Category: Le Journal d’Hardyman

I came across a crystal box that looks like cut ice.  Yes, it’s Tiffany.  Hadn’t opened it in several years.  So I did.  I’d forgotten than I literally have EVERY concert ticket from every show I’ve ever seen going all the way back to the first one in 1979.  Some of these shows I’m proud to say I went, others, well, not so much.  Peer pressure can be a bitch sometimes, especially if it’s on someone else’s dime.  🙂

So here it is, the unabridged history of me not being able to find the car until everyone else has left.  I’m sorry, but whoever designed the Forum in L.A. was an asshole.  You don’t put a circular building with multiple entrances on a square property so everyone leaving ends up going out a different door, with no idea if they’re on the right side or not.

OK, that’s not all entirely true.  There is a hypothetical scenario involving me deliberately losing a ticket stub to The Spice Girls…


Kenny Loggins – courtesy of my brothers, when the Universal Amphitheater didn’t have a roof


Olivia Newton-John – “The Physical Tour,” courtesy of KIIS-FM


The Moody Blues

The Tubes 

Robert Plant


Duran Duran – All I remember was screaming

The Scorpions

The Moody Blues – More than I ever wanted to  🙂


The Firm – 2X – Jimmy Page/Paul Rogers band

Roger Waters – The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking Tour

The Grateful Dead – Chula Vista


Robin Williams

Roger Whittaker

Steven Wright


Roger Waters – Radio KAOS Tour

U2 – Before Bono though he was all that

Boston – Moved a flight to Hawaii forward 1 day to see this

Beastie Boys / Run DMC – NOT my idea

Pink Floyd – The Momentary Lapse of Reason Tour


Robert Plant

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Julie Andrews


David Bowie – 2x – The First Retirement Tour

Depeche Mode – The Violator Tour

Peter Murphy


The Cult

Siouxsie and the Banshees – The Superstition Tour


Sex Gang Children

Peter Murphy


Bette Midler


Pink Floyd – Rose Bowl – The Division Bell Tour

Jimmy Page / Robert Plant


Liza Minnelli – Pantages Theater – After throat surgery, bitch shoulda stayed home

The Rolling Stones – Dodger Stadium


Lilith Fair – Rose Bowl

Rod Stewart – Hollywood Bowl

Alanis Morissette – Hollywood Palladium



Sarah Brightman


Paula Poundstone – If you ever get the chance, you MUST


Duran Duran


An Evening with Siouxsie

George Lopez



Peter Murphy

Donna Summer – Last minute Front Row Center at Viejas


Depeche Mode

Echo & the Bunnymen


Michael Buble

Madonna – Opening night of The Confessions Tour

Il Divo


Christina Aguilera

Gwen Stefani

No Doubt

Harry Connick, Jr.

Go Go’s

Diana Krall – Hollywood Bowl

Tori Amos


George Michael – 25 Alive Tour

Anatideaphobia:  The fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.

At first I thought it was a joke.  Then I started surveying our house and realized we are truly infested.  Mind you, I’m not scared.  I’m far more frightened of tarnished sterling to be honest, but that’s another entry altogether that falls under OCD.

I went from room to room and there isn’t ONE clean room.  Ducks were either present inside, or could be seen outside through a window, or had an indirect view from another room.  It’s insidious.  I truly feel for people who are jumping out of their skin every time they turn around.  I’m thinking on forming a rather pricey support group.  Truffled duck liver pate with port ain’t cheap…

I thought the kitchen/TV room was clean until I looked up. They’re counting on your complacency.

Even my room wasn’t clean, as I can clearly see this rat bastard from my window, so it counts.

A friend of mine who is fortunate enough to now live in South America requested a copy of this.  Thankfully, it was saved on Google Docs.  If you’re here, you know what to expect, so bugger off with the lectures.  🙂


Fork You


So, as some of you know, my bike tried to kill me again 6 weeks ago today.  Fine.  Wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last as I’ll discover later when I finally took it seriously.  Anyway, it’s only been in recent days that I’ve been eating like a horse morning, noon, and night.  Last night included the first steak I’ve cooked since said day.  I couldn’t chew it fast enough.  Trust me, when you can’t for awhile, it’s a luxury.  ANYWAY…

I’ve spent the past 3 days in a row now having sensational lunches at North Park Sushi in San Diego.  Today I moved back to Hillcrest at a place called Ichiban, as the bill at North Park is substantially higher.

