In the July 10, 2011 “Humor Me” I reported on a time in which I fell asleep in a history class in high school. A person calling himself “Wheeler Wildcat” posted this on Facebook claiming to have witnessed the event. I will be making parenthetical comments.
One day in high school, during the very last period of the day, I was in my history class. We had all been given topics to study and it was now time for each of us to give an oral presentation in front of the class. I had already given my report and now I was forced to sit there and listen to person after person drone on and on about topics that they hardly knew anything about. I was really just hoping for a meteor to strike the classroom or to suddenly be consumed by a particularly fast acting strain of flesh-eating bacteria – just anything to end my suffering and boredom. (He did not like book reports. Personally, I would rather listen to a book report than be suddenly consumed by a fast acting strain of flesh-eating bacteria. That’s just me.)
Sitting to my right was my friend Alan. We took a lot of history classes together in those days. My recollection is that we had just had our tennis class together the period before. Since this was in the springtime, we were still pretty hot and tired from the tennis class as we were sitting there being subjected to the endless stream of drivel.
We were breaking the monotony of the moment by discussing Alan’s latest song parody.(I find it amusing that my song parodies would be more interesting than American History.) At that time Alan was producing parodies of popular songs that were MUCH better than anything that “Weird” Al Yankovic (this is the only Wheeler graduate from the 70's that ever spelled "weird" correctly) ever produced later on – if only Alan had known that there was a way to make a living doing that! Two of his song parodies that I remember are “There Must Be 50 Men Running for President” (a parody of Paul Simon’s “There Must Be 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover”) and “Bad Barf” (a parody of Neil Sedaka and Elton John’s “Bad Blood”). Time has dimmed my memory of the complete lyrics but I do recall the chorus of “Bad Barf”:
Bad (BAD!) Barf (BARF!)
The steak is on the floor
And what’s more than that
It’s rolling out the door!
If Alan still remembers the complete lyrics, and since Neil and Sir Elton are still living, perhaps it is not too late to get them in the studio and FINALLY lay down that track. (I was really proud of “50 Men Running For President” because I have been able to use it in every election cycle since. I’m working on next year's: “Don’t have a fit, Mitt….)
I recall that someone had finished their report and that there were a few comments from the teacher. As the next speaker started her talk I focused on her for a few moments to see if she was going to say anything interesting. She said nothing of importance so I looked back over at Alan to continue our discussion of the lyrics. However, in the brief time since we had last spoken, Alan had fallen asleep.
“Fallen Asleep” really does not adequately describe Alan’s state at that moment – Alan was basically totally comatose. He was draped over his desk with his head laying on its right side so that his face was facing me. Alan wore glasses; the force of laying on them on his right side had forced the left side of the glasses up several inches from his left ear. Thankfully Alan was not snoring although his mouth was pretty much wide open, with his lower jaw resting on the surface of his desk. Alan was completely zonked out.
I was already planning the various ways I was going to tease Alan about this when I noticed something even more remarkable – Alan had already drooled a considerable amount of saliva out of his mouth and on to his desk. In the brief few moments since we had last talked Alan had managed to create a pool of saliva that was at least eight inches in diameter – and growing. When that much saliva is involved, an amount that is clearly of Biblical proportions, you cannot merely refer to it as spit; that quantity of saliva DEMANDS respect and so must be referred to by the Biblical name of “Spittle”. Thereafter this was referred to as “The Enormous Lake of Spittle”. (At least, I'm Biblical.)
I could not imagine that a human being could produce that much saliva in such a short period of time. Even if you locked me in a room with Pamela Anderson, Scarlett Johansson, Sofía Vergara, and, of course, all the women of the Wheeler High Class of 1977, it would take me at least an hour to drool that much. (I will say this: considering it is 34 years down the road, the Class of ’77 could still make you drool.) Teenagers are well known for having overactive glands – it is just that, in Alan’s case, it was his salivary glands that were raging out of control. (Great, the story of my life: overactive salivary glands.)
I am certain that if Alan’s drooling abilities were to be made known to medical science he would soon be on the cover of every medical journal in existence. I am not sure what units they use to measure the volume of saliva but I think that, if Alan’s story were to become known, soon the standard unit of salivary output would be known as The Alan. Soon the tabloids would be filled with stories like the following:
“Wetumpka, Alabama resident Hawk Flemm has a basketball-sized tumor growing on one of his salivary glands and, as a result, is drooling a Quarter of an Alan PER DAY!!! His drooling is so intense that he has to wear an adult diaper wrapped around his head just to keep from drowning any toddlers and Yorkshire Terriers who happen to be nearby!!!”
I would also guess that there is no instrument that is designed for humans that has a large enough capacity to measure Alan’s drooling ability. Somewhere, there is probably some scientist who has a government grant worth billions of dollars a year who measures the salivary output of African Bull Elephants or Blue Whales; perhaps they could somehow gather up 10 or 12 of the Elephant and Whale Slobber Measuring Devices and have enough capacity to fully measure Alan. They might possibly have to keep emptying them out just to keep up.
Over the years Alan and I have discussed who the person was whose lecture caused him to zonk out. I have a crystal clear recollection of who was speaking when I noticed he was comatose; Alan’s recollection of who put him to sleep is different. I suppose it is possible that it took a while for Alan to complete his descent into his comatose state and that one person was speaking at the beginning of that descent and another was speaking when I first noticed. I am in possession of the names of both people but I will keep those names to myself for now. (I am willing to release the name: a skinny kid that said he was from Hawaii named Barack Obama.)
In the realm of saliva, I like to think of Alan as a mythical, Babe Ruth-like figure – he is “The Eminence of Expectoration”, he is “The Pharaoh of Phlegm”, he is the “The Maharajah of Mucus” - he is “The Sultan of Slobber”. (I like "The Maharajah of Mucus".)
