The college football Bowl Season is in full stride. There are no fewer than thirty-three bowl games this year, not to mention the BCS National Championship which is prestigious beyond simple bowl designation.
Originally, college football bowl games were a product of warm weather city boosterism. Pasadena, CA grew roses and other flowers in the winter, but few midwestern snowbirds travelled to the west coast to enjoy the blooms. Its city fathers put on a floral bedecked parade and still they did not come. Add a football game, call it the Rose Bowl and on New Year's Day half of Iowa (or Ohio or Michigan) shows up.
Not to be left out, New Orleans began the Sugar Bowl, Miami started the Orange Bowl, and Dallas birthed the Cotton Bowl. Football stadia somewhat resemble "bowls" and a local product got free advertising. One had the mental image of an enormous concrete structure filled with roses, sugar, oranges, or cotton as opposed to drunken louts. It was somehow soothing.
Time and TV money led to the proliferation of bowls that we see today. Alas, we ran out of soothing bowl names. The Poinsettia Bowl works, while the Gator Bowl doesn't, though the image of 70,000 ravenous reptiles in a Jacksonville, FL stadium is quite the mental image. The Sun Bowl is somewhat soothing if we assume sunshine and not a star shooting out deadly radiation in that El Paso, TX structure.
Yesterday, I watched the Humanitarian Bowl live and in color from Boise, ID. Apparently, humanitarianism is a prominent export from Boise. Are Idahoans implying that they and only they devote their lives to the betterment of their fellow man? Did concession stands revert from selling overpriced, watered-down beer to handing out winter clothing to the needy? Were the stadium gates flung open to the proverbial "huddled masses" free of charge? Would one expect any less from a stadium full of Humanitarians?
Today, I plan to watch the Insight Bowl from Tempe, AZ. What can we expect from a stadium full of insightful Arizonans? A viable National Health Care Plan? Not a problem with 70,000 insightful thinkers on the job. Every American will have health coverage by halftime. That pesky Palestinian Question? It will be solved by the final whistle. If the game goes to overtime, we will finally know how much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. I've been searching for that answer for years.
That's the joy of college football bowl games - bringing humanitarians and insightful folks together for the betterment of society.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Scouting Today
As the guy who unlocks the church for Boy Scout meetings, I am on the mailing list for "Scouting - The Magazine for Scout Leaders".
The current issue contains advertisements from fundraising suppliers appealing to scouts of all sorts. There are flower bulbs, "the healthy, low-cost, earth-friendly fundraiser". For those somewhat less health-conscious, Krispy Kreme offers 25 dozen free doughnuts with every paid order of 300 dozen or more. Assuming that the average scout troop has 50 members, the lads can chow down on six free glazed beauties each before making their deliveries. "Martha, there's a wild-eyed kid on a sugar high ringing the door bell. Set the dog on him!"
The magazine also includes ads for "true scouting adventures". Scout troops can reserve space now at Cherokee Camp, NC featuring "Authentic Cherokee culture and experiences in nature. The stuff that reminds us why scouts are scouts." After that, scouts can embark on "The Trail of Tears, a forced march to Oklahoma the stuff that reminds us why the Cherokees aren't in North Carolina anymore."
For the less-outdoorsy, Philly's Franklin Institute offers "Spy Camp" - a sleepover within its hallowed halls featuring an IMAX movie, planetarium show, and hands-on workshops. The ad also states, "Explore the museum exhibits after dark." This may not appeal to kids who have seen the Ben Stiller movie or its sequel, but is a great opportunity for older scouts to scare the pants off their younger counterparts by doing bad Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt impersonations. Come to think of it, even Robin Williams is doing bad Robin Williams impersonations nowadays.
For the military-minded, "Plan your troop's next big overnight adventure on one of the most famous aircraft carriers in US Naval History - the USS Lexington in Corpus Christi, TX. Experience a MEGA movie, tours, flag program, chow, ghost stories, and more. Bunk in air-conditioned crew quarters."
Air-conditioned crew quarters on a WWII-vintage ship? This coddling of today's youth must cease! The Mega movie and ghost stories are all well and good, but for scouts to get a real taste of WWII naval life, they should sleep on a rack of bunks with 18" clearance from their head to the bottom of the bunk above. For true realism, the guy on the bunk above should be un-showered for several days and have recently consumed lots of beans. Above all, no air-conditioning!
Imagine Josh the Boy Scout saying to his WWII vet great grandpa, "It wasn't so bad staying on the Lexington though they turned the AC on a little high."
The current issue contains advertisements from fundraising suppliers appealing to scouts of all sorts. There are flower bulbs, "the healthy, low-cost, earth-friendly fundraiser". For those somewhat less health-conscious, Krispy Kreme offers 25 dozen free doughnuts with every paid order of 300 dozen or more. Assuming that the average scout troop has 50 members, the lads can chow down on six free glazed beauties each before making their deliveries. "Martha, there's a wild-eyed kid on a sugar high ringing the door bell. Set the dog on him!"
The magazine also includes ads for "true scouting adventures". Scout troops can reserve space now at Cherokee Camp, NC featuring "Authentic Cherokee culture and experiences in nature. The stuff that reminds us why scouts are scouts." After that, scouts can embark on "The Trail of Tears, a forced march to Oklahoma the stuff that reminds us why the Cherokees aren't in North Carolina anymore."
For the less-outdoorsy, Philly's Franklin Institute offers "Spy Camp" - a sleepover within its hallowed halls featuring an IMAX movie, planetarium show, and hands-on workshops. The ad also states, "Explore the museum exhibits after dark." This may not appeal to kids who have seen the Ben Stiller movie or its sequel, but is a great opportunity for older scouts to scare the pants off their younger counterparts by doing bad Robin Williams as Teddy Roosevelt impersonations. Come to think of it, even Robin Williams is doing bad Robin Williams impersonations nowadays.
For the military-minded, "Plan your troop's next big overnight adventure on one of the most famous aircraft carriers in US Naval History - the USS Lexington in Corpus Christi, TX. Experience a MEGA movie, tours, flag program, chow, ghost stories, and more. Bunk in air-conditioned crew quarters."
