Sleeping Through the "Southland" Premier on TNT 1/17/2012

My wife and I really enjoy TNT’s “Southland” (formerly on NBC which was stupid enough to cancel this well-written, well-cast, well-directed and well filmed show).

So, we we’ve been anticipating it’s “season premiere” which has been promoted on Facebook and other places for the last couple of months (I don’t “like” too many things on my Facebook page but “Southland” is one of them). It premiered last night at 10 p.m., a little late but we’ll stay up occasionally for something worth watching.

So, here’s what the season premiere was like…including the welcoming of Lucy Liu to the cast.

9:45: Carolyn announces that she’s going to go into the bedroom and watch it in bed. I’m in the living room reading a book (you know, those things with covers and paper with words printed on them). “OK,” I say, “you know that if I come into the bedroom that I’ll just fall asleep and miss it.”

10:05: Carolyn comes out of the bedroom and wakes me up on the couch to tell me that it’s started. Damn. “Why don’t you come in and watch it in bed?” “Naw, I’m fine here,” I respond.

10:06: Cops driving down street. See young street thugs chasing one another with guns. They give chase in car. One kid gets shot. Cops chase the other. Thug runs into school yard chased by 4 cops. Kid is shot but keeps going. They follow blood trail through corridors of school and find kid “bleeding out” on floor of restroom.

10:15: I wake up again. Michael Cudlitz, Officer John Cooper, is working out, lifting weights shirtless going through full range of motion including lower back. He gets done and walks towards showers showing a scar running up back from surgery. “Hmmmm, he got his back fixed. Wonder if it’s OK.”

10:20: I wake up again. They’re in briefing for their “tour”. Michael Cudlitz is assigned to a new partner who wants to drive. New partner is Lucy Liu. Looks a lot different from other roles she’s played like in “Kill Bill” and “Ally McBeal”. Hair’s pulled back, not playing the vixen…

11:10: Carolyn comes out to the living room. Wakes me up. Drags me off to bed. “Did you watch it?” I ask. “Oh yes, but you didn’t”. I crawl in bed and go back to sleep.

Dammit.

SOAP

A while back I wrote about one of my “big scores” at Costco—a year’s supply of Irish Spring. Now, I was going to say “dirt cheap” but that’s just too cheesy a pun to put into the context of shower soap, so I won’t say it.

Anyway, it’s been great not having to remember to put this nectar of the shower on the shopping list for months at a time knowing that I’m always going to have a goodly supply of the fresh smelling, clean feeling soap that used to be advertised as “Manly yes, but I like it too,” by a winsome young Irish lass with light red hair and freckles inhaling the aroma next to a stream on the Emerald Isle.

But I digress.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I have a bar of Irish Spring in the soap dish on the bathtub. If I count all the bottles, tubes, brushes and razors belonging to my wife and step-daughter in and around the edges of the tub, it numbers somewhere north of 20. It’s tough to pull back the shower curtain and step over the lip of the tub without knocking something on the floor or into the tub and have to precariously bend over, pick it up and put it somewhere where it can be found and where it no longer presents a hazard.

But I digress again.

(Note: Under of threat of punishment from my wife, I am compelled to notify the reader that this is NOT our bathtub but is one that I found on Google).

So for the last few mornings I’ve noticed that my green bar of soap is rapidly shrinking to sliver status. I’ve been telling myself for the last few days, “Self, you need to replace it.” I’ve even gone so far as to confirm that there isn’t another bar handy in the bathroom. But, by the time I think about it each morning I’m already wet in the shower and I’m not going to climb back out and open the bathroom door to go to the linen closet to retrieve a couple of bars to last me a while. So I’ve been making do with a sliver.

Besides, I keep having this mental image of me, stepping out of the shower in my birthday suit and bending over the shelf in the linen closet where we keep extra soap, room freshener, toothbrushes, etc. and have my step-daughter come out of her bedroom three feet behind me and being introduced to my “full moon”. Noooooooooo way. Carolyn would kill me.

Well, this morning the sliver disappeared in my hands. It’s no fun showering when you know you’ve got just a tiny bit of soap to wash your face and pits and between each of your toes, not to mention your rungi-schmelli and “nether regions” (that’s probably TMI but I’m sure most know the drill in the shower at least as well as I do). So, which parts do I skip? Hmmmm, well, I’m going to use deodorant so pits you just get a water scrub. And I’m going to put on clean socks, so toes I’m just going to rub you good and you’re going to be on your own.

Crap, this is just way too much decision making for early in the morning. Now, I wouldn’t have this problem is I left a bit more time each day. But, I usually head for the bathroom about 20 minutes before I have to leave for work—after 3 cups of coffee (one to function, one to wake up and one to soften things up--if you know what I mean). And after sitting and “reading” for a bit, I’m ready to hit the shower, then shave (yes, I have a beard but I still shave every morning) then clean my glasses, brush my teeth and head into the bedroom to get dressed for work.

With a “schedule” like that, there’s just no time left for Irish Spring inventory control unless I’m forced into it. So like a good boy I got done in the bathroom, went to the linen closet and took 3 fresh bars out, opened one and put it in the soap dish and put the other 2 in the drawer next to the tub. Now I’m good to go. Until the next time I run out. Damn.

There will be those who say to me “why don’t you just leave more time in the morning?” And to those I say, “Yes dear, you’re right”. But for me showering and then dressing and then heading out the door is like a matador or a knight getting ready for the bull-ring or the jousting arena. I’m transitioning from home to work and getting my “game face” on.

What ever happened to “soap on a rope” anyway? Tomorrow morning…the glory of a virgin bar of Irish Spring. I can’t wait.

