Trust Me, It Was Funny

I've been contemplating what to write about my church's (www.valleycc.org) recent children's dinner theatre adventure, in which I participated as the father of the girl who has a dream about her father being the owner of a camel lot (Get it? Camel Lot? Oh, it only gets better from there.) in Bethlehem on the night of the Very First Christmas.

I could tell you all about the six-year-old shepherd turning to the audience and, in Munchkin exasperation, clearly intoning, "She didn't let me finish my line!"

I could describe the round of applause that the lead pastor received just for walking on stage in a bathrobe.

I could share the perfect sense of joy when the preschoolers were the cast for a nativity scene and Mary REALLY preferred that Joseph hold the baby-doll Jesus. ("Thwack!")

I could attempt to do all those things, but mere words on a page could not imbue to you the feeling that encompassed the room when the only person to totally forget a line in the whole show was also the only one with professional theatre experience.

Yeah...that's right...I absolutely "went up." Didn't have the inkling of a clue as to what words ought to have been springing forth from my mouth. That in itself would have been satisfying enough for the huddled masses (in a neener-neener sort of way), but the thing that lit the fuse to the Bomb of Jocularity was my pre-teen acting partner looking me in the eye, circling her hand, palm up, and leading me on with the first words of my line: "I finally realized..."

The place exploded...but I guess you had to be there.

Love and joy comfort you...

Good Christian men, rejoice!

I went caroling a week and a half ago. The reason I'm finally writing about it now is that it has taken me this long to recover.

This was not a pleasant stroll through the neighborhood with a group of guys and gals, getting invited in for hot chocolate and cookies. No. This was a group of 11 men on a mission to spread good cheer, like it or not.

You've got to understand: When left to their own devices, men carol the way they shop. You know what I mean, don't you? When women shop, it's an opportunity to leisurely examine all the wonderful options available...preferably with a friend or two so that it can also be a social event. But men? When men shop, they've got a list (that they've already checked twice) and they know exactly in which store they are going to purchase the items on said list. In. Out. Done. No browsing, no comparing fine details, and as little time away from the television remote as possible.

Operation Manly Caroling was the same way. We met at the church building, piled into three vehicles, and were off to remind all in our path of the sweet baby Jesus asleep in the hay on a silent night in a little town. We drove to a series of houses, though only the event organizers in the first vehicle knew to whom the houses belonged...and I'm not really sure I didn't just lie by saying that they knew.

There was someone home at only half of the houses. None of them knew we were coming (so, of course, they didn't bake a cake...or cookies...or make hot chocolate). And we actually got chased away from one house with a threat that the police would be called...by the neighbors...when they heard the shotgun blasts that were about to happen if we didn't "get [our] fa-la-las off [his] property."

We should have known it was going to be an interesting night at our very first stop: a nursing home. We strolled in to the sun room with smiles on our faces and a "hope you don't mind if we sing a few Christmas carols" on our lips. And to tell you the truth, it looked like we were immediately having an evangelistic effect, because a woman started praying right away. At least I think she was praying. I know she closed her eyes (rather tightly), turned her head away from us, and intoned, "Oh, God..."

The real clue that we maybe weren't getting off on the right foot was when someone turned up the TV so they could hear "Who Wants to be a Millionaire." An employee turned it back down and started moving the gal closer to the set. Apparently, the quiz show fan wasn't used to getting moved around and yelled, "What are you doing?"

"These men have come to sing some Christmas carols, and so--"

"I don't care what they came to do. Leave me alone and give me back the clicker!"

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I found a new hero that night. She had bluish hair...and a decent right hook.

Tootsie Lovers, unite!

Sometimes, life just piles up on you until you get crushed by the sheer mass of it all.

It's not enough that everything from poor retail sales to less-than-glorious church offerings can be blamed on The Recession. 

It's not enough that Chicago's song, "Dialogue (Part I & II)," especially the part about "does it make you angry, the way war is draggin' on," is still appropriate thirty-seven years later. (For a vintage video of a live performance, click here.) [However, it IS nice that the song ends on an optimistic note...several notes, actually.)

It's not even enough that Jessica Biel is still a member of the Screen Actor's Guild, in spite of incontrovertible evidence that she cannot, in fact, act.

No, gentle readers, all of this pales in comparison to the one thing I recently discovered that, to this very moment, has me looking over my shoulder to see if the four horsemen of the Apocalypse are approaching.

