Friday, August 29, 2008

Flashes of Brilliance

Hmmmmph. Whether you were watching the DNC convention with 80,000 people or the Yankee game with 55,000, you would have seen an amazing view of stadium flashes, clicks and anxious people taking photos of the moment that will last a lifetime.

The fireworks effect of seeing all these smart, loyal fans flashing across your TV screen at the moment a candidate arrives or a batter hits his record home run resonates through the TV screen as the rest of us watch or sit by passively wondering the same thing:


Seriously, I know you think this life is all about you. But a flash is good for 8-12 feet MAX, not a quarter mile to light up A-Rod's dimples. It's good to shoot the hot dog guy as he hands you back zero change, but it's not going to lighten the stadium shadows just for you. Just not gonna happen.

Try keeping your hand still and shooting it without flash and perhaps with all the other "intelligent" people in the stands flashing at the same time, They will light your subject for you.

Can I state that any clearer? Your flash is not going to light up a stadium, gymnasium, field, or your child's ballet recital while you hang over the balcony and yell, "One more honey, I'm waiting for the flash to recharge."

Next time you sit near me and start taking flash photography aimed at center fielder who is farther away than your next record SAT score, perhaps I'll ask if you want me to take one of you with him in the background. Because with your AMAZING camera and a Cashew size flashbulb embedded in it, I'm sure I'll get one of you and Johnny Damon that you will want to frame in your bedroom next to your CHIA PET.

"I'm sorry, you're asking what is that shiny spot behind you in the picture?...Why its all your 1000's of friends who took the same photography class in Middle School. Next time, shall I get them in the shot too, because I'm sure you are the only one in the world who has a SUPER FLASH".

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Roughing it on Broadway

I'm confused. I mean more than usual. I'm trying to pass your SUV on steroids and see it has more accessories than an Imelda Marcos walk in closet. It’s a vehicle, not testing facility for the Discovery Channel.

Tell me, are you going camping or did you just get done looting the Sports Authority?

From bikes to kayaks to tents and duffel bags. From GPS and iPods to Bluetooth headsets to Satellite radios. What ever happened to roughing it without a Four Seasons Hotel room key?

What does SUV mean to you? Stuff Until Vomit.

The irony is I guarantee you aren’t traveling farther than to the first road that doesn’t have a traffic light. I can see you unpacking in front of a Rain Forest CafĂ© because you saw a tree that didn’t have a bike rack near it.

Dude, save the thousands of dollars you spent buying items that said “titanium”, “halogen lit” or “aerodynamically infused technology” and buy a plane ticket to Wyoming where no matter what town you land in, you will already be roughing it 10x more than what I see you stuffed into your Swiss Army Knife with wheels.

Wouldn’t it make you feel better just to buy an Xbox360 with a First Person survival game. I’m sure your muscles would appreciate the fact that you aren’t trying to prove to the world that you and survivalist Lance Armstrong only have ONE thing in common-YOUR yellow wristbands.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

It's a Numbers Game

What’s your number?

Quick, other than your home number, recite the next five numbers listed in your cell phone.

NO, NO, not the speed dial number 1-9. We are talking 10 digits my friend. Ten numbers that are forever forgettable unless you are Rain Man. Cell phones have given us 24/7 access to our friends and loved ones. But it has done permanent damage to our chances of ever winning on a game, I like to call, Cell Phone Go Fish… “um..does your number have any 3’s?”

Pop Quiz: You are on vacation without your phone charger as your cell just went dead. Call your voicemail from a pay phone to see if you missed an important call. (’s that Time Machine looking booth behind the liquor store takes that scarce monetary coins called quarters)

Can’t remember the number? Perhaps you should try your sister in Seattle? I know that it has a 7 in it. How’s your daughter’s cell phone number coming? Any clue?

Just what I thought.

We have become slaves to our own digital demise. With a combination of everyone having home, office and cell numbers to remember, we trust our silicone friend with every important digit instead of even trying to contemplate a short term memory of the numbers.

You can’t walk past five people in public without two of them holding a phone to their ear. The other three are texting the other two to return their text so they can call their friends to text the message they received yesterday from the VM that was part of the picture message that never got forwarded to the mobile IM message that was emailed to their mobile address, while it simultaneously updated on their Facebook account during the download of a new ringer from Beyonce as they text vote their opinion to who should be the next American Idol.

Ahh. But I digress as usual.

