Had a weird thought.
I recently decided I’d try to write more and although only a small percentage of what I write ever sees the light of day it just dawned on me, like the repetitive use of luminous metaphors that someone actually might read them.
And I don’t mean someone per say, what I mean is, someone who knows me, more accurately someone who knew me. Someone from my past, I was just thinking it might be weird if someone from my past looked up my name and found this blog and started reading. And before you think I’m a total egotist, there is a reason for this thought.
It’s 2007.
And I’ve got mail.
I did, I got mail.
The kind of mail that makes you think, makes you reflect, makes you praise the heavens you’ve still got your hair. Yup, the high school class reunion letter. As the Beatles once said, ”It was 20 years ago today…”
That’s right 20 years and nothing about it feels like 20 years. Age wise I feel like it was a couple of years ago. Time wise it feels more like 145 years ago. But either way I got the letter so it must be 20 years. Okay, feeling old now.
I have to say I’m not a fan of class reunions, I didn’t go to the 10 year, and I’m very much leaning towards not going to this one. Although I am curious as hell about some people, mostly girls, not so much the guys. I have to think that’s normal though, then again maybe not.
There were a lot of cute girls in my class, at one time or another I probably had a thing for at least half of them. Some more then others, some were very short lived, others would come and go, and still some seemed to last forever. I like girls what can I say? I’m a guy. Some were based on looks, others personality I didn’t discriminate. Some I wish I had let known, others I’m probably happy they never knew. That’s the problem with high school, it’s not like a bar where no one will ever know. In high school you ask a girl out, yes or no, everyone finds out… it’s a rough world.
I guess it’s rough now too. I mean lets face it, people go to high school reunions and judge people, measure them up, see how they did in life, how they held up, did they gain weight, lose their hair, marry a super model, end up on the wall in the post office? So many choices and nowhere to hide.
To be honest, I don’t really care what people do for a living, I never understood summing a person up by the way they make money. Just doesn’t make sense to me, but we all do it. All this time on the 3rd stone and we still haven’t found a better way to ask what you’ve been doing for the last 20 years. People suck at ice breaking conversations. Guys fall back on sports, girls compliment each other on their shoes. And I don’t know crap about either.
Ummm, err, hey, how have you been? That’s nice. So what do you do for a living? Any kids? Did you marry a supermodel?
Pathetic isn’t it?
But really what do you say to someone who last time you saw them you were popping zits and drinking way too much Budweiser, yea I know I once said you smell like fumunda cheese but my brain wasn’t done cooking, please don’t hold it against me. Hey is your wife a supermodel?
Yea, brain still isn’t done, sad really.
But isn’t that the point of life, to grow, learn, walk the path, make mistakes, put your foot in your mouth, go to class reunions, stop using terms like fumunda. Honest I really have. Not that you can prove it by this. See growth! It’s a beautiful thing, it might not get me to the reunion but it might give me something to write about.
Friday
Thursday
The Bald Eagle yells FREEDOM!
The Bald Eagle is coming off the endangered list, now if we could just set up a Federal Program to get them Rogaine.
According to the news today, there was about 417 breeding pairs of Bald Eagles in the US in 1967, now they say there is about 10,000 pairs… Sounds like the Eagles have been busy getting their funk on. Makes me happy to see the follicly challenged, winged symbols of freedom doing well.
Haliaeetus leucocephalus alascanus to some PhD’s who are picky about such things, but much like the Humerus bone, I don’t care for technical jargon, so I’ll stick to the layman’s terms; how else could I tickly your funny bone with the hair replacement jokes.
To the best of my recollection, the only time I remember seeing these majestic birds up close and in person was in the Philadelphia Zoo, his name is Ritz. Made me sad.
It really did, I laughed of course at the irony of it all, as I read the plaque that was in front of Ritz’s cage. It mentioned everything you would imagine about being the symbol of America, I read along as I looked up at Ritz in the cage in the birthplace of the Constitution and our Declaration of Freedom.
At least we weren’t in New Hampshire, or I suspect I would have seen Ritz with a pistol in his mouth. I’ve always admired New Hampshire and their convictions. For those of you who are not so familiar and haven’t seen one of their license plates in awhile, they have, by far, the coolest state motto in the lower 48 and the detached 2, (I’m not even going to address the inaccuracies with that one).
