It's a boy! But we knew that months ago...

Well, it happened a little earlier than expected. Everyone was planning on January 2nd. But, December 17th will be his date of birth. His name is Rowan James Gonzales. He...is my first grandchild. My daughter Jenifer gave birth to a 7 pound (and change) bouncing baby boy at 8:22 the evening of the 17th in Seattle. All went well, albeit he decided to make his appearance a couple weeks early. Jenifer has always been a little impatient. I think she gets that from me. Maybe it is Rowan who is the impatient one in this case!

The first name was chosen by Jen and Roth totally unrelated to any family names - although Rowan does begin with an “R” like his father’s. The middle name - James - is my first name, as well as my father’s, and my son’s (Jen’s brother). How much cooler could that possibly be? Gonzales (with an “S”) is a Spanish surname. Both Roth and Jen have (had) blond hair, so it remains entirely possible the new “he” in our family may be a toe-head as well...at least for the first few years!

Knowing Jenifer and her propensity for the world of blogdom, the first pics will show up on her blog soon after she returns home from the hospital. Her blog has always been, is now, and will always be a microcosm of what happens in her life...verse and photos.

As far as this proud grandfather meeting the new addition in person...Loretta and I are planning on flying to Seattle for a few days the end of January. We decided to “let the dust settle” a bit before descending upon the new parents and baby. Jen’s mother, Anna, will arrive today to spend some time with and help Jen with the usual postpartum procedures at home. In the meantime, there will be a more than judicious use of our web cams to get up close and personal to Rowan, an experience he will only be able to understand and relate to later in life. Who knows what kind of communication tools will be available as he approaches adulthood?

What Rowan will ultimately become as a person remains to be seen. One thing for sure...he is destined to be a great cook! One can only hope his impending culinary expertise, both from environment and genetics, will be a hobby and not a vocation (it’s a rough business). His father, grandfather (yours truly), great-grandfather, great-great grandfather, and uncle all have culinary backgrounds. Not to mention his mother who has become quite the foodie/cook/chef apprentice the past few years. You can’t be married to a long time chef without a lot of that rubbing off.

Rowan James Gonzales has come into this world during tough times. He will not know of recessions, or wars, or money worries, or stress for many years to come. But, realistically, coming into this world at any point in time is tough. His world immediate, all that he experiences, will consist of simple motherly and fatherly love, warmth, and comfort. That is all he will need for a long time...and that is what he will receive. Jen and Roth are two of the most loving, caring, intelligent people I have ever known. And I am overwhelmingly proud to be able to call them my daughter and son-in-law. There are no words to express my joy at this point in time being able to say, “I’m grandpa to a little guy named Rowan James Gonzales. Welcome to the family!”

(insert tear running down grandpa’s cheek)

Greed...is good (?)

That and other rhetorical lines uttered by Gordon Gekko in the movie Wall Street...

Greed - for lack of a better word - is good. Greed is right. Greed works. And you are all being royally screwed over by these, these bureaucrats, with their steak lunches, their hunting and fishing trips, their corporate jets and golden parachutes.

***Here's a typical American story I've heard told to me many times of late...

The main bread-winner loses his job. Not a great job, but a good job in terms of workable income. During the good times leading up to the job loss, credit is over-used so the family can have a few "things" they don't need...fun things. Greed? Perhaps. Refinancing the house occurs (more than once). The homeowners mortgage adjusts as they are unable to secure a new, fixed loan as planned a few months later. The last refinance should not have been approved by the mortgage company. Greed? Perhaps. Homeowners are unable to pay the new exhorbitant mortgage. Home values plunge to less than half the amount of the last appraisal. Eight months pass with them working with the loan company in a modification program, ending with a stamp of DECLINED. Homeowners home is sold at auction for an amount significantly less than the total debt. A knock comes at the door the same day as the sale. Time to get out. Can you vacate the premises in five days? We'll give you a $1000. How about ten days? We'll give you $500. If not, we'll go through the sheriff, ie, the eviction process. Homeowners plan to move into a nice, older, smaller house on the other side of town. The rent: about 1/4 of their former mortgage amount. The rental house is a recent foreclosure of a longtime mortgage. The homeowners are starting over with less than desirable credit and an embarrassing, shameful cloud over their heads. All results from (their own) greed? Perhaps. They'll get over it. In fact, they already have. You gotta live your life. It's just a house now anyway, not a home any longer. The rental house will now be their "home". In the meantime, the government is doling out billions of our tax dollars to the companies whose mismanagement and greed led us to this point. The homeowners know that their choice of actions brought them to this. Greed? Maybe. But where is their bailout program? No one is being approved for these programs. The DECLINED stamp is everywhere. Why doesn't the so-called investment group that purchased their home opt for renting to the original homeowners? They will certainly rent to someone, and soon. The company wants the homeowners out ASAP so they can "move forward". Life goes on. Our home of ten years now belongs to someone else.

***This is not only a story told to me by dozens of people recently...it is our story. At least we're not alone.

Commiseration is the consolation prize. And, Wall Street is one of my favorite movies!

I remember reading books, do you?

I used to read books a lot more than I do now. Let's face it, besides newspapers and (paper) magazines, books were the only source for this kind of pastime before the advent of the WWW. Comic books you say? My Dad forbade me from reading or owning comic books. I can't recall his exact reasoning for this restriction, something about them being "silly, worthless, and non-educational". My friends' old copies of Superman, The Hulk, and Spiderman found their way into my hands on occasion, so I did get my comic book fix every once in a while.

My choice of reading material was the paperback novel. I read lots and lots of paperbacks in my pre-teen years. Most of these were adventure stories, war stories, Hardy Boys, and...James Bond novels. From 1962 (I was 12 that year) until 1965 or so, I read all of Ian Fleming's stories about the British Secret Service agent...double oh seven!

Beginning with Dr. No, I couldn't wait for the next one to come out. The order in which I read them corresponded to the release of the motion pictures. In other words, I read the book...then saw the movie (sometimes, the other way around). By the way, the Bond films (22 of them) were not made in the same order in which Fleming's books were published. In fact, Casino Royale was the first Bond book, published in 1953. It was made into a movie (the first time) in 1967, then again in 2006. The '67 version didn't resemble past Bond flicks as it was a comedy spy-spoof about an aging Bond (played by David Niven) coming out of retirement to concoct a plan to thwart the evil SMERSH organization. It also starred Peter Sellars, Ursula Andress, Woody Allen, and a host of other contract players from that studio. Orson Welles handled the part of Le Chiffre (one of the actual evil-doers from the novel and the 2006 film). Consequently, the 1967 Casino Royale isn't really considered a "Bond film" by fans (including yours truly). Dr. No, the first Bond flick, came out in 1962. Followed by From Russia, With Love ('63), Goldfinger ('64), and Thunderball ('65), etc, etc. In fact, the last line in the credits from those films always mentioned the next Bond movie, already in production.

