The morning started with the 5:31 alarm screaming at me to get up while my brain reminded me of what kind of an idiot I am. The extra inning baseball game seemed like a good reason to have another beer or two. And when my team won, a victory beer was another good idea. I knew there wasn’t going to be much to do at work the next day so it should be easy to get through it without having much sleep. And what’s a minor hangover in the scheme of things?
5:40 – 5:40 – 5:40 – 5:40 – 5:40
It’s one snooze-hit later and I had to get up with about twenty minutes for preparation. Which is normally no problem except that I can’t get out of bed. A 34-year-old body requires more than five-plus hours of sleep. But I have no choice. A large cup of water, three ibuprofen and a semi-warm shower should do the trick. Getting dressed for work is always easy regardless of the thumping in my head. One of the nice things about the job is that jeans and a tee shirt are appropriate attire. Socks, dogs out, shoes, e-mail, dogs in and I’m ready to go. I kiss my sleeping wife and I’m out the door.
Following my traditional morning route I tell myself that I’m feeling pretty good. Within a couple of Mocha Doodles I’ll be in fine shape. Wait! Ouch! The sun has arrived. Morning has broken and screw you Cat Stevens. Where are my sunglasses? WHERE are my SUNGLASSES?!?! Crap. I wore them last night when we went to dinner and M drove. I must have left them on the computer desk. Double crap. Wait! I didn’t leave them on the desk – I left them on the back of my car. THIS CAR! CRAP!
I often leave my sunglasses and maybe the garage door opener on the back of my car. I always walk around my car to get in it so I never miss anything I put back there. Well almost never. How did I miss it this morning? Hangover. I’ve got to turn around and try to find them. There’s a chance, a very slim chance that I did not run over them and they’re sitting in the garage in perfect shape. Yeah, right. Wait – they could still be on the back on the car. I remember watching one of my friends drive for miles with a six-pack of beer on the roof of his car. Who was that? But beer is a lot heavier than sunglasses. There’s no way that a pair of sunglasses could have stayed on the back of my car. I’ve got to check and at the stop light up ahead I’m getting out.
The sunglasses were there, on the trunk, lying next to the garage opener.
It’s a lucky day.
Wandering through the Dandelion Garden you may come across a variety of characters in my world. Some are living people, some just live in my head. Nicknames are often used to protect the innocent – and the guilty. There is Chick and the Thrill and Otis among many others. But most of the time you’ll be hanging out with Jim – a pretty good guy.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Sunday, June 20, 2004
Birthday Saturday
M and I celebrated her 30th birthday Saturday. We called it birthday Saturday. I didn’t have a gift or a card, let alone a plan. So I gave her Saturday. After a morning spent lying around in the bedroom we headed out for lunch at a nearby fern restaurant. The typical family chain restaurants aren’t so bad as long as the have appetizers and alcohol. Which is exactly what we ordered.
The lunch conversation comprised totally of birthday plans. Originally, weeks ago, there was a plan for a large pool party. But I decided that after last year’s ‘I’m not 30’ party, another event to celebrate being 30 was contradictive. So, perhaps we’ll just have dinner with family and friends. A fine enough idea except that it was already one o’clock in the afternoon and the organization of a dinner could be difficult. So, let’s just go out - just the two of us. But first, we need the proper attire. Target, here we come.
The plan, at this point, was a night on the town. What town? Doesn’t matter. Any town will do. Wherever we end up, a new wardrobe is required. But, as always, there’s a twist. The details of the wardrobe have been placed on my mind and shoulders. Without panic, I headed to the ‘Young Miss’ section (brownie points) and looked around for some blouses. It wasn’t long before I was in the accessories looking for a belt to match the necklace that went with the purse that looked great with the blouse. Isaac Mizrahi is very overrated. So, after picking out a complete outfit for M, it was her turn to choose something for me. I told her all I really needed was a shirt to go with jeans. And she didn’t let me down. She picked out a very fine ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ silkscreen tee. She told me it would look great if I wore my black sport coat with it. She was right.
After returning home to change into our new clothes and let the dogs out, we headed north. I remembered passing a seafood restaurant in the town just a few miles up the road. After dinner I planned on going to a place with some live music that I heard about, not far from the seafood joint. On the way to dinner I popped in the Frank Sinatra CD we purchased at Meijer’s. Did I mention that we had to go to Meijer’s to find some black jeans? Target didn’t have what we were looking for so after we stopped at fern restaurant number two, for another round of drinks, we swung by Meijer’s for the jeans. I had already read about the place with live music, jazz in particular, so I bought a Frank Greatest Hits CD from the bargain bin to put us in the mood. I also got a very cool pair of socks to go with my ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ tee shirt. But I think the details are flowing too heavily right now, so let’s just move on.
The restaurant was very nice. Our table was alongside a saltwater tank that held some very impressive fish as well as a very long eel. Is an eel a fish? I suppose so. True to form, M was able to find the most expensive item on the menu, Lobster Tails. I opted for one of the specials – Monk Fisk. Despite the name, which sounds as if it were a creature living in a moat, it was quite good. Unfortunately for the Blog, nothing really special happened at the restaurant. There was a couple that prayed over their food for what may have been forty seconds, but they already had a few beers, so we let it slide.
