Ten Things in My Life That I Hate.

That I wasn't a business traveler back in the heydays of the airline industry. Now even first class isn't so classy.

Idiot multi-taskers who include in their multi-tasking driving their car anywhere near mine.









The public's seemingly-endless fascination of those who are so obviously mindless.







Barbecue that's beef. When it comes to 'cue, it's all about the pig.








Beer that isn't.




Cats and kittens. All shapes, sizes and colors...









...especially cats dressed up like a clown.








Hair-obsessed rock bands of the eighties...with a special loathing towards those trying to make a come back today. Hang it up, dudes.








Clowns in general...
















...but specifically this one.













What I can't do without is checking in to humor-blogs.com at least once a day. How about you?

Spring Fever!

Ah, yes. Spring is in the air, and this boy's mind turns to...football. I used to welcome Springtime as it brought me baseball, and that meant Braves' games. But, with the strikes, the rampant use of HGH, and the fact that the Braves ain't the same team they used to be, I can't say that I get all too excited about professional baseball.

College football is another matter entirely. Especially Georgia football.

The University of Georgia Bulldogs began its final week of spring drills yesterday, and things are looking good. Damn good. This Saturday, my Bulldogs will play their annual "G-Day" game 'tween the hedges. 19 of Georgia's 21 starters - including QB Matt Stafford and RB Knowshon Moreno - are back this year. UGA finished the 2007 season ranked number two in the nation. We'll start the season either one or two. There's a LOT of anticipation amongst the Bulldog Nation that this may be the year. I wouldn't bet against them.

I don't know about you, but I'm counting down the days. Only 152 more days until Georgia plays its first real game of the 2008 season!

And while you're waiting for kickoff, log onto humor-blogs.com for a chuckle or two.

Easter Fashonista.

This is a picture of my siblings and me taken during the first Easter Sunday that I can recall. The time is 1968, and the place is Cherry Hill, New Jersey. That's me with the red herringbone jacket, black shorts and knobby white knees. I still remember that suit...and wish I had a jacket like that today, but in a 52L. I've still got those knees, though...and they remain knobby and white.

I can still remember my mother taking me to a store to try on that suit. I didn't have a problem with trying on the jacket, but trying on those black shorts was a different story altogether. We were standing in the middle of the store when she held them out to me and said, "Take off your pants and try these on."

Now being seen by my twin sister in my 'tighty whities' was an embarrassing enough occurrence...parading around in them? In a department store full of complete strangers?? Not only was I terrified of that, the shorts them self did nothing to reduce my anxiety: they were lined with a silk/rayon lining that printed in paisley. My mom was setting me up for big-time humiliation. I tried to reason with her...which, being a five year-old meant screaming my head off, "No!" My mom countered this with her own rebuttal: a quick smack on my fanny (should I say, rebuttal?) and a whisper - through clenched teeth - of, "Put these on. NOW."

My mom sure knew how to reason with a little kid.

And I can honestly say, looking at that photo of me on Easter Sunday, 1968, that my mom was right. I was quite the dandy in that outfit. I hope that your Easter is a dandy one, too!

And you'd be a dandy too if you'd just click on humor-blogs.com!

Talking (Potato) Head.

This morning, on the 5th anniversary of the beginning of the war in Iraq, Vice-President Dick Cheney was interviewed by ABC's Martha Raddatz during the network's "Good Morning America" show:

Cheney: "The surge has worked. That's been a major success."
Raddatz: "Two-thirds of Americans say it's not worth fighting."
Cheney: "So?"
Raddatz: "'So?'?? You don't care what the American people think?"
Cheney: "No. I think you cannot be...um...blown off course by the, ah, fluctuations in the public opinion polls."

Fluctuations, Mr. Vice President? Actually the polls have been pretty consistent over the past few years. The overwhelming number of U.S. citizens - people whom you work for, Dick - are against this war. Even those of us (myself included) who were initially of the belief that invading Iraq was the right thing to do, have come to realize that the handling of this war has been a complete disaster. It's been five years since Cheney's administration got us into this debacle, and all we've to show for it is nearly 4,000 Americans killed, an unprecedented rise in Islamic extremism, an all time low opinion of our country in the international community and trillions squandered.

"So?"

Excuse me, dear reader. I was taught manners by my parents. I was taught to never talk finances, religion or politics in public. But, when the Bush/Cheney administration continues to raise its level of hubris ever higher - as if it thinks it's competing in some reversed limbo contest - it's high time to say 'enough!'

When our Vice-President clearly states that he'd rather listen to the voices in his head than the voices of the overwhelming majority of the Americans, nothing seems as funny anymore.