Air-conditioned crew quarters on a WWII-vintage ship? This coddling of today's youth must cease! The Mega movie and ghost stories are all well and good, but for scouts to get a real taste of WWII naval life, they should sleep on a rack of bunks with 18" clearance from their head to the bottom of the bunk above. For true realism, the guy on the bunk above should be un-showered for several days and have recently consumed lots of beans. Above all, no air-conditioning!
Imagine Josh the Boy Scout saying to his WWII vet great grandpa, "It wasn't so bad staying on the Lexington though they turned the AC on a little high."
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A Rose By Any Other Name
And what is in a name?
If Shakespeare were alive today, he might apply his wordsmithing skills not to the "legitimate" stage, but to the better-paying political one. The modern spinmeister who came up with "Troubled Asset Relief Plan" surely exceeds Billy Bard's ability to place poetic words in the mouths of oedipal Danish princes or starcrossed teen lovers in Verona. Could Hamlet, Romeo, or Juliet so easily title a multi-billion governmental bailout of incredibly greedy financiers and give it a cool acronym like TARP?
"Troubled Asset"? Romeo's plain-speaking buddy Mercutio would say, "Worthless financial instrument foisted upon an ignorant public. "Relief Plan"? Hamlet's wise mentor Yorick would call it, "We'll give you bushels of money that you will magically be able to re-pay when it turns out you won't get your massive year-end bonuses unless you do so." Even Shakespeare couldn't come up with a cool acronym for those more valid descriptions.
Political spinmeisters developed another creative title during the 2008 campaign. "We must repeal The Death Tax! The government wants to pillage your estate. You won't be able to pass on your small business to your family. Buffy will have to drop out of high school and stock shelves at Wal-Mart!"
In fact, the Estate Tax has been around since the 1800s. It is applicable only to the one in 500 estates valued at $7 million or more per couple. Small business owners can purchase life insurance (and charge its premiums as a business expense) to pay it off upon their demise and "keep the business in the family". Buffy will have a corner office awaiting her when she graduates from Princeton.
Juliet's wordly Nurse would say, "Abolish the Too Dumb or Lazy To Buy Insurance To Keep Rich Guys' Trophy Wives In Jewelry Tax". Somehow, it doesn't have the same ring as Death Tax.
Apparently, there's no place for plain-speaking Shakespeareans in today's politics.
If Shakespeare were alive today, he might apply his wordsmithing skills not to the "legitimate" stage, but to the better-paying political one. The modern spinmeister who came up with "Troubled Asset Relief Plan" surely exceeds Billy Bard's ability to place poetic words in the mouths of oedipal Danish princes or starcrossed teen lovers in Verona. Could Hamlet, Romeo, or Juliet so easily title a multi-billion governmental bailout of incredibly greedy financiers and give it a cool acronym like TARP?
"Troubled Asset"? Romeo's plain-speaking buddy Mercutio would say, "Worthless financial instrument foisted upon an ignorant public. "Relief Plan"? Hamlet's wise mentor Yorick would call it, "We'll give you bushels of money that you will magically be able to re-pay when it turns out you won't get your massive year-end bonuses unless you do so." Even Shakespeare couldn't come up with a cool acronym for those more valid descriptions.
Political spinmeisters developed another creative title during the 2008 campaign. "We must repeal The Death Tax! The government wants to pillage your estate. You won't be able to pass on your small business to your family. Buffy will have to drop out of high school and stock shelves at Wal-Mart!"
In fact, the Estate Tax has been around since the 1800s. It is applicable only to the one in 500 estates valued at $7 million or more per couple. Small business owners can purchase life insurance (and charge its premiums as a business expense) to pay it off upon their demise and "keep the business in the family". Buffy will have a corner office awaiting her when she graduates from Princeton.
Juliet's wordly Nurse would say, "Abolish the Too Dumb or Lazy To Buy Insurance To Keep Rich Guys' Trophy Wives In Jewelry Tax". Somehow, it doesn't have the same ring as Death Tax.
Apparently, there's no place for plain-speaking Shakespeareans in today's politics.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Boxing Day
Those clever Canadians spread out Christmas cheer by observing "Boxing Day" on 26 Dec.
No, our neighbors to the north do not strip to their skivvies, don padded leather gloves and beat each other senseless in some illogical extension of the Seinfeldian "Festivus Feats of Strength". In their typically patient manner, they do the church-going and feasting on Christmas, but delay the gift-giving (presumably in boxes) to the following day. After all, these are the folks who waited nearly 100 years for the British to give them independence rather than going through all that messy Revolutionary War stuff. What's another night of "visions of sugar plums dancing through their heads" after that?
We Americans celebrate a Boxing Day of sorts when Trash Pick Up Day is 26 Dec, like it is this year. Walking the dog this morning, I marvelled at the multitude of illustrated boxes lining the streets. Where do toy manufacturers get those delighted children depicted on boxes of toys? Their sheer joy at witnessing a dancing Elmo or operating a Rock'Em, Sock'Em robot fails to match American reality. Real American kids show no delight upon ripping open Present #1 as they proceed to tear the wrappings off what promises to be even better Present #2 until all gifts are opened and disappointment sets in that Brother Josh or Sister Tiffany got a superior haul..
My theory is that the ecstatic kids pictured on toy boxes are all Canadians and likely have no siblings. When you've had to wait another whole day for a gift and especially when you have nothing to be jealous of, you tend to appreciate it more.
No, our neighbors to the north do not strip to their skivvies, don padded leather gloves and beat each other senseless in some illogical extension of the Seinfeldian "Festivus Feats of Strength". In their typically patient manner, they do the church-going and feasting on Christmas, but delay the gift-giving (presumably in boxes) to the following day. After all, these are the folks who waited nearly 100 years for the British to give them independence rather than going through all that messy Revolutionary War stuff. What's another night of "visions of sugar plums dancing through their heads" after that?
We Americans celebrate a Boxing Day of sorts when Trash Pick Up Day is 26 Dec, like it is this year. Walking the dog this morning, I marvelled at the multitude of illustrated boxes lining the streets. Where do toy manufacturers get those delighted children depicted on boxes of toys? Their sheer joy at witnessing a dancing Elmo or operating a Rock'Em, Sock'Em robot fails to match American reality. Real American kids show no delight upon ripping open Present #1 as they proceed to tear the wrappings off what promises to be even better Present #2 until all gifts are opened and disappointment sets in that Brother Josh or Sister Tiffany got a superior haul..
