Friday, August 29, 2008

Dems, Pubs and Conventions

"What the mind can conceive and believe the mind can achieve." Napolean Hill Hmmm. I wonder why the mind can't conceive and believe in peace. Is it so impossible? Deepak Chopra and I don't think so.

Obama Nation believes all sorts of things are possible. Things like health care, global cooling, alternative energy, calorie free carbohydrates and low cost interplanetary travel, to name just a few. They don't, however, believe it is possible for Barry Bonds to hit that many home runs without the use of steroids or believe there is any hope of getting women to wear dresses again. That last is a crying shame.

Their leader, Barack to the drawing board, is an impressive guy. His nomination acceptance speech last night was a gem. It had to be to follow the Clintons compelling orations. Deadpan Gore would have been a tough act to follow too - his speech was quite good - if he hadn't been on crack yesterday. The man delivered his one hour speech in under 15 minutes. I'll have to check this, but I think that may be a new record.

It will be interesting to see how the Repubs respond next week. I'm thinking holograms of Ike and maybe Reagan will be necessary to fire up the crowd. What else can they do, trot out the Bushes? I'm thinking their last great Prez was Teddy Rose and if he were alive today he'd be a Dem or an Indy. Not to worry though, they'll think of something. They've got all those big brains like Dan Quail, George W, Rush Limbaugh and the shout you down Fox talk show hosts working for their side. Should be a good show. Oh yeah, and they've got that song Happy Days Are Here Again. I've always liked that one. It's got a feel good melody like Zippety Do Dah.

Since The Federation has dropped out of the race to handle that Klingon/Romulan thing and my own personal candidate, Paris Hilton, has decided not to run, I guess I will have to cast my vote for Obama. I have two solid reasons for doing so. One, he's clearly the best choice out there and two, he will be the U.S.'s first president whose name ends in a vowel. Oh yeah, and three, I hear he's got a sweet jumper from the top of the key. I can relate to that.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

The Dems and the Federation

There's a convention going on in my hometown, Denver. The Dems are partying down hardy in preparation for tonight's official nomination of Barack Obama for president of "these here United States." Alrighty then. Woowoo Charly says she is proud of the Dems because in an election year in which they could have nominated a main stream white guy and been a shoo-in, they chose instead to take a risk and shake up history by giving their party a choice between a woman or a black guy. Nice. I hope it works out for them.

Personally, I'm voting for The Federation's candidate. It's time for a One World government and The Federation is on the right track. We, the planet's people will all be part of a social Democratic order and all decisions will be based on what is good for the world and not just individual states. Existing countries will be referred to as States and allowed to maintain their own cultural identities with the exclusion of violent aspects. The Federation's Capitol will be housed in different cities around the world changing location yearly. A ruling panel, or committee if you prefer, of twelve people will head up the government. These people will be elected on a biannual basis. By having a committee we insure that almost nothing will ever get done governmentally and progress will occur through the efforts of people outside the government. A strong military with Kirk and Picard standards will insure protection against incursions from other planets. Good manners will be a prerequisite and will be taught in all schools. Loud, aggressive, angry people will not be allowed to breed and anyone caught in acts of violence or even threatening same will be incarcerated. Might will not make right. Dogs and horses will have equal status with humans, but will not be allowed to vote. Cats will remain as they are throughout the world today, allowed to believe that humans are their slaves. Capital punishment will exist not only to punish the criminal, but to rid the world of golf cheaters, people who talk during movies and writers of inane television shows. When decisions affecting the world at large must be made and the committee is deadlocked, a vote will be put to all the world's people. Should the question remain unresolved, I'll handle it. Just ask me.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Golf Gods Are Fickle