Yup, I actually read 'em all. And, of course, I've seen all the films. Ian Fleming passed away in 1964. The James Bond book legacy continued on though, most written by a guy named John Gardner. Fleming's 007 novels ended with Octopussy and The Living Daylights.

My favorite Bond book? From Russia, With Love. My favorite Bond movie? , With From Russia, With Love? My favorite movie Bond? C'mon...let's be "real"!

Leaderbike Single Speed #1...almost done.

The bicycle thing - update

Like I said recently, this bicycle thing has become very gratifying for me. My biggest challenge: stop from buying additional parts and older bikes before "moving" finished projects. Speaking of finished projects, one is complete and one will be 90% complete today (after the UPS guy makes a visit).
The logo above will likely be the decal placed on the cross tubes...white on the darker color bikes.

Below are a few shots of the what my garage shop looks like right now. I don't realistically anticipate having a shop/studio space anytime soon, though that is certainly not out of the question for the future. I say "studio" because bicycle "studios" are growing, ie, small, custom operations designed to build a limited number of bikes by appointment only. In addition, an outside space will accommodate a photo studio as well. By that time, perhaps my 40 hour a week job with the major retailer I work for will not be necessary (or possible). Who knows?






That last shot on the right is the opposite of the garage. And, no, we don't keep our cars in the garage now...ever! The six or so bikes I have will eventually make their way to hanging on the wall and from the ceiling. But, I don't want to do anything very permanent as we will most likely be moving within a few months or so. Moving to a rental in another part of town. Fortunately, this "business" will be easy to move anywhere.

The Mother Road website won't happen until after the first of the year. In the meantime, it will have to exist soley on eBay. I hesitate to list any of the bikes locally as I have no desire to let people test ride these custom bikes I work very hard to build. Besides, Modesto is not a bicycle town by any stretch of the imagination. Many riders I've spoken to have told me horror stories of getting hit with beer cans, spit, and paint balls while riding around here.

One good thing about Modesto...the Fall weather. It's been very nice, mild, almost balmy in the afternoons. Great time for a short ride once in a while!

What dreams may come...

Dinner last night was Orange Chicken and Chow Mein Noodles...and this fortune cookie.

My first bike project heads to eBay this week. Four more are under "construction".

Stress...where did mine go?

It may be time for me to write a new Bucket List. Yes, I recently saw the move, The Bucket List...and, I've made these lists before. Heck, I made Bucket Lists when I was 7 years old! After all, I have the list gene. The reason why I should revisit this list of things-I've-yet-to-do-but-would- like-to-do-before-I-kick-the-bucket? Well, realistically, we don't have the funds that jack Nicholson had in that movie! And, most of my goals and priorities have changed drastically in the last few months. And, yes, I've changed a bit.

Loretta and I were chatting the other day about our wants and needs at this point in our lives. The subject of stress came up again...or lack thereof. "Honey", I said with raised eyebrows, "should I be concerned that I'm not stressed out any more?" She replied with her usual, casual reassurance, "No". I went on to remind her that my new job garners less than half the income I was making in a former career (albeit, half the hours and no stress). We owe lots of money that we can't repay. And I don't foresee any short or long term change in that situation. By the way, Loretta and I have had this conversation on numerous occasions. It seems in this state of unstress I manage to attempt to manufacture stress, at least when I think I should be stressed out! "Don't worry", she comforted me (again), "We're doing what we can. Besides, let me remind you of that little diddy your Mom used to say to you: They can't eat you!" Kind of turn on the question 'What's the worst that can happen thing', ie, answer: someone (or something) eating you. Sorry, you had to be there I guess.

Back to the New Bucket List. Well, gotta think about that one. Since things have changed so much in our lives, and will continue to change, er, I mean evolve, some thought must be put toward this. Perhaps I should wait until my birthday in January...I'll be 59. Maybe I should hold off until my 60th, that's an appropriate point in my history to re-establish goals...realistic goals this time. The only problem with waiting until my 60th birthday is that there are a few things I'd like to check off of that list before my 60th. Some of which I need to start training for now. Did I say training? Yes, I did.

So, the New Bucket List will take a little time to compile. It will be much more succinct that the last one I did a couple of years ago. I think it was 55 things on my 55th birthday. This time, I will do some judicious editing and come up with those goals and aspirations before January, probably next week! Gotta start training you know.

It won't be too awful disappointing to remove from that old list Flying in an F-14 or White Water Rafting in Nepal. Besides, we have some pretty nifty rivers close by. And, we also have several places to skydive! It's all good. I have my first grandchild(son) due in January!

It's time now to move forward...

I have much to say about how I feel two days after the election. But, for now, I will just link you to my daughter Jenifer's blog who said it with graceful eloquence.



And, yes, Loretta and I voted!

What season are you in?

It's funny to me how every year at this time we whine about the coming of winter, the time change, and the early darkness.

Just a month ago we were whining about the sweltering, 100+ degree heat at 7:30pm, the oppressive summer, and the huge air conditioning electric bills.

In a month, it will be dark at 4:30pm.

Loretta and I were talking about these changes the other day. I waxed nostalgic about how, as a child, I so looked forward to the coming of Summer, getting out of school and Summer vacation. I also greatly anticipated with great joy, the coming of Fall and returning to school and Thanksgiving. Surely everyone one of us enjoyed the weeks leading up to Winter, Christmas vacation, and Christmas itself. Spring was the only time of the year that didn't hold much fascination with me. Growing up in southern California, Spring was kind of a non-season. Except for Easter (Spring) vacation, there wasn't much to look forward to, except that it meant we were getting closer to Summer again.

So which season's arrival do I relish the most now? Why, this season, of course. I really appreciate the coming of Fall. Let's call it by its more proper name, Autumn. After all, it is the Autumnal Equinox. This year, it came at 3:44pm on September 22nd. Equal day and night. It happens at the Vernal Equinox (Spring) as well for one day and night.

Autumn is surely the most colorful of the seasons. Plant life on Earth remind us that change is underway. Some regions do that more expressively than others. Around these parts, Northern Central California, the trees turn vibrant hues of red, yellow, and brown...then shed all or most of their leaves almost as much as in New England. The wind blows more often, and the rains begin to make their appearance from time to time. And the temperature is just right. This move out of the 90's and 100's to the 70's and 80's makes every day much more bearable.

I'm not spring chicken any longer! Perhaps that is why I hold Autumn in such an enamored state. I'm living in the Autumn of my life every day now. Hopefully, it's early autumn as I am looking forward to the next 10 years or so as the most enjoyable, most productive, most self-aware time of my life. Hopefully, I truly know who I am, what I am, and where I am going. At least I have a better idea of the direction than in years past. Still adrift in a fall breeze like a dry leaf, I'm enjoying the journey. The destination is no longer as important as it used to be.

The roses in the window box are tilted to one side

I haven't written for a while. If that deserves an apology here, so be it. I apologize.

Not writing hasn't been for lack of thought, just lack of motivation I suppose. Many changes have transpired in the last few months. Not drastic changes, just, well, changes in direction for me.

