Dad At 35,000'

(The following was written a couple of weeks ago in the middle of a first time flight to Australia and New Zealand.)  

He sneaks up on me when I least expect him.  Certainly as I attempt sleep at umpity ump thousand feet somewhere over the South Pacific it is a surprise to be talking with my dad.  People never tell you about stuff like this.  At least nobody ever mentioned it to me.  Or, maybe they did and I just wasn't listening.

Dad ankled the planet nearly sixteen years ago but strangely has had more to say to me in the past few years than he ever did while still blowing smoke rings from is favorite green easy chair.  Or, maybe he did and I just wasn't listening.

No mater.

What strikes me in the wee smalls of a fourteen hour flight to Sydney is the enormity of what was asked of so many Americans of dad's generation not so long ago.  The scope of the challenge handed to those young guys at the threshold of their adult lives is hard to grasp.  Even more impressive is the fact that they delivered.  How did it feel to be a young man from the cornbelt who, like most of his peers, had never been far from home, on board a ship bobbing on an ocean you'd never seen?  

What sacrifice!  There were no guarantees of victory; no assurance of going home in one piece.  Yet, they did it because the alternative to victory was unthinkable.  A triumphant Imperial Japan and, or Nazi Germany was simply unacceptable.

They anted up irreplaceable hunks of their young lives.  Some gave all in places they couldn't find on a map.

It isn't lost on me that their grit and determination allows me to now muse at 35,000 feet as I wend my way to a part of the globe I will visit under very different circumstances from dad and his buddies.

In this season of thanks and redemption I remember as a grateful son and hope that it's enough.

Add One More To The Royal Payroll!

It has been fun to be in Australia for all the excitement surrounding Prince William's engagement to Kate Middleton.  The Aussies , you see, like most of the rest of the free world and assorted commie countries couldn't give a rat's ass.  At least that's the vibe I pick-up from the local papers, (yes they still have them and they are BIG), and chats with the completely affable folks from the land down under.  

Apparently the fact that Kate is a distant relative of one of the original Brit jailbirds quartered in these parts is, at best, a triviality.  Australians look at it as just one more addition to the already bloated royal payroll of horse-faced dimwitted inbreds that the U.K. continues to prefer over a really kickass flag.  Just think of the dough England would save by going with the flag or very cool mascot.  Putting the royal numskulls in the unemployment line could free up millions of euros and perhaps allow Britain to balance its budget or, better yet, throw an exceedingly bitchin' party.

Where is Winston Churchill when you need him??!!  I'm sure old Winny would be on-board with this.   More money for cigars and brandy!

Of course I realize that Americans have no room to criticise when it comes to rewarding idiotic behaviour, however even we are not dumb enough to have the federal government cut a paycheck for Snookie  and the gang from Jersey Shore.   We do pay San Fran Nancy Pelosi, but you don't want to get me started.  

This Guy GETS It

H.L. Mencken, for years my favorite cynic, has nothing on Adam Carolla.  In fact Carolla is the uber crank  we angry middle-aged white guys have been waiting for.  You may remember him from TV's "Man Show" or his radio work as Howard Stern's replacement but you really need to check out his brand new book to grasp just how hilariously prescient this guy is.   Chapters on kids,  the minimum-wage gilded cage, airport security, and women are fall down funny in addition to being spot on correct.  

In a perfect world this guy would be president.  Unfortunately we now live in a "politically correct" concentration camp that deems the likes of The Aceman the enemy.  He decidedly is NOT.  This tome should be required reading for our so called leaders and liberal knot-head pantywaists everywhere. 

Do yourself a favor; BUY THIS BOOK.   In Fifty Years We'll All Be Chicks will have you laughing out loud and later, after you think about it, near tears because he's right and you know it.

TOGA ! TOGA!

"Did we quit when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?"

"My advice is that you start drinking...heavily."  Those were the words of wisdom offered by John "Bluto" Blutarsky to Faber College freshman Kent Dorfman in the touchstone movie of my generation, "Animal House".    It is excellent advice for residents of the once "Golden State" of California now that we have, in a haze of marijuana smoke, once again elected our very own "Bluto", Jerry Brown, as governor.  Goddamn Governor Moonbeam is BAAAACCCCKKK!  And, as if that weren't bad enough, we have also managed to give Mandy Pepperidge, aka Nancy Pelosi, another six years at the Washington teat.  (She's done such a great job you know.)  Maybe we need some sort of mental test before people are trusted with a ballot, or at least restrict voting to folks who actually pay taxes and have some skin in the game.  Knowing the issues would be a nice touch too.

