...and I'm thinking again...about my grandpa's kitchen

About a year ago there was a post here about the kitchen in my grandparents home in Abercrombie, ND. It's not clear why, but for some reason it seemed to resonate with some people who fondly recalled a similar setting from their past. True...part of this post is a retread...but it's not easy coming up with new content every Friday...especially shortly after stumbling out of bed at 4am. So, below is an entry based on that earlier post. It's not exactly the same...but it's close. For those of you that spent any time having breakfast with your grandparents at a farmstead kitchen table (or in any setting for that matter), it might rekindle some memories.
The chipped linoleum on my grandparent’s kitchen floor was off-white as I recall, and it looked as though it had been there since sometime in the 1940s. The counter tops were worn and stained Formica, and I suspect they had been installed about the same time as the flooring.

Across from the radiator on the south side of the room was the American made refrigerator. It too appeared to be from sometime in the 1940s…and at least to me, it seemed to be one of the first post-ice box electrical appliances that actually contained a condenser to refrigerate air. It was white enamel, and judging from the huge chromed latch handle that looked better suited as a hatch on a WWII era submarine and it may have just as well been built by the U.S. Navy. Though I never had to lift it, I suspected it weighed about 1,000 pounds. If you opened the freezer door (on top behind the big door), the actual freezer compartment always appeared to be filled with about 50% frost. On top of the refrigerator was a worn King James bible, and a small monthly daily devotional called "Our Daily Bread."

Immediately to the left of the refrigerator was door to the cellar. I only went down there a handful of times, but the floor was dirt and the cinder block walls were lined with shallow shelving that were full of canning jars. You had to walk down in dark or with a flashlight, because the pull-chain for the dim 60-watt bulb was at the bottom of the stairs. The dank room seemed pretty gross to me, and I was always amazed when someone would venture down there to fetch a jar of canned peaches or some such so that we might have fruit for our noontime dinner...late-afternoon lunch or maybe in the evening for supper.

Behind the back door over by the staircase that went to a storage room above the kitchen, were a couple of old cans, hanging winter barn coats and some old rifles leaning against the wall. One of those guns was a loaded 410 shotgun that my grandparents used to keep by the door at the farm. It was handy to have ready in the event that a pheasant appeared or a wild turkey sauntered by...but that was about all. That gun sat there for at least 40 plus years (probably longer), and to my knowledge nobody ever got a hankering to take it to a cafe, post office, school or to the local movie house...or anywhere where they'd do anything but target practice or hunt. That 410 (unloaded) hangs in the basement of my home now...and an ocassional glance at it is always reminder of a much simpler time.

In the center of the room, between the refrigerator and the radiator, the four-seat kitchen table had a Formica top with a metal band around the perimeter. The table's chairs were metal too, with plastic seat cushions. In all my years visiting that house, from sometime in the 1960s until the early 1990s, I don't believe that table ever changed.

The Table

Growing up in Los Angeles, I wasn’t there for every breakfast at that North Dakota table, but every morning I was, the ritual was always exactly the same. The menu didn’t vary much. It was usually some variation of fried eggs cooked in bacon grease, some type of meat (usually bacon), piles of white toast (usually Wonder bread), and slabs of real Land O’ Lakes butter. Slabs. The coffee was made by pouring the coffee grounds directly into the boiling water. There was always real cream and a bowl of sugar cubes on the table, and my grandpa would pour his coffee onto the saucer (to let it cool) and slurp it off the small dish... often while sucking on a sugar cube.

No Whole Grain Here

Once we were done eating, grandpa would fetch the old bible and the daily devotional from the top of the refrigerator. In all the days I was in that house, I don’t ever recall him missing this daily routine. He would read the assigned short simple lesson from the pamphlet, and then recite a couple of bible passages from the associated scripture. After that, he would slap the bible shut and enthusiastically pray in a thick a thick Swedish accent. Every day until she passed away, he would ask for relief for my ailing grandmother, and usually request some help to ensure a bountiful harvest. On the days I was there, he would almost always include thanks for the visit and appeal for my safe return trip home. In my mind’s eye, I can see us all sitting there like it was yesterday.

As for me, I don’t remember the last time I even looked at a bible. To be honest, I’m not sure where that prized book I received in confirmation even is. I know I’ve looked up some verses up electronically for some teaching that I do (looking up the Golden Rule and such), but that was all online. I may have picked up a large print bible in a Barnes and Noble a few years ago but that was only to get a sense of how it might work as a Christmas present for my mom. Other than the gospel music I play occasionally with a buddy at a bar in Old Town now and then, I really have almost no remaining connection to the devotion that was so central to my grandfather’s life...and once so central to mine.

