Re-Thinking the OLYMPICS

Perhaps I was too hasty; maybe even unpatriotic.
Whatever got into this ALL AMERICAN boy?

How could I have written off the Olympic competition that has captured the attention of the world? How did I miss the emergence of the most exciting new sport of my lifetime? How could I have overlooked Misty May-Treanor, Kerri Walsh and the rest of the magnificent bombshells of the beatific and challenging WOMEN'S' BEACH VOLLEYBALL??!!

Hubba hubba hubba and God bless America! Now, this really is MUST SEE TV! Just where the hell has NBC been hiding this fine old American sport from we die hard Olympic fans?

I'm not yet certain how they keep score or how you can tell who's supposed to be doing what, but I soldier on. This is the American dream writ large and in high definition.

One question: Why isn't it on ALL THE TIME?
Hell, I'd sit through nothing but Billy May's "Mighty Putty" and Mitch's "ShamWow" commercials to feast my eyes on this riveting All American competition.
Is this Fall's NBC schedule already set? I think that a couple of hours of primetime seven nights a week would blow the roof off their Nielson numbers. And, think of all the Texas sized HDTVs rolling out the door of Best Buy and Costco. The beach babes could turn the whole damned American economy around. It's something to bring a tear to the eye of every lecherous capitalist in the good ol' U. S. of A.

From John Wayne in "The Sands of Iwo Jima" to "Misty, Kerri, and the Sand Babes of Santa Monica", this truly is the grandest country on the face of the earth. The commies have NOTHING to compare!

Oh yeah, did I mention that we now have chocolate bacon too?
It's available on the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California.
"Bacon...It's not just for breakfast anymore" is the marketing line being used by Joseph Marini III, a fourth generation candy maker who invented the delicious concoction.

Womens' Beach Volleyball and chocolate bacon...God Bless the USA!

Hand me my remote. I want to slo mo this volley.

Tell Putin to POUND SAND!

What ELSE is on?

Cycling, Diving, swimming? COME ON!!
As if those weren't bad enough, there is also the thrill a minute fun of gymnastics and rowing.

Here's what I won't be watching on TV today, tomorrow, or...EVER: THE OLYMPICS!

God, what a bore!! The only thing that could possibly create a scintilla of interest in this international snooze fest is if the IOC were to sanction some form of parimutual wagering. You know...GAMBLING! Fifty bucks riding on the outcome of a rowing competition might enhance my ability to keep my eyes open, but maybe not. Make it $100.
Who picks these damn events? Where is the Fun Factor?

How about an eating contest or a demolition derby? My old pal, "The Skipper", could round up at least a couple of classic heaps that would be worthy contenders and I know we could count on him for the eating contest. Let's start getting CREATIVE Olympic committee!!!

By the way...When did McDonald's quit charging fifteen cents for their hamburgers? I guess maybe I haven't stopped by the Golden Arches in awhile. Weren't they fifteen cents a couple of weeks ago? Perhaps a few too many days have rolled by since I last "gave myself a break" at Mc D's. The Wall Street Journal has a piece about modifications to the McDonald's menu that references a change in their "Dollar Menu". Dollar Menu???!!!! What culinary delights involving paper thin burgers and fry-o-later grease could cost more than a few cents?

According to the Journal, there are only eight items on the McDonald's menu that range in price from $1.09 to $2.00. Wouldn't $2.00 entitle you to a slice of the franchise???!! It's hamburgers and fries in the name of all that's holy!!! And now they even have $3 lattes???
Kill me now!

Here's a thought: An Olympic eating contest sponsored by Mc Donald's! We could get those cholestoral cuties Fritzy and Frieda Frizzel the original "Sizzle Sisters". You no doubt remember their fine work in the Cheetos Crunch Off in 2006. Those gals really put the thigh in Thigh Master.


Quick! Get the IOC on the line. We'll put a Ton-O-Fun in these games yet.

My $50 is on the fat one.

Wonder Where the Mellow Went?

So there we were, in heaven. Really!
Linda and I met our daughter Katie and her husband Doug at a new San Diego Gaslamp Quarter restaurant called the Cowboy Star. It was perfect.
Pictures of my childhood pals Gene Autry, Gabby Hayes, Roy Rogers, and Hoppy were everywhere. And while we were busy taking our cowboy utensils to a perfect steak, elk chop and delicious piece of bison the sweet sounds of Johnny Cash, Tex Ritter, Roy, Gene and other famous sons of the saddle sung us into a cowboy coma of delight. Yee Haw!!! It was a perfect evening.

