Norman tech center association elects new president | WOPULAR

Norman tech center association elects new president WOPULAR

It's Moving Day!!!

Only after a gazillion blog posts do I get it, that commenting here is somewhat user-unfriendly. I have heard from the masses (OK, maybe 10 people) that you want a simpler way to add your input. Your wish is my command...

I've moved my blog to a new site, and it's very easy to leave comments there. (I don't know if it can get any simpler, unless Scotty beams up your comments.) Please click the link and mark the address of my new blog site in your favorites: Whaddaya Say, Glen Ray? All the old posts are there, and that's where you'll find the latest entries.

OK — do it RIGHT NOW before you forget!

PS: There's a special message waiting for you there...

Wrestling, Wrassling and Wringing-Wet Finishes

As a proud fan since US Grant High School of high school wrestling, I once again got to go to the Big Show, the Grand Grapple, the Tangle Tourney of Takedowns in the Okie state. If you’ve never been, it’s quite the extravaganza!

The four classes (6A, 5A, 4A and 3A) are all going on at the same time on the four-mat floor of the State Fair arena. The burden is on YOU to multi-task, watch four matches going on simultaneously on the four mats.

No blaring hard rock music, no big screens with videos, no fireworks – just announcements going constantly with introductions (break – gone to get nachos) and stories about the individual wrestlers. The crowd is made up of Catoosaites, Maroons from Perry, Noble fans, Altus rooters and Bixby backers.

The tenacity, focus and desire of these state champions is amazing. Some of these guys are one-, two- and three-time winners. (Break – gone to get a foot-long polish sausage and coke.) They train, pull weight, run, work on technique and wrestle all the time. By doing this by weight, they wrestle the same people in matches, tourneys, and the state finale. 

Wrestlers grow to respect each other, and even become roommates. No wild costumes, no crazy names, no heavy metal rock theme songs, and no hitting or slamming chairs. (Break – got to get some Dippin’ Dots, the “Ice Cream of the Future” – for 30 years now.)

Wrestling teaches self-discipline and goal setting, and results in a college scholarship for some. It’s a unique sport that is an individual sport and a team sport to score points. It may be even the launching pad for a future Olympic champion – they’re the last group of American Gladiators without being on a film-edited reality television show. If you get the chance next year, take it in, but watch out for flying chairs! 

I hope you get to go with a couple of old friends like I did – Larry, who I can’t ever remember not knowing (speaking of wrestling, he and I tore up our third-grade class when the teacher was out of the room in a grade-school melee) and Randy, my buddy who was a wrestling coach – which in itself speaks to his insanity. Three compadres for 50 years, enjoying a sporting event: Priceless (well, the food we consumed cost two arms and a leg).

Now that wrestling is out of the way, on to “March Madness”!

Idol Hands Are the Devil's TiVo

OK, I'll admit it — I watch American Idol. But I don't buy the winners' (or losers') CDs to listen to forever and forever. The quagmire of the competition, quirky cuteness of the contestants, or the absolute rudeness of the judges play to the corrosion of our very souls. Where else can you find a washed-up black bass player (spouting "Hey, dawg!"), a ditzy un-blond dancer space cadet and a rude, smug, pompous (1990s t-shirt wearing) British-accented fop? (Hey, what's the deal with this fourth judge — she does NOT bring anything to the mix.) Simon can't even remember her name part of the time — oh, shoot, what IS her name?

Of course, the auditions are better than the show most of the time. Some of the women are more likely to be on "Girls Gone Wild" instead of American Idol, because they actually believed some guy who told her she could sing (ulterior motives, no doubt). The wackos, nutballs, gender-benders and psychos prance their pomp and pageantry soundtrack for all of us to humiliate them from the convenience of our favorite comfortable chair. What a deal! This is a better deal than a Hot'n'Ready pizza to a 20-year-old with a $10 bill. One of my favorites is when they say, "If I don't go there to Hollywood, I'll just die!" If you had just listened to yourself, then you'd have brought your own casket.

When they get to Hollywood and get put into mini-subsets to perform together is when we realize that SOME people don't work well with others. Group gargling their little song snippets turns into being snippy to each other. Plus, it's just kinda stupid, like singing the outstanding qualities of Jell-O — who cares?

The fledglings of this folly that marched on have a new challenge. The asinine statement from the judges — "I didn't think you selected the right song." Well, whoop-de-frickin-doo! Like Tuesday night, they were supposed to sing a song of Michael Jackson's. Yeah, that creepy, child-molesting, silver-gloved, dance-prancer, falsetto-singing, Tito's-brother Jackson. So you have 13 crooners to calculate an M.J. song to sing to make them look good. What a joke, that Randy saying, "Dawg, that's not the right song for you, dude!" I would have told him to eat a habanero pepper and sing "Ben" your own tappy-head self. Maybe if they could sing and eat at the same time, they could be the next Food Network star and American Idol rolled into one.

