AllTheseThings.com

Occupation Fumble

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 02:01:00 +0000

These idiots involved in the Occupy Wall Street protest totally miss the point that without corporate profits there is no money for industry to expand production and hire more workers. They believe company executives are paid too much money. First of all, corporate profits come into play after executive salaries and bonuses have been paid, and secondly what they earn is only a small part of the cost of running a corporation.

But no one seems to mind that in the sports world “superstar” athletes have grabbed much more than a fair share of revenue and have driven the cost of attending major sporting events through the stratosphere. I guess as long as your team is winning it's okay. I say bullshit to that. We see the breakdown of our families, but at the same time make it difficult for them to enjoy sporting events as a family activity, because of the insane cost of tickets, parking, food, souvenirs, etc. And it's not just at the professional level. Pitt sent me an email before the Notre Dame game announcing that there were tickets still available. Sure, at $85 per seat―give me a break! When I went to college you got into games with just your student ID. Today, the only valid picture IDs are ones showing portraits of past Presidents, commonly known as money.

I've spoken on this subject before, perhaps too often. People just don't get it. Meanwhile, I have no trouble staying away from big time sporting events. Fortunately, there are still some professional teams around who offer decent bang for your buck. Perhaps these players are working to become spoiled rotten millionaires, but I say enjoy watching these minor league teams while the cost is still reasonable. Or be active and enjoy participating in sports yourself. For sure, a couch potato physique is nothing to be admired, is it?

Back to the occupation movement. It has no direction, no unified purpose. People simply busting their ass to be on TV, or to simply make assholes of themselves, to which they are achieving absolute success. Work that hard at getting a job and “oh my gosh” you might actually get one. Imagine that! No, you probably won't become a spoiled-rotten-body-covered-with-tattoos-that will- look-shittier-the-older-you-get multimillion dollar sports icon. But you've entered a great place where too few tread―the Land of Common Sense. Blow your newly found money on things like insanely priced sporting events and all bets are off. The ball is in your court.

Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 16 Aug 2011 21:48:00 +0000

Ever hear the one about the fellow who left his dog behind at a rest area? I hope not, because I, for one, have done that. Maybe a lot of people have, but I kind of doubt it. And many of those might have done it intentionally. (Unfortunately, they won't let you abandon children no matter how whiny and obnoxious they are being on your trip.).

One of the craziest things about my abandoning event, among many, was the fact that I was driving a pickup truck which only had one seat. It didn't have a back seat area of any kind, where possibly it would have been easy for a beagle to hide. No, just one continuous truck-wide front seat, which was filled with people. My ex on the right side, our little girl, Jessica, in the middle, and I was driving.

Suddenly I realized that I did not see our beagle, Spex, so I ask the obvious question, “Where is Spex?”. It probably took about a tenth of a millisecond to search the truck, because there simply was nowhere for the dog to be out of sight. Even the cargo bed was empty, so we could quickly see that Spex was not there—unlike the time we lost our cat, Sneaky, in my sister-in-law's laundry room underneath mega-piles of dirty clothes. Sneaky certainly lived up to her name, as she loved to get “lost”. We couldn't find her in a motel room one time, and only her big, bushy tail gave away her location. I still don't see how she got behind that dresser.

But I digress. So here we are realizing that we left our dog behind. After the usual round of blaming each other for this happening, my ex and I realized we had to come up with a plan. There weren't any convenient places to cross over the four-lane highway to return to the rest area, so we had to drive to the next exit, which was probably only a few miles away, but it seemed to be much farther. To add insult to injury, when I checked the gas gauge I could see that our ' 71 Chevy pickup was getting dangerously low on fuel. So after exiting the four-lane I had to immediately look for a gas station.

By now it has been more than a half hour since we left the rest area, when finally we were gassed-up and ready to head back to look for our pooch. Of course we engaged in more blame game exchanges as we began our return.

The rest area was on the eastbound side and there was no rest area across the road on the westbound side, the direction we were heading. So when we could see that we were approaching where the rest area was I pulled off on the shoulder and my ex got out to cross over and begin looking for our dog.

Now here is where this story gets particularly interesting, pretty much unbelievable, but I swear absolutely true. I noticed that there was a animal lying on the side of the road not far from where I was parked. As I get closer I can see that it is a small dog, and even closer that it is a tri-colored beagle, brown, black, and white, just like Spex. My heart jumps in my throat as I realize that our dog has been hit by a car and now is lying dead, or critically injured along the side of the road. How am I going to explain what happened to Jessica?

I get out of the truck and walk to where the dog is lying. I kneel down beside the poor critter and take a closer look, grasp the collar, and rotate it involuntarily, searching for Spex's ID tag, emotionally drained by what is happening. Tears well up in my eyes. But then it happened.

I suddenly realized this is not Spex! In a calmer, more rational state of mind I would have realized that this dog had been dead for awhile—there were signs of bloating. Sweet relief except for the fact that I still did not know where my little dooger was.

I'm glad to report that this story ended happily. Spex was still at the rest area, where she had been left alone for about an hour. I figure it took her that long to check the entire area for food scraps. We continued on our way to my mother's house in Pennsylvania, an hour behind schedule, but hopefully with enough new wisdom to assure that all passengers will be accounted for every time we get back on the road. I guess it would be hard to explain leaving my ex behind. But then there was that time in California...

Part II: Thank you for offering MY opinion

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 02 Aug 2011 22:02:00 +0000

...So now you're thinking that someone could be lying through their teeth, not giving their true opinion. Perhaps they are doing this for shock value, as an attention grabber, or simply to be annoying. I theorize that some people are annoying simply to raise the stress level of those around them, to cause them serious health problems. If the annoyer causes the annoyee to have a heart attack then they can become a hero by dragging the victim's sorry ass out to their car, popping the hood and bringing them back to life with jumper cables. (You can call this a poor man's version of those paddles they use in a hospital...but I think it actually works better.).