Live Free Or Die, (for those who aren’t up on New Hampshire or state mottos). Pretty cool huh? Of course with the new Bruce (moonlightning, mclaine, yippy ki ay, mother f’er) Willis movie coming out, New Hampshire might be a tad miffled, although I doubt the movie has anything to do with New Hampshire, the Revolutionary War, or even Eagles. But still General John Stark should be honored that his quote was bastardized to make a promised block buster movie for the summer of aught 7.
Which brings me to another subject I’ve been dying to address. I waited many years for the new millennium just so I could say it’s aught 6, or back in aught 2. I first heard the term when I was a kid watching The Music Man on TV. For those of you who have never seen it, it’s about a future Victor Victoria transvestite salesman who falls in love with Mrs. Partridge (before she met Rubin) who’s son, Opie Cunningham the self imposed mute child learns to play 76 trombones, and in doing so gets the confidence to talk to Fonzi who helps him ship the oatmeal dude into outer space. I know, it’s complicated, but a fun musical for the family, especially if you like misquoted phraseology.
Where was I?
Oh yea, aught 1 though aught 9, we only have 2 and half aughts left and no one is using it. It may be passé but I like it and I want to use it. Sure you’ll all look at me like I’m nuts, but I’ve sort of come to expect that, especially after writing things like that synopsis of The Music Man. Who am I kidding? No one is reading this and even if you are you can’t see me. Okay fine you can see me, but I can’t see you seeing me, not yet anyway but if you move a little to the right… Good, that’s better. Now fix your hair.
Again where was I?
The second half of “Live Free Or Die” is “Death Is Not The Worst Of Evils." Wearing a really bad toupee is.
That’s right, it’s better to be pushing up daisies then walking around with a rat cap on you head. Otherwise a Bald Eagle might swoop down and grab it while you’re on your way to the movies. After all there are over 20,000 of them flying about these days, and 1 in a cage, watching Braveheart, doing his best impression of Mel Gibson, yelling FREEDOM.
According to the news today, there was about 417 breeding pairs of Bald Eagles in the US in 1967, now they say there is about 10,000 pairs… Sounds like the Eagles have been busy getting their funk on. Makes me happy to see the follicly challenged, winged symbols of freedom doing well.
Haliaeetus leucocephalus alascanus to some PhD’s who are picky about such things, but much like the Humerus bone, I don’t care for technical jargon, so I’ll stick to the layman’s terms; how else could I tickly your funny bone with the hair replacement jokes.
To the best of my recollection, the only time I remember seeing these majestic birds up close and in person was in the Philadelphia Zoo, his name is Ritz. Made me sad.
It really did, I laughed of course at the irony of it all, as I read the plaque that was in front of Ritz’s cage. It mentioned everything you would imagine about being the symbol of America, I read along as I looked up at Ritz in the cage in the birthplace of the Constitution and our Declaration of Freedom.
At least we weren’t in New Hampshire, or I suspect I would have seen Ritz with a pistol in his mouth. I’ve always admired New Hampshire and their convictions. For those of you who are not so familiar and haven’t seen one of their license plates in awhile, they have, by far, the coolest state motto in the lower 48 and the detached 2, (I’m not even going to address the inaccuracies with that one).
Live Free Or Die, (for those who aren’t up on New Hampshire or state mottos). Pretty cool huh? Of course with the new Bruce (moonlightning, mclaine, yippy ki ay, mother f’er) Willis movie coming out, New Hampshire might be a tad miffled, although I doubt the movie has anything to do with New Hampshire, the Revolutionary War, or even Eagles. But still General John Stark should be honored that his quote was bastardized to make a promised block buster movie for the summer of aught 7.
Which brings me to another subject I’ve been dying to address. I waited many years for the new millennium just so I could say it’s aught 6, or back in aught 2. I first heard the term when I was a kid watching The Music Man on TV. For those of you who have never seen it, it’s about a future Victor Victoria transvestite salesman who falls in love with Mrs. Partridge (before she met Rubin) who’s son, Opie Cunningham the self imposed mute child learns to play 76 trombones, and in doing so gets the confidence to talk to Fonzi who helps him ship the oatmeal dude into outer space. I know, it’s complicated, but a fun musical for the family, especially if you like misquoted phraseology.