Another thing — after watching A.I. for a long time, I realize that basketball players aren't the only ones with tattoos. I hope for their sake that they don't get American Idol tattooed on their body until they win. Probably at least one of them had their 1-800 number tattooed on their body. Too bad those vote calls will be a disconnected number.

Even if you're not a fan, maybe I'll see you at American Idol on Ice...

The Economic Stimulus Knocks the Head Off the Scab

The economy is down with shades of up, our retirement savings are drastically decimated, but overall the crazies are amongst us — BEWARE! For example, an innocent man was killed over a queue-jumping incident, just for stepping in front of a lady to buy a pack of cigarettes. She had a third-party guy whack him on the head at a later time — BUT it was the wrong guy (like it was really OK if it had been the right person).

Next is an addict gone crazy (this lady happens to be a Chicken McNuggets addict). The cashier toeing the alleged company line at McDonalds took her order and money for Chicken McNuggets, but as in one of my favorite Seinfield episodes, "she knew how to take the reservation but not fill the reservation." You got it — at that point in time, they ran out of Chicken McNuggets. The McDonaldite was forceful in requiring her to make a "second-best choice." I guess she wasn't a burger girl or in a fish mood. She proceeded to call 911 not once, not twice, but THREE times, proclaiming "I won't settle for anything but Chicken McNuggets!" Let's put it this way — the local police were Burger King boys, What-A-Burger buddies, or Arbys-over-arguments type people. Yes, she was fined for misusing the 911 system, to the amount of about 30 Happy Meals.

Next on Glen Ray's radar is the car commercial shouting out that you can put a car on layaway for only $40. What the heck is this foolishness? Here I go again — when I was a mere lad, my mother and others like me with their mothers would go, try on for size, and put in layaway school clothes to start school every year. If you haven't figured this part out, it happened in July, so they'd be paid for by September when we started school. Parents would use the layaway system to pay out toys for Christmas (bicycles, if you were lucky). I digress — what the heck does $40 towards a $5,000, $10,000 or $15,000 car mean? By the time you'd pay out the vehicle, it would be old enough to qualify for a flat-fee antique tag!

The cable channel reality show "Rock of Love: Charm School" changes broads, bimbos and tarts into outstanding young ladies (let me sell you a Florida condo in a flood zone). Guess what? One of the aforementioned felines is suing Sharon Osbourne (Ozzie Osbourne's wife — which is her instant defense of a temporary insanity plea) over an altercation of throwing substances on camera. How "charming" — it's worse than a Jerry Springer YouTube clip, but not exactly an Emily Post moment.

Why don't we ever hear about eBay? That should give us the real feel for our economy. Is everyone selling their New Kids on the Block 1993 t-shirt, or their John F. Kennedy plate with all the other presidents on it? I want the daily eBay report, not the stock market.

Want to buy a candle that looks like Johnny Carson's wife, or cut in line to pay for milk and bread? Watch your back and your wallet!

Veal Oscar and Other Movie Delights

Many of my co-workers think I'm up on all the pop culture scene (it's taken years of manipulation), including the movies up for the Best Picture Oscar this year. This leads to a very devious game I play with them in my synopsis of a movie they haven't seen and have no knowledge of. This is my rundown for my peers, so they can seem knowledgeable to their clients (is this a great country, or what?).

Milk — This is an epic tale of the dairy ranchers vs. the soybean farmers in a battle for the range rights in the fertile valleys of California. Skulduggery galore in the race to get their milk, cows or soy to market in San Francisco in the 1970s, when a whole generation is drinking Coke to make the whole world sing in perfect harmony.

Frost/Nixon — This ramped-up action flick about secret agent Frost Nixon battling the bad guys from Bucharest to Bangladesh never has a dull moment. No sneaking out to the bathroom or making a popcorn run if you don't want to miss the excitement!

The Reader — Timeless tale of the office nerd who reads the instructions for the copier, manuals for software, the phone system guidebook, and networks computers in his sleep. As the office tumbles into a nightmare, only the Reader can get things back to normal, so people can look at Facebook, circulate rude e-mails and shop for homes on openhouseok.com. He saves the day with all his fellow slackers, and unproductivity levels are finally back to normal.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button — This one may be headed for the crown of a classic. Pixar had Cars, now we have the Button, a story in which a button named Benjamin falls off little Danny's jacket. A journey begins through numerous perils, unforgettable characters and zippy tunes for a must-see movie with your grandkids. You'll be humming these songs in the car before you know it!

Last but not least, my prediction to win the Oscar...

Slumdog Millionaire — A rapper in Philly named "Slumdog Doggy Bling" is forced to attend church with his mother and meets Shinaka, who captures his heart instantly, but shuns him after he stands her up for a lousy gig in Detroit. His third-level career as a rapper is going nowhere, but he wins a million dollars in the lottery by getting a ticket instead of change when buying smokes. After blowing all the money on carp, parties, bad CD deals and his posse, Slumdog is a kicked pup. Then and only then does he realize that all he really wants is Shinaka and a Roto-Rooter franchise. I won't spoil the ending for you...

