Tiger's Back/What About His Body Language?

The big news this week is that Tiger Woods is coming back from his infidelity-sex addiction rehab exile from golf in time to play in the Master’s tournament. I suppose it’s great news for die heart golf fans. Even better news for CBS, the network that will broadcast the event. Ratings should go through the roof. People will be glued to their sets to see if Tiger wins, comes close, or is so out of whack that he will start hooking balls into the trees. Being far from a golf on TV fan, I don’t know how much of the spectacle I’ll view.
One typical aspect regarding the scandal ,other than alleged mistresses coming out of the wood works for their fifteen to who knows how many minutes of fame, was when Tiger finally had his press conference, magazine shows had so-called body language experts on their shows to interpret the real meaning behind the words Tiger was saying.
Great! Or is it? I’m not saying body language reading doesn’t have its place, but it seems to me that these public figures caught up in highly stressful unfamiliar situations, might react like people caught up in highly stressful unfamiliar situations, thereby skewering their body language reactions. But what do I know? It’s just that seeing these interpretations all the time can be a little annoying.
Ah, but I have a solution. Hire body language experts to interpret the body language of the original body language experts.
That’ll work. Or will it?

Bitching About "Customer Service"

In the era where cell phones and related devices can do everything but vacuum the floor and brush you teeth for you, there is one aspect of the technology age that actually falls short of the old school way. And that's when you have to contact the phone company, banks, or businesses with a problem you have to address by phone. In the good on days, you would call these people up, and actually get a real live human being.
But of course, no more, no more, no more. It's the dreaded automated menu that comes up. Now, it's bad enough when you used to get only one menu. Now you get the pleasure of wading through sub-menus. Hit the wrong button by chance, and you're forced retrace your button pushing steps, taking up even more of your precious time.
If your quest requires speaking to a real human being you can get there, but only after Mr. or Mrs. Automation attempts to steer you away from it. Even then, no matter how early or late you place the call you get: "our representative are busy right now, please hang on."
As if that's not bad enough you either get the pleasure of listening to the most annoying elevator style music ever, or mini commercial about the company's great services, other than their so-called customer service.
I've sat and pondered how we can possibly get out of this situation. Then it hit me. After years of waiting for Jetson style technology we finally got camera phones and web cams. So it might be possible that we'll soon get robots and androids that can answer phones like real life human beings. Then, and only then, will customer service really be customer service.

The Tiger Woods Saga; Hoocies Gone Bad

Sadly, the Tiger Woods saga continues. Enough mistresses have come forward to almost field a lingerie football team. A lot has been said about Tiger's tarnished image. But wait! I have the same feeling about mistresses. It used to be if you compensated and treated them well they remained loyal and kept quiet. But alas, hoocies have lost their integrity.
I suppose you can't blame them in today's world of the hungry media monster that constantly needs to be fed. With instant fame knocking at the door they're all to willing to say:
"Oh yes. Here I am. I was with Tiger. I did him. How could he resist? Look at this. Look at me."
I suppose you can't blame them. There's famous for nothing money to be made in the form of selling your story to tabloids, photo spreads in men's magazines, and maybe an appearance on a dumb-assed reality show.
Down the line, if they go on to have a family, they can show their kids the DVD of news and magazine show reports about their proudest moment.
Well, maybe not.

Hoocies be squawking
Hoocies be talking
Hoocies used to have class
But that's in the past
I'm a bad poet
And I know it

Super Bowl Half Time Show; More Old White Men

Am I the only one to notice that since the infamous Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction incident, the half time Super Bowl acts have been all about, well, old white men more likely to have a bowel malfunction that one of the wardrobe variety?
Let’s see, there was Tom Petty, Paul McCarthy, and Bruce Springsteen. I’m getting old myself, I may have missed somebody. I suppose they all met the criteria for half time acts. Long term success, and millions of loyal fans. But then again, so does Janet Jackson, and several other female singers under the age of sixty.
I suppose the NFL can tolerate large sweaty angry men knocking the crap out of each other for three hours white attempting to move an oblong leather ball up and down a hundred yard field. But they draw the line at condoning anything overtly sexual sullying their good family entertainment game. Well, other than hot young women in skimpy outfits cheering their hearts out for their favorite home team. Not to mention their big boobs and shapely butts.
It’s the sexism of the choices that bothers me most. If the acts have to be over sixty, why can’t they be female? Cher is someone that comes to mind. Although in her younger days she had a penchant for wearing outrageous outfits to award shows. I suppose she could be talked into wearing a non-malfunctioning outfit like a zip up leather jacket, leather pants, and boots.
Tina Turner is another act that would fit the bill. She still had great legs, so we shouldn’t ask her to cover them, but she could wear a strait jacket type top to guard against malfunctions.
Tina has such a raspy hard-edged speaking voice I think she could do a good job narrating for NFL Films. Couldn’t you just hear her saying:
“It was a warm 72 degrees inside the noisy domed stadium when the Green Bay Packers met the New England Patriots with the NFL championship hanging in the balance.”

