Monday September 18, 2017

Some of the earliest memories I have were of pro-wrestling on television. Historians will tell you some of the earliest television broadcasts at television’s inception were of professional wrestling matches. In 1967 and 1968 – I was five or six years old at the time – Dad would tune our small black and white television to the UHF channel broadcasting pro-wrestling and get up and go to the washroom. Mom would say watching me watch two guys beat the snot out of each other, “If that’s scary, turn it off.” It was not only the first of times I can remember something other than cartoons being on t.v., but too, being scared. These guys had busted open wounds on each other’s foreheads and their faces were beaten bloody. Not so dramatic in black and white but I was already using my imagination and knew that the color was red and it was blood inside my well-protected, well-insulated head.

I also knew if I switched the station on the television Dad might get angry. Another gender specific thought I had at the time was, “This is what boys watch.” The more this type of programming was on our television, the more my Dad, brother, cousin Joe and his Dad, my Uncle Joe seemed to watch, the more, perhaps I was compelled to watch too. They all would tell me what I was watching, what THEY were watching wasn’t real. I couldn’t blink my eyes and make it go away nor did I want to. Nor did I understand how this type of thing could be faked. Not yet. It took many iterations and variations of the, “it’s not really real” conversation to take place between myself and any other the other four guys – together or separate – to realize or come close to realizing that this was different than boxing.

I began to see and watch, discern or dawn upon the the artistry and acting involved in how bad guy versus good guy played out in each competition. Each match. The flagrant cheating of the bad guys behind the referee’s back, the interference of the trainer or manager and how it was always done so that the fairness figurehead – the referee – always seemed to miss what was truly happening inside that ring. What was truly going on always seem to elude the referee. Then I kind of knew. Sort of.

Enter manager / pro-wrestler, Bobby Heenan.

In Chicago, we received Minneapolis pro-wrestling territory television broadcasting from a league known as the AWA and another – a subsidiary – but not in the strictest sense of the word – from Indianapolis called the WWA. The owner, Verne Gagne promoted up north and for us – in Chicago – Bob Luce produced the AWA product and it had his handiwork all over it – and also in the WWA. Week after week, the UHF channels (26, 44) here televised these David versus Goliath scenarios played, acted and fought out inside the squared circle. This, under the guise of pro-wrestling. An anomaly. The red-headed step-child of sports. Sometimes more entertainment and theatrics than sport. The Bob Luce produced segments on the local segments of the Minneapolis-sent pro-wrestling show were not formatted like back stage interviews. They were constructed like a talk show. There was cross-promotion between the two leagues, the AWA and the WWA – and the Luce talk show segments were shown in between the matches.

This was entertainment. Sports entertainment before you had to admit to the public that this indeed was NOT legitimate sports competition but a hybrid. Something else. Something that – if my Dad, Uncle Joe, cousin Joe and brother were right – could be faked. Or could it? Wrestlers sometimes attacking one another on the, “talk” segments. Before Jerry Springer. before Geraldo Rivera. The talk segments also showcased promotional stunts (In the early to mid-seventies, Pepper Gomez had a Volkswagen Beetle rolled across this stomach muscles on the talk show as he was challenged the week before to prove he was the wrestler with the, “cast-iron stomach.”) to get people to come out to the house shows. And of course, Bobby Heenan.

Heenan was the best guest on that show – whether answering questions about the wrestlers he managed, being confronted by good guy wrestlers whom he MIGHT wrestle (as he did some of that, too), or just simply, creating, “heat.” He’d light the talk show up with his boastful banter about his bad guy stable of wrestlers, When the good guys got their hands on Heenan, he instantly became this acrobatic, flip-flop of a punching bag / acrobat, not unlike a fish out of water. The retribution almost always happened in the ring but sometimes, too, on the Luce talk / chat portion of the show. If Heenan actually wrestled – usually in a singlet – he was the quintessential bad guy getting his head beaten open all the time in his matches. The pro-wrestling magazines at the time always had photos of Heenan getting busted open by the Bruiser and Crusher or Billy Robinson or some babyface, good-guy wrestler.

