Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Let's Hear from One of My Readers

Enough politics for awhile.

First, an unsolicited beverage recommendation: go get yourself several gallons of refreshing and delicious "Minute Maid Pomegranate Tea." (Is that spelled correctly? Pomegranate looks wrong. I don't have time to look it up.) As the two Aussie crabs in "Finding Nemo" would exclaim, "Sweet nectar of loif!" This has supplanted Snapple Grapeade as my favorite healthy drink. Yes, Tara, I concede that each 18 fl. oz. serving (that's my rough estimate of how much I usually guzzle straight from the container before taking a breath) is probably the equivalent of ingesting 8 tablespoons of granulated sugar. But who cares. It has massive drinkability! And antioxidants! As we all know, antioxidants stop, er, oxidation. Which is one of the main causes of prostate cancer -- and global warming. And the pomegranate is one of those exotic fruits that has special curative properties. In fact, I suspect that even though sucking down this tea every day for, say, a month will give you diabetes, the pomegranate -- with it's high concentration of naturally occurring omega folic acids and vitamin triple E -- will actually kill off the malignant diabetes cells before they metastasize. Well, at least that's what I tell Isaac and Riley when I fill their sippy cups with tea to kick start their day.

Now, let's take some reader mail. Here's a letter from my very knowledgeable friend, Todd Fuller:

Dear Tony: Isn't the purpose of a blog (short for "weblog," a term first coined by Nostradamus in the 14th century, when he predicted the rise of "Hissler" and a futuristic communication system known as the "Indernut") to post short, pithy, entertaining thoughts multiple times each day? You post once every two weeks. That's fairly pathetic. I don't want to rain on your parade, but maybe you should just keep a journal -- for yourself -- and scribble in it twice a year. That way you won't continually disappoint and waste the valuable time of friends who expect some minimal level of effort and productivity from you. There's no shame in admitting this just isn't your thing. It took me years to realize that dressing up as an Arthurian Knight and jousting at Renaissance Fairs wasn't my calling -- and when I faced that hard truth, it freed me to play Dungeons and Dragons 24/7 and eventually become a 27th level Paladdin; essentially, a demi-God. I'm not saying you will achieve what I achieved, but your journey of self discovery needs to head in another direction. Glass blowing, perhaps? Scrimshaw? (That's a dying art, especially here in Pittsburgh.) Good luck, my friend. You will always have my brutally honest support.

Todd, thanks for caring. I should mention that Todd -- seriously -- is an excellent and quite successful estate planning attorney. I think somewhere around 76 percent of his typically infirm and mentally diminished clients, have in their Last Will and Testament named Todd, and not their children or beloved pets, as sole beneficiary. That speaks to the deep bonds of trust that Todd forms with every person he represents.

Todd and I got to know each other when we worked together at the same Harrisburg law firm. Perhaps my favorite Todd anecdote from our Glory Days is the time that he went to get a hair cut -- and returned to the office bald.

See, Todd is famously frugal. (His wife Jen is yelling: "Cheap! The word is cheap! He made me live next to an ugly, sulfur-spewing steel mill in a house with tested radon levels of "Infinity and Beyond" -- Todd says radon is a 'government hoax started during the Carter administration' -- because he refused to have a mortgage that was higher than our grocery bill.") Anyway, because Todd is ... thrifty, instead of going to a reputable salon or barber to have his thick, lustrous hair shorn, he decided to go to "Cost Cutters."

There is a legal concept known as "assumption of the risk." When you are foolhardy enough to go to a place called "Cost Cutters" for a trim, you assume the risk that the person cutting your hair will be so incompetent -- indeed, may have only sheared sheep prior to making the giant leap to coifing a human scalp -- that they may sever your jugular vein or cut off an ear lobe while trying to trim side burns. Your chances of receiving a hair cut that looks marginally better than simply placing a mixing bowl on your head and tracing its rim with dull sewing scissors are one in four. Yet, Braveheart Todd was undaunted -- and, more importanly, he had enough quarters for the $2.25 "Hans Christian Anderson Pageboy."

