I Woke Up Feeling Old This Morning

Mrs. Linklater decided to consult the internet for some inspirational thoughts on aging. She's sliding down that slippery slope and her butt is starting to hurt.

Getting Old and Age Quotes and Proverbs

Sara Paddison, The Hidden Power of the Heart
You only hurt yourself when you're not expanding and growing. Many people can't stand the thought of aging, but it's the crystallized thought patterns and inflexible mind-sets that age people before their time. You can break through and challenge your crystallized patterns and mind-sets. That's what evolution and the expansion of love are really about.

MRS LINKLATER REPLIES:  Blah, blah, blah, crap, crap, crap!

Richard Needham
For the first half of your life, people tell you what you should do; for the second half, they tell you what you should have done.

Mrs. L:  Well, that perked me right up.

Andrew Carnegie
As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.

Mrs. L:  At my age that's like watching grass grow.

Heard in Arkansas
Age mellows some people; others it makes rotten.

Mrs. L:  Another sucky little saying.

Maurice Chevalier
Old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative.

Mrs. L:  What? I can think of a million alternatives.

Chinese proverb
Men grow old, pearls grow yellow, there is no cure for it.

Mrs. L:  Men and pearls, could swine be far behind?

Plato
The spiritual eyesight improves as the physical eyesight declines.

Mrs. L:  So I will be walking into things quoting from Kahlil Kibran? 

Tom Wilson
Wisdom doesn't necessarily come with age.
Sometimes age just shows up all by itself.

Mrs. L:  This one I understand.

San Banducci
Old age comes at a bad time.

Mrs. L:  I was just waxing my eyebrows.

Mignon McLaughlin
The time to begin most things is ten years ago.

Mrs. L: Nobody likes a perfectionist. Especially one named after a steak.

Leon Trotsky
Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man.

Mrs. L:  Finding out he's wearing a rug is one of the most unexpected things that can happen to a woman.

François de la Rochefoucauld
Intellectual blemishes, like facial ones, grow more prominent with age.

Mrs. L: Just what I need in my old age, more acne.

Edith Wharton
It spite of illness, in spite even of the archenemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in a small way.

Mrs. L:  The nice thing about getting older is that I can ignore this shit.

Diana Cooper
Age is an ugly thing, and it goes on getting worse.

Mrs. L:  Who the heck is Diana Cooper?

H. J. Byron, An Adage
The gardener's rule applies to youth and age:
When young "sow wild oats," but when old, grow sage.

Mrs. L:  <<SLAPPING KNEE>>  Get it?!!  Sage?!
I'm howling.

Bernard Baruch
To me, old age is always fifteen years older than I am.

Mrs. L:  Denial works for me too.

Mark Twain
Consider well the proportion of things. It is better to be a young June bug, than an old bird of paradise.

Mrs. L:  I'll pass on both of those.

James M. Barrie
Life is a long lesson in humility.

Mrs. L:  Your children will see to that.

Soren Kierkegaard
Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forewards.

Mrs. L:  You existentialists are all the same. Back is front.  Front is back.

Shakespeare, 2 Henry IV 3.4.283
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance.

Mrs. L: To use Viagra or not to use Viagra, that is the question.

François de la Rochefoucauld
Few people know how to be old.

Mrs. L:  It's on my to-do list.  Right after the hip surgery. 

Arabic proverb
God gives nuts to those with no teeth.

Mrs. L: Anything I say here will not be p.c.

Adolph Zukor, on approaching his hundredth birthday
If I'd known how old I was going to be I'd have taken better care of myself.

Mrs. L:  As someone who doesn't drink and never smoked, I can honestly say that doesn't work either.

Josh Billings
In youth we run into difficulties; in old age difficulties run into us.

Mrs. L:  Who moved the bathroom so far away?

Helen Rowland
The follies which a man regrets most in his life are those which he didn't commit when he had the opportunity.

Mrs. L:  Oh, she said "follies," not "felonies."

Mark Twain
The first half of life consists of the capacity to enjoy without the chance; the last half consists of the chance without the capacity.

Mrs. L: This sounds like a guy problem.

Henri Estienne
If youth knew; if age could.

Mrs. L:  Yes, these little nuggets of truth just piss me the hell off.

Arnold Glasow
Find an aim in life before you run out of ammunition.

Mrs. L:  Notice how all the guys make references to things failing, bad performances, and running out of ammo.  This may be the only time I don't mind being a woman.

Latin proverb
Never too old to learn.

Mrs. L:  That being old is as bad as you thought it would be.

Arthur Schopenhauer, Paregra und Paralipomena
A man must have grown old and lived long in order to see how short life is.

Mrs. L: When a great philosopher discovers the obvious, they put it in a book.

Pennsylvania Dutch proverb
We get too soon old and too late smart.

Mrs. L:  My cousin has this hanging on a wall at her house.  I have always hated it.

Malcolm Forbes, The Capitalist Handbook
By the time we've made it, we've had it.

Mrs. L:  My favorite memory of Malcolm is of him riding up on a Harley with Liz Taylor on the back.  They were both well past fifty.  And looked pretty stupid.

At twenty we worry about what others think of us; at forty we don't care about what others think of us; at sixty we discover they haven't been thinking about us at all.

Mrs. L:  At twenty I didn't care what others thought of me.  At forty, I didn't care what others thought of me.  At sixty I don't care what others think of me.  But I still read their comments.

Audio entry

So far I know how to leave audio entries that are 17 seconds long.  It's a start.  

Audio Entry Feedback

Everybody's a critic. Sheesh. Just because I did my first entry on my cell phone and I sound like I'm shrieking underwater is no reason to get fussy. 

People who know me say it doesn't sound like me.  And people who don't know me also think it doesn't sound like me, because they thought I would sound different somehow. Talk about lose-lose.

Most people aren't leaving comments. Thank you to those who have. No, these other jokers are calling me up and laughing at me instead.

Tell you what, I'm going to do it again, you know.  WHAT?!!  You think I would let a little criticism slow me down? 

Ha.

 

Audio entry

Cruise Out of Control

After his recent leaps onto the furniture of not one, but two different talk shows, Tom Cruise has been diagnosed as suffering from a manic phase of bipolar disorder. His rambling, incoherent babbling about the dazed and confused actress Katie Holmes has left his many fans shaking their heads.

However, since his association with the Church of Scientology does not permit him to acknowledge the existence of psychiatric problems -- "You don't know the history of psychiatry. I do!" -- he will continue to run around like a chicken with its head cut off until someone finally grabs him by the shoulders and says, "Yo, Tom, you're nuts." 

Sources have reported that Cruise recently climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower intending to impress Ms. Holmes by jumping off, but two gendarmes were able to wrestle him to the ground before the crazed action hero was able to execute his plan.

Quick thinking by his publicist turned a public relations nightmare into a charming and romantic proposal of marriage to Ms Holmes, which most assume is just another publicity stunt to promote his new movie, War of the Worlds, premiering tonight in LA. 

The indefatigable Cruise, whose extensive background in medicine allows him to prescribe vitamins and exercise to eradicate depression, anxiety, paranoia, schizophrenia, phobias, psychoses, neuroses, alcoholism, same sex attraction, and bad breath will soon launch his first line of chocolates. According to the marketing director for the tasty morsels, "Endorphins are nature's way of making you think you feel better than you do and there's nothing like chocolate to stimulate their production." 

