Have I got a deal for you. If you subscribe to my blog before the end of the year, it is absolutely free. You have heard, “There is no such thing as a free lunch.” Well, this is it. Every time I post a blog, it will be emailed to your address free of charge.
Now, I know you have logged on to my site. That means you are, at least, curious, or related to me and feel obligated. I’m sure sometimes you log on and I haven’t written anything new. I won’t try to guess how that makes you feel, but it makes me feel like I have let you down. It is my responsibility to bring a smile to your face. I think of myself as the little “smile meister.” Now, the solution is for you to subscribe to my website and you will be one of the first to receive my latest contribution. In fact, you’ll get to see it with its original typos. I usually catch them and correct them down the line.
If you are reading this and you have missed the window for free subscription, don’t worry. There is no window. It is always free to subscribe. Free, free, free. I learned the ‘limited offer” gimmick from the local furniture store sales.
So, if you go to my site and you read my stuff, why wouldn’t you subscribe? If you are like me, you are worried about what is going to be done with your email address. Will it be sold? “Am I facing forty yards of spam?” Well, the answer is that your email address will be confidential. I will never even see it. I am set up through Go Daddy.com. I called them today just to confirm the confidentiality issue. Moira, a self-described Go Daddy girl, told me that their CEO, Bob Parsons, hates spam and will even come after me if I use my site to distribute spam. This was more information than I needed to know. And, Bob, if you are monitoring, I am being really good. So, future subscribers, don’t concern yourself with someone misusing your email address.
Now, how difficult is it to subscribe? If you have made it to my website, you are there. There is a column on the right hand side. If your column is on the left hand side, you are looking in a mirror. Please don’t do that. It makes it more difficult to control the mouse. Go to the bottom of the column and it will say, “subscribe.” There will be a box for you to type in your email address. Please do so and then click the button. You will receive an email so that you can confirm that you subscribed. Also, there will be a note telling you that there will be an opportunity to unsubscribe present on each future email.
So, that’s it. This is as close as you are ever going to get to a free lunch. Grab it!
Category Archives: Random Thoughts
That’s What I Love About This Country
In 1975, there was a sitcom on ABC-TV called “Hot L Baltimore.” It was a comedy about a seedy Baltimore hotel (the “E” in the hotel sign was burned out), and the people who lived there. There were prostitutes, illegal aliens and probably the first gay couple in a TV sitcom. Norman Lear produced it and it lasted only one season.
In one episode, a very likable, hard working Hispanic laborer (who lived in the hotel) got a traffic ticket and the next thing you know, he is about to be deported. According to the plot, he had a legitimate reason for being permitted to stay in this country (my memory is vague on that issue). The Immigration judge was not willing to listen to his lawyer and things looked bleak. Then, one of the hotel prostitutes recognized the judge as one of her regular customers. She was able to persuade the judge not to deport her friend. As the show was closing, the prostitute announced, “That’s what I love about this country. The system works!”
Some years back, a young Russian woman (yes, she had a green card) would ride to work with our carpool. She was proud of her Russian heritage and even though she had been in this country long enough to apply for citizenship, she had decided to remain a citizen of Russia. I talked to her about becoming a US citizen and she would politely tell me that she was happy with her situation.
Shortly after 9/11, she told me that when the terrorists attacked the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, she felt they were attacking her country. And, at that time, she decided to become a US citizen.
The paperwork is somewhat daunting. Eventually she found the necessary document, filed the paperwork and met with an Immigration’s examiner. He required one additional document which she provided the next day. She was told she would hear from them shortly. A month went by. Three months went by. After about six months, I volunteered to call and find out what was the hold up. The Immigration people I called were alway polite, but were never in a position to answer my questions. They did not have her records. I asked if I could contact the people who had the records and was told that that was impossible. “If they were answering the phones all day, they wouldn’t get any work done.” They advised that they would forward my inquiry to the people with the records. It was like Catch 22. I could call and have a polite, friendly conversation with someone who had no information on the matter and when I hung up, I had accomplished zip. This went on for a couple of months.
Then, I realized that I knew an Immigration judge. Wayne Iskra was a former JAG and a good friend. I finally had the opportunity to sit down with him and explain my friend’s plight. When I was done, Wayne smiled and said, “I was afraid your friend was getting ready to be deported.” I guess I wasn’t the first to ask a favor. Wayne took the information and said he would call me. A few days later, he called and said everything was in order and how would she like to be sworn in the next week. Wayne would personally swear her in.
