ANIMAL LOVER

I like animals of all kinds but I am not what you would call an ‘animal lover’. When I was a kid I had warm and fuzzy pets like two snails named Sydney and Tyrone, an occasional carnival goldfish, and a green baby aquatic turtle named after my favorite Jane Fonda movie, ‘Salmonella’. I had a couple of dogs over my life but in both cases, after getting to know me, they always seemed to want to run away from my underground electric fence; – so much for that ‘man’s best friend’ palaver.

Aside from a milieu of stray mangy cats over the years, I have preferred mostly noiseless pets so that when they expire, I can use them to flavor soup. I know REAL animal lovers would never ever, dare think about the last sentence much less put it in print, so that is how I am sure I am not one of your ‘ilk’. Now that does not mean I go out of my way to torture animals or avoid petting them. On the contrary on more than one occasion I have fantasized about having a pair of ferrets or maybe mink on the collar of my favorite ‘Mac Daddy’ coat, to go with my pointy-toed alligator boots.

Truly though, I am more of a ‘gatherer’ than a hunter. I am not against hunting warm-blooded food in a cold-blooded way for sport however. That’s why several times a week, I get lost in the local warehouse ‘fight’ club, searching for hot appetizers to sample. Yes, you’ve not seen true animal behavior, until you’ve witnessed first-hand, the white-knuckled pursuit of freebie hand-outs, while beating back legions of gaunt yet ravenous senior-geezers.

As a kid I tried to shoot squirrels but my camera jammed and I missed every time. As a teen in Yorkshire we would hunt for rabbit and pheasant but it was with a Ford Fiesta, not with a gun. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a plate of ‘Ye Olde’ English, skid-mark fiesta stew. Hmmm, I guess if I’m willing to eat road-kill, I must actually be an ‘animal lover’ after all? More likely though, I’m just a hillbilly gourmet, who just happens to live in mainstream Missouri!

** Afterword **

Hey speaking of ‘animals’, I sadly must return my own ‘daughter-unit’ to her college cage back in San Antonio this coming week. So being the charitable yet increasingly lazy, ‘big blog-dog‘ for the Monologues, I have arranged a guest-blogger for your light-hearted yet strangely hard-headed reading pleasure next week. Yes, I have asked my ‘liver-spotted’ and dearest mentor / landscaper (code-named ‘RAKER’) to fill-in during my absence.

If this guy could speak English he would have his own blog, but fortunately for you he learned to write highly elegant ransom notes while in a Cuban prison. The rehabilitation (as well as his victims) have paid off handsomely, so he now works cheap and I did not have to pay his normal 2.99 pesos per minute phone rate for ‘stimulating’ blog conversation. Please be on your best behavior for my ‘bloggy-guest’, because he surely won’t be on his. Don’t use too many ‘big and small’ words in your comments, because ‘Raker’ is highly sensitive about his enormous waistline and teensy tiny ‘pin head’. Consider yourself warned and now Deputized. I will see you in a week. – W.C.C.

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!

'High Five' things I miss about the oil spill

Actually there is nothing I really miss about the oil spill down in the Gulf. But in the interest of making lemon flavored water out of Lemonhead candy – uh well you get the point … I did assemble a list of the 5 things I will miss most about this front page story.After all, even in blogging, “you should never let a serious crisis go to waste” right? Although, after a scary 4 months, this news is older and riper than Homo Erectus and his petrified black banana.

COUNT 'EM DOWN FOLKS ...

FIVE ) I do love those big hotel and rental car discounts at the Gulf beaches. There is nothing like a stroll along a vacant white sand beach, alone with your thoughts, red temporary fencing, and a big ol' bag full of tar balls.

FOUR ) Oh how I will miss the last month of the President’s frequent open collar walks along the Gulf coastline, reflecting the concern of every average Joe and Joetta. Yeah closing airports, airspace, all boat traffic, and delaying thousands of workers from trying to contain the mess again and again is a double-darn dandy idea!

THREE ) Sadly I have to admit that I will miss myself, my equally naïve friends, and family all sitting around playing our favorite second-guessing game called “Just plug that hole”. Hey I use a garden hose all the time – I’m sure that oily 'ZIT' is no different a mile below sea level with 7000 pounds of pressure behind it right?

TWO ) Won’t we all miss those shots of turtles and sea birds experiencing a luxury oil dip treatment at the Gulf's BP spa? You could just see how relaxed they were after they got their final scrub down, wash and wax. I never thought about it before but for animals do they get a pedicure or a ‘critter-cure’?

And the number ONE thing I will miss from the Gulf oil spill is …

I may be an immature and juvenile ‘Slumdog’, but I’ll never get enough of listening to America’s first Indian Governor, Bobby Jindhal speak with a decidedly Louisianian accent. I mean I still have trouble with the locals here on how I say 'Missouri' (or MizzouRAH), yet this guy is apparently fueled by Gulf shrimp-water in his veins.