Mandy Pepperidge Pelosi

After Tuesday's election it is apparent that most of the country, even Michigan and Wisconsin for God sakes, has come to its collective senses.  Adults who grasp the concept of only spending money you actually have in the bank is the way to begin the task of fixing this wonderful country.  At last the cavalry has arrived!

Naturally, New York, Massachusetts, Maryland, Delaware, and the Peoples Republic of Oregon remain with California in the dumb row of our semi United States.  (Washington could go either way but  definitely is in need of some sort of remedial intervention.)

Maybe there is some way to group these dippy states into a kind of "We want to be just like Europe" Republic.  Or, better yet, let's just declare them an asylum.  (You know...GOON GARAGE!)

If you need me, I'll be getting an estimate from Bekins.  Wyoming and Nevada are starting to look real good to me.

JERRY BROWN?????

  

  

All We Are Saying Is...

LEAVE US ALONE!
A lot is being made of next Tuesday's election and what it means for America.
Not that you asked, but here is what I think.

The citizens of this country are fed up.  We trust NO ONE.  We will vote for candidates who appear to offer to do the least damage.  Republicans, because they're out of power, should win big.  They should not take this as a mandate to do any more than back us the hell out of the government cesspool we're neck deep in.  A return to fiscal responsibility and the cherished principals of self reliance and individual reward for hard work are what we are after.
America is, and always has been, about the ability to succeed or fail on your own.  The only folks who seem to have forgotten this reside in the political class and the rest of us are sick of it.  Because of short-sighted, self possessed professional politicians who cynically buy the votes of an all too often lazy electorate, using their own tax dollars, our country is at risk.  REAL TROUBLE!  Spending money we don't have on so called "entitlements" and leaving the tab for our kids and grandkids is morally reprehensible and frankly impossible to maintain.  The time to settle up is NOW.  The freeload is over!

Of course there will be some pain.  A bender like the one we've been on demands the Mount Rushmore of hangovers.  I think the voters, on Tuesday, will say "We're ready, let's get started."  As long as the sacrifice is shared, Americans are surprisingly resilient.  A flat tax for everyone, means testing for social security, (most of us collect all we paid in after a couple of years in retirement), and an end to fat government departments that long ago should have been replaced by private industry are good places to start.

We have got to do this!  If our current leadership in Washington can't handle a $700 billion bailout program, (and they can't), how can they possibly manage a multi TRILLION dollar health care program or any of the other crack brained projects they have floated?  Based on their staggering record of incompetence, the answer is worse than anything you could imagine.

November 2 is not just a mid-term election.  It is the first round of the fight to take back our country from the people who remain clueless to what America is all about.  Let's send the bastards packin'. The power of the ballot box is mighty. We can do this.  God help us if we fail.


     

Fork Over the Candy...Or the Kid Gets It!

"Can I take this off?  I don't feel so good."

I hated Halloween when I was a kid.  In the first place I didn't like candy and, an even bigger problem,  was that I was completely embarrassed to be seen in the typical homemade or dime store costume that mom insisted I wear.  There were only two store bought getups as I recall:  a hotter than hell plastic "Big Bad Wolf" deal that lasted until I was seven or eight and a "Bugs Bunny" disgrace that smelled funny and had a tail no boy wants to sport.  I dreaded the approach of October 31 as if I were going to "the chair"..  

Don't get me wrong.  I would trick or treat with my friends, but only as a reluctant participant and would always hang back when doorbells were rung for candy.  Secretly I hoped my sack would be missed when the adults dropped carmels, candy corns, popcorn balls and candied apples into the black holes of greed offered up by my fellow juvenile delinquents.  I could barely wait for the evening to be over.  It all seemed so completely dumb.  Sort of like having to work the night shift only to find out you'd been paid in Confederate money.  I couldn't even use candy to bribe my brother.  He, unlike me, loved Halloween and plowed through the neighborhood harvesting every sweet goodie proffered by the grown-ups.  By the time I got home he was already in a sugar induced coma and it would be weeks before skittles or tootsie rolls would be a powerful incentive for him to do my bidding. 

 Halloween became more fun for me when I got to high school.  That's when the "tricks" part of the equation took precedence over the "treats".  Growing up in rural and small town America meant that there were almost unlimited opportunities for mischief requiring flaming bags, repositioned outhouses, and hard cider fueled mayhem.  Good times!

