Nothing Exceeds Like Excess

It's wienerlicious!

What in the Wide Wide World of Sports is going on here??

This baby should come with a crash cart.  Clear!

Pizza Hut is pulling a fat one behind our ample backsides.  They have gone and introduced at least two embarrassingly and excessively American fattening delights well...not near you.  The betrayal is epic!  The U.S. is the land of wide loads and extra cheese; not the Middle East or the U.K.  We deserve the first bite when it comes to artery cloggers like the all new hotdog stuffed crust pizza, damn it.  And, don't get me started on the undoubtedly delicious and drool inducing crown crust pizza filled with taco and hamburger goodness Pizza Hut now offers the citizens of the Middle East.  The Middle East??  Those people are skinny.

  OH THE HUMANITY!!

My fellow Americans I fear we are in desperate straights.  We seem to be falling behind in the creation of adipose tissue-- a "lard gap", if you will.  We need to take action--and soon.

What has happened to the country that invented the deep fried Twinkie and Snickers bar?  We've not a minute or a calorie to lose.  The time for excess is now!  Write your congressperson or, better yet, the president.  Not Obama, the important one:  David Novak, the president of Yum Brands of Louisville, Kentucky.  They own Pizza Hut.  

Let's launch a national campaign to force the evil geniuses of Pizza Hut to offer the wonderfulness of the hotdog stuffed and crown crust pizza to all Americans yearning to split their jeans and pop their buttons.  Or, better yet, let's all get together for a bacon sundae.  I forget who is making those gut bombs but they are out there somewhere doing God's work.

IT'S ON PIZZA HUT!  We are coming for our lard fix and will not be denied.

Now, if you will excuse me, I'll meet you at the trough just as soon as I've sprayed a bit of WD-40 on my thighs.  These damn jeans seem to have shrunk.

Nothin' says "eat me" like a bacon sundae.

He Had A Good Beat, 20 Million Kids Watched: God Gave Him An 82

I liked the young Dick Clark.  Carson got it right.  When Johnny left the Tonight Show that was IT--no comebacks, awkward interviews or guest shots on other shows-- he was DONE.  In show biz lingo he knew when to "get off".  Dick Clark, though he gave up Bandstand, insisted on hanging on to his New Year's Rockin' Eve television appearances WAY too long.  A stroke in 2004 left him speech impaired and looking old which made for cringe inducing moments every New Year's Eve.  America's "Oldest Living Teenager" became a cadaver like reminder to the rest of us that we were all becoming ripe bananas.  It was the old "you can't go home" syndrome writ large on the last night of a dying year.  I swear I could hear a gigantic "Nooooooo" go up across the U.S. when Dick would start the annual countdown.  

1957 the network was young and so was DC.

  The cool guy out of Philly, circa 1957, the one we could tune in, after some serious antenna manipulation, on channel 12 the new ABC affiliate out of Flint.  That's the guy I want to remember.  He, like Pat Boone, was the clean cut young man that moms liked and dads generally found non-threatening enough to trust around their daughters.  We kids liked him because he played all our songs, had a party going on EVERY day at his house, and often hosted the very rock n' roll stars we loved and admired.  He was smooth too.  Dick Clark knew just what to say and how to be oh so cool while saying it.  That had miles of appeal to clumsy teens who were just hoping their face would clear up before next Saturday's dance.  

Like most things in life, timing is everything.  Clark began his career in high school working at his dad's radio station in Utica/Rome, New York and continued his air work at WOLF in Syracuse while getting a business degree at Syracuse University.    His talent landed him a gig at WFIL in Philadelphia in the early 50's where he also grabbed some occasional TV time substituting for Bob Horn on his daily teen dance party called "Bandstand".  When Horn was busted for drunk driving the younger and more handsome Clark was ready to rock n' roll.

 

United Stations

For those of us in the hinterlands, his American Bandstand afforded a first look at the rock acts we loved to listen to on the radio, even if they were lip syncing.  It also didn't hurt  that their hair and clothes made parents everywhere shake their heads and quietly confirm that indeed the country was going to hell and Chubby Checker was driving the bus.  In the Eastern time zone we knew that it was always good idea to make sure that Bandstand, which started at 4 PM, was off the TV before dad got home.  I still remember lengthy lectures about how dad didn't fight the "Japs" in the South Pacific so that Dion and the Belmonts could establish a beachhead in his living room.  (Maybe he had a point.)