I used the jumper cable method in a roadside intervention on a homeless man who was struck down by a soccer-mom driven SUV. When I yelled at her to call 911, she replied that she would soon, but had to hurry because she was already late for a game. Oh well, of course that makes perfectly good sense.

Guess I'll continue to believe those who seem sincere in offering their opinion. To those who aren't being honest, I hope and pray that tissue-consuming insects will crawl up their noses while they are sleeping and begin eating their bodies from the inside out. (Kind of gives new meaning to “eat your heart out”.).

Anyhow, I believe that people should have the right to express their opinion without receiving crap from a bunch of lame brains who disagree. You remember rights, right?

Thank you for offering MY opinion

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 01:33:00 +0000

When did we stop caring about true feelings and opinions? Nowadays when someone gives their opinion they may be persecuted if it is not in line with what others may accept as an appropriate response.

Take for an example the recent Tweets written by Pittsburgh Steeler running back Rashad Mendenhall regarding Osama bin Laden. Probably the most offensive statement he made was when he suggested that we can’t judge bin Laden because “We’ve only heard one side.” Of course the furor he created caused Mendenhall to ride the apology express in follow up Tweets, reacting I'm sure to pressure to clarify his monstrous statements by stating "what he really meant".

Hello? I think a country that prides itself so much on freedom of speech should let someone voice their opinion and be done with it. Do we need to preface every statement with a disclaimer like: The following does not necessarily reflect the actual beliefs of the speaker, but he/she will tell you what you most likely would like to hear.

Then there was the Dixie Chick who said something about President George W. Bush that was taken as grossly unpatriotic. You remember President W, right? ... the man who launched the war with Iraq to show his old man how wars are done right, who claimed the war was ending when in truth it was just beginning. And now with thousands of our soldiers dead and wounded we will probably be fighting all over the Middle East for a very long time---like forever.

So please, tell me what you think, not what you think I want to hear. I don't have to agree with you, like all those people didn't agree with Mendenhall, and may even find your statement to be the most shocking and offensive thing I've ever heard anybody say. But I have to respect your honesty.

You remember honesty, right?

Did you happen to notice this is a hospital?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 15:50:00 +0000

When I woke up this morning my brain started off right away thinking of stuff. I tried to turn off this flowing fountain of useless information and go back to sleep, but did not succeed. So here I am writing a blog instead. It has been 169 days ―creeping up on 6 months―since I wrote my last one. (No, I didn't take out a calendar and count the days, I just plugged a couple dates into one of my nifty spreadsheets.). I used to feel pressure to write something at the torrid pace of at least one blog a month. Not the same kind of pressure that a syndicated columnist would feel trying to meet a deadline. It's more like the gastrointestinal pressure you might feel just before you fart.

So much for that. What I want to write about is my recent hospitalizations. Unfortunately, after more than 65 years of not being a patient in a hospital my luck ran out last November, and now I've been incarcerated three times in medical care lock-ups. Of course I was born in a hospital―in the great city of Pittsburgh, in fact―but I was really too young to remember much about that.

Always, when people come to visit you in a hospital they will ask, "How are ya doing?" or "How are ya feeling?" To which I would often reply, "Did you happen to notice, this is a hospital?" I'm in a hospital―I'm not here because I won an all expenses paid vacation to a Sandals resort. I'm a sick puppy. (Actually I could see myself having to go to the hospital―or jail―if I was on a such a vacation due to overindulgence in food, drink, and less than socially acceptable behavior.). Another comment visitors like to make is, "Ya look good." Talk about your bare-faced lies! Wearing a hospital gown obviously designed by a bunch of nearsighted old ladies in a rest home somewhere, with more tubes stuck in me than pipes in a chemical plant, I look good? Yeah, I think I should be on the cover of GQ magazine.

In short, I made the best I could of my hospital stays, and especially joking around with the hospital staff, from the housekeepers to the ladies who deliver the food trays, to those wonderful nurses―so underpaid and under appreciated―to the doctors who find it easy to smile, because they are getting paid a ridiculous sum of money for even a 5 minute chat. I notice that they all want to take their stethoscopes and "check you over". I feel that somehow legitimizes their visit, just in case someone from the department who writes the checks is spying on them.

One more comment about hospitals before I close: Why do they have to charge so damn much for parking? Are they trying to discourage people from visiting their loved ones at a time when they need it the most? If there were Wal-Mart hospitals, I'm sure there would be plenty of free parking available.

Uh-oh, now you are wondering why all of a sudden I'm being kind to Wal-Mart when in the past I have taken delight in trashing the retail giant, and have even offered my I'm not shopping at Wal-Mart guarantee, where you could receive $100 and ram 5 shopping carts into the side of my car if you catch me shopping there. Wait till they build one closer to your house than any of the other department stores, which by the way should be illegal. After driving by Wal-Mart time after time, eventually you will succumb to the temptation and stop there. It's like getting a cake on your special day that says, instead of "Happy Birthday", "You can't have any dessert". You're gonna eat cake. But then that's another story.

Till next time, stay warm, safe, and happy... and if at all possible, out of the hospital.

Canes are cool

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 21:50:00 +0000

While to Miami fans this could mean the 'Canes (as in Hurricanes), I am actually referring to that traditional device that is often used to assist people who are walkingly challenged. What makes it a cane of course is that hook like structure on the top. That's what makes it especially cool too.

There I was working at the computer, as I am now, in my space in our home which loosely defined you could call an office. My computer is on a stand that is tightly wedged between my roll-less roll top desk and boxes of stuff that I will inevitably sort through, probably the same year I am elected President of the United States. Several feet in front of me I see my foot massager sitting there, plugged in and ready to go, but there is no way I can reach it less enduring the pain of having to move a bunch of crap out of the way.

