Hot Tub Funnel Cake

Sometimes there is an amusing synchronicity to the news of the day. In News Item #1, Portfolio.com rated the Allentown metro area as the 54th "most fun" in the US, well behind NYC, Chicago, and Miami but beating out Provo, Utah by a considerable margin. News Item #2 notes that MTV's "Jersey Shore" crew is currently filming Season 2 in South Beach.

Clearly, the hit MTV show is working its way down the list of "fun" locations. It may take 54 "seasons", but Snooki, The Situation, and the gang will be setting up their hot tub-equipped pad on Hamilton Street at some point. In many ways, the "Jersey Shore" gang will fit right in here. Big '80s hair? Check. Tendency to underdress? Check.

Problems may arise when the Jersey Shore guys invite their Lehigh Valley guests into the hot tub. "What is that, guys? Can we fill it with cooking oil and make really big funnel cakes? Didn't I see something like that popping out fastnachts at the Trexlertown Fire Company? You want us to go in it? Ew-w--w"

The Jersey Shore gang takes pride in their svelte physical appearance. After a season's worth of Yocco's hot dogs and Ezra Groman's baked goods, they may have to don the Lehigh Valley uniform of stretch polyester.

Will Jersey Shore survive the Lehigh Valley? I can't wait to find out.

Bark at the Park

With both the Phillies and the Yankees on the West Coast last week, my nightly baseball "fix" came via a telecast of the Reading Phillies versus the Richmond Flying Squirrels.

Flying Squirrels? What has become of our proud tradition of macho minor league team nicknames? "Go out there and be Lions, Tigers, or Bears (Oh my!)" is now "Soar like a flying rodent!" "Beware! Those big, bad Flying Squirrels are coming to town" doesn't present a fearful image.

Of course, cutesy team nicknames are all part of minor league marketing nowadays. Kids clamor for Iron Pig snouts here in the Lehigh Valley. Toledo Mud Hen gear is, no doubt, a real conversation starter among sports aficionados.

Perusing the internet for amusing minor league baseball team names, I found what may be the ultimate promotion. The Trenton Thunder (good name, that) celebrates its fourth annual Bark at the Park Night this year. Patrons bring their pooches to the ballpark which features a concourse packed with pet vendor exhibits, doggie games, and lots and lots of treats. The highlight occurs when one lucky dog competes in a canine cash scramble. If the bow-wow can choose one lucky tennis ball amidst the hundred scattered across the infield, it will win a $10,000 prize. That will buy a lot of kibble!

The pooches (and their owners) are restricted to a certain section of seating which must please the clean-up crew. Presumably, the area is well-equipped with shoe-cleaning devices. One cannot have a trail of doggie-doo being deposited as humans make their way to the rest rooms.

The Trenton Thunder's symbol is, in fact, a golden retriever, so "Bark at the Park" really works for them. The Richmond club might have a problem if they decide on a similar promotion. Opening their ballyard to flying squirrels and their owners might cause a massive freak-out during the 7th inning stretch when the rodents take flight in search of prizes. "E-e-ek! There's a bat or something caught in my hair! Let's get out of here."

Do Over Response

CEOs must dread encountering their shareholders at the Annual Meeting much like high school guys fear meeting their prom date's Dad. You never know what questions you'll be asked and your answers will probably come out all wrong anyway.

Scott Fainor, CEO of National Penn Bank (second-largest in the Lehigh Valley) probably wished for a "do-over" response after yesterday's Annual Shareholders Meeting. The troops were up in arms. Management cut dividends from $0.17 per share last year to $0.01 this year in order "to weather a once-in-a-generation storm" while simultaneously giving Mr Fainor a 21% salary boost to $540K. "You cut dividends and gave yourselves pay raises! What gives?" was Question #1 at the Meeting.

Scott could have responded, "Look, we only made $0.02 per share last quarter. Back when we were making $1.50 per share, we could hand out $0.17 of it as dividends and be OK. We can't stay in business with half of our profits going out the door as dividends. About my pay, I'm making the same as the CEO you had last year. That "raise" is because I got promoted. Even if I accepted no salary this year, it wouldn't mean one-tenth of a cent of additional profit per share for the bank and would have no effect on dividends."