Today is Tuesday or Martes (mar-tays), a day not nearly as nifty as Miercoles to say, but one that always contains the promise of golf. We the undaunted but frequently soggy socked did in fact take on the weather, the golf gods and the troll under the bridge at number six in search of golf's promise only to find that golf lies and its promises are rarely kept. To the Old Redneck it said be a good boy, adjust your alignment, have confidence and I will see to it that you don't hook onto the hillside at number two. We the watchers were not at all surprised when the O.R.'s ball curled into the gorse like a missile seeking heat...on three separate occasions. We had all seen our own hopes dashed and promises left unfulfilled periodically throughout the day. To me, Yers Trewly, was promised consistent good play after a first nine in which Woowoo Charly and I carded a team best 32. Somewhere on the next nine, golf gremlins took possession of my body and I began to channel a spastic, uncoordinated, lost soul holding a golf club for the very first time. It wasn't until midway through the third nine when holy water fell from the sky that I was able cast out the beast and reacquire my own swing. Of course the holy water then fell in such abundance that we had to quit for fear of drowning, reasoning that drowning holy is still drowning. The odds of my swing remaining in a state resembling grooved are slim if by slim I mean hahahahahaha. Our one true beginner at the game of golf, RTGFKAR, now hitting the ball on a semi regular basis was presented by golf with its next great dilemma. "If I use this club and hit it well the ball goes too far, but if I use this other club it doesn't get there. What do I do?" We veterans all had the same answer, "beats me." Woowoo Charly had the best day and seems on back patting terms with the golf gods. We suspect bribes or prayers are involved but have no proof. She drove the ball well from the tee and followed by pitching and putting like someone who knows what they are doing. At day's end she retired to Happy Hour convinced that all was now understood and good play would inevitably continue. In other words, golf has set her up for the next big fall. While the Old Redneck had occasion to holler his now patented golf oath, "damn it Larry" and RTGFKAR looked on in amazement as his ball soared poetically o'er the green and wondered aloud, "what the?" and Doc was heard to puzzle in bewilderment, "where did it go, where did it go?, Woowoo Chuck just picked up her tee after another long drive, whistled blissfully and strode up the fairway.

I feel sorry for her already.

Monday, August 25, 2008

We Can Go...I Think

If you know me you know that I hate being cold almost as much as I hate war, intolerance, ignorance, fevers and dropping heavy objects on my toes. It rained yesterday and it was cold. Well, at least for those of us with lizard DNA it was cold. And it's not looking any warmer this morning what with the sky blocked in gray and getting lower by the minute. Makes me glad to be going to Daveed where if the temperature dips below 80 the denizens cower in their homes fearing Armageddon is upon them.

We have to deal with the bureaucracy today. That's nearly as much fun as a toothache. We have to get our exit/entry visas renewed so we can head to NY next month. I fear that this will require sitting in the Immigration Office looking bewildered after someone takes your passport and papers, says I'll be right back and disappears for hours. Lunch, siesta, who knows. We think we have everything we need to accomplish our task, but it it sometimes feels as if the rules are what the guy in front of you determines them to be.

Those two paragraphs were written Monday. Today is Wednesday or Miercoles as we like to say here in Panama because Miercoles is a cool word that is fun to say and sounds so damned Spanish. Miercoles. That's me-air-co-lace to you single tongued souls. We never made it to Immigration. We drove by it a couple times but a line outside the door stretching down the street said no no gringo to us in all the languages we know. Let me see, that would be one and a half. We were later told by a reliable souse, I mean source, that the rules for Panamanian residency were changing on the 26th of August and by changing I mean getting more expensive, so the line outside the door was probably composed of people trying to get in under the old limbo bar. It further develops by leaving the stuff under that fluid in a dark room that we may not have to do any renewing of the old visas at all. Friend B sent us this translation of a new law about coming and going: All the temporary and permanent residents, intrinsic to the permission offered, have the possibility to enter and leave the national territory without the need of prior authorization to the national service of immigration except for cases in which the competent authorities interpose prevention measures or restrictions of entrance and exits. Alrighty then! We are permanent residents. We are intrinsic to the permission offered...I think. We have the possibility of leaving and returning without touching base with immigration. Oooh that's tricky. Possibility? And there are no strikes against us as far as I know unless bad golfers are banned from traveling. We will continue to explore because exploration leads to discovery and discovery leads to documentaries on television that are useful in the aid and prevention of insomnia.