Ah, but suddenly, in one corner of my alleged office, and within reach, I spy my dad's cane that he had in college. It bears the simple inscription "Pitt '31". Perhaps back in that day it was a tradition for men to have a cane, even if they were not walkingly challenged. Today, of course, a cane would likely be considered a deadly weapon, and you would have to be certified as a qualified bearer of such to pass through any security checkpoint.

So, there I am, thinking how great a foot massage will feel as I grab that cane and push it under the computer stand toward the massager thingy, and then successfully grap hold of the device with the cane's hook and pull it toward me. Though I could have used the pointy part of the cane to push a button, if necessary, this particular machine can be activated simply by resting your foot, or feet, on it.

As I am enjoying a soothing massage, I look all around me and think of two things: how few devices we have that enable us to reach out and grab something like we can with a cane. I'm also reminded of an episode of the King of Queens where a temporarily physically impaired Doug enjoys using a mechanical grabbing device. And now, as my mind continues to wander, I remember when shopkeepers in markets would fill orders for customers, and use such a device to reach products stacked on a high shelf. Today, of course, the only thing they grab for is your money.

Funny I didn't think of this much sooner, while talking about foot massage. I remember a time when I was experiencing excruciating back pain, and how I used this very same cane of my dad's to massage the bottom of my foot, as I lied in bed. This gave me enough relief to make it possible to fall asleep. Without that hook it would have been impossible to do this while lying stretched out. (I am always so proud of myself when I think of ways, often quite unusual, to "git sumpin' dun".).

Just as House (as in TV's Dr. Gregory House) would not be the same without his cane, no house should be without one either ... or a whole bunch of them. Yep, canes really are cool. I might even try walking with one someday.

Judging from your experience ...

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 04:05:00 +0000

Having already learned that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court does not have to have any Supreme Court experience, as witnessed with the appointment of Justice John Roberts, now we find out with the appointment of Justice Kagan that you don't have to have any experience at all as a judge to become a member of the highest court in the land!

What's next? Surgeons who have never performed surgery? Hmm ... perhaps cutting a bagel in half, or dicing up an onion or tomato qualifies one for that profession.

Flashback to the eighties. My good friend Bob and I are working all day trying to fix the brakes on his old Datsun. (The Datsun begat the Nissan.). The first Farm Aid concert was on TV, and we would take an occasional break to watch a little of it. Since neither of us had any real experience as mechanics, making the repairs should have been a snap, eh? Why not, if lack of experience is good enough for the highest court in the land? But what actually happened was we gave up after six hours of frustration and called Artie, a real mechanic at the local Texaco. (That case of beer we drank probably didn't enhance our efforts.).

Wouldn't the founding fathers of this country be spinning in their graves if they could see how things are done today! Oh yeah, it's a stretch to say that things actually get done today. Unless you count forming committees, to pass bills, to spend money we don't have, on programs we don't need as accomplishments. Who can straighten out this mess?

Hey, maybe it's time to call Artie!

Secure as a sitting ducK

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 21:13:00 +0000

Picture a real life version of a sci-fi thriller where you have a huge asteroid screaming toward planet Earth, about to hit with a force so powerful that it could crush the third stone from the sun into tiny pieces of gravel, and knock pictures off walls in living rooms a million light years away.

Who can save our once-beautiful-but-turning-ugly-due-to-years-of- abuse-and-neglect planet from ultimate destruction?

Hmm...let me see...uh...nobody? We can't even plug a hole in the bottom of the ocean that has been spewing forth oil for nearly three months. Saving the planet from an intergalactic wrecking ball would certainly be well beyond the limits of our capability.

I liked when they were actually trying to cover the hole from which cometh the oil. They were on the right track there, but unfortunately didn't follow through. What I picture is a huge mountain of debris—a Mount Trashmore, if you will—covering the hole and blocking the flow of escaping crude.

In the interest of saving the environment, I'm sure people from all over the country would be willing to donate the useless crap that has been accumulating in their homes for many, many years. Junk from just one of the homes featured on the TV show Hoarders could probably fill up a barge on its own.

Not so fast you say...you just don't dump gazillions of cubic feet of trash into the ocean; this could be extremely harmful to the environment. Hello? Does a million gallons of crude oil per day sound better? Let this new Mount Trashmore rise from the depths, to be admired by millions as they enjoy the unfortunately-not-clean-but-rapidly-improving waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Improving because...WE PLUGGED THE HOLE!!!!

I'd like to picture proud-as-punch citizens everywhere wearing their "I cleaned out my garage and helped plug THE HOLE" t-shirts. Sure beats what we have now, as we wait for relief from a relief well that supposedly is still more than a month or so away from completion. And isn't drilling a relief well a bit like trying to thread a needle blindfolded, after drinking a whole bottle of Captain Morgan?

Yes, please...let's finally "git 'er done". It's totally unacceptable to just sit and quack... while the 'roid approaches.

The Crisis behind the crisis

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Wed, 26 May 2010 02:51:00 +0000

If I was President of the United States I would raise holy, ne'er before seen, of epic proportion HELL until the debacle caused by the explosion of the oil rig near Louisiana was under control and not allowed to go on and on with no end or solution in sight. Of course the consequences would remain grave, if the oil flow was plugged this second, but that is not an excuse to waste more time. When are we going to put the lives of our own people first?

For the time being, forget all the other crap that is going on in the world. Fix this! BP is a British Corporation—duh, here comes a no brainer...rattle Britain's cage until they take some definitive action. Become the worst nightmare of anybody and everybody who can possibly find a solution...and do what needs to be done quickly.

The interviews are heartbreaking. People who have worked decades in industries dependent on a healthy and safe Gulf coast environment suddenly find their livelihoods gone. Possibly forever.

I hope we don't have to wait for a new administration to see some true leadership. It seems that modern day politicians are only concerned with their image and how their actions may impact their political future. More reason, as intended by our founding fathers, NOT to have career politicians.
Serve your term in Washington, make the best possible decisions you can make, acting FOR the people, and shuttle your butt back home, allowing someone new to serve.

