Pull Up A Chair And Have A Beer, Birthdays Are Here

Well, Dear and Gentle Reader, that time of year is upon us. The nights are getting chilly, the leaves are starting their age-old journey of falling to the ground, and the evening bonfires feel cozier. Not to mention two of my best friends have birthdays coming up. These guys have been through thick and thin with ol’ Doc, and I feel that now that they are getting a little long in the tooth, maybe I should send them something special this year.

Some of the best advice that my Dad ever imparted to me was this: You don’t get to pick your family, you don’t get to choose to be born rich or poor, you don’t really get to decide where you grow up, you don’t get to pick your boss, and with a lot of things in life, you just don’t get any say in, so pick your mate and your friends well. I have always found this to be true. I’ve chosen my mate and couldn’t ask for a better one than Flannery. She will always be the love of my life. And I would like to think that I have chosen my friends with equal care.

In the film Tombstone, there is a scene, late in the film, where Wyatt Earp, Doc Holiday, Turkey Creek Jack Johnson, and Texas Jack Vermillion are recovering from their last fight with the Clanton’s. Turkey Creek Jack sees Doc Holiday go into a horrible, racking coughing spell and he asks him what the hell is he doing out here. Doc responds, “Wyatt is my friend,” “Hell Doc,” Jack sez, “I got lots of friends”. Doc looks away and sez softly, ”Well I don’t.” That is how I feel. I only have a few, I love them deeply, and I aim to keep ‘em.

So with that in mind, I need to think of an appropriate gift for these honorable Gentlemen, and it needs to be just right. These fellows couldn’t be more unalike than night and day, oil and water, shinola or the other stuff, so two of the same gift just won’t do. I get to see them rarely and I’ll have to ship anything I get them, so a case of good beer seems out of the question. Besides, they know what good beer is and there isn’t anything I could tell them about it, or a good brand that I could turn them on to, and they are probably going to get their own beer for their respective birthdays, so that rules that out.

They are getting up in years, so comic books and Playboy’s don’t really have the appeal that they once did. I could get them gift cards for someplace, but that just seems cheesy. I considered a singing telegram girl, but the cost would be prohibitive and one of them is married, and I don’t think his wife would appreciate a scantily clad crooner on their doorstep. I mean really, who needs harsh words and slammed doors on their birthday. The other lives with his folks and takes care of them, and he wouldn’t like to have his ol’ mother answer the door to find some skinny hussy doing a breathy version of Happy Birthday To You like Marilyn Monroe. So strike that idea.

I have been considering a care package. You know, a box of lots of little things they might need and enjoy, just to show I care. I need ideas as to what to include in my lil’ packages and I’m looking for suggestions. I know my blog is not the center of this wonder-tool we call the web and for the most part goes largely unread, but I’m calling on all of you that stop by to contribute a suggestion. And please don’t say “Get them some over the hill gag gifts from the mall”. That crap isn’t funny to anybody. And don’t say clothes. Wives and mothers get clothes for their men. All submissions will be considered. What was the best birthday gift that you ever got? Why?

One is mid thirties, the other is late thirties, both men. One married, one single. One with children, one without, but both are children at heart. One a football fan, the other not a sports guy. One an avid reader, the other not so much.

Please help out ol’ Doc and give me some ideas.

Thanks much,
Doc

I Took the Test

The 7 Deadly Sins Test
Your Sins are Revealed, Your Fate is Sealed
Your sin has been measured. You have committed many sins, but Sloth is the mortal sin that has done you in. Just below, discover your full sinful breakdown and learn what it is about you that codemns you to hell.

Greed:
Low
Gluttony:
Medium
Wrath:
Low
Sloth:
High
Envy:
Very Low
Lust:
Low
Pride:
Low

I would have thought that gluttony, or at least lust, would have been the one to do me in but oh no, I'm just too lazy for that. You can't imagine how helpful these online tests are in finding your own personal faults, and helping to correct them to make you the better person of tomarrow. Or maybe the day after that, sometime soon anyway. I need a beer and some sex and an over sized sub sandwich.

Doc

'Toons

Tiki Bar Trivia

Q: What Do You Call A Neighbor's Unattended Firewood Pile?

A: Fair Game.

Doc

A Very Bad Thing

A member of the Tiki bar had this done to them on their 21st birthday, only it was from head to foot, and in every color of the rainbow. He spent four hours scrubbing it off, only to have the same thing happen the next day!

