Eat that? Why don't you bite me!

I don't know about you, but nutritionists piss me off. They're always going on about bad food choices, yet the alternatives they offer suck. Case in point, Eat This, Not That has an article titled "The 20 Worst Foods In America". In it they have the nerve to slander some of the most tasty dishes one could imagine by listing nutritional information. How dare they offer facts and science when I'm ordering a meal! Seriously, I don't really care that a Colorado Omelette at IHOP is a calorie bomb. And, telling me I should eat a Garden Scramble For Me instead is just asinine. If this is what I want:

This is not an option:

That's not all. According to these nimrods, we should replace a huge, honkin' stack of French toast and bacon with a spinach, tomato, and mushroom omelette. Seriously, spinach? I've eaten spinach once in my life. When I was kid, I tried some because it's what gave Popeye his strength (yes, I'm that old). You'll notice I said I've eaten it once. That was all it took, because it was vile. And, don't give me that crap about 'it's all in the way it's cooked.' Everybody always says that, and, with rare exceptions, it's always crap. A turd is a still turd, no matter how you prepare it.

I will agree with them on one thing, though. The Domino's Chicken Carbonara Bread Bowl Pasta is a nutritional abomination. Another calorie bomb, this thing has almost 2300 mg of sodium and 188 grams of carbohydrates. Being diabetic, that last one is important to me. But, for all its faults, at least it's tasty. Their alternative is something that's always grossed me out. Ham and pineapple pizza. Let's get something straight: freakin' pineapple has absolutely NO place on a pizza. An upside down cake, yes. But, not on a pizza. It sounds like one of the nasty combinations my ex-wife used to conjure up on the rare occasions when she ventured into the kitchen. I'm sure, however, that Domino's execution is far superior to hers. They also mention P. F. Chang's in the article, but I can't bring myself to eat there since watching the "More Crap" episode of South Park. I'm not going to explain that, you'll just have to watch the show to see what I mean.


The Cheesecake Factory seems to come in for the most abuse here. Evidently, many of their entrees are loaded with calories, saturated fat, sodium, and all manner of yucky-bad-for-you stuff. But, and this is a big but, everyone is always telling me how great the Cheesecake Factory is. Which tells me something I already knew. While nutritionists may be experts on what's good for you, they don't know diddly about what's good to you.

Go Lightly? Not Hardly

I told you at the end of yesterday's entry that today I would talk about my colonscopy experiences.  I hesitated about this, because I didn't want anyone to skip what is a very important procedure on account of what they might read here.  After a few moments reflection, I realized that if anyone was chicken enough to forego one because of my description, they'd find another excuse if I didn't write this.  And, I feel I'm doing everyone who sucks it up and goes through with a service by telling them what to expect and lightening what can be a rather dismal mood.  If you've had one of these amazing invasions of privacy, nothing I say will be new to you.  But, hopefully, you'll get a chuckle out of it.

If you live under a rock and haven't heard of a colonscopy, according to the American Heritage Science Dictionary it's the "Inspection of the interior surface of the colon with a flexible endoscope that is equipped to obtain tissue samples and inserted through the rectum."  Another definition I saw mentioned that it was "minimally invasive".  Listen, someone sticking a long, lighted tube with a camera up your butt and displaying the take on a monitor for everyone in the room to see is anything but "minimally invasive".  However, to be honest, the procedure itself is a piece of cake.  You're asleep, what's hard about that?  No, it's all the stuff beforehand that makes you crazy. 

