Shooting Saddam

Somehow, and I consider this a very lucky somehow, my family and I have had an amazing run of really great neighbors.  Almost without exception all have been delightful wackjobs with interesting life stories and occupations.  A standout in the bunch is Dennis Lynch.  Dennis, his wife Meredith, their kids, the unforgettable Elvis the cat, and two exceptionally stupid beagles named Bucky and Betty  were our nextdoor neighbors for eight years during the late 80's and early 90's in Encinitas, California. There was a well worn path between our houses that offered mute testimony to many shared barbecues, cocktails and bust-a-gut laughter.  We had a blast and have remained friends over the years. 

Like me, Dennis put up with the vagaries of life in the broadcast business.  He primarily worked as a freelance much in demand cameraman who ultimately wound up in harness at Court (now Tru) TV.  He was on the road almost constantly as he covered everything from the O.J. trial to the televised courtroom dramas of Michael Jackson, Robert Blake , Scott Peterson and assorted other dirtbags.  His ribald and snarky after the verdict stories were never disappointing.

With the advent of email Dennis began to, mostly out of boredom, compose daily missives detailing his adventures in court with these many and varied sociopaths and would post them to his friends.  They were hilarious and I wasted little time forwarding them to others I knew who would appreciate his vicious insight.  The response was almost always, "this bastard should write a book!"

And, now he has…

Dennis Lynch

It's a fantastic inside view of the trial of everyone's favorite commando clad camel humper the dimwitted despot,  Saddam Hussein.   This book is not only loaded with a ton of information you never heard about the Baghdad D-bag but also contains loads of inside humor that will have you wondering where this smartass California camera guy has been all your life.  Reading Shooting Saddam is like having a couple of pops with a very entertaining nextdoor neighbor.  (I think I know what I'm talking about here.)  After finishing the book I now wonder how difficult it would be to get Dennis and Meredith to load the van for Idaho.  There aren't too many books about snow, moose hunting, and huckleberries let alone anyone who could make them funny.  I think I'll work on making that happen.  Surely California and "Moonbeam" Jerry Brown have just about worn them out.

In the meantime, BUY THIS BOOK!  It's easy to download from Amazon and I'm fairly certain your doing that will go a long way toward helping Dennis forget that I accidentally moved his two good rakes and very cool riding lawnmower to the Great Northwest.

"I'm ready for my closeup, Dennis."

A Five Year-Old Christmas

Like a second story burglar Christmas slipped into the high definition big screen TV of my life this year.  I'm late on just about everything.  Cards are leaving my out box like molasses in, well, December and decorations, presents and all that other stuff are all about two weeks behind.  I blame the new house and our big move from San Diego to Coeur D Alene but am willing to admit I'm just Christmas lazy.  If I'm honest, it happens most every year.

Doug, Mudgy the Moose, Katie and Dan

An early Christmas surprise has been the visit of Katie, our youngest, and her family.  They arrived this week and will head back to California this Sunday so that grandson Dan can have Christmas at home.  That means we celebrate early in rainy and cold north Idaho which should give the kid a taste of what the holiday was like for his grandparents during their Midwestern childhood.  Christmas was never 70 degrees and sunny back in pre-historic times.  As I recall, we were just happy to have enough snow on the ground to check for reindeer tracks.

"Hmmm…could this be a pool cue?"

It has been fun to experience the season through the five year-old eyes of our one and only grandchild.  He has already opened his presents which included his very own pool cue so that, with luck and training, he will always have pool hustler skills to fall back on should legitimate employment prove elusive. A Spiderman spinning rod was also in the mix in keeping with that old adage about "teaching a man to fish…blah blah blah".  I prefer to think of it as a ticket to one of the best sit down sports a boy can always enjoy.

Last night we took advantage of a boat cruise to Santa Claus Island that is a tradition here in Coeur D Alene.  Kids are treated to an unforgettable ride and light show that culminates at the North Pole where Santa and his elves greet them with a reading of the naughty and nice list for the year.  I'm happy to report that Dan made the 2014 nice list.  The relief on his face when he heard his name was priceless.  As an almost permanent occupant of the naughty list I was hoping to hear my own name upgraded to "nice" but no Ken was announced.  Perhaps my past misdeeds have been expunged?  

Dan scans the dark horizon for signs of Santa Claus Island.

Santa and one of the elves welcome us to the Island.

"And, one final name on the NICE list: DANNY!"

Dan waves good-bye to Santa, secure in his "nice" status, as the boat pulls away from Santa Claus Island.

