One from the heart

If you’ve been following this blog for any reasonable amount of time—and really, if you have you need to get outside more—then you already know I have what we could accurately call a slightly compulsive side to my otherwise sparkling personality.

Whether it’s food, movies, jokes, the crap tables or in this case, music, I’ll latch onto something then run it mercilessly into the ground, usually driving everyone around me crazy along the way.

I think by now you know a certain gravel-voiced singer from New Jersey is one of my life long obsessions. I don’t even want to think about the money, time, travel and effort that’s gone into following him around the country for years. I’m not complaining: it goes without saying, even though I’m going to say it, that I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Especially the trips where I got double airline miles.

Well, the bad news for those around me on the friends and family plan is I believe I may have found another artist I can see myself getting that obsessed about. His name is Paul Thorn.

Gravel voiced, bluesy, honest, beautifully written songs that speak directly to and from the heart, he’s the real deal. In a world of singer/songwriters who should be wildly famous and popular, Paul Thorn is right up there at the top of the list.

How did I find out about him? Funny you should ask. I was surfing YouTube for a funky Donny Fritts video, as one does. The video I found was a song called Temporarily Forever Mine. I loved the idea of the title, and it was a beautiful song. I noticed it’d been written by some guy named Paul Thorn.

For the next four hours, I went down a YouTube rabbit hole watching his videos over and over (compulsive, remember?). I was hooked.

I went to his website, paulthorn.com, to see where he was touring. Come to find out the only Southern California show he was doing on his current tour was at a club called Belly Up in Solana Beach, near San Diego. On a Monday night. Not the best night or the closest venue, but it didn’t matter. I was going to see him and nothing could stop me - except for the torrential rainstorm that decided to hit the night he was playing. I couldn’t leave work early enough, and even if I could have traffic was impossible.

So, disappointed though I was, I checked his site again to see if there were any other cities I could catch up with him. Turns out, while I was sleeping, he added a Newport Beach show just two nights later.

Long story long, I scored two tickets to the sold out show. The wife couldn't join me, so I invited my friend Eric - a fine musician in his own right - and we went and saw him. It was spectacular. He performed an earlier album of his in its entirety, as well as several other songs of his. And one Jackson 5 song, which made me love him more.

You'll notice I haven't done any Jason Statham jokes. First, I'm pretty sure he's heard them all. And second, he was a professional boxer who at one time went six rounds with Roberto Duran, so I don't want to upset him.

Anyway, here are a few videos to give you a little flavor of what I'm talking about. I hope you like him as much as I do.

And should you decide you want to see him live, just say when. I’m in.

The Super Bowl revisited

I had two thoughts about a blogpost on Super Bowl Sunday.

First was sit down and create an entirely new post that would have humor, pathos, and speak to sportsmanship and the game as a metaphor for life.

Second, I thought I could just recycle a post I'd already written and crack open a cold one.

Guess which one I chose?

I've written a few times about the Super Bowl, here and here for example. But there's another post I had about it, one that expresses a universality we can all relate to. That speaks to an experience we've all had and continue to have on a daily basis.

And most importantly, again, means I don't have to come up with a new one.

So have a seat and take a read. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll wonder where I came up with the phrase "toilet envy."

Please to enjoy.

Own a home, and you'll find yourself shopping for things you never shopped for before.

Like a new toilet.

Now, I've never been a toilet connoisseur. More of a journeyman really, just using whichever one happened to be available at the moment. You know, "the moment."

But my house has three bathrooms and four people, so the law of averages had to catch up eventually. Since the toilet in our master bathroom has decided to take a leak of it's own all over the floor every time it's flushed, it was time to aquaint myself with the plumbing section at Lowe's.

After some serious research, including what I'll call "faux test drives", this is the one that bowled me over. Yeah, I said it.

It's the Kohler Memoirs Comfort Height Toilet with Stately Design.

And why shouldn't a toilet be stately?

Now that I'm forced to actually give thought to it, turns out there are some things I don't like about the toilet I have, and some features I want in a new one.

For starters, I want one that feels like a La-Z-Boy recliner. Something comfortable. Something I can spend a lot of time on. After all, it's not just a toilet. It's also a reading chair.

One of the many reviews I've read said, "Looks good and flushes well." If only we could all say that about ourselves.

I also like the comfort height. I'm not potty training anymore, I've got it down pretty good. So I don't want to feel like I'm sitting on a trainer. And sometimes, those few seconds you save not having to situate yourself so far down make the difference between, well, they make the difference.

The only thing I don't like about this big, tall, comfortable crapper is the price. It's anywhere between $750. and $1000. depending where I buy it. Not including what it'll cost me to have it installed.

