The Big Storm

Much of the country has been really messed up by all the record-setting snowfall and frigid temperatures that have been brought on by Global Warming. People have been stranded in airports and forced to cancel travel plans...and have just generally had miserable conditions to deal with -- while we here in Denver have been catching rays, playing tennis, and watching sunsets from the deck with a Corona in our hands.

But all of that ended yesterday. The media weather-dorks threw themselves into an orgasmic frenzy of attention-grabbing competition; each one trying to come up with the most frightening thing to say about the coming storm. It was the biggest news week of the year, and each reporter tried to up their ratings by instilling panic within their audience. They interviewed snowplow drivers: "How many people are expected to die because you don't have enough plows in your fleet?" Grocery store owners: "Are you prepared to shoot to kill when the snow-crazed looters come looking for the last gallon of milk?" Plumbers: "What should people do when the water in their toilet is frozen solid?" etc etc.

This is why I watch Star Trek reruns instead of the news.

And this really annoys me: KOA radio has started giving temperature predictions in "feels like" units. This used to be known as the "wind chill factor", and they'd state it along with the actually temperature. "30°, with a wind chill of 22°". But now they're skipping the actual temperature and just giving the lowest number they can find. "Tonight's low will be a feels-like temperature of 20 below zero!"

Yeah, and I "feels like" I is changing the station and listening to Rick Crandall.

Anyway, the storm was predicted to dump a foot of snow on us and cripple the city. Didn't happen. Sure, it snowed some, and it got colder, but it only added a few minutes to last night's commute, and this morning's drive looks to be about the same.

So, instead of filling this blogspace with tales of cabin fever from being trapped under apocalyptic drifts and burning my sweatsocks just to stay warm, I should be able to do a nice "Year in Review" column and talk about all the wonderful things that happened over the past 12 months. The only problem is that I've run out of time. Perhaps I'll do that tomorrow...or maybe I'll just skip it and go right into the New Year's Resolutions phase. (Hmm, perhaps I should re-read 2010's "NYR" blog and see how many of my resolutions I accomplished. Or not.)

Anyway, please drive carefully today, party sensibly tonight, and have a very Happy New Year! I'll see you in 2011.

Postscript: NOTE TO NEW YORK AIRPORT -- You should never make people wait 11 freakin' hours on the runway, even if there are no gates available. Just grab one of the old "stairway on wheels" thingies and roll it out to the plane. Let the people walk to the terminal. It's pretty easy. You're welcome.

Happy New Year!

It's been a crazy week, with good parts and bad parts. The good part includes Christmas, obviously; I had a wonderful time hanging out with my son, and visiting my brother and his wife. I'll spare you the details of the feasting and music and general frivolity, since I'm sure you have tales of your own to illustrate holiday happiness. The bad part is all about not having enough time to do all the stuff I wanted to do over the holidays. Stuff like blogging and such...

So, I must once again thank you for your patience with the delay between postings. I know you've been spending the entire time stressing out about whether you were correct on the last picture quiz, and I don't blame you for that. I know how much fun and excitement you were having with my little challenges, and I know that I owe you an answer. I suspect that the last one was a bit tough. It would have been easier if I'd have included this picture along with the others.

But then it would've been too easy.

Got it now? Yeah, I thought so. They're all "birds".

Starting on the left, we have Meadowlark Lemon, famed basketball player and clown prince of cager comedy. I actually saw him play once in Wichita, and was sitting next to a guy who got nailed with confetti during the famous "bucket gag". If I remember correctly, the Globetrotters won the game.

To Mr. Lemon's right is Cardinal Richelieu, who was some sort of famous religious-type guy. I didn't have time to look up the actual history to verify my facts, but I seem to think that he was a pedophile or Disney-hater or something...had an obsession with hassling Mouseketeers, if I remember correctly.

The dapper chap next in line is the steadily-working actor David Canary, who folks my age remember as ranch hand "Candy Canaday" on Bonanza. Younger folks probably know him from his appearances on the soap opera "All My Children". I always thought "Candy" was an interesting name for a guy, and figured it was his parents' attempt to pull off the "Boy Named Sue" toughness-development thing. But since "Canaday" was also the last name of my college roommate and lifetime best friend, that particular moniker always makes me think of youthful hijinks and campus debauchery...which we may have to discuss at another time.

The gay guy to the far right is Captain Jack Sparrow, who was some kind of movie pirate or something.

Meadowlark -- Cardinal -- Canary -- Sparrow. All birds, see?

So this concludes our current series of "Find the Connection" challenges. Thanks for playing. I'll probably offer some more of these in the future, despite the many comments I've received regarding how stupid and boring they are. But the fact is that I enjoy them immensely, and I'm pretty sure that the Blogger site rules require all posts to be entirely author-ego-centric. Otherwise, this would just be a newspaper and I'd have to be topical and entertaining.

