There have been times that I have been taken to task for wishing people "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." Let me explain my position. You see, in my family we celebrate all of the holidays of the season, so, the conglomerate greeting seems the most apropos.
My family is a true microcosm of society. We, like the rest of the human race, come in a variety of sizes, shapes, colors and beliefs. I recently overheard a contemporary say the he wouldn't want his kids to marry outside of their race because he was afraid the kids would suffer. My family believes that there is only one race and that is the human race. I have a daughter who graduated from medical school at the top of her class and now has a very successful practice with 2 offices and 4 doctors. Another daughter is a registered EMT who ran a doctors office and has now chosen to be a stay-at-home Mom to my wonderful granddaughters whom she home schools while running a small business from home. My next daughter in line, graduated with a Masters degree from SMU with honors. My fourth daughter is a senior in high school, in all honors and AP classes doing college work with honors. She is also first chair flutist in the finest orchestra in her school, a post she's held for all 4 years. Did I mention that they are all extremely beautiful on the outside as well? We should all have to suffer like that.
I am a Jew and was raised celebrating Hanukkah, the commemoration of the reclamation of the Temple and the survival of a people. My wife is an African -American Christian who was always taught that the meaning of Christmas was to give the gift of ourselves to others to try and make the world just a little bit better place to be. It's what Jesus did. We light the candles in the menorah at Hanukkah and all of the kids know the prayer…in Hebrew. We have a tree at Christmas and we always spend our day, as a family, feeding the homeless. And, we celebrate Kwanzaa, the African-American holiday that began in 1969 that reinforces the seven principals of Unity, Self-Determination, Collective Work and Responsibility, Cooperative Economics, Purpose, Creativity and Faith, principles that have, over the years, only made us stronger as a family unit. We also follow the tradition of telling stories of those who came before us. It helps to remind us where we came from and who we are.
We also have at least one Muslim in the family and I lived I Puerto Rico and still enjoy the celebration of Tres Reyes…or Three Kings Day….when in practically every barrio on the Island, people open their doors and go from house to house in celebration of the season. Tres Reyes happens 12 days after Christmas and keeps the celebratory mood alive well into the New Year.
Yes, my family is a true microcosm of society. When you put together all of the cultures, colors, languages and lands that make up the fabric of our family unit, you can see how amazingly rich we are in understanding and respect for others. When we look at each other, all we see is family and that will always come first.
So, as I wish each and every one of you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah or Happy Kwanzaa, please know that it is from the bottom of my heart and understand that, should our paths cross at any time during the season, you should feel free to wish me any of the above or……Happy Holidays.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL……………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
What Year Is This?
I haven't been compelled to set figurative pen to paper for a while. I suppose if you don't have a weekly deadline, complacency has a tendency to rear it's ugly head and not much gets done. But, there was a news story recently, that, initially started my blood boiling. Then I realized how ridiculously backward the thinking was and calmed down, realizing that this was the kind of incident that can make a gypsy violin cry and then laugh.
Dateline:Tangipahoa's 8th ward in Louisiana where Justice of the Peace ( a misnomer if I've ever heard one) Keith Bardwell refused to perform a marriage ceremony for a couple because she was white and he was black. My first response was to once again to resurrect that great American Scooby Doo - “HUH?” Then I thought, “Hey, wait a minute. What year is this?” I just couldn't believe what I was reading.
The guy said that his reason was that he was concerned about their potential offspring and that he wanted no part in that kind of a future. Heaven forbid one of those poor partial pickaninnies should grow up and suffer the same fate as some....like becoming President of the United States.
He later stated that he would not apologize for something that he didn't feel he had done wrong, adding that he was not a racist, but....Anyone who starts a sentence with, “I am not a racist, but...” generally is. He supposedly proved his point by saying that he has married many black couples and they have even used his bathroom. I'm sure he fully expected them to clean it as well. “And, could you straighten up the family room and vacuum while you're at it?”
My wife is black – I am not. I suppose that puts us well within the definition of an “interracial couple,” although, I have always taught my children that there is only one race and that is the human race. That's what I have always written on any form or application that asks for “race.” I believe that the only thing “inter” about our marriage is that she is a woman and I am a man.
I don't believe my kids have suffered too much. Let me check. My oldest daughter is a doctor whose practice is thriving to the point that she's been told it may have to become a closed practice (no more patients accepted) within a year. My second oldest is the mother of two amazing children who is home schooling and doing exceedingly well. My 3rd oldest daughter (who has been a model since she was 18 months old) graduated from the University of North Texas in three years, with honors. She is now working on her Masters degree in psychology at SMU and will be finishing that program early as well. My youngest daughter is a freshman in high school where she has the distinction of being the first freshman in the school's history to be named first chair flute in the orchestra. She is also getting top grades in Honors and AP classes where she is doing college level work along side juniors and seniors. These poor kids....Oh, the humanity.
My hat is off to Governor Jindal of Louisiana, who is calling for Bardwell's ouster. The guy has absolutely no remorse and refuses to change his archaic attitudes. For him, nothing will change. I understand that he and his family are going out tonight and, by god, the plan to party like it's 1959.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Dateline:Tangipahoa's 8th ward in Louisiana where Justice of the Peace ( a misnomer if I've ever heard one) Keith Bardwell refused to perform a marriage ceremony for a couple because she was white and he was black. My first response was to once again to resurrect that great American Scooby Doo - “HUH?” Then I thought, “Hey, wait a minute. What year is this?” I just couldn't believe what I was reading.
The guy said that his reason was that he was concerned about their potential offspring and that he wanted no part in that kind of a future. Heaven forbid one of those poor partial pickaninnies should grow up and suffer the same fate as some....like becoming President of the United States.
He later stated that he would not apologize for something that he didn't feel he had done wrong, adding that he was not a racist, but....Anyone who starts a sentence with, “I am not a racist, but...” generally is. He supposedly proved his point by saying that he has married many black couples and they have even used his bathroom. I'm sure he fully expected them to clean it as well. “And, could you straighten up the family room and vacuum while you're at it?”
My wife is black – I am not. I suppose that puts us well within the definition of an “interracial couple,” although, I have always taught my children that there is only one race and that is the human race. That's what I have always written on any form or application that asks for “race.” I believe that the only thing “inter” about our marriage is that she is a woman and I am a man.
I don't believe my kids have suffered too much. Let me check. My oldest daughter is a doctor whose practice is thriving to the point that she's been told it may have to become a closed practice (no more patients accepted) within a year. My second oldest is the mother of two amazing children who is home schooling and doing exceedingly well. My 3rd oldest daughter (who has been a model since she was 18 months old) graduated from the University of North Texas in three years, with honors. She is now working on her Masters degree in psychology at SMU and will be finishing that program early as well. My youngest daughter is a freshman in high school where she has the distinction of being the first freshman in the school's history to be named first chair flute in the orchestra. She is also getting top grades in Honors and AP classes where she is doing college level work along side juniors and seniors. These poor kids....Oh, the humanity.
My hat is off to Governor Jindal of Louisiana, who is calling for Bardwell's ouster. The guy has absolutely no remorse and refuses to change his archaic attitudes. For him, nothing will change. I understand that he and his family are going out tonight and, by god, the plan to party like it's 1959.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Driving Us Crazy
We may be sitting in a lovely townhouse on a golf course in Miami, but, my wife and I are also sitting on the horns of a dilemma and that can be quite uncomfortable. Actually, it is my wife’s issue, but, as in most good relationships, we share.
Here is her tale of woe. Enjoy.
We recently went to get our drivers licenses transferred from Texas to Florida and were informed, when we got through the ridiculously long line, that we would be going no further without an original copy of our birth certificates. Apparently, our standing there wasn’t proof enough of our existence, which, I suppose can be relatively understandable in some situations. I knew that I had mine in an envelope at home, which was only about 5 miles away. This was quite doable. I had but to go get it and come back. Not such an easy solution for my wife.
You see, her father was born in South Bend, Indiana and her mother was born and raised in Bryan, Texas. My wife was born while her mother was studying in Mexico City and brought back to the Lone Star state where she spent a few early years before the family moved to Gary, Indiana. I know what you’re thinking at this point, “So, what’s the issue?”
Well, my late mother-in-law was never a stickler for details, like, filing the birth so as to obtain a birth certificate. There is no record of my wife’s birth anywhere. I know she was born, if for no other reason than the fact that she gave birth to my 5th child and that I see her on a daily basis. That comes in especially handy when I get home from work and there is a sandwich waiting for my lunch. Hey, those things don’t just make themselves.
The fact that she can’t get a passport without a birth certificate and can do no traveling outside the country has been a minor issue, but nothing to really go to any extra trouble about. If we want to take a vacation, there are perfectly wonderful places to see all over this great land. Now, however, there is the more immediate problem of not being able to get a drivers license in the Sunshine State. Her mother didn’t help matters by naming her after the fine folks she was staying with, so when she tells people that her name is Marina Guadalupe and she was born in Mexico City to American parents, they are hard pressed to buy it.
She has, in the past few days, been in contact with the Mexican Consulate and the State Department and has received very little help. There is a thing called a “Certificate of Citizenship” that is tentative at best. It costs $480 and comes with the hope that she will even be able to obtain it. They also told her that an option would be to become a naturalized citizen. This is absolutely the only time I’ve ever heard of a U.S Citizen having to be naturalized to get a drivers license, but, I guess there is a first time for everything. We are still working on the logistics of getting this done, but, in the meantime she has to be extra careful behind the wheel. For most people the biggest worry about getting stopped for a moving violation would be getting a ticket. For her…it’s getting deported. Another classic case of bureaucracy at work....for you.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Here is her tale of woe. Enjoy.
We recently went to get our drivers licenses transferred from Texas to Florida and were informed, when we got through the ridiculously long line, that we would be going no further without an original copy of our birth certificates. Apparently, our standing there wasn’t proof enough of our existence, which, I suppose can be relatively understandable in some situations. I knew that I had mine in an envelope at home, which was only about 5 miles away. This was quite doable. I had but to go get it and come back. Not such an easy solution for my wife.
You see, her father was born in South Bend, Indiana and her mother was born and raised in Bryan, Texas. My wife was born while her mother was studying in Mexico City and brought back to the Lone Star state where she spent a few early years before the family moved to Gary, Indiana. I know what you’re thinking at this point, “So, what’s the issue?”
Well, my late mother-in-law was never a stickler for details, like, filing the birth so as to obtain a birth certificate. There is no record of my wife’s birth anywhere. I know she was born, if for no other reason than the fact that she gave birth to my 5th child and that I see her on a daily basis. That comes in especially handy when I get home from work and there is a sandwich waiting for my lunch. Hey, those things don’t just make themselves.
The fact that she can’t get a passport without a birth certificate and can do no traveling outside the country has been a minor issue, but nothing to really go to any extra trouble about. If we want to take a vacation, there are perfectly wonderful places to see all over this great land. Now, however, there is the more immediate problem of not being able to get a drivers license in the Sunshine State. Her mother didn’t help matters by naming her after the fine folks she was staying with, so when she tells people that her name is Marina Guadalupe and she was born in Mexico City to American parents, they are hard pressed to buy it.
She has, in the past few days, been in contact with the Mexican Consulate and the State Department and has received very little help. There is a thing called a “Certificate of Citizenship” that is tentative at best. It costs $480 and comes with the hope that she will even be able to obtain it. They also told her that an option would be to become a naturalized citizen. This is absolutely the only time I’ve ever heard of a U.S Citizen having to be naturalized to get a drivers license, but, I guess there is a first time for everything. We are still working on the logistics of getting this done, but, in the meantime she has to be extra careful behind the wheel. For most people the biggest worry about getting stopped for a moving violation would be getting a ticket. For her…it’s getting deported. Another classic case of bureaucracy at work....for you.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Thursday, September 10, 2009
EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN
By
Bob Leonard
I have been wracking what little brain I have left from awakening at 2:45 daily to try and come up with something to write this blogmentary about. I have a few ideas, but, alas, nothing is really blowing me away.
I suppose now that I no longer work for an ultra conservative talk radio station (which, by the way, has some of the finest and most talented people in broadcasting working there), I could get political, but, do I dare go there for fear of alienating some people that I’ve truly grown to like and respect? Actually, sure, why the hell not. And yet, I would be merely echoing a mass opinion that isn’t shared by the fringe (I hesitate to invoke the term “lunatic”) who used to make up a fair portion of the audience that would hear my newscasts.
I could talk about the single worst broadcaster I’ve ever heard, Mark Levin. By the way, I believe the pronunciation of Luh-VIN would be French would it not? Over the years, I have run across a few other self loathers who shy away from the true pronunciation of LEH-vin, so, I suppose I can give him the benefit of that doubt, but that’s about all. He is only on the air because of the agreement that states if you take the Sean (I don’t know what the word context means) Hannity show, you must also take The Frenchman. LEH-vin has stolen a stale act from Bob Grant in the 1970’s and turned it into his own set of grossly unprofessional guttural sounds that pass for opinion. He knows how to do nothing but call people names and divide the country. As a Jew, I am embarrased. As a broadcaster, I'm mortified, but, I digress. I hesitate to go there, because, my blood pressure is now back to a tolerable level.
I could write about my feelings as regards the asinine actions of people who refused to let their children hear the President of the United States, our Commander-in-Chief, speak about the importance of taking responsibility for ones own education, for fear it would corrupt the very same children that they are indoctrinating with their own pure hatred. But, of course, the wise sages of Arlington ,Texas have it figured out. They are going to fill up some busses with students and take them to hear George W. Bush speak. Has nobody told them that he is no longer the President? Is the thought of a black man in that position so abhorrent to them that they resort to such blatant nonsense?
I could opine about how, after 20 years, I am happy to have left Texas. Dallas was a wonderful place to raise my kids and Austin is one of the best cities in the country, but the way that state has been headed, I would tend to find myself in complete agreement with Gov.Rick Perry for the first time ever. Go ahead and secede. Please.
I could write about the trip from Texas to Florida and some of the wonderful Kerouac like experiences while on the road, like the fellow Vietnam Vet that I met about 130 miles south of Orlando while I was sharing a Subway sandwich with my dog Porky. After comparing a few notes, we discovered that he was guarding the gate I was going through to get downtown. We hugged and shared a few stories and parted better off for the chance encounter.
I suppose I could give my impressions of Miami, which, with no more than a couple of weeks under my belt, I know I love. The people, the food, the music, the attitudes, the energy. It’s everything I could have imagined. And, the town in which I live has two
distinctions that I would never find in Texas. It is the most diverse city in all of Florida and it is the second safest in the state (Boca Raton being first but, how much damage can all those old Jewish ladies do, honestly?)
I could write about how my 14 year old daughter, who was dragged kicking and screaming from Texas, has, within a couple of weeks, made a slew of friends and is thriving in school. She too now loves it here.
Well, I’ve decided against writing about any of that stuff. Like I said, I made some very good friends who may now disown me because I’ve gotten a smidge vocal. Well, if they are true friend, and they know who they are, it won’t matter. Opposing opinions are the stuff of good, stimulating debate and not deal breakers and dividers. I think we’ve kinda forgotten that.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
By
Bob Leonard
I have been wracking what little brain I have left from awakening at 2:45 daily to try and come up with something to write this blogmentary about. I have a few ideas, but, alas, nothing is really blowing me away.
I suppose now that I no longer work for an ultra conservative talk radio station (which, by the way, has some of the finest and most talented people in broadcasting working there), I could get political, but, do I dare go there for fear of alienating some people that I’ve truly grown to like and respect? Actually, sure, why the hell not. And yet, I would be merely echoing a mass opinion that isn’t shared by the fringe (I hesitate to invoke the term “lunatic”) who used to make up a fair portion of the audience that would hear my newscasts.
I could talk about the single worst broadcaster I’ve ever heard, Mark Levin. By the way, I believe the pronunciation of Luh-VIN would be French would it not? Over the years, I have run across a few other self loathers who shy away from the true pronunciation of LEH-vin, so, I suppose I can give him the benefit of that doubt, but that’s about all. He is only on the air because of the agreement that states if you take the Sean (I don’t know what the word context means) Hannity show, you must also take The Frenchman. LEH-vin has stolen a stale act from Bob Grant in the 1970’s and turned it into his own set of grossly unprofessional guttural sounds that pass for opinion. He knows how to do nothing but call people names and divide the country. As a Jew, I am embarrased. As a broadcaster, I'm mortified, but, I digress. I hesitate to go there, because, my blood pressure is now back to a tolerable level.
