Football Fantasy

As a husky kid who was the obvious love-child between a white rhino and the Pillsbury dough-boy, you would think I would have a great interest in traditional bulky black n’ blue bruiser football. But alas I was weaned to be a wet-nursed wimp as my thin skin would turn pale, and my weak knees would knock at the thought of the sport with an ovoid ball as an object of affection. Yes my pathetic athletic skills and lack of pigskin prowess have always been better suited to batting feathery shuttlecocks rather than patting leathery turf-ruffled rumps.

One of my problems is that I’m uncomfortable with the uniformity of that weird costume that football dudes have to squeeze into since I would likely perform better in a pair of Dickies overalls and chainmail. I have never looked good in tight little grass-stained knee-high pants and a crash helmet when I go to the market so why would I wear that outfit at school or on TV? Typically the only pads that I have had to deal with are in rooms at hospitals or the damp sponges I shove under my Superman night shirt to make my biceps look larger and pock-marked with virility for my wife’s delight.

Anyway what kind strategist thinks it’s a good idea to line tree-sized people up inches apart and have them snarl n’ charge at each other after a big meal the night before? I don’t think there is enough Beano on earth to prevent the multiple close-in spontaneous combustions that surely must ensue and only enrage the enemas further. Also didn’t we decide shouldering up soldiers and having their ranks slaughtered was a bad idea in the revolutionary war so why now play a game featuring that exact same strategy.

At least it’s understandable why the Europeans came up with the ‘football’ name for their game since the rule of play reserves the hands only for crowd taunting and sweaty long-hair pulling. Clearly American football confuses me as does its name since it has so little to do with feet other than an occasional kick and run and some footwear advertising endorsements. Don’t worry I’m not trying to overthrow  the NFL or drag their audience kicking and screaming towards soccer, especially since I don’t look good in those nylon rainbow shorty-shorts either.  I guess my true football fantasy is just to see a lot LESS of both these sports clogging up my TV, and maybe given recent elevator revelations a more appropriate name like ‘SOCKHER’.

Golf ABC's

My wife plays golf in a league, so on occasion I will accompany her to the driving range where she can spend some quality time with the white dimpled sphere atop my shoulders as well as those at the end of her clubs. I usually hit a few balls too and of course expertly coach her on all I know about slicing shots out of bounds into the trees and hooking professionally. Obviously my ‘caddie’ comments and use of ‘Wite-out’ to disguise range balls’ red stripes for regular tournament play, clearly shows that her handicaps are LARGE, both at home as well as on the course.

The spouse seems to appreciate my excellent driver discipline since I yell at every club in the bag when they make careless mistakes regardless of how nicely I address them. Being cave-raised has its bat-benefits, but it makes one ill-prepared to stare at the sun in search of little rocket-launched balls while dodging skeeters, cart-geezers, and my wife’s dirty looks. So soon enough she tires of my persistent putter muttering and sends me off to sweep cat treats out of the sand traps and perfect my Zen garden raking readiness. 

Of course venturing so far into nature, away from the protections of my house-bound pen carries a certain amount of risk, especially for those un-lucky enough to view my knobby knees in a pair of plaid shorts. Apparently insects however find my CROTCHety crevices and dewy exposed skin an irresistible puffy pin cushion draw, despite death as discipline for the price of admission. Yes I seem to be a big bloated beacon begging to be browbeaten, by every bug, bird, or unidentified orb that dives n’ flies through the air in search of a sample of a salty simp. 

But alas the tables are truly turned on my buzzing brethren when they dare flare for touch-down anywhere near my face for a taste. Just like my much wiser human acquaintances, a sad driving range bee discovered this windy weekend that it’s best to steer clear of any orifice of mine that is frequently flapping. Don’t worry though, despite the temptation I didn’t bear down on the black n’ yellow fellow and make him face the ‘grind’; I simply shot the drool-drizzled dude out in a warm wad of my own ‘nectar’ as a warning of what fate awaits Any Bee I Cee.

Branded for life by MASCOTS

Despite their popularity, I have never really been a fan of sports, school, or corporation mascots. Beyond the obvious lingering trauma I suffered through college as an ‘Anteater’, I just have never embraced the whole clowny circus, noisy ‘branding’ thing anyway. I mean what reputable organization really wants the image of a nightmarish, A.D.D. riddled, oversized hunk of dryer lint, dancing PANTS-LESS pantomime - right?

I guess I can understand the big, lithe jungle cats like Jaguars, Panthers, Lions and Tigers as mascots to help promote a tough and graceful global corporate or sports image. However for a folksy local feel, I’ve never understood why domesticated feline breeds like the ‘brown shorthairs’, ‘Maine Coons’, or the ‘Puddy Tats’ haven’t caught on? You’d think dog names would be good mascot monikers as well but other than the Greyhound and Bulldog, I can’t recall any company or sports team marketing themselves in the image of the everyday ‘Schnauzer’ ‘Shih-tzu’ or ‘Shnoodle’?