So there you have it. Give yourself a 'High Five' if you suffered stalwartly without skipping straight to number One. Hopefully the spigot stays shut, and the Gulf oil spill, along with this post, will soon be just a distant memory. Let's hope so,'cause the truth is folks, if it happens again, as far as funny goes - I'm tapped out.

Red Devil Juice

Can somebody explain the connection between Satan’s bodily functions and hot sauce names? I have to be honest there are few products that I would willingly put on my food if I found out they have the Devil’s personal endorsement. Yet people seem to line up to cover their ribs and wings and other body parts with these unusually spicy named sauces.

My wife recently brought home a sample of some restaurant’s “Satan’s volcano” sauce. The stuff is eye-watering hot as advertised. I have not compared it to the pack of “Devil’s spit” hot sauce I have in the fridge but I am assuming the SPIT is not as warm as 'Devil's blood' sauce, and no where near as hot as any volcano, especially one claimed by Satan.

Now this hot saucy name phenomena is not limited to any one region of the country like the South or the West. No I have been as far North as Seward, Alaska that proudly displayed their 200 or so different bottles of sauces to try right there on the wharf. Also when the town was not possessed by ALL of the world’s motorcycles in one square mile, I even popped into a restaurant in Sturgis, South Dakota. This place was a pretty normal main street diner except that all flat surfaces have empty bottle of nasty-named hot sauces. Honestly some of these hot sauce names would make the devil blush, but you’d never know it – him being 'well red' and all.

So I’m not really sure how the normally DEMONstrative ’Prince of Darkness’ allowed his juices to get quietly hijacked by these hot sauce manufacturers? You’d think somebody as high profile in today’s society as the devil, he would have legions of evil spawn to protect his brand’s ‘bad name’, and do his evil bidding? Oh I forgot he does – they are called ACLU LAWYERS! Anyway, I have linked The SAUCE STORE web site here if you’re burning for some hot and spicy reading. Remember the ‘devil is in the details’ so beyond the horned one’s namesakes, if you browse a bit you might ADD a new sauce or two to tickle your fancy. Remember of course, they tickle a lot less on the BACKSIDE of that equation!

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!

Missouri Mosquitoes take a toll

You know I have been a pretty good transplanted Missourian. I have tried to fit in and live a pretty unremarkable and decent life. I have gone out of my way to NOT feed the hillbillies or pick the state flower off trees (White Hawthorne Blossom). I do not complain about the weather, despite my undisputed legitimate right , when the temperature drops 50 degrees in a single day. So why must I endure the indignity of endless blood sucking by these relentless Missouri mosquitoes (M&M’s)?

In California, M&M’s were for eating not for slapping and scratching. In fact mosquitoes were practically non-existent within 10 miles of the ocean. In Missouri, they seem to travel in marauding gangs that hover ceaselessly looking to sample my life juice. Hey I know the only mosquitoes biting me are females, but why can’t I be this attractive to women of my own species? You’d think I WAS the mosquito as many times as human girls have told me to buzz off.

With literally a million different types of insects to ‘bug’ and only fifty four hundred or so species of mammals in the world, why must Missouri mosquitoes focus so much on me. Is my milky slab of flab so enticing that those Ozark ‘fly-by-biters’ find me totally irresistible, and ready to probe freely without remorse? I thought usually that kind of thing only went on in prisons - not out in the open in a suburban backyard.

So now you name it; in-between my poor knuckles, the backs of my knees, the tops of my ears – I’ve been violated mercilessly everywhere, by these stealthy skeeters. If these little flying freaks are so head up for a carbon dioxide fix, why not just dive into a Diet Coke and suck-up a bender on a bounty of bubbles? I know that in reality, the M&M’s, like everyone after a dose of diuretics, are just answering nature’s call. With my trusty ‘skeeter-squisher’ in hand, I too must answer the call to duty – but MY response will surely exact a far costlier toll!

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!

Exotic meat me in St. Louis

I have to admit it, we are a family of meat eaters. Actually we don’t consume animal flesh any more or less than other kinds of food but the point is we DON’T exclude the stuff. Yes, it takes work to keep up with the caloric load required to write a blog, so pretty much I am an equal opportunity eater. Yeah you guessed it , as a famous lawyer once said (almost) about my big mouth … “if the food fits you must INGEST”!

So keeping that ‘craw-motto’ in mind, one of our more favorite things to do when we wander far off to exotic places, like East St. Louis, is try different and interesting foods. All kidding aside, there is a little place there that a lot of downtown business folks flock to for crispy pig snout sandwiches in BBQ sauce. I have never seen them but I guess I could eat almost ANYTHING if it has enough bar-b-que sauce on it?

