Veteran's Day In Tampa

Yesterday was Veteran's Day.  The college where I work planned a ceremony to honor veterans and I was disappointed to have to miss it.  I had a doctor's appointment with my cardiologist that day, which was as it turns out, on 11/11/11 at 11 o'clock.  I planned a trip on my motorcycle to the west coast to Tampa for my doctor's visit and then afterwards, a meal at Chili's, who were offering Vets free food.  I had my DD214 packed away safely in my bookbag which I searched for the night before--digging through all my papers and things.

I left for Starbucks that morning to begin the trek across the state against a strong wind and a very cool 52 degrees. It really was miserable being blown all over the road not to mention the heavy traffic.  I was nervous about the echocardiogram that was awaiting me also.  I made it there successfully without having to yell or flip off too many drivers. The tests went well and I got a clean bill of health regarding the ol' ticker.  I was looking forward to my next stop as I left the doctor's office. The sun was warming the air and the ride was beautiful as I dodged the cars avoiding castastrophy.  I pulled into the Chilis in Valrica, about 10 miles out of town. As I got off my bike, I noticed that my backpack was no longer on the bike. It was gone.  Dread set in. I was so bummed I almost didn't go in to get lunch. After two years of carrying my laptop with me almost daily, I made the mistake of not securing it before I left. Stupid, stupid mistake. I went in anyway and as I entered the hostess yells over to the girl attending the bar and told her to get the veteran's menu out. No questions, or anything, maybe just because it was getting close to their busy lunchtime influx of people. I asked for Margaritas and chips with salsa and sat there depressed.  It's a material thing, but beyond just monetary value as some of you MBP owners can attest.  It's my personalized baby with Harley Davidson diamondplate skin on it that matches Mimi, my softail.  The barmaid gave me the veteran's menu and I ordered chicken tacos with black beans and rice.  It was absolutely delishious.  A Green Beret and an Air Force Veteran came in and spoke with me a while.  God Bless them for their service.  Sitting there nibbling on chips with salsa my phone rang.  It was 813 area code.  I almost didn't answer it because the number was unknown. I answered anyway. The gentleman on the other end asked if I had lost a...before he could finish, I said a bookbag? A black backpack? Yes! It is mine, I am Richard.  He said a young lady named Nisa had found it and had asked him to call me as she was on her lunch break and had to get back to work.  He gave me her phone number and I thanked him. I called Nisa and was just so happy that she had it. She gave me the address of the high-rise where she worked.  It was the law firm of Greenberg, Traurig, et. al in downtown Tampa. Ironically, my mom worked at their Miami office on Brickell Ave until she retired. I told her it would take a while for me to ride back and find and she said no problem.  I still had another margarita coming and the waitress brought it even though I was ready to leave.  I opened mapquest on my phone to try and figure where she was located.  I was still worried where would I park? What if I can't find it?  Two black Veterans were sitting next to me and overheard my conversation and gave me detailed directions. It turns out both were limo drivers and knew Tampa like the back of their hands. They assured me I would find it and instilled some confidence in me.  I finished my drink and anxiously headed back into that nightmare of 6, 8, and 10 lanes of congested traffic hell.  I rode as close to the directions as I could remember them telling me and low and behold, there was Greenberg Traurig right on the corner.  An empty parking space perfect for the bike was directly in front of the high-rise.  It's hard to explain the feeling I had when things just continually fell into place for me one after another,

I entered the building and was digging for Nisa's phone number when I noticed a receptionist in the lobby.  I asked for Nisa and she called her for me.  I told her I made it and was there.  In less than a minute a beautiful, voluptous, lady came down carrying my backpack. I was overjoyed.  She told me she had to dig through my papers finding my Navy discharge papers for my name. She then found papers from my doctor's office and called them for my phone number. It's a miracle that she got through to that office at all.  After giving her a huge hug, thanking her over and over, I went for my wallet and attempted to give her some cash.  She vehemently refused and somehow seemed happy to do this for me.  I am so grateful for her.  Even one of Vets said there are some good people in the world and that we only usually hear about the bad ones.  He was so right. I want to send her flowers and will.