Tootsie Roll Pops now come in Pomegranate. Pomegranate! This disturbs me for two reasons:

• Who decided that Grape, Cherry, Chocolate, Raspberry, and Orange weren't good enough anymore? Was there some kind of secret poll taken that I missed out on? (Okay, I'll admit that Chocolate leaves a little to be desired on the flavor scale. In the candy drawer under my Grandma Roth's refrigerator, they were always the last to be taken; along with the jawbreakers that had escaped their wrappings and rolled around collecting dust, lint, and roach spittle.)
• Who are the fine folks at Tootsie trying to kid? Do they think that we'll think that adding pomegranate flavoring to their high fructose corn syrup actually makes a TRP, you know, healthy?!? What's next, Acai Berry? Broccoli?

But hey, maybe we should take a cue from Chicago and decide that if individuals get together, they can have a positive influence on the world. I'm thinking...Tootsie Roll Pops with the heavenly flavor of Dr. Pepper.

We can make it happen. Yeah! We can make it happen!

Thanksgiving: Let there be Skyline Chili!

The recently-passed Thanksgiving weekend was positively swell for several reasons, not the least of which was seeing a great-niece be baptized with water from the Jordan River. (How cool is that?!!?) It was also far more glorious than grand to have all my siblings together for the first time in three years and indulge in an obscene amount of food.

But I must confess, with a slight bit of shame, that the most enjoyable repast of the weekend didn't happen at Clarence and Georgina's table, surrounded by children young and old. The best meal of all didn't consist of deep-fried turkey and sweet potato casserole. No, my friends, the food that found me smiling the broadest was enjoyed in the company of AngelFace and KayJay in a shiny vinyl booth at an eatery in Anderson, Indiana...72 miles from my folks' place.

Behold, if you will, the sumptuousness that is Skyline Chili:

For those who are fans of Skyline Chili, I apologize for making you drool while so close to a computer.

For those who are repulsed by Skyline Chili, may God have mercy on your soul.

Let a professional do it

The current fear of swine flu or pigs flying or whatever it is has gotten completely out of hand. It's to the point where McDonald's doesn't trust us mere amateurs to properly wash our hands.

I was stuck in the restroom for 47 minutes, waiting for an employee to show up.

Almost the News V

At Ford, UAW Braces for Still More Concessions 

Dearborn, Michigan-based Ford Motor Company is the center of a new controversy with the United Auto Workers, as an over-abundance of hot dogs, nachos, and popcorn soaked with artificially-butter-flavored oil by-products is said to be heading toward the lunchroom. 

Reward Offered in McDonald's Holdup 

A $1,ooo reward is being offered to the perpetrators of a daring, daytime robbery of a local McDonald's. Says McDonald's manager, Ray Onions, "It was just such a perfectly planned and executed robbery, we think their excellence deserves extra recognition."

Rude Behavior Increases in College Courses 

Excellent grades are being earned in Flipping the Bird 101 and Advanced Cinema Cell Phone Use. 

Dip in Jobless Claims a Surprise 

Workers in the Labor Department were curious as to why the Secretary of Labor had requested that paper copies of all new unemployment benefits applications be piled into an empty swimming pool. Their curiosity turned to utter surprise when the Secretary took a running jump off the diving board and cannonballed into them. 

Woman Hit by Transit Bus in Critical Condition 

Of course, the question still remains: If the bus was in such bad condition, why was it in operation in the first place? 

Woman Sought in Bank Robbery 

An unusual note was passed to a teller at the TCF Bank inside Lexington Avenue's Cub Foods: "Fill this bag with tens and twenties, and can you tell me where Judy is?" 

Health Care Bill Clears the House 

Apparently, legislators were so appalled at the rampant spending included in the latest version of the health care bill that when it was introduced everyone ran out of the building.

The early bird gets the earworm

A quarterly round-up of those annoying songs that forced themselves into my head upon my waking from a perfectly good night's sleep.


AUGUST
8 – Key Largo (Bertie Higgins)
9 – Fill My Cup, Lord (Debbie Roth) Starts with the old hymn, but then breaks into a suhweet, swampy, can’t-keep-from-clapping thang.
20 – What a Fool Believes (Doobie Brothers)
21 – Baby, I Love Your Way (Peter Frampton)
26 – Nowhere Man (Do I really need to say who the artist is on this one? If so, you have no business following this blog, you sniveling, ignorant piece of flotsam, you.)
31 – Soften Your Heart (Keith Green) Hmmm…after what I just wrote about those who may not be familiar with the Beatles’ catalogue, perhaps I really needed the message of this song.