I could write about my feelings as regards the asinine actions of people who refused to let their children hear the President of the United States, our Commander-in-Chief, speak about the importance of taking responsibility for ones own education, for fear it would corrupt the very same children that they are indoctrinating with their own pure hatred. But, of course, the wise sages of Arlington ,Texas have it figured out. They are going to fill up some busses with students and take them to hear George W. Bush speak. Has nobody told them that he is no longer the President? Is the thought of a black man in that position so abhorrent to them that they resort to such blatant nonsense?
I could opine about how, after 20 years, I am happy to have left Texas. Dallas was a wonderful place to raise my kids and Austin is one of the best cities in the country, but the way that state has been headed, I would tend to find myself in complete agreement with Gov.Rick Perry for the first time ever. Go ahead and secede. Please.
I could write about the trip from Texas to Florida and some of the wonderful Kerouac like experiences while on the road, like the fellow Vietnam Vet that I met about 130 miles south of Orlando while I was sharing a Subway sandwich with my dog Porky. After comparing a few notes, we discovered that he was guarding the gate I was going through to get downtown. We hugged and shared a few stories and parted better off for the chance encounter.
I suppose I could give my impressions of Miami, which, with no more than a couple of weeks under my belt, I know I love. The people, the food, the music, the attitudes, the energy. It’s everything I could have imagined. And, the town in which I live has two
distinctions that I would never find in Texas. It is the most diverse city in all of Florida and it is the second safest in the state (Boca Raton being first but, how much damage can all those old Jewish ladies do, honestly?)
I could write about how my 14 year old daughter, who was dragged kicking and screaming from Texas, has, within a couple of weeks, made a slew of friends and is thriving in school. She too now loves it here.
Well, I’ve decided against writing about any of that stuff. Like I said, I made some very good friends who may now disown me because I’ve gotten a smidge vocal. Well, if they are true friend, and they know who they are, it won’t matter. Opposing opinions are the stuff of good, stimulating debate and not deal breakers and dividers. I think we’ve kinda forgotten that.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Monday, August 31, 2009
Downsizing
In the past few years, my family has been forced into downsizing mode a couple of times. The first time was 5 years ago when I was “retired” from a job I had been at for 25 years. The second time is right now, as my wife has suffered the same fate, just about a week after her health insurance kicked in. This is not necessarily the worst thing in the world. It allows you to confront all of the “stuff” you’ve accumulated that is just taking up space. Space that you wouldn’t need without all the “stuff.”
If there had to be a slogan for the first decade of the 21st century, it would have to be “Downsize”. We have gotten to a point of overindulgence that has the word coming out of everyone’s mouth. Gas prices too high? Downsize your car. Mortgage rates too steep? Utility bills killin’ ya’? Downsize your home. Can’t get into your jeans? Downsize your meals. Universe becoming to convoluted? Let’s get rid of Pluto. It’s no longer a planet, anyway. We’re even downsizing our solar system.
For years now, we’ve been inundated with “Super” sizing. Want the super gigunda industrial sized Fries with that? We’ve defined ourselves by having bigger and better. My truck is bigger than your truck. My house is bigger than your house. I can eat more from the all-you-can-eat buffet than you can. Which, then, unfortunately leads to : my cholesteral numbers are higher than yours. And, I need more bypass surgeries than you do. We are getting a little better, but, we still need help.
So, here’s my idea for a company that could, conceivably help out and make a buck. We have a tendency to jump on bandwagons and follow trends (which, I suppose is why they are trends in the first place). Since we’ve all got some aspect of our lives that is out of control due to overindulgence, why not set up a service that helps people to moderate. Sort of a consulting firm for the out of control. Someone to consult when we want to buy a car who will steer us away from the Hummers and toward the Priuses. Someone we can consult when it’s mealtime who will push us away from the “all-you-can-eat” buffet and sit us at the “just-what-you-need” table. Someone who realizes that we don’t need 12 bedrooms, 5 fireplaces and two pools for a family of 3. Someone who can help us to downsize from all the super sizing we’ve been doing for the past too many years to count.
There are individuals who help people to cope with some of these problems individually. They are called “Life Coaches” and they come in a wide array of skill levels and areas of expertise. You can find a life coach to help you with your love life, one who will do your budgeting, one to consult about eating habits and one to help you shop. What we need is a one-stop life coach shop that will supply all of the services at once. A place to go for all of your downsizing and getting back into some semblance of shape needs. No longer will having all we want entitle us to way more than we need. What we need will become all we could ever want. Satisfaction guaranteed.
I want to start this agency with about 10 life coaches and I want to build it to a staff of 25 within 6 months. And in the end, my downsizing company will be bigger than your downsizing company. Nya nya nya nya nya nya.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
If there had to be a slogan for the first decade of the 21st century, it would have to be “Downsize”. We have gotten to a point of overindulgence that has the word coming out of everyone’s mouth. Gas prices too high? Downsize your car. Mortgage rates too steep? Utility bills killin’ ya’? Downsize your home. Can’t get into your jeans? Downsize your meals. Universe becoming to convoluted? Let’s get rid of Pluto. It’s no longer a planet, anyway. We’re even downsizing our solar system.
For years now, we’ve been inundated with “Super” sizing. Want the super gigunda industrial sized Fries with that? We’ve defined ourselves by having bigger and better. My truck is bigger than your truck. My house is bigger than your house. I can eat more from the all-you-can-eat buffet than you can. Which, then, unfortunately leads to : my cholesteral numbers are higher than yours. And, I need more bypass surgeries than you do. We are getting a little better, but, we still need help.
So, here’s my idea for a company that could, conceivably help out and make a buck. We have a tendency to jump on bandwagons and follow trends (which, I suppose is why they are trends in the first place). Since we’ve all got some aspect of our lives that is out of control due to overindulgence, why not set up a service that helps people to moderate. Sort of a consulting firm for the out of control. Someone to consult when we want to buy a car who will steer us away from the Hummers and toward the Priuses. Someone we can consult when it’s mealtime who will push us away from the “all-you-can-eat” buffet and sit us at the “just-what-you-need” table. Someone who realizes that we don’t need 12 bedrooms, 5 fireplaces and two pools for a family of 3. Someone who can help us to downsize from all the super sizing we’ve been doing for the past too many years to count.
There are individuals who help people to cope with some of these problems individually. They are called “Life Coaches” and they come in a wide array of skill levels and areas of expertise. You can find a life coach to help you with your love life, one who will do your budgeting, one to consult about eating habits and one to help you shop. What we need is a one-stop life coach shop that will supply all of the services at once. A place to go for all of your downsizing and getting back into some semblance of shape needs. No longer will having all we want entitle us to way more than we need. What we need will become all we could ever want. Satisfaction guaranteed.
I want to start this agency with about 10 life coaches and I want to build it to a staff of 25 within 6 months. And in the end, my downsizing company will be bigger than your downsizing company. Nya nya nya nya nya nya.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Hot Dogs
We live in a society of contradictions. Fortunately, these contradictory forces tend to wash each other out. If nothing else, they make the playing field a bit more level. Republicans counter democrats and vice-versa. Oh, sure there are Independents who have trouble being decisive, and, believe me, I know, being one of them, but, for the most part, the two parties counter each other quite nicely.
Our entire government is based on a series of checks and balances so that no one branch of government can get too powerful without being cut back down to size by another. The legislative branch can’t act without the judicial branch which can’t act without the Senate which has to jibe with the House and so on. It’s a good system. It works and tends to keep the government working on an even keel. It’s the grease that ensures that everything rolls along smoothly.
Without bad, there would be no good. Bad guys do bad things. They rob and cheat and steal and terrorize and it’s then up to the good guys to catch them, stop them, turn them into good guys, if possible or put them away so they can no longer prey on the good guys.
These contradictions : good and bad, black and white, truth and lies, serve each other very well. Each one is the reason for the other’s existence and is there to counter it’s opposite and create a more fair and equitable world.
Why is it, then, that the biggest discrepancy happens in a world where you would expect things compliment each other in the truest sense. The world of hot dogs. That’s right. Hot dogs. Hot dogs come in packages of 10 and hot dog buns come in packages of 8. To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld, what’s up with that ? In order to have an equal amount of both, you have to buy 4 packs of hot dogs and 5 packs of buns. Then you’ve got 40 hot dogs. Unless your family is enormous in more ways than just numbers, you’ve got a problem. After the first 10 or 12 are gone, the rest is wasted. If you buy one pack of each, you will inevitably have 2 buns left over. What are you going to do with two errant buns ? Is this some form of conspiracy ? Who do we blame for this inequity ? The hot dog folks or the bun people ?
Our government is always looking to form a sub-committee for every little thing, so why not this. Perhaps a summit between the butchers and the bakers to bring things more in line with the rest of the world. Our rallying cry can be “No more left over buns.”
Someone pointed out that hamburger buns also come in packs of 8. Well, you can make 8 hamburgers out of a package of meat. They may be a little thick, but , they’ll fit.
We have to fix this discrepancy and we have to do it soon, before our whole society falls apart. Oh…..and, would you like fries with that ?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’.
Our entire government is based on a series of checks and balances so that no one branch of government can get too powerful without being cut back down to size by another. The legislative branch can’t act without the judicial branch which can’t act without the Senate which has to jibe with the House and so on. It’s a good system. It works and tends to keep the government working on an even keel. It’s the grease that ensures that everything rolls along smoothly.
Without bad, there would be no good. Bad guys do bad things. They rob and cheat and steal and terrorize and it’s then up to the good guys to catch them, stop them, turn them into good guys, if possible or put them away so they can no longer prey on the good guys.
These contradictions : good and bad, black and white, truth and lies, serve each other very well. Each one is the reason for the other’s existence and is there to counter it’s opposite and create a more fair and equitable world.
Why is it, then, that the biggest discrepancy happens in a world where you would expect things compliment each other in the truest sense. The world of hot dogs. That’s right. Hot dogs. Hot dogs come in packages of 10 and hot dog buns come in packages of 8. To paraphrase Jerry Seinfeld, what’s up with that ? In order to have an equal amount of both, you have to buy 4 packs of hot dogs and 5 packs of buns. Then you’ve got 40 hot dogs. Unless your family is enormous in more ways than just numbers, you’ve got a problem. After the first 10 or 12 are gone, the rest is wasted. If you buy one pack of each, you will inevitably have 2 buns left over. What are you going to do with two errant buns ? Is this some form of conspiracy ? Who do we blame for this inequity ? The hot dog folks or the bun people ?
Our government is always looking to form a sub-committee for every little thing, so why not this. Perhaps a summit between the butchers and the bakers to bring things more in line with the rest of the world. Our rallying cry can be “No more left over buns.”
Someone pointed out that hamburger buns also come in packs of 8. Well, you can make 8 hamburgers out of a package of meat. They may be a little thick, but , they’ll fit.
We have to fix this discrepancy and we have to do it soon, before our whole society falls apart. Oh…..and, would you like fries with that ?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’.
High Def
I recently bought a 32 inch, flat-panel TV. I bought it because my old TV started to get lines all over the picture. I had it for a long time and it’s time had finally come. I always wanted an HD TV so, that’s what I bought. I went home, plugged it in and turned it on. “Nice picture,“ I thought, but where was all this clarity that I’d been promised? I then realized that I had to turn to a special High Def channel, so I did, and there was nothing there. Not quite the quality I thought I’d get for that price. I picked up the phone and called the store back. The picture was just mediocre. Just like my old TV when it didn’t have lines. After he got me to calm down, he explained the obvious. Apparently, you can’t just plug this thing in and get a magnificent, breathtaking adventure. I was informed that I had to have digital cable, which I did, and then subscribe to the High Def. service at an extra cost, which I hadn‘t. I called the cable company who asked me if I had the special digital box needed for high definition. I didn’t. So, I had to get in the car and drive across town to wait in a long line at the cable company to exchange the box for a special digital box with high def. Well, I had just spent the day and too much money shopping for a flat panel HD TV that wasn’t giving me a very good picture and I wanted to watch it.
It was about an hour and a half later that I got home and figured out how to set up the box and the flat panel TV, making sure that the yellow cable wasn’t plugged into the red hole and all the rest of the technical acumen that was involved. And I turned it on. The picture hadn’t changed one iota. I was starting to get discouraged. I called the cable company back. Just to make sure all the wires were in the proper holes. They informed me that I had done everything properly and, as soon as I activated the service, I’ be ready to boogie. They assured me that I had nothing more to do than wait, as they would activate it for me. They had to so they could have a record and charge me more. Finally, done. I sat down, put up my feet and turned on my 32 inch, flat-panel, high-def TV. The picture was incredible.
And after all the time and expense…what I finally saw…was that there was nothing good on.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
It was about an hour and a half later that I got home and figured out how to set up the box and the flat panel TV, making sure that the yellow cable wasn’t plugged into the red hole and all the rest of the technical acumen that was involved. And I turned it on. The picture hadn’t changed one iota. I was starting to get discouraged. I called the cable company back. Just to make sure all the wires were in the proper holes. They informed me that I had done everything properly and, as soon as I activated the service, I’ be ready to boogie. They assured me that I had nothing more to do than wait, as they would activate it for me. They had to so they could have a record and charge me more. Finally, done. I sat down, put up my feet and turned on my 32 inch, flat-panel, high-def TV. The picture was incredible.
And after all the time and expense…what I finally saw…was that there was nothing good on.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Hi Ho Hi Ho
I recently ran across a story in, don’t laugh now, AARP Magazine. I read it for the articles. Oh sure, there are babes in there, if blue hair is your cup of tea. This particular piece was entitled “Presto Change-o” and was described like this : It’s no easy trick to switch careers at 50 plus, but more and more workers are taking the leap and starting over at jobs they love. One of the story’s protagonists was a 56 year old owner of a public relations firm who chucked it all and became an $8 an hour chef who said he’s hoping for a raise after his first evaluation. He went on to say that his only regret was that he didn’t make the change years earlier. He traded his huge paycheck for a dose of happiness in his life.
His story is just one of literally thousands in today’s world where we are living longer with more vitality and more things at our fingertips that we actually want to do.
There are many reasons that people in their 50’s are making what seems to be a drastic step in their lives. Many people are choosing to “drop out” of corporate America and pursue life long dreams, but many, and I speak from experience, are forced into the position.
As I have related my story to people over the past years and a half, I have been flabbergasted to learn that there are many more of “me” out there than I could possibly have imagined. We have a common thread. We have dedicated ourselves to companies and wound up drawing the short straw. We end up either too old or making too much money or, quite frankly, both. Once we get past the initial “pity party”, many of us are finding that the reinvention of ourselves is actually very stimulating and will probably insure that we live longer, if for no other reason than our blood is flowing again.
I was a music radio disc jockey for 40 years with the last 24 years spent in one job, for one company. I always wondered what I would, or could do if and when it all came to an end. And the answer became crystal clear. I had always wanted to do news and commentary and now I’ve been given an opportunity to fulfill that dream while reinventing myself and it’s very exciting. I want to go to work every morning and I come home with a smile on my face every day. A couple of feelings that I had forgotten existed while I was immersed in the tedium of what to some seemed like a very romantic job. It wasn’t. It got old. Thanks to this new career, I won’t.
We in the baby boom generation helped to change the world in the 60’s and 70’s and now that we have reached an age that was once considered over the hill, we are making it crystal clear that we will not go gently. Nor will we go miserably. We are setting the stage for generations to come. We are stepping up to the plate and heading into areas we love. It’s proof positive that if you are doing something you truly love, you’ll never work a day in your life.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
His story is just one of literally thousands in today’s world where we are living longer with more vitality and more things at our fingertips that we actually want to do.
There are many reasons that people in their 50’s are making what seems to be a drastic step in their lives. Many people are choosing to “drop out” of corporate America and pursue life long dreams, but many, and I speak from experience, are forced into the position.
As I have related my story to people over the past years and a half, I have been flabbergasted to learn that there are many more of “me” out there than I could possibly have imagined. We have a common thread. We have dedicated ourselves to companies and wound up drawing the short straw. We end up either too old or making too much money or, quite frankly, both. Once we get past the initial “pity party”, many of us are finding that the reinvention of ourselves is actually very stimulating and will probably insure that we live longer, if for no other reason than our blood is flowing again.