The meat of this piece takes place at the next locale. The entertainment section of the local paper featured this establishment as an eclectic bar with live music and art. Sounds like it’s right up our alley.
Upon entering it was most obvious that we were the youngest patrons. M asked if it was my plan to make her feel better about turning 30 – you know, take her to place where everyone was twice her age. I could only explain that the article in the paper made this place seem like the newest, hippest place in town. Not the oldest, most hip-broken place next to the senior center. But the typical age of the clientele would be the least of our problems. Although it was advertised as a piano-bar, the talent of the night was none other than The Mic Murphy Show featuring Gloria Jean. (For those of you that can’t figure it out by the name, picture Murph and the Magic Tones, from Blues Brothers.)
Not ones to be rude, M and I found a nice little table not far from the bar and ordered some drinks. We couldn’t help noticing that the three people at the table next to us were all wearing Tom Jones tee shirts. I was praying they would keep their underwear on. We hadn’t been there more than three songs when Mic broke into ‘What’s up Pussycat?’ I was afraid of being blinded by granny underwear, girdles and Depends, and I could tell that Mic wasn’t sure either. We were lucky it was early in the evening.
Mic was what one would call a typical lounge singer. He was well into his forties, probably older. His jet-black hair receded on the sides a bit, but the goatee made up for it. He wore a black and white checkered vest over his wide collared silk shirt. The shirt was opened from the collar enough to reveal his gold scripted ‘Mic’ necklace. Leisure Suit Larry could not have picked a better foe.
Gloria Jean was most likely too good for Mic. But only they could really determine that. On this night she was wearing a dress that may have been made from one of my mom’s old tablecloths. Not one of the cheap ones. It was a tablecloth that was held back for when we had someone special over for dinner, like a monsignor or an aunt we only see every few years. But she sang well in the dress. At least better than Florence Henderson.
Mic: “This next song is an Andrew Lloyd Weber tune.”
M: “Isn’t he an architect?”
J: “ No, that’s Frank Lloyd Wright.”
I appreciate good music and I have seen a fair share of artists perform live. Eric Clapton. The Rolling Stones. Pink Floyd. Blues Traveler. The Allman Brothers. Jackson Browne. And really a ton of other artists that I just can’t totally recall. I think that I can narrow down the two best songs that I have seen performed live. The first is "Murder Tonight in the Trailer Park" by the Cowboy Junkies. They played a slow methodical jam that made me fell like I lived there. Better than that was a song performed by Phish. Regrettably I was never able to attend a Grateful Dead concert, but I did make it to a Phish show. It was an incredible event. The late afternoon was perfect, but after an intermission the clouds started rolling in. The thunder and lightning let loose the rain just as the band opened up their rendition of "Rocky Top." That’s right, the John Denver wedding reception favorite. But performed by Phish, the song seemed to take on whole new ramifications. Especially a 25-minute version. It was definitely the best live song that I ever experienced.
On her birthday, M requested The Mic Murphy Show featuring Gloria Jean perform "Rocky Top."
Mic hit the banjo button on his keyboard and dove into "Rocky Top" like it was just another wedding. His vocals were wonderfully accompanied by Gloria Jean, standing still and staring straight ahead in her tablecloth dress. Although no one made it out to the floor there was plenty of side shaking and foot stomping going on at all the tables. I was stuck between a cringe and a smile. The song was performed as well as it could be and just when I thought this strange dream was over, Mic really lit into the keyboard. He jammed to the banjo beat over and over. I had visions of his fingers bleeding like Pete Townsend. And just when he looked like he was wrapping up he hit it again, changing the jam just enough so you still thought you were at a wedding reception. All the while Gloria Jean stared ahead with a soft smile, lightly slapping her hand on he hip. Finally, Mic wrapped it up eventually and would have gotten a standing ovation if it weren’t so difficult for the audience to get up. I looked over at M and she was beaming, proud that her request was such a hit.
At one point in the evening a very nice, older lady was passing by me and stopped to stare at me. “You have very lovely hair,” she said as she started to run her fingers through it.
“Well, thank you,” I replied. “I’ve actually been told that before.”
“Well it’s very nice and you’re very handsome”
“Thanks again. You’re quite lovely yourself.”
With a laugh she replied, “Have you had your eye prescription checked lately?”
“No, but I have had three or four beers.”
She walked away laughing hard. I think I made her night.
The crowd kept going as Mic kept playing their favorites. He had everyone screaming out the lyrics to “Daydream Believer” and “Piano Man.” Gloria Jean actually glanced at Mic during her duet of “The One that I Want” from Grease. And I swear I saw someone take a picture during “You Were Always on My Mind” – of course Mic was wearing a red bandana on his head.
After each set, Mic and Gloria Jean worked the room. Mic came right up to me and told me I looked like an actor. I wasn’t sure if he was hitting on me or setting up a joke. But I figured it was because of my ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ tee shirt with black sport coat and blue jeans. Before I could respond M told him that her mother always says I look like Hugh Grant. He concurred only adding that I looked a little like Buddy Holly too.
I just wanted to find my old lady friend again.
