Confusing Times for the Commoner Elite

                   The economy sucks. The upcoming election has been reduced to nothing more than a beauty pageant and people are genuinely worried about the future. I myself, well I’m more worried about the present. We are living in confusing times brought about by our desire of ownership and habitual quest of happiness through the accumulation of objects that either entertain us or make our lives easier. I hear people talking politics and the economy almost everywhere I go. Not the types who usually annoy others with their overstated views and attempted witty commentary (yeah, I mean me) but people I meet in the store, students, parents, friends, hikers, and one of my dogs. The level of involvement is staggering. Most of the people I’ve spoken with do not like either candidate. The general consensus is that it really doesn’t matter who wins because let’s face it folks the system has become a never-ending toilet flush that is draining the pockets of the American citizen and nobody cares whether it is McCain or Obama captaining the little Tidy Bowl boat.

                   Obama talks about “change”. If he is referring to what’s in my pocket than he’s correct but other than that it’s just a hollow word thrown about by politicians like pillows at a Condaleeza Rice slumber party to inspire people that they are the ones who can bring it about. I think Obama is right about change, but I don’t think he is the one to make it happen. McCain isn’t either. I am. You are. We all are. Waiting for a politician to actually make something happen in Washington is like waiting in line for a Latte at a Starbucks that went out of business six months ago.  I have said it before but our political system’s lack of forsight and action can be paraphrased into” what’s best for the party is more important than what’s best for the people and who is right is more important that what is right”.

                     So how do we bring about change? Well talking about it is a start but talk is cheap…actually it’s the only thing that is still cheap. Change begins with us personally and procrastination is not an option in these heartless times. Below are just some quick ideas on how you can affect change in your personal life that will trigger a better economy.

1. Don’t use the American Express card to Pay the VISA card to pay the MASTERCARD to pay the DISCOVER card to pay the American Express card.

2. Try to look on the bright side of things and stay optimistic. Think of forclosure as an opportunity to dump that tired old American Dream that has been weighing you down like a backpack full of bobcats and embrace the easy living of never having to work on the property again. Having the landlord upstairs could be lots of fun. MisterRoeper  always seemed like he was very nice.

3. Have a garage sale. Get rid of your crap by selling it to others so they can make it their crap. Buying and selling used items to each other stimulates the economy by keeping your money out if it. Bartering for services is also becoming more commonplace. My friend’s wife volunteers at a local swim club teaching lessons so that her daughter can train for free and she makes a few bucks as well.

4. Do without. Before you buy it ask yourself if you really need it of just want it. Learning to control your buying impulses can be difficult. I myself am an impulse buyer. If I see it and I want it, I buy it. I now have a lot of impulse crap for my garage sale.

5. Think of ways to to make extra income. For instance I recently heard an ad on the radio about selling Plasma where you can make as much as $200.00 per month. If you get a family of five together on board that’s an extra $1,000 per month plus you get to spend more time together as a family enjoying juice and a cookie twice a week.

6. If you have children fire the landscaper, pool man, driveway sealer, tree cutter, roofer and exterminator. Children are natural little workers when you make everything a game. For example raking the leaves was always one of my least favorite chores to do growing up but my dad always made it a game. The rules of the game were If I didn’t rake the leaves in a certain amount of time I couldn’t go out and play for the rest of the day. Looking back now It wasn’t much of a fun game but I always got it done in time. Having the family seal the driveway together can be lot’s of fun, especially if someone starts a hot tar fight.

7. Vote independent for Ralph Nader. I mean he’s run so many times…come on throw him a bone. At least let him debate with Barrack Obama and John McCain to see what he has to say. People may be surprised and a viable third candidate may be thrust upon the campaign scene. Or he could just be another nut in the jar.

8. Engage in activities that don’t cost money or you can actually utilize your past impulse purchases. Hiking, putting your boat in the water, using your ATV, Kayaking, lighting fires…bonfires I mean, board games, living room wrestling matches, etc.

                   I think it’s important that we now examine how we have lived our lives and take accountability for our excesses. Luxury is addicting and most of us have confused luxury for comfort. We are minimalistic by standards for survival yet feel as if we can’t live without our cell phones, cars, and televisions. These are confusing times that will require great personal insight for each of us to find where we will fit into this rapidly changing world where having too much may be your weakness and downfall.

Ranting Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day

               It’s been a while since my last blog. I’ve been working on a project which has taken me away from writing but now I’m back…with a vengeance! Their are so many things annoying me at this time I don’t even know where  to begin. I’ve been trying to write more diverse blogs but every once in a while you have to go back to your roots and rant like a psychotic ferret whose been poked continuously with a stick by his owner’s satanic chocolate-milk faced four-year old brother.

The Bailout

                            First off, the bailout for Wall Street. Not good. Not good at all. Forgive me since I possess the math skills of a imbecile but aren’t the guys on Wall Street supposed to be financial experts? And again, forgive my stupidity but isn’t the government running at a 9 billion dollar deficit? Okay, here is where I get lost but doesn’t it seem like we have Potsie helping Ralph Malph here? For years Wall Street brokerage firms run by notorious greed mongers have been quietly accumulating large repackaged mortgages in bulk like a soccer mom at a COSCO. Loans that were force fed through the system by praying on the weak by dangling the great American dream. The only problem is the great American dream came with a balloon payment and an adjustable rate mortgage. Usually money flows up the river and crap flows down. This reversal of fortune and crap perpetrated by the unpoliced elite caused a crash that has sent a ripple effect throughout financial markets worldwide. That’s a lot of crap…and this bailout package will give us all an opportunity to eat some.  