My theory is that the ecstatic kids pictured on toy boxes are all Canadians and likely have no siblings. When you've had to wait another whole day for a gift and especially when you have nothing to be jealous of, you tend to appreciate it more.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Queen of the Universe
Athletic team nicknames are a never-ending source of amusement.
The conventional Lions, Tigers, and Bears (Oh my!) strike fear into opponents' hearts, but fail to tickle the funny bone. Give me the Port LaVaca Sand Crabs (sounds like a parasite that one would pick up on the beach), the UC-Santa Cruz Banana Slugs (not what you want to find on your morning Chiquita), or the Boiling Springs Bubblers (whose mascot might be a gurgling infant).
To pass the time while the school closings scroll slowly across the TV screen, I assign appropriate athletic team nicknames. With the advent of charter schools, some wild nicknames come to mind. Philadelphia's School of Engineering and Science teams would obviously be the Geeks with a mascot sporting coke bottom glasses, a bad haircut, and zero social graces. Come to think of it, they don't need a costume. They can just hire me.
Philly's Imhotep Charter wants to be the Fightin' Mummies, trailing dusty body wrapping as they trudge down the basketball court. Opponents beware! You may be ahead 100 - 0, but the Mummies never die!
The plenitude of Christian schools poses a problem. Not every team can be known as the Crusaders. How about the Faith Christian School Church Ladies? Their mascot would be clad in sensible shoes and feature pursed lips and a disapproving glare that would certainly intimidate those heathens across the court.
One school on this morning's closing list nearly threw me for a loop. Somewhere in the Philly area is the modestly-named Queen of the Universe High School. What mascot would be appropriate to rule not just our planet, our solar system, or even our galaxy, but the entire universe? After considerable thought, I realized that the only possibility was the man who already owns the Miss Universe Pageant. I give you the Queen of the Universe High School Donald Trumps!
With his busy schedule, the Donald will be unavailable for sideline mascot duty, but surely there is a blustery guy with a bad comb-over somewhere in the Philly Area willing to lead the QOTU faithful in chants of "You're Fired!" at basketball games.
The conventional Lions, Tigers, and Bears (Oh my!) strike fear into opponents' hearts, but fail to tickle the funny bone. Give me the Port LaVaca Sand Crabs (sounds like a parasite that one would pick up on the beach), the UC-Santa Cruz Banana Slugs (not what you want to find on your morning Chiquita), or the Boiling Springs Bubblers (whose mascot might be a gurgling infant).
To pass the time while the school closings scroll slowly across the TV screen, I assign appropriate athletic team nicknames. With the advent of charter schools, some wild nicknames come to mind. Philadelphia's School of Engineering and Science teams would obviously be the Geeks with a mascot sporting coke bottom glasses, a bad haircut, and zero social graces. Come to think of it, they don't need a costume. They can just hire me.
Philly's Imhotep Charter wants to be the Fightin' Mummies, trailing dusty body wrapping as they trudge down the basketball court. Opponents beware! You may be ahead 100 - 0, but the Mummies never die!
The plenitude of Christian schools poses a problem. Not every team can be known as the Crusaders. How about the Faith Christian School Church Ladies? Their mascot would be clad in sensible shoes and feature pursed lips and a disapproving glare that would certainly intimidate those heathens across the court.
One school on this morning's closing list nearly threw me for a loop. Somewhere in the Philly area is the modestly-named Queen of the Universe High School. What mascot would be appropriate to rule not just our planet, our solar system, or even our galaxy, but the entire universe? After considerable thought, I realized that the only possibility was the man who already owns the Miss Universe Pageant. I give you the Queen of the Universe High School Donald Trumps!
With his busy schedule, the Donald will be unavailable for sideline mascot duty, but surely there is a blustery guy with a bad comb-over somewhere in the Philly Area willing to lead the QOTU faithful in chants of "You're Fired!" at basketball games.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Toga! Toga!
Most Americans identify a toga party with the raucous scenes from "Animal House" showing bedsheet-clad fraternity boys pouring beverages over each other while flopping around on a vomit-stained dance floor.
As a veteran of toga parties circa 1960s, I can verify the accuracy of Animal House's portrayal. Of course, there were also tiki parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in grass skirts, cowboy parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in Stetsons, and party parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in whatever we happened to be wearing at the time. There was a lot of pouring going on in those days.
That was forty years ago, and apparently times have changed. Yesterday's "Wonderword" puzzle was titled "Toga Parties". "Wonderword" is a 15 x 15 grid of letters. Puzzlers circle the letters vertically, horizontally, or diagonally to form words relating to the puzzle's title. The related words are listed below the puzzle itself. The leftover letters spell the Wonderword.
I'm not much of a puzzle-solver, but "Toga Parties" seemed right up my alley. I easily identified "wine", "wild", "beer", "juice", "stomping" and the like in the grid, but many unused letters remained. The only words that fit were "elegant", "harpist", and "camera".
"Elegant" is not the adjective that anyone would attach to any toga party I ever attended. "Debauched' works, but I couldn't find it in the puzzle. The musical background to our debauchery was typically not a "harpist". It's so difficult to do the Watusi to harp music. You really need that driving bass beat. A "camera" was a real no-no at toga parties. "So that's what my child is doing instead of studying? Stop payment on that tuition check now!"
According to "Wonderword", toga parties today are elegant affairs with heavenly harp music in the background and photographed for posterity (and the social pages). In a way, I'm glad that John Belushi didn't live to see this.
As a veteran of toga parties circa 1960s, I can verify the accuracy of Animal House's portrayal. Of course, there were also tiki parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in grass skirts, cowboy parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in Stetsons, and party parties where we poured beverages over each other while clad in whatever we happened to be wearing at the time. There was a lot of pouring going on in those days.
That was forty years ago, and apparently times have changed. Yesterday's "Wonderword" puzzle was titled "Toga Parties". "Wonderword" is a 15 x 15 grid of letters. Puzzlers circle the letters vertically, horizontally, or diagonally to form words relating to the puzzle's title. The related words are listed below the puzzle itself. The leftover letters spell the Wonderword.
I'm not much of a puzzle-solver, but "Toga Parties" seemed right up my alley. I easily identified "wine", "wild", "beer", "juice", "stomping" and the like in the grid, but many unused letters remained. The only words that fit were "elegant", "harpist", and "camera".
