THEY WON'T GET MY INSURANCE MONEY

As long as they promote Flo. I just learned her name today when I found the picture. I've never watched or listened to the commercial. I click through it as fast as I can when I see it. Why? I am annoyed by enough stuff without adding Flo to my list.

Remember Larry, the cable guy? Same thing. How about the Geiko lizard? Again, same thing. The Windows 7 guy, too.

First, I guess you have to understand that I can't stand commercials. I don't even like the Super Bowl ones 90% of the time.

It used to be that I could watch more than one tv show at a time when I made good use of the remote clicking at commercials. Now, there are so many commercials, and seemingly same air time requirements that I can't do that. Even sports tv timeouts seem to be orchestrated where I can't maximize my viewing anymore.

Tack on obnoxiousness in commercials and I'm lunaticical. (yeah, that's the word). And Flo is as repulsive as the Flo on Alice who kept saying "Kiss my grits". There's another that's irritating me: one of the cowboys on The Amazing Race who keeps saying, "Oh my gravy."

Now, as one who has a distaste for profanity, you would think I wouldn't mind an occasional expression or phrase such as that, but I do. It has nothing to do with the cowboys; they're one of my favorites this season. Maybe I'm just a little on edge.

I mean the way the country's being run, the economy (oh yeah, I just said that), the weather, the traffic, the 'tween sports seasons (I only watch a little of The Olympics. Since the USSR and East Germany aren't in it, it's just not quite the same. I mean who really cares if we whip up on Canada and Norway/ they're are buds aren't they?) I saw a Turkish woman skate the other day, but what we need to re-interest me is to get Iran in there. Or the al-Queidas. Then I'll watch. How about the North Koreans? The New England football team. Let Bobby Knight coach Indiana again. I mean those are some real bad guys. Put America against them and I'm glued.

With one caveat; when Flo comes on the screen, I'm gone.

WHATCHA GONNA DO?





"Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret," according to Benjamin Disraeli. If he said it, who am I to disagree.





The blunder of youth stretches to age 25 according to author James Hilton. Who further states that those 25 years finds us too young for things. The next 25 years just right. The last 25 years that make up a life announce that we are too old for things. That's a pretty short time frame that illumines a life.



So where do I begin in confessing my youthful blunders? I could entitle another blog. And fill it with lots and lots of entries. But how else do we learn? As parents, though, we want our children to have it easier than we did. We want to shelter them from some of the pitfalls we found on our own or against our parents' wishes.



Manhood a struggle? You know it. Everyday. But well worth it, too. Why? Because we learn endurance and patience. But I tend to go along more with Hilton here: it goes so fast. Much more so that the other 2 twenty-five year epochs. (I suppose the word choice epoch is a bit of a stretch in some ways.) I remember it as if it were yesterday when I pulled the curtain at a Lincoln School 6th grade Variety Show where an act sang "It's So Hard To Say Good-bye to Yesterday," and thinking how quickly those years had passed for our daughter on the brink of junior high. And that's been 17 years ago, when I, too, passed from one epoch to another.

As far as old age being a regret, well, that's right. Regretting that getting older has to be physically painful. Knee replacements, hip replacements, arthritis ( too bad there's no replacement for that), etc, et. al, ad infinity. Stiffness I use to hear about from my parents is a good old buddy now. I seem to use some of their same descriptors, too; "I'm stiff as a board," can be heard by me. Just this morning as I exited my wife's small sports car, I thought of how graceful I must have looked trying to bend knees that refuse to bend. Chester from Gunsmoke came to mind. It doesn't get a whole lot better when I have to crawl into my SUV, and it's not that big a step.

But as far as regretting youth and manhood, well I didn't exactly do it my way as Frankie sang, but had many more things I liked than what I didn't like.

I guess both Disraeli and Hilton were right. But I also think of another quote that applies to an ex-high school teacher who saw it on a daily basis. "When in high school, you can't wait to get out and grow up. When you're out of high school, you wish you could go back."

I HAD TO TAKE THE GARBAGE OUT THAT DAY

I just noticed that my title is iambic pentameter. If you don't remember, that means 5 unaccented syllables followed by 5 accented syllables. A guy named Shakespeare used it an awful lot.

But when I saw this picture, I thought of last Monday, garbage day. Actually I think last Monday was Presidents Day, so I mean no disrespect to most of our US Prezs, but Monday is the day in our 'hood when we set out the accumulation of one week's garbage for the city to pick up.

The waste management people have been coming early so I had to rush to get the refuse to the curb. (I'm planning on using the word rubbish next.) I hadn't shaved.

So what? Why do I need to shave to take out the rubbish? Well, my daily routine was messed up. I usually shave before that time. So I decided not to shave, a rarity for a usually clean cut twice a day shaver. That's not quite true. Mid-morning I ran an electric over my white/gray stubble. Like most guys with heavy beards, it didn't do much but knock a few whiskers down.

"Did you shave today?" a surprised wife of mine asked on our daily afternoon walk.

I confessed.

