Friday, December 31, 2004

The answer is: d

Stomps With Foot forwarded this to me. I didn't write this, God bless whomever did, but it is too good not to share with everyone. As you read it, it will hit you. What an eye opener:


Please pause a moment, reflect back, and take the following multiple choice test. The events are actual cuts from past history. They actually happened!

Do you remember?
-1968 Bobby Kennedy was shot and killed by:
a. Superman
b. Jay Leno
c. Harry Potter
d. Muslim male extremist between the ages of 17 and 40

1. In 1972 at the Munich Olympics, athletes were kidnapped and massacred by:
a. Olga Corbett
b. Sitting Bull
c. Arnold Schwarzenegger
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

2. In 1979, the US embassy in Iran was taken over by:
a. Lost Norwegians
b. Elvis
c. A tour bus full of 80-year-old women
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

3.During the 1980s a number of Americans were kidnapped in Lebanon by:
a. John Dillinger
b. The King of Sweden
c. The Boy Scouts
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

4. In 1983, the US Marine barracks in Beirut was blown up by:
a. A pizza delivery boy
b. Pee Wee Herman
c. Geraldo Rivera
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

5. In 1985 the cruise ship Achille Lauro was hijacked and a 70 year old American passenger was murdered and thrown overboard in his wheelchair by:
a. The Smurfs
b. Davy Jones
c. The Little Mermaid
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

6.In 1985 TWA flight 847 was hijacked at Athens, and a US Navy diver trying to rescue passengers was murdered by:
a. Captain Kidd
b. Charles Lindberg
c. Mother Teresa
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

7.In 1988, Pan Am Flight 103 was bombed by:
a. Scooby Doo
b. The Tooth Fairy
c. Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

8. In 1993 the World Trade Center was bombed the first time by:
a. Richard Simmons
b. Grandma Moses
c. Michael Jordan
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

9.In 1998, the US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were bombed by:
a. Mr. Rogers
b. Hillary Clinton, to distract attention from Wild Bill' s women problems
c. The World Wrestling Federation
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

10.On 9/11/01, 4 airliners were hijacked; 2 were used as missiles to take out the World Trade Centers and of the remaining two, one crashed into the US Pentagon & the other was diverted and crashed by the passengers.Thousands of people were killed by:
a. Bugs Bunny, Wiley E. Coyote, Daffy Duck and Elmer Fudd
b. The Supreme Court of Florida
c. Mr. Bean
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

11.In 2002 the United States fought a war in Afghanistan against:
a. Enron
b. The Lutheran Church
c. The NFL
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

12. In 2002 reporter Daniel Pearl was kidnapped and murdered by:
a. Bonnie and Clyde
b. Captain Kangaroo
c. Billy Graham
d. Muslim male extremists mostly between the ages of 17 and 40

Nope, .....I really don't see a pattern here to justify profiling, do you? So, to ensure we Americans never offend anyone, particularly fanatics intent on killing us, airport security screeners will no longer be allowed to profile
certain people. They must conduct random searches of 80-year-old women, little kids, airline pilots with proper identification, secret agents who are members of the President's security detail, 85-year old Congressmen with metal hips, and Medal of Honor winners and former Governor Joe Foss, but leave Muslim Males between the ages 17 and 40 alone because of profiling.

Let's send this to as many people as we can so that the Gloria Aldreds and other dunderheaded attorneys along with Federal Justices that want to thwart common sense, feel doubly ashamed of themselves - if they have any such sense.

As the writer of the award winning story "Forrest Gump" so aptly put it, "Stupid is as stupid does."

Come on people wake up!!! Keep this going. Pass it on to everyone in your address book. Our Country and our troops need our support!

Flap du Jour: Rules of Engagement

One of my fellow :SOG'gers (an online Tom Clancy Ghost Recon game clan) has a dilemma. He is showing remarkable leadership qualities and earning the wrath of some of his peers. DRAMA. He asked me for advice, and I gave him some, including the use of some words and phrases that have come into my lexicon of late. My favorite is the timely and pointed usage of the word IGNORANUS - def., n - an ignorant ass-hole. I am trying to clean up my act of late, especially my language since Stomps With Foot has let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I am not to use the word "dumbass" around my granddaughter. This utterance usually occurs when she is in her car seat while I am being amazed at the proclivity of drivers to operate heavy machinery with their heads up their asses. It's a spontaneous utterance, a reflex. So now I will replace it with the aforementioned IGNORANUS. She is still too young (19 months) to know what "dumbass" means - and I know good and well that Stomps With Foot will nail me on IGNORANUS too, but it feels good to say it.

