Thursday, December 31, 2009

Old Out, New In

Some of you, unlike Yers Trewly who is always dank, are not up to date on the latest "in" vernacular. To help correct your deficiency in this area, I will define a term for you here and there throughout the new year. Dank, for instance, means possessing ideal properties. Example in a sentence: That is one dank suit Biz-natch! Synonyms: kick-ass, tight, fly, sick, and phat.

New Year's Eve morning. Rainbow doing its colorful arcing thing to my right, chicken clucking "ba-doc ba-doc" somewhere off to my left. Dogs barking at my back. QUIT THAT! Other household denizens still abed. Wait! One of them is stirring. A microwave oven meep meep meeps in the kitchen announcing tea water is hot. Our plan to celebrate the year past and welcome the year lurking round the corner is an early dinner out at El Pianista, an Italian place not far from here. An hour from now would be good for me, but I doubt Doris the owner opens the door this early. Yup, one last pasta blowout before I endeavor to make my profile appear a couple of months less pregnant than it does now. That's my New Year's Resolution. Well, that and achieving world peace, bagging a hole-in-one, tomahawk dunking over Lebron, writing the great Panamanian Novel and returning my new flashlight to La Reina because it doesn't work. A man has to have goals afterall. What pray tell, are yours?

I will miss 2009 in many ways, although certainly not its last quarter when I was besicked. I wrote a lot, more than in any other year and my output included genres I had never tried before; sci-fi, horror, noir and even a truthful accounting of an actual event rendered as a Twilight Zone episode. Big Fun all. I think, though, that in 2010 I will "go long." I have a project already under way. I will continue to blog, but, likely, with less frequency.

Happy New Year to everyone. Don't get too faded tonight. (Faded: intoxicated. Synonyms: bent, baked, blunted and blazed.)

2009 Book List

BOOK LIST 2009


1. The Given Day Dennis Lehane Boston cops, Labor unions, Babe Ruth and racial strife leading up to the 1920s, make for an entertaining read.

2. Milking the Moon Eugene Walter as told to Katherine Clark Eugene’s life told through his own entertaining anecdotes. Talented seven from Mobile Alabama goes to NY, Paris, Rome, befriends artists of all sorts and has a fun life.

3. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle David Wroblewski A mute boy and his mother and father raise and train their own breed of dogs. Father dies. Boy knows why. Drama begins. The dogs role is key to story. Brilliant first novel. Loved it.

4. Indignation Philip Roth The old guy – what is he, a hundred? – has still got it. Here he writes a tale about a teenager that’s perfectly believable. Good read, hard ending.

5. Eats Shoots and Leaves Lynne Truss A book about punctuation that is – believe it or not – a page turner. Well, at least for those of us who care; helpful and funny throughout.

6. Cesar’s Way Cesar Milan TV’s The Dog Whisperer’s “as told to bio and philosophy” to Melissa Jo Peltier. Helpful in understanding dogs.

7. A feast For Crows George R.R. Martin Fourth book of the Fire and Ice Series Story of derring-do and intrigue continued.

8. O’Hara’s Choice Leon Uris Tight little “love against all odds” story. The “choice” was not what most people would expect. I though, ta daa!, was on to it.

9. On God Norman Mailer with Michael Lennon A conversation about Norman’s take on the big picture. Old Norm’s thoughts are always interesting.

10. Widow’s Walk Robert B. Parker Spencer, Hawk and Susan are always a welcome respite from “serious” reading.

11. The Inheritance Details the crap Obama was left to deal with. It’s not looking good for the good guys. Peace and prosperity seem doubtful.

12. Cryptonomicon Neil Stephenson The book makes the title seem tidy. Long enough for four books (1152 pages), it alternately engaged me and passed by over my head. In the end, I plowed to the finish by sheer determination augmented by skimming.
Among the plots were code breaking, winning WWII, finding Nazi gold, laying telecommunications under the sea to the Phillipines, dodging rivals and linking a diverse group of people from different eras. Well done…I think.

13. South Beach Brian Antoni My kind of book. Offbeat characters doing offbeat things in an offbeat setting.

14. The Lost City of Z David Grann Non fiction tale of explorer P.H. Fawcett’s attempts to find a mythical city in the Amazon wilderness and the author’s subsequent attempt (as well as many other’s) to find Fawcett and his son who never came back from their last trip there.

15. Pandora in the Congo Albert Sanchez Pinol Entertaining “off the wall” account of a Congo adventure, a love story, a subsequent murder trial and a young writer’s struggle to deal with all those events.

