Think I'll Pass...

"Get the hell off my beach you disgustingly in-shape triathletes!"

That scream bubbles up inside me as I look out on another day of preparations for the Ironman Coeur d' Alene that goes off the day after tomorrow.  I had no idea what a big deal this annual shakedown is when we moved in last September.  It is one of the big tests for both men and women before the giant masochistic mosh pit in Hawaii.  Nearly 2000 athletes have registered for this more than painful sounding event that starts at 5:30 AM Sunday.  Even the lure of $100,000 in prize money couldn't pry my ass off the couch for  a 2.4 mile swim, 112-mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run.  In spite of the moola it smacks of Army basic training on steroids to me.

Ranging in age from 18-70 these mesomorph maniacs have been practicing for the swim in front of our home for the better part of a week and it wears me out just to watch.  In fact I WON'T be watching on Sunday.  It has long been my contention that any athletic undertaking that doesn't inspire Vegas handicappers to put up a line is a wasted effort.

My wife is actually interested in all of this nonsense and is more than a little excited to watch the whole thing from the comfort of our front deck.  Because of street closings we are doomed to be restricted to the neighborhood until Ironman 2015 is history.  Talk about a captive audience.  In days gone by I would have done my time happily with the help of a pitcher of martinis, a bag of Cheetos and a baseball game on TV but, alas, diet Dr. Pepper is the only crutch I'm allowed since nearly burning out the clutch on my liver.

The forecast is calling for temperatures of over 100 on Sunday and I'll be orbiting hell.  Participants WILL BE IN HELL  and I'm guessing there will be casualties.  Fifty bucks says at least twenty of them will drop like ripe melons off the overpass.  Anybody want some of this action?  How about the number of flat tires in the bike race?  Busted chains?  Fat guys who finish?
Come on, let's make it a hundred.
I'm scaling boredom mountain here.

Thanks Girls!

You made it easy.  Granted, I probably wasn't Father of the Year material, but, with more than a little luck, we all made it.  Your mother didn't kill me and both of you girls became successful in your chosen professions and married guys I actually LIKE.  All of this in spite of my untutored and unconventional parental guidance.

Hey, in my defense, we didn't know what we were doing.  Practically children when we married, your mom and I hauled you into the world before our union had lost that new car smell.  We were complete novices and in hindsight it's probably close to a miracle that we (Okay, I) didn't mess you up monumentally.  You really were troopers through it all, far more flexible than boys would have been.  All the moving that was part of the radio business, the odd family  hours we kept because daddy had to get up at 3 AM, and the multitude of "interesting" friends who always seemed to be around seemed not to bother you at all.  You both made the best of an often chaotic existence and I'm proud of you for it.

Maybe if we had waited and been more mature parents with traditional occupations your formative years would have been a little easier.  Who am I kidding?!  That would have been leagues less difficult but, I dare say, not nearly as much fun.  Maybe it's just selective memory but I do think there were a lot of laughs in our house when you were little.  The thought of returning home to you every evening became my safe harbor in a life dependent on a check from one of the most insecure professions on the planet.  You kept me sane.  Granted, sanity is relative when it comes to Dad but you catch my drift.

So, on this Father's Day weekend I thank both my lovely daughters for being such good kids and making me look as if I had a clue.  Growing up I had no sisters but you two helped to fill some of the massive gaps in my understanding of the fair sex.  Your mom knows I still have a long way to go, but in another hundred years or so I'm certain to be a regular Oprah.  Well, at least I'll weigh as much.

I'll close by saying that even though we're miles apart you can always rely on old Dad for the sage advice you've come to depend on through the years: "Better check with mom."  That's it.  That is all I'll probably ever have.  Now, who wants to pull Daddy's finger?

A Night Out

Summer arrived earlier than usual in the Pacific Northwest.  At night our windows are open wide to the cool breeze and the sound of the waves on Lake Coeur d' Alene.  Dropping off to sleep is almost instantaneous when we kill the lights, unless, of course,  there are party sounds emanating from the beach.  Last night was one of those nights when unbelievably crappy music was blasting (why is it NEVER great jazz?) and teens in heat endeavoured to keep me awake for a good five or ten minutes.  Outrageous!

