A BEEF TO PICK

I know--it's a bone to pick, but I also have a beef, so why not synergize the two? Did I just make another diction error?

Anyhows. (How am I ever going to get started on this entry when I keep having to explain my usage? But if some say anyways instead of anyway, then why don't they say anyhows, too?)

Our son used to coach an Upward Basketball team at our MTV home church. Our grandsons played. Two other coaches were very good friends of ours. And it's a great Christian organization that teaches fundamentals. There is also time for some talk about living the Christian life.

Certainly no beef yet. Ok. Our grandsons asked not to play in the league this year. For one reason: the league doesn't keep score.

Now it's not the only league that I've seen that doesn't keep score. It's just another that should. How do you play a competitive game and not keep score? You just know someone is. Some parent, some other kid. And even if not, the players know if they won or not. So keep the dang score.

I never played in a sanctioned or backyard game that not only did I know the score, I knew how many points or how many hits or how many tds or tackles I made. There's enough things that kids don't understand about adults, and to be honest, Christians anyhow. Let's not give them any more.

So Grant and Nathan are signed up for YMCA basketball this year. They'll miss out on a lot of good things that Upward does. But at least they'll know the score.

WHAT SARAH DOESN'T SAY

"It's not so much what he said, but what he didn't say," was the response from a SNL script from years ago when a newscaster analyzed Santa's "Ho, Ho, Ho," Christmas message. The same could be said for Sarah Palin and her hubris for her state of Alaska.

When we visited, it was Summer, obviously. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone planning a Winter trip there. It was a great time, though bearless and mooseless for us.

When we were in Skagway, it was a bright sunny day. The residents were so happy. It seems they only are blessed with 20 or so sunshiney days per year. A waitress who served us lunch was so happy that her shift was soon over so she could enjoy the weather. Not most, but everyone we met on the street that afternoon was in a terrific mood.

And I thought. How in the world can someone live there? Twenty days a year. That's not much over 5%, which means 95% of the time it's lousy. Wow!

At least lousy to me. When I see snow pictures, whether snowman building or skiing, sledding or sleigh riding, I shudder. That's how much I dislike the cold. But I know some love it and I can respect that. But who likes gray clouds to go along with the cold? A gun metal gray curtain hanging and refusing to leave.

Maybe the myopic and albino. But otherwise, someone, anyone who would enjoy Skagway, please clue me in.

SO JUST HOW DO YOU KNOW NOW?

It was so easy back then. Back in the days of bench seats in cars. There were buckets, of course, but predominately when a teen drove his first car on a date it was a borrowed one from his Dad. With bench seats.

It may just have been his car of necessity throughout his high school days. And it was easy to tell. Easy to tell if his girl liked him or not. If she did, she moved her body (well, I had to work in the picture) next to him. Her vision obstructed by his rearview mirror.

If she didn't particularly care for him, then she hugged her door, leaving a noticeable gap or space between the two. It was very defining. If she really was into the guy, then it might appear that there was one driver with two heads. All the while, he might be asking her to move closer to him.

These were days of seat belts, but they were lap belts only and not many used them. There were no laws about requiring them. If there had been, I suppose two could be strapped into one seatbelt, though I doubt that was the intent of the law.

"Why don't you scoot over here, next to me?" a whole bunch of guys must have asked. "I'm fine, thanks," was a too often response. I mean next to going steady, the body language of the girl as she rode with the guy was tantamount. It was an announcement in a small town. They were a couple.

Like American Graffiti, the place to take your huddled, cuddled girl was to the drive-in restaurant to be seen. In MTV, it was the famous Mug drive-in, with a huge marquee of a root beer mug tilted with froth spewing out. Everyone who was anyone passed by The Mug a half a dozen times on a weekend night.

The only revelation of my past high school days that I'm sharing in this entry had to do with one Summer night. One Summer night in my dry days when girls were sparse, had disappeared for "See You in September" days, or had no interest in even sharing the end of the bench seat in my Dad's Oldsmobile with me at the wheel.

A cute sophomore from the northern part of the state was visiting her grandparents who lived near me. They happened to be adults in the 'hood who liked me. So when I went to see her at their house and we drove away, she sat next to me. Off to The Mug.

