Saturday, September 30, 2006

Vote For Me 2

Sunday is often a misnomer. The sun doesn't always shine on Sunday. What does always happen on Sunday is sports. Therefore, during my presidency, a constitutional amendment to change the name of the first day of the week to Sportsday will be proposed. Friday, Saturday Sportsday. It sounds right to me.

Health care is a given. Ours is too wealthy a country for anyone to go without basic medical services. Most of the developed countries of the world already have systems in place to treat their citizenry. It is shameful that we don't. I will commission a study of all the best health care systems in the world to date and we will quickly devise a plan utilizing the best of these systems and this plan will be implemented in my first term. Of course there will be problems initially, we expect that, but we will learn what is best and iron out the wrinkles over time. For all the wealthy people who say they deserve better care than the unemployed non tax paying mug down the block, you are right and that care will be available. But you will have to pay. Non essential care like elective surgeries will be billed higher. Every nose job, boob job, penis enlargement and the like will be billed at a rate that will allow the hospitals and physicians to perform procedures on needy patients that are uncovered by our basic plan. Plastic surgery, for instance, on a child who was disfugured in a fire or car crash. People who feel they need care in excess of what is provided may either pay for better or continue to subscribe to the scam called health insurance companies. Their choice. Billions of dollars are currently being spent to wage an unnecessary war. In my administration, much of that money will go to this toast: To your health! Vote for me.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Vote For Me

After today I won't be blogging on quite such a regular basis. Since we the people are being discouraged from being funny, I've decided to run for President of the United States. I expect this will take up a lot of my time. I am going to make my run for that high office from here in Panama to avoid the temptations that other candidates are subjected to as they travel about the States. The last thing I need is some large corporation trying to sway my stance by offering me millions. I am, however, open to being bribed not to run. Make your best offer.

The following are some of the issues and my position on them:

It is clear that we the American people are some of the dumbest folk in the developed world. If I see one more graph showing we are ninth in math, sixth in science, eleventh in literacy, etc., I am going to puke all over the Oval Office. In my presidecy we will be among the best in everything, because we have the resources to be so. Education and the environment will be my two highest priorities. The largest parts of our national budget will be to fix these two problems.
First off, teachers will be paid salaries that will be large enough to draw the best and the brightest to the field. Better teachers mean better teaching and better results. My goal is for our national IQ to rise by the end of my presidency and continue rising with each successive generation after that. In other words, a reversal of the current trend that sees us dumbing down day after day. Yes, some students will be left behind, but only because they just don't have the mental capacity to attain our minimum educational standards. These people will receive training to lead productive lives in less demanding jobs. As I see it, one of the reasons we have become a second rate nation (apart from military power) is that we are unaware of just how stupid we are. Past Presidents have encouraged this blindness of reality as it is easier to manipulate a stupid populace than it is an educated one. My Department of Education will have a national newspaper on the order of USA Today that will provide educational tools and tips gleaned from successful programs around the world and will also alert our people to what is going on educationally in other countries and how we stack up. We Americans are a competitive bunch. I think we will make rapid gains in education as soon as we realize how stupid we are to begin with. The newspaper will be monitored by an oversight committee with members from all Parties to see that political opinion stays on the OP/Ed pages of regular newspapers where they belong. America we must wake up, read a book, get a clue!

Funding? Funding will be easy, but I'll get to that later.

The Environment must be preserved and protected. Any person, corporation, industry or who or whatever that does anything to damage the environment as a means of making money will be fined by whatever amount it takes to make them desist. There are countless ways to make money, you're a bright fella, do something else. Clean air, water and soil standards will be the highest in the world. To achieve them, my presidency will offer huge rewards for the development of clean energy and tax breaks extending into the far future for companies that implement the use of clean energies. That's right, reward and punishment. Show me another way to motivate the environmental abusers and I'll get right on it. We need to be an environmental model the rest of the world will aspire to.

We will continue to have a Defense Department. Obviously, if attacked, we will defend ourselves with all the will, determination and resources we can muster. Super Bowls are won with good defenses. Super Powers need them as well. What we won't have is a Department of Offense. No country will ever again fear an invasion by the U.S. without an offical Declaration of War by Congress and an approval of that Declaration by A NATIONAL VOTE OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. The people will decide if their kids should go to war. There is no question in my mind that after 9/11, America would have voted YES to Afghanistan and, had they not been repeatedly lied to, NO to Iraq. War is too hideous to be left in the hands of a few powerful people. An educated populace must decide for itself. An immediate withdrawal from Iraq will occur when I am elected. ALL our intelligence services say that our presence there is a detriment and is creating a jihad mentality (holy war) throughout the Muslim world. A poll of the Iraqui people indicates that a majority are in favor of the incursions against our troops. If they want us gone, we can't get out quick enough. As for the War on Terror, there is no such thing. Terror is an emotion not a country. If you want to go to war against an emotion, get a shrink. Terrorists are criminals not soldiers. They should be caught and brought to justice. My administration will deal harshly with terrorists while trying to eliminate the causes and conditions that lead to terrorist thinking. As much emphasis will be placed on the latter part of that sentence as the first. My administration will address the fears of the American people and try to alleviate them in any way we can and fear itself will never be used as a tool to achieve political ends.

Vote for me. More tomorrow or whenever I think of something good like making The Broncos our National Team.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Be Serious

I can't be funny anymore. I can't even try to be funny. I've just read an article that says we have over done the funny thing and we have to get serious again. Apparently we suffer from the Seinfeld Effect, to wit, everyday life is funny, therefore my life is funny, and in truth, most people can't pull that off because, most people and their lives are NOT funny. Or so the writer contends.

Hhmmm.