"Elegant" is not the adjective that anyone would attach to any toga party I ever attended. "Debauched' works, but I couldn't find it in the puzzle. The musical background to our debauchery was typically not a "harpist". It's so difficult to do the Watusi to harp music. You really need that driving bass beat. A "camera" was a real no-no at toga parties. "So that's what my child is doing instead of studying? Stop payment on that tuition check now!"
According to "Wonderword", toga parties today are elegant affairs with heavenly harp music in the background and photographed for posterity (and the social pages). In a way, I'm glad that John Belushi didn't live to see this.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Benefit Changes
In an effort to recoup all those lobbying expenses against the Health Care Bill, Capital Blue Cross has done it again. Their annual letter thanking me for re-enrolling includes these "Benefit Changes" for 2010:
Emergency Room co-pay is increased to $100. "Honey! The power saw slipped and I just sliced off my arm! There's blood everywhere. I'm losing consciousness. Take me to the Emergency Room." "Hang in there, dear. I've got to go to the ATM and withdraw $100 first."
Coverage for flu vaccine is added. "Immerse your entire body in Purell before going to school, kids. Got to protect against that H1N1. I know it's a pain now, but after the New Year you can get a free flu shot."
Specialty medications for hemophilia will no longer be covered under my medical benefit. They will be covered only when ordered through the mail order specialty pharmacy vendor. "Dad! Anastasia cut herself and it won't stop bleeding!" "Quick, Alexandra, go on line and order the hemophilia meds. Better request overnight delivery. Little Anastasia is white as a sheet already."
But seriously folks...we Americans demand the best health care and expect someone else to pay for it. It is an untenable situation.
Emergency Room co-pay is increased to $100. "Honey! The power saw slipped and I just sliced off my arm! There's blood everywhere. I'm losing consciousness. Take me to the Emergency Room." "Hang in there, dear. I've got to go to the ATM and withdraw $100 first."
Coverage for flu vaccine is added. "Immerse your entire body in Purell before going to school, kids. Got to protect against that H1N1. I know it's a pain now, but after the New Year you can get a free flu shot."
Specialty medications for hemophilia will no longer be covered under my medical benefit. They will be covered only when ordered through the mail order specialty pharmacy vendor. "Dad! Anastasia cut herself and it won't stop bleeding!" "Quick, Alexandra, go on line and order the hemophilia meds. Better request overnight delivery. Little Anastasia is white as a sheet already."
But seriously folks...we Americans demand the best health care and expect someone else to pay for it. It is an untenable situation.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Collector's Item
Magazines require a gestation period to allow for printing and distribution, but there is danger in that what appeared to be an innocuous cover photo and article in November may be wildly inappropriate and even darkly comic come December.
The cover on the current issue of Golf Digest shows President Obama lining up a putt with Tiger Woods standing behind him as his "caddy". The headline reads, "10 Tips Obama Can Take From Tiger". Even better, the lead article includes a question from a reader that asks Tiger, "How is life on the road now that you have a family?"
There are three possible results for this gaffe:
1. The Golf Digest editor who failed to "stop the presses" on this one is currently unemployed and sleeping under a cardboard box over a sidewalk grate next to the credentials-checker who allowed those gate-crashers into the White House State Dinner a couple of weeks ago
2. Golf Digest intentionally lets it run and experiences its highest newsstand sales ever.
3. Golf Digest prints only a few copies of this issue and it becomes an extremely valuable collector's item like that stamp with the airplane flying upside down or the penny with a beardless Lincoln.
In the same spirit, other magazines might consider these headlines and through the magic of Photo Shopping might come up with a cover photo:
1. South Carolina Government News - "Hiking the Appalachian Trail with Governor Sanford (Why Are all the Signs in Spanish?)"
2. DC Airport Weekly - "Senator Larry Craig Reveals the Best Rest Rooms at Reagan National"
3. White House Intern Quarterly - "How to Get Face Time with President Clinton by Monica Lewinsky"
Limit the press run and these magazine covers will surely be more valuable than a Mickey Mantle rookie baseball card!
The cover on the current issue of Golf Digest shows President Obama lining up a putt with Tiger Woods standing behind him as his "caddy". The headline reads, "10 Tips Obama Can Take From Tiger". Even better, the lead article includes a question from a reader that asks Tiger, "How is life on the road now that you have a family?"
There are three possible results for this gaffe:
1. The Golf Digest editor who failed to "stop the presses" on this one is currently unemployed and sleeping under a cardboard box over a sidewalk grate next to the credentials-checker who allowed those gate-crashers into the White House State Dinner a couple of weeks ago
2. Golf Digest intentionally lets it run and experiences its highest newsstand sales ever.
3. Golf Digest prints only a few copies of this issue and it becomes an extremely valuable collector's item like that stamp with the airplane flying upside down or the penny with a beardless Lincoln.
In the same spirit, other magazines might consider these headlines and through the magic of Photo Shopping might come up with a cover photo:
1. South Carolina Government News - "Hiking the Appalachian Trail with Governor Sanford (Why Are all the Signs in Spanish?)"
2. DC Airport Weekly - "Senator Larry Craig Reveals the Best Rest Rooms at Reagan National"
3. White House Intern Quarterly - "How to Get Face Time with President Clinton by Monica Lewinsky"
Limit the press run and these magazine covers will surely be more valuable than a Mickey Mantle rookie baseball card!
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Uncle Wiggily
A week ago Saturday, I visited Winterthur, the estate of a branch of the DuPont family. Those DuPonts really did things in a big way. The estate not only featured its own gardens, greenhouses, fishing ponds, and dairy herd, but it had its own railroad station. Beat that, Louis XIV and Versailles!
Winterthur's theme for this holiday season was Christmas, 1920. The estate was decorated as it would have been eighty years ago replete with Christmas trees and gifts of that era. The gift that struck me was the Uncle Wiggily board game. Uncle Wiggily's adventures on his way to Dr Possum's office for his rheumatism cure were a big part of my pre-school years. One glance at the board and sixty years melted away.
There in all their glory were Skillery Skallery Alligator, Woozy Wolf. Pipsisewah the Rhino, and the dreaded crow Skeezix ready to pounce. All featured gaping mouths full of sharp teeth. Surely, a rheumatoid, aged rabbit like Uncle Wiggily wouldn't stand a chance unless through capable card drawing, I could bring him to such friends as Peetie Bow Bow or Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy who would help him on his way.