The lunch conversation comprised totally of birthday plans. Originally, weeks ago, there was a plan for a large pool party. But I decided that after last year’s ‘I’m not 30’ party, another event to celebrate being 30 was contradictive. So, perhaps we’ll just have dinner with family and friends. A fine enough idea except that it was already one o’clock in the afternoon and the organization of a dinner could be difficult. So, let’s just go out - just the two of us. But first, we need the proper attire. Target, here we come.
The plan, at this point, was a night on the town. What town? Doesn’t matter. Any town will do. Wherever we end up, a new wardrobe is required. But, as always, there’s a twist. The details of the wardrobe have been placed on my mind and shoulders. Without panic, I headed to the ‘Young Miss’ section (brownie points) and looked around for some blouses. It wasn’t long before I was in the accessories looking for a belt to match the necklace that went with the purse that looked great with the blouse. Isaac Mizrahi is very overrated. So, after picking out a complete outfit for M, it was her turn to choose something for me. I told her all I really needed was a shirt to go with jeans. And she didn’t let me down. She picked out a very fine ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ silkscreen tee. She told me it would look great if I wore my black sport coat with it. She was right.
After returning home to change into our new clothes and let the dogs out, we headed north. I remembered passing a seafood restaurant in the town just a few miles up the road. After dinner I planned on going to a place with some live music that I heard about, not far from the seafood joint. On the way to dinner I popped in the Frank Sinatra CD we purchased at Meijer’s. Did I mention that we had to go to Meijer’s to find some black jeans? Target didn’t have what we were looking for so after we stopped at fern restaurant number two, for another round of drinks, we swung by Meijer’s for the jeans. I had already read about the place with live music, jazz in particular, so I bought a Frank Greatest Hits CD from the bargain bin to put us in the mood. I also got a very cool pair of socks to go with my ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ tee shirt. But I think the details are flowing too heavily right now, so let’s just move on.
The restaurant was very nice. Our table was alongside a saltwater tank that held some very impressive fish as well as a very long eel. Is an eel a fish? I suppose so. True to form, M was able to find the most expensive item on the menu, Lobster Tails. I opted for one of the specials – Monk Fisk. Despite the name, which sounds as if it were a creature living in a moat, it was quite good. Unfortunately for the Blog, nothing really special happened at the restaurant. There was a couple that prayed over their food for what may have been forty seconds, but they already had a few beers, so we let it slide.
The meat of this piece takes place at the next locale. The entertainment section of the local paper featured this establishment as an eclectic bar with live music and art. Sounds like it’s right up our alley.
Upon entering it was most obvious that we were the youngest patrons. M asked if it was my plan to make her feel better about turning 30 – you know, take her to place where everyone was twice her age. I could only explain that the article in the paper made this place seem like the newest, hippest place in town. Not the oldest, most hip-broken place next to the senior center. But the typical age of the clientele would be the least of our problems. Although it was advertised as a piano-bar, the talent of the night was none other than The Mic Murphy Show featuring Gloria Jean. (For those of you that can’t figure it out by the name, picture Murph and the Magic Tones, from Blues Brothers.)
Not ones to be rude, M and I found a nice little table not far from the bar and ordered some drinks. We couldn’t help noticing that the three people at the table next to us were all wearing Tom Jones tee shirts. I was praying they would keep their underwear on. We hadn’t been there more than three songs when Mic broke into ‘What’s up Pussycat?’ I was afraid of being blinded by granny underwear, girdles and Depends, and I could tell that Mic wasn’t sure either. We were lucky it was early in the evening.
Mic was what one would call a typical lounge singer. He was well into his forties, probably older. His jet-black hair receded on the sides a bit, but the goatee made up for it. He wore a black and white checkered vest over his wide collared silk shirt. The shirt was opened from the collar enough to reveal his gold scripted ‘Mic’ necklace. Leisure Suit Larry could not have picked a better foe.
Gloria Jean was most likely too good for Mic. But only they could really determine that. On this night she was wearing a dress that may have been made from one of my mom’s old tablecloths. Not one of the cheap ones. It was a tablecloth that was held back for when we had someone special over for dinner, like a monsignor or an aunt we only see every few years. But she sang well in the dress. At least better than Florence Henderson.
Mic: “This next song is an Andrew Lloyd Weber tune.”
M: “Isn’t he an architect?”
J: “ No, that’s Frank Lloyd Wright.”
I appreciate good music and I have seen a fair share of artists perform live. Eric Clapton. The Rolling Stones. Pink Floyd. Blues Traveler. The Allman Brothers. Jackson Browne. And really a ton of other artists that I just can’t totally recall. I think that I can narrow down the two best songs that I have seen performed live. The first is "Murder Tonight in the Trailer Park" by the Cowboy Junkies. They played a slow methodical jam that made me fell like I lived there. Better than that was a song performed by Phish. Regrettably I was never able to attend a Grateful Dead concert, but I did make it to a Phish show. It was an incredible event. The late afternoon was perfect, but after an intermission the clouds started rolling in. The thunder and lightning let loose the rain just as the band opened up their rendition of "Rocky Top." That’s right, the John Denver wedding reception favorite. But performed by Phish, the song seemed to take on whole new ramifications. Especially a 25-minute version. It was definitely the best live song that I ever experienced.
On her birthday, M requested The Mic Murphy Show featuring Gloria Jean perform "Rocky Top."
