Hmmm! So that's HOW it is?

I'm confident there are times every single one of us must face a new reality. Out of nowhere someone comes along to put us in our place.

Its "curiously" funny that when you make a statement like that? You open the door for many a speculation.

"Gee, I wonder if he is talking about that time I told him he should !@#$#@!%^&*!"

Well most of you can rest easy. I was recently put in my place by a very unlikely source.

You see my cousin Mary in Michigan? Well she has two daughters, 13 year old Anne, and 11 year old Emily.

Well, home for the holidays, Anne and Emily are thumbing through the Christmas cards and come upon the one I sent.  In that card I tossed in my BLOG address. And as cousin Mary, keeping up with her innate and sanctified eaves dropping duties? Well Mary reports the following conversation:

Anne: "Hey! He has a BLOG."

Emily: "What's a BLOG?"

Anne: "It's like Myspace, but for OLD people."

I guess I'll take that seat now. You wanta give me a hand so I don't fall.

The Last of the Story

I feel like "CHICKEN LITTLE." [PEGGY SAYS I AM] My sky is NOT falling and I am overwhelmed with guilt that I've misled anyone into thinking it was. 

Just for the record I played a hour's worth of tennis today, WITH medical sanction. I haven't shoveled any snow, but only because my neighbors and Peggy won't let me.  (If I could overcome the guilt, it's a NICE side benefit of calling 911.)

I just wanted to walk you all through some of the maze of the poking and probing that goes on in a hospital once you are committed to the process.   I think a couple of times I've mentioned I still believe I did the right thing calling 911. Let me get that aired and maybe it will get me slightly off the hot seat.

If you are my age? (64) And you are having chest pains? Call 911. To tell you the truth the co-pay is horrific that way.  But the end result is worth it! If you are having a heart attack, they are probably going to be able to fix you.

If not, as was true in my case, it is worth the price of admission to finally hear after all those tests....

1. "Your lungs look great!"  (I used to smoke)

2. "Your EKG is perfect."

3. "Boy, you were really able to get your heart rate up there on the treadmill. You sure you aren't short of breath?" (I wasn't.)

4. Not all went well. They shot me full of some fluid and took pictures of my heart with some machine similar to an MRI.  When it first came back?

" Paul, that was inconclusive. We are going to have to flip you over and do it again." 

(Now THAT got my heart rate up as much as the treadmill did.)

Well it turns out my diaphragm has an odd shape and covers up a small portion of my heart, funny shaped diaphragm, but as it turns out? Good healthy heart....so now I know I've got to be examined from the rear. (No double entendre intended.)

Now there are clearly parts of the process I'd have upped my co pay to get around.  For one...they put this Nitroglycerine patch on my chest, up high? Any of you that have heart issues know the consequences of that. It sends blood rushing to the affected area like opening a fire hose. Different people react to that differently.  Me? I get a migraine headache (my first I now know for sure), I turn beet red, I get so nauseas that I have to push away a smoked salmon dinner, and I wear out my sweat glands and get dehydrated. 

But let me tell you something.  I'd go through it all again to hear what one of those doctors uttered:

"You may get another 50 years out of that ticker."

There is just one other piece of this story that all my relatives know is coming?  Why would I be so upbeat about this?  I come from a family that fights heart disease a lot.  And while this end result has me FEELING GOOD!  I'm also "knocking on wood!"

THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE LAAAST OF THE STORY!

"The Rest Of The Story"

It's clear from some reaction I'm getting? I better get off my rear and finish this yarn.  I just want to remind you THAT I AM FINE.   I did not have a heart attack. In fact their parting words to me were, "it wasn't your heart. Exercise at will."

I just want to talk about the adventure of it all, and let you know that should you find yourself in my circumstances? Go ahead and do exactly what I did.  CALL 911. 

I am genuinely impressed with the response time of the fire department rescue guys. They arrive before Peggy gets done describing my symptoms over the phone. And you have to know it's just BARELY possible to get in and out of our neighborhood in a HumVee right now. That's because of the snow.

They have these great new gurneys that start out as chairs before you get to the rescue truck. And unlike the old days the fire department paramedics take you all the way to the hospital.  They used to just be the first responders and then hand you over to a private ambulance company.  

While they are "ekg"ing me and other stuff, we have a pretty good chat on the bumpy ride to the hospital. As a son of a firemen, I have some pretty good tales to share with them about the "Old Days with Dad" in Los Angeles.

One other reason you want to call 911? You don't get put into a "triage" pool.  They just wheel you right in. There will be a point where you will be put on the "hurry up and wait" track, but it won't be in the waiting area with everybody staring at you.

I'm always impressed with the inital energy rush when someone first gets wheeled into an ER. And this place is no exception.   The people who work emergency, especially the nurses, are incredible.  They are really determined to make sure you get the attention  you need to survive. An almost insane penchant to "save lives" is what's sucked most of them into this career.

Several years ago Photographer Coby Howell and I got to spend a Friday night in the emergency room at Denver General.  They are perpetually one of the top rated trauma units in the country.  The energy rush we experienced that night is similar, but greater than the adrenelin rush that takes place in a newsroom when major news breaks out. I asked the head nurse that night how she dealt with it every day.  She didn't have a good answer.  She did say, " I just go home and stare at the wall for five or six hours. I've never been able to sleep after a shift."

Anyway, despite my alertness, they come right at me full bore, popping questions, attaching electrical leads, jamming tubes into me, asking more questions, drawing blood, taking pictures.  ( One thing I remember from the past is helpful this time.  Don't wear anything tight fitting or anything you value. They'll rip it right off you.  I wear an old South Pacific shirt Peggy has been trying to get me to throw away for years.)

Now Men, here is something to consider if you can slow down the process. It is not always possible or advisable.  But politely ask if they will shave your chest before connecting all those leads.  Oh man, does that hurt when they pull them off.  And I'm sorry, but I think there are some female nurses that, while they really want to save your life? They seem to kind of enjoy watching you suffer when they rip that tape off. Just some of them, not all!

Well I hope this addition up to this point puts anyone checking in, at ease. I just want to document this experience for you in as much detail as possible. It may seem an odd thing to share, but it's not something that is going to happen to you every day. And it's a chance for me to praise a lot of the people around me who got caught up in the drama.

I'm sorry if I got a little too mysterious in Chapter one. One of you asked if I still had a Merry Christmas? You bet...For one, I got to come home.  And....our neighbors the Kwits show up a half hour later with a full blown delicious PRIME RIB dinner with all the trimmings.

There is more to tell...and now I hope I've given you a better idea where this is going, and that you'll come back tommorrow for even more of "THE REST OF THE STORY."

Memorable? Oh yeah!

This one may get long, but rest assured I'll keep your anticipated attention span in mind. I'll break it in to pieces, if need be.  In truth I have had quite a debate with myself over bringing this to you at all, but what good is a BLOG that compromises, that holds back when things get uncomfortable.

I am for the most part going to give it to you in chronological order, but first I need to wipe out some of the mystery by telling you.

1. Today I feel pretty darn good.

2. On paper I'm still in the best condition for my age I've ever been.

3. I've got a really supportive wife.

4. I've got great neighbors.

5. I've always been, and now continue to be, a big fan (my dad was one) of firemen.

5. Despite the outcome? I'm still glad I did what I did.

Okay, well maybe I CREATED a little mystery too.

Before I hook us up with the chronology, let me pull in a little history.  I very recently posted some BLOG thoughts on this being a very memorable birthday (DECEMBER 21ST)?  Partly because of the 'PERFECT STORM" that buried this community.

Well it's one thing to celebrate the anniversary of your earthly arrival leaning on a snow shovel.  It is yet another thing to celebrate Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day being stabbed, jabbed, poked, pumped full of drugs and slobbered over by a harem of mostly women in uniforms. (When fully alert I did have a great view of the snowy blanket comforting us one and all.) 

While I would never have consciously planned this scenario?  It's clear I hold some responsiblity for the sequence of events.

So just about every able bodied man and woman has been shoveling snow here for several days. Peggy and I, I think, set a pretty casual pace. We have no pressing need to get anywhere. We are patient.  And in between shoveling bouts, we are watching minor bowl games and some year end filler news features. ( I'm thinking I'm subconsiously recording some of what I see.)

I see a report on three people about my age dying of heart attacks in a county north of us.  Doing what? Shoveling snow.  

Then I see this feature on what you 'oughta' do if you think you're having a heart attack during or after shoveling snow. Then somewhere between the BLAH BLAH BOWL, and the YOO HOO BOWL I'm watching this report on the importance of calling 911 if you even think you're having an incident. Why?  They'll get to you faster than you can get to them. It may not only save your life, but do less damage to your heart muscle if you "let your fingers" do the walking.   

Well, I've got all this "stuff" in my subconscious as I roll over on my pillow prior to Christmas Eve. I sleep okay, but very early in the morning I feel this discomfort in my chest.  I am pretty sure it's nothing, but quietly sneak to the computer to do some homework. 

Heart Attack symptoms:

1. Chest pain or discomfort, USUALLY in the middle of the chest. (My discomfort was clear over to the left. But the USUALLY part? Hmmm?)