Guardian Angels were watching over me this Veteran's Day and refused to allow any misfortune to come my way.  Sometimes things happen for a reason.  God Bless those who gave all.  I could feel them watching out for me yesterday. Bless them everyday. We are free to ride our motorcycles and drink margaritas and eat free food and live our lives in freedom because of them.

Also, that is one tough laptop that can take a pounding and keep on ticking.  No broken glass, no damage to Harley skin, still works.  I am typing on it as you read this.

Here's a song from the 80s Band Missing Persons that my wife and I were lucky enough to see in Boston at an old downtown theater.  I was amazed at the electronic drums and of course the singer Dale Bozzio, who had a run in with an animal cruelty charge.  Very bizzarre and unfortunate.

 Destination Unknown by Missing Persons on Grooveshark for Android: http://listen.grooveshark.com/s/DestinationUnknown/2yhXc0

Sunday Coffee Run

Starting early, the coolness in the air calls for only a t shirt, jeans and boots.  I brought rain gear in case of a surprise downpour.  The summer rains are here and they are totally unpredictable, even with smart phone radar!  They just pop up whenever conditions are favorable. It's only 25 miles or so to my first stop and is the coolest part of the day.  It only takes about 40 minutes to get here and I can't ask for a nicer stop. Great coffee and wifi.  I'm still trying to learn OS X Lion so this is a good time for me to play around with it.  Il need to find my blog and add another.  I have two which can be confusing, One is Deep Blue Motorcycle Blog and the other is deep blue.  Why did I do that?  I'm trying to organize.  Writing is therapy for me just like the motorcycle ride here.  I need to keep my personal ramblings on one, and only motorcycle related material on the other.  OK, so that is where I'm at now.

Sunday Pedal Bike Ride

It was a nice hot ride around Lake Jackson. I started at Veterans Park, where lots of local folks were putting their boats in the water. Some people were swimming and some were just sitting at tables enjoying the morning.  It's a nice place to park my truck and start my ride. 

The trip around the lake passes some gorgeous houses in the northern part of the ride.  I stayed on sidewalks for practically the entire trip which is not the smoothest, but the safest. I passed several dogwalkers, joggers and bikes going the opposite direction. Only once did I have to stop and take my shoes out of the toe clips for a family, grandma, daughter and son on bikes.  Everyone says hi or good morning as you pass by them.

It's only 10 miles around, so it doesn't take very long to ride it.  It would be faster to ride in the street, but there is too much traffic for it to be safe.  I averaged 11mph which is slow, but this was a leisurely ride and temps were in mid to high 80s.  I tracked the trip on Every Trail, a GPS tracking application that's free on my Droid2 phone. There are lots of apps which do the same thing, but this one is cool because it tracks time speed and distance and is viewable either in map view or satellite view.  It is very accurate.  I like it because it helps to challange yourself, see results and then post to Facebook and Twitter--anything that helps get you moving!

I think for my next ride, I will ride around my block.  Four right turns for a grand total of 7 miles. I could ride it twice for a little extra distance, plus it's a smooth ride which I should be able to largely increase my speed.  Hicks road was just repaved, so it should really be comfortable.

In the future I would like ride around Lake Istokpoga, one of the the largest lakes in Florida. Then, ride the largest, Lake Okeechobee.  It will take work and dedication.  Walking, jogging, biking and swimming will add a well rounded excercise regime to my life.  Every day is a gift, live it wisely.

Sunday Morning Ride

Heading out from the house this morning, the weather calls for wearing nothing but a tshirt and jeans.  Riding in Florida in the summer, it's about as much as you can wear and still be comfortable. You even see the occasional shorts and flip-flops on some scooter folks.  Different styles for different riders.

Every once in a while I'll add some bling to my bike by putting on the handle bar jewery made for me by my native american friend.  I always liked fringe also.  Need to get some.  Back during the hippie days, people used to wear fringe jackets.  Always thought they were cool, even cooler than the Fonzie black leather traditional jackets.  I looked at Shott NYC jackets the other day and some are a thousand dollars.  Made in the USA.  I guess that is what it has come to.  I might start making them myself.  They will be crude and caveman looking, but will be made right here in downtown Lorida, Florida.

