2018

2018

2018 has been WILD to say the least!

For the celebrity world, we lost a lot of people. Penny Marshall, Nancy Wilson (jazz, not rock), Sondra Locke, Bernardo Bertolucci, Roy Clark, Stan Lee, Burt Reynolds, Aretha Franklin, Charlotte Rae, Harry Anderson, R. Lee Ermey, Milos Forman, Steven Bochco, Stephen Hwking, David Ogden Stiers, Lewis Gilbert (directed Bond movies), Marty Allen, Vic Damone, John Mahoney, Olivia Cole, Peter Wyngarde, and Jerry Van Dyke.

The political world has become a very hot mess and our nation is quite divided. Donald Trump seems perfectly happy to say whatever he wants and piss anyone off as he pleases. The Democrats won some seats in the midterms, but time will tell what that will do for or to us come January. In the meantime, the world's view of us as a nation is tenuous at best, the worst it has been in a while. Whoever replaces Trump will have a lot of damage to fix.

On that note, I will say that social media has become more of a battlefield in terms of real and fake news, personal opinion, and tons of memes. One person reams Trump and others will defend the man, a person defends Trump and others will tar and feather him. As long as the battle stays in digital text and not on the streets with weapons, I think we are safe.

I find myself watching more old shows on disc and YouTube since the current slate of programs is absolute shit.

Terror. The terror is within our nation, not other countries. Every week it seems like some business, church, or individual is the target of a mad gunner. Talks of gun control pop up, but die down, though it gets longer when there is a school shooting. Quite frankly, nobody feels completely safe unless they are white, straight, and Christian. Even then, nobody is completely safe.

On the personal side, we had quite the year. The big thing was, we bought a house! After years of being slaves to landlords and property management companies, we decided to take a gamble and see if we qualified for any sort of mortgage assistance program for teachers. We actually qualified for one even bigger. We looked at homes 1 day in July and by week's end we'd made an offer. On Labor Day weekend, we moved in. It's been quite the roller-coaster ride since but I would not give this house up for anything!

On the job aspect, I moved back to 1st grade (teaching it, not being a student, I SAW that look!). Luckily I was able to stay in the portable, PLUS I was granted my request to do the morning announcements. It has been a great school year so far.

As for the school system itself, I see nothing positive in terms of real raises or relief as long as the current administration is in power. We have a new superintendent who's superintentions I am not clear on yet. The union fought a funding battle over the summer and won, but I haven't seen much in terms of change yet.

My family is my strength as always, plus a network of friends both in and out of school. My relationship with my in-laws is, as always, fluctuating. I like Vickie's brother. I try to get along with her mom, and I've given her a lot of slack since her longtime live-in whatever died in April. However, I have seen and heard things that make me concerned about Natalie. spending time with her in terms of safety and nutrition. I hope the next year proves to be better in that department.

Travel-wise, we took 2 road trips. 1 was to Phoenix to see my old high school buddy Tris and his family in June. At the end of June, we traveled by rental car to Bremerton to see my sister getting married for the second time. I am glad we took the trip, it gave us a chance to mend fences and start talking again. We didn't have the best of relationships, but we do have each other in times of crisis and happiness.

HAPPY 2019 EVERYONE!

Delighted Is Not The Word

("Riders on the Storm" playing)

Good...evening. Once again, your favorite radio shrink Dr. Delighted is on the air. I wish I felt more delighted, but I got a memo today from the boss. It says that as we are in the Christmas season, well, HOLIDAY season according to the memo, I need to devote one night to reading letters and honoring requests. Well, since I hit the Discount Liquor store on the way to work and stocked up, I figured tonight's the night!

So, let's dig into this unusually large shopping bag of letters. Damn, I thought it'd be a gallon Zip Lock at most! Quite frankly, I thought I had a small core audience of people who's radio tuners were stuck on AM. What will be will be, I suppose. Let's see, let's try this one that looks like a card.

"Dear Dokter Delitd,

   I rely luv your sho. Can yu help me get my daddi bak? He bekam a girl last yer. Luv, Vanessa"

Vanessa, before I begin, I must note your interesting spelling and how I can read it so easily. I will assume you are in third grade or below, so the good doctor and his friend Dr. Bacardi will take it easy on you.Your daddy decided to become a woman, and that tells of a lot of problems that made him want to do that. I can't change him back, but I can help you. The new woman at home is still your daddy at heart, so love him, er her. And believe it or not, Vanessa, being a guy in this hostile world is tough unless you're rich. Maybe being a woman and having that kind of support is what he needed. Merry Christmas to you, Vanessa, and look out for a gift card for you in your mailbox soon.

Whew, these kids have it tough, don't they? Endless electronics, conveniences, and so on, yet their parents can't quite get a grip on being a parent. Poor Vanessa and kids like her have to grow up too damn fast to deal with these life changes. Time for a whiskey sour and we'll be right back.

(plays "Chipmunks Roasting on an Open Fire" by Bob Rivers)

Aaaand, that last tune was requested by someone. Who, I don't know, but it was a request and dammit I honored it! All right, let's see. It's either 10pm or Mickey's gone disco! Time for another letter...oooh, this one looks big and tasty! Um, did I say tasty? Ooh, those brownies in the staff room DID taste unusually good. Let me just bite this corner off...yeecchh! I hate envelope gum!

"Dear Dr. Delighted, I am 47, and feeling sad and hopeless. Ten years ago up in Canada, my grandmother got run over by a reindeer. I miss her so much, I wish she were here with me now. It was such a tragedy. Doctor, what can I do? Sadly, Ned"

Huh, that sounded like it should come from a Bruce! So, Bruce, er-Nad, I am going to give you some really (belch) sage advice: GET LAID! I mean, seriously, guy, you're pushing 50 and you still miss grandma? I'm not going to go all Freudian on you, Nad, that's for a shrink that has a real degree.  Nad Needs Notorious Nookie Now! I think I'll make you a bumper sticker with that exact phrase, the ladies will just be crawling over you, I'm sure. As for that reindeer bit, well, (belch) at least you didn't say it was an Al-Qaida job. Merry Christmas, Nad!

Damn, all I am hearing is some doom and gloom! I refuse to read another letter on the air until I see happiness! Let's see...sex change, Satan shall prevail, a summons for me to appear in court, which sort of is happy since it's about my divorce but it is not a letter...now HERE's something!

"Dear Dr. Delighted, Why is TV such a piece of crap? I subscribe to cable and see nothing but endless reruns of shit and infomercials. Can we destroy DirecTV together? Yours, Mel"

Mel, you and I are in the same boat, brother! I agree, the entire cable world should go up in a wall of flames. The best way to enjoy TV is to purchase only the things you do like. Sure, you might see some good classics on cable here and there, but they cut out openings and closings. Worry not, though, I have a plan to make the cable companies implode upon themselves, I just need a few billion. I'm talking major telethon here. In the meantime, here's that request I am assuming you're making in this letter.

(plays "57 Channels and Nothing On" by Bruce Springsteen)

Mmm, those brownies make that slightly undercooked turkey taste absolutely delish! All right, let's find a real winner here. Let's see...abducted by aliens....a few X-rated offers....lots of unwarranted name-calling...ah here we go.

"Dear Dr. Delighted, I am a mother of 2 teenagers, both boys that I am aware of. I have given them everything. Electronics, musical instruments, sporting equipment, you just name it. I want them to know they're loved. I even took them out of public school and let them do school online right from home. No matter what I do, I can't seem to earn any respect from them. Signed, Desperate"

Well...let's start with your name. I think you should get it legally changed. As for your kids, not much you can do anymore. Because, quite frankly, you killed them already. They ask and ask and you give and give. No respect to be found there, and certainly no love beyond empty hugs and kisses and "I love you Mommy" overtures. I imagine they don't do chores, either. I probably wouldn't hire those twits to mop my DJ booth's liquor stains from the floor. I suppose if you have a basement you could have the kids live down there for eternity since they're ruined for the real world. Maybe the IRS will let you claim them as dependents forever. Whatever you do, please do NOT let them be fruitful and multiply. I would consider that favor community service.

(plays "We Wish You Weren't Living With Us" by Bob Rivers)

All right, folks, that is all the time we have for this special holiday edition. We'll be back to my usual raw advice tomorrow. Stay off the roads if you're drunk, enjoy family time, get laid if at all possible. And remember, if you have a problem, I am delighted to help you but not enable you. Good night!

Delighted Part 2

(station playing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer)

Hello, and welcome back to the Dr Delighted Show, where we love to listen to your problems and we couldn't be any more delighted if we were on a nude Brazilian beach. And I see we have a caller with some problem or other. Hello! This is Dr. Delighted, damn delighted to speak with you.

"How dare you!"

Sorry, my mom taught be to be gregarious to guests.

"I mean, how dare you play that song!"

What song?

"Rudolph!"

Actually I didn't play it, I was on the can emptying some early Christmas cheer. What precisely is your all-beef patty?

"That is an offensive song!"

Obviously. That's probably why it's been on the air for 70 years.

"I don't care, it offends me!"

I'll bite, but I'll do Listerine later. Why is it offensive?

"The poor reindeer is bullied. It's a song about a bullied reindeer! What a bad example for our children!"

Yeahhh. Well, have you heard the whole song?

"Well, of course."

Good, and what happens to Rudolph at the end?

"He leads Santa's sleigh."

Sounds like a success story to me.

"But he was BULLIED at the beginning!"

So let me get this straight. If Rudolph were just a normal reindeer without the red nose and got chosen to lead the team, you think it would have been a success?

"No, the red nose was what made him special. But they didn't have to BULLY him."

Hahahahahaha, you jellyfish.

"Excuse me?"

I just laughed and called you a name. And stay tuned for this song, it's quite a fun game.

(plays "The Lonesome Loser")

This portion of the Dr. Delighted Show is sponsored by Prozac and Captain Morgan. And let's see our callers on hold. 5 lesbian breakups, 6 wives of soldiers abroad, 3 who want to hear something by a singer I refuse to play. Damn, forgot the mike was on. To all of you...get over it and Merry Christmas. Remember, if you want maple sap, call Delilah. OK, we have something new. Let er rip, brand new caller!

"Dr. Delighted?"

Delighted as always. What is your name?

"Karen. Dr. Delighted, are you happy?"

Karen, did you actually call here to ask about me?

(shy) "Yes."