Mic hit the banjo button on his keyboard and dove into "Rocky Top" like it was just another wedding. His vocals were wonderfully accompanied by Gloria Jean, standing still and staring straight ahead in her tablecloth dress. Although no one made it out to the floor there was plenty of side shaking and foot stomping going on at all the tables. I was stuck between a cringe and a smile. The song was performed as well as it could be and just when I thought this strange dream was over, Mic really lit into the keyboard. He jammed to the banjo beat over and over. I had visions of his fingers bleeding like Pete Townsend. And just when he looked like he was wrapping up he hit it again, changing the jam just enough so you still thought you were at a wedding reception. All the while Gloria Jean stared ahead with a soft smile, lightly slapping her hand on he hip. Finally, Mic wrapped it up eventually and would have gotten a standing ovation if it weren’t so difficult for the audience to get up. I looked over at M and she was beaming, proud that her request was such a hit.
At one point in the evening a very nice, older lady was passing by me and stopped to stare at me. “You have very lovely hair,” she said as she started to run her fingers through it.
“Well, thank you,” I replied. “I’ve actually been told that before.”
“Well it’s very nice and you’re very handsome”
“Thanks again. You’re quite lovely yourself.”
With a laugh she replied, “Have you had your eye prescription checked lately?”
“No, but I have had three or four beers.”
She walked away laughing hard. I think I made her night.
The crowd kept going as Mic kept playing their favorites. He had everyone screaming out the lyrics to “Daydream Believer” and “Piano Man.” Gloria Jean actually glanced at Mic during her duet of “The One that I Want” from Grease. And I swear I saw someone take a picture during “You Were Always on My Mind” – of course Mic was wearing a red bandana on his head.
After each set, Mic and Gloria Jean worked the room. Mic came right up to me and told me I looked like an actor. I wasn’t sure if he was hitting on me or setting up a joke. But I figured it was because of my ‘Co-Ed All Night Bowl-A-Thon’ tee shirt with black sport coat and blue jeans. Before I could respond M told him that her mother always says I look like Hugh Grant. He concurred only adding that I looked a little like Buddy Holly too.
I just wanted to find my old lady friend again.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Las Vegas: Do's and Don'ts
Don't #1 - Don't have high expectations
The first rule of Vegas is one that I have tried to maintain throughout my life: low expectations. But it's especaillay difficult in Las Vegas. They give you free drinks. They give you cheap food. Thay wait on you like you're royalty. Then they show you what you could win - a car, a vacation to Monte Carlo, $10,000. Then, when you sit down to play, they take you for all you're worth.
Do #1 - Tip, Tip, Tip
There is virtually no way to control how much money you may win or lose in Vegas. But if you want people to take care of you, tip them well. The concept of tipping is an example of ideal capitalism. You want something. You give someone money for it. They give it to you. You give them more money. The next time you see that person, they drop their shorts for you. And if you tipped them enough, they'll take off their top too!
Don't #2 - Never talk about a big bet
There is an unwritten rule in baseball that when a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter, late in the game, no one talks about it. Not the radio play-by-play guy. Not the beer vendors. Not his mother. And definitely not his teammates. Often the pitcher will just sit by himslef in the dugout between innings. The same can be said for a crazy bet in Vegas. Today, a man, without a Texas accent, walked up to the roulette table and dropped a one hundred dollar bill on BLACK. I had 3 bucks on RED and I wanted to push them over but I dared not. There was no way I was going to interfere with this guy's adrenaline rush. He won, but then blew it all on EVEN.
Do #3 - See a Vegas wedding
Tonight was my second Las Vegas wedding experience. The first was my own, September 6, 1997. It was in the 'We've Only Just Begun' chapel in the Imperial Palace Hotel and Casino. My wife and I have talked about that day a few times recently. The details have been forgotten and rearranged. But the greatest thing we both enjoy about our wedding is all of the friends and family that shared the time with us.
I hope the friends who have invited me to be a part of their wedding will maintain similar long and happy memories.
Thank you D & S.
P.S. - Do & Don't quick list
Do - Place a bet on your hometown team to make it to the Superbowl
Don't - Place a bet on your hometown team's pitcher to give up ten runs
Do - See a topless show
Don't - Ask your cab driver to take you to a topless show
Do - Drink as much as you want - it's free!
Don't - Mix rum, gin, diet pepsi and sprite
Do - Enjoy the skimpy waitress uniforms
Don't - drool
Don't - Assume the waitress wants you
Don't - Suggest to your wife that shee needs that outfit
Don't - Drop a coin in any cleavage
The first rule of Vegas is one that I have tried to maintain throughout my life: low expectations. But it's especaillay difficult in Las Vegas. They give you free drinks. They give you cheap food. Thay wait on you like you're royalty. Then they show you what you could win - a car, a vacation to Monte Carlo, $10,000. Then, when you sit down to play, they take you for all you're worth.
Do #1 - Tip, Tip, Tip
There is virtually no way to control how much money you may win or lose in Vegas. But if you want people to take care of you, tip them well. The concept of tipping is an example of ideal capitalism. You want something. You give someone money for it. They give it to you. You give them more money. The next time you see that person, they drop their shorts for you. And if you tipped them enough, they'll take off their top too!