That night in my Bible Study Fellowship, I itched. More than twice, I recall rubbing my hand over the stubble (is there a synonym for that word) and wondered why our son and a lot of his generation don't shave twice a day. They like to shave about every three days and have the look of the model pictured.

Maybe if my beard were still dark. But my attempt to look like Brett Favre failed. Plus it hurt a lot when I shaved it off the next morning.

AND THERE WAS BASEBALL

Through modernity (read Facebook) I have reconnected with a childhood friend of mine. The last time we saw each other was 1962 or so.

We only chatted briefly but vowed to update each other about each other and where our lives have taken us. There's a lot of life in those 40 plus years. A lot of catching up to do.

But one thing that I am going to demand of him is that he is still a baseball fan. Still a member of Cardinal Nation. And if he's not, well, we may have to brawl.

Although I never remember fighting with him. Or even disagreeing with him. I don't even remember quarreling over games that we intensely played. Not even girls, though we both seemed to like the ones at his school.

We must have spent a few thousand hours together over the years before a change in his Dad's job moved him away. While I've been blessed with my share of many good/great friends over the years, well maybe your first best friend is like the first love--one you never forget. One you never quite get over.

That's one thing great about Facebook. We can look back. Together.

But when baseball season starts up in a few short weeks, Tom you better be rooting for those Cardinals. Just like the Old Days.

MAYBE FEELING A LITTLE RUSTY

I sang Friday night. In front of a crowd of nearly 90 people. I had two guys playing instruments and singing with me. They weren't as good. Let me explain.

It all started in 5th grade when I tried out for and made the Field School chorus. I thought I was a good singer. I tried and I liked to sing. But that didn't make me a good singer. Only after 6 other boys in my class were asked to sing in the school operetta did I get it. I wasn't one of the select.

In high school ( I'm skipping a choral singing at a junior high tumbling event) I took it up again. A friend and I practiced in his basement for about a week before we got our first gig at a high school party. No one ever told us we were good. No one ever asked us to entertain again.

In Korea in 1995 or so, I was selected by a tour guide to sing some karaoke for our governor. I panicked a little, unable to come up with a song. I settled on Sinatra and sang a bar. Not at a bar--this was on the bus. Kind applause followed but that was about it.

I continued to sing around the house and at church. I once sang in the choir at church. No one asked me to come back. But I wasn't discouraged. I could make a joyful noise to the Lord.

Friday night at our home owners' association party, they were in need of volunteers for entertainment. My wife turned us down telling the hostess that we didn't sing. Well, I would have, I thought.

After about 5 other singers, I volunteered. It was some song about Jamaica and I actually had people tell me I did well. Even the lead band guy complimented me in front of all those there. As we were leaving, he called me up and told me to practice because I'd get my own song next year. Whoa. And he was much younger than most of the crowd whom I suspected had fallen asleep by my number or their hearing aid batteries had gone on the fritz.

There are singers and then there are those who think they can sing. I used to be one of the latter. But now I know I'm just a late singing bloomer.

BUT THAT'S NOT FAIR



Did you know that Paul Newman was color blind? That he was unable to see those blue eyes that made women drool? Well maybe not drool, but I'm way too young to use the word swoon. What do women do when they get excited about seeing a man? Well, I'm out of my comfort zone now, so I'll stop that course of speculation.



So how do scientists know that animals (birds, too, I dunno) see only in black and white? Is it like the research on global warming? The e-mailgate? I mean when scientists can't be trusted to provide viable data, then who can we turn to?



When the top proponent for the global warming theory, Dr. Phil Jones, states that for the past 15 years there has been no global warming at all. Furthermore, he adds that the world was actually warmer during Medieval times, according to Jim Muir. So there. What many have doubted for awhile seems to be coming to fruition.

Can The Big Bang theory without God, without intelligent design be the next to fall? If one researches Dr. Del Tackett of The Truth Project or examines the scientific research conclusions of author Bill Bryson and still accepts Carl Sagan's Cosmos Theory, well then he/she must believe in the admin's 2,000 page universal Health Care Bill.

Just think about all this reality and biting criticism sparked by a picture of some beautiful birds.

THAT'S IT

Mr. Woods has apologized. It took guts. He owed an apology to his adoring fans. He gave it. He certainly seemed sincere. Well, except for the one part about Elin not creaming him. But even that was to be expected from him. He's not the first to cover up.

Obviously he owed his wife the apology, even in a public arena. But in a private setting, I'm sure he bared his soul to her. If she forgives or not, well that's a family issue not open to conjecture as I see it. That is, it's between them.

So, like Mark McGwire's recent testimony about his steroid use, maybe it wasn't what some wanted to hear. But they had the nerve to go before a media that wallows in individual failure, and they confessed and apologized. Although extremely disappointed in each, I only hope for the best for both of them. It is time to move on.

Rest assured that if I ever have to give any kind of a public apology it will be brief. "I'm sorry for what I did. It was one of the worst things that I could have done. I worship a God of second chances and ask your forgiveness as well."

That's it. No dirty details. In fact no details at all. The apology should be enough for all.

Gosh, I hope I never find myself in a position that I have to use my own advice.