2. Discomfort continues. (hmmm, mine is not going away.)

3. Usually accompanied by some nasuea. (Dang...I've got some of that....I want to think it's just post nasal drip.)

4. Shortness of breath. (Let's see am I actually having shortness of breath, or imagining it from the homework? Hmm?)

5. Loss of appetite. (Can't remember a day before now I wasn't scrambling to eat breakfast.)

Well I don't want to leave you hanging too much, but I need to take a break and maybe work in a quick nap.

Most of you have mastered enough arithmetic to surmise the advancing sequence of events.   I want to encourage you  to stay with this story, though. I think I can share some things with you that will be very helpful to have in your wallet or purse should any of these symptoms befall you. So let me get this nap in, and Peggy wants to play some tennis, and then...you'll get to know "the rest of the story!"

"So You Say It's Your Birthday..."

So today's my birthday, an event that has minimizing significance as we go along. Age of course is one issue. And the day of my birth being so close to Christmas occasionally makes it a bitter sweet celebration. Either I feel hurt that I'm not getting the appropriate amount of attention....or I feel guilty because all the people around me feel bad 'cause they don't give it the appropriate amount of attention.

I do have a pretty long standing tradition of going OUT to eat on my birthday.  That pretty much satiates my birthday ego. Now just hold on to all this for a minute.

Well, we get up this morning to discover we have over 30 inches of measured snow on the ground.  We have snowdrifts as high as 5 feet.  The whole Metropolitan Area is shut down, and that includes any place I'd like to go eat in honor of the day of my birth.

A "shoveling the snow off the driveway" job typically occupies about a half hour following  a snow storm. Well this one, with two of us in motion? It takes up the better part of three hours.  So somewhere in this time period Peggy says:

"I'll bet you are going to go right to your room and BLOG about what you HAVE to do on your Birthday."

"Yeah, but this time its going to be a case of what I GET to do on my birthday."

Take away the wind? (It is gone.) Take away below zero temperatures? ( The mercury reads in the upper 20's) And some really miraculous things take place. All the sounds you learn to ignore are actually gone.

PEGGY HAS MY BIRTHDAY DINNER READY...I'LL GET BACK TO YOU.

Not bad!

Let me describe for you what happens to my senses out shoveling. 

Hearing?: What's most noticable is what I don't hear.  I don't hear traffic. I don't hear BullyDozers. I don't hear trash trucks. (this is trash day.) I don't hear the mailperson. (The Postal service balks on it's motto.) I don't hear school busses.  I don't hear planes overhead. I don't hear distant sirens.  What do I hear?  I hear the clear "Whoosh" of snow shovels slicing away layers of white blanket.  I hear gentle voices in quiet conversation up to two blocks away.

Sight?: I see rolling,  waving blankets of soft white. I see people I've never seen before out shoveling, sledding, snow shoeing, walking dogs. ( A Bishon Frise that could barely keep it's head above the snow.) I look up and down the street and see myself mirrored by men and women shoveling in unison.  I see one neighbor take time out to carve a snow seat for his two year old son.  What I don't see?  I don't see any stress. I don't see any angst.

Taste?: A taste of freshness along with the crisp bacon I've just ingested.

Touch?: There is the soft cushy warmth of my parka and gloves. There is the tingling of loose snowflakes flying off my shovel and hitting my face.

I have a former student, Psalm is her name, who once a year turns off all her electricity for a week to get a clear sense of the peaceful simplicity of the world around her. Today I get it. 

This is a birthday I'll remember and feel good about. I'm throwing in some more pictures so you can vicariously feel good about it too. Happy Birthday to us One and All.

I'll get back to being my cynical self (pass the turkey scrooge) when all this snow turns to slop. Nothin's forever, is it?  

So Glad I'm Retired

I've been sitting at home watching some of my good friends stand around in the snow babbling about the storm that's burying this burg.  While I'm admittedly a little restless?  Oh, is it nice to be sitting inside a warm place admiring nature.  I just took that picture a few minutes ago....we've had about a foot of snow here with some pretty humungous drifts.

So anyway, I'm thinking we don't get our Christmas Card out to very many of you 'cause we don't have your LAND-ADDRESSES.  So, I say to myself....why not send it virtual. It's going to happen that way anyway...one of these days....so here's what some of you got via the post office...

 

Hello! How’s it goin’? We’re older but feeling younger. I’ve lost a lot of weight and Peggy is getting a lot of her trophy level tennis back. I’ve got this goal of not gaining ANY weight during the holidays.  But I’m not going to punish myself VERY much if I come up short.

We’ve just had a light rail extension get within three miles of the house. So I’ve pretty much given up driving. But it has me WONDERING about something.

There is this large light rail parking lot? Here are some givens.

1.      It is about a quarter of a mile wide I’d say.

2.      It is six stories high

3.      It has an elevator and stairs close to the train.

4.      It (the parking lot) is never more than half full.

 

So I WONDER why some folks drive round and round on the first floor to get a parking spot rather than go up the ramp? They seem willing to walk that quarter mile on level one, rather than go up a level or two and park right next to the elevator. I don’t get it.

 

Peggy WONDERS how water can run downhill in a river that’s headed north. She says, “that’s just not right.” She also WONDERS why it can’t be warmer here in the winter since we’re so much closer to the sun.

When we were in the San Luis valley watching Sand Cranes fly south for the winter she WONDERS, “why can’t we do that?”

 

We’ve been to some WONDROUS places this year, like Florence, Oregon. That’s the place where they blew up a whale almost 40 years ago. I still WONDER why they did that. I also WONDER why they put a hot tub right next to the bed in our Florence hotel room. I always get a strange look from people when I WONDER that out loud.

 

At a wild horse compound in Wyoming, Peggy WONDERS why we can’t take one of the horses home with us?

 

Well we just wanted to let you know that we’ve just had a WONDERFUL year. We sure hope your year has been full of WONDER too. Come and see us!

 

Paul and Peggy Reinertson

 

 

 

The Tie that BINDS

A few years back I set out on a mission to CREATE... using one of the more annoying aspects of our commercial society. I refer to the colorful little stickers they put on fruit and vegetables to make it easier ( I did research this) for visually challenged grocery clerks (apparently all of them) to ring the items up.

Well I'm smart enough to pick my battles. Once an idea or item reaches mass exposure.....no matter how strong the protest.....no matter how logical one's arguments are against it....if a big investment has been made? The idea or item STICKS. ( Pun intended.)

So....I start collecting the little stickers to randomly place them on empty prescription bottles. Art, I say. And I present the little STICK-BOTs as colorful holiday gifts. Recipients include my high school friend Alice Goecke.

Well, a strange thing happens, and Alice may be sitting on a gold mine...although speculation is still pretty much up in the air. You see, someone has invented a little indenting stamp for the fruits and veggies that may cruely replace the sticker.

Alice and I both pick up on that news item this past year about the same time.  Alice may have a ONE of a kind. The one and only STICK-BOT left in existence. (rumor has it the others got tossed.)  Just think of it.

On the other end....I'm kind of like up STICK-BOT creek. 

But you can't get a REAL artist down.   I just expand my medium.  When the word gets out this past summer, no more fruit and veggie stickers? I just start collecting all kinds of sticky things from our consumer world. I will just let them all adhere to each other and BECOME what ever they FEEL  like becoming.

Well, behold the END result. Call it the CHRISTMAS  Tie! Call it the HANNUKKAH Tie.  Call it the KWANZA tie.  But be the first one on your block to get an original STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI.

As you gaze up on it up there you might be REACHING for a level of appreciation.  The thing may seem terribly out of current fashion.  But remember an important rule of fashion.  Excesses must reach their extreme before reverting to their genesis.

I'm sort of not making this up. In a costume history class I passed,  I'm made aware of the rule with those little pointy toed moccasins they wore in the middle ages?  The little pointy thing just keeps growing until it starts flopping.  And the Versace of the time just spreads the rumor that to solve that problem, you just curl the thing back and tie it to your ankle. Pretty soon it's back to a little pointy thing.  Consider the Maxi-Midi-Mini skirt cycle of our own times.

I bring this to your attention so you won't be put off by the WIDTH of the tie.  Check the VERY back of your closet.  Wide ties WILL return.

Now I'm going to be straight up with you on this investment issue.  Truth be known I've seen no evidence the food industry is truly making the switch from the STICKER to the STAMP. If nothing else the concept's growth will be retarded whilst the "bean-counters" debate the capital investment costs.

Then the point becomes...do you buy a STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI now? Or....? Now if I were a WISE gambling man, I'd hedge my bet and get one of each. 

"One STICKY-BOT please.  And why don't you throw in one of those new STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAIs."

"You do know sir, there is talk they are going to discontinue the STICKY-BOTs. It might be a wise investment to get two."

"Oh, Okay. I do need to get something for my boss. Make that two STICKY-BOTs and one STICKY-TIE-YAI-YAI."

"I'll just ring that up for you sir.  And you have a HAPPY _____...you hear me?!" 

