Posted in travel

A New Sign of the Times

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by Bob Sparrow

The age-old sign of insolent ill will

No, not a remake of the Harry Styles hit, ‘Sign of the Times’, and, no, I’m not going to pontificate on how times have changed, how we’ve become so polarized or why people don’t want to go to work anymore.  This is much more important than all of that.  As you regular readers know, and even those who aren’t regular (Sorry, they have medication for that), I mostly like writing about travel, and struggle with blog topics when I’m not preparing for a trip or on one.  With Covid and unrest in various parts of the world, my travel has been a bit restricted.  Oh yeah, I still work, so sometimes that gets in the way too.  Given the environment we are currently in, I look to find travel stories wherever I can. This one takes place less than a mile from my home – so technically it’s a ‘travel story’.

I’m driving my car and I do something that I don’t normally do, something we’ve all done, but try to avoid; I cut off a person as I was making a turn.  It was a two-lane, right turn and I was in the right-most lane and as I turned, I didn’t see the car to my left, also making a right turn, and I drifted into his lane and cut him off.  He saw me, honked, swerved and sped by me, as I’m sure he was thinking he wanted to get as far away as possible from this idiot.

As he drove by and gave me that ‘Where’d you get your license, K-Mart?’ look, I wanted to apologize and tell him that I was genuinely sorry; while I knew I couldn’t speak to him, I wondered if there was some gesture I could make that would convey an apology.

Several gestures came to mind:

  1. A wave and smile – It kind of says, “Hi, not sure who you are, thanks for letting me borrow your lane for a while.  Have a nice day.  I’m an idiot!”

 

 

 

 

 

2. Thumbs up – this sort of acknowledges that you understand what happen, but a thumbs up is a ‘positive’                                 gesture’, so you’re really saying, “Pretty cool that I cut you off, huh?  I’m OK!”

 

 

 

 

 

3. Peace sign – This really says ‘peace’, don’t kick my ass, ‘you lived, I lived, it’s all good, brother’

4. Hang loose sign – this says, ‘Don’t sweat it man, this happens all the time, just relax and accept it – chill.’

5. I even thought about saying I’m sorry in sign language, which is a fist rubbing circularly on your chest over your              heart. Aside from the fact that he couldn’t see that, the odds are he wouldn’t have understood what it meant                          anyway.

He sped away pissed off, and I continued on my journey, frustrated, a bit more cognizant of the boundaries of my lane, and wondering if there was a hand signal that says ‘I’m sorry’.

I Googled it.  No such animal.  So, I saw this as an opportunity to invent one.   It’s got to be a hand gesture, something easy to do and visible to a passing car.  It’s got to be the opposite of the middle finger or the shaking fist.  I’ve got it! Open the hand up and spread the fingers.  The open hand is the opposite of the fist and all five fingers is not the single middle finger.  The five fingers could stand for five words, like:

I’M SORRY!

1. I’m the one to blame

2. Sorry I cut you off

3. My mistake, I’m so sorry

4. Thank you for being alert

5. Please accept my sincere apology

 

 

Now it will be up to you as one of our readers to get the word, or the hand, out.  This could be a movement and you could say you were on the ground floor.

OK, I’m traveling this week, we’ll see if my travels are blog-worthy, although this one probably lowered the blog bar!

 

 

Posted in opinion

THE GREAT POTATO CHIP CAPER

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Well, by now I’m assuming everyone has not only heard about the food shortages and supply line problems but has experienced them first-hand.  We’ve seen empty shelves since the pandemic started, but I sensed it was easing a bit until a few weeks ago.  Now, once again, going to the grocery store has all the certainty of placing a bet on the crap table.  Pundits on TV have blamed the war in Ukraine, but it seems to have started long before that.  This morning when I perused the pasta aisle I was met with a lot of blank space.  I grabbed the last bag of sweet potato fries and cinnamon graham crackers from their respective shelves.  I secretly applauded myself as if I had won the lottery.  But still, I haven’t been able to get the sugar-free wafer cookies that my husband loves in almost a year.  I think they are imported from Canada so I’m sure there is a customs problem at the border.  Too bad they don’t come from Mexico so they could sail right through.

