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Welcome to "Can I Be Frank?"

Excited to announce that the blog has now evolved into a BOOK! The first book, Can I Be Frank?: An Auto-BLOG-graphy is now available in print and an eBook. You can purchase the print version for $16.95 (and the eBook for $3.99) at Barnes & Noble and Amazon websites

Click here to purchase Can I Be Frank?: An Auto-BLOG-raphy

A portion of the proceeds from The Auto-BLOG-raphy will be donated to several charities that work to cure Autism and Spinal Muscular Atrophy.

Thank you for reading!

Monday, November 12, 2012

18 Problems with Roadhouse


Mullets make you tougher.
Pleats in your pants make you kick higher.
Silk shirts make oncoming punches miss their target.
Cult classic film, Roadhouse, would certainly agree with these claims


 
Roadhouse much like Caddyshack, The Godfather and any Farrelly Brothers movie is one that I will never, ever turn away from; under any circumstances.  The 1989 bar room brawling flick is an absolute top ten in the world of “guy movies”.  Luckily, the geniuses as TBS, AMC, Fox and the like are acutely aware of this fact and make it a point to frequently run this baby for all of us to enjoy; again and again and again.
Conversely, my unwavering commitment to watch Roadhouse drives my wife crazy – and I am sure she is not alone in this department.
“How many times can you watch this stupid thing?”
How dare she?  I am going to pretend that I didn’t hear that and simply respond with….never mind, here come Wade Garrett!  YEE HA!
Anyway, I am not writing to speak about the greatness of Roadhouse, but after my 186th viewing I picked up on some very obvious and strange happenings throughout the movie.  I am sure many of you Swayz-iacs have noticed similar findings.

And so, in no particular order, here are 18 Things Wrong with Roadhouse

18.  No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service?
Opening scene in the seedy bar, the Double Deuce, we see a raucous crowd enjoying live music, cold beer and wild surroundings.  Wait, is that guy dancing with no shirt on?  Huh?  I don’t care what kind of bar – even if it is in rural Missouri – nobody just tears off their shirt to just spank the planks.

17.  Do you know who that guy is?
When Dalton first appears in the Double Deuce, the whispers quickly fill the air.  “Do you know who that guy is?  That’s Dalton?”  I had no idea that Bouncers had a national reputation?  How is that so?  Is Dalton on the Cooler Speaking Circuit?  Doing a lot of BRUT cologne ads?  Is he endorsed by the N.B.B.B.S. (National Bar Bare-Knuckle Brawling Society)?  How on earth does everyone know of this guy?  Impressive.

16. Dalton…what?
Let’s take a step back.  Is Dalton your first name or last?  Do you have one name?  Who do you think you are, Seal? (Superbad footnote).  I get that film makers want to make our boy seem dark and mysterious but let’s be honest, if his name turned out to be Herman Dalton or Dalton Finklestein it just would have not have had the same impact on us.  Only way you can improve on just ‘Dalton’ is if his last name turned out to be “McFuriousfists”.

15. Cruel Intentions:
Again, early in the movie, we see The Jeff Healy Band performing for this drunken crowd of criminals.  It is bad enough that they need to perform their show protected by chicken wire, but did I just see a guy throw a beer bottle directly at the BLIND lead singer?  I mean, come on man?  It’s Saturday night.  Lighten up!

14.  ‘Right Boot’
In one of the 27 fight scenes, one of the evil henchmen of the town badman, Brad Wesley, is sent in to halt our hero Dalton’s efforts to clean up this Jasper, Missouri watering hole wearing a boot with a blade coming out of the toe?  Huh?  Where would one purchase such footwear?  JC Penney’s?  I’ll get to that…

13.  Stitch Doctor
As our mulleted knight in shining linen is getting his side stitched by 80s babe, Dr. Clay, after a knife wound inflicted by ‘Tiny’, the aptly named 400 lb. goon with a heart of gold, (adding to Dalton’s 31 broken bones, 9 stab wounds, 4 stainless screws, and 2 bullet holes mind you) she notices that he also has a few stiches in his left shoulder – that he did himself.  We actually see Dalton performing this self-surgery earlier in the movie…one handed…in the back room of a bar.  Cut me a break, bro!  We get it.  You are tough.  While I am not aware of what health insurance plan the Deuce offers, you are making the big bucks, Dalton.  I am sure you can afford to have a trained medical professional fix you up?  No?