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Eulogy
I was privileged to give the Eulogy at my mother-in-law's funeral. Please allow me to share it with you. I promise the funny stuff will come back next week.
It is a testimony of Mrs. Stanley’s character to have a son-in-law give her eulogy. I have never had any issues with her. In fact, I’ve known her since I was seven years old. She was a friend of my mother. Mom used to say, “I really like Mary”-just like everyone else because she was impossible to dislike. She treated me like I was one of her own. You could not have a better mother-in-law.
When Mr. Stanley asked me to “say a few words”, I jumped at the chance. How could I not talk about a subject I know so well? Additionally, with the exception of the “Grandson-in law”, I’m the only one in the family that has any public speaking experience since I teach the 9th grade Sunday School class at Roswell Street Baptist Church. I appreciate any opportunity to speak any place where I am not the oldest one in the room.
Mary Stanley was excellent with numbers. She probably could have been an accountant. She taught Lori how to make and keep a budget. Because of that, thankfully, we have lived comfortably within our means.
She was also very good with puzzles. Up until the end she was still helping Pogie (Lori’s dad) with the crossword puzzle in the Marietta Daily Journal. One of her favorite TV shows was “Wheel of Fortune” and I have never seen anyone solve a puzzle so quickly. There would be one “M” on the board and she would say: “America, The Beautiful” or the letter “B” would appear twice on the board and she would say: “Bless the beasts and the children” and she would be right!
While Mrs. Stanley was a person of great Christian faith, she was just a little bit superstitious. When Lori and I got married, the Stanleys gave us a couch that was a sleeper-sofa. During the move to our first apartment, a box of my baseball caps (I collect baseball caps) was put on the couch. Mary had a running duck fit when she saw this box marked “baseball caps” because hats on a bed bring “bad luck”. I told Lori that it really wasn’t a bed so “bad luck” should cut us some slack. However, I did work 17 years processing health insurance claims, so she may have been right.
Sometimes she would surprise you. For those of you that do not know, Wayne Clancy (Pop) and I became friends while his grandson (whose Dad was a neighbor of mine in Beverly Hills) and Ben played football together. We would sit and watch the practices and this led Pop to joining our church and soon he became friends with Lori’s parents.
One time, Lori’s parents had us and Pop over for an after church meal. As often the case with older people, the conversation began centering around what they did “in the old days”. Out of the blue, Mary said, “Wayne, Wayne. Did you ever smoke rabbit tobacco? Now that was a good smoke!”
For Mrs. Stanley, family was the most important thing. When I informed her that I was going to marry Lori, she told me: “Alan, never ever do anything that would come between Lori and her family”. I’m happy to say that I haven’t.
Incidentally, she loved our cat, Gracie. Gracie is your basic house cat that we got Ben when he was in First Grade and here he is a Junior in college and she is still with us. For some reason, Lori began giving Mary cards and presents from Gracie. Mary thought this was so funny and looked forward to her “Gracie” cards. (By the way, Brown children, a couple of Christmases ago, you got presents from Gracie. You know that was from us..right? Gracie does not have any income.) Last week was Mary’s final birthday and we took Gracie to see her along with a birthday card from Gracie.
The last year of Mrs.Stanley’s life was very difficult. First, Mr. Stanley was for time in the hospital in ICU. In October, she suffered stroke while pulling weeds, fell and broke a rib. This led to a hospitalization which foreshadowed the future because she became very confused. Afterward, she was so worried that she might have done something embarrassing or said some inappropriate. She hadn’t.
After this hospitalization, we had to explain to her that Lori has been diagnosed with an Invasive Ductal Carcinoma tumor and would need surgery. As Lori’s surgery approached, Mr.Stanley had to be place back into the hospital. All this time, Mrs. Stanley was in great physical pain due to various ailments. A few days after Lori’s last radiation treatment, Mrs. Stanley went into the hospital for the emergency surgery from which she would never recover.
Mary loved her friends. She loved all of the people at the East Marietta Christian Church, Lost Mountain Christian Church, and Roswell Street Baptist Church. She loved to “tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love”. Then the “some sweet day” she finally sang that “song of victory”.
Last night, after we left visitation, Lori commented that she couldn’t believe her mom was gone. We were all blessed to have Mrs. Stanley around as long was we did. 82 years is nothing to sneeze at. Even though she is gone, I can look at all of her children, grandchildren, and now, great grandchildren and see her qualities and attributes. It reminds me of a song that said: “I’ll see you in the skies above, in the tall grass, in the ones I love”. Mary Stanley left a legacy of kindness and faith. We would all be better to have people see that in us.
It is a testimony of Mrs. Stanley’s character to have a son-in-law give her eulogy. I have never had any issues with her. In fact, I’ve known her since I was seven years old. She was a friend of my mother. Mom used to say, “I really like Mary”-just like everyone else because she was impossible to dislike. She treated me like I was one of her own. You could not have a better mother-in-law.
When Mr. Stanley asked me to “say a few words”, I jumped at the chance. How could I not talk about a subject I know so well? Additionally, with the exception of the “Grandson-in law”, I’m the only one in the family that has any public speaking experience since I teach the 9th grade Sunday School class at Roswell Street Baptist Church. I appreciate any opportunity to speak any place where I am not the oldest one in the room.
Mary Stanley was excellent with numbers. She probably could have been an accountant. She taught Lori how to make and keep a budget. Because of that, thankfully, we have lived comfortably within our means.
She was also very good with puzzles. Up until the end she was still helping Pogie (Lori’s dad) with the crossword puzzle in the Marietta Daily Journal. One of her favorite TV shows was “Wheel of Fortune” and I have never seen anyone solve a puzzle so quickly. There would be one “M” on the board and she would say: “America, The Beautiful” or the letter “B” would appear twice on the board and she would say: “Bless the beasts and the children” and she would be right!
