Films and Other Horrors

I've been enjoying the annual horror movie fest on television that is a run-up to Halloween. I watched one yesterday entitled "Disturbia", (a great title that) about a kid incarcerated at home, ankle bracelet style, who watches the world from his windows and believes a neighbor to be a killer. Yeah I know, Hitchcock did this in "Rear Window", but this updated and dummied down for teens knock off starring Shia Le Bouef steak was not too bad. The leads were all believable and the heavy, I think played by David Morse, was a credible serial killer. A second flick I watched yesterday, "The Hitcher" was just a gore fest featuring another serial slayer of a particularly bloody bent. Multiple murder murderers it appears, have replaced monsters in modern horror pics in all but the SciFi genre. Truth is I suspect, that Hollywood has determined plausible horrors to be more frightening than the "suspension of disbelief" type. I still prefer the latter but that's probably more nostalgia than preference. Originality and great direction are required to frighten today's calloused horror movie veterans with monsters large or small, but I still believe it can be done. "Halloween", "Poltergeist", "An American Werewolf in London" and Coppola's "Dracula" are some of my favorite forget reality flicks. "Fried Greed Tomatoes", "Sleepless in Seattle", "Pretty Woman" "Steel Magnolias" and "Alien" were frightening as well but of course they were all SciFi.

I'm thinking a giant one bodied, three headed puppet, Dubya, Palin, McCain being the heads, danced about on strings by Carl Rove and Dick Cheney, seen stomping through the countryside (you might even say surging)would strike fear in the hearts of most movie goers today. I know I'd be frightened and I wouldn't even have to suspend my disbelief.

I'm Titleless

A guy whose name already escapes me although I read it less than an hour ago was featured on a yahoo news clip this morning. He's written a short book on what we could have purchased with the trillion dollars we have already spent in Iraq. Some, like paying off every credit card in the U.S. or covering every road with gold plate were whimsical while others were quite serious. Doubling the size of our police forces or a free college education for every high school graduate comes to mind. I'm not sure what category buying an iPOD for everyone on the planet falls under. A trillion dollars is a lot of money the writer makes abundantly clear. It is a sum, in fact, that most of us cannot even conceive. That being said, he then points out that recent estimates put the Iraq cost figure at closer to three trillion dollars! Too bad, is what I've go to I say. I'd like to have one of those iPODs.

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR and Yers Trewly are going about the business of getting used to being Gusless. It's a slow business. We keep seeing him in our minds eye in all those day to day moments when we would interact. Play time, feed time, walk time, treat time, bed time, spontaneous mess with the dog time. He's everywhere. But, of course, he's not. We are getting better though. We are able to talk a little about him now without breaking into sobs. We are even making plans to do this and that instead of just mope-ing around the house. Today we were going to play golf if it hadn't rained. It's October though. Rain is a regular feature. Our back up plan is movie rentals. I'm thinking something loud and heroic. Batman maybe, or Indiana Jones. Certainly nothing sad or soppy. It's a process, this grieving thing. We know that. And we know that grief will eventually fade and be replaced by something better. Good memories of happy times. It's a process. A damned, fucking, slow process.

Gustavo

Gustavo was a serious little guy. He went about his job of being the family dog with purpose and intent. He was not, you know, just some silly puppy. He was a real dog he seemed to say and he wanted to be treated with the respect a real, meaning big, dog would get. From the time I opened the door in the morning to let him out until he and I "walked the perimeter" at night to chase away whatever needed chasing away, he was all business. There was serious dog stuff to do everyday and he was just the dog to do it. Even playtime, when he would bring his stuffed Garfield and drop it at the feet of whichever of us he decided should play tug-of-war was done with a kind of "this is important stuff" attitude on his part. It was as if he were consciously entertaining us and not the other way around. He was loyal and dedicated to our little "pack" and was most content when we were all together. He could relax then, hang out and not worry about an absent member.

Gus was, though, almost from the beginning, my dog. Whether he designated me "alpha", as dog trainers like to put it, or whether it was because I took him for long walks and frequent car rides, his favorite things in life and, with him along, a couple of my favorites as well, he became my second shadow. I grew, over his four short years, very accustomed to having him close at hand and always felt vaguely uncomfortable when he was not. I think Charly felt the same. For that reason, she and I made it a practise to take Gus with us whenever and wherever dogs were allowed. Nothing would put more sparkle in his eyes and move his stumpy tail to wag then hearing Charly say "you gedda go, you gedda go" as we walked to the car. And conversely, nothing would make his whole body sag and droop more than when we told him he had to stay home. At those times, we drooped a little ourselves.

