Dazed and Confused

We’ve got some catching up to do, so this one is kinda long.

Well, the Holidaze are upon us once again, and this year I am confused by…

… the football announcer who said that a team “narrowly averted tragedy” when they recovered their own fumble. Really? A tragedy? Come on dude, it’s just football. A real tragedy is running out of chips before halftime…

…the other football announcer who observed that if a team “runs successful plays they will have success on offense.” Thank-you, Captain Obvious. I’m surprised you’re in the broadcast booth instead of on the sidelines with that keen insight…

… the young woman I saw wearing a down vest with a fur-lined hood. It just seems to me that if it’s cold enough to need a fur-lined hood, it is cold enough to wear a jacket with sleeves…

… television, apparently. My Dad enjoyed watching Bonanza reruns and we spent a couple of afternoons earlier this year doing just that. Recently, while home alone I came across another episode and decided to watch. It seems the bad guy was planning to frame Hoss for a murder by knocking out Hoss, shooting the victim, planting the gun next to Hoss, and then leaving the scene. As I was watching this unfold I was thinking “well that will never work. Once Grissom and Katherine and the other CSI folks get there they’ll dust the gun for finger prints and check ol’ Hoss for gun-shot residue and he’ll be exonerated…” Yikes…

This month’s DUMBASS (Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff) Award goes to the Ford Motor Company for their commercial in which a young man is extolling the virtues of the keyless entry system on his new Ford. He especially likes it when he’s wearing tight jeans because there is no bulge from his keys. Apparently Ford is targeting the lucrative “Does This Car Make Me Look Fat?” demographic…

Imagine a well written transition paragraph right here…

Mrs. R decided recently that it was time to replace our worn out Xmas tree. It seemed like a good idea, the old one barely made it through last year. (This is the part of the story where it’s important to note that Mrs. R likes to think big during the Holidaze, I mean really big…)

We had been looking for a couple weeks and began to realize that the inventory of artificial trees was beginning to shrink in our corner of the ‘burbs. We checked a couple more places but weren’t satisfied and we finally ended up at one of the big-box home improvement stores (the blue one, for those of you keeping score at home…) And there it was – the largest pre-lit artificial tree in the western United States – checking in at 12-feet tall and 3-million pounds.

Mrs. R’s eyes lit up instantly when she saw it, and I think I may have heard the Hallelujah Chorus being sung softly in the background. I knew then that we were gonna take that bad boy home, in spite of my objections about:

Can we get it in the car?

Can we get it in the house?

Can we assemble it?

Will there be any money left for gifts?

It turns out that the only 12-foot tall, 3-million pound tree left in the store was the floor display model. This is where Mrs. R began her “no !#$%%**! way am I going to pay full **@#$!! price for the !@#**^* floor display” negotiating technique. It’s subtle, but effective…

Anyway, the big-box gave us a discount, disassembled the tree, helped us load it into our car, and merrily sent us on our way. One of the more interesting things about floor display models is that they don’t come with directions. And while that may be okay if you bring home a new recliner; it’s not so good if you bring home a giant tree with 14 unmarked parts and a bewildering array of wires, plugs, and other unidentifiable electrical things.

Realizing we may be in for a challenging time, I quickly designed a complex series of hoists and pulleys, rented some scaffolding, and applied for a building permit. I am a trained professional after all.

Mrs. R thought it would be fun if we tackled the tree assembly by using a Mission Impossible style approach. We’ve had success in the past using a similar tactic:

Suburban Rogue - Health Food

Since Mrs. R is somewhat afraid of heights, I agreed to be suspended from the pulley and assemble the tree while hanging upside-down, ala Tom Cruise, while Mrs. R was “on belay.” So, I got hooked up, strapped in and was ready to descend into tree assembly when, as I was stepping off of the upper stair landing, I remembered that I weigh twice as much as Mrs. R. I distinctly remember waving to her as we passed while she sped toward the ceiling and I was plummeting toward the living room floor.

We managed to get untangled, get the tree assembled, and even get the lights to work. I would, however, like to apologize for the power brown-out some of you may have experienced on Saturday…

Merry Christmas!

