The big GOP debate is tonight in Cleveland, hosted by Fox News – although, Comedy Central would be more appropriate.
I don’t know what it is – our dogs tend to tepidly pick at the luscious dry food mixed with the wet ‘gourmet’ stuff that we give them every night.
They prefer badgering us relentlessly for any pathetic little scrap that they can get…a bread rind…a tiny piece of cheese…anything that may fall on the floor…something…anything.
The panicked look on their mugs every time we sit down to eat would suggest that we starve them, but nothing could be further from the truth.
In fact, the older one has…well…I guess you could call it a ‘beer gut’, but she sure doesn’t drink beer.
Maybe she’s just ‘big-boned’.
I always seem to be firmly behind the technology curve.
In fact, until last fall, I was still walking around using a flip phone – but after a whole lotta thought, I finally ponied up for iPhones.
And I thought my old cell plan was pricey.
Even more annoying, whenever I sign on for a new plan, my carrier always seems to come up with new, labyrinthine permutations of minutes/data/texting ‘bundles’, or ‘packages’, that make the plan I just signed up for as antiquated as The Walton’s truck. It’s a constant game of catch-up.
To make matters worse, we’re trying to unload the ol’ land-line at Chalet Sandy. It’s really pretty easy…you just call the phone company and tell ‘em to shut it off.
Easier said than done.
Like so many of my generation, I’ve lived my whole life with a standard issue house phone. From the rotary dial variety (ha-ha…‘rotary dial’) to the ‘cordless’ boom in the 90’s (think Jerry Seinfeld walking around his apartment with a phone the size of a shoebox), the house phone feels ‘stable’…it feels ‘rooted’…or something like that. In other words, it’s always been there, trusted and reliable.
But I’m clearly fooling myself. We never use the house phone anymore. It sits there lonely and dejected as we sit and blabber away on our techy little iPhones, checking the internet, taking photos, sending texts, and in many ways, wasting a crap-load of time.
Yet, I’m holding out with the land-line – and financially, I can’t understand why. Emotionally, it’s another story, and I’m having a tough time bidding adieu to our old pal.
But, hey – gotta run – I have a text coming in and I need to upload a new app.
Like many, I find clowns kinda creepy.
Some people grow up wanting to be firemen, astronauts, doctors and so on, but I’m fascinated by those who aspire to clownhood (Is that a word? Of course not, I made it up). I mean, what compels individuals to suddenly wake up one day and think, “Hmm…I want to be a clown”…?
Is it fame and glory? Money? I don’t know.
True story: I was in San Diego on a business trip a few years ago. On the way back, while waiting in the over-crowded security line – there was a lone guy dressed up as clown. Seriously. Top to bottom…the nose, the hair, the shoes…everything.
And he got through.
Although, I’m pretty certain they confiscated his seltzer bottle.
After re-reading yesterday’s post I decided to give it an award..for, like, longest…Lake Effect…post…ever.
Carpal tunnel-inducing it may have been, it was a blast to write. Thanks again, Christine!
So, I was thinkin’…we live in what may well be the most ‘look at me’ culture in history. We have American Idol, So You Think You Can Dance, America’s Got Talent, The Voice, Funny Home Videos…you get the idea.
If you can sing, rap, dance, play, clog, contort your body, sing opera, tell jokes, do magic tricks, juggle chainsaws and chew gum while doing armpit farts…there’s a show somewhere for you to strut yer stuff.
And talent/variety shows are nothing new, really. Ed McMahon rolled out Star Search in the 80’s and it was a huge hit…annoying as hell, but huge.
Anyway, I think I entered a talent show one time in my life. It involved me and some other kid doing “Wipe-Out” on a snare drum on stage. You might know the song – it’s the one with the incessant drum solo. The fact that neither of us played drums all that well wasn’t about to stop us. It was my big moment…my first step towards what I was certain would be many years in showbiz doing “Wipe-Out” drum solos from here to Branson Missouri…and we went down in a blaze of apathy to a completely disinterested 4th grade class.
Apparently, I didn’t learn my lesson, because to this day, I’ve been known to perform with my band to almost empty bars, where all you can hear are crickets chirping.
Funny, how things never change.