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Chris Penn, brother of Sean Penn, and most well known for his role as Nice Guy Eddie in Reservoir Dogs, was found dead in his condo yesterday. No word on what happened. It’s a shame. He was only 40, and I enjoyed him in that Tarantino flick.
UPDATE! (2/22/2006): Toxicology report reveals deadly mix of drugs is Penn’s system.
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I like to give Bishop DuBourg High School related folks and miscellanea kudos when I find it necessary. Sometimes it’s hard though, because personally, I didn’t like high school too much. When a guy makes it to Jeopardy! though, you got to give props. If anyone has information that they’d like me to post into the blogosphere, please forward it to me, that includes any personal advertisements Tom (i.e. what you are up to these days).
Norb Butz, DuBourg alum
In his comment, Tom brought up a good point. In the past year, Norbert Butz, also a DuBourg alum, won a Tony for lead actor in a musical (for Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels) up against John Lithgow, Tim Curry, and Hank Azaria. Back in 1985, I believe, my sister was the flower girl in Our Town, put on at Cor Jesu High School in St. Louis, and Norb Butz was a lead in that too. I went to school with Norb’s brother Adam and had classes with another brother, Kevin. The boys come from a family with 11 kids, so I guess they have to win Tony’s to stand out.
Also brought up was Ken Page (IMDB file), who I didn’t know too much about, but has done work on Broadway and voice work in The Nightmare Before Christmas and All Dogs Go to Heaven.
So once again, not everyone from that school is a loser…except add this guy to the list.
>Since my nun experience was revealed to the guys at work, they’ve been concerned about any other experiences I may have had like that. Nothing close to the borderline molestation there, but I did have another testicular story.
My brother, Matt, and I, around the time of the incident.
Towards the end of the summer before the 5th grade, I endured a traumatic experience, of the bodily kind. I was sent by my parents to retrieve my younger brother (rest his soul) from the neighbors’ house for dinner. I walked two doors down and approached my bro and his pals on the front stoop.
“Matt, it’s time for dinner.”
“I’m not going.”
“Matt, c’mon…you gotta come to dinner.”
“No!”, he exclaimed, and with that, he punched straight forward, which considering our five and a half years difference in age and corresponding difference in height, was good enough for a direct hit to my testes. I know women experience childbirth, and men should be thankful that they don’t, but the pain of a hit to the balls is excruciating. It breeds headaches, nausea, and the following.
I instantly fell to the ground. He laughed like any kid would that overpowered someone older and bigger than them. They don’t know any better, right?
When I finally got up, I walked home like a cowboy headed for a showdown. I felt like vomiting a trail behind me.
I told my parents, and they scolded my brother. It didn’t end there for me though.
The pain lasted into the next day, so we headed for the emergency room. I had to be wheeled around, because I looked like an idiot when I attempted to walk with my aching nuts. I’m sure I was a fun oddity of the day for the staff at the hospital.
After checking me and my boys out, they determined an ultrasound should be done. I didn’t understand. I wasn’t pregnant. It would be done to find any internal damage, so I was told.
I was wheeled into a dark room lit up by the tiny lights of various machines. They left me alone with a young, female technician or nurse, or whatever the person’s title would be that administers an ultrasound. Anyway, she obviously had something against men, or had never been intimate with one before. She was nice in how she spoke to me, but she mashed my testicles like they were a ball of dough being prepared for the oven. A warm gel was applied and a device was moved around on me to check for damage, although I believe she caused more. The pain was unbelievable. It was an awkward experience. You know those scenes in the movies and on the reality baby shows when they have that moment during the ultrasound that they say, “there it is…there’s your baby”, or something similar? Yeah, well I had one of those moments, except there were 10 million of my babies being crushed before my eyes. “There they are,” she told me.
It was figured that I had some internal bleeding down there. No kidding?! I could have said, “Let me mash your crotch and see if there’s internal bleeding”, but I hadn’t acquired my sarcastic wit as of yet.
They gave me a script for Tylenol with Codeine. After a few days, the boys only got bigger. I couldn’t wear underwear, only loose sweatpants. I was a freakshow (an illustration). My brother brought over friends to come inside and laugh at me. I’d yell at them like a grumpy old man and chase them away.