While Mrs. Stanley was a person of great Christian faith, she was just a little bit superstitious. When Lori and I got married, the Stanleys gave us a couch that was a sleeper-sofa. During the move to our first apartment, a box of my baseball caps (I collect baseball caps) was put on the couch. Mary had a running duck fit when she saw this box marked “baseball caps” because hats on a bed bring “bad luck”. I told Lori that it really wasn’t a bed so “bad luck” should cut us some slack. However, I did work 17 years processing health insurance claims, so she may have been right.
Sometimes she would surprise you. For those of you that do not know, Wayne Clancy (Pop) and I became friends while his grandson (whose Dad was a neighbor of mine in Beverly Hills) and Ben played football together. We would sit and watch the practices and this led Pop to joining our church and soon he became friends with Lori’s parents.
One time, Lori’s parents had us and Pop over for an after church meal. As often the case with older people, the conversation began centering around what they did “in the old days”. Out of the blue, Mary said, “Wayne, Wayne. Did you ever smoke rabbit tobacco? Now that was a good smoke!”
For Mrs. Stanley, family was the most important thing. When I informed her that I was going to marry Lori, she told me: “Alan, never ever do anything that would come between Lori and her family”. I’m happy to say that I haven’t.
Incidentally, she loved our cat, Gracie. Gracie is your basic house cat that we got Ben when he was in First Grade and here he is a Junior in college and she is still with us. For some reason, Lori began giving Mary cards and presents from Gracie. Mary thought this was so funny and looked forward to her “Gracie” cards. (By the way, Brown children, a couple of Christmases ago, you got presents from Gracie. You know that was from us..right? Gracie does not have any income.) Last week was Mary’s final birthday and we took Gracie to see her along with a birthday card from Gracie.
The last year of Mrs.Stanley’s life was very difficult. First, Mr. Stanley was for time in the hospital in ICU. In October, she suffered stroke while pulling weeds, fell and broke a rib. This led to a hospitalization which foreshadowed the future because she became very confused. Afterward, she was so worried that she might have done something embarrassing or said some inappropriate. She hadn’t.
After this hospitalization, we had to explain to her that Lori has been diagnosed with an Invasive Ductal Carcinoma tumor and would need surgery. As Lori’s surgery approached, Mr.Stanley had to be place back into the hospital. All this time, Mrs. Stanley was in great physical pain due to various ailments. A few days after Lori’s last radiation treatment, Mrs. Stanley went into the hospital for the emergency surgery from which she would never recover.
Mary loved her friends. She loved all of the people at the East Marietta Christian Church, Lost Mountain Christian Church, and Roswell Street Baptist Church. She loved to “tell the old, old story of Jesus and his love”. Then the “some sweet day” she finally sang that “song of victory”.
Last night, after we left visitation, Lori commented that she couldn’t believe her mom was gone. We were all blessed to have Mrs. Stanley around as long was we did. 82 years is nothing to sneeze at. Even though she is gone, I can look at all of her children, grandchildren, and now, great grandchildren and see her qualities and attributes. It reminds me of a song that said: “I’ll see you in the skies above, in the tall grass, in the ones I love”. Mary Stanley left a legacy of kindness and faith. We would all be better to have people see that in us.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Slobberpalooza '76
A recap of another event that explains why I’ve never been on the cover of People magazine.
There are many embarrassing things that can happen to a person. Fortunately for you most of them have happened to me. Of course, most of these happened in high school, a time which you are keenly aware of being embarrassed.
It was the spring of my junior year, 1976, at Wheeler High School. At that time in history, this was THE school in Cobb County, mainly because we didn’t have a Bass Fishing team. We were called names by all of the other high schools, but we didn’t care. We were special and we knew it.
My friend Moody (see Humor Me: Bogus Bells 6/8/11) and I had two classes together. The first was a tennis class taught by the inappropriately named Coach Ham. Coach Ham may have been 4’9” and may have weighed 90 pounds. This class had a bunch of other goofballs in it. Needless to say, she lost control of this class quickly and spent the valuable class time running around telling us to “Quit it!”
One of the things she wanted us to quit was an awful habit we had of throwing a tennis ball at the gut (or the area below the gut) of whichever friend was beginning to serve to his opponent. Pretty low brow stuff and it was fun, as we used to say back then, as all get out.
The class after tennis was American History (1932-present) taught by the lovely Kitty Love.
Miss Love ( sounds like the name of one of those detective movies of the 70’s) was a hip young teacher. She seemed to like and enjoy the students, although I remember her saying “Ya’ll are just awful, just awful” almost every day of the class.
In one of those modern education moves, she assigned us an “Oral Book Report”. We had to actually READ A BOOK and then stand in front of the class and report about it.
I remember my book: The Breech of Faith: The Fall of Richard Nixon by Theodore H. White. It wasn’t one of Theodore’s best efforts. White wrote a dull and dry book because for all of its importance, Watergate did not have any sex, drugs, or rock and roll. It had some cuss words, but that was about it.
However, everyone else in the class read the book The Day of The Jackal which was about a guy that was trying to assassinate Charles de Gaulle, who I can guarantee you that most of the people in the class thought was the bassist for Uriah Heep.
One day, after an incredible Tennis class in which we did something closely resembling the sport, I sat in Miss Love’s American History class prepared for another round of oral book reports on the The Day Of The Jackal. This particular class room was on the western side of the building and was, at this time of day, nice and toasty.
There are conflicting opinions as to whose The Day Of The Jackal report I fell asleep in. I had contracted a terrible case of adolescent narcolepsy. Then I did the second most embarrassing thing you can do while asleep: I drooled.
(To this day, I wonder what that poor student was thinking, while giving an oral book report, seeing another student asleep, mouth open and slobbering)
When I awoke up, I looked down at my desk there was a literal pool of saliva (Pool of Saliva sounds like a good name for a band). In 70’s lingo, I freaked out.