There has been a return to work, as in an 8 to 5 job. In this job, I am a non-member of management in a very, very large company...the name of which is not important at this point. What I am actually doing at this job is irrelevant as well. I am reminded daily (by myself) of a saying some past pundit passed on to me years ago: "This job is not what I am. It's simply what I do right now". That pundit was an old boss in another lifetime who has since been flushed from my life. But, I did retain some snappy sayings and anecdotes from him...very few of these preachings did he actually practice. It was more of the usual in the end, "Do as I say, not as I do" sort of thing.

One thing I can tell you. I've been enjoying a new hobby of sorts. Playing with bicycles. Seems I enjoy working on them, restoring them, and even riding them (again). Each one has been a "project" that I've actually completed. For those who don't know me, I am, among other things, completion-challenged.
I quite often start things...and don't finish them. Not all things, just most of them. I get bored very often and very quickly, and these projects simply get pushed aside for some other "light bulb" appearing over my head. It wasn't always like that though. As a child I built hundreds of plastic models. I lived in the world of Revell planes, cars, and other miniature machinery. I always finished them all. In fact, I resurrected that delight when my son Jimmy was very young. I helped him build an entire air force of vintage model airplanes that hung from the ceiling of his bedroom. So, now it is the cycle of the bicycle for me. Until something strikes my fancy perhaps.

Metaphorically at this point in time...if I had a window box with roses planted...they would indeed be tilted to one side. What that Elton John song* line means, as with most metaphoria, is up to the individual. I just know I ain't standing up as straight as I used to! But, at least I'm still standing. OMG! Isn't that another Elton John tune? Totally inadvertent on my part.

By the way, I'm not so sure roses are actually meant to be planted in window boxes. Could this be the reason they are tilted to one side!

*Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding - 1973

At least we made the effort: San Francisco

When you live a mere 80 miles or so from one of the most interesting and culturally diverse cities in the country (and rarely go there), you feel almost guilty for not making the effort. The effort it takes for us to visit San Francisco is sadly minimal compared to the amount of times we've gone there in ten years. So, we went Sunday.

This time, Loretta and I decided it would be fun to ride BART from Dublin (50 miles from our home). The drive to the Dublin BART station is pretty much a straight shot on a couple of freeways. During the week, it would be out of the question. What person in their right mind would brave this nasty commute that, at best, now resembles the Hollywood Freeway 30 years ago, ie, bumper to bumper, but moving. Compared to the Hollywood Freeway now that is bumper to bumper and doesn't move. But, alas, our little "commute" on the 580 on a Sunday morning is nothing more than a 45 minute interlude where we would chat, listen to the radio, and enjoy thoughts of the upcoming touristy visit to the Bay Area.

Frankly, our plans were much bigger than our stamina(s). We spent about three and half hours on the embarcadero from Pier 1 to Pier 39...it's about a mile and a half walk one way. Our planned excursion uptown to Union Square, Chinatown, and The Presidio will come another day.

In the meantime, we did take photos, not near as much as I had hoped...but some anyway. Check them out here.

It was a nice day that left us with pleasant memories, plans to go again, sore feet, and, for me, a slightly sunburned dome. Small prices to pay for a cheap "fun day".

I've always had a crushed on her...

Check out her website. Very interesting. She's 77 now.

Just the facts, maam. Just the facts!

Although the speech last night showed her charming and at times humorous, the information was far from 100% accurate, especially when chiding the Democratic nominee (how she referred to Obama at every turn, never saying his name).

There was an interesting article found at Yahoo news today.

It shouldn't be an issue...or should it?

Quite frankly, I'm not convinced that the unwed pregnancy of a politician's daughter need be an issue in this election. In the particular case of Sarah Palin, there are many other more pertinent factors that will cast doubt on her qualifications or abilities.

Signed...a registered Democrat.

I've never wanted to have sex with a vice presidential candidate...

...until now.

Truth be known, I'm not going to vote for her...but she sure is a pretty politician.



I can't wait for the talk show monologues!

Note to my wife: It's called bloghumor.

News Flash! We're all Runnin' on Empty

Good for you Jackson Browne...for suing the McCain camp for using your song in a campaign ad. My only question is, "What the hell was McCain thinking?". Which young, snot-nosed Harvard MBA grad on your campaign committee managed to sneak that one by? I am one of most a-political, a-moral SOB's around, and even I know that Jackson Browne has been a staunch supporter of the Democratic party for many years.

Runnin' On Empty, Browne's 1978 live LP and ode to playing in a rock band on the road, was and still is one of my favorites from that bygone era. I was spinning records at radio stations when it came out. Besides the title track, several other tunes made it to station play lists including The Road, You Love the Thunder, and Loadout/Stay. AOR (album oriented radio) stations played the entire song list. This LP was that good.

It is a tad ironic that the song, Runnin' On Empty, may have spawned new meaning thirty years later. And I'm not talking about the gas crisis! I'm talking about us...crotchety, curmudeonly, grumpy, tired, old baby boomers. We're running out of juice. And even the most upbeat, positive-thinking, another-day-in-paradise-near-60 type has to admit as he or she rolls out of bed every morning..."I'm fuckin' tired!"

So, if anyone should be allowed to adopt a new rock and roll anthem, it should be us. And the song should be Runnin' On Empty! By the way, I will be voting for Obama if that has any relevance here.

If you get a chance to listen to the entire album, this whole thing may make more sense, especially the track titled Loadout/Stay. And don't think it has anything to do with carpooling or drilling for new oil off the Santa Barbara coast.

"Oh won't you stay...just a little bit longer...?"

We may be tired, but we ain't goin' anywhere just yet!

One of the enigmas that is New Mexico

The Monsoon Season...
Summer in the Southwest is also the Monsoon Season there. Something about a subtropical ridge from Mexico and a thermal low from Bangladesh causes this annual weather pattern normally associated with the tropics (during our winter months). The thunderstorms hang out during the early part of the day over the Sandia Mountains shadowing Albuquerque. Late in the afternoon and evening, the clouds turn dark, move over the city, and it rains like hell, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes the better part of an hour. Then, the next morning, one wakes up with a typical New Mexico summer sky: deep azure blue, with huge, billowing, white Simpsons clouds. Then the pattern begins all over again.
Just one of the many enigmas that is New Mexico. It is much more than the hot, arrid, desert southwest most people perceive.

A Life in the Day - "My boys aren't too sure about this yet!"

I decided a few weeks ago to venture into the Land of Bicycling For Fitness and "Pleasure". I bought a used Italian road bike on eBay.

From my days as a teenager in the San Fernando Valley and that very first 10 speed I rode to school and destinations much farther...to this: A sleek, 80's vintage Bianchi 12 speed road bike built for the likes of professional Tour de France professionals under the age of 17...what was I thinking!

Lest not I judge my success in this foray based on the first 5 minutes of excruciating pain, the paranoia of falling down (apparently, one can indeed forget how to ride a bike), and deciding it was not a good idea to mount an ashtray and a beer can holder on the handlebars...I will do this or my name isn't Jack Diddley (and, as most of you know, it isn't). Not to mention the fact that I have already had bad dreams of getting crushed by an errant hay-hauling, Red Bull slurping semi driver.