When he did "gedda go" Gus would prop himself happily on the back seat with his fore paws on the console between the front seats. This gave him a windshield view and enabled him to get to the serious business of warning other critters away. We were never able to cure him of growling ferociously at whatever beast we happened to drive by. After awhile we just quit trying. What the heck, it only lasted a couple of seconds and it seemed to make him so happy. With Gus serious and happy went hand in hand.

I have written several blogs about Gus, mostly humorous accounts of dog and man that I'm sure Gus would take issue with had he been able to read. Silliness, he would no doubt point out, is a human trait and he was a dog. Dogs he would say, are serious creatures. Then he would roll on his back and wait for the tummy rub.

Gus passed away a couple of night's ago at veterinary hospital in David where we had taken him for treatment of an undetermined illness. The vet said he died of a heart attack related to a heart ailment, probably an inherited condition.

There is nothing wrong with my own ticker that I know of despite the ache of loss that surrounds it. It is where Gus lives now, and always will.

Football Memories

I woke up this morning with a partially remembered dream about playing touch football during the halftimes of Denver Bronco games trying to invade my consciousness. I lost the thread of the dream, but it inspired some nice memories.

Back in the day, a group of friends and we Waltons rotated houses on Sundays to watch the Denver games. The Broncos had John Elway playing for them at that time and win or lose he was always fun to watch. We were all a pretty athletic bunch and if the weather permitted, a ragtag football match usually broke out in the streets fronting our houses. Traffic was minimal in those days on Sundays and even less so when the Broncos were playing. Men, women, children and yapping dogs all took part. It was great fun and often so much fun that we'd be well into the third quarter before someone inside would yell that Elway was doing something extraordinary again and we ought to come and see.

My boys, sons Don and Todd, and I didn't need others to get up a game though. We had our own good time playing wide receiver against cornerback with me chucking the ball to whichever son was on offense at the time. Todd was three and a half years younger than Don and at a speed and coordination disadvantage, but he never let that get in the way of competing with his older brother. He developed a set of moves that were both hysterical and effective. He would run around (parked) cars, behind cars and onto cars to get separation and I would have to get the ball to him at just the right moment. Both boys could always catch well, so that was never a problem. Todd's best move was to run, fall and fake injury. When his brother relaxed his guard, Todd would jump up and burst into the open. Second best was to just get us all laughing one way or another, a thing he's always had a talent for, and then sprint into the clear. My passes weren't always the best at those times. In the early years - we started playing when both boys were very little - it was pretty much a mismatch when Don was on offense. Just pitch and catch, really. If we were playing on grass, I would purposely throw the ball high or low or behind him to make the grab more difficult. It was a joy to watch him dive and make a catch. Later, when both boys were in their teens, the talent gap closed substantially and Don had to play with greater intensity to get open.

It would be nice to get out and throw the ball around right now. Of course we'd be limited to five yard outs and hitches, but just seeing the boys shoving playfully and talking smack to each other would be all I need to make me happy. Since distance apart doesn't permit that - Don in Colorado, Todd in Maryland and Yers Trewly here in Panama - I guess we are left with just watching the games. That being the case...Go Broncos!

The Middle Distance

October is to Panama what February is to wintry U.S. states, a month to endure. Will the rain never cease Michelangelo? Will there be no end of it? Of course rain is easier to tolerate than February's snow, sleet and cold, but we wimps here in paradise still feel that whining is called for when the sun makes only token appearances. With actual life limited and soggy up close I believe the best thing to do is go somewhere else. Somewhere in the middle distance.

Volcan Baru is shrouded in fog this morning which means that if you stare off into the middle distance your visibility has maxed out. It is, though, nice there in the m.d. I can see inside the fog where the nothingness cavorts and dances and all things are possible because they are all imagined anyway. Hope lives there and dreams too. I can see the Past rearranged to my liking and forward to the Future as far as I choose. There's a debate lurking there and a dental appointment to boot and...now I've done it, I've left the m.d. and returned to the real, the up close where the window in front of me could use a washing, my dog is sick and I do in fact have to see a dentista this afternoon.

Screw that, it's back to the middle distance for me.

