Category Archives: Uncategorized

Uncategorized: Articles written that don’t seem to necessarily fit into an established category.

A View from The Bridge Review

Posted on by
Reply

My review of Arthur Miller’s A View from the Bridge at the Ahmanson Theater.

My son purchased tickets for us to see this play. He made it a point to describe the difference between this performance (a play) and others we had seen (musicals). I very much appreciated his attempt to convince me I might enjoy this performance but all I could think of was Cats. I have no doubt everyone involved in the original concept of that winner wrote it while experiencing an extended hallucinogenic mind trip. People dressed as cats dressed as rats dressed as roaches. Seriously? And that worthless railroad cat? And the UFO-riding cat god? Anyway, my son was excited so I pasted the smile on my face and didn’t let on that I secretly expected this dramatic “play” to be nothing more than another Cats.

We had tickets to the 2:00PM show in Los Angeles. As I may have mentioned elsewhere, in Southern California you have to look at drive time, not distance. The theater was about 40 miles away but that translates into about a 90 minute ride. We met for breakfast and then, because we had to be somewhere at a specific time for a specific event, we went to the bank. Since that turned out to be a wasted trip (I forgot my ATM card) we went to Massage Envy to schedule massages. This did not sit well with my son since he was concerned about us being late. For the record, however, he did schedule a massage for himself so his argument was moot.

Jumping on the 10 (San Bernardino) freeway, we headed west. All was well until we came down the back side of Kellogg Hill. I had no idea CalTrans (California Department of Transportation) had the freeway torn up from Covina to the west end of Baldwin Park by the 605 (the San Gabriel River) freeway. This added to our drive time. Luckily, however, once we passed the 605 all was well until we got near the transition to the 710 (Long Beach) freeway. If you read my roller derby review, you’re familiar with my last experience in this area. But since it was broad daylight and we were headed for Highway 101 to the 110 (Harbor) freeway, we were able to avoid that nightmare.

I want to take a moment and make a note about referring to Southern California roadways. If you happen to drive into our area and listen to traffic reports, you need to know the nuances of traffic reporting descriptions. First off, freeway numbers are preceded with the word “the”. For example to get to the Ahmanson we took the 10 past the 57, past the 605, past the 710, to the 101 to the 110. Large interchanges of freeways are named. For example, the Four Level, the East LA Interchange and the Orange Crush. Finally, one section of freeway refers to a specific stretch. I was on the 10 freeway section known as the San Bernardino freeway. Had I remained on the 10 past its intersection with the 110, it would have been called the Santa Monica freeway. The freeway retains the same numeric nomenclature, but hearing there is a high-speed chase on the Santa Monica freeway is significantly different than hearing the same report on the San Bernardino freeway depending on where you are. If you noticed, I took the 10 to the 101 to the 110 but I also commented that the 10 intersected with the 110. Why didn’t I take the 10 to the 110? Because I didn’t want to go through the East LA Interchange. It makes sense when you’re here.

Anyway, we arrived at the Ahmanson about half an hour early because the traffic through downtown was uncharacteristically light, almost to the point of non-existence. Parking at the theater was ridiculously easy. I had done an internet search for parking near the location and all the results indicated paid lots about ½ mile away. My son told me not to worry about it because we could park at the theater itself, which was right freaking there. You exit the 110 north off of Grand, take a right and within ½ mile the theater is on the right. You pay before you enter the garage and everything is super-accessible.

Because it was our first time there we followed the signs to the theater from inside the underground parking structure. That was a mistake. We wound up at the far end of the theater complex which includes the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion and something else I haven’t taken the time to figure out, yet. Had we exited the parking structure by the stairs immediately in front of us, we would have been right next to our destination. But it was no big deal as we were having fun.

The outdoor waiting area between the theater and the pavilion was very nice. It had cart vendors selling shrink-wrapped sandwiches and salads as well as sodas and alcohol. People varied from what I called “theater-types” to chuckleheads like me. I definitely noticed the people there were not the same types of people in whose company I usually find myself. No one called me “boss”. No one gave me the quick, knowing nod shared by shot callers, foot soldiers and bros. No one gave the Mighty Beard of Righteousness a second glance. In fact, it was quite refreshing! Everyone there was just there. If someone was putting on airs or fronting, I didn’t notice. I didn’t have to do a threat assessment every time someone new walked into my line of sight. The people were comfortable, calm and relaxed. I felt welcome and accepted which is not something that comes easy to me.

They opened the doors at about 1:45, which was fantastic. The coffee and water I had borrowed for breakfast wanted to be returned. After a quick briefing by the main door usher about this two-hour play not having an intermission, we bolted for the men’s room. The highly accurate directions we received were no more than, “it’s over there.” We descended a flight of stairs and approached another layer of ushers who told us the only restroom on their floor was the ladies room. Shockingly, rather than volunteer where the men’s room was we had to ask again. They told us it was one more floor down “to the left.” We went down the last flight of stairs and found it. It’s not “to the left” by the way, it’s straight in front of you. Whatever.

Business finished, we watched a lead usher instructing the door ushers on how to do their jobs. Smile, be polite, hand out programs, etc. In an odd WTF moment, the lead usher told the door ushers to stand at their posts. Then, in as long as it took her to draw a breath, she told them to come back because the meeting wasn’t over. I have no idea what that was about but it makes me think time travel does exist and the main usher phased out for a moment. It really was weird.

Since it was still early and they didn’t have the doors open yet, I examined my ticket. It said we were in section SRA, seats 22 and 24. We were to enter through door 9. Door 9, by the way, was all the way at the front of the theater; the last door by which you could enter. I made jokes about SRA meaning we had to stand in front of the stage and my son would reply that I was close. It was cryptic but I didn’t pay too much attention to it. Finally, the doors were opened and we were let in.

My son went first and turned towards the stage. At this point I was pretty excited. We were going to be close to the stage and not in the nosebleed sections where we usually sit when I buy the tickets. And then my excitement turned to concern when he walked up a set of stairs in front of the stage onto the stage itself. I stood at the bottom and told him to “get back down here” because I was worried we were going to be tossed out. The usher at the bottom of the stairs said, “are you together? Can I see your ticket?” and then told me to follow him; he was going in the right direction. So I followed him up the stairs. Oh. My. Gosh.