So, I guess if any of my co-workers watched the Oscars, they were totally confused. As a correspondent of culture, maybe truth is stranger than fiction. Ask about our updated guide to Interior Design Fashion (love those lava lamps!).

See you in the movies...

Habitat for Hamas

Well, sports fans — the new President, as one of the first things in office, signed an order to close Gitmo. Yep, Guantanamo Bay prison, where the prisoners captured IN THE FIELD war participants are housed, has been ordered to close by a certain date. Just where the heck do they go? Their own countries don't want these terrible guys back, other countries don't want them either. Let's look at a few of the options...

The San Francisco option — Folks, we need your pledge of support monthly by sending in only $23 for "Little Timmy the Terrorist" (Ahbad Khomboomba). With your adoption donation, you'll get a picture of him with Sally Struthers, a note from him four times a year (if you're brave enough to give him your address), and a certificate suitable for framing. Your money goes toward heavy black robes, cute little skull caps, a new nap mat and shoes with hollow pockets in the heels.

The Hollywood option — Bring all the terrorists to Hollywood with one of those gold-colored sheets from American Idol and put them up in the mansion used by the Bachelor show. Since a few of the attorneys from OJ's dream team defense group have passed on, you would instead give them the actors who play the parts (in a made-for-TV movie). Then all those Hollywood actors and actresses that don't think these people are dangerous can have them over to their mansion for a sleepover.

The Georgia option — Jimmy Carter has a lot of free time these days, so he can build a little prison village out of Habitat for Humanity homes (or Habitat for Hamas). After all, the peanut butter thing is scaring the do-dah out of everyone right now, so he could get those un-busy plant workers to pitch in. Just bring the terrorists in through the Atlanta airport (that's enough to scare the truth out of anybody).

The Chicago option — Send them to Chicago to become community organizers in ACORN. Then they could sign up all their fellow Arabs to vote, get political favors, bid contracts and jobs. After awhile, they'd give up terrorism for this gig because it's similar but they don't expect you to slap a bomb kit on, run into a crowd and blow yourself up.

The Arizona option — Send them to the desert in the county where the sheriff makes them wear pink undies, jumpsuits and tennis shoes. The sheriff feeds them beanie weenies, bread and a carrot stick. "Desert? They don't need no stinkin' desert!" And no smoke breaks...

The (name undisclosed) option — Hide them in a warehouse in New Jersey, but spread the rumor on the street that they are there to "take over the action" (numbers, bookmaking, drugs, prostitution, grand thieving and protection money). Feed the terrorists Spam and Kool-Aid until the "wise guys" settle this little problem for us.

Hey, maybe Gitmo is the place they ought to be. Wham! (I could've had a V-8!) Maybe that's why they are there — because it makes pretty good sense! Who'da figured???

Random OKC Metro Ramblings

All those out-of-state or metro readers, please indulge me on this one. First out of the chute is the robbery at the Nichols Hills Cleaners of an "undisclosed amount of money" recently. For those not familiar with the cleaners' location, it's in the "ghetto part of Nichols Hills", in the Plaza (owned by Chesapeake) and directly across from the Nichols Hills Police Department. Are we safe at the salon, are we brave enough to go to the boutiques? If our noses are up in the air, then how can we spot robbers? Rumor has it, the police were tied up out giving tickets to people that had the gall to park a pickup truck in their Nichols Hills driveway.

Point number two — recently, four restaurants have closed on the Memorial Street corridor from MacArthur to Penn. That only leaves about 30 or so left. (Ha!) Oklahomans are a fickle lot — they know what they like and don't like. National chains do well sometimes, and often they are surprised that they don't pass the local muster. Barbeque is a strange animal, being that Okies consume a LOT of it. Smokey Bones (went out), Tony Roma's (went out two different times). Besides, didn't he have any old family Italian recipes to share with us instead of being a BBQ poacher? We like our BBQ from guys like Leo, Earl or George, who you know was up at night stoking the smoker. Carrabas never took off, but Bravo's is doing fine. Cheeseburger in Paradise was slow and mediocre but hey, everybody loves Jimmy Buffett (we forgive him because we know he wasn't running the darn thing anyway).

Lastly, all the TV stations are Johnny on the spot to cover a story (block the way at the scene, probably), but why if the "story" happens at 9 or 10 a.m. do they have a reporter standing in the same place at 10 p.m. (dark, so they have to have lights) reporting this story which is old news by now, because our interest is fixated on some other story that happened in the last 12 HOURS. If our legal system was better, then the perpetrators could be caught and had their trial by the late newscast.

Check out the Oklahoma League for the Blind — it's a fascinating story about what all they do and manufacture. Pretty awesome what these people are able to accomplish.

Chick-Fil-A is open in Moore now. Does that make Moore a Big League City???

Postal Service (the dysfunctional family of bureaucracy) Needs More $$$$

The Ray Charles commemorative stamp is singing "It's Crying Time Again" for the US Postal Service, so get on your raincoats and waders...

