YOU'RE GONNA GET IT!

Yesterday morning I hear the pitter patter of the shower.

Run, get the camera.

Quietly open the bathroom door.

Whrrr, click!

She: What are you doing?!

Me: Checking to see if this flashlight works. It's really bright! I like this flashlight.

She: Flashlight? You'd better not be taking pictures of me in the shower. That would be totally sick. If you are taking pictures, you're gonna get it. Big time.

Me: Oh no (with both fingers crossed), I would never take pictures of you in the shower.

She: Take your damn flashlight and get out of here. How about a little privacy?!

Me: I'm going. I'm going.

Why is it that boys will always be boys?

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Do you recognize who these two people are? Do you?

Long ago. Max. Papa.

I'd love to own that head of hair again.

I was one wild and crazy teacher who worked part-time (30 hours a week) in a supermarket to support the family. Working 70 hours a week made me crazy. I've always been wild. Or is it the other way around?

In those days I was never home. Always working. Even on weekends. At work at 8 in the morning and home at 10 at night. This was my routine for five years.

I made more money working at the supermarket part-time than I made working full time for a public school.

Supermarket shoppers would ask me, "Are you Mexican?" What a stupid question.

Some of the same shoppers would also ask, "Do you dye your mustache?" One more stupid question.

My answers would be, "I'm total Mexican and here without a green card. Don't tell anyone." And, "I use shoe polish on my mustache. Like it?"

Stupid questions deserve stupid answers.

On his last visit, Max went through the family albums and scanned a few pictures. This is one of them. I need to learn the art of scanning. I've tried but it just does not work out. It's about teaching an old dog new tricks.

SCARFING UP GOODIES WITH PAPA

What's better than an afternoon following a morning at preschool with Papa? Here's what you get:

Cartoons. Scarfing up a chocolate covered Eclair with custard in the middle. Miniature golf in between raindrops. Two squirt gun fights. Ball game with one of the dogs. Two sit down read a book stories.

Does it get any better than this? I'm thinking about how my grandmother spoiled me ("Pop" was always working and never around for special moments). No wonder I loved my grandmother so. She spoiled me much the same way that Grace is being spoiled during our daily afternoon visits. Spoiled really isn't the word to use, is it? But we use it anyway.

Grace will have precious memories of her grandparents.

For you youngsters, "scarfing up" is a 60's term for gobbling or eating something.

This is our 16 year old cat Fluffy Marie. At 16 she's going strong. We lost her sister Coco Marie 6 years ago to coyotes. Damn them!

Coco used to get on the back of my recliner and "groom" the hair on my head. She'd lick and lick to make certain I was spic and span. What a cat. I miss that cat.

Fluffy sleeps outside in our shed. We tried the house and then the garage but it didn't work out. Fluffy sheds a lot of fur. What a mess she makes. Regardless of how much hairball medicine we give her, Fluffy always barfs up hairballs. Then of course the dogs want to scarf up on the little treats Fluffy leaves behind. Not a good thing.

The litter in the sandbox flies when Fluffy uses it. There's always a mess to cleanup.

And then there's the sleeping on the cars in the garage thing. An open window on anyone of the vehicles was an invitation for Fluffy to spend a night in luxury. Ever get into your car and discover that you've just sat on one big juicy hairball?

Now the cat has her own castle in which to barf up hairballs and throw litter around to her little heart's content.

Fluffy's igloo is equipped with a heating pad. In the winter the pad is set on medium and turned to low in the summer. Because she's older, Fluffy sleeps a lot much like people in their late 80's or 90's. In cat years, Fluffy has to be at least that old.

The dogs love this cat. They chase her around the yard until Fluffy is tired of that nonsense. Then she sits. The dogs smell her and then Jilli humps Fluffy for lord knows why (female on female thing). Strange ritual.

ATTACK OF THE WHITE HEADED PEOPLE

THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!