What’s all this mean? Well, if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know better than to presume I know. I really don't have a clue other than I heard this morning’s song on Pandora earlier in the week, and I guess it just got me to thinking about that kitchen table. As I get older and find my self reminiscing, it's always about times like these and seldom ever about work.

Whatever you’re doing the next two days, try to make it a truly wonderful weekend. If you can, steal away some time and do something that counts with your family and friends. At the end of the line, these will be the times that matter most.

There's a family bible on the table
The Song

...and it's another chance to do the right thing.

Typically, there doesn’t have to be a whole lot of outside stimuli to get me thinking about the pitfalls of getting older. Too often, I find myself lamenting the overall aging process, and the realization that at my age (50), there are far fewer miles ahead than there are in the rearview mirror. One good thing is that at least in theory, one should get smarter as one gets older, however there was an Op-ed in last Saturday’s Washington Post (Doing the Right Thing), that served as a sad reminder to me that in some important areas, I’m simply not evolving.

You see, things should get easier as one gets older…but that’s really not so much how it works. There are a lot of weird things about aging, and most of them, at least with respect to the inevitable physical deterioration are not particularly good. I’ve often thought it would be cool to shoot a video of me getting up in the morning…as I suspect my hunched-over,  stumbling, pathetic pre-dawn walk toward the bathroom would go viral on Youtube pretty quick. There are many days when it seems it would be wise to just keep shuffling down the hall…past the bathroom, down the stairs…out the door…and on down the street to the Sunrise Assisted Living facility on Connecticut Ave.

It’s fun sometimes to kid myself into thinking there’s something good about the body’s unavoidable decline, and that the increasing strands of gray hair actually really do make me look more distinguished. Sometimes I try to convince myself that my ever-softening midsection conveys a certain coolness that can only come with five-plus decades of life experience, but the fact-of-the-matter is there really isn’t one good thing about this accelerating plunge toward adult diaperdom (although I have noticed there seems to be more size 38” pants than 36”). I trip-out sometimes how even well-educated people somehow think they’re going to be the ones to flip this inevitable script. Sure…good diet and exercise should slow the clock somewhat, however no amount of blended root-puree and green smoothies will change the unavoidable outcome…and whether it’s 50, 60, 70, 80 or even 90 (news flash…you’re probably not going to make 100…and even 90 is unlikely if you’re working yourself into the grave)…the movie always ends…and even the full-length version likely involves a walker, a diaper, a feeding tube and a velvet-lined pine box.

The good news is this inescapable physical slide is theoretically countersunk (at least for a little while) by the growing level of wisdom that seems to come from an ever expanding perspective. When I was younger and knew it all, things seemed so black and white. However with added years, many things somehow now seem more gray (like…whether it’s gray or grey). Perhaps it’s the peace that comes from the “He who knows what he doesn’t know…is one who knows” realization, because if that’s really true…I may be an actual genius. Logging the required time for your AARP card also has a way of building quite a highlight (lowlight) reel, and with a wake of some pretty good (and many insanely stupid) moves over the course of my life, there is also some level of serenity in understanding that while I’ve may have done some good…there is also no question about the fact that I’m perpetually flawed. Recognizing this allows me to spend less time beating myself up those times I’ve been a moron...which is nice, because I’d have to spend a lot of time and energy kicking my own butt.

The problem however is that even with all the birthdays, I seem to be trending the wrong way when faced with the opportunity to do the right thing. ..especially when it relates to defending others. Much like the people referenced in the Washington Post article,  there seems to be an increasing number of times when I bury my head in the sand…even in situations when there is no question that something is brazenly  wrong. In theory, I’ve spent much of my life in a movement that prides itself on moving people to stand up for what’s right. When individuals are reluctant to step up because of the very real risks associated with such bravery, I’ve often implored them to band together in collective action and to stand up for the good of the order. Too often though when given an opportunity to actually walk the talk in my own life, I readily fumble the ball. For me,  the Washington Post piece served as a blistering referendum on how miserably I’ve failed when given the chance to stand up.

