As i have mentioned I am getting up there in age.  Because of that I have to tell you I have become more alert to the proliferating number of scamming operations that are swirling around my fellow saliva-droolers and blue-haired walker-pushers.  One thing I’ve personally been confronted with lately is magazine double-billing.  This sounds like a scam, but in my case I can’t say that is an accurate assumption.  My wife and I subscribe to three magazines- Time, The Week, and Consumer Reports.  For the most part, I have always considered the content of all three to be factually accurate and suitable to my needs.  No problem there.  But all three at one time or another have had some sort of accounting wire-crossing episode when it came time to send me a bill.  Recently I even had two copies of the same magazine sent to me every month for an entire year.  I’m forever getting billing notices four or five months after I have already paid for an annual subscription.  WTF!  Admittedly, one problem might fall squarely on my shoulders.  Actually I should say my wife’s shoulders.  It was her sister who talked us into purchasing some magazine subscriptions from one of her kids who needed to score a cub scout badge or something.  You know that routine.  And I’m not saying I am totally blameless.  We’ve all been there- doing groundwork for our kids when they should be the ones pounding the pavement for those sales.

You know, come to think of it, I am blameless.  I was a shitty salesman as a kid and I am pretty sure I passed that right on down to both of my kids.  I hated knocking on doors and pandering to crotchety old geezers, especially Old Man Smith who lived in the house next to us when I was growing up.  He was an asshole with all the trimmings.  Because of that I really can’t say I recall ever badgering friends and neighbors on behalf of my kids and their sales projects.  I have always tried to avoid hypocritical conduct when forced into an example setting situation with my children.  I can’t claim to be the perfect parent, of course.  I admit there were those times when I had to take the “college amendment.”  That’s the thing when you tell your kids to do as you say, not as you did.  It exempts you from those mistakes you made in college that involved massive amounts of alcohol.  But overall I tried to parent by example and did a pretty good job if I do say so myself.  I have two great kids who overall haven’t given me too much grief.  Neither of them pursued a career in sales, but they’ve certainly done all right with the career paths they have chosen.  In the end I think I probably did them a favor.   It was ok with me if they only sold a couple boxes of Thin Mints or a bag or two of microwave popcorn.  The real lesson for them I suppose was dealing with the scorn of respective scout masters and mistresses, but so what?  No pressure from old dad to overachieve.  I think that is retroactively important.

Now back to this billing thing.  Maybe, just maybe, there were those rare situations where we had one subscription going and then along came the plea to buy another from a relative or pathetic looking Camp Fire Girl.  But god damn it.  These magazine people have computers by now don’t they?  Can’t they do some cross-referencing.  I mean you match up 3 or 4 pieces of identity data and you have the same person.  Come on!  It’s not rocket science.  When I was a practicing pharmacist we looked for personal identity duplication all the time as we entered  patient information.  It’s  basic computer safety and common sense.  And don’t forget etiquette.  Don’t leave that out. For Pete’s sake you have a phone on your desk, and another one in your pants pocket you set on vibrate, not because your boss told you to, but because you hope you’ll get a long series of robo-calls that will bump your dick and keep it occupied for awhile.  Pull it out (NO NOT THAT!) and give me the courtesy of a call if you’re not sure the data your looking at is repetitive.

So maybe all this isn’t exactly a scam. but man it does piss me off.

2/26-  I am really looking forward to trying out the new Kellogg’s Raisin Bran WITH CRANBERRIES!  My wife picked a box up for me this afternoon.  I told her to be sure and get the box WITH CRANBERRIES and she came through.  Sometimes she screws things up on her trips to the supermarket, especially the weekly one.  Once a week.  Like clockwork.  Well almost like clockwork.  She usually goes on Thursdays, but every once in awhile something comes up and she has to go on Wednesday.  Sometimes Friday.  She really hates to go on Saturday.  She says that’s the day it’s a complete shit-storm at that place.  She is pretty good at listing items on her grocery list.  That list is part of my routine too.  We go over it together every morning the day before she actually makes the trip.  We both figure that’s a good idea.  Then maybe if we fuck up and leave something off the list, it gives us a whole day to add it to the original.  But I worry sometimes she’s not paying attention to details, like she might write down just Raisin Bran and skip the WITH CRANBERRIES part.   I don’t like to look over peoples shoulders.  That used to really bother me when I was working.  So I make it a point not to do that with my wife.  And as I mentioned, since I now have a box of Raisin Bran WITH CRANBERRIES in my kitchen cabinet ,  this was a needless concern this time.  Sometimes I just want to give my wife a big hug.