I was a music radio disc jockey for 40 years with the last 24 years spent in one job, for one company. I always wondered what I would, or could do if and when it all came to an end. And the answer became crystal clear. I had always wanted to do news and commentary and now I’ve been given an opportunity to fulfill that dream while reinventing myself and it’s very exciting. I want to go to work every morning and I come home with a smile on my face every day. A couple of feelings that I had forgotten existed while I was immersed in the tedium of what to some seemed like a very romantic job. It wasn’t. It got old. Thanks to this new career, I won’t.
We in the baby boom generation helped to change the world in the 60’s and 70’s and now that we have reached an age that was once considered over the hill, we are making it crystal clear that we will not go gently. Nor will we go miserably. We are setting the stage for generations to come. We are stepping up to the plate and heading into areas we love. It’s proof positive that if you are doing something you truly love, you’ll never work a day in your life.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
The Rude Price of Crude
I had to fill my car the other day. I found gas for $2.28 a gallon. That kinda confused me, because earlier in the day I was at the V.A. I go there for medical care because I went to Vietnam. Now they have to take care of me. I noticed gas on that side of town was $2.58 a gallon. Wait a minute, that’s a 20 cent a gallon difference. See why I’m confused? I can’t explain why this is, but there is a pattern. My neighborhood, while far from affluent is certainly an area where you have to be able to afford to live. We have lots of nice people and they come in various sizes, shapes and colors. They work hard and pay their taxes and enjoy their families are happy with the schools and the all around living conditions. Gas is $2.28 a gallon. Geez, that gives us even more to spend on other stuff in the community. The V.A. is in a rather rundown area on “the other” side of town. The homes are small and some are fairly ramshackle. It’s a run down, depressed neighborhood. Most of it’s inhabitants are nice people who come in various sizes, shapes and colors. They too work hard, but it’s usually at two jobs that don’t pay enough to have any money to spend on other stuff in the community and, to add insult to injury, gas is $2.58 a gallon. Damn, there goes dinner…..right down the gas tank. They don’t really care much for their all around living conditions.
I suppose there are any number of sociological debates about the psychology of the downtrodden. One the one hand there is the argument that throughout history people have pulled themselves up by their proverbial bootstraps. That great American Horatio Alger rags to riches lesson. On the other hand there is the valid argument about the cyclicality of poverty and how if you are never taught where your bootstraps are, how can you teach your kids? These are arguments that have gone on, ad nauseum, I suppose as long as someone has had it better than someone else. That’s not why I’m confused. It’s the disparity in the price of gas. Is this really fair. I don’t know who to point an accusing finger at. Certainly not the oil companies. If it can sell gas in one part of town for $2.28 it certainly can go for the same price on the other side of the same town. It must be the individual gas station owners. Shame on them. I have no answers, but I am able to add to the confusion. I came out of work today and I saw gas about a block away for $2.58 a gallon. It’s still $2.28 in my neighborhood. See why I’m still confused. Either the building I work in isn’t in the greatest part of town or gas is $2.58 all over Dallas and the only place it’s $2.28 is in my town. Twilight Zone, Tx.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I suppose there are any number of sociological debates about the psychology of the downtrodden. One the one hand there is the argument that throughout history people have pulled themselves up by their proverbial bootstraps. That great American Horatio Alger rags to riches lesson. On the other hand there is the valid argument about the cyclicality of poverty and how if you are never taught where your bootstraps are, how can you teach your kids? These are arguments that have gone on, ad nauseum, I suppose as long as someone has had it better than someone else. That’s not why I’m confused. It’s the disparity in the price of gas. Is this really fair. I don’t know who to point an accusing finger at. Certainly not the oil companies. If it can sell gas in one part of town for $2.28 it certainly can go for the same price on the other side of the same town. It must be the individual gas station owners. Shame on them. I have no answers, but I am able to add to the confusion. I came out of work today and I saw gas about a block away for $2.58 a gallon. It’s still $2.28 in my neighborhood. See why I’m still confused. Either the building I work in isn’t in the greatest part of town or gas is $2.58 all over Dallas and the only place it’s $2.28 is in my town. Twilight Zone, Tx.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
For Their Age
A big night at our house usually involves the rental of two or three videos rather than our usual one. We recently had a big night, albeit a 2 movie big night. There just weren’t three movies that we hadn’t already seen. One of the movies was called “The Sentinal” with Michael Douglas and, essentially, an all star cast. In one scene we found Michael Douglas and Kim Bassinger having a passionate moment that involved them starting the process of undressing each other to lead to that moment of bliss. That’s when my wife commented about how great they both looked for their age and I realized that there was a time when this scene would have been quite a turn on. The reason it wasn’t ? Three words. For their age. Here were two post 50 actors who had been among the sexiest of the sexy trying to rekindle the magic that once lit up the screen. This time, the camera stayed on them for all of 8-10 seconds, when it apparently realized that there were younger and sexier actors in this movie. A camera with a mind of it’s own. I say thank you.
Remember Kathy Bates and Jack Nicholson naked in the hot tub in “About Schmidt ?” Of course you don’t. There was nothing memorable about it. Oh sure, two of our finest actors stripped down in a terrific movie, but it’s not a sight you want stuck in your mind. Remember…..For their age. I guess that makes it OK. Now, if it was Jessica Simpson and Mark Wahlberg naked in a hot tub, it would be indelibly etched in our collective memory, but Kathy Bates is in a chronic state of sag. And Jack Nicholson ? Well, honestly, I didn’t even look. I’m sure he looks great. For his age.
Aesthetically, do we really want to see these scenes ? I’m sure they’re germane to the plotline, but couldn’t they be understood? Or how about using body doubles. I’m sure a good make-up artist could turn Jessica Simpson into the spitting image of Kathy Bates. Honestly, who’d be looking at her face anyway .
We are obsessed with youth and I see no problem with that. After watching all of these actors trying to recapture, I came to the conclusion that, in some respects, youth is not only not wasted on but belongs to the young. When we get to that age range where a man’s prostate gets bigger than his ego and a woman starts to droop, there just isn’t enough plastic surgery in the world that will make us look young and desirable. It always looks as if there was “too much work” done. Nothing natural about it. Leave the love scenes to the kids. We older folks will use our wits and our wisdom, although, it sure didn’t work in “The Sentinal.” Shortly after the alleged love scene, I turned the movie off. I guess it was just a bit too convoluted for a guy my age.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL. WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Remember Kathy Bates and Jack Nicholson naked in the hot tub in “About Schmidt ?” Of course you don’t. There was nothing memorable about it. Oh sure, two of our finest actors stripped down in a terrific movie, but it’s not a sight you want stuck in your mind. Remember…..For their age. I guess that makes it OK. Now, if it was Jessica Simpson and Mark Wahlberg naked in a hot tub, it would be indelibly etched in our collective memory, but Kathy Bates is in a chronic state of sag. And Jack Nicholson ? Well, honestly, I didn’t even look. I’m sure he looks great. For his age.
Aesthetically, do we really want to see these scenes ? I’m sure they’re germane to the plotline, but couldn’t they be understood? Or how about using body doubles. I’m sure a good make-up artist could turn Jessica Simpson into the spitting image of Kathy Bates. Honestly, who’d be looking at her face anyway .
We are obsessed with youth and I see no problem with that. After watching all of these actors trying to recapture, I came to the conclusion that, in some respects, youth is not only not wasted on but belongs to the young. When we get to that age range where a man’s prostate gets bigger than his ego and a woman starts to droop, there just isn’t enough plastic surgery in the world that will make us look young and desirable. It always looks as if there was “too much work” done. Nothing natural about it. Leave the love scenes to the kids. We older folks will use our wits and our wisdom, although, it sure didn’t work in “The Sentinal.” Shortly after the alleged love scene, I turned the movie off. I guess it was just a bit too convoluted for a guy my age.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL. WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Diapers? Depends!
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust is kind of misleading. If you think about it, the true cycle of life is diapers to diapers. When you’re wearing them for the last time, you’re probably about as aware as you were when you wore them the first time. The act of living our life is what happens in between. As babies, ideally, our every need is tended to. Hungry, you get fed. Dirty, you are cleaned. Lonely, you are hugged. Your mind is developing and you are learning with every waking moment. And brain cells are growing and processing the data in your every sleeping moment. In many cases, old age, is where life takes a vicious turn and begins to do an about face. In your every waking and sleeping moment, brain cells are dying and the information is lost. On the other hand, and maybe this ain’t so bad, if you’re hungry, you get fed. Dirty, you are cleaned. Lonely, you are hugged.
Now, in all fairness, this is a gross generalization for just a small percentage of the aging population. Most folk get through this life without having to suffer the ravages of mental deterioration, but, conditions like Alzheimers are becoming almost epidemic. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t been touched in one way or another by this dreaded malady. And you just never know if you’ll end up there. That’s why you have to concentrate your efforts on living your most productive years to the fullest. We live in a society that uses age as a series of parameters. A good deal of genius and ability is overlooked because someone is deemed to young, Many opportunities are thrown out when people are forced out of the work place because they are deemed too old. It’s about time we stop deeming and start utilizing our resources. It’s getting a little better as many companies now understand the value of using older workers. They are getting expertise, wisdom and a work ethic not found in the less experienced. It’s a great investment. A concept that’s still lost on far too many.
It’s not just societal, though. In quite a few cases, it’s all about limitations. And from the time we first graduate from diapers to the time we find ourselves once again searching for that self adhesive strip to keep them on, we got a lot of living to do. We need to give it everything we’ve got, as I was reminded just yesterday, when I got the news of the death of a friend from high school. We sometimes don’t quite make it to the second age of diapers. Be creative, be productive, and most important of all, be happy.
From the time we learn how to pee on our own to the time we forget how, we achieve about all we’re going to. The irony is that, sometimes, when your mind is ready to boogie, your body needs to foxtrot. The ashes and the dust are merely commentary.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Now, in all fairness, this is a gross generalization for just a small percentage of the aging population. Most folk get through this life without having to suffer the ravages of mental deterioration, but, conditions like Alzheimers are becoming almost epidemic. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t been touched in one way or another by this dreaded malady. And you just never know if you’ll end up there. That’s why you have to concentrate your efforts on living your most productive years to the fullest. We live in a society that uses age as a series of parameters. A good deal of genius and ability is overlooked because someone is deemed to young, Many opportunities are thrown out when people are forced out of the work place because they are deemed too old. It’s about time we stop deeming and start utilizing our resources. It’s getting a little better as many companies now understand the value of using older workers. They are getting expertise, wisdom and a work ethic not found in the less experienced. It’s a great investment. A concept that’s still lost on far too many.
It’s not just societal, though. In quite a few cases, it’s all about limitations. And from the time we first graduate from diapers to the time we find ourselves once again searching for that self adhesive strip to keep them on, we got a lot of living to do. We need to give it everything we’ve got, as I was reminded just yesterday, when I got the news of the death of a friend from high school. We sometimes don’t quite make it to the second age of diapers. Be creative, be productive, and most important of all, be happy.
From the time we learn how to pee on our own to the time we forget how, we achieve about all we’re going to. The irony is that, sometimes, when your mind is ready to boogie, your body needs to foxtrot. The ashes and the dust are merely commentary.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Consider the Classics
You are out at the mall, doing a little holiday shopping and you are completely overwhelmed by : a.) the complexity of the electronic doodads and b.) prices. What’s a shopper to do? I want you to hear me out as I try to explain the remedy in three little words : Consider the classics.
No matter what mode of gift you’re shopping for, if you go back in time, at least in your mind, you will find something quite suitable and, even at today’s prices, something affordable. Not to mention, the uniqueness of the gift. How many of today’s kids know what Lincoln Logs were? The commemorative edition, available on line, is just $41.00. Now, when our folks bought them for us, they probably cost about $6.00,, but, given inflation, that was about the equivalent of $41, so the price is almost a moot point. And, the kids can build all sorts of fine little structures. They use their imaginations and learn by doing. You may want to consider the Jumbo Tinker Toys Building Set with 102 pieces for just $35.99. Once again, a great exercise for the mind as opposed to a workout for your thumbs, like most of today’s video games. Who needs thumbs the size of Popeye’s forearms.
Let me throw a few more suggestions at you. Names that should invoke some pretty good images of your childhood. And if you loved them, don’t you think your kids will too? How about Rock’em Sock’em Robots ? This precursor to the video game goes for around $21 and will provide hours of fun for little sluggo to practice his uppercut, via a plastic robot, as he tries to knock the other robot’s block off.
The list goes on and on and on : Slinky, Slinky Dog, Electronic Football, Hula Hoops, Stilts, a Pogo Stick or a Radio Flyer wagon. The only difference, today, is that the wagon has plastic wheels as opposed to the rust prone metal ones. New and improved, with virtually no other changes.
Today’s kids have gotten spoiled and lazy. They expect everything to be delivered to them on a screen with no room to expand their minds and no consideration of price. Have you seen what all the electronics cost?
Maybe your kids like movies. Once again, consider the classics, all of which can be found on e-bay or elsewhere on line. There was nothing wrong with the likes of “The Wizard of Oz,” “Cinderella,” “Peter Pan,” or “Riki Tiki Tava.” Your kids may even fare better if you give them the books and save the movies for another time.
Not only was there nothing wrong with these items when they were new, but, today, as classics, they serve to remind us of a simpler time when our minds, bodies, and even spirits would benefit much more than the overpriced, mindless pap that’s permeating the market place today.
My Dad had the right idea. He even got more classic for my gifts. No matter what I asked for I got, but, not literally. He truly encouraged me to be imaginative. If I asked for a truck, he would hand me a stick and say, “Here, here’s your truck. Go play…..and have fun.” I always did.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
No matter what mode of gift you’re shopping for, if you go back in time, at least in your mind, you will find something quite suitable and, even at today’s prices, something affordable. Not to mention, the uniqueness of the gift. How many of today’s kids know what Lincoln Logs were? The commemorative edition, available on line, is just $41.00. Now, when our folks bought them for us, they probably cost about $6.00,, but, given inflation, that was about the equivalent of $41, so the price is almost a moot point. And, the kids can build all sorts of fine little structures. They use their imaginations and learn by doing. You may want to consider the Jumbo Tinker Toys Building Set with 102 pieces for just $35.99. Once again, a great exercise for the mind as opposed to a workout for your thumbs, like most of today’s video games. Who needs thumbs the size of Popeye’s forearms.
Let me throw a few more suggestions at you. Names that should invoke some pretty good images of your childhood. And if you loved them, don’t you think your kids will too? How about Rock’em Sock’em Robots ? This precursor to the video game goes for around $21 and will provide hours of fun for little sluggo to practice his uppercut, via a plastic robot, as he tries to knock the other robot’s block off.
The list goes on and on and on : Slinky, Slinky Dog, Electronic Football, Hula Hoops, Stilts, a Pogo Stick or a Radio Flyer wagon. The only difference, today, is that the wagon has plastic wheels as opposed to the rust prone metal ones. New and improved, with virtually no other changes.
Today’s kids have gotten spoiled and lazy. They expect everything to be delivered to them on a screen with no room to expand their minds and no consideration of price. Have you seen what all the electronics cost?
Maybe your kids like movies. Once again, consider the classics, all of which can be found on e-bay or elsewhere on line. There was nothing wrong with the likes of “The Wizard of Oz,” “Cinderella,” “Peter Pan,” or “Riki Tiki Tava.” Your kids may even fare better if you give them the books and save the movies for another time.
Not only was there nothing wrong with these items when they were new, but, today, as classics, they serve to remind us of a simpler time when our minds, bodies, and even spirits would benefit much more than the overpriced, mindless pap that’s permeating the market place today.
My Dad had the right idea. He even got more classic for my gifts. No matter what I asked for I got, but, not literally. He truly encouraged me to be imaginative. If I asked for a truck, he would hand me a stick and say, “Here, here’s your truck. Go play…..and have fun.” I always did.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Comedy is Serious Business
The history of comedy predates Aristotle who could tell us only that it first took shape in Megaris and Sicyon, whose people were noted for their coarse humor and sense of the ludicrous. By the time Plato came along, comedy was defined as the generic name for all exhibitions which have a tendency to excite laughter. Though its development was mainly due to the political and social conditions of Athens, it finally held up the mirror to all that was characteristic of Athenian life. That is the main function of good comedy. To hold up a mirror to all that’s characteristic of our lives and make us see how inanely funny much of it is. The trouble is that most comics today just aren’t funny.