This recent episode of mania should last only another two weeks or so, and then we can all get some rest.  Sheesh.

 

Serena Williams Is Too Chesty to Win Tennis Championships Anymore

I'm going to annoy a whole bunch of people, mostly women, with one of my theories today.  But, as usual, I don't care.

I'm watching the Wimbledon match between Serena Williams and some woman whose last name is Crayras or Craybas. Not a household word even in her own home.

Her total financial gain on the tour so far is under a million dollars and she's been a pro for ten years. Serena can make that much with one endorsement. "Miss" Craybas, as they say at Wimbledon, has already won the first set and was down 5-6 in the second set when she tied it all up and got to the tiebreaker a few minutes ago. 

It should be noted that she wasn't winning the points. Serena, or Miss S. Williams, was losing them, hitting out or into the net.

Uh-oh. Serena has lost the match. She hit the last ball into the net.

So let me get on with my theory, since it's about Serena.

Miss S. Williams, like her sister, Venus, is a former two-time Wimbledon champ. But she hasn't been playing well in recent months, even though she won the Australian this year. She's had injuries of course, but there have been times when something else seemed wrong, and, as it has turned out, there was something else.

She recently confessed to having trouble playing some matches because of a female problem. Many times, when she should have won, she couldn't, because she was playing with blinding menstrual migraines which appear the day before or the first day of a woman's period.

Some female athletes, like real people, aren't affected by their hormones very much. Or they can actually elevate their level of play. Others are victims of the craziness that estrogen fluctuations can cause. I am guessing that Serena fits into the latter category. Plus, I also think that the causes of her predicament, the migraines, losing matches she should win, etc., are an indication that part of her problem may birth control pills. She has female hormone problems.  And the pill is making them worse.The pill, no matter how low a dose they claim it is these days, can wreak havoc on certain women, starting with their personalities.

Take a woman who may already be volatile during her cycle. A hardcore PMS-er, for instance. Then add more hormones, the artificial kind, to the mix. Then get out of the way. Not only can you expect erratic moods, but you can count on erratic play in an athlete, since hormones can affect a susceptible player's game, physically as well as mentally, throwing off her timing, making her brain foggy, and affecting her vision with migraine headaches. Plus one more thing. And this may be the most important.

The pill makes your breasts larger. And today Serena was looking especially chesty out on the court. That whole ten pounds of potatoes in a five pound bag problem.   

The size of a woman's chest matters in sports. Just try swinging a golf club with a monster set. Look around. There are no superstar female athletes competing successfully with Playmate-sized boobs, especially in a sport that requires running and stamina. Not only do big breasts throw off your balance, but they can affect your breathing, make wearing a bra painful, and hurt like hell when you run.  

Serena was breathing like she had asthma on the court today. Was she out of shape or was her large chest the problem? She looked very slow and rarely came to the net. Out of shape or outasight chest? 

Maybe the real problem is that she's got a steady boyfriend and lost her focus. Or has she gone on the pill now that she has a steady boyfriend and the pill has caused her to lose her focus.

Is it the boyfriend or the pill? Chicken or the egg? Either way, I think the pill is causing her problems. If she gets off it, assuming she's actually ON it, I predict, smaller boobs, less erratic play, fewer or no menstrual migraines, and more championships. 

If she's not on the pill, she needs to lose at least twenty pounds.  That'll get her chest down. She's listed in some places at 140.  At her height 140 is very thin. Serena is muscular. She's at least 170.

Today marked her earliest exit in a grand slam match since she became a champion. She's too young to retire, but you never know. Martina Hingas had trouble with her feet because of bad shoes and had to retire.

Serena may have to give up her sport early, too. But not because of her shoes.  Because of her boobs. 

Patrick's Saturday Six Addendum

Mrs. Linklater was finally able to link to the question about what sign she was born under, from Patrick's Saturday Six [scroll down you'll find it.] 

She discovered she has a split personality, or a multiple personality, because all the attributes of the Ram AND the Dog fit her.

In the long run, who cares?  She just likes having something to occupy her time. You can click on the link below and have the thrill of a lifetime learning about yourself, too.

What Year Were You Born Under?

You Were Actually Born Under:
You're most comfortable inside your head - and often daydream the day away.
You have an artistic temperament that makes you seem creative to some, eccentric to others.
You avoid conflict at all costs, and you have a difficult time with relationships.
Attractive and with good manners, you tend to shine in social situations.

You are most compatible with a Pig or Rabbit.


You Should Have Been Born Under:
You are totally loyal, faithful, and honest.
However, you don't trust others to be as ethical as you are!
Straight forward and direct, you really aren't one for small talk.
You are a great listener - and an agreeable companion when you're in a good mood!

You are most compatible with a Tiger or Horse.

Mrs. Linklater Asks the Hard Questions

Mrs. Linklater Googled "Strange News" and discovered this fascinating AP story on the ABC website.


Woman carrying $47K in bra at airport sues

June 23, 2005 (BOSTON) — A Quincy woman who apparently stuffed $46,950 in cash in her bra before trying to board a plane to Texas for plastic surgery has sued a federal agency, demanding the return of her money.

MRS LINKLATER JUST STUFFED TWENTY-TWO DOLLARS IN HER BRA AND HAD TO MAKE CHANGE.

The money was seized from Ileana Valdez, 26, after a security check at a metal detector at Logan International Airport on Feb. 3.

WAIT JUST A DOUBLE D MINUTE!! HOW DID THE METAL DETECTOR DETECT PAPER MONEY? OR WAS SHE CARRYING THE 47K IN COINS?  

Valdez told authorities she was heading to Texas for plastic surgery on her buttocks and breasts. 

MRS. LINKLATER'S HEART GOES OUT TO TWENTY-SOMETHING WOMEN WHO HAVE TO GO TO TEXAS FOR ANYTHING IN THIS HEAT.

"I don't know why she was carrying it (the cash) in her bra," said Boston lawyer Tony V. Blaize, who filed the suit Wednesday in U.S. District Court in Boston on behalf of Valdez.

ONLY BUSTING OUT LAUGHING A COUPLE OF TIMES.

In her suit, Valdez said a male Drug Enforcement Administration agent told her she had a nice body and didn't need surgery and then seized the cash, claiming it was drug money.

THAT ONE SENTENCE PRETTY MUCH COVERS THE ENTIRE HANDBOOK ON SEXISM, SEXUAL MISCONDUCT, AND ETHNIC PROFILING.

Valdez, a single mother, saidin hersuit that she has no criminal record and earned the money by selling her Dorchester business and two parcels of property in Boston's Jamaica Plain section.

CAN A GIRL GET A BREAK HERE?

Anthony Pettigrew, a spokesman for the DEA in Boston, said he could not comment on the lawsuit.

WITH A STRAIGHT FACE.

But he said federal asset forfeiture laws allow agents to seize suspected drug profits

AND FEEL UP CERTAIN FEMALE PASSENGERS OF THE LATIN PERSUASION TO SEE IF THEY ARE CARRYING LARGE SUMS OF CASH.

Personally, Mrs. L feels that any woman who can stash the gross national product of a small nation in her bra ought to be singled out for an award.