One of the pleasant aspects of my high school career is that most of my class was not your stereotypical high schoolers. The Jocks got along with the Nerds and everybody loved the Stoners. With the exception of one person: the girl who sat in the desk across from mine. This young lady based a young man’s worth by his position on the Football team. It wasn’t good enough to be second string for her. For some reason, a boy that was short, thin, with Coke bottle glasses, greasy hair, bad teeth, pimples and the quaff of B.O. didn’t turn her on (Go figure). If she saw “Lake Manis” as it came to be known, she would make a scene like no other and I would probably never get to kiss a girl.
Quietly I got out a couple of pieces of notebook paper and wiped up the pool of DNA. I thought I had gotten away with the crime until I heard Moody say, “Good Job”.
It turns out Moody was basically the only person that noticed my drooling and my life was not ruined by embarrassment. I’m still short, but wear contacts lenses and a good bit of cologne. For some reason, I still have pimples. By the way, I have kissed a girl-Yeah come on!
All that remains is this: to whoever was giving the book report on The Day of The Jackal that day, it was not you. I’m sure you worked hard on the report and I hope you got a good grade. I feel awful about it, just awful.
There are many embarrassing things that can happen to a person. Fortunately for you most of them have happened to me. Of course, most of these happened in high school, a time which you are keenly aware of being embarrassed.
It was the spring of my junior year, 1976, at Wheeler High School. At that time in history, this was THE school in Cobb County, mainly because we didn’t have a Bass Fishing team. We were called names by all of the other high schools, but we didn’t care. We were special and we knew it.
My friend Moody (see Humor Me: Bogus Bells 6/8/11) and I had two classes together. The first was a tennis class taught by the inappropriately named Coach Ham. Coach Ham may have been 4’9” and may have weighed 90 pounds. This class had a bunch of other goofballs in it. Needless to say, she lost control of this class quickly and spent the valuable class time running around telling us to “Quit it!”
One of the things she wanted us to quit was an awful habit we had of throwing a tennis ball at the gut (or the area below the gut) of whichever friend was beginning to serve to his opponent. Pretty low brow stuff and it was fun, as we used to say back then, as all get out.
The class after tennis was American History (1932-present) taught by the lovely Kitty Love.
Miss Love ( sounds like the name of one of those detective movies of the 70’s) was a hip young teacher. She seemed to like and enjoy the students, although I remember her saying “Ya’ll are just awful, just awful” almost every day of the class.
In one of those modern education moves, she assigned us an “Oral Book Report”. We had to actually READ A BOOK and then stand in front of the class and report about it.
I remember my book: The Breech of Faith: The Fall of Richard Nixon by Theodore H. White. It wasn’t one of Theodore’s best efforts. White wrote a dull and dry book because for all of its importance, Watergate did not have any sex, drugs, or rock and roll. It had some cuss words, but that was about it.
However, everyone else in the class read the book The Day of The Jackal which was about a guy that was trying to assassinate Charles de Gaulle, who I can guarantee you that most of the people in the class thought was the bassist for Uriah Heep.
One day, after an incredible Tennis class in which we did something closely resembling the sport, I sat in Miss Love’s American History class prepared for another round of oral book reports on the The Day Of The Jackal. This particular class room was on the western side of the building and was, at this time of day, nice and toasty.
There are conflicting opinions as to whose The Day Of The Jackal report I fell asleep in. I had contracted a terrible case of adolescent narcolepsy. Then I did the second most embarrassing thing you can do while asleep: I drooled.
(To this day, I wonder what that poor student was thinking, while giving an oral book report, seeing another student asleep, mouth open and slobbering)
When I awoke up, I looked down at my desk there was a literal pool of saliva (Pool of Saliva sounds like a good name for a band). In 70’s lingo, I freaked out.
One of the pleasant aspects of my high school career is that most of my class was not your stereotypical high schoolers. The Jocks got along with the Nerds and everybody loved the Stoners. With the exception of one person: the girl who sat in the desk across from mine. This young lady based a young man’s worth by his position on the Football team. It wasn’t good enough to be second string for her. For some reason, a boy that was short, thin, with Coke bottle glasses, greasy hair, bad teeth, pimples and the quaff of B.O. didn’t turn her on (Go figure). If she saw “Lake Manis” as it came to be known, she would make a scene like no other and I would probably never get to kiss a girl.
Quietly I got out a couple of pieces of notebook paper and wiped up the pool of DNA. I thought I had gotten away with the crime until I heard Moody say, “Good Job”.
It turns out Moody was basically the only person that noticed my drooling and my life was not ruined by embarrassment. I’m still short, but wear contacts lenses and a good bit of cologne. For some reason, I still have pimples. By the way, I have kissed a girl-Yeah come on!
All that remains is this: to whoever was giving the book report on The Day of The Jackal that day, it was not you. I’m sure you worked hard on the report and I hope you got a good grade. I feel awful about it, just awful.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Michele, Ma Belle
The first major Republican debate in New Hampshire did two things. One, it knocked any chance Tim Pawlenty had at becoming President out of the park. He looked, after a question about his calling Romney’s health care plan “Obamney Care”, like he had just wet his pants. If Pawlenty can’t stand up to Mitt Romney, he can’t stand up to Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
The second thing it did was propel Michele Bachmann into the top tier of candidates, which, for now, includes only Mitt Romney and apparently, Rick Perry.
Bachmann answered every question thrown at her in a seasoned, reasonable way including a stupid question about which one you like better: Elvis or Johnny Cash.
Then, speaking of stupid questions, last Sunday, Chris Wallace asked her if she was a flake because, she has said some, er, off the wall things, here and there. I’m not sure what Wallace thought she would say. (“Sure, I’m a Flake, what of it?”) Her reply started a little defensively, but she ended up answering it like she answers all questions put to her: she is a Congresswoman, a tax attorney, yadda, yadda. She also mentioned she raised five kids and helped raise 23 foster children, which would help her in dealing with Congress.
