Did you see that NBC mini-series this past week? I think its title was "10.5 Cliche Apocalypse." It had to be perhaps the worst TV movie ever, and, yet, at the same time, absolutely riveting.
It was like every cliche ever done in every B movie joins forces with the worst special effects Hollywood has ever produced (at least in the past 50 years) and attacks every landmark that the average semi-brain-dead TV viewer could possibly imagine. In one action-packed mini-series you get to see nature in all its fury attack Hawaii, Las Vegas, the Hoover Dam, Mount Rushmore and much more. How cool can you get? The only thing the writers forgot was to give someone a mild case of bird flu. There, my friend, would go the perfect screenplay.
What was particularly touching about the movie though was that in the midst of absolutely devastating destruction and unparalleled loss of life, the key characters took the time to have meaningful dialogue with one another. For instance, there was the President's semi-homely (think an ugly Amy Carter, if your mind will allow you to do that) daughter who feels over protected and wants to prove she's up to the challenge of helping to save lives. The only problem is she really can't save lives. In fact, she can't do much more than carry towels around the earthquake torn areas. First, why would FEMA waste money sending someone to a disaster relief site who had no more skills than carrying towels? Oops, I guess I answered my own question.
Anyway the daughter gets out into the field and immediately realizes she can't put her finger in the open wound of another person without nearly passing out. So the good doctor stops trying to help the injured and begins his own special process of helping the President's daughter to heal emotionally. I'm sure that if I were bleeding to death I'd be more than understanding if such a thing were to happen.
Then there was this lady scientist who is evidently fighting the emotional demons of having a brilliant scientist father who after getting his feelings hurt parlays his genius into a successful poker career. Finally, as fate would have it, the father and daughter are reunited. And, as the United States splits into two killing everyone in the path of a fast-moving cartoon crevice, father and daughter take a little time out to reflect on their troubled past. Very touching, I must say.
There were other great story lines masterfully woven into the spellbinding plot. And I stayed in a constant state of amazement that all of the main characters had time to resolve their silly little personal issues while virtually everyone they knew was lying dead around them. Wouldn't it be nice if in real life, we stopped worrying about trivialities like people dying, and took the time to really get in touch with our feelings?
The most amazing thing about the whole story was that there was no hero...no one came along and saved the day. Despite the fact that the brilliant card-playing ex-scientist proclaims, "Hey, we have a great big world to save," in the end, the rift in the earth's substrata (or whatever) won. It tore the U.S. in two, in a most animated way.
But, and here's the really touching part, just before the credits (blames) roll, President Beau Bridges states rather philosophically, in so many words, "Well the country has been cut in half, but we're still one country." Nothing truly unites a nation like a new fault line creating a permanent geo-physical split down its center. I guess the basic moral of the story was it doesn't really matter how many people die. As long as you can end up with a comforting cliche all is right in the world.
I, for one, don't buy into that theory. As my old pappy used to tell me, "Son," he said. "Avoid cliches like the plague." I've always subscribed to his (my pappy's) theory, and all I can say is that all's well that ends well. Or, do I say if life hands you a lemon, make lemonade? Funny, I can't remember what it is I always say, but I'm always saying it, that's for sure.
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Feeling a Little Horse
So, I'm sitting at my desk, banging my head on the keyboard, as it were, trying to figure out why we say "as it were," instead of "as it was." But, I was also trying to come up with something clever to write about today, and I kept coming up empty. My head hurts. My throat is sore. I think I'm coming down with something and, to tell the truth I was about to totally throw in the towel, as it were, when my phone rings.
Aha! I say, somewhat hoarsely. Maybe this is my inspiration. So, I pick up the phone, the talk/listen part, anyway, and I say, "
Steve, here."
"Steve," the deep, somewhat familiar voice on the other end of the line says.
"Yes," I say in my rather soprano-ish voice. My voice always goes up a couple of octaves when I'm on the phone. And, I'm getting pretty sick of people replying, "Yes, mam," to me.
Anyway, the voice on the other end of the line continues, "I bet you don't know who this is."
I now know who the voice reminds me of, so I take a guess. "Mr. Ed?" I say, half-jokingly.
"Close, but no cigar," he answers.
"Sir, you have me at a disadvantage," I say.
"Let me introduce myself then," he says. "I'm Barbaro. At least that's what you folks call me."
"Barbaro...as in the horse?" I ask with skepticism.
"You got it," he says.
"A horse is a horse," I say.
"Of course, of course," he says.
"And no one can talk to a horse, of course," I say.
"That is, of course," he continues, "unless the horse is the famous Barbaro."
"You do have a nice singing voice," I compliment him.
"A little too baritone for my tastes," he says modestly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll play your little game. Let's say you are Barbaro, why are you calling me?"
"I need a public forum, and I've heard that up to three people read your blog each day."
"Why thanks," I say. I'm blushing. It's not often one gets complimented by a Kentucky Derby winner. "So, why do you need a public forum," I ask.
"Well, I just want to thank everyone for their cards and letters."
"Cards and letters?" I ask, being totally in the dark.
"Oh yes," Barbaro says, "and flowers too. The outpouring of concern and condolences has been truly amazing."
"You mean," I ask, "that humans are sending get-well cards to a horse?"
"And, I take it you have a problem with that?" Barbaro asks me.
"Well, you are a horse," I say.
"Perhaps, you don't believe horses have feelings. Hey, cut me, I bleed. I gotta tell you those cards have done a lot to cheer me up."
"You do sound pretty chipper for a horse that has just lost any chance of ever racing again."
"You think I like racing?" Barbaro asks.
"You don't?" I say incredulously.
"Heavens no!" he answers. "It's hard work. I'm just in it for the perks."
"The perks?" I ask.
"I'm guessing you've never tried to impress a filly," he says.
"You would be correct," I quickly assure him.
"Listen, pal," he says, "nothing turns a pretty little filly's head like a Kentucky Derby win."
"I've heard you have quite an eye for the ladies," I say.
"Big time," he says. "I don't know if its the Percocet, or what, but I'm feeling friskier than a teenager on prom night."
"I don't need the analogies," I say. "This is a G-rated blog.
"Sorry," he says. "I do get carried away sometimes."
"Yeah, in an ambulance," I joke.
"That's not funny," he says. "I almost died out there."
"Well, you're still not out of the woods," I say.
"What? Do you know something I don't know?" He sounds scared, and I'm wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
"Uh, no, not at all," I say. I probably should have left it at that, but with my big mouth, I keep on. "But you are a horse, and they shoot horses, don't they?"
"What are you suggesting?" he asks with genuine terror in his voice. I know I've gone too far.
"Nothing...nothing at all. It's just an old movie. Forget I ever said it." I try to be reassuring, but somehow I think this horse sees right through my charade.
"Stop playing charades," he says. "This is serious. What do you mean they shoot horses?"
"Well, in the old days...I mean many many years ago, they would shoot horses when they broke a leg." I continue, "But they say you're doing well. In fact, I heard you have a fifty-fifty chance of not being shot." I realize instantly that that didn't come out the way I had hoped.
"Fifty-fifty?" He asks. "And, that's supposed to make me feel good?"
"Hey, I wouldn't worry about it," I say.
"I'm sure you wouldn't," he says. "You're not a horse."
"Come on. Calm down," I encourage him. "Besides I bet there's a cute little filly nearby that could get your mind off your leg problems."
"Suddenly, that doesn't interest me so much," he says. "I guess you think I'm just some shallow stud who only wants to hang around the stable waiting to mate. There's a lot more to me than that. You humans are all alike."
"Hey, I'm sorry," I say. "Maybe I am a horse bigot."
"Apology accepted," he says graciously. "I guess the realization that I might not make it has hit me rather hard. I really don't know what I'm going to.....well, hellooo there."
"Who are you talking to?" I ask.
"Hey, gotta go," he says, his mood seems markedly improved. "This little filly just sauntered over, and I have a Derby medal I think she just might want to see. I hope she doesn't notice my limp. That can really turn the gals off."
With that, the phone went dead. And, now I'm back to trying to come up with something to write about. I'm still drawing blanks.
Aha! I say, somewhat hoarsely. Maybe this is my inspiration. So, I pick up the phone, the talk/listen part, anyway, and I say, "
Steve, here."
"Steve," the deep, somewhat familiar voice on the other end of the line says.
"Yes," I say in my rather soprano-ish voice. My voice always goes up a couple of octaves when I'm on the phone. And, I'm getting pretty sick of people replying, "Yes, mam," to me.
Anyway, the voice on the other end of the line continues, "I bet you don't know who this is."
I now know who the voice reminds me of, so I take a guess. "Mr. Ed?" I say, half-jokingly.
"Close, but no cigar," he answers.
"Sir, you have me at a disadvantage," I say.
"Let me introduce myself then," he says. "I'm Barbaro. At least that's what you folks call me."
"Barbaro...as in the horse?" I ask with skepticism.
"You got it," he says.
"A horse is a horse," I say.
"Of course, of course," he says.
"And no one can talk to a horse, of course," I say.
"That is, of course," he continues, "unless the horse is the famous Barbaro."
"You do have a nice singing voice," I compliment him.
"A little too baritone for my tastes," he says modestly.
"Okay," I say. "I'll play your little game. Let's say you are Barbaro, why are you calling me?"
"I need a public forum, and I've heard that up to three people read your blog each day."
"Why thanks," I say. I'm blushing. It's not often one gets complimented by a Kentucky Derby winner. "So, why do you need a public forum," I ask.
"Well, I just want to thank everyone for their cards and letters."
"Cards and letters?" I ask, being totally in the dark.
"Oh yes," Barbaro says, "and flowers too. The outpouring of concern and condolences has been truly amazing."
"You mean," I ask, "that humans are sending get-well cards to a horse?"
"And, I take it you have a problem with that?" Barbaro asks me.
"Well, you are a horse," I say.
"Perhaps, you don't believe horses have feelings. Hey, cut me, I bleed. I gotta tell you those cards have done a lot to cheer me up."
"You do sound pretty chipper for a horse that has just lost any chance of ever racing again."
"You think I like racing?" Barbaro asks.
"You don't?" I say incredulously.
"Heavens no!" he answers. "It's hard work. I'm just in it for the perks."
"The perks?" I ask.
"I'm guessing you've never tried to impress a filly," he says.
"You would be correct," I quickly assure him.
"Listen, pal," he says, "nothing turns a pretty little filly's head like a Kentucky Derby win."
"I've heard you have quite an eye for the ladies," I say.
"Big time," he says. "I don't know if its the Percocet, or what, but I'm feeling friskier than a teenager on prom night."
"I don't need the analogies," I say. "This is a G-rated blog.
"Sorry," he says. "I do get carried away sometimes."
"Yeah, in an ambulance," I joke.
"That's not funny," he says. "I almost died out there."
"Well, you're still not out of the woods," I say.
"What? Do you know something I don't know?" He sounds scared, and I'm wishing I had kept my mouth shut.
"Uh, no, not at all," I say. I probably should have left it at that, but with my big mouth, I keep on. "But you are a horse, and they shoot horses, don't they?"
