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?

It's Time to Listen to Your Limbic System!

President O'Bama and his Democratic supporters, Pelosi, Reid, Emanuel, Axelrod, to name but a few, stand poised over the us, the American citizenry, like warriors wielding sharpened swords. If they succeed in passing HR 2454 -the so-called Clean Energy Bill, and the proposed government health care plan, the swords they carry will no longer be used to scare us with sabre-rattling. Instead, those swords will be plunged into the hearts of all us who want to preserve our American tradition of liberty and free market capitalism.

If you're at all fearful of O'Bama's sweeping changes, then it's time to listen to your limbic system. You remember what that is, right? It's the ancient part of the human brain that lies at the base of the skull. It controls our "fight or flight" response in times of danger. Well folks, I can't think of a time since The Bay of Pigs, that our country has been exposed to more peril. And never in our history, has the peril come from within, but here we are anyway, staring at sharpened steel poised to destroy us. It's fight or flight time!

We can either stand and fight against the tyranny of excess government spending, taxation, bureaucracy and control or we can take flight into the fantasy world of Al Gore where everyone rides to work on a Segway and drinks herbal tea from a cup they made themselves from clay. Or if you prefer, we can take flight into the fantasy world of government-run healthcare, where U.S. citizens, along with 20 million or so "undocumented workers" from our good neighbors to the South, get so-called "free" health-care dispensed from loving bureaucrats in Washington. If you like this idea, ask anyone in Canada or the United Kingdom how that's working out for them. Ask the unfortunate people who need to see a specialist or have complicated health issues about the responsiveness of the state run healthcare system. That should get your reptilian brain really going!

The bottom line is, if you choose to fight like me, then pick up the phone and call your Congressional Representative. Make your voice heard! Tell them to oppose these ridiculous, dangerous, and potentially irrevocable legislative proposals or we will vote them out of office and find someone who will fight for our rights as taxpayers and citizens.

Here are a few resources you can use:
U.S. House of Representatives - Phone (202) 224-3121 or on the Web: http://www.house.gov/, Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi- http://speaker.house.gov/

U.S. Senate - http://www.senate.gov/

Act Now! Stand and fight, if not for yourself, then for your children and their children. Remember the words our country was founded on: Live Free or Die, Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death!

Obama's Big Choice

Pretty soon Pres. Obama will be tasked with filling a Supreme Court position for retiring judge David Souter. Since Supreme Court judges don't have term limits, Obama's choice could have an impact on our country for many years to come.

Outgoing judge Souter is viewed by most as left leaning, so the chances are that whoever Obama chooses, the balance of the Court will remain roughly the same. That's if conventional wisdom holds. Some leading Democrats are calling on His Loftiness to choose someone outside the legal profession to fill the spot. Turncoat and political opportunist,... er patriot, Sen. Arlen Specter said, "It would be good to get people who know something besides wearing a black robe."

Okay, Arlen. How about someone wearing a bath robe? I guess that would be kind of fun- especially if the judge wore curlers and fuzzy pink slippers too. Senator Specter also suggested that women, Hispanics, and African-Americans need better representation on the court.

Translated: A judge who will help build and support the foundation of the Democratic party.
Here's the profile of the ideal judicial candidate: Unemployed, single, gay, black woman with six kids who used to be a Hispanic man named Pepe, before undergoing transgender surgery, and who is now living next to OctoMom in a SoCal trailer park. She drives a hybrid car festooned with PETA stickers, listens to Air America, and has a tattoo of Al Franken on her butt. In her previous life as a man named Pepe, she crossed the border at Tijuana (illegally of course) over 500 times. All of her six kids were born in the U.S. and are legal citizens with full rights and privileges courtesy of the American taxpayer/legal residents.

Now that's change we can believe in!

Everything's Bigger in Texas...

From early childhood on, we've all been told that "Everything's Bigger in Texas." To me that evokes images of men wearing 10-gallon hats and large belt buckles, wide-open spaces, and ranches the size of most European countries. Now comes a report that nine people living in the Austin, Texas area rang up nearly $3 million in emergency room costs from 2003-2008. What's big about that you may ask? Well, nine patients walked into county ERs a total of 2,678 times over that time period! Wow! That's BIG- even for Texas.

