Bullfighting with 'No Offense'

My daughter has mostly avoided the teenage ‘catch’ phrases, and ‘Valley Girl’ ‘up-speak’ inflection that is so common today in the culture of our youth. The reason primarily is that my kid deals with the public quite a bit and she is more comfortable with addressing large groups than most of her peers. However, recently I noted when speaking with me, quite often she prefaces her remarks with the ‘two-word’ bomb - ‘No offense’.

‘No offense’?? Now you see, as soon as somebody says that to me, I prepare myself for the obvious – I am ABOUT TO BE OFFENDED! I am pretty sure the kid is not going to compliment me on my clothing or let me know how attractive my ‘bed head’ hair looks today. In fact I am positive that my daughter is prepared to enlighten me with her vast reserves of worldly knowledge, acquired in her 19 years of life. Clearly she believes that much of what I tell her doesn't quite smell right?

Now of course I would never start a sentence with ‘No offense’ with my parents. I ALWAYS listen reverently to everything that my folks say since they are thoughtful, wise, and quite attractive. Everyone knows that attractive people know lots more and their opinion counts for double that of ugly people. Beyond that fact, my parents have been around the block a couple of decades longer, so as an only child, I think I’m on the short list for some sweet inheritance booty? Yeah the last time I saw them, I had my eye on a book of gas station ‘Green Stamps’ from 1970 and a box of plant seed packets from when K-Mart was known as S. S. Kresge.

Even though, my daughter refuses to ‘rubber stamp’ everything that I say, it’s probably a good thing that kids today learn to challenge authority and express their opinions and expectations clearly. I commend my kid for being compassionate enough to NOT offend me, yet still get her SOPHOMORIC points across. Maybe I should send her in to work on my folks and see if she can NOT offend them too, yet still negotiate an ‘early release’ deal for those Green Stamps and seeds? After all they are just geezer SENIORS right? They probably have forgotten everything that my daughter apparently thinks she knows, but I don’t.

Hmmm – ‘NO OFFENSE’ but this post has really taken a confusing turn and has a distinct aroma of manure about it? Looks like I am finally ready to enter the political arena. You’ll recognize me easily … I’ll be the one with the ’banderilles’ in my back and chasing my daughter's red cape – OLE!!

Going BEAR in flannel PAJAMAS!

It suddenly occurred to me after all these months, despite the name plastered all over the masthead, I have never discussed my favorite article of clothing – JAMMIES! Can you think of anything better in the world to lounge around all day in than a brand new pair of comfy flannel ‘jam jams’. I think the younger set is on to me though, because even schools and heaven forbid, the ultimate fashion Mecca - MALLS, are now filled with kids wearing jammies out in public!

Yes, my flannel love affair started fairly early with the advent of the ‘bunny’ pajama. You know the ones with the feet built in and that irritating flap in back. Honestly, if it were not for that airy ‘evacuation hatch’ thing, these jammies would be my standard issue jump-suit even now. I figure if nothing else, at my age, as long as the Velcro holds up, those jams would be a good ice breaker with the other kids at McDonald’s Playland. Within seconds, parents would call for reinforcements on their cells, in an effort to remove the ‘old fat goof’ in ‘feety P.J’s’, whose stuck in a tube and terrorizing their children.

So for the good of my public at large, I limit my P.J. lounging to home and terrorize my own family and occasionally the mail-lady. I tried those silky James Bond, Monte Carlo playboy type of jammies when I was younger. Although they tended to be a tad ‘cold’ when first put on, soon enough, they feel pretty slick (literally). But sadly, it was summer and our bed as it happens, was outfitted with ‘satiny’ sheets made of almost the identical material as my ‘jams’. Getting into bed was as easy as a hot knife in butter, but staying there was another matter. If I moved at all, the sheets would start to slide and gravity would take over. If I propped a leg up on my pillow, it would shoot out the other side like a loose goose. By morning, I would be on the floor in one corner of the room and all of the sheets would be huddled, cowering in another. Needless to say, I have sworn off ‘sexy’ sheets and jammies ever since.

