With the end of January comes the end of our New Year's Resolutions. The good intention to work off all those holiday goodies in the gym is overcome by mid-winter ennui. "I'll go to the gym when the weather is nicer. Right now, I'll tackle that bowl of chips and watch a little TV."
I was doing precisely that last night feeling guilty as reports of The Obesity Epidemic ran on the news. If only there was a quick and easy way to exercise while keeping up with my favorite telecasts. As I switched channels between a college basketball game, "House", "Monday Night RAW", and "Family Guy", it came to me. Eliminate the remote control.
Back in the day, changing channels required getting up, walking to the TV, bending down, twisting the tuner and walking back to the sofa. Those actions have to be a calorie-burner on par with a minute or two on the StairMaster. I had a 32-inch waist, low blood pressure, and more hair back then, so it must have worked. Well, maybe not the hair part.
The remote control is the Devil's Device. It has put more fat around our waists than Twinkies and Frosted Flakes. Ominously, modern TVs with remote control are no longer manufactured in the good old USA. This is clearly a plot by Sony (Japan) and LG (Korea) to make us fat and docile before they take over the world. They could not have done it when we kept fit with remote-less American-manufactured TV sets.
Abandon your remote controls. Do it for your health. Better yet, do it for America.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Eat or Be Eaten
Even our feathered friends want a shot at the public notoriety that comes with being a part of the Super Bowl.
The National Chicken Council (Imagine White Leghorns in business attire gathered around a large conference table) submitted a press release this week. It crowed that Americans will consume one hundred million pounds of chicken products on Super Bowl Sunday which "if laid end-to-end would circle the Earth more than twice." Saturn has its rings of interstellar dust. Finally, Earth has a ring or two of poultry products and ours goes well with honey mustard dipping sauce..
As a patriotic American, I will, of course, consume my allotted share of chicken products on Super Bowl Sunday. I have a few questions for the National Chicken Council, however. While I chow down on a dozen wings, what happens to the rest of the chicken? Does my gluttony result in six limb-less and traumatized chickens? Are there prosthetic chicken wings for those poor, wounded birds?
It's been a long time since high school Biology and we never really studied chicken anatomy, but where on the bird are the McNuggets? For that matter, where are the Chicken Fingers? Chicken Fingers implies Chicken Hands. Is Foghorn Leghorn developing opposable thumbs? Should we worry that chickens are catching up to us evolution-wise? If birds are truly descended from dinosaurs, can this be saurian revenge after all these millenia? At some future Chicken - Dinosaur Super Bowl Sunday, will they be consuming one hundred million pounds of Human McNuggets?
I will chow down on old Foghorn while I have the chance.
The National Chicken Council (Imagine White Leghorns in business attire gathered around a large conference table) submitted a press release this week. It crowed that Americans will consume one hundred million pounds of chicken products on Super Bowl Sunday which "if laid end-to-end would circle the Earth more than twice." Saturn has its rings of interstellar dust. Finally, Earth has a ring or two of poultry products and ours goes well with honey mustard dipping sauce..
As a patriotic American, I will, of course, consume my allotted share of chicken products on Super Bowl Sunday. I have a few questions for the National Chicken Council, however. While I chow down on a dozen wings, what happens to the rest of the chicken? Does my gluttony result in six limb-less and traumatized chickens? Are there prosthetic chicken wings for those poor, wounded birds?
It's been a long time since high school Biology and we never really studied chicken anatomy, but where on the bird are the McNuggets? For that matter, where are the Chicken Fingers? Chicken Fingers implies Chicken Hands. Is Foghorn Leghorn developing opposable thumbs? Should we worry that chickens are catching up to us evolution-wise? If birds are truly descended from dinosaurs, can this be saurian revenge after all these millenia? At some future Chicken - Dinosaur Super Bowl Sunday, will they be consuming one hundred million pounds of Human McNuggets?
I will chow down on old Foghorn while I have the chance.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Recycling Day
Walking the dog on Recycling Day is a great way to get to know your neighbors. The dog must "mark his territory" on these strange green containers that were not here yesterday and therefore pose a threat which must be neutralized. While Fido is doing his business, you can't help but notice the container contents. "Must be hard times at the Johnsons. Harry is drinking Pabst instead of Heineken." "Those wine and liquor bottles explain all the noise from the Smiths last Saturday." "Based on the number of pseudoephedrine containers there, the Browns have the worst cases of sinus congestion or that peculiar chemical smell from their house may be of interest to the DEA."
Far and away, the largest component of recyclables are water bottles. One fell out of an overflowing bin and I retrieved it. The label read "Smaller cap. Less plastic. This is part of our on-going effort to reduce our impact on the environment." Of course, drinking filtered tap water would eliminate the entire bottle, save tons of trash, and really help the environment.
Then, in small print, "Cap is a small part and poses a choking hazard particularly for children." So, we have made the cap smaller to protect the environment and in so doing made it a hazard to our children. We care more for the environment than for our children!
Rather than focusing on Mitt's tax return or Newt's marital follies, here is an issue that the Republicans can run on. Clearly, those Euro-socialists in the Obama Administration placed onerous regulations on the job-creating bottled water industry forcing it to reduce its cap size. What's the end result? Kids are choking to death! Not that those pro-abortion Democrats care anyway. All they want is pristine wilderness without job-creating oil pipelines running through it to spoil the view.
One can learn a lot from Recycling Containers.
Far and away, the largest component of recyclables are water bottles. One fell out of an overflowing bin and I retrieved it. The label read "Smaller cap. Less plastic. This is part of our on-going effort to reduce our impact on the environment." Of course, drinking filtered tap water would eliminate the entire bottle, save tons of trash, and really help the environment.
Then, in small print, "Cap is a small part and poses a choking hazard particularly for children." So, we have made the cap smaller to protect the environment and in so doing made it a hazard to our children. We care more for the environment than for our children!
Rather than focusing on Mitt's tax return or Newt's marital follies, here is an issue that the Republicans can run on. Clearly, those Euro-socialists in the Obama Administration placed onerous regulations on the job-creating bottled water industry forcing it to reduce its cap size. What's the end result? Kids are choking to death! Not that those pro-abortion Democrats care anyway. All they want is pristine wilderness without job-creating oil pipelines running through it to spoil the view.
One can learn a lot from Recycling Containers.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Marketing Genius
Marketing is the art of convincing people to buy something they don't necessarily need at a time they don't necessarily want it. I heard a master stroke of marketing on Sports Radio while walking the dog this morning.
"Buy her that engagement ring now and we'll give you a free big screen TV just in time for "The Big Game". (We can't say Super Bowl or we'll have to pay a rights fee.) Complete your purchase of any diamond ring, $2,995 or more in value, this week and we'll guarantee delivery and set up of that big screen TV in plenty of time for all the action."
The jewelry business is nothing if not seasonal. The diamond ring counter is stacked three deep with customers before Christmas and Valentine's Day. In late January, jewelry clerks catch up on their e-mail and play a lot of Angry Birds. Diamonds can be discounted down to zero, but guys wrapped up in the NFL Playoffs won't notice. Their potential fiancees stew in anger (He got me a Cuisinart for Christmas. He calls that a romantic gift?. I'm cutting him off. Not that it matters with those NFL playoff games going on until all hours while he and his idiot buddies drink themselves into oblivion.)