2/27-  Well shit!  I hate to be the one to break the news, but Kellogg’s Raisin Bran with cranberries is a HUGE disappointment.  Not only did I find the product sorely lacking in cranberries, but I think those jokers over at Kellogg’s actually cut back on the raisins.  They probably figured since they were throwing in the cranberries, they could sneak one by us and leave out some raisins.  I think that really sucks.

2/28-  Once again my wife brought back our 1997 Tercel from the Toyota dealership unwashed.  The car needed service again, so as we have done since we have owned it, we drove it to the dealership to get fixed. The car is 18 years old, so as you can see we are nothing if not loyal.  I know we are probably suckers to keep using a dealership for service work, but both my wife and I have trust issues.  We bought the car from these people, and we feel their service department might have a leg up on keeping up with service needs of this car.  Plus, come on.  The car’s approaching the quarter century mark. It’s a two day wait for parts to arrive before repairs can even get started.   I am guessing a dealership has much faster access to parts than anyone doing independent service.

But the dirty car thing is starting to get on my nerves.  For years it was never a problem.  That’s because for years this dealership never had an automated car wash.  Our car was always returned to us with exactly the same amount of dirt on it as when we brought it in.  Then the dealership moved.  You know why they moved?  We were told by the service people there that it was because they didn’t have an automated car wash.  Didn’t have room.  The current facility was too small.  They needed more space.  So they moved, and they moved to a location that is at least a multiple of four distances from what was already an inconvenient drive for us.  I mean it is way in the fuck out there.  It’s over a half hour drive, and that’s if you happen to get lucky and take the expressway when its not jammed with rush hour traffic.  And my wife refuses to take the expressway anyway.  Makes her all nervous-like.  Her route takes a solid 45 minutes,  and thats on a good day without construction detours.  Our Toyota dealership has been at its new location for four years now, and we have had the Tercel serviced there five times.  You know how many times the car has come back clean?  Once.  Their automated car wash has a batting average of .200.  In baseball you get sent back to the minors for that lack of production.  Is that nuts or what?  You know what I would do if I was in charge and told people we had to move because it was imperative we have an automated car wash and then the automated car wash turned out to be a piece of shit?  I’d have the lowest guy on the service department totem pole get out there with a garden hose and bucket of suds and start scrubbing.  I don’t give a shit if it’s snowing.  My reputation is at stake.  That’s what I’d do.

I know this is the time of year you really start to concentrate on college basketball.  It won’t be long and you’ll be filling out your brackets.  Right now it’s important to watch any game you can channel surf to and get a good line on team performance.  But your wife or girlfriend could not give a rat’s ass about this stuff.  They have their own final four going on right now and you, my friend, might be missing out on some intense action.  I’m talking about the reality TV program “The Bachelor,” and after stumbling across an episode last week I found myself unable to let go.  I only watched my basketball game during Bachelor commercial breaks.  It was that gripping.

But I know how totally disinterested you are about this kind of stuff and would consider it a complete waste of time to watch anything but a sports channel, so I decided I would do you a favor and get you caught up on what’s been happening in girly world.  Pay attention.  This is a huge opportunity for you to score some points with your lady-friend.  I have things broken down into basics, strengths and weakness of each contender,  and putting things in terms you can understand.  Plus what you have here is concise.  It will give you  a precise synopsis of all the carryings-on so you can get back to ESPN in a timely manner.  Sorry I couldn’t have this ready for Valentines day,

GAME RULES:  Basically what the contest amounts to is a whole bunch of very desperate women preening themselves and fawning over one lucky guy, the official “Bachelor,” each of them emboldened with the hope that he will have the good sense to choose her as his wife.  I think they get married anyway.  From what I am gathering that is the whole point behind all the drama.  And there might be some kind of tricky point of law or religious objection otherwise.   The best part about it is the Bachelor is in complete control.  I think he can even make shit up on the fly.  I don’t know where they find all these women.  I mean from what I understand they show up on the Bachelor’s door step by the dozen. I don’t know how many women they start with.  As I mentioned I just recently tuned in.  But where were they when I was in college?  There are so many women that the Bachelor has to eliminate them by the hand-full.  And again that is totally up to his discretion.  No involvement by any nosey, overly judgmental outsiders.

LIST OF CHARACTERS:

THE BACHELOR (and Grand Prize): Brad- Home Town: Pisga, Iowa.   This is the object of all attention, a stud-muffin of a guy who makes sure he never misses his daily gym work-out.  He can’t afford that.  Not only might his six-pack abs whither on the vine, but he’s got to corner the towel attendant again to help him figure out how to apply his testosterone patch.  This could be you if you work on that belly flab and soak your head every night in a bucket of Rogaine.  And it might not hurt to get some orthodontic work done.  Wearing long-sleeved shirts should provide good enough cover for that skin condition.  OCCUPATION: Auto Sales Executive.  Translation:  Works for his father at a Ford dealership.  With some quick thinking (something that is of a premium with Brad) he talked his dad into giving him a title indicative of some prestige when he found out he was a Batchelor candidate.  His office door plate reads “Sales Vice President of Small and Medium-sized Trucks”.