AND NOW FOR HER HARDHITTING QUESTION:  WTF?

Parick's Saturday Six Wimbledon Edition

If you want to play, go to Other Journals and click on Patrick's Place.

1. Yesterday, I [PATRICK] linked to the journal "Mall Of America," a collection of photos from shopping malls of the 1960s and 1970s.  What store do you associate most with your childhood in terms of happy memories and why?  Is the store still around?

I've never thought that shopping for clothes was more fun than playing sports, so my favorite store from the past was The Toddle House. They served soft drinks and hot chocolate. And if you had enough money you could get a hamburger or a hotdog too. The one I loved was across the street from the skating rink where I spent every winter in junior high school. I think I was fascinated by it because it was actually a little house -- barely ten feet tall, ten feet wide and maybe twenty feet long. It looked like a playhouse that a rich family would build for their spoiled children. Only not quite as nice.

There were only eight seats at a counter. And their hot chocolate was just okay, but it tasted absolutely wonderful when your feet and hands were frozen.  And I could usually scrape up enough change to buy some after playing "pom pom keep away" for hours with the cute boys from the Catholic school. Hmmm, whatever happened to Tommy Joyce?  Amazingly the little building was still there last time I drove by, but it had changed hands many times, and I don't remember what it was called anymore.

2. What song makes you the most emotional and why?

What kinds of emotions are we talking about? You mean playing the same tune over and over and wallowing in your sadness over a lost love?  Like I'm going to confess to that.

On the other hand, Love Train and almost every other R and B tune can make me so happy I will get up and dance. Until Coors beer started using Love Train in their commercials.  That made me cry.

In general, music makes me happy.  I instantly get into a better mood when I hear one of my favorite tunes. Except when they use them in commercials. Asswipes. So I guess I'm bipolar when it comes to music.

3. Take the quiz:  What year were you born under, and what year should you have been born under?

Okay, I'm confused.  A short trip, I know. But I went back to Patrick's to click on TAKE THE QUIZ and have it send me someplace for a -- QUIZ, but there was no link.  So now I have to make sense of the question, which doesn't seem to make sense. What year was I born under? Like a rock or something?  You mean what sign was I born under? The zodiac thing or that Chinese habit of naming every year after a  goat or a horse or a dog? 

Hmm, nobody's answering.  So let me just say that I'm a Scorpio, I'm too lazy to look up my Chinese affiliation, and considering the ages of the people I hang out with, I was born twenty years too soon.  And leave it at that.

4. What time do you typically wake up each day?  What is the latest you're normally able to sleep?  How many hours of sleep do you get in an average night?

I wake up around six in the morning.  I hate to sleep later than 8:00. But I will laze around in bed until ten on the weekends.  I get about six hours sleep each night.

Now that I've revealed this, will someone with a clipboard ring my doorbell and want to spend the day observing me now?  

5. What frightens you the most about getting older?

That I will live a long time.  No thank you.

6. READER'S CHOICE QUESTION #56 from Debi:  If you found the house of your dreams, right price, then discovered that a murder or suicide had taken place in the house, would you still consider buying the house?

First of all, I would sense something was wrong in the house from the moment I stepped in it. It's happened before. I have never felt the actual presence of a ghost or anything, but I have felt that something was wrong.  So finding out that someone had died badly in the house would just confirm what I had already sensed. Usually it's just a bad hot water heater.  Or a crummy furnace.

In case you can't already tell, I definitely wouldn't buy a house where there had been a murder or a suicide. I have noticed that learning there was a natural death doesn't seem to cause the same bad vibe. Cosmic.

We're Here To Help

SI Swimsuit Model trying to demonstrate her figure faults

Well it's beach time. And the first thing any woman wants to do is hide her figure faults. Yep, nothing like putting on a bathing suit to keep everybody in the dark about all the ugly parts you've been hiding under your sweatshirts and stuffing into your jeans.

Thank goodness AOL has offered some solutions to women who don't have the perfect figure. And they put these helpful hints on the front page of the Welcome Screen. Better sit on something waterproof, these are gonna make you pee.

Imagine five beautiful models who supposedly have figure faults that need to be addressed. I should mention that these are faults which are not visible to the naked eye. Like high pitched noises only dogs can hear.   

HIDE YOUR FIGURE FLAWS
1. Minimize a Large Bust

Did I miss the memo on this one?  I coulda sworn I just saw a guy wearing a t-shirt that said MAXIMIZE Your Large Bust.  Did the surgeon general came out with a report saying that having a large bust was dangerous to your health?  The only person who might be in danger is some guy who has a heart attack from the thrill of it all.

2. Trim Down Your Thighs

Here use this teeny tiny piece of flower print material to discreetly distract people's eyes from the top inch of your thunderous legs. Then just let the rest of your cellulite hang out flapping in the breeze completely uncovered.  No one will notice. 

By the way, not only does the thigh model shown on AOL's Welcome Screen have an unacceptably Large Bust, which should have been fashionably eliminated, according to the directions in suggestion in No. 1, but if HER thighs need trimming down, Suzanne Somers is a rhinocerous. 

3. Flatten Belly Bulges

No belly bulges? What's a guy going to hang on to?  Now that you are carefully minimizing your boobs and your thighs are invisible, if you don't look at them, there's nothing but your bulges to help him gain a foothold. The fashionable AOL solution?  Wear black. A great beach color. Why didn't you think of this before? Take off all your clothes.  Then cover your large chest, enormous thighs, and multiple belly rolls in something dark and no one will notice.

4.  Hide Your Hips

Their suggestion? Draw attention away from your hippo hips up to your new, eensy weensy bust [see No. 1, if you haven't been paying attention].  You can do this by using flashing orange lights on your hooters and they'll never notice that YOU have hips that need more parking space than a tractor trailer. My suggestion for hiding those double wides on the beach?  Wear a raincoat.

5. Conceal a Big Butt

Well, at least they came out and called a fat ass a fat ass. But I love that AOL assures widebodied women that you can "de-emphasize your rear with a solid bottom and a patterned top."  Kinda like you can hide a '49 Packard under a tarp.  Sure, as long as it's a solid color everything will be completely invisible.

I hope that the next Welcome Screen has five suggestions for guys:
1. Minimize your man boobs
2. Grooming the hair on your back
3. Polish sausage or lead pipe?
4. Husky or just plain fat?
5. Speedos suck





 

THIS IS FUNNY DAMMIT

Winner of the First-ever National Press Club Award for Humor June 22, 2005

Breaking News

NO. 3 TERRORIST ACTUALLY NO. 9, BIN LADEN SAYS

Madman Unveils Organizational Chart in Latest Terror Tape
In a new terror tape broadcast today, al-Qaeda mastermind Osama bin Laden dismissed the importance of an al-Qaeda terrorist currently in U.S. custody, claiming that the terrorist, Abu Faraj al-Libbi, was not the No. 3 man in al-Qaeda but was actually only No. 9.

Mr. bin Laden took to the airwaves of the Arabic-language al-Jazeera network to downplay Mr. al-Libbi's capture, saying that the terrorist had been demoted from No. 3 to No. 9 last autumn and that his role in the international terror group was "largely administrative."