SEPTEMBER
1 – Take Me to the River of Living Water (Debbie Roth) The slightly spooky factual fact is that, when I cranked up the car to go to work this morning, guess what song started playing?
4 – We Look to You (Debbie Roth) This preponderance of songs by Beloved showing up in my head is understandable: her third CD, drenched in HOPE, has just been released, and I’m working on my parts to sing with her…apparently, even in my sleep.
8 – All the Earth (Worship song that we sang two days ago, so maybe it makes sense that it’s still in my head)
24 – Can’t Buy Me Love (yep…the Fab Four, once again)
28 – Coffee in a Cardboard Cup (from the musical, 70, Girls, 70)
29 – You’re the One that I Want (John Revolting & Olivia Neutron Bomb)

OCTOBER
1 – Don’t Pull Your Love Out on Me Baby (Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds)
8 – Starlight Starbright (2nd Chapter of Acts)
9 – My Little Town (Simon & Garfunkel) Don’t remember it? Click this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxuEr_p8Z4o
13 – Wells Fargo Wagon (from the musical, The Music Man)
21 – I Just Want to be Your Everything (Andy Gibb) And curse you, Pier One and your Muzak, for planting this in my brain last night.
23 – Dancing Queen (Abba)
25 – Whenever I Call You Friend (Kenny Loggins & Stevie Nicks) When I heard this on the radio last night, I was all “Oh, wow! I haven’t heard this for years!” Now, I’m not quite as excited.)
29 – If You Love Me Let Me Know (Olivia Newton John)

You had to be there...

...and even then, you wouldn't have laughed as hard as I did.

Allow me to explain:

I was watching an episode of The Time Tunnel at hulu.com. Not familiar with The Time Tunnel? It was a one-season, hour-long drama that originally aired in 1966 with the futuristic plot (it all happens in 1968!) of two guys trapped in a mostly-malfunctioning time machine that hurls them into a different historical event (and sometimes, into the future) where they either learn or teach An Important Lesson For Us All.

Sidetrack: Why does the time machine always plop them into the middle of something historically significant? For example, in the first episode, they found themselves aboard the Titanic. In another show, they wound up trying to stop Lincoln's assassination. I mean, if the time machine took them to 1492, it would be a sure bet that they would be tossed onto the deck of either the Nina, the Pinta, or the Santa Maria. No way would they spend an episode in Greece tending sheep.

Anyway, I was watching the episode where our intrepid time travelers were trying to keep a young bugler from riding to the Little Big Horn with General Custer. It was all very super-serious and who's really the savage here?

The young bugler, named Tim, had just made some kind of suggestion about something and the taller, older, scientist-from-the-future looked him directly in the eyes and seriously intoned, "I don't think so, Tim."

Well, I've seen far too many episodes of Home Improvement to hear that phrase and not picture Al Borland trying to keep Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor in line.

I laughed...really hard...all by myself.

And yes, I know, even if I had been in a room full of people watching the same thing, I still would have been the only person laughing.

Indiana Dewey and the Can Opener

Had I known it was going to be this difficult...

Let me start at the beginning:

The earth was without form and...wait...not quite that far back.

Beloved was off on a ten-day adventure: spreading hope and joy and her newest CD (http://www.restinhimministry.com/) to the waiting women of Indiana. Meanwhile, I was deeply entrenched in the final rehearsals for Giant Step Theatre's production of Sleeping Beauty, wherein I attempt to keep the storyline moving along while surrounded by 75 3rd through 9th graders.

The normal course of events when Beloved is away is for me to open a can of Skyline Chili, lovingly ladle it onto a pile of steaming spaghetti, crown it with a heaping helping of shredded cheddar, break out the oyster crackers, and indulge myself in what can only be described as a tantalizingly tasty triumph.

The reason this delectable delight is enjoyed only when Beloved is away is because the smell of Cincinnati-style chili gives her a serious case of the urlps.

So...because Beloved was away, I was driving home from work Wednesday and looking forward to my Skyline Delight when I realized that our electric can opener had flatlined and that our hand-operated can opener was AWOL.

"No worries," thought I, "I'll just swing into Walmart and pick up another can opener."

It was at exactly that moment that God looked down and said, "Oh yeah?"

I parked the car, hitchhiked the few miles up to the store entrance, was about to go inside, and then noticed a notice taped to the door: "Our credit card reader is temporarily down. We can only take cash or checks. Sorry for any inconvenience."

My first thought was, "Any inconvenience? ANY inconvenience? How about 'Sorry for how we have single-handedly guaranteed that you will be overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness?' That would be a tad bit closer to falling within the realm of accuracy."