No one is happy. Jewelers have no business. Potential fiancees are frustrated. Guys (when they sober up) wonder why there are sheets and pillows on the couch.
Enter the marketing genius of the free TV with a diamond ring. Jewelers have a third rush season. Girls get that ring before their friends do on Valentine's Day. Guys move back to the bedroom and sheepishly ask, "Why go to your Bridesmaid's house to plan that Bachelorette Party on Super Bowl Night? I'll just have a few of the boys over to catch the game on my new TV."
Everyone is happy.
"Buy her that engagement ring now and we'll give you a free big screen TV just in time for "The Big Game". (We can't say Super Bowl or we'll have to pay a rights fee.) Complete your purchase of any diamond ring, $2,995 or more in value, this week and we'll guarantee delivery and set up of that big screen TV in plenty of time for all the action."
The jewelry business is nothing if not seasonal. The diamond ring counter is stacked three deep with customers before Christmas and Valentine's Day. In late January, jewelry clerks catch up on their e-mail and play a lot of Angry Birds. Diamonds can be discounted down to zero, but guys wrapped up in the NFL Playoffs won't notice. Their potential fiancees stew in anger (He got me a Cuisinart for Christmas. He calls that a romantic gift?. I'm cutting him off. Not that it matters with those NFL playoff games going on until all hours while he and his idiot buddies drink themselves into oblivion.)
No one is happy. Jewelers have no business. Potential fiancees are frustrated. Guys (when they sober up) wonder why there are sheets and pillows on the couch.
Enter the marketing genius of the free TV with a diamond ring. Jewelers have a third rush season. Girls get that ring before their friends do on Valentine's Day. Guys move back to the bedroom and sheepishly ask, "Why go to your Bridesmaid's house to plan that Bachelorette Party on Super Bowl Night? I'll just have a few of the boys over to catch the game on my new TV."
Everyone is happy.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Underlyig Lesson
Everyone has an axe to grind regarding the Penn State situation. With Joe Paterno's death yesterday, the voices are louder and more insistent. "Now that truth can come out!" "Joe died of a broken heart!" "Joe failed in his moral obligation!" "Joe transformed Penn State from a cow college to a respected research university!"
Whatever "the truth" might be, there is an underlying lesson in all of this. Your life, your sense of self-worth, should never be tied to an institution. Joe devoted sixty plus years of his life to Penn State. When things got bad (regardless of whose fault it was), he was dismissed with a phone call.
I devoted thirty years of my life to my employer. I never took all my vacation. I came to work the morning after flying in from a job site at midnight the night before. I worked seven days a week up to eighteen hours a day during construction and start-ups. I never took "comp time". Five days after receiving my 30 year pin, I was "downsized". My boss probably would have preferred to dismiss me with a phone call, but I was sitting in my cubicle at the time wondering why my phone was disconnected.
When times get tough, no matter how much you love the institution, it will not love you back. No matter how many sacrifices you made for it, it will cut you loose if that means its own preservation. As Michael Corleone said in "The Godfather", "It's not personal. It's business."
We all want that Retirement Dinner with the glowing tributes and the gold watch. So few of us actually get it. If anyone in the history of Penn State deserved to be at the head table for that emotional send-off, it was Joe Paterno. But what we deserve from an institution and what we get are often two very different things.
Whatever "the truth" might be, there is an underlying lesson in all of this. Your life, your sense of self-worth, should never be tied to an institution. Joe devoted sixty plus years of his life to Penn State. When things got bad (regardless of whose fault it was), he was dismissed with a phone call.
I devoted thirty years of my life to my employer. I never took all my vacation. I came to work the morning after flying in from a job site at midnight the night before. I worked seven days a week up to eighteen hours a day during construction and start-ups. I never took "comp time". Five days after receiving my 30 year pin, I was "downsized". My boss probably would have preferred to dismiss me with a phone call, but I was sitting in my cubicle at the time wondering why my phone was disconnected.
When times get tough, no matter how much you love the institution, it will not love you back. No matter how many sacrifices you made for it, it will cut you loose if that means its own preservation. As Michael Corleone said in "The Godfather", "It's not personal. It's business."
We all want that Retirement Dinner with the glowing tributes and the gold watch. So few of us actually get it. If anyone in the history of Penn State deserved to be at the head table for that emotional send-off, it was Joe Paterno. But what we deserve from an institution and what we get are often two very different things.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Calling Pod People
We 99%ers seeking inexpensive lodging when we travel have a new and exciting option. A Hong Kong company offers stackable sleeping pods ("It's like Legos!"). Each pod is slightly larger than a twin bed and, this being the 21st century, is Wi-Fi enabled with a computer table, bed, and air-conditioning. A photo accompanying the article describing the pods shows them stacked four across and two high. The article notes that "Some potential customers expressed doubts about the practicality of the coffin-like pods for long-term residence."
Hey, coffins work for vampires' long-term residence and what is more popular nowadays than The Twilight Saga. "Bella, ignore the advances of that muscular werewolf guy. He will make you sleep in a musty, damp den. Join my vampire brethren in an air-conditioned pod. We have Wi-Fi."
My guess is that those balky "potential customers" experienced the joys of Army Basic Training in a WW II vintage barracks. We Basic Trainees slept in bunk beds about three feet apart. Each barracks floor had 60 bunks crammed inside. Walking down the barracks floor after light out to the cacophony of snoring and emission of body gas from 60 individuals was memorable. Enclosing individuals in "pods" will help, of course, but will the "pods" solve the noise and smell problems entirely?
Even if they do, access to the top tier of pods must be via external ladders. Imagine being awakened by some poor top-tier, irritable bladder syndrome afflicted soul clambering up and down a ladder outside your pod repeatedly during the night.
Maybe stackable sleeping pods will be successful, but I'll pay extra for a conventional hotel room.
Hey, coffins work for vampires' long-term residence and what is more popular nowadays than The Twilight Saga. "Bella, ignore the advances of that muscular werewolf guy. He will make you sleep in a musty, damp den. Join my vampire brethren in an air-conditioned pod. We have Wi-Fi."
My guess is that those balky "potential customers" experienced the joys of Army Basic Training in a WW II vintage barracks. We Basic Trainees slept in bunk beds about three feet apart. Each barracks floor had 60 bunks crammed inside. Walking down the barracks floor after light out to the cacophony of snoring and emission of body gas from 60 individuals was memorable. Enclosing individuals in "pods" will help, of course, but will the "pods" solve the noise and smell problems entirely?
Even if they do, access to the top tier of pods must be via external ladders. Imagine being awakened by some poor top-tier, irritable bladder syndrome afflicted soul clambering up and down a ladder outside your pod repeatedly during the night.
Maybe stackable sleeping pods will be successful, but I'll pay extra for a conventional hotel room.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
One-Upmanship
Like most Americans, I studiously avoid the Republican Candidates' Debates. "I'll take your wall along the border and raise you to a double wall!" "I'll take your double wall and electrify it plus I'll add an alligator-filled moat!" "Oh yeah, I'll make high school students clean up the school lavatories to teach them the value of work!" "That's nothing, I'll make them do it on their knees with toothbrushes!" I got my fill of one-upmanship on the schoolyards of my youth.
Sometimes though, juvenile one-upmanship goes beyond mildly amusing to dangerous. Rick Perry stated in Monday's debate that the US should eliminate all aid to long-time ally Turkey and kick it out of NATO because it is ruled by Islamic terrorists. Top that for being tough against Islamofascism, Mitt, Newt, Rick S., or Ron.