Initially I wanted a fork and knife to cut the fish into smaller pieces to accommodate a still-sore jaw, and that was awkward enough.  I’ve always felt, and have been taught, that to alter the presentation at these minimalist, seemingly relaxed, but pressure-loaded establishments, is an insult to the chef, his family, his wife’s family, and all future offspring.  So we, like so many sake-drunk-lemmings-off-a-cliff, bow ferociously, indicating we understand the consequences to Grandmother and her goddamn cricket.  We do this by pretending to be comfortable with balsa wood.  Not sterling, babes.  Fucking-balsa-make-a-plane-that-will-explode-on-impact-wood.  We lean over the rice bowl and shovel it in quickly enough so as not to fall.  We ignore the fact that the staff has noted that they aren’t perfect little rice balls.  We perform.  We are good round eye.  It’s a theme restaurant, when you think about it.  Like Medieval Times.  Eat turkey leg as though you were in a real shit hole with no indoor plumbing, drink grog.  It’s magical.  Oh yeah, and you were likely dead by 40, by the way.

We continue to perform like trained Akitas, thinking a slippery piece of raw fish can be held between to sticks as steady as a grain of rice as it gets lowered into a little soy sauce jacuzzi.  We convince ourselves that the wobbly bit of fish won’t essentially end up somewhere on the table.  We use the end of a STICK to try to spread Wasabi onto the top, as though it was a little, primitive, oriental butter knife.  Only it’s not, you twit.

Speaking of twits, does anyone actually REMEMBER a sushi bar in the 60’s or 70’s?  I could swear they just landed out of thin air in the 80’s.  Either that, or my parents wouldn’t buy into the idea, which probably isn’t too far off.  I still can’t help but wonder when, each night, as the last guests leave before locking the door, everyone working turns around and starts laughing until soy milk comes out of their noses while they yell, “They fucking ate it!”

So my next point, or first one, I don’t know, I’m treating Glaucoma or the prevention thereof.  I ordered another decent sized sashimi platter this afternoon while sitting outside, and it came with miso soup, a great salad, and a wee bit of rice.  As things arrived, I grew apprehensive.  I was used to explaining my situation at North Park and the waitress was very nice about it and said not to worry.  But now I was around more people, everything was fine, and my excuse did not apply.  I felt fine and was starving.  This time, I simply didn’t want to go back to the sticks.

So the bad Kazoo appears on my shoulder and made some brilliantly astute reminders that defiantly made me request, ever so nicely, silverware:

#1 I am paying these people to serve me food that I ordered and they’re hoping I’ll like it and come back with friends.

#2 I am paying these people for all of the above AND unlike sushi, it’s more expensive, despite missing seaweed, rice, cucumber, and those other Asian staples such as Avocado and cream cheese, and whatever the fuck Krab is.

#3 and my personal favorite, I am paying these people for all of the above AND (girls, you’d better hold onto your boyfriends!) THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE TO FUCKING COOK IT.

What exactly is the interview process for the job of sushi chef?  I’ll tell you.  They look over the subservient Tokyo import, upon which generations of honor rests, up and down slowly.  It’s like that scene from “Mulan” where that matchmaker bitch gives the trannie the once-over with unmitigated disapproval.  After a moment of deliberate and reflective pause, the head of the restaurant asks, as well as the rest of his body, “So….. do you have a knife?”

And that, my friends, is how the world now has Nobu, the Japanese Wolfgang Puck.  “You go now!  You been here four hours!  Five hundred dollars, please!”

So after all of these epiphanies, all of which processed in seconds, my little yellow friend returned with a platter and set the sashimi down.  As though I were about to storm the Bastille with peasant shields in front of me, obviously, I took a deep breath of courage and politely asked (remember, 3 years of cotillion, now not entirely wasted) if I might have a fork and knife.

The response was a confused, and HIGHLY ill-advised, “Why?”  Poor thing didn’t read the script.

To which I, in turn, answered (disable cotillion, enable Tourettes), “Because I’m not in Japan.”