This could be the theme for a Japanese horror film: White headed invaders from outer space.

I filled the truck up with two buck eighty-five cent diesel (35 gallons worth) Friday. As I stood outside the truck waiting for it to fill with fuel I looked over at the Swim, play move! ad pasted on the billboard just north of where I was standing.

Why are retired people with screwed up body parts being picked on? We don't need reminding that a hip or knee replacement is in our future.

A new Corvette, a curvy blonde chick . . . that's what I want in my future not some damn knee replacement procedure. How about a billboard with that on it?

Following our stop for diesel we headed to the fairgrounds. The once a year home show had just opened and we wanted new ideas for our home.

We were a bit early for the 1:00 p.m. opening of the show but already there was a long line of white headed people quite a ways down the parking lot. Who were these guys? Not working, that's for sure.

During the week I notice a lot of what appears to be older retired people out and about. There's a lot of them. They say this is the trend, that a good portion of the population is about retire.

The long lines of white headed people is going to get even longer. With gasoline at 3 bucks a gallon it's a cinch that they're not going to be traveling any distance. They'll just stay home, hang out at home shows and get knee or hip replacements. Hey! It's something to do, isn't it?

I don't want to be one of those white headed people for I'm much too young to become "one of them".

Time to buy some Grecian Formula, don't you think?

CAN I GET ANCHOVIES WITH THAT?

Saturday night was pizza night, don't you know. Round Table makes the only honest pizza. Or so they say. It's all in Round Table's crust (nothing like it) and the sugar they add to their Roma tomatoes.

This is their showcase Prosciutto Artisan pizza with artichoke hearts, lemon feta cheese, mozzarella, basil, organic tomato sauce, caramelized onions, Roma tomatoes and a cornmeal dusted crust.

Usually I order the Pepperoni Artisan pizza. It's so good. The wife keeps telling me I need to think out of the box so I changed up and ordered this instead.

Mistake. The combination of all the stuff they pile on this thing just does not float my boat. Nothing like a pepperoni pizza. With anchovies.

I'm done thinking out of the box. I'm going back to what I do best: Just being plain Old Bob.

See this little fart down below? During the day he hides out under a large orchid plant. During the night he comes out and swims in this bowl under the faucet just outside the master bedroom. And then he croaks and croaks all night long to a female living somewhere in the greenery down the hill. For a little guy, he makes a lot of noise.

I wish the two frogs would get together. Together they're killing any thought of my getting a good night's sleep.

The wife is off to a medical appointment at UC Med. It's three hours down and three hours back. This means I have kid duty this afternoon. It will just be Grace, Papa and the dogs.

Over the weekend I bought two squirt guns and a kid's golf set. Grace and I will be playing at being Dirty Harry and Tiger Woods.

FORE!

Happy Monday.

I DON'T FREAKING GET IT!

Page 36 in Rolling Stone magazine, the most recent edition - Random Notes. Not this picture picked up off of HFPA but one similar to it of Elton John and David Furnish.

Caption: "Elton John and husband David Furnish."

I don't know if this assignment of roles was theirs or if Rolling Stone came up with it based on the couples recent same sex marriage. The HFPA photo identified David Furnish as being Elton's partner and not his wife.

I've known a lot of gay guys. Been best friends. Shot the shit. Drank a lot of beer. Went places. Slept on the family couch with their lovers while our kids slept in their rooms.

You can say that for a hetero I know the gay community.

For two guys to refer to one as the husband and the other as a wife is beyond stupid. Come on people, guys are going to ge guys, regardless of their sexual orientation! None of the gay guys I know would ever want to be someones bitch and referred to as their wife. None. They're guys!

Granted there are some men in the gay community that want the assignment of role identification in a relationship. Likewise for lesbians. But don't you think that's stepping over the gender line? For eyons husbands have been men and wives have been women. And it's not time to change that tune. Not.

If it is time to change that line of thinking then I'm going to be referred to the wife in this marriage and the wife can now be the husband.

