Hot Dog! A Dream Job!

This is exciting stuff for aging boomers!  The folks at Oscar Mayer have announced that they're now seeking a qualified "Hotdogger" to be the next driver of their totally cool Wienermobile.  The job begins in June and the company is accepting applications for this dream gig until January 31.  The "condiments" that come with the job include what the Oscar Mayer folks refer to as a "competitive" salary, benefits, cool clothing and a company car like no other.

"Look ma, I am a wiener!"

  As the most car centric generation in history, we Boomers consider the day we got our driver's license to be the day life began.  We loved and still care about our wheels.  If you were a teen in the 50's, 60's or even 70's a major component of your social life revolved around aimless cruising and listening to tunes.  The opportunity to return to those days of yore while driving an iconic and delicious looking sausage around the United States will be a dream come true for some lucky guy or gal.  To apply for the job check out the company website where requirements for the assignment are spelled out in detail.  A four-year degree in public relations, journalism, communications, advertising or marketing are at the top of the list.  Though not specified it would seem that a genuine appreciation for tubed meats and a verifiable diagnosis of permanent arrested development would be far more important than any old college degree.  Party animal credentials will be thoroughly checked!

WARNING:  I have already applied for this sweet deal and am anticipating a congratulatory call from  Mr. Oscar Mayer himself just as soon as the company ceases accepting all those other applications.   Should I be cheated out of what would appear to be my destiny, let me be the first to call shotgun.

The ultimate wiener roll

Other than needing some fuzzy dice, this baby is ready to hit the road.

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

I'm sensing it's that old toxic masculinity bubbling to the surface.  How else do you explain my abandonment of a season long boycott of the NFL?  Perhaps it was an overwhelming desire to see the Los Angeles (Ne San Diego) Chargers get their collective asses handed to them by the Patriots.  Whatever the case, before I knew it,  I had returned to the realm of wasted Sundays with the NFL.

This weekend, with the Chargers easily dispatched and limping back to the L.A. cesspool, the AFC conference championship game will feature the mostly hated yet talented New England Patriots and the exciting Kansas City Chiefs and their stellar young quarterback.  The early Sunday NFC contest should be an excellent opening act as it features the suddenly pretty good Los Angeles (Ne St. Louis) Rams as chum for the "Who Dat?" nation's Drew Brees and his Saints.  The Superdome is where teams like the Rams are fed to the lions and I don't plan to miss a minute of the slaughter.

Slaughter??  There's that toxic masculinity again!  My brothers and I would like to thank the American Psychological Association for coming up with this handy excuse for our testosterone fueled bad behavior.  We can't help it!  Please understand that we really would like to be better people but, damn it, our genes won't let us.  A denial of biology would be a blow to the mental health nerds who seem determined to crush masculinity and the cult of manhood whenever and wherever it seeps into modern society.  Face it guys, we're just plain abnormal!  Embrace your feminine side and prepare to calm WAY down.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to cave in on this and hope many of my fellow Y chromosome carriers will join me this weekend as we forget we own razors (thanks Gillette!), gorge on  pork rinds, Cheetos, potato chips and beer while reveling in the coming pigskin orgy.  Heck, we may not even shower until the Super Bowl is over!  (Perhaps a bridge too far?  Just asking for a friend.)

Now, toss me that bag of Fritos and a cold one and prepare to watch some football my posse.  In just a couple of weeks we enter the sports dark side of the moon that is the seemingly endless weeks to  be endure between the end of the football season and pitchers and catchers reporting for Spring training.

Well, there is soccer.
Yeah, right.  Ha!  Beer me, I'm running low on toxic masculinity.

Family Reunion

Not that there was ever any doubt, your kids are your kids no matter what their age as those of us who've attained senior status will attest.  For the past few days it has been impossible for me to ignore that simple truth as my daughters, now 47 and 45 years old respectively, have joined me for the first time since the celebration of their mother's life in the summer of 2017.  Naturally it's a somewhat bittersweet reunion but therapeutic nonetheless.  Kelly,  the oldest, lives in New York City and travels extensively in Europe while her sister, Katie, works as an attorney in San Diego.  Obviously the opportunities for getting together are few and we make the most of them when we can.

Both girls are married now to guys I actually like and Katie has provided me with my one and only grandson, Dan, who is now 9 years-old and due to surpass me in mental and social maturity somewhere between the day after tomorrow and a week from next Thursday.  In the meantime we have fun playing with his Christmas toys while his mom and sister catch up on all that is important in their active lives.  It's good to see them laughing again in spite of the very large void that remains and will continue to ache for the rest of their lives.  They're dealing.

With each passing year it becomes emphatically clear that family solidarity is imperative to happiness.  I can't imagine life without these two wonderful daughters who remain eternally stuck at about 10 and 8 years-old in my eyes.  I'm glad we did this.  It's a wonderful reminder of just how lucky my life has been.

I have the pictures to prove it...

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."--  F. Scott Fitzgerald

New Year, New Resolutions

This year will be different.  Changes will be made and "new and improved" will be affixed to my persona!

In the past I would laugh at those who promised to change their behavior for the better via some foolish resolutions, a mistake of epic proportions.  However, as one who has evolved from "fair-haired boy" to "bald-headed brother-in-law", I now see that there is real possible improvement in store for me in 2019 and after much consideration I have composed a list:

In 2019 I resolve ...

1. To never deprive myself of the cathartic pleasure of yelling at my TV.

2.  To never served watered down drinks to my friends.  (Don't ask for ice.)

3. To never feed soup to a harelip horse.

4. To never invite a live gopher into my home.  (unless it looks like fun)

5. To never get in touch with my feelings.

6.  To resist everything but temptation.

7. To never take a dog's temperature in church.

8.  To never give up a chance to ignore political correctness.

9.  To never go ice skating in my underwear...or, ice skating AT ALL.

10.  To give up swearing.

Damn!  That stupid b@##$% Pelosi is on my TV!!
Oops, I do believe my resolutions are shot to hell.

I  feel very positive about my chances for next year.  I'm sure to nail it in 2020!
Happy New Year!