But speaking of topicality, here's a question for you: As I was pondering Cardinal Richierich, et al, I ended up in one of those associative reverie phases where you think about all sorts of stuff that's peripherally related to the main topic. Don't ask me for the exact sequence of triggers, but somehow I went from Errol Flynn to John Wayne to True Grit to Lloyd Bridges to Robert Stack...and that left me wondering: Whatever happened to the Hare Krishnas? They used to hang out in airports wearing orange dresses and stuff...but since the TSA was given authorization to taser them, they seem to have gone elsewhere. My question is...where? Did they cease to exist, the way the snail darter vanished when they took away its natural habitat to build the Aswan Dam? Or did they move their operations to bus stations or DMV offices or somewhere else that keeps them off my radar? For all I know, there could be thousands of flower-gifting bald boys wandering down the aisles of Babies R' Us, and I wouldn't have a clue. Do you know where they went? Did George Harrison's death leave the entire movement in confusion, so that they all gave up their sarongs and went back to being E.F. Hutton brokers? Or did they all just move to Oklahoma, where they could live in squalor and obscurity? If you have the answer, please let me know.

Thanks, and have a great day!

More Challenging

OK, what do these dudes have in common?

As you think about that for a second, I'll take a moment to throw out a philosophical question for you: What was your favorite Christmas gift you received as a kid...and what influence did it have on the rest of your life?

Pretty deep, eh?

I'll share my story with you tomorrow, but I'd be interested to hear if there was one particular toy (or book, or surgical instrument...whatever) you received that somehow directed you toward your current career, your spouse, or hobby. Let me know. Thanks.

And now we resume our discussion of how completely unfair it is for me to ask you to deduce connections that exist only in my head. And yes, that's exactly what's going on with the photos above. For some reason, these 4 guys kinda remind me of each other. That's all. There's nothing about their names, their careers, or their behaviors that tied them together as far as I can tell. They're just each kinda goofy-looking. So yeah...that was a completely unfair challenge. So sue me.

For the record, though, they are Michael Richards (famous for having the same first name as Michael Jackson), Jan Stenerud (famous for keeking mör feeld goles than any other Norwegian), Myron Floren (Lawrence Welk's accordian shred-master), and Lyle Lovett (famous for his Chuck Berry-like ability to fill entire albums with virtually the same song by merely tweaking a minor lyric here or there.)

So, how'd you do on yesterday's challenge?

OK, the answer to yesterday's puzzle is the fact that as you proceed from left to right, the description changes by one letter each time.

Hutt -- Hurt -- Curt -- Cult

Ah, I see light bulbs going on all over the place. It's so simple once the secret is revealed, isn't it? But I'm guessing that only a few Mensa members figured this one out in advance of this posting, and that most of the rest of my diminishing audience thought about it for a few minutes, said to themselves "This guy's a psycho and I'm not reading this stupid blog anymore" and went back to reading "Family Circus" instead. I don't blame them. But if you have stuck around far, I hope you'll indulge me for a few more days of this sort of thing. I'll try to make it worth your time by including some trivia that you might find interesting.

So, let us examine our sequence in detail. The leftmost character is probably familiar to all but the most hermit-like readers; he's Jabba the Hutt, from the Star Wars movies. He's George Lucas' version of Don Corleone, the mafia boss of the outer planets...which come to thing of it, is sorta the same description I'd use for Bela Oxmyx, who was featured yesterday. Hmm, I probably should've gone with an all-galaxy roster of gangland figures -- that might've been a fun puzzle.

But I digress. The second figure is the versatile actor John Hurt, who is shown here in his role as "The Elephant Man". He's probably better known for having a slimy creature burst out of his chest in "Alien", but has also done many movies in which he isn't hideously mutated. He's also in the "Hellboy" movies and a couple of "Harry Potter" films, which seems appropriate since I have trouble telling those two franchises apart. I mean, seriously, isn't "Hellboy" an appropriate name for a scar-faced young lad who practices witchcraft? I'm just sayin...

Our third hideous monster achieved fame as a ubiquitious sportscaster in the 60s and 70s. His name was Curt Gowdy, and in addition to broadcasting baseball and other obscure sports, he was a well-known sportsman (aka "huntin' and fishin' enthusiast") who has a State Park in Wyoming named after him.

And lastly, we have the Blue Öyster Cult. Some would argue that they are the greatest rock band of all time. I'm not sure I'd go that far, but they did put on a spectacular laser and smoke concert, and entertained me and my friends for countless hours when we should have been studying in college. The trivia I'll share here is that the female lead character on the TV show "Dharma and Greg" was named after guitar player Buck Dharma (the one with the band's famous "upside down question mark with arms" logo in the photo).

