Liar, Liar Lance on Fire

            In some way or another everybody uses drugs to enhance their performance. It is the American way. Nature has dealt mankind a cruel hand in a game where the deck is often is stacked against us. We have neither wings, fangs, feathers, claws nor fur to help us get by. Instead we use our ingenuity to manufacture substances (extra-natural to ourselves) which give that little extra “nudge” to level the playing field.

            Lance Armstrong went on Oprah Winfrey’s television show to tell the world he used performance enhancing drugs. Apparently, Oprah was the last one to know.

            Welcome to the rest of the world, Lance.

            Lance Armstrong lied, and cheated to get lots of money and he could not have done it without the help of some chemicals and a lot of postage stamps. Speaking of steroids, I have to dump all of my stock in yellow spandex now that Lance Armstrong and Hulk Hogan are retired.

            While I cannot condone what he did to his own reputation and the sport of bicycles it is not surprising to me what he did. We all put a little “something-something” in the tank to get up and over the hill. Let he who is in glass house cast the first stone.

             Caffeine is the most widely used drug in the world. There are many people who simply use it to get going in the morning. Even though getting out of bed is not like winning the Tour de France, for some it is a victory nonetheless. The beverage industry rakes in billions of dollars per year selling caffeine to the masses. I used to drink a horrible liquid called Jolt Cola when I was a kid. It was purported to have twice the caffeine as other soft drinks. It was the perfect fuel for acne riddled, pre-pubescent kids who needed to sustain long periods of attention deficit disorder.

            Alcohol is widely used by musicians, politicians, clergy, and just about anyone who drives. It was once outlawed by a constitutional amendment which lasted about as long as a New Year’s resolution to become more physically fit. Lots of people use and abuse alcohol for various reasons. Some folks need it to get by while others need it to get through all the verses of “Love Shack” on karaoke night. I am not naming any names but I hear that in the right doses it can help one become a better dancer. Maybe Brad Paisley was right.

            What about the “little blue pill” that keeps grandpa from rolling out of the bed at night? Or, what about the drug that is “ready when you are” to go sit in a bathtub in a country meadow with your significant other while gnats bite? If that is not the epitome of performance enhancing drugs, then I do not know what is. Mother Nature has a vested interest in men cashing in their reproductive chips. Thanks to these little wonder drugs we have guys who are way past their prime trolling the hallways of nursing homes like zombies with their hospital gowns on backward.

            So it goes.

            Lance Armstrong did what a lot of people do when they want to get ahead of everyone else. He cheated to win and got caught. For him the cost is much greater than the rest of us who are without fame and fortune and get to enjoy the occasional cup of coffee, cold beer, or roll-in-the-hay without much of anybody caring.

            All hope is not lost for Lance. Even though he is banned from professional cycling for the next nine-trillion years he can still pursue a professional athletic career in testing treadmills.

             I have to hand it to Lance. Coming clean took a lot of ball.

           

            

I Was Off Like a Prom Dress

            I was on the dance floor flapping my arms like a wounded bird.

            I looked around at all the other people who were doing the same thing. We looked like mental patients. I think everyone was having fun.  At least they were smiling. There were no spring chickens in the whole group. I am pretty sure everyone there was going through some sort of mid-life crisis.

            I did not care that I looked like an epileptic crack head. I was having a great time and knew I had to do something to make fodder for my column. Besides, I was in a whole different state surrounded by people who had no idea who I was.

            The bad thing is I cannot dance. There is a disconnect somewhere between my brain and my feet. I remember having dance lessons at the local recreation center back home when I was much younger. The instructor would do a move and I would only have to copy it. Simple, right?

            After only a few sessions, the instructor recommended I take art class.

            How did I end up in rural Oklahoma at a Czech dance hall in Garth Brooks’ hometown? Garth was probably just as puzzled as I was.

            My sister in law decided she was going to throw herself a prom for her birthday. The theme was “enchantment under the sea” like in the movie Back to the Future. I am not going to say how old she turned. 

            Someone once told me asking a woman’s age, or telling, it is rude and bad manners. I think she might take offense to having complete strangers knowing it was her fortieth.

             My lips are sealed.

            My wife was excited when she found out there would be a prom. She was finally going to get the thing she always wanted- having me step on her toes. When she and I were dating (in the Paleozoic Era) I opted not to go to my senior prom. That disappointed her. It was to be the first of many from me in the years to come.

            At that time I was “too cool” for that. I really did not feel like going through all the trouble of renting a tuxedo, making dinner reservations, and taking a shower. I felt it was all so superficial for an iconoclastic hipster like me. I was too busy being a non-conformist with all of the other non-conformists.

            After many years and three kids later, I saw this as a chance to rewrite history. So I took time off from work to go to the prom.

            I needed to rent a tuxedo. I have only worn a tuxedo on a handful of occasions and each time the tuxedo was over-sized  I looked like a shrunken James Bond without all the cool gadgets. Since my wife wore a black, “spicy” dress that made her look like Rita Hayworth I had to wear something comparable.

            Lucky for me they had a zoot suit that matched. A “zoot suit” is an over-sized suit that was very popular in the forties among the Latino set. Imagine my surprise when the guy was measuring my inseam for a suit that purposely does not fit!