The Turkish government immediately condemned Perry's allegations as "unfounded and inappropriate". The US State Department responded, "We absolutely and fundamentally disagree with (Perry's) assessment." Well, for the time being, anyway . If Rick Perry becomes President, Turkey automatically becomes infested with Islamic terrorists because he said so and State Department folks don't want to lose their jobs. How many lost their jobs by disagreeing whether Saddam had Weapons of Mass Destruction because George W. said so?
Alas, it is human nature to live up to other's opinion of you. "You say I'm an obnoxious bully? I'll act like one." The Turkish government might reply, "You say I'm ruled by Islamic terrorists? I'll throw out NATO missle bases keeping an eye on Russia. I'll open my border with Iraq so arms can flow in. Gee, I border Syria, too. Maybe, I'll stir up the pot there. What kind of Islamist terrorist nation would I be without threatening Israel? That always gets a rise out of you guys."
One-upmanship is best left on the schoolyards and out of international relations.
Sometimes though, juvenile one-upmanship goes beyond mildly amusing to dangerous. Rick Perry stated in Monday's debate that the US should eliminate all aid to long-time ally Turkey and kick it out of NATO because it is ruled by Islamic terrorists. Top that for being tough against Islamofascism, Mitt, Newt, Rick S., or Ron.
The Turkish government immediately condemned Perry's allegations as "unfounded and inappropriate". The US State Department responded, "We absolutely and fundamentally disagree with (Perry's) assessment." Well, for the time being, anyway . If Rick Perry becomes President, Turkey automatically becomes infested with Islamic terrorists because he said so and State Department folks don't want to lose their jobs. How many lost their jobs by disagreeing whether Saddam had Weapons of Mass Destruction because George W. said so?
Alas, it is human nature to live up to other's opinion of you. "You say I'm an obnoxious bully? I'll act like one." The Turkish government might reply, "You say I'm ruled by Islamic terrorists? I'll throw out NATO missle bases keeping an eye on Russia. I'll open my border with Iraq so arms can flow in. Gee, I border Syria, too. Maybe, I'll stir up the pot there. What kind of Islamist terrorist nation would I be without threatening Israel? That always gets a rise out of you guys."
One-upmanship is best left on the schoolyards and out of international relations.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Rays Recipe
Baltimore Ravens linebacker Ray Lewis is 36 years old and is still playing at a high level in his 14th year of pro football. With the average career length for a linebacker being five years, what can be Ray's secret?
Mr Lewis credits his career longevity to diet. Ray hasn't eaten fast food in 13 years (Those Chicken McNuggets go straight to his thighs) and he hasn't eaten any pork products over the same period (I've never seen a fast pig or a slow Orthodox Jew / observant Muslim). If this is all there is to it, the Middle East and certain neighborhoods in New York City would be rife with superannuated bone-crushing tacklers.
The final ingredient in Ray Lewis' recipe for success is water and plenty of it. Ray drinks at least one gallon of water every day before noon. Now, a gallon of water is 168 fluid ounces (8 pounds). Since Ray doesn't gain 8 pounds every day, it must go somewhere. You don't want to stand between Ray and the nearest urinal in the morning. Water also leaves the body through perspiration. You don't want to pay Ray's laundry bill.
My Philadelphia Eagles have not had an all-Pro linebacker since Bill Bergey back in the '80s. Instead of looking to college campuses for the next Ray Lewis, why not think outside the box? Build the Philadelphia Eagles Training Center in Jerusalem offering gallons of water (Free before noon!) and a pork-free diet to all comers. It is sure to pay off better than drafting some fast food-loving, pork rind-munching yahoo from North Central Oklahoma A&M.
Mr Lewis credits his career longevity to diet. Ray hasn't eaten fast food in 13 years (Those Chicken McNuggets go straight to his thighs) and he hasn't eaten any pork products over the same period (I've never seen a fast pig or a slow Orthodox Jew / observant Muslim). If this is all there is to it, the Middle East and certain neighborhoods in New York City would be rife with superannuated bone-crushing tacklers.
The final ingredient in Ray Lewis' recipe for success is water and plenty of it. Ray drinks at least one gallon of water every day before noon. Now, a gallon of water is 168 fluid ounces (8 pounds). Since Ray doesn't gain 8 pounds every day, it must go somewhere. You don't want to stand between Ray and the nearest urinal in the morning. Water also leaves the body through perspiration. You don't want to pay Ray's laundry bill.
My Philadelphia Eagles have not had an all-Pro linebacker since Bill Bergey back in the '80s. Instead of looking to college campuses for the next Ray Lewis, why not think outside the box? Build the Philadelphia Eagles Training Center in Jerusalem offering gallons of water (Free before noon!) and a pork-free diet to all comers. It is sure to pay off better than drafting some fast food-loving, pork rind-munching yahoo from North Central Oklahoma A&M.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Oddball Eater
I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore.
Burger King insulted me personally with its new commercial. Touting the chain's new french fries, the commercial shows consumers as "dippers" (gently inserting fries into ketchup), "smearers" (swiping deeply into that rich red pool), "nibblers" (taking sweet short bites) and "oddball eaters" (removing the top of a burger bun, placing fries in a cross-hatch pattern, applying ketchup, reassembling the bun, and gobbling away).
Excuse me, Burger King, but this is the very way that I've been eating burgers for years. It is by no means "oddball"! It is a method born of necessity. The original "15 cent hamburgers" of my youth were tasteless consisting of all bun and very little meat. Those "Where's the Beef?" commercials were not far from reality at the time. Consumers inserted french fries atop the meat for a bit of crunch, saltiness, and bulk.
When the Quarter-Pounder, Big Mac, and Whopper came along with more meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and "secret sauce", we old-timers continued to add fries though they were not, strictly speaking, needed to make the burger palatable. We may be creatures of habit, but we are not "oddball eaters". That is an insult worthy of an abject apology and I will foreswear Whoppers until said apology is forthcoming.
By the way, those 15 cent burgers, 10 cent fries, and 20 cent milkshakes from fifty years ago may have been tasteless, but they sure came in handy. We would get all of $1 "meal money" for swim meets over an hour travel time away. We would stop at a McDonald's or at the late and lamented Gino's or Stop and Go after the meet and purchase thre burgers, three fries, and a shake and get change. Try doing that today.
Burger King insulted me personally with its new commercial. Touting the chain's new french fries, the commercial shows consumers as "dippers" (gently inserting fries into ketchup), "smearers" (swiping deeply into that rich red pool), "nibblers" (taking sweet short bites) and "oddball eaters" (removing the top of a burger bun, placing fries in a cross-hatch pattern, applying ketchup, reassembling the bun, and gobbling away).
Excuse me, Burger King, but this is the very way that I've been eating burgers for years. It is by no means "oddball"! It is a method born of necessity. The original "15 cent hamburgers" of my youth were tasteless consisting of all bun and very little meat. Those "Where's the Beef?" commercials were not far from reality at the time. Consumers inserted french fries atop the meat for a bit of crunch, saltiness, and bulk.
