More Reasons I Won't Be Called To Speak In Michael Vick's Defense

Let's talk Michael Vick. I mean let's get down to the real nitty gritty. I've done a lot of research and may be the most knowledgeable person in the country about what's going on with the native Virginian dog-fighter, who is also known for his prowess on the football field.
First to quell a rumor...there is no truth to the report that Vick has written a book, entitled, "I Didn't Kill No Dogs, But If I Had, Here Is How I Would Have Did It." You may already know that to be a rumor, but only I know how it got started. Seems Vick's publicist issued a press release, trying to put the guy in the best possible light. The release contained this statement, "Michael Vick has just completed his first book." Some were wont to jump on that line and expand upon it until you get the Michael Vick tell-all. There really was never any good reason for this rumor in the first place. All one would have had to do is to continue reading the press release, which went on to say, "Vick is so excited, he says he hopes to read another book real soon." Do you see how easily things can get out of hand?
Next item on the Michael Vick agenda: The marijuana. Seems Vick was drug tested and, you won't believe this, he had been smoking marijuana. A pro athlete? Unbelieveable. Honestly, with all the stuff the athletes are getting in to these days, I think it would be a good idea if ESPN merged with Court TV. But, as regards Vick, I say we cut him a little slack. Actually, the guys bettering himself. He's under a lot of pressure. In the old days, when the star quarterback needed to calm down, he could go out and kill a dog. But, now that he's been enabled to understand that hanging dogs by the neck until dead is not the truly humane thing to do, he isn't killing them anymore. I say we give the guy a standing O for that. One thing for sure, he ain't going to be getting much applause on the gridiron for a few years.
But, I do think Michael Vick has more adaptibility than many of you give him credit for. Do you know what the guy is doing ini preparation for his upcoming stint in the big house? When I learned what I'm about to tell you, I confess, it pulled one of my heartstrings. Thankfully, I had my Tums on me. Anyway, in order to help him pass the time spent behind bars constructively, right now, as we speak, Vick is training rats to fight. Isn't that wonderful?
Well, I hope you all are just a little more enlightened than you were a few minutes ago. I say, "Let's walk in someone else's never-to-be-worn-again cleats before we start judging him." And, you can quote me on that.
Now, if there's anyone else you want to know the real skinny on, just ask. When it comes to skinny, I'm your go to guy.

Random Thoughts From a Guy Who Doesn't Have a Sexist Bone In His Body

It's kind of a mixed bag today...just some random thoughts that bounce through my less-than-pretty little head. First things first. I'm not sexist.
Our publisher was meeting with a high-powered female attorney this afternoon. I overheard her telling my boss that she had read several of my columns and, in her opinion, I am sexist.
I strolled into the conference room where they were meeting and took a seat. I don't like my name to be bandied about. I sat down right beside this (may I say it?) rather attractive woman. I looked her straight in the eye. "Listen, Hon," I said politely. "How about doing me a favor and getting me a bottle of water out of the fridge in the hallway." She was sitting closest to the door. Nothing sexist about that.
Somehow I could sense some tension, so I just strolled back to my desk. It really is hard to figure chicks out, even the smart ones.
But, on to other matters. A friend of mine, Deborah Crawford, vented some of her frustration in an email, regarding the rather absurd habit of certain waitstaff personnel in seating an exclusively adult party of diners right next to a family with four or five whining, screaming, sticky children.
"The restaurant was virtually empty," she told me, "and yet we were seated right next to a family with five kids." Now, regardless of whom I was dining with, it would be a nightmare to be next to a bunch of kids.
Don't get me wrong. I like kids. I have a precious grandson. But, if I were to be anticipating a quiet night out in a nice restaurant, the last thing I want are kids around.
I have known families who had a bunch of 'em, and the kids were really well-mannered, but all too often, the only persons who see the kids as well-mannered are their ignorant parents.
I don't despise the kids as much as I despise adults who think when little Maurice runs over to my table and puts his thumb in my French onion soup, that it's precious. Mom and Dad are so busy smiling at each other and congratulating each other on having given birth to such darlings, that rarely do they see me fling pepper into the child's eye. And when Maurice starts to cry, I get this high-pitched idiot-adult-talking-to-child voice and say, "Did him hurt himself? Here let me help."
That usually gets the parents' attention and often, as Maurice's eye continues to water and redden, they'll quickly pay the bill and leave.
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not advising putting any foreign substance into a child's eye. But sometimes, when you're nervous (like when a kid sticks his thumb into your soup), you react in ways you wouldn't normally. We all do it. And I forgive myself for it.
For the life of me, I don't understand how parents can sit calmly and watch their children approaching strangers as if they're long lost friends. Hey, it's great your child has such a lovely disposition, but, beyond the fact it grates on my nerves, it truly isn't safe to raise such friendly kids nowadays. I've heard some parents say, "Well, I don't want Junior to grow up in fear." Sometimes that attitude is almost tantamount to saying, "I don't want Junior to grow up." Wake up people. Gee, where did that soapbox come from. I just hope the lady lawyer, if she's reading this, appreciates my serious side, as well as my concern for kids. I think she'd be just a tad bit impressed.
One more thing...isn't Phil Spector just about the ugliest human on the planet. At least when O.J. got by with murder, he looked rather dapper in that suit. But, when they showed pictures of Spector as his trial ended in a hung jury, it was painful looking at the guy. Really, with his long scraggly hair and pasty-white skin, he reminds me of a really ugly gal I used to know. But, enought about that.