I don't think our system of government is necessarily broken, but the way it is put into practice certainly needs an overhaul. Am I the only one who is sick and tired of campaign ads? Especially annoying are the ones whose main focus is trashing opponents. Live debates are fine, as long as all viable candidates have a chance to speak, but put a limit on how much time each candidate has for TV ads, and make them be about a candidate's own qualifications, their plans for the future, and not become a verbal assassination of one's opponents.

And above all, we should remember that American government should be about putting our people's lives FIRST, not people halfway around the world, regardless of their plight. Put some clout into OF, BY, and FOR the people.

LEADERSHIP NOW! GIT 'ER DONE NOW! NO MORE EXCUSES!

Kirstie's Big...Mistake?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 03:55:00 +0000

Remember Kirstie Alley from the Cheers sitcom? Well, flash forward to Kirstie's Big Life, which we are watching right now on the A&E network. What a shocking difference! Makes one appreciate good sitcom scriptwriting. This latest Kirstie Alley offering is in trouble from the get go, as it is built on that whole "reality show" concept. I'd say few of these so-called reality programs are able to offer excitement exceeding that of watching mildew form...or pipes rust.

Why we are watching this show is a rather long story. It involves a very deficient satellite TV system at Blue Knob Resort and the ravages of Mother Nature―no, nothing as dramatic as the volcanoes that are currently erupting in Iceland and causing havoc with air travel all over Europe. If the Iceland experience is a mountain, then this natural event is a speed bump by comparison. The sad truth is that even a small thunderstorm causes this satellite system to go out. Unfortunately, a follow-up storm never gets it working again. Wouldn't that be slick?

So anyhow, due to the severely limited choice of programming currently available here we are watching Kirstie's Big Life. It's been an interesting week. We started out receiving the regular broadcast networks―Fox, ABC, NBC, CBS, and PBS― which we lost, then they were restored...but gone again in less than 24 hours. And most of the cable channels are showing fuzzy reception, if coming in at all.

I have always liked Kirstie Alley, the actress. However, this show is nothing short of painful. I guess if your life is so terrible that you never have an occasion to laugh, then this might be good therapy. I'm not seeing laugh out loud material, but at least it might generate a few chuckles.

Hey, all is not lost. We're broadening our horizons. Yesterday we watched a very interesting show on the Discovery Channel about the struggle to move an oil drilling rig which was in the path of a rogue iceberg. And homeowners in this vicinity have assured us that their home satellite systems here on the mountain are quite reliable, so when we have our own place maybe we'll get a dish, even though all we've ever had is an antenna.

Ah yes, change can be good, right? So c'mon Kirstie, isn't it time to move on? Better yet, move back...to what you're good at.

I crack me up!

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 02:25:00 +0000

Here I go with another blog. I try to keep up the torrid pace of at least one per month, and now am dangerously close to running out of month. My faithful readers―both of them―appreciate this attempt to stay current.

The title for this blog is taken from a Ziggy cartoon I saw many years ago. The Zigster, obviously, had just said something to amuse himself; unfortunately, I don't remember what it was. But actually, the more I think about it, it's not so important what he said or thought to amuse himself. What's great is that he amused himself at all.

No one is given the task to make us feel good, or bring laughter to our lips. If we spend our entire lives being a sourpuss, that's on us. When our world is topsy-turvy, and nothing seems to be going right, that's when we need to find our center of levity, if you will, and say something that can make us laugh, no matter how outrageously stupid it might seem to others.

And now, thanks to technology, you can literally talk out loud to yourself, anywhere, without drawing any negative attention. Just hold your hand over your ear and people will presume you are talking on a cell phone. When I think of a good reason to actually own a cell phone I will write it down here immediately for all to see...

Hmm, nothing yet, still thinking...

"Um-duh-dilly-dilly-whop-whop-poodle-lee-day" ... still thinking...

Maybe I need Gomer Pyle's bucket to put over my head―he told Andy it helped him to think REAL good.

...Nah, still drawing a blank. Tell you what, just follow future editions of this blog, and I promise to immediately interrupt whatever I am writing and write down a good reason to own a cell phone...when I think of one of course.

Uh-oh, I think I just did it again. No, I didn't pee myself... I made myself laugh!

Mission accomplished.

Does God ever have a bad day?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 04:52:00 +0000

It's hard to get your head around events as horrendously tragic as the recent earthquake in Haiti or the tsunami that hit southeast Asia a few years ago. What gets me is you never hear anyone say, "Wow, look what God did this time. What was he thinking?"

I don't understand the need for pain and suffering of such magnitude, as caused by a natural event. I understand man-induced tragedies, such as wars, and flying planes loaded with jet fuel into skyscrapers. Man, after all, is basically evil, or so it seems. If we can rise above this innate creepiness we've inherited, we've really done something special with our lives. And, fortunately, many people do, so the world, in spite of its warts, is a pretty good place to hang out.

Maybe God was off creating a new universe when Haiti got creamed. Former President, Bubba "What do I have to do to get people to forget that fat intern?" Clinton, who is some kind of special envoy to Haiti, said that Haiti was really starting to show some progress. Of course if Clinton told me today is Sunday, I'd want a dozen examples of scientific proof to support his claim, before I would believe him. Anyhow, it makes you wonder why Haiti is getting kicked when it has already been down for so long, and well-known as the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

Many, perhaps the strongest believers and those who just don't want to deal with anything at a deeper level, will say that we need to accept, in our minds and hearts, whether we understand it or not, that whatever God does is, by definition, right. Perhaps that is the best approach of all. Otherwise, to try to make sense of such monumental pain and suffering of innocent people—today I saw them, on TV, loading hundreds of bodies into a dump truck with a front end loader—you could probably drive yourself to the point of making clay bunnies in the loony bin. Right now, I'm not sure where my mind will come to rest on this subject. Just trying to grasp the totality of the suffering is virtually impossible.

