I am Joining the Shutdown. How About You?

no work The Federal Shutdown, partial as it may be, is now in Week #5. And after much consideration, I have decided to join the shutdown. For the foreseeable future, there will be no more work from me!

What does this mean? This is how the rest of the weekend is going to go. Help make the bed? No way! Barb will just have to handle that heavy duvet and put karate chops in the pillows all by herself. I won’t be bothered.

Sunday is usually a grocery shopping day. But sorry Sunset Foods, Whole Foods and Mariano’s. I won’t be wandering down any of your aisles today, comparing prices, eating free samples or squeezing the produce or the Charmin. I won’t even take advantage of 24/7 Woodman’s Market. I am on SHUTDOWN!

A lot of snow on the ground. You think that I am going to shovel? I am not going out in THIS cold. And I don’t know what to tell you, Milo. No dog walking for me today. It’s a Shutdown Day.

How about my usual job of clearing the kitchen table and washing the dishes after supper? Sorry, it just isn’t in the cards. Although I am willing to compromise. If we use paper plates, I will agree to personally toss the used dishes in the recycle container. No matter what else is going on I do whatever I can for the good of the planet.

Tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day. Students and teachers have their day off, but it is a work day for me. HA! I will certainly still be on shutdown. Look at biopsy slides? I think not. Sign out all those Purchase Orders that end up on my desk? Good luck with that! Keep on preparing for my quarterly Lab-Clinical Quality Assurance Meeting. You are joking, right? It’s going to be just another shutdown day for me.

So I think I see the next few weeks or even the next few months. I’ll be sitting around watching television, surfing the Web, eating fast food, and sending ridiculous pieces to social media. Just call me Dr. President!

The opinions are those of the author and not of UroPartners, LLC.

The First Non Disclosure Agreement. It Sure Wasn’t Omarosa!

adam-and-eve — Adam and Eve, creators of the first NDA.

“Yeah, hi Adam, I’m Eve. No, I don’t know where I came from, all of a sudden I was just standing here, practically naked. All I can remember is some ephemeral force saying they were going to create me. Said there was a spare bone or something laying around and that you needed some company.

“So you been roving around here on your own for a while? That’s cool. Looks like life is pretty good, almost paradise. Oh, you say this IS paradise! I expected paradise would have a latte machine, but I guess this will do. No caffeine after 1 o’clock anyway or I can never get to sleep.

“How’s the food around here? Places to order-in from? You can build me a nice fancy fire pit, but I gotta tell you, I don’t cook.

“What about clothes? I hear fur is really in this year, though not sure why with all this never-ending sunshine. Oh, it gets cool at night? I’ll have to remember that.

“Talking about clothes, I just want to let you know, I am NOT wearing heels. Those things kill my feet and besides, how’s a girl to run from charging rhinoceroses in 6-inch stilettos? Though those new Choo’s I had a vision of would be great at stamping out snakes or serpents or whatever you call those creepy slithering things. Can you be a dear and try to find me a pair? Or two?

“So what’s this, you want me to sign a Non Disclosure Agreement? Your afraid some dude is gonna want to write a story about you someday, put millions of copies in print? And you don’t want me to tell stories about what really goes on here in the Garden? Things like the crazy ape party and the time you rode that elephant bare-assed? Or all those statues you bow down to and smoke a blunt with? Sure, I’m cool, I’ll sign. Besides, what would you do if I broke the agreement? Sue me? LOL! There are no lawyers in paradise!

“Hey, my blood sugar is getting low, I need a snack — want to split an apple?

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When I Want to Laugh I Think of Allan Sherman

Folk singer, Celebrity, and Nut. — Allan Sherman’s greatest albums from 1962 and 1963.

Continuing on with my occasional list of albums that have had the most influence on me, I am heading back to the early 1960’s and the First King of Song Parodies, Allan Sherman. Before Steve Dahl rocked with “Ayatollah,” before Al Yankovic foisted his weirdness upon us, I was memorizing the lyrics to every song on Sherman’s three hit albums, My Son the Folk-Singer, My Son the Celebrity, and My Son the Nut.

A TV producer with a knack for putting funny words to well-known tunes, Sherman, a Chicago native, was a mega-star for a short period of time. He had a Top 40 hit with “Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah,” he parodied the French Revolution and Louis the 16th to the tune of “You Came a Long Way from St. Louis,” and he dipped into his own heritage with “Harvey and Sheila,” the story of a Jewish couple set to “Hava Nagila”. And yes, that is where Barb derived the name for our pond swans. More on Barb and “Hava Nagila” below.

