November 15, 2011

Latest additions to the Roderick Reed Book of Quotations…

I’m not quite ready to release the latest edition of the Roderick Reed Book of Familiar Quotations, but to those of you familiar with the work, I wanted to provide you with a sneak peek into the upcoming book.   Enjoy…

“Well, if you really want to be picky about it, the anus is on him to apologize.”  (If he did say that, the onus would be on him to apologize… a lot!)

“I just feel like my lips are tied behind my back here.”

“This food is great!  You could open up a restaurant and call it the Man Hole.  I’d eat there a lot…”

In response to a candidate whose friend just had a lung transplant… “That sucks.”

“I don’t want to spit uphill in the wind.”  (A nice combination spitting into the wind and peeing uphill)

“A bird in the hand gathers no stones.” (???)

“Tom, you are a gluten for punishment.”  (I’m a glutton for gluten!)

“I knew that from second one street.”  (That’s even quicker than Day One on Jump Street)

“A pot that’s watched never comes to those who wait.”

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November 14, 2011

Balance at the Lott household…

The Faraday Balance Technique as demonstrated at the Lott household this weekend

 For those of you not familiar with this fun trick, this is a picture of two forks pushed together, with a match wedged between the forks.   We balanced the entire unit on the side of an empty glass… yes it can be done… and then lit the match.  The fire extinguishes itself at the rim of the glass due to heat being removed by the coolness of the glass and what remains is a seemingly impossible balancing act of a burnt out match carrying two heavy forks.  Crazy!

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November 13, 2011

An Open Letter to the Occupy Movement

To my younger American countrymen living in tent cities across the nation,

On behalf of my fellow Generation X-ers, I’d like to apologize to you for making you think that you were somehow too good for or should be ashamed to take on a manual labor or entry level job.  I am sorry that you somehow feel your sense of entitlement is warranted.  I am apologizing for this because I feel somewhat responsible.

The Gen X-ers and the Baby Boomers before us will chastise you for being too lazy to take on a low paying job, for protesting and shutting down communities so that we’ll collectively pay for your college education or guarantee you some high paying job that currently doesn’t exist instead of just being happy to be flipping burgers or sacking groceries.  The problem here is that is complete hypocrisy.

You see, my generation was raised in the 1980s where the only real fear we had was turning into the cold, unfeeling grownup who works too hard.  We were told that the worst possible thing in life would be the sudden realization in your waning years that you dithered away life… you worked too hard and lost your soul.  In the end, we thought that the only way to enjoy life is to loosen up and live out your inner child’s fantasies.

By the 1990s, slackers were our heroes – people who knew that life was about having fun.  We knew that “growing up” was a one way ticket to becoming Principal Rooney from Ferris Bueller.  So we worked our way into flipping burgers and were content with not turning into our evil, lifeless parents.  Of course, it was an easy thing to do given that our evil, lifeless parents were busy working their rear ends off to afford providing us money for rent every month.

Now that we’ve become adults and have mortgages and children of our own to provide for, we’ve come to realize that we’ve steered you wrong.  It’s OK to take on menial, entry level jobs because there’s not much money to be made in wearing checkered Vans and quoting lines from Clerks.  We’ve learned our lesson.  But those fast food and janitorial jobs stayed locked in the back of our minds, driving us onto bigger and better things.  And I tell my kids that all the time… don’t be ashamed to pick up a broom or to wait tables.  And just because you’ll grow up and get a great college education and still can’t find that elusive job in your field of study, that doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t start off flipping burgers to survive.

You should know that those “fat-cats” of Wallstreet will continue to make millions regardless of how long you crap in a hole dug in a field next to your tent community.  But also understand that you’re making a fundamental mistake.  You’re making a spectacle that’s good for entertainment purposes only.  You seem to think that by crowding thousands of young people in a street blocking businesses, painting placards calling for Wallstreet to be burned, creating environments full of beatings, rapings and disease – you think this accentuates your cause, when it only shows the banality of it.  Your protests only make the decline of our civilization that much louder.