Listeners, this is a rare thing for a super broadcaster such as myself. I spend so much time listening to other people's crap...er, problems that nobody ever thinks of me. Well, Karen, I am delighted to say I am a very happy person.

"Oh."

You sound disappointed.

"Well, if you weren't happy, I wanted to recommend Lucifer's Yoga Studio. They really know how to make you smile. All you do is say a prayer for Satan and-"

And what a great suggestion for the denizens of East Rutherford! Remember, East Rutherford, LUCIFER'S YOGA STUDIO. I generally don't do plugs, but this one makes sense.

(plays "Highway to Hell")

And now for tonight's weather report. Baby, it's COLD outside! And...damn, here we go again! Who is this little fu----dge nugget? Barney from somewhere west of the San Andreas Fault. May I lay a guess as to why you jumped on?

"Yeah, go ahead."

You object to even the song title being mentioned?

"What? Ah hell no, I'm a traditionalist. That being said, I do have a gripe."

With whom?

"My boss."

Ooh, something different. Rock the Casbah, Humbug!

"Huh?"

Tell your story before it's ad time!

"Well, it's kind of odd. I mean, I deal with her every day, she's very demanding. Yet, sometimes I see her when she's not looking and...I..."

Want to destroy her, right?

"Not exactly."

Bury her in the desert?

"Er, no."

Rip her a new one without losing your job?

"Well...yes and no...you see-"

Oh, I do see now. Barney, I think I'm going to give you an early Christmas gift of a VIP membership to Pornhub.

"Wait-why?"

Because you need to polish the rocks before your rocks make you do something stupid at work. We don't need another unemployed statistic. And now for a song I believe suits the mood.

(plays "Hots for Teacher")

Ad for Little Darlings.

And we're back. Time for our last loser- er, lost soul. Aha! Speaking of Little Darlings, we have "Amber". Maybe I didn't get ENOUGH holiday cheer. Good evening, Amber!

"Hi you jerk!"

Did I not leave you a $20 last week?

"I'm NOT A STRIPPER!"

M-hmmm. So what's your beef-a-roni?

"You told my boyfriend to leave me!"

Ridiculous, I dispense no such direct advice on here.

"Oh he found a way to interpret your damn advice!"

(Bill Dozier impression) Will Dr. Delighted find a way out of this? Can he weasel out yet another jam? Or will he lose all credibility?

"What is your problem? What are you doing?"

Oh, sounded like a cliffhanger moment. Look, I cannot control what people do with my indirect ramblings. It's what keeps me out of court. But for argument sake, what was this guy's name?

"Stu."

Stu Pididdiot? Stu Pefied? Stu Debaker? Stu Por?

"Stu Schultz."

Oh yes! I surmised you were getting extra stew somewhere else.

"Yeah!"

Well?

"Well what?"

Were you?

"That's not the point, the point is-"

Now, if you'd said no, I would have rethought my position. Now I feel justified. You got it somewhere else, but you want to keep your security blanket. I get that.

"If you get that, why did you interfere?"

Who called me first? Him or you?

"Umm, him."

So he laid out his problem, I interpreted, and he acted on it. Now, if you'd chimed in on that call and denied it, we might have had more than 7 listeners that night hearing the debate. But you're blaming me for steering him toward the truth.

"Yeahhh.....maybe I need to kick myself. That or shoot you."

Both are options. You armed?

"Unfortunately, no."

Then Merry Christmas, learn to be faithful, and as you do, here's a tune for you.

(plays "Janie's Got a Gun")

And that wraps up another episode of Dr. Delighted. I am always delighted to hear your problems and even more delighted to steer you on a new path, one you might need to pay a toll for. Good night, it is time for more holiday cheer...and I'll let you interpret that.

Mr. Moore...Film Picker

While Dr. Delighted is out on a drunken rampage, let's visit Mr. Moore, ultimate film picker. No, I am not referring to the inner nose film. I mean, I am going to literally be in charge of what movies get financed. From what I see in the 57 minutes of trailers before watching the fucker I PAID to see, the job really is not too difficult. It has to do with trends, it has to do with giving the public what Hollywood THINKS the public wants. Just this past weekend, I learned all I needed to learn.

Quality: Nobody cares
Oscar worthiness: Even Martians don't give 3 rats' ass hairs.
Fresh ideas: Pulllease!
Something New for Will Ferrell and John C. Reilley to screw around in: Dang boy, we're in!
A rehash of a classic tale bringing some of the original surviving actors in for at least 5 minutes of screen time: Oh yeah, bring on the bacon!

It is a pretty simple formula, really.

All right, ladies and gents, let's get-

Lady 1: Are you assuming our genders?!

Yes! Now, let's get down to brass tacks. Bob, you've had 7 minutes since I assigned you to come up with something.

Bob: Well, I was thinking of an epic retelling of Pinocchio.

Hmm...sounds promising.

Bob: Really?

Nah! Just pullin' your fake leg! When you use the word epic, it screams of over-budget and pampered actors.

Bob: Well, I also thought of Nicolas Cage in a remake of "Police Academy".

Aha! Now THAT's possible! Except leave out the actors. We'll go through 5 leads before one of them sinks to our level. Sally, you non-gender genius, you left a month ago to do some soul-searching. I take it from your early return that you either found your soul or left it at the TSA checkpoint. No matter, I want ideas!

Sally: This one is killer! It's about the rise of an a capella metal band called the Asthmatics. Their hook is that they all use their inhalers on stage.

Sally, that is one of the most idiotic ideas I have ever heard! It is so low, even ants would stomp on it! No actors in their right mind would even come near it! Do you get my point?

Sally: It'll be a hit?

You read me like an open cook book! Go for it! I know what I said about actors, but I predict Haley Joel Osment will want the part of the manager. Ken, talk to me!

Ken: Nothing solid, just another vehicle for Adam Sandler and Kevin James.

Go for it! Eva, make me happy and not like last night.

Eva: I can't believe what I'm hearing!

Oh don't be so damn sensitive, you seemed to have a good time!

Eva: I did! I meant, have you no standards?Why would you throw this crap into theatres?

Eva, Eva, Eva! You have to face it. The days of great directors making great productions are long over! John Huston, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Clint Eastwood is almost done...and the actors? Hell, I don't even know who acts anymore, and I don't care.

Eva: But there are so many great ideas out there! Think of Star Wars! Think of Gone With the Wind! Think of Gigli!

Umm, you almost had me feeling good until that last one, nice fake-out!

Eva: I meant Gigi

Whatever. Somebody DID think of Star Wars, someone DID think of Gone With the Wind...and good luck getting a movie-goer to sit still for 4 hours! And don't even start of the re-telling of history! We could have 10 flicks directed by Oprah about courageous escaped slaves and likely one would win an Oscar, but they do nothing for sales.

Eva: You're a whore!

Yes I am. I never denied it.

Eva: You're also hot!

And I think we're done for today. Upstairs!


So, I don't think I am the best person to decide which films get made. I don't think most people are, because there is no real vision anymore. There are no more film Everests to climb. We're even to the point where technology can create a character that looks real and is merely voiced by someone, not really in-person. It's frightening. It's terrifying! It's time for Dr. Delighted to return soon!

Dr. Delighted On The Air!

   It is Christmas season again. How can I tell? On the assigned Christmas music station in Vegas we have Delilah listening to tree sap spewing their emotional problems all over whoever is listening. Delilah then responds with (supposedly) sympathetic words while as far as we know she's doing a crossword puzzle or stabbing a voodoo doll. That is the wonder of radio still to this day. From the golden age of radio comedies, westerns, soap operas, and game shows, we never quite knew what the hell really went on in the studios. I have always suspected a great deal of Captain Morgan, a donkey, and tons of Cool Whip were involved, and you can do the math on your own!

   I am through imagining, so let me welcome you to the Dr. Delighted Show! I am your congenital (er congenial)  avuncular pal and host Dr. Delighted! We will have all sorts of sick twisted and depressing people call in with their problems and we couldn't be more delighted! Along the way I will select tunes which I believe are directed at you...er, designed to help you with your problem, or multitudes thereof!

   Tonight's show is sponsored by Martinique Bay Everclear and Smith & Wesson.

   Our first guest is an interracial paraplegic plumber from East Rutherford. Welcome to Dr. Delighted, what is your name?

(echoing)"Harvey (Harvey)"

What?

"Harvey, (Harvey,) dammit (dammit)!(!)"

Harvey, dammit, turn your radio off!

"Oh, sorry. Dr. Delighted, I have a huge problem."

And I am hugely delighted. What's cookin?

"My girlfriend of 5 years just ran off with my best friend of 25 years."

So that makes 30 total wasted years, got it.

"What?"

Nothing, just remembering a joke I heard yesterday. So how was it with your girlfriend recently?

"I don't understand."

Sure you do. Were you 2 at it good or were you 2 at it bad?

"Oh! Well, I guess it was ok..."

OK OK stop right there Harvey! You're already doubting things, which explains why she left.

"Huh?"

Huh right back at ya! You guess it was ok! That means you 2 got in a rut, or you weren't being the best sack buddy you could be, or both!

"Umm...maybe, but here's the thing-"

And let's talk about this so-called best friend! 25 years, eh? Yet he's willing to pork it over to her and throw it all away? You're some catch, I imagine!"

"Actually, my best friend is, er was a she."

AHA!

"Aha? You can help me?"

What? Oops, sorry, was testing my new mouthwash on the producer. However, Harvey, hell hath heaven's hordes in horrendous Hartford.

"Gotcha, gotcha. Was that Shakespeare?"

No, you dope, it was me proving I suck at alliteration. And what you suck at, my boy, is being pissed off.

"Well, I AM pissed!"

No, Harv,  you're wondering how you can salvage both relationships. Buddy boy, you can't. There is no friend zone to be found here. You should be angry! You should get drunk! You should wake up tomorrow with some stranger wondering how your briefs became her bedside lampshade!

"Not a bad idea, thanks Dr. Delighted!"

You're welcome, my limp-limbed friend! And here is a tune to further make my point ("Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" plays)

(A commercial break, followed by the "Shaft" theme where the word Shaft is replaced by Delighted)

Welcome back to the Dr. Delighted Show! Up next, we have a former department store Santa's elf named Amber. Hi Amber!

(a low husky seductive voice) "Hi Doctor!"

Oh wow! Amber! Do you happen to work at Treasures in Las Vegas?

"Um, no, I'm in Salt Lake City."

Oh ok, just wondering. Then again, there's over ten dozen Ambers, Tiffanys, Jewels, and what have you in that place. So what's your trouble, Amber?