America HAS spoken... Humor-Blogs.com is a wealth of funniness.

Bank. Robber.

This week I received a check from a buddy of mine, written on his company's checking account. His account was with Wells Fargo, and - as I don't have an account with them - I decided to drop by the local branch to cash the check.

After a 10-minute wait in line, there was finally a teller open. I presented the check, and my driver's license. "I'd like for you to cash this check, please," I said. "Do you have an account here?" the teller asked. "No, I don't," I countered "but the check's written on a Wells Fargo account, so there shouldn't be a problem...right?"

"I need TWO pieces of identification, please," was her reply. I handed over my passport. She took both pieces of identification in hand, and went to another room, returning with a small ink pad in her hand. "You'll need to provide a thumbprint to get your money," she declared. "Really? After giving you two government-issued I.D.s you need a thumbprint as well?" I asked. "Yes, sir, we do." I'd come this far, so I thought what the heck, I'd oblige her.

"All seems in order," she said, looking over my driver's license, passport and thumbprint. "That will be $5." "Five dollars? For what?" I asked. "Well, this is written on a company checking account, and we charge $5 to cash those checks," she informed me...to which I replied, "What if it was written on a personal checking account?" "Those we cash for free," she stated. Feeling a bit of a smartass, I asked, "So, in other words, you really put the screws to your business customers - and their customers - don't you?"

"That's how we do business, sir," was the teller's explanation, "if you don't like it, you don't have to do business with us." I explained that I don't do business with Wells Fargo...and for good reason.

What a load of crap. At most banks Business accounts are already assessed the highest fees going on the front end. At Wells Fargo they seem to want to get it from both ends.

I know...that's two posts in a row where I come across as "old man grumpus". Guess it must be my old age starting to show. I'll do better next post. I promise.

Substantial interest penalty for not checking out humor-blogs.com

Flying Garbage Dump.

There was a time that I really liked to fly America West Airlines. They offered very reasonable fares, and direct service from my home base of San Luis Obispo to Phoenix (as opposed to LAX) and points beyond. The planes they operated and the folks that manned them were bright and cheery...the hallmark of an airline whose employees seemed to enjoy their jobs. It was an airline that was going places.

Unfortunately, where they went was into a merger with U.S. Airways.

I recently had the unpleasant need to fly U.S. Air on two separate round-trips. If there's a U.S. airline with dirtier planes and surlier flight crews, I sure as hell pity those passengers. I flew on six different U.S. Airways' planes, and every one of them looked as tattered and dirty as a college frat house after a week-long kegger. Threadbare upholstery, layers of dirt in every nook and cranny...just the kind of upkeep that screams: "You think this is bad, you should see the cockpit!"

On one outbound leg from Phoenix to Las Vegas we were advised by the captain that the internal power unit which assisted engine start was inoperative. "No problem, though," he assured us all, "we can use the ground unit." Two hours later and no engine start. Seems the ground APU was trashed, too. Like the unkempt interior of their planes, this was another sure sign that this airline is on the ropes financially, and corners are being cut.

And as for the flight attendants, gate staff and pilots I met? Let's just say there's no more of that eye of the tiger gleam in their eyes I'd see on America West flights. These days it's more like the eye of the dairy cow. The expression of a U.S. Airways' employee was either that of, 'don't fuck with me, I'm union' or 'just biding my time until something better opens up'.

I know, I know...bemoaning the state of U.S. Airways is like shooting fish in a barrel. It's too easy a target. But it was either bitching about them or raggin' on Elliot Spitzer...which is what every other blogger seems to be writing about right now.

Word to the wise: don't give U.S. Airways your business.

"Thanks for flying us...buh-bye now...and check humor-blogs.com out. Buh-BYE!"

Rear Window.

I was driving in Phoenix rush-hour traffic yesterday. Being in bumper-to-bumper isn't something that's an everyday occurrence for me. Frankly, it gets me jumpy...like Rodney Dangerfield jumpy. I admit it: I've become a 'Country Mouse'. No doubt living in a metropolitan city has some advantages...driving in traffic sure ain't one of them.

It was while in the midst of all this traffic that I took notice of a growing and disturbing trend: rear window obituaries.







No doubt you've seen them, too. Little memorials of a loved one, a family member, a beloved pet, stuck on the back of a car window.

Am I the only one who thinks this is more than a little weird?

Please don't get me wrong. Bereaving your loss is an important part of the healing process. But when did it become acceptable to share that loss with fellow drivers - complete strangers - bestowing upon it the 'dignity' we would normally reserve for a bumper sticker? A bumper sticker like, "How's My Driving? Call 1-800-BITE-ME"?

