The Obit Is Dead

"She often bragged of her affairs with John Kennedy and Frank Sinatra"
"Friends said she had been drinking herself to death for years," read one classic line from the obituary for a prominent Bay Area socialite back in the early 1980's.

You don't see obituaries with quotes like those anymore.  Let's get real, you don't see much in the way of newspaper obituaries that provide more than a perfunctory recitation of statistical facts and memorial information regarding the disposal of the diseased.

When we lived in San Francisco I looked forward to reading what my pal, Captain Dave, refers to as "the Irish sports pages" each day in the Chronicle.  That paper had some of the most entertaining obituaries of any daily in the country.  I recall the elaborate send off they gave to one of their own columnists, Charles McCabe, when he was fitted for the wooden overcoat.  His lowlife newspaper buddies commissioned a life-sized cardboard cutout of good old Charlie that they dragged around to some of his favorite North Beach saloons for one more round.  It was duly noted by said colleagues  that cardboard Charlie, like the real McCabe, stayed in character by never once picking up a tab.

Newspapers, like radio and TV, are all about business in 2016.  The accountants are running the show and the creative types have been ushered off to early retirement at the track or, more likely, the corner bar.  Editors, proof readers, and writers of obituaries are the stuff of history in an age of Google, spellcheck and do-it-yourself notices written by a relative or friend.

I have been noodling about this lately since finally getting around to reading a book I picked up about ten years ago.  I do that--buy a book with the good intention plowing through it pronto--and then don't.  The book, The Dead Beat, is a dandy salute to the ink stained masters of the BIG sendoff.  Marilyn Johnson, a longtime writer and editor, has put together some of the best obits in the English language, and it is a most welcome and hilarious tiptoe through the tombstones.  I wish I hadn't waited ten years to read it!

One of the funniest and most revealing sections of The Dead Beat regards the use of euphemism when writing of someone's "passing".  A list of euphemisms from from longtime London Telegraph writer, Hugh Massingberd, is delicious:

Gave colorful accounts of his exploits--Liar!
No discernible enthusiasm for civil rights--Nazi
Powerful negotiator--Bully
Tireless raconteur--Crashing bore
Relished the cadences of the English language--Old windbag
Fun-loving and flirtatious--Nymphomaniac!
Affable and hospitable at every hour--Chronic alcoholic!
An uncompromisingly direct ladies man--Flasher and rapist!

Damn, I miss real obituaries!  They're gone now; services pending.
If you want a good one, I'm afraid you'll have to write it yourself.  In the meantime, let me recommend a really good book.

Squirrel Delinquent

The good news is we have no presidential debates scheduled for the next few days.  The bad news is, unless something gives, we are reduced to choosing between a draft dodging blowhard with a bad combover and Richard Nixon in a pantsuit come November.   It's enough to depress Norman Vincent Peale.

With that in mind my pal, the Skipper,  recently sent me a YouTube video that made me laugh.  I offer it here to help take your mind off the coming election, though I do realize this will only enhance your nightmarish fear of squirrels. 

Much like politicians, you should NEVER turn your back on these bushy-tailed rodents! 

WTF? We Have to FIX This!

"Based on our comparison of publicly available information published by the U.S. Census Bureau and the federal Election Assistance Commission, your county is failing to comply with Section 8 of the NVRA."  "Federal law requires election officials to conduct a reasonable effort to maintain voter registration lists free of dead voters, ineligible voters and voters who have moved away."

The preceding notice from the Public Interest Legal Foundation, a law firm dedicated to election integrity, was recently sent to officials in 141 counties across America.  In other words, lots of places have plenty more voters on the registration rolls than real live people.  Hmm?  Apparently that fact is of little concern to the DNC or, for that matter, either former Attorney General Eric Holder or current AG Loretta Lynch both of whom refused to do anything about the situation.  And, of course, our current short timer-in-chief has no problem with corrupted voter rolls.  In fact, if the aforementioned  had their way, we would all vote early and often via our computers beginning at age 16.  Confusion and corruption has served the Democratic party well.  Why bother with integrity when smoke and mirrors have worked their electoral magic?

As of today, there are 141 counties spanning 21 states that boast out of whack voter rolls.  Michigan has 24, Kentucky 18, Illinois 17, Indiana 11, Alabama 10, Colorado 10, Texas 9, Nebraska 7, New Mexico 5, South Dakota 5, Kansas 4, Mississippi 4, Louisiana 3, West Virginia 3, Georgia 2, Iowa 2, Montana 2, North Carolina 2, and Arizona and New York with 1 apiece.  Franklin County Illinois has the highest rate of voter registration to population imbalance at 190 percent.  Simply outrageous.