16. The Good Soldier Ford Madox Ford This tale of love gone awry among the leisure class, published in 1927, holds up well. Common human flaws bring a bad end to all.

17. A Great Deliverance Elizabeth George The first of many mysteries by Liz that I will have to read. Great characters, believable plots, terrif writing.

18. Payment in Blood Elizabeth George Mysteries intertwined with mysteries. All unraveled nicely. Great stuff.

19. Can’t Buy Me Love Jonathan Gould Comprehensive biography of the Beatles and their Times. Well researched, well written.

20. Is Tiny Dancer Really Elton’s Little John? Gavin Edwards. Subtitled, “Music’s most enduring mysteries, myths, and rumors revealed.” That says it all.

21. If You Didn’t Bring Jerky, What Did I Just Eat? Bill Heavey Humorously told hunting and fishing stories. Misadventures for the most part.

22. Dave Barry’s History of the Millennium So Far Often laugh out loud funny.

23. Well Schooled In Murder Elizabeth George The mystery is solved, the murderer caught and the continuing cast of characters…continue.

24. Ser Como El Rio Que Fluye Paulo Coelho (Read in Spanish, of course) Paulo’s thoughts on this and that as he travels the world in search of spiritual truths.

25. Dude, Where’s My Country? Michael Moore. A lot of the book that was good stuff at the time (2003) is now dated. Much remains, though, that is still interesting. Reasons, for instance, why Nixon was our last liberal president and that one million Americans have been killed by guns since Kennedy was assassinated. (More than if we had fought Viet Nam 15 times.)

26. The Walking Dead This is a comic compendium whose authors I diligently wrote down and just as diligently misplaced. Plague survivors against zombies and each other. Quite compelling, actually.

27. A Suitable Vengeance Elizabeth George More murders and mayhem in Jolly Old with the usual cast sorting things out.

28. Cold Skin Albert Snchez Pinol An island, a light house, monsters from the sea and madness make this another Pinol whacko wonder. Strange, but nevertheless entertaining read.

29. The Last Duel James Landale A tediously told story of the last duel in Scotland and a history of dueling in general. Interesting here and there.

30. Stillness Speaks Eckhart Tolle Old Eck, his friends call him Eck, joins a long line of spiritual guides telling us To Be Here Now. Ram Dass (not pronounced rammed ass) was the first one to get to me. I’ve been trying ever since. Sometimes I’m successful.

31. For the Sake of Elena Elizabeth George Liz’s fifth and best book so far in her write-em-until-I-die-ogy. Murder solved, human relations resolved…for now.

32. Consider the Lobster David Foster Wallace I can’t define brilliance, but like a Supreme Court Justice once said of pornography, “I know it when I see it.” Brilliance is displayed here and there in this book of essays.

33. The Appeal John Grisham Predictable. Kind of a fictionalized version of “A Civil Action.”

34. Electricity Ray Robinson A British woman with fierce epileptic seizures searches for long lost brother. Very unusual narrative voice.

35. The Old Fox Deceiv’d Martha Grimes I love these British murder mysteries. They are so….civilized. Most of the time…even the murderers. Grimes and George together with Dick Francis, my cup runneth over.

36. The Book of General Ignorance subtitled Every thing you think you know is wrong. John Lloyd and John Mitchinson Fun facts about stuff you think you know but don’t really.

37. The Inimitable Jeeves P.G. Wodehouse The second time I’ve read this book. Needed a P.G. fix and couldn’t fine any I hadn’t read here in Panama.

38. The Satanic Verses Salman Rushdie I can’t say I fully understand this book; there’s mythology and fantasy alternating with reality and an unclear (to me) timeline, but the prose is spectacular and very readable.

39. Greenwich Killing Time Kinky Friedman Funny, somewhat Elmore Leonard-like prose. Reminds me of me, only Kinky is better.

40. The Unbearable Lightness of Being Milan Kundera Non-typical love and philosophy during the Czech occupation by the Soviet Union. A deep read.

41. The Reader Bernhard Schlink A boy’s affair with an older woman leads to a Nazi back story, a trial and a sad ending. Good stuff.

42. Odds Against Dick Francis Well told, well plotted, well done.

43. The Farmer’s Daughter Jim Harrison Three novellas featuring less than main stream characters. All are sexually charged. Jim has grown more ribald with age.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Good Ideas

Yahoo, from which I derive all my news except for the news I get from other places, recently had a list of the five foods you should NEVER eat. These were as I recall, Strychnine Coated Cocoa Puffs, Arsenic Almonds, Other Human Beings, Doggie Doodoo Doughnuts, and micro-wave popcorn. Yahoo was particularly adamant about the popcorn. Eating micro-wave popcorn will, apparently, cause bad things to happen like heart hernias, hip hemorrhaging and home team defeats. Because I believe everything I read on Yahoo - extra terrestrials ARE targeting Mississippi high school drop-outs fishing in remote places - I went directly to my nearest hot air popcorn popper store and bought one. Popcorn popped by this machine is perfectly safe for children and even adult users if precautions are taken. Salt and melted butter must be applied to the popcorn in the right order. For those of you uncertain, here it is: Butter first, salt second.