There is a debate tonight to look forward to and it's shaping up to be a good one. The format calls for the two candidates to stand toe to toe and shout their opinions at each other. When McCain loses his temper which, of course, is inevitable, he will be permitted to pull a handkerchief from his sleeve and use it to slap Obama across the face in challenge. Obama will then have the choice of weapons and I am told he will select nineteenth century dueling pistols as his gun control legislation won't allow anything more modern. The debate committee has ruled out sabers and such as unfair to the older opponent. The Seconds will then be called to join the fray and issued weapons of their own. Palin, who doesn't follow rules, will select a hunting rifle. As a further fairness consideration, she will receive only one bullet. Biden will choose a wolf. The combatants will then stand back to back and pace off ten steps before turning and beginning their assaults. If any two of the opposing parties remain standing after the initial thrust, they will be issued gladiator clothes and weaponry for a second round of debating in which there will be no rules whatsoever. Vegas has a potential Palin vs Obama final at even odds with a Wolf vs McCain the least likely to occur but a good bet at ten to one. Whatever the outcome, this is definitely "don't miss TV".

Yup, it is true. The middle distance is the place to be.

Creative Juice

I have been feeling imagination-less of late. It is as if the monkeymind has found a comfortable branch to rest on and refuses to budge. I'm not sure what is needed - a kick in the pants, a cattle prod, a jump start - but something has to be done soon to get me off the mark.

I am going to a big party tonight to celebrate Woowoo Charly, the Old Redneck and friend Victoria's October birthdays. There will be more Panamanians than gringos in attendance and my lame Spanish will surely be tested. I'm hoping some gaffe or blooper or blunder will occur(not involving me of course, although that usually is the case)to get my creative juices flowing.

Okay there you have it, just what I REALLY needed, the phrase "creative juices flowing." Exactly what kind of juices are they, where do they come from and how do you make them flow, well let me tell you. The nut from which creative juice is extracted sits above my shoulders and is an area often referred to by others as the "nutcase." Peeling away the leafy layers of lethargy to get at the juice in the nutcase is a process euphemistically called "going bananas." The lethargy remains are toxic and must be disposed of carefully. It is highly recommended that you bury them far from televised sports or good books as these influences can reconstitute the lethargy into a vegetative state known as couch potato; a condition to be avoided at all costs except upon weekends. Once you have achieved the gone completely bananas state, it is easy to tap into the creative juice as it is right there in front of you just waiting to flow. I recommend tilting the nutcase towards a computer to start the flow, but others suggest that tilting toward easels, clay, cameras, cooking implements and such works equally well. When the juice has been completely spilled upon your project...quit.

Right Parters

I thought about typing in this whole bit from Vanity Fair magazine, but I'm far too lazy so I will, for the most part, summarize.

Reasons McCain should not be president: He's as much a puppet of the neocons as George Bush. He's a hothead and K street's Manchurian candidate, a man willing to do anything to pander to the fringes of his party. He's too old to be president of anything. Local chamber of commerce, maybe. President of the U.S.? Certainly not. And now the biggie that has me writing this. He parts his hair on the right side.

Brother and sister sociologists John and Catherine Walker "who have spent a frightening amount of time researching the subject, conclude that 'a hair part has a crucial impact on interpersonal relationships by affecting immediate character appraisal, perceived personality traits, self perception and self development.'"
Right parters they note, tend to possess right brain tendencies like obsessiveness, defensiveness, extremism, fanaticism, weakness and woodenness. Alrighty then! Positive traits are memory of pictures and musical perception. A McCain white house should use flash cards and show tunes to accompany classified information. Of the six previous presidents who were right partners five were considered failures, James Buchanon, Warren G. Harding, John Tyler, Andrew Jackson and Chester A. Arthur and the sixth Ronald Reagan was a success to many and a failure to others depending on your opinion of Iran-contra and the sweeping deregulation that has led to today's economic woes.

Left parters or no parters include Abe Lincoln, both Roosevelts, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson. Lincoln and Jimmy Carter both switched parts to the left when they entered office. Bill Clinton has no part and Hilary parts on the left. Rush Limbaugh is a right parter. Obama is a no parter like the majority of Americans today.

The final word on who will make it big in D.C. goes to DC Comics. In the Chris Reeve Superman films Clark Kent parted his hair on the right. The man of steel, on the other hand, parted his on the left.

So there you have that.

More Md, NY and Connecticut

Where was I? Woowoo Charly has been rattling beads, consulting crystals, talking to the animals and trying to clear our computer of assorted demons and somehow, along the way, she usurped Monkeymind. I could not gain access to the blog. Even when I answered comments, I appeared as Charly! Rats! I am not, however, without my own devices. Recalling the wisdom and clarity of Casey Stengal, Yogi Berra, Dubya and Sarah Palin, I summoned forth all the intellectual resources available from my enormous cranium and did the one thing certain to fix the problem. I called out into the dawn those mystical words known but to a few that bring hope, faith and charity to all, well to me anyway, I said, "hey Charly you better come fix this thing" and she did.

