Paula Warhol

Bored? Me too. I found this neat little site that takes a photo and turns it into an ersatz Andy Warhol silkscreen.

So, who else but Paula? She's struggling over in Scotland at the Women's British Open [remember to call it the Men's British Open next year, OK?] so all those Google searchers, here's a little fresh idea for ya.

Since you little bastards account for a decent percentage of my blog hits, I'll keep running them out there for you. Oh, happy day.

By the way, the tournament is on ABC TV for an entire hour and a half today and Sunday. Like they couldn't spare the time. I guess there's a poker tournament or some X-Games crap they need to show us.

Criminy.

The Klotzbach and Gray Show

FORT COLLINS, Colorado - Hurricane researcher William Gray lowered his 2007 forecast slightly Friday, calling for 15 named storms. On May 31, Gray was calling for 17. Philip Klotzbach, a member of Gray’s team at Colorado State University said, "We've lowered our forecast from our May predictions because of slightly less favorable conditions in the tropical Atlantic.”
…and … because … it’s August. How about you wait until October and revise the number again?

And now, live from the beautiful campus of Colorado State University, it’s The Klotzbach and Gray show, starring Bill Gray and Phil Klotzbach. Tonight’s musical guest is Maroon 5!

May 31, 2007 Colorado State University:
KLOTZBACH: William, I’m home! It’s getting late. We should do that hurricane thingy.
GRAY: Allright! Let me finish my coffee.
KLOTZBACH: They’re going to want a number. Chevron called and they need an excuse to start raising oil prices.
GRAY: Let’s go with 17. I wore number 17 when I played Little League.
KLOTZBACH: Wow. That sounds like a lot. Are you sure?
GRAY: Sure? We’re meteorologists!
TOGETHER: Hahahahahahahaha!

Two months later, Bill and Phil are at it again:

August 1, 2007:
GRAY: Hey, Phil; you remember that number we threw out in May?
KLOTZBACH: The one where I said I could get 85 Tic Tacs in my mouth at once?
GRAY: No, jackass. The hurricane number.
KLOTZBACH: Oh, that one. I didn’t write it down.
GRAY: Well, I did. It was 17.
KLOTZBACH: Well, there’s only been, like … 3 … so I guess we’re going to be a little high.
GRAY: I was thinking we should change it.
KLOTZBACH: No kidding. But, aren’t we going to have to explain ourselves?

GRAY: We’ll say a bunch of technical stuff like “isobars” and “cumulonimbus.” They won’t know.
KLOTZBACH: How about this? Sea surface temperature anomalies have cooled across the tropical Atlantic in recent weeks, and there have been several significant dust outbreaks from Africa, signifying a generally stable air mass over the tropical Atlantic.
GRAY: Genius! You could sell a push-up bra to Dolly Parton!
KLOTZBACH: 15 it is!
TOGETHER: [pounding the table] Fif-teen! Fif-teen! Fif-teen! Fif-teen!
GRAY: Great. Now, write this one down. We’ll take another look around Labor Day.

And now, ladies and gentlemen; Maroon 5!

Something worth losing sleep over

August 1, 2007 (HealthDay News) – New research has found that more than 80 percent of American children who visit a doctor for help combating sleep problems are given some form of prescription medication, despite the fact that no sleeping pills are currently approved for use in kids. In terms of therapies prescribed, the researchers found that 7 percent of the patients were recommended diet and nutritional counseling, while 22 percent were offered behavioral therapy. Mental health and stress management treatment was offered to 17 percent of patients.

By contrast, 81 percent of the children and teens were prescribed some sort of medication for their sleep issues. Dr. Gregg Jacobs, an insomnia specialist with the Sleep Disorders Center at the University of Massachusetts Medical School in Worcester, Mass., said prescribing drugs often sidesteps the underlying causes of sleep trouble.
"Besides which, behavioral methods of treatment are extremely effective," added Jacobs. "So, why would you want to risk giving this medication to children, when they're probably not very effective and would be masking the real problem in any case? Sleeping pills should be a last resort. Children are in the golden years of sleep," he observed. "It's not normal for them to have sleep problems. So, if they do, then you know something's wrong. And medicating the child doesn't get to the heart of the problem. It's more important to figure out what's going on. Is it stress, caffeine or a problem in the home environment?"

Aw, c’mon doc; you know better than to think that Americans want to get to the real issue. We have diet pills for dogs, for Chrissakes. Take a Pill is going to replace E Pluribus Unum on the money soon.