"Hi, my name is Candace and this is my wife Bob."

Sound stupid? Makes as much sense as two people in a same sex marriage calling themselves either a wife or a husband.

There has to be a better tag. Like Dom Pard or Sub Pard for dominant and submissive. You have a better imagination than old Bob. Think of something.

This is not about gay or lesbian bashing. This is about what's right in the world of definitions. Look up wife or husband in the dictionary and see what you get.

It's all about male with female relationships.

EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED

Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 by Bob Dylan:

"I would not feel so all alone. Everybody must get stoned."

The in-laws, mom and dad, rest their souls, never thought that they'd be stoned together.

A fund raising activity for the local animal shelter asked for contributions. In exchange for a $200 contribution donors were given a stepping stone outside their spay and neuter clinic with the inscription of their choice.

Best $200 we've ever forked out for charity.

WANNA PULL MY FINGER?

Things we teach our grandchildren.

SAY CHEEEESE!

The wife asked me smile and tilt my head. Why? I have no idea. I hate having my picture taken. Take a good look because you won't see many more on this blog.

Did you read the article that Chinese food is bad for you? I only thought that Chinese food made for a glossier head of hair. All the oil and grease they use in preparing Chinese food must do that.

Why is good for us these days. Every time I pick up a paper it's don't eat this and don't eat that. Or, eat more of this and lots of that. On the "must eat list" is crap food like barbecued tofu. Ever try to barbecue tofu? I did once. What a mess.

Here I'm eating sweet and sour pork. The pork was breaded so that can't be too good for you. Also on the plate is Wham, Bam, Thank You Mam chicken. It must have been cooked in a lot of oil for it was very slippery.

How can something so tasty be so very bad for your health?

Busy day on Friday. We'll do Lowe's to pick out plants for a new planting area in front of the house. There's a home show at the fair grounds. Lunch out on Friday seems like a good thing to do today. Or, maybe an early dinner and beat the Friday night crowds.

In a week workers that we've hired will be tearing up most of the house. Yes, it remodel time at Old Bob's homestead. We will be living in our trailer that is parked alongside the house. There will be pictures.

TGIF means Toes Go In First. Don't forget this most important rule for putting your shoes on in the morning.

4x4 UP THE MOUNTAIN

One September morning gathered the dogs, the wife and a nice picnic basket full of food and set out to climb to the top of this mountain in the truck.

If you click on the photo you'll see communication antennae on the very top of the mountain. There's a very steep access road that provides access to the equipment.

The grade had to be well over 25%. As we climbed the mountain the nose of the truck seemed to be pointing straight up. It was all dirt, lots of rocks and huge ruts most of the 7 mile drive to the top.

Once there I let the dogs out. Jilli immediately begins rolling in a four inch layer of fine dirt covering the parking area. She's filthy.

Me as I step out of the truck: Wow, look at the view. And look at this dog. What was once a light colored dog has become dirt brown.

She: You're not going to believe this.

Me: Shoot.

She: The truck has a flat tire.

Sure enough as we reached the top there was a piece of re bar sticking out of the ground and we had run smack dab over the top of it. You wouldn't think a piece of re bar could puncture a tire but it did.

Here we are, top of the mountain, there's four inches of fine dirt to wallow around in during the process to get one wheel off and the spare on. Of all the places to have a flat tire.

The truck was fairly new at the time. I'd not changed a tire in years but was confident I could do the job. It wasn't like AAA could come and change it for me.

Me: I can't lower the spare tire from underneath the truck. There's no nut or anything that will allow me to take it off of the mounting bracket.

The owner's manual was useless. There was nothing to show how to get the spare off of the truck. We're stuck.

Ah ha, cell phone. Call the dealership. Thank goodness that we brought a cell phone along.

Me: Hi Gary, this is Bob. You'll never guess where we are.