This is very deep. It speaks to the very nature of personality. I think (there I go again with the headaches) that if you see the world as a funny place and life itself as a funny endeavor, then by all means, carry on matey. On the other hand, if you see the world and life as otherwise then be true to that otherwise. Unless, of course, the otherwise is sick, twisted and evil like the people who serve canned spinach and fundamentalist anythings. In those cases, intervention by funny people will be necessary. Should that fail, the STE's should be banished to a non funny place and be quarantined with other non funny people. Any of the Red states will do.

The other hilarious bit I read this morning was the list of the most banned books. The Harry Potter series led the way with "To Kill a Mocking Bird" a close second. No explanations were given for why any of the books on the list were banned, but it's fairly easy to deduce why these first two should be heaved onto the fire. Potter is magical fantasy and we newly serious people don't do fantasy and there is no justification for killing mocking birds. They are too small for a decent meal and besides, they taste funny. Funny is out.

So enough of this having fun stuff for me. I've got to get on with my serious day in my serious life. Charly, hand me my glasses. Not those, the Grouch ones with the nose and the mustache. I want to make an impression at the bank.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Observations on Important Stuff

Here's an observation and a question: In every shoot-em-up movie I've ever seen there comes a moment when the hero dives to the floor because bad guys are firing at him through the windows, walls or doors usually with automatic weapons spitting out dozens of rounds. The hero never gets hit though, because the shooters only fire at what is roughly a waist high level. My question is, have bad guys never seen a movie? Don't they know the hero is on the floor? Is there something wrong with their guns, they can't shoot ankle high? Okay that's three questions, but c'mon, do they all have low IQ's?

And speaking of Bush.

Another thing I need to know is about sneezing. Sneezing is one of those things that I suffer from. Anyone else share this? When I sneeze all the heat leaves my body and for 5 or 6 seconds I am just frozen from head to toe. Is this weird or common? Somebody take a poll.

Flipping the dial, I come across reruns of a tv show called, "Everwood." This is not a pornographic show as you first might guess or even a medical condition requiring treatment by, say, the E.R. staff, but rather a show about, among other protagonists, a teenage boy, which, now that I think about it, would also be a good guess. Everwood. Sounds painful and no doubt requiring a clever tailor.

Straight must be a word that drives people learning English totally bonkers. Even little British and American kids.

"That's right Dear, sound it out."

"Strah ig hut."

"Good boy."

A Swell Veldt Part 10

It was not going well for Lord Sahib Sackable who now thought of himself as Lord I Need a Drink, as he stumbled across the vast veldt. Some of the spots he was seeing before his eyes took to landing on parts of his exposed skin and nipping him viciously while the others remained in place despite his efforts to wave them away. Bongo and his boys had slipped off with the Earl’s gin, but had left him otherwise well provisioned. No matter, where the Earl was least equipped was between his ears, the place where good sense had been replaced with bad temper. Without Bongo to lead him about the bush, Sahib was hopelessly inept.

It would be difficult to say which of his many mistakes was his first, but among the early ones was the discharging of many rounds of ammo into the air. The Earl had done this, not in hopes that someone might have heard and rushed to his rescue, but rather in an angry fit of pique that to him, required noise above the decibel levels achieved by his bellowing. When his own ears had begun to ring from the sustained barrage, he had put down the rifle, the only weapon left to him, and taken note of the many shell casings lying on the ground about him. I wonder if, he thought, and then checking confirmed, how many bullets were in fact left. They totaled three.

As the day wore on and warmed on as well, Sackable began to discard the few possessions he had brought along. Back pack and utility belt were abandoned first and then bits of seemingly unnecessary clothing, jacket, scarf, pith helmet and whatnot were left strewn behind him. The Lord was not accustomed to carrying much beyond himself and, when fatigued, not even that. They don’t call them bearers for nothing was his motto at such times. In a little less than two hours he had reduced his burden to rifle, canteen and a mounting surliness that rivaled the fabled rhino’s. Beastly it was and beastly it would need be.

Monday, September 25, 2006

A Rant and a Rave

I guess in retrospect...if you are going to have spect, retro is probably the best kind...I didn't miss much by not seeing the Ryder Cup. The U.S. (Usual Suspects?) ...sus is a good kind of spect to have has well...got trounced by the Euros and there was little drama to be had. It's just that,well, in lieu of the RyderCup, our crack program selectors from Venezuela decided to air The X Games. Let me repeat, The X Games. Instead of an international competition featuring the best golfers from Europe playing the best Golfers from the U.S.A., we were shown grown men flipping bicycles and twirling on skateboards. "I give him a nine Ralph, that was a full 360 with no hands. I haven't seen that since like two minutes ago when the last guy did it." I realize that golf is not everyone's cup of tea, but if you are over 12 and you watch The X Games, I sincerely reccomend you get either therapy, a clue or mind altering drugs. You need a life.

Thank you, I do feel better now.

Afortunadamente, my angst ... a good word that conjures something both adolescent and lying on a couch spilling your guts to a german psychiatrist who says, "Ah so, and zen vatt happens?" and actually means "a gloomy,(Gloomy, in case you haven't noticed, is a perfect word. It sounds exactly like what it means.) often neurotic feeling of generalized anxiety and depression" so the conjuring is right on the money... was relieved by watching the Broncos playing and defeating the Patriots on Sunday Night Football after a long afternoon of short conversations, mostly chitchat (another on- the- money sounding word) with new pals on an old friend's, well relatively speaking, balcony, sipping assorted beverages -I had coffee followed by champagne (heartburn is my friend) - and munching most delicious foodstuffs including French dip sandwiches which, of course, cry out to be washed down by champagne because, you know, it's a French thing, and mingling about getting a sense of this guy and that gal. (Where would the Monkeymind be without run-on sentences?) In short - yes I can be short - party stuff for the over fifty set. All in all a day well spent.