In any event, the other item that has been very hit and I miss are Lay’s Baked potato chips. They are the brand that my husband’s cardiologist recommends (well, to the extent he recommends potato chips at all) but they have been impossible to find.  Obviously, I scour the shelves at our local Safeway once or twice a week, but I’ve been skunked at all of the other local markets as well. I’ve tried Target and CVS pharmacy – no dice.  Finally, last week I was in Walgreen’s when the Lay’s rep had just been there.  There were four bags on the shelf.  I furtively looked around, hoping no one was watching, and put all four bags in my cart.  I normally would never take the last of something.  Our mother always taught us that you never take the last cookie or the last piece of cake.  Advice which seems ridiculous.  Of course we wanted the last piece of cake! She never said, “Don’t take that last Brussel’s sprout!”.  Upon reflection, I realize that there was never just one sprout left.

Anyway, as I walked around Walgreen’s picking up the rest of my necessities, I ran through what excuses I might offer the check-out guy as to why I was depleting their entire stock of Baked Lays.  A graduation party?  Or, more appropriate for my age, a celebration of life? In the end, I just put my goods on the counter and proceeded to check out.  I didn’t look the check-out guy in the eye, lest he pose the dreaded “why?” question.  I felt guilty as I drove home, certain that a seven-year-old somewhere is Scottsdale was going to be deprived of potato chips in his lunch pail.  But when I walked in the house with my ill-gotten gains my greediness was rewarded.  My husband looked at me like I was Olivia Newton-John (his girl crush).  I can’t remember the last time he looked at me that way.

I’ve heard that we’re in for even more food shortages this summer.  What’s more, because fertilizer may be in short supply, they are going to spray manure on the crops, including potatoes.  Perhaps I need to tell my husband that, thus reducing his desire for the chips.  And, unfortunately, me.

 

Posted in Sports

When NFL Scouts Get It Wrong

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by Bob Sparrow

NFL scout career path

Last week Sis gave a great history of the NFL Draft as well as some interesting sidebars.  As luck (not sure if it was good or bad luck) would have it, I was in Las Vegas last week during the festivities, although far enough from ‘The Strip’ to avoid most of the hoopla, but close enough to feel the vibe.

Suzanne mentioned the embarrassment of quarterback, Brady Quinn (or most likely the draft organizers) who was put in a very visible spot, thinking that he was going to be drafted in the first or second round, when in fact he wasn’t picked until round 22!  So, he surely entered the NFL with a chip on his shoulder.  Unfortunately, that chip was probably on his throwing shoulder as his NFL career was less that sterling.  He ‘played’ in the NFL for 7 years, was on 5 different teams, only played in 24 games in his total career, and had more interceptions (17) than touchdowns (12).  So, the NFL scouts got that one right.  But before you feel too sorry for Mr. Quinn, he currently works for Fox Sports as a football analyst at a salary of $715,000 a year and has a net worth of over $10 million.

Giovanni who?

But many times, in fact more than you’d think, the scouts get it wrong.  I say more than you think, because the process of hiring an employee in the NFL is very different from most businesses.  Employers, rather than looking at resumes that most likely have a few hyperboles in it, and having an hour-long interview with a potential hire, NFL scouts have several years of game films to look at, doctor reports, work outs at the NFL Combine and extended conversation with a potential employee’s last boss (college coach).  So, getting the draft wrong would seem highly unlikely, but it’s not.

The quintessential “NFL Draft Oops” was in the 2000 draft when Tom Brady, now arguably the greatest player to ever play the game, was picked in the 6th round, making him the 199th player selected – six other quarterbacks were drafted before him – you’re not alone if you don’t recognize any of their names, Spergon Wynn, Tee Martin, Chad Pennington, Chris Redman, Marc Bulger and Giovanni Carmazzi.  I’m not making these names up!!