My daughter has always seemed to have inherited my ability to consume all types of foods. When she was very young, her favorite thing was to munch lemon wedges that are served with water. My family would wince as she’d suck the things dry with nary a shutter and no sugar. It also took awhile to train her to stop eating roasted peanuts, SHELL AND ALL, like they were candy. It was weird to watch and the incessant crunching disturbed the other inebriated patrons at my favorite pub.

All of us here have eaten elk, reindeer, and turkey sausage. Honestly once you mix in all of the same spices and smoke the stuff, like beef jerky and sticks, it all tastes good and is very edible even for those with less adventuresome palettes. We’ve eaten all the normal meats but less popular in Western cultures, like duck, lamb, Ostrich, Frog Legs, Gator, Fish Cheeks, eel etc. My Uncle during the Marines survivalist training, had to capture and eat raw monkey rump which when skinned looks a little too human baby-like for my taste. To this day, he says it did not affect him, but I swear I’ve caught him, MORE THAN ONCE, eating a banana and clanging little finger cymbals together over and over again.

Despite the disgust that many might feel, I too would truly like to sample dog, tiger, snake, and yes even monkey as long as they were grilled up with maybe some onion, bell pepper and a side of Chianti and yes - you know you want to say it … (ffffaaavaaaa beansss). Feel free to provide your own ‘Silence of the Lambs’ succulent sound effect as long as you get the point - I’ll try any exotic meat. The only thing is, I hope that I do not run into some BIGGER animal who feels the same way – now that is a concept I just cannot get my head around?

Zeus’s revenge

Don’t take me to task too much for the tongue and cheek reporting on the burning of the ‘King of Kings’ sculpture in Monroe Ohio. I did not have an axe to grind with the Solid Rock Church along Interstate 75 in Ohio but apparently somebody who had the ‘hots’ for lawn gnomes DID.

Yes sadly, the church’s 62 foot high sculpture of Jesus with outstretched arms reaching for the sky apparently ‘sparked’ some interest since it was hit by lightning and then proceeded to burn to the ground. I actually thought as Jesus sculptures go, this one was pretty good so the full-frontal torching was a bit ‘overdone’, but nowadays everyone is a critic. My only suggestion is next time give the poor guy some legs and Nikes so he can move fast to stop, drop and roll away from the flames.

I have no doubt that the church will rebuild the six story roadside landmark. What is in question is how will they pay for it? I somehow doubt that anyone would have had the guts to insure the son of god from fire and brimstone. The original statue was made of an obviously highly flammable fiberglass shell over foam and a metal armature at the cost of $250,000. No wonder Jesus was always getting picked on – he was just a softy inside. I’m thinking the next generation v.2 Messiah should be made of rock, tough stucco or maybe those space shuttle tiles. I hope this time they build a staircase up to the crown of thorns or better yet put in a big clock and make J’s eyes move back and forth with quartz precision.

After the blaze was extinguished, I was a little taken aback with that Terminator-looking metal frame though. Hey I’m sure I would feel a little ticked off after being Char-broiled too – but I’m not sure if it is appropriate for the Righteous One to be flipping the double bird to Zeus. Especially so after that embarrassing incident last year with Hera – the spouses are ALWAYS off limits. (Everyone knows those Olympians are far too touchy and competitive)

Yeah, I think the J-man needs to chill out a bit with this statue burning thing – maybe settle into a cave with a cold diet Mountain Dew and sleep on it for, oh I don’t know, let’s say 3 days and 3 nights. By then Zeus will be preoccupied with that scoff-law Poseidon and on to irritating the poor Gulf folks with a nasty hurricane or two. That’ll be the cue to bring on the Quickcrete, ‘cause in the immortal WORD of the one true ‘Prince’ - it’s time to ‘party like its RESURRECTION time again’!

Targeting the MACHO myth

A favorite memory when I was younger was when my old man would take me out target shooting. I know that statement sounds a bit macho and sexist, but it really was a ‘mans’ thing then, uh at least the shooting part. My mother always seemed to encourage us to go as I think she knew it was good Dad/Son bonding time away from the normal home environment. As a family we would actually shop for ammunition, gun cleaning stuff, and of course the ubiquitous tan and black paper targets.

Probably one of these earliest excursions that I remember was to an abandoned missile silo somewhere on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. My dad prepared a black satchel with the pistols while my mom brewed up a thermos of coffee and made some snacks for our adventure. Once there, we would set up cans and whatever we could find as targets. My Dad was an excellent shot and he tried to teach me proper breathing technique, how to pull vs. jerk the trigger, and the proper way to address the target ( … Hello Target! ) – Sorry, that has nothing to do with the story but I can never ‘address’ something without thinking of Art Carney using the similar gag ala the Honeymooners.