I have solved the problem. I just print out all the numbers on a lined piece of paper that has letters to organize by name.

Um. why is called an address book, but mine is really really small and I only use it when my cell phone is dead without a charger.

Does anyone have the number for Dominos?

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

If Only You Could Eat This Ticket

I’m in a long line at convenience store. I just want to buy a newspaper and a bottle of water. Didn’t realize QuikChek changed its name to SloMoChek as an aspiring elderly Marlboro Man with his three adolescent children is in front of me in the only open register buying lottery tickets.

Visualize Dennis Hopper without a bath, unmatched sandals or Speed Stick. I’m more concerned that he is NOT interrupting my few minutes of life by buying milk, bread or even a Twinkie for his tax write-off dependents.

He is stealing my precious earth’s oxygen by spending his morning and an entire new crisp $100 bill on lottery tickets.

Keep in mind, he wasn’t considering only buying 10 or 20 tickets and spend the rest of necessities. He was animate about using (what it looked like) his monthly salary on pink and white slips of papers with his favorite numbers on them.

“Boxed, straight, match these birth dates, anniversary dates and my third wife’s (accidental) death certificate date”. Someone needs to educate him that there isn’t a number 65 month or a number 45 day on any calendar since 2500 B.C.

I stood behind him (actually a few feet back for safety and sterility purposes), not knowing to laugh at the event or cry as I watched the counter clerk, repeatedly asked him to clarify the numbers for the next 15 minutes. I’m not a big gambler, but if I have a choice of fruit and veggies over the 1,000,000,000 to 1 odds of winning anything but a gift basket with more lottery tickets in it, I think I got that decision down pat.

Can we please have a law against anyone spending more than 5x their life savings under their mattress on anything but food, shelter and HBO?

Isn’t there a 1 800 Don’t be Stupid hotline for those who put their family’s care behind their need to stay up to 10 p.m. and watch a local woman who patterned her dress style on Sex in the City from Season One screaming the number of the white ping pong ball that pops up in front of her. Boy, I’m so much more in awe of Vanna White than I was yesterday.

The saddest fact is that even if he ever wins this life changing score of millions. There is no sign or confidence that any of the winnings would go anywhere other than on the next dog race, horse track or political candidate who wants to legalize body odor as a new energy source.

I did get my paper and my water. I sat in my car, opened the lifestyle section and saw a man from Arkansas who won $10 million yesterday. His biggest revelation, “I can’t wait to get back to WalMart as I have a deep fryer on Lay-a-Way.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Searching For All The Answers

It's before 5 a.m, so pardon the thought process. With that being said, even at this ungodly hour, if you search for something specific in the year 2008, you would think it would be relatively easy to find it on the world's biggest search network.

When I search for New World Tragedy, I don't want to see the recent Paris and Lindsay fight with Lauren and one of the Simpson sisters (I think the one without the nose job)

When I search for Meaning of Life, I shouldn't see McCain and Obama banner ads float by my result index. “The Meaning of their ad budget that we are funding with political donations maybe. Life? I don’t think so.

When I search for History of Economics, I shouldn’t have pages of Michael Phelps’ new endorsement deals. (But it does make me want to clean my pool)

When I search for stars, I never..I mean NEVER have to see a link of any American Idol contestant, Justin Timberlake or a Jonas Brother. (Asteroid maybe, but star, please)

When I search for used cars, I shouldn’t have to see any “Pimp My Ride” wannabe with candy apple paint and a fondue kitchen in the back seat and 7 LCD screens embedded in the Corinthian leather.

When I search for top news, I shouldn’t be linked to TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and Access Hollywood. Seriously after watching that for 3 straight hours a night, it gets old..Trust me.

When I search for me, I shouldn’t get some college kid with same name who loves to YouTube himself playing Quarters with Lime Vodka. I mean, no one had video cameras when I went to school…I don’t think.

When I search in the search, I should find the phrase, “Maybe you should have paid more attention in school, and you wouldn’t have to ask these questions today”.

Friday, August 15, 2008

Smile, You're on TV

Am I the only one who looks at the Women's Olympic gymnastic team and sees nothing but misery?

Count the smiles you see throughout the weeks in Beijing and you will only see ONE...when the Gold Medal is awarded. The rest of the time, no matter the angle, the score or whether they reached the height requirement to go on the Big Kid rides at Disney Asia, you will never see them happy.