Oh sure a mammoth Clydesdale mascot is a shoe-in to help define a brand fan-base if all your customers are constantly marinating in vats of Nyquil brew while rubbing elbows and foam fingers in sweaty stadium seats. Sadly I too am not immune to the mighty power of the Madison Avenue mascots as they have a death-grip on my beady brain as well as my busting beltline. More than once I’ve sat with a mouth-watering Whopper, donning a paper crown, only to succumb to prison-guilt from the hypnotic lure of the curiously creepy burger KING. Clearly you know I’m weak if that evil balloon-headed Jack in the Box ‘dude-cot’ has hooked me with a toxic affinity for his fragrantly fried n’ flat tacos.

Except for cow boys & girls, as well as the chap-hardened folk who herd ‘em hard, branding is a fairly difficult concept to burn into ones … uh - Memory. So organizations naturally turn to these stupid obnoxious mascots and other TOOLS to help me, the lowly consumer, remember them more easily. My real problem though is that I am SO simple-minded that it doesn’t matter if is the Santa Cruz Banana Slugs or Chik Fil-A’s Jersey cow, I try to remember only ONE IMPORTANT THING from mascots – my PANTS!!

Quality Time Walk

Today I went for a long walk with my wife. It was very enjoyable to take in some ‘quality time’ together and the weather was absolutely perfect. In fact it was so perfect that a lot of OTHER people were out walking, biking, and enjoying the sunshine too. I am all for people getting healthy and their tax-free ‘natural’ tan-time, but selfishly I wish they would do it somewhere else CLOSER to the sun, or further away from my ‘center of the universe’.

I know you are thinking that I am either extraordinarily romantic or more appropriately - an unbelievably self-absorbed curmudgeon. Yes I know that I ‘Rag’ on people unfairly and often my opinions are ‘All Wet’. But in my defense, I DO accept that everyone has the right to enjoy the same good fortune as I, as long as they don’t TAX me figuratively or literally.

If everyone would just keep moving, I would be fine, but usually I am waiting for strollers, avoiding dog-walkers, leaning away from rollerbladers, or ducking Frisbees. My wife is often amused by my obvious distaste of the invasion of my personal space as well as my line of sight so she tortures me. She pointed behind me and said ”I think those people are ALMOST NAKED!”, then waited for my shocked reaction.

I half-heartedly started to turn to see the ‘imaginary display’ but then thought ‘ Forget it’ – it’s not worth the rotational effort required by my neck and spine. You see these days at best, especially in the Midwest, the odds are only about 1 in 10 that my eyes will avoid spontaneous BLEEDING if I actually look at UGLY ‘nekkid’ folks.

I mean usually these people will look LIKE ME and there is no way I’m unleashing this ‘dirty bomb’ Stigmata on innocent bystanders, much less go out of my way to stare them down! So after my wife had her laugh at my expense, I did try and relax a bit more and take in the beautiful scenery. Then a sweaty 300 pound speedo-clad bicyclist whizzed by us with inches to spare yelling “LEFT” and I jumped RIGHT with startled despair. Sympathetically with a sigh, my wife calmly handed me a Wet wipe, two Band-Aids and a white cane ... as far as our Quality Time goes - I guess love really IS BLIND!

‘Mr. ED’ & TV that no one should have to see

I understand that we live in the media age and almost nothing is off the table when it comes to TV reporting, news and advertising these days. But honestly shouldn’t there be at least a few limits that normal ‘sane’ folks can agree on? Ok now once those two people have agreed, the rest of us need to put our foot down and demand removal of ‘offensive’ material from television. Sadly that will make most sporting events somewhat ‘one-sided’, but in my defense, the games will only take half as long to play and watch.

Hey I am not a prude-dude. I am just tired of sitting quietly, minding my own business watching television, when all of a sudden I’m visually assaulted by very disturbing images. I don’t complain just for myself but for those innocent young people around me as well. After all I am getting up there in age, so repeated shock and awe from any source, can have a detrimental effect on my sphincter and Santa’s lap.

So lest you think I am being overly dramatic, let’s start with an easy one – Viagra, Cialis, and the whole term ‘E.D.‘ PLEASE – I never EVER want to hear about that talking horse again. I don’t want to see ‘geezer lovers’ sharing a ‘knowing’ moment, or looking at a sunset in side by side tubs or ANY of it. I’m thrilled for you if this stuff has changed your life but why should it change my life too? Please just bring back liquor and cigarette ads if I have to keep seeing amorous old people holding hands. Because I am going to need something to dull the pain and help kill myself much quicker than my current health regimen of saturated fats and NO exercise.

I also am done with all forms of ‘nekkid’ babies. The only three groups who like nude babies are naïve ‘first time’ mothers , old wrinkly Grandmothers who have forgotten what a naked baby looks like, and farm ‘sows’ who eat their young. The rest of us, especially guys, HATE naked babies so put some clothes on those kids if you are going to put them on TV.