Well, we know how this story ends. In tears. Literally. As Todd tells it, he knew something had gone horribly wrong when, in the midst of his hair cut, the young gal wielding the clippers turned ashen, then began crying. Alarmed, Todd asked what was amiss. She stammered that the plastic shield had come off the clippers, causing her to "turf" his head, as they say in the lawn care biz. She had cut out a neat, 2" x 2" rectangle -- down to the bare, pasty scalp -- in the back of his head. The only way to rectify this, short of Todd wearing ski hats for a month, was to get the full Sinead O'Connor.

When Yul Brenner returned to the office, he was mildly displeased. We tried to cheer him up by telling him that for a white boy with a large, asymetrical dome, he didn't look too hideous. But when his secretary -- who Todd hated already because she was lazy and couldn't type -- said he got what he deserved for going to "Cost Cutters," he bludgeoned her to death with his dictaphone. Which marked the beginning of the end of his tenure with the firm.

Todd let his hair grow out after that traumatic incident, and he now sports a thick pony tail, which his nursing home clients and his wife really dig.

Well, I hope you all enjoyed that extra special glimpse into Todd Fuller's life. I'm sure Todd will correct me if I've gotten any of the particulars wrong, although my team of fact checkers seldom miss anything.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Rant Potpouri

My apologies for the lack of recent posts -- I've been spending my nights fighting crime and reading the Stimulus Bill. I made it to page seven (of 1,300) and noted a few -- just a few -- questionable items. Such as:

177 million for installation of environmentally friendly bidets in Walmart bathrooms (John Kerry insisted on this provision as he greatly enjoys the 17 bidets in his wife's mansion and was scandalized when he discovered that the unwashed masses do not have access to this French method of paper-less gentle cleansing when shopping for Spam, Slim Jims, confederate flags and automatic weapons);
200 million for "Gout Awareness";
62 million for the National Endowment for the Arts, with 32 million specifically targeted to subsidize "Performance Artists who incorporate natural, free range urine, excrement or other bodily secretions into their patriotic work protesting the United States' imperialistic wars against innocent brown peoples";
1.8 million to Noam Chomsky for "a life time of scholarship and public service";
$27,000 for improved Vice Presidential hair plugs;
400 million to the newly formed U.N. Council for Peace, Harmony and the Humane Obliteration of the Zionist Menace;
$500,000 each to accredited Tort Lawyers in good standing to spur "entrepreneurial, wealth-creating class action litigation";
500 Million for Alternative Energy Research, including Di-lithium Crystals and the Flux Capacitor;
$8,000 tax credit for first time Democratic voters;
$5,000 tax credit for anyone disenfranchised in the 2000 election;
$3,000 tax credit for Native Americans because they are a noble people;
$250 million to MSNBC to promote "Excellence in Journalism";
$100 million to Jesse Jackson and his "Rainbow: Extort" Foundation to promote the Hope of Black Victimization;
$12 billion for "1,000 foot global warming tidal wave prevention and evacuation planning, and the construction of a lunar Bio-Dome powered by vegetable oil and Michael Moore's flatulence."
You get the general idea. This is a trim, fiscally responsible, "nothing-but-the-essentials" bill that is focused like a laser on cauterizing our economic blood loss. In fact, I think it's the best piece of legislation to come out of D.C. since the Alien and Sedition Act. Although I suppose a raging partisan intent on nothing but obstructionism could find fault with some of these provisions, I personally was pleased to see that this entire process has been exactly as President Obama promised: "targeted, transparent, and treeemendous." Or something like that.

Before we leave politics, allow me to mention one moment from the feature film length Obama press conference that made me fleck my television screen with rage spittle like Keith Olbermann.