Later in life, I would repeat much of these same steps but with my wife ‘T’ in tow. Her family had not had a lot of experience with guns when she was growing up so it was exciting to learn some up-close weapons training and handling. We would go to the local police range to practice on those same stock styled paper targets from years ago. My wife learned quickly and she oddly was more accurate with the larger caliber pistols than the smaller .22 'plinker' guns. Later still, my daughter came along and we passed on the same target shooting tradition.

Like her mother, our kid is innately accurate with heavy caliber handguns. I probably would not have noticed it as much but unlike her parent’s ‘cheap’ targets, the young one insists on the bright orange and black ‘Splatter’ targets in the shape of HUMAN silhouettes. Beyond the human body painted on the front, just the target’s name ‘SPLATTER’ should give concern shouldn’t it? With every slug through the target’s rings, tiny fissures of white show around the hole, thus making the placement of your shot easier to see. My innocent little girl would rip the concentric 8, 9, and 10 rings up of that sad silhouette with glee and save her targets like they were time-honored trophies.

Since that time, our kid has gone off to college, in Texas no less - probably the perfect place for her? While most first year students were considering an art class elective, or maybe an intramural sport, our kid signed up for ‘Skeet Shooting’. A friend even brought a dead six foot snake in the back of his pick-up to show her what he had shot. I guess he knew she would appreciate his marksmanship? Yes, it turns out that gun skills are an equal opportunity employer. I’m proud that we have done our part to put that ‘macho’ stereotype myth to rest – or am I? Turns out they have an Equestrian team at my daughter’s university too, so I am beginning to wonder if my GIRL will end up majoring in cowBOY!?

Bet on ANY port in a storm

Now I haven’t gambled much in my life. No it is not because I am an exceptionally moral or smart ‘dunder-dude’; It actually has more to do with the fact that I LOSE MOST OF THE TIME. Wow, I haven’t even started yet and I have already depressed myself. But REALLY, my poor gambling track history does not just extend to Vegas games of chance, or cards with buddies. No, I just tend to bet on the wrong things at the wrong time so now I am gun-shy to play Russian roulette.

Take the weather for instance. My wife and I had all day to work on some projects and update the GPS on a Cessna that we use. For some odd reason, we waited until around 3PM to accomplish this rather minor task. Well the reality in the Midwest is that thunderclouds build rapidly in the afternoon so this was not our best plan nor as usual, a GOOD BET for me. Actually the GPS work went fine, but we also had some equipment checks to do on a tiny Piper Tripacer that my wife will be flying with a partner, in an air race at the end of the month.

We watch the weather fairly carefully as it can be a matter of life and death for a pilot. My wife and I weren’t worried actually; even if a storm came, it would drop a few drips, maybe a clap of thunder – how bad could it be? My wife’s under dash work tied her up in a knot inside the little plane. I was holding the door and offering sage advice, when all of a sudden the wind picked up. It proceeds to become a gale force blow and I can feel the little plane rocking on the ground wanting to fly. We had left our car at the front of the building and walked to the ‘north 40’ of the tarmac, so there was no easy retreat. The rain started pouring in buckets and the thunder crashed above us. I was mostly dry under the starboard wing but the wind continued to push more rain my way still.

My wife expressed some concern that I was standing in a water puddle with lightning cracking overhead and tried to make room for me to haul myself up into the plane where at least the rubber tires might keep me toast-free if I said something particularly offensive to anger the lightning gods. So there I was – legs half hanging out in the wind like a fat windsock and the other half crammed into this clown-sized mini plane? My wife and I are stuck in this position for fifteen minutes as wind-driven rain is dripping on my arm and all the other parts attached to my legs. What a pleasant little diversion this turned out to be? Can you now see why I am not a betting man. Too many dark clouds follow me around I guess? I think I need to move somewhere that it doesn’t rain much. Hmmm your thinking maybe Las Vegas … uh, nice try but, NO, I wouldn’t bet on it.

Chicago 101: Unethical politics

I had to chuckle at the news media today since they were aghast that the White House administration may have orchestrated an ‘un-paid’ job offer to Rep. Joe Sestak. This of course was to get him to bow out of his Pennsylvania democrat primary race, against the established crony, Sen. Arlen Specter. Wow is this really news? Aren’t almost all of the President’s top advisors based out of Chicago – America’s smoke-filled schoolyard for hard-ball politics? I love the area around the windy city, but honestly the back door deals and high level corruption in that town, are about as close as Al Capone’s scar was to his cigar.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not resigned to acceptance of this unethical turn of events; it is just that I am not surprised either. In fact, not just with this White House, but for MOST of the administrations before, I am probably more surprised that these creepy crawly, political hacks don’t get caught-up in their own tangled ethics webs more often. This stuff is so common now that even at the lowest levels of political thought, it sadly goes on all of the time.