For you statisticians out there, that's about 50 trips to the ER per year, per person for each of the 6 years reported. Or if you prefer to think of it in these terms, about 1 visit to the ER per week. That's a record even Amy Winehouse or Lindsay Lohan would have a tough time beating.

Of the nine people, 8 were diagnosed as drug addicts and not alarmingly, 7 were also diagnosed as mentally ill,- 3 were homeless. Most of the complaints from these "patients" involved chest pains which is often the result of anxiety, according to local health care experts.

You have to wonder what level of care the truly critically sick or injured people in these ERs received, especially when you consider these 9 people are just the tip of the iceberg. Sadly, there are many people in the ER who are wasting precious few resources for non-emergency procedures. When I was at the ER last week (a ten-hour ordeal from hell) with my son who was diagnosed with possible appendicitis, I overheard one nurse comment to a mother who had brought in a child with a cough, "Oh, I remember you- you were in here yesterday, too."

I wish I knew the answer to resolve this huge strain being placed on the health care industry and on taxpayers. And with universal health-care looming on the horizon, it doesn't look to get better any time soon. Remember, The Alamo!

Standing on the Edge of Madness

Tomorrow begins the best season in all of sports- bar none. I'm talking of course about March Madness, the 64 team, single elimination tournament that determines the NCAA Men's basketball champion.

It's estimated that $3 billion is wagered annually in office pools around the country on this sacred two week event. I used to think $3 billion was a colossal sum of money until this whole "bailout" phenomenon took place. Now, between George W., and His Most High Eminence, Barrack Obama, $3 billion is relegated to mere chump change. If I win the $100, ooo prize in my on-line bracket pool, I promise to help pay down the national debt....Not!!


Despite our economic troubles, I'm not letting the moronic policies of our government screw up my good time. I'm going to enjoy every minute and revel in the glory of teams like Sienna, North Dakota State, and Binghamton. Never mind they have about as much chance of winning it all as I do winning American Idol, it's still fun- especially the 2nd round where highly seeded teams routinely lose to powerhouses with names who sound like distant cousins, i.e. S.F. Austin, Robert Morris, etc.

Wouldn't it be great if we could muster as much enthusiasm and passion for the governance of our country as we do picking the Final Four? And wouldn't it be nice if we could agree to play by the same set of rules??

Anyway, for what it's worth, I'm picking Memphis to beat Oklahoma in the Finals. Sorry, Mr. President, and sorry Zane. Hey, at least I didn't pick Duke to win it all!!

I'm Defined by My Socks

Leave it to a teenager to remind you of how really uncool you are. My son recently observed me putting on my socks prior to going to the gym and commented that no one wears socks that go half way up the shin anymore. He told me that everyone (meaning anyone around the age of 13-15) wears shoe top socks- you know, the ones that nobody can see when you have them on.

I shunned his advice and went on my way to the gym. There, I discovered that my son was correct, most people no longer wear longer socks. I was totally oblivious to the shift in cool. Needless to say, I began feeling self-conscious and was sure everyone was laughing at me behind my back (more than usual, that is).

After leaving the gym, I rushed over to that Mecca of higher fashion- Walmart, and picked up 6 pair of the low cut socks. Now that I've been wearing them for a few weeks, I've noticed a new spring in my step, I walk with my head held high, and I have a renewed sense of self worth.

Of course, now that I, a 50 year old man, am wearing these "fashionable" socks, I'm sure they will become distinctly uncool in pretty short order. Cool is not defined by old guys with varicose veins, gray hair, and beer guts! For that reason, I'm hanging onto my old socks should they become stylish again. Then I'll have my brief moment of unity with high fashion.

Irony Defined by Pot Smuggling Jenny Craig Truck

Every once in awhile, you see a news article that stands head and shoulders above the rest. In a twist of irony, a Jenny Craig delivery truck driver was busted near Phoenix for carrying 1,400 pounds of marijuana along with its cargo of frozen diet foods. Last time I checked, marijuana and dieting were two concepts not typically associated with each other.