Using a PowerPoint presentation of al-Qaeda's organizational chart, the world's most wanted man offered viewers a rare glimpse into the structure of the highly secretive terror network.

According to the chart, Mr. al-Libbi had no terrorists of any consequence reporting to him and had been given the somewhat nebulous title of "community liaison."

"Furthermore, Abu Faraj al-Libbi no longer has an al-Qaeda expense account and does not get reimbursed for mileage," Mr. bin Laden said.

But in Washington, Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld questioned Mr. bin Laden's tepid appraisal of Mr. al-Libbi's importance, saying that if the captured terrorist was not in fact No. 3, he was "at least No. 5 or No. 6."

Supporting his position, Mr. Rumsfeld added, "We have credible intelligence indicating that Mr. al-Libbi was al-Qaeda's Employee of the Month in April."

You Knew It Would Happen

First came Yoga.  Then Pilates.



Now there's YOGALATES. Really.

At least that's the class being offered at one of Mrs. Linklater's health clubs.

Sheesh.  

Lazy, Self-Serving Journal Entry

Stolen during my travels around the community -- this little exercise.

Please leave a one word comment that you think best describes me.

It can only be one word.  No more.

Then copy and paste this into your journal so that I may leave a word about you.

Stolen by sistercdr from Secret Garden.

Then, I stole it from her journal, Sorting the Pieces.

Cute Baby Alert

Here's my niece, Annie, modeling her antique christening outfit. I think it used to be her great grandmother's wedding dress. Her aunt, Mrs Linklater, thinks she looks particularly fetching in that hat, don't you?  Annie was one of four kids getting baptized during a candlelight service on Easter Eve. They turned out all the lights and everybody had candles with little drip collars. No we didn't set the church on fire. But I got some wax on my skirt dammit. There was another baby who cried most of the time, but Annie seemed to enjoy it all, including the water stuff.  She even joined in the singing, clapping her hands and laughing.  Considering that most baptisms fall into the Excedrin headache category and most babies who are baptized treat the moment like they're being scalded, things went very well.

The church invited everyone at the service to a champagne reception afterward -- so Episcopalian of them -- but with lots of men in our party, we opted for several bottles of red wine at a steakhouse instead.  

Monday Morning Shoot on Tuesday

Scalzi's Monday Morning Photo Shoot is all about a picture of a gift that has sentimental value.  

Except that my gift, a Fuji digital camera, is in the shop, so I posted one of the pictures I've taken with it.

I love that little camera.  I used to travel with big SLR's and lots of film and lenses, until 9-11.  Then I had to start handcarrying my film through security and that got to be a pain. I couldn't put it in my luggage either because the x-rays were like kryptonite.  

But that little Fuji could take nice pics and it fits into my pocket.  Or it did until it got covered with juice when a can of cranapple exploded in my carryon bag.  Don't ask.

Anyway, here's a picture that good little camera took for me outside my friend's house in Bozeman, Montana last October.  I posted it once before but I just love the clouds.  And the feeling of space.  

Nothing more sentimental than a picture that reminds you of good times.  

And Now For Something Completely Different

After my dad vent I need to lighten up around here.  

Lots of sports today. It was a perfect day to play tennis all day, but I'd have to borrow someone else's body. Fourth of July is coming which means Wimbledon is too. Didn't watch NASCAR or F1. Guess Michelin's tires crapped out during the Grand Prix warm up and a bunch of cars had to drop out. Only five cars raced -- the ones with Bridgestones. And the fans got really pissed. Meanwhile, the Cubs got swept by the Yanks in New York.  The White Sox swept the Dodgers in Chicago. Take that you Northside wankers.

Tiger was threatening to do something at the Open, but didn't. Still it was fun to see him get close. Did anybody think that Jason Gore, who was in the hunt for the US Open title today could lose a few pounds? He seems like an amiable enough guy. But he's supposed to be a professional athlete. I think it behooves those guys to at least look the part. Or wear a lighter shirt so you can't see the sweat so much. Of course, one of the reasons I never took up golf is because I didn't consider a sport. I consider it a skill, like billiards.  If it doesn't make you breathe hard it's not a sport as far as I am concerned. Anyway, even though he looked like a couch potato [HE DID TOO] he seemed like he was having fun, grinning from ear to ear, like anybody ranked 818th who was lucky enough to be in second place for awhile. He sure was happy as hell to be there.

I was watching the Detroit - San Antonio game with my good girlfriend, who lives in San Diego -- do you ever do that, watch TV on the phone -- and she thinks Robert Horry is the best looking guy in the NBA.  I think Rick Fox is, but he may be retired now.  We talked about other things too.  I think.

My daughter in London called today.  She'd just been out for an eleven mile run. I could do eleven miles.  In a car. She and my other daughter are going to run in the Chicago Marathon this fall. The first time they've done a run together. I can't wait. It'll be my older daughter's first marathon. My younger daughter does them a lot.  I really do wish i lived closer to either one of them so I could help them prepare. Foot massages after their runs, healthy shakes, that sort of thing. Your feet get so full of knots after all that time on the road. They don't have treads, ya know. We discussed therapeutic massages and chiropractors, because the aches and pains are starting. And those are people I am very close to. My London daughter is as tall as I am, if not taller, so I reminded her that back problems come with the height. Not to mention long distance running, soccer, basketball, etc., etc.      

Probably the best thing I did for her today was to remind her that it was Father's Day, completely by accident.  I just assumed she'd called her dad. Both she and her boyfriend totally forgot. But I inadvertently saved the day. Mother's Day in London is a different day than here so you might expect them to forget.  But Father's Day is the same day.  So my ex got his phone call, thanks to me.  I didn't mean for that to happen, you know, doing something thoughtful for him.  Really.

Friday marked twenty-one straight days of work. So I was a vegetable these last two. I don't have to be at work until tomorrow afternoon. Can't wait to sleep in on a Monday. I think that could make Mondays bearable. Starting at noon. When I'm ruler of the universe. . .


                                     

My Father's Day

Rockefeller Chapel at the University of Chicago

My dad was a geek.  He went to high school when he was twelve. He didn't graduate. Instead he took the entrance exams for the University of Chicago when he was fifteen and scored in the top ten -- out of eight hundred prospective students.  So he skipped his last year of high school and went straight to college.

His family had lost everything in the crash of 1929, so he had to work his way through school. It took him ten years to get his undergraduate degree in pre-med. Luckily, he was able to go to medical school on the government's dime because the Army needed doctors during WWII and he qualified for their accelerated program.  He finished four years of medical school in just two years, because the program had him going to school eight hours a day.

Psychiatry was the medical profession du jour, so with my mother's encouragement, my dad went that route. He had been leaning toward OB-GYN, but she wanted him to have a nine to five job. Not one that got him up in the middle of the night all the time. So helping the mentally ill became the family business.

Ironically, as time passed it became apparent to me that he might be gifted in diagnosing pathology in disturbed people, but he didn't have a clue how to be a normal, loving, caring dad. Shrinks are focused on spotting crazy behavior. They can treat people who are victims of dysfunctional parents with therapy and drugs, but they have no idea how to be a good parent any more than anyone else.  

