Olympic Spirit

Well, it’s almost over. I have truly enjoyed the 2012 Olympic Games. Competition seems to bring out the best in some people. I think the excitement of the games probably speak louder to me than some due to the fact that I am a bit of an athlete myself. If you’ve watched the Amazing Wonders Aviation video I posted on Facebook then you already knew that.

I would never say that I’m particularly good at any of the events.

In fact, I wouldn’t even say that I like many of the events. But historically speaking, sport events become more and more enjoyable to me. I’m really glad that over time mankind has embraced sports like BMX bike racing and as silly as it is, water polo, and long forgotten other events such as lions eating Christians and that sort of thing.

I can’t really explain why I like the Olympics.

I don’t really like running. It hurts. If you ever see me running it might be a good idea for you to run too because if I’m running it means there is something really bad not too far behind me.

I like water. I like to be wet. But I don’t like swimming. I like soaking. In the last ten years I haven’t done much of either. I like big swimming pools but they are usually full of loud little kids. Loud little kids are like drunk people. Water has the same effect on kids as liquor does on adults. They lose all sense of volume and speak at volumes that would get you an O.S.H.A. citation at work or disturbing the peace citation if you had a party at your house that got out of hand.

I like to jump into water. As for diving, I not jumping head first into anything other than a plate full of crab legs.

My favorite event this year is Beach Volleyball. I feel a kindred spirit with volleyball players. They fall down a lot. Lately I fall a lot too. The only real difference between me and a volleyball player is that when a volleyball player goes after a ball and falls down…people cheer. When I fall down…people laugh.

I don’t get it.

With all that has been good about the 2012 Olympic Games there is something that really bothers me about the entire event.

First let me say that I understand all the hoopla about Calvin Clean (whatever his name is) and Olympic clothing made in China.

But come on! Couldn’t you find something made in the good ole USA other than your underwear to wear to the competition? Did you even bother running by Wal-Mart just to see what they might have?

Obviously not because for two solid weeks there have been scores of athletes running around all over London wearing nothing but a pair of drawers.

It’s not that it is terribly offensive to me.

It’s downright dangerous. and there are several other potential consequences.

Trust me. I Know.

I know the appeal of doing what you like or need to do while doing it wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. When I was self-employed there were days when I was out in the field and wore business casual when visiting customers or potential clients. There were other days when I was out in the studio repairing equipment or making sales calls when I went to work in my underwear.

That all ended the day I dropped a soldering iron into my lap.
I woke up that morning singing bass and I went to bed that night as a soprano.

There’s also the potential for emotional injury when you run around in your underwear or the wrong swimwear.

Case in point?...

The only time I’ve ever attempted to water ski could have easily been a day that would have destroyed my pride forever.
I got out of the boat, put on the skis and waited. The driver idled forward and tightened the ski rope. He looked back and yelled “are you ready?”

I yelled “I reckon”.

He kicked the throttle and tore off across the lake. I held the rope tight and went with him.

The water skis and my swimming trunks and underwear stayed behind.

Fortunately for me, my swimsuit and underwear are similar in size to a parachute. I was able to breast stroke back and recover my clothing.

THEREFORE…

I have to ask. What reasonably sensible grown man would put on a pair of panties, walk out in public while on international TV coverage, climb a 40 foot ladder, and dive head first into a swimming pool?

You’re just asking for it.

I like to walk on the beach; however I do not like sand in or on my underwear. A wet suit, flippers and a welding helmet seem like the better choice for beach volleyball.

I get it…I really do. I don’t like Calvin Klein clothes either. I guess it’s a good thing because they don’t make anything in XXXL anyway.

Actually I don’t like any clothes that have somebody else’s name on them. I’ve been that way since I was eleven years old when I came home from Boy Scout camp and discovered that I had on a pair of underwear with the name “Calvin” wrote on the waist band with a sharpie. I freaked out.

You would have too had you ever met Calvin. That was one of lifes bleachable moments.    

On another subject, I really do wish that some designer would make some cool clothes for big folk. Clothes that fit me look like the National Flag of Argentina.

I’m fat, not colored blind.

Fat people want to be incognita. They don’t want to wear something that cries out “look at me! Look at me! I’m fat!”

How come all the models in catalogs for big men clothing look like a yellow m&m or like they just appeared in a Fruit of the Loom commercial and wear their hair like Wally Cleaver?

Bottom line…

PUT ON SOME BRITCHES.

And if you insist on competing in boxer shorts let somebody besides your mama pick them out. Guys, you looked ridiculous.

Tonight I’m writing for two purposes.

I’ve said enough about the first one.

The second reason I am writing is to announce my intentions to go to Rio in 2016 and compete in the Olympic Games.

I’ve given up hope that Chicken Wing Eating will become an Olympic Event in time for the 2016 games so I have decided to petition the International Olympic Committee to allow me to compete under the IOC flag with an independent Synchronized Swim Team made up of Dan Holley, Marc Cassabon, Steve Jones, Jose Perez, Bobby Smith, and myself.