You see, the last time I actually paid cash for anything was when I was buying tickets for the train ride to Lincoln's inauguration.

By the time I had trekked back to the car, my mood had lightened enough for me to come up with Plan B: Swing into Target and pick up a can opener.

I got to Target, got parked, got through the doors with no news about cranky card readers, and actually found the kitchen gadgets - hung on a wall with care in hopes that St. Chargalot soon would be there.

The display was neat, tidy, orderly...and totally confusing.

My usual whine about Target is that they carry a lot of items...that are identical to each other. For example, if I want to buy a plastic storage bin, I could go to Target and find plenty of storage bins, but only two different models from which to choose. Not so when it comes to hand-operated can openers! There were no less than seven models, ranging in price from 99 cents to 17 dollars.

"What's so confusing about that, Dewey?" asks an alert reader.

The source of my confusion was that Target went to great lengths to make sure I knew the difference in the can openers' prices, but did absolutely zilch to clue me in on why one opener cost more (or less) than the identically-looking one hanging right beside it.

Having no information upon which to base an intelligent decision, I threw the nearest Target employee against the display and purchased the model that did not fall to the floor.

I think I may start making all my purchasing choices that way because the can opener worked great, and the Skyline Chili was heavenly.

Going to NYC can be an educational trip

Things I saw, heard, and/or learned on my recent trip to NYC and back with Beloved:

If there was an award for Best-Smelling Airport Rest Rooms, Milwaukee would win it.

It never hurts to ask about getting your plane tickets together. You just might end up in the wider, more-comfortable, leather seats without paying the extra 35 bucks apiece.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

Greek meatballs are really more like mini-brats…and they are AMAZING.

Apparently, NYC women aren’t content with boring their men by dragging them along while they shop for clothes. If the guys can’t come, they are forced to experience it vicariously through lengthy cell phone contact. (I’ve never seen a store filled with so many women flipping through dresses with one hand and pressing a phone to their ear with the other. No wonder the children were on leashes.)

Breakfast doesn’t get much better than a sausage, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel.

St. Paul’s Chapel is directly across the street from the World Trade Center site and is the oldest building in continuous use in NYC. George Washington spent some time there on his inauguration day. Its yard is full of tombstones…from the 18th century! (Can you tell I was impressed?)

Not everyone on Wall Street is trying to break the bank. I met some guys who were apparently trying to break their ankles by rollerblading on the marble benches.

Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs isn’t lying when they say they serve “the world’s best crinkle-cut fries.”

The stories about New York City cabdrivers not being able to speak English are not entirely true. They are quite clear when it comes to telling you how much you owe them.

"The trouble with the world today..."

This morning's earworm is so irritatingly insistent, I felt the need to implant it in a few more minds than mine.


The song is "Coffee in a Cardboard Cup," and was written by John Kander and Fred Ebb for the musical, 70, Girls, 70. My personal introduction to the tune was hearing ActorBoy and SWAWOSH practice it (and practice it and practice it...) in our front room while they were preparing for their Broadway debuts in The World Goes 'Round: The Songs of Kander and Ebb at Circle in the Square Theatre. (Beloved and I were privileged, blessed, overjoyed, pretty-dang-happy to have seen them in their opening performance, during our recent NYC trip.)


Needless to say (and yet, here I am saying it), I have no video of their performance to post, but here's what I found on YouTube. Watch, listen, and good luck getting it out of your head.


The amazing Mandy Patinkin:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOiaDI2XE2c


The decidedly-less-frantic Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kgz4uB4L6E8

Seniors from Nazareth College, MT:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1g4rL_HV6Mk

They say every cloud...

On June 10, 2009, Beloved had the knobs of bone that used to be her left knee joint scraped, sanded, drilled, and totally replaced with a mechanical marvel of human design. And every day since then, she has been in pain.

It's getting better, but it has taken a lot longer than we were led to believe by all the glowing reports of instant relief from others who had been through the procedure.

We were so assured of a speedy recovery that we figured a mid-September trip to New York City, the Pedestrian Capital of the World, would be no problem at all. So the flight was booked, the credit card charged, and vacation time arranged.

Contrary to expectations, the week before the trip, we were researching how much it would cost to rent a wheelchair.

Not happy with the rental rate we found, Beloved insisted she would be fine just using her cane. And aside from always feeling like she's catching up with the able-bodied walkers, she is doing both okey and dokey.

