LOYALISTS BACK THE PACK

I played golf once with a Viking fan who quit his job at a bank because he refused to dress in green and yellow on Friday in honor of the Packers. But you know what? I bet his boss was glad to get rid of a malcontent like that.

Unless you've been around them, you have no idea what a Packer fan is like. Much like St. Louis Cardinal fans, their supporters hail from several surrounding states. Their houses boast a display somewhere of their loyalties.

My sister-in-law, a Wisconsin denizen for decades now, is a nurse and maker of dolls. For Christmas this year, she's making dolls for the nieces. And for the nephews--you guessed it Green Bay Packer Build- a- Bear(s). I guess it will be ok for a couple of Packer bears in a Rams house, but I'm not totally sold on it for my grandsons.

But I've been around Green Bay fans. I appreciate their loyalty and devotion. Their enthusiasm and their support. Their tradition and their pride.

But I don't have to like them. Go Rams!!

THE BEST TWO LIPS

are two lips in the dark, according to my wife. I think it was the end to a little ditty that went "Tulips in the sunlight,
Tulips in the park,
But the best two lips
Are two lips in the dark."

It would be tough to be young and in love in the city. Where you had to use mass transit to get around. Where you couldn't be alone. Where little privacy was available for any kind of intimacy.

I guess timing is of the essence.

And a few subway tokens.

GALOSHES

This entry won't be another about connotation or denotation or etomology or onamastics or derivation of word meanings or origins, will it? When I spotted this picture, it made me think of rain, obviously, and umbrellas, and slickers that we used to have to wear as patrol boys.

Somehow, even as a younster I managed to escape the house, most of the time, without being saddled with raingear. I didn't like rain, but so what if I got wet?

But not when it was snow. Galoshes. Man, I hated them. It took forever to get all the buckles bucked (ok, fastened). And they were so ugly. And they were so heavy. And as soon as you got to where you were going, you couldn't just slip them off. Unbuckle. It took just as long.

Of course, when you left again, the process started over. Did I say how ugly they were? And the word itself is ugly. Like gulosh. And that's not so good either.

I'm not sure they really functioned all that well. But then again as a rebel, I probably walked through the slushiest slush just to prove they were not very serviceable.

At least I never had to carry an umbrella when I was a kid. I was in high school before I appreciated the umbrella. Even then I didn't carry one. I just looked for a girl with one and walked to class with her.

WHAT COULD BE SCARIER

than the Wicked Witch of the West? I mean that voice. I mean flying monkeys. I mean some pinched face old woman trying to take away your dog. Margaret Hamilton was a classic anti-heroine. She certainly looked the part.

And so did my third grade teacher, Mrs. Carpenter. Since this is my 405 th blog entry (wasn't that the number for MASH?) and since I just celebrated my 40th high school class reunion, it's likely that you've heard this story before.

"He's not working up to his capabilities," she told my parents at Open House. Now, every teacher knows that all you do Open House Night is smile and say good things about even the most despicable student. If there's a real problem suggest a parent-teacher meeting. Not my teacher. And I was really not a problem student.

She told a friend of mine, third grader Blaine, that he was stupid when he pronounced the s in island. She told me I could give more wrong answers to questions than anybody she had ever seen. And to top it all off, she looked like the Wicked Witch of the West.

I'm so glad I didn't discover that until years later. I'm sure I would have told another student in my class and it would get back to her that I was the culprit. Some guys just can't catch a break. I'm sure there were some third grade teachers who were like Glenda,the Good Witch, but they didn't teach at Field School back in 1956.

SURF CITY, HERE WE COME

I love the Woodies. What a great beach car. They had a mini-revival a few years back, but kinda like the P.T. Cruiser, not a lot of success.

But I have an idea. Willy Loman might call it a one million dollar idea. How about an anniversary revival of the '57 Chevy? If that wasn't the greatest design, it was one of the best. Pattern it after the Thunderbird re-make and voila! you have a merchandising hit.

I saw a beauty, a black '57 original in the Minneapolis Airport this summer. For the first time in my life, I was tempted to call the seller. It didn't have the big sticker price the Barrett-Jackson ones have either. But I really couldn't see me tooling around in it on Arizona streets.

I never had a '57, but my friend Seig did. He called it the Mellow Yellow because of its canary color. It was pretty neat, but he only had four starts in it a day, I believe. I actually thought the black was the best looking, though.

Another friend of mine, Bobby, drove his dad's '58, but that was no classic design at all. I learned to drive in the snow in that car though as we we did donuts and full slides in the Shopping Mall on South 10th where the new post office is now.

If Chevrolet takes on my idea with a 50th anniversary car, they better get busy. And all I'd want for the idea is one of the reproductions. In black.