XOXOXO

It is crunch time for anyone who is in love.  Yes, we are in the home stretch toward that annoying contrived holiday, St. Valentine’s Day.

To appease agnostics, pagans, and the politically correct, society is dropping the religious portion of that day which honored the patron saint, St. Valentine, and converting it into the secular Valentine’s Day.  This move is not unexpected in the vein of Sparkle Days being the replacement name for Christmas, and That Spring-Egg Holiday a poor substitute for Easter.  But, I digress.

Valentine’s Day is one of those Hallmark holidays that grew dramatically in the recent past, springing from the Hallmark Greeting Card Company, as a vehicle to sell more cards.

Goading men into showing women how much they loved their women by purchasing cards, flowers, and candy, has grown into an extortion-like moment that sets the stage for the balance of the calendar year, and puts in jeopardy any physical activity associated therewith.

Trinkets of our appreciation and adoration via a box of chocolates have evolved to chocolate-colored diamonds.  “Special pajamas” for “her,” giant teddy bears, $120-a-dozen red roses have become the norm, where money to show gratitude and adoration should have no limit.

I don’t mean to sound cheap but, greeting cards used to cost a buck.  Today, those same cards with the same words are $5.50.  Roses that are astronomically priced come from Brazil and their sale, along with that of chocolate, only help the South Americans and their third-world economies.

Still, I would expect to be relegated to the dog house if I gave my sainted wife footy pajamas for any occasion, much less Valentine’s Day.

I suppose this Kwanzaa-like event, which means nothing to anyone not a Christian, began innocently enough.  Unfortunately, its evolution has become troubling by encouraging the average guy to show how much he loves his woman with proportionate amount of money spent for a gift and dinner out.

Of course, women get in on the act, too.  They already have cards purchased back in 1987 with cute koala bears or some simply adorned with lacy hearts, bought during those “just-in-case” days, when a card of such might be needed when they find a guy

Today, however, is a bit more complex.  My Inspector Clouseau-moment of investigation kicked-in while at my local department store.  I was curiously searching for a card that was specifically written for a member for the lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, and transgender community.

After all, with all the hoopla over same-sex marriage and the right to love anyone anyway, I was inquisitively hoping to find cards or balloons or stuffed critters that would state some peculiar proclivity.  I could find none, though.

Two guys holding hands, a pair of women in silhouette walking hand-in-hand, a woman dressed more manly than The Rock, all eluded my search.

But Valentine’s Day is one of those occasions that will find the non-adoring of any sexual inclination in hot water – and not necessarily in a spa.

Good luck trying to please that special person.  You can always write to Uncle Paul for advice at a later date.

http://easternshorefishandgame.blogspot.com/p/ask-uncle-paul.html

Da Big Game

Today we find ourselves recovering from the “Big Game.”  I am not using the normal words for the annual match between the AFC and NFC champions rather, I am wisely using Big Game for a specific reason.

 

Is seems as though the Big Game police are charging for use of the registered words, er, you know what they are.  It is like trying to describe an orange without using the orange.

 

By the way, nothing in the English language rhymes with orange.  But, I digress.

 

The Big Game is the culmination of weeks upon weeks of grown men running up and down a field in tight britches grabbing other guys.  They try to move an oddly-shaped ball around and score more points than the other team.

 

They dilly dally or lollygag – is there a difference? - for nearly four quarters of fifteen minutes each.  Then, when they are near the end of the game, they are magically rejuvenated and quickly play ball as if their lives depended upon it.

 

These football players complain about everything from their poultry salaries of several million dollars to being hit and later suffering from their injuries.  Some dislike the idea they must speak with the media to produce stories for their moronic fans that actually pay money to watch these whiners.

 

It seems the money should be large and the fan base small, according to these geniuses.

 

In any case, Big Game day is usually celebrated by nearly everyone who likes to eat and drink.  Beer and snack companies deluge the circulars and supermarkets for weeks prior to this event, each hawking their goods to die-hard football fans.

 

Nachos, dips, potato chips, brats, and a compendium of various beverage companies all vie to cater to the discerning appetites of Big Game fans and other wannabe fans.

 

But during the Big Game many other products are advertised to the inebriated masses tuned in to see the nearly endless commercials and the usually-less-than-spectacular half-time show. 

 

In fact, many, many people tune in just to see the commercials.  And that is good news for the advertisers inasmuch as they are paying $4,500,000, for a 30 second spot this year.

 

Speaking of this year, the performer is someone named Katy Perry, I think.