We partied from sun up Saturday all day throughout the day and into the night. You would too if you were us. D and T sang and played mostly blues in their pajamas first thing in the A.M. while I strummed along quietly when T shouted out the chords and changes. Mostly I was late, off, buzzy and bad but what the hell, I was holding the guitar properly. The boys are awesome and when they performed for everyone on the balcony that night, I just sat and listened, knowing better than to screw up their act. During the day there were store trips and walks through the woods to the playground for Jackson and Keely. I could spend many hours just watching them. I know I'm biased, but I swear they glow. The day went by very fast and in the early eve we were joined by T and D's aunt and uncle on their mother's side - my ex - and their son and his wife. All good folk. I remember lasagna, booze, laughter and music. Also hugs, kisses, dancing and craziness. D, T and I were the last to bed, but that's nothing new, we always are. Morning was bagels and beer, a hardy breakfast if ever there was one, and afternoon brought the parting. Lots of tears then all around. I swallowed mine in a manly way and tried not to look at anyone I wouldn't be seeing for a long time knowing my manly way would dissolve into blubbering if I did. Dara, Dave, Charly and I went back to NY in the rental car, Kira and Laura took the bus.

Ensuing days brought trips to Coney Island and its fabulous aquarium, Little Odessa NY's Russian section, where we sampled vodkas from Russia while a table of Russian men behind us all drank Grey Goose vodka from France. I figure they know which is the good stuff so I'm going with the Goose next time. We ate sushi one day at Charly's request and I had a Subway turkey sandwich to appease my craving on another. Thursday Woowoo Chuck and I trained up to Connecticut to have lunch with my 90 year old Uncle Horace and his wife Ruth. She is an Alzheimer's patient and has a full time nurse from Jamaica to help care for her. We ate at Unc's country club where I snuck in and put a napkin across my lap as fast as possible because I was wearing jeans. Jeans are not allowed and nor is smoking but Ralph Kiner, a club member and hall of fame baseball player is permitted to fire up a stogie when he's there. As I am a hall of fame jeans wearer I feel I should be allowed the same style courtesy. Long story short I didn't get caught. There were restaurants and bars and more laughter rounding out the week and another day long party on which I cooked french toast for everyone including two friends of D and K's. Somewhere along the way the Broncos lost to Kansas City and I still don't care. We left on a Monday that seems like yesterday and had a smooth trip home. Always glad to be there, but missing my "peeps" a lot already. As I've said, they are the best.

The 400th Blog

There is something scary about that...400 blogs. They all emanate from inside my head. I have a small head. How many could be left in there? What happens when it's completely empty and there is nary a creative thought left? Wait! I know! I'll run for office!

The bus ride from Chinatown NY to Chinatown DC (are there Americatowns in China?)took close to five hours or about the same as the plane ride from Panama to Newark. The bus was more comfortable though, bigger seats, no Ashton Kutcher movies and a stop along the way for refreshments. I also liked the part about the bus being on the ground and not thousands of feet in the air. We made it to our destination in the late afternoon and son Todd was there to greet us per the plan. As we loaded our luggage into the back of his car Todd suddenly asks me if I have any change. Huh? Look he tells me, there's a guy over there with a little kid I think needs some help. I turn around and see a man slumped on the sidewalk against a nearby wall with a kid cradled under his arm. Their faces are concealed, his by a hood and the child's turned away. I take a buck off my money clip and approach them saying something like hey buddy could you use some... and that's when the guy throws back his hood and leaps to his feet with his kidlet doing likewise. He's my son Jr. and his daughter Keely. I'm stunned. I'm speechless. Behind me Woowoo Charly screeches and in seconds we are all hugging, kissing and beaming like actors in a toothpaste commercial. Woowoo Chuck and I remain in shock during the long ride to Todd's house. The boys and Keely chatter away.

What has happened is this: Jr. is as broke as advertised, but his good buddy Jeff (JoeBob to his friends) donated his frequent flier miles to the cause. Thank you JoeBob. Daughter Kira then pitched in to help with all the additional expenses. Woowoo Charly and I were in the U.S. on Dave and Dara's tab and daughter Laura, who doesn't travel often, made it a point to be there so we could all reunite for the first time since Woowoo and I moved to Panama five years ago. I'm still sorting out how amazing the whole trip played out.