When it was time to head for the bunkhouse Linda and I said our "Happy Trails" to the kids and boarded a northbound Coaster train for the not so wide open spaces of northern San Diego county.
You know how it is on a train or a plane. It's impossible not to overhear the idle conversation of your neighbors and to try and guess a little something about them. One young guy just a few seats ahead of us was making small talk with some folks from Utah. Okay fine.
That is it was fine until I heard this: "Utah? That's right near Kansas City isn't it?"
WHAT???!!!
How could this be?? I looked up. The young man who uttered this imbecilic statement appeared to be in his early thirties. Was it possible that he could have attained those years without ever looking at a map of his own country? What a freaking moron!
I had to erase this from my melon or it would make me NUTS. At first I was successful.
Then, when I awoke this morning I heard another one of the brain dead radio commercials being foisted upon our ears by the California Teachers Union. They are all pretty much the same:

"The governor wants to cut spending for education. You can't let that happen! Blah blah blah."

For the union the solution, of course, is always one that involves spending ever more tax dollars on teacher salaries and making sure that classroom sizes are smaller. Well, I'm with them on teacher salaries. Teachers should make more money than anyone. GOOD teachers. Unfortunately the union wants no part of any kind of meaningful teacher evaluation and continues to protect incompetent and useless teachers at the expense of rewarding teachers who actually TEACH effectively. You know...making sure that students know where Utah and Kansas City are on the map.
As far as the smaller class size goes, Japan has proven that is a canard since, well...forever.

I turned off the radio, (something that grows increasingly easy), and headed downstairs. After a little juice and cereal, I grabbed some coffee and the morning paper and headed for the easy chair that has my groove. Things were going to be okay.

In the Currents section of the San Diego Union-Tribune my eyes fell upon a feature about Pamela Anderson and some new reality show that seems to revolve around her. As I skimmed through the latest on Pam's love life and how she and her ex, Tommy Lee, now live together as "good friends" in their Malibu mansion I noticed that she now has feelings for yet another man: Barack Obama.

"I love him," she said. "I think he's going to win. I like that he's opening up conversations all over the world. I think he's smart and charismatic. I think it's important to have a president that people actually like. I know my kids want to be like him. I think he has a great message. It will be nice when people like America again."




Just a guess, but I'm betting that long division was hard for her too.

Damn teachers!

Of Trans Fats and a Good Book

"STATE BANS TRANS FATS AT EATERIES"

That was the headline that got me going this morning.
It's tough enough putting up with the confiscatory taxes in the nanny state of California, but now the lame brained liberal, commie, hippies who rule in Sacramento want to control what we ingest.

Just one more reason to head for the border if you ask me. Let me clog my own arteries any damn way I want to...thank you very much! And while you're at it, LEAVE ME ALONE!

There, I feel better.

Turning to page three of the newly "up for sale" San Diego Union-Tribune my gaze falls on the sad news that Randy Pausch has died. Wow, I'd almost forgotten about him.
I hadn't wanted to like him, but...I did. I read his book.
In case you've been out of touch, Randy was a professor at Carnegie Melon University who wrote a national bestseller called: The Last Lecture. It's a dandy. If you haven't read it, DO. It is an amazing story of courage and love that will inspire you and fill you with admiration for a gifted and intelligent man who was handed a death sentence and turned it into a powerful message for the rest of us.

The Last Lecture is one of those books that will stay with you long after you've put it down. As I mentioned, I hadn't wanted to like him. He was a little too "up" for a guy who has been cranky since childhood, but he grew on me as I got into the book.
I know The Last Lecture has caused me to re-think my long tucked away escape plan in the unlikely event that I might hear, "you have six months to live" from my primary care provider. (That's what we call doctors in California.) My original plan involved a short drive to my local Beverages & More! store to re-connect with my old pal the ever faithful, Jack Daniels. We went steady for more than thirty years; it should be easy to fall in love again.
Hmmm. I wonder if Lucky Strike would like to rekindle the old romance?

No...the good professor has much better advice:

His lecture is about achieving your childhood dreams and the importance of overcoming obstacles; of seizing every precious moment you have.

"Obstacles serve a purpose: They give us a chance to show how badly we want something," says Randy Pausch.

"Brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to stop the people who don't want it badly enough."

He is humorous, inspirational and intelligent.

Professor Randy Pausch, dead too soon at 47.

Do yourself a favor and read his book.

Doin' My Part...

They've opened a new supermarket in our neighborhood.
I can now hoof it to fetch my daily gallon of Dr. Pepper and jumbo bag of Cheese Puffs.