 

People on the news were agog over her selection as this years’ big performer.  Evidently Ms. Perry is popular.  Somewhere along her career path she became pretty popular for showing her cleavage, and a lot of it.  Catching a glimpse of her attributes is the only reason I tuned in, only to find she had a modest moment for this exhibition.  Just my luck.

 

Still, the game goes on with the drunken debauchery of Big Game Sunday with copious amounts of alcoholic beverages flowing, wagering happening, and food being consumed.  All that leads to a week of recovery.  Welcome.

Phoney Etiquette

 

In these days it is difficult to find someone without a cell phone.  For those readers just awakening from a 20-year coma, cell phones are not communication devices used in penal institutions rather, they are portable telephones that do not require wires.

Much like a walkie-talkie of old, these devices are not tethered to the kitchen or living room wall thereby limiting one’s roaming range.

These things are everywhere and used by everyone.  Children who are in elementary school have them so that they can keep Mom and Dad advised as to where the police are booking them, Mom and Dad have them so that they are able to surreptitiously chat with their illicit lovers, and drug dealers have them to better serve the public.

The guvment feels so strongly about people having cell phones that people too destitute to buy and pay for their own plan can get one from Uncle Sam for nothing.

Illegal aliens all have them, homeless folks have them, and even senior citizens have them, although those are equipped with buttons the size of drink coasters.

Such technology affords much portability, sometimes too much.  Times were when people needed to stay home to await a return phone call or bide time until a business opened.

Today, those same folks are on the road clogging traffic and generally annoying the rest of society.

Once, I was shopping for groceries when I caught the middle of a monologue-conversation.  A lone female voice was yammering-on about her previous night’s sexual escapades with a guy she found at a nightclub.

Evidently this guy was pretty proficient between the sheets and did his best to prove it last evening.  Oblivious to her surroundings, this athletic participant really didn’t need a phone to broadcast her dreamy feelings for her new Romeo.

Of course I followed her to get as much of the story as possible.  After passing the artichoke hearts, she turned to see me totally engaged in her tale.

“This is a PRIVATE conversation!” she announced with a sneer of which Snidely Whiplash would be jealous.

Smugly I announced, “No, it isn’t.”

And, I was right.

If you want to talk about your personal affairs to everyone, everywhere, you should not be surprised if anyone listens.

I dare say a protocol should be established for cell phone use in “unnatural” places.

Those are areas in which corded phones were not typically used when they were popular.  Such places are stores, while driving in your vehicle, on mass transit, an airplane, and especially a bathroom.

If hear you talking to me with a serious echo in the background, I’m now listening for the “splash.”

I’m just saying.

Huh?

In an attempt to kill time while my sainted wife did her outright best to rejuvenate the sagging economy, I visited a “sporting goods” store in our local shopping mall.

I’m not referring to those sporting goods stores that sell only over-priced sneakers, expensive winter parkas, and skiing gear.  No, I’m talking about sporting goods stores that actually sell sporting goods for the average guy.

 

Of course my sort of store sells shirts and britches and hats, but also guy stuff for guys.  In that group of stuff I include hunting, shooting, and fishing equipment.

 

It seems somewhere along the way these stores felt compelled to cater to those that are easily offended.  And those folks usually live in urban areas.

 

Such items that are used for hunting, shooting, and fishing, are considered too dangerous for the weak-minded city dweller

 

Rural areas, on the other hand, serve as home to people who enjoy finding and bringing home fish and game, or simply enjoy a few hours target shooting at cans, paper, and clay pigeons.

 

Urbanites find these last activities distasteful because they involve killing or the preparation of killing.  And, those illuminati are way above those Neanderthal activities and proud if it.  If we could only save one life…

 

I say, “Let’s ban skiing as it is a very dangerous sport.  Remember Sonny Bono?”

 

Stores that pander to the non-violent, I’m-better-than-you crowd, refuse to carry firearms, ammunition, fishing poles, hooks, bait, or even bobbers.  They do, however, have a plentiful supply of dog training whistles and blaze orange dog collars, likely for city slicker Chihuahuas.  But, I digress.

 

This particular sporting goods store, whose name rhymes with Pander Mountain, and is located in Salisbury, Maryland, actually had guns and ammo in stock.  The bad news is that they used a number system much like a delicatessen where one takes a number and patiently waits while the person in front of you orders ¼ pound each of salami, bologna, ham, roast beef, and two slices of Alpine Swiss cheese.

 

In Pander Mountain’s case, I, along with three other guys was unable to find the number ticket dispenser.  The really bad news was that we were not allowed to speak to the douchebags, er, sales clerks to ask them where the dispenser was located.