My family had all three albums. I played them on our old mono record player incessantly, my parents allowing my 7-year-old mind to be indelibly marked. Just how permanent was the damage? Badly enough that just last month I was able to perform an acapella duet rendition of “Hungarian Goulash” while quaffing beers and eating schnitzel at a Haufbrau Haus restaurant just outside of Cincinnati.

I wasn’t the only family member with Allan Shermania. I remember my sister Linda and her friend Marilyn performing “Here’s to the Crabgrass” while rushing a high school sorority in 1965. They didn’t make it into the sorority, maybe because by then Sherman’s career was already on the wane. His health was waning as well; he died in 1973, ten days short of his 49th birthday.

And inspired by the master, I have been writing parody lyrics ever since…

—–

Hava Nagila: Alan Sherman parodied it; Harry Belafonte loved it. And Barb couldn’t get enough of Belafonte’s version on the incomparable (more than a year on the charts) 1959 album Belafonte at Carnegie Hall. She even asked Brett Lavender, the wacky, New-Yorky, DJ to play this version at Laury’s Bat Mitzvah. If Barb had a Top Ten list this album would rank right near #1.

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Having Fun Re-Examining Flossing, and Seven Other Health Care Rules

Might be movin’ to Montana soon
Just to raise me up a crop of
Dental Floss

Frank Zappa — 1973

I can now admit it. I am a crappy dental flosser. I have carried the excuse that vigorous flossing either inflames mouth sores I already have, or aggravates my tendency towards getting them. While that is true, my bad habit was more because flossing just seemed like one more thing to add to a nighttime ritual that already was too bogged down with minutiae, when all I really want to do is read a few pages of whatever thriller is at my bedside, kiss Barb goodnight, and fall asleep. And each of the multiple dental hygienists my dentist has employed has complemented me on the appearance of my teeth since I stopped getting cola stains all over them. So why bother with flossing? But I did feel guilty.

Guilty no more! As reported in the New York Times, the Departments of Agriculture and Health and Human Services no longer recommends flossing in its dietary guidelines. It seems there aren’t any good studies demonstrating that flossing really does prevent cavities. It may help against gingivitis, but even that evidence isn’t the strongest. I can now read my latest potboiler with a lighter heart. But just so you don’t think I am becoming a total libertarian, here are some current health rules I believe we should all still follow:

Going swimming less than one hour after eating is still a bad idea, especially if you are swimming in a school of very hungry sharks.
Spraying lighter fluid onto a glowing grill fire is verboten UNLESS you want to start global warming on your face.
Texting, either while driving or while sitting in the front row of a ball game still sucks, unless you enjoy getting the imprint of your steering wheel or a Rawlings Major League Baseball on your forehead (Note–an exemption to this rule can be given when White Sox are batting at the Cell.)
Don’t crack your knuckles in the middle of an emotional love scene at the multiplex. It might not cause arthritis, but it will cause dirty looks to be aimed your way, and possibly a punch in the nose if a particularly sensitive soul is in the seat next to you.
Picking your feet in Poughkeepsie–still not recommended. At least as long as Gene Hackman is alive.
Drink lots of coffee. No wait, don’t drink coffee. Or feel free to drink all you want. Who knows? I’ll stick to tea.
Have your men get a PSA blood test. Have your kids and grandkids get immunized. No Joke.

Stay health, stay happy, and keep on the lookout for our next edition. Housing updates to come–I promise.

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The Password is “Intense”

I just got back from my annual baseball guys trip with the usual group of high school friends. As always, we picked a weekend series featuring one of the Chicago ball clubs at an out of town park, said goodbye to our wives and hit the road. This year we set out for Milwaukee and enjoyed two great games. Yes, we saw the Cubs and Brewers split a pair, but those aren’t the great games I am talking about. No, what we will remember long after we have forgotten the close play at the plate Friday night, or the Brewers three bombs on Saturday, are the killer, no-holds-barred, games of Password we played Saturday and Sunday.

“Password?” I can hear you say. Isn’t that the lame TV game show from back in the 60’s? Yup, that’s the one , with Allen Ludden whispering to the audience while a pair of D-list celebrities gave alternating one word clues, each trying to get their civilian partner to figure out a “password.” Everyone sat calmly behind a podium and Mr. Ludden was thoroughly avuncular. You could almost hear the paint drying, right down to Ludden’s giving the audience a closing “Password of the Day.”