NFL’s biggest flop

Other notable ‘Oops’ are Shannon Sharp, drafted 192nd in the 1990 draft, who became an All Pro tight end and was ultimately inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame.  Joining him in the Hall was Joe Montana, drafted 82nd in the 1979 draft and lead the 49ers to four Super Bowls.

The scouts get it wrong the other way as well.  Ryan Leaf, was the 2nd player picked in the 1998 draft behind Payton Manning.  In his NFL rookie year, Leaf threw 2 touchdowns and 15 interceptions; and that wasn’t the worst of it, he was a jerk who was despised by both his teammates and his coaches.  He played four uneventful seasons in the NFL and threw for 14 touchdowns and 36 interceptions.  But, apparently being a ’NFL Quarterback Bust’ is a career path to being a football analyst for a major network, as that’s what Leaf is doing now for ESPN.

I’m guessing that some of those scouts involved in the aforementioned draft picks are now working for Fox or ESPN . . . as janitors.  With the NFL draft now over, football season cannot be far off – can’t wait, especially for the colleges!  Go Utes!!!

Posted in opinion

WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS…

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

In 1962 I remember my parents and siblings being obsessed with “the draft”.  This was well before Vietnam, which turned the word “draft” into something to be feared.  No, my family was excited for the NFL draft, in hopes that my brother, Jack, would be selected.  He wasn’t.  Although he did sign as a free agent with the 49ers, who released him once they discovered he had broken his neck in college.  Even then, before the plethora of personal injury attorneys, the team knew better than to take that risk.

So, at a fairly young age I was made aware of the NFL draft and have had a waxing and waning interest in it ever since.  As a college football fan, I love to watch the draft when a player that I have followed is eligible to take part in the selection process.  It used to be that a player had to attend four years of college to be drafted, but now the superstars can be picked up after they are three years removed from their high school graduating class – so after their college junior year or their ‘redshirt’ sophomore year.  I used to have a problem with that, as I felt it discouraged the players from completing their education.  But I’ve come to realize that many of the superstar athletes are simply marking time in school and want to capitalize on their abilities as quickly as possible.  And no wonder.  The first-round picks in 2021 averaged $18.4 million, and even the players who fell to the seventh round eked out a paltry $2.7 million.

The draft, and the money, has come a long way from its humble beginnings.  According to the NFL, the first draft was held on Feb. 8, 1936, in a smoky conference room at Philadelphia’s Ritz-Carlton Hotel.  There were only 90 players in the selection pool.  The Eagles had the first pick and chose Heisman Trophy winner Jay Berwanger from the University of Chicago. Rather than play pro football, Berwanger, a star halfback, opted for a career as a foam rubber salesman. Berwanger’s choice wasn’t unusual — only 24 of the 81 players chosen in the first draft went on to play in the NFL. Most opted for more secure and stable professions, many of which paid better.

The draft, and the money, evolved in the face of competition — specifically the emergence of the upstart American Football League (AFL) in 1959. The competition between the new league and the NFL for draft picks was fierce.  Soon, the clubs employed “babysitters”, team operatives who were charged with developing relationships with college prospects, even before they were drafted, to make them more likely to sign with their club.  Teams from both leagues battled with each other for the star players, resulting in skyrocketing salaries for the rookies.  This competition continued until the two leagues agreed to merge following the 1969 season, leading to a common draft.

In 1980, the NFL Draft took its largest step forward when it was televised live. Commissioner Pete Rozelle was skeptical that the event would be a draw for fans but agreed that it could be broadcast on a new all-sports cable network, ESPN. Turns out, there was indeed an audience for the NFL Draft. The event has grown each year, eventually moving from that smoky hotel conference room in Philidelphia to the stage at New York’s Radio City Music Hall.  Last year more than six million people watched the draft on television.