The Flap du Jour (another phrase that has made it into my vocabulary) is about playing by the rules … anyone's rules. You can choose to or choose to not. I have always been a maverick - don't see much sense in running with a herd of lemmings. This is, after all, Amerika! I was raised on Roy Rogers and Davy Crockett - John Wayne and Leave It To Beaver. King Richard (Nixon) and JFK. I chose to serve my country, I chose to not go to Canada. And if there is one thing I have learned it's that you have to take the good with the bad and when really really bad things happen, they always happen for a reason. It's a universal truth I learned many years ago. One may not know why something has happened but it happens for a reason. If you are lucky, and pay attention, you will discover what that reason is. I have been lucky enough to discover many of those reasons and am still on the lookout for the good behind the reasons of otherwise disasterous occurrances.

But, I digress. It's all about the rules, whether they are rules of engagement or rules of the road. I probably won't use the word INGNORANUS around my granddaughter because the real rules that matter are the ones that are instilled in you by your parents; the same ones you hope you have passed to your children. They are the ones that matter, not the ones that you can break.

Thursday, December 30, 2004

Apocolypse Now and Again

Col. Kurtz had it right, "The horror, the horror …"

I have been impacted but with sorrow for the souls, living and dead, on the coastal regions of the Indian Ocean. Those who can least afford calamity have again been visited by tragedy. For it seems that those who are the most ill-equipped to handle natural disasters seem to have it regularly thrust upon them. The poverty of the region speaks volumes, as does the wealth. Just look at the fabulous resorts in Phuket and the surrounding areas - then look a few blocks away at the dismal slums inhabited by the poorest people. It is a dichotomy.

We all have our problems … just yesterday I had to take a detour around a wreck on the freeway. It probably added 20 minutes to my drive home. Did I mention that I am gainfully employed in the richest nation in the world, drive a Ford Exploder, always have $100 in my pocket and am well dressed? The coffee pot overflowed this morning (as a result of the basket not being securely closed) and I spent another 20 minutes cleaning up the spill. I was fortunate enough to have a 12-cup sponge so it didn't take long! Wrong! It was a 1/8th cup sponge and I had wrinkled fingers when I was finished. Really tragic stuff. Did I mention that I live in Richardson in a six bedroom home (ok, we only use 4 for bedrooms), in one of Texas’ richest cities, complete with a fine school district and no street people? I heard someone complaining that they felt "trapped" in their job and didn't know what to do about it. Did I mention that I am a "highly-compensated employee" and I love my job?

People people. You don't really have any problems, unless you survived the tsunami/earthquake. I can still see the video replaying in my head. Soldiers carrying bodies from train wreckage - and the soldiers had no shoes. Some had flip-flops, so I suppose they could be considered to be better-off than their comrades.

Give thanks for your problems - whatever they may be. Then go here Tsunami/Earthquake Relief and do something to alleviate the problems thrust upon those least able to deal with them.

"The horror, the horror."

Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Living is easy with eyes closed

Just a bit of a diatribe in today's missive. A vituperation to myself, from myself. To my chagrin, I discovered that it takes time to present thoughful bloggage - Surprise! Being a creative director it is obvious to me that writing requires time, editing and … did I mention time. That elusive yet ever-present dictum. Quite a paradox which in and of itself is a conundrum to be pondered.

A friend of mine once said, "You always have time for what you put first." I have adopted that phrase for many years when fussing at those who procrastinate and don't, or won't, make time for what is important to them. Ergo, my realization that being lazy is just a rephrasing of the aforementioned quote … not putting those things first, for which you have time.

December 11th came and went. I turned 55 years-of-age. Nothing to it. Today I am reminded of the reason for starting this head-long venture into the blogosphere. It's all about time, and what I do with it. I get inspiration from my friend, El Capitan - the Baboon Pirate , who seems to have gotten it right with regards to constructive use of his time.