A lot of us on this side of the river were pretty put out with Wallace. Nobody in the Mainstream Media ever asked President Wonderful anything close to a hard question in 2008. Their questions to him: “Why are you such a dream boat?” “Tell me, when, not if, you get to be President, what will be the first grand and glorious thing you are going to do?”
No, Republicans have to get the proctologic exam along with presenting their curriculum vitae. This rule does not apply if you are named Jon Huntsman.
That’s the way it is, as Uncle Walter would say. It is also the reason she won’t win the Presidency.
Notice I did not say the nomination. She is the leader in the huge “Tea Party” movement which has its good and bad points. One of its bad points is that sometimes they support candidates which, to say the least, are flaky. One of their Senate candidates had to run a commercial proclaiming that she “was not a witch”.
My only problem with the “Tea Party” is that sometimes they don’t understand politics is about compromise and sometimes you have to take less than what you want to get anything you want.
Bachmann will be easy to parody. Already the “Funny or Die” website lists Bachmann’s “Five Biggest Factual Gaffes”. By the way, they haven’t mentioned our dear Vice President’s factual gaffe of claiming that FDR got on television in 1929 when the depression began despite the “fact” that FDR was not the President and there were no commercial TVs to get on.
Right now, Bachmann’s poll numbers versus the President are abysmal. The RealClear Politics average show Obama leading Bachmann 51% to 33%. To win, Bachmann has to win over the moderate voters and she has no history of having even appealed to anything other than Republicans.
Of course, in 1979, I was worried that President Carter would be re-elected despite his record and I worried over the Republican nominee. Everyone was going crazy over a 70 year old former actor who did not to know the name of the Prime Minister of France. That was Reagan and Bachmann could be another Reagan. I just don’t see it.
The second thing it did was propel Michele Bachmann into the top tier of candidates, which, for now, includes only Mitt Romney and apparently, Rick Perry.
Bachmann answered every question thrown at her in a seasoned, reasonable way including a stupid question about which one you like better: Elvis or Johnny Cash.
Then, speaking of stupid questions, last Sunday, Chris Wallace asked her if she was a flake because, she has said some, er, off the wall things, here and there. I’m not sure what Wallace thought she would say. (“Sure, I’m a Flake, what of it?”) Her reply started a little defensively, but she ended up answering it like she answers all questions put to her: she is a Congresswoman, a tax attorney, yadda, yadda. She also mentioned she raised five kids and helped raise 23 foster children, which would help her in dealing with Congress.
A lot of us on this side of the river were pretty put out with Wallace. Nobody in the Mainstream Media ever asked President Wonderful anything close to a hard question in 2008. Their questions to him: “Why are you such a dream boat?” “Tell me, when, not if, you get to be President, what will be the first grand and glorious thing you are going to do?”
No, Republicans have to get the proctologic exam along with presenting their curriculum vitae. This rule does not apply if you are named Jon Huntsman.
That’s the way it is, as Uncle Walter would say. It is also the reason she won’t win the Presidency.
Notice I did not say the nomination. She is the leader in the huge “Tea Party” movement which has its good and bad points. One of its bad points is that sometimes they support candidates which, to say the least, are flaky. One of their Senate candidates had to run a commercial proclaiming that she “was not a witch”.
My only problem with the “Tea Party” is that sometimes they don’t understand politics is about compromise and sometimes you have to take less than what you want to get anything you want.
Bachmann will be easy to parody. Already the “Funny or Die” website lists Bachmann’s “Five Biggest Factual Gaffes”. By the way, they haven’t mentioned our dear Vice President’s factual gaffe of claiming that FDR got on television in 1929 when the depression began despite the “fact” that FDR was not the President and there were no commercial TVs to get on.
Right now, Bachmann’s poll numbers versus the President are abysmal. The RealClear Politics average show Obama leading Bachmann 51% to 33%. To win, Bachmann has to win over the moderate voters and she has no history of having even appealed to anything other than Republicans.
Of course, in 1979, I was worried that President Carter would be re-elected despite his record and I worried over the Republican nominee. Everyone was going crazy over a 70 year old former actor who did not to know the name of the Prime Minister of France. That was Reagan and Bachmann could be another Reagan. I just don’t see it.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The History of An Entitlement
This is the history of the federal government’s “Pizza on Friday Program” (POFP)
• Woodrow Wilson writes in a 1898 letter to a colleague that “I took the family out for a Pizza Pie as all families should”.
• That colleague, wrote President McKinley urging mandatory Pizza Fridays.
• In 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt said “A man that doesn’t like pizza is a rapscallion and should be punched in the snoot, tarred, feathered and run out on the rails”.
• 1911, President William Howard Taft ate three pizzas at one sitting.
• In 1925 a reporter said to President Coolidge: "I bet a fellow ten whole dollars that I could not get you to say two words about pizza!" The President responded: "You lose".
• The campaign song for Alfred Smith in 1928 was “A Slice Would Be Nice”
• In a 1933 as an effort to help struggling diary farmers in Wisconsin, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt created the Wednesday Pizza Administration or The WPA. The Federal Government commissioned free pizza to be given out in special government stores called “Huts” every Wednesday.
• The radio stations all over America played the song “Hey You Let’s Chew”.
• After Pearl Harbor, the country was urged to cut down on its pizza consumption and show Hitler we mean business.
• In the 1948 Presidential race, President Harry Truman said, “The Republican Party wants to take away your pizza and I won’t let them.”
• In 1952 Presidential candidate Dwight Eisenhower promises to hold the anchovies.
• In the 1960 Presidential debates,John F.Kennedy said that there was pepperoni gap.
• In 1966, President Lyndon Johnson signed an executive order changing The Wednesday Pizza Administration into The Pizza On Friday Program since the modern American family was very busy on this day.
