Saturday, December 29, 2007

Keeping it reel, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
John Kerry was instrumental in getting the NFL to air the Saturday New England Patriots-New York Giant game nationally and not just the little-viewed NFL Network. It turns out Kerry is a Patriot fan. No, wait, he is a Giant fan. Hang on, he’s also a Redskin fan.

The New Year is going to be a little embarrassing at the White House. President Bush is already going around wishing everyone a happy two double-naught eight.

Hollywood, Florida is getting the first Gay Retirement home. It’s like a regular retirement home except that, to add more flair, they play strip bingo.

Since you asked:

Got my narrow tookus in the wadoo yesterdiddy. Man, did I freeze. The waves were pretty good and the water was clear and clean thanks to little wind, but that stuff was 55 degrees. And the air was the same. Rode some rollers and shore breaks, paddled out about a mile and, after an hour of cruising in and out of the surf, came back in.

When I was carrying my board back to the car I was amazed at how tough my feet were as the road I park on in La Jolla Shores is really cracked up with lots of pebbles and it usually kills my dainty tootsies. My feet weren't tough. They were numb. They didn't get all of their feeling back until an hour later.

Get a load of this. Usually I park on the street in front of this big, beautiful beach house just south of the swanky Marine room restaurant in swanky La Jolla Shores. Many times the owner of the house comes out and chats. He is a charming old guy dressed as sharp as he can be. He always has a vest, a coat and a tie. And his wife is just as nice and well-dressed. One day I got to talking to their gardener - an old German guy who could double as Santa Claus - and he told me the old man is the founder of Victoria Secret.

No lie, next time I am going to ask him what the secret is.

So, yesterday, I am unloading my stuff in La Jolla Shores next to a kayaker loading up his stuff and we both have to be next to each other for a while so why not make it pleasant and converse? That was my thinking. Is there anything worse than giving somebody a second chance to not be (excuse my split infinitive) a jerk twice and have it blow up in your face?

Because that one is on you under the “Fool Me Once” proviso.

First, I should have known because this guy was kayaker at La Jolla Shores, that he was a big shot somebody in the medical field – or thought he was. For some reason kayaking at La Jolla Shores is big with the big shots in the medical community crowd.

Now, I know two avid kayakers who are really nice, but the vast majority of kayakers are to sufers like skiers are to snowboarders, they hate them. For whatever reason, competition for waves, or, since they are in a vessel, a sense of nautical superiority, they have taken a firm stance against surfers. Now, as I don't consider myself "a surfer" as I am not good or experienced enough, or a "snowboarder" but someone who happens to paddleboard and snowboard, I have run into this sport prejudice many times. And it is so fun to jack with those stuck up a-holes.

Second, this guy had on a full dry suit, gloves, hood and booties. Granted, I was cold with just a wetsuit top, but a full dry suit? Unless you are way north in San Francisco or even in Alaska, a wet suit is more than enough. A full dry suit in San Diego is like wearing suspenders, a belt and two condoms.

After the Santa Claus German gardener informed us that the nice old rich man who lived there was the majority stock holder in Victoria’s Secret, I made a crack/observation about wondering what’s the big secret about guys liking hot women in sexy underwear? This got an actual sneer from dry suit kayaker guy. Then Santa Gardener wondered aloud what the secret was.

So I said I heard a story that it was the incredibly uptight and prudish Queen Victoria was really kinky in her private life and wore wild lingerie. Thus the name Victoria’s Secret.

Well, I didn’t know there was such thing as an actual audible scoff, but Dry Suit Kayaker guy actually scoffed out loud and muttered that my statement was a ridiculous urban myth.

Before I even knew what had happened, I was now totally pissed off and I asked in a deliberately smart-ass tone;

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

He couldn’t even give me a straight answer, but after huffing out some technical medical crap with the word research on the end of it - which he might as well have said “You wouldn’t be able to understand” - he finally admitted he was a doctor and asked why I thought to ask.

“Because it’s the only profession where people get away with trying so hard to be so god . . . damned . . . snotty.”

We continued our packing and unpacking in silence.

Yeah, yeah, I know, one of the sweetest people we know is a doctor, Doctor Dana. Or as she can also be called: the exception that proves the rule.

Can you imagine what a French doctor would be like?

Q: Guys, when you get your prostate checked, how can you tell if you have a French doctor?

A: Before he can put his finger in yours, he has to pull his head out of his.