Perhaps it's just another sign of American's love affair with their cars, or of our 'on-the-go' mentality? Clearly it's an attempt on the part of the driver at memorializing a loved one. For me? I see it as one more sign that far too many of my fellow Americans have really bad taste.
Logging on to humor-blogs.com is infinitely more rewarding than sitting in rush-hour traffic.

Lucid? Eet Sertainely iz.

I've always had a soft spot for Pastis...you know, the anise-flavored apéritif from France? Call me a croissant-eater, but I love the stuff. Especially in the summertime. It's a civilized way to slide into an afternoon. Pastis had its beginnings in the criminalization of Absinthe, a similar-tasting, yet hallucinogenic beverage that was all the rage in late-1800/early-1900 Europe.

Some of the best painting and poetry of that age can be attributed to the fact that the responsible artist was under the influence of "The Green Fairy"...in much the same way LSD contributed to the rock music of the late 1960s. When he had accidentially 'invented' Champagne, French monk Dom Perignon is rumored to have shouted, "Come quick, my brothers...I am tasting stars!" I've no doubt that whatever monk invented Absinthe probably mumbled, "Come quick, my brothers...I can't find my legs." While Absinthe led to some amazing artistic advances*, it also destroyed a LOT of lives, and was outlawed in all but a handful of countries. Art has never been the same.

Being a big fan of Pastis, it was only natural that I had an interest in sampling this illicit beverage, Absinthe. Portugal - a country that never outlawed the drink - is also the world's leading producer of wine corks. In the wine business it is fairly well known that if you order your corks from a certain Portuguese company, they are only more than happy to smuggle a bottle or two of Absinthe in the corks they shipped to you. It was through this method that, 13 years ago, I finally was able to experience real Absinthe.

I was hosting a party at my house when a guest spotted the bottle. "Wow! Absinthe! Can I try some?" he asked. Ever the gracious host, I popped the cork. While I wasn't exactly in the mood to switch from wine to wormwood, I figured the bottle would soon be drained. It was now or never. I poured both myself and interested guests some Absinthe. Nope, I didn't burst out into a creative urge of impressionistic painting, nor did I pen some profound lines of verse. It just slowed me d-o-w-n. A lot. It was if my synapses were firing at glacial speed. The next day I received a call from a friend thanking me for a wonderful party. "It was great, but you seemed a little sad," she said. "Sad?" I replied, "No, I wasn't sad...I was on another planet."

It was an interesting feeling. Not something I'd want to do on a regular basis, but it was, shall I say, unique? But in this 'everything old is new again' world, Absinthe is back!

That's right. It appears as though 100 years is long enough to forget the past, and producers around the world - including the U.S. - are again distilling this mysterious green liquor (at least openly). And so it was that I was having lunch with Peter Kasperski (the restaurant übergod...see my last post) when he plied me with a post-repast shot of Lucid, a French-produced Absinthe.

Within a minute of imbibing, I began to feel as if a strong-handed Swede was giving me a deep-tissue shoulder massage. A general feeling of calm washed over me. By the time I had finished my beverage, I could feel my synapses shifting from high gear to low. "Oh no," I thought to myself, "this day is over." I could imagine visiting wine shops and restaurants with a catatonic blur on my face. Not a good look if you're trying to sell some wine.

Luckily, this feeling was short-lived. I was able to get up from the table, stand on my own two feet, and resume my workday.

Interesting stuff, that Lucid. Nice...but I'll stick with my Pastis, thank you very much. My favorites are Casanais and Pastis 51. Ricard will do in a pinch, too.

* "amazing artistic advances" Yes! my weekly alliterative quota has been met!

And while you're fulfilling your quota, go check out humor-blogs.com, won't you?

Shameless Music Plug.

Hello from Arizona!

I arrived into the Sky Harbor Airport late Monday night, and have been running around like the proverbial rat out of an aqueduct*. Yesterday I met up with one of America's most erudite restaurateurs (and all-around great guy, raconteur, wordsmith and one of my favorite people on the planet), Peter Kasperski. Peter is THE man. His restaurants, Cowboy Ciao, Sea Saw and Kazimierz World Wine Bar are wonderful.

Over lunch at his latest creation, Digestif, I asked Peter, "So, what music are you listening these days?" Word to the wise: when Peter Kasperski tells you what he's listening to...you best run out and get yourself a copy. That night in my hotel I logged on to iTunes and looked for one of Peter's stronger suggestions: James Hunter. I found one of his albums, "People Gonna Talk", and quickly downloaded it, and synced it on my iPhone. On my way to Tucson this morning, I finally listened to it.

