WILD HAS SHADES OF MEANING

From the wild ones to wild hair to wild child. But wild style made me think about the 70's and now. I also thought about what kind of poster I might want to display if I were going to college. It's all this high school reunion stuff.

Also, the Arizona Republic (one of the best daily newspapers in the land) had an article yesterday about style, focusing on clothing styles for the 50's. Age, not decade.

Anyway(s) that was the genesis for this blog. As I return to my first observation--styles of the 70's and now.

When we were wearing the goofy platform shoes, shirts with pictures splashed on them front/back/sides, we just knew that in a few years we were going to laugh at them. At least a few of the more astute stylers.

Same with now. When we look back at the bed head hairstyles, the baseball cap worn backwards, or tilted sideways on our noggins, which used to indicate a person who indeed was goofy, the cell phones stuck to our ear while muttering "where you at?"--well, you can see where this is going.

Styling was the term that used to mean that someone looked cool or hip or copesetic or dolled up or got your Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes on. Now style and fashion are no longer the same.

THE BURROWING OWLS

If you're not in a Fantasy Football League, you should be. Otherwise, the NFL season can be extremely long.

When you're in a league, every game means something. When scores and stats are given, you sit up and take note. If you only follow your favorite team, you're left with a whole bunch of meaningless games and statistics.

Millions upon millions play. Some leagues play for big, big bucks. But you can be competitive and have just as much fun with a low budget league such as ours. We pay $20 per year and half of that is to cover the stats and have our website. And we are very competitive.

Just try to pick up a reserve who has a big week. When you check, he's already on another team. A promising rookie? Forget it. We have a rookie draft based on the order of picks in the NFL draft in the Spring. For instance, last year I got 4th, which netted me Mike Bell. Reggie Bush, Joseph Addai, and Vernon Davis went to the three guys that outpicked me in the Spring draft by selecting more NFL draftees in the precise order.

The rest of the rules are pretty standard though we tweak them somewhat. One qb, 2 rbs, 3 wrs, 1 te, 1 kicker, 1 defense, 1 owner's choice. One example of a tweak is that we emphasis a tight end by allowing 1 point per catch as well as receiving yards and tds.

So if you're just wading into fantasy waters this season, feel free to cheer for my Burrowing Owls and Matt Hasselbeck, Steve McNair, Warrick Dunn, Willie Parker, Torry Holt, Keyshawn Johnson, Derrick Mason, Dallas Clark, Jay Feely, and the Eagles.

TWO FROM THE CLASS OF '66

I walked into the Carl Sweinferth Building at the Mitchell Museum for our Friday night get-reacquainted-remember me?-Part I of our 40th MtV High School class reunion and ran smack into these two from my grade school years at Field/Hall School.

Not really, but when I walked in, I thought where's my class? This must the 50th reunion of Mike Davidson and Lee Myers' class of 1956. Nope. I was right the first time. Where did all the old timers come from? Did not seeing me for so many years age them dramatically? Naugh, I can't be blamed for that.

So why do people go to class reunions anyway(s)? Is it to recapture a past? Reinvent a time now lost? Show off their title, spouse, job, hair, waistline? Bask in past glory? Touch base with those they've ignored for 10 years?

Gossip? Gloat? Grovel?
Reflect? Reject? Reminisce?

Self-evaluate? Compare? Examine? Share? Belong?

I suspect maybe a little of many, a little of a lot, a little of all.

But I think the main reason is to savor. And celebrate that. And set aside that time, make it significant. Mark it, recognize its importance. Commemorate. Savor what was, what never was, what might have been.

It was, as always, a good reunion. Go to yours: everyone needs a little savoring now and then.



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THE FIRST COLD OF THE SEASON

Why is it that when I have a head cold, everyone knows? I snort, I snuff, I sneeze louder than almost anybody, I lose my voice, I hack. Not everybody acts that way. Shoot, my wife is cute with a cold. She may have all the symptoms, but she doesn't show thm to the world. Just a little gruffer voice.

I've noticed that with others, too. They say they
feel terrible, but you wouldn't know it by their actions. Some even carry a kleenex but just dab at their noses. I need a box. And then that's often not enough as my nose decides to trickle down to my neck. And that's going through a multi-colored moustache, soul patch, and goatee.

I have a theory. Maybe those who wear their colds for all to see, rarely have headaches. At least I almost never do. I've had fewer than 30 in my whole life. Now that's got to be close to the record. I know people that have them almost daily, and I'm not talking about the unfortunates with migraines. I simply don't get them. When I do, one aspirin always takes care of it.

Colds--now that's another story. On a good year I have two bad colds. On a bad year, maybe six. And if you're in the vicinity, you'll know it.

THE TIME

That's right. The rain comes down on Summer. The rain beads up on lily pads. Or are they tears? Tears for the traditional end of Summer and the beginning of Fall and Back to School. Oh, I know, school's already underway in the Midwest, but for the most part, in the rest of the civilized world, it starts, or should start today.

And that's sad. Oh, Fall is great. October nearly everywhere is a beautiful month. But someone else is in control now. Once school starts. And time walks, crawls, completely stops in some classrooms as eyes look to the clock in disbelief. After ten minutes of class, you still have 35 more to go. Shouldn't it be the other way around? Nope. Not in that one class that wrecks your school year and GPA.

But you know what? It's that way on the other side of the desk, too. There's that one class, maybe even that one student that wrecks your day. And that was always the beauty of the block schedule. You only saw that class every other day. Sure it was for twice the amount of time, but it was worth the break.

So no more running through Summer fields and parks and backs of empty lots and cemeteries. No more endless days at the beach and ballparks (observing, of course, because no one actually plays baseball or basketball anymore as the fields and courts remain dormant in the Summer.) No more hanging out with friends until late, late hours. No more being dropped off at the golf course and playing all day with a break to swim for awhile. No more late, late sleeping. At least for 5 days a week. No more family vacations. No more picnics or reunions or get togethers over food and drink.

All because Summer ended with a thud. And all control was lost.

THE DOG AND PONY SHOW

It's not often a guy hits three home runs in a game. It happened twice yesterday by the two MVP candidates in the NL: Mr. Albert Pujols and Ryan Howard. Oh, I have respect for Howard, but he has to earn the Mr. title from me over a period of time. Say one and half more weeks. I saw him in the Arizona Fall League and told a friend who drafted him in Rotisserie Baseball that he had a stud. Also, he's from St. Lou. How did he not sign with the Cardinals? Oh well. They missed another local boy back in '66--me.

By that's not what I was blogging about today. It was all about Build a Bear. Our grandkids love them, and our youngest was falling way behind in his number of bears. In fact, he only had one. Until yesterday.

Before the Cardinal game we lined up in one of the long lines. You see, at the New Busch Stadium. they have a ton of other things to do than watch the Cardinals. At one place near our seats they had a open area bar where fans sat sround and were watching tennis. On two screens. While the game was going on. While Albert was mashing Pirate offerings.

The worker told us that we would get to our seats by gametime. As we got there, they were playing the national anthem. How'd she know? But Nathan got a heckuva bear. Catcher Bear, he dubbed him, and outfitted him in glove, ball, bat, cleats, Cardinals uni complete with belt, and of course a Cardinal hat. He slept with my wife and me last night in our kingsize bed. Nathan was there, too. Only once did Catcher Bear stick me in the back with his left cleat. I put him back in his complete uniform this morning.

As Mike Shannon, my all-time favorite announcer says."Just fun at the old ballpark."