Garage Sale, Not My Idea!

There she goes again.
She keeps walking by my chair with her arms full of junk from upstairs.  I'm supposed to feel guilty because tomorrow is the neighborhood garage sale and she has big plans for items I deem important. Okay, granted, at the moment I may not be using any of them, but I want them available for special projects I haven't thought of yet.

Buy our stuff!!  It's crap-o-riffic!

It's like that.  Women don't like clutter.  Men, always anticipating complicated scenerios that may manifest themselves momentarily, must maintain a high state of readiness.  Goofy hats, old magazine articles, plastic toys, broken electronic devices need to be at arm's length instantainiously.  Storage is critical to readiness and that is where garages and attics enter in.  If you are lucky enough to live in a part of the country where basements are standard equiptment, you should be ready for armagedon and/or a killer party, whichever comes first.  Stuff should be well hidden from female "search and dystroy" eyes if you are to be prepared.   Favorite old shirts, sports memoralbilia, ammo, drinking shoes, bowling trophies and other cool but completely useless rummage are fair game when the woman in charge of organizing your life goes on a garage sale safari.  Be prepared to stand your ground.

I keep hoping that the lingering hot spell we've been having will cool the ardor of the gals--and it is ALL women--who have insisted on holding this massive purge of collected family detritis.  No guys, for reasons previously stated,  have an interest in waking early on Saturday just to watch strangers paw through treasures they'd planned on keeping.  "That bike will be good as new with a couple of new tires, a seat, handlebars, and a chain."  Women don't get it!

Right now I'm thinking of making book on how many ice cream freezers will be on display at this thing.  Has anybody ever made ice cream more than twice with one?   Though they are perfect for storing old tennis balls and cigar butts, they remain a garage sale staple, right up there with old lamps and  broken weed wackers.

Books never seem to do well at garage sales.  I don't know if typical patrons are mostly illiterate or find that it isn't nearly enough "fun" to grind you down from ten cents apiece to a nickle.  I am fairly certain that my Sunday will be spent hauling printed matter back upstairs.  (The joke is on her.  I didn't want to get rid of them anyway.)

A prize too awesome to give up.  What if Elvis calls?

If you can believe it, there are at least two cherished collectibles that will be headed home with strangers when this is over.  My classic Elvis phone which plays "Jailhouse Rock" instead of ringing  and the always hard to find Bozo phone are on the block.  The former was a Christmas gift from my youngest daughter in recognition of all of the King's hits I spun on the radio.  A damn fine gift until you realize you're really not up for hearing "Jailhouse Rock" thirty times a day.  In fairness, it did look good disconnected.

His nose lights up when it rings.

The Bozo phone is another story.  For years I longed to own a phone featuring a nose that lit up every time it rang.  The problem was this hideous blower didn't ring--it laughed maniacally.  The first time I heard it my sphincter ate my underpants.  It is satan's telephone and too scary by half.  No one should have one of these; so I'll be careful to sell it to a completely charmless S.O.B..

So there you have a sneak preview of some of the exclusive bargains on sale tomorrow in my garage.  Come early as we anticipate massive crowds.  Doors open at 7AM.  Fun goes on for a good two or three minutes.

How can I possibly part with something a neat as this??

Windows of Europe Summer 2013

On the way home from a late summer sojourn in Europe…

I have little patience or interest in historical monuments or museums in this part of the world, but do admit to a long standing love affair with their windows.  I guess the relatively short growing season induces an appreciation for window boxes and floral displays we don't often see in America.  They really do have a gift for dressing doors, lamp posts and old windows.  

Here are a few…

Old Heidelberg

Cologne, Germany

Lamp post in Cologne, Germany

Heidelberg, Germany

Doing a light right in Cologne.

They dig pastels in Cologne too!

Heidelberg upstairs windows that make you want to move there.

Colmar, France upstairs bedroom with a view.

A little color on a drab building in Amsterdam

Hard to get a piano in this Amsterdam home.

Note the, accidentally lucky, reflection from this window in Haarlem, Netherlands.

Love for sale--hey it's legal--right around the corner from the church in Haarlem, Netherlands.

Leave it to the French!  Colmar, France.