Then I realized the differences between today for modern kids and 1920 for the DuPont kids or 1950 for me. Comparing today's "Candyland" to yesteryear's "Uncle Wiggily":
There's inherent violence (the rise of fascism or the Red Menace) in the toothy carnivores of the past but wholesome consumerism in the calorically-laden Lord Licorice, Princess Frostine, and Grandma Nut of today. We had to be slender and ready to combat the world's evils back then. Now we can sit back with Gloppy in the Caramel Swamp.
There was sexual repression back then. Uncle Wiggly's friends and foes all wore pants and shirts. How did Disney ever get away with a pants-less Donald Duck? Candyland's human characters are fully-dressed, but its animals let it all hang out. Thank you, Hugh Hefner and the 60s.
More was expected of kids and adults back then. It required some reading skill or adult supervision to interpret "Petey Bow Wow helps Uncle Wiggly along four hops". Today, kids get by with color-coded game cards. I'll bet pre-schoolers in Singapore and Korea don't have color-coded game cards which is why they get into MIT and American kids don't.
Finally, after sixty years, the Skeezix in "Uncle Wiggily" still freaks me out. That crow is evil incarnate. Look out, Uncle Wiggily! Ar-r-r-gh!
Winterthur's theme for this holiday season was Christmas, 1920. The estate was decorated as it would have been eighty years ago replete with Christmas trees and gifts of that era. The gift that struck me was the Uncle Wiggily board game. Uncle Wiggily's adventures on his way to Dr Possum's office for his rheumatism cure were a big part of my pre-school years. One glance at the board and sixty years melted away.
There in all their glory were Skillery Skallery Alligator, Woozy Wolf. Pipsisewah the Rhino, and the dreaded crow Skeezix ready to pounce. All featured gaping mouths full of sharp teeth. Surely, a rheumatoid, aged rabbit like Uncle Wiggily wouldn't stand a chance unless through capable card drawing, I could bring him to such friends as Peetie Bow Bow or Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy who would help him on his way.
Then I realized the differences between today for modern kids and 1920 for the DuPont kids or 1950 for me. Comparing today's "Candyland" to yesteryear's "Uncle Wiggily":
There's inherent violence (the rise of fascism or the Red Menace) in the toothy carnivores of the past but wholesome consumerism in the calorically-laden Lord Licorice, Princess Frostine, and Grandma Nut of today. We had to be slender and ready to combat the world's evils back then. Now we can sit back with Gloppy in the Caramel Swamp.
There was sexual repression back then. Uncle Wiggly's friends and foes all wore pants and shirts. How did Disney ever get away with a pants-less Donald Duck? Candyland's human characters are fully-dressed, but its animals let it all hang out. Thank you, Hugh Hefner and the 60s.
More was expected of kids and adults back then. It required some reading skill or adult supervision to interpret "Petey Bow Wow helps Uncle Wiggly along four hops". Today, kids get by with color-coded game cards. I'll bet pre-schoolers in Singapore and Korea don't have color-coded game cards which is why they get into MIT and American kids don't.
Finally, after sixty years, the Skeezix in "Uncle Wiggily" still freaks me out. That crow is evil incarnate. Look out, Uncle Wiggily! Ar-r-r-gh!
Monday, December 14, 2009
Kielbasa for Santa
What is a better example of America's cultural diversity than the ways various ethnic groups celebrate Yuletide?
We have Santa Claus bearing gifts on Christmas Eve, Boxing Day, Three Kings Day, the "eight crazy nights of Hanukkah", Kwanza, and the Wall Street Bonus Jubilee. The first five require us to be "good little boys and girls" to receive gifts. Wall Street largess comes to us irregardless provided that we are "too big to fail". Greed is good, indeed.
There are cultural differences even within the same tradition. A time-honored tradition is leaving a snack for Santa on Christmas Eve. This means milk and cookies and perhaps a carrot for the reindeer for most Americans, but not for all.
The local PBS TV station is currently conducting yet another Pledge Drive. It is re-broadcasting some of its "greatest hits" to energize its donors. Among these is "Eastern Europeans In Pennsylvania", a celebration of Slavic culture. A lady from Wilkes-Barre noted that her Polish tradition was to leave kielbasa and beer for Santa on Christmas Eve, As a child, she was amazed that her Welsh, Irish, and German classmates left milk and cookies for the Jolly Old Elf.
As a survivor of the gastronomical ravages of homemade kielbasa, I am not surprised that sausage and beer for Santa is a dying tradition. Authentic kielbasa is not the fresh, lightly-spiced stuff found in supermarkets today. The genuine article is fatty meat combined with significant quantities of horseradish and garlic, encased in pig intestines, drawn through a cow's horn, smoked and aged to a wrinkled, potent sausage that will keep you dancing the polka for hours on end. And it's impossible to digest unless you've been raised on the stuff.
If Good Saint Nick had to consume real kielbasa at every house in Wilkes-Barre, he would be laid low with gastric distress before he ever got to Scranton, let alone the Lehigh Valley. Thousands of children would be disappointed on Christmas morn.
Diversity is good. We should respect the traditions of our neighbors. Still, let it go, Wilkes-Barre! Think of the children!
We have Santa Claus bearing gifts on Christmas Eve, Boxing Day, Three Kings Day, the "eight crazy nights of Hanukkah", Kwanza, and the Wall Street Bonus Jubilee. The first five require us to be "good little boys and girls" to receive gifts. Wall Street largess comes to us irregardless provided that we are "too big to fail". Greed is good, indeed.
There are cultural differences even within the same tradition. A time-honored tradition is leaving a snack for Santa on Christmas Eve. This means milk and cookies and perhaps a carrot for the reindeer for most Americans, but not for all.
The local PBS TV station is currently conducting yet another Pledge Drive. It is re-broadcasting some of its "greatest hits" to energize its donors. Among these is "Eastern Europeans In Pennsylvania", a celebration of Slavic culture. A lady from Wilkes-Barre noted that her Polish tradition was to leave kielbasa and beer for Santa on Christmas Eve, As a child, she was amazed that her Welsh, Irish, and German classmates left milk and cookies for the Jolly Old Elf.