When the Quarter-Pounder, Big Mac, and Whopper came along with more meat, lettuce, tomato, onion, and "secret sauce", we old-timers continued to add fries though they were not, strictly speaking, needed to make the burger palatable. We may be creatures of habit, but we are not "oddball eaters". That is an insult worthy of an abject apology and I will foreswear Whoppers until said apology is forthcoming.
By the way, those 15 cent burgers, 10 cent fries, and 20 cent milkshakes from fifty years ago may have been tasteless, but they sure came in handy. We would get all of $1 "meal money" for swim meets over an hour travel time away. We would stop at a McDonald's or at the late and lamented Gino's or Stop and Go after the meet and purchase thre burgers, three fries, and a shake and get change. Try doing that today.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Granny Grzywacz
The lot of a substitute teacher is not a happy one. The simple act of reading the class roll is a challenge. We students in the multi-ethnic Scranton school system fifty years ago would guffaw as substitutes would stumble over our surnames. We had the consonant-rich Gryzywacz, the vowel-abundant Ciesielski, and the exotic Giglio in our midst. Try pronouncing those without coaching.
Our Christian names were seldom a challenge back in the day. Everyone was Joey, Jimmy, Billy, or Mary (fill in the blank, Ann? Elizabeth? Frances?). The Diocese of Scranton wouild not baptize a Dylan, Tyler, or Tiffany. Who ever heard of Saint Britney anyway? Our substitute teachers could always fall back on "Joey G-r-z? Oh the heck with it. Is Joey G present?"
Ethnic surnames remain here in the 21st century and substitute teachers the additional challenge of creative spelling on modern first names. Kaleigh, Caley, Cailey, and KayLee come to mind. Now there is a new trend and it may simplify substitute teachers' lives. Parents are naming their children after sports heroes.
The Upper Nazareth Clippers junior pee-wee football team was honored with a captioned photo in a recent newspaper sports section. Honorees included a Peyton (no doubt named for Colts QB Peyton Manning) and two Chases (likely honoring Phillies 2nd baseman Chase Utley). Now there are a couple of names that anyone (even a newby substitute teacher) can read and pronounce. If the Giants win this year's Super Bowl, we can count on a few Elis coming up through the ranks in ten years or so.
Why didn't this trend begin back in the 1950s (other than the whole Diocese of Scranton thing)? The Colts quarterbacks back then were Johnny Unitas and Earl Morral. The Phillies 2nd basemen of that era were Solly Hemus, Granny Hamner, and Sparky Anderson. A parent, Colts fan or not, might choose Johnny as the name for his bouncing baby boy, but one would have to be a real fan to name one's offspring Earl. Even the most avid Phillies fan would hesitate to stick his child with the name Solly, Granny, or Sparky.
Help is on the way, substitute teachers. As long as our sports heroes have easy-to-pronounce first names, those attendance rolls will be easier to read in the future. By the way, Grzywacz is pronounced "Guh-vatch".
Our Christian names were seldom a challenge back in the day. Everyone was Joey, Jimmy, Billy, or Mary (fill in the blank, Ann? Elizabeth? Frances?). The Diocese of Scranton wouild not baptize a Dylan, Tyler, or Tiffany. Who ever heard of Saint Britney anyway? Our substitute teachers could always fall back on "Joey G-r-z? Oh the heck with it. Is Joey G present?"
Ethnic surnames remain here in the 21st century and substitute teachers the additional challenge of creative spelling on modern first names. Kaleigh, Caley, Cailey, and KayLee come to mind. Now there is a new trend and it may simplify substitute teachers' lives. Parents are naming their children after sports heroes.
The Upper Nazareth Clippers junior pee-wee football team was honored with a captioned photo in a recent newspaper sports section. Honorees included a Peyton (no doubt named for Colts QB Peyton Manning) and two Chases (likely honoring Phillies 2nd baseman Chase Utley). Now there are a couple of names that anyone (even a newby substitute teacher) can read and pronounce. If the Giants win this year's Super Bowl, we can count on a few Elis coming up through the ranks in ten years or so.
Why didn't this trend begin back in the 1950s (other than the whole Diocese of Scranton thing)? The Colts quarterbacks back then were Johnny Unitas and Earl Morral. The Phillies 2nd basemen of that era were Solly Hemus, Granny Hamner, and Sparky Anderson. A parent, Colts fan or not, might choose Johnny as the name for his bouncing baby boy, but one would have to be a real fan to name one's offspring Earl. Even the most avid Phillies fan would hesitate to stick his child with the name Solly, Granny, or Sparky.
Help is on the way, substitute teachers. As long as our sports heroes have easy-to-pronounce first names, those attendance rolls will be easier to read in the future. By the way, Grzywacz is pronounced "Guh-vatch".
Friday, January 13, 2012
Non-Threatening Boy
In "The Simpsons", Lisa subscribes to "Non-Threatening Boy", a fanzine for tween girls. When pop culture threatens the morality of teen and tween girls, society invariably comes up with a wholesome alternative.
Elvis had those suggestive swiveling hips, that greasy pompadour, and that come-hither sneer. Bursting onto the scene just in time to give "good girls" someone to swoon over was Pat Boone.
The early Beatles were cute and cuddly and just wanted "to hold your hand". No wholesome competition was necessary at first. Then came those scraggly Rolling Stones and the Beatles went all weird with "Sgt Pepper" and that Mahareshi stuff. Riding to the rescue of morality were the Dave Clark Five, Gerry & The Pacemakers, Peter & Gordon and the clean-cut British Invasion. "I like that new British music. I prefer "Ferry Across the Mersey" to "Sympathy for the Devil", but I'm still cool."
When Tipper Gore finally figured out what those rap lyrics meant and her campaign to place an "R-rating" on music failed, it was time for the 'N Sync and New Kids on the Block to provide a white bread alternate to rap. "I don't really know enough to choose between Tupac and Biggie, but Justin Timberlake from 'N Sync is much cuter than Jordan Knight from NKOTB." Then Disney got in the act and raised wholesomeness to stratospheric heights with the Jonas Brothers.
"Non-threatening" may pay off in the short run, but it is a bad idea to get rid of your "bad boy" records at the next garage sale. Elvis (especially young, rebellious Elvis) is still popular today while no one can remember any of Pat Boone's Greatest Hits. Beatles and Rolling Stones CDs continue to sell while Dave Clark Five stuff sits in the Bargain Bin. Music historians will be writing about Tupac twenty years from now when NKOTB is playing before sparse crowds at senior citizens centers.
Thus has it ever been. If we are to believe "Amadeus", Salieri was the toast of 18th century Vienna, but it is Mozart who is still beloved 200 years later.
Bad boy music rules.
Elvis had those suggestive swiveling hips, that greasy pompadour, and that come-hither sneer. Bursting onto the scene just in time to give "good girls" someone to swoon over was Pat Boone.
The early Beatles were cute and cuddly and just wanted "to hold your hand". No wholesome competition was necessary at first. Then came those scraggly Rolling Stones and the Beatles went all weird with "Sgt Pepper" and that Mahareshi stuff. Riding to the rescue of morality were the Dave Clark Five, Gerry & The Pacemakers, Peter & Gordon and the clean-cut British Invasion. "I like that new British music. I prefer "Ferry Across the Mersey" to "Sympathy for the Devil", but I'm still cool."