This week the NFL will hold the first in-person draft since 2019.  It’s an understatement to say it will be an extravaganza.  For the first time the festivities will be held in Las Vegas, a town known for understatement and class.  Or not.  There will be an NFL Red Carpet Stage built on the Fountains of Bellagio, where the media will interview NFL Draft prospects during the event.  The stage will also host special performances by various Las Vegas entertainers and the players are slated to take a boat on the lake at Bellagio to the stage.

I’ll tune in this year, if for no other reason than to watch just how self-aggrandizing the NFL can be.  I’ll be hoping that we don’t have another moment like the 2007 draft.  That year Notre Dame’s star quarterback, Brady Quinn, was one of the few elite players invited to attend the draft in person, as it was expected he would be selected in the first or second round.  As the rounds went by, Brady was not selected.  When the tenth round was completed, and he was the only player left sitting in the waiting area, even the TV commentators were calling for mercy.  It became almost unbearable to watch, but as with a train wreck, it was hard to look away.  Finally, some sympathetic soul moved Brady away from the cameras.  He was eventually selected by the Cleveland Browns in the 22nd round.

One can only marvel at the money made by today’s players and the spectacle the draft has become.  We’ve come a long way from Berwanger choosing to become a foam rubber salesman.

Posted in Historical

The Bard by Any Other Name

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by Bob Sparrow

Just a friendly reminder that there’s a special birthday coming up at the end of this week, on Saturday, April 23rd.  No, don’t worry that you only have a few shopping days left, he’s virtually impossible to shop for, plus . . . he’s dead.  Coincidently, he died on his birthday in 1616.  Yes, it’s my old friend, William Shakespeare.  OK, he’s really not my old friend, I’m old, but not that old!  Like most of us, I was introduced to ‘The Bard’ in high school.  I remember sleeping through class, as English teacher, Miss O’Brien, droned on about a guy who, I think, sold deer meat, called ‘The Merchant of Venison’.  I clearly wasn’t paying much attention during most of my high school years.  That fact was recently brought to my attention on a Zoom call with a number of my former high school classmates, a few weeks ago.  Our former student body president, Billy Dale Hall, who was on the call and reads our blog, said, in a most respectful way, something like, “I’m surprised that you write a blog, could you even write in high school?”  OK, maybe it wasn’t that respectful, but to his point, I could barely read in high school.

Dr. Viola Chapman

Fast forward to Westminster College where I was fortunate enough to ‘have’ to take a literature class from a Dr. Viola Chapman (Yes, in this photo she looks a bit like Norman Bates’ mother, but she was a really good teacher); fortunately, I had discovered a love of reading a year or so earlier, and in her class, I was learning to recognize and appreciate good literature.  Before I graduated, I had taken every class in English and American literature that Dr. Chapman taught, and ended up with a minor in English.  I was particularly drawn to Shakespeare because she made him so interesting.  Thank you, Viola!!

After reading most of Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets and visiting his house in Stratford-upon-Avon, England (he wasn’t home), I started reading things about how Shakespeare didn’t write Shakespeare’s plays and speculations about who might have.  Why, you ask, would anyone question the authenticity of William Shakespeare as the greatest writer in modern history?  Here’s a few bullets:

  • There’s no record of him ever attending grammar school, much less a university
  • Both his parents and his three children were illiterate
  • He writes intimately of kings and queens, yet had no access to the royal court
  • He wrote in detail about foreign places, but never personally left England
  • There was no public mourning at the time of his death
  • His will, which listed several gifts, did not include a single book from what would presumably be an extensive library

There’s more, but I think you get the drift here.  Those who have followed this ‘cold case’ for any length of time, know many of the likely suspects who might have or could have written Shakespeare’s plays.  My favorite is Christopher Marlowe, not because I think he’s definitely the one that wrote the plays, but because he has the most intriguing story.