Doc

The Beer Ratchet

The other night at the Tiki bar, John mentioned that he had gone to an O.S.U. football game recently and had stopped in at a bar across the street from the horseshoe and had a few beers before the game. He said that you had to buy tickets from one booth and take them to the bar to redeem them for your beer. The tickets were $3.50 each, and it took two tickets for one beer. John went to the game with his lovely daughter and her new husband, and since the outing was his treat, he felt obliged to pay. They had two beers each. He told his daughter that, whatever happens, don’t spill the beer! It was $42 for a six-pack!

After sitting there at the Tiki bar for a while and telling this story to Frank, they decided that what they really needed to invent was the beer ratchet. Much like the tie-down straps that people use to secure cargo to their truck, the beer ratchet would hold your beer in your hand and prevent you from losing it by setting it down, and also to prevent you from spilling it in a crowded bar. To my knowledge, no such item exists. I suggested, that in a pinch, duct tape would serve the purpose, seeing as how most of life’s little problems can be solved with this sticky, gray wonder-tool. Apparently, I was not alone in thinking this.
See pictures.
I don't know any of these people, I just found them on the internet.

Drink and You’ll Miss It

I read in my local paper a few days ago an article on drinking. It must have been something they picked up off the wire to round out the Your Time section of the Sunday paper. Under the banner of Your Time they included a bible quote, ”A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together. A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.” – Ecclesiastes. It makes me wonder what the folks at the local paper think we are doing with our time.
WHAT GORILLA?
Anyway, the article was wedged in at the bottom of the page, under an article about what college bound students need to take with them and a report on a study that found that sexy music triggers teen sex. The article was written by Jeannine Stein for the L.A. Times. Apparently the good folks at the University of Washington in Seattle took 46 people and gave half of them enough alcohol to bring their blood alcohol content to 0.04 percent (half the legal limit in most states and about 2 ½ beers for a 180-pound man). The researchers then showed both groups a 25-second video clip of two teams passing a ball back and forth. (I assume these are basketball teams, but the article doesn’t say). The members were asked to count how many times one team passed the ball. During the clip, a person in a gorilla suit walks through the crowd, thumps its chest and walks off.

Researchers found that out of the sober group, only 46% saw the gorilla, while only 18% of the drinkers did. “Alcohol limits our attention span and is doing something to the brain cognitively, picking up on some information at the expense of other information,” says Seema Clifasefi, a senior researcher and lead author of the study.

While I’m sure that the good folks at the U. of W. are doing good work and furthering mankind’s noble venture into the study of science and ourselves, I gotta say, Hell, I could have told ya that. I studied Law Enforcement in college and I’m here to tell you that there is often nothing worse to go on then the statement of an eyewitness, even a sober one. Granted, the study sounds worthwhile when you hear that only 18% of 23 semi drunken people saw the gorilla. (That’s four people by my math). But when you hold that up to the other half of the study, that only 46% of 23 (or ten out of 23) sober people saw the gorilla, then it just seems that the 46 people they got for their study weren’t very good at details, or were too busy counting on their fingers and toes all of the ball passing going on to notice.

Try this for an exercise: The next time you stop at a stop light and a car pulls up beside you, look the driver over. When you get to the next light, try and think about what that person looked like, as if you were going to describe them to the police. Was it a man or a Woman? What were they wearing? How old do you think they were? Were they wearing any jewelry? Tattoos? Scars? Color of their hair? How did they wear it? What about the car? Make and model? Dents or scratches? Paint color and style? Was there anything hanging from the rear-view? Bumper stickers or Parking garage sticker? Was there anyone else in the car with them? What did they look like?

It isn’t as easy as it seems. It is something that you have to work at. Like the old party game where they show you items on a tray for a short time and then take the tray away and ask the group to list as many of the items as they can, and whoever remembers the most, wins a prize.

The part of the article that sticks in my craw is the way it is presented. They want to stress how much alcohol impairs your memory and attention that they seem to gloss over the fact that the sober people didn’t do that great either. Four out of twenty-three, compared to ten out of twenty three. That means, out of forty-six people, drunk or sober, thirty-two didn’t see the damn gorilla! The article mentions that they gave one half of the group alcohol to raise their b.a.c. to 0.04 percent but no mention of how this was done. They say that this is like 2 ½ beers for a 180 lbs. Man. Well, did these folks have to beer bong their alcohol? Did they get injections? Did they eat anything first? How long after the booze was delivered did they take the test? Did the people get to choose in what kind of drink that they would like to have their alcohol delivered? Some may have been wine drinkers, others may have preferred beer, some may have been teetotalers, the article just doesn’t say. It sounds good in a small blurb of an article crammed in the Sunday paper, but when you examine it further, it just sounds like shaky science.

