Donkey Kong, Pepsi Free and The Glorious Lack of Social Networking

Admit it...you have no idea what time it is.

No, really...you don't wear a watch and you don't really care to.
All that's on your mind is simply figuring out where you're going to find that next quarter to plunk into the Donkey Kong machine.

Admit it...


You can't stand the fact that a very large ape has stolen your girlfriend. I mean, who would be okay with that! Jump some barrels here? Sure. Hammer some barrels there? Why not! And all for the sake of saving a damsel in distress.

What if she wasn't in distress though?

What if she really loved the ape and you (as the player) are just interfering in their love life? Maybe you are the ex-husband of the damsel, and your quest is to get her back so she can sign the divorce papers?

Who knows what the storyline is behind Mario, the ape, and the damsel in distress.

Why is it relevant?
It isn't.
The only thing that's really relevant is that you found some bottles or cans in the neighborhood and turned them in for the change to make a few good memories that you'll carry forever.

Make sense?

I remember when you could buy a Pepsi Free for around $.50/can. I also remember when you could get a Rocky Road candy bar for a quarter too. Imagine having a soda, a candy bar and one round of Donkey Kong, and only paying a buck. WOW!

C'mon, where's your sense of memory? Video games and tasty beverages were what brought out the innocence of childhood. Well, okay, maybe cruisin' the black-lit oval at Skate World while Beat It blared over the cheap and muffled stereo system was a close second. I think that today's youth just doesn't appreciate how cool we had it. We actually socialized with each other...in person. We didn't text each other when we wanted to break up. We didn't meet people across the country on the computer, then take a plane ride to meet them. We had what was in front of us. We had to put up with the same girls and guys that we went to school with year after year.

But it was fun wasn't it?

I'm sure you've heard by now that the King of Pop has died. His poor little heart gave way and now he's devoid of the stress that this cruel world thrust upon him. He didn't get to partake in drinking pop and roaming the 'hood for recyclables. Nope. He was too busy hanging with rats named Ben and taking lashes from his pops. While it's sad, because it seems as if my generational icons are dropping off like body parts in a leper colony today, I have become somewhat numb to it. I'll write more about that at another time, but it's a sign of the times for us children of the 70's and 80's. This guy was bigger than life! Any bets on which Michael they'll put on the postage stamp? White Michael or black Michael? Little Michael or masked Michael?

I was sitting at lunch when I got the text. Okay, we all want to be in the know, but remember when people used to die and you had to wait days to find out how, when, why, etc? Due to mass technology, Farah had her run for, oh, about 8 hours today. MJ totally trumped her. I'm sure there is also an unscrupulous governor of South Carolina that's sighing a breath of relief now that his story of a Venezualan tryst has been pushed to page 10. That's the power of technology. Twitter is jammed to the point that their servers are probably about to melt. Rumors are going around that Jeff Goldblum also died today. Man! What a day of ups and downs that technology has brought us!

Sometimes you just want to retreat back to the days of old and remember when news wasn't plastered all over the place. I know I want to. I liked MJ back in the day. Who didn't? He was revolutionary, but I turned in my glove when he was linked to the child molestation allegations. Plus, that HIStory album really sucked! It's like OJ; you know he probably did it, but you want to believe deep down that he didn't. Remember the Bronco chase? Brought to you by technology...and your local sponsor!

Sometimes, we need to let go of technology, especially on days like today. We are whores though. We can't live without our iPhones and our Blackberries. Do I really want to watch them take the corpse out of the helicopter? How macabre is that? Damn you Larry King. Just show some pictures of Little Michael or something. Now I'm scarred, damnit! I'm switching it over to MTV!

My point: Get off the computer. Go hug your kids. Go take them out for a Canadian bacon/pineapple pizza and some root beer. Leave your phone at home. Get out and play some Donkey Kong.

You never know...a little Italian plumber in coveralls could be the answer for us all tonight.



.

Dad's Day and Jammin' at the Sapphire Hotel

Damn you Hallmark!

Damn you to hell!

Is Father's Day one of your brilliant ideas? Like Valentine's Day, it picks on those who don't really have someone to say I love you too. I know what your intention is, but, man, you really know how to put a hurtin' on people who have lost their dads.

Okay, so I'm taking a positive and turning it into a negative, right? Yeah I know. But I can't really help it. There are so many people out there that probably feel the same way I do. I guess I got lucky because there are so many people that also never had a dad, father or step-father to learn from. While Father's Day is bittersweet for me, having lost my dad to cancer eight years ago, it also takes on a separate meaning for me now, being a stepdad myself.