As long as it is comfortable and not cinched up like a rodeo bull, I can wear just about anything to sleep in, though I am not a huge fan of short sleeve and pants pajamas even in summer. If it’s flannel it really NEEDS to be full length and preferably oversized. You see, once you wear flannel, it progressively shrinks a little with each successive cleaning. Within a couple of months, those once roomy long sleeve and pants ‘Flan-Jams’ fit like a pair of Lederhausen on a jolly German - AFTER Oktoberfest. A couple of months after that and I’ll tear out of the shirt like the Incredible Hulk, and the pants are relegated to serve as a warm n’ fuzzy hat to keep my ears toasty in Winter. Finally by Spring, those dedicated jammie bottoms, must be donated to charity for someone in need but who has a MUCH smaller waistline. Yeah I know just the group who run around ‘Bear’ all the time and are desperately in need of pants – my daughter’s Beanie Babies!

Recipes, Popcorn and Bedspreads

So we’ve all heard the idiomatic phrase “to butter up” someone, which simply means to ‘flatter for the purposes of gaining some sort of favor or consideration’. It’s commonly confused with the similar ‘Idiotic’ phrase, “to batter up” which means to ‘stick-it’ to obnoxious baseball fans and slather them up in a slurry of corn-dog goo.

Nonsense aside, in today’s health-conscious times, is it best to be ‘buttering’ anything up, or should we move beyond the butter to something that will pack our arteries just a wee bit slower? Beyond the verbal difficulties of phrasing margarines into catchy idioms, even the ‘light’ version butter substitutes contain trans-fats which are hard on coronary arteries. Trans-Fats and ‘chemically engineered ‘ hydrogenated oils actually build-up ‘bad’ LDL cholesterol and reduce ‘good’ HDL cholesterol. An easy mnemonic to remember the good, bad, and ugly of cholesterol is forget the ‘D’ in the middle and just remember ‘L= Limited Life’ for the bad LDL, and the ‘H= Healthy Life’ for the good in HDL! Go here for a much healthier butter ‘replacer’ recipe if you are committed to living long enough to become a burden on society.

Ok, I know all that healthy talk has probably depressed you and made you fall off the ‘fat wagon’. You’ve clearly earned a treat, so if you are a fan of buttered popcorn then check out this easy recipe I saw in Southwest Airlines’ July 2010 Spirit Magazine. This gem is by sous chef Nate Boer, on how to make ‘Popcorn Butter’ for warm bread, muffins, waffles etc. I’m sure you could melt the stuff and pour it on popcorn too, but that would be kind of creepy in a ‘corny’ cannibalistic way don’t you think?

Simply grind up 2 ½ cups of fresh popcorn in a food processor to a sand texture and then mix in a ½ pound of softened unsalted butter, 1 ½ tablespoons of honey, and salt to taste – THAT’S IT! This popcorn ‘schmear’ is so fast , delicious, and incredibly simple to make. If you are ‘all thumbs’, or have no thumbs at all, even in mixed company, you can now proudly demonstrate your ‘kernal knowledge’. Should the thought of a compote of ‘cornpone cream’ bother you but you still are interested in ‘buttering‘ yourself with something different, then go HERE for a complete list of flavored better than butter recipes. Whew I need a nap - all this alliteration has made me sleepy! Please turn off the light when you leave and REMEMBER – tuck me in tight under my ‘bread spread’!

My phony STRING theory

I honestly don’t get all of these cell phone company commercials. Every week it seems that there are a litany of new cell phones out on the market with catchy one syllable names. Everything now is the fast, succinct, and high-tech sounding DROID, BOLD, or PRE. And yes I am well aware of the two syllable ’I-Phone’ and the up and comer ‘G-phone’ by Google too. It’s just who keeps buying all these phones since I thought literally everyone on the planet had a cell already?

