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...

Just Got back from Illinois...Oh Boy!

I blame my parents.
They moved us around when my brother and I were kids.
It was always accomplished within the confines of the Midwest, but we moved.
These days I live in Southern California. It is not where I thought I would wind up, but did. San Diego is a beautiful city and the climate is salubrious. What's not to like?
Well, for starters, it's not home! Even after more than twenty years in this remarkable corner of the country, it still doesn't feel like a place where I belong. To be fair...NO place does.
After spending the past week in Springfield, Illinois where I was born, I have to say that it feels about as homey to me as a Holiday Inn. My mother is there. My brother and his family are in central Illinois too, but for some reason I feel only a cosmic disconnect. Sure, the people are nice and the corn is green but I feel no special affection or attachment to the place. I was born there, but left when I was five years old.
My grade school years were spent in Michigan and I went to high school in Iowa. After returning to Northwest Iowa for a couple of high school reunions I can safely say that my desperate desire to escape the place was justified. A trip to Michigan seems in order if I'm destined to find the lodestone of my being. Perhaps all the tumblers will fall into place when once again I gaze on Leslie, Michigan. Probably not.

Am I making too much of this??? I don't think so.
I find myself comfortable in my wife's home state of South Dakota, especially in the Black Hills. Why is that?

I love New England and, after a week or two, get used to that goofy way those people pahk theah cahs and go to Fenway to see the BOSAWX. It's a wonderful place, but too damn cold.


I LOVE New York, and though I don't own enough black clothing to ever pass for a native, could easily live there...for awhile.





Why do I care about this sense of home anyway? Good question.
Maybe I'll call my daughters and see how they feel. Linda and I moved them from Georgia, Kansas, Florida, Washington, Nevada and California all before they were out of high school. They could really be screwed up!
Oh, that's right...they are. But both of them are damned interesting.

This is just some of the chaff that blows through the windmills of my mind on long plane trips.
Perhaps it's the cabin pressure.

Whatever happened to free cocktails on plane rides?

In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be gutting it out here in paradise.Certainly somebody needs to make sure that the sun goes down each evening. And...God knows your weird Uncle Weezer needs supervision.
Yeah, he's here.
We all are.

Trouble in River City? Not for long...

There's trouble in River City and it ain't pool.
No, this time Iowa has WAY more water than it needs.

Iowa, where the tall corn grows and farmers are always griping about the weather. It seems they either never have enough or, like right now, "comin' down harder than a cow pissin' on a flat rock."

I spent my high school years in Iowa and know something of the people who still call it home. You might say that "some of my best friends are Iowans".

Here's what you can take to the bank:

A year from now most all of the communities currently in crisis mode will be back and better than ever. These are strong people. They're hardy stock. Mostly they are of German, Irish, and Swedish extraction. The kind of folks who are embarrassed by any attempt to show off. Farmers ,who spend a lifetime talking poor, sell the farm and move to town as millionaires when it's time to retire. That's how it's done in a part of America where the highest compliment you can pay someone is to refer to them as a hard worker.

The TV crews will be gone next year, but Iowa will be better than before. No whining; no "who is the government going to send to help us?"

That's how it is in Iowa.
Ya got trouble?
Shut up and get to work!

Next June...look at Iowa.
It'll be better than ever.
(But, please...NO bragging.)