As the pompous head of this mish-mosh testified before Congress (another dysfunctional family) with his glasses slipped down to the end of his nose, and looking over them at the panel, "With the rise in electronic communications driving profound and permanent changes in the MAIL MIX as we entered the new century, it became clear that this model was being rendered obsolete."

Wow! That's worth his hefty retirement package right there. The "model" he refers to looks like a model (car, airplane, train) put together by a young lad with glue that he's sniffed way, way too much of in an enclosed room.

The first thing that comes to mind is that every post office has four to six slots for customer service inside, but there are usually only two of them open at any given time. I challenge you to go into any metro post office and find the slots all being manned. The USPS (United States Postal Service) has 37,000 facilities with two or more slots open per place (or one if it's a two-holer service desk). These don't include the 400 large special-purpose mail processing plants used as sorting centers. USPS has 220,000 motor vehicles (of which many are driven from the wrong side — not too swift for resale value).

Let's look at the "model" further, my friend. They sell, stock and inventory a lot of "stuff", crap or junk. I realize they need to sell mailing supplies, but why pre-inked rubber stamps? What's the deal with games, puzzles, stuffed animals, NASCAR paraphernalia, books (let people go to Barnes & Noble or their local bookstore), a plethora of stamp collecting stuff (Hobby Lobby or the local stamp store might wonder why their tax dollars are competing with them), or all these bazillion different stamps of all prices?

Think about it — if there is $1,000 worth of all this inventory at every one of the 37,000 locations, that equates to $37 MILLION dollars of inventory just lying around gathering dust. All this crap needs to be bought at the Dollar Tree, not the post office. One of the post office's main functions used to be to display pictures of America's Most Wanted, but they don't even do that good anymore.

Do the postmen still wear pith helmets? Plus, the fashion police are "on the case" with those knee-high black tube sock thingies.

Hey wait — I just found an Elvis stamp with his hair not greased up. It must be a collector's item worth a zillion dollars! I'll donate it to the USPS if they just won't disappear to the back when it's finally my turn at the counter. 

I received a letter with a Kwanzaa stamp on it last July — what's the deal with that???

You Think "It's Just Girl Scout Cookies"

This time of year, each and every year for over five decades, a plague worse than the one spread by those pesky Keebler elves, is when the market is flooded by Girl Scout cookies. The little lasses are at your workplace, in front of Wal-Mart, at church, at sporting events, or even door-to-door (your front door). Peanut butter, pecan sandies, chocolate chips, and the "heroin or crack cocaine" of cookies — chocolate mint! Most people slip those buggers in the fridge to put a cool chill on the chocolate mint.

These girls selling, distributing or shilling those taste treats were whipped into a frenzy with hopes of winning sales prizes, personal accolades or Troop Supremacy of the Western World (which now is international). 

What you don't realize as you reach for your wallet is that this is a carefully orchestrated plot by a Star Chamber of women MLMs (multi-level marketers), put in place years ago (could have been part of the women's movement) for subversive training. Womatrons representing Arbonne, Tupperware, Pampered Chef, Avon, Home Interior, Sarah Coventry, Lingerie Lady, Mary Kay, Paula's Purses, Noni Juice, Prime America, or the big dog — Amway — all gathered in a secret spot to put together this coup d'état of the Girl Scouts to incubate little sample soldiers for their cause. The location of this meeting is not known for sure, and the only clues are: (1) it's at a really cool full-blown spa, and (2) it's in the close radius of some of the US of A's "prime shopping" areas.

They all realized a happy face, quality product and cute uniform would teach these lassies how to "ask for the order" without much of an opportunity for rejection. Just count on the fingers of one hand how many times you've said "no." Over the years, you've probably said no unless by chance two Scouts in a row tagged you.

So, my friend, I'm warning you — if you buy those cookies from her today, it's like getting a dollar sign stamped on your forehead. She put you in her internal database for the rest of your natural-born days. I hope you need make-up, vitamins or a really, really expensive set of cooking pots, because you're now like a deer in the headlights!

As the plot thickens, my friends, red-white-and-blue-adorned Camp Fire Girls start the second surge upon us, with the annual candy sale drive. Do you see a pattern, anyone??? Oh, well — pass those coconut cookies — they're my favorite....

Let's Put the Lid on the Big Bowl

Well, sports fans, I'm writing this before the HUGE BCS championship game. Having this on Thursday night is a heart-wrenching exercise of conflict — not the game, but not being able to watch Grey's Anatomy live (some "former wives" told their spouses to DVR the game).

To get to this point, we had 34 Bowl games. Two things you didn't know before are 34 Bowl games and Oklahoma has 96 Indian casinos, of which none have a "Sports Book" to place a bet on any of these games. Probably somewhere there is a guy doing "free seminars" at the Holiday Inn for you to buy his DVDs and tapes on "How to Be a Successful Bookie" (testimonials on request).