First, if they're going to see anything inside you're colon, it's got to be cleaned out.  There are two ways to do this.  Option number one: an enema, consisting of soap and water, will be administered.  This is generally done only when they're in a hurry.  Now, if you're unfamiliar with an enema, that's where the mixture described above is introduced into the intestinal tract.  Wikipedia says "The increasing volume of the liquid causes rapid expansion of the lower intestinal tract, often resulting in very uncomfortable bloating, cramping, powerful peristalsis, a feeling of extreme urgency and complete evacuation of the lower intestinal tract."  All I can say is yes...it...does.  And, yes, it's just as bad as it sounds.  But, it has advantages over the second option, because it's over relatively quickly.  Option number 2, and by far this is the more common method, is the administration of a laxative or whole bowel irrigation.  I've done both and they both suck.  The laxative is usually something like Fleet Phoso Soda or magnesium citrate, generally two bottles of either.  Drink these vile concoctions and, in about 6 hours, you'll get results.  Pretty good results, too.  If you've never understood the phrase "go through you like a dose of salts", you will after this.  But, these little jewels pale in comparision to "whole bowel irrigation".  This accomplishes the same thing as the laxative, but in a much more dramatic fashion.  In this fun big bag of fun, you get to drink what amounts to a gallon jug of a substance called GoLytely or CoLyte mixed with water.  My counsel is if either of these is mentioned, then in the words of the immortal Jerry Clower, "Gather your split tail gown around and go hide in the nearest swamp".  There is nothing good about what's going to happen.  When you take that first drink, make sure you have unrestricted access to the toilet.  Because, when this stuff kicks in, it kicks with a vengence.  Most likely, once it starts, you won't be getting up again.  And, it can last up to 4 hours to get the job done.  Four hours on the john?  No, thank you.  Unfortunately, I'm experienced with this abomination, too.  But, not in the normal fashion.  You know how I said I had colon cancer 3 years ago?  Well, when the tumor blocked me up, my colon got so distended that, after removing the bad section, they couldn't put the ends back together right away.  Until they could, I had a colostomy bag.  That's where they one end of your colon and run it out your abdominal wall and it terminates in a bag.  Talk about fun!  You just think it's nasty going to the toilet.  Try looking at it every time you empty and clean out the bag.  Anyway, I was having some more constipation problems and they wanted to do a colonoscopy to see what was going on in there.  I was dehydrated and in pretty rough shape, so they admitted me to the hospital.  The night before my procedure, a nurse walked in with big jug of what looked like water.  She set on my bed tray and said "This is GoLytely.  You need to drink 8 ounces of this, alternating with 8 ounces of water, every 15 minutes until it's gone."  Now, I knew what it was and what it did, but I wasn't prepared for what was coming.   It took a while for it to start working (I'd almost finished it, which is rare), but when it did, whoa!  It was so forceful, it filled up the bag, blew it off my stomach and dumped a bunch into the bed.  The nurses came in, cleaned me up, changed the bed and, in about 5 minutes, it did the same thing again.  And, yet again after that.  But, the third time was the charm and things settled down after that.  Now, I'm not saying your experience will be this extreme.  Probably not, but after reading this anything else should seem tame in comparison.

Okay, you've done your prep and you're at the G.I. doctor's office.  The nurse comes out and takes you to a room where you change into a lovely hospital gown.  You know, the one where you walk around with your bare ass shining for all the world to see.  After that, you're lead into a room that looks like mad scientist lab in a bad horror movie.  A table in the middle, all kinds of evil looking instruments hanging on the wall and a computer monitor that, in your mind, is about four times as large as it needs to be.  I mean, it looks like a big screen TV and you start wondering what they're really going to do while you're asleep.  Nothing good, you're sure.  But, against your better judgment, you climb up on the table and someone sticks a needle in your arm.  Normally, that would be a bad thing, but this time it's not.  Because, that's you're going to get the "happy juice".  And, believe me, you want the "happy juice".  You definitely don't want to be awake for this.  One the nurses tells you to relax and pushes the juice and the next thing you know, it's all done.  If you're awake enough, you'll remember what they tell you about how it went.  But, other than that, you're done.

Now, it's time for recovery.  They will wheel you to the recovery area where whoever brought you is waiting.  You won't even be upset if they're the ones that talked you into doing this, because the happy juice has just made you feel like you've had the best night's sleep of your entire life.  So, while you lay there, waiting for all the sedation effects to wear off, you may notice a touch of flatulence.  Which is a nice way of saying you may be farting like a pack mule.  This is because sometimes, they inject air into your colon so they can see better.  Like everything else in your colon, if it's there, it's got to come out.  Don't feel bad though, you won't be the only one.  And, if your friend/spouse/relative is any kind of decent person, they won't judge you.  If I took my brother, he'd probably join in with me.  Because, let's face it, you should never pass up the chance to fart acceptably.  After you're as close to normal as you're going to get in this life, they'll let you get dressed and go home.  When you get there, take full advantage of the situation.  You deserve it.  The Roto-rooter man was just messing around in your ass.  Don't be afraid to play that card.  Because you have get something decent out of this f--cked up situation.