Support Your Local Pole Worker

Well, finally someone has imagined a fine idea to make the Olympics actually interesting.  The organizers of something called the World Pole Championships are hell bent on turning pole dancing into an official Olympic event.  They've even written a rule book and everything.  Of course the problem with this worthy creative thought is that the rules likely to be imposed specifically prohibit pole dancing staples such as removing articles of clothing and sensual movement.  What the…???

 Let me see if I have this straight.  Clothing must remain attached at all times and no "gluteal dancing" or "come hither" moves allowed?  Uh…if I may be so bold, why would anyone want to watch the left over stuff?  What's next, a ban on hats, canes and additional routine essentials????   They most likely want to eliminate the disappearing dollar bill trick too--so much for tradition.

I can see it now:

"Honey, are you coming to bed?"
"Just a minute dear.  There is an important Olympic event I want to catch on TV."
"But, it's 3 AM."
"I think it's women's curling or something."

Television voiceover:  "And now please give it up for THREE time Olympic gold medalist, direct from  JIMBO'S JUNGLE ROOM in beautiful Kansas City…. Ms. Bubbles La Tush!"

This is "must see" TV baby!

Just What You Need…Order NOW!

"Sit up straight!  You're slouching."

How many times did you hear that from mom?  Mine even poked me in the back for emphasis.

Well, good news!  Even though mom may have calmed down or perhaps assumed room temperature, there's an app to handle your posture policing.  It's called LumoBack and it vibrates when your posture isn't up to mom snuff.  LumoBack is free-wouldn't you know-and uses Bluetooth to communicate with a $150 sensor they'll happily sell you to get the party started.  LumoBack also helpfully gathers and stores up to a month's worth of data so that you'll be able to see just how craptacular your posture has been on an extended basis.  My God, if you hate yourself badly enough to want one of these, I'm sure operators are standing by to take your order.  

My advice?  Lie down until you come to your senses.  Seriously. 

It's nuts how many apps are available of late.  Mention just about anything and someone will be more than happy to tell you, "there's an app for that".  In taking a quick inventory of the apps I have on my phone I find that out of the forty or fifty I have downloaded I regularly use maybe three or four.  The Weather Channel tells me what's happening outside, thus saving me the trouble of looking out the window or actually going outside; Bloomberg's stock ticker allows me to watch my savings go to hell in real time, Drudge lets me see what the deal really is,  and TuneIn radio lets me listen to out of town pals who still manage to be employed in radio.  I don't use any idiotic game apps but do confess to often employing an extremely rude bodily noise application that is just the ticket.   Pure genius, that one.

On the subject of radio:  I can't let the passing of Eydie Gorme go unremarked.  It was my great good fortune--and I've had plenty--to wind up my career in music radio working at one of America's last adult standards stations   San Diego's KPOP became history in late 2004 when aging demographics made the format a tough sale for a marketplace only interested in a younger audience.  I initially took the job because, well, I needed one and had just gotten fired from the only other format I hadn't aged out of, K-BEST, the oldies station.  Having subjected my ears to sixties rock n' roll when it was new and then doing time (12 years) at two oldies stations, I was up to here with the Beach Boys, Beatles, Monkees and every other band featuring dumbass lyrics and screamin' guitars.  It was fun to be working at a station featuring Sinatra, Bennett, Rosie Clooney and Eydie Gorme among the many great artists.  This was the kind of music that was on in my parents' house when I was a kid.  I knew the station was living on borrowed time as its core audience continued to head for the cemetery, but it was fun for awhile.  

Eydie Gorme was a premier vocalist, whether teamed with her husband, Steve Lawrence, or belting a ballad solo she was extraordinary.  Her vocal range was astounding and her interpretation of a lyric second to none.

Do yourself a favor and listen to her version of "Shall We Dance".  (may not show up on your Ipad or Iphone)

These days, she's headlining the Big Room in the Big Up Yonder.  If you're good, one day you'll have a ringside seat.

We Come…and We Go

If we're lucky, we leave something of ourselves when we shuffle off to that big Twister party in the sky.  No doubt that's where Charles Foley is these days.  Old Charlie, who caught the death cab last week at age 82, was the inventor of the ultimate party icebreaker, Twister, in addition to numerous other entertaining things we couldn't get along without.  Adhesive goo remover Un Du or plastic toy handcuffs anyone?