"Excuse me, Dewey?" interrupts an attentive reader, "Doesn't the title of this piece imply that you've got some kind of impressive good news in store; instead of all this whining?"

Ah...yes...thanks for reminding me. The silver lining of this slow-recovery cloud happened this past Monday, September 14, 2009. Beloved said she would like to visit the Empire State Building, and so, being the dutiful, obedient, wise man that I am (who knows which side of the bread his butter is on), we boarded the N train and headed out.

Ignoring the carnies who insisted that a second floor virtual tour of New York's highest point would be far more satisfying than actually being there, we followed the signs to get our Observatory Tickets. The second we caught up with the back of the line, a maroon-jacketed building employee moved aside one of the velvet ropes and directed us to "go right on ahead." Being the dutiful, obedient, clueless people we are, we went right on ahead.

This happened two or three more times, each time being asked, "Do you have tickets?" and each time answering, "No we don't." We finally came to the point where the actual tickets were actually getting scanned into The Actual System and our hands were empty. We expressed this to A Guy Who Looked Like He Was More In Charge Than The Other Jacketeers, who said, "Okay, here's what we're gonna do. You're going to follow me to the ticket window, then we'll come back and pick up your wife."

And I did. And we did. And then we were ushered past the line of people waiting to get into an elevator going up and go up we most assuredly went.

All this special treatment...all this bypassing of lines...all because Beloved was using a cane.

And all God's children said, "Cool!"

The Great Minnesota Get-Together

Having lived in Minnesota for only 15 years, Beloved and I still aren't considered "from around here." And that's okay, because, as much as I love the way snow doesn't shut anything down and there are a limited number of humid days in the summer, there are other things about the Land of 10,000 Entitlement Programs that I would rather not be associated with/connected to/blamed for.

Uppermost in my mind at this moment is the irritating propensity for thinking that Minnesota is first or second in all things positive that seems to be part and parcel of having Minnesota river water coursing through one's veins. Specifically, I find it boggling how much bragging goes on about the accomplishments that have either been invented, originated, perfected, or monetized in The Gopher State. (If you ask, I'm sure that someone will claim that the buzzword monetize was first coined by a Minnesotan school child while contemplating how to turn a profit while serving as Hall Monitor.)

Case in point: it is not enough to call the summertime culmination of the state's best 4-H entries The Minnesota State Fair. That just wouldn't do. It is "The Great Minnesota Get-Together."

Don't ask me why it's called that. My best guess is because it is at this event that hundreds of thousands of Minnesotans get together to conspire against my wallet. Maybe it's because, while standing in the mob (there are no "lines" at the GMGT) waiting to pay close to twenty bucks for a plastic pail of chocolate chip cookies (they are mighty tasty, but give me a break), I am pressed together with other fair goers to the extent of becoming a homogeneous mass.

Speaking of a homogeneous mass, have you ever actually had deep-fried cheese curds? Well, I have...and my homogeneous mass grew to twice its normal size.

But I really shouldn't complain. It's just that complaining is funnier than saying, "Had a great time. Ate myself silly. Wish you were here."

Nothing to say, but...

Nothing to say, but it's been kinda long
Since I've posted anything beyond the titles of songs
That swirl through my head at morning's first light
(Not a horrible way to end up the night)

No headlines to mangle or twist out of shape
No stories to make you drop jaws and gape
No questions to ask or pictures to post
No self-important celeb to roast

I've really no thoughts I need to express
And with poems like this, more is sure less
So let's shut this thing down and head for the showers
Catch you all later, when I've pumped up my powers.

Almost the News IV

NATO, Russia Resume Ties

Sartorial splendor turned international today as leadership in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and Russia agreed to go back to the practice of wearing neckties.

State Will Spray for Gypsy Moths

...because gypsy moths apparently can't operate the sprayers themselves.

5-Year-Old Drowns at Pool Birthday Party

Why the family was throwing a birthday party for their pool is unknown.

Iran Compiles Issues for Talks With West

In an effort to be more completely educated on the mainstream of Western thought, top officials in Iran are stockpiling back issues of Readers' Digest.

Charges Against Cop Are Upgraded

While version 1.0 of the charges were in grainy black and white, version 2.0 features full-color, high-definition, user-friendly controls...and a lower price.


Building Faith While Reducing Waistlines

There's a new program at a local church that combines weight loss with righteousness. It's called "Pray Your A** Off."

I Sing the Earworm Fantastic

This quarter-year roundup of earworms--those melodic marauders of my mind in the morning--is, once again, testimony to my eclectic taste in music...and my total dropping off the popular music map as of 1981.