Back on subject — you've been Oranged, Sugared, Papa Johned, Meineked, Emeriled, Gatored, and Chik-Fil-A-ed into a lathered-up frenzy. Except the Sun Bowl with Oregon State vs. Pittsburgh, whose score was 3-0 (even Gatorade was ashamed that they didn't just pour a cup on the winning coach), where they missed the coach with the water cooler.

I have three suggestions for Bowl season:

1. They need to have the eHarmony Bowl, where a man and a woman meet online to get their tickets, plus be paired up. A long date of pre-game, going to the game together, and then an after-activity of their mutual choice. A lot can be ascertained this way — did he ignore her, or she him? Did he or she have to explain the game during a good part? Did they behave like little ladies and gentlemen? Remember, after any knock-down, please go back to your respective corners...
2. Banning of all E.D. commercials during the games. Most guys over 25 are wishing they were young and back playing football themselves, not just watching it. Even if you have a "problem of extending past four hours", nobody is going to the hospital until the game is over.
3. We need the "Little People's Bowl" because they deserve to play just like anyone else.

I hope you got a Slingin' Sammy Bradford shirt with his name written in Cherokee (rumor has it, you can walk across hot coals with one) or the Tim Tebow Towel, which lets you walk on water, plus it soaks up 10 times more than a normal chamois. 

Don't mourn the end of the Bowl season too much — "March Madness" is closer than you think!

To Bowl or Not to Bowl

Once again, we made it through "The Bowl Season". The Bowl Season is a plot put forth by the merchants and the women of the world. Ingenious ploy; give those males what they want — football, football, FOOTBALL — plus, throw in food and cheerleaders. It's like hooking a five-pound bass.

What do the women get in return? Trips to places they wouldn't normally go, like San Diego, Miami, Hawaii, New Orleans, Nashville and Scottsdale (all in the winter, after becoming a crazy, shrieking banshee after holiday gatherings). Guess what? Nice hotels (you don't make the bed), great food (you don't have to cook or clean up), and the BIG "S" (shopping at after-Christmas prices everywhere). Lovely ladies shopping everywhere, and those men didn't even know what hit them — BCS is code for "Babes Can Shop"! Whether your husband's team (theoretically, your team, too) wins or loses, you've made out like a bandit. 

Even if you don't get to go to a Bowl location, women have the home-field advantage. They throw out every easy-made (bad for you, but mass quantities are consumed watching the commercials) food they can think of from "Recipes Gone Wild". Women then get you to invite one of your buds, or maybe your wing-man and his wife, over for a Bowl game — and the next time you look up, the wives are gone to Gordman's or Penn Square.

Bowl shopping has its own scoring system. If the MSRP (car lingo) or original price is $120, then you get a 33% mark-down, then another price reduction of 25% for the Red Tag price, plus use your 20% off coupon and another 10% if you use their charge card... Are you with me? If you went shopping during a Bowl game, they probably still owe YOU money or merchandise. 

You still have time — the Super Bowl isn't until February 1st. Heck, you only have until Valentine's Day before all offers are void where prohibited.

2008: Year of the Fish Bait (as the Chinese name them)

Yeah, 2008 smells, stinks and reeks of crooked politics, greed and idiot's disease running rampant. Congress spent money the last few years like drunken sailors on leave. Companies ran up stock prices with Wall Streeters soaking it for millions, then begging for help like college kids gone wild. Crime is on the upswing everywhere, but on a positive note, President Bush kept us safe from terrorist attacks.

Loads of natural disasters, like flooding in the Midwest (but we'll just build back in the same place, assuming it won't flood again). Housing markets, property values and shady mortgage loans caused lots of problems. Well, guess what, folks? Some people shouldn't own a home! Our poor are so well-off compared to other countries. Food stamps with (cell phones, big or multiple TVs, computers, internet access and junk food).

Enough downer stuff — what else happened this year? Well, the closing (or moving) of one of my beloved icons, Yankee Stadium, was almost overshadowed by one of its players, A-Rod (Alex Rodriguez) being of the married person kind, whose little peccadillo of DATING another married high-profile type, Madonna (what Britney Spears wants to be when she grows up — the poster lady for explaining the need for foster children). Did they think nobody in New York would notice?

As they used to say, "Jimmy the Greek won't touch them odds" pertaining to the alleged safest bets for 2008:

• Patriots (undefeated) will beat the Giants in the Superbowl

• Hillary Rodham Clinton is a "lock" for the Democrat presidential nominee.
  

That, my friends, is why they call it a bet.

People screamed and cursed adamantly that Sarah Palin wasn't qualified but those same "progressives" are now saying Caroline Kennedy is qualified to be a US Senator, mostly because of her parents. Shoot, then — let's make the case for Chastity Bono. Her parents were famous, had a lot of money, knew all the "beautiful people," her father was a Congressman and a mayor, her mother has been to a zillion countries worldwide. Put her in a dressy flannel plaid shirt and Chastity Bono will hit the ground running.

When Russia invaded Georgia this year, Jimmy Carter had to fly back to Atlanta in hopes of saving the peanut farms, only to find out that (as usual with him) his calculations were a few thousand off.