 Like everything in life this Christmas is moving at warp speed.  The Valentines Day promotions most likely begin on December 26.  So, if you want to put this Yule in slow motion I recommend finding a five year-old to slow it down.  When you're five it seems that next Thursday will never come and no way will the anticipation exceed the reality.  The kids know that Christmas is the real deal.

Well, maybe one more trip to the toy store with grandpa.

Fatter Dummies & French Toast Crunch

It was hard to miss the irony.  There on the financial page, as I killed time waiting to board the plane home from New Orleans, were two stories that went a long way toward explaining why most of us hate to fly.  Americans are getting fatter.  The story with the Detroit dateline told of a Michigan based company, Humanetics, now introducing newer "wide bodied" crash test dummies.   According to the Centers for Disease Control 34.9% of us are obese and are sporting a much larger body mass.  A quick look around the Delta boarding area convinced me that that estimate may be slightly conservative. More than a few of my fellow passengers looked to be smuggling excess adipose tissue in their jeans.  I found myself trying to remember the approximate dimensions of the emergency exits and how I could position myself to be the first one out the door should the plane run into trouble.  "Stand aside porky, I'm comin' through!" I will confess to larding on five extra pounds in the last year but nothing that would qualify me for Ringling Brothers.  

Like my portly sky roadies, the new crash test dummies are soon to approximate a 273 pound adult.  Wow!  Think about how worried the car manufacturers must be.  A Jumbo dummy hitting an abutment at 40 miles per hour will probably take out the entire front end of any new automotive rolling stock.  It won't be pretty-- just accurate.

The other story on the same page was a release from General Mills proudly announcing the return of their French Toast Crunch cereal.  (the crack cocaine of breakfast treats)
Of course the story made a big deal of a few "modifications" made to the ever so delicious way to start your day.  They have reduced the sugar and increased the whole grain content.  Translation:  it's now only 50% sugar.  Hey, that's what makes it so damn good!

Here is what struck me as I read these two stories:  If the people who test cars know we're getting to be enormous and the management at General Mills is hip to the fact that we can't resist sugar, why the hell can't the airlines figure out that WE NEED BIGGER SEATS AND MORE LEG ROOM??!!
It's bad enough that they gouge you for checking a bag, (shouldn't they charge for carry-ons?), and cram more and more passengers on fewer flights, but they don't seem to get that seats are too small and leg room is nearly non-existent.  I understand that tickets are relatively cheap but, come on!  Raise the price a little if you must, but GIVE US A LITTLE ROOM!  Or, knock us out until we get where we're going. (Nitrous oxide anyone?)

There has to be a better way to fly.  Private jets for all!
I'm surprised Obama or another Washington phony hasn't figured out a way to promise that one.
In the meantime, pass the French Toast Crunch and put me in an aisle seat next to that skinny lady.  After all, pain is mandatory but suffering is optional.

Middle seat, anyone?

They said there would be peanuts.

Brrrr, It's Time For a WARM UP

Santa arrives in Coeur D Alene via vintage fire engine.

Fireworks over Lake Coeur D Alene announce Santa's arrival. 

Last Friday evening, after standing in the freezing rain to watch Santa arrive in our new hometown of Coeur D Alene, Linda and I decided that maybe a dose of warm weather might help ease our transition from Southern California.  My old pal, the Skipper, no doubt full of holiday cheer and Jim Beam, had recently suggested that we join him and his wife Betty in New Orleans at the Work Boat Show for some laughs.  The Skipper owns a barge and tug company in New England and often attends the event to scout new equipment and catch up with other salt water reprobates.  Knowing that the broadcast business was another bum producing industry, (second only to the carnival business), he knew I'd fit right in.  

As you read this we are on our way back to the refrigerator that is Northern Idaho refreshed and re-charged from a week in the Big Easy.  We will warm ourselves all winter long on memories and calories that cling to us as we journey home. 

After settling in at the hotel and registering at the convention, we set out for Felix's Oyster Bar which features the absolute best bi-valves in this hemisphere.  I love the place.  Though I can no longer down ten or twelve dozen in an evening like I could in the 70's, it is still necessary to call Triple A to tow me away from the place.  Oysters this good are a religious experience; maybe even a tax deductible medical necessity. 

Can you say, "Welcome sailor?"

The Skipper pretends to be interested in a Boat Show display while he grabs a free shot glass.

When you die, you smell these on God's breath.

Mother's is another New Orleans institution.

We spent Thursday at the World War II Museum, a national treasure located on Magazine street in the warehouse district of New Orleans.  Thanks to good friend, Sue Lampton, we were treated to a sneak preview of the museum's newest pavilion, Campaigns of Courage:  The Road To Berlin section, which opens next week.  If you have yet to visit this magnificent salute to the generation of men and women who saved the world, put it on your bucket list.  You won't regret it.