In the Navy on one of the ships I was stationed on, I actually had a chance to work in the sail loft. They asked me if I could sew and I said hell yes! Beat the riggers who worked all night and all day.  Besides, the sail loft was the perfect place to have poker games.  I started out making gun covers, reupholstered submarine covers and seats, made lots of leather items and tarps with grommets.  I even had bikers come in with clothing to sew custom leather patches on.  My grandmother left a medium duty machine which I need to pull out and make a large sewing table for.  There are lots of boats around here to make bimini tops and seat cushions for.  Maybe then, I can quit working for the state and start for myself.  All made in USA!

I am feeling truly blessed today after eating a dozen or so garlic rolls made from a recipe I sent my mom from one of the facebook groups who found it from one of the oldest landmarks in Miami, Marcelas Pizza.  The fact that she is still baking and able to email from her iPhone is incredible to me.  80 years young folks.  I have a plan.  Take the pork roast I have out and BBQ it North Carolina style with some vinegar and pull it all apart for sandwiches!

Time to hit the road and get to the serious business of riding my tail off.  Ride safe friends and dress appropriately, whatever that is for you.

PS If interested in Jackets by Softailrich, let me know!

 

The Boulevard

It's Saturday morning and I am sitting in Starbucks.  It's cool out this morning but it heats up quickly.  That's when I start shedding clothing.  The nylon jacket comes off first, then the t-shirt and then I'm down to the cutoff shirt.  The boots stay on along with the helmet.  It's easy to start wearing sneakers and shorts in this heat.  In the event of a spill it's best to be covered up.  Around here, lots of bikers and especially scooter people wear shorts, flip-flops and cruise half naked flying down the road doing 60 plus.  Live and let live.

Starbucks lady asked me if anyone has a permanent place on the back of my bike.  My answer is no.  It's basically first come, first served at the moment.  She wants to go riding.  She's married.   That complicates things.

I joined a group from my high school, yes, my high school, 40 something years ago high school.  Miami Edison Senior High Red Raiders.  One of the oldest schools in the city.  Both my mom and dad attended.  It is a real trip talking to my classmates.  The amazing thing about it, is that we all jumped at the opportunity to reconnect.  All the beautiful girls who I was too afraid to talk with back then are now chatting away with me on Facebook. I was such a nerd, still am I guess!  We had motorcycles back then and even back in junior high.  My friend Donald had a Honda Dream 305, freaky looking and curvy, but still cool. Another had a MotoGuzzi, another a Yamaha, another a Suzuki and so on and so on.  Back then a Triumph Bonneville had to be the coolest bike any of my friends had, that is until I got my first bike.  A Harley Davidson Sportster XLCH, customized pretty radically.  Leopard skin gas tank and dovetail rear fender with flat, drag style handlebars, very short, and the 883cc engine chromed to the max.  It was just plain evil.  It was a head turner.  Loved to drag race it down Biscayne Boulevard from light to light.  Once I was racing a 1000cc Sportster newer than my '66 and was pulling away from him when we saw a cop make a u turn and come after us.  The other guy continued down the boulevard while I turned East and zigzagged all over the residential area next to the Bay.  After a half hour of left and right turns in non sequential order, I pulled back out onto the boulevard, directly in front of the cop.  Not where he had to put on his brakes or anything, just moseyed out right in front of him.  OK, he followed me directly to the place I was staying just off 79 street and proceeded to pull in behind me.  "Umm, I just wanted to see if my bike was faster officer.  I know it was wrong."  I think he was just happy to have caught me, because he said something like, it's a good thing I got some last night and I'm in a good mood, and don't do it again.  "Yes sir.  Never again."  It was an awesome machine and he was admiring it too.

One of our classmates that no one remembers, at least not yet,  said he was leaving our group--that it was becoming click-ish.  He meant clique.  Said he grew up poor, had homemade clothes, that others made fun of him, and decided to leave.  He drew 78 comments, some trying to convince him to come back,  others poking fun still, to this day.  I commented to him that I also grew up poor, had homemade clothes and if he would reconsider, that I would be the first to congratulate him and that we, just as in the service, leave none of our Red Raiders behind.  We miss you Felipe, come back.  What happened to us and how we experienced life during our years in high school helped mold us into who we have become.  It's not written in stone, however, that we remain timid and shy and afraid to talk with beautiful girls, or that we feel like outcasts or the brunt of jokes, like me and Felipe.  We change--for the better.  We decide who we are by our actions and our beliefs.  Felipe touched a nerve.  The cool kids in high school have consciences. 78 of them came out to respond to Felipe.  It's not over yet.  They are pushing for a hundred.  Most of it is light banter, but to Felipe it is the reason for him leaving.  