It was when some blow dried crap weasel from one of the major networks stood up and asked when the President was going to allow the media access to the flag draped coffins of our soldiers so that -- and I quote -- "Americans can know the true cost of war."

Pardon me while my head explodes with Krakatoan-levels of anger.

Yes, the stupid, NASCAR-worshippin', Bible-thumpin', gun-totin', confederate flag flyin', SUV drivin' red state lemmings don't understand that when their friends, neighbors and family members go off to war, they are risking their lives. Why, that Rasputin-like Cheney has convinced them that they're over in Iraq and Afghanistan eating ice cream cones and chasing butterflies in sun-dappled fields of posies. Oh, and the sheeple remain frightfully ignorant of the evils of war despite the fact that the NYT, Washington Post, LA Times, MSNBC, Time, Newsweek, etc. etc. etc. breathlessly report -- in front page, bold type, all caps headlines -- whenever one of our heroic troops is killed. (Query: Could the deafening media silence on the success of the Surge, the dramatic reduction of civilian and military deaths have anything to do with liberal media bias and an unwillingness to report events that no longer conform to the favored "Vietnam Quagmire" template? No, that's ridiculous.)

The American people are quite familiar with the wages of war. War is Hell. It is also sometimes necessary to kill those who would kill us. The media elites -- who imagine all the peee-ople, living life in pee-eace -- will never get this. And the fact that they would eagerly sensationalize and cheapen those solemn and private moments so they can "teach" the mouth breathing, warmongering masses that war is "bad" makes me want to strap a Claymore to every one of their microphones.

While I'm purging all of my negative energy, allow me a brief screed about one of the upcomoing “events” I most loathe and detest -- the Wieners. I mean, the Oscars. There is nothing more insufferable than watching a bunch of snobbish, narcissistic, pea-brained celebrities filled with delusions of their own self importance tearfully congratulate each other for their “brave” and “stunning” artistic achievements – you know, like making an anti-Iraq war movie. Or a movie about a transgendered male couple who faced discrimination by torch wielding Mormons when they tried to adopt a gay Labradoodle. You go, Oliver Stone! Bravo, Tim Robbins! I bow before your mad acting skilz and awesome intellect, Sean Penn! Speak truth to ‘da Man! Yes, it takes stones the size of Rosie O’Donnell’s giant bulbous pumpkin head to criticize the policies of the Bush Administration while in La La Land. (The moment when the Oscars became officially dead to me is when "Shakespeare in Love" won for Best Picture over "Saving Private Ryan." That was a travesty on par with, say, "Tyler Perry's House of Payne" beating "Seinfeld" for Best Sitcom, or anyone beating Gloria Allred in the "Witchiest, Publicity-Seeking Evil Shrew" competition. The mind boggles.)


Have you taken a gander this year's list of “Best Picture” nominees? These films collectively took in about 18 dollars at the box office. See, Hollywood, er, the Academy , doesn’t nominate popular movies (see, e.g. Batman) for Oscars. That’s because unenlightened Philistines flock to those "blockbuster" movies. No, the Academy has far more sophisticated taste in films.

So, we get the following:

1.“The Curious Case of Benjamin’s Bottom” or whatever it’s called. It’s a touching, poignant story of a man who’s bottom gets firmer while everyone around him grows older, leading to Zzzzzzzzzzz …”
2.“Milk” – starring that brooding, deep thinker, Sean Penn. It’s about a famous gay guy who had lots of important gay related achievements. Cool. How about we all agree that being gay is the Best Thing Ever and just move on. I think the tag line for “Milk” should have been: “Being Gay! It does the body good!” – or just, “Got Gay?”
3. “Frost/Nixon”: A movie that shows the Richard Nixon was not a good person! I’m shocked! Why was I never told about this? That theme has never been explored before. And it’s very timely, given that Richard Nixon was President over thirty years ago. Seven people have seen this movie and they are all members of the Political Science department at Cal Berkley. (In all fairness, I like Ron Howard as a director -- "Cinderella Man" is one of my favorite movies -- and I've read that his portrayal of Nixon and the historical record is mostly accurate and even handed; nevertheless, to paraphrase Pauline Kael: "I don't know a single person who went to see this movie.")
4.”Slumdog Millionaire:” I know nothing about this film, nor do I care to. I’ll be sure to catch it when it comes to the Carlisle theatre as a double feature with “Mama Mia.”
5. “The Reader.” Wow. Sounds exciting! Should be the family hit of the Summer! Look for the sequels, “The Writer” and “The Arithmeticker.” I know it's supposed to be a poignant, emotionally wrenching, morally ambiguous tale about a young man who has a torrid affair with a woman whom he later discovers was a Nazi -- what pathos! -- but I'd rather watch "Kung Fu Panda" 30 times in a row (and I have).

