This Week's "All Over the Map"

Here's my "All Over the Map" for this week's Arkansas Weekly. It's been a fun ride.


Some of you may have noticed that I’ve been missing in a few recent issues of Arkansas Weekly or that an old “All Over the Map” has run instead of a new one.

There is a reason for my sporadic absences, and I will explain, but first, let me say this.

Reaching the age of 40 for many men can cause them to reflect on their accomplishments at what is likely their halfway point in life. It can also make them consider that there are many dreams yet to be realized and that time is not infinite.

Some men decide to make new beginnings when they arrive in mid-life. They grasp the opportunity to take control of their destiny in their remaining years and to become the man they’ve always dreamed of being.

In the past few weeks, I’ve realized I am at that point.

And I have decided to become the captain of my destiny.

So, it is with a bittersweet feeling that I tell you, dear readers, that this is my last column.

But, don’t be down. Be happy for me…for I have decided to begin a new and exciting chapter in my life.

Tomorrow, I will be moving from my beloved hometown of Batesville to the Big Apple…New York City. And it is there where I will realize my longtime dream of becoming a mime.

Next week, I’ll begin taking classes at the Shields and Yarnell School for Mime. You might remember this groundbreaking superstar mime duo from their appearances on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour, and of course, their legendary CBS comedy-variety program, The Shields and Yarnell Show.

Now, yes, their namesake show only lasted one season, but that was likely because the head of CBS at the time hated mimes. There is, as you know, a very small -- practically microscopic -- percentage of people who do not care for mimes, and those people need our prayers because they are likely unhappy and always in a sour mood. I mean, come on, who in their right mind doesn’t LOVE mimes?!? Am I right?

I can remember being thrilled at the magical majesty of mime at a very early age watching Shields and Yarnell on television. I sat in front of the television set enthralled as I watched these two mime the act of chasing butterflies or picking daises for each other. Yes, sometimes my big brother would hit me over the head with a tennis shoe for watching this show, saying something like, “Are you kidding me? You like this (expletive deleted)? You’re watching this instead of The Six Million Dollar Man? I mean, Rob, seriously, please tell me you like girls.” But I knew he couldn’t appreciate the enchanting skill and artistry of mime, and that was his loss.

On Saturdays, I would stay in my room, apply the white pancake makeup and practice standard mime antics in a black unitard I had purchased -- until my father caught me in full mime regalia and forced me to join pee-wee football and learn how to dip Skoal.

I was crushed. I was living a lie all through my pre-teen and teenage years. In college, my passion of mime was reignited. I started to mime on campus, but stopped after I was hit on the head with a tennis shoe by my brother who once showed up for a surprise visit. Humiliated, I put away my mime dreams forever.

It wasn’t until this past Christmas when I finally realized you only have one life, and you must live life to the fullest. Cleaning out some storage one weekend afternoon, I came across my black unitard and pancake make-up in a box. I could feel a stirring in my belly. With a delicate hesitancy, I slipped on the unitard – which, surprisingly, was four sizes too small for some reason -- then I applied my make-up and decided to test the waters again.

There really isn’t a good place to mime in Batesville because of the traffic, so I drove to Thida and noticed a group of folks standing outside the feed store, shooting the bull. Perfect! I got out of the car in my mime regalia and started to do a silly routine for the group where I mimicked picking dandelions.

I can’t really remember what happened next, but I awoke from my coma two days later in a local hospital and endured reconstructive facial surgery for mysterious injuries.

That’s why my column output has been here and there. And, it was in the hospital when I determined to head to the school in New York – and realize my dream of becoming the greatest mime since Marcel Marceau.

So, farewell Arkansas Weekly readers. I shall miss you and think of you always. Do not be sad because these pages will still carry $4 classifieds and Duffie, but I must follow my heart.

My journey to fulfill my destiny begins tomorrow, April 1.

Goodbye. And good luck.

Next week's "All Over the Map"

Here is my "All Over the Map" (the uncensored version) from next week's Arkansas Weekly:

I have two buddies who have suddenly become fitness nuts, and really, it’s making me sick.

I mean, it’s not like they were in horrible shape. In fact, before they started all of this exercise and eating right nonsense, they were in great shape. A month ago, they’d stay up late with me and other pals, eating pizza, shooting the bull and stuff. Now, every weekday they rise and shine at 5:30 a.m. and work out for close to 90 minutes to some DVD called P90X.

