Breaking News: Brett Favre to Retire

What’s this I’m hearing about Brett Favre texting pictures of his, um, helmet to former playboy pinup Jenn Sterger? If she’s to be believed, then Favre makes the sexting DA look like a pimple-faced amateur breathing heavily into the receiver of a rotary-dial telephone. So you mean to tell me that in addition to zipping footballs to his wide receivers, the future Hall of Famer has also been throwing cell-phone pics of his johnson to (buxom brunettes with) tight ends?

And all these years, I thought he was a pocket passer. Boy was I wrong. He’s obviously more of a spread option kinda guy.

Well, on the bright side, it appears as if the object of John Madden’s countless bro-mantic overtures has seen the error of his ways. Because I just heard that Favre is retiring from the ranks of creepy old dudes who text photos of their ding dongs.

That’s right. About an hour ago, Brett Favre officially announced the he’ll never again engage in the act of sexting vapid hotties. He believes. Though it’s hard to say definitively. You know. Never being such a long time and all.

But he’s pretty damn sure he won’t. He thinks. Word has it that he’ll regroup this offseason and talk it over with his family before doing what feels right.

I’ll keep you posted.

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The Goldsmith And My Sister

Before molding his precious metal, the goldsmith must first melt it down until the material becomes ideal to work with. The gold reaches that point only when the goldsmith is finally able to see his reflection staring back at him each and every time he casts his patient gaze upon it. When this occurs, he’ll take possession of the metal, then carefully create the form in which it will forever remain.

It appears as if the Goldsmith is satisfied, indeed, with my sister. I have no doubt that He’s able to see the reflection of His likeness whenever He looks deep within her soul. As such, He’ll finally turn down the heat. Throughout the years, however, He has melted her time and time again, but Holliday never complained. She simply endured, and as she did, all who witnessed were warmed by the glow of her bravery and determination.

[Read more…]

Yarn Spinning 101

Today’s Thursday, and that means it should be time for another JCO or JC NO. You know, when I relay some weird story and you decide whether it’s true or not. Only I’ve done little other than work with PJ Mullen on revamping my website during the past week, which has left no time for me to write this week’s installment. But I still thought I should at least comment on last week’s tale.

If you tuned in, you read my account of the days back in college when I’d serve as a loquacious decoy who would distract convenient store clerks by bullshitting aimlessly with them while my friends “de-boarded” diet cokes from their twelve-pack containers before replacing them with twelve Old Milwaukee’s Light Bests — all so we could purchase beer in coke’s clothing on Sundays, when, of course, beer sales weren’t allowed on Hilton Head Island, SC.

Y’all were split on this one, though a little more than half of you who commented didn’t believe the story. And I don’t blame you. It was so unbelievable to me, that I actually had to call one of my co-horts to confirm that we did, in fact, stoop to such lows during that era. Regrettably, my friend was happy to do just that. Which means, as implausible as it sounds, the tale is a true one.

Props to web-designer extraordinaire and all around talented guy, PJ Mullen, along with Wendy Wisniewski, Patrick, and WeaselMomma for getting it right. But a special shout out to a fifth person who also got it right — SeattleDad — for the sound logic that led him the the correct answer. “College kids,” he commented “will do about anything for beer.”

No argument here, counselor.

Next Thursday, I’ll return with yet another questionable tale and let y’all be the judge as to whether or not it’s fact or fiction. But before I sign off, I’d like to give special props to my boy, Dad of Divas, who was so convinced I was telling the truth in the first JCO or JC NO (Calamities in Call Screening) the he said if I was, indeed, fibbing, he’d give me the Mark Twain Yarn Spinning Award, whatever the hell that meant. Call me sensitive, but I thought his remark was a thinly veiled insult akin to “pathological liar.” Until he emailed me this.

DOD — you may be a ball-buster, my friend, but you are, indeed, a man of your word. Thank you for my award. Y’all go visit DOD. He’s a great guy with a great site.

Final note — thanks to all who voted for me in the Man of the House “World’s Greatest Dad” contest. Honestly? I don’t even consider myself the greatest dad on my street, much less the greatest dad in the world, but I’m still hopeful I’ll win. Because if I do, I will donate the entire $2,000 prize money to, a leading national non-profit which benefits the victims of child abuse and neglect. I may not be the world’s greatest dad, but I am a good dad, and sometimes a good dad does what he can for kids who have dads who aren’t very good at all.

