Friday, October 26, 2018

Give Me Liberty and Maybe a Ding Dong; Never Chard




 "How about Fruity Pebbles?"
"No."
"Sugar Pops?"
"No!"
"Watermelon, that's a fruit."
"Nothing with seeds!  How many times have we been over this??"

The blonde woman who has lately expressed an interest in keeping me healthy has categorically  diagnosed this scribe as just one more victim of Dunlop's disease, a hideous malady that preys on men of a certain age.  It presents  slowly and often is only discovered when adipose tissue orbiting a gentleman's equator breeches the ramparts of his britches causing his belly to "done lop" over his belt.  Frankly I can live with the affliction since it affords me a very nice snack tray that proves nearly indispensable during periods of extended World Series viewing.  Fritos, Doritos, and other essentials are right there just south of my nose and ready for loading into my eager and gaping maw.  Couple that with a Red Sox win over the arrogant and ever hideous Dodgers and I can die happy.

It's that dying thing that has Blondie in a dither.  Having recently converted to the diet prescribed by Dr. Steven R. Gundry in his book, The Plant Paradox, she is convinced that my increasing girth can be blamed on a weakness for food and beverages that actually taste good.  In his book, Dr. Gundry concludes that most of us are fat because we eat foods containing gluten and lectins, which coincidentally, are, it seems to me, the major delivery agents of all that is delicious and savory. You know you're in food prison when it's okay to eat a tomato, but only if it's peeled.  This guy is a menace.  I feel like calling the good doctor and hipping him to the fact that being THIN IS WHERE IT HAS BEEN whereas these days being FAT IS WHERE IT'S AT.  Have some beer and pretzels or maybe some pork rinds sawbones and live a little.

Pray for me as dinner time approaches in the Pacific time zone.  Looks like it's kale or Swiss chard or perhaps some hemp hearts on the menu tonight.  Luckily there's just enough time to nip out to the garage for an inventory of my forbidden foodstuffs stash.  A few Fritos and maybe a Ho Ho or Ding Dong should sustain me long enough to fake it through the gastronomic equivalent of an IRS audit or colonoscopy.  Right?

On Monday maybe I'll shop for new pants.  I'm thinking something in a "relaxed fit" this time.
Chard: approach with caution

Friday, October 19, 2018

A Beer Too Far!



Unable to scare the bejesus out of all of us with tales of rising seas and temperatures a couple of degrees warmer, the global "sky is falling" crowd now postulates that there is a very real danger of a worldwide beer shortage.  Holy climate change Batman!!

According to the University of California, Irvine's Nathan Mueller, "future climate and pricing conditions could put beer out of reach for hundreds of millions of people around the world."  "While the effects on beer may seem modest in comparison to many of the other impacts of climate change, there is nonetheless something fundamental in the cross-cultural appreciation of beer," reports lead author of this horrific report, Dabo Guan of the University of East Anglia, the Harvard of, uh, nowhere.  Computer models, (we know those are NEVER wrong) predict that the possible effects of climate change on the supply of barley could cause beer price increases of 338 percent by 2099.  Oh no!  Of course these are the same researchers with computer models that can't tell us if we need an umbrella this weekend.  So, now every middle-aged guy sporting a substantial Milwaukee goiter is supposed to be quaking in his boots at the thought of high priced and scarce suds?  Hardly.  The climate of our Big Blue Marble has been changing since time began and, in case you haven't noticed, tropical plants no longer grow at the North Pole and there are deserts where inland seas used to be.  Everybody needs to calm down and maybe have a beer or two while it's still possible and let the egg heads who are angling for more research grants (see money) sweat the small stuff.

Global warming?  Frankly, I've been a little chilly since moving to the wilds of North Idaho.  It would be dandy to lose the sweaters, a parka or two, and maybe grow a little barley around here instead of moose munch and huckleberries.  I'm thinking that a banana tree or two would be a nice addition to the southeast corner of the patio and maybe a switch to white wine is in order.

Excuse me while I turn up the air conditioning.


