Happy New Year!

The call came this morning from my longtime pal John Lotz. He is retired and living the good life in Florida these days, but once upon a time we raised a little hell while toiling in the radio biz in Tampa. I love the guy. He has always been like a big brother to me--a wild and crazy big brother, but a guy I always respected and admired.

John had a stroke last year and is now, at 77, in an assisted living facility. His two wonderful daughters insisted on this since John no longer has his wife, Barbara to make sure he takes care of himself. Barbara died the year before last and he misses her like a limb. They were a perfect team.

John sounds just like he did almost forty years ago. The years betray no "old guy" lack of energy in his voice. It's as if we were just picking up a conversation we started last week on the golf course. The only difference is that I no longer frustrate myself with that "good walk spoiled" and he now plays with a two handicap. He was always a marvel on the course.

As we wrapped up our annual catch up phone call, I promised John that 2010 will be the year that Linda and I make a visit to Orlando. She loves him too.

Good friends are like jewels. Treasure them and keep them close.
They'll keep you vertical in 2010.


As Art Buchwald once opined, "Whether it's the best of times or the worst of times, it's the only time we have."

Happy New year to you all!
And, may Dick Clark continue to be in Times Square for as long as it makes him happy.

The most powerful thing we have is the power of choice. Chose to be vertical in 2010.

Hey Fatso....What Do You Want For Christmas??

Well, not another five pounds. That's for sure!

What is it about the holidays that makes you say, "Screw it. I'm having another piece of that delicious blubber inducing calorie bomb, thank you very much."
Maybe it's the chilly air and the lack of sunshine? (Can't use that one in Southern California.)
Or, how about this one? When you're a kid you can look forward to a toy or maybe a new bike, but as an adult that part of the old Christmas magic is gone; so you smother your disappointment in chocolate fudge and baked brie pastry puffs. (Chocolate fudge=230 calories per 2 inch square and baked brie pastry puff=420 calories for a 3 ounce serving.)

The reason I know the caloric values of these two slices of food heaven is from my recent discovery of the Nutristrategy.com website. Nutristrategy shows you just how much exercise is needed to burn off various holiday goodies and, frankly, it's depressing.


The only good news I could find was very revealing to me. Nutristrategy
shows that if you like champagne you're well on your way to winning the Christmas waistline sweepstakes. Ten minutes of swimming will burn off 4 ounces of champagne for you. But, as I can attest from my days of dancing with alcohol molecules, if you have several more servings of bubbly you will be too hammered to eat anything and will have passed out and negated the necessity of doing any duty in the pool. In other words, staying sloshed can keep you happy and in your slimjim jeans for the foreseeable future.

That's it for the good news.

Baked ham, just 4 crummy ounces, will take you 30 minutes of gardening to get rid of. (Think massive glasses of champagne and simply passing out in the garden.) A measly 2 inch square of chocolate-covered toffee means you owe your gut a whopping 30 minutes of flag football with the relatives. "Oh God, why have you forsaken me??!!"

Pecan pie, just a sliver, requires 40 minutes of running at 6 miles per hour.

Sonofabitch! Pass me a heart attack instead.



Nuts, eggnog, sugar cookies and all the usual suspects are equally devastating to the adult waist unless you are willing to pay the price of excruciating boredom at the gym.



So, go ahead and slip me ALL the good stuff. Kids shouldn't be the only ones who have fun at Christmas.

I'll meet you in the fatboy department at Kohl's or Nordstrom's and we can lie to each other about how soon we'll be back into those old "high school days" sizes before spring training starts.



One small caveat to keep in mind.
Stay away from the fruitcake at all times.








Many years ago a young satyr ate some and turned into a representative from the state of Massachusetts.

Seems Like Only Yesterday

It's always easy for me to remember.

I didn't plan it , but the shortest day of the year is more than slightly significant to me.

December 21, 1999 I received a call that changed everything. It was my doctor telling me that it was way past time for me to leave the party I had been attending for the past thirty years.

"Mr. Copper you need to stop drinking NOW."

To give you an idea of how far down the road I was, my response was: "Oh, okay...just beer and wine right?"

"NO!", the doctor suggested. "You need to quit drinking altogether."