We have a similar issue here that we had with the doggie diet pills yesterday. Classes of patients who have no control over their own destiny are being treated by people with no judgment. That’s a bad combination, and I wonder how long it will take before these sleeping pill babies develop some other malady? Things like this are perfect for predatory companies (like drug and tobacco companies) who rely on parents and pet owners who think they are doing the best thing for their loved ones. What they are really doing is taking the easy way out, which is always an easy sell, especially when you combine it with a dose of guilt and make it sound like you are taking care of something.

Screaming at the drug companies doesn’t help, because they figure that if they can get a child to start thinking that the answer is in a pill, then the adult marketing battle is over. The parents are already doped up and thinking that the answer is in drugs, so the kids are sitting ducks. By the time they’re 30, they’ll be taking cholesterol meds and diet pills because their diet stinks and they don’t get any exercise (and we don’t want to change that) and impotence meds because they don’t get enough sleep or exercise.

Think about the number of times you hear the phrase “quick and easy” in advertising. That’s the mantra of the drug companies.

Meanwhile, today’s children are doomed.

Too err is human

Believe it or not, both of these people are bipedal primates. The one on the right is Manuel Uribe, tipping the scales at 1,234 pounds, seen here at his home in 2006. He will be listed as the world's fattest man by the Guinness Book of Records. Another of life's great achievements. On the left is model Nina von C wearing underwear creations on the catwalk of the Bodylook fashion show within the IGEDO fashion fair.

Both were born of the same species, yet took vastly different paths in life to yield the results we see here. Nina von C. Even her name is skinny.

Strange, isn't it?

When I am in doubt about the fate of mankind, I turn to the animals. What I see is that, when left to their own fate, animals know what is best for them. The so-called domesticated animals - dogs and cats - are the ones who wind up fat and out of shape. The hand of man conspires to turn otherwise weight-conscious animals into blobs of fur that roll as fast as they can walk.

Ever see a fat squirrel? Me neither. They prefer to store their nuts rather than eat them. Squirrels don't order take-out from Chinese places at 9 at night or pull into the drive-thru at Wendy's after the bar closes because they're "open late". They don't eat table scraps and 50-pound bags of kibble. They get plenty of exercise dodging cars and climbing trees, too. Maybe we don't see the fat ones because they can't run fast enough to escape the mini-vans?

Now, just to prove that you have seen everything, this is the sign in front of the local veterinary clinic. That's right, there's a diet pill for dogs now. Fido's fat. Take a pill, just like his owner. (Pay no attention to the tiny cat and dog heads resting in the disembodied hand.)

So, there ya go. Check one more thing off the list of stuff you thought you'd never see. And, for the record, no ... this is not Kitty's Vet. Hurry ... sign Fido up ... he's getting fatter every day. If the pill doesn't work, I guess they can always staple his stomach shut.

I can't believe I haven't seen TV commercials for this:

Ask your dog if Slentrol is right for you. If he answers, maybe a fat dog isn't your biggest problem.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.

Mark Rothko - Orange and Yellow, 1956

I was up late on Monday night. I channel surfed onto this fascinating documentary on PBS on the life of one of my favorite artists, Mark Rothko. It's part of a series called Simon Schama's Power of Art. As it is with a lot of modern art, Rothko's work either grabs you immediately or it doesn't. In this format, the works do not have the impact that they do in the museum. This particular painting is 7 feet by 6 feet, and it is imposing - purposely. Stop by the East Building of the National Gallery in D.C. or the Guggenheim in New York for a stunning experience.

"I also hang the largest pictures so that they must be first encountered at close quarters, so that the first experience is to be within the picture. This may well give the key to the observer of the ideal relationship between himself and the rest of the pictures. I also hang the pictures low rather than high, and particularly in the case of the largest ones, often as close to the floor as is feasible, for that is the way they are painted."

One thing that reinforced my high opinion of Rothko and his art was a story that related to his work. In 1958, he was commissioned by The Four Seasons restaurant at the Seagram Building in New York, to paint a mural for display in the restaurant. He visited the restaurant with his wife, and after seeing the prices of the items on the menu and the opulent surroundings, ordered the paintings removed, and returned the $35,000 paid to him. "Anybody who will eat that kind of food for those kind of prices will never look at a painting of mine," he told his studio assistant. You gotta love a guy like that.