Linda checks out the restoration of PT boat 305 an ongoing labor of love at the WW II Museum.

Bruce Harris, in charge of the restoration, shows the Skipper blueprints of PT 305. 

Just one of many planes on display in the Boeing pavilion at the WW II Museum

It was a fantastic week to be in New Orleans.  The weather was perfect and the food superb.  I'm thinking that we need to make this an annual event.  The Work Boat Show, the World War II Museum and a few hundred of the Gulf's finest oysters consumed with other aficionados bellied up to the bi-valve bar at Felix's seems to me  an unbeatable combination.  Maybe Santa will want to join us?  Men of size--Fats Domino anyone?-- are always more than welcome in "the land of red beans and pinball machines".

Always Felix's, not Acme, for oyster heaven.

Jackson Square, ground zero for whack jobs. 

Black Friday? Count Me Out

Ah, the day after Thanksgiving and the self induced turkey coma continues.  The familiar disgust and bloat are far better embraced from an easy chair than they are from the mall and its multitudes of deal digging dimwits who insist on making shopping a sport.  In the age of the Internet who wants to fight traffic, parking and elbows seeking out 50% mark downs that leave the titans of bust out retail a mere 100% profit just for opening their doors.

Maybe it's all the football on Thanksgiving Day--yes, I watched all three games--that inspires so many to venture forth on BLACK Friday.  There should be a certain amount of "I'll show them" bubbling up in the darker recesses of the souls of the unfortunate few who admit to betting on the losers.  And, if your team won, it's understandable that you might think today would be a good day for blitzing the bargain table.  For those people there is no shame in looking like a pack of drag queens at a wig sale.  It's time to shop!

I just returned from a walk in the ultra cool and crisp of a morning in northern Idaho having made a feeble attempt at burning off at least a portion of yesterday's excess.  If I can work in another 100 miles before sunset (4:00PM) I should be back to even.  On my walkabout I took a peek at commerce on Sherman Avenue, the main artery of our town of Coeur d' Alene.  The shops are busy with tourists in town for the annual Christmas light show that kicks off this evening with 1,500,000 lights and fireworks.  This will be our first year to view the event and I'm told that our new home has an excellent vantage point.  The crowd is expected to top 100,000 so I'm hoping they've planned for enough port-o-lets.

So, now do I go to a nearby mall to peruse the holiday carnage or do I bag it and settle for the WWE?  What would Santa do?  It's a cinch he's not really in his workshop OR at the mall.  (Don't tell the kids.)  Like any guy with a "one day a year is enough" work ethic, I'm betting the porker from the Pole is on Amazon--he's a Prime member--checking his list and hitting CHECK OUT as he finds heaven by simply backing away from Black Friday HELL.

Some folks idea of a good time.

The New Emerging Geezer

I wish I had a sawbuck for every guy who told me he wears the same size pants he wore in high school.  The typical American male's capacity for self delusion is seemingly without bounds, or at least an inseam.  Almost without exception the guy still laying claim to a 32" waistline is now measuring it from a spot about eight inches south of his true mid section and must cinch his belt around his new  equator by lifting the Milwaukee goiter just north of this new line of demarcation.  Strangely, his inseam now measures 22 instead of 32.  How'd that happen?!

Male Baby Boomers like me are at that awkward stage.  Even if you don't succumb to the siren call of the south of the border waistline, there is still no denying the condemned building syndrome that is the plight of aging boomer men.  Overnight we've gone from "fair-haired boy" to the "bald-headed brother-in-law" and are dumbfounded at the consequences.  For most of us our hair is in full retreat on all major fronts with the unwelcome exception of our ears and nose.  Fat cells, now free range, have decided that the comfort of our midsection is irresistible and our asses have dematerialized to the point where the backside of almost any pair of Dockers now looks like and abandoned Gypsy camp.  

Young women, suddenly more friendly, no longer see we oldsters as a potential candidate for mattress polo (see "threat") and never miss an opportunity to tell us we remind them of their dad or, the ultimate insult, GRANDPA.  

Our wives find this all highly amusing and relish the knowledge that it's all their fault.  If they had left us to our own devices the bachelor diet alone would have put us in the ground years ago.  A few unsupervised trips to the grocery store are as good as sticking a gun in our kisser.  "Let's see…Cheetos, booze, huckleberry ice cream, cigars, pork rinds, yep, that's everything."  Obituaries for men would rhapsodise about us having "a good run" and passing away of a massive heart attack or cirrhosis at the ripe old age of 36.  Nope, wives had to insist on us eating fruits, vegetables, green stuff and laying off the sauce.  No wonder we're still around and twice as annoying.  It just ain't right.