As I lay in bed I was reminded of my own days of raging testosterone and unbridled stupidity.  I realized that a mere fifty years ago my nocturnal activities had no doubt kept some now long dead cranky old fart from falling asleep.  Hormones and near zero life experience invites moronic behaviour.  I recalled an adventure from the summer of 1964 or '65 with another Spencer, Iowa high school guttersnipe pal, Tom White, who shall remain nameless--oops, sorry Tom--that found us on the run from the Lake Okoboji, Iowa lake patrol.    The lake, located a few miles north of Spencer, was, and still is, a popular summertime place for most everybody living in Northwest Iowa.  It's a beautiful lake in a part of the country not exactly famous for a plethora of recreational water opportunities.

Sloe gin, nectar of the 'tards

Tom's folks had a cabin on Okoboji and they spent most of the summer there.  I had spent the night a few times in the past so it was easy to kite a story to my parents about being invited to do it again when Tom and I put together a plan to spend the night whooping it up with a bottle of Sloe Gin swiped from his grandma, (God, do they still make that crap?) a couple of six packs of Old Style and a pack or three of Winstons.

Tom's parents were either out of town or he told them he was staying in town at my house and, as I mentioned, my tale was already fully fibbed.  We were ready to party.  Both of us were out of girlfriends at the time and were more interested in smoking and drinking all night than steaming up the windows of our not so cool cars at the local drive-in movie.  We may have made a feeble attempt to score some female companionship at the Arnolds Park amusement park but most likely struck out since we wound up hiking into Gull Point state park after hours to, we thought, booze and crash for the evening.  Gull Point was patrolled by boat under the jurisdiction of the fish and game department of the state of Iowa.  (You know, Barney Fife with a minnow bucket.)  We figured that since it was dark and we were making no noise we could smoke cigarettes and get blasted 'til our livers shut down or the sun came up.  We proceeded to kill some brain cells.

Around 2 AM, being more than happily in the bag, we must have become just a little too loud or the glow of our smokes may have attracted attention from nearby homes because very slowly a boat began circling the narrow point where we had planted ourselves for the evening.  It was the Lake Patrol.  A searchlight began to scan the beach.  We scrambled into the bushes just off the sand dragging our empties and what was left of the Sloe Gin.  We lay flat as the light concentrated on the area where we were concealed but we knew there was slim chance we hadn't been spotted.  As the boat rounded the point to come at us from the other direction we took advantage the moving spotlight and made a run for it.

We found my twelve year-old Buick right where I had parked it in the lot at the entrance to Gull Point.  Tossing the remaining contraband onto the backseat we fled the scene down the dirt road we had come in on.  One of us, probably me, thought it was prudent to operate without headlights in case the lake cops had alerted the sheriff's office.  There could already be a BOLO out on us!

God, no doubt remembering to look out for drunks and fools, somehow got us safely to a beach in a popular residential area where it was easy to hide the car on a side street.  We assumed that the Lake Patrol junior G-men had noted my car in the Gull Point parking lot earlier in the evening.  We quietly plopped ourselves on the small new beach, quietly finished the evidence and decided to call it a night.

evidence

A fish jumping in the lake woke me just before sunrise.  I couldn't decide if there was more sand in my mouth or on the beach.  My head ached and I was already dreading the long day of work scheduled for me at Swanson' Super Store where I worked for Oscar "The watermelon King" Swanson.  Tom, also feeling about the same,  considered what lay ahead at his summer job wrangling wood at Fostoria Lumber.  We groused about the unfairness of it all as we fired up a couple of Winstons and considered our next move.  We congratulated ourselves on evading arrest, blowing one by our parents and--so far--not throwing up.  I recall brushing my teeth in the lake, dropping Tom off at his car and heading for work.  Because life is made for people not encumbered by self awareness, it only took me another 35 years to figure out that this was not a great way to start your day.

Next year is the fiftieth reunion of our high school class:  Spencer High Class of '66.  Maybe Tom and I can recreate this nocturnal adventure of yore.  Perhaps a heads up is in order for the Lake Patrol this time and, instead of Sloe gin and Old Style, a couple of large bottles of Pellagrino or Perrier.  We could always club ourselves over the head repeatedly with the empties to re-live the good old days.

                                           

Lake Okoboji

                                              

The Face Is Familiar...