(Why do we keep using that expression? When was the last time a cash register actually RANG!!!!?)

What Goes Round

"Speak the speech I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue."

That's the opening line of Hamlet's advice to the players (actors). The prince of Denmark wants this traveling acting troupe to convincingly portray the suspected poisoning of his father. 

Most of the world believes they are words written by William Shakespeare or one of his posers. But there are a number of us who believe this advice is penned by the man you see above.

His name is Ray Phillips, speech and drama teacher at Bell High School, and professor at East Los Angeles College.

We believe he might be the author because he forces us all to memorize that advice and carry it with us for eternity.

Ray just turns 80 and a bunch of we former students gather to sing his praises.  I learn a lot from Ray that I try to employ throughout my career, and now try to pass on to my students. He is truly a mentor to many.

But to keep this from getting sticky with nostalgia I'm going to stick to pretty much what I relate in my tribute to him around the banquet table.

I tell Ray I sure wish I'd followed that Hamlet advice a little closer.  I clearly remember my first Seward County Community College basketball play by play effort.  I set out to "speak my speech trippingly on the tongue?" But it comes out like this:

"Coleman Crawford comes down with the rebound, he moves to the right side of the court, and he SH_TS from 15 feet out." 

Now in context you know there should be two 'O's where the underline is?  For the record I substitute an 'I' as in spit. 

The only reason I know I make that substitution?  Both visiting play by play announcers have gone silent and are staring directly at me.  There is a brief pause, at which time I add, "AND IT'S GOOD!"  

Hamlet's advice is a fairly lengthy soliloquy. As it continues it includes, " nor do not saw the air too much with your hands, thus!" 

Oddly that is particularly important advice for those working in television. [It will be a while before Willy gets to deal with the subtleties of TV.]  The confines of a TV frame should prevent one from flailing their arms all over the place as they report or perform.

And there is another danger in overdoing your gestures that I had to learn the hard way.

I have great respect for Vanna White. 

"What is he talking about", you say?

Well I have an occasion to be following Vanna around for several days as she is doing some promotional shOOts? [Learned my lesson on that one.] Well at one point I am set up to interview her live from a golf course.

For the uninitiated? When you are doing a live interview? As the reporter on the scene you set up the interview looking right into the camera. Your guest is positioned a few feet behind you on your right or left.

As you are getting ready to bring on your guest? You do a slow turn in the guest's direction so that only your shoulder or profile is visible. That way you are putting all the attention on the guest.

Well, all of this is going according to plan but we are rushed, and I must be excited about bringing Vanna to the masses?

That slow subtle turn? Well, first of all it's not a bit subtle. And with a hand held microphone, I do this broad sweeping turn that results in my elbow slamming into her upper errogenous zone with great force.

Why do I admire her? There is subdued pain being expressed. But this suffering woman maintains an almost believable smile and we get through the live shot with most viewers none the wise.  [It's a really good thing you can't see my face.]  [Gossip from Sony Pictures is there is significant swelling and bruising.]

My students are forced to memorize the first lyrical stanza of "I am the very model of a modern major general" from the "Pirates of Penzance." I insist they take it with them because it's a great articulation exercise.

But now that I've been back in Ray's presence? And I remember Vanna's pain and suffering? I may switch. Oddly, Ray's (Shakespeare's?) advice seems a little more practical.

 

POSTSCRIPTS: Ray Phillips introduced me to an environment that allows creativity and self confidence to thrive. I will always be greatful.

I am so excited to have heard from my old friend sighlemaccaba. What incredible biting wit she possesses. If you haven't read her response to my previous entry on elevators? Take the time now. She is a riot! I missed you Shiela. 

Going Up?

Well, it’s time to get back astride the well worn leather. 

 

[I’ll go to any extreme to bypass a cliché.]

I have plenty of well thought out rationalizations for not blogging lately

 

[Interesting observation here. Microsoft Word’s spell and grammar check doesn’t recognize any form of the term BLOG. That leaves me with a conundrum. Is BLOGGING spelled with two ‘g’s or three? You’ve probably all decided already and just haven’t shared. Let me know. I’ll go either way on it. Just a thought!]

 

But you’re not going to buy any excuses.  So let’s just drop it and move on.

Today class, I’d like to talk about TIME and SPACE.

 

[RELAX Albert! Ask anyone who knows me well.  I am no threat.]

 

By non-scientific observation over a number of years I’ve casually accepted the biased TRUTH that we, mankind, are a strange species.  We seldom participate in available activities that support what we profess.

 

I’m going to narrow this exploration now and fill in the blanks in later BLOG entries. Let’s talk about ELEVATORS.

 

WHY DON’T WE USE THE ELEVATORS?  (Mr. Otis Regrets, heh, heh!)

 

I’m thinking elevators came into play principally to support our addiction to conquering TIME and SPACE. So why, tell me why no one (figuratively speaking Albert) uses the elevators at AIRPORTS. Why do we (generic WE) insist on forcing ourselves into balls of humanity on the escalator.  Isn’t a straight line the fastest (TIME) and shortest (SPACE) way to get from one place to the next?

 

Why, tell me why, we don’t use the elevators at SHOPPING MALLS. They even make them nice and fancy for us with the open views of all the greenery and art.  But, no!  We cram all ourselves on to slow moving, oxygen sucking, sweat producing, body odor revealing, short temper exposing ESCALATORS. Does anybody even know who invented the ESCALATOR? And is that the most oxymoronic   oxymoron in the English language? [Personally I think it tops RUSH HOUR!]

 

But I don’t want to belabour this observation during this joyous season. Sometimes things just get into your head and you’ve got to get them out.  I’ll return to this theme now and then, but enough for now. In the meantime try an elevator while your shopping and traveling. No doubt your tax dollar paid for them one way OR the other. And just remember the old formula:

TIME=MONEY.

I’ll get back to you soon. But if you happen to be out of town?  Merry Christmas, etal and Happy New Year. 

Thanksgiving?

Okay, it's a week late. But that is a picture of Peggy atop the shifting sands of Great Sand Dunes National Park on Thanksgiving. 

Since neither of us has immediate family here? We typically try to do something different on this holiday. This year we spend T'give eve in Taos, New Mexico. [SEE PIC TWO] And then spend the special day of giving thanks climbing the Sand Dunes.

How special are the Sand Dunes? [SEE PIC THREE] 

T'give night we spend in Salida where some of Peggy's kin used to hang out.

So what are we thankful for? We get a room in Taos with out calling ahead.  There isn't enough snow for the winter crowd to show up yet.  We are also here on the last day of the traditional off-season.

Now here is a new one on me and I'm sure thankful about it.  On this day we are eligible for both Triple A and the AARP discounts. And on top of that?  We get a gift pack that includes a ten dollar razor in it?  And we get a free glass of wine at the bar.  And we get 15 percent off our evening meal?  And we get free hot breakfast.  (We have to pay for the orange juice.)

We are thankful for the beautiful drive back up to the Sand Dunes. We are thankful we get to the top of the Dunes for the first time. [You'll know what I mean when you try it sometime.] But guess what?  The only day of the year they waive the fee to get into a National Park that I know of? You guessed it!

But the thanks just keeps comin'. In Salida? Here we are thankful for the ONLY place of business OPEN to get a "bite to eat" on this special EATING day. Name? You might of heard of it.  PIZZA HUT!

Thank you, thank you, thank you Pizza Hut. I'm pretty sure I give our waiter a "tip" he can retire on.  You ever try their "meatball pasta?"  Not bad on Thanksgiving after spending the day crawling up a Sand Pile.

Oh, and we're also thankful for the Turkey Dinner our neighbors, The Kwits, bring over to the house the day after Thanksgiving.

My goodness we are blessed. And, oh yeah!  We are so thankful our friend Stephenie Davis is out of the hospital and on the mend.

That's all the big stuff. Hope your thanks list is a good one, too.

[Addendum: Thanks to our other neighbors the Helvigs for shoveling our sidewalk.]

A Quickie!

Every once in a while (hardly ever actually) some one asks me what it takes to become a TV photographer. [DON'T CALL THEM CAMERA MEN OR WOMEN!] 

Well, clearly, I'd say five years of  ballet, ten years of yoga, all concurrent with 15 years of weight training.

( Just as an experiment?  I try to get into that position without a camera? Put the chiropractor on retainer! Man, it really stretches the spot where the Hamstring and the Glutumus interact.)

I'm going to take a break from this for a few days. Happy Thanksgiving.

Make sure you read the posting before this one and you'll know quite well what she's lookin at.

 

That's new, isn't it?

[Credit where due: My Camera. Peggy's Eye!]

They've opened a section of Light Rail here that is finally functional for "MOI".  Peggy and I joined the masses and explored it for free for a day. I am so excited.

I was actually doing a daily radio feature back in the 70's called "Tighten Your Belt." It was motivated by one of our other energy crises. On a particular week I'd explored the on-going reluctance of citizens to get into car pools.  So let me run this by you as kind of a test.

Car Pools don't work in the West because?