I don't know what else to say before I go back to the collage except thank you to all my clan for making this reunion happen. I clearly have the best family on the planet. I love them all and I wouldn't swap them for any other. When D and D and K, L, and Jackson My Man arrived the next morning and the party began I couldn't imagine being happier. I was so happy, in fact, that a week later when the Broncos lost to the lowly Chiefs, I was still glowing and didn't even care. Now that's happy.

And a final note before I go back to being my silly self is an additional thank you to Heather, Jr's wife, who couldn't be there but understood our need to see Jr. and Keely. And a thank you also goes to Ziza, Todd's wife, who not only tolerated us, but joined in as we turned her home into frat party. We love you both.

And another big thanks to RTGFKAR who manned the home front and looked after Gustavo the Wonder Dog. He gets a hug and a Taylor Ham.

New York Rambling

Alrighty then, Woowoo Charly and I are back from NY where we had two weeks that can only be described as awesome! (By "only" I mean if one lacks imagination and the ability to depict events using two or more words and yup, that's me. My mind is effectively whited out by the flood of thoughts that arrive when I call for NY trip details. A collage of people and play appears like a fat cloud and hovers about my frontal lobes obscuring the divisions between each NY event. Awesome just keeps popping up and though I love the original intent of the word - a mixed bag of reverence and wonder - I fear its effect has been diminished by over use. Still, there it is, AWESOME!)

I could I suppose, start at the beginning and write a precise account in detail of all that occurred from the get go to the done deal. I could, that is, if I had the focus, concentration and attention span of a ten year old and we all know that's not the case. I mean this blog isn't called Monkeymind for nothing. So...in lieu of being clear and having to write coherently, I'll just give you the collage. (Hmmm, if collage were a Spanish word it would be pronounced ko-yag-eee.)(You see? The mind of the monkey is ever present.)

Hotel Estancia no TV but little bottles of wine and packaged cookies-nice breakfast next morn. Beep beep shoes off then board plane. Long flight, bad movie-Ashton Kutcher-give me a break. Cab from Newark to Brooklyn-yeeha!-we are definetly not in Panama anymore Toto-talk Spanish to Argentinian driver. Hugs and shiny wet eyes from and to Dara and Dave and grandson-Jackson My Man who is almost two but is tall as four-NBA scouts should be alerted. Dave off to busines retreat for rest of week-bummer. Kira arrives-more hugging-lots of excited talking- watch Daily Show and Colbert Report before sacking down-funny funny shows. Mexican resturant for lunch next day-Jackson at preschool-talked Spanish to waiter whose own Spanish seemed very clear-not so fast-later conversation, drinks and a cigar for me in backyard of D and D's as sun sets-Kira over again after work. Next day long walk in beautiful Prospect Park and visit to zoo there with Jackson and Dara. That night Kira picks up Laura at La Guardia. All three daughters Laura-Kira-Dara now in NY-amazing. Next day K and L take us to Chinatown NY and put us on a bus-say what-headed to Chinatown D.C. to be picked up by son Todd. Girls and Dave to drive down in rental car the following morning. Four of our five kid units will then be together-fifth unable to come from Denver-congressional financial bailout doesn't have him targeted.

Tomorrow the big surprise.

Spell check is not working. Feel free to make corrections.

The OPWP Party and the Broncos

The Oil, Pharmaceutical, War Profiteering Party formerly known as Republican took a slight lead over the Democrats in last week's polls. Presidential candidate Sarah Walk Loudly and Carry a Big Gun Palin and her lap dog lackey running mate John Happy to Be VP McCain were delighted at the news and the proof positive that those who earnestly endeavor to achieve power and position will trump those who earnestly endeavor to make things better each and every time. Huzzahs and hosannas could be heard about the land as the OPWP Party ascended and great financial institutions crashed.

Here in Panama, Woowoo Charly had to be restrained as she watched the Sunday morning political gab fests. At one point she burst from her straight jacket and gag to scream "lies, lies, they're all lies" at a Palin spokesperson attempting to paint her candidate as knowing and wise. This outburst frightened our Panamanian plumber who was at the house to do a series of small repairs. "No te preocupe" (don't worry) I told him, "there is only an hour to go until the gentle game of football replaces the violence of politics. Unless you shoot wolves from airplanes, you are safe." We then re-bound and re-gagged Woowoo Chuck and removed all throwable items from the vicinity of our big screen Sony for fear the Democratic demon that possesses her every Sunday from eight A.M. until Wolf Blitzer sinks slowly over the horizon would reemerge and endanger our afternoon football immersion. Despite our best efforts audible grumbling could still be heard.