Everyone acts as if his or her life is unique. As we get older we find that our lives are sort of generic and that many others have been provided one of the same handful of story lines available to all humans. Yes sir, lots of company on the old "nothing exceeds like excess" train. I'm just happy to be counted among the number who "passed the bar".

Often I think of what I might have accomplished if I had spent more time working on my career and personal relationships instead of squandering hours in saloons with other dipsomaniacs. I did hear some pretty good jokes and managed to participate in some outrageous adventures that will provide entertaining stories for years to come, but nothing more. Like Gertrude Stein said of Oakland, "There is no there...there." (Having worked in Oakland, I can vouch for that fine analogy.)

But, no regrets. I am thrilled to have had the past ten years and to have made some amends. My wife is still with me; the kids have done well and now I have a fine new grandson to play with. (There should be at least a five year window before he outgrows me.) The world is spinning in greased grooves, thank you very much.

And, that's just fine with me.

Ten years.

"It seems like only yesterday

I gazed through the glass

At ramblers, wild gamblers

That's all in the past" ---Steely Dan "Deacon Blues"

Creepy Claus

Have you ever asked yourself why we allow our children and grandchildren to spend time with really creepy old guys this time of year?
Be honest! Would you let your kid sit on any of these laps in January or February???

Attention kiddies!!!!

The next time one of these clowns asks you what you want for Christmas ask to borrow mommy or daddy's cell phone....and CALL THE COPS!

Just another public service announcement from lovable old Mr. Copper's website. (Pay no attention to the creepy old guy behind the curtain typing this blog.)

Room Warming in Gropenhagen

The UN sure knows how to summit.
In just a few days the United Nations climate summit gets underway in Copenhagen and the delegates are in for a warm reception from the local prostitutes.
It seems that Copenhagen Mayor Ritt Bjerregaard, (way cool name), sent postcards to city hotels warning summit guests not to patronize Danish "sex workers" during their conference. The ladies are not pleased.

The hookers union--yep, have one--has decided to offer FREE sex to anyone who produces one of the postcards sent to city hotels warning guests to beware of strange women offering their own special "welcome wagon".

The Sex Workers Interest Group, (Copenhagen local), may actually be doing more for the "we're all going to melt" global warming pantywaists than any of the pathetic poindexter ideas the UN is currently attempting to foist on the rest of us.
No doubt delegates taking advantage of the free horizontal mambo lessons being offered by these patriotic Danes will not once find it necessary to turn up their room thermostat during their stay. I see real progress being made here.

Go S.W.I.G.! And, all delegates make sure to "look for the union label".

In the meantime, I will continue to suffer here in San Diego. Even though the temperature dipped into the upper 50's last night, I will refrain from calling in a team of hookers. (My wife kind of frowns on that.) However, I will continue to throw a butt load of logs on the fires that burn in my fireplace most every night.

I try to resist everything.....except temptation.
Screw you Al Gore!

One Thankful Pilgrim

It's time to kick back.
I got the turkey on the Weber at the right time and now the pressure is off.
Well, mostly off....
Linda will be bugging me for the next three hours demanding to know exactly when the turkey will reach smokey deliciousness and, since no two charcoal fires are the same, I will give her the usual "I don't have any idea". She, like all women, thinks it's important for everything to come together at the same time for Thanksgiving dinner. And, like ALL other guys, I couldn't care less. Left to our own devices, virtually all of us males would eat everything over the sink and wipe our hands on the drapes....but I digress. What time is the first football game???


For years our family ate seafood at Thanksgiving because we found turkey to be no big treat. We all loved fish and it worked out just fine. That all changed when a friend introduced us to the wonder of hickory smoked turkey. WOW! We've been busy with the Weber kettle ever since.


While the turkey sizzles I'll take a few moments to reflect on what a lucky guy like me is thankful for this year:

First of all, great friends. You can never have enough of them.



TIVO has to be right up there. I haven't viewed an entire ShamWow commercial since Mitch got his ass kicked by some chick in Miami. When Billy Mays caught the "big bus" I had to remind myself who he was. (Hadn't seen one of his idiotic pitches in years.)

I'm thankful that Linda doesn't make me watch the Macy's parade on TV. Not only do I hate crap like that it's also extremely frightening to realize that the only participant in the parade that I recognize anymore is Kermit the Frog. Who the hell are those nitwits singing on the floats??