A. Western Folks like their personal freedom.

B. Nobody goes to work in the same direction at the same time.

C. It's tough to get more than two people at a time in the cab of a pickup.

D. People moving here from Chicago, Boston, New York and D.C. are alone behind the wheel for the first time in their lives.

Well this was a time of great in-migration in this state. And the answer from regional planning surveys of the time?  Uh, huh! D!! So as is turns out....most of us born and reared out here in God's Country will kill to let someone else do the driving.  Cars are for vacations and business trips.

I take my students on little "Golly Gee" walks near campus a couple of times a semester.  I love to point out that Light Rail actually originated in this "Cow Town."  And that was apparently the problem, and part of the reason it's taken another hundred years to get it going again. You see?  The early railcars were driven by electricity installed right down there with the track.  Seems you get a good rain? Well, SPARKS FLY. And? Say goodbye to some cows and horses and a few good men.  I'm sure there  is some "myth" in there somewhere.  But I'm assured that's all ESSENTIALLY true.

This light rail thing was a big story for me while I was reportin' for a livin'. I can ramble on till you keel over suffering from severe ennui. Not gonna happen.

I'm going to steal some wit and wisdom from local schizoid reporter Adam Schrager. (He is a print and TV reporter on the same days.) Sharing with one of my classes a few years ago he says, and I quote I think, " In print I write to explain. In TV? I write to enhance."

Take one more look at Peggy's picture. I've already over-enhanced.

Follow the Bouncing Ball

Any effort to disquise my age went out the window with the selection of that title. If you're scratching your head, just ask any AARP card carrying member in your neighborhood.  [Make that the AARP card plus 10 years.]

"Why would I follow the bouncing ball?"

So in my on-going effort to find a variety of activities to keep me in shape? What can I do, all by myself if need be,  that will enhance muscle building, flexibility and aerobic capacity?

Well I'm down in the basement looking for a box or something and trip over what looks to be a dried up pumpkin.  On closer examination I discover I am in the presence of a deflated basketball. Touching it with my fingers sets off an explosion of long term memory spikes. It feels like shock treatment [I think].

Most of my BBall life consists of street pickup games. Fortunate for me betting on the outcome isn't a big deal in my "time." Just so you know? I am the poster child for "White Men Can't Jump." Only, unlike Woody Harrelson? I'm not faking it.

But I'm not a bad shot, and in a half court game, I can move around quick enough to get a shot off now and then. And football teaches me enough tricks to survive on a basketball court when there is not a referee around. Part of my nickname "Rhino" is derived from my basketball court behavior.

Anyway, finding this "pumpkin" in the basement inspires me to spend a buck and half to get some air needles and pump that sucker up.

[They always sell them in twos because they know you are going to push too hard  and break the first one.]

So, anyway, I miss getting any exercise yesterday? And so I decide to punish myself at 6 am by heading out with my blown up pumpkin to look for an outdoor court.  [IT'S 33 DEGREES OUT.]

I know this is going to be helpful to just a scintilla of you. The rest have no conceivable rationale to follow suit.  The fact I find the court and have it all to myself might be a clue.  But for anyone, who for any reason, might find a motivation to follow suit, I'd like to share with you my impressions.  The rest of you can just restrain your guffaws while I get through it.

My first surprise is this park court has both it's nets up and intact. Wow! Not in my day. I'm even pretty sure the rims aren't bent more than an inch or two. There must be a BBall cop in the neighborhood.

Some quick advice if you are going toshoot hoops at this time of day?  Check for ice.  The window scraper from your car can be helpful at this temperature.   Also, with a flashlight, check the surface for cracks that might eat your ankles or swallow you up in the dark.

I'm still talking only to those of you who are thinking about doing this for no good reason. Don't even consider leaving your warmups. Odds that you will?  Warm Up?  Not good.

Here's some good news. I 've been wondering, although I never see it? Can you shoot a basketball with gloves on?

You know Golfers use them, Quarterbacks and Wide Receivers use them. Hockey players wear them, etc., etc., etc. [You know I don't think I've ever seen Rugby Players wear them.] And my visual memory has never recorded a basketball player wearing them.  So maybe, just maybe, I'm breaking new ground here. I am hitting just as many shots with them on, as off. Are they even legal?

I don't have a whole lot else to share with you.  In fact, I think I'm going to bow out with this next piece of information.

If you are going to shoot around at 6 am, before the sun comes up? Expect a reaction. Folks in the neighborhood have accustomed themselves to the PLOP of the morning paper. They can sleep through the KLINK of the milk bottles being set down on the front porch [I didn't even know they did that anymore]. The RUMBLE, CLUNK,  KARUSH of the trash truck is tolerated.

But to my knowledge most folks are not used to FOLLOWING THE BOUNCING BALL at this time of day. And from what I can see? And hear? They don't like it.

They also don't seem to like the honking horns of commuters driving by who can't believe you are out here!

I probably won't do this every day.  It IS nice to know though,  that you can always get a court.

Try shooting with gloves some time. It's a hoot!

"Whose Tripping Down The Streets of The City?"

"EVERYONE KNOWS IT'S WINDY."

[Don't call me, Larry Ramos. I know she spells it with an 'E'.]

Of all the weather conditions we are asked to weather? Wind would be my least favorite. Maybe it is all those liveshots in snowstorms where the reporter takes the brunt of the wind so the photographer can keep his or her lens clear.

[If you've ever judged a reporter in that set of circumstances with something like, " Jeez, can't  that reporter pronounce anything right?" Well, TAKE IT BACK!  You try it sometime.]

Maybe it is this story where I'm in the parking lot, on the east side of a 7 story building, in January? This downslope wind from the west kicks up to 60 mph? Well it swirls around the building creating a wind shear over ice?  This wind shear sucks me in and sends me speed skating in my Florsheims for about 200 feet. I escape with a scraped knee...but you can imagine what it does to my wind opinion.

There are a hundred of these stories, but I think you get my point.

I know it is going to be windy and chilly today? It kills my enthusiasm for a bike ride.  So I opt for a brisk walk. And oddly, I'm glad. You see there ARE some really NICE things about wind .  Of course some of them have to do with timing and no snow.

I tell my Broadcast Journalism students to always be looking for great moving pictures and dramatic natural sound. Check your calendar and see if you can guess where I'm going with this.

I don't care where you live on the planet, or what your allegience, there is almost nothing more dramatic and heart rending as a Flag Flapping at Full Rectangle.. Thank you Veterans day for reminding me. You could have your eyes tightly shut.  And if I were to play a pixel or two of a flag flapping, 98.9 percent of you would identify it immediately. [ A few of us might mix it up with apparrel out on the clothesline. Just a few of us.]

But if I want to kick it up to 99.9 percent, I'd add the rhythmic rapping of the hardware on the flag's tether against the flagpole. Nothing else sounds like that. Nothing else spurs the same emotional clanking in the brain.

And I've always loved the wind's relationship with leaves.  Today, this late in Fall, the leaves are dry, thin, crunchy. And yeah, they rustle a lot on grass.  But I like the sounds they produce on concrete and asphalt. I love the big crisp Mapleand Oak leaves on asphalt. They sound like galloping herds of horses. If you've got a tailwind, it's as if you are running with them.  A head wind? Look Out! You are about to get trampled.

Two neighborhood girls come by last week, and want to rake our leaves? I say "come back this coming week when all the Aspen have undressed."

When they get here I think I'm going to make handing them a rake provisional on them playing in those leaves for an hour. That's another cool windy picture full of natural sound I'd forgotten about.

Of course, we could skip to the Spring and get the father and his offspring in the Park. They are running and gleefully shouting,  hanging on to a taut string. There is that wonderful flapping of tissue paper kites just before they dive to their earthly demise.

[I won't say whether or not I really like that THUD sound, too.]

[Why is it mothers never fly kites? I think it is a vestige of sexism we've overlooked.]

Still it is my least favorite weather condition. As I'm saying that I can think of just one other great thing about being in wind?  GETTING OUT OF IT.

NO FAIR!

So I do a two hour health club workout last night.  I get up this morning? That danged pound is still around!

"So," says I, "LITTLE POUND, you are goin' DOWN!"

I hop in the car at 6 a.m. headed for a little 2.7 mile loop trail I know. As you can see from the picture this is not your average sea level padded track.  At some points the grade reaches something close to 10 degrees. Athletes like to do their triathlon training here. For me? I just want to shed a lil' ol' lb.

So I park, do some quick stretches, inch past the "WATCH OUT FOR RATTLESNAKES" sign, and hit the trail. As I'm heading up hill at what I think is a pretty good pace? I hear the "pitter patter" of little feet in front of me. I look up to see two middle aged ladies (pardon me ladies if you don't qualify for middle age) just chattin' up a storm. And they are "pickin' em up and puttin' 'em down at a mighty rapid pace. Of course they are coming down hill at the end of their loop, and me, I'm just gettin' warmed up heading up hill.

Well I am wrong. The "pitter, patter, chatter" just keeps getting louder. I now realize they are going around again. It is at this moment it becomes clear God hired some freelance women to show me a little humility.

They are not just going around again, they are going around ME! Right in the middle of their "daily sharing," without any huffing and puffing, they pause to say, "Good Morning."