A Good Man

This is a simple story about a good man…

My Dad was born in 1933 in a small town in Missouri; he was the youngest of seven children. In 1938 his family moved to Windsor, Colorado and Dad grew up there.

He left school early and moved to California to work in construction alongside his brother-n-law. Soon the Selective Service came calling and Dad was drafted into the Army as the Korean War was winding down. His active duty time was spent on a base in Fairbanks, Alaska.

One of Dad’s favorite stories from his Army days was how, during winter exercises, each soldier was assigned a buddy – if your buddy got frostbite you got court-martialed. Each soldier was issued a winter parka with a fur-lined hood and a row of snaps around the outside. If you saw your buddy’s face turning red, you were to snap your hood to his and let each other’s exhaled breath warm the skin.

Those of you that knew my Dad may remember that he had a large, and somewhat red, nose. Dad said he couldn’t remember how many times his “buddy” would yell “Reynolds, get over here! Your nose is turning red, you’re getting frostbite!” and would then snap his hood to Dad’s. Then with a devilish grin, Dad would say “I really started to worry about that guy after a while…”

Mom and Dad were married in 1956 and lived in San Diego for a brief time. Dad got a job as a lineman with the telephone company and he said it was the best job he ever had. Apparently, the poles where the new guys learned to climb were located along one of San Diego’s most popular beaches. Once they mastered climbing the poles, the newbies were told to “just stay up there and have a look around…”

Mom and Dad returned to Colorado in 1958, a few months before I was born, and they were living in Lakewood when my brother, Scott, was born in 1962.

With the exception of a couple of years, Dad spent his professional life in the dairy business working a variety of jobs from milking cows to delivery to making cottage cheese and ice cream to loading to sales. While he was in sales, many of his clients were restaurants in the Denver area and Dad got to see what went on in the kitchens. Let’s just say that there are some places in town where I still refuse to eat…

Once retired, Dad enjoyed woodworking and traveling; searching New Mexico for the best burrito. He also worked very hard to have the greenest lawn on the block, not that he was competitive or anything...

Dad could fix just about anything and he tried to pass that skill on to Scott and me. I have to admit that my brother paid much closer attention during those fixing lessons than I did…

Dad, along with Mom, created a home, a safe place where my bother and I could begin to pursue our dreams. He taught us the values of hard work and honesty, and how to treat people fairly.

He possessed a great deal of physical strength, and if you ever shook hands with Dad, you knew about his bone-crushing grip.

Along with his physical strength, Dad was strong of character…

In 1982 we had the infamous Christmas Blizzard and my wife and I were stuck in our basement apartment. Dad spent all of Christmas day digging out and then coming over to rescue us. Not so we could celebrate with Mom and him, but so we could make it to my wife’s house to celebrate with her family. That might have been the best Christmas present ever.

A few years back the local elementary school was having a Dad’s day, and everyone’s Dad, including staff, was invited to spend the day at school. None of the front office staff at that time still had their fathers, so Dad stepped in and made four young women very happy that day.

Nothing filled Dad with pride more than his four grandchildren. I often watched him steer a conversation so he could talk about his grandkids. Corey, Kaitlin, Mary and Jake - I know this is painful, as this is the first time any of you have experienced this in your young lives. Please remember that your Grandpa loved you all very, very, much.

Dad was a good man and he led a quiet, simple life. There is much to be said for that.

Just Us Kids

Every so often, reality a big dose of reality shows up and gets your attention.

I attended a large suburban high school in the mid 1970’s, and I’ve written about some of my misadventures before…

Speechification

Homecoming

My graduating class was very large, over 600 students, and it was impossible to know everyone. I was fortunate to be part of a medium-sized circle of friends. We were close-knit and hung out together for most of three years. Then we graduated and grew up; went our separate ways and built our lives. Some did a better job of staying in touch through the years than others.

These days we get together every 5 years at our class reunions to catch up, swap lies, and to reminisce about how innocent and free we once were. Unfortunately there are always a couple of more names on the list of deceased classmates. They have all been people I didn’t know very well during my high school years.