Fast forward 1984.

After territory wrestling leagues buckled and began folding in the wake of the rise and popularity of the WWE (WWF) on pay-cable television, Heenan gained even more fame and recognition working for both the WWE and much later still in the competition league, the WCW (owned at the time by Atlanta-based millionaire, Ted Turner, who owned TBS, TNT and CNN) until leaving the business altogether after a throat cancer scare in 2002. Heenan will be best known by two nicknames: the, “Weasel” and, the, “Brain.” He never gave a bad interview – in the thirty plus years I watched him on television – always cracked some of the funniest wise as a commentator and will always remain as one of pro-wrestling’s best and wittiest evil doers or characters whom you loved to love and loved to hate. You could NOT take your eyes off of him!

RIP Brain



Word Count: 1011. Post # 1199

(Not only is his WWE Hall of Fame speech one of the funniest things I have ever seen Bobby Heenan say or do but upon watching this very speech you begin to realize what his reach within the scope of the pro-wrestling business actually was. From all these memories some of my fondest are of me and my brother watching my father as he watched pro-wrestling on television for his reactions and comments to what was happening on screen – some of the most priceless memories of my life.)



Saturday September 9, 2017

Dateline: Thursday September 7th, 2017

The online podcast (pre-taped, radio-like audio recording / program) “Something to Wrestle With Bruce Prichard” with co-host Conrad Thompson, uploads an installment of their program chronicling the career of pro-wrestler, Randy “Macho Man” Savage. The podcast has 66 episodes available on iTunes and on the podcast’s Prichard’s website all detailing aspects of pro-wrestling that Prichard was privy to in his extensive career working for pro-wrestling organizations, specifically World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE formerly, WWF) most of his adult life.

As part of the program uploaded on Thursday detailing the career of Savage, Prichard and Thompson speak at great length of the rise and fall of entertainer, Randy Poffo, who was known in sports entertainment as, Randy “Macho Man” Savage. While listening to this program the unique talents Prichard has as a mimic comes to the forefront while detailing anecdotes of his involvement as talent (the iconic Brother Love, faux televangelist character on WWE programming at the time) and as a producer and as a “sometimes” handler of pro-wrestling storylines.

Twenty-nine years ago last month (August 29, 1988) WWE broadcast it’s Summerslam pay-per-view where the kernel of the break down of The Mega Powers (wrestlers Hulk Hogan and Macho man Randy Savage) occurs – from behind the scenes – Prichard shares his memories of how the wrestling organization presented the story on the pay-per-view event, how the idea to dismantle the tag team and the circumstances surrounding the Hogan Savage split with Miss Elizabeth as the catalyst for the split’s entirety.

Backtracking a bit, those of my generation and perhaps older know that 1988 was a a different world. The conservative Reagan presidency was coming to it’s eight year close. The Vice President would soon take the highest political rank in the land and pro-wrestling became mainstream, hot property and the WWE had years prior broken down the barrier between mainstream media and the cloistered, sometimes thought of as the “carny-type” world of professional wrestling so much so that pay-per-view wrestling events on cable television were fast becoming the biggest bang for your cable, pay-per-view entertainment buck.

Wrestling pay-per-views became this athletic and otherworldly “event”, a change to the every day fare that television was offering at the time. Wrestling pay-per-views were becoming an essential part of parties thrown by family and friends. Particularly to the fans of two of the most legendary superstars to ever have come out of pro-wrestling, Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage.There were other games in town (wrestling federations) and other pay-per-views but none were telling the same stories and none with characters as iconic as those in the WWE.

My brother and I purchased these pay-per-views because we were avid wrestling fans at the time of as many weekly WWE television shows as our time allowed. I was still a few years away from my Internet access at Northeastern Illinois University and had little to no knowledge of anything considered, “insider pro-wrestling” information. That was to come later. We were what you called, “marks.” There was not a wrestling pay-per-view the WWE offered between 1983 or 4 and at least 1989 or 90 that my brother and I would miss purchasing through our cable outlet.