Getting back to the excruciating pain, most of which located south of the border, I can't seem to recall as a boy that this was that much of issue. But today, this morning, my boys were crying out the moment I swung my leg over, scooted myself into motion, and settled onto the saddle. I must also tell you that it took three tries to actually swing my leg over in the first place. Geeze, I have trouble putting on my boxer shorts let along attempting a near high jump over this road bike frame. Loretta was standing nearby, providing the encouragement needed to complete the first step. Encouragement coming in form of, "Honey, be careful...you can do it...you can do it!" And as I wobbled off down the street a few feet, "How are your balls on that tiny seat?"

Like I said, unlike many past follies of mine, I will save judge ment until I've given it the full "college try". Unfortunately, the choice of words "college try" would not be very appropriate as I lost interest in attending college courses 10 minutes after enrolling.

My boys will just have to endure for the time being. I may have to install a full size motorcycle saddle, but I'm gonna do this!

Pass the ice pack, please.

A Life in the Day - Damn those bacon and eggs!

With visions of all these things dancing in my head...thoughts of who-knows-what that just don't seem to go away...I will attempt to put a few words into this cyber self-therapy journal on a semi-regular basis. Now that I have that disclaimer, lie, and promise out of the way...

Bacon and eggs...genetic predispositions...impending grandparenthood...illusions of grandeur (past and present)...growing old(er)...busted careers...crazy schemes...olympic envy...self-loathing prophecies...debilitating insecurities...the man in the mirror...addictions (past and present)...thoughts on women...the bucket list...The Pollyana Syndrome...The Peter Pan Syndrome...The Peter Principle...Jobs I've Hated...Jobs I've Loved (not a short list, a non-existent one)...Vietnam...college (or lack thereof)...the traumatic amputation of my left index finger at age 4...that plane crash at age 7...best friends...sex (or lack thereof)...right brain, left brain, no brains?...the novel...the screenplay...did I mention bacon and eggs?

Are bacon and eggs one of the reasons I am sitting here with a 10 inch scar on my sternum? A souvenir surgically inflicted for the purpose of saving my life and caused by eating too much bacon and too many eggs? Bah...humbug! Would that trophy on my chest be there if I had subscribed to the Gorilla Diet as a teenager? Would those 12 stainless steel wires preventing my rib cage from bursting open and spilling out entrails and alien demons like Kane in the movie Alien be there if I had really enjoyed eating spinach, tofu, and seeds instead of french fries, chimichangas, and lard? Let's not forget smoking. What a disgusting habit that is!

But, you know what? There's not much I can do about those nasty habits now. Except, maybe stop doing them. And until I can get my flux capacitor up and running, I can't change much of what has already flowed under this tired bridge.

Change, you say? Sure, it is the one constant in our lives that still allows us some control.

Anyone got five ones for this five?

Can one get their kicks on Route 66?

According to the song, one can indeed get their kicks on Route 66. I've never been quite sure exactly what those "kicks" are, but I'm bound and determined to find out...now that I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico!

The highway that runs from Los Angeles to Chicago hardly exists in its original path any longer. Most of the time it runs parallel to other so-called super-highways, just off the beat and path. Signs abound on Highway 40 through Arizona and New Mexico inviting travelers to exit and drive the original Route 66. On my way out here a few weeks ago, I opted not to do that...yet. I stayed on the 75 mph, four-lane divided thoroughfare that would get me to Albuquerque in the least amount of time. There will be plenty of time to savor (and photograph) the old road.

Route 66 still does run right through the middle of Albuquerque. Old and new structures alike sit side by side. Some of the old diners and motels still stand, some have become eerie, empty relics of a time gone by. Others have been converted to new diners, restaurants, shops, and tourists traps. Old Town Albuquerque is one of those tourist destinations that one must see when passing through the Southwest proper. There is an old church and convent, a grassy, tree-lined plaza with a gazebo bandstand, and many shops with a few steps selling T-shirts, dream catchers, dried up scorpions, rattle snake replicas, and turquoise and silver jewelry. All the usual New Mexico-ish stuff one would want to take home to South Dakota or Illinois.

The food here is typical "Southwestern"...but not what the Food Network has lead us to believe. Bobby Flay does not have a restaurant in Albuquerque. Traditional southwestern cuisine is much simpler than those trendy chefs in New York have concocted over the past few years. When you order something, anything...it's "Do you want red or green sauce?" And, usually, it has been made fresh and is nice and spicy! Tortillas are made fresh and taste better than any I've had in California.

And the weather? Well, just let me say this: It ain't what most folks have been lead to perceive. Most New Mexicans, born and raised or transplanted, are happy to let Westerners or Easterners continue to believe that this place is just another hot, dusty, desert town. Far from it. Albuquerque is higher than Denver (the Mile High City)! We're in the Monsoon Season here now.

As the Bobby Troup song goes:
If you ever plan to motor west
Travel my way, the highway that's the best.
Get your kicks on Route 66!

Like I said, there will be plenty of time to savor and photograph that old road. I live here now.

It really is much more than roadrunners and cottonwood trees!

Self-Depreciation 1 Cent Sale - All Tendencies Must Go!

* Unrealistic Expectations

* Past Failures & Bad Choices (2-for-1)

* Peer Pressure

* Family Baggage

* Childhood Misfortunes

* Divorces

* Regrets

* Insecurities

* Wishful Thinking (Free Bonus with every purchase)


Many, many more tendencies available. If you don’t see it, ask your own therapist.

All sold “As Is” as they are vintage tendencies and are not guaranteed or warranted in any way.

All inventory will go in the dumpster if not sold by the end of the sale.

No shipping. Pick up only by assimilation.

Cash only. No financing available.

"I know...you just roll with the flow!"

Neal Page's somewhat subdued reaction to a comment by Del Griffith in Planes, Trains, Automobiles ("I've never seen a man picked up by his testicles like that before!") bears closer examination in these troubles times. We, us, everyone are all being picked up by our testicles, ie, they've got us by the balls big time...male or female notwithstanding.

The price of gasoline alone is prime evidence of this perplexing, ubiquitous situation. The fuel-price-gouging screw job happens every summer, only this time it's quite a bit worse than last year...and the year before that, and the year before that, etc.

Conservatives want to open up drilling off the coast of California and build a shit pot of new nuclear (not nucular) power plants. Liberals? Well, they're not sure yet. They are sure they don't want to disturb the sea otters or run the risk of irradiating entire city populations when that China syndrome thing inevitably happens.

One thing is for sure. Earth dwellers will use up the available oil and gas resources in a relatively short amount of time. Not until that future is tapping us on the shoulder...check that, rapping us up the side of head, will we commit to doing something truly productive. Maybe the solution is in the politics of dealing with the world's oil reserve mongers (for lack of a better term). We use most of this stuff, can't we just tell them to piss off? We could, but that wouldn't make them go bankrupt or change their stingy demeanor. They are already set for life if they didn't pump another single gallon out of the sand. The oil-rich countries afar are well invested and immensely diversified. Their citizens will always enjoy $.45 a gallon Techron no matter what happens.

