We hooptie bad now, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
Umm, how, umm, how hot was it?
*It’s been so hot, Linda Ronstadt dedicated a song to Michael Moore just to get the breeze from people booing.
Blew by you
*Linda Ronstadt got booed and kicked out of the Aladdin in Las Vegas for dedicating a song to Michael Moore and his movie “Fahrenheit 9-11.” Ronstadt tried to back peddle:
“Did I say “Fahrenheit 9-11”? No, I meant gesundheit, 9-11. The people in seats 9 and 11 sneezed, yeah, that’s it.”
Ronstadt is back peddling faster than Lance Armstrong going down the Alps backwards.
Feel the burn
*The secret service final codenames for the Bush daughters are “Twinkle” and “Turquoise.” Twinkle and Turquoise? Who chooses those codenames, Richard Simmons?
Sure sign
*An Air Force Academy cheerleader was charged with steroid violations. They could tell the cheerleader was on steroids, when he tossed the other cheerleader in the air, she went through the goal post uprights.
Sounds familiar
*The 9/11 commission is releasing a report that says Iran, not Iraq, was involved with the attacks on September, 11th. Our relationship with Iran is bad. Today at the U.N., and Iranian diplomat dedicated a song to Michael Moore and we kicked him out.
Good idea
*Here’s something amazing - Martha Stewart’s stock went up 30% after her sentencing. Today Martha plans to knock off a Seven Eleven.
Why not?
*There have been several incidents where parents have actually named their baby ESPN. Why not just name the kid Beat-Me-Up-and-Take-My-Lunch?
Kill the Billy Goat, now
*The Chicago Cubs – who, earlier, were leading their division – are in a tailspin and in third place, ten games out. Even Howard Dean is making fun of the Cubs’ collapse.
Not a good sign
*With the Olympics less than three weeks away, it is not looking good for the completion of the construction for the Athens games. This just in: the Athens developers have just ordered ten thousand cases of duct tape.
He can do better than that
*Bill Clinton security advisor Sandy Berger claims he accidentally threw away anti-terrorism documents requested by the 9-11 commission. Obviously Berger doesn’t own a dog, or he could have used the much better excuse that his dog ate them.
Must See Maybe
“Seinfeld’s” Jason Alexander is taking a crack at another sitcom. I think he is with Bonnie Hunt, and Dennis Leary in a sitcom titled; “No matter how much everyone loves us, this sitcom is going to die a quick death.”
I, uh, I did not know that
Some interesting facts are emerging about John Kerry. Did you know he is one of the richest senators? Kerry is also one of the most decorated by the military in the senate. And, if it wasn’t for Ted Kennedy, John Kerry would also have the senate’s biggest head.
We are also here to inform
There are several categories in the Tour De France. There’s the yellow jersey: general time classification, the polka dot jersey: best climber classification, the green jersey: points earned for sprints classification. And now, thanks to Arnold Schwarzenegger, there is a classification for the rider who quits with the weakest excuse: it is the Pink Jersey, Girlie Man classification.
Since you asked;
If you read my last Since You Asked – and for your sake, I hope you did not – you got the sappy version of my great Decathlon/Heptathlon Santa Barbara reunion. Now for the dark side.
As it is a rule with traveling, your car will act funky right before a road trip. (It is somehow attached to the rule that, when you come back to your hotel room from breakfast, clutching the sports page, and you desperately - and I mean desperately - need to use the bathroom, the maid will be in there cleaning) My brakes were squeeking.
Being the cautious grown up that I am, I took the car into my honest-to-a-fault auto shop for new brake pads. As soon as I hit the road for Santa Barbara, the car felt a little funky. At first I told myself the rattle was just my bike on the rack. By Los Angeles – one hundred miles later – I was no longer buying this excuse. The car was making nasty metal on metal noises. When I stopped to check it, everything seemed fine: the tires looked OK, nothing smelled hot or oily.
I pressed on and by the time I pulled into my Santa Barbara hotel, the noise was loud and the car had a distinct shimmy. A smart man would have it checked right then. However, as you and Forrest Gump know, I am not a smart man.
After a great weekend, I decide to push straight through to home, shimmy and noise be damned. Just before Oxnard, I get on the slower but more scenic coastal route so, if it broke down, it wouldn’t be on the freeway. But once in L.A. I had no choice, I had to take my wounded Grand Cherokee on the L.A. Freeway. Did I mention I have a reoccurring nightmare of breaking down in South Los Angeles? The Jerry Jeff Walker song that goes;
“If I could just get off of this L.A. Freeway without getting killed our caught” was ringing in my ears.
Sure enough, once on the 405 off the 10, I hear an awful popping noise, and now the car is really making a grating and loud metal crashing on metal noise and it has a just-short-of-violent shake. In a full panic, I look up to see the next off ramp. It is Normandy. As in “Truck driver Reginald Denny, severe brick-induced brain damage from Rodney King riots” Normandy.
No getting off here, I thought. Sweat is pouring off of me, both from the stress and the lack of air conditioning. (That also went out right before the trip) Somehow, and I am still not sure how, exit by exit, mile by shaking mile, the car makes it all the way home, bless its noble blood hound-like heart.
The next day, to my horror and relief, I discover that the left back tire was wobbling in and out eight inches at a time. My fine auto repair place had neglected to tighten the frickin' lug nuts. It now had only two of six attached and both of those were stripped and ready to pop off.
How that wheel did not fly off in the middle of the L.A. freeway in the middle of South Central Los Angeles will never be fully explained. But I have a strong feeling that, once again, I owe my Mom and Dad up there big time.