My granddaughter is 19-months old. So young - yet so affected by time, even at her tender age. She is assimilating everything, naming everything, learning a language and, unbeknownst to her, using her time wisely. There is a great lesson to be learned from her and although in her world it's the epitome of John Lennon's quote - " I, me, mine," in my world, there should more you, yours and ours.

Should I continue to take the time to scribe my thoughts and impressions? A resounding YES, thumps the side of my head, for that is the reason for keeping this missive alive. It isn't so much for me as it is for those who surround me - and yet it is for me … so when I am older I will be able to accurately reflect on the effect of time on this mortal corpus and evaluate the proper use of it on my immortal soul.

Friday, December 10, 2004

How to be an illusionist

I needed to create an illusion...

Yesterday was (I hope) the final shooting day for the video I have been working on since August. I needed shots of people walking through metal detectors at an airport, and going through the general hassles of air travel, but could not get into DFW or any other airport for the shoot, much less take videos of the TSA (those people whose salaries and equipement we all pay). The solution was to dress a set to look like an airport, recruit folks who look like air travelers going through security (complete with rolling-eyes, impatient attitudes and generally feeling harrassed). Fait Accompli!

Brad Young and John Perez (cameraman extraordinaire) got their heads together and came up with Garrett Manufacturing in Garland, Texas (a suburb of Dallas). These are the fine folks that brought us that treasure-seeker's metal detector and, of course, the walk-through detectors at all airports and the wands. We met with Vaughn Garrett, the son of The Mr. Charles Garrett, who in 1964 came up with the idea, electronics and the patent to create a company that is now in 80 countries, worldwide. Vaughn is a nice guy and was a superb host.

When you enter their manufacturing plant/offices there is a museum on the right of the reception area, with everything from Nazi WWII helmets, nades, silver, gold, Civil War belt buckles (one with a bullet that went through the soldier and lodged in the buckle from the back), swords, coins from the Roman Empire... you get the picture. Fascinating how an idea became such a fantastic reality.

I have always secretly wanted to have one of those metal detectors and be able to take a leisurely stroll down the beaches of Normandy, or Gettysburg, the local park, or anywhere else my desires fancied. Seeing the museum made me want one again. Bradzilla came up with the idea of having a metal detector that plugged into your iPod that would beep over the music so one could take a nice walk, with the music of one's choice, while seeking buried treasure. Wait! Buried treasure! That's a pirate's delight - the stuff of which pirate dreams are made. "Yes, I am a pirate, born 200 years too late. There's nothing to plunder, my cannon don't thunder, I'm an over-fifty victim of fate." – Jimmy Buffett

Alas, Vaughn was in a board meeting, so I was unable to impart this idea to him. I am thinking royalties here, so don't steal Bradzilla's idea or ye will be keel-hauled after walking the plank. Besides, we be pirates so I will liberate the idea meself. Yar!

I came seeking an illusion and left with a treasure, one found in my own backyard - in Garland, Texas.

Thursday, December 09, 2004

Dinner was fine, thank you

So batchin' it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Another day without Mrs. Stomps With Foot and I come home, greet Redford and promptly let him outside to do his thing. Funny thing about this dachsund. He goes on a food strike whenever one of us isn't around - like out of town. He doesn't eat, and drinks very little water. After I was home for about 30 minutes I heard his signature "crunch crunch crunch" indicating his hunger pangs had become stronger than his hunger-strike-attitude. This went on for six or seven good bites then it was time to lap up some water. Seems like it's a good thing though, no food so no excretions from the beloved red dog - until I let him outside. Good boy!

Which reminded me that it was time for the Tecaté tradition! I promptly succumbed to the ritualistic liming of the can and we were both happy campers.

Then it was off to Game Ranger for a bit of Ghost Recon. The bummer was that El Capitan arrived and was patiently waiting while El Presidente and I tried to finish a mission. Then, at a crucial moment (as if cued by the Gods) Mrs. Stomps With Foot calls. I am in the middle of a firefight so I break in and advise the team that I had to take a phone call. After a somewhat abbreviated phone visit, I returned to the screen to find that our entire insertion team had been eliminated. I felt bad... both because I let my comrades down and because I abbreviated my conversation with Mrs. Stomps With Foot.