Where was I?
Oh yea, aught 1 though aught 9, we only have 2 and half aughts left and no one is using it. It may be passé but I like it and I want to use it. Sure you’ll all look at me like I’m nuts, but I’ve sort of come to expect that, especially after writing things like that synopsis of The Music Man. Who am I kidding? No one is reading this and even if you are you can’t see me. Okay fine you can see me, but I can’t see you seeing me, not yet anyway but if you move a little to the right… Good, that’s better. Now fix your hair.
Again where was I?
The second half of “Live Free Or Die” is “Death Is Not The Worst Of Evils." Wearing a really bad toupee is.
That’s right, it’s better to be pushing up daisies then walking around with a rat cap on you head. Otherwise a Bald Eagle might swoop down and grab it while you’re on your way to the movies. After all there are over 20,000 of them flying about these days, and 1 in a cage, watching Braveheart, doing his best impression of Mel Gibson, yelling FREEDOM.
Wednesday
The path of theFortune Cookie
Today’s fortune: Do not follow where the path may lead. Go where there is no path … and leave a trail.
Lucky Numbers 12,20,37,44,36,8
Learn Chinese- Painter Hua-jia
You really get a lot of bang for your buck with fortune cookies these days. I like it. More product pushing companies should follow suit. Unless of course the suit is being worn by a middle-management ass hat in which case thou shalt not follow. So sayith the shepherd, so sayith the flock.
America seems to honor those who blaze a new trail; if the trail leads to greener pastures, if the trail leads to Death Valley, that’s a horse of a different color that you can’t lead to water. I equate this with people who have a gambling problem, and gamblers who are successful. Turn on the TV and watch The World Series of Poker, those are guys who gamble for a living, they have no problem, now take the guy who’s betting himself into bankruptcy, he has a gambling problem. At least that’s what ‘They’ say. I say his only problem is that he doesn’t win; no one has a gambling problem when they win. He HAS a losing problem, that’s what he has. But I stray.
As a whole we’re a messed up bunch, we expect success, we also admire those who went against the odds and came up winners, but we sneer at those that want to try. We pummel dreams of others when they tell us of their goals, Dream Pummelers, the lot of us.
I disagree with this, but those wiser always defend themselves by saying, we just want the best for them, we don’t want to see them fail. I’ve learned a few things in my tenure on the big blue rock we call mother Earth, and one of them is, that line of crap never accomplished anything in life that is admired. No one admires the common, it’s the uncommon that gets recognized, paid, and glorified. Common is best associated with peasants and colds, neither of which seems the place to hold company.
So in an effort to stay out of a hovel with a stuffy nose, go out and eat a cookie or go for a walk in the woods and stomp on vegetation, that should make the world a better place. Just don’t tell anyone until you’re done, they’ll Dream Pummel you in less time then it takes to say moo goo gai pan.
I’d like to take a moment to thank my R&D team for the term ass hat. It’s a good one.
Okay moment over, carry on.
Lucky Numbers 12,20,37,44,36,8
Learn Chinese- Painter Hua-jia
You really get a lot of bang for your buck with fortune cookies these days. I like it. More product pushing companies should follow suit. Unless of course the suit is being worn by a middle-management ass hat in which case thou shalt not follow. So sayith the shepherd, so sayith the flock.
America seems to honor those who blaze a new trail; if the trail leads to greener pastures, if the trail leads to Death Valley, that’s a horse of a different color that you can’t lead to water. I equate this with people who have a gambling problem, and gamblers who are successful. Turn on the TV and watch The World Series of Poker, those are guys who gamble for a living, they have no problem, now take the guy who’s betting himself into bankruptcy, he has a gambling problem. At least that’s what ‘They’ say. I say his only problem is that he doesn’t win; no one has a gambling problem when they win. He HAS a losing problem, that’s what he has. But I stray.
As a whole we’re a messed up bunch, we expect success, we also admire those who went against the odds and came up winners, but we sneer at those that want to try. We pummel dreams of others when they tell us of their goals, Dream Pummelers, the lot of us.