"Please stop talking, I'm trying to watch the show," my wife explains as I attempt to enrich her movie viewing experience by providing illuminating insight regarding certain actors.  For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated by "working" actors.  The "stars" we all know plenty about but the talented folks who we see time and again in myriad roles largely remain strangers to us.  Though you've seen them in probably hundreds of films and TV shows and recognize their faces, you don't know their names.  I do.  I don't know why but I've made it a point to find out about them and relish sharing this knowledge with anyone--awake or asleep-- within earshot.  Think of me as the Cliff Klaven (John Ratzenberger, by the way) of acting trivia.

Because it's summer and I am stuck for blog material,  I thought it might be fun to offer a small quiz challenging you to match the faces with the names of some of the longtime show business workhorses.  I offer NO prize other than the opportunity to be hushed by others who think you're insane.  

If you've stayed with me this far you are weird enough to accept the assignment; so here goes…

MATCH THE FACE WITH THE NAME  (You too can begin boring family and friends!)

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.





NAMES:
  A. Francis Sternhagen
B. Martin Balsam
C. Neville Brand
D.  Bob Dishy
E. Bonnie Bedelia
F.  Wemdell Corey
G. Whit Bissell
H.  Kate Burton
I.  Deborah Walley
J.  Titus Welliver
K.  Dennis Farina



ANSWERS:
 1. H
2. K
3. B
4. F
5. J
6. E
7. I
8. D
9. C
10. G
11. A

I'm NOT Running

I'm NOT running.  Of course I realize that I'm letting the country down by not seeking the presidency, but my two year Army stint was more than enough to convince me that I am incapable of tolerating any additional government service.  Keeping commies out of Kansas while dealing with the olive drab bureaucracy was enough for this loyal American.  Political correctness and playing well with others will never be part of my job description. 

That said, it is imperative that I begin this WAY early assessment of the ever growing field of candidates who think they are good enough and smart enough to lead us out of the full tilt disaster wrought by the Obama administration, a chore almost beyond mortal man or woman.  However, since there is no dearth of candidates willing to apply for such a big job, let's take advantage of the seventeen months we have to make up our mind and vet those who are expressing interest in the gig.

Since the Republican field is overflowing, let's begin there.

Lindsey Graham:  A "confirmed" bachelor from South Carolina who looks like he lettered in glee club and got scout merit badges in knitting.  NO CHANCE!

Rand Paul:  Looks like a deranged duck.  Some good ideas for a 1930's isolationist.  It's amazing that a guy who is an eye doctor can't see himself in the mirror and know that his looks have NEVER EVER won a presidential election.

Donald Trump:  Yeah, right.  He pulls this every four years just to get his mush on TV.  A major blowhard, with whom I generally agree, who will withdraw before the primaries even start.  A joke.

Jeb Bush:  Really?!  Another one?  This guy is "democrat lite".  Another rich guy who isn't quite sure why he's running.  Pass.

Ted Cruz:  The creepy guy who got pantsed a lot in high school.  Very smart but un-electable.  How could someone so smart be so dumb?  No people skills.  Even his Republican colleagues hate him. 

Bobby Jindal:  A goofy looking governor who is unpopular in his home state.  Never going to happen.

Ben Carson:  A wonderful story of hard work and success.  He's not a jerk or a liar, so has no future in politics.  A great doctor and a good and decent man who would be a terrific surgeon general.

Mike Huckabee:  Just what the country needs, another hillbilly governor from Arkansas!  This corn pone phony should just take his TV money and go home.  Former governors in overalls make lousy presidents.

Rick Santorum:  This jackass just doesn't get it.  He looks like he's running for student body president.  Nobody likes him.  He couldn't even get re-elected in Pennsylvania.

Carly Fiorina:  The absolute BEST candidate for the highest office in the land.  She's smart, answers questions, and does not equivocate.  The only candidate who knows what it's like to have a real job in the private sector, she went from being a secretary to president of a Fortune 500 company.  She has been fired for sticking to her principles. You should never trust anyone who hasn't been fired at least once.  Our increasingly idiotic electorate is too dumb to vote for her.  A pity, as she is superb.

 Marco Rubio:  Has a real chance to win.  A smart guy with good ideas who could pick up enough Hispanic votes to put him over the top.  Even though he is young and has only been a senator (we all know how well that worked out with you know who) he is capable of greatness.  He scares the dems.

Chris Christy:  Probably can't win the Midwest and South because he isn't "nice" enough.  I think it would be great to have a president capable of bitch slapping stupid reporters and maybe, please God, taking a swing at Nancy Pelosi.