I'm really thankful that America has a great bunch of patriotic kids in uniform keeping us all safe. We need them now more than ever.

I'm very grateful that my family is healthy and prosperous. Both daughters married well and have successful careers of their own.
Also, thanks to my brother and his wife and the nuns at St. Joseph's Home, my mom is well taken care of in her 89th year.


This afternoon grandson Dan, now six weeks old, arrives for his first Thanksgiving and he is smiling for friendly faces these days. I hope he has saved one for me.


"Yesterday unborn; tomorrow dead......why fret if life be sweet."
Groucho Marx

It's only rock n' roll

But we like it!

We had to see the movie. Didn't we?

Linda and I toddled off to the nearest cineplex to catch Pirate Radio the other day. It was an okay movie....nothing great. Not much in the way of a story, but fun.

It's the tale of the constipated BBC refusing to play or acknowledge popular music during the mid 1960's and how a bunch of ragtag radio reprobates (Are there any other kind?) broadcast the hits of the day from an old rust bucket ship operating in international waters. Radio Caroline was one of the first ships, (there were at least two), to rouse the ire of the British government by blasting the Beatles, Beach Boys, Stones and other hot bands of the day to a proletariat salivating for them. The UK was proving even way back then that private enterprise is always superior to the usual government "spend too much and don't get the job done" situation.

The acting was fine; the equipment in sync with the era and the disc jockeys looked exactly like the kind of hoodlums I was proud to have joined here in the United States of America in the 1960's. God, it was a great time to be on the radio!

And that's what struck me.......

The business that was commercial radio in the middle of the last century was absolutely the most fun anyone could have with their clothes on. It became the tribal drum of the boomer generation and it infused everything.

Pirate Radio, the movie, brilliantly captures the pervasiveness of radio in the 60's, for that is precisely how it was. Transistor radios were everywhere! People had them on at work, took them to the beach, blasted them at home and went to sleep with them at night. Of course, we all listened in our cars too. The music united us and to be on the radio purveying the hits was like getting to be a perpetual party host and guest at the same time. (Perhaps that's why the bar always seemed to be open.)

As the movie ended it occurred to me how much has changed in the past forty plus years and how radio and the music no longer unites us.

It was a wonderful time, but it was a L O N G time ago. And, like a distant station at sunrise, it has faded..... probably forever.

Paging General Patton!

In the 1950's there was a Texaco jingle that went, "You can trust your car to the man who wears the star".
Today your chances of finding anything but a chance to pump your own gas at a Texaco station are pretty much nonexistent.

In the Army it was said only a fool would trust a general because once a man had put on a star he became a politician and was no longer a soldier. George Patton was probably the last general officer the Army produced who truly didn't give a rat's ass about politics. He merely wanted to lead his troops to victory and keep America safe from the tyrants of the world.

As a newly commissioned Army lieutenant I found myself in a Signal Corp school at Fort Gordon, Georgia studying the operation of field radios used by the infantry. The courses were highly technical and boring but necessary if you wanted to stay alive in combat. At the time, all of us in the class had orders for duty in South Vietnam. The study module was to last eight weeks and we were subjected to written and operational tests at the end of each segment of instruction. During one written test my pal, John Hall, and I noticed that the Captain teaching the class had accidentally handed out an extra test to our row. Seeking to amuse ourselves we decided to answer all the questions with profane and sexually explicit funny responses. (You know...."A" material.) When we finished we handed in the extra test and signed it--we had to sign all our tests--with the name of the General who was the commandant of the Army signal school. We thought it was a scream.

After a break, the Captain went nuts and wanted to know who had done this horrible thing with his test. He asked that the culprit identify himself and waited for one of us to stand up. Hall and I stayed put. The Captain then accused one of the other lieutenants by name. "Lieutenant Allison come forward immediately!"
The rest of the class then pointed out to this hopeless stooge that Lieutenant Allison was absent that day because of some dental emergency. The Captain was beside himself. (It never occurred to this nimrod that he might have passed out an extra test.) He then excused himself for about thirty minutes while we all sat there wondering what would happen. Hall and I were wondering if the food would be better at Leavenworth instead of Vietnam.
When the Captain returned he placed the test we had turned in for the General on the overhead projector. He then proceeded to read the very creative answers John and I had provided for the "big guy". The Captain was laughing out loud and made a big show of how funny the whole incident was. You see, the Captain had taken our "test" to the General and it was now apparent that the General had----GASP----LAUGHED!
The General had thought it was FUNNY; so now the Captain thought it was funny.
The General laughs and we all laugh. That's how a Captain makes Major and Major makes Lieutenant Colonel and a Colonel..........makes...
You get the idea.