The X Games....... Give me a break.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Worrier

You wouldn't know to look at me, but I'm a worrier. And for good reasons. For instance:

There are a couple programs I use to download music from the internet. They are free and some of 21st century life's nicer amenities. You probably use something of the sort yourself. The thing that worries me and probably you too if you think about it, is that these programs, in collusion with my computer, also download music I haven't asked for. I have at least a dozen songs on my random play list that neither I nor Woowoo Charly have ever heard before, and, in reality, wouldn't have chosen to hear a second time if we had. So what's the harm you ask? I don't know for sure... BUT... what if it's downloading other things you haven't asked for? What if it's downloading recipes or car repair instructions? Still so what, you say. Okay, what if it's downloading tiny devices that can emit rays that signal your dog to attack or cyber pods that absorb your personality and replace it with those of Aliens or Neo Cons, which are probably the same thing, or invisible beams of light that shoot into your eyeballs and blind you whenever you try to read Molly Ivans or Keith Olberman. What if you already have a program downloaded that's sending the subliminal message, Go Raiders? What about that huh? Still not worried? Well I am, but then I'm a worrier.

I'm also worried about Baru, our own personal volcano. It's been looking a little down lately. I think the constant shroud of clouds wrapped around its pointy parts that happens this time of year are beginning to get on its nerves. Last night we had a beautiful sunset that backdropped Baru in pinks and oranges and I thought I could detect a slight perking up of its shoulders, but this morning, what with the wind and rain back, they're all slumped and gray looking again. Don't know what to do to help. Maybe a big Prozac dropped from a copter into the chasm at the top might cheer it up. Of course, that might make it too frisky though. Might start spitting stuff back at us. And what do we do if that happens, being so close and all. Jeez, now I'm really worried. But then, I'm a worrier so it's all normal...right?

Friday, September 22, 2006

Nothing

Hugo Chavez, the president of Venezuela, taking the floor at the U.N. the day after Bush had made his speech, said, " The Devil was here yesterday. I can still smell the sulphur." I don't want to rely on news to inspire my blog, I'd rather write about absolutely nothing, which is one of my favorite topics, but old Hugo cracked me up. "I can still smell the sulphur." The man has style.

He also used the word hegemony alot. That's a good word. I had to look it up. It means a country imposing its views on another country. Well, c'mon, what upstanding All American country would do a thing like that? It's a mystery to me. Anybody know?

But enough of that, let's talk about nothing. Nothing reared its ugly head while I was sleeping the other night, interrupting a pleasant dream about a girl I used to know in High School covered in chocolate chip cookie dough. One minute I'm mixing the batter and the next...nothing. It remained nothing for quite some time after that until my dog licked my face and woke me up to something. That being, of course, a dog licking my face. Where does the nothing go when you are on to something? And why is it so hard to get to nothing when you try for it? I was out on the blacony the other day for a good fifteen minutes following my breath in and out and om-ing to beat the band and couldn't get to nothing for nothing. There was always something. First it was why is that dog barking and then it was why is that kid crying and after that it was are they going to show The Ryder Cup on ESPN, the extra sensory perception network and then a whole stream of things like one liners from my subconscious. What's the deal with that. I was looking for a little relaxing nothing and instead I get a hit parade of my current concerns. That Ryder cup one, by the way, was way up the list. Right after the Bronco something and the one about what's that smell. Anyway, I'm going to leave you now and go consider nothing for awhile longer because, honestly, I've got nothing...else.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

At a Loss For Words

Ninjas would be a good name for a sports team. Ninjas vs. Cardinals sounds like a mismatch though, even if the Cardinals are mucky muck catholics. Of course we already have "Tigers Maul Orioles" in boldface, so I guess it doesn't matter. I wonder why we never see violent headlines from the gentler nicknamed teams. You know, like "Angels Bomb Padres" or "Ravens Totally Flocked"? No imagination, I guess. The State colleges of Oregon have two of my favorite nicknames, Ducks and Beavers. I'm still waiting for the headline that says, "Beavers shoot back." I may have to wait awhile.

So, how's it going with you out there today? Everything okay? Good. Any requests?

I was just sitting here thinking about nothing in particular which is a semi buddhist thing to do. Thinking about Nothing. See, if you can get to Nothing, then you are open to Everything. Or so I've read. I must be open to Everything because I got Nothing. Just goes to show you shouldn't believe everything you read unless, you know, it's here where the truth comes to hide. For instance, I read this morning that if you drink five cups of green tea a day you will live forever or die from cancer. All other forms of death are excluded by the tea. Truth is there is still that bus bumper with your name on it. Besides, who wants to die from cancer? Have you ever had green tea? Yeah. Then you know. Green tea is to tea what light beer is to Guiness. There's no tea in the tea.

What else? What can I comment on? I'm taking questions from the audience. Anybody? C'mon, I'm at Wit's End which is a terrible place to be. No Wit. I'll have to go back to where Wit is. Tomorrow. Maybe. There's always a Swell Veldt.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Monkeyminding Galore

My mind is all over the mental map this sunny Sunday morning. Fueled by coffee, my neurons, electrons, protons and amateurtons are firing away in random order even if random and order seem to be opposites. It ain't called a monkeymind for nothin.

Is it possible that football, buddhsim, world peace, cookies, dreams and dogs can all occupy mental space in the same mind at the same time? It is if you're me.

Focus Doc, focus. Sort, separate and simplify.