"What are you suggesting?" he asks with genuine terror in his voice. I know I've gone too far.
"Nothing...nothing at all. It's just an old movie. Forget I ever said it." I try to be reassuring, but somehow I think this horse sees right through my charade.
"Stop playing charades," he says. "This is serious. What do you mean they shoot horses?"
"Well, in the old days...I mean many many years ago, they would shoot horses when they broke a leg." I continue, "But they say you're doing well. In fact, I heard you have a fifty-fifty chance of not being shot." I realize instantly that that didn't come out the way I had hoped.
"Fifty-fifty?" He asks. "And, that's supposed to make me feel good?"
"Hey, I wouldn't worry about it," I say.
"I'm sure you wouldn't," he says. "You're not a horse."
"Come on. Calm down," I encourage him. "Besides I bet there's a cute little filly nearby that could get your mind off your leg problems."
"Suddenly, that doesn't interest me so much," he says. "I guess you think I'm just some shallow stud who only wants to hang around the stable waiting to mate. There's a lot more to me than that. You humans are all alike."
"Hey, I'm sorry," I say. "Maybe I am a horse bigot."
"Apology accepted," he says graciously. "I guess the realization that I might not make it has hit me rather hard. I really don't know what I'm going to.....well, hellooo there."
"Who are you talking to?" I ask.
"Hey, gotta go," he says, his mood seems markedly improved. "This little filly just sauntered over, and I have a Derby medal I think she just might want to see. I hope she doesn't notice my limp. That can really turn the gals off."
With that, the phone went dead. And, now I'm back to trying to come up with something to write about. I'm still drawing blanks.
Monday, May 22, 2006
Beauty's Only Skin Deep, But Skin is the Best Part
I spent some time over the past few days in a local hospital maternity ward. It's fascinating to watch new parents parade in and out...to see the joy, the wonderment. It's not only very touching, but the experience gets my somewhat philosophical mind to thinking deep thoughts.
My observations have me pondering one of life's biggest questions - Why do ugly people tend to marry ugly people? Now, that may seem to be a question with an obvious answer, but when you think deeply, you'll see that the answer is not so obvious.
You might think that it's only natural for ugly people to marry ugly people, but, why is it natural? Here's where my questions come in. Do ugly people realize they're ugly? Does one come to a point in life where he says, "Hey, I'm ugly. I'll never have a pretty wife, so let me go get an ugly one."?
And if that's so, does the ugly guy work his way down...starting with pretty, then going to attractive, then plain, then kinda ugly, and so on?
I'm not a good looking guy, but I'd never marry ugly. Oh sure, it's nice to say that it's what one looks like inside that counts. But hey, I'm not kissing the person inside. I'm kissing the lips on the outside and if those lips are hooked to an ugly face, it's not as pleasant.
I saw some really ugly couples this weekend, and I'm guessing that since they're new parents, they had to have been doing some kissing. Maybe there's a genetic thing in ugly people that causes them to be less shallow. I don't think so. When about 75% of the ugly ones have packs of Marlboros wrapped up in the sleeve of their t-shirts and Confederate flags sewn on the seat of their jeans, I'm thinking they're probably not your deepest thinkers. But, maybe that's my own prejudices shining through.
Maybe, since you look at your face in the mirror every day, you get sort of immunized to ugly, so much so, that when you see ugly on someone else, it doesn't even register. That sort of makes sense to me. I've looked at my face for so many years, that I don't really see the true ugliness until I look at a picture of myself. I wonder how can such a good looking guy be so un-photogenic. I guess the point is that I'm not a good looking guy.
Even though I can accept that, and have for many years, there's no way I could have an ugly wife. I'd rather be alone. Does that sound shallow? Maybe so. But, at least I'm honest. That counts for something, doesn't it?
And, if nothing else, I'm bound to have made some points with my wife today. I'm saying she's pretty. Doesn't that make up for all those other times? I'm hoping. I sure don't want to lose the wife I have. At this point in my life, there's little chance I could get another pretty one.
My observations have me pondering one of life's biggest questions - Why do ugly people tend to marry ugly people? Now, that may seem to be a question with an obvious answer, but when you think deeply, you'll see that the answer is not so obvious.
You might think that it's only natural for ugly people to marry ugly people, but, why is it natural? Here's where my questions come in. Do ugly people realize they're ugly? Does one come to a point in life where he says, "Hey, I'm ugly. I'll never have a pretty wife, so let me go get an ugly one."?
And if that's so, does the ugly guy work his way down...starting with pretty, then going to attractive, then plain, then kinda ugly, and so on?
I'm not a good looking guy, but I'd never marry ugly. Oh sure, it's nice to say that it's what one looks like inside that counts. But hey, I'm not kissing the person inside. I'm kissing the lips on the outside and if those lips are hooked to an ugly face, it's not as pleasant.
I saw some really ugly couples this weekend, and I'm guessing that since they're new parents, they had to have been doing some kissing. Maybe there's a genetic thing in ugly people that causes them to be less shallow. I don't think so. When about 75% of the ugly ones have packs of Marlboros wrapped up in the sleeve of their t-shirts and Confederate flags sewn on the seat of their jeans, I'm thinking they're probably not your deepest thinkers. But, maybe that's my own prejudices shining through.
Maybe, since you look at your face in the mirror every day, you get sort of immunized to ugly, so much so, that when you see ugly on someone else, it doesn't even register. That sort of makes sense to me. I've looked at my face for so many years, that I don't really see the true ugliness until I look at a picture of myself. I wonder how can such a good looking guy be so un-photogenic. I guess the point is that I'm not a good looking guy.
Even though I can accept that, and have for many years, there's no way I could have an ugly wife. I'd rather be alone. Does that sound shallow? Maybe so. But, at least I'm honest. That counts for something, doesn't it?
And, if nothing else, I'm bound to have made some points with my wife today. I'm saying she's pretty. Doesn't that make up for all those other times? I'm hoping. I sure don't want to lose the wife I have. At this point in my life, there's little chance I could get another pretty one.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
The Man Who Knew Too Much
Before I get into the matter at hand (conspiracy theories), I want to apologize if I sound just a trifle irritated today. I had a very traumatizing experience yesterday...perhaps one of the worst experiences of my life...well, maybe not. I went to McDonald's for lunch. No, wait, that was not the trauma, in itself. Here's what happened. I go in. There's a young, somewhat attractive girl behind the counter.
I order a dollar hamburger and a small diet cola. I can swing two bucks for lunch. Anyway, the girl smiles at me. I can tell she's digging me. I realize that I still must have it.
Well, the girl rings up the order. "That'll be $1.56," she says, kinda winking at me.
"Just $1.56," I exclaim, being the honest guy I am.
Hold on, here comes the trauma part. "I gave you the senior drink discount," she says pleasantly.
Okay, so maybe she's not digging me. I had not asked for the senior discount. What in the name of all that's good and right in the world could have prompted this young woman to imagine that I would qualify for a senior discount.
Initially, I was so stunned I was speechless. But, after a few seconds, I asked, "What's the age limit for seniors?"
I was hoping against hope that she would say it was around thirty-five or so. Instead, "I don't know," she answered. "I just thought you'd qualify."
I spent the afternoon pre-planning my funeral. I'm history. It was a good run. Well, it really hasn't been that good, but it was a run.
But enough about me. On to the really important stuff...conspiracy therories. I guess I've been living under a rock, but I did not know until yesterday that there are a bunch of wackos who honestly believe that the United States government is responsible for the 9-11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Some even believe that strategically placed detonation devices brought the twin towers down.
Really, how absurd can you be? These people believe that all of the airplane passengers who died that day have been hidden in a witness protection program and their families have been paid off to pretend their loved ones are dead and to never see them again. Gee, that really makes a lot of sense. I think if you waved some bucks under my nose I'd abandon my family for the rest of my life.
You know the government can't even keep a clandestine phone tapping operation secret. How in the world could they go five years and not one of the thousands of people involved in this conspiracy has ever spilled the beans? Do you know what most conspiracy theories are? Well, here's something kind of uncanny itself. The word "conspiracy" contains a secret message explaining what most of these theories amount to. Let's play a little anagram game to deciper the secret message hidden within the word "conspiracy." Take the word and eliminate the letters o, n, s, i, y, and the second c. Now, take the remaining letters and rearrange them to get your secret answer.
Now, while I don't believe in conspiracy theories in general, there is one I'm sure is real. There is a legitimate reason to believe that American Idol is rigged. Everyone knows (and I do mean everyone) that Elliott Yamin was the very best singer. Taylor looked like some twisted pathetic creature trying to do Joe Cocker the other night and that McFee girl imagines herself a brilliant song stylist.
Listen, even Frank Sinatra stank up the joint at times when he tried to do his own interpretation of a classic song. If you haven't heard his improv of Mrs. Robinson, you need to listen to it to know what I'm talking about. McFee did this horrendous Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Sure, I know the judges loved it, or so they said.
In reality, the judges are just pawns themselves in a conspiracy to take some prancing clown to the throne. Taylor is a parody of poor Las Vegas entertainers. Call him "Having a Good Time Taylor" all you want, or whatever it was that Randy Jackson was blathering the other night. He may be having fun, but that's mainly because he's in on the conspiracy.
Couldn't you tell that all of the judges had been drugged the other night? Come one people, does no one see this besides myself. Simon is being bribed by a coalition of aging Wayne Newton wannabes who are determined to catapault Taylor to the top. You had better listen to me before it is too late. I have researched this thoroughly, and while I am not allowed to reveal my sources, I can assure you that this thing has been rigged for quite some time.
In a legitimate competition, Elliott Yamin would have been declared the American Idol weeks ago. There is no competition. And, I'm not just saying this because I want to suck up to him in order to get an interview with him. Okay, maybe I am, but that's totally beside the point.
Next week, Taylor will be the American Idol. Next month, it will be Taylor who? In fact, it kinda already is because I can't think of his last name and I'm surely not going to take the time to look it up.
I think it's a total shame what's happening in the world today. Don't any of you out there feel the outrage that I'm feeling. Just think about it people. Think about what's happening. Can you imagine...offering me a senior discount?
I order a dollar hamburger and a small diet cola. I can swing two bucks for lunch. Anyway, the girl smiles at me. I can tell she's digging me. I realize that I still must have it.
Well, the girl rings up the order. "That'll be $1.56," she says, kinda winking at me.
"Just $1.56," I exclaim, being the honest guy I am.
Hold on, here comes the trauma part. "I gave you the senior drink discount," she says pleasantly.
Okay, so maybe she's not digging me. I had not asked for the senior discount. What in the name of all that's good and right in the world could have prompted this young woman to imagine that I would qualify for a senior discount.
Initially, I was so stunned I was speechless. But, after a few seconds, I asked, "What's the age limit for seniors?"
I was hoping against hope that she would say it was around thirty-five or so. Instead, "I don't know," she answered. "I just thought you'd qualify."
I spent the afternoon pre-planning my funeral. I'm history. It was a good run. Well, it really hasn't been that good, but it was a run.