The Palin – Biden Debate

                 There was a debate? Last week? Oh yeah Palin versus Biden. Missed it. I was busy running my  business in this horrible economy. I’m so burnt out from watching campaign ads for the last two years that I actually look forward to the genital herpes ads. Pharmaceutical ads are cool too. I only wish they would tell you what the drug is for.They present you with this wonderful image of someone living life to it’s fullest in a convertible by the beach that makes your life look like a one-light trailer park by the 7-11 in comparison and then leave you hanging with that, “Ask you doctor about…” nonsense. I don’t care that side effects may include nausea, vomiting, sleeplessness, drowsiness, sneezing, loss of appetite, weight gain, erectile dysfunction, weight loss, hair loss, blindness, open sores, kidney and or liver failure, temporary or permanent loss of taste and smell, and temporary and or permanent loss of breathing…I want some!

                  Oh, yeah the debate. I missed it. My interest in politics is as strong as ever but my interest in this election is wavering. I don’t care for either candidate much and therefore find it difficult to sustain a prolonged interest in the race. I’ve said it before but I truly feel that the current system of government in this country is so stifled by party politics that neither candidate is strong enough to affect any real change. They will both inevitably, play ball. I haven’t seen any real change in government in my lifetime. I don’t see any statesmen of character like a Lincoln or Jefferson. Our history books in school haven’t changed much since I was a kid. I don’t hear any kids running home excited about learning about Bill Clinton and asking their mother what a humidor is for. Before anyone goes pointing the anarchy finger at me…hey wait, that was the middle finger. Not cool. I’m choosing to be politically indifferent at this time in order to affect change in my own little world. Who knows, some day I may emerge from my self imposed cocoon of political indifference as a bright new butterfly of hope for all mankind…but for right now the system is circling the drain and I’m swimming for the toilet seat.

The McCain – Obama Debate Last Night

                       Again, I’m not seeing much substance in these debates. Both candidates fielded questions in such a roundabout convoluted fashion that you had to really listen hard to find a legitimate answer squeak through somewhere. They both took opportunities to divert from desired answers to point out either their strengths or their adversary’s weaknesses. To me it seemed like a girl scout fight in a cookie factory with little swipes and scratches but nobody drawing any real blood. I’ve had tougher debates with six year-olds as to whether RAZZLES is a candy or a gum.

                 All of these politicians with hollow messages of hope and change are as interchangeable as my iPOD playlists and that is why the American voter is more frustrated than a choking victim at an armless vet convention. More and more Americans are becoming disinterested in politics, especially in a bad economy. It doesn’t make people feel warm and fuzzy to hear that Obama raised 30 million dollars in one month for advertising on television when most people can’t even pay their cable bill to watch the stupid ads.  

                  The best part of the debates are always when the camera pans to observe the facial reactions of the candidate when the other guy is speaking. They both smiled when they obviously disagreed with the other’s statement. No head nodding, rolling of the eyes, or contorting facial expressions like they smell dog poop on the bottom of their shoe. Just a cool calculated smile that said, ” You’re a damn liar. I never said that. I hope you die”.

                  I would personally like to see a “tag-team” debate with McCain and Palin versus Obama and Biden. The debate would be followed by a cage fighting match. I see Palin standing in the cage with a Stepford Wife blank look on her face but when the bell rings watch out for the Caribou fur to fly as she immediately goes for a takedown on Obama as Biden and McCain square off in the middle and thumb wrestle.

The Fall of The Mighty

                    Due to the current state of the economy a few of my more affluent friends are gradually slidng down the social banister into the burgeoning middle class. They are good people who lived well but weren’t the type to throw it in your face. They didn’t float around in their dollar sign shaped pool filled with Evian while the staff served them fruity drinks and melon slices…also shaped like dollars signs. They are hard working people who have done well for themselves but now find it necessary to downsize their lifestyle and make drastic changes. This is a time that truly challenges a family and tests it’s strength. Some people may feel a little vindicated when they see someone fall from a higher financial status than them. It helps with the excuse process i suppose. I personally don’t like to see someone that I know hit with hard times even if they have enjoyed the spoils of life for a long time. In times of need it is better to give someone a leg up than to cut a leg off. Better times are coming.

Peace out!

Blog For A Sunday Morning

                        I usually have an idea or subject that I’d like to write about before sitting down to my computer. It’s early Sunday morning and I’m the only one awake in the house. It’s too early to shoot groundhogs on my property so I wandered down to the basement and now here I am. I’m just going to start writing and see where it takes me…it may get strange, it may get bizarre…but I promise you it will never get weird.  

                           I’m hoping to get some river time in today with my new kayak. I recently purchased a new Diesel 75 whitewater kayak and have been eager to test it out. Being a very visual person I tend to make purchases on impulse. If I see something I like I buy it, if it is within (or slightly just outside) my budget. I saw the Diesel at a great little kayak store and bought it on sight. There were many other kayaks but this one called out to me. We connected on a spiritual level. Man and molded plastic together as one on a vision quest that will undoubtedly bash my head against a huge rock in a river somewhere in America.When I got home I went online to read the reviews on the Diesel 75 which is the way I usually do things. I had previously bought an Emotion Glide kayak which was trashed by every person I spoke to or reviewed online…except Emotion of course. I expected the same for the Diesel. I was shocked that it was reviewed very favorably by everyone. It was rated a 9.18 out of 10. That’s almost the score a 16 14…12 9 year old Chinese gymnast received in the recent Olympics. I finally bought something that was made well and everyone liked. I am now 1 for about 1, 236. I feel validated.

