DES MOINES, IA. Yet another road trip. This time my youngest daughter Alex and I are off to Cerritos, Cali. Quite a bit different from my last road trip out west in 2007. That was round trip, alone and for three weeks. This time I am helping Alex drive to her new home and new job in Cali. Then I'm flying back from LAX after a few days of sun and fun. Actually Alex and I have done this before -- at least as far as Boulder. Then six weeks later I flew to Denver; hopped off the plans; and jumped in Alex's car and were off to Michigan. That was a killer. I swore "Never again." So here I am again. One major difference is that Alex just bought a Hyundai Tucson which is many times more comfortable that her old Jetta with 115,000 miles on it.
It's a big stretch to come up with something interesting, entertaining or, maybe, funny. A good place to start is always something that went wrong. For example, the top thing on my list for the trip was some new prescription sunglasses. My current ones are scratched and not that effective. First I tried Pearle Vision who wanted $480 for one pair of polarized sunglasses. No way. On to Lenscrafters. Amazingly that had a 50% off sale going on. What a shock! They have more 50% off sales than Diamond Jim's Whoopee Emporium. So I gave the guy my prescription (which I noticed had been written in 2007) and in an hour they were ready . . . and at half the price! Amazing. I did notice that I couldn't see all that well, but that was because I was inside. Unfortunately it didn't take long to realize that this was not my prescription. So I took them back for a comparison to my current glasses and . . . (drum roll) they were completely different prescriptions. I needed a written prescription for them to make me some new ones. I had no time to get to my doctor before we left on the road trip. What to do? Well, I told this story to M and she asked why I didn't get their doctor to do an eye test on me. I don;t know. Because it was too obvious. Because my head is too far up my ass? And thus, no new sunglasses.
Meanwhile our drive from Michigan to Des Moines was marred only by the fact that our attempt to buy a delicious breakfast at McDonald's required three stops and almost an hour. After unsuccessful stops in Marshall, Michigan (line was too long)and Albion, Michigan (too closed), we spent a half an hour in Kalamazoo waiting for our wonderful food. No more McDonald's.
We crossed the Mississippi at Quad cities and stopped just on the other side at the Primary Iowa Welcome Center. Which of course made me wonder what the secondary welcome center might be. I took some photos of the mighty Mississippi but they are shit, so no picturesque shots to accompany this blog. As we continued our initial incursion into Iowa we learned a couple of interesting facts about Iowa's rest stops: they apparently don't know what primary means because their was a second Primary Iowa Welcome Center about ten miles in and in Davenport their are two rest stops that are two miles apart. And it is so exhausting to drive that extra two miles that the second one is for parking and sleeping only.
Deep Thoughts. (Remember the segment on the original SNL with that name?) For many many I’ve had the same recurring daydream while I’m driving on the highway. I’m driving with a guy who has been transported from the mid-19th century to my car. He has never seen a car or a highway and of course has never traveled at eighty miles an hours. My job is to explain where he is an what our time – which is of course the future to him – is like and what a car is and so forth. After a while I drift into the opposite direction and I am back in the mid-19th century but with my life’s worth of knowledge and experience from the 21st century. I wonder how much an average guy like me can help move technology and society forward then. Vat does zis mean? Maybe I want to be a time traveler. I sure as hell whole like to go back before I got sick and try it again.
And finally. This trip allows me the great privilege and pleasure of spending one on one time with Alex. Even though we talk every little – so little that many people find it strange – I enjoy the opportunity tremendously. Alex is a wonderful person. Even though she is soft spoken and a real rule-follower, she is gutsy as hell and tough and resilient. I think she will love California and will do great there.
As always, thanks for reading.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
I vow . . .
That as of today, February 28, 2011, the third anniversary of the day I met the Lovely M, I will make no further contact with her. The excitement is not greater than the pain. She did nothing wrong. She was just herself. I should know better.