Uh-Oh, The Feds Are After Me

A rare advantage of posting my blogs on Blogspot is that I have it linked to “Sitemeter” which lets me see the number of visits, what post was seen, the ISP of the visitor and often the city of the visitor. OK, don’t get bored and move on…hopefully this will get just a little bit better.

Unfortunately, far too many of the “hits” to this site are for people looking for pictures of Giada DeLaurentiis’ cleavage, Joy Hickey, banana hammocks, the V-22 Osprey, used car salesman cartoons and Sarah Palin as a Zombie (actually I’m kind of proud of the Sarah Palin/zombie connection). Oh yeah, and Buckwheat.

Yep, Buckwheat. You know, the cute little African-American kid from “The Little Rascals". The one who Eddie Murphy parodied on “SNL” and in his shows. That Buckwheat. The one who’s brought me to the attention of the Feds.

The Feds. As in Federal Government. As in Department of Justice. As in Drug Enforcement Administration.

You see, I wrote a blog post in September of 2010 featuring Buckwheat and how my wife and I like to talk in his unique language that we call “Buhweet”. Like, “Otay Buhweet”.

This particular blog post was inspired by a newspaper article I read which said that the Atlanta DEA office was looking to hire translators—in Spanish, Vietnamese, Korean, Farsi and…are you ready?...Ebonics. So that got my imagination going and I made the connection to Buckwheat. And I wrote a tongue-in-cheek blog post. Here’s a link:

http://open.salon.com/blog/just-walt/2010/09/14/the_dea_ebonics_and_buckwheat--whassup

So how does that bring me to the attention of the DOJ and DEA? Well, in the interest of interesting illustration, I did a Google Image search and included a DEA logo in the blog post. And, the other day (see this is where Sitemeter comes in handy) I noticed that someone had spent the better part of 6 minutes in my Blogspot blog. Hmmmmm, I wonder who? The ISP was “US Dept of Justice” and the ISP is “usdoj.gov”. The search was for "DEA Logo". To quote Ralphie from “A Christmas Story”: “Oh fuuuuuddddggggge.”

And I asked myself, “Self, do these guys have a sense of humor?” And, of course, the answer is, “Hell no.”

Anytime now I expect to hear the sound of doors slamming on several Crown Vics, the sound of multiple feet thumping up the flight of stairs right outside our door and then the crash of a sledgehammer on the door as they come after this serious miscreant. Half a dozen guys in jumpsuits and bullet proof vests and helmets wearing windbreakers that say “DEA” on the back.

Will they Mace me? Will they tackle me and kneel on my back (hey guys I’ve got some pretty bad arthritis in my right shoulder so take it easy when you cuff me, OK?).

The music from “Dragnet” is going through my brain. “Dum, dee dum dum. Dum, dee dum dum, dum!” “Just the facts, ma’am,” they’ll tell my wife.

And it’s all DEA’s fault for stepping on my funny bone about hiring Ebonics translators. If they hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have had my brain-fart about Buckwheat. I wouldn’t have started writing. I wouldn’t have uploaded their damn logo into a blog post.

But that’s OK. I know they have to do their job of protecting the American public. From no-good-niks like me. At least there’s no one at DOJ.gov checking out Giada DiLaurentiis’ cleavage.

And if I have to go to the slammer all I have to say to my wife is, “I wubbu”.

How Men of a Certain Age Watch "Men of a Certain Age"

We’ve been eagerly anticipating the new season of “Men of A Certain Age” for a couple of months. Of all the shows on TV this is arguably our favorite.

If you’re not familiar with the show, it’s the ongoing story of 3 fiftyish men. That’s about as simple as it gets. It’s not the old classic “show about nothing” that was Seinfeld but rather it’s about life—the quasi-success and quasi-failure on a personal and professional level that defines each and every one of us. It’s about the highs and lows and how we cope with them.

It’s 3 guys—Joe (Ray Romano), Terry (Scott Bakula) and Owen (Andre Braugher) who have been friends since junior high school. It’s about love—about how men can love one another with more honesty than love of spouse or children or self, unabashedly and honestly.

Why do I love it? Well, because I’m a “man of a certain age” getting ready to turn 60 in 3 months. The show mirrors the life of most men of my age and what we see is that “it’s all right”. It’s all right to be less than a stellar success. All right? Hell, that’s the norm and it is, indeed, all right. It has to be because that’s what we’ve got.

But that’s not what this is about. How does a “man of a certain age” watch “Men of A Certain Age”? I look at the TV schedule, carefully adjusting my bifocals so that the tiny print is large enough to decipher. I know when it’s on and what channel it’s on, but I look anyway.

“Hmmm, 10 o’clock. P.M. At night. OK. Now, they use some “earthy” language in this—like men of a certain age do. Words like “shit”. No “f-bombs”. Guess that means it has to be on late. But that’s OK.

Can I make it? A couple of years ago, the question was “can I make it to 11 when it’s over?” Now the question is more, “can I make it until 10 when it starts?”

Should I take a nap? Glad I have the day off on Thursday because I stayed up late. Damn.

Well, I managed to make it to 10. And I managed to make it to 11. I snoozed from 10:15 to 10:30 but that means I saw 75% of the first episode.

Yeah, someone’s going to say that I need to Tivo or DVR it. And I’ve got a couple of things to say about that. 1) I can’t afford it and 2) I don’t have a 12 year old around to set it up for me. I’m too old for kids that age and too young for grandkids that age. So I’m just screwed. Yeah, I could probably watch it here on my computer whenever I want but this is a 15.6 inch screen with crappy speakers compared to a 42 inch screen with semi-good speakers.

