Another story involving privates and death: the unfortunate demise of Kung Fu

It’s a cliché.  Mothers encourage their children to make sure they have clean underwear on.  Why?  Because, you don’t want someone to see your dirty underwear if you get into an accident. 

Of course, mothers do not say this because they want to keep you from being embarrassed.  If you are in a car accident the force of which rips your pants right off of you, exposing your dirty underwear, you are probably not in a position to worry about how bright and white they are at that point.  In fact, if you see it coming, you’ll probably carpet bomb your boxers anyway.

The point is: your mom’s not worried about how this stuff will affect you, she’s worried about what other people will think about her.  But, in the end she’s right.  You should not embarrass your mother or anyone else who knows you by having the world exposed to your dirty underwear.

I guess it’s pretty obvious at this point that David Carradine’s mother never had this conversation with him.

Yesterday, it was reported that Carradine was found hanged in a hotel room in Bangkok.   This in itself immediately throws up a red flag.  At one point, it was reported that it was a homicide.  Then, later it was reported as a suicide.  At the end of the day, I saw a report that he was also found nude.  Nude…, hanging…, Thailand….  You knew at that point it was going to be sordid.

So, today we awoke with a start to find out that he was found nude in a closet with shoelaces tied around the closet rod, his neck, and his penis…alone.  [shudder]  This is never good.

The world will never be able to hear the phrase, “Snatch the pebble from my hand” without giggling again.

The Foxnews story doesn’t get any better.  Several things in it caught me as interesting.  First, the name of police spokesman who commented on the case was Lt. Gen. Worapong Chewprecha.  Greatest name ever.

The second odd thing was the options given as a cause of death.  “The two ropes were tied together,” he said. “It is unclear whether he committed suicide or not or he died of suffocation or heart failure due to an orgasm.”  I’ll bet Carradine’s mother would not choose the oragasm option.

I found the following quote interesting.  “All we can say is, we know David would never have committed suicide,” said Tiffany Smith, of Binder & Associates, his management company. “We’re just waiting for them to finish the investigation and find out what really happened. He really appreciated everything life has to give … and that’s not something David would ever do to himself.”  I think the obvious question at this point is; Is anyone in a position claim to know what motivated Carradine and what he was capable of ‘doing to himself’ at this point?

Finally, he was 72.  I guess if people are going to continue to prove that they are incapable of knowing when its time to leave their privates alone, we will have to legislate the point at which the privates are no longer allowed to be used for sexual functions.

In a related story, residents of Conisbrough, South Yorkshire, England in a failed attempt to balance to karmic implications of the Carradine imbroglio have changed the name of Butt Hole Road to Archers Way.

Group Day, American Idol Season 8 (2009)

Find my latest American Idol Article here.

Group day is like the drunk uncle that shows up once a year to ruin everyone’s Thanksgiving.  I started to cut the producers of the show a little slack, and defend the need for them to be sure the contestants can function in a group dynamic, but that has little to do with it.  Their purpose in this show is to engineer a train wreck because they know that no one can take their eyes off a train wreck.  It has nothing to do with making the final product better or helping the contestants.

This year, they got exactly what they wish for.  By putting less talented people with obvious social deficiencies through in the early round, they created the perfect storm of conflicts between a group of self-centered young people who want nothing more than to have someone else to blame for their personality failures or lack of talent.  In fact, I would say that this was the biggest ill conceived coming together since Michael Vick tried to play match-maker with a bunch of pit bulls.

I have made a few predictions up to this point, and I may have to do some early backtracking on my David Osmond prediction.  However, if I am going to take the hit for that, I am going to take credit for predicting that social misfits like Tatiana, rat haired Rose, Tatooed Emily, and Bikini Girl would have problems functioning in a group dynamic.

To prove that the train wreck was the point of the show, Idol spent about seven minutes of the show actually showing people singing.  So, I will address the train wreck.

Tatiana- She is obviously a clinical psychopath.  It took her about five minutes to begin to destroy one group, and then she decided to destroy another.  I do not believe she could ever be mistaken for a team player.  She is her team, and the only reason that she was able to function in her group at all was because she loved herself too much to allow herself to fail.  At the end of the show, she showed that she may be the one person on the planet that is more egocentric than Paris Hilton, when she thanked everyone there, and announced that they were “all part of me.”  I can’t wait till that personality of hers fails to get her one vote if she makes it to the top 24.