Ohmygawd! Where in the hell have I been to have missed this guy?

Listening to James Hunter is eerie. On one level you listen to it and think, "Oh, yeah...I remember that song from the early sixties." But then it dawns on you, "Noooooo. It's familiar, but this is new."

To me, James Hunter is a soulful blend (channeling?) of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Jackie Wilson, with just the right touch of Johnny Rivers. Amazing, hip, cool sounds here, folks. This is a man who deserves a wider audience (and appreciation) than he currently has. Or maybe he has...but I just wasn't aware of it. Wouldn't be the first time.

So, do yourself a favor. Go out and buy (or download) a copy of James Hunter's "People Gonna Talk".

You'll be glad you did. Thank you, Peter Kasperski!

*I know. A Monty Python reference. Forgive me...I've been reading Michael Palin's Diaries: 1969-1979. A great read.

And ALL cool cats read humor-blogs.com while listening to James Hunter.

Trendspotting.

Most Sunday Mornings find my wife and I enjoying a Garretson family tradition. We wake up, fix each other a cup of coffee, and watch CBS Sunday Morning. It's one of the rare times in the Garretson household when the boys are quiet, and the TV isn't tuned to a kid's show. And there are those Sundays when Jack and Thom decide to still in (or remain preoccupied with their toys) that we can top off our unfettered enjoyment of Sunday Morning by following it up with - dare I say? - Face the Nation!

I know...my wife and I lead a wild life, huh?

This morning allowed us to enjoy the CBS double-header of both morning shows. It was while watching Face the Nation that I happened to take notice of what might be a newly-emerging trend. Host Bob Schieffer had as a guest New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson. What's old Bill been up to since he dropped out of the race on January 10th? Growing a beard, it would seem.

I'm happy that he's found such a worthwhile, time-consuming hobby...a hobby which seems to have become all the rage amongst Democratic has-been presidential contenders.


This recent Democratic trend began nearly seven years ago when former Senator/Vice President/presidential candidate and inconvenient truth-teller, Al Gore came out of hiding after the 2000 election.

I think Al carries the "Brawny Man" look off a helluva lot better than Richardson does. At the time he had adopted his facial hair, Gore was also a visiting professor at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism...a role which literally begs for a beard. And a corduroy blazer with elbow patches. That and the fact that Gore hails from "Good 'Ol Rocky Top", a.k.a. the State of Tennessee. It's practically de rigeur to sport whiskers in those parts.

Perhaps the growing of a beard for these two are a means for them to express their laid back, devil-may-care attitude towards their very public defeats? Or is it that these ex-pres candidates are taking the figurative use of the word 'beard' to a literal conclusion? A beard can also mean "one who serves to divert suspicion or attention from another". Perhaps they're trying to divert attention from the ass-whoopin' they took at the polls?

This trend amongst Democratic also-rans could of course lead to a very disturbing development:
I dunno, though. On second thought, it looks pretty good on her.

And while you're waiting on your whiskers, check out humor-blogs.com.

Checking In...

For those tens of you who actually read my blog, my apologies. I know, I know...I've not been posting much lately. But at least I have a good excuse. I've been neck-deep in preparations for two major bottlings: 3,000cs. of Garretson wines and 3,000cs. of my new wine label, Francis Berwyn. We begin bottling tomorrow.

Anyone who's been involved in bottling wine can tell you: bottling sucks. With the exception of harvest, bottling is (for me at least) the most-stressful time for a winemaker. It's the last chance you have to get things right...or screw things up. And once the wine is in the bottle, that's it. There's no going back.

So please excuse the dearth of postings. I've been preoccupied. Next week sees the start of a whole LOT of travel...Arizona, Chicago, Las Vegas and throughout California, ending in March with a week in Atlanta. Rest assured my travels will provide more than enough blog fodder to fill these pages...and will surely cure your insomnia.

Onward!

While you wait for my next, no doubt witty posting, go visit the fine folks at humor-blogs.com

Dutch Treat.

Last year one of our local banks merged with the financial monster, Rabobank. Overnight the familiar signage for Mid-State Bank had been replaced by blue and orange "Rabobank" signs. This change got me thinking...

What in the hell IS a 'Rabobank' exactly?

Turns out Rabobank is a Dutch concern. Founded in 1996, the name is an acronym of the two original partner banks, the Raiffeisen Bank and the Boerenleenbank. Cute, huh?

Nope. I don't think so, either.