Our seats were ON THE STAGE FLOOR! We sat in a set of risers that had been erected on either side of the stage. We were on the first row, about five feet away from the edge of the stage just above the centerline. I could not believe it. I had him take pictures from our seats looking out into the general seating before the Praetorian Guard came and informed us that photography from our on-stage seats was highly discouraged. But I have a couple of photos I will cherish from that special day. Only about 60 people could sit on either side of the stage.

I won’t ruin the play by describing the action but I will make some comments about the stage and the actors. Regarding the stage, they had created a smaller self-contained performance area on the main stage. The white floor of the performance area was ringed by a series of clear lexan or some other clear glass-like material that also had a bench built along the top of the entire rim of the material. The performance area itself was probably 28’ x 20’. Since we were sitting right there, sometimes the actors were no more than 4’ away from us. I was so blown away by everything; the seats, the acting and the stage construction, I could not have had a better time.

Regarding the actors, I’m not a theater critic. All I know is that I thoroughly enjoyed every single one of the performances by each actor through I do have a couple of comments (of course). At one point, a character asks, “Are you my cousin?” to which the other replies, “Yes, I am.” That is immediately followed by, “This is my brother.” So I’m no genealogist, but my question is this: if you and I are cousins and you have a brother, wouldn’t he be my cousin, also? Also, there is a point where another character comes onto the performance stage. He comes less than a third of the way onto the stage and much of this person’s “dialog” is narrated by someone else. They are on the stage for not more than ten minutes. Yet at the end of the play, when the cast is receiving a standing ovation, there’s that actor taking a bow with the rest of the troupe. I thought that was odd. Yes, they did a good job and all that, but come on! Again, I’m not criticizing. I enjoyed their performance.

But the women. Both were very beautiful. I know that sounds shallow but they were. And one of them gave us a special treat! I highly doubt anyone who reads this is in her circle of friends or acquaintances, but I don’t say this to embarrass her. At one point, when she was standing about five feet in front of us, she and another actor have a scene where they are in close proximity to each other. By an honest accident, her short skirt lifted up and we had a full-on butt shot of her underwear. Seconds later she removed her top and stood in front of us in a flesh-colored bra. So, what’s the first thing I do? If you know me, you know the answer. I looked away. So while all the other “gentlemen” in our section were getting an eyeful, I was checking out my shoes. And you know what? I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to admit it. I’m old enough to be her father. I’m certain the last thing she thought about when she took the role was how I was going to react to her being (for the most part) topless. But I did think it was funny.

I told my son afterward that there used to be a time when a father would take his son to a brothel and have one of the “ladies” make a “man” out of him. Now, in 2016, the tables had turned. My son had taken me to a legitimate theater to watch semi-nude acting! I know, I know; it wasn’t semi-nude because she still had her bra on. But still.

And then there was the lead actor, Frederick Weller. He was in a TV show I used to watch called “In Plain Sight.” Dude, I really, really enjoyed your performance. However, I am an ass. Every time you put on your scowl face to show you were pissed off, I chuckled. A few years ago when I did Tae Kwon Do, I competed. I had an instructor at an event who told me my “fighting face” wasn’t aggressive enough. Hello! I have a round Charlie Brown face. I don’t know how aggressive you can make it! He told me I needed to practice my fighting face in the mirror. That was one of the funniest things I had heard. So when I saw you making your scowl face I imagined how long you must have spent in front of a mirror trying to make it right. The first time I saw it I almost laughed out loud. Not because of you but because of the memory.

The play ended and everyone applauded. Then they started standing up. Again, I am not a regular theater-type, so I don’t know the rules. When do you give a standing ovation? It was neither the opening night nor the closing night. It was a really enjoyable performance but where’s the line between enthusiastic clapping and a standing ovation? Plus, being on the first row with pretty much everyone else behind you, it’s hard to know when a standing ovation is happening. So while I’m applauding away with all the fine young actors standing an arm’s length in front of me, everyone behind me is standing up. It wasn’t until I looked across to the other side that I noticed they were almost all standing. Their first row was still seated, also. So I guess I need to brush up on when to stand or not.

The ride home was uneventful although I did piss off a couple of drivers through the Rosemead and Temple City areas who thought that because of the cars they drove they should have unimpeded access to any lane they chose without using a turn indicator of any sort. If you’re familiar with the areas and recognize those that drive with over-sized green banker’s visors covering their faces and left arm-only sleeves, you know exactly to which group I refer. I can tailgate like a NASCAR driver if properly motivated and watching you and your Mercedes or Lexus lose in a battle of wills doesn’t make me a man but it does make me feel better in the automobile culture that is Los Angeles.

I highly recommend going to see this play. I was thankful it was not a musical and now I honestly can say I know the difference. I was told it was strictly a drama but there were parts that were very funny. The end does have a twist everyone might enjoy. If I had to say anything less than glowing about the play it would be this: I have no idea what time period the play occurred. I’m assuming the 1940s or 50s. All of the actor’s clothing could have been from that period except for the young girl. Her dress and her hair were very modern. It was slightly confusing but not enough for me to flag it and call B.S. on the performance.

If you see this play you won’t be disappointed.

Desire

Posted on by
Reply

I catch flak all the time for rambling blog posts. Buckle-up, Buttercup, this might be one of them.

I had a long conversation with someone recently about their desires. Nothing carnal, mind you, but emotional, spiritual and physical desires. For those playing along with the home version of the game, our reference today will be the Bible, John 6. That’s in the New Testament for those of you new to the game.

Jesus asks a man a very important question. What afflicted the man is unclear. Some versions say he was ill. Others say he was infirm or crippled or lame. So the condition of the man is less important than the question Jesus asks. Different people have different translations or versions of the Bible. I own eleven myself, not including the online versions available. That said, let’s review the question:
> American Standard Version and Revised Version: “Wouldest thou be made whole?”
> Bible in Basic English: “Is it your desire to get well?”
> English Standard Version: “Do you want to be healed?”
> Holman Christian Standard Bible and the International Standard Version: “Do you want to get well?”
> King James Version: “Wilt thou be made whole?”
> New Living Translation: “Would you like to get well?”

On its face it seems like a no-brainer. If I am sick or lame or whatever, do I want to be healed? Of course! What kind of question is that? But therein lies the rub: what kind of question IS it?