Through the years Clark stayed connected to radio via his United Stations Network where he produced and hosted shows like "Rock Roll and Remember".  The network's website is featuring several tributes to his work this week.

Dick Clark had a marvelous career being, well...Dick Clark.  He sold the music and a ton of products by mostly selling himself.  He was in love with his work and it showed.  It made him successful and crazy rich.  Not bad for a kid from upstate New York.

He was an icon to we boomers, as much a touchstone in our lives as JFK, hula hoops and transistor radios.  His death is just one more reminder that the days, weeks and years are slipping away; our generation is no longer young and full of promise.  The music plays on but the static increases and the colors are beginning to fade.  Top 40, "rate a record", and even pop music as a concept mean little or nothing to our grandkids.  Theirs is the world of the Internet and "on demand" entertainment.  We can take some comfort in knowing that Dick Clark and American Bandstand  mystified our parents and grandparents in the same way.

The Righteous Brothers sang, "If there's a rock n' roll heaven...you know they've got a hell of a band."  Even money says they now also  have a hell of an emcee.

Thanks Dick...well played.

"For now, Dick Clark, so long."

The EYES Have It

Just what we need!  Another "advancement" from those technology geeks at Google.  It's not bad enough that cell phones have turned us into a nation of eavesdropping spastics who are forever bumping into things as we conduct or listen to ever more inane conversations and location updates.  "Hey, I just squeezed the melons at Whole Foods and am wondering if I should buy one or marry it. What do you think?"  Even in places like New York we have slowed our pace as we walk and talk our way into a perpetual rodeo of over sharing,  What the hell ever happened to the concept of being alone with your thoughts?  We have the attention span of gnats and the brains to match.

Google glasses look cool on her

Most of us guys will look like this clown.

And NOW...just when we were getting used to random conversations going on all around us, COMES...Google Glasses!  Yep, very soon it will be within your ken to don a pair of souped up goggles that will allow you to surf the net, send and receive emails, watch sports and snap pictures all with the blink of an eye.  Literally.

Most gals will look like this  doofus.

Just try to get someones attention when they're wearing a pair of these peepers.  Don't get me wrong, there are times when whatever is playing on that big screen of real life will be infinitely inferior to the nearly limitless entertainment available for scoping out on the web.  I know for a fact I could have gotten a ton of usage out of Google glasses had they been around when I was forced to sit through high school geometry, biology, American lit,...OKAY,  high school period.


This whole project is the brainchild of the dorks at Google X, the online search leader's secret facility that has promoted the idea of elevators into space and driverless cars.  But, before you go getting any ideas about all of this being a "given" in our children and grand children's future, try to recall some of the "advancements" that were supposed to be a lock for the twenty-first century.  Remember flying cars, jet packs, and picture phones?  Well, unless you count Skype, we are still waiting for those bitchin' futuristic mind blowers.  Come to think of it there has been one really major disappointment regarding the promised technology of my misspent youth:  X-RAY Vision Glasses!  I'm fairly certain I speak for a generation of pre-teen males when I say..."I believe we have a class action lawsuit here!"

 I must have order at least six pairs of those babies in hopes of clearing up the mystery of the female anatomy.  The bastards NEVER worked.  Perhaps the work of the Google Goofs isn't completely without merit...
.

Google X team, GET BACK TO WORK.  And, you might want to throw in an X-Ray vision APP.  Several million 12 year-old boys will be forever in your debt.

See through clothing!!!

No Resurrection for The Padres

Maybe in 2013?  

Let me just go ahead and say it...  "Wait 'til next year."

The Padres home opener is in the books and I think, if you're a fan,  it's going to be okay for you to go ahead and spend the money you were saving for World Series tickets.  You non Padre fans can just keep dreaming but those of us with a fondness for the "Father's"can just settle in for another season of low run production and oh so timely errors.  The 2012 season, after just one game, smells very much like the baseball cuisine the Pads served up in 2011: very few hits, practically NO runs and significant errors.  Cameron Maybin did smack a colossal homer in game one, but that did little to repair the damage done by his ham-handed misjudgement of a routine centerfield fly earlier in the day. 

