I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

Raise your hand if you enjoy television reality programs. Don’t be embarrassed. What’s not to love? Where else can you find such a corn-ball-ucopia of butter-eatin’, toothless, moonshine swillin’, tantrum-throwing misfits that look and act more like sideshow carnies than TV stars? Well, besides the bus station or nearest freeway off-ramp.

I’ll admit that this particular reality genre is not my cup of tea. No offense, but since when did we need closed captioning to understand simple English? Okay, Sofía Vergara is a bit challenging at times, but she’s so darn cute. If I offended anyone I apologize.  I’m not here to spit on your gator wrestlin’ parade.

I confessed a few posts ago that I actually watch a few reality programs myself. Most are of the “I’m going to make you waste an hour of your time while I search for something I’ll never find because it doesn’t exist” variety. It’s a genre bandwagon that P.T Barnum would have jumped on without hesitation and beat within an inch of its life. I’m sure the producers are snickering all the way to the bank.

But is this type of program really that popular? Does Bigfoot poop in the woods?

The answer to the first question is youbetcha. As for the second question, I am of the opinion that he does not. Surely someone would have stepped in it by now or at least noticed their shovel missing.

I’ve once again been wood-shedding some new reality concepts of my own, because I’m pretty sure I can search for nothing just as well as the next guy. After all, I am 100% convinced that my car keys exist but I can rarely find them, so looking for imaginary beings, ghosts, lost treasure, aliens and giants shouldn't be a stretch.

The first is “Finding Elvis” where I would follow clues like cities where the most peanut butter, bacon and black hair dye is purchased, and allow the viewing audience to text in sightings a la “America’s Most Wanted.” Every week I would question 7-11 employees and jumpsuit manufacturers far and wide (no fat Elvis pun intended) until I found the King of Rock-n-Roll, no matter how many seasons it took.

Or perhaps “SNIPE: An American Legend.” Armed with infrared, heat sensitive cameras and a truck full of Nacho Cheese Doritos for bait, you could watch spellbound as I spend weeks searching the darkness for the elusive Snipe, who we all know is stealthier than Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster combined; a larger-than-life creature that has been hunted by thousands of Boy Scouts but has yet to be seen by anyone. This would be reality TV at its finest.

I was at first torn between the Snipe and the infamous Jack-a-lope, but the former is a true legend while it was brought to my attention the latter can be found (why am I always the last to know) in every tourist gift shop east of the Rockies.Author’s Note:

The last is “Switched at Birth: Search for the Lost Kardashian.” It’s pretty obvious to just about anyone who watches television that something went horribly wrong at the hospital 27 years ago. Rob K. (hereto referred to as the “Shemp” of reality TV) cannot possibly be a Kardashian. Number one, he’s not photogenic. Two, he has no business sense (Socks? Really? Someone should fill one with nickels and whack him a few times), and number three, he’s male and not even cool. If Kardashian girls were spiders, they would have eaten him a long time ago.

So, with a camera crew in tow, we (I’m thinking Bruce Jenner in drag as my female sidekick) would interview nurses, search hospital records and doggedly track down every lead until we got to the bottom (no Kim jokes, please) of this mystery. My money is on Zac Efron. Same age, born in the same area, good looking, talented. What??? I guess you’ll have to watch the program to see if I’m right.

K.G.

Being Liam Neeson

Being Liam Neeson

(Jump-Starting Your Inner Alpha Male)

I always thought of myself as your average, regular guy. Well, except for the fact that I’m not into sports and would rather watch Project Runway than American Ninja. Oh, and I have way too many pairs of shoes. But if you set that aside, I’m the guy next door.

All through childhood, like most late bloomers, I dreamt of being the alpha dog. That brooding, Ray-Ban wearing James Dean type that every guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to date long enough to drive her parents crazy before settling down with a podiatrist in Brentwood. Unfortunately for me, the family gene pool I was swimming in was teeming with short, pear-shaped DNA and I would ultimately end up face down in more toilet bowls than a platoon of thirsty German Shepherds before graduating high school.

If you are a tie-died in the wool California pessimist like me, you’re probably thinking it’s too late. You’re sure that your inner alpha male, like fat Elvis, has left the building. Not to fear. All we need is a mentor. Someone who possesses an overabundance of testosterone, insane karate skills and wit as sharp as the samurai sword wielded by Blade, thus assuring us that much needed “grande cajones” infusion.

Hmm… who might this self-assertive sensei be?

Here is my short list of bad dudes that I would consider emulating.

