Credit Hogs

Have you ever noticed that when some people do things they have to take credit for it? I don't mean in a normal sense, like telling your wife you filled the tank while you were out. I mean in a weird, over the top, immediate and continual credit kind of way. Like:

"Here's the cheese tray you asked me to bring."
"Have you tried the cheese? I brought it."
"I went to seven stores before I found a cheese tray I was satisfied with."
"It was more expensive than what other people brought to the party but I got it anyway."
"Eat some cheese - I brought it!"

And then he hovers around the food table, monitoring what everyone is taking. Encouraging them to try the cheese. He brought it!

So I got to thinking about selfless people who just do things. Not for the credit but because it was the right thing to do. And what it might be like if they were credit hogs, too.

Man in elevator: "Hey there, did you see how I just held that elevator door for you? Not everyone would have done that. But I did. Held the elevator door."

Meter reader: "You know, I wrote that ticket on your car. I was just doing my duty. My duty to uphold the law 'cause I'm that kind of guy. I write tickets to preserve society. That's my responsibility. To write tickets. What do you think of my penmanship? Pretty neat, huh?"

Toll taker: "If I wasn't so efficient at making change - doing the math - in my head - traffic would be backed up for miles. But that's my job. I take your toll card, immediately see how much is due, count the money you give me and then calculate - in my head - what, if any, change is due. It's a huge responsibility."

Mobster: "Yeah, I whacked the bastard. He had it coming. It's not just anybody that has the, what-do-you-call... expertise to do a clean hit. You gotta keep the vic unawares or it gets messy. You know what I mean? So I keep him unawares and I gets behind him and next thing he knows is nothing. "Cause he's dead. From two .22's to the back of the skull. You ain't wired are you. So that's how I killed the bastard. Hey, I ain't kidding around here! Vinnie! Pat this prick down!"

Jesus: "Miracles! I don't even know where to start. Of course I do miracles. Water-to-wine, that was me. Walking on water, that was me. Raising Lazarus from the dead, that was me. Loaves and fishes, me. Who? David Blaine? Puh-lees! Don't get me started. I'm ten times better that he is. I calmed a storm for Me's sake!"

But there are all kind of people, most of them are normal and we only occasionally meet the credit hogs. Why can't people be more like me? You know - modest. I am extremely modest. I try not to take credit for anything. Anything. I guess that would make me Supremely modest, wouldn't it. SUPREMELY MODEST!

I wrote this. Did I mention that? Because it was me... Writing this...

Vendetta

The wind swirled eddies of dust down the street of the cattle town. This was my latest stop in a string of endless and nameless one horse towns, in search of a man as rootless as I was. As I wandered my way up the parched street, my sun blinded eyes squinted in search of the local saloon. My bones were stiff and my flesh numb from spending the last three days in the saddle. The rough cloth of my britches chafed my thighs and I felt like hell.

Maybe. Just maybe, I could end my search here.

I let my mount drift over to the hitching post in front of what I guessed to be the saloon. The heavy doors were closed to the fierce November wind but I thought I heard a player piano inside. I swung my right leg over the back of the horse and felt the pain knife along my thigh and hip.

Damn. I was getting too old for this.

Tilting my hat to shade my watering eyes, I turned and surveyed the street once again. I looped the end of the reins over the rail, knowing that the horse was just as tired as I was and wouldn't go wandering off. I mounted the two steps to the boardwalk and strode four paces to the saloon door. My boots heavy on the creaking, baked wood.

When I opened the door the wind gusted in with me causing the three men inside to stop what they were doing and look my way.

And there he was. The man I'd been hunting for, over these past four years. The man who had raped my wife and burned my farm. In the name of an army that didn't care how he killed. Just so he killed and intimidated suspected collaborators. The man I lived to see die.

It was all over in a moment. Our eyes met, tight yet weary. There was scurried movement on both sides of the room. A duel scrape of metal on leather, twin flashes of lightning and thunder as lethal lead criss-crossed the room. In the end I remained standing. He lay dead, his sprawled hand knocking over a spitoon.

The War was over. Vengence was accomplished. My holy mission fulfilled.

I still felt like hell.

The Threshold

Sometimes people ask me why I want to be a writer if I grow up. The short answer is that I'm in love with words and ideas. A more detailed answer is found in the following metaphor.

Your mind is the key and writing is the door. It is the door to other places, other people, other times, other worlds, other ways of life - and other doors.

It is not unlikely that you will look through a door and see yourself and maybe your friends. For there is every personality, physiogomy, stature, and measure of greatness and weakness on the other side. You may find two young souls embraced in ardent love or the raging, bloody massacre of millions. You can pass through the door to the land of information - or maybe you prefer a little intrigue? Across the threshold you will discover the views of great men as well as the fools of history.

And never eliminate the possibility that you, yourself, might hold the key that fits the door of an, as yet, undiscovered country. Because within your mind are the materials for exploration and your pen wielding fingers are the skilled locksmith.

But, dear friend, even if you feel that all of the new doors are closed to you, open some old ones - open a book.

This was an essay that I wrote in 1968. I have never lost my love for words and ideas.

Are Women Aliens?

So I was thinking about women the other day. This is a common practice for me and often has no bearing on anything else, but this time I had a reason. Specifically, I was thinking about the book Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars. I'll admit I haven't read the book, per se. But I have given it a few wary glances in the book store. I figure this qualifies me to write my opinion on it. (That is how real journalists do it, isn't it?)

Pulling together the title and the casual blather I've heard about the book, it seems to me it is about how men and women are different. (Geeze, I hope I'm not plagiarizing anything here.) This premise, men and women being different, always amazes me. Like, who feels the need to point that out? Of course they're different!

I remember a while back, one of the major news magazines (Timed or Newsweak), had a cover story about researchers actually concluding that men and women are, indeed, different. I didn't read that one either or I'd tell you about it. But that doesn't mean I haven't formed an opinion based upon a careful review of the cover.

Here are some of my conclusions:

• Women want to know what you are thinking at the damnedest times. It's like they just dropped in from another planet.
• They also need to know what you are feeling. They seldom ask how we are feeling.
• Women need to constantly review their relationships. What do they think has changed it the last 20 minutes?
• Women are deathly afraid of the status quo. The highest praise they ever give a man is that he is willing to change.
• Women can search their purses for their keys for ten minutes every day and never try to find a better place to put them.
• They go from happy to moody to bitchy to happy to bitchy to happy to moody to moody to bitchy to happy and want to know what we are thinking.
• They put on a little weight and obsess over it or gain 40 pounds and pretend it's not there.
• Women have hot button issues that rotate randomly on an irregular schedule.
• They use sex as a weapon whereas we use our weapon for sex.

So are women alien? Definitely! Do they pose a danger? Definitely! But I figure the invasion happened a long time ago so the danger isn't immediate. Somehow we have found a way to peacefully (ahem) co-exist.

I would like to make one suggestion, however. I think there ought to be a baseline to establish normalcy for most discussions. If we do that, in this case, the book should be called Women are from Venus, Men are from Earth.

WORLD'S GREATEST ...*

I was thinking about Barry Bonds the other day. Admittedly I'm a bigger fan of Gary U. S. Bonds (the singer/songwriter) but I was thinking about the baseball guy.

Everybody knows that Barry Bonds is in the record books already for being a seven-time MPV with the S. F. Giants and owns the single season home run record. He's also the 4th person to break the 700+ career home run record, beating Willie Mays and is just a few homers shy of Babe Ruth and less than 50 away from Hank Aaron's ultimate record.

He's also the guy with the giant asterisk stuck up his ass.

It used to be that an asterisk denoted a special circumstance that said, "Sure, he beat the old record, technically." ...But he took longer to do it, ...Or they have better equipment or training now, ...Or, ...Or, ...Or. Barry Bonds' asterisk will be for using steroids to achieve his records.

