The Stevie Nicks Affair

I'm not sure why I like Stevie Nicks so much, but my love for her goes all the way back to 1975.  I can't really pinpoint what it is about her I find so appealing and desirable.  I know she's in her 60's now, but 60 is the new 39, right?  At least, that's what Hugh Hefner says.  By the way, did you see where his 20-something girlfriend decided they shouldn't get married?  I'm sure it took some heavy mental lifting on her part to come to that decision.  Anyway, back to Stevie...

In her heyday with Fleetwood Mac, Stevie was pretty hot.  She was Madonna before Madonna.  With her hair all teased up, the five-inch clog high heels and the whole witch thing going on, she exuded mystery and sexiness. There weren't too many rock n' roll witches back then, unless you count Frank Zappa.  Even today, she wears a shawl better than anyone in the music industry, (sorry Elton).  And twirling?  Forget about it.  Nobody can touch her twirling.

I've always found her voice intriguing too.  She's got an unmistakable sound, kind of a cross between Janis Joplin and a ruby-throated warbler (not sure if there is such a bird, I'm just imagining).  My friend, whom I'll call Bob (because that's his name) says she sounds like a bleating sheep.  Maybe.  I'm not sure what that says about me.

She's quite a polished songwriter too.  Who can write a lyric like this-  "Just like the one-winged dove sings a song sounds like she's singing...ooh, ooh, ooh"?  When I think of a one-winged dove, I think the other wing must have been bitten off by a coyote or an angry badger or something.  So I would've written the last three words in the lyric as "...ow! ow! ow!"  I mean, after all, if you're a one-winged dove, that's gotta hurt, right?  But that's the genius of Stevie.

I actually met Stevie once. Kinda. I was at a 'Mac concert and as the band was leaving the stage, she approached the stadium tunnel exit beneath the stands where I was seated.  I was sitting in the first row above the exit.  When she got about fifteen feet away, I blurted out, "Hey, Stevie!"  She looked up to see who was yelling at her and our eyes met.  Yeah, it was only a nanosecond, but it's the kind of thing where every guy says to himself, "Yeah, she wants me."  Well, maybe not every guy, just us delusional types.

Over the years, I've dragged my poor wife around to her concerts.  Yes, she thinks I'm nuts, but what are you gonna do?  For better or worse, right?  Besides, we have this deal for a partner exchange.  I get Stevie, she gets George Clooney.  Even a dolt like me can acknowledge she's probably getting the better deal, but that's fine.  Live and let live.

My New Career: Brain Surgeon!

I passed the fifty-year birthday milestone awhile back. Since then I’ve done some introspective, soul searching to provide me with direction on the last leg of my life’s journey. As part of this inward review, I’ve reflected on timeless questions like, "Who am I?", “Why am I here?”, “Does my life make really make a difference?” and “Did people really listen to ABBA?”

Part of this reflection involves making tough decisions about who I am and what I would like to do when I grow up. You know, real adult-type stuff. After much deliberation, I’ve decided to change careers and become a brain surgeon.

Here’s the rationale behind my decision. First, doctors make a lot of money. Despite all the hand wringing over ObamaCare, I’m confident first-rate doctors will be in even higher demand and command top dollar. Second, in my current job and rate of pay, I’ll have to work until I’m approximately 147 before I can retire. I’m sorry, but there just isn’t enough Red Bull to get me that far. Third, I’ve always wanted to choose the “Dr.” prefix when filling out online forms and it would be nice to have a personalized “DrBrain” license plate. After all, doctors are important people (except podiatrists- I feel sorry for them). I know, that last part sounds vain, but part of this whole introspection thing means being honest with yourself. Oh yeah, and finally there’s the whole “helping others” thing.

I’m sure many of you think I’m delusional. That’s okay. I’m comfortable knowing that some people might think I’m crazy. You’re probably thinking, “What kind of training does he have that he thinks he can be a brain surgeon?” I guess my only response is that it’s no more crazy than making a community organizer President of the United States or an Ivy League dean a Supreme Court Justice.

And I’m the crazy one….

What's the Scariest Day of the Year? Hint: It's NOT Halloween...

Although October 31st conjures up images of ghouls, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night, it's actually not the scariest day of the year.  Neither is April 15th, unless you're one of those fat-cats making more than $40 thousand a year. 

I submit to you the scariest day of the year (at least for guys) is Valentine's Day.  While you're liable to be stalked by a vampire, werewolf, or an IRS agent on either of the two days previously mentioned, it's February 14th that really strikes fear into the souls of men, or at least, this man.