I EFFING HATE CT SCANS!!!

Okay, this post starts out with a warning.  If you're squeamish and don't like hearing or talking about certain bodily functions, this blog may not be for you.  I'll pause for a minute while those with weak constitutions navigate away from here...., gone?  Good, time to get started.  Yesterday, I had to have my quarterly CT scan.  I suppose a little background is order after that statement.  In 2007, while I was recovering from knee surgery, I began to have a problem, how do I put this delicately..., eliminating waste.  That's a nice way of saying I hadn't taken a dump in several days.  The first couple of days weren't so bad, but that wore off quick.  After seven days without a bowel movement, I went to the Emergency Room.  That's a post all by itself, but the end result was a diagnosis of colon cancer, treated by surgery and two weeks in the hospital.  I followed that up with a 6 month chemotherapy regimen (that was fun).  And now, for the next 5 years starting from September 2007, I get to have a quarterly CT scan to make sure there's not a recurrence.

CT stands for Computed Tomography and what that means in regular folks language is that it's an x-ray that's been enhanced to 3D status by a computer.  I'm sure I left out something, but who cares.  If they're looking at your G.I. tract, like they do with me, you get to drink a lovely concoction of barium sulfate, water, thickeners, declumping agents, etc.  It's a lot better than it used to be, but it's still kinda nasty.  You have to do this 2 hours prior to the scan and you can't eat anything after that.  Then, when you get there, they lay you on a table and start an IV.  This is to administer a dye that will contrast with the barium (yum) in your system and show any problems.  Then, they send you through this big donut (it looks like a donut.  At least, I think it does.  I'm pretty hungry by then) a few times to make sure they've got you positioned properly.  When you're all situated, the tech will come and push the dye in.  In a second or two, you'll feel a flush start down your body, you'll get a metallic taste in your mouth and, all of sudden, you'll swear you just peed on yourself.  I'm not kidding, when the flush reaches your nether regions, it feels just like you peed in your pants.  After that, it's show time.  Stuff inside the donut starts spinning and it sounds like a jet spooling up, then you hear a disembodied voice say "Hold...your breath".  You start to move out of the donut, slowly.  Entirely too slowly, considering you're holding your breath and, oh yeah, the dye makes you feel like you need to pee even though you swear you just wet yourself.  Just when you think "I can't take it, I gotta take a breath!" the Voice says "Breathe".  If you're lucky, that's it.  If you're unlucky, and it didn't go right, you get to do it again.  So much fun you just can't stand it.  And, that's it.  You're done, you can go home. 

Except, you're really not done.  There are a couple of things you still have to do, like get the runs.  That's right, that barium sulfate you drank earlier?  Yeah, that's coming out.  You're not peeing it out either.  It's in your G.I. tract, friend.  It starts slowly, with a rumble or two.  Then, you think "Man, am I gassy".  Don't fall for it, you ain't gassy.  This is when the danger of a shart is most precarious.  Not familiar with the "shart"?  It's portmanteau of the words "sh-t" and "fart" and it means just what you think it does.  We've all experienced the shart, even if we didn't know what to call it.  You're sitting there and you feel what you think is a pretty hefty fart coming on.  You raise up (why?  It'll come out whether you do or not) and it begins to ease out and you realize it's not a fart.  If you're lucky, you catch it before you embarass yourself.  If not, you're changing underwear and possibly throwing the old pair away.  Gotta get rid of the evidence, that way you can deny, deny, deny.   So, yesterday, I'm sitting here at home and I feel it.  Fortunately, I felt the turtlehead start to poke out before it was too late and made a mad dash for the bathroom.  Even so, it wasn't pretty.  That's the other problem with this stage.  It can be messy.  Don't bother cleaning the toilet until tomorrow, though.  It's gonna take you the rest of the day to get through this. 