Now if we’re talking big babies, we have to group in those TV liability lawyers of mid-day and late night television too. I will never need one of these odd-ball attorneys and neither will you. Locally, we actually have a lawyer who advertises on daytime TV that wears an eye-patch and has the voice inflection of a stale donut. If you require the assistance of a wooden pirate lawyer then you had better kiss your booty goodbye, because you’d get better representation from a stuffed parrot.

Ok, that’s enough gripe-writing for now. I need to get back and watch more television because I have fallen short in my regular afternoon diet of car, fast food, insurance, cell phone, and trade school advertising. Maybe if I am lucky, the idiot box will show me something that EVERYONE wants to see – A naked baby liability lawyer, who can’t get enough of those little blue pills and endless re-runs of Mr. ED!

Ridin’ my Soapbox

This last weekend was the 73rd annual Soapbox Derby championships in Akron, Ohio. For those of you that have never seen an ‘Our Gang ‘ movie matinee, this is an amateur race competition for kids that began in the 1930’s. The young drivers and their 4 wheeled race cars compete around the country on straight local roads with a continual downhill grade. The cars are built by the kids and their race teams to best take advantage of gravity, aerodynamics, and a driver’s course prowess. Every summer, winners of local races around the world, meet up at ‘Derby Downs’ in Akron, Ohio U.S.A. for a week-long extravaganza of events, media hoopla, and eventually elimination matches to ultimately crown the world champions.

In my father’s day, participating in the Soapbox Derby meant literally finding crates, random skate wheels and parts, to fabricate and point a rolling ‘thrift store’ down a hill with limited braking, steering control, and safety requirements. In modern times, the Derby race cars are strictly regulated to use the ‘exact’ same specifications among all racers. This includes weight restrictions, uniform wheels, car size, brakes, steering, and obviously great precautions for the driver’s general safety.

What reminded me of all this was that I noted they are now filming a movie called ’25 Hill’, a drama depicting a kid’s heroic struggle to fulfill his deceased father’s dream to race in the Soapbox Derby. In the last three out of five years, the real life National Soapbox Derby organization has been in the red and is struggling to survive hard economic times and loss of corporate sponsorship. Actor Corbin Bernsen has made it his mission to produce this movie to try and revitalize the public’s awareness of the Soapbox Derby with it’s rich and storied past. With a little luck, if the family movie hits a chord with the general public, it could help bootstrap the Derby’s reputation as well as its meager bank account.

You see I have a tiny vested part of my emotional past in this organization. My daughter competed in the St. Louis Regional Soapbox Derby in the Super Stock and Master’s class cars for three years and won the St. Louis Championship in 2002. She went on to compete in Akron too, however lost her race that year and was eliminated. Still, It was an amazing experience and the town treated every one of those racing kids like celebrities everywhere they went.

So, if you ever get the opportunity to go watch or support one of these local racing events, your family would surely benefit from the experience. Though the cars may not look as unique or comical as their 1930’s ancestors, the kids’ determination to succeed is the same. That’s good enough reason for me to at least buy a movie ticket when ’25 Hill’ comes to town. The only thing is that I hope the ‘drive-in’ movie theater is DOWNtown – with no motor, Soapbox Derby cars only ‘do’ hills in ONE direction!

The hair and music bond

When I was in 8th grade I was honored with a very prestigious award. No I didn’t run faster, or jump higher than my peers – I simply unfurled my Rapunzel length hair – ON MY LEGS! Yes eat your heart out people, while so many of you spend hours on end trying to reign in the mane , I got rewarded for my ‘preceding’ leggy hairline.

Don’t worry, this was not some odd-ball ‘Hairy’ Potter private school full of nerdy outcasts – it was a summer camp full of musicians obviously battling fatigue and a bit of healthy pre-teen follicle fascination. Somehow I was ‘volunteered’ to enter this competition and with ruler in hand the arbiters of 'all things furry' sampled my curly leg locks. When pulled taut, at nearly an inch long, the hair on my calf outdistanced all comers by at least a 1/8 inch. I received a bottle of Nair and a handsome certificate suitable for framing.

Now it is hard to imagine that this was my first experience away from home. As an only child, my favorite companion ordinarily was ‘Privacy’. I was none too happy to be dropped off in the woods by my parents to face hundreds of these weirdo, kinetic ‘music geeks’. Most musicians (excluding myself of course) are already a bit maladjusted, so a genuine ‘Deliverance-induced’, chill ran down my spine, at the thought of being abandoned in the woods without silver bullets, garlic, or even a kazoo. However after my camp-mates shared gruel, chores, and our passion for music; inevitable friendships formed, and soon I was willing to whip my unshaven leg out and show anyone who dared a gander.

So the next time you prepare to use a machete to hack back all of your precious peach fuzz, you may want to think twice. You never know when that Amazon jungle on your legs may come in handy to help you bond and win some well-deserved recognition among your peers. Of course for the full effect, you may want to hire a couple of toothless musicians to play ‘Dueling Banjos’ to set the mood. That’s sure to ‘win friends and influence people’, or at the very least, raise those teensy ‘little hairs’ on the back of your neck!