Can you imagine the Jenny Craig commerials that might inspire?

Bill Clinton: "I gained 50 lbs. on the Jenny Craig program, but I didn't inhale!"

Bill Parcells: "I love the new Jenny Craig Brownies. You can't eat just one!"

Chris Bermann: "There's nothing like macking on a pile of Jenny Craig while listening to Dark Side of the Moon on my I-Pod."

Queen Latifah: "I may be a size 24, but I feel good....reeeeeal....good!"

Valerie Bertinelli: "Eddie turned me on to Jenny Craig!"

Phylicia Rashad: " Now that I'm on Jenny Craig, I qualify for California tax credits for medical marijuana usage!"

Keith Richards: "Thanks to the Jenny Craig program, I've actually gained 30 lbs- I'm now up to 60! Thanks Jenny!

Add your Jenny Craig story here:

;-)

Cardinals Lose, Earth Avoids Destruction

Now that the Arizona Cardinals have lost Super Bowl 43, we can all breathe a sigh of relief. Had they won the game, it's certain that the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse would've been saddling up for a ride. Now, they're just sitting in a bar in Texas, drinking a cold Shiner Bock (best beer in the world if you've never tried it.)

Just a few other rambling Super Bowl thoughts I have I'd like to share with you:

• Larry Fitzgerald should be fitted for a cape. The man is just flat out awesome.
• Now that the Steelers have sole possession of most Super Bowl wins ever (6), the Dallas Crybabies, er, Cowboys are in 2nd place. Too bad, Jerry. Doesn't look like you'll be back any time soon.
• Superbowl ads were pretty weak. The Doritos ad with the snow globe/ crystal ball was funny, but most of the others were forgettable. Hey advertisers! It's your Super Bowl too! It's your chance to step up and reach out to half the planet. If you're going to shell out all that money for a 30 second spot, then man up! Especially you, Budweiser, er, or is that Stella?
• Stop with the Gatorade baths already. It was funny 25 years ago, but now it's really tired- like M.A.S.H. reruns...stop already!!
• When did Bruce Springsteen start using Grecian formula for men!
• Will Bill Bidwell start a fashion trend with the re-emergence of the bow tie?
• Can't wait for the Special Edition of Sports Illustrated featuring the Pittsburgh Steelers. You know the one, where you can buy the hardbound book replete with photos and scintillating interviews. I think they throw in a Ronco knife sharpener, a Popeil pocket fisherman, and some Mighty Putty with that...all for $19.99!
• Prediction for next year's Super Bowl: Cincinnati Bengals 22, Detroit Lions 21. Hey, after this year, anything's possible! I think the Four Horseman might saddle up for that one too!!

The Seventh Sign the Apocalypse is Upon Us

Plagues, famine, war, pestilence, revolution and earthquakes represent signposts on our way to the End of Days. And now I submit to you the Seventh Sign that the Apocalypse is upon us: The Arizona Cardinals will be competing in the NFC Championship game and are one win away from the Super Bowl!

Not only has the current edition of the Arizona Cardinals been derided as "the worst team to ever make the NFL playoffs," nobody gave them a snowball's chance in Hades to beat Atlanta and Carolina, yet here they stand on the precipice of History. If the Cards can capitalize on this 3-week window of opportunity to pour the salve of Championship ointment over the old wounds of perpetual losing and ineptitude, they will establish a new era of achievement, the old days will be relegated to the past, and the Chicago Cubs can take sole possession of "The Biggest Losers" nickname in sports. Sorry, Cubs fans!

Hey, if the Arizona Cardinals can get this far, anything's possible! With that in mind, I'm looking for additional signs of the Apocalypse:

• My 401(k) rebounds and makes it possible for me to retire before my nineties
• My kids pick up their dirty clothes without any pleading, hounding, cajoling, or threatening from me or their mother
• Viagra and Cialis commercials are banned from the airwaves
• Al Franken runs for President in 2012- and wins (just like he did in Minnesota)!
• Gov. Blugojevich shares a batchelor pad with Charlie Sheen and stars in his own reality show.
• Frank Caliendo (celebrity impersonator) and Katy Couric (journalist impersonator) have a torrid affair spawning a child that resembles John Madden.
• Gas drops below $1.00 a gallon.