During the great comic boom of the 80’s, I heard one analyst of the form put it best when he said, “There used to be one comedy club in each major city, and two funny comics. Now there is a comedy club on every corner of every city and town in America. And two funny comics.” That mediocrity sounded the death knell for most of the comedy clubs that sprang up like mushrooms across the land, some of which, today are, and rightfully so, dry cleaners.
There have been a couple of “golden ages” of comedy in America. The first of which began with New York’s Catskill Mountain resorts and a theatrical form known as Vaudeville. Brilliant humor meisters such as George Burns and Gracie Allen, The Marx Brothers, whose uncle ruled the vaudeville roost as half of the comedy duo of Gallagher and Sheen, Fannie Brice and google eyed Eddie Cantor, many of whom translated beautifully to the movie screen which then spawned the likes of Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, Moms Mabley and the boisterous Pigmeat Markham, the originator of “Here come da’ judge.”
Stand up comedy hit it’s stride after vaudeville, during the early years of television. The best of the best were all amazing social commentators like Mort Sahl, Dick Gregory and the truly inspirational Lenny Bruce (from whom my air name Leonard comes). These people held up the same mirror as those in Plato’s time.
Television gave us some of the best comedy ever with such shows as “Hollywood Squares.” When Peter Marshall asked Paul Lynde if female frogs croaked, the response was, “Only if you hold their little heads under water long enough. When asked “Which of your 5 senses tends to diminish with age,” Charlie Weaver answered, “My sense of decency.” Funny people with funny responses.
My question today is, when did comedy cease to be funny ? All of the TV shows that make me laugh theses days are animated and satirical. From South Park to The Simpsons to Family Guy and King of the Hill, they all use humor to make socially relevant points. With the exception of a few very funny satirists of today like Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle, most so-called comedians are just spinning their wheels and, usually at someone elses expense. They are rude, crude, brash and just not funny. Most comedy is self-serving junk that would never cut it in any of the golden era’s. If you want to laugh, you generally have to harken back to older material.
So, the next time someone asks you if you know why Hell’s Angels wear leather, just remember Paul Lynde’s classic response, “because chiffon wrinkles too easily.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
During the great comic boom of the 80’s, I heard one analyst of the form put it best when he said, “There used to be one comedy club in each major city, and two funny comics. Now there is a comedy club on every corner of every city and town in America. And two funny comics.” That mediocrity sounded the death knell for most of the comedy clubs that sprang up like mushrooms across the land, some of which, today are, and rightfully so, dry cleaners.
There have been a couple of “golden ages” of comedy in America. The first of which began with New York’s Catskill Mountain resorts and a theatrical form known as Vaudeville. Brilliant humor meisters such as George Burns and Gracie Allen, The Marx Brothers, whose uncle ruled the vaudeville roost as half of the comedy duo of Gallagher and Sheen, Fannie Brice and google eyed Eddie Cantor, many of whom translated beautifully to the movie screen which then spawned the likes of Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello, Moms Mabley and the boisterous Pigmeat Markham, the originator of “Here come da’ judge.”
Stand up comedy hit it’s stride after vaudeville, during the early years of television. The best of the best were all amazing social commentators like Mort Sahl, Dick Gregory and the truly inspirational Lenny Bruce (from whom my air name Leonard comes). These people held up the same mirror as those in Plato’s time.
Television gave us some of the best comedy ever with such shows as “Hollywood Squares.” When Peter Marshall asked Paul Lynde if female frogs croaked, the response was, “Only if you hold their little heads under water long enough. When asked “Which of your 5 senses tends to diminish with age,” Charlie Weaver answered, “My sense of decency.” Funny people with funny responses.
My question today is, when did comedy cease to be funny ? All of the TV shows that make me laugh theses days are animated and satirical. From South Park to The Simpsons to Family Guy and King of the Hill, they all use humor to make socially relevant points. With the exception of a few very funny satirists of today like Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle, most so-called comedians are just spinning their wheels and, usually at someone elses expense. They are rude, crude, brash and just not funny. Most comedy is self-serving junk that would never cut it in any of the golden era’s. If you want to laugh, you generally have to harken back to older material.
So, the next time someone asks you if you know why Hell’s Angels wear leather, just remember Paul Lynde’s classic response, “because chiffon wrinkles too easily.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Cyber Bullies
I was sort of a skinny, runty little kid. I had my small group of friends, but, being my size, not to mention ethnically different from the other kids in my school, I got picked on and, yes, occasionally bullied. I think Eric E. Rofes put it best in his critical essay Making our Schools Safe for Sissies when he wrote, "When I was a young boy, the bully called me names, stole my bicycle, forced me off the playground. He made fun of me in front of other children, forced me to turn over my lunch money each day, threatened to give me a black eye. At different times I was subject to a wide range of degradation and abuse -- de-pantsing, spit in my face, forced to eat the playground dirt....To this day, their handprints, like a slap on the face, remain stark and defined on my soul." This particular article was addressing growing up gay or lesbian, but anyone who grew up different or just plain small in stature can relate.
I suppose there are any number of reasons we can find to justify the bully’s actions. They feel scared, they were bullied themselves, they have a need to feel power. All very poor reasoning when you are the one being bullied. OK, so the big guy is scared, that’s no reason for him to push, kick and smack me.
Bullies have always been the bane of playgrounds everywhere, but, there was always refuge. You could run home, stay in the classroom in the guise of helping the teacher clean erasers, stay home sick from school or just plain flee into any woods you might find nearby. As a rule, bullies are bigger and, I don’t know about you, but the one thing I was, besides small, was fast. I could make a quick getaway with the best of them.
Here is where the problem arises in today’s world. Bullies can now get their kicks, less literally, yet just as powerfully on the internet. The Internet provides the perfect forum for cyber bullies. These are people whose aim is to get gratification from provoking and tormenting others. The anonymity, ease of provocation, and almost infinite source of targets means the Internet is full of serial bullies targeting ... anybody.
Cyber bullies get a perverse sense of gratification from sending people flame mail and hate mail. Flame mail is an email whose contents are designed to inflame and enrage. Hate mail is just plain hatred including prejudice, racism, sexism or, even skinnyism, in an email.
And, now, to complicate matters even further, we have text messaging. A bully can be relentless with the touch of a few keys. You may never even know who they are.
When my older kids were growing up, it was easier to teach them to deal with bullies. I made sure they knew to walk away from these clowns. Or run or talk their way out of the situation. I also made sure they were well versed enough with a number of self-defense methods that, in the worst case scenario, they could break the guy’s nose and, perhaps, insure that they would, from that moment on, be left alone.
Now, with all of the latest technology, it’s almost back to square one. All the boxing and Tai Kwon Doh in the world is helpless against a text message. I guess rather than teaching my kids how to break someone’s nose, I’ll have to show them how to break their phone.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I suppose there are any number of reasons we can find to justify the bully’s actions. They feel scared, they were bullied themselves, they have a need to feel power. All very poor reasoning when you are the one being bullied. OK, so the big guy is scared, that’s no reason for him to push, kick and smack me.
Bullies have always been the bane of playgrounds everywhere, but, there was always refuge. You could run home, stay in the classroom in the guise of helping the teacher clean erasers, stay home sick from school or just plain flee into any woods you might find nearby. As a rule, bullies are bigger and, I don’t know about you, but the one thing I was, besides small, was fast. I could make a quick getaway with the best of them.
Here is where the problem arises in today’s world. Bullies can now get their kicks, less literally, yet just as powerfully on the internet. The Internet provides the perfect forum for cyber bullies. These are people whose aim is to get gratification from provoking and tormenting others. The anonymity, ease of provocation, and almost infinite source of targets means the Internet is full of serial bullies targeting ... anybody.
Cyber bullies get a perverse sense of gratification from sending people flame mail and hate mail. Flame mail is an email whose contents are designed to inflame and enrage. Hate mail is just plain hatred including prejudice, racism, sexism or, even skinnyism, in an email.
And, now, to complicate matters even further, we have text messaging. A bully can be relentless with the touch of a few keys. You may never even know who they are.
When my older kids were growing up, it was easier to teach them to deal with bullies. I made sure they knew to walk away from these clowns. Or run or talk their way out of the situation. I also made sure they were well versed enough with a number of self-defense methods that, in the worst case scenario, they could break the guy’s nose and, perhaps, insure that they would, from that moment on, be left alone.
Now, with all of the latest technology, it’s almost back to square one. All the boxing and Tai Kwon Doh in the world is helpless against a text message. I guess rather than teaching my kids how to break someone’s nose, I’ll have to show them how to break their phone.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Boxing
As I make a valiant attempt to pay attention to the world around me, I can’t help but notice that it’s Football season. Hey, how ‘bout them (insert your favorite team here). We are about to embark on the yearly snowball’s path from this past weekend’s opening kickoff to the national frenzy surrounding Superbowl Sunday. It’s now the national pasttime. A title it usurped from Baseball somewhere between the Splendid Splinter, Ted Williams and the steroid infested home run derby we have today. I was in Philly when Dick Vermeil guided the Eagles to the Superbowl. I moved to Chicago as ‘Da Bears were perched on the rim of world domination. Ahhhh Sweetness. Walter Payton was as fine a human being as he was a running back. By the time I got to Dallas, the holy triumvirate ruled the gridiron. Troy, Michael & Emmett. I like football. It’s OK.
My favorite sport is Boxing. I’ll take Boxing over` Football any day of the week. I guess it goes back to all the Boxing I watched with my Dad back in the 50’s. Great names still resonate when I think Boxing. Archie Moore, The undefeated Rocky Marciano. And the fighter that I consider to be, pound for pound, the greatest ever; Sugar Ray Robinson.
I kept following the game as I got older. I lost money on the first Cassius Clay/Sonny Liston fight. Some clown in High School was taking Clay and giving odds. Who knew ? I think I lost 6 dollars on that one. By the 70’s I was living in Philadelphia and one of my best friends was the WBC Light Heavyweight Champion of the World. I got the picture of the uppercut that knocked him out at the Meadowlands in his third title defense. With HIS camera. I love Boxing.
Boxing is a wonderful union of mind and body. The mind has to be able to control your strategy as you defend, anticipate your opponents next move, try to hit him and come up with your own next move. The body has to withstand extreme punishment while providing the stamina and power to go from beginning to end.
I’ve taught my girls to Box. My oldest was at a party with her now husband (they were engaged at the time) and her ex kept bothering her. She made a number of attempts at resolving the issue, but he made the mistake of touching her in some way. She broke his nose. Good girl. You’ve learned well.
When I first arrived in Dallas nearly 20 years ago, I was in great shape and was working out at the North Dallas Boxing Gym. One of my workout buddies was another disc jockey from the network where I worked. He was doing Heavy Metal and went by the name Mad Max, but I knew him as Dave, another boxing fan. One day I asked him if he wanted to spar for a couple of rounds. He said sure and we laced up and started to go at it. I threw a right cross. That’s about all I remember……until I found myself being sat up in the corner and hearing a voice ask, “Didn’t you know Dave had 12 professional fights and spars with heavyweights in Forth Worth?” I never got in a ring again. I try not to even get into a shouting match these days. And yet………..I love Boxing.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………………...WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
My favorite sport is Boxing. I’ll take Boxing over` Football any day of the week. I guess it goes back to all the Boxing I watched with my Dad back in the 50’s. Great names still resonate when I think Boxing. Archie Moore, The undefeated Rocky Marciano. And the fighter that I consider to be, pound for pound, the greatest ever; Sugar Ray Robinson.
I kept following the game as I got older. I lost money on the first Cassius Clay/Sonny Liston fight. Some clown in High School was taking Clay and giving odds. Who knew ? I think I lost 6 dollars on that one. By the 70’s I was living in Philadelphia and one of my best friends was the WBC Light Heavyweight Champion of the World. I got the picture of the uppercut that knocked him out at the Meadowlands in his third title defense. With HIS camera. I love Boxing.
Boxing is a wonderful union of mind and body. The mind has to be able to control your strategy as you defend, anticipate your opponents next move, try to hit him and come up with your own next move. The body has to withstand extreme punishment while providing the stamina and power to go from beginning to end.
I’ve taught my girls to Box. My oldest was at a party with her now husband (they were engaged at the time) and her ex kept bothering her. She made a number of attempts at resolving the issue, but he made the mistake of touching her in some way. She broke his nose. Good girl. You’ve learned well.
When I first arrived in Dallas nearly 20 years ago, I was in great shape and was working out at the North Dallas Boxing Gym. One of my workout buddies was another disc jockey from the network where I worked. He was doing Heavy Metal and went by the name Mad Max, but I knew him as Dave, another boxing fan. One day I asked him if he wanted to spar for a couple of rounds. He said sure and we laced up and started to go at it. I threw a right cross. That’s about all I remember……until I found myself being sat up in the corner and hearing a voice ask, “Didn’t you know Dave had 12 professional fights and spars with heavyweights in Forth Worth?” I never got in a ring again. I try not to even get into a shouting match these days. And yet………..I love Boxing.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………………...WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Bang, Bang You're Dead
I wish I had a nickel for every time someone has said, “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” What don’t the speakers of these inanely shallow words get about the fact that those people who kill people usually have to be armed to do so.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not a total gun control freak who wants to pry it out of your cold, dead hands. I truly feel that we have a right to have certain guns for certain reasons. Personally, I won’t have one. I was trained, during the Vietnam war, with an M-16. That training encompassed many aspects of the gun, including it’s purpose under the circumstances. I’ll never forget the drill instructor, with the M-16 in one hand while holding his crotch with the other and reciting this little ditty : “This is my weapon. This is my gun. This one’s for killing. This one’s for fun.” Who knew we’d be studying the arts in boot camp. I guess a little poetry never hurt anyone.
I have shot skeet with a shotgun. It was fun. I have qualified as a sharpshooter with the M-16. I can hit the broad side of a barn at 50 paces or some such thing. I was also taught to kill. We were in a war, it’s a very helpful skill, given the situation. If someone were to threaten my family, I can assure you that it would not bother me in the slightest, if I may paraphrase “Dirty Harry,” to blow their head clean off. That, in itself, I find troubling to the point that I refuse to have a gun in my house.
I also have no issue, whatsoever, with someone who wants to own a couple of shotguns to shoot some skeet or targets or, even a rabbit or deer or two. Especially if you are using the game as a food source. I encourage control of the deer population and feeding one’s family, but when was the last time you needed an AK-47 to take out a bunny ? How powerful a Glock do you need to bring down a quail ?
And, if you plan to throw the old 2nd amendment argument at me, you had better be a militia member with a musket, because that’s who it was
written for.
The Second Amendment, in its entirety, states:
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."
The United States Supreme Court and lower federal courts have consistently interpreted this Amendment only as a prohibition against Federal interference with State militia and not as a guarantee of an individual's right to keep or carry firearms. The argument that the Second Amendment prohibits all State or Federal regulation of citizen's ownership of firearms has no validity whatsoever.
So, get a shotgun, shoot a deer and enjoy some good home cooked venison, but, do you really need another automatic weapon for your kids to get a hold of ? If we want to settle a score, let’s do it the old fashioned way. Fists, sticks, rocks or words. They all hurt. None kill.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Don’t get me wrong. I am not a total gun control freak who wants to pry it out of your cold, dead hands. I truly feel that we have a right to have certain guns for certain reasons. Personally, I won’t have one. I was trained, during the Vietnam war, with an M-16. That training encompassed many aspects of the gun, including it’s purpose under the circumstances. I’ll never forget the drill instructor, with the M-16 in one hand while holding his crotch with the other and reciting this little ditty : “This is my weapon. This is my gun. This one’s for killing. This one’s for fun.” Who knew we’d be studying the arts in boot camp. I guess a little poetry never hurt anyone.
I have shot skeet with a shotgun. It was fun. I have qualified as a sharpshooter with the M-16. I can hit the broad side of a barn at 50 paces or some such thing. I was also taught to kill. We were in a war, it’s a very helpful skill, given the situation. If someone were to threaten my family, I can assure you that it would not bother me in the slightest, if I may paraphrase “Dirty Harry,” to blow their head clean off. That, in itself, I find troubling to the point that I refuse to have a gun in my house.