My dad (he was actually my stepdad, but I like to call him my dad) was the one that drove me to work so I could earn money to pay for my first car and the insurance to go along with it. I'm sure having to get up at 7 am on weekends to drive me to and from work was really a joy for him, but he did it regardless. He would haul my ass back and forth from college every year too, with his trailer in tow, and was always there when I needed him. He did it out of love, not obligation. Okay, there was a little bit of obligation! He was also the one that drove me to my football, baseball, wrestling, track, and basketball practices and games. When the time came, the man taught me how to drive a stick too. I'm sure my access to a car lifted a huge burden off his shoulders! However, the biggest lesson he taught me was that life is worth living and that love sees no boundaries. He truly was a renaissance man. I think Father's Day means so much more now that he's physically absent. It is very true that sometimes you just don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.

My Father's Day was spent with the wifey and two of the boys at one of our favorite watering holes, the Rock Creek Tavern. Not feeling too hot about the day to start, I was revived by the gift I received. Wifey and the boys gave me a little bound booklet, full of pictures taken over the years, some of the boys, some of me, some of the wife and I and some of our doggie, Tomo. It really made my eyes well up to see the effort put into creating this booklet. It sure beats the hell out of a tie or a golf shirt or something predictable. Nope. This gift hit the ball out of the park. It moved me. It made me realize that it doesn't have to be as bad as it may seem.

I went to the cemetery and put some flowers on my dad's grave later in the day. I hadn't been there in a while, not out of neglect, but just because the grave is more of a symbol to me. I don't necessarily need the symbol to remind me, because I'm reminded every day. Plus, in the bible, there is a passage somewhere that says, "don't come to my grave, for I will not be there," or something of that nature. I think it was the bible...maybe it was just some old adage or proverb. Regardless, the meaning is understood. I don't need to go to a physical site to be reminded of all the things my dad did for me.

I finished up my Father's Day with a gig at the Sapphire Hotel. It's a cool joint with a good vibe, great food, and Stella on tap. Any place that has Stella on tap is definitely worth frequenting! We were cramped in there, but we pulled it off. It was a great ending to a day that started off with questions and doubts. I love making music and to end the day doing just that, it was truly a blessing. We had a good time playing, which is the whole point of making music. One of these days perhaps I can quit my day job of selling trade show booths online.

Nawww, I don't think so.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The UnderCovers.

Twitter Addictions, Bambi and Dream On

Okay, Ill admit it:

I'm a Twitter addict.

I jumped on the wagon to see what the fuss is about and now I find myself learning the finer points of hashtags and retweets, sifting through the mindless drivel that most of the MLM guys post and wrestling with how to use this tool to my advantage. Will it help me sell a few more trade show exhibits? Perhaps. Will it keep me up to date and abreast on what absolute strangers are up to? Yes. But like Howard Stern's listeners, I want to know what's going to happen next.

You see, I am a no-nonsense type of guy. An intellectual figure who gets by on wits, my English degree, Rockstar Zero Carb, and my MacBook Pro. My office is my living room. Here's a shot of my view...everyday:

Let me tell you, this beats being in a cubicle. I have full access to my kitchen (right behind me), I have peace and quiet, and I don't have to deal with being pestered by corporate suck-ups who will do whatever it takes (including losing their identity and mores) to get ahead.

Ahhh the good life, right? Well, yes and no. I remember the steady paychecks and health insurance I used to get. They were great weren't they! I remember the smart people who saw the cracks in the system and tried to fix them with me. Yeah, I really miss corroborating with them. But I also saw the "lifers." Those folks who were complacent and just "happy to be employed." They reminded me of that old Monster.com commercial, where they had the little kids talking about how they wanted to "work their way up to middle management." That was true of my previous corporate employer. Imagine working in a place filled with people who were just happy to be there, satisfied with the banal, mediocre lives they were living. Day after day after day after day.

I digress.

So when Twitter hit the scene, I was really hesitant to join because a) I didn't know how this tool could be used -I was ignorant, like much of America probably still is about it- and b) it reminded me of someone who used to throw around a word that made my blood curdle.

Now we've probably all seen Bambi by now. If you are reading this post and you haven't been enlightened by one of Walt Disney's most controversial animated films, shame on your parents. How can they even look at themselves in the mirror? However, assuming that you have seen it, I'm going to press on like Lee's Nails.