Recently I have wanted to contact her. Our non-relationship held the potential to inject some excitement into my life. I started telling friends that a bad day with M was far more interesting than a good day sitting home alone. I finally acted when I felt particularly down after reading a couple of medical reports about me that used the term MSA (multiple systems atrophy.) This the the fatal version of the autonomic dysfunction I have. It greatly upsets me when I hear it used loosely to describe me. I wanted to seek her out for comfort. Insane though it may seem, I knew she really cares about me and I thought she would comfort me.
I called and arranged lunch the next day. Although I had promised myself that I would keep it light, after 20 minutes or whatever I asked her "Why to do think I'm so fascinated with you?" That opened the floodgates. I won't divulge the conversation but I was floating on air afterward. I believe that I simply caught her off guard and she showed her genuine affection and joy. I texted her when I got home to thank her and test whether I had been dreaming. She come back with a nice response.
I allowed my fantasizing to go wild - I was seriously imaging us married. I thought about how I was going to work to fix this with my kids and her. I was briefly in heaven. I knew I was on very thin ice but when you have faced as much pain as I have you don't deny yourself the opportunity to feel good. Really good.
Saturday night we had dinner. She was reserved, evasive and withdrawn; not to mention oblivious to her insensitivity. I think she truly believes that evading and redirecting issues is "nicer" than facing them head on. In any event it took very little time to see there was not going to be any "new" relationship. Again I don't feel like recounting the details.
I left her house with another big hole in my heart. However, I wouldn't change it. A bad day with M is better than a good day home alone. It's not her fault. It's my addiction to drama/crisis. If they don't occur naturally you have to create them.
I have so many wonderful friends and such a fantastic family that I need to use their support as an alternative to a "good day home alone." It's far less stressful. As for M, my addiction is always there. I just have to overcome it.
Recently I have wanted to contact her. Our non-relationship held the potential to inject some excitement into my life. I started telling friends that a bad day with M was far more interesting than a good day sitting home alone. I finally acted when I felt particularly down after reading a couple of medical reports about me that used the term MSA (multiple systems atrophy.) This the the fatal version of the autonomic dysfunction I have. It greatly upsets me when I hear it used loosely to describe me. I wanted to seek her out for comfort. Insane though it may seem, I knew she really cares about me and I thought she would comfort me.
I called and arranged lunch the next day. Although I had promised myself that I would keep it light, after 20 minutes or whatever I asked her "Why to do think I'm so fascinated with you?" That opened the floodgates. I won't divulge the conversation but I was floating on air afterward. I believe that I simply caught her off guard and she showed her genuine affection and joy. I texted her when I got home to thank her and test whether I had been dreaming. She come back with a nice response.
I allowed my fantasizing to go wild - I was seriously imaging us married. I thought about how I was going to work to fix this with my kids and her. I was briefly in heaven. I knew I was on very thin ice but when you have faced as much pain as I have you don't deny yourself the opportunity to feel good. Really good.
Saturday night we had dinner. She was reserved, evasive and withdrawn; not to mention oblivious to her insensitivity. I think she truly believes that evading and redirecting issues is "nicer" than facing them head on. In any event it took very little time to see there was not going to be any "new" relationship. Again I don't feel like recounting the details.
I left her house with another big hole in my heart. However, I wouldn't change it. A bad day with M is better than a good day home alone. It's not her fault. It's my addiction to drama/crisis. If they don't occur naturally you have to create them.
I have so many wonderful friends and such a fantastic family that I need to use their support as an alternative to a "good day home alone." It's far less stressful. As for M, my addiction is always there. I just have to overcome it.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Back in the Saddle Again
Last year I essentially stopped writing blogs. Mostly because I was feeling so lousy and was so preoccupied with my my poor health that I couldn't focus on other things which might be fun to write about.