THE FINAL FOUR:

Krystal- Home Town: Lickskillet, Ohio.   Bleached blond with huge knockers.  Was smart enough to realize early on that Sadam Husain was never hoarding WMD’s but heard through the grapevine, which amounts to the bartender at the strip club she works at,  that he was trying to corner the market on her favorite brand of Russian vodka.  She was very glad we invaded so we could get that rumor all cleared up.  OCCUPATION: Dancing Instructor (translation: Pole dancer)

Bobbi Jo- Home Town: Dallas, Texas.    Knock-out red-head with delicately chiseled face.  Her parents had an orthodontist install a couple of extra teeth in her jaw when she was ten so her smile would stand out during all the beauty pageants they entered her in.  They were supremely confident the expense was justified after Bobbi Jo was crowned  “Miss Correct Posture” queen. OCCUPATION: Chiropractic intern (translation:  Private masseuse)

Chastity- Home Town: Sugar City, Idaho.   Defines the phrase “innocently cute.”  In fact, she professes to be a virgin, and Is convinced Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon, as well as evolution, are a hoax.  OCCUPATION: Sandwich artist (translation: Blimpies employee)

Starr- Home Town: Toad Suck, Kansas.   Petite brunette whose small stature and small town upbringing belie her extensive reputation.  What is the complete polar opposite of a virgin?  Nail that image and you’ve nailed Starr, as has any male over the age of 16 in Toad Suck and half of the guys living in any adjacent county.  Moved to LA to open up her availability.  OCCUPATION; Cosmetic developer (translation: Clinique Counter clerk)

FIRST SEMI-FINAL

This was one of those contests that almost went into overtime.  Brad was under some very intense pressure to choose between Starr and Chastity.  WTF is a man to do in this situation?  A virgin on one hand and a gal that knows all the ropes on the other.  That’s every type of rope,  as well as a working knowledge of every kind of knot used in tying up people with those ropes.  Very helpful to Brad with his decision making process was Chastity’s sister Wanda.  In the way of explanation, at this stage of the competition, the Bachelor gets to go visit the home towns of the remaining contestants and pump their family members for any inside information they might be willing to part with.  Turns out Wanda was more than willing to spill her guts.  It was from this sister that Brad found out Chastity was completely intact.  So complete is the intactness that Wanda professed she thought Chastity was a little off the beam with her reclusiveness and ought to get out more, or have someone get in more.  Brad started to get the picture as Wanda was stroking her hand over his thigh.  No one is sure what went on because right at this point there was a commercial break.  Probably just as helpful to Brad was the information he gleaned from Starr’s brother Ted during his visit to Toad Suck.  Being a fellow guy (and knowing this was his one shot at his fifteen minutes of fame) Ted thought he could score some big points with Brad and the national TV audience by letting everyone in America and whoever was watching overseas know  what a  whoring slut his sister was.  When Brad ratted Ted out for telling this tale, Starr immediately took the offensive by opening up her laptop and giving Brad a good gander at the 500 plus nude photos of herself.   This seemed to be just too much for Brad.  I got the feeling that all those pictures reminded him of that date he had a couple years back with a girl from Des Moines.  It was shortly after that encounter that he experienced some very intense pain during urination and the fix was an almost as painful injection of penicillin in his ass.  I am not sure if that stuff entered into his decision or not, but at any rate in the end Chastity got the rose and Starr went home empty-handed.

Oh, I forgot.  At the conclusion of every episode the Bachelor hands out roses to all the winners.  If you don’t get a rose, you don’t advance to the next round.  You’re a loser.  And believe me the gals involved in this production don’t take kindly to rejection and are not the best of sports when dealing with defeat.  Not a lot of congratulatory hand shaking going on here.  There’s weeping.  And unrestrained sobbing.  Lots of that.  Quite a bit of vindictive bad-mouthing and name calling.  But it’s not directly confrontational.  All the tormented expression of inadequacy and verbal bitch-slapping is pretty much reserved for the time spent alone inside of the limo that transports the distressed damsels from the  promising house of romance to the hotel that houses the losers.  From all appearances it is a distressfully humiliating and agonizingly long ride.  I wouldn’t mind hearing what the limo driver has to say.  He’s the guy that has the real story.  He’s privy to the un-edited version of all the carryings-on.  I bet he has to wash his ear-drums out with soap when he gets home.  Plus, I imagine there’s some hanky-panky going on inside that vehicle when Brad is in there philosophizing with one of the girls.  The limo driver might have to sponge down the leather upholstery now and then.  But that’s all part of the job.  As far as these rose hand-offs go, I personally think things should work just the opposite.  The losers should get a rose as a consolation prize for humiliating themselves on national TV.  Give them something to help them recall how ingratiatingly pathetic they looked during all the groveling and back-stabbing.  But that’s just me.