 The Boomer/Neo Geezer is here to stay and all those of us born to it must embrace the newly shifted dunes of blubber in our now "comfort fit" jeans and new XL underwear.   (The saleswoman laughed when I asked if the XL pertained to fit in the crotch.  I can tell she thinks I look harmless.)  It takes yards more material but we did win the battle to continue dressing just as we did in sixth grade.  (If only I could find my old Hopalong Cassidy six shooter!)

  

"Hey, you kids get off my lawn!!" (Oops, that just slipped out. It has been happening more lately.)

  Have I mentioned that I
 have been forced to shop for new clothes recently? You know I have the same waist I had in high school.
Anybody seen my ass?  It was here a couple of years ago.

I wonder if Wally and the Beav are having the same problem.
Could be our wives.

"

Cold Enough to Freeze the What off WHAT?

Another frosty morn' on Lake Coeur d' Alene

When I was a young Army platoon leader freezing my ass off on the endless acreage of cow toilet that is Fort Riley, Kansas, I promised myself that I would never again live in a place where winter makes a home.  For more than forty years I have kept that promise, until now.  

What the hell was I thinking?!!  This morning I woke to an eight degree slap in the face from that bitch they call the Polar Vortex and I'm wondering if I can still find my Army mummy bag.  The scene outside my window here on Lake Coeur d' Alene, Idaho is stunning.  Just glimpsing the frigid water where the remaining "learning challenged" Canadian geese appear frozen in place causes my testicles to ascend.  Damn!  Will I ever be able to retrieve the paper from the front deck or, for that matter, will a trip to the mailbox at the curb do me in?  

When you're safe and warm it's hard to recall what it's like to be really cold.  "We can do winter", my wife and I both exclaimed when we began to plan our exit from California, a state so far gone to ruin it may never come back, but now we have to prove it.  Granted it is far easier to ignore the worst season of them all when you limit your exposure to extremely small doses such as mail retrieval and walking to the car.   It's far removed from sleeping on the ground in Kansas for weeks at a time while pretending to fight a war with the Godless Russian commies in Eastern Europe.  (Obviously I was born too soon as that is apparently no concern for the current administration.)

Another seasonal adjustment we're having to make here in the panhandle of Idaho is caused by the reluctance of the sun to make more than a daily cameo appearance.  It pops up, when there is no rain, around 7 AM and says "see ya" sometime around 4PM.   We both sleep like hibernating bears and eat like we were going to "the chair".  I'm fairly certain neither of us could make the team in Alaska. 

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining.  Linda and I both grew up in the Midwest where "nice days" are counted on one hand and the snow blows sideways.  Also, not wearing combat boots, packing and M-16, and eating C-rations has me thinking that maybe my aversion to winter was just a bit irrational.  I'll give you a full after action report in the Spring.  In the meantime Christmas is coming and so is grandson Dan.  There is lots of food in the pantry and plenty of fireplace fires yet to enjoy.  Any way you stack it, it is leagues more enjoyable than scrounging for water and sending tax dollars to dumber than drywall politicians in Sacramento.

As North Idahoans say about their weather, "The wind up your ass is so cold you'll be farting snowflakes in July."

That's okay by me.  

Jerry Brown is nowhere in sight.

Pass the honey and the huckleberries, please.

I'm Melting!

"There must be some mistake.  I demand a recount!"

"Nope, you're 5' 9", the nurse explains.  

I'm already regretting taking my wife's advice about finding a new general practitioner in our new home town.  After many years in California, where I was at least 5' 10" tall, I now find myself in Coeur D Alene, Idaho towering over nobody at 5' 9".   The new doc, who I like because he tells me I am in good health "for a man your age", tells me that we all manage to shrink a little as we grow older and I shouldn't be concerned.  Of course he tells me this with at least twenty years less mileage on his odometer and enough hair on his head to add an inch or two.

  

Oh---that was the other thing---when I was at the DMV getting my new driver's license, the clerk listed my hair color as "flesh".  This re-location nonsense can really do a number on your ego.  

As my father often told me, "just sit down and shut up".  I should feel lucky to be on the right side of the sod at 66.  It seems as if each week brings more news of old friends who won't be having another birthday or are undergoing some battle with a malady that I still consider strictly for "old folks".  So what if I'm two inches shorter than I was at my high school graduation.  I've still never spent a day in the hospital, broken a bone or been more than moderately crazy.  My liver still makes a growling noise but you would too if you'd logged that many tanker cars of sour mash.  I think it appreciates being laid off 15 years ago.  

