I Miss Luther Vandross

An old favorite, Luther Vandross. Don't ask why, I just like this song.

FISHING BOAT?

Last Sunday an old friend and former student stopped by Cow Town on his way to the Lake. That would be Russell.

Russell vacationed all of this week with friends. They "camped" on the lake in an $8,000 a week houseboat. Hot tub. Satellite TV. Air conditioning. Disco dance floor. 2 or 3 master suites - each suite has a name. "My Way or The Highway" suite. "Time to Chain Up" suite. "Are You Feeling Lucky, Punk?" suite.

Big boat for big bucks but lots of "bang" for the buck. . . if you get my drift.

Russell brought his "fishing boat" for the vacation but stopped first to have lunch with the wife and I. I've known Russell since the day he was born. Great kid then. Wonderful "kid" today.

Russell's fishing boat goes well over 75 miles an hour. Have you ever gone that fast on the water? It's like a close encounter of a third kind - almost like an out of body experience. What fun. As a hobby, Russell enters fishing tournaments. He says that it's important to have fast boat in a tournament because it will get you quickly to the best fishing spots. In tournament fishing, time is important.

Check out Russell's boat. 25o horsepower. 800 pounds of engine. One big puppy.

During lunch Russell told a story about the time he was riding in a friends boat. There was a rudder malfunction that caused the boat to turn quickly to the left and tilted at a 45 degree angle as it made that turn. At 70 plus miles an hour both men were tossed out of the boat. Russell and his friend escaped with minor cuts and bruises and lived to tell the story when others would have not been so lucky.

I'll be sticking to sailing.

HI HO SKID MARK!

This butt thing with Zoe is not working. After coming home from the groomer there she was, skidding on her butt around the carpet in my office.

The wife says the groomer also does the butt thing with every dog they shampoo and cut. I'm thinking too much of a butt thing is not good. Zoe's exhaust pipe is most likely irritated from too many cooks in the kitchen.

We have dog butt anointment just for this irritated area. There's about every Tom, Dick and Harry dog anointment in our medicine chest. You name it, our dogs have had it and there's a cure in the house for it.

If my tail starts wagging or if I start barking you'll know that in the dead of the night I grabbed a doggy thing instead of aspirin.

SEPTEMBER 11th: WHERE WERE YOU?

One of the great things about having time to yourself is the ability to nap when you feel like it. That's priceless.

Dogs do it all the time. Nap now. Nap later. Nap whenever they feel like it.

Candace naps in the afternoon. Rigorous workout in the morning. Chores around the house. Grandchild and grandmother doing this, doing that. Nothing like a nap before she heads back to the gym for an evening Yoga class.

I'll nap but not intentionally. Like reading each of the three newspapers that are delivered to our door every day. Sometimes the news can be a real snoozer. When I read the papers Jilli is next to me and sleeps (again!). And then I'll nod off somewhere between national news and the sports sections. Being an old fart is never having to say you're sorry for dozing off.

Each of us knows well where we were on that one September 11 morning. Who can forget? Last year on this very day I headed out for a camping trip by the ocean. Today we're readying the house for interior painting. Whatever I'm doing my thoughts will reach out to the families of the 9/11 victims. My thoughts this morning will also surround the events of that day and how very much 9/11 changed America.

Years past that infamous day in September, has anything changed in America that might change how others view the American people. We're not well liked in this world. Other citizens of the world think that Americans think like George Bush and react accordingly. Ugly Americans have become uglier in the eyes of those who live in other parts of our world.

I'd vote for a president who would promise to bring peace to our world and then actually do just that. I'd vote for a president who would extend the hand of friendship to other countries. I'd vote for a president who would be the champion of the poor people in countries like Darfur and who would also recognize the need to feed the poor people in America. I'd vote for a president, whether female or male, whether orange, pink, blue or any color, of any nationality, who would just say what they mean and mean what they say. The person elected can't talk out of the both sides of their mouth. The president elected in 2008 must be able to walk what they talk.

I'm hoping for good things in 2008.

CLIFFORD THE DOG

Last Friday it was Clifford the Dog day in Grace's kindergarten class.

This is one of those pictures she'll love to hate in her teenage years. I'll show this one to each of her boyfriends and remind Grace that we still have the Clifford ears in the cedar chest in the event she would like to wear them to the next Senior Prom.