I don't care how much you can stick your bum out after a routine routine or that you ignore the fact you wake up with a wedgie each day. Is the 10 years or more of your life listening to the Soup Nazi coach scream "No food for you" truly worth that chance to travel to China? They say it costs over $150,000 or more to train an Olympic athlete. Last time I checked you can get a first class ticket and stay in Beijing for 6 months for about $15,000 and smile hourly.

Each story you read about the dedication of these mini girls, you hear about it was always their mother's or father's dream to raise an Olympic champion. How about dreaming that your daughter can choose their own dream, eat a Wendy's Baconator sandwich once a month so they smile more than once every four years. My Cynical Soup Nazi says, "NO more Daughter's for you".

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Saving Face on Facebook

Who are you kidding with the cropped version of your photo at a wedding from last spring's social season.

This is Facebook, not DeFacebook. Remember, when we can only see half a shoulder, 3/4 of your hair and part of your chin is missing, we know its more that just a HE/SHE now missing from your life's picture. Perhaps you have a few more issues that can't be removed by a cutting board.

Pulease, you have to have at least one decent picture that doesn't have an EX-someone or other in the frame. If you have to, go back 10 years. We would rather see you high school prom picture than your scorned version of MTV NEXT. I'm trying to figure out what you are trying to prove. Perhaps that you have to share with your social networking universe that you have separated this person from your life including any emulsion, digital or Polaroid you ever taken together.

Actually, it shows that you think this is the (only) hottest shot of you at the best time of your life. Do you want this un-friendly ghost from image's past to know that you haven't felt any more beautiful than when you were still together?

If you can't post a new pic of JUST you or at least you and your best friends binge drinking to forget the fact this digitally cut out individual still is part of your Friend's list, cancel your account and go back to AOL groups.

Ever hear of PHOTOSHOP? Fade, dissolve or add a new love to your over exposed life with a touch of a button-ANYTHING but this kindergarten scissor effect of you trying to keep that one fun night with your EX alive when that dress...THAT dress just wasn't all that anyway.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Stressed Out Over Stress Test

I guess when you hit a certain age, you can't even bend over without having to get a physical or stress test first. Either that, or there is an arcade game in every doctor's office that doesn't take change, only co-pays. I found out the hard way and $40.00 in quarters later.

I had my first stress test this morning. Nurse asks me, "How you feeling today?" Let's see, you are shaving my chest with a Dry Bic Razor, sticking a cold wet (for lack of a better term) pastie on 8 different spots on my body and preparing me to get on a treadmill that was last serviced during the Spanish Inquisition with a tackle box with wires attached to my hip with most of my clothes off. "Um..I'm just ducky, thanks for asking."

Watching the heart monitor while I WAIT and wait for the doctor...SEE back issue blog

The monitor says I'm actually living for the moment at 45 beats per minute (bpm). Isn't that closer to unconscious than awake? As I think of the net results before I even step a foot on the treadmill, I watch my stress anxiety take the bpm's up all the way to 75 and I'm not even standing yet.

Cardiologist comes in and tells me to start walking slowly. (What? after sitting here waiting for 45 minutes, you want me to crawl on this rubber hamster wheel without stretching? Isn't that grounds for malpractice?)

I courageously say, "Crank it up doc, You told me to Fast before showing up and I need to eat something before my stomach sets off a need for a G.I. test."

Did I mention his lab assistant is taking my blood pressure every other minute. (HELLO, if you want me to finish this micro marathon sometime this morning, don't ask me to take my hand off the safety rail for 20 second intervals so you can squeeze my armpit and cause my arm to go limp)

After 10 more minutes, they elevate the treadmill to the Mt. Fuji setting and the assistant "accidentally" hits the 18 mph on the dial. At that moment I swear if they don't give me a Gold Medal just for surviving this race of life, I'm going to protest to the AMA and demand a new judge. --WHAT? too much Summer Olympics in my life this week?

I finish, I live, I scream (silently of course) as she rips my new hairless circles off my (NOW) pasty white skin and they tell me I'm fine until next year.

I dress, I jump in my car, open a energy bar I had just for this purpose and it has melted against the wrapper so I'm sucking the chocolate out of cellophane. Someone take my stress setting now, as I wouldn't even pass the WalMart employee exam. Plus, I hear the "Say Welcome in the first three seconds of observing a customer" section is a bear".