OK, these signs might appear a bit far-fetched, but so was the idea of the Cardinals going to the Super Bowl. The odds were 200-1 against them at the beginning of the year. The only way they were going to a championship game of any kind was if they paid a scalper for tickets. Now look at them! "Under a Blood-Red Sky....."

Celebrating Christmas- The Great Crossroads

There's an old saying that goes like this, "with age comes wisdom." As I'm closing out my 49th year on Planet Earth, I can't say that I feel and wiser than I did thirty years ago, but what I can tell you is that I appreciate simple things much more than I did then. Take the Christmas card for example.

Every year, we get dozens of cards- some are simple, some are ornate, some are from companies reminding us how much our business (and money) are appreciated, some are from people I barely know. But all of these people have met us at some point or another at the Crossroads we call Life.

When I was a kid, I could scarcely contain my excitement as Christmas Day approached. I would sit under the tree gently shaking and examining everyone of my presents to try and guess the contents. I get the same kind of excitement now every afternoon when the mailman delivers Christmas cards. I always ask my wife, Andrea, "How many did we get today?" and who they are from. It's fun to read each card and remember the Ghosts of Christmas's past and how each of these card senders touched our lives. Some folks we still keep in touch with, others are like Haley's Comet only intersecting with us once a year at this time. But they are still in our Life's orbit as we are in theirs, and for that I'm grateful.

Two thousand years ago, God sent his own Christmas card in the form of His Son. This Crossroads, between God and Man, is the ultimate Christmas card, the Ultimate Gift. Though I may not be any wiser than I was as a young man, I'm wise enough to stop for a second to say, "Thank you" to the Man upstairs. My hope is that all of your Christmas Crossroads, whether divine or earthly, be filled with Love and Peace this Holiday Season.

Joe Pa Keeps on Truckin'

Did you see that Penn St. gave football coach Joe Paterno a three-year contract extension? Normally, that would be no big deal, but given the fact that Joe-Pa (as he is affectionately known by PSU fans) turns 82 this weekend, it's pretty amazing.

Terms weren't disclosed by the university but it's conjectured he'd be making at least $500,ooo annually. Most of his contemporaries, if they choose to work and are able, probably make about 1/100th of that amount and also get to say catchy things like "Welcome to Walmart" or "Want fries with that?"

Paterno must be incredibly adaptable and resilient. Think about the type of athlete he coached in 1950 vs now. Back in "the day" football players actually went to class, didn't have rap sheets as long as their arms, and didn't dictate to the coaching staff. I doubt I could've put up with some of the prima donnas Joe's had to deal with, especially in this era of media hype. The bottom line is he must truly love coaching, there's no other explanation for his longevity in the game.

I can't imagine working at age 82. Come to think of it, I can't imagine working at age 62 either! I suppose if you've been working at the same job at the same company like Joe-Pa has for the past 58 years (yes, kids he started at Penn State in 1950!) it becomes embedded in your DNA. Heck, he just had a hip replaced and he's still going for crying out loud! I guess I'll think twice before I call in sick at work.

When It Comes to Forgetfulness...Forget About It!

I angered my wife the other evening when I forgot some very basic tasks she asked me to do. Unfortunately for her, I was watching football at the time she made her request. It's not that I didn't have every intention of complying with her wishes, quite the contrary. I paid close attention to every word she said as she was getting ready to leave. However, I got caught up in the game and when she came home to find that I hadn't done what I was supposed to do, I felt a little like a quarterback who lines up under a guard instead of a center. I was embarrassed and a little shocked at my own forgetfulness. How could I be so stupid?