About President Obama & The Nobel Prize

Early in the morning I had a revelation concerning the furor over President Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Loud voices from all over proclaimed him not worthy of the honor. I say even if he doesn't deserve it and won anyway, so damn what about it. Being a black man, not wanting to bring up race, but doing it anyway, I say white people get stuff they don't deserve all the time, and nobody makes a big deal out of it. But let a black person, or any minority do it, then there's a big hue and cry against it. People yell and scream, point fingers, call for rule changes, want to form a committee to study whether to form a investigating commission. I say stop it. Stop it! Stop it!
One of the beauties of American is that by hard work, luck, or circumstance you can acquire stuff you don't really deserve. In the 21st century, if we are truly striving towards equality, then all races, creeds, and colors should be entitled to stuff they don't deserve.
And for you people that constantly bitch and moan about what somebody else is getting, direct they energy toward something you want, and you too might get stuff you don't deserve.
Enough said. I'm out.

Can We Call A Dumb-ass A Dumb-ass?

Can We Call A Dumb-Ass A Dumb-Ass?



In the world of news stories that fly at us at a rapid fire pace, two stick in my mind. The most recent deals with grade school kids singing a revamped song in praise of President Obama. Some parents were concerned that this could be seen as brain washing. This story comes on the heals of parents being concerned about President Obama’s broadcast message to school children. They were worried about it being political in nature.
I know everyone is entitled to their opinion, but folks, these parents baffle me. The tie in between songs and brainwashing. Don’t see it. Makes no sense to me. Dumb-assed.
Having qualms about the president’s message to school children without having prior knowledge of its content, also dumb-assed.
It could be possible that these “concerned” parents are of the ultra conservative persuasion, and just wanted to throw stones into the public discourse.
Anyway, the dumb-assed syndrome is hardly new. Decades ago when the Equal Rights Amendment was being proposed its opponents threw out warning that its passage would result in women being drafted into the military and being expected to engage in front line combat. And worst yet, be mandated to use co-ed bathrooms. At the time there was no indication that any of those measures would result from the passage of the ERA. Yet there were guests on news and talk shows who insisted this would be the case. I can’t recall a host or anchor ever saying the insinuations were stupid and outlandish, and yes, dumb-assed.
Why the silence by the media? Well, it could be because they feel the need to stay impartial during their hosting and anchoring duties. Or better yet, there is so much air time needed to be filled, that if they began offending the stupid and dumb-assed they may be left scrambling for guests and content to put on the air.
Ah, but my fellow Americans, I have a solution to this monumental problem. A dumb-assed alert. We have TV weather warnings. Parental discretion warnings for mature content. We need the same thing when an obvious dumb-assed story is about to be reported. A buzzer could go off, and a flashing superimposed “dumb-assed story” crawl could be positioned at the bottom of the screen. This would ease my, and many other people’s minds.
Mass media. Are you listening?

Reality TV Heaven and Hell

At this point I suppose it’s safe to say that reality TV shows are here to stay, for better or worst, heaven or hell. I’m not a particularly big fan of reality television, although there are shows I do watch. Like all other television shows they exist in varying degrees of quality, and survive varying amounts of time.
However, I’m beginning to notice something uniquely insidious about reality shows. Even if there’s a show you don’t like, and have no interest in whatsoever, you may not be able to escape the people featured in the show unless you completely give up viewing television. I had never heard of the Jon and Kate show until stories of their crumbling marriage surfaced. As far as I can tell the dissolution of their marriage is probably for the good of mankind. What I strongly object to is the constant reports and updates on these annoying people. They pop up on magazine shows, morning shows like Today, and even local news broadcasts.
The Hills is another show I’ve never watched. But I have seen way too much coverage of the stars of the show, especially Heidi and Spencer, apparently the most annoying people in their age group in America, if not the world.
Somebody tell me how this travesty can be put to a stop

