I'm Not Wild About Harry

(This is a re-post from July of 2007.  I happy to report that twelve years later I remain the same crank.)

What the hell are "Deathly Hallows"?  Didn't I catch that in the service?

After nearly forty years of having a radio show, there are many perks I miss now that I no longer have a release for the bubbling cauldron of weirdness that dwells in my melon nearly 24/7.  This blog helps with that.  However, there is one giant burden that has been lifted from me.  I now relish, and I DO mean relish the fact that I am free at last from the chore of feigning any interest in popular culture.  God, I hated faking that! It was the bane of my broadcast existence.  Many program directors sucked down Maalox and ripped out what little hair they had attempting to impress upon me the importance of "relating" to the audience.

Well, excuse me, I just never cared.  As I saw it, my job was to talk dirty and play the hits.  The listener's job was to LISTEN.  Had I actually liked most of the heavy hits I was shoveling I might have been dangerous, but while the tunes were on the air I was either on the phone,  going over the racing form or planning mischief to get into just as soon as my grueling four-hour show was over. It's a curse and I know it.  I would sooner spend an afternoon watching oil changes at the Chevron station than read a Harry Potter book or watch a minute of American Idol or ANY reality show.

So here I am not reading Harry Potter and probably not watching any of the TV shows everybody else likes, but that's the way I like it.  I did accompany Linda, a former librarian who happens to live with me, (see wife) to Costco yesterday so that together we could fight for a copy of the new Harry Potter.  In fact, she's reading it now.  Linda is a far more pleasant and agreeable person than I.  I'm sure she'll be willing to lend you her copy when she's done.

Me?  I'll be at the Chevron station.  There are some very cool oil changes coming up and, if I'm lucky, a tractor tire rotation.  Screw pop culture!

Clothing Optional Portland

(This is a re-post from July of 2012)

Why not Amada Peet or Claire Danes?  Heck, I'd settle for Flo from those Progressive Insurance commercials.  Nope.  Every time somebody gets naked to protest something or to make a point it's ALWAYS a guy.  Invariably the "nekid" dude is an overweight not particularly attractive slug
 who is oblivious to the stomach churning propensities of his decision to ditch his duds.

A man with nothing to hide.

John Brennan, a technology consultant, determined last April that he had been called on to make his displeasure with a TSA frisking he experienced from the screeners at Portland International airport known to all.  Mr. Brennan, whose clothing tested positive for nitrates, decided to chuck his threads and proceed through security sans clothing.  "They are just doing their job and, as a citizen of the U.S., I'm doing my job to protect my constitutional right to privacy," Brennan said in a telephone interview with the San Jose Mercury News.  "The TSA had already violated my privacy by doing a pat-down and pulling me out of line.  It's stripping me of any dignity."

The Portland cops thought otherwise and arrested him for indecent exposure.  The end?  Uh...not quite.  That was last April and now, after careful Portland style consideration, a judge in that weirdest of all West Coast cities has found John Brennan NOT GUILTY of the misdemeanor charge.  It seems that the Oregon state Supreme Court has ruled that nudity is protected speech and old John had disrobed with the idea that he wasn't breaking any laws.

I pass this on as a public service for those of you planning Summer travel that involves a stop in the Pacific Northwest.  Make sure you choose Portland International as your point of departure.  Just pile everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, into a couple of those tubs the TSA folks run through the x-ray machine and you're good to go.  No fuss, no muss...and NO CLOTHES!  You might even get early boarding.

Once aboard make sure you mention that you're "looking to spread out" and you should have plenty of room to relax in comfort. Probably have an entire row to yourself.  Naked flying, it could catch on.  Portland has always been so cutting edge.

This One's For You, FATS

"Eat me!"

If only Elvis were here to see this...
Chef Jason Weber of Amano, a Las Vegas feed bag establishment, has created a brand new combination sandwich for the ever expanding American waistline.  The "Fat Baby" is a gut busting medley of sandwich meat and your favorite pasta dish.  This $13 heart attack in waiting starts with a half loaf of bread bathed in garlic oil and butter topped off with a generous sprinkle of cheese.  The bread is hollowed out and stuffed with even MORE cheese before being toasted.  Chef Weber then moves on to the fillings:  bacon, spaghetti sauce, and noodles topped off with a mix of sauce and melty cheese.  So far the fettuccine Alfredo is the most popular Fat Baby but the choice of sauce is yours.  Spaghetti with pesto would be at the top of my list or maybe a nice carbonara. (You can never have too much bacon.)
I wonder if it comes with fries?  If so, make sure you order the diet Coke.

Points To Ponder

It has been a week of heavy pondering...

There must have been a memo or two that I missed.
Maybe it makes sense to you but frankly I'm baffled at the astounding number of television and radio commercials for car insurance.  They're on ALL the time and, granted, most are reasonably funny.  Liberty Mutual, Geico, Progressive, State Farm, and Allstate are almost impossible to miss in any given broadcast day.  Unless you're a hapless accident prone driver, how many times does anybody need to change car insurance providers?  Yeah, yeah, I know that sometimes you can save a couple of bucks by switching insurers but who wants the hassle?

The other puzzling part of this whole deal is how little information these commercials impart.  Granted they're exceedingly clever for the most part but I'm damned if that wacky Flo, a gecko or an Emu are who most of us think of as "go to" oracles for insurance tips.  That stupid insurance peddling Emu and his faithful human companion, Doug, may have some credibility at the goon garage and the laughing academy but can you imagine calling them when you have a claim??  The witness protection stooge standing by the Hudson River in shadow with his voice altered speaking in hushed tones about car insurance until, recognized by a neighbor kid, he's forced to go head first over the rail and into the river is a puzzler.  Instead of picking up the phone to get a quote from this outfit it would seem more fitting to call the harbor patrol or their ad agency and demand to know what the hell they were thinking.

Limo Emu??

What's with the English accent?

As long as we're talking wheels...

Here in the Northwest we seem to have a limitless supply of RV dealers, some actually side by side with huge inventories.  So, the question I keep asking and NOBODY has an answer for is this:  What is a good week for an RV dealership?  How many of those big ticket rolling estates do they have to sell to stay alive?  One?  Two?  Do they have floor plans like car dealers or do the manufacturers provide all of those rows of motorhomes on a consignment basis?  There are millions of dollars just sitting there!  What gives?

Finally, why is it when we open a bottle of ketchup at home--remember when it was catsup?--must we put it in the refrigerator?  Restaurants often have it perpetually at room temperature.  Is it because it gets far more use in that situation or are we just idiots for keeping it cold at home?  I prefer hot sauce anyway.  Just asking for a friend.

Wow, this protracted mental workout has left me spent.  It must be time for a nap, or at least a beer.