I received another script for a strong antibiotic to fight any infection that was down there keeping the inflammation from going down. Ater a week or so, things went back to normal. Everytime I get knocked anywhere in that region, though, memories come racing back, and I wonder if it could happen again.
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The Pump Girls, diabetic insulin pumpers, with Bob Dole, (penis) pumper.I mentioned in my last post that I’d have to discuss this. The Pump Girls–listed on the Famous Diabetics site, stating:
a new rock band consisting of 4 girls aged 12-15. The girls, who are all from Southern California, sing about boys, love, dancing and overcoming challenges. They all have Juvenile Diabetes. One of their goals is to motivate other teens to deal with the challenges of the disease successfully. The girls will launch “The Pump Girls Whirl Tour”, a multi-city tour to introduce their new CD and to raise awareness for teens living with diabetes. Part of the proceeds from the sale of their CD will go to a special “Pump for a Better Life” Fund which will assist children around the world in need of insulin pump therapy.
I’m all for education and charity, but this is ridiculous. They sound like one of those generic ’80s pop groups. Is this what has to be done to get though to diabetic kids? Why not a giant dancing syringe?
“Syringy’s my friend.”
Or an obese, hairy white boy that flies around on a rocket propelled syringe–call him Diabetoboy. He could fight evil doers with syringe darts. Michael Bay would greenlight that movie.
But no, we get The Pumpgirls. With songs like “Ollie Ollie Oxen”, “We’re Not Too Young To Rock N Roll”, and “A1C” ( a song about the blood test that helps give an idea of your blood sugar for the past three months), you may be thinking I’m the Scrooge of Diabetics for saying anything about kids’ stuff. I ask you though: look how far they went with Barney and the goddamned Teletubbies…is that what we want?! And no offense Girls, but should we really be promoting obesity with diabetes education?
Anyway, for your amusement, they offer free downloads, to compile your own best of CD, or you could find their CD at Amazon.com
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00000IM72&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B0009PDUVC&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00005QEO1&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr
>While waiting in the waiting room of my endocrinologist (doctor dealing with diabetes among other things), I read through one of those funny disease themed mini-mags. I came across an interesting piece that mentioned a website that documented celebrities and other famous people with diabetes (http://www.angelarose.com/FamousDiabetics/). It even mentions characters from films that were diabetics, like Julia Roberts’s character in Steel Magnolias. They fail to mention Jodie Foster’s daughter in Panic Room, though, which plays a pivotal role in the film. The info. is very interesting, but the appearance and navigation of the site is pretty crappy. At least I now know that Halle Berry, Ray Kroc (founder of McDonalds), and Q-Tip (of the group A Tribe Called Quest) all shoot/shot insulin.
Side note: in the musicians section, they mention the musical group Pump Girls, referring to them all having diabetes and wearing pumps. That’s about as funny as Captain Novolin, the diabetic superhero Super Nintendo game (please follow that link, which everyone will appreciate). My next blog will be about Pump Girls.
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00004TJKK&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00006CXGF&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00005YU1M&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr
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I forgot to mention this over a week ago…Tom Kavanaugh, who went to Bishop DuBourg High School in St. Louis, my alma mater, ended his 9-day reign as Jeopardy! champion on Jan. 10 with a grand total of more than $140,000. He was in my sister’s class, which graduated in 1996. They also attended SLU at the same time. It is a general misconception that people that go to DuBourg are druggies and slackers. The fact that the infamous South Side Rapist, Dennis Rabbit, went there for a short period of time, didn’t help. That is not to say that those types do not exist there, but they are not the majority either.
Anyway, after a quick search, it’s easy to see Kavanaugh’s become quite a heartthrob. Women are insulting other contestants and even calling him “the hottest thing to hit Jeopardy! in an ice age” (which I question the sense that makes).
Apparently Tom divulged on the show that “his current wife is his ex-girlfriend’s best friend. He started dating her to get back at his ex, and it blossomed into marriage.” Tom, that’s messed up, but very DuBourgian. If you could only pick up a drug habit now.