Friday, October 12, 2018

Seemed Like A Good Idea...at the time

Two wacky Brits
Who among us has not awakened after a night of abandon with a cotton mouth and a very real sense of having done something unbelievably stupid and embarrassing while under the affluence of inkohol?  Whether it's the recollection of having insulted somebody important, losing the car or maybe even misplacing a pair of pants in a location now beyond recollection, the damage is done and it's time to either relocate or assume a new identity.  Haven't done that?  Perhaps you've stumbled on to the wrong blog.  If you CAN relate, I would like to offer you a saga about a couple who's embarrassing alcohol induced gaff will put your worst escapade in the shade.

Gina Lyons and Mark Lee, a couple of wacky Brits from London, got so drunk on their honeymoon that they purchased an entire hotel.  Granted it was a dump located in backwater in Sri Lanka but you have to admire their chutzpah.  After downing 12 glasses of rum they discovered that the lease on their honeymoon hideout was almost up and, after finding out it was only $13,200 per year, they thought "what the hell, we might as well buy it".  The couple was so buzzed during negotiations that they didn't even notice that the conversation was in a foreign language.  They just kept drinking.  The next day, now sober, they began to panic about what they had done and attempted to get out of the deal but couldn't.  So, they decided to turn a dumb ass drunken move into something positive and shortly began $8000 worth of renovations.  The newly named Lucky Beach Tangalle opened this past July and business is booming.  They also have a child on the way and have vowed to henceforth only make big decisions while sober.

I love a happy ending.  By the way, if you need me, I'm closing on a deal to buy this really cool bridge in Brooklyn.
All mine in just a thousand more payments!



Friday, October 5, 2018

Remembering Denny

When I saw the message was from his daughter, Lisa, I knew it couldn't be good news.  Denny turned 93 in August and when you're that age and fighting a rematch with cancer the odds are against you.  Denny Krick died peacefully last Saturday at his home in Arlington, Washington another in that long line of members of the Greatest Generation who are leaving the planet by the thousands.  We are poorer as a nation for their absence.

I have known Denny for several years and can't remember a single time he didn't make me smile.  We met at a Carlsbad, California gym ten or fifteen years ago where we often found ourselves side by side riding those bikes to nowhere.  The fact that his regimen kept him slim and in full command of his faculties inspired me to do the same.  He looked to be on his way to 100 and that seemed like a good example to emulate.  I found him to be a great conversationalist and, though we often differed on politics, we became friends.  

Like my father, Denny was a Navy veteran of the Second World War who served in the South Pacific theater.  After his service hitch he settled in San Diego with his wife, Virginia, where they raised two children and enjoyed life in a booming post war California.  Virginia passed away several years ago and Denny kept her memory alive by sponsoring a bench (Virginia's Bench) above Moonlight Beach in Encinitas where he would often enjoy a Pacific sunset.

Five years ago my late wife and I planned a trip with Denny and another pal, Roger O'Neil, to visit the World War II Museum in New Orleans.  It was an unforgettable honor to visit this wonderful national treasure with a WW II veteran in tow as the museum rolls out the red carpet whenever a vet visits.  Of course Denny was a big hit!  He talked to visiting school children and adults who peppered him with questions about his time in the service.  Especially touching was his quiet conversation with a young girl who's great grandfather had never returned from the war in the Pacific.  More than a few of us had a tear in our eye as he talked of the sacrifices of her great grandfather and so many others. 

When driving became an issue for him Denny decided to leave California and move north where he could be comfortable living in a house he had built behind the home of his daughter and her husband.  He was doing well until recently when a cancer he had battled to a draw a few years ago returned with a vengeance.  True to his generational code there was no mention of this when I had a long conversation with him on the phone a month ago.  He sounded fine and seemed in good spirits though I now realize it was just Denny not wanting to share setbacks or problems with me or anyone.  He was a kind,  considerate and truly gentle man to the end.

As I write this it's sad to reflect on the fact that we don't seem to be making men like Denny anymore.  Whether the cause is a lack of good parenting or an absence of ambition and moral courage, we have most certainly become soft and short sighted when compared to the men and women who took on the twin challenges of a depression and a world war.  Maybe we'll never be that good again as a nation, though I know we certainly need to try.

I'm not sad because Denny is no longer here.  I, and his many friends, are, without question,  eternally grateful that he was in our lives.  No doubt he will dwell in our hearts forever.
Denny at the World War II Museum

Chatting with the daughter of a WW II veteran.
Denny always had time for the kids and their questions.
  

Denny with my grandson, Dan.

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Denny on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.  There's nothing like an old sailor on liberty.