When Tipper Gore finally figured out what those rap lyrics meant and her campaign to place an "R-rating" on music failed, it was time for the 'N Sync and New Kids on the Block to provide a white bread alternate to rap. "I don't really know enough to choose between Tupac and Biggie, but Justin Timberlake from 'N Sync is much cuter than Jordan Knight from NKOTB." Then Disney got in the act and raised wholesomeness to stratospheric heights with the Jonas Brothers.
"Non-threatening" may pay off in the short run, but it is a bad idea to get rid of your "bad boy" records at the next garage sale. Elvis (especially young, rebellious Elvis) is still popular today while no one can remember any of Pat Boone's Greatest Hits. Beatles and Rolling Stones CDs continue to sell while Dave Clark Five stuff sits in the Bargain Bin. Music historians will be writing about Tupac twenty years from now when NKOTB is playing before sparse crowds at senior citizens centers.
Thus has it ever been. If we are to believe "Amadeus", Salieri was the toast of 18th century Vienna, but it is Mozart who is still beloved 200 years later.
Bad boy music rules.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Commissioner Butch
News Item - Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig will be offered a two year contract extension. Selig, age 77, had previously planned to retire in 2012. He currently earns more than $22 million per year and has use of a private jet.
Let's analyze this shocking news in detail:
1. A 77 year old man is still known as "Bud". I stopped going by "Skip" in grade school because I was getting mocked on the playground and beaten up. Mr Selig's given name is Alan which is not so horrible. If his parents had stuck him with Clarence or Aloysius, I could see it, but nowadays "Bud" is reserved for pet Golden Retrievers or beer, not 77 year old men.
2. Bud's salary is about the same as that of Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols. A-Rod has a shot at the all-time home run record. Albert has more homers and RBIs than anyone over the past ten years. Still, their salaries are considered scandalous. "If A-Rod has 500 at-bats this year, he will be paid $40,000 every time he comes to the plate. If Albert hits 40 home runs this year, the Angels will be paying him $500,000 per round-tripper. The world is coming to an end!" On the other hand, Alex and Albert possess skills that the rest of us can only dream about and are being paid what the market will bear. About all that Bud Selig has to do is get up in the morning and have a bad haircut. I could handle that even at age 77.
3. Several baseball superstars have contract clauses ensuring that they get a personal hotel suite on road trips. Again, this is considered scandalous. Wait until they hear about Selig's private jet. "OK, Phillies, I'll sign a contract with you if you give me not only a personal suite on the road, but throw in a private jet. Hey, the Commissioner gets one. And, by the way, the team picks up the tab for whatever I take from the minibar."
Soon, American kids will take to the sandlots dreaming of developing into major league baseball players. Fame, fortune, and personal hotel suites await the fortunate few. Smarter American kids will take sports management courses and work on their schmoozing skills dreaming of being the next baseball commissioner. There is not so much fame, but plenty of fortune not to mention hotel suites and that private jet.
The only down side is having to go by an accessible nickname. "Bud" is already taken, so I'd recommend "Butch".
Let's analyze this shocking news in detail:
1. A 77 year old man is still known as "Bud". I stopped going by "Skip" in grade school because I was getting mocked on the playground and beaten up. Mr Selig's given name is Alan which is not so horrible. If his parents had stuck him with Clarence or Aloysius, I could see it, but nowadays "Bud" is reserved for pet Golden Retrievers or beer, not 77 year old men.
2. Bud's salary is about the same as that of Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols. A-Rod has a shot at the all-time home run record. Albert has more homers and RBIs than anyone over the past ten years. Still, their salaries are considered scandalous. "If A-Rod has 500 at-bats this year, he will be paid $40,000 every time he comes to the plate. If Albert hits 40 home runs this year, the Angels will be paying him $500,000 per round-tripper. The world is coming to an end!" On the other hand, Alex and Albert possess skills that the rest of us can only dream about and are being paid what the market will bear. About all that Bud Selig has to do is get up in the morning and have a bad haircut. I could handle that even at age 77.
3. Several baseball superstars have contract clauses ensuring that they get a personal hotel suite on road trips. Again, this is considered scandalous. Wait until they hear about Selig's private jet. "OK, Phillies, I'll sign a contract with you if you give me not only a personal suite on the road, but throw in a private jet. Hey, the Commissioner gets one. And, by the way, the team picks up the tab for whatever I take from the minibar."
Soon, American kids will take to the sandlots dreaming of developing into major league baseball players. Fame, fortune, and personal hotel suites await the fortunate few. Smarter American kids will take sports management courses and work on their schmoozing skills dreaming of being the next baseball commissioner. There is not so much fame, but plenty of fortune not to mention hotel suites and that private jet.
The only down side is having to go by an accessible nickname. "Bud" is already taken, so I'd recommend "Butch".
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Sarah 2.0
Mitt Romney won the New Hampshire Primary yesterday. Once again, it appears that Tea Partiers and other "real" Republicans will be forced to hold their collective noses and vote more against a Democratic presidential candidate than for a Republican who shares their values. Sure, Romney in 2012 or McCain in 2008 were better than a certain Kenyan-born Socialist with a suspiciously Muslim-sounding name, but what the GOP needs is a vice presidential candidate who can get their juices flowing.
Someone like Sarah Palin, for example. When she burst onto the scene in 2008, she was the Tea Party's Dream. Pro-life? She had that Downs Syndrome baby. Pro-military? Her son was shipping off to Iraq with the Alaska National Guard. Pro-gun? Merely a Lifetime NRA member with several notches on her rifle barrel for shooting moose. Big hair? Got it. As if any real Republican woman doesn't have big hair. The Imagineers at Disney could not have created a more perfect candidate. The GOP's conservative base was re-energized. The McCain - Palin ticket almost won.
Is there a Sarah 2.0 out there to team with Romney and put the GOP back in the White House in 2012? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next Vice President of the United States of America - Tim Tebow!
Only the wholesome, handsome Denver Bronco quarterback can bring in the Religious Right vote plus the NFL Dad vote plus the "I don't know anything about politics. I just vote for the cuter guy." vote. That surely will swing the election to Romney - Tebow.
Pro-life? Tim espouses abstinence until marriage. Pro-military? Tebow is a regular on the USO Athlete Tour circuit. Pro-religion? The guy kneels and prays after big plays. Big hair? Romney has that perfect "helmet head" coiffure, but Tim has an actual helmet on his head.
The Republicans pulled Sarah Palin from political obscurity and nearly stole the 2008 election. Can they spring Sarah 2.0, Tim Tebow on us in 2012 and regain the White House?
Someone like Sarah Palin, for example. When she burst onto the scene in 2008, she was the Tea Party's Dream. Pro-life? She had that Downs Syndrome baby. Pro-military? Her son was shipping off to Iraq with the Alaska National Guard. Pro-gun? Merely a Lifetime NRA member with several notches on her rifle barrel for shooting moose. Big hair? Got it. As if any real Republican woman doesn't have big hair. The Imagineers at Disney could not have created a more perfect candidate. The GOP's conservative base was re-energized. The McCain - Palin ticket almost won.
Is there a Sarah 2.0 out there to team with Romney and put the GOP back in the White House in 2012? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next Vice President of the United States of America - Tim Tebow!
Only the wholesome, handsome Denver Bronco quarterback can bring in the Religious Right vote plus the NFL Dad vote plus the "I don't know anything about politics. I just vote for the cuter guy." vote. That surely will swing the election to Romney - Tebow.