So, I am 66 and 5' 9".  So what?  One of life's pleasures is the acceptance of these things.  I've learned to laugh at many things and my capacity for rage has diminished considerably.  Ramparts are no longer to be stormed but they do make a fine place to rest up for the battles that remain.  I've had it with politicians and people I can't abide so I endeavor to stay clear them whenever possible.  My appreciation for true friends grows exponentially.  They are treasures and should be treated accordingly.

Elvis is dead; so is JFK, Robin Williams, James Dean and many others who were shy of my 66 years.  Who knows?  Maybe they are all in a better place or maybe, just maybe, they'd trade places with a guy with flesh colored hair, a few extra pounds and a towering 5' 9" superstructure.   I'm fairly certain that I would.

The great Merl Haggard may have said it best in song:

"One of these days,

When the air clears up

And the sun comes shinin' through

We'll all be drinkin' that free Bubble-Up

And eatin' that Rainbow stew."

In the meantime, if you need any perceptive perspective from  5'9" of altitude, I'm available for consultation…and lunch.

"I'm melting, I'm melting!"

The Holiday That Tries Too Hard

Dressing up for Halloween is okay if you're THIS age.

Halloween, though not an official holiday, is now officially a monster.
A kids' day that used to feature a small party at school, uncomplicated costumes, homemade treats and, NO ADULT PARTICIPATION is now a colossal pain in the ass.  Instead of a getup that your mom helped you put together for the big night there is now a store bought high tech nightmare that won't be paid off until next year.  And, in place of a cup of cider and some candy corn enjoyed with your grade school classmates after the day's school work was completed, ,there is now a multi billion dollar day of lost productivity that wastes the time and talents of both kids and adults.

Last year, after hearing "it's getting tough for grandma to climb these steps" uttered at my front door, I turned off the lights and vowed to just be GONE on future October thirty-firsts.  I don't mind the little kids but I will tolerated no more gap-toothed grandmas sporting enormous pillow cases making candy demands at my doorstep.  Who the hell wants to dress up like an idiot and troll the neighborhood for treats after age ten?!  Didn't this used to be a night for little kids?  When did it become a week long parade of sloth and a technicolor preview of the decline and fall of a once great nation?  It has to stop!

I know, Halloween is now a big deal commercially.  It rivals Christmas in retail revenue and that is a plus for the economy but, COME ON!  Can't we figure out a way to transition from Autumn to Winter without putting little tykes through hobo basic training?  I smell a big fat DNC rat!  How about a costume competition where ingenuity and originality are rewarded.  Or, perhaps a pumpkin eating contest for "big boned" children?  NO ADULTS ALLOWED!  In fact, any adult insinuating themselves into Halloween should be subjected to automatic disqualification and sentenced to a re-education camp.  Better yet, anybody caught trick-or-treating who weighs more than 120 pounds should be sent to a fat farm and given and ultimatum to find full time gainful employment within ten days.

Not all men are created stunning.  Get a job, fatso!

 While we're on the subject,  get this stupid observance out of the classroom.  I recently learned that my 5 year-old grandson was subjected to a day of learning about the Mexican culture's observance of the Day of the Dead as part of his preparation for Halloween.  Stop it!  What the hell does a kid need to know about the primitive superstitions of a country not his own?!  It's bad enough that our children no longer study geography but are also sorely lacking in knowledge of American history.  Don't believe me?  Ask any high school student who America fought in World War II.  I guarantee your jaw will drop.  Fix that educational flat tire before exploring the cultures of other countries.







But the biggest problem with All Hallows Eve is that it tries too hard.  It seems forced.  There is a "hey, we're havin' fun now" vibe to the day.  It's as if the folks who dress in costume are about half embarrassed for having done so but want you to know that they are damn sure having a good time and don't care who knows it.  Pathetic!

"

As for dressing up pets for Halloween…
People who do that should be deported.  It is animal cruelty writ large and should not be tolerated.  Just because you want to fly the freak flag doesn't mean your dog or cat has to.

Midterm elections are next week.  If I had my way each candidate would be required to state his position on Halloween.  Any of them with the guts to come out against this day of national stupidity and communist "give me your lunch money" begging would get my vote no matter what political party or personal failings they have hidden in their saddle bags.

Halloween is proof positive that the late Earnest Hemingway was correct when he said: "Most of the world's ills could be corrected with a three day open season on people."  I'd modify that somewhat to  include only adults dressed up for Halloween.  (Unless, of course, you happen to be female and between the ages of 21 and 81.  If so, I'd like to see you in that French maid's outfit I know you're hiding in the closet.  It might be dangerously flammable! Better send me a picture so that I can do a safety check.)