I hope you’ll help me in that cause by clicking THIS LINK, then clicking the vote icon. It will literally only take you five seconds (unless you wanna watch my video). Even if you voted yesterday, you’re allowed to vote once every twenty-four hours, so please consider voting again. Thanks!

A Pack of Those D Batteries, Too, Please

Today’s Thursday, and that means it’s time for yet another installment of JCO or JC NO, where I spin the yarn and you decide whether the story I relay is fact (JCO) or fiction (JC NO). To see if you were right, come back next week when I will give you the skinny before delivering the next JCO or JC NO. SO, last week’s deplorable tale of me poaching food off the tables I bussed as a Fuddruckers’ employee? The overwhelming majority of you suspected that to be true.

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But She Looked Like a Clean Person

So it’s Thursday, and that means it’s time for the second installment of JCO or JC NO, where I, John Cave Osborne, tell you, (state your name) a story which is either fact or fiction. Should you feel so inclined, leave a comment telling me if you think what I’ve written is legit (JCO) or bogus (JC NO). Then come back next Thursday to see if you were right. [Read more…]

Lindsay Lohan Work Release Program

Lindsay Lohan at Calvin Klein Spring 2007 Fash...

Image via Wikipedia

Li-Lo — courtesy of wikipedia

By now, I’m sure y’all have heard about Lindsay Lohan’s recent setback. Scant weeks removed from a two-week stint in the poky, the troubled starlet suddenly finds herself dangerously close to being locked up yet again after violating her probation by testing positive for cocaine and amphetamines. [Read more…]

Calamities in Call Screening

I’m trying something new on my blog — a segment called JCO or JC NO. I’ve got four of them planned. The premise is simple. Each Thursday, I’ll tell a JCO story. Then y’all decide if it’s fact (JCO) or fiction (JC NO). To see if you were right, come visit me the following Thursday. Before offering up that week’s JCO or JC NO, I’ll confirm or deny the veracity (solid word, no?) of the prior week’s story. [Read more…]

My Sister, the Great

This past weekend, Lovie and I went down to Atlanta to be part of the M3Summit — the first ever conference dedicated solely to blogging men. Throughout the weekend, I gained incredible insight from many experts in the ways of social media and or fatherhood. But the most important meeting I would attend happened far, far away from the downtown Sheraton. In fact, it went down in a different city altogether. The most important meeting I would attend this past weekend was held in Stone Mountain, GA.

There were no powerpoint presentations, but there was a powerful presence. No conference room with with rows and rows of tables in front of countless chairs, but instead a small kitchen equipped with a wooden table which sat just four. No keynote speaker carrying on in a booming voice. Just a brave woman speaking in a soft but clear one that didn’t need the help of a microphone to reach my ears.

Much less my heart.

As many of you might recall, my sister Holliday has been battling cancer. And her fight took a dire turn for the worse just before the fourth of July weekend when, after her second round of a hellishly aggressive chemo, she fell into an unresponsive state for nine days. Toward the end of those nine days, virtually all hope was lost.

I penned five excrutiatingly painful posts which were laced with unspeakable sorrow to convey the experience from my perspective during that time. I just read them moments before I began writing this post, and oddly, though sad, I also found them beautiful.

Just like I find her.

Much has happened since she came back to us, yet I stopped chronicling Holliday’s story with Tidy Little Boxes. Today, I come to you with an update.

Since last I wrote, Holliday has checked out of MD Anderson much to the dismay of her oncologist. I can’t speak for how everyone else sees the situation, but as for me? I believe that this (pathologically egotistical) doctor mistook his limits for my sister’s. And while she did, indeed, have some limits with regard to fighting her disease, he had none.

After all, this particular cancer is of such an aggressive variety that he was in a no-lose situation. Kill the cancer, and he’d land on the cover of a medical journal, thank you very much. Lose the patient? Hardly his fault. The odds were stacked against him all along.

So onward he pushed, in spite of the fact that Holliday had voiced concern about the toll the medicine was taking on her. The end result was that horrifying nine-day stretch which saw my brave sister seemingly hovering between worlds before her remarkable resolve led her back to this one, albeit with a body that had been compromised along the way.

You see, what Holliday’s doctor had forgotten was that the cancer he and his ego were hell bent on slaying was growing inside of a real, live human being.

The very one who opened the door for Lovie and me this past Saturday. The very one who led us (slowly and with the help of her walker) down the hallway and into her kitchen. The very one who held court at the head of our four-top table for as long as her energy would permit — the twenty best and most meaningful minutes of my weekend.