Don't think that once you make it through the shart zone, you're in the clear, though.  You're not, because, unless you're in the hospital, you have wait for your results.  Sometimes as much as a week.  That's me; my appointment to see the doctor isn't until next week.  Now, you would think they could take the scan, look it over and tell you if there's anything worth worrying about right after they do it.  You'd be wrong, but you could think that.  No, it has to be reviewed by a radiologist who scribbles some notes which are then put into the form of a report by a medical transcriptionist which is sent over to your doctor so he read to you what the radiologist wrote.  Why is it that your doctor, who completed 8 years of school, at least a year of residency and been tested within an inch of their life, can't take the scan, which is much better than a standard x-ray, and tell you if there are anomalies present?  Because then, all the specialists couldn't rape your bank account and live like kings, that's why.   That, and you wouldn't be going crazy waiting. 

The CT scan does suck, but in my case it's less sucky than the alternative.  Which would be the colonoscopy.  If you think the CT was bad, wait till tomorrow when I describe my colonoscopy experience.

I gotta have a sunroof!!!

While on our recent trip to sunny Florida, Girlfriend and I were dicussing the possibility of replacing her car. It is getting a bit long in the tooth and her daughter will be needing something a bit more dependable than the '89 Buick she's currently driving, so this is a good time to start looking. Aside from an unreasonable infatuation with Japanese automobiles, her number one dealbreaker is, get this, a sunroof. A sunroof, now, not a convertible. A convertible I could understand, but a sunroof??? A freakin' hole in my roof isn't a benefit, it's a big frickin' leak. When I asked her why a sunroof, she said "I like to feel the sun on me". Okay, fine, I can understand that. But, should that really be a dealbreaker? For a guy, dealbreakers are things like performance, dependability and utility. For a woman, evidently, it's things like a sunroof. Because, feeling the sun is so much more important than the mechanical stuff.

This got me to thinking about how people in general view things like cars.  My dad, for instance, sees them as simply transportation.  Well, it seems he sees them that way for me.  The last few times I've bought a new ride, he's made the comment that I all I needed was a "dependable transportation" and recommended something like a Kia Sephia.  The Kia Sephia, if you're not familiar with it, is a Korean economy model that's little more than four tires and a steering wheel.  Very bare bones, it makes the old Ford Fiesta look like a luxury model.  Now, I say he sees automobiles as nothing more than a way to get from point A to point B for me and not necessarily himself because he never buys cars like that.  He's been driving Chevrolet Silveradoes for quite a few years now.  To be fair, he did drive more than his fair share of crap in the past.  A 1964 Chevy II that burned oil at an almost equal rate that it went through gas and had holes in the floorboard you see the road through; a '67 Catalina 4 door that was nothing if not dependable, but just no fun to drive at all;  and a 74 Chevy Kingswood station wagon that was only the second car my folks ever bought brand new.  Before that, we only had one car which Mama and Daddy shared.  The first one I remember was the coolest car we ever owned as a family: a 1955 Chevrolet Bel-Air.  There's a bit of story here, also.  My parents started dating in high school and got married with neither of them ever having another serious date.  That marriage has lasted around 54 years.  Impressive, huh?  Anyway, when they got married, Daddy was in the Air Force and stationed in Canada.  Right before that assignment was up and he was coming home, he told Mama to go buy them a car so they'd have one when he got back.  Now, Mama was about 19 and had gotten her driver's license a few months before.  It's safe to say that she didn't know diddly about cars.  But, my mother, being a very smart and pragmatic woman, got a trusted family friend to help her find a car.  What she chose was a 1953 Chevrolet 210.  A nice, dependable affordable car.  Unfortunately, the '53 models only came with a 6 cylinder engine.  And, that wasn't enough for my gearhead father.  It wasn't long after he got home that he traded the '53 for the '55 mentioned above.  You see, in 1955 Chevrolet introduced it's first V-8, a 265 cubic inch model.  Now, you could also get that engine with the PowerPack which had high-flow heads and a four barrel carburator, making it one hot little number and that's what Daddy got.  And, it would immortally fly.  Then, when that engine wore out, he got a 283 with a four barrel and a Corvette cam.  He's always said the 265 had more top end, but the 283 would crank 90 mph in second gear (it was a 3 speed).  And, he thinks he has credibility telling me to drive a damn Kia.