12.  Pain Don’t Hurt
Keeping to the emergency room scene with Doctor Clay, Dalton refuses a local anesthetic to ease the pain of the pending 9 staples that are about to be clipped to his skin.  His reasoning?  “Pain don’t hurt”.  Sure it doesn’t, Big Boy?  As the Doc commences her stapling Baby’s Boyfriend (sorry, Dirty Dancing reference…and nobody backs Baby in a corner) winces in pain.  How you feeling about that lidocaine now, chief?

11. 3 Rules
Mr. Dalton gives his little pre-game speech to his merry band of co-bouncers and asks them to follow three rules:

1.       Expect the Unexpected/Never underestimate your opponent.  Really, dude?  Did you make that one up yourself when you were at NYU (I’ll get to that too) or off the back of your Karate Kid cereal box?  Thanks for that keen insight, Confucius.

2.      Take it Outside the Bar.  Essentially Dalton is imploring his team to never allow fights to continue inside of this fine establishment. Well, outside of one occasion, no one seems to disobey this rule more than you, boss.  Maybe try taking your own advice?

3.      Be Nice.  Sure, Patrick, sounds like a plan.  Every guy in this town carries a switch blade or machete on their person at all times, but I should be cordial to them as they attempt to poke my eyes out.  Oh, by the way, how many people here have killed anyone?  Raise of hands. That’s right, just you Dalton….were you being ‘nice’ that day?

10.  If a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there to hear it….can you smoke it?
Dalton boasts a degree in Philosophy from New York University.  He speaks like a highly enlightened man seeking to better himself and those around him.  He practices various techniques to unite the mind, body and soul.  He smokes cigarettes.  What?  So you are telling me when you are outside of that crappy barn you live in, Dalton, doing tai chi or yoga or whatever, the first thing you do when you finish to strike up a Lucky.  Makes no sense to me.

9.  Is that Magnum, PI?
During the course of Roadhouse, we see nearly all characters dressed in very similar, humble Mid-western garb.  Jeans, t-shirts and muted colors a plenty.  One scene that troubles me is when a knife-wielding (I told you, all of them are carrying) Double Deuce patron is wearing a very bright HAWAIIN shirt.  Not sure if it was that knife that resulted in Dalton smashing his face through a table or that he violated the dress code?

8.  Housekeeping, please.
So every single night, seemingly every single piece of furniture is destroyed inside the Double Deuce.  All of it wrecked from the night’s bloodbath between Coolers and Customers.  Yet, night in, night out, it is all back in perfect working condition for the next shift.  How is that possible?  Is Dalton also a master carpenter who repairs these items in his down time?  Is Wade Garrett a Furniture mogul that has the financial capital and resources to replace these tables and chairs every night?  Doesn’t add up…

7.  Big Foot
How could I not comment of Big Foot, the giant monster truck that the film’s nemesis, Wesley, has his crew driving around town?  A little ostentatious for small town America, don’t you think Brad?  I mean really, I know it is 1989 and gas prices are not what they are today but still.  Not to mention, these guys are out wrecking lives all over Jasper.  Don’t you think a more subtle vehicle would be more practical for your line of work?  Which brings me to my next concern?

6. Car 54 Where are you?
Where are the police in Jasper?  Sure, I know the knee-jerk answer is that Mr. Wesley has them under his thumb but even that influence must have its limits?  Big Foot completely destroyed a car dealership in front of hundreds of witnesses?  Wesley’s boys are out fighting, stabbing, looting, shooting and assaulting innocent people?  Aren’t any of the Boys in Blue prepared to step up and say enough is enough?