 My owner is a dumbass!

How Come?

Women smell better than men?

 We have Daylight savings and Standard time?  Pick one!

Regis Philbin has a career?

If you ask a Republican what 2 plus 2 equals, the answer is 4.  Ask a Democrat and the answer is:  We need to study the problem, form a committee, do market research, find which way the wind is blowing and then tax it to death.

Smart Cars?  Really?

Reality TV shows?

Any song by James Blunt?

Hockey?

Circuses?

Political correctness?  Can't anybody take a joke?

The greatest country in the world elected a man who had never run so much as a car wash to the highest office in the land?

Forty percent of the American public thinks the president is "doing a good job"?

The View?

About half the population insists on pronouncing the "T" in often?

pajamas?

Phoenix?

A majority of Americans no longer read a daily newspaper?

Larry King?

You can only find eggnog in stores during the Christmas holidays?

Soup?

Electric carving knives?

Middle-aged and old guys sporting ponytails and goatees?

And….THE BIG HOW COME?

How come huckleberry ice cream isn't "AMERICA'S ICE CREAM"?

The Best TV Show You're Not Watching

You have to love a guy who successfully worked stand-up in Europe billing himself as Bing Hitler.

Scottish wackjob Craig Ferguson, after a brief career as a punk rock drummer, did just that.  He got away with it because he's FUNNY, maybe too funny for network TV.   CBS figured that out about ten years ago and gave him a shot as host of their Late Late Show which follows Dave Letterman on affiliated stations each weeknight. The show is produced by Letterman's World Wide Pants company and it was long thought by many that Ferguson was the natural  "go to" for Dave's chair when the grouchy Hoosier decided to call it a career.  Naturally, show business being the snake pit that it is, CBS honchos decided that Craig was, in his early 50's, too old for the demographic they were seeking in late night programming.  One more stupid decision made by humorless vice presidents and typical management drones that will prove idiotic in hindsight.

Neil Patrick Harris and Craig Ferguson

Little did the CBS suits know that they would be doing viewers a favor as they allowed "the Fergster" to work out the final few months of his contract after giving him $5 million "we're sorry" bucks for their slight.  The man is having a blast at their expense.  Seldom--damn near never--does anyone in broadcasting get to go out in this sort of all flags flying glory. Most often talent is dispatched with little notice or fanfare.  The general method of disposal is to invite a performer in for "a chat" after he or she is off the air.  Within roughly five minutes the subject of "the chat" is being escorted to the parking lot clutching a box containing their personal possessions and a final check.  No goodbye to the audience; no see ya later on another station or in a different city, just…GONE.

Ferguson is taking full advantage of having a couple of months to run his show ANY WAY HE WANTS and it is a scream.  He already offered the best monologue in late night television--never using cue cards--and presided over some of the most bizarre interviews of celebrities ever seen on TV.  But now, without fear of being fired or locked down by management, he is balls out, damn straight hilarious.  I know the show airs late but do yourself a favor and record it for playback at a time more to your liking.  I promise The Late Late Show will be better than 90% of other fare in prime time.  Where else can you find a show with a gay robot skeleton as co-host,  or an invisible band conducted by the "shyest band leader in television" and two guys with degrees from bigtme colleges sharing a horse costume?

Robot skeleton sidekick Geoff Peterson

It might be a good idea to save a few of Ferguson's shows for posterity as the continual unrelenting cancer that is political correctness insinuates its foul stench on what's left of the beautifully creative concept of comedy.  The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, featuring truly outrageous and courageous no holds barred, no sacred cows laughter runs only until December and then, like much of American creativity, it's gone.

Thinking Out Loud

The thought that occurs to me as we continue to unpack from our move is this:  Where did we get all this crap and why did we bring it with us?  You'd think that people who have moved as often as my wife and I would be much better at discarding items we no longer need.  As I packed for the move there was an ever present "maybe we'll need this one day" regarding much of the garage paraphernalia.  Now I find myself with garage shelving plans from my newest dependant, the cabinet guy.  The good news is that the floor of my office is finally visible and my desk is only weeks away from being useful.

Yesterday we both passed our tests for Idaho drivers licenses and got new plates for both cars.  The cost was roughly 25% of what we had been paying for registration in California and our insurance has been cut in half.  We may actually be making money on this deal.  There was NO wait at the DMV either and a couple of sweet ladies to say, "Welcome to Idaho".