• In an interview at a Washington D.C. area Pizza Hut, President Richard Nixon denied ever having pizza.
• In 1979, President Carter signed an executive order allowing for federal funding of deep dish pizzas.
• In a 1986 compromise with the Democrats, President Ronald Reagan allowed citizens to substitute spaghetti for pizza if they wanted.
• After a rousing convention speech in 1988, President George Herbert Walker Bush caves in to Congressional pressure and signs legislation to allow specialty pizzas on the POFP.
• Bill Clinton wins the White House in 1992 promising bread sticks.
• In 2000, George Bush promises “buffalo wings with your pizza” while Al Gore promises “buffalo wings and the beverage of your choice”.
• Illinois Senator Barack Obama wins The White House promising never to get your order wrong.
• In 2011, after years of an exploding Federal Budget, Congressman Paul Ryan of Wisconsin proposes deep cuts to the Pizza on Friday Program. The poor and needy would still qualify; however, the upper classes will be issued a coupon for use at their local Preferred Pizza Provider (PPP).
• The chairwoman of The Democratic Party, Debbie Wasserman Schultz, called Ryan and the Republican Party: “Pro starvation”.
• Woodrow Wilson writes in a 1898 letter to a colleague that “I took the family out for a Pizza Pie as all families should”.
• That colleague, wrote President McKinley urging mandatory Pizza Fridays.
• In 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt said “A man that doesn’t like pizza is a rapscallion and should be punched in the snoot, tarred, feathered and run out on the rails”.
• 1911, President William Howard Taft ate three pizzas at one sitting.
• In 1925 a reporter said to President Coolidge: "I bet a fellow ten whole dollars that I could not get you to say two words about pizza!" The President responded: "You lose".
• The campaign song for Alfred Smith in 1928 was “A Slice Would Be Nice”
• In a 1933 as an effort to help struggling diary farmers in Wisconsin, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt created the Wednesday Pizza Administration or The WPA. The Federal Government commissioned free pizza to be given out in special government stores called “Huts” every Wednesday.
• The radio stations all over America played the song “Hey You Let’s Chew”.
• After Pearl Harbor, the country was urged to cut down on its pizza consumption and show Hitler we mean business.
• In the 1948 Presidential race, President Harry Truman said, “The Republican Party wants to take away your pizza and I won’t let them.”
• In 1952 Presidential candidate Dwight Eisenhower promises to hold the anchovies.
• In the 1960 Presidential debates,John F.Kennedy said that there was pepperoni gap.
• In 1966, President Lyndon Johnson signed an executive order changing The Wednesday Pizza Administration into The Pizza On Friday Program since the modern American family was very busy on this day.
• In an interview at a Washington D.C. area Pizza Hut, President Richard Nixon denied ever having pizza.
• In 1979, President Carter signed an executive order allowing for federal funding of deep dish pizzas.
• In a 1986 compromise with the Democrats, President Ronald Reagan allowed citizens to substitute spaghetti for pizza if they wanted.
• After a rousing convention speech in 1988, President George Herbert Walker Bush caves in to Congressional pressure and signs legislation to allow specialty pizzas on the POFP.
• Bill Clinton wins the White House in 1992 promising bread sticks.
• In 2000, George Bush promises “buffalo wings with your pizza” while Al Gore promises “buffalo wings and the beverage of your choice”.
• Illinois Senator Barack Obama wins The White House promising never to get your order wrong.
• In 2011, after years of an exploding Federal Budget, Congressman Paul Ryan of Wisconsin proposes deep cuts to the Pizza on Friday Program. The poor and needy would still qualify; however, the upper classes will be issued a coupon for use at their local Preferred Pizza Provider (PPP).
• The chairwoman of The Democratic Party, Debbie Wasserman Schultz, called Ryan and the Republican Party: “Pro starvation”.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Bogus Bells
After years of benign neglect by the county, my dear high school Alma Mater, Wheeler High School is getting a much needed renovation. As part of the renovation, the original portion of the school built in 1965, will be torn down and rebuilt.
The Wheeler High School Alumni Association sponsored a “goodbye” to the old building and I had to go. It was neat walking the halls again. It was like nothing had changed except everybody had gotten older and fatter.
Here's a picture of me, my wife, and John Quarles. Please note we are the smallest people in the picture.
It brought back memories. Back when I was in school (the mid 70's) the motto of Wheeler could have been, to paraphrase Dave Barry: “Wheeler High School: Where the Leaders of Tomorrow are Leaving Wads of Gum Under The Desks of Today”. It is not true, young people; whose only knowledge of the 70’s is “That 70’s Show”, that everyone was stoned. Okay, maybe one out of three.
Of course, it brought back a memory of when I got into big trouble at school.
My first two years at Wheeler, we had double sessions. The upper classmen went in the morning and the underclassmen went in the afternoon. This meant there were no lunches served at school. In my junior year, the classes were united and lunch was now served. In keeping with modern times, we had two lunch rooms. One lunch room served the usual lunch room swill. The other served HAMBURGERS, FRIES, and MILKSHAKES.
I don’t have to tell you which lunch room I hit everyday and what I had. I still graduated weighing about a buck-thirty, which tells you something of my metabolism back then. To say I enjoyed lunch was an understatement. I was one of those students that majored in lunch.
In the winter quarter, I had this class that was in the “senior” hall and it had a complicated bell system. This first bell meant the seniors had five minutes until the second bell and then the second bell meant the seniors could go to lunch and then the third bell meant that the juniors had five minutes until the their lunch but if you were a senior you could leave class and have lunch. The fourth bell was the lunch bell.
This was a History class, which was the only subject besides lunch I was any good at. I sat in front of my friend Moody who was a Math genius. Moody liked getting on our teacher’s nerves, a gentleman we called “Willie Wetumpka”. One day, Willie was talking about Manifest Destiny or something and the first bell rang. Moody turned to me and said, “Let’s go to lunch”. We got up and went to lunch three bells ahead of schedule.