I only know of two boulevards.  Hollywood and Biscayne. One West, and the other East, ours in Miami.  There is nothing like crusing down the boulevard on a motorcycle with Jimi Hendrix playing in your head, thinking about crazy times in high school.  Go Red Raiders.

Walking

This morning started fantastic!  The rain is gone for today, which is a blessing because I have to get new tires for my softail.  The air is fresh and crisp and cool.  It's still a short sleeved ridin' day and will head to the 80s this afternoon.  Traffic is still light compared to the horrendous back ups that highway 27 normally is.

My local shop opens at 11:00 a.m. which is really worse than bankers hours, but I reckon it works for them.  Evil and Bart,  two of Sebring's finest mechanics.  Getting tires is kind of like pulling teeth.  It feels good after it is over, but during the process, it's torturous.  Since I'm on the bike, I must rely on a ride to go anywhere while my tires are being changed.  One of the nice ladies at Starbucks offered to pick me up, and ride me back to Starbucks to wait it out, which is very nice of her.  There's a local watering hole right next door which I normally wait at, but today I'm not doing it.  Nope. I'm staying straight, might want to go for a nice long ride afterwards.

I've been walking daily for lunch at work, usually around 1.9 miles in 30 minutes.  Sometimes when you are without a ride, like I will be as my bike is being worked on, you feel kind of stuck for transportation.  Sometimes we forget that as long as we have two working legs, we are never without transportation.  I measured out the distance from the bike shop to Starbucks, and it is around 2 miles, pretty close to what I do for lunch daily.  Have backpack, have MacBook Pro, can travel.  I'm actually looking forward to it.  There's an Olive Garden, a Ruby Tuesdays, and a host of other options to kill some time.  There's just no limit to my options!  The only down side to walking along the busy highway are the crazy drivers all in a big hurry to go nowhere.  There are no bike paths, no sidewalks really to speak of, you are pretty naked out there.  Most of the people in the hustle bustle race to get where they are going will think you are homeless.  Why else would you be walking?  Most normal people jump in their SUVs just to go across the street, right?

Well, I am doing my part to conserve and have fun at the same time.  Ride motorcycles, ride bicycles and walk.  That's right, walk.  It's good for you and you might even get a chance to see more of the world around you that you never noticed before.  After breaking my leg last year, walking is something many of us take for granted until we lose that ability.  Never forget those who sacrificed and will never walk again.  Many are in wheelchairs and have prothesis to help them.  Also remember that they are the lucky ones who made it home.   Walk in their honor.  As you walk down the road, give thanks for your freedoms and your health.  They can be taken away in an instant.  Life is precious.

Just as Nancy sings, "These boots are made for walkin'..."

Shiny Side Up

Got back last night after a long round about trip to Daytona and elsewhere.  I left early with just my phone, backpack, gloves and leather jacket.  The thing about Central Florida is that it can be very cool in the early morning and then get drastically much hotter by 10 in the morning.  It's good policy to always wear leather and a helmet in case of a spill.  If you've never been down, I'm happy for you.  Odds are, that the more and longer you ride, you may go down.  It's a calculated risk bikers take. 

I started out riding to my regular coffee joint.  Starbucks! There is actually a mom and pop coffee shop that I have been recommended to try.  It's hard to beat the price and service I get at the world wide chain which claims to benefit the environment by going "green."  Had to check in with the regular dudes and dudettes who frequent the place.  Immediately upon entry, Rachel asked, "I thought you were headed to Daytona?" which sounded to me more like, "Why the hell aren't you headed to Daytona?"  I'm on my way.  Can I have a coffee first before I fight with droves of tourists and northerners down for the weather and who seem as though they will never leave?  Anyway, I'm friends with many of them.  There are not too many Florida natives left.

