Sometime Friday, I was looking at the news on my computer and the lead article said Tiger Woods had been in a traffic accident and was in serious condition. Immediately, I thought of his career and whether the accident would keep him from competing. I’m a big Tiger fan and believe he has been wonderful for the resurgence of golf. Sometimes, I pull for the underdog, but I never cheer against Tiger.
Then, as the news trickled out, we found that Tiger had been treated at the hospital and released. That was good news. But, then everything flashed bizarre. The accident was at 2:25 AM Friday morning. He had run into a fire hydrant and a tree. Tiger fans are already questioning who had placed the fire hydrant at that location. Then, we find out that his wife, Elin, hearing the crash ran out of the house and broke the rear window out of his SUV with a golf club. Fans will be interested in which club she selected and what grip she used. She was able to extricate Tiger out of the rear of the vehicle.
We have been advised that alcohol was not involved in Tiger’s crash. Again, good news. But efforts by the police on Friday and Saturday to obtain statements from Tiger and Elin have been unsuccessful. That is a shame. It takes some of us back to Chappaquiddick. Are they putting a story together? I hope not.
My advice to Tiger is to tell the truth. It can’t be anywhere near as bad as being caught in a lie. They probably had a fight and he stormed out of the house. So what? Even the happiest of marriages have knock-down-drag-out fights.
Tell the truth Tiger. Me and your mother have already forgiven you.
Monthly Archives: November 2009
Shart Sharts
I received one of those humorous emails that tells certain idiosyncrasies about certain locations. This location was St. Louis. It said, “If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don’t work there – you might live in St. Louis.” “If you have a lengthy phone conversation with someone who dialed the wrong number – you might live in St. Louis.”
Well, I took umbrage with one of them. It went, “If you take I farty-far to Six Flags – you might live in St. Louis. I grew up in the St. Louis area (over on the East Side), and will humbly admit that we pronounce our “ORs” as if they were “ARs.” We eat carn on the cob and sometimes eat carn with a fark!
So, what am I upset about? We would never pronounce “four” as “far.” We do just fine with “our,” it’s just “or” that we do a number on. So, if someone takes I farty-four to Six Flags – they might live in St. Louis. And, their daughters might be wearing shart sharts.
Now, the real purpose for this comment is to introduce a new category called Short Shorts. See, I do know how to spell it. This is my first one. They will never fill up a page. At times I would like to comment on current events, but by the time I get around to writing, it’s no longer current. This should also help all my buddies with Attention Deficit Disorder.
Me and My Old Man
I guess every young boy has vivid memories of his dad. I remember my dad climbing up a large Sycamore tree in our front yard. There weren’t special boots or safety ropes back then. Or, if there were, he didn’t use them. He just climbed from limb to limb until he was way up there. I think he trimmed some dead branches and then, he scurried down. I was fascinated. I thought Dad could do anything.
I also thought he was indestructible. When I was four or five, my dad was laying on the living room floor wrestling with my brother, Bill, and me. Bill was three years older and putting up most of the fight. I would dive in and Dad would toss me away and continue wrestling with Bill. After several unsuccessful ventures, I looked around and saw our set of encyclopedias. I pulled out the letter “M” book, sneeked behind Dad and whacked him over the head. Playtime was over. He might have been able to handle the letter “F” book, but there were too many words that started with “M.” I didn’t knock him out, but I definitely hurt him. He couldn’t understand why I hit him. And, I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t think it would hurt him. It was a tough lesson
One of the things I loved to do was watch Dad shave. When he would come home from work, he would usually shave before dinner. Shaving then isn’t like it is today. Then, it was an elaborate procedure which started with stropping the straight razor. Back and forth he would draw the razor over the razor strap. Then, there was the shaving soap and the shaving brush. No cans back then. He would lather up the brush and cover his beard with soap. Then, he would carefully bring the razor to his face and shave away. Knicks were commonplace back then, but Dad was good and seldom drew blood. I suspect Dad was performing for me and he definitely had an enraptured audience of one.
Later, Dad brought home a Rolls Razor, made in England. The container looked like an oversize sardine can. Inside the container was a razor that could be sharpened inside its metal box. He would open one side, lift up the handle and slide the blade back and forth against the bottom of the container. The bottom was a red leather strap. The handle would slide back and forth on tracks. Or, he could seal it up, flip it over and then the bottom was a gray honing stone. It took ten to 15 minutes just to sharpen the nickel plated blade. Shaving then followed the same ritual – shaving soap – shaving brush – strokes over the face and knicks.
Some time in the late Forties, Gillette came out with its Super Speed twist-to-open model. When the blade was no longer sharp, you threw it away and put in a new blade. The dawning of a new era. While I no longer watched enraptured (I already knew he wasn’t indestructible), Dad kept me informed regarding each improvement. I still wasn’t shaving, but it was great to see how everything worked.
In 1950, Gillette came out with the Blue Blade. It was stainless steel and seemed to be the consummate safety razor. Dad very seldom cut himself. I started shaving in the 50’s and learned it wasn’t as easy as it looked.
I should probably say that there were other companies out there making good safety razors, but Gillette, in my mind, was a family tradition. Even after I left home, Dad and I would discuss the latest shaving technology. Trac II came out in 1971 with two blades. We liked it. In 1977, the Atra came out with a swivel head. We liked it. Let’s face it. We were easy. After shaving with a straight razor, Dad was fascinated with each improvement.
Whenever I hear about a straight razor, I think about the story my Uncle Bob would tell. When he was young, he would get his hair cut at a barber school. Barber students who were learning how to cut hair would practice on brave souls like Uncle Bob. The price was great, but not necessarily the results. Anyway, this young student was starting to shave around Bob’s ears. A teacher walked up and said, “If you ever feel the razor slipping in your hand, don’t grab for it or you’ll cut his ear off.” I told Uncle Bob, if I ever saw him looking lopsided, I would know what happened.
By the time the Gillette Sensor came out in 1990, with its spring-loaded blades, Dad was in his late seventies and not focusing much. Sometimes he remembered and sometimes he didn’t. I wish I would have mentioned shaving to him. I’ll bet that would have all come back to him.
Dad was gone when the Sensor 3 came out in 1995. I bought it and guess what? I liked it. I have purchased every new razor Gillette has brought out. But, I’m about ready to stop. First, I have a terrible time buying the right blades for my Gillette Fusion Power. I have brought home the wrong blades twice. I have thought about tattooing “FUSION POWER” on my knuckles, but what happens when the new model comes out. Then, I still have my old Mach 3 Turbo! Fortunately all of my mis- purchased blades work in my Turbo. I think I like the Mach 3 Turbo better. It doesn’t vibrate, but at my age, that’s probably good.
At Christmas time in 2005, I bought my son the latest Gillette model. I was disappointed when he wasn’t excited about it. It was dumb on my part. He didn’t know the history and quite frankly, even the throw aways today probably do a pretty good job. I guess you had to watch the Old Man use the straight razor to be wildly impressed.