This morning, I put down my sausage, egg, cheese, bacon, pancake and gravy biscuit, and I logged on to the P90X website – which, get this, is located at www.beachbody.com.

Puke.

Anyway, the website claims that the P90X workout routine can get you “absolutely ripped” in just 90 days through a “revolutionary system of 12 sweat-inducing, muscle-pumping workouts.”

Gag.

Some of the 12 sweat-inducing, muscle-pumping workouts include some nonsense called Plyometrics, which is “an explosive jumping cardio routine proven to dramatically improve athletic performance”; the Ab Ripper X, which “sculpts the six-pack abs of your dreams and benefits your health and physical performance”; and Kenpo X, which is an “intense cardiovascular workout with punching and kicking for endurance, balance, and coordination.”

See, I can already tell you that a lot of this is probably bunk. You know why? My Microsoft Word spell checker says “Plyometrics” and “Kenpo” are not even recognized words.

Ridiculous.

Then, get this. These two health freaks also hike about 15 miles each weekend. I’m telling you, one of these days they’ll be hiking and a giant bear will jump out of the woods and eat them both.

The authorities will kill the bear, open its stomach, and inside will be the “absolutely ripped” and healthy remains of my two friends.

And at the double funeral, I’ll address the mourners and hypothetically ask our dearly departed pals, “Hey, how’s that P90X bullshit working out for you two bitches now?”

Heck, they could spend all of this time and energy exercising and eating nothing but raw vegetables while spurning the enjoyable things in life such as fried chicken, cream gravy and sleeping until noon -- then one day, they could get hit by a bus.

And, again, I’d ask their souls at the funeral, “Hey, dummies, was all of that responsible eating and maintaining a healthy lifestyle really worth it?”

I bet I could eat a fried chicken a day, smoke four packs of Marlboros a day and drink all the milkshakes I want, and still live longer than these two.

Exercising can kill you. Look at Jim Fixx, the guy who, in the late 1970s, made running a national fitness craze with his book, The Complete Book of Running. At age 52, he’s on his daily run, and BOOM! -- Jim drops dead of a heart attack.

(Of course, Jim smoked two packs a day until he was 35 and his family had a history of heart problems, but c’mon, work with me here.)

Oh well. I suppose I should mind my own business. Maybe instead of criticizing, I should begin an exercise program. I mean, my 14-year-old daughter recently told me I look pregnant.

(In my defense, I think I was retaining water the day she told me that.)

Maybe I should rise before dawn, do a rigorous workout for about an hour and begin eating everything that’s good for me – like raw broccoli, leafy greens and dry wheat germ with soy milk.

Or – maybe not.

Now, excuse me, my large pan supreme pizza has just arrived at my door.

I can’t wait to slather butter and cream all over it.

Yum.

New Zach, The Dark Side of Sesame Street, etc.

Between Two Ferns with Zach Galifianakis: Ben Stiller from Between Two Ferns

Good Morning!

Hey, yo, hello, 'sup?

Been a long time since I rock and rolled!

Been over a month since my last post!

Here I am, back! Here I am, back! Here I am, back!

Baby where I come from...

Ok, enough of my Robert Plant impersonation thingy -- but you're welcome.

***

During my research sabbatical for my upcoming paper, The Growing Number of Heterosexual Men Who Profess a Lustful Attraction for Glenn Beck and the Resulting Confusion Said Men Experience in Their Relationships With Their Wives or Girlfriends or Goats, I unfortunately discovered the website, ChatRoulette.

Ugh. There's a lot of creepy people out there.

And I'll just say this: unless you are a pervert, logging on to ChatRoulette is only fun when you watch with a bunch of friends. That way you can share the fun laughing at all the pervs and also get ragged by the "normal" teenage brats who laugh at you for being too old for being on ChatRoulette.

I'd post a link for the site, but then I'd hate myself in the morning. Let's just say you can test the waters if you want to. I don't want to be an enabler or the person who introduced you to such a thing.

That said, there are a lot of people -- like me -- who like to periodically mess with other folks on ChatRoulette (and let me make this clear: I've only been to the site a few times) (no, I'm serious).

And this dude does a great and seemingly harmless job at it.

It's from the blog, Growling at the Moon. Enjoy.