Esoteric Bowl

I watched the Rose Bowl the other night on tv. The football game between USC and the University of Texas was to determine the national championship. Without any money bet on the game, and with no direct connection to either university, I didn’t have a rooting interest in one team over the other; or so I thought.

As the game unfolded, I found myself wanting USC to win. I wanted USC to win not because of anything that was happening on the field of play, but quite simply because of politics. The political war between the red-states and blue-states had risen in my subconscious, and I didn’t want the red state of Texas to enjoy a victory, even if it was only a football game.

I find that because of politics, my perception of certain states has changed through the years. There was a time when my initial thoughts of Florida were of oranges, but those thoughts have long since been replaced by the memory of hanging chads. And I suppose I’ll never again be able to think of Mardi Gras or anything related to Louisiana without recalling the faces of those left behind following hurricane Katrina. And when the state of Texas is mentioned, how can I not think of the Bush clan.

Politics has managed to find its way into my entertainment thoughts as well. I’ll never again be able to watch the movie Ben Hur without seeing Charlton Heston holding a rifle over his head and speaking before the NRA. I can’t watch a Mel Gibson movie without thinking about some of his questionable statements. I can’t name a song from the Dixie Chicks, but after they bravely spoke out against Bush and the Iraq war, I thought to myself that they must be okay after all. In my eyes, Dennis Miller went from being funny to being mean-spirited as he became a political opportunist overnight, and Bruce Willis lost all his cool when he became gung ho for war.

The University of Texas won the game and the red state got their victory, but not without some pointing to a few questionable calls by the referees that may very well have determined the final score. Controversy in the outcome; go figure.

In the year 2006 I resolve to:

* Drink more water
* Drop at least one bad habit
* Get out more
* Find myself a literary agent
* Get my house in order
* Take more photographs
* Throw away all my puka underwear
* Piss someone off
* Save money
* Exercise more
* Expand my garden with vegetables
* Phone Mom & Dad more often
* Volunteer
* Procrastinate less
* Throw away the things I don’t need
* Attempt to sell myself on eBay
* Write more frequently
* Walk in the rain
* Allow myself to be open to something wonderful
* Live Greener

Happy New Year!

There are times when I wake in the morning all set to tap a few thoughts down in the blog. But all too often while sipping my coffee and gathering my thoughts, I’ll make the fatal mistake of turning on the news and visiting a handful of online newspapers.

Before I know what hits me, I’m all bummed-out and the writing mood has quickly faded. Who can blame me, what with Iraq, torture, warrant-less spying, renditions, death tolls, propaganda, Katrina, tax-cuts for the wealthy, stay-the-course, indictments, leaks, global warming, F-grades from 9/11 Commission, and on and on and on in the headlines? After viewing the news, my little blog observations seem rather hollow.

I’m often tempted to chime in on major issues of the day, but what’s the point? The blogosphere cup is overflowing with soapbox rants and opinions, with every conceivable perspective stated, defined, supported, corroborated, linked, argued, debated and a little name-calling thrown in for good measure.

And so it goes. Another day of blogging shot down, and before I know it blogless days turn to blogless weeks. Dare I say, it’s almost as if there’s a War on Blogdom. Okay, maybe not.

I think I’ve got to get back to the basics. Remind myself not to get too wrapped up in all of the noise. It’s times like these when the wisdom of The Serenity Prayer can provide some acceptance in offering a little insight into recognizing what I can and cannot change.

In the end, I need to remind myself why I began blogging in the first place; for the fun of it. Besides, if I am to survive these next few years under the current administration, I’m gonna need to rediscover joy and laughter and count on my sense of humor to get me through.

As part of celebrating Christmas at elementary school, each class was to sing a Christmas song in the auditorium/cafeteria before the entire student-body. My third-grade class was to sing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

As you may remember, there’s a line in the song where Santa asks Rudolph if he will guide the sleigh. Rather than have the entire class sing the complete song, the teacher had the idea that one of us should sing that line solo. The teacher told me that she would like for me to be the one to sing that line. She said that I would make a good Santa because I was tall, and as a fellow student pointed out, I also wore a black belt like Santa. Not exactly ringing endorsements for my singing voice, but being a team player, I agreed.