It was refreshing to vote in the Idaho primary election this week.  Even though my candidate did not win, for the first time in many years I was asked to state my name and address, show a valid picture ID and sign my name before voting.  Common sense seems to dictate that simple exercise should be in place in all localities, but it's not.  In California I was never asked for any proof of identification and could have easily signed up pets and dead relatives to vote absentee at anytime.  This, of course, goes a long way toward explaining why Jerry Brown is yet again the governor of the once Golden State and why being in the country illegally or being a convicted felon is no obstacle to voting.

Simply requiring a valid picture ID to cast a ballot is an inconvenience to NO ONE.  This basic prevention of fraud is essential.  Any citizen either too stupid or too lazy to secure this easily accessible token of identification should not be allowed to vote.  Voter suppression is a canard employed by those who will stop at nothing to prevail.  The will of the people be damned.

Guys Don't Text!

NO TEXTS ALLOWED!  It's a guy phone.

For a couple of years now I have been hearing mysterious dinging sounds at all hours of the day and night most of which are followed by my wife typing furiously.  It's called texting and I'm convinced only women do it.  I suppose I could have asked her what was going on but, like so many aspects of a long marriage,  mostly it's better not to know.  What she has been doing all this time is carrying on extended "conversations" with our daughters and personal friends by sending written messages back and forth.  This makes no sense to me.  If you want to talk to somebody why not just punch in their phone number and give them a call?  Texting is essentially nothing more than Western Union which, as I recall, was pretty much put out of business by the telephone.  I think it's a chick thing.

Guys don't text.  Well, at least none of my buddies do.  If a guy needs to talk to a pal, he CALLS.  Why go to all that trouble of typing stuff on a keyboard fit for 2 year-old hands??  Linda asked me if I ever got any texts and I asked her if by "texts" she meant that writing that sometimes mysteriously appears on my phone. "Yes, that's it," she said.  All this time I had assumed it was some kind of bug in my phone and considered maybe taking the damn thing in for repair.  Of course I never did and eventually the ghost writing on my screen would disappear.  Who knew?

I do NOT want to text!  It's bad enough that we are all required to carry these modern day slave bracelets with us everywhere we go let alone actually answer when they ring or belch out one of the idiotic alternative "sounds" willing to yank our chain.  I hate phones!  Forty years of being forced to answer them while on the radio has convinced me that sane people never use them.  As I explained to many a manager as he or she was showing me the parking lot and handing me my final check, "I didn't get into radio to listen to other people, I got into it to make them listen to me!"  And that, boys and girls, is why my phone is always on mute.  (Also, probably why I got fired... a lot.)  As far as I'm concerned, the function of a cellular phone is to provide stock quotes and ball scores that I may have a financial interest in; nothing more.
On second thought, that fart app is pretty cool.

So, fellas, I guess this is just one more of those "hear me roar" deals the girls have going on.  We'd better get used to it.  It's just like seventh grade when they all passed notes in class while we were busy trying to avoid getting caught chewing gum or launching spitballs.  It's the price we pay for having the common sense gene.

Now, where are my ear plugs?  The dingbats are at it again.

We Gotta Get That Here!

Make way...old guy coming' through!

They have this deal in Brazil that is absolutely the greatest invention since canned beer.  If you are a citizen of that banana republic,  a fairly recent law requires all private businesses and government facilities to provide immediate and differentiated attention to people aged 60 and over.  If not in compliance, a company or government agency can be fined something like $750 (or a bazillionty brazilions in Brazilian currency) for each screw up.  

In other words, OLD CATS GET CUTS!  If you're 60 or older you can walk into a bank or any place of business and, upon spotting a line, simply stride to the front of the queue and say, "excuse me, I'm next."  No lie!  It's the best geezer benefit this side of the senior discount at the movies.  Maybe we could get that  law passed here before the next Star Wars hits the multiplex?  Imagine how much fun it would be to cut in front of all those candy ass millennials as you score a senior discounted seat.  Sweet!  Maybe we could even corner the market on popcorn and Good N' Plenty.

As it is with all dictates, there are some who are angered by the new law.  A bar owner in Fortaleza says that he is bothered by the guys he considers able-bodied seniors with "dyed hair and a pocket full of Viagra" cutting in front of the rest of his customers.  He also says the law has turned his mother-in-law into a megalomaniac.  Get over it junior!

I say we seniors start making some demands of our elected or soon to be elected officials.  Any one of the clowns currently begging for our support should promise to get this done for us ASAP.  (We're not getting any younger ya' know.)  It would be the ultimate way to get back at our kids.  "Keep working, fruit of my loins, mom and pop don't need to be standing in any lines."  "Thanks for the Social Security and that Medicare freebie, now STAND BACK GRAMPS IS COMIN' THROUGH!"

First one of you political polecats to ram this one home gets my vote and a case of Depends.

"Hey you kids, get off of my lawn!"