Pro-life? Tim espouses abstinence until marriage. Pro-military? Tebow is a regular on the USO Athlete Tour circuit. Pro-religion? The guy kneels and prays after big plays. Big hair? Romney has that perfect "helmet head" coiffure, but Tim has an actual helmet on his head.
The Republicans pulled Sarah Palin from political obscurity and nearly stole the 2008 election. Can they spring Sarah 2.0, Tim Tebow on us in 2012 and regain the White House?
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Nostradamus McCartney
I had two thoughts upon first hearing The Beatles recording of "When I'm 64":
1. What a totally Paul song. John must be throwing up in his mouth that this trite piece of trash is listed as "Lennon - McCartney".
2. That's the extent of excitement at age 64? A Valentine? A bottle of wine? A cottage on the Isle of Wight (if it's not too drear and only if we scrimp and save)? I'm 19 years old now with my whole life ahead of me. By the time I'm 64, I'll be as rich as Hugh Hefner and as daring as James Bond.
I turned 64 yesterday. It turns out that Paul McCartney was a lot more accurate in his prediction of life as a senior citizen than I was 47 years ago. "When I get older losing my hair many years from now." Yup, Paul nailed that one. What Paul missed was that the hair that no longer grows on my sexagenarian scalp now sprouts wildly from my ears and nostrils. "When I get older, ha-hair will grow. In unlikely places" may be true but doesn't fit the meter of the song.
"If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door?" In 1967, I foolishly thought that Paul meant 2:45 AM. That is, after all, the shank of the evening for a 19 year old. The only "quarter to three" that we 64 year olds are likely to see is the one in the afternoon just before our nap time. Of course, we lock the door before our post-lunch snooze. Paul is two for two in his predictions.
"Doing the garden. Digging the weeds. Who could ask for more?" Seriously, Mr McCartney? In 1967, the "more" I would ask for was more booze, more music, and more speed from the family's decrepit car that I had to beg to drive. In 2012, a quiet morning puttering around the yard actually does satisfy. Nostradamus McCartney did it again.
1. What a totally Paul song. John must be throwing up in his mouth that this trite piece of trash is listed as "Lennon - McCartney".
2. That's the extent of excitement at age 64? A Valentine? A bottle of wine? A cottage on the Isle of Wight (if it's not too drear and only if we scrimp and save)? I'm 19 years old now with my whole life ahead of me. By the time I'm 64, I'll be as rich as Hugh Hefner and as daring as James Bond.
I turned 64 yesterday. It turns out that Paul McCartney was a lot more accurate in his prediction of life as a senior citizen than I was 47 years ago. "When I get older losing my hair many years from now." Yup, Paul nailed that one. What Paul missed was that the hair that no longer grows on my sexagenarian scalp now sprouts wildly from my ears and nostrils. "When I get older, ha-hair will grow. In unlikely places" may be true but doesn't fit the meter of the song.
"If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door?" In 1967, I foolishly thought that Paul meant 2:45 AM. That is, after all, the shank of the evening for a 19 year old. The only "quarter to three" that we 64 year olds are likely to see is the one in the afternoon just before our nap time. Of course, we lock the door before our post-lunch snooze. Paul is two for two in his predictions.
"Doing the garden. Digging the weeds. Who could ask for more?" Seriously, Mr McCartney? In 1967, the "more" I would ask for was more booze, more music, and more speed from the family's decrepit car that I had to beg to drive. In 2012, a quiet morning puttering around the yard actually does satisfy. Nostradamus McCartney did it again.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Out Of It Old Guy
I never thought that I would become the uncool old guy who failed to keep up with popular music. "Bah, this modern stuff sounds like two angry cats fighting in a bag. Give me Lawrence Welk any day."
Until recently, I may not have appreciated their music, but I at least had heard of the chart-topping musicians like Justin Bieber, Katie Perry, and The Black-Eyed Peas. I have now descended into full-blown Out Of It Old Guy Mode.
Rolling Stone magazine is staging its first Super Bowl Party. The Feb. 4 concert will be staged in a converted warehouse in Indianapolis, a mere two blocks from the site of the Big Game. It will feature "four of America's hottest acts":
LMFAO, possessing the #1 and #9 songs on the Billboard Top 100
Gym Class Heroes with two #1 hits and another moving rapidly up the charts
Cobra Starship whose "You Make Me Feel" is #31 on the Top 100, and
Lupe Fiasco nominated for three Grammy Awards this year
What do all these groups have in common besides a big payday in February? I never heard of them. But that's OK because I'm an Out Of It Old Guy. What else do they have in common? It will cost $1,000 per ticket to catch them at the Rolling Stone Super Bowl Bash. Now there are probably tons of Out Of It Old Guys who have the will and the means to cough up $1,000 to see, for example, the Rolling Stones. Can there be thousands of LMFAO fans who have $1,000 to spend to catch a 45 minute set of their heroes playing in a converted warehouse in Indianapolis?
Meanwhile we Out Of It Old Guys eagerly snap up tickets to the Super Bowl Game at $2,500 each even though no one knows which teams will play in it. Maybe we really are Out Of It. Those kids going to the Rolling Stone Bash at least know who the performers will be.
Until recently, I may not have appreciated their music, but I at least had heard of the chart-topping musicians like Justin Bieber, Katie Perry, and The Black-Eyed Peas. I have now descended into full-blown Out Of It Old Guy Mode.
Rolling Stone magazine is staging its first Super Bowl Party. The Feb. 4 concert will be staged in a converted warehouse in Indianapolis, a mere two blocks from the site of the Big Game. It will feature "four of America's hottest acts":
LMFAO, possessing the #1 and #9 songs on the Billboard Top 100
Gym Class Heroes with two #1 hits and another moving rapidly up the charts
Cobra Starship whose "You Make Me Feel" is #31 on the Top 100, and
Lupe Fiasco nominated for three Grammy Awards this year
What do all these groups have in common besides a big payday in February? I never heard of them. But that's OK because I'm an Out Of It Old Guy. What else do they have in common? It will cost $1,000 per ticket to catch them at the Rolling Stone Super Bowl Bash. Now there are probably tons of Out Of It Old Guys who have the will and the means to cough up $1,000 to see, for example, the Rolling Stones. Can there be thousands of LMFAO fans who have $1,000 to spend to catch a 45 minute set of their heroes playing in a converted warehouse in Indianapolis?
Meanwhile we Out Of It Old Guys eagerly snap up tickets to the Super Bowl Game at $2,500 each even though no one knows which teams will play in it. Maybe we really are Out Of It. Those kids going to the Rolling Stone Bash at least know who the performers will be.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Plaigarism?
Oscar Season is almost upon us. The Producers Guild of America released its top ten nominees for Film of the Year including three that are currently at the local cineplex - "The Descendants", "The Adventures of Tintin", and "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo". Moviegoers pretty much rejected that list. The top-grossing films for the last week of 2011 were the latest installments of the "Mission Impossible", "Sherlock Holmes" and "Chipmunks" franchises. America was essentially saying, "Don't ask me to think, Hollywood. When I put out my $10 for a ticket, I want something mindless, preferably with characters that I've seen before."
What is a screenwriter to do? What original plots can he devise for Tom Cruise, Robert Downey, Jr. and Alvin in for the upcoming "MI:5", "Sherlock 3", and "Chipmunks 3"? Actually, the scripters for "Mission Impossible:4" solved that dilemma by taking a page from, of all things, professional wrestling.