What is “getting well” or “being healed?” if you had lung cancer you would want to be well, right? What if, heaven forbid, that meant you had to quit smoking? Is it worth it? “Of course, dumb ass! I have cancer!” But we all know the risks of smoking well before it becomes cancerous. Do you really want to be well? Yes, but when it’s convenient for you. You won’t stop smoking today because {insert lame-ass reason here}. But I don’t want to pick on smokers alone.

How about the soda drinkers in the house? Are you willing to do what it takes to give that up? Do you want to be well? Meat eaters? Tostada gnoshers? Butter guzzlers? Do you want to be healed? Does it sound ridiculous yet? The question is not as simple as it sounds.

What if you were experiencing a crisis of faith. What if everything you thought was true had been shaken. One day you woke up and realized the voice in your head had been lying to you. In an attempt to sort out what you now think must be the new normal you scream into the night to silence the cacaphony of voices in your head telling you what to do. Each voice comes from a trusted source but not one of the voices does anything but either reinforce the lie you once believed or offers you another lie to replace it.

But then one voice softly asks, “Do you want to be healed?” Finally! Through prayer and reflection and an understanding of Christ’s character, you recognize the question as the very same that Jesus asked that man. “Do you want to be healed?” Do you?

What if healing, true healing, required you to step away from every voice telling you lies? What if in exchange for healing, wellness and emotional stability you had to lose a friend? That friend with whom you shared good times but now find yourself in a rage every day because they ever-so-sweetly remind you of all your past failures. Could you give them up?

Could you step away from a job from which you derived no satisfaction but paid very well? That job, that voice in your head, reminding you of your failed commitments, sub-par performance and disappointments; could you–would you give it up for true healing?

Healing is much more than waiting for a cut to scab over. Emotional healing, recovering from a lifetime of cuts and battering, can take years. When I answered that quiet voice in my head if I desired to be well, I started what has been the best journey of my life. Step one was culling my “friend” list.

When I was going through a very difficult period in my life a few years ago only three or four people with whom I had regular contact actually supported me. These people would laugh with me, cry with me, pray with me or some combination of these three things. If I asked them to listen and not comment, that’s exactly what they did. I very much valued their counsel but sometimes you just want to vent.

Now I have a new set of friends that know me, accept me and love me for who I am. If they judge me it is a comparison of my experiences with theirs for discussion, not holding up my past against an unrealistic ideal they can’t even match but which they use to harangue me and call me hypocrite or failure.

I broke old habits I had which kept me in a rut. Desiring to be healed and working through the process are different. I was in Tae Kwon Do for a number of years. It was full-contact (with pads) but it was serious business. The two things my instructor used to say that I took to heart are these:
Everyone wants to be Bruce Lee but no one wants to put forth the effort;
If you do not practice punching (or kicking or blocking) at full speed and with all your strength all you have done is go through the motions. When you take a blow and fall to the floor you need to get back up. If that was the best your opponent had to offer you were prepared for what might follow; the shock was gone.

Because of my arrogance and unwillingness to yield (tap out), my children more than once had to help me out of my car when I returned home but his lesson was valid. When my depression or anxiety would knock me to the floor, I knew it would not get worse. I did not need to fear that the next bout of misery would be worse; the worst had already tried to put me down. It didn’t succeed so it had lost its element of surprise. I could practice the process of emotional healing and get stronger every day.

But I went through this because I answered yes to the question, “Do you desire to be well?” True, deep healing takes time. You need to make time for the process. I truly and earnest hope my friend desires healing. Speaking from experience, the end result far exceeds the temporary pain you will have.

A Sparky Quick Guide (#1)

Posted on by

How to be a Total Ass at the Lone Survivor Movie

This is not a movie review, but a guide. Play along and you too can be a total ass, mocked and hated by the theater audience.

Step 1: Preparation
Drink two very large cups of coffee about an hour before the movie.

Step 2: Hydration
Arrive at the theater ten minutes after its scheduled start time. Purchase a large beverage of your choice and enjoy it during the show.

Step 3: Frustration
As the battle scenes really take off, realize that the two coffees and the large theater beverage have decided they’ve visited your kidneys and over-stayed their welcome in your bladder. Know, however, that because you arrived late you had to sit in the very top row of a stadium-seat theater: the exit is down a long flight of stairs. This step is critical: sit and wait.

Step 4: Perspiration
Really work up a panic sweat as you realize the movie is two hours long and you still have half an hour to go. You’re almost ready to be an ass!

Step 5: Walk Out
When you think the movie ends because the credits start to roll, get up and walk down the stairs. Your experience may vary. Because I can’t go down stairs very well due to an injury, my walk was slow and one stair at a time. Rather than the entire theater jumping up to join me in a mass exodus, everyone stayed in their seats. I realized about four rows down that they were rolling a tribute to all of the real service members involved in the operation depicted by the movie. The entire theater was stone silent except for the sniffling and crying of both men and women. I, of course, could neither return to my seat nor expedite my exit by taking two or three stairs at a time. So I plodded along, one stair at a time, praying a silent prayer that I could hold out long enough to make it to the restroom which was on the far side of the mega-plex.

Step 6: Wall of Shame
Having made it to the restroom in the nick of time, all I had to do was wait for my son, whom I knew would be following shortly after the movie ended. Unfortunately, he actually stayed through the entire credit and tribute sequence and then had to wait for the fifteen or twenty rows below him to clear the stairs before he could exit. This, of course, meant I had fifteen to twenty rows of red-eyed, movie-going, flag-waving patriots staring me down as I stood against the wall next to the men’s room. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

So there you have it. I probably could have left my seat at any time during the Marky-Mark action scenes and no one would have said or thought anything about it. But to leave your seat during the memorial tribute? It takes a special kind of total ass to pull off that maneuver.

The Truth

Posted on by
Reply

Okay, I’m really back this time. The webmaster has us up on a new server and I’ll start making more time available to update. Really. No, really. I’m super serial. The Manbearpig hunt is over and I’m serial. I’ll post an update soon. Maybe even in March, 2013!

If you know, you know. If not, you need to get out more often.

Sparky

Back To Blogging

Posted on by
1

I will no doubt post about what has happened over the past few months very soon. I have a handful of regular readers and many of them have sent repeat e-mails asking that I return to the site. I had an injury a few months ago from which I am still recovering. In fact, I hope my appointment Wednesday will clear the path for me to begin physical therapy sometime in December.