Viewing an automobile as a mere conveyance is like judging a meal solely on its nutritional value.  Sure, both views are valid on their face, but there's so much more involved.  If there wasn't, we'd all be eating Tofurkey and driving soulless econoboxes with vaguely Asian names.  But, an automobile is as much about how it makes you feel as what it does for you.  Whenever you walk out the door and get that first look at your car, if your pulse doesn't quicken a bit, you don't feel that little catch in your throat and the idea of getting behind the wheel and flogging the hell out of it never occurs to you, you've got the wrong car.

The End of the Dream

Well, tomorrow we get up, pack the car and head back to reality.  I'm not really all that thrilled about the prospect either.  Think about it, I'm in a (almost) tropical paradise filled with sights, sounds and smells I've never experienced before.  Well, not in person; pictures, books and movies don't count.  I've spent the last week with a fabulous companion and we've lived (and eaten, boy have we eaten) like royalty.  No pressures, no responsibilities, no nothing.  Like I said before, a week of doing nothing.  So, why the hell would I want to come home? 

I have seen some things that begged for comment.  Like the name of a restaurant in Clearwater that had the phrase "fire grill" in it.  I'm sorry, I didn't realize there was another type of grill.  Other than a car grille, of course.  Not only is that spelled different, it's out of context.  What the hell does that have to do with a Bar and Grill?  But, one of favorite signs all week has been the one at a Tarpon Springs Seafood Market and Restaurant.  Check this out:

Just in case you don't get the joke, here's a link to help you out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crab_louse.  Got it?  Good, now you have to wonder what they were thinking when they had this sign made up.  Was it a joke?  Did they not see the obvious reference?  Either way, it's not good.  If it's the former, they have very poor taste.  The latter, they're not real bright.  I don't plan on eating here in the foreseeable future, though.  Another sign on the same day, at the same place also brought some merriment.  This one was a misread:

Girlfriend caught a glance of this and thought it said "Sea Fart" cruise.  Replace the "sea" with "old" and you'd be on the money right.  We're both late 40's/early 50's and we were some of the youngest people on the boat.  It was a fun cruise though.  Even got to see a dolphin.  But, no manatees or alligators.  I'm a little disappointed by that.  Oh well, life goes on.

I've eaten some of the best food I ever put in my mouth.  A mahi mahi sandwich that was, without doubt, the absolute best fish sandwich that I've ever had.  And, Greek food, oh my God!  Tarpon Springs has a huge Greek community because of the sponge trade, so that influence is very heavy.  I've eaten gyro's (lamb on  pita with tzatziki sauce), chicken souvlaki (marinated chicken on a pita), soutzoukakia (Greek meatballs), Pastitsio (Greek lasagne) and for dessert: Ec Mec (?), strawberry kok, and of course, baklava.   And, every bit of it is delicious.  The price is right and the service excellent.  The Greeks are wonderful folks. 

There are a few things that are bringing me back home though.  Work (ugh), responsibility (barf), sleeping in my own bed (yay!!!),  and seeing my daughters (absence does make the heart grow fonder) are just a few.  The rest are personal, so mind your own business.  I'll also be back on a more normal schedule and remember what day it is without looking at my watch.  Well, maybe not that last bit.  I am getting older, and my memory was never that good to begin with.  So, be on the look out for more stuff here on your favorite blog.

The Week of Doing Nothing.

In case you don't get it, the title references a 1983 Mel Gibson movie called "The Year of Living Dangerously", set in 1965 Indonesia during the fall of President Sukarno.  The movie itself has absolutely nothing to do with this post, I just plagerized the title because I thought it sounded cool.  My title about the fact that I'm on vacation for a week in Florida and what I intend to do while I'm here.  Get it?  A week and doing nothing???  Ain't I smart?