Truly a Field of Dreams

While writing, I may have alluded to it a time or TWENTY, that I am kind of a big dude but I was never too handy at most sports. Fortunately my father was not concerned with it at all and my mother appreciated that I remained ‘fracture free’ my entire life. When we first made our trek to California somehow I magically found myself enrolled on a ‘C’ little league team.

Now needless to say since ‘C’ team says it all, I was not very good nor did I eventually blossom into a great baseball player. In fact a couple of years later they had tryouts in 7th grade for a baseball team and I went up to bat and crushed a home run on the first pitch. Yes I got picked FIRST which had never happened before in my life but sadly, I never got a significant hit again for the rest of the games.

Now my wife on the other hand in this same era was a regular softball pitching rock star though I did not know her at the time. If there had been opportunities then as there are today, no doubt my wife would have planned to play ball in college and beyond. So what do I see in the news this week but a 13 year old little league pitcher named Chelsea Baker who has two perfect games and has never lost a start in 4 years. The kid is a genuine ‘phenom’ with a mean knuckleball and a 65 mile per hour fast pitch that humbles all takers in the 'all boys' (save 1) baseball league.

Now I know the road only gets tougher from here on out for this kid regardless of the fact that she is a girl in a ‘guys’ game. Especially for young pitchers, it takes an amazing toll on the shoulder and elbow to throw heat like Baker’s through high school and on into college. But is it not an amazing dream to think that someday a young girl like Chelsea Baker, MAY soon get the opportunity for a second look by a Major League Baseball team? Despite the difficulties and the 'coke bottle thick' glass ceiling, ultimately the game is all about performance and winning. If the kid can keep it up, why wouldn’t a major baseball team give her a shot when she’s ready? I have linked up a story HERE profiling the young hurler’s building fame so you can keep your eye on her progress over the next few years. This is one ‘Baker’ whose skill might make her some tasty 'bread' someday, but it will happen in a field of dreams, far beyond the kitchen!

The 'Skinny' on Energy Drink Boosters

It is hard to imagine that the world’s leaders are always talking about trying to dig up and invent new sources of energy. Haven’t these people been up the street to a 7-11 or to any store check-out lane on the planet? I mean you really have to be wearing ‘ultra-dark’ sunglasses, slapping ankles and small children with a white cane to miss the so called energy ‘booster’ drinks and shots displayed everywhere.

What happened; did somebody forget that soda, tea, and coffee already had the caffeine and diuretic department covered and locked up? Now it seems anyone with a cute diminutive bottle, flashy label, and some filtered water is getting in on the action. Yeah I could toss out any ol’ pale yellow secret ‘witches brew’, featuring liquid vitamins with caffeine, and fitness fiends would take to it like summer bugs to a porch light.

Now I know being naturally hyper-kinetic, I’m not the best authority to speak to this subject. Beyond that, I suck-in my fair share of diet soda and coffee every week, which keeps my hot-air mouth afloat and the bathroom porcelain well exercised. In general however, it is probably best, if truly health- conscious folks would try to avoid these stimulant boosters as a part of their ordinary routine and diet.

The fact is, most of us ALREADY get a fair dose of these mild stimulants during the course of a day without the need for excessive supplements. I have linked a caffeine database here so ordinary sane people can look up and compare favorite beverages against the myriad of energy potions available. If you are insane (like our world leaders), and refuse to listen or learn in the face of established fact and historical data, I am linking the most powerful caffeine ‘buzz’ per ounce known to mankind. Yep, just pop an ounce or so of this ‘super nova’ stimulant and you won’t sleep for a week. Of course if you do it often enough, the next ‘booster’ energy shot you’ll get is from your doctor. He'll 'FIXX' you right up with a pair of cold metal defibrillator paddles,and if you are good and wake up - he'll give you a pale yellow 'Lolly'!

I love my MUG

Admit it … so now you think I’m vain don’t you - just like that stupid song . Has society become so judgmental these days, that a guy cannot spend a little face time staring at his mug in a mirror anymore? Well, I have it on good authority that Carly Simon might have been having some varicose vein issues when she wrote that tune, so I would not read too much into 70’s pop culture.

No the mug to which I am referring and truly love is my little Mikasa “Teddy” mug. I guess you could pollute its butterfly cavity with tea and milk and all kinds of homeopathic colonics. But when REAL work has to get done, I fill that bear to the broad-brim with some hot java and watch him and his little mouse friend sweat. Truly, I am such a supporter of this cup and it fits me so perfectly, that despite the obvious ribbing, if it had straps on it, I would use it at the gym too.

All kidding aside, other than the effeminate ‘berry picking’ animals, this is the greatest mug I have ever owned. There is something special about the gentle slope of the lip-ledge and its comfortable geometry. That along with the antique white coloring of the china helps hide my obligatory dribbles and unsightly lip-prints. Even as a weapon, this thing has the roomiest two-finger handle and perfectly sized thumb rest ever. If this mug shot hollow points, it would be the standard issue in every police precinct of San Francisco’s finest and most fabulous.