5.  Think I’ll take a load off…on the hood of my car
In one serene scene we see Dalton lying on the hood of his car enjoying a glorious afternoon.  I don’t care how cliché or cinematic you are trying to be, nobody in the history of cars or people has willingly decided to lie on the hood/windshield of their automobile.  Not comfortable and not good for the lumbar region.

4.  Pool Cue Pole Vault
Brad Wesley’s Senior Vice President of Mayhem, Jimmy, is in another brawl with Dalton and the fellas when we see him utilize a common pool cue as a pole vault thrusting him into a back flip across the crowded saloon.  So, the tables in this joint fall apart when you sneeze on them but the pool sticks become pogo sticks as needed.  Not on my watch.

3.  Back to JC Penney’s
Doctor Evil, Brad Wesley, proudly contends to Dalton that department mega-store, JC Penney, is coming to set up shop in Jasper.  Again, I have no clue of the business practices over at the Penney but this seems like a foolish business decision.  Jasper of a town of only 1100 and these are very common folks.  Farmers, hardware store owners and, of course, evil rural mobsters.  The high end swank these guys are peddling does not seem to fit the laid back country style of this town?  No supply.  No demand.  I don’t know…I certainly hope they make it?

2.        Bye, bye BMW
Dalton has a very flashy, mint-condition BMW that we see through the course of the film.  Obviously this must be one of his most prized possessions since he felt the need to have a second car available that would be destroyed by the Double Deuce rabble each evening.  And what does he do with that beauty of a Beemer?  Uses it as $50,000 decoy so he can gain access to the Wesley compound and wipe out our villain once and for all?  Why didn’t he just use that beat-box he bought?  Why the luxury car?  The same result would have occurred right, Dalton?  Bad, bad decision my friend.

1.  Fat Guy + Fake Bear = Funny
Final scene of movie we see our old friend Tiny being haunted (and doing his best Bud Abbott routine) by a taxidermized polar bear that Dalton is using as a shield as he takes out each of the bad guys…one by one.  Mr. Tiny is so scared he actually unloads several bullets into the stuffed carcass.  Let me get this straight, you hurt people with knives and guns for a living but your biggest fear is a hunting trophy?  Man up, Tiny, man up
And there you have it. 
Oh look, Caddyshack just started!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Va-SUCK-tomy


Again, I am dropping my proverbial pants (pun intended) to review a topic with you that is very personal, intimate and embarrassing all in the name of humor; Vasectomies.  More than three years have passed since I went through the incredibly easy, but equally humiliating, “procedure” of being neutered.  Snipped.  Spade. De-manned.  Vasectomized.

As I watched (well, not ‘watched’, I mean ‘witnessed’…I mean 2nd hand…bad choice of words - ‘HAND' - …damnit!  Nevermind.) my best friend go through this passage of life for a significant population of married-men-with-children-who-want-no-more-children-and-their-wives-are-finally-putting-their-foot-down-after-all-their-bodies-have-endured-giving-birth-to-your-kids-you-selfish-son-of-a…population, I was reminded how difficult this journey was to manage.