Paul Newman passed on this year — I didn't like his politics, but his food is good and the foundation does positive stuff. Speaking of stuff — George Carlin also passed on, but his routine about "stuff" was a classic (or for you younger people — LOL!).

Things never got bad enough for Forbes magazine not to notice the fictional side of wealth. Forbes named the top 15 fictional wealthiest people, with #5 Thurston Howell III, #4 Scrooge McDuck, #3 Oliver "Daddy" Warbucks (got his during the Depression), #2 Richie Rich, and (drum roll, please) #1 Santa Claus (who'd have thought he could beat out Gordon Gekko?).

I hope your Christmas was merry, and have a Happy New Year 2009 — Year of the Lug Nut.

Merry CHRISTmas, for God's sake, people...

Now then, let's have a reality check. Christmas does after all have the word CHRIST in its midst, but several groups and people in a slight minority have been on a campaign to take the word out. 

The American Humanist Association (was it hard for them to find each other, because there's not one of their buildings at major corners of every town in the US of A, like churches?) has a campaign in Washington, DC with pithy statements on public buses like "Why believe in a god?" (lower case theirs, not mine — for lightning purposes). "Just be good for goodness' sake." They say the reason is because the agnostics, atheists and other kinds of non-theists feel a little alone during the "holidays" because of its association with traditional religion.

I may be an Okie from the old ages (I can remember the '60s, but in a somewhat purple haze), but isn't this like saying you're rolling a fruitcake tin on an oil leak trail to find a sweet used car?

Say it, just spit it out — MERRY CHRISTMAS! Years ago, everyone said it. We respected our Jewish friends and others, but they knew we extended our humanity to them because of the CHRIST in Christmas was in our spirit, giving us a gentle nudge when we needed it.

I'll admit that we've let commercialization take over and rule. One sad note is the Wal-Mart employee being crushed needlessly. Or children being torn apart among numerous parents and grandparents. Out among us are silly things exasperated by the cloak of the season.

Plus, the Christmas season is full of interesting events, stories and melon thumpers. Take for instance the baby Jesus in a nativity scene outside a church that was stolen, but tracked down because of a GPS chip implanted in the infant. What kind of hot seat in hell do you get on the front row for heisting the Heavenly Father's Son? That dude's gonna glow in the dark for eternity!

Have you heard about the Santa Claus-suited nut job that got caught shoplifting, then used counterfeit money to pay his bail? Who said the District Attorney's office doesn't chase bad checks (or phony cash) in a quick, timely manner to seek recovery?

Another Santa was spotted breaking into a home and told the neighbor that he was doing a surprise like a "singing telegram", but of course was LYING and set the alarm off.

We say MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Thanksgiving Means Be Thankful, or Be a Turkey

This 2008, I'm thankful for a lot of things — good, bad and minuscule:

• I'm thankful for Snickers bars with almonds, because that's a taste combo that I crave sometimes.

• I'm thankful that most little kids see me as a grandfather figure, and not a spooky monster.

• I'm thankful that I didn't grow up to be a proctologist (even though my mother would have wanted a doctor)

• I'm thankful that I didn't (as I once thought about) pursue a career in professional wrestling — my figure wouldn't be very sightly in tights.

• I'm thankful I live in a country where I have plenty to eat and DON'T have to eat brussels sprouts for any reason.

• I'm thankful my neighbors don't have a pit bull or a barking, yelping or moaning dog.

• I'm thankful the big fashion "must" is NOT wearing polka-dot ties.

• I'm thankful leftovers (food) don't have a mind of their own and form a union which makes you eat them until they are all gone.

• I'm thankful that football and basketball are in HD now, so I can see their goofy tattoos in such detail.

• I'm thankful that Abraham's Onion Burgers is going to re-open on North Western (like I really need a greasy onion burger and fries).

• I'm thankful for all my family, friends, God's love, the people who provide our safety (the troops in our Armed Forces, police officers, firemen, healthcare providers), and for America, the greatest country in the world.

• I'm thankful most of all that you're reading my blog — yeah, this blog — and I hope your Thanksgiving was the best ever!
  

There Is No Recipe for Leftover Chocolate

Give me your word, and then I'll let you in on the world's most highly kept secret. That's right, I trust you with this closely-guarded, cherished bit of classified info.

Gold, diamonds, stocks, bonds or currency are not the most valuable forms of exchange — no, our world runs on chocolate. All other wealth barometers like the Gold Standard, oil prices of resources, and money from all countries are smoke screens to hide the amount of chocolate that trades hands in the entire world. Kings (more so, their wives), queens, world leaders, PTA presidents, or your own wives, are all run by the effects of chocolate.

You may be saying, "He's a conspiracy nutball," but let me convince you. Think about who it affects, my friend — women, men, women, children, women, businesswomen, orphans, women, mothers, women, and all those who've tasted this addictive elixir of brain-sensor-triggering sweet or bittersweet substance. It's a worldwide conspiracy, with the key players going for dominance of the world. Let's take a look at the culprits: Godiva, Hershey, Nestle, Mars, Ghiradelli, Swiss, or numerous candymakers that are vying for world to-choco-tarianism. 