When I was a younger, bright-eyed, and idealistically bushy tailed, I ran for a city council seat in a community of roughly 300,000 people. This was an un-paid position with the exception of a small meeting stipend and a city provided cell phone and fax machine (at a time both of those machines were REALLY unique). I was one of 5 candidates who ran for the seat and one of four of them who LOST! But here is where the fun begins, I was approached on numerous occasions with ‘advice’ to drop out of the race ‘for the good of the people I wanted to represent and myself’. Now don’t worry, it was not meant to be as dramatic as I make it sound. Basically the advice was geared toward the city and other ‘favored’ candidates preserving funds so as to not necessarily spend time and cash on the likes of little ol’ flies in the ointment like me. As for the benefit to myself, it was clear that a nice ‘commission’ appointment on the city planning board was probably a good fit for my experience and ambition if I left the race early.

As you might expect, I am rather granite-headed, so I did not take the deal and stayed in the race for the long haul, but unlike Rep. Sestak, lost handily. I was not blacklisted or threatened in any way for my defiance. In fact I did go on to OPENLY accept an unpaid Commissioner job on another City board to stay involved. But the moral is clear; these pushy wannabe Kingmakers infect ALL levels of government RIGHT NOW. They are like cockroaches so moral indignation will not kill them. They don’t care what we really think of them as long as we yield our will and personal power to their destructive selfish pressures.

If we want to improve ethics, then like in war, we have to stand-up and expose these rat nests early on and work our way up the food chain. Don’t cede power to the bullies and the political ‘handlers’ who make manipulation an ARTFORM. Most of us know what is ‘right and wrong’ so do IT and INSIST that your kids, family and local political representatives behave that way as well. Expose and embarrass the cheats, liars, and untrustworthy in your workplace, community, and yes, even your own family. Won’t it be wonderful someday if conniving, self-indulgent and unethical manipulators ARE really rare news? Sadly we may have to wait awhile until Chicago’s unseemly school of politics ‘hard-freezes’ over.

That name STINKS!

Do you ever wonder how some products get their name? I was looking at a recipe for some Cajun flavored rub and it called for some ‘Old Bay’ seasoning. Really is this the best name for anything associated with food? When I think of an old bay, I think of rotting wood and stinking fish parts far past their prime. Especially with all the troubles in the gulf, can you imagine if I started marketing ‘Oily Bay’ Louisiana hot sauce – who would buy it?

Look at the board game ‘Yahtzee’ - it has a pretty unusual name. If you think it sounds like some sort of high-brow expletive, your guess would not be bad. In fact the game’s origins are traced back to a wealthy Canadian couple’s diversion aboard their yacht in mid 1950’s. The game was originally known as the “Yacht Game” until the toy maker E.S. Lowe purchased the rights (followed by Hasbro)and marketed the game nationally under the brand name ‘Yahtzee’ in 1956.

Probably one of the more famous names that everybody has heard of but nobody knows what it means is ‘WD 40’. Yes the oily spray is probably at least a part of your home and car maintenance arsenal. The name translates literally to “Water Displacement , 40th attempt” and comes straight out of the chemist’s lab book in 1954. The stuff is believed to be derived mostly from fish oil and amazingly has an indefinite shelf life. As the name implies, WD-40 primarily repels water and hence inhibits rust, but its properties have proven to be a fairly effective cleaner as well.

Gee Yahtzee and WD-40 invented in the same year – no wonder the 50’s are remembered as the ‘happy’ days. No sorry, like a dead fish, that Old Bay secret mixture has been seasoning crustaceans for around 70 years or so. I think that is more than enough time to come up with a more palatable name … if not one that at least SMELLS better.

Pen Envy

You know what would be a really GREAT invention – a PEN that writes when you need it! Is this task too hard to perfect, or has there been some unspoken terrorist plot to eliminate all hand written and inked communication? Since I was young, I can hardly ever remember a typewriter or computer keyboard failing to perform the meager demands that I place upon them. But evil PENS, regardless of size, shape, creed, or religion – have so often failed me, that it is clear that I’m an UN-marked man.

Recently my wife received a brand new pen from an exercise trainer that had a spring for a barrel. I already knew I was in trouble when I picked this thing up because it moves around on the outside while somehow the real pen parts are supposed to remain stationary and functional inside. Oddly however, that was not the issue, as the pen seemed to engage and disengage perfectly. But it was the MORE CRITICAL pen ink that seemed sluggish to deliver, and then that ball felt ‘scratchy’ as I tried to write. I went to the kitchen catch-all drawer and picked out a nice click pen and gave it shot – NOTHING. Next, I pulled out a cheap stick pen and it WORKED … for about 10 seconds. This is clearly maddening, so how about a pencil?