I remember we had a real pleasant lunch and then I went to my other classes. My last class of the day was an American Literature class which Moody was in also. I walked into class and a girl asked me how the office was. I said “What office?”
Like an idiot, I had no idea that she was referring to my early lunch. Just about that time, a student from the Vice Principal’s office came into class with note asking to speak with me and Moody.
This particular Vice Principal was a very nice, big ole’ bear of a man. He also had a Southern accent like you wouldn’t believe. When he would give an announcement over the Intercom about the Key Club selling kazoos at the library you would hear: “Tha Kay Club is sellin Kahzoos at the lieberry”.
This is the first time since sixth grade (I blew into an open microphone causing feedback) that I had been in a principal’s office. Moody, however, was known by the administration because of his math wizardry. He was on this math team that won a state award a week before this incident.
The Vice Principal was very disappointed in Moody. “Yew represented this sckuel when yew when you was in that Math thang” ( You represented the school in the mathematics tournament) “Then yew go do sumpthin lake this. I’m vary,vary disappoint in yew” (Then you do something like this. I am very, very disappointed in you). Then he turned to me and said these immortal words: “You too, boy”.
I was just the afterthought in this little bit of discipline. Moody represented the best of what we had, at least math wise. I was just a little toady along for the ride. Hey, it got me an early lunch.
The Vice Principal went on for a few more minutes about “sckuel” and you just “cain’t do watchu want”. Then he asked Moody why we did this terrible deed. Moody said, “We got confused by the bells”. Which I thought was great. I wanted to jump up and say: “Yeah, man, it was you and your bogus bells that got us all confused, like we didn’t know what we were doin’. Power to the people!” For once, I kept my mouth shut.
Then in a moment of total educational hipness, the Vice Principal asked: “How should ah punish yawl?” Before I could say, “Give us a lecture and we’ll never do it again”, Moody said, “I think detention would be appropriate”.
I know I gave Moody a look that said “What the fudge-ripple are you talking about?” I couldn’t imagine telling my mother I got detention for having lunch. Fortunately, the Vice Principal probably realized that we probably wouldn’t do it again and that the bell schedule was stupid, so he let us go with a warning.
I look back on that and wonder what would happen today if I was a high school kid and did something like that. I would either: get caught in a “No Tolerance” dragnet and sent to an “Alternative” School for a couple of weeks or given a counselor to help me with my time management issues. Either way, I think I prefer what happened to me back then.
The Wheeler High School Alumni Association sponsored a “goodbye” to the old building and I had to go. It was neat walking the halls again. It was like nothing had changed except everybody had gotten older and fatter.
It brought back memories. Back when I was in school (the mid 70's) the motto of Wheeler could have been, to paraphrase Dave Barry: “Wheeler High School: Where the Leaders of Tomorrow are Leaving Wads of Gum Under The Desks of Today”. It is not true, young people; whose only knowledge of the 70’s is “That 70’s Show”, that everyone was stoned. Okay, maybe one out of three.
Of course, it brought back a memory of when I got into big trouble at school.
My first two years at Wheeler, we had double sessions. The upper classmen went in the morning and the underclassmen went in the afternoon. This meant there were no lunches served at school. In my junior year, the classes were united and lunch was now served. In keeping with modern times, we had two lunch rooms. One lunch room served the usual lunch room swill. The other served HAMBURGERS, FRIES, and MILKSHAKES.
I don’t have to tell you which lunch room I hit everyday and what I had. I still graduated weighing about a buck-thirty, which tells you something of my metabolism back then. To say I enjoyed lunch was an understatement. I was one of those students that majored in lunch.
In the winter quarter, I had this class that was in the “senior” hall and it had a complicated bell system. This first bell meant the seniors had five minutes until the second bell and then the second bell meant the seniors could go to lunch and then the third bell meant that the juniors had five minutes until the their lunch but if you were a senior you could leave class and have lunch. The fourth bell was the lunch bell.
This was a History class, which was the only subject besides lunch I was any good at. I sat in front of my friend Moody who was a Math genius. Moody liked getting on our teacher’s nerves, a gentleman we called “Willie Wetumpka”. One day, Willie was talking about Manifest Destiny or something and the first bell rang. Moody turned to me and said, “Let’s go to lunch”. We got up and went to lunch three bells ahead of schedule.
I remember we had a real pleasant lunch and then I went to my other classes. My last class of the day was an American Literature class which Moody was in also. I walked into class and a girl asked me how the office was. I said “What office?”
Like an idiot, I had no idea that she was referring to my early lunch. Just about that time, a student from the Vice Principal’s office came into class with note asking to speak with me and Moody.
This particular Vice Principal was a very nice, big ole’ bear of a man. He also had a Southern accent like you wouldn’t believe. When he would give an announcement over the Intercom about the Key Club selling kazoos at the library you would hear: “Tha Kay Club is sellin Kahzoos at the lieberry”.
This is the first time since sixth grade (I blew into an open microphone causing feedback) that I had been in a principal’s office. Moody, however, was known by the administration because of his math wizardry. He was on this math team that won a state award a week before this incident.
The Vice Principal was very disappointed in Moody. “Yew represented this sckuel when yew when you was in that Math thang” ( You represented the school in the mathematics tournament) “Then yew go do sumpthin lake this. I’m vary,vary disappoint in yew” (Then you do something like this. I am very, very disappointed in you). Then he turned to me and said these immortal words: “You too, boy”.
I was just the afterthought in this little bit of discipline. Moody represented the best of what we had, at least math wise. I was just a little toady along for the ride. Hey, it got me an early lunch.