As a survivor of the gastronomical ravages of homemade kielbasa, I am not surprised that sausage and beer for Santa is a dying tradition. Authentic kielbasa is not the fresh, lightly-spiced stuff found in supermarkets today. The genuine article is fatty meat combined with significant quantities of horseradish and garlic, encased in pig intestines, drawn through a cow's horn, smoked and aged to a wrinkled, potent sausage that will keep you dancing the polka for hours on end. And it's impossible to digest unless you've been raised on the stuff.
If Good Saint Nick had to consume real kielbasa at every house in Wilkes-Barre, he would be laid low with gastric distress before he ever got to Scranton, let alone the Lehigh Valley. Thousands of children would be disappointed on Christmas morn.
Diversity is good. We should respect the traditions of our neighbors. Still, let it go, Wilkes-Barre! Think of the children!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Land Lines
Today's "Dilbert" shows the title character perusing a business card and stating, " Your home phone is a land line. That must come in handy when someone calls from 1993."
Wait a minute! I still have a land line and fondly remember 1993. Does this mean that I am less cool than Dilbert? Have I not kept up with the times? Have I become my stuck-in-the-past parents, incapable of programming a VCR, still banking at the teller's window instead of the ATM, still shopping at stores instead of on-line?
Well, Mister Dilbert, I'll have you know that I do, in fact, have a cell phone. Granted, I have no idea how to text message (those keys are so small). It probably isn't one of those cool phones that can take photos although it may be for all I know. I'm pretty sure it isn't one of those magic iPhones with "killer apps" that can direct me to the finest restaurants in San Francisco, make a reservation, and probably pay my bill. At least I don't have to worry whether I'm in a 3G or a 4G area whatever that means.
Actually, that whole 3G / 4G area thing is a concern. Based on the TV commercials, 3G is available pretty much everywhere east of the Mississippi except for a swath of West Virginia. Does this mean that land lines will eventually disappear and technophobes like me, incapable of adapting to the wireless world, will be herded into remote sections of the Mountaineer State to live out our miserable, Bluetooth-less lives?
Go ahead and play video games on your fancy cell phone, Dilbert! Download spread sheets and e-mail while you're at it. Just remember that while we technophobes are letting our land lines ring away, unanswered and unheard, as we hike the beautiful trails of "Almost Heaven", you can't walk away from pesky phone calls and e-mails. Who is the smart one now?
Wait a minute! I still have a land line and fondly remember 1993. Does this mean that I am less cool than Dilbert? Have I not kept up with the times? Have I become my stuck-in-the-past parents, incapable of programming a VCR, still banking at the teller's window instead of the ATM, still shopping at stores instead of on-line?
Well, Mister Dilbert, I'll have you know that I do, in fact, have a cell phone. Granted, I have no idea how to text message (those keys are so small). It probably isn't one of those cool phones that can take photos although it may be for all I know. I'm pretty sure it isn't one of those magic iPhones with "killer apps" that can direct me to the finest restaurants in San Francisco, make a reservation, and probably pay my bill. At least I don't have to worry whether I'm in a 3G or a 4G area whatever that means.
Actually, that whole 3G / 4G area thing is a concern. Based on the TV commercials, 3G is available pretty much everywhere east of the Mississippi except for a swath of West Virginia. Does this mean that land lines will eventually disappear and technophobes like me, incapable of adapting to the wireless world, will be herded into remote sections of the Mountaineer State to live out our miserable, Bluetooth-less lives?
Go ahead and play video games on your fancy cell phone, Dilbert! Download spread sheets and e-mail while you're at it. Just remember that while we technophobes are letting our land lines ring away, unanswered and unheard, as we hike the beautiful trails of "Almost Heaven", you can't walk away from pesky phone calls and e-mails. Who is the smart one now?
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Rush to Judgement
The classic movie "Twelve Angry Men" shows the American justice system at its finest. Eleven of twelve jurors are set to convict a hapless young man of murder. Juror #12, Henry Fonda, delays the rush to judgement, analyzes the evidence, and convinces the jury that the boy is, in fact, innocent.
The Pennsylvania Game Commission needs a Henry Fonda. The PGC accused Charles Olsen of illegally baiting an area near his home with pastries to attract bears prior to the recent hunting season. Chuck "harvested" a 707 pound bruin, the largest taken in PA this year. That honor is in question after neighbors reported the Chuckster "driving a truck loaded with pastries" into the area prior to hunting season and driving out empty. If convicted, Chuck faces fines and loss of hunting privileges for three years. Fine! Schmine! But three years without hunting is cruel and unusual punishment for any red-blooded Pennsylvania boy.
Henry Fonda would stand before that Game Commission and plead, "Couldn't it have happened another way? Haven't we all seen those TV commercials where Domino's offers home delivery of brownies along with their pizza? How about Poppa John's home delivery of cinnamon pastries? Anyone with a cell phone can have a truck-load of pastries delivered anywhere!"
"Who is to say that a "Mister Bear" didn't phone Domino's or Poppa John's and order that truck-load of pastry? What if Chuck Olsen just happened to be the driver that horrible night? Imagine his shock when the address proved false and he was stopped on the rural road by a 700 pound beast! How did he manage to drive out of the woods that night having witnessed the wanton destruction and consumption of a truck-load of his beloved pastry?"
"But Mister Bear wasn't as smart as he seemed. When hunting season began, Chuck simply followed the trail of pastry wrappings to his den and wreaked revenge for those poor, innocent pastries. Instead of convicting Chuck, we should be honoring him! It's men like Chuck who protect our Twinkies, Yoo-Hoos, and Tastykakes from the ravages of 700 pound bears! I vote him innocent of all charges!"
The Pennsylvania Game Commission needs a Henry Fonda. The PGC accused Charles Olsen of illegally baiting an area near his home with pastries to attract bears prior to the recent hunting season. Chuck "harvested" a 707 pound bruin, the largest taken in PA this year. That honor is in question after neighbors reported the Chuckster "driving a truck loaded with pastries" into the area prior to hunting season and driving out empty. If convicted, Chuck faces fines and loss of hunting privileges for three years. Fine! Schmine! But three years without hunting is cruel and unusual punishment for any red-blooded Pennsylvania boy.
Henry Fonda would stand before that Game Commission and plead, "Couldn't it have happened another way? Haven't we all seen those TV commercials where Domino's offers home delivery of brownies along with their pizza? How about Poppa John's home delivery of cinnamon pastries? Anyone with a cell phone can have a truck-load of pastries delivered anywhere!"