But all of this got me to thinking about something else. Domestic Records with an Asterisk. Take the coffee cup on my desk that says WORLD'S GREATEST DAD* That would be pretty impressive if it wasn't for the asterisk which said: (*Retailers - Save more and buy by the gross.) You mean I'm not the world's greatest dad?

My wife gave me a trophy loving cup a while back with an inscription on it that said WORLD'S GREATEST LOVER* Suddenly I needed to know what the asterisk was for and on the bottom it said: (*of fresh roasted peanuts) What the hell?

Now I was rushing around the house looking (I mean REALLY LOOKING) at all my mugs, trophies and plaques. Every one of them has an asterisk!

• WORLD'S BEST HUSBAND* (*for a Polish guy)
• WORLD'S SEXIEST MAN ALIVE* (*at 355 Sunny Rest Drive)
• WORLD'S GREATEST CHEF* (*if burnt is a food group)
• WORLD'S GREATEST ATHLETE* (*for the bathroom-to-'fridge-to-couch during a commercial tri-athlon)
• WORLD'S TALLEST MIDGET (where did that come from?)
• WORLDS BEST DRIVER* (* if you like my driving you ought to see me putt)
• WORLD'S GREATEST WRITER* (*apparently cursive is a talent now)

So, where does all of this leave me? Was my whole career, my whole life, a sham? If all of my records are meaningless - then what was the point? All of my training and sacrifice, the clandestine meetings to buy gym bags full of steroids, letting all of my shirts out, the shrunken testicles? Why did I go through it? It wasn't for the millions of dollars, the blind adulation of the fans, the product endorsements or even my trophy wife, was it?...

...Sorry about that, I was channeling Barry Bonds there for a second. I guess I knew all along I wasn't really the WORLD'S GREATEST anything. I mean that's a LOT of people to beat out in any ONE category! And I suppose I can live with that. After all, I have people in my life who love me enough to want to make me feel good, even if it is with a fake trophy. Right?

That leaves me with just one more question. When I was channeling Barry Bonds and I saw his trophy wife, was that a birthmark on her ass or an asterisk?

The Conversation

So I was trying to read Snopes by William Faulkner, watch 24 on TV and Nina decides she wants to talk, too. I can usually handle two of the three so I was giving her the usual "uh hum's" when she asked, "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm trying not to, dear." I replied.

"I was talking about Walt, at work? He's dating someone and Betty's only been dead five months!"

She seemed incensed so I shifted gears from Faulkner to her but feigned disinterest just to make it fun. "Good for him" I muttered.

"It's only been five months!" she said again. Never a good sign.

"Uh hum." I answered, looking at her out of the corner of my eye.

"Five months." she repeated but more subdued this time.

I replaced my bookmark, set the book on the table next to my recliner and asked her "What's so special about five months?"

"Doesn't he miss her?" she asked.

"I'm sure he does but life goes on and I'm sure he has needs, too." I foolishly offered.

"So, I guess life will go on after I'm gone, too?"

OH OH! Not THAT conversation! I sat up a little straighter and hit the TiVo button for the rest of 24. "Of course you'll be gone when I miss you!" I exclaimed. Just to see if she was paying attention. She wasn't.

"I know" she'd softened her tone a little then continued, "I don't expect you to be alone when I'm gone. It's just weird to think about."

"Then don't" I answered perhaps too quickly.

She just stared at me for a moment and I could see her deciding that what she had to say was more important than cutting my balls off. For the moment, anyway. When she continued I actually rearranged my features to resemble what I hoped looked like interest.

"It's weird" she repeated. "Thinking about you living here with another woman. I mean, you would live here, wouldn't you?"

"Probably." I said cautiously. "It's mostly paid for and I know where everything is."

"What about my car?" she wondered. ""Would she drive my car?"

"I don't know. Uh... Probably! Cars are expensive. And I don't think they're all that personal. So probably. Unless she had a better one, I guess." That was smooth, I thought.

"What about my clothes and jewelry?" she continued to gnaw at the bone.

"What about them?" I asked.

"Would you let her wear them?" she said like I was an idiot.

"I... uh... I don't know. Uh... Most clothing is a personal choice, so I don't think that'd be an issue. But most jewelry is expensive and decorative... So... uh... Except for things with personal value like your wedding ring and... uh... That necklace that was your mothers, that kind of stuff, I say she would probably end up wearing some of it. Sure." I HAD to find a way out of this conversation.

She looked slightly annoyed with my last answer. I didn't leave her much to gnaw at. Then she pressed on, "What about my golf clubs?"

I sat back and picked up my book, opened it to the marked page and answered, "No Dear, she would NOT use your golf clubs. She's left handed." And I began reading again.

Vito's Goomah

If you've been watching The Sopranos recently you're familiar with the recent story line of Vito, one of Tony Soprano's captains, being gay. At first everyone was in denial. At least a half-a-dozen characters said, more or less, "But he can't be! Vito has a goomah!"

After a while I began wondering what a goomah was. Being of some vague European descent, myself, the only Italian I know is from watching The Sopranos and Rome on HBO. So I started asking around. Some people thought it meant grandmother but I said how would that prove he isn't gay? I even asked some third generation Italian-Americans but the only words they knew were "fugget-about-it" and "calzone".

I finally ran across a Mobspeak page on an HBO site that said goomah meant "Mafia mistress." It is pronounced goo-mar and can also be called comare or gomatta. It must be like toe-may-toe or toe-mah-toe in English.

So, now that I know, I naturally ask myself what did I learn? The first thing is that Italy is a lot like Steve Martin's observation about France, "It's like, they have another whole word for everything!"

And the second thing was something about human nature. Vito was trying to convince people he wasn't gay. So he was married, had kids and apparently a mistress. I'm thinking, "That's a lot of the wrong kind of sex just to fool people." But was it? Every comment from fellow mobsters was, "But he can't be gay, he has a goomah!" Not "he has a wife", or "he has kids" but "he has a goomah". So, it seems that Vito knew something that I just learned.

He could set up the illusion of being straight by having a wife and kids. But if he really wanted to convince people of it, it would have to be with a detail that he didn't have to lie about - but did anyway.

In other words, you can fool more people with the little lies than the big ones.

The Exact Change Lane

I had to take a ride on the Pennsylvania Turnpike the other day and as I came up to the toll booth I remembered a conversation I had with a friend a few years ago. It was never resolved and I was wondering if anyone might have the answer for me.

At some places EXACT CHANGE lanes used to be common. Presumably a means of relieving traffic congestion. This function is currently accomplished by the EASYPASS lanes; an electronic way of paying the toll on a pre-paid account requiring your car to merely slow down at the toll booth.

But what I was wondering about (back then - when people manned the exact change toll booths) was about the toll takers. The people themselves. You know, what was their story? I mean, where did they fit in - in the toll taker hierarchy?

Were they trainees? Was making change considered more difficult and they gave the new guy a job he couldn't screw up? Did they take night classes to learn how to make change and be surly at the same time? Did they get some kind of pin (like pilot's wings) when they moved up? Were they able to sit at the big table at lunch time?

Or was manning the exact change toll booth considered a reward? A position reserved for senior toll takers who have, after long years of dedicated scowling, earned the right to not have to deal with a $20 bill for a 35 cent toll, or daffy women who rummage in their purse for five minutes before coming up with the $20 bill for the 35 cent toll. Was the exact change toll booth a way to ease into retirement. A decompression chamber where the old toll takers could gradually find their way back into normal society?

Or did manning the exact change toll booth have nothing to do with relieving traffic congestion and have everything to do with relieving mental pressure? This is similar to my previous scenario but in this case everybody gets to rotate in and out of the exact change toll booths as they show signs of stress. This makes sense, too, because I have occasionally seen toll takers try to smile for no apparent reason. I mean, you've never heard of a toll taker going boothal have you (like going postal except in a booth)? You know, coming back after hours or on their day off and throwing pennies at their supervisors and hapless co-workers? Shouting obscenities and putting orange traffic cones where nature never intended them?