I felt a little sympathy for Tatooed Emily as real tears flowed down her face after she forgot the words to her song.  I found her quote, “This is the only thing I know how to do” to be a little odd.  Having your two days on Idol as your only aspiration and the only thing you can put on a resume is probably not a good thing.  I recommend the GED, hard work, and perhaps college as a way of learning how to do something that is both profittable to yourself and society.  But alas, this would be infinitely more dificult than singing a few times, being famous, and being given lots of money.

Rose climbed to the top of Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs when she looked in the mirror with complete self-actualization and announced, “I look like a big pile of crap.”  In that moment, she indeed saw herself as she actually was, and she left her room without changing a thing.  Her loner attitude was a red-flag for the group competition, but she got lucky when Bikini Girl join the group, and became the focus of everyone else’s angst.

Speaking of Bikini Girl (also a psychopath), it’s a toss up between her and Tatiana when it comes to egocentrism.  She showed her ass to America when she would not even congratulate Jasmine, the only nice person, and the only good singer in the group.  At least we do not have to look at her crossed eyes and Rose’s ratty hair any more.

Finally, the ironically named ‘Team Compromise’ showed that every now and then a group has no hope at all.  The guy was a useless crier, and the girls hardly even tried to get along.  However, in the end, the problem with the group was apparent, and it was Nancy.  Her very aggressive, passive aggressive attitudes early in their practicing were a truly destructive force.  And, in the end, she needs to look around, only one person in the group did not go through to the next round, and it was her.  She was the weak link in the group, and she only has herself to blame, but don’t count on that ever happening.

So, at this point, it’s best to put last night behind us all, and act as if it never really happened.  We’ll move on and hope that the judges can effectively separate the wheat from the chaff.

p.s. Evil Paula was funny.

Drain Nightmare

One of my favorite stories happened when I was a sacker a Minyards in Lewisville, Texas, while I was in high school.  It was a good job for me that taught me some responsibility and provided me with spending money that came in handy for a kid in high school at the time.

For the most part, I liked the job, and the people that I worked with.  Also, my managers liked me, and knew that they could count on me to do a good job.  As a result, I was consulted to do a lot of things besides just the daily bagging requirements that were my normal job description.

One of my managers was named Dale.  He was sort of legendary as a guy who really liked to catch shoplifters, and I liked working for him.  On this particular occasion, Dale pulled me aside and asked me to assist him with an unusual project.

The store contained four walk-in coolers in the back of the store: one for meat, one for vegetables, one for frozen foods, and still another for dairy perishables.  It was the diary perishable cooler that he wanted help with.  There was a lot of condensation in this particular cooler, and the drain in the bottom of the floor was essential to leach away the extra water.  Unfortunately, during the several decades that this particular store had been open, many gallons of milk and quite a few eggs had leaked or broken while in the cooler and seeped down the drain.  Eventually, these binding agents had worked together to clog the drain, and now there were about three inches of standing water in the bottom of the cooler which had begun to slightly sour.

Rather than call an expensive plumber to deal with the problem, Dale had decided to try to deal with it locally first.  This is where I came in.  On the way to the back of the store, he handed me what looked like some futuristic weapon.  It was in the shape of a “laser gun,” was about 18 inches long, and was made of hard plastic.  There was a large pistol grip big enough to grab with both hands and a trigger.  The front end was round, about 3.5 inches across, and shaped like a funnel that tapered down to a nozzle point with a hole in it about ½ an inch in diameter.  In the back of the gun, was a little slot in which you would insert a carbon dioxide cartridge (the kind you would put in a pellet gun).

The idea was simple.  You put the nozzle into the offending drain and pulled the trigger expelling the entire CO2 cartridge in one second.  The result would be that most clogs would simply get blown down the line, freeing up the drain to function properly.

Dale quickly explained all of this to me, and he demonstrated by positioning himself over the drain and putting his weight on the gun to make a good seal.  He told me to be sure to put all my weight down on the gun, and he assured me that there was nothing to worry about.  I thought it was odd that as he was saying this, he was backing out of the cooler through the clear plastic “drapes” that hung down in front of the door, but I was not too worried.