To  really ramp up audience interest, coming up shortly will be the “fantasy suite” episode.  Believe it or not, the network sees no problem essentially paying three women to have sex in a hotel room with Brad.  Sweet deal for Brad.  You and I would have to pay a pretty penny for that accommodation, and risk jail time as well.  Now I don’t know if all four of them get together and have like an orgy or something.  The limo driver could tell us.  I’m sure the producers have threatened to cap him though if he opens his mouth.  This type of reality garbage is driven by suspenseful intrigue, and what better way to draw any male that still has a functioning prostate and at least one testicle into this extremely shallow pool of human dignity than with the lure of a partie a’ quatre.  I’m kind of curious to know if there are any women involved with the executive decision making here.  Seems like a guy thing to me.  Dangle the word “fantasy” in front of us and we are likely to bite on absolutely anything associated with its context.

I have a feeling though the evenings of whoopee in hotel rooms will be just that- plural.  I mean you have to figure a one-night bedroom romp with three women at the same time would be pretty confusing for Brad.  He has a very important decision to make- the selection of one of these skanks to be his bride.  I would have to think the production team realizes it’s only fair to slow the game down for Brad.  Evaluating the gals performance one at a time makes more sense.  Good luck with Chastity.  You have to figure there’ll be lots of whimpering and sobbing  going on before Handle”s “Hallelujah Chorus” chimes in.

Now that I think about it, I just don’t  have the stamina to get  through another episode of this shit.  You guys will simply have to tune in if you want to find out who moves on and is mercifully declared champion.  Grab a bag of chips and a six pack on your way home from work. There’s another semi-final tonight.

If you missed NBC’s Saturday Night Live 40th anniversary show, consider yourself fortunate.  A promising evening of entertainment turned out to be a tortuous three and one-half hour  festival of ingratiating ego-pumping and contemporary performance overkill.  Way too heavy on musical productions and way too short on Belushi, Chase, Aykroyd, Radner, Murphy, Murray, and so many others I had been looking forward to watching.   I thought with a 3.5 hour block of time surely I would be treated to a snippet here and there of many, if not most of the classic sketches.  But there was hardly a one.  I can’t tell you how depressing it was to sit through this thing, desperately and patiently waiting for Buck Henry’s portrayal of Lord Douchebag, only to have my hopes crushed by the vocals of Miley Cyrus, Kanye West and Paul McCartney.  The program started out propitiously- Dan Aykroyd and his current rendition of the infamous “Bass-O-Matic” routine.  But the original was way better.  That was “Bass-O-Matic 76.”  I’m not sure what this model number was.  And the commercials had to set some sort of record for fewest minutes between breaks.  There was one every 5 minutes at times during the last hour.

Call me an old geezer but I didn’t do much catching on to whatever point Kanye West was trying to make while he was laying on the floor sing-talking.   I think I got it that he was trying to project an image of himself in a completely different perspective, like he was singing upside-down or something.  But I gotta tell you I was not impressed.  I thought he looked kind of silly.  I know it’s probably just me, but if I wanted to go out and be all showoffie and sing upside down, well I just think if that’s the look you’re going for then do it up right.  For me it would have made sense if he was actually upside-down, like with his knees locked around a trapeze bar, and maybe swinging back and forth.  Now that would lock down a big score with me.  I’de probably give him a solid 9.  But then there was the song itself.  Not my cup of tea.  Probably have to dish him out a 2 on that.  While I was watching all the bazaar ducking and crawling around on the ground I couldn’t help thinking how off target the producers were for not subbing a clip from the last SNL Mick Jagger episode for this shit.  Adding to all the perplexity were those two people that slithered out on all fours and started in contortionating along with Kanye about half way through the performance.  One of them was a fella I didn’t recognize at all, but you could pretty much make out from the way the other person was creeping around that it was a woman,  and I am likewise pretty sure I know who it was.  She was well hidden underneath that scary, nuclear enriched hairpiece that was last worn by one of the gigantic monsters co-starring in a not well known Godzilla movie.  But I am fairly certain it was Beyonce.  We all know about the uncontrollable obsession Kanye has with her.  I can’t figure out how he talked her into donning that ridiculous head-gear though.  I am sure he didn’t want anyone upstaging him, but man I think this was over-kill.  That thing had some serious compression fracture potential.  I hope she’s all right