Why I Want To Be Famous - In a Thousand Words or Less

I'd like to be famous. Now, that may sound rather arrogant, but, as you know, humility is my middle name. Actually, it's a family name, but...whatever. It's not that I think that I have the talent it takes to be famous. It's not because I want to be worshiped and adored. There's really only one reason I'd love to be famous and I can sum it up in two words: FREE STUFF!
Famous people are always being given things. For instance, I hear car dealers will give people like Tom Cruse cars to drive. Then after a few months, he gives the car back and the dealer can sell it as a car driven by Tom Cruse. Now tell me that isn't cool. Don't even waste your breath, because I know it is cool. I'd like someone to give me a HDTV for a few months. I'd also like XM Radio and another pair of Haggar slacks. Gee, if I were famous, I'd bet I'd have all that stuff...for free.
I bet when a famous person goes into a restaurant, hundreds of people are just begging to buy him a meal or a drink. The only problem I'd have with that is that I'd lose my girlish figure right quickly. But, it would be great.
And, think about this. Suppose I was famous and I wanted something and no one was offering to give it to me, all I'd have to do is sign a few photos of myself, put 'em on E-Bay, and sell my autographs. I'd be rich in minutes...just from signing my own name. That really is too cool. I think being able to sell your own autograph would be about the best gig anyone could ever have. No matter where you went, you could find work. I think it would be a good job for homeless people to look into. Of course, they'd have to become famous first. Famous people are the luckiest people on earth, except for handicapped people who get all the great parking spaces.
People love famous people...even infamous people like O.J. Can you believe that when he flew home the other day, other passengers on the plane were standing in line to get his picture? He probably got some free drinks and stuff just for being O.J. Maybe if I change my name to S.C. I'll become famous. Maybe I could try putting my autograph on E-Bay and see if someone would buy it. You know, that's a thought. There are plenty of stupid people out there. Maybe I could convince someone I was famous.
I think what I need to get me is an entourage. I'm not sure how you go about getting that, but if I could hire some people to follow me around and swoon and fawn (I'd never used those two words together. I like it), maybe then I could convince people I was famous. Even O.J. had his posse. That's exactly what I need...a posse. Now that would be cool. If I had a posse, even if no one would buy me a meal, I bet one of them would. I'm just guessing, because I've never had a posse, but I bet there are a bunch of perks. I'm getting excited now.
I'm going to put a posse together. If any of you would like to apply, let me say right up front, there's no pay in it. But, at least you'd get to go to lots of really nice places. But, of course, youd' have to be willing to pay your way and mine. But, you could go around telling your friends, "S.C. and I were at the club the other night," or "S.C. and I are heading to Paris." Impressive, eh? Think about it.