Long story short, I found that there's a long rod stored in the engine compartment. To lower the spare you take the rod, insert it into a hole that's through the rear bumper, turn the rod to lower the spare.

Did I ever feel stupid. Truck owners should be macho. Calling for directions on how to change a tire is not macho.

After I changed the tire I was sweaty, (it was 90 something degrees) as filthy as Jilli and in no mood for a leisurely picnic lunch on the mountain.

Once the winter snow is off of the mountain I'm in the mood to 4X4 to the top of the mountain again with one eye on the road and one eye watching out for re bar.

A WALK AROUND THE POND

There's a little pond a half mile from the house. Cow Town locals call this a lake. I suppose in many ways it is. In Texas, our little "lake" would definitely be classified as a pond, maybe even a puddle.

The lake is populated with a few fish. It's not unusual to find a fisherman spending more time pulling the algae off of his hook than anything else.

Turtles sun themselves on rocks and logs. Frogs sing whatever the song of the day is. Candace periodically spit out the insects that had found their way into her mouth. They hovered in mass swarms all along the path around the lake. Yuck! she said. Then keep your mouth closed, I said.

There are paved paths to walk on all around the lake. Yesterday we passed a half dozen people enjoying a leisurely walk. Most had dogs. One man in a motorized wheelchair was walking a Jack Russell terrier. The dog jumped into the lap of his owner when anyone approached.

Smart dog.

Kindergarten roundup was yesterday. Since Grace's mom was working, Candace went in her place. The event was all about what to expect next school year as preschooler children transition to the next level of formal education. All of the preschoolers got to ride the school bus and spend some time in a kindergarten classroom which had to be the thrill of the week for those kids.

Once home from kindergarten roundup after rubbing elbows with younger parents Candace said off the top, "I am ever so glad that I'm not 33 with a child entering kindergarten. It feels so good to be where we are at this stage of life."

In a time when a large segment of the population is graying, suppose more than a few wish to be younger again. For what? To have less money? To be once again young and stupid? To have little time to ourselves being the slaves that we were to raise children, pay mortgages and save for the future?

She's right. It's all too easy now. We're on top of our game and it feels good to be in first place. Trading places and being thirty something again is not even a passing fancy.

THE ANSWER TO THE RIDDLE

What goes up white and comes down yellow?

An egg.

Neither the wife or Grace had the answer yesterday which made for a great demonstration.

One white egg.

Tossed high in the air.

Viola! Yellow egg on the sidewalk.

The photo was taken moment after this most wonderful demonstration. Click on it to catch the expressions on their faces. Real deal.

Grace, with dart rifle in hand (her new favorite toy . . . next stop, BB rifle!), can't believe that Papa had actually smashed an egg on the sidewalk. I think Candace was equally surprised.

Never know what this old dog is going to come up with.

Off to the dentist in a few minutes for the semi-annual visit. Don't you just love someone screwing around with your gums during a process designed to clean teeth? What's up with that?

It rained in Cow Town last night. Wind blew. Crap rattled around on the patio outside the master bedroom. Had to shut the door it was sooooo noisy which made for a crabby wife this morning. "It was too hot to sleep with the door closed", she said. Well, it was too damn noisy to sleep with the door open.

Gotta run. Have someone waiting with a scalpel just itching to get into an open mouth.

OUTSOURCE THE WAR IN IRAQ!

Here's yesterdays jaunt to the lake. 80 degrees with a warm breeze coming off of the lake.

All of the war marches you're reading about in this morning's newspapers? Have you seen one sign that reads:

"OUTSOURCE THE WAR!"

Or have you read that our government is considering outsourcing the war?

Bushman? Wanna take a little heat off of your butt? Think about outsourcing the war.

It's still the best idea. We're gonna have war in Iraq until Bush is out of office anyway. Why not outsource it to a country that will go in, kick major butt, restore order, revitalize and rebuild Iraq, install a government and then get the hell out.