MAY
1 -Time in New England (Barry Manilow)
2 -Last Song (Edward Bear)
9 -Going Out of My Head (Little Anthony & the Imperials)
10 -Take a Chance on Me (Abba)
13 -I am a Woman in Love (Barbra Streisand)
19 -Easy Like Sunday Morning (Commodores)
21 -New Heart (Rich Mullins)
22 -So Much for My Sad Song (Chris Rice)
27 -Let Your Love Flow (Bellamy Brothers)
29 -Philadelphia Freedom (Elton John)

JUNE
8 -Humble Yourself (2nd Chapter of Acts)
18 -Have You Seen Her? (The Chi-Lites)
22 -I Just Want to be Your Everything (Andy Gibbs)
24 -I’m Not Cool (Scott Krippayne)
25 -SOS (Abba)
26 -We Can Work It Out (Beatles)

JULY
1 -Drenched in Hope (Debbie Roth)
2 -Nights are Forever Without You (England Dan & John Ford Coley)
4 -As Long as I’m Singing (Brian Setzer Orchestra)
6 -Heart of Worship (Matt Redman)
7 -Where Do the Children Play? (Cat Stevens)
9 -Man in the Mirror (Michael Jackson)
14 -How Can I Tell You? (Cat Stevens)
16 -Solitary Man (Neil Diamond)
20 -Ring of Fire (Johnny Cash)

AT LEAST THERE'S AN EXPLANATION for July 7, 9, and 14. I was trying to stave off the effects of Michael Jackson Fever surrounding his demise by listening to Cat Stevens during my morning commute. It couldn't help but to spill into my waking-minutes musical cavalcade.

When I'm 52

Dedicated to Beloved
Apologies to Lennon & McCartney

Each day I get older
I've lost so much hair
Right here and right now
Still, I hope you think I'm worth a Valentine
Even though we know my head shines
I never stay out till quarter to three
Why? What would I do?
Do you still need me, can you still read me
Now that I'm fifty-two?

You are older, too
But let me say this word
I show it more than you

I've never been handy, mending a fuse
When our lights have gone
Power tools are dangerous when in my hand
Give me bongos and a folk band
Doing the garden, digging the weeds
I'm bad at those things, too
Do you still need me, can you still read me
Now that I'm fifty-two?

Every summer, we discover
We don't have the dough for a trip
If it goes too far
Money's always tight
Grandchildren, we have none
But someday we might

Leave me a voicemail, send me a text
Verizon makes it free
Tell me if you're glad to be my children's mom
Facebook, MySpace, yahoo-dot-com
Bring me your kisses the next time we're near
Yes, I still love you
Do you still need me, can you still read me
Now that I'm fifty-two?

Getting to the Bottom of the Matter...

...no wait...reverse that...Getting to the Matter of the Bottom...there, that's better.

It's true, faithful reader...at the age of 51 years, 11 months, and 20 days, I endured my everybody-oughta-do-this-at-50 colonoscopy.

The problem with this is that folks expect me to write this hilarious blog about it...because...like...it's funny...you know...they stuck something where the sun don't shine. Tee--and may I say--hee.

The reason that's a problem is because Dave Barry has already covered that base in a far grander scale than of which I could ever hope to even be a dim shadow. Seriously, check it out:  https://www.miamiherald.com/living/liv-columns-blogs/dave-barry/article1928847.html

And the True Truth of the matter is, it really wasn't that big of a deal. Yes, the "GoLitely" bowel-flushing mixture was a little slimy, but nothing to gag about. The procedure itself was a little humbling, but nothing painful whatsoever.

The most fun was the short period of so-called recovery, when I was encouraged to get "all that air we pumped into you out." That section of the facility was quite musical, but I'm proud to say I could compete with the best of the virtuosos.

Not that any of you really wanted to know that.

If the Phone Rings, Don't Answer It

What with a not-completely-successful attempt to avoid becoming part of the Michael Jackson Media Maelstrom, and finding it difficult to find anything humorous about playing nursemaid to Beloved since her knee replacement surgery June 10th, I have officially come up Quite Short in the Time To Blog Something Department.

I was beginning to think my life had become so drudgingly dull and despondently dreary that I was going to have to change Almost the Truth from a humor blog to a health care forum.

And then along came KayJay...

The phone call was initially a bit scary: "I'm okay, but...." These are not words that a parent wants to hear coming out of the mouth of his/her youngest. Granted, it's better than a police officer or emergency room nurse telling you that your youngest is not okay, but....