If you were to visit me at home, I maintain a special coded system of ‘mug-dom’ to denote your relative beverage status. For ugly guests, I have a closet filled with dark, heavy, and imposing stoneware mugs. You know the ones, with their ‘oh so macho’ manly missles and boy-toy icons emblazoned on the side. For beverage drinkers of the weaker sects, I offer up the virginal all-white mug with maybe a flower or two for their ‘special’ designer, non-caloric ‘kool-aid’. But for the truly honored and most special guest, I will begrudgingly surrender my treasured Mikasa mug for you to love and briefly lock-lips. You’ll soon discover, just as Carly did in her musical lament, when it comes to mugs “Nobody does it better” than my ‘Teddy’!

Redneck Games Reunion

Once again I somehow missed the Summer Redneck Games in E. Dublin, Georgia on Saturday. This is that spoof (sort-of) alternative Olympics started down South when the real five ring Olympics stopped by in Atlanta awhile back. Although the event takes a lot of ribbing in the national media, it actually collects quite a bit of dough for charity, while having a lot of fun.

I’m not so sure what the big deal is though about throwing toilet seats as horseshoes? In Missouri we just throw the whole toilet out in the yard. Actually my nephew used a sledgehammer to break-up an old toilet of mine and we ended up burying the pieces in the backyard. The irony was the toilet rubble was buried to help with WATER control and erosion! Gee I thought that was what diapers were for?

Yeah those Georgian’s down at the Redneck Games have nothing on us Missourians. When we ceremoniously light our BBQ grills here, usually at least one random rodent and a flurry of insects vacate the thing quick. We are not big on Porky pigs feet here, but as I’ve mentioned before just across the ‘Big Muddy’ is a joint that people flock to for Pig snout sandwiches and love ‘em.

So to get in the mood and ready for next year’s Redneck games, I’m thinking of getting one of those mullet haircuts sewn right into a truckers cap. I’ll have to dig around and see if I can find my cut-off jeans made out of the Confederate flag. Though it has been quite a few pounds ago since I wore them, there is nothing quite so nice as resting your sweaty rump on the Confederate flag. Gee I had better be extra careful with those flag pants seams if I bend over though – NOBODY wants to see those Confederates split from the Union again!

Frosty World Mug

Like many Americans, I am not an overly enthusiastic soccer fan. I actually appreciate the athleticism of the sport greatly, it is just the scoring is too low. Everybody who watches sports love a good back and forth close game, but come on – Zero to Zero ties or One to Zero wins? Plainly not enough scoring!

And I have to be honest, have you SEEN the world cup? I’m not sure what it is but it ‘ain’t no cup’! It kind of looks like an egg resting atop a tree or some kind of growth. I know even the Superbowl trophy is a little wimpy looking too but this soccer cup needs an immediate upgrade to at least a frosty tall MUG!

My kid played soccer once when she was quite young. I am the least competitive type of parent you will ever meet regarding team sports. I want the kids to just have fun and learn something especially when they are very young. However, honestly, my daughter and a group of 10 other kids would kind of push the ball around the edges of the arena and follow it in a huddle. My daughter would politely wait for a turn to kick the ball in a mass of ankles, stuffed socks, and shoes.

That was so frustrating to watch – just kick the thing already and move it around. But no, the packed huddle would continue to shuffle around the arena for 30 excruciating minutes. It is no wonder I have no tolerance for the game now, because I have a Pavlovian response to immediately sleep after a few minutes of exposure. I am not sure if this is triggered by soccer balls, colorful socks, or my dill pickled & DULL brain? Just in case now, I only wear white socks and avoid soccer balls religiously. Hmmm, strange, I always seem to be sleepy when I write this blog … there must be a soccer ball or some stinky colored socks around somewhere?

Sun Toasted Robot

As a robot fiend myself, I am always on the lookout for that next hunk of technology that is plotting to invade my life in one way or another. Oh you may think your cool, immune and un-geekified still. But the truth is that cell phone on your belt, laptop on your desk, and GPS in your car give you away.

I cannot tell you how long I have been waiting for a breakfast robot. My wife does not like bacon at all so right away, a REAL breakfast is out of the question. She can make a pretty good pancake but in truth all she prefers is a bowl of cereal and some fruit to start the day. I know technology is not perfect but all I want is my breakfast bot to milk a chicken, serve me my pancakes sunny side up, and put a dab of jelly on my bacon!

It may be awhile before I get my wish. It seems most robot designers got stuck on the idea that robots are supposed to help in emergency situations not just be there for my convenience. Who decided this? I do not remember one of Asimov’s robot rules saying that robots are just for ‘do-gooders’. I love real robots that do real jobs like that vacuum robot. I know it barely can sweep up more than a few errant cookie crumbs and the dead flies along the baseboards of my tile floors, but hey - it’s a start!

Today in my technology search, I came across yet another SERVICE robot. This one does the work of lifeguards and is essentially a giant bulbous remote controlled raft named ‘Emily’ . If I was drowning I’m not sure I would want to see a fat inanimate ‘plus sized’ lifeguard ready to run me down in the name of safety? Anyway, you can judge for yourself by linking HERE. I guess I understand the need for technology to concentrate on saving lives over making my breakfast. But can we compromise here a bit and get an upgrade on this Emily the lifeguard boxy-bot? I was thinking maybe something a little more sleek, along the lines of let’s say a ‘BAYWATCH BOT’!

