Seasons in the Sun

Amazing how things change, yet they are so different. Take cars, for example. It's that time again to begin thinking of the new models that are rolling off the assembly line, and also how you got cheated from buying what you thought was a great deal last year, only to find out that the new version is $500 less than what you paid AND includes dual sunroofs AND a nifty feature where you push a button and your seat turns into a massager! But this is life, and just as the seasons must change, so too must the old cars. I used to think that the car I bought would be timeless, and even would go as far as ridiculing the new style, being smug that I made the right decision. However, as time marches on, I've become enamored with the advances in technology, and find myself growing to like the new style! Am I just the by-product of sophisticated marketing or is this something more sinister?

All I know is that the Prius is beginning to look more attractive to me. Perhaps, it is because of my fascination with how the hybrid works, the incredible gas mileage, or the number of coeds I see driving by in them.

Mad Scramble

It was amazing to watch the historic event of Barry Bonds' record breaking steroid induced home run shot. I happen to be watching it live on TV, and realized that steroid or not, that ball would be worth a few Winnebagos when the dust settled. What was most amazing was to see the inhumanity of the fans as they pummeled each other to just trying to grasp the precious tar laced, leather stitched ball. As people literally jumped on and bloodied each other, the sheer pandemonium struck me that humankind and sports have regressed into the dark ages. Planet of the Apes is no longer just a strange movie, but it is here. Think about the macabre soccer matches when the fans storm the field ready to wreak havoc. Take for example the violence that occurs in the streets after any major world championship. Is it the media, the greed, the competition that says we must win at all costs? Or is it a sinister gene that lays dormant from years past that is steadily emerging? Why can't I just live in peace in my Infiniti G38 while savoring my banana knowing that some sucker out there bought a G35 for the same cost with less horsepower and frills?

When in Rome. . .

Ever notice that the most articulate speaker becomes full of over used cliches when he joins a baseball team? Why is it that during an interview, a Stanford grad like Mark Prior spews "we'll just take this one game at a time." Just what does that mean? Perhaps, that's been his trouble all along! Somehow, good ole Stanford boy got confused and was playing thirteen games at a time? How about my personal favorite: "you have to keep your eye on the ball." Duh?!?

Great Moments in All-Star Game History

I can't believe about 35 years have passed since Pete Rose bowled over Ray Fosse to score a run in the All-Star game. One of the most memorable plays in baseball history and one that effectively ended Ray Fosse's career.

Quite the contrast this evening as Alex Rodriguez pulled up in front of Russell Martin as Martin grasped the ball in front of home plate. With both hands facing forward in front of him (as if to say "don't hurt me"), Rodriguez came to a stop as Martin gingerly tagged A-Rod out.

What a difference now that the game "counts".

Welcom Back

I hate to admit it, but after taking off for two weeks in what was like Haiti, and just as hot as Hades, I really missed posting. Kind of like missing Heity Cruz who used to play for the Cubs, I think in the Eighties. Speaking of the Cubs, I'm amazed that they are on this incredible winning pattern. In fact, their inspired play has allowed my attention to expand beyond the game. For example, I was watching today's game against the Nationals, and noticed that their first baseman, Dmitri Young, looks alot like a cross between Linc Hayes and Bill "mad dog" Matlock. Who has afros these days anyway? He looks a little pudgey, but they you look over in the dugout and see Ray King who looks like he hasn't many Whoppers in his lifetime. He must be carrying close to 300 pounds with that overhanging gut of his. I wonder if Rafael Belliard is just keeping a spot warm until they can get Prince Fielder's big ass over to Washington.

Cheap and Lazy Bastards!

Whatever happened to honoring someone on their special occasions by getting off one's lazy ass and taking a trip to the local Hallmark store (with those cute names they used to have like "Gertrude's Hallmark")? People can't plunk down $1.50 for a nice card anymore? Well, maybe not $1.50 but perhaps $2.49 might do the trick. But I digress.