Properly motivated, I will be able to walk with a cane in January and “hands free” in February, but I’m told that is a little too aggressive. They (and you know how “they” can be) anticipate “full but reduced” mobility by April. I intend to prove them wrong but I will not do anything stupid to re-injure myself.

Thank you to all who have shown their continued support for me while I have been away. If you are new to this site, thank you for stopping by. I invite you to read my previous posts and comment if you so desire.

If you never liked the site, do not expect a radical change in tone or content. I did not have a life-threatening injury or a near-death experience. I was not admitted to a hospital. I had outpatient surgery but I was not “admitted” for the operation. Why am I telling you this now? If you did not like it before you are not going to like it now. I am still a disgruntled human venting to the world.

Sparky

Infidelity

Posted on by
3

Popeye, an old fraternity brother of mine, posted a Facebook comment to one of his friends last night. The woman posted her status as, “It’s sad that over 25 years of relationship with someone can be thrown away by 20 minutes in front of a stranger.” I don’t know if she was paraphrasing someone else or not, but that’s not important. What I found disturbing were the comments her “friends” made.

To me, a friend is someone who provides counsel when asked, listens when appropriate and bears your burdens with you as if they were their own. Although I could, I will not infuse today’s discussion with references to Christianity or morality as not everyone shares my beliefs. For that matter, we may share a common belief but not to the same degree. This said, today’s discussion will not be humorous or lighthearted but it will let me vent a frustration.

I do not know Popeye’s friend and do not feel it appropriate for me to post a comment (if I could) to her Facebook wall. However, her “friends” are alive with comments and apparently feel free to spew their ‘supportive’ morality at-will. I gather from her status and a couple of comments that her husband of at least 20+ years cheated on her. She was specific in her post to choose the words ’25 years of relationship’ as opposed to ’25 years of marriage’. To me, that’s telling.

I gather from this brief snapshot of a relationship that they might have been having problems. I do not get the impression she was still in a honeymoon period this far into the relationship and the affair took her by surprise. What I do feel is that perhaps she hoped things would get better and that they may even have been in counseling.

I read her post as a cry from a broken heart looking for healing. “Over 25 years of relationship” tells me they may have had a long friendship and/or engagement before they married. Perhaps they were together three or four years before they married as a way to ‘validate’ their decision as appropriate. Who knows. I don’t think people who live together before they get married stay together longer than those who don’t. For what it’s worth, I strongly, strongly oppose living together before marriage and no, it’s not just because of my religious beliefs.

If you’ve been in a committed, monogamous relationship for over two years, you’ve passed the honeymoon period. I can’t cite it right here right now, but research shows that many relationships go through a period anywhere from 6 months to 2 years where the sex is frequent and the acceptance of the other person’s quirks is constant. After two years, however, the sex and intimacy falls off and those cute little quirks become obnoxious personality traits that seem insurmountable. After three years, you have to make the relationship work. Both of you.

I can’t stress enough that I don’t know who this woman is or what issues she faced in her marriage. Her friends should know, however. But that’s not what I read. Again, I understood her post to be a cry of heartfelt pain; a plea for compassion in a hurtful situation. Instead, I read (all paraphrased, by the way):

* Don’t worry about it; life’s too short.

* The best revenge is living life to the fullest. That will show him!

* I know you’re hurting now but when you’re ready say the word and I can introduce you to someone who will appreciate you.

* Memorial Day Weekend’s almost here! Call me and we’ll go bar hopping!

* This is the push that you needed to move on. Let him go.

* I’m sorry to hear about this but maybe now you’ll know it’s over.

* It gets easier every day. Don’t let this get you down.

And so it went. She had over a dozen comments when I read the post. All I could think was, “What are these people saying?!?” Granted, we can’t see the messages or the one-on-one e-mails sent between people, but I was shocked. Not one person offered a word of encouragement from my perspective. There were offers to help ‘get revenge’ by dating and drinking; advice to ‘forget about’ the last 25+ years of her life and ‘move on’; suggestions that ‘it was about time’ she noticed something was amiss and she should have removed herself from the relationship long ago. Where was the compassion?

If I grieve because the 12 year old dog I’ve had since a puppy died today, would you tell me I shouldn’t have had a dog to begin with because they die? I don’t think so. You’d tell me to remember the good times, treasure the moments we were able to spend together and that grieving is good, natural and healthy. How is it any different with a human relationship?

An affair is a horrible thing to happen in any relationship but it doesn’t necessarily mean the end. People do and say all kinds of hurtful things when they’re hurting. I believe the saying, “Hurt people hurt people” but why encourage them to hurt? Would you tell me I shouldn’t have been married and shouldn’t have had kids because statistically my marriage would end in divorce? I hope not.

I think if this woman had accepted the end of her relationship before the affair the post would have read differently. I also think if her husband had a history of cheating and her friends knew about it, the comments would have been different. My impression is that the marriage was on the rocks and the husband had, perhaps, the first affair of which his wife became aware. But again, I don’t know. And neither do you.

We don’t know the background related to the post. Perhaps she had turned cold and distant and her husband, seeking to validate his worth as a person, sought the comfort of someone he saw as compassionate and caring. What if the husband was just a screw-up from the get-go and this was the first affair he in which he was caught? We don’t know.

Perhaps most troubling to me is the lack of respect her friends have shown her. They were together over 25 years. Were her friends encouraging her to leave the whole time? Were her friends offering to take her bar-hopping or to meet someone new the whole time? At what point did her friends seem to know better than her what she wanted or needed? More importantly, at what point did the woman ask for everyone to comment publicly on her life? On this I know I’m a hypocrite, but I’m trying to make a point.

Again, to me, a friend is someone who provides counsel when asked, listens when appropriate and bears your burdens with you as if they were their own. Which of her friends offered an ear to listen or a shoulder upon which to cry? None that I saw. No one said they would stand with her and help her through this regardless of the outcome. The only offers given were for revenge and starting over. Perhaps the woman wants neither revenge nor to start over with someone new. What if she just wants a fresh start with her husband? That, apparently, is not an option her friends will consider. Everyone knows better than her it seems.