While "Rabobank" is a bit less of a mouthful than The Raiffeisen Bank and the Boerenleenbank, the name itself doesn't exactly connote financial legitimacy. If anything, it brings to mind (at least to my mind) images that aren't exactly ligitimate at all.




Sound it out..."Rab-Oh-Bank". Say it fast and it sounds like "Rob-a-bank", doesn't it? I mean, really, is that what these Dutchmen want us to do, rob their banks? Perhaps it's just a subliminal message they're sending us. They're the robbers.







Perhaps it's just that they happen to big big-time fans of the movie, Robocop? After all, the movie was directed Paul Verhoeven. Sounds pretty Dutch to me. Maybe Paul's on the board of advisors?









Or could it be that Robobank answers to a power higher than the FSLIC? RabbiBank, perhaps?







Regardless, Rabobank is a terrible name for a financial institution, ain't it?

Studies have shown that logging on to humor-blogs.com is infinitely more rewarding than robbing banks.

Scary Movie.

So there I was a few nights ago, at home, watching the movie, "The Bounty". Remember this one? I hadn't seen this since it came out in 1984, and I have to say it's aged remarkably well. If you discount the Vangelis score (still hot from his 1981 "Chariots of Fire" soundtrack), there's a certain timelessness to this movie. It stars Mel Gibson and Anthony Hopkins, and has a great supporting cast that includes cinematic royalty (Sir Lawrence Olivier), soon-to-be box office boy toys (Liam Neeson and Daniel Day-Lewis), and a one-hit wonder (Tevaite Vernette).

"Mat," I can hear you saying, "who in the hell is Tevaite Vernette?" Ms. Vernette, dear reader, plays Mauatua, Fletcher Christian/Mel Gibson's love interest. Tahitian born and bred (and, I learned recently, still residing), she nailed the part of a native...probably because she was/is a Tahitian native. That and the fact that she apparently doesn't mind getting naked in front of a camera. Director Dino de Laurentis' folks discovered her on location, and cast her in the part. The movie database imdb lists "The Bounty" as her sole credit of her cinematic career.

Now I will freely admit that when the movie came out I was attracted to this young Tahitian lass. But with benefit of hindsight I can say that it wasn't so much that I thought she was cute in as much the fact that, when the movie came out, I was in my early twenties. That meant my, um, interest was held by any female who cavorted around semi-clothed...on-screen or off.

24 years later - my gawd! twenty four years! - and I did find that when watching "The Bounty" I was again drawn to Tevaite Vernette. Watching her though I found that my interest wasn't at all carnal. Rather, in watching her on screen, I was left with a nagging feeling that I had seen her somewhere else. I was a good two-thirds into the movie when it finally dawned on me: "Ohmigawd, she looks just like Tiger Woods, but with breasts!"

While the internet boasts scores of photos of Tiger, there are precious few photos to be found of Tevaite Vernette...less than 15, actually. This photo to the left is the best image I was able to find of her.

Compare this photo to this one of Tiger:

Again, the photo of Ms. Vernette is of poor quality, but I think you will see what I mean. They're awfully similar looking people.

If you happen to have photos of Tevaite Vernette (I also learned from the internet that she was featured in Playboy back around the release of "The Bounty"), send them my way. I'll add them to this post. Baring that, check out "The Bounty" next time it's on TV...and check out Tevaite. And then tell me that she doesn't look like Tiger Woods after a Renée Richards-like procedure.

It's creepy how much she looks like Tiger. Makes me wonder how her short game is?

And, hey, while you're putting around the internet, check out humor-blogs.com!"

"Well, We've Never Heard of You, Either."

For those of you unfamiliar with what I do for a living, let me tell you: I'm a winemaker. That's right, my wife and I own a small winery on the Central Coast of California. Owning a winery might sound like a dream job, but let me tell you, the reality can oft-times be a nightmare. Don't get me wrong...I love what I do; however, it's just like any other job in that it's, well, a job.

One of the drawbacks to being a winery owner/winemaker is having to put up with wine snobs. You've probably come across the type...the kind that, if given half a chance, drones on and on about such subjects as what's better, left- or right-bank 1991 Bordeaux, the ageability of Chilean Chardonnay, etc., etc. The type of guy (they're almost always guys) who probably got the shit kicked out of him every week in high school for being such a wonk.

I've little patience for pretentious wine snobs (unless of course, they're actually buying my wines), as evidenced by the fact that, some 11 years ago, we adopted as our winery slogan "Well, We've Never Heard of You Either." It's emblazoned on our t-shirts, posters, and (until recently) on our website. It pretty much sets the proper tone...and serves as a standard response to what is usually the first thing people say when they hear the words, "Garretson Wine Company."