Good people, if I do say so myself, I sometimes come up with brilliant ideas. This one is for the ultimate reality show called House on a Steep Hill. I’m positive it will be a guaranteed ratings winner. It will be a one time broadcast live and unedited.
The premise of the show will be to gather together a group of the most annoying and unlikeable reality show participants on a false promise, and fly them by helicopter to a luxury house located on a steep hill.
Once the group has gathered inside the house, Boom , a dynamite charge will, to say the least, put a shock into the group. The blast won’t be strong enough to wipe out all the participants. But think of the thrill of seeing your most hated reality show star bite the dust in a big way.
A broadcast announcement will tell the survivors weather conditions won’t allow a helicopter rescue, but if they journey to the bottom of the hill they will be saved.
Now here comes the next twist. Sprinkled around the slope of the hill will be mean and hungry wild animals; lions and tigers and bears, oh my. The prospect of seeing one or more alleged stars being ripped to shreds, and eaten for lunch by a wild animal has to be just what the doctor ordered for the dedicated reality show fan.
Not to be totally unfair, there will also be weapons placed along the path going down the hill. Everything from primitive spears and bows and arrows to hand guns and Uzis. The trick for the stars will be to acquire the best weapon possible before being attacked by one or more animals.
I’ll tell you folks, the suspense will be amazing. Either all the pesky reality stars will become wild animal appetizers, or some will actually survive, and win our respect, if not admiration. A ratings winner for sure. Call me, networks. Call me.

About Power Groupies & Power Guys

The Governor Sanford affair is the latest in the saga of
political sex scandals. In some ways it’s fairly typical. In
others, not so much. I mean he didn’t just trek across town, or
even across country to hook up with his mistress. He went all the
way to South America with no back up story to really explain his
disappearance. Plus once he confessed he couldn’t stop talking
and cataloguing his sins. This at least spared us the spectacle
of the loyal political wife bravely standing by her man.
I have often been skeptical about these public displays of
support. In private I picture the wife pounding the offending
husband up side the head with a frying pan. And having this kind of
response to any request by the husband.
“Get you a beer. You want me to get you a beer. Why don’t you
ask the slutty little bitch to come get you a beer?”

The female groupie personality type is hardly new. Especially
in high profile professions like acting, music, and athletics. In
the case of politicians power is the great allure. For every JFK
or John Edwards there could be an aging, balding, not so hot
looking politician scoring with a hot babe solely because of his
position of power.
For the power guys, it could be several reasons why they become
players in the game. From believing they are entitled because of
the exalted position they hold, or being thrilled at the chance
of hooking up with a woman they considered to be way out of their
league.
In the past, a sex scandal almost always spelled doom for the
elected official. These days it’s an iffy situation. It could
depend on how the story is spun, what the circumstances are, or
believe it or not, how good a job the office holder is doing in
representing his constituency.
Also in the past, the press looked the other way in the case of
Marilyn Monroe and JFK. In today’s world of overblown media
outlets and instant internet coverage, it would seem to be
virtually impossible for a major female entertainment personality
to carry on an affair with the President of the United States.
Thus, we had a chubby intern becoming an instant infamous
celebrity, and a president going through impeachment hearings.
To me, I almost wish some newly elected official would say
something like:
“I must say, I’m a horny type guy. I might succumb to lust in
my heart. I may screw the wrong girl. But I won’t screw you, my
loyal voting public.”
Of course, this will never happen. But as for sex scandals, I
suspect they’ll stay around for awhile. You can count on it. Stay
tuned.

A Plea For a Beach Dress Code

Well folks, it’s close to summer time, and the living may be easy. It’s that time of year, especially in places where they have traditionally cool, or cold winters, when many people will be flocking to the beach.
This is my area of grave concern. Most people feel free to dress in the manner that is comfortable to them. On the surface nothing is wrong with this. But in reality, it can be a harry situation for the eyes to see. This is why I think a beach dress code is badly needed. The code doesn’t have to be formal or enforceable by law, it would just be something people would adhere to naturally.
In a business office setting women are not going to show up in a halter and a micro mini dress. Men don’t come to work wearing a suit coat and no shirt. We need the same kind of responsible behavior when it comes to visiting the beach.
Now I have nothing against plus sized women enjoying the beach. But let’s face it, is any kind of two piece bathing suit a great look for you? I think not.
Full figure men. Do you really need to be shirtless at the beach, especially if you have man boobs so large you can make Pamela Anderson envious? My answer would be no.
I know some places have ordinances against women wearing thong or G-string bottoms. Apparently parents are concerned about their children seeing female butts. But let’s face it, we’re in the age of the internet, cable TV, texting, and Girls Gone Wild. If kids really want to see bare buns, they’ll find someplace to see them. What might be more disturbing to kids is to see a well-boobed man with a pregnant belly. Can you imagine a kid saying:
"Mama, that man has breasts like you. Is he pregnant? I thought only women can have babies."
Full figure types are hardly the only offenders. For all you large boobed women that wear bikini tops a couple sizes too small, don’t be surprised when all male eyes are upon you in anticipation of a major wardrobe malfunction.
I can’t leave out the guys. Especially the roided up, oiled up, hunks with their so-called perfect bodies. Do we need to see you in your too tight speedos showing off your ballet dancer style packages? I don’t think so.
My fellow Americans, we must have a beach dress code! Please think about it.