So I don't know. There must have been a procedure to determine who got to man the exact change toll booth. Was it training, a reward or a mental health tool? Or maybe it was just a union thing.

Bloodlust

This is an excerpt of a story I'm working on. Let me know what you think.


Eugene liked the new neighborhood.

He liked the tree-lined streets and the manicured lawns. He liked the upper middle class cars in the paved driveways. He liked the sound of a basketball thump thump thumping two doors down. And he especially liked the sight of Marylou Rettinhour as she undressed in silhouette against the upstairs window across the street.

Marylou wasn't the first girl he'd thought about this way. But she was the first one since he had moved here. Before her was Penny, and Wanda, and Idell, and Janey, and... and a lot more. Dad always told him that a young man must learn to control his urges. That, although some desires seemed perfectly natural and right, they must be controlled. It wasn't always socially acceptable to act upon your impulses. And with maturity he would be able to discern the proper time and place. And most of all - you don't sully your own back yard.

But Marylou was soooooo perfect.

He yearned to reach out and caress her perfect curves, to... to... He closed his eyes and tried to wipe the image from his mind. But there she was, against the inside of his eyelids, dancing naked in some obscene parody of sexuality. And he was doing the thing to her that always made him feel so much better. Again, and again, and again, and again. Until sated, he would rise from her still body and scream in triumph.

God, he wanted her so!

But he had to control himself. He'd only lived here for less than a month. And the police were so close last time. If his father hadn't made them move when he did they may have gotten him. He knew about the decoys and the traps they had set for him and, at first, that made the game even more exciting. But there were too many girls and too much blood and his lust was making him careless. Another night, maybe two, and they would have had him. He was sure of it.

The move had distracted him from his bloodlust long enough to take the heat off. And the eight hundred miles didn't hurt either. He grinned in the darkness of the night. The drive (the girl behind the diner), the unpacking at the new house and then exploring the mysteries of the new school, learning the new neighborhood (and the paths of escape); all had kept him busy and his hands relatively clean.

But now he was settled and he could feel the bloodlust rising again and he knew that before long he would not be able to control it. He would succumb.

He must.

Precognative Amnesia

I have a condition called precognative amnesia. It basically means I forget future events. "What? Was that today?" is a common phrase associated with this malady. Or "What do you mean, I was supposed to pick you up?" I have no memory of these future events, right up to the time I get in trouble for forgetting them.

The whole concept baffles me. How can I remember or forget something that hasn't even happened yet? It doesn't make sense to me. I mean, if I could see into the future wouldn't I be rich or have married better? But I'm supposed to have this psychic link with future events and then squander this amazing talent on remembering to get milk and bread before I come home.

If I had the ability to remember future events, why would I need the TV Guide? And wouldn't I be able to avoid awkward social situations? I just wouldn't go! Or maybe it doesn't work that way. Maybe you can't avoid it if you already have this future memory. That means it already happened - in the future. And I remember(ed) it... I think.

You see the problem I'm having? I have enough trouble remembering (or maybe it's not remembering) things that have actually happened. Like anniversaries and birthdays and who was that woman I was just talking to?

I remember the important stuff. I know where I live and which car is mine. I know I like fresh roasted peanuts and black and white movies. I know I like jazz and that I am pretty much married. So why is everyone hung up on this future stuff? Don't I have enough things to keep track of in the present, real world? Like phone numbers, and PIN numbers, and user names, and passwords, and email addresses, and actual addresses, and account numbers and expiration dates, etc., etc., etc.

Even if I had this amazing ability to remember the future, isn't my brain pretty much full already with all this other stuff?

Besides, I learned a long time ago that if you fail in your responsibilities, claim to be a victim of some fuzzily defined condition, and can mis-direct the focus of the issue, you not only get away with the bad behavior but are often times rewarded for your suffering.

ADD, PMS and precognative amnesia. It's all good!

My Neighbor's Trees

I always wonder why. Why do machines work the way they do? Why do people do what they do? Or say what they do? Why does Nature have things happen certain ways.

My neighbor has a row of giant trees across the front of his property. I don't know what kind of trees they are - I've only ever heard them called "those damn trees." This is because these trees are always shedding something.

There is some kind of long, fuzzy deal that falls and blows around and clumps up in the street and my yard and my driveway. I think they are some kind of seed pods or something. And I can understand that. Nature requires a delivery system to perpetuate the species.

And I can understand when these trees shed their leaves in the fall. It is the life cycle of the trees, even if they do seem to flood the neighborhood for about a month.

But until recently, I have not been able to understand the worst plague inflicted upon us by these trees. In the budding stage, just before the leaves come out, there is a sticky shell that the leaves bud out of. And these sticky shells fall and blow everywhere. They stick to everything. Everyone in the neighborhood has to park their cars at least a block away because the sticky goo on these shells will not come off and will ruin the finish of the car. They stick to the road and sidewalks and get on the porch and deck. They are all through the grass and they stick to the bottom of our shoes. If you try to scrape or pick them off of your shoes they get on your skin and fingernails and only harsh scrubbing with lava soap or nail polish remover even touches it. If you forget to take your shoes off when you go in the house you ruin the carpeting or flooring.

This lasts for about two to three weeks every spring. These trees are about 15 years old and were planted by my neighbor as saplings. They are now 40 feet tall.

As I said, I have not been able to understand why these shells have to be so sticky. Why do they have to make our lives so miserable? I have not been able to understand the purpose of it. Until recently.

It turns out - my neighbor is a bastard.

Easter Poem

We recently celebrated Easter and I thought it might be a good time to dust off a poem I wrote a while back. It is about hope and redemption. And, of course, where the poem ends is just the beginning of the story.


The Death

The heart continued to pump - weakly;
Sending out the clean blood,
Coursing through the veins,
Till it trickled through the broken flesh.

The blood dripped down lifeless arms,
And caked on the sunken chest.
Still more blood flowed,
From a mud encrusted side.

The heart continued to pump - weakly;
Till with a final, massive surge,
The life was gone.
And the muddy, blood covered body was limp.

As the wind blew across the hill,
The words still echoed down
To the quietly leaving mob.
"Father, forgive them!"

What Would Tony Soprano Do?

I have a hat with the letters WWTSD? on it. I also have an embroidered bracelet with the same inscription. I wear them separately, at different times. Eventually someone asks me what the letters stand for and I tell them it's a game I like to play called situational ethics.

The letters stand for What Would Tony Soprano Do?

It is really quite simple. Someone comes up with a real life scenario where they must answer the above question. Such as:

Q: You have a member of your family that needs a bone marrow transplant and you are the best donor but you are told that the procedure is very painful and requires substantial recovery time. WWTSD in this situation?

A: The first thing Tony would ask: Is this guy a made member of the family? And then: Is he a substantial earner for the family. If the answer is no to either of these questions - he is dead to you.

See how it's played? Let's do a few more.

Q: You see a man by the river with a squirming sack of puppies. WWTSD?

A: Tony recognizes the man from the neighborhood. His name is Vinnie Gomboochi and he got into an argument with your cousin, Sal Valachi, at your niece Rosemary's wedding. It caused enough of a fuss that Rosemary paused to see what was going on during the father-daughter dance. So Tony gets the baseball bat from the back seat and teaches Vinnie some manners.

Q: You are walking past a car with an open window and a wallet is on the driver's seat. WWTSD?

A: After admiring the leather interior and the custom wheels and chrome rims Tony calls Vito, from the crew, to come over and boost the car.

Q: You just had dinner at your favorite restaurant and you notice the check is added wrong, too low by about 50%. WWTSD?

A: Tony supplies the linen and booze to the restaurant and skims 20% a month. He figures that if they made a mistake on his bill, they are doing it all the time. So Tony sends Christopher and Paulie over to give the restaurant owner a math lesson.