It's great that people, as expected, are responding so well to help the Haitians in their direst of need. Even though the conspicuously wealthy limelight seekers want to make sure that the media accurately report their generosity, their money spends the same as if it were given anonymously. The way people pull together in these times of crisis is amazing. Why can't it be that way when times are good? Seems like we could put evil on the endangered species list. Then maybe we wouldn't have to be reminded about how bad things can be, and God could focus on making the bright side of the world even brighter.

Tigger Talk

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 02:26:00 +0000

Hey, what's the latest regarding the world's greatest athlete? And billionaire to boot?... at least before the scandal broke.

And silly me, I didn't even realize golfers were athletes, unless, of course, they are playing guttergolf, as detailed in my book The Hundred Year Meat Loaf, where I dish out, among other things, tons of sports wisdom. My fans love it anyhow... both of them.

I called Tiger a "weenie" years ago, a term I'm sure that would elicit various interpretations, all united in their derogatorinessness. You just don't hear kids say, "I want to be a weenie when I grow up." For me, regarding Woods, it's about weakness of character. Early on in his rise to fame, I saw him as a transparent, narcissistic phony. The revelations of late prove this to be true. Doesn't take much class to bed down with a dozen or so women who are not your wife...and then have a "come to Jesus" moment when you get caught.

A local sportswriter says he doesn't care what Tiger Woods does off the golf course —just don't tell him. As a member of the media himself he should surely know that you can't separate the public and private lives of someone of Woods' popularity. The paparazzi, and whoever, will make sure it's in our faces all the time. So what concerns me are the young people who will think it must be pretty cool to be Tiger. His behavior sends the wrong message to them.

Just be careful who your heroes are, and especially those of your kids. I don't think its realistic to expect anyone to be squeaky clean in all aspects of their life. But for Tigger, it looks like he's gone light years past a simple indiscretion...if we are to believe the media. (Yeah, that is asking a lot!). Maybe some day in a tear-drenched confession, a la Jimmy Swaggart, we'll hear the whole truth from the perp himself. Or is it, "once a weenie, always a weenie?"

Black Friday... ain't no way!

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Thu, 26 Nov 2009 05:17:00 +0000

The busiest shopping day of the year is supposedly the day after Thanksgiving. Coined by merchants themselves, or the media, the term "Black Friday" means it's a day that spells profitability for retailers.

The busiest shopping day, eh? That's my cue to stay as far away as possible from stores the day after Thanksgiving. Remember, I have been very supportive of Wal-Mart—except in cases where they actually drive stores out of business. They capture such a large percentage of the shopping public that it makes it possible to shop in relative privacy at other stores. I don't want to fight off crowds, stand in long lines, and put up with traffic congestion to save a few bucks... or even a hundred.

So to me the "Black" in "Black Friday" means something dark, menacing, and totally to be avoided. Walking along the beach at Hilton Head, where you will usually find us the day after Thanksgiving is far more inviting indeed. And like my I'm Not Shopping at Wal-Mart Guarantee, where you get a $100 and the chance to push five shopping carts into my car, I'm offering an I'm Not Shopping On Black Friday Guarantee as well. Yes, catch me shopping anywhere on Black Friday and earn the same guarantee. Double it if it happens to be at Wal-Mart.

Now excuse me, I have an ocean waiting.

$399,999.99... not a penny more!

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 19:45:00 +0000

It's time for another money rant. I never tire of these, and there is never a shortage of subjects to rant about. I think there is a serious problem with the distribution of wealth in this country when a golfer is now reported to be a billionaire, while, at the same time, millions of his fellow citizens couldn't afford to pay the green fee for a round of golf if their life depended on it. Green fees are also known as greens fees. I guess if due to your lack of funds you are able to buy just one hole, though that's not likely possible, then the singular term would be appropriate.

Ah, picking on professional athletes again, eh? Yes I am. What is bigger than sports in this country? When a family of four can go to a major sports event for a fifty dollar bill I'll shut up. Even that figure is higher than I'd like it to be, but if it includes parking, tickets, snacks, and souvenirs I can live with it.

I am reasonably sure that in my best earnings year, whenever that was, my total income―from salary and investments—was well below $50,000. So it's a little hard for me to get my head around figures that are in the tens of millions, up to more than a hundred million dollars—the reported annual earnings by Tiger Woods from endorsements alone. Gosh, if happiness is relatively proportional to how much money we make, and with me already extremely happy bringing home the mere pittance I have earned, my constitution could not stand the rigor of earning a hundred million or more! It's like "Stop me please, before I kill myself with happiness!" But of course, quite fortunately, happiness is not dependent on pursuit of the almighty buck, although many people seem to feel differently. Maybe it's fame rather than fortune they are seeking, though it seems pretty hard to have one without the other. I did hear of a recent poll that said about 30% of Americans want to be famous. Don't quit your day job is probably the best advice we can give them.

For years I've favored a $100,000 earnings cap, but I'm willing to kick that up since the President earns a mean $400,000, and he has teams of flunkies who do all the work for him. Let's make that cap at $399,999.99—for everyone, not just pro athletes as could be implied from this discussion so far. No one can earn as much as The Prez, who allegedly has the most important job in the country, the fact that teams of flunkies do all the work for him notwithstanding. It's pretty bad, and I know lots of politicians use them, when you can't even share your own original thoughts—you have to hire speech writers to tell you what to say! Oops, I digress.

There is a lot of territory between a minimum wage income, which currently, for a full time employee, could be as much as $15,000 a year and earnings of $399,999.99. So hard work and good performance can be distinctively rewarded under my plan, as they should be.