I noticed she did not call her husband a foul name or curse him to hell. She did not ask for pity or claim moral superiority. She just cried from the heart. Unfortunately, in my opinion, she cried to the wrong people and I can empathize with her. Unless you’re going through, today, exactly what I’m going though, you don’t understand. Your situation is different than mine. Don’t come out of your white picket fenced, perfectly manicured yard to come down the street and tell me how to fix my flower bed. But people will and people do, all thinking they’re helping when actually what you need is healing.

The best pop-culture example I can cite is Seinfeld. In one episode, Kramer wants to break up with his girlfriend. Jerry and Elaine tell Kramer exactly what they think of her and that it’s ‘about time’ he dumped her. So he did. And then he had second thoughts and they got back together. Where did that leave Jerry and Elaine with respect to his girlfriend in Kramer’s eyes? If this woman wants to forgive her husband for his affair and continue to work on the relationship, where does that leave the friends that encouraged her to leave him?

If I’m your friend, it’s not my place to offer advice if you don’t ask. Neither is it my place to say, “I told you so” if you choose to follow your own path and later accept and follow my advice. My responsibility to you is to be a trustworthy, loyal, faithful friend with whom you can laugh or cry and know I’m laughing or crying with you. But if I’m telling you how much better you’ll feel by listening to me offer unsolicited advice when I haven’t gone through the same heartbreak as you, I’m not your friend. I’m just trying to elbow my way into your life.

That’s it. I think I’m done venting. Thank you for your time.

Gumdrops

Posted on by
6

The Easter season is here and it’s time for retailers to dust off their old inventory of Halloween, Christmas and Valentine’s Day candy for the last of the sugar-laced holidays.

For candies with some staying power, like lollipops, jelly beans and gumdrops, they can’t really mold the candies in a specific holiday’s colors; they have to stick to the tried-and-true standards: green, yellow, orange, et cetera. Fast-movers like M & Ms can go seasonal with lavender and white and not fear that a retailer will still have them on the shelf come next Halloween. But today my focus is on gumdrops.

Sitting at my desk this morning waiting for the coffee to brew, I had a craving for gumdrops. Why? Who knows. Maybe because I haven’t had any in years. I’ve had jelly beans, Skittles, Hot Tamales, Mike and Ike’s and things of that nature, but I haven’t had gumdrops for quite some time. This may seem odd, but I remember I like sucking on gumdrops. On a recent trip to Arizona, I sucked on Hot Tamales. Have you ever done that? What a huge disappointment. Once the fire-red coating is gone you’re left with a translucent rod of tasteless hard gel. Suck the coating off a jelly bean and it essentially becomes a spoonful of gritty jam. Gumdrops are different.

If you have an oral fixation, gumdrops are the best. You can bite them, chew them, suck them, mash them with your tongue, whatever. Unlike M & Ms, Nerds or Red Hots, you can’t stick a handful of them in your mouth and “wing it.” One, maybe two, gumdrops and you’re set for a while. That may be why they have much longer staying power than some of the other goodies out there. But I’m speaking from ancient history, not recent experience.

I realized that in lieu of gumdrops I’ve substituted a chew stick. You might call it a plastic coffee stirrer, but to me it’s a chew stick. I don’t smoke so the stick isn’t a substitute for that activity. My favorites are the single-barrel, small caliber brown or red sticks. I’ll pass on the wood (too utilitarian) and the double-barreled hard black ones. Sometimes I’ll go for a larger caliber paper-wrapped stick from an AM/PM, but those are too much like straws. Straws are not chew sticks: they’re straws.

When not in use, I can secure a chew stick in my shirt pocket. I guess I’ll have to give the edge to the chew stick over the gumdrop in that category. If I’m well into a good “chaw” while working out some Boolean logic on an Excel spreadsheet and the phone rings, I can reach for the phone and remove the chew stick in one deft movement. You can’t do that with a gumdrop. If I had a gumdrop in my mouth I’d probably just let the phone ring. Priorities, you know.

Chew sticks have a lifespan and I guess “chew” would be a misnomer. I like to bite down just enough to feel the plastic give. Rotate the stick 12-1/2 degrees, bite down slightly and it’ll give again. Repeat for hours. I don’t know how to describe it. I have rules. I never bite all the way down because the stick has to retain its round shape. Sometimes I’ll inhale through it just because, but I never exhale through it–it’s not a snorkel. I only use one half of the stick because my fingers have been touching the other half while I’ve been rotating it around. I’ll flavor the stick by stirring my coffee (a novel concept) but if the coffee’s gone and the stick has lost its flavor, I toss it. That’s not true. If I know I’ll be having coffee later, I’ll tuck it in my shirt pocket (chew-side down, always) until I get a refill. Since I drink coffee all day, it’s usually not that long before I refill and continue. But what about the gumdrops?

Gumdrops don’t really have a lifespan because you can move from one to the other almost immediately. Another bonus: each one has its own flavor. Seriously, I love the flavor of coffee but it gets old after a while. If you get tired of the gumdrop you’re working on now you can take it out of your mouth and go to another one. If you’ve sucked a gumdrop for a while, you can bite it lightly and shape it. Come on, I’m not the only one that does this. If you bite it too hard you’ll ruin it. Bite it just enough and you can make it into a ball or see how long you can make it, like a piece of chewing gum. You know exactly what I’m talking about.

I prefer sucking on gumdrops because they get stuck in my teeth when I chew. You know, it could be that the longer you suck on them the stickier they get and that’s why I don’t get them anymore. I don’t remember. I’m certain it was a specific event that led to the gumdrop embargo/boycott, whatever, but I don’t remember what it was. All I know is that today I really want a gumdrop and I know I won’t get one. I won’t even see one. In fact, the truth is I don’t remember the last time I saw a real gumdrop. I’ve seen pictures of them, but it’s honestly been years since I’ve laid eyes on a real gumdrop, let alone enjoyed one.

Since I have a lot of work to do today the local CVS staff can rest assured I won’t be assaulting their facility looking to swoop in and take their cache of gumdrops. Maybe it’s the season or maybe I had a sudden sugar attack but my desire specifically for a gumdrop or two today went through the roof. Knowing me and my unwillingness to actually go out and get one I guess I’ll add one more packet of sweetener to my coffee and keep chewing on the chew stick.

But I really want a gumdrop.