As with many great artists, he was a tortured soul. Mark Rothko was found on the morning of February 25, 1970; lying dead in a wine-dark sea of his own blood. He had cut very deep into his arms at the elbow, and the pool emanating from him on the floor of his studio measured 8 feet x 6 feet. That is, it was on the scale of his paintings. It was, to borrow the art critical language of the time, a colour field.

"The people who weep before my paintings are having the same religious experience I had when I painted them." - Mark Rothko.

Nothing spectacular to report.

It's probably a good thing. No, it's definitely a good thing that I don't have any fascinating stories from my night out to the Chris Cornell show at the Electric Factory last night. Other than the fact that Chris still has the best voice in rock, although it is often hard to prove, as fifteen hundred or so sing-along artists feel like it's necessary for me to hear their version of Black Hole Sun rather than Chris's. Umm, I think I'd rather hear Chris than your drunk ass. He dug deep into the songbook, doing old Soundgarden stuff, Audioslave and his own solo work, including songs from his new CD called Carry On. They didn't know the words to those songs, so Chris got to sing them himself.

Sadly, I found out that the Friday's at Logan Circle has no "Lost and Found" department. When I was there last month, I left my favorite Phillies cap at the bar. (It's the one I am wearing on one of my blog ID photos.) I suppose it wound up in a dumpster, as I was informed that they don't save things unless they are valuable, "like cell phones." Pardon me, but I got my last cell phone for free and that cap cost me twenty bucks. That'll teach me. Maybe.

Now, allow me another opportunity to rant about my least favorite group of people - the TV weather guessers. Our local crop consists mostly of Glen "Hurricane" Schwartz, Kathy Orr and Google search target Cecily Tynan. They each earn in one year what it takes me more than 10 years to earn, and if I did as bad a job as they do, I'd be one of the bums sleeping on Broad Street.

On Friday's 11 o'clock news, Glen told us that "Saturday morning would be the only decent part of the weekend." Saturday morning was decent (nice job, Glen), however the sun shone until sundown, when the early evening became decent as well.

Then, he told us that we could expect thunderstorms on Sunday afternoon and evening. I worried, because I would be on foot in the city, so I took extra taxi money and figured on meeting some nice folks from Uzbekistan and being introduced to new smells from around the world. I was in the city from 4pm until nearly midnight. It didn't rain a drop.

Sunday's forecast for today called for temperatures in the low to mid 80s. This morning, they were saying a high of 88. That's a ten percent difference. Real journalists and "newspeople" are held accountable for their stories and sources. These guys (and girls) act with impunity, and use vague terms like "isolated" and "scattered" because they really don't know if or when the rain is coming. Snow forecasts call for 1 to 6 inches. 1 to 6? Nice guess, Kepler. Honestly, we'd be better off with a wet stick and one of those barometers with the RAIN/CHANGE/FAIR dials. I can read, too.

I wouldn't mind so much if they didn't make such a big deal out of their fancy weather gizmos and pump up the weather part of the news so much. Cecily gets top billing, the forecast is hyped during the evening's programs and we're zoomed and whizzed around the screen with fly-by's and Storm Tracker junk. Meanwhile, they can't get the damned forecast right. Shouldn't that be the most important thing? Nope - It's all about the show, and like lots of other things, once TV gets involved, things get FUBAR.

Geez, I didn't think I had anything to blog about today.

Finally!

Natalie Gulbis survived a playoff against Jeong Jang to win the LPGA Evian Masters - her first ever win on the tour.

Q. What does this mean to you?

NATALIE GULBIS: What does it mean? How long do you have? This is my sixth year on Tour, and obviously the U.S. has been quite a bit of hype on if I would ever win a tournament. I was really close last year where I lost a playoff, and coincidently it was right after the match play. It was like déjà vu. There was a match play event in the United States. Lost in the first round. Worked really hard on my game. Came over here was hitting the ball well, and these two events I really wanted to play well in. I had been injured for a lot of the season and was way back on the money list, like 44th, maybe 50th. Probably the lowest I'd ever gotten to. Just tried to stay positive, so that means a lot, that the hard work has paid off. So many great people supporting me in the U.S. from the media to my team to my fans. It's great.

Nice going, Natalie. Now, there remains one hot shot who has yet to win on the tour. Michelle Wie finished this one tied for 69th at 16 over par. Maybe someday. Maybe not. Although, I'm sure she'll be trying to play with the men again soon.