(sobs) "My boyfriend, (sniffs) my dear boyfriend is in the military, and he's been overseas for 6 months."

I see.

(seductive again)"Aren't you going to offer soothing words?"

Not yet. Keep going.

"Oh. Well, I miss him a lot, and this will be such a lonely Christmas."

Amber, or whatever your non-stage name is, get a puppy!

(sobbing again) "Dr. Delighted, I waited a long time to get on the air so I could talk to you, and this is all I get?"

Did you wait 6 months?

"No."

Did you wait 6 weeks? Days? Hours? My point is, I get that you're lonely, and being dedicated to your man is quite a noble thing. Let me ask you, what do you do while he is away?

"I work for a dentist while seeking another elf gig, and I hang with my girlfriends pretty often. That helps."

Ah! And what do you and your girlfriends do?

(giggling) "We get wasted a lot!"

Yeah? What do you drink?

"Cosmopolitans."

Sweet! Where do you go?

"Oh sometimes one of our houses or P.T.s"

Yeah! And who did you sleep with last night?

"A guy named Vince. He was...hey wait-"

I should have been a prosecutor! Amber, you're feeling guilty and wanted a sympathetic...or just pathetic...ear! You miss your man but you're not willing to miss HIS man til HE gets back.

(sobbing) "You don't understand! I NEEDED something so bad that my girls couldn't give me. "

Oh Amber, I do understand. And that's why I have this tune picked out for you. But before, that, stay on the phone Amber, I have a gift card for Salt Lake City's favorite dildo shop ready to send to you (plays "Barking Dogs Jingle Bells").

(a commercial break for the Adult Superstore and vasectomy.com) followed by the "Welcome Back" theme.

And we're back! Time for one more call....oh crap it's one of these little kids again. Oops, I said that out loud. Inside voice, outside voice, inside voice, outside voice. And you're on, little kid.

(little boy/girl) "Hi, Dr. Delightful!"

Hi!

"Hi!"

Hi. Kid, I can't get hammered til I'm done, can we get on with this?"

"Hi! I have a problem."

Yeah, it's called wasting minutes.

"No, that's not my problem. I'm boy, but my mommy and daddy dress me like the girls at school and give me dolls for my birthday and the Solstice."

I see. So tell me about daddy. What's he like?

"My daddy is a she."

No surprise. What bathroom do you use?

"The girl's room."

Like shooting fish in a barrel here.

"I'm not allowed to even talk about guns."

What's your name?

"Bubba."

And the pattern breaks! All right, Bubba, I'm gonna ask this as delicately as possible. You Mounds or Almond Joy in spirit?

"The second one."

Good. So there's not a whole lot you can do on the homefront besides moan and groan. They want to make you a girl and-

"Actually they said I'm neither, they said something...wait a minute I wrote it down...gender neutral."

Bubba, gender neutral really means you have neither girl nor boy characteristics. It's a fad, after thousands of years, people in the liberal zones are now thinking its bad to be labeled a boy or girl, even though it's been standard operating procedure for quite a bit.

"But what should I do?"

Nothing, at least not at home. You think of yourself as a boy or think of yourself as a girl?

"Um, I meant should I put a on purple shirt with a mauve skort?"

I have a song for this! (plays "Dude Looks Like a Lady")

(commercial break for Claire's and The Pro Gun Club)

And that's all the time we have left today! Remember, Dr. Delighted is always delighted to hear your problems and help you out, in ways you couldn't possibly imagine, or want! Good night, folks!

Satan's Chefs

Welcome to tonight's episode of "Moore's Chefs From Hell" (I tried "New Zoo Revue", but there was an implied copyright lawsuit threat). We gathered 3 chefs from all walks of life along with 3 judges we literally kidnapped via a clever timeshare presentation gimmick: come to our presentation or we'll wire your TV to receive only Bea Arthur shows).

Please welcome our chefs: Dale, a busser at a Sizzler in Kingman, Arizona. Chet, a roach coach driver in Fresno. Finally, Charlene who makes the best shoo fly pie in her trailer park in Topeka.

Tonight's challenge: create an entree using the following ingredients: a half-eaten Twinkie thrown out by Keith Richards, Velveeta, Clamato, maggots from my back porch, Tab Cola, and day-old McNuggets.

Dale: I've been waiting to do this!

Chet: This will make a great burrito!

Charlene: Shit, I hate Tab!

Me: And, as an extra challenge, you'll be using cookware purchased at Dollar Tree and a kitchen from a studio apartment. You have 45 minutes and 18 1/2 seconds. Go!

While our chefs fumble about trying to remember how to turn on an oven, let us step back and take a look at cooking shows. In the good old days, we had one chef on TV, a large loving woman named Julia Child, who would make dishes with absolutely no problems and made housewives salivate with thoughts of murder when their crepes suzette morphed into green Ho Hos.

Then there were cook books by Betty Crocker that always left out something so obvious (to Betty anyway)  that made the difference between meat loaf and KFC cole slaw. Of course, we cannot forget grandma's handwritten recipes for stuffing in their own form of cursive that only forensic experts can decipher! Yes, I LOVE old traditions!

However, in recent years there has been an influx of "celebrity chefs" who not only compete for prizes their egos don't really need, but also judge poor upcomer chefs on the littlest things, from underdone meat to overboiled orange Kool Aid. In other words, they make every day kitchen mishaps into major sins. The advent of the Food Network has made home cooking into something of a challenge for many Americans. We don't need this crap! Sub-par home cooking is the cornerstone of American society! When I invite someone over for dinner, it is just not right if they don't back up 10 feet before turning into an outright run to the Mexican border to avoid my baked chicken!

All right, back to the show.

Me: All right chefs, as an added challenge, you are required to add minty waxed dental floss into your entree.

Charlene: I do that all the time!

Chet: That usually holds my truck's engine together.

Dale: You're a dick!

Me: Just for that, you have 6 minutes left! REAL chefs can do this! All right, while they sweat over this, let me introduce our judges: my wife Vickie, William Shatner, and Joe Walsh. A quick look back at our chefs. Uh oh, Dale set the sink on fire...Charlene is being strangled by the Clamato bottle, and Chet's hand is melting after touching the Velveeta without gloves.

TIME'S UP EVERYONE! Chet, what did you make?

Chet: A peanut butter English muffin.

Me: Chefs?

Vickie: Well, I don't care about your plating because I just eat it, it's not a museum exhibit.

Shatner: I love how you mixed the Clamato with the Twinkie, though you should have KNOWN the VELVEETA would MELT your HAND!

Walsh: Hope your life's been good, because this shit ain't!

Me: Thank you! Charlene, what did you make?

Charlene: I made a chocolate ganash with a Tide Pod finish.

Me:Although this isn't a dessert round, we'll let it pass since all of these cooking shows have a ganash in there somewhere and it's fun to say. GANASH! Judges?

Vickie: The ganash is crap, but the Tide Pod bit is genius!

Shatner: (snoring)

Walsh: I agree, more people should make their own Tide Pods. It's economical and easy, eaten many myself.

Me: And finally Dale.

Dale: Well, having worked at Sizzler and stealing regularly from the salad bar, I made fried chicken wings.

Me: Ooh! I always wondered if there was any leftover Twinkie in those. Judges?

Vickie: Me too, but unfortunately my 9 year old could do better than this with peanuts and bread crumbs.

Shatner (mumbling about Takei)

Walsh: Man, you could open a wing joint with this! Awesome job!

Me: And there you have it, folks. You can gather whomever to cook and whomever to judge and in the end, it makes no difference. TV food is a fantasy never to be attained, while real food is a nightmare we are all used to, why change it? Good night everybody!

The Cleavers Can Bite Me!

   Recently, our family celebrated a major celebration, a dream come true. I know some look at it as a whatever, but we are truly feeling blessed. When you hit this point in life, you know you've made it. Indeed, you guessed it, we get to pay monthly HOA dues now!

   Well, that's not exactly what we're celebrating, just a by-product a la rat shit in hot dogs. No, we bought a house! At last we can pay for our own damn repairs instead of calling the landlord and hiding our cats so we don't get kicked out. At last we can pay for water, garbage, and sewage services! Heaven knows that is a dream come true!

    And do not get me wrong, I am glad to be rid of apartment living! I lived in apartments for 16 long years in Las Vegas. For 4 years, I lived next to Nellis Air Force Base where I got a free air show every weekend whether I wanted one or not. That was essentially my "bachelor pad".  After I met Vickie, we moved into an apartment together much farther west. That was actually my favorite place. There was plenty of room, we decorated it to make it our home, there were plenty of stores and eateries close to us, and, most importantly, it was where we brought Natalie home after she was born. Over time, the complex was becoming more Section 8 and some nasty elements moved in.

   In August of 2010, we learned the landlord had been foreclosed on and we were forced to move. We probably could have taken a bit more time to look but in our stress we picked a place that was in a better neighborhood farther west but had far less space. I was also in a new school that year and that wasn't going well. If our marriage ever had a low point, that year was it. Luckily, we let the lease have its year and then we moved even farther west, almost running smack into the Spring Mountains. This apartment would be our home for almost 7 whole years. It was where Natalie would grow from a toddler into a Kindergartener and then into a 4th grader. That kind of time is priceless! I was also in a new school when we moved there so October 2011 was a definite fresh start for us.

   In April of this year, I calculated that I had paid landlords about $150,000 in rent over 16 years and felt that was a little much to not be allowed to have pets. So, we hooked up (not LITERALLY you pervs!) with our real estate agent friend and a loan officer and got hold of a loan along with a house itself, and moved in during Labor Day weekend.

   Now I know that just sounds like a great Hallmark movie tear-jerkoff that producers are salivating over, casting Candace Cameron Bure (or Creme Brulee) as Vickie, William Shatner as me, and the dead blonde girl from Poltergeist as Natalie, but there are some drawbacks to owning a house! For one thing, you pay something called a mortgage, which turns out to be almost double the apartment rent, making Top Ramen look like gourmet cooking for us! Ha, just kidding, but it does limit the eating out we do.

   Another drawback has to be described. If you have ever seen the 1985 Oscar-winning tragedy "The Money Pit", you remember that Tom Hanks and Shelley Long played an annoying couple who buy a seemingly great house only to discover the owner who sold them the house was Herb Tarlek from WKRP and the house was indeed far less liveable than a Motel 6 shower.