It may seem right now that you’ll never get your way.  But that’s called life… and capitalism.  Not everyone will make millions.  Not everyone is able to make millions.  It’s called equality of opportunity… not equality of results. 

That’s what you are failing to grasp.  Yes, it may be partially the older generation’s fault that you’re choosing to live in tents and grow bacteria in your armpits.  But now it’s time to look in the smart part of your brain and realize that the folks on Wallstreet…and your parents – are not out to get you.  It’s just called life.  It’s time to close the curtain on the buttcrack of your version of progress… no one wants to see that.

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November 6, 2011

The death of my co-ed softball career

When the wifey-poo and I decided to uproot the family and move to Chicago, we thought we did a good job of considering all the long term ramifications.   We considered the weight of moving away from friends and family to settle into a foreign land, littered with Obama bumper stickers and University of Illinois flags hanging off roof eaves.   We had many a night sweating the impact on our kids, leaving Texas familiarity to be replaced with strangers and schools with no air conditioning.   Still, we decided it was a great long term opportunity worth that leap of faith.   Hindsight being what it is, I can now tell you that what we failed to calculate into our decision was the difference in the world of sports in Chicago.

Don’t get me wrong – this is a great sports town.   Lots of history and tradition.   We’ve got the Bulls, Bears, Blackhawks, Cubs and Sox.   However, we soon discovered that unless you operate at the professional sporting level, opportunity for the amateur athlete is severely lacking.

It took us a year and a half to find a softball league that didn’t use either a large red rubber ball or a 16 inch behemoth called a “mush ball.”   Folks up here play this so called “mush ball” with no gloves.   It should also be pointed out that this “mush ball” is about as mushy as an asteroid.   We opted out of that fun.

When we finally found a “regular” league that would take us, my wife and I hopped in the car to start our new co-ed career.   I must admit I hadn’t been that nervous since driving to a colon scope.   But the team we were playing with was nice enough.   Good solid Midwesterners.   Salt of the earth people.   I could tell right away that they were a top-notch team.   I remember thinking, “What a classy team… I bet they step out of the shower to pee.”   And when I saw the other team, I realized we weren’t in Kansas anymore.   They had a pitcher that was the spitting image of the James Bond Super Villain, Jaws.

They were good.   Their infield executed better than a Texas prison at midnight.   Their batters were stronger than a garlic milkshake and they ran faster than sheep in Oklahoma.   I was looking hard for a weakness but the only thing I could pick up on was that the RT fielder was slightly cross-eyed and their catcher had a minor hair lip and smelled like a bucket of old catfish.   We had as much a chance of winning as Hillary Clinton had to win a best legs contest.

Suffice it to say, the game was nasty.   Our manager, in his infinite wisdom, put all girls in the infield – not that women can’t play infield… but these women couldn’t.   The other team came through our defense like an extra dose of Ex-lax through a ninety year old lady.

When we came to bat, I learned that in this crazy Yankee league, there’s no limit to the height at which the other team can pitch to the men.   Watching Jaws toss the ball 40 feet straight up in the air only to have it drop perfectly behind the plate time and time again was, to say the least, intimidating.   Each guy batter struck out and we were soon melting down faster than a Japanese nuclear power plant.   But because I have a hideously bloated ego, I was certain I’d get a hit… somewhat certain.

I stepped up to the plate looking like a nervous baby bird sitting in traffic.   And when that freak of a human being pitched that ball, I cocked my neck back as far as I could just to try to keep my eye on it.   I swung so hard, a fart shot out of me with such force it made me look like I pulled the ejection cord on an F-14, shooting me halfway into the infield towards the pitcher.   Ignobly repeating this humiliation two more times, I lowered my head and scampered back to the dugout.   My new teammates tried to encourage me, telling me that Jaws is just a really good pitcher.   Emasculated to the point of sounding like Adam Lambert on female hormones, I’m sure I mumbled some reply back.

Thus went my great Illinois softball experiment.   Duly chastened, I have learned that with the decision to move to Illinois came unexpected consequences… like a strange, alternate softball universe.

