The Super Tuesday Buffet

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YOU KNOW THAT LESSON YOU LEARN AS A KID: “If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t say anything at all”? Well, since we’ve been in the cesspool of politics lately I’ve tried to not say anything at all; at least not in writing where it could come back to haunt me.

But I will say this, I did vote in the Super Tuesday Primary. It didn’t feel super at all. As a matter of fact it was sort of like eating lunch at a convenience store. You know the ones that have the brightly lit buffet of fried, brown stuff like okra, mushrooms, chicken fingers, lizards, gizzards, beaks, hearts other parts, along with pizza, corndogs, burritos, chimichangas and fried pies.

The food is salty, greasy and cheap. It will take away your appetite, and there is something strangely compelling in the presentation and partaking of the glistening greasiness. Still, deep down, you’re haunted by the reality that in the long run it’s not healthy or wise, and a steady diet of it will be sickening if not fatal.

To LOL or to COL

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As I think of our prospects for the future—Trump, Clinton, Cruz, Sanders, Rubio—my first thought is NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

But then I remember this:

"The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter." —Mark Twain

I’ve often struggled with knowing the appropriate places and times for humor. It’s sort of my go-to escape route for sad and depressing situations (like the 2016 presidential race). More than once in my life I’ve received admonishments like:

This is neither the time nor the place…
No one likes a smart aleck.
What are you, some kind of wisenheimer?

I’m not trying to say I’m funny, but sometimes I try. I want people to be happy.

I was however, recognized by my fourth grade teacher for my gift of humor, as well as my "gay outlook". She told my parents so in her letter at the end of the school year. (At the time though, I don’t remember her always appreciating my gifts.)

Speaking of politics, and sometimes having to laugh to keep from crying, Here’s a good one from comic Samantha Bee:

“Wednesday night, the Democrats met for a town hall where Bernie Sanders, dressed in what appears to be the Democratic Party’s big tent, played up his image of blustery old grandpa living off Social Security checks and stolen sugar packets.”

I refer to humor as a gift (one that I hope I have in some small measure), but I can’t find it in the Bible as a “gift”, like speaking in tongues or healing… But wait, I have been healed by humor many times; and to the humorless, bitter, mean people of the world you might as well be speaking in some unknown tongue when it comes to funny-speak.

So, where does God stand on humor? I won’t even presume. A wonderful old comic that I had the privilege of knowing was a guy named Grady Nutt. (How can you not be funny if you last name is “Nutt”. Right?) Grady observed that God must have a sense of humor. Why else would he have created us with our nose, which is prone to run, right above our mouth. And thankfully God placed it with the holes down, otherwise going for a walk in the rain could cause drowning.

“Theorists have been trying to explain humor as far back as Plato. The ancient Greek philosopher said humor got its power from the pleasure people get when they feel superior over others, laughing at their foibles and flaws. Freud saw it as a cathartic release from society’s repressions, thus explaining all our sex and fart jokes. And Hegel saw it as reconciling two normally incongruous spheres of meaning—i.e., showing a football player in a cheerleading outfit or putting a cat in human clothes.” —TheAtlantic.com

… or trying to actually picture Ted Cruz or The Donald in the Oval Office.

Please, David Letterman, come out of retirement. We need to laugh until it hurts so bad it hurts.

"USA Today has come out with a new survey - apparently, three out of every four people make up 75% of the population." --David Letterman

"I’m just trying to make a smudge on the collective unconscious." --David Letterman

Whose Party Is This Anyway?

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I didn’t know until the announcement of his death on January 10, that David Bowie (RIP) shared the same birthday as Elvis and me; January 8th.

Yes, that’s my way of saying that I just had a birthday (in case you didn’t read my last post on January 8, my birthday).

On January 9, the day after my birthday, we visited Shawnee, Oklahoma, the home of the Grand-Girls. Karlee the oldest was serving as a “ballgirl” at the OBU Lady Bison basketball game. Turns out, it was sort of an honorary title, but she performed wonderfully.

We met at the OBU fieldhouse and Harper, the middle Grand-Girl, came running to me and said, “Happy Birthday yesterday Pops! Why didn’t I get to come to your birthday party?!”

Not wanting her to feel bad for missing it, “It wasn’t much of a party,” I explained. She wanted to know “why not?” “It was just me, Mimi and some friends. We went out to eat at a restaurant, and that was all.”

“You didn’t have inflatables?” she asked with obvious shock and a bit of pity.

You need to know that Harper has a “good friend” named Lilly, and Lilly’s dad owns an inflatables company, not balloons, but big bouncy houses, climbing walls, etc. So it is not unusual, or unduly priviliged of Harper to assume that every birthday party will have inflatables.

karlee at her Fifth Birthday. When It's your birthday and you have inflatables you don't care if it's a giant football.

karlee at her Fifth Birthday. When It's your birthday and you have inflatables you don't care if it's a giant football.

But there’s a bigger, deeper issue here than inflatables. It took a four year-old to help me see it. When I tried to explain, unconvincingly, that I’m too old for inflatables, she taught me this lesson: “Well, maybe your friends would have liked them.”

I suppose I had learned the narcissistic view of parties listening to my cousin Beth Ann’s 45 RPM record of Leslie Gore singing, “It’s My Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To”.

Maybe if Leslie had had inflatables at her party, Johnny wouldn’t have left with Judy. And even if he did, and they came back later with Judy wearing his ring and struttin’ like a queen with her king, maybe Leslie would have been having so much fun because her other friends were having fun that she wouldn’t even have noticed them, and maybe she would have realized that maybe Johnny’s a loser and Judy’s a slut. Maybe she would have learned Harper’s lesson that sometimes the party may be our birthday, but it’s not just for us, but for the friends who want to celebrate with us too.

So if you like a good party — SAVE THE DATE — JANUARY 8, 2017. Harper will be planning the party and there’s a good chance there will be inflatables, and cupcakes, orange sherbet and Cheetos, and an equally strong chance it will have a “Frozen” theme.

Check out this groovy video of Leslie. If ever there was a party that could have used inflatables… (No wonder adults in the 60s were convinced the wheels were coming off.)


A Little Fun With Vintage Christmas Ads

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“Really! You’re wearing that to the Pepsi party?” he thought to himself, as he smiled disdainfully.

“I sure would appreciate your vote in 1980. Love, Ronnie.”

She’s probably thinking, “He sure knows his electrical stuff!”
He’s probably thinking, “I’ll stay here until I check every bulb.”

“I’m 18, and for Christmas I got a senior ring and a Red Rider BB gun like Lil Dweeb and Lil Dweebier. What should I shoot first?”

Prancer and Santa act like this, and the other reindeer laughed and called Rudolph names?! 

I wish I could read her mind, but I’m a guy, so… A guy who once bought his Amazing-Missus a mixer for Christmas. In my defense, it was a KitchenAid Professional Stand Mixer, and she uses it lot.

No thank you. I’m on the cauliflower-pea-and-pinkish-meat-free diet.

This still doesn’t answer the big question about Santa. Boxers or briefs?