                      I’ll be going to the gym soon. My workouts have been going very well in anticipation of an upcoming MMA fight in October or November. I enjoy the solitude of the gym, especially in the morning. I’m fortunate to have the gym in the basement of my Pennsylvania Mixed Martial Arts Academy. Working out alone seems to work for me and I’m very fortunate to have great students and fighters to train and spar with me…but when it comes to running and lifting weights I prefer to go it alone. Most times I feel that people in general don’t spend enough time alone with their thoughts out in nature. Hiking a rough terrain or kayaking down a river gives you a sense of smallness and temporary insignificance which is both humbling and invigorating. 

                      Out here in in PA it’s open season on cars. This is the Deer’s way of revenge against hunters. My daughter just totaled her car to avoid hitting a deer. Did the deer didn’t stick around to see if she was okay? No, she just scampered along on her merry deer way to try and kill someone else. These “Suicide Bomber” Deer are becoming a nuisance. They are like cute furry little kamikaze fighters. They accept that they will die on impact…but at the last second they hope the driver will swerve and they will be spared…only to be killed by the truck coming the other way. 

                              My daughter was banged up pretty good and wound up with a black eye and swollen face. In this area most people just assumed she was recently married. This being her first real accident she also got the experience of dealing with an insurance company for the first time. When I asked her how it was going she just muttered something like, “They suck. I’m moving to Germany.”  Which I assume means it is going well.

                     I’m not much of a baseball fan and I know it annoys some of my students when we get on the conversation of America’s favorite pastime. I haven’t watched one baseball game this year, don’t know which teams are winning, and I have no idea which team won the World Series last year. It just isn’t my area of interest. But when I was a kid I went to Yankee Stadium with my Little League team and saw Mickey Mantle play. How many people can say that? We made a banner that said “Hey Number 7, Hit one to Heaven”…I wrote it. The other kids on the team generally hated me because I was afraid to hit the ball and always struck out. I wondered if I was the only kid who saw this as a very unsafe idea? One kid hurling a ball as fast as he can at you trying to get it into the catcher’s tiny mitt made me nervous. Besides, I knew the pitcher from school and had seen him fall down the stairs twice. Not exactly a comforting thought when he is gazing at you from the mound sneering like some deranged Dr. Seuss character. So needless to say I don’t follow baseball.

                   The former owner of my property told me that his wife lost a ten thousand dollar tennis bracelet somewhere on the property while riding one of their horses. Every so often I walk around with my metal detector like one of those freaks that do it on the beach…but this is much cooler because nobody knows I do it. I don’t wear a hat or carry a whip like Indiana Jones. Just me and Elvis, my more than slightly overweight Jack Russell Terrier. If I detect metal I call Elvis and he starts digging. I told him we would split whatever we find 50/50…I have it on good authority that he’d settle for a Bacon Beggin’ Strip. Stupid dog.

                          Closing thoughts…spend some time alone…aspire for happiness…ask yourself if you want be a Star or work in a Starbucks…because both are cool as long as you’re happy.  

                    I’m off to the gym, to the river and if there’s time, to find that damn bracelet.

Ginger, Mary Ann or Sarah Palin?

                     Ginger, Mary Ann or Sarah Palin? I’m not asking which is the hottest…Mary Ann, no question. I’m asking which is the best woman for the job of Vice President? I know that Ginger or May Ann were never even a consideration but I think in order to find out exactly how strong Sarah Palin is we need to make the comparison. Rather than theoretically placing Ginger and Mary Ann into the political cesspool I prefer to question what Sarah would have done on Gilligan’s Island.  

                     Understanding the dynamic of Gilligan’s Island is essential when exploring the possible influence Sarah Palin would have had on the dichotomy of the castaways. Although the male population on the island each clearly represented a value, the Skipper (strength and leadership), the professor (wisdom and intelligence) and Gilligan (chaos,stupidity, and laziness), the women were never defined by any of their abilities or talents in a worthwhile way.  Ginger couldn’t act or seduce her way off the island. May Ann couldn’t sweet talk her way off and Mrs. Howell couldn’t buy her way off the island. With each of these women bearing absolutely no talent to assist in the day to day survival needs of the castaways it can be assumed that they were there strictly as eye candy…except Mrs. Howell.