It’s just so strange, I don’t think I can adapt.   So I’ve made a decision to hang up the cleats.   Like all things in life, not everything is going to be rainbows and ponies.   Sometimes, when you take a dump in your mess kit, you have to go to bed hungry.   And my softball kitchen has been shut down by the health inspector… at least until I’m eligible for the Senior Tour.

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November 5, 2011

Hello world…

Hello world.  It’s been a long time since I’ve last sat down and blogged.  I’d like to say that life has been keeping me so incredibly busy over the last seven months – and it has – but truth be told, I’ve just been lazy.  Of course, there’s been so much to write about… the war, the election, Kim Kardashian, my kids, Occupy fill-in-the-random-city movement, etc.  In the deep recesses of my skull, I kept feeling the siren song to write, I just didn’t.  I can’t, in good conscience, claim writer’s block.  After all, writing is easy.  All you do is stare at the computer until drops of blood form on your forehead and then the words come.  The difficult part is unscrambling them.

But now, like any good virus, all these thoughts have started to back up in my mental stomach and have reached a point of no return.  It’s time to regurgitate my thoughts onto the page again.  Sorry.  That was a bit visceral. 

So here we go again.  Over the last seven months… 

  • The “snow of reason” has started to fall on the nation and we seem to be on the verge of waking up from Obama’s spell of poppy socialism.  Lord willing and the creek don’t rise and we should have a new President in November, 2012.  I just hope that this weather holds.
  • My son had a birthday party in the spring and I had an epiphany as to why parents eat their young.  There I was, sitting at home cleaning the house so visiting parents wouldn’t think we lived in squalor, and all of the sudden the house was invaded with a dozen screaming banshees.  It was as if a clown car pulled up in the driveway and dropped off 14 screaming, drunk midgets.
  • We went on a great vacation this summer to Colorado.  Love that state.  Get rid of the people and that place would be nirvana.
  • Did a lot of fishing over the summer.  Here’s the family tally at the close of our annual summer fishing contest. 
    • Will – 63 fish
    • Lauren – 58 fish
    • Me – 46 fish
    • Aunt Jen – 2
    • Kerstyn – “Heck no I’m not touching that fish!”
  • I ended up surviving my first full year of employment at my new job in Chicago.  Fingers and toes crossed I survive year two.
  • The greatest sports story ever told came and went on June 13 as the Little Dallas Mavericks won the NBA Finals for the first time against the hated and feared Miami Heat.
  • I had to go on a diet for the first time in my life.  With the added stress of a new job and a new city, I was eating everything in sight.  I was going to Hooters for the food! 
  • Hispanic Heritage month came and went – That time of year when we honor those who pack too many people into a minivan and let their kids run wild at The Dollar Store.
  • The second greatest sports story ever told came and went just before Halloween as the Little Texas Rangers lost the World Series for the second straight time against the now hated St. Louis Cardinals.
  • And this just in… the Cowboys stink.  It’s a good thing I can’t get all the games here in Chicago.  The last game I watched, Tony Romo threw 3 interceptions and then came to the sidelines, took off his helmet and threw it… which was immediately picked off and returned for a touchdown.  I’m buying a Bears hat soon.

That’s life in a nutshell up here.  We’re as happy as a pig laying in the sunshine.

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March 31, 2011

The Obama Doctrine? Can I get some help here?

Admittedly, I didn’t see President Obama’s speech on Libya.  So like any good American, I went to Starbucks… and ordered a venti drip with room for extra crème, sat down, plugged in and Googled the speech.  Here’s what I found out. 

One, he is doing the right thing.  Not going about it the right way and probably could have saved some lives by doing this sooner, but he’s doing what’s right.  Good for him and good for the Libyan people.  And good for America.  We’re not taking the easy way out, and instead we’re putting our best on the line for other’s freedom.

Two, he doesn’t have a clue as to when we can get out of there.  I was in the military and I know that, despite best laid plans, war is fluid and doesn’t follow the Timex.  My liberal friends didn’t have that same latitude nor understanding for President GW Bush when the war in Iraq and Afghanistan rolled around.  For some unclear reason though, they seem to be fine with Obama’s open ended military actions… just not President Bush’s.