I'll start with football first because I mentioned it first, even though world peace probably gets the nod by a smidgeon on a list of most important. Either that or dogs. The Broncos play today and the game is significant because they lost their opener last week. They can't start 0 and 2 and expect much from the season. They need to win and they need to win convincingly against a rebuilding opponent playing in Denver. The game is being shown here and I'm antsy to see it. I expect a win, in fact I expect a blowout and if I don't get both, I'll stress all next week in that small area of myself I reserve for inconsequential, I choose to have it, stress. This is a good form of stress. It's easy to put aside.

Jumping to the next brain cell branch I find buddhism. I've just read that the Dali Lama says you can be a jewish buddhist or a christian buddhist. In other words, buddhism will accomodate other religious doctrines. Alrighty then, that's makes me an agnostic buddhist. It's good to be something, finally.

In Denver Nobel Peace Prize winners are gathering to promote world peace. Why they are not in Washington where The Bush Administration is gathering to promote world war, beats me. Well not really. There is an organization there in Denver, Peacejam, that has brought these brilliant people together to hear their thoughts. So far their thoughts run along the lines of mine and I'm not smart at all. Bush sucks is one thought they have expressed in one way or another. I've had the same thought for quite some time. Hey, maybe I'm smarter than I think. Anyway, it makes me proud of Denver which I still consider my home town.

Tired of cake, I bought a bag of semi sweet chocolate chips and using the recipe on the back I made cookies. I'm afraid to eat them. There are mountains of butter and sugar inside them and even though I have them securely imprisoned in a zip lock bag downstairs, I fear they will escape and invade my body to clog arteries and grow massive mounds of fat. I'm going back to cake.

My dream was...well, see, now I can't remember.

Mostly I'm worried about my dog. Gus is a special, spoiled boy used to lots of attention, affection and care. We are going to be gone for a month and I keep thinking of all the things I need to tell his dogsitter to do and wondering if she will bother. I mean he needs to have the goobers cleaned from the corners of his eyes everyday. He needs to get his bone at four oclock sharp and his cookies meted out in a certain playful way. He has to have a fight with my sneakered foot almost nightly and a tug of war on demand. He knows that if we sit at the table and eat, he can't bother us, but if we snack on the couch, he gets some. He needs walks and avocado hunts and a noisy but not viscious scrap with Bobby his nemesis. The look on his face when we leave him alone for an hour or two is heart breaking. What will he do when we are gone for a month? Will he be able to stand it? Will I?

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Keeping Abreast

The televison shows that are aired here in English have Spanish subtitles. In a perfect world, that is, in my perfect world, the shows aired in Spanish would have Spanish subtitles. (Also in my perfect world I'd be taller, but that's another blog.) I can read Spanish fairly well, but I don't hear Spanish worth a damn. Okay, I hear it, I just don't understand the meaning of what sounds like one long word. That word arrives at my ears faster than the many words on paper arrive at my eyes. At least that was the case until last night. Last night my reading skill was put to the test when "Justicia Ciega" (Boston Legal renamed Blind Justice) came on and there was no sound track. We have been following the show since we discovered it a week or so back and wanted to keep abreast of the ongoing story lines, so I just read and translated aloud the subtitles. They come and go muy rapido. Like flash cards of sentences.

Denny Crane pleasure remember time affair we you look hot same. So Alan no es possiblay me understand look at gorgeous can't expect comment no. Judge client suffers objection science intelligent design neither irrelevant schools we won. Man little will again kill sorry. Women cigars should have. My name is Schmidt.

Yeah. And me Tarzan you Jane.

In other news, I read this morning that nine Nobel Peace Prize winners meeting in Denver have come up with what evil is, to wit: racism, poverty and environmental destruction. I've got no argument there, although I would add long Par 4's to the list. That and green peppers. Green peppers are evil too. (The New York Yankees, Dallas Cowboys, Oakland Raiders and Rap music go without saying.)

According to some group I read about somewhere... an infallible source, the Dutch have now surpassed Americans as the tallest people on the planet. In my next life I'm coming back as a Vanderwalton.

Friday, September 15, 2006

Bedtime

I went to bed early last night. That sentence tolls an hour in most minds. Eleven? Ten? Surely not nine? Do you mean earlier than usual or just...early? Truth is, I went to bed at seven oclock last night. No I wasn't sick. No I wasn't tired. I wasn't even bored. I just had nothing better to do than a Dick Francis novel read sitting up in bed where the light is good and the pillows are cushy. Downstairs the muted sounds of Desperately Dramatic Housewives, CSI (Chemicals Surely Imbibed), Dr. House, Law and Order Pizza, that's the one with the two Italian guys, one handsome, one chubby, wait...the chubby guy might be Irish, and some show whose sound track I couldn't recognize, mingled madly together telling me that Woowoo Charly was either not captivated by the evening's fare or was just thrilled with having the remote control at her end of the couch.

As the night wore on...as the night went on...as the night did whatever it is that night's do to eventually become day, I gradually, in small increments, slid further and further down the pillow pile. Somewhere around the neighborhood of nine, a neighborhood that thirty okay forty years ago I would have considered going out in, I tossed two of my three pillows somewhere, abandoned Francis' protagonist who had just been heaved over a balcony by bad guys, hit the light and lay back to listen to yet another version of Law and Order. I can always tell it's L and O because every few minutes there is a sound indicating a scene change that goes, chunk chunk.
This is currently my favorite show to fall asleep to. There is lots of dialogue by players whose voices I recognize and despite it being a cop show, the Law part anyway, there are few gunshots, explosions and car chases. Little, in other words, to startle me from the downward spiral of sleep or, when arriving at sleeps's door, to provoke disturbing dreams. The only better way to fall asleep, as far as I can tell, is to have the book fall gently onto your chest as you insert yourself into the mystery of it's pages. This, however, can result in a mashed book and a twisted pair of glasses. Both of these sleep inducing methods, the actual drone of the tv and the mental drone of words losing their meaning, I understand to be white noise. That is, a masking noise that blots out other noises leaving you with only the hum of itself. I find it a near essential for a good night's sleep.