The thing that makes the coming apart of Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage such a pivotal moment in pro-wrestling history is the fact that the pro-wrestling spotlight was shifting on television programming from this behemoth, Hulk Hogan, who was already king of the mountain for quite some time but that a less bulky, shorter wrestler, like Randy Savage, whose character could be written into WWE programming at that time was as equally a bigger than life character who not only could hold his own with the likes of an oversized character like Hulk Hogan but could also be his co-hort, friend and eventually tag team partner. Finally, an enemy. Along with his valet, manager and real life wife (at the time), Miss Elizabeth, Macho Man enjoyed as much popularity in professional wrestling as did Hulk Hogan.

So the thing about the podcast – and I have been listening to it’s programming for a few months now – is that Conrad Thompson is the right amount smart fan and right amount of interviewer to bring out the best memories that Bruce Prichard has about his time in pro-wrestling as not only a producer of television and house show content and storylines but, too as performer, Brother Love. This particular “Macho Man” podcast from Thursday, showcasing the career of Macho Man gives Prichard the platform to imitate Macho Man and Prichard does a spot on imitation of WWE CEO Vince McMahon in this and many other podcasts I have listened to.

Listening to Thursday’s program has put a nostalgic smile on my face remembering a time in my life when times were simpler, pro-wrestling was larger and life was made truly fun because of my interest in sports entertainment. From this bygone era, long live the Macho Man, Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth and of course long live Something to Wrestle with Bruce Prichard and Conrad Thompson! And Prichard’s fantastic impressions of sports entertainment athletes!




Word Count: 894. Post # 1198

Sunday September 3, 2017

Film actor, Jack Lemmon, was storied to have whispered the words, “magic time” before every take he appeared in on camera. Perhaps as a confidence booster, perhaps to remind himself of the fact movies were make believe. A fact of his profession he simply could not deny. Whatever the scene, whatever the character. Magic time. Most every movie he appeared in starred him as generally a neurotic. His delivery always seemed nervous, edgy and authentic to the story and to the moment (and probably to who he was in real life) having a, “first time” quality to it. Not a lot of people can give you the impression of, “first time I am saying this or doing this and reacting to this moment,” with quite the same authenticity as a Jack Lemmon. In my own limited knowledge of the English language – anyway – that’s what I take, “magic time” to mean.

Time and again in the various measures of my personal and professional life I’ve had to surrender myself to magic time. Or lack thereof. Let’s face it, we all have our stock expressions, stock answers, our, “go to” lines that make freshness and newness an oftentimes elusive thing to capture. Everyday life can be repetitive in nature and sometimes we may feel like our responses are becoming stale and rote. It’s the nature of things. You can’t always, “mambo dogface to the banana patch” – as Steve Martin put it – or talk wrong or different just once to know that in perhaps certain cases your paradigm for how you speak to people – generally speaking – must follow what might be deemed stale and rote expressions. You can’t always have something new and fresh and anti-cliche. Which sucks if you’re chasing the magic time dragon.

Clearly, “have a nice day,” “drive safely” and “thanks for (blank)” have become these phrases that have lost their magic a long time ago. But one of the things that has not lost its power nor its impact is authenticity – something I’ve struggled with for most of my entire adult life. It’s more than just confidence. Or being loud. It’s more than just ego. It’s more than just your stock-in-trade bag of tricks. That’s what I think Jack Lemmon knew as an actor and as a human being. I think it’s a rare thing to behold when you’re either in the presence of a truly authentic individual or when you’re feeling as if you’re being your true authentic self. (Or whoever that “self” was when Lemmon played a character.)