   Well, that does exaggerate our home's crisis, but I will say that the home was certainly dirtier and dingier once we got the keys. I have never seen windows and window tracks provide shelter to dust bunnies...no, not bunnies, ELEPHANTS! And mind you, this is not my first house-moving rodeo. My mom always came into the house and gave at least the kitchen a good wiping and dusting before moving day. Of course, 2 of our homes were brand-new when we moved in so she really only had to clean up a few times. She would have fainted with this one.

   If you are familiar at all with the classic show "Leave It To Beaver", where the Beav uttered "Gee, Wally" about 200 times when he didn't grasp life's realities, you might remember that the Cleavers moved into a new house between seasons 2 and 3. We saw the Cleavers getting ready to move in one episode, and fully settled in home 2 by the next episode.

   All I can say to this neat transition is, WHAT THE HELL!!! Why couldn't they show the realities? I would have loved a scene like this before the move.

June: Ward, when you're through being tough on the Beaver, could you please help me pack the kitchen dishes?

Ward: Damnit, June! I worked a full day today. Hell, lunch with Fred Rutherford is an eternity as it is! I want to sit down, smoke a pipe, and beat the crap out of the boys for something

June: Well excuse me, Mr. Whatever the Hell You Do During the Day! I've been in my damn pearls and dress because you won't let me wear anything else, and packing up all of our china. The least you can do is wrap a few things and put them in a box. 1 DAMN BOX, WARD!  That's all I ask!

Ward: Well, what have you been doing all damn day besides watching your soap operas? And what's for dinner? I'm hungry!

June: You did NOT just go there, did you? You did! Get your ass in here and pack a box, NOW! If you don't you won't be getting any other boxes soon if you get my drift!

Ah if only they talked like that on TV in 1959! But wait, what about move-in? Would Ward be a good lad and help June get things put away or would he leave her to do it while he did 7 martini lunches?

Ward: Hi June!

June: Don't hi June me! Where are the cloth napkins?

Ward: In my desk drawer, hang on.

June: I already looked there! Right next to that stag reel Fred lent to you!

Ward (angry): Woman, you went into my study without my permission?!

June: Yes, and I also saw the Playboy in the "secret' drawer.

But no, the Cleavers were too nice and clean for real talk...oh well. Gotta go, time for a Cleaver-style dinner in our new dining room...minus the pearls and 3 piece suit!

The Incredible Snowflake.

   McDonald's associate Clarence Peters, searching for a way to salt the fries in peace before he's asked to clean the dining area, when a sudden splash from the mop bucket into the fry grease creates an explosion that alters Clarence's body chemistry. Now, whenever he experiences stress or angst at home or school or work, a startling metamorphosis (CHANGE for the millenials) occurs. The creature is driven by neurosis and starts whining and crying like the world's biggest wuss. He is pursued by nobody...seriously, who wants be around that shit? THE INCREDIBLE SNOWFLAKE!

   Earlier this summer I was reunited with an old buddy from Pennsylvania. We had a great time talking about the past and old friends, but what really struck me was how much I've changed in 20 odd years, and not all for the better. There's a toughness that is hard to describe in people from PA, Jersey, and New York. I think Bostonians have it as well. It doesn't mean looking for a fight necessarily, it doesn't even mean not giving a shit. It just comes down to not advertising your problems and making a victim and martyr of yourself.

   I was not the toughest guy by far, but I didn't do therapy or cry on my parents' shoulders all the time. Most of the time I internalized it all. Not that it was the healthiest option, I just had no decent outlet. Living out west all my adult life, I've found myself among many people who whine and make their problems known and prioritized above others. It's catching when you don't have a few people to counterbalance that, and I am afraid that I have transformed into what I call a snowflake as well.  I am working to reverse it.

   The problem is relatively simple to fix, you might just need to slap yourself a few times before going down the checklist.

1. I fucked up. Will I
a) admit it and fix it
b) stress, overeat, and lash out at the family for no real reason while the problem remains unsolved

2. Someone cut in front of me in traffic. Will I
a) cuss and let it be
b) stress, fume, and curse myself for being victimized....maybe call the police to find this dastardly criminal

3. The landlord raises the rent by $200. Will I
a) curse the landlord and his dogs, then economize on extras to make it work
b) stress, fume, and bemoan my never getting a raise

4. I get pulled over by a cop for speeding. Will I
a) follow the guy's directions and say yes sir or ma'am and cooperate
b) act all nervous so that I'm tased?

The a answers are to strive for. The b answers are self-damaging. I've done the b choices with no satisfaction, particularly on #1.

I am changing grades this year. Among that, our numbers are low and we are losing up to 7 or 8 staff members. Here's the thing. Do I go in there and do my job to the best of my ability or do I get anxious and await the next shoe to drop? The second option is no way to live.

There is another aspect to being a snowflake, or at least a different classification: shouting FOUL at every little thing that happens to you or your family, threatening to sue, whatever...basically deflecting all responsibility. I'm not saying to not take action if there was serious injury or true injustice. I'm talking about petty crap.

Here's a perfect example. Last year, my daughter got in trouble for kicking another student via peer pressure. She got suspended for the day and lost field trip privileges. Once again, this was choice time. Did I

a) tell her she's lucky to get off that easy and take her punishment
b) raise a stink that it was unfair and she promises never to do it again

I did the a choice. She knew it was wrong and she won't learn if I bail her out.


OK, public service announcement over, back to Clarence!

Pilot: After the soap/grease injury, Clarence is in class, trying to take notes while Bill Morgan is teaching foreign relations. The head of the water polo team starts flicking the back of Clarence's head. Clarence turns and says loudly but lamely, "Stop it!" The asshole behind him doesn't stop and the flicking gets worse.

The guy next to Clarence whispers, "Just pop him one!" Clarence shakes his head in stress, just wishing the guy would stop. As Bill Morgan prattles on about folkways and customs and mores in Canada, Clarence's skin starts turning a pinkish teal (imagine THAT one in makeup!) and actually gets skinnier.

He stands up and shouts, "Mr. Morgan, Biff (every show needs a Biff) won't stop bothering me! I'm trying to concentrate but he won't stop!"

Morgan tries to stifle a smile...actually he always looks like he's stifling humor...and says, "Okay. Biff, knock it off."

Biff nods, smiles, shakes his head at the wimp in front of him, and resolves to give Clarence a swirlie in the toilet later. But Clarence keeps shaking and crying and complaining about the unfairness of life, even throwing in his attorney father in a possible lawsuit. Morgan shrugs, asks if Clarence needs to visit the counselor, gets no response, then moves on to Mongolian folkways before the bell rings.

In the hall, Clarence turns back to normal. Biff passes him and whispers, "You're dead meat!' Clarence just keeps to himself on the way to study hall, depressing piano music playing as the camera pans out.

OK OK, I know what you're all thinking. And no, Clarence is not me 30 years ago. I was a tad wittier and rolling with it better than that! As for the show, I cannot see it lasting more than 7 episodes. However, the last episode should resolve Clarence's affliction via coaching and tough support and perhaps removing a giant arachnid from his ass surgically.

In short, if we are to survive as a nation, in our family lives, our jobs, all of it, we need to toughen up and stop the whining and martyrdom and blaming others for your problems. And stay out of the fry grease!

A Christmas To Puke For

   Hooray, it is July! And we all know what that means, right? Oh no, I don't mean that middle of summer outdoor activity crap. Who needs barbecues, pools, road trips, and bike rides when you can sit and watch Hallmark's Christmas in July run of holiday sap so thick you need a direct insulin injection before the first ad break?

   Well, as my wife loves these flicks, you know who is subjected to them as well! My blood sugar levels are way out of control as of now, I almost took a Metformin tablet as a last resort before I fell into a diabetic coma!

   On the other hand, it seems to me that these movies are fairly quickly cranked out. The basic formula is always there: disgruntlement, lost love, tragedy, a touch of magic, a happy ending, and an endless supply of ex soap stars and unheard-of-in-America Canadian actors. Occasionally they toss in a really old face that only people born before 1980 would recognize, just to test us.

   Coming soon: Bryan Moore's entry that Hallmark will have no choice but to rush into production, especially since I'm holding the sap department's firstborn hostage. This is a sure-win!

Act 1: In the town of Darl, located in some snowy yet unnamed state in order to hide its obvious Canadian locale, everybody is just miserable. The mayor, played by William Shatner, is missing a piece to his jigsaw puzzle, and is making his whole staff search for it. His assistant's assistant Heather (mystery Canadian 1), is so full of problems that I pondered making this a mini-series! She doesn't know her mom, her 3 kids are nice but pretty uninteresting so far, and she let her college sweetheart Steve go decades earlier due to mistaking his cold sore for full-fledged herpes! On top of that, her "uncle" (Martin Short) is the eccentric owner of Darl's Chickens, the local diner. For some reason, the diner is about to be shut down by mega-poultry king Bluto's.

Act 2: The mayor's office is all scurrying to find the puzzle piece as the whole town just descends into a general hell. Steve, the handsome hatchet man for Bluto's (ex soap star 1), arrives in town and literally bumps into Heather on the sidewalk. Heather, thinking she has now gotten herpes, blasts Steve verbally in front of the entire town. At home, her 3 boring brats climb all over her as she ponders if she was too hard on Steve as well as worrying about her "uncle" and the diner closure. Insulin injection 1 should be about now.

Act 3: The mayor threatens to fire the whole staff if the piece is not found by the week's end. Heather's direct boss (bland blond middle-aged Canadian actor 1) scolds her for not finding it herself. She threatens to quit, but the mayor admires her spunk and makes her his personal puzzle assistant. She runs into Steve at Darl's Chickens and reluctantly agrees to sit with him for a chicken lunch. He tries to educate her on herpes 1 being a lot different than herpes 2, but as she opted out of high school health class, she is pretty clueless. Her "uncle" cheerfully dismisses the idea that he's about to lose his business after Steve boasts that he will succeed, after which 5 cold sores mysteriously appear around Steve's mouth. Heather giggles as we fade to ad.

Act 4: Convinced Steve needs help, Bluto  (played by Falconetti himself, William Smith), arrives in town to physically and mentally overpower the "uncle". However, he finds that he is out of his league, so he decides to create a hysteria of rabbititis infesting the chickens. Before she can worry about that, Heather finds herself walking along the edge of some pond lamenting to nobody in particular about her lame kids and lacking love life. Steve watches creepily from the bushes, scratching at his cold sores as he realizes what an ass he's been. Insulin shot 2 here.