That's the answer he should have given, The one he actually gave was, "I know it's painful. I am also a shareholder. I am aligned with the shareholders." To which the shareholders might logically respond, "Yeah, but we don't make $540K per year and we need that dividend money to live on."

Poor Scott! Faced with the traditional "Where are you going after the prom?', High School Scott probably would have answered, "I understand your concern. I'm practically a father to my dog Rover. Just because the back of my car is loaded down with booze and beach gear doesn't mean we're heading to the Shore. I'm with you, Dad!"

Identifying with your audience isn't always the best response. Do it over, Scott.

The Name Game (Again)

Imagine the improved efficiency in our society if everyone had an easy-to-spell name. Ed Wolczimienski, a childhood neighbor, always used the pseudonym "Ed Smith" when telephoning the doctor, pharmacy, or pizza delivery. The pizza would be cold by the time Domino's figured out how to spell Wolczimienski.

I have spent many a frustrating moment on the phone explaining, "No it's not Duston. It's D-U-F as in Frank-T-O-N." Often, the phonetic spelling doesn't work anyway and the more-alert UPS guys will take back the package, "This is addressed to Duston and you're signing Dufton."

Why then would parents spell their children's first names in an unusual manner? High school girl soccer stars written up in today's paper include:

Tiffani - OK, the old "i" for "y" switcheroo has been going on forever. Would "Linda" Carter have been half as impressive a Wonder Woman as "Lynda" Carter?

Jacelin - I'm not even sure how to pronounce, let alone spell this one.

Aislinn - No, it's not Aslan like the Lion, it's Aislinn with two "n"s. The medical office receptonist is sure to screw this one up.

Ellisabeth - This might be a problem for a first grade teacher trying to fill out her class roll. "Is that Elizabeth like the queen?" No. "How about Elisabeth like the irritating co-host on "The View"? No. "Oh, let's just call you Liz."

Of course, unconventional name spelling has been with us forever. Even the ultra-simple "Ed" was once spelled "Edd" by the immortal Edd "Kookie" Burns, star of '50s television. Perhaps, Tiffani, Jacelin, Aislinn, and Ellisabeth will also use their names as vehicles to stardom.

Be Very Afraid

A common plot device in low-budget horror movies of the '50s was the seemingly innocuous doll or ventriloquist's dummy that comes to evil life and wreaks havoc on the innocent. Its first victim was usually the chief tormentor of its child owner which led to more than a few sleepless nights. I was sure that my sister's Barbie was growing fangs after I had "inadvertently" dunked her a few times in the swimming pool that day. Surely, the next morning would find me eviscerated and Barbie's Dream House slathered in my blood. Must stay awake. Must stay awake.

Those memories returned with KIA Motor's TV commercials featuring dolls come to life. A cloth monkey, what appears to be a giant red pickle, a robot, and a Teddy Bear somehow morph to human size and drive a KIA down the strip in Vegas to the driving beat of a disco song. The monkey rides a mechanical bull and gets a tattoo. The Giant Pickle makes a spare with the assistance of an exploding bowling ball. The Robot logically does "The Robot" at what appears to be an exclusive dance club. The Teddy Bear does nothing though I could see him raiding the live fish tank at a trendy restaurant in KIA Commercial - The Sequel.

All in all, these inanimate objects are having more fun in a 60 second commercial than I have had in 62 years of human life. Is it because I have never driven a KIA?

The scariest aspect of the commercial is when the disco beat ceases and we see the dolls returned to their original dimensions and being strapped into a KIA. The KIA starts up. The disco beat resumes and the camera closes in on the dolls who I just know will achieve human proportions and inhuman strength, gain control of the vehicle, drive to Las Vegas, and resume their hedonistic ways.

Be afraid, people. Be very afraid. The innocent-appearing doll Chucky spread blood and gore through several cinematic sequels and could not be destroyed. What chance do we have against four (count 'em, four) dolls-come-to-life now that they have tasted human pleasures.