So there I was munching my safe, healthy treat and washing it down with liberal quantities of safe, healthy, pain relieving vodka, Advil and OJ, contemplating my navel and my liver while watching my beloved Denver Broncos fall short in a late game comeback attempt against the Philadelphia Eagles. The Eagles, I noted, held an unfair advantage in that their players were better than the Broncos' players. And, in addition, all the game officials were born and raised in the City of Brotherly Love and had promised their neighbors a sure fired Eagle victory. Money had changed hands. My proposal that each team captain alternately choose a player from either squad to make up their team, as is done on the playgrounds of the world, to make for a fairer and more competitive contest was ignored much to my chagrin. My chagrin, by the way, has now left me and is moving to Philadelphia.

Another of my great ideas that has been left dangling in the wind concerns the inability of white adults to appreciate the forms of music known as hip-hop and rap. (That's right, I am changing the subject.) The lyrics of many hip-hop and rap songs shock but fail to awe the Caucasian populace, telling, as they do, tales of violence, drugs and bad things done to ho's, yo momma and yo sista. They are often sung by threatening looking black men who wear their baseball caps askew, their pants below their butts and too much jewelry dangling from their necks over their sports team jerseys which serves to further distract from the message they are trying to impart. My proposal is this: You know the scene in almost every Disney movie where butterflies are fluttering around flowers, bluebirds are alighting on fences, bunnies are cavorting playfully in the grass and squirrels are chasing each other around tree trunks? If you can remember those scenes, than remember also the music that is playing while all that frivolity is going on. It is a chorus of high voiced, chirpy women who sound just a touch more human than Alvin and the Chipmunks. Why not have this chorus singing the hip-hop rap lyrics? Why not have them singing castrate the cops and spank yo ass? I think this would be so palatable to white listeners that they would no-doubt-about-it end up playing the tunes in dentist offices and on elevators.

"Would you push three for me please?" Altogether now in your best falsetto, "Fuck dat, you skanky ho."

That's all for now. Go Broncos, beat State.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

And The Winner Is...

"Halo. Senyore Dough Nald Wall Tone por favor."
"Este es Dough Nald."
"Senyore Dough Nald soy (unintelligible)de La Reina. Le llamo decir tu gana el premio."
"Really? Cuantos?"
"Doscientos dollars."
"Well alrighty then! I mean, thank you, er gracias. Yo voy ahi hoy."
"...taluego."

La Reina, bouncing, bubbly, beautiful Boquete's (too much Bing Crosby alliteration over the holiday will do this to you) small department store had a promotion for Christmas. For every ten dollars you spent in their store you received an entry for a drawing they would have two days before the big event. I filled out a handful a week or so ago and dutifully put them in the raffle box. After that, of course, I never gave it a second thought. Now in truth, and in general, I consider myself a winner because of all the good I have and have had in my life. But of contests? Fat chance. Seven or eight hundred lottery scratch off tickets later I'm down a couple thousand bucks and hoping to get back to even. My chances of having an entry of mine picked in a drawing ranked right up there with the well known cold day in hell. Not that I had never won anything mind you. I could think back and remember a turkey I'd scored by bowling "best over average" one Thanksgiving eve and Denver Nuggets tickets I pocketed by winning a free throw shooting contest at my local gym. But a blind luck, pick it out of a hat kind of thing? No way Jose.

Well wrongo Raffle Breath and yes way Jose as the phone call written above attests to. That's right, me, Dough Nald - I had to use my passport name to qualify - was now officially a winner of two hundred balboas or, actually, two hundred dollars worth of merchandise. Whoda guessed it?

Now before I move along to far less important stuff than me being a winner, like the annual day in which several billion people celebrate some dude's birthday for instance, I want to add that when Woowoo Charly and I went to retrieve the winnings, there was a parking place directly in front of the store's doors. (Store's doors? Say that five times fast.) How often has that happened to you? And then, after walking around and filling up our shopping basket with what we estimated was in the neighborhood of two hundred bucks, Woowoo and I deposited the merchandise on the counter and had the cashier add it all up. The total? Two hundred dollars and ten cents. Now that Sportfans, is good shopping. We then paraded most of the goodies over to another counter where we got FREE gift wrapping! Really! It is good...very very good to be the king in a store named "The Queen."