Monday, August 11, 2008

Tradition Smadition

Gotta love Major League Baseball. If you are not sure why it is appealing, but find yourself watching it as much as I do-Here could be the appeal. Where else in the world do they force 65-year old men/managers to wear a children's baseball uniform? They are supposedly the leaders of the free world of the Diamond, not a homeless dude who chose a second hand Little League uniform over a camouflage WWII uniform at a flea market.

Do you need to wear that fine blend of stripes, elastic and butt enhancing material to pick your nose on TV, (oh wait, that is just a sign to steal second base) spit tobacco/gum in the dugout or kick dirt and yell obscenities to another overweight, elder gentleman who is wearing a similar tight poly nit black umpire uniform. I haven't quite comprehended the value of wearing the knickers past the age of 12.

Is this why we enjoy America's Favorite Past time? Or is it the fact we only have 24 hours in a day and most of today's games take up 1/4 of it. I think of baseball like the sport version of a soap opera. I could miss three weeks worth of episodes and when I return, the same plot line hasn't changed. You would return to see the same pitcher struggling to get an out while the same all-star slugger is in a hitting slump since May (Going 0-38 should mean you owe the fans $23 million).

If there is any sport that needs to be digitally recorded to be played back without all the filler its baseball. You could watch an entire game with your DVR in about 23 seconds. But then you would miss all those shots of Wilford Brimley separating the sunflower seeds from his mouth to hit the pitching coach's butt from 12 feet out.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Don't Mettle with the Five Rings of Sportsmanship

There is a reason the Olympics only come every four years. (correct that)-two years, but four for each season.

It takes at least that long for the Media to come up with life stories for every athlete. Is there one participant that didn't go through hardship of a great great grandparent who died recently or one who has a hangnail just before the Games end? Is there one without a sibling suffering from inoperable stubbornness, one who didn't suffer an economic injustice of having to pay for their own gas or a severe case of acne growing up in an disadvantaged environment?

It's the Olympics, not Survivor-Beijing. Win the Gold and get your face on the cover of a Wheaties box and a guest shot on The Tonight Show.

Lose, and end up stuffing your face with Froot Loops and watching old shows of the Wide World of Sports with you starring in the Agony of Defeat.

It's not that hard to enjoy the Games of the Olympiad. It's just hard waiting 7.5 hours to see one actual event after watching All-American and native Texan Tommy Brown's life be drawn out on the T.V. screen only to watch him come in of 8.

Friday, August 8, 2008


Years ago it started with a small peacock and three letters in the lower right corner. An almost nonchalantly array of hiding nothing of importance.

But each year the TV networks get bolder and more intrusive adding to their graphics and stats while the actual show becomes only a thumbnail of existence.

When I'm watching a football game, I do want to see the score and the down/yds to go. But you don't have to use up a Manhattan billboard of the actual screen to prove your point.

When I'm catching the Headline News, I don't need to see stocks, weather, the time in Paraguay, a Paris Hilton sightings recap and product placement ads all framing the postage stamp image of the story I'm trying to watch. One graphic at a time would be sufficient.

When I'm watching a suspenseful or drama movie on cable, I don't want to see a person poke their head in superimposed from another show on the same network acting like they are part of the plot line. (Note to network honchos: Seeing Holly Hunter wearing a sundress to promote her show as I am waiting to see if Detective Sipowitz is going to go off the wagon or smack his partner doesn't make me add to my Tivo schedule anytime soon.)

I might as well listen to the radio, for as little as I actually SEE on my big screen TV anymore. I blame MTV (do I sound like anyone's father yet?). I knew when they started that irritating technique of the shaking camera, adding a short micro second bursts of an image, can't see a face for more than a speed of light moment, we were going down a slippery slope of digressing the initial technology of creating TV in the first place.

(NOTE for educational purposes: If you divide a still image into a collection of small colored dots (pixels), your brain will reassemble the dots into a meaningful image-the definition of how a TV works)

My brain has enough issues trying to see if Lauren from the Hills and Kim Kardashian are ever going to combine forces and defeat the Style Villains of LA than to decipher a half dozen additional graphics, stats and scrolling messages that have invaded my own grey matter.

Instead of adding to our brain freeze, let's create a channel of only long visual camera takes, conversations that last more than a text message and plot lines that have a beginning, middle and climax. The only graphic I want to see is the title of the show flash in front of me and a quick "THE END" so I know I can flip to SportsCenter.