I had to declare, of course. But none of my good friends, kinda good friends, people I knew were there when I drove around. Whoa. What was going on? I continued to drive the normal teen path by the park, skating rink, rec club, Broadway, South 10th by Maid Rite Drive In and back to The Mug.

No one was anywhere. I couldn't display. I couldn't roll down my window and talk and show her off.

I must have driven by 6 times before just giving up and taking her back to her grandparents'. I don't recall even having or offering a coke.

She stayed for awhile longer with our neighbors/her grandparents. We talked on the phone a few times, but we never went out again.

What was the use when there was no one to know about her? Except me.

RECYCLING, RECYCLING EVERYWHERE

I can't drink tap water. Oh, I can. But as Bartleby was wont to say, "I prefer not to."

To some that may seem silly. To others it may seem upper crust or bourgeois. For me, it's a matter of taste and digestion.

In addition to drinking bottled water, we have a reverse osmosis spout in our kitchen sink and a water softener as well. Fanatic? Possibly, but I drink a lot, though not enough water. And I'm going to be a choosy drinker.

Yes, I do recycle. Yes, I do use my turn signals. Yes, I do not smoke. Not even an occasional cigar; for the last 21 years anyhow. Yes, I observe the no-burn days we have for high pollution warnings in our fair state. And yes I brush twice a day and floss. Oh what a good boy am I.

So if I want the luxury of bottled water, pamper me if I come to visit or we eat out together. Now, if I could get bottled ice.

LEFTOVERS AND LEFT OUT

So this is the new year. Huh. Hasn't been so hot for me so far. But who wants to hear about that?

There's still a great chunk of homemade biscotti that my wife made for Christmas. It's gotten so that I can't refer to the Christmas season as the holidays. I'm really getting fed up with trying not to offend. But the biscotti. Wow.

You know if my mother, grandmothers, and wife weren't all such good cooks, I'd probably have a more svelte bod. Or I'd eat out more often and really balloon.

Why do our lousy AZ days reward us at sunset with the best skies? It's almost as if an apology is needed. Spectacular sunups and sundowns, as they used to say in the Old West, are just another great reason to live where we do. Paint brush strokes of dreamsickle orange swept across a blue chiffon sky. That was last night's.

This morning's sunrise was a red low ribbon skimming the palm tree frond tops accentuated by a deep midnight blue holding or pushing up dirty white clouds.

Maybe it's the dome. But my STL Rams looked horrible playing outside in Seattle's cold night air last eve on the Sunday Night Game of the Week. The coaching, yes the officiating, the play really stunk it up leaving the worst of taste for a season that had been such a huge step forward. What a rotten ending. Plus, my fam room tv decided not to allow volume at all. After two hours of fighting with it and calling Cox Commun. my wife and I gave up and went to watch the debacle on our non-HD bedroom tv. Poor babies. Bad portents.

That's about all I care to moan about this morning. Except I have a dentist appointment tomorrow and my cold lingers. As does our cold non-golfing weather for me.

Can 2012 get here soon enough?

I'VE COME A LONG WAY, TOO, BABY

You see, I've found a pair of flip flops. That I can wear. For years my sockless feet were exposing bare toes to the elements out of sandals that had no strap between Mr. Big and Mr. Next Big Toe. I read something about people whose second toe (index toe) exceeded the length of the big toe, or was it the ring finger exceeding the length of the index finger? But I don't remember what I read, so why did I bring it up in the first place?

At a Dillards store, the not too pushy salesman told me try on a pair of Ecco flip flops, on sale 50% off. When I informed him that I didn't like the feel of the strap cutting into that touchy, tickly place between the two aforementioned toes he said, "Trust me. These are the best flip flops in the store." Now they're my best pair of shoes, though I'm pretty partial to a pair of cushy Crocs that currently separate my feet from cold tile in our house.

I have referred to wearing flip flops in a generic sense much like those who refer to Cokes as any soft drinks, but I was never comfortable in them. And no, mine are red as in the picture. Isn't that a cool picture I lifted from one of my FarmVille friend's profile?

My flippies are jet black and I'm near no beach. If I placed mine in a heart pattern, it would be like black roses. Maybe I could place them in the snow, making a gothic photo. But as much as I like the beach and flip flops now, I don't think you'll ever catch me in bright red ones. Unless that salesman could convince me.