Thursday, August 08, 2013

A German woman gave birth to a 13.47 pound baby girl; apparently the mom’s name is Maya Whohahurtz.
San Diego Mayor, Bob Filner, has entered rehab for sexual harassment; there is a medical term for what Filner has: Horndogatosis.
Scott Hounsell, the former head of the GOP in Los Angeles County, has been mocking Anthony Weiner on Twitter. Last Friday he was arrested for sexting a 16-year-old.  That’s it, in the idiot pervert politician competition the West Coast beats the East Coast two to one.
New York Yankee double-drug-cheater, Alex Rodriguez, will be suspended for 211 games; this is crushing news for those die-hard A-Rod fans, all two of them.
A while ago, Martha Stewart admitted to once being in a threesome; why do I get a mental picture of Martha Stewart, in the orgy, holding something in her mouth while her pinkie is extended?
The CDC reports childhood obesity is down; not so fast, Twinkies have only been on the shelf a few weeks.

My Santa Barbara Epiphany

We have all had our share of watershed moments where the result of the rest of our lives dangle in the balance.

As I am headed up for a much anticipated UCSB Deca/Hep reunion, I was reflecting on my anguishing decision after college to either stay in Santa Barbara and wait tables while looking for a more serious computer sales job, or move to New York and work on Wall Street.
The choice of staying in Santa Barbara became personified in two friends of mine, Stan and Rick. Stan was a 30’ish surfer, light red hair with a perpetual smile on his face. He loved being a waiter, he loved surfing, he loved living on a friend’s boat, he loved driving around in his VW Bus, he loved fishing, he loved hiking. He loved everything. If being laid-back was a disease, Stan would be dead in a week.
Rick was my friend from the Sigma Chi Fraternity. He was a more hard-charging Newport Beach type. Good-looking, popular and motivated. He was a real up and comer at IBM. He drove a big, blue BMW, had a bunch of nice dark suits and lots of pinpoint cotton shirts and expensive ties. To this day when I smell too much Polo cologne, I think of Rick. Rick lived in a nice house near the Mission he and a fellow IBM’er rented.

To this day, I am not sure if Rick knows or cares there was a Homer other than Simpson. Not a deep thinker. Pretty sure the last book he ever read in his life was on economics at UCSB. Stan. On the other hand, was somewhat of a literary savant.
Rick sort of considered me a  “My Fair Lady” challenge. He thought I was rough, but had potential. He took me shopping and had me buy myself a light blue pinpoint cotton shirt with a red tie for my khaki suit and a white one with a yellow tie for my blue suit. (He couldn’t get over I only owned two suits and drove an old Audi station wagon)
Rick was doing so well, IBM started sending him to conventions. It was beyond my imagination that a company would pay to send you to stay at a hotel and take clients out to dinner. Rick hammered it in my head that if I wanted to land a job like that, I had to have three things: a Gold American Express card, a Master Card and a AAA card.
If I just had those three things, I would have it made.
My friends from high school were on the Rick train. Either in law school, business school or working a big time job or both. This caused me much envy and anxiety. On the other hand, I was dating many wonderful girls, windsurfing every day and having a great time. And living in Santa Barbara.
But I was flat-broke and, worst of all, I did not have an American Express card, a AAA card nor a Master Card. So I, by my definition, did not have it made. 
It was at that point when I decided I was headed toward laid-back Stan, but I needed a turn to be more of a hard-charging Rick. When my soon-to-be boss in New York said I would get an American Express card and take clients out to dinner on the company tab, that was it. 
Now I am 54 and heading back to Santa Barbara for a few days. Guess what three things I have? AAA card, an American Express gold card, and a Master Card.
You know what is having it made? Being 24 and living in Santa Barbara.
So this brings me to the epiphany-part: 
What if a genie could wave a wand and send me back to Santa Barbara in the early eighties? The road not taken. The life unlived. But in doing so, I lose my family and all my memory after 1983. No knowing to invest in CostCo, Google, Apple and Amazon. This is no Doc Brown/DeLorean scenario. Starting over before moving to New York turning the clock back to 1983.
Tempting, but, no way. 

Monday, August 05, 2013

Dog sees Dad after being gone over 6 months

Star Wars - Bill Murrays Song on SNL

Listen up, you kooky cats, I’m going out for a drink and a smoke, when I come back I want that horn section figured out, ‘cause I can’t work like this, capice, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers?
Ten women sexually harassed by San Diego Mayor, Bob Filner; apparently San Diego is Spanish for Creepy Horn-dog.
Tiger Woods lead the Bridgestone Invitational by eight strokes and shot even par on Sunday to win by seven; as excitement goes, it was the sports equivalent of watching a glacier melt. 
New York Yankee two-time-drug-cheat, Alex Rodriguez, plans to appeal his suspension through 2014. A-Rod reminds me of the kid you didn’t want to invite to your birthday party, but he had his mom call your mom and now he’s coming.
OJ Simpson has put on almost 100 pounds in prison. OJ Simpson is so fat, he’s going to be inducted into the Haagen Dazs Hall of Fame.
OJ is so fat, his cellmate now calls him the Segway scooter; still fun to ride, but you don’t want your friends to see you doing it.
Happy Birthday to President Obama who turned 52. When his term is up, Obama will be at that awkward age: too young to retire, too old to remember why he walked into the room.

Since you asked:
When I was a child, I fully expected that, when I grew up, my adult life would be an exact combination of Hugh Hefner and Batman. When not in the grotto sipping champagne with naked super models, I would be out fighting crime. Either way, I knew I would be a millionaire bachelor.
The other day, while cleaning the dog poop from the yard, I discovered my daughter’s purple underwear inside one of Wally’s deposits. 
How did my plan work out?
You know my super power of, no matter how big and un-crowded a grocery store, being able to have some oxygen-thief nob-head standing stupefied and transfixed right in front of whatever item I need to get?
Now it applies to SUP surfing. When you surf, the waves come in sets from either the north or the south. So when there is a wave forming you want to ride, there is a very specific spot you need to be to start paddling to catch it. Almost every time I looked up to see where that wave would take me, there was a snorkeler standing there with their stupid face stuck down in the water.