When I was younger, blonder, more fit, in better health, and had less to lose (really more to lose because there was no safety net), I didn’t have to think much about standing up for others. Now however, though I constantly try to encourage other people to be courageous, I too often shirk  from the responsibility that would have been my default back when I saw things more plainly. I tell myself it’s complex, that I have a lot of company, or that it’s about self-preservation…but to be honest…some things really are not all that complicated…and regardless of what the rest of the herd is doing, my lack of individual action probably has a lot more to do with cowardice than being older and more wise.

Though many have tried…there’s no turning around the aging process. No amount of kale, lemon water, soil shakes and muscle confusion are going to reverse the race to the rest home I’ve got going on. Sure…good choices may slow it down a little, but no matter what, the longhand and the shorthand are not going to start running counterclockwise. The time piece only runs one direction…and while that realization can be somewhat sad…one of the benefits was supposed to be the accumulated knowledge that comes with turning each calendar page. I’ll never get back my youth…but I sure wish I could find that younger backbone. If I could ever find it I’d stand up more…and actually make sure my own actions match the rhetoric I so freely save for everyone else.

Regardless of how long you live, life is way too short. Try to go out this weekend and do something fun. If you can, try to include the people and pets that you love…and whatever you decide to do, have a truly wonderful weekend. If along the way you get an opportunity to stand up for somebody else…don’t be like me. Do the right thing.

Have a great weekend.

From Chicago to New Orleans

...and it's time to enrich your mind with a little paid TV

My mind was starting to atrophy from the daily doses of shallow business talk on CNBC’s morning show Squawk Box, so it seemed about time again to stimulate some brain cells by scanning the HD channels for some quality paid programing. Thankfully…it didn’t take long to get the cerebral juices flowing because the first infomercial I came across was for a revolutionary product called “my pillow.” You can learn about it a www.mypillow.com, but in essence, the miracle product helps with your “cervical line of adjustment.” If you’re wondering why you need your cervical line to be in alignment, you should fight the need to know because the pillow is guaranteed to be the most comfortable you’ll ever own. If it isn’t, you get your money back…so in other words…it's risk-free. On top of that, you will get the most comfortable night’s sleep ever and it’s guaranteed for 10 years (unlike so many other pillows that literally explode after about 18 months). You can get the life-altering pillow by calling 1-800-651-1983.

If you’re skeptical, the infomercial showcased an audience full of convincing folks that traveled from all over to give testimony about the pillow’s effectiveness. If getting a great night’s sleep isn’t enough for you, you can get 25% off your new pillow if you call right now.  Still leery…well you won’t be after you factor in this little tidbit. You see, aside from the obvious comfort benefits, My Pillow also cures snoring. For all you people wearing masks or for those of you whose spouse has been forced to grab sleep in a separate room…this bears repeating…My Pillow cures snoring. Now really, why would you not want to own the best pillow ever when it can be procured at a 75% of the normal purchase price? Plus, after a good night's sleep, you'll be all the more open to the supernatural benefits of paid TV.

One such miracle appeared on BET, where an evangelist named Danny Davis (that looks eerily like a cat I used to work with) was peddling something called No Evil Oil (NOE). If you like magical solutions that can achieve truly biblical results, it was hard not to be intrigued.

If the magical concoction that casts out Satan and cures tumors, blindness and all that ails you isn’t enough for you to get busy and go to http://pastordannydavis.com, preacher Davis also sports a vintage (and well-groomed) mullet. I called and ordered some free prayer-blessed no evil oil (it’s prayed over for 17 days prior to release for your use), and like a miracle on cue, the person standing by on the phone talked me into making a $50 donation (thankfully the oil was still Free). It didn't take long for the move to pay off, for as I was on the phone ordering, the clock turned to 6am and a new BET program came on that offers a miracle formula that makes NOE seem about as hip as Dickonson's Witch Hazel.

Like a tangible answer to prayer, Peter Popoff and his "beautiful" wife Elizabeth (Liz) appeared on BET and they were offering FREE Miracle Spring Water! This amazing show was rife with convincing high-definition footage of various crusades from around the world where Peter was healing a host of illnesses from cancer to heart disease to paralysis. He was yelling things like “brand new heart” and “new pair of legs.” Now…you may be skeptical, but people were literally throwing their crutches across the stage and dancing.

Peter then quoted scripture and talked about the “set time” and explained we are about to experience an explosion of God’s abundance.  I know, I know…you’re not seeing the advantages of MSW over No Evil Oil. Ah…but here’s what you learn if you watch infomercials carefully. While NEO makes modern medicine obsolete, Miracle Spring Water also makes Obamacare meaningless but has an added financial feature lacking in the one dimensional oil.