And that’s what happened. She was sworn in the following Tuesday. At the end of the ceremony (which was just for her), I thought to myself. That’s what I love about this country. The system works!
TV Commercials – Can You Hear Me Now?
I like TV commercials. I know that sounds weird, but I carefully look at each new one. After I have seen it once, I may have no further use for it. As soon as I see Mr. Clean, I move on. But, I keep watching for that special one I may enjoy.
This used to cause me some discomfort during the Super Bowl. I didn’t want to miss any of the game and I didn’t want to miss any of the new commercials. As soon as I would see a repeat commercial, I would race out of the room. Now, with the ability to pause my TV, it will be a more enjoyable experience.
I enjoyed the “Can you hear me now?” commercials from Verizon. I have Verizon and as much as I enjoy the commercials, I could take that fellow to a few places where my Verizon phone doesn’t work. For example, the hospital at Walter Reed. Now, I know it is a massive building with good reasons for poor reception. I wouldn’t mind the reception problem if everyone else had the same problem. But, I see all kinds of people talking on their cell phones. Mine says, “No Service.”
I don’t think I have selected products based upon commercials. When I look at the Capital One commercials (“What’s in your wallet?”), I always say, I would never use that product. But, I probably wouldn’t use Capital One regardless of their commercials. Getting 30 pieces of mail from them each month may have jaded me.
I think after watching the commercial, the viewer should at least know the name of the product. That’s about all I know about advertising. I do think it is stupid to have your product used by someone that everybody finds contemptuous. There is a Snickers’ commercial where a bunch of people dressed up in costumes are in front of a convenience store. The first fellow says, “They were out of Snickers bars.” The second fellow (who is dressed like a Viking) screams “No!” and at the same time picks up a trash can and throws it at a car in the parking lot (I would feel better if they told me it was his car). Then the first fellow says, “But they did have Snickers with dark chocolate.” Whereupon, the Viking fool screams “Yes!” and throws another trash can at the same car doubling the damage. He then starts woofing down the Snickers like some kind of animal.
This is the moment when I scratch my head and ask, “Is this how Snickers want to portray their customers, as vandalizing buffoons?” I guess they don’t care. They just want me to know they have dark chocolate. Well, I like Snickers bars and am probably not so offended that I will stop eating them. I just wish the commercial would have ended with a blue-flashing light rolling up.
Blogging Through the Blogosphere
My wife, Carole, found an article in the Washington Post entitled, “Be More Than a Blip in the Blogosphere.” That sounded like it might be helpful. I didn’t want to be a blip, so I read the things they suggested to make me a successful blogger.
I started out in good shape. They suggested to “tell stories and don’t just post photos and links.” I thought, “that’s me, I tell stories, even in my poems.” I don’t post photos cause I don’t know how (don’t give up on me – I will learn). Next, they suggested creating a voice. After studying it for a while, I realized they meant having an area of expertise, like being a movie critic, or into cooking, or city council politics. I strike out on that one. I think my topic of “Random Thoughts,” on a scale of one to ten, gets me a zero. But, I submit my “voice” is humor. I try (emphasis on try) to be funny in each submission. I’m not talking about knee slapping funny. If I have caused a little smile to cross your face, I will be delighted.
The next suggestion left me in a stupor. They suggested that I “sift through blogrolls and create one” of my own. I am familiar with egg rolls and nut rolls. I jumped ahead to the next suggestion to see if I could survive without blogrolling. But, the next suggestion told me to “widget my page!” I thought a widget was something that was bought and sold in an Economics 101 class. I decided not to blogroll my widget until I figured out what the hell was going on.
By now, I knew I was the proverbial babe. But the article is going to help. Here is what I am going to do. I’m going to look at other people’s blogs and comment on them, plugging ricequips.com every chance I get. I’m going to join the “blogging community” so that I can post ricequips.com. Then, in keeping with their advice, I am going to nominate ricequips.com for an award (the bigger the better). I am going to nominate myself for some award so that I can say at the top of my website, “Nominated for the Most Original and Entertaining Website in North America.” I have no shame. Three years from now, it will say “Nominated for Three Consecutive Years!”