Well, for now I feel better and want to be upbeat and entertaining. It'll be a challenge but let's start 2011 with my best shot. As you can see I'm writing this in the middle of January. Not quite half way through Winter and everybody's really sick of it already. I have cabin fever like you wouldn't believe even though I go out at least once every day and I have an aide or two come to my home everyday but Saturday. I play Wii a lot and I'm pretty good at some things. Mostly those games which don't require quick reflexes, like golf. My evening aide and I play 5 nights a week and she has become as good as I am. We both enjoy the competitive challenge and the opportunity to cuss like truck drivers. She has been seriously kicking my ass the past few days and I need to get my dignity back, starting tonight.
The light of my life is the young man I'm holding in the picture above. My grandson, Beckett. That picture was taken the day he was born. He's now six months old and twice that size. Check out my profile picture on Facebook for a more current picture. He is pure joy to be around. I know every grandparent is bursting with pride over their grand kids but Beckett is truly amazing. His mom and dad have already done a wonderful job raising him and it's only been six months. Every time I see him I just want to enjoy every second I spend around him. He fascinates me. He must be the most photographed kid in the country and that's great. It just gives me more opportunity to see him and be amazed. Just like I am with my four great children.
Do you know the word antediluvian? It was an answer on Jeopardy last night and I got it correct. For an old fart, I'm pretty good at Jeopardy. By the way the category was Six Syllable Words and the word means before the flood. I had a pompous law school professor who referred to someone's thinking as antediluvian. That's how I knew the word. While I'm on the topic, the answer to Final Jeopardy was caduceus and I got that one too.
What I need to cure this cabin fever is a trip to the South. That has become my habit for each year since the turn of the century. This year I can't come up with a traveling companion and I refuse to go alone (nor should I go alone with my poor health). I have a new friend nearby and I thought about asking her - strictly platonic of course. But some family issues that require her to stay put have come up so that idea is no good. I even considered going with a guy! Me? But there's no apparent candidate there either. If I can't figure that one out, I need another short term goal to get my mind off of being trapped in the cold. I'll come up with something no doubt.
My overarching goal is to find something I have a passion for that will occupy my time and my mind so that I am challenged and have a sense of accomplishment. I have spent a ton of time thinking about this and talking to my therapist about it and I haven't hit pay dirt yet. So indulge me for a couple of minutes will I think out loud. The first obvious question is what have I been passionate about before. Well, there's My Children; Women; My Work; Traveling; Golf; and Movies. All good passions I guess but none meet the criteria of currently occupying my time and mind. I am as passionate as ever about my kids and my grandson, but they are grown and self-sufficient. I love visiting them but that's a few weekends at best. Sure I'm preoccupied as always with women but given my circumstance, dating is not an interest right now. One woman who has proved to be bad for me still occupies my mind a lot, but we've had our 5 or 6 chances. It's over. OK, you might say "What about work?" My answer is that I could do some part time mentoring but frankly I have no passion for it. I'd much rather go into business with someone. Maybe if my health continues to be reasonable, I might find something. I need to push myself out of my comfort zone but within reason. There are many things I simply can't do. Working on a fixed schedule is one. Traveling, golf and movies are terrific interests and consume some time but they're not challenging. Golf is of course, but my golf days are probably over.
So I wonder if there's something else out there that will fire me up. Maybe I can get back into writing and get my damned book published. I'm done with the first draft and first edit, but there's a ton of work left - hard work. Getting published would certainly juice me up though.
Thanks for reading. I'll do better next time.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Random Rants
* I've been looking for something to write about that didn't concern my health and that I could be a wise ass about. Here's what I came up with.
* Cleavage. Yes, you heard me - Cleavage. SInce the invention of the Wonderbra we have lived in the age of in your face cleavage. ("Wonderbra is the tradename for an underwired bra with side padding that is designed to uplift and add cleavage.") I guess I'm not complaining but even a ladies' man like me can feel a bit uncomfortable when you tun around and BAM! there it is right in your face.