Before you jump down my throat, ladies, I do not mean to suggest that this minor surgery is nearly as physically painful (in most cases) compared to delivering a child, but I will contest that the mental anguish which we brave SeaMen endure is worth recognizing. I am not even going to attempt to compare this experience to the ‘joy of childbirth’ (isn’t that what you all called it BEFORE you went through it?).  I won’t do it, but let me relay the internal strife we, as men, must undergo to get through the process of being neutered like your cat, Mittens.
A walk down men-mory lane….
May 2009
After 3 children and nearly 3 years since the birth of our youngest, my wife ‘encouraged’ (and by ‘encouraged’ I mean ‘demanded’) that I ‘cut the cord’, 'close the barn' and host an 'all-things-must-go sale'.  I finally conceded to her and decided it was my time to step up and face the scrotal-carving music.  After all, she was right.  She bore us three beautiful children (of course, I did have ‘something’ to do with it, no?  Probably a bad time to bring up that old adage about Men vs. Women?  If you put 1000 women and 1 man on an island, in theory, you could have 1000 children one year later, while if you had 1000 men and 1 women on an island….yeah, right….forget I mentioned it) and it was time to move on to the next phase of our lives as parents.
Visit 1: The Consult
Before we soon-to-be-sterile suckers get the privilege of having our seed bag scraped open by Dr. Notsofeelgood, we must first take part in a ‘consult’ visit.  Without knowing what to expect during this initial visit to the medical practice of Dewey, Pinchem & Howe, I did have the presence of mind to know I was going to be a nervous mess, so I did the logical thing; drank heavily before my appointment.  After several mini-van sized draught beers I was ready to embark on this testical journey.   I calmly walked into the office, checked in, sat down and tried to relax before I met with the nurse practitioner, Ms. Squeezy Van Nuttwister.  Now, I am no Norman Einstein (by the way that is a reference to a slip of the tongue by NFL Legend-turned-Sportscaster, Joe Theisman.  I know Einstein’s first name was really ‘Harold’) but I do not recall any ‘consult’ I have been a part of which required another party to take a firm grasp of my twig and berries for exploratory purposes?  Maybe I am wrong but my recollection of a, so called, ‘consultation’ usually involved a conversation, a cup of coffee and an exchange of business cards.  Never heard of the kind that would require my 'potato sack' to be fondled by Nurse Ratchet?
I tried to provide some levity to the uncomfortable situation.
A serious and stern woman, the nurse attempted to be very business-like in her pre-surgery instructions to me…
“Now, you will need to shave your scrotum just prior to the procedure,” she explained.
“Just another Thursday at the McCabes, Sweetheart,” I sarcastically responded.
Without cracking smile, she continued….
“Also, following the procedure, after adequate rest you will need to ejaculate approximately twenty-five times before returning with your test sample.”
“Makes sense to me. By my calendar I should be back here on Tuesday then.” The oh-so-funny-inebriated-and-terrified-patient retorted.
Finally, a small smirk appeared on her face.
“Look, I am sorry to be a wiseguy.  I am just really jumpy about this whole thing,” I implored.
“Have no fear, Mr. McCabe, this is actually quite an easy, quick and painless procedure,” reassured the person who has never had a ‘ball and chain’ attached to her anatomy.
I walked out…not feeling a whole lot better about the situation.
Moving on…
Visit 2: V-Day
If you have read my first book, you will recall a chapter called Panic Attacks in which I describe an episode of anxiety so worrisome I actually called an ambulance to come to my aid.  What I did not include in that story was that incident occurred just 2 days before my castration vasectomy.  Coincidence?  I think not.
Walk into Dr. Kevorkian’s office of ill repute in a state of pure horror for what was about to happen to me and ‘my boys’.  After what seemed to be an eternity out comes my buddy, Sir Balldesack, to murder the fruitful existence of my ‘two oldest friends’.
A funny and affable guy, Dr. Derection, guided me to the operating room.  After a few jokes and some general guidelines to how he was going to be ‘Deconstructing Harry’, I actually breathed a sigh of relief.
First he was going to inject a local anesthesia into ‘the twins’?  OH SHIT!
Here it comes…..ah…ah……whew, that actually wasn’t too bad.  What’s next, Doc?
Oh, time to slice open the ‘bag of peas’ (which, ironically and literally, would become my best friend during recovery)?  Super. 
Eyes clenched (along with my butt cheeks), I anxiously awaited the pain to begin.  Amazingly, it was not so bad and before I knew it, it was over.
“Mission Slay Bells”: Complete.
Amen.
After a few off-color ‘cookie’ comments from Dr. Junkenremover, I was on my way home to rest my, now retired, ‘Generals’.
Job well done, men.  Thanks for the memories.

