Posts Tagged ‘Bruce’

This is the other Bruce and I’m not happy. Not happy at all. Do you hear me? Not happy!

And you wanna know why? Probably not and that’s why I’m unhappy. I’m more than unhappy. But I promised Bruce I would confine that kind of talk to the bar or behind Mrs. Crosby’s more than ample backside.

Bruce has been moping about and there doesn’t seem to be anything any of us can do about it. We’ve offered him his favorite girly drink, Club Soda, Elderberry Wine, nightshade, a slice of lime, and Rose’s Lime juice with an expresso bean thrown in, but even that can’t seem to stir him from that damned funk he’s in.

Just add the nightshade and the coffee bean and Bruce’ll be happy…maybe..

And here’s the dirty little secret behind his crappy attitude. You. That’s right, You. Or really the lack of You’s. Each day he looks at the numbers on this blog and gets more and more pissed. If Bruce is pissed, then you can only imagine how I feel. Spittin’ nails, right!

Look, I don’t want to air our dirty laundry, but I can’t stand it when Bruce is this way. He’s mean to his wife, kicks the dog (and the cat, but she deserves it), and is just generally lousy to be around. Each day he toils on this blog and feels like he’s unappreciated. (Awww, poor little Bruce!) But hey, aren’t we all?

So, Bruce is threatening to leave this endeavor of ours and go to work for Rupert Murdoch. He claims he has had it. He might even run away. Talked about arrested development! Join the circus! See if I care.

He says why should he do most of the writing, as if you couldn’t tell, right?, if no one is going to read it. I keep telling him that the market (of which he thinks of as urbane and sophisticated) isn’t really there or if it is, doesn’t care. Bruce, look, maybe you’re not that funny after all. That was probably not the right thing to say. What do you think?

I can’t see this blog going on without him. What would I call it? – The Bruce? Not on your life! Of course, I could go out and find another Bruce, but truthfully, it wouldn’t be the same. We’d have no history, we probably would be too similar and that wouldn’t work. I guess I could use my brother, but he isn’t a Bruce, he’s a Richard and that’s all that needs to said on that count. He’s not even a pale comparison. This is not how I thought I would spend my final days in the nursing home. Disregard that last remark. I am fully capable and functioning and don’t use Depends… often. I’m just really upset over this.

Last night, Bruce went to a gun show of all things. That’s usually the thing I like to do, but hey. He came back with a Kroger 90mm hand cannon complete with mother of pearl grip and elephant ivory sightings. He said it was formerly owned by Cher. At least that gave him some comfort. It’s what he may intend to do with it that has me scared. We need to talk him down off this ledge.

It made him happy for a moment until we took out the firing pin.

Please let Bruce know you love him. Tell your friends to read this too. Maybe even follow. Write him comments. Send him cookies. It will make my life much more bearable and will continue the fine writing that you’ve all come to love. Or like maybe. Tolerate? Please? Otherwise, it could mean the end of the Two Bruces blog. Unless you know of another extremely talented Bruce. It could happen. I’m open to suggestions.

I called like I usually do to see if the other Bruce was ready to have our regular morning cappuccino, but there was no answer on his Star Flight 89 phone. That was odd as the Star Flight 89 is supposed to be capable of receiving and answering calls even when off. This didn’t distress me too much as Bruce was probably sleeping it off after being out the night before celebrating our housekeeper Mrs. Crosby finally getting her GED. Now we can probably expect her to ask for a raise as she is now a high school graduate or some such paper equivalent. Fat chance on that one! She came highly recommended but still is a thorn in our sides.

Mrs. Crosby before the party.

Anyway, I did not pay it much attention until lunchtime rolled around and Bruce didn’t show up for our daily stir-fry lunch of radicchio and tofu with a little Prego sauce tossed in for color. He never misses that one. So I tried calling him again but to no avail. I went to his home but his wife wasn’t there as well. Where the devil could they be? I must admit I was getting worried as Bruce had earlier testified in the trial of a politician who had sent incriminating photos of his nether region to the National Enquirer in hopes of getting a photo spread for his re-election. No surprise it didn’t work; but he did get an offer as a back up singer to Lady Gaga. He declined as he swore he didn’t know who she was – more proof that the electorate once again sent a total doofus to Washington. The politician swore Bruce would pay for his testimony. Could it be the Washington insider had already wreaked his revenge on Bruce, his wife and their beautiful children Taffy, Tad, and Milo?

Law has it that an adult is not missing until 24 hours have passed. With Bruce’s notorious short attention span, that 24 hours may as well have been 24 weeks. Time passes both slowly and quickly simultaneously for Bruce. Maybe Einstein was right about his theory.

Dinner came and went and still no Bruce. I called the police and inquired about an Amber alert but was told it was only for children. I tried to convince them of Bruce’s childlike wonderment of the world which made him eligible, but they would not cooperate. If anything happens to Bruce, I will personally hold them responsible. In the meantime, I think I’ll call Liam Neeson for help – he’s been down this road a couple of times.