I do not prefer to write in regular pencil and never have liked it. I remember in First Grade, the teacher brought around giant dirty brown paper with blue dashed lines. You might remember this horrible newsprint stuff with real unprocessed wood chunks and splinters still visible right on the paper’s surface. The teacher further frustrated me and gave me a black pencil about the thickness of a thumb. My Dad was an artist so I was well aware of what REAL pencils and paper were supposed to look and feel like, and this pencil was too portly and the paper was too flaccid. The teacher did not appreciate my giant blocky alphabet, and complained about my lack of precision in penmanship? Uh you think … you gave me a pencil that is the size of a horse’s leg lady?

Eventually by High School, I had better penmanship with mechanical pencils but I still preferred ink whenever possible. Back then the pens seemed to work better but not by much. I even tried to go retro and use those modernized fountain pens with an ink cartridge. Nobody called me a nerd because they didn’t have to – the giant ink blot stains on my pocket easily gave me away. So apparently I am doomed to wander the earth in search of the true holy grail - a breakthrough invention … the DECENT pen. Oh yeah, would it be too much to ask that this super pen write upside down too … and maybe right the write homonyms too? I’m not too picky, I just need this perfect pen to help me with my spelling, punctuation and instant Post Office abbreviations for States? NOW ALL THAT would certainly be a pen worthy of my NV!

The Tetris pilgrimage

These last couple of weeks are special times for parents all over the world as their college progeny make the trek homeward for summer break. Now if you are VERY fortunate, you are past this stage of your life already. If you are only moderately lucky, your special student ‘s dorm is just across town and though inconvenient, an easy move in only 3 or 4 trips. Now if you are on the fire hydrant side of a dog’s lucky totem pole, your kid’s college is a 1000 miles away like mine, and the pilgrimage home must be contained to a single carload of cargo and occupants.

Now we thought we were really smart when we suggested our daughter should leave her dorm stuff in a storage unit for the summer. This would make the trip home far easier and the return trip next Fall even better. We were thrilled that our kid stepped up and ordered a pod storage unit delivered to the school, packed it herself, and paid 3 months storage in advance. Wow this college thing is really working out – all that responsibility learned in a single year?! To add to her independent experience, we also agreed to meet her in Dallas, about 5 hours north of her school. This would give her an opportunity to drive cross- country on her own for awhile but then let us take over and complete the final 700 miles together back to St. Louis.

Now my daughter’s car is a mid-sized coupe but hardly has any trunk space. My wife and I packed very lightly for a couple days with a small travel case and two laptop computers between us. I advised my daughter as to our flight schedule and where to meet, along with our meager baggage requirements. My wife and I were of course thrilled and proud to see the kid round the airport drive, confidently arriving perfectly on time. Given Dallas traffic, especially after a long car ride of her own – WOW this was prompt precision! I cannot believe THIS COLLEGE RESPONSIBILITY THING is working out so great?!

As the car pulled closer to the curb, we could see my daughter’s head but she was surrounded by things? My first thought was – that’s ok, the trunk will have space, but it was stuffed full. The back seats were occupied too by hard crates and a violin case along with a plethora of plastic bags full of dirty clothes. The car looked like a motorized version of a homeless person’s shopping cart. The front passenger seat had a back-pack, purse, more bags of dirty clothes, a couple of long handled squirt guns and a lacrosse stick. I mean where were WE to sit, much less the baggage that we had brought? Our kid seemed exasperated that we had expected to ride INSIDE the cabin for the next 700 miles? Oh and the dirty clothes – why wash the last couple of weeks when heading for home?

My daughter stacked, stuffed and somehow made room for us in her cargo coupe’s summer pilgrimage. We had stuff behind or heads, under our knees, and on our laps. I was at a loss to imagine what the inside of that storage pod looked like. How could one kid build up all this stuff in only 9 months? Yeah, maybe the kid’s planning and thinking ahead skills still need some work, but I’m sure that the fancy college education has already paid off. With our daughter’s now proven superior spatial perception, she surely has a bright and lucrative future career stacking boxes or playing Tetris!

Vicarious Macho Racer

You know I have never been a big fan of most kinds of ultra touch and macho racing. It is not just that I am perpetually slow or my machines are just as sluggish too. I have never quite figured out what the attraction is to the noise, cost, and risk. I even forced myself to watch a NASCAR race all the way through to see if I could get caught up in the moment. I did find myself oddly attracted to the driver cameras and fancy TV production graphics, so technology thumbs up but the race – not so much.

My wife is preparing to co-pilot a plane in the all women’s ‘Air Race Classic’ in June (43 days away). It was dubbed the Powder Puff Derby in 1929 when it was began by Amelia Earhart and other pioneer women aviators. She will be flying for and sponsored by the Wings of Hope charity. Air races like this fly thousands of miles over many states and are judged more on efficiency than speed. But like any race, the planes are numbered and have to follow strict rules on their equipment, procedures, and adherence to safety.