 

 

Thursday, October 11, 2012

38


What is the significance of the number 38?
38 is the atomic number of strontium
38 Special was the name of a southern rock band (and a gun)
 
38 is the number of surviving William Shakespeare plays
38 is the number of slots in an American Roulette wheel
38 was the number worn by flat-broke Red Sox legend Curt Schilling
Honestly, I don’t give a crap about any of that. 
38 is the age I turn today and I am not happy about.
“Age is just a number!”
“You are as young as you feel!”
Shutup.  It is a just a number…a number higher than I want to be.  As far as how I feel?  I feel old as dirt.
This may be the first birthday that I am truly I not happy to look in the eye.  There is nothing special, cool or fun about turning 38.  I am that much closer to 40, that much farther from 30…and cripes, my 20s might as well be the Mesolithic period.  Outside of my 94 year old grandmother, no one will EVER say, “You know Frank, young guy from Sector 7-G,” anymore (Simpsons reference, by the way, for you young guns).  Uh uh.  No way.  Kids in their twenties have innocently called me “Sir” and “Mr.” Beat it you punks!
Let’s look back at history and review just why this so called “number” flat out stinks….at least for me.
30 Years Ago
Age 8.  Honestly, could life be any better than it is for an 8 years old?  Memory is a little fuzzy, but I am fairly certain I had some kick ass birthday party with random friends I hardly remember, strange clothing, a punch bowl and pin the tail on the donkey (interestingly, sounds more like my 21st).  Second grade, Mrs. Leney’s class.  The best.  School was fun.  Little League was king. I could run and play all day long.  Never get tired.  Not a care in the world.  Xanadu.

20 Years Ago
Age 18.  Are you kidding?  18 was almost as good as 8!  Senior year of high school.  Gearing up for a parent-free existence in college.  Playing football.  Chasing (notice I did not say “catching”) girls.  I was actually eligible to vote for President (you are very welcome, Slick Willy Clinton).  It was like the hounds were finally released!

10 Years Ago
Age 28.  Life was still rocking pretty good.  Married.  Had my first child.  Job was going well.  Bought a house.  Bought a car.  No gray hairs in site.  Waist line was ‘reasonable’.  This aging thing ain’t so bad?
You seeing the pattern here?  For the most part, life on the 8s had been a relatively smooth ride.  Then I woke up this morning and looked into (an apparent Fun House) mirror at 38.  Yuck.
Where to begin, where to begin?
Let’s examine a few of the major dimensions of life…

Physical
Well, the fact that I started my day with some blood work and the refilling my blood pressure medication can’t be a good sign? And unlike the 8 year old “me” I cannot run all day.  For that matter I get winded carrying the laundry basket from the basement to the second floor.  Really winded.  How about the used jalopy I call a body?  While I am blessed with some good genetics no one is mistaking me for Adam Levine when I walk down the street.  Lucky enough to have my hair, it now looks like a salt shaker fell on my head while I slept.  Those bulges you see are not muscles…they are moles (I think?).  OK, I need to jump topics.
Mental
I used to love to read and learn.  I greatly enjoyed history and politics.  I would seek new avenues to expand my horizons.  Now…not so much.  Reading the comics, doing the Celebrity News Quiz in People and DVR-ing the latest episode of Modern Family is not likely going to get me a nomination into the local MENSA chapter.

Spiritual
To quote Bishop Pickering in Caddyshack, “There is no God,”  Kidding, just a little jaded today.
Anyway…remember the movie City Slickers starring Bill Crystal.  Lost in mid-life crises (that’s what the trailer actually reads!  ‘MID-LIFE’!), Crystal and his close friends hit the open range and drive a herd of cattle for his birthday.  What birthday was it?  Yeah, that’s right, his 38th.
Pretty sure a cattle drive is not in my plans for the day, but I did DVR Modern Family.