But enough about me. On to the really important stuff...conspiracy therories. I guess I've been living under a rock, but I did not know until yesterday that there are a bunch of wackos who honestly believe that the United States government is responsible for the 9-11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Some even believe that strategically placed detonation devices brought the twin towers down.
Really, how absurd can you be? These people believe that all of the airplane passengers who died that day have been hidden in a witness protection program and their families have been paid off to pretend their loved ones are dead and to never see them again. Gee, that really makes a lot of sense. I think if you waved some bucks under my nose I'd abandon my family for the rest of my life.
You know the government can't even keep a clandestine phone tapping operation secret. How in the world could they go five years and not one of the thousands of people involved in this conspiracy has ever spilled the beans? Do you know what most conspiracy theories are? Well, here's something kind of uncanny itself. The word "conspiracy" contains a secret message explaining what most of these theories amount to. Let's play a little anagram game to deciper the secret message hidden within the word "conspiracy." Take the word and eliminate the letters o, n, s, i, y, and the second c. Now, take the remaining letters and rearrange them to get your secret answer.
Now, while I don't believe in conspiracy theories in general, there is one I'm sure is real. There is a legitimate reason to believe that American Idol is rigged. Everyone knows (and I do mean everyone) that Elliott Yamin was the very best singer. Taylor looked like some twisted pathetic creature trying to do Joe Cocker the other night and that McFee girl imagines herself a brilliant song stylist.
Listen, even Frank Sinatra stank up the joint at times when he tried to do his own interpretation of a classic song. If you haven't heard his improv of Mrs. Robinson, you need to listen to it to know what I'm talking about. McFee did this horrendous Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Sure, I know the judges loved it, or so they said.
In reality, the judges are just pawns themselves in a conspiracy to take some prancing clown to the throne. Taylor is a parody of poor Las Vegas entertainers. Call him "Having a Good Time Taylor" all you want, or whatever it was that Randy Jackson was blathering the other night. He may be having fun, but that's mainly because he's in on the conspiracy.
Couldn't you tell that all of the judges had been drugged the other night? Come one people, does no one see this besides myself. Simon is being bribed by a coalition of aging Wayne Newton wannabes who are determined to catapault Taylor to the top. You had better listen to me before it is too late. I have researched this thoroughly, and while I am not allowed to reveal my sources, I can assure you that this thing has been rigged for quite some time.
In a legitimate competition, Elliott Yamin would have been declared the American Idol weeks ago. There is no competition. And, I'm not just saying this because I want to suck up to him in order to get an interview with him. Okay, maybe I am, but that's totally beside the point.
Next week, Taylor will be the American Idol. Next month, it will be Taylor who? In fact, it kinda already is because I can't think of his last name and I'm surely not going to take the time to look it up.
I think it's a total shame what's happening in the world today. Don't any of you out there feel the outrage that I'm feeling. Just think about it people. Think about what's happening. Can you imagine...offering me a senior discount?
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Another Visit To Inspirational Point
And now another visit to a place I like to call Steve's Inspirational Point. Here friends is our very own Brother Steve.
Thank you Steve. Friends, I was reminded recently of a lovely story that was told to me personally by a close friend who had returned from a trip to Africa. My dear friend swears that the story is the absolute truth. Whether it is or not, it certainly contains a message that each and every one of us should take seriously to heart. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve. I am ready to take your story to heart"?
It seems that these two cannibals took a little walk after dinner. And, let me interrupt myself for a moment to say how important it is for us to walk with our friends, to talk with our friends. If we were to take the time from our schedules to do that, we would be much happier people.
Anyway, these two cannibals, and just a quick side point, isn't it heartwarming to know that even our cannibal friends have friends? But, I do digress. Can you say, "Yaess, Brother Steve, you surely do"?
Back to the story...these two cannibals decided after enjoying a refreshing, wholesome meal together, that they would take a little walk, perhaps they wished to commune with nature. I surely do not know the real reason for this stroll. But, I have heard previously that cannibals are wont to walk into the woods after a meal. Another dear friend tells me of a cannibal who finished a particularly delightful meal and took a walk in the woods. It seems that while on this walk he passed his best friend.
But, that is a totally different story than the one I am telling you today. These two cannibals were strolling through the woods and one of them turns to the other. In other words, friends, he looked at his cannibal acquaintance as he spoke to him. So often in today's world, we simply do not take the time to look at our friends. Eye contact is so important. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve. I believe! I believe in eye contact"?
The first cannibal looks at the second and then he says, "Your wife sure does make good soup." How kind of that cannibal. Perhaps you have been laboring under the delusion that cannibals do not take the time for such niceties. You must remove such harmful thinking. Get it out of your head. Say to yourself, "Harmful thinking, I command you to come out of my head." Be sure to shout when you say, "Out!" It's that shout that really gets the harmful thinking thinking about coming out.
So, when we left our two cannibal friends, one had just told the other that his wife made good soup. The second cannibal looks at his friend for a moment, as if contemplating just what he should say. Finally, after what may have seemed agonizing minutes, when, in actuality it was probably only a few seconds, the second cannibal says, "Yes, she does. But, I'm going to miss her."
Do you get the point, friends? Do you see the reason I have taken my time to share this story? The second cannibal was more concerned with his own personal loss than he was with the feelings of his friend. Let me tell you, my friends...if someone compliments you, you should always say, "Thank you." That should be number one.
Before you start whining about how much you'll miss your wife, or whatever else is bothering you in life, before you start feeling sorry for yourself, you should always remember to say, "Thank you."
My daddy, God rest his soul, once told me, "Son (he always called me 'son'), if you want a friend, you have to be a friend." Do you understand that. If not, say it to yourself, but emphasize the word "be." That's what my daddy got me to do, because when he told me I didn't understand it at all. Go ahead try it. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve, you have opened my eyes to greater understanding'?
I hope so. I hope that you feel these few moments we have spent together, here at Inspirational Point have helped you to deal with whatever problems you may be facing in your personal life. And, if I have helped you in some small way, all I can say is that it sure would be nice for you to say, "Thank you, Brother Steve." And, friends, what better way to thank me than to send me a small love gift, if you will (and you should).
It doesn't matter how small. I will tell you I can't break a twenty, but send what you can. And, before I go, I just want to say to each and every one of you..."Thank YOU."
Thank you Steve. Friends, I was reminded recently of a lovely story that was told to me personally by a close friend who had returned from a trip to Africa. My dear friend swears that the story is the absolute truth. Whether it is or not, it certainly contains a message that each and every one of us should take seriously to heart. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve. I am ready to take your story to heart"?
It seems that these two cannibals took a little walk after dinner. And, let me interrupt myself for a moment to say how important it is for us to walk with our friends, to talk with our friends. If we were to take the time from our schedules to do that, we would be much happier people.
Anyway, these two cannibals, and just a quick side point, isn't it heartwarming to know that even our cannibal friends have friends? But, I do digress. Can you say, "Yaess, Brother Steve, you surely do"?
Back to the story...these two cannibals decided after enjoying a refreshing, wholesome meal together, that they would take a little walk, perhaps they wished to commune with nature. I surely do not know the real reason for this stroll. But, I have heard previously that cannibals are wont to walk into the woods after a meal. Another dear friend tells me of a cannibal who finished a particularly delightful meal and took a walk in the woods. It seems that while on this walk he passed his best friend.
But, that is a totally different story than the one I am telling you today. These two cannibals were strolling through the woods and one of them turns to the other. In other words, friends, he looked at his cannibal acquaintance as he spoke to him. So often in today's world, we simply do not take the time to look at our friends. Eye contact is so important. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve. I believe! I believe in eye contact"?
The first cannibal looks at the second and then he says, "Your wife sure does make good soup." How kind of that cannibal. Perhaps you have been laboring under the delusion that cannibals do not take the time for such niceties. You must remove such harmful thinking. Get it out of your head. Say to yourself, "Harmful thinking, I command you to come out of my head." Be sure to shout when you say, "Out!" It's that shout that really gets the harmful thinking thinking about coming out.
So, when we left our two cannibal friends, one had just told the other that his wife made good soup. The second cannibal looks at his friend for a moment, as if contemplating just what he should say. Finally, after what may have seemed agonizing minutes, when, in actuality it was probably only a few seconds, the second cannibal says, "Yes, she does. But, I'm going to miss her."
Do you get the point, friends? Do you see the reason I have taken my time to share this story? The second cannibal was more concerned with his own personal loss than he was with the feelings of his friend. Let me tell you, my friends...if someone compliments you, you should always say, "Thank you." That should be number one.
Before you start whining about how much you'll miss your wife, or whatever else is bothering you in life, before you start feeling sorry for yourself, you should always remember to say, "Thank you."
My daddy, God rest his soul, once told me, "Son (he always called me 'son'), if you want a friend, you have to be a friend." Do you understand that. If not, say it to yourself, but emphasize the word "be." That's what my daddy got me to do, because when he told me I didn't understand it at all. Go ahead try it. Can you say, "Yaaess, Brother Steve, you have opened my eyes to greater understanding'?
I hope so. I hope that you feel these few moments we have spent together, here at Inspirational Point have helped you to deal with whatever problems you may be facing in your personal life. And, if I have helped you in some small way, all I can say is that it sure would be nice for you to say, "Thank you, Brother Steve." And, friends, what better way to thank me than to send me a small love gift, if you will (and you should).
It doesn't matter how small. I will tell you I can't break a twenty, but send what you can. And, before I go, I just want to say to each and every one of you..."Thank YOU."
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Wild Bore And Sushi
I went out to dinner the other night. I know that’s not really exciting information. But, I did…just my wife and I. We picked a nice, quiet, little sushi place. I was really more in an American seafood meal mood, but the seafood restaurant nearby has live music and rowdy guests and I didn’t want a lot of commotion.
We go in and much to my delight, there’s only one other couple, an older couple, dining in the restaurant. It may not have been to the delight of the restaurant owner, but it delighted me.
This other couple was rather nondescript, bland, if you will, and I would, if I were you. Even better, I thought. What didn’t register was that this bland couple was sitting at a table for about ten to twelve persons. You know what? There was a reason for that.
They were expecting company. Right after my wife and I ordered, about a dozen of the noisiest, most obnoxious people storm in. Apparently one woman in the noisy group knew the couple. But, nobody else knew each other. So, the next thing you know everyone is introducing everyone else. They’re all milling around, actually breathing right over my miso soup. I don’t like people breathing over my food. I don’t even breathe over my food.
At the onset of this attack, I didn’t realize that my wife and I were in the presence of greatness. In fact, it probably took about five minutes before I became fully aware of just who was in this party sitting right next to us.
I don’t know the guy’s name, but undoubtedly, he has to be the crown prince of obnoxious. This guy, about 45 or so started loudly telling everyone, including my wife and me indirectly, about his many wonderful trips and excursions. He flew here, he flew there. He bought boats. He has houses all over, and, I’m sure he also has the world’s largest hemorrhoids. He didn’t mention that last part, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about that.