Maslow called this, “self actualiztion.” When all your cylinders are firing at the same time. When the machinery of your behavioral life or true self has reached a momentary level of mastery that even makes you, yourself take notice. Magic time. When you’re in it, you know. When you feel it, you know. It’s a, “zone.” It’s Zen. I think if we all focused on what it is to be human, live our lives and be the best possible versions of ourselves we can be at all times – magic time would be an attainable thing. Had this sort of self actualization happened to our society and civilization at large – years ago – this world would be a much better place. My opinion.

There are so few things – seemingly – on certain days to truly feel happy about. There’s too much tribulation in the world but without it – we would not know or understand the difference. We would not know how to fight for happiness in our lives had we not tasted the bitterness of sadness. Perhaps all I’m saying is that in those small moments of one’s thoughts, feelings and emotions when one’s brain is generally flat-lining and perhaps one is in turn, actually feeling small, if one not worry so much on how one is being kept down or held back, what or whom is bothering us that day and what it is that is so stuck in our craws perhaps a clear path to the good stuff or self actualization or magic time would have an easier time getting to a person.

I’m not talking about, “the Secret,” infomercial from a few years ago. No. I’m talking about bringing sexy back. When you’re in your zone or that place of Zen even Justin Timberlake can’t touch you. If we remembered to whisper, “magic time” – like Jack Lemmon did when we answer a phone or the door, when we encounter chafes in our lives – hell, when we walk out the door – it might put a whole new perspective on having to deal with the mundane and the rote and the boring nature we sometimes feels follows us around in our day to day lives. Nothing else should matter. Not even if you’re surrounded. Imagine the Zen, the zone, magic time, being self actualized, energized, revitalized. Imagine the possibilities.


Right now I’m imagining the possibility of an Italian beef and sausage combo with sweet and hot peppers, dipped in the au jus with fresh cut fries and a Coke.

Magic time.




Word Count: 879 Post # 1197


Friday July 28, 2017

SCENE: Some years from now. At the Pearly Gates, St. Peter is flipping through a clipboard. Mike is standing there before St. Peter who is standing at an oversized podium.

St. Peter (SP): So let me get this straight. On or around 10 PM on Friday July 28th, 2017 you’re coming off turnstyles and going on your last ten minute break.

Me: That’s right.

SP: ‘Call comes on the radio. Medical attention needed. Now! (At some place at work.)

Me: That’s right.

SP: Your body goes one way but your brain wanted to go on break.

Me: You don’t have to tell me. I know. But for some reason, looking over my shoulder and seeing our EMT put his surgical gloves on, I somehow realized I better head in the direction of the call because I was two paces ahead of him.

SP: . . .so, to look good. . .

Me: I don’t know. No!!! My body went. My second thought was, “the break can wait.”

SP: (motions his head and neck, gesturing toward the pearly gates behind him and the podium where he’s standing with the clipboard) Thank, Him!

Me: I could see the froth when I got there. Our EMT was behind me. A patron was doing chest compressions. In an instant I got over my guilt (somewhat) for thinking about my break and got on my knees. “Do compressions,” the patron said regarding the victim. I looked over my shoulder at our EMT. “Do it,” he said. “Left? Right?” I asked. “The middle. There. Pump,” I think he said and immediately got down on his knees and began cutting open the victim’s tee shirt from the bottom. By that time the knowledgeable patron said to me, “I got it, I got it,” and took over. Maybe a minute? Maybe 30 to 45 seconds? I don’t know!!! A second patron near the victim’s legs asked, “Do you have a pulse?” Our EMT was beginning to ready the AED.

SP: Catch your breath.

Me: Look. I walk up. See this dude foaming. Mouth open. His tongue all weird. Later, our EMT said that the knowledgeable patron said the victim was in cardiac arrest and his heart had stopped.

SP: So you helped save a life even though in that moment of truth, the split second moment of crisis, that shit or get off the pot moment – break or help. You went. You helped.

Me: I’m going to feel guilty about that for a long time.

SP: We have the best shrinks up here. Freud. Jung. Fuhgedabowdit!

Me: Easy for you to say. By the way. Didn’t you just say the, “S” word? Saints aren’t supposed to. . .

SP: No I didn’t!