Marlowe or Shakespeare                                      Who really wrote Shakespeare’s plays?

Marlowe was born in the same year as Shakespeare, 1564, but supposedly died at the age of 29, around the same time that Shakespeare started to write his plays. One theory is that Marlowe was a spy in Queen Elizabeth I’s secret service and his death, in a bar room fight, was faked to save his life and put him under cover.  After he went into hiding on ‘the continent’, he continued writing and sending his work to an actor/playwright broker in London named William Shakespeare.   Pledged to keep Marlowe’s identity a secret, Shakespeare submitted the plays with his own name on them.   It is also speculated that ‘Slick Willie’ collected plays from others who were high in the queen’s court and didn’t want to put their name on anything that might have jeopardized their position or their life!

For the lay person, the reading about ‘who wrote Shakespeare’s plays’ may be more interesting than the plays themselves, and for those of us who who even care about this, we hope that some day a ‘Rosetta Stone’ will be discovered that will solve this mystery once and for all.  In the mean time, our birthday boy, William Shakespeare, enjoyed a great life and an even greater after-life.  So I guess, All’s Well That Ends Well!

 

Posted in opinion

IT’S THE PICTURES THAT GOT SMALL

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

In the classic movie, Sunset Boulevard, a screenwriter meets an aging move star and says, “You’re Norma Desmond.  Once, you were big.” To which she replies, “I AM big, it’s the pictures that got small.”  Never has a more prescient comment been uttered, although I’m not sure Ms. Desmond or anyone else could have predicted just how small they would get.  Sunset Boulevard was filmed in 1950, when everyone went to movie theaters and movie stars were idolized.  Fast forward to 2017, The Hollywood Reporter estimated that movie attendance in North America was at a 27-year low.  And then 2020 hit.  No one went anywhere, much less to crowded movie theaters.  People stayed home, snuggled up in their jammies, baking bread and watched a streaming service.  Netflix alone added more than ten million subscribers in the second quarter of that year.

Movies, and network television, has been on a downward spiral ever since.  I’ll save my critique and frustration with television for another day, but the movies have been front of mind ever since the Oscar nominations were announced in February.  I recall a time, not that long ago, when everyone raced to the movie theaters to see all of the movies before the Oscars were awarded.  It was a communal way to connect – people predicting who would win the major categories, who would look the most glamorous, and who was snubbed.  Like March Madness or the Super Bowl, office pools and viewing parties were established so everyone who wished could be in on the fun.  But this year, when the nominations were announced, I lamented that I’d seen very few of the Best Picture nominees.  Worse, I wasn’t able to watch some of them because I don’t subscribe to the right streaming services.

Ten pictures were nominated this year and in order to see all of them you would need subscriptions to Amazon Prime, Netflix, You Tube, Vudu, HBO Max and Disney+.  Those subscriptions would cost you $115 per month.  What average family can afford that?  Apparently not many, because the viewership for the Oscar-nominated films is down again this year.  Partly because people don’t have every streaming service and partly because the movies are, well, terrible.  One Hollywood insider said that the movie studios are no longer making movies for American audiences because they make much more from international ticket sales, specifically in Asia.  Thus, the glut of Marvel action films.

Somehow, watching a movie from the comfort of my sofa is not as much fun as going to the theater, where everyone laughs, or cries, or screams in a shared experience.  Sure, it’s great to watch at home, close to Dash the Wonder Dog and my refrigerator, but watching on the small screen is not the same.  As Norma Desmond said, the pictures are getting small.  Little did she know in 1950 that they literally would go from a gigantic movie theater screen, averaging between 45-50 feet wide, to a 60″ television set (if you’re lucky).

It feels like we’re breaking up with the movies, or at least going out to the movies.  Like a lot of experiences from our youth, going to the movies is passe.  But looking on the bright side, there are a lot of good series to stream, and my sweatpants wardrobe is always in fashion in my living room.

