Attack of the AARP!

For some reason, I’m on the mailing list for AARP, and have received multiple invitations to join the illustrious ranks of the organization formerly known as the American Association of Retired Persons, despite my steadfast rebuffs.

I’m only 28.

But you know what, after checking out the 22 benefits members reap, I’m signing up!

If Joyce Hyser could convince an entire high school she was a dude – and a Ralph Macchio doppelganger to boot - in the ‘80s classic “Just One of the Guys,” I should be able to be able to convince a bunch of old people that I’m old, too. Right? Hyser used a short haircut and the old “sock-in-the-jeans” trick to fool her fellow students. I’m thinking all I need is a Buick, “The Father Dowling Mysteries” box set and a heightened level of comfort in museum gift shops.

Seriously though, for a $12.50 one-year subscription, I get hotel and airline discounts, sage age discrimination advice, access to safe-driving courses and a whole lot more. Maybe I can even get Rue McLanahan’s phone number. (I’ll save you a Google search – she played Blanch on “Golden Girls”…Grrrrr!)

I figure my membership will pay itself off after my first trip to St. Petersburg, Florida or Branson, Missouri, alone.

More expensive? Gallon of gas or West Grace Street ‘Pro’?

I’m going with the gas, and while we’re on the subject, here’s a question: Are we allowed to seek fuel reparations from that drunken’ skipper of the old Exxon Valdez? If so, maybe we should share the wealth with some of those poor penguins who looked like they were a graham cracker away from being floating Smores.. Just writing out loud…

Anyways, this week’s Richmond.com Top Five tackles alternative modes of transportation. If I were a lame FM disc jockey, I would call this “Friday Funnies.” But I’m not.

Also see: The gasoline diaries.

Pushover of the Month: XM Radio

Last week XM radio personalities Opie and Anthony were suspended from the pay-for satellite service for 30 days in a move that makes about as much sense as Hugh Hefner firing Jesse James for flashing her cans at Mardi Gras, or canning Chris Hanson for punching a pedophile.

The Don Imus firing has created a predictable slippery slope of anti-first amendment fears and sentiment. In fact, since the "nappy headed ho’s" debacle, O&A have been predicting their own demise daily. (By the way, just for the record, Harold & Kumar did MUCH more for New Jersey than the Rutgers' women's basketball team ever will, at least in terms of providing Neil Patrick Harris a career boost.)

I just don't think O&A thought it would be benign sex banter from a drunken’ bum that would give them the boot from satellite radio – the alleged short-skirted provocateur to terrestrial radio's wet blanket chaperone. Sure, there was a short segment devoted to what said bum would do to supposed "hand-off" dignitaries including Condi Rice, The Queen and the First Lady. But “According to Jim” segments have been more offensive.

The O&A debacle is much different than the Imus fracas. Customers pay to hear O&A on a channel clearly labeled “outrageous talk radio.” It’s a channel that’s free of FCC oversight and shouldn’t submit to the self-important rants and raves of Al Sharpton and couscous-munching soccer moms. XM customers pay for and expect irreverence and graphic gags.

Come to think of it, the O&A suspension isn’t even an issue of free speech. It’s even worse – it’s an issue of paid-for speech.

(On a personal note, O&A got many of us through the day with their entertaining views and skews. Now we’re forced to listen to whacky FM DJs who consider copying your buttocks on the office printer or pranking pizza joints to be outrageous. O&A are still airing every morning on CBS radio affiliates for three hours, but it’s not the same. Bummer.)

Father Time's bastard son

Age may in fact be more than a sum of all its calendar parts.

At least that's what's purported by the Web site RealAge.com, a new novelty longevity site that asks you questions and spits out your "real" age. My actual age? 27.9 "Real age?" 31.3. Damn it!

You could probably guess at most of the questions, which inquire about everything from drinking habits to exercise and eating patterns. It's a cool concept, except RealAge.com doesn't probe deep enough tthrough one's experiences and lifestyle to really get an accurate measure of what makes one more or less healthier than their years.

They're a bit too gunshy and PG-13, so here are a few additions I'm suggesting:

1) For everyday you're not appearing on Dr. Phil, add one minute, 37 seconds. (Subtract four days for days if you've ever been in the studio audience - 198 days if you're a dude.)

2) Subtract two hours for every glass of Sunny D you've consumed. Subtract three days for every glass of "the purple stuff" you've imbibed. Subtract four days for each snuff film you've seen with a parent in the room.

3) For every novelty greeting card you've received that was purchased from Spencer Gifts, add a week for each guffaw it drew from you. (Ahh, that sleeping cat doesn't even know that it's about to fall off that TV… And that fat lady is going to eat that cake before you even get a bite!)

4) If you've ever eaten Ramen Noodles for dinner five nights in a row or more, subtract the amount of miles that you have on your used Kia hatchback.

5) Add five minutes for every time you've smile at a bum.

Take a look at this crap…

Just published a Summer Movie Preview for Richmond.com. I’ll just sum up the season’s offering like this: Pamela Anderson’s chest boasts more original content than this summer’s box office.

Enjoy.

The Queen, a mural and a strip club

Last week do you think anyone gave the Queen and her ladies in waiting a "heads up" that there's a poorly painted mural of her late, former daughter in law on the side of a Downtown Richmond strip club? I'm guessing…no.

Not only is the mural of Princess Di painted on the side of a strip club, but it's painted on the side of Velvet, the worst strip club in Richmond, which is really saying a lot.

Once I was there for a bachelor party and – no joke – there was a stripper who must have been missing a Lamaze class. She was extremely preggers.

Seriously, if Velvet hired professional impersonator Queen Helen Mirren for the night, she would have been the hottest performer by a kilometer. Heck, she could work Scores.