 

This seemed too much like one of those hidden camera shows, or a college level psychology experiment-gone-bad.

 

I made my way through the store to examine the fishing equipment when I hear two nearby average-looking guys say, “Look!  It’s the Wunder Boner!”

 

A quick check was surreptitiously performed to see if my zipper was in its upright and locked position.  It was.

 

Now if there are only a handful of phrases that will catch someone’s attention that is certainly one of them.

 

With my curiosity in high gear, I was on a mission to find this Wunder Boner.  Turns out it was a device that de-boned fish, and was pretty effective at doing so.  It sold for $20 and seemed rather novel if only for the name.

 

I left the store disappointed because of the elitism of the store personnel and will not return because of them.  I also left with a smile over a product I would need if only I could catch a fish.

Random Thoughts III

Once again it is time for more of these brain rattlers to come pouring out in the form of “Random Thoughts.”  Let’s visit these teasers together.

 

• Why do microwave ovens have lights that turn on while cooking?
• Too many shoppers confuse me for the doorman simply because I politely hold the door for them; now they don’t have to say, “Thank you.”
• It’s odd that no one in the current administration can use the word “terrorist.”
• Speaking of which, how do you say, “Hands up, don’t shoot!” in French?
• Is there so much racial disparity in America that we can’t find five white guys to play basketball, or half-dozen black guys to play ice hockey?
• Why are all the marathons won by people from African nations?
• How is it that my guest sofa bed is the most comfortable in the world?
• Who gets to name things like the ‘polar vortex?’
• Don’t politicians know that they are on the public dole because they are incapable of making a living in the private sector?
• All those whiners that complain they can’t save for retirement, but buy motorcycles and go-carts as toys, deserve to live in squalor when they reach 65.
• Where is all the .22 LR ammunition?
• Rather than the mechanics of a condom, schools need to teach kids how to use a trash can.
• Why don’t any lamp timers keep time?
• Is it a law that every guy has to pee on the floor in a public bathroom?
• Do cats and dogs get bored eating the same dry crunchy food day-in and day-out?
• Why not give a breeding pair of extinct animals to farmers?  They seem to be able to keep the chicken and beef populations in control and on grocery store shelves.
• It is so cold that politicians have their hands in their own pockets.
• Why don’t stores retire those shopping carts with the wobbly wheels?
• “Tire rotation” is a bad term since they rotate automatically when you drive.
• How come a soldier can’t carry a gun while stateside, but can be trusted with all sorts of destructive devices elsewhere?
• If Canadians have such a great health care system, why do they come here for medical treatment?
• How did Americans get so stupid?  Just channeling Jonathan Gruber’s thoughts.
• Santa Clau – er – President Obama wants to goad Congress into giving away free college educations.  Where is this guy getting all this money?
• When did the Ferguson riots become my fault merely because I’m white?  I’ve never been to Ferguson and have no desire to go there.
• All vehicles are required, by law, to have air-bags but, they were purchased from a company that doesn’t make air-bags that work.  Hmmm.
• Where is that Malaysian plane?
• Is Sears still in business?  If so, it shouldn’t be.
• A string of LED Christmas lights – the ones that last 10,000 hours – is already kaput.  They lied.
• If I have to wear a seatbelt for safety, why don’t motorcyclists have to wear helmets for safety?
• A fishing license doesn’t mean I know how to fish anymore than a driver’s license means you know how to drive.
• Those signs that say “Slower traffic keep right,” means your other right.
• I wonder if Lance Armstrong rides his bike to work.

A Quick Look Back

It’s only a few days into the New Year and already my resolutions have gone by the wayside.  So, rather than examine my own shortcomings, I’d like to take this opportunity to delve into shortcomings of others.

 

Looking back at the last year we found that people of all ages could be goaded into acting like fools in the name “charity.”  Folks around the nation found that challenging anyone from friends and family to total strangers could be bullied into getting buckets of ice water dumped on them.  These acts of nonsense resulted in many, many dollars being donated to some charity.

 

Most of these acts of terror occurred while being videotaped and then were laughed at by equally simple-minded fools who decided to try their own hands at replicating what they just saw.  These morons were applauded by the masses.

 

On an unrelated note, the CIA was publicly chastised for pouring water on the heads of terrorists.  Outrage circulated around the country because these poor, unsuspecting murderers and terror plotters were being subject to “torture,” which, among the anointed, was verboten unless done to the likes of Katie Couric.