Don't #2 - Never talk about a big bet
There is an unwritten rule in baseball that when a pitcher is throwing a no-hitter, late in the game, no one talks about it. Not the radio play-by-play guy. Not the beer vendors. Not his mother. And definitely not his teammates. Often the pitcher will just sit by himslef in the dugout between innings. The same can be said for a crazy bet in Vegas. Today, a man, without a Texas accent, walked up to the roulette table and dropped a one hundred dollar bill on BLACK. I had 3 bucks on RED and I wanted to push them over but I dared not. There was no way I was going to interfere with this guy's adrenaline rush. He won, but then blew it all on EVEN.
Do #3 - See a Vegas wedding
Tonight was my second Las Vegas wedding experience. The first was my own, September 6, 1997. It was in the 'We've Only Just Begun' chapel in the Imperial Palace Hotel and Casino. My wife and I have talked about that day a few times recently. The details have been forgotten and rearranged. But the greatest thing we both enjoy about our wedding is all of the friends and family that shared the time with us.
I hope the friends who have invited me to be a part of their wedding will maintain similar long and happy memories.
Thank you D & S.
P.S. - Do & Don't quick list
Do - Place a bet on your hometown team to make it to the Superbowl
Don't - Place a bet on your hometown team's pitcher to give up ten runs
Do - See a topless show
Don't - Ask your cab driver to take you to a topless show
Do - Drink as much as you want - it's free!
Don't - Mix rum, gin, diet pepsi and sprite
Do - Enjoy the skimpy waitress uniforms
Don't - drool
Don't - Assume the waitress wants you
Don't - Suggest to your wife that shee needs that outfit
Don't - Drop a coin in any cleavage
Sunday, June 13, 2004
Melon Slices
At this point I really have very little to say – or write. But I am rather tired of not having posted anything. So, a late-night, semi-drunk rambling may just do the trick. But I’m still not sure about what may be on my mind.
Melon slices. That’s what is on my mind. Not Honeydew. Too greeny. Cantaloupe is where it’s at. A nice orange-peachy. And what a great word that is. Look at it: Cantaloupe. I have one in the kitchen that I bought just a day or two ago. I will likely and hopefully slice it tomorrow. It should make a very nice breakfast. Nothing scoops quite like a melon. It’s as if the fruit wants to resist the spoon but just can’t. There’s no escaping the running of the juices. Or the stickiness that the juices leave behind. And certainly not the smell. When the cantaloupe is cut at just the right time, just the perfect ripeness, the aroma of its slicing lingers for hours.
That cantaloupe in the kitchen might not make it through the night.
Do you have cable television? Or a dish? Or any other type of programming system that give you hundreds of channels for hundreds of dollars? I do. I have a ton of channels. My favorites are 027, 030, 039, 045, 086, 143, 344, and 517. That’s how many channels we have and I do watch a lot of them. But right now I’m watching the Grateful Dead on PBS. It’s a live concert from 1978 and as I am typing this they are in the 18th minute of Friend of the Devil. Do you think Jerry Garcia ever had cable?
Now it’s time for Samson and Delilah.
I am not here to crack on the Bible, but you have to admit that the Samson and Delilah story is pretty crazy. Although it works better than Jonah and the Whale. But it’s a toss up with the whole Noah thing. Come on – two of EVERY animal! Give me a break. But stories are what life is all about. People have been telling wonderful stories about Samson and Noah and Zeus and Ares and Santa Claus for a very long time. It’s part of the difference between us and the other animals. We can consciously create our own fantasies. We watched the movie Big Fish this evening. What a wonderful movie. It is entirely about creating stories to explain ones life. That’s kind of what I hope to do.
Good Lovin’
I have been addicted to a word game lately. It’s on Hoyle Table Games that I received from my sister-in-law for Christmas. She bought it because I told my brother-in-law that I was looking for a good backgammon game. Which it does have. But I’m addicted to Word Yacht. Essentially you get 10 random letters and about 3 minutes to make as many words as possible out of them. All words need to be at least 3 letters and you get a bonus for any word 8 letters or more. It’s rare, but it happens, normally because of ‘ing.’ I just made 31 words out of ENOTLCURQE. Most of them were only 3 or 4 letters long, but I did get two 7-letter words out of it. I think I could have gotten more but I ran out of time.
And Casey Jones screwed me up.
Melon slices. That’s what is on my mind. Not Honeydew. Too greeny. Cantaloupe is where it’s at. A nice orange-peachy. And what a great word that is. Look at it: Cantaloupe. I have one in the kitchen that I bought just a day or two ago. I will likely and hopefully slice it tomorrow. It should make a very nice breakfast. Nothing scoops quite like a melon. It’s as if the fruit wants to resist the spoon but just can’t. There’s no escaping the running of the juices. Or the stickiness that the juices leave behind. And certainly not the smell. When the cantaloupe is cut at just the right time, just the perfect ripeness, the aroma of its slicing lingers for hours.
That cantaloupe in the kitchen might not make it through the night.
Do you have cable television? Or a dish? Or any other type of programming system that give you hundreds of channels for hundreds of dollars? I do. I have a ton of channels. My favorites are 027, 030, 039, 045, 086, 143, 344, and 517. That’s how many channels we have and I do watch a lot of them. But right now I’m watching the Grateful Dead on PBS. It’s a live concert from 1978 and as I am typing this they are in the 18th minute of Friend of the Devil. Do you think Jerry Garcia ever had cable?