Charly begs to differ. Okay, she doesn't actually beg. It's more a noisy insistence. She says the way to fall asleep is to lie in the dark with no sounds whatsoever and let your mind follow its own path to unconsciousness. How weird is that? Not weird? You agree with her? But what about that rustling outside the window and what's that noise coming from the downstairs? Did you hear that? Sounds like somebody's on the roof. How can anyone go to sleep with all that going on? No matter to Charly, she drifts right off.

Over the year's, being the splendid partner she is, Charly has mostly tolerated my noisy departure from wakefulness as, once I'm asleep, she can turn out the light, turn off the noise and then join me in coma. The reverse doesn't work for obvious reasons. I can't wait for her to fall asleep and then turn on the lights or the white noise. This falls under the category of let sleeping wives lie. I'd rather face the guy on the roof then wake her.

Last night, then, as it turned out, worked for both of us. We fell asleep in our own happy fashions and this A.M. Charly's feeling swell, I'm chipper and even the dog looks refreshed. So... seven oclock, a good hour for bed? Nah. I don't think so. It's just too weird.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

A Swell Veldt Part 9

Rhinos are a not particularly social animal. Rarely will you catch them clustered around the water cooler discussing Desperate Mouse Lives with others of their kind before setting off about their daily routines. No, they prefer solitude to company, which in the grand scheme of things, is probably to the betterment of all as Rhinos are quite cranky at the sight of the rising sun. Their attitude ascends from cranky steadily along to irritable during the day and I would be remiss if I failed to point out the completely appalling dispositions they achieve by nightfall. It was, therefore, as Miles Everhard squinted through his binoculars at the great black beast pawing clouds of dust around him, that he was looking at an animal, it would be fair to say, who was not in a good mood.

Miles made one of those slow motion, dry swallows lacking a trace of liquid that end in an audible gulp and reached for his flask.

“What is it Miles? Cynthia said, intercepting the flask and taking a belt herself. Lady Sackable was a modern woman and believed that the fair sex were quite capable of doing what men were doing, especially if what men were doing was shots. “What do you see?”

“Oh nothing, really, Lady Ess, just the longest horn I’ve ever spied, quite intimidating actually, and the fellow sporting it looks somewhat menacing as well. Here then, take a look for yourself.”

Miles and Cynthia exchanged flask and binoculars with Miles getting several quick swigs in the process while Lady Ess adjusted focus on the distant rhino. When at last the image sharpened, she jumped back at the seeming closeness of the great beast.

“Oh my word,” she exclaimed as she regained her composure and refitted the glass to her eyes. “He’s magnificent. I’ve never seen such a horn. Oh Miles, I must get my hands on it.”

“And so you shall if I have anything to say about it and I do have something to say about it” said Miles.

What he said next was a shock to no one who knew him well. He said in the best I’m in charge here tone he could muster, “Noblong, come over here. I’ve got a job for you.”

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The Colorado Denvers

Did I say 12 and 4? What was I thinking? Make it 11 and 5. The Wild Horses That Can’t Be Tamed were butt butted by The Rams.

And speaking of lame team monikers it’s hard to beat the Utah Jazz, - “Ladies and Gentlemen let’s give it up for The Morman Tabernacle Choir as they cover the best of Louie Armstrong!” – but Colorado’s pro teams, as a group, should receive some sort of dumbness trophy. I’ve already mentioned the Broncos and they are possibly the best of the lot. Consider now the Nuggets, Rockies, Avalanche and Rapids.

The Denver Nuggets. Let’s just assume the average jamoke from Iowa knows that we’re talking gold and not chicken Mac. He’d still have to wonder what the team’s logo looked like. A pile of shiny rocks would be a good guess. Rocks of a certain size can be intimidating in a snowball fight, but apart from that not much help against the Hawks or the Warriors. I’ll bet if I called the front office to explain, they would tell me that you take the Nuggets to an assayer’s office, determine their value, swap them for cash, trot on down to Gart Brothers Sporting Goods, buy a gun and shoot the Memphis Grizzlies. Get a little bug spray for the Hornets while you are at it. Nuggets, jeez. Their mascot is a guy dressed up like a cougar. You can see the connection there right? Little pile of shiny rocks…cougar? Colorado Cougars! It should have happened.

Colorado Rockies. This might make sense if other states had Rockies as their team name as well. The Utah Rockies, the Wyoming Rockies, etc. We tack on the Colorado part so you know which Rockies we’re talking about. It’s not like the Rockies are exclusive to Colorado and here I am already assuming the average bear knows that Rockies is short for the Rocky Mountains and not, as I’ve noted somewhere before, people who are unsteady on their feet. Average Bears, by the way, would be a great name for this franchise. It would give them something to aspire to. The logo here is a mountain peak sitting majestically around doing nothing in particular to look menacing to the day’s opposition. Sort of like the team’s player lineup. And the mascot? I know, you’re thinking a guy dressed as a mountain. Nope, it’s a guy in a purple dinosaur costume. Fat and cuddly. Eat your heart out Diamondbacks. This is a team that should have been the Denver Bears, a named used by an earlier minor league team that played there and kept baseball in the public eye. There would be a nice historical connection in that. Instead we get Rockies which was the name of a former hockey team that played in Denver. Sheesh.

I kind of like Avalanche. The more I think about it, the more I like it. I like their colors, their logo and avalanches are intimidating and fear inducing. Our team will bury yours kind of image. I don’t know what their mascot is. Can’t be a guy dressed as snow, can it? Considering Colorado’s other choices it’s probably something with a nice avalanche tie in like, you know, a guy in a squirrel suit.