Forgive Us, Mother Earth

It's a long time between Valentine's and Mother's Day. What can a restaurant do to inflate its profits with a "Must Dine Out" occasion?

The Starfish Brasserie in Bethlehem decided to observe Earth Day with a "Special Green Event - Mind, Body, Spirit, Earth". For a mere $35 per person (reservations required), diners get appetizers, a one-hour Meditation Session, and a three-course dinner. Quoting from the Starfish's ad, "Join us in an evening to celebrate the Harmony of our Human Spiritual Connection with Mother Earth. Holistic wellness instructors will lead us in an hour-long session of meditation, movement, and music, followed by dinner."

Maybe this would work in San Francisco or New York's Upper East Side, but we are talking blue-collar Lehigh Valley here. We sit down at a restaurant and that bread basket and salad had better there quickly or the wait staff's tip is down to 10% at best. If we want meditation, movement, and music followed by dinner, we'll go to Cirque de Soleil and stop at Yocco's on the way home. As a practical matter, won't the Harmony of our Human Spiritual Connection with Mother Earth be disturbed by excessive stomach growling as we wait out that interminable hour until the grub is on the table? Won't most of us be meditating on how great a funnel cake would taste right now? Wouldn't most of us prefer our post-meditation movement and music be lifting our lighters in the air and swaying to "Freebird"?

The irony here is that the Starfish is in the Hotel Bethlehem, "located in the heart of historic Bethlehem". In three short months, the heart of historic Bethlehem will be the site of Musik (with a k) fest, that riotous celebration of ethnic music, deep-fried foods, and drunkeness. Perhaps this Special Green Event is not so much a celebration of Earth Day as expiation for vomiting partially digested fried Twinkies and Oreos on Bethlehem's sidewalks by Fest patrons. Forgive us, Mother Earth, for we shall sin.

Dramatic, Unique, and Inappropriate

Sidebar ads in "The New Yorker" include pretentious clothing "Cashmere Watch Caps", jewelry "Your anniversary date in Roman numerals!", and, surprisingly, legal help for immigrants "Green Cards, Deportation, Criminal Aliens. We handle it all.".

Then there is Art Glass Memorials advertising "Dramatic and unique handblown glass cremation urns." The ad includes a photo of a yellow and red bird-shaped container that appears to be just the thing for one caught up in the Phoenix Myth. But what would be the appropriate occasion to give a cremation urn to a loved one?

"Sorry, Gramps. The hospital gift shop was fresh out of flowers and balloons, but here's a dramatic cremation urn to brighten up your room."

"Happy birthday, Grandma! I know that you always appreciate practical gifts, so here's a unique cremation urn. You've got to admit it's something you'll need eventually unlike those cross-country skis I got you last year."

Happy anniversary, dear. This year, I decided to give you this lovely cremation urn. Oh look! It's wrapped in a life insurance application form with me listed as your beneficiary!"

Let's face it. There is no appropriate occasion for the gift of a cremation urn, dramatic and unique though it may be.

Starch

This Week's Dinner Specials at a local restaurant include "starch and two vegetables" with the featured entree'. Starch, in restaurant parlance, means "your choice of potatoes, rice, or some funky Middle Eastern thing to soak up your gravy"

To those who served in the military forty years ago, starch has a much more sinister meaning, one that would send us screaming from any restaurant offering it. Some genius in the Pentagon decided that a liberal application of laundry starch was just the thing to keep the "fatigues" that we wore every day looking sharp. At the local commanding officer's whim, the post laundry would return our fatigues so starched that they would literally crinkle like paper. As the day wore on, our perspiration would dissolve the starch into viscous, milky rivulets that would course down our bodies until trapped at our belt or ankle lines. Belt and ankle rash were as common among GIs of that era as bikini lines are among Tanning Studio patrons today.