I placed myself over the drain, made sure the nozzle was firmly in the hole, and put my full weight (about 220 lbs. at the time) onto the grip of the gun.  Then, I pulled the trigger.  I would say that time slowed down, but everything happened so fast that it would be impossible to think of it as slow, though I still remember it vividly over twenty years later.

My hands immediately shot past my face and hit the top of the cooler above my head.  Then, a scene which could only be described in language that would have been used at Spindletop unfolded.  Old Faithful would have been impressed at the geyser of old eggs, soured milk and sour cream that spewed forth and coated my whole body (chunks included).

There is no way to describe the awfulness of the smell.  Skunks would have run from it.  My manager looked at me (and smelled me) and said only two words, “Go home!”  This only made sense to me.  The problem was, there was only one way out of the store, and that was through the front of the store.  I figured that the best approach would be to go as fast as I could down the widest aisle, and straight out the front of the store.  So, this is what I did.

It was a surreal experience as I walked down the aisle, and came up behind people.  Before I even got to them, they would straighten up quickly, and cock their heads to the left, and slowly turn toward me with a horrified look on their faces.  I just blew on by them, but I assure you, it was an ill wind.

I went straight out the door without even clocking-out, got into my truck (rolling down the windows), and beat a hasty retreat to my home and a very long bath.

Bitter?

This is one of the bitterest things that I have ever read.  It would be very funny except for the kids involved.  I don’t know why everyone needs to live their lives like a Springer episode.  This guy is a father and a professional, and I don’t care how much of an ungrateful b—- his wife is, he should know better.

Illinios Governor makes the state look like old-time Tammany Hall!

Seriously, this is much more important than the Fran Drescher post.  While I was on CNN.com today, I read a story that made me think I was back in the 1800’s and reading about Tammany Hall.

It seems that a sitting governor in the state of Illinois has seen fit to put up the seat of a United States Senator, no less, (that was recently vacated by the President-elect of our country) for sale to the highest bidder.  Amazing.  There is a little voice in the back of my head that keeps saying, “What else did you expect to come out of the most corrupt political machine in the country?”  But there is a bigger voice that screams back “Weren’t you listening?  A sitting governor in the state of Illinois has seen fit to put up the seat of a United States Senator (that was recently vacated by the President-elect of our country) for sale to the highest bidder!”  This is huge!

The language used by the US Attorney over the case is just as amazing.  I quote from the article:

“The breadth of corruption laid out in these charges is staggering,” U.S. Attorney Patrick Fitzgerald said in a statement. “They allege that Blagojevich put a ‘for sale’ sign on the naming of a United States Senator; involved himself personally in pay-to-play schemes with the urgency of a salesman meeting his annual sales target; and corruptly used his office in an effort to trample editorial voices of criticism.”

According to the statement, Blagojevich is alleged to have discussed obtaining:

1.  a substantial salary for himself at either a non-profit foundation or an organization affiliated with labor unions;

2.  a spot for his wife on paid corporate boards, where he speculated she might garner as much as $150,000 a year;

3.  promises of campaign funds — including cash up front;

4.  a Cabinet post or ambassadorship for himself

Wow.

The political implications go deep.  Who turned him in?  If he was seeking a Cabinet post or ambassadorship, was Obama involved?  Did Obama turn him in?  I doubt that.

Is he going to step down immediately, or is he going to fight the charges and remain governor?  If he does, will he still be allowed to appoint Obama’s replacement in the Senate with this cloud hanging over him?  Will he allow the seat to go unfilled until his situation is resolved?  If he steps down, does the state have a provision for someone other that the actual elected governor to be able to make the appointment?  Assuming he steps down, will the replacement have to be put on hold until a special election for governor is completed?  Will they simply have to wait until Obama’s seat comes back up for reelection to fill the seat?  There are many juicy scenarios, and I love them all.

Remember, it was the Media that refused to pursue the allegations of corruption in the Chicago political machine during the elections.  If these chickens come home to roost now, the media will be guilty abdicating its responsibility in favor of pushing its own agenda, again.

Fran Drescher as Political Apocalypse or Simply a Goat with a Goose Caught in its Throat?