Posted in Family • travel

Diamonds in the Desert

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by Bob Sparrow

Diamonds in the Desert

Before desert temperatures reached the triple digits, we made two last treks to two different deserts in March to visit our diamonds in the deserts.

Our mid-March trip took us to some old haunts surrounding our Marriott Desert Springs Palm Desert timeshare.  Yes, there was plenty of golf, dining, and stories with the ‘Great Eight’ – the Budds, the Sagers and the VanBoxmeers (Linda and I would make eight in case you were wondering about the math!), but it was the other people we met, that live there, (at least part-time) that turned the trip from great to awesome!

Ed & Stacy Hunter at Indian Ridge

Diamond One!  We were invited to dinner at the home of Ed & Stacy Hunter, who live, during the winter, at Indian Ridge Country Club, a private golf club that has two magnificent golf courses and beautiful and immaculately kept grounds.  The Hunter’s home sits on a ridge with an amazing view of the golf course (the attached photo doesn’t do it justice).  Ed collects wine and whiskeys, and suffice it to say that we certainly consumed more than our share, but didn’t put a dent in his stash.  Stacy is the consummate hostess, serving an exquisite tray of charcuterie followed by a delicious dinner.

Diamond Two!  Two days later, we were invited for dinner at the home of Walt & Patty Schwartz, at Trilogy at the Polo Club in Indio, next to the Plantation Golf Club, which could be the subject of a future blog.  And while the view may not have been as grand, with Walt playing the consummate ‘straight man’ for Patty’s razor-sharp wit, the evening was filled with many stories and much laughter.  Oh yeah, and a magnificent charcuterie tray and another delicious dinner with plenty of wine.

Patty & Walt Schwartz

Linda & Starlet petting a dinosaur

Diamond Three!  Three days after returning from Palm Desert we set out for the Sonoran Desert, which includes much of Arizona.  Our first stop was Apache Junction, and a visit with Linda’s sister and husband, Starlet & Donnie Brummer.  Starlet’s daughter, Denise and her husband, Gene Cobb were also visiting from Minnesota and are always great to be around.  Friends, Bill & Kay Pompei, from Minnesota, who also spend the winter in Arizona stopped by for dinner and cards.  Kay provided me with several subjects for future blogs – thank you!  The following day, Starlet, Linda and I played one of the best golf courses I’ve ever played, Dinosaur Mountain at Gold Canyon.  Not only was the golf course magnificent, but the surrounding mountains and spectacular homes on the course were jaw-dropping.  A picture-perfect day made it the most enjoyable round of golf in a long time.  If you have a chance, play this course, you’ll love it!

Your co-writers

Diamond Four!  Four days into our trip we made our final stop at Scottsdale’s beautiful golf community, Desert Highlands to visit my sister and co-writer, Suzanne and husband, Alan Watson, as well as ‘Dash the Wonder Dog’. While Suzanne and I text, talk or email weekly, we rarely get a chance to see each other, so it’s always special when we get together.  When I explained to her that I was writing this week’s blog about our visits to our ‘Diamonds in the Desert’, and that our visit with them would be number four, she replied, “I hope you don’t label us as the ‘Cubic Zirconium’ visit!”  Not a chance!  We had a great time visiting and then dinner at their beautifully remodeled golf club house, as the sun set beneath a beautiful ‘Arizona red’ sky.  The perfect ending to the many facets of our visit to our Diamonds in the Desert.

 

Posted in opinion

FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

I recently played in our club’s big invitational golf tournament.  My partner and I won our flight and came in third overall.  But that doesn’t really tell the story.  She played brilliantly and I played like the dog’s dinner.  In fact, that may be an insult to canine fare.  My crowning achievement was picking the right partner.  I was despondent about my play and, having to participate in the “shoot out” in front of 100+ people to determine the overall winner, was horrifying.  But then a good friend sidled up to me and said, “Get a grip.  Think about the people in Ukraine.  This is a first-world problem.”

