Good Dad

My son Joe, the future doctor, has use of my Oldsmobile Alero whilst he is away at school. He mainly uses it to bring his laundry home on the weekends or to drive his girl friend to and from work or the occasional road trip to party with his high school posse at any number of college campuses throughout the Great Lakes region. Fortunately for him, but unfortunate for me, he pays more attention to his studies than he does to the upkeep of the car. Yes, it's broken and the repair bill is more than the value of the car. Ouch.

The Plan B for family transportation, and I hope it's temporary, is to let him use my Passat and for me to borrow my mother's 1996 Buick Roadmaster, like the one in the picture above. I know that it's a parent's duty to make sacrifices for the benefit of their children, but I'm thinking that this blow to my image (self image that is) may be too much for me to endure. With the Passat I could delude myself into thinking that I am sporty, green, fuel efficient and somewhat hip; hey, it's my delusion. Now, I'm that grumpy gray haired dude blocking traffic in the grocery store parking lot. I feel the urge to only drive while wearing a gingham fedora, hands fixed at the ten and two position. Next thing you know, people will tell me I smell funny. Let me stop writing and start working on a plan that fixes my image problem.

Dave, I used the word whilst and I could have used it twice. It's my British heritage :)

Where do they come from?

It never fails. Whenever I get in line at a cashier stand, they are always there. That person, with a big floppy purse with three or four wallets inside, all with coin carriers. That person who fumbles to find exact change amongst the litter, random packs of gum, paper clips, lipstick and other sundries. You'd think they were giving something away or offering a discount for having exact change, but they're not. That person always seems to have more than enough time to make small talk with the cashier, about the crowds or their pets or the kids or just about anything; oblivious to the mounting throngs of impatient customers backing up behind them; me included. These same people, I know for fact, never make eye contact with anyone when they're out in public and go out of their way to go out of their way to avoid strangers, but are as friendly as can be when I'm in a hurry to make my purchase, place my order or get some help. They come in all ages too. I thought that maybe just the older ones have this strange social ritual, but I've discovered that that is a misguided assumption.

Do you know anyone like this?

Irritated Sclera

I had a bad case of blood shot eye the other day. One of my friends accused me of smoking pot. I told him it was my alergies. He said, "what are you alergic to?" I said, "pot".

Artie Lang

I heard Artie Lang on a radio interview today talking about his life. I thought it was interesting when he said, "the only difference between being on the Howard Stern Show and being in therapy is that the therapist isn't playing a fart machine while I'm talking".

Too Close for Comfort

I went for a drive in the rain today. Some guy was driving too fast for the conditions and partially slid through a stop sign and nearly hit me. As I watched the scene in what seemed like slow motion my life flashed before my eyes. When it was all over I couldn't stop thinking, "I need to get a new couch."

Vegetarians

Somebody told me that all vegetarians have cats. I thought about that and realized that it was true for all the vegetarian folks I know; the Hindu guy at work; a lady from the neighborhood and at least one of the readers in my blogosphere. The disposition goes like this; I can't cause harm to an animal so I won't eat them, but Mr. Mephistopheles loves his giblets.

I have two beautiful cats. Wonder if I'm a vegetarian and just don't know it?

Cherries Jubilee

There's never a dull moment when me and the boys go out for our team lunch on Thursdays. Yesterday was no exception. Some of the boys are finicky eaters so our selection of restaurants are dwindling. Yesterday I convinced them to have lunch at the local community college's culinary arts restaurant. The food was great even though the service was bad. The program requires that the future cooks and chefs work in the front of the house to learn about customer service.

One of the guys had Fettuccine Alfredo. Another had broiled sword fish. I had Stromboli and the last guy had broiled sea bass. It was a mini celebration. I felt so good that I ordered Cherries Jubilee for the three of us that had room. That turned out to be an adventure.