GI Joe began his day facing several ordeals. Making his bunk "so tight that a half dollar bounces off it" was a challenge. Running a mile in combat boots before breakfast was never a treat. Still, inserting his body into starched fatigues was oft-times the toughest thing he had to do all day. Imagine forcing your toes, then your foot, and finally your leg through the corrugations in a sheet of cardboard at 5 A.M. while your Drill Sargeant screamed at you to get into formation right now or the whole lot of you will be doing push-ups until noon.

When I left the Army, I promised myself that I would never again sleep on the ground, drive a standard shift, drink coffee, or wear starched clothing. I have from time to time violated the first three of those pledges. I will hold to Pledge #4 until my dying day though.

Easy Loading

Responding to Sarah Palin's cry of "Don't retreat, reload!", Eagle Arms of Breinigsville offered just what real Americans need in a newspaper ad last Saturday. For a mere $89.95, patriots can purchase a "Romanian AK-47 Round Drum with a capacity of seventy-five 7.62 mm bullets in the Chinese style with a hinged back for easy loading."

Apparently, "Buy American" doesn't apply to assault weapon accessories. When those liberal elitists come marching down our streets "jamming health care down our throats" or taking the census, we have got to be prepared to greet them with a shower of hot lead even if it comes from a Romanian drum based on a Chinese design. The Second Amendment doesn't say "the right to bear American-made arms". We can be flexible here.

More important, seventy-five rounds just may not be sufficient to beat back those socialists. We should purchase a second drum so we can keep firing while little Josh or Tiffany re-loads the first. It does have that hinged back for easy loading after all.

And why shouldn't a weapon be easy to load, in fact, so easy "that a child could do it"? We already have car insurance "so easy a caveman could do it".

Giant Inflatable Gnomes!

The classified ads are a source of wonderment. What is the story behind "Wedding Dress, Size 14, Never Worn"? Was this "The Case of the Faithless Fiance" or "We decided to elope to Las Vegas and the dress just didn't fit into the Elvis theme for our wedding"?

How complete is the story revealed in "Book For Sale - Liberace - Complete Life Story. Copyright 1954"? How different would it be from the posthumous 1987 version that explained the real reason behind those jewel-encrusted capes and the candelabra on the piano?

Today's classifieds include "Giant Inflatable Gnome - For your home, office, or backyard. Great gift item. Inflates to 36" high, so it's sure to get everyone's attention." That's for sure. Nothing denotes professionalism in office decor more than a giant inflatable gnome next to your mahogany desk and ficus tree. All the successful CEOs have one! "We were going to get you a gazing ball for your office on Boss's Day, but we were worried that Saruman would use it to spy on the company. Then we thought about a set of pink flamingos but they wouldn't anchor in your plush carpet. This giant, inflatable gnome seemed perfect. You can use his pointy hat as a spindle for notes and messages."

Actually, isn't giant gnome a contradiction in terms not unlike jumbo shrimp or military intelligence? Once those bearded, pointy-hatted guys reach 36 inches high, they lose that cute, winsome quality and become downright scary. If we set the minimum height for a "giant" at 7 feet tall, a towering gnome would cause a frightened stampede from any venue other than a basketball arena.

Perhaps the true place for giant gnomes is, in fact, the office. The co-worker "drop-by and chat" negatively impacts office productivity more than Fantasy Football or Girl Scout Cookie Sales. When Joe Cubicle really needs to concentrate on that quarterly report, all he's got to do is blow up his giant gnome and potential interrupters will flee in panic. Joe can work in solitude.

The Fall of the Viking Empire

Historians have long pondered how Vikings went from being the warlike Scourge of Europe in the Middle Ages to the placid, Danish pastry-eating, IKEA furniture-making folk that we know today. Some credit it to Christianity though it's hard to believe that only Scandanavians took that whole "turn the other cheek" thing seriously. Others note that a mini-Ice Age that kicked in around 1200 AD took the starch out of the once-feared Norsemen. It's difficult to pillage when you are shivering. Those of us who fondly recall the beer commercials featuring the Swedish Bikini Team are sure that the advent of the two-piece swimsuit led to the Vikings staying home.

"Hey Erik, let's sail off to England and loot a castle or two."