Even with the daunting prospect of having another angry Enneagram 8 at the White House and possibly even two - we are told that Palin is also a slash and burn, I will destroy you if you cross me, personality type - the day ended on a high note. The beloved by all who can stand to be near the garish color combination of blue and orange Denver Broncos benefited from an inadvertent and premature referee's whistle that saved them from a game killing turnover and allowed them to pull out an amazing 39-38 win over the San Diego Cargadores when a Cutler to Royal two point conversion attempt was successful in the closing seconds.

And speaking of closing seconds I better get busy. I've got a plane to catch.

Where Fore Art Thou Vanity?

I'm eating half of a chocolate muffin as I write this. I'll get to the other half later. The muffin while intact was the size of a softball. I was once able to pass by muffins and their evil minions, doughnuts, biscuits, turnovers, and their like, but alas, no more. In days of old when I was young...ger, I simply said, "shields up" and the tractor beams emitted by sugary confections bounced harmlessly away. I don't know why the Lord of Discipline has morphed into the Peon of Paunchiness, but I suspect it has something to do with my Buddhist/Taoist studies that had me earnestly shedding my ego like a snake its skin or an Autumn tree its leaves. Gone went the ego and all its superficial qualities, not the least of which - and herein lies the problem - is vanity. Without vanity there seems little need to maintain the slender physique of yore. The choice then was between the second doughnut or turning some sweet thing's head and I can tell you sincerely the doughnut had little chance. I was too vain. Now as I watch my face slowly sink south and my girth grow greatly - I'm ten or twelve pounds overweight and heading to New York where bagels are the size of meditation pillows - I feel no compulsion to do battle with my genetically inherited abdominal protrusion. It is what it is, a stomach that grows and shrinks as if on the waves of an internal tide and apart from the frequent belt adjustments this inspires, I care not a whit. I exercise now for heart health and not body svelte. That doesn't rhyme but it's as close as I could come.

Having thought these thoughts and put them to paper, I can now ponder their validity. Do I believe all that I have written here? I can't say for sure, but I sense the second half of the chocolate muffin getting closer and closer and closer.

We leave for NY Monday. NY may be a blog free zone...or not. We'll see how it goes.

Pizza and Stuff

I'm not really in the mood to blog, but I have to say something...anything, to get rid of the Palin pic.

RTGFKAR is building a storage shed behind the house. That's it. There is no further information. I just needed something to snap a photo of. (Never end a sentence in a preposition.) Okay I just needed to snap of a photo. (There, that's better.)

Woowoo Charly, RTGFKAR, friend B and I, (Why is the pronoun "I" capitolized?)(Capitalized? Hey, I can't remember them all.) motored into David yesterday to do this and that and have lunch at Pizza Hut. I have been to three or four Pizza Huts in my life and not a one was actually a hut. I can't explain that. The A/C in the much bigger than a hut building was so cold we opted to eat out on the much bigger than a hut's patio where the temperature was 80 something. There's a nice view of the parking lot from there. While we scarfed our pizzas a couple of gringos we know from Boquete parked and went inside. We are not sure if they came for the pizza or the A/C. They're from Alaska. They may have just needed a touch of home where it is colder than a Palin smile and you are allowed to shoot beautiful animals from an airplane. RTGFKAR and I shared a large "Pepperoni Lovers" pie (Old people will remember that pizzas were originally called pizza pies). We ate every bite and that was clearly a heroic feat. Friend B and Woowoo Chuck shared a medium combination pie that had 147 different kinds of meat, none recognizable but certified not shot from airplanes, noxious weeds in the form of green peppers and unidentifiable vegetables. They fell a couple of pieces short of finishing the pie. The ground opossum and mole chunks may have been too filling. An opinion poll following the meal revealed that both pizzas were as good as any the polled had previously had in Panama and that Obama was a shoo in for president on Pizza Hut's patio.

We went to PriceSmart after lunch because we couldn't find a store named PriceStupid where I'm sure we could have gotten better deals. We stocked up on things we needed like wine, oatmeal and muffins, a gourmet dinner combination favorite and I bought what is called a pair of jeans even though you only get one. I needed to replace the jeans I was wearing as they no longer fit. They had shrunk sometime during lunch at Pizza Hut. It might have been the humidity out on the patio that did it.