The hawks might be happy. The peaceniks will be kind of happy. Moms and dads who have sons or daughters in Iraq will be clicking their heels. The Iraqi's will have their country back. Whoever is awarded the Win the War in Iraq by Outsourcing contract will be smiling - they'll have major money in their pockets. Outsourcing the war in Iraq would be good for the global economy.

China would be a good candidate to take over the war. China does not pussy foot around. This country takes the gloves off and plays hardball. China has the resources. They have the manpower. China would take the insurgents to the woodshed.

Second, third, fourth generation Americans don't want to get their hands dirty. We can't stand hard, sweaty physical labor. Farm labor, meat packing (slaughter houses), construction labor (aka ditch digging) and more - those jobs are primarily filled by Third World workers coming from outside of the USA.

Outsourcing the war in Iraq makes for good sense and logic. Look for my Outsource the War! sign at the next peace demonstration.

WHICH COAST SPRINGS FIRST?

Are you an Eastie or a Westie? On the West coast Spring has truly sprung first. This large yellow flowered bush that flows over the backyard fence is evidence that the seasons have truly changed on the left side of the USA.

This afternoon it's a sunny barefoot 80 degrees/30% humidity day in Cow Town.

It was a lazy St. Patrick's Day. Shopping. Yard work. Visiting the kids. It was Keith's birthday. Dinner at home. Netflix movie: 4 episodes of the first season of 24. High drama. Saturday Night Live. Lights out.

This morning it was a 20 minute drive to a neighboring lake. The "girls" romped, waded in the water, sniffed, peed and pooped to their hearts content. Several sailboats were skimming the lake while fishermen were trying to set their hook on the ever illusive trophy fish. during our 11 in the morning walk I swear there was someone water skiing in the 42 degree lake water. Brrr.

Quite a setting.

The weeds are proliferating around the yard as is the poison oak growing just over the fence. Two gallons of Round Up that I applied should do the deed.

Tonight there will be corned beef and cabbage on the table one day late. I'll down the yearly Guinness. Down a shot of Bushmills. Mother will be crooned by yours truly. It's always When Irish Eyes Are Smiling. It will a day late St. Patrick's Day. The two of us are more than half Irish. An Irish celebration at our house is every day of the week and not just once a year.

I went to Reno a couple of years back with one of the boys. Just the two of us. He came back and told mom that old dad had done drunk him under the table. Indeed, after an afternoon of drinking and gambling the poor lad was carried by old dad to the hotel room by 6:30 p.m. I was out with the crowd and good to go until midnight. Not bad for an old fart Irish man.

As for this son, maybeon the next outing he'll heed the advice of the old man when he says, "Pace yourself laddie, pace yourself".

Grace will be here tomorrow after preschool. At some point I'll ask her if she knows the answer to the riddle: What goes up white and comes down yellow? Do you know?

If you don't, check out the pictures on Tuesday.

Happy Sunday.

ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN THE YEAR 2007

I'll bet at the end of the last century you'd never guess we'd be drinking hot corned beef cocktails in the year 2007.

Oh, yum, yummy!

Heck, with hot corned beef cocktails you don't even have to stop to eat your St. Patrick's Day dinner.

Chug-a-lug hot corned beef cocktails all day long.

Chug-a-lug hot corned beef cocktails all night long.

Drink left over hot corned beef cocktails at work for lunch on Monday.

Whether you eat or drink your way through today,

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

I GOT SPANKED

"Grace is going to tell you that she got spanked", were the first words out of the mouth of her mother on Thursday.

Grace is a regular stinker with her mother. Behavior we never see in our home Grace pulls on her mother. It was no surprise to hear that it came down to "paddling Grace's canoe" Thursday.

Knowing Grace's mother the spanking was not harsh. Knowing Grace, the spanking hurt her feelings more than it hurt her fanny.

80% of American CEO's listed in the Forbes 500 report that as children they were spanked by a parent.