I was out in the living room on the couch. Carolyn “watched” it in the bedroom. When I go into the bedroom to watch something, I crawl into bed next to her, start watching and then roll onto my side to get more comfortable. Next thing I know it’s 3 a.m. and she’s elbowing me to get me to roll over and stop snoring in her ear.

You would think that with all that effort that I’d hate being a “man of a certain age” (do you think we should start using the acronym “MOCA”?—just a stray thought). But I don’t. I rather like it. Actually, I’m rather looking forward to graduating from “MOCA” to “GOF”—“grouchy old fart”. I’m getting lots of practice.

Anyway, this is TV at its almost best. TV could be a lot better. And it would be if there were more shows like this, at an earlier time, to watch and enjoy.

Hold On To Your Brains--It's Zombie Awareness Month

I don’t remember where I first came across this online but I remember that my reaction to it was (and this is a direct quote), “Hmmmmpf.” And I proceeded to check it out in a little more detail.


It seems like there’s a special month in the calendar for just about everything. Here’s the list just for May (source McGraw/Hill Professional). Oh, it's a long list so just listen to the music and scroll through:

May
• Allergy/Asthma Awareness Month, Natl
• Arthritis Month, Natl
• Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month
• Awareness of Medical Orphans Month
• Barbecue Month, Natl
• Better Hearing and Speech Month
• Bike Month, Natl
• Business Image Improvement Month, Intl
• Civility Month, Intl
• Creative Beginnings Month
• Ecodriving Month
• Egg Month, Natl
• Family Wellness Month
• Fibromyalgia Education and Awareness Month
• Freedom Shrine Month
• Get Caught Reading Month
• Gifts From the Garden Month
• Good Car-Keeping Month, Natl
• Haitian Heritage Month
• Hamburger Month, Natl
• Heal the Children Month
• Healthy Vision Month
• Hepatitis Awareness Month, Natl
• Huntington's Disease Awareness Month
• Internal Audit Awareness Month, Intl
• Jewish American Heritage Month
• Latino Books Month
• Meditation Month, Natl
• Melanoma/Skin Cancer Detection and Prevention Month
• Mental Health Month, Natl
• Military Appreciation Month, Natl
• Motorcycle Safety Month
• Moving Month, Natl
• Older Americans Month
• Osteoporosis Awareness and Prevention Month
• Personal History Month
• Photo Month, Natl
• Physical Fitness and Sports Month, Natl
• Preservation Month, Natl
• REACT Month
• Revise Your Work Schedule Month
• Salad Month, Natl
• Salsa Month, Natl
• Smile Month, Natl
• Strike Out Strokes Month
• Stroke Awareness Month, Natl
• Sweet Vidalia Onion Month, Natl
• Teen CEO Month
• Teen Self-Esteem Month

• Tennis Month
• Ultraviolet Awareness Month
• Victorious Woman Month, Intl
• Vinegar Month, Natl
• Women's Health Care Month
• Young Achievers/Leaders of Tomorrow Month

Now that’s a lot of stuff for just one month. And I noticed that there is a conspicuous absence—the “awareness month” I stumbled across.

Zombie Awareness Month
To quote Dave Barry, “I’m not making this up.”

Zombie Awareness Month is sponsored by the Zombie Research Society. They urge people to wear a gray ribbon “to signify the undead shadows that lurk behind our modern light of day.” Here’s a summary from their website (www.zombieresearch.org):

Founded in 2007, the Zombie Research Society (ZRS) is dedicated to raising the level of zombie scholarship in the Arts and Sciences. ZRS Members represent diverse backgrounds, interests, and theories, but are unified in their support of the Society's three foundational principles:

• A zombie is a biologically definable, animated being occupying a human corpse.
• The zombie pandemic is coming. It's not a matter of if, but a matter of when.
• Enthusiastic debate about zombies is essential to the survival of the human race.

Additional research that I did turned up a number of helpful sites to combat the predicted scurge of Zombies. Here’s a hint from the UK:

Now, I’m assuming that this is all tongue in cheek. Or maybe I’m hoping it is. But geez when you start Googling zombies and zombie research and zombie appreciation you come up with a lot of stuff that can keep you reading and zooming around the internet for hours.

And there’s even a rationale for having Zombie Awareness Month in May. Most would assume that a month to raise awareness of zombies would be in October because of Halloween. But the Zombie Research Society has determined (somehow) that most Zombie movies are set in May so this is the month they selected.

You can find helpful hints on identifying Zombies:

And some of the information is motivational—you know, like those dumb-ass posters that bosses still like to hang up and then congratulate themselves on how enlightened they are (I have one in my office right behind my desk).

And interestingly, some of the information is political. I have seen articles which suggest that Zombies are some sort of global political and economic conspiracy and also suggestions that some Zombies are cleverly disguised and much more insidious in their quest to consume the human race. But, quite frankly, I discounted those “suggestions” as the unrealistic fantasies of someone who has just seen too many Zombie movies over the years. Until…well, look for yourself:

Anyway, Happy Zombie Awareness Month. Get out your gray ribbons and wear them daily. And just remember:

Cougars at Costco

Costco is a place where it helps to go early in the day. It opens at 10 a.m. and it’s usually best to be there just about 5 after. Today was my day off and Carolyn and I decided to head on out to Costco to pick up some stuff and use a couple of coupons.

All the close in parking spots were taken and no one was leaving because it was only ten twenty and no one was coming out of the store shoving overflowing carts yet. But that’s OK. Sometimes you have to be patient.