What a lucky trophy. As for me, it's off to the Electric Factory to see (and hear) Chris Cornell. I'm figuring there's going to be a blog post in there somewhere.

Yahoo, summer's almost over

Yahoo's home page is running a little animation at the top of the screen. Kids and a dog running are around doing something that I can't quite figure out.

When I clicked on it (which was the idea of drawing attention to it I suppose) it opens up a screen touting some Back to School crap sponsored by Target, with shopping and games for freaks and weirdos who can't wait to go back to school. It's July 28, for Chrissakes. I guess they'd better get this out of the way so they can start pumping Christmas shopping the day after Labor Day.

I can hardly wait [that's sarcasm] for the day (before Hallowe'en) when I walk into the mall and see the festive Christmas lights and the Hallmark store display of tiny little ornaments and a rack full of Christmas cards. That will be followed shortly by news stories about how the merchants are whining about the horrible Christmas shopping season that used to start the day after Thanksgiving.

Meanwhile, it's 90 degrees and we're pumping backpacks, lunch boxes and calculators. Merchandising has taken control of our lives, and we seem to like it.

I'm Simpsonized!

This is supposed to be me if I were a character in The Simpsons. Go to their site, find a photo of yourself and upload it. It takes a little while, but maybe you'll enjoy it. You can even add your cat or dog.

Sometimes, there just ain't nothin'

And to prove it, here's a fascinating little anecdote about my day today.

I had lunch at this little pizza/sandwich shop in Glassboro that has great salads, too. I had my eye on the Antipasto salad, since I love anything that is "anti" anything else. There were two sizes - small and large. Since they are subjective terms, I had to ask, "How big is the small?", which I realize sounds odd, but I wasn't being graded on it, I was merely trying to order lunch.

The reply: "It's big. You can't finish the large." At that point, he made it clear to me that I should order the small. Small it is. I didn't finish it. It was like someone filled a trash can lid with salad and said, "This is small."

It struck me as odd that they would have something on the menu that you couldn't finish. Why have 'large' when 'small' is large? They should have made the 'small' a 'medium', and made a real 'small'. The whole process made me curious about the size of the 'large'. I'm not going back.

Meanwhile, the Tour de France (pronounced Tour day France) is returning to its formerly held status as a minor sporting event. After Lance Armstrong brought the bike race to its highest status a few years ago, the current crop of jackasses are proving that what goes up must come down. The French may hate Lance and all he represents, but if it weren't for him, their little bike race would have stayed little. Now, they are throwing riders out so fast that the only major competition left is whether the race will finish before they throw everyone out. Mercifully, it will be over on Sunday. As a rider, I am completely disgusted, but as a cynical sports fan, I am not at all surprised.

And this is exactly why my TV stays off until the evening. It's Morgan Pressel hanging out with some joker on the CBS Morning Show. The host clearly has no clue who she is or perhaps even who he is, but he trudges on. And, that's right, he said, "...she has a crazy impressive list of accomplishments." Crazy impressive. Who are these people and why are they on television? I love 'ya Morgan, but you're hanging around with some real clowns.

Ugh.

When Worlds Collide

There’s an old axiom in sports that says, "if you notice the referee, he’s doing a bad job". You don’t get any more notice than Tim Donaghy is getting these days, and his shadow is falling over referees and umpires in every sport regardless of their innocence. This particular shadow is being cast through allegations that he participated in fixing games and has ties with organized crime, as opposed to unorganized crime which, by virtue of its name, acts randomly and with no governing body.
Tim, it seems, has a gambling problem. That’s a coincidence, because professional sports has a bit of a gambling problem too. Some enterprises, like horse racing, owe almost all of their popularity to gambling. How many people would show up to watch horses run in a circle if they couldn’t bet on who would win? I’m not even sure you could get horses to watch.

Sports will turn its back on gambling until it becomes an issue. Then, they are mortified and seek to discipline the people involved. It’s sort of like a guy who eats a lot of pie. When the pie habit gives him a disease, he blames the pie. Sports has a gambling problem, and it’s hard to blame the people when the leagues area feeding them the pie.

Point spreads are published in newspapers every day for every major sport. The NFL issues an injury report every Thursday to let the public know whether key players are going to play or not. Television devotes huge blocks of time to what are called Tout Services, where supposed experts tell you who to bet on every week. The NCAA championship basketball tournament (called March Madness for a reason) openly promotes bracket pools. Broadcasters routinely ask their viewers to “check your brackets” so often that the word 'bracket' becomes annoying through repetition.