I had this co-worker, one that I worked intimately with by no choice of my own, who really was a lifer. One day in a meeting, she used the word "twitterpated" and I about fell out of my seat. Ugggghhhh! That is such an ugly word. Why couldn't she have just said that so-and-so was "pissed off," or "flustered?" She had to go into the Bambi bag of vocab. She had to give me a reminder of her for the rest of my days.

I remember watching an episode of Dream On once, you remember, that old HBO series with Brian Benben as Martin Tupper. Well, he was trying to convince a black friend that he was hip to African-American culture by trying to use black slang, but he would overuse it and end up looking like a fool. The one incidence from that episode that has forever stuck in my mind was when he was eating some chips n' dip and he turns to his friend and says, "This dip is really....Def!" Now if you have ever seen the show, you'd know that the series is crammed full of hundreds of clips from all manner of old films, used as metaphors for Martin's reactions (hence the title). After he makes his remark about the dip, it cuts to a clip of an old film where a male actor says, "That's my word for the day." This is exactly what I thought of after hearing the word "twitterpated" come gurgling out of her lips.

However this wasn't her word of the day. No, this word became her word of the week, month, year, you name it! What was a boy to do, but carry around a pail to meetings so I could deposit my lunch into it. Ahhh, corporate America...why did I leave?

So you can imagine how difficult it is when I hear all these variations of Twitter apps and devices used for twittering (or is it tweeting?...who knows what the preferred nomenclature is). It brings back memories that need not be resurrected. I laid them to rest over a year ago, but like Lazarus, they find a way to live. The saddest part is that I am addicted to Twitter. So i have a feeling that these memories aren't going away anytime soon.

Does anyone out there know a good hypnotist?

Getting my Car Fixed: "It's all Ball Bearings These Days!"

There are three things that, to me, are just a complete waste of the almighty dollar. Allow me to list them for you:

1. Fireworks
2. Presto logs
3. Auto repair

The former is basically just burning money. Sure, you might get 2-8 seconds worth of entertainment, but for the money you are spending, you might as well roll a stogie with your money and start puffin'. Plus, I don't know of many fireworks factories in the U.S., so I'm guessing they're all imported from China. That's even worse! They get our money, and we end up getting "burned!" Best case scenario: it keeps emergency room doctors from clogging up the unemployment line.

Numero dos on my list is just an invention that a sawdust salesman probably invented to capitalize on the lazy, those who live in the desert states, and soccer moms. If you have a fireplace, why would you want to burn anything but wood? Besides, you do the math:

Cord of wood = $170
Box of 6 Presto logs = $20

A cord of wood will last you a whole winter and yields several hundreds of real, natural, clean burning wood logs. For the same price, you can get 51 presto logs....51 LOGS!! And who knows what kind of chemicals they put in those things so they instantly light. Again, burning money.

Number three on this list is what prompted me to think about #s 1 & 2. I took my car into the mechanic because I was having some issues with vibration in the front tires and it turns out my front struts need replacing, I've got a bad left wheel bearing and that's not to mention the other services they "recommend," like flushing the power steering fluid, replacing the drive belts and inspecting the engine. I know I've been really lucky with this car, and I'd be screwed without it, but c'mon, do I really think that a mechanic should make comparable hourly wages to what some physicians are making? Is a hunk of metal as important as flesh and bone?

I provide a service too, but people need tradeshow booths to help them generate new clients and advertise their products. I don't charge people an arm and a leg.

Here I am, out $530 to the mechanic. It probably took him an hour or less to fix my car. Yes it will last longer now and run smoother, and I'm not necessarily bitter at him, just the whole concept of cars being a drain. They lose their value the minute you drive them off the lot. If that isn't a sign of waste, then I'm not sure what is!

On Graduation and Coach Foust

It's that time of year again. Graduation time! Another wave of kids having absolutely no clue what the future holds outside of high school, yet knowing that they are happy to be done with it. I know. I've been there and it doesn't seem like it was that long ago. And it wasn't a pleasant experience at the time. Now I've got a second stepson that I get to witness go through the process. It sure brings back memories each time. For me, I only have one positive lasting memory of graduation day though, and until now, I really didn't realize what an impact it had on my life.

I remember sitting in the Chiles Center with my cap and gown, looking up into the crowd for my family. My family who had come to see me walk up and get my diploma that I earned through hard work, perseverance, and barely getting through Mr Nye's Algebra II class! So as my eagle eye perused the audience, what did I see, but a glimpse of my "recently ex"-girlfriend sitting with her mom and...her loser ex-boyfriend?? WTF? We we're just a few weeks removed and she's back together with that stoner?