But that is not the way WE play Password. For us, this is the NCAA Championship for National Honor Society Students, the Pro Bowl for Dean’s List Pupils. (Yes, a couple of the guys played varsity athletics, but not any of the real jock sports.) Lengthy, thoughtful rumination precedes giving each clue. Strategy is plotted three or four moves ahead. The inflection of your voice as you give your clue is studied and critiqued. A five minute delay between the clue and a potential answer is not unusual. Don’t have a thorough knowledge of music, movies and TV from the 60’s and 70’s? Don’t even think of playing in our game. You’ll whiff on most of the clues.

We eschew the electronic version of the game for a tacky boxed one. We have played on a jet at 35,000 feet, annoying the rest of the passengers in our row. We have played under the blazing sun while the fish were biting in the middle of a placid lake. We have played while driving a minivan at 80 mph through a fierce rain storm on the way home from an Indians-White Sox series. No way was being behind the steering wheel going to release me from my Password obligations.

Classic clues and games from year’s past are long remembered, classic grudges remembered even longer. The perfect clue for “Knicknack?” “Paddywhack” rings the bell. For “Leopard?” The winning clue has got to be “deaf.” Feel free to use “Chicago” as a clue for “blues,” but don’t be tempted to use “St. Louis.” Our judges have permanently declared that the name of the Gateway City is two words. As for body language, there is no use of hands, but gazing skyward when trying to get your partner to say “balcony” is totally legit.

We take this very seriously. There’s no crying in baseball, but lose in Password and tears may flow.

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For those of you dying to try your hands at playing a round, can you figure out the password from the one word clue “pinssa.” If you think you know, send me an email at les.raff@post.com

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After Watching “Independence Day: Resurgence” I Wonder. Could Will Smith Get Me Through an Apocalypse?

Barb and I had free tickets to the local multiplex, one that features small theaters with large reclining chairs and reserved seating. Unfortunately, it is a theater that caters more to the mall type crowd than to empty-nesters, so the selection of films was less than optimal. We settled on Independence Day: Resurrection, the sequel to the 1996 Will Smith blockbuster. We kicked back into our rockers, and overcoming the urge to nap, SPOILER ALERT saw the intrepid citizens of the Planet Earth once more repel those nasty extra-terrestrials, setting the stage for Independence Day: They’re Back! in 2036.

So no actual apocalypse this time around. But we have seen plenty of “end of the world as we know it” movies and TV shows. Whether its Mad Max, The Walking Dead, The Stand, The Road, or 10 Cloverfield Lane, we are experts at what to do to prepare for, and then survive, the dark ages that flying saucers, global warming, or nasty viruses might have in store for us. Despite all this good advice I am afraid I would be a terrible flop in the new world ahead.

Some of my inadequacies:

I have never fired a crossbow. Yeah, maybe I have played around with a bow and arrow in my summer camp days, but I think even those had suction cup tips. And in the cold dark, future only a powerful crossbow is really going to cut it.
Forget it when it comes to operating a short band radio. Unless survival messages from the powers that be show up on Pandora, I am screwed.
I am totally unfamiliar with the use of firearms. Apparently this will put me at a distinct disadvantage when dealing with approximately 1/3 of my fellow Americans. So be it.
I have not stockpiled water, a first aid kit, and other life preserving provisions. This is one thing that even the State of Illinois recommends.There will be plenty of room in the basement of the new places for a few cases of Evian. Governor Rauner, can you send me some emergency supplies, please? Just put in on my tab, I’ll pay up when the state does.
I have never eaten wild game. Or roadkill for that matter. Though I suppose when everyone runs out of fuel there won’t be any roadkill anymore. Not even from a Tesla.
I can’t start a fire from two sticks, unless one of them is a match. And even then I find it tricky.
I am easily suggestible. Nasty space creatures will have no difficulty implanting dangerous ideas and visions in my brain. Who knows, maybe they are already in control of me!
In medical school they taught me how to use a scalpel, but put a machete in my hands (another weapon of choice in Scary Future World) and I am worthless.
Scruffy beards don’t look good on me.

I will never vote for Donald Trump. Ever. And isn’t he our best bet for keeping out aliens?

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A shout out to Rene Paley, the winner of a $25 Amazon Gift Card in our music trivia contest. Nice work Rene. Now don’t all the rest of you wish you had entered?

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Today on “Meet the Press”: REXIT–The Raff’s to Leave Long Grove, Local Economy Trembles.

Dramatic Theme Music ♬ ♬ ♬

Chuck Todd (CT): Good Morning, This is Chuck Todd welcoming you to our weekly edition of “Meet the Press.” Today we look at the dramatic and perhaps misunderstood decision by the Raff family to cut ties with Long Grove, ending 26 years of intertwined destinies. With me today is my distinguished panel: Bono, lead singer of the Irish rock band U2, Ken “Hawk” Harrelson, the long-time voice of the Chicago White Sox, and Daenerys “Stormborn” Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhyonar, and the First Men, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Queen of Meereen, Khalesi, and Mother of Dragons.