Ok, fine. It's not going to change for a while. But I about wet myself when I first saw an ad for the Cammi Secret. This amazing little invention is both the analog of and the opposite of the dickie. You remember that fabulous fake turtleneck that guys wore under a sweater or sport coat. Well the Cammi Secret is a piece of fabric that a woman can wear under her sweater or top to expose as little or as much cleavage as she desires. Of course, it comes in a variety of fabulous colors and is sutiable for any occasion. And guess what. If you order now, they will send you a second Cammi Secret for free - all you do is pay shipping and handling. (Of course shipping and handling is about the same as the cost of the damn thing.)
* Five pet peeves about sports:
--Joe Pa. That's right, Joe Paterno the venerable 83 year old "head coach" of Penn State's football team. Would everybody who says that Joe Pa has "earned the right" to decide when he wants to retire please shut up. He has not earned that right to stay in the job as long as he wants. No one earns the right to keep their job for as long as they want. For one damn thing, employment is a privilege not a right. For another, he man isn't even the damn coach. He's a figure head who hasn't actually coached the team in years. They won't even give him headphones. He is treated like some kind of old school icon. He's just an arrogant old man who can't let go. He is long past the time where he could have retired with some dignity and class. I acknowledge the man's accomplishments which are many; but he's no saint. His cronie Bobby Bowden was unceremoniously booted at Florida Sate last year. Apparently the administration at FSU has a bigger set than those guys at Penn State. Joe Pa, you're not a lovable old curmudgeon; you're a self-absorbed old man who doesn't have the decency to quit.
--Lane Kiffin. How does this arrogant little prick get the head coaching jobs at Tennessee and Southern Cal in consecutive years? What's so compelling about your resume, Lane?
--The Miami Heat. Hard to think of anything that has not been said or written about their off season signing of LeBron, Dwayne and Chris. How about this? (1) The Miami Heat do not have three superstars. Chris Bosch is an All Star but nowhere near the status of his new teammates. (2) By instantly becoming the most hated team in the NBA they will be the biggest road attraction in the league. David Stern must be wetting his pants he's so happy. BTW, don't expect them to beat the Lakers - who have now ceased to be the most hated team in the NBA.
--What's His Name. The guy who plays quarterback for the Vikings has in the course of three short years gone from the personification of youthful exuberance and the consummate football player to pampered prima donna that everybody is sick of. Nice job Brett!
--High School Sports on ESPN. Really? Is there not enough evidence of how the lure of big money in pro sports has messed up enough immature kids that ESPN could not police themselves and just say no. Just because there's an audience for it doesn't mean it has to be covered. ESPN is so ubiquitous that there will be plenty of opportunities for national exposure if these young athletes are in fact any good.
* But seriously folks. Thanks for all the interest, support and concern you have all shown to me during my recent health problems.
See you in church . . .
* Cleavage. Yes, you heard me - Cleavage. SInce the invention of the Wonderbra we have lived in the age of in your face cleavage. ("Wonderbra is the tradename for an underwired bra with side padding that is designed to uplift and add cleavage.") I guess I'm not complaining but even a ladies' man like me can feel a bit uncomfortable when you tun around and BAM! there it is right in your face.
Ok, fine. It's not going to change for a while. But I about wet myself when I first saw an ad for the Cammi Secret. This amazing little invention is both the analog of and the opposite of the dickie. You remember that fabulous fake turtleneck that guys wore under a sweater or sport coat. Well the Cammi Secret is a piece of fabric that a woman can wear under her sweater or top to expose as little or as much cleavage as she desires. Of course, it comes in a variety of fabulous colors and is sutiable for any occasion. And guess what. If you order now, they will send you a second Cammi Secret for free - all you do is pay shipping and handling. (Of course shipping and handling is about the same as the cost of the damn thing.)