So, in the meantime, we as Americans just "roll with the flow". Still satisfied to be held by the gonads at the am/pm gas islands. But unlike Neal Page, whose excruciating testicular pain eventually subsided after a couple of Del Griffith's mini airline cocktails back at the motel... ours will not.

As the saying goes, one never forgets how to ride a bicycle. Unfortunately, not enough of us are willing to give it go.

Occam's Razor, Tim Russert, and that damn half full glass!

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. KISS - keep it simple stupid. Why are you making this so complicated? It's obvious to the most casual observer. Occam's Razor.

Tim Russert. NBC's Meet the Press moderator died Friday, he was 58.

If you don't think that life is short, consider this. The old saying goes, "The glass is not half empty, the glass is half full". If you're over 50, "The glass is not half empty, it's three quarters empty, or one quarter full". And that one quarter is what we in this age group have left to work and live with.

I have never been a raving fan of Tim Russert, Meet the Press, or politics in general. But this guy was one of most straight-forward, get-to-the-point journalists of our generation. Professionally, he was living his dream reporting on the political arena, especially this campaign in particular. Russert may have been one of those rare individuals who was self-actualized...doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing at a certain point in time...and loving it. He was the same age as I am when he died today, 58. Maybe that is why his passing has affected me more than usual celebrity obituary. They say it was a heart attack.
As an television journalist with a degree in law, he was one of few in this profession who probably subscribed to the principles of Occam's Razor...paraphrased, "All things being equal, the simplest solution is the best". He ask politicians the most basic questions in every interview, and that usually made them squirm in their seats. Tim Russert managed to slice through the usual political rhetoric when moderating Meet the Press, helping us make some sense of the smoke and mirrors that politicians excel at throwing into journalistic exchanges. I thank him for that. A sad day in the world of television journalism. And a sad and early end to someone who was helping all of us understand the confusing politics of this presidential campaign.

If you are over 50, your glass is still at least one quarter full. That's at least three fingers of fine Tequila! Break out the salt, a fresh lime, and make the best of that while you still can. It can all end too damn fast! And, by the way, Keep It Simple Stupid. For that, we can thank that 14th century Franciscan friar named William...of Ockham.

Take the bus, and leaving the crazy-ass driving to us!

I'm not a regular bus person. I don't use local "rapid" transit near my home, nor do I take longer bus trips to visit relatives in other parts of the state or the country. But circumstances demanded that I use an alternate form of transportation this past weekend. I needed to pick up a car recently purchased on eBay. This particular jaunt would terminate in my old stomping ground, so a visit with my mom and my son seemed like the right thing to do as well.

Overall, my bus ride from Modesto to Grover Beach was relatively uneventful. Not to say there weren't several interesting chapters and characters along the way. One can not spend over eleven hours on four separate buses and not experience something a bit out of kilter. By the way, the eleven hours were spent traveling about 250 miles! And that was on the itinerary by design.

First, there was the two hour delay in departing Modesto. Scheduled departure time: 4:55 am. Actual departure time: 6:40 am. My bus arrived at the stop nearly two hours late. And at that time of the morning, the station office is not open and no information was available as to the why's and the when's. Loretta and I simply sat in the dark in the parking lot and waited. I found out later from a passenger that the previous 650 mile leg of the trip (originating in Oregon) suffered through four driver changes, most of which drove too slowly! My planned two and half hour layover (and transfer) in Fresno was reduced to 25 minutes and I was back on schedule boarding bus #2.

A short 30 minutes later, I arrived at Goshen Junction, just off Highway 99. I waited 20 minutes for my next bus at the only stop in which I took any photos. Check out the these shots of the luxurious Goshen Junction Bus Depot and Senseless Casino.

There were no slot machines or crap tables. Just a lot of old crap, a Greyhound bus sign, a small office, disgusting restrooms, and some dirt. The casino had long-since closed. No snack bar, no waiting room, no drinking fountain, and (as you can see) very little shade. The graffiti on the ladies' room door reads, "Women...enter at your own risk!" How accommodating? I was smack dab in the middle of Central California, but it felt like I was stranded in a scene from The Grapes of Wrath. Shame on you Greyhound.


To be fair, the next two stops were at near new Amtrak stations in Hanford and San Luis Obispo. But that's Amtrak. And, the last two buses were Amtrak as well.

One of the highlights of my bus adventure was listening to conversations between passengers. Total strangers striking up short term, verbal relationships across the aisle. One exchange of note almost ended in a fist fight between an old man traveling to his niece's wedding and a 40-ish burned out hag who decided to demean the old guy for taking a stand on religion. Another passenger close by said, "Maybe we should change the topic of conversation. Let's talk about my divorce!" That comment was followed by a few muffled chuckles as she commenced to document in detail how her marriage of 25 years recently ended when her husband ran off with the cleaning lady. A younger woman across the aisle from her commiserated by saying her spouse took off last year with their babysitter. A young mother traveling with her 8 month old baby trumped them all by saying, "I just got out of Chowchilla women's prison where I had my baby. My husband killed a friend of ours and is doing a life sentence in San Quentin". It was then I decided NOT to chime in with my sad story, "Well, I sold my old Porsche on eBay this week...and the buyer flaked out on paying! Gotta relist it." My saga paled in comparison to the other stories I had been privileged to hear on this bus.

The conversations between those passengers waned as our bus headed into the hilly, construction-laden pass on Highway 41 toward Paso Robles. We all found ourselves on a new thrill ride called Mr. Toad's Wild Late Bus Ride to Hell.

Our octogenarian bus driver (yes, he was 85 if he was a day!) announced at the beginning of this leg that he was 30 minutes late and didn't know when we would get into San Luis Obispo (about 60 miles away). Picture a full-size Greyhound bus highballing it down an old, curvy two-lane highway at 70 miles an hour, tailgating and passing slower cars as it gained speed. At this point, all conversations ceased as every passenger grasped their armrests and hung on for dear life. Near the back of the bus, four elderly passengers joined hands, recited Hail Mary's, and gave each other communion of Cheese Nips and swigs from a bottle of Ripple in a paper bag. I opted not to join them. The bus driver's demeanor reminded me of that scene from Dr. Strangelove where Slim Pickens road the atomic bomb down to its target...yahoo-ing and waving his ten-gallon stetson over his head! We were careening down the hill at 75 miles an hour toward the Highway 46/41 junction where James Dean died back in the fifties. How appropriate I die in a bus crash here?

Well, I am not writing this blog from a hospital bed, or worse, from the grave. I made it to Grover Beach 10 minutes ahead of schedule! I got to spend a couple of days with my mom near Pismo Beach, visit with son Jimmy, and pick up the car I had purchased. The trip back to Modesto in the 1992 Subaru SVX went smoothly. The seller even filled the gas tank before I picked up the car.