Hunger Games

Posted on by
8

My son and I went to see Hunger Games today. Bottom Line: I enjoyed the movie although I was close to flat-lining it for a while. Watched from a movie theater of Twilight-loving teenage girls, I can see it has its place at the top of a new genre depicting young female action heroes.

I knew I was in trouble when the entire row of girls in front of us, seriously, all of them, started gushing from the very first moment something about Twilight came on in the previews. I have no idea what it was. It could have been the font used, the music, the topography, something. They knew what was happening before anyone else in the theater. The girl on the far left started talking about the movie coming out in December well before any recognizable character from the movie appeared on-screen. When the preview revealed the movie would release in November, the entire row of girls became giddy and overcome with emotion that Twilight was being released sooner than they thought. It was a very moving moment for them. And I should have known I was in trouble.

I will try hard not to ruin the movie, but I have two major complaints. If I recall correctly, the districts send to the capital tributes aged between 12 and 18. That’s a huge gap. Physically, emotionally and experience-wise, that’s huge. If I were in charge we’d narrow the age range down a bit, like 12-14, 14-16, 16-18. My thought is that just about any 18 year old will wipe the floor with any 12 year old. But that’s just me.

Second, if you can create something out of nothing (i.e. a hologram becoming real), why can it kill me but I can’t kill it? For example, if you create fish in a lake simply because your technology allows it, why can’t I catch and eat them? If you create a sheep in a field, how is it possible that sheep might attack and kill me but my weapons are seemingly harmless against it? That bothered me. Not so much the playing God part but the fact that the very weapons with which I can cut down trees, decimate competitors and a number of other “real” tasks have no impact on other creations.

The story centers on one girl’s challenges during the Hunger Games that I won’t get into except for how it relates to every teenage girl in the theater. This is a girl’s movie. It’s not a romantic “chick flick.” People die. Kids die. Kids kill kids. It is what it is. But you cannot escape this is a girl’s movie.

From the beginning, you see the beautiful young girl being strong, decisive and loving in an almost maternal role. She transitions to a strong, independent, skilled hunter as easily as walking out her front door. Then she’s a strong, independent, desirable young woman with some hunky buff dude putting the moves on her. We know the guy is hunky not because he reminds me a lot of myself at that age (okay, maybe not) but because every teenage girl in the theater let out some type of audible “oohh” or “ahhh” when he appeared on-screen.

So then the girl briefly becomes a victim of circumstance but then rises above to once again become the strong, independent young woman. Yadda, yadda, yadda and blah, blah, blah, she keeps the strong and independent mantle during the Games but is rotated through the maternal, hunter, desirable, victim persona throughout the movie.

At one point she’s helping another hunky dude with an issue. She gives him a kiss that the first hunky guy happens to see on TV. I kid you not, every girl in the theater moaned an “oowww” when that happened. They couldn’t have planned it better if they had scripted the Rocky Horror Picture Show audience participation manual. All of them, in unison, “oowww.” I think my son and I pissed off the girls in front of us because we really did laugh out loud.

So all the theater girls are rooting for the heroine and hunky guy number two. There is a hunky guy number three but he’s too much of an a-hole to let his looks give him a pass. We know this because the girl in front of me told the girl next to her that he was too much of a jerk for Katness (the heroine) to “hook-up with.” He didn’t get any “oohhs, ahhhs or oowwws” from any of the girls until near the end when they all cheered him.

The heroine does what she has to do and correctly starts thinking about what’s going to happen to her next. Then hunky guy number one re-appears on the scene. Once again, the theater erupted in a series of “oowwws” from all the girls. What’s Katness going to do? Then the movie ends. That by itself was awesome. It totally pissed off at least the row of girls in front of me. They had no closure and let it be known they were not happy with the ending.

I don’t know exactly what they were looking for, but it’s a movie. It’s a movie based on a book. If you didn’t like the book’s ending, did you think the movie’s would be different? If you didn’t like the movie’s ending, did you read the book? Don’t sit there and start talking crap about the movie you just spent all afternoon gushing over just to complain that it’s not fair you don’t know what happens to Katness next. Did you scream at the Twilight movies?

Anyway, I liked the movie. Again, no nudity and no swearing, so it’s okay for younger kids. Well, if you get past the whole kids-killing-kids premise. But even that was fairly sterile. Most of the death was implied rather than gruesomely displayed. If you see the movie and you’re not a 12-17 year old girl, you might really like it. If you’re a 12-17 year old girl, prepare to have your heart torn from you as you’re left wondering how Katness will end the movie. If you’re a 12-17 year old boy, don’t laugh at your date when she swoons over the hunky dudes.

Enjoy.

Conflicted

Posted on by
5

Today I face an ethical dilemma. It may not seem like much and you may think you have the “best” answer but like many things, it’s a personal problem I have to address and overcome. However, I would like your input.

I went to lunch at one of the finer dining establishments in my fair ville today. Okay, it was the Del Taco drive-through but it was still better than the batch of plain brown rice I’m making for dinner tonight. Anyway, allow me to start with a complaint: People.

I am not better than you. I do not for one second believe you exist to serve me and make my life comfortable and do my bidding. We all have daily trials as much as we have daily victories. If I can help you with a trial or walk with you through hardship, ask. I would love nothing more than to help you celebrate a victory, regardless of its size. We all need victories. But there are those among us that turn their trials or hardships into true tests of courage, patience and restraint for the rest of us. Yes, I’m talking about the people who can’t make up their minds at the fast-food drive-through order kiosk.

My kids have heard me say often enough, “It’s a McDonald’s. The menu didn’t change from when you were here two days ago.” Substitute your favorite fast-food establishment as appropriate and it still holds true. To be fair, some very popular regional restaurants with the drive-through option may be unknown to visitors. For example, here in Southern California’s Inland Empire we have a chain of restaurants called Farmer Boys. I would not expect a NASCAR-loving, beer-swilling, cigarette-smoking, country music-listening, drawl-speaking, Pro Rodeo-watching visitor from Alabama to know about Farmer Boys. For that matter, I was flabbergasted by the sheer volume of Bojangle’s restaurants (one on every corner) when I toured through the Carolinas a couple of years ago. Regional is regional. I get that. And stupid generalizations are stupid, but it helped paint a picture for you.