Don't Tease Me Bro

I woke up early this morning and couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to do a little cable surfing. I tuned into Fox News, but my stomach was already queasy and I just didn't think I could handle looking at a rebroadcast of Greta Van Susteren, especially so early in the morning. Is she sure she got plastic surgery?
Anyway, as I was flipping through the channels, I came across something about parallel universes. I thought I was on the Sci-Fi channel, but nope, this was a real, scientific documentary on some Discovery type channel. Click on the title of this blog for a link to a transcript of the program, because you're really not going to believe this actually aired. Or, maybe you're one of those scientific intellectuals and you will believe.
You see, for years, I've been in what the scientific intelligentsia considers the ignorant minority. I believe in Creation. I believe in the Genesis account, in fact. Try telling many people that and they look at you as if you believe the world is flat. No enlightened twenty-first century human could possibly reject evolution...could they? What blind credulity!
Well, it hasn't bothered me and still doesn't. But, after watching this program, I sure am glad I'm unenlightened. The basic premise of the show has to do with how scientists are trying to understand the Big Bang theory...how the universe came into existence.
You see their problem can be illustrated like this. If I come upon a beautiful home and, being ignorant, I just accept the fact that the home had a designer and builder, I don't have to worry my pretty little head about how the house got there. I might appreciate the architecture and the beauty. I might even wonder about why the builder built it, but I don't give a moment's thought to how it arrived on the scene.
But, if I'm super-intelligent and I come upon the same house, and I don't believe there was an intelligent designer and builder, then my brain has to go into overdrive trying to figure out what laws of physics played into the house's existence. That's what many scientists are trying to do.
You see, often evolution and Big Bang and things of that nature are mentioned so casually and matter of factly, that one assumes they are matters of fact. But to the big brains, it's more than that. They want to figure out what caused the universe to appear. Now this show threw out all kinds of terms, with which little ignorant me is uninformed...such things as membranes, and leaking gravity, and eleventh dimensions.
Bottom line is, that these scientists have come up with the idea that there are many universes which we can't see, coexisting with ours. Here is an actual comment made by the narrator, a woman by the appropriate name of Dilly Barlow:

The only explanation which anyone could come up with is that the particles don't just exist in our Universe. They flit into existence in other universes, too and there are an infinite number of these parallel universes, all of them slightly different. In effect, there's a parallel universe in which Napoleon won the Battle of Waterloo. In another the British Empire held on to its American colony. In one you were never born.

Now, keep in mind that the scientists who suggest such possibilities are the same ones who scoff at the idea of a single universe with a single first human by the name of Adam. In fact, many will tell you that Adam and Eve are mythical creatures. And yet, it appears the real brains among such scoffers really believe in something much more incredible.

Here's another comment, made by Michael Duff (a physicist and string theorist ): "The other universes are parallel to ours and may be quite close to ours, but of which we'd never be aware. They may be completely different with completely different laws of nature operating."


Theoretical Physicist, Michio Kaku, who looked kinda like a cross between comedian David Steinberg and actor Pat Morita said: "Some of these universes may look just like ours, except perhaps you're not there."

These brilliant men really believe this stuff. I thought they were joking. But, no, they're dead serious. So serious that this whole parallel universe thing helped them to come up with the answer as to what caused the Big Bang. Here's the brilliant, and yet, so simple answer, according to Burt Ovrut, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania : "...and as we went along, at least I learned more and more about how it might be possible to have these brane collisions produce all of the effects of the early Universe and in particular it's just easy to do with my hands, when they collide you might have a Big Bang."
Wow, they did it. They eloquently explained the origin of the universe without the need for a creator. Of course, there's still that little matter of where those colliding universes came from. But, they're probably leaving that up to the geniuses in one of those other worlds to worry about.