The very one who, as of yesterday, has officially resumed her fight. This time at Emory Hospital. This time with a less aggressive form of chemo. This time with two things in mind — fighting for her life, yet optimizing it as well.

I’m happy to say that Holliday made it through the first infusion yesterday much better than she had the ones prior. She’s back in the ring and has successfully finished round number one.

Still, my sister is far from well. She’s far from strong. But my sister is also far from giving up.

And if you knew her, that would come as no surprise. Because she’s great. And the great ones never give up. Ever.

A Troubling Question

Henry Louis Granju was checked into a Knoxville hospital on April 27th, 2010 due to complications stemming from a brutal assault coupled with a drug overdose. He was the eighteen-year-old son of my close friend Katie Allison Granju and Chris Granju, who graduated from my high school a year before me (in Lovie’s class). He was the step son of two supportive and loving step parents. He was an idolized big brother to three born children, as well as to the one unborn child in Katie’s womb. He was a beloved grandson. He was an incredible cousin. He was a friend to countless. He was a gifted musician. He was bright, charming, sensitive, irreverent, kind, gentle, and funny. He was also addicted to drugs.

And now, he’s dead.

Katie and I were emailing back and forth one morning, but our flurry was interrupted by a meeting I had. After the meeting, I texted her to see if she had time to finish our exchange via a brief phone call. She responded with “I’m in the ER. Please pray for my son. He’s been beaten up and is on life support.”

So quite literally, from moment one, I’ve read each and every single word of her horrific account as it’s unfolded and have given each and every imaginable element of this tragedy great thought. I’ve stood in awe of Katie’s candor and bravery and watched with great pride as she used her enormous platform to share her story, in hopes of preventing other families from living the hellish nightmare which befell hers.

And I’ve watched with great frustration an investigation that seems impotent at best, a charade at worst. I’ve also watched with great anger how some of the media as well as some of my city’s high-ranking civic employees have portrayed her. As a nuisance. A pest. As a unjustified squeaky wheel.

But all I’ve ever seen is a mom who loves her son.

Katie has posed a question for her readers today on her blog. A troubling question. I’d like very much for you to click on the link below and read that question. And then ask yourself what you would do if you were Katie. Would you be as brave as she’s been? Would you open yourself up to great criticism, to controversy? Would you continue to mother your child in death? Because that’s what she’s doing.

And it fills my eyes with tears. For countless reasons.

I have a feeling this local story will one day become a national one.

Katie, our family continues to hold you and yours extremely close in both thought and prayer. Don’t give up, girl. I’m on your side. And I’ll do anything humanly possible to help you and your family.

Happy Anniversary, Lovie

lovie and me moments after arriving at our reception.

Exactly four years ago from today, Lovie and I stood at the alter in front of Dr. William Barron in a small chapel inside Sequoyah Presbyterian Church and made a solemn oath before God and fifty of our closest friends and family members. To love, honor and cherish one another for the rest of our lives. With only Alli by our side, the three of us became one that day, completely unaware that we’d double the size of our family in thirteen scant months thanks to a triple blessing which no one could have ever predicted.

Simply put, I’m incredibly in love with my beautiful wife and my four wonderful children. I’m also genuinely humbled by the good fortune bestowed upon me and so thankful to have the opportunity to be the patriarch of our unique clan. None of it would have ever come to pass had the love of my life not uttered those two magical words while holding my sweaty hands and looking directly into my eyes with her beautiful, bright blue ones.

To pay homage, a quick recap of our marriage by the numbers:

13 — years of parenting. (9 w/ the trips and 4 with Pookie)
12 — total pounds of babies Lovie birthed on 9/29/07. (actually 12.4375, but I rounded down.)
11 — total weeks of bedrest.
10 — times per day I annoy Lovie.
9 — times per day I annoy myself.
8 — individual shoes our children require.
7 — times Lovie will ask me why I uploaded such a lame picture of us for this post.
6 — times I’ll tell her it was the only wedding pic I had on this computer. (I’ll be asleep the seventh time she asks me, therefore unable to respond.)
5 — weeks of hospitalized bedrest.
4 — gallons of milk we go through per week.
3 — glorious births.
2 — houses owned.
1 — crazy-ass dog.
0 — percentage chance we’ll ever get divorced.

Happy anniversary, Lovie! I love you so much!

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