CT: Bono, let’s start with you. Did you see this coming? Did you really believe that one of your biggest fans would leave the comfort and familiarity of Long Grove for the unknown, moving to the virtually identical suburb of Riverwoods?

Bono (B): It’s what I have been writing about, singing about, for years. It’s all about love. Why stop loving the people of Long Grove? They must be wearing rose colored glasses if they believe they are heading for something better. Raff’s, why not wrap your neighbors in your arms and move all of them with you? It’s all about love, and album sales and downloads. You must lead with your hearts.

Daenarys Targaryen (DT): Yes. Leadership, that’s what it takes. These Raff”s think of themselves as leaders with their Home Owners Associations and their School Boards. But where are their dragons? Where are the people being burned at the stake? How do you lead when you don’t instill fear in the hearts of your subjects? That is what I want to know.

B: And don’t forget, people anticipating a quick separation will be disappointed. Disentangling from the landscaper, the snowplower, the cleaning lady-that all may take months. And then of course there is Comcast. That may take years.

CT: Mr. Harrelson, what ramifications do YOU see from this vote.

Ken Harrelson (KH): Let me tell you Chuck, back in ’67 when I was with the Red Sox if those owners had tried to trade Yaz, I can tell you there would have been all sorts of an outcry. He was the greatest ball player I ever saw and I saw ’em all going back to the Babe.

CT: I’m sure Hawk, though I don’t think you are THAT old. And what does this have to do with the Raff’s leaving Long Grove?

KH: It’s no different than the way the umpires all disrespect our White Sox. We can never catch a break and…

CT: Moving on, we have a special guest to comment on REXIT. With us on the phone is the presumptive Republican Presidential Candidate Donald Trump.

Donald Trump (Don): Hey Chuck, what’s presumptive about me. I hate that word. I’ve got the nomination all sewn up no matter what crap the delegates try and throw at me. And who’s the chick with aal the hair on the panel with you? Doesn’t she know there is only room for one blonde crackpot here?

DT: Off with his head!

Don: She sounds like Lying Hilary to me! Yeah honey, you can dump those dragons, I’ll show you a hot time.

B: Love, people, just love.

CT: I’m afraid that’s all the time we have today. Join us again next week, and remember, if it’s Sunday, it’s “Meet the Press.”

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Our music contest has ended. The winner of the $25 Amazon Gift Card will be announced in our next post.

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Rap on the Tony’s

Watched some Tony’s last night
Found it real satisfyin’
Lots of winners in New York
High flyin’, laughing, cryin’.

Yeah James Corden was the man
Who this year was doing the hosting
Back in Twenty-Oh-Twelve
His own Tony he was toasting.

Broadway sound is really changing
I guess “Hamilton‘s” behind it
Catch the beat, sing it out
Catch the story, unwind it.

Color Purple got some love
It’s not a new story
Just get Oprah on the stage
And relive some old glory.

I liked a cool new bit
Broadway casts on the veranda
Singing other people’s shows
Got Lin-Manuel Miranda.

Then got to hear our fave
“One Day More” – Les Misérables
It got sung in Corden’s car
Heads were rockin’ like some bobbles.

Barbra Streisand closed the show
Many years since she’s on Broadway
Funny Girl in sixty four
To great things it was her hallway.

We’ll Shuffle Along
Say good-bye to all of thou now
Cause the show went overtime
But for me it’s ciao ciao now.

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Virtual Prizes for Virtual Contests-White Sox, WXRT and Donald Trump

Feelin’ Groovy!

59th St. Bridge Song

Simon and Garfunkle-1966

Remember Sarah Palin’s “Bridge to Nowhere”? It was a convoluted tale that garnered a lot of attention when the Alaska Governor was selected as John McCain’s running mate in the 2008 Presidential election. Since than Madame Palin has had the career to nowhere, but that is a story for another day. But do bridges to nowhere lead to “contests to nothing?” Two of my favorite local media outlets have gone that route.