And speaking of good. Christmas day was a blast. Good friends, good food, good fun, good times. What more can I say? (Did I mention I was a winner?)

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Keep on Turning

From the Department of Corrections Department comes this: It was the SHORTEST day of the year, YOU IDIOT!

And RTGFKAR adds that every year that passes is shorter than the year before because the earth's rotation is slowing down! So, the shortest day of the shortest year so far, has just zoomed by. My question is, if you walk in the opposite direction the earth is spinning, can you slow the slowing down? This is a question that needs to be answered by the Department of Physics Department.

From the Department of Clarification and Definition Department I would like to get an answer to this question: Is a Concentration Camp a place where people suffering from ADD are sent to learn how to focus?

We split into teams yesterday to tackle two chores at the same time. Both teams failed. RTGFKAR, the team of one, was sent to pick up Spawn of Rayjay at the airport while Woowoo Charly and I invaded the lair of Angry Zola. Spawn missed her flight from Pan City and Zola never showed. RTGFKAR's team went into overtime and picked up Spawn several hours later. Woowoo Chuck and I jointly said, "#*^# this!" (select the profanity of your choice) and mentally fired Angry Zola. See, the thing is, we know Panama is a process country; that is, one where the process of getting to a goal is to be enjoyed as much as achieving the goal, if not more so. In other words, "slow down, you're going too fast, you've got to make the moment last." Our goal, on this occasion was to see Doctura Anguizola at our specified appointment time of eleven AM. Zola's office had called me, in fact, earlier in the day to remind me to be there. Scroll back now to a time when the earth was spinning faster. Our first visit to Angry Zola's found her in Pan City. On our second, we waited an hour and forty five minutes beyond our appointment time and on our third, the receptionist scheduled me with the wrong Angry Zola, our doc's husband, who is a doctor of a different sort. Sheesh. This trip we checked in exactly on time - we are always on time, it's a disease - and waited for an hour. At precisely noon we uttered the above mentioned oath and fled the premises. Process my patootie! I'm finding another doctor.

Alrighty then. And in the evening, it rained. It was supposed to rain on a part of the world just beyond us, but because the earth is rotating slower, we got the downpour instead.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Denver, Time and The Longest Day

My heart was broken, my hopes crushed like a stomped on grape. The evil Oakland Raiders had come into Denver and defeated the home eleven 20 to 19. The sky had fallen and a silence deep as the grave hushed the faithful. Tears and drooping shoulders were worn by all who dreamed of playoffs; playoffs now but a distant, barely flickering hope. Alas, so sad, so sad.

But that was yesterday!

Today this Bronco fanatico is feeling fine and probably dandy too although I'm not sure what feeling dandy really means. It's the longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere and if that signifies the area above the equator, than by-cracky, by-jiminy and by-other expressions no one uses any more, Panama is part of it and I don't want to spend the longest day of 2009 mope-ing about. To celebrate the longest day, I've selected a larger font for the blog. Okay, this is not exactly a Mardi Gras of celebrations but, come on, I'm going with what I got. (I was also going to make a list of all the things I was planning to do with the extra time, but apparently I've used it up writing this paragraph. I'll be more frugal with it next year.)

It is exactly 9:AM here which is something like 3:19 in Bangkok by the airport clock of my mind and Bangkok may or may not be in the Northern Hemisphere. Only the Bangkokians know for sure. Bangkokians, by the way, is fun to say. Why I bring this up, or rather make this up, is a question pondered by well known psychiatrists throughout the world, or should be. Bangkokian shrinks especially. For those of you who prefer more precision, I will point out that the hour in Greenwich is, at this moment, unknown. Greenwich is sitting in a corner taking a timeout for being mean.

It's back to Spring cleaning again today although the two days of Spring have been supplanted by the twelve days of Christmas and the five steps to a new and better you.

As you may have noticed, I don't really have a thing to say on this the longest of days. I just wanted to try out the new font (another funky word to say) and air out the monkeymind. It was getting dusty.

Cheers. But not for the Broncos. The stiffs.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Walking the Perimeter

Right around 7:30 at night my dog Raffi begins to put what is called in the restaurant business the fish stare on me. The fish stare is used by waiters to encourage people who are dawdling at their table post dinner to move along: other people are waiting for the table. Raffi uses his unblinking gaze to encourage me to open a door so that he and our other two mutts can go out and check-the-perimeter. Checking-the-perimeter is a practice I instituted with our former dog Gus. It's a euphemism for walking around the property three or four times so that the dogs will have an opportunity to squat and fire before coming in for the night. They, of course, think they are out there to hunt anything that moves, bark maniacally and generally be a nuisance.