It's been too cold lately for dust, or that's what they would have left me in.

But hey, I'm still not warm and I'm not competing with them.  I'm just here to drop a pound. So I lock in what I'm pretty sure is a lose a pound pace. I reach the acme of the first mini-hill and I can see the ladies layin' em down going down hill about a quarter of a mile ahead of me.  But that's not all I see.

As I've now started downhill I see this faint moving object coming UP HILL hill directly towards me at an AMAZING speed. It's not long before I can make out the object. It is a lone female humanoid sprinting up this hill. At least this one appears to be mid to late 20's.  There is no way I'd be expected to compete.

She has her arms draped peacefully at her side, her hands loosely cupped. I'm probably exaggerating? But it looks like her knees are hitting her chin with each stride. I'm thinking she is just trying to show off for me? And when she gets by me she'll just collapse.

"Hi! Beautiful morning for a run, huh!," she says with controlled articulation.

"Yes, " I say.  But what I want to say is, "Yeah, right!"

No she doesn't collapse as she passes, and she is still sprinting as she crosses over the horizon.

Well, like I say, I'm just here to lose a pound. It'll be a "nice day for a run" after I've lost it.

Not that I am feeling competitive the least bit? But I DO run down hill for about a quarter of a mile following that brief encounter.

Well now it seems I have the loop to myself.  And that's good because the hardest and longest climb is just ahead. And just when I'm feeling comfortable in my lonliness?  From a feeder trail appears  a woman, probably in her early 40's. She is being pulled behind two canines about the sizes of Lassie and Rin Tin Tin.

She has my instant sympathy. The "puppies" are chomping at their bits and tugging at their umbilical leashes. The poor woman. Surely she'll fall to the ground and I'll have to call 911.

But, Ah, God has planted another test of my humility. Within three strides, this woman is pulling the DOGS up hill, THEY are doing the panting, and she is running like that "post teen" on the other side.  And I mean she is crankin'. This is a good three quarter mile stretch of 5 to 10 degree uphill grade. And in two minutes she is out of site. That, the out of site part, is at least a blessing.

As I crest the final hill I look down to see all of my 'Xena The Warrior Woman' apparitions driving away in their SUVs.

Okay, is down right humiliated the same as humble?

Silver lining?  I break my own time record for the loop. Sorry I don't LOOP and TELL.

The POUND? Just a second, I'm going to go check.   

NOPE! Still there.

"THE BULLYDOZER GIVETH. THE BULLYDOZER TAKETH AWAY."

They've now built up our backyard berm so high we won't even know there's a throughfare a hundred feet away.  But they've built that sucker so high we can no longer see Pike's Peak. (We can still see it from the upstairs guest bedroom. Of course you need to take the screen off, hang out the window about two feet, and crank your head to the left.)

That's been my day. I think tommorrow I'm going to try and meditate that pound off.  With humility of course.

Don't tell me women shouldn't go to war.

Just one political comment. Don't anybody do happy back flips or sadly jump off any bridges. While you're doing that, these guys and gals whose names are on the ballots will all be out hugging and buying each other drinks. We have funny ways of getting things done in this country. And sometimes funny ain't that funny.

You Can Do It!

I wake up this morning, head to the person's room, step up two inches and balance my mass on the scale. Whoa! I'd been so frustrated trying to get the final ten pounds off to reach my goal? Well, here I am just one pound away.

So? I better get in some exercise...maybe a little 15 or 20 mile bike ride.  So off I go!  Less than a mile into my adventure I experience something out of my past. I think the best way to describe the event? KUUUUBLOOEEEE!

I have my first BLOWOUT....Now Peggy and I have already repaired a slow leak on her bike, but the blowout on  a mountian bike tire...is something else. (very good for elevating your heart rate).

As you can see it requires a readjustment of the functionality of one's kitchen.

I've got to run so I can get to class.  I'll add to this later. I'll at least let you know how I did on that pound.

Nothing to report on the pound...and no...I am not competing with Kirstie Allie....although?  Never mind. I don't want to be on Oprah.

Guess what?  I see the Pink Semi again today...and it is a Male behind the wheel. This guy has to be some Macho Hombre. I'm going to tread lightly if I ever get an interview with him.  I'll bet his name is Sue.

Somebody in this town has a sense of humor, hallelujah. There is a new comedy (play) opening in town..titled URINETOWN. Well as I'm driving down the highway? About ten stories high on this ugly building?  There is this massive banner promoting URINETOWN. So who owns this big ugly concrete building designed like an old 40's upright radio? What ownership would proudly display the title URINETOWN?

At least one of you have guessed.  Unless the building has changed hands since I did a story there a long time ago?  It belongs to the Department of Public Works.  YEAH! URINETOWN is right up their alley.

That's all I got tonight.

Enough Already!!

So I'm out to breakfast once last week?  Peggy is out of town...and the paper hasn't shown up.  So I take the latest copy of my Smithsonian subscription with me. While I've brought it for company and to slow down the ingestion process? I am also displaying it boldly so I can look intelligent.

So how intelligent does this look?  The wait person arrives at my table. I lift the magazine so she can clearly see it's dramatic three color cover.  And just  as she is handing me the menu? Three, count 'em, three rectangular sheets of thick card stock come flying out. One flys up and nearly hits her in the eye. Another slams into the menu.  And yet another does one of those "to  and fro" slow drifts to the carpet.

Let me assure you I've participated in far more embarrassing wait person, patron encounters. In this case, more than anything?  It's allowing me to vent my rage over what is probably not a critical issue in your or my life. But what the heck is a BLOG for anyway?

These three rectangles? They all have bold printed TITLES on them. The printed titles are all identical in both texture and content.  And what does the title say? "SMITHSONIAN." From there each card finds it's own way toward letting you know, as a card carrying Smithsonian member, you are eligible for a DISCOUNT if you re-up now.

Here's the annoying part. The three pieces of heavy card stock? They are but three of TWELVE such inserts in this 'ERUDITE" magazine. One nice thing about this time of year?  Usually a small percentage of them are decorated with a HOLIDAY theme, hoping to capture its share of the spirit of giving. It's never worked for me, but maybe, just maybe I'm not normal.  I tend to get irritated and CAN my subscription for a year or two.

I remember working in radio and television? There was (and may still be) a way to tell how your station was doing in the ratings. If all you would hear all day long? "LISTEN TO (WATCH) station W (K)BLAH, the BEST darn station in the WHOLE darn world, DANG IT!"

In case you haven't picked this up.  They are running these promotional spots because they have all this commercial time to fill. Why? It's because nobody is listening to their station. So  nobody is advertising on their air.

And so who are they  reaching with these promotions? Nobody. That's because nobody is watching or listening to the station. Why wouldn't you promote the station on someone else's station or newspaper or magazine or bill board or sandwich board or bulletin board?

I wonder if anyone at the Smithsonian sees a parallel.

Silver lining? These inserts make decent bookmarks. And when you are done reading the mag?  Just toss them away (the inserts).

Well, that's all I've got to say about this ISSUE.

s

BOOOO!

Every once in a while there is a PICTURE, still or moving, that says it all.  There ain't no more. That's the case here.

I love halloween.  I love watching the toddlers out on their first scary trip. I love the little princesses and the mean little Darth Vaders. I even love the 15 year olds who self consciously show up because they can't break the habit.  But Mostly?  I really love the pre and early teen gangs that gather on your porch enmasse.

And when you say, "Smile, I'm going to take your picture!"

That up there is what you get.

I have THEMEs that I like to implant in the brains of broadcast students.

One of them is when a microphone opens, or a camera has a light blinking? "YOU COME ALIVE!"

In Broadcast Journalism I preach "GET YOUR BEST VIDEO AT THE TOP OF YOUR STORY!"

I also scream "IF YOU'VE  GOT GREAT NATURAL SOUND? USE IT."

I'm sorry you can't hear this motley crew. But I'm sure you can kick in you aural memory bank and go there.

I do on occasion get students, who after hearing my sermons, bemoan, "I don't get it?"

Well, these are not concepts you can intellectualize.. You just have to GO THERE!

Just look at the uninhibited release going on up there? And GO THERE!

The next time some one says," I don't get it?"  I'm sending them to this posting.

I just love HALLOWEEN.

Rock Around the Clock

Some of you are starting to scare me. I do this harmless little treatise on my “get back my health” routine? And now a few of you say it’s inspired you to “give it a go.” Man, this may be more pressure than I can bear.  Who is going to hold my hand if I fall off the wagon?  Are there rehab centers for stuff like this?

 

So Sunday, in between football games? I hop on my bike and get in a quick 20 mile ride. Then, after the last game? I run down to the gym and lift weights for an hour. And then since no one is out on the basketball court because I’m the only one left in the building on a Sunday night?  I shoot hoops for a half hour. I go home exhausted with high expectations that I’d lost some weight. NARY AN OUNCE!

So Monday, when I’m actually writing this off line? I get up early, jump into my shorts and run the stairs for 10 minutes. Now, I have in fact knocked off a pound. But I’m pretty sure it isn’t going to hold.  So I run a bunch of errands which include breakfast,  and head off to class. I am pretty sure I’ve eaten enough to get that pound back.

