Pants de Leon and the Fountain of Youth

It’s so good to be back. Today’s subject is fashion; jeans to be exact.  I mean, who doesn’t love a good ‘ole pair of jeans?

Once I graduated from the generic dungarees with iron-on knee patches of childhood, my jeans of choice were the classic Levi 501’s. Funny how loyal I was to that youthful, rugged, everyman denim look that all my friends were rockin’. Peer pressure perhaps? Problem was they never fit quite right. In today’s vernacular, if it’s “all about the bass” I had always been cursed to abide in the ample mid-range camp where handles of love abound. With one size up “baggy-butt” or “side-spillage” the only options available, I opted to fit (no pun intended) in the best I could. I guess I could have gone south and struggled into three or four pairs of tighty-whities to beef up the bass. That’s a joke. Don’t own any white Jockeys. And besides, I prefer the term Superman underwear. But I quickly learned an extra-large t-shirt would cover a multitude of seams…er….sins.

These days (cool way of saying “Why back in my day…“ without sounding like an old geezer) it appears as though filling one’s denims to overflowing doesn’t have quite the stigma it once had. Encapsulating a super-sized portion of McMuffin into some type of skin-tight clingy material is de rigueur. That’s so nice. I’m really glad this generation has abandoned the body self-image hang-ups in favor of letting it all hang out. Good for you. Why should skinny people get all the good clothes?

Just recently my wife and I went shopping for a new pair of pants for yours truly. She suggested I try on some different jeans. Different? Jeans? I felt faint.

Okay, lest you think I’ve been wearing 501’s all this time, relax, I am way too vain to go into middle (don’t laugh) age without kicking and screaming all the way. I have since switched to 514’s in various colors. There was a brief, passionate fling with Jordache in the late 70’s. A couple parts of my anatomy still ache to this day just thinking about it.  So with slightly less cajoling than it took to get Ben Affleck to don the Batman attire, I tried on some new super-slim jeans that cost about as much as a new car. Dang! They fit like a glove. Cotton with spandex or something.  I felt ten years younger. My wife winked her approval. Oh, yeah, so did the salesman. No comment.

Did I buy them? Well, sort of. Went to Nordstrom’s Rack and got a similar pair for less than the price of a Roman holiday. One can be hip and also frugal dontcha know. And being a musician means that even at my (younger than Keith Richards fer sure) age I can wear just about anything cool and not get much snickering.  Well, not too much.

K.G.

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.

Bigfoot, Ebola and Ugly Shoes

Do you sleep with a .357 loaded with silver bullets under your pillow on the off chance that a werewolf might pull a Goldilocks while riding through your hood?  Or perhaps have a huge crucifix stashed in the nightstand just in case the pierced and pale teen from across the street really is a bloodsucker and not just making a fashion statement?

The most common fear is the “Little Miss Muffet Syndrome” or Arachnophobia.  I for one will admit I don’t like spiders. If I see one in the bedroom I will begin an archaeological search of Indiana Jones-ish proportions, leaving no cushion unturned, until the evil entity is safely entombed in a wad of Charmin and banished to the nether regions of the sewer. Whatever did our bug-killing forefathers do before the invention of toilet paper?

The next three are heights, tight spaces and flying. Hmmm. It’s a wonder any airline can stay in business.  And if we don’t have enough anxiety already, along comes Ebola. Now, even though this doesn’t scare me, I still go a bit Michael Jackson when I have to grab the black, rubber escalator thingie at the mall. What were they thinking?  It’s like a never ending germ smorgasbord. I have my eye on glove sales at the moment; might be a good future investment.

Bigfoot isn't an issue for me because I don’t spend a lot of time traipsing around in the woods. Not that I’m a camp-o-phobic, but I live near a freeway entrance so I am used to big, smelly, hairy guys approaching me. I am a bit sketchy when it comes to clowns though. Didn’t used to be. I blame Stephen King. I never looked at a clown the same after watching the movie “It.” And no, I don’t eat at McDonald’s.

My Top Five Fears:

5. Ugly Shoes

My best friend’s teenage son once commented on a new pair of shoes I’d just purchased. And I quote, “I guess you’ve just given up then?” Can you say, where’s the nearest Goodwill?

4. Going Bald

I think God knew it would be too traumatic for me so he let me keep my hair.  Besides, I have a funny shaped head and don’t look cool in hats. Never have. I’m so vain. Case closed.

3. Bad Guitar Tone

Okay, you non guitar players will not understand this, but the quest for “great tone” is as old as the desire for a nicely marbled brontosaurus steak and almost as impossible to attain. There is nothing worse than spending years crafting the perfect tone only to have someone say “that’s the best you’ve ever sounded” while playing through someone else’s crappy gear.

2. Being Licked by a Dog

Anything that frequently uses its tongue as a washcloth is automatically in the “gross” column. I threw up a little in my mouth just thinking about it.

1. Being Eaten by a Shark

They say the odds are greater that I will get struck by lightening.  But isn’t swimming in the ocean dressed like a seal similar to prancing around in a thunder storm decked out like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz? Think about it.

K.G.