We will begin training as soon as we find a facility with a suitable privacy fence.

While our best shot will be as independent competitors, we will be as American as it gets when we get there. The choreography is already underway and our trade mark routine will be performed to the soundtrack “My Baby Is American Made” by the Oakridge Boys.

See ya in 2016!

 

This is a must read

I support 350 computers and their users at a school. School starts Monday so you might guess that I’ve been pretty busy with getting ready, making sure everything is running at its best, and getting rid of the remains of last year’s crop of boogers which are now securely adhered to the monitors and keyboards of the student computers. (The last school year produced a bumper crop.)

Actually, I like my work. I suppose, like anybody else’s job, mine has its moments but folks are fairly nice to me and I must be pretty good at my work. Like lawn mowers, computers are one of the greatest threats to my testimony but at the end of the day it’s all good.

Other people are good at their work too.

Sometimes I’m quick to criticize others. In particular, many of you have probably read some comments I posted about McDonalds a few months ago involving a meal I had and my policies concerning menu items with the designation of “number two”.

Today, I’m not writing to revisit my viewpoint on that atrocity again. If you want to know my thoughts on this important subject you can scroll down towards the bottom of this Facebook silliness called a “Timeline” and read my comments there.

While it’s true that I am passionately opinionated about many things in the world, today I am actually here to praise someone.

Oddly enough, this posting is also centered on an experience at McDonalds.

Two days ago I was covered up to my ears in work. For every support ticket I closed I got 6 new ones. Around 1:00 p.m. the diabetes medication caught up with my blood glucose and I knew I had to eat. I needed something quick so I jumped in the Ranger and headed for McDonalds.

I pulled up to the ordering kiosk where you pretend to understand what the words coming out of speakers with sound quality that reminds me of a movie at the old Thunderbird Drive In. I sucessfully fought off the high pressure up sale attack and finally convinced the voice that there wasn’t going to be any “go large” or 2 fried pies for a dollar.

I ordered a number 5. I wanted a number 4 in reality but number four is a multiple of number 2 and I just wasn’t in the mood to defend myself for anything that could even remotely be construed as selling out my life long pledge to never eat anything identified as “number two” EVEN if “number two” and “number four” are only distant cousins.

I pulled up to the first window to pay where there stood the most…how can I be nice…UNUSUAL looking young man I’ve ever seen. He relieved me of the biggest part of a ten dollar bill.

When I say unusual I mean--- at birth the doctor turned around and slapped his mama- unusual.

It wasn’t the cocked eyes or the 10 speed bicycle chain that pierced his bottom lip. It was more than the way he looked, rather the way he looked at me. I can’t explain it. It was like - the little chills and goose bumps you get when you see a flash of light in the corner of your eye that you can’t identify or when a great poet like Billy Ray Cyrus steps up to a microphone and the words “Achy Breaky Heart” spill off of his tongue….*SHIVERSSSSSSSSSS

We criticize McDonalds for their shortcomings but for the most part they are as fast at fast food as fast food gets. (Say that 10 times if you can!)

I pulled up to the window, got my cup and my happy sack and rolled out into the parking lot. It was only when I reached into my golden arched treasure chest did it occur to me what had actually taken place just a few moments ago.

The young man was not the serial killer I had first suspected him to be. Nor did he have a thing for middle age fat guys.

It was so much more than that.

Theres no other way to say it. This young man is GIFTED.

This young man is nothing short of a fast food prodigy, comparable to Einstein in his field of expertise.

While I was busy misinterpreting his scrutiny as something sinister this young man..this…..GOLDEN CHILD was quickly evaluating my needs as a customer and custom tailoring a culinary solution to match my specific needs.

OK..I’ll prove it.

I was in a hurry. BUT....I did not tell him I was in a hurry.

Yet, he instinctively responded to the urgency of my day in the following ways that I can only describe as phenominal.

#1 - I received a refrigerated Hamburger instead of a hot sandwich, thus eliminating the time it would have normally taken for enough reduction in temperature before my sandwich was safe to eat.

#3 - Instead of trying to drive while fishing French Fries out of some greasy cardboard container this wonderful young man had the foresight and customer service skills to put my French Fry container in my happy sack Upside Down…YES…you read it right. UPSIDE DOWNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

AND EVEN THOUGH I really didn’t even need the box he never even considered shorting me any of the value included in the meal. I received the empty box anyway.
Napkins? He obviously determined I couldn’t afford the time it takes to wipe ones mouth.

#4 And last but not least, I got a FREEBIE!

I ordered a soft drink but I was apparently upgraded to their latest fancy beverage. I think its called a “Mc’Boil”. It’s a 16 ounce cup of hot, flat, iceless Coke Zero.

In closing, I just wanted to publicly thank this young man for his devotion to the needs of the consumer. You see, I didn’t ask for anything special yet this young man took it upon himself to become a bright spot for me in an otherwise crappy day.

With his brand of work ethic and natural ability I’m quite sure that he can expect a long and less than rewarding career in the fast food industry.