Think about it.  There are only four classifications of presents you can get for your wife or girlfriend (we won't tackle the delicate subject of having both, that's a frightful situation unto itself).  Under almost every scenario, the giving of any of these classified gifts will produce either a ho-hum response (at best) or a realization you've scewed up royally (at worst).  Neither of these outcomes is winnable.  It's kind of like the Kobayashi Maru test given to Star Trek officer candidates- there's no tenable position (and yes, I realize that knowing what Kobayashi Maru is classifies me as a loser, but thanks in advance for not pointing it out).

For those of you who don't know intrinsically what the Valentine gift classifications are, I'll give them to you, not that it will help, but at least you'll be able to conduct your own post mortem on February 15th.  They are as follows:

1. Perishable Goods- this includes chocolate, candy, or flowers- basically anything that will rot or attract ants.  These are horrible gifts because women only want chocolate or candy when THEY want it, not when you give it to them (kinda like how they choose their mates).  Somehow, I think given chocolates have more calories than if they are consciously chosen.  Flowers?  Forget about it.  Anything you can buy her at 7-11 is not a viable choice.
2. Cuddly Stuff-  This includes sexy lingerie, pajamas, cutesy stuffed bears wearing masks, etc.  In case any of you guys out there can't figure out why lingerie and pajamas are NOT a good idea, I'm not even going to bother spelling it out for you.  Suffice it to say, it's not YOUR birthday!  Stuffed animals are a bad idea too.  If you get a woman one of these you're relegating yourself to the "can we just be friends?" category.
3. Lavish Gifts-  This includes any kind of jewelry not purchased at the Dollar Store.  It also includes cars, boats, plastic surgery (no matter how badly it's needed).  This category is particularly dangerous.  While it may produce a temporary euphoric effect in you and her, it's short lived.  Then when your Visa bill shows up the next month you're kicking yourself all the way to Burger King where you're headed to see if you can pick up a part-time job to pay for your foolishness.  As if that's not enough, suppose you do decide to go down the lavish gift path- what do you do next Valentine's Day?  And the one after that?  The last time I checked, you can only sell one kidney.
4. The Bizarre- If you think you're clever enough to pull this off, the only thing I have to say to you is "Good Luck".  This category includes stuff like making monogrammed belt buckles for her, or writing  poetry after drinking a bottle of Kettle One or recording karaoke love songs for her at the mall.

Oh, I forgot one last category.  It's called the "Do Nothing" category.  This is the worst and scariest choice of all.  Trust me fellas, if you have even half a brain, do not choose the "Do Nothing" category.  Any of the four categories mentioned above, not matter how stupid or expensive, are preferable to this, unless you like sleeping on the couch or want to live the life of a Tibetan monk for the next thirty or so years.

As for me, I have no idea what I'm going to do yet.  I just know that I'm afraid...very afraid.

News Flash...Tiger is Human!

Now that we've all dissected every conceivable piece of evidence regarding Tiger Woods' low-speed crash that left him with a few cuts and even more scrutiny, if that's possible, than ever before, let's state the obvious: Tiger Woods is Human. There...I said it.

Oh sure, he has this squeaky clean GQ persona that he's gone to great lengths to manicure, but anybody who has ever seen him in a golf tournament knows that he has a fiery temper. On the one side we've seen the polished images of him driving a Buick (really? Do you think Mick Jagger drinks Colt 45?) on the other hand we've seen him fling golf clubs in disgust and let loose with a few F*bombs on national T.V. So the guy's not perfect. What a revelation!

So which is he, saint or sinner? The answer, like most of us, is both. Whatever caused this last Tiger episode, it's probably domestically related. I doubt he was getting in his car at 2:30 in the morning to run over to AM/PM for a roller grill hot dog. But you know what? What the heck business is it of ours? He didn't hurt anyone other than himself. He apparently was driving slowly enough that his airbags didn't even deploy. So what's the big deal?Anybody who has been married can attest to the fact that it ain't roses all the time (unless you're Ozzy and Harriet). In fact, sometimes married couples go through months or even years where there's nothing but thorns. But that's his business, not ours, despite what the media claims.

Just because someone is a public figure shouldn't give the media a license to print, say or televise whatever they want. Go ask the National Enquirer on that one. Everyone deserves a little privacy- even Tiger. It's really pathetic we now ascribe legitimacy to media sources like TMZ that report ad nauseum on stories like Tiger's in the name of journalism. Where is the greater good of society served in that commission?

I hope this story dies a quiet death and that Tiger manages his personal life with the same level of excellence he's displayed on the golf course.

Are They Really Looking for Me?....Really??

I can't figure it out. I don't have a million dollars- not even close. I can't sing, act, or dunk a basketball. Why then, are beautiful sexy women searching for me? It seems like every website I visit on the Internet, there's a picture of a gorgeous woman, usually in her mid-twenties wearing a tight fitting top, with a Marilyn Monroe-like, come-hither look on her face. The caption above the picture teases with phrases like, "Who's Looking for You?", or "One Person is Searching for You?"