These scientist guys are smart. So smart that they believe you could create your own universe at home. In the conclusion of the show, Alan Guth, of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, had this to say: "I in fact have worked with several other people for some period of time on the question of whether or not it's in principle possible to create a new universe in the laboratory. Whether or not it really works we don't know for sure. It looks like it probably would work. It's actually safe to create a universe in your basement. It would not displace the universe around it even though it would grow tremendously. It would actually create its own space as it grows and in fact in a very short fraction of a second it would splice itself off completely from our Universe and evolve as an isolated closed universe growing to cosmic proportions without displacing any of the territory that we currently lay claim to."

Now, when you think about it, that really does make a lot more sense than creation. The only thing I wonder, if there are such smart scientists out there, couldn't someone come up with a viable plastic surgery for Greta Van Susteren?

Head Line News

The next time I complain about the quality of medical care in this country, and I’m sure I will, if for no other reason than that I love to complain, please remind me that, at least, I’m not in Venezuela. I just read an interesting news story that makes me just a wee bit doubtful of the medical care one might receive there.
The story concerns 33-year-old Carlos Camejo. Seems Camejo was pronounced dead following an auto accident and his body was taken to the morgue for an autopsy. The only problem is was that his body wasn’t exactly dead.
The story goes that when the medical examiner cut into Camejo’s face, he began to bleed. The examiner, according to the news report, immediately knew something was amiss. I wonder how many years of training it took so that he could immediately recognize a warning sign when the corpse begins to bleed. Anyway, apparently, the medical examiner continued to do the autopsy. I mean one bleeding face does not a live person make, does it?
The examiner didn’t actually stop cutting until the corpse began to complain about the excruciating pain in his face. A scalpel can do that. It was reassuring to read that as soon as Camejo began to complain, the medical examiner stitched him up. And, it appears that Camejo is still living, which is rather surprising, considering he’s still in Venezuela.
I wonder what the criteria is down there for being declared dead. Evidently, you can still be breathing, because Camejo had to do some breathing to stay alive. At least that’s my non-medically trained opinion. I wonder if the doctor who declared him dead ever thought to check for a heartbeat, because, I’m guessing the guy’s heart was still beating as well.
But you know the most important thing about this story is the moral. Yes, there’s something to be learned here. And that is that sometimes there are worse things than waking up with an excruciating pain in your face.
In a semi-related story from England (related in the sense that sometimes things turn out much better than it would appear on the surface), a young boy underwent brain surgery to remove fluid caused by a rare strain of meningitis. The doctors held out little hope for the boy’s survival. However he did survive, but lost his ability to read and write. Anyway, after several weeks recovering in the hospital, here’s the amazing thing: The boy, whose mother is a music teacher, is reportedly playing the piano and trumpet much better than he had previously.
Some people have all the luck. I know that if I’d been killed in an auto accident, I’d have never awakened in the morgue. And, as far as improving my musical abilities, forget it. I had hernia surgery several years ago and I still can’t play a musical instrument. Heck, I can’t even read music. What kind of doctors must I have had…Venezuelans?
But, here’s something even more amazing about this kid in Britain. Before the surgery, he had a thick Yorkshire accent, now, the story says, “He speaks like the queen.” Hmm, he plays the piano and speaks like the Queen. I wonder if boy has become Elton John. Just a thought.
Anyway, the boy’s parents say that when he began speaking several weeks after the surgery, “He sounded really posh.” I’d like to sound posh. Even if I never played the piano, it would be cool to sound posh. I wonder if I started poking around in my head if I could lose my southern accent. I’m going to go find a scalpel. I’ll let you know what happens.