Of course, she was right.  Bad play in a golf tournament on a beautiful blue-sky day, surrounded by friends, is not something to complain about.  Most of us have lives that are filled with first-world problems.  I’ve heard people complain that their Wi-fi connection at the Ritz was too slow or the roast on their Tanzania Peaberry coffee beans was overdone. The term “first world” is actually an anachronism, since we no longer talk about the “third world”. We have shifted to the more optimistic phrase “developing world”.  Still, the idea of ridiculous first world complaints persist, and they seem particularly trivial in contrast to the horrors we’re seeing in Ukraine on the nightly news.

But for your amusement this Monday morning, and as some relief from the constant bad news, here are some of the first world problems I have heard lately:

  1.  My new iPhone 13 Pro Max doesn’t filter out spam calls
  2.  I can’t remember the password to my American Express Platinum card account
  3.  Neiman’s didn’t have the Christian Louboutin shoes in my size
  4.  I had to open a can that didn’t have a pull ring
  5.  My two-hour Amazon delivery was thirty minutes late
  6.  Why didn’t Amazon release the whole season of “The Marvelous Mrs. Maizel” at once?
  7.  My hotel in the Maldives didn’t have enough outlets in the room
  8.  I chipped my $80 ombre nail gel on the first day
  9.  My personal trainer took the week off to be with his kids on spring break
  10.  We had to fly to L.A. three times to get both of my mother-of-the-bride gowns fitted by Monique Lhuillier

Then there are the “complaints” that are really something else: the humblebrag.  A humblebrag is defined as “an ostensibly modest or self-deprecating statement whose actual purpose is to draw attention to something of which one is proud.”  I think Facebook and Instagram have built their business models around humblebragging.  Parents of school-aged children are particularly good at it. Their posts usually go something like this: “I am so clumsy. I spilled Opus One all over the papers I need to sign to get Missy into the gifted program.”

Whether it’s just complaining about trivial problems or true humblebragging, we could all stand to put things into perspective.  That is easier said than done on the golf course, but it’s worth a try.

Posted in Nothing

Five Minutes You’ll Never Get Back!

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by Bob Sparrow

“Hey, a blog about nothing, this should be good!”

It’s one of those weeks where “I’ve got nothing”.  OK, another week where I’ve got nothing!  I am in the desert this week, but I’ve told you all about my escapades there, bad golf, fine dining and not-so-fine drinking, but plenty of it.  Let’s see, Russia-Ukraine, of course, has the headlines and everyone feels pretty much the same about the atrocities happening there. Covid is somewhere between ‘old news’ and ‘what’s the new variant” and the stock market is just a barrel of laughs.

I’ve been reading those ‘good news’ sites I mentioned a few blogs ago, and I find that I’m already bored with all good news.  On that subject, I’ve become less attracted to ‘Squirrel News’, but love Morning Brew, very entertaining If you sign up and tell them that I sent you there, they send me a tee shirt or a coffee mug, or maybe it’s just a tee shirt with some coffee stains on it.

I’m sitting here with a blank computer and a mind to match.  I’m thinking of Jerry Seinfeld’s television series, that he described as ‘a show about nothing’.  I’m wondering if I can write a blog about nothing.  I’m guessing that there would be a number of people out there who would say that I’ve written a number of blogs about nothing. 

Nah!