Then we have the soccer team which is the Rapids. I’m guessing that means their players are fast and their logo looks like the guy on the street light when it turns green. I’m afraid though, they just mean fast moving water. Doesn’t matter. This is soccer I'm talking about. Nobody is watching anyway.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

A Rainy Day

It rained all day yestidday so I went down to da Bada Bing to shoot some stick and tawk to da guys. Paulie and Cristafah wuz already dere. Tone and Sil came in latah. Sil brought some gabagule and baked ziti wid im, so we din't have ta manja dat fuckin bah food. Aftah eatin an playin a couple racks, we moved to da back room to discuss some bizness. It ad been a coupla weeks since we whacked sum bahdy and we wuz all gettin a little itchy, a little tight, if ya know whad i'm sayin. Tone was havin some problems at home wid Carm, Paulie's mom was drivin im crazy and Christafah was all jumpy like, so I'm tinking he's back on da juice. Anywayz, dey looked like dey could use a little action ta blow off steam or sometin. Me and Sil was nawmal as usual, wich is ta say, always ready ta whack sum gavone for dah famly. Hey, mamaluche, idz my job. So aftah kickin it aroun faw an ow-ah or so, we tahget one a dah New Yawk mob dats been cuttin in ta ah supply of dansahs, you know, payin em maw to shake der tits at his club. Dis ain't nice. Dis ain't right. Dis ain't respectful. Ya gotta ask fuhst. Plus we heah in Jersey don't like dose New Yawk cocksukahs anyway. Da plan is dis. We're gonna get Christafa's girlfriend to go down ta dis mope's joint and audition faw im. Adriana's got a body on er like, how can I say dis, widout offendin Christafah, like vada vada voom if ya know whad i'm sayin. She's gonna come on ta da guy and ged im to take huh to huh houze. When he comes true da daw ah dah place, we'll all be waitin. I'm a simple, straight fawwad kinda guy, so ahm just gonna shoot im. Tone, he likes the wire so he's goin for da garrote. Paulie's a shiv man and Christafah he'll just plain beat ya ta death, so it shud be a fun time faw every bahdy. Aftawuhds, we'll chop im up and pud em in kitchen bags, take em to da shaw an feed im to da fishes. Mahhdone, dis is gonna be fun.

It did rain all day yesterday and there was a best of The Sopranos marathon on cable. Guess what I did.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Denver Football Fare

Although Denver is my team, I've never liked the name Broncos. First off, a bronco, bucking or otherwise, is a wild horse that cowboys catch and tame. "Break" is the term used for this taming. Who wants a team that can be broken to some other teams will? Especially by Cowboys... or Raiders. And secondly, Broncos is a funny word to say. Brahhn Cohz. I like horses though, and I like the fierce horsehead logo on the side of Denver's helmets so I won't advocate abandoning the name entirely. Instead I am now officially starting the movement to alter the name to The Denver Wild Horses That Can't Be Tamed. Who's with me?

Lest you think me frivolous, I feel I should point out that I was the one who lobbied year after year for the Broncos to change their featured color from orange to blue, noting that orange was a nice color on fruit, but rarely seen on winning sports teams. No team featuring orange, to this day, has ever won a Super Bowl. Tampa Bay claims their uniform color is orange, but it is really a shade of red. When the Broncos listened to me at last and changed their unies to predominately blue, they immediately won two championships and have pretty much been in the hunt ever since. Tampa Bay after tweaking their orange to red also got to hoist the Lombardi Trophy.

Attention to detail matters. Team nicknames, colors and especially the selection of cheerleaders and their outfits go a long way towards making a team a winner.

That said, here is my prediction for this years Denver Wild Horses That Can't Be Tamed:
12 wins 4 losses. The losses will be to New England, Pittsburgh and Kansas City on the road and to Baltimore at home. Denver has difficulty beating teams like The Ravens who wear purple. Check their record against Baltimore and Minnesota and you'll see what I mean. Ultimately, The Wild Horses That Can't Be Tamed will make it to the AFC Championship Game where they will lose to, and this is ironic, The Colts. The Colts will then go on to beat the Giants in a Manning vs. Manning sequel to their first game of the season shootout.

One final thought. If you think The Denver Wild Horses That Can't Be Tamed is a bit unweildly then consider this: I just read a book entitled "There's Nothing In This Book That I Meant To Say." So see, it's a trend.

Friday, September 08, 2006

The Jump Shot

I was watching the Shock Absorbers, Detroit's women's pro basketball team playing the Sacramento, I'm thinking, Monarchs, when I saw something that was, truly, shocking. One of their players, a woman named Deanna Nolan, shot a jump shot. This was amazing in that, heretofore, women did not shoot jumpshots. They shot push shots while jumping. Let me explain. The term jump shot is actually a misnomer. Jumping up while shooting does not constitute a jump shot despite the logic there. Jumping up, stopping at the jump's peak, then shooting, then coming down, is what I, and now the world - hey, this blog gets around- understands to be a jump shot. It would be called the jumping up stopping shooting coming down shot if there was any real rhyme or reason to the universe, but then, let's be serious, Dubya is president. Back in the day, at the dawn of jump shots, my own was a thing of beauty. I would rise effortlessly above the other players regardless of their size, survey my surroundings, find a pretty girl's face among the crowd, make eye contact with the sweet thing, wink, look back at the basket and then toss the ball in a gentle arc through the net, before returning to the hardwood. Okay, I'm fibbing a little bit. I didn't wink. The trick here, was to stay in the air until your opponent, who had jumped up with you, returned to earth before you released the ball. If you can't visualize what I am describing, think of Michael Jordon in the early years before he had to fade away to get his shot off. You know, when he could still jump and wore an "I want to be like Doc" t-shirt in practice. So it was surprising to see a woman actually shoot this kind of shot. The stopping at the top of the jump had always eluded them until now. Defiance of gravity, like car maintenance, a "guy thing." I guess it won't be long before they will be doing the full 360 reverse slam left handed tomahawk net ripper dunk and I won't have a single shot left I can call my own. Oh well, that's progress I guess.