Of course there are variations on the game. A much more difficult version is What Would Jesus Do? Or WWJD? Here are some sample questions:

• Your best friend's daughter has applied to be a dancer at your strip club and you have known her since she was a baby. WWJD?
• A captain from another crew has wacked one of your men without asking your permission. But, to be fair, he had a very good reason. WWJD?
• Your girlfriend is threatening to tell your wife about her affair with you, but she is the best lay you've ever had. WWJD?
• Your son's first communion is today but you have to personally oversee delivery of a huge shipment of unstamped cigarettes at the same time. WWJD?
• Another Boss is trying to move in on your territory in the garbage business but the Feds are watching your every move. WWJD?

Isn't that fun? You can play for hours. The next one I'm thinking about working on is What Would Saddam Hussein Do?

You can post any of your own questions and/or answers for any of these games in the comments section below. Thank you.

Caricature Studies

Have you ever noticed how people have exaggerated aspects? This is how caricature artists work. They have you sit down, relax, and while he's playing twenty-questions with you he does a sketch that exaggerates your giant single eyebrow or your floppy dumbo ears, or he gives you a little tiny head engulfed by huge eyeglasses. And the questions tell him about your life, so that in the finished sketch, you're wearing a ballerina outfit or a giant catcher's mitt or you have a beautiful woman on either arm with their own exaggerated characteristics (if you know what I mean). Caricatures.

Well, I have another soon to be famous internet theory of life that states:
Eventually, everyone becomes a caricature of themselves.

According to the American Heritage Dictionary
car-i-ca-ture NOUN:
A representation, especially pictorial or literary, in which the subject's distinctive features or peculiarities are deliberately exaggerated to produce a comic or grotesque effect.

The BIG IDEAS here are that, we are all known by something, that we (or others) blow it out of proportion, and the comic or grotesque aspects rely on how well we handle our, eventual, self-awareness of the process. This is true 100% of the time.

Let's take some easy examples. Actors often have success early on that forever identifies them with their audience. Often times it is merely one note of their character. But it is what made them a star. Time passes and they move on to other roles with lesser successes. They (or somebody else) says "Hey! Why don't you do that thing that everybody loved?" And they try it and everybody loves it. So they do it again. And again. And again. Eventually every part they play has to be that character.

This could be Don Knots' nervous antics, Peter Falk schlepping through a detective movie, Sharon Stone re-crossing her legs, Jim Carrey being rubber faced and manic, etc., etc., etc.

This is often referred to as type-casting. Often unfair but many times self inflicted.

Other examples would include musicians. One album or song or on-stage antic forever identified them to their audience. And when and/or if they try to move on or evolve from their earlier stuff, they find their biggest applause comes when they do that thing. Elvis wriggling his hips, Johnny Cash wearing black, Elton John's earrings and sequins. And being human, loving applause and the attendant money, they continue to do that thing. Towards the end Elvis was the greatest Elvis impersonator.

Imitation is the greatest form of flattery. And who better to flatter us than ourselves? Donald Trump will forever be known as the arrogant comb-over, Hef has his pipe and smoking jacket, Tom Cruise for desperately trying to appear straight, Angelina Jolie will always be that chick with the LIPS.

Every action we take is derivative from earlier successes. Human nature says if it worked before it will work again. But people get tired of even their favorite things. So these actors/comedians/musicians realize they will have to ramp up their thing to get the same reactions that they used to. This is where they either become comic or grotesque.

Leslie Nielson took his straight backed, two dimensional, literal, dramatic roles from his earlier acting career and created comic gold. With essentially the same character. And the other extreme is someone like Joan Rivers who has had so many face lifts that if she laughs too hard she pees out of her nose. Actually, her daughter Melissa is a more grotesque caricature because she has so little going on she has to imitate her mother.

Finally, this theory of life applies to everyday people as well. We all do something well or are known for having done something well in the past. And, being humans, we need to keep reminding people of our thing. The high school jock and the big game, the homecoming queen, the bake sale lady, the car mechanic, the bimbo, the drunk, the guy with the crazy eyes, etc., etc., etc.

My favorite is the guy who is known for being a loner. But only after the SWAT team arrives.

Look around you. Everyone you know is evolving into a living, breathing caricature. Younger people don't count because the rule states Eventually, everyone becomes a caricature of themselves. If a young person seems to fit the theory they are merely being a stereotype at this point in their development.

But, as we get older, we will follow the path of least resistance. Our actions will become habits. Our habits will become characteristics. Our characteristics will turn us into caricatures. We will evolve that way because of our own self-image, or how we wish others to perceive us, or because people like to niche us (it keeps them from having to remember more than one detail about us and thereby cluttering up their brains, unnecessarily).

We will eventually become caricatures of ourselves by throwing out the non-essentials, until at last, all that's left is the caricature and a vague memory of being young and wanting so much more for ourselves.

A Bad Year for Jesus

It seems like Jesus has had a pretty rough year. The liberals and anti-Christian groups have tried to make a mockery of Christmas (YES - I actually SAID Christmas and NO government buildings fell down or anything!) now they are kicking up some fuss about celebrating Easter. I mean, it's bad enough He has to share His holidays with that fat derelict in the red suit and the mime in the pink Barney outfit but what's God have to do to get a little peace and quiet on a Sunday, for Christ's sake? (I mean that literally. I wasn't swearing.)

It started years ago with that X-Mas crap. Quietly and, seemingly, inoffensively. People just couldn't be bothered taking ALL the extra time it would have required to spell the whole frickin' word out. Could they? And the business owners. How the hell could they be expected to get the ENTIRE word across the front of their block long buildings. So they just replaced the Son of God's name with AN X! I mean, if the WHOLE name wouldn't fit, why didn't they change the font size?

And how many books have jumped on the Dan Brown bandwagon? Oooo! Jesus was HUMAN! Oooo! Jesus was married! Oooo! Jesus had bastard children! Oooo! Christianity and the frickin' ART WORLD have conspired for CENTURIES to fool our dumb asses! Give me a break. If they had all of these world shaking secrets and all powerful societies protecting them, would they leave clues laying around in art masterpieces that people stare at for hours on end? Are they mocking us, too. Maybe I ought to just replace my name with an X, also.

So anything Jesus or Christianity related has to go. You can't even have a nativity scene outside a public building! I'm not sure what's more offensive to these liberal crusaders. Jesus or cigarettes? Neither one is allowed inside of a public building or within 25 feet of it any more. I guess Jesus is the result of a huge corporate conspiracy to give soul cancer to little black kids.

Now, the entire Islamic world is going apeshit over a cartoon depiction of Muhammad in Denmark! But, at least the media is spelling out his entire name, so far, and no one has replaced it with an X. There are riots, and cars burning and people missing work. It sounds like the Islamic people know how to throw a religious celebration! And they don't even have to share it with the Easter Bunny.

Running Man

I stepped out of the front door, stood on the porch a moment, breathing in the clean spring air and tried to relax my entire body. It was 7:15 AM and according to the porch thermometer it was 67 degrees. (Although, I've never trusted outdoor thermometers - they're as changeable as the weather.)

I went down the three steps to the front walk, turned around, and putting my right foot on the second step, began my stretching and warm up exercises. This was a very important element of my work out. Without the proper warm up it would be easy to develop a muscle cramp or to even tear something. I liked to think of it as my pre-flight check.

Once that was done I walked down the sidewalk and onto the street. We live in a very residential, gated community so the roads were all nice to run on. It was just a matter of picking my route. I've been thinking about my route for several days now and had decided to change it. Kick up the old cardio-vascular with more of a challenge. Shake out a few kinks.

So I set out running. I was dressed in a loose, light grey, sleeveless tee shirt and dark green running shorts. My shoes were designed for fast stops and quick acceleration as well as cushioned for the long run. I was good to go.

I turned left and began moving at a fast jog. Just warming up. Feeling everything work the way it's supposed to. I went half a block and turned right, crossing the street. When I got to the other side I made another right and kicked it up. I was really moving now, when, across the street from my house, I made another left hand turn. The route change had worked perfectly. As my neighbor's front door opened, I could feel my increased breathing and heart rate. I had just the slightest sheen of sweat developing on my face and arms. My tee shirt was sticking to my damp back.