At the climax of the movie, all appears lost. Tom Cruise is horribly beaten and has a broken leg. It looks like World War III is on the way and it is all the Impossible Mission Team's fault. Then the Bad Guy makes the mistake of mocking Tom and looking away. In that instant, Tom slowly rises despite his infirmities, draws strength from who knows where, overpowers the Bad Guy, undoes his nefarious plot, and we have a happy ending.
This is exactly the plot of a memorable Indian Chief Jay Strongbow wrestling match with Greg "The Hammer" Valentine in 1979. The Chief dominated at the start of the match just like Tom and the MI Team "cruise-d" through any initial difficulties in the movie. Then calamity struck. For the Chief, it was the dreaded "illegal object". The Hammer pulled a steel pipe from beneath the canvas and proceeded to pummel "The Pride of Pohaska, Oklahoma" with it. For Tom Cruise, the Bad Guy blows up the Kremlin, the MI team are the only logical culprits, and a manic chase ensues. Both Jay and Tom put up a brave fight, but the odds were insurmountable.
Strongbow crumpled to the canvas. As The Hammer strutted around the ring, the Warrior Spirit took hold of the Chief. He began a war whoop and a one-legged war dance. Her delivered several tomahawk chops and finished The Hammer off with his patented "bow and arrow stretch".
I've not seen "Mission Impossible 4" and I'm not sure if Tom Cruise invoked his Warrior Spirit, did a war whoop, danced one-legged, and applied his patented "cruise missile smash".
Still, the parallels between the current movie and the 1979 wrestling match are uncanny.
Had the screenwriters for "The Descendants", etc, borrowed a plot line from '70s pro wrestling, their movie might be raking in millions. Best Film Awards are nice and all, but they don't fill seats in the cineplex.
What is a screenwriter to do? What original plots can he devise for Tom Cruise, Robert Downey, Jr. and Alvin in for the upcoming "MI:5", "Sherlock 3", and "Chipmunks 3"? Actually, the scripters for "Mission Impossible:4" solved that dilemma by taking a page from, of all things, professional wrestling.
At the climax of the movie, all appears lost. Tom Cruise is horribly beaten and has a broken leg. It looks like World War III is on the way and it is all the Impossible Mission Team's fault. Then the Bad Guy makes the mistake of mocking Tom and looking away. In that instant, Tom slowly rises despite his infirmities, draws strength from who knows where, overpowers the Bad Guy, undoes his nefarious plot, and we have a happy ending.
This is exactly the plot of a memorable Indian Chief Jay Strongbow wrestling match with Greg "The Hammer" Valentine in 1979. The Chief dominated at the start of the match just like Tom and the MI Team "cruise-d" through any initial difficulties in the movie. Then calamity struck. For the Chief, it was the dreaded "illegal object". The Hammer pulled a steel pipe from beneath the canvas and proceeded to pummel "The Pride of Pohaska, Oklahoma" with it. For Tom Cruise, the Bad Guy blows up the Kremlin, the MI team are the only logical culprits, and a manic chase ensues. Both Jay and Tom put up a brave fight, but the odds were insurmountable.
Strongbow crumpled to the canvas. As The Hammer strutted around the ring, the Warrior Spirit took hold of the Chief. He began a war whoop and a one-legged war dance. Her delivered several tomahawk chops and finished The Hammer off with his patented "bow and arrow stretch".
I've not seen "Mission Impossible 4" and I'm not sure if Tom Cruise invoked his Warrior Spirit, did a war whoop, danced one-legged, and applied his patented "cruise missile smash".
Still, the parallels between the current movie and the 1979 wrestling match are uncanny.
Had the screenwriters for "The Descendants", etc, borrowed a plot line from '70s pro wrestling, their movie might be raking in millions. Best Film Awards are nice and all, but they don't fill seats in the cineplex.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
All in the Shoes
There are few places where this not-so-well-preserved 63 year old can look like the youngest person in the room. Early church services, weekday movie matinees, and "mall walking" at 8 AM come to mind. All are sites for senior bonhomie - sparkling conversation about grandchildren's accomplishments and humorous recollections of medical misadventures. "Then that doctor who looked about 12 years old prescribed this medication that cost an arm and a leg so I just went home and took a physic and was good as new." (Note to Readers under 60 - Physic is senior talk for laxative.)
There is one senior gathering place, however, where bonhomie does not apply - the Medical Testing Waiting Room. We seniors jostle for position outside the door at its 6:30 AM opening time cranky from the required 12 hour fast for our blood test. "That old bag with the walker is not getting to the sign-in sheet before me. I'm starving and the senior breakfast special at the diner is only good until 8 AM."
The people with the walkers set an effective blockade at the door this morning and I ended up number 10 on the sign-in sheet. It gave me plenty of time to look over my waiting room compadres. I realized that looking like the youngest person in the room is not a matter of actually being the youngest (We have to recite our birth dates several times during the sign-in process. About half the folks waiting were younger than I am.) nor is it a matter of being the best-groomed (I dressed in the dark this morning and combed my hair with my fingers as I rushed out the door.)
It is truly all in the shoes. Eight of ten folks sported those velcro-tab, faux-leather "athletic shoes". Only I wore tie-up shoes. I may have a few more miles on the odometer. I may look like I slept in a Dumpster. But, by God, I can still tie my own shoes. I've got to be the youngest-looking of this bunch.
There is one senior gathering place, however, where bonhomie does not apply - the Medical Testing Waiting Room. We seniors jostle for position outside the door at its 6:30 AM opening time cranky from the required 12 hour fast for our blood test. "That old bag with the walker is not getting to the sign-in sheet before me. I'm starving and the senior breakfast special at the diner is only good until 8 AM."
The people with the walkers set an effective blockade at the door this morning and I ended up number 10 on the sign-in sheet. It gave me plenty of time to look over my waiting room compadres. I realized that looking like the youngest person in the room is not a matter of actually being the youngest (We have to recite our birth dates several times during the sign-in process. About half the folks waiting were younger than I am.) nor is it a matter of being the best-groomed (I dressed in the dark this morning and combed my hair with my fingers as I rushed out the door.)
It is truly all in the shoes. Eight of ten folks sported those velcro-tab, faux-leather "athletic shoes". Only I wore tie-up shoes. I may have a few more miles on the odometer. I may look like I slept in a Dumpster. But, by God, I can still tie my own shoes. I've got to be the youngest-looking of this bunch.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Cool Ducks
The University of Oregon has the coolest football program ever. Its team is good, but what makes the Oregon Ducks stand out are their uniforms, their cheerleaders, their 4th quarter fan tradition, and especially their band. When your mascot is a sailor cap-clad Donald Duck look-alike, you've got to do something special to strike fear into the hearts of your opponents.
The Ducks took the field in yesterday's Rose Bowl wearing translucent reflective helmets that would not be out of place on the command deck of the Starship Enterprise. "Beam me to the end zone, Scotty." Oregon's uniforms featured a different color scheme for each game this year, but they saved the space age helmets for the Rose Bowl.
Oregon's cheerleaders are on scholarship. Other colleges go with the traditional pleated skirt, letter sweater, build a human pyramid concept of cheerleading. Oregon follows the NFL concept of scantily-clad dancers on the sidelines doing routines that would not be out of place at a "gentlemen's club". While scholarship football players are enrolled in Remedial Reading (of Defenses) 101, the scholarship cheer-babes are probably taking Music Appreciation 401 - The Proper Dance Moves to "Pour Some Sugar On Me".