If I need more information, I'll just click the Google function on my cell phone screen. My only issue is my phone is too small and I wish they would remove the images and show all the cool graphics and stats available scrolling by my phone network. Wink

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Can I Sell a Vowell

After the Evening News and Jeopardy happens to land one of the most challenging shows on TV. Forget knowing (in question format of course) which century did the aggressors challenge the economic development of the Spanish Inquisition by the accused heretics who brought general population before the tribunal and given no chance to confess their heresy against the Church before they were publicly killed or sentenced to a life in prison.

(um. Alec, what is the 5th Century?)

The Wheel Of Fortune provides the utmost skill and knowledge I have ever witnessed last night in between Vanna and Pat sharing a pair of wax lips with each other to add humor fill for the 30 minute show of intellectual brain fodder. With a majority of the following puzzle (AN INVENTOR) on the board solved


and only vowels left, a contestant actually bought a vowel to bring her colossal winnings from $200 down to $100. But the bigger issue was, YOU GUESSED IT, she bought a "R".

I truly love this country and its diversity, its entertaining value of game shows that turn into the car wrecks where we just can't drive by and ignore the victims.

Perhaps as "Jeopardy" and "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire" have written entry tests for their contestants, I think Wheel of Fortune and Deal or No Deal should as well.

Sample 1st question: "Do you know Pat and Vanna's last name? (100% accuracy will be recorded). "Can you name Britney and her Jamie Lynn Spears' children and their age? (98% accuracy). "Can you name at least two states and one country not including Arkansas and America?" "OK. you are right, that is a trick question" One more, "If you spin a wheel clockwise will it tell time?"

I would laugh along with this show more often if I didn't recognize these are the same people who think the moon actually gets closer and bigger as it nears the horizon and that the sun revolves around the earth (OK know some you had to think about if you knew that or not as well. Just making sure you are paying attention (go to Google if you doubt me).

This fall's new game show should play with audience's mind. How's this for a idea:

Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoetnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Um, Pat. I'd like to buy a biran, a herat and some corague becusae three is no plcae lkie hmoe

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Running on Empty

Ran in a local 5K last night. Hold on.. Just a minute.

Ok. I'm still trying catching my breath 12 hours later.

5K=3.2 miles of nature, peace, exhilarating stimulation for the entire body and an incredible amount of pain and suffering. Sorry, but there is a reason that New Balance uses the slogan HATE/love to RUN.

It is a great sense of accomplishment when you actual finish the race, but so is completing the Sunday NY Times crossword and my body doesn't hurt when I do that unless I'm bench pressing the circulars in between Ups and Downs word hints.

When did they start allowing children to run in adult races? I wouldn't mind it if they weren't discussing "Gossip Girl" and the "Teen Choice Awards" as they pass my ASSpiring quest for finishing the race still living.

Then there is the tortoise and the hare syndrome. The running wannabes who take off in a full sprint only to be passed by me trucking along at a steady pace of molasses just trying to remember how to breathe. (Is it inhale first, exhale second or vice versa?)

I would have finished in under a day in a half, but they also allow motivated obsessed parents with running strollers on the course. I actually ran more like a 10K trying to pass Wyoma and Grady with their Double Wide pack of babies on a path with no emergency pull off lane. Yep, up hill I'm shooting by them as they curse the fact they didn't use birth control, and downhill, I see them whizz by me like an XGames HalfPipe exhibition.

Next up is a Duathalon (bike/run combo) I thought I would punish myself to sit behind spandex and florescent UGLY extra tight shirts to motivate me to design a new race--STROLLER DERBY sponsored by extra baggy pull ups and fluorescent BabyGap shirts.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

I Need a Little Off the Top

At a strip mall and stuck between a QuikChek, a Chinese Restaurant and a "WE BUY GOLD FOR CASH" store was one of the thousands of America's favorite hair salons. Little did I know why they call them "strip" malls until now. Only cheap hair salons can come up with names that rival Go-Go Bars for self-pundits.

From THE PRIME CUT, to THE CUT ABOVE. From HAIR PORT to SOPHISTICUTS' HEAD CLIP JOINT. The names themselves should make you avoid getting your hair cut here unless you have lice or want lice. (Either way you lose and they win a customer)

I challenge anyone to walk into any of these fine slice of American Pie and trust the fact you will walk away with anything but a Power Mullet or a 80's Hair Band Perm. Take note: Have you looked at what style these "beauticians" themselves have opted for? Realize they haven't had a new style magazine in the waiting room table since Charlie's Angels "the TV show", not the movie, aired in 1976, but YOU are going to trust them with the one part of your body you can't hide at school or work?

