy had a long weekend, so please just look at these cool photographs while I sit in the dark and watch SportsCenter all day. You'll notice in the above picture that regardless of how sloppy I get, I always manage to keep CDP Headquarters spotlessly clean.

Oh, and if you still want in on the CDP Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade, just follow the rules in the link and get on board. We already have about 15 folks signed up, so it's already exceeded my expectations. More on this at the end of the week, along with a CDP Book update.

We'll Chain Her In The Garage And Charge Two Bits A Gander.

As promised, here's another picture of yours truly in 1983 with 'Shirley,' my first pet and the largest cat I've (and you've) ever seen. If you want to see more of Shirley, just give this LARGE BOLD TEXT a clicky-doo. You'll be glad you did.

People have been asking me where Shirley came from and how she got to be so large. Well, first off, we lived on a farm that housed over 100 cats during the busiest times. Wisconsin winters are cold and trucks have no brakes, so it's survival of the fittest if you're a homeless (let alone female) cat. Secondly, Shirley wasn't fed kibble and given a warm cot made of hay bales in the loft or anything; she killed and ate birds all day, for God's sake. Squirrels, woodchucks, maybe even a small horse if she pounced just right. She wasn't a domestic cat; she belonged on Wild Kingdom.

And again, she was my best friend.

Your Mother Should Have Just Named You Laika.

Meet Laika, the newest addition to Headquarters and the Official Spokeshog of the CDP. At just over 6 weeks old, we're getting her acclimated to the house and taking extra special care of her. Already, she snuggles with us when we watch TV, she runs for miles in her exercise wheel at night, and is about the size of a baseball when she's all curled up.

She has her own special cage, but we let her out a lot, and the cats seem to really be interested in her in a non-food sort of way. Besides, she's sharp as hell when she raises those quills, so that's really not going to be happening anytime soon. We'll be bathing her this weekend, and I'll be videotaping it and showing it to you as it happens.

It's For Your Own Good; It's For The Neighborhood.

She's alright. She'll live 5 to 7 years, makes no noise, has no smell, is litter trained, eats cat food and cannot be hurt. She'd be the perfect pet if her quills didn't penetrate the skin with extreme prejudice. The more she trusts us, however, the more that'll stop happening.

Alcohol? 40 pound cats? Hedgehogs? What do you have to say about it? Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your Monday.