Now, I could have started loudly telling my wife about my fabulous trip to China last fall. But, did I? Nope. I’m too refined, too humble, too classy. This guy wasn’t refined, humble or classy. He was a bore with a capital “B.”
What do you want to bet he’s not married?” I ask my wife. No sooner had I said it, than the guy made some derogatory comment about his ex-wife. “I knew it!” I shouted. I must have shouted a little loudly, for just for a moment, the guy got quiet and everyone looked over at my table. The guy just glared. I had interrupted a tale of a voyage to Tobago or someplace that sounds like that.
I swear, if droning on endlessly about oneself is a crime, the SWAT team would have surrounded this restaurant and started hurling tear gas. I finally got so tired of it, I started, rather loudly, telling my wife about all the acclaim and honor I’m getting from these blogs. And, yes, I loudly proclaimed, it’s paying a pretty good penny.
I don’t think my wife was overly impressed. Sometimes talking about how great you are to someone who knows how great you ain’t isn’t all that impressive. But, I’m sure at least some of the revelers at the other table were becoming aware of my many accolades.
Finally, I gave the waitress my credit card and my wife and I prepared to leave. There was only one more thing that would make this night complete. Within minutes the waitress returned, and in a voice loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear, proclaimed that my card had been declined.
Have you ever slithered out of a restaurant on your belly? It ain’t easy.
We go in and much to my delight, there’s only one other couple, an older couple, dining in the restaurant. It may not have been to the delight of the restaurant owner, but it delighted me.
This other couple was rather nondescript, bland, if you will, and I would, if I were you. Even better, I thought. What didn’t register was that this bland couple was sitting at a table for about ten to twelve persons. You know what? There was a reason for that.
They were expecting company. Right after my wife and I ordered, about a dozen of the noisiest, most obnoxious people storm in. Apparently one woman in the noisy group knew the couple. But, nobody else knew each other. So, the next thing you know everyone is introducing everyone else. They’re all milling around, actually breathing right over my miso soup. I don’t like people breathing over my food. I don’t even breathe over my food.
At the onset of this attack, I didn’t realize that my wife and I were in the presence of greatness. In fact, it probably took about five minutes before I became fully aware of just who was in this party sitting right next to us.
I don’t know the guy’s name, but undoubtedly, he has to be the crown prince of obnoxious. This guy, about 45 or so started loudly telling everyone, including my wife and me indirectly, about his many wonderful trips and excursions. He flew here, he flew there. He bought boats. He has houses all over, and, I’m sure he also has the world’s largest hemorrhoids. He didn’t mention that last part, but I’m pretty sure I’m right about that.
Now, I could have started loudly telling my wife about my fabulous trip to China last fall. But, did I? Nope. I’m too refined, too humble, too classy. This guy wasn’t refined, humble or classy. He was a bore with a capital “B.”
What do you want to bet he’s not married?” I ask my wife. No sooner had I said it, than the guy made some derogatory comment about his ex-wife. “I knew it!” I shouted. I must have shouted a little loudly, for just for a moment, the guy got quiet and everyone looked over at my table. The guy just glared. I had interrupted a tale of a voyage to Tobago or someplace that sounds like that.
I swear, if droning on endlessly about oneself is a crime, the SWAT team would have surrounded this restaurant and started hurling tear gas. I finally got so tired of it, I started, rather loudly, telling my wife about all the acclaim and honor I’m getting from these blogs. And, yes, I loudly proclaimed, it’s paying a pretty good penny.
I don’t think my wife was overly impressed. Sometimes talking about how great you are to someone who knows how great you ain’t isn’t all that impressive. But, I’m sure at least some of the revelers at the other table were becoming aware of my many accolades.
Finally, I gave the waitress my credit card and my wife and I prepared to leave. There was only one more thing that would make this night complete. Within minutes the waitress returned, and in a voice loud enough for all in the restaurant to hear, proclaimed that my card had been declined.
Have you ever slithered out of a restaurant on your belly? It ain’t easy.
The Daily News With S. Carter Cook
My thinking is that if I can use this space from time to time to rather eloquently present the daily news, perhaps CBS will give Katie the boot, and offer me the news anchor position. Admittedly, I may be mistaken in believing that this could happen. But, I'll not let that possibility dampen my ever-growing enthusiasm that I'm New York City bound. So, with that said, here is my look at the daily news:
The top story in most of the media this morning has to do with some speech President Bush gave last night. All I can say is "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." I wasn't paying that much attention. I think it had to do with illegal irrigation. Hey, who cares? Maybe some farm workers, but that's about all. So, let's deal with stories that you folks are really interested in. Moving forward...
Dateline The Netherlands - Excitement at a zoo in Amsterdam Sunday when several sloth bears chased down a monkey, mauled it and ate it in front of horrified visitors. Word out of Richmond's City Hall confirms that Mayor Governor Doug Wilder will be heading to Amsterdam shortly. Wilder is quoted as saying, "As God is my witness, I'll see to it that those bears get a fair trial." Wilder went on to say that while visitors may have been "tragedized by the tragedy," there is no reason to brand the bears as "wild animals."
When asked to comment on the rash of alligator attacks in Florida over the past week, Wilder stated that unlike bears, alligators are known to have a disposition towards serial killings. "They don't have my sympathy," the mayor-governor said.
The question out of Durham is did the stripper turned alleged rape victim really meet the Forker? Dave Forker Evans who became the third Duke lacrosse team player charged with rape says he is absolutely innocent. Evans, who attended a private academy where he excelled in the sport prior to going to Duke, says he is absolutely innocent of all charges. To prove that he must be innocent he points to the fact that he was polite to the police officers. His mother, Rae Evans, chairperson (shhh, make that chairwoman) of the LPGA board of directors says, "My son is a good boy, and besides that girl is bla...uh, never mind."
Presidential advisor, Karl Rove, said Monday that President Bush's job approval rating is low because of the Iraq war. How did he figure that one out? Gee, I just wish I could be that smart.
That big phone company, BellSouth, said Monday that despite claims to the contrary, it never gave any phone records to the National Security Agency in the NSA's efforts to combat terrorism. Of course the corporation has also stated publicly that it didn't overcharge me for a long distance call in November of 1982, and that a problem I was having must be in my phone and wasn't their responsiblity.
Accuweather chief forecaster, Joe Bastardi (I swear I'm not making that name up) said Monday that three major hurricanes would hit the United States in 2006. Bastardi refused to say exactly when and where the hurricanes would hit. If you ask me, he's not as cooperative as Dave Forker Evans. Maybe someone should check his DNA.
A major shopping mall for Eastern Henrico? Apparently so. Henrico County supervisor, James Donati, made the announcement yesterday. Donati said the huge Short-Pump-Town-Center-like mall would be anchored by a major check cashing service, along with a TV rental giant, and a big-name hair-straightening parlor.
And that's the news. Katie, bar the door because New York, here I come.
The top story in most of the media this morning has to do with some speech President Bush gave last night. All I can say is "Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." I wasn't paying that much attention. I think it had to do with illegal irrigation. Hey, who cares? Maybe some farm workers, but that's about all. So, let's deal with stories that you folks are really interested in. Moving forward...
Dateline The Netherlands - Excitement at a zoo in Amsterdam Sunday when several sloth bears chased down a monkey, mauled it and ate it in front of horrified visitors. Word out of Richmond's City Hall confirms that Mayor Governor Doug Wilder will be heading to Amsterdam shortly. Wilder is quoted as saying, "As God is my witness, I'll see to it that those bears get a fair trial." Wilder went on to say that while visitors may have been "tragedized by the tragedy," there is no reason to brand the bears as "wild animals."
When asked to comment on the rash of alligator attacks in Florida over the past week, Wilder stated that unlike bears, alligators are known to have a disposition towards serial killings. "They don't have my sympathy," the mayor-governor said.
The question out of Durham is did the stripper turned alleged rape victim really meet the Forker? Dave Forker Evans who became the third Duke lacrosse team player charged with rape says he is absolutely innocent. Evans, who attended a private academy where he excelled in the sport prior to going to Duke, says he is absolutely innocent of all charges. To prove that he must be innocent he points to the fact that he was polite to the police officers. His mother, Rae Evans, chairperson (shhh, make that chairwoman) of the LPGA board of directors says, "My son is a good boy, and besides that girl is bla...uh, never mind."
Presidential advisor, Karl Rove, said Monday that President Bush's job approval rating is low because of the Iraq war. How did he figure that one out? Gee, I just wish I could be that smart.
That big phone company, BellSouth, said Monday that despite claims to the contrary, it never gave any phone records to the National Security Agency in the NSA's efforts to combat terrorism. Of course the corporation has also stated publicly that it didn't overcharge me for a long distance call in November of 1982, and that a problem I was having must be in my phone and wasn't their responsiblity.
Accuweather chief forecaster, Joe Bastardi (I swear I'm not making that name up) said Monday that three major hurricanes would hit the United States in 2006. Bastardi refused to say exactly when and where the hurricanes would hit. If you ask me, he's not as cooperative as Dave Forker Evans. Maybe someone should check his DNA.
A major shopping mall for Eastern Henrico? Apparently so. Henrico County supervisor, James Donati, made the announcement yesterday. Donati said the huge Short-Pump-Town-Center-like mall would be anchored by a major check cashing service, along with a TV rental giant, and a big-name hair-straightening parlor.
And that's the news. Katie, bar the door because New York, here I come.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Who Is J.D. Power and Why Is He Saying All Those Nice Things About Me?
Do you remember the story of the Emperor's New Clothes? That has got to be the truest of all stories. Daily, there are examples upon examples of so-called brilliant individuals who fall victim to the Emperor's New Clothes Syndrome.
One of the biggest examples is in regards to what I consider to be an almost mafia-like shakedown operation known as J.D. Power. Before these huge corporations pay huge amounts of money to J.D.Power to tell them what their customer service is like, and how customers feel about them, why don't these brilliant people at the corporations find out if their customers care a flying flip about J.D. Power surveys.
I know I don't. Especially since I know the J.D. Power Company is dependent on the continued good-will of the companies they're rating in order to stay in business themselves. Is J.D. Power going to shoot itself in the foot in order to give an unbiased report? I don't think so.
Why don't these companies read the S.C. Cook Company report on the J.D. Power Company before they pay huge sums of money to the J.D. Power Company and then go around touting the "scientific survey" results of the J.D. Power Company?
According to the latest S.C. Cook report, the J.D. Power Company does an, at best, adequate job of evaluating customer service of the companies it serves (i.e. makes huge sums of money off of).
They rely on apparently semi-trained morons to report back to them on their findings. And, if you call them (go ahead and do it - 800 274-5372), you may well find that their phone answerers are not all that friendly, themselves. So, if they can't get good service out of their own employees, how can they help other companies get the results they want? Just a thought.
I wonder how much NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER pays J.D. Power to call its customers and ask them if they were happy with their buying experience. If I'm going to buy a $500,000 home, it's not because of anything J.D. Power found out. I don't care what J.D. Power thinks. Unless he's going to help pay my mortgage. I'm smart enough (debatable) to figure out if I'm happy with the product and service being offered.