Before we settled on, "Well, We've Never Heard of You Either.", I had auditioned a few other slogans...most of which were vetoed by my partner (a.k.a. 'my wife'). I'd like to share with you my Top 10:

MY TOP TEN FAILED WINERY SLOGANS

10.) "If you're not completely satisfied...welcome to the real world."
9.) "Why Pay Less?"
8.) "The purchase of just one bottle of our wine each week can feed and clothe my children for an entire month!"
7.) "It's supposed to taste like that."
6.) "Your pathetic ignorance to these grape varieties is more than overcome to my total commitment to them."
5.) "Better wines than you deserve."
4.) "Celebrate a lifestyle that you'll never attain!"
3.) "With perhaps the exceptions of rock stars, sports celebrities and just about anyone with a lot of money, chicks dig Garretson wine drinkers the most."
2.) "Where quality is more than a slogan. It's a noun."
1.) "I've suffered for my art. Now it's your turn."

While we've gone 11 years with one slogan, I'm always looking for one better. And I'm open to your ideas. Anyone? Bueller?

Here's a great slogan: "Click now on humor-blogs.com!"

Va-Va-Va-VIVI!

With all these postings on my trip back to Georgia, I completely forgot to post some photos of our puppy, "VIVI". How 'Bout This Dawg?:She's much cuter in real life, let me tell you...and sweet as can be. She also makes a great pillow!

Looking for something that won't put you to sleep? Log onto humor-blogs.com.

La Provinçale.

Last Friday I met up with my good friend, Steve Morrison, and we drove south from Atlanta to Valdosta, Georgia. We made the journey to pick up my family's bulldog puppy, VIVI, a dog - excuse me, Dawg - that, as the daughter of UGA VI, is true Southern royalty. Driving with Steve I realized that I both missed living near my friend, and missed living in The South.

We drove through the night, catching up on old times, our families and our lives. We shared some fairly good barbecue at O.B.'s in McDonough (very good ribs, dry pulled pork, institutional mac and cheese and cole slaw, over-puréed yet tasty Brunswick Stew and so-so sweet tea), and got to Valdosta around 1am.

The next morning we entered the Gold Plate Restaurant in Valdosta for what promised (if reviews on the internet were to be believed) to be a good, Southern breakfast. The Gold Plate is your fairly typical Southern breakfast joint. It's a series of cinder block structures that seem to have witnessed a number of expansions. Judging by the number of diners, the local gentry seems to endorse it. Inside it's a series of rooms adorned with faded duck prints, and a number of large steam tables, all of which were being prepared for a lunchtime buffet.

As we entered the Gold Plate, we were met by a kindly old lady who sensed this was our first-ever visit to her establishment. "Why don't you sit down in the other room," she motioned, "it's a lot...quieter." Taking her cue, we entered the other dining room...and soon realized that our host's notion of "quieter" translated as "whiter". Hmmm.

Our waitress came up to the table, order pad in hand. "Y'all know what ya want?" she asked. We informed her that we hadn't been given a menu yet. This was met by a terse smile, and a statement of the obvious, "You're not from around here, are you?" She soon returned with menus. The restaurant's board of fare boasts three different types of breakfast sausages: "Fresh", "Smoked" and "Patty". Steve asked her to explain the differences. "'Fresh' means brown, 'smoked' means pink, and 'patty' means flat." was her reply.

We both opted for 'Fresh' sausage as well as some biscuits and gravy. I also ordered a few eggs over medium and a side of grits.

While the Gold Plate has three kinds of sausage, it would appear they've only one kind of egg: scrambled. Not wanting to yet again show myself as 'not from around here', I said nothing. The food was good...one of the best Southern breakfasts I've had in some time. Our waitress returned to freshen our coffee, and asked, "So, where are y'all from?" Steve explained that she was from Atlanta, while I flashed her my California driver's license. "California, huh?" she said, and then came closer and whispered, "Is it true what they say? Are there a lot of faggots in California?" It took all my willpower to resist smiling, reaching out for Steve's hand and batting my eyes at him, but I was hungry and did not want to risk being denied service. I instead just replied, "I really wouldn't know about that, 'mam. I'm happily married."

While Steve headed to the bathroom, our waitress returned to ask, "So, is California nice?" "It is, but it's not as nice as Georgia," I said, hoping to improve on her opinion of me...after all, she was holding a pot of scalding hot coffee. "You've never been?" I asked her. "Oh no!" she claimed, "Never! There's too many faggots. But I've been all over the rest of the country." When I asked her where she'd traveled to, she proudly stated, "Well, I've been to Louisiana once, to South Carolina twice, to north Georgia a few times, and I've spent a LOT of time in Florida."