At roughly the Witching Hour, eight o'clock, (Boquete's witches party early because nobody is up to mess with at Midnight) I rise from my recliner saying "calm down, calm down" a necessary, but wasted effort on my part, as the moment there is discernible air between the chair and my butt, Raffi goes berserk. He leaps up at me, runs in circles and then hurtles himself at the door. I can't get it open fast enough to suit him. When the door is, to his way of thinking, FINALLY opened wide enough, he runs through it and then turns right around to snarl at Matti and Finni who are trying to follow him out. This, I'm told, is "Alpha" dog behavior. He then runs off into the night in search of any mayhem that might be running around loose.

My job, after that is, with flashlight in hand, to open the yard gates so that the dogs progress around the perimeter is not impeded. When that task is accomplished, I begin walking the perimeter myself in a much tighter circle. I smell the night air, check out the stars and talk to the dogs as I do so. Periodically, either Raffi or Finni will appear briefly in my flash beam before scurrying off. Matti, being a black dog, becomes invisible in the dark and even when she passes through the light beam seems nothing more than a shadow.

On my third or sometimes fourth trip around, being the clever fellow that I am, I close a yard gate behind me. The dogs, always to my front, are unaware I do so. When I've completed my circle, I pass through the remaining yard gate and call the dogs from there. When they are all in, I close that gate as well, trapping them in the yard. Last night, I was particularly proud of Raffi and Finni as they came streaking in on the first call. Matti, I thought, was being stubborn. I called her name several more times while getting annoyed and wondering what the damn hold up was. I became aware then, of a slight shuffling at my feet. I pointed my flash beam down and there she was, sitting and looking at me like I was an idiot. Black dogs can be downright spooky in the dark.

As soon as we are all back inside, I say the magic word "cookie" and the dogs sit like GOOD BOYS AND GIRLS while I give them each a dog biscuit. After that, well, we settle in for the night.

And so we come to the end of another riveting chapter in the exciting chronicles of old Doc's life. Stay tuned for tomorrow when Doc reveals how he sweeps up dog hair on a regular basis.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Movies and Television

Beware of movies that have only a piano being played with the right hand as the background music. These movies usually feature bearded and bespectacled men wearing turtleneck sweaters under their sport jackets. The women players are either leotard clad or dressed to the nines depending upon the time of day. Any time beyond noon will frequently find them drinking too much. The movies will consist of mostly pseudo intellectual banter and have no clear purpose. There will be a beginning, there might be a middle, but a straightforward ending will always be lacking. I won't say these movies are boring, because six people living in a well kept old mansion with unused tennis courts and tended gardens outside of Boston will simply "adore" them and who am I to say they are wrong? Nevertheless, I feel it is my duty to caution others. Movies of this type have been known to cause painful brain cramps and spark deep feelings of inferiority. Take my advice. When the opening credits roll and the piano tinkles something vaguely jazz-like, reach for the remote without further ado. Your mental health is in danger.

Alrighty then.

Here's a stolen line from a good movie I used on Woowoo Charly last night: "We make the perfect couple," I said, pausing for timing's sake before adding, "Beauty and the Beast." She looked at me tenderly then so I delivered the punchline. "Of course if anyone else calls you a beast, I'll rip their lungs out." (Jack Nicholson as the Joker in "Batman.")

Have I mentioned that I watch movies in lieu of regular television and, in fact, pretty much any movie will do; even the dreadful kind like those Ive described above. (Aside: I like to use semi colons whenever I think they are called for on the off chance that every once in awhile it will be the correct punctuation.) I know there are good, well written, well played, meaningful television shows, and probably, with the plethora of channels, more now than ever before, but...and here I pause to contemplate my use of a very strong word...I HATE commercials. Lest you think I am missing out on a good thing, I should point out that I do watch some shows in reruns while I pedal my elliptical glider. I mean I want to keep abreast of the latest happenings and not get too far behind the times. That Friends show, for instance, is really good even if I do have to suffer through the ads. It's still on...right?