As far as I’m concerned, you go to a drive-through for speed as well as convenience. The spelling “thru”, to me by the way, conveys a unique sense of ignorance like writing “ok” when the word is spelled “okay”. But I digress. Since you’ve chosen the drive-through option, the issue of consistency has been established. You wouldn’t go to Subway looking for a bucket of chicken just like you wouldn’t go to KFC looking for a roast beef sandwich. You chose that restaurant’s drive-through because you know what they sell and you want it faster and in a more convenient manner than going inside.

Assuming you’ve never been to a Pup-N-Taco before, I have a high amount of confidence your first visit would not be through the drive-through. Even if you’ve heard great things about the place, you’ll want to take a minute to peruse the menu and make a selection from what “sounds” good or what you see others eating. The first-time interaction of seeing the menu, seeing the kitchen layout, getting an overall “feel” for the place and taking in the sounds and smells will establish a baseline from which you will later judge your subsequent drive-through experience. Again, I think the chances of you going to Pup-N-Taco your first time and ordering something at the drive-through kiosk simply because I said you might like it are slim.

Oh, but there are those who live to prove me wrong. In fact, I sat behind one today for quite some time. It’s a freaking Del Taco. Like Taco Bell, they serve pretend Mexican food. Nothing (except the salsa, maybe) is hand-made. It’s all processed, pre-packaged crap from somewhere else. In my mind it’s like a scene from The Simpson’s. They go to the county fair and all the different ethnic groups have food tents from which you can order their country’s specialty. All the orders are routed through one location and filled by someone dipping a ladle into a cauldron of something and pouring it into a bowl or plate. This is then placed on a tray and taken by conveyer belt back to the tent from which the order was placed. That pretty much describes fast-food drive-through restaurants in general: Generic slop from somewhere else presented to you at their window.

First-time visitor or someone looking for a change of pace, I don’t know. But the woman today did as much to delay the progress of mankind in general as possible. She could not decide. I could understand if she had kids in the car and wanted to keep everyone happy. It didn’t appear as though she did. I could also understand if she had multiple people in the car (like a church car pool or something) and everyone wanted something unique. She looked like she was alone. Alone and curious.

“What comes with a number five?” Well, let’s see. There’s a picture of it not three feet in front of you. It looks like it comes with a this, a that, and a thingamajig. “Oh, I don’t want that. What comes with a number six?” Well, here in Western society we often treat things in a linear, progressive manner. I’ll look either right next to or immediately below the number five and–oh, there it is, the elusive number six. Huh. The picture indicates it contains a whozit, a whatzit and a whachamacallit. “Okay, I’d like a number six but what comes on the whozit?”

I know the eight inch by eight inch picture does not have the finest detail in the world, but it looks like a burrito that contains ground beef, refried beans, cheese, a hot sauce of some type and a tortilla. “Instead of ground beef can I get chicken?” Why yes, you can. We call it the number eleven. “What comes with the number eleven?” A chicken whozit, a whatzit and a whachamacallit. “Oh, okay. Yes, I’d like the number eleven with chicken. And instead of the whachamacallit can I change it to a thingamajig?” Yes, you can do that.

But now you’re off the regularly numbered combination menu and into our entree menu items. If you substitute the whachamacallit for the thingamajig it’s thirty cents extra. “Okay, let’s do that. And can I get that with the really large drink?” Yes, but that will be an additional fifty-five cents. Your total is seven dollars and sixteen cents. Will that be all for you today or would you like to try a tooth-rotting straight sugar dessert? “No, that’s it. Thank–Oh, wait! Can I substitute my large drink for a shake?” And on it went until she finally nit-picked her order to get exactly what she wanted.

So, having had enough time to become fairly well acquainted with every detail of the backside of her vehicle, she pulled forward. She left the comfort of the drive-through kiosk and entered the frightening (yet aptly named) Realm of Reality: The left turn to the window.

I have a fairly hard and fast rule of driving any vehicle. To keep this rule means you have demonstrated the aptitude and higher-level thought processes required of a licensed driver. To violate this rule you must, at some point, be punished. The rule: If you can’t park it, you can’t drive it. No, she wasn’t trying to park her vehicle. She was trying to negotiate a single left turn so she could enter the straight-away in front of the payment window. But if you can’t do that simple task I guarantee you she could not parallel park that vehicle.

She was in a Cadillac SUV that clearly was too much for her. I don’t care about the make of car she drove. It could have been a 1970s-era Chevrolet Suburban or her 2012 Cadillac. The point is that the vehicle greatly exceeded her driving ability. Someone should have taken the keys away from her. Unlike Disneyland, the Realm of Reality does not allow for a center rail down the lane which takes control of your vehicle and keeps you pointed in the correct direction if you over- or under-steer. Unlike the go-cart track, you can’t just keep your foot on the gas, bumping off one curb to the other until the ride’s done. You have to actually participate in and learn from the driving experience.

No kidding, I’ve seen guys in trucks with trailers go through a drive-though without rubbing rubber on either the truck or the trailer. The woman today turned a simple left turn into a twelve-point back-and-forth event from which I was getting sick watching. The fact she was a woman had nothing to do with it. The fact that she did not have confidence and or experience in what she was doing is the bigger issue. I’ll bet she took her driving test in a small sub-compact car she borrowed from someone. There is no way she parallel-parked a vehicle the size of a Jawa Sandcrawler when she took her driver’s test.

But that’s not my issue today. That was a minor annoyance that did nothing but cause me to re-think my food choice and hope to be good later on. Today’s event happened at the window.

I pulled up and recognized the same voice from the squawk-box as belonging to the kid hanging out the window looking for payment. I handed him my credit card and he handed me my beverage. He disappeared for a moment and re-appeared with a straw before once again returning to his spider hole. A short while later another uniformed person appeared and handed me my lunch order. She wished me a good day and started to shut the window. I asked for if she had my credit card and she held it up, saying, “This one?”

Seriously, what would she have done if I said, “No, the other one?” I was the only one in line. Specifically, I was the only one at the window. Do they have a bunch of cards they’ve kept from other customers? Is there a little bucket of unclaimed ATM, debit and credit cards on the other side of the window I can’t see? What kind of question is that, “this one?” Anyway, I told her yes, that was the one.