I disagree with this, but those wiser always defend themselves by saying, we just want the best for them, we don’t want to see them fail. I’ve learned a few things in my tenure on the big blue rock we call mother Earth, and one of them is, that line of crap never accomplished anything in life that is admired. No one admires the common, it’s the uncommon that gets recognized, paid, and glorified. Common is best associated with peasants and colds, neither of which seems the place to hold company.
So in an effort to stay out of a hovel with a stuffy nose, go out and eat a cookie or go for a walk in the woods and stomp on vegetation, that should make the world a better place. Just don’t tell anyone until you’re done, they’ll Dream Pummel you in less time then it takes to say moo goo gai pan.
I’d like to take a moment to thank my R&D team for the term ass hat. It’s a good one.
Okay moment over, carry on.
Thursday
Thanks Bob Barker for a less sucky sick day
I’m not a big fan of daytime TV, in fact I sort of loath it. Soap Operas make me want to stick burning hot skewers into my frontal lobe and talk shows make me want to hang Oprah by her pinky toes over a high flame. I’m not a big game show watching kind of guy, but there was a time when I was a kid, when they would pass for mind numbing candy to pass the time, especially when I was home sick.
Remember those days, home from school, feeling pretty crappy, nothing to do but sleep and watch TV. Mom had a few stock meals depending on what ailed you; toast, Jello, toast, College Inn Chicken broth with tiny little pasta thingies, toast, ginger ale to wash down the toast, and if you were close to the end, a grilled cheese sandwich on toast. She always brought it to you with love and a smile and then cleaned up afterwards. It was the only time growing up we had personal maid service, didn’t have to do chores and we got to control the TV, except for the being sick part, it was a pretty cool day.
Controlling the TV wasn’t what it is today, we didn’t have remotes, you had to get up and actually change the channel, and there were no buttons, just one big dial that had a very hard click to it. Well actually 2 big dials but I still haven’t found anyone who ever watched UHF channels. And there weren’t many channels to watch; 2,4,5,7,9,11 & 13, that’s 3 networks, 3 locals and PBS that’s it. But on one of those channels every weekday for one hour was Bob Barker and The Price is Right.
Now I’m not going to defend this show (or maybe I will), it’s as stupid, tacky and obnoxious as it gets but somehow, someway it feels right. It has all the glitz and glamour that a 70’s show could muster up and to this day seems to have never lost that feel, and damn it, there’s something about that, that I love, I can’t help it I just do.
The premise is easy enough, guess the price of an item, any item, but have really sexy women wearing bikinis to display the merchandise. Boats, RVs, dinning room sets, luggage, Turtle Wax, it didn’t matter just as long Barker’s Beauties were there with a smile and a short skirt, what’s not to love? I had such a thing for Holly Hallstrom, still makes my blood pump just thinking about her.
…
Sorry, my mind just wondered off for a minute. Now where was I?
I honestly don’t remember.
Damn she still has that effect on me.
Anyway, my point is or was something about Bob.
Oh right, Bob is like that Uncle you have that you don’t always get to see and you probably take for granted but you feel a certain amount of comfort just knowing that he’s there when you need him. And that’s a nice thing to have. An Uncle Bob.
Now that I’m an adult not living with mom, I no longer get soup and crackers or ginger ale, or even toast. I don’t get waited on, no one is there to bring me an extra blanket when I’m cold, no one is there to kiss my forehead, but if I turn on the TV to channel 2, Bob is there with his games, girls and Turtle Wax and I still get that same old comfort feeling to wash over me. That is up until now.
Bob has decided to call it quits after 35 years on the Price is Right. Not a bad run if you ask me, he earned his retirement but still the selfish part of me wishes he’d keep on going forever. And what makes it really selfish is I never watch the show. I’m almost never home and when I am, I still don’t make the effort, except but for once in a blue moon, when I’m feeling like a truck hit me and there are 75,000 tissues scattered about my floor, 89 blankets on top of me, a cup of tea with honey almost gone and a remote control in my hand. Then I click to CBS and that feeling hits me, I’m 10 years old again and someone is there keeping me company. I figure at any given time there must be hundreds of thousands of sick people home watching Bob and smiling at the girls who always smile back, and that’s a lot of smiling, especially for sick people.
