The Sloop John B

I should have known there would be trouble when I opened that birthday card from my grandfather. It had a picture of a sailboat on the front and inside were two round-trip tickets to the Bahamas. Nassau, to be exact.

“That’s right, boy. We’re going sailing. Just you and me.”

“Wow, Gramps, this is really a…surprise.”

He took a swig of his Michelob, which dripped down the gray stubble of his chin onto the front of his stained Hawaiian shirt.

“You’re twenty-one years old and it’s time to party! And what better place to raise hell?”

When we got to Nassau, we didn’t stay in a hotel. Gramps had chartered a sailboat called the Sloop John B. I was surprised to see that the crew were not native islanders, but Americans. Weird hippie-types in their 60s, like Gramps. In fact, Gramps told me they were buddies of his from “back in the day.” These guys lived in the Bahamas and made their living taking tourists on sightseeing trips around the islands.

I have to admit, those dudes looked scary. They all wore stained Hawaiian shirts like Gramps and spent most of the day passed out on the deck or walking around in a drunken stupor. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was in a Dennis Hopper version of “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

The first night we made port on one of the islands and went to a local tavern. I had more than a few beers and started feeling loopy, but Gramps and the crew were drinking tequila. The next thing I knew, some humongous dude with a skull-and-crossbones tattoo started arguing with Cheech, the first mate. Soon everybody in the place was fighting, just like in the movies. I ducked as a bottle of beer barely missed my head. This was not my idea of a fun vacation.

The only guy I got along with was the cook. They called him the Egg Man. His specialty was corn and grits, which weren’t bad. But one day he sort of went crazy. I was eating breakfast and suddenly he grabbed my plate and dumped the grits into the garbage. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he ate all of my corn. I couldn’t believe it.

“Egg Man, what are you doing?”

He ignored me and stumbled over to the side of the boat where he barfed into the ocean. That’s it. I was ready to go home.

I found Gramps playing poker with some of the crew.

“Gramps, I’d really like to go home now.”

“Sure thing,” he slurred. “But we have a little problem. Sheriff John Stone took Cheech to the jailhouse.”

“What happened?”

“He broke into the captain’s trunk and stole his tiki doll.”

Cheech was released the next day and we set sail back to Nassau. I was so glad when Gramps and I finally got on the plane for home. This was the worst trip I’d ever been on.

THE END

Turtle: Running at Large

Okay, I am NOT making this up.

Our local newspaper printed a story about the city council's decision to change the city's animal ordinance to make it easier to prosecute owners of unruly pets.

Under the current ordinance, the owner is ticketed only if a pet's bite breaks the skin in an attack. With the new law, owners can be ticketed and ordered to appear before a municipal court judge if their pet "bites, attacks or causes bodily injury." Also, pets that make a second trip to the Cheyenne Animal Shelter would have to get a microchip ID implant.

The following is a snippet from the actual discussion at the council meeting:

Councilwoman Georgia Broyles: The change will make a difference in the health, safety and welfare of our citizens.

Councilwoman Judy Case: A constituent called me about a pet turtle. It has bitten people on occasion and he was concerned he'd have to purchase a microchip ID for his reptilian companion.

Broyles: Is the turtle running at large?

City Attorney Claudio Angelos: I do not believe the ordinance applies to turtles.

Case: It was my understanding the ordinance applies to animals with spines.

Angelos: If you're referring to animals with vertebrae, yes, I suppose you could have a turtle with rabies, but I don't think it would be running at large.

Movies: Best Supporting Dog Award

Verdell (As Good as it Gets)

Queenie (The 'Burbs)

Einstein (Back to the Future)

Waffles (Manhattan)

Bear (Crimson Tide)

Buster (Legally Blonde)

Toto (Wizard of Oz)

Brinkley (You've Got Mail)

Precious (Silence of the Lambs)

Speck (Pee Wee's Big Adventure)

Erma Bombeck

A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday.

Did you ever notice that the first piece of luggage on the carousel never belongs to anyone?

Housework, if you do it right, will kill you.

I come from a family where gravy is considered a beverage.

Guilt: the gift that keeps on giving.

ABSOLUT - ly!

A controversial Absolut Vodka ad has some Americans up in arms. It appears that the company created ads in Mexico to market their product. The ads feature a map of Mexico, showing parts of Texas, California and several other southwestern states, approximating the borders in the 1840s before the U.S. annexation of Texas. The ad copy reads: "In an Absolut World."