One thing you can do for me is subscribe to ricequips.com. If you have looked at my home page and you can’t figure out how to do it, then forget I mentioned it. The price is right. It’s free. And then, each time I click on the publish button, an email will go out to you with my latest effort. Think about it. If you don’t, then I am going to have to start widgeting my blogroll.
Little Nikki
Harry Truman said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog!” Well, we’ve had dogs most of the time we’ve been in Washington and there are days when I’m satisfied that Old Harry knew what he was talking about. A year and a half ago, however, our dog, Holly, died. We had truly lost a dear friend. We were in no mood to replace her. Plus, we were in our sixties, about to retire, and wanted to travel.
So, here we are, sitting on our couch, starring at a little bundle of fluff we have named Nikki. We spent a year talking about how much we missed Holly, and it didn’t make any sense to replace her. We discussed how great it was to be able to pick up whenever we wanted and head out on the “spur of the moment.” Of course, we had never been “spur of the moment” people. We fall somewhere between deliberate and regimented. So, what are we doing with this puppy?
Carole would say, “Of course if we ever did get another dog, I would want another Sheltie and to go back to Pat Schap.” That is how we got Holly. Pat evaluated dogs for temperament and steered us right on Holly.
So here we are 18 months later and still questioning ourselves. That probably was most telling. For 18 months, we have been saying, it just isn’t very smart to acquire a pet. But, if we didn’t want one, why is the conversation continuing.
We made the decision driving back to the St. Louis area for that Class of 57′ reunion. We have made many significant decisions on long road trips. That’s how we decided on a career in the Army. Miles together in a car is an excellent time for discussion and decision making. We were driving through Mexico when we committed to the Army. Not much on the radio to distract our conversation.
Pat Schap is no longer a breeder, but she put us on to Linda Sanders in Clifton, Virginia, who according to Pat, “knows her puppies.” Last week, we picked our eight-week-old Sheltie, who didn’t know her name, wouldn’t come when we called her and would potty whenever she felt like it. But we knew all that when we got her and Nikki is improving every day. Training a dog requires you first train yourself. You need to look on puppy mistakes as great training opportunities. We are getting lots of great training opportunities.
As I said, we knew about all the time demanded by a puppy when we entered on this trek. We probably didn’t factor into the formula how, at our age, she was going to wear us out. But it’s a cost-benefit thing. The cost in time and energy is high. Plus, our plants in the backyard aren’t fairing too well. She is trying out those baby teeth on everything (plants, flowers, rugs and ankles). On the benefit side, we have a little creature who we are enjoying and loving and she is learning to love us. So the costs are high, but so are the benefits. And, the costs will be going down and the benefits will be increasing (invest in a dog)!
Nikki is already stalking toys, then leaping on them. When she leaps, sometimes the toy fairs better that she does. But with her herding instincts, it’s just a matter of time till she has all of her toys in a tight little group.
Our daughter, Missy, helped with the name Nikki. When Carole told Missy that Missy’s name was one of the more popular dog names (top 20), she came up with a name quickly.
Taking liberties with Harry Truman’s quote, I would say, if you want an additional loving friend in Washington, you can’t miss with a dog.
Class of 57′
If you live long enough, you can go to your 50th high school reunion. You don’t have to go. As rite of passages go, it’s not a big deal. But it’s nice to be around and have the option.
My wife, Carole, had her 50th high school reunion a few weeks ago. We both graduated from East Side High in East St. Louis, Illinois. I was a year ahead of her, so we have a “twofer.” She sees her friends at mine and I see my friends at hers. The only real draw back is you see so many old people. It kind of gets us thinking that we probably don’t look much better.
We drove from Virginia to Illinois. When I was practicing full time, I couldn’t afford to drive. We flew everywhere. I needed to be billing hours for the firm. Now, we can relax (and put my golf clubs in the trunk of the car). I got two rounds in. One was connected with the reunion and the other was with three East Side buddies from the Class of 56′. Jim Starr picked up Ben Burkett, Larry Hawks and me, and off we went to the Prairies of Cahokia
I went into the clubhouse, paid, picked up a cart and headed back to the car to load up my clubs. My clubs had already been removed from the trunk of the car and my putter was missing. I have my putter cover tied to my bag, so I won’t lose it, and it was just hanging there. If I had just thought who I was playing with, I would have immediately known that they were jerking me around. But, I am so used to forgetting things that I instantly assumed that I had left it at home. I must have looked pretty pathetic because Hawks quickly gave me back my putter. I was delighted that I hadn’t forgotten anything. A few trips back, it was my golf shoes. Once you get 100 miles from home, turning back is not an option.