So, I don't have many warm fuzzy memories of time spent with my father.  Mostly I tried to avoid him.  That started pretty young. When I had a problem -- like when Tommy kept hitting me on the playground -- he would interpret it using Freudian jargon that just left me crosseyed. Instead of just acknowledging that the kid was a jerk, that he shouldn't be hitting me, that it must make me angry, and here's what to say to him -- I had to listen to how all the hitting I was being subjected to was just a sign that Tommy actually liked me.  What the fuck?  Talkabout teaching mixed messages to a small child. Love means getting punched out?

In a nutshell, my dad had no idea how to be a dad. He knew how to be a therapist, so he treated us like little patients. His training taught him to remain neutral and aloof. So I can count on one hand the number of times my father hugged me. Or said he loved me. Or gave me a kiss. He was standoffish and cold. His sense of humor was clever, but mean. And those were his good qualities. As he got older, he got weirder, making up stories about his life that just weren't true. It was then that I began to realize his patients' stories were becoming his stories. That's a whole 'nother tale.

He loved baseball, so I do have memories of watching many games with him on TV. At least I remember sitting there in the same room while he watched the game and shushed me. He never took me to the ballpark, though. Or played catch with me. Needless to say my interest in baseball was so great that I found other people to show me how to throw and catch. But I think, of all the games I've played over the years, he saw only two.

Racking my brain for good memories, I was reminded recently that Dad used to make up bedtime stories for me and my younger brother and sister when we were little. My brother called and left a message the other day that started out, "Hey, JoJo, this is Oddjodge. . ."  Those were our names in the stories he made up. My little sister was Midge Midge.

That's pretty much it for fond memories. Mostly my life with my father was confrontation, criticism and argument. As kids go, I was good and very obedient. Luckily I had a great mom. I was accomplished in many areas. i got good grades. And got accepted at good colleges. But it took me until I was 47 years old, after a major confrontation I'm not going to share, to finally realize it wasn't me who had a problem. He was nuts. What a relief to figure that out. All of a sudden his nasty remarks and general disdain couldn't affect me anymore. He no longer had that kind of power.

I wasn't the only one who noticed his behavior toward me. Before his death almost two years ago, my older daughter had cut off communication with him years before and still can't believe that I continued to spend time with him, considering his treatment of me. That's ironic since she has a similar relationship with her own father who, as you might expect, is a younger version of my dad.  I thought I'd married someone just the opposite. But I'd found a carbon copy wearing a disguise.

So this Father's Day I am one person who doesn't miss her dad.  In fact, I felt truly relieved this past week that I didn't have to find a gift that I wouldn't be thanked for or spend another Sunday meal enduring insults.  

Meanwhile, I have read some wonderful memories of other fathers by AOL journalers. It's nice to know that my experience is probably the exception and not the rule.

The good news is last Father's Day was the first one I ever noticed that I enjoyed. Today will be the second.  



   

Patrick's Saturday Six -- White Sox and Cubs Play Yankees and Dodgers Edition

US Cellular Field   Sox Park   New Comiskey

Every year around this time there is a renewed discussion about why Wrigley Field is filled to capacity when the Cubs can't buy a win, but Sox Park [The Cell, or New Comiskey -- not ComiNskey by the way] is only half full, even though this year they have the best record in baseball.

Here's the deal. WGN owns the Cubs. They have a SuperStation that reaches the whole country pretty much. When the Cubs are playing you know you can watch the game on WGN. Or listen to it on WGN-radio. Anywhere in the country. No matter where you are, you can always find the Cubs game.

Also Wrigley is smack dab in the middle of a hefty amount of neighborhood restaurants and bars, not to mention it's located where a huge chunk of young singles live. They even call the neighborhood Wrigleyville.  How's that for marketing?

I grew up on the southside of Chicago. Northsiders followed the Cubs. Southsiders followed the White Sox. After Bill Veeck died, the new owner of the White Sox had an attack of the stupids. He gave the local TV rights to an obscure cable channel, when no one had cable. So you couldn't find a White Sox game to save your life. That meant most Sox fans were SOL when it came to following their team. To this day I can't tell you what TV or radio station carries their games.

That was strike one. Also strike two. Strike three was when they took down Comiskey Park and all the neighborhood places around it.  So there was no place to go before or after, like there is in "Wrigleyville." "Cellular-ville" just doesn't have the same cache.

One ofthe local TV anchors here suggested that the White Sox take over part of the parking lot at The Cell and have southside restaurants pitch tents and bring the party to the park on game nights. Great idea. They haven't done it.

Actually, if you're a fan, The Cell is great for watching baseball. The hotdogs are better than Wrigley. You can leave your seat and still watch the game while you get food. There's a great promenade. And a place to cool off under an outdoor shower on a hot day -- hey it's fun. You can walk from the EL just like you can walk from the elevated at Wrigley. The stop for The Cell is actually closer than the one at Wrigley.

But when you leave your fan base to fend for themselves -- and they can't find the game on TV, and have to hunt for it on the radio, they start watching the other team, because they can find the game. That's how I became a Cubs fan, too. I'll never abandon the Sox. But they sure don't make it easy.

TIME FOR THE SIX

1. Do you do a yearly "spring cleaning" in your home?  If so, have you done this year's version, yet?

Have you ever heard of spring carpet bombing?

2. Have you ever been blindfolded and asked to identify which of two drinks is Pepsi or Coke?  If you haven't, do you think you could tell the difference?

I did the Pepsi/Coke test outside the building where I worked years ago.  Pepsi is sweeter.  I can tell every time.

3. You find out that you're going to have a child:  what baby names will you choose?

Something minority sounding.  Like a woman I know whose name is Juanita Dougherty. Her mother just liked the song "Juanita."  She is about as Hispanic as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But she gets the PC nod anyway.

So, I'd go with something like Enrique or Tanaka or Soonyi or Omeka. What? You have a problem with that? Do you know how hard it is to get your kid into college these days? Schools want diversity. And I'm plain whitebread with no crust. So you have to give your kids something to help them get an edge.  And my only option is to get creative with names.

You think it doesn't matter? I have a friend with the family name Euphemia. There was a St. Euphemia somewhere in the middle ages. So she could be Catholic. But she isn't. However, she is convinced that she got into law school because the admissions people thought she was a member of a minority thanks to her name.

Apparently the confusion has happened to her before. And when there's no ethnic box to check, people tend to make assumptions about your name. Rightly or wrongly. Might as well make it work for you.  

Relax, I couldn't have a baby now without divine intervention.  And even then it would take a miracle.

4. You must become one of the Brady Bunch kids for a single day:  which one would you choose to become and why?

Do I look like I watched the Brady Bunch?

5. Where are you going for summer vacation this year?

If I have time, I want to get to London to visit my younger daughter. And see how Camilla is settling in as Chuck's trophy wife.

6. What is the most religious thing you do on a day-to-day basis?

Every time I drive onthe Chicago freeways I get religion.

Marriage Proposals

Mrs. Linklater got to thinking about Tom Cruise's proposal to Katie Holmes on top of the Eiffel Tower the other night. Movie stars have a way of pre-empting all the good spots don't they? That got her to start reflecting on proposals she's received. Well, the ones she can talk about.

Probably the most interesting proposal -- of marriage -- occurred in a motor vehicle on the way to a Bears' game many years ago.