* Five pet peeves about sports:
--Joe Pa. That's right, Joe Paterno the venerable 83 year old "head coach" of Penn State's football team. Would everybody who says that Joe Pa has "earned the right" to decide when he wants to retire please shut up. He has not earned that right to stay in the job as long as he wants. No one earns the right to keep their job for as long as they want. For one damn thing, employment is a privilege not a right. For another, he man isn't even the damn coach. He's a figure head who hasn't actually coached the team in years. They won't even give him headphones. He is treated like some kind of old school icon. He's just an arrogant old man who can't let go. He is long past the time where he could have retired with some dignity and class. I acknowledge the man's accomplishments which are many; but he's no saint. His cronie Bobby Bowden was unceremoniously booted at Florida Sate last year. Apparently the administration at FSU has a bigger set than those guys at Penn State. Joe Pa, you're not a lovable old curmudgeon; you're a self-absorbed old man who doesn't have the decency to quit.
--Lane Kiffin. How does this arrogant little prick get the head coaching jobs at Tennessee and Southern Cal in consecutive years? What's so compelling about your resume, Lane?
--The Miami Heat. Hard to think of anything that has not been said or written about their off season signing of LeBron, Dwayne and Chris. How about this? (1) The Miami Heat do not have three superstars. Chris Bosch is an All Star but nowhere near the status of his new teammates. (2) By instantly becoming the most hated team in the NBA they will be the biggest road attraction in the league. David Stern must be wetting his pants he's so happy. BTW, don't expect them to beat the Lakers - who have now ceased to be the most hated team in the NBA.
--What's His Name. The guy who plays quarterback for the Vikings has in the course of three short years gone from the personification of youthful exuberance and the consummate football player to pampered prima donna that everybody is sick of. Nice job Brett!
--High School Sports on ESPN. Really? Is there not enough evidence of how the lure of big money in pro sports has messed up enough immature kids that ESPN could not police themselves and just say no. Just because there's an audience for it doesn't mean it has to be covered. ESPN is so ubiquitous that there will be plenty of opportunities for national exposure if these young athletes are in fact any good.
* But seriously folks. Thanks for all the interest, support and concern you have all shown to me during my recent health problems.
See you in church . . .
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Is it Big Jim or Grandpa Jim?
I had no idea! I knew I would be happy when my older daughter gave birth to her first child, but I was not prepared for how unbelievably happy I would be. I met my grandson when he was less than two hours old and he is incredible. Normally I don't use real names in my writings, but Beckett Barcelona Kneisel is such a wonderful name that I must show it off. Besides, he's only been using it for three days -- I'm sure he'd be okay with it. He arrived on July 3, the very date on which is was due. What a beautiful baby! Everyone thinks their baby is beautiful, but Beckett really is.
What a joy to hold a newborn again. I haven't held an infant since my youngest, Anthony (of course that's not his real name) was born almost 21 years ago. I love babies - all babies. But now I know that having a grandchild is just as great an experience as having your own kids. I could just sit and watch an infant for hours on end. They are so fascinating and fascinated. As my son-in-law said to me, it's hard to imagine a baby could be just two days old. How could anyone be so young? Forty-eight hours ago he was floating in a warm wet bath just riding along with his mom and then Bang! He's out in the world. He has to learn to breathe air, see light, stretch his limbs, cry, gurgle and the dozens of other things he has to do for the first time after he comes sliding on out of the womb.
It's hard to express how happy this child makes me. I absolutely feel better physically and mentally since the moment I saw him. What wonderful memories it brought back. Nothing compares to having children and it's immediately clear to me that the love and pride I feel for my four amazing children will be exactly what I'll feel for Beckett.
Now the question arises. What will he call me? What would I like him to call me? Grandfathers do not seem to have a group of idiotic nicknames like grandmothers do. You know: Nana, Gammy (You've got to be shitting me!), Mee Maw (OH MY GOD!!!!), Big Mama, Gommy and so forth. Grandpa Jim would seem to be pretty standard for me; but I like Big Jim because it's what my daughter-in-law calls me. Although I don't think of myself as big, I am pretty huge next to my daughters. Big Jim has a note of authority to it, don't you think? Well maybe it sounds like the patriarch on Dallas but we'll see.
