Just a few more days and we won't have to be hearing Meat Loaf sing any more. Not that we were listening to him much these days anyway. As God intended; the election will be over on Tuesday night.
I definitely will be voting. I plan on taking my driver's license, my Von's card, and a former little league teammate with me to help verify that I am whom I am. I will be taking a cheat sheet with me to help me remember which way to vote on some of the propositions. This year I have actually done more due diligence. I don't need the L.A. Times to tell me which way to vote. I have a mind of my own. But, I do need that cheat sheet.
How about these silly propositions! "Yes means No." "More money for schools. Unless we find something else to do with the cash." "No more death row. Let them get killed by the regular prison inmates." "Keep big businesses from over-donating. Except the big businesses that are supporting this proposition." Yep, everything is clear to me.
Unemployment will definitely spike right after the election. Pundits and pollsters will be out of work. I expect to see Chris Matthews at the bottom of a freeway on ramp holding up a sign that reads, "Will Pundit For Food". Pollsters will no longer have anybody's attention as they babble on about swing states and the importance of the Jewish women's vote in Delaware.
Campaign advisors will lose their sense of importance and have to go back to picking up their own dry cleaning. John Sununu will continue to chew on steel wool and tell the neighborhood's kids to get off of his lawn, but at least he won't be on with Wolf Blitzer talking about lazy people from Kenya. David Axelrod will not worry about having a bad hair day. He will just have to accept the fact that every day is a bad hair day for him.
Most people believe that this election should be all about the economy. I would concur if I honestly believed that anybody really knew how to fix the economic mess that we are in. Here are a list of folks that I surmise don't have a clue as to how to properly deal with the monetary fiasco: Obama, Biden, Romney, Ryan, Bernanke, Greenspan, Geitner, Paulsen, Reich, Krugman, Krauthammer, Jim Cramer and Suze Orman.
Trickle down. The middle class. The haves. The have nots. One has to realize that our nation is run by a bunch of Gordon Gekkos. It always has been. From John D. Rockefeller to the Koch Brothers. It is just a lot harder to rise up to be a Gekko these days. That's the significant difference from years gone by.
So; I don't believe that the economy has the monopoly on importance this year. The deficit will not be fixed in the next four years. Don't expect any budgets to be balanced. Raising taxes and proposing cuts. I'm not hearing those words coming out of either of the candidates' mouths. Jobs will still continue to be outsourced. Hedge fund guys will still have third homes. Teachers will still be denied pay raises. Alex Trebek will still be hosting Jeopardy.
This election; women's rights, Supreme Court appointees, and healthcare are the issues that grab my attention. Of course I want Todd and Lou to get married. Haven't forgotten about those boys. Calm down. You too Brenda and Carol. I just needed to prioritize. That's all.
Tuesday's election is very important. Women will be paying close attention. Late Tuesday they will be either exhaling a sigh of relief or googling Guadalajara women's clinics. They will be either running corporations or getting coffee for their Mad Men bosses. Women should realize that you don't have to be a lesbian to keep a man out of your vagina. Women can vote. Tuesday's election is very important.
Tuesday's election is very important. It is inevitable that change will occur on the Supreme Court. The average age of the Supreme Court Justices is death. If Obama wins, folks will want Justice Scalia to build a home next to Mitt's in the Cayman Islands and enjoy retirement. If Romney wins, folks will be telling Justice Ginsburg that she could make more money being a judge on the X Factor. Tuesday's election is very important.
Tuesday's election is very important. Especially if you are having surgeries on every body part like I seem to be having lately. Obamacare is a step in the right direction for everybody. It's not perfect. Far from it. You still have to mortgage your home if you are having a root canal done. Plus, if you have kids, they might actually hang around the house until they are 26 just to keep their health insurance. Like I said, not perfect. Romney said on Day 1, I'm assuming in between inauguration parties, that he would repeal it. If it is repealed by the new regime be prepared to remain in the dreaded 47% for the rest of your life after paying for a couple of future MRI's. Tuesday's election is very important.
Despite the great divide in this country it is my hope after all the votes have been counted that our nation can once again be united. Republicans and Democrats can reach across the aisle and work together. More civility and less vitriol. Blah, blah, blah! Actually, what I really hope for, is that my guy wins and I can dance all over my misguided family members and facebook friends that I haven't deleted yet. I'm just sayin'...
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Friday, October 5, 2012
DOWN GOES FRAZIER! DOWN GOES FRAZIER!
You've all seen the videos of the parliamentary leaders in places like Assbackwardsstan jumping over podiums and slugging each other. On Tuesday I had one of those Borat-like moments. I have the red nose and bad back to prove it. More on the fisticuffs in a minute.
For those of you that have been reading my blogs you might remember one awhile back entitled, "Like A Good Neighbor". It dealt with the L.A. Department of Transportation, parking restrictions, and neighbors that find selfishness a virtue. Basically it concerned all the battles that the wife and I had with all of the above. New parking restrictions had been installed on our block that made it easier to park in front of an Iraqi embassy than in front of my house.
Even though the new signs were up, the wife and I were not done fighting the battles to bring justice back to our street. For those of you that don't know my wife - she makes Erin Brokovich look like a pussy.
We were finally able to get the Department of Transportation to at least say the word "oops" when it came to the handling of the parking fiasco. They, and they never do this, said because of all the "confusion" that we could re-file a new petition.
Good news on the one hand, but a daunting task nevertheless. We now had to get 2/3 of the households on the block to agree to changes. Oops was a start. Taking down the signs would have been better. We needed 18 households to jump on board.
We talked to a few of the neighbors that had been on our side before to see if this seemed like something we should pursue. We proceeded cautiously. At the beginning we were just opening the car door even though I wanted to get laid.
We were pleasantly surprised to find out that there was venom in the air. Hatred towards the new signs. That's all fine and dandy, but how do you get to 18. We began to fill up the petition. Most of the neighbors wanted to roll the restrictions back much further than what our petition stated but realized that his compromise would stand the best chance of going through.
We eventually had 16 signatures on our petition. Including 10 households that had signed the original petition. They had signed our new petition because they had been either bamboozled or simply despised the new East Berlin restrictions. But, unfortunately, 16 is not 18.
We knew that we were never going to get the signatures of the Selfish Six. We were shocked that 3 or 4 other homes wouldn't even listen. They felt "safer". They felt that now they could take their trash cans out without cars illegally parked in their driveway. No one has ever seen any illegally cars parked in their driveway, but why would reason come into play.
So; the wife and I sent out a memo thanking the 16 and saying we weren't giving up, but for now, we were at a standstill. We had tried our best.
The "whiny trash can guys" then decided that they wanted to have a meeting to bring the neighborhood back together. Like we were all having dinner with each other all the time. Please! The wife warned them that there were a lot of heated voices. Unless we are going to change the restrictions there is no point to the meeting. "No, let's all hold hands", said the whiny passive-aggressives.
So; a meeting was held this past Tuesday night. Both sides arrived with hair-triggers. There was forced civility at the start. If changes were not going to occur that night - our voices and bitching were definitely going to be heard.
The meeting started. A few eyebrows were raised by the Selfish Six when someone had the audacity to say that I would like to have a family member visit without having them park at the Von's about a mile away. Certainly not the worst thing in the world to be asking for.
Then one of the Selfish Six started speaking. He had not been brought up to speed and was spouting stuff that no longer applied. It was up to me to point that out to him. I explained to the Selfish Senior that things had changed due to the Dept. of Transportation and the "confusion".
Confusion was the word that pushed the button. The snakey original petitioner, in his uniform tank top, said there was no confusion and that the only confusion was caused by me and the wife. I responded in about as manly a tone as I could, "You're the one that lied." "Are you calling me a liar!", as he charged in my direction. "You lied to me", I barely got out.
Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier! He hit me right in the face sending me flying through a cheap wall. Now, I haven't had a fist fight since the third grade when that annoying Emily Rosenberg cleaned my clock. It took a bit to clear the cobwebs. The first words out of my mouth when I got up were, "Alex, I'll go to Bits and Pieces for $200." I then checked to see if I still had all of my teeth. I was shaken and marginally stirred.
The police were called. Nice folks. Not the ones that beat Rodney King. At the time I decided to not press charges. That might change. The meeting continued on sans Evander Hollyfield. Bickering and some common sense. Don't know how it happened but we got two more signatures. 18 - the holy grail. I hope the new signs are put up soon. I don't want to write another blog about this.
As my nose got redder and my back got sorer I felt empowered that I had taken one for the team.
The whole evening had been surreal. Idiotic and dangerous. Looking back on my first MMA experience, you know who I want to hit? Sadly, he is no longer with us. Mr. Rogers. Yeah, the guy in the sweater. That Mr. Rogers. A lovely day in the neighborhood, my ass!!!
For those of you that have been reading my blogs you might remember one awhile back entitled, "Like A Good Neighbor". It dealt with the L.A. Department of Transportation, parking restrictions, and neighbors that find selfishness a virtue. Basically it concerned all the battles that the wife and I had with all of the above. New parking restrictions had been installed on our block that made it easier to park in front of an Iraqi embassy than in front of my house.
Even though the new signs were up, the wife and I were not done fighting the battles to bring justice back to our street. For those of you that don't know my wife - she makes Erin Brokovich look like a pussy.
We were finally able to get the Department of Transportation to at least say the word "oops" when it came to the handling of the parking fiasco. They, and they never do this, said because of all the "confusion" that we could re-file a new petition.
Good news on the one hand, but a daunting task nevertheless. We now had to get 2/3 of the households on the block to agree to changes. Oops was a start. Taking down the signs would have been better. We needed 18 households to jump on board.
We talked to a few of the neighbors that had been on our side before to see if this seemed like something we should pursue. We proceeded cautiously. At the beginning we were just opening the car door even though I wanted to get laid.
We were pleasantly surprised to find out that there was venom in the air. Hatred towards the new signs. That's all fine and dandy, but how do you get to 18. We began to fill up the petition. Most of the neighbors wanted to roll the restrictions back much further than what our petition stated but realized that his compromise would stand the best chance of going through.
We eventually had 16 signatures on our petition. Including 10 households that had signed the original petition. They had signed our new petition because they had been either bamboozled or simply despised the new East Berlin restrictions. But, unfortunately, 16 is not 18.
We knew that we were never going to get the signatures of the Selfish Six. We were shocked that 3 or 4 other homes wouldn't even listen. They felt "safer". They felt that now they could take their trash cans out without cars illegally parked in their driveway. No one has ever seen any illegally cars parked in their driveway, but why would reason come into play.
So; the wife and I sent out a memo thanking the 16 and saying we weren't giving up, but for now, we were at a standstill. We had tried our best.
The "whiny trash can guys" then decided that they wanted to have a meeting to bring the neighborhood back together. Like we were all having dinner with each other all the time. Please! The wife warned them that there were a lot of heated voices. Unless we are going to change the restrictions there is no point to the meeting. "No, let's all hold hands", said the whiny passive-aggressives.
So; a meeting was held this past Tuesday night. Both sides arrived with hair-triggers. There was forced civility at the start. If changes were not going to occur that night - our voices and bitching were definitely going to be heard.
The meeting started. A few eyebrows were raised by the Selfish Six when someone had the audacity to say that I would like to have a family member visit without having them park at the Von's about a mile away. Certainly not the worst thing in the world to be asking for.
Then one of the Selfish Six started speaking. He had not been brought up to speed and was spouting stuff that no longer applied. It was up to me to point that out to him. I explained to the Selfish Senior that things had changed due to the Dept. of Transportation and the "confusion".
Confusion was the word that pushed the button. The snakey original petitioner, in his uniform tank top, said there was no confusion and that the only confusion was caused by me and the wife. I responded in about as manly a tone as I could, "You're the one that lied." "Are you calling me a liar!", as he charged in my direction. "You lied to me", I barely got out.
Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier! Down Goes Frazier! He hit me right in the face sending me flying through a cheap wall. Now, I haven't had a fist fight since the third grade when that annoying Emily Rosenberg cleaned my clock. It took a bit to clear the cobwebs. The first words out of my mouth when I got up were, "Alex, I'll go to Bits and Pieces for $200." I then checked to see if I still had all of my teeth. I was shaken and marginally stirred.
The police were called. Nice folks. Not the ones that beat Rodney King. At the time I decided to not press charges. That might change. The meeting continued on sans Evander Hollyfield. Bickering and some common sense. Don't know how it happened but we got two more signatures. 18 - the holy grail. I hope the new signs are put up soon. I don't want to write another blog about this.
As my nose got redder and my back got sorer I felt empowered that I had taken one for the team.
The whole evening had been surreal. Idiotic and dangerous. Looking back on my first MMA experience, you know who I want to hit? Sadly, he is no longer with us. Mr. Rogers. Yeah, the guy in the sweater. That Mr. Rogers. A lovely day in the neighborhood, my ass!!!
Friday, August 24, 2012
PRO CHOICE: TORONTO OR VANCOUVER
I never thought that I would ever hear a candidate running for the United State Senate say out loud, "that sperm don't hunt!" Which is approximately what Missouri Congressman Todd Akin said when describing what happens when a woman is "legitimately" raped. He said that he got that "well-documented" biological information from a couple of magazine articles. Maybe it was from a blog. Perhaps he saw it on the wall of the men's room at his local lodge. My guess is he heard it at a Hank Williams Jr. concert.
The Congressman was talking about rape in regards to the abortion issue. He doesn't believe that there should be any exception when it comes to abortion. I hate the premise of that whole debate. Abortion is not about exceptions. That narrows the discussion. It is about a woman's right to choose. Lately people talk about the life of the mother, incest, and rape. I want some woman to stand up and say, "It's not just about those instances. I had a pitcher of margaritas last night and allowed Tony to get further than first base. Thank God I had my morning after pill."
Oh well, who really cares about this guy in Missouri anyway. Let the folks under the golden arch work this out in their own state. Nobody in their right mind would align themselves with this guy's wacky ideology anyway. Nobody except the Republican Vice-Presidential candidate Paul Ryan. Together Ryan and Akin co-sponsored a bill that deems that personhood begins at conception. Whatever. I happen to think that there is a difference between egg salad and fried chicken but apparently they don't. They happen to believe that an embryo could go on Jeopardy and do rather well. "I'll go to Zygotes for $200."
Paul Ryan said that the term "legitimate" rape used by Congressman Akin was ridiculous. Less ridiculous to Ryan was the term "forcible" rape which he had in his co-sponsored bill. That terminology was eventually deleted. From the bill. Not from the brain of Paul Ryan.
Playing the good soldier, Ryan said that for the most part he agreed with Mitt Romney on abortion. Romney believes (well, at least today he believes) that in cases of rape and incest there can be abortions. Ryan said that Romney's position was a "step in the right direction". Ryan basically believes that there are no exceptions when it comes to abortion. He also doesn't approve of tongues being used between a man and a woman. He thinks tongues are icky.
So; where are these steps in the right direction going? If I was a woman I'd be leafing through travel brochures for Toronto and Vancouver. That's where the ladies will have to go to have an abortion in the near future if the Republicans have their way. I know arroz con pollo is better than Canadian bacon, but you don't really want to go to Mexico and have some ill-equipped clinic go South of the Border on you. You know, it is one thing for Kobe Bryant to go to Germany to have work done on his knee - it is another thing entirely for your 15 year old daughter having to travel to the land of Dudley Do Right to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. What the hell is happening in this country!
Once again we need to hear more from younger women. A little more outrage please. Today it seems that if you ask some sorority co-ed named Heather what she thinks of Roe vs Wade, she will respond, "I don't follow tennis that much, but I think that Maria Sharapova has great skin." Somebody should write a sequel to the Vagina Monologues and call it the Clitoris Chronicles. Women that had to have abortions in the past should recount their stories of wire hangers and back alleys. School the black-nail polish generation. Create an uprising.
Todd Akin's comments were beyond contempt. Unfortunately they are not as far enough away from the mainstream as you might think. When all the furor dies down it wouldn't surprise me one bit if Akin got elected. If he loses he'll probably get a gig doing commercials for Cialis. My guess is that his sperm hasn't hunted in years.