The Vice Principal went on for a few more minutes about “sckuel” and you just “cain’t do watchu want”. Then he asked Moody why we did this terrible deed. Moody said, “We got confused by the bells”. Which I thought was great. I wanted to jump up and say: “Yeah, man, it was you and your bogus bells that got us all confused, like we didn’t know what we were doin’. Power to the people!” For once, I kept my mouth shut.
Then in a moment of total educational hipness, the Vice Principal asked: “How should ah punish yawl?” Before I could say, “Give us a lecture and we’ll never do it again”, Moody said, “I think detention would be appropriate”.
I know I gave Moody a look that said “What the fudge-ripple are you talking about?” I couldn’t imagine telling my mother I got detention for having lunch. Fortunately, the Vice Principal probably realized that we probably wouldn’t do it again and that the bell schedule was stupid, so he let us go with a warning.
I look back on that and wonder what would happen today if I was a high school kid and did something like that. I would either: get caught in a “No Tolerance” dragnet and sent to an “Alternative” School for a couple of weeks or given a counselor to help me with my time management issues. Either way, I think I prefer what happened to me back then.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Pay To Play
Nothing in College Football surprises me. Okay, maybe if it was revealed that Bear Bryant was really a woman. Other than that, College Football follows the same pattern year after year.
A coach cheats. A player cheats. A player is arrested. A player, who was supposed to pass, fails. A booster gives money to a player. The player takes the money and buys a car, if the booster hasn’t already given him one. Coach tells the team that it is THE TEAM that matters. Coach receives offer from a more prestigious and better paying school. Coach leaves team. College hires another coach who tells that team that THE TEAM is all that matters.
However, one story that has surprised me was Steve Spurrier’s idea to pay college football players cold hard cash for playing football. I was surprised because: 1) Spurrier lives on Planet Visor where only offensive pass plays are thought about and 2) The news reports about Spurrier’s plan didn’t include the phrase “so the players can buy a pizza”.
Spurrier is the Head (ball) Coach of the University of South Carolina Fighting Illegal Game Birds and has been a major factor in a majority of the cuss words spoken in the state of Georgia for the past twenty years. He is a big deal in college football and his support of paying players is kind of like Nixon going to China.
Spurrier had several other coaches sign off on his proposal, with Nick Saban being the biggest name. Mark Richt, as usual, decided to ‘punt’ on it. (Ha, Ha, a little summer time football humor for you.)
The proposal comes after Jim Tressel hung up his vest at THE ONLY OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY because some players traded their jerseys for tattoos.
At one time, tattoos were worn by only Sailors and Marines. It was usually an anchor or a heart with the words “Born to Lose” inscribed on it. The story of how the guy got the tattoo started like this: “Well, I was drunk”.
Now day’s kids put entire graphic novels on their bodies. Every significant thing that might have happened to them is in tattoo form. “This is when I won the spelling bee”. Dude, I don’t have time to read your shoulder.
When confronted with evidence that some players, really big name players, had traded memorabilia for tattoos Tressel did what every person that is entrusted with great responsibility does: He lied about it. Mr. Big Ten Football turned into Sgt Schultz: “I know nothing, nothing.”
Spurrier proposes paying players $300.00 a game. For some players, like THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY Buckeye players, this might come as a cut in salary. But for your average college football player, it would be nice to have some pocket change handy, you know, just in case you want a pizza or a new tattoo.
Getting a college education paid for simply isn’t a big deal anymore. You have to have some walking around money so you can buy some bling, if just happens to become available. The kids have a point. They are a running, throwing, blocking, catching, tackling advertisement of the college and the college makes a boat load of money off of them. So why not throw some cash their way?
A coach cheats. A player cheats. A player is arrested. A player, who was supposed to pass, fails. A booster gives money to a player. The player takes the money and buys a car, if the booster hasn’t already given him one. Coach tells the team that it is THE TEAM that matters. Coach receives offer from a more prestigious and better paying school. Coach leaves team. College hires another coach who tells that team that THE TEAM is all that matters.
However, one story that has surprised me was Steve Spurrier’s idea to pay college football players cold hard cash for playing football. I was surprised because: 1) Spurrier lives on Planet Visor where only offensive pass plays are thought about and 2) The news reports about Spurrier’s plan didn’t include the phrase “so the players can buy a pizza”.
Spurrier is the Head (ball) Coach of the University of South Carolina Fighting Illegal Game Birds and has been a major factor in a majority of the cuss words spoken in the state of Georgia for the past twenty years. He is a big deal in college football and his support of paying players is kind of like Nixon going to China.
Spurrier had several other coaches sign off on his proposal, with Nick Saban being the biggest name. Mark Richt, as usual, decided to ‘punt’ on it. (Ha, Ha, a little summer time football humor for you.)
The proposal comes after Jim Tressel hung up his vest at THE ONLY OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY because some players traded their jerseys for tattoos.
At one time, tattoos were worn by only Sailors and Marines. It was usually an anchor or a heart with the words “Born to Lose” inscribed on it. The story of how the guy got the tattoo started like this: “Well, I was drunk”.
Now day’s kids put entire graphic novels on their bodies. Every significant thing that might have happened to them is in tattoo form. “This is when I won the spelling bee”. Dude, I don’t have time to read your shoulder.
When confronted with evidence that some players, really big name players, had traded memorabilia for tattoos Tressel did what every person that is entrusted with great responsibility does: He lied about it. Mr. Big Ten Football turned into Sgt Schultz: “I know nothing, nothing.”
Spurrier proposes paying players $300.00 a game. For some players, like THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY Buckeye players, this might come as a cut in salary. But for your average college football player, it would be nice to have some pocket change handy, you know, just in case you want a pizza or a new tattoo.
Getting a college education paid for simply isn’t a big deal anymore. You have to have some walking around money so you can buy some bling, if just happens to become available. The kids have a point. They are a running, throwing, blocking, catching, tackling advertisement of the college and the college makes a boat load of money off of them. So why not throw some cash their way?
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