One of our favorite meat items is boneless loin chops which just happen to have a $4.50 off coupon. That gets the price pretty reasonable so we were going to pick up a package. We moseyed through the store stopping at the display of toddler Easter dresses—just the thing to get a Grandpa’s attention and then we made a stop at the book section. Every once in a while I score a new paperback at the $5.59 Costco price instead of the $9.99 Barnes and Noble price.

We wandered toward the back. We needed eggs today and wanted to score the chops—especially since I had already promised a dinner of grilled chops in an orange/chipotle sauce with sweet potatoes. We got to the meat counter. I took a peak at the sirloin pork chops at $1.99 a pound. A lady stepped up next to me also looking at the sirloin chops.

I heard Carolyn call to me that she had found the loin chops and I turned to go to that cooler case and started rummaging through the plastic wrapped packages looking for just the perfect one. A few seconds went by and I heard, “Excuse me.” It was the lady who had been looking at the sirloin chops. She was holding the coupon in her hand. “Is this the right meat?” she asked.

“Sure it is,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said, “I was wondering because of the label.” She pointed to the Armour logo on the coupon.

“These are the right ones,” I repeated. “They’re really good. I’d rather have one of these than a steak.”

Another lady had stepped up to the other side of me. I was looking around a bit to try to spot my wife who had moved out of the way.

“You’re so right,” she quipped, trying to catch my eye, letting her arm brush against mine. “I used to fix these for my late husband all the time.”

By now there’s a third lady sticking her head and arm over my right shoulder brushing up against me ostensibly to get at the chops.

I looked side to side and slowly started to extricate myself from the now crowded case of loin chops. It wasn’t until I was back to my wife, who was laughing that I found out how oblivious I still am even at the advanced age of 59. It appears as though these ladies were more interested in my loins than in the chops.

“Didn’t you notice what those women were up to,” she asked.

“Well, no,” was my typically dunderheaded response.

“They were hitting on you like a bunch of groupies,” she informed me.

“Nawwww,” said I, ever Mr. Gallant, always the naïve innocent.

“Oh yeah. She knew about those chops and followed you over there,” Carolyn retorted.

“You mean they’re Cougars,” I asked? “And they think I’m a ‘Cub’?” I mentally and physically shivered and started to skulk out of the meat section, carrying my package of chops.

“But, they’re close to my Mom’s age,” I commented as we walked towards the eggs. I stopped to score a mini sample of pizza and looked back over my shoulder to see if any of my “groupies” were still around and following. A blob of sausage and sauce tumbled from the slice and onto my shirt. How’s that for debonair?

Hey, maybe Costco should hire me to do Cheap Bastid cooking demonstrations in their meat department? It could be Cheap Bastid cooking for one—or two if you get lucky.

But we managed to wend our way through the checkout, back to the car and head home. Wow, no one’s tried to pick me up in a long, long time. I mean, look at my picture. I’m nearly 60. I’m bald. I have gray hair and a white beard.

But apparently I’ve still got “it”. Whatever “it” is.

Cheap Bastids Sometimes You Can Be Just Too Damned Cheap

I knew this would happen sooner or later. For a couple of years now I have been reveling in cheapness; celebrating frugality; turning feats of parsimony into heroism. I have become a legend in my own mind.

All that came crashing down around me the other day.

It was a Saturday morning. A Saturday morning when I had to go to work for a 10 hour shift. I got done in the bathroom doing my usual “3-S’s” (guys will know what that is) got dressed and went to the kitchen to rummage around for breakfast. I opened the pantry and reached up to where I keep the cereal.

“Hmmmm,” I thought, “I’ll finish off the Faux O’s.” (For those uninitiated into the world of Cheap Bastid, “Faux O’s” are fake/storebrand Cheerios). I pulled out the Faux O’s along with “mega-bowl” from the cupboard and poured the cereal into the bowl. There was only about a third of a bowl’s worth. Now that would have filled up a normal sized bowl but not mine.

“Hmmmm,” I thought again. “What should I do now?” I looked back up into the pantry. Nothing in there but a box of Honey Bunches of Oats and Captain Crunch—both of which were bought on special recently at for $1.99. (I thought that in keeping with my Cheap Bastidliness that I should explain why I’ve got “namebrand” cereal in the pantry). “Naw,” I thought, “That won’t go with Faux O’s.”

So, I saw a stack of those individual little mini-boxes of cereal that we used to think were cool when we were kids. OK, we thought the packages that had Sugar Pops and Sugar Crisp were cool but Mom always bought the package that had the Corn Flakes and Special K rather than the good stuff. Seems like I always got stuck with the All-Bran.

Anyway, so I had a stack of about 8 of those little boxes that I get free every once in a while as a promo stuffed into the bag with my daily newspaper. “Why not,” I thought. So I looked at what I had. There was Honey Nut Cheerios and Multi-Grain Cheerios. “OK, we have a winner.”

I pulled down a box of Honey Nut, opened it and dumped it into my bowl. Still not enough—either they’re putting less into those little boxes or my bowl’s a lot bigger than I thought. So I pulled down a boxlet of Multi-Grain and dumped it in. Still a little meager but it’ll do. I poured on some milk, grabbed my big spoon and plunged in.

“Bleeeeeeech!” (think Snoopy giving his opinion to of a lousy supper to Charlie Brown).

It wasn’t like cardboard, it was more like eating a bowl of cellulose insulation. Soft, spongy with some honey taste to it. Really, really horrible stuff. I mixed up the bowl of cereal trying to make sure that the stuff from the big box was thoroughly incorporated with the stuff from the little boxes. Didn’t work. I ended up dumping half the bowl down the disposal.