Also, just to be helpful, I have given BP and Exxon the go ahead to drill in the backyard.

Anything to help us through this energy crisis.

I've parked my gas loving rides too...all three of them. They still look good...and so do I as I sit in them on alternating sunny afternoons. I don't drive anywhere. I just sit there looking FINE.



What do these automobiles have in common?










They just happen to be some of the most ugly cars ever produced in America.
Rolling embarrassments to any and all drivers unfortunate enough to have ever fired one up.



Most of these crapmobiles have gone to that big demolition derby in the sky; never to bring shame to their owners again.

There is one more thing they have in common.

None of these cars is as hideous looking as this hybrid turd burger!


They actually want us to drive one of these things?


Uh....NO!


Not now. Not ever!

DRILL, DRILL, DRILL! I've got places to go.

Slap Leather and Don't Annoy Me

This calls for drastic action.
It has GOT TO STOP!

It's mostly TV's bodacious news babes, in fact I don't think I've heard one of the male empty news suits do it yet, but it's coming. I refer, of course, to the incessant overkill of....(drum roll)
"Thank you SO much."
Not "thank you", that apparently isn't enough. NO, when wrapping up a report or finishing an interview the anchor must now say: "Thank you SO much."

I really hate to call this to your attention because now it will drive you nuts. They do it ALL THE TIME.
Since when is a simple thank you not enough? Why must the SO be shoehorned in there? It's not needed and it's really starting to piss me off.

It would be tons more fun is if the close out went something like this: "Nice report Bob. Now, get out...DIE!" Or, how about: "Thanks Sue. Where's the fifty bucks I floated you last month?" At least it would be different and not so damn phony.

Since I'm venting, here's another one I'm hearing way more often from seemingly intelligent people: "He's out the house." Instead of saying "He's out of the house" it's just..."out the house". Last week in a network interview a woman who looked educated and affluent said this: "It looks like our house is safe from the fires, but all it would take is someone throwing a cigarette out the car..." I guess excising the "of the" allowed her more time to pack up the good dishes before getting out of Dodge.

Sorry for the Mr. Persnickety Pants diatribe, but I feel better now and that's the important thing.
Also, this one gave me a chance to use that really cool Richard Boone shot from "Have Gun, Will Travel".
I'm sure old Paladin would thank me for the plug but, he's OUT THE HOUSE.

'Scuse Me While I Blow Something UP

I choose to do this on the 4th of July because...
Well, because it may help mask my incompetence.

My gas grill has be acting weird lately and I have procrastinated long enough. It is now time for action! The damn thing is leaking propane from some "out of whack" location and it is no longer possible to burn meat on the grill. At my house this is a major malfunction.

For years I was a strict disciple of the church of charcoal. Not too much can go wrong when all you need do is toss a match onto a pile of briquettes and walk away for awhile. It's simple; not too messy and there is very little chance of breakage. I should have stuck with it.

About seven years ago I was seduced by the siren call of propane at my local barbecue store. "Just flip the switch... and your fire is ready! No more waiting for the fire to be just right."
For most guys this makes perfect sense, but for me it only means that there is one more piece of equipment around the old homestead that is ready to quit on me at an inopportune time.

You see, the world is composed of two kinds of guys: Guys who can fix stuff when it breaks and guys who can merely look at broken things and wonder who to call. I fall into the latter group. I come by it naturally. My father never had more than a hammer and a couple of screwdrivers in the house. (He actually knew the reason for the existence of the Phillips and the other one.) He was never able to fix anything that was on the fritz, but he tried. Once in awhile his always ugly fixes would work...but most of the time they would only temporarily buy him some time before Mom would call in an expert to remedy the situation. Dad would mutter about there being "no need to call anyone...it works just fine", but we all knew better.

So anyway, here I am on the 4th of July quietly giving thanks that we have no plans for a big backyard "do" because, (after seven years of faithful service) the dumbass gas grill has decided to spring a leak. So here is the plan: Instead of my usual fix it scenario where I merely move the busted appliance to an out-of-the-way location until I trick a non fix it phobic pal into doing something about it, I will attempt to fix it myself. I'm tired of rolling things to the curb and hanging a FREE sign on them after deciding they can't be restored. This time I'm making the move to the group of guys who can repair inanimate objects and return them to useful members of the household appliance brigade.

Who am I kidding?!
If I'm lucky I'll be able to time this disaster to coincide with the amazing and explosive finale' from the fireworks show at Legoland.

Here's to a flaming Fourth!
Pass me that wrench...