She understands the depths to which I become immersed in the game, yet I still feel guilty when I am not paying attention to her. God Bless Mrs. Stomps With Foot. I called her back about 9:30 p.m. and she was ready for bed and not feeling exactly talkative. GUILT.

Shari, my bride of 34 years, got her nickname from my Ghost Recon playing. Tim Leary's mate's nickname is Looks With Glare, so to honor Dances With Wolves' Stands With Fist character, I named Shari, Stomps With Foot, which she would do while I was playing and she was trying to communicate with me. Now all my teammates refer to her as Mrs. With Foot, or some other variation. I completely understand her exhasperation with me and this game. It is all-consuming, and having the addictive characteristics of heroin, along with my addictive personality... well, you can read between the lines. I must say that I have "cut back" somewhat and learned to discipline myself. Just ask El Capitan when I bailed on the game and he was still waiting to play. Sorry, Cap.

I fried up some bacon for dinner... something to give the Tecaté a bit to mix with in my belly.

My waterbed is warm now, but cursed is he that sleeps alone!

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Batchin’ it!

Since Mrs. Stomps With Foot is being a Mommy way down yonder in Brew Naunfels, dinner was not on the table last night (as if I were Ward Cleaver), so I grabbed a can of Tecaté and a lime from the refrigerator and went a little heavy on the salt around the lime-juice drenched rim. Learned a very useful way to get the squeezed lime into the gaping maw of the beer can - just take a steak knife (I use the one I cut the lime with), cut the lime-slice flesh in the center to the rind, hold the knife tip over the opening and squeeze that deliciious citrus juice. I promise you that a smile will break out across your face. You get a brain-stem rush as there is something very satisfying about drizzling fresh lime juice into the can, and onto the can top as the base for your salt repository. This trick also works with a bottle, but you don't get the salt/lime mix on the top. Corona and lime - yeah, that works too, but Corona is a bit too "skunky" for my tastes.

Another new thing, great taste sensation if you have never tried it, was next. It was introduced to me by Brad Young (a.k.a. Bradzilla and OGO - O GREAT ONE), video director extraordinaire, while reviewing a video I am producing. He also makes a killer Cosmopolitan, which is the required adult beverage for film review.

I grabbed a slab of Philadelphia Cream Cheese, and a bottle of

Jamaican Pickapeppa sauce. This stuff is OGO GOO. Half-bottle per slab, drizzling it all over the cream cheese and piling on the Trisquits. The taste combination, on a Trisquit, fills your mouth with oral orgasms. Since I was introduced to this taste sensation, my son's fiancée has remarked, "I have been eating that since I was three!" Well, I guess people take their dining delights for granted and don't share them with just anyone. I, on the other hand, enjoy sharing tidbits like this.

So there you have it: beer with salt and lime garnish, cream cheese, Pickapeppa sauce and Trisquits... my first dinner without Mrs. Stomps With Foot.

I found the problem with the waterbed. I plugged it in to a different outlet and it's warm again. Yar.

Tuesday, December 07, 2004


My daughter, Stacy, called last night. The day care called and asked her to pick up little Bennett Reneé because she was running a fever. Sure enough, 102-degrees, coughing, earache and generally felling like baby crap. Stacy lucked out and got her to the pediatrician who said her respirations were 45/minute. Way too fast. They did a blood test to determine oxygen levels and found she was not getting enough, so they put her on a nebulizer. Well, Stacy related that it was like putting your child into a gas chamber - screaming bloody murder, Bennett was treated and the doctor gave Stacy a prescription for some kind of magic elixer. He also advised her to go buy ($100) a nebulizer so she could put the some other magic elixer into it and treat Bennett at home. Stacy said she would be researching them, last night, before making the purchase. Shari and I said, "...screw the research, get the nebulizer!" Poor baby. Stacy said she needed her mommy, and Mrs. Stomps With Foot agreed.

Stacy and Bennett - December 2, 2004

So Mrs. Stomps With Foot is headed to the Hill Country this morning to help out while Stacy's husband, Scott, is out of town - for the next two weeks.

I am looking forward to eating MREs and iChatting/iSighting with them and am praying Bennett Reneé has a quick recovery. I may also get some time to play some Ghost Recon, between housework and other chores.