I fished one of the boxlets out of the garbage can. Hmmmmm, yep there’s an expiration date. I adjusted my bifocals to read it easier.

October
2007
Damn.
And I thought this cereal would survive either the “big one” (SoCal earthquake) or nuclear armegeddon, but I guess not.

What’s the moral of this? Hell, I don’t know. Unless it’s sometimes a Cheap Bastid can out-cheap himself. But, there’s still a half dozen of those little boxes left. Hmmmmmmm.

It's Raining Kotex

I thought that at age 59 I’d be pretty much over this but I guess not. You see, three weeks ago my 21 year old step-daughter moved in with us. That’s no big deal. She works full-time and goes to college part-time. We’ve got a smallish 2 bedroom apartment and Carolyn has always kept her bedroom made up and she’s always spent at least one night a week here—usually on a night when she knows that I’m home and will be cooking.

But anyway, some things change just a bit when you’ve got another female in the house. Especially in the bathroom. Here’s an example:


Now, please notice that there are 11 bottles of “stuff” sitting on the tub plus a razor, puffy thing, jar of stuff, brush and 2 bars of soap—a white one and a green one. The green bar of Irish Spring is the only thing of mine in the whole damn tub! I use that to shower. I use it to wash my hair and, yep to clean my “rungi schmelli”.

That’s OK. It’s the price of being the only male in a 3 person household.

But, one thing I noticed the other day is that the already copious consumption of toilet paper has increased exponentially (even though Meg is gone most of the time). I mean, geesh, we bought a package of a dozen rolls 2 weeks ago and another dozen pack last week because it was on special. Now, that would have been enough to last me maybe a month or more.

But I had to break out a new roll the other day right in the middle of taking care of my “business” and it was the last roll in the vanity. So when I got done in the bathroom—making sure to put the new roll on in just exactly the position of paper over the top that my wife insists on rather than the more manly under the bottom—I first made a stop in the hallway linen closet to grab a few more rolls (no man wants to endure the ire of a spouse who has run out of toilet paper with no replacement rolls readily available—i.e. able to be grabbed without having to rise from the “throne”).

So, I made a “pit stop” at the linen closet. And 2 things happened. The first was that immediately upon opening the door, a package of Kotex high up in the closet shifted and rained about a dozen of the plastic wrapped packs of sanitary napkins on my head. Upon looking, I noticed that these were a different brand than that usually purchased by Carolyn at Costco. No, her’s were pushed on a different shelf.

The second thing I noticed was that what was 2 dozen rolls of toilet paper 2 weeks ago was now down to about a half dozen rolls. Geez, are these 2 going out tee-peeing while I’m at work or something?

So I loaded a few rolls in my hands and stacked them in the bottom of the vanity for the next time I have to go in and do a little “reading”. And then I picked up the dozen or so Kotex which had rained on my head when I opened the linen closet the first time.

I think we’ll get by, but it reminded me of the famous quote from Robert Frost in “The Death of the Hired Man”: “Home is that place where when you have to go there, they have to take you in...”

…Just as long as no one finds my stash of Irish Spring.

My Wife Sleeps With Lenny

Today’s my day off. And it’s really hot here in Vista, CA today. Try 99 degrees. Thank goodness we had some rain recently or there would definitely be some fires in this first real Santa Anna of the year.

But that’s not what I’m scribbling about today. My beautiful wife just brazenly went into the bedroom to sleep with another man. She does is pretty much every day whether I’m home or not. Sometimes I get just a bit jealous. Who’s she sleeping with? Here’s a hint:



Yep, she’s sleeping with Lenny. Now, I’m about 10 years older than my wife. But she’s got this thing for Lenny. Always has. It must have something to do with that basset hound look that he always had and that rumpled, 20 year out of style fashion sense of his.


She’s not into Green other than as the ideal partner for Lenny—she never did like Benjamin Bratt somehow finding him too far beneath Lenny and his street smart, “been there forever and seen everything” demeanor.


Now I do have to admit that she’ll also go to bed with Lupo and Bernard but mainly because they’re like little kids needing the adult supervision of “the Loo”. She called them “the scruffy guys” and loved it when S. Epatha Merkerson as “the Loo” told them to shave because the look “just doesn’t do anything for me”. She liked their chemistry and we actually kind of miss that the show got summarily cancelled just when it was getting pretty good again.



So, Carolyn goes and sleeps with Lenny just about every afternoon. I know that he’ll get her to take a snooze with his sarcasm and with the absolute sense that he’s going to “get his man”.

Don’t I get jealous? Maybe just a little. Except when it’s my day off. Then I might be in there with her before Lenny comes on (if you know what I mean).

And besides, I really get the impression that my wife isn’t the only one with a “Lenny Fetish”. She’s in there sleeping with him now. She always gets up from a nap feeling rested when she’s been sleeping with Lenny.

The DEA, Ebonics and Buckwheat--Whassup?

As Dave Barry used to say, “I’m not making this up.”

Seems like the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration is looking for a few good translators. 2,100 to be exact. These folks will be employed to transcribe wiretaps.

This is all according to a short article in my local newspaper on Sunday which was contained on the “Backpage” under “News of the Weird” with the headline “Professional Training Required”.

The short piece listed some of the openings for DEA’s Atlanta office which include 144 Spanish experts, 12 Vietnamese and 9 each for Korean, Farsi and Ebonics. Jeesh, I’m surprised that someone like Glen Beck hasn’t gotten hold of this one. Ebonics?

OK, so I know that DEA isn’t necessarily interested in my language skills which consist solely of having to wade through 3 years of French in college in order to get 2 years worth of credit—although I have sold 2 cars over the years to French speaking buyers using the fractured phrase “voulez-vous acheter c’et voiture?” (I think I spelled that right).