While having some liquid around that cures all your physical health challenges is certainly nice, MSW can also ensure your financial health through a miraculous dynamic called “divine debt cancelation.” We’ve talked about it before here, and with this extraordinary tool, “burdensome financial woes” (otherwise known as bills you knowingly incurred) are divinely eradicated by god. Owe too much on your mortgage? No problem…just sprinkle a little MSW on the loan documents and bam…you’re right side up. Discouraged by the portion of that Orthodontist bill that your insurance didn’t cover? Ha…no need to worry. Take the invoice and pour a couple of drops of MSW on it and your Orthodontist forgets the bill.

Actually, in truth, I’m not sure if the amount is just forgiven, magically paid, or simply vanishes altogether. At the end-of-the-day all you need to know is that your debt is divinely canceled and it is no longer your obligation to pay. You can pick up your supply of Miracle Spring Water by calling 1-800-925-7785 or by going to www.peterpopoff.org. I know it sounds farfetched, but I totally blew off my tax obligation last year by merely sprinkling some MSW on my 1040 long form. Other than having my vehicles repossessed, my wages garnished and constant visits from Federal agents at the house, I’m living pretty much debt free.

If you’re ugly, and if you don’t yet have any miracle spring water or no evil oil to massage into your face, BRAVO was airing an infomercial called Luminess Air. Unlike old-school foundation make up, Luminess Air doesn’t cake on. Your traditional foundation can get "cakey," which explains how it can make you look as much as 10 years older. The before-and-after photos were compelling (most people in the “after” shots really did look 10 years younger), and Luminess Air is totally risk free. You can get the revolutionary way of applying make-up (it’s the Hollywood make-up secret) by calling 1-800-581-6480. If you’re wondering if this fountain of youth is really for you, please click the link below to get a list of people that really need Luminess Air (in bluk) right now www.concealyourfaceforthecomfortofothers.com.

OK…that was a bogus link…but admit it…you clicked in and checked.  

If you like Cheryl Tiegs and if you’re suffering from chronic inflammation pain (apparently…we all are), you can reduce it with an all-natural product straight from the Sonoran Desert called Nopalea. Just call 1-800-341-5037 for your Free 32 oz. Bottle (Pay only $9.95 for S&H…or better yet…find your MSW bottle and cancel the S&H charges). All you have to do is drink 3 to 6 ounces a day for several days and your pain will go away.

The following program on ABCFHD (after Nopalea) at 5am was brought to me by Joseph Prince Ministries. If you provide a gift of any size, you get some of Joseph Prince’s latest CDs (Empowered By His Love). You can send in your gift by calling 1-877-901-4300 or by going to www.JosephPrince.org.  Joseph was dressed in black and appeared to be wearing a light leather jacket. He also had one of those cool headset mouth-microphones like Garth Brooks used when he flew around the stage, so like Brooks, Prince is pretty mobile as he paces in front of the audience. Prince revealed that the streets of heaven are not just paved with gold…they’re actually solid gold. He also stated that when in heaven, the scriptures teach us “you will eat from vineyards you did not grow and live in houses you did not build.” No wonder I like the east coast so much…I’m pretty much doing that now. I probably should have kept watching Prince, but I’d only been up for little more than two hours at 6:10 am so it seemed best to switch to a paid program that might keep me awake. Plus…Prince seemed to be doing a lot of unnecessary yelling.

Like an answer to prayer, just one click on the remote brought me to Inspiration Camp Meeting (www.inspritationCampmeeting.com) and the dynamic evangelist Doctor Todd Coontz. I’m guessing Todd hails from a farming background, because he’s always talking about sowing seeds. On this morning he was talking about godly favor and explaining that the “Heavens will give rain in due season.” Like any backsliding skeptic, the devil began infusing me with doubt and I was starting to think Coontz was a bona fide charlatan (plus…I’ve previously sown more than a few $273 faith seeds that haven’t even produced a beanstalk). Then Todd mentioned that Sylvester Stallone watches his show (and sends him Tweets), so…well…there really isn’t much more to say…I’m back on board. As he often does, Todd was talking a lot about Fed Ex miracles and the good that come from planting $1,000 seeds to his ministry. Essentially, all you have to do is get out your credit card and make a $1,000 gift to Todd (I charged two seeds) and you will enjoy “triple favor.” Don’t know this for sure, but I’m guessing yet another benefit is that Todd will enjoy favor through the many $1,000 seeds purchased by folks like me.  This is just a side note…but once again, it’s amazing how much Todd resembles Pastor Danny Davis…who resembles a guy I used to work with.