She was with a good friend she'd dated on and off for awhile. They'd met the old fashioned way -- in a bar. He thought she looked like Cher. [Remember this was awhile ago]  She thought he just looked hot. Plus he was very athletic.  

He was a teacher by profession. But his lifestyle was more vegetarian bodybuilder. Nothing like a big strong guy who lives on salads. A lifelong athlete, he had been all state in football and wrestling. He might have been all state in baseball, too, if he hadn't been benched by his coach for hitting a homerun, instead of bunting. No reason to play for that guy, so he quit.

All this time Mrs. Linklater thought he liked her for her willowy charms and witty mind, but it turns out he was more interested in her stats. Her throw to first. The power of her serve. Her bike speed. The stuff that really matters.

That day, somewhere on the road to Soldier Field, he got quiet and then, out of the blue, he asked, "If I paid you ten thousand dollars, would you have my baby?"

Mrs. Linklater, who normally can chat up a turnip, was momentarily stunned.  Have a child for money?  Be paid for carrying a baby? This was before surrogates made it possible to earn cash and prizes. She was aghast. But not stupid. So she replied, "Okay, but it would cost you $100,000 and you couldn't have it for a year because I nurse my babies."

Nice recovery Mrs. L. 

Actually she thought it was a rhetorical question.  No answer required.  So she gave a smartass answer, when she probably should have said, "Well, I'd like to be married first."

It wasn't until ten years later that she learned he really had wanted to get married.  He just had a funny way of asking. Or not asking. 

Mrs. Linklater didn't help matters either.  When he said he wasn't kidding -- he really wanted her to have his baby, she said, "I can't have any more kids."  She meant that she didn't want to have any more kids. Not that she couldn't actually physically have them. Not that she wasn't willing to discuss it, either, if marriage was on the table.

But none of those words came out of her mouth. Nor did she attempt to explain in any way what she really meant to say. Neither did he. So the subject was closed.  Until years later when he called out of the blue and they went to dinner.

"I was really sorry you couldn't have any more children," he said, now married and a father himself.

"What do you mean? I can still have kids," she said.

Silence.  And a look on his face Mrs. Linklater will never forget. Like when you bungee jump off a bridge and realize you totally miscalculated the distance.

Trying to help, but knowing she was way too late, Mrs. L said, "Next time if you want to get married, you might want to ask me the regular way."  

Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

 

 

 

 

 

100 Great Americans

I guess over the next few weeks, we're going to whittle down the bizarre Discovery Channel list of 100 great Americans to just one. 

I've decided everyone is going to vote for Muhammed Ali.  Not for Bill Gates. Not Eleanor Roosevelt. Not Ronald Reagan. Not Ellen DeGeneres. Dr. Phil.  Or even Oprah. By the way, could everyone who voted for a celebrity go out and lash themselves with a wet noodle?

But why Ali?  Wasn't he just a jock? Well, yes. And, no.

Ali because he has become the symbol of the American everyman. The potential in all of us. Heroic one day. A goat the next. Then heroic once again. Capacities we all have in common.  But he embodied them.

When he came on the scene everybody was drawn to him. He really was pretty. And he was the first athlete who knew how to market himself. Even now, for no obvious reason that I can think of, we all still like the guy.

Ali was the first crossover black person -- the first black guy white guys were willing to admit they wanted to be. In fact he was so tall, handsome, talented and charismatic as a young Olympic Gold Medalist that the whole country took notice and embraced him not as one of us, but as all of ours.

Invite him to dinner.  Sure.  Let him marry your daughter.  Sure.  He was black and didn't want to be white. And he shoved it in white peoples' faces. His hilarious banter with Howard Cosell and simple,  memorable poems only fed our interest in him. Bet you can still recite "Float like a butterfly. . ."

He was a fighter like we'd never seen. Smart. Funny. And he was good.

Even when he changed his "slave" name from Cassius Clay.  Even when he became a conscientious objector for his religious convictions. Even when his conversion to another religion seemed racist. We stuck by him.

Maybe, in retrospect, we embraced him because he bucked the system. Like a real American. We liked him so much that when he began to fight his battles with the government and the boxing powers, we took notice, for once, of what it meant to be black in this country and go up against The Man.

Everyone who fled to this country has been down that road in some way. Every immigrant. Every minority. Every woman. Every former commie pinko.

Taken to court for exercising his right as a conscientious objector, Ali's subsequent banishment from the ring denied all of us a chance to see him in his prime.  It all seemed unjust and the undercurrent of racism ran like a river of poison through it all.

But he went into exile like a man. And he came back and won his title again.  Lost it.  Won it again.  And as he resurrected his career from the ashes, he became a hero to the whole world.

How could you not admire the man for losing everything and getting it all back. So American. 

I think when the voting ends he could be standing alone, like the night he stood, hands shaking, and lit the Olympic flame at the top of the stadium in Salt Lake City. Who wasn't moved by that sight?

While I think Ali will win, I have a soft spot for Erma Bombeck, who, unfortunately didn't make the list. She was the quintessential American woman. Independent, self sufficient, confidant.  And funny as hell.

And while Ali is the guy I think the voters will pick, and Erma Bombeck is my personal choice, I'll take Thomas Jefferson from the 25 still on the list.  The guy embodied patriotism. Wrote the document that defined it. And while he was at it, he founded a country.  At 32. What have you done lately?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No More Sleepovers

Take away the King of Pop's overnight guest privileges with underage youths and you know what that means? The Nostril of Nausea is going to start molesting his own children.

You forgot about them didn't you?

 

 

Mrs. Linklater's 1200 calories more or less diet

Who needs Dr. Phil?

Four cokes @ 140 calories each. . . . . . . .560 Calories

1 bag o' regular strength Cheetos. . . . . . 360 Calories

1 box of Altoids @ 5 calories each. . . . . . 250 Calories 

 

Total:  1170 calories

 

 

This Will Make You Dizzy

Mrs. Linklater is in Dallas for work.  But she is staying with an old boyfriend [emphasis on "friend"] instead of the Hotel Za Za, because she no longer needs themed hotel rooms, restaurants that look like bordellos, and goodlooking guys running around in black t-shirts to make a production trip exciting. Hot tea, a little lemon, some Splenda and she's good to go.

Mrs. Linklater met the old boyfriend forty years ago. They were hooked up by a computer dating service that was only for college graduates. Yes there were computers back then.  And computer dating.  Mrs. Linklater thinks she might have been the very first recorded computer date in history, but she's not going to press it.

Last night the old boyfriend she is staying with, the one she met via computer in the last century, had a previous engagement.  It was a date with a woman who had invited him to a party, shortly before Mrs. Linklater invited herself to visit him during her trip. She is sure that this woman, who would like to make Mrs. Linklater's old boyfriend a new boyfriend, has no idea that Mrs. L, an old girlfriend, is hanging around the house. This fact was pointed out to the old boyfriend, who is now so old it doesn't matter to him.

Meanwhile, that left Mrs. Linklater with a space on her dance card. So she spent the evening with the old boyfriend's ex-wife who, as it turns out, has the same first name as Mrs. L, the ex-girlfriend. Along with the same hairdo and same hair color [L'Oreal Preference Golden Blond, if you must know]. They met years ago when the ex-wife was still married to the old boyfriend. She and Mrs. L, the ex-girlfriend, hit it off like sisters.  