And Marcy was standing there in that pink teddy that I loved on her. "What kept you?" she pouted. "Ted left ten minutes ago."

"I know," I said. "I heard him honk the horn." She kissed my cheek, grabbed my hand and began leading me up the stairs to the bedroom. My heart rate was kicking up another notch.

"Don't you think it's lucky that my husband and your wife have to work so much overtime on Saturdays?" she asked looking over her bare shoulder - a strap had slipped. "And it's good they can car pool," she continued, "you know, considering they work for different companies, and everything?"

"Yeah, it is." I answered. Thinking of Ted pulling into the Come-and-Go Motel with my wife right about now. Restraining a slightly lop-sided grin, I said, "It's real good!"

Fun With Texans

When I was in the Air Force I got to know a guy from Texas. His name was Jimmy Lee Davis. And Jimmy Lee was caught up in the "everything is bigger and better in Texas" thing. They had faster horses, faster cars, bigger steaks, stronger men who could drink more, they had more beautifullerer womenses (Jimmy Lee talked kind of funny, sometimes), taller buildings, deeper oil wells and bigger ranches.

It was a compulsion with him. No matter what you were talking about - he had to do you one better, Texas style. But as annoying as this habit was, you couldn't help but like Jimmy Lee. He was about 6'2" (average height for a Texan - tall for the rest of the country), muscular, had sandy brown hair that was slightly mussed all of the time, blue eyes set in a nest of creases from sun squinting, a gentle kind of laugh and he was polite. So polite, in fact, that you could never grab hold of a good argument with him and give it a solid yank; if you know what I mean. He would just bow his head a little, give you that lopsided,"aw shucks" grin, and you couldn't stay mad at him. This didn't mean that he didn't still frustrate us. He did. Or that we were impotent against him. We weren't. We just had to pick our moments.

So one day we were sitting at the Enlisted Men's Club, having a few beers and shooting the breeze when we had the following conversation:

I was telling Jimmy Lee about a farm my step-grandfather owned. He would plant corn or some other cash crop and then there'd be a smaller garden that grandma would supply the table from and used the extra to "can" and "put up" for the winter. They had a few ponies and some goats and pigs, a couple of milk cows and a bunch of chickens. But the thing I remember best, and loved the most, was that the farm was nestled in a valley and that the hills and the woods on either side belonged to grandfather, too. It was paradise for a kid growing up.

At this point, Jimmy Lee leaned forward and said, "Well that's NOTHING! Back home in Texas, I could walk off my Daddy's front porch, get into my pick-up truck and I could drive for FOUR DAYS in a straight line and I'd STILL be on my Daddy's property!"

I sat back, examined my finger nails, looked up and said, "Don't worry about it, Jimmy Lee, I used to have a truck like that myself."

The Narcoleptic Swinger

A friend of a friend was telling me about a guy that has a rare medical condition called eroticomatosis. It is an actual medical condition whereby he only has enough blood for either his brain or an erection - literally. So every time this guy becomes sexually aroused he passes out (or goes to sleep).

I like to call him The Narcoleptic Swinger.

I have to admit I have a difficult time imagining what this poor guy must be going through. But I have come up with a few scenarios.

During puberty:

• He pretty much slept through high school.
• He had to sit on the floor to masturbate.
• Morning wood meant he would always miss Home Room
• Like a lot of adolescents, he went through a period where he was sexually confused. Young men used to make him drowsy.
• He only ever got to read Playboy with two hands.

As an adult:

• His idea of a hot date includes a wake up call.
• He thinks porno is a short feature about a girl ordering pizza.
• The only time he has ever seen his own erection was on the internet.
• His idea of a swingers party is having a drink, talking to a sexy woman, and waking up in the car with "FREE RIDES" painted in lipstick on his chest.
• He has always taken "sleeping with a woman" as a literal statement.
• One time he had insomnia and his doctor prescribed Viagra.
• He has three kids and honestly doesn't know where they came from.
• Since he's never awake during sex, his wife can literally cheat ON him.
• He had an erotic dream one night and slipped into a coma.
• He went to a swingers party and accurately predicted he would sleep with all of the women there.

In his later years:

• Since having an orgasm allows him to wake up, his Medic Alert bracelet says to blow him until he comes to. Or as the local paramedics like to call it, his Do Not Resuscitate Order.
• His idea of foreplay is a pot of coffee and two no-doze.
• He is starting to experience some erectile dysfunction problems, so his doctor prescribed Ambien.

But the thing I like about this guy is his attitude. Despite all he's been through he thinks tomorrow will be a better day. In fact, I heard he's talking to a member of the Clergy right now. He's asking a Rabbi if he knows a Mohel who does eyelids.

Illegal Immigration

I guess it's time for me to weigh in on illegal immigration. And, quite simply. I disagree with the illegal part of it. We are a country of laws and rules that bite us in the ass every day but, whether we like them or not, we are taught to OBEY them.

If I get caught sneaking into a movie theater I can't plead that I risked so much to get in that I deserve to stay for the movie.

In fact, peoples lives or livelyhoods are in jeopardy every day because they were found to have circumvented the rules or laws in some way. Teachers, who snuck into better jobs by lying about their own education, are fired. Politicians, who fix public bids so cronies get the work, are fired or impeached. Executives, who lie on their resume, lose their jobs and benefits. Students, who cheat on tests, get failing grades. Spouses, who cheat on their partners, ruin their marriages.

In short, we are NOT a society that is inclined to smile at lawbreakers and give them a pass.

Proponents of legalizing the illegals say they have been good for the economy. The fact is that 40 - 60% of them are recieving some sort of government services or social benefits while paying no taxes. They also argue that the illegals are doing jobs that Americans don't want to do. This is bogus for two reasons. First, nature abhors a vacuum. Which means, if there is a need , it will be filled. Secondly, many of these fine, upstanding illegals are small business owners who use U.S. citizens as front men or dummy owners to further circumvent the laws of this country.

How much of the gang violence, drug activity and violent crime in this country is done by people who are here illegally and continue to show no respect for ours laws.

And, finally, that brings me to our laws and legislators. The fact that our law makers are even considering this issue shows how hypocritical they are. "Oh, Dear God! There may be VOTES involved!" This is a country of laws and rules and no one should be rewarded for breaking them. Wasn't it these same law makers who blocked presidential nominations bacause the appointees had illegal immigrants as house keepers or nannies? I guess it's only a BIG DEAL to them when it serves their political purposes of the moment.

And, by the way, doesn't our Constitution define citzenship and how it is obtained? Congress can't just pass a law legalizing these illegals. It would be found uncontitutional in the courts. We would need a Constitutional Amendment to do something this stupid. No wonder we are losing respect around the world.

Bahhhh! God bless America and pass the tacos.

John Walsh - Update

It has been 10 days since I wrote about John Walsh, host of America's Most Wanted, and his new fugitive status. Last Saturday night, over six million viewers phoned 1-800-crime-tv to reports sightings. The harried operators had to explain that seeing him on the re-run episode that was being aired did not count as "spotting him".

Wendel Pickens, from Atwell, S.C., seems to have had the typical reponse of most callers, "You mean that ain't him? 'Cause I'm seeing him right NOW! I don't know what all the fuss is... DARCY! COME GIT THERON!... what all the fuss is about anyway, I mean if'n he showed up for work and all."

Investigators on the case speculate that Mr. Walsh may be having a hard time of it, "Considering how many dirtbags he has pissed off out here. I mean, where's he going to go? To most of the people on the streets - he's the bad guy. They'd narc him in a second!"