From hair color that even the Mother Nature rejected to flips, curls, comb-overs and shags that put serious doubt that the US has ever evolved since the Cold War. I'm not even going to comment on the advice provided in these modern day Coiffures that double as a nail specialist institution. "No, No, honey even if you're 75, you should have your hair still down to your lower back." "Oh girlfriend, its a lovely shade of Red, don't even worry about what your boyfriend Ned thinks." or my personal favorite, "I feel the urge to emulasatalate (no clue) and simulcast Victoria Beckham and Katie Holmes with one wave of my magic scissors. You are so gonna love it Honey."

The good news is that for $9.95, I can get a shampoo, cut and advice on how to avoid toenail infections all within one store away from selling my gold tooth.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Time is Money for Only a Selected Few

Huge sporting goods grand opening this weekend. Hundreds of anxious patrons lined up around the building awaiting the doors to open. What could be so thrilling? What is so amazing where someone would spend a Sunday morning AND afternoon standing in line with other humans with no lives?

An autograph from their favorite ballplayer? Four tickets to a game? A lifetime supply of tube socks? No, it has to be much more valuable for this long and winding crowd. These intellectual wonders of our society are lined up to receive a $10.00 gift card to SPEND in the sporting goods store. NOT cash, not hundreds of dollars, but a $10.00 gift card that has an expiration date.

Unless they all walked to the store, they spent that much money already driving to the store. Unless they feel that a ten spot is going to drastically reduce a pair of $150.00 Air Jordans to anything below $140.00, their life perceptions are completely out of whack.

I must have lost my value of a dollar as I wouldn't spend ONE hour to wait for a gift card that is less than the $25 blockbuster card still sitting in my wallet from 2002 (who rents movies anymore?).

I have 48 hours maximum of a weekend escape, but there is nothing more valuable to me than standing in 95 degree sun on a sidewalk to ensure I got the deal of a lifetime that rivals my trip to the Poconos for five hours to listen to a four hour sales pitch of a timeshare to receive a free trip to the Bahamas as long as I pay for airfare and go between July 6-9 during a leap year.

Next week, I'm going to offer all of those thrifty shoppers a gift they truly can benefit from. Stay home, go to the online store of the same name and receive a $10.00 first time user gift card. All you have to do is send me $9.95 plus shipping and handling and I'll send you the web site address. (Hint, it starts with WWW.)

Friday, August 1, 2008

Honk If You Have Vanity Plates

Walking through a small town during its summer Friday night car show lined on the streets of its center of shops and restaurants.

Hundreds of meticulously cared for automobiles, hot rods, cruisers, antique horseless wagons and pimped out rides (um...just transportation for the rest of us folks) aligned for showcasing, bragging rights and a place to catch up with people of similar interests.

I too, crave social networking and sharing of ideas of hobbies but one aspect of this Back to the Future showcase of metal and paint I don't quite get is the fact every owner of these "Cherry" rides looks the same. I thought I just crashed a Kenny Rogers convention during Frontier Days.

Perhaps OCD pet owners indistinctly start looking like their pets after a few years of living together, but every car enthusiast I witnessed had salt-n-pepper hair, a un-groomed goatee, beer belly, acid wash jeans, and Blu-blocker sunglasses-OH, and that was just the female owners. (sorry, it was too easy. I couldn't resist on a Friday)

Does spending hours detailing, caring and cleaning an engine and using Q-tips in seat cracks that even 3-year-old Hubba Bubba gum wouldn't dare hide, create an atmosphere of a Smokey & The Bandit personality combined with a Dukes of Hazard throwback polyester flannel button down shirt? If so, I'm taking up Scrapbooking instead.

I'm afraid to go to a local boat show this weekend. I'm sure I'll see similar landscapes and the aroma of Christmas tree air fresheners as well. However, replacing the car owner's "Mustang Logo" baseball cap that matches his ride, will be 60-year-old Gilligan and Skipper wannabees showcasing their varnished decks while exposing their corduroy short SHORTS and two sizes too small golf shirts. Anyone have a chamois? I'm going to tear up and I don't want the drops to Bead Up on the paint job of my 1968 Chevy Camaro with a 406 ci SBC Transmission: TH350 w/Stage 2 Shift Kit.