Me: Yes you did!

SP: No, I d– Hey! You’re trying to get me to deny three times again aren’t you?

Me: You got me.

SP: I said the, “S” word. Okay? Happy now?

Me: And I don’t even know if what I’m doing is right. Our EMT cuts open the shirt. He’s getting the AED ready. The second patron asks, “Pulse?” The knowledgeable patron says, “Yes. We got a pulse” and says right after that, “Oxygen.” Our EMT takes the tank, turns it on, grabs the mask and puts it over the victim’s mouth and head. Or maybe it was the knowledgeable guy? I DON’T KNOW!!! Immediately condensation is showing on the inside of the mask and a few breaths later the paramedics arrive.

SP: But you helped.

Me: I thought about my break first.

SP: You helped.

Me: It wasn’t perfect. Left side? Right side? The middle is where I did them.

SP: Still. I’d even go as far as to say that perhaps you may have helped save this guy’s life.

Me: (fingers in ears) La, la la!

SP: I’m sending you back down.

Me: Why?

SP: It’s not your time.

Me: Just like it wasn’t that guy’s time.

SP: Correct.

Me: Is it true that up here if you want Popeye’s every night, you can have it?

SP: Yes. I’m a KFC extra crispy guy myself. You know we didn’t have that shit, er stuff, back in my day. But when I found out about it from Colonel Sanders himself. . . .

Me: Didn’t you say I should go?

SP: I did. You might be able to get it right the next time. I’m kidding!!! What you did was sufficient and necessary. What was needed. At that moment. At that time.

Me: Ugh!

SP: Off you go.

In the blink of an eye Mike turns up standing at the order counter at a Popeye’s Chicken restaurant. Mike thinks to himself, “He’s the epitome of judgemental. Juuuudge. Mental.” Saint Peter’s voice comes into Mike’s head, “I heard that! It’s what I do!” Mike continues thinking. “He sure talks a lot. Nice guy, though.”

SP: I heard that, too.

Me: Sorry.

Popeye’s counter person: What’ll you have, sir.

Me: A three piece, spicy, cole slaw, fry and a Coke, please.




Post # 1196 Word Count # 871

Wednesday July 19, 2017

“Just thinking… I have been privileged in life to have met and be related to some wonderful people. Having worked for almost 40 years at the cbot I’ve come into contact with some of the finest people in my life. Integrity was a way of life. The people I’ve known outside work have that same ethic. Integrity is not something that you tell people that you have. Beware of that person who has to convince others that they are honest. That’s because they are trying to convince themselves. A person who says they stand on their integrity, stands in quicksand. There is no integrity. Integrity is something that you earn. Doing business or having a relationship with family and friends builds integrity. It is not a judgement you can make about yourself, it’s how other people view you. Yes, no one is perfect. But it takes years to build a good reputation and seconds to destroy it. We are all only as good as our word. Also, it’s not money that makes a person. Their integrity can not be bought It’s easy to do the right thing when you have money to cover your mistakes. To face that mistake and correct it, at a huge cost, is integrity. When the chips are down and character must persevere, that’s integrity. Excuse the ramble, I was just thinking.”

— a respected friend from the Grain Exchange
on June 28, 2017 on his Facebook page

In April of 1985 I set foot inside 141 Jackson Boulevard for the first time. I was 3 months away from being 23 years old. Up until that point, I had thought, “Grease” was the word. At least that was what the song told me. It turns out, in that building, integrity was based on another word and that word was, “sold.” Whenever one said it, no matter which side of the market one was on – buyer or seller – over time – I came to understand what uttering that word meant. It’s gravity. It’s weight. It’s heft.

That spoken, shouted, yelled, screamed, articulated utterance – that one word – coming from the lips of speculators, investors, fund managers, brokers, traders, hedgers and merchandisers of all kinds ensured the integrity of the bond of the sale or purchase done inside the trading areas. Truly it was when trades found their matches in the central clearinghouse when monies were exchanged nightly that the bond was fulfilled, but that one word was the catalyst in which efficient price discovery and creation thrived: the integrity of the individual behind that single spoken word.