The horrible tragedy of this past week at Fort Hood is the direct result of nobody having the swinging Oswalds to speak the truth about a nutjob Major who, because he was Muslim, was allowed to continue to serve in our military in the interest of diversity and political correctness. Thirteen good Americans have paid the price for this and it is a disgrace all because someone with a star didn't have the guts to acknowledge terrorism in the ranks. This is a philosophy that originates at the very top of our chain of command and values catering to the base even if it means sacrificing truth and the security of America on the alter of political expediency.

The people who no longer recognize a "war on terror" and worry about the "awful" Patriot Act and waterboarding murderous zealot dirtbags, not to mention closing Guantanamo, need to re-think their game plan.


General George Casey is no George Patton and ignoring the fifth column of terrorists in our ranks gets us nowhere. This is not a problem for the criminal justice system. This is WAR! The consequence of continuing to ignore the obvious is unacceptable.
We need to find some leaders who see the big picture.....Leaders who know when the enemy is peeing on our shoes and telling us that it's raining.
The clock is ticking on this untenable situation.
Those who hate us think we're weak.
Lead, or get out of the way.
NOW!

"The guy is an idiot....Let's make him V.P.

Maybe you've seen the ads for the latest e-reader device being promoted by the venerable Barnes & Noble bookseller. It's called...the Nook-e.

Like the Kindle from the folks at Amazon it is an electronic nightmare designed to make reading a book more like watching TV.

This is obviously an idea hatched by some imbecilic vice president with plenty of time on his or her hands. Why in the name of Ernest Hemingway and all that's holy would anyone want to read a book that requires batteries and can't be underlined or dog-eared????

And, while we're at it, why would you name such an invention the "NOOKIE"?! (Unless, of course, your plan is to market this moronic device exclusively to teenage boys.)

For years vice presidents of all sorts of corporations have been producing crap like this because, well, that's what they do. Vice presidents are nitwits who couldn't quite make president (see Biden, Joe) and have been around long enough to have either incriminating photos of the REALLY big bosses or have married into the family.

It's the American way. "This guy is a useless dope let's make him a V.P. just to get him out of the way."

In the 1960's Western Airlines launched a V.P. inspired ad campaign called "Western pays a buck a flub". The advertising featured a big time TV ad where a heavenly chorus jingled that the airline would pay each and every passenger a dollar every time the company made a mistake. If the flight attendant, then called a stewardess, failed to say "please" or "thank you" you could hit them up for a dollar. It seemed such a good idea.

Western pulled the commercials after a couple of weeks to prevent the company from going under. It's a really bad idea to pay for mistakes when your company is a world class airborne misfortune.

Another vice president of yet another really horrible airline, rumored to be United, is said to have run a promotion called "Take Me Along" in the late 1950's. The idea, no doubt hatched after many cocktails, was to encourage the wives of executives to accompany their husband on his next business trip. After the first wave of commercials ran business was up substantially and the V.P.'s were all patting themselves on the back when one of them decided that it would be a fine idea to follow up the campaign with a letter to the spouses who had "been taken along".

Shortly after the first few hundred responses asking "What trip?" the program was abruptly abandoned.

In the broadcasting business the program director who has destroyed the ratings at the most number of stations in a corporation usually gets the nod to be the Programming Vice President. These guys specialize in producing a ton of fatuous memos regarding how to introduce the traffic or what inflection to use when saying station call letters.

The famous drop of live turkeys from a helicopter as a Thanksgiving promotion was most certainly the work of a vice president. .

John Nance Garner is remembered for saying "The vice presidency isn't worth a bucket of spit." (For the record: I don't think he said "spit".)

Here is my theory: A vice president is someone who wears his hat to the bathroom so that he'll know which end to wipe.