I am not accusing the staff of the U. of W. of bad science, but the article could have been more specific. I’m sure that Jeannine Stein is a competent reporter, she works for the L.A. Times for the love of Pete, a job that any college grad of journalism would hock a kidney for, but the piece seems a little slanted. She was probably just pressed for space, or her editor hacked up the column after she turned it in, to make room for the ad regarding the big white sale going on a J.C. Penny’s.

I guess I’ll just have to visit my local library and see if they have this month’s copy of Applied Cognitive Psychology, where the full details of the study were published.

Damn, maybe I just need a cold beer and a cigarette, to forget the fact that I didn’t see the gorilla either.

Doc

Blues

This is W.H. Auden, on the right, with Chris Isherwood on the left. Circa 1939.

Blues
(For Hedli Anderson)

Ladies and gentlemen, sitting here,
Eating and drinking and warming a chair,
Felling and thinking and drawing your breath,
Who’s sitting next to you? It may be Death.

As a high-stepping blonde with eyes of blue
In the subway, on beaches, Death looks at you;
And married or single or young or old,
You’ll become a sugar daddy and do as you’re told.

Death is a G-man. You may think yourself smart,
But he’ll send you to the hot-seat or plug you through the heart;
He may be a slow worker, but in the end
He’ll get you for the crime of being born, my friend.

Death as a doctor has first-class degrees;
The world is on his panel; he charges no fees;
He listens to your chest, says-“You’re breathing. That’s bad.
But don’t worry; we’ll soon see to that, my lad.”

Death knocks at your door selling real estate,
The value of which will not depreciate;
It’s easy, it’s convenient, it’s old world. You’ll sign,
Whatever your income, on the dotted line.

Death as a teacher is simply grand;
The dumbest pupil can understand.
He has only one subject and that is the Tomb;
But no one ever yawns or asks to leave the room.

So whether you’re standing broke in the rain,
Or playing poker or drinking champagne,
Death’s looking for you, he’s already on the way,
So look out for him to-marrow or perhaps to-day.

Written by W.H. Auden, in the book, As I Walked Out One Evening; 1976

“Life is pain, princess. Anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.”

The hero, Wesley, from the film The Princess Bride.

I realize the above poem and quote are a bit on the grim side, but I’ve had a bit of a rough week and they seemed appropriate to my mood. Labor Day Weekend has come and gone and that leaves only the fall to look forward to. Speaking of fall, I took a pretty bad one on Saturday night. The wife left her purse on the floor and I didn’t see it. With my right foot, I stepped into one strap, and with my left foot, stepped into the other. I fell face-first with all the grace of a Clydesdale trying to climb into it’s own saddle. I hurt my foot pretty bad and have hobbled around for the better part of a week. In the fall I wrenched my already hurt shoulder that I pulled a muscle in earlier in the week. So, I’m limping, my arm and shoulder hurt, and no amount of over-the-counter pain killers seem to help.

To top it all off, I caught a bad cold and have been stoned out of my mind on cold medicine. I alternate from sweats to chills and can’t seem to keep any one thought in my head for more than three minutes at a stretch. I hobble from the bedroom to the kitchen, only to forget what it was that I was getting up to get, then hobble back, only to remember that it’s time for my medicine. I think that this might be like what old-age and senility must be like.

The grass goes uncut and the laundry undone. My backyard is starting to look like a nature preserve because I don’t own a riding lawnmower, and I don’t manage the stairs to the basement very well. Even when I get a load washed and dried, the pain of folding it is awesome.

The neighborhood had a great time at the Tiki bar on Labor Day, but my life has taken a definite kick in the teeth since then. I got a new job, but I haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to be able to get to it since the wife blew the engine in her car and has been driving mine.

I’ve been watching Monty Python to try and cheer myself up during my convolescience, but even that doesn’t hard stir a chuckle. Oh well, life is pain, and anyone who tells you different is trying to sell you something.

Doc

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