Uh-huh.

The Gold Plate in Valdosta does serve a mean breakfast...and a heaping side plate of homophobia at no extra charge.


While you're eating your biscuits and gravy, Jethro, check out humor-blogs.com.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I'm writing this post from the American Airlines' Admiral's Club at LAX. Beside me sits my new bulldog, VIVI, who's already endured two plane rides (one from Atlanta to DFW, the other from DFW to LAX). We're both waiting eagerly for our connecting flight to San Luis Obispo - home! - where Amie and the boys are giddy with anticipation of the arrival of our sweet, little puppy.

I spent roughly 49 hours in Georgia on this trip. Over the course of that time, I drove all over Georgia: from Atlanta to Roswell to Valdosta to Athens, back to Roswell and then to Atlanta. It was wonderful to be back. More details about the trip later.


Being in Georgia got me thinking of all Things Southern. There is a tradition of, well...traditions in Georgia. One Georgia tradition that got a lot of attention over the past few years has had to do with Georgia's state flag. I won't bore you, dear reader with a concise history of Georgia's flag...just its most recent chapters. Georgia, like many states who had aligned with the Confederacy during the Civil War, had opted to revise their state flag to include that often misunderstood (and misappropriated) symbol, "the stars and bars" of the Confederate Battle Flag. Georgia adopted this flag in 1956...mainly as a snub to growing pressure to integrate. Certainly there are many who fiercly disagree with this assertion. They instead hold to a conviction that the Battle Flag was meant to commemorate Georgia's history...a rich history that included taking the C.S.A.'s side in the Civil War (commonly known hereabouts as "the recent war of Yankee aggression"). While you can hold to this belief, the blatant timing of this new flag belied the true intentions.



Fast forward nearly 50 years later, and the ever-growing wave of political correctness made it inevitable that this flag had to go. Those who held that there was no room these days for a Confederate symbol on the state's flag had finally won their argument. Sadly, the resultant need for a new Georgia flag - and a need to appeal to all sides of the argument - led to a 'design by committee'. And, in a result all too typical of committee work, the flag that was adopted (on January 30th, 2001) well and truly sucked. Luckily, most everyone else agreed that this flag sucked, and Georgians set out to change their flag yet again.


Finally, on May 8, 2003, a new flag was unveiled:Simple, straightforward and beautiful, huh? Seems to have it all...the famous Arch installed in Athens, GA at the entrance to the University of Georgia (which has long been a part of the Seal of the Great State of Georgia), the strong, American-inspired red, white and blue colors, and 13 stars representing the original 13 colonies...of which Georgia was number 13. Certainly, this was/is a flag that the state's citizens could rally behind, no?

It seems as though they have. All sides seem to have embraced the new Georgia flag. But, if you know anything about your Civil War history, this flag is all too familiar:
The new Georgia flag is, in fact, a slightly altered version of the flag of a flag that was adopted by the Confederate States of America during the Civil War.

It never ceases to amaze me that this new flag has not stirred up controversy. Seems the old 'stars and bars' of the Confederate Battle Flag - a flag which many people think was the Confederate flag - was the problem. So what if the new flag is a lot closer to an actual Confederate sentiment than the old one. I guess it's all about perception, huh?

Are you looking for something really funny? Check out the fine folks at humor-blogs.com.

Life Stinks.

Ah, the memories of childhood. There are sights, sounds and experiences from that time in our lives that we all hold dear. As I've approached mid-life, I - like so many men before me (and no doubt after) - often find myself trying to recapture those early days...the salad days, if you will. Stereotypically, this involves a red sports car, and, eventually, a lawyer. Being happily married, I've instead opted to relive my childhood the non-litigious, old fashioned way: through my two sons, Jack and Thom.

It was this desire to revisit my childhood that drove Santa this Christmas to send us three board games that I really enjoyed as a kid: Stratego, Risk and Life. All three of the board games had made a fairly big impression on me as a child...and I thought would prove similarly enjoyable to Jack and Thom. Last night we finally broke out "The Game of Life". Do you remember this game? It had it all. The board itself was a little diorama, with churches, mansions, sweeping curves...and an entrancing, spinning wheel that was, no doubt, Merv Griffin's inspiration for Wheel of Fortune.