OK, I made that up about Dharma. I don't know if the sitcom developer was a BÖC fan or not. The name is also a Sanskrit word with multiple meanings within Hindu cultures, and roughly translates to "mojo" in New York street slang. There's your multi-cultural cross-reference for the day. You're welcome.

OK, so here's today's puzzle. I think it's a bit easier, and I expect most of the people my age to figure it out. So...what's the connection between these guys?


Thanks for playing. And have a Merry Christmas!

One Letter at a Time

OK, the ominously-lit guy with the cigar is General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) from the classic movie "Dr. Strangelove". If you haven't seen it, you definitely should. But you might want to watch "Failsafe" first.

Anyway, in the movie, Gen. Ripper sends the Air Force out for an unprovoked bombing of Russia. His logic for doing so is sound, but I won't go into that here. The connection to our little picture puzzle is that the security code that becomes the movie's maguffin is "OPE". Turns out it's an anagram of the initials in the phrase "Purity of Essence", which is an important key to understanding the general's reasoning for sending Slim Pickens and James Earl Jones into the forbidding northern skies.

And speaking of James Earl Jones, today's puzzle has a connection to this fine actor as well. But we'll get to that in a minute. First: Yesterday's solution.

It's "Ox".

The first gentleman is the excellent actor Anthony Caruso, playing the role of Bela Oxmyx in the Star Trek episode "A Piece of the Action", which happens to be one of the top 10 hours of television ever produced. The second fellow is Mr. John Candy in the role of Dewey Oxberger in the movie "Stripes", which is also a classic work of the video arts. The person on ice skates is Oksana Baiul, who is probably the commie version of Lindsey Lohan, and never would've been born if General Ripper's plan had come to fruition. And finally, we have the superlative informercial pitchman, the late great Billy Mays, who is probably most famous for singing the praises of a product called "Oxi-Clean".

Congratulations to everyone who found the connection. Today's puzzle has a slightly different type of solution. Yes, it's true that they're all dangerous monsters, but that's not what we're going for here. The answer to this puzzle is not so much a similarity as it is a progression. That's the only hint you'll get, so good luck.


Oh, and by the way, the James Earl Jones connection is this: He once did a vocal performance in a movie that also featured the dude on the left in the picture above. And no, I'm not talking about "The Sandlot". Anyway, I hope you're enjoying these little challenges, because there are several more coming over the next couple of weeks. We'll probably break the pattern with an essay or two about Christmas, but that'll probably depend on how many hours I'm spending at the office over the coming days. In any case, I hope you're completely prepared for the holidays...if not, you should probably get out to the mall to absorb some of the spirit of love and kindness that pervades the shopping queues at this time of year. Enjoy your fudge and holiday cookies, and have a great day!

Another Simple Quiz

That was WAY too easy, wasn't it?

Yes, the answer is that each photo represents something that contains the syllable "ope". If I'd have wanted to make it more challenging, I'd have included this guy:

(Bonus points if you know why.)

Anyway, the photo in question contains (from left to right) Bob Hope, Soap on a Rope, Dopey Opie, and a guy whose hat has a slope. Thanks for playing.

Now, here's a slightly more challenging puzzle. What do these have in common?

Get those brain cells firing. And have a great day!

Intellectual Challenges

I originally envisioned this as a major IQ/Cultural Literacy test...but it looks like I won't have time to fully bring my vision to life. Therefore, you'll get a small sample today, and with luck, a few additional questions parceled out over the next few weeks. In addition to possibly providing some minor stimulation of your brain cells, my hope is to scatter some cultural literacy about as a side effect.

And yes, I DO define cultural literacy as knowledge of Star Trek and 80s comedy movies. Why do you ask?

Anyway, here's today's quiz question: What do the subject of these four photos have in common. (Answer tomorrow.) Enjoy!

Another Proposal

Any time I suffer a lack of productivity, it is clearly the fault of the Government. Specifically in this case, the blame lies with the Colorado Lottery Board. If they had performed their civic duty correctly and aligned the winning numbers with those on my most recently purchased ticket, I would have adequate time to provide the quantity and quality of bloggery that you faithful readers certainly deserve.

But since those lousy scumbuckets have seen fit to deny me my rightful millions, I remain sadly dependent on the need to labor for wages. Hence, my continuing daily obligation to hoist my metaphorical pickax onto my shoulder and descend into the metaphorical salt mines. And since my employer takes great delight in scheduling work during nominal holidays, I'm afraid that I'll be deeply immersed in a government proposal while the rest of you are out a-wassailing and gulping down the roast beast amid bright colored lights and a-capella singing.