                   Enter Sarah Palin…alright…let me give you more of a set-up here. Geez, no imagination. As a baby Sarah was boating near her home with her family when an iceberg hit her boat and all of the passengers were thrown into the icy waters. Sarah is saved by a family of Alaskan Sea Otters who raise her as their own for the next three years of her life. A young couple from Arkansas trekking through the Alaskan wilderness stumble upon young Sarah as she is sliding on her belly into a snow mound by a pool of crystal clear spring water. They strike a deal with the otters and Sarah is taken back to civilization, well Arkansas anyway. Sarah is the pride and joy of her new family and excells in school and at sports. It was the morning of her sixth birthday when the otters came for her. She heard the knock on the door and her mother crying, “It’s too soon, it’s too soon, we had a deal”. Her mothers trembling voice echoed in her head as the otters stood over her small bed and gazed in wonder. She heard her mother’s voice as the otters gathered her up in her blanket. She listened for it as the otters walked out the front door. Looking over their shoulder watching her mother on the front porch clutching a Bible in one hand and a TV Guide in the other. “It’s too soon,” her mother’s voice faded as the otters began their long journey back home with Sarah, “We had a deal”. During the trip home they decided to stop in Las Vegas for some sun and fun. It was there that the otters exposed their weakness for gambling and lost Sarah to a life insurance salesman from Newport Beach, California. Okay, I’m getting tired of this set-up. When he got back home he tossed her in the ocean like a car tire and she washed up on Gilligan’s Island. So that’s how she got there. There’s your stupid set-up. Happy now? I know it doesn’t make sense but this is an important piece of political research and it doesn’t really have to.

                   Let’s skip ahead twenty five years and a thirty-one year old Sarah Palin has matured into a dynamic leader on the island. The following are some of the differences we would have seen if Sarah Palin was on the isalnd:

1. Better sanitation system. There are just so many trees on the island you can go to the bathroom behind.

2. Began drilling for oil under Ginger and Mary Ann’s hut.

3. Instituted a law stating that calling someone “Little Buddy” is sexual harassment. See Skipper vs Gilligan

4. Had everyone pitch in and make Mary Ann some new clothes. The table cloth half shirt and Capri Pants were just done to death by her. Note: My feelings on Capri pants are well documented in other blogs.

5. Started a democratic form of government on the island thereby rescinding all power and authority assumed by the Skipper. Drafted the first constitution beginning, We the people of Sarah Palin’s Island ( she liked the way it sounded better than Gilligan’s Island), do hereby solemnly promise never to eat each other, no matter how hungry or sick of coconuts we get… and it went on from there.

6. Placed Mrs. Howell on a raft because she served absolutely no purpose on the island. The vote was 5 to 3 with Mr. Howell voting to send her wrinkled ass packing. She was lucky considering the vote to temporarily abandon the constitution and eat her was a tie at 4 to 4.

7. Drafted the law limiting one baby per hut. Island over-population was a main concern.

8. Drafted the law that recognizes same sex marriages. Congratulations to Gilligan and the Professor who will be honeymooning on the other side of the island. Come on, you knew.

9. Closed all borders and shorelines to the island preventing illegal immigration…and any chance of rescue.

10. Started the first island beauty pageant which she won second runner up to Ginger. Mary Ann could not participate due to an unspecified skin irritation around her calfs where those stupid Capri pants scrub your flesh off like an Indian burn at summer camp.

11. Passed law banning all beauty pageants.

Back to School Shopping…For Everthing But Gym Class

                     Now that the back to school shopping rush is nearing an end I am reminded of my own back to school experiences when I was a kid. Shopping with my mother consisted of buying pens, pencils, book covers, notepads, and some new clothes. When you’re young it seems a lot can change over a summer so the notion of seeing the schoolmates you haven’t seen for two months was always exciting. Going back to school meant going back to work for us. Attending classes was boring for me but at least I always had gym class to look forward to. A new pair of Pro Keds, I was a little faster than I was last year, and I actually grew a half inch. Oh yeah, I was ready to tear it up in gym class this year.

MY GYM CLASS: Gym class for me was an escape from the boredom of academics. I was bright but was easily bored by certain school subjects. What sometimes made it more difficult was sitting at your desk and watching the gym class in session play in the field. I yearned to be out there proving myself as a worthy athlete rather than sitting at a desk learning cursive. Hey, I already knew how to curse…I did it all summer. From memory my gym teacher’s were: Grade School-Mr. Naimo, Middle School-Mr. Lorenzo, High School-Mr. Johnson, Mr. Shattles, and Mr. Caiazzo. I remember them because they, aside from my father were to be my guides to masculinity and manhood. The gym classes were organized with requirements and well thought out plans to help our young bodies mature into healthy adults…to combat communism. Everyone participated…or they failed and had to repeat the year. No highway option here and no sniveling parents with doctor’s notes and growth-plate nonsense. Gym was not only challenging, it was fun. We took pride in our performance in gym and would usually talk about it during the next few classes via an advanced network of note passing (the predecessor to text messaging). I can still vividly remember running the fifty yard dash in 5.6 seconds which was the new school record and having everyone pat me on the back. Mr. Lorenzo the gym teacher was very impressed. It would serve me well in the future because five years later he would become my soccer coach when I entered high school and I made the varsity as a freshman.

GYM CLASS TODAY: If I was being trained in my gym classes to become a healthy American adult to fight the menace of communism then it stands to reason that kids today should become healthy American adults to fight Islamic fundamentalist terrorists right? Wrong! Drive past most schools and you’ll notice that the bike racks are gone. Most have been torn down, melted, and sent to China as scrap iron to be used in the building of their Olympic stadiums. How is that for irony? Kids get rides to school or take the bus. Most kids don’t walk to school anymore because predators supposedly lurk in every corner and their parents want to keep them safe. Keeping them safe is the number one excuse reason for them to have cell phones. If anything bad happens they can simply call home…or their BFF and talk about that cute boy with the really baggy pants and hat turned sideways…he is sooooo cute.