Act 5: Darl's Chickens is officially closed pending a health department investigation. Steve protests to Bluto, who doesn't give a crap about protests. The mayor makes a personal plea to Bluto to back off, but Bluto, having heard about the puzzle piece, threatens to burn it unless he gets his way. The "uncle" merely smiles in his creepy way the whole time. Steve apologizes for his actions and attitude to him, and the cold sores quickly disappear. The next morning, Steve stands up to his boss and reveals the false rabbititis ploy to the health department. Steve is fired and punched just for being a sap, but the mayor hires him on the spot. All looks like it will be happy until one of Heather's unnamed twerps  disapepars.

Act 6: The whole damn town looks for the nameless dweeb in vain. Thankfully, Steve's blind 3-legged dog Lucky finds the kid in a well and carries the gender nonspecific child (for all you PC snowflakes out there!) to safety. One of the other kids, hanging in the mayor's office for no reason, finds the missing piece on the floor. Steve and Heather get engaged, provided they don't kiss on the mouth ever. The creepy "uncle" then reveals that he's really Heather's mom and magically transforms from Martin Short into Meredith Baxter, giving some outlandish excuse and sob story that nobody outside of Hallmark would buy into. Bluto decides he can compete with Darl's Chickens on his own without dirty tricks. Suddenly, the town Christmas tree lights up, reminding us that it is a CHRISTMAS movie! The geek threesome suddenly find mysterious gifts under a mysterious tree that wasn't there in act 2, everyone laughs one of those freeze-frame CHiPS laughs that no audience ever bought, and it is a wrap!

I think this movie will be a smash...as in people will smash their TV screens after just 1 viewing.

Test Patterns, Take Me Away!

   As I sit in my computer chair trying to come up with some clever bullshit to fill a few paragraphs so that my head's trash can gets emptied on time, I think back to the days, rather nights, when I would stay up late. The last program on a certain channel was over, the National Anthem would play,  then the station would either go to static snow or to a test pattern with an EBS test-like beep.

   No longer. I mean, I am still thinking of those days fondly, but they are no longer here. The programmers of stations both local and cable decided that money was being wasted during those non-programmed hours, much like Federal money is wasted regulating the hole circumference in Swiss cheese. No, instead of glorious white noise, we have what is known as "paid programming".

   We all know, of course, that ALL programming pays or gets paid in one way or another. The normal term for this money-making gimmick is infomercials, a disgusting amalgamation  mixing  information and commercials. On any given night, I can flip through a few channels and find an infomercial lasting 30 minutes telling me the advantage of buying a 40-CD set of songs "digitally remastered" that I already own apparently unmastered. I can also find infomercials trying to sell to me, for a ransom of $29.95 per minute, kitchen appliances I will never find a use for.

   Well, by golly, if it's that easy, then Mr. Moore has a few infomercials guaranteed to not only make the station money, but also maybe replace the sun visor on the passenger side of my car, it's a win-win deal!

1. TIRED OF YOUR COLLECTION OF GOOD MUSIC? WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO HEAR SOME USELESS CRAP FOR A CHANGE? HOLD ON TO YOUR PLASTIC SOFA COVERS EVERYONE! COMING TO YOU FROM LIMETIFE RECORDS IS THE LONG AWAITED RELEASE OF THE MOST CURIOUS AND UNWELCOME PAIRING OF MEDIOCRITY EVER TO HIT THE HIGHEST FREQUENCY ON THE AM DIAL. IT'S RICK ASTLEY AND SHA NA NA TOGETHER, WHY, WE HAVE NO DAMN CLUE! YES IT'S RICK ASTLEY,, THE ARTIST WHOSE ASS WAS CREAMED BY BANANARAMA ON A WEEKLY BASIS, BELTING OUT HITS WITH SHA NA NA, THE GROUP WHO SOMEHOW CAPITALIZED ON AN APPEARANCE IN GREASE WITH A 4-YEAR SYNDICATED PROGRAM NEVER AIRED AGAIN AFTER 1981! YES, IT'S ALL HERE, ALL 6 SONGS NOT EVEN DIGITALLY REMASTERED BECAUSE WE DIDN'T KNOW THE MASTERS WERE EVER IN EXISTENCE IN THE FIRST PLACE! PRESENTING TO YOU FOR ONLY THE NEXT 5 MINUTES, RICK ASTELY AND SHA NA NA "I'M NEVER GONNA GIVE UP YOUR WITCH DOCTOR". HOW MUCH WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO PAY FOR THIS DUNG? $59.99? $29.99? HELL NO, MY MOM WOULDN'T EVEN GIVE ME THAT TO SHUT ME UP! NO, THIS COLLECTION IS BEING OFFERED AT THE LOW PRICE OF $1.99! YES YOU READ ME RIGHT,, $1.99! THIS WAS DUMPED IN MY GARAGE JUST 10 MINUTES AGO AND I HEARD IT AND MY EARS ARE STILL BLEEDING FROM DEPRESSION! YES, $1.99  WILL GET YOU THIS 6 SONG COLLECTION! I'LL EVEN PAY THE POSTAGE! GET IT WHILE IT'S STILL ONLY 20 FEET FROM THE  TRASH COMPACTOR! ORDER NOW! PLEASE!

2. REMEMBER THE GINSU KNIVES? THOSE WONDERFUL BLADES OF SHARPLY HONED STEEL THAT WERE ABLE TO, FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON, CUT THROUGH A SOUP CAN? WELL THROW THAT 40-YEAR OLD CRAP AWAY, WE HAVE SOMETHING BETTER! HOW MUCH BETTER? DON'T RUSH ME, BOY! (cut to a Honda Civic in the mall parking lot). SEE THIS CAR? ITS LICENSE PLATE SAYS "CLASSIC ROD" JUST BECAUSE IT'S FROM 1990! DOESN'T THAT PISS YOU OFF? ISN'T IT A TRAVESTY THAT THIS FAMILY SEDAN GETS A RATING OF CLASSIC UP THERE WITH A 1966 MUSTANG? WELL I HAVE THE TOOL FOR YOU, THE WASABI-SAN 3000! YES THAT'S RIGHT, THE WASABI-SAN 3000! THIS FINEST CRAFTMANSHIP, COURTESY OF A COMBINED TEAM OF JAPANESE ENGINEERS AND JEDI MASTERS, HAS LASER PRECISION SO PRECISE THAT IT CAN CUT THROUGH THIS 20TH CENTURY TRAVESTY! WATCH CLOSELY AS MY ASSISTANT TAKES THIS SIMPLE PARING KNIFE AND CUTS RIGHT THROUGH THE CHASSIS OF THIS HONDA CIVIC! BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! IT CAN CUT THROUGH SEMIS! AIR FORCE 1! THE SPACE SHUTTLE! FORT KNOX! WE ONLY CHOSE THE CIVIC BECAUSE IT WAS ABANDONED BY A CARJACKER JUST YESTERDAY! HOW MUCH WOULD YOU EXPECT TO PAY FOR THIS FINE EXAMPLE OF INTERPLANETARY CRAFTMANSHIP?  $29.99? $129.99? NO WAY JO-SE! THIS POTENTIAL MUGGING TOOL IS WORTH SO MUCH MORE, AND THAT IS WHAT WE'LL CHARGE YOU! THINK FIRST-BORN!  BUT FEAR NOT, THE WASABI-SAN WILL PAY FOR ITSELF OVER TIME! JUST THINK OF THAT NEIGHBOR WHO'S HAD YOUR DRILL FOR 4 WEEKS!  THINK OF THE NEIGHBOR THAT'S BEEN DRILLING YOUR WIFE! THINK OF THAT DENTIST WHO DRILLED THE WRONG TOOTH LAST YEAR! PAYBACK IS AT HAND! ORDER NOW!

3. TIRED OF BEING DEAF? TIRED OF HEARING AIDS THAT COST A FORTUNE AND DON'T LET YOU EVEN HEAR YOUR HUSBAND SNORING? LET ME ASK YOU THIS: CAN YOU DECIPHER MORSE CODE? NO? WHO CAN? WELL FEAR NOT! COMING FROM THE TECHNOLOGY OF MALWART ENGINEERS WHO COULDN'T EVEN CUT IT AT IKEA COMES THE HEARING AID OF HEARING AIDS! YES, THAT IS RIGHT! NOT ONLY WILL YOU HEAR YOUR HUSBAND SNORE, NOT ONLY WILL YOU HEAR THE NEIGHBOR'S DOG BARKING WHILE THE NEIGHBOR SCREWS HIS WIFE,NOT ONLY WILL YOU HEAR ANNOYING INFOMERCIALS LIKE THIS ONE...NOT ONLY...WHERE WAS I? OH YES! NOW, FOR THE FIRST TIME, THIS HEARING AID WILL ALSO LET YOU DECIPHER MORSE CODE! ISN'T THAT EXCITING? IF YOU'RE ON A NAVAL VESSEL AND THE CAPTAIN IS SENDING A CODED MESSAGE TO ANOTHER SHIP, YOU'LL BE ABLE TO ACT CLUELESSLY DEAF AS THE MESSAGE IS INSTANTLY DECODED FOR YOU TO TAKE TO ANY FOREIGN EMBASSY AND REQUEST ASYLUM! IT'S THAT EASY! HOW MUCH DO YOU EXPECT TO PAY FOR THIS DEVICE? $39.99? NAH, YOU'LL PAY THAT IN THE FIRST 5 MINUTES ALONE! NO, THIS BABY IS WORTH 10 TIMES THAT AND THEREFORE WE'LL TACK ON AN ADDITIONAL $50 JUST BECAUSE WE'RE GREEDY BASTARDS! BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! IF YOU ACT IN THE NEXT 48 SECONDS, WE'LL THROW IN A BOTTLE OF AUNT JEMIMA SYRUP ABSOLUTELY ALMOST FREE, JUST 75 CENTS MORE! ORDER NOW!  I SAID RIGHT NOW YOU DEAF BASTARD!

So you see, my financial future is planned quite well. So well that after I am done being sued by every conceivable consumer advocate group, I might be able to afford half of that sun visor. So maybe those test patterns actually protected us rather than wasted good money. Well by golly if you order in the next minute, I'll send you a test pattern absolutely free, just pay the $75 shipping and handling.