In the cedar chest there is stored a stick horse and a paper bag cowboy hat I made in first grade. First grade! Those things are approaching antique status and must be worth something to somebody.

Hello, E-Bay?

SKIDMARKS

Me: "There she goes again - Zoe's sliding on her butt around and around the floor. What's that all about."

Wife: "I think her anal gland is plugged up again. Better take her to the Vet."

Oh great, another hundred buck visit to the Vet.

Later in the day.

Wife: " Well, I'm certified. I can cure Zoe when she scoots around the floor on her butt. No more skidmarks! No more hundred dollar Vet visits."

Me: "No more skidmarks? Have you checked my shorts lately?

Wife: "Ha haha, I'm not laughing, Bob. We're talking Zoe here. The Vet taught me how to squeeze her anal gland which will relieve the pressure built up in it from not being emptied."

Me: "Whoa! More information than I need. You're doing what?"

Wife: "First you put on a pair of plastic gloves, bend Zoe over, pinch that anal gland together and VOILA! brown stink comes out."

Me: "Let's do that trick for the relatives at our Thanksgiving table this year. It would beat the hell out of hearing for the fourth year in a row all about Aunt Martha's urinary tract infections. If nothing else, all of the relatives would go elsewhere for Thanksgiving the following year."

Wife: "Now you need to be trained on how to take care of Zoe's problem just in case I'm traveling."

Me: "Ah, that would be a case of 'Hello Vet, I'm coming right over!' Bob does not do butt problems."

And that's why it's fun having dogs.

Rachel? Still want a 5 pound Pom now named The Skidmark Kid?

SATURDAY NIGHT WARNING! TURN THEM SPEAKERS UP!

If the shoe fits, wear it.

I'M CHANGING MY NAME!

Are you horny tonight? Tomato horny wormy? Yes, this is a tomato horn worm fresh on our tomato plants this morning.

It's a nice surprise to cut into a tomato and fine one of these little devils. If the tomato plants weren't crapping out I'd play Survivor and eat this morsel. Nothing like taking advantage of the food chain.

But the tomatoes are on the wane so why not live and let live.

I don't feel like writing about changing my name. This will have to wait. But I am changing my name. Hope I got your attention.

Someone With My Name in a Football Brawl

CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas — A coach who tackled a referee during a football game between 5- and 6-year-olds was sentenced to probation.

Robert Watson, 40, was convicted last week of assaulting the referee in a brawl captured on videotape and viewed worldwide on the Internet.

A jury deliberated about 20 minutes Tuesday before recommending probation for Watson. A judge Wednesday had yet to decide how long a probation term Watson should serve.

Watson faced up to a year in jail and a $40,000 fine for punching 18-year-old Marc Benavides after Benavides tried to remove him from the final moments of the Pee Wee Super Bowl in November.

A widely downloaded amateur video shows Watson charging onto a field and tackling Benavides, which escalated into a mob of fighting parents.

AND THAT'S WHY IT'S FUN BEING BOB!

I WAKE UP LAUGHING

When people ask me how I'm doing the standard reply this month is: "I wake up laughing every morning." What a pile of crap that is. Do you know anyone in their right mind that wakes up laughing? That would be so not like Bob.

This morning was another one of the those morning where I didn't wake up laughing. Then there's an e-mail at 5:00 a.m. from my very good friend (and 8th grade girl friend) Joanie. It contains George Carlin's new rules for 2007. It's 5:30 a.m. and I'm still laughing.

How about a Friday laugh? Read everyone one of the rules. Not only are they funny but George's new rules for 2007 make sense. Thank you, Joanie!

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 or 30 years. Because you don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days-he's mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out of a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Caviar?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids: lucky little bastards.

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols. If you're a grown man, they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from figuring which way to slide my card, entering my PIN number, finding and pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my candy bar.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to "chicken with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those celebrities playing poker was just too damned exciting. What' s next, competitive farting? Oh no wait! They're already doing that. It's called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&M. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy, old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes, graduations and getting out of rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn't gift giving, it's the white people's version of looting.

New Rule: and this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants. After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex with George Michael. I can't even tell if he's supposed to be there, or just some freak with a fetish. I don't want to be on your web cam, dude. I just want to wash my hands.

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to know in months. "27 Months." "He's two," will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place.