I went into a Radio Shack today looking for a simple, normally-open, alarm contact switch. I’ll give you the first guess as to what I found at ‘the Shack’, and though ‘alarming’, their stock had NOTHING to do with 'ham' or alarm parts! If you guessed ‘more cell phones’ you must be a mind reader, or an inventory analyst for the ghost of Tandy past. I mean half the real estate in this dumpy strip store was dedicated to cell phones, MP3 noise-toys, and their associated clips, cases, batteries, and accessories?

Now honestly I have nothing against cell phones and trendy consumer electronics; in fact they can come in quite handy at times. But at what point do we stand up and call the Center for Disease Control and stop this cellular virus from it’s societal onslaught? You think I’m nuts, but today it’s one of my old favorite haunts, Radio Shack being transformed. But tomorrow it may be YOUR Starbucks, a local hair salon, or heaven forbid, even your Post Office that will be filled with robotic ‘POD’ salespeople!

Oh my gosh, I am sorry to be so insensitive and scare you. I admit I have never crossed over to the dark side and become a power cell-phone fanatic. In fact, come to think of it, I am not really much of a land-line fanatic either? It is probably because nobody these days has bothered to come up with a, catchy n’ sexy, one-syllable brand-name for wired phones. I’m thinking of marketing the iconic brand name ‘STRING’ – as the coolest ‘next generation’, wired phone alternative to boring ‘old fashioned ‘ cell technology. If all goes to plan, Google will buy me out before my hot new land-line phones take over the market. Naturally they will re-brand the phones as the ‘G-string’!

Half man – Half Chimp

You know to be a hard-hitting journalist you have to cover the tough stories no matter where they are or what kind of personal sacrifice is required. I’m really lazy and fortunately I don’t know any OCD newsies like that. The level of mental mettle and acuity to write the ‘Monoblogs’ is akin more to the inside of a jelly donut rather than real work. Still, there are those stories that have tested me to the core, and like with any housebound bad puppy, they usually happen when my wife has left me alone for a weekend or similar EXTENDED period of time.

On one such occasion, the wife was spending your tax money aboard an Ohio class Trident SSBN submarine, trying to solve a particularly irritating navigational gyro issue for the Navy. This of course left me to my own devices for more than a week unchecked. At our wedding, when they handed over the keys to my heart (as well as the restraints), my parents sufficiently warned my wife, that this was a bad idea.

Oh sure my wife called me nightly on the phone and along with the obligatory niceties and mundane work re-cap, she would always profess her desire to get home as quickly as possible, but I knew better. I clearly had been abandoned for the uniformed lure of those dapper military swabbies . There was no way a lumbering bulky-hulk of flesh like myself could compete, without resorting to drastic measures to prove my undying spousal devotion. So without hesitation or care for what others might think, I simply STOPPED SHAVING for the entire 10 days my wife was away on assignment.

Hey , I know it was a bit rash and over the top but these were NAVY submariners I was up against, not some ’flighty’ Air Force dudes or those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ Army grunts. As shocking as my testosterone-driven, primal act might seem, the truth is you don’t know the half of it. My sudden and seemingly rebellious ‘follicle farming’, was in fact only to grow on the ‘right half’ of my face, because I continued to shave diligently on the left. Since my teens, I had sprouted a full mustache as well, so I hacked off the left side of it too - perfectly parting it under the center of my nose.

Beyond the pure enjoyment of shaking up social norms and expectations, for my wife and all who dared to ask, there was a sincere ‘message to my madness’ . Yes, my brainy ‘grey batter’ had blended an explanatory batch of bonafide insanity, with just a palpable hint of smarmy cheese. So at the airport, when my wife asked incredulously “What were you thinking?”, I smiled my brightest half-shaven ‘chimp-squint’ and simply replied “I’m merely HALF a man, when you’re away”.