Once all was in front of me I sat back, cut up all 12 slices of sashimi in half and put the knife away and had an hour long lunch.  I was getting a few looks, but not of disapproval.  It was more like envy.  And I can’t tell you how much easier it is to make a soy-wasabi blend, my favorite combo, with a fork.  To be forced to use a chopstick is like trying to make butter in a really wide churn.  Again, no more work.  That’s SUPPOSED to be their job!  Or has no one here seen “Upstairs, Downstairs?”  I kept waiting for the opportunity to shout, “Shouldn’t you be running?” but that was not to happen this time.  Oh well.  One more wish for Santa.

See what happens when you don’t speak up?You end up working your ass off with more rice on the floor than in your mouth, all while watching the arrogant bastard who’s dressed like he just got off a cruise ship in Mykonos, and the son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t even turn off his iPod, and that poor girl will surely get beaten by father when she returns home with a rice sack full of dishonor.

I’m pretty OK with that.  Either way it got talked about, and we all know, there is no such thing as bad press these days.  🙂

There’s an article about how Michele Bachmann once babysat for someone named Gretchen Carlson.  Fine.  I don’t give a shit, the link’s at the bottom if you’re so interested.

What got my attention was this black-and-white picture that appears to be Michele REALLY excited to try something out.  All I could picture was the quote I put below it.  My world is a cartoon.  🙂

"If she sinks, she's NOT a witch!"

THERE!  Never let it be said that I never said anything nice about this silly bunt!

I would go as far as suggesting that this should be addressed to ANYONE who takes issue with doing something so very American.  It’s things like this that brought us here in the first place, ya’ daft twats!  🙂

A Population in Peril

On Thursday, September 8th, in the Year of Our Fucking Retardedness 2011, the unthinkable happened.  In parts of Arizona, Mexico, and more importantly, Southern California, the electricity went out.  Totally out.  No wind, nada.  Fucking out.  That means no internet, are you listening?  No I’m-taking-a-shit-status-updates.  It was like Bosnia.  I immediately wanted to call Sally Struthers to see if she needed a cookie, but all cell service was also out.  I thought that shit was backed-up by a nuclear reactor.  Guess what?  It’s not, and even if it was, it wouldn’t have mattered, since San Onofre shut down.  What is the point of having two giant nipple boob reactors by the ocean if the fucker needs to power down due to lack of electricity?  I thought that was the whole point of nuclear power.

Twelve hours later, power was restored.  The house smells like a goddamn Hallmark store since all of the decorative candles that never get used actually got used last night.  Mind you, it was pretty, in a Phantom kind of way, but it was also chaos.  It was colorblind Phantom.  Red, blue, orange, periwinkle… colors that are obviously meant for different months, yet, inexplicably, all smell of pine.  The house smells like a wax forest.  All that was missing was the sound of chickens, breaking glass, and a car alarm.  Hopefully we won’t see a repeat of this travesty.  It’s bad enough we have to take our drinks outside when there’s an earthquake.

As predicted, my association with Twitter has lasted but 48 hours.  It’s like I’m Miss Cleo that way, only without that fake Jamaican accent.  (Bitch was born in L.A. for God’s sake.)

I felt dirty enough just going to the website for the first time, but figured what the Hell, I already post a shitload on Huffington Post under “Hardyman1966”, so what’s clicking a box going to hurt?  That’s where the fun didn’t begin.

So they forward you to this wee box that already has the link you were babbling about and has deducted the appropriate number of characters from the 140 that are allowed.  So basically, you sound like you have Tourette’s without the pleasure of seeing people around you go to pieces as they suddenly become fascinated with the ceiling tile, praying you’ll be taken away before saying something about penises.

Obviously (see above if you need a clue) 140 characters won’t do, therefore, there is no other course of action but to deactivate and kill your bird so I can see just how effective those 3-flush low-bloody-flow toilets really are.

Besides, I don’t really know anyone who uses such a thing, and the people I know hear enough of my shit on my limited use of Facebook as it is.  I guess what really sealed the deal was knowing in the back of my mind, somewhere out there, Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich were using the very website I was on at that moment.

That’s an eye opener when you have those thoughts.  It’s kind of like when you use the wrong search words online and all of the sudden there’s an enormous women on all fours wearing a horse hair mane on her head with a matching tail in her ass.

It’s like that.

