Blog #128

Yesterday, I pulled out a pair of golf shorts, and, as I slid into them, out fell a white sock, a tan sock and a brown sock.  So that’s where they go.  I decided to check the rest of my shorts.  I found five more single socks, a tablecloth and a small Jamaican woman who had come to clean our house a few years ago.

That might have been a little lie.  Do you lie?  Do you lie all the time?  Have you ever lied?  You’re lying!  But a small lie once in a while can be a good thing.

You look marvelous!

I like your hair.

Yes, Sweetheart, Santa Claus knows what you want.

No new taxes.

Fat?  You’re not fat.

I have not had sexual relations with that woman.

Yes, sometimes a little lie hurts less than the truth.  But I really do like your hair. 

Hi there and welcome back.  I hope you’re feeling great and enjoying the last few weeks of Summer.  The end of Summer always makes me think of Winter and our annual three-week drive where we travel faster and visit more places than poison ivy on a fat man.  But it didn’t used to be that way.  We used to have a second home in Scottsdale, Arizona, where we had three guest bedrooms and lots of guests.  Each guest bath was stocked with upscale soaps and shampoos that we got – well, we pilfered -- from the stuff provided at various hotels where we stayed.  Like the harmless lie, I guess that’s another little sin.  In each bathroom we put a sign:

The lotion and soap and shampoo

We stole all this stuff just for you

From places we’ve been

Like the Ritz and the Wynn

We hope you are not robbers too.

And our guests weren’t.  We never lost shampoos or soap.  A couple of towels and a flat-screen TV, but no soap.

Movie Review:  The Art of Racing in the Rain.  Never see a movie with seven words in the title.  Whatever they had to say, they’ve said it already.  This was a vapid, dog-oriented tear-jerker that was under-acted, under-written, underwhelming and should only be seen by people who actually love the taste of colonoscopy prep. 

Book Review:  I don’t do book reviews because I could never expect someone to read the bizarre and arcane books I read.  I just started Our Mutual Friend, the last of Dickens’ complete works.  Remember Dickens?  He wrote “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.”  He must have been married.

God love all my friends; each one has a remedy for my hip pain.  Sleep with a pillow between my legs, hang from a door, see an acupuncturist, stick avocados in your ears, read a 900-page Dickens book.  The best suggestion was to watch old Joy Behar videos.  The pain of watching her would make me forget the hip.

I’ve met a few celebrities over the years.  Never Joy Behar, thank goodness.  I’m not easily star struck and would not go out of my way to see anyone famous, and don’t really care who they are marrying, divorcing or sexually molesting.  I’ve never asked anyone for an autograph.  On the other hand, if I’m near someone I recognize, I have no fear of starting up a conversation.  I mean, they’re no different from me really.  They probably have socks in their golf shorts too.

I’ve talked with Stan Musial, William Shatner, Jackie Mason, Matt Lauer, Donald Trump (yes), Billy Crystal, Bob Costas.  Costas was very, very nice.  I introduced my wife, and Bob and I talked about boxing while Carol surreptitiously examined his wedding ring like a KGB agent.  By the time he was gone, she could describe the ring as meticulously as if she were selling it on QVC. 

Honestly, I could talk for twenty minutes to a woman wearing Stonehenge on her finger and never notice it, but then I have the curiosity and observation skills of a rocking chair.  Carol, on the other hand, would eye a ring from twenty feet and know the Five C’s before the woman could turn around.  Five C’s, I hear you ask?  I thought there were four.  Five:  Cut, Clarity, Color, Carat and (the most important) Cost. 

Do you know what’s good for you?  And what’s not?  The question is harder to answer than who’s going to be the Democratic candidate.  Remember eggs?  First you could eat the whole egg, then you could only eat the yolk, then it was the white that was good, then the whole egg again, then the shell was good and now you can even eat the carton to get fiber.  Why did the chicken cross the road?  To find out which part of her egg was healthy.

And in the spirit of all this Healthy Food frenzy, Carol and I decided to have an Impossible Burger.  It was on our bucket list, along with kissing a zebra and finding a day when Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was quiet.  So we dropped into Burger King and shared one.  You know, once you put it on a bun and cover it with ketchup, pickles, lettuce and tomatoes – it doesn’t taste that much different from their Cow Burger.  Of course, their Cow Burgers aren’t exactly winning any Michelin Stars.  The only Michelin reference you would get at Burger King is that if you eat there enough, you’ll begin to look like the Michelin Man.  A little round, a little spongy.  Fat?  You’re not fat.

And check out the latest about coffee.  If you have migraines, coffee can make them worse, but if you don’t have migraines, coffee can keep you from getting them.  The whole thing gives me a headache.  But I hope today’s blog didn’t give you a headache.  If it did, drink a cup of coffee and eat an egg carton.  The headache will go right away.

You, however, are not going away.  You have to be back next week.  I’ll be here.  Meanwhile, stay well and count your blessings.  I’ll stop now. I have places to go and people to see and Impossible Burgers to avoid.  See you next week.  And by the way, you look marvelous!

Michael                                    Send comments to:  mfox1746@gmail.com