Extremists groups in the U.S. are upset about the ads. These fringe groups believe American sovereignty is threatened by the Reconquista movement, which seeks to reclaim U.S. territory for Mexico.

These groups boycotted Absolut. So in order not to alienate the United States which accounts for more than half the company's sales, Absolut issued an apology:

"As a global company, we recognize that people in different parts of the world may lend different perspectives or interpret our ads in a different way than was intended in that market, and for that we apologize."

Not surprisingly, one of Absolut's competitors took advantage of the situation with this ad:

"SKYY Vodka, made in the USA, proudly supports treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo."

Metaphysics and the Macchiato

If it weren’t for that double-shot caramel macchiato with extra whip I wouldn’t be in this mess.

Okay, let me start at the beginning. I was already late to the Philosophy Club meeting when I decided to stop off for a caramel macchiato. Heavy doses of sugar and caffeine were essential as I would be participating in lively discourse on Existentialism, Rationalism and “Which Came First – The Chicken Or The Egg?” It was going to be a long night.

Coffee and scone in hand, I jumped in the car and raced to the community center. I enjoy these weekly discussions with other armchair philosophers. We understand each other. No one even raised an eyebrow when I confessed that I own a full-color poster of Aristotle in a “beefcake” pose.

Reuben is the facilitator. Pompous, arrogant and anal retentive, he can be quite intimidating. You can’t really blame him. Despite a Ph.D. in philosophy and a Master’s degree in anthropology, the only job he could get in our small town was at Sears. Fortunately for Reuben, he works in “home electronics” where he can watch PBS to his heart’s content.

I was late to the meeting and tried to be inconspicuous as I took my seat in the semi-circle of folding chairs. Reuben despises tardiness, among other things. He glared at me and continued his opening remarks. I carefully placed my drink on the floor so I could take notes. And then it happened.

As Reuben expounded on Kant and the metaphysics of morals, I accidentally knocked over the macchiato with my foot. The pool of liquid oozed toward Reuben’s brown leather wing-tips. By the time he looked down, it was too late. He took a step forward and slipped, falling flat on his back.

No one moved. Time stood still. Reuben struggled to his feet, but slipped again, sloshing around like a harp seal among the coffee and whipped cream. He finally managed to stand up and, in a sinister voice, told everyone to go home. We were alone. The silence was deafening and the smell of caramel filled the room. I glanced at the door, wondering if I should make a run for it. He seemed to read my mind and walked to the door, locking it. I panicked. I had no idea what Reuben was capable of. Certainly not ending a sentence with a preposition.

My mind raced. Reuben was a philosopher. A man of reason and intellect. Surely he wouldn’t do anything rash simply because of embarrassment and ridicule. I was wrong.

And that’s how I ended up locked in a closet with a flashlight and Reuben’s dog-eared copy of “Philosophy for Dummies.”

Free Range by Bill Whitehead

Shakespeare's Birthday Tribute

In honor of the Bard, I pilfered some quotes from "Shakespeare's Insults" by Wayne F. Hill & Cynthia J. Ottchen:

(All quotes from The Merry Wives of Windsor)

How shall I be revenged on him? I think the best way were to entertain him with hope till the wicked fire of lust have melted him in his own grease.

What tempest threw this whale, with so many turns of oil in his belly, ashore?

He shall die a flea's death.

I'll provide you a chain, and I'll do what I can to get you a pair of horns.

If I be served such another trick, I'll have my brains ta'en out and buttered, and give them to a dog for a New Year's gift.

The philosopher went out...

...on his first date with a woman and took her to a restaurant. They sat quietly for a while and he finally says, "Do you like philosophy?"

She says, "No."

He says, "Do you have a brother?"

"No."

He says, "If you had a brother, do you think he'd like philosophy?"

(from A Prairie Home Companion Pretty Good Joke Book)

I Jog, Therefore I Am

I’m a jogger. I don’t consider myself a “runner,” though technically jogging and running are the same, the only difference being that runners are faster than joggers. I don’t know at what point a jog turns into a run. Maybe it’s when you realize that you’re actually faster than that 85-year-old lady walking her Pekinese.

Being a runner might have something to do with the clothes, too. Fashion attire for the runner includes spandex leggings, a skin-tight tank top and designer socks. The jogger, on the other hand, prefers sweat pants, a baseball cap and the “I’m The Jogger Your Mama Warned You About ” t-shirt. And while runners carry MP3 players or ipods for their favorite tunes, joggers enjoy vintage Sony Walkman cassette players and can be found bobbing along to “Help Me Rhonda.”