Now You'll Know the Rest of the Story

Call me naive if you will, but this thing with O.J. Simpson has really blown me away. Just when I thought this young man had begun to pick up the pieces and get on with his life, here he is in trouble with the law again. This poor guy might well be the unluckiest human on earth.
First he's framed for his wife's murder. I still remember that that glove didn't fit. When I saw that powerful demonstration, that poor guy struggling to slip a glove on his allegedly blood-stained hand, it wrapped the case up for me. And now he simply goes to retrieve his rightful belongings and wham - out of the blue - he gets arrested.
So what if he brought along some heat, as we say on the streets. Sometimes the man needs a little back up (picture my fist raised in the air at this point).
Anyway, O.J. is back in the big house, although technically, I guess at this point he's in the little house in back of the big house, since he hasn't been sentenced.
I guess I really shouldn't be all that worried. His lawyer has publicly said he's innocent and, well, I guess that pretty much settles that. But still, justice can be so blind sometimes and, often color blind as well, if you get my drift.
I do have a theory I'd like to run by you, and before you quickly dismiss this as the ramblings of an amateur, let me remind you that I have sat through 80% of several Law and Order marathons on the USA Network. Now that I have your attention, here goes:
You know they said there's an unidentified fourth suspect (or maybe fifth, I'm not keeping score here)? Well, do you suppose that this unidentified guy could possibly be Fred Goldman? Now, play along with me here. Fred stands a lot to gain over this whole deal. It seems a little too convenient that the very day Fred's new book, written by O.J. comes out, O.J. goes and pulls a stunt like this.
I mean, let's think about it. O.J. Simpson was a great athlete, but he's no rocket scientist. He not even a Fred Goldman. I've seen Fred on TV. He's smart. He's clever. Even if he wasn't in the hotel room with O.J., I'm pretty willing to bet he put the bug in O.J.'s ear to go get his stuff.
Sales of O.J.'s make-believe confession are through the roof and every penny goes to the Goldmans. So who really stands the most to gain by putting O.J. back on TV? O.J.? I don't think so. Even if he'd pulled the heist off, all he would have gotten were things he owned in the first place.
But now that Fox TV has predictably fallen in love with this new O.J. story, it's like a 24 hour infomercial for the book...Fred's book, if you will. While I'm on this subject, let me just say that it's a good thing another terrorist attack didn't occur this weekend, because if you're tuned into Fox News, you'd have never known about it. Greta is so stunned over O.J.'s arrest, she even came in to work Sunday night. That's how big this whole thing is on an international level.
But back to the subject at hand...when will this evil man be stopped? Fred Goldman, I mean. Hasn't he done enough damage to the Simpson family. He wasn't satisfied that a jury of 12 intelligent, impartial men and women found O.J. not guilty. No. He had to run out and buy a civil judgement against Simpson.
Now, he's using this poor murderer as a pawn in his evil scheme aimed solely at self aggrandizement. If you ask me, it's Fred Goldman who should be behind bars.
Oh yeah, that's right. You didn't ask me, did you? Okay, well, let me wrap things up. This is just an opinion. Maybe you agree. Then again, there's a slight chance you disagree with me. And, when you think about it...isn't that what makes this country so great...this, and the fact that we have a 24-hour-a-day network devoted exclusively to O.J. Simpson.

An Open Letter of Apology to All Miss Virginia Contestants (sort of)