This is so going to suck - being a bachelor and all - but it's times like these that make me humble and thankful that we can help out. It also brings to mind a saying on a refrigerator magnet I saw a couple of weeks ago, "The first 40 years of parenting are the hardest!"

And, the bed was cold last night (see previous post).

Monday, December 06, 2004

Impending death of our waterbed circa 1972

Ok, so it is about 32-years-old, but it IS California Redwood, hand-made, held together with a fantastically simple method of offset, interlocking "fingers" and dowels. It was our first major purchase as a newlyweds and we got it when I was stationed in San Diego. It has served Mrs. Stomps With Foot and me very well. In fact, I can hardly believe I am going to have to replace it. The wierdest thing is that although Mrs. Stomps With Foot has been asking about replacing it, and I vehemently refused over the years, is that it was my idea. You see, I asked her to turn up the heater on the bed because it was feeling a tad cool. Since it is almost winter, it seemed the prudent thing to do.

She tried to "turn it up" yesterday and asked me to look at it because the light (indicating it was operational) was not coming on. I got down beside the bed, with a flashlight, and sure enough the light indicator was out. I checked all the electrical connections - from one extension cord to another to the power strip - to no avail. I cranked the thermostat up to 100-degrees and will wait and see. HE'S DEAD, JIM. I'M A DOCTOR, NOT AN ENGINEER!

I then told Mrs. Stomps With Foot that it was time for a new bed. She agreed (secretly shouting for joy) and said nonchalantly that she would look into it. I asked her what kind of bed she wanted, brass, canopied, girly-bed or what? She is non-committal at this point. The bed isn't that cold, but I can see it's easier to replace it than to execute the following steps: 1. Drain the mattress; 2. Buy a new mattress because this one is at least 20-years-old (can you imagine what is growing in there?); 3. Buy a new heater element; 4. Install new heater element; 5. Install new mattress; 6. Re-fill mattress and wait for it to heat up, at a rate of one degree per hour, it'll be unuseable for a couple of days.

The alternative is: 1. Drain the mattress; 2. Tear down and store the bed; 3. Trash the heater element. 4. Buy a new bed.

As you can see, there are fewer steps in the alternative and Mrs. With Foot would be happier.


Vascillating ... doubt ... maybe the extra steps would be worth it for another 34 years of use.



Friday, December 03, 2004

Be all you can be (or wished you were, at least)

My friend Ryan Tow, a stinking PEECEE user (albiet a genius with those machines) turned me on to this link, and I must say, it kicks ass. It is a total waste of time, so if you have an hour you will never get back, just point your browser here.


As you can see, here I am in all my glory as a Ghost Recon/Pirate... what a hoot!

Thursday, December 02, 2004

Big Brother and the Holding Company

It wasn't that long ago ... was it? Seems like it was just a few years ago that 1984 was an unreachable date. I read Orwell's novel in 1968 and was intrigued about his vision - yes, I am a child of the 60s and can testify about visions, war and peace, dissention, General Hersyberger and burning draft cards. The Kent State Massacre, the My Lai Massacre. I can also testify about what it was like to be in a war zone, I mean combat zone... since Congress never declared war on the Viet Cong or the NVA, or the NLF. I can remember the chant, “HO HO HO CHI MINH, THE NLF IS GOING TO WIN” - The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution and Yacht Club.

Fast forward to Kiev - photos of a girl placing a flower (in the dead of winter) into the barrel of a policeman's rifle while he stands firmly entrenched in a police riot control line.

Ukrainian riot police stand behind a fence decorated with flowers at the entrance of the presidential office in central Kiev December 2, 2004. Ukraine's opposition leader Viktor Yushchenko promised his orange clad supporters jamming Kiev's Independence Square that their round the clock vigil would bring victory, as the country awaited word from the Supreme Court on the contested presidential election. (Peter Andrews/Reuters)

Replace the flower power of the 60's with that of Dec. 2, 2004, when tens of thousands marched in Kiev to protest rigged elections in the Ukraine. Damn, Bob Dylan was right... the times, they are a changing. We won the cold war because Russia ran out of money first. This is heavy stuff, people. No more commie cold war, no more King Richard (Nixon). Volunteers of Amerika where are you? Where are the protest songs? Where are the leaders... Abby Hoffman’s “Steal This Book” needs to be reprinted. Where are the Merry Pranksters. Time for the “Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.”