Last year, about $100 million was wagered legally on the Super Bowl (America’s biggest secular holiday), which owes at least part of its popularity to gambling. Then, there’s the phenomenon of Fantasy Sports. If there is money involved, that’s gambling too, folks. And of course, there is Las Vegas, where you can bet on just about any sporting event – even soccer.
That isn’t to say that if we changed our attitude on gambling that it would go away, because it won’t. It’s human nature to want to gamble.

It might, however, serve the professional sports leagues well to acknowledge the fact that they are at least partially responsible for feeding the problem. They like to promote gambling when it serves their purpose, and then act stunned when gambling creeps into the contests.
It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em -- Outside.

Governor Rod Blagojevich signed legislation Monday making Illinois the latest state to ban smoking in public places — including bars, restaurants and work places. The law goes into effect January 1, 2008. And now, two idiots speak their (alleged) minds:

"I feel like it's the Nazi regime coming in here, talking away all of our rights", said Tim Main, as he cleaned up Mike's Ten-Pin Lounge in Alton. "First they make it so you have to wear seat belts, and now they want to put a stop to smoking. What's next?"
Chicago carpenter Rob Nelson saw a chilly future. "It looks like I'll be spending a lot of time outside," he said.

Here's an idea: Quit smoking. Oh, that's right, you can't because you're weak and addicted. The alternative is that you won't blow your foul-smelling junk in my face and make my clothes smell like the inside of your lungs when I get home from a night out. What a pleasure it was to go out last Saturday night and return home without the disgusting stench of stale smoke. In New Jersey, the only public place where one can smoke is a casino floor - and we all know why. I don't feel the least bit of sympathy for the smokers who huddle around the doorway in the winter puffing away. Keep smoking. Soon, there will be more room for the rest of us. It's tobacco-induced Natural Selection. I know, we're all going to die of something, right? So, you may as well take the guesswork out of it.

And stop throwing your Goddamned butts out of your car window. I'd like to light it up and toss it back in. They don't disintegrate on impact, you know.

Legislation makes it harder on smokers, but the constant refrain is "they're taking away our rights". I don't hear too many of them say, "I guess I'll have to quit now", which would make sense. They keep smoking and keep complaining. It seems to me that the best way to stop complaining is to stop smoking. They must enjoy the complaining as much as they enjoy the smoking.

They do enjoy it, right? They must, for all the sacrifices they make - including their health. It sure looks like fun. There's nothing I would enjoy more on a 90-degree day than to hold a burning ember 3 inches from my face. Woo-hoo! And, why stay inside and hang with your friends in a climate controlled room when you can stand outside in rain, cold, heat and snow? For nearly six bucks a pack, they're surely getting their money's worth.

Since our government is full of tobacco-lobbied pussies, they will never ban cigarettes, so the next best thing is to restrict the smoking to the privacy of your own home. I suppose that's a compromise to the rest of the world, but if they are really interested in getting people to quit (rather than paying it the lip service that they do), then they would do the right thing and ban cigarettes. Whenever government is powerless to fight for our best interests, they make a law to turn people into criminals for doing something that they shouldn't be allowed to do in the first place.

Ask yourself, if cigarettes were a brand new product up for approval by the Food and Drug Administration, would they be allowed to be produced?

Strange days have found us

"Wow! I never thought Dwight would go postal. It's always the person you least expect and I always thought Dwight would go postal."

- Michael Scott, The Office (deleted scene from "Conflict Resolution")

Sure, it's always the person you'd least expect, unless it's the most obvious one. In pro sports, the most obvious people are the ones who are the lowest-paid. Referees and umpires. Athletes make too much money to be worthwhile targets for gamblers who want to fix games. They can't pay them enough. Worse yet are referees with gambling problems, and Tim Donaghy is one of those. The last thing we heard about Tim was that he was getting death threats and was threatening to go to the FBI with names of other refs and/or players who may also be involved in the point-shaving effort. Expect Tim to be the next member of the Witness Protection Program.

Meanwhile, the Commissioner of the National Football League, Roger Goodell, has ordered Michael Vick not to report to the Falcons' training camp pending the completion of his indictment. It's tough to be a sports fan these days. I think it's 12 players on the Bengals roster that have been in trouble with the law, Pacman Jones (the name speaks for itself), Barry Bonds, Rick Toccett, Floyd Landis ... the list goes on and on. It's strange because we are paying these mesomorphs more money than ever, yet they continue to find new and different ways to spend the money.