The June Excursion part 3: Embracing the Mother Road

   We recently took a trip to hell. That is, we went from moderately hot Las Vegas to unapologetically hot Mesa, Arizona to visit an old friend of mine form Pennsylvania. I am hoping that we can have more frequent visits either there or here in Vegas, because he and his family are good company representing an eastern PA spirit that I rarely experience anymore.

   As fun as the trip was, due to limited funds, we only got to stay a short time. After a breakfast at the Village Inn on Wednesday morning, we said our goodbyes and headed out.

   One fact I have noted many times is that Interstate 10 is a good representative of hell. I have been on many stretches of it between western Texas and Santa Monica, California, and have seen time-lapse footage of it between western Texas and eastern Florida. At any given place, 10 goes through urban blight, desert, and flat coastal lowlands. It lacks the majesty of Interstate 70 in the Rockies, the Appalachian tunnel treats of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, or the coastal sights off U.S. 101 in western Oregon. My wife would have to give me caffeine intravenously and crank up days worth of hard metal music to get me all the way across I 10!

   10 in the Phoenix area is bizarre, especially downtown. It jettisons I 17 then goes a tunnel, then meets 17 again before heading through suburban metro Phoenix to empty desert toward Los Angeles. I have been on all of it and am not anxious to see it again. So, we headed up I 17.

   17 is a pretty interesting road due to its changing terrain. It starts slow, going through Phoenix's northern parts, then heads into empty desert, passing by several saguarro cacti patches. After a bit, it climbs up a few thousand feet, still in the desert but seeing different shades of green among steep climbs and steep descents. Soon, exits appear for Prescott and Sedona, 2 picturesque villages in northern Arizona. Finally, we rise to 7,000 feet and are among the evergreens as 17 passes under I 40 and ends in Flagstaff.

   In Flagstaff, we see several modern amenities in a pretty area. The temperature was in the high 70s, a welcome change from hot Phoenix. We saw a sign for business 40/route 66. A smile spread across my face, because the real adventure was about to begin! First, though, we decided to sit and eat at the Galaxy Diner, a place dedicated to classic 50s-60s tunes, good food, and entertainment memorabilia without the gaudiness of a gift shop. That would come later. I had a bowl of cream of potato soup and half a BLT plus cole slaw, just what the soul needed after the desert driving.

   One thing I can say about Arizona is that it celebrates its 66 heritage quite well in several towns along its path. Once while driving a friend to the Dallas area, we saw a lot of 66 in Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. California has some of it as well, though its 2 oldest independent stretches are more loaded with empty ghost towns than lively remembrance and celebration.

   Out of Flagstaff, 66 continues for a few miles before merging on to I 40, which was fraught with way too much road construction for my liking, though I do appreciate the infrastructure upkeep. After several miles of single lane narrow travel, we exited at Williams. Now this is a town that celebrates its past as a route 66 town! Its historic loop road is filled with inns, restaurants, and shops. It also hosts a pretty cool railway. We will have to visit this town again! We did stop at a souvenir store/historic gas station and picked up a few trinkets. I am generally not for these shops, as they are reminiscent of the Graceland gift shop: full of gawdy merchandise disguised as memorabilia. On this occasion, though, I decided to embrace it, for I had dedicated this day to as much 66 as I could get...and it was just beginning!

   Back on 40, it was more construction for a few miles until we reached Ash Fork. This was a good place to top off the tank. Ash Fork is another 66 town, though to a lesser extent than Williams. Where Williams is the gateway to the Grand Canyon, Ash Fork is merely the junction of 66 and old U.S. 89. It is actually more residential in a semi-ghost town way.

   Just a few miles down, 66 exits I-40 for the last time until the Colorado River at Topock. For 66 enthusiasts like me, this stretch is a thrill for it is the longest standing remnant of 66 remaining in the nation at a whopping 159 miles! We would not be traveling quite that far on this day, but the stretch I was driving on was all virgin territory for me. 66 heads on an independent 17 miles path to Seligman, paralleling 40. I could have continued on the freeway to Seligman, but that would have been useless to me. Seligman itself is like a smaller version of Williams, quite pleasant. After the town was done, 66 began an arc to the northwest toward Peach Springs.

   While driving, we saw the sun slowly setting until it was gone, and then enjoyed a mildly warm twilight period to Peach Springs, passing by the Grand Canyon Caverns, another place we will have to see when we have more time. After Peach Springs, 66 curved to the southwest, passing by Truxton and Valentine before straightening for a 20 mile stretch to Kingman. I could not have envisioned a more pleasant evening drive in my life!

   We got on to 40, grabbed a snack off the freeway, then made our way back to 93 and home, a seemingly faster trek than on Monday getting out of Vegas. Return drives are often that way.

   Now, for those who are curious about 66 past where we got off, let me fill you in. 66 runs through the heart of Kingman with a series of shops, inns, and restaurants, much like Williams except more desert-like in climate. After Kingman, it crosses under 40 again and heads toward the Black Mountains. As it rises toward Cool Springs, one is treated to an pretty awesome old Mobil Station before taking a switchbacked narrow roadway through the mountains before it hits Oatman, an old mining town that is now a 66 mecca for motorcycle riders and wild burros left over from the mining era. One should devote some time here if they are of true traveler spirit before heading southwest on 66 toward the Colorado River Valley and Turlock, where it again meets I 40 to travel to Needles and bleak, empty California desert.

   Incidentally, the Oatman stretch was abandoned, though not forgotten, in 1953, as the Oatman stretch was the most dangerous stretch of 66 in all its length. Instead, it was routed south of Kingman through Yucca, then turned west toward Needles.

   In closing, my love of classic roads is a passion. When given a choice, I will take the old road over the freeway whenever I can. Long live route 66 and long live the American road traveler spirit!

The June Excursion part 2: reunion

   We recently took a short trip to Phoenix, Arizona. You know, one hell to another in terms of desert. Did we go there just to increase our need for high SPF? Au contraire, we were there for a reunion.

   Not a family reunion, but a friend reunion. It is interesting how some friendships form. I was not the type of person growing up to be buds with one of the football players. It was not that I did not like any of them, but jocks weren't naturally turned in my direction. And as I was a particularly scrawny nerdy lad, I was not likely to be one of them anytime soon.

   There was one exception in that group of overpopping testosterone: Tris Vaughan. Not only did he not have an overinflated opinion of himself, but he also had an eye for good movie lines. Oh he was a big tough football player all right, just better balanced. We met in 10th grade P.E.and and in 11th and 12th grades shared journalism and mass media classes as well. Mass media was where the film appreciation really showed for both of us. We hung out a couple of times after graduation, including an unexpected night of alcohol at his house with a bunch of others. That was the first time I'd gotten wasted, to my recollection.

   When I moved to California, there was a rough first year where I had to wait out a year so I could establish residency for cheaper college rates. Tris was the recipient of a few calls bemoaning my suck-ass jobs awaiting that magic month. In December of 1993, I went back to Pennsylvania for a week and Tris was good enough to let me stay at his house. That was one of the most fun weeks I can remember. We hung out with a lot of high school friends on several occasions. I even got to stay an extra day due to a classic northeastern snowstorm shutting down everything. I got to know his brother and mom a lot better on that visit as well! It had been a rough year for the Vaughans, as Tris's father had passed away, so it was a good thing Mr. Moore was there to lift spirits with his wacky nerdy self.

   Several years later, I managed to get to PA again in mid 2000 for a long weekend. On that visit, I had the pleasure of not only visiting with Tris but also meeting his fiancee Ann-Marie. That was actually the highlight of the trip, as my spirits had sunken due to all the changes in my beloved Berks County.

   Over the course of many years, Tris and I kept in touch regularly thanks to the magic of online communication. I kept up with Ann-Marie as well and have watched through pictures the growth of their 2 boys. Then in 2017, the Vaughan family moved to Phoenix...well, Gilbert to be exact. This was exciting! All we had to do was figure out a time to get together. It took 10 months, but we finally got down there this past week!

   There are old friends who just sit and remember the "good old days". That is all fine and good, but after a while there is nothing left to talk about. I've experienced this before. Luckily, this was not the case. Yeah, we talk about old classmates from Wilson and their recent histories, but we also have movies, jokes, and our families in common.

   What made this visit particularly special was that I was reawakened to the spirit of Pennsylvania in terms of toughness. Like I said, I grew up a nerdy, scrawny kid, but over time I developed a basic toughness. I didn't cry and run to an adult every time some little thing happened, most of the time I sucked it up. It was the BIG SHIT that made me cry. Living out west for 26 years, I have noticed a lack of that basic toughness, sometimes to the point of people being overly pompous with that empty hard core. Sometimes a reminder of where you come from is a healthy thing!

   It was a pretty great if short visit. We hung in the pool, barbecued, and just talked a lot. I remembered that Tris is the epitome of the word "tangent"...you start a story, and he will interrupt with an anecdote here and there, so that the original tale will take four, maybe five times as long to tell. It was also great to watch how strong an 18-year old marriage is and how much loving shit they give each other. I cannot help but think that if my folks had been like that, their marriage may have survived. An added bonus was watching their son and Natalie play together. They got on so well that we let her stay overnight.

   On our day headed out of town, we all met up at Village Inn for breakfast. I swear, we could have just kept talking for a longer time, but I had a road adventure to begin. It is great to know I have a link to my past so close in distance and spirit and I cannot wait until we visit again!

The June Excursion part 1

   All right! The 2nd week of summer vacation was upon us. What should we do? Sit on our asses watching TV and playing mindless games? Well shit, that sounded great to me, but Vickie absolutely insisted that we should do this on our feet. So I figured while we were on our feet, we should pack a bag and go on a trip. Vegas hell will always be here no matter how many times I change my boxers!

   For this excursion, we decided to visit another hell. Phoenix! The Phoenix area is about 2 million times the size of the Vegas area. If you start at the northwestern end and head to the extreme southeastern end...well let's just say the Reading to Philly drives were a faster trip! At least I can say that for the population, they built a much better freeway system to get backed up in than the Vegas planners did.

   On Monday morning, I went to grab the rental car because, well, why abuse my own car when I can just beat the shit out of one that's not mine? We locked and loaded the car, gassed and fed up with crap Arby's and away we went!