Yeah that was a great memory! With all the emotions running high, I was already an anxious mess and this was the cherry on the sundae, the straw that broke...well you get the jist! My stomach turned sour and I lost it and had to get up and run to the bathroom. I'm in there crying, sobbing, hyperventilating, when ol' Coach Foust walks in and asks me what's wrong. "What's wrong?...What isn't wrong right now," I'm thinking to myself. Nonetheless, I spilled my guts to him in that empty bathroom. I told him that seeing her up there with that other guy really knocked me for a loop. In the process, I learned alot about how compassionate the human race can be.

You see, I played football in high school. However I wasn't a jock, I was a "student-athlete." Jocks were the ones that wore sweatsuits to school, frequently left loogies in the water fountains and picked on the intellectually gifted kids. Nope, I was a student athlete, a good guy, a friend to all, ala Ferris Bueller! I wore silk shirts, Z Cavaricci pants, and the latest Capezzio footwear that Jay Jacobs had to offer. Coach Foust was a coach on our football team and doubled as a P.E. teacher, not the type of authority figure that most kids took seriously because, well, he taught an easy subject. A subject that wasn't given credence because it really wasn't going to hinder your entrance into major colleges. Well, I remember there were several occasions during football practices or games when our head coach and Coach Foust would argue about something. Perhaps a formation? Maybe a blocking assignment? I always remembered feeling sorry for Coach Foust because Coach Ackerman would tell him flat out that he was wrong in front of all of us. How ballsy was that? Didn't even pull him aside and discuss it in a civil manner. Just berated his opinion, demasculating him in front of all of us. Foust never retaliated or took the lower road, as he was a fairly calm man. That is what I respected about him then. I'm sure he had his words with Coach Ack in private though. God, I hope he did!

My senior year, I was summoned to Coach Foust's office after a practice. We were in the playoffs that year and it just so happened to be the week we were preparing for our quarterfinal matchup against the perennial power that was Roseburg High. At the time, it made me curious as to why Coach Foust wanted to see me because he wasn't my positions coach. Was I in trouble? I entered his office and he was sitting there, all calm as can be, and he just cut to the chase:

"Rich, do you think that we have a shot at beating Roseburg?"

Now what kind of question was that? Was it a trick question? It sure was a loaded question. I didn't know what his M.O. was, so I replied:

"Of course we do."

To which he replied:

"I'm not so sure that you think we can win. I can see it in your eyes. You are pretty easy to read and not very good at hiding your emotions."

I immediately started thinking, "okay what did I say or do to make him think this?" But the guy was right. He could read me. He could probably sense that I was losing the passion for the game, that I had my doubts. What did he see? I replied with my best line of bullshit, trying to convince him that I was onboard and that we were going to crush those Indians. I'm not sure he bought it. Heck, I'm not sure if I even bought it! This guy was the first adult mentor to ever tell me that I am readable.

To make a long story short, we ended up losing 36-0, eliminating us from the playoffs and officially ending my career as a football player. However, I gained a respect for a coach that cared about my feelings and not just how tightly I could cover opposing receivers, or how elusive I was after making a catch. No, this man actually cared about my psyche. In all the years of playing sports, I never had anyone call this into question or even give a damn.

So you can imagine how apropos it was that he was the one that came to my aid in that lonely bathroom, while the whole auditorium was filled with proud families, nervous/anxious kids, and teachers who were standing guard to make sure that no shenanigans broke out. I didn't see him as a coach that day, rather a concerned teacher trying to calm down an obviously distraught kid who needed some serious calming.

As I returned to my seat, things were a blur after that. I remember getting up and walking in a single file line to get my diploma. I had done it. I didn't know what was coming next in my life, but I had just closed a chapter of what were soon to be many. I graduated and wasn't looking back.

Years later when my little brother would attend the same school, I would hear stories from my stepdad about how Coach Foust was a solid guy who really cared.

I already knew. I still know.

Last I heard, Coach Foust was coaching and teaching somewhere on the Oregon coast. Wherever he is, I'm sure he has no clue that he provided me with the grandest memory of my high school graduation.

Thanks Dave Foust. Thanks a million!



(In this picture, you can see Coach Foust, right, checking
up on me after the ceremony. Also, here is further proof
that I wore Z Cavarrici's!)