I actually remember more of the 1 year of Latin I took at Madison Junior High School in Tampa way back in 1965. “Tempus fugit” anyone? (Actually, if anyone’s interested, I can still recite “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” in Latin at the drop of a hat and can still give a rousing rendering of “Quadiamus Igatur” in “basso profundo”--but I’ve never come across it in a Karaoke version).

And unfortunately, the DEA isn’t interested in the other language my wife and I have been working to translate into a useable communications tool. We discovered the “Rosetta Stone” of it a while back and have been using it for a while to discover the nuances of pronunciation and grammar of this unique, spellbinding language from our childhood.



Yep, I’m talking about Buckwheat. Or, pronounced in the vernacular, “Buhweet”.

Carolyn and I can actually carry on something resembling a conversation in Buckwheat with only occasional pauses to figure out the vowel sounds and hard consonants and we find this to be quite an endearing language. Buckwheat was the most loveable of the characters in the “Little Rascals” with his wide-eyed innocence and grin.

People have been speaking in “Buhweet” for more than a half century. Virtually every adult has at one time or another invoked Buckwheat by making an “OK” sign with thumb and index finger and saying “Otay”. That’s the most famous “Buckwheatism”.


So, we often speak to one another in Buckwheat in our silly conversations at home about such “weighty” topics as what to have for dinner or what to watch on TV and sometimes our e-mails incorporate Buckwheat.

But alas, there is no demand for the language by the DEA and consequently it’s not likely to be embraced in the world of literature or journalism anytime soon.

But, just visualize in your own mind if you saw a Shakespearian actor, on a stage in the costume of a Roman Senator saying:

“Fwens, Rohmas, caweemen; wenme ya eah, I comma bawwy Teedar, naudu pwaiz im.”


Or, perhaps what you may wish to do is to look your spouse in the eye and tell her (like I often say to Carolyn):

“I wubbu!”

That’s because she’s “tree tines a mady”

Hair

For a long time I’ve thought that it was somewhat futile for me to make any big deal out of haircuts. I started just getting my head peeled with a #2 clipper at least 10 years ago. It’s just easy that way. It was 15 years ago that I let a stylist clip me in what she called a “Bruce Willis” and sell me some of what is now called “product”. Naw, that ain’t me.

So, I went and got peeled this morning. I’m at that age now where I’ve got more issues with hair growing out of my ears than on my head. And looking in the mirror last night I noticed that virtually without any warning that there were several maverick eyebrow hairs that had sprouted and were hanging over the lenses of my glasses. Where the hell do those come from?



Ear hair is fun though. Many is the time when I’ve been driving on a several hour roadtrip and I’ve had a contest. From which ear can I pluck the most follicles in one tug? Sometimes the left ear wins and sometimes the right ear wins. I tried it with my nostrils but that’s not a good idea at 75 miles an hour. For one thing popping clusters of nose hairs makes you really tear up. For another, it makes you sneeze. Not a good idea in SoCal freeway traffic. Yeah, business roadtrips can get that boring.

But it’s hot right now and it’s been about 5 weeks since I got a hair cut. It’s amazing how much cooler your head is when you’ve just gotten it peeled and you don’t have that fur around the sides and back warming you up. I mention the sides and back because I don’t have enough on top to qualify for anything except a worn out toothbrush.

Now, I have to go trim my beard so it matches—wonder what it’d look like if I just went down to a “goat”?

The Cheap Bastid Way to Eat Less and Lose Weight

Today's the 2nd day of the month and things are a bit slow at the car dealership. (Obviously, because I've got time to sit here and pound on the keys). I'm still totally unmotivated and burned out from my 4-days off last weekend where I actually ended up working all 4 days for a total of 11 days in a row.

Anyway, I just got to thinking about how Cheap Bastid really hasn't had much to say lately. Then it dawned on me that I've been trying to mend some of my ways and cut back just a bit on my eating because my 58 year old paunch doesn't seem to be going down.

So, let's review a couple of things that I've been doing lately to get things under control. I'll use last night's dinner as an example.

Last night I made "Greesh" (that's my self-annointed "grits and hash" concoction) from left over tri-tip (I made chimichurri tri-tip Sunday). I take and cut up left over meat and combine it with a couple of tomatoes, some bell pepper, onion, a jalapeno and some spices and then serve it over a bed of cheesey grits. It's goooooooood.

But, I thought to myself, "Self, let's try this a bit differently." so here's the things I tried differently last night to try to cut back just a bit:

1. Use smaller plates. We've got one set that are about an inch smaller in diameter than our others. The food fills the plate better and seems like more.

2. Only one serving. It was a full serving but I only did one.

3. Put your fork down on the plate after you take each bite.

4. Chew slower and thoroughly. Interesting, I could taste the food better. I got all the different flavors from the acid of the tomatoes to the cumin and chipotle I sprinkled on to the hint of chimichurri I used to marinade the tri-tip.

5. Take a drink after each bite. (You're supposed to take a sip of water but I'm a milk drinker and always have been--skim).

And that's pretty much it. I was full. Not bad. I could have eaten more--like seconds and felt pretty stuffed afterward. But it was OK. And we've got more left-overs for lunch than usual.

Oh, and I forgot one last thing that I did. I waited until my wife went to bed and then put a couple of Pop-Tarts in the toaster! That did the trick!



That's the Cheap Bastid Way: Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!

Dancing to the Old Man's Tune

Sometimes being the old guy at work makes me feel utterly ancient. The young guys can go out and party and manage to make it to work the next day--at least physically. I can't, don't and won't.