And yes, I am whining in a pitiful attempt to garner sympathy...why do you ask?

Anyway, the point is that I'm going to be commuting to north of Broomfield each day, which means that my daily drive will eat a couple additional hours out of each day. It's likely, therefore, that my blog output (already sporadic and feeble) may suffer further. As I've attempted before, I will try my best to put some sort of daily observation out there. But please keep checking in, even if my busy work schedule dries up the blogutation for the next month or so. I promise I'll flood you with unending stimuli once this proposal is complete. Chances are good that I'll be laid off at that point, and will therefore have plenty of time to write. And who knows? Perhaps I will win the Lottery. We can always hope.

In the meantime, I'll do my best, and I'll thank you in advance for your patience and understanding. And have a great day!

Chi Running Update Update

Waterton Canyon is open!

This is great cause for celebration among runners who live in the southwest corner of town. The canyon is scenic, nearby, and most importantly, a place where you can run a long ways on dirt roads without dealing with the noise and pollution of city traffic. Very cool.

The canyon has been closed for months, due to a sludge-draining project at the Strontia Springs Dam. Apparently the reservoir was getting clogged with silt from higher mountain runoff, so the Denver Water engineers figured out a way to pump the crud from the bottom of the lake down to the lowland roadway where it could be recycled into fertile soil that can be used to grow rutabagas for the starving children in Latveria.

Or something like that. Maybe they're just dumping it in somebody else's river. I don't know. But I do know that the pipes and pumping stations are impressive, and that it's darn good to be able to run in the canyon again.

The plan was that a group of us would meet at the entrance at sunrise, and begin the run up to the dam the moment they opened the gates to let us in. Unfortunately, I didn't arrive early enough to warm up before the gates opened...and without being warmed up, there is no way I could keep up with anyone. The rest of the group had vanished out of sight before I even reached the half-mile marker. Oh well, so much for my planned morning of "social running".

So, the "Chi Running" update is this: Even though my knees are handling this new running form with grace and fluidity, the instructions of Master Po, et al, have not taught me a way to loosen up quickly, especially when the ambient temperature is in the sullen teens. I knew that I'd eventually warm up to the point where each stride would carry me more than a couple of inches...but as I watched my friends disappear into the distance, I felt like the dorky kid who always gets chosen last in gym class.

And believe me, I know what that feels like.

Yes, it's true, my friends. Despite my current Ricardo Montalban sophistication and Bill Bixby muscularity, there was a time when I was a skinny dweeb with no apparent aptitude for sports. I say "apparent" aptitude, because I think I was probably not that horrid...but because I got straight A's and looked like Barney Fife, the cool kids assumed I was a total klutz. Nobody ever asked me to diagram plays in the dirt, or to run back kickoffs, or even to deal the cards in a poker game.

The worst insult to my athletic ability was when I played in the company slow-pitch softball league in my early years at the rocket ranch. We had one session of batting practice before the season started, and since my "fungo" distance was the shortest of all the guys on the team, I was assigned to bat last. The guy with the most power was put in at "cleanup". The irony was that while I couldn't hit the ball very far, I could place it with pretty good accuracy. I never hit for extra bases, but my batting average for the season was over .800. Mr Big-Arm Smash Hitter went oh-fer the season. He hit very very long outs, but they were always outs.

But I digress. My point is that I was really struggling when we began to run in the canyon. Plus, the feed hose from my hydration pack was frozen solid within the first few hundred meters. As much as I was happy about being back in the long-forbidden canyon, I can't say I was enjoying my latest chi run all that much.

Everyone else seemed to be having a good time, though. And despite the gigantic pipe snaking alongside the entire road, the canyon was looking pretty good. And sure enough, by continuing to concentrate on my form I was eventually able to run in true chi fashion. I still couldn't keep up with any of my friends, but at least I was able to put in a good solid 9 miles.

The only members of the group who were still around when I finished were only there because of a, um, dietary issue. Seems that one young fellow (who shall remain nameless) found himself possessed by an urgent need to stop at every single outhouse along the way. He was much faster than me, but with his long stops at each waystation, I was able to emerge from the canyon while he and his mom were still in the parking lot. So, I did have a couple of minutes of social contact, I guess.

Anyway, the eductational point of today's posting is this: A hot bath feels really good after running 9 miles all alone in an ice-cold windy canyon. That's all I really wanted to say. You should try it.

I do intend to run in the canyon as much as I can during its brief open season. It closes again at the end of January, and they'll be shooting sludge down the tubes for the next year or so. Therefore, we might as well all take advantage of the time we have out there the best we can. Perhaps I'll see you out there next weekend. In the meantime, have a great day!