As a child I was spanked. Dad would often call it a tune-up. "Do you need a tune-up, boy?!" Sure dad, and while you're at it check the spark plugs.

My first spankings at four years of age were a go to the willow tree, cut off a switch and bring it to dad kind of spanking. Stray swats that would wander from the fanny would sting the hell out of bare legs.

We graduated from the willow twig to a hand on the bottom. Then dad hurt his hand during one my spankings.

Enter Mr. Belt. Later on came Mr. Belt on a bare bottom. My bottom toughened up. Several times a coat hanger replaced the belt. There were welts the size of a metal hangar.

Spankings became more severe during the times me and my brother were being punished. We'd laugh. We'd fake cry. That further incensed old dad which in turn increased the vigor of the delivery our punishment. There were times that we couldn't sit down for hours.

When I was older dad attempted to continue his line of "behavioral modification". I remember the last time well. When he was told that I was not going to submit to any more of his "punishment" dad pushed me through a closed bedroom window. Then he wanted me to pay for its replacement. That was the last time that dad touched me in anger. Wise decision on his part. I had reached the age where I could dish back anything that dad could dish out.

Today dad would have been reported for using a belt or hanger on the bare bottoms of his boys to Child Protective Services. He would have been in big trouble. Back then it was okay for parents to wail on their kids. If reported dad probably would have gotten the parent of the year award instead of being in big trouble.

I've thought about the beatings I took under the hand of dad. Dad thought about them too. At the end of his life and without prompting, dad admittedly regretted using corporal punishment on me and my brother. He was very sorry.

For the life of me and to this day I can't remember what it was that I had done or my brother had done that brought dad to the conclusion that our bare butts needed paddling. We were only kids. I wonder what pissed old dad off enough that made him take out his anger on his kids?

Until the mid 1980's California public schools were allowed to paddle students if the parents consented in writing. A witness was required to be present when the child was paddled. Like that made it okay.

On my assignment from teacher to principal the superintendent "awarded" me with a paddle. Tools of the trade. To make a I point I'd display my paddle to the worst of rascals and threaten to use it. This approach always worked.

I used the paddle that you see pictured here only once on a student and at the request of a parent. Paddling was the last resort in an attempt to settle a boy down who kept hurting others. The teacher was present. Three swats. This lad never hurt another student.

Most parents today are wise. There are other methods besides spanking that can be used to teach, to modify or improve the behavior of their children. An occasional swat to the rear end of a rebellious child to drive a point home is still not a bad idea. No bare bottoms. No belts. No hangars. Just a swat.

I should frame and display this old paddle as a memento of yesterday as a symbol of one method of behavioral modification that is no longer acceptable. Thank goodness.

IT'S THE "KILLER'S" BIRTHDAY!

Jerry Lee Lewis is 81 today and still going strong.

Goodness, gracious, Great Balls of Fire!

I'VE BEEN HAD!

I arrived home after running several hours worth of errands. Imagine my surprise when the wife said:

She: Okay dear, both girls are here and ready to meet you. But first, kiss me good-bye. I'll be out shopping for a couple of hours while the three of you get acquainted. Don't open any of the guest bedroom doors until I'm out of the driveway.

Me: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

I wait five minutes.

Knock, knock, knock . . . on bedroom number one. No anwer. Three more knocks. Still no answer.

Okay, I think . . . girl in bedroom one is playing coy. Slowly I open the door. . .

Holy macaroni and cheese! Fake!

I run over to bedroom two, throw open the door and FAKE!

I'VE BEEN HAD!

The front doorbell rings. It's the neighbors with wife in tow . . . all laughing. All pointing to Old Bob and his new fake friends.

I'll never live this one down.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLY!!!!

Sly Stone is 64 today.

As they say,

"Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka"

And no, I don't have anything better to think about.

LAST NIGHT

She: What are you doing?!!!

Me: Shaving my legs. I want to look spiffy for our new ladies.