The Congressman was talking about rape in regards to the abortion issue. He doesn't believe that there should be any exception when it comes to abortion. I hate the premise of that whole debate. Abortion is not about exceptions. That narrows the discussion. It is about a woman's right to choose. Lately people talk about the life of the mother, incest, and rape. I want some woman to stand up and say, "It's not just about those instances. I had a pitcher of margaritas last night and allowed Tony to get further than first base. Thank God I had my morning after pill."
Oh well, who really cares about this guy in Missouri anyway. Let the folks under the golden arch work this out in their own state. Nobody in their right mind would align themselves with this guy's wacky ideology anyway. Nobody except the Republican Vice-Presidential candidate Paul Ryan. Together Ryan and Akin co-sponsored a bill that deems that personhood begins at conception. Whatever. I happen to think that there is a difference between egg salad and fried chicken but apparently they don't. They happen to believe that an embryo could go on Jeopardy and do rather well. "I'll go to Zygotes for $200."
Paul Ryan said that the term "legitimate" rape used by Congressman Akin was ridiculous. Less ridiculous to Ryan was the term "forcible" rape which he had in his co-sponsored bill. That terminology was eventually deleted. From the bill. Not from the brain of Paul Ryan.
Playing the good soldier, Ryan said that for the most part he agreed with Mitt Romney on abortion. Romney believes (well, at least today he believes) that in cases of rape and incest there can be abortions. Ryan said that Romney's position was a "step in the right direction". Ryan basically believes that there are no exceptions when it comes to abortion. He also doesn't approve of tongues being used between a man and a woman. He thinks tongues are icky.
So; where are these steps in the right direction going? If I was a woman I'd be leafing through travel brochures for Toronto and Vancouver. That's where the ladies will have to go to have an abortion in the near future if the Republicans have their way. I know arroz con pollo is better than Canadian bacon, but you don't really want to go to Mexico and have some ill-equipped clinic go South of the Border on you. You know, it is one thing for Kobe Bryant to go to Germany to have work done on his knee - it is another thing entirely for your 15 year old daughter having to travel to the land of Dudley Do Right to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. What the hell is happening in this country!
Once again we need to hear more from younger women. A little more outrage please. Today it seems that if you ask some sorority co-ed named Heather what she thinks of Roe vs Wade, she will respond, "I don't follow tennis that much, but I think that Maria Sharapova has great skin." Somebody should write a sequel to the Vagina Monologues and call it the Clitoris Chronicles. Women that had to have abortions in the past should recount their stories of wire hangers and back alleys. School the black-nail polish generation. Create an uprising.
Todd Akin's comments were beyond contempt. Unfortunately they are not as far enough away from the mainstream as you might think. When all the furor dies down it wouldn't surprise me one bit if Akin got elected. If he loses he'll probably get a gig doing commercials for Cialis. My guess is that his sperm hasn't hunted in years.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
GOOD EVENING MR. PHELPS
SPOILER ALERT: Really enjoyed the Olympics Games closing ceremonies. The way the athletes all came together. The tanking badminton players and the failed dope testers. The corrupt boxing officials and the legally blind soccer referees. I thought that it was cute watching all the female swimmers swim away from LeBron James. I was a little concerned when security had to tackle Sir Paul McCartney after he ran onto the track. Sir Paul had grabbed a microphone and wanted to lead all the fans in another rousing rendition of "Hey Jude". "Hey Jude" again!!! Really!!! The evening closed with Lady Gaga doing her rendition of Peter Allen's song "I Go To Rio" to celebrate the 2016 Olympics. It was quite a visual treat.
Wait a minute. You thought that the Olympics were closing up this weekend. Oh no, the games ended last night. NBC will show you those closing ceremonies on Sunday.
How about that NBC coverage? Dan Quayle was no Jack Kennedy and Bob Costas is no Jim McKay. "Why show events live when we can tape them and show them at 11:55 at night."
Hey NBC, it's not 1984. There's this little thing called the internet. We have cell phones. You cannot watch anything on television including House Hunters International without a crawl at the bottom of the screen telling you that some Bulgarian just won the discus. Everybody knew that Usain Bolt had won the 100 meter dash before finishing their cobb salad at lunch. Even the freakin' sequestered contestants on Big Brother knew that Michael Phelps had just won another gold before NBC aired it.
I used to love Mary Carillo. Now, not so much. I don't know about you, but when I tune in to watch the Olympics I'd like to see...the Olympics. Not stories on bagpipes, James Bond, and Greenwich. Mary went Rick Steves on us. Drove me nuts. Bob Costas would say to her, "the marathon runners will have to face that large hill." Mary would reply, "speaking of a large hill - Benny Hill was Great Britain's most beloved comedian." Then every viewer would lose twelve minutes of their lives that they would never get back.
I don't know about you but I will never watch that new NBC show with Matthew Perry. In the middle of the 10,000 meter final they cut to the ex-Friends star's over-mugging face. In the middle of a young swimmer going for gold they cut to a "comedic therapy session" with Perry. Not watching that new show with the Dads and their babies either.
It seemed like the airing of women's gymnastics never ended. There's the team competition. The individual competition. The individual event competition. The crying competition. Ok, I'm going to say it. The elephant in the room. Those tiny little girls seem to be genetically altered. Except for Gabby, they all look like that little annoying kid on that show the Middle.
Now, I enjoy seeing women in underwear as much as any other man. But, how many hours of beach volleyball can they show. Sure the Spain's woman beach volleyball player has one of the greatest asses of all time, but I'd like to see one javelin go through the air at least once.
China was leading the medal count. I think NBC showed only two Chinese gold medal victories. It was much more important to talk about the American that finished seventh. The only time that NBC talked about an athlete that wasn't from the USA - that athlete had no legs. That's a high price to pay for getting airtime.
The Olympics that I grew up with were all about track and field, swimming, gymnastics, boxing, and hating Russia. Now it is about Kobe, women playing at the beach in lingerie, and NBC promoting a show that looks like a pale imitation of Modern Family. Yes, the ratings were high. Yes, we got to see many athletes perform at a high level. But for me, NBC's coverage put a damper on this year's Olympic experience. "The thrill of victory and the agony of Ryan Seacrest."
Wait a minute. You thought that the Olympics were closing up this weekend. Oh no, the games ended last night. NBC will show you those closing ceremonies on Sunday.
How about that NBC coverage? Dan Quayle was no Jack Kennedy and Bob Costas is no Jim McKay. "Why show events live when we can tape them and show them at 11:55 at night."
Hey NBC, it's not 1984. There's this little thing called the internet. We have cell phones. You cannot watch anything on television including House Hunters International without a crawl at the bottom of the screen telling you that some Bulgarian just won the discus. Everybody knew that Usain Bolt had won the 100 meter dash before finishing their cobb salad at lunch. Even the freakin' sequestered contestants on Big Brother knew that Michael Phelps had just won another gold before NBC aired it.
I used to love Mary Carillo. Now, not so much. I don't know about you, but when I tune in to watch the Olympics I'd like to see...the Olympics. Not stories on bagpipes, James Bond, and Greenwich. Mary went Rick Steves on us. Drove me nuts. Bob Costas would say to her, "the marathon runners will have to face that large hill." Mary would reply, "speaking of a large hill - Benny Hill was Great Britain's most beloved comedian." Then every viewer would lose twelve minutes of their lives that they would never get back.
I don't know about you but I will never watch that new NBC show with Matthew Perry. In the middle of the 10,000 meter final they cut to the ex-Friends star's over-mugging face. In the middle of a young swimmer going for gold they cut to a "comedic therapy session" with Perry. Not watching that new show with the Dads and their babies either.
It seemed like the airing of women's gymnastics never ended. There's the team competition. The individual competition. The individual event competition. The crying competition. Ok, I'm going to say it. The elephant in the room. Those tiny little girls seem to be genetically altered. Except for Gabby, they all look like that little annoying kid on that show the Middle.
Now, I enjoy seeing women in underwear as much as any other man. But, how many hours of beach volleyball can they show. Sure the Spain's woman beach volleyball player has one of the greatest asses of all time, but I'd like to see one javelin go through the air at least once.
China was leading the medal count. I think NBC showed only two Chinese gold medal victories. It was much more important to talk about the American that finished seventh. The only time that NBC talked about an athlete that wasn't from the USA - that athlete had no legs. That's a high price to pay for getting airtime.
The Olympics that I grew up with were all about track and field, swimming, gymnastics, boxing, and hating Russia. Now it is about Kobe, women playing at the beach in lingerie, and NBC promoting a show that looks like a pale imitation of Modern Family. Yes, the ratings were high. Yes, we got to see many athletes perform at a high level. But for me, NBC's coverage put a damper on this year's Olympic experience. "The thrill of victory and the agony of Ryan Seacrest."
Thursday, August 2, 2012
CHICK-FIL-A-NUTS
Why is it that the CEO who opens his big mouth and creates controversy, always works for something that consumers want? You never hear, "All show tunes should be banned!", from the President of the Colonoscopy Foundation. You never hear, "Women should have the right to choose their shoes and nothing else", from the head of the California Prune Association.
It's the bosses at Coors, Whole Foods, Amazon.com, Vegas casinos, and now Chick-Fil-A that seem to be doing all the spewing. I believe that everybody, with the exception of Kirk Cameron, has the right to say whatever he or she believes in. However; there can be consequences to opinion. Since there isn't any middle any more, people on both ends of the spectrum tend to get riled up. One shouldn't have to weigh what one says but that is not the world that we live in.
I don't believe in ridding the nation of all Chick-Fil-A establishments because of the words of its President Dan Cathy. In case you hadn't heard Mr. Cathy believes that, according to the bible, you can never wear pajamas that had been once worn by a gay man. As long as Nathan Lane can order waffle potato fries and Cynthia Nixon can apply for a job as a server at Chick-Fil-A, the head in the sand Mr. Cathy, can stay open for business. Instead of pickets and righteous indignation I believe that what should happen to Mr. Cathy is that he should be a guest on a re-vamped version of "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy". Let Carson Kressley teach him a few things. Snap! Snap!
What is wrong with Ellen DeGeneres, the friendly lesbian talk show host, doing ads for J.C. Penney? The outcry over her being a spokesperson for the chain was insane. Folks treated J.C. Penney like they had been Hertz hiring O.J. Simpson back to run through airports again. What a waste of energy? Besides, does anybody really believe that Ellen shops at J.C. Penney. Come on.
The wife won't shop at Whole Foods. I thought that the reason she didn't shop there was that she didn't have a coupon for sprouts. Wrong. It seems that its CEO John Mackey isn't a big fan of national healthcare. He wants to keep the government out of bed pans. Let people fend for themselves. He believes in giving tax breaks to volunteers that are willing to give a donation to someone that doesn't have insurance. When was the last time you got a knock on your door from a volunteer willing to pay your bill at Cedars?
People are upset with Jeff Bezos. He is Amazon.com's big honcho. It seems, close your ears, that he gave 2.5 million dollars to the save same sex marriage campaign. Can you imagine. What do we do now? Does this mean I might have to leave my house to buy something. No, I say. Just because some CEO does some "wacky" thing with his money doesn't mean I have to start paying sales tax.
What about the Coors family? Proud American brewers. It seems like that family doesn't have a history of being African-American friendly. William Coors had quite an opinion about Jesse Jackson and others. God forbid that a minority would dare voice a complaint about the USA. Mr. Coors said, "You don't see Jesse Jackson, or any other of these blacks making any mass exodus back to Africa, do you?" I guess I'm not ordering that second pitcher.
How about Sheldon Adelson? Newt Gingrich's pimp. He owns the Venetian in Vegas. I am not giving up my right to swim in the "European pool" just because of Sheldon's right wing leanings. I need to see breasts that aren't mine. So what if he owns the Republican Party; at least he doesn't have Celine Dionne headlining.
You wonder if some of the products and their spokespersons of the past would have held up under the scrutiny of today's multitudes of social networks. Col. Sanders probably enjoyed cockfighting. Orville Redenbacher probably wore women's clothes. Betty Crocker was a lesbian that had had a long term relationship with Hilda the vice president of daytime programming at CBS.
Where do you draw the line when it comes to boycotting? Should it also include the arts. Sean Penn played checkers with Hugo Chavez. Do you now have to change the channel every time that Fast Times at Ridgemont High comes on. Jon Voight recently wrote about Pres Obama, "Your destruction of the country may never be remedied, and we may never recover." That quote affects not only his movies but his daughter Angelina Jolie's movies as well. Ok, being a man of strong conviction, I will never watch The Tourist again. Brad Pitt gets a pass. We all have in-law issues. What about viewing a Disney film? Walt was anti-union and would have labeled anybody that gave Mary Poppins a bad review as a Communist.
We live in a nation where CEO's say the darndest things. We live in a nation where actors and artists say the darndest things. If we paid attention to everything that every CEO says, we might not buy anything. If we paid attention to everything that every actor said we wouldn't see anything. You have to let some of it slide. Otherwise you will never eat a chicken sandwich, drink a beer, buy a book, visit Disneyland, or take the kids to the "back to school sale" at J.C. Penney.
I live by this one motto when it comes to all of this: Let me see breasts at the Venetian and I promise to never watch reruns of Growing Pains ever again.
It's the bosses at Coors, Whole Foods, Amazon.com, Vegas casinos, and now Chick-Fil-A that seem to be doing all the spewing. I believe that everybody, with the exception of Kirk Cameron, has the right to say whatever he or she believes in. However; there can be consequences to opinion. Since there isn't any middle any more, people on both ends of the spectrum tend to get riled up. One shouldn't have to weigh what one says but that is not the world that we live in.
I don't believe in ridding the nation of all Chick-Fil-A establishments because of the words of its President Dan Cathy. In case you hadn't heard Mr. Cathy believes that, according to the bible, you can never wear pajamas that had been once worn by a gay man. As long as Nathan Lane can order waffle potato fries and Cynthia Nixon can apply for a job as a server at Chick-Fil-A, the head in the sand Mr. Cathy, can stay open for business. Instead of pickets and righteous indignation I believe that what should happen to Mr. Cathy is that he should be a guest on a re-vamped version of "Queer Eye For The Straight Guy". Let Carson Kressley teach him a few things. Snap! Snap!
What is wrong with Ellen DeGeneres, the friendly lesbian talk show host, doing ads for J.C. Penney? The outcry over her being a spokesperson for the chain was insane. Folks treated J.C. Penney like they had been Hertz hiring O.J. Simpson back to run through airports again. What a waste of energy? Besides, does anybody really believe that Ellen shops at J.C. Penney. Come on.
The wife won't shop at Whole Foods. I thought that the reason she didn't shop there was that she didn't have a coupon for sprouts. Wrong. It seems that its CEO John Mackey isn't a big fan of national healthcare. He wants to keep the government out of bed pans. Let people fend for themselves. He believes in giving tax breaks to volunteers that are willing to give a donation to someone that doesn't have insurance. When was the last time you got a knock on your door from a volunteer willing to pay your bill at Cedars?
People are upset with Jeff Bezos. He is Amazon.com's big honcho. It seems, close your ears, that he gave 2.5 million dollars to the save same sex marriage campaign. Can you imagine. What do we do now? Does this mean I might have to leave my house to buy something. No, I say. Just because some CEO does some "wacky" thing with his money doesn't mean I have to start paying sales tax.
What about the Coors family? Proud American brewers. It seems like that family doesn't have a history of being African-American friendly. William Coors had quite an opinion about Jesse Jackson and others. God forbid that a minority would dare voice a complaint about the USA. Mr. Coors said, "You don't see Jesse Jackson, or any other of these blacks making any mass exodus back to Africa, do you?" I guess I'm not ordering that second pitcher.
How about Sheldon Adelson? Newt Gingrich's pimp. He owns the Venetian in Vegas. I am not giving up my right to swim in the "European pool" just because of Sheldon's right wing leanings. I need to see breasts that aren't mine. So what if he owns the Republican Party; at least he doesn't have Celine Dionne headlining.
You wonder if some of the products and their spokespersons of the past would have held up under the scrutiny of today's multitudes of social networks. Col. Sanders probably enjoyed cockfighting. Orville Redenbacher probably wore women's clothes. Betty Crocker was a lesbian that had had a long term relationship with Hilda the vice president of daytime programming at CBS.