On the drive home we played I'm thinking of a person version of 20 questions. "Living?" "NO" "Dead?" "NO" "Bush?" That was fast. What gave it away?

More Politics Schmolitics

So the Repubs convention crashed to a halt last night with McCain saying look out Democrats change is coming. Hmmmm, change is coming. Where have I heard that before? The Dems would never say anything like that would they? Here's what is confusing me. The Republicans have controlled the White House, the Congress or both for 26 of the last 28 years, The White House for the last 8 and Congress 12 of the last 14 and yet somehow the mess the country is now in is the Democrat's fault. Very strange.

I watched the convention during timeouts and commercial breaks of the football game. The impression I got was of overactive children going off in all directions. The two most uttered words were change and maverick while speaker after speaker espoused the same old "be afraid be afraid", "the Dems are snobs", "war is good" "there's nothing wrong with the environment so drill drill drill" "abort abortion" and God likes us better than everybody else." Change? There's no change in that. Maverick? There's not a maverick idea in the bunch. One new idea from the Repubs would be refreshing. Yeah, I know, ideas come from those effete intellectuals. We'll have none of that in our party.

It's too bad Barbara Streisand is not a Republican. She could have sung "Sheeple, sheeple who love sheeple are the luckiest sheeple in the world." Every four years the Repubs trot out the same tired stuff that has brought the U.S. to it's current status, i.e. massively in dept, tied up in a costly, unnecessary war and disliked by even its closest allies and still the shiny eyed Stepford minions cheer, wave their flags and ask for more. I just don't get it.

I do, however, feel a bit sorry for the old centrist Republicans who now have no say and no candidate of their own. What must they think? The Conservatives and the religious fundamentalists now run the show and the party is a far cry from where Dwight, Nelson and Adlai would have had it go. I tell ya, I miss those guys.

And one final thing that baffles me is the Repubs claim on God. My latest writing project has me researching the New Testament on an almost daily basis and I can tell you with certainty that Jesus is clearly, without doubt, no question about it, positively, NOT a Republican. If anything, he's left of the Democrats; an angry Liberal bent on straightening out mankind's ass. The dude would get stoned if he took the podium at the Republican Convention! (And probably the Dems as well) "Yo, John and Sarah. You want to go to heaven? Okay, rid yourself of all your worldly possessions, follow me and we'll go help the poor." Nope, I just don't think that would play well on the convention stage. Fox News would ignore it all together.

Politics Schmolitics

Correction: The Bronco game begins Monday Night at 9:15, not tonight. Giants and Skins kick off the season this eve. What was I thinking?

RTGFKAR has a great idea for a Democratic ad. You show a picture of Sarah Palin during the swimsuit portion of the Miss Alaska contest. In the background you have one of those ghost like images of John McCain. The only sound track is a heart beat, lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub. Suddenly the heart beat stops and you get the long screech of the heart monitor as it indicates flatline. McCain's image disappears and you are left with just Palin in her swimsuit. The caption then reads, Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States.

Palin, we are told, is the governor of a state that has seven hundred seventy thousand people. RTGFKAR and I were born in New Jersey. In New Jersey there are checkout lines with more people than that. We are also told that she approves of hunting wolves from airplanes, shooting them down as they run themselves to exhaustion. She, in fact, helped to block a law that would make this illegal. I don't want Sarah Palin for president. I don't want her for vice president. I don't want her for a neighbor. I'd rather have wolves.

McCain's nomination acceptance speech is scheduled for tonight. If the Repubs are smart - a thing Quale, Bush, Limbaugh and talk show screamers prove to the contrary - he will kick it off before the Giants and Skins do. Otherwise, well, for sure his audience will be diminished. I can say for certain, at least by one.

I am finding the race for the white place quite interesting this go around. As Obama pointed out during an interview, the Republicans don't govern well, but they know how to win. Both of Bush's victories came after documented hanky panky in Florida and Ohio. Who will dance at this year's Inaugural Ball and how they got there will be nearly as much fun to watch as the NFL. Nearly. I said nearly.

The Republicans are who they are and the Democrats are who they are and never the twain shall meet. Most people side with one or the other,- sometimes over a single issue, how dumb is that, while those of us who are not represented by either party are left out in the cold - brrrrr - and either don't vote or vote half-heartedly for the person we think will do the least damage. I don't get it. Why not more parties?