No, nowadays, we all just log on to the Internet and send someone some lame e-greeting for no charge at all. No time spent driving to the store. No spending half an hour reading each and every card (especially the racy one's for the guy's even if it's your wife that you're buying for). Oops, I digress again.

I long for the days when people cared! Cards were cards! People were people! Hookers were cheap! Damn, there I go again.

Anyway, I suppose a nice blog posting is as good as any card would be.

On The Road Again

Open Road Tolling has come to Illinois! And along with this advancement in technology comes appropriately new signage - a series of delightful pictures that only the artists themselves can truly understand. Sort of like a drive-through museum I suppose!

However, I think I'd prefer that drivers unfamiliar with the Illinois highway system be more focused on proper lane usage rather than assessing the merits of "fine" artwork. Lately, newer signs have appeared based on research conducted by our local toll authority. Apparently this research has yielded an astounding result. Drivers find the use of words on these signs to be helpful! Who'd have thought!

Nice to know that a species that advanced from Hieroglyphics to language thousands of years ago can now... well, do the same thing yet again. Let's get to work on reinventing that wheel thing now.

Shock Jock Don Imus

Why are people named Don or Donald so "nappy headed" anyway? Think about it. One one hand we have the always mundane, and wacky mane, but somehow a guilty pleasure, Donald Trump, affectionately referred to as the Donald. On the other, we have crazy Don Imus, current mascot for the Rutgers womens basketball team and his flowing brittle, electric shock, grey "do" that he claims is his real hair. Donald duck, for instance, is another character, literally, that has unusal locks. And let's not forget that perpetual Hawaiian idol himself, Mr. Don Ho, who somehow keeps getting dragged into the Rutgers controversy. . . but I digress, who happens to have that tropical unkept style that the islanders all tend to mimic with more passion than a kiwi fruit. And finally, somewhere out there is Don Corleone who likes like a horse's ass or is that a horse's head? Ever look at Don Henley lately?

Less we forget that universal icon of boxing promotion and oversize Smurf, my personal favorite, and Mike Tyson's savior, the efferscent and ebullient, the King of Dons, Don King!

I rest my case.

Oprah Winfrey

Why do talk show hosts make so much money, and have so much influence? Is this indicative of how warped society is that it values the ribald likes of Jerry Springer by awards him gobs of money to showcase lesbian midgets gone wild while doctors and lawyers have to skip their lobster cocktail appetizers because they cannot afford it? Aren't ambulance chasers worthy of a little amenities now and then?

This leads me to the conclusion that Jed Clampett was really the father of Anna Nicole Smith's daughter. I didn't even know Zsa Zsa was married to that cad. Didn't she settle down with Big Ed Albert in sunny Hooterville? Or did I miss that episode since I was too busy watching Maury?

Baseball, Hotdogs, Apple pie, and HGH

There's pine tar in the air and hypodermic needles in the trash bin, so it must be that time of hope again that is affectionately known as spring training. We have several of yesterday's superstar players trying to make it back to the fame and glory of big league baseball. First, a personal favorite of mine is Eric Gagne who's name no one can truly pronounce correctly, and is the son of the infamous former world wrestling champion Vern Gagne who is trying to come back, yet again, from a couple of miserable years spent recuperating from arm surgery. After countless years of incredible success, and a Cy Young award to boot, he is trying to prove he still can outwit the hitters he made look so hapless in the past. Someone, please tell him to lose the old dorky, Chris Sabo-type, aviator goggles. He looks like a Japanese zero. If it's supposed to be intimidating, then someone should tell him Chris Sabo's nickname was Spuds Mackenzie. Hardly, the moniker that could strike fear in anyone's heart.