Oregon's Rose Bowl opponent, Wisconsin, has a cool tradition - the 4th Quarter Jump-Around. As the teams switch ends of the field to begin the final stanza of the game, the Wisconsin band plays House of Pain's "Jump Around". Badger fans rise as one and pogo enthusiastically. Oregon did the Badgers one better in the Rose Bowl. The sound system blared the Isley Brother's "Shout" and Duck fans did the whole shimmy and raise hands in the air bit. I'm showing my age here, but I never heard of "Jump Around" and pogoing would send me to the orthopedist. On the other hand, "Shout" is the anthem of my generation and as they used to say on American Bandstand, "It's got a good beat and you can dance to it." Big picture, even middle-aged Duck fans can participate in the 4th quarter tradition.
Then there is the Oregon band. 90% of college marching bands are clad in uniforms featuring a buttoned-on bib in front (Do they serve lobster for the post-game meal?) with a plumed, inverted trashcan hat that hearkens back to Santa Ana's army storming the Alamo. Stanford and the Ivy League bands go with blazers, un-matched pants, and zany accouterments that scream "My Dad has enough money to send me here, so I can get away with this."
The Oregon band wear pullovers in the school colors and baseball caps. It's always Casual Friday here in the Land of Nike. Duck band members can walk to practice in uniform and not get mocked by the cool kids. "Hey, the War of 1812 is over. Put your uniform away, Winfield Scott."
By the way, Oregon won the Rose Bowl. Coolness triumphs!
The Ducks took the field in yesterday's Rose Bowl wearing translucent reflective helmets that would not be out of place on the command deck of the Starship Enterprise. "Beam me to the end zone, Scotty." Oregon's uniforms featured a different color scheme for each game this year, but they saved the space age helmets for the Rose Bowl.
Oregon's cheerleaders are on scholarship. Other colleges go with the traditional pleated skirt, letter sweater, build a human pyramid concept of cheerleading. Oregon follows the NFL concept of scantily-clad dancers on the sidelines doing routines that would not be out of place at a "gentlemen's club". While scholarship football players are enrolled in Remedial Reading (of Defenses) 101, the scholarship cheer-babes are probably taking Music Appreciation 401 - The Proper Dance Moves to "Pour Some Sugar On Me".
Oregon's Rose Bowl opponent, Wisconsin, has a cool tradition - the 4th Quarter Jump-Around. As the teams switch ends of the field to begin the final stanza of the game, the Wisconsin band plays House of Pain's "Jump Around". Badger fans rise as one and pogo enthusiastically. Oregon did the Badgers one better in the Rose Bowl. The sound system blared the Isley Brother's "Shout" and Duck fans did the whole shimmy and raise hands in the air bit. I'm showing my age here, but I never heard of "Jump Around" and pogoing would send me to the orthopedist. On the other hand, "Shout" is the anthem of my generation and as they used to say on American Bandstand, "It's got a good beat and you can dance to it." Big picture, even middle-aged Duck fans can participate in the 4th quarter tradition.
Then there is the Oregon band. 90% of college marching bands are clad in uniforms featuring a buttoned-on bib in front (Do they serve lobster for the post-game meal?) with a plumed, inverted trashcan hat that hearkens back to Santa Ana's army storming the Alamo. Stanford and the Ivy League bands go with blazers, un-matched pants, and zany accouterments that scream "My Dad has enough money to send me here, so I can get away with this."
The Oregon band wear pullovers in the school colors and baseball caps. It's always Casual Friday here in the Land of Nike. Duck band members can walk to practice in uniform and not get mocked by the cool kids. "Hey, the War of 1812 is over. Put your uniform away, Winfield Scott."
By the way, Oregon won the Rose Bowl. Coolness triumphs!
Monday, January 2, 2012
2012 Optimism
As we bid a not-so-fond farewell to 2011, we must look at our champagne glasses as being half-full, not half-empty. The New Year promises some improvement over the old. For those of us whose mailboxes and telephone answering machines are normally empty, Election Year 2012 will fill them with mailed campaign material and robo-calls. Senior citizens will be safe from social security or medicare cuts. What incumbent dares facing attack ads stating "He voted for Death Panels for Grandma!"? For those hoping to strike it rich, Kim Kardashian is single again. By the time her next groom is done counting his slice of 2012's $20 million wedding, the marriage will be annulled. It's better than the lottery.
Of course 2011 paid off for some. CEOs at Fortune 500 firms enjoyed a 36.5% jump in compensation last year. The most lucrative sector for CEO pay was health care. John Hammergren of McKesson Corp. which distributes drugs and health & beauty aids to pharmacies hauled in a cool $145 million.
This may seem like a lot of money, but what business has emjoyed more growth over the past decade than retail pharmacies? Every national chain store (Wal-Mart, Target) has a pharmacy. Every major grocery store (Wegman's, Giant) has a pharmacy. You can't throw a rock in any strip mall without hitting a CVS or a Walgreen's. Apparently, McKesson supplies all these outfits. If Mr Hammergren was smart enough to dominate this market, he deserves whatever he can get.
McKesson's days of glory may be short-lived though. Once the 2012 elections are over and Obamacare kicks in in 2013 and 2014, everyone will be on a mail-in drug plan. Corner pharmacies will go the way of corner grocery stores. "Hammer" Hammergren may want to think about investing some of that $145 million in a few well-placed campaign contributions or "scare tactic" SuperPAC commercials. "Thanks to Obamacare's mail-in pharmacy plan, Josh had to move back in to his parent's basement because he needed a permanent address to receive his prescriptions. His trash metal bandmates moved in as well. Now Clarence and Joyce get no sleep and their cat Snowball ran away. Vote 'No' on Obamacare."
2012 shopuld be interesting indeed.
Of course 2011 paid off for some. CEOs at Fortune 500 firms enjoyed a 36.5% jump in compensation last year. The most lucrative sector for CEO pay was health care. John Hammergren of McKesson Corp. which distributes drugs and health & beauty aids to pharmacies hauled in a cool $145 million.
This may seem like a lot of money, but what business has emjoyed more growth over the past decade than retail pharmacies? Every national chain store (Wal-Mart, Target) has a pharmacy. Every major grocery store (Wegman's, Giant) has a pharmacy. You can't throw a rock in any strip mall without hitting a CVS or a Walgreen's. Apparently, McKesson supplies all these outfits. If Mr Hammergren was smart enough to dominate this market, he deserves whatever he can get.
McKesson's days of glory may be short-lived though. Once the 2012 elections are over and Obamacare kicks in in 2013 and 2014, everyone will be on a mail-in drug plan. Corner pharmacies will go the way of corner grocery stores. "Hammer" Hammergren may want to think about investing some of that $145 million in a few well-placed campaign contributions or "scare tactic" SuperPAC commercials. "Thanks to Obamacare's mail-in pharmacy plan, Josh had to move back in to his parent's basement because he needed a permanent address to receive his prescriptions. His trash metal bandmates moved in as well. Now Clarence and Joyce get no sleep and their cat Snowball ran away. Vote 'No' on Obamacare."
2012 shopuld be interesting indeed.
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