So over the last few weeks we have been getting the plane ready with upgraded avionics, back-up equipment, and the racing fan favorite – those giant RACING NUMBERS. That is more of a chore than you might imagine. I was amazed at how many type of numbers and racing graphics are out there for homegrown racers beyond the NASCAR set. There are midget car racers, stock cars, bombers, Baja Bug, and even tractor numbers. Some have outlines, shadows, ovals, flames – you name it, you can get numbers in any color and in any font.

So I suddenly see what folks REALLY like about racing. It has nothing to do with the determined drive to win. Nobody truly cares about machines driven with gloved expertise or the labored whine of highly tuned motors pushed to the limit. No it is all about the machismo of the fancy decorations, high profile sponsors, and bold numbered decals plastered all over the vehicle. Maybe I can convince my wife to vicariously live an airplane racer’s speed dream? I can’t wait to put those ‘flame’ decals pouring out of the enormous and manly 135 horsepower motor. I’ll add some crossed checkered flags, a couple of American flags, and oh yeah – those big gaudy, PINK flamingo colored, numbers on the side!

AZ Immigration law – a WIN-WIN

I was not surprised that the Arizona immigration law passed a public vote. I was marginally surprised that the Governor signed the bill into law. The national media is aghast at the perceived insensitivities of Arizona, but they are not living there and do not face the daily burdens of border problems and unchecked illegal immigration. Despite the hub bub, this law has less to do with race and more to do with money – STATE money and services that are being drained during tough times.

I am not a fan of this new law ONLY because I think it puts already over-burdened law enforcement agencies in between an unbearable rock and an even harder hard place. The most troubling provision is that private citizens can pursue LEGAL action against law enforcement if there is a presumption that the new law is not being enforced. So the average Joe cop will be sued by every legal aid attorney for racial profiling, as soon as he attempts to ask a legal resident to produce papers and enforce the law. At the same time, if the same officer is NOT asking suspected illegal aliens for papers, legal residents may initiate legal action against him for NOT enforcing State mandated law.

As for Arizona’s desire to ENFORCE legal immigration across its border – since the Federal government has failed to control the problem, what should states like Arizona, California, and Texas do? These states are disproportionally affected by immigration issues as compared to most others. They have a flood of illegal immigrants whose kids attend schools and whose families use emergency local medical services. Most of us do not have a problem with LEGAL IMMIGRATION. My general feeling is, get in line and wait your turn along with the hundreds of thousands of others that have waited years for a chance to legally enter the country. Again this has NOTHING to do with race for 99% of us. Even if blond haired and blue eyed Swedes were flowing into the country illegally, Arizona and most Americans would complain and demand action from its government.

The real irony over all of this is that within 25 miles of the Southern border currently, law enforcement has had the right FOR YEARS by law to stop anyone WITHOUT CAUSE to confirm legal residency. Even my daughter, with blond hair and a Cardinal red car that conceals nothing, has been stopped in Texas for an immigration check. She did not lay an egg, nor was she offended at all. She was simply surprised and cooperative as most legal residents will be. I find it unhelpful that ‘outsiders’ have called for a boycott of Arizona’s businesses and tourism. This is patently unfair to ALL of the people of Arizona and any sovereign state trying to deal with tough local realities especially when put to a vote of the people.

The solution to all of this is simple enough – ENFORCE current law at the Federal level and new reactionary laws like Arizona’s will prove unnecessary and redundant. Until then or when Purgatory gets a lot colder, if you are in Arizona illegally, you may want to consider an address change. Try the Golden State first and join San Francisco’s proposed boycott on Arizona business. I think the legal residents of Arizona will appreciate your help in plugging up the burden on their cops and resources. And best of all, your illegal presence and valuable contributions will surely help California’s booming economy avoid bankruptcy right? Now that’s what I call a Win-Win deal!

A Flag of Character

With the Tea Party folks around, I have seen more and more of those Gadsden flags flying. You know the ones, with the bright yellow field, a coiled snake in the middle, and the motto “Don’t tread on me” at the bottom. I like this flag because it is simple and to the point. I think it says just about all that needs to be said, when you are pondering the repercussions of kicking sand in the face of anything with fangs (and with the constitution to use them).

Christopher Gadsden (Feb. 1724 – Sept. 1805) was a wealthy merchant, revolutionary soldier, patriot and later British prisoner from South Carolina. He was among the first to serve in the Continental Congress and for nearly a decade prior, had urged the American colonies to form a union and fight England’s taxation policies. Even among friends Gadsden was outspoken but highly principled, stood for what he believed and was relentless. His grandson and U.S. Diplomat James Gadsden was of similar personality and later aided U.S. Southern transcontinental railroad expansion. The final 30 million acre chunk of New Mexico and Arizona’s current border (“The Gadsden Purchase”), was acquired from Mexico’s infamous dictator Santa Anna in 1852, for about 33 cents an acre.