Cameron Maybin gets a high five after his 445- foot dinger

 Somehow I thought this year would be different.  For once there seemed to be a few guys who could actually get on base and help the usually strong starting pitching and faithfully prophylactic  bullpen.  This year the pitching seems slightly less certain, but competitive.  Maybe I can take it up with the big Skipper in the Sky when I make my bi-annual trip to church this weekend.  ( I would attend more often, but God makes me nervous when you get him indoors.)  Prayers for injuries to other National League West contenders would seem to be in order.  Of course, that would be wrong.  (Like I care.)

And now for some good news...

 Recently I toured the Mayan ruins in Mexico and a very knowledgeable guide, Armando, assured me that the world WILL NOT end this coming December 21.  He explained that the Mayans, though very bright, had their calendar all wrong and that their basic understanding of lunar orbits, star alignments, and blah blah blah got them so confused that they simply stopped figuring how much time they had left and decided calendars were not something they needed to worry about.   Or, they may have been drinking.  In fairness, Armando did present himself as slightly delusional and maybe even just a little bit insane.  From one moment to the next I couldn't tell if he was about to eat dirt, chase rabbits or bark at the moon.  Whatever the case,  I think it will be a good idea to put off paying any bills until December 22.
Especially if you're ordering Padre season tickets for 2013.

Mayan ruins:  Come for the history; stay for the Iguana.  It tastes like chicken.

Come For the Conch; Stay For the Sunset

After surviving my hitch in the Army, (ours), and vowing like a freeze-dried Scarlet O'Hara to "never be chilly again!", I packed up my young family and moved to Florida.  It was home to us for more than half of the 1970's until a job in San Diego took us West--where we have been ever since.  The West seems to suit us.  It is a region of abundant beauty that, like a magnet, has attracted all sorts of interesting people.  Everyone in the West seems to come complete with a story and good stories are always a bonus.

In retirement I thought it would be fun to once again visit Florida and from a distance of more than thirty years see how the place was doing without us.  With our youngest daughter and her family in tow we returned for a look see.

A LOT has changed in the Sunshine State.  There are now twice as many Floridians as there were when we were in place and little suggests that "America's Basement" is still a part of Dixie.  I guess it is the natural progression of things, but I do miss hearing a Southern accent and finding grits on the menu almost everywhere.  The state is pretty much a total Yankee outpost and it's too bad.

Tampa/St. Pete, now simply referred to as "Tampa Bay" looked better to us than it did in the 70's.  Both cities appear prosperous and made significant improvements to their downtown areas.  Granted this is purely a subjective observation, but I thought they looked good.  Orlando and central Florida don't seem to have fared as well.

When we left in 1976 our biggest regret was the neglect of a visit to Key West.  We had planned to see it, but never made the trek.  

2012, marking the 100th anniversary of the completion of the Florida East Coast Railway from Homestead to Key West,  sparked a renewed interest in a visit; so off we went.  Henry Flagler's railroad no longer exists but U.S. 1 follows his 126 miles of roadway and will get you there today.  Over forty bridges connect the islands of the Keys and deliver you to the southernmost city in the United States where Hemingway, Tennessee Williams, President Truman and thousands of eccentrics have enjoyed the contagious "Let it Be" philosophy of the Conch Republic.

So there we were, just a couple of days ago, standing with the crowd at Mallory Pier watching the sun burn itself out in the gulf at the close of a perfect day at the end of the road in one of America's most fascinating neighborhoods.

Old Ernie Hemingway may have been on to something.  I think we may need to spend a few more days to find out.  

Pass the Key Lime pie, please.

Watching the sunset at Mallory Pier, Key West

Why Do They ALWAYS Look Like This?

What Elvis would wear if he had been president

Banana republic dictators must all have the same guy picking out their clothes.  I say "guy" because no woman would ever let her man leave for another day of pillaging and plundering his dirt poor constituents looking like Hugo Chavez or that paragon of virtue Fidel Castro.  Seriously.  Have you ever once seen any of these clowns in a suit and tie?  Nope, it's always some kind of military garb with a touch of Disney,  one of those shirts that looks like a barber's smock or a uniform designed for a loon  who gets shot out of a canon at the circus.  (See picture of Hugo Chavez)

Franco, Mussolini, Hitler, Marcos, Pinochet, Noriega, and every last bastard who managed to be president of South Vietnam for more than two minutes during the 1960's all had get-ups that made them look like deranged escapees from the short bus academy.  What the hell gives?  Were they just so damn charming that people couldn't help but vote for them?  I doubt it.  Probably what these clowns lacked in sartorial splendor was more than compensated for by their ability to lie to anybody anytime in such a bewitching way that folks felt compelled to elect them to whatever office they wanted.