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Memories, And I'm Not Talking Nostalgia

Not that I'm worried, mind you, but last week I forgot my ATM pin number. I've only used it a thousand times or so, so it wasn't really etched in my memory like, say, my wife whatsername's name, but really, I thought I had it down. I stood there bewitched, bothered and that other one that starts with b and wondered if I was losing it. I don't really remember what IT is, but whatever it is, I'm sure I want to keep it. There are things we seniors? elderly? fogies? are supposed to do to preserve our data banks; things like doing crossword puzzles, learning a new language and memorizing stuff. These are not only puted, they are reputed to keep the old gray matter sizzling. Well I do all those things and still I forgot my pin number. For now I'm going to blame it on the rain. I'm going to put one of those "slippery when wet" signs on my forehead to explain why this and that slip my mind. Later, I'll come up with a better excuse. Remind me.

Aside: One thing I've noticed about crossword puzzles is that very few of the words are actually cross words. Most of them are quite benign.

I've completely forgotten what I was going to write in this paragraph, so I'll skip it and go right to the next.

As for learning a new language, now that I have mastered Spanish, (Yeehah!) I'm considering tackling English. There are a lot of movies shown on television here that are made in England and I would really like to know what the people in them are saying. Woowoo Charly and I continually turn to each other during these movies and ask, "did you get any of that?" The answer is always, "not a word." I'm told that English is one of the most difficult languages to learn along with Chinese and Australian, but I figure if I want to keep the old synapses (I forget exactly what synapse are) firing, I should take on something challenging. So... English it is.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Dawn of the Damp

My dogs are sick of it. "Hey," one of them told me this morning, "we get you up everyday at dawn so we can enjoy the sunrise together, but what do you give us in return? Rain...and wind... and, and, general unpleasantness, that's what. It ain't fair, I tell you." I've tried to explain to them that I'm not in charge of the weather, but they don't understand. After all, I appear to be in charge of everything else, providing food, opening and closing doors, walks, rides, snacks, even making it light in the house when it's dark outside. I tell them to have patience the day will improve, the sun will rise, the wind and rain will abate, and even memories of the Denver Broncos latest defeat at the hands (in particular the right hand of Peyton Manning) of the undefeated Indianapolis Colts, will wane. They doubt it. Dogs aren't long on patience. I point out the rainbow that is arcing as it does every morning this time of the year in the vicinity of Volcan Baru as evidence of the day's improvement and all three dogs look skyward and say, "Yeah, so?" Dogs care as much for rainbows as they do patience. "Look," they tell me, "we did our job. We got you up, barked at nothing to be sure you were wide awake, hounded you (no pun) until you fed us and now, well, we're tired. We're going back to bed. Good luck with that computer thing. Oh, and, could you do something about the weather, before we get back up?"

The definition of eclectic reading: I'm reading Kinky Friedman in English, Gabriel Garcia Marquez in Spanish and Milan Kundera in English translated from the Czech. "Greenwich Killing Time", "El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Colera", and The Incredible Lightness of Being", respectively. Two of the three books are great; I've read them before. About the third, well, Kinky is a funny guy.

Alrighty then. The blogger sits at the keyboard dressed in old sweats he has pulled on over his PJ's, stare-ing disconsolately inward in search of a thought...any thought. He has none. Surely, he reasons, breaking the long stare, there must be something to blog about un-blogged about heretofore. But nothing comes. Ah well, he thinks before signing off, maybe tomorrow.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Latest Edition of This and That

Titiya Plucksataporn (I am not making this up) shot a smooth 68 and is now tied for second in the Dubai Ladies Masters Golf Tournament.

"Quantum of Solace", a poor title to begin with as it means a quantity of grief relief and that, as I see it, is not exactly strong motivation to see a movie unless you are looking for something to dampen the old hankie with, is the hands-down, no question, inarguable WORST James Bond movie ever made. The writing was abysmal, giving us as it did over-lapping story lines that were never remotely clear, the action sequences even worse, being chopped, spliced and special effected into incomprehensibility and the acting, apart from Dame Judy Dench as M, was leaden and cliche-ed. I do believe that a drama is only as good as its villains and in this movie the villains fell far short of believable. Should I mention what I thought of the background music? Probably not.

A department store named Conway, pronounced cone-why by Latinos, has opened in David. The store is a Target affiliate (Target in Panama, who-da thunk it?) and consists of three stories of STUFF. I have always made it a point to avoid places that have a lot of STUFF, because I might just inadvertently find STUFF I want there that, prior to the sighting, I didn't even KNOW I wanted. For this same reason I don't even thumb through magazines looking at the ads. I have enough STUFF to suit me and like to merely replace the STUFF I have as it wears out. Right now I could use a new pitching wedge. Not everyone feels this way, I know. Woowoo Charly, for instance, only shares my point-of-view to a degree. Although in no way is she a material girl, yesterday, as we meandered through the store looking for one of those things that fits in a kitchen drawer and keeps your silverware separated - the old one is cracked, stained and ugly - I noticed a certain gleam in her eyes that was not there before. There is STUFF here, I sensed her thinking, that I want. How do I feel about that? Great! I love it when SHE wants something. She asks for so little.