"I'm okay, but I'm going to be late for supper...."

Oh...well...that's not so bad. But I did kind of wonder why she sounded like she was crying. It's not like I was going to ground my 20-year-old daughter for being late for a meal.

"...I'm going to be late for supper because I have to wait for a cop to show up...."

Okayyyy...that could be a good thing. She could have been a witness to a mugging or something and had to help identify the perp.

"...I have to wait for a cop to show up and take the accident report...."

Well...it could still be an innocent observer kind of thing.

"...take the accident report and give me a ticket for hitting this guy who perfectly could have made his left turn but he just sat there and, I don't know, I just looked away for a second and when I looked back he was still there and I swerved to miss him but didn't exactly miss all of him."

I guess I need to change Almost the Truth from a humor blog to an online car insurance workshop.

I'm just a guy who says that I am the one

Okay...I seriously mean absolutely no disrespect. I totally revere and admire the overwhelming talent with which God endowed Michael Jackson. His entertainment legacy is unmatched, unequaled, and unable to be duplicated on this or any other planet.

However...

When the star-studded memorial service was beginning, and the casket was being rolled in, and the choir was singing "Soon and very soon, we are going to see the king," was I the only one who got a little creeped out? Seriously...did anyone else kind of wonder if that casket lid was going to flip open and The King of Pop was going to have the Greatest Comeback of All Time?

*shudder*

M.J.'s Cause of Death?

Apparently, a vast collection of the tens of...tens of people who read this blog are positively apoplectic at the thought that I haven't turned the recent demise of Michael Jackson into a yuckfest.

Hmmm...what kind of person do you think I am? There are thousands upon thousands of people who suddenly realize that their lives are not complete without Michael Jackson making a hermit of himself in horribly overpriced housing. How could I possibly make light of their pain?

However...

For some reason, I couldn't help but be reminded of this classic little story, reproduced here as submitted to the June 2009 issue of Reader's Digest by Hank Chawansky:

In surgery for a heart attack, a middle-aged woman has a vision of God by her bedside. "Will I die?" she asks.

God says, "No. You have 30 more years to live."

With 30 years to look forward to, she decides to make the best of it. So since she's in the hospital, she gets breast implants, liposuction, a tummy tuck, hair transplants, and collagen injections in her lips. She looks great!

The day she's discharged, she exits the hospital with a swagger, crosses the street, and is immediately hit by an ambulance and killed.

Up in heaven, she sees God. "You said I had 30 more years to live," she complains.

"That's true," says God.

"So what happened?"

God shrugs, "I didn't recognize you."

Almost the News III

Woman, 83, Stabbed at Bowling Alley -- An 83-year-old woman repeatedly thrust a knife toward a bowling alley today, causing only minor injuries to herself when she missed the bowling alley but hit her thigh.

Man Gets 3 Years in Meth-Related Fire -- An East Grand Forks, Minnesota, man recently ran into a blazing meth lab and retrieved a treasured possession: a three-year calendar.

Pakistan Braces for More Taliban Bombs -- Quite a trade was made today in the Middle East as Pakistani orthodontists swapped their services for additional explosive devices from Taliban terrorists.

Biker Killed After Hitting Deer -- A minor incident of bullying soon turned into deadly mob violence as an angry crowd of Bambi's relatives sought and found revenge for a motorcyclist's thoughtless act of punching a 7-point buck.

Police Break Up Two Prostitution Rings -- However, this reporter is still trying to figure out why law enforcement officers were telling jokes to prostitutes in the first place.

Hillary Clinton Breaks Elbow in Fall -- And with this single headline, we have gone from reporting the news to predicting it.

Terror Attacks Down Globally -- A wave of fear has swept over the supply of goose feathers around the world. Consequently, experts expect an exceptional rise in pillow prices. That's right...down will be up.

Food to Die For

This past Wednesday, Beloved had her left knee torn in two, drilled into, sanded off, and stapled on. But this blog post isn't about that. This blog post is about MY experiences in the hospital's cafeteria. [But let's pause here for just a bit and consider the opening three words of this paragraph: "This past Wednesday." Doesn't that phrase strike you as being a bit odd? This-past? Is it this or is it past? This implies something that is present; something that is here and being referred to. Past doesn't imply any of that. I'm just sayin'...]

Two things worthy of note from my cafeteria excursions:

Menu True Truth: The receipts at this particular cafeteria are fairly detailed. Instead of just saying, "Meal--$8.49," they list each item purchased. They are also wincingly honest in making that list. For instance, instead of saying that I had whipped red potatoes, skin on, with a trace of chives, my receipt said "Starch."