McBlogger Pilot

Ok just so you don’t think I am a lifeless vampire who never leaves the confines of my bat cave to blog, I actually took a little road trip yesterday. Yes I drove 160 miles one way to track down my wife who is flying all over the ‘right’ half of the country in an air race.

I am not complaining as it was nice to get away from my hutch and see some of the countryside in full summer bloom. Fortunately the air conditioning in the car was working though as it was just plain sweaty hot everywhere I went. I found the wife under the plane studying bug stains or something pilots have to worry about. She was airing out the cockpit and herself as the crew flies ‘ventless’ to increase airspeed. So that’s why all those egocentric pilots think they’re so ‘ HOT’.

I took lots of photos and we got a chance to chat for an hour or so while the airport fueled the beast and the crew waited for favorable tailwinds between Chicago thunderstorms. It was actually a pleasure to pay $250 for fuel this time since the credit card company midway through the race DECLINED the card. They had suspected fraud because how could somebody be using the same credit card in 4 or 5 states in less than 24 hours? It is not so hard to do when life literally ‘flies’ by!

After the wife and her partner took off and buzzed the tower to officially start the race clock, I got back in my much slower and delightfully chilly car. Shortly thereafter, I drove to a local McDonalds to upload my pictures and post to the air race blog. I kind of liked the different atmosphere of sitting in public, looking out the McWindow while I typed. It feels strangely liberating to be free and wireless in a foreign place but doing very familiar things – sort of like a pilot only a lot COOLER!

FIRST LOOK – Air Race Postcard

To the three or four of you who actually visit my blog daily, you may remember that my wife T, was about to embark on a 2100 mile air race this week. Yeah this little buggy ride will take her and her partner on a circuitous jaunt from Central Florida to the Western Missouri border and then back to Eastern Maryland.

Well RACE DAY IS HERE and begins today at 0800H EDT from Ft. Meyers, Florida. The plane is prepped and the routes are planned. Now everything depends on weather and a healthy dose of GOOD MOJO. I know my wife is serious about this thing because I got a note today, that to reduce weight, she is shipping a bunch of clothes back and an empty computer case. I wisely did not mention that if she stopped eating and went to the gym once in awhile, she could have reduced weight too.

So what’s the deal, are the pilots and their laptop just going to fly around naked for the next 4 days? No I doubt it as I am sure my wife kept a few duds that she can wash the stink out in a hotel sink along the way. Oh sorry, you probably thought flying small planes was all about the romance of soaring in open blue skies as free as a bird. Well forget it. Not only in an air race, but for most of the time in little planes, somebody or something is always in your way these days. You always have to be mindful of the weather if not now, a half hour down the route and it can be VERY unforgiving. Particularly in a race, the pilots will probably close their cabin cooling air vents to decrease drag and will run the engine to peak performance – both are ‘hot’ propositions but not in the ‘cool’ sense.

So yes, unless Mother Nature steps up to throw a monkey wrench in our plans, this should be quite a show over the next few days. The pilots will post live during the race to their blog, and I will post photo updates regularly during each day of the race as well. By tradition whenever ‘T’ flies in one of these charity races, we produce a postcard for the team to carry, sign, and give away in the host cities and airports. As you may remember we had a late plane change this year, so I am very behind in my media production duties.

So consider this your back stage pass into air racing, because other than the pilots, you are the FIRST to see this postcard artwork as it heads to press. Enjoy, and if you have a few extra nickels left in your piglet bank for charity, please consider donating to Wings of Hope. Uh,yeah we borrowed a few hundred gallons of their fuel and it's my guess, they are hoping that we might pay them back? Cheers!

Plane talk about Air Racing

Ok folks, I usually try to post any serious hard news stuff on the overnight feed. But today I temporarily reversed the trend since I wanted to make sure that those of you who refuse to get up before Noon would take a gander at this post. This is longer than most of my stuff so don’t get whiney after an extra paragraph or two.

My wife is about to head down to Fort Meyers, Florida to participate in the annual Air Race Classic. This is the oldest aviation race exclusively for women pilots. Its origins are from the 1930’s when Amelia Earhart was buzzing the country in what was then dubbed the Powder Puff Derby. My wife’s team has a temporary FAA designator as “Classic 47” and I will maintain their blog at this link. The 2010 race will take place on June 22nd through June 25th and will move from Florida up to Georgia, over to Alabama, Arkansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, West Virginia, and then finally end in Frederick, Maryland.

Now ordinarily I would have announced the race website about a month in advance as there is a lot of interesting preparation that takes place with the plane and pilots. But this year, we have been incredibly swamped trying to make a 1953 Piper Tri Pacer race ready. But no matter how hard we tried, every time we pushed the little plane to the next level, something else would throw us a curve. Due to a unique seat design in the Tri Pacer, my wife and I developed three versions of rudder pedal extensions to allow better tail-end coordination. As soon as that was perfected, our radio was picking up noise at the control tower. From there the vacuum pump needed replacement, then the plane seemed to be running a tad hot on the manifold pressure and on it went.