In the paper a couple of days ago there was a story regarding the human brain and a GPS-like function that enables people to produce mental maps to navigate the world.  A husband and wife team, Ed and May-Britt Moser won the Nobel Prize for their findings.  I find myself anxious to check out some of their work as I am fairly certain that this human GPS system has a glitch or two in the female brain.  It has been my observation that most guys can find their way around places much faster and more efficiently than the majority of women.  Granted I base this on a very small sample of empirical evidence observed by listening to my wife ask me multiple times what street we're on and which direction we are headed.  I also am father to at least one daughter who needs to drop bread crumbs to find her way home from her job as an attorney.  I think women have a defective gyroscope.  

And, since I have wondered into ditzy dame land…A BIG "Happy Birthday" to my longtime radio partner in crime, Cynthia Heath-Kerrigan.  She was, and still is, not only daffy and delightful as ever but since retiring from radio has found her bliss lending an able hand to the marketing department of a San Diego winery.  In the words of her husband, Sgt. Rock, " The rabbit truly has entered the lettuce patch."  Cynthia made showing up for work at an ungodly hour more fun than it should have been and she always made me laugh.  I think our bosses hated us for having real fun while we collected a paycheck.  

Coeur d' Alene continues to amaze Linda and me.  As we settle in it feels more right every day.  I can think of no place I'd rather be at this time of life.  I miss old friends and family but we have a couple of guest rooms and a sunset or two that will make you want to find a realtor.  Should that be the case, we have one next door.

Sunset on Lakeshore Drive Coeur D Alene, Idaho

Something's Missing

I feel uninformed.
For the past ten days or so I have had limited access to newspapers.  Oh, they're around but I have had little time for them.  Unpacking has occupied most of my days and,  though I have planned to at least scan a newspaper daily, it just hasn't happened.  I have checked email and glanced at a few websites but sitting down to read a paper has not been in my 24 hour job description lately.

In place of looking at newspapers I have attempted to keep myself informed via the Internet as so many of my friends and certainly my children claim to do.  It doesn't work.  Anyone who tells you they "read the news on line" is yanking your chain.  Sure, you can pick up a smattering of important information but you're kidding yourself if you think you have a clue as to what is really going on.  The Internet and electronic journalism in general is geared to exceedingly low attention spans and, more often than not, is driven by an "if it bleeds it leads" agenda.  Also, there is no doubt in my mind that most of what passes for reporting, whether intentional or not, leans to the left politically.  I spent forty years in the broadcast business and witnessed it firsthand.

Today I started getting my newspaper fix anew.  My copy of the Spokane Spokesman Review landed on the deck of our new home in Coeur d' Alene, Idaho and I read it from front to back.  Most of the local stories had no meaning for me but it's good to once again be in the know with regard to national and international events.  The written word still reins supreme when it comes to comprehension.  The Spokesman-Review's Op/Ed page is, in keeping with most of American journalism, decidedly liberal but my Wall Street Journal and Investors Business Daily will be here tomorrow to balance out the equation.

Too many cities have local papers that are dying or are merely a shadow of what they once were.  It's tragic.  For keeping well informed, nothing beats the printed word.

The Road Home

Leaving California traffic.  Yeah, I'll miss this. 

Eastern Oregon…gateway to zzzzzzz.

It's soggy in eastern Washington.

At home at last in the panhandle of Idaho

New Beginings

     Dear Michael & Stacey,

Congratulations on your new home.  You're going to like living here.  It will be a terrific place to start your family.  Linda and I have loved this place and find it almost impossible to believe we've spent nearly ten years enjoying its cozy confines.  It's warm in the winter--well, what passes for winter in San Diego--and comfortably cool in the summer months.  We've never had to run the air conditioning more than a couple of weeks in either August or September.  The neighbors are nice and we'll miss them but it's time for us to go.  In 46 years we've packed and hit the road 17 times and this has been a longer than usual stay.  Southern California can be seductive that way.

Our kids are grown and it's time for us to go ride bikes, play in boats and--who knows--maybe even mess around with the old game of golf after an extended layoff.  We'll come back to San Diego often since our youngest daughter and her family live here.  It would be impossible to stay away from our one and only grandson for very long.  (Who else but grandpa can pull candy from his ears?)  Grandchildren are the icing on the cake of a lucky and very blessed life.  You'll see what I mean in another twenty or thirty years.

I wish you many happy years in the home that will now only exist for us in old photos and misty memories.   As we now embark on what is no doubt our "senior tour" I invite you to stop and see us if you should find yourselves in the Lake Coeur D' Alene area of the Gem State of Idaho.  We should be settled in before the year has ended and unpacked sometime in 2016.

