RAT-A-TATTOO-EE

When I first spotted this picture, I thought the woman had tattoos all over her face. Of course, upon closer inspection I could see it was a veil with flowers imprinted.

Tattoos are huge today for some reason. I heard one heavily marked up or decorated guy say he loved art and tattoos were an art form. "So is fresco," I thought, as I tried to picture him in moist plaster bas relief.

To say I'm against tattoos would be correct, I suppose. I know anything concerning a needle that was not obligatory is not something I have any interest in. Also, I'm for the long haul. What might be in vogue now, may not be in just a few short years.

Except for a former Marine nephew of my wife, our family is devoid of tattoos as far as I know. And I don't want to sound judgmental against them, but I guess I am. Maybe it's like the old saying,"It's better to have loved a short girl than never to have loved a tall."

FESS UP. YOU KNOW WHICH ONE YOU ARE



Somewhere between a cooty (remember that board game?) and a toy duck with Sperry topsiders sits The Quackers. And you know which one you are.



Numbers 1 and 2 are in the forefront. They are the talkers. Both at the same time. Any communication going on? Self-communing I suppose. It reminds me of political arguments I used to get into with Coach Red, the Beaner, and Skorch in the Teachers' Lounge. Of course, none of us ever lost an argument or changed our point of view.



Number 3 is the listener. He may not add anything to the conversation, but she (I never have figured out how to include both male and female without sounding awkward) is taking it all in. An active listener, too. Again it reminds me of the Teachers' Lounge when I would "stir it up," as Coach Gill used to tell me. Then I'd just sit back and observe. And enjoy the show.



Number 4, in the back, is left out. He/She is trying to be included, but is invisible. It's not a snub, it's not to be hurtful, it's not even rejection: it's just being overlooked. When it comes to making small talk, I may be the worst ever. I don't like it, and it shows. In our Adult Bible Fellowship (nee Sunday School class), we have time to chat before we're seated for the lesson. All the people there are great and I enjoy them all. Just not in the situation. So I stand, sometimes like Number 4, sans coffee and donut (I've already eaten)--completely out of the loop.



So I guess I answered my question. I'm all 4. Now, which is the best, and which is the worst?

THE CLONEHEADS

"iF EVER TWO WERE ONE

THEN SURELY WE"

begins a poem I used to teach. It was also good to teach the meaning of paradox.

But what happens when two does equal one? A running joke, which I'm sure I've shared before, is the comment my wife makes that she and I share one brain. And she has it.

I don't know how two people could agree more. It's not like we try to appease the other, although I learned many years ago not to argue about things that really don't matter. That way I can stand firm on a rare issue that matters that we might differ on.

But you name it and we're usually in agreement. I don't know how two people from different backgrounds, education, work, avocations, etc. could be brought together and see things so similarly. We know what the other is thinking, we focus on the same thing at the same time, we know when each other needs some down time. It's uncanny.

And it's been that way for years. Example? Ok. I had tickets for the Dbax and Padre games on Friday and Saturday. I knew she wouldn't want to go to both games. Maybe if it were the Cardinals, or maybe just for my sake if it were the Cardinals. I was right. I feigned surprise, but I knew. Friday night's tickets went my my chiropractor because I was 15 minutes late for my appointment and he released me for playing golf. Hallelujah! Come Saturday, we dressed for the game, but decided not to go. We stayed home, watched a movie, flipped channels at commercials to watch the Dbax. No problem--great night.

Not convinced, yet? Well, it's true. And I think while it may not be unique, it's neat. Our good friends the Kruegers have a plaque on their hallway wall stating, "I'm glad I married my best friend." Me, too.

THE REPUBLIC, FOR WHICH IT STANDS

The morning is not complete without my close perusal of The Arizona Republic. It's a very good newspaper for the most part. They really have it together in their delivery service, too. I think they have missed one day in the 6 years I've been a subscriber, and even then they got me a copy before 9:30 when informed.

Their sports writers are a little too Chicago for me in their coverage, but you must understand that Chicago is sinister to me. It's a hang up I'm trying to get over. Their editiorial cartoonist is not good. He thinks he is, but only on rare occasions does he produce anything worth pondering.

The rest of the paper is quite good. Most of the feature writers down to agate masters put out a very good daily. A little--make that, too far to the left for me, (hey, if you're more liberal than the San Diego paper, then you are leftist), but I adjust, and enjoy the read.

But for today's paper, well, let me explain. Usually one of the last sections I get to read is AZ Living because it contains the daily sudoku. I rarely get to sudoku because my wife loves to, and of course, I acquiesce. On Monday's edition there's also a Super Quiz, 9 questions ranging from freshman to Ph. D. level. Today's topic; mythical places. One question on the freshman level was the biblical original birthplace and home of humanity. "What," I exclaimed. "Mythical? There's nothing in the Bible that's mythical."

On the Graduate level the question asked What is the abode of condemned souls and devils? The answer, of course, hell. Again, mythical? Is that what political correctness and secular humanism have done? Hell is not real?

As friend and fellow teacher Bill Carter used to say, "I beg to differ." If Barracade Books Inc., North America, apparently the creators of the quiz, believe there's no such thing as the Garden of Eden and Hell, then they have my sympathy. And disgust. (I know; I need to work on my feelings towards Chicago and the Super Quiz, but it's hard when my stomach has turned my breakfast upside down.)

WHEN EVEN THE BUNNY RUNS OUT

of energy. It must be the Dog Days of Summer. Not even close. Since we had 110 degree days in May, it seems like these are the Dog Days, but we have a month or so before those hit. Just about the time school starts in the West.

When I talk to relatives and friends from other climes, they either laugh or invariably tell me they couldn't live in AZ in the Summer. They couldn't stand the heat. I explain about humidity, but 110 is still 110 degrees they counter.

Strange as it seems, the day before we left for San Diego, it was 114 and hot. But when I sat on the sand of Coronado Beach at 71 degrees, I perspired. Even with a nice ocean breeze. It's hard to explain. And I have never been hotter anywhere than at an evening baseball game in July at Busch Stadium.

On the old (thankfully gone) artificial turf, the temperature used to get 140 during the day. Players would soak their feet in ice when not on the field. I remember some put lettuce or cabbage in their shoes for cooling. So the players may have been hotter in the daytime. Not me. Even when our seats were 6 rows from the field.

But the heat can and does sap. It makes people old before their time. What I mean is we usually go to sleep by 9:30 and get up at 5 or 5:30, just to get in a 1 1/2 mile walk before the temperature rises. (Actually, I used the term we quite liberally since I'm still on the DL with a bad back.)

But overall, Az's home. Even if it wears me and the Energizer down.