In fact, if I'd just bought a new home and someone called and identified themselves as being with J.D. Power, I'd be wondering how much that little phone call cost me. Cause, every expense is going into the cost of the house. I'd tell them to have NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER call me if they want to know how happy I am. Gee, I can be a real pain in the neck sometimes. And, a lot of people have an even lower opinion of me than that.
My thinking is that if NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER (or any other company using J.D. Power Company) doesn't know how to ensure that their customers get good service, they ought to stop selling homes until they figure it out. And, if they're going to pay J.D. Power to say nice things about them, just take the money they're giving J.D. Power and give it back to the customers. Nothing makes me say nice things about someone than their throwing a little money at me.
It's not just NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER, of course. J.D. Power does autos and probably a bunch of other stuff. You can see my scientific survey relys more on intuition than science. But, my big question is (still), "Who cares what J.D. Power thinks."
What J.D. Power is really good at is convincing the emperor that everyone with a grain of sense can see the beautiful fabric they're using. And, if anyone can't see it, they're stupid. So, the powers that be at Centex are thinking, "Whew! That was close. I almost said 'I don't get it.'"
Not only does Centex pay big bucks to J.D. Power, they then spend big bucks to advertise for J.D. Power on their billboards. That J.D. Power must be one great salesman. If you notice, on the Centex billboards, the J.D. Power name stands out more than the Centex name. But, those guys at NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER are marketing geniuses. They see it. They love it. They get it.
I still don't get it. I may be stupid, but I've never come to work naked.
One of the biggest examples is in regards to what I consider to be an almost mafia-like shakedown operation known as J.D. Power. Before these huge corporations pay huge amounts of money to J.D.Power to tell them what their customer service is like, and how customers feel about them, why don't these brilliant people at the corporations find out if their customers care a flying flip about J.D. Power surveys.
I know I don't. Especially since I know the J.D. Power Company is dependent on the continued good-will of the companies they're rating in order to stay in business themselves. Is J.D. Power going to shoot itself in the foot in order to give an unbiased report? I don't think so.
Why don't these companies read the S.C. Cook Company report on the J.D. Power Company before they pay huge sums of money to the J.D. Power Company and then go around touting the "scientific survey" results of the J.D. Power Company?
According to the latest S.C. Cook report, the J.D. Power Company does an, at best, adequate job of evaluating customer service of the companies it serves (i.e. makes huge sums of money off of).
They rely on apparently semi-trained morons to report back to them on their findings. And, if you call them (go ahead and do it - 800 274-5372), you may well find that their phone answerers are not all that friendly, themselves. So, if they can't get good service out of their own employees, how can they help other companies get the results they want? Just a thought.
I wonder how much NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER pays J.D. Power to call its customers and ask them if they were happy with their buying experience. If I'm going to buy a $500,000 home, it's not because of anything J.D. Power found out. I don't care what J.D. Power thinks. Unless he's going to help pay my mortgage. I'm smart enough (debatable) to figure out if I'm happy with the product and service being offered.
In fact, if I'd just bought a new home and someone called and identified themselves as being with J.D. Power, I'd be wondering how much that little phone call cost me. Cause, every expense is going into the cost of the house. I'd tell them to have NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER call me if they want to know how happy I am. Gee, I can be a real pain in the neck sometimes. And, a lot of people have an even lower opinion of me than that.
My thinking is that if NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER (or any other company using J.D. Power Company) doesn't know how to ensure that their customers get good service, they ought to stop selling homes until they figure it out. And, if they're going to pay J.D. Power to say nice things about them, just take the money they're giving J.D. Power and give it back to the customers. Nothing makes me say nice things about someone than their throwing a little money at me.
It's not just NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER, of course. J.D. Power does autos and probably a bunch of other stuff. You can see my scientific survey relys more on intuition than science. But, my big question is (still), "Who cares what J.D. Power thinks."
What J.D. Power is really good at is convincing the emperor that everyone with a grain of sense can see the beautiful fabric they're using. And, if anyone can't see it, they're stupid. So, the powers that be at Centex are thinking, "Whew! That was close. I almost said 'I don't get it.'"
Not only does Centex pay big bucks to J.D. Power, they then spend big bucks to advertise for J.D. Power on their billboards. That J.D. Power must be one great salesman. If you notice, on the Centex billboards, the J.D. Power name stands out more than the Centex name. But, those guys at NAME WITHHELD NATIONAL HOMEBUILDER are marketing geniuses. They see it. They love it. They get it.
I still don't get it. I may be stupid, but I've never come to work naked.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Morning Drive
Overall, I think WRVA Radio's Jimmy Barrett is a great guy. He's very knowledgeable and does an excellent job with his morning news show. But, from my point of view, his loathing of the elderly is getting a bit tedious.
He's giddy with excitement this morning as he tells "yet another" story of an elderly driver who has run into a building. It happened "again" yesterday, when a 79-year old lady ran into the Tuckahoe YMCA. Now, admittedly, people should not be driving their cars into buildings, especially during business hours. And, I'll acknowledge that at a certain age it probably would be good to re-test elderly drivers annually.
But, Barrett would have you believe that there's some sort of bird-brain pandemic of old, confused, senile drivers. He says there's been "another" case of this. And then he goes on to say that this is the second such occurrence in recent months in Richmond. Big whoop.
Two whole cases. During that same time period, how many younger (below 65, let's say) drivers caused accidents because of being drunk, fatigued, distracted, or just pain stupid? I'm willing to bet that there have been more than two. I'm also willing to bet if you segregated statistics to show the number of accidents caused by drivers in each age group, that those caused by drivers 75 and above would not be the highest.
One reason, obviously is that a good many of those drivers are already dead. Certainly a lot of the drunks are either too dead or too brain-fried to be be driving at that age. A lot of the really poor drivers have also weeded themselves out by dying on the highways. But, even with that, I am virtually certain that elderly drivers running into buildings is way down on the list of accidents.
Barrett was also rather cruel in his attack on the poor woman because she said she didn't remember what happened. He suggested she may be suffering for "autosheimers disease." I'm sure that those who have parents and mates with Alzheimers will find that especially humorous.
But, following an accident, how many of us truly remember all the events that caused the accident? The woman could have lied and said that her foot slipped, or that a bug frightened her, or that her gas peddle stuck, but, no, she tells the truth and for that gets branded as mentally incompetent to drive.
Barrett even suggested that without benefit of a trial, her license should be revoked. Maybe he could get the KGB to just go to her home and shoot her.
This morning on the way to work, a less-than-elderly woman driver stops right in the middle of Staples Mill Road, almost causing me to rear-end her. Why? She really wanted to make a left turn but the left turn lane was filled. So this moron just stops in the road. I imagine, given the time of day, the woman was on her way to work. I think all people who drive to work should be re-tested annually. Most of them must be too stupid to drive.
That would include me. I almost merged right into a car today getting on the Interstate. I just didn't see the guy. I don't remember why I didn't see him. I didn't have a crash, but still, that wasn't because of anything I did. So, take my license, hang me by the neck until my eyes pop out of my head, or worse yet, humiliate me on the radio. I deserve it.
He's giddy with excitement this morning as he tells "yet another" story of an elderly driver who has run into a building. It happened "again" yesterday, when a 79-year old lady ran into the Tuckahoe YMCA. Now, admittedly, people should not be driving their cars into buildings, especially during business hours. And, I'll acknowledge that at a certain age it probably would be good to re-test elderly drivers annually.
But, Barrett would have you believe that there's some sort of bird-brain pandemic of old, confused, senile drivers. He says there's been "another" case of this. And then he goes on to say that this is the second such occurrence in recent months in Richmond. Big whoop.
Two whole cases. During that same time period, how many younger (below 65, let's say) drivers caused accidents because of being drunk, fatigued, distracted, or just pain stupid? I'm willing to bet that there have been more than two. I'm also willing to bet if you segregated statistics to show the number of accidents caused by drivers in each age group, that those caused by drivers 75 and above would not be the highest.
One reason, obviously is that a good many of those drivers are already dead. Certainly a lot of the drunks are either too dead or too brain-fried to be be driving at that age. A lot of the really poor drivers have also weeded themselves out by dying on the highways. But, even with that, I am virtually certain that elderly drivers running into buildings is way down on the list of accidents.
Barrett was also rather cruel in his attack on the poor woman because she said she didn't remember what happened. He suggested she may be suffering for "autosheimers disease." I'm sure that those who have parents and mates with Alzheimers will find that especially humorous.
But, following an accident, how many of us truly remember all the events that caused the accident? The woman could have lied and said that her foot slipped, or that a bug frightened her, or that her gas peddle stuck, but, no, she tells the truth and for that gets branded as mentally incompetent to drive.
Barrett even suggested that without benefit of a trial, her license should be revoked. Maybe he could get the KGB to just go to her home and shoot her.
This morning on the way to work, a less-than-elderly woman driver stops right in the middle of Staples Mill Road, almost causing me to rear-end her. Why? She really wanted to make a left turn but the left turn lane was filled. So this moron just stops in the road. I imagine, given the time of day, the woman was on her way to work. I think all people who drive to work should be re-tested annually. Most of them must be too stupid to drive.
That would include me. I almost merged right into a car today getting on the Interstate. I just didn't see the guy. I don't remember why I didn't see him. I didn't have a crash, but still, that wasn't because of anything I did. So, take my license, hang me by the neck until my eyes pop out of my head, or worse yet, humiliate me on the radio. I deserve it.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
That's No Lady, That's My Mom
To say that there are many stupid people out there is, of course, to state the obvious. But, despite my having knowledge of that stupidity, I’m still constantly amazed at just how stupid people truly can be.
Did you hear the one about the mother in Portland, Maine who helped her daughter and a couple of her friends bake Ex-lax-filled cookies to give to a school teacher who had given one of the girls a poor grade? That woman really needs to be given some sort of an award for reaching new heights of stupidity.
Now picture this. The kids are complaining about the teacher. One of the girls says, “Hey, I know what we should do. Let’s bake some Ex-lax cookies for Mrs. Frump.” Mom laughs with the girls at the ludicrous idea and then they all go about their daily business.
That would make sense. Even June Cleaver may have (off camera) laughed at the absurdity of doing such a thing. But, in this real-life situation, Mom says, “Great idea. That’s just what Mrs. Frump deserves.”
Mom then gets her Ex-lax, shows the girls how to crush the pills up and mix them in with the cookie dough. That’s a mom that I could certainly look up to as a role model…working diligently to train her daughter in the skills of homemaking and poisoning school teachers.
And, unfortunately, too many mothers are just too busy these days with their careers to take the time to teach their sons and daughters these basic, rudimentary skills. I bet most middle-schoolers have no idea how to bake Ex-lax cookies, or how to build incendiary devices when a cookie just won’t do.
Now, evidently the police up there in Maine feel that poisoning teachers (actually, the teacher gave the cookies to some students, creating a moving experience for several) is against the law. So what did they go and do to the mother of the year? They arrested her. The poor gal appeared before the judge handcuffed and in prison garb. If this mom does hard time who is going to be home when the kids get off the school bus? Who is going to be there to show them how to carve guns out of bars of soap, or where to hide drugs or those other important things that kids are simply not going to learn in school.