Well, it seems science has come to my rescue...sort of. A recent study at Stanford indicates that the less work the cerebral cortex has to do (the part of the brain that remembers stuff) the more it can focus on other tasks. Think of it like RAM in a computer. The fewer files and programs you have open, the more quickly and efficiently your PC works. It's the same with the brain.
By eliminating my wife's requests from my memory, my brain was actually becoming more efficient for what it considered the highest priority: football.

The problem is that even if you accept this premise, it doesn't necessarily mean your parole from the doghouse will be granted. In fact, one could argue the opposite case in support of my wife: a truly loving and considerate husband would've given her task requests highest priority and subjected football to the brain's censoring processes. And therein lies the age-old dilemma: wife vs football. If only science could figure that one out, I might not be sleeping on the couch....

Bailing Out The Captain and Tennille

As I was reading the gruesome details of the proposed $70 billion bailout for the Big 3 automakers, I started wondering how a company the size of GM, with all its resources and past history of innovation, could be performing so miserably. Then I started thinking about the comparison of GM to The Captain and Tennille.

Sound silly? Maybe. But there are some amazing similarities. Back in the 70's, GM dominated the car industry. They were churning out gas-guzzling muscle cars like the Chevy Camaro, the Pontiac Firebird, and the Chevy Corvette, without much thought about fuel conservation. Meanwhile, halfway around the world, the Japanese were planning the second invasion of The United States. Likewise, while The Captain and Tennille were pounding out drivel like "Muskrat Love", "Love Will Keep Us Together", and "Shop Around", angst-ridden teenagers (like myself) were listening to New Wave and Punk Rock music. It wasn't long before A&M records dropped acts like The Carpenters and The Captain and Tennille, in favor of The Sex Pistols. That's how evolution works: adapt to the new environment or resign yourself to the trash heap of history.

Would The Captain and Tennille have survived if they had shaved their heads, pierced their tongues, and smashed guitars on stage? I guess we'll never know (thank God), but we do know that their thankfully brief moment in the limelight faded as audience tastes changed.

What will happen if The U.S. government gives GM and the other Detroit dinosaurs a bailout? Do you think they will magically become innovative? Hey, they didn't learn their lessons from 30 years ago, so why would we expect a different result this time? Bankruptcy might be painful, but it would force the Gang of 3 into retooling for the future. If the government is stupid enough to give them the money, then it should consider giving The Captain and Tenille $10 or $20 million for a career bailout.

Spitting...It's a Guy Thing!

I was watching a baseball playoff game on TV the other night when I noticed how often the pitcher spat- over and over again, as if his brain wouldn't function until a certain number of loogies had been launched. Although disgusting, it got me thinking about how often guys spit, especially in sports. Guys spit on the hockey rink which makes for an iced loogie. They also spit on the football field, and as noted already, on the baseball diamond.

I've noticed a lot of players spitting on their hands, most notably Big Papi- David Ortiz of the Boston Red Sox. Does that make him hit the ball harder or farther? Who knows, but I sure wouldn't want to do is borrow his batting gloves...Ugh!

Beyond sports, guys spit anywhere and everywhere. You often see guys spitting tobacco juice into a cup which is probably the most disgusting act known. Women seem to find this behavior particularly gross, so memo to all you guys out there: If you are looking for female companionship, ditch the Skoal- try a Tic-Tac instead.

One of the most unusual aspects of spitting will only be found in the men's bathroom. Through careful, though not scientific, observation of male bathroom habits, I've concluded that roughly 50% of all men using a stand-up urinal, spit into it while urinating. Guys know what I'm talking about. Girls, if you don't believe me, ask your man. I can't explain it and it's not like I'm standing in public restrooms documenting this stuff (I have no wish to get by teeth shoved in.) I'm just stating an obvious fact. Maybe spitting during urination is like lining up a ten-foot putt in golf.

The other fact about spitting is that you rarely, if ever, do you see a woman do it in public. Every once in a while, you'll see a woman do it in a movie, like she's really edgy or tough. In real life it just doesn't happen which is a good thing. I don't want to see my wife hocking up a loogie in the WalMart parking lot.

Where am I going with all this? Nowhere, really, but don't give me any grief about it or I'll spit in your eye!