Three, he said that occasionally we have to step in and join or lead humanitarian efforts like Libya.  (Funny that he didn’t feel the same when campaigning in 2008.)  Which naturally begets the question – how do we, as a nation, determine what humanitarian efforts are worth risking the best our nation has to offer in support of democracy or protecting the lives of citizens of other nations? 

Why didn’t we decide to intervene in Somalia  which the United Nations has declared “the world’s worst humanitarian crisis”?  Or what about the Darfur region in Sudan?  The Ivory Coast is also an awful place to be these days with over half a million people displaced due to civil war.  Then there’s an argument to be made for intervening in Syria, Bahrain, Iran, and even in our own side of the globe in Columbia – where paramilitary groups randomly attack and kill civilians while kidnapping and assassinating at random in a drug fueled war that has displaced over 3 million people?

What criteria does the President use to make these types of decisions? 

Because Obama didn’t get out in front of this situation in Libya, it gave the appearance that he doesn’t have a good grasp on when to go in to offer assistance. 

We need some clear leadership on this.  We need a national doctrine on when and why the United States will provide military intervention.  Way back when, President Teddy Roosevelt gave us just that.  He established and clearly articulated the Roosevelt Corollary, which told the world at what point the United States would use military force to support the peoples or governments throughout the Western Hemisphere. 

While I’m a big believer that our nation’s brightest days are actually ahead of us, I have to say it’s a shame that it could be a sign of our nation’s demise that we’ve elected a President that’s so void of leadership.

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March 30, 2011

Obama and me… catching up with the world

Life has kept me so incredibly busy as of late, I haven’t had a moment to sit down and read the news lately.  Of course, I did know of the tragic earthquake and tsunami in Japan.  I also was peripherally aware of the revolt in Libya and surrounding Middle Eastern nations.  So last week, when my family cornered me in the kitchen to demand I take a vacation, I readily agreed – secretly knowing it’d be a good time to get caught up on all that’s going on in the world.

This morning I was reading that President Obama made a speech earlier in the week (finally) acknowledging that Qaddafi needs to be ousted.  That’s great.  But it immediately raised a few questions in my mind…

Why did it take the President so long to say this?  Where was he?  I recall back on 9/11, the democrats, the media and super minds like Katie Couric and Michael Moore questioning why then President Bush took an agonizingly long seven minutes before jumping into action.

Strange that President Obama took a little longer to react.  Wasn’t he on vacation playing golf in his “home” state of Hawaii?  OK.  No problem.  Hawaii has phones, television cameras, speech writers, etc.  Surely he’d take a break at the turn and send a strongly worded statement to the world, assuring everyone that the United States isn’t asleep at the wheel and our leader understands that we must lead…  No?  Nothing? 

OK, well, what about after his vacation?  When he’s back at the helm?  

Well, evidently not until Monday did the President give the world his view on the deteriorating situation in Libya.  72 hours versus 7 minutes.  Strange we haven’t seen anything much in the media on that…

The other question that popped up in my mind was the fact that folks in Congress are calling for the President’s impeachment.  That in and of itself isn’t surprising.  Seems like some crazy Congressman is always calling for impeachment.  It’s the modern form of dueling.  Who is calling for his impeachment is what’s surprising.  The far left?  Dennis Kuchinich and Ralph Nader?  Really?

Evidently they’re among a group of Congressmen and women upset that Obama didn’t follow the Constitution and failed to consult Congress before attacking Libya.

I don’t get this.  Under normal circumstances, the left wing of Congress gets upset if the President doesn’t ask for permission from the international community before taking any action.  Which Obama did.  Again, if my memory serves me, after 9/11 President Bush did consult Congress, got their blessing and then attacked Iraq and Afghanistan.  And the left blasted him for not consulting the United Nations first!