Going Postal

I'm not going to make it to my homeowners association's annual meeting, so I wanted to send them my voting proxy form so they can have a quorum and get their business done -- even though I'm sure they'll be somewhat lost and confused without my savvy insights and rhetorical sharpness. Somehow, they've managed to muddle through several annual meetings without my participation, so I guess they've found some way to do business without me. But according to the letter they sent me, they truly do need my proxy form.

The problem was that I didn't have any stamps. So that means a trip to the Post Office.

It's the height of the holiday mailing season, and with my rampant introversion in full swing at the approach of the Solstice, I had no particular desire to brave the crowds and stand in line during the PO's normal business hours. So for me, it's absolutely great news that they have these Automated Postal Machines in each of the branch offices. I could zip over there in the wee hours of the morning, when I'm at my optimal functionality and all the normal people are still dreaming of sugarplums and whatnot.

The machines are only mildly annoying to use. They ask all sorts of inane questions about whether I'm mailing anthrax or dilithium crystals, and whether I'm aware of the delightful assortment of boxes available for purchase at the counter that I am using this machine specifically to avoid. And there's the triple annoyance of having to re-insert my credit card for each transaction when mailing multiple items. But overall, it beats the heck out of standing in line behind a million doting aunties mailing Tickle-Me-Elmos to their nieces and nephews in Peoria.

But the thing that caught my attention occurred at the end of the transaction. I normally walk away as soon as I hit the "NO" button when it asks if I need anything else. But this time, I stood there to put the stamps and receipt in my pocket, and happened to read the final message on the display screen.

"It's been a pleasure to serve you!"

Does this seem odd to you? A machine saying it derived pleasure from taking my money? I guess it doesn't bother me when a machine says "thank you", but..."It was a pleasure"? Just seems weird — Like Mr. Spock laughing, or Gomer Pyle singing opera.

I may seem paranoid, but even little things like giving machines the ability to utter polite, emotion-related canned responses...well, it moves us one step closer to the Terminator being able to pass the Turing Test. We need to halt this trend now. Please consider this as an open letter to postal machine programmers everywhere: Stop the madness before it's too late. Let's end our transactions with something obviously computeresque...perhaps "Process complete. End program." Save the "thank you" statements for the actual humans who work behind the counters.

Hey, it's just a suggestion. It won't keep me from using the automated postal center, I guess. Anyway, you have my best wishes for good luck with all of your holiday mailings, whether you stand in line or not. However you choose to approach your package deliveries, enjoy the season, and have a great day!

Chi Running Update

I'll begin with a brief historical review: For many years now, I've had problems with running -- goofy asymmetrical stride, uncooperative hamstrings, near-constant knee pain, and an irrational desire to find the person who invented the sport and hit him over the head with a shovel. To say that running has been tough for me would be like saying that Jeffrey Dahmer had mild dietary idiosyncrasies.

But a bunch of my very best friends are enthusiastic runners who absolutely love the sport and preach its gospel at every opportunity. Some of these sermons include recommended bibliographies...and so a few months ago I decided to read a couple of running books. The first was "Born to Run", which makes the case that all of us humans are genetically engineered to run long distances without injuries and pain...as long as we run "barefoot style" -- eschewing expensive padded shoes and landing on the midfoot area rather than the heel. The next book was "Chi Running", which also claims that pain-free running is possible. It advocates many of the same style modifications as "Born to Run", but wraps the technique discussions within the comforting blanket of Oriental Philosophy and metaphysical urgings to use your running to achieve Nirvana, etc.

No, not the rock group Nirvana. The other one. Imagine that instead of being trained by the Penguin, Rocky Balboa was coached by Kwai Chang Caine.

Anyway, I decided to give the "Chi" thing a try, and have been pursuing this course for several weeks now.

As I understand it, "Chi" is the central life force we each have, and it's centered somewhere around your solar plexus. Having a healthy chi promotes everything from growing hair (hence the term "chia") to digesting spicy Mexican food (hence, "chi-potle"). The theory is that if you run by focusing on how your chi moves, it somehow takes the pressure off your knees and keeps your legs healthier. Whatever. I'm a bit fuzzy on the science...but if it works and I can run farther with less wobbling and minimized cursing, then I'm all for it.

Since I read those books, I've been working on it. And so far, I have actually noticed an improvement in knee function. So -- on Saturday, I attempted my longest run in many months. My ultra-runner friend Katie was looking for pacers for her 6-hour run, and I figured I could go an hour with her. She was planning to go really really slow, so there was a slight chance I could keep up.

And I am pleased to announced that I DID survive, and that my knees feel fine. I ran a mile-and-a-half farther than I had run since before I started this quest for better technique, and when I finally abandoned Katie, I did so with a great sense of pride in my own accomplishment.