Soupy, Pies, and why we're fat

When I was a kid growing up in Michigan there was this wacky guy who seemed to be on channel 7 in Detroit almost ALL the time. Soupy Sales was his name and pies in the face were his game. The guy was a scream. My folks thought he was dumb, which was the "Coolness Seal of Approval" for my pals and me.

He was born Milton Supman in, of all places, Franklinton, North Carolina and, depending on who's counting, he took somewhere between ten and twenty thousand pies in the face during his career. Pies in the face always make me laugh. (Admit it, they do it for you too.) After a long run in Detroit he split for L.A. where stars like Frank Sinatra, Tony Curtis and Shirley Mclaine lined up to get splattered by one of ol' Soup's cream pies. It was low comedy as high art.

White Fang, Black Tooth, Willy the Worm, Pookie the Lion and Soupy's girl Peaches were all part of the cast of wacky characters that made his show appointment television. There was nobody else like him. As Old Blue Eyes would say, "Soupy was a real gasser!"

Soupy Sales died last week at the age of 83. I was lucky enough to have had him on my radio show in 1998 when he was in San Diego to play the Comedy Store in La Jolla. My radio partner, Cynthia Heath-Kerrigan, and I had a blast hosting him. Cindy even won raves from Soupy for her "Soupy Shuffle" abilities. He was a joy to have in studio. The phone lines were completely lit for the entire show and he gladly took questions from callers all morning long. He made terrific radio just like he made great TV. In fact, during the 1970's, Soupy was a key member of one of the finest radio line-ups ever assembled in America. On WNBC in New York he was sandwiched between Don Imus in the mornings and Howard Stern and Wolfman Jack in afternoons and nights respectively.

For my money, Soupy Sales is proof positive that God does indeed have a sense of humor.

As long as we're on funny stuff......

I have a website you need to check out. Thatswhyyourefat.com is a goofy site that features pictures of some of the most outrageous culinary concoctions ever to appear on a plate.

AMAZING STUFF!

Here are some of my favorites.....

The Horseshoe sandwich from my hometown of Springfield, Illinois. (meat with eggs smothered with cheese and french fries)

The Rubix Cubewich

The Bypass

Cheesecake parfait
Cap'n Crunch donut

And.....my favorite! Deep fried bologna sticks.....Ummmmm good!

And......

THAT'S WHY YOU'RE FAT!

How about a BIG slice of cream pie? We'll put it on Soupy's tab.

Let's all watch the ROLLER DERBY!

Here is something to worry about...
Since the dirtbags and douche bags who run our federal government refuse to utilize the oil and gas reserves we are blessed to have at our disposal, it seems that we now have to worry about our GOOD FRIENDS in Saudi Arabia having to make do with fewer yachts in years to come. You see, in an effort to cut our carbon output, (I've got your carbon output right here!), the good folks at OPEC are worried and whimpering about not being able to make as much money as they have in the past. In other words...the pusher is worried about the junkie heading for rehab and feels entitled to compensation.
You can't make this stuff up! I merely report the news.

DIRTBAGS

DOUCHE BAGS

My suggestion is this:

Let's all watch Roller Derby! There is a brand new movie staring Drew Barrymore that opens soon and it got me to thinking about how much I miss that wonderfully American form of television entertainment. Many of us boomers spent countless happy hours watching the hair-pull on wheels that is exciting derby action in glorious and snowy black & white. I don't know about you, but I never understood any of the rules of the sport, in fact maybe there weren't any. It was just a damn fine way to spend a Saturday afternoon.


NBC should bring back Roller Derby in prime time. Even though he's supposedly a very nice guy, Jay Leno just isn't cutting it five nights a week against any of the CBS, ABC or FOX doctor, lawyer or cop shows. They need help and Roller Derby is the answer. Hell, if NBC doesn't want it, maybe we could send old derby kinescopes to those Arab oil sheiks. I'm surprised congress hasn't thought of that! (Oh yeah, they're dirtbags and douche bags.) After all, these guys wear their laundry on their heads. How tough can it be to amuse them?

Roller Derby and a picture of my grandson Danny. (I had to work in a new snapshot.) How could the rest of the world resist?

I wonder if our new head honcho has an Entertainment/Energy Czar slot open for me?