"Nineteen Witnesses and No One Saw a THING!"

I really try to avoid too much political rant here on such a pretty site.  We’re all fried-out, and frankly, there’s nothing funny or fun about most of these stumblefucks at this point.  I used a lifetime’s worth of great material on The Stewardess, and frankly, I’m tapped-out.  There’s not even enough spit left for Michele, if that’s not gilding the lily too much.  Besides that, she’s about to go from Marcia to Jan in the non-blink of an eye as soon as The Jesus and Perry Chain hit the stage.

At any rate, I can’t resist it when the Fucking Retard Party does my job and comes up with the best self-inflicted gunshot wound to the foot without even realizing it.  It just clunks out in a manner that would make Joe Biden and Prince Phillip almost sage with envy.  This is bumper sticker quality, folks, so don’t inhale too much.  The continued, deliberate, and repeated victimization of the uber rich really knows no boundaries.  Haven’t they suffered enough now that they have to hire expensive, legal, domestic help?  Wasn’t the domestic ban on Beluga enough to endure?

I, for one, am going to do my part.

I’m going to call Sally Struthers.  I’m going to see if she needs a cookie.

See? He's sad. ("Glycerine! I need more Glycerine!")

 Mitt Romney Heckled, Says Corporations ‘Are People, My Friend’ (VIDEO).

Forwarded to me by my sister-in-law, this needs to be passed around.  It really isn’t “us” vs. “them” or “red” vs.  “blue.”  It is, however, “us” vs. “fucking retards”, but I’ll save that for another post.  This is me doing that neutral, grown-up bullshit for a while.  Though, let’s face it, if I was involved in diplomatic relations, we’d likely all be speaking Russian and hooked on vodka and those damn fish eggs, assuming you can still buy any with all that protected species crap.  🙂



A very interesting column.. COMPLETELY NEUTRAL
Be sure to Read the Poem at the end.
Charley Reese’s final column for the Orlando Sentinel…
He has been a journalist for 49 years.
He is retiring and this is HIS LAST COLUMN.

Be sure to read the Tax List at the end.

This is about as clear and easy to understand as it can be. The article below is completely neutral, neither anti-republican or democrat. Charlie Reese, a retired reporter for the Orlando Sentinel, has hit the nail directly on the head, defining clearly who it is that in the final analysis must assume responsibility for the judgments made that impact each one of us every day. It’s a short but good read. Worth the time. Worth remembering!

545 vs. 300,000,000 People
-By Charlie Reese

Politicians are the only people in the world who create problems and then campaign against them.

Have you ever wondered, if both the Democrats and the Republicans are against deficits, WHY do we have deficits?

Have you ever wondered, if all the politicians are against inflation and high taxes, WHY do we have inflation and high taxes?

You and I don’t propose a federal budget. The President does.

You and I don’t have the Constitutional authority to vote on appropriations. The House of Representatives does.

You and I don’t write the tax code, Congress does.

You and I don’t set fiscal policy, Congress does.

You and I don’t control monetary policy, the Federal Reserve Bank does.

One hundred senators, 435 congressmen, one President, and nine Supreme Court justices equates to 545 human beings out of the 300 million are directly, legally, morally, and individually responsible for the domestic problems that plague this country.

I excluded the members of the Federal Reserve Board because that problem was created by the Congress. In 1913, Congress delegated its Constitutional duty to provide a sound currency to a federally chartered, but private, central bank.

I excluded all the special interests and lobbyists for a sound reason. They have no legal authority. They have no ability to coerce a senator, a congressman, or a President to do one cotton-picking thing. I don’t care if they offer a politician $1 million dollars in cash. The politician has the power to accept or reject it. No matter what the lobbyist promises, it is the legislator’s responsibility to determine how he votes.

Those 545 human beings spend much of their energy convincing you that what they did is not their fault. They cooperate in this common con regardless of party.

What separates a politician from a normal human being is an excessive amount of gall. No normal human being would have the gall of a Speaker, who stood up and criticized the President for creating deficits. The President can only propose a budget. He cannot force the Congress to accept it.

The Constitution, which is the supreme law of the land, gives sole responsibility to the House of Representatives for originating and approving appropriations and taxes. Who is the speaker of the House now? He is the leader of the majority party. He and fellow House members, not the President, can approve any budget they want. If the President vetoes it, they can pass it over his veto if they agree to.