Even though I grew up on the North Side (Rogers Park to be precise), I have spent my life a diehard White Sox fan. And like many White Sox fans, the past few years have been dreary, dreary, dreary. Whether the fault has been lackadaisical players, a too laid back manager, or too many Ken Harrelson “Hawkisms”, watching the beloved Pale Hose on the tube has been a type of torture specifically outlawed by the Geneva Convention. This year has been a breath of fresh air as new players Todd Frazier and Brett Lawrie have had a spring in their step, Robin Ventura has suddenly remembered to manage, and most importantly, there has been a new voice in the White Sox TV booth. Jason Benetti is now the Sox play-by-play man for home games. Paired with color announcer Steve Stone, Benetti has brought a lively new spirit to the broadcast. They have also brought a new contest, the aptly named “White Sox Math”. It’s a daily contest with problems such as “Multiply Jose Abreu’s uniform number by Jimmy Rollin’ s strikeouts in 2005 and then add Chris Sales career saves.” If you are a total stats geek or happen to have the Baseball Almanac handy, you will of course quickly arrive at the answer of 5621. And your prize for having all that information rattling around in your brain? A trip to the “Virtual Prize Shelf”. That’s virtually–nothing!

Not to be outdone, or perhaps underdone, my favorite radio station WXRT has a contest of its own. Every morning at about 6:40 Lin Brehmer and Mary Dixon host “Three for Free.” Tweet in the correct answer to their audio quiz about the celebrity of the day and you can win exactly…nothing!

Yet somehow there I am watching the White Sox with my calculator in hand, or intently listening to Lin and Mary’s musical clues. And since there is a winner every day, I suppose I am not the only one willing to put out all that effort for nothing. So I suggest a few more contests with prizes of questionable value:

Volkswagen will give a new diesel car to the first correct answer in their “Predict Our Next Estimated Mileage Report” challenge.
Elon Musk will present a hyperloop ride from Wrigley Field to the Cell to the winner of the “Who Can Predict How Long the Tesla Model 3 Will Be Delayed” contest.
The Department of Transportation will give a TSA job to the first person who–well, basically to anyone. No contest entry needed.
The Republican National Committee wants to award the Vice Presidential nomination to the first voter to provide Donald Trump with a foreign policy. Send the RNC your plan, single spaced, with a self addresses, stamped envelope and prepare to go to Cleveland.

And of course, just by reading this, you are entered into my contest to win–nada. Happy trails!

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photo credit: Footbridge via photopin (license)

Inspired by Budweiser, I Rechristen our New House

By now, everyone with a TV or Internet connection has heard about Budweiser’s new summer marketing plan. Instead of being labelled Budweiser, cans and bottles of brew will have the familiar Bud script replaced with “America”. The labels will also be festooned with patriotic slogans. “E Pluribus Unum” on the package instead of “Profits Sent to the European Multi-National Company We Really Are”. Not a bad sleight of hand! By the way, did you know that Clydesdale horses are Scottish?

Since we are intent on making America great again, and since “American” branding is a super idea for the 25th most valuable brand name in the world, I realized we could get some mileage branding our future home as well. From now on, instead of continuing to call our soon-to-be residence the “new house in the last vacant lot in that nice development by the Tristate”, I am dubbing it the Midwest White House. No, we haven’t switched the exterior stone to alabaster, I just want to make sure you know we are an American Brand.

And things are ramping up at the MWH. On Saturday morning, First Lady Barb and I had a lengthy onsite meeting with our architect, Alexander Hamilton, and General Contractor Thomas Jefferson. We climbed up the American Oak construction stairway to the loft, and in the bitter May cold finalized the design of what is now known as the Lincoln Bedroom. We shaved a closet here, expanded the attic there, and closed off a wall so that future generations of Americans won’t fall backward down the stairs. The space is now perfect, and can even be used for hosting foreign dignitaries. Or we may auction off the privilege to spend nights in there. That is a strategy that raised plenty of campaign cash for Bill and Hillary when they auctioned off nights in their Lincoln Bedroom.

Once the loft was settled, we returned to the main floor. The library, heretofore to be known as the Oval Office, still presents some challenges. We are not quite sure how to place two desks in such a way as to give us both a view of the TV for watching important press conferences. We are hoping our designer, Betsy Ross, will come up with an improved layout. If she does well, we may toss her an extra star to sew onto her flag. We have finally settled on a design for the Presidential Bedroom Suite, although Ham and Jeff are concerned that our plan deprives us of a view of the Rose Garden. It just proves that even when building a national treasure, some sacrifices must be made.

The basement still seems enormous to me. Tricky Dicky Nixon put a bowling alley in his White House basement, we will settle for an exercise room and wet bar in ours. I do have my eye on a nice American Eagle area rug that will keep the American brand going throughout the house though. I’ll run it up the flag pole and see if Barb salutes.

So that’s my plan. And to the Anheiser Busch-InBev Company of Leuven, Belgium, I salute you for the great Americans you are. And remember–this Bud’s for you!

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