But there’s one thing runners and joggers have in common: shoes. When I first started jogging in the early 1980s, it didn’t take long for me to realize that it was not a good idea to go on a three-mile run wearing my K-Mart “Dennis the Menace” canvas sneakers. Not only did they cause painful blisters, the soles were so thin that I could feel the cracks in the sidewalk. I still remember the shocked stares of passers-by as I found myself maneuvering down a gravel path, waving my arms and screaming in agony every step of the way. Children clung to their mothers in fear and loathing. Young lovers ran for their lives. Even stray dogs ran whimpering with their tails between their legs. Oh, the humanity!

Needless to say, I was forced to journey into a strange new world called “Shopping For Running Shoes.” I discovered that there are hundreds of brands, and each brand had hundreds of features. “Running Shoe” terminology was foreign to me: multi-piece heeling system, stability, pronation, lug patterns, gel pods, forward propulsion, shoestring theory. I needed a Ph.D. in physics to figure it out.

After finding the perfect shoe, I was ready to explore the training rituals of the die-hard runner. One of these is a delightful little secret called “carbo-loading.” This takes place the night before a marathon when a runner will feast on huge amounts of carbohydrates such as pasta, bread and potatoes to improve his performance. I won’t tell you what happened when I did this the night before my three-miler. Let’s just say between the stomach cramps and the feeling that I was wearing cement shoes, my typical 35-minute jog took four hours.

I’ve come to the realization that I will never be a “runner.” I have no interest in marathons, training journals and stopwatches. I’m happy to just jog down the road, smell the lilacs and try to outrun the lady with the Pekinese.

W. Somerset Maugham

"There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."

-- W. S. M.

Secret Asian Man by Tak Toyoshima

Quote of the Month (March)

"Daniel Day-Lewis makes American actors look like giggly junior high school boys playing Nintendo during the prom..."



--Libby Gelman-Waxner

The Three Little Candidates

Once upon a time, in the Land of the Free, there were three little candidates, Giuliani, Romney and Huckabee.

Giuliani built his campaign on Blue-Haired Floridians. He proclaimed that if every child in America doesn’t get an “A” in algebra, the terrorists win.

One day, Big Bad McCain knocked on Giuliani’s door and spoke in a high-pitched whine, “Open the door and let me in.”

Giuliani scurried under the bed and cried out, “9-11! 9-11!”

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your campaign in!”

So Big Bad McCain huffed and he puffed and he blew Giuliani’s campaign in, then gobbled him up in one bite.

Romney built his campaign on the Soft Housing Market. He vowed that Holy Underwear would have no place in his administration.

Big Bad McCain knocked on Romney’s door and whimpered, “Open the door and let me in.”

Romney hid in the closet and cried out, “Reagan Conservative! Reagan Conservative!”

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your campaign in!”

So Big Bad McCain huffed and he puffed and he blew Romney’s campaign in, then gobbled him up in one bite.

Huckabee built his campaign on God and Rock ‘n’ Roll. He promised to make Elvis’ birthday a National Holiday.

Big Bad McCain knocked on Huckabee’s door and meowed, “Open the door and let me in.”

Huckabee grabbed his guitar, cranked up the amplifier and began to sing, “One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready now go, McCain, go!”

“Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your campaign in!”

So he huffed and he puffed and he puffed and he huffed, but Huckabee’s campaign wouldn’t budge. The sound of Rock ‘n’ Roll blared through the walls.

Big Bad McCain called for reinforcements, and with the help of two Dwarfs named Limbaugh and O’Reilly, managed to bust out a few windows and jimmy open the back door. McCain gobbled up Huckabee in one bite.

But Huckabee still had a death-grip on his guitar, which was plugged into the amplifier, which was plugged into the wall. Zapped with a lightning bolt from God, Big Bad McCain fell to the floor unconscious.

Suddenly, the whole campaign shook on its foundation. Obama the Giant approached with a deep, rumbling bellow, “Fee Fie Fo Fum, I smell the blood of a Republican!” Limbaugh and O’Reilly ran for their lives.

Obama the Giant gobbled up McCain in one bite. He began a rampage through the Land of the Free, destroying everything in his path, including Billary, the two-headed Cyclops. He didn’t stop until he reached the White House.