And that us back to doe. I mean dough. Or is it fame that brings us the enigma known as Slammin' Sammy Sosa? After repeated denials that he took steriods, he was embroiled in controversy in Chicago who previously claimed him as their hero. But after walking out on his teammates during the last game of the season, and claiming he was misquoted for outright lying, he tried to prove all his critics that he was wrong as he was shipped out on his ego inflated ass to Baltimore where he made Corey Patterson (another Chicago Cub's castoff) look like a star. After bailing out, like he does with any inside pitch, Sosa decided to retreat to his palatial home and stare at his 20 foot likeness of himself that adorns his foyer. Now, why would anyone claim his ego is as big as his ass? So here he is in all his glory, and is hitting .500 for the Texas Rangers. Of course, spring training doesn't count, and there is a long season ahead of us, but hope springs eternal. And hopefully, for Sammy, some of those springs contain a little human growth hormone or steriods if he is to truly compete against the big boys. All it would take is one brush back pitch, and I would bet, Mr. Sosa, decides to high tail it back to his safe abode, and remember when he had the city of Chicago in his clutches. I'm hoping that in a few years they start a steriod league and have the Palmeiros and Bonds represented. My fear is that we would be fielding a double A ball team in Chicago, and would risk ending up with the worst record in the National League. But, hey!!!!

Only two things that you can always count on. . .

Taxes and Jock Itch. Yep, it's that time of the year again when we shed our cycle of excuses and sit down for a lonely weekend with nothing but dried ketchup stained receipts and our trusty ten key calculator. Uncle Sam is asking for another donation, and I aim to please. By the way, I wonder if Uncle Sam ever gets lonely? Isn't there supposed to be an Aunt Samantha to keep him warm during these cold winter days? But I digress. Anyway, here I am plunking away trying to figure out how I can keep the "revenooers" from taking the farm. Or taking me to the cleaners. I guess I should be taking one for the gipper. Why is the tax code so damn complicated? I sincerely believe that they instituted it to see which one of us has the fortitude to actually study the details and spend countless hours trying to determine if I can save 32 cents on that alleged business call to Aunt Myra. After sheer frustration, I will eventually give up and decide to let the federal government take it. I suppose it is good fiscal sense to get people frustrated in order to make more money. Of course, I would rather be frustrated with an image of Britney Spears, but that's another story. Enough! Now I must be a good patriotic citizen and do my civic duty. Can I claim that deciduous conifer that shaped like Aunt Myra as a dependent?

Speak Out for Change!

I'm not one to turn my back on technology but I'm starting to long for the days when cashiers actually counted the change they returned to their customer. I think those days left when the electronic cash register came on the scene and simply indicated the exact change to be returned.

I remember selling a cheeseburger, fries and a coke for a mere 89 cents when I worked at the local McDonald's. After receiving a five dollar bill for payment, the proper procedure was to drop eleven cents in the purchasers hand ("that's one dollar") followed by 4 singles ("two, three, four and five dollars"). And those were the days when virtually all transactions took place over a counter inside the restaurant.

Nowadays, when drive-thru lanes are common practice, I get handed my change bills first with the change on top. Invariably this leads to a balancing act with the coins to keep them from sliding out of my hand. Of course, with the currency between my hand and the coins, I have no feel for the change as it skates across the bills like Michelle Kwan at Rockefeller Center.

I say it's time for change! (no pun intended - for once.) Can't someone train these people to hand out the coins first? How hard of a concept is this to grasp? I think the fast food restaurant industry must make up for razor thin profit margins with all of the lost coins customer lose in the drive-thru lane. I, for one, am mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!

The Colorado Emissions Test

I spent about an hour at one of Colorado's emissions testing facilities recently. This no doubt is one person's attempt at eradicating the brown cloud that occasionally hangs over the city of Denver. I wonder if it really works. Consider this:

• I spent about half an hour in line, with motor running (I would advance a few feet every so often), along with a steady stream of 25 or so other cars waiting in line with me.
• The test itself (again, with motor running) took another 30 minutes or so.
• With nothing better to do than watch the various monitors scattered about the facility, I noticed that there were frequent delays because the "ambient" air was often above "acceptable" levels. Do you think that may have had something to do with all of those cars at the facility, engines idling away?