What a beautiful ride, that is until I hit Interstate 4.  It's Saturday morning, perfect weather for getting out and gathering the family for a ride in the minivan to Disney World, Universal Studios, and many of the unlimited attractions available for those who scrimped and saved so their kids could see Mickey, Minnie and Donald.  I almost feel just like them.  Heading to what started as a motorcycle race on the beach, which has now become a yearly gathering of hundreds of thousands of motorcycling folks of every nationality, color, creed, sexual orientation, financial status, political affiliation, and any other category you could label them.  Basically they, we,  are all bikers.  It's a unifying brother and sisterhood that only those who ride can understand.  Hence the saying, "You'd have to be a biker to understand."  True dat.

70 to 75 miles per hour is normal for I-4, even though the speed limit on parts of it is 55.  I hang with other bikers as to create a kind of block for idiot cage drivers who weave in and out tailgating everyone.  This is when we pray.  Dear Lord please let me arrive safely and without any major incidents.  Also, I promise to do right and live a better life, just let me please get there.  That was definitely the worst of the ride there.

Bikes were everywhere.  I can honestly say, that I have never before seen that many bikes in my life.  I've been to other rallies, but this is the grand daddy of them all.  Having not been to Sturgis, I can't say which is the biggest, although Daytona advertises itself to be the largest.  Who cares.  With that many bikes, I'm praying that all of us make it through it safely.  On the way home I saw an ambulance headed that way lights flashing.  Of course the entire county is taken over by bikes.  It's a good thing and I'm headed back in a few days.

I love the custom bikes and saw just about every conceivable creation imaginable.  The new Indians were impressive and have me wanting one.  My dad rode Indians back in the day and has countless stories of racing with Harleys and of course blowing them away due his mechanical prowess.  Bored out pistons from Canada and improvements to the transmission are some of his modifications.  I should write them down before it is all lost.  Stroker Bud.  They raced on the beach.  He owned a Daytona racer and we talked about wishing he still owned it.  It would be a museum piece.

After walking up and down checking out the venders,  I came to a T-shirt vender which had some really cool looking shirts and very graphic biker type of sayings.  I didn't spend much, 25 dollars on cut-off vest that  boldly proclaims, "Ride It Like You Stole It" with a seductive young lady laying on the seat.  Hell yes!  I'm wearing it now!  The only other things I purchased were a a couple pairs of clear and shaded riding glasses--cheap.  For lunch I ordered Italian sausage with peppers and onions on what I would call a loaf of bread, and a bottle of water.  Nine dollars.  Steep, but the meal was huge.  Bikers do everything big!

I had to ride down to Main St. which is the very heart of Daytona bike week.  Thousands of motorcycles lined the streets on both sides with absolutely no parking.  Not one spot when I rode through.  I wanted to ride through anyway to see the people there.  It was packed like sardines at a rock concert except there  was the constant roar of big twins cranking and revving engines.  It was awesome.  I've been in the famous Boot Hill Saloon with a biker bro having beers a while ago, but not during bike week.  I was there in the summer and it was still pretty lively.  Nothing like yesterday though.  It was an experience and I definitely want to go back to do it again.

It turned hot with the sun shining down on the event, and the cool breeze from riding kept me on the bike.  I rode back over the bridge to US 1 and headed south, just cruising along and riding side by side with hundreds of bikes just cruising.  What a camaraderie.  I made the mistake of heading into Orlando on the way back just to see my old stomping grounds and the campground where I lived while going to school there.  The traffic was nightmarish and there was very few bikes.  I saw maybe three in Orange County.  Not bike friendly.

Well, Mimi, my softail, got me back in one piece.  She performed flawlessly and I got back last night without incident.  That was really fun.  What an experience.  I'm so thankful for the freedom to do what I enjoy.  I'm so thankful.

Ride safe brothers and sisters, shiny side up.

Turning The Page

This is the day after my first 5K since having open heart surgery 6 months ago.  Last year involved quite a few medical issues for me. It started with cat scratch fever, a bumble bee sting in my ear while I was on my motorcycle, and a broken leg.  I remember sitting in the hospital, several times last year, wondering if this was it for me--to be continually plagued by these unfortunate occurrences.  Or, was it just a long stretch of bad luck?