   Getting past Henderson, we see a lot of new signs for Interstate 11. For those who are NOT road geeks like me (meaning the whole planet outside of Rand McNally headquarters), Interstate 11 is one of many Federal highway projects that will not be completed before my death, most likely, if the nation's infrastructure does not get higher-than-Trump's-golf priorities. The idea is good, making a fast nonstop freeway system between Las Vegas and Phoenix. After all, getting from high to low desert and back is pretty important, at least to boll weevils. As it stands, you can get from Vegas to past Henderson on a freeway, then snail trail your way on U.S. 93 through Boulder City (motto: "We don't slot, we just sweat a lot!"), then go down a long downhill toward Lake Mead, hoping a cop doesn't catch you NOT grinding your brakes to the bare metal! From there, 93 eventually returns to expressway status, bypassing Hoover Dam into Arizona.

   I must pause here to stress how good that last part is. When I first moved to Las Vegas 16 years ago, U.S. 93 hairpinned down to Hoover Dam, crossed it, then hairpinned up again on the Arizona side. It was a major pain, though with no major truck traffic due to post-9/11 security measures.

   Back to current 93, it continues through hilly lands for 17 miles before entering a long valley in western Arizona. Extending down to Kingman, this valley is a lesson in planning. If you didn't gas up in Vegas, you WILL pay through the nose or other lower orifice for gas. On Monday it was $4.39, obviously trying to compete with California for obnoxious pricing! At mile marker 67, 93 junctions with the end of AZ 68, a fast route to Bullhead City, AZ and Laughlin, NV (motto: "Smaller than Vegas but without the entertainment taxes!"). 93 then rises to a small summit, then plunges down toward outer Kingman and Interstate 40. Interstate 11 would take out the onside turns for the expensive gas and instead put in exit ramps to get the gas.  Also, the amenities between AZ 68 and I-40 would either be razed or stay alongside an access road. I have a feeling that will be a HUGE feat!

   U.S. 93 joins I-40 for just over 20 miles, intersecting classic highway 66 along the way, but more on that experience later! 93 finally leaves I-40 at exit 71, then proceeds on a long, fairly boring trek toward Wickenburg. Sounds pretty witchy, right? Well, this would be the 2nd leg of I-11 from what I have read. A lot of the trek is 4-lane divided highway as it is, but there are still 2-lane stretches that need upgrading. Plus, Wickenberg would need a complete bypass.

   Along the way, we stopped for a restroom break in Wikieup, paid for that break with buying merchandise, and fed some beautiful koi in a pond out back. Lesson here: if you drive past the little stuff, you might miss the cool things in life!

   In Wickenburg, 93 ends at a traffic circle where we pick up U.S. 60, which is a mostly intact highway in the west, save for its old California portion almost completely disappearing under I-10. It also continues all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, making 60 a fairly classic road in itself, just missing the appeal of 66 somehow. It is interesting to note that all of the services on 60 in Wickenburg are on the westbound side and the traffic is heavy, so good luck finding a quick restroom stop!

   Out of Wickenburg, 60 continues southeast on Grand Avenue toward downtown Phoenix. I have memories of this portion. When my grandma lived in Sun City West, I came down that way all the time to see her until she moved to California in early 2007. The 303 overpass was my sign that the journey was over back then. Well not this time, for our destination was Mesa, on the EAST side of the metro area! We got on to 303 south, and I was quite amazed at the change since 11 years ago. What was once a rural 2-lane road with stop signs and lights was now a full freeway with the standard food, gas, and shopping concessions on both sides, all the way down to I-10. Unfortunately, I see the future here: growth, freeway expansion, more growth, more freeway expansion. It is a never-ending cycle.

   Finally we hit I-10 near Buckeye and headed east toward Phoenix. At 5:00, traffic was light heading toward the city, but once we passed downtown, all hell broke loose. Traffic was tight (as in still) from the end of I-17 to the 60 freeway off ramp. Once on 60, traffic was lighter and we were able to get to Mesa and our Ramada Inn pretty easily.

   Next up, a visit with an old friend!

 
 

Stand up and be Blown Away!

   I've decided to become a stand up comedian. And why not? After 12 years of marriage and 16 years of teaching, I think I have enough material to fill Godzilla's neck pillow! The only problem here is how to present myself onstage. Should I use Bob Newhart's stuttering stammering persona? Maybe Rodney Dangerfield's sweating, self-deprecation? Throw in some George Carlin straight-at-your-face brutal honesty? How about some Steven Wright monotone non sequiturs?

   No, all that mixed in would get me maybe 5 minutes on Fremont Street before a zipliner sacrifices himself upon my skull! I need something fresh and guaranteed to get an audience's attention. Coming just as myself isn't such a hot idea, because I have no desire to pay money to see a short, pear-shaped, middle aged dweeb talk about marriage, fatherhood, and work, why would anyone else? I think a clever disguise as a TICKING NUCLEAR WEAPON talking about marriage, fatherhood, and work would have more appeal! Plus the "donations" would pretty much pay for my tour.

   The next thing to do is get an agent. My disguise would most likely get me any agent I want. However, I think most everyone would be petrified with having a ticking bomb as a client, so I need to go with someone who has no fear of my antics, so my wife it is! She'll be fantastic because she knows how to comparison shop for everything from houses to sticks of butter.

   Vickie will book me into the small venues first, and Vegas has more of those than drinkable water sources. Because, quite frankly, my "explosive" comic persona won't get on to HBO or late night talk shows right away. It'll take at least one local club to see my instant appeal. After that, to the mainstream I go, along with my entourage of Federal bomb squad nudniks!

   Skipping ahead about 5 appearances on Craig Ferguson, Jimmy Kimmel, 60 Minutes, NCIS, and Cops, I am approached by all major networks to create my own TV show, told by all those ass-kissers that my routine is "dynamite!", "a ticking bomb of laughs!", "about to detonate at any moment!", and all those other cheap ploys designed to make me drool with greed. The question is, what kind of TV show should it be? All those Hollywood slime buckets think I should have a typically quirky sitcom and that Betty White should be my co-star.

   Nah, those shows are a dime a dozen, I was thinking more along the lines of "Leave It To Beaver", where my Ward Cleaver-style dad would be doing more than just verbal reprimands. Or, perhaps, a game show like "Beat the Clock", where my schtick will definitely having contestants slipping on their own perspiration to make it before the clock hits 0! Even better, I think my "timing" would be put to better use as a political talk show moderator. I just know that I would get people to agree to my views using my unique chemistry.

   However, I just know the ride would be over soon, as my mouth would get the worst of me. I'd start spewing my opinions all over the place. I'd be Tweeting about anything and everything, threatening to "blow away" any opposition to my views when, suddenly, my disguise is removed by some Toto-wannabe and I am exposed for the Bosc pear that I am! I'd be  shamed away from the lime or lemon light for at least 45 minutes before I could pull off my next cheap publicity stunt and make my way back to the top... or at least out of the garage level where I was thrown after the disguise was removed.

   So, maybe I should keep myself humble and entertain on a small scale...well, maybe a larger scale because our small scale creaks after 2 onions are put on it!

 

The Detective

   Well, apparently my newly shaven head is much more prone to coming up with ideas, but unfortunately this one is the dreaded...BA-BUM...BOOK./MOVIE COMPARISON AND REVIEW! These tend to arise about once a year, maybe twice. My shrink just can't get enough electric currents through me to get rid of them completely, so why fight it?

Today's entry: The Detective

   You know me, I love reading the source material behind movies. Well, that is unless the movies take place in some mystical universe that does not involve lightsabers, John Williams orchestral scores, and swamp-living Muppets that sound like Grover. Luckily, this story is only mystical in the fact that I read 100 pages of it in December, then put it down for 3 months before finishing the final 497 pages in one week.

   I actually began this journey a few years ago when I bought "Nothing Lasts Forever", a 1979 novel that was the basis for "Die Hard". What is interesting is that the book's main character Joe Leland was in a previous novel called "The Detective" in 1966 and the novel spawned a film where Joe Leland was portrayed by Frank Sinatra...yeah, kind of hard to picture Sinatra crawling around skyscraper vent shafts, right? Anyway, I decided to look for "The Detective" to see how it all began. After an arduous search, I was finally the recipient of it this past Christmas. I finally finished the book last night and watched the 1968  Sinatra film just this morning.

   First, the book. Now, as one might imagine, I needed to put a face to Joe Leland to get an idea. It was a choice between Bruce Willis and Frank Sinatra and, well, these days I can't picture Willis doing anything else worthwhile in his career except for maybe an ad for Fruity Pebbles. Sinatra won out.

   The book is narrated in a nonlinear Pulp Fiction-style fashion and it takes a bit to get one's bearings. There are no indications of the current date in the book, but clues point to the early to mid 50s based on past events relating to Leland in the 1940s.

   The book begins with private detective Joe Leland running his own agency in Manitou, a supposedly imaginary town in upstate New York in the Hudson River Valley. He takes cases such as unfaithful spouses, custody issues, retail theft, and insurance fraud, the latter being a strength due to his former employment in an insurance firm. He is married, but separated from his wife Karen. They have a daughter named Steffie (Stephanie, as if there were a doubt) who seems quite in tune with Joe. A ghastly child rape-murder has happened in Port Smith, another imaginary town a short plane ride away. Joe is contacted by an inept headline-chasing reporter from Port Smith as he was once a police detective there, but he coldly puts the leech off.

   Joe meets with young Norma McGiver, a prospective client whose husband Colin supposedly jumped to his death from a racetrack roof months before. She approaches Joe because he apparently knew Colin from World War 2. It appears they were in the same air squadron but had only a brief contact. Norma does not believe Colin killed himself and wants Joe to investigate. They spend a long lunch at a nearby eatery as she tells of her relationship with Colin and what she knows about his life before her, according to his side of it. He checks his war souvenir book and McGiver's insurance files for initial clues, and at first glance, nothing seems too unusual.

   The book then skips to Joe in his detective days. He and his crew investigate the brutal murder/castration of a Port Smith homosexual named Theodore Leikman. Following instincts and clues, they apprehend Leikman's disturbed homosexual roommate Felix Tesla at the beach. After a skilled interrogation, Tesla confesses and is put to death. Soon after, Joe is promoted, then  quits to move to Manitou.

   The book jumps back to the present as he continues his investigation. He questions Colin's cold mother, but is quickly and viciously thrown out. He then questions Colin's first wife Betty and her husband Murray, but does not get much further aside from the mystery of a scar on Colin's neck.
 