So, I turn over to CNN and see a headline that stops me in my tracks.  I try to keep a list of the things that frighten me the most so I’ll know when to pack it in.   For example, the polar bear scares me more than any other land animal.  I live in Texas, so I feel pretty safe as far as polar bears go, but I know that if I were ever to come into contact with one, I simply go fetal and hope he would end it quickly.

Sometimes, however, things we never could have foreseen come along and scare us in ways we could never have imagined.  This was the case today when I saw that Fran Drescher had “throw her name out” for consideration to replace Hillary Clinton as Senator from New York.  Just typing this send shivers down my spine, and leaves my legs quaking.

The thought of having to hear that horrible, horrible voice on weekly political programs for the next four years is hard to fathom.

As a republican, I would take four Bill Clintons as senator before I would want one of her.  If I were opposing a bill that she threatened to filibuster, I would simply ask for the name of the bill that I would now be voting for.  Surely this will not really happen

One last question, Don’t people usually get asked to fill these positions?  I do not remember another person up to this point suggesting himself (or herself) as a replacement for a vacant seat.  If that is all it takes, then I through my own hat in the ring, and I don’t even speak through my nose. 

Dating Disasters

Analytical guys, like me, often do not have a lot of luck in the dating scene while they are growing up.  Females are a mystery, the ultimate ‘x’ in any equation.  The more you evaluate the possibilities, the more frightening they become.  Most of the time, I would simply procrastinate in asking-out a girl that I liked until she was no longer available.

That being said, I did actually get up the courage to ask several girls out while I was in high school, and surprisingly some of the young ladies actually said yes, even though I am sure I was visibly shaking when I asked, and made a hasty retreat once they said, “Yes” because I had not planned for what to do if they actually responded positively.  Once these girls had accepted my offer, there was the obvious panic of what to actually do on the date.  This required extensive planning, but was usually curtailed by my financial realities.

There are four particular dating disasters that occurred before I finally was able to get married and free myself from this continual torture.  The first was my first real date.  I had met a shy and very pretty girl at church.  She was blond and had a nice body also.  I decided that the best way to trick her into going out with me was to incorporate her love for her God into a date with myself (genius).  So, I asked her out to a Christian concert (obviously, I had no thoughts of ‘making a move’ on this date).

I picked her up in plenty of time to go see the ‘Carry the Light’ tour at Reunion Arena in Dallas.  I was driving a 1977 Cougar, and it was a ‘boat.’  I picked her up, and she looked nice.  We went to eat dinner, and then got onto I-35 heading south.  Almost immediately, I realized that I had made a tactical error.  I-35 was going through a makeover where there were machines eating about a foot of back-top off of the road in order to get to the old concrete.  Eventually, the highway department put a nice new concrete road in, but on this day, the project was still a work in progress.  Even though I was traveling against the flow of traffic, it was awful.  I was literally inching along and the 90 degree plus weather quickly took a toll on my ten year old car.  Soon, the gauges on my dash were informing me that my engine was overheating.  So, after apologizing, I turned the air conditioner off, and asked her to roll down her window.  Later, I actually turned the heater on for a minute in the hope that this would help dissipate the hot air from the engine compartment.  I’m sure she was loving all of this, but the car was making it.

We made it all the way to the point where cars were attempting to get into the parking lot.  It was stop-and-go once again, only this time there were three lanes of traffic trying to get up a hill into the parking lot.  This was simply too much for the Cougar, and it died.  As I sat there in the center lane wondering what to do, a bus hit the back of my car (no kidding) while trying to get around me.  Defeat.

Eventually, the nice policeman who was directing traffic into the parking lot decided something had to be done.  He stopped traffic and allowed me to push my car backward across the intersection, and up against a curb (facing the wrong way on a one-way street).

I, however, would not admit defeat so easily.  We walked the rest of the way to the arena, and I was sure that I would never see my car again.  I called my dad collect on the way into the venue, and told him of my dilemma.  He told me to enjoy the show, and meet him near the end so that he could help me with my car.

I do not remember a lot about the show other than a guy playing classical guitar with his feet (amazing).  I do not remember that we said two words to one another, and before the end of the show, we left to find my dad who had already shown-up and put water in my radiator for me.