Where do you draw the line when it comes to boycotting? Should it also include the arts. Sean Penn played checkers with Hugo Chavez. Do you now have to change the channel every time that Fast Times at Ridgemont High comes on. Jon Voight recently wrote about Pres Obama, "Your destruction of the country may never be remedied, and we may never recover." That quote affects not only his movies but his daughter Angelina Jolie's movies as well. Ok, being a man of strong conviction, I will never watch The Tourist again. Brad Pitt gets a pass. We all have in-law issues. What about viewing a Disney film? Walt was anti-union and would have labeled anybody that gave Mary Poppins a bad review as a Communist.
We live in a nation where CEO's say the darndest things. We live in a nation where actors and artists say the darndest things. If we paid attention to everything that every CEO says, we might not buy anything. If we paid attention to everything that every actor said we wouldn't see anything. You have to let some of it slide. Otherwise you will never eat a chicken sandwich, drink a beer, buy a book, visit Disneyland, or take the kids to the "back to school sale" at J.C. Penney.
I live by this one motto when it comes to all of this: Let me see breasts at the Venetian and I promise to never watch reruns of Growing Pains ever again.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
I WANT MY SUV
Consumption, on the surface, is not a bad thing. Without consumption there wouldn't be an America's Biggest Loser show on NBC. Mike Tyson wouldn't have a pet tiger. John Travolta wouldn't have a pet pilot. I am not opposed to any of that. That is not the consumption that I will be writing about.
I choose to focus on the effects of everyday consumption. Maybe help the peeps realize that their consumption has consequences. Put that slip 'n slide away, farmers don't have enough water for their cauliflower crops. Car pooling is a better form of social networking than Facebook. Just because you are having hot flashes doesn't mean we have to turn on the overhead fan. Look on the box of Hamburger Helper and see what the ingredients are before ingesting it. Modifying behavior could alter the world that we live in. Seemingly a simple solution. Not so fast my friends, because most Americans have become the Gordon Gekkos of consumption.
To improve current conditions, everybody needs to chip in. Your brother-in-law, your favorite parking control officer, the gap-toothed clerk at Taco Bell. Everyone. People need to buy into the concept that consuming less will aid others. That seems fair. Yet, folks are reluctant to make changes to the quality of their own lives. "As long as changing doesn't equate to sacrifice - I'm in." People have an aversion to dialing back. "Don't be messin' with my comfort levels." Come on people. We shouldn't have to twist your arm. There are infinite ways to help. Show up!!!
Americans should not be frightened by the solar panels coming out of Ed Begley Jr.'s ass. Rather than mock him, think maybe that he is on to something. Even if you think that using the sun for energy is anti-American, turn off a few lights in some of the empty rooms of your house. Rooms that you haven't been in since 1956. Think twice about hitting puree on your blender while your dishwasher and washing machine are running. Following that up; why don't you try and convince your neighbors that they don't have to use up enough energy to power Uganda with their Xmas decorations. Keep your porch light on. Santa will find your chimney.
You don't have to think that you are a member of Greenpeace by taking your own grocery bags into Von's. Take pride in telling the grocery bagger to "put the fruit loops in here." Saying no to plastic bags doesn't make you a Socialist; or worse than that a European. You might even save a dolphin from strangling itself. Flipper lives because of you. You can now sleep at night.
Avarice is not regional. California has been experiencing a drought for the past few years. Water usage guidelines were put into effect by the state. There were strict rules as to when you could water your lawn and bathe your matted golden retriever named Nixon. For about five minutes the citizenry showed some civic pride. A sense of duty. Then it rained for two days in February. The drought was then considered over by liberal and conservative Californians alike. Two days of drizzle had apparently replenished the snow packs of the Sierra Nevadas. Lake Tahoe was ready for jet skiis. Folks immediately went back to taking one hour showers and hosing down their driveways moving away leaves and discarded fast food restaurant menus. Sadly, predictable.
The right of passage in South Carolina is that every high school senior should get as a graduation gift an SUV. The bigger the better. When I was younger the only person that even had a station wagon was the alcoholic little league manager. Now all these kids head off to the beach driving vehicles that could house large circus animals. What about getting your kid a hybrid? Something that helps cut down on our dependency to support Middle-Eastern dictatorships. "Where does it say in the Constitution that I can't guzzle? Oh, and I don't like Obama either."
In NYC, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said that Big Gulps weren't exactly helping keeping its citizens away from future health issues. He might have opined, "that maybe if you weren't pouring down sixteen ounces of straight sugar into your throat - that hospital diabetic coma costs might have a chance of coming down." He was immediately thought of as an evil War Lord for making the suggestion that sodas should be taxed. "What's he going to do next? Tell us that smoking is bad for us too? Oh, and tell that Michelle Obama to shut her pie hole while you're at it. Don't want her telling my kids that they can't eat their twinkies either."
I wish that we could self-regulate all of this stuff. I had to spend years convincing my Dad to recycle. People hated to be told to buckle up their seat belts. They would rather have had their head smash through a windshield than be regulated. Maybe it is the fact that someone can purchase over six thousand rounds of ammo over the internet that I don't feel too optimistic about self-regulation.
In most neighborhoods they have a Ned. His house is continually lit up more than the Encore in Vegas. His front lawn is a flood basin since his sprinklers have been on since the first episode of Big Brother started airing earlier in the summer. He has two SUV's. His belly almost reaches his shoes and he has an NRA sticker on the bumper of his car. Unfortunately, Ned is America. He is the one that is allowed to roam where the buffalo can't. Unreachable to anything that seems to be a "cause".
Government is continually blamed for our nation's problems. I don't deny that government action and inaction have made a mess of things. But, governments don't throw Starbucks' cups out of a moving car. Governments don't tell you to run your a/c 24/7. Governments don't tell you to finish that last Chip Ahoy. Personal accountability can help point this country in a better direction. Start today. Consume responsibly. I have already. I drive a Prius and never liked Big Gulps. Not giving up my slip 'n slide though.
I choose to focus on the effects of everyday consumption. Maybe help the peeps realize that their consumption has consequences. Put that slip 'n slide away, farmers don't have enough water for their cauliflower crops. Car pooling is a better form of social networking than Facebook. Just because you are having hot flashes doesn't mean we have to turn on the overhead fan. Look on the box of Hamburger Helper and see what the ingredients are before ingesting it. Modifying behavior could alter the world that we live in. Seemingly a simple solution. Not so fast my friends, because most Americans have become the Gordon Gekkos of consumption.
To improve current conditions, everybody needs to chip in. Your brother-in-law, your favorite parking control officer, the gap-toothed clerk at Taco Bell. Everyone. People need to buy into the concept that consuming less will aid others. That seems fair. Yet, folks are reluctant to make changes to the quality of their own lives. "As long as changing doesn't equate to sacrifice - I'm in." People have an aversion to dialing back. "Don't be messin' with my comfort levels." Come on people. We shouldn't have to twist your arm. There are infinite ways to help. Show up!!!
Americans should not be frightened by the solar panels coming out of Ed Begley Jr.'s ass. Rather than mock him, think maybe that he is on to something. Even if you think that using the sun for energy is anti-American, turn off a few lights in some of the empty rooms of your house. Rooms that you haven't been in since 1956. Think twice about hitting puree on your blender while your dishwasher and washing machine are running. Following that up; why don't you try and convince your neighbors that they don't have to use up enough energy to power Uganda with their Xmas decorations. Keep your porch light on. Santa will find your chimney.
You don't have to think that you are a member of Greenpeace by taking your own grocery bags into Von's. Take pride in telling the grocery bagger to "put the fruit loops in here." Saying no to plastic bags doesn't make you a Socialist; or worse than that a European. You might even save a dolphin from strangling itself. Flipper lives because of you. You can now sleep at night.
Avarice is not regional. California has been experiencing a drought for the past few years. Water usage guidelines were put into effect by the state. There were strict rules as to when you could water your lawn and bathe your matted golden retriever named Nixon. For about five minutes the citizenry showed some civic pride. A sense of duty. Then it rained for two days in February. The drought was then considered over by liberal and conservative Californians alike. Two days of drizzle had apparently replenished the snow packs of the Sierra Nevadas. Lake Tahoe was ready for jet skiis. Folks immediately went back to taking one hour showers and hosing down their driveways moving away leaves and discarded fast food restaurant menus. Sadly, predictable.
The right of passage in South Carolina is that every high school senior should get as a graduation gift an SUV. The bigger the better. When I was younger the only person that even had a station wagon was the alcoholic little league manager. Now all these kids head off to the beach driving vehicles that could house large circus animals. What about getting your kid a hybrid? Something that helps cut down on our dependency to support Middle-Eastern dictatorships. "Where does it say in the Constitution that I can't guzzle? Oh, and I don't like Obama either."
In NYC, Mayor Michael Bloomberg said that Big Gulps weren't exactly helping keeping its citizens away from future health issues. He might have opined, "that maybe if you weren't pouring down sixteen ounces of straight sugar into your throat - that hospital diabetic coma costs might have a chance of coming down." He was immediately thought of as an evil War Lord for making the suggestion that sodas should be taxed. "What's he going to do next? Tell us that smoking is bad for us too? Oh, and tell that Michelle Obama to shut her pie hole while you're at it. Don't want her telling my kids that they can't eat their twinkies either."
I wish that we could self-regulate all of this stuff. I had to spend years convincing my Dad to recycle. People hated to be told to buckle up their seat belts. They would rather have had their head smash through a windshield than be regulated. Maybe it is the fact that someone can purchase over six thousand rounds of ammo over the internet that I don't feel too optimistic about self-regulation.
In most neighborhoods they have a Ned. His house is continually lit up more than the Encore in Vegas. His front lawn is a flood basin since his sprinklers have been on since the first episode of Big Brother started airing earlier in the summer. He has two SUV's. His belly almost reaches his shoes and he has an NRA sticker on the bumper of his car. Unfortunately, Ned is America. He is the one that is allowed to roam where the buffalo can't. Unreachable to anything that seems to be a "cause".
Government is continually blamed for our nation's problems. I don't deny that government action and inaction have made a mess of things. But, governments don't throw Starbucks' cups out of a moving car. Governments don't tell you to run your a/c 24/7. Governments don't tell you to finish that last Chip Ahoy. Personal accountability can help point this country in a better direction. Start today. Consume responsibly. I have already. I drive a Prius and never liked Big Gulps. Not giving up my slip 'n slide though.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
MANGER MANAGEMENT
I must admit that I am not a religious person. I don't consider myself an atheist because that would involve constructing a point of view. As a kid I would always mumble "under God" when I said the Pledge of Allegiance. I wasn't going to make a court case out of it. I was building my career as the "class clown" then and didn't want my disbelief to detract from that. At the time I had a fickle fan base. There was some mention of God in my little league pledge too. That was probably the one time that I flirted with religion as I asked the Supreme Being to let me hit the ball out of the infield at least once in my life. I guess the man upstairs was busy; as I continued to take another third strike.
Here's what I believe in: I have the best wife in the world. Dwight Howard should be a Laker. Treat every person the way you would want to be treated unless they work for an insurance company. That's it, and it gets me through the day. I don't worry about an afterlife. I worry about who is going to be eliminated on Master Chef.
I never felt the need to share my beliefs with anyone. I never felt the need to tell believers not to believe. Whatever gets you through the day. If you wanted to take your kids to church on Sunday morning while I watched the Patriots and the Giants game - more power to you. Hope you make it back for the fourth quarter.
But, things have changed. Religion has more than crept into politics, legal questions, and civil rights issues. Not all religions are doing the creeping. Haven't seen Buddhists trying to close J.C. Penney stores because of Ellen DeGeneres commercials. Haven't heard much from the organization: Jews Against Planned Parenthood. Hindus in sweltering heat aren't disputing climate change.
But, things have changed. Religion has more than crept into politics, legal questions, and civil rights issues. Not all religions are doing the creeping. Haven't seen Buddhists trying to close J.C. Penney stores because of Ellen DeGeneres commercials. Haven't heard much from the organization: Jews Against Planned Parenthood. Hindus in sweltering heat aren't disputing climate change.
It has gone beyond the blowhards like the late Jerry Falwell. Now, there are well run and heavily financed organizations that make Jack Abramoff look like a meek lobbyist. Groups like the Family Research Council. Their President is an aptly named Tony Perkins. A psycho in a thousand dollar suit. He believes that his voice and the voice of his organization is just as legitimate as others. He and his followers certainly have a right to their voice but I wouldn't categorize it as legitimate. I would characterize Mr. Perkins and his group as an organization that is closer to the grassy knoll conspiracy freaks than rational thinkers.
"It says so right here in the Bible." Where does it say, "Love thy neighbor unless they are a series regular on Glee". Tony Perkins was quoted as saying, "The month of June has been declared gay pride month. When is adultery pride month? When is Drunkenness pride month?" What an idiot! Everybody knows that Drunkennness pride month depends on when Spring Break is. Adultery pride is not limited on a monthly basis. See Tiger Woods; or former South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford.
It is not just these "you gotta believe what we believe" organizations. The Catholic Church has decided to make up their own workplace rules. If you are a non-Catholic nurse working in a Catholic hospital you will not be able to get a morning after pill prescription filled. After a day of cleaning bed pans these poor nurses can't go home and get laid. That sounds worse than the old days of burning women with opinions at the stake.
Vaginal probes, closing abortion clinics, denial of global warming oh my. All points of view derived from religious beliefs. In years passed I didn't care if Jack Kennedy was a Catholic. I didn't care if Reagan went to church or not. I always thought that they were able to separate Noah from Roe vs. Wade. That seems to have changed. Now, it is important to know if your candidate believes in evolution; or really believes that the world was created in ten days including the widening of the lanes on the 405. If you are going to be the leader of the free world it is not wrong if the candidate is asked this question, "It is 100 degrees on January 2 in Milwaukee - thoughts?"
Feel free to believe in what you believe in. The secular world is not the enemy. Just let Elton John marry whomever he wants, let a woman decide who or what goes into her vagina, and let kids study science like many of us did in the old days when our country thought that it was important for the youth to be educated. God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.
Friday, June 8, 2012
THE MANISCHEWITZ CANDIDATE
Why did I put on a "I Just Voted" sticker on to my golf shirt? I certainly wasn't proud. I had just voted for a Superior Court Judge because he was a Jew. I had just voted for a D.A. because the L.A. Times had told me whom to vote for. I had just voted for a Supervisor and I don't even know what a Supervisor does. Don't get me started about Propositions. Yes means no. No means yes.
My polling place was at a Fellowship Hall a few blocks away. The Wife and I took a leisurely stroll over there. We arrived safely after nearly falling seven times tripping over the crumbling sidewalks beneath us. My guess is that fixing the infrastructure was not one of the Propositions that I was going to be voting on today.
Upon our arrival we were greeted by the election volunteers. They seemed like folks that had been laid off recently by the DMV. They all looked like they would rather be home watching a show about extreme couponers. One of the officials looked at me like I was a 1%'er. I wish.
There were no other voters there. That gave me hope that my vote might actually mean something. The emptiness was disappointing. I felt that it was important to vote for people that you knew nothing about. Obviously, others didn't feel the same. Come on America.
Because the turnout was so low the Fellowship Hall had rented out half of their facility to a group of actors that had once appeared on an episode of T.J. Hooker. They were selling their autographed photos at discounted prices. I actually thought that Adrian Zmed looked pretty good.
I might have voted for another senatorial candidate other than the incumbent if given a choice. None stood out. Except for the one that wanted to outlaw any new Mario Batali recipes. The opposition challengers represented many diverse political parties. Some that wanted to cut down trees. Some that wanted to live in trees. A sample of a few of the bizarre political parties: Lenin/McCartney Party, Homophobic Show Tune Party, Republican Party, Socialist Gaga Party, Lawnmowers United Party, and What Time's The Party.
When it comes to voting for Judges I always vote for the Jewish guy. Sorry, I just do. I see the name Cohen and I figure I might have a shot if I ever get into his courtroom. I see the Aryan name Stockton Jr. and I figure that I will soon be having an affair with Big Earl in a cramped cell.
I voted for one of the candidates for the office of D.A. because the L.A. Times endorsed her. Cut me some slack. I got lazy this election cycle. I don't always agree with what the L.A. Times says. For instance they gave "The Dictator" a bad review. Hey, the movie made me laugh. I might not recommend it, but it was a fun 90 minutes.