Back when I was in the Navy stationed at the sub base, we used to run daily.  We really didn't do kilometers, we did miles.  I biked 10 miles to work, ran for lunch, biked home and swam several times a week at a beautiful pond in Connecticut--alligator free.  Beach Pond.  If you are ever near there, make it a point to go there.  I still do not know how many miles a 5K is.  After yesterday, I will admit it is farther than I thought!

I have been walking for lunch at work pretty much daily in preparation for this event.  Thank goodness I did, or else It would have taken me forever to complete it. I registered, showed up and joined about 160 people in the race.  People of all types, from kids, to those in their late 70s.  One gentleman was walking with aluminum crutches or poles to help him.  That was inspirational.  I talked a while with a young lady friend who had finished the New York City Marathon.  I knew she would do well.  One lady who has diabetes was out walking.  She said she saw me walking for lunch and decided to do it for herself.  Of course there were the pros out there as well.  Those who live for this, those who immediately upon completion, jump on their bikes and pedal for miles afterwards.  I just wanted to finish, that was my goal.

As the race started, the fast runners took off.  I lagged behind walking as to not get in their way.  It surprised me how fast everyone took off,  Even those of us who were walking.  I walked as fast as I could to keep up.  The president of the college jogged past me for a while then fell behind, which I think was to encourage those in the back.  I followed a group who had a fast steady pace.  My iPod nano talked me through each kilometer, "You have completed one kilometer," the sweet female voice loudly proclaimed.  The route was a beautiful one with roads closed for us, but I only looked forward, never looked back once.  I wasn't in it to win, I just wanted to finish.  Several people did pass me by including ladies pushing baby carriages.  That's when I started jogging.  Finally, I saw the finish line, but the route was taking us away from it!  In my mind I thought, oh no, but it was just a few hundred yards farther, then the route continued back headed to the line.  I ran across the line.  I did it.  I finished.

Doctors, hospitals, nurses, medications, wheelchairs, crutches, hopping on one leg trying to take a shower or to drive, all of that is behind me now.  I'm turning the page and headed into a new chapter.  As I sit here reflecting, I am fortunate to have finished and to be able to walk or run.  Many cannot. The human spirit is incredibly strong.  Stay strong.   If you can run, do it.  Never stop.  It's time to finish my coffee and get out there and enjoy the day.  Today I am riding, destination unknown.

This is the first blog by phone.  Richie's catfish at four.

Ozark Tent Review

Most people enjoy camping on weekends and for sometimes a week or so, but in my case, this is my never-ending camping trip. My wife got the house and I got the Ozark Trail 9' x 8' tent.  I am quite pleased with the quality of plasticky material of which this tent is made.  Sleeping on the ground is not all that it is cracked up to be, but callouses are finally begining to develop for me--at last! 

It is not really good for indoor cooking as the heat rising will eventually melt the upper portion of the plastic material and will begin to slowly drip down and burn your skin.  At first I thought it was mosquitos, but then seeing the blue/green plastic stuck all about my hair and arms convinced me I should cook outside.  Lesson learned!

It's fairly water resistant except in the case of a tropical storm.  Covering the whole thing with a tarp seems to work well.  All in all, this tent is well made and the tropical storm I went through only caused minimal damage to the flaps. It did however, wash the tent down river but fortunately got hung up in a otter's dam.  It did float quite nicely if that is a quality that you require.

I'm having a hard time finding a new girlfriend to move in with me even though I sweep the tent out daily and have enough food to last for at least three days if she doesn't eat that much.  I've even gone so far as to spread soft pine needles for my Juliet to lie on, but to no avail.  The tent itself was very pretty when I first bought it, a glimmering shade of blue and green, but now it has become slightly moldy with mildew and stains dripping down from living in it in the woods for 343 consecutive days.  It is very roomy and the beer can collection I have been accumulating is adding up and fits nicely off to the side--waiting on the price of aluminum to go up, surely it will go up soon, right?. 

I'm still loving my Thirty two dollar Ozark tent. If you are ever near the Kissimmee River, off of Chuluota Road, head towards the cow pasture at the end of the dirt road and just hop the barbed wire fence. Walk along the river bank until you see my can collection--Busch beer, Campbell's Pork and Beans, and various Vienna sausage and sardine cans--then head east towards my Publix shopping carts which are converted to BBQ grills. Stop in and say howdy, especially if you are a girl! The only girls I see are usually in canoes floating by and seem to be paddling like the dickens when I wave to them from my woodsy condo.