The young guys think they can do it all. Us old guys know our limits, which quite frankly are beyond what most of the young guys can do. Older guys know that there's more to it than just showing up. There's preparation for the day and taking care of closing up at the end of the day.

Well, here's a story that one of my colleagues passed on to me that illustrates this very point:

An old prospector shuffled into town leading a tired mule.

The old man headed straight for the only saloon to clear his parched throat.

He walked up and tied his mule to the hitch rail. As he stood there, brushing some of the dust from his face and clothes, a young gunslinger stepped out of the saloon with a gun in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

The young gunslinger looked at the old man and laughed saying, "Hey old man, have you ever danced?"

The old man looked up at the gunslinger and said, "No, I never did dance...never really wanted to."

A crowd had gathered as the gunslinger grinned and said, "Well, you old fool, you're gonna dance now," and started shooting at the old man's feet.

The old prospector--not wanting to get a toe blown off--started hopping around like a flea on a hot skillet. Everybody was laughing, fit to be tied.

When his las bullet had been fired, the young gunslinger, still laughing, holstered his gun and turned around to back into the saloon.

The old man turned to his pack mule, pulled out a double-barreled shotgun, and cocked both hammers.

The loud clicks carried clearly through the desert air.

The crowd stopped laughing immediately.

The young gunslinger heard the sounds too, and he turned around very slowly. The silence was almost deafening.

The crowd watched as the young gunman stared at the old timer and the large, gaping holes of those twin barrels.

The barrels of the shotgun never wavered in the old man's hands, as he quietly said, "Son, have you ever licked a mule's ass?"

The gunslinger swallowed hard and said, "No sir...but...I've always wanted to."

There are a few lessons here for us all:

Never be arrogant.

Don't waste ammunition.

Whiskey makes you think you're smarter than you are.

Always, always make sure you know who has the power.

Don't mess with old men, they didn't get old by being stupid.

WOW! A Busy Few Weeks for Cheap Bastid

Hey folks, it’s been a busy few weeks for the Cheap Bastid. All of a sudden my e-mail has been popping and my phone has been ringing. I feel like a rock star. Maybe there’s some interest out there in Cheap Bastid’s kind of cooking on a budget.

Here’s what’s been happening in my world:

First, I got a call from Bravo. They wanted to have me as a guest host and judge right there alongside Padma Lakshmi on Top Chef this next season. (Wouldn’t it be cool to get them to do an Elimination Challenge when the chefs have to go to the 99 Cent Only store and spend no more than $10 on a meal for a family of four). It’ll be the first episode and I get to inspect tattoos for family content and I’ll be translating Fabio’s English to English. “This is Top Chef not Top Puzzy!” Check out the publicity shot:


Then, I got a call from Gordon Ramsey from “Hell’s Kitchen”. He wants me to pinch hit for him whenever he goes into a meltdown. I’ll be the designated screamer and cusser so that Gordon can be “kinder and gentler” and show his “Alan Alda” side. So, I’ve been rehearsing screaming obscenities but substituting the word “bleep” for the bad words. Apparently that’s cheaper than having to pay a sound editor to insert all the bleeps electronically.


Damn, then Food Network called and wanted me on Iron Chef. Not as a challenger but as one of the Iron Chefs. It seems like Bobby Flay got the crap kicked out of him after he actually won a “Throwdown” and was going to be out of action for a few weeks. They didn’t necessarily want me to cook—just to stand around with my arms folded looking menacing.


And then I got invited to do a screentest where I would actually get to cook. It was for a pilot of a new sit-com that’s a take-off on Julie and Julia (now I thought they wanted to make it Julia and Jules but I was mistaken). I didn’t get the part because in the publicity “stills” I was considered to be too unattractive. Man, I don’t know what was wrong with those folks.

After that though, things got just a bit better. You know that Pres. Obama and Michelle have a garden at the White House, right? I got invited to do a bit of guest gardening with Michelle. That’s OK, but what they really wanted me to do was help rake and shovel the composted manure into the topsoil. They told me I was an acknowledged expert at shoveling that kind of shit. I guess they got the manure from the Republican caucus in the Senate.


And finally, I got selected to have my picture on the cover of “Food and Wine” magazine’s “Best New Chefs and Their Easiest Recipes” issue. I just wish that they had let me cook first because as soon as they saw my “Weiners Wellington” recipe they kicked me out but not before I swiped a “galley” cover of the original photo.

So, yeah it’s been a busy few weeks for Cheap Bastid. That’s why I keep repeating the mantra:

Eat Good. Eat Cheap. Be Grateful!

And I’m grateful that it’s April Fools Day!

...and a huge thank you to Mrs. CB for some terrific photo editing!

The Great Algona Easter Egg Hunt--Or, How to Piss Off the Mayor

When I first got into the Chamber of Commerce business I moved to the smallest city I’ve ever lived, Algona, Iowa, population 6000. I moved there in late March just in time to help with planning one of the more enjoyable events sponsored by the Chamber each year—the annual Easter Egg Hunt the day before Easter.

This particular event was conducted by a group within the Chamber called the Salesman’s Bureau. It was composed of sales people who spent most of their time away from home. It met monthly on a Saturday in order to get caught up with what was going on in town, enjoy a bit of camaraderie and plan a couple of events—the other main event this group did was a golf outing in the summer we dubbed the Herb Tarlek Open in honor of the salesman from WKRP Cincinnati.

We spent months working on the Easter Egg Hunt including lining up groups of Scouts to dye the 2000+ eggs we got donated from a couple of area farms, getting donated toys from some of our

local stores, making sure the local state park was reserved and otherwise just tying up details.