It's a lot warmer today. The sun is out and about shopping, shining and doing chores. I might have to take off my parka and ski pants.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Every Word Is True

Although Panama is roughly the size of my daughters' neighborhood in Brooklyn with a population of less than four million people, it is clearly one of the greatest athletic nations on the planet. For proof of this contention, all one need do is consider this year's Olympic Games. Panama is averaging one gold medal for every three people on its team. The United States, by comparison, is averaging only about one gold for every twenty-five team members. Take away Michael Phelps eight golds and their average drops even lower. When one further considers that the Olympics lack true Panamanian sports like growing great coffee(they have won several world titles, machete juggling (our two best are missing several fingers but they carry on) Indian wrestling using real Indians, and Presidential cleaning out of the country's monetary coffers (the U.S. could medal in this one as well) one takes their hat off to the adjustments made by Panama to compete in the Olympics at all. If one also considers that the average Panamanian is about five feet tall, one must be amazed that such a diminutive people could produce an athlete that wins the Long Jump gold by leaping a distance nearly equivalent to six Panamanians layed (laid? which one is it Bonnie?) end to end.

It was not though, ever thus. When world class athlete Yers Trewly arrived in Panama five years ago he found little to recommend the country to the Olympic Committee. Certainly there was competitive baby making with Panama among the leaders in both most children before age fifteen and most children overall, but several other Latin countries were in that hunt as well. And of course there was Mariano Rivera the New York Yankee relief pitcher, but it was well known in this Catholic country that his soul was already on Beelzebub's shelf. No, it took Yers Trewly to introduce true athleticism to the natives and he remains, despite his age, among the country's leaders in competitive power napping, chain cigar smoking, cheap wine decanting, golf ball water dunking and consecutive Happy Hours observed. It is this fighting spirit that Yers Trewly brought to this splendid third world country and helped it rise to its current Olympian greatness.

No need to thank me though. It was my pleasure.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Strolling Around the Blog, Sport

Phelps schmelps. He is not the greatest Olympian ever as the media is proclaiming him to be because he has won 8 gold medals in a single Olympics. They fail to point out that swimming is the only sport contested at the Olympics where there is the OPPORTUNITY to win 8 golds. Sure the guy can swim fast, but as the best ever Olympian I'll take Jim Thorpe, Jesse Owens and even Carl Lewis before I get to any swimmer and that's not even mentioning the women. And speaking of fast, did you see that guy "Lightning" Bolt? Me neither. You need slow motion to see that dude.

I should also mention that I was pretty fast in my day. In fact if I had concentrated on track instead of other sports I could have gone to the Olympics. Yup, that's the truth. I would have been fast enough. Fast enough, that is, to beat you to the ticket line. And I was also a fast swimmer. When Woowoo Charly and I had an up and back race in the pool and she gave me a half pool head start, I would almost make it to the first end before she finished the race. Then, of course, she would swim back to me and shove me to the wall so I wouldn't drown.

So what is a sport, anyway? I've been trying to find an accurate definition for years. I think races of any type are sports and games played with balls where scores are kept are sports. But are gymnastics, diving, trampoline-ing (hey, it's in the Olympics!) really sports? What about figure skating? I think any competitive activity that is subjectively judged is not really a sport, it's, well, something else. A pseudo-sport maybe. I mean, what's the criteria? If you permit subjectively judged events to be called sports and allowed to compete in the Olympics, then why not beauty contests, fashion design ( Blackwell on the Romanian team, "elegant in a Dracula sort of way. You could wear that outfit while drinking blood.") juggling, tight rope walking, any circus act for that matter, singing, (is American Idol a sport?) dancing, etc. And by etcetera, I mean that kid who eats hot dogs on the Fourth of July.

I don't know I tell ya, I just don't know. Do you?

Thursday, August 14, 2008

It's Quiet in the Morning Too.

Georgia, I said-ah Georgiaaah. John McCain will be belting out this old Ray Charles classic shortly as the flip side to Bomb bomb bomb, bomb bomb Iran. (I wonder if you said flip side to a 20 year old whether they'd have any clue what you were talking about.)

I'm going to revise my usual prediction that the Denver Broncos will go undefeated this year. They might lose a game or two. Okay, they might lose eight. A team's karma doesn't look good when key players go down with injuries early in the preseason. Champ Bailey and his brother Chump are both out and Bill Bailey won't come home. Doesn't look good.