The Abominable Doctor Panagas was smiling and juggling scalpels as Woowoo and I entered his office. "Buenas tardes, good to see you again" he said as he caught the sharpened knives in one hand and offered up the other for a shake. He was eye-balling my third eye hungrily as he did so. "I see you have a new one for me" he said with a widening grin, "but how can I help the lady?" Woowoo pointed out the age spot on her cheek that had recently turned funky and the Abominable Doc's eyes suddenly shone even more eerily. "Come into my lair, I mean my examining room and we will take a closer look." First thing he does after that is measure, that's right measure, the spot on my forehead. "Hmmmm," he says. "this is borderline. I will try to freeze it, but if it is not better in a month you will have to come back so I can chop and hack, I mean, carefully remove, the damage with a small curugia." (surgery) He then whipped up a nice smoking batch of liquid nitrogen and, using a long handled q-tip-like device, proceeded to repeatedly press the nitrogen, what felt to me, deep into my scalp. Hurt like hell. He was much gentler with Woowoo Charly, saying her problem was not dangerous (don-zzger-oose his pronunciation) but nevertheless needed to be taken care of before it became so. He then froze up a few other spots on her upper chest that she hadn't previously noticed. Following her treatment, he put us both into a deep hypnotic trance and gave us a post hypnotic suggestion that said when we receive our bill we will take it immediately to his receptionist and pay it without a second thought. He then snapped his fingers and off we went. I'll see him again next month. Merry Christmas, Doctor.

Wednesday, December 09, 2009

Tiagra and the Third Eye

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(Well sure it needs work, but it is a funny concept.)


Alrighty then.

We are going to mosey into lovely and talented Daveed again today. I've got an appointment with the Abominable Doctor Panagas to remove yet another chunk of facial feature; this one from the center of my forehead. It kind of looks like a third eye up there, but since I can't see through it, I'll let Panagas and his evil minions scalpel it away.

My actual third eye I keep in a drawer next to the bed. I take it out, screw it on and use it when I meditate. Third eyes, as you know, can only look inward. They are supposed to give you insight. That's in-sight. Why anyone, apart from an MD would want to do that, I have no idea. I mean it's all just slimy and bloody in there. Of course, maybe mine is defective. When I meditate I pass right through all that in-sight, in-novation, in-tuition and get right to the, you know, cosmic consciousness stuff. That's the good stuff. That's where the oneness of everything becomes clear and also where Tiger Woods jokes appear.

So here's another alrighty then, because I can SEE I have nothing further to say this morning. I'll just go put my third eye back in the drawer.

Monday, December 07, 2009

Monday Shows Up Again

A low flying, dim rainbow is struggling to survive against a graying sky outside my northern exposure window this a.m. There is wind in the willows, well there would be if we had willows, and rain is in the offing. Alas, too bad, tut tut, and like that.

Several days of sunshine and already we are spoiled. To paraphrase the words of the immortal, never to be forgotten What-sis-name from the movie "Treasure of the Sierra Madre", we don't need no stinking rain. Sierra madre, by the way, for you non Spanish speakers, means "Yo Mama" in English.

I awoke this morning to learn that the college bowl games have all been arranged and was thrilled almost to coma to read that Marshall will be playing Ohio in the Little Caesars Pizza Bowl. Yup, there is a Pizza Bowl. I'm betting the broadcasting network of this baby just can't wait to air it's sure-to-be ratings bonanza.

In other news this morning, Tiger Woods has been implicated in the mysterious deaths of Michael Jackson, Princess Di and JFK. When asked to comment Tiger said, "Sierra Madre."

The Denver Broncos, meanwhile, have captured the attention of the entire nation by winning their second game in a row after receiving a half time, locker room, pep-talk from the aforementioned Woods and a buxom cheerleader who Tiger described as just a friend. Nike, Tiger's principal sponsor has declared it's support for Tiger in these difficult times and in an effort to capitalize on Tiger's still massive following is now offering a complete line of skimpily clad cheerleader dolls marketed as "Tiger's Just Friends" and sporting the Nike swoosh in all the right places.

Aside: Saturday Night Live may have had the best Tiger line when it, in a news flash reported, "Tiger hit a tree with his car last night and a whole lot of women fell out of it." This is funny and accurate.

