Saturday, September 19, 2009

Yes, I framed an innocent puppy.

This one goes in the Creative Excuses gategory. I don't know how I got away with it. I shouldn't have:

When I was 9, I learned how to play golf. My dad taught me that practice makes perfect. So one day, I had come home from school and grabbed my 9-iron for a little practice. Except I wasn't allowed to go outside if my parents weren't home yet. So I was practicing in the living room. On the shag carpet. Yes, shag, it was the 60's.

I wasn't aware, until that day, that a 9-iron WILL take a divot (fancy golf word for hunk) out of the carpet the same as it will grass.

Oh, shit.

I tried sticking the hunk of carpet back in it's place, but it came out with the slightest touch. Didn't have time for glue. Might as well face the fact, I'm going to die when my parents get home.

But I'd been raised properly to know the difference between right and wrong.

So I lied. And it was a whopper too. I told them that I had JUST come in the room and saw our puppy ripping a hunk out of the carpet. Darn ol' puppy!

Shameful. Dear God forgive me ... I framed a sad-eyed puppy. Going to hell. Going to hell.

To this day, I have no clue whether my parents were naive enough to believe that or so amused by my creativity that they just let it go.

Thank GOD they didn't discipline the puppy.

His name was Happy. He got run over by a car several years later, so our secret went with him to the grave. I was 46 years old before I finally told my parents about that. They didn't even remember it.

My Football Career ...

... lasted less than 15 minutes. I was 10 and joined a kid's football league. My coach taught me that when I tackled to put my head down, spread my arms and hit the other guy HARD and below the knees. So I did. My very first tackle was AWESOME! Only I didn't think so ... I nearly bit my own lip off, was bleeding everywhere and it hurt like HELL! I walked straight off the field and kept on going, straight home. Never to play football again.

So, now that I think about it - I had a PERFECT football career, one perfect tackle and no losses.

Good thing I quit while I was ahead.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Walrus Lard

My lunch at the hospital. Fried chicken, French fries and chocolate pudding washed down with chocolate milk. Specially-trained dieticians made it. So it MUST be good for me. Right?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

It's staring at me...

Sitting in the lobby of this posh hotel in Mobile. I'm wearing jeans, tennies, and a cheap fake-suede coat from Walmart ... everybody else is wearing black suits. Maybe they're paying respect to Patrick Swayze. They're all staring at me. Even the stained glass is watching me. I need to get out of here.


Our second grandaughter (4th grandchild), Skylar Eve, finally wiggled on into the world this morning at 6:17. Everyone is doing great! She has strawberry blond hair like her Grandma Sue-Sue!

*Note: photo is simulation. No babies were harmed in the making of this post.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Southern Hostile-tality

So my coworker and I are driving today from New Orleans to Mobile Alabama for business. We're taking our sweet time so I'm driving 60-65 mph in a 70 zone. Other drivers are blowing past us like we're sitting still.

Just ahead, there's a car going slower than me. It's an Alabama State Trooper. I don't like passing cops, but he was going well under the speed limit and so was I. So no harm, no foul.

I'm past him and still in the left passing lane when I see him accelerate up behind me. Now he's following close behind. WTH??? Jeremy and I were doing and/or carrying NOTHING illegal. But we're starting to freak out ... we've both seen Smokie and the Bandit. And it's not like were driving a slick-looking car, it was a putsy rental for God's sake.

He drops back a bit and we sigh a collective sigh of relief. But I see him accelerating in the right lane now and he pulls right up beside us and matches our speed. At this point I can't even draw a breath, I'm getting so nervous and we've done NOTHING wrong. But I'm sure as hell not going to make eye contact (which is probably what I SHOULD have done - I have no clue WHAT he wants us to do!).

He backs off again allowing me to finally move back into the right lane. And now he accelerates up to the LEFT side of the car and matches speed. Now I'm getting pissed. You wanna' pull me over for whatever, flip on your lights and DO IT! But quit screwing with me. Guy could have caused a wreck. When he wasn't blocking the lanes, other people were continuing to fly past us. He didn't give a shit about that, he's busy playing tag with us Yankee Boys.