As I write this, I'm sitting on the huge screened porch of the house my girlfriend's parents own. Here's the view:

 But, I haven't introduced my girlfriend to you, have I?  Since I haven't cleared using her name in this blog, I'm just going to call her Girlfriend (I stole that from another blog I read, Hyperbole and a Half.  Which is funny as hell.  Read it sometime).  She's smart, funny, hot and I haven't any idea how I wound up with her.  Anyway, earlier in the year, while it was cold and snowy and generally nasty outside, Girlfriend asked if I wanted to go to Florida during Spring Break while our respective children were otherwise occupied.  I couldn't say yes fast enough.  I've always wanted to go to Florida, and not for Disney and the other well-known touristy junk.  No, I want to see sugar-sand beaches, palm trees, mangrove swamps and all the other exotic things that exist in the U.S. only in Florida.  I include in that "exotic" catergory Florida's own peculiar style of touristy junk.  I'm talking about the more local variety.  The truly weird things that you only find here.  We'll see what I come up with.

Yesterday, we got up around 6 AM (ugh), packed up the car and headed out.  First stop was for breakfast at one of favorite places, the Cracker Barrel in Clayton NC.  Yeah, I know the store is full of junk that you find almost anywhere else at better prices.  But, that's not why I love it.  For me, it's the restaurant.  The food, especially breakfast, is so damn good.  Old fashioned country cooking.  And, unlike most places that do this style, not dumped out of a can and salted to the point it's almost mummified.  No, it's really seasoned the way your mama would do it.  If your mama's like mine, that is.  After a satisfying breakfast of ham, bacon, sausage, eggs, hashbrown casserole, grits and gravy, biscuits and fried apples, we were back on the road.  Yeah, I know that's a really big breakfast.  But, I needed the fuel, it's a long way from Knightdale to Florida.  Anyway, we were off.   I-40 to I-95 and straight on south.  The next stop of import came in Dillon SC.  That's right, South of the Border.  If you've ever driven I-95 in North or South Carolina, you've seen the billboards advertising it.  Saying stupid things like "Weather forecast: Hot today, Chili Tamale" or hawking various bits of absolute crap that children everywhere are totally convinced they can't live without.  If you aren't aware of this place, here's what you're missing:

Yes, it's just as tacky as it looks.  But, I have to say, it looks better than I remember.  I haven't even been by this place in at least 25 years.  And, you know what happens whenever you revisit places from your childhood.  They can never match the memory.  S.O.B. sure did, though.  When I was a kid, we passed by this joint a lot on the way to the beach.  And, my brother and I used to beg to stop because it looked so freakin' cool we couldn't stand it.  My parent's answer was always the same, "We're not stopping there.  They don't have anything but junk".   But, when you're a kid and your parents say stuff like that, it just makes you want it more.  Finally, my dad got fed up with the whining and stopped.  We were finally going to see all the magical stuff in the wonderworld called South of the Border and Brother and I were elated.  Until we actually saw it.  Mama was right, it was nothing but junk.  And, not parent junk, it was kid junk, too.  Shops filled with the sorriest crap imaginable.  Or fireworks, which were cool, but they wouldn't let us get any of that (which sucked).  A few crappy little rides, a sorry excuse for a miniature golf course and Mount Pedro.  Mount Pedro was a 30 foot high mound of dirt with some plants and a goat wandering it.  What a disappointment.   Another boyhood fantasy crushed.  

After seeing the sights at S.O.B., it was on the road again.  After numerous stops to pee (I've decided Girlfriend's bladder is the size of a BB), we finally crossed into Florida.  Want proof?  Here you go:

This is the welcome center at the FL/GA state line on I-95.  It's the only one I've ever been to where they have a counter serving fresh-squeezed orange juice.  That's one of those "peculiar" Florida things I was talking about.  No where else will you find that.  Now, it was around was getting late in the day and we'd left home at 7:30 in the morning.  I was ready to be where I was going, and we were looking at another 5 hours before that was gonna happen.  It was a little disheartening, but then I realized Hey, I'm in Florida and I've never been here before!  Re-energized, we took off again.  The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful.  Except for the billboards advising us that a couple of small towns on U.S. 301 were speed traps.  I'm not kidding, we were riding along and, all of sudden, there's a big black sign that says "Lawtey: Speed Trap" in great, big yellow letters.  Down the road a bit, there was another but I can't remember the name of the town.  I hope there are similar signs on the north bound side.  The last thing I want is to get a ticket in some crooked little Florida cracker town. 