At the big Saturday night dance, I bumped into a tall fellow with glasses whose name tag said Charles Waldo. We immediately shook hands and started reminiscing. Charlie was three years senior to me, so I never expected to see him at the reunion. He had married one of Carole’s classmates. I knew Charlie through baseball. He was a pitcher and my brother, Bill, and I were catchers (Bill and Charlie were in the same class). Charlie used to come over to our house and practice pitching. Bill would catch and my dad, who had caught professionally, would coach Charlie. I think my role was to chase balls that got past Bill. Seeing Charlie after all these years was a feel good experience. Plus, I now know the answer to that time honored question, Where’s Waldo?
Charlie wasn’t the only pitcher I ran into. Mel Roustio was in Carole’s class and I caught him in high school and American Legion ball. He was a good pitcher, but a better basketball player. He went on to play college basketball and then spent most of his adult life as a high school basketball coach. Our high school basketball coach was named Pick Dehner. I mention this because after Mel became a coach, he actually coached against Pick Dehner.
Pick was six foot five and best described as demonstrative and occasionally explosive. On reflecting back, the thing that frustrated me most about Pick was I never learned anything from him. It didn’t matter in baseball, because I had my dad watching my every move. But in basketball, I needed someone to teach me how to play defense. I have always considered myself trainable. But, it wasn’t until I attended Command and General Staff College that some of my classmates taught my how to play defense. I went to C&GSC and the Army War College on an athletic scholarship.
Mel told me that when he was coaching at Edwardsville, they were scheduled to play against East Side and Pick Dehner. One of his assistant coaches told him that they needed to do something to distract Pick. They decided on the following ploy: Mel sent Pick a telegram. It read, “Pick, Disregard the first telegram. Mel.” It drove Pick crazy trying to find out about the “first telegram.” That and a last second shot gave the victory to Edwardsville.
Reunions are for finding out where’s Waldo and reliving great stories. The Pick Dehner story made the trip worthwhile. It also gave me a chance to vent about how he never taught me defense. Maybe he decided that my position on the bench didn’t require much defense. I need to stop now – I have to prepare a telegram.
Women and Cell Phones
I like to observe people. Downtown Washington, D.C. is an ideal location. It’s best to wear sun glasses. In a small town, everybody says hello, but in a big city, making eye contact is a no-no. If someone does smile or nod at me, I know they are visiting.
One of the things I noticed is that women always seem to be talking on a cell phone. During lunch, after work, regardless of street location, there they are talking away.
Since I would rather look at women than men, I thought maybe my observations were skewed. So, I decided to turn my observations into a random unscientific survey. Those are really the best kind of surveys. Scientific surveys, which gather large volumes of data end up telling us what we already know (like people with criminal records are more likely to get in trouble in the military than people with no criminal record), or concluding with a result that was bought and paid for (such as cigarettes don’t cause cancer).
If you are doing a random unscientific survey, you don’t have to worry about things like a regression analysis or a chi-square test. They would be difficult to do since I have no idea what they are.
As part of my survey, I just started counting and recording. In order to be counted, the person had to have the phone to his or her ear. Hey, I make the rules. My first attempt resulted in 13 women and five men. I think that is statistically significant. Then, four women and one man (some of my unscientific survey sessions only lasted a few minutes). After just two weeks, I shut the survey down. I had satisfied myself that on the streets of DC, there are more women talking on cell phones than men.
But, what does it mean? Does it mean that women have more friends? Are they better multi-taskers? They can walk and talk at the same time. Or, are they more chatty? Let’s face it, there is a Chatty Kathy doll, but there is no Chatty Charlie doll.
I concluded there are too many possible reasons why this is occurring. This is going to require a full blown investigation. As I am just about retired from the Fox, and seeking other opportunities, I think I will conduct the investigation. I just need to find someone stupid enough to pay for it. I know, I’ll get a government grant!