"Forget it, Lars. Those British girls won't get into their micro-miniskirts for 900 years. Have you checked out Helga down the fjord lately?"

Last week, the real reason came out. Workers at Copenhagen's Carlsberg Beer Company walked off the job in protest when management removed beer coolers from the workplace and limited free beer consumption to lunch time in the cafeteria. Previously, workers could help themselves to beer throughout the day. The only restriction was that workers could not be visibly drunk while on duty.

Christianity and a mini-Ice Age are one thing. Even the Swedish Bikini Team might not be enough to calm that warlike Viking spirit. But free beer at work? I'll stay home and make pastries and IKEA furniture.

Our Song

Last night's episode of "Glee" included a semi-believable plot twist. It was not that high school kids instantaneously achieve perfect choreography, costumes, and live background musicians for several "numbers" per show. Nor was it that the teachers and students are always in the hallways sorting out their personal problems rather than in class. The plot twist that struck a personal chord was when the Glee Club's coach's estranged wife torpedoed his blossoming affair with the Guidance Counselor by noting that Coach "Shoe" recycled the theme song from their (his and the estranged wife's) prom as their (his and the Guidance Counselor's) song.

Back in my Chauferring the Middle School Girls From the Friday Night Movies Days, I recall much discussion from the back of the minivan regarding the Prom of Their Dreams. One girl sighed, "You'll always remember the last song that is played at your Senior Prom." I barely suppressed a cynical guffaw. Then, I realized that I had no idea what my Senior Prom's theme song might have been. I fondly recalled Rufus Thomas' "Walkin' the Dog" and Sam the Sham's "Wooly Bully", but those could not have been it. Rufus and Sam lacked the requisite sentimentality.

It must have been something by the Righteous Brothers, and in my and my buddies' quest for alcohol that night, it had slipped my memory, Apparently, I cheated myself of that fondest of high school memories. On the other hand, "Walkin' the Dog" remains eligible as "Our Song" should I ever need one.

One Lump or Two?

An incumbent takes on a Tea Party challenger in a public debate with some degree of trepidation. Last week, our erstwhile Republican US Representative, Charlie Dent, faced the Tea Party's Matt Beniol before a crowd of 400. Charlie should have little to fear. After all, he stood four square against the Health Care Plan and fears "large scale programs that are akin to European-style government that he doesn't want this nation to emulate."

Still, it's tough to counter those Tea Party zingers like "Death Panels", "Viagra for Rapists", and the latest one sprung by Mr Beniol, "I don't want to pay for health care for someone's lazy child who waits until they are 26 to get a job." A proper response might be that the Health Care Bill simply states that a dependent child living at home can be covered under their parent's plan until they are 26. The parents are paying, not the general public, though that clarification ruins a good zinger and would fail to stir up the crowd.

With visions of unemployed 26 year olds participating in Death Panels and receiving free Viagra for their orgaistic life style, the crowd was primed for a "red meat" response from Charlie. "Not only should assault weapons be legal and unregistered, but surplus Army tanks should be given to every American who wants to protect his home!" Now, that would have brought the house down.

Instead, Charlie recommended reducing the maximum corporate tax rate from 35% to 25% as a way to bring jobs back to these shores. What a downer! It may make sense (though reducing taxes since the Reagan Era hasn't exactly brought Bethlehem Steel and Mack Trucks back to the Lehigh Valley) but it fell flat with the Tea Party crowd.

Debate with the Tea Party and be prepared to take a lump (or two).

What People Earn

Sunday's "Parade" newspaper supplement featured "What People Earn" wherein a small photo of common and famous individuals is captioned with their name, age, occupation, hometown, and what they made last year.

DeeAnn Cushman, a medical marijuana provider from Oregon hauled in a mere $17,000 last year. If she dealt in non-medical marijuana, she could make that in a week!

Elizabeth Kelley, a modern dancer from Utah earned a cool $23,000 in 2009. Liz, trade in that leotard for pasties and a g-string, change your name to something exotic like Blaze, and go into exotic dancing! You'll make $23,000 in a month or two (although maybe not in Utah)!