Now it’s time for Samson and Delilah.
I am not here to crack on the Bible, but you have to admit that the Samson and Delilah story is pretty crazy. Although it works better than Jonah and the Whale. But it’s a toss up with the whole Noah thing. Come on – two of EVERY animal! Give me a break. But stories are what life is all about. People have been telling wonderful stories about Samson and Noah and Zeus and Ares and Santa Claus for a very long time. It’s part of the difference between us and the other animals. We can consciously create our own fantasies. We watched the movie Big Fish this evening. What a wonderful movie. It is entirely about creating stories to explain ones life. That’s kind of what I hope to do.
Good Lovin’
I have been addicted to a word game lately. It’s on Hoyle Table Games that I received from my sister-in-law for Christmas. She bought it because I told my brother-in-law that I was looking for a good backgammon game. Which it does have. But I’m addicted to Word Yacht. Essentially you get 10 random letters and about 3 minutes to make as many words as possible out of them. All words need to be at least 3 letters and you get a bonus for any word 8 letters or more. It’s rare, but it happens, normally because of ‘ing.’ I just made 31 words out of ENOTLCURQE. Most of them were only 3 or 4 letters long, but I did get two 7-letter words out of it. I think I could have gotten more but I ran out of time.
And Casey Jones screwed me up.
Tuesday, June 08, 2004
Goodwill
On my way home this evening, well, actually mid-afternoon, I ran some errands in town. Post Office. City Building. Beers-R-Us. Along the way I happened to drive by the local Goodwill store. Now let me first say that I think the concept of Goodwill is awesome. I can get rid of anything that I no longer want or need and someone can purchase it for close to nothing. I once heard a comedian talk about giving his shirts to Goodwill, going to the store a few days later and buying them back. They’re cleaned, ironed and on hangers and all for two bucks. It’s cheaper than the local dry-cleaner. Anyway, as I drove by the Goodwill Store I noticed that they were prominently displaying wedding dresses.
The entire anecdote could end right there with ‘wedding dresses’, without any further comment. So, if while reading this you find yourself amused, you may as well stop right here. However, if you’re interest on a few different takes on this unusual storefront display then read on!
First of all, let’s discuss the concept of having to purchase a used wedding dress. Most of the women that I have talked to in the months before their wedding always seem to be trying to find the right dress at the right price. I’m sure all brides want a dress that has tiny diamonds hand sewn into the lining with silk that came from the rarest of worms. But hey, everyone can’t afford quite a dress – that’s just the way it is.
Secondly, there may be women who are confused about the ‘something borrowed, something blue’ concept. It could very well be that they think it goes ‘something borrowed, something used.” If that’s the case, then buying a dress at the Goodwill Store makes perfectly good sense and fulfills a wonderful tradition.
And finally, the biggest problem I have with a wedding dress is the fact that for most women it is the most expensive article of clothing they will ever buy, they wear it once and then they put it into storage. I understand holding on to things. I have numerous books of various ages that I never read but keep on the shelf anyway. I have a very large collection of baseball cards that I may go through every once in a while, but generally they just sit in boxes. But I still have a problem with keeping a dress. Because I could read any book again and I could enjoy sorting through some baseball cards. But the dress just sits in a box with mothballs. Of course, if a woman displayed her dress on a mannequin in the living room it would be a bit disturbing. I hope to pass my books and cards on to children, whether they’re mine or not. I know many women hope to pass on their dress to their daughter someday, but I don’t know any daughter that has worn their mother’s dress. Maybe it’s just a guy thing, but I just don’t get holding on to the dress.
Especially if someone else of lesser means may be able to benefit from it.
The entire anecdote could end right there with ‘wedding dresses’, without any further comment. So, if while reading this you find yourself amused, you may as well stop right here. However, if you’re interest on a few different takes on this unusual storefront display then read on!
First of all, let’s discuss the concept of having to purchase a used wedding dress. Most of the women that I have talked to in the months before their wedding always seem to be trying to find the right dress at the right price. I’m sure all brides want a dress that has tiny diamonds hand sewn into the lining with silk that came from the rarest of worms. But hey, everyone can’t afford quite a dress – that’s just the way it is.
Secondly, there may be women who are confused about the ‘something borrowed, something blue’ concept. It could very well be that they think it goes ‘something borrowed, something used.” If that’s the case, then buying a dress at the Goodwill Store makes perfectly good sense and fulfills a wonderful tradition.
And finally, the biggest problem I have with a wedding dress is the fact that for most women it is the most expensive article of clothing they will ever buy, they wear it once and then they put it into storage. I understand holding on to things. I have numerous books of various ages that I never read but keep on the shelf anyway. I have a very large collection of baseball cards that I may go through every once in a while, but generally they just sit in boxes. But I still have a problem with keeping a dress. Because I could read any book again and I could enjoy sorting through some baseball cards. But the dress just sits in a box with mothballs. Of course, if a woman displayed her dress on a mannequin in the living room it would be a bit disturbing. I hope to pass my books and cards on to children, whether they’re mine or not. I know many women hope to pass on their dress to their daughter someday, but I don’t know any daughter that has worn their mother’s dress. Maybe it’s just a guy thing, but I just don’t get holding on to the dress.