Spring cleaning begins in earnest today as Spring, December 7th and 8th, is now upon us here in Boquete, land of the wild gringo and home of the humming bird-brains. My plan is to do the windows last. I don't want to look at the rain.

Thursday, December 03, 2009

Tiger's In The Woods

Tiger Tiger Tiger. Far be it from me to cast aspersions upon my fellow man for succumbing to temptation and not being delivered from evil, but this time the situation has gotten out of hand and something has to be said. When I learned of Tiger's marital digressions, I was appalled only to the extent of a quiet tsk tsk tsk, Tiger Tiger shame on you. But when it was later revealed that he was a partner in Michael Vick's dog fighting business, I was truly up-in-arms. Still, because I am a generous man, I was in a mood for forgiveness. When it was further revealed that Tiger fixed up Mike Tyson and Kobe Bryant with dates, I began to wonder about his serial improprieties. Late breaking stories that include Tiger's participation in the introduction of steroids to Bobby Bonds, Roger Clemons and others have seriously damaged my degree of fandom for the king of golf. When I also learned that Tiger is part owner of a bed and breakfast on the Appalachian Trail where Republican Congressman who weren't actually there could be signed in so as to appear present when, in reality, they were off cavorting elsewhere with dates that Tiger had arranged, well, I began to doubt my own loyalty to Tiger Nation. Although Tiger has been mostly lips sealed on his political convictions, new information, just now coming to light, has him linked to Katherine Harris in the 2000 Florida scam to get Dubya elected. Tiger will be quoted by a reliable source as saying, "Katherine and I were just friends, but I truly admire her skill with mascara application." In 2004 Tiger is credited with creating the "swift boat" fantasy and again aiding the Dubya campaign. As for 2008, what can be said? Of course Tiger and Sarah were an item, no secret there, but until the sordid facts are outed I will have no comment beyond saying the world will be shocked.

All this has added up, I am sad to say, in my jump from the Tiger Bandwagon onto that of Phil "Ficklehead" Mickleson's. The rumor that he and Tiger are much...closer, shall we say, than they appear, just can't be true, can it?

Wednesday, December 02, 2009

A Big Fun Day

We bought a Christmas Tree yesterday, or maybe, given our hazy religious predilections, it should be called a Buddha Bush, a Taoist Decoration or an Agnostic Arbol, but anyway we bought one of the save-the-planet artificial varieties along with several silver wreaths and a box of silver and blue...ornaments. (I was going to say blue balls, but then I would have to go off on a tangent that isn't Christmassy at all.) Woowoo Charly (Maybe our tree should be called Woowoo Wood) likes blue and silver...everything.

We found the tree in our small, local department store, La Reina, (The Queen) which dedicates about a quarter of its floor space to exclusively Christmas stuff. The tree was in a row of other artificial pines all decked out to show potential customers how nice they could look. When I pointed out the one we wanted to a salesgirl, she said it was "unico", the only one, and then went off to find some sort of container. While she was gone, Woowoo Charly and I, not ones to stand idly by, set about removing all the ornaments and other decorations from the tree. We had just neatly polished off the job when the salesgirl returned with a brand new tree in a box. The one we had undecorated, it turned out, was not "unico" after all. Ah well, "No te preocupe", don't worry, we were told, "No hay una problema." Alrighty then.

Earlier in the day, Woowoo Charly had gotten her hair cut and colored. Following that, she and I had a nice lunch at El Oasis Restaurant where she told me this story: She had a bug bite on the back of her head that she had scratched repeatedly. While in Roxanna's, the hair stylist chair, the bite began to bleed a little. Roxanna asked what it was and did it hurt. Woowoo Charly showing off her Spanish said "no porque estoy fuente." Roxanna laughed at that and Woo Charly didn't know why until I explained to her at lunch that she had said, "no, because I am a fountain." She had meant to say "fuerte" which means strong. Ha! Charly also told me that before she went to get her hair cut, she had looked up the Spanish word for layered so that she could explain to Roxanna exactly what she wanted done. When she got there and proudly served up the word, (I don't know what it is) Roxanna said, "Oh, you want it layered" in English. Big fun.

After the haircut, the lunch and the tree buying, Woowoo Chuck and I were having too nice a day to head directly home, so we drove over to the Panamonte Hotel/Bar/Restaurant to have a Cappuccino and Gran Marnier. While we were there, we ran into a friend of ours, who upon hearing of my recent health woes suggested (having had the same problems herself) the course of treatment that worked for her. It involves a steroid called Prednisone that you take seven of the first day, six, the second, five the third, etc. I started the plan at six this morning. It is now nearly ten. At noon I am going to go out, pick up my car and carry it to town. These pills are awesome.