That method of price creation, known as, “open outcry: has existed in some form or another since Amsterdam in the 17th century but floor trading and the use of hands and hand signals was the way business was done – face to face – where I worked for twenty-four of the one hundred and sixty-nine years the grain exchange has existed. People coming together daily as they did in New York, Rotterdam, Johannesburg, Toronto, Bombay, London, Budapest, etc. using their word as their bond to maintain the efficacy of transparent financial investment and commerce worldwide!


Face to face trading ceased to exist – for the most part – a few years ago giving way to perhaps what’s been called a more efficient means of transacting business: the computer. Perhaps that is when the value of the spoken word began to lose it’s important heft as well. I don’t know. What I do know is that bids and offers change in the billionth of a second on a computer and depending on whether or not you have a lightning fast WIFI, bluetooth or hard line means everything now. Reaction times different. Quicker. Scalping the market for a quarter cent profit here or there. Different. Watching the psychology of price movement on a screen rather than the volume of urgency in the voices of your colleagues and the speed with which hand-delivered orders come into the trading areas or pits. Also different than it once was. Algorhythmic computer programs overlay on top of a virtual market’s currently traded price and mandate the speed with which prices rise and fall based on computer generated buys and sells. We kind of saw this coming, didn’t we? A virtual market.

Sort of like creating a fictitious screen name and tagging posts with mean, threatening or harassing responses. Anonymity. Quantities on the bid for side and offered side changing as the prices rise and fall like blocks being knocked out of a Jenga tower. If you’re not quick enough to notice, your entire investment may be lost. So very different than the simplicity and elegance of face to face trading.

Once in the late 1980s, early 1990s, at a World Oilseed Meeting my company held in the old Ditka’s restaurant one of our customers sat puffing a cigar (we were shown how to smoke by a cigar aficionado / agent hired to show us) after a heavy meal with drinks and wine telling us in his thick accent, “When I walked on to the trading floor I expected to see men and women dressed elegantly, gesturing, slowly, (waving two fingers with pompous affectation) in the trading areas in hushed tones, ‘Sold.’ Instead, I see bunches of people, sweaty, neckties and shirt wrinkled screaming at one another. So different than what I had imagined.” We all listened to our customer finish his story and we smiled. My boss intervened and said, “Today was an exceptionally busy day.” Not only was I a fish out of water in that very instant because I was not aware of the importance of these kinds of dinners but on the other hand I had fought and lived through many heart palpitations and crowd reactions like that from my very first days as a runner. Now I was ensuring the integrity of trades (or the word) by making sure buys were matching to their sells and vice versa in the central clearinghouse system used for finalizing the monies involved for purchase and sale contracts.

I can write more about my time on LaSalle and Jackson some other time and the twenty-four years I spent there but today, “integrity” and the gravity of the spoken word were what I wanted to write about based on my trader friend’s quote from a week or two ago.

Thanks, Frank!



Word Count: 1073. Post # 1195


Saturday July 8, 2017

About fifteen to twenty years ago I was sitting around with a friend in the Edelweis Inn on Irving Park Road after a fine and filling German meal and smoking a great cigar chatting. Automobiles were the subject. Wheels or tires, more specifically. Alignment. Balancing. Etc. Now I know some things because I’ve seen some things (We are Farmers, da dadada, da da da!) but on this particular day in this particular conversation, my friend used three words that completely flummoxed me. I was what, thirty-five to forty years old at the time? Not sure I had ever heard them used before. I knew they were English words. Mysterious words. Other-worldly. I felt like I was in Catholic school again and I was hearing Sister Mary Whoever use the word, “dinner” for lunch. The awkwardness of not knowing words. Or mishearing words. Or what have you.