The Milton Bradley company took Mr. Foley's "game that ties you up in knots" and began marketing it in 1966.  Men of a certain age will fondly recall the game being demonstrated on "The Tonight Show" by Johnny Carson and the very "full figured" Eva Gabor.  A night to remember!  Some of the game's more uptight critics referred to it as "sex in a box".  Obviously some folks can't handle a game that puts that many derrieres in the air.  Naturally it became a big hit on college campuses where empirical research by undergraduates determined the pastime was much improved by the addition of vast quantities of adult beverage and the subtraction of clothing.

Gen Ex and Millennial knotheads, some of whom were conceived by libidinous Twister playing boomers, seem to have no appreciation for board games of yore and prefer the Internet for their fun.  Granted the web offers the opportunity to participate in your underwear but involves very little touching.   In cyberspace,  Twister is not an option.

I take some comfort in knowing that the now deceased Charlie Foley is probably working right this minute with the late Eva Gabor on something as good or better than the irreplaceable Twister.  It makes me want to try to behave so I can join the fun when my turn comes.

They don't call it heaven for nothin'.

God Bless you Charles.  The kids have no idea what they're missing.

"Gee, it sure is hot in here.  Maybe we should take off our clothes."

Old Friends and New Talent

Among the good things I took from my time in the Army were, not necessarily in this order, an appreciation for green clothing, firearms, delightful and delicious C rations, and some one of a kind pals.  Ed Aymar, whom I met when we were in signal school at Fort Gordon, Georgia, is one of the best.  For reasons I failed to understand at the time Ed made the Army his home for thirty years and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel.  He continues to this day working as a civilian satellite guru at the Pentagon in Washington, D.C.  As a taxpayer I appreciate the fact that we have at least one squared away patriot looking out for us in the nation's puzzle palace on the Potomac.  

Ed married a wonderful woman, Ilse, when he was stationed in Panama and they produced a son, Ed junior.  I haven't seen young Eddie since he was about 15 and knew only that he had graduated from  George Mason University, gotten married,  and had been working at CSPAN.  I had no idea that he was also a writer.  Not only is he a writer but a scribe in the mystery/crime genre, my favorite.

I have long been a fan of wordsmiths like John D. MacDonald, James Lee Burke and Lawrence Block, and now:  E. A. Aymar.  He is new and he's good…very good.  I have been reading his When the Deep Purple Falls, which is available free on his website at: eaymar.com and am excited about the publication of his new book, I'll Sleep When You're Dead, due out this fall.  

It's refreshing to know that new talent is emerging in the world of crime fiction and fun to be able to say "I knew him when".  If you like noir, you should treat yourself to a cyber stop at eaymar.com and sample the free online Deep Purple  as it offers a new chapter each week.  Then,  get ready to snag a copy of I'll Sleep When You're Dead when it debuts in a few weeks.  It will be available at Amazon and all the usual locations.  For more details, check Eddie's website.  I have a feeling he'll be keeping readers entertained for a long time to come.

Class Will Tell

CBS and ABC gave this story a little coverage, others did not.  It's not every day when a 2 year-old inspires a man who once was once at the helm of the world's greatest power to shave his head.  Former president George H.W. Bush did just that for young Patrick who, because of his treatment for leukemia, lost all his hair.  Patrick's dad is a member of Bush 1's Secret Service detail and, like others before him, is treated like a member of the family by George and Barbara Bush.  

When all of the agents assigned to the former first family set up a website--www.patrickspals.org-- to help pay for Patrick's medical bills,  the former president and first lady were the first to offer assistance.  And, when the agents all decided to shave their heads in solidarity with Patrick, Mr. Bush was right there with them.

Two of a kind:  Great man and his little buddy, Patrick

In a political era soiled by the likes of Anthony Weiner, San Diego's Bob Filner, and countless other narcissistic amoral blowhards it's good to be reminded that once we cared about character and doing the right thing.  You may not have agreed with George H.W. Bush on everything or maybe anything but you can't deny that his heart was always in the right place.  He was a war hero, good husband and father, but most of all a good and decent man.  I wish I had voted for him twice instead of throwing away the privilege on that goofy little jug-eared Martian, Ross Perot.

George H.W. Bush was our last president from America's Greatest Generation.  Our country is diminished as they take their leave. 

President Bush and Secret Service bald buddies of Patrick