February 2004 Archives

Merle: "Hey, dude, did I ever tell you about my daddy's career as a janitor at the Playboy Mansion?"

Berle: "No, I'm afraid you failed to mention that illustrious chapter in your paterfamilia's life. Do tell, Merle."

M: "Well, he was cleaning out the ladies room there – you know, there's always a bunch of ladies hanging out at that place. That guy who owns the place is quite a ladies' man. When it came to cleaning the toilet, he saw something inside that perplexed him to no end. He was so confused that he went and got his partner for a second opinion."

B: "How curious. Was it jewelry or a cufflink or something like that?"

M: "Oh no, nothing like that. It looked like a raisin."

B: "Somebody put a raisin in the commode? How strange!"

M: "Oh, it was no raisin, Berle. My daddy told me he and his partner couldn't figure it out at all. Then in walked the owner of the place, Hugh somebody. They asked him, 'Sir, could you take a look at this?' And the guy went into the stall and took a gander."

"Well, the guy took one look at it and flushed, then walked out mumbling something. My daddy followed him out and asked what it was. You know what the guy said"?

The concept of an "extra" day just doesn't seem right, but that's what we call it every four years when a day is added to February. Really, if we didn't have calendars to tell us what day it was we wouldn't have a clue.

The origin of a Leap Day and Leap Year stem from the need to synchronize the calendar with the seasons. Every fourth year is to adjust the discrepancy between the number on the wall and the Earth's orbit around the sun.

This being a Leap Year, we've got that "extra" day. I'm sure it means more to people who celebrate Feb. 29 as something in particular, whether it's a birthday, wedding anniversary, a loved one's death, etc. Life goes on during this "extra" day ... time stops for nobody. But it's hard to mark something that occurs on a day that only shows up every four years. We're generally sentimental creatures, and even heart-hardened souls usually know what day it is.

Sunday is this year's Leap Day. All this said, are you planning to do anything special this time around? Extra day or not, Sundays can be wonderful. I hope you enjoy yours, and that it doesn't take four years to find the same joy again.

It's hard not to think of Julie Andrews singing in The Sound of Music about things she likes when I hear "favorite things." Alternately, if you're in an elevator you may hear The Sound of Muzak. Just one of many reasons I prefer to take the stairs!

Anyhow, here's a list of a few of my favorite things ...

Several months ago, I ran across an article online that talked about persistent injuries ending Russian vixen/tennis star Anna Kournikova's athletic career. She was quoted as saying she wanted to try her hand (or backhand) at acting – having already done some modeling in between matches.

Sure! Why not? Less likely people have turned to acting, including many athletes. O.J. Simpson not only appeared in those "Naked Gun" movies with Leslie Nielson, he also had quite a performance a few years back with co-star Judge Lance Ito.

The one flaw in Anna's plan, however, was the shows she wanted to appear in ...

Texas T-Bone's Dinner Project v 2.0

Thursday morning, I dumped some meaty goodness into our crockpot, put the thing on low and let it basically cook itself all day. By the time I got back home from work that evening, dinner was ready (thanks to the Petite Filet's finesse with some side dishes). Slow-cookers rock.

This won't help the vegetarians out there, but we cooked ribs and they were delicious! The PF bought a package of boneless and a package of bone-in ribs, but the bones didn't matter. After 10 hours in the pot, the meat fell right off the bones. So tender, so delicious!

Here's what I did:

I've mentioned at least once or twice how most of our friends are building great big cavelike homes in bright and shiny neighborhoods. They've got postage-stamp-size yards, but when you've got a 4,000-square-foot house, why go outside, am I right?

Was driving around today in lieu of my normal lunchtime walk (it's windy out there, folks!) and was noticing all the overblown names to go along with the overblown houses. It's enough to make the words "estates" and "heights" lose their once-classic meanings.

To be clear, there's nothing wrong with a nice house, or even a big house. If that's what you have or what you want – cheers to you! But having visited many of these newer caves, I'll say they don't feel like home – and not only because they're not my home. The soaring ceilings and gargantuan rooms aren't cozy in the least. Most people don't have enough furntiure to fill such homes.

What's more, one family we know in particular bought a giant house, but their living room furniture will only fit one way. If they get the bug to rearrange the room, they'll have to buy new furniture. In our little less-than-1,800-square-foot home, we've rearranged our living room 12 different ways in the four years we've lived there. Of course, we're nuts after all.

If there was truth in advertising in naming those new neighborhoods, it would go something like this ...

How strange it is, I think as I take a lunchtime stroll on a nearby hike & bike trail, how household cleaners try all they can to mimic the freshness found out of doors. For thousands of years, man has worked to make life more civil, more controlled, more conditioned – in essence, seeking to thwart the elements. We've gone full circle now, trying to bring the outdoors in because modern life keeps us locked up in manmade prisons of brick, stone and mortar. I try to break from my cell at lunch – weather permitting – and whenever I can on the free parts of my weekend.

In my lifetime, I've seen pine smells (think Pine Sol) morph to floral scents (think Lysol) to lemon (Mr. Clean) to other forms of citrus bliss (think of the recent bastion of orange-scented products). In between, there are all sorts of generically labeled "fresh" scents that smell as fresh as a stale piece of toast. I call this "fresh" movement the "Febreezination of America." I implore you, what does Febreeze smell like? Why, you'd have to say, it smells "fresh!"