I'm Not Afraid to Be Naked

I’m Not Afraid to Be Naked

Is it my imagination or has the whole “au natural” thing gone up a notch? Has reality television suddenly discovered th

My wife and I watch “Naked and Afraid,” but only for the articles or so goes the old Playboy joke. Seriously though, we love survival shows, “Survivorman” being one of my favorites. Lately both of us have been enjoying “Running Wild with Bear Grylls.” This is the show where he flies celebrities to remote locations and forces them to behave somewhat human like the rest of us or else look like complete wussies.at updated versions of old reality programs might go over better if stripped down to the bare essentials.

Who doesn’t love seeing that?

Now, since the networks have already decided that naked sells, I have a few ideas of my own.

Running Wild and Naked with Bear Grylls

Since most of the hot (okay, I’ll admit there are a few I wouldn’t pay to see) women in Hollywood have had their iPhones hacked, and practically everyone except for maybe a Mennonite third grader in Pennsylvania has seen them naked, here’s a golden opportunity to let it all hang out.  May I suggest Jennifer Lawrence as the first guest?

Naked Wheel of Fortune

I am well aware that not one person on this planet, aside from maybe his wife, wants to see Pat Sajak naked, thank you, but as for Vanna White? Grrrr…  I believe I would watch just to hear a contestant say…

“I’d like to by a vowel and a towel, Pat.”

And spinning the giant wheel might make the game a wee (no pun intended) more dangerous for any over exuberant male guests.

America’s Next Top Naked Model

There is no reason to even debate this one. I mean, really. This has monster-hit written all over it as long as they keep Kelly Cutrone under wraps, if you know what I mean. I just threw up a little in my mouth picturing her naked.

Naked Wipeout

Naked athletes, huge rubber mechanical devices, water and slippery goo… sounds like good clean fun or a David Beckham sex tape.  My version will give chest bumps, belly-flops and cannon-balls whole new and rather painful meanings.

Tag Line: Kind of like the Three Stooges, except naked.

Naked Biggest Loser

Okay. I’ll admit this is more for motivation than titillation. I would make it like strip poker in reverse. For every 50 lbs. lost, they would be allowed to put on one article of clothing bearing a sponsor’s name. Not only would this allow ample space for onscreen advertising thereby increasing revenue, but it would give the old term “Jiggle Television” whole new meaning.

Aside from the sweat factor, this might be a winner.

Tag Line: Strip Porker

America Has Naked Talent

Who hasn't longed to see acrobats, dancers, comedians and singers hit the stage in their birthday suits? No ifs, and's or butts about it. It would be like Vegas sans feathers, sequins and stilettos.

I understand that getting all that dangling flesh in perfect synchronization might be a bit tricky and  magicians might balk at having to find new places to hide their (watch while I pull a rabbit out of my… Ewww!!) props, but I expect most of us would simply ooh and aww at the spectacle of seeing 25 hairy Armenians tumbling naked across the stage to Pharrell Williams’ “Happy.”

As Seinfeld’s Kenny Bania would say “That’s gold, Jerry. Gold.”

K. G.

The Forrest Gump Syndrome

The Forrest Gump Syndrome

(Excerpt from “Hot Grandpa: A Boomer’s Adventures in Cyber Dating”)

Now, let’s examine the following quote:  “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.”

Monsieur Gump’s above statement so embodies the online dating experience most of us have experienced that I almost cringe when I read it.  I dare say there’s more fudging (pun so-intended) on cyber-dating profiles than on most income tax forms.  Does filling out a simple love questionnaire suddenly cause temporary Alzheimer’s?  I believe someone should do a study on this.

But Mr. G’s sweet proclamation is spot on, isn’t it?  He was a visionary and philosopher; a true renaissance man.  Way ahead of his time, if you ask me.

The only other person to come close is Patrick Starfish, sidekick to SpongeBob SquarePants.  And I quote:  “Being grown-up is boring.  Besides, I don’t get jazz.”

Sorry.  Occasionally my inner child sneaks out of the crib.

Continuing with the box ‘o chocolates analogy, I find that hours spent searching for love online can be compared to blissfully nibbling away on an unlimited supply of cyber bon-bons in the hope of finding a diamond while trying desperately not to chip a virtual sweet tooth on a hidden blue-eyed CZ.

Another problem is the box of chocolates keeps growing larger and larger every day, which, in turn, causes us to completely disregard the age-old “bird in the hand is worth two in the bush” lesson our ancestors understood so well.  It becomes so hard to settle for fluffy nougat when a few rows over could be the cherry center of your dreams.

Let’s get real, shall we?  There are only so many raspberry truffles to go around.  Sometimes one must take a chance on a coconut crème or a Peppermint Patty.  Who knows?  It might just be a flavor you could fall in love with.

Caloric Side Note:

Statistics say couples gain on average 14 pounds once they get comfortable in a new relationship.

Really?

So, as you hunt and peck your way to sugary surrender, keep in mind:  If you’re advertising yourself as a soft, creamy caramel in the hope of snagging the love glutton of your dreams, sooner or later he or she will be inclined to take a bite and quickly find out you’re really just a wee bit nutty inside, which to some other unsuspecting nibbler might just spell sweet success.

So be real, be yourself, and remember these words of wisdom from Charlie Brown’s creator:  “All you need is love.  But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.” -Charles M. Schulz

Jusqu'à ce que nous nous reverrons,

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.

Being Liam Neeson