Sean Connery:

I’m talking Bond… James Bond. With his sleek sports cars, crazy gadgets and gorgeous girls from around the world he’s unarguably the coolest guy ever, toupee or not.

But there are a few things to consider. I don’t own a single suit, my sexy English accent makes Kevin Costner’s performance in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, sound like Sir Laurence Olivier, and the only gadget I own is a portable Pizza Maker that plugs into my car’s cigarette lighter.

The third-degree burns on my crotch are healing nicely, thank you.

Bruce Willis: 

Old and bald he may be, but he still has the best catch phrases of any make-believe hero ever.  Anyone who loves action movies will tell you, “The catch phrase lives on, after the muscles are gone.” Speaking as a diehard shoe lover, my favorite Willis line is, "Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister." A classic footwear putdown and he nailed it. Heidi Klum would be proud.

Kurt Russell:

Who wants to follow this scruffy, eye patch wearin’ dude with the macho “Snake Plisken” moniker to the gates of hell? I do, I do. Oh, yeah, kickin’ butt and takin’ names. He may not be my final choice, but just in case I have a drawer full of tight, black t-shirts with the sleeves cut off at the ready. I’ll worry about what to do with my SpongeBob Squarepants tattoo later.  Life is always full of tradeoffs.

Liam Neeson:

I obviously saved what I consider the best for last. He's like Jason Bourne’s and MacGyver’s pissed off step-dad. But it’s the voice that sets him above the rest, right? The only other person to come close to Liam’s gritty vocal eviscerations was Dirty (one of my favs, though I will admit, a .44 magnum, one-trick pony) Harry Callahan. I honestly believe once I’ve mastered the “I’m going to rip your testicles off and slowly feed them to your wife and girlfriend,” voice, then the world will truly be my Rocky Mountain oyster.

I am Liam, hear me roar.

K.G.

Big Bro

Most have heard the old saying “People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.” Pretty simple concept, I think. Don’t call your friend an idiot for wearing tie-dyed t-shirts and listening to the Grateful Dead if you’re following Justin Bieber on Twitter. But with each passing day, it becomes more evident that this common sense-ical adage has been kicked into the proverbial (pun so intended) gutter like MySpace and left to rot like a still-twitching appendage from The Walking Dead.

Okay, that was obviously a joke, but as I just finished 1984...

Musical Clarification: The George Orwell book, not that lame Van Halen album where Eddie V. decided that being a rock-guitar god wasn’t enough so he turned into the keyboardist for Flock of Seagulls. Jump? I would have if I lived anywhere near a bridge.



Anyway, I reread this book last week. Aside from the obvious fact that Big Brother is indeed watching us, yada, yada, yada, it’s crazy how many things that this author wrote about are coming true.  Just one is  the statement “Ignorance is Strength” (we have to pass the bill to find out what’s in it; huh?), fiddling around with history; America =bad/ Socialism =good. 2+2 equals 5 these days fer sure.

It’s strange how much my good old U.S. of A. has transformed in just the last ten years. Take what Mr. Orwell calls the “Thought Police.” Isn’t this already happening? I am surprised that taping private conversations with a cell phone and using it to destroy a person’s life is legal, let alone suddenly so popular.  Why isn’t anyone up in arms about this?  Isn’t this what people are accusing the government of doing, and so against? I would bet a billion dollars that a close friend of yours could testify (and confirm my suspicions) that you have said something that could be considered racist, politically incorrect or just plain old-fashioned stupid in your life. We all have. If you said you haven’t, you can add liar to your list.

Now, because of the drought and subsequent restrictions on water consumption the “Water Police” have arrived in California. As if we don’t have enough problems just avoiding the “work for food” guys, we are now are encouraged to seek out and turn in (rat out, if you will) those disgusting water wasters. Oh, it’s all confidential (wouldn’t want to be known as a Ra…er… tuner inner. In case you get the wrong idea, I am not in favor of wasting water. The thought of not being able to bathe is enough to cause me to spend every waking hour walking the streets looking for those who haven’t quite figured out that concrete is not alive, and will not grow no matter how much you soak it.

I think we should have fast food police.  We could deputize all the Vegans and send them out to bust the people who eat too much junk food and force them into gobbling down a few carrots. Or perhaps we could establish a “skinny jean, crop top and make-up” task force that would monitor bad fashion and stop people from purchasing garments that are too small. Or my personal favorite, the “Idiot Police.” Of course, most politicians would be instantly out of work. Oh well, there are plenty of programs they would be entitled to sign up for.