Of course what should be never seems to become what is. Nevertheless, it is important to share our thoughts. We're all a product of things we've read, heard, and observed throughout our lives. Diversity of opinion is important, even when quietly shared in a blog such as this. You never know who might be listening. It's only when we fail to share our opinions that they are guaranteed to have no clout.

You're thinking that salaries can be regulated, but what if investment income pushes someone over the $399,999.99 cap? Any excess is paid in taxes, but the money goes for the construction of a viable passenger rail system like other countries have, the repair of existing roads and bridges, upgrading schools, alternative energy projects such as wind power, and other beneficial works—not for things like the manufacture of more weaponry and funding wars that should never have been started in the first place. And certainly not for more welfare programs, or pumping up the salaries of congressmen, who have the vision of balmy, buggy, blindfolded bats.

A tip that can save lives... perhaps yours

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 19:43:00 +0000

I heard today about a guy who was killed in an automobile accident just hours before he was to get married. In fact, guests who arrived for the wedding were witnesses to a memorial service instead. We can not begin to imagine the shock, the sadness and heartbreak people have endured as a result of this tragedy.

It appears that the accident occurred because some idiot ran a light at an intersection and T-boned the car in which the groom was riding. Unfortunately, the groom was not wearing his seatbelt and on impact was ejected from the car. Yes, my message could be about the importance of wearing seatbelts; a message, of course, which is still ignored by many no matter how many times they hear it.

But there is another important element of the accident I just described which is routinely overlooked. It has to do with traffic lights. Red of course means "stop" and green means "go". Even preschoolers know this, right? It is the code that drivers follow. Unfortunately, what needs to be taught is the fact that while green may present an opportunity to proceed, A GREEN LIGHT DOES NOT GUARANTEE THAT THE INTERSECTION IS CLEAR!

Look both ways until you are absolutely sure that it is safe to proceed through an intersection. (Notice―preferably when you are a passenger and not driving―just how many people are on the gas in a split second and moving as soon as a light turns green, without having first moved their head even slightly to their right and left. On most days this seems to be nearly everyone.). Turn your head and look...to the right and left...until you are absolutely certain it is safe to move ahead. Don't rely on your peripheral vision, no matter how good you think it is.

And don't rely on any gadgets to warn you of hazards. I see now where at least one car manufacturer has come up with a warning light for your side mirror, to show when there is something in your blind spot. How ridiculous! When all you have to do to check your blind spot is move slightly forward in your seat when you glance in the side mirror. I do this without fail EVERY time before I change lanes. Rely on yourself, not some electro-mechanical gadget that is eventually going to fail, anyhow. Be safe...is it not worth the effort?

And when Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Uncle Fred, a friend, a cab driver, bus driver, or whoever, snap at you, because you pointed out that you did not see them check both ways when the light turned green, be comforted by the fact that you have said something, not to be a smart ass, but solely in the interest of saving lives. Sometimes it is good to be annoying... in fact, it might even be perfect.

The Real Clunkers

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:41:00 +0000

Let's see, although my wife and I own an 11 year old vehicle and a 23 year old vehicle, neither one qualifies under the government's "cash for clunkers" program. They don't qualify because the gas mileage of each one is too high. Cash for clunkers, of course, is the latest proof that the branch of our federal government we call the legislature, collectively, has the intelligence of a of a malnourished Madagascan mud crab.

Why should the government develop a program that rewards people who have been driving gas guzzlers? Well, they shouldn't. Instead, they should be rewarding people who have been driving fuel efficient cars. Get it? It's called rewarding achievement, not failure.

I guess we are to view the money we have saved by driving fuel efficient cars as reward enough. Phooey! It's time to start showing by example just how smart it can be to be smart. Here's another example. Drivers who don't have accidents should not have to pay for car insurance. Not merely lower rates, but zero... no charge. What a great incentive that would be for people to drive safely and responsibly.

Cash for clunkers is just plain stupid and will do nothing to reduce our dependence on imported oil. There is nothing to keep people from logging extra miles on their government subsidized brand new car, because... yeah, that's right...it gets better mileage. What we really need is a program to get the clunkers out of congress. Hmm... I think achieving intergalactic space travel will be easier.

Michael and the bearded lady

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 15:48:00 +0000

Today, there is a memorial service for the highest paid sideshow freak of all time: Michael Jackson. The King of Pop? Give me a break! When was the last time you heard someone walking around humming a Michael Jackson tune? Probably never. Yeah, but just because you don't have any real talent—never fear―you can always get by looking like plastic surgery's best argument for malpractice insurance.

The millions who have come together with their sappy outpourings of sympathy for this man, including the mercenaries who are calculating what they might get for his recordings on E-Bay, at some point in the future will surely feel at least a little bit stupid for engaging in this frivolous charade. Okay, maybe not so stupid for those who do make a killing on E-Bay.

I haven't dug deeply into the case of Michael Jackson, because that would take time, and in the end I don't give a rat's butt anyhow. What I can say is that I do believe he was victimized, to a large extent, by his handlers, a condition that seems all too common in the world of entertainment, including professional athletics. And now I'm sure many of Michael's people will move on to someone else. Word is, the bearded lady has a new dance step.

Last week at the mall I saw a young man with holes in his earlobes the size of a quarter, and that was just the beginning. He was a walking billboard of piercings and tattoos. Let's get mad folks, and expose these idiots for what they are! This is not what we want for our children and grandchildren...is it?

King of Pop? King of NOT, I say.

Sanforized! Mark of an animal?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 13:38:00 +0000

Who'd have thunk it, a rising star in the Republican Party, a possible presidential candidate, secretly leaving his job as governor to do the horizontal mambo with some chick he met in South America.

Knock me over with a feather! I've been a South Carolina resident for 20 years, and Mark Sanford was about the only politician in the state who I had given a damn about. Because he gave a damn, or appeared to, about something more than his own political welfare. He fought the concept of spending freely today and worrying about tomorrow tomorrow.