It's more addictive than meth, worse than a heroin junkie, and the number of choco-addicts is greater than the millions of ciggie smokers. As the plot thickens, let me explain the craftiness of these perpetrators. Chocolate for Valentine's, fudge, or Christmas bells/Santa Claus chocolate figures in catchy aluminum wrappings, hollow chocolate bunnies for Easter (do you see a pattern here?), sold and given to each other like lemmings running off a cliff.

How can chocolate affect you? Well, it makes grown women cry, yell, throw things or slam phones (and that's just lady Realtors). Guns are pulled, knives are waved, combs or brushes wielded, or even pepper spray shadow of use can make most people give over the chocolate. If you've ever seen the wild fire in a lady's eyes who's coming for the chocolate, you've seen SATAN (you've been warned, my friend, you've been warned...). 

Don't think this war is like the cheery little M&M characters — we're talking all sorts of devious worldwide covert operations. The CIA (Chocolate Intelligence Army), which you probably thought meant something else, will stop at nothing to spread their addiction and control.

Why am I writing this, you ask? Think about all the chocolate exchanged for Halloween this year and tell me I'm a "conspiracy wacko". Now they've got your kids, unless you took all the chocolate away and left your kids with the orange or black wrapped peanut butter candies. Don't laugh — mean mothers are hooked that bad. Just remember that vanilla is the most-sold flavor of ice cream worldwide. Why? Because you put chocolate sauce on it, my friend, because you put chocolate (hot fudge) sauce on it.

Eat-less in Seattle

My, oh, my! After all these years, the Glenster finally got to go up Seattle way. Been to Vancouver, which was outta-sight (bet you hadn't heard that in awhile!), but never to Seattle, which had me lusting for a visit after watching "Elvis at the World's Fair" as a mere lad.

Plus, as an avid watch of the Travel Channel, Food Network and internet roaming, my taste buds were exploding with curiosity before I ever reached the cab from the airport. All your friends bombarding you, telling you the seafood, salmon and wine are off the charts in Seattle — but I was on a "mission" to find more.

First off, the one place jumping off everyone's charts (Rachel Ray's Picks, America's Best Doughnuts, Phatt Frank's Hall of Fame, and a client from Seattle) is Top Pot Doughnuts, with its classic choices of just the old standby regular doughnuts and rolls, but done right with melt-in-your-mouth toppings. Not 50,000 choices, but 12 really, really good ones.

Of course, the coffee is fantastic, because in Seattle almost everyone's coffee is fantastic. I got my picture taken outside the first Starbucks, but didn't buy ANY Starbucks in Seattle because the rest of the coffee places are so good.

Fresh produce is plentiful everywhere, like the marvelous food at the Steelhead Diner. Updated comfort food as your choices, done with a quirky flair (bigger amounts than one person can [should] eat), presented appetizingly, so share with somebody. 

Speaking of comfort food, check out the Icon Grill with its rich history, downtown location, and menu they bill as "aroused Americana", showcasing the Five Cheese Macaroni & Cheese (feeds three people as a side dish), On-the Spot Fried Chicken or the Northwest Mix. Nice atmosphere with eclectic decor for a quiet, enjoyable dinner plus decadent dessert surprises. Get the refrigerator dolly to cart your friend out, while you're both smiling!

Maybe Asian fusion done with seafood jump-kicks your starter. Wild Ginger has some mean grub — shrimp, scallops or lobster blended with the freshest veggies in unforgettable sauces, prepared fresh just for you. Rice and lip-licking pot stickers done to perfection create a speed bump of taste for the cool after-work crowd which will slow them down every time. 

Speaking of speed bumps, the traffic is really bad in Seattle. If you don't believe me, check out the safety cones! On the way to a fantastic neighborhood Italian bistro, Machiavelli Ristorante, the highway bridge comes into play over railroad tracks, but it's a hip little area like the Paseo District in OKC.

As you can see from my pic, taking a rest chillin' out after the Experience Music Project (Jimi Hendrix museum) was a hard task because of the pressure of picking the next place to eat. Plus, remembering the time I dragged my best buddy, Randy Allison, to see Jimi Hendrix at OU in the late '60s. It was good and loud — a lot better than Randy's usual musical fare of the Lettermen or Fifth Dimension soft pop mushy jibberish.

It was a great trip — the fable of my introduction to "high tea" will be another entry...

The Vacuum Sucking Out the Vacation Pleasure Experience

I really enjoy going to new places, towns, sights, cultures and food experiences — but air travel just sucks the life out of you.

All these nimrods that are too cheap to check in their suitcase, so they try to bring it on board. Rolling, poking, pushing, shoving and slinging their over-size, over-loaded, over-packed "allegedly" carry-on type luggage, through small aisles of planes to insert them into a limited number of overhead bins which are smaller than the luggage — not to mention coats, laptops or foam replicas of the Empire State Building and wedding gifts for the newlyweds (who would rather have a gift card) — they're all clogging the boarding and deboarding process. 