Look at Chavez..if you can stand it.   Here is a guy that, if you ran into him at your thirtieth high school reunion, would be the owner of a Texaco station in Kalamazoo where he has happily been sitting on the air hose for the past thirty years.  He might even offer to get you a deal on a set of tires.  But, NO, he is the freaking president of an entire country!  The people of Venezuela are demonstrably worse off than when he took power, yet he remains large and in charge.  Mr. Big Jeans!  His electorate believes everything the big dofus tells them.  It's a gift.  For example:  He supposedly has cancer.  Cancer is a horrible disease that, at least as far as I have observed, robs its victims of body weight and vitality as it metastasizes.  That would not seem to be the case for the ever more rotund Hugo Chavez.  This goofy son of a bitch gets fatter by the day!  I think he's faking it.  I assume time will tell but, for my money, the whole thing is a put up job.

Hugo is in it for the UNIFORMS.  The odds of him dying before the rest of us?  Slim. (I realize that slim and Hugo are seldom found in the same sentence.)

Look for Tubby to be showing up in garish garb for years to come or until one day he has the good taste to  clutch his ample D-cup  and keel over dead. 

In the meantime, let's all continue to enjoy the insane style show that goes on  just south of the good old USA and take comfort in the fact that every 24 hours the world turns over on someone who thinks they're sitting on top of it.

Drunken, Horny, Fruit Flies...

Are people too...

Well, not really.  They are simply, drunken, horny fruit flies.  This used to be the kind of thing you could look up in one of the books of the Encyclopedia Britannica with the high end binding that your parents bought in 48 easy installments--the volumes that would be your direct ticket to the Ivy league and an invitation to the Mensa picnic.  How did that work out for you?  

actual encyclopedias suitable for doorstops

Apparently the folks at the old Britannica have decided to no longer bother with actually publishing their font of knowledge and will thank you very much to visit them "on line" the next time you need to fill your gourd with new and exciting information.

The good news is that seems to be no end to those ever popular think tank and university professors  churning out fascinating studies that will keep us chock-full of facts about things like alcoholic fruit flies.

Uh...where was I?  Oh yeah, alcoholic fruit flies.

According to yet another of those certainly tax payer financed studies, researchers have determined that male fruit flies, when filled with UNfulfilled desire, tend to get hammered.  Imagine!  Fruit flies apparently self-medicate just like humans, drowning their sorrows or frustrations in the sweet solace of "genuine rectified bust-head".  

"shot down" fruit fly seeks comfort in a cocktail

Here is what the Poindexters at the University of California San Francisco recently discovered:  One group of male flies who were allowed to mate freely with available virgin females did not need alcohol.  Another group of male flies allowed to mingle with females who had already mated and were indifferent became depressed and showed a marked preference for an alcoholic mixture thoughtfully provided by researchers.  (There is no evidence that the sad flies were allowed to run a tab.)

self medicating male human

"It's the first time we have shown this link between a social experience that involves reward and a drug -related behavior," said Ulrike Heberlein, a neuroscientist at the university and co-author of the paper.

Not that old Ulrike or any of the rest of the scientists involved in this important study care, but here is my take: NO SH#%T SHERLOCK!!  I sincerely hope you didn't spend too much of our money finding this out.  Is it really that big a surprise that a depressed fly or human may gravitate toward having a couple of jolts from the old juice jar?  Come on man!  Here's something to ponder the next time you take a break from getting these poor hapless male fruit flies loaded.  How about brewing up a little wobble water for those not so virgin females just to make them a little more frisky.  You know... get them "down to clown" with the lonely boys.  It seems to me that would be what you guys call a "win win" for us all.  Then maybe you could get busy trying to determine if indeed the hokey pokey really is what it's ALL about.  (Just make sure you use up those tax payer dollars.)

The Lord helps those who help themselves