Really?

Granted, my wife thinks I'm "cute" but then again she likes cats so it's hard to put a whole lot of faith in her judgement. I guess I can't figure out why if the advertisers can find me wherever I net surf, these beautiful girls can't? And what the heck do they want with me anyway? Like I said, I don't have the kind of money that would qualify me as a "Sugar Daddy." In fact, I'm not sure I would even qualify as a "Molasses Daddy" or "Stevia Daddy" if there are descending rungs of desirability with gold diggers.

And surely these young frauleins aren't after me for my looks for crying out loud. I'm not saying I'm over the hill, but if I were a piece of fruit, I'd be the slightly brown banana sitting on the kitchen counter behind the toaster. Yummy awhile ago, but now, not so much.

Maybe these girls are visually impaired? Yeah! That makes sense! I bet when they surf the net, they are besieged with ads from opthamologists looking for them. You think?

The Omnipresent Cell Phone

Hey Y'all-


I'm sure you are all aware of the ubiquitous nature of the cell phone. You can't go anywhere these days without seeing someone with one in their hand or glued to their ear. Here are a few of my observations on the social impact of them...

• People say things in text messages that they would never say in person.
• Because there are no facial expressions used in cell phone communications, nuances in the dynamics between bodily and verbal communications can be confused. Sincere and heartfelt comments can often be confused with sarcasm by the receiver of the message which can be damaging to relationships. Note to Guys- We have enough problems communicating with women, please fore go the cell phone and communicate face-to-face if you really want her to understand!
• People text and communicate via cell phones in the most inappropriate places. Have you ever received a call from someone who is obviously sitting on the can? I have. Can we please agree as a society that there is nothing so important that can't wait five minutes for someone to relieve themselves?
• Ever responded to someone in public who you think is talking directly to you, only to find out that they are using a cell phone instead? It's a little embarrassing, but also really confusing to customers in a retail environment. The rule of thumb should be: there is no one so important as the customer standing in front of you.
• That leads to the subject of employees you encounter who are making personal cell phone calls while you stand idly by, waiting for them to finish their conversation. Those folks need to realize they are jeopardising their company's reputation by not making customers the number one priority.
• Can we all agree that driving a motor vehicle is challenging enough to not add texting and cell phone dialing into the equation? I was driving down the road the other day and saw a guy who appeared to be texting and eating lunch in the middle of rush-hour traffic! No wonder insurance rates continue to climb....!

I know a former high school mate who runs a funeral home- I wonder if he has a few stories to share on the subject.....??

40 Years After....

Forty years ago today Man stepped onto the surface of the moon. To anyone under the age of 40, this might seem like no big deal. You've seen images of the Apollo missions your whole lives as if it were common place. For us oldsters -50 and above, we remember with awe and wonderment how the Apollo program evolved and culminated with Neil Armstrong's historic step onto the moon's Sea of Tranquility.

As a 10-year-old, the Apollo 11 mission meant something special to me. First, it meant that I could stay up past my normal bedtime of 9:00 PM. I don't remember the exact time of the moon landing, but I know if was very late, maybe 1 or 2 AM Central. Second, it was one of the first experiences I recall when I was included with the adults. Everyone watched TV coverage of the lunar landings, old and young alike. People everywhere huddled around TVs listening to Mission Control, The Eagle and Walter Cronkite describe the unfolding drama.

Everyone knew the magnitude of this accomplishment. As Americans, we all had a special pride in our astronauts and our country. For awhile, anyway, we put aside Vietnam, we put aside the race riots, and the Kennedy and King murders. We lived in the fleeting moment of lunar ecstasy. Apollo 11 represented the best of us. The best of what our country could be, the best of what we could dream, and the fulfillment of JFK's promise. It was our Manhattan Project, but with a nobler, gentler ending.

Now, forty years later, I wistfully recall the Summer of '69. By no means were we the "Great Society" as LBJ had envisioned, but at least we rallied around the space program. Most Americans agreed on the greatness of the accomplishment and celebrated it. Now we seem to be divided into Democratic and Republican strongholds with nothing to bring us together. We have no common purpose.

What's say we revive some of the old Apollo spirit and dedicate ourselves to conquering Mars by the year 2030? Maybe somewhere in this endeavor, we can find our commonality and brother hood again and join together as Americans. If we're going to spend trillions of dollars anyway, my vote is to spend it on something grand that will lift us all to a higher plane rather that divvy it up to every sycophantic elected official who needs to grease a palm. Mars 2030- Mr. Obama is that change we can believe in?