I also had time to hang out for a while at one of my favorite Central Coast ocean spots and visit with my sister Kris and brother-in-law Mark. Not to mention the quality time spent with my mom and my son. It was a good trip after all. And, I will send Disney a letter suggesting a new thrill ride at their theme parks!

" I don't know. I'm making this up as I go!"

To coin a line from the first Indiana Jones movie seems appropriate right now. Yes, we saw the new Indiana Jones the other day...but that's not what this is all about. By the way, the movie wasn't as bad as some people say! Not great...not bad.

I've always been not only a dreamer, but a planner. Where I seem to short is in being a finisher. Or at least I have been accused of that (by others and by yours truly) for a long time. The reasons make no matter at this point in my life. But, my point is: Life is like the outline of a movie script or a novel. The actual finished version is realized one day at a time. The penciled-out scheme only makes it to print as each thing happens...including the ending.

I know a lot of people who could be considered better finishers than I am. But when asked about dreams and plans, they have no answer. It's not a bad thing, simply living in the moment, it's just the way some folks are (and some folks aren't).

I recently had a conversation with someone very close in age to myself. A conversation about dreams, plans, and the so-called "bucket list" some of us have. You know, that list of things to do before you kick the bucket? He has none. He does have the plan to retire from his long-standing job as early as possible and draw retirement. "What do you wanna do then?", I asked him with envious curiosity. "I don't know", he replied shrugging his shoulders, "I don't care. As long as I don't have to work any more". Well, I suppose that is indeed a "plan".

Sometimes it seems my plans and dreams are more Walter Mitty-esque than what could be described as pragmatic or realistic. So be it. One must continue to write (in pencil) that outline for life. Filling in the blanks as they present themselves. For life in the future is most certainly a blank canvas. The only completed works of art are in the past. There is no finish line. The only limitation is time...and that runs out before you know it. Game over.

Pass the nuts, please!

An open letter (and song) for my kids...

I don't get to see them very often, but they're in my heart every day...

Thanks to Neil Young for letting me borrow the words from his tune (I'm) Here For You.

When your summer days come tumbling down
And you find yourself alone
Then you can come back and be with me
Just close your eyes and I'll be there
Listen to the sound
Of this old heart beating for you
Yes I'd miss you
But I never want to hold you down
You might say I'm here for you

When the winter comes to your new home
And snowflakes are falling down
Then you can come back and be with me
Just close your eyes and I'll be there
Listen to the sound
Of this old heart beating for you
Yes I'd miss you
But I never want to hold you down
You might say I'm here for you

In the spring, protective arms surrounding you
In the fall, we let you go your way
Happiness I know will always find you
And when it does, I hope that it will stay

Yes I miss you
But I never want to hold you down
You might say I'm here for you
Yes I miss you
But I never want to hold you down
You might say I'm here for you
I'll always be here for you

Dad

Clark Griswold: Why aren't we flying? 'Cause getting there is half the fun!

We're moving 1200 miles east very soon. Packing up, picking up, moving the entire lock, stock, and barrel(s) to the heart of the Southwest. Of course, when you lived in California for many years, moving east and south isn't really the southwest any longer, at least to us.

Initially, I will be heading southeast in a few short weeks, Loretta will stay here to wrap things up with the house. I will be starting a new career, both of us will be starting a new life in a new place. One of my duties going early includes securing a new place to live. More on this evolving story as it happens. I'll be staying with my best friend of over 40 years until the process is complete. He's single by the way and lives alone in a nice house on the outskirts of Albuquerque. I would never undertake such an intrusion of a friend's life if he was married and still had kids had home. We'll be "bachin" it for a few months. And I know he won't let me leave mys shoes or dirty clothes lying around!

Anyway...so, how the heck does one get to New Mexico from northern central California? Well, you fly, of course! Why not drive? Several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I need to leave the "reliable" car here for Loretta. And certainly not the least of which is what it will cost me to drive versus flying. Try this: $240 for gas, $75 for a motel room, $50 for food totalling $365. Compared to $111 to fly.

Another reason not to drive...did you see Vacation? Clark Griswold and his family traveled a similar route on their way to Wally World. I wouldn't be driving a brand new Wagon Queen Family Truckster. I would be driving a 1986 Nissan 300ZX. And although it is in relatively good condition, a lot can go wrong in 1200 miles of desert driving!

After the Griswold's unfortunate accident at the end of the wrong road, his experience with the greasy garage mechanic/sheriff deputy makes me a little leery of taking this route and mode of transportation through remote areas of the southwestern United States.

Mechanic: Ain't never seen anyone so shit-all stupid as you driving off that road. You musta got manure for your brains.
Clark: Yeah, well, we're from out of town. How much do I owe you?
Mechanic 1: How much you got?
Clark: No, I'm asking how much the repairs are.
Mechanic 1: I'm asking how much you got!
Clark: You're out of your mind. Look, I don't have time to fool around so how much is it?
Mechanic 1: [waving a wrench] All of it, boy!
Clark: What does the sheriff think of your business practice?
[Mechanic 1 laughs and shows Clark his sheriff's badge]

'Nuff said?

Just for fun. More of those memorable quotes from Vacation.

"Mom!"

This is a photo of MY Mom when she was a kid.

Get your own.

Happy Mother's Day, Betty.


O.K....I'll share her with you!

Bucket Seats Killed The Drive-In Theatre

I believe it was the proliferation of the bucket seat in American automobiles that lead to the ultimate demise of the drive-in theatre. More on that theory later. And even though one would be hard pressed to find an operating drive-in near them, they are still around...but, sadly, not many.

Historically, the first drive-in theatre was built, and patented, in the early 1930's by Richard Hollingshead in New Jersey. His patent was eventually declared invalid by a Delaware district court in 1950...and drive-in theatres multiplied like bunnies.

My very first memory of going to the drive-in was somewhere in the late 1950's. My parents took me to the Van Nuys Drive-In to see War of the Worlds. I don't recall if that was the "feature presentation" or the second feature...no matter, it was my first. By the way, I can still remember to this day watching this flick from the back seat of an old Oldsmobile and hiding my eyes through most of the basement scene. There were always two movies, a cartoon or two before the start of the first movie, and previews at intermission. And, those wacky snack bar ads successfully designed to produce a salivation response for hot buttered popcorn, icy cold soft drinks, and other tasty treats. There was always a playground located near the snackbar or right below the screen where we could go and swing on a jungle jim or spin on one of those little merri-go-rounds until it was time for the movies to start.


Many a time our family would pile into the station wagon to go see movies like Creature From the Black Lagoon, Beach Blanket Bingo, or The Birds. We'd bring our shopping bag full of homemade popcorn (yes, a full shopping bag) since Dad refused to pay the exhorbitant price charged for America's favorite snack at a drive-in snack bar. We would, however, usually be allowed a trip to the concession stand at intermission for an ice cream bar or some other more perishable junk food item. Friday night trips to drive-in theatres as a child were nothing less than exciting and highly anticipatory. Great memories from a different time and space.