Well, I did it again. I knew it was going to happen. And, probably, truth be told, I wanted to irritate someone. So, pat yourself on the back, Steve. You did. All I really did was innocently write a column about the Miss Virginia pageant in our September/October issues of West End's Best and Chesterfield Living Magazines. And, you know me, I'm one of the nicest guys around. I just sort of expressed my dismay at the horrible quality of the pageant's annual television show. That shouldn't make anyone mad, should it?
The reason I say I knew it was going to happen, is that this is the second time I've written such a column. I had seen a previous telecast, about two years ago. It was so bad, I just had to express my opinion. But that was two years ago. I didn't catch last year's blockbuster presentation. So when I stumbled across the show a few months back, I decided to watch. You know what? It was worse than the one I'd seen before. It may have been the worse one I'd ever seen. But, read my colulmn to learn more.
The original piece I had done, back in 05, had resulted in an irate phone call from some woman connected with the pageant. I politely listened and even offered to do a rebuttal article in which the caller could point out how wrong I was. That offer was never accepted.
Today, i get a phone call from one of the local directors of the pageant. She has seen my most recent article, and she was even unhappier than the first gal who had called.
"Hey," I said, "it's just a humor column. Don't take it so seriously."
"That was a humor column?" she asked."
"Well, it was supposed to be," I said.
"I work for Style Weekly," she said, "and I know humor columns. That wasn't one."
Okay, we're even. I hate the pageant and she hates me. I can live with that.
I was going to offer this lady the opportunity to respond to my "humor," but she was so humorless that I decided to just humor her (get the pun? now that's funny) and listen, which I did. I was determined to just keep my mouth shut, which I didn't.
She got on my nerves blabbing on and on about how wonderful these contestants are. "These are the sorts of girls you'd want your son to marry," she raved.
"I wouldn't go that far," I responded. And I meant it. If I had a son, I wouldn't want him marrying anyone vain enough to get involved in a "beauty" contest. I'd rather he married an Amway saleswoman. Well, maybe not. But, really, would you like a beauty contestant sitting at your dinner table? I can see myself going beserk as I ate my fried chicken and mashed potatoes, finally shrieking, "Shut up and sit down. I hate opera, and I don't care what you would do if you were elected President. "
Anyway, back to my phone conversation. I finally had enough of this pompous director. She told me how I'd done so much damage. "We depend on corporate donations," she wailed. "No one will want to donate after they read your column."
I wish I had that much power. After listening to her drone on and on, I finally said, "How can you complain about my criticizing the Miss Virginia pageant when Style Weekly has destroyed the businesses of local restaurant owners with their unfair criticism?" Now, to be honest, I don't know of any case where Style Weekly has done that. But I do think their food critic is an obnoxious bore.
"Let me tell you about our restaurant reviews," Miss Highhorse says. (Goody, I've touched a nerve) "When we go to a restaurant and have a bad experience, we go three times to make sure they're really bad before we write a negative review."
"Well thanks," I tell her. "You've made me feel better. I've watched more than three Miss Virginia telecasts and they're all bad. So, I guess based on Style's procedures, I was alright with what I wrote."
Funny stuff! I'm zinging one after another and the lady doesn't laugh at a one. She just keeps on telling me how marvelous these gals are.
"They do look good in swimsuits," I say, thinking maybe she'll look at me with a new-found admiration.
"Good-bye," she says.
So, bottom line. If any of you were planning on making a sizeable donation to the Miss Virginia pageant, don't let me stop you. But, if you have any funds left over, how much would you give me if I came over and sang an aria or two?"

I'd Tell You How I Did It, If I'd Done It, But I Haven't Done It. Really.