I feel a bit embarrassed about being so excited about this purchase. However that embarrassment is trumped by the cases of toilet envy I know I'll be creating once everyone who visits our house spends a little quality time with the new Kohler.

Toilet envy. Yeah, I said it.

Going bananas

I broke a girl's heart today. Actually, more like shattered her world. I didn't take any pride in it. But it's not the first time it's happened and it probably won't be the last.

The why isn't the important part. It's the how. I told her how many calories are in a banana.

It's not something I planned, but somehow the truth always comes out. Especially when you're having casual office talk—as one does—about edible fruit that grows in bunches produced by several kinds of large herbaceous flowering plants in the genus Musa.

Did you know the banana is actually botanically a berry? You're welcome.

Anyway here's the thing: I've started logging all the food I shove into my piehole on an app called My Fitness Pal. The reasons are varied, everything from being tired of my doctors telling me to lose some weight (I get that a lot) to the three pairs of pants I can barely squeeze into looking at me, smiling, and saying, "Tight enough for you fat boy?"

One of the things this app does is break down the nutritional make up of the items on my daily menu. And because I happen to like a little Potassium In My Diet—capped because it was also the title of my first album—bananas are a morning staple.

When I entered it in the app, come to find out a medium sized banana is a 110 calories. I told this to my friend Nicole. Apparently, I've altered her world forever. And not in a good way.

Her thinking, and I have to say I agree, is that if there were any justice in the world bananas would only be around 60 or 70 calories. It's unimaginable they can cross over the century calorie mark. Yet the facts are what they are.

And if we start denying facts, it's a slippery slope (see what I did there?).

Anyway, on the bright side, there are many other ways to consume bananas that are a lot worse for you, calorically speaking. While you're looking at pictures of the high-calorie banana items below, I'll be in the kitchen drinking my eighth glass of water and choking down my third and last Ak Mak cracker for the day.

And swearing like a drunk longshoreman.

It Reins in Southern California

There are many things I look forward to each day. Seeing my family, working with people I like (you know who you are), driving along the coast as my commute. And of course, the five seconds before Jeopardy comes on the air.

That's when Eyewitness News airs the nightly Dallas Reins promo.

For those in the dark with low cloud cover, Dallas Reins is the channel 7 Los Angeles Eyewitness News meteorologist. He's been on the air here forever, and is as much an L.A. landmark as the Hollywood sign, Bowl or Boulevard.

The overly dramatic presentation Reins is known for consists of three essential elements: flat hand. Point. Fist. All wrapped up with a gravelly voice telling us to tune in.

I find it wildly entertaining. I believe he has honed the presentation for years, and like the pro he is, makes it look effortless.

The best entertainers and meteorologists do.

2019. Day 8.

Like most people I know, I couldn't wait for 2018 to be over. For reasons we're all too well aware of it had been an extremely stressful year. But as we turn the page into 2019, I'm feeling something I haven't felt since the Kenyan was president: hope.

The democratic house has already started their job. The first thing they did was pass a bill to reopen the government, a bill which Senate Majority Leader and chin mogul Mitch McConnell will not allow to get to the senate floor. Democrats will also be subpoena-ing everyone in the shithole president's world to expose his already on display House 'O Corruption.

Then, superhero Robert Mueller will most likely have some late Christmas presents in the form of evidence, indictments and maybe even the final report on Russia.

The unstable genius continues to be isolated in the White House, and the world watches and laughs while he implodes. His government shutdown is backfiring faster than a '38 Ford, and his constant badmouthing of the generals of the U.S. Armed Forces make me confident they won't let him launch a missile during a temper tantrum.

Tonight the networks, in a serious lapse of judgement, are giving the Liar In Chief airtime to make his case for his bullshit wall directly to the American People. I have it on good authority it'll be the best prime time comedy tonight. Funny to everyone, except the 800,000 federal employees and their families who are being financially and emotionally ruined because of his juvenile, ignorant, narcissistic temper tantrum.

Then towards the end of the month we have his State of the Union speech to look forward to. He's constitutionally required to give one each year. I have a feeling it'll go a little something like this:

TRUMP: The state of our union is strong, very strong. So strong you wouldn't believe it, but trust me, it's really strong.

AUDIENCE: (Hysterical laughter and spit takes for the next 30 minutes)

For whatever reason, and maybe it's my blood pressure medicine, I feel there's a actually a chance that this bottomless pit of neo-Nazi, racist, misogynist, homophobic, traitorous, lying, cheating ugliness he's unleashed in the country might gradually be shamed into crawling back under its rock.