I voted for a County Supervisor. There was some name recognition. Actually, the name that I recognized was my own. The Wife was hoping that I would finish voting soon she yelled out. She said that she had something to do in August!!!! Once again - annoying Wife subtlety. Anyway, can you tell me what does a Supervisor do? I know that they get parks named after them, but what do they really do?
We had a lovely Proposition in California this year. Fight cancer or raise taxes. Maybe it was raise cancer and fight taxes. Of course, there was no in between. You either smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and blew the smoke into the air ducts of infants - or - you were going to raise taxes, take away all guns, allow gay marriage and elect a black man President again.
You try to do the right thing. The right to vote cannot be undervalued. I wish more citizens had gotten off their asses and walked the few blocks to the polls. I'm not embarrassed by my "I Just Voted" sticker after all. I'm a little more embarrassed that I mentioned that I wore a golf shirt. I'm extremely happy for Judge Cohen. My D.A. is in a run-off. Can't remember whom I voted for Supervisor but I know that somebody won and I won't be unsupervised. The Proposition I voted on is now too close to call. A vote either way could tip the scales. Damn, I knew that I should have lobbied Adrian Zmed harder to vote for it.
My polling place was at a Fellowship Hall a few blocks away. The Wife and I took a leisurely stroll over there. We arrived safely after nearly falling seven times tripping over the crumbling sidewalks beneath us. My guess is that fixing the infrastructure was not one of the Propositions that I was going to be voting on today.
Upon our arrival we were greeted by the election volunteers. They seemed like folks that had been laid off recently by the DMV. They all looked like they would rather be home watching a show about extreme couponers. One of the officials looked at me like I was a 1%'er. I wish.
There were no other voters there. That gave me hope that my vote might actually mean something. The emptiness was disappointing. I felt that it was important to vote for people that you knew nothing about. Obviously, others didn't feel the same. Come on America.
Because the turnout was so low the Fellowship Hall had rented out half of their facility to a group of actors that had once appeared on an episode of T.J. Hooker. They were selling their autographed photos at discounted prices. I actually thought that Adrian Zmed looked pretty good.
I might have voted for another senatorial candidate other than the incumbent if given a choice. None stood out. Except for the one that wanted to outlaw any new Mario Batali recipes. The opposition challengers represented many diverse political parties. Some that wanted to cut down trees. Some that wanted to live in trees. A sample of a few of the bizarre political parties: Lenin/McCartney Party, Homophobic Show Tune Party, Republican Party, Socialist Gaga Party, Lawnmowers United Party, and What Time's The Party.
When it comes to voting for Judges I always vote for the Jewish guy. Sorry, I just do. I see the name Cohen and I figure I might have a shot if I ever get into his courtroom. I see the Aryan name Stockton Jr. and I figure that I will soon be having an affair with Big Earl in a cramped cell.
I voted for one of the candidates for the office of D.A. because the L.A. Times endorsed her. Cut me some slack. I got lazy this election cycle. I don't always agree with what the L.A. Times says. For instance they gave "The Dictator" a bad review. Hey, the movie made me laugh. I might not recommend it, but it was a fun 90 minutes.
I voted for a County Supervisor. There was some name recognition. Actually, the name that I recognized was my own. The Wife was hoping that I would finish voting soon she yelled out. She said that she had something to do in August!!!! Once again - annoying Wife subtlety. Anyway, can you tell me what does a Supervisor do? I know that they get parks named after them, but what do they really do?
We had a lovely Proposition in California this year. Fight cancer or raise taxes. Maybe it was raise cancer and fight taxes. Of course, there was no in between. You either smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and blew the smoke into the air ducts of infants - or - you were going to raise taxes, take away all guns, allow gay marriage and elect a black man President again.
You try to do the right thing. The right to vote cannot be undervalued. I wish more citizens had gotten off their asses and walked the few blocks to the polls. I'm not embarrassed by my "I Just Voted" sticker after all. I'm a little more embarrassed that I mentioned that I wore a golf shirt. I'm extremely happy for Judge Cohen. My D.A. is in a run-off. Can't remember whom I voted for Supervisor but I know that somebody won and I won't be unsupervised. The Proposition I voted on is now too close to call. A vote either way could tip the scales. Damn, I knew that I should have lobbied Adrian Zmed harder to vote for it.
Friday, May 25, 2012
UP ON THE WOOF
The Presidential campaign has started. This is crack for political pundits. Not that great a time for the citizenry. Great ideas and looking for solutions get tossed aside. Both sides look desperately for compromising photos of the other's candidate having more than a mimosa with John Travolta. Let's see if we can debunk; or move on from some of the inanities that will pop up in the months to come.
With the exception of Rosie O'Donnell, Michelle Obama does not hate fat people. Asking a chub to have a piece of mango instead of a Hostess Ho Ho is not exactly Marxism. Being fit is important for one's health. Maybe not for one's career: think Jonah Hill. Asking tubby to do a sit-up should not be considered government over-regulation. Michelle is not saying that everybody has to be rail-thin like her prisoner of war-looking husband. She knows that that is not a good look for everybody. All she wants is for most people, including Paula Deen, to see their feet again.
What's wrong with being born in Kenya? I'd rather say that I was born there than say I was from Burbank. Nice warm climate. Very good for the skin. You don't have to drive down to San Diego to see wild animals. You might run into George Clooney on his way to Somalia or wherever. I saw on House Hunters International that you can get a 3 bedroom apartment with a view dirt cheap. That comes complete with the elephant shower head. With skype, Kenya really isn't that far away.
Rev. Wright again. Please! He's not exactly the first person in charge of religion to say something outlandish. If you truly analyze some of his quotes they aren't really that far out there. Here's one of my faves that he said during the Democratic primary of 2008: "Barack knows what it means living in a country and a culture that is controlled by rich white people. Hillary ain't never been called a nigger."
I defy anyone to say that they have ever heard Ms Clinton called the n-word. I know that she's taken a lot of flack over some of her pant suits that she has worn, but it never got that vile that the n-word was ever used. Why would Obama be listening to Rev Wright anyway? Isn't the Prez a Muslim? Think of Rev. Wright as that wacky Uncle that needs to be cut off after his second vodka and tonic and move on.
Speaking of rich white people, Mitt Romney has been a victim of sideshow silliness too. Take his dog Seamus. Actually; take his dog Seamus. The Romneys put him on top of their car and drove off. When questioned about the incident Seamus responded, "Hey, I liked the wind in my hair. It was much better than when they took me hang gliding I gotta tell you. Besides, I only got sick once up on the roof. It wasn't from the drive, but more from reading that my owner had flip-flopped on abortion once again. Make up your mind Dog Daddy!"
Bullying in high school was different forty some years ago when Mitt was in school. Who knew then that gay people were going to turn out so successful? A gay guy that we used to tease in high school now owns Melrose Avenue. Elton John goes to his party. He wasn't that bad looking as I recall. I'm beginning to think that the heterosexual path that I chose could have turned out very differently if I hadn't been so mean to Todd. But, enough about me. Mitt doesn't hate gay people. He even has a top advisor that is gay. Oops, not any more.
What's wrong with being rich? The only down side that I see is that poor people hate you. Other than that, who wouldn't want an elevator in their garage. Rich people don't pay enough taxes. None of us do. We all take deductions. I give $100 a year to an animal shelter and I deduct that. Romney gives $40 million a year to a Swiss bank account and he deducts that. Doesn't he? Oh well, it's all good.
I hope that I have cleared up a few of these non-issues. Minimized their importance. Now we can move on to the economy, infrastructure, and education. Vital issues. That is, until that first Travolta photo surfaces.
With the exception of Rosie O'Donnell, Michelle Obama does not hate fat people. Asking a chub to have a piece of mango instead of a Hostess Ho Ho is not exactly Marxism. Being fit is important for one's health. Maybe not for one's career: think Jonah Hill. Asking tubby to do a sit-up should not be considered government over-regulation. Michelle is not saying that everybody has to be rail-thin like her prisoner of war-looking husband. She knows that that is not a good look for everybody. All she wants is for most people, including Paula Deen, to see their feet again.
What's wrong with being born in Kenya? I'd rather say that I was born there than say I was from Burbank. Nice warm climate. Very good for the skin. You don't have to drive down to San Diego to see wild animals. You might run into George Clooney on his way to Somalia or wherever. I saw on House Hunters International that you can get a 3 bedroom apartment with a view dirt cheap. That comes complete with the elephant shower head. With skype, Kenya really isn't that far away.
Rev. Wright again. Please! He's not exactly the first person in charge of religion to say something outlandish. If you truly analyze some of his quotes they aren't really that far out there. Here's one of my faves that he said during the Democratic primary of 2008: "Barack knows what it means living in a country and a culture that is controlled by rich white people. Hillary ain't never been called a nigger."
I defy anyone to say that they have ever heard Ms Clinton called the n-word. I know that she's taken a lot of flack over some of her pant suits that she has worn, but it never got that vile that the n-word was ever used. Why would Obama be listening to Rev Wright anyway? Isn't the Prez a Muslim? Think of Rev. Wright as that wacky Uncle that needs to be cut off after his second vodka and tonic and move on.
Speaking of rich white people, Mitt Romney has been a victim of sideshow silliness too. Take his dog Seamus. Actually; take his dog Seamus. The Romneys put him on top of their car and drove off. When questioned about the incident Seamus responded, "Hey, I liked the wind in my hair. It was much better than when they took me hang gliding I gotta tell you. Besides, I only got sick once up on the roof. It wasn't from the drive, but more from reading that my owner had flip-flopped on abortion once again. Make up your mind Dog Daddy!"
Bullying in high school was different forty some years ago when Mitt was in school. Who knew then that gay people were going to turn out so successful? A gay guy that we used to tease in high school now owns Melrose Avenue. Elton John goes to his party. He wasn't that bad looking as I recall. I'm beginning to think that the heterosexual path that I chose could have turned out very differently if I hadn't been so mean to Todd. But, enough about me. Mitt doesn't hate gay people. He even has a top advisor that is gay. Oops, not any more.
What's wrong with being rich? The only down side that I see is that poor people hate you. Other than that, who wouldn't want an elevator in their garage. Rich people don't pay enough taxes. None of us do. We all take deductions. I give $100 a year to an animal shelter and I deduct that. Romney gives $40 million a year to a Swiss bank account and he deducts that. Doesn't he? Oh well, it's all good.
I hope that I have cleared up a few of these non-issues. Minimized their importance. Now we can move on to the economy, infrastructure, and education. Vital issues. That is, until that first Travolta photo surfaces.
Monday, May 7, 2012
FOR RICHER, FOR POORER, FOR CALLING TIME WARNER
Question: What is the difference between a pit bull and a hockey Mom? Answer: I don't know. I didn't marry a hockey Mom.
My wife's stock has definitely risen over the almost twenty years of marriage. Let's say I went on Antique Roadshow and brought the wife to the bow-tied host. I would have told him what I thought my wife's value was in 1993 when we were married. His bow tie would begin to spin out of control. Then he would have said to me to take a seat. The almost-straight host would have compared the worth of my wife today to finding an original copy of the Magna Carta at a garage sale.
The wife has mad skillz. She can bake a corn pie and also parallel park. She's an accomplished potter. Very artistic. We have no ceramic ash trays in the house. She is a talented interior designer that knows how to spell the word sconce and install crown moulding. While I am typing this she is hanging new curtains in the breakfast room. She has two attributes that make me love her the most. 1. She is not challenged by technology. 2. She deals with stuff.
My skill set is different than the wife's. I am good at jesting. I have the ability to find fault. What I can't do is anything with my hands. Maybe I could manipulate a puppet, but that would be about it. I said puppet, not marionette.
The wife, on the other hand, installed shelving in the garage. While she was doing that I cleaned the litter box. The wife stripped two chairs and re-finished them. While she was doing that I took out the trash. "I bet you don't even pump your own gas!" Hey, the wife likes to do that for me. Get off of my back and my lawn.
When it comes to technology I am like that Tom Hanks character from Cast Away when he returns to civilization. Only I never was on a deserted island for ten years. I don't have an ATM card. I have a cell phone that I barely use. I don't want apps on my phone. The wife on the other hand has apps on her phone that tell her which restaurants in L.A. specializes in grits.
Yes, she knows how the automatic sprinklers turn on and off. Yes, she can record The Good Wife and I can't. Yes, as daylight savings time arrives, she can change the clock in my Prius. She orders our prescriptions with the push of a button on her phone. Hey, even yesterday I saw her deposit a check by taking a photo of it. I bet Penn and Teller couldn't do that.
As I mentioned earlier the wife knows how to deal with stuff. One of her favorite lines is, "May I talk to your supervisor". For years she has been called either Ma Barker or Scary Potter. Gloria Allred is afraid of her. She went to the local hospital and demanded an itemized bill once. Two of the hospital's employees were put on a "suicide watch" after dealing with her. By the way, $117 for a toothbrush, that was removed from the hospital bill.
Most people fear dealing with their cable company. Cable companies fear dealing with the wife. You can never quite win the war with Time Warner but the wife has won a few skirmishes with them. I think that we are now getting another Cinemax channel that shows a lot of breasts for no extra charge.
The wife actually took down Blue Shield health insurance once. That is the holy grail of victories as far as I am concerned. After the fourth or fifth time that you are put on hold they figure that you will give up. "Nobody puts Ma Barker into the corner." She got so far up the chain of command arguing her point that I think that she actually talked to Mr. Shield himself.
You are probably saying to yourself, "Where the hell is Simon when the wife is making all the calls? Having all these fights?" I make no apologies for my inactivity. Don't blame me for marrying well. I told you I didn't marry a hockey Mom. I never said I didn't marry a pit bull!
My wife's stock has definitely risen over the almost twenty years of marriage. Let's say I went on Antique Roadshow and brought the wife to the bow-tied host. I would have told him what I thought my wife's value was in 1993 when we were married. His bow tie would begin to spin out of control. Then he would have said to me to take a seat. The almost-straight host would have compared the worth of my wife today to finding an original copy of the Magna Carta at a garage sale.
The wife has mad skillz. She can bake a corn pie and also parallel park. She's an accomplished potter. Very artistic. We have no ceramic ash trays in the house. She is a talented interior designer that knows how to spell the word sconce and install crown moulding. While I am typing this she is hanging new curtains in the breakfast room. She has two attributes that make me love her the most. 1. She is not challenged by technology. 2. She deals with stuff.
My skill set is different than the wife's. I am good at jesting. I have the ability to find fault. What I can't do is anything with my hands. Maybe I could manipulate a puppet, but that would be about it. I said puppet, not marionette.
The wife, on the other hand, installed shelving in the garage. While she was doing that I cleaned the litter box. The wife stripped two chairs and re-finished them. While she was doing that I took out the trash. "I bet you don't even pump your own gas!" Hey, the wife likes to do that for me. Get off of my back and my lawn.
When it comes to technology I am like that Tom Hanks character from Cast Away when he returns to civilization. Only I never was on a deserted island for ten years. I don't have an ATM card. I have a cell phone that I barely use. I don't want apps on my phone. The wife on the other hand has apps on her phone that tell her which restaurants in L.A. specializes in grits.
Yes, she knows how the automatic sprinklers turn on and off. Yes, she can record The Good Wife and I can't. Yes, as daylight savings time arrives, she can change the clock in my Prius. She orders our prescriptions with the push of a button on her phone. Hey, even yesterday I saw her deposit a check by taking a photo of it. I bet Penn and Teller couldn't do that.
As I mentioned earlier the wife knows how to deal with stuff. One of her favorite lines is, "May I talk to your supervisor". For years she has been called either Ma Barker or Scary Potter. Gloria Allred is afraid of her. She went to the local hospital and demanded an itemized bill once. Two of the hospital's employees were put on a "suicide watch" after dealing with her. By the way, $117 for a toothbrush, that was removed from the hospital bill.
Most people fear dealing with their cable company. Cable companies fear dealing with the wife. You can never quite win the war with Time Warner but the wife has won a few skirmishes with them. I think that we are now getting another Cinemax channel that shows a lot of breasts for no extra charge.
The wife actually took down Blue Shield health insurance once. That is the holy grail of victories as far as I am concerned. After the fourth or fifth time that you are put on hold they figure that you will give up. "Nobody puts Ma Barker into the corner." She got so far up the chain of command arguing her point that I think that she actually talked to Mr. Shield himself.