This is when the one good thing in the whole evening occurred.  The nice policeman who had helped me park my car, had come back after I left and had written a personal note on the back of his card asking other officers who might happen by not to give me a ticket of have my car towed.

After getting my car restarted, I drove her home in complete defeat.  I never asked her out again, and I really don’t remember talking to her much after that.  She did not seem to mind.

Another dating disaster occurred about a year later.  I had gone out with a girl to help her to feel better after she had had a bad breakup…, big mistake!  She formed some sort of quick attachment to me, but the truth was that I was infatuated with her best friend.  I really liked her friend a lot, and she was probably my first real crush.  She was a short, cute brunette who had a very nice body.  She did have a glass eye (hardly noticeable), but that did not bother me at all.

I finally got the nerve to ask her out, and she agreed to go to dinner and a movie with me.  We went to a decent restaurant and then set off for the theatre.  I chose a terrible John Candy movie called Summer Rental.  Oh, if he’d only died before he made this abomination.  The movie was bad enough, but I once again made a tactical error.  I had planned to ‘make a move,’ and put my arm around her during the movie, but as we went to sit down, I realized that I had entered the row on her left, The Side With Her Bad Eye!  This froze me.  I kept wanting to put my arm around her, but in my mind, I kept seeing her jump or even scream as she wondered if a rat or something worse were crawling across her shoulder.  For the most part, I sat in paralyzed frustration for the rest of the movie.

After the movie, I took her home, and actually worked up the courage to go for the ‘good night kiss.’  This worked out for me, and she later said that she would go to the Homecoming Dance with me.  However, her friend felt some sort of a betrayal in the fact that the two of us had gone out, and began to treat us both badly.  A couple of weeks later, I got a note from her explaining that she wanted to be the other girl’s friend more than she wanted to be my boyfriend.  Defeat.

Later, in college, I had determined to get more dates.  I asked out the girl that eventually became my wife.  I remember meeting her that week because there was about a foot of snow on the ground, and this was very unusual for Shawnee, OK where I went to school.  I asked her to go see Rain Man which was big at the theatre, and it turned out to be a good date movie, for once.  The main problem I had with this particular date occurred early in the day, as I went out to my car (the Nova, pronounced ‘No-Vah”- Spanish for ‘it does not go’).  I walked up to the car, and saw that my right front tire was completely on the ground beneath the snow, so I decided to change the tire in a foot of snow.  I was wearing jeans which were by no means waterproof, but they were the best thing that I had for the job.  I lay down and scooped out the snow from behind the tire and up under it so that the jack would fit under the axel.  I got the car jacked up, and then realized to my horror that the wheel was frozen to the axel.  Oh…F…u…d…g…e!  But, I didn’t say ‘fudge.’  I then found a hammer in my trunk and actually tried to beat the tire off of the axel for several minutes with no luck (this seemed kind of dangerous).  I finally lowered the jack, put the car in gear, and felt the wheel break free of the axel.  I was then able to change the tire after jacking the car back up.  When I was finished, I swear that I could have stood my frozen jeans up against the wall.  The date that night, however, went well.  The same could not be said for our next movie date.  It should be noted that my wife (who I was dating at the time) had led a somewhat sheltered life up to that point in a small town in Western Oklahoma.  Her family never really went to the movies, and most of their television watching involved The Waltons or Little House on the Prairie.  I, on the other hand, considered myself to be a man of the world.  I saw most of the big movies every year, and tried to see most movies that were nominated for Academy Awards.  That year, there was a movie that was getting a lot of Oscar buzz, and so we decided upon my recommendation to go see… The Accused.  I remember feeling sort of dizzy the first time they went through the rape scene, and then looking over to see the horror on my date’s face.  You would think that showing the same violent rape five or six times from different points of view in a movie would desensitize the viewer to some degree.  This, however, was very much not the case.  I probably should have just left, but a familiar paralyzing fear had me in its icy grip.

The only good move that I made that night was when I reached over and hugged my future wife to me, burying her head to protect her from having to see the violence one more time.  Suffice it to say. The Accused IS NOT A GOOD DATE MOVIE!  In the end, I guess it all worked out for me because she said, “Yes” when I asked her to marry me later (no, not that night).  I guess at that point she was just too frightened to say, “No.”