It is believed that Gadsden’s flag was an adaptation of some of America’s first Philadelphia based Marines and their drum corps. They had painted their bright yellow drums like a coiled snake and emblazoned them with the famous “Don’t Tread On Me” motto. Regardless of genus, Gadsden’s flag and the U.S. Marines early history of toughness, resolve, and patriotism have forever become intertwined. It was Gadsden’s vision, and a little later, that of a young America, whose collective character came to be symbolized to the world by that defiant and deadly rattlesnake who prefers to be left alone in peace unless provoked.

In general I like people to fly flags as it shows a little passion; so it goes to reason that the Tea Party participants can relate to Gadsden’s pluck and stalwart symbolism. I believe it is healthy and a time-honored tradition that Americans should stand up and speak out when feeling dismissed or “tread” upon. In 2001 I was amazed at the amount of U.S. flags that flew for many months after 9/11. Despite the tragic catalyst which spurred the outpouring of patriotism, most every street stood up and displayed flags with passion. So smile proudly, when you see Gadsden’s snake, Old Glory, or even your favorite college sport flag flapping stately in the breeze. Regardless of your politics or favorite sport, those are your fellow PASSIONATE patriots simply expressing their points of view freely. They are not merely holding flags as individuals, they are proudly UPHOLDING a united America’s greatest treasure – its true character.

Oklahoma City Memorial

April 19th was the 15th anniversary of the Oklahoma City Federal building bombing in 1995. I am usually not one to dwell endlessly on funerals, memorials, and tragedies, but I thought as an American, today’s event was appropriate and meaningful. Though the time seems to have passed so quickly since this tragedy, I am sure the victim’s families wish they could distance themselves even further from those horrific memories.

I had the opportunity to visit the Memorial and museum about a year ago. I was quite impressed with the beauty of the site and the quality of the exhibits. In particular, I liked that they left a brick wall with original fire escapes and windows that were damaged and burned from the neighboring blast. I also liked that they have flat slate stones in front of the museum with a bucket of sidewalk chalk. You can put any personal sentiment you like on the stone in the multicolored chalk and enjoy reading other visitor’s thoughts and illustrations.

To this day, even 15 years later, a fence that borders the property is covered with flowers, buttons, personal items, and notes from friends, families, and visitors to the memorial. It is touching to walk among the 168 chairs representing the victims – large chairs for the adults, and the smaller chairs representing the children. Even if you have no direct connection to the victims, I think the reverence and respect by your fellow Americans and your National Park taxes will surely make you proud.

So if you ever find yourself in need of something more than a good steak while you are visiting Oklahoma City, plan on dedicating at least a couple of hours to the Memorial. I have linked the National Memorial web site here to the virtual tour page which will give you a better idea of the overall park. Do yourself and family a favor, don’t distance yourself from the Memorial and allow another 15 years to pass before visiting this living piece of history. It’s the American thing to do.

Choose a PERFECT college

It was a year ago that we escorted our kid to Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas for the first time. My kid had been near the place many times before on her way to Corpus Christi, but she had never stopped in. Trinity was the last school to visit before the National college acceptance day of May 1st . Our plane arrived late but the school quickly escorted my kid to where she needed to be and my wife and I headed to a parent orientation. The weather was sunny and lovely which was always a good way to start, but we wondered if our daughter could feel at home at the place.

At lunch we all got to eat together in the dining hall and our daughter declared that she WOULD attend Trinity. We were surprised at her connection but were pleased with her excitement and sudden decisiveness. For all new college kids and their parent’s NO place is perfect but every school wants you to think THEY are. Every decision is magnified too because you are acutely aware, that while you’ve made a choice FOR something, you have also made a choice AGAINST something else.

That is some of the very first ADULT lessons that your kids will learn at college – you can’t do it all or be all things to all people, and no decision is risk-free . The real world starts creeping in very quickly and soon your time is filled up with new priorities and responsibilities. In many ways this new life is exciting and fun, but in other ways, as a few challenging classes and your odd roomie try to confound you, life is suddenly scary and harsh. Overall it’s precisely where you need to be though, and it’s exactly the stuff you need to learn in life; so in that sense, this place, THIS college, … it’s PERFECT!

So ‘Good Luck’ to all of you that are now in the shoes that we and our daughter stepped in for a test drive just twelve months ago. I don’t envy the work that you and your children have had to endure over high school’s final year. But I can assure you that very soon your collective efforts and patience will be finally rewarded with not necessarily the perfect college, but more importantly, A PERFECT CHOICE!