I also have no issue, whatsoever, with someone who wants to own a couple of shotguns to shoot some skeet or targets or, even a rabbit or deer or two. Especially if you are using the game as a food source. I encourage control of the deer population and feeding one’s family, but when was the last time you needed an AK-47 to take out a bunny ? How powerful a Glock do you need to bring down a quail ?
And, if you plan to throw the old 2nd amendment argument at me, you had better be a militia member with a musket, because that’s who it was
written for.
The Second Amendment, in its entirety, states:
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."
The United States Supreme Court and lower federal courts have consistently interpreted this Amendment only as a prohibition against Federal interference with State militia and not as a guarantee of an individual's right to keep or carry firearms. The argument that the Second Amendment prohibits all State or Federal regulation of citizen's ownership of firearms has no validity whatsoever.
So, get a shotgun, shoot a deer and enjoy some good home cooked venison, but, do you really need another automatic weapon for your kids to get a hold of ? If we want to settle a score, let’s do it the old fashioned way. Fists, sticks, rocks or words. They all hurt. None kill.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…………………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Ashes to Ashes
I’ve been thinking, quite a bit recently, about my own mortality, which makes a bit of sense with all of the 9/11 commemorations of this past weekend. It’s a natural segue. But, 9/11 wasn’t really the impetus for this train of thought. My last birthday was. I find my self reading the obituaries more than ever and recognizing names. In fact, it has become a daily ritual to read the obits and see if my name is there. If it’s not, it’s gonna be a good day.
So, I began to wonder how to marry this new obsession with my love for my planet. I’m turning off lights, driving a smaller car, trying to cultivate naturally and all of the other measures I can take to conserve and insure a safe future for my kids and grandkids and beyond, so why not consider measures for when I’m gone. I began to research ecologically safe methods for burial and actually found a company that makes this promise : "The method is based upon preserving the body in a biological form after death, while avoiding harmful embalming fluid. Then it can be returned to the ecological cycle in a dignified manner as a valuable contribution to the living earth." Well, that’s not really an alternative. After all, burials in America alone deposit 827,060 gallons of embalming fluids - formaldehyde, methanol and ethanol - into the soil each year. Well, I had thought that I wanted to cremated anyway. Spread my ashes during a saxophone solo at a jazz festival. Then I read that cremation dumps dioxins, hydrochloric acid, sulfur dioxide and carbon dioxide into the air. Uh oh…..there goes that plan. What’s a dead to person to do?
I read that during a railway expansion in Egypt in the 19th century, construction companies dug up so many mummies that they used them as fuel. Ok, that solves a multitude of problems from ecological concerns to overcrowding in the ground to fuel shortages. But, here’s the problem : the founder of the scientific method to do this, died of pneumonia after stuffing a chicken with snow to see if cold would preserve it. I didn’t.
It is estimated that 100 billion people have died since humans began. In the beginning, there was no formaldehyde, there were no wooden coffins, no artificial methods to keep bodies in tact. They would dig a hole, toss the guy in and natural decomposition would take place. Ashes to ashes…..dust to dust. It was at this point that I came to the realization that I was just spinning my wheels and giving myself a headache thinking about this stuff. It all became crystal clear. Stop thinking about death and get back to the task at hand. Enjoying life.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL. WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
So, I began to wonder how to marry this new obsession with my love for my planet. I’m turning off lights, driving a smaller car, trying to cultivate naturally and all of the other measures I can take to conserve and insure a safe future for my kids and grandkids and beyond, so why not consider measures for when I’m gone. I began to research ecologically safe methods for burial and actually found a company that makes this promise : "The method is based upon preserving the body in a biological form after death, while avoiding harmful embalming fluid. Then it can be returned to the ecological cycle in a dignified manner as a valuable contribution to the living earth." Well, that’s not really an alternative. After all, burials in America alone deposit 827,060 gallons of embalming fluids - formaldehyde, methanol and ethanol - into the soil each year. Well, I had thought that I wanted to cremated anyway. Spread my ashes during a saxophone solo at a jazz festival. Then I read that cremation dumps dioxins, hydrochloric acid, sulfur dioxide and carbon dioxide into the air. Uh oh…..there goes that plan. What’s a dead to person to do?
I read that during a railway expansion in Egypt in the 19th century, construction companies dug up so many mummies that they used them as fuel. Ok, that solves a multitude of problems from ecological concerns to overcrowding in the ground to fuel shortages. But, here’s the problem : the founder of the scientific method to do this, died of pneumonia after stuffing a chicken with snow to see if cold would preserve it. I didn’t.
It is estimated that 100 billion people have died since humans began. In the beginning, there was no formaldehyde, there were no wooden coffins, no artificial methods to keep bodies in tact. They would dig a hole, toss the guy in and natural decomposition would take place. Ashes to ashes…..dust to dust. It was at this point that I came to the realization that I was just spinning my wheels and giving myself a headache thinking about this stuff. It all became crystal clear. Stop thinking about death and get back to the task at hand. Enjoying life.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL. WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
A Friend Indeed
There is a word in the English language that is bandied about too freely. A word about which we have become too casual. That word is : friend. We consider casual acquaintances to be friends and, believe me, I’m just as guilty of this offense as anyone I know….any of my “friends” as it were.
“Oh yeah, he’s an old friend,” we might throw out about someone we’ve only met once or twice in passing to, perhaps, impress someone with the fact that we’ve even met them. We are very liberal with the word’s usage.
Let’s briefly examine the true meaning of the word. If we look at it literally, we will find that a friend and a lover the same thing. For instance, the Latin word for friend, amicus clearly reflects amare, to love, just as the Ancient Greek words philos and philein do .
Friendship is considered one of the central human experiences, and has been sanctified by all major religions. The Greco-Romans had, as a paramount example, the friendship of Orestes and Pylades. The Abrahamic faiths have the story of David and Jonathan. The Christian Gospels state that Jesus Christ declared, "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends."
True friendship involves quite a bit more than just being acquainted. Value that is found in friendships is often the result of a friend demonstrating a number of qualities on a consistent basis: the tendency to desire what is best for each other, sympathy and empathy, honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth (who else will tell you when your fly is down or that there’s spinach in your teeth) and mutual understanding.
A person who is dependable in good times, but not in times of trouble is known as a “fair-weather friend.” They cannot be depended on and are not really our friends.
I know you’re probably wondering just what prompted these musings on the meaning of the word “friend.” Well, it was an e-mail I got from, of all people, a friend. It went something like this:
Here is a series of promises that actually speak of true friendship. You will see no cutesy little smiley faces on these, just the stone cold truth of great friendship:
1. When you are sad ...I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry clown who made you sad.
2. When you are blue ...I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
3. When you smile ...I will know you probably got lucky last night.
4. When you are scared ...I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
5. When you are worried ...I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining.
6. When you are confused ...I will use little words.
7. When you are sick ...Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.
8. When you fall ...I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath; I pledge it to the end. "Why?" you may ask; "because you are my friend."
And always remember: when life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and give me a call.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
“Oh yeah, he’s an old friend,” we might throw out about someone we’ve only met once or twice in passing to, perhaps, impress someone with the fact that we’ve even met them. We are very liberal with the word’s usage.
Let’s briefly examine the true meaning of the word. If we look at it literally, we will find that a friend and a lover the same thing. For instance, the Latin word for friend, amicus clearly reflects amare, to love, just as the Ancient Greek words philos and philein do .
Friendship is considered one of the central human experiences, and has been sanctified by all major religions. The Greco-Romans had, as a paramount example, the friendship of Orestes and Pylades. The Abrahamic faiths have the story of David and Jonathan. The Christian Gospels state that Jesus Christ declared, "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends."
True friendship involves quite a bit more than just being acquainted. Value that is found in friendships is often the result of a friend demonstrating a number of qualities on a consistent basis: the tendency to desire what is best for each other, sympathy and empathy, honesty, perhaps in situations where it may be difficult for others to speak the truth (who else will tell you when your fly is down or that there’s spinach in your teeth) and mutual understanding.
A person who is dependable in good times, but not in times of trouble is known as a “fair-weather friend.” They cannot be depended on and are not really our friends.
I know you’re probably wondering just what prompted these musings on the meaning of the word “friend.” Well, it was an e-mail I got from, of all people, a friend. It went something like this:
Here is a series of promises that actually speak of true friendship. You will see no cutesy little smiley faces on these, just the stone cold truth of great friendship:
1. When you are sad ...I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry clown who made you sad.
2. When you are blue ...I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
3. When you smile ...I will know you probably got lucky last night.
4. When you are scared ...I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
5. When you are worried ...I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be until you quit whining.
6. When you are confused ...I will use little words.
7. When you are sick ...Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.
8. When you fall ...I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.
This is my oath; I pledge it to the end. "Why?" you may ask; "because you are my friend."
And always remember: when life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and give me a call.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
A Newbie No More
The last time I wrote about Facebook, I was in awe of its possibilities, but was still googling myself and checking e-mail. The prowess was still in its early stages of formation. I had figured out how to log in and put up a picture, but, spending time with anything makes one an expert of sorts.
The inroads that I have made with this little networking wonder have been very satisfying, indeed. I have found friends that I haven’t even thought of for what seems to be a lifetime….oh, wait…it is.
I found Art and Mike and another Art, who attended the Berklee School of Music in Boston. He was a brilliant organist. We were all kids growing up together in Manchester, Ct. These connections brought back wonderful memories of riding our bikes on what we called “The Rollercoaster,” a winding path through the woods to the soda shop where we knew how to get the ball stuck ion the pinball machine and rack up the points and, consequently, free games. The “Setback” tournaments at the picnic table at Bowers School and the endless games of baseball. My back hurts just from the memories of bending down to field a grounder.
I found friends from the boarding school I was sent to in my sophomore year of high school, including my roommate Dave, who reminded me of how we would climb down the wall of the old Victorian building in Bristol, Ct. late at night, after lights out, to get donuts for our all night card games in the closet that would inevitably be raided by Mr. Costello, who would just, sort of, show up. We would never even hear the door. He was spooky and we were busted….every time.
I found cousins that I haven’t heard from or seen in forever. Robin, Wendy, Vikki, Jorma, Peter, Eric and Marc are all on facebook. So are Marlynn and Rene, the daughters of my Mom’s best friend who died way too young. The girls are like sisters. My brother Jon, much to his chagrin, is on facebook, even though he doesn’t know who set up his page and is reminding me of my days as a “newbie, as is his son Ben, who has now reconnected with my daughters Becky and Elise, his cousins, none of whom have seen each other in at least 6 years. My daughter Nikki is there too and I can keep with her quest to become a doctor, which ends in March. I am watching my granddaughters, Madison and Ava, grow up via facebook even though they are in Orlando and I am in Dallas.
I have been able to set up a group for my son, who made a horrible mistake and has now dedicated himself to preventing others from doing the same. This is probably the most rewarding aspect of all.
I have been networking with friends in the industry who, I ‘m sure, had forgotten that I even existed until now. We share stories, good and bad, but that’s just a part of it. I have been able to hook up friends who have lost their jobs with other friends who could, quite possibly, help them find new ones.
People I haven’t seen in forever say things like, “You look exactly the same,” gingerly leaving out the “just older and grayer” part. They do too.
Yes, facebook is a wonderful networking tool, social and otherwise, and I am finally feeling somewhat capable in this age of technology. Now, if I can only learn how to use my cell phone to do anything other than flipping it open to say “Hello.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
The inroads that I have made with this little networking wonder have been very satisfying, indeed. I have found friends that I haven’t even thought of for what seems to be a lifetime….oh, wait…it is.
I found Art and Mike and another Art, who attended the Berklee School of Music in Boston. He was a brilliant organist. We were all kids growing up together in Manchester, Ct. These connections brought back wonderful memories of riding our bikes on what we called “The Rollercoaster,” a winding path through the woods to the soda shop where we knew how to get the ball stuck ion the pinball machine and rack up the points and, consequently, free games. The “Setback” tournaments at the picnic table at Bowers School and the endless games of baseball. My back hurts just from the memories of bending down to field a grounder.
I found friends from the boarding school I was sent to in my sophomore year of high school, including my roommate Dave, who reminded me of how we would climb down the wall of the old Victorian building in Bristol, Ct. late at night, after lights out, to get donuts for our all night card games in the closet that would inevitably be raided by Mr. Costello, who would just, sort of, show up. We would never even hear the door. He was spooky and we were busted….every time.
I found cousins that I haven’t heard from or seen in forever. Robin, Wendy, Vikki, Jorma, Peter, Eric and Marc are all on facebook. So are Marlynn and Rene, the daughters of my Mom’s best friend who died way too young. The girls are like sisters. My brother Jon, much to his chagrin, is on facebook, even though he doesn’t know who set up his page and is reminding me of my days as a “newbie, as is his son Ben, who has now reconnected with my daughters Becky and Elise, his cousins, none of whom have seen each other in at least 6 years. My daughter Nikki is there too and I can keep with her quest to become a doctor, which ends in March. I am watching my granddaughters, Madison and Ava, grow up via facebook even though they are in Orlando and I am in Dallas.
I have been able to set up a group for my son, who made a horrible mistake and has now dedicated himself to preventing others from doing the same. This is probably the most rewarding aspect of all.
I have been networking with friends in the industry who, I ‘m sure, had forgotten that I even existed until now. We share stories, good and bad, but that’s just a part of it. I have been able to hook up friends who have lost their jobs with other friends who could, quite possibly, help them find new ones.
People I haven’t seen in forever say things like, “You look exactly the same,” gingerly leaving out the “just older and grayer” part. They do too.
Yes, facebook is a wonderful networking tool, social and otherwise, and I am finally feeling somewhat capable in this age of technology. Now, if I can only learn how to use my cell phone to do anything other than flipping it open to say “Hello.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Woodstock at 40
Old Max Yasgur had a farm
e-i-e-i-o
and on this farm he had a festival
e-i-e-i-o
Max’s farm was actually in Bethel, New York, a rural town, about 43 miles southwest of Woodstock. And yet, we are about to commemorate a very significant 40th anniversary. TheWoodstock Art and Music Fair. That was the original name and concept.
Organizers figured they could convince a few bands to play, there would be arts and crafts, some food booths and maybe, just maybe, they could get some people to come and enjoy the weekend on the fields of Max Yasgur’s dairy farm, but they surely couldn’t fill the 600 acres at their disposal. Actually, the original venue was a 300 acre farm in Middletown, N.Y. where the organizers promised there would be no more than 50,000 people coming. The town was zoned for 5,000 at one time and they weren’t going to have a special vote to patronize a group of Hippies….. bunch of long haired leaping gnomes. They then met with Yasgur, who gave the go ahead, but the townfolk were having none of it. They organized a campaign to boycott any milk that came from his farm. The permits were issued anyway….and, all hell broke loose.
Once word got out, people began steaming in by the thousands. Soon radio and television, who had been announcing the festival began trying to discourage people from going. The roads were becoming jammed and impassible. To add to the problems and difficulty in dealing with the large crowds, recent rains had caused muddy roads and fields. Finally, at about the half million mark, an announcement was made from the stage, perhaps by Wavy Gravy, the clown prince of rock & roll, that said, :”This has now become a free concert.” It was a free-for-all with some great rock & roll that worked.
I have quite a few friends who attended Woodstock and I have a cousin who played there. I had to miss it. I was half way around the world slogging through some different mud, yet, there are some basic similarities. At Woodstock, large groups of young people were together in the mud and the rain, there was the smell of marijuana wafting through the air and some great music providing the soundtrack. In Vietnam, groups of young people were together in the mud and the rain, there was the smell of marijuana wafting through the air and some great music providing the soundtrack. OK, so they were getting the music live and we were encouraged to keep our heads down because we were getting shot at…..technicalities.
This was a time in our history that defied definition as to who we were as a nation. It was a transitional period from where we had been to where we were going and who we were about to become. We, the then youth and future of America, were trying to find ourselves morally ethically and otherwise. We didn’t buy what was being sold and we weren’t about to travel the same roads. Our roads took us to Bethel, N.Y. to hear Joe Cocker sing “I get high with a little help from my friends” or to places named Hue, Da Nag , Bien Hoa and Saigon, where we got high and stayed alive with a little help from our friends.
Whether we became better off as a nation because the era or, in spite of it, remains to be seen.