Is this a heartwarming little story or what?  Meanwhile the old boyfriend wants Mrs. L to write about the wonderful meals he is preparing.  They taste good.

Okay, we're done here.

 

Scalzi's Weekend Assignment

Weekend Assignment #63: Recount a notable amusement park experience. No, it doesn't have to be about getting sick on that rollercoaster... although (heh) those usually are pretty good. It can be any sort of memorable moment: cute, scary, funny, nice, whatever.

Extra Credit: What's the scariest amusement park ride you've ever been on?

A notable amusement park experience, huh? How about working for the International Association of Amusement Parks for a year? My first job after graduating from college. I was the editorial assistant.  I put out the monthly newsletter and helped coordinate the yearly convention.  I should have collected combat pay.

At the convention, I could have used some napalm to keep these jokers at a distance.  "Hi, I'm the guy who invented the gismo on the goofy ride that makes the thingy go up and down and around so you feel like throwing up. Wanna have sex?"

I should have known. Within weeks of starting my job, I discovered that the executive director, who was married, was doing it with the assistant to his assistant, who was also married, and she was doing it with one of the board members, who was, of course, married, too.

These people made the freak show attractions seem normal. 

Extra credit -- scariest ride? I just remember that the word "Devil" was in the name. It turned and twisted, then shot up, around, and spun down so hard I snapped something my neck. Ow. Only regular roller coasters for me anymore. I also do well at the shooting gallery and the weight guessing place. Something about my height, they've never guessed me within twenty pounds. Ever. Since high school. I have always looked a lot lighter than I am. It must be the shoes.

 

 

 

 

Patrick's Saturday Six Down in Dallas Edition

1. When was the last time you looked your significant other in the eye and told him or her how much they mean to you?

I tell my children all the time.  They are the most significant others in my family.  And my girlfriends and I often say "Love you" when we hang up.

The OTHER significant others tend to wander in and out of my life depending on what medication I'm on.  [Tylenol PM is pretty strong you know.] The last one I said anything to that could pass for how much he meant to me -- in a good way -- was on the phone. 

Face to face I'm usually telling him how much he means to me in a bad way. Here's an excerpt from one heartfelt moment: "This is why I'll never get married again!! I hate these discussions." 

2. Which business do you have the longest continuous relationship with:  your bank, your auto insurance provider, your home telephone provider, your cellular phone provider, or your cable company?  How long have you been with them?

My bank, if you don't count being bought three times by other banks.  They just transferred me from one to another like I was on a bus.

3. What is the most embarrassing question you've ever been asked?

One of my girlfriends is two DAYS younger than I am.  She was watching me play a tennis match one day.  Afterward an acquaintance on another court came over and said, "Oh, is this your daughter?"  What are you?  BLIND?!!!  Okay, she's not ugly.  But geez, me neither.

4. You have the ability to snap your fingers and be instantly transported to one of three places whenever you wish to go there.  Which three places would you select as your destinations?

Hawaii.  London.  Quetico Provincial Forest.

5. Last week, the Reader's Choice question asked you to identify your favorite movie line.  Later this month, the American Film Institute will list the 100 Greatest Movie Lines of all time.  Which one do you expect to win?

"Go ahead, make my day." 

6. You are given the gift of an original oil painting by any famous artist.  What painting would you choose and why?

I know we're supposed to choose Rembrandt or somebody equally hoity toity, but I like children's art.  If I could, I would fill my house with paintings and sculpture done by kids.  

 

European Air Conditioning Sucks

A few years ago I worked in London for three weeks or so.  It was August.  The temperature was in the high eighties and it was very humid.  Historically, London tends to have temperatures more like San Francisco. The place already feels air conditioned most of the year. Or it did. They aren't used to escaping from oppressive heat the way we are here in Chicago. And it's been getting hotter over there.

The air conditioning in my fancy English hotel felt handcranked.  They tried to pump cool air to the rooms but they didn't get the memo about how to de-humidify it, so the air was cooler, but everything felt really really sticky. EEEWWWW. 

I was part of a team over in London for some focus groups. Everybody thought it was interesting that the facility we found advertised American Style Air Conditioning.  After a couple of days in our hotel, we couldn't wait to see if the ad was true.

To get to the venue out in the London suburbs, I was picked up by a limo. It was warm inside the car, so I asked the driver to turn up the -- what else -- air conditioning. He informed me that the car didn't have any. 

What? A brand new car without air conditioning? He said they rarely needed it.  I guess you just stiff upper lip it when it gets warm over there. Or ride with your nose out the window like a dog. Like I did.

Thank goodness, the air conditioning at the 400-year-old building housing the focus group facility was just as they advertised -- American style. In fact it was so cold, we actually asked them to warm it up a bit.

While we're on the subject, the London subway system ["The Underground" or "Tube"] isn't air conditioned either.

In recent years, with summer becoming more sultry, I can only imagine what riding in a crowded subway car must be like at the end of a very warm day.

It just so happens that one of my children lives there. So I have heard eyewitness reports about what it's like.

It is freaking hot.

What do you think riding in a closed box with dozens of other people in the summer heat might feel like?

My daughter just goes into the zen of traveling like she's in a third world country. Without the goats. How would you like to commute to and from your job that way? Last summer she said they had to evacuate the offices of her multinational company because the air conditioning couldn't handle the heat.    

I know I shouldn't throw stones. About ten years ago 700 people died in Chicago during one of the hottest summers we ever had here. I thought that was awful until I read that 11,000 people had died in France that same year. I thought it was a typo. London may have lame air conditioning, but France makes England look frosty during heat waves.

At least in Chicago they added dozens of cooling stations for people to escape from the heat.  And neighborhood checks to make sure the elderly had fans at least. Someone over THERE suggested that people who underwent the deprivations of World War II think Americans are just whiny.

My daughter, who embraces Europe, has said that the infrastructure -- the backbone of one's life -- is way behind the United States.  All those charming and beautiful historic cities we love to read about and visit have ancient wires and pipes. Air conditioning, electricity, and plumbing, things we take for granted here, are right out of the middle ages. Or the middle of the last century at least.

This summer is supposed to be one of the hottest ever here in Chicago.  We've had a record number of ninety degree days already. Very humid too. 

Hope somebody gets France a window fan.

The Morning Commute

A tanker full of ether just flipped over and exploded on the expressway I will be driving on in a few hours.

It's five o' something in the morning CDT.  I wonder what the backup on the highway will be like by 8:00 AM.

Might as well go back to bed.

UPDATE:  The Bad News -- I live in an urban area where tankers carrying ether can roll over and blow up.

The Good News -- I live in an urban area with trained professionals who know how to remove tankers carrying ether when they roll over and blow up -- before I have to drive on the same road.

All gone at 8:00 AM. Rush hour traffic as usual. Terrible. But not awful.

Bull Crap II

Email from my p.o.'d friend in LA --  

America spends almost 50% of the total global military expenditure, more than the next 32 countries combined. We command the most powerful army the world has ever seen, and we cannot (after two years) control the two mile stretch of road between Bagdad and the airport.

I guess the military reflects the leadership of the Commander in Chief.  