You are probably saying to yourself, "Where the hell is Simon when the wife is making all the calls? Having all these fights?" I make no apologies for my inactivity. Don't blame me for marrying well. I told you I didn't marry a hockey Mom. I never said I didn't marry a pit bull!
Monday, April 30, 2012
THE AGING OF AN AQUARIAN
I long for the days when I got together with my buddies and we talked about girls and sports. Smoked some weed and drank a ton of margaritas. Now we talk about rotator cuffs and prostate issues. Want to join us. It's a fun night.
I firmly believe that no one should truly exercise after the age of 35. Yes, that includes pilates. Oh sure, you can walk a couple of miles along the shoreline with your sweetie. Perhaps, with help, lift up the office's Arrowhead bottle. Take the trash cans out on Thursday. Then have the wife bring them back in on Friday. That's about it.
No playing second base for the company softball team. No pickup basketball games with the teenaged nephews. No gym memberships. Don't tell me you're still jogging at your age. "I just completed a 10k." Great, you probably ruined a knee and did damage to your spleen.
My Dad never exercised after the age of 35. The only part of his body that was in shape was his right wrist. Which he used countless times over the day striking matches to help support his 3 pack a day smoking habit. All that striking and he never got carpal tunnel syndrome I might add. His idea of a workout was getting in and out of my BMW. He lived to the age of 86 without ever doing a sit up.
In the sixties the Dads coached the kids. There was no urge to shag a few fly balls. They realized that there was a difference between themselves and their sons. It was called age. They weren't attending baseball fantasy camps where they could get a few autographs and pull a few hamstrings. They didn't spend money on home gym equipment. They were too busy saving their money for their kids' college education. They worried less about their abs and more about putting food on the table for their families. None of these Dads had a yoga mat in their station wagon. These Dads were not fixated on vanity. Most of them lived well into their eighties. That's when their bodies began to break down. Not while they were in their forties and fifties.
It is my belief that Jack LaLanne and Jane Fonda actually were working for various medical organizations. The more they got people to exercise - the more those people turned into patients. I'm waiting for Richard Simmons to go on 20/20 to tell the truth. "I was paid by orthopedic surgeons to tell fatties to jump up and down."
My body has been trying to tell me to stop being a fool for the past couple of years. I was one of those idiot joggers. Pounding away on cement sidewalks thinking that I was indestructible. Well, so much for that.
The aches turn to pains. You begin to hear terms like, "It's affecting C5 and C6." Procedures turn into surgeries. You are so upset that you are still years away from 65 and Medicare. You stay away Paul Ryan. Now all of your European vacation money is going into epidurals, co-pays and deductibles.
I had neck fusion surgery this past December. Everything is progressing well. I am about a month away from being cleared to resume normal activity. I'm hoping that normal activity means more than tying your shoes and eating corn on the cob.
I have kind of ruled out jogging in the future. Now, if you see me on the street, I will be one of those pitiful brisk walkers. I have started to hit a few golf balls. I'm not giving up that irritation. Hopefully, I will resume playing tennis in about five weeks and praying that that lies within the boundaries of normal activity.
I can only imagine all of the neighborhood Dads looking down on their moronic sons and mocking them. Especially my Dad. "Fine, do it your way. Go on and play tennis at your age. Crush that serve. Leap for that overhead. You're about a minute away from not being able to put on a sweater by yourself ever again."
I firmly believe that no one should truly exercise after the age of 35. Yes, that includes pilates. Oh sure, you can walk a couple of miles along the shoreline with your sweetie. Perhaps, with help, lift up the office's Arrowhead bottle. Take the trash cans out on Thursday. Then have the wife bring them back in on Friday. That's about it.
No playing second base for the company softball team. No pickup basketball games with the teenaged nephews. No gym memberships. Don't tell me you're still jogging at your age. "I just completed a 10k." Great, you probably ruined a knee and did damage to your spleen.
My Dad never exercised after the age of 35. The only part of his body that was in shape was his right wrist. Which he used countless times over the day striking matches to help support his 3 pack a day smoking habit. All that striking and he never got carpal tunnel syndrome I might add. His idea of a workout was getting in and out of my BMW. He lived to the age of 86 without ever doing a sit up.
In the sixties the Dads coached the kids. There was no urge to shag a few fly balls. They realized that there was a difference between themselves and their sons. It was called age. They weren't attending baseball fantasy camps where they could get a few autographs and pull a few hamstrings. They didn't spend money on home gym equipment. They were too busy saving their money for their kids' college education. They worried less about their abs and more about putting food on the table for their families. None of these Dads had a yoga mat in their station wagon. These Dads were not fixated on vanity. Most of them lived well into their eighties. That's when their bodies began to break down. Not while they were in their forties and fifties.
It is my belief that Jack LaLanne and Jane Fonda actually were working for various medical organizations. The more they got people to exercise - the more those people turned into patients. I'm waiting for Richard Simmons to go on 20/20 to tell the truth. "I was paid by orthopedic surgeons to tell fatties to jump up and down."
My body has been trying to tell me to stop being a fool for the past couple of years. I was one of those idiot joggers. Pounding away on cement sidewalks thinking that I was indestructible. Well, so much for that.
The aches turn to pains. You begin to hear terms like, "It's affecting C5 and C6." Procedures turn into surgeries. You are so upset that you are still years away from 65 and Medicare. You stay away Paul Ryan. Now all of your European vacation money is going into epidurals, co-pays and deductibles.
I had neck fusion surgery this past December. Everything is progressing well. I am about a month away from being cleared to resume normal activity. I'm hoping that normal activity means more than tying your shoes and eating corn on the cob.
I have kind of ruled out jogging in the future. Now, if you see me on the street, I will be one of those pitiful brisk walkers. I have started to hit a few golf balls. I'm not giving up that irritation. Hopefully, I will resume playing tennis in about five weeks and praying that that lies within the boundaries of normal activity.
I can only imagine all of the neighborhood Dads looking down on their moronic sons and mocking them. Especially my Dad. "Fine, do it your way. Go on and play tennis at your age. Crush that serve. Leap for that overhead. You're about a minute away from not being able to put on a sweater by yourself ever again."
Monday, April 23, 2012
LIKE A GOOD NEIGHBOR
The Los Angeles Department of Transportation (DOT) has turned our nice serene street into a battle between the hoodies and the Zimmermans. Neighbors used to smile at me and the wife at the neighborhood Halloween gathering. Now they look at us like we are Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. Sides have been drawn. At this point I believe that it would be easier to solve the issue of Palestine than resolve the differences on my block. Thank you DOT.
The dispute is all about the new parking restrictions and the petition that was circulated to get the changes made. The new restrictions that have gone up are: NO PARKING 8 to 8 SEVEN DAYS A WEEK WITHOUT A PERMIT. My street is now basically East Berlin. Anybody that we invite over for dinner now needs to pick up a shuttle at the Grove.
For the new parking changes to have occurred a petition needed to be signed by 2/3 of the homeowners on the block. On our block that number was 18. The petition that was turned in had the required minimum signatures of 18. The problem was that the wife and I were one of the signatures on the petition. We had told the petitioner neighbor, from now on to be named Mr. Deceitful, that if there was not a meeting to discuss the parking changes he was to take off our name from the petition. We were signing to help him advance the discussion of the changes. We never wanted 7 days a week. We wanted to tweak the hours. He told us no problem. That there would be a meeting. A couple of other neighbors thought they were signing up for a meeting. Mr. Deceitful had gotten his signatures and quickly turned the petition in. Lesson learned - never trust anybody in a tank top.
So; we turned to the DOT for help. There is an old saying that those that can - do and that those that can't - teach. The employees at DOT can't do or teach. On two different occasions we told DOT that our signature was improperly left on the petition. Two times DOT said that our signature would be removed. We were even told by DOT that fraud might have been committed by the petitioner. So; if our name was removed - the petition was no longer valid. They now only had 17 signatures. Simple math. People coming over for a barbeque can now park in front of my house. Yeah, right.
We never could get a definitive answer as to how they validated the petition. One person at DOT said that they called everybody that had signed. Another person said that they make random calls to the people that signed. Another person said that they make sure that the signatures match up to the names of the owners of the property.
As far as we can tell they only called two people to validate the petition. One of them was the wife who told the guy to take her name off of the petition. He said he would. Verifying signatures. The DOT isn't CSI. Basically, I could start a petition and sign everybody's name to it that lives on my street. My petition would make it mandatory that everybody has to wear a kilt. The DOT would have validated it.
The last straw happened this past Thursday when DOT sent us an email to say that the petitioner had just gotten 2 more signatures. That even if they took our names off - they would have the required signatures. We went ballistic.
8 months after a petition is sent in and "approved" you accept two new signatures! I told DOT about all the changes that had occurred on our street between July of last year and April of this year. I told DOT that since last July there have been 2 new Amazing Race casts. That Herman Cain had been a frontrunner. That a Three Stooges movie actually had gotten a good review.
So far; my reasoning has fallen on deaf ears. Rick Santorum couldn't get on a ballot because he was short 40 signatures. If DOT was involved Rick could turn in his signatures today and they would have to re-vote. If Thomas Dewey was still alive I'd tell him to call DOT. He still might beat Truman.
A series of never minds began to take place from the offices of DOT. Words like
"misrepresented". Statements like "people remembering things differently". In one email from DOT they actually said that they were using our questions as a learning tool. Glad to help; as I continue to look out at my street that I am now referring to as "Checkpoint Charlie".
Look, our street could use some new parking restrictions. The 2 hour parking signs were never enforced. I guess the city had ran out of chalk and the tires of unwanted cars were never marked. The end of our block also has the perfect storm for mischief parking. A marijuana dispensary. A cupcake store. A massage parlor. You get high. You get your munchies taken care of. You get a handjob. Isn't that the American way.
Reasonable neighbors could have come to a middle ground if given a chance. Not sure about that now. One of the neighbors at the bottom of the hill feels the wrath of the riff raff. At first I was sympathetic for her plight. Now I just want to go up to her and yell in her face, "What do you expect? You live next to a freakin' alley! Hello!!!"
My wife and I still continue to battle the city. I will leave you with two thoughts. 1. Never sign a petition. 2. Love thy neighbor unless they are wearing a tank top.
Friday, March 23, 2012
ANDY ROONEY MARATHON
Why does the one Sunday that you want to go out for Sunday breakfast always coincide with the same morning as the L.A. Marathon? I can't believe that it is that time once again for the thrill of victory and the agony of people that secrete. Thoughts of waffles subside; as you are barricaded within your neighborhood streets against your will. I am convinced that one of my Constitutional rights has been violated. Where is the Republican party when you need them?
The Sunday L.A. Times is useless. The editors have combined all of the sections into one. Laker scores and obits are right next to each other. Rick Santorum is on Meet The Press espousing the value of chastity belts. There is no football to watch. My a.d.d. is on overdrive. I am a prisoner in my own home because some skinny Ethiopian is running down Sunset Boulevard.
I decide to watch the race on tv. For some unknown reason I get excited when they pass by a landmark that I recognize. It is the same dry cleaners that I drove by yesterday. But today, "FAROUK'S EXTRA DRY CLEANERS", takes on a new luster.
Right away African men and women take to the lead. Marathon experts start spouting that training in high altitudes is the reason for the athletes' superiority. I surmise that if I had my ass being chased by Joseph Kony I'd be hauling it too.
Before changing the course a few years ago, the marathon used to run right by our house. Which was fun for the first few hours. We waved at the cyclists. Tried to find an ounce of fat on the elite women runners. Recognized a few "B" celebrities. "Oh look, there goes Scott Bakula." Cheered on a few of the locals that were competing. Especially the one that made a pit stop at his own house to relieve himself and turn off his sprinklers.
After the first three hours in front of your house you have no more, "keep it goings" left in you. The freak show section of the marathon now parades up your street. You no longer wonder where the ounces of fat from the elite female runners had disappeared to. A team of expanding spandex approaches. The third gay guy dressed as Ellen DeGeneres looked like he was having a heart attack as he jogged by. A collie jumped from a carriage being pushed by its running owner and begged me for asylum.
It is almost dusk. My car still remains parked in my driveway as stragglers pass by endlessly. Some make snarky comments about my neighborhood. "I bet most of these homeowners are underwater." These pathetic joggers form the underbelly of the marathon. You can't really call them runners. They are mostly amblers. These aren't the folks that are running for their friend that might have leukemia. They are never interviewed by the local tv stations. They are mostly relatives of telemarketers that never had much of a significant social life. I'm glad that the marathon changed course a few years back and no longer passes by my house. Really glad.
The week following the marathon usually brings out the bragging fools. The minions that claim to have just run in Sunday's marathon. Office workers, idiots in grocery check out lanes, assisted living residents. Most of their stories are simply that - stories. The numbers never add up. It's like the many old hippies that always say that they were at Woodstock. "Man, I slid in the mud with Santana." Sure you did.
I am not here to disparage the true participants in the marathon. My friend's fiance ran this year. Very proud of her achievement. I'd like to have on my resume that I just completed that run. However; it's been awhile since I ran a 10k. A 5k. Or even eaten Special K. Maybe next year's marathon. I can do it, I say out loud. Start training tomorrow. I can already envision myself running down San Vicente Blvd. with a Tanzanian hottie. Actually what I can see myself doing is simply telling people that I ran in last weekend's marathon. If you don't believe me - ask Scott Bakula.
The Sunday L.A. Times is useless. The editors have combined all of the sections into one. Laker scores and obits are right next to each other. Rick Santorum is on Meet The Press espousing the value of chastity belts. There is no football to watch. My a.d.d. is on overdrive. I am a prisoner in my own home because some skinny Ethiopian is running down Sunset Boulevard.
I decide to watch the race on tv. For some unknown reason I get excited when they pass by a landmark that I recognize. It is the same dry cleaners that I drove by yesterday. But today, "FAROUK'S EXTRA DRY CLEANERS", takes on a new luster.
Right away African men and women take to the lead. Marathon experts start spouting that training in high altitudes is the reason for the athletes' superiority. I surmise that if I had my ass being chased by Joseph Kony I'd be hauling it too.
Before changing the course a few years ago, the marathon used to run right by our house. Which was fun for the first few hours. We waved at the cyclists. Tried to find an ounce of fat on the elite women runners. Recognized a few "B" celebrities. "Oh look, there goes Scott Bakula." Cheered on a few of the locals that were competing. Especially the one that made a pit stop at his own house to relieve himself and turn off his sprinklers.
After the first three hours in front of your house you have no more, "keep it goings" left in you. The freak show section of the marathon now parades up your street. You no longer wonder where the ounces of fat from the elite female runners had disappeared to. A team of expanding spandex approaches. The third gay guy dressed as Ellen DeGeneres looked like he was having a heart attack as he jogged by. A collie jumped from a carriage being pushed by its running owner and begged me for asylum.
It is almost dusk. My car still remains parked in my driveway as stragglers pass by endlessly. Some make snarky comments about my neighborhood. "I bet most of these homeowners are underwater." These pathetic joggers form the underbelly of the marathon. You can't really call them runners. They are mostly amblers. These aren't the folks that are running for their friend that might have leukemia. They are never interviewed by the local tv stations. They are mostly relatives of telemarketers that never had much of a significant social life. I'm glad that the marathon changed course a few years back and no longer passes by my house. Really glad.
The week following the marathon usually brings out the bragging fools. The minions that claim to have just run in Sunday's marathon. Office workers, idiots in grocery check out lanes, assisted living residents. Most of their stories are simply that - stories. The numbers never add up. It's like the many old hippies that always say that they were at Woodstock. "Man, I slid in the mud with Santana." Sure you did.
I am not here to disparage the true participants in the marathon. My friend's fiance ran this year. Very proud of her achievement. I'd like to have on my resume that I just completed that run. However; it's been awhile since I ran a 10k. A 5k. Or even eaten Special K. Maybe next year's marathon. I can do it, I say out loud. Start training tomorrow. I can already envision myself running down San Vicente Blvd. with a Tanzanian hottie. Actually what I can see myself doing is simply telling people that I ran in last weekend's marathon. If you don't believe me - ask Scott Bakula.
Friday, March 16, 2012
YOU CANNOT BE SYRIAOUS
I must admit that I am not well versed on the politics of the Middle East. Is it Palestein; or is it Palestine? What concerns me most about that region is its powder keg mentality. Iran is going nuclear. Syria is murdering dissent. Yemen is about to air episodes of Kitchen Nightmares. Israel is simply pissed off.