Either they are so bored with life as a professional athlete or they are mentally deranged - or both, since it seems as though the thrill of the game is not enough for them to fulfill their competitive desires. They feel the need to involve animals, illegal gambling, drugs and gunplay to satisfy their urges.

Fortunately for me, I have a cynical viewpoint of pro athletes and, thanks to my father's infinite wisdom, I treat everyone the same regardless of their station in life. As a result, I am disappointed by the actions of my sports icons, but not surprised. Even though they earn more money in one year than I will during most of my life, that does not predispose them from acting like either children or asses - or both - and in the meantime, they make the front page of the newspaper because we have placed them on a pedestal. The pedestal, we have found, has a false bottom. It's hard to find a historic point in sports that has a worse overall public relations problem than right now. The bigger problem is that it gets worse every week.

None of us will look at pro sports the same way again. The integrity of the games have been sacrificed and the participants have been exposed.

Strange days have found us.

Strange days have tracked us down.

They're going to destroy

our casual joys.

We shall go on playing,

or find a new town.

- Jim Morrison

I think it may be time to find a new town.

All this nonsense has pushed to the back burner the fact that Drew Carey is replacing Bob Barker as host of "The Price is Right".

Strange Days, indeed.

Hold your breath while you're in Manhattan

NEW YORK - New York City officials assured worried residents, workers and visitors Thursday that the air was safe and free of asbestos a day after a steam pipe explosion rocked Midtown Manhattan. "Every single test we did of the air showed there is no asbestos in the air," Mayor Michael Bloomberg said.

Whew. That's a relief. Of course, if they had tested the air and found asbestos (or some other contaminant) they would be honest with the residents, thereby creating a mild panic and leaving the city liable for medical costs and possibly open to a lawsuit. So, of course the air is safe. They wouldn't lie, would they?

So, it's a good thing that New York got their restaurants to stop using trans fats, because that stuff will kill you.

"The building started shaking. There was steam and smoke billowing out of the ground ... Everybody panicked. You know what it's like now. We grabbed our stuff and ran."
—Bryan Kohler, an accountant who works from a seventh-floor office on Third Ave.

"People were running and screaming down the street. We didn't know what happened ... It was like a volcano."
—Evan Peterson works at 44th St. and Lexington Ave.

Volcanoes and smoke coming from under the street. I'm sure everything is fine. Take a deep breath and relax.
For a while.

Oh boy.

WASHINGTON - Vice President Dick Cheney is assuming the powers of the presidency for the second time in five years while President Bush undergoes a medical procedure. Bush planned to hand over authority to Cheney on Saturday before the president goes under anesthesia to receive a routine colonoscopy — a test to look for potential cancer.

I'm a little pressed for time this morning, so maybe you're better off making your own jokes. Here are the circumstances:

1 - A president who bears a striking resemblance to a pertinent body part.

2 - An equally (or perhaps moreso) striking resemblance to the Vice President.

3 - A doctor with his finger up Bush's ass.

4 - Cheney in the Oval Office.

5 - Names like Bush and Dick are involved.

Ready?

Go.

Vancouver - more than just hockey.

VANCOUVER, British Columbia (Reuters) - Officials in a rural valley in British Columbia hope that keeping out cellphones will help attract residents and tourists who want to escape to the quiet of nature. "The fact that we're without cellphone service means that we're able to enjoy life without the incessant sound of ringtones, immediately followed by someone's shouted conversation," Bill Roberts of the Slocan Valley Economic Development Commission said on Friday.

It sounds like I may have found my eventual retirement community, and it sounds like Bill Roberts has his finger squarely on the pulse.

I keep waiting for the backlash, but instead we embrace new technology and even go so far as to stand in line for hours so that we can buy things that eventually make our lives more costly and complicated. The ones I really don't understand are those damned Nextel Walkie-Talkies. If I hear one more of those chirps, I may not be responsible for my actions. Who was the genius that figured out that people want to hear conversations played like a radio? A few months ago, I was on the treadmill at the gym next to a guy whose phone rang six times in a half hour, and each time it was some stupid conversation about work - chirp - chirp - chirp. I finally had to move to another treadmill, but I could hear it from twenty feet away. You know how your senses pick up annoying things even though you try not to pay attention ...?