Until now…

Every high school class has that special person, the sweetheart of the class, the homecoming queen who is everyone’s friend. The girl with the radiant personality who is a beautiful person inside and out. We were fortunate that our class sweetheart was in our, as well as everyone else’s, circle of friends.

She was also the first one from our circle to leave us.

A few days ago, after our friend’s memorial service in a small Colorado mountain town, a few of us got together to catch up, swap some lies, and most importantly, share some laughs. Before we all left, we promised each other we would do a better job of keeping in touch.

As I drove home I was reminded of James McMurty’s song “Just Us Kids.”

"Just us kids hangin' out today

Watchin' our long hair turnin' gray

Not so skinny maybe not so free

Not so many as we used to be"

Goodbye Dandy, may you go in peace…

Summertime

Since summer has officially started, I thought it might be a good time to officially restart my blog. My muse, which had gone missing, is beginning to reappear. That is good news for me, bad news for you…

So let’s get started…

Very few people are known by only one name, Elvis, Ali, Einstein, Ralphie (Ok, I know she’s a buffalo, but still…) to list a few. If you’re male in your late 40’s or early 50’s, chances are that you owned/still own/still display this poster:

During my college years, Farrah was always stuck to the wall next to my desk. On more than one occasion, late at night when I was struggling with some homework problem, I would look up and start a conversation with Farrah to try and take my mind off of the blank sheet of paper on my desk. I probably would’ve gotten a better GPA if I had spent less time talking to a piece of shiny paper on the wall - not that there’s, you know, anything wrong with that…

Speaking of Boulder…

Mrs. R and I recently spent the day in Boulder. The Pearl Street Mall has some of the best summertime people watching anywhere on the planet and I highly recommend it.

Anyway, on the way to Boulder we had to stop for gas. There was a very large Ford Expedition with its driver side door open parked at the pump island next to ours. This particular SUV was all tricked out with a lift kit, chrome grill guards, and chrome steps. The damn thing was at least 2 feet off the ground.

All of sudden, the driver of this vehicle, all 5’-4” of him, including boots and hat, came running out of the store toward his monster rig, planted his feet, jumped with all of his might onto the chrome step, wobbled momentarily, and then deftly pulled himself inside the truck. It was an impressive display of athleticism. It was also pretty damn funny and it got me to thinking about an unverified theory of mine...

I postulate that the size of a man’s truck is inversely proportional to the size of a certain portion of his anatomy. (Full disclosure here – I drive a medium-sized pick-up truck...) I am unaware of any rigorous scientific studies to prove, or disprove, this theory, although some of you may have conducted your own research…

Speaking of scientific research, a colleague informs me that a plumbing supply manufacturer has developed an automatic dual flush valve.

Dual Flush Valve

There is an electronic sensor in this valve, and if it senses the user of the toilet is present for less than 60 seconds, it releases a modest amount of water to flush. If the user is present for longer than one minute, then a larger volume of water is released.

This is a great idea and has the potential to save thousands of gallons of water in public facilities. There are, however, a couple of areas of concern.

How was the research conducted and who was the poor slob that got assigned to that job? How much do you have to screw up in your previous life to end up being the person who measures how long it takes people to pee and poop? That is some seriously bad karma, dude...

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, who decided 60 seconds was the magic number? Because I’ve noticed that certain activities that used to take less than 60 seconds often take much longer to finish these days…

Seeing Eye to I

Recently, a news anchor here was reporting on the flooding of the Red River between Minnesota and North Carolina…

My office (and this is no joke) recently designated April 1 as “Employee Appreciation Day.” Kind of gives you a good sense of where you stand, I think.

Speaking of not seeing things clearly, I recently had the opportunity to visit the Eye Doctor. I hadn’t been for awhile and I noticed that some things were a little blurry.

So I went through the regular exam. It started like this:

“Put your chin right here, place your forehead against the strap, look though the lens and tell me what you see.”

“I can see the wall” I said earnestly.

“Do you see anything on the wall?” the Dr. asked.

“Some very faint blue lines…”

“Can you read any of them?”