Because of my love for pro football watching, I have never been much of a religious guy. Jerusalem. The Holy Land. Really hold no meaning with me. The Packers. The Raiders. Much more of an impact on my upbringing.
That being said, most of my friends are Jewish. From elementary school to my tennis buddies of today. I have had every reason in the world to be an Israel supporter even if I truly didn't understand why. That support hasn't waned.
My Jewish buddies in grammar school changed the way that I looked at the world. I'd still be collecting baseball cards if it hadn't been for my friends like Lanny. While I was engrossed in the Hardy Boys "The Secret of Mojave Gulch", he was reading "The Fountainhead". If you think that our kids are behind the Chinese youth of today; how did you think that I felt in the fifth grade? Mickey Mantle was more in my DNA than Ayn Rand.
The smartest kids in school had all been circumcised. The funniest kids in school liked lox and bagels. I was very happy that the Jewish jokesters in school let me and my goyishness into their inner circle. It was with these folks that I honed my funny bone. Before hanging with my new Jewish friends: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, you look like my Grandmother!" After hanging with my new Jewish pals: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, why don't you give me a kiss. I plan on growing up to be a dentist."
I have always been attracted to Jewish women. Call me crazy; but I always wanted to bed a woman that could answer questions on Meet the Press rather than a girl that was a pageant contestant. Liking Jewish women is not exactly taking the path of least resistance. I'd much rather have a colonoscopy than be around a Jewish girl experiencing extreme PMS. To be on the safe side I married a woman that was half-Jewish.
I have pointed out some valid reasons for my allegiance to Israel. Smart folk. Funny people. Opinionated women. All information gathered after happily being around Jewish folk for most of my life.
In recent years, my wife and I have become friendly with non-Jewish Middle Easterners. The horror. The horror. What can I tell you? Things happen when you have an open mind. You know what - they aren't all members of a Sleeper Cell.
My next door neighbor and her brother are from Jordan. They are certainly better neighbors than the woman that ran a pre-school at the same house before they moved in. Across the street from us is another Jordanian that lives with his partner. He is more interested in show tunes than suicide bombings.
My wife just finished working two years as a furniture buyer for a wealthy Saudi Arabia couple. They were great. They didn't insist that my wife had to wear a burka whenever emailing them. My wife, as an interior designer (please hire her), has had to work with quite a few contractors. Her favorite is Kami. He is from Iraq. He works the hardest and is the most trustworthy contractor of them all. Well; as trustworthy as a contractor can be.
Coming into contact with these folks has tempered my us against them mentality. I now see other faces when talking of escalating problems in that part of the world. A misdirected drone could have an impact on one of my neighbor's family members. I can still support Israel with out saying we need to annihilate Syria.
I don't blame my neighbors for Assad's atrocities. I don't blame my neighbors for rising oil prices. I don't blame my neighbors for harboring terrorists. I don't blame them for anything except for sometimes parking in front of my house. If I can support Israel based on my friendships over the years I can at least lend an ear to what some of my new friends have to say.
Now, if I see a little girl with her front teeth missing, I would say, "Looks like you need a Beirut canal."
Arabs aren't as funny as Jews. They aren't.
Because of my love for pro football watching, I have never been much of a religious guy. Jerusalem. The Holy Land. Really hold no meaning with me. The Packers. The Raiders. Much more of an impact on my upbringing.
That being said, most of my friends are Jewish. From elementary school to my tennis buddies of today. I have had every reason in the world to be an Israel supporter even if I truly didn't understand why. That support hasn't waned.
My Jewish buddies in grammar school changed the way that I looked at the world. I'd still be collecting baseball cards if it hadn't been for my friends like Lanny. While I was engrossed in the Hardy Boys "The Secret of Mojave Gulch", he was reading "The Fountainhead". If you think that our kids are behind the Chinese youth of today; how did you think that I felt in the fifth grade? Mickey Mantle was more in my DNA than Ayn Rand.
The smartest kids in school had all been circumcised. The funniest kids in school liked lox and bagels. I was very happy that the Jewish jokesters in school let me and my goyishness into their inner circle. It was with these folks that I honed my funny bone. Before hanging with my new Jewish friends: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, you look like my Grandmother!" After hanging with my new Jewish pals: If I saw a little girl with her front teeth missing I would say, "Hey, why don't you give me a kiss. I plan on growing up to be a dentist."
I have always been attracted to Jewish women. Call me crazy; but I always wanted to bed a woman that could answer questions on Meet the Press rather than a girl that was a pageant contestant. Liking Jewish women is not exactly taking the path of least resistance. I'd much rather have a colonoscopy than be around a Jewish girl experiencing extreme PMS. To be on the safe side I married a woman that was half-Jewish.
I have pointed out some valid reasons for my allegiance to Israel. Smart folk. Funny people. Opinionated women. All information gathered after happily being around Jewish folk for most of my life.
In recent years, my wife and I have become friendly with non-Jewish Middle Easterners. The horror. The horror. What can I tell you? Things happen when you have an open mind. You know what - they aren't all members of a Sleeper Cell.
My next door neighbor and her brother are from Jordan. They are certainly better neighbors than the woman that ran a pre-school at the same house before they moved in. Across the street from us is another Jordanian that lives with his partner. He is more interested in show tunes than suicide bombings.
My wife just finished working two years as a furniture buyer for a wealthy Saudi Arabia couple. They were great. They didn't insist that my wife had to wear a burka whenever emailing them. My wife, as an interior designer (please hire her), has had to work with quite a few contractors. Her favorite is Kami. He is from Iraq. He works the hardest and is the most trustworthy contractor of them all. Well; as trustworthy as a contractor can be.
Coming into contact with these folks has tempered my us against them mentality. I now see other faces when talking of escalating problems in that part of the world. A misdirected drone could have an impact on one of my neighbor's family members. I can still support Israel with out saying we need to annihilate Syria.
I don't blame my neighbors for Assad's atrocities. I don't blame my neighbors for rising oil prices. I don't blame my neighbors for harboring terrorists. I don't blame them for anything except for sometimes parking in front of my house. If I can support Israel based on my friendships over the years I can at least lend an ear to what some of my new friends have to say.
Now, if I see a little girl with her front teeth missing, I would say, "Looks like you need a Beirut canal."
Arabs aren't as funny as Jews. They aren't.
Friday, March 9, 2012
WOMB WITH A VIEW
When I first heard the term "vaginal probe" I thought that it was something that NASA was involved with. "The Vaginal Probe continued to send photos back to Earth after its successful landing on Venus." I know that Uranus was the obvious joke, but I chose not to sink that low.
A transvaginal procedure. Just saying that out loud makes you go "ow"! Voting on this mandate are male legislators that run like the wind the minute their doctor comes at them during a prostate exam. Why isn't there a transpenis procedure that mandates that a man should see his sperm that started this whole thing in the first place?
Virginia "softened" their controversial bill. Women can decline a transvaginal procedure. Quickly, a show of hands as to how many women would want that procedure. Mandated is an ultrasound. Just what a woman wants to see after making such an important sensitive decision to terminate a pregnancy. To paraphrase Cuba Gooding, "show me the fetus!"
Where are the wives of these legislators? Are they more interested in appearing on the Real Housewives of Richmond? Are they so Stepfordian that they don't realize what is being dictated to themselves, their daughters, and granddaughters? I haven't heard from one of these politician's wives saying, "You vote for that crap, don't you dare come near me with that thing of yours. Not going to happen." They never speak up. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME SNORE.
Last week the Senate narrowly voted down the Blunt amendment. An amendment that gave any employer the right to refuse to cover any kind of health care service by citing "moral reasons". Blunt argued that requiring an employer to cover health care services that they oppose is an attack on religious freedom. We need an attack on religious freedom. Otherwise employers, based on their moral beliefs, could deny: pre-natal care for single Moms, aids-hiv screenings, certain vaccinations for children.
I suppose if your boss was a Christian Scientist he wouldn't have to provide health care services for any of his employees. I suppose if your boss found out that you voted for a black man for President that you couldn't get a flu shot. I suppose if Paula Deen's employer found out that she liked butter he wouldn't provide for her insulin. The failure of the Blunt bill has left the "moral decisions" back to where they belong - the good old insurance companies. What a freakin' system!
The Blunt barking was only about one moral belief anyway. Birth control. Contraception. They believe that women were on their own when it came to this. Men on the other hand could get their Viagra and have erections lasting up to six hours. Men could also get vasectomies covered by insurance. We men are so selfish. Most men would get along just fine in one tub by themselves in a Cialis commercial.
Men telling women what to do with their private parts is happening in this country. Hard to believe. When did we become Yemen? We have the audacity to ridicule other countries where women can't drive and are treated like second class citizens while we treat our own women like they aren't in the room. Ironically they weren't in the room. Think Darrell Issa.
I wish that all of these anti-women legislators, Catholic bishops, Rush, Santorum, Huckabee, and Newt would take the next ride on the Vaginal Probe and establish their own colony on the moon. Far, far, away.
A transvaginal procedure. Just saying that out loud makes you go "ow"! Voting on this mandate are male legislators that run like the wind the minute their doctor comes at them during a prostate exam. Why isn't there a transpenis procedure that mandates that a man should see his sperm that started this whole thing in the first place?
Virginia "softened" their controversial bill. Women can decline a transvaginal procedure. Quickly, a show of hands as to how many women would want that procedure. Mandated is an ultrasound. Just what a woman wants to see after making such an important sensitive decision to terminate a pregnancy. To paraphrase Cuba Gooding, "show me the fetus!"
Where are the wives of these legislators? Are they more interested in appearing on the Real Housewives of Richmond? Are they so Stepfordian that they don't realize what is being dictated to themselves, their daughters, and granddaughters? I haven't heard from one of these politician's wives saying, "You vote for that crap, don't you dare come near me with that thing of yours. Not going to happen." They never speak up. I AM WOMAN HEAR ME SNORE.
Last week the Senate narrowly voted down the Blunt amendment. An amendment that gave any employer the right to refuse to cover any kind of health care service by citing "moral reasons". Blunt argued that requiring an employer to cover health care services that they oppose is an attack on religious freedom. We need an attack on religious freedom. Otherwise employers, based on their moral beliefs, could deny: pre-natal care for single Moms, aids-hiv screenings, certain vaccinations for children.
I suppose if your boss was a Christian Scientist he wouldn't have to provide health care services for any of his employees. I suppose if your boss found out that you voted for a black man for President that you couldn't get a flu shot. I suppose if Paula Deen's employer found out that she liked butter he wouldn't provide for her insulin. The failure of the Blunt bill has left the "moral decisions" back to where they belong - the good old insurance companies. What a freakin' system!
The Blunt barking was only about one moral belief anyway. Birth control. Contraception. They believe that women were on their own when it came to this. Men on the other hand could get their Viagra and have erections lasting up to six hours. Men could also get vasectomies covered by insurance. We men are so selfish. Most men would get along just fine in one tub by themselves in a Cialis commercial.
Men telling women what to do with their private parts is happening in this country. Hard to believe. When did we become Yemen? We have the audacity to ridicule other countries where women can't drive and are treated like second class citizens while we treat our own women like they aren't in the room. Ironically they weren't in the room. Think Darrell Issa.
I wish that all of these anti-women legislators, Catholic bishops, Rush, Santorum, Huckabee, and Newt would take the next ride on the Vaginal Probe and establish their own colony on the moon. Far, far, away.
Friday, March 2, 2012
METER THE FOCKERS
There is no recourse. No one to listen to your appeal. All the Johnnie Cochrans of the world just laugh at you. You have a better chance of a fair resolution happening for you if you were sitting in front of a tribunal full of Ayatollah's. What am I talking about? I'm talking about fighting a parking ticket.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a red zone waiting for my less than prompt wife. She was dropping of some samples for a client. I made the fatal mistake of checking emails and facebook on my cell phone. While preoccupied looking at an email telling me that Barack Obama once knew a white woman; a parking officer of the law began to write down my license plate number.
The man in the untucked uniform failed to recognize my frantic waves. I decided just to drive off before he finished what he was doing. I could tell that he was not pleased with my get-a-way. I, on the other hand, felt that I had outsmarted the law and had pulled off an incredible jewel heist. Three days later I got the $82 ticket in the mail. So much for my Bonnie and Clyde euphoria.
A friend of mine got a parking ticket for spending less than two minutes in a red zone. Earlier he had seen a homeless person with a dog. There was no leash. He went to the nearby pet store and purchased a leash. He returned to where the homeless person was. Jumped out of his car and gave the leash to the grateful pooch. He turned around and saw a stonefaced parking enforcement official giving him a ticket. If you were ever on the fence about doing a good deed for someone, this anecdote might put an end to those benevolent thoughts.
Who are these meter folks? What makes them tick? What makes them ticket? I talked to Esteban Schwartz, an off-duty meter maid. He immediately was offended at the meter maid reference and took another swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. Esteban came from a broken home. His Mother was Guatemalan and his birth Father was a William Morris agent. He was raised by his Mother; as his Father spent more time with his clients than his own son. Certainly understandable if you knew Esteban.
Esteban took pride in the fact that he was a solid C student in high school. He was the first one in his family to attend a Junior College. He didn't take classes there he just attended. He prided himself on his patriotism. He wanted to serve his country. Just not in Afghanistan. He wanted to serve. He didn't want to trip a land mine.
Esteban had always been fascinated by the vehicles that could chalk another car's tires. His Mother had hoped that he had been fascinated by something more than that but was happy that Esteban was interested in something. Being overweight and unkempt he felt right at home after seeing the local parking enforcement folk over the years. He applied. Took a test. Answered the two questions which were: 1. Are you breathing? 2. Are you pissed at people that have better lives than you? He answered affirmatively and has been a man in uniform for over 17 years.
There are many other parking officers out there like Esteban that take glee in the fact that a well-educated person as yourself can't read the posted signs. TWO HOUR PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - unless you drive a Prius. NO WEDNESDAY PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - maybe some of the other days too.
Have you seen these new pay stations in your neighborhoods? No more just pulling up to a meter and putting your quarter in. The city has decided to mess with that simplicity by placing these mini-ATM machines about a half a block away from your car. While you are walking to the pay station from your perfectly parked car you are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if somebody is making their ticket quota at your expense. You get so nervous that you forget what space you are parked in and pay for the wrong space. Before you notice your mistake you see Esteban beaming. He defiantly waves the ticket at you before putting it under your windshield wiper.
Parking in this city will not be getting any easier in the near future. Esteban and his buds will be more feared than the Crips and the Bloods for years to come. Don't even bother going to court about the unjustness of your ticket. Even if you are religious - you don't have a prayer.
That being the case - there is only one avenue that I can turn my venting to. If my tardy wife would have been just a bit prompter none of this would have ever happened. I would have $82 more dollars in my wallet right now. I plan to place the blame where it all belongs - at the feet of my spouse. To get up the courage to do my "venting" I asked Esteban if I could take a swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. The wife can be very intimidating.
A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a red zone waiting for my less than prompt wife. She was dropping of some samples for a client. I made the fatal mistake of checking emails and facebook on my cell phone. While preoccupied looking at an email telling me that Barack Obama once knew a white woman; a parking officer of the law began to write down my license plate number.
The man in the untucked uniform failed to recognize my frantic waves. I decided just to drive off before he finished what he was doing. I could tell that he was not pleased with my get-a-way. I, on the other hand, felt that I had outsmarted the law and had pulled off an incredible jewel heist. Three days later I got the $82 ticket in the mail. So much for my Bonnie and Clyde euphoria.
A friend of mine got a parking ticket for spending less than two minutes in a red zone. Earlier he had seen a homeless person with a dog. There was no leash. He went to the nearby pet store and purchased a leash. He returned to where the homeless person was. Jumped out of his car and gave the leash to the grateful pooch. He turned around and saw a stonefaced parking enforcement official giving him a ticket. If you were ever on the fence about doing a good deed for someone, this anecdote might put an end to those benevolent thoughts.
Who are these meter folks? What makes them tick? What makes them ticket? I talked to Esteban Schwartz, an off-duty meter maid. He immediately was offended at the meter maid reference and took another swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. Esteban came from a broken home. His Mother was Guatemalan and his birth Father was a William Morris agent. He was raised by his Mother; as his Father spent more time with his clients than his own son. Certainly understandable if you knew Esteban.