World military spending topped $1 trillion in 2004

Tue Jun 7, 2005 08:42 AM ET

By Peter Starck
STOCKHOLM (Reuters) - World military spending rose for a sixth year running in 2004, growing by 5 percent to $1.04 trillion on the back of "massive" U.S. budgetary allocations for its war on terror, a leading research institute said on Tuesday.

But world military expenditure was still 6 percent below all-time highs recorded in 1987-88 toward the end of the Cold War, Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) said in its annual yearbook.

With expenditure of $455 billion, the United States accounted for almost half the global figure, more than the combined total of the 32 next most powerful nations, said SIPRI, which is widely recognized for the reliability of its data.

In 2003, U.S. spending stood at $405 billion, SIPRI said. "The major determinant of the world trend in military expenditure is the change in the United States, with its 47 percent of the world total," the Swedish government-funded institute said.

Bull Crap

After averaging less than twenty wins a season since the dismantling of the dynasty in 1998, the Chicago Bulls amazingly got to the second round of the play-offs in 2005. Even after a pathetic 1-9 start. That's worth something to somebody don't you think? Like Scott Skiles, for instance, their coach, the first one who proved he could actually motivate the Bulls, or any NBA team for that matter, since Phil Jackson took his zen tech to LA.

But negotiations for Skiles' new contract have ended in a stalemate. Actually they've ended in acrimony and fingerpointing. This is more than a one hundred dollar misunderstanding. It's turning into a war. His agent is blaming the stingy Bulls. The Bulls are acting like they can't believe someone would want to be paid so much. Call it the Reinsdorf factor.

We've all seen the offer. There's plenty of dough there. I blame Skiles' pigheaded, unimaginative rep for the impasse. Whine whine whine. Fourteen mil guaranteed over three years wasn't enough to satisfy the greedy bastard.  Hey, your client hasn't won anything yet. Put some incentive clauses in there.  Make winning worth something. This deal can be done. Although, this may just be blackmail since Detroit may be needing someone soon. But Detroit is a veteran team who don't listen to anyone but themselves. And the Bulls are young and impressionable.

Sure, Skiles did everything anybody asked for, create NBA players out of raw meat, bring order to disorder, mold a team out of thin air. He didn't win the championship but nobody was even thinking about that until, holy cow, they made the play offs.

Skiles didn't win coach of the year, either, although he could have. Oh, hell, he should have. The amazing new kid, Ben "Air" Gordon, didn't win rookie of the year, although he definitely should have.  Sure, his old UConn teammate and good friend, Emeka Okefor, was in double figures all season long.  But for a losing team. Not too hard to look good when you're the only go to guy. And you play on an eastern team. Ooops. Have I implied there might be east coast media voting bias?  Why yes, I have.  Convince me otherwise.

Meanwhile, Gordon singlehandedly won games time after time with his double digit fourth quarter points and last second heroics throughout the season. Without him the Bulls don't go to the playoffs. With him they do. If that's not the rookie of the year, nothing is.

By way of compensation, Gordon is the first rookie ever to win the sixth man award. He was also one of two Bulls' rookies named to the all-rookie team, a first for any franchise. Okay, Skiles was instrumental in creating the envronment where they fluorished.

This is a good young team that can get better next year.  But now their coach, who still as a great future, and his agent, who is as manipulative as a hooker with a four hundred dollar habit, are playing hardball in the court of public opinion.  And in my opinion, as a Bulls' fan, it just stinks.

UPDATE:  Around the time I was writing this, Skiles was meeting directly with Bulls' owner Jerry Reinsdorf, without his agent to gum things up.  They agreed on $18 million.  Don't know the guarantee.  Don't know how many years. But it's done.

Apparently, it took all of fifteen minutes.   

 

 

Go with the Flo

Stop by Flo's place and read about her FTP space escapades with AOL.  Basically all her files in there are GONE.

She's being patient, trying to deal with the help-is-just-a-phone-call-away folks [in INDIA]. 

For starters, I think they want her to delete her screen name.  Hmmmm.

Instead of that, she wrote to Scalzi and Editor Joe for help. Good luck there, Flo.

It's an AOL f**k up.  No doubt about it.  We should have a name for these things, something to call it when AOL screws up and blames the snafu on US. 

While you're thinking up names, here's my thought. 

Last year, during the anniversary celebration, we talked about having a convention for AOL journalers.  It would have been scheduled for June or July this year, but the idea never seemed to get off the ground. Unless I missed a memo.

My thought is we all ought to fly up to AOL corporate and have a rally out in their front yard.  Do it this fall, say in September. With signage and music, the usual stuff you have at rallies. Armandt should speak. So should anybody else with a grievance. The networks should cover it. 

See if AOL will have a sit down with us.  Serve us some meals.  Make some promises.  Come to some agreements.  Fix their mistakes.  Apologize profusely. Give us some perks for all the aggravation they put us through.

Or just have a great party.  And leave the mess on their lawn.

 

Ask Permission or Apologize Later

I had to fly to another city to shoot video of a fundraising race, sponsored by the client of an ad agency I work with. It is a huge race with over 47,000 participants in a large east coast city. 

So to get the camera guys from place to place along the runners' route, I thought it would be helpful to have a golf cart I could drive. Sure, said the race organizers, but I would have to get permission from the city police and the park police to use the golf cart.

Ordering a cart was easy.  Only two phone calls and we found a supplier who was used to delivering and picking up carts from any venue. Two seats.  Four seats.  Top. Topless. Gas. Electric.  You name it.

Getting permission to use the golf cart was another matter entirely. The metro police and the park police turned out to be a pain. After several calls to the metro police, whoever answered said that wasn't their jurisdiction.Only the park police had to be notified.

After I spoke to several park officers who gave me phone numbers for other officers who gave me phone numbers for more officers, I finally got the number for the guy in charge, who never called me back. 

However, someone else did. She said that I was going to have to add the golf cart to the permit for the race. Which meant we had to go all the way back to the race organizers for their permission before we could get the permission from the park police.

So I went back to the race organizers to see if they would be willing to give me a copy of their event permit so the park police guy could add the golf cart to it, then sign it and give it back to whomever I had to give it back to.

But, unfortunately I couldn't get a call back from the race organizers to see if they would be willing to give us a copy of the permit so we could add the cart, etc., etc.

Hmmmm. Ask permission?  Or apologize later. 

Looks like later. So we went ahead and had the golf cart delivered to the race site on the day of the race. There were already dozens of other carts there, it should be noted. What difference was one more going to make?  But you never know.

The cart arrived on the back of a trailer. We rolled it down the ramp and drove it past at least ten metro police officers, who waved us through the barriers without even asking us who we were and what we were doing.  Of course, all the cameras and tripods probably helped. Although I think we could have been in clown suits and it wouldn't have mattered.

Once we were into the venue, i should have known that cameramen are never ones to leave well enough alone.

I had been told that no motorized vehicles were allowed out on the race course either. It would be very dangerous for the runners. Since I was driving the golf cart, I mentioned this to the cameraman.

But all he said to me was, "They didn't tell ME that."

So if you were one of the runners that saw a speeding golf cart heading toward you with a cameraman standing up, getting shots of people racing toward the finish line, that blond in the driver's seat wasn't me.

Nope.  Not me. 

Golf cart?  What golf cart?