“Does accuracy count?” I asked…

Then we started the counting game, you know…

“Is one better, or two? Two, or three? Is three better than one? If I have 6 oranges and you bring me 9 apples, can you read line 4?”

I think I would have done a lot better if I had brought my calculator along…

Next came the eye drops and dilation. I did not cry this time when the Doctor put the drops in, but I did discover that it's possible to curl up into the fetal position while sititng in the exam chair…

After my irises had become the size of half-dollars, I was taken to another room for the next round of testing. This was starting to become more grueling than finals week in engineering school…

The first test was the peripheral vision test, which I aced. I haven’t aced any test since the 3rd grade so I was feeling mighty proud of myself. That would turn out to be short lived…

The next station in the torture room was the ol’ “Were gonna have you look into this lens with your dilated eye ‘n then were gonna snap a photo of the back of your brain using the brightest flash of light known to exist and you might lose consciousness and then when you get out of ICU we’ll do the other eye” test.

I managed to survive the first one, but I saw the most remarkable pink circle in front of my eye which gradually changed to blue and then to green before fading.

Immediately after the second photo of the back of my brain, I was taken into a brightly lit room with hundreds of pairs of glasses on the wall.

At this point I was staggering around like a punch-drunk fighter. Fortunately I only knocked over 3 of the 17 wall-mounted display cases. Oh, and a couple of chairs in the waiting area. And possibly a plant or two…

I was then asked to pick out some frames. I’m very good at this and picked the, ahem, low-cost “Call the travel agent honey, we’re taking the kids and your mother to Europe this summer!” frames…

I figured out that buying glasses is a lot like buying cars, there is a bewildering array of options, all of which seem essential. By the time I was done, I had chosen the sun roof, the 12 speaker audio system, and the off-road package. I think somebody’s kid gets to go to Stanford because of me…

After negotiating a second mortgage with my banker I paid my bill and got ready to leave. Of course you can’t leave the eye doctor without “sunglasses” to protect your dilated eyes, which were now the size of bagels.

I was given a pair of spiffy “Solar-Rolz” Post-Mydriatic Sunglasses that you can “conveniently slip inside your normal glasses” to protect your eyes from harmful UV radiation.

It’s nice to know that after spending enough money to buy an island in the south pacific I was given such a high-quality parting gift…

Anyway, the damn Solar-Rolz were wound so tightly, that after conveniently slipping them inside of my normal glasses, they decided to try and return to their original position. Unfortunately, my face and eyes were in the way.

I then waged a desperate battle to try and save what was left of my eyes before there were sliced up by the Solar-Rolz. The battle raged for several minutes before I was rescued by a kind stranger who “thought it was odd that you were walking around slapping yourself in the head.”

I’m glad to report that 12 stitches, two jammed fingers, and one scratched cornea later I’m doing just fine…

Huh? #2

Spanning the globe, bringing hard-hitting news directly to your screen. Here are the stories you could probably do without….


OK, while this is interesting, most people I know don’t need a fancy phone to make the trick work…

Go Ahead, Pull My Finger


Keeping with the finger and gas theme…

Finger in the Tank


Are you kidding me? This is a dream come true!

Pizza Machine

This is a great idea for water conservation. I just have one question: Who did all the research to figure out 65 seconds was the magic number?

Dual Flush Valve

And finally, it’s time for another Coveted DUMBASS (Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff) Award. This weeks’ award goes to Maytag, for their inspired commercial advertising the toughness of their new washers and dryers.

Maytag and Trucks

This is a feature that consumers are clamoring for. You just never know when a monster truck might show up in your laundry room…

Spring has definitely sprung…

Speechification…

This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I used to play a little basketball. Those of you that actually remember watching me play would probably say…, oh wait, nobody keeps those kind memories for 30-plus years…. .

This past season, I decided to start following my old high school team. I went to several games and struck up a relationship with the coach. I got to meet some of the players, and I really enjoyed watching the boys play.

They made it to the first round of the state playoffs - the team had a very good season.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, the coach asked me to be the guest speaker at the end of season Basketball Banquet.