Yet another example that, for a Republican, you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.  So you might as well follow your values and… come hell or high water, you did what you thought was right.  That’s why the American people still love Reagan so much.  This confounds the liberal left to no end because they can’t understand why the nation idolizes guys like Reagan and GW Bush.  At the risk of oversimplification, the reason the libs can’t understand this is because they don’t have much of a value system to follow.  Reagan and Bush followed their values regardless of what the popular crowd thought.  This is truly American.  It’s the idea of going against the grain for what is right.  It’s the idea that you stick up for the 90 lb weakling before waiting to see if the high school wrestling team will join you first.  

On a side note, when Obama ends up going to consult the United Nations or NATO over Congress, by default he’s saying that the UN or NATO has sovereignty over the US government.  That he’s more concerned about what NATO thinks before he checks with his fellow countrymen.  The international community’s opinion is what’s most important to him.  By his actions, he’s showing that he feels that this country isn’t the solution to the world’s ills.  The world community is the solution.  The problem with that is that the last time I checked, the world rarely comes to the rescue of it’s citizens.  It’s usually relying on us.

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February 26, 2011

Not so friendly skies

Work took me out of town last week.  I had to run the gauntlet that is known as Midway Airport.  Let me tell you something.  Hear me well.  There is no other place in the world where you can observe human behavior de-evolve faster than on an airplane.  Scientists have secretly been studying humans on airplanes for years, trying to understand the many factors that cause all people to instantly lose all societal inhibitions that make this world manageable. 

Specifically, what is it about an airplane that makes people think they can start farting at will the moment that the door locks shut?  I mean it’s not as if we can just reach over and roll down the window!  We’re all trapped in that can together… literally and figuratively.

I’m not 100% convinced that hell itself won’t just be a huge airplane where you have to sit on the tarmac with the air turned off while everyone around you churns out tummy butter.  Foul, noxious tummy butter.

And if you’re like me, you usually have to make your travel plans at the last moment.  So you get stuck with the seat next to the lavatory.  This time around I sat next to a lovely elderly couple who smelled like poligrip and egg salad in between the gassy trumpet blasts.

Yes, I know I sound like a whiney old man myself, but in the spirit of improving the world for my fellow man, I have some suggestions for the airlines that they’d do well by if they implemented them.

For starters, lace all the airline food with Beano.  Second, screen all flyers who’ve eaten broccoli in the last 48 hours – surely those body scan thingies can pick up on some decomposing bowel broccoli.  Third, have the flight attendants provide all passengers with Vicks Vapor Rub to dab under their noses along with their complimentary drinks.  And finally, have those darn oxygen masks drop not just upon loss of cabin pressure, but upon an increase of cabin pressure.

Making the world a better place… it’s what I do.

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February 25, 2011

Who’d have thunk?

No one really knows for sure what goes on in the human brain.  It’s a mystery that’s more profound than all the infinite mysteries of space.  It goes without saying that, at this point I feel obligated to throw in a couple obvious jokes about some people having more space in their brains than others and that some people’s brains are a little less mysterious than others. 

Yet last week, I found myself discussing the subtleties and intricacies that run through my brain with my wife – and I was pleasantly pleased with successfully being able to track my thought process.  It’s like discovering a part of yourself that you never noticed before (insert your own pithy comment here).  Nonetheless, it was a surprisingly satisfying exercise.  Allow me to share with you my brain… Curtain please…

Saturday morning I woke up around 9:30 and sauntered downstairs for my morning cup of coffee.  And even before I had taken a sip of java, I had thought up an entirely new set of stories that Dr. Seuss could have written.  Let me explain.

I poured the coffee.  Opened the fridge and grabbed some creamer.  The only way I found the creamer was because it was in a large, bright red carton standing obstinately in front of the milk.  Rather than move it aside in favor of the milk, I went for the first thing I could grab that wasn’t cheese or beef and still came from a cow (it was early and I’m a male).  As I moved the carton closer to my cup of coffee, out of the corner of my eye, I briefly caught the name of the creamer.  “Horizon’s.”  My brain naturally went to Horton Hears a Who! by Dr. Seuss. 