Thursday, September 07, 2006

Picture Painting

Jorge the painter speaks the kind of Spanish that makes me crazy. It's kind of slurry and sounds like Aaron Neville messing with the last syllabal of a song. There is nary a consonant to be found anywhere in the yodel and even a simple phrase like bueno dias becomes hard to decipher as it arrives as when-0de-ee-oss. I fear I will be technically fluent and still be unable to understand the regular speech of the everyday Panamanian. Not that that's a problem. I get by being clueless as to the lyrics of your average rap or hip hop song apart from the ubiquitous "fuck" and when I lived in the South as I young man I went weeks nodding and smiling at people whose language was theoretically the same one I was using even though only every fourth or fifth word was recognizable as such. So no big deal really.

"What's that Jorge?" Si, si, por favor. Whoops. I think I just agreed to have the window glass painted over. Ah well, we can always go outside for the view.

Jorge has been here since Tuesday painting most of the interior. It all looks good and is essentially the same sort of peachy color we had before, but a touch darker and, of course, less faded looking. Gus can't wait to get wet and rub himself dry against the bottom ten inches of the walls. I'm told though, that this paint is easier to clean than the old stuff. Gus is looking at me as I write this and has just said in dog, a language easier to understand than street Spanish, "you're sure to find out."

Displaced, discombobulated, disarrayed and other forms of being dissed short of disaster are what it's like to be living in a house while it's being painted. Nothing is where it is supposed to be. "Charly, hand me the remote will ya." Charly? Charly?" Now where have they put her. Amazingly, Gus remains the same color. I thought for sure, he'd end up peachy and we'd have to wait for movement to see him like picking out Predator against the backdrop. We've tried to vacate for as long as we can the last two days, but we've run out of things to do outside the house. I've had today planned for weeks now and I'm not altering my schedule for any reason. The NFL season gets underway at seven and as soon as I finish this, I'm going downstairs to sit in front of the tv to wait for it. I just hope there are air holes in those drop cloths.

There was one other thing I wanted to talk about today that has nothing to do with what I've already talked about but since a segue is usually called for at times like this - I once had a Toyota Segue that got 36 miles to the gallon- here's the one that comes to mind. Kevin Bacon once had his house painted by a guy named Kirk which just happens to be the name of the most famous character that William Shatner ever played. Shatner is now on a show called Boston Legal. Charly and I have seen commercials for BL several times and commented that it looked like something we would want to watch. Unfortunately, it never played here in Panama...we thought. This is not unusual, by the way, especially in sports. Many events are promoted, but never seen, which better not be the case with tonight's game or Gus and I will be completely out of sorts, which is a thing you should never be out of. Anyway, flippingthe flipping dial last night, I came across a show called Justicia Ciega which means, Blind Justice. Wouldn't you know, it's Boston Legal. I can only speculate as to the name change, but I think it has something to do with Mariano Rivera, a Panamanian, playing for Yankees. That and Boston being a hard word to slur in Spanish. Anyway, it appears to be a good show. We'll watch it again.

Monday, September 04, 2006

The 100th Blog

Today's is my 100th blog. Calls for a celebration. I think I'll have another shot of coffee in my coffee. You, on the other hand, being younger and more energetic, should go out to breakfast, lunch and dinner, see a movie, buy a new car and another dog and do something with fireworks that will get you thrown in jail over night. Oh and a toast is in order. I like mine made from rye, almost burned, crunchy with plenty of butter.

To further help you celebrate I will tell you how to get very rich, very quickly. Bring back the pocket T. That's right, the t-shirt with the little pocket that designers abandoned when cigarette smoking fell from favor. Apparently it never occurred to the people who brought us shorts that hang to mid calf - shouldn't they be called mediums - that those pockets could be used for other things like glasses, pens, or cocktail napkins with someone's phone number and email addresses written on them. Why have a usefull pocket when a useless logo can make your customer a walking billboard. Okay, okay, I see the wisdom in that from their point of view, but am I a maverick, a radical, looney tunes or a visionary - actually, I am a visionarian, we treat the short-sighted -when I ask, why not both? Everyone and I mean everyone I've talked to, and this is a number exceeding four, has found this to be a good idea. So lets you get right on that right now and flood the market before Nike swooshes in and makes all the money. Of course if pocket T-s are already back, I mean they could be, we here in Panama are a step or two removed from the fashion capitols of the world, then let me know and I will give you my back up idea for making the long green. Here's a hint. It has something to do with saving fabric costs by making shorts... ah... well... short.

And on a related subject, related in the sense that Kevin Bacon sometimes wears t-shirts while reading, I had a thought about why everyone should read my blog and everything else they can get their hands on. Now you know what happens when I have thoughts. First there is the headache and then the weird compulsion to either write or say aloud what I was thinking. This is usually followed by laughter and people pointing their fingers and snorting. It's all very strange. Nevertheless, as there is no therapy to stop my thoughts from coming here and there, I give you this latest. People who don't read much see only the lifestyles that are around them. Narrows their choices. People who read a lot are introduced to thousands of potential ways to live a successful life. This makes them more open minded and more accepting of the choices made by others.

Compassion and t-shirts with pockets. The monkeymind lives.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

Just Another Day In Panama

Now that I've had a day to think of it, I'm fairly certain the movie was "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes."