Not the Liam Neeson I envisioned, but hell, he’ll do.

It was a sleepless night for all of us. Bruce’s lawyer called for whatever reason we’ll never know. Perhaps he was psychic. He wanted to know how Bruce was. How did he know? Was he involved somehow? Very strange until we found out he was looking for Bruce for an unpaid invoice. Typical lawyer.

This absence of Bruce carried over for a full week and a half with no sign of Bruce. And then we got a postcard from Bolivia. It seems he was taken hostage by a bunch of striking Bolivian tin workers demanding a ransom or they would separate Bruce from some of his vital organs. Needless to say this would put a big crimp in our plans for the upcoming opera season. It’s always something.

In a masterful stroke of diplomatic genius, I took over all the negotiations. It seems after a week and a half the tin workers were more than willing to turn Bruce over, ransom or no. Between his demands for a bed made properly, food cooked to his liking, and a general overall non-stop week and a half of whining, they had seen the folly of their undertaking. But they were not going to get off the hook so quickly. Oh, no.

While it’s true we wanted him more than they did, we would parlay this into a positive and come out smelling like roses, though when we did retrieve Bruce, he smelled nothing like any rose we’ve ever seen. Our negotiations went quickly, so desperate were they for relief. We got everything we demanded and probably could have gotten more but why be greedy?

Suffice to say, they paid royally for their misadventure. We now have: a lifetime subscription to Opera News, unlimited car washes for the Pignasaurus, five years worth of those entertainment coupon books, and a promise that sometime in the next couple of months they will take our housekeeper, the insufferable and over-paid Mrs. Crosby off of our hands. Hah, and they thought Bruce was a handful! I can hardly wait to see what she’ll get us!

Sometime after Bruce and I returned from the war, we got to reminiscing about the things we missed about serving our country. Certainly the camaraderie of corps, the singularly and spectacularly bad food, pressed combat fatigues, the latest in military weaponry, and a bed made so tightly, one could bounce a coin off of it. And bounce coins we did. I remember one night, I won $ 163.00 bouncing on the… sorry, that’s another story. And don’t ask Bruce either, he won big that night as well.

Not Bruce. Neither of them.

A tight bed. Who could ask for anything better? Room for another to be certain. But a bed made so beautifully, it was almost a sin to throw back the covers. One would just as soon sleep on top of it then muss it up. Good times indeed.

Making a bed the right way is something that takes years to master and perfect. Strict adherence to the process bordering on anal is to be desired. That said, it is an activity best done by oneself (to preserve the relationship) as another will not share your obsession with this. More’s the pity for them. Let them sleep on a futon if that’s the cavalier attitude they strike.

Bruce and I are of somewhat different dispositions on how to make the proper bed. There are a number of ways, some of them correct, others just poor excuses for covering up the wrinkled bed linens. Both of us do prefer different styles that are both correct. In a third-party competition, the measurements of bounce height and rapidity of levitation between the two styles were virtually identical. Neither of us came away with a clear cut sense of victory.

To ensure our continued friendship, we will only discuss one style of bed-making. Since the results were so close as to be indistinguishable from each other, we flipped a coin. On a bed of course. Bruce won so he’ll be sharing his method for making a proper tight bed.

No bed can be properly made without fresh bed clothes. All components must be freshly laundered and still warm to the touch from the dryer upon placement on the bed. This is particularly welcome in colder climates. In the summer, line drying, then ironing is the preferred method.

Of course the quality of the linens is paramount. We recommend a 12oo count Peruvian cotton/hemp blend. It provides an incredible softness with just a touch of civilized rusticity that will remind you of a lodge in the Adirondacks.

But before you even do that, you must have a proper bed. No self-respecting bedder would purchase a bed with a name that starts with an “S”. Yes, that’s right – no Serta, Sealy, Stearns and Foster, Simmons, or Sleep Number. It’s too confusing. We recommend beds by Royal Fumwick Foamerpedic. Our families have used our original Royal Fumwick mattresses for over two decades, and with only an occasional mold problem, they have served us admirably.

So now that you know what kind of bed to purchase and what kind of linens to dress the bed with, you’ll need a few more items to complete the process. The first thing will be new pillows. Thankfully, Royal Fumwick makes a wonderful line of head support that match the coverings on their mattresses. We wouldn’t have it any other way. Would you?

Next you will need a blanket/quilt, whatever to keep you warm. Blankets by Pendleton are not acceptable. What are you, a tree hugger?! That would be too great a mold smell along with the mattress. A down comforter is perfect. Just make sure to purchase a corresponding duvet cover with a high count Peruvian cotton/hemp blend. It is so worth it.

Mrs. Crosby.

You are now ready to make the bed. Assemble all the items you need on the bed, again making sure the bed clothes are freshly laundered and dried. Next, call your housekeeper (in our case, the indomitable Mrs. Crosby) and tell her the bed needs to be made. It’s late and you need your sleep.