Baseball Been Very Very Roid to Me

Well, it’s spring time and sports fans are turning their attention to the beginning of the baseball season. Back in the day fans worried about their favorite team’s chances to win the division, make the world series, or at least improve on the previous season. Now fans wonder what high profile superstar will become embroiled in a steroid scandal. Last year it was Roger Clemens, who like Barry Bonds, had remarkable seasons for a player late in his career.
This year it’s A-rod, who is not exactly at the end of his career, more like in his prime years. But considering all the recent tabloid stories about Madonna, strippers, madams, and hookers, he may have needed the steroids just to keep his energy level up.
There are probably only two ways to possibly handle the steroid situation in baseball and remove the stain of scandal. One way would be to come up with an all purpose test that could detect all performance enhancing drugs.
The second solution would be to make steroids and the rest perfectly legal, despite the potential long term health-related consequences.
Of course, if steroids were legal it would be okay for announcers to incorporate roid banter into the broadcast.
Picture this radio broadcast exchange.
"There’s one out, and here comes Billy Breakfast to the plate. He steps in batting at .215. Here’s the first pitch. High for a ball."
"You know, Billy is a prime example of a guy the roids have kept in the majors," the color man said. "He has twenty home runs, and 50 RBIs, but he’s only hitting .215."
"The next pitch is swung on and missed. The catcher must’ve been crossed up on that pitch. He’s going out to talk to his pitcher. Getting back to Billy and the steroids, in half a season he’s struck out 115 times. But boy, when he connects with the ball it really flies."
"Not to mention, he has a huge head. He looks like an alien from a Star Trek movie."
"We’re ready to go again. Here’s the pitch. Billy swings and hits a sky high pop up. That baby is way up there. The third baseman has a bead on it. Oh, the wind’s got it. The catcher and first baseman go after it. The ball drops between them. Breakfast is on second with a wind blown double."
"Now that was really a wind blown steroid hit."

The AIG Bail Out-Bonus Blues

The AIG bonuses after bail out scandal. How could it have happened? How could AIG have the audacity to grant employee bonuses after accepting billions of taxpayer dollars in bail out money? My first thought is, since AIG is a major factor in the bank-housing market collapse, they must have a very low criteria for granting bonuses. Something like if you show up for work fully clothed enough times, you too can collect a bonus.
My second thought is how could they not know there would be a huge backlash if news about the bonuses got out? Are they existing in some type of alternative world? Then it dawned on me. Yes. They are existing in an alternative world. And I know what it is. The world of day time soap operas.
If you’ve ever watched a day time soap you know wealthy business people act with near impunity. They also spend little time working and managing their successful businesses. They usually hang out in their luxurious homes dressed in expensive suits and designer outfits while they spend most of their time meddling in the lives of their spouses, children, and friends. These people of privilege routinely act on the fringes of what’s legal and moral. And if by chance they’re convicted of a major felony, sometimes even murder, they spend a couple months in jail before returning to their lives of constant manipulating and scheming.
Throw in the fact that TV soap operas exist on an accelerated time frame, the couple of months since the government bail out must have seemed like at least a year to the AIG executives, since it usually takes about ten years for a soap opera child to go from an infant to a college student.
So don’t be so mad at AIG. It’s not their fault. They’re just living in a day time soap world. Enough said.

To Be Young, Corrupt, and Stupid

Over the last few weeks we have witnessed the sad saga of deposed Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich; nailed in a federal probe for putting President Obama’s vacate senate seat up for auction like an item on Ebay.
Political corruption in Illinois, especially Chicago, is hardly new. If they don’t average at least one major scandal a year something seems wrong and out of place. Illinois is now two for two in terms of recent governors being slam dunked via corruption probes.
Blagojevich may have reached an all time low in blatant audacity. And an all time high for being stupid enough to talk about it on the phone when he knew he was a target of a corruption probe. This was compounded by him making the rounds on all the national morning news shows to plead his case of innocence before and after he was impeached and booted from office. Why he did this, I’m not sure. It could be he actually believed the PR he was putting down. Or he could be laying the foundation for an insanity defense if his case goes to court. What he really succeeded in doing was to make himself an even bigger target for being lampooned on the late night talk shows, and political satire shows. I’m starting to think whatever he used on his hair to get that goofy hair style must have seeped down through his skull and caused serious brain damage.
I’m trying to think if any politician under investigation for corruption could behave more stupid than Blagojevich.