And don't even ask me why people need to speak so loudly when they are on the cell phone. Or why they need to take them to the gym. There must be a name for the psychological condition where people require noise and disturbance every waking second. I cherish the solitude of the bike or quiet lunches without disturbance, but we can't control the neighbor's ringtones.

My supervisor leaves his cell phone on his desk, and it loudly plays the world's most ridiculous song, which is followed by another noise notifying him that he missed a call. Here's an idea: Turn the ringer down. If you aren't at your desk, you won't hear it no matter how loud it is, and if you are, then it doesn't need to be loud to begin with. I'm thisclose to writing a memo to Human Resources asking them to issue a company policy about the vibrate mode on cell phones.

A group of residents in the valley in south-eastern British Columbia have asked telephone company Telus Corp. not to build a planned cellphone tower in New Denver, a one-time mining boomtown that is now home to about 600 people.

601 - real soon.

A brief glimpse into my personal Hell.

I used to have a neighbor, who, upon seeing the newspaper delivery on the roof of his house one day; placed his hands on his hips and proclaimed:

"People are no damned good!"

Last night, I decided to venture out into the realm of the general public - the local bar - and take in part of the Phillies game, and perhaps meet someone whom I could talk to and share an adult beverage.

After tiring (and failing) at that pursuit, I decided to try my hand (and finger) at the bar-centered trivia game. Four dollars a minute to see how my knowledge of nonsense stacks up against like-minded drunks in the greater Gloucester County area.

Midstream into my second game, a figure of the female persuasion entered into my peripheral vision. She spoke...

SHE: Would you like someone to play with you?

ME: Sure!

[Me, foolishly thinking that someone of the opposite sex would take an interest]

SHE: [derisive laughter] Hahahahahaha!

I don't know exactly why she would choose to make a mockery of me in such a way, but suffice it to say, I finished my beer and escaped to the comfort of home, where I hugged my cat and thanked him for his loyalty, while wondering why people can be ... people.

He didn't seem to understand, and neither did I.

Spend it like Beckham

In their (seemingly) never ending way to try to force Americans to embrace soccer (football), NBC has concocted another prime-time program based around the life of someone who has built-in publicity by virtue of her name.

Victoria Beckham has her own show called Coming to America. Geez, go figure. Weeks after her overpaid husband signed a contract to attempt to force Americans to like something that they clearly do not, we are being invaded once again by cameras in someone's house. This time, it's the wife of David Beckham, the midfielder for the Los Angeles Galaxy. Seriously, they are running out of names for sports teams.

David Beckham, by virtue of his talent and a popular movie with his name in the title, signed a 5-year deal worth as much as $250 million that will see Beckham earn up to $10 million a year in direct salary (but with endorsements and profit-sharing, Beckham could earn up to $50 million a year) and earning about 90 dollars every second on the field.

He will be fiercely promoted on TV and now that his wife has her own show, she will be foist upon us as well. This is merely the latest in the manufactured celebrity machine that seemed to start with American Idol, continued with people like Paris Hilton and drones on now with worldly popular sports figures whom Americans couldn't care less about.

That didn't stop the Galaxy from paying him a fortune, and it won't stop NBC from pushing more nonsense on us - all in the name of big-time entertainment that we are told we are supposed to like. How much do you want to bet that NBC (or one of its affiliate companies) has part ownership in the Galaxy?

News flash: Americans don't like soccer and haven't liked it for the past 20 years that it has been pushed on us. We are a four-sport country, and like Jerry Seinfeld, we already have all the friends (sports) we need, and there isn't room for any more. It's July, and we are already being told that NFL training camp starts in 9 days. Jesus, Mary and Joseph - they are still playing baseball. By September, basketball, hockey and college football will be sucking at society's teat, draining us of whatever is left of our collective attention span.

Soccer? Get in line.

Cats and Dogs

DOGS

Michael Vick has been indicted by a grand jury over allegations that he ran a dog fighting enterprise out of one of his homes in Virginia. You surely know by now of my affection for animals, so I won’t reiterate any views I may have already expressed as to the heinousness of this crime and the blight on society that Vick and his kind represent.
What I find interesting is that the dog fighting “hobby” is not for those earning minimum wage. Huge sums of money are required to house the dogs, buy the equipment and, perhaps most of all, make the large wagers that degenerates place on these events. These people are affluent, and some of them famous, proving the notion that society’s scum is not bound by social class or income.
While most of us find the dog fighting practice disgusting, as it is with all things, that viewpoint is not universally agreed upon. You have a hard time getting people in mixed company to admit that they think it’s a fine recreational endeavor, just as you would trying to get people to admit to drinking and driving or using illegal drugs. Sadly, some people have a utilitarian view of animals, and back it up with some convoluted reference to the Bible telling them that “man has dominance over the animals."