Die Hard Cardinal Fan
I grew up in East St. Louis, Illinois – right across the Mississippi River from St. Louis. I loved the St. Louis Cardinals and still do. Every night during the season, I would go to bed listening to Harry Carey and Gabby Street broadcasting the end of the Cards game. That’s right, Harry Carey. Before he became the voice of the Chicago Cubs, he spent decades with the St. Louis Cardinals.
My Dad played professional baseball. He was a catcher and spent most of his time in the minor leagues. When he was catching for the Albany Senators (NY), his roommate on road trips was Ralph Kiner. If you don’t know who Ralph Kiner is, that is OK. Most people don’t. But, the hard corps fans know he played for the Pittsburgh Pirates and led the National League in home runs from 1946 through 1952, and is in the Hall of Fame. Dad taught me and my brother, Bill, how to be a catcher. The Rice household was big on baseball (on being a catcher) and the Cardinals were our team.
I now live in the Washington DC area and cheer for the Washington Nationals (except when they are playing the Cardinals). So when the Cardinals came to town last week, I had to go see them.
The University of Missouri Alumni Association held a tailgate party for the Saturday night game. My daughter Missy, visiting for a few days from Jacksonville, Florida, and I went to the tailgate. The temperature was 98 degrees and there was no shade. The food was great, but hot and steamy. There was free beer! A much appreciated donation from, who else, Anheuser-Busch. Yes, being a St. Louis fan has its advantages.
Even free beer couldn’t keep us from escaping the sun. When we got to our seats, there was somebody sitting in them. Our entire section was practically empty, except for the four people sitting in and around our seats. This was not a problem. They had just sat there to avoid the sun while they ate. We told them we would sit elsewhere while they finished their dinner, but they were embarrassed and moved right out.
The game turned out to be a Redbird disaster. The final score was 12-1 and Albert Pujols didn’t play. What a bummer. They got beat like an old rug. The only high point in the game was that we didn’t get anyone seriously injured. Other than that, it was a washout. Here is an example. The Nats had a runner on second base and the batter laced a line drive to center field. Jim Edmonds, our center fielder, has a great arm and I just knew he would throw the runner out at home plate. I have seen him do it any number of times. I glanced at the runner and he is rounding third and heading for home. I look back to center field and Edmonds is sitting on his butt. He obviously slipped on the turf. As I said, the good news is he wasn’t seriously hurt.
A sociologist would have a field day at the park. There is as much entertainment in the stands as on the field. Sitting across the aisle from us was a guy all decked out in Redskin regalia. He also had a large Redskin banner that he paraded up and down the aisle. I concluded that it probably was about the best time to cheer for the Redskins. We hadn’t even lost a pre-season game yet. It didn’t surprise us to find out that our Redskin fan was drunk. He was a friendly drunk, which is the best kind. He told me he was a Cardinal fan and a National fan. So rather than make a hard choice, he dressed as a Redskin fan. I wondered how that would work in politics. If you liked both Obama and Hillary, you could just start combing your hair like John Edwards.
The good news for our section was that all the altercations were of the verbal variety. Close, but no fisticuffs. My daughter thought we might have to step in and defuse the situation. I told her she needed to come up with an alternate plan that moved us in the opposite direction. One man accused another of touching him. This led to shouting. The thing I found humorous was that all the participants were National fans. This was not about team allegiance (which I could understand), it was about personal space.
I think the score was 10-1 when we decided to relinquish our personal space. By leaving early, we failed to see Tony La Russa, our manager, put second baseman, Arron Miles, in to pitch. Miles did better than our real pitchers. Maybe La Russa is on to something.
As we wandered around outside the stadium trying to find our car, I was smiling. Nothing that happens this year can take away from that warm wonderful feeling of last year. We stumbled and fumbled into the playoffs and then, won it all. The only way we got into the playoffs was by Houston losing the last game of the season. The playoff memories of knocking off the Padres, the Mets and then, the Tigers to win the World Series are still fresh. The Championship came with a two year smile warranty.
Barack Obama
Yesterday, I received a letter from Barack Obama. I suspect most of you have by now. Somehow, I have gotten on both the Republican and Democratic mailing lists. It is humorous reading what each is saying about the other. Both say the other is destroying our country. You really need to see both sides to keep it in perspective.