Though his detractors may have scoffed at the idea, bringing live pigs to the statehouse to underscore the nonsense of pork barrel spending was very creative indeed, and got the point across. Greatly criticized as well for this, he was one of the few who took a serious look at the stimulus package money, and realized the only thing being stimulated is more debt. Of course, and I believe unfairly, he was accused of rejecting stimulus money to gain national attention in an effort to forward his own political aspirations.

Thus a glimpse into the good side of Mark Sanford. But now ... oops! The animal kicks in, and in a hormone-driven rage, he puts aside the fact that he is married with four kids, that he is an elected leader of government, sworn to serve the people of his state. Instead he invokes some horribly poor judgement, and takes off to have his secret rendezvous. For anyone who thought this kind of behavior would diminish after Bubba Clinton was serviced by a fat intern, they were seriously mistaken. The beat goes on and on and on.

Our animal instincts, in many cases I presume, are just too strong. Morality is nothing; societal norms don't wash. You get an urge to do it ... do it! Like the stimulus plan, spend freely today and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.
But guess what, pal ... tomorrow will surely come. Just as sure as we will be seeing more politicians making their tearful confessions. Any sympathy for these devils? Nah, I think flogging would be more appropriate.

Why you don't play the bouzouki

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 03:08:00 +0000

I can play a bouzouki and you can't. Don't you want to know why? Here are some possible reasons that come to mind.

―First of all, the original bouzouki was a Greek instrument, and of course you aren't Greek, even though you may have belonged to a Greek fraternity, like to eat at Greek restaurants, and watched Zorba the Greek four or more times.

―Secondly, an Irish bouzouki, of course, was developed by Celtic musicians, but getting drunk on Saint Paddy's Day doesn't make you Irish either. Owning one of those "high-strung, dumb-as-a-roomful-of-Presidents-named-Bush" Irish Setters only makes you stupid, and rooting for "The Fighting Irish" of Notre Dame makes you the quintessential world class idiot.

―Thirdly, girls your mother may have told you that playing a bouzouki would make you flat-chested, and boys, your mother may have told you your peepee-er would fall off or you'd go blind. There is no scientific evidence to back up these claims. But I am willing to give myself up for research, if done by CSI NewYork actress Melina Kanakaredes, who of course happens to be Greek.

―Fourthly, you got confused when you tried to buy a bouzouki and bought a bazooka instead. Although it didn't look much like a musical instrument, you followed the owner's manual instructions to the letter, but when you tried to "play" your first note, you blew a hole clear through your neighbor's classic Mustang, and also took out three trailers in the park across the street.

It's true, the first and only bouzouki I've ever played was the one I built more than 25 years ago and still play today. By doing all the right research and painstakingly manufacturing your own instrument you end up with much more than something with which to enjoy making music. You learn to have the patience of Job. If you don't you will likely end up with an instrument that sounds like crap...but at least you won't be blowing up the neighborhood. Or will you?

The Wild Wild Worst

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 03:01:00 +0000

If the US Constitution is such a wonderful document why has it been amended 27 times?

The second amendment certainly gets a lot of attention, and especially at times when a lot of people just freak out and shoot a lot of other people, which seems to be almost anytime these days. The pro-guns folks remind us that guns don't kill people, people do. The gun control groupies believe the problem is that there are simply too many guns available in the first place.

I think it's perfectly fine for people to own guns if they use them responsibly and secure them properly when they aren't being used. In the days of my youth I too was a hunter. Not an especially good one, but at least I never came close to shooting my hunting dog as I had seen some others do. (Hmm...the more I think about it, sometimes frustration with Fido's performance may have been effecting their aim.).

The problem for me would be a world where virtually everyone carries a gun. Some people think we are actually stupid enough to believe that at Columbine or Virginia Tech, to name just two, it would have been better if others besides the perps had been carrying guns. Hello? Sure, maybe those scenarios would have played out differently, but how many other incidents of gun violence may have occurred as a result of all those other people packing iron—pre or post Columbine and Virginia Tech?

I don't like when people point their finger at me—unless they are pointing me out as the winner of some wonderful prize—something that probably has never happened in my entire life, but I think you get my point (pun moderately intended). For sure, in most cases it is not okay to have somebody sticking their finger in your face. BUT it sure beats having them point a gun at you, doesn't it?

Yep, when EVERYONE is packing iron, like in a flashback to America's legendary wild west, you'll find me sequestered in the relative safety of a cave somewhere, making cave paintings and roasting bat kabobs... or whatever good stuff cave dwellers do. I don't want to be outside walking around as target for someone who happens to be having a bad day.

Dogs shouldn't be either.

Finest not Final

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 02:05:00 +0000

I take exception to calling the four teams remaining in the NCAA college basketball tournament as "The Final Four." Sounds like a term more applicable to a potato sack or turtle race than a basketball tournament. The spectators had already left when the final four turtles crossed the finish line in this year's "Crawl for the Roses." Or how about this: Investigators found bodies of the final four passengers known to be on the ill-fated flight. Morbid stuff, for sure.

Too bad Pitt came up a little short in making it to what I heretofore will call "The Finest Four." But what a great year anyhow winning 31 games out of 36 played. You never know what to expect from the Panthers―brilliant one minute, and the next it's like they never saw a basketball before. Nevertheless, you can't discredit a 31 and 5 season. And this year they made it all the way to the "Elite Eight," which by the way is well-named. It doesn't conjure up images of body-strewn wreckage or straggling turtles.

If I go on about college basketball people will start to think I'm a big fan. I do like to follow Pitt's fortunes, and the March Madness tournament is fun. Which by the way, how is your bracket? A local TV station has the audacity to offer a $50,000 prize for a perfect bracket. They must think we all fell off the same turnip truck. The odds against achieving a perfect bracket are astronomical; something like...well, here you can read about it: http://www.stat.yale.edu/~jay/News/WSJbb.pdf There are many sites that discuss this. Google or Yahoo "perfect bracket" for more.