            My tux was nice. The shoes were made for a dwarf. So, I ordered a new pair and the correct ones arrived without incident. My wife and I showed up at the party looking like Rita Hayworth and Al Capone.

            Everyone else wore retro clothing from the early 80’s. There were mullets and high-sprayed Aqua Net bangs everywhere. We were the only ones who went an additional forty years earlier. It was not so bad since the venue had not changed since the thirties.

            On the night, I only knocked my wife down one time. I think I may have done the moonwalk. I had come full circle. Of the things on the “woulda-coulda-shoulda” list I can cross off going to the prom. I did it. We had such a great time.

            In a hundred years when my progeny lay flowers on my grave, I hope this article explains my epitaph.

“Dance? Nay.”         

                        

Life's Journey

Great games like this only come along once and awhile.

I can't remember the last time I was emotionally moved to the extent that Journey has made me.

This game has simple controls, beautiful HD graphics (which are simple), and a musical score that is on par with Mozart's The Magic Flute.

What is it that makes this game so great and revolutionary?

Quite simply... life. I won't go into too much detail, because to do so would spoil the game and ruin the emotional aspect of the game. However, if you finish this game with dry eyes, then you have no soul.

Author's note: I would like to thank Austin Wintory (@awintory), Journey's composer, for being incredibly accessible to fans of this game and just a great guy!

...generation gap.

     I was shocked when my Juvenile Units, all three of them, bailed on me.

     I was so happy to see that Netflix had added this fine gem of a movie (Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band)  to their streaming library. It was one of my favorite's growing up as a kid. It has everything a kid could want: bright colors, great music, and corny special effects. Sadly, it had NOTHING of what critics wanted and was (and probably still is) regarded as a box office "flop". 

     Nevertheless, I wanted them to watch it and get the same nostalgic feeling I get when I see George Burns singing "Fixing A Hole". I was ready to share with them a piece of my history.

     What I got from them was the same revulsion as when I tried to make them watch "Xanadu". It turns out they were not at all interested in seeing Peter Frampton, the Bee Gees, or Steve Martin performing the Beatles' songs. They actually had the audacity to go downstairs and read books! 

     So, there I was. The cheese stands alone.

     I guess the younger generation will always have a distaste for the things their parents liked. 

    That's okay. 

    Twenty years from now, I'll have the last laugh when my grandchildren will be hiding in the bushes to keep from having to watch Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Clue.

I was making a joke about Col. Mustard on Facebook when it occurred to me that we don't have the game Clue here at our house. I used to play that game ad naseum and it's solely responsible for my career in law enforcement. It's a very basic "if-then" game of applying logic. I used to be pretty good at it. Especially when I peeked at the cards before putting them in the little envelope.
I would always wonder what crime took place in the mansion. Was it rape? Murder? Pirating DVDs? Either way it was up to me to pin it on one of the characters.
Mrs. White, Miss Scarlett, Mrs. Peacock, Mr. Green, Prof. Plum, and Col. Mustard were all guilty of something.
I would like to get this game to play with my kids but I'm afraid that updates to modernize the game may have ruined it. For example, instead of solving a crime you have to try and determine who is Miss Scarlett's "baby daddy". Or, perhaps charging one of the characters with a crime kicks off a very long, secondary game called "Due Process".
Regardless, it's way more funner than "Scrabble".

textbooks.

     I can't think of a better way to spend my hard earned money than to buy a textbook. They're so heavy and jam packed with such great information, I plan on giving them out as Christmas gifts. When I went back to school to get my master's degree I bristled with joy at the prospect of spending $300 dollars on a book about organizational structure. 

     Even though they instantly depreciate in value they still hold their value as a domestic chock block. I'm proud of my library of out-of-date, scholarly information that is stored in my shed collecting dust. I know the silverfish love it too! I'm certain that I'll need my COBALT Made Easy book from my computer programming course from the early 1990s. I regularly use my Principles of Child Psychology, 3rd Edition, to make the baby's booster seat a little taller at the table. 

     Recently, I bought my current textbook on Kindle. However, it's just not the same. It's WAAY too easy to press a button and go from strategic human resources management to 1001 awesomely great fart jokes. I hope, in spite of technological advances, overpriced textbooks stay around for a long time. At least, I hope they are still around when I publish mine...

no noise.

Listen.
Do you hear that? 
Silence.
If it's not golden, it certainly has a nice shiny color that attracts monkeys.
As I type this post it's quiet here except for the rhythmic tapping of my keyboard keys and gentle whirring of my computer fan.
My tympanic membranes are overly stimulated with music, people talking, kids screaming, cell phones ringing, and the list goes on.
It's nice when it all just suddenly vanishes and I can finally sit here with that tiny little voice in my head. It's the voice that says, "Does it make sense that your toothbrushes are less than a foot away from where everyone drops 'wolf-bait'?"
This must be what Buddha felt like when he was in his bodhi spot.
That is, until someone disturbed him by trying to rub his round belly for good luck. Still, it's nice to have a few moments just to sit in repose.
Ah, peace and quiet.

<Note: No sooner had I written this last sentence when my cell phone blasted an alert which scared the crap out of me!>