She: That confirms it. You are totally nuts.

Me: You know what drives me nuts? I'll tell you.

She: I can only guess. Don't want to hear what drives you nuts. By the way, the ladies will not be with us tonight. They are making preparations to live with us. These things take time.

Me: I can live with that. The hair on my legs won't grow back right away. They'll be smooth as silk for a week or more.

She: The two ladies are thinking of being here tomorrow or Friday. They're all wrapped up and can't be here tonight.

Me: Right on! Tell me about each of them. Tall? Short. Blonde? What???!

She: You'll find out soon enough. I want them to be a complete surprise for you. Old Bob will be the Hugh Hefner of Cow Town.

Me: Yipppee kai yea kai yo! Get-ee up little hefers. YEEEEEEEE HAW!

She: But before that, first things first. The car?

He: Paid for and will be delivered in two weeks.

She: The trip to Spain?

He: Paid for on line. All you have to do is print out the E tickets.

She: And my monthly allowance?

He: I'm holding back on that one. Let's just say you'll get that when the goods are delivered.

She: Fair enough.

I go back to shaving my legs and listening to Frank Sinatra croon, I Did It My Way. And like Old Bob he wasn't talking about changing his order at Burger King either.

WHAT ABOUT HEF?

Yes, what about Hugh Hefner?

80 years old. Suitcases full of money.

Lots of parties. Wears pajamas 24/7. Cackles a lot. That would be Hef.

E! television on Sunday runs a series called, The Girl's Next Door. It's about Hef, his three live-in girl friends and life as they live it in the Playboy Mansion.

Here they are, Hef's girls.

Go figure. 80 years old. Three stone fox girl friends. For me one woman in my life is enough. That's all I can handle. Or is it?

Sunday night. I've just tuned to E! and start to watch The Girl's Next Door.

She: I'm leaving.

Me: Where are you going?

She: I'm going to the bedroom to watch something else. I am not going to watch that stupid TV show. Why do you watch such drivel?

Me: This is history in the making One 80 year old guy. Three lovelies. Has this ever been done before?

She: Whatever. Who cares?

Me: I'd like to find two girl friends just like the Girls Next Door. They could live with us. It would be fun.

She: Over your dead body.

Me: Come on. It would be fun. I'd make it worth your while. Name it and it's yours.

She: Increase my household allowance by 200%. A new black BMW X-5. A trip to Spain next year. I get to recruit the girl friends.

I'm thinking hmmmmm, reasonable but not like her to agree in a New York minute on something like this.

Me: You get to recruit the girl friends?

She: Only way this is going to happen.

What she thinks is beautiful I often look at as a skunked faced excuse for a person. This might, excuse the pun, get ugly. But it's worth a try.

Me. Well, if you must.

She: I'll have both ladies here tomorrow. Get the checkbook out and start writing those checks for the trip, the car and the increase to my household money.

Wow, that was easy . . . and both ladies here tomorrow? The wife must be one hell of a recruiter.

I'm off to ready both spare bedrooms for our new housemates. Oh yes, and I've got to prepare a schedule. This is going to be soooo very cool.

Click, click! (The sound of both heels clicking together)

There will be pictures tomorrow.

WE HAVE A WINNER

Meni Pause of Flagellation Tennessee for correctly guessing Sly Stone's "Gonna Take You Higher" as being the mystery song of the day/month/year/century/your lifetime.

I am truly underwhelmed with the number of responses to this question.

NAME THIS TUNE!

While we're on the subject of music, betcha can't guess the name of this tune and who did it:

"Boom shaka-laka-laka Boom shaka-laka-laka"

The first female to guess the name of this song and who recorded it will receive a free pass to play Carnival!

This is a chance of a lifetime.

Don't miss out.

Be the first one on your block to play the titillating game of Carnival.

For a Korean winner, we have a representative in Seoul to assist you in playing this game.