I have figured out a great way to make a pile of money, but I don't know how to go about actually doing it. I've been reading about Ron Goldman's family getting the rights to O.J. Simpson's book. Seems they stand to make quite a killing (no pun intended) on this deal. Now, part of me thinks it's pretty horrible to make money from a book that describes how your son was murdered and how the murderer got away with it. But, maybe I'm just too old fashioned.
After all, money is money. Right? I mean O.J.'s money is just as green as anyone else's. Right? I mean, except for the bloodstains, it's just money. Right?
So, I'm thinking that maybe I could write a book about how I killed someone or did something equally horrendous. The only problem is, I'm scared to death of getting in trouble with the police. I've been racking my brain to see if I can come up with something terrible that I've done that people would pay good money to read about. I remember, years ago, I was on a long trip, and I had to go to the bathroom, see, but I just kept driving and driving and couldn't find a rest stop, or even a McDonald's, so finally, I just pulled over and, well, you can kinda figure out what I did.
I guess that's another problem. If I'm too embarrassed to even talk about the time I, well, you know what I did, beside my car (out of view of anyone else, of course), then how could I go into any detail about killing someone. And, of course, there's that small business about actually having to kill someone first, so I could then write about how I did it.
I did go in this restaurant once and no one was in the front of the restaurant. It was just a little mom and pop grill. But, anyway, no one was out front and the cash register drawer was open and I thought to myself, "Hey, I could reach over and grab a dollar and no one would ever know." But, of course, I didn't do that. Although I could have. But, that experience probably wouldn't make a good tell-all either, especially since the only thing I could tell would be what I momentarily thought about doing.
I guess I could take a lesson from O.J. on this thing though. He didn't really say he killed anyone, he just said that if he was going to kill them, this is how he would have done it. And people are buying his book, aren't they? So, I could talk about how I could have reached over and grabbed a dollar and run from the restaurant like a scared rabbit.
Somehow, I just don't think that makes for good reading. Gee, I wish I could think of something to reveal that would really have 'em standing in the aisles to buy my book.
Once, when I was about six years old, my mother told me to drink my milk before I left the breakfast table. She then went upstairs leaving me to cry over unspilt milk. I hated milk, I might add. Anyway, I sat there about five minutes and stared at the glass of milk. Then I noticed the kitchen sink just sitting there. Here was my escape. I quickly picked up the glass and poured the milk down the drain and then rinsed the sink out real good, getting rid of all evidence. I was pretty smart, considering that this was well before they had such shows as CSI on TV.
When I went upstairs, my mother asked me if I had finished my milk. "Yes Mam," I lied. Although, truth be told, I had finished it. Anyway, later that day, in school, I got to thinking about what I'd done. I was going to this little Brethern Church back in those days. They were really big advocates for hell, and I think I thought I might be heading straight there for telling my mother I'd finished my milk. So, as soon as I got home, I confessed my sin. My mother didn't seem all that upset, so I'm not sure the story would make a good book, but I could elaborate a little.
Now that I'm thinking out loud on this, I think I've come up with a better idea. Maybe I could write about something someone else did. Do you have any old skeletons in your closet which you wouldn't mind revealing? I could write about how you did it. That would shift the spotlight off of me, and yet, I'd still get rich. And, being the generous guy I am, I'd even cut you in for a percentage. It would have to be small, though, because I really want to get rich myself on this.
Anyway, if you have some really good juicy story, let me know about it. I'd love to make money off of you. Unless you minded, of course.

Marketing One Oh Dumb

I may be going out on somewhat of a limb here, but, in my honest opinion, all marketing people are idiots. Now, admittedly, I know that there is a real possibility that I'm just too old to dig the latest marketing jargon, but I saw a sign in a cell phone store at the mall the other day that left me scratching my head. The huge sign had a picture of a cell phone and beside the picture was this caption: "Hot enough to melt chocolate."
That baffles me on so many different levels. First of all, are there people out there looking for a cell phone to melt chocolate? And, if so, how does the cell phone do that? Do you place the phone on top of the chocolate, or do you flip open the phone and put the chocolate on the screen area? And, once the chocolate is melted, can you still use the phone for other things, such as making phone calls?
I didn't know there was such a need to melt chocolate in the first place, but whenever I do have such a need, I've always found an oven does a great job. Of course, unless we're talking M&Ms, just holding the chocolate tightly in your fist will often cause a meltdown. I got to thinking that maybe there are a bunch of folks who want to melt chocolate while in the car, but really, placing said chocolate on a hot radiator would probably melt it a lost faster than even the hottest cell phone would.
You can see my dilemma. I'm also wondering if the phone gets that hot, wouldn't that cause a degree of discomfort if you were trying to hold the phone to your ear. True, sometimes when I'm talking to my wife, the great conversationalist, the phone gets a little warm. But, I don't think even she has the ability to melt chocolate, via the cell phone anyway.
Maybe "hot enough to melt chocolate" is some sort of double entendre, and my brain is too single-entendred to catch on. Hmmm, I wonder what sort of euphamism, "hot enough to melt chocolate," is. So, back to my original point...the point about marketing people being idiots. Who could have come up with that slogan? Did a bunch of advertising execs, sitting around a big conference table, think that such a line was clever? Did they say, "Hey, we're selling cell phones here. A line about the phone melting chocolate is just what we need to put this campaign over the top."?
Probably so...because they're idiots. Really, when you think about it, only an idiot could think that was clever.
And, it's not just the big marketing campaigns that bring out the morons of marketing. I was in Walgreen's the other day and they had a printed sign (in other words, they didn't just get the 18-year-old stock clerk to scribble something down), which read: "Candy bars - $1.00 each or 3 candy bars for $3.00!"
Wow. Who could pass up a deal like that? Wouldn't it seem to you that even if no one caught the idiocy of that sign when they were laying it out or printing it, that someone would have somewhere along the lines have thought, hey, we're going to look like idiots if we put up a sign this stupid.
I'll tell you why no one ever suspected they would look like idiots. It's a very simple answer. Because they are idiots. Idiots don't recognize they're idiots. In fact, most idiots I know, and I know a bunch, think they're intelligent. In fact, most think they're very intelligent...geniuses even.
The sad thing about that is that when a true genius comes along...someone such as myself...the idiots don't even recognize it. And that's the pathetic story of my life.