We finally arrived about 8:30 PM and unloaded.  The house is magnificent and in a neighborhood I could only dream of living in.  Although, we did drive through some less-than-nice parts of Holiday (where we're at.  Just north of Tampa) to get here.  After unloading, I realized I didn't have some toiletry items and I was starving.  Girlfriend was so tired she just wanted a shower and the bed, so I left her to it and wandered out into the night on my quest.  I found the items needed with any trouble and then began to look for something to eat.  After waiting that long for dinner, I knew McDonald's or any other fast-food chain wouldn't make the grade, so I kept looking until I found Gyro King.  I love Mediterrean food and gyro's are the bomb.  But, they also had 1/2 lb char-grilled cheeseburgers and that was it.  A few minutes later, I was sitting in the living room with Girlfriend watching British comedies on PBS and eating the best burger I've had in a long time.  I don't know if it was really that good, I was that hungry or both.  I'm betting on both. 

Well, that's the end of Day one's story.  We survived 13 hours in the car together without a fight or ovelry irritating each other.  That's a good omen for the rest of the week, I think.  We'll see.  Tune in tomorrow, same Bat time, same Bat channel for more in the continuing saga of The Week of Doing Nothing!

This is ridiculous

Okay, I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm so tired of Tiger Woods and his escapades, I could just sh..., well, you know what I could do.  I swore I wasn't going to write about it.  The media is doing it's best to run this story into the ground, I thought, and I'll be damned if I'm going to contribute.  But, after what I heard this morning, I just can't stand it.  I have to say something about this whole sordid mess.

This morning on the way to work, I heard an interview with Gloria Allred.  Ms Allred is the attorney for Veronica Siwik-Daniels, better known as porn star Joslyn James.  According to Ms Allred, the main thing James wants is an apology.  Because Tiger lied to her.  You see, he told she was the only woman, other than his wife, that he was doing the deed with.  Do you see where this is going?  She's mad because her boyfriend lied to her about how many women he was cheating on his wife with.  I'm going to let that sink in for a minute.  She's mad because he lied about how many women he cheated on his wife with.  Do you get this???  She's mad because a dishonest, cheating S.O.B. LIED about how many women he was doing!  Look, if he was cheating on his wife, what the hell makes you so special that he wouldn't lie to you too?  That's the dumbest thing I've heard in long time.  And, I hear a lot of dumb things.  Almost as dumb as the idea that she doesn't want any money and they have no plans of filing a lawsuit.  Oh really?  Then, why did you hire a lawyer?  Because you want a new friend?  Believe me, you could do better hiring a hooker for that.  And, save some money.

So far, fifteen women have come forward to say that they had an affair with Woods.  FIFTEEN!!!  When the hell did he have time to play golf?  I'm telling you, juggling two women takes a lot of time and effort.  But, fifteen women?  Of course, I know he wasn't juggling all fifteen at the same time, but still.  This dude hustled fifteen different women over five years.  All while maintaining a career as the best golfer in the world.  That's a pretty high profile position.  Which Tiger used it to maximum effect.  His caddy and fellow golfers are all claiming to be in the dark about his peccadilloes.  I doubt that.  Truth be told, more than a few of them are doing the same thing as Tiger, just not on the same scale.   Believe me on this one; being a guy, I know guys. And in any group of men with access to lots of indiscriminate sex, there are going to be some takers.  Not all, not even most.  But, some will and some of those who do will be married.  So, all those holier than thou fakers on the PGA who are piously saying that they had no idea that Tiger was doing what it turned out he was doing are full of crap.  Just step up and say you knew what was going on, but couldn't speak out because the Guy Code prohibits such actions.  It's bullshit, but it's more honest than the bullshit they're spouting now. 

Finally, there's Tiger's "apology" and his stint in rehab.  I'm so effing tired of celebrities who get busted for something socially unacceptable making a tearful public apology that alludes to some addiction, then going to a luxury rehab program and thinking that fixes everything.  It doesn't.  What it does is trivialize actual addictions and the people who suffer from them.  It would be a real breath of fresh air if, just once, one of these priveledged, pampered children would step up to the microphone and just say "I screwed up.  I don't have any excuses for what I did.  It was wrong, it was irresponsible and it was all my fault."  But, you'll need snowshoes at the equator before that happens.