New Rule: If you ever hope to be a credible adult and want a job that pays better than minimum wage, then for God's sake don't pierce or tattoo every available piece of flesh. If so, then plan your future around saying" Do you want fries with that?"

GO WITH IT BOB

The inner voice, after checking my Del Taco receipt for that damn senior discount was saying GO WITH IT BOB, DON'T GO POSTAL BOB - because there it was - - - Yet another Del Taco DAMN senior discount.

I dress well, appear to be younger than I am, don't look like I'm in need of saving the 61 cents that was discounted from my bill but still, there it was - ANOTHER DAMN SENIOR DISCOUNT!!!

I should call Del Taco's national headquarters and demand to know how old one has to be to receive that damn senior discount. Maybe they've set the age at 39? That would be the perfect number. 39. Not too old, not too young but just right. Maybe I'm looking 39.

Me: "Hello, may I speak to Mr. Taco."

Operator: "Mr. Taco? This is Del Taco headquarters in Guacamole Texas."

Me: "That's right, I want to speak to Mr. Taco, Mr. Del Taco. Is he in today. I want to speak to him about your damn senior discount."

Operator: "Sir, we offer a senior discount to our senior citizens. If you want information on a damn senior discount you need to check with with one of our departments."

Me: "Just let me talk to someone, preferably Mr. Taco, about your damn senior discount."

Operator: "I'll direct your call to our Geriatric Taco Services department."

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

Del Taco: "Taco Services, how may I help you?"

Me: "It's about your damn senior discounts. How old do you have to be to get a discount?"

Del Taco: "Well, we offer the senior discount at several levels:

Level One: Cracks on the face, gray hair, slobbers a bit when ordering.

Level Two: Gets around with a walker using one hand on that and the other on a pee bag.

Level Three: Crawls in on all fours saying, "taco, I need a taco . . . please give me a taco."

Me: "What you're saying is that age doesn't figure into deciding who to offer a senior discount to and who you don't."

Del Taco: "That's correct unless you qualify for the damn senior discount at Del Taco."

Me: "Ahhh ha! I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! There is such a thing as a DAMN SENIOR DISCOUNT at Del Taco."

Del Taco: "That's right sir. We offer the damn senior discount to wise ass customers just to piss them off. Thank you for calling Del Taco. and have a nice day." Click.

ODDS AND ENDS WEDNESDAY

Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy wuzzy had no hair.
Fuzzy wuzzy wasn't fuzzy
was he?

But Zoe is fuzzy and cuddly, too!
Birds on the fountain outside my home office window. The fountain is not tilting to the left. My picture taking ability is crooked.


Grace and I picked up Aunt Dawn and the wife at the Cow Town Airport last week. We were early so I did what any grandfather would do - buy the kid ice cream.

Check the glasses on the head. More proof that Grace is her grandmother's child.

CAN YOU DO THIS?

I didn't think so.

Those who want to live a dog's life may not be as far off base as I thought.

Think about it.

While I'm on the subject of life as a dog, I hope Michael Vick burns in hell.

WHY DO I WANT THIS?

Damned if I know. While waiting for the truck to be repaired last week, this Chrysler Crossfire popped out of nowhere and said, "Buy me!".

I've long admired the Crossfire. Nice. Sleek. Looks like it could zip around California coastal Highway One. But the sticker? 40k MSRP. Those dollars could buy a slightly used Corvette or nearly purchase a new Porsche Cayman.

So I get a sports car: Then what? Sometimes I think that half the fun is getting there. When you get "there" the feeling is often, "Is that all there is?".

When I was younger I dated more than a few good looking women. Like yearning for a sports car, I would often pursue a woman because I thought . . . well, let's just say . . because I thought and leave it at that.

Once "netted" these ladies were often another case of all that glitters is not necessarily gold. High maintenance. Spoiled. No regard for hard earned cash. Constant whining. I'd find myself muttering to myself, "Why did I want this?!"

Sports cars can be like women: High maintenance. Spoiled and in need of constant pampering. Takes a lot of money to keep it on the road. Constant whining from the engine.

Sports cars and some women are definitely not worth the time and the expense.

I married a good looking, sports car kind of lady. Red hair. Long chassis. Top down she's a knockout. Reliable, loyal - starts quickly on cold mornings. Hits the gym at least 4 times a week to keep that engine strong. Great warranty. Together, we'll go the distance.