Going to the drive-in as a teenager with a driver's license was quite a different story of course! I finally understood why some of the cars windows were so fogged up you couldn't see the occupants inside. Yes, people went to the drive-in without any intention of watching the movies. And, the advent of bucket seats (and subsequent death of bench seats) would contribute significantly to the extinction of this iconic form of American entertainment...making out at the drive-in! This outlet for adolescent debauchery became nearly impossible, or at the very least extremely uncomfortable, with bucket seats. Forget the back seat as well as cars got smaller and smaller. Thank goodness for our 1960 Chevy Impala and 1962 Pontiac Bonneville. Those seats and roomy interior provided endless options. Enough of this already!

A local news story recently reported the closing of Sacramento's last drive-in theatre. And, Loretta and I visited (for the first and last time) a nearby double-screen drive-in swap-meet last weekend. They don't show movies there any longer, and the swap meet was nearly void of vendors or patrons. Walking around, up and down the sloped aisles where cars filled with families parked on Friday nights brought back these fond memories. The speaker stands had long since been removed. In-car sound being accessed through the car radio, quite a technological improvement over the tinny, metal speakers we'd hang on the window.

But, stereophonic sound and upgraded concession stand menus featuring sushi, goat cheese pizzas, and lattes wouldn't stave off the inevitable. The drive-in theatre's time has come and gone. Automobiles without bench seats may not be to blame, but it's a quaint, if not completely naive rationalization on my part for the death of the drive-in theatre. A more likely culprit would be the home video/home theatre explosion. In any case, another opportunity for parents and children to spend close knit time together has gone away.

By the way, that last photo is of the Galaxy Drive-In Theater in Ennis, Texas. Yes, there are a handful of operating drive-in theaters remaining in America. Many of them in the mid-west and quite a few located along Route 66.

Try this link if you're interested in seeing more of what used to be a favorite, and abundant, form of entertainment in a baby boomer's childhood.

Another Time, Another Place, Another Life

I couldn't help myself. A huge wave of nostalgic waxing flowed over me as I began the overwhelming task of going through boxes and boxes of old stuff in our garage. I just had to drop this into a blog.

Yes, that is me (on the left) in an ad for my radio show in December of 1986. This morning news, music, "entertainment", comedy skits, and whatever else we could conjure up off the cuff program was one of the last ones in my illustrious career in radio. I did stay in that business for a few more years however in sales and commercial production. But the daily early morning grind ground to a halt shortly after that picture was taken. It didn't end for lack of an audience. It ended for lack of commercial revenue at the radio station. Live, small town morning radio shows were beginning to go the way of the Do-Do bird. Satellite programming had begun to wedge its way into the Central Coast market,ie, San Luis Obispo/Pismo Beach area of California.

Oh, I could have endured a few more years on the air...without a raise or even promise of more money. I could have stayed on and accepted longer work hours and more duties to justify my salary. I could have, but didn't. A couple of years later, I was "wooed" away from the glamour and fame of local radio and into the glamour and fame of restaurant management. The remainder of that hideous story (restaurant management) is now history as well.

I still long for the days of getting up at 4:00 am to do my morning radio show(s). I didn't relish hauling my lazy ass out of bed that early. But I did perk up once I got shaved, showered, and dressed, mustered some enthusiasm, and got quite a kick out of sitting down at the microphone before the sun came up and doing what I did. What I did was, and I use the word loosely, "entertain" folks on the radio. I played what was called Adult Contemporary music in those days, Easy Listening might be what it is referred to today. Although there was music, most of what I did was talk, take calls on the air, run trivia contests, interview people on the air live, do comedy skits as various characters such as Professor J. Michael Klembottom, Madame Julia, and Winston Mannington. The latter character's spouse being Phoebe Mannington (voiced my Glenda, my morning partner). It was a lot of fun while it lasted. But the times were changing. I guess I was as well.

The radio audience wanted "more music and less talk" now. And it was easier to sell commercials for a music format than for a talk format back then. It was and still is a game of ratings. It didn't matter that the higher rated stations audience were comprised of mostly teenagers (and still is today). Our very loyal, slightly more mature, more discerning, money-spending listeners couldn't keep me on the air any longer, despite a very flattering letter-writing campaign after we announced our impending departure.

I was no Howard Stern. That wasn't my style anyway. I was somewhat witty, but certainly not as crude or sensational or shocking. I did come across on the air as if I was actually enjoying what I was doing. And I was.

People ask me all the time, "Why don't you get back into radio. You were really good and you enjoyed what you were doing?" My answer: "It is rare to find a radio station owner who appreciates than genre any longer. And, heaven forbid...actually pay you for it!" And as a point of fact, too many of those little stations are owned by large radio groups. They own hundreds of stations now. And it's all about "numbers".

Perhaps with our upcoming relocation to another city in another state, I will explore the possibility of radio broadcasting again. Perhaps not. At the very least, my radio experience will always be there to fall back on. And you know what? It may indeed be time for that "fall back".

Bing bong! Five minutes past the big hour of five o'clock! Here's the new one from the Eagles!!!

The One Dollar Donut Economic Indicator

Forget about the government's leading economic indicators or the news media's town criers who masquerade as experts in this field. Never mind the cost of gasoline as it passes the four dollar mark. If you want to know where the economy is going, check out your local donut emporium!

Yesterday morning, I sauntered in to our very local, very old, donut shop. Salida Donuts (not sure if that is actually its name, it doesn't matter) is a mere 100 feet or so from the Salida Post Office. Every couple of weeks, either Loretta or I rationalize that it is time again for a huge dose of starch, sugar, and fat in the form of a donut (or three) and we indulge. She always gets some sort of cream filled eclair thingy. I opt for several old-fashioned-buttermilk glazed or maple bars. Know this...I'm not talking about those anemic Krispy Kreme air-filled puff donuts. I'm talking about nice, big, gut bombs from your locally-owned-by-prideful-Asians donut shops. Good donuts!

In a brief exchange between myself and the friendly Filippina donut shop proprietor lady, I learned some disturbing, though not surprising, economic news. The cost of her basic, no-frills donut line will go from 65 cents to 75 cents very shortly. Late last year, it was 55 cents. Of course, the fancier ones will also undergo a similar price increase. She explained the cost of flour and other pastry accoutrement has gotten out of hand lately and she has no other choice but to pass this increase on to her customers. "No big deal", I consoled the donut lady as she continued to apologetically explain her business dilemma. "We'll still buy donuts...maybe not as often", I offered with a patented sympathetic smirk on my face. In a quaint broken English, her lamented response was, "Business much slower than last year this time!". I grabbed my little white bag of donuts off the counter, threw her a real smile, shrugged my shoulders, and excited the Salida donut shop with the little silver bell ringing out a subtle goodbye.

I can't help but think that our donuts will reach the one-dollar mark soon. One dollar for a frickin' glob of flour, sugar, and fat! If you don't believe that, keep in mind the cost of gasoline has risen much higher than 30% in a short amount of time. I realize the factors controlling the cost of a gallon of gas are much more volatile and politically oriented than the cost of donut flour, but not much more.