Eventually he dropped back and vanished in traffic. Though I'm glad we didn't get pulled over, I'd love to have known what that turkey was up to.

Welcome to friggin' Alabama!

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Why I don't go to movie theaters

Three reasons:

1. My wife and I have built a home theater system with full, window-shattering surround sound, bluray, and a 50" 1080p monitor. Suck THAT, Mr. Cinema! We can BUY two films for the price of seeing ONE in the cinema. And we can stop the film to take a piss, thank you very much.

2. When we go to a theater, we ALWAYS, without fail, get the most obnoxious people sitting behind us that kick our seats, and TALK through the whole damn film!!!

3. True story: up until yesterday, the last time I was in a theater was to see "Hunt for Red October". And this is why: the film, Hunt for Red October BREAKS with about 2 minutes left to go and rather than fix it, the theater just turned on the house lights and everybody got up and left ... WTF!!! I'm not going ANYWHERE until I see the end of the friggin' movie or I get my money back! So I hunt down the manager. I express my concern and demand - HIS solution? - he says, and I quote, "Oh there was only two minutes left, you didn't miss anything important" and he proceeds to tell us what happens in the missing two minutes!! SHUT UPPPP! I seriously doubt the director of the film intended that the closing scene be delivered by some polyester-wearing punk being paid five bucks an hour! Idiot.

After I ranted and raved for 5 minutes, he finally agreed to give us our money back AND a free pass for a future film. Like I said, I didn't go back to any theater again until yesterday. Showed them, huh?

A field trip to the Cinemas

My grandson wanted to go see the new animated flick "9" yesterday. Sounded like fun - I haven't been to a theater since "Hunt for Red October" was released. Yeah, it's been a while. There's a reason why I stopped going and I'd forgotten until yesterday.

Don't get me wrong. Spending "guy time" with my grandson was WAY COOL! And the animation was AWESOME. Unfortunately, the script was as transparent as Saran Wrap. But being with my Bud and the animation made it worth every cent.

I was to find out that it would cost LOTS of cents. LOTS and LOTS. A second mortgage worth.

We went to the early matinee. The last matinee I went to was, well, uh, in 1965 - Goldfinger. Cost then? 25 cents. Cost for two of us to see "9" - $14!!!

Oh, screw it. It's only money. (You know, whoever came up with that saying probably had a LOT of IT!)

A movie is NOT a movie without popcorn. Right? Of course, back in 1969, popcorn was 10 cents. Not knowing what sizes S-M-L would actually be, volume-wise, I ordered a LARGE. A truck backed up to the counter, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP and dumped a load of popcorn into a grocery bag. Cost - $14!!!! Had the Native Americans known the true value of teaching the Pilgrims how to pop corn, they wouldn't have done it and there would be roadside stands today featuring Pocahontas Popped Corn. History would have been rewritten.

So into the movie we go, grocery bag o' corn in hand.

About 30 minutes into the film, I discover that scientists have been toying with the genetics of popcorn. Popcorn has now been engineered as such to instill MAXIMUM thirst in a MINIMUM amount of time. I go to the consession stand for further fleecing. My eyes SAW the price of a SMALL soft drink on the menu, but my brain blocked what it had seen as being impossible. The woman hands me the drinks and mutters, "AID dollup spleez." having no clue of what she just said, I asked her to repeat it. She did. "Eight dollars, please." .... for two SMALL drinks?! I didn't ask to have 20-year old bourbon in them, just ice, water, corn syrup and flavoring.

So back in the theater I go. Climbing the steps wasn't too hard this time, even with the drinks in hand, probably the absense of weight caused by the absence of money.

But you know what? Doesn't matter. I had a GREAT TIME with my buddy. And THAT makes it all worth while.