Perhaps there may be a more efficient way to reduce Denver's air pollution. Maybe closing the emissions testing facilities would help?

Tis the season . . .

• where carolers ring your bell incessantly and sing off key in hopes of garnering a little holiday cheer and some vintage toddy
• where normal neighbors attempt to compete vigorsly on how much wattage they can apply to their yards to bring the electric switching station to its knees
• where office workers everywhere stress at how to come up with original excuses for not having to attend that obstentatious office party where the boss's flirty wife is obnoxious and everyone has to put on the painted smile right before the .0035 merit checks are handed out
• where inflatable Santas dominate subdivision everywhere by casting an effervescent red hue across the entire skyline and chokes out any possibility whatsoever for any living creature to obtain any ultraviolet radiation
• where you attempt to find a parking spot within the same zip code as the mall despite the fact that even the handicapped spaces are triple parked by cell phone toting, able-bodied, denizens who happen to have a unscrupulous brother-in-law who can sign for the disability placards that can easily be reproduced on a 19.50 color printer. . . if you can only get a spot to buy one at the mall before the moon surfaces.
• where you can watch "It's a wonderful life" for the umteenth time and still get misty eyed over the incredible personality tranformation of George Bailey before you realize that all the bullied, arrogant, crass, and condescending remarks made by the main character seem so much meaner each year where you begin to hope just this one year Mr. Potter finally succeeds or turns into a nice guy via Scrooge transformation
• where you attempt to send that special, hard sought gift for that distant favorite friend only to realize all your packing peanuts refuse to stay in the overpriced corrugated box, but instead decide to static cling you, your dog, your lawn, and entire carpeted surface of your house
• where you can begin a lawsuit to question the need for a nativity scene in front of the local post office even though such a scene will further complicate pedestrian traffic that has crawled to a stop, but regardless will lead to an endless stream of attorneys filing claims on behalf of those who need to see a Kwanzaa display, Menorrah candles, etc. even though the holiday was somehow meant to represent someone's birthday
  
• where those who generally implore others to recycle and save the planet from some unforeseen danger decide to ravage an innocent forest by decimating the latest pine tree to dry out for a month in the comfort of their living room only to be sent reeling head first into the nearest street come January
• where we are barraged with generic christmas letters outlining the latest insignificant accomplishments in poetic prose despite that fact that Uncle Billy who was sent up the river and Auntie Anne is now Auntie Fred were somehow overlooked
• where no one amongst the sane population known as civilization has ever, ever, ever purchased anyone a Lexus as a present despite the marketing claims, but am encouraged that the marketing people truly believe there is some lonely shallow person out there who may bite at the prospect
• where you attempt to be the 15 billionth passenger waiting in line to make it through the airport turnstyles while the other passengers begin to grimace at your holiday green and red socks are on stage display as you take off your shoes through security and realize that the special cotton absorbing material does not retain the smell. . . unfortunately, of your perspiring feet, which obviously alerts the airport personnel who have been observing your awkward movements and decide to detain you and examine you only to determine that you are just "stinky" and place you to the rear of the line to repeat the "groundhog day movie" activities once again
• where you can introduce seemingly insignificant ramblings while still being perceived as the next coming of Kurt Cobain while just trying to wish every one a very happy, safe, and peaceful Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Cool Kwanzaa, Joyeux Noel, Feliz Navidad etc. and the best New Year!
  

Get Smart!

That's an order!

Or at least it could be construed as one. Personally, I'd rather construe it as a sitcom. Agent 86. 99. Who can forget the cones of silence?

This could all be mine! Mine, I tell you!! For a mere $199 that is. Yes, the entire catalogue of Get Smart episodes is available for the low, low price of only $199 from Time Life books.