Scott, our waiter, who was described as one of the best "broiler men" around, was a little awkward with the table side service. Not to worry. The kitchen instructor was there every step of the way, walking him through the process. We watched amused as they performed each step; turn on the gas; press the ignitor; adjust the flame; place the pan over the flame; drop in the pre-measured black cherries in syrup; add kirsch wasser, rum and a high proof liqueur of unknown origin and POOF! we had a sizzling, sugary and flaming delight.

This delicious smelling mix was spooned over buttery looking French vanilla ice cream and topped with fresh whipped cream squeezed straight from a piping bag. My friends had never experienced such a dessert before. Mike said, "wow Dennis, this is wonderful". "What type of fruit is this?"

There She Is, Miss Americaaaaaaa

A funny thing happened to me on a trip to Las Vegas once. It's not the typical, "I got propositioned by a prostitute of nebulous gender" story. This actually happened on the plane on the way there.

I had already taken my seat on the aisle. The middle and window seats were not yet occupied and I was fidgeting and watching people as they are herded onto to plane. Suddenly, from the entrance came two strikingly attractive women. One was a thin, dark haired woman, who was being trailed by a very tall blond. I remember thinking to myself, "I hope they sit in my row". You should have seen me beam when they stopped and excused themselves as they slid into the seats next to me. The blond took the window seat and her older friend sat next to me.

Before long we were at cruising altitude and I could now open my eyes and release the vice like grip I had on my arm rests. In those days I was a curious lad and the ladies next to me had my full attention. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the blond preparing herself for the three hour trip as the color returned to my knuckles. She had a writing pad, a pen, a pair of reading glasses, a tennis ball on a stick and a small shoe box filled to the top with letters.

The woman next to me was sizing me up as much as I was sizing up the blond. She seemed interested in me, but in an unusual way. It's not like she wanted to know anything about me, but wanted to get my attention, as if to coax me into interrogating her. I couldn't resist. Pointing in the direction of the blond as she read, and replied to, her stack of letters I said, "your friend must be very important". With a huge and prideful smile she turned to me, looked me in the eye and said, "she's my daughter and she IS very important". Now she had me. "We're on our way to Las Vegas on business", she went on.

The blond woman had seemed vaguely familiar to me, but I just couldn't place her. "Your daughter does look familiar to me", I said, "but please forgive me if I don't know her name". "She's Phyllis George and we're on our way to Las Vegas for the Miss America Pageant". Well I'll be darned, it was indeed Phyllis George. I had seen her nearly every week those day because she was on one of the Sunday NFL football shows.

Now that the ice was broken all three of us were able to let our collective hairs down and exchange some small talk. We talked about what we planned to do in Las Vegas while we were there. I was meeting my sisters there for a little gambling R&R and they were.........well you already know. I was surprised to discover that this was only Ms. George and her mother's second trip to Vegas. Their first trip was just one year earlier.

They seemed genuinely interested in hearing my plans. Of course I had to let them know that I was an experienced gambler. After all, this was at least my third visit to sin city and I had recently gone on a weekend junket to Atlantic City. I was on a roll with my story. Jaws flapping and brain disengaged. The words were already floating through the air when I heard myself ask, "have you ever been to Atlantic City?" Arrrggghhhhh! I had just asked Miss America if she'd ever been to Atlantic City! They chuckled and reminded me that Atlantic City had been the perennial venue for the pageant but had just been moved the previous year.

They forgave me for my blunder and we were able to move on to new topics. They told me that the tennis ball on a stick was a gadget she used to relieve muscle tension. She would hold the handle and bounce the ball on her neck and shoulders. She demonstrated the technique on me and now I can truly say that I've been beaten about the neck and shoulders by Miss America.

Election Day

Today is election. It's been a long campaign and I was excited to get out of bed early this more and go pull the handle for my candidate. Then after I did that, I went and voted.

Cultural Exchange

One of the guys I work with is from India. He's very interested in American culture and is eager to share Indian tradition with the team. As a matter of fact, he has an arranged marriage, which is not uncommon in his culture. Modesty and prudence is a hallmark of Indian culture. I remember him telling me that, "I waited until after I was married to have sex with my wife". "How about you?" he asked. I said, "I don't know. What's her name?"