RALPH KRAMDEN FOR PRESIDENT!






Rick Perry:  Not as dumb as he looks.









George Pataki:  Seriously?!  Nice guy, but no chance.  He must be looking for a Veep slot or a good cabinet job.

Scott Walker:  Smart, tough, a good governor and--best of all--a college dropout.  Hasn't this country suffered enough at the hands of Ivy League educated nitwits?  How about a guy with common sense and the ability to get things done?  After Carly, I like him best.







And now, the Democrats…

Joe Biden:  A walking talking punchline.  If not for politics he would be the guy who tries to bullshit you into buying a used car.  He doesn't know whether to chase rabbits or bark at the moon.  A dolt with a capital D.










That O'Malley guy from Maryland:  Ha ha ha.  He will soon return to the obscurity he so richly deserves.  A delusional doofus; also a lying commie.

Elizabeth Warren:  Hard to recognize without her war bonnet.  A Masshole of the first water.  A piping hot talking pile of pig flop, flies swarm at the mention of her name.

Bernie Sanders:  A communist buffoon.  How can anyone be this old and remain this dumb?



Jim Webb:  A former Republican turned Democrat.  A good writer and a smart guy who seems at sea with his opinions.  We could, and have, done much worse.  He and Rick Perry are the only two in the running who are military veterans, an important fact.

Hillary Clinton:  Richard Nixon in a pantsuit.  A confirmed liar who will do and say ANYTHING to get elected.  America now has more than enough voters not encumbered by facts or historical knowledge to slide her ample carcass into the White House.  The good news is that odds are better than even that it will take her devoted husband, Bill, less than six months to get caught porking the help.  Comedy gold!

And there you have it, our candidate pool for 2016.  The most powerful thing we have in life is choice. It's just too bad these are all we have from which to choose.

If you need me for further advice, I'll be busy boating with my grandson in the beautiful Pacific Northwest where men are men and the women are after them.

 Life is sweet, until I turn on the news.

Doing boat stuff with grandson Dan

Never Forget

May we never forget the thousands of men and women whose courage and sacrifice gave us the gift of freedom.  Our gratitude and remembrance are insufficient re-payment for their selflessness,  yet it is the only currency we have.  Remember them always as we continue to breathe free.

Stalking the Wild Huckleberry

I live in huckleberry heaven.  Until about a year ago I had managed to walk the planet without ever having tasted this tasty cousin of the blueberry that thrives in the mountains of the Pacific Northwest.

Huckleberries are everywhere in northern Idaho.  They are slightly more tart than a blueberry and have a few more seeds to give them a crunchy texture.  They're ubiquitous in farm markets, grocery stores and souvenir shops throughout the region mostly in the form of jams, jellies, BBQ sauce, pies, syrup, candy and my absolute favorite, ICE CREAM.  Not cultivated commercially, these little gems can only be picked in the wild during late summer or early fall.  It's also important to note that they are also a main food source for a wide range of animals including: deer, rodents and…GRIZZLY BEARS!

YUM!

Huckleberries are the favorite food of grizzlies and constitute up to 1/3 of their diet.  This is something to keep in mind should you entertain thoughts of grabbing a pail and heading for an afternoon of berry picking in the mountains.  One third of an 800 pound bear's diet has to be one hell of a lot of huckleberries! I'm guessing that these little beauties serve as a dessert reward after a long day of snarfing salmon and trout from local lakes and streams,  (It probably also helps fight bear breath.)

Born to ride

I bring all of this to your attention as a safety measure should you decide, like me, to spend some time this summer with a bucket in a huckleberry patch.  In the interest of self preservation I plan on packing a couple of pounds of bacon and a unicycle when I head for the hills.  If needed, the pork product should momentarily distract Mr. (or is it Ms?) bear while I go for the unicycle.  If you've ever been to a circus you are well aware that bears simply cannot resist getting on those one-wheeled contraptions.  The ursine buffoons are mad about them and will ride them for hours.  At least that is my theory.  I also hear good things about bears and juggling.

If these distractions fail it would be wise to simply offer the bear your berries as you share a friendly "get to know you" in the woods.  Rumor has it that the picnic may take a while but be patient and allow the bear all the time he or she need to become satisfied.  Much like making love with a gorilla, it ain't over until the very large critter says so.

"Please, sit down and share your delicious huckleberries with me."