Based upon evidence found in his abandoned Humvee, police have created a sketch of what they believe Mr. Walsh may look like today and have released the following description. "He will be approximately 5"6", with shoulder length red hair. He will be wearing hoop earrings and prefers a deep red lip gloss with blue eye shadow. He'll probably be dressed in a tube top, pedal pushers and platform spiked heels. Oh, and he prefers orange. So his top or something will probably be orange...oh, and jewelery. Lots of jewelery."

Not many of the tips from last Saturday night have been fruitful, but several of the phone calls have investigators excited. They are currently watching footage of the Jerry Springer show based on numerous tips that Mr. Walsh was spotted in the audience, shouting "You GO girl!" and "He's a f***in' LIAR!"

So the manhunt continues. If you spot him, do not approach him, but notify the authorities immediately. He is considered armed and ludicrous.

Bonsai Grass

A while back a friend was telling me how Bonsai trees were made. It seems that when the plant is in its early stages they tie a wire around the base somewhere and it stunts its growth. At the time I didn't really care, but if a enough time passes, even things this dumb tend to bubble up in my brain. Eventually I began to wonder if this could be applied to other plants.

One more thing you have to know about me is that I hate cutting the grass. But I don't like the looks of gravel, green painted concrete or astro-turf. And apparently neither did the neighbors.

So after a while Bonsai Grass bubbled to the surface much like the answer window of a magic eight ball. I thought, what the hell? If it works, I'm a genius.

It took me a while to rig a portable magnifying glass so I could see my work. (WARNING: never use this device with the sun over your shoulder.) Then I had to find a supply of very fine wire and after trial and error learned how long each piece should be to allow me to tie it around an individual blade of grass with two tiny pairs of tweezers. Then I had to cut my supply of wire into pieces of that length. Now I was ready.

I was able to finish about 2 square feet in about a week and a half. I blamed it on my learning curve. And I would've kept at it if I wasn't missing so much time at the pool. So the debris from the project went on my workbench next to my automatic fly swatter and my doggy bungee cord projects.

The following week I got the lawn mower out to cut my grass and completely forgot about my section of finished Bonsai grass. When I hit it with the mower I punctured two tires on the family car and spayed the neighbors cat.

...I wonder if hot dogs float?

The Secret of Life

People often come up to me and say, "Johnny, you're a genius..." I usually take a sip of my frosted rum concoction, adjust my sunglasses and with a slight nod I say, "Continue."

So they do. "You have brains, and wealth, and power, and you are adored by everyone who meets you." I run my manicured fingers through my stylishly brush cut hair, lean back into my teak deck chair as I observe the beaded sweat glistening on the bronzed musculature of my upper chest. "All of this is true, of course" I murmur, "but I sense a question."

Nerviously, they wet their lips with the tip of their tongue, their eyes cautiously flicking side-ways, "What is your secret?" they usually whisper the question. I take my time answering, basking in the tropical sun and the stuff they are shoveling my way. I take another rum tinged sip and watch the beautiful women around the pool watching me.

"This is my answer... You can't have my life. It's taken!" After several seconds of stunned silence I smile and, seeing my joke, they begin to laugh nerviously at first and then with a little more enthusiasm when they see it's OK. "Enough." I say. And they stop.

OK, back to reality. That isn't my life. Although I do have a pair of stolen sunglasses and I do sweat.

You always see cartoons where people climb to the mountain top to ask the guru The Secret of Life. Well, I've been thinking about that question and have a theory. I believe that by this point in their journey, they have already decided that The Secret of Life is HAPPINESS, and what they are really asking is What Will Make ME Happy?

People find what they think of as happiness in various ways. Jobs, money, spouses, children, education, goals, food, travel, pets, etc. And the thinking usually goes like this:

If I can just get that promotion - I'll be happy

If I only had enough money to retire - I'll be happy

If Tiffany would marry me I could get her tips and - I'll be happy

If we could get Billy into the right prep school - we'll be happy

If I could win the lottery I could get a double-wide trailer and - I'll be happy

If Reeses' would just put jelly in their peanut butter cups - I'll be happy

If I can get Wanda back to my place tonight - I'll be happy

etc., etc., etc.

The problem with all of these keys to happiness is, what happens after they are attained? Life continues and there will always be another urgent need standing between you and true happiness. And we end up being people who never quite hold the key to happiness. Don't you think Donald Trump or Bill Gates wish, desire, want, long for or lust after things out of their grasp? Didn't Charles Foster Kane long for the simpler time of his life and a sled named Rosebud when he had all that money could buy?

But there are so many good things that go un-noticed and unappreciated around us. The dew on the morning grass, a good book by your favorite author, a friend's voice or a woman's touch. The Rocky Mountains or a favorite song on the radio. The smell and crackle of a camp fire or the heady aroma of aged Cognac. A childs comic book or the memories found in a grandmother's home. All of these things are real and touch our lives daily. Somebody has said that Life is what Happens While We Are Making Plans. And it's true.

So, we can ask what is The Secret of Life and already believe that The Secret of Life is Happiness . And then we can realize that what we are actually asking is What Will Make ME Happy? But if we look around us and quit sacrificing our present lives on the alters of tomorrow we can further realize that we are wrong in assuming that The Secret of Life is HAPPINESS.

The answer to the question is: The Secret of Happiness is LIFE.

What's Another Word for F**k?

I've been noticing lately that some people say the word f**k as every third word and some people will use every euphemism in the book to avoid saying f**k. It is probably the most used and mis-used word in the world. Although if you go around the world I hear you pay extra.

So I started polling my friends (sorry, that just sounds like one), to see how many euphemisms for sex we could come up with. This is a fun party game by the way. Every new word or phrase that makes the list earns another shot. It usually gets funnier towards the end.

We often get the more common ones out of the way first. Words like boink, and bang, and bop, and poke, and hump, and nail, and shag and pork. It's surprising how many of them sound like Batman sound effects. Pow! Bang! Boink! And tell me Robin wasn't oiling the Bat-pole.

Once we are past the preliminaries we really get our rocks off on the project. And I don't have to hammer anyone to do it, either. Our list usually includes wink wink, nudge nudge, and the beast with two backs, and bumping uglies, and cleaning her pipes, and mixing the baby juice, and parting the Pink Sea, and dipping your wick and getting it on...and... (Sorry, I had to breathe) glazing the donut, and hauling your ashes, and hanky-panky, and getting a piece of tail and getting some nookie.

You can plant your seed, or do the backseat mambo, or do the bone dance, or fill the clap flap, or take a roll in the hay. You can go like a rat up a drain pipe, or just go to town. You can play hide the salami or hide the sausage. It is always fun to jump her bones, or to lay some pipe, or to be up to your balls, or to boff your brains out.

Did you ever bash the beaver, or burp the worm in the mole hole? What about going on bush patrol, or filling the cream donut, or getting your oil changed, or having a nooner? Have you ever done the horizontal hula, or impale someone, or make grass sandwiches, or do the mommy-daddy dance, or simply mount someone?

People have been known to park the beef bus in tuna town, and grind their tool, and press the sheets, and dance the matrimonial polka, and do the four-legged frolic.

Getting into someone's pants can get you some stank on the hang low. You could always ask for a squeeze and a squirt, or to make whoopee, or do the nasty, or parallel park, or put your pickle in the hair sandwich.

Having a quickie can be referred to as ringing her bell, or rubbing one out, or putting the boots to someone, or making it, or beating someone with your ugly stick, or boning someone. It can mean doing the bump and grind, or banging bellies, or feeding the kitty.

Fornication is the same as carnal knowledge, or doing the deed, or exchanging body fluids. It can be called taking a joy ride, or doing the hokey-pokey, or giving pussy a taste of cream, or having a picnic in the lawn, or riding the baloney pony, or slipping someone a hot beef injection.

Stuffing the taco, or tearing off a piece, or varnishing your cane, or putting your snake in the grass, or hosing someone, or getting your genital exercise are all good ones. Breeding, and burying the bone, and churning the butter, and sowing your wild oats, and giving her the high hard one also work.