Esteban took pride in the fact that he was a solid C student in high school. He was the first one in his family to attend a Junior College. He didn't take classes there he just attended. He prided himself on his patriotism. He wanted to serve his country. Just not in Afghanistan. He wanted to serve. He didn't want to trip a land mine.
Esteban had always been fascinated by the vehicles that could chalk another car's tires. His Mother had hoped that he had been fascinated by something more than that but was happy that Esteban was interested in something. Being overweight and unkempt he felt right at home after seeing the local parking enforcement folk over the years. He applied. Took a test. Answered the two questions which were: 1. Are you breathing? 2. Are you pissed at people that have better lives than you? He answered affirmatively and has been a man in uniform for over 17 years.
There are many other parking officers out there like Esteban that take glee in the fact that a well-educated person as yourself can't read the posted signs. TWO HOUR PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - unless you drive a Prius. NO WEDNESDAY PARKING. Then in small undistinguishable lettering - maybe some of the other days too.
Have you seen these new pay stations in your neighborhoods? No more just pulling up to a meter and putting your quarter in. The city has decided to mess with that simplicity by placing these mini-ATM machines about a half a block away from your car. While you are walking to the pay station from your perfectly parked car you are constantly looking over your shoulder to see if somebody is making their ticket quota at your expense. You get so nervous that you forget what space you are parked in and pay for the wrong space. Before you notice your mistake you see Esteban beaming. He defiantly waves the ticket at you before putting it under your windshield wiper.
Parking in this city will not be getting any easier in the near future. Esteban and his buds will be more feared than the Crips and the Bloods for years to come. Don't even bother going to court about the unjustness of your ticket. Even if you are religious - you don't have a prayer.
That being the case - there is only one avenue that I can turn my venting to. If my tardy wife would have been just a bit prompter none of this would have ever happened. I would have $82 more dollars in my wallet right now. I plan to place the blame where it all belongs - at the feet of my spouse. To get up the courage to do my "venting" I asked Esteban if I could take a swig from his opened Johnny Walker Red bottle. The wife can be very intimidating.
Friday, February 24, 2012
YOU SAY YOU WANT AN EVOLUTION
When I was in school my fellow classmates and I questioned authority. We never questioned science. Learning that the world wasn't flat was considered a good thing. Learning from the likes of Galileo about the universe and galaxies far far away was also considered a good thing. There was no one in my biology class that said, "Who does that Darwin guy think he is?"
What the hell has happened? Who are these believers that are actually non-believers messing with our science? Can't they separate Noah's Ark from paleontology? Generations in the past had done that for, well...generations. Here's a simple solution for these evangelical know-it-alls that question the origin of species - they all should google actor Ron Perlman. That should end the evolutionary debate right then and there. "Oh, now I see it", replied the deniers.
But, it doesn't stop there. I read in this morning's newspaper that climate change is now being debunked in some schools. Just what we need; another anti-science curriculum for our kids. That'll help us compete with the Chinese youth for years to come. These non-global warming teachers obviously don't live in the Valley when it is 102 degrees in February. These so-called "educators" disavow 99% of all scientific evidence and have chosen to accept the findings of a guy named Ludwig.
Now, I have to admit, you hear a name like Ludwig and you figure credibility. A little further research proves otherwise. It turns out that Ludwig was once fired from Mattel for getting too close to a Ken doll. Ludwig then wrote two mediocre film scripts that never got produced. Down on his luck he noticed an ad in the L.A. Times looking for a fiction writer to say that global warming was simply a myth. He got the job. Printed out his made up suppositions. Went on a few talk shows. Became pals with Sean Hannity. Then had his anti-global warming assertions be taught along side the findings of most of the world's renowned climatologists. Maybe the guy's name wasn't Ludwig. It could have been Bernard.
I feel like someone has pushed the button to the wayback machine. Everybody should be wearing Davy Crockett coonskin caps. Be brandishing "I Like Ike" buttons on their lapels. Stuffing Twinkies into their mouths. Hello...it is 2012. It wasn't better when it was separate but equal. It wasn't better that a woman's workplace was solely in the kitchen. Bonanza wasn't really that great a show. Three grown men still living with Pa. Come on.
Seriously, what is going on? Rational folk are having a hard time being heard. Conventional thought can't compete. Social networking has allowed the fringe to be much more fringe-like than ever before. Have you been listening? They say that science sucks. No evolution. No global warming. They say that women can't suck. No morning after pill. No contraception coverage.
No contraception coverage! Now you're pissing me off! Anybody that has ever driven on the 405 knows how important it is to not take away contraception rights. It already takes 45 minutes to get to Encino. Change the contraception laws and the new lanes that they are building for that freeway won't do jack. They'll be a fetus behind the wheel of all the brand new Fiats.
Most of the women that I know are having their vaginas explode with all of this retro rhetoric. The state of Virginia was trying to pass a law that allows penetrating in to a female's area that I rarely ever got to in my dating days. Women that I know want to go full Steinem on the religious right of right. They need help. It is time for the younger women to rise up. Stop texting. Stop playing Farmville. Don't let your Mamas do all the heavy lifting. They did that in the sixties and seventies. Your Moms could use a little assistance against this misguided social conservatism. You don't have to burn your bras unless you want to.
I wish that what was going on today was so out of the mainstream that I didn't have to worry about it. That teachers teaching science classes didn't have to be concerned about being burned at the stake. That women weren't getting probed by folks with a badge. That someone like Rick Santorum: A man that believes that the refrigerator light doesn't turn off when you close the door - A man that believes that a woman's prized possession is her apron - A man that believes that he would support a marriage between a man and a dog before he would support gay marriage - is considered a viable candidate. Not a viable candidate for a local council seat in upstate Pennsylvania but a viable candidate for the Presidency of the United States. I haven't been this scared since The Exorcist first came out. You have to be worried. Please, don't fall asleep out there.
What the hell has happened? Who are these believers that are actually non-believers messing with our science? Can't they separate Noah's Ark from paleontology? Generations in the past had done that for, well...generations. Here's a simple solution for these evangelical know-it-alls that question the origin of species - they all should google actor Ron Perlman. That should end the evolutionary debate right then and there. "Oh, now I see it", replied the deniers.
But, it doesn't stop there. I read in this morning's newspaper that climate change is now being debunked in some schools. Just what we need; another anti-science curriculum for our kids. That'll help us compete with the Chinese youth for years to come. These non-global warming teachers obviously don't live in the Valley when it is 102 degrees in February. These so-called "educators" disavow 99% of all scientific evidence and have chosen to accept the findings of a guy named Ludwig.
Now, I have to admit, you hear a name like Ludwig and you figure credibility. A little further research proves otherwise. It turns out that Ludwig was once fired from Mattel for getting too close to a Ken doll. Ludwig then wrote two mediocre film scripts that never got produced. Down on his luck he noticed an ad in the L.A. Times looking for a fiction writer to say that global warming was simply a myth. He got the job. Printed out his made up suppositions. Went on a few talk shows. Became pals with Sean Hannity. Then had his anti-global warming assertions be taught along side the findings of most of the world's renowned climatologists. Maybe the guy's name wasn't Ludwig. It could have been Bernard.
I feel like someone has pushed the button to the wayback machine. Everybody should be wearing Davy Crockett coonskin caps. Be brandishing "I Like Ike" buttons on their lapels. Stuffing Twinkies into their mouths. Hello...it is 2012. It wasn't better when it was separate but equal. It wasn't better that a woman's workplace was solely in the kitchen. Bonanza wasn't really that great a show. Three grown men still living with Pa. Come on.
Seriously, what is going on? Rational folk are having a hard time being heard. Conventional thought can't compete. Social networking has allowed the fringe to be much more fringe-like than ever before. Have you been listening? They say that science sucks. No evolution. No global warming. They say that women can't suck. No morning after pill. No contraception coverage.
No contraception coverage! Now you're pissing me off! Anybody that has ever driven on the 405 knows how important it is to not take away contraception rights. It already takes 45 minutes to get to Encino. Change the contraception laws and the new lanes that they are building for that freeway won't do jack. They'll be a fetus behind the wheel of all the brand new Fiats.
Most of the women that I know are having their vaginas explode with all of this retro rhetoric. The state of Virginia was trying to pass a law that allows penetrating in to a female's area that I rarely ever got to in my dating days. Women that I know want to go full Steinem on the religious right of right. They need help. It is time for the younger women to rise up. Stop texting. Stop playing Farmville. Don't let your Mamas do all the heavy lifting. They did that in the sixties and seventies. Your Moms could use a little assistance against this misguided social conservatism. You don't have to burn your bras unless you want to.
I wish that what was going on today was so out of the mainstream that I didn't have to worry about it. That teachers teaching science classes didn't have to be concerned about being burned at the stake. That women weren't getting probed by folks with a badge. That someone like Rick Santorum: A man that believes that the refrigerator light doesn't turn off when you close the door - A man that believes that a woman's prized possession is her apron - A man that believes that he would support a marriage between a man and a dog before he would support gay marriage - is considered a viable candidate. Not a viable candidate for a local council seat in upstate Pennsylvania but a viable candidate for the Presidency of the United States. I haven't been this scared since The Exorcist first came out. You have to be worried. Please, don't fall asleep out there.
Friday, February 17, 2012
NINE LIVES AREN'T ENOUGH
It was about an hour after the Super Bowl had ended. She was definitely upset that Welker had dropped the pass. She must have had money on the Patriots. But, that wasn't the reason. It was her time. I continued to stroke her as the last of her nine lives finally left her body. Indulge me as I go Marley and Me on you and tell you the story of our departed cat Sniffles.
In my neighborhood our house is known as the Hotel Rwanda for stray cats. They all seem to know that they will get three meals a day and a roof over their head if they just show up.
It was about 3 and a half years ago. The rain was soaking the street. We were on our front porch looking for our young stray when we saw this mangy cat crash through the hedge and head in our direction. She lessened in size as she struggled towards us. "Help me. Please help me." We both heard this soaking wet cat's call. Her nose was completely plugged. Scabs and sores lined her back. I ran inside and got a towel for the bedraggled feline. I quickly returned to the porch handing the makeshift blanket to the wife.
The towel wrapped around our new border. Within minutes she stopped shivering. We offered her some food. She hoovered it down. The wife got one of our indoor cat beds and made it up for this poor thing on the porch. Sneezing and exhausted the cat got into the bed. Just before falling asleep the cat said to us, "If I can return the favor, I will". Sniffles returned it in spades.
A trip to the vet and a couple of weeks of rehab had given Sniffles her strength back. The vet had guessed that she was around 14 years old; or maybe a few years passed that. Our much younger stray was curious about the new tenant. Lodger was a baby. Sniffles wasn't. Think Lady Gaga meeting up with Queen Elizabeth. The first meeting was more about tolerance than bonding. The awkwardness soon turned to sisterhood. Only to be interrupted when Lodger would occasionally pounce and Sniffles would say, "get off my lawn".
The front porch didn't provide enough protection for the ever-improving Sniffles; so we moved her to the back. At that time we had an aging senior 22 year old cat in the house. No need to disrupt Tuxedo. Our newest friend was not allowed to roam from room to room. Sniffles was given the back office and backyard to hang. She made the office her home. Especially when she missed her litter box. She never tried to get to the rest of the house. Her single apartment was just fine with her.
You couldn't help but smile every time that you saw Sniffles saunter across the backyard. She had that Masterpiece theatre walk. All she needed was a parasol. A Downton Tabby if you will. Whenever she would find a spot to rest she would start a circle dance. She made more orbits than John Glenn before settling down. She loved her food. She loved our food even more. This feline was an adorable wacky one.
Sadly, after six months, we lost Tuxedo to a Petco in the sky. The wife was devastated. Sniffles was now given free reign to the house. That first night she knew that my wife was miserable with her Tuxedo gone. Sniffles jumped up on the bed and snuggled up to the wife. "Losses are tough. Let me help you through this", Sniffles said.
That is what Sniffles did for the next three years. She acted as more than a buffer. She stole our hearts. She wrapped up joy and delivered it to us every day. She was quite a character. You would open up the pantry door and she'd come running. You would grab a can of tuna and she would say. "Had that yesterday. Let's go with the chicken and vegetables." Her eyes could melt you. You could be at a movie theatre and know that Sniffles would be waiting beside her bowl expecting you to be home soon. I have never had a pet that was so grateful.
It came to an end on Super Bowl Sunday. It was not unexpected. It was not wanted. It was serene and dignified. Towards the end I felt that she was definitely thanking us for the ride.
Things are never meant to be the same. So; you move on. The dynamic of our house has certainly changed. An emptiness that will fade with time. Her surviving sister is confused by the absence. "Have you seen Sniffles?", Lodger asked. With a tear in my eye, I responded to Lodger, "I see her everywhere."
In my neighborhood our house is known as the Hotel Rwanda for stray cats. They all seem to know that they will get three meals a day and a roof over their head if they just show up.
It was about 3 and a half years ago. The rain was soaking the street. We were on our front porch looking for our young stray when we saw this mangy cat crash through the hedge and head in our direction. She lessened in size as she struggled towards us. "Help me. Please help me." We both heard this soaking wet cat's call. Her nose was completely plugged. Scabs and sores lined her back. I ran inside and got a towel for the bedraggled feline. I quickly returned to the porch handing the makeshift blanket to the wife.
The towel wrapped around our new border. Within minutes she stopped shivering. We offered her some food. She hoovered it down. The wife got one of our indoor cat beds and made it up for this poor thing on the porch. Sneezing and exhausted the cat got into the bed. Just before falling asleep the cat said to us, "If I can return the favor, I will". Sniffles returned it in spades.
A trip to the vet and a couple of weeks of rehab had given Sniffles her strength back. The vet had guessed that she was around 14 years old; or maybe a few years passed that. Our much younger stray was curious about the new tenant. Lodger was a baby. Sniffles wasn't. Think Lady Gaga meeting up with Queen Elizabeth. The first meeting was more about tolerance than bonding. The awkwardness soon turned to sisterhood. Only to be interrupted when Lodger would occasionally pounce and Sniffles would say, "get off my lawn".
The front porch didn't provide enough protection for the ever-improving Sniffles; so we moved her to the back. At that time we had an aging senior 22 year old cat in the house. No need to disrupt Tuxedo. Our newest friend was not allowed to roam from room to room. Sniffles was given the back office and backyard to hang. She made the office her home. Especially when she missed her litter box. She never tried to get to the rest of the house. Her single apartment was just fine with her.
You couldn't help but smile every time that you saw Sniffles saunter across the backyard. She had that Masterpiece theatre walk. All she needed was a parasol. A Downton Tabby if you will. Whenever she would find a spot to rest she would start a circle dance. She made more orbits than John Glenn before settling down. She loved her food. She loved our food even more. This feline was an adorable wacky one.
Sadly, after six months, we lost Tuxedo to a Petco in the sky. The wife was devastated. Sniffles was now given free reign to the house. That first night she knew that my wife was miserable with her Tuxedo gone. Sniffles jumped up on the bed and snuggled up to the wife. "Losses are tough. Let me help you through this", Sniffles said.
That is what Sniffles did for the next three years. She acted as more than a buffer. She stole our hearts. She wrapped up joy and delivered it to us every day. She was quite a character. You would open up the pantry door and she'd come running. You would grab a can of tuna and she would say. "Had that yesterday. Let's go with the chicken and vegetables." Her eyes could melt you. You could be at a movie theatre and know that Sniffles would be waiting beside her bowl expecting you to be home soon. I have never had a pet that was so grateful.
It came to an end on Super Bowl Sunday. It was not unexpected. It was not wanted. It was serene and dignified. Towards the end I felt that she was definitely thanking us for the ride.
Things are never meant to be the same. So; you move on. The dynamic of our house has certainly changed. An emptiness that will fade with time. Her surviving sister is confused by the absence. "Have you seen Sniffles?", Lodger asked. With a tear in my eye, I responded to Lodger, "I see her everywhere."
Friday, February 10, 2012
SUPER BERLE SUNDAY
Another Super Bowl Sunday and I still don't know what the hell Go Daddy.com is. Saying it is a search engine doesn't help. I still have two bottles of white out on my desk. That is whom you are dealing with.