Picture if you will, Senator Billy Bob Jobobson, of the great state of Somewhere in the South, rushing his rotund figure into a ritzy Washington hotel suite accompanied by April Mayes, a shapely and comely young woman, who is also a undercover government operative.
“I feel great,” April beams. “I feel like dancing.”
She opens her large purse and pulls out a small camcorder.
“Tape me while I’m dancing, baby.”
“Sure darling.”
April hands the camcorder to Billy Bob. He sits on the edge of the bed and aims the camera at his date. April begins to dance about in a flirty manner. She shakes her hips wildly and raises the hem of her dress.
“I like it I like it ” shouts the senator.
April stops dancing. “Wooh. Now you have to dance for me while I film you.”
She moves over and takes the camera from Billy Bob.
“Little darling, you got me so worked up, I’ll have to catch my breath before I can try to do anything.”
“That’s okay. We can talk some. Let me cut the camera off.”
April places the camera on the dresser at an angle where the lense is facing Billy Boy. She pretends to cut it off, but really doesn’t.
“Baby, I’ve been reading in the paper about you being under investigation over taking gifts from lobbyists. Why are they saying all those awful, terrible things about you?”
“I’m a victim of a conspiracy. Calculating evil doers are trying to silence me.”
“That’s terrible. So terrible. Then you didn’t do what they said?”
“Well. I didn’t do anything wrong, little darling. It’s what politics are all about. You have to give something to get something. If a lobbyist gives me a few tickets to major events that doesn’t mean my vote on something would change. And if a lobbyist introduces me to a couple hot babes, before I met you of course, that doesn’t mean I would change my vote on a piece of legislation. And just because a lobbyist might steer me into a great real estate deal doesn’t mean I would vote against my constituents best interests.”
“Wow. You’re so smart. How did you get that way?”
“Oh, I don’t know, darling. It’s just the way I roll.”

Michael Phelps is Pimp Daddy P

If you haven’t been on the planet Venus the last few days you probably know about the latest celeb scandal. The picture of Olympic swimming sensation, and designated all American boy, Michael Phelps, bonging away on some weed.
Besides the usual support or condemnation connected with such stories, the most interesting thing that has come out of it is some companies Phelps is a spokesman for have stood by him. In the world of media, no outlets are more wimpy and afraid of controversy than the major TV networks and corporate advertisers. Remember Magic Johnson losing endorsement when he announced he had the HIV virus, and Kobe Bryant losing out when he was accused of rape.
I suppose it helps Phelps that, although illegal, marijuana use has become quasi mainstream. Jay Leno routinely jokes about his band leader Kevin’s love of weed. A part of rapper Snoop Dogg’s persona is him being a notorious smoker of pot.

Here’s my flight of fancy. Suppose it comes out that Michael Phelps has a much darker side. I present you with Michael Phelps, Pimp Daddy P, an inner city pimp.
Picture if you will a long lanky white guy decked out in retro 1970s gear. A white wide-brimmed fur hat that matches his double- breasted white maxi length fur coat. A grey silk shirt, black bell bottomed pants, and a solid gold medallion complete the ensemble.
On the cold mean inner city streets a silver Caddie with a Rolls Royce grill and hood ornament glides down the street, and then parks near a corner.
Trixie, a shapely young woman in a bright red mini dress, white vinyl boots, and a pink trench coat, moves in the direction of the Caddie.
Michael Phelps, aka, Pimp Daddy P, pokes his head out of the window.
“Hey baby. Have you got something for me?”
“Yeah Daddy.”
Trixie reaches into her cleavage and removes a wad of bills. She hands them to Phelps. He makes a quick count.
“Girl, is this all you have for me?”
“Yeah baby. It was rough out there tonight.”
Phelps becomes instantly agitated. “Rough out there. Rough out there So I guess if it’s rough out there I can’t make my car payments. If it’s rough out there I can’t keep you in fine vines. If it’s rough out there I can’t pay my rent. Bitch, get back on the corner and bring me some money, or I’m putting my foot all the way up your you know what ”
Trixie turns and scurries away.
Phelps slams his hand across the steering wheel. “Damn It’s hard out here for a pimp. Even if you’re a Olympic gold medalist.”
The Caddie zips away into the night air like a silver ghost.