Cut us all some slack — check your crap in before boarding! Southwest and Frontier don't even charge a DIME for your suitcases to be checked. Your 15-20 minutes of time saved by not checking your luggage is lost when all you jokers tie up EVERYONE on the plane upon landing or pre-takeoff.

On a recent flight, a woman had her suitcase open, blocking the aisle for the 45 people yet to board while she looked for her fuzzy slippers to wear on the plane. Oh, no, she didn't have time to do this BEFORE getting on the plane, because she was too busy talking on her cell phone at the airport about tuna casserole (it's a national crisis on the casserole front).

So my proposal is, limit everyone to an iPod, two magazines and a bottle of water (of course, chocolate is allowed for the ladies). Everyone would be happy (unless the airline sends your luggage to Timbuktu). But they accomplish that sometimes, anyway.

Crazy School Daze Are Off to the Races

Every year, problems start up when school starts because kids have to push the limits, parents go too far and the "educational system" is like no other. We demand safety, medical oversight, learning, social and athletic activities for "our" student (but just to the degree that I agree). Parents want all the other students to obey the rules, but "mine" can be the exception.

Check this out — our federal money for schools includes money from Mexico. No, I didn't make a mistake — Mexico gives over a MILLION dollars to help teach Mexicans to advance so they can (let's all say it together...) send money back to Mexico from the US, which was about $24 billion last year. Let the $24 billion pay some of the bad mortgages we are now paying for. France and Japan also provide educational assistance — are they sneaking in and we don't know it?

Now do you understand why we should have proof of citizenship to enroll kids in school? The federal government should provide schools just for illegal immigrants and their children. Our local schools are being forced to make unpopular choices because of overcrowding.

More crazy than that — what's the deal with all these teachers having affairs with students? Mostly, women are seducing these "pool/lawn boys" which isn't exactly difficult, since their testosty hormones are pegging off the charts. 

Here we go to the "back in my day" speech (ha!)... I had a little crush on my eighth grade French teacher, Marilyn Gore. (Rumor had it, she worked as an airline stewardess to put herself through college.) I found out later that she went to work at OCU as a recruiter and charmed Vince Orza into coming here for school. She was pretty, sophisticated, and just a "Big League Babe" (corny, sexist eighth-grader term, but meant in ultimate respect).

We've got a 33-year-old woman stealing IDs from her 15-year-old daughter so she can enroll herself back into high school so the woman (mother) can try out for cheerleader. She made it, but her check for the uniform deposit bounced. She claimed she wasn't a good math student (checkbook mania got her), and was sad to move from her old school. Gosh, I don't know why she didn't have custody of her daughter!

Guns at school, kids drinking and doing illegal substances and gangs terrorizing the town — I'm sure glad we're not back in the Wild West! Nonetheless, school spirit runs high everywhere, and on Friday night you probably could still steal everything in town while the folks are away to the next town for the "big game".

Look out! It's "fall break", and Halloween is on its way!!!

$700 Billion Dollar Bailout Smokescreen Hides the Real News this Week

With all this hubbub about the financial mess, Congress, VP debates and elections, maybe you missed some of the real news....

First, did you know that the world's fattest man, Mexican Manuel Uribe, has lost nearly 570 ponds — almost HALF his body weight — just in time to get married? He'll look rather dapper in his "tuxedo sheet" (the guy only wears sheets because he can't get out of bed), because you need something to pin the boutonniere to! Or...

A chef died from eating the hottest chili they could make. His wife's brother (brother-in-law in most of the 50 states) said he could make chili so HOTTTT!! that the chef couldn't eat it. Much to his demise, he proved him wrong. He won the bet. Congress didn't do this, but we'll probably have a study, project or bill that's funded by us (you and me, the taxpayers) to rate or make manufacturers of chili to mark them or give health warnings. They can't handle highways, taxes or big finance, but they're licking their chops to get a shot at "Peter Piper picked a pile of pickled (hot) peppers"!

Or they'll really sink their teeth into this — in England, the government is making the cigarette manufacturers put gross, graphic pictures on cigarette packs showing throat sores and cancerous lungs, with sayings such as, "Smoking causes fatal lung cancer" or "Smoking can cause a slow, painful death." Some of these look like fake tabloid pictures. Not for the faint of heart or little kids — but those two shouldn't be buying them, anyway. And you thought everything was happening in Washington!

In closing, just a little real estate helpful hint, since Halloween is coming up. In Oklahoma, like most states, it's up to the buyer to specifically ask the question to the seller in writing. What question would this be, you ask? "Is this house haunted?" Sellers have to disclose knowledge about lead-based paint, but not if anybody has died in the house, unless specifically asked. Also, in the city limits, it's not "cool" to bury your pet in the yard. They are just like family, but need to be laid to rest someplace else.

Have a good week, and write your check for the "bailout". Send it to me and I'll make sure it gets counted! (Ha! Ha! Ha!)