And then I realized that we had done a one-way run...and that I had a LONG way to go to get back to my car. Oops. The Chi Running book didn't say anything about how to engage in "chi-hitchhiking" or "chi catching-a-bus". Hmm. Looks like I'd have to make the return trip on foot. The good news was that I could walk, which would be easier than running. The bad news is that walking is really slow.

To make a LONG story short, I eventually made it back to my car. And the most exciting thing was that even though I had madly exceeded my normal "make me hobble for a week" mileage, I was able to walk the next day. In fact, I felt really good; amazingly good. I'm beginning to think that the whole barefoot running thing really does make some kind of kooky sense. And so, for now, I'm sticking with it. I'm not quite ready to toss my shoes in the trash and impersonate Abebe Bikila or anything, but I'm staying away from anything that makes me land hard on my heels.

I'll keep you posted.

And on a related topic; I've been watch The Retro Channel a lot lately. They're playing old Star Trek, Mission Impossible, and Beverly Hillbillies reruns. And since I have a degree in Broadcasting, you can trust me when I say that these shows represent the all-time pinnacle of the television arts. But that's not the point; the relatable point for today's blog is about the fact that these vintage programs are often accompanied by advertising for the kinds of things you won't see advertised at the Super Bowl. You know what I mean...commemorative dinner plates, Franklin mint collectible non-monetary coins, and yes -- chia pets.

Here's the latest campaign:


That's right: Presidential Chia: Washington, Lincoln, and Obama. Putting aside the rather questionable flavor of patriotism involved in marketing such things for a moment, I must confess that seeing this ad still made me wonder how the marketers decided to chiafy this particular grouping of "heads" of state.

Let's see. Lincoln and Washington are on Mt. Rushmore, but Obama isn't (though I'd imagine somewhere there's a campaign in motion to get him put there.) Washington presided over the establishment of the country, and Lincoln fought for its re-unification — So I suppose it could be said that they each were responsible for increasing the size of the US government, and that's something they have in common with President Obama, I suppose. And if he succeeds with plans to merge our country with Mexico, or to Federalize the fast food industry, he may end up with his head on more than South Dakota mountains or terra cotta pottery.

Anyway, the only reason I bring this up is that I admire the commercial spirit of the chia-head marketers, even if I'm pretty sure I'm not in their target market. In my opinion, the only head that should be chiafied is Mr. T...and even then, I wouldn't buy one. I guess I'm old fashioned -- in that I prefer "normal" plants, like cactus and venus flytraps and Christmas trees. But if you have a relative who enjoys spindly little grasses that grow out of the heads of politicians, then I wanted to make sure you knew about this potential holiday gift.

You're welcome. It's always my pleasure to offer advice, whether it's about shopping or running form. I do what I can. Thanks for tuning in, and have a great day!

The Best Laid Plans...

Can you spell "Discipline"? Apparently I can't.


As I discovered the other day, I really don't have the vocabulary to describe the nuances of taste sensation that accompany the experience of savoring a quality assortment. For me, the individual candies in this box can ALL be described with one of three phrases: "Pretty good", "OK", and "meh". I know that I'll offend chocolatiers and theobromine purists everywhere by saying this, but I think I get just as much pleasure out of guzzling a handful of Nestlé's morsels...or biting off a few squares of a Hershey bar.

And quite frankly, I'm at a loss to explain the marketing strategy behind the box design. Mary See may have been an outstanding confectioner, but as a spokesmodel, she leaves much to be desired. Her "strict grandma" visage probably frightens small children, and evokes memories of relatives who smell of cigarettes, cough medicine, and incontinent cats. And what does "Old Fashioned" really mean in this context? Do they use "low-fructose" corn syrup instead of the modern "high-fructose" variety that's been proven superior due to its high-tech molecular structure? Or were the goodies made in big black kettles by hair-netted women wearing floor-length dresses and stirring the vats with big wooden paddles as local urchins stoked the fire with wood gathered from nearby forests?

I somehow doubt it. I suspect that candy factory is fully compliant with all OSHA and FDA regulations, and that anyone touching the stuff is wearing latex gloves and respirators. (At least I hope so.) Not sure what's "old fashioned" about that.

Oh well, the only thing that really matters is whether it tastes good or not. And chocolate usually does...even if it's surrounding an abominable creme center filled with shaved cherry bits or asymmetrical coffee-flavored lumps. And as I mentioned before, receiving an entire box of such treats as a reward for a year's work chained to an oar in the metaphorical galley ships of corporate enterprise sure beats having to attend a luncheon featuring speeches by weary lame-duck managers who have already taken the buyout option and will be sailing on their yachts before next Spring's thaw.