Especially if someone else of lesser means may be able to benefit from it.
Thursday, June 03, 2004
Harold
Harold has finally done it. He has found a way to escape from the Circus. He always heard how young boys wanted to run away from their parents and their home just to join the Circus. In some ways Harold could understand the appeal. You get to travel from city to city, interact with all kinds of animals and freaks and live primarily on cotton candy and peanuts. And maybe that was the dream life for a boy. But not for Harold. You see, Harold is a seal.
He could not have picked a better location to make his escape. The Circus train was headed south from Vancouver to Seattle. The jump was a little scary but Harold was not shaken. He had been fighting for his freedom ever since his first trumpet practice. The balancing of the beach balls was tolerable. But one more rendition of Yankee Doodle on those damn horns and Harold was ready to blow his brains out. But now freedom was his and he could smell the saltwater. He just needed to make it over the next ridge. The awkward galloping and flopping on the dry land is more painful than the jump from the train. But it’s still better than the horns!
In the water at last, Harold rolls onto his back and gently floats to wherever the tide wants to take him. Staring into the night sky, Harold can’t believe he escaped the Circus and is free from the horns. He admits to himself that he may miss the beach balls but that’s an easy sacrifice for floating on your back in the ocean, staring at the stars. Finally, Harold has discovered the peaceful life that any seal deserves.
Unfortunately for Harold, the peace doesn’t last long as he is eaten by Chuck, the killer whale.
He could not have picked a better location to make his escape. The Circus train was headed south from Vancouver to Seattle. The jump was a little scary but Harold was not shaken. He had been fighting for his freedom ever since his first trumpet practice. The balancing of the beach balls was tolerable. But one more rendition of Yankee Doodle on those damn horns and Harold was ready to blow his brains out. But now freedom was his and he could smell the saltwater. He just needed to make it over the next ridge. The awkward galloping and flopping on the dry land is more painful than the jump from the train. But it’s still better than the horns!
In the water at last, Harold rolls onto his back and gently floats to wherever the tide wants to take him. Staring into the night sky, Harold can’t believe he escaped the Circus and is free from the horns. He admits to himself that he may miss the beach balls but that’s an easy sacrifice for floating on your back in the ocean, staring at the stars. Finally, Harold has discovered the peaceful life that any seal deserves.
Unfortunately for Harold, the peace doesn’t last long as he is eaten by Chuck, the killer whale.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Conversation with my Wife
J: What do you think makes someone become a dentist?
M: They want to be a doctor but they don't like blood.
J: Okay, but dentists still deal with a lot of blood.
M: Maybe they want to be a doctor but can't stand death.
J: But I'm sure a dentist killed someone, sometime.
M: Okay, money. And they don't have to remember as much as a real doctor. It's like becoming a vet. You want to be a doctor but you don't like people. The one I don't understand is the podiatrist. Is that the butt doctor?
J: No, that's a proctologist.
M: That's the one!
Five minutes later...
J: Hey M, do you know that a dandelion isn't a flower?
M: Looks like a flower.
J: I Love you.
M: They want to be a doctor but they don't like blood.
J: Okay, but dentists still deal with a lot of blood.
M: Maybe they want to be a doctor but can't stand death.
J: But I'm sure a dentist killed someone, sometime.
M: Okay, money. And they don't have to remember as much as a real doctor. It's like becoming a vet. You want to be a doctor but you don't like people. The one I don't understand is the podiatrist. Is that the butt doctor?
J: No, that's a proctologist.
M: That's the one!
Five minutes later...
J: Hey M, do you know that a dandelion isn't a flower?
M: Looks like a flower.
J: I Love you.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
Food Poisoning
The woman in Footlong’s didn’t know she was eating something bad. She thought she was eating right by ordering a Seafood sub with tomoatoes, onion, green peppers, jalapeno peppers, banana peppers and lettuce. No mayo. No cheese. No oil and vinegar. No Spicy-Southwest sauce. Just a simple, healthy sandwich. What could be better?
The owner/manager of Footlong’s never wanted to have a seafood-type sub. It’s not that he has anything against seafood – he grew up in Rhode Island. But he didn’t think anyone would want a concoction of imitation crabmeat, celery, mayonnaise, parsley and shrimp bits. But he found that many customers asked about a seafood sub and they weren’t thrilled about the Tuna Salad. So he caved in. At first he wanted to call the sandwich a SeaFoot sub, but this, according to some of his teenage Submariners, made the customers think of the smell of feet. And although the SeaFoot sub did smell a little bit like feet, he changed the name to Seafood Surprise – which still made his workers roll their eyes.
Being from Rhode Island, Tony, the owner/manager, felt that he could save money and make a better sub if he made the Seafood Surprise himself. So he ordered imitation crabmeat, celery and shrimp bits from his food distributor. He already had the mayo and parsley. At least once a week he spent a slow afternoon, typically Tuesday, making the Seafood Surprise. Knowing that he was dealing with potentially troublesome food, Tony was always very careful regarding cross-contamination. He cleaned. He sanitized. He wore gloves. He almost never touched his nose. And for years, he never had a problem with his Seafood Surprise – except that he still wanted to call it the SeaFoot sub. He never had a problem, with the food that is, until he delegated the making of the Seafood Surprise to his trusty manager, Tammy. Tammy had been a Submariner for Tony all through High School – evenings, weekends, summer break, Christmas break. Around the time of her graduation Tony was ready to open another Footlong’s and he offered Tammy the opportunity to manage Footlong’s #1.