I gladly accepted the invitation even though:

a) I’ve never actually been a speaker before.
b) I’ve never actually written a speech before.
c) English is not my best subject.
d) All of the above.

I thought the best thing to do would be to begin my talk with a true story from my playing days…

In the 73-74 season, I played on the sophomore team, got to suit JV, and even got some JV minutes. I also set what was then a season scoring record for the sophomore team. The reason I set the record was because our sophomore team played more games than the previous record holders’ team did…

Anyway, I thought I was hot stuff; the JV Coach, Coach R, and the varsity Coach, Coach B didn’t see it that way. During my sophomore year we were playing a home game against a team from the northern part of the state and my buddy Mark and I got to suit JV for that game.

A couple of things to put this into context, back then there was no three point line, so if you got too far behind it was difficult to catch up. Secondly, Coach B always sat on the bench during the JV games, and with two minutes left in the game he would get up and go to the locker room to talk to the varsity before their game.

So Mark and I were sitting at in our customary spots at the end of the bench and with about 3 minutes to play, we’re up by about 30 points over our opponent. Coach R looks down the bench and yells “all right, the two of you get up here!”

Now Mark and I have these silly grins on our face, because we know we’re going to get some playing time. We’re very excited. We sit down next to Coach R and are intently watching the game. With two minutes to go, we’re up by 35 and Coach B gets up to leave the bench. As he does so, he points to Mark and me and says to Coach R “Joe, put these two in when you feel safe…”

To add insult to injury, Coach R waited another 30 seconds before he put Mark and me into the game…

Anyway…

The banquet was last night and Mrs. R came along to share the moment with me.

The banquet was great, and I gave my speech without incident. Well that’s not exactly true, most of the audience dozed off about two minutes in, but that was actually good.

I’m a much better speaker when no one is listening…

The Meadows

The day before leaving for Las Vegas to attend the “World of Concrete” Trade Show and Testosterone Festival, my lovely assistant and I found ourselves in the bookstore at the local suburban mall. As we walked in, we, along with everyone else in the store, were treated to a young woman’s cell phone conversation that went something like this:

“So I’m like you were cheating on her when we were sleeping together, and I was just like, whatever M****f****r!”

What a lovely young lady, so refined, so cultured. I’m sure she was Delbert and Nadine’s daughter…

On Super Bowl Sunday my assistant and I traveled to Sin City. On the plane I had the pleasure of sitting next to a gentleman who was in the aisle seat and seemed put out that the airline “put the big guy in the middle seat.” Hmm, imagine how that big guy felt….

We arrived in Las Vegas about 90 minutes before kickoff. Las Vegas, which loosely translated means “The Vegas,” was nuts. My assistant and I checked into our hotel and then searched for a place to watch the game. We finally ended-up in my XXIVth floor room to watch Super Bowl XLIII.

It was a great game, I was rooting for the Cardinals and they almost got ‘er done. Halftime was incredible! Let’s just say The Boss is still The Boss.

After the game, we decided to do the buffet thing and ended up at the Garden Buffet at the Flamingo. Like most things here, it was overpriced, but the food wasn’t real good. By the time we finished dinner and headed back to our hotel, the city had gone completely bonkers; it seemed there were drunken Steelers fans everywhere. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, as I have been to Pittsburgh a couple of times...

Monday was a day full of seminars; I was thinking that by the end of the week I would know more about cracks than most proctologists…

Much to my surprise, my lovely assistant had obtained tickets to see “Jubilee” at Bally’s on Monday night. Oh my, what a show! When the curtain came there were 40 pairs of the most beautiful bre… oops, I mean legs, you ever saw. Yeah that’s it, legs.

Jubilee!

Ahem, anyway, the show was great – dozens of beautiful women, incredible costumes, singing, dancing. My assistant said she liked the “hunky young men with the nice glutes.” We must’ve been at different shows, because I don’t remember any male performers…

After the show we followed an older couple with decidedly east-coast accents out of the theater and overheard this conversation:

“Artie, that was bee-yoot-eee-full. Just bee-yoot-eee-full.”

“Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me Irene? Theh wadn’t anythin’ bigger’n a B-cup out theh!”

That’s the thing about Las Vegas, all cultures, as well as all languages, are welcome.

Speaking of languages, apparently English is not real common in the desert.

One of the instructors at a seminar I attended used the words “acourse” for “of course” and “tords” for “toward.”

One of the 5 gazillion hucksters along the strip asked me “Are you going to be in town today?” as I walked past. Apparently that whole time-space continuum can be very confusing for some people…

I overheard someone talking about some humorous thing that had created “comical” relief.

Someone else said they “needed an electricianist.”

Another said that was about “alls they could do.”

Pronunciation? Grammar? Who needs it? This is Vegas, baby!

Tuesday’s highlight was getting a really good deal on some Super Bowl merchandise the Officially Licensed NFL vendor didn’t want to “take back with her.” Although I never found out where “back” was, I was able to negotiate a price of $25 for a spiffy $64 fleece pullover. While some would attribute that to good negotiating skills, I’d like to believe it was due to my charm and good looks…

Late Tuesday afternoon, after the seminars had ended, I entered some promotional thing at O’Shea’s on the strip, and won $50. Well not exactly, I won a voucher for $50 that I could use on one of their promotional slot machines. The catch was that you had to build up 4000 credits to win one-hundred actual dollars. I did make it to 102 credits for awhile. Anyway I was able to play the slots for about half an hour for free.

On Wednesday, my travelling assistant joined me for dinner at Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville, which is located in the Flamingo hotel. We had about a 30-minute wait for a table, so we stood outside of the restaurant and did some people watching on the strip. We were also entertained by a group of 50-something cougars who were displaying their, ahem, assets to any male that was breathing…

There was a live band performing at Margaritaville, so we got to enjoy some great music while eating dinner. My assistant had coconut shrimp and I had the blackened mahi-mahi with mango salsa. Yummmm.

The Las Vegas Margaritaville, along with the one JB sings about, is a crazy place. There was the music, two guys walking around on stilts, and a scantily clad young woman who had to go for a swim in a giant blender whenever JB’s Margaritaville was played. That was a very popular song for some reason…

Margaritaville

I really enjoyed the band; they played several of the songs we’ve been working on at guitar lessons. The only difference between them and me was, and this crucial, they were able to play the correct notes and chords at the correct time and tempo…

Thursday night we went and saw Rita Rudner at Harrah’s. We sat at a table with an older couple from Golden who spend half of the year in the desert and the other half in Colorado. They were a very young 70-ish and had been doing the two homes thing for about 20 years. They were enjoying the good life.

Rita Rudner’s shtick is the daffy, slightly confused wife/mother/homemaker. She’s pretty funny and if you ever have a chance you should take in her show.

On Friday, the gambling bug finally hit me. And, as a lot of you know, I’m a big-time player Las Vegas kind of a guy. So I put $20 in a slot machine at the Bellagio and won enough to pay for lunch. I then went over to the Flamingo and took a lesson on how to play craps. It seemed so simple when they explained it, but afterwards, when I walked up to a table, it all seemed very confusing and intimidating, even for a big-time player Las Vegas kind of a guy like me. I watched for a while and tried to understand the rhythm of the game. I figured out two things, you can lose a lot of money in a short amount of time playing craps, and the $10 minimum bet seemed exorbitantly high.

We left the Flamingo and went to the Imperial Palace and walked through their car collection. They had about 200 or so exotic vehicles in their collection, and since we had passes for free admission (big-time player Las Vegas kinds of a guys like me get “comped” a lot…) the price was right. There were some pretty amazing cars there and it’s worth an hour of your time to check it out.

IP Auto Collection

My assistant and I then went to Harrah’s and tried their buffet, and it was very good. Lots to choose from, and because we had coupons, it was affordable…

Harrah's Buffet

Afterwards, we went back to the Bellagio and I found the same machine and played for a little longer. I finished down $10 for the trip.

I dutifully attended all of my scheduled seminars, learned some things, saw a couple of great shows, had some good food, and only lost $10.