Whether we are in a recession or not, we are in for continued tough economic times ahead. Perhaps The One Dollar Donut will be a good thing for us Americans. After all, most of us are too fat anyway! We have a choice with donuts, eat less of them. Not so the case with utilities, milk, and bread. We need heat...and we gotta eat something!

By the way, did you notice the price of a half gallon of milk is almost three dollars now?

Am I a geezer...yet?

First of all, what the hell is a geezer? According to various google searches, a geezer is an elderly, old fart, senior citizen, man or woman, who is usually eccentric and sometimes crotchety and most always grumpy. Please note photos of what could be considered geezers.

Of course, Gabby Hayes, erstwhile sidekick of Roy Rogers, was probably one of the most recognizable geezers in the cinema. And, Neil Young, dubbed a guru of what could be referred to as geezer rock, one of most iconic pop geezers of late.

The question remains...have I reached geezerdom? Have I crossed that line from simple middled-aged, grumpy, sometimes depressed, frustrated artist, baby-boomer guy to simply being a crotchety, old geezer? Close friends and my spouse are not allowed to answer that question or comment at this point please!

I believe that true geezerdom is more a state of mind than a point in time predicated by days on a calendar. In my opinion, here are some characteristics of the geezers I have had the displeasure of running into in my life:
1. Over 39 years old.
2. Man or woman.
3. Poor hygiene, ie, you can smell his or her stale, musky body odor from 6 feet away, often masked with cheap aftershave, deodorant, or cologne. This odoriferous aura has moderately lasting residual effects, especially in grocery store or K-Mart aisles. You may not even see the offender, but he or she has been there recently.
4. Poor public social skills, ie, quite often a close-talker who oft times takes out a crusty, stained handkerchief and blows his or her nose with a reckless, gurgling abandon while continuing to speak to you. Then, neglects to properly clean off his or her facial region after the blow session, leaving behind one or more small to medium sized goobers stuck to the stubble in the upper lip region (again, man or woman).
5. Public flatulence, both audible and S.B.D.
6. A slow, shuffling gait and stooping posture.
7. Crusty or sometimes white material accumulated at the corners of the mouth.
8. A "get-out-of-my-way" attitude toward others in a public place.
9. Has several, long, thick, errant hairs growing out of nose and ear areas.
10. Writes in a blog about geezers before looking in the mirror.

There are a couple of those characteristics I don't have!

Idol time on my hands 2/Burning Down the House

I don't usually do this, but here goes...last night's AI performances and HK heats up!

Jason Castro - Yes, a train wreck performance. Borrow a set of heuvos and sing something with, well...balls!

Syesha Mercado - Great show tune effort.

David Archuleta - The judges were kind, but...again, can you conjure up some testosterone from somewhere?

David Cook - Respectable job considering this should be the first and last time he attempts to sing a show tune.

Carly Smithson - A smoking' version of JC Superstar. And, she is finally wearing decent outfits!

Brooke White - Brooke...poor lovely, sweet, appealing, sexy, moderately talented Brooke...ya' had a whole week to learn the words!

My prediction for tonight's results show: Jason Castro...or Brooke White. Please vote off Castro. I'd give Brooke another chance (or 12).


From the bowels of Hell's Kitchen, they could barely manage a fast food menu for kids. The producers pick mostly losers for the dramatic effect. The one clown couldn't even cook chicken wings all the way through. And when someone like Ben shines a bit, Gordon is quick to slap him (or anyone else) back down to the ground. Yet, we still watch with great anticipation. At least they finally got rid of Craig. What a wuss! Is that how you spell wuss? Not important. To the chick who burned her hand (possibly not nearly as bad as it looked): McDonalds and BK is always hiring. Just stay away from the french fry station!

Idol time on my hands

I find it interesting, if not disturbing, that I look forward to Tuesday night television. I look forward to Tuesday night television almost as much as I look forward to Wednesday night television.

Used to be that Lost was on Wednesday nights....wasn't it? I've completely lost my interest in that disjointed, confusing, and contrived fantasy/sci-fi/mystery/survivor soap opera filmed a few hundred yards from Oahu tourist resorts. So now, Wednesdays (and Tuesdays) I'm planted in front of the plasma device tuned to Fox. Yes, I have become a reluctant (and embarrassing to admit) fair-weather fan of American Idol.

I think the affection (or should I say infection) for and/or caused by A.I. began last season with that whole Sanjiyah (sp?) thing. My wife Loretta and I just couldn't turn away from watching the weekly train wreck over and over again. We could not wait to see what silly hair style he sported while singing inane, whimpy versions of pop hits. At least he was finally voted off near the end, and at least Jordin Sparks finished on top. Whew! What a relief!

This season, albeit quite dissimilar in talent from last season, is no less perplexing to watch. This season's Sanjiyah is that David Castro guy. There's no way he will win, but why is he still there when the Australian guy got the boot already? They finally axed Kristy Lee Cook last week. She's not a bad singer, she's just not a great singer. How about the whiney, hobbit-like little kid with the decent voice (David Archeleta)? Looks like he's on the verge of crying all the time. Good voice? Yes. Dynamic performer? No way.

I must admit that I have a slight crush on Brooke White. Her Faith Hill resemblance could be the blame for that. Not a great singer though, and, she comes off a bit snotty at times during the critique period.

Anyway, I'm not going to run down the entire list of A.I. survivors to this point. And my point is that David Cook is the obvious front-runner and will probably win (if he doesn't have a cardiac event before the show ends).

The bigger point to make is my morbid interest in watching American Idol at all! As I said, it is quite disturbing. I should be watching any number of thriller/slasher/mystery flicks continually replaying on cable. Or trimming my toenails. Or surfing eBay. Or jogging. But, I defer the use of the wide screen and surround sound to my wife's obsession with A.I. I must also admit that I go on line at the start of Wednesday's results show and find out who gets booted. Of course, I never tell Loretta...I value my marriage more than that. I just can't stand surprises! Yet, that is where I will be tonight (Tuesday) and tomorrow night (Wednesday). Watching the less-than-stellar performances of star-wannabes. Then listening to painfully repetitous critiques from (Yo...dog...check it out! A little pitchy at times....) Randy, (I...I...I...just know you're gonna be a star) Paula, and (Brooke, it was kind of like a hamburger with no meat) Simon (cue the boos).

Maybe the saddest statement of all is that I am not alone. Each week, I discover more and more people, my age and younger, watch this show. And that doesn't include the closet American Idol fans. Of which, I am sure there are millions! Maybe billions. Perhaps the first couple of seasons are now reaching distant galaxies and is being watched by aliens.

Don't even get me started on Ryan Seacrest. What a talent-less robot? But, he's laughing all the way to bank. And I'm writing a blog on an old iBook, selling shit on eBay, and thinking about trimming my toenails now so I won't miss American Idol tonight.

Wait a minute! American Psycho is on at the same time. Now what do I do?