I thought he would be telling me that he is running for President and requesting money. That’s what fund raising is all about. Well, he was requesting money, but not for himself. He was asking me to send money to the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee. He said the Demos surprised the Republicans in 2006, but it wouldn’t be that easy in 2008. Those rascal Republicans “won’t be caught off guard again.”
My thought is, if the Demos want to keep control of the Senate, they better start being nice to Joe Lieberman.
Well, I wasn’t interested in contributing my money to anybody. So, you ask, “Why did you read the literature, if you had already made up your mind that you weren’t going to contribute?” I read it because I was hoping that somewhere buried in the text was information on how I could meet the Obama Girl. I could care less if Obama and Hillary want to fight over whether we should sit down with foreign tyrants. I just want to meet the Obama Girl! Let’s keep politics simple.
On to Talkeetna, Alaska
We just got back from a “cruise-tour” of Alaska. They call it a cruise-tour because you spend five days on the ground in Alaska and then jump on a cruise ship to wander through the Inside Passage. You can do the cruise first (start in Vancouver), but I have no idea how to handle the land portion after stuffing yourself for seven days on board a ship.
It’s a nice package, particularly if you have a problem with sea sickness. It is impossible to get seasick in the Inside Passage. You’ve got land all around you and it is like floating in a community lake. After a week on ship, you’ll still have no idea what the expression “see legs” means. That’s fine with me. I am not big on seeing my food more than once. My first tattoo is going to say “terra firma.”
We traveled by train from Anchorage to Talkeetna. If you saw the TV show, Northern Exposure, you have an idea of what to expect in Talkeetna. We were a few days early for their major social function of the year, The Talkeetna Moose Dropping Festival. No, they don’t drop a moose. We are talking about moose droppings. It is the major fund raiser in Talkeetna, sponsored by the VFW for the benefit of the Talkeetna Historical Society.
This is a raffle where you purchase a little ball of moose poop which has been shellacked and numbered. In fact, there are two balls with the same number. One has a pin in it, making it suitable for wearing at appropriate occasions (which is anytime in Talkeetna). The second ball is held for the contest. All of the second moose-dropping balls are placed in a net, hauled into the air and dropped over a bulls-eye. The moose dropping that lands closest to the bulls-eye is the winner. You are also the winner if your little ball of poop bounces or rolls farthest form the bulls-eye. Sorry we missed it.
Prior to the moose dropping event, they have a parade, “right down Main Street.” Then, they turn around and march right up Main Street. The street is so short that if you get in the right spot, you will never lose sight of the parade. A parade in Alaska reminds me of the parades we used to have when I was a kid. There were no expensive floats or glitter, just high school bands and fire trucks and friends waiving to friends. It caused good, warm feelings that stayed with you throughout the year.
Ten years ago, we were in Ketchikan, Alaska on the 4th of July. What a great parade – right out of the 1950’s. All the high school graduates who were celebrating class reunions were piled into the back of flat bed trucks. There was the Class of 1992; the Class of 1987; the Class of 1982, and so on. Ketchikan can only be reached by sea or air, but everyone returns for the 4th of July celebration. It is probably the only time I will see a fully loaded logging truck in a 4th of July parade.
After spending a day in the Denali National Park, we returned to Talkeetna to spend a night at the Talkeetna Alaskan Lodge. It is quite modern and has a spectacular view of Mt. McKinley. The only problem is that Mt. McKinley is bashful. It doesn’t show itself very often. In fact, they have concluded that only 30% of those looking for Mt. McKinley get to see it. You can purchase a 30% pin indicating you were part of the 30% that saw it. You can wear the pin right next to your moose dropping pin.
Mt. McKinley is so elusive that you can request the Lodge call you if McKinley shows itself. I did, and at 10:30 PM I received a call. I hustled up to the Lodge and there it was in all its beauty. However, even though it was 10:30 at night, the sun was shining in my eyes. The sun was scheduled to set at 11:27 PM, so I went back to my room; then back to the Lodge at 11:15. The sun was behind the mountain, making for some great photo shots. The only problem was that this was my second night in Alaska and I was still functioning on Eastern Daylight Savings Time. My body thought it was 3:30 in the morning.
The bottom line is the Lodge is great, the town is strange and I don’t think they will be able to lure me back for Winter Dog Mushing.