Craig Takagishi from California cashed in at $84,000 as a "Math / Martial Arts Teacher". On the surface that sounds like an unusual double certification, but it may be just what is needed to bring America's youth to the forefront in today's competitive, math-oriented world. "Lance, recite the Pythagorean Theorem correctly or I'll toss you through this blackboard!" It may be just the incentive to match the academic performance of those Asian and European kids.

Taylor Swift, age 20, hauled in a cool $17 million last year as a country music artist. Ponder this. If Ms Swift never made another penny, she could live on $500,000 per year until she is 54.

Taylor was out-earned by John Stumpf, CEO of Wells Fargo, who overcame his comical surname to make $18 million last year. The "Stumpfer" is 56. He has nine long years left until he's eligible for Medicare though his 2009 salary allows him $2 million per year to cover any medical expenses he may have until he hits 65. I wonder how John feels about Obama Care.

In an interesting juxtaposition, two of 2010's sexual celebrities made the "Parade" list. Tiger Woods made $110 million last year while "Snooki" of MTV's Jersey Shore fame settled for $2,200. This is a prime example of sexism! Tiger hooks up with every skank that crosses his path but retains his sponsorships and his bank account (after legal fees). "Snooki" hooks up with every other Guido strolling along the boardwalk. Her income is below the poverty line (That's the 1960 poverty line) and she is reduced to making "personal appearances" at car dealerships and bar Happy Hours. The "Glass Ceiling" exists even in pop culture.

Ballpark Promotions

What if the Reading Phillies expanded their Gluttony Night promotion to cover the remaining Seven Deadly Sins? Sloth was covered yesterday.

For Wrath Night, they could seat Tea Partiers next to Limousine Liberals and play Sarah Palin film clips on the message board after the visitor's half of each inning followed by Nancy Pelosi's Greatest Hits after the home team's half. That should stir up the crowd more than ads for upcoming games or "Support Our Sponsor - Heffelfinger's Auto Salvage and Discotheque", Of course, no ballpark promotion is complete without a give-away. The Tea Partiers might receive toy AK-47s to threaten the Obama supporters while the Liberals would get their very own copy of the Health Care Bill with special coverage for a truss if they attempt to lift the massive tome.

Greed Night would involve a pre-game competition between a team of local hedge fund managers opposed by a squad of two year-olds. The hedge fund managers would recklessly dabble in the sub-prime mortgage market with other peoples' money and lose their shirts. The two year-olds would recklessly ravage the food concessions and souvenir stands with Mom and Dad's money and spend it all. The crowd would then vote on which team was less grateful - the hedge fund managers or the tots. "Too Big To Fail" versus "Too Cute To Fail" - let the people decide!

Pride Night has been done to death. Depending on the area's demographics, baseball teams have had Italian Heritage Pride Night, Puerto Rican Pride Night, and even Gay Pride Night. For a change of pace, the Reading Phillies might consider Lion Pride Night wherein a lucky fan receives a pride of lions. This is not the group of middle-aged guys who meet every Wednesday for lunch at a local hotel and discuss good works for the community, but a group of actual carnivores who meet daily at the local watering hole to savagely dismember and consume any creature smaller than they are. "Mom, can I keep them? I promise I'll feed them an antelope every day and I'll make sure that they never get at the baby."

Envy and Lust Nights can be combined. The ball club would offer free admission to "dancers" from the local gentlemen's club. The ladies would perform free lap dances for lucky patrons between innings magnified for all to see on the Jumbotron. The envy and lust will flow like Niagara Falls! Concession sales will plummet and the teams on the field may not even bother to warm up, but if the Reading Phillies season is not going well, the chance for a free lap dance will certainly increase attendance.

Equipment, apparel, and bobblehead giveaways are passe'. Ethnic Pride Nights are so 20th century. Baseball needs to embrace the seven deadly sins to regain the public's interest.