But can you manufacture "fresh"? Wouldn't the complex process of making something take away from its inherent freshness?

I think a specific product that has "improved" by leaps and bounds is toothpaste. Here's a brief evolution based on my personal recollection:

If I had my stuff together, I'd also share with you a cute picture of the Cutlet enjoying the snow – yes, snow! – in our back yard on Saturday. Weather forecasts leading up to the weekend overhyped the coming snowstorm to the point that I didn't think it would happen.

But then I woke up Saturday morning to head into work and there it was! A 3-inch white blanket covered the area, and it was on the roads just enough to make it interesting during my 10-mile drive to the office. By noon, the flakes had stopped falling and the roads were wet but no longer frozen.

Here's a few facts about snow in my part of Texas:

I bet your e-mail account (especially the "junk mail" folder) fills up with all sorts of nonsense. Now, pretend you are a small media outlet and you've aired out your e-mail address, fax number and phone number in places virtually the whole world can see. Because you're a newspaper (even only a small one), and you wield the power of the printed word, people will knock down your door to get a small spot of space in your pages.

The information pipeline from our fax machine flows over my desk and usually into my trash can. My paper is 100% local news, bounded by the areas it is mailed to (parts of two counties and about six towns) for free. Anything beyond those borders doesn't have a pinata's chance at a birthday party of making it in the paper.

Strangely, and because I was in a good mood and not to busy, I took a call from a woman in France late yesterday.

Did anyone pronounce Valentines as "valentimes" when they were younger? A common mistake. After all, the 5-year-old me was amazed at the evil Darth Bader in Star Wars. Another common mistake, right? Suchadorkiam.

We all know Valentine's Day has become a passionless exchange of Hallmark cards, candy and flowers (and if we're lucky, passion-filled moments with a sweetie). There's a definite backlash against the whole idea of it, as if cynicism has defeated love once and for all. I'm not a big fan of doing something special just because it's Feb. 14. I think in years past I reveled more on the following "holiday" of Presidents Day because electronics stores have huge sales.

But I also find nothing wrong with celebrating loves found, lost and remembered. Sure, me and the Petite Filet have special times all year long. But just like our wedding anniversary (April 24), we take some time to focus on us and our relationship, looking how far we've come and how far we can go to make it better.

I share with you, then, the Top 10 things I can do to be a better husband. There are obviously more I can do to help cover my flaws, but this is a start. I'll be sharing them in a special way with my better half in the near future:

Forty years ago today, The Beatles stormed America's shores to lead the British music invasion. But this is no Declaration of Independence from that event; some of their music remains relevant (if it ever was) today.

I was a few years shy of missing the boat. In fact, I wasn't born until three years after the famous band called it splits (not quits, because all four of them later launched solo careers or other musical collaborations, for better or much worse).

Music originally created by The Beatles has been used in movies, commercials, Trivial Pursuit questions and in myriad other ways. In the ever-morphing world of marketing, their creations have been repackaged, remixed, resung, reloaded, rewhatever, to create something "new." There have been several box sets, previously unreleased tracks, calendars for the vintage set, semi-reunion events where the then-surviving Fab 3 performed some of their old music (after a years-long hiatus).

If The Beatles were coming ashore today, I wonder what they'd be singing ...

So, I've done this before, and I'm too lazy right now to look up what I called it way back when. In a nutshell, I will begin writing a piece of fiction, and it is up to you – creative commenters and friends – to keep it going. This being a Friday, I don't expect a whole lot of responses. I'll keep it up and maybe chime in on occasion to keep things rolling (or make things roll) until I've got something else to say.

The one ground rule: no lead character can die. Say it with me: no lead character can die. That's the only hard-and-fast rule. Besides that, keep it fun and interesting, and everything will be fine. And away we go ...

Just when you thought the Jackson family was overexposed, along comes Janet and her errant boob. She sure has come a long way from guest appearances on ‘70s sitcom Diff’rent Strokes, hasn’t she? Maybe the public hasn’t come that far at all, though. This was just the tit (er, tip) of the iceberg when it comes to offensive things you can see on broadcast TV. Its prominence as part of a “family” program certainly sets it apart from some examples.

Before the story fades away, I thought I’d weigh in with some comments about the fiasco:

Have you ever read Oscar Wilde's The Portrait of Dorian Gray? Me neither, because I'm about as cultured as a pearl snagged for a quarter in one of those little red dispensers in the grocery store. I did, however, see the 1945 film version recently. Let me tell you: freaky! It stars a whole bunch of people I never heard of, but also a young and hot Angela Lansbury, who would later become old and not hot and be featured in the long-running geezer-who-done-it series "Murder She Wrote."

Ah, but back to the topic at hand. In a nutshell, the film is about a young man (Mr. Gray) whose portrait is painted. He realizes he will never remain as young and handsome as he does in the painting, and he wishes that he would remain unchanged and the portrait would do the aging. Unfortunately for him, an acient Egyptian cat-god is listening (he has a small replica of it in his house), and grants his wish.