AFTER class I get home, jump back into my shorts, and head over to the local tennis courts. There I hit balls for an hour.  (This is the kind of stuff I used to do when I was sixteen. For the record I am no longer sixteen.)

 Well I run around the court enough to work up a sweat, but even then I’m worried about that imagined pound. So what else can I do?

I remember a congratulatory response I get from Local TV anchor Jim Benemann. He then takes a wiser approach than many of you. He suggests I run a few laps FOR him.

So, off I go to the local high school and crank out a couple of laps for Jim. I personally would characterize the pace as being somewhere between a jog and a trot. DONE!

AND you should feel them Jim. For one thing, I ran them in the outside lane of the track. And I sprint the last 20 yards. FEEL THE PAIN!

I think I’m going to make this assigned reading for senior students who come to me in torture ‘cause they haven’t accomplished their “Life’s Goals” yet.

Ah, plenty of time ahead of you to follow your rainbows. No matter how serious or silly they might  be.

 

Addendum: You've heard people talk about their weight loss excitement when they can acutally see their feet again standing up? Well the thrill for me is rediscovering my appendectomy scar. Cool. And I probably shouldn't be sharing this about my belly button but here goes. My OUTIE? It's once again an INNIE! TOO COOL!

"Hey, Good Buddy!"

This posting will be a great opportunity for you to eavesdrop on a very personal letter I'm sending to my great personal friend and confidante, John Elway.

You know I told you in an earlier posting this would be a safe haven from politics for the next week? But, ah, here's the rub. My caveat to that vow was unless something really weird or wacky took place.  Then I would be all over it.

Well, welcome to weird and wacky.

More than 24, but less than 48 hours after I wrote that?  I get a phone call. And who is on the line?(recorded)   That's right.  My life long close personal friend, John Elway.

[I actually know some people who've never seen a football game in their life span.  For their sake, John Elway is a Hall of Fame Professional Football Player Emeritus.]

Well in this friendly," haven't talked to you in a long time Paul" tone, John says he wants to chat about his other really close personal friend Blah Blah.  Well, as it turns out,  ol' Blah Blah is running for governor and John thinks I ought to vote for Blah Blah.

Well, let's cut to the chase . I HAVE had some contact with John Elway over the years.  In fact we broke into a house together in an exclusive Denver area neighborhood a few decades ago.

 These people were dumb enough to donate their home so John could shoot a promotional video  hyping his first video game. I was the head umpire on  the fake  field. I don't know if John was offended? Or if he  holds it against me after all these years?

But  I'm pretty sure I was the only person on the set who didn't ask him for his autograph.

I've also interviewed John many times doing those obligatory football fan stories. I would get  to ask him those tough probing questions like, "Say John, how does it feel to win the SuperBowl?"

Now I'm really not much of a betting man? But I'm willing to put up a nickel that says John Elway has no  "Blinkin" idea who I am. And that sort of brings me to my point. 

John is asking me to vote for his good friend BLAH BLAH?

Now here's the deal John.  I'm one of those annoying people who refuses  to affiliate with a party.  I'm one of those guys you've really got to WOO to get his vote. Now I know where I'm leanin' on this....but if you really want me there on November 7th?

 Okay John, when I see you and BLAH BLAH smoking cigars together in your box at Invesco Field? When I see BLAH BLAH driving around town in one of your Elway Toyotas with the Elway License frame? When I see you and BLAH BLAH "high fiving" it at the Stutler Bowl...as your son Jack tosses a TD pass? When I see you and BLAH BLAH teeing it up together  on the 7th hole at Cherry Hills? When I see BLAH BLAH having a beer at the bar and chomping down on one your prime ribs at your steak house?

[By the way the view from Rod Smith and Terrell Davis' steak house (Trappers) puts  your's to shame]

When I see BLAH BLAH sneaking over to your place on Poker Night?  Maybe, just maybe I'd give him the nod. I just want to make sure he really IS your CLOSE PERSONAL FRIEND.

Whoops! Early voting.  You're too late. Sorry John, I don't vote and tell.

Thanks for callin'. Great to hear from you.

Pink Yarn

Twice a year a bunch of we "MATURE" broadcasters gather enmasse to swap old war stories. The soiree was initiated by three media account executives several decades ago.  

Over the years they've allowed a good number of we on-air and byline narcissists into the room. We've all good humouredly [humour spelled that way on purpose] accepted the group appellation, Denver Dinosaurs.

 As we've aged? Nobody wears makeup anymore. We all pretty much look and sound alike. If you're "GenX"? At first glance  you're likely to  peg us as Walmart greeters.

The man in the picture up there, John Rayburn, has never met a camera or microphone he didn't (love) like. And watch out. His legendary wit and energy will exhaust you. And believe me, you can't just hear one story. His punchlines are just transitions into the next saga.

If you are of our wizened era? You could walk around the room and recognize many a face and name tag. That is probably not true of the woman in that picture up there. And that's too bad.

That's Betty Demerest. Betty spent most of her adult years keeping a Radio/TV station, and then later just a Radio station, alive. While most of her legacy comes from what she did behind several desks? She holds one important distinction that doesn't get enough attention by my way of thinking.. 

Betty was one of the first voices in the country to be on the air on Sunday mornings reading us the "COMICS."

Betty is no slouch at spinning a yarn either.

There is one clear distinction between the Ad People  and the "talent." The Ad Person's joke is shorter and snappier. Even now he or she wants to get the point, and then close the deal.

I've missed the last two of these get togethers.  That has kind of an interesting effect. We all tell the same stories luncheon after luncheon, after luncheon. But with short term memory issues? A year and a half hiatus makes it seem like you're hearing them all for the first time.

I'd show you more pictures? But most of us don't like our pictures taken without makeup anymore. I asked permisssion for this one. And picture 2 is from  retired TV director Tom Dickenson, whose legacy will be his annual performance as Santa Claus. ( I hope you're reading this after all the kids have gone to bed.)

Say...there's a little sidebar story to go with my pursuit of the Pink Simi Driver.  Have you read the story about the Texas sheriff who has solved his jail over crowding issue?  How? According to AOL the guy has painted his entire jail pink.  The website tells us he makes the prisoners wear pink jumpsuits, even to court.

 AOL says in  the  year after going PINK? The sheriff records no, that's zero, repeat offenders booking rooms in his facility..

That quickly reminds me of a noise nuisance story I covered here in Colorado. In this rural county, a judge's punishment for violating the town's noise law? You must sit in his courtroom for two hours listening to classical music. If you like classical music? The judge has some old L.P.s of cowboy crooners like Roy Rogers and Gene Autry.  And there are some Rap and Hip Hop CDs.

I'm not there obviously, but rumor is it's pretty quiet up in that little corner of Colorado.

I don't know. What do you think? Pink or Gene Autry? Tough choice. But I'm thinkin' this is just the kind of thing that reminds John Rayburn of another story.

Sit down and prepare to linger a while.

"I went to a Garden Party...."

Well now my good friend Becky is sad because I say I'm going to backoff on BullyDozers to please my good friend Mindy. Well, in the lyrics of little Ricky Nelson?

"Ya can't please everybody, so you've got to please yourself."

Actually, in keeping with the political climate, I'm out to please anyone who plans to vote. 

"MY FRIENDS....I PROMISE YOU A BULLYDOZER IN EVERY GARAGE...or not."

If you are looking for a safe haven during the next week and a half? We probably won't be talking politics at this location. It's not that I don't care. It's just that I think I know too much, and therefore, kind of don't care.

Yeah, I'm going to vote.  I never ignore that privilege. I hope you don't either.  But I refuse to participate in, or encourage the participation in, the desperate posturing and rancor of the campaigns' final moments.

What we see, hear and read from all of them over the next week will be at best distortions. We'll hear promises that can't or won't be kept.

At worst we'll be hearing out and out lies. And somehow on the backside? Our system tends  to work. I don't why, but it does.

 Now if something really weird or goofy happens? I'm on it.  

Okay, here comes some sloppy, speculative, unfounded, probably wrong journalism that gives BLOGS a bad name.

Take a gander at PICTURE 2, and then get back to me.

 

Now I see this and shoot it from a distance with a long lens. I do not rush to the scene to confirm my suspicions. At first blush you might think, "what a wonderful MOM out supervising the kids having their winter fun."

Well, what I'm afraid I didn't capture?  In the next non-existent frame she is knocking the toddler off the sled. And in the next nonexistent frame? She jumps on the sled and throws herself off this Black Diamond one and half degree sloped suburban hill with shouts of glee.

Well I think I've effectively disguised her identity should this all be bogus. Maybe I miss some subtleties that will explain it all away. But if the speculation is in anyway true? Mommy, shame on you!!  

THE YEAR? 2025

LOCATION? PSYCHAITRIST'S OFFICE

"What seems to be troubling you Tom?"

"I think I hate myself."

"Hmmmmmm?"

"I just don't think I can go on!"

"Why do you think that is, Tom?"