Dole 100% Apple Juice: You never can tell what you might learn by reading the labels on the things you eat and drink. I'd be willing to wager that most folks don't know that Dole is owned by Pepsico. I'm also pretty sure that only a few people on the planet are aware of just how internationally involved a 15.5 ounce bottle of apple juice can be. Let me quote from the list of ingredients (this is true truth): "Filtered water and concentrated apple juice, natural flavors, malic acid, ascorbic acid. Contains concentrate from Germany, Austria, Italy, Hungary, Argentina, Chile, China, Turkey, Brazil, and the United States."

I'm not kidding. That's really what it says. I suddenly feel so rural and inexperienced. My apple juice has been more places than I can ever hope to be.

Roadkill Ode

I saw the strangest roadkill
Along I-35
It filled my heart with pity
For what was once alive

Why it tried to cross the road
Like chicken-tales of old
Is something we will never know
A story never told

But there it lay, flattened out
Soaking in the rain
Long past being frightened
Or feeling any pain

The driver simply drove away
As if he didn't need it
Surprising, since the object was
A queen-sized PosturePedic

A drying out, some cleaning
And it'd be good as new
But those were things the driver
Must have thought he couldn't do

Instead, the roadkill mattress
Perhaps a U-Haul blunder
Was left to pique our interest
And fill us full of wonder

Big Splash from a Little Stone

I had a fun time today rediscovering how funny some of my friends are...and I'm not talking about appearance.

I had no idea what to type in response to the question that creates a Facebook status message, "What's on your mind?" so I let my fingers do the walking every which way but loose all over the keyboard. The result: blusnoe;ona lkdjoe ;lajfopjjkdleijafj fager lkdiej;aj ;lkajij llmohjenpa

Having done my duty of updating my status, I went on about the far-less-important tasks associated with my 40-hour-a-week excursion into bankruptcy avoidance. And that's when the fun began.

First, a nephew simply checked the response, "I like this." Then, a preacher's wife interpreted the gibberish by saying, "You must really, really, really be mad." Our current children's pastor gave away what he thought my status was by saying, "Gesundheit." My Former Office Mate agreed, "Yeah...I'm thinking, did you wipe off the keyboard when you were done?"

At which point, I'm thinking, "Cute. This is like Modern Art. It means different things to different people...because it doesn't really mean anything at all."

The next opinion was contributed by the namesake of my daughter, BuckEye, a former college classmate, who added a theological twist: "You're supposed to have an interpreter." (See I Corinthians 14:27. Click here.)

And the ball just kept rolling...

Former coworker: That happens to me all the time when my fingers are on the wrong keys on the keyboard.

Again from Former Office Mate: Oh wait - you're supposed to use your FINGERS for the keyboard?!? Ohhhhh. That could explain a few things for me - my keys kept getting jammed between the buttons when I was typing. Wow - the things you don't know. (Editor's Note: Correction...the things YOU don't know.)

And then my Big Guffaw of the Day came from another entry by Buckeye's Namesake: I can't believe butt typing would get such a response.

With friends like these, who needs Jay Leno?

Hot News Item!

The story is apparently a big deal, because it got a piece of yesterday's Star Tribune front page, pointing alert readers to the full story on A2. And because it's such a big deal, I will quote it here, so as not to be accused of almosting this vital truth that the enquiring public has a right to know:

Olivia Wilde has received Maxim mag's greatest cultural honor: She has been named the hottest human woman alive. "I'm considered sexy even though I'm wearing a lab coat every day and seen as a doctor on TV," says Wilde, who tops Maxim's Hot 100 list. "That really says something. Playing someone who is not defined by her looks and being considered hot, that really makes me feel good." Others in the top five are Megan Fox, Bar Refaeli, Malin Akerman and Mila Kunis."

Let me say this about that:

1) Olivia? I hate to break the news to you (that's a lie...I'm kinda liking this), but your perception that you and/or your character's hotness is not defined by your and/or her looks is totally whacked. The reason the editors of Maxim think you're hot is that they're enjoying imagining what you may or may not be wearing under that lab coat.

2) Take a second look at that list of the top five hottest human women alive and commiserate with me in this one over-arching fact:

I.

Have.

Absolutely.

No idea who any of those honored women are.



My position on the cutting edge of popular culture has long ago been usurped by those younger, faster, and more disposed to actually giving a rip.