The date of the event started with a breakfast in the shelter at the park—eggs, sausage, biscuits and Bloody Marys. After breakfast we made sure that the areas for the egg hunting age groups were roped off and that an appropriate amount of eggs were placed in each. Prizes were laid out and extra eggs were put aside for us to make sure that kids who weren’t otherwise able to find an egg “found” one with a bit of help from one of us. What we really wanted to have happen was for the kids to have fun.

Cars started to arrive rapidly filling available parking and stretching down the gravel road leading into the park. We started to usher the kids to their areas broken down by age group. It just wouldn’t do for a toddler to be run over in a stampede of older kids so age segregation was strictly enforced. We also handed out paper bags to the many kids who arrived without Easter baskets to put their goodies. Now, as the rest of this story unfolds remember those 2 key items—stampede and paper bag.

People would come from literally all over our area—some as far as 20 miles for the Annual Easter Egg Hunt. It was heavily promoted on our local radio station for a couple of weeks ahead

of time. It wasn’t unusual to have 500 kids attend along with parents, grandparents, etc.

The hunt was set to begin at the stroke of 10 a.m. The Mayor of our small city would ceremoniously fire a gun (blank cartridge) to get the organized mayhem started.

Everything was in place. Using the P.A. system from a police car, the mayor was introduced and made a few introductory remarks. I was walking to the edge of the crowd after a last check of one of the search areas and handing out paper bags. I was down to my last paper bag.

The mayor held the starter’s pistol held overhead.

I was wondering what to do with the last bag.
The mayor started a countdown.

I held the bag up to my mouth.
The mayor’s countdown reached 5.

All the kids were poised in anticipation.
I blew into the bag and proceeded to slam it down into my other hand at the same instant the mayor’s count reached 3.

Looking up I immediately realized what I had done. The mayor’s face was frozen in a grimace at hearing the loud pop just as he said 3. The kids all started to surge forward even though many were unsure because the pop of a paper bag and of a blank from a starter’s pistol don’t quite sound the same.

It was literally like on TV when something happens and the action immediately goes into slow motion—and the word Noooooooooooooo reverberates. (Or more aptly when Ralphie is helping his Dad change the tire and the Dad knocks the hubcap with the lug nuts flying and Ralphie says “Oh fuuuuuudddgggeee”).

The kids bolted. The mayor jolted. He never fired off the gun. All the eggs got found. The kids had a great time. The rest of the Salesman’s Bureau laughed until they had to hold their sides. I was totally embarrassed at having done something so idiotic. And the Mayor never forgave me.

Have a wonderful Easter.

In 20 Seconds This Video Will Take Over Your Brain! "Whip Somebody's Ass"

Just for giggles and grins today.

OK, now that I have your attention, play this little 23 second video that my daughter sent me yesterday. It's so silly that it'll make you giggle out loud. Then you find that it's gotten in your brain and you'll be singing it all day long. You won't really know why. We all hear about "viral videos" that end up with a gajillion hits. Well this little thing is a viral video that will take hold in you brain. It's addictive!

The News is Goofy Today--Or Is My Mind Warped?

For some reason today, several short articles in my morning paper the, “North County Times” here in the northern reaches of San Diego County, caught my attention.

Maybe it’s my own interpretation or the fact that I wasn’t finished with my first cup of coffee yet, but some of this stuff is just plain goofy.

Here’s one:

“Port-a-Potty fire ‘suspicious’”
“A fire broke out in a lone port-a-potty at a construction site Tuesday night, and it’s far from certain it was a natural function. ‘It’s definitely suspicious,’ said Escondido fire Capt. Andre Paredes.”

To quote George Carlin: “Thank you Captain Obvious”.

Are we talking spontaneous combustion here? Or are we talking extremely toxic burritos which were eaten for lunch? Should we be humming “Smoking in the Boys Room”? Is there a “biffy burner” on the loose in North County? What a great name, by the way “The Biffy Burning Bandit”. Is the local TV news going to do a story on it complete with video? I’d love to see the perfectly coiffed news lady who gets tasked with that assignment, standing in front of the ashes, overemphasizing her vowels as she puts all the drama of a major catastrophe into the story.

Another new article on the paper’s Back Page which is a daily compendium of short and often odd pieces said this:

“Dickens’ dog collar fetches $11K”
“A dog collar that belonged to Charles Dickens has fetched $11,590 at a New York City auction.
The leather and brass collar is inscribed with Dickens’ name.”

Apparently, Dickens was, as the article said in its last sentence, “fond of dogs”.


Well damn, when I first saw the headline, I got the insane impression that Dickens had a fetish for wearing dog collars. Victorians were known for their closeted kinkiness and I was fully prepared to accept this about the author and was disappointed to learn that it was, indeed, a pooches collar and not a fashion accessory.

And last but certainly not least was this little tidbit under the heading of “Weird News”:

“Otter Mistaken for Snowmobiler”
This one really made me sit up and say, “Huh?”—well actually it was “WTF”??

“Greenville, Maine—State officials in Maine say witnesses who reported seeing a drowning snowmobiler on a lake were probably looking at an otter enjoying a snack.
On Thursday, three people reported seeing a snowmobiler wearing all black and a black helmet struggling in Moosehead Lake. Officials used an airboat and flew overhead on Thursday and Friday, but found no evidence that a person had gone through the ice.”
So, the upshot of this story is that rather than this:

They saw, this:

Maybe it’s because the “witnesses” had been out doing too much of this:

And to quote Dave Barry, “I’m not making this up!”