              Back to school shopping consisted of a new updated cell phone, an iPOD, a GPS, new designer clothes, some video games, and a laminated note to the gym teacher explaining why this unique little snowflake can’t take gym because of carpal tunnel syndrome brought about by extreme text messaging. I’ve personally taught at high schools and have seen more than half the class standing or sitting against the wall in their street clothes. Boys in baggy pants and bling-bling and girls dressed like the shift change at a strip club by the airport. Besides a poor taste in clothes they all have one thing in common. They will all pass gym.

                  This phenomenon was started years ago by the parents of kids with little athletic ability. You know, nerds. These parents had to listen to their future rocket scientist kids complain constantly about the worthlessness of gym classes. Getting hit with a dodge-ball or striking out in kickball was not fun for them nor was it in their future to become an athlete so what was the point?

                   As time went on the parents seemed to garner more and more power over their kids education and they wound up winning the gym battle. It all seems pretty fair doesn’t it. Why should an overweight boy with a puffer for his asthma take a gym class when he knows he is going to work with computers someday? Perhaps for the same reason a boy who wanted to be a martial arts teacher had to take chemistry. Was it fair that I had problems understanding equations yet still had to pass the class to graduate and the future whiz kid of computer technology could skip gym? If you’re wondering, that little boy who wanted to teach martial arts was me, and that little nerd was no other than…Bill Gatesman, who now works in Circuit City as a printer ink salesperson. He is grossly overweight and just suffered a mild heart attack while running to help his daughter who had text messaged him that she was in trouble. It turns out that she had forgotten her password to her laptop and needed it right away to write her essay on why kids shouldn’t have to take gym. Daddy’s little girl, a chubby little chocolate chip off the block with childhood diabetes.

Wassup Wit Da Price of Gas Dees Daze : Diddy Flying Commercial and Whatnot

                  P. Diddy is the perfect example of the unlimited potential for anyone to succeed in the United States. He is what is referred to in our country as a “Hip-Hop Mogul”. He owns a record company, has his own clothing line and runs a media empire catering to the hip-hop and rap music industry…and he did all this with absolutely no talent or intelligence. I say that because only an idiot would post the video he posted on YouTube complaining that he was flying commercial instead of on his own jet because gas is too mutha-f-ing high. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEeQFe2thzM

                    He opens up with,” hey yo, wassup y’all this is your boy and i’m here today…this is called Diddy blog number 12…gas prices are too mutha-f-ing high. Wow, spoken like a true media mogul. He goes on to rant about how he is “actually” flying commercial in a pathetic attempt get the viewer to feel sorry for him. Keep in mind that he does own his own Jet but now keeps it grounded like the red Hummer in your neighbor’s driveway because gas is too mutha-f-ing high. He explains in the video that he flys between New York and Los Angeles to pursue his acting career. Each trip costs him two hundred to two hundred and fitty  thousand…which he probably has in his baggy pants pocket.  

                       He gives a shout out to all his, “Saudi Arabian brothers and sisters and…um, and all my brothers and sisters from countrys that have oil, if you y’all could please send me some oil for my jet I would truly appreciate it”. Barrack Obama is probably taking notes on this idea and President Bush is kicking himself with steel-toed cowboy boots for not thinking of it himself…just ask for free oil. Diddy is a mutha-f-ing genius. I’m sure he knows that a jet runs on gas, not oil. He’d have to refine the oil himself which he could get his posse to do in the basement of one of his mansions. Not the one with the meth lab in the basement. The other one.

                    He constantly refers to himself as “Your Boy” which I suppose is a hip-hop term of endearment letting me know that he is um, my boy? I’m not sure what to do with that but I guess just knowing that he’s my boy should comfort me in some way and I assume that it makes me his boy as well. Being that we are now boys I could probably ask him for a favor couldn’t I? That’s what boys do…they look out for each other. So here it goes:

                   “Yo Diddy wassup my  boy, it’s your boy Richard over here and my mortgage is too mutha-f-ing high. I’m trying to make a living here, you know what I’m sayin?… just scraping by, you know what I’m sayin?… and I actually have to pay my own muth-f-ing mortgage just like everyone else…now dat’s some bull!#$%…you know what I’m sayin?…I’m shoutin out to all my media moguls boys, rap artist boys, even the Pet Shop Boys…except my boy DMX who’s in jail…to send me some mutha-f-ing money so I can pay my mutha-f-ing mortgage…you know what I’m sayin?

The Olympics – Sport or No Sport

                         I know this may sound un-patriotic but I haven’t watched much of the Olympic Games from Beijing. I used to enjoy watching the Olympic’s and would often feel the strings of national pride tugging at my heart when an American performed well. My interest in sports hasn’t changed much since I was a kid. I enjoy watching almost all sports. As I said Almost all sports. What is insignificantly passing as a sport in these Olympics is ridiculous. It is obvious that the International Olympic Committee is being lobbied by groups who want their hobby recognized as an Olympic sport. Many have been successful in gaining Olympic status. Here are just some of the so-called sports approved by the IOC.

Badminton: The only sport where the medal weighs more than the racket. Forged in the hellfire competitive world of backyard bar-b-ques and company picnics this sport is long over due for IOC recognition. It is currently dominated by the Chinese, Koreans, and Indonesians. It is the fastest growing sport in China’s prison system played by both disidents and political prisoners alike. Badminton should not be taken lightly. The sport can be dangerous. A racket breaking during competition could cause a nasty scratch which if left unattended could eventually become infected. Badminton players are the newest hot item in the Olympics. The swimmers must be irked at all the hot babe action the Badminton Players are getting.