Buckle Up Kid...We'll have some fun

I hope he didn't get the "party" gene.
His mom has it; so does his dad.
Oops.....as I recall, grandpa has it too.


Oh well, as long as we can steer him clear of, uh.....just about everybody we know, he should be alright.

On the other hand, LET'S PARTY!!!

Daniel Danger Diepholz has arrived. (I think that middle name is way cool.)


He got here at exactly 1PM on October 15 and has already charmed the diapers off all the little girls on the fifth floor of Mary Birch Hospital. Too bad he still can't find his Johnson.

"The most wasted of all days is the one without laughter." ee cummings

Just wait until you see some of the surprises grandpa has in store for you my young friend.

It's going to be a hell of a ride.

Ordering from the GEEZER menu

I lost 5 pounds just by traveling! Ask me how....


It's easy really. We've been on the road for the past several days and that used to mean coming home at least a little bit W I D E R.

No more! Now my wife and I start losing pounds the minute we buckle up aboard one of the concentration camp inspired contraptions we call commercial airliners. (What the hell happened to that upscale experience we used to call flying?????) Now it's little, or usually NO food, for even cross country safaris. Sorry.....I don't count the free Coke or Pepsi. My now gargantuan "old guy" prostate can no longer accommodate that kind of aggravation. Also, the airborne outhouse is to be avoided at all costs. The last time I was forced to enter one of those hell holes I flashed back to my Army basic training and ran screaming like a twelve year-old girl back to my less than comfortable seat. (Who designs those instruments of torture? Circus people??)

So, both of us lose a couple of pounds spending a day in the air. That's good; we need it.

When we reach our destination there is now good news for aging baby boomers. Most restaurants now offer "senior" menu deals which seem to offer up smaller portions of the house entrees. Fine with me.
When I was younger I used to eat like I was going to THE CHAIR. Twelve dozen oysters in one sitting at Felix's Oyster Bar in New Orleans was typical for me. (Not to mention the beers and martinis required for proper marination.) Those days are gone. CAN'T do it anymore. Nope, just let me have the geezer menu and I'll be out of your way in no time.


It's funny how some of life's mysteries get solved as we grow older. I recall my grandpa Copper, a very funny cat, never eating very much. He liked food but, now I realize, no longer had the capacity that he enjoyed in his salad days. Makes sense..

Something else has become clear to me lately.
As a boy I often wondered how grandpa and grandma stayed married. I would look at grandma, all wrinkled and gray, and think to myself: "How can grandpa be in love with this old bag?" (To be fair, I also looked at grandpa and wondered: "How drunk is grandma?") It really didn't make sense. Now it does.
Today I look at women my age and think...."Hubba Hubba". The younger gals look somehow "unfinished" to me.......and I'm grateful. I'll stick with my own generation, thank you very much.

Tomorrow our first grandchild will be born. Daniel is his name and I'll be posting pictures.
I'll also be sleeping with grandma.
COOL!

ONLY IN THE United States of Diversity

Sure we have a lard ass millionaire who makes movies about how horrible capitalism is.
Of course we have an economy that is heading into the dumper because our leaders believe that more government is the answer to everything and that nothing beats taxing the bejesus out of the productive members of society.
Yes, we continue to promote and graduate students who are dumber than drywall because we hold no parents or teachers responsible for their education.
And our republic is being guided by leaders dumb enough to actually believe that the world's badasses will be nice to us if only we will BE NICE TO THEM.

Let not your heart be troubled........

WE HAVE DIVERSITY!

If television and the liberals among us have taught us anything it is that DIVERSITY is America's most important product.

We were making such good progress....

until last week.

Yes, last week there was a major setback in America's quest to be the alpha and omega of all things diverse.

It seems that the good citizens of East Cleveland, Ohio voted mayor Eric Brewer out of office. (Mayor Brewer is the hot number in black stockings pictured here,) So now, unless we've miscalculated, the United States is down to just ONE transvestite mayor........Mayor Stu Rasmussen of Silverton, Oregon. (White guy, push-up bra.)

What were the voters in East Cleveland thinking??!!

If it's not too late, perhaps they could still vote him Miss Congeniality.

It would be the diverse thing to do.

"And crown thy good with brotherhood from She to shining She"