   Another jump to the past occurs, where we see the courtship and early marriage of Joe and Karen. Reading their dialogue with each other shows at once how honest Joe is AND how loving yet  withholding and tentative Karen is, even when Steffie is born. I think I'd go mad with a woman like that! When Joe goes to war, she is at first loving and supportive, but loneliness triggers a psychological disorder in her and she begins a secretive affair. Joe is no idiot and he senses it when he returns on a second visit home. The marriage crumbles slowly and Joe eventually moves to Manitou to get away from her. At least we now make a connection of an event. He tries to get together with someone else but the link to Karen is too strong, especially when Karen herself moves to Manitou to get a fresh new start and to give Joe a fairer amount of time with Steffie.

   For the rest of the book, the story remains in the present on the McGiver case. He lunches with Betty again and gets a slightly better understanding of Colin McGiver in terms of his cruelty. There is some flirtation between the two and Joe is tempted, but he is still taken by Karen emotionally. Joe then goes to Port Smith to meet with Norma to report and also meet with her therapist Dr. Wendell Roberts. Joe at once sees how manipulative Roberts is and dislikes him for seemingly wanting to hide things, perhaps about himself. Joe and Norma almost give in to passion before a call from Karen breaks it up. The child rape-murder case is finally solved, and Joe's old partner on the force is anxious to solve it in the same fashion as the Leikman case, to get a confession out of force and cruelty and hopefully get a promotion.

   Joe then gets the results of examination of Colin's secret files from his associate Mike. This is where the book mires down in the world of dummy corporations and money laundering, all in the guise of public interest, housing committees, and civic groups all to make extra money at the public's expense. McGiver's and Roberts's names appear in these records enough for Joe to suspect Roberts of a crime. With Karen's assistance in distraction, he breaks into Roberts's office to look for one connecting file to put all of these corrupt people away, but Roberts interrupts him.

   In a long conversation, Joe understands Roberts's position as a helper better, but still dislikes him. A lengthy tape Colin made shows how Colin actually killed Theodore Leikman due to his own repressed homosexuality. Roberts pleads for Joe to not tell Norma the whole truth, but Joe feels he has no choice but to do both that and expose the civic corruption that is happening. With Karen's support on this, the book ends with Joe feeling much anguish over the past and the present.

   In the movie, things are simplified quite a bit and maybe 200 of the book's 597 pages are covered. Good thing, because the book has some long-ass paragraphs that are tough to pore through at times. The movie has a similar flashback style as the book, but only to the extent of Joe's growing and later breaking relationship to Karen. Most of it is linear. Joe is also an NYPD cop (you know cop movies, they have to be in some real-life big city).  The movie begins with the Leikman murder-castration and we see instantly that Joe is a tough-as-nails cop and quite masculine in attitude. Sinatra had to have it that way, most likely. He is aided by Detective Dave Schoenstein (not promotion hungry in the movie) played by Oscar Madison before he shacked up with Felix Unger; a nasty Robert Duvall (he often played unlikeable sorts then), and corrupt Detective Curran (who was not corrupt in the book). Unlike the book, there are rousts of known gay hangouts to find Felix Tesla who is interrogated by Joe himself (he only watched in the book), then fried to death. Joe is later approached by Norma McGiver to investigate what she thinks was a rushed and frightened investigation of Colin's death. Joe quickly gets wind of the civic corruption and is even shot at to shut him up, proving why the suicide investigation was done quickly. Norma introduce his to Dr. Roberts, who is professional but cold toward him. The near-final scene with the tape shows Colin played by none other than Dr. Seth Hazlitt from Cabot Cove, in flashbacks showing how he struggled with his homosexuality, was pursued by Leikman, and killed him in fear and disgust of his own weaknesses. Although Dr. Roberts tries to convince Joe to let things go, Joe decides to expose the corruption and quit the force.

   Although the movie was good and Frank Sinatra is always fun to watch, it did nothing for me other than to see how this movie was probably controversial in 1968 for its themes and language. A funny 2 scenes with Renee Taylor (pre-The Nanny) made me laugh, but otherwise cut some good things from the book. We've seen this before with The Count of Monte Cristo and L.A. Confidential and other book adaptations. The Godfather was more faithful in its film version than most.

   In conclusion, I would recommend The Detective as casual summer reading, though a dip in the pool every 50 pages is good for the soul and to avoid falling asleep in the chair or bed. In terms of the movie, I could almost watch it, then Die Hard to see a crumbling marriage recover through terrorists. Apart from that, give me 1960's Ocean's 11 any day!

The Tide Pod Trial Travesty

Reporter: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight’s coverage what could be the ultimate trial against corporate America. Specifically, the plaintiff wishes to bring Proctor and Gamble, the nefarious and greedy corporate giant, and maker of deadly chemicals disguised as household cleansers and detergents. This is a long time in coming, and I, personally, am sick of these corporate terrorists-

Cameraman: Nice journalistic objectivity there! By the way, how are your thousand shares of Wal Mart holding up?

Reporter: Not the same thing!

Cameraman: Don’t they sell Proctor and Gamble products?

Reporter: Um, er, BLAST YOUR MEDIA BIAS!

Cameraman: Up yours.

Reporter: Now you look…oh, here comes Nathan Snotburger, defending attorney for Proctor and Gamble, looking far too complacent for what he is about to face. Mr. Snotburger, what is your prediction for the outcome?

Defending Attorney: My name is Reed, you flatulent prick!

Reporter: Well, that’s your opinion.

Reed: And here’s another: your toupee came with a free gallon of Roundup. Excuse me, please.

Reporter: Corporate arrogance, folks. Now, here comes the underdog plaintiff. Folks, this is the meaning of tragedy right here, the result of big corporate indifference to the plight of the American consumer. The deformity of this poor girl shall be avenged, you can be sure of that! And here is her attorney. Ma’am what is your opinion as to the outcome today?

Plaintiff’s Attorney: Back off, you overly wordy blowhard!

Bailiff: All rise!

Judge: Ta-da! I’m here!

Bailiff: All sit!

Judge: I’m starting to like rent-a-bailiff! Attorney for the plaintiff, say your piece.

Plaintiff’s Attorney: Your honor, members of the jury…

Judge: Um, it’s just me. You 2 made mincemeat of everyone during jury selection, nobody wanted to meet you.

Plaintiff’s Attorney: Damn! Your honor, I will prove to you, and the spectators in the courtroom, that the makers of Tide have been irresponsible to the American consumer by not providing enough of a warning to not put the nefarious Tide Pods into their mouths.

Judge: Enough? Are you saying there is already a warning?

P.A.: Yes, but that is beside the point!

Defending Attorney: Objection, Your Honor! It is NOT beside the point, it IS the point! The package says HARMFUL IF SWALLOWED!

Judge: I can’t believe I canceled a root canal for this crap!

P
.A: May I continue please?

Judge: Why not? I’m just waiting for full lives on Candy Crush anyway.

P.A: My client, Ms. Pathetique Embecile, is the victim of Tide’s corporate greed and indifference. She has suffered brain damage as a result of insufficient warning labels. She seeks damages in the amount of $100 million dollars.

Judge (stifling a chortle): That’s it? Seriously?

P.A: Your honor, this is not an amusing matter!

Judge: Sorry, I was just looking at your client drooling on her tablet. Mr. Reed, your turn.

P.A: Wait a minute, you call him by his name, but you just call me Attorney for the Plaintiff?!

Judge: You really want to go there?

P.A: Yes, your honor. I deserve the respect.

Judge: All righty then. Thank you, Ms. Embecile, for your opening joke.

(the crowd is aghast…they’re also horrified)

Reporter: Ladies and gentlemen, the plaintiff’s attorney is none other than the client’s own mother. What can I say? I am as stunned as anyone.

Judge: Hey, Fox News, shut up!

Reed: On the contrary, your honor, Captain Rat’s Nest for a Rug makes my case easier. In fact, I want to skip my opening remarks and just call the plaintiff to the stand.

Ms. Embecile: You can’t do that, my client…oh hell, my daughter can’t be made to testify against herself.

Reed: Please? I won’t even make her move from where she is.

Judge: As I’m up for re-election, nah.

Reed: Fine, I’ll just question her mother.

Judge: That works for me.

Ms. Embecile: What? How can I be a witness?

Reed: Simple, get up there and find out!

(Ms. Embecile takes the stand)

Judge: Bailiff, you forgetting something?

Bailiff: I went before we started, your honor.

Judge: $15 an hour at its best. Swear her in, please.

Bailiff: Oh right. Where’s the Bible?

Judge: Budget cuts are a bitch. Use my “Idiot’s Guide to Presiding Over the Bench.”

(bailiff swears Ms. Embecile in)

Reed: Ms. Embecile, where does your daughter live?”

Ms. Embecile: Umm, in our basement.

Reed: And how old is she?

Ms. Embecile (face redder than a ripe beet): 24

Reed: Inspiring, isn’t she?

Ms. Embecile: That’s not fair! She just hasn’t found herself yet!

Judge: And I don’t think she’s looking too hard.

Reed: I have here her educational records.

Judge: Hell, The Doors’ first record is thicker than that!

Reed: A high school diploma obtained under mysterious circumstances, along with 13 years of public education. The school district was absolved of any blame on their part, by the way. Also one failed semester in college.

Ms. Embecile: My poor daughter! You just don’t see!

Judge: See what?

Ms. Embecile: How precious and gifted she is!

Reed: OK, I’ll bite. Tell me more about that.

Ms. Embecile: Well, just look!

(everyone looks as Pathetique laughs silently at some Miley Cyrus twerk video)

Judge: I’m looking. And?

Ms. Embecile: She’s…she’s…FINE! I’LL SAY IT! SHE’S AN IDIOT WHO CAN’T EVEN READ WARNING LABELS!

Reed: And Tide should pay for her stupidity?

Ms. Embecile: YES, DAMNIT! I WON’T BE AROUND FOREVER TO TAKE CARE OF HER!

Judge: Huh. Ok, let me pick my nose as I ponder…oh, never mind. Yo,Fox News!

Reporter: Yes, your honor?

Judge: Your heart still bleeding for the ignorami?

Reporter: It doesn’t matter, my boss just relegated me to weather girl.

Judge: Good work. Ladies and gentlemen in the courtroom, and audiences of this silly blog. I’d love to say this is a travesty of corporate America and that the ingesters of Tide Pods are the victims. However, the warning labels are clearly in place and there is nothing to sue over. Parents of idiots have only themselves to blame, especially if the children are teens or of college age. $100 million in the hands of the mental deficit in our midst…hell, $20 in her hands, is a danger to society. I hereby dismiss this case, keep this bailiff around for comedy, and publicly condemn this defender of stupidity. Case dismissed!