Yes, my paranoid friends, Big Bro is coming soon to a neighborhood near you.

K.G.

Se-Man-Tics

It’s been quite a week, no?  Things seem to be heating up quickly, which is no surprise considering who is running the asylum we call home.  Dare I say the devil’s in the details? Oh, you know I do.

So much liberal vs conservative rhetoric being bandied about has got me thinking.  Who dunked the world in a giant vat of Kool-Aid?  Oh, yes, brothers and sisters, that deceiver and father of all lies; the guy formerly known as “Prince of this World”; you guessed it, the Devil. It seems that this administration (talking the devil here, not the president; but I can understand the confusion) has swept rationality under the tree-hugging, global-warming, climate -changing,  “we’re all racists” rug along with pretty much all propriety and good old American common sense. There are so many lines being drawn in the sand between believers and non-believers, and in some cases, between believers and believers, that most Christians who believe every jot and tittle of the Word is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God,  can feel the ocean lapping on their heels.

The lines are being blurred. Two cases in point:

A Christian teenager I know has expressed views that kind of surprised me. He said he won’t eat at one burger franchise because of the overtly sexual content of their ads, but sees no reason to avoid another burger chain who has decided to dedicate a burger to a small segment of the population and have kidnapped God’s rainbow, slapping it on a burger wrapper as some kind of weird statement about us all being the same inside. Really? Can't a hamburger just be a hamburger.  And besides, wouldn’t a hot dog in a hamburger bun have been more apropos? (That was a joke. Not a hater, racist or homophobe.)

The second one is about a video I was watching the other day. They were discussing climate change, weather remodeling or atmospheric alterations; I can’t remember; whatever it’s called this week.  The question of Christians came up. It was stated because of our unwillingness to believe their “truth,” we would most likely have to be re-educated. Huh? Calling George Orwell.  But that wasn’t the interesting part. He said because we refuse to believe this “truth” about climate change doesn’t change the facts, and that if they’re wrong on this, no harm, no foul, but if they’re right, well, buddy, the Christian naysayers are in trouble. Now, I ask you, if I exchanged their truth for our truth, you’d basically have the message we’ve been trying to get them to understand. It’s a matter of semantics. That not believing in God or Jesus doesn’t mean they just cease to exist. The only difference is if the climate guys are right we get a little hotter, but if we’re right….

Maybe we could use this to open up a dialogue.

K.G.

Let’s Get Physical

Greetings cyber-space cowboys, it is I, Hot Grandpa back with more thought-provoking tidbits guaranteed to make you wonder just who is out there and do they really think we might taste like chicken.

Funny Fitness Anecdote:

Last week I purchased a tank top at a secondhand store with the name of a well-known swimsuit company printed on the front. At the grocery store today, the checkout clerk asked me if I was a “Speedo” model. My wife will miss work for the next few days. I believe she broke something while rolling around on the floor.

As one gets older, it becomes crystal clear that years and years of eating food distributed by happy clowns and little red-headed girls can begin to reshape the human body into something resembling a sumo wrestler. I wanted to say Fat Albert but I was afraid that would be misconstrued, so I will pick on the aliens instead.

I do some form of exercise every day:  walk, run or lift a few weights; anything to keep my waistline (and other manly parts) from turning into a wasteland of lumps, humps and jiggly bumps. Am I successful? Well, the jury is still out, but judging by my ability to run downhill without a sports bra and not get pummeled in the face, I’d say I’m making progress.

Anyway, all this working out got me thinking. If there is life on other planets, do they have the same problem? Do the little green men have little round beer bellies and sagging butts from sitting in their saucers for millions of miles? I realize they probably don’t have beer, but I’m sure they've found something to overindulge in, like an extra-large order of radioactive grubs from the planet Xazzabba, or perhaps a super-grande, Venusian tar-crab smoothie. I for one would not be surprised in the least.  Any intelligent civilization will have stumbled on dessert. I mean, without Twinkies we’d be nothing more than savages.

My point is, if they've been around a lot longer than us, then they have no doubt discovered the joy of stuffing the ‘ol pie hole with high-calorie krapolla, and are more than likely sporting some serious zero gravity moobs and alien love handles. So just maybe, if we were invaded, they would be at least as out of shape as we are and all we would have to do is out run them. Besides, we’re already used to the gravity here, so I think we would have a slight edge.

I am going for a walk now. I want to be ready. I for one am not going to get probed by a chubby alien.

K.G.