I probably should wrap this up. OK, just a few more. Going belly-to-belly, knocking boots, making ends meet, playing doctor, plowing someone, plug-and-play, ramming it to someone, riding bareback, shooting your wad, twat raking, and wetting your wick.

I'm sure you and your friends can come up with many more. And AFAYK it's a game that never ends...

Fuck! Did I say screw?

Ala Carte Cable TV

There is a new buzzword surrounding the cable TV industry. It is ala carte pricing. I think this is a bad idea.

Ala carte pricing is a scheme to allow viewers to pick and choose (and pay for) only the channels they want to watch. Surveys have shown that a typical household normally watches about 13 of their cable choices with any regularity. Basic cable offers typically 65 to 80 channels. Ala carte pricing advocates claim their system would save an average household $5 to $10 per month.

To which I say...(wait for it)...AS FAR AS YOU KNOW!

Every time some "well meaning" government toady takes on a "good for consumers" issue it is time to padlock your wallets and vote the bastards out of office. These people do "studies" by taking bogus stats from the very PACs that are promoting the issue in exchange for "donations". When they say "good for consumers" what they mean is they can't see what real harm it can do.

What ala carte proponents wants us to buy is 13 channels at $30 instead of 80 channels at $40. So what if I don't watch all of the channels all of the time? For the extra $10 per month I have access to 67 more channels.

And don't think this isn't going to affect all of the other cable tier pricing. If the cable operators think of ala carte as thier basic (cheapest) service then they will nudge their pricing of their other tiers upward. They are businesses with bottom lines and profit margins to meet. They have to raise prices on other areas if some outside force makes them offer part of their services at a loss to their past bottom lines.

So, I think everytime someone starts tinkering with what should be a free market issue for the "good of the consumers" it is going to cost me more money.

Finally, let me conclude by saying that they could have named their "pick and choose" pricing scheme a little better. The quintessential use of the term "ala carte" (or items priced individually) is found in restaurants. In my experience ala carte pricing in restaurants always means expensive. That's why somebody came up with the blue plate special. Or, better yet, go to McDonalds and buy the items from a Value Meal individually (ala carte) and compare the cost to the Value Meal price.

Ala carte pricing is going to save consumers money? I don't think so.

Overnight Friends

Well, I got up this morning, brushed my teeth, made a cup of coffee and turned on my computer (the equilivalent of my morning paper). One of the first things I check for is new email. I got 74 last night. I'm pretty sure I don't know most of these people - but it was nice of them to write.

Most of them have attractive names designed to make me think this could be a legitimate email from someone I'd want to hear from. Names such as; Victor, and Kelsey, and Taylor, and Carroll. Some of them even include their last names, such as; Quincy Johnson, and Frederick Jaime, and Lizzie Calvert, and Sigismundo Ingmar. (Now, I know I don't know anyone named Sigismundo Ingmar). Maybe they think I might say to myself, "Wow, I have got to see what someone with a name like Sigismundo Ingmar has to say!"

But they also have oddball nicknames, like the ones we would pick because these oddly formed and truncated groupings of letters and numbers might have some personal meaning. Like personalized liscense plates (such as LUVS22 [loves to,too]). So they are hoping that I might think this email may be from somebody that I actually know but that I forgot their handle. Names like; pyrrah316, and kudydoohwa, and lonnie2504 and, my favorite from last night, crtnncetxnky. Like I'd know anyone smart enough to remember that combination of letters - even if it did mean something.

Then, just in case they can't woo me into opening their emails with these smooth, cool, realistic sounding Sender names, they always have the Subject line to close the deal. Attractive things like; (no subject), and Fwd: RE:(no subject). Or they try to make it official sounding with things like Account # 89262C or Membership Appreciation. Sometimes they try to suck you in with cool sounding devices or appliances like; A Mac Mini for you - on us, and Get your FREE $250 Starbucks Card, or Samsung HDTV at no cost, or FREE Sony Vaio laptop. I think what gives them away is the free part.

And finally, there are the seductive emails designed to attract my purient interests. They go straight for the jugular or whatever they call that main vein down there. These folks aren't even pretending any more. They know you don't want to open unwanted email. They know you are afraid of computer viruses and spyware attacks. They know you know better. But they think you will get the blood fever and have to just take a peek. Maybe this one will be safe. After all, who can turn down housewives or school girls doing that? And who hasn't wanted to see one of those? And what an interesting way to spell f******d.

So I've dutifully set my address blockers and my filters and hope they will just go away. And the next morning my Overnight Friends are back, hoping I mixed up my sleeping pills with my stupid pills.

I am thinking that it would be cool if they did come through on all of their free offers, though.

I could sit there in front of my Samsung HDTV, watching Schoolgirls getting f***ed in their p*****s, with my astonishing new erection thanks to soft Viagra. I'd sip my Starbucks coffee, puff on my Cuban cigars while planning my Jamaican vacation secure in the knowledge that my low mortgage rates are somehow back by my VISA Platinum card. Cool!

Actually, I'm only wondering about one thing. What the hell is soft Viagra. It sounds like an oxymoron.

Here's Your Change...

Have you been to the store and gotten change recently? I haven't. Well, I've been to the store and have paid with a larger amount than the total bill. But what I received was a handful of coins and/or a wad of paper money and the bums rush.

Whatever happened to:

That'll be $12.43... out of $20.00.
(Then I'd hold my hand out and the cashier would begin counting)
$12.43... 44... 45... 50... and two quarters makes $13.00... 14... 15... and 5 makes $20.00. Thanks for shopping at CondomMart. Have a good night.
(And then I have time to put my change in my pocket and the paper money in my wallet, I pick up my purchase and leave.)

Instead I get:

$12.43... Yeah, 20. Pete! ( she yells to the skinny, shaggy and sullen assistant manager) I got a twenty!
Yeah, whatever. He whines, slide it in the SLOT.
(Then she looks at me like I've done something wrong, then looks at the readout on the cash register and grabs some coins and bills from the drawer. She holds her fist out forcing me to put my hand under hers to catch the mess of money in one hand while handing me the receipt with the other hand and before I have time to do ANYTHING with my unproven amount of change or to even pick up my purchase, she reaches past me for the next customer's items.)

Now, I like to think I still have fairly quick reflexes but how do I count my change to make sure it is correct, get my coins in my pocket, my bills into my wallet, my wallet back into my pocket, the receipt into the bag with just two hands in no time at all without looking like a fool? It can't be done.

I blame this developement on two things. Our high schools aren't teaching our kids Life Skills. And parents aren't teaching their kids to have a Work Ethic.

So we have a generation of young adults who aren't capable of making change if the power goes out (This actually happened to me at a McDonalds recently. She claimed, yes, she could get the drawer open to give me the change but without the readout she didn't know how much to give me.)

And without a basic Work Ethic they just don't give a damn. They truly believe that entry level jobs are too demeaning and behave sullenly the whole time they have to do them. They do not see them as foundational to the social and business skills they will need later on in life. They want the corner office right now! And worse yet, they think they deserve it.

These people need to learn that if they want any kind of success in life they will have to do what we learned. You have to WORK for it. Let's check back in twenty years. I'll bet the successful ones will have a better attitude by then.

Pretty Good Deal!

Have you ever had a friend or relative that you have trouble talking to? It's never anything they say or do, but somehow you feel slightly inferior or maybe not as smart as they are. You are always trying to impress them and you always try too hard. So when you talk to them, you feel the need to either exaggerate or to use bigger words than you are used to. As a result, you end up talking at chipmunk speed or very slow and deliberate. Either way, the wrong thing comes out and you end up feeling dumber than you already thought he thinks you are... well, you know what I mean.

I'll get back to that part of the story later.

If you've been reading my posts, you know that I live at a resort. Being a gated community we are, by nature, a fairly close and tight knit group. You end up helping each other with household projects. You know what people are selling before a garage sale and you know what they are looking for. As a result there are some pretty sweet deals to be made.