Let's finish with a health tip. Drink lots of water.

That's what Tara always tells me. And I absolutely believe that keeping oneself nicely hydrated is generally beneficial. But I harbor some skepticism that water -- or the lack of it -- is the direct cause of so many common ailments. Here are some typical conversations I'll have with Tara:

Me: "I have got a pounding headache."
Her: "Well, have you been drinking enough water?"
(I'm almost willing to buy this cause and effect relationship, although I doubt there's a peer reviewed study showing that test subjects who drank water experienced less headaches than the control group who guzzled Coke and Sunny D.)

Me: "I'm really tired. I've got no energy today."
Her: "Yeah, and how much water have you had to drink? None, I'll bet."
(Lack of water = malaise. Perhaps fybromyalgia, chronic pain syndrome and a host of other imaginar, I mean, real diseases are all caused by a diet low in water.)

Me: "Honey, I'm a little concerned. I've been bleeding profusely from my eye sockets and cerebral-spinal fluid is leaking from my nose."
Her: "I don't want to hear it. When's the last time you had a glass of water? Did you ever think that hemorrhaging would stop if you drank water instead of sugary iced tea?")

I'm convinced that the Stimulus Bill would have been much less sucky if Obama, Pelosi et al had been drinking more water.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Fresh, Mediocre Drivel for the Teeming Masses

My friend and co-worker Andrea, who has been gravely disappointed by my lack of posting, should be pleased to see that I have upped my anti-slothfulness meds, and am providing new ramblings. Before we get to my latest "must read" blather, my wife Tara has demanded equal time to make some clarifications. Here she is:

Ok, first of all, you are making our boys sound like raving beast-children. People are going to think they need to be harpooned with giant syringes full of Ritalin and that I'm a terrible mother. Isaac and Riley are actually quite well behaved -- most of the time -- and I think you should try to portray them in a more positive way.

Second, and more importantly, the only immature person in this house who sometimes spells out bad words when HE is angry is you. And our house does not have a gas leak, or a sink hole. And our dogs, while sometimes a challenge, are good boys. You need to stop being so mean to them and constantly talking about how they eat poop and track mud into the house and scratch the floors. They are part of our family, too.

Thank you, honey. Allow me to very briefly respond to your excellent points. Our boys are adorable. And generally very un-brat-like. But Isaac does occasionally feed Riley dirt out of a plastic soup ladle he stole from the kitchen. And they do like to eat the 'Ol Roy dog food straight out of the giant rubber container in the laundry room. And their two favorite games are still "Daddy, Bonk your Head!" and "Daddy, Smell My Stinky Feet." (Tara is yelling up from the living room: 'Pray tell who was the genius inventor of these marvelous, child development games?' I'm going to ignore that rude interruption.) And the boys still have these kinds of interactions: "Riwee, here, I will take your new ball -- WE DO NOT SCREAM, RIWEE! -- yes, because it is a yittle too bouncy for you and I am a big boy -- STOP YICKING ME, RIWEE! -- Yissen, Riwee, I will get the ball and yet you taste some of this yeyow snow. Right there, see? I think it is gonna be soooo tasteee. Hee Hee! Eat some Riwee! Yesssssss. Do it! Quick quick before Mommy comes! Mommy, Riwee is eating the yeyow snow and that is 'gusting!")