Okay, one more thought before I go, because it's bothering me and maybe you can explain. Why are the Republicans so anti-intellectual? Why are they against being smart? I want my president to be smarter than me. I want my president to be a whole lot smarter than me. I want each president to be smarter than the last. I want my kids to be smarter than me (and they are) and I want their kids to be smarter than they are. That's progress, that's growth, that's evolution. To be a Republican candidate you can be a wolf slayer, a war hero, a pauper, a pirate, a pawn or a king. You can be a doctor, a lawyer or an Indian chief, but you can't be smart. If you want to get elected you have to come off as a common man, an average Joe. I don't know about you but I don't want a common man for president and average Joe's are average. I want an uncommon man,(or woman) an exceptional man (or woman) for president; one who thinks deeply and acts wisely. I don't want the word average applied to any of his deeds. The way I see it: if you want an average country, elect an average man. If you want a less than average country, reelect another Bush.

Frazier, Depression and The NFL

I'm like a little kid at the beginning of football season. (Some would say I'm like a little kid most of the time, but as Woowoo Charly likes to say about herself, "I'm child-like not child-ish, so, yeah, I'll go with that.) I just can't WAIT for that first Bronco kickoff. Today is Wednesday and the Denver Bronco season starts tomorrow at 9:15 P.M. My inner brat is seriously tempted to hit the sack early and thus encourage tomorrow to get here sooner. I'm thinking right after lunch would be good. Besides, I'll need to be well rested for that 9:15 kickoff because that's past my bedtime. Fortunately I have this to do and then I have to, I mean I just HAVE to, make some progress on another writing project and then there is the bar to keep my mind occupied and off the blankety blank Oakland Raiders. That's building a bar, not going to one. (But now that I think of it...no, nevermind.)There has been some football on the tube this week, college ball. To me that's like an hors douvre, an appetizer leading up to the main course, the NFL. The En-ay Ef-ay El-ay as they say here in Panama. College ball fans would understand what I'm talking about it they had to watch high school football for a week leading up to their season. What's worse for me this year is that I NEED the NFL to get me out of my deep, dark, two and a half day old depression. You see, what's happened is Channel 212 has dropped Frazier reruns in favor of My Wife and Kids. I'm completely crushed.

Every weekday at 10:30 A.M. I interrupt my mad scribbling to climb aboard my Elliptical Strider to burn calories and laugh my ass off at Frazier, Niles, Roz, Daphne and company. I wish I could laugh my belly off, but alas, it's my ass that disappears. Maybe I'm peddling wrong. I have frantically surfed about for an adequate substitute, sampling Wife And, Loves Raymond, the Queens King and Belucci, and even though all these shows feature hot wives married to funny guys, they just don't compare with Frazier for laugh a line entertainment. Niles alone is good for another inch off my backside! So by now, the third day sans Frazier, the depression has grown to an epic proportion rivaling that of years past when the Broncos were routinely crushed by ever increasing margins in Superbowl after Superbowl. The only thing that saved me then from selling my soul to the Devil and becoming a Raider or Yankees fan was the hope and optimism for the coming season. Now, with Frazier probably gone for good, I don't know what I will do. The NFL needs to arrive in a hurry. My depression and my ass are growing exponentially.

COOL !

There is no better adjective than "cool". If a thing is cool it is as good as it needs to be. It doesn't have to be splendid or magnificent or grand or even grandiose. Cool is enough. All the other judgmental adjectives were invented just so we wouldn't over use cool. Old people shy away from cool because they don't want to sound immature, but if you deliver the word with the proper emphasis, cool can remain a part of your vocabulary no matter your age. Just say it like you're being facetious and stretch it a bit, cooooool.

Alrighty then.

Have you ever read fantasy? I'm reading a trilogy by George R.R.Martin that has me captivated. Apart from The Lord of the Rings and The Harry Potter books that I've read in Spanish, I don't recall reading much other fantasy. Some sci fi for sure, but no fantasy unless you count the Tarzan series as such. Each of the books in Martin's trilogy are close to a thousand pages and I'm told he has written a fourth and is working on a fifth, both continuations of the original trilogy. (I think I would be working on a fifth, maybe even a quart, if told I had to write that much.)Martin's books, the first of which is "A Game Of Thrones", are complexly plotted and densely character-ed, but are written in a narrative style that carries the action forward with little doubling back. There are stories within stories within the principal story, but Martin moves them all along in such a skillful way that the reader never loses touch with any of them. An entire fictional world populated with creatures both real, people, and created, direwolves for example, seems as believable as the one we live in. If I were writing a review here, I would have to give these books the ultimate in praise. In other words, these books are, you guessed it, wait for it, wait for it, these books are.............cool!

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.

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.

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.