Nobody, that’s who? The kids are going to have to learn such things from their friends…from the streets, so to speak. And that worries me.
But, I have to admit it’s mom’s own fault. She really should never have gotten involved. Why couldn’t she be like all those other moms you hear about. You know, those moms who are content to join the PTA and keep themselves busy baking pies and embezzling funds?
Did you hear the one about the mother in Portland, Maine who helped her daughter and a couple of her friends bake Ex-lax-filled cookies to give to a school teacher who had given one of the girls a poor grade? That woman really needs to be given some sort of an award for reaching new heights of stupidity.
Now picture this. The kids are complaining about the teacher. One of the girls says, “Hey, I know what we should do. Let’s bake some Ex-lax cookies for Mrs. Frump.” Mom laughs with the girls at the ludicrous idea and then they all go about their daily business.
That would make sense. Even June Cleaver may have (off camera) laughed at the absurdity of doing such a thing. But, in this real-life situation, Mom says, “Great idea. That’s just what Mrs. Frump deserves.”
Mom then gets her Ex-lax, shows the girls how to crush the pills up and mix them in with the cookie dough. That’s a mom that I could certainly look up to as a role model…working diligently to train her daughter in the skills of homemaking and poisoning school teachers.
And, unfortunately, too many mothers are just too busy these days with their careers to take the time to teach their sons and daughters these basic, rudimentary skills. I bet most middle-schoolers have no idea how to bake Ex-lax cookies, or how to build incendiary devices when a cookie just won’t do.
Now, evidently the police up there in Maine feel that poisoning teachers (actually, the teacher gave the cookies to some students, creating a moving experience for several) is against the law. So what did they go and do to the mother of the year? They arrested her. The poor gal appeared before the judge handcuffed and in prison garb. If this mom does hard time who is going to be home when the kids get off the school bus? Who is going to be there to show them how to carve guns out of bars of soap, or where to hide drugs or those other important things that kids are simply not going to learn in school.
Nobody, that’s who? The kids are going to have to learn such things from their friends…from the streets, so to speak. And that worries me.
But, I have to admit it’s mom’s own fault. She really should never have gotten involved. Why couldn’t she be like all those other moms you hear about. You know, those moms who are content to join the PTA and keep themselves busy baking pies and embezzling funds?
Monday, May 08, 2006
Breathless
Television just keeps getting better and better and this May's sweeps is proof of the networks' ability to keep coming up with quality programming. I'm sitting in front of the TV right now, glued to the set, as it were, watching some moron hold his breath. That's the premise of the show. The guy is going to hold his breath for nine, count 'em, nine minutes.
It seems something has gone terribly wrong. The chains holding brainiac down are malfunctioning or something. He could die. And, of course, no one has thought to try and save him. Obviously. What would that do to the ratings?
They just showed the guy in his little bubble. I swear he looks like he's breathing to me. But maybe he hasn't gone under yet. I tuned in late. They're playing some recording of him telling how he does it. He puts his whole body to sleep, his tongue, his toes...he doesn't mention his brain, but I have a feeling it's kind of in a semi-permanent sleep-like state.
Oh goody. It hasn't started yet. I guess this is an hour-long show. Just think about that...sixty minutes devoted to a guy who will hold his breath for nine minutes. The only premise for an hour long show more ludicrous would be a show featuring a bunch of suitcases and contestants would have the suitcases opened one at a time. That would be riveting, must-see TV.
And just think, the month of May is just getting started. They had the Seventh Heaven series finale tonight. I can't watch it. I have diabetes.
Then there's that TV movie coming on tomorrow. It's about bird flu. Hey, I love those tragedy movies, but did anyone ever stop to think that watching people with flu is not quite as exciting as watching tornados twist through town or watching glaciers move into Los Angeles? Somehow the idea of two hours of watching people sneeze and blow their noses until they die just doesn't cut it for me.
Supposedly, the story has Richmond as ground zero for the plague. What you wanna bet that hundreds of locals will call in sick Wednesday morning, just to be on the safe side?
Back to the breath-holding show, they say this David Blaine has been living in his gold fish bowl for 176 hours. I hope they don't do a closeup of the water. I mean, well, I think you know what I mean. Humans can be a lot more disgusting that gold fish when it comes to waste removal.
I guess this electronic version of a freak show is going to keep me tuned in, as much as I know I'll hate myself in the morning. I want to watch for the same reason a lot of people watch NASCAR. And, it's not to watch autos racing around a track.
They have a doctor standing outside the fish bowl. He's explaining how we'll know if this idiot has passed out. I'd say when his tongue hangs out and his eyeballs pop out of his head we'll have a pretty good idea something has gone wrong.
It's getting ready to start. The crowd is going wild. Lincoln Center is not generally the site of such classy entertainment.
Well, I'm going to go watch. I'll be back in nine minutes, or when the guy dies, whichever comes first. I think I'll hold my breath along with him.
Oh what the hey, I can type and watch. I think I read that if he succeeds, he will go into the Guiness Book of World Records as the world's most stupid human (still living).
It's coming up on four minutes. I need a breath, but I'm holding mine in support of the guy. My toes are alseep, but that happens all the time when I sit in one position too long.
He's at five minutes and the crowd is going beserk...not as beserk as David Blaine, but beserk. I need a breath. I don't think I can go another three minutes.
I think he's having a seizure. Oh, too bad, he didn't make it. I guess the crowd can still hope for brain damage, but, really how could you tell?
They're administering oxygen. The crowd is cheering him...cheering a loser. And really, isn't that what the May sweeps is truly all about.
Blaine is crying. I think he's so out of it he thinks he accomplished something. He did. He brought thousands together to watch him fail. But, hey, they say he has lived underwater longer than any other human. I guess mermaids are disqualified.
Now he's being cheered for walking. I wonder if I can get a TV deal for holding my nose nine minutes. I'd still be breathing, but I think that might be a record for the longest anyone has held his nose.
It seems something has gone terribly wrong. The chains holding brainiac down are malfunctioning or something. He could die. And, of course, no one has thought to try and save him. Obviously. What would that do to the ratings?
They just showed the guy in his little bubble. I swear he looks like he's breathing to me. But maybe he hasn't gone under yet. I tuned in late. They're playing some recording of him telling how he does it. He puts his whole body to sleep, his tongue, his toes...he doesn't mention his brain, but I have a feeling it's kind of in a semi-permanent sleep-like state.
Oh goody. It hasn't started yet. I guess this is an hour-long show. Just think about that...sixty minutes devoted to a guy who will hold his breath for nine minutes. The only premise for an hour long show more ludicrous would be a show featuring a bunch of suitcases and contestants would have the suitcases opened one at a time. That would be riveting, must-see TV.
And just think, the month of May is just getting started. They had the Seventh Heaven series finale tonight. I can't watch it. I have diabetes.
Then there's that TV movie coming on tomorrow. It's about bird flu. Hey, I love those tragedy movies, but did anyone ever stop to think that watching people with flu is not quite as exciting as watching tornados twist through town or watching glaciers move into Los Angeles? Somehow the idea of two hours of watching people sneeze and blow their noses until they die just doesn't cut it for me.
Supposedly, the story has Richmond as ground zero for the plague. What you wanna bet that hundreds of locals will call in sick Wednesday morning, just to be on the safe side?
Back to the breath-holding show, they say this David Blaine has been living in his gold fish bowl for 176 hours. I hope they don't do a closeup of the water. I mean, well, I think you know what I mean. Humans can be a lot more disgusting that gold fish when it comes to waste removal.
I guess this electronic version of a freak show is going to keep me tuned in, as much as I know I'll hate myself in the morning. I want to watch for the same reason a lot of people watch NASCAR. And, it's not to watch autos racing around a track.
They have a doctor standing outside the fish bowl. He's explaining how we'll know if this idiot has passed out. I'd say when his tongue hangs out and his eyeballs pop out of his head we'll have a pretty good idea something has gone wrong.
It's getting ready to start. The crowd is going wild. Lincoln Center is not generally the site of such classy entertainment.
Well, I'm going to go watch. I'll be back in nine minutes, or when the guy dies, whichever comes first. I think I'll hold my breath along with him.
Oh what the hey, I can type and watch. I think I read that if he succeeds, he will go into the Guiness Book of World Records as the world's most stupid human (still living).
It's coming up on four minutes. I need a breath, but I'm holding mine in support of the guy. My toes are alseep, but that happens all the time when I sit in one position too long.
He's at five minutes and the crowd is going beserk...not as beserk as David Blaine, but beserk. I need a breath. I don't think I can go another three minutes.
I think he's having a seizure. Oh, too bad, he didn't make it. I guess the crowd can still hope for brain damage, but, really how could you tell?
They're administering oxygen. The crowd is cheering him...cheering a loser. And really, isn't that what the May sweeps is truly all about.
Blaine is crying. I think he's so out of it he thinks he accomplished something. He did. He brought thousands together to watch him fail. But, hey, they say he has lived underwater longer than any other human. I guess mermaids are disqualified.
Now he's being cheered for walking. I wonder if I can get a TV deal for holding my nose nine minutes. I'd still be breathing, but I think that might be a record for the longest anyone has held his nose.
I've Already Used Every Applicable Pun I Know
You know, in all seriousness, I think Richmond's Mayor, Governor Doug Wilder has become obsessed with this Maymont bear thing. Rumor has it that he spent weeks roaming the forests of Western Virginia (not to be confused with West Virginia) looking for an orphan bear. I don't think I'd recognize an orphan bear if I saw one. I surely would not wait around to see if Papa and Mama Bear are anywhere around. But, then that's why he's the mayor.
But Wilder isn't content with just bagging (so to speak) a bear, he now is totally immersed in a contest to name the bear. I have some ideas on that. And, no, I'm not suggesting Dougie as a name.
I think there are ways to combine that cutesy, friendly bear name with a warning to parents who visit the park that you don't want to let your child get in the cage with the bear. So, how about Bobby, The Baby-Biting Bear? What would be cool is to get a baby doll, dismember it (fun in itself), and take pictures of the bear cub with arms and legs sticking out of its mouth. Post those pictures all around the cage and chances are slim that Junior is going to try and pet Bobby.
You could smear a blood-like substance on the bear's mouth and teeth. It should be totally non-toxic. We definitely don't want to take a chance of causing Bobby any harm. But wait till the kiddies get a look at Bobby's blood-stained face. Nothing says "Hey kids, keep your distance," like sheer terror.
Another idea (and don't worry, I have thousands) would pay honor to the mayor and, at the same time, send a subliminal message that this bear may be worse than the one that devoured the little kid a few months ago. Why not name the new bear "Woody, the Wilder Bear"? You get it? Clever, huh?
Or, what about Maimer, the Maymont bear? It's not as friendly as Bobby or Woody but it still sends a message. I'm not in favor of scaring little kids just for the fun element. But, in line with Wilder's love for bears, a name that conjures up the idea of danger will, in the long run, protect our little cub from suffering the same fate as the previous two bears.