Top Billing.

Posted: April 30, 2012 in Blogs, Humor
Tags: ,

When this blog was launched, as in any partnership, we needed to name it and be fair about it as well. Like parents with a new child, we thought long and hard about what to call it. And whose name would go first. You know, who would get top billing.

If only we’d been invited! We heard it was a nice event.

We consulted all the books about naming your blog. Should we call it something from the Bible? – always a safe choice, but old or new testament? Or how about something Gaelic reflecting neither of our birthright cultures? – ah, but bold! We could have named it something with an ambiguous meaning leading every reader to ponder the gender of its authors or the origin of their birth. Hell, for all you know, that is what we did.

We thought about naming it something clever that would instantly convey the towering and imposing intellect of the two authors. Hell again, there might be more than two authors. There could be three  or four of us which is a distinct possibility because Bruce does have a personality disorder. It might even be only one twisted mind doing this. Ahh, we’re just messing with you. There are only two of us.

But, and this is a big but(t), we do both have the same first name. It is a name, though growing up separately, we both hated. Why would our parents name us this? How could we have offended them while still in the womb? There are no appropriate nicknames for Bruce nor should there be. Do not be cute and call either of us Brucie. We are not your cousin nor are we amused. Come to think of it, we hate nicknames as well.

So in our joint misery over the misguided but lovingly given first names, we find ourselves at a loggerhead over who gets top billing. You know, someone will always be slighted by taking the second banana spot. But what is one to do?

This is definitely not the loggerhead we were talking about. Bruce, how did this get in here? What? Oh, they’re loggerhead turtles? See, what I have to put up with.  And an emphatic “No!” to the snarky reader who thinks this is a portrait of Bruce and me.

Ultimately we came up with a diplomatic if imperfect solution and we’d like to share it with you. Your comments on this are always welcome if not necessarily heeded. After all, it’s OUR blog!

Every even number posting will be Bruce’s. Every odd number entry will be the other Bruce, me. We believe this will clear up any confusion over our names. After all, it’s not our fault our parents liked our brothers better! So, just to keep things straight, this posting is Bruce’s; the next one will be mine. Clear?

While we openly admit our preternatural dislike of our first names, we find that most people really like Bruces, as well they should. Go to any astrological chart, dig deep enough and you’ll find the traits that garner the most respect are those associated with a Bruce. You scoff? Possibly, but not for much longer.

The world is undoubtedly a far better place because of Bruce. Not just any Bruce, but all Bruces with the exception of those who might call themselves Brucie Ray, Joe Bob Bruce, John Wayne Brucie, – you know the kind: missing some teeth, dreadful tattoos, and bound to be arrested for some heinous crime against humanity. No, that hardly ever happens with a Bruce.

Bruces are known throughout history for their valor, intelligence, uncommon good looks, impeccable taste in all things cultural and spiritual, kindness, generosity, peacefulness, compassion, and (you can ask any Bruce’s wife about this) their virility. It’s true!

Think about all the Bruces you know or are familiar with. Throughout history and culture, there is usually a Bruce leading the vanguard of the next wave of positive change. You scoff again? Read on doubter!

Here are some of the Bruces that come immediately to mind with just a soupcon of their achievements following. You of course can add your own as you most certainly will.

Bruce Springsteen – just for making New Jersey cool qualifies him for free drinks at the local bar.

Bruce Lee – showed us that Bruces are as tough as the next guy. Maybe even tougher! If you don’t believe this, were he still alive, he’d kick your butt! Get with the program, dude!

Bruce Willis – the uber Bruce, ’nuff said.

Robert the Bruce – Bruce as a pronoun. What could be better? Read your Scottish history, this ain’t school!

Bruce Vilanch – this might be a reach, but he has helped a lot of people in Hollywood so that counts.

Bruce Boxleitner – showed us that in all Bruces, as well as some other men, aging well is a natural. With the exception of the previous mentioned Bruce. we don’t know what happened.

Bruce Campbell – the most famous unknown B-movie actor who shows us that anonymity is its own strength. In keeping with his anonymity, there will be no picture here.

Bruce – the shark in the first “Jaws”movie –  message here: you just don’t mess around with a Bruce.

Bruce Wayne – the Bruce with the most issues including a penchant for latex clothing, but he’s a do-gooder at heart.

Bruce Dern – just on principle. He’s the father of actress Laura Dern, but for the life of us we can’t figure who is more famous.

Lenny Bruce – Made it semi-OK to say F*** almost all the time.

Bruce Hornsby – pianist and sometime Grateful Dead member. That alone qualifies him for the name Bruce.

Bruce McGill – as D-Day from “Animal House”

So reader whose name unfortunately is not Bruce, this is only a partial list. But we hope it gives you a start on the road to new respect for those named Bruce. We do so much for you, all we ask is that you don’t ever call us Brucie. That will make us mad and you don’t want to see us get mad.

Kevin Spacey? How the hell did he get in here? Secretly wants to be a Bruce too.