"Who is to say that a "Mister Bear" didn't phone Domino's or Poppa John's and order that truck-load of pastry? What if Chuck Olsen just happened to be the driver that horrible night? Imagine his shock when the address proved false and he was stopped on the rural road by a 700 pound beast! How did he manage to drive out of the woods that night having witnessed the wanton destruction and consumption of a truck-load of his beloved pastry?"
"But Mister Bear wasn't as smart as he seemed. When hunting season began, Chuck simply followed the trail of pastry wrappings to his den and wreaked revenge for those poor, innocent pastries. Instead of convicting Chuck, we should be honoring him! It's men like Chuck who protect our Twinkies, Yoo-Hoos, and Tastykakes from the ravages of 700 pound bears! I vote him innocent of all charges!"
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
The Rich Get Richer
The Tiger Woods saga certainly has many facets:
1. Elin and the kids may or may not have moved out of one multi-million dollar mansion in the exclusive Isleworth community to another multi-million dollar mansion on the other side of the same community. Nothing like having a spare mansion for situations like this. Way to plan ahead, Tiger!
2. Tiger and Elin's current pre-nuptial agreement gives Elin a cool $20 million if they remain married for ten years. That's nearly $6,000 per day. Of course, the original pre-nup is currently being re-negotiated. $6,000 doesn't buy what it used to.
3. The only endorsement cancelled so far is one for a sports drink called "Tiger's Focus". Gatorade stated that they were planning to ditch the drink even before the recent scandal due to poor sales. It's hard to believe that golfers would pass up the traditional vodka, gin, and beer to improve focus on that big putt. After all, golfers lose valuable electrolytes riding around on a cart and rising every minute or so to strike those oh-so-heavy balls.
4. It's a subtle point, but the Cadillac Escalade that Tiger cracked up on Thanksgiving night was apparently just one of a small fleet of luxury cars that General Motors owns and gave to Tiger for his use. General Motors sheds thousands of jobs but figures that Joe the Plumber will want to drive a Buick because Tiger Woods does. This makes as much sense as General Electric providing fresh flowers every day for former CEO Jack Welch's luxury NYC apartment just in case a potential customer might drop in.
The rich get richer (and better perks)!
1. Elin and the kids may or may not have moved out of one multi-million dollar mansion in the exclusive Isleworth community to another multi-million dollar mansion on the other side of the same community. Nothing like having a spare mansion for situations like this. Way to plan ahead, Tiger!
2. Tiger and Elin's current pre-nuptial agreement gives Elin a cool $20 million if they remain married for ten years. That's nearly $6,000 per day. Of course, the original pre-nup is currently being re-negotiated. $6,000 doesn't buy what it used to.
3. The only endorsement cancelled so far is one for a sports drink called "Tiger's Focus". Gatorade stated that they were planning to ditch the drink even before the recent scandal due to poor sales. It's hard to believe that golfers would pass up the traditional vodka, gin, and beer to improve focus on that big putt. After all, golfers lose valuable electrolytes riding around on a cart and rising every minute or so to strike those oh-so-heavy balls.
4. It's a subtle point, but the Cadillac Escalade that Tiger cracked up on Thanksgiving night was apparently just one of a small fleet of luxury cars that General Motors owns and gave to Tiger for his use. General Motors sheds thousands of jobs but figures that Joe the Plumber will want to drive a Buick because Tiger Woods does. This makes as much sense as General Electric providing fresh flowers every day for former CEO Jack Welch's luxury NYC apartment just in case a potential customer might drop in.
The rich get richer (and better perks)!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Every Parent's Nightmare
Modern youth (and the youth of the past for that matter) tend to keep vital information from parents:
"That summons from the State Police? Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got pulled over for speeding last week."
"By the way, they needed chaperones for the prom tonight and I signed you up, Mom and Dad. I get a free ticket."
"That smell coming from the basement? Well, this cat followed me home last week and it was so cute. I locked it in the furnace room and I guess I forgot about it."
A Colorado Dad nearly experienced every parent's worst nightmare last week. The Associated Press reported that a woman tried to use a ski pass with the photo of a man at Keystone Resort. She claimed that it was truly her ski pass and that she was in the midst of a sex change which explained her lack of resemblance to the burly, bearded individual pictured on the pass. The authorities then phoned the pass-holder's number and got his father who was "shocked" to hear that his son was having a sex change. He eventually got to the bottom of the situation. It turned out that the son had loaned his pass to his girlfriend.
Modern youth, please note - If you undergo gender change, please inform Mom and Dad.
"That summons from the State Police? Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got pulled over for speeding last week."
"By the way, they needed chaperones for the prom tonight and I signed you up, Mom and Dad. I get a free ticket."
"That smell coming from the basement? Well, this cat followed me home last week and it was so cute. I locked it in the furnace room and I guess I forgot about it."
A Colorado Dad nearly experienced every parent's worst nightmare last week. The Associated Press reported that a woman tried to use a ski pass with the photo of a man at Keystone Resort. She claimed that it was truly her ski pass and that she was in the midst of a sex change which explained her lack of resemblance to the burly, bearded individual pictured on the pass. The authorities then phoned the pass-holder's number and got his father who was "shocked" to hear that his son was having a sex change. He eventually got to the bottom of the situation. It turned out that the son had loaned his pass to his girlfriend.
Modern youth, please note - If you undergo gender change, please inform Mom and Dad.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Beautiful Feet
The newspaper ad read, "Give yourself the gift of beautiful feet". It included a photo of admittedly attractive feet attached to not-so-bad legs on a beach somewhere. My interest was piqued. Lord knows my lumpy body, wrinkled face, receding hair, and unfashionable swimsuit are not going to turn many heads on the beach, but with feet like that, I'll have the beach bunnies trailing after me like Tiger Woods' former girlfriends cashing in on the current news cycle. Apparently, the demand for face lifts, nose jobs, and breast enhancements has tanked along with the economy. Plastic surgeons are now expanding their business to previously-unexploited body parts, like feet. "Let's just straighten this little piggie who went to market, trim that arch, and plump up that heel pad. You know, Michael Jackson had this same surgery. You'll be ready for that new pair of stilettos in no time!" It was a clever advertising ploy to use the phrase, "Give yourself the gift...". Plastic surgery is not exactly on par with jewelry as the typically thoughtful, sentimental gift exchanged between lovers on Christmas morn. Sobbing, "You think my feet are ugly, don't you? This is your way of saying it, you swine! Cook your own Christmas dinner!"