To Serve Man

Hello, my Web-wondering whippersnappers. I am back to doing what I do best; looking at the world through woes-colored glasses, and seeking out humor amid the overall craziness that seems to have invaded our planet like the pods from “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

Bonnie (my better ¾’s) and I, lately have had spirited discussions regarding “Customer Service” or the lack there of. It seems that good old customer service is a dying art, seemingly lost on a large portion of the populace. Could this have something to do with the increasing dependence on social media and the tendency to conduct personal interaction on a tiny screen with a tiny keyboard where one might say anything one wishes without getting punched in the nose real-time? This fascinating subject came up as we were listening to two employees at an upscale burger joint argue about tips while we stood at the register waiting to pay our bill.

Now, I want to say something without sounding like an old geezer, but I am an old (although nicely dressed and coiffed) geezer, so I will attempt to spit it out without drooling on myself.

Why, back in my day…

Napkin, please.

Open letter to America’s waiters and waitresses:

Dear Tammy and Troy,

I am choosing to spend my hard-earned money in the place where you work to be treated special. I can stay at home in a pair of threadbare boxers and be like the Invisible Man. Wait.  Come to think of it, having you wait on me is actually just like being at home. My own kids also ignore me, speak only in grunts and broken sentences, and they want me to pay them, too.

Get off the iPhone and make me a sandwich.

Sincerely,

K.G.

McDonald’s to follow Seattle’s Lead

B yK.G.

Just as news of Seattle’s plan to begin raising the minimum wage to $15.00, burger giant McDonalds is tossing its own clown into the ring by doing something analysts  were sure would never happen; raise the wages paid to its employees. As one of the largest employers in the world, McDonald’s not only chose to follow Washington States lead, but have upped the ante in an attempt to ward off any future boycotts by the hundreds of thousands employees who daily serve the billions the fast food chain claims on its signs.

A spokesman for the company explained that the minimum wages paid would be bolstered by the addition of “Happy Bucks” that could be used to purchase items off the extensive menu, which when added to the current wage would bring the new hourly wage up near the $20.00 mark.  “Employees are pretty thrilled about this new program,” an unnamed manager was quoted as saying.

On a side note, Civil Rights Lawyer Gloria Allred is filing a class-action lawsuit on behalf of the predominantly Catholic workforce. Allred said, “We won’t be happy until the Fish Sandwich is included in the deal.”

Traveling With K.G.

Ciao cyber-pals. How’s life treating you? Today’s topic is traveling, and I don’t mean from the La-Z-Boy to the fridge.

Who doesn’t like to travel; explore faraway places, eat exotic food, use long forgotten math skills to figure out how many pairs of underwear are necessary? I mean really, don’t want to get caught short (pun so intended).

Just returned from an awesome trip to Italy recently; Rome and Milan respectively. I believe these are the only places on earth without a Starbucks on every corner. Of course, there are coffee bars every five feet, so having caffeine withdrawals is not likely. The Italians are so much worse than us. We won’t drive more than a block to get our morning fix, and they won’t walk more than a few feet. Probably because they have cooler shoes and don't want to wear them out.

The Coliseum was… well…colossal. An ingenious feat of human imagination and engineering, I must say. So how come all the streets are uneven cobblestones? Does it take a genius to make a flat road? Just asking.

Oh, and I took my first trip through that naked camera thing at the airport. What the heck are the requirements for that job? Good eyesight and a strong stomach I think.

More on my trip later.

K.G.

Am I Old Fashioned?

Let’s see, I remember when tips were for people who actually provided some sort of personal service for me, personally. Now I know it’s really difficult to pour a cup of coffee -I drip all the time- so perhaps this is a skill that should be rewarded with a tip. Coffee is also dangerously hot so maybe hazard pay is also in order. I expect any day now my wife will place a tip jar on the kitchen counter next to the receipt for a pair of asbestos gloves. Will I tip her? Youbetcha.

I remember life before cellular phones. Has the smart phone made my life easier? Hmmm…, the jury’s out on this one.

Smartphone Downside:

I don’t have an excuse for not calling people right back.

I take terrible “Selfies”.

“Stocks App” – I don’t have any stocks and it makes me feel inadequate.

It’s impossible to misplace a pay phone.

Smartphone Upside:

I no longer have to wrestle a drug dealer out front of the Quickie-Mart to use the pay phone.

Don’t have to memorize phone numbers.

With the “Map” function, I can always find my way home (My wife will argue whether or not this is an upside).

I can use the “Selfie” function on the camera to make sure there’s nothing stuck in my teeth (See wife comment above).