Each day there was time set aside for practicing the song. We would sing and sing, and in between our singing we could hear the other classes practicing their songs as well. The teacher told me that when the line came up in the song where Santa asks Rudolph to guide the sleigh, I should make my voice as deep as possible to sound just like Santa.

The teacher outfitted me in a red jacket and Santa hat. She told me that she had a white beard at home and that she would bring it for me to wear. She assured me that I would be a great Santa Claus. On the day that we were to sing, I put on the red jacket and Santa hat, only to learn that the teacher had forgotten the beard.

How, we all wondered, can I be Santa Claus without the white beard?!?

The teacher sensed panic and feared a possible holiday mutiny. She went to the art closet and grabbed an opened jar of white paint and proceeded to brush a beard on me. The white paint wasn’t exactly white, rather it had a pinkish hue to it. Instead of resembling Santa Claus, I looked like a kid with a rash with Calamine lotion on his face. The show went on as planned, but for a while there I was known around school as the worst Santa ever.

I received an e-mail from Dad, telling me to go to Google Search and type in the word failure to see what the first item is that shows up.

Inspired by that neat little discovery, I Googled the word Asshole to see what site would be listed first. This is what showed up.

Around a month ago I mentioned that Amber (my niece) was due to have her first child. On the 3rd of November in California, Brayden arrived at 1:49 pm, weighing in at 7 pounds 11 ounces. Mom was present at Amber’s delivery, and the following is an interesting tale of what she witnessed.

After Brayden had come into the world, it was discovered that some of the amniotic fluid had gotten into his nose and mouth and some of the fluid had been swallowed. Mom and Amber both watched as a nurse, a Hawaiian woman wearing a floral print, held baby in her arms and proceeded to stike his back to clear his lungs. Mom said she felt a strange comfort in seeing Brayden in the hands of this woman, and she turned to Amber to assure her that everything would be alright.

When Mom turned back towards Brayden, his lungs were clear and he was now in the arms of another nurse. The Hawaiian woman was gone. Mom asked the nurse who the Hawaiian nurse was, and the nurse told her that she had never seen the woman before.

Shortly after, Mom roamed the halls of the ward looking to find the Hawaiian woman. She never found her. Later on that evening when dinner was brought to Amber’s bedside, on her tray were two mysterious orchids.

This morning when I woke, I had that familiar feeling of knowing that I had been dreaming only moments before. Lying still in the darkness, I slowly gathered my thoughts. The substance of the dream was long gone, and all that I was left with was a single word; tulips.

Tulips? What in the world was I dreaming? Frankly, two-lips would be much easier to decipher from a dream. Suddenly, visions of purple tulips appeared in my head, then yellow and orange, all in an open field as far as I could see. A lovely image, but I was convinced that a field of tulips was not in my dream.

Then an image of the past appeared. It was Tiny Tim of Tiptoe Through the Tulips fame. Wow, where did that image come from? Although I had long forgotten about Tiny Tim, he apparently remained somewhere in the corners of my mind.

I lost interest in trying to figure out the dream, thinking instead about Tiny Tim. As best as I can recall, Mom and Dad bought God Bless Tiny Tim as somewhat of a joke for my brothers and I when we were little. Tiny was rather big at the time, in a unique and faddish kind of way. The album was Tiny’s first, and from what I can remember it was actually quite entertaining.

I went online to see if any of the songs from the album were available for free download. Surprisingly, they are. Hearing the songs after all this time was both evocative and novel. While the falsetto vocal and accompanying ukulele on Tulips is Tiny’s lasting sound, lesser known songs on the album are wonderfully produced, displaying his impressive vocal range along with charming melodies and a lovely orchestra.

In listening to the album in my youth, I didn’t realize that many of the songs were from another era. Then I’d Be Satisfied With Life was written by George M. Cohan. Stay Down Here Where You Belong is an anti-war song written by Irving Berlin. Tiny’s versatility shines in the delightful turn-of-the-century song On the Old Front Porch, singing a trio with himself. And Fill Your Heart was written by then unknown songwriter Paul Williams.

As I continued to search the web for any present-day information about Tiny, I discovered that his version of the song Livin’ in the Sunlight, Lovin’ in the Moonlight was included in the SpongeBob SquarePants pilot episode. I also learned that Tiny Tim died from a heart attack nine years ago today on November 30, 1996.