So, enough said about that. I'm sure I'll have more to say about other Christmas traditions, including such topics as carols, trees, and eggnog. Stay tuned for that. But I'll sign off today with a plug for my distant cousin's chocolate shop. He's a local legend in Ohio, and truly does make spectacular candies. And if you want to talk about "Old Fashioned"...well, his website is pure early 90's vintage, so it shows that they're far more interested in creating quality chocolates than they are in marketing their wares out there among the Internets. They don't ship during the summer months (the packages can get pretty gooey in the back of a UPS truck on a 90° day), but will be happy to fill your orders for the next month or two. Check them out: www.heggy's.com. And have a great day!

No Star Trek References

And so it begins.

For most people, the Christmas season starts the moment the last witch's head is packed away and all the pumpkins have been reduced to a puddle of orange goo that nobody wants to clean up. But for me, the official kickoff to the season is the moment we get receive our annual box of See's candy from our Department Director.

I hesitated to write about this, because I know that some of you do not receive such extravagant benefits from your employer, and will immediately petition your congressman to raise taxes so that those of us who wallow in the chocolate-covered opulence of corporate largess will be forced to share our candy with illegal aliens. Well, I say that while ALF and ET and all those big-eyed Roswellians might be cute and funny, I don't want to give them my dadgum chocolate.

I realize that some employers believe that things like recognizing and rewarding performance, respecting personal time, and promoting career development are enough to keep employees happy. But me? I prefer an annual box of candy.

OK, so here's my plan: I'll eat one piece of candy each evening until the box is empty. I'll choose the day's morsel at random, take time to fully savor the taste, and then will write about the experience in this space. That way, I'll have topical material to fill a daily blog through New Years, and will have a delightful holiday treat to enjoy as a nightcap after every dinner for the rest of the month.

Exciting, isn't it?

And I plan to enjoy this box o' chockies as if it were the last one on the planet. For the sad fact of the matter is that it might as well be just that. You see, we had a meeting with our Department Director earlier this week, and she announced that our annual tradition of a department luncheon and gift of candy is a tradition destined for deletion. Next year's budget, she said, will allow for one or the other -- either the luncheon or the candy box. And since she feels that social interaction within the group is more important than take-home deliciousness, she's planning to keep the lunch. Ugh.

Of course, it'll be a moot question for several of the folks in our group. She also mentioned that there will be significant layoffs in January.

Oh well, that won't stop me from enjoying my holiday season of daily taste treats. Yum. And you, my loyal readers, will be treated to a description of each nugget within the assortment.

Let us begin, shall we?

Chocolate number one: A rectangular-shaped, dark-chocolate-covered coconut piece. It tasted like, well...chocolate-covered coconut.

Hmm, perhaps I'm not cut out for writing on the gourmet beat. I don't have all that much to say about choco-1, really. It was good. What else can I say?

Oh well, maybe tomorrow's piece will generate multiple paragraphs of flowery prose, and I'll wax poetic from dawn until dusk. Tune in to see. And in the meantime, have a great day!

Relevant Blog

Electronics have no place in the world of plumbing.

There. I said it. If nothing else, I keep this blog on the cutting edge of controversy, don't I?

OK, perhaps my statement wasn't specific enough. If you want to take your GameBoy into the restroom with you, I guess I have no problem with that. Cell phones, though...no.

But what I'm really talking about is the "electric eye" sensor that determines when to flush for you. On the surface, this is a great idea -- I am totally supportive of the idea of hands-free operation of public utilities. (I'm also in favor of doing away with the traditional handshake greeting...it's an archaic tradition that provides an interpersonal mass transit system for germs. Why not a jaunty salute instead? Everyone could develop their own signature salute style (reference John Larroquette in "Stripes"). It'd be healthy, and fun!)

But until they get the bugs worked out of these auto-potty things, they should really stop using them. I hate it when Old Faithful erupts when I'm only halfway through the process of sitting down. And they usually flush two or three extra times while I'm tucking in my shirt and preparing to exit the stall. This is NOT a "go green" policy.

The worst thing is that without access to the mechanical parts, there's nothing you can do about it when the electronics have an M-5 moment and decide to override faulty human decision-making. Last week, I witnessed two separate toilets running full-blast in "constant flush" mode while no one was near them. They were operating at flow rates you usually don't see outside of Niagara, sending fresh water into the sewer system as fast as the system pressure allowed. It was how I would imagine a black hole to be...swirling currents threatening to latch onto anything in the vicinity and pull it through to the mysteries of "the other side".

And since you can't open the tank and fiddle with the flapper to get it to stop, there's nothing you can do but call Scotty and tell him to take a spanner into the Jeffries tube.