Beckett, you marvelous young man, thank you for coming into this world. I know your parents are delighted and I am so proud of them and of you.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
MARCO . . . POLO, MARCO . . . POLO
Yes, I think I’m playing the kids’ game of blind man’s bluff here in
OK one more "glass half full" thing then I'll get to the optimistic stuff. You know me, always looking at the bright side! What in the name of Danielle Patrick was I thinking of when I decided (repeatedly) to drive down here? Did I think my most wonderful companion, lets call her Romy, would magically make the drive half the time? Did I think Moses was going to part the snow-covered Ohio roads? Did I forget that just 5 1/2 short months ago I drove from Denver to Michigan with my daughter and swore that was the last time ever . . .EVER? Well you can bet your sweet little patootie I remember it now. I'm sixty-two years old and sick. My body is like a used car with 200,000 miles on it -- something breaks every day. This time it's the pinched nerve in my neck. That sucker radiates pain down my shoulder and up my neck and generally makes me feel weak and off balance.
So how am I getting home? I'm driving ALONE! Ain't life grand?
The other upside (besides an occasional burst of sunshine), I totally fell in love with my message therapist. I'll call her Malory. I know I'm an incurable flirt and give my heart away to ofter -- I'm talking about infatuation -- but I actually proposed to this woman twice. -- Time out. For all those who think I'm naive and that you've heard this tune before I have one thing to say. "Shut up." I've been a whining depressed piece of whale shit for six months. Let me enjoy my moment of fantasy. -- And anyway, it's more than that. Malory is an incredibly cool 50+ year-old lady who --look out, here it comes -- had me at hello. No shit. She's smart, sarcastic, great looking, fit, caring, self-reliant, a great masseuse and I'm just warming up. Here's the acid test: I know my kids would like her.
We have exchanged email addresses and she has my blog address, so we'll stay in touch and see if anything comes of it. I'll tell you one thing she literally wrung my neck, in the best possible sense of the word, and as much as it hurt, I could have continued talking with her for hours. Are you asking yourself why I didn't ask her to dinner tonight? Previous engagement with my Home Instead caregiver. It's lame but true.
Tomorrow I hit the road. Thanks for your time.
Malory, Thanks. You were the sunshine in an otherwise overcast vacation.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Bad Food and Dog/Bounty Hunter
People often ask if retirement is as wonderful as it seems. Lots of things come to mind but I think Bad Food and Dog/Bounty Hunter is what my retirement has been reduced to. Oh sure I do hundreds of other thing to occupy my mind, if not my mind, at least my time but at some point there's that big hole of left over time where work used to be. Think about all the time consumed by work that is not time actually "working" - commuting, eating lunch, business trips, company events, not to mention working late. No matter how many hobbies you have, how much volunteering you do or how much time you spend at the senior center fighting off single women, there's still time when you have nothing to do.
In my case filling some of that time means eating out -- because I don't eat in. And in lovely Canton, Michigan your choices of where to dine are numerous but mostly awful. So where to eat? Well, since I am no doubt going to eat dinner out as well -- except when the ladies cook for me -- I don't mind eating lunch on the cheap. That means that at times I frequent places like the Roland's Koney Island (not it's real name, of course.) I found this eatery on the Internet and tried it about a year ago. It was like all the other coney island type restaurants in metro Detroit: Greek food, along with breakfast food, bad hamburgers and soup. They are all loosely connected and all seem to be owned and run by the cook who hails from the Middle East or Eastern Europe. Oh, yes. And they are cheap. Since I like to eat breakfast for lunch I figure that they can manage eatable bacon and eggs. That's debatable, but it's comfortable quick and cheap. There is a similar place where I went for lunch almost every day and, of course, got to know all the waitresses quite well and developed a friendship with an intelligent Eastern European waitress who seemed very out of place. I returned day after day because the waitresses were very nice to me -- as I was to them -- and it was cheap. But in the end I realized that you can make scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries so greasy and disgusting that you just have to stop. So I've never been back.