Simultaneously my brain was processing an alternative universe whereby Naperville, IL native Sean Payton (Super Bowl winning coach of the New Orleans Saints) had been given the Dallas Cowboys head coaching job instead of Wade Phillips.  At this point I should stop to inform you that I always wake up thinking about ways to improve my hapless Cowboys.  It’s a sickness, I know. 

At the precise moment the aroma of the coffee wafted up through my substantial nose and hit my brain, the independent thoughts of Horton and Sean Payton intersected.  The coffee catalyst caused an immediate chain reaction cycle I refer to as de-fogification.  This reaction, like particles traveling at supersonic speeds in a semiconductor, caused these two thoughts to smash together, thus spawning the idea of Dr. Seuss having been born and raised in the French Quarter.  All of the sudden, Horton Hears a Who! became Horton Hears a Who Dat!  One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish became One Drink Two Drink Red Light Blue Light. Fox in Sox became Fox in Stockings.

And like any good brain would remind us, as we all know, Dr. Seuss’ real name was Theo Geisel.  Not to be confused with the world renowned German physicist Theo Geisel, leading researcher in nonlinear thought process phenomena in the human mind. 

See how it all comes together with a good cup of coffee??

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February 19, 2011

A Southerner discovers the Pothole

Old Man Winter came and went like a fat, sweaty, overbearing house guest and left a stench in the bathroom that can only be described as the bane of my existence this week…

When we first moved up north last summer, my bride and I noticed an unusual and concerning condition that our cars started to exhibit.  At first, I chalked this up to my truck feeling a bit out of place among all the tiny hybrids and foreign cars.  In protest, every 100 feet or so, my truck would sound out a loud “thud” and shudder.  I was just about to take my old friend into the mechanic when my wife and I saw them…

Getting out of the truck and scanning the road ahead, we discovered these massive holes in the pavement! 

After several inquiries, we were told by the local tribesmen that these unusual creatures are referred to as “potholes.”  I’m still unsure of the etymology behind the word “pothole” because many are most definitely larger than any pot I’ve ever seen.  And a “hole” isn’t exactly the proper description of their shape… more like a canyon or a chasm or Rosie O’Donnell’s mouth.  The only origination of their name that I can come up with is that someone would have to be high on pot to think that they could avoid them.

Having grown up in a large city in the dry, warm south, I was unknowingly pampered with smooth, flat concrete as far as the eye could see.  The only time my truck made a groan or thud would be when the sportscaster gave the score to the Cowboys game or when I’d hit the occasional cat.  So when we first arrived up here, we were flabbergasted by these strange road conditions. 

Immediately I jumped up on my high political horse and began to preach to my children that this is a striking life lesson on how a conservative government in the south was better equipped to provide for their citizenry by offering a minimal number of entitlement programs, thus allowing the government to focus on providing better infrastructure for the taxpayer.  Whereas a more liberal government up north couldn’t afford to provide basic services such as safe roads for their citizens, because of all the government sponsored handouts.  Learn well children… learn well.

Then the winter came. 

And the snow plows arrived to scrape the streets.  Again, and again, and again, and again… for months and months.

After the snow began to melt away, I was humbled.  Evidently the potholes had nothing to do with Big Brother’s ineffectiveness.  Mother Nature turned out to be the culprit.

Duly chastened, I’ve informed my children that it’s possible that a liberal, northern government may indeed be somewhat, in a manner of speaking, tenuously effective in handling winter conditions… and that these strange holes in the road that make my truck whimper in pain and jostle our internal organs like a lottery ball machine may indeed result from the eternal battle to make my winter commute manageable. 

So in the spirit of spring, I’ve decided not to waste myself in cantankerousness, nor bark against the bad, but instead to chant the beauty of the good.

While my gut tells me that my truck is still the safest thing on the road; and that old lady drivers, teenage girls putting on makeup and businessmen texting while shooting down the road worries me… now I can at least add some excitement during the work commute… avoiding potholes like I’m Jeff Gordon dodging cars at Indy.

God bless the pothole.

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