TO ER IS HUMAN

I spent the whole day, yesterday, in the emergency room at Henrico Doctor's. My daughter broke and dislocated several bones in her ankle. I'd have to say that the staff in the ER (I like to use these medical terms whenever I can) was very kind and professional. However the ER physician may be in the wrong line of work.
He's a great doctor, I'm sure. It's just that he tends to panic a bit. When he looked at my daughter's ankle, he shreiked, "What took you so long to get in here?" You know how on those Looney Tunes cartoons, the character's eyes spring out of his head? I've seen Daffy Duck do that a million times. Well, it was kinda like that when the doctor looked at my daughter's ankle.
I called my wife to let her know what was going on and as I was telling her that my daughter had broken a bone, the doctor comes rushing back into her room (this time doing a great Road Runner impersonation). He hears me and shouts, "No! It's worse than that." It's that sort of reaction from your doctor that helps to keep you calm in stressful times.
The doctor informs us that he's going to put my daughter to sleep. I start to panic. I had a dog when I was a kid and my parents had to put him to sleep. I didn't think my daughter's broken ankle warranted her being put down. But, he went on to explain that they were going to knock her out while he pushed and shoved and twisted her ankle to get it back in place. Which is what he did, except for two things. He forgot to knock her out and he failed to get it back into place.
When the nurse called us back into the room, the doctor calmly informed me of the results, "I was unbelieveably unsuccessful," he wailed." There I was standing in the examining room with my daughter crying because her bones had just been twisted and manipulated without anesthesia, and the doctor crying because of his unparalleled failure. I did the only thing I could think of to do. I started crying with them.
Later, an orthopedic specialist was brought in to do the manipulating and all went well. The only problem is that by the time my daughter got to the operating room, the anesthesiologist had to come in and tell her that, while it was unlikely, she could die during the procedure. She was then asked to sign a form that basically the hospital can use if a patient dies. It kind of says, "Hey, they told me I could be dead, and look, I am."
Speaking of dying...how about that BB gun thief in Richmond's Southside. The guy goes into a Baskin-Robbins and tries to hold them up using a BB gun. Now, that's stupid. If I was going to use a gun in a holdup attempt, I'd get something that could do the job. This guy didn't and now he's dead. The owner of the store asks the guy, "One bullet or two?" and then shot him in the head.
Now, here's the amazing part: The shootee...the thief, ran two blocks before he keeled over and eventuallly died. I can't run two blocks with zero bullets in me. The guy must have been in pretty good shape, especially for a dead man. I wonder if they have any sort of special olympics for people who have been mortally wounded.
Speaking of criminals, while my daughter was in the ER yesterday, they bring a guy into the next room and he's wearing handcuffs. He's being escorted by a police officer, and he's telling the police officer what great shape he's in. "I played soccer for nine years," he tells the officer. "I could have outrun you if I had wanted to."
Now this guy, we come to learn from eavesdropping, has hepatitis and a bad liver, and he's bragging about what great shape he's in. I don't know what he was in the emergency room for, but evidently, even with the hepatits, he's also in better shape than I am.
I just realized I don't have any clever ending to this. I hate to start a story I can't finish. But, I guess I can live with that. One thing for sure...I can't run, but I can ramble.