I think you can tell I have a deep love for our animal friends. I was heartsick yesterday when I spotted a dead deer cub alongside I-64. It was like a Bambi cartoon gone terribly awry. With my years of entering the "Draw Blinky" matchbook artists' school application, I couldn't help but pull over and try and draw a picture of the expired deer. I still can't get the nose just right, but I'm trying.
I've never been accepted in that "Deer-Drawers Artist School." And that hurts. But, this blog is not about me. It's about my love for animals. I'm no Doug Wilder, but I do care. But enough for now, my wife is fixing me venison and eggs for breakfast, and I'm famished.
But Wilder isn't content with just bagging (so to speak) a bear, he now is totally immersed in a contest to name the bear. I have some ideas on that. And, no, I'm not suggesting Dougie as a name.
I think there are ways to combine that cutesy, friendly bear name with a warning to parents who visit the park that you don't want to let your child get in the cage with the bear. So, how about Bobby, The Baby-Biting Bear? What would be cool is to get a baby doll, dismember it (fun in itself), and take pictures of the bear cub with arms and legs sticking out of its mouth. Post those pictures all around the cage and chances are slim that Junior is going to try and pet Bobby.
You could smear a blood-like substance on the bear's mouth and teeth. It should be totally non-toxic. We definitely don't want to take a chance of causing Bobby any harm. But wait till the kiddies get a look at Bobby's blood-stained face. Nothing says "Hey kids, keep your distance," like sheer terror.
Another idea (and don't worry, I have thousands) would pay honor to the mayor and, at the same time, send a subliminal message that this bear may be worse than the one that devoured the little kid a few months ago. Why not name the new bear "Woody, the Wilder Bear"? You get it? Clever, huh?
Or, what about Maimer, the Maymont bear? It's not as friendly as Bobby or Woody but it still sends a message. I'm not in favor of scaring little kids just for the fun element. But, in line with Wilder's love for bears, a name that conjures up the idea of danger will, in the long run, protect our little cub from suffering the same fate as the previous two bears.
I think you can tell I have a deep love for our animal friends. I was heartsick yesterday when I spotted a dead deer cub alongside I-64. It was like a Bambi cartoon gone terribly awry. With my years of entering the "Draw Blinky" matchbook artists' school application, I couldn't help but pull over and try and draw a picture of the expired deer. I still can't get the nose just right, but I'm trying.
I've never been accepted in that "Deer-Drawers Artist School." And that hurts. But, this blog is not about me. It's about my love for animals. I'm no Doug Wilder, but I do care. But enough for now, my wife is fixing me venison and eggs for breakfast, and I'm famished.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
That's Deweese De Cookie Crumbles
Well, I just got some bad news. I received a personalized mass email from Mac Watson, host of WRVA’s (1140 AM in Richmond) afternoon drive show, which oddly enough bears his name. Seems Watson’s producer, Dave Deweese, is leaving the show to go to Albany. That's too bad. I had wanted to do an article about Dave. I guess now I'll have more room to write about the Maymont bears.
Anyway, Watson mentions Albany in passing, and to be honest, I’m not sure if he means Albany, New York or Albany, Georgia, or some other Albany.My guess is that he means some other Albany, because I’m not sure the New York and Georgia Albanies even have radio stations.
Of course, Mac’s newsletter conveniently omits any mention of what DeWeese will be doing in Albany. From all I know, he might be doing time. Mac is very vague about this whole DeWeese thing, and that just leads me to speculate.
Is Mac somewhat surrpetitiously trying to ship Deweese out of here, out of the public eye, here in Richmond? I’m not saying anything, I’m just saying that I’ve watched all those Dateline sting shows, and, well, maybe I’m just a little suspicious.
Of course, it could be something much more innocent. Perhaps Mac is just a wee bit jealous of all the attention his producer is getting. Oh, they can pretend to enjoy one another on the air, but, I for one, am not so easily fooled.
Ever since I was (as Mayor Governor Wilder says) tragedized by the Lewis and Martin split up, I’m not so gullible to believe that big stars with big egos can really tolerate other talented folk who invade their turf.
So, maybe Deweese got tired of Watson trying to take up more than his share of the local spotlight. Watson comes to town, and the next thing you know, it’s the Mac Watson Show…not even the Mac Watson Show, starring Dave Deweese. One thing for sure, Mac’s ego is not as diminutive as the talk show host is in statue. I may not have worded that right, but honestly, I’m not interested enough in this column to rewrite it.
I wish I had known about this brewing feud between Watson and Deweese. I think we could have offered Dave a job here at our company. Especially if we ever decide to change directions and aim our magazines at acid dropping ex-head banging hippies from the generations past.
Deweese seems to have near-encyclopedic knowledge of every drugged-out has-been band in America. Well, I guess it’s good to be good at something.
I hear they’re having some sort of farewell show down at Old City Bar in Shockoe Bottom this afternoon. I’m going to have to come up with some sort of an excuse to get down there. I hope there’s no Braves game in Shockoe this afternoon. Parking will be such a bear, especially when you add in the crowds at the Slave Museum.
I want to see what Deweese looks like. It’s not that I have some sort of a schoolboy crush on him, but I just like to match voices with faces.
Mac looks exactly like he sounds…Ray Combs’ afterbirth. But, I’m not sure about Deweese. I get some sort of Vic Damone vibe when I hear him. I guess this will be my last chance to check it out.
Whatever he looks like, all seriousness aside, he will be missed. And, while I hate to ever say anything nice, Watson does one of the best afternoon shows WRVA has ever aired, since they went all talk, but Deweese adds another dimension to the show that will be sorely missed.
Anyway, Watson mentions Albany in passing, and to be honest, I’m not sure if he means Albany, New York or Albany, Georgia, or some other Albany.My guess is that he means some other Albany, because I’m not sure the New York and Georgia Albanies even have radio stations.
Of course, Mac’s newsletter conveniently omits any mention of what DeWeese will be doing in Albany. From all I know, he might be doing time. Mac is very vague about this whole DeWeese thing, and that just leads me to speculate.
Is Mac somewhat surrpetitiously trying to ship Deweese out of here, out of the public eye, here in Richmond? I’m not saying anything, I’m just saying that I’ve watched all those Dateline sting shows, and, well, maybe I’m just a little suspicious.
Of course, it could be something much more innocent. Perhaps Mac is just a wee bit jealous of all the attention his producer is getting. Oh, they can pretend to enjoy one another on the air, but, I for one, am not so easily fooled.
Ever since I was (as Mayor Governor Wilder says) tragedized by the Lewis and Martin split up, I’m not so gullible to believe that big stars with big egos can really tolerate other talented folk who invade their turf.
So, maybe Deweese got tired of Watson trying to take up more than his share of the local spotlight. Watson comes to town, and the next thing you know, it’s the Mac Watson Show…not even the Mac Watson Show, starring Dave Deweese. One thing for sure, Mac’s ego is not as diminutive as the talk show host is in statue. I may not have worded that right, but honestly, I’m not interested enough in this column to rewrite it.
I wish I had known about this brewing feud between Watson and Deweese. I think we could have offered Dave a job here at our company. Especially if we ever decide to change directions and aim our magazines at acid dropping ex-head banging hippies from the generations past.
Deweese seems to have near-encyclopedic knowledge of every drugged-out has-been band in America. Well, I guess it’s good to be good at something.
I hear they’re having some sort of farewell show down at Old City Bar in Shockoe Bottom this afternoon. I’m going to have to come up with some sort of an excuse to get down there. I hope there’s no Braves game in Shockoe this afternoon. Parking will be such a bear, especially when you add in the crowds at the Slave Museum.
I want to see what Deweese looks like. It’s not that I have some sort of a schoolboy crush on him, but I just like to match voices with faces.
Mac looks exactly like he sounds…Ray Combs’ afterbirth. But, I’m not sure about Deweese. I get some sort of Vic Damone vibe when I hear him. I guess this will be my last chance to check it out.
Whatever he looks like, all seriousness aside, he will be missed. And, while I hate to ever say anything nice, Watson does one of the best afternoon shows WRVA has ever aired, since they went all talk, but Deweese adds another dimension to the show that will be sorely missed.
TV We'd Like to See
Just yesterday I was talking about ABC's Commander In Chief...you know the show about a woman president. I could have told you that America would not take to a show about a woman president. Don't ask me how I know these things, but, I do. I also know what type of shows America does want. I've come up with a few ideas. And, to be honest, I'd appreciate your feedback. Here goes:
Saved By the Bell - The Presidential Years - Zach is now married to Jessie (a female for those few non-Saved By The Bell fans) and is running for president in the first season. Screech is his running mate, and, of course, Lisa will eventually become Secretary of State. The hilarity is non-stop, and if people don't laugh, Elizabeth Berkley can take on more of a prominent role, if you know what I mean.
Presidential Deal or No Presidential Deal - The world's leaders take turns picking suitcases. Eventually they end up with a suitcase that determines if they start a war, create a nuclear bomb, or send immigrants flocking into the U.S. Whatever happens, it's sure to make for an exciting hour of reality/game show/political intrigue.
Presidential Wife Swap - Bill Clinton plays a president who swaps his wife for a White House intern. Oh wait, that one's already been done.
My President The Jet- Hilarity ensues when a former, dead president comes back as Air Force One. Imagine the confusion when the current president consults with his airplane on issues of national importance. Oh wait, that's already being done.
Desperate First Ladies - Former and current first ladies duke it out in a series of catfights. The winner gets to be the next President. This is a reality series that is bound to please just about everyone in the family. This show has "WINNER" written all over it.
Everybody Loves W - The President continues to mess up even the simplest things. Add to that merriment an ongoing conflict between Laura and Barbara, a dumb brother, a confused father, and, of course, the twins, and you have the next season's biggest smash comedy hit.
Well, these are my ideas. Any producers with deep pockets out there, I'm open for consults.
Saved By the Bell - The Presidential Years - Zach is now married to Jessie (a female for those few non-Saved By The Bell fans) and is running for president in the first season. Screech is his running mate, and, of course, Lisa will eventually become Secretary of State. The hilarity is non-stop, and if people don't laugh, Elizabeth Berkley can take on more of a prominent role, if you know what I mean.
Presidential Deal or No Presidential Deal - The world's leaders take turns picking suitcases. Eventually they end up with a suitcase that determines if they start a war, create a nuclear bomb, or send immigrants flocking into the U.S. Whatever happens, it's sure to make for an exciting hour of reality/game show/political intrigue.
Presidential Wife Swap - Bill Clinton plays a president who swaps his wife for a White House intern. Oh wait, that one's already been done.
My President The Jet- Hilarity ensues when a former, dead president comes back as Air Force One. Imagine the confusion when the current president consults with his airplane on issues of national importance. Oh wait, that's already being done.
Desperate First Ladies - Former and current first ladies duke it out in a series of catfights. The winner gets to be the next President. This is a reality series that is bound to please just about everyone in the family. This show has "WINNER" written all over it.