A couple of times while I was eating there I overheard people say they liked the food -- that's why they came there. What??? The food was awful. The salads were day old lettuce with half a slice of under-ripe tomato. Fresh fruit was unheard of. Everything was fired. So I wondered what the hell have these people been eating that would make them think this shit is good.
Later I returned to Roland's and said "same old shit" and quit going there for about a year. For some reason recently I took my mother there when she was visiting me. Probably because I know my mother is one of "those people" who think gawd-awful food is good. Her cooking ability is a bit short of outstanding. During the holidays I had more guests - my brother and my sister-in-law and my son and my daughter-in-law -- and I took them there to. I don't know why. Maybe because I couldn't stomach another breakfast at Bob Evans (it's real name).
Later I took a friend to Roland's and she ran into a bunch of people she knew, all of whom said they came there all the time. This one dork went on and on about how good the food was! Am I living in a parallel universe? So driven by low prices (10% senior discount!!) , free newspaper and convenience I later returned alone to Roland's. I wanted a waffle. None were on the menu but the waitress, who called everyone Hon, said they had them. OK, a waffle and sausage patties for me. After a long wait my breakfast/lunch arrived. Always a bad sign when you cannot cut the waffle with a knife. It appeared that major ingredient in the waffle paste was cement dust. The sausage was charred black. And . . . you guessed it . . . I ate it. I immediately thought of the example my old boss used to use about restaurants. What three things do you do when you have a bad meal or poor service? (1) You say everything was fine when asked. (2) You never go back. (3) and you tell your friends.
The moment that plate was set in front of me I decided this was my last meal at Roland's. So far, it's been true. I told the old folks at the senior Citizen Center during euchre about the worst meal I ever had. Guess where they all congregate after cards? Roland's of course. "The food is great!"
Punch line: as you prepare for retirement, do not allow your taste buds to forget good food from Bad Food.
That's an obvious segue to Dog/Bounty Hunter. You're familiar with it? It's a reality show about a bounty hunter and his family in Denver. I can only describe the appeal of this show to me this way: It's so hideous I can't look away. The "cast" is a menagerie of family members who look like a combination of leather bar patrons and G.I. Joe's. Those guys have more high tech crap that they never, never use than the set of a Bruce Willis movie.
The premise is to follow the Duane "Dog" Chapman family as they chase bail jumpers. They do a lot of riding around in identical black Escalades and talking on walkie talkies. Dog's wife Beth -- she of the gigantic bosoms -- drives one Escalade and Dog's son Duane or his other son Leland drive the other. Dog always sits behind the driver and says important things into the walkie talkie like "He's pulling into the driveway" or "His girlfriend says he's not home." Whenever they want someone to step into harm's way, it's always Beth. "Beth you go talk with him. He's armed."
The actual time spent apprending the bad is is about three and a half minutes. The rest is scintilating dialogue. This mind-numbing drivel is intoxicating and bewildering to me. And it makes my favorite guilty pleasure, Human Wrecking Balls, seem high brow. Punch line: When you're retired you can't be ashamed of what you watch on TV. You have to watch TV and there is nothing worth a shit on.
Thanks for your time.
