GENE GENE THE SINGING MACHINE

For as long as I can remember, my mouth has been moving. My mom used to tell me when I was a kid: "You never shut up." (No, she didn't curse at me as a youngster.) And she was right. I'm rarely at a loss for words. I talk so much I often have to repeat myself later because at some point, the person I'm talking to will tune me out and miss the point I was making. I like telling stories, getting into sports discussions, etc. Here's the only times I'm not rambling on:
1) I'm by myself (and even then, I do a lot of talking to myself.)
2) I'm surrounded by strangers and don't feel comfortable.
3) I don't really like the people I'm around.
4) I'm pensive. (I can get pretty lost in my thoughts.)

Sometimes, I give myself pep talks to tone it down before walking into the T-P building. Like the othe day: "OK, Gene. Keep quiet tonight. Don't aggravate the nice people. Only speak when spoken to or if it is important for work. Don't jump in other people's conversations (bad habit). Only speak when spoken to. Don't piss off Jelly and turn her into Yelly. Easy on the singing. Don't yell across the room. (This last part is said like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz:) Only speak when spoken to. Only speak when spoken to."

Talking too much is one thing. The real problem comes with my singing, which to me is just another way to be continually talking. I'm a horrible singer. Just awful. I'm completely tone deaf and have a voice not even a mother could love ("Don't quit your fucking day job"). But I love singing. I sing along in the car, in the shower and at concerts. I sing on the escalator on the way up to the news room. I love singing the theme songs to TV shows (future daily top list) at the beginning of the show. That's all fine and good. However, I tend to sing the most around other people, er, I tend to sing the most to other people.

The poll results show a tie between my singing being a little endearing and that I should never sing again. Ever. I'll be honest. I tried to skew the vote. Option 1 and 3 are basically the same, and I was hoping they would split votes and allow Option 2 to win, much like in a local election when two members of one party run against one member of another party. The strategy almost worked. Well, not really. I voted three times.

Look, I know it's annoying and terrible, but I can't help but sing. It's part of my fun-loving nature. Besides, my mind won't let me not sing. Let's explain. Most of my singing to other people is reactionary. If I'm listening to other people talk (another bad habit, possible future entry) and they say something that is a line in a song I know, my brain churns, and Bam! I'm singing the next line for everyone's listening pleasure. For instance, say someone asks Phil why he eats AGG's salsa even though he knows he will soon be sweating profusely. He might answer: "I can't help myself." Well, upon hearing that, I will continue the song: "I love you and nobody else. Sugarpie honeybunch."

I get told at least once a week at work to stop singing, though some people are actually starting to encourage it. I was even worse back in my Maroon days. I'd kick my feet up on the desk and let 'er rip. Then, Lisa would glare at me and point to her elbow, and I'd crawl into the fetal position. Sometimes, when I start singing at work, I have visions of that elbow.

The singing is not always the next line in the song. My brain will take the context of what I'm hearing, and I'll sing a song appropriate to the conversation. For instance, one time JRap was telling Brick that he had not spoken to his father in more than a week. Upon hearing that line, I start singing for the office: "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon. Little boy blue and the man on the moon. When you comin' home dad? I don't know when." I was cut off by grumblings and yells of "Stop it." Marcus keeps threatening to throw a can of tuna or something at me.

For anyone who has ever been hurt or has a loved one that's been hurt because of the sound of my voice, I would like to take this space to extend my condolences. I'm sorry for the pain I have caused. Please forgive me.

By the by, I learned tonight that I've been singing the lyrics to a song wrong for like 12 years. I've been singing: "And the cats and the cradle and the silver spoon." The cat is in the cradle? I didn't even know that cats went in a cradle. Not that my way makes any sense.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

We got the bricks up early Thursday morning for Terminix, and I went back to bed. When I got back up, I ask my mom how it went with the Terminix guy. "They take a fucking lawn tool and hack up the soil. That's why we had to move the bricks. ... Now, the soil is all fucked up."

Mom is jamming to her iPod (this is Maroon 5; she screams the curse word): "And it really makes we wonder if I ever gave a fuck about you."

I'm flipping through the channels and come across Epic Movie. The Mystique (X-Men) imitation character (all blue) comes on the screen. Mom: "What the fuck is that?"

I did something to piss mom off. Still not sure what. But I hear her yell from the other room: "Un-fucking-believable."

Mom is upset with the Cox digital remote. "Fucking Cox Cable should have a fucking closed caption button. That remote has everything else on it. Someone forgot to put the fucking button on there."

I HOPE I'M NOT NEXT

With the passing of Gene Upshaw on Thursday, I got to thinking. More like to panicking. Could Upshaw's death be the start of a Curse of Three? As in three big-time Genes will die, and Upshaw is the first.

What if the Gene pool (no pun intended - well, maybe a little) is limited to Sandy and Marcus' guest list of their top 10 Genes? Six members of that prestigious list (though Marcus says I'm now down to No. 18 in his book) are alive: Washington, the Dancing Machine, Simmons, Wilder, Hackman and Guillot. The Dancing Machine is 78 and suffers from diabetes. So, put your bets on him for one. The other is anybody's guess. Start praying for me, people.

PARTING SHOTS

Derry tells me that da wife really likes the blog. Hi, Drea.

Drea to Derry: Why can't you be more like Gene? He's funny.

Jelly had one good one and one great one Thursday night.

While talking to her dad on the phone: "If you can't keep that woman (her mother, who at the time was bathing Jack) on a leash, that's your problem."
Talking to me about a perceived shortcoming of hers: "I'm vaginally impaired."

D can't believe that California also has a city called Lake Tahoe.

AGG: And you know, D, there's a Springfield in every state.
D: There's Springfield, Illinois, Springfield, Missouri, Springfield, Massachusetts. Let's see. Where else is there a Springfield?

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My favorite five Tom Hanks films.

5) Big. 1998.
Always a fun time.

4) Catch Me If You Can. 2002.
Haven't seen one of his movies since.

3) Cast Away. 2000.
A real sleeper of a movie. If I catch it on cable, I get wrapped up in every time and finish it.

2) A League of Their Own. 1992.
My favorite sports comedy. I can quote Hanks in this one all day.
Dottie: You ever been married?
Jimmy: Well, let me think. ... yeah, twice.
Dottie: Any children?
Jimmy: One of them was, yeah.

1) Forrest Gump. 1994.
For me, this is just about the perfect movie.