A short time later, the Vietnam war ended, we came home and the Vietnamese were left to clean up the country. I’ve always wondered….who had to clean up Max Yasgur’s farm?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
e-i-e-i-o
and on this farm he had a festival
e-i-e-i-o
Max’s farm was actually in Bethel, New York, a rural town, about 43 miles southwest of Woodstock. And yet, we are about to commemorate a very significant 40th anniversary. TheWoodstock Art and Music Fair. That was the original name and concept.
Organizers figured they could convince a few bands to play, there would be arts and crafts, some food booths and maybe, just maybe, they could get some people to come and enjoy the weekend on the fields of Max Yasgur’s dairy farm, but they surely couldn’t fill the 600 acres at their disposal. Actually, the original venue was a 300 acre farm in Middletown, N.Y. where the organizers promised there would be no more than 50,000 people coming. The town was zoned for 5,000 at one time and they weren’t going to have a special vote to patronize a group of Hippies….. bunch of long haired leaping gnomes. They then met with Yasgur, who gave the go ahead, but the townfolk were having none of it. They organized a campaign to boycott any milk that came from his farm. The permits were issued anyway….and, all hell broke loose.
Once word got out, people began steaming in by the thousands. Soon radio and television, who had been announcing the festival began trying to discourage people from going. The roads were becoming jammed and impassible. To add to the problems and difficulty in dealing with the large crowds, recent rains had caused muddy roads and fields. Finally, at about the half million mark, an announcement was made from the stage, perhaps by Wavy Gravy, the clown prince of rock & roll, that said, :”This has now become a free concert.” It was a free-for-all with some great rock & roll that worked.
I have quite a few friends who attended Woodstock and I have a cousin who played there. I had to miss it. I was half way around the world slogging through some different mud, yet, there are some basic similarities. At Woodstock, large groups of young people were together in the mud and the rain, there was the smell of marijuana wafting through the air and some great music providing the soundtrack. In Vietnam, groups of young people were together in the mud and the rain, there was the smell of marijuana wafting through the air and some great music providing the soundtrack. OK, so they were getting the music live and we were encouraged to keep our heads down because we were getting shot at…..technicalities.
This was a time in our history that defied definition as to who we were as a nation. It was a transitional period from where we had been to where we were going and who we were about to become. We, the then youth and future of America, were trying to find ourselves morally ethically and otherwise. We didn’t buy what was being sold and we weren’t about to travel the same roads. Our roads took us to Bethel, N.Y. to hear Joe Cocker sing “I get high with a little help from my friends” or to places named Hue, Da Nag , Bien Hoa and Saigon, where we got high and stayed alive with a little help from our friends.
Whether we became better off as a nation because the era or, in spite of it, remains to be seen.
A short time later, the Vietnam war ended, we came home and the Vietnamese were left to clean up the country. I’ve always wondered….who had to clean up Max Yasgur’s farm?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
By Request
Having spent a good portion of the weekend suffering from a massive case of writers block, I decided that the best way to come up with a topic to write about would be to take a trip to facebook to talk to my friends about the problem. I would ask them for suggestions and, as I did for more than 4 decades as a morning show host in music radio, I would take requests. That being said, this weeks blog is an all request commentary made up entirely of topics provided by you, my facebook friends. And I thank you profusely for, at least doing some of my work for me. With that in mind, let’s take a look at the top 5 suggestions.
#5. Ken says the topic should be the upcoming switch to digital tv.
This seems to be a natural progression for our time and place in history and technology. If you are still watching a tv with rabbit ears in 2009, you probably wouldn’t be watching tv. You’d be too busy mowing your lawn with one of those old push mowers while your laundry is drying on the clothes line. Besides, if you don’t convert your tv to digital, it will automatically become a radio that gets no stations. Kind of like the days of push lawn mowers and clothes lines.
Everything is digital. Even “I Love Lucy” is broadcast digitally.
#4. Vicki wanted to talk about the job situation. Here is a professional woman who had been laid off after many years and was now in a job interview with hundreds of others for a part-time clerical job. She was one of nine chosen to face the inquisition. Not being prepared for this intense grilling, she didn’t get the job. I understand, when they whittled it down to the final three, they checked their teeth too. Gotta make sure a good work horse is healthy. Having been in that situation myself, I can attest to the fact that it can make one feel like an analog tv in a digital world.
#3. Wendy brought up the inequity in our society when comes to pay. She brought up actors and supermodels making literal fortunes for each job while caregivers are struggling to pay their bills. She specifically mentioned nurses and psychologists. My gripe has always been with the multi-millions paid to some clown who takes too many steroids so he can hit a baseball a mile and a half while the teacher who made sure his butt got through school with passing grades can’t afford a ticket to the ballgame to watch him hit that mile and a half home run. Something is wrong with that picture.
#2. Teresa was looking for helpful hints for raising teenagers. Well, having raised 4 through their teenage years and currently dealing with a 14 year old in the house, I can truthfully say…..there aren’t any. Get used to watching your hair turn grey, your blood pressure go up and I won’t even go into the stomach aches. The best piece of advice I can give at this point, hold your breath until it’s over. You’ve only got one kid and you can’t have THAT many years left. How bad can it be?
#1. This came from Chris, whose suggestion was to write about the spin cycle on the washing machine. Honestly, I have no opinion about that. It’s not anything that I feel I could know well enough without going through the wash and rinse cycles first, and, the last time I tried that, I broke the washing machine. Besides, I have a clothes line.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YOU
#5. Ken says the topic should be the upcoming switch to digital tv.
This seems to be a natural progression for our time and place in history and technology. If you are still watching a tv with rabbit ears in 2009, you probably wouldn’t be watching tv. You’d be too busy mowing your lawn with one of those old push mowers while your laundry is drying on the clothes line. Besides, if you don’t convert your tv to digital, it will automatically become a radio that gets no stations. Kind of like the days of push lawn mowers and clothes lines.
Everything is digital. Even “I Love Lucy” is broadcast digitally.
#4. Vicki wanted to talk about the job situation. Here is a professional woman who had been laid off after many years and was now in a job interview with hundreds of others for a part-time clerical job. She was one of nine chosen to face the inquisition. Not being prepared for this intense grilling, she didn’t get the job. I understand, when they whittled it down to the final three, they checked their teeth too. Gotta make sure a good work horse is healthy. Having been in that situation myself, I can attest to the fact that it can make one feel like an analog tv in a digital world.
#3. Wendy brought up the inequity in our society when comes to pay. She brought up actors and supermodels making literal fortunes for each job while caregivers are struggling to pay their bills. She specifically mentioned nurses and psychologists. My gripe has always been with the multi-millions paid to some clown who takes too many steroids so he can hit a baseball a mile and a half while the teacher who made sure his butt got through school with passing grades can’t afford a ticket to the ballgame to watch him hit that mile and a half home run. Something is wrong with that picture.
#2. Teresa was looking for helpful hints for raising teenagers. Well, having raised 4 through their teenage years and currently dealing with a 14 year old in the house, I can truthfully say…..there aren’t any. Get used to watching your hair turn grey, your blood pressure go up and I won’t even go into the stomach aches. The best piece of advice I can give at this point, hold your breath until it’s over. You’ve only got one kid and you can’t have THAT many years left. How bad can it be?
#1. This came from Chris, whose suggestion was to write about the spin cycle on the washing machine. Honestly, I have no opinion about that. It’s not anything that I feel I could know well enough without going through the wash and rinse cycles first, and, the last time I tried that, I broke the washing machine. Besides, I have a clothes line.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL………………………….WHAT CAN I TELL YOU
Techno Pop
Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and slower that I can’t keep up with technology. I just can’t bob and weave like I used to. Or, maybe it’s the technology that’s moving too fast, even if I were younger and quicker. Whatever it is, I’m getting tired.
We didn’t even have a TV when I was young. It was a new medium and most people were content to get their news and entertainment from the radio, which generally monopolized a corner of the room.. When we wanted to communicate, we used the big, heavy, black telephone on the table, assuming our neighbor wasn’t already on the “party line” or, we wrote a letter. When we finally got a TV, we were astounded by the little black and white picture emanating from that thirteen inch screen. It was the wonder of the ages. But, it wasn’t enough. We wanted our in-home pictures to be bigger and in color. Technology helped.
Is it our dissatisfaction with whatever it is we have that causes this incurable need to make it better, faster, stronger? Or could it be the nature of the technology that has trouble keeping up with itself that necessitates innovations around every single corner, just to keep up? I don’t know. I’m too slow.
My 14 year old asked, last weekend, if she could get an “ap” for her ipod touch, which prompted my best Scooby-Doo impression: “Huh?”
I understand the need to keep up in today’s world. If you want to compete you have to be in the technological loop. I have done my best, but it seems that every time I feel a sense of pride because I’ve learned something new, it gets shot down by that sinking sense of drowning is a sea of “what the hell is that and how is it going to make my life easier?”
I remember writing a joke to use on my morning show when I first got to Dallas. It went something like this: “Technology is just moving too fast for me. This morning I passed a guy in a BMW and he faxed me the finger.” It worked for a minute. The other day someone sent me a “tweet” that said, “What’s a fax?”
To which I replied on Facebook, “What’s a tweet?” Make our life easier?
While everyone else is using a device to make phone calls, facebook, twitter, surf take and send pictures, download, upload and sideload (that one I made up), I’m still walking around with a little holster on my belt to carry a cell phone. Yes, I said it…..a cell phone. I use it to make phone calls and, occasionally, to text. I’ve just about got the hang of it, but, honestly, to walk around with all of the latest technology dripping from my outer being would make me feel like those old guys who try to look young. Trust me there is nothing that looks dumber than a guy my age with his pants sagging around his knees, although, that style looks ridiculous to me no matter who is doing it. Do kids still do that? See….I can’t keep up. And…no-one asked for my opinion.
This technological age is amazing. My grandfather, in his life time, went from horse and buggy to watching man step foot on the moon. In my lifetime, I have gone from watching TV on the radio to tweeting on Twitter and talking to people via “Skype,” to which I once again invoke that great American cartoon dog who so appropriately said: “Huh?”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
We didn’t even have a TV when I was young. It was a new medium and most people were content to get their news and entertainment from the radio, which generally monopolized a corner of the room.. When we wanted to communicate, we used the big, heavy, black telephone on the table, assuming our neighbor wasn’t already on the “party line” or, we wrote a letter. When we finally got a TV, we were astounded by the little black and white picture emanating from that thirteen inch screen. It was the wonder of the ages. But, it wasn’t enough. We wanted our in-home pictures to be bigger and in color. Technology helped.
Is it our dissatisfaction with whatever it is we have that causes this incurable need to make it better, faster, stronger? Or could it be the nature of the technology that has trouble keeping up with itself that necessitates innovations around every single corner, just to keep up? I don’t know. I’m too slow.
My 14 year old asked, last weekend, if she could get an “ap” for her ipod touch, which prompted my best Scooby-Doo impression: “Huh?”
I understand the need to keep up in today’s world. If you want to compete you have to be in the technological loop. I have done my best, but it seems that every time I feel a sense of pride because I’ve learned something new, it gets shot down by that sinking sense of drowning is a sea of “what the hell is that and how is it going to make my life easier?”
I remember writing a joke to use on my morning show when I first got to Dallas. It went something like this: “Technology is just moving too fast for me. This morning I passed a guy in a BMW and he faxed me the finger.” It worked for a minute. The other day someone sent me a “tweet” that said, “What’s a fax?”
To which I replied on Facebook, “What’s a tweet?” Make our life easier?
While everyone else is using a device to make phone calls, facebook, twitter, surf take and send pictures, download, upload and sideload (that one I made up), I’m still walking around with a little holster on my belt to carry a cell phone. Yes, I said it…..a cell phone. I use it to make phone calls and, occasionally, to text. I’ve just about got the hang of it, but, honestly, to walk around with all of the latest technology dripping from my outer being would make me feel like those old guys who try to look young. Trust me there is nothing that looks dumber than a guy my age with his pants sagging around his knees, although, that style looks ridiculous to me no matter who is doing it. Do kids still do that? See….I can’t keep up. And…no-one asked for my opinion.
This technological age is amazing. My grandfather, in his life time, went from horse and buggy to watching man step foot on the moon. In my lifetime, I have gone from watching TV on the radio to tweeting on Twitter and talking to people via “Skype,” to which I once again invoke that great American cartoon dog who so appropriately said: “Huh?”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Travel
It’s summertime when families pack up and take to the air, the roads, the rails and the high seas for vacations. Travel time.
In 1968, about a lifetime and a half ago, a rock & roll band by the name of Steppenwolf recorded a song called “Born to Be Wild” that said:
Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
That was all well and good in 1968 when longhaired hippies would hop on a chopper and just go… or step out onto the pavement with a thumb in the air and not a care in the world. Have you tried traveling today? I’m sure you have and I would venture to say that the incredible hassles of getting from point A. to point B. haven’t been lost on you.
Last week my 14 year old daughter was about to get on a plane from Dallas to Denver to visit family. My wife accompanied her to the airport with the intention of walking her to the gate and waiting until she got on the plane, since the child had never traveled alone before. She waited in a very long line only to get to the ticket counter where she was informed that there would be a $100 fee to walk to the gate. Huh? Suddenly there was a fee because my daughter wasn’t 15 and this particular airline had a new policy about kids traveling unaccompanied under the age of 15. Yes, it was one of the new “surprise” fees that they suddenly smack you in the face with when you aren’t looking. To make a long story a little less long, a few tears and a chat with a supervisor later and the fee was waived, but not before the agent, twirling his little moustache ala Snidely Whiplash with a sinister little giggle, made sure to note that my daughter was only 14 so that my sister-in-law would be forced to pay the fee on the other end. Needless to say, my daughter turned 15 during the walk from the counter to the gate. I have a feeling that had she already been 15, the ticket agent would have found a fee for anyone under 16.
Short trips are no less of a hassle. My daily commute from my house to my job is a good 30 to 40 minutes of driving, most of it on the President George Bush Turnpike, the road that has made it possible for me to afford to come to work by cutting out about another 30 minutes of travel and gas usage. It has really simplified things for a lot of North Texans. Even so, the road most traveled on a daily basis is also fraught with issues. Most of those issues are, of course, caused by other drivers. Like the car that was riding my tail doing about 90 mph (I know it had to be that fast because I was doing about 80) until I could change lanes and glance over only to catch a glimpse of a young girl texting while she was speeding. Hopefully she was either contacting a lawyer to take care of the impending ticket or a wrecker to get her out of the ditch she was about to drive into.
Too bad life isn’t like the Travel Channel where you can do all the good stuff here and then do more good stuff there and then head back for more good stuff here and edit out all of the schlepping and pushing and shoving and all the rest. I have a vision, each day, that I get out of bed in the morning, go into the bathroom and when I come out….I’m at work. Then I put my glasses back on, take a deep breath and get in the car.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
In 1968, about a lifetime and a half ago, a rock & roll band by the name of Steppenwolf recorded a song called “Born to Be Wild” that said:
Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way
That was all well and good in 1968 when longhaired hippies would hop on a chopper and just go… or step out onto the pavement with a thumb in the air and not a care in the world. Have you tried traveling today? I’m sure you have and I would venture to say that the incredible hassles of getting from point A. to point B. haven’t been lost on you.
Last week my 14 year old daughter was about to get on a plane from Dallas to Denver to visit family. My wife accompanied her to the airport with the intention of walking her to the gate and waiting until she got on the plane, since the child had never traveled alone before. She waited in a very long line only to get to the ticket counter where she was informed that there would be a $100 fee to walk to the gate. Huh? Suddenly there was a fee because my daughter wasn’t 15 and this particular airline had a new policy about kids traveling unaccompanied under the age of 15. Yes, it was one of the new “surprise” fees that they suddenly smack you in the face with when you aren’t looking. To make a long story a little less long, a few tears and a chat with a supervisor later and the fee was waived, but not before the agent, twirling his little moustache ala Snidely Whiplash with a sinister little giggle, made sure to note that my daughter was only 14 so that my sister-in-law would be forced to pay the fee on the other end. Needless to say, my daughter turned 15 during the walk from the counter to the gate. I have a feeling that had she already been 15, the ticket agent would have found a fee for anyone under 16.