Plastic surgery, the gift that keeps on giving (preferably to yourself).
Plastic surgery, the gift that keeps on giving (preferably to yourself).
Thursday, December 3, 2009
The Blind Side
What makes a perfect Thanksgiving Weekend movie?
Pouty teen vampires and werewolves? Actually, that formula would work any old weekend.
How about box office gold Sandra Bullock portraying a spunky, take-charge (as if Sandra has ever played any other type) Southern belle who takes in a black orphan, teaches him everything he needs to know about football (white Southern women know tons about the gridiron while black guys know little which explains why NFL rosters are packed with Scarlett O'Hara types), and sets him on the path to a million dollar pro football contract? That, my friend, is the plot of the movie that very nearly outdrew the doomed romance of Edward and Bella over the holiday weekend. Football draws the guys. Spunky Sandra draws the female demographic. It's perfect.
In a remarkable side story, the actor who played the football star actually lost over 100 pounds for the role. Quinton Aaron went from 475 lbs to 350 lbs prior to filming. Quinton sweated out the equivalent of Sandra Bullock's weight. Quinton went from the mass of a typical American family (185 lb Dad, 140 lb Mom, 100 lb Josh and 50 lb Tiffany) to the weight of the same family, pre-kids, but with a 25 lb Shih Tzu.
Previously, Quinton's "blind side" was the size of the Chrysler Building. During filming, it was down to the size of a your average Cineplex screen.
Better yet, even the smaller Quinton made those of us who gorged ourselves on Thanksgiving dinner feel better about our bloated bodies. The persect Thanksgiving movie, indeed.
Pouty teen vampires and werewolves? Actually, that formula would work any old weekend.
How about box office gold Sandra Bullock portraying a spunky, take-charge (as if Sandra has ever played any other type) Southern belle who takes in a black orphan, teaches him everything he needs to know about football (white Southern women know tons about the gridiron while black guys know little which explains why NFL rosters are packed with Scarlett O'Hara types), and sets him on the path to a million dollar pro football contract? That, my friend, is the plot of the movie that very nearly outdrew the doomed romance of Edward and Bella over the holiday weekend. Football draws the guys. Spunky Sandra draws the female demographic. It's perfect.
In a remarkable side story, the actor who played the football star actually lost over 100 pounds for the role. Quinton Aaron went from 475 lbs to 350 lbs prior to filming. Quinton sweated out the equivalent of Sandra Bullock's weight. Quinton went from the mass of a typical American family (185 lb Dad, 140 lb Mom, 100 lb Josh and 50 lb Tiffany) to the weight of the same family, pre-kids, but with a 25 lb Shih Tzu.
Previously, Quinton's "blind side" was the size of the Chrysler Building. During filming, it was down to the size of a your average Cineplex screen.
Better yet, even the smaller Quinton made those of us who gorged ourselves on Thanksgiving dinner feel better about our bloated bodies. The persect Thanksgiving movie, indeed.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
The Want Ads
The Help Wanted Ads offer rather distasteful job openings nowadays. "Grease trap cleaner wanted. Night shift only." "Landfill equipment operator needed. Sense of smell not required." "Repairman required to replace doors during Incredible Doorbuster Sale. Ability to avoid being trampled underfoot a must."
Imagine the response to this ad, "VIP Hostess needed. Responsibilities include shepherding celebrities to private rooms at exclusive nightclubs and diverting the public. That's about it. Resemblance to Angelina Jolie and free time to fly off to Melbourne for the Australian Masters Golf Tournament a plus. Contact T. Woods."
If I were seeking someone to guide me to the VIP Room and keep the paparazzi at bay, I'd choose a 300 lb guy named Vito. That's why I'm not Tiger Woods. He chose Rachel Uchitel who met the requirements above.
Our girl Rachel responded to scurrilous rumors during an exclusive interview with that paragon of journalism, the New York Post. "I've always been Director of VIP Services. That's my job - to know these people, to hang out with them. That doesn't mean having sex with them." When asked why she flew to Australia while Tiger was there, she stated that she was there with friends "on business."
That must be some nightclub if its VIP Room is in Australia. "Welcome, Mr Woods. Will you take your bottle of Kristal at the bar here in New York or in our VIP Room in Melbourne? Rachel will escort you on your 22 hour flight."
Time heals all wounds and the American public has a very short attention span. Come the New Year, this will all be forgotten and Tiger Woods can earn a cool one billion(!) in endorsements and appearance fees in 2010 just like he did in 2009. It would really be helpful, though, if Tiger would lay a small portion of that billion on Miss Rachel to keep her mouth shut. Let the story die. It would also be helpful to avoid your golf club swinging wife there, Big Guy.
Imagine the response to this ad, "VIP Hostess needed. Responsibilities include shepherding celebrities to private rooms at exclusive nightclubs and diverting the public. That's about it. Resemblance to Angelina Jolie and free time to fly off to Melbourne for the Australian Masters Golf Tournament a plus. Contact T. Woods."
If I were seeking someone to guide me to the VIP Room and keep the paparazzi at bay, I'd choose a 300 lb guy named Vito. That's why I'm not Tiger Woods. He chose Rachel Uchitel who met the requirements above.
Our girl Rachel responded to scurrilous rumors during an exclusive interview with that paragon of journalism, the New York Post. "I've always been Director of VIP Services. That's my job - to know these people, to hang out with them. That doesn't mean having sex with them." When asked why she flew to Australia while Tiger was there, she stated that she was there with friends "on business."
That must be some nightclub if its VIP Room is in Australia. "Welcome, Mr Woods. Will you take your bottle of Kristal at the bar here in New York or in our VIP Room in Melbourne? Rachel will escort you on your 22 hour flight."
Time heals all wounds and the American public has a very short attention span. Come the New Year, this will all be forgotten and Tiger Woods can earn a cool one billion(!) in endorsements and appearance fees in 2010 just like he did in 2009. It would really be helpful, though, if Tiger would lay a small portion of that billion on Miss Rachel to keep her mouth shut. Let the story die. It would also be helpful to avoid your golf club swinging wife there, Big Guy.
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