1984, in Orwell's vision, would have been the culmination of colliding futures and galaxies, with every star ripping the fabric from its neighbor. Yesterday? No, 20 years have passed and there was more revealed to us that has occurred as envisioned by George Orwell, than not, i.e., About 1 hour, 8 minutes into the movie version of Ninteen Eighty-Four, Winston reads from "Goldstein's Book"... "In accordance with the principles of doubthink it does not matter if the war is not real, or when it is, victory is not possible. The war is not meant to be won, it is meant to be continuous. The essential act of modern warfare is the destruction of the produce of human labour. A hierarchical society is only possible and the basis of poverty and ignorance. In principle, the war effort is always planned to keep society of the brink of starvation. The war is waged by the ruling group against its own subjects. And its object is not victory over Eurasia or Eastasia, but to keep the very structure of society in tact."

Although this is not exactly what Orwell wrote, the filmakers fairly accurately summed up the ideas presented in the third chapter of Goldstein's Book/, "War is Peace."

For comparison, this is the "quote" from Fahrenheit911...

"It does not matter if the war is not real, or when it is, victory is not possible. The war is not meant to be won, but it is meant to be continuous. A hierarchical society is only possible on the basis of poverty and ignorance. This new version is the past and no different past can ever have existed. In principle the war effort is always planned to keep society on the brink of starvation. The war is waged by the ruling group against its own subjects and its object is not the victory over either Eurasia or Eastasia but to keep the very structure of society in tact"

Scary? I think so. Big Brother - Big Brother and the Holding Company! Not the exact segue I was seeking, but self-explanatory.

Seems like there is too much going on in this world that defies accountability, like the newspeak phrase "enemy combatants." If only Hitler would have called the Jews "Enemy Combatants." Now who in the hell came up with that one and invented it's implications for those so labled. I am very disappointed in our response to Gitmo and the way we are handling our war on the jihadists. I wrote my senators, congressmen, and the president and received the Big Brother party-line responses “... we appreciate your concern and want to assure you that the sky is not falling.” Excuse me? The sky IS falling, you idiots. Wake up! Look up! Shake up the new world order that makes us fall in step with the machine.

Accountability ensures democratic ideals prevail. I am concerned about the continued head-in-the-sand mindsets of our representatives. The buck doesn't stop with Tenet, it stops squarely at the desk of the Village Idiot and those who do nothing to be heard.

Wednesday, December 01, 2004

December 1st - 10 daze from 55-years-of-age

When I went to bed last night the overhead light in the bathroom had burned out. I hate taking showers in the dark, but the over-sink light was still putting out about 60 watts so I crashed without taking care of my responsibilities. I am constantly reminded of my responsibilities by Mrs. Stomps With Foot, but that in itself is another story. This morning, during the first part of my SSS habit (Shit, Shave, Shower) the light flickered on. Whaaaa? Cool, this is going to be a great day. It was very nice to be able to take care of business with full luminence.

My pet dachsund, Redford, also affectionately known as “red-hole,” “red-dawg,” or “reddle” (short for red-hole) was anxious for his morning routine of SSS (Sniff, Shit, Sniff) as well, and I was not surprised that he took care of his business in record time - it was 30˚ and he much prefers to do his thing where it is warm, like in the middle of the carpet.

After scraping ice from the windshield of my '98 Exploder, I arrived at work in record time. Coffee made, iTunes cranked up and here I sit thinking about reaching a milestone in my life – 55... the freaking speed-limit of the 80s. Man, am I that old. I still think like I am 25 (or less, depending on what age Mrs. Stomps With Foot decides my antics reflect). Just last week I was thinking I needed a t-shirt emblazoned with REQUIRES CONSTANT SUPERVISION across the front. It seemed appropriate at the time as I was acting like a 2-year-old.

Now I am looking down the barrel of age 55, and a barrel of anything with a bunghole looks pretty good to me. Perhaps what Jimmy Buffett said was correct and this old Parrothead thinks it is worth repeating... "I'm growing older, but not up."