I'm hopeful even his base—and really, was there ever a better word to describe his supporters—who apparently like strong white men, must be getting tired of their whining, tiny-handed, porn-star banging, pussy-grabbing crybaby yelling wolf and fake news all the time. Especially now that they've seen exactly how little their paychecks went up, if at all, post-Republican tax reform.

So as far as I'm concerned, 2019 is a clean slate to turn this ship around. Okay, mixed metaphors, but you see where I'm going here. Let's get after it 2019.

To quote Hamilton, history has it's eyes on you.

Nothing but grateful

Despite the fact I’m an only child and the world revolves around me (that’s just science, look it up), I’ve always had a grateful heart and a thankful attitude. I appreciate there’s one day a year designated for celebrating our gratitude, but I think a better approach is to practice it everyday.

Ok, so it’s not going to be my funniest post.

Anyway, between the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade hosted by Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb (It’s the Riverside City College marching band!) and the generically titled National Dog Show (where the German Shepherd came in fourth – rigged), I started thinking about things I’m grateful for, not just today but everyday.

I know what you’re thinking: is he going to tell us or not? I won't keep you in suspense - I am.

I’m grateful for my wife and children. I’d say they somehow manage to put up with my craziness and idiosyncracies and love me in spite of them, except that—and they’d be the first to tell you this—I’m the perfect husband and father. I know, they can hardly believe it either.

I’m grateful I enjoy almost all the people I work with. They’re creative, funny, smart and they challenge me in a positive way to raise my game. I spend a lot of my life with them, so it’s a good thing I feel that way. Except for that one guy—he’s a total asshat.

Grateful for my long-time friends, the one’s I’ve known forever and even though I don’t see as much as I like, can pick up right where we left off. The conversation usually goes something like this: ME: Hey, remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas? THEM: I’m pretty sure I paid you back. ME: You didn’t. THEM: Huh. Ok. When I get home I’ll get it to you. (Fast forward ten years) ME: Remember that $500 I loaned you that time we were in Vegas?

I’m grateful for my good health. Despite having to do a little more maintenance than I used to, I’m in pretty good shape. Could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don’t think this is the day to be thinking about that. In fact, I probably won’t worry about it until after the Olympic trials.

So grateful for my dogs. Unconditional love in both directions. They’re both beautiful and smart, but they still don’t pick up after themselves in the yard. If they only knew how many treats were waiting for them if they ever do.

I’m grateful my dear friend, ex-office wife and person who encouraged me to start blogging (blame her) Janice has been declared the winner in her bout with cancer. She’s someone I love and hold in my heart in a way reserved for a special few, and a world without her just would not have been acceptable.

I can’t name all my friends here—not because I have so many, I’m just bad with names—but if I'm lucky enough to call you my friend, know that I am grateful for you every day of the year. Each of you in your own way make my life richer and more frustrating. I meant meaningful.

Finally, I’m grateful for Robert Mueller. And I hope with all my might to be even more grateful to him very soon.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Something is afoot

If you know anything about me, you know when it comes to doctors I like to go to the top guy or gal. In fact I'm the person always being asked for recommendations by friends and family.

Note to self: write memo on finder's commission.

Anyway, I have a support system—I’d say life support system but that might give you the wrong idea—of medical professionals that are tops in their fields, and there when and if I need them.

One of them happens to be my podiatrist, Doug Richie. He's seen me through all my foot woes: plantar fasciitis, broken toes, stepping on glass, orthotics, sprained ankles, in-grown toenail, neuropathy. As far as I'm concerned, he's the top guy in podiatry.

And the fact he has a picture in his office with Jerry Seinfeld in no way influences that opinion. “What is it with the little toe? Exactly what is his job?”

Sadly for me and my tootsies, while on his website today I found out he’s retiring at the end of the year. After practicing 37 years (slacker), he’s handing (footing) the practice over to his two associates, who I’m sure are just fine or they wouldn’t be working with him.

But it won't be the same.

I have a relationship with Doug that’s developed over the years. I trust him completely. We have mutual friends, and we actually live in the same neighborhood. In fact occasionally I see him jogging down our street, and I always think the same thing: I hope he’s wearing the proper running shoes.

And speaking of running shoes, Doug holds patents—5 but who's counting—on footwear and ankle braces he's designed and invented. How many patents does your podiatrist have?

I thought so.

So Doug, thank you for everything. I always looked forward to seeing you, and I never minded footing the bill (I know, sorry). Regardless of the circumstances (although I'm not gonna lie: the cortisone shots for the plantar fasciitis weren't my favorite part), I always knew my feet were in good hands. I know you'll still be extremely active, and I wish you nothing but the best in your new season.

When you run past our house, be sure and wave.