Gluttony Night

Last night, I saw a TV commercial touting "Gluttony Night" at the Reading Phillies. For a mere $15, attendees at a mid-week game get all the hamburgers, hot dogs, pizza, and, get this, funnel cake (!) they can eat. "Now, Josh, your Dad paid 15 whole dollars to get you into this game and you've only eaten five funnel cakes. You have to eat two and a half more before we break even. I want to see that powdered sugar flying."

Leave it to a minor league baseball team's promotions department to come up with a unique (and might I add area-appropriate) idea. After all, give aways have been done to death what with Bat Day, Hat Night, Bobble Head Day and the like. They are running out of ethnic groups to honor. "Monday night is Irish-American Night at the Phillies featuring step dancers and aggressive drunks clustered around the beer stands. Tuesday Night is Mohican Indian Night. Any fan accompanied by a full-blooded Mohican Indian gets free admission to the game and a copy of the best-selling book, "OK, So There Were A Few Mohicans Left And They Opened A Casino, So What? Ever Heard Of Literary License, Smart Guy!" by James Fenimore Cooper III.

Why not have Seven Deadly Sins promotions at the ballpark through the season? The Reading Phillies already figured out the promotion for "gluttony". "Sloth" might be fun. Attendees in a special sloth section of the ballpark would be literally fastened to their seats. Trays of piping hot funnel cake and french fries would be passed beneath their noses, but if you chomp down, you lose. They would be allowed to sip unlimited amounts of soda through a straw, but if they get up for a potty break, it's all over. The surviving contestant would win an all-expenses paid trip to the Amazon basin to hang out with real sloths.

Two down, five to go! To be continued...

Jesse James Strikes Again

Namesakes of Jesse James have been in the news lately. Sandra Bullock's husband of that name is all over the celebrity magazines with his tattoo model girlfriend. Now the Lehigh Valley is getting into the act.

Last week, Allentown's Jesse James Riddick was arrested for robbing a gas station convenience store. Our modern Jesse could have taken a few pointers from his 19th century desperado namesake. Mr Riddick told the cashier that he had a gun, demanded money, and made a clean getaway. So far, so good. Unfortunately, he failed to disguise himself and appeared at the same store at the same time the following day to purchase lottery tickets and cigarettes with his ill-gotten gains from the same cashier. The cashier notified police and J.J. was tossed in the slammer. There was no report whether the lottery tickets were winners.

Supposedly, criminals always return to the scene of their crime. Apparently, Jesse James Riddick missed Crime 101 class the day when the lesson included the warning to wait a couple of days before that return visit or at least to go to the cashier that you didn't rob the day before.

J.J. will have the opportunity to bone up on his crime studies in prison though. The original Jesse James probably had a rough start to his criminal career as well.

April Angst

March Madness concluded last night in April Angst. Despite our bracket choices being shattered by the likes of hoops powerhouses Northern Iowa and Saint Mary's of California (as opposed to Southwestern Iowa and Saint Mary's of Idaho), we continued watching the games religiously on TV.

In my case, I followed the Tournament to its bitter end seeking the answers to these questions:

1. Why are there male cheerleaders? When I was an undergrad, I would have leaped at the chance to hoist a lovely female cheer babe above my head though I would have had second thoughts about wearing a dorky uniform and carrying a megaphone. Surely, there's an iPad app that would allow me to project my voice in a better fashion than a cardboard cone that was probably filled with popcorn at one time. Also, I'm not sure that "male cheerleader" is what will "wow" the better Law School Admissions Boards under Extracurricular Activities.

2. Why are there flutes in the "Pep Bands"? With 70,000 screaming fans in the stands, a trumpet or trombone has a chance of being heard above the din, but a flute will surely be drowned out. There's a Life Lesson here for you undergraduates. Sometimes, no matter how good you are, you will be lost in the cacophony. Remember this when you enter Corporate America.

3. Am I the only one who is freaked out by the costumed "Burger King" character in those ubiquitous commercials? His face is frozen in a smile resembling Joan Rivers after her most recent botox treatment. Worst of all, he wears white tights and black "Mary Jane" single-strap slippers. He looks like every 4 year old girl at the Pre-School Christmas Pageant from the knees down. Stephen King demonized clowns for a generation with the evil Pennywise in "It". I'm convinced the white-faced, red-haired clown was based on Ronald McDonald and I refused to eat Chicken McNuggets for fear that they would entice me to a sure death down a storm drain. If King were to write "It" today, he would surely describe Pennywise as the frozen-faced, white tights-wearing Burger King. "It" would be a lot scarier.