I didn't get to watch an entire movie yesterday, but I did catch a bit of the cartoon flick "The Prince of Egypt." This is an animated remake of "The Ten Commandments" and it looked well done. The cartoon character playing Moses was a far better actor than Charlton Heston, but then, he, unlike Heston, was able to make actual facial expressions beyond stern.

My usual movie watching time slot was pre-empted by a visit to our travel agent. It was there that we learned our airfare to NY would cost $150 more than last time because of fuel costs. That's per ticket. I think the planes have got to stop pulling into those Exxon stations and start shopping the discount spots like Shamrock and Emerald. We take The Beast to a station outside of David that has no name at all, just pumps. It's often 15 cents a gallon cheaper than Shell, Texaco and the other biggies. Delta and Continental need to fill up there. How expensive can jet fuel be anyway? It's made from burritos isn't it?

In other news yesterday it rained and our power went out. These are fairly common occurences during the Rainy and Power Going Out Season which runs from May to November. The Dry and Power Going Out Season runs from November to May. Woowoo Charly and I sat on the balcony with cocktails and watched the rain come down. We would have had cocktails by candlelight but it was eleven in the morning. Just kidding, it was four...ish. The power was only out for an hour or so. Not much of a seige. The last time it was closer to six hours and it came back on in the dead of the night to awaken us from dreamland with forgotten lamps bursting on, digital clock flashing, computer beeping, printer noises and our dog leaping off the bed to bark at the ruckus. Nice.

And speaking of movies, flying and being powerless, has anyone seen "Snakes on a Plane"? and if so, why? Yikes. What a concept. Who would go to see snake movies besides someone like me who is compelled by lack of reason to watch horror movies even when they are bad. Snakes are creepy, literally and figuratively. Where are those killer tomatoes when you need them?

Friday, September 01, 2006

Good Movies

I watched the end of one of the worst movies ever yesterday. Or was it one of the best? Reviewers have to consider first the story line, followed by the quality of the acting , directing, lighting, sound, make up, wardrobe and, well, all those things that run down the screen at the end of the movie while they are filing out of the theatre listening to bad music. Fortunately, "The Creature With The Atom Brain" had none of the above as it was made on a budget consisting of whatever profit the producers could make selling Kool Aide at the side of the set, so reviewers were able to put aside trivial concerns like dialogue and focus exclusively on the special effects like the Creature breaking windows with his hands and never getting cut. The Creature, by the way, was a middle aged, balding guy in a suit who had a scar drawn horizontally across his forehead to indicate where his brain had been tampered with. This tampering - I missed the movie's beginning so I don't know what happened for sure - somehow left the Creature in a zombie state controlled by a mad scientist who was himself controlled by an agent of a corupt government. You know, like Cheney and Bush. Luckily for America and all the world, Richard Denning - you may remember him from "The Creature From The Black Lagoon." He was the blonde guy who along with Richard Carlson and Julie Adams looking stunning in a one piece white bathing suit did battle with The Gilman as he came to be known in several sequels- is able to track this Atom Brained Creature to his lair, a house in the suburbs, by flying overhead in a helicopter. Once there, he destroys the scientific equipment, a television and a cabinet with a lot of knobs, that are responsible for the Creature and a half dozen fellow zombies who were just activated before our hero's arrival and who were now out on the lawn fighting the police hand to hand and mostly winning. The equipment smashing is preceded by fisticuffs with Bush who has killed Cheney and is then killed by the Creature himself. Somehow the destruction of the tv and the cabinet with knobs causes the zombies, played by what look like insurance salesmen, to all shut off at once, fall down and I suppose, die. After that happiness ensues and the movie ends.

I gave it 4 stars out of a possible 5. The only movie I have actually given 5 stars to was "Plan Nine From Outer Space" which had no plot but had something to do with pie-pan flying saucers held aloft by a visible string, space aliens and Bela Lugosi as Dracula. Bela died while the movie was being made so his contribution was minimal, but enough to get the flick that extra star. I gave four and a half stars to a movie whose title was, I think, "The Tomato That Ate Chicago" - that may not be precisely correct, it was a long time ago and I only saw it once, but, should you ever come across it, it's a must see.

By now you are gleaning that I will pretty much watch any movie that the tv guide describes as "Horror." It is easily my favorite film genre and the reason why I must leave you now. There's a Richard Gere/ Julie Roberts flick starting on HBO in about five minutes. Whoa! Talk about scary!

A Swell Veldt Part 8

As the intrepid troop – one can’t say troop these days without first saying intrepid – traipsed across the swell veldt in search of its destiny or a good camping spot and Sahib Sackable and Leo the lion closed the distance to their rendezvous with fate or a near miss, Sahib’s headman, Bongo, was having second thoughts. Sure the Earl was a first class English prig, whatever that was, and sure he bellowed constantly and made outrageous demands, but you had to balance that against his other attributes, the good ones, which were…here Bongo was forced to pause for a moment… which were, which were, which were… paychecks! Sackable always paid at the end of his safaris amounts called variously “a pittance”, “a trifle”, “chump change” or “slave wages”, but he did always pay. Now with the gin neatly polished off, Bongo’s anger had subsided and his head was clearing between throbs. He was beginning to feel pangs of something he couldn’t quite grasp, so he paused again for further introspection. He quickly tossed off guilt, remorse and regret because, after all, the gin had been good and the Earl was…well, we’ve been over that, and he skipped the entire my brother’s keeper thing and the whole question of loyalty. What he landed on finally, and didn’t feel a bit bad about, was avarice, greed and complete self interest. It was the Earl himself who had schooled him in these traditional western ethics and he supposed there was a bit of a debt owing there. How many times had he heard old Sackable say with complete conviction, “money makes the veldt go round.” And it was this thought that did it. Snatching up his rifle and gear and waving moompow to his companions, Bongo set off to save the Earl and, of course, his paycheck.

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