The game, that surrounded the Grammy Awards halftime show, was actually a pretty good one. It took forever to get started. The pre-game show was very reminiscent of extended foreplay. I'm not a proponent of foreplay; or lingerie for that matter. I consider them both a waste of time.
America The Beautiful and the National Anthem before kickoff. Two songs that never made it to the top of the billboard charts. Why both of them? Thank God the game was being played in a domed stadium. That stopped the predictable fly bys of scary fighter jets. When has it become necessary to wear flag pins when announcing a football game? The game hasn't even started and Middle America is so riled up that they want to invade Iran.
Even the toin coss has gotten out of control. The referee explains to the 27 co-captains, future NFL hall of fame inductees, a General Petraeus look-a-like, and 2 of the judges from the Voice, the difference between heads and tails. "Heads are these silly little moon things that look like Benito Mussolini. Tails are the lyrics to two of the songs from the broadway musical Gypsy."
The first half consisted of some mediocre plays that were magnified out of proportion because it is the Super Bowl after all. People in Vegas were all ready collecting on some silly early wagers like: The first Giant player that made a sack and didn't do a celebration. The first Patriot player that mentioned Valerie Harper's name in the huddle. Plus, people in homes all across America, were ragging on the latest talking baby commercial. The one's that weren't ragging were wondering how they got the baby to remember all that dialog.
I know that we don't need to return to a halftime show consisting of a marching band messing up a Fleetwood Mac song. But, enough with geezer rock. Madonna, with her pom poms, looked like she was auditioning for a Richard Simmons workout video. The finger malfunction was the best part of the show.
Why do we have to have a musical act during halftime? Other ideas: A fifteen minute diatribe by Ron Paul about the national debt. Mud wrestling with the Housewives of Beverly HIlls. Iron Chef shenanigans. Dick jokes from an old time comedian like the late Milton Berle. What about Rickles? "Hey Eli, how does it feel to be not as good as your brother or your father? And you Mr. Pretty Boy Tom Brady, I'll get to you in a minute. Don't get your panties in a Bundchen you hockey puck!"
The game starts to get serious in the fourth quarter. Annoying announcer anecdotes continue. "Not since Vince Lombardi french-kissed Y.A. Tittle have I seen such perfection." It came down to the last play. A long hail Mary pass was thrown. The only person that could have completed that hail Mary pass would have been Tim Tebow. He claims to actually know Mary. It is incomplete. Giants win. Confetti is flying. Trophy is hoisted.
This is when you really needed Rickles. "What are you gonna do with that trophy other than piss in it?"
The game, that surrounded the Grammy Awards halftime show, was actually a pretty good one. It took forever to get started. The pre-game show was very reminiscent of extended foreplay. I'm not a proponent of foreplay; or lingerie for that matter. I consider them both a waste of time.
America The Beautiful and the National Anthem before kickoff. Two songs that never made it to the top of the billboard charts. Why both of them? Thank God the game was being played in a domed stadium. That stopped the predictable fly bys of scary fighter jets. When has it become necessary to wear flag pins when announcing a football game? The game hasn't even started and Middle America is so riled up that they want to invade Iran.
Even the toin coss has gotten out of control. The referee explains to the 27 co-captains, future NFL hall of fame inductees, a General Petraeus look-a-like, and 2 of the judges from the Voice, the difference between heads and tails. "Heads are these silly little moon things that look like Benito Mussolini. Tails are the lyrics to two of the songs from the broadway musical Gypsy."
The first half consisted of some mediocre plays that were magnified out of proportion because it is the Super Bowl after all. People in Vegas were all ready collecting on some silly early wagers like: The first Giant player that made a sack and didn't do a celebration. The first Patriot player that mentioned Valerie Harper's name in the huddle. Plus, people in homes all across America, were ragging on the latest talking baby commercial. The one's that weren't ragging were wondering how they got the baby to remember all that dialog.
I know that we don't need to return to a halftime show consisting of a marching band messing up a Fleetwood Mac song. But, enough with geezer rock. Madonna, with her pom poms, looked like she was auditioning for a Richard Simmons workout video. The finger malfunction was the best part of the show.
Why do we have to have a musical act during halftime? Other ideas: A fifteen minute diatribe by Ron Paul about the national debt. Mud wrestling with the Housewives of Beverly HIlls. Iron Chef shenanigans. Dick jokes from an old time comedian like the late Milton Berle. What about Rickles? "Hey Eli, how does it feel to be not as good as your brother or your father? And you Mr. Pretty Boy Tom Brady, I'll get to you in a minute. Don't get your panties in a Bundchen you hockey puck!"
The game starts to get serious in the fourth quarter. Annoying announcer anecdotes continue. "Not since Vince Lombardi french-kissed Y.A. Tittle have I seen such perfection." It came down to the last play. A long hail Mary pass was thrown. The only person that could have completed that hail Mary pass would have been Tim Tebow. He claims to actually know Mary. It is incomplete. Giants win. Confetti is flying. Trophy is hoisted.
This is when you really needed Rickles. "What are you gonna do with that trophy other than piss in it?"
Friday, February 3, 2012
HAPPY FACEBOOK TO YOU
It is the day after my birthday and I am doing what every other person with an ipad would be doing - checking my facebook friends list to see who didn't wish me a happy birthday. I know that sounds very fourth grade, but that is what facebook birthdays really are.
My fourth grade birthday helped me achieve celebrity status for one day with my classmates. The grammar school ridicule that I was normally subjected to was put on hold. I was treated like royalty during recess. One downside was that the whole "pinch to grow an inch" thing got out of hand. I needed an infusion of bactine to bring down the swelling. Years later I learned that one of the more aggressive pinchers became a lyricist. Janet, the beyond cherub, gave me a mushy birthday card. Which led to teasing and insults that still haunt me to this day. Kathy, the cutest girl in the world, still paid no attention to me. I guess butch wax wasn't her thing.
There was usually a party that weekend to continue the celebration. Mostly little league teammates. No girls were invited. I'm sure the lyricist was there. Always a store bought cake. It would be over-decorated with little baseball players atop it that you could actually eat. Nothing like munching on a tiny chocolate mitt and washing it down with a tumbler full of Hawaiian punch. Those are two very combative food groups.
I would open my gifts and never hide the disappointment. I was a very blunt fourth grader. Even then I enjoyed disdain. But really, how should I have acted? It was a sweater vest!!! I wanted something from Mattel. I didn't want to look like Andy Williams. Where the hell was my water wiggle?
A few games were played. None of them involved skill. Pin the tail on the donkey. Musical chairs. Hide your Grandma's teeth. I would win most of the contests. Years later I found out that the fix was in. My Dad had tipped the scales in my favor. That day was probably the only time in my Dad's life where I actually met his expectations
Being on Facebook has allowed me once again to achieve that celebrity status on my birthday. This past Monday my everyday ridicule was put on hold. I was treated like royalty during my recess. Okay grownups don't call it recess. They call it unemployment. Most of the day I received only self-inflicted pinchings. I guess there were some differences between now and the fourth grade.
But, quicker than you could say Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook shoutouts on my special day came in fast and furious. I started out being grateful but that changed. The shoutouts lacked cleverness. I worked in show business for a long time. My friends on Facebook included people that had been nominated for Emmy Awards. You would think that I would get the most creative salutations. I got 97 Happy Birthdays. Personalization was not at a premium. "Have a great day!" I deleted 27 of the non-creators from my friends list.
I did have a nice Facebook birthday greeting from an old college buddy. It's too bad that now he is an Evangelical that lives in an Aryan gated community in Idaho. He believes that conception begins when you respond to an email. My favorite best wishes came from an ex-girlfriend, "Happy Birthday. We're not getting back together." That sums it up rather well.
Look, when I see someone's birthday on Facebook it is a tough decision for me as to whether I want to participate. "I met this person in my office 19 years ago - does he really warrant a birthday greeting?" If I do wish this "friend" a happy birthday - please don't let it lead to anything else I hope. I don't want to follow up. Hate to follow up. One of my Facebook friend's brithday is coming up and I don't want to send him the "wishes". It is the debate within because I have known him forever. I don't dislike him. It'll lead to follow up status. I know it will. I just don't want to start up. Like I said; nothing against him. He is a talented lyricist.
My fourth grade birthday helped me achieve celebrity status for one day with my classmates. The grammar school ridicule that I was normally subjected to was put on hold. I was treated like royalty during recess. One downside was that the whole "pinch to grow an inch" thing got out of hand. I needed an infusion of bactine to bring down the swelling. Years later I learned that one of the more aggressive pinchers became a lyricist. Janet, the beyond cherub, gave me a mushy birthday card. Which led to teasing and insults that still haunt me to this day. Kathy, the cutest girl in the world, still paid no attention to me. I guess butch wax wasn't her thing.
There was usually a party that weekend to continue the celebration. Mostly little league teammates. No girls were invited. I'm sure the lyricist was there. Always a store bought cake. It would be over-decorated with little baseball players atop it that you could actually eat. Nothing like munching on a tiny chocolate mitt and washing it down with a tumbler full of Hawaiian punch. Those are two very combative food groups.
I would open my gifts and never hide the disappointment. I was a very blunt fourth grader. Even then I enjoyed disdain. But really, how should I have acted? It was a sweater vest!!! I wanted something from Mattel. I didn't want to look like Andy Williams. Where the hell was my water wiggle?
A few games were played. None of them involved skill. Pin the tail on the donkey. Musical chairs. Hide your Grandma's teeth. I would win most of the contests. Years later I found out that the fix was in. My Dad had tipped the scales in my favor. That day was probably the only time in my Dad's life where I actually met his expectations
Being on Facebook has allowed me once again to achieve that celebrity status on my birthday. This past Monday my everyday ridicule was put on hold. I was treated like royalty during my recess. Okay grownups don't call it recess. They call it unemployment. Most of the day I received only self-inflicted pinchings. I guess there were some differences between now and the fourth grade.
But, quicker than you could say Mark Zuckerberg, the Facebook shoutouts on my special day came in fast and furious. I started out being grateful but that changed. The shoutouts lacked cleverness. I worked in show business for a long time. My friends on Facebook included people that had been nominated for Emmy Awards. You would think that I would get the most creative salutations. I got 97 Happy Birthdays. Personalization was not at a premium. "Have a great day!" I deleted 27 of the non-creators from my friends list.
I did have a nice Facebook birthday greeting from an old college buddy. It's too bad that now he is an Evangelical that lives in an Aryan gated community in Idaho. He believes that conception begins when you respond to an email. My favorite best wishes came from an ex-girlfriend, "Happy Birthday. We're not getting back together." That sums it up rather well.
Look, when I see someone's birthday on Facebook it is a tough decision for me as to whether I want to participate. "I met this person in my office 19 years ago - does he really warrant a birthday greeting?" If I do wish this "friend" a happy birthday - please don't let it lead to anything else I hope. I don't want to follow up. Hate to follow up. One of my Facebook friend's brithday is coming up and I don't want to send him the "wishes". It is the debate within because I have known him forever. I don't dislike him. It'll lead to follow up status. I know it will. I just don't want to start up. Like I said; nothing against him. He is a talented lyricist.
Friday, January 27, 2012
THE OSCAR WITH THE GOLDEN TATTOO
"Margaret Thatcher. Albert Hobbs. Margaret Thatcher. Albert Hobbs. Accents I do. Not sure about the man thing. I'm going Thatcher." Meryl Streep then hung up on her agent and finished her Bud Lite.
The Academy Award nominations were announced this week. Newt Gingrich immediately blamed CNN for Ryan Gosling getting snubbed. Mississippians didn't know whether to root for or against The Help. Jonah Hill needed a new tux and Nick Nolte didn't even remember being in The Warrior.
You have to wonder who came up with the idea of the ten best picture nominees. I kinda want War Horse and Tree of Life to pull a Rick Perry and get out of the race. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Are you serious? It's a movie that should have been ten minutes long - about a troubled kid and his psychiatrist played by Mandy Patinkin.
I did like a few of the nominated movies. I thought what Alexander Payne did with the Descendants was terrific. Who else could have made sunny Hawaii look like dreary Oxnard? Loved The Artist. Silence was truly golden. Although; I'm quite sure that in one scene I saw John Goodman mouthing, "Roseanne's a bitch". Midnight In Paris almost made me forget Owen Wilson's performance in Hall Pass. Almost. I'm sure that Tinker, Tailor, Solder, Spy would have been nominated if anybody could have figured out what the f..k was going on.
Happy for George with his nomination. I bet you he is thinking if he really wants to walk all the way down the red carpet with his new girlfriend Stacy Keibler. A woman that makes him look like a point guard. Brad Pitt did an amazing job in Moneyball. He was a Natural for the part. Subtle Redford reference. Demian Bichir? Anybody? Demian? Anybody? Bichir? Anybody?
So; was Rooney Mara nominated for her performance or her piercings? I've always said that if you get your nipples pierced you get nominated. I heard that Viola Davis was so into her role in The Help, that when she wasn't needed in front of the camera, she still worked over at craft services handing out Mike and Ikes. Michelle Williams as Marilyn. What they can do with CGI these days is amazing.
The toughest part of Scorcese's direction on Hugo was convincing Ben Kingsley to do the role. "Keep reading. It's not just a kid's movie. Your part's gonna get better at the end." Loved the way Woody Allen helped Owen with the role. "Do me. Just do me for Christsakes!" When notified that he had been nominated Terrence Malik said, "Freakin' Clooney can't be nominated for everything".
It's been quite a year in movies. Hangover women are just as crass as Hangover men. Michael Fassbender hit his role in Shame out of the park using his own "bat". Albert Brooks is alive and thank God Eddie Murphy backed out of hosting the Academy Awards.
"A maid's uniform. A mohawk. A feather duster. More piercings. Still feeling Thatcher." Meryl Streep then hung up on her agent, belched, and popped open another Bud Lite.
The Academy Award nominations were announced this week. Newt Gingrich immediately blamed CNN for Ryan Gosling getting snubbed. Mississippians didn't know whether to root for or against The Help. Jonah Hill needed a new tux and Nick Nolte didn't even remember being in The Warrior.
You have to wonder who came up with the idea of the ten best picture nominees. I kinda want War Horse and Tree of Life to pull a Rick Perry and get out of the race. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Are you serious? It's a movie that should have been ten minutes long - about a troubled kid and his psychiatrist played by Mandy Patinkin.
I did like a few of the nominated movies. I thought what Alexander Payne did with the Descendants was terrific. Who else could have made sunny Hawaii look like dreary Oxnard? Loved The Artist. Silence was truly golden. Although; I'm quite sure that in one scene I saw John Goodman mouthing, "Roseanne's a bitch". Midnight In Paris almost made me forget Owen Wilson's performance in Hall Pass. Almost. I'm sure that Tinker, Tailor, Solder, Spy would have been nominated if anybody could have figured out what the f..k was going on.
Happy for George with his nomination. I bet you he is thinking if he really wants to walk all the way down the red carpet with his new girlfriend Stacy Keibler. A woman that makes him look like a point guard. Brad Pitt did an amazing job in Moneyball. He was a Natural for the part. Subtle Redford reference. Demian Bichir? Anybody? Demian? Anybody? Bichir? Anybody?
So; was Rooney Mara nominated for her performance or her piercings? I've always said that if you get your nipples pierced you get nominated. I heard that Viola Davis was so into her role in The Help, that when she wasn't needed in front of the camera, she still worked over at craft services handing out Mike and Ikes. Michelle Williams as Marilyn. What they can do with CGI these days is amazing.
The toughest part of Scorcese's direction on Hugo was convincing Ben Kingsley to do the role. "Keep reading. It's not just a kid's movie. Your part's gonna get better at the end." Loved the way Woody Allen helped Owen with the role. "Do me. Just do me for Christsakes!" When notified that he had been nominated Terrence Malik said, "Freakin' Clooney can't be nominated for everything".
It's been quite a year in movies. Hangover women are just as crass as Hangover men. Michael Fassbender hit his role in Shame out of the park using his own "bat". Albert Brooks is alive and thank God Eddie Murphy backed out of hosting the Academy Awards.
"A maid's uniform. A mohawk. A feather duster. More piercings. Still feeling Thatcher." Meryl Streep then hung up on her agent, belched, and popped open another Bud Lite.
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