"I don't think, I know.  It's because my mother threw me off my sled when I was four, and then stole it from me. Then she slides down the  hill laughing all the way. And here I am standing at the top of this big mountain all by myself."

"I see, hmmmmm!"

"What do I owe you Doc?"

"This is a horrible revelation.  Nothing, you owe me nothing."

"So I went to a garden party, and they all knew my name......." 

Deep in Thought

Well, it's still October and, right here?  We are under a blanket of a foot of snow. What's going on my little El Nino. (Can you believe it? I'm a morning person staying up late enough to watch the Craig Ferguson show.)  Do any keyboards include the TILDE? They must because I see it in print a lot.

I make my students listen to this tirade every year, so you might as well hear it as well. Why, when there is a major snowstorm anywhere, the media...all media...say, "make sure you get an early start."

Result? We all get on the highway at the same time and just sit there burning three dollar a gallon gas. And we're still late for work! All highways to my understanding have finite dimensions.

And, it's my understanding, they are build to accomodate predicted volume. No provisions, that I know of, have ever been made for the roads to just get bigger on the spot when it snows. 

Try these metaphors on for size. Ever try to push a sweet potatoe (Dan Quayle and I think that's how it ought to be spelled) through a keyhole?  How about an apple through a hose?

Anyway, I turn this little diatribe into a TV story many moons ago? I find many frustrated motorists coaxed into becoming parts of the sweet potatoe (It is an alternate, although not encouraged, spelling). 

I even get Dan Hopkins, then the spokesperson for the Department of Highways, now the mouth piece for the Governor, to agree with me. He says, "yeah it is a dumb idea to encourage everybody to get an early start."

But he also cautions me I might have a little trouble selling the story, politically speaking. Well, I should have listened. He knows a lot more about politics than I do.

At the end of the story the anchor (dear Bertha Lynn by name) says, "that's really an interesting story Paul."

We go to a commercial break.  Out of the break it's time for weather. Bertha says to the Weather Anchor (I'm 90 percent sure it is Marty Coniglio), " Marty, any advice to commuters with this storm coming." 

"Yeah, Bertha. Everybody should get an early start."

Clearly they know a lot more about politics than I do too.

There is a time in media history when Dan Hopkins is the traffic reporter for Triple A? His reports are aired over half the radio stations in this Metro Area. Noting similar conditions to which I've just described, in his report,  he says somethinglike?

"If you'll all just leave for work at your regular time, and slow down to a safe speed, we'll all just be about ten or fifteen minutes late to work.  LATE but ALIVE."

So the Triple A phones are ringy ding dinging?

"Good Morning. Triple A!"

"This is Bill Coors! I want to talk to that traffic idiot who says it's okay for my employees to show up 15 minutes late. If they show up late they'll lose their beer break."

"Good Morning. (with depleted enthusiasm) Triple A!"

"This is Charles Gates. (probably from the grave) The reason people are on the road at all this morning is because my company's employees show up to work on time and make tires and fan belts.  Let me talk to the Dan Hopkins person."

You know it's probably better to just call in sick.

Advice to students. Don't send me an email saying there is no way you can make it to school with all the snow that fell at your house. 

That is, don't send that email until you've done your homework. That is, done your homework, and know where I live.

These are funny emails to read when I've done my homework. I've done my homework and know you just live a few blocks away from me.

One year I get one of these emails detailing the transportation problem of having to get to school,  in the snow,  having to drive a specific vehicle? 

You guess it.  It is a later model of the conveyance I use to find MY way to campus.

Here's some ironies, in my mind.  So it snows a foot?

Let me give credit where credit is certainly due.

The mailperson holds true to the company's motto. The mail arrives.

[NEITHER SNOW, NOR HEAT, NOR RAIN, NOR GLOOM OF NIGHT....BLAH, BLAH, BLAH]

And hey, it's bottled water delivery day. There are heavy footprints in the front yard.  And there are two big hunkin' bottles of water sitting on my front porch. But guess who the no-shows are?

The paper isn't here. Now in ancient history when the paper is delivered by some 12 year old on his Schwin?  Understandable.

But in this age when the paper person is a soccer mom, delivering the paper from her heated HUM V, driven by GPS, paper slung by automated slinging device?  There really should not be an excuse.

And here's one I'll never understand.

When former Energy and Transportation Secretary Federico Pena was Mayor here? When he faces a storm of even greater proportion?. What implement does he  enlist to pack down the snow on the streets to make them passable?

You probably didn't guess. He employs those big ol' monstrous go anywhere, anytime, GARBAGE TRUCKS.

So who doesn't show up for duty in this snow storm?

This time you DID guess it. GARBAGE TRUCK!

I didn't get a good picture of one? But a garbage can caked with a foot of snow makes a dandy snowman (person).  

And, Oh! In the mail? The Garbage Truck BILL.

I promise my friend Mindy I will be temperate for a while on the Backyard Bullydozer saga.  I can't afford to lose her.  But I must follow up on the espying of a the Pink Simi sitting amongst the BullyDozers. 

I did track down the project manager. He then directs me to an assistant project manager who might know who'd be brave enough to own and/or drive a pink semi. 

Well I get busy and humbled by Mindy's ennui. So I just kiss it off for the time being?  And then I head to work?  I'm late and pushing the speed limit on a major East-West Thoroughfare.  But I'm not going so fast that I miss a "big ol' pink" semi racing in the opposite direction. 

I damn near slam on the breaks and jump the median. Oh, those missed TV opportunities.

That's all moot now anyway since I get topped by stepdaughter Rhonda.  In case you haven't read her comment?  She knows of a trucking company in the Bay Area that boasts a fleet of LAVENDER semis, all decked out in lace curtains. And all the drivers? Uh, huh! Women.

I'm still going to get the Pink Semi story, but it pales in comparison. Lavender?  Whoa!

Now that's deep!

[THIS JUST IN: THE PAPER JUST ARRIVED. SHE MUST HAVE TAKEN MY ADVICE AND LEFT AT HER REGULAR TIME.]

 

MY Loss is MY Gain

Yeah, that's me. I'm in a pair of pants that were tight 4 months ago. And that's a tee shirt I haven't been able to get into for 6 years. For the record I'm 6 inches thinner around waist and 33 pounds lighter. That's it for the ad isn't it?  Now I just have to jump up and down and tell you how it's changed my life, and I feel sexy again, right?

I tell myself I'm not going to talk about this unless a bunch of people get brave enough to actually say something to me.  So here's some conversations I'm having?

"Wow!"

"Thanks."

"Subway?"

"No!"

"Atkins? South Beach I'll bet!"

"Uh, Uh!"

From my generation?

"You must be on the Mayo Clinic Diet."

"FAT CHANCE!" ( The Mayo Clinic always disavowed any connection with that regimen.)

"Pritikin?"

"Not on your life."

From the concerned:

"I was afraid to ask for fear you might be seriously ill."

"No, no, no, no! Relax.  I'm good."

I'll tell you HOW good a few paragraphs down.

I'm blabbing about this, in part, because it forces me into a commitment. I WILL NOT gain a pound through the holidays. Hold me to it. I've never been able to achieve that goal.

I'm also talking about it because being sexy again means nothing if you can't brag like this:

Cholesteral total: 125

LDL:                     46

HDL:                     69

BP  average         116/72

I'm still on some MEDS, but barely.

So how? Well, first I talk to my doctor who removes all excuses.

"Sorry Paul, but there are absolutely no limits on your exercise."

And here is some shocking  revolutionary doctor's advice:

"Eat lots of fresh vegetables and fruits and limit your intake of red meat."

Earth Shaking, don't you think? Gosh if I'd known that earlier?

[Disclaimer: Don't try any of this without consulting with your own medical guru.]

I'm going to give my get in shape program a name. I'm going to call it the LTM plan.

"Eh?"

On most given days I can't find my glasses, my pen, my cell phone, my school bag. Why? Like many of you in my age category and plus, my short term memory sucks. Therefore, I've decided to rely on my long term memory, or LTM.

So I question myself:

"When in your life were you in good shape?"

    High School Football , Warehouse, Peace Corps Training, Early Teaching years, Late 30's.

How did you get there?

   Two a days, 100 pound flour sacks, two a days, running.

What did you eat?

   Lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, and an occasional steak.

How often did you exercise?

   Twice a day

What kinds of exercise?

   Table Tennis, Unicycle, Football,  Basketball,  Running,  Jogging,  Body Surfing, Volleyball, Running on Beach, Cycling, Hiking, Skiing, Weight Lifting, Tennis, and some Swimming.  

What were your stumbling blocks?

    I'd get bored. No one to play with.  I'd say to myself I was too busy. I'd get injured. I'd get competitive and frustrated I couldn't win all the time. I'd get depressed over some key life event.  I'd just decide it was time to relax.  I'd slip into some less than healthy extra curricular activites. I'd smoke. I'd drink.

Well, okay then. Here's the LTM

   I'm eating lots of fresh fruit and vegetables.

   I'm doing something physical at least once a day. [My GOAL is to do two a days every day.]

   I plan solo exercise activities. Someone to play with is always a bonus. 