Not bad for a week in the Cleavage Capital of the western world…

Jonesin’ For A Lefty

Recently, Son Rogue sent me an e-mail with a link to a story extolling the virtues of left-handedness. It seems that we are amongst the 10 percent of the world's population that actually uses the correct (not right) hand…

It turns out that being left-handed can also increase your chances of developing mental illness. Something about “asymmetry of the brain.” This asymmetry will likely come as no surprise to those of you that know me…

Check out this article:

Left-Handed Genes and Mental Illness

My personal opinion is that we lefties possess a nimble, creative brain that was developed as we learned to negotiate a right-handed world. Not that I'm bitter or anything, (well ok, maybe just a little...).

The rolls of accomplished artists, musicians, athletes, politicians, scientists; and yes even structural engineers and management consultants; are filled with the names of lefties. People such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Beethoven, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Babe Ruth, Bill Russell, Bill Bradley, Harry Truman, Gerald Ford, Bill Clinton, Norman Schwarzkopf, Benjamin Franklin, Isaac Newton, Albert Einstein.

Here is a link to some more names…

Famous Lefties

It seems that the guy we just elected president is also left-handed…

He is also a member of what is known as the “Jones Generation.” Although originally considered “late boomers,” the Jones Generation is the term used to describe those of us born between 1954 and 1965. It’s difficult for us to identify with some of the seminal events of the baby boom generation; the Vietnam War, the Beatles, the Summer of Love, etc. since most of us were too young to have participated…

We are also known as the generation between the Baby Boomers and Generation X .

Here’s what Wikipedia has to say:

Generation Jones

The term “Jonesin’” (meaning yearning) was popular slang in the 70’s, as in “I’m Jonesin’ for a pizza” or “I’ve got the pizza Jones.” As you can see, with the exception of disco music, the 70’s were pretty cool.

Some people believe that the Jones Generation currently has the largest adult population in the United States, in which 1 in 4 adults are “Jonesers.” With one of our own sitting in the White House, and 25% of grown-ups being Jonesers, it kinda looks like we’re in charge.

Whodda thunk it?

Next week I’m heading off to Las Vegas to attend the “World of Concrete” which is a concrete industry trade show that also includes dozens of technical seminars. I’ve chosen to attend a series of seminars on repair of concrete structures. There’s an old joke in structural engineering (at least on the forensic side) that “you get paid to look at other people’s cracks.” Well I’m going to Sin City to learn how to diagnose, and then repair, other people’s cracks.

Las Vegas seems like the perfect venue for that sort of thing…

Predictions for a New Year…

In keeping with the spirit of the season, here are the first (and possibly last) annual Suburban Rogue predictions for the New Year:

1. Dodge Trucks and Burger King will continue to outdo themselves with their inane television advertising campaigns, forcing the FCC to permanently ban these two companies from the airwaves.

2. Even though they will have a new coach, The Denver Broncos will be renamed the "Enver Broncos" as they will continue to have no D.

3. My boss will do something to annoy me. In a mature act of retaliation, I will do something to annoy him even more. I will then be called into the “woodshed” for a record-breaking 23rd time.

4. My beloved Colorado Buffaloes will win 8 games this year, as long as the guaranteed victory in the spring game is included in the total.

5. The vast readership of Suburban Rogue will continue to expand, reaching the big four-three by the end of the year. Sadly, the advertising revenue, currently at $2.34, will not.

6. Vocalist/bassist Peter Cetera and drummer Danny Seraphine will rejoin Chicago and the band will launch a long-awaited reunion tour. The overwhelming response to the tour will force Mick, Keith, and the boys to consider retirement.

7. I will finally master switching from a G-chord to C-chord and back again. My guitar instructor will be hailed as the greatest music teacher ever.

8. Americans will continue to struggle with simple mathematical concepts, similar to the person I overheard at the movie theater talking about the 360-degree plot twist in the film he had just seen. In a related incident, another person said they had “paid $47 for 5 people, so it came to 9 bucks a person.”

9. I will finally figure out what a dangling participle is, and choose not to have mine removed.

Happy New Year!