It seems inconceivable to me that a nation of 300 million cannot replace 545 people who stand convicted — by present facts — of incompetence and irresponsibility. I can’t think of a single domestic problem that is not traceable directly to those 545 people. When you fully grasp the plain truth that 545 people exercise the power of the federal government, then it must follow that what exists is what they want to exist.

If the tax code is unfair, it’s because they want it unfair.

If the budget is in the red, it’s because they want it in the red.

If the Army & Marines are in Iraq and Afghanistan it’s because they want them in Iraq and Afghanistan …

If they do not receive social security but are on an elite retirement plan not available to the people, it’s because they want it that way.

There are no insoluble government problems.

Do not let these 545 people shift the blame to bureaucrats, whom they hire and whose jobs they can abolish; to lobbyists, whose gifts and advice they can reject; to regulators, to whom they give the power to regulate and from whom they can take this power. Above all, do not let them con you into the belief that there exists disembodied mystical forces like “the economy,” “inflation,” or “politics” that prevent them from doing what they take an oath to do.

Those 545 people, and they alone, are responsible.

They, and they alone, have the power.

They, and they alone, should be held accountable by the people who are their bosses.

Provided the voters have the gumption to manage their own employees…

We should vote all of them out of office and clean up their mess!

Charlie Reese is a former columnist of the Orlando Sentinel Newspaper.

What you do with this article now that you have read it… is up to you.
This might be funny if it weren’t so true.
Be sure to read all the way to the end:

Tax his land,
Tax his bed,
Tax the table,
At which he’s fed.

Tax his tractor,
Tax his mule,
Teach him taxes
Are the rule.

Tax his work,
Tax his pay,
He works for
peanuts anyway!

Tax his cow,
Tax his goat,
Tax his pants,
Tax his coat.

Tax his ties,
Tax his shirt,
Tax his work,
Tax his dirt.

Tax his tobacco,
Tax his drink,
Tax him if he
Tries to think.

Tax his cigars,
Tax his beers,
If he cries
Tax his tears.

Tax his car,
Tax his gas,
Find other ways
To tax his ass.

Tax all he has
Then let him know
That you won’t be done
Till he has no dough.

When he screams and hollers;
Then tax him some more,
Tax him till
He’s good and sore.

Then tax his coffin,
Tax his grave,
Tax the sod in
Which he’s laid…

Put these words
Upon his tomb,
‘Taxes drove me
to my doom…’

When he’s gone,
Do not relax,
Its time to apply
The inheritance tax.

Accounts Receivable Tax
Building Permit Tax
CDL license Tax
Cigarette Tax
Corporate Income Tax
Dog License Tax
Excise Taxes
Federal Income Tax
Federal Unemployment Tax (FUTA)
Fishing License Tax
Food License Tax
Fuel Permit Tax
Gasoline Tax (currently 44.75 cents per gallon)
Gross Receipts Tax
Hunting License Tax
Inheritance Tax
Inventory Tax
IRS Interest Charges IRS Penalties (tax on top of tax)
Liquor Tax
Luxury Taxes
Marriage License Tax
Medicare Tax
Personal Property Tax
Property Tax
Real Estate Tax
Service Charge Tax
Social Security Tax
Road Usage Tax
Recreational Vehicle Tax
Sales Tax
School Tax
State Income Tax
State Unemployment Tax (SUTA)
Telephone Federal Excise Tax
Telephone Federal Universal Service Fee Tax
Telephone Federal, State and Local Surcharge Taxes
Telephone Minimum Usage Surcharge Tax
Telephone Recurring and Nonrecurring Charges Tax
Telephone State and Local Tax
Telephone Usage Charge Tax
Utility Taxes
Vehicle License Registration Tax
Vehicle Sales Tax
Watercraft Registration Tax
Well Permit Tax
Workers Compensation Tax

Not one of these taxes existed 100 years ago, & our nation was the most prosperous in the world.
We had absolutely no national debt, had the largest middle class in the world, and Mom
, if agreed, stayed home to raise the kids.

What in the heck happened? Can you spell ‘politicians?’

I hope this goes around THE USA at least 545 times!!! YOU can help it get there!!!