As a kid, playing Life was a heady experience. You got your own car. You got paper money every payday, and with regular raises! And, if you were lucky, your car would soon fill up with a wife and kids. At the end of it all, you'd end up in 'retirement', a winner...cashing in your home and counting down all the money you had at the end of the game. Life was fun!

And, why the heck wouldn't it be? After all, Art Linkletter himself "heartily endorsed this game". I don't know if you remember, but when it came to kids and kid-related stuff, old Art's endorsement was a big deal in its day. It was tantamount to a Papal blessing.

Now, thirty seven years since I last played Life, I've learned something new about this game: it sucks. First off, it drags on for hours. It's so excruciatingly boring that, if I - as a kid - were to think that the game of Life in some way was representative of life itself, I would have cashed in my chips long ago. Secondly, there's little (read: no) 'thrill of the game' to this game. I thought perhaps I was alone in this sentiment, but I was not. Looking over at my wife, Amie, it was obvious that we both felt a letdown...Life was not as fun as we remembered it.

But perhaps my distaste for Life is due to my age...as Shakespeare said, "A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age". Well, perhaps...but not if my kids are any judge. Within 30 minutes of playing this game - a game which can, if you let it, march at a pace that's positively geologic - we had all had enough.

If Art Linkletter were alive today, my family would be hunting him down, demanding he "heartily" refund our money.

Like to laugh? Check out the fine folks at humor-blogs.com.

Worst Schill Ever.

For the life of me, I cannot understand how the folks at Tanqueray think that the character of Tony Sinclair helps them promote/sell their gin. To me the guy's just freakin' obnoxious.

I honestly think there's never, ever been a more offensive spokesperson for any consumer product.

Okay...so I might be wrong.

Like to laugh? Check out the fine folks at humor-blogs.com.

Broken Spoke.

Over the course of the last week, my youngest son, Thomas, has really taken to his new bicycle. It's great seeing him revel in his new-found freedom. A few days back I showed Thomas how to place a card in the spokes to make cool 'motor noises'. That brought a BIG smile to his face. Watching Thom on his bike got me thinking about when I was a kid, and my bike was my ticket to 'out and about'.

While there were others before her, the first bike I can remember owning was a late 60's model Schwinn Speedster, nearly identical to the bike pictured to the left, with the exception that mine was metallic green in color. I think it was a hand-me-down from my brother Dave.

Alright, it wasn't nearly as cool as the bikes some of my friends had - Sting Rays, Apple Krates, Apollos, Dragspeeders, et al. Its 'coolest' feature was the 3-speed, mounted on the handlebar. One flick of the thumb and I could change those gears!

In retrospect, that Speedster of mine was a geek's bike.

Necessity being the mother of invention (the 'necessity' here being to NOT look like a total spaz on my Schwinn) led to my trying to imitate heroes of the day. When I was a kid, heroes included those darlings of the dragstrip, Don "The Snake" Prudhomme, Tom "The Mongoose" McEwen and Don "Big Daddy" Garlits. I wondered...could I turn my Schwinn Speedster into a Schwinn Dragster?

Turns out I couldn't. But at least I could affect the dragster look. But how to do it? The answer was as close as my parent's hallway closet. It was there that I found a BIG umbrella (similar to the one pictured here) that automatically opened at the push of a button. I theorized that this umbrella could act as a kind of drag chute...after getting up to speed, I could hold this umbrella - excuse me, drag chute - behind me, push the button and end my run just like The Snake and his pals did every "Sunday SUNDAY SUNDAY!"

So it was that one Saturday I met up with my buddies, riding my bike, holding my parent's umbrella. My arrival was met by puzzled looks...until my first 'run'. Peddling down the street like a madman, I then popped the chute. "Cool!" my friends offered, "can I try that?" I murmured something to the effect that I still had to 'perfect' it. The very next attempt was the same as the last...except this time I thought it would be even cooler to change gears in the midst of my deceleration. So there I was, left hand extended behind me, holding the opened umbrella, my right hand moving off the handle bar, my thumb pressing down on the gear shift.

Uh huh. You can see where this is going.

The pressure applied to the right handle immediately sent the handle bar - and, as a result, the front tire - towards a sharp right turn. In very short order, my Schwinn Speedster hit the curb, sending me al la Pee-Wee Herman over my handlebars. Luckily for me, the sidewalk broke my fall. I opened my eyes to see my friends hovering over me. "Are you okay?" they asked. "Sure," I replied, "I meant to do that." As I got up, my friends all exclaimed, "That looked cool!"

Those three words made all the pain worthwhile.


Checking out humor-blogs.com is definately more fun than impailing your manhood on the handlebars of your bike.