Okay, okay, so much for my chauvinist pig moment. Remember, this is Bob doing the writing here.

So the Chrysler Crossfire? Nice car, would be fun, but no thanks. I'll put any thought of buying a sports car aside . . . at least for now. As the wife always says, "Always leave room for the unexpected." And I will.

DRINKING DOUBLES AND THINKING SINGLE

Is that a song? My friend Willie and I used to hit the town every Friday or Saturday night. "She's drinking doubles and thinking single" was his favorite saying for soccer moms out on the prowl.

It's a wake up call to fill the 35 gallon tank on the diesel pickup every two weeks. Today it was 90 bucks. That hurts.

I'd try doing that bio diesel thing but I think pouring Crisco into the tank would be just as expensive. If diesel goes any higher I'll be trying that. A spatula, a can of Crisco and Old Bob will be on the Thinking Green band wagon. I could name my truck: The Lean, Mean French Frying Machine.

"Bob? Are you cooking fries in that truck?"

My favorite pump station is just down the street from the local rescue mission - the place where transients have the opportunity for two hots and a cot. Back in the day we'd call these people bums or hobo's. In this new century of political correctness those terms have been reduced to one: Transients. Are they really going anywhere?

The guys and dolls from the mission frequent my favorite station. Whether it's 6 in the morning or 11 in the evening, the boys and girls are there.

I paid for my 90 dollar tank of diesel this morning and just behind me was a 24 year old lady looking like 80 years old. Tough life with lots of hard miles she no doubt has lived.

Her: "Fill 'er up."

Huh? I just saw her walk in from the direction of the mission and not drive in.

Apparently the clerk knew what she was asking for. He reached into the adjacent cooler, pulled out three 40 ounce bottles of malt liquor and put them in a bag that must have been made for a purchase like this: They fit like a glove.

Clerk: "There ya go with some high octane. She's all filled up. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!"

It was 7:00 a.m. The "fill 'er up" thing must have been for a picnic later on this afternoon. As I put my credit card back in the wallet she glanced at me with "that look". I knew then she had already been drinking doubles and probably was single. I looked away as if I didn't catch the invitation. Back in Shakespeare's day the boys would have called this "young" lady a "sausage wallet" if you get my drift.

As I was about to leave a man driving a small red pickup came in, pulled a 40 ounce bottle of Miller's out of the refrigerator and told the clerk, "Give me 10 bucks at the pump and this $1.99 beer." Again, at 7 in the morning.

Beer and 7:00 a.m. don't go together, do they? I must be missing something in the translation of what they live and how I live.

Frequent flier has taken on a new meaning.

How High The Moon Helps to Define Bob

There's a story behind How High the Moon. Remind me to tell you about it some time. Bear with the first part of the video. Les Paul is a legend. He still plays once a week in NYC. . . minus Mary Ford.

TAKING THE STAR OUT OF STARBUCKS

Heck - and then you'd have BUCKS COFFEE! Now that would fit Cow Town better than the 6 or 8 Starbucks coffee houses we now have. Bucks Coffee has a ring to it.

I decided to change my life up this morning.

Me: "Want to go have coffee at Starbucks and read the Sunday paper?"

She: "You bet. I love to be in public with you."

Hmm, as compared to what? I should have dressed up like Mr. Clownhead. Bet she wouldn't say that again.

We arrive and sit down outside at the Starbucks you see here. Our two speciality coffee drinks came to $7 and I wonder out loud what the same drinks cost 10 years ago and what they'll cost 10 years from today. Inflation is a curious thing.

The two Sunday papers are stacked separately on the table and we begin to sift through them. I had just sat down when the sprinkler system on the lawn near the truck came on. The sprinkler heads were not functioning correctly as the water began spraying into the back seat of the truck. Our dogs, perched in their car seats, were starting to get wet. Perfect timing, I thought as I left my comfortable Starbucks chair to close the truck windows.

I returned to reading the papers and a great song I had not heard before began playing on the outside music system. I couldn't resist:

Me: "Whaa, whaa, do, do do, chick-e-boom-baaa, whaaa, whaa..." The two spoons on the table fell into my hands. I was Ringo Star playing live at Starbucks.