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=1419607936&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00007GCYJ&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0689865198&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr
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Patrick Cranshaw, best known for his role as “Blue” in “Old School”, died on December 28th at the age of 86. Apparently word is just getting out now. I remember him best for his role in the Coen brothers’ “The Hudsucker Proxy,” as the singing grandpa in Woody Allen’s “Everyone Says I Love You”, and as the singing hobo in “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure”. Ah, I can still see him singing “Jimmy Crack Corn”.
“All we are is dust in the wind.”
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0790749408&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00000ING2&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=6305428085&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrhttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=diabetoboycom-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=B00005JM1F&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&bg1=ffffff&f=ifr
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“Hey, what’s up man? My hand was just in my butt.”
By the way, if you disagree with my thoughts here, you may as well wear this.
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Then it came to
nuns.I had a traumatic experience with a nun. Now by the time I hit grade school in the 1980s, nuns didn’t have much of a role in the church anymore. So I thought. Their role had simply changed.
It happened during the 4th grade at St. Joan of Arc school in South St. Louis. I remember a cmale classmate being pulled from class early in the morning. In between classes, he explained what happened to him.
He told myself and other boys of having to go into the faculty lunchroom. They had a huge curtain up sectioning off the back half of the room. Behind the curtain was a nun and his mother. The nun was an elderly woman, full of wrinkles and a stern look on her face. She made him pull down his pants. She cupped her hand around his testicles and made him cough.
Imagine her with an iron gripped claw.
You must understand we hadn’t heard of such things at that age. His story was unfathomable. And his mother watched?! It must’ve been a joke.
Throughout the day, more boys were pulled from class, one by one, without explanation. They came back with an unexplainable look of horror on their face. The stories were true. Surely, my mother wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen to me. This ridiculous medical exam wouldn’t occur on her watch. My examinations and immunizations were up to date.
Then it happened.
My name was called. I took the long walk down the green mile to the faculty lunch room. It was cold. I pulled back the giant brown curtain to reveal a pudgy, old nun. Right away, she told me to take off my pants. I stood there dumbfounded. She told me again with that tone that suggests I do it if I know what’s good for me.
I dropped my drawers around my ankles and kicked the pile to the side.
“What are you doing?,” she asked with force. “Is that how you do it at home? Put them over that chair.”
My god, my god…why have you forsaken me?
I followed General Penguin’s orders. She grapped the waistband of my tightie-whities and pulled it forward. Her wrinkled, dry, and cold claw for a hand reached forward and grabbed my testicles. She ordered a cough, so I coughed.
Next she had me piss in a cup. I’ve done that drill before. For some reason, she wouldn’t let me close the door though. Granted my back was to her, but it’s still creepy. These situations give me stage fright. It turns a standard 20 second piss into a 3 minute affair.
After I finished, she had me put my clothes back on, and I scampered off like one of those female mongeese on National Geographic that were freshly violated by the aggressive male mongoose.
Well my co-workers seemed concerned that I would share this story with them and at lunch. They asked if she was wearing gloves, and frankly I don’t recall. I may need hypnosis to figure that out.
Looking back it seems like such a bizzare way to give boys their first “man physical”. Now when I go to the zoo, I break out in a sweat when I pass the penguins. Beware of those Catholic schools. I’ve already discussed my repulsion for the priests and their back rubs. Maybe I could sue them for making me the lesser man I am today.
>I can’t believe it. A new variety of Anti-Monkey Butt! This one combats that nasty friction you get between your thighs and chafes them until you walk like a cowboy or our president.
It also has a sweat absorber powder, which I need 10 minutes into my day because I sweat like I weigh 400 pounds. I also noticed that women have a need for this in terms of boob sweat…no fooling!
I admit this rant came about because I was checking stats for my blog, and the most searched phrase that leads to my blog is “anti-monkey butt”, because of a previous posting. The other search results lead to that boob sweat stuff…man, people blog about everything.
Anyway pick up some of the new AMBP. You can have discreetly delivered to your door if you’d like.
Jim Varagona 