Al, Padre fan and genuine alligator lizard

Pay no attention to the psychotic barking of the mutt next door.  You'll get used to it after awhile and the little bastard will no doubt head for that big bone yard in the sky in a couple of years.  Oh, while you're at it, please say hello to my little pal Al the alligator lizard who lives on the west side of the patio.  Al is, like me, a longtime Padre fan (see, Cub fan of the western U.S.) and will commiserate with you throughout the many sad and gone bad seasons waiting to be endured.  Toss him a spider or grub if you get the chance.  Unlike most of us wearing Padre gear, he can catch.

So, enjoy the house: raise your children and have some laughs.  One day, when the kids are gone and your hair is either gone or gray, I've got a beautiful little place on the shores of Lake Coeur D' Alene I can probably offer you at a bargain price.

Sincerely,

Ken Copper

Getting Too Old For This

Having spent the past couple of weeks in whirling dervish mode as we prepare to leave California for the pristine beauty of Lake Coeur d' Alene, Idaho, I have come to the conclusion that timing truly is everything.  In two or three more years my wife and I wouldn't be able to make a move of this magnitude.  It's just too tough.  What was once a part of our lives as radio gypsies now seems to be overwhelming.  Neither of us has been able to sleep much as we worry about all the little things that go into an interstate relocation.  How did we ever do it when the kids were little?!

This project has reminded me that maybe the most significant reason most of us are only allotted a maximum  eighty to one-hundred years on the planet is that is about all the change we can handle.  Change, increasingly at warp speed for us, becomes more difficult as our people odometer rolls up maximum numbers.  Whoa! Why can't things just hold still for awhile?  It's not only harder and harder to register all the technological change around us but emotionally the transformation of America's social mores seems more difficult to accept as we age.  Embracing my inner (and outer) grumpy old man grows easier every day.

Case in point:  Recently I read a report of a new survey of 2,000 people from  a dating website for singles that smacked me between the eyes with just how different our society is since my dating days in the 1960's.

According to the findings, single girls now wait until the fifth "date" (or whatever it's called today) before having sex.  Even more shocking--at least to a man of my years-- is what makes up their mind about sleeping with a guy.

Here is their list:  1. Two gifts or tokens of affection
                            2.  Five social media messages
                            3.  12 text conversations
                            4.  Five phone calls
                            5.  Three DVDs watched
                            6.  Seven passionate kisses
                            7.  Five heart-to-hearts or meaningful conversations
                            8.  Four meals together
                            9.  One bunch of flowers
That's it!  Really.

I honestly can't imagine what this list will look like in another fifty years.  All I know is I'm getting WAY too old for this stuff and am more grateful than ever that my wife has seen fit to put up with my   ever more irritating personality and painful inadequacies for the past forty plus years.

You see, in my day, boys and girls,  there was a tenth item on the list.  A wedding ring was part of the deal back then.  No token tally of social messages or DVDs in common, just plenty of passionate kisses and ring seemed to work just fine. Well, maybe flowers didn't hurt either.

As I said, I'm getting too old for this b.s., and I'm grateful.
Don't get me started on the designated hitter or political correctness either.

Funny Lady

She didn't need the plastic surgery.

I've often wondered what Joan Rivers would have looked like if she had not fallen in love with plastic surgery.  Better, I think.  Looking at old pictures of her I wonder why she was so afraid of a few wrinkles.  She was an attractive woman whose marvelous sense of humor made her downright beautiful to me.  The broad was FUNNY!

In an age of political correctness, Joan Rivers decidedly was not.  She knew that being funny meant being offensive.  ALL humor is offensive.  If you're not offending someone or something you're not being funny.  Only morons refuse to grasp this and, naturally, they always seem to be offended by nearly  everything.

I interviewed Joan Rivers about ten years ago just prior to a show she was booked to perform at Humphry's in San Diego.  My then radio partner, Cynthia Heath-Kerrigan, and I approached the interview with some trepidation.  Comedians can be some of the worst people on the planet to deal with and both of us thought that Joan might be a bit of a handful.  We were prepared for a hard time.  Boy were we mistaken.  She was not only entertaining but pleasant, considerate,polite and damn funny  for the better part of an hour conversation she really could have skipped.  Her performance was already sold out.  She talked with us like we were old friends and was hilarious throughout the interview.   A class act all the way.  I came away an even bigger fan than I had been before.

I believe it was P.J. O'Rourke who said:  "I've always thought that solemnity was the principal feature of a low I.Q., and that earnestness is just stupidity sent to college. "  A fantastic line.  Joan Rivers was a comedic genius who made the world a better place with humor.

Thanks Joan for lightning the load.  Tell George Burns, Robin Williams, Johnny Winters and the rest of the gang now playing the BIG room hello, and thanks again for all the laughs.