Primary Primer

My wife and I stopped off at the county election office the other day to make sure we are both registered to vote in Idaho.  We knew we had filled out the paperwork last year but have received only a trickle of postal effluvia from candidates or the county so far and the primary is scheduled for March 8.  The woman at the office explained that they don't send out reminders to voters and, if you want to vote absentee, it's up to you to initiate the request.  All of this struck both of us as refreshing after coming from California where folks and their pets with or without a pulse can vote as many times as they'd like.  Here in Idaho they're also "old fashioned" enough to require actual proof of identification when you vote.  They have the nerve to ask for a driver's license or another form of valid picture identification before handing you a ballot.  The horror!  That wouldn't play in Chicago, L.A., New York or other parts of America where it's too much trouble to stop by the DMV for a driver's license or FREE ID card.  Can't be putting voters to that much trouble.  No sir.

Of course as the primary date draws near we increasingly find ourselves wondering if there is a bandwagon worthy of boarding.  Both the Republicans and Democrats, as of right now, have a couple of lowlife tools leading their respective packs.  It's a real Hobson's choice between a draft dodging blowhard billionaire who was born on third base and thinks he hit a home run for the Republicans and a draft dodging screwball commie leading the lefty parade.  I'd love to get Ben Franklin, Tom Jefferson or John Adams to weigh in on these two.  They would, no doubt, be passing the hemlock.  By the way, it was Plato who said, "Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools talk because they have to say something."  Care to guess where Bernie and The Donald fit in?

The wife and I have decided to go with all write-in candidates.  They're all neighborhood pals who will work for peanuts and are too stupid to steal.  Perhaps you'll want to caucus for them when your primary rolls around.  Don't forget your ID.  Here are our endorsements...

Major Lard:  a real leader but a little squirrelly.

Millie Whatmuff:  wife of Major Lard and keeper of the nuts.

Shugga Free Leonard:  "What are you looking' at?!"

Stubby Clapp:  Sheriff of Squirrelltown, steals with aplomb.  A real politician.

Well, At Least The Girls Like It...

Since she used to teach school, I asked my wife if grade school kids still make valentines with their little scissors, crayons and construction paper.  In my opinion, Valentine's Day should be all about a school party and "art" projects to be taken home to mom.  She thought that they still do though there are no doubt many more idiotic restrictions  than there were in the 1950's and '60's.  You know, some kid is probably allergic to paste or maybe there are now "trigger" words to be avoided when putting together the homemade love greetings.  Then it came to me that an accurate reading on all of this could be obtained simply by asking daughter Katie what Valentine's Day happenings were planned for our six year-old grandson Dan's class.

I started thinking of Valentine's Day and all the preparations for the faux holiday we boys liked in my grade school years of the 1950's.  The fact that there was a half day long party on the calendar and a few days of project time devoted to making the cards and decorations for the big event certainly was a plus.  We boys cared diddly about all that mushy love stuff but it did get us out of actual school work. The girls ate it up.  They took great pride in making fancy cards and elaborate boxes that were to be the receptacles for all the gooey declarations of love they expected to receive from their male classmates and BFF's.

We guys had a slightly different take on the process.  Our valentines were all poorly drawn, hastily prepared messy missives.  Our mailboxes were decorated with flames, guns and drawings of explosions.  As for our "hand crafted" cards, I specifically remember cutting out a picture of a vacuum cleaner and pasting it in the middle of a card for my mom.  (Even then I knew what it took to impress the ladies.) The big blob of paste  used to secure the picture oozed out the sides and clumped like cat flop all over the inside of my card.  I didn't care.  My pal, Lon Cooper, stole my idea but substituted a V-8 engine picture that I'm sure thrilled his mom.  Ronnie Smith, ever the clown,  selected a good sized hand picked booger and placed it on a spring lifted from his ballpoint pen that jumped right out of a heart made just for his mom.  If memory serves, Ronnie did not get to take that one home.  Nonetheless, his mom still visits him every other Valentine's Day at the state prison.  A mother's love is forever.

Ronnie at this year's state prison valentine party.

Not everyone can pull off this look.

So, in checking with youngest daughter, Katie, she has assured me that the Valentine's Day festivities are still very much a part of America's grade school culture and that the homemade cards for family and friends remain a staple.  I guess nobody has yet figured out a way to feel threatened or offended by all that mushy stuff.  Grandson Dan, now six, made his mom a valentine crown complete with antennae  and managed to slap together a semi-red blob that "sort of" looks like a heart.  (I'd love to see what kind of art work the girls in his class created.)

If you squint, this almost looks like a heart.

I have to say that in spite of my built in boy bias toward all things Valentine's Day related I am semi-delighted that the PC police are, at least for now, leaving this bit of cultural nonsense alone.  It's probably good that youngsters are being encouraged to openly express love and appreciation for family and friends.  I do believe it helps those of us of team XY to be more sensitive and caring.  As a matter of fact, this year in addition to the usual tickets to see the WWE, I'm tossing in TWO cases of beer as a Valentine's Day treat for my wife.  (Micro brew, no Bud.)  Dan has a long way to go before he tops grandpa.