Domesticated animals (as cats and dogs are supposed to be) are loyal friends who bring great joy and happiness to lives of humans. When they are used as a form of perverse entertainment, one must wonder what sort of demented person gets enjoyment out of watching any living creature destroy another - or destroying one themselves.

CATS

It has been said that the saddest thing an adult has to do is to bury one of its children.
How many people would have children if they knew that their children would die before their parents? Raise a kid for 16 years only to have his health fail and have to bury him next to his either slightly older or younger siblings who suffered similar fates.
Knowing that, we (the animal lovers) bring a pet into our home and allow the animal to bond with us and become a full-fledged furry member of our family. We plan vacations around them, time-out our work day and make time at our leisure for them. All of this is done with the understanding that unless the animal is a tortoise or a parrot, we will outlive the animal and at some point we will be faced with the sorrowful chore of deciding its fate, and to some extent, ours.

We never know, of course, when that moment will come. There are a fair number of accidents that take the lives of our furry friends or the unexpected illness that will come from nowhere and leave the decision out of our control. If, however, the animal remains in its captive indoor nest, chances are that they will live a long pet life, which will undoubtedly end from some malady, and just as undoubtedly leave their human to make the painful decision as to the time when the quality of the pet’s life intrudes on the quality of the human’s.

It is at that point that the human caregiver must seek to do what is in the best interests of his animal companion. The nature of the animal is to be the loyal friend, since we choose to care for them, feed them and comfort them, as they comfort us. Once that loyalty is taken advantage of - either by induced fighting or prolonged agony - we are selfishly taking advantage of their friendship and preying on the very thing that they provide to us as an excuse for our enjoyment.

I only wish that the animals had a say in the matter.

Postus Interruptus

Today was the first test of the canvas bag purchase of Monday. I'm happy to say that it survived both the Weight Test and the Enemy Contents Test.

WEIGHT TEST: The bag made it through the entire half-mile walk home with (1) a ten-pound bag of cat litter (2) a one-liter bottle of Southern Comfort and (3) a bag of Pringles Select Sun-Dried Tomato Chips, which admittedly do not add much to the weight, but contributes mightily to the ...

ENEMY CONTENTS TEST: The Pringles and the litter and SoCo. Natural enemies sharing the same canvas bag with nary a mark on any of them. I'm happy to say that all the chips made the walk home uncracked, as did the bottle. Screw the cat litter. That just gets crapped on anyway.

And now for something completely different...

Midway through this post, I wandered over to Sparky Duck's blog and found that I was tagged. The idea is to go to Wikipedia, type in my birthday and list 3 events, 2 births and one holiday that coincides with my date of birth. So ...

3 EVENTS:

1995 - The Million Man March in Washington, D.C. This was interesting to me because it (a) fell far short of the million participant goal, yet still retained its historic moniker and (b) I was lucky enough not to stumble upon this on a random visit to D.C. It seems that every time I go there, I wander onto some huge National event that I had no idea was going on. This one had enough advance warning for me.
1969 - The Miracle Mets beat the Baltimore Orioles in game 5 of the World Series. Somehow, I remember sitting in the Acme parking lot in Clementon listening to the games on the radio on my way home from school that year. This is interesting because never again will the Series end so early - or during the daylight hours. Particularly this year, when it is possible that a game will be played on November 1, and end after midnight.
1962 - The first day of The Cuban Missile Crisis. I was turning 5, and I suppose my parents wondered if I would ever see 6.

BIRTHDAYS:

1958 - Tim Robbins. Partly because we're close to the same age, but mostly because he's hooked-up with Susan Sarandon - and boy, do I like Susan Sarandon. Nice pull, Tim.

1943 - Fred Turner. It's really cool that a guy could get his name in a band and still, nobody knows who he is. Fred is the Turner in Bachman-Turner Overdrive. Randy Bachman is the Bachman, but I never found out who Overdrive was.

HOLIDAY:
It's National Feral Cat Day, so in honor of my sick little boy, I will honor him by posting this today.

My tags:

Katie. Susan and Kimmyk. You go, girls!

So, as a brief musical interlude to break up your humdrum day, here's "Walken" by Wilco.

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