Short trips are no less of a hassle. My daily commute from my house to my job is a good 30 to 40 minutes of driving, most of it on the President George Bush Turnpike, the road that has made it possible for me to afford to come to work by cutting out about another 30 minutes of travel and gas usage. It has really simplified things for a lot of North Texans. Even so, the road most traveled on a daily basis is also fraught with issues. Most of those issues are, of course, caused by other drivers. Like the car that was riding my tail doing about 90 mph (I know it had to be that fast because I was doing about 80) until I could change lanes and glance over only to catch a glimpse of a young girl texting while she was speeding. Hopefully she was either contacting a lawyer to take care of the impending ticket or a wrecker to get her out of the ditch she was about to drive into.
Too bad life isn’t like the Travel Channel where you can do all the good stuff here and then do more good stuff there and then head back for more good stuff here and edit out all of the schlepping and pushing and shoving and all the rest. I have a vision, each day, that I get out of bed in the morning, go into the bathroom and when I come out….I’m at work. Then I put my glasses back on, take a deep breath and get in the car.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Yummy
Talk about disappointment. I woke up with my heart set on a good breakfast. In my mind, I could visualize the eggs. Over- well……whites done, yolks runny. On the side, some crispy bacon, perhaps a generous serving of corned beef hash, smothered in ketchup, with home fries and rye toast, slathered with cream cheese and a nice big glass of tomato juice to wash it all down. That’s what I had in mind….and, all I got was this lousy smoothie, which. I’m reminded, is loaded with wheat germ. I don’t want to eat germs…..I want to eat eggs and bacon.
I’ve gotten used to quite a bit of loss in my culinary life. There was a time when a visit to a different ethnic restaurant a day was “how I rolled.” There was nothing I wouldn’t try, much to my chagrin on some days and my delight on others. Then, I was diagnosed with Diabetes, the scourge of the rich food world. My wife and I became proactive and began subtracting elements of our diet because, as the bumper sticker I wrote clearly proclaims…”If you eat like a diabetic, you will never become one.” Since I already was one, we started to color code our food. Essentially, if it is white, we don’t eat it, White, pasta, white potatoes, white sugar, white flour…all verboten. They are bad carbs that process too quickly and turn to sugar in your body and make you sick. It’s a bit of a drag, but, you learn to live with….nay, enjoy it. After a while you can start to taste the little bits of chocolate in the chocolate flavored rice cakes and even the stuff that gives you the impression that you’ve just eaten a cardboard box begins tasting less like the box and more like what may have been inside. You look forward to that subtle little hint of taste and it becomes a game. Identify the taste and win a kewpie doll. What a great carnival game.
This doesn’t mean that we have completely turned our back on all things tasty. Especially on holidays that fall on weekends. Because we believe that anything is OK in moderation, we tend to cut loose a bit (at least for us) on those occasions. The 4th of July weekend was a real treat. We had some people drop by so I was assured that what went on the grill would not only be edible but somewhat tasty as well. There would be a modicum of fat in the meat and maybe even a real potato in the potato salad. Suddenly, all begins to feel normal again, but then the weekend is over I am informed that since it is summer, we have to watch our weight and the first thing I am handed when I get up is the smoothie filled with wheat germ. Don’t you just love it when “we” have to lose weight so that “we” can fit into those shorts and bathing suits? When did fitting into clothing become a team sport?
The way we have been eating and, apparently will continue to eat controls the diabetes and is good for my heart. When my wife told me that I was having pizza for lunch, I got excited, until I saw the pizza. It’s made with whole wheat pita bread on top of which we find spinach and artichokes and a little feta cheese. Nowhere is there a glimpse of the sugary goodness of a well crafted tomato sauce or the gooey wonder of at least four different melted cheeses (although, a nice hunk o’ mozzarella would suffice). I know this may be asking a lot…..but, do you think someone could, maybe, slip me a pepperoni?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I’ve gotten used to quite a bit of loss in my culinary life. There was a time when a visit to a different ethnic restaurant a day was “how I rolled.” There was nothing I wouldn’t try, much to my chagrin on some days and my delight on others. Then, I was diagnosed with Diabetes, the scourge of the rich food world. My wife and I became proactive and began subtracting elements of our diet because, as the bumper sticker I wrote clearly proclaims…”If you eat like a diabetic, you will never become one.” Since I already was one, we started to color code our food. Essentially, if it is white, we don’t eat it, White, pasta, white potatoes, white sugar, white flour…all verboten. They are bad carbs that process too quickly and turn to sugar in your body and make you sick. It’s a bit of a drag, but, you learn to live with….nay, enjoy it. After a while you can start to taste the little bits of chocolate in the chocolate flavored rice cakes and even the stuff that gives you the impression that you’ve just eaten a cardboard box begins tasting less like the box and more like what may have been inside. You look forward to that subtle little hint of taste and it becomes a game. Identify the taste and win a kewpie doll. What a great carnival game.
This doesn’t mean that we have completely turned our back on all things tasty. Especially on holidays that fall on weekends. Because we believe that anything is OK in moderation, we tend to cut loose a bit (at least for us) on those occasions. The 4th of July weekend was a real treat. We had some people drop by so I was assured that what went on the grill would not only be edible but somewhat tasty as well. There would be a modicum of fat in the meat and maybe even a real potato in the potato salad. Suddenly, all begins to feel normal again, but then the weekend is over I am informed that since it is summer, we have to watch our weight and the first thing I am handed when I get up is the smoothie filled with wheat germ. Don’t you just love it when “we” have to lose weight so that “we” can fit into those shorts and bathing suits? When did fitting into clothing become a team sport?
The way we have been eating and, apparently will continue to eat controls the diabetes and is good for my heart. When my wife told me that I was having pizza for lunch, I got excited, until I saw the pizza. It’s made with whole wheat pita bread on top of which we find spinach and artichokes and a little feta cheese. Nowhere is there a glimpse of the sugary goodness of a well crafted tomato sauce or the gooey wonder of at least four different melted cheeses (although, a nice hunk o’ mozzarella would suffice). I know this may be asking a lot…..but, do you think someone could, maybe, slip me a pepperoni?
THAT’S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Happy Bicentennials
There were two bi-centennials on one day this week. Feb. 12th was the 200th birthday of Abraham Lincoln. It was also the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin. Two men who were born worlds yet hours apart, but, whose works were both instigated by the basic truth that all men are created equal.
Darwin, whose family were ardent abolitionists on both sides, began work on his “Origin of the Species” to prove that something as superficial as skin color was not a factor of differentiation among members of the same species.
Lincoln, of course, effectively ended the practice of enslaving our fellow man, thus, laying the cornerstone of the foundation of all that we are today as a nation.
It is with these bi-centennials in mind that I read some history that I thought you might find interesting.
Elijah McCoy invented an automatic lubricator for oiling steam engines in 1872. If you weren’t using his lubricator…you weren’t using “The Real McCoy.” Garrett Morgan invented the electronic traffic signal, Otis Boykin invented electronic control devices for guided missiles, IBM computers, and the control unit for a pacemaker, George T. Sampson invented a clothes dryer that used heat from a stove in 1892, Lewis Howard Lattimer invented the carbon filament for light bulbs in 1881, John Love invented the pencil sharpener in 1897, L.P. Ray invented the dustpan, also in 1897…I guess to clean up all those shavings from the pencil sharpener. Joseph Lee invented a bread-making machine that mixed the ingredients and kneaded the dough in 1895….and these inventors and their brainchildren are just the tip of the iceberg.
While we’re on the subject of icebergs, did you know that Matthew Henson was an integral part of the first successful expedition to the North Pole? How about that Sarah Breedlove, who was known to the world as Madame C.J. Walker was the first female millionaire? She made all that money with her line of hair products. Dr. Ben Carson, a skilled neurosurgeon, was the first to separate conjoined twins. Bill Picket a renowned cowboy and rodeo performer was named to the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in 1971 and honored by the U.S. Postal service in a series of stamps as one of the twenty "Legends of the West"
These inventions and examples of historical achievement are, of course, just a few of the many achievements that I am prevented by virtue of space and time from bringing up, but there is a commonality to all of it.
Each and every one of the people named (and the plethora of others not named, but equally impressive) is……an American. This is American history. It wasn’t in the history books when I was in school, but, that was a long time ago. A time when credit wasn’t given where credit was due. An American History that was made possible by the foresight and, consequently, actions of two men who were born on the same day 200 years ago. One who knew that all humans were, inherently, the same and the other, who was able to end the deplorable practice of owning our fellow man. These two men paved the way to a society that can overlook the superficial differences of fellow Americans to be just that….fellow Americans. Just ask the most powerful man in the world today, the President of the United States of America. All politics aside, we have finally become the nation that our founders had in mind when they wrote: We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed with certain unalienable rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Happy Birthday Abe & Chuck
THAT’S HOW I FEEL ………………… WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Darwin, whose family were ardent abolitionists on both sides, began work on his “Origin of the Species” to prove that something as superficial as skin color was not a factor of differentiation among members of the same species.
Lincoln, of course, effectively ended the practice of enslaving our fellow man, thus, laying the cornerstone of the foundation of all that we are today as a nation.
It is with these bi-centennials in mind that I read some history that I thought you might find interesting.
Elijah McCoy invented an automatic lubricator for oiling steam engines in 1872. If you weren’t using his lubricator…you weren’t using “The Real McCoy.” Garrett Morgan invented the electronic traffic signal, Otis Boykin invented electronic control devices for guided missiles, IBM computers, and the control unit for a pacemaker, George T. Sampson invented a clothes dryer that used heat from a stove in 1892, Lewis Howard Lattimer invented the carbon filament for light bulbs in 1881, John Love invented the pencil sharpener in 1897, L.P. Ray invented the dustpan, also in 1897…I guess to clean up all those shavings from the pencil sharpener. Joseph Lee invented a bread-making machine that mixed the ingredients and kneaded the dough in 1895….and these inventors and their brainchildren are just the tip of the iceberg.
While we’re on the subject of icebergs, did you know that Matthew Henson was an integral part of the first successful expedition to the North Pole? How about that Sarah Breedlove, who was known to the world as Madame C.J. Walker was the first female millionaire? She made all that money with her line of hair products. Dr. Ben Carson, a skilled neurosurgeon, was the first to separate conjoined twins. Bill Picket a renowned cowboy and rodeo performer was named to the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in 1971 and honored by the U.S. Postal service in a series of stamps as one of the twenty "Legends of the West"
These inventions and examples of historical achievement are, of course, just a few of the many achievements that I am prevented by virtue of space and time from bringing up, but there is a commonality to all of it.
Each and every one of the people named (and the plethora of others not named, but equally impressive) is……an American. This is American history. It wasn’t in the history books when I was in school, but, that was a long time ago. A time when credit wasn’t given where credit was due. An American History that was made possible by the foresight and, consequently, actions of two men who were born on the same day 200 years ago. One who knew that all humans were, inherently, the same and the other, who was able to end the deplorable practice of owning our fellow man. These two men paved the way to a society that can overlook the superficial differences of fellow Americans to be just that….fellow Americans. Just ask the most powerful man in the world today, the President of the United States of America. All politics aside, we have finally become the nation that our founders had in mind when they wrote: We hold these Truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed with certain unalienable rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Happy Birthday Abe & Chuck
THAT’S HOW I FEEL ………………… WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
911
On March 3rd, a story came across the wire about a woman in Florida who had placed a 911 call from her local McDonalds. The emergency? They had run out of McNuggets and she wanted a refund. My first reaction was to do a mental double take. If I had been drinking water or coffee, I might have done a mental spit take. I decided to do a little research into the 3 number emergency call system which has saved countless lives and, as I came to find out, wasted countless hours of time with such inanities as McDonalds running out of McNuggets.
I found that the 911 system was initiated by B.W. (Bob) Gallagher - President of the Alabama Telephone Company a subsidiary of Continental Telephone. He then turned to Robert (Bob) Fitzgerald - Inside State Plant Manager who then engineered the needed circuitry for the first U.S. 911 system. The very first American 911 call was placed on February 16, 1968 in Haleyville, Alabama made by Alabama Speaker of the House, Rankin Fite and answered by Congressman Tom Bevill. The call was made at 2pm. There was no emergency, so, I suppose, this could easily be construed as also being the first 911 prank call. It certainly was not the last.
The 911 system was designed to give us the ability to dial a single number to report emergencies. The new emergency number had to be three numbers that were not in use in the United States or Canada as the first three numbers of any phone number or area code, and the numbers had to be easy to use. The new crime fighters best friend.
This is where the entitlement issue began to rear its ugly head as it became evident that one man’s emergency is another man’s folly.
I found a 911 call from a woman who wanted her dollar back because her taco wasn’t prepared the way she liked it. Another had a man telling the operator that 911 was a load of bull ( he went a little further than that) and, that if they wanted to do something productive, they could tell him where all of the butterflies in his yard had come from. I would make a horrible 911 operator, because I would have been tempted to answer: caterpillars. You can’t really display a sense of humor when manning the emergency phones as one guy found out when a woman called to complain that her 12 and 14 year old daughters were fighting and that the 12 year old was too big for her to stop. The operator asked “What do you want us to do, come over and shoot her?” He tried to explain that it was a joke, but, her focus suddenly shifted to getting his supervisor on the phone so she could report him, apparently forgetting about the girls, who, by this time, had thoroughly trashed the house and put holes in her wall. Another woman spent her entire 911 call complaining that the prior operator had hung up on her, adding, in what sounded like an alcohol induced slur, “Don’t you ever hang up on me again.”
Granted, the system works well for bona-fide emergencies. A 6 year old boy saved his grandmothers life by dialing 911, shootings and robberies have been thwarted because they were phoned in in time, even former Dallas Cowboy Terrell Owens could, conceivably have had his life saved when someone called in a report of a possible overdose. A lot of good comes from a system that works when it is not being abused, even if the abuse is unintentional. You just can’t tie up the line with questions like, “How do you put the batteries into a flashlight” or “Why are there so many vultures in the tree across the street.” And, as for the guy who called to say his Boochee was gone….well, like I said, one man’s emergency is another man’s missing Boochee.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I found that the 911 system was initiated by B.W. (Bob) Gallagher - President of the Alabama Telephone Company a subsidiary of Continental Telephone. He then turned to Robert (Bob) Fitzgerald - Inside State Plant Manager who then engineered the needed circuitry for the first U.S. 911 system. The very first American 911 call was placed on February 16, 1968 in Haleyville, Alabama made by Alabama Speaker of the House, Rankin Fite and answered by Congressman Tom Bevill. The call was made at 2pm. There was no emergency, so, I suppose, this could easily be construed as also being the first 911 prank call. It certainly was not the last.
The 911 system was designed to give us the ability to dial a single number to report emergencies. The new emergency number had to be three numbers that were not in use in the United States or Canada as the first three numbers of any phone number or area code, and the numbers had to be easy to use. The new crime fighters best friend.
This is where the entitlement issue began to rear its ugly head as it became evident that one man’s emergency is another man’s folly.
I found a 911 call from a woman who wanted her dollar back because her taco wasn’t prepared the way she liked it. Another had a man telling the operator that 911 was a load of bull ( he went a little further than that) and, that if they wanted to do something productive, they could tell him where all of the butterflies in his yard had come from. I would make a horrible 911 operator, because I would have been tempted to answer: caterpillars. You can’t really display a sense of humor when manning the emergency phones as one guy found out when a woman called to complain that her 12 and 14 year old daughters were fighting and that the 12 year old was too big for her to stop. The operator asked “What do you want us to do, come over and shoot her?” He tried to explain that it was a joke, but, her focus suddenly shifted to getting his supervisor on the phone so she could report him, apparently forgetting about the girls, who, by this time, had thoroughly trashed the house and put holes in her wall. Another woman spent her entire 911 call complaining that the prior operator had hung up on her, adding, in what sounded like an alcohol induced slur, “Don’t you ever hang up on me again.”
Granted, the system works well for bona-fide emergencies. A 6 year old boy saved his grandmothers life by dialing 911, shootings and robberies have been thwarted because they were phoned in in time, even former Dallas Cowboy Terrell Owens could, conceivably have had his life saved when someone called in a report of a possible overdose. A lot of good comes from a system that works when it is not being abused, even if the abuse is unintentional. You just can’t tie up the line with questions like, “How do you put the batteries into a flashlight” or “Why are there so many vultures in the tree across the street.” And, as for the guy who called to say his Boochee was gone….well, like I said, one man’s emergency is another man’s missing Boochee.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Aisle Rage
Driving to work from Carrollton to Arlington, about a thirty minute drive, I can’t help but notice, on a daily basis, how badly people drive. This mostly occurs when they are on a cell phone and paying absolutely no attention to what they are doing. They cut you off, they “fade” into your lane and are generally rude, without even having an inkling because they are busy “on the phone.” It almost makes road rage justifiable. Almost, but, certainly not enough to do something stupid, like, the first thing that comes to your mind as you are cussing out the idiot in the other killing machine. Besides, here in Texas, there is a concealed weapon law and, honestly, I don’t want to get shot by some clown who drives horrendously and is “packin’.”