Legal Sharks

According to an old joke, a doctor, lawyer, and engineer were swimming to shore from a capsized boat through shark-infested waters. Sharks descended on the swimmers and quickly dispatched the doctor and the engineer, but the lawyer made it safely to shore. One shark asked the other, "Why did we let the lawyer go?" The other answered, "Professional courtesy."

Lawyer - sharks are certainly circling the floundering image (and bank account) of Tiger Woods. "Today" reported this morning that Tiger's kindergarten teacher has hired a lawyer to refute charges that he was subjected to racial taunting on his first day of school. Any old lawyer can represent one of Tiger's paramours and haul in a decent settlement. It takes the legal brilliance and chutzpah of Seinfeld's Jackie Chiles to go for a piece of Tiger based on a slight from 5 year olds 25 years ago.

Perhaps we should feel reassured that the American System of Jurisprudence is there to protect us (and at no cost to us unless a settlement is reached as we are constantly reminded on TV commercials). Still, I feel that this is less a shining example of legal protection for an innocent Kindergarten teacher than a money grab by a sharp lawyer. The sharks will continue to circle Tiger until his bank account is drained.

The Youth Culture

I spent more than an hour this morning waiting for a blood test at the Diagnostic Center. This was, of course, the test that requires a 10 hour fast. Like most everyone there, my blood sugar was way down and my irritability level was way up. That irritability level peaked every time some smarty pants strolled directly from the door to the front desk to the Testing Rooms because he / she had an "appointment". Appointment or not, cutting into line should be a capital offense! At the very least, they should emulate Disney World and remove line-cutters from the premises. "Here's a syringe. Go out in the parking lot and draw your own blood, you scum!"

The sole diversion was magazines dating from 2008. After perusing news magazines touting the inevitability of a Mitt Romney vs. Hilary Clinton presidential race, I resorted to reading "Highlights for Children". "The Timbertoes" and "Goofus & Gallant" are as timely in 2010 as they were in 1954.

But why would "Highlights" be on the subscription list of a Diagnostic Center serving almost exclusively senior citizens? "Tiffany, would you like to go to the blood test place with Grandma? They have Highlights magazine there!" is probably not the reason.

Then I noticed the footwear on my waiting room compadres. The last time I saw so many velcro-fastened athletic shoes was in the shoe rack in front of the Ball Pit at Chuck E. Cheese. Either this group's next stop was a Remedial Shoe Lace Tying class or it was a sure sign of the elderly attempting to recapture their distant youth. "I may not look young, but check out these velcro-fastened kicks. And I read Highlights!"

Worship of The Youth Culture has gone too far!

A Cautionary Tale

Yesterday's installment of the Tiger Woods Saga was a cautionary tale to those seeking a career change to inamorata of a professional athlete. It ain't as plush as it seems.

One of Tiger's "friends" gave up a promising career as a Perkins Restaurant hostess (Tiger eats at Perkins? Maybe he was there for the Tuesday dinnertime appearance of Barney the Dinosaur.) only to find herself following him on the golf tour by flying coach on Southwest Airlines. Of course, Tiger paid for her airfare, but one would expect a man earning tens of millions of dollars per year would at least upgrade her to first class on a non-discount airline.

She also revealed that Tiger treated her to a Subway chicken wrap before one of their trysts. Even impoverished high school kids hoping to get lucky would spring for a "$5 foot-long".

It's a well-known fact that the career of a Perkins hostess is a short one. Beauty fades and assigning an equal number of customers to each wait station can be mentally taxing. But to give up delighting kids with crayons and a color-on placemat for the middle seat in the rear of a plane and a Subway chicken wrap is just not worth it even if your "bags fly free".

Perkins hostesses of the world, stand your ground!