Sadly, the team came to the reality that while we could work to keep the plane safe on our own turf, it is a much taller order to do so flying 2000 miles from home. So literally at the last minute (yesterday), just 3 days before the pilots and plane need to report to Florida – we pulled the plane from the race. Yes it took a little work, but we quickly filed the paperwork, insurance, and immediately began preparing an alternate and ultra modern aircraft as a substitute race plane. While it is a testament to our sponsor, Wings of Hope and our pilot team’s dedication it is also a little sad. We really wanted to run this particular Tri Pacer because it was country music star, Roy Clark’s first airplane and the OLDEST plane to attempt the race.

So the race is STILL ON and my wife and her partner are ready to go. If you get a chance, check-in on the team blog to see where Classic 47 is on the map and whatever interesting pictures they have captured along the way. If you live close enough by to visit one of the airports, you may be in for a treat as the planes buzz the field with a low-level fast pass over the official timers station. Depending on weather, fuel stops, and individual plane range, you may also get to see the race planes and meet the pilots up-close along any of the race legs. Check out this link for the Air Race Classic official 2010 airport stops.

Both at the race start in Fort Meyers, Florida and the race terminus in Frederick, Maryland, the crews and planes will be on the ground for extended periods of time. Usually there are festive events happening around the airport and it is a good chance to see some living history for the whole family. If you catch a glimpse of Classic 47 on the ground, introduce yourself to my wife. And while your at it, pick up a bug sponge and clean up the leading edges on the Wings and prop – it’ll make the plane fly faster!

ReLAXing Lacrosse

Though using the lacrosse name abbreviation ‘LAX’ for years, only recently did I understand that the ‘X’ in the term ‘LAX’, stood for a ‘CROSS’ like you might find on a pirate’s treasure map. When you put the ‘LA’ with the ‘X’ you get the pronunciation of ‘Lacrosse’. Yeah I may be dumb, but I just assumed it was a typical meaningless shortening of a longer name like Chuck for Charles or Hank for Henry.

My daughter has played LAX for quite awhile now. I’m not completely sure but I think some of the allure for her is not just the game play or skill, but she likes a bit of the tough image too. I guess that’s fair because it can be a relentlessly taxing game on the body at times and takes some guts to play well.

I guess lacrosse is particularly hard on those intestines? At least it appears that way with a slew of products dedicated to the stuffed-up sphincters of your average LAX player. We all have heard of ‘Ex-Lax’ and ‘DucoLax’ but today on television I even saw a new product for the fruit-deprived lacrosse player – ‘PRUNELAX’.

It is hard to imagine all these stone-cold, hulky lacrosse players sitting around all knotted up and endlessly whining about constipation isn’t it? I mean I knew they were as ‘tough as nails’ but I did not know they must be routinely swallowing some of those 8-pennies as well? That image probably makes you wish LAX was just some random abbreviation for an airport huh? Wouldn’t it be perfect if that airport was close-by to the sunny oil-free sand of California’s beaches? Now that’s ‘BOUND’ to be a place that even a bloated, prune-filled lacrosse player could truly RELAX!

Extension Cords - Prime 9 uses

I recently wrote about all the reasons that extension cords and I do not get along. I kind of got a lot of pushback hate mail from extension cord fans (along with other small appliances too) who seem to really benefit from the mobility that longer cords bring. So in the interest of fairness and equal time. I now submit for your approval, the Prime Nine alternative uses for extension cords:

1) An anchor line for an Electric boat

2) The business end of a really REALLY big string trimmer

3) Dental floss for the Mountain Dew drinkin’, gap-toothed smilin’, Deliverance folks

4) Fishing line for stupid fat catfish of the evening who’ll ‘noodle’ ANYTHING, even fingers

5) For a high-powered 120 volt Electric Fence (Ha - Too Easy)

6) Hanging that really gauche black felt artwork with the real working car headlights

7) A modern swinging vine for a high tech Tarzan & his blue tooth connected chimp, 'Cheeta'

8) Use as a lasso by Robert Redford’s Electric Horseman to electrocute Jane Fonda

9) A clothesline for only SHORTS & wind BREAKERS (the JACKETS … nothing else)

There you have it - my ‘prime 9’ homage to alternative uses for stupid electrical extension cords. I am sure you have a few clever ideas of your own so do feel free to enLIGHTEN us all. Whatever you do though don’t get distracted from this post to do something else. Because if you do that is a clear sign you probably have ‘Extension Deficit Disorder ‘!

When good rules go bad

I admit it, I am a bit of a ‘rules’ kind of guy. I prefer things to be fairly straightforward, vividly explicit, and my rainbows to come in two colors - black and white. It really is not my fault since my first and ONLY internship in college was at a legal clinic. Even as a lowly intern, it did not take too long to realize that no physics are involved at all - the world ACTUALLY revolves around contracts and the rule of law.