She: "Did you come to irritate me or did you come to read the Sunday paper?"

Me: "I thought I'd entertain you, too."

She: "I don't need entertaining. I would like peace and quiet. I can't take you anywhere!"

So much for being seen in public.

Me: "Well, back in the day you'd think something like that was pretty funny."

She: "That's not funny anymore. Upteen years of your 'waaa, waaa, boom, doo, doo' stuff has lost its luster."

Lost its luster? Oh well. Maybe if I come up with a bunch of new bebop sounds to make the wife will change her tune . . . or maybe it is time to change mine.

Fat chance. I gotta be me. And I will. Anything less would not be me being Bob.

BIRDIE BIRDIE IN THE SKY - WHY DID YOU POO POO IN MY EYE?

Even though she's going on five years of age, one of Grace's favorite pastimes is the sandbox.

I've come to think of the sandbox as being a Zen thing for her. Zen in the box!

While in the sandbox Grace contemplates.
And Grace also takes time in the sandbox to check things out. Grace is big on small cuts and putting bandaids on them.
And after a fashion that crotch full of sand she's accumulated gets uncomfortable. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gott do.
While playing in the sandbox Thursday something happened. A huge turkey buzzard flew over Grace's sandbox and let one fly.

Grace: "Come quick, it's gross!"

Wife: "Okay, what's Papa doing now? PAPA! KNOCK IT OFF!"

Grace: No, no, it's not Papa. A big bird just pooped in my sandbox with me in it! Come quick!"

And there was a giant bird turd in Grace's sandbox. Grace's favorite sanctuary, her place of Zen, permanently desecrated.

As she gets older, I'll bet she'll have to go into therapy over being bombed by turkey buzzard poop.

I'm thinking that future play in the sandbox will be a heads up kind of deal for Grace.

As a young lad on the elementary school playground we'd sing-song this rhyme: Birdie, birdie in the sky, why did you poo poo in my eye? I'm a good boy, I don't cry but I'm sure glad cows don't fly!

Me: "Now Grace, it's okay. Just think, it could have been a cow flying over your sandbox instead of a turkey buzzard."

Grace: "Papaaaa!"

SUNDIAL BRIDGE
Cow Town's number one tourist attraction, aside from two lakes nearby that are killer for water sports, is the Sundial Bridge.

The bridge is only for pedestrians and bicycles. It separates one part of the Turtle Bay Park from the other.

We often walk the dogs across the bridge when its not too hot. You see, the the deck of the bridge is glass. A very warm day heats the glass to temperatures that will burn a dogs feet or for any humanoid that ventures onto it barefoot.

On Grace's birthday we always hire a professional photographer to commemorate the occasion. Last year the setting was the Sundial Bridge and Turtle Bay. It's quite the place, very photogenic, just like my family.

I'm not going to ramble this morning. It's early and I've been awake for hours. Why - I ask myself, can't I get an uninterrupted nights sleep without BOING! - wide awake at two or three in the morning?

But I have things to do today. Yard junk and clutter to clean up, make a run to the dump, pull out the 5th wheel to ready it for a September trip and oh yes, I need to stop and smell the flowers. That said:

Life should be like a well composed poem . . . it flows, it connects, it makes sense.

Does your life rhyme?

TURN OUT THE LIGHTS - THE PARTY'S OVER

Kelly, our business manager left us last week for new position in the Bay Area that pays in six figures. You go girl!

Here's Kelly at last week's party having a ball with 35 of our employees.
And then there's John at the party - the John who never drinks anything other than water. When John entered the room with a glass of wine everyone "whoo whooed" John. His face turned the color of his wine then John gave everyone a thumbs up and a grin.

It was a great send off for Kelly. She was the financial rock of our district. Damn she was good.
I'm leaving, too. Today is my last day filling in as superintendent. It's been a month on the job. The new superintendent will be on duty the day after Labor Day.

It's been a great month - full of challenges but also a lot of fun. I've loved being back at the helm of the district that means so very much to me. Eight years of my life was spent as their leader. Coming back this month to help out once again was really like coming home.

The picture is of two favorite teachers of mine peeking into my office to say hi (I have more than a few favorites) - Janet on the left and Joan on the right. We tease, play practical jokes and laugh a lot.

Work should be like that but don't tell the taxpayers we're having that much fun. They might want their money back!