So, if you’ve got something important to do, nah, it doesn’t have to be that important, I’d skip the rest of this blog and go do it.  Ahh, wait a minute, here’s something.   I just discovered that it was exactly ten years ago from last Sunday that Suzanne and I abandoned our idea of writing poetic tributes.  Yes, some of you remember the old ‘Red Posey’ business that was augmented by our just-developed blog, All the News that’s Fit to Rhyme, where we followed a USA Today newspaper format by writing a topical poem about World News, Sports, Business and Entertainment – we published it EVERY WEEKDAY!!!  You can still find them at the beginning of our archives on this site.  From a financial perspective, the business failed, but what we found out was that Suzanne and I enjoyed working and writing together, so on March 20, 2012, we had apparently run out of words that rhyme and launched a prose version called ‘A Bird’s Eye View’, which we had to immediately change to ‘From A Bird’s Eye View’ because A Bird’s Eye View was already taken.  Originally, we posted twice a week, but somewhere in the middle of 2012 we transitioned to every Monday, sometimes twice a week if we’re traveling to an interesting place.  The blog’s been posted weekly, without fail, since then. We’ve posted somewhere around 600 blogs and have received over 4,000 comments, although I’d have to admit that the majority of those comments came from the same two people – thanks Pam and Janet!

As I’m fretting over what to put in the blog this week, Linda says, “Why don’t you just skip a week?”  I look at her like she’s got two heads and remind her that Suzanne’s and my father was a newspaper man, so it’s just in our blood not to miss a deadline.  She shrugs like she doesn’t really understand, so I try to bring it home to her and say, “Your father was a dairy farmer, so did he ever decide not to milk the cows for a week, or for a day, or for a morning?”  She had walked away by then, so I’m not sure she got the point, or was interested in the point.  So, I’m still rambling here.  Hey, this week is the first week of spring, which doesn’t mean much to those of us in southern California, since we’ve already had days in the 90s, but for those in the northern environs it will mean warmer weather and for all of us, longer days; well, technically the days we still be 24 hours, there is just more daylight.

I’m reading a really good book, The Beatles, remember them?  It’s by Bob Spitz and it starts from the very beginning – really a detailed commentary on everything Beatles – very interesting.  Unlike this blog!

Posted in opinion

TIPS FOR STRESSFUL TIMES

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By Suzanne Sparrow Watson

Two years ago, on March 17th, 2020, I was at a dinner party with five friends.  COVID, or as we said at the time, “a new flu”, had just started to take hold in the U.S.  One friend asked, “What do you think we’ll be saying about this flu in two weeks?”  We all agreed that it would peak and that by the end of the month things would be back to normal.  Turns out that we were only off by two years.  It’s been a stressful two years: important family gatherings were missed, friends died, and, in general, people became crabbier.  A couple of weeks ago, just when life seemed to be back to normal, Putin decided to invade Ukraine.  So now we wake each day wondering if World War III started while we slumbered. The images and stories coming out of Ukraine are horrifying.

We’ve all been through a lot, so I thought this week I would offer some stress management advice and, hopefully, bring you a chuckle or two.  God knows we need it.

Stress Management Tips for 2022:

Stop being on time.  The more you care about being late, the more you stress.  So stop caring.  If you lose your job, so much the better.  Jobs are stressful.

Drink alcohol.  You can’t stress about stuff if you’re drunk.  So go ahead and grab that bottle of tequila and drink away.  Aim for being inebriated 60% of your waking hours.

Yell at people who don’t deserve it.  If you have followed step 2, this should come pretty easily.  Never take responsibility for being a jerk.  Accountability only makes you more anxious.

Pare down your possessions. This is essential.  You no longer have a job and you have an alcohol addiction to support.  See if you can fit all of your belongings in a backpack.

Spend more time outdoors.  Without any means of income, this is good preparation for your future living arrangement.  You are mere steps away from living under an overpass.  You will alleviate any pressure to work or pay rent.

Make new friends.  Ask strangers for their spare change.  By now you have no job, no house and your tequila is running low.  You’d be surprised how many people will throw a dollar bill your way.  Hold up a sign that says, “Need money for gas” and you might double your income.

Finally, if all else fails, I have two tips.  First, eat cake.  Yes, that is my remedy for every problem, but there is nothing like a good sugar high to make you feel better.  Second, learn to handle stress like a dog: if you can’t eat it or play with it, pee on it and walk away.

My prediction is that in two weeks the world will have calmed a bit.  I hope I’m a lot more accurate this time.