THAT'S TERRIBLE! HOW CAN YOU STAND TO LISTEN TO THAT?!

My parents said that about the music I listened to as a teenager. Elvis. Gene Vincent. Ray Charles. You name it, I listened to it.

There was a time when I thought that I'd would always be up on the music of today. I'd be forever hip, the hipster of the oldest hipsters.

When the kids were growing up I could still relate to the music. In the 70's and 80's, music was still down to earth, decent, cool.

Then came hip hop. Then came rap. Then came gangsta. Then they lost me. Man, this cat just could not relate.

Today I can't name one piece of music on the top 40 list of hit music. Not one.

I know jazz music. Keeping up with jazz released and new artists has been easy. Jazz is timeless. Like everything else in this world, it's changed a bit. When fusion was introduced it took a piece of traditional jazz sales. Still does. I have both traditional and fusion jazz on my shelves.

I looked at something I listened to wayyy back in the day. My teens. "I Called The Witch Doctor". It was not a favorite tune but a novelty to listen to. Maybe this is what mom and dad hated about the music of that day.

I Called the Witch Doctor

"I told the witch doctor

I was in love with you

I told the witch doctor you didn't love me too

And then the witch doctor, he told me what to do

He said that ....

[Chorus:]Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang

Walla walla, bing bang

Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang

Walla walla, bing bang...

Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang

Walla walla, bing bang

Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang

Walla walla, bing bang"

And so on. You get the gist.

Then I checked out the Rolling Stone magazine that came in the mail Friday. Number 5 on the MTV list of top videos: Cupid's Chokehold by the Gym Class Heros. Decent title. Something I could relate to? I Goggled the lyrics.

Cupid's Chokehold

"Ba ba da da
Ba ba da da
Ba ba da da
Ba ba da da
Ba ba da da

Take a look at my girlfriend
She's the only one i got (ba ba da da)

Not much of a girlfriend
I never seem to get a lot (ba ba da da, ba ba da da)

It's been some time since we last spoke
This is gonna sound like a bad joke
But momma i fell in love again
It's safe to say i have a new girlfriend

And i know it sounds so old
But cupid got me in a chokehold
And i'm afraid i might give in
Towels on the mat
my white flag is wavin'

I mean she even cooks me pancakes
And alka seltzer when my tummy aches
If that ain't love
then i don't know what love is"


If that's not a witch doctor girl friend, I don't know what is. And she cooks pancakes and brings Alka Seltzer! What more can a guy ask for?

Ting tang walla walla bing bang! That's what.

Finally, a piece of today's music that I can relate to.

Peace out, brother.

NAKED NIGHT

Songstress Christina Aguilera and her husband reserve Sunday night as Naked Night at their home. According to the article, they run around naked all day. This must make for some interesting outside gardening.

No wonder our family is never invited to the Aguilera's for dinner Sunday nights.

This conjures up all kinds of images.

One of Candace's friends describes her boobs as "raisins on a string". That said and later in this couples life Christina Aguilera and her husband at the Sunday dinner table while she serves dinner: He says, "Ah, your boobs are dragging through my mashed potatoes."

What do raisins on a string look like anyway?

We used to have all kinds of "nights" at our house. Taco Night. Camping out week night. Candle night. Hot tub night. Put the kids up for adoption night. Movie night. Eat out night. And pizza night.

Pizza night is the only night of the nights that have withstood the test of time. Mom used to prepare pizza every Saturday night. Good old out of the box and into the pan Appian Way Pizza mix. I'd eat the left over pizza the next morning as I folded 120 Sunday newspapers for my route. A beer would have been nice to start the day but at age 12 it wasn't in the cards.

Last night was pizza night. Dawn made one. I made one. Candace made a pizza, too. Grilled for 8 minutes at 450 degrees on a large flat pizza stone on the gas barbecue.

It's nice to have traditions. Saturday will always be known as pizza night in our house.

Whatever happened to Naked Night?