Okay, maybe the price tag isn't quite as "low, low" as I would like. But I am seriously considering adding it to my Christmas list. Oh, if only Santa read my blog - or, if only anyone read my blog for that matter; but that's a whole different issue. Of course, it may be just as well that Santa doesn't come through; he seems to be using my credit card when he makes his purchases.

Sorry about that, Chief.

Time to give THANKS!

It's that wonderful time of the year that begins shortly before Halloween. No, I'm talking about that profit enhancing enterprise called Christmas. I realize that it's oft overused, but Christmas comes earlier and earlier each year. I noticed the local Wal-Mart already had the Christmas displays up before Halloween. I recall that it was considered sacroligious to begin decorating a tree before Thanksgiving. My, how times have changed! Now, what used to be a joyous occasion, now brings stress to not only the retailers as they scramble to squeeze out that very last cent, but more importantly, it's the average joe who suffers because he has to be up by the crack of dawn to get the newest playstation wiii. Now, I must remind you the most important part of my message: what the begonias ever happened to THANKSGIVING!!!!???!?!? Didn't we forget that this was an important occasion to remember our long ago ancestors who came over on the Mayflower. . . who raped and pillaged the local Indian population. . .er. Native Americans. . .just so we could eat their turkey? Isn't this a day of THANKS?!?! So, I implore you to remember this sacred holiday as you dive in for another round of Aunt Bernice's pecan pie, and think about the other 364 days that we need to appreciate what we have. By the way, I think I'll use Mayflower van lines the next time I move since they go waaaay back. Happy Thanksgiving!

I fight authority and . . .

Because of the era that I grew up, I learned to respect (and abhor) authority. I always try to distance myself from work superiors so as to not appear as the "kiss-up" of the crowd. I do notice the occasional overt "butt-kissers" who do garner some extra attention from the boss, but I sincerely believe that they eventually will be discovered for their shallow intent. Even though I may actually like my boss, I still try to keep my distance, which has led me to the thought: Is it because I do not want to be perceived as a brown-noser or is it my inate perception that a boss should be in a different league, much higher than I? I finally concluded that it must be the former when I witnessed my boss passing gas in the adjacent urinal. Damn animal, needs to find some social etiquette!

Everything I learned in life, I learned in college

If you truly think about it, you were naive, yet ecstatic, yet prepared for life when you were in school. Those formative years chasing the young nubile coeds were what life was truly about. Besides raging hormones, you were gifted with "knowing everything" and caring about nothing. No real responsibiliites to speak of; certainly no mortgage concerns, car debt, braces, etc. You had the entire future to consider and all was incredibly fun and possible. No limitations as you dreamed about learning to drive a motorcycle, skydiving, and fornicating with a million plus women. College was an opportunity to grow and transition into adulthood. No longer would you be concentrating on Power Rangers but the Texas Rangers. What is amazing to me is the sight of overaged grey haired men back on campus trying to relive those days of glory, as they mumble along the quad, thinking about what might have been. I think I actually saw a balding one driving by in his new corvette the other day.

I Just Adore a Penthouse View

Load up the wagons people, Oliver Douglas is heading to New York! Apparently he got allergic to smelling hay and is looking for Park Avenue now, baby. Please, please, please, just leave the pig, Eb and that fat Mr. whatever his name was home.

Next thing you know, he'll be movin' on up to the east side... to a de-luxe apartment in the sky. Hey, by the way, could you get me a piece of the pie?

Milestone Birthdays

No, I did not say headstone, but milestone. Amazing how we wait until we reach a milestone birthday to reflect on our achievements or rather lack there of. Think about how many people consider this the time to start jotting down skydiving, college degrees, buying a corvette, etc. when most people observing would consider that too late to truly enjoy the aforementioned activities. How many times have you seen that balding, over-aged, hawaiian print wearing corvette driver whizzing by? I think we should try to get as many accomplishments done while we truly have the capacity to enjoy them, and accept the fact that when we reach 50 that the penis enlarger just won't work.