I don't think my protestations against this sort of technology make me a Luddite. After all, Captain Kirk was heavily reliant on computers, and habitually interacted with the ship's processors without reluctance. But he still had a sense for when technology had overstepped its boundaries and was making decisions contrary to the interests of humanity. If Kirk had been around to help Sara Connor, he'd have talked the Terminator into blowing itself up with nary a shot being fired.

I do wonder, though, why all the computers he talked into self-destruction had SIPA (Stress Induced Pitch Ascension) programming built in? Every time one of those machines would utter ready-to-implode-indicator phrases such as "Non sequitur. Does not compute!", its voice would rise and become all Urkel-esque. Never understood that. I would expect a highly-confused computer to respond to a logical mismatch by merely offering Kirk a holographic Blue Screen of Death to replace the Landru image, and then to power down.

Of course, Star Trek was created long before Bill Gates and company plagued the world with the BSOD concept, so I guess a rising-pitch soliloqy followed by an explosion was probably a reasonable extrapolation of 1960s technology. Perhaps Mr. Gates even directed his minons with commands of "There shall be no @*#$%! Landrus evolving from Microsoft programming. Figure out some way to shut these things down without anything blowing up. And make it blue if you can -- I like blue."

And here I've done it again, haven't I? I said I was going to write a relevant blog about topical issues of the day and avoid obscure nerd references from the 60s. Sheesh. It's no wonder nobody reads this tripe.

You have to give me credit for the auto-flush toilet complaint, though. That's a legitimate social issue of the current times. And if the government can outlaw Happy Meal toys, they certainly ought to be able to stifle machine-triggered potties. I'm not saying that we should remove hands-free options from plumbing operations -- Heavens no! -- but let's make 'em more like the hand dryers that you have to wave at several times before they react. We just need to stop the sensors from falling for every headfake and innocent zippered-up drive by.

OK, so enough of that.

Here's my relevant rant that has no Star Trek connection whatsoever. (OK, there is are James Bond and Back to the Future relatables, but I'll leave you to arrive at those on your own.)

What's up with people who expect you to pronounce the letters "SE" as if they were spelled "SH"?

I'm talking about people with names like Sean and Seamus. And especially Sade (whose real name is "Helen", anyway -- what's up with that?). Have they no respect for the alphabet? No reverence for the language? It's the same plague of poor thinking that gave us all those "Theresa" and "Thomas" names that have no "TH" sound in them at all. And I won't even mention the disturbing trend to use dollar signs and numbers to spell out appellations. It's just wrong, and those responsible should be rounded up and renamed to Richard, but then called "Dick"...just so they'd see the ridiculousness of it all.

What about Shawn? Fine. Shamus? Sure, whatever. But no, we do not need anyone named "Sha-Day", no matter how you spell it. OK, Helen? You got it?

All right, end of rant. I shall continue my quest to try to write a nerdness-free blog at some point during the upcoming week. But I can't make any promises. Thanks for sticking around though, and for putting up with the geekiness. At some point, your patience will be rewarded.

Well, maybe. In any case, please join me in protesting the machines, and have a great day!

RIP, Marsha Eidman (1951 - 2010)

I am sad to report that Marsha passed away Tuesday night, after a prolonged battle with various types of cancer. She fought long and hard, and remained positive, loving, and optimistic throughout the ordeal. She was 59 years old, and is survived by her son and his family, as well as her three brothers, other extended family, and several cherished pets.

I shared over a decade of my life with her, and feel blessed to have known her. She played a huge role in raising my son, and we shared many excellent adventures together. She will be missed.

Born and raised on a sheep ranch in California, Marsha was a lifelong lover of animals. Her father was a world-renowned sheep breeder, and performed sheep and wool judging all over the planet, including jobs in Iran, Australia, and at the National Western Stock Show here in Denver. Her brother Mark carried on his tradition after he died, and the other two brothers remained involved with animals and agriculture as well. Marsha never went back to ranching, but was always surrounded by pets...running the gamut from tarantulas to hedgehogs to all types of cats and dogs. When we were married, she also spent time raising mice, rats, and rabbits. And if that wasn't enough, she spent hundreds of hours volunteering at the Denver zoo to participate in the care and feeding of the various critters there.

Most of her career was spent with the US Fish and Wildlife Service, and she had a wide-ranging knowledge and appreciation for what it took to manage our country's animal resources. She sometimes became frustrated with some of the stupid rules she encountered within the bureacracy, but always performed her duties with pride in her country and a deep love for all its inhabitants, human and otherwise. She was unfailingly sweet and kind, and leaves behind a rich collection of friends and family who love her dearly.

Rest in peace, Marsha. We miss you.