I don't know whether I have mentioned this before, but if I did, here it comes again.
We sit out on our patio in the evenings and if I'm not playing the radio, there are no sounds of civilization whatsoever. No planes overhead, no traffic noise, no car alarms, nada. Just bugs and birds. And dogs. And once in awhile kids kicking a soccer ball down on our entry road. I'm talking quiet. (Maybe tooooo quiet Sarge.)
It's so quiet that you can hear the flowers talking to each other. "I'm prettier than you are." "Yeah, but I'm taller."

Yesterday we got a visit from Daisy our five year old neighbor from down the hill who came with her mother Dalys to help Woowoo Charly with the gardening. You could make a bundle if you could package Daisy's cuteness. Kid's got it all over her. You could also make a bundle if you could harness her energy. She is a non stop moving and talking machine. She wore Gus out in the first hour and all the adults in the second. I like talking to her though. I don't understand all her Spanish - what the heck she's five which means her vocabulary is probably larger than mine - and I think she understands me because she nods and says "si" a lot while giving me looks that say "whoa man, where did YOU learn to talk?" A year ago when we lived next door to Daisy, her parents tried to teach her to say "how are you" when she saw us. She thought how are you was our name. All our names, in fact. She would stand in the driveway, point at us and say, Hola, Howareyou Howareyou Howareyou.

We are off to lovely and talented David today to get an assortment of needed stuff, including wood for the bar shelves. It's coming along nicely, don't you think?

Monday, August 11, 2008

Olympic Musing

"Short people got no business" unless you count Olympic gymnastics. When exactly did the vertically challenged take over the sport? I remember that before there was an Olga, a Nadia and a couple of American midgets that made the front of the Wheaties box, there was Ludmilla Tourisheva. She was tall, lean and graceful as a gliding bird. She also had hips, boobs, a butt and looked like a grown woman and not some squashed down version of the feminine gender. Gymnastics were, admittedly, different in Ludmilla's day. They were more about style than athleticism. No one was doing triples and "sticking the landing" when Ludmilla was flaunting her stuff to a black and white screened television audience. Not that I'm really complaining. The kids today are so proficient they make gymnastics look like circus acts. They are unbelievably good. I guess my question is, can you not be a gymnast if you are, say, five foot eight or taller? Do you get kicked out of the gym if you have a growth spurt at fourteen? "You understand, dontcha kid? Short people don't get many opportunities so we can't let you normals horn in on our gig. Volleyball and hoops are in the gym next block over."

(I can't say volleyball without thinking of sports infirmities like tennis elbow and volley balls.)

While I was either bar building, watching the PGA golf Championship or sipping wine and eating finger sandwiches at B and L's house, I missed what is being called "the greatest (swimming) relay race ever. Five teams broke the existing world record and the U.S. won by a fingernail over the French team. The U.S. team's final swimmer overcame a huge lead by France's world record holder in the hundred meters to give his team the victory. Kudos, I say kudos, even if by missing the event I have to turn in my official pro sports couch potato card and go back to qualifying school. Maybe by watching the entire remainder of the Olympics and a Sox game or two, I can get my card back in time for the NFL season. I'll give it a shot.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Weekend Watching

I am staring at the screen, drawing a blank. It's not easy to draw a blank. You have to be careful you don't accidentally draw a blank's opposite an unblank. Once an unblank appears there is no telling what will follow because what follows is the telling. And now here's that.

Everything went dark a commercial or two before nine last night. We were waiting to see the 400 meter individual medley in which Michael Phelps was to swim up and down the Olympic pool while belting out hip hop favorites, but that didn't happen. Well, not for us anyway. We were, instead, stumbling about in octopus inky blackness trying to find matches for our candles. By the time power was restored we had all given up the ghost and were reading books in bed by flashlight. There was the usual rude awakening, of course, when the lights, TV, computer, printer, microwave and a couple of unknown presences - what the hell was that? - announced they had returned from the Land of Lost Juice, but when I staggered to the living room to turn off this and that, the Olympic pool had been drowned by Olympic commercials so I muttered an oath and returned to bed. I don't remember exactly which oath I muttered, but it ended with "brave, clean and reverent."