So I said to my friend as one sometimes does, “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Back up a minute! What were those three words you used just now again?” He actually hesitated and repeated them as he was saying them as if he were trying to remember some old saw an old prospector or some southern lawyer once had said to him long ago when he was but a lad. Hearing him do that – repeat the words – made a million things rush through my head. My own ignorance for one. Secondly, this must be some nomenclature I had never heard before. Specific to alignment and tire balancing people, I’d imagine? Used only in circles were these “people,” speak to each other in huddled corners of rooms making sure no one else hears them.

“This must be something old school that I never learned. Why wasn’t I taught this stuff?” was another thought that went through my head.

Can I ask you something? Are you like me? Do you remember – pretty much – where you were and who said it when you hear a word you never heard used before? Because the words, “ambulatory,” and “perambulate” you can pretty much glean or guess what Kevin Tighe or Randolph Mantooth means when you hear them say that on the t.v. show, “Emergency.” Or Howie Mandell on St. Elsewhere. Or McStudley on that other show. Or do you do that thing that people sometimes do when someone’s talking to you and they use a word you’ve never heard before? “Mm-hmm, uh huh, right.” Like you know exactly what it is they’re saying to you. But you actually don’t. I’ve done that. Hate to admit it. But I have.

I also do this thing, maybe you do too, where you get pretty self-satisfied when you learn a new word and use it, like, right after you’ve learned it. You actually find a way to fit it into conversation. “My, the HYDRANGEAS over there look amazing today!” “Mitigate.” “Minutiae.” Ever since learning, “index,” I’m using that all the time now instead of “turn signal.” That one’s a biggie. Makes it more important sounding. But I digress.

I could not have learned those three words my friend used in auto shop in high school – because I didn’t take auto shop in high school. I missed all the DIY shows on PBS during that time, too. If there were any shows like that on t.v. at that time. They were basic words. Simple words. I could repeat them. But for the life of me, I didn’t know what, “camber, caster and toe” meant. He said them together, in that order all together like that in a sentence. They sounded like they belonged together. Like an old vaudeville act or a law group. Like those guys in the 1970s that sang, “Fallin in Love,” Hamilton Joe Frank and Reynolds. It sounds good rolling off the tongue when you say it.

Camber, caster and toe.

Imagine my car ride home from lunch that day, repeating them over and over. And this was before smart phone Googling. I couldn’t wait to get home to the computer.

Turns out, I’m not at smart as I thought I was not knowing those words.

That day with my friend, I received a valuable lesson. My comeuppance. Something not school, not the nuns, nor my family or parents, not even those guys who built that mini-bike in the alley down the street in 1972 taught me.

I think I’ll Google those three words.


Old age does that to you.

Don’t get old.



word count: 768, post # 1194

Friday June 16, 2017

The long and the short of this blog for the last 12 years has been a thing of trying to be unique original and something that’s specifically, “me.” That having been said, however leaves a lot to be said. Not the least of which is how to separate myself from the rest of the bandwidth in cyberspace. Therefore, perhaps the time has come to put to rest the notion that I don’t think about these posts and that I just spew the BS off my brain or rather, I actually think about what I’m going to write.

In that spirit here are some blog topics that I rejected over the last few months.

1. Dear Vodka. You’re no Scotch. I know Scotch and let me tell you. . . (apologies to Chelsea Handler.)

2. My corns and how I’ll fix their wagons.

3. How I alienated those younger than me without really trying.

4. Supposively, supposably, supposedly.

5. Why I always click on those multipage Internet memes like, “90210 Fans! You’ll never guess what Shannon Doherty looks like today!”

6. Distillery etiquette and how not to act at the Jack Daniels plant.

7. Jenga, Operation and other hand/eye coordination family night board games.

8. Stiletto heels. Nice, sure, but can you run in those things?

9. Asian carp and Longhorn beetles. Why they are our friends.

10. “Roger,” “copy,” and other walkie talkie lingo.

11. Customizable overly expensive gym shoes versus Converse high tops of yesteryear.

As my father used to say, God bless him, “Thanks God,” I didn’t write about any of that!



Post #1193