Everybody Loves W - The President continues to mess up even the simplest things. Add to that merriment an ongoing conflict between Laura and Barbara, a dumb brother, a confused father, and, of course, the twins, and you have the next season's biggest smash comedy hit.
Well, these are my ideas. Any producers with deep pockets out there, I'm open for consults.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Help, I've Been Tragedized
You know, except for me and you, people, as a rule, are pretty stupid. And sometimes, I'm not so sure about me. Fooled you, didn't I?
Anyway, I was reading a report that the officials in Hyattsville, Maryland were up in arms because an episode of ABC Television's Commander In Chief, depicted the town as crime-ridden. Hello in there. You idiots, don't you realize that Commander In Chief is fiction? I'm surprised the mayor of Hyattsville didn't address his concerns to Madame President.
I mean think about it people. It's a story of a woman president. That in itself tells you it's total fiction. Can you imagine - a woman as President? I think not.
Here's another eye-opener for you Hyattsvillains, there is no race of Klingons bent on destroying us. At least none that I'm aware of. In other words, why, if you have half a piece of brain in those thick Maryland skulls, would you get upset at something that's clearly fiction. And, let's just say, to humor me, that you did get upset, at least have enough sense to realize that you'll only look like a bunch of backwater morons to publicize your concerns.
Just keep it to yourself. That way a few folks might never catch on as to how foolish you are. I mean, I never thought of the good folks of Hyattsville being exceptionally stupid...before today.
I guess when any TV drama comes on from now on, they'll have to have a disclaimer to let the folks in Hyattsville know not to take it too seriously.
As long as we're talking stories in the news, did you see how Mayor Governor Wilder single-handedly bagged a bear cub and dragged it back to Maymont. I hope he can get some rest now. Although, judging from what he had to say on Jimmy Barrett's morning news program, I think he's still feeling the pain. He spoke of the many who had been tragedized by the tragedy. Huh? Tragedized? Who does Mayor Wilder think he is, George Kingfish Stephens?
Well Andy, I done been tragedized by de tragedy, you knows. So I'ze hopin' this new bear cub will sacroleviate my pain.
I will say, to avoid being shot, I thought Amos and Andy was the best comedy ever on television. Unfortunately, many blacks thought it presented blacks in a derogatory manner, so it was yanked.
Somehow, the blacks were perfectly alright with all those Afro-centric comedies that portray blacks as hopping in and out of bed with everyone who walks by. Go figure. Maybe it's just the blacks in Hyattsville, though.
Or, maybe, I am the one that is stupid. If that's the case, then I really do feel tragedized.
Anyway, I was reading a report that the officials in Hyattsville, Maryland were up in arms because an episode of ABC Television's Commander In Chief, depicted the town as crime-ridden. Hello in there. You idiots, don't you realize that Commander In Chief is fiction? I'm surprised the mayor of Hyattsville didn't address his concerns to Madame President.
I mean think about it people. It's a story of a woman president. That in itself tells you it's total fiction. Can you imagine - a woman as President? I think not.
Here's another eye-opener for you Hyattsvillains, there is no race of Klingons bent on destroying us. At least none that I'm aware of. In other words, why, if you have half a piece of brain in those thick Maryland skulls, would you get upset at something that's clearly fiction. And, let's just say, to humor me, that you did get upset, at least have enough sense to realize that you'll only look like a bunch of backwater morons to publicize your concerns.
Just keep it to yourself. That way a few folks might never catch on as to how foolish you are. I mean, I never thought of the good folks of Hyattsville being exceptionally stupid...before today.
I guess when any TV drama comes on from now on, they'll have to have a disclaimer to let the folks in Hyattsville know not to take it too seriously.
As long as we're talking stories in the news, did you see how Mayor Governor Wilder single-handedly bagged a bear cub and dragged it back to Maymont. I hope he can get some rest now. Although, judging from what he had to say on Jimmy Barrett's morning news program, I think he's still feeling the pain. He spoke of the many who had been tragedized by the tragedy. Huh? Tragedized? Who does Mayor Wilder think he is, George Kingfish Stephens?
Well Andy, I done been tragedized by de tragedy, you knows. So I'ze hopin' this new bear cub will sacroleviate my pain.
I will say, to avoid being shot, I thought Amos and Andy was the best comedy ever on television. Unfortunately, many blacks thought it presented blacks in a derogatory manner, so it was yanked.
Somehow, the blacks were perfectly alright with all those Afro-centric comedies that portray blacks as hopping in and out of bed with everyone who walks by. Go figure. Maybe it's just the blacks in Hyattsville, though.
Or, maybe, I am the one that is stupid. If that's the case, then I really do feel tragedized.
Look Out For Those Illegals
When the immigrants first arrived, most of the locals took a somewhat passive approach. Sure, there were those nay-sayers who foresaw trouble. But, whatever the case, they (the immigrants) were allowed in...actually, welcomed in on many occasions.
And, at first, these immigrants seemed to have an appreciation for the local customs. Sure, they had their own customs and cultures which they brought with them, but they didn't seem bent on destroying everything that was already in place here. That was, of course, at first.
What the locals may not have realized is that those immigrants intended right from the start to make their "fortune" here and then ship that fortune back home. In fact, there were individuals back home who had actually helped the immigrants to come here in order to do just that.
After a while the immigrants began to feel they should have greater rights. It was as if they figured they had as much right to the land and the wealth of the land as did the citizens. It was then that the citizens began to get a little frighthened. Maybe these immigrants weren't content with being visitors, or even second-class citizens.
The fear on the part of the citizens has proven to be well-founded. The immigrants began to demand more and more and more. Before you knew it, the immigrants had grown to such great numbers that it was the citizens who often felt like the second-class citizens. Things began to change.
The citizens began to fight back. They realized they had somewhat been duped. They knew the immigration problem was a real threat. But it appeared to be too late. The immigrants were entrenched in the land. And, they weren't going to leave.
The immigrants took advantage of their large numbers. Now it became clear just what these upstart immigrants intended to do. And, you know what? The immigrants did exactly what they had probably planned to do all along. They fought for their so-called rights. And they won!
And next year, those immigrants (or their offspring) will celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of their first permanent excursion across the border.
And, at first, these immigrants seemed to have an appreciation for the local customs. Sure, they had their own customs and cultures which they brought with them, but they didn't seem bent on destroying everything that was already in place here. That was, of course, at first.
What the locals may not have realized is that those immigrants intended right from the start to make their "fortune" here and then ship that fortune back home. In fact, there were individuals back home who had actually helped the immigrants to come here in order to do just that.
After a while the immigrants began to feel they should have greater rights. It was as if they figured they had as much right to the land and the wealth of the land as did the citizens. It was then that the citizens began to get a little frighthened. Maybe these immigrants weren't content with being visitors, or even second-class citizens.
The fear on the part of the citizens has proven to be well-founded. The immigrants began to demand more and more and more. Before you knew it, the immigrants had grown to such great numbers that it was the citizens who often felt like the second-class citizens. Things began to change.
The citizens began to fight back. They realized they had somewhat been duped. They knew the immigration problem was a real threat. But it appeared to be too late. The immigrants were entrenched in the land. And, they weren't going to leave.
The immigrants took advantage of their large numbers. Now it became clear just what these upstart immigrants intended to do. And, you know what? The immigrants did exactly what they had probably planned to do all along. They fought for their so-called rights. And they won!
And next year, those immigrants (or their offspring) will celebrate the four hundredth anniversary of their first permanent excursion across the border.
Monday, May 01, 2006
No Peso Today
Well this is the day we're supposed to find out what life in America would be like without illegal immigrants. Gee, I hope I'm not too traumatized by this. These illegals say they're not going to do any shopping today. You know what that means? It means I have the 7-11 all to myself. It means there won't be sucra packages left lying all over the coffee-stained counter top. Somehow I think I can make it through the day without these immigrants.
I know some of you are, at this minute, branding me a bigot. Well, if its bigoted to resent criminals running around protesting, then, yes, I guess I am a bigot. Somehow, I wasn't aware just how important lawbreakers have been in my life. So, I'm taking this day to reflect on how much criminals have contributed to my life.
Take license plates, for example. I know they used to be produced at the State Pen in Richmond. I guess they're still made by convicts. They still have that quality look and feel that only comes from having a product made by a crazed killer. I don't think those confined in our state penal institutions get the credit they deserve.
I'm proposing that all of the inmates throughout the state just walk out today. Really, put your license-plate-making tools down and leave. Why let these bully guards control your life. You have rights. You're a contributing member of society. You may find getting out of your respective facilities to be a bit of a challenge, but I'm willing to bet that if you let the warden know you want to support the illegal immigrants, he or she will be more than understanding.
And, while we're talking about criminals, let's talk about John Mohammed for a moment. Now they're getting ready to begin his trial in Maryland. He's being tried for killing six people. Hasn't that poor man suffered enough? Thankfully, the state of Maryland says they will not seek the death penalty. I think the public would be outraged if his dead body (following his execution in Virginia) were hauled off to Maryland and lethally injected. I know Mohammed is hoping to get life in prison in Maryland. Then he can appeal to have his execution carried out in Virginia after he's served his life sentence in Maryland.
You know, as I review this, what appalls me about myself, is that I didn't become a lawyer, or some sort of diplomat. I seem to have the solution to most of life's problems. I should make it my life's work to just go around and spread good news to all whom I meet.
But, that will have to wait until tomorrow. Today I'm protesting with my amigos.
I know some of you are, at this minute, branding me a bigot. Well, if its bigoted to resent criminals running around protesting, then, yes, I guess I am a bigot. Somehow, I wasn't aware just how important lawbreakers have been in my life. So, I'm taking this day to reflect on how much criminals have contributed to my life.
Take license plates, for example. I know they used to be produced at the State Pen in Richmond. I guess they're still made by convicts. They still have that quality look and feel that only comes from having a product made by a crazed killer. I don't think those confined in our state penal institutions get the credit they deserve.
I'm proposing that all of the inmates throughout the state just walk out today. Really, put your license-plate-making tools down and leave. Why let these bully guards control your life. You have rights. You're a contributing member of society. You may find getting out of your respective facilities to be a bit of a challenge, but I'm willing to bet that if you let the warden know you want to support the illegal immigrants, he or she will be more than understanding.
And, while we're talking about criminals, let's talk about John Mohammed for a moment. Now they're getting ready to begin his trial in Maryland. He's being tried for killing six people. Hasn't that poor man suffered enough? Thankfully, the state of Maryland says they will not seek the death penalty. I think the public would be outraged if his dead body (following his execution in Virginia) were hauled off to Maryland and lethally injected. I know Mohammed is hoping to get life in prison in Maryland. Then he can appeal to have his execution carried out in Virginia after he's served his life sentence in Maryland.
You know, as I review this, what appalls me about myself, is that I didn't become a lawyer, or some sort of diplomat. I seem to have the solution to most of life's problems. I should make it my life's work to just go around and spread good news to all whom I meet.
But, that will have to wait until tomorrow. Today I'm protesting with my amigos.
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