I can't remember what Tara's other points were. Something about how we could sell the dogs on Ebay? Good idea.

I have some gripes that I wish to share. I am going to do these rapid fire, in no particular order of importance. Some of you have heard these complaints before, but they bear repeating:

McDonald's policy of serving lunch beginning at 10:30 am is utterly insane. Nobody wants burgers at that time of the day. But many paying customer are craving delicious and nutritious McGriddles or sausage and egg biscuits at O Ten Hundred Hours, and those customers will go home enraged (or slightly bitter; your reaction may be different than mine) that they could not have a Big Breakfast because of -- what? -- an internal memo that says:

"Secret Lab tests have confirmed that the highly addictive chemical in McDonald's burgers -- which compels people who would otherwise be ripped triathletes to eat three meals a day at our Golden Arches against their will -- is most effective when ingested in the early morning hours. Accordingly, breakfast service MUST end by 10:30 so that we can obesify the lemmings. Any franchisee found serving breakfast after 10:30 in violation of this policy -- even to quell rioting by breakfast-starved customers -- will be liquefied."

I recently did a lengthy email rant about this and I will not recycle it here. Well, I guess I sort of just did. But I have another long held grievance against not only McDonald's, but all fast food restaurants. See if you can detect the, how shall I put this -- severe brain damage evident in the following exchange between me and the garbled voice of stupidity coming thru the drive thru display:

Me: "Hi. I'd like a PLAIN cheeseburger. PLAIN. No condiments of any kind. No pickles, no mayo, no special sauce, nothing. Just a PLAIN cheeseburger."
(long pause while the attendant digests this stupefying, outlandish request)
McGenius: "Uh, sir, do you want cheese on that?"

Sigh. When I say I want a plain CHEESEburger, is it not implicit -- actually, explicit -- that said cheese is to remain one of the main components of my desired happy meal? Is this such a difficult concept to grasp? In fact, if one was legitimately confused by my request, wouldn't it make more sense to confirm if I wanted either "meat" or a "a bun" with my cheese?

Enough of that. There are more important issues grating on me.

Why was ESPN covering the Inauguration of Barack Obama? I love ESPN -- even now that it is an evil corporate colossus that basically rules the world. I will watch anything on the Global Leader: women's billiards (I can even tell you that Alison Fisher's nickname is the Duchess of Doom); the Stihl Lumberjack Tour (gotta love the "hot saw"); the World's Strongest Man Competition ("Oh, dear, it appears Magnus has gotten a triple hernia and snapped his femur trying to lift the final Atlas Stone."). But can the ESPN Ombudsperson please explain what the election of our new President -- as historically significant as it was -- had to do with sports? I resent politics intruding into my sports-watching. Thus, I don't want to read a feature article in Sports Illustrated about how Obama played basketball in high school and is a life long hoops junkie. (Gee, I must have forgotten a similar, fawning SI profile of George Bush and his life long passion for baseball, culminating in his ownership of the Texas Rangers. I think the working title was "Chimpy McHitler Is Ruining America's Past Time and Is Even Making Baseball Unpopular in France.")

I understand that all the left wing sports journalists -- like the rest of the media -- are writhing in paroxysms of ecstasy now that the Healer of Planets has arrived to save us. And they are free to write haikus or sonnets about the Dali-Bama on their personal blog, or in their daily journal. But stop infecting sports columns and broadcasts with your tiresome agitprop, because it makes me angry. And you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Because that's when I punch chairs and break my hand (the epic tale of Daddy's valorous fight against bed room furniture will be saved another day).

It's grown too late for any further screeds. I think maybe tomorrow (tomorrow being defined as any time in the next week or so) we'll do a fictitious mail bag, with fan letters and hate mail from my readers.