Something To Put Behind Us

Tis' the season of giving and the majority of us have certain charities we like to remember with a tax deductible donation as the year winds down.  There are so many worthy causes and new ones are being added all the time.  Recently the tragedy of gluteal amnesia or "dead butt syndrome" was brought to my attention and it's a cause I believe we all can get behind.

Gluteal amnesia, or DBS, is a condition that occurs when the muscles in your rear end stop working correctly.  This can lead to lower back and hip pain more commonly known as "pain in the ass".  This condition is primarily caused by sitting too much while sporting excess adipose tissue, the unfortunate by-product of eating like we were going to the "chair".  It is a malady far too common among those of us of a certain age.

There is a simple test you can take to see if you have DBS:  Lie on your back and place your hands under your butt. Try to flex your right cheek and then you're left.  If your hands haven't fallen asleep from this move, you should be able to feel your rear muscles engage.  If you feel nothing you are officially a wide load in desperate need of a hind quarter muscle rebuild.

A good first step toward recovery from DBS is to remove your wallet from your hip pocket.  After doing so it would be an excellent idea to gather all credit cards and cash from the billfold and send it to "Butt for Love" or some other really great charity name I haven't thought up yet.  (These things take time!)  I can assure you that your donation will be put to the best possible use.  The Nigerian prince I've hired as our treasurer has promised to put all collected monies to good use as we take on the challenge of eliminating DBS in our lifetime.  At this moment he's out shopping for an RV we'll use to spread the word about the scourge of gluteal amnesia.

"Help!  My butt has amnesia!'

My new charity will do this out of love!  We want to get the monkey not "off your back", but "off your butt", as it is painfully obvious that the circus is still in town my friend.  So, if "Baby's Got Back", send us a SACK!  The first 500 generous Americans will receive a complimentary bean bag chair and a pie.

Trust me.. No, really.

Thankful? You Bet!

Yesterday, when you're supposed to at least give some serious consideration to your good fortune, I confess to being caught up in an orgy of gluttony and sloth.  After adding considerable ballast to the ever expanding life ring around my waist I took smug delight in watching the Saints smoosh those upstart Atlanta Hawks on national television.  I had been avoiding the NFL this year but it just isn't Thanksgiving without watching a Lions defeat and, since the TV was on, enjoying the Saints strut their stuff in the land of red beans and pinball machines.  I love New Orleans and do believe the Saints are going all the way this year.  Who Dat??

Today I'm taking a pass on Black Friday.  It's no fun to shop this early and frankly I prefer to be one of those last minute desperadoes who is out there throwing elbows and punches when there's real panic in the streets on December 24th.  Hey, I'm an adrenaline junkie!  So today, as I clean my house for company, I've been going over all of the many blessings that have come my way.

First of all, though it's embarrassing to discover the extra ten pounds of fun fat that has somehow found a home around my equator, I'm sure as hell happy not to have joined the ranks of the morbidly obese.  It's a real eye-opener to see all of my fellow Americans who have simply decided to say "screw it" and buy the sweat pants.  Maybe we should all have a salad now and then instead of the deep fried Twinkies and double cheese pizzas. You're not "big boned", you're "big intestined."

I'm grateful I lived through some of the stunts pulled by my testosterone poisoned pals and me  in high school and college; also for the fact that the Army needed my combat readiness to defend Kansas instead of Vietnam.  That state remains commie free to this day!

Thankful doesn't begin to describe how wonderful it was to have a career that was never really a job.  Being on the radio was something I loved and, in spite of working for a few asshats, there was never a day I didn't enjoy showing up.  The fact that there was no heavy lifting, plenty of air conditioning and no dressing up required was icing on the cake.

Friends, old and new, are more important with each passing year.  Those I once took for granted I now consider rare treasures and try to treat them as such.  I'm especially grateful to a woman with a very big heart who, having also lost a spouse, thinks I may be salvageable.  She enjoys housing restorations and knows that a 70 year-old (going on 15) male tear down is her greatest challenge.  I'm lucky she's willing to try.

Now, where are those leftover sweet potatoes?   NO diets allowed until after New Year's day.

Drunkest Fans? I Think Not...

In an effort to show a correlation between an NFL team's record and the blood alcohol content (BAC) of its fans, a recent study has determined that the Dallas Cowboys have the drunkest fans.  Sporting a BAC of 0.062 the Cowboys fans do give the impression of paying attention to the Boys' current (4-5) record.  Close behind are the New England Patriots faithful at 0.061, the Saints and Cardinals following at at 0.055 and Indianapolis checking in at the five slot with a BAC of 0.054.

For a number of reasons this study seems flawed to me.  It makes no sense that New Orleans, for example,  should be in anything other than first place.  If you've been to the Big Sleazy you know that at any given moment fifty percent of the citizens of NOLA are hammered to the gills, Saints fans are often found disoriented miles from the Superdome days after the game.  The Patriot fan base, largely of Irish extraction,  often equivocates over whether to get drunk and fight or to fight and get drunk.  It's the conundrum of the Olde Sod.  Arizona Cardinals fans have a legitimate excuse for excess consumption considering that, as denizens of the desert, they are merely attempting to stay hydrated.

Calling Indianapolis home negates the need for Colts fans to explain.

A major puzzlement, at least to me, is the relatively low degree of inebriation demonstrated by the 49'r fans.  Forget their horrible football team, San Francisco still deals with the stereo stigma of Nancy Pelosi and Barbara Boxer representing Baghdad-by-the-Bay.  'Nuf said.

Buffalo Bills fans?  Have you been to Buffalo?

 New York Giants and Jets fans suffer not only from crappy team syndrome but also must endure high taxes and the dumbest mayor in the entire Eastern time zone.  Crumbling infrastructure anyone?