" Come on guys, let's just move this just a couple of feet back from the hole."

Now, as a grandfather and fultime geezer, I love Halloween.  I can't wait for October 31 and the army of little beggars from the neighborhood to ring our bell and wave the open maw of their sacks at me.  I've been ready for them for months!  Literally.  Around July I start throwing bags of candy into the cart when Linda and I are grocery shopping.  "Hey, it'll be Halloween before you know it", I say when she asks me what the hell I'm doing.  I offer some lame excuse about noticing a new family with at least eleven or twelve kids new to the neighborhood.  Sometimes it works.  My goal, you see, is to always have enough candy in the pantry to take care of the trick or treaters AND have enough left over to last me for the rest of the year.  

  I have you see, in my dotage, become a candy junkie.  Some of my friends tell me that it's from giving up booze nearly eleven years ago.  I don't know.  Whatever the reason, I now seek out sweets like congress seeks your wallet.  It's shameless, but I can't control it.  I want it ALL!  Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Butterfingers, candy kisses, if it has sugar...GIMMEE!

So, ATTENTION NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS!  If you are planning on hitting the old Copper mansion this Halloween, get here EARLY.  I start getting stingy as the night wears on.  I will not make the same mistake I made last year when I let my son-in-law, Doug, do the candy dispensing early in the evening.  He was giving out goodies by the fistfull!  I had forgotten that he is a Democrat.  A mistake I will NOT MAKE AGAIN!

Happy Halloween Kiddies!  Empty you bags of candy into Mr. Copper's bowl and no one will get hurt.

Notes to a Grandson on his 1st Birthday

Newborn Dan with Grandma Copper

Danny and Grandma Copper

"What have you done now Grandpa?!"

Danny, the very best grandson a guy could ever have, is a year old today.

Brand new Daniel

How did that happen?  Probably the same way Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas somehow arrive at warp speed due to some sort of intergalactic fart in the time/space continuum.  Any way you measure it, life happens at a pace nearly identical to the inflation of grandpa's prostate and DEflation of his brain cells. Nonetheless, in spite of gramps being short on grey matter, an annual review is in order.  As soon as I'm finished we can both plant our mugs in some delicious birthday cake and raise hell until nap time.

Here is what you have managed to accomplish in your first year of life young Daniel:

First of all, you made grandpa mist up just a little when your mom said, "Wanna hold him?" just minutes after your debut.  You were so alert and your eyes full of wonder, promise and fun all at once.  It was obvious then that we would become great pals and have many adventures together.

You also, and I'm extremely proud of you for this, have become an inveterate flirt with the ladies.  George Clooney should take lessons from you!  Grandma Copper is shameless where you're concerned.  I'd be worried if it weren't for the age difference.

You have developed a superior sense of humor.  Grandpa's Donald Duck impression and myriad of embarrassing sound effects usually reduce you to outright prolonged laughter.  (A sign of good taste..or, a hopeless psychopathic disorder.)

You've mastered so many essential baby basics during this important year!  Filling your diapers, cutting teeth, rolling over, crawling on all fours with verve and style, pulling the dog's tail, saying 'momma and dadda" and standing on your own just to name a few.  I especially like the way you climb the stairs and, just as Sir Edmund Hillary before you, turn around to wave good-bye after every two or three steps.

Unlike most one-year-olds, you skipped the baby food stage (I don't blame you) and went straight for the good stuff when you began to crave something more than mommas milk.  Pizza, steak, chicken and cheese seem to be a hit with you and grandpa takes great pride in having introduced you to chocolate flavored Cheerios, which you give every indication of being ready to KILL for.

All things considered, it has been an auspicious start.  A good year!

Of course, like every aspect of life, there have been a few unpleasant things to learn.  A bonk on the head makes you cry, being tired and cranky is frustrating, naps are NO FUN and not being able to play with the toy you want right now can be infuriating.  (You'll never get over that one.)  I know you don't appreciate these annoyances at present but you'll find them to be character builders that will make you stronger in the future.

You are a lucky boy, Danny.  You have the best mom and dad a kid could ever want and grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who love you very much.  A real head start.

For your first anniversary on this planet here is some advice that should serve you well.

"The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change...and the REALIST adjusts his sails."    -unknown

May the winds be with you, Danny, as you sail into your second year.

Dad, Mom, Danny

Watching that wacky Craig Ferguson with Gramps

"Yep, I'm one year old"

The best toy is this empty jar

"Where is Talking Carl?"

The key to crawling is...hand knee, hand knee