I’m going to miss Bob, I’m going to miss Barker’s Beauties, I’m going to miss the golf game, and the Alpine Guy who tumbles over the mountain when he goes to high, the Plinko game and the big wheel which I never got to spin. I’m going to miss him telling me to ”Help control the pet population, have your pets spayed or neutered” I’m going to miss it all, and I’m really going to miss that comfort feeling that came with it.
It seems the older you get the more things you have to give up and say good bye to, things that make the world a little more bearable, that make you feel like it’s your world, your home. You could call it growing up, I just think it sucks.
Thanks Bob for making sick days suck a little bit less. And as a tribute I think we should all go out and get someone we love spayed or neutered. Come On Down…
Remember those days, home from school, feeling pretty crappy, nothing to do but sleep and watch TV. Mom had a few stock meals depending on what ailed you; toast, Jello, toast, College Inn Chicken broth with tiny little pasta thingies, toast, ginger ale to wash down the toast, and if you were close to the end, a grilled cheese sandwich on toast. She always brought it to you with love and a smile and then cleaned up afterwards. It was the only time growing up we had personal maid service, didn’t have to do chores and we got to control the TV, except for the being sick part, it was a pretty cool day.
Controlling the TV wasn’t what it is today, we didn’t have remotes, you had to get up and actually change the channel, and there were no buttons, just one big dial that had a very hard click to it. Well actually 2 big dials but I still haven’t found anyone who ever watched UHF channels. And there weren’t many channels to watch; 2,4,5,7,9,11 & 13, that’s 3 networks, 3 locals and PBS that’s it. But on one of those channels every weekday for one hour was Bob Barker and The Price is Right.
Now I’m not going to defend this show (or maybe I will), it’s as stupid, tacky and obnoxious as it gets but somehow, someway it feels right. It has all the glitz and glamour that a 70’s show could muster up and to this day seems to have never lost that feel, and damn it, there’s something about that, that I love, I can’t help it I just do.
The premise is easy enough, guess the price of an item, any item, but have really sexy women wearing bikinis to display the merchandise. Boats, RVs, dinning room sets, luggage, Turtle Wax, it didn’t matter just as long Barker’s Beauties were there with a smile and a short skirt, what’s not to love? I had such a thing for Holly Hallstrom, still makes my blood pump just thinking about her.
…
Sorry, my mind just wondered off for a minute. Now where was I?
I honestly don’t remember.
Damn she still has that effect on me.
Anyway, my point is or was something about Bob.
Oh right, Bob is like that Uncle you have that you don’t always get to see and you probably take for granted but you feel a certain amount of comfort just knowing that he’s there when you need him. And that’s a nice thing to have. An Uncle Bob.
Now that I’m an adult not living with mom, I no longer get soup and crackers or ginger ale, or even toast. I don’t get waited on, no one is there to bring me an extra blanket when I’m cold, no one is there to kiss my forehead, but if I turn on the TV to channel 2, Bob is there with his games, girls and Turtle Wax and I still get that same old comfort feeling to wash over me. That is up until now.
Bob has decided to call it quits after 35 years on the Price is Right. Not a bad run if you ask me, he earned his retirement but still the selfish part of me wishes he’d keep on going forever. And what makes it really selfish is I never watch the show. I’m almost never home and when I am, I still don’t make the effort, except but for once in a blue moon, when I’m feeling like a truck hit me and there are 75,000 tissues scattered about my floor, 89 blankets on top of me, a cup of tea with honey almost gone and a remote control in my hand. Then I click to CBS and that feeling hits me, I’m 10 years old again and someone is there keeping me company. I figure at any given time there must be hundreds of thousands of sick people home watching Bob and smiling at the girls who always smile back, and that’s a lot of smiling, especially for sick people.
I’m going to miss Bob, I’m going to miss Barker’s Beauties, I’m going to miss the golf game, and the Alpine Guy who tumbles over the mountain when he goes to high, the Plinko game and the big wheel which I never got to spin. I’m going to miss him telling me to ”Help control the pet population, have your pets spayed or neutered” I’m going to miss it all, and I’m really going to miss that comfort feeling that came with it.
It seems the older you get the more things you have to give up and say good bye to, things that make the world a little more bearable, that make you feel like it’s your world, your home. You could call it growing up, I just think it sucks.
Thanks Bob for making sick days suck a little bit less. And as a tribute I think we should all go out and get someone we love spayed or neutered. Come On Down…
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