I mention this because I recently noticed that it really doesn’t matter what kind of conveyance you are using, rage can be a factor when there is stupidity involved. The last vehicle that got me into trouble was, of all things, a shopping cart. Call it “Aisle Rage.”
It was a very nice Saturday, midday, and my wife and I had just come from the movies. We saw “Star Trek” and I was filled with adrenalin. We decided, at the last minute that, since Costco was on our way, we would stop by and pick up a few things. Some Talking Rain (a really good carbonated water with a hint of fruit), some produce and the handy dandy 800 pack of paper towels for $12 dollars, because you can never have enough paper towels.
As we were walking through the very crowded front door, showing the Costco cop our membership cards, there was a guy who was blocking the entrance and moving quite slowly. I didn’t feel like spending the entire afternoon fighting the crowds so I pushed my shopping cart around his left side and was now in front of him. It was then that aisle rage apparently set in for him as he sped up, faster than he had been going all day, and ran his shopping cart into the back of my foot. I buckled and started to go down as I looked behind and, yes, cussed him out. He gave me a veiled apology with a very smug little smirk on his face and moved on, trying to pass my wife, who said “Go ahead, I don’t want my foot to be bloodied too.” He said, again with absolutely no sense of meaning it, “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Uh huh….and I’m Rex the Wonder Horse….wanna go for a ride?”
I saw him again down one of the aisles. I believe it was the aisle where you can get 62 giant jars of peanut butter for $16 dollars and, for some reason, no jelly. I looked him dead in the eye and cussed him again. He got that smirk back and repeated, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
The incident, without question, ruined my day. I walked out of Costco with an attitude, found myself snapping at my wife and kids and let it get to me for hours. That’s when my wife, in her infinite wisdom, found the three words to calm me down. Those three little words that showed me how ridiculous I was being and that this aisle rage was totally unwarranted. The three words that made me realize why the guy had done what he did and why I had no reason to complain……those three magical words? “You started it.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I mention this because I recently noticed that it really doesn’t matter what kind of conveyance you are using, rage can be a factor when there is stupidity involved. The last vehicle that got me into trouble was, of all things, a shopping cart. Call it “Aisle Rage.”
It was a very nice Saturday, midday, and my wife and I had just come from the movies. We saw “Star Trek” and I was filled with adrenalin. We decided, at the last minute that, since Costco was on our way, we would stop by and pick up a few things. Some Talking Rain (a really good carbonated water with a hint of fruit), some produce and the handy dandy 800 pack of paper towels for $12 dollars, because you can never have enough paper towels.
As we were walking through the very crowded front door, showing the Costco cop our membership cards, there was a guy who was blocking the entrance and moving quite slowly. I didn’t feel like spending the entire afternoon fighting the crowds so I pushed my shopping cart around his left side and was now in front of him. It was then that aisle rage apparently set in for him as he sped up, faster than he had been going all day, and ran his shopping cart into the back of my foot. I buckled and started to go down as I looked behind and, yes, cussed him out. He gave me a veiled apology with a very smug little smirk on his face and moved on, trying to pass my wife, who said “Go ahead, I don’t want my foot to be bloodied too.” He said, again with absolutely no sense of meaning it, “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Uh huh….and I’m Rex the Wonder Horse….wanna go for a ride?”
I saw him again down one of the aisles. I believe it was the aisle where you can get 62 giant jars of peanut butter for $16 dollars and, for some reason, no jelly. I looked him dead in the eye and cussed him again. He got that smirk back and repeated, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
The incident, without question, ruined my day. I walked out of Costco with an attitude, found myself snapping at my wife and kids and let it get to me for hours. That’s when my wife, in her infinite wisdom, found the three words to calm me down. Those three little words that showed me how ridiculous I was being and that this aisle rage was totally unwarranted. The three words that made me realize why the guy had done what he did and why I had no reason to complain……those three magical words? “You started it.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL……..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Panatella Blues
As I write this, I am waiting for a friend to call. He is going to come by and we are going to sit on my porch and smoke a cigar and talk. Now, I know how politically incorrect smoking is, but, I really like a good cigar and I only do about one a month. As my cardiologist said, “That’s not smoking…” I am listening to my doctor and “not smoking” this afternoon with some good conversation, an art form that has almost entirely disappeared.
I have enjoyed good cigars since I was a kid, working in the tobacco fields of Connecticut. I grew up in what is known as “The Tobacco Valley” where they grow the finest “wrapper tobacco” in the world. That’s the leaf that makes up the outside of the cigar. There was a time when the fines Cuban cigars were wrapped in a Connecticut Valley wrapper. When Fidel took over and we embargoed, many of the tobacco growers in Cuba left….and took their seed with them to areas with similar growing conditions. Climate, amount of rain, soil and all of the other elements that make for a fine smoke, were all taken into consideration. They went to the Dominican Republic, the Canary Islands and Honduras, to name a few. Areas that now produce cigars that not only rival, but pretty much blow the Cuban cigars out of the water. The best part of a Cuban cigar these days is the mystique. Because they are against the law, they seemingly taste better, but, in reality, they don’t. It’s like the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushegov wrote, there are no apples as sweet as stolen apples. Something about filching them off the tree just makes them taste a little better. Consequently, many of the brand names that became legends to cigar aficionados are still available, only not from Cuban soil. They are grown and wrapped and rolled in these other areas and they are still classics when it comes to smoking pleasure.
There is something about a good, relaxing cigar that also tends to lead to good, intelligent conversation. When I first came to Dallas, I would frequent cigar stores that had built in humidors and comfortable chairs and couches where patrons could smoke and talk. I have been in the same room with a judge, a truck driver, a musician with the Dallas Symphony and a woman cop….all at the same time and all chatting about the world through a cloud of smoke that gave off a bouquet that could only be created by the different types of cigars we were all enjoying. People don’t converse anymore. They text, they IM, they facebook, they call on the phone, but, they don’t sit down, face to face and really talk about anything and everything. They should try it. It’s really very stimulating. Good conversation is an art form, kind of like letter writing, that is slowly fading away to the technology of today’s world.
I am not advocating smoking. I quit smoking cigarettes years ago and am nauseated by the odor as opposed to the aroma of a good cigar that reminds me of my grandfather, who was a tobacco exporter and whose office always had a wonderful smell to it as he and his partner would be talking about world affairs and puffing on Connecticut Valley classic Churchill sized stogie.
My friend is almost here and I am readying my rapier wit so we can “keep it lively” as we discuss the ills of the world and how to cure them….between puffs on a nice maduro. As Rudyard Kipling once proclaimed: “A woman is a woman…..but a good cigar is a smoke.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL ……….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I have enjoyed good cigars since I was a kid, working in the tobacco fields of Connecticut. I grew up in what is known as “The Tobacco Valley” where they grow the finest “wrapper tobacco” in the world. That’s the leaf that makes up the outside of the cigar. There was a time when the fines Cuban cigars were wrapped in a Connecticut Valley wrapper. When Fidel took over and we embargoed, many of the tobacco growers in Cuba left….and took their seed with them to areas with similar growing conditions. Climate, amount of rain, soil and all of the other elements that make for a fine smoke, were all taken into consideration. They went to the Dominican Republic, the Canary Islands and Honduras, to name a few. Areas that now produce cigars that not only rival, but pretty much blow the Cuban cigars out of the water. The best part of a Cuban cigar these days is the mystique. Because they are against the law, they seemingly taste better, but, in reality, they don’t. It’s like the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushegov wrote, there are no apples as sweet as stolen apples. Something about filching them off the tree just makes them taste a little better. Consequently, many of the brand names that became legends to cigar aficionados are still available, only not from Cuban soil. They are grown and wrapped and rolled in these other areas and they are still classics when it comes to smoking pleasure.
There is something about a good, relaxing cigar that also tends to lead to good, intelligent conversation. When I first came to Dallas, I would frequent cigar stores that had built in humidors and comfortable chairs and couches where patrons could smoke and talk. I have been in the same room with a judge, a truck driver, a musician with the Dallas Symphony and a woman cop….all at the same time and all chatting about the world through a cloud of smoke that gave off a bouquet that could only be created by the different types of cigars we were all enjoying. People don’t converse anymore. They text, they IM, they facebook, they call on the phone, but, they don’t sit down, face to face and really talk about anything and everything. They should try it. It’s really very stimulating. Good conversation is an art form, kind of like letter writing, that is slowly fading away to the technology of today’s world.
I am not advocating smoking. I quit smoking cigarettes years ago and am nauseated by the odor as opposed to the aroma of a good cigar that reminds me of my grandfather, who was a tobacco exporter and whose office always had a wonderful smell to it as he and his partner would be talking about world affairs and puffing on Connecticut Valley classic Churchill sized stogie.
My friend is almost here and I am readying my rapier wit so we can “keep it lively” as we discuss the ills of the world and how to cure them….between puffs on a nice maduro. As Rudyard Kipling once proclaimed: “A woman is a woman…..but a good cigar is a smoke.”
THAT’S HOW I FEEL ……….WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Going Home
It was Thomas Wolfe who said, "You can't go home again," but, he was wrong.....sort of. Not that you would necessarily want to go home again. Things change over the years. People move, the ditch where you had the Tarzan swing is now condos and there's a parking lot where the little store used to be where you knew how to get a ball stuck in the pinball machine to rack up points and get free games. It won't be the same home you left. You can, however, with the right people involved, invoke all of the memories and emotions that allow you to go back home in your mind to the point of even dredging up sounds and smells, albeit psychological.
I was able to do just that last week when, thanks to Facebook, I was reunited with a friend I had not seen in 45 years. He lives in Miami, but, happened to be in Dallas for a convention. What a remarkable visit we had.
Let me begin by telling you that I went to high school at a boarding school after the public school I was attending in Manchester, Ct. realized they had an issue with my being there. If memory serves me, and it doesn't always, it had something to do with an experiment to see if a plastic cherry bomb would explode when flushed down a toilet in the Boys Room. It does.
The school I was sent to was then known as Laurel Crest in Bristol, Ct. We ate, slept, studied and created friendships in old Victorian buildings that were beautiful from the outside and felt like prison on the inside. Fortunately for our sanity and our appetites, we perfected the art of climbing down the corner bricks from the 2nd floor late at night for our forays to McDonalds or Dunkin' Donuts, who provided the erstwhile nutrition for our all night poker games in one of the big closets in our dorm rooms.
Marvin was a good friend with whom I would play poker, play guitars, study and, yes, climb down the wall and go downtown. Marvin taught me a very cool blues riff that, when I pick up a guitar now, convinces everybody that I possess some prowess at the instrument. I do not. It's the only thing I can play, but, I have to admit that even I am impressed at how good it sounds. Marvin and I graduated together and lost touch. He went on to become a professor at Miami-Dade College and is now retired, watching the dolphins and whales from his beachside balcony.
We found each other a few months ago on Facebook and made it a point to get together when he got to town. As he was walking across the hotel lobby to meet me at the concierge desk, I knew instantly who he was. He told me that without the goatee and grey hair, I hadn’t changed at all. Nor has he, aside from the normal aging signs….a little less hair, a liver spot or two, but, nonetheless, he too was unchanged.
We reminisced ourselves back to the mid 60’s and suddenly, looking at Marvin, I saw his brown curly hair, his bright youthful smile and imagined picking up a couple of guitars to play our little blues piece. It was a truly wonderful visit that took us both back to a different time and place, even though passersby saw a couple of old guys chatting in a hotel lobby.
Next week Marvin is going to have lunch with Doug, another friend from Laurel Crest, class of 1965. If that goes as well as our reunion, we will have proven Thomas Wolfe wrong. Under the right circumstances…..you CAN go home again.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
I was able to do just that last week when, thanks to Facebook, I was reunited with a friend I had not seen in 45 years. He lives in Miami, but, happened to be in Dallas for a convention. What a remarkable visit we had.
Let me begin by telling you that I went to high school at a boarding school after the public school I was attending in Manchester, Ct. realized they had an issue with my being there. If memory serves me, and it doesn't always, it had something to do with an experiment to see if a plastic cherry bomb would explode when flushed down a toilet in the Boys Room. It does.
The school I was sent to was then known as Laurel Crest in Bristol, Ct. We ate, slept, studied and created friendships in old Victorian buildings that were beautiful from the outside and felt like prison on the inside. Fortunately for our sanity and our appetites, we perfected the art of climbing down the corner bricks from the 2nd floor late at night for our forays to McDonalds or Dunkin' Donuts, who provided the erstwhile nutrition for our all night poker games in one of the big closets in our dorm rooms.
Marvin was a good friend with whom I would play poker, play guitars, study and, yes, climb down the wall and go downtown. Marvin taught me a very cool blues riff that, when I pick up a guitar now, convinces everybody that I possess some prowess at the instrument. I do not. It's the only thing I can play, but, I have to admit that even I am impressed at how good it sounds. Marvin and I graduated together and lost touch. He went on to become a professor at Miami-Dade College and is now retired, watching the dolphins and whales from his beachside balcony.
We found each other a few months ago on Facebook and made it a point to get together when he got to town. As he was walking across the hotel lobby to meet me at the concierge desk, I knew instantly who he was. He told me that without the goatee and grey hair, I hadn’t changed at all. Nor has he, aside from the normal aging signs….a little less hair, a liver spot or two, but, nonetheless, he too was unchanged.
We reminisced ourselves back to the mid 60’s and suddenly, looking at Marvin, I saw his brown curly hair, his bright youthful smile and imagined picking up a couple of guitars to play our little blues piece. It was a truly wonderful visit that took us both back to a different time and place, even though passersby saw a couple of old guys chatting in a hotel lobby.
Next week Marvin is going to have lunch with Doug, another friend from Laurel Crest, class of 1965. If that goes as well as our reunion, we will have proven Thomas Wolfe wrong. Under the right circumstances…..you CAN go home again.
THAT’S HOW I FEEL…..WHAT CAN I TELL YA’
Say Ahhhh
Lately, we have been reporting on the Swine Flu ad nauseum, a term I use guardedly. I wouldn’t want people to think I was nauseous from the Swine Flu and start avoiding me like….well, the swine flu (which, by the way is the term that I personally prefer over the H1N1 virus…..it just seems more romantic).
Ever since the first case in
Let’s look at the numbers as of this writing. Not quite 800 cases in 17 countries worldwide with the number of fatalities at 20. I know that one person dying is one too many, but 20 out of nearly 6.8 billion, in the grand scheme of things, is tantamount to the wind blowing a few grains of sand from the beach into the ocean. The beach doesn’t change enough for anyone to notice and life goes on.
In
The panic is spreading faster than the virus. Schools are closing nationwide. The kids are thrilled. They can go hang out at the mall and spread the disease to the general population rather than keeping it confined in the school. My daughter is upset because her school is the only one in our area that isn’t closed. I guess that’s why she spent Sunday at the mall.
You may not remember the Swine Flu panic in 1976, when Congress voted for and President Ford signed legislation to inoculate the whole country because one person had died of the virus. Consequently 25 people died from the inoculation. I guess, if nothing else, that story justifies my fear of shots, even in a panic situation.
I suppose we could thank the swine flu for the latest fashion statement….the surgical mask. They seem to have become all the rage. Everyone who is anyone is wearing one. I’ve even seen a website that has designer masks. One has a painted moustache, another has a butterfly on it, still another looks like the face of a skeleton. That one’s a bit too eerily prophetic for my taste. What people don’t seem to realize is that the mask is supposed to keep the infected person from expelling bodily spray on anyone else, not vice-versa. Besides, with everyone walking around in masks, how will we know who the bad guys are?
The media sometimes has a tendency to jump on a story with a mad vengeance in an attempt to be the first with the most and it easily turns into overkill. We, then, become more easily susceptible to suggestion. Now, if you will excuse me, I have been sitting next to my dog whose name is Porky. I think my throat is beginning to feel a little scratchy.
THAT'S HOW I FEEL WHAT CAN I TELL YA'
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