Beach Volleyball: I admit that I enjoy both watching and playing beach volleyball but that doesn’t mean it should be in the Olympics. We have volleyball already. It’s played indoors on a volleyball court. Just because you play outside on sand doesn’t change the nature of the sport which is to hit the ball over the net. What’s next, beach basketball? Beach tennis? Beach blanket bingo? Why not make building sand castles a sport?

Synchronized Swimming:I know that this has been around for a while but I have to ask why? I never thought that when I was a kid playing in the town pool copying my little sister’s movements in the shallow end that I was doing synchronized swimming. I just thought I was being annoying. I know that the swimmers must follow the movements of the lead swimmer in synchronized underwater harmony but I have often wondered if the lead swimmer drowns do the rest have to drown as well? Now that would be a testimony to commitment that I can identify with.

Softball: Again, we already have baseball so why do we need softball? Another weekend sport spawned from over-the-hill couch crustaceans drastically trying to hold on to the glory days of their misspent youth. Most of the softball games I’ve been to involved team sponsorship by a local bar. This was the place that all the athletes converged on after the game to drink beer and eat potato skins, poppers, buckets of chicken wings, and drink more beer. In one season a gifted softball player may put on between fifteen to twenty pounds of pure fat which prepares him for winter sports like coin collecting.

Equestrian:Isn’t the horse is doing all the work here? It’s a miracle that an animal that has been moved around in trucks and then shipped to China is able to come out of it’s stable at all. Don’t they eat horses in China? If a Chinese equestrian doesn’t perform well they may be sent for “motivational training” in one of China’s heavily guarded, brabed-wired, and windowless training centers. If the horse doesn’t perform well…let’s just say don’t order the #4 on the menu. If you do, no MSG you may bloat and not be able to play Badminton…which is a real sport.

Triathlon: This is a true sport but should not be allowed in these Olympics due to the dangerous air, water, and road quality in China. Triathletes will be running and cycling in some of the worse pollution on earth not to mention swimming in the filthiest water outside of an EXXON Men’s room toilet in Jacksonville. I’m reminded of the pool scene in Caddyshack. I’m not sure here but I think someone told me that the sewage system in China is so antiquated that the Triathletes may actually be swimming alongside Chinese poo.

I don’t want anyone to think I’m just picking on the Summer  Olympics because they are being held in China and the Chinese Government is one of the worst violators of human rights in the world. I pick on the Winter Olympics no matter where they are held. If you think the Summer Olympics has tried to make even the most trivial of activities into sports you haven’t watched the Winter Olympics lately.

Winter Olympic Sports that shouldn’t be sports…because they aren’t sports!

The Biathalon: This sport incorporates skiing with shooting. This is the only sport in the Winter Olympics that appears in virtually every James Bond movie. I think they should make the athletes wear white dinner jackets with a black bow tie and ski with a martini in one hand. Shaken, not stirred.

Luge: This is the sport for the one guy who couldn’t get along with the other three guys on the bobsled team. The lone wolf sport of sliding down a curved hill on a sled. This is the kind of sport you don’t see every day… unless of course you’re at a water park or ski resort watching seven year olds do it on an inflatable raft. The word Luge is French for “talentless in the winter”.

Curling: Talk about intense. Even Badminton Players respect these guys. The object is to slide a metal object called a stone down the ice and try to get it as close to the center of a circle as possible. You must have to be in peak physical condition to play a sport like Curling. Besides the curler their are the guys who sweep the ice in front of the stone as it slides to create a better glide. Being the sweeper is not the most pathetic part of Curling. Being his alternate is though. If a sweeper hurts his wrist or gets an ingrown nail the alternate sweeper may be called in to take his place. Oh, for the glory of country.

Here are some of the activities that I think should be Olympic Sports:

SUMMER: Lawn darts, twisting a tight lid off a jar, Hungry-Hungry Hippos, ring-toss, belly-flop in the pool, tag, tanning, text messaging, beer quarters, Karaoke, chugging beer in a rented bounce-round, vomiting beer in a rented bounce-round, drunkardly trying to find the way out of a rented bounce-round.

WINTER: Urinating your name in the snow, building a snow fort, driveway shoveling (in this sport your wife acts as coach and continuously tells you that you’re doing it wrong), New Biathalon (combines extreme snowboarding with text messaging), walking on ice with high heels and one is broken, sliding down a hill on a cafeteria tray behind your high-school even though the Principal told you three times not to do it because everyone else will start which they did and it is still a tradition at your high school because of you, here’s one for the kids-synchronized defrosting frozen booger juice cascading from their little noses to their little mouths, tongue on frozen pole, ski-lift riding, throwing flamable stuff in the fireplace (My personal favorite) and last but not least the sport of taking Thin Ice warning signs down and watching people fall in frozen lakes.