This is a test of the richie broadcast system.

XLV

Superbowl XLV,  an all day event.  I remember being in Miami for the first one.  The Packers won.  Can't think of the other team of course with today's technology I could look it up within seconds and pretend I knew it all along.  It used to the AFL v NFL which now has merged into one league seperated by conferences.

I heard this morning that the weather at Cowboy Stadium has warmed somewhat but still is icey cold.  Strange that here in Florida it was mid 80s yesterday with today much cooler, finally.

I'm looking forward to the halftime show featuring Black Eyed Peas.  They've been around for a long time, but I just now started actually listening to them.  I love their messages, whether clean or explicit.  I hope they say the word shit on national TV.  There has to be something for the carnival that is modern media to talk about and gasp over.  There must always be controversy.  It's like a fix that the public must have.  When one topic gets old, the public salivates in anticipation of the next.  Will Fergie's tit plop out?  Will they dry hump each other on stage and destroy the innocence of millions of children who have never been exposed to such heathenistic behavior?  Let's just have some "clean all-american fun."  This is our tradition, one that is all ours.  No one else in the world loves American Football like we do.  Screw soccer, or shall we say Futball.  Why the hell did the good Lord give us arms if we can't use 'em to throw the ball?  Answer us that, rest of the world.

Talking about the game has become an art form.  Thirty second commercial spots are selling for sinful amounts of money.  Every year our huge corporations try to out do each other with zany spoofs and win the love of the public.  Remember the Mean Joe Greene Jersey commercial?  It remains one the most loved of all time.  Awww, Mr Greene was nice to a kid.  Just don't be an offensive player or especially don't be a quarterback, he will punish you.  The niceness was gone.  It's all fantasy land.

Every industry opts in to sell their product.  Snacks, food, beer; what are you making for your Super Bowl bash party?  Parties went from chips and beer, to outrageous indulgence with gourmet items on the menu and full blown productions.  Gigantic glorified teaparties.  OK, now everyone put on your team hat and yell at the fucking TV.  It wouldn't be right without the yelling.  We need a good controversial call from the officials to vent our anger.  Instant replay will show what a moron he was.

Haven't seen any Harley commercials yet--football players arriving on their motorcycles and galavanting around on bikes, wearing vests with team patches although I'm sure many ride.  Actually Ben Rothslesnihdknhihdhgilesburger crashed on his Hayabusa while not wearing his helmet.  It layed him up for awhile.  Quarterbacks, along with many celebs, are immune from criticism, just like politicians depending on which side of the aisle you are on.  We forgive easily if they can prevail for our team.  I mean, give them a break right?

Now that my sardonic, narcissistic self has spewed enough sarcasm to last through the entire pre-game hoopla, "Let's get ready for some football!!!"

My Menu:  Fried Catfish with Shrimp along with some chips thrown in for old time sakes.

By the time the games starts, the menu will include breakfast, lunch and dinner and possible involve Monday as well.  Good day to call in sick.  After effects Monday.  Enjoy the game.  It's good to be an American, and I hope those serving in dangerous places are able to see it too.  It is what makes us who we are.

Kids Incorporated - Say You, Say Me

Worse Opening Lines

Three or four years ago, I came onto a contest for "It was a dark and stormy night..." the worst opening lines of a novel.  Some of the winners are so funny you will literally laugh until you cry.

Here are a couple:
The blazing equatorial sun beat down on Simon's head and shoulders as he dug feverishly in the hot sand with the ivory shoe-horn his mother had given him before the homecoming game with Taft, when the field was so wet that he'd lost his low-tops seven times in the cold sucking mud.
Adam McDonough, of Reedsburgh, Wisc.,

and,
 For the first month of Ricardo and Felicity's affair, they greeted one another at every stolen rendezvous with a kiss--a lengthy, ravenous kiss, Ricardo lapping and sucking at Felicity's mouth as if she were a giant cage-mounted water bottle and he were the world's thirstiest gerbil.
Molly Ringle, of Seattle.

I challenge you to create some terrible opening lines to a fictitous novel that may or may not ever be published.