 

We also witnessed the disappearance of an airplane from the skies.  Apparently this Malaysian-originated flight simply vanished over Asian and Pacific waters and assumed at the bottom of the oceans.

 

Problem is, there has been no debris in the form of those “floatation cushions” we’re all told about using during over-water emergencies, structural Styrofoam, luggage, fuel/oil slicks, or those “pinging” black boxes.

 

Nonetheless, the world was guaranteed the search would continue until the wreckage was located. 

 

Nothing has been found because the search for this plane has been suspended for several months now.  Even Nancy Grace and Greta VanSustern have conceded that perhaps David Copperfield used this as part of a giant magic trick.

 

General Motors – the vehicle manufacturer, not that military guy – have set a record by recalling every car they ever made, and some manufactured by Ford.

 

It seems that some cars simply shut off while driving, others have missing seat bolts, and others that have been manufactured in Mexico still have illegal aliens in the trunks.

 

Bill Cosby has found himself in some hot water because of a sudden deluge of women claiming the comedian/actor sexually harassed them at one time or another over the past thirty years.

 

Mr. Cosby has denied these allegations by accusers, some of whom are now in their 60’s.  It seems odd these wrongs need correcting now, for some reason that may involve cash settlements to make these women feel better.  These crimes need to be aired to show what a cad Mr. Cosby is, and has been, for some years.

 

Odder yet, is the fact that former President William Jefferson Clinton was accused of the very same thing as Mr. Cosby yet, his dalliances were summarily dismissed by his rabidly blind supporters who claimed these were “private matters,” and should not be anyone’s business but that of Mr. Clinton.

 

And finally, Ebola has been cured.  Not really, but all the hoopla has been cured.  We’re no closer to finding a vaccine for the Ebola virus today than we were ten years ago.  CNN has simply given up on continually harping about people dying from this disease.  After all, we, as a nation, are more interested in who is going to be competing on Dancing With the Stars.

Now Hear This

With the Christmas holiday waning, the carols are still being played and remain in our collective consciousness.  So, this is an ideal time to examine the magnitude and magic of all music.

 

Whether made by a guitar, piano, saxophone, violin, or trombone, music is created and played by using only 13 notes.  Yes, just 13.

 

Johann Bach, Paul McCartney, and Weird Al Yankovic, all use the same 13 notes to make songs that convey serenity, love, and satyr.

 

When I speak of music, I am not referring to rap, which is nothing more than frustrated poetry coming from no-talent clowns.  Rather, the music to which I refer is classical, rock and roll, heavy metal, big band, easy listening, and even new wave.

 

The same notes are used to construct mediocre songs or masterpieces offered to the masses for their listening pleasure.  Incorporated therein is the often butchering vocalist. 

 

Lately, I hear way too much of whiney women strumming a guitar sounding as though they are being water-boarded during the actual recording.  They imitate a breathless pleader begging to be saved from another Alec Baldwin movie screening, which only makes that song more annoying.  But, I digress.

 

Accidentally tuning in to one of those many show that are helping America replenish the dwindling singer stock, I caught a “singer” making the song “your own.”  Evidently that means yodeling until the listeners’ ears bleed, while grimacing as if being attacked by a snow blower.

 

These disturbing shows only ruin the sanctity of melodies that were written one way, yet performed in another.  That is sacrilegious.  A case in point is the oft heard Star Spangled Banner.

 

This reverent song is played before each sporting event and known, by heart, to nearly every American.  Still, when sung by many, it is so mangled that it is almost unrecognizable by anyone except the performer, who made it “their own.”  This is akin to karaoke night at the local Italian restaurant, and having the tune Mandy being corrupted by some drunken biker wearing leather chaps.  But, I digress, again.

 

In any case, Christmas songs are very few and limited in number so, we all know the words to most.  Keep in mind that the notes creating Deck the Halls, are the same ones that composed Ave Maria, and Back In Black.

 

I find that amazing because it is the onus of the composer to arrange the appropriate notes in a sensible fashion, thereby manufacturing a melodic work that is sometimes catchy.  Maybe they are too catchy for our own good.

 

Too often I find myself with what is referred to as an “ear worm.”  Those are tunes that are hard to shake and cause us to whistle, hum, or actually sing that tune over, and over, and over again.  They don’t have to be good tunes, only catchy.

 

In any case, the composers and musicians of the world have a limited supply of notes with which to work, yet create some great works of audible art.  Manufacturing a cerebral image through sounds, alone, is a gift.

 

And that is why I enjoy music.