   I meditate to get through life frustrations.

   When I get lazy I remind myself how good I feel.

   I don't smoke.

   I drink in moderation.

Sorry, but that's it.  That's Paul's LTM get in shape plan. No charge!

Can't be any good then, can it?

By the way? On my last entry some of you thought I Photo Shopped that Pink Semi.  Not so. Somebody actually owns and drives a PINK SEMI.  I'll see if I can find out who.  It may take a while.  Be patient.

I'd love to stick around and chat, but I've gotta RUN.

In The Pink

It was the Peace Corps, in it's early recruiting days,  that popularized the maxim, " Is the glass half full? Or is it half empty?"

It is I who hopes to popularize the maxim, "Is that a PINK semi or is it just SEMI pink?"

Peace Corps? Semi? Pink? Water? Full? Empty? Connection?

NONE!

Relevance to today's posting?

NONE!

I won't say my life's desires are complete. But today I can scratch off a long time yearning from my master list.  While it won't be moving pictures?  I can finally illustrate with a STILL PICTURE the phenomenon of WILD LEAF TEA!

[SEE PICTURE 2]

This BLOG posting, by the way, is dedicated to my good friend and colleague Jim Weis. It is Jim who every fall has to listen to my rambling frustration at not being able to tell this story.  WILD LEAF TEA, you say?

The Television Station I retire from ( and the one Jim Weis still works for ) sits above a major creek.  Well, one year in the mid 80's I'm working on the assignment desk.  It's a late October event. For no good reason it is pouring down rain. [Late October moisture in this town tends to be white and fairly solid.]

Well all morning long on this late October day the phone is ringing at the desk.  And on the other end of the line? People, hundreds of them, calling to report this strange FOAMY substance in the middle of the creek. 

This is at a time when the EPA and state and local health agencies  are cracking down on illegal dumping. Citizens are ready at a wink to report any environmental crime. 

Well, I set out to get to the bottom of this foamy mystery?  And the health departments ARE out investigating. Problems:

1. The stuff is everywhere, flowing through at least five metropolitan jurisdictions. 

2. There is no one clear source.

3. If health people are able to indentify the substance? For some reason they are not talking.

I spend all day long trying to piece this story together. And at the end of the day? I talk to a deep throat public works official in the smallest jurisdiction involved. She makes my day.

"Yeah, I know what it is?"

"REALLY?"

"It's TEA!"

"EH?"

"When leaves have been lying around on the ground for a while, they start to decay.  When they decay they release tannins just the same as tea leavesdo in your cup."

"Okay, I'm with you."

"Bodies of water that play host to the leaves turn dark and brackish."

"Uh, huh!"

"Under normal circumstances, raking, freezing and snow pack pretty much cover up the process."

"BUT?"

"Thats right.  When you get a heavy rain in mid to late fall, it causes the tea to foam up. It would happen with your Darjeeling at home if you put it under a faucet."

"So that's what we're looking at in the creek?"

"98 percent sure."

"So I'm going to send a reporter and photographer your way to get this all on tape."

"No you're not.  This was all off the record."

"But?"

CLICK!

Turns out no official wants to call a LEAF a LEAF, because they are only 98 percent sure. I put the story in my little evergreen list to check on every fall? 

In TV the general rule is if you don't have pictures?  You don't have a story. Well, as a reporter, I try to do that story every year for 17 years.  I can never get the video.

Okay, let's jump forward to today.  Our friend Cheri from Ireland is coming to town.  We're hosting a get together for her.  So I'm out cleaning up the yard.  I notice the bird bath and a small pond are really looking dark and brackish.  Nobody needs to see that, I'm thinking?

So? I hook the high powered nozzle up to the hose and walk over to the pond.  I just shove the nozzle into the water and let 'er rip.

"OH MY, OH MY!"

It's foam just like the foam I saw in the 80's.  It just keeps coming pouring over the side of the pond.  I am looking at and smelling a combined maple, sage, ash, scrub oak, dogwood, TEA!

Now I could kick myself for not thinking of just doing a demonstration for a camera to tell that story all those years? But people my age should not engage in the act of trying to kick one's self.  I'm just finally glad I CAN FINALLY TELL YOU WHAT IT IS! 

I hope some of those concerned citizens that called in are still alive to read this.  Jim is just going to be happy I'll finally shut up about it.

Yeah, I tasted it.  Can't say as I'd recommend it? But maybe, like green tea? Maybe it's good for you?

I was going to say it'll "put you in the PINK!"

Show of hands! How many of you know or understand that expression?

I didn't think so.

Judgement Day

The BullyDozer gallery is open again today.  I hope you stop by and feel free to constructively judge my effort to humanize these behemoths.

I'm afraid it's still a little too early to pass judgement on the work these Big Guys Dozers are carrying out in the backyard. It's kind of tough to hold back that judgement right now.  And it's not a case of some pressing issue.  It's just that 'tis the season. 

"Eh?"

Well we've just finished mid-terms. And faculty have just gotten their student evaluations back on their efforts in the Spring. It could be a coincidence? 

I'm sure there is some value in those evaluations.  But I have at least one concern. I equate them to some degree to the work of media consulting groups.  These "guys" come to town, do some in- house investigations, hold some focus groups and then head back to Iowa or New Jersey.  Six months later they deliver the results of their investigation.

Six months in the media world today can be generational.  New technology has likely shown up. New formats have already kicked in adjusting to the last consult.

Then a media conglomerate shows up and swallows the station. It changes the format and network affiliation. The new owners put their own managers in place. The new managers get rid of the current talent and journalist rosters and put the new people in place.

AND THEN? They hire a consultant.

Anyway....with all this evaluating going on?  I get to thinkin'.  My life has really been full of mentors. And when things get a little skewed?

NOPE, NO WAY.  There are a TON of people RESPONSIBLE for who I am. But none of them are to BLAME. It's not always easy, but I can live with that.

Now wait a minute. Maybe I could lay some blame on a BullyDozer? Naw! They're okay.

 

 

NUKE is just one syllable!

Some historian or linguist is going to get all over me for this.  But you know what?  What the heck! All history is urban or rural legend, RIGHT?

If the legend helps illustrate your point?  I say, as long as it's not hurting anybody?  Go with it.

So, the legend says, the Spanish Castillian dialect can trace it's so-called "lisp" to one of two kings.  They would be King Phillip the Second [The Tooth?] or King Ferdinand.  Story is one of them spoke with a lisp, and his Spanish subjects not wanting to offend him? They, too, decide to "lisp."

So? Barcelona becomes Barthelona?  Madrid becomes Madrith?

Okay, I know phonetically it's not a true dysfunctional lisp. I know the evolution of language is far more complex to attribute it to one monarch.

Still?  The Iberian Myth is going to be very helpful in the discussion I'm about to initiate.  So work with me.  Let's hang on to the legend for a few minutes.

[DISCLAIMER: The Following is not a political statement. It is the creation of a "flaming" Independant.  As a former journalist I pride myself on my ability to straddle the barbed wire fence of public opinion and policy. Even in retirement I reserve the right to make fun of all politicians and historical figures.}

 

Every King or Queen, every Prime Minister, every Dictator, every President, day dreams of the legacy he or she will bequeath to future generations.

Certainly his handling of Iraq will be on "GW"s bequeathing plate. So too, now, will be the fashion and result of his dealing with North Korea's messin' around with atomic energy.  The jury is clearly still out on both issues. 

However, there is one position our Chief Executive has taken that is clearly being dished up for us to shun or absorb NOW! Each of us will have to decide for ourselves where we stand and what we will do with this decision, on into OUR  futures, and our CHILDREN'S futures.

"What are you talking about Paul? Get to the point for heaven's sake."

Okay.  Quite simply, since he balks at any suggestion of reform, we are going to have to choose how we are going to pronounce the word spelled, N-U-C-L-E-A-R.

This distinguished man of Yale letters is adamantly determined we will all say together, come on now!

"NEW CUE LURE." Come on now, he's our leader.  Do we go with it?  In a couple of centuries from now we can always plant a scholar or phonetisist who will up and say,  " it's just an urban myth. The pronunciation NEW CUE LURE just evolved with the dynamism of the American English dialect.

And you know? I could almost join the bandwagon at that level? 

But then this morning in his brief speech from the White House?  After tossing in a few NEW CUE LURES? 

He hits us with a new one?  There is trouble out there on that "Korean PIN IN SHOE LUH."   Yuk! And while I didn't tape it, I'm thinking I heard it in the adjectival form later on? Didn't he also say "PIN IN SHOE LURE?"  If not, I'm sure it's on it's way.

Remember how George Senior bumped his head all the time?  And he couldn't get passed calling that Iraqui guy SUH DAMN?

It has to be a dominant male genetic link. And so, if we're patient? The girls are adopted.  They shouldn't pick it up. And Laura doesn't talk that way.  Let's just humor him for a couple of years and go back to the original before some historian pencils it in to "Revised Edition 2008." That's what I think. 

Send me to the guillotine if you like.  I will never utter PIN IN SHOE LURE.

Shame on you YALE!

How you votin' BullyDozer?