Yesterday was just not a good day for televised sports at Casa As Yet Unnamed But We Are Thinking Something With Dragons. (RTGFKAR has fashioned dragon images in concrete and is mounting them here and there outside the house. We are open to suggestions.) While The PGA golf tournament was being contested early in the day, our cable guy was installing our new satellite and we had no picture. When service was renewed, the tourney was washed out by rain. I'm rooting for Anthony Kim because I like people whose names can be juxtaposed. (I also like saying juxtaposed.) Woowoo Charly is backing her usual favorite Mill Ficklehead (Phil Mickleson), but she is also keeping an eye on Camilio Villegas because, she says, "he's hot", which is an acceptable reason to cheer for an athlete. (Think Natalie Gulbis, Danika Patrick and a couple of Russian tennis players whose names end in ova and I'm not talking Martina.)

It is raining as I write and looks as if it may continue for a goodly while. Maybe even a badly while. In either case, it is clearly a day that screams out for hours and hours of sports viewing from the couch, much like a day when the sun is shining or any day in any weather when good sports (defined as ones I like) are in fact on.
I'm hoping we don't lose power.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Birth of a Bar

I am building a bar in the designated for a bar area of our house. What, you don't have one? RTGFKAR designed it and is supervising the construction. It will be made of concrete blocks, glass blocks, some wood and have a tile top. The construction process will be a slow journey because after a day of mixing cement, lugging block and bent over or stooped troweling, my back asks anew if I think I'm a kid and answers its own question with a make me walk funny response that feels a lot like pain. RTGFKAR now understands this phenomena completely as sometime last week he did some kind of lumbar limbo and has been relegated to the disabled list ever since. Woowoo Charly is sympathetic, "tsk tsk so sorry" and all that, but declines the invitation to substitute for us, pointing out that the fat book she is reading is heavy enough. Couple that with the fact that if you sat her on one end of a seesaw and then dropped a concrete block on the other, she might actually achieve orbit and you can see why dodging this "manly" work is a good idea.

Other notable news from Casa Coffee Stumps is this bit of irony: I have spent the last couple of weeks talking about how tired, bored and sick I was of the Bret Farve saga. At last he is traded to New York and thus gone from my sports consciousness. Haha, heehee, hoho. Wrongo Pigskin Breath! Yers Truly and Woowoo Chuck are on the way by dint of D and D's graciousness to New York in September where for a couple of weeks I will undoubtedly open the sport sections of the local news rags and have to read all about B.F. and his progress with the Jets. Imagine what will happen if he hurts his back lifting cement blocks or, more likely, blockers. There will be 24/7 coverage for weeks! I'll be needing a bar for that.

Monday, August 04, 2008

He Looks So Sad

To keep him from chewing off his leg and licking off his medicinal cream, our dog Gustavo has to wear one of those goofy looking collars around his neck. Poor guy got some kind of infection - common here among longer haired dogs - from being frequently wet and exposed to this and that fungus prowling about in the high grass. After watching him chew on his ownself for a few days, we took him to the vet and now he is getting well, but appears woefully unhappy. He doesn't complain - you could hit him with a stick and he wouldn't complain, he's that kind of dog - but you can tell he is going about his daily routine with a lot less enthusiasm. I'm not sure though, that the dog feels worse than we do. Every time he misjudges the width of a doorway and crashes to a halt we feel pangs of remorse and guilt. And, of course, being a dog, Gus is not above looking at us in that "how can you do this to me?" way. It is going to be a long week.

I've been doing my best to stay out of the news loop, but bits and pieces keep filtering in and causing me to wonder. Have Brangelina's twins reported to the Packer's training camp yet? Is it true that Obama has picked OBatman for running mate? Is McCain still in favor of the people bending over and getting an off shore drilling? I've even heard a rumor that there is one good show on TV. Does anyone know what it is? And what's the deal with the Olympics? Will,they ever start? Oh well. All will be revealed in time I suppose. Meanwhile, I've got to go write something.