Saturday, January 07, 2012
Friday, January 06, 2012
They're ripping it up at my spot at Scripps.
He got a bee in his bonnet and a burr in his saddle, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
5,000 items from the Titanic to be auctioned off. All items expected to go for high prices. Except for the iceberg detecting machine.
Those Barbie Kardashian dolls are expensive. Plus you have to buy all the NBA player action figures to date and marry them.
Rick Perry is still in the race. (Yay, say comedy writers) "On to South Carolina" said Rick. A little awkward when he asked; "Now, is that above or below North Carolina?"
Since you asked:
Fired up for some awesome NFL playoffs this weekend. No lie, last week a running back - thanks to his offensive line's blocking - ran for four yards where he was tackled by a linebacker. Both jumped to their feet and started dancing. Come on, guys, do your job. You don't see me dancing after I write a so-so "Paris Hilton is a filthy skank" joke, do you?
Things marked off Lex's Stand Up Paddle Board Bucket List:
Surfed a wave in Lake Michigan
Paddled in to McCovey Cove at AT&T park in San Francisco during a game.
Caught and rode a six-foot wave.
Paddled while seeing a great white shark.
Started new tradition of surfing on Christmas and New Year's Day.
Ride back-to-back-to-back waves kicking out and riding back without falling.
Kick out using the paddle to turn.
Things still on Lex's Stand Up Paddle Board Bucket List:
Paddle around Alcatraz.
Paddle a white-water river in Colorado
Surf in Hawaii
Paddle nearby a whale.
Riding the nose on a wave.
Thursday, January 05, 2012
The problem is, after 72 days, the Kim doll dumps you for Reggie Bush.
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
Wow, did I get a classic case of the wheebie-jeebies watching “Ghost Hunters.” They were at the Waverly Hills Sanatorium in my birthplace of Louisville, KY. They estimated that between 60,000 to 10,000 had died there of tuberculoses, but it turns out to be more like 8,000.
That is still a lot.
My first experience with my sixth sense capabilities was at Gettysburg. As a rambunctious seven-year-old, I could hardly wait to play war on the battlefield. Had a Confederate cap - my Mississippi Grandmother Rodgers gave it to me, she would have skinned me if I wore a Union cap - and holster and toy six-shooter.
When we got to Gettysburg, I remember being moved with what I can only describe as a sense of bone-chilling respect and awe. Just like when we would visit my grandfather’s grave in Louisville. Instinctively, without being told, I knew this was not a place to play pretend war, and I left the cap and pistol in the car and walked around the grounds solemnly with my parents.
During college, while home on summer vacation, I went for a run on a hot night on the road that surrounds the Indian Hills Country Club golf course of "Caddy Shack" fame. It was a hot, steamy night, and I remember thinking it was beautiful the way little patches of fog rose up from the fairways.
Until I got a chill*.
This was a slow, creeping chill and it was a chill not from the outside, as I said, it was hot. No, this chill came from somewhere deep inside of me. Distinctly had the thought that this was a chill of instinctive warning or danger. The deep recesses of my brain were trying to tell me something was wrong.
Suddenly I started seeing things, like shadows, running at me in the corner of my eyes. When I looked, they weren't there. This was the most spooked I had ever been in my life. Couldn't run out of there fast enough.
Now, I knew that there were a ton of Indian artifacts unearthed in the area. It was called Indian Hills for good historical reasons. What nobody had told me, or I hadn't remembered, until I related this story to them, that the golf course was actually built on an old Indian burial ground.
A few years later, when I worked in New York, we visited Gloucester, MA and our friend, John, took me and my buddies, Hondo and Wally, in a little fishing boat, on a tour of the area. We stopped at this spooky-looking island, lots of willow trees and tall grass. In the middle of the spooky-looking island was an even spookier looking abandoned one story Victorian/government brick hospital built in the early 1900’s. Our guide/buddy, Johnnie, wouldn’t tell us what it was, but told us to look in the windows.
Inside the long and narrow room were row after row of rusty iron lung machines. Most were six feet long. Some were tiny. This was a hospital for people with terminal polio. People of all ages.
Just then, one of my three idiot buddies, thinking they’re funny, lightly touched my shoulder. I jumped three feet off the ground, when I came down I swore at them like crazy. I was seriously spooked and pissed someone did that. The problem?
They were all standing at least twenty feet away looking in other windows. They couldn’t have touched me.
Years later, my lovely child-bride, Virginia, and I were shopping in Telluride, CO when we saw a cool looking old government Town Hall-looking red brick building that was now converted into the town museum.
The museum itself was interesting enough - and I strongly recommend a tour. The newspaper from when Butch and Sundance robbed the bank. (The Bank of Telluride is the opening black and white scene in the movie) Lots of pictures of hookers and miners and Native American artifacts.
An article about a doctor in Telluride in the 50‘s who claimed to have invented a great new pain killer. So great it enabled him to remove his own appendix. Upon doing so, he was stripped of his license and, as the story goes, he went mad. (But if you ask me, anyone who takes out their own perfectly good organ, that ship has already sailed)
It is the middle of July and it is hot outside and inside the museum. But I keep getting the chills off and on. Like walking into fog, but there is no fog. This starts to give me the wheebie-basheebie-geebies heebies. Skin crawling, hair sticking up and ehhh-eeeee-thang.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a guy in the other room - for the shortest of split seconds - who I first think is some douche-bag dressed up in period clothing: Derby hat, puffy white shirt with suspenders, baggy trousers and boots. In the next split second I turn to look at him, he’s not there.
That’s it, officially creeped out, I go straight up the woman behind a desk who appears to be in charge and ask if there is something going on and explain what has been happening to me.
She just smiles knowingly and says;
“Oh, you’re one of those people. This used to be the minor's hospital. We’ve had countless reports of paranormal activity.”
Fricking place was haunted and I had no idea going in it.
If you ask me, that ghost sh*t be real.
*The chill I had is the same chill reported by shark attack survivors just prior to being attacked.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Let me wish all my dyslexic friends a Happy 1202.
Charlie Sheen can't believe its 2012. He keeps writing Malibu Escort Services on his checks.
Finally found out what Auld Lang Syne means. Its Scottish for "Tiger Blood-Drinking Warlock."
Since you asked:
The San Diego Chargers need to keep Norv Turner, they'll be sorry if they let him leave. Imagine of the Chargers had Darren Sproles and Michael Turner this year? And no depth in either offensive or defensive line.
AJ Smith is the ass-bag who has to go. (Since writing this, both have been retained)
Despite Super Bowl predictions, the Dallas Cowboys failed to make it in the playoffs again. Now, I am a Tony Romo fan, but I despise gas-bag, face-lift freak, owner Jerry Jones.
At Chicago’s O’Hare airport I met a couple from Indianapolis at an airport bar. This loud and clearly already drunk coupel were resplendent in Cowboy gear and let anyone who was near know they had $500,000 season tickets. (This despite they were flying Spirit airlines to Dallas for $33)
Try to imagine the biggest douches you can who would own – or say they owned – tickets for that much money in this economy, then triple it and you have this couple.
She was one of those colossal a-holes who don’t deem others (me) worthy to talk to so she would just make proclamations – for example how close and friendly they were with the Jones family – and then turn around to the bar. He was just a fat, idiot blow hard.