Now of course my parents were pretty careful to set me straight too whenever I attempted to stray as a youngster. So given all that foundation for a lawful life, it is no wonder that I am tuned a tad tighter than a cheap guitar when it comes to rules. Today, it is fashionable to find shades of gray in most every law and it seems even the rules of grammar, ( such as the true meaning of ‘IS’) are apparently debatable.

Preamble ramble aside, rules truly ARE important, but in my life, probably the one overriding principle that has proven MORE critical, time and time again, is fundamental fairness. Oh no, I have opened that triple-locked and sealed door of interpretation – what happened to all that ‘holier than thou’ tough 'Texas Ranger' talk?

Well I have to admit, even though I am not much of a sports fan, I was frustrated that Detroit Tigers baseball pitcher, Armando Galarraga was denied a ‘perfect game’ due to a admittedly erroneous umpire call. Now mind you this was not any old ump-blunder , this was the LAST OUT of the LAST INNING of a NO HITTER! There have been only 20 perfect games in the entire history of baseball and Galarraga delivered the goods for a 21st yesterday and deserves the appropriate recognition.

Now there is no CRISIS in baseball – this was an admitted error on the part of a human umpire. Replay tapes clearly show the batter was out and everyone knows it. Major League Baseball does not have to change any long term rules about the use or non-use of replays in games. The Commissioner simply has to step up and RIGHT AN OBVIOUS WRONG and reverse the call. It is a matter of fairness and is EXACTLY why we still have HUMANS with REAL gray matter in leadership positions judging anything or any contest. Our brains are BETTER because they are not rigid and inflexible like computerized machines.

Sports MUST compete with a set of common rules or else chaos would ensue and record books would become meaningless. However in rare and clearly SPECIAL circumstances, FAIRNESS should be the prevailing rule and the letter of the law must take a backseat. True leadership is knowing when those unusual and special times have arrived at your doorstep; and when history DEMANDS the use of your moral prerogative, power, and BRAINS to do something about it. See, even a ‘rules’ guy like me can have a heart – uh … but let’s wait and see, that opinion may yet be reversed upon closer inspection?


LATE UPDATE: This piece was prepared 12 hours prior to scheduled posting. Since that time, ML Baseball commissioner Bud Selig said 'He will not reverse' the bad call. But on a happier note, GM executive Mark Reuss, GAVE A BRAND NEW CORVETTE to pitcher Galarraga for his 'Grand Sportsmanship'. Way to go GM - I call that a class-act. Yet another reason to BUY American!

Back to NORMAL?

You know when my kid got back from her first year of college I really did not know what to expect. There is always that irrational fear that the people you really know in your lives, will suddenly just change on you – but never for the better. I am not as dense as my posts sometimes seem, so I knew of course that our daughter likely felt the exact same way. She secretly wonders “Yeah they USED to treat me ok … but now – who knows?”

To exacerbate the issue, on both ends of the relationship, the University provides a lot of data and cautions on how to handle this perceived widening gulf between parents and their college kids. The propaganda reads something akin to, ‘after their first taste of independence, all collegiates want to stay out all night and shun their ‘old fashioned’ folks and their stuffy ways’. Parents too, now free of their daily laundry duty and role as chief homework wardens, are suspect of their summer-returning children and their TRUE intentions. "She looks the same but NORMAL - I don't know?"

So I have been on the lookout for signs of unrest and distrust on both sides from the very first week back. Magically we all seem to have returned to our pre-college dispositions and expectations. There are differences now however. Our laundry methods are apparently not gentle enough so our daughter now PREFERS caring for her own clothes cleaning. I take no offense at her independence – in fact I have been doing the laundry badly for years in hopes someone would call me out on it and take over completely! Our kid’s next task back was not to conquer a dance club, but instead, a myriad of job and scholarship applications. No pushy adults required as it seems oddly, our kid has kind of transformed into one of those herself in nary a year?

So yeah, all those dire predictions of parental / college kid duress have not yet proven true. I still get a few reminders of my old role as clean-up batter once in awhile though. The kid is impossibly athletic so she uses some special Adidas super deodorant that she insists she needs. Isn’t that a personal care item I should not be involved with at all by college age? Anyway, she absent-mindedly has no idea where this stuff came from or where to buy it, so now it is MY problem. I run to four normal stores with no luck and finally ask a Pharmacist for help. All they have is some super clinical voodoo stick which has nearly of the same chemical composition as my daughter’s Adidas brand, but it is $9 for a couple of ounces? Hmmm, how long will she continue to buy this pricey 'stink stick' when she starts working all week for a meager paycheck? Further today, I received an anxious call that ‘baby spiders’ must have been in her purse and she somehow has inadvertently released them into my wife’s car while driving. Of course the kid has now abandoned the spider infested car in a parking lot while onlookers watch her twitch and squirm like a Tourettes cheerleader. Yep folks, I’m happy to report that there’s no unusual changes here – my kid's back from college and life is INDEED back to normal!