Then she asked for my name. What? It didn’t matter one iota to them who I was when I handed them the card in the first place. I could have charged twenty five dollars worth of tacos and burritos and they would not have asked to see my identification, let alone asked my name. Assuming she was the new window HMFIC (Head Mother Flunkee In Charge), I told her my name. I was tempted to say Al Sharpton or Huey Lewis but I didn’t. I don’t think she would have seen the humor as much as I. With my name (luckily) matching what was written, the card was returned and I drove off.

Then it occurred to me that I never received a copy of my receipt. I would have expected it with the drink, but I received the drink concurrent with issuing the card. The next opportunity would have been when I was given the straw. But all I received was the straw. As I returned to my combination office / dungeon, I started thinking that I didn’t see the girl put a receipt in the bag. That started my first pangs of guilt: What if I hadn’t paid for my meal? Not wanting to dwell on it, I pushed it out of my mind until I sat at my desk.

There is no receipt anywhere in the bag. I never received one. So, did the first guy run my card and just forget to give me a receipt? I won’t know until Monday. I know the girl didn’t run my card.

I am not as happy as I might have been when I was younger, glad that I had a “free meal” because they screwed up. I have no idea what policy Del Taco has regarding “short” cash drawers at the drive-through. It really bothers me to think that some kid might get docked the cost of at least my meal because he got involved in something else and didn’t run my card. That one issue alone is my problem. Kid number one did what you would expect: He repeated my total and took my card. Kid number two did what you might expect: Saw a card on a ledge inside the store and returned it, perhaps assuming the card had already been run.

Am I going to go back to the store and have them “Z”-out a register so I can pay them and feel better? No. Am I going to take the money I would have paid them and buy lunch for someone else? Maybe, but that won’t relieve me of my concern. And no, I’m not going to give you the money and let you “take care of it” on my behalf.

Seriously, what would you do? I can’t just let this one go. Potentially there’s one, maybe two, high school students trying to make something of themselves on a Sunday afternoon who might have to pick up the cost of my lunch. I feel like I just did a dine-and-dash, only much worse. If I had intentionally deceived or defrauded them out of the cost of my lunch, I am totally responsible. If they had handed me my lunch and never asked for my card it doesn’t change the result: I know I should have paid but I didn’t even make an attempt. This is different.

I tried to pay. For all I know, I did pay and they just didn’t give me a receipt. I am certain some of you will tell me just to suck it up and enjoy the free food, but I’m interested in hearing from the more mature and responsible readers I know are out there. What would you do?

Good Enough For You?

Posted on by
1

Stand by, this is probably going to be long.
Just like you, I sometimes struggle with the choices I make. For the moment, I’ll leave religion out of the discussion. Heck, I’ll even try to leave out sex and politics. Now, on to my beef (as it were):

At least in Southern California, just about everyone either needs a car or needs to know someone with a car. You might want a Suzuka Gray Metallic Audi T-Type RS Coupe with a Black/Alcantara interior, but would you drive a Toyota Camry instead? How about a 1990s-era Honda Civic? If you have a desk job at an investment firm and you don’t shuttle clients around or meet at their offices, do you need the Audi? Wouldn’t the “beater” do just as well?

What about clothes? Do you really need brand new designer label clothes if you’re on a budget? Clean, used, pre-owned, whatever you want to call them, clothes work just as well, don’t they?

But there are times when what’s good enough for someone else isn’t good enough for you for whatever reason. *You* wouldn’t drive a beater. *You* wouldn’t drink off-brand coffee. *You* wouldn’t eat anything less than high-quality, free-range, non-steroid beef. Or would you?

I just read an article from The Telegraph(^1) which discussed the evolution of test-tube beef. After I got over the initial throat-tightening revulsion to the concept of using stem cells to grow my dinner, my next thought was that it would be perfect to help solve the world’s hunger issues.

One claim is that a single “stock” animal, “would be able to produce about a million times more meat through the lab-based technique than through the traditional method of butchery…” What could be better? Well, truth be told, what could be better for someone else? I still like to know that my table meat and I at least shared breathing in common. Even fish breathe. And this, my friends, becomes my dilemma. It’s the “do as I say, not as I do” problem.

Would you eat it? If it’s good enough to feed a nation of starving people, would you eat it? If not, why? Prejudice? Are you of the “my meat needs to bleed” ilk or would you suddenly declare yourself a vegetarian to avoid the thought?

I love Andrew Zimmern’s discussion of food and how one culture perceives something as a delicacy and another as garbage. Some people will say “meat is murder” and shout out the evils of global warming caused by McDonald’s policy of slash-and-burning Amazonian rain forests to increase the cattle herds that then generate billions of tons of methane which destroy the environment(^2). Someone else might say it’s unnatural for us not to eat an omnivore diet since that’s what we are. Regardless, if we have the technology to bring the end of world hunger one step closer to extinction, shouldn’t we use it? I can’t really answer the question.

I know how my meat is made, even the notorious “pink goo” processing. I don’t care. You can show me videos of animals being slaughtered and processed for food. It is what it is. If you don’t like it, don’t eat it. But I will honestly say that the process they described in making the test-tube beef kind of turned my stomach a little.

I’ve seen death before. I’ve seen kids where half of them are on one side of a path and the other half, the “goo” half, has pooled somewhere else. Shocking, yes, but mentally it’s okay. Blood is red. Dried blood is black. Cut meat (excluding seafood) will range from pink to black whether it’s a kid who picked up a “dud” mortar round, road kill or tomorrow afternoon’s gourmet steak dinner. But as described in the article, the whole test-tube process seems unnatural and bizarre.

Would I eat it? Probably not intentionally the first time. But if it fed millions of people somewhere else, am I too “good” for it? No, but the crowd scenes in Soylent Green keep playing in my head. If I had to eat it, I would. But let’s be clear: It wouldn’t be to save the planet or save an animal’s life. If I ate it, it would be because that might be the only thing available or affordable on my budget. I’m not going to go Vegan just because my burger’s yellow. I’ll just need to forget how they made it.

^1. Link: (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/science/science-news/9091628/Test-tube-hamburgers-to-be-served-this-year.html)
^2. I’m shooting from the hip. Don’t quote me on this as I’m not presenting them as facts. I have to put this in because although no one reads or follows this blog currently, chances are some Vegan bastidge somewhere will Google-search it and sue me because my stats are wrong. Who freaking cares. I’m using this as an example. Get over it.