Umm, how, umm, how hot was it?
*It’s been so hot, Linda Ronstadt dedicated a song to Michael Moore just to get the breeze from people booing.
Blew by you
*Linda Ronstadt got booed and kicked out of the Aladdin in Las Vegas for dedicating a song to Michael Moore and his movie “Fahrenheit 9-11.” Ronstadt tried to back peddle:
“Did I say “Fahrenheit 9-11”? No, I meant gesundheit, 9-11. The people in seats 9 and 11 sneezed, yeah, that’s it.”
Ronstadt is back peddling faster than Lance Armstrong going down the Alps backwards.
Feel the burn
*The secret service final codenames for the Bush daughters are “Twinkle” and “Turquoise.” Twinkle and Turquoise? Who chooses those codenames, Richard Simmons?
Sure sign
*An Air Force Academy cheerleader was charged with steroid violations. They could tell the cheerleader was on steroids, when he tossed the other cheerleader in the air, she went through the goal post uprights.
Sounds familiar
*The 9/11 commission is releasing a report that says Iran, not Iraq, was involved with the attacks on September, 11th. Our relationship with Iran is bad. Today at the U.N., and Iranian diplomat dedicated a song to Michael Moore and we kicked him out.
Good idea
*Here’s something amazing - Martha Stewart’s stock went up 30% after her sentencing. Today Martha plans to knock off a Seven Eleven.
Why not?
*There have been several incidents where parents have actually named their baby ESPN. Why not just name the kid Beat-Me-Up-and-Take-My-Lunch?
Kill the Billy Goat, now
*The Chicago Cubs – who, earlier, were leading their division – are in a tailspin and in third place, ten games out. Even Howard Dean is making fun of the Cubs’ collapse.
Not a good sign
*With the Olympics less than three weeks away, it is not looking good for the completion of the construction for the Athens games. This just in: the Athens developers have just ordered ten thousand cases of duct tape.
He can do better than that
*Bill Clinton security advisor Sandy Berger claims he accidentally threw away anti-terrorism documents requested by the 9-11 commission. Obviously Berger doesn’t own a dog, or he could have used the much better excuse that his dog ate them.
Must See Maybe
“Seinfeld’s” Jason Alexander is taking a crack at another sitcom. I think he is with Bonnie Hunt, and Dennis Leary in a sitcom titled; “No matter how much everyone loves us, this sitcom is going to die a quick death.”
I, uh, I did not know that
Some interesting facts are emerging about John Kerry. Did you know he is one of the richest senators? Kerry is also one of the most decorated by the military in the senate. And, if it wasn’t for Ted Kennedy, John Kerry would also have the senate’s biggest head.
We are also here to inform
There are several categories in the Tour De France. There’s the yellow jersey: general time classification, the polka dot jersey: best climber classification, the green jersey: points earned for sprints classification. And now, thanks to Arnold Schwarzenegger, there is a classification for the rider who quits with the weakest excuse: it is the Pink Jersey, Girlie Man classification.
Since you asked;
If you read my last Since You Asked – and for your sake, I hope you did not – you got the sappy version of my great Decathlon/Heptathlon Santa Barbara reunion. Now for the dark side.
As it is a rule with traveling, your car will act funky right before a road trip. (It is somehow attached to the rule that, when you come back to your hotel room from breakfast, clutching the sports page, and you desperately - and I mean desperately - need to use the bathroom, the maid will be in there cleaning) My brakes were squeeking.
Being the cautious grown up that I am, I took the car into my honest-to-a-fault auto shop for new brake pads. As soon as I hit the road for Santa Barbara, the car felt a little funky. At first I told myself the rattle was just my bike on the rack. By Los Angeles – one hundred miles later – I was no longer buying this excuse. The car was making nasty metal on metal noises. When I stopped to check it, everything seemed fine: the tires looked OK, nothing smelled hot or oily.
I pressed on and by the time I pulled into my Santa Barbara hotel, the noise was loud and the car had a distinct shimmy. A smart man would have it checked right then. However, as you and Forrest Gump know, I am not a smart man.
After a great weekend, I decide to push straight through to home, shimmy and noise be damned. Just before Oxnard, I get on the slower but more scenic coastal route so, if it broke down, it wouldn’t be on the freeway. But once in L.A. I had no choice, I had to take my wounded Grand Cherokee on the L.A. Freeway. Did I mention I have a reoccurring nightmare of breaking down in South Los Angeles? The Jerry Jeff Walker song that goes;
“If I could just get off of this L.A. Freeway without getting killed our caught” was ringing in my ears.
Sure enough, once on the 405 off the 10, I hear an awful popping noise, and now the car is really making a grating and loud metal crashing on metal noise and it has a just-short-of-violent shake. In a full panic, I look up to see the next off ramp. It is Normandy. As in “Truck driver Reginald Denny, severe brick-induced brain damage from Rodney King riots” Normandy.
No getting off here, I thought. Sweat is pouring off of me, both from the stress and the lack of air conditioning. (That also went out right before the trip) Somehow, and I am still not sure how, exit by exit, mile by shaking mile, the car makes it all the way home, bless its noble blood hound-like heart.
The next day, to my horror and relief, I discover that the left back tire was wobbling in and out eight inches at a time. My fine auto repair place had neglected to tighten the frickin' lug nuts. It now had only two of six attached and both of those were stripped and ready to pop off.
How that wheel did not fly off in the middle of the L.A. freeway in the middle of South Central Los Angeles will never be fully explained. But I have a strong feeling that, once again, I owe my Mom and Dad up there big time.
posted by Alex at
4:04 PM
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