And...why oh why, wouldn't the Redskin fan base be knee walking drunk 24/7?  Sure the team is pretty good this year, but when you're knee deep in political poltroons?   Come on!

Bartender, set 'em up!

Beered up Buffalo beefcake

Earn This

 I'm lucky.  It has been nearly fifty years since I wore an Army uniform.  The draft was still with us in those days and military service was considered a right of passage for most young men. The war in Vietnam had the country's draft boards churning out 1-A classifications by the thousands in the 1960's and '70's.  In the summer of 1971 I found myself stationed at Fort Gordon, Georgia with just a couple of weeks left of signal officer training before orders dictated that my duffel bag and I were set for an "unaccompanied twelve month tour in Southeast Asia."  When you're that young and hopelessly naive it's easy to feel as if nothing can harm you or interfere with the always large plans you have for the future.  I was ready to go, certain that the war was something to get out of the way before returning home and a resumption of my life as a radio Gypsy.

All of us were clueless regarding why we had been ordered to a noon meeting that hot August afternoon but the sense that something was up had us all buzzing.  There were officers from the Pentagon on the stage of the auditorium standing next to piles of what turned out to be orders.  New orders, our orders.  After putting us at ease a major said, "Congratulations men, you are the first class from this school to NOT be going to Vietnam."  As part of President Nixon's plan to wind down the war he was ordering the First Infantry Division and the 82nd Airborne Division home from Southeast Asia.  It was a ruse of sorts considering that the only troops from those two outfits actually returning to America were the men from headquarters company.  The remainder of both divisions would be shifted to other units still in Vietnam while the 1st and the 82nd would be fleshed out stateside by those of us at Fort Gordon.  In hindsight  I now realize this was probably one of the luckiest days of my life.  I would spend the next couple of years with the Big Red One (1st Infantry' Division) playing war games and training for European NATO defense on the frozen and dusty plains of Fort Riley, Kansas.  Nobody would be trying to blow me up or shoot me.  If I could just dodge the Kansas cow flop, I would live to comb gray hair.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about those Army days and the shared experience of serving with men (no women in those days) whom I came to think of as family.  I guess it's the "all for one and one for all" atmosphere of military service that makes it hard to forget.   Also, nothing has made me more happy and proud than to see the new found respect for our service members that is now so pervasive.  There were no "thank you for your service" greetings during Vietnam war era.  Just wearing the uniform in public invited dirty looks and "baby killer" insults.  If you remember those days you are no doubt happy to note the about face.

Sitting by the fire on a cold day in northern Idaho with Veterans' Day and the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I approaching, it is with a grateful heart that I think of all the men and women who weren't as lucky as I.  It is beyond humbling to consider the price paid by the thousands who bore the heavy lift of battle only to be come home in a box or forever changed.  We, as citizens of this still free nation, can never sufficiently thank them.  It simply isn't possible.  We can, however, strive to live our lives in ways that are mindful of the ante paid by so few.  As he lay dying In the movie Saving Private Ryan, the captain, played by Tom Hanks, says to one of his men, "earn this."  He is referring to the freedom from the tyranny of the Nazis that will be the reward of an Allied victory.  Though he won't be going home he wants others to live their lives in appreciation of the sacrifice of the dead and dying.  It's an unforgettable scene and perhaps the perfect admonition to all of us living in this wonderful and still free country.  Let's earn it.

Veterans' Day 2018

Never forget.

Halloween and Other Stuff I Don't Understand

Several years ago I began to notice that I had practically zero recognition of the weird looking people featured on the cover of People Magazine.  Mind you I don't subscribe but merely glance at it while waiting in line at the grocery store to cough up way more scratch than I did a few years ago--okay 40-- for a couple of piddly items. (Just when did a box of Coco Puffs start costing five bucks?)  Do folks still subscribe to People?  Instead of these tattooed no names, how about a profile or three on stars like Jackie Gleason, Paul Newman, Liz Taylor or Bogey?  Oh really.  When?  

Am I getting old?

This looks too hard.

A senior jack o' lantern

I got home around 8 PM on Halloween, just in time for a few of the little candy pirates to accost me, and in a flash I came to the realization that the People Magazine conundrum has now manifested itself in kids' costumes.  Whatever happened to small fry in search of treats dressing up like Snow White, Bugs Bunny or, for the creatively challenged, a ghost?  Now the pint sized hoodlums show up as sci-fi oddballs or pop culture icons haunting me from the cover of People Magazine. It's a vicious circle!  It doesn't pay to ask a kid "who are you?", especially when it prompts an unrecognizable name or fictional character accompanied with a smug impatient look of annoyance.  "Well, you're a good one!", is about the best I can do.  

I saw no political masks this year which is probably for the best.  Likewise, no cowboys, cops, fire fighters or soldiers were on the march in my neighborhood.  In the 1950's Halloweens of my youth it seemed as if every other kid was either Roy, Dale, Zorro or, for the very cool, HOPALONG CASSIDY.

And, whether it had anything to do with Halloween or not, a few days ago six thousand of our U.S. soldiers on a NATO military exercise in Iceland pulled off a neat trick.  These military boys and girls  managed to suck down the entire supply of beer in the city of Reykjavik in just four days.  I don't know about you but that kind of American "can do" spirit leads me to believe that our young people are still capable of great things.  Reports of the troops inquiring about the whereabouts of Iceland's whiskey supply can't be confirmed, but I would like to think they asked.

Now, get your credit cards out.  There are 51 shopping days until Christmas and you know how you like to procrastinate.  If you decided to just go with cash this year, remember I'm an extra large.

Ah, capitalism!