As President, Obama the Giant ended Poverty, established World Peace and gave every citizen a Cadillac.

And they all lived happily ever after.

THE END

There Will Be Blood (movie review)

When hubby and I were discussing what to do for Valentine's Day, he suggested dinner and a movie. Perfect. His favorite thing is eating and my favorite thing is going to the movies...what could be better?


Actually, we do the "dinner and a movie" on a fairly regular basis. It's our big "date" night and we have a blast. He suggested a romantic comedy for the occasion. I, on the other hand, wanted to see "There Will Be Blood."


HUBBY: "There Will Be Blood"? Are you crazy? That's not very romantic.


ME: I know, but the previews were amazing! And it's nominated for an Academy Award. I want to see what the fuss is about.


HUBBY: Wouldn't you rather see "Fool's Gold"?


ME: I want to see "There Will Be Blood." Please, honey?


Despite Hubby's adamant statement that he would hate the movie, he agreed. I was so glad when Daniel Day-Lewis proved him wrong.


At the theatre, the opening sequence took us by surprise. There was no music and no opening credits. In fact, there was no dialog for several minutes. Just a man (Day-Lewis) mining for silver. An infant appeared on the scene. A train ride to the future as the infant became a boy. Then all hell broke loose as we saw Day-Lewis take the movie by the horns and wrest it to his will. I've never seen a character portrayed so well. We were mesmerized.


Don't even get me started on themes and motifs: God, Satan, Lies, Greed, Despair and Loneliness, as well as Life, Love and Hope.


The cinematography was superb. Every frame a work of art...light, color, contrast, shape, form. It was like I was at an art museum and every time I turned a corner, the beauty of the next scene took my breath away.


The music in the film was a character as well. For example, the boy becomes deaf due to an oil well explosion. When we are viewing the world from the boy's perspective --- music (cello, violin, viola) reveals the lonely, silent world of the deaf child. A stark contrast to the death and destruction that takes place throughout the story.


The powerful final scene resolves the conflict between Day-Lewis' character and his nemesis: Eli Sunday, the false prophet. Day-Lewis is not a hero in this film. He is evil. He is alone. He hates Man and he hates God. It is not a Hollywood ending where the protagonist changes his stripes and realizes the true meaning of life. He ends the way he began.


After the film, Hubby admitted that he enjoyed the movie, saying it wasn't at all what he expected. It wasn't what I had expected, either. But as far as I was concerned, this film would go down in history as one of the greatest of all time.


Later, at our favorite Mexican restaurant over margaritas, we raised our glasses, looked in each others' eyes and made a Valentine's Day toast: "There Will Be Blood."

State of the Union by Carl Moore

Obama...Yes I Can!

As a die-hard political junkee who cut her teeth on Rush Limbaugh conservatism in 1992, I am more than intrigued with Barack Obama. I consider myself an "Independent," although I've voted Republican in every election since 1984. I'm not what you would call a hardline conservative at all...but in the past I've agreed with the GOP on most issues facing the nation.



This year it's different. I have become an Obamaniac! Listening to his speeches and reading his books, I've come to the conclusion that Obama should be our next president. I have never in my entire life been as inspired by a political candidate. He has a certain quality that draws you in and makes you think that anything is possible.



For the record, I also admire John McCain. I like the fact the conservative base despises him. It shows that he doesn't tow the party line but has the courage to stand up for what he believes in, repercussions be damned.



If Obama and McCain are the nominees for their respective parties, I will be in the delightful position of having to choose between two candidates I would like to see in office. This has never happened before. In the past, I've been forced to choose the lesser of two evils.

A Winter's Tale

Shakespeare Quote of the Day (A Winter's Tale)

The words of a jealous husband, Leontes, King of Sicilia, spoken of his innocent wife Hermione and Polixenes, King of Bohemia:

ACT I, scene ii:

LEONTES: (to Camillo, a lord of Sicilia) Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career of laughter with a sigh -- a note infallible of breaking honesty? -- Horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? Noon, midnight? And all eyes blind with the pin and web but theirs? theirs only, that would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing? Why, then the world and all that's in't is nothing, the covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing, my wife nothing, nor nothing have these nothings if this be nothing.

Shakespeare Quote for the Day: Portia

The quality of mercy is not strain'd;

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

It blesses him that gives and him that takes.

(Merchant of Venice)

Thought for the Day

The pen is mightier than the sword.