So sad but true, those are the same numbers that apply to the Pirates' chances for having a winning season. I'm out of touch with the Buccos on a day-to-day basis, so, tell me have they ever tried bringing back the "green weenie" from the Bob Prince days? It just might be the ticket. It just might conjure up some sweet Terrible Towel-like results. Who knows, maybe their Finest Four can be the four games they win to capture the World Series. Yeah, that is pretty funny.

THE BIG SWITCH...ready...set...NO!

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 04:43:00 +0000

Back in the 70s one of my neighbors, Doc Poindexter, used to rail about the absurdity of commercial television. Of course lots of people have felt the same way over the years― hence, it became known as the "boob tube". Actually, Doc had his own special name for it: "smell-o-vision".

Let's cut to the chase. As poor as TV can be under regular circumstances, I suggest that that "THE BIG SWITCH"―the proposed changeover from analog to digital transmission―has already become the most disturbing non-event of the third millennium. For gigamonths, all we heard―sandwiched between the usual array of mind-numbing commercials―was notice after notice about the change to occur on February 17, 2009. February 17th just happens to be my birthday! And the countdown went on and on and on... "a hundred more days," they said..."eighty"..."sixty"..."forty"...etc.

"Seventeen," now we're getting real close! Bring it on, I can't wait. Put us out of our misery, after suffering through thousands of these lame public service reminders. Even though I've long passed the point of being anxious for my birthday to come, this year it can't happen soon enough. Like beating your head against the wall...it feels so good when you stop...soon we will have reason to feel good again.

UH-OH! Lest we forget that we are in the midst of creating a society so helpless, that as individuals we won't be able to do anything on our own, the government has decided to extend the time required to prepare for THE BIG SWITCH another four months!!!! In case you have cable or satellite and aren't affected by all this, installing the equipment required for the change to digital is about as easy a process as buttering a piece of bread...perhaps easier. On the back of your converter box... plug your antenna wire into its input jack, connect a wire from the output jack to your TV, and turn the sucker on. It will take you longer to prepare a TV snack than to hook up a converter box.

I can't help but think of the commercial where the boss pleads for assistance to prepare a dish of microwave pasta. He reads the directions: "add water, microwave, strain, stir"...throwing his hands up in despair he says, "What is this...Japanese?" Yes, the dumbing down of America―the beat goes on. The opposite should be occurring; we should be teaching people to stand on their own two feet, accept responsibility, get the job done―no coddling―you do things on time, on your own.

WARNING: if they extend this BIG SWITCH fiasco beyond four more months I'm taking hostages!

An Incredible Story

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 20:44:00 +0000

Recently, a friend sent me the following story:

In 1986, Peter Davies was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from Northwestern University.On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air. The elephant seemed distressed, so Peter approached it very carefully.

He got down on one knee, inspected the elephant's foot, and found a large piece of wood deeply embedded in it. As carefully and as gently as he could, Peter worked the wood out with his knife,after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man, and with a rather curious look on its face, stared at him for several tense moments. Peter stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned, and walked away. Peter never forgot that elephant or the events of that day.

Twenty years later, Peter was walking through the Chicago Zoo with his teenage son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Peter and his son Cameron were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Peter, lifted its front foot off the ground, then put it down The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Peter could not help wondering if this was the same elephant. Peter summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing, and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. The elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of Peter legs and slammed him against the railing, killing him instantly.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

Let's dedicate the tale you just read to all those people who like to clog inboxes everywhere with heart-warming bullshit stories. Not forgetting those who plead with you to continue a chain―prayer chain or whatever―so something truly marvelous will happen. You know, they go something like this: If you send this letter to thirty-seven of your closest friends, including the person who sent it to you, within the next fourteen minutes, Osama bin Laden will die at the stroke of midnight from an exploding spleen.

Time's a wastin'...you better get busy!

CSI Super Bowl?

noreply@blogger.com (RW) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 15:51:00 +0000

When the Steelers won their fifth Super Bowl title there was a tsunami of bitching and moaning from the Seattle faithful, including their coach. Remember? It was cool to receive a picture via email of a bottle of Seattle Seahawks Whine (note the spelling), which was made from sour grapes. Last night, bloggers, who did not like the fact that the Steelers won their sixth title, started the same kind of bitching and moaning. "The refs were paid to make sure Pittsburgh won." Nonsense like that. If you were inclined to take a payoff, I doubt that you would pick the highest profile sporting event in the world to do it. Deliberately cheat in front of a billion witnesses? I don't think so.

Now that we have reviews after every critical play I fear that this could be carried into absurdity, with the help of technology, of course. Will there one day be sensors planted in the shoes of tight ends and wide receivers, so we can tell if they touch both feet in bounds when they catch a sideline pass? I certainly hope not. Picture a full blown CSI investigation after every play! Like I said, things could reach the point of absurdity. (Here's where I like to make my persistent anti-technology pledge. That is, if everyone agrees to throw their computer off a cliff, I'll chuck mine first. Yes, I believe we were happier when we just had mothers and not motherboards. Oh yeah, and man WILL destroy himself with technology, even if it's a thousand years from now. Thus concludes my Gloomy Gus Report for today.).

Back to THE GAME. I think Santonio Holmes and Ben Roethlisberger should have shared the MVP award, with James Harrison a close runner-up, although Harrison getting that unnecessary roughness penalty late in the game wasn't at all smart. It was probably payback, but he could have stalked the guy later and punched him out, instead of costing his team a penalty.

Terry Bradshaw never set the world on fire with dazzling statistics, but he was the glue that held the offensive machine together in the playoffs. Not dazzling in the playoffs either—just enough to win. Roethlisberger is like that. He doesn't wilt under pressure; he gets stronger. Let's hope Big Ben gets four rings like Terry did...or more.

Here we go Steelers... here we go!