The Cure: Why I Don’t Vote

                            The elections are just a few months away and I’m not planning on voting…again. I know, I’ve heard, every vote counts. So you can count my vote out. I refuse to assist anybody who aspires to be in politics for self gain under the guise of public servitude. That includes pretty much everyone currently in office and those currently running for office. It isn’t always the people. As a matter of fact it rarely starts out that way for most venturing into the political mosh pit known as Washington. Government has become a diseased animal that knowingly assimilates anything that enters it’s realm. The bright-eyed new congressman with thoughts of bringing change to Washington is systematically dismantled and beaten down faster than a fat kid in dodge-ball. He will spend the next four years dragging his feet through the thick partisan mud in Washington that virtually defers, postpones, reprieves, pauses, setbacks, and slows down every important decision affecting the American people today. What’s good for the party is good for the people right? The problem with that scenario is that their are two major political partys operating in Washington fighting for the power to be right…for us the little people. Sounds like South Central LA but instead of Bloods and Crips shooting each other over drug turf we have Democrats and Republicans slapping at each other across the isle like third graders on a class-trip school bus…to Washington. How is that for irony?

                          Politicians keep promising change yet our system of government continues to self implode pulling the faltering devotion Americans have into it’s vortex of disparity on a daily basis. In the past our politicians have gone to great lengths to encourage the American people to get out there and vote…for them of course. Young people are taught at an early age to believe that every vote counts. They are also taught to beleive in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. At around eight or nine years old they figure out that those things really don’t exist. At around seventy-five years old and ridden with medical bills and social security headaches you figure out that “every vote counting” doesn’t exist.   

                          Since we have tried it their  way for so long without any reputable changes in government I think we should try the opposite. Nobody vote. That’s right. What if nobody came out to vote? Not one single person. I’m not talking anarchy here, I’m talking about political indifference. What better way to show our government that we are tired of footing the bill for the Democrats and Republicans to argue over who is right rather than what is right for the American people?

                            As I said, Washington is like a diseased animal that we need to stop feeding through our votes in order to remind our elected leaders that We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…Those are the words of our constitution that they have pledged to uphold. We need to hold them to it.

The Death of Harvey Houtkin: On The Road With The Bandit Part 2

                          As All-Tech and it’s proprietary ATTAIN Trading system grew, largely due to Harvey’s widely publicized battles with the SEC and NASD, we had to spend more time on the road opening branches and giving seminars. Travelling with Harvey was always an enlightening experience. His abrasive and often bombastic honesty drew people to him wherever we went. He was aways willing to listen to someone’s ideas whether it be a trusted employee or a perfect stranger he just met in the men’s room of a hotel lobby. It wasn’t unusual for me to see Harvey talking to someone right after a seminar and then find them sitting with us for breakfast the next morning pitching the most insane ideas. These “Cling-Ons” were everywhere and part of my job was to make sure that Harvey didn’t agree to anything without talking to his partner Mark Shefts first. Harvey’s intense interest at the time would usually fade by the time we were back in New Jersey and after a few un-returned phone calls the “Cling-On” would usually give up.

                     When All-Tech was in the process of filing to go public it was critical for me to make sure Harvey didn’t mention the public offering while on the road. Linda Lerner, All-Tech’s general counselor and one of the most brilliant women I have ever met frequently reminded me of that prior to trips. Harvey mentioned the public offering at almost every seminar, which never surprised me. I had written speeches for him with bullet points to discuss but he never stuck to them. He always winged it and even sceptical people attending the seminars were impressed with his knowledge and dramatic presentation. Stock brokers and market experts would often come to the seminars and try and humiliate Harvey with a well planned out ambush question. After all, he was teaching people how to bypass the brokers and spit in the face of market tradition by trading for themselves. Harvey would often respond to these market scabs by asking them if they thought that they were smarter than everyone else in the room? He asked them how long it took for them to study for the Series 7 Exam to become a Stock Broker? A few weeks? Nobody else here is as smart as you? Once again he had turned the crowd against the broker. Heads turned to look at the Wall Street smart-ass who was now shrinking in his seat so quickly his feet were dangling like a two-year olds from a high-chair at a Denny’s. 

                      - Dallas, Texas- The Cowboy’s Cheerleader

                    The Dallas office was our first branch. It was run by three brothers, George, Bob, and David Thompson. Dallas was probably one of my favorite branches to visit. The Thompson brothers had fast cars and beautiful women around them constantly. They were ambitious, hard working and hard partying guys who knew how to live and they always treated me well when I was in town.

                       One of the brothers was dating a Dallas Cowboy’s Cheerleader and thought it would be impressive to have her pick Harvey and I up from the airport during one trip. She was a blonde haired, blue-eyed, anorexic Barbie Doll with the IQ of an after dinner mint. I listened painfully as Harvey tried to explain Day Trading to her in the car as she tried to find the airport exit. We circled the airport six times before she finally found one of four exits. During the six round trips to nowhere she had blurted out at least ten stupid items of information that only another Dallas Cowboy’s Cheerleader could decipher.

                   Harvey was asking her some very personal questions about herself including some very explicit sexual questions which she answered openly and without hesitation. I was in the back seat listening to her giggle like a half-witted imbecile as Harvey pursued a line of questioning like a razor tongued lawyer before a jury of porn actresses. With Harvey there were no limits and I was supposed to be the moral guardian on these trips. By the time we had arrived at the office we had learned that one of the Thompson brothers had urinated on her in the shower. Harvey was completely pleased with himself that he had coerced her into giving up so much personal information during a half-hour drive. I was glad that the ride wasn’t longer.