Tammy was always smart and managed to do well in school. She couldn’t really afford to go to college and thought that she could save up some money and take some classes in her spare time. Which was a great idea except for Roach. Roach was Tammy’s boyfriend. His name really wasn’t Roach; it was Joseph Henry Lockwood. But he liked to be called Roach so in the ninth grade that’s what he told everyone to call him. And kids called him that in the ninth grade because he had been shaving by then for over a year. Tammy thought she liked Roach and Roach knew he liked Tammy. She was young, hot and had a full time job. Most of the money Tammy wanted to save for night school ended up going to cigarettes, beer, weed and whatever else Roach wanted.
On a typical afternoon Roach would visit Tammy at Footlong’s #1, have breakfast for free and try to mess around with Tammy in the back room. On one particular Tuesday afternoon, Tammy was making the Seafood Surprise, or SeaFuck surprise as Roach referred to it, and she didn’t feel like messing around. That upset Roach, so much so that when Tammy went to the counter to check on a customer, Roach decided to add dish soap to the SeaFuck surprise. Roach really wasn’t very clever. But Tammy should have never left Roach alone with the Seafood Surprise – or the Seafood Surprise alone with Roach.
Angela, the woman in the restaurant, got sick on the Seafood Surprise or SeaFoot Sub or SeaFuck Surprise or whatever you would like to call it. The mixture of imitation crabmeat, celery, mayonnaise, parsley, shrimp bits and dish soap did not kill her. It didn’t even make her very sick, just sick enough to ruin her afternoon. She didn’t sue Tony or Footlong’s #1 or Footlong’s #2. She just left a little early from work and went home to lie down.
The owner/manager of Footlong’s never wanted to have a seafood-type sub. It’s not that he has anything against seafood – he grew up in Rhode Island. But he didn’t think anyone would want a concoction of imitation crabmeat, celery, mayonnaise, parsley and shrimp bits. But he found that many customers asked about a seafood sub and they weren’t thrilled about the Tuna Salad. So he caved in. At first he wanted to call the sandwich a SeaFoot sub, but this, according to some of his teenage Submariners, made the customers think of the smell of feet. And although the SeaFoot sub did smell a little bit like feet, he changed the name to Seafood Surprise – which still made his workers roll their eyes.
Being from Rhode Island, Tony, the owner/manager, felt that he could save money and make a better sub if he made the Seafood Surprise himself. So he ordered imitation crabmeat, celery and shrimp bits from his food distributor. He already had the mayo and parsley. At least once a week he spent a slow afternoon, typically Tuesday, making the Seafood Surprise. Knowing that he was dealing with potentially troublesome food, Tony was always very careful regarding cross-contamination. He cleaned. He sanitized. He wore gloves. He almost never touched his nose. And for years, he never had a problem with his Seafood Surprise – except that he still wanted to call it the SeaFoot sub. He never had a problem, with the food that is, until he delegated the making of the Seafood Surprise to his trusty manager, Tammy. Tammy had been a Submariner for Tony all through High School – evenings, weekends, summer break, Christmas break. Around the time of her graduation Tony was ready to open another Footlong’s and he offered Tammy the opportunity to manage Footlong’s #1.
Tammy was always smart and managed to do well in school. She couldn’t really afford to go to college and thought that she could save up some money and take some classes in her spare time. Which was a great idea except for Roach. Roach was Tammy’s boyfriend. His name really wasn’t Roach; it was Joseph Henry Lockwood. But he liked to be called Roach so in the ninth grade that’s what he told everyone to call him. And kids called him that in the ninth grade because he had been shaving by then for over a year. Tammy thought she liked Roach and Roach knew he liked Tammy. She was young, hot and had a full time job. Most of the money Tammy wanted to save for night school ended up going to cigarettes, beer, weed and whatever else Roach wanted.
On a typical afternoon Roach would visit Tammy at Footlong’s #1, have breakfast for free and try to mess around with Tammy in the back room. On one particular Tuesday afternoon, Tammy was making the Seafood Surprise, or SeaFuck surprise as Roach referred to it, and she didn’t feel like messing around. That upset Roach, so much so that when Tammy went to the counter to check on a customer, Roach decided to add dish soap to the SeaFuck surprise. Roach really wasn’t very clever. But Tammy should have never left Roach alone with the Seafood Surprise – or the Seafood Surprise alone with Roach.
Angela, the woman in the restaurant, got sick on the Seafood Surprise or SeaFoot Sub or SeaFuck Surprise or whatever you would like to call it. The mixture of imitation crabmeat, celery, mayonnaise, parsley, shrimp bits and dish soap did not kill her. It didn’t even make her very sick, just sick enough to ruin her afternoon. She didn’t sue Tony or Footlong’s #1 or Footlong’s #2. She just left a little early from work and went home to lie down.
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