In my case filling some of that time means eating out -- because I don't eat in. And in lovely Canton, Michigan your choices of where to dine are numerous but mostly awful. So where to eat? Well, since I am no doubt going to eat dinner out as well -- except when the ladies cook for me -- I don't mind eating lunch on the cheap. That means that at times I frequent places like the Roland's Koney Island (not it's real name, of course.) I found this eatery on the Internet and tried it about a year ago. It was like all the other coney island type restaurants in metro Detroit: Greek food, along with breakfast food, bad hamburgers and soup. They are all loosely connected and all seem to be owned and run by the cook who hails from the Middle East or Eastern Europe. Oh, yes. And they are cheap. Since I like to eat breakfast for lunch I figure that they can manage eatable bacon and eggs. That's debatable, but it's comfortable quick and cheap. There is a similar place where I went for lunch almost every day and, of course, got to know all the waitresses quite well and developed a friendship with an intelligent Eastern European waitress who seemed very out of place. I returned day after day because the waitresses were very nice to me -- as I was to them -- and it was cheap. But in the end I realized that you can make scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries so greasy and disgusting that you just have to stop. So I've never been back.
A couple of times while I was eating there I overheard people say they liked the food -- that's why they came there. What??? The food was awful. The salads were day old lettuce with half a slice of under-ripe tomato. Fresh fruit was unheard of. Everything was fired. So I wondered what the hell have these people been eating that would make them think this shit is good.
Later I returned to Roland's and said "same old shit" and quit going there for about a year. For some reason recently I took my mother there when she was visiting me. Probably because I know my mother is one of "those people" who think gawd-awful food is good. Her cooking ability is a bit short of outstanding. During the holidays I had more guests - my brother and my sister-in-law and my son and my daughter-in-law -- and I took them there to. I don't know why. Maybe because I couldn't stomach another breakfast at Bob Evans (it's real name).
Later I took a friend to Roland's and she ran into a bunch of people she knew, all of whom said they came there all the time. This one dork went on and on about how good the food was! Am I living in a parallel universe? So driven by low prices (10% senior discount!!) , free newspaper and convenience I later returned alone to Roland's. I wanted a waffle. None were on the menu but the waitress, who called everyone Hon, said they had them. OK, a waffle and sausage patties for me. After a long wait my breakfast/lunch arrived. Always a bad sign when you cannot cut the waffle with a knife. It appeared that major ingredient in the waffle paste was cement dust. The sausage was charred black. And . . . you guessed it . . . I ate it. I immediately thought of the example my old boss used to use about restaurants. What three things do you do when you have a bad meal or poor service? (1) You say everything was fine when asked. (2) You never go back. (3) and you tell your friends.
The moment that plate was set in front of me I decided this was my last meal at Roland's. So far, it's been true. I told the old folks at the senior Citizen Center during euchre about the worst meal I ever had. Guess where they all congregate after cards? Roland's of course. "The food is great!"
Punch line: as you prepare for retirement, do not allow your taste buds to forget good food from Bad Food.
That's an obvious segue to Dog/Bounty Hunter. You're familiar with it? It's a reality show about a bounty hunter and his family in Denver. I can only describe the appeal of this show to me this way: It's so hideous I can't look away. The "cast" is a menagerie of family members who look like a combination of leather bar patrons and G.I. Joe's. Those guys have more high tech crap that they never, never use than the set of a Bruce Willis movie.
The premise is to follow the Duane "Dog" Chapman family as they chase bail jumpers. They do a lot of riding around in identical black Escalades and talking on walkie talkies. Dog's wife Beth -- she of the gigantic bosoms -- drives one Escalade and Dog's son Duane or his other son Leland drive the other. Dog always sits behind the driver and says important things into the walkie talkie like "He's pulling into the driveway" or "His girlfriend says he's not home." Whenever they want someone to step into harm's way, it's always Beth. "Beth you go talk with him. He's armed."
The actual time spent apprending the bad is is about three and a half minutes. The rest is scintilating dialogue. This mind-numbing drivel is intoxicating and bewildering to me. And it makes my favorite guilty pleasure, Human Wrecking Balls, seem high brow. Punch line: When you're retired you can't be ashamed of what you watch on TV. You have to watch TV and there is nothing worth a shit on.
Thanks for your time.
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