            - Boca Raton, Florida – Meet Harvey…Then Run

            Harvey and I were in Boca Raton for All-Tech’s first seminar to kick of a new branch office opening in town. I had made an appointment to meet with a local advertising agency to place some spots on TV and radio. Becca Tebon was a one-woman agency with a lot of experience in the Boca Raton market place. She came highly recommended and was both confident and competent. Within just a few minutes of meeting Harvey she was ready to walk out the door. Becca was attractive and athletic but was all business and was not going to tolerate any of Harvey’s sexual remarks. I spoke with her in the parking lot as she exited the building and explained to her that Harvey was very much a family man and that his bark was much worse than his bite. I assured her that she would be dealing with me on a day to day basis and not Harvey. Although we had a rough beginning, Becca and I would become friends for the years I was with All-Tech and we would work together on many projects. I could always call her and vent or ask her for damage control advice when Harvey committed an atrocity.

     -Montvale, New Jersey – Harvey and the Bloody Severed Cow’s Eears

                 While many of the more amazing and amusing antics were during road trips, it was All-Tech’s office in Montvale, New Jersey that served as Harvey’s ”mission control” of madness. Harvey loved a bargain and would often cut out coupons while day trading. One of his “passions of the moment” at the time was to raise and breed German Shepherds on his estate in Rockland County, New York. Upon returning from the pet shop one day Harvey was ranting on how expensive pig’s ears were. His dogs loved them but he hated spending the money on something he felt you could make yourself so easily. If you could trade stocks yourself making pig’s ears should be a snap. Coincidentally one of Harvey’s cult members was a young lady named Stacey whose family owned a very successful meat processing business. Their deli meats could be seen in virtually every food store in the tri-state area. If anyone could get Harvey pigs ears it was Stacey.

                  It was a Friday afternoon and Harvey had stepped out of the office for a while. The day trading school students were milling around the office during a break. Their classroom was the first room you passed as you entered the main reception area on the second floor where Harvey’s office was located. From my office down the hall I heard a woman gasp loudly and then shreik, “Oh my God, what is that?” I ran out of my office to see Harvey holding a large clear plastic bag full of bloody severed cows ears with the fur still on them. This was his answer to the high cost of pigs ears. He was going into the severed cow’s ears business. He felt that cow’s ears could compete with pig’s ears and he was going to corner the bloody market.

                   Since this was the same office that Forbes Magazine had just done a story about I thought it would have been more appropriate for Harvey to use a black plastic bag. But that just wasn’t Harvey. The irony was that we all knew that within a few days the Polish caretaker at his house would be bitching about having to discard the horribly smelling bag of rotting cow’s ears Harvey had left out in the sun completely forgetting about his new business venture.

The Convenience Store

                         The word convenience means conducive to comfort or ease. When prefixing the word store it denotes that your individual experience and subsequent purchase in a convenience store will be a quick no-frills transaction. So why does it bother me so much that the middle eastern gentleman behind the counter taking my hard earned money is talking on his cell phone in a foreign language while conducting my transaction? He isn’t even looking at me. Just taking in money and handing out change. “This would be a good time to ask for directions,” I thought. “Excuse me, I interrupted, can you tell me how to get to route 80?” “I don’t know,”he snapped at me and without missing a beat he was back to his conversation. Route 80 was located directly across the street from his store. I could hit the sign with one of his petrified buttered rolls from the parking lot…and I throw like a girl. “Thanks for nothing,” I replied sarcastically, “I’ll see if I can find my way across the street”. If it was the old country and I was on a mule pulling a cart he would have been nicer.

                               As I walked to my car I began to wonder what it must be like to be in his shoes. Not literally of course. Brown slip-on dress shoes should never be worn with sweat pants and a suit jacket. Dealing with people for twenty seconds at time day after day must be frustrating. Almost as frustrating as being lost and not being able to get directions. Okay, so what is it like to be him? The following essay might just give us all some insight. Please read this out loud while using a middle eastern accent and if possible use Coolio’s Gansta’s Paradise as background music. Really, it’s so much better with the accent and the music. 

when you walk into my store- I will say to your face -if you’re not here to buy -then please leave this place  

I don’t give directions-and the bathroom’s out of order - I can’t break a dollar – because I don’t have any quarters                                                    

please put down the magazine - it’s for sale not for free - this is a convenience store - not a public library                                                                           

we have 20 kinds of snapple -  and expensive bottled water - I’ll even sell cigraettes – to your 12 year old daughter                                                                                                                     

Chorus (repeat twice) People come and pay top price, to shop in convenience store paradise 

this week’s Slurpee flavor is - kiwi papaya lemon lime - you better get one quick - they’re only for a limited time                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     if you try to rob my store – it would be a big mistake – I don’t have any money – so there’s nothing for you to take

I have a .44 magnum - and a shotgun too – 6 surveillance cameras -  and a rottweiler named Babu                                                                                                                          

Chorus (repeat twice) People come and pay top price, to shop in convenience store paradise 

I’m open 24 hours a day - in case you need a snack - I lost my liquor license – but soon I’ll get it back   

I made a little mistake - when I took a fake ID - that kid with the SpongeBob tee shirt - looked old enough to me  

from scratch-off lottery freaks - to condom buying geeks - all walk through my door - to shop inside my store

I know all about you - because I see what you buy – from the councilman who likes Hustler  -  to the Mayor’s son who gets high                                    

Chorus (Repeat twice) People come and pay top price, to shop in convenience store paradise                                                                                   

 So thanks for coming in - and paying top price - it’s worth every penny – to shop in convenience store paradise

                                                                                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

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