I was building a deck last year and my wife wanted me to get a hot tub for it. Hot tubs don't have great resale value but most of them are built pretty well. So if you can find the right brand, at the right age, you can get a very good hot tub at a fifth of the cost of a new one. When I got my place a couple of years ago I inherited a lot of stuff from the previous owner. A riding mower (I like push mowers better) and power tools I'd never use (arc welders, etc.) or tools I already had. So you can see where this is going. I had a neighbor who was looking to buy a newer hot tub. I needed a good used hot tub and I had some guy stuff in my garage that he was interested in.

So, now, all the work is done. My wife is in the hot tub and my friend who gets me tongue-tied stops by for a rare visit. We say our long-time-no-sees and he looks around and asks where my wife is? Excitedly, I put my arm around his shoulder and steer him toward the new deck, saying, wait'll you see this! I got a hot tub for Nina last fall and it was the best trade I ever made!

Us vs. Them

Thank God I'm not like them!

Which god is that?

What are you talking about? I was talking about Them, not God.

OK. So who is Them?

You know, people who spend all their time and energy being divisive and critical of others.

I see.

Do you? It's really crazy! Take God for an example. You brought Him up. You have Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, New Age and countless others. And every one of them have sects that call themselves conservative, or progressive, or reformed, or radical, or whatever. And every member of every religion, sect or cult is told that they are the true believers and that every one else is wrong. And sometimes the differences are so small that an outsider wouldn't ever see the distinctions that are being drawn.

Well, man's view of God is pretty complex.

But it's not just religion. What about politics? In this country we have Republicans, Democrats, Libertarians, The Green Party, The Reform Party, The Constitution Party, The Natural Law Party, and Independents. And of course there is a left wing (liberal) and right wing (conservative) faction to every one of these parties. Not to mention all of the special interest groups.

Special interest groups?

I thought I asked you not to mention them...? OK, a lot of people have one hot button that pretty well defines them politically. Pro-life and pro-choice are two of the biggies but there are many others. People seem to have drawn a line in the sand about things like guns control, environmental issues, social security, health care, border security, the war in Iraq, hybrid cars, legalizing certain drugs, highway speed limits, historical preservation, imminent domain, smoking, cell phones and pornography. There are literally hundreds of issues that people feel passionately about. And a lot of people believe that their one issue is the lynch pin that all of civilization turns on.

And you don't think there are pivotal issues?

Of course I do! But they can't all be pivotal. And it's ironic really. I don't think some of these people are really that passionate about their issues. I think some people like to stake out a position to give themselves the moral high ground, or to suck up to a narrowly defined group of voters, or to be seen supporting a cause, or to just join a group, or to merely be in opposition to the the other guy. Have you ever heard of divide and conquer? Sometimes politicians try to identify a way to slice off a sliver of his opponents base with one of these wedge issues. If he can find enough of them he may defeat the guy. But in reality he probably doesn't give a damn about any of the wedge issues he spouts. He just needs to be seen drawing a line in the sand.

That's the second time you said that. A line in the sand.

Borders. I guess it goes back to territories and perceived differences in people. Years ago, before modern technology and when there were less people it was easy to define Us and Them. They were the ones who dressed funny, or spoke in an unknown tongue, or ate different foods, or worshipped different gods, or treated their women differently, or had a different skin color or lived in cities rather than farms. So from rock throwing to stealth bombers people have found ways to protect their territories and keep out the differences. Whether its a line in the sand, or a rock wall, or a river, or an imaginary line on a map people have divided lands and territories. By the time populations grew and people began spreading out, the borders were so well established that people growing up 10 miles from each other could be mortal enemies because of that imaginary line.

But aren't people entitled to protect their territory and beliefs?

Of course they are. But we've gotten to the point where there are so many divisive issues and people have become so intolerant of anything that does not suit them to a tee that making small talk has become a minefield. Pretty soon everyone will have their own personal religion and political party and will be defined by nothing other than their own personal beliefs.

Aren't we already?

I guess so but where's it going to end?

I don't know. So tell me this. Where did this begin? Why were you thinking about other people?

Oh, I was just looking at that idiot over there wearing the Rams shirt. They haven't had a team in years.

TV Cops and Guns

I have been wondering about something recently. And this is because I seriously don't know the answer. About twenty years ago it was a big deal for a cop to give up his gun on TV or in the movies. This was like a sacred oath they took or a line they could not cross. It was a career ender for the cop and the audience was fully aware of and endorsed this principle. If a cop gave up his gun in a movie, you could hear the audience gasp.

Now, apparently, I haven't been paying attention for a while because something has changed. But I don't know what or when it happened. It seems like every time I watch a cop show or movie there is an almost mandatory scene where the bad guy has unexpectedly gotten the upper hand and the cop is forced to "throw down your gun and kick it over here".

It used to be that the cop(s) would rather die first or let the hostage die before giving up their weapon(s). This way it was at least a fair fight for the cop (because who is going to take the bad guy's word for anything) and the bad guy knew he "wasn't getting out of this alive" if he didn't surrender.

So what has changed?

• Was there never a never give up your gun rule with the real police and TV used to be unrealistic?
• Has there always been a never give up your gun rule with the real police and TV is now unrealistic?
• Did the never give up your gun rule use to exist with the real police and TV accurately reflected it and then the rule was changed and TV now realistically reflects the change?

I honestly don't know. But, the way things are going, I wouldn't be surprised to see this scenario in the future:

The police are huddled behind their squad cars in front of a bank on a downtown street. The bad guys are inside the bank with hostages. The hero of the story, the main cop, stands up from behind his car door and walks forward. He steps into the center of the street, both hands in the air. There is a gun in his right hand. He steps forward cautiously and tosses his gun aside. He begins to move again, toward the bank, when a voice behind him says, "Shouldn't we see what they want before we surrender?"

John Walsh - Fugitive

I was saddened to hear about the strange events in John Walsh's life recently. He has been the virtual icon of American justice and is now, himself, a fugitive on the run.

It started yesterday with a routine traffic stop in his home state of Florida. Matt Davis, the officer who initiated the stop with his partner Denzel Mu-Achmed, says he did so because the blue Humvee was moving erractically, weaving in and out of traffic. Initially Mr. Walsh pulled over and when approached appeared cooperative.

Officer Davis reported that Mr. Walsh was friendly and tried to trade upon his status with America's Most Wanted and his close ties with law enforcement across the nation. "But his eyes didn't look right. They were glassy and appeared unfocused. If it wasn't John Walsh I would have had him in cuffs immediately." Upon further questioning, when Mr. Walsh saw the police officer's concern, he allegedly shoved Officer Mu-Achmed, pulled a gun from his waistband and yelled, "You can't do this to me! I'm John Walsh!"

All of this was captured on the police car's dashcam. Unfortunately, Officer Mu-Achmed, an eight year veteran of the Broward County Sheriff's Office, stepped back from the gun and into the path of a U.S. Postal tractor trailer truck. He leaves behind a wife, Audroleesha, and twin daughters, Mandileesha and Linda.

Mr. Walsh then, reportedly, leaped a guardrail, ran down the grassy slope and disappeared into the smoke of a nearby wild fire, one of many plaguing this part of Florida in recent days. Officer Davis called in for back-up, joked about how Mu-Achmed would have gotten there faster if he had been hit by a FedEx truck but that at least his funeral would be First Class, and began a search of Mr. Walsh's vehicle.

A large amount of cocaine was allegedly "smeared on the dash of the Humvee and there were rolled up hundred dollar bills everywhere" according to Officer Davis. "We also recovered a large cache of automatic weapons and nearly a million dollars in cash. When the CSI team got here, they used their UV light wand to look for signs of sexual activity and the inside of the car lit up like the freakin' milky way." Officer Davis looked directly into his dashcam and intoned, "It's a damn shame, John Walsh was my hero."

But heros fall. And America must move on.

This is Saturday, April 1st. Let the manhunt begin.