For just six payments of just $19.95, you can get the Food Lovers Fat Loss System by calling 1-800-353-3549. Unlike other programs, Food Lovers Fat Loss System is guaranteed to  provide weight loss. What makes this program unique is that unlike other ineffective diet systems, this program is for people that love food (this is soooo for me). Little did I know that as sit here on the couch with my Cheetos and Peanut Butter breakfast, I’m actually losing weight. The show was full of passionate testimonials from people that have lost a ton of pounds and inches by actually eating more. One skeptical customer actually increased the amount of food he ate and lost 55 pounds.

This is a really, really good program, because the metabolism makeover feature allows you eat even more of the foods you like while turning your body into a “fat burning machine.” You can stoke your body’s fat-burning furnace by going to www.TryFoodLovers.com. I picked up my free trial program for just $19.95. It kind of seemed like I was paying, but the total of $119.95 (or six installments of $19.95) is a fraction of other diet plans that stubbornly promote the old-school concept of eating less to shed pounds. Much like my new pillow, this amazing eat more and lose weight miracle system is risk free...because if you don’t lose weight…you don’t pay.

*Don’t mean to point out the obvious here, but really, with Peter Popoff’s Miracle Spring Water and divine debt cancellation system, the whole risk-free thing kind of rings hollow because I don’t really pay for anything anymore.

You can get the body you’ve always wanted by going to www.russianbrides.com (or www.thunderdownunder.com), however if you want to make your body a body that a Russian bride (or anybody else) might want, you’ll probably have to give in and get P90X. You can obtain it by going to www.p90x.com or by calling 1-800-314-5861.

The secret is truly revolutionary, and once you get the 90-day program for three easy installments of $39.95 (or free with MSW), you will be blown away by the complexity of the miracle weight-loss concept. Now, I wasn’t aware of this until this morning, but apparently (you may want to sit down for this), if you put down the french fries and Big Gulp of leaded orange soda and get off the couch to exercise your freaking ass off for 40-plus minutes a day for 90 days (and follow the starvation nutrition plan)…you will lose weight. Talk about the holy grail…do you believe these dumbasses are sharing this cutting-edge concept for a mere $120.00?

I so didn’t see this coming…but according this never-before advanced theory, if you exercise routinely and eat right every day for a mere three months, you will lose weight and transform your body. Now before you put down the bon bons and start doing sit ups, don’t get carried away. Because it's new…it probably hasn’t been validated and I’m not certain this idea has truly stood the test of time.

I was just about to try the mindboggling exercise/nutrition approach mentioned above when the no evil oil I rubbed on my TV remote finally produced a paid programing miracle. One channel up from the unproven P90X workout/eat less nonsense was an infomercial that is much better designed to fit my family size Cheetos lifestyle. It’s called the Tummy Tuck System, and best of all, it doesn’t involve any of the sweat/reduced calorie BS promoted by Beach Body (P90X).

First off, the tummy tuck only takes 10 minutes a day (leaving a full ½ hour a day for more infomercials not available through P90X) and involves wearing a thermal belt and rubbing on some cream. Now we’re talking…this is a program I can stick to (although I did get a little winded rubbing the cream over my entire stomach surface area). If you needed more evidence as to the superiority of this product, it’s available for only two payments of $19.95 and unlike the 3-month P90X plan, Tummy Tuck produces results in just 30 days.

Actually, all this talk about exercise and weight loss is making me tired, so I think I’ll take My Pillow and take a power nap.

Have a wonderful weekend, and before you start the madness of the workday, enjoy a little music...

Give it away...

...and it's no time to listen to public radio

Bob Krauthammer may not have been the toughest and most competent electrical superintendent on the face of the earth in 1982, but to a greenhorn apprentice like me, the cigar chomping, gum smacking, routinely profane IBEW Wireman from New Jersey sure seemed like the very best at the time. He was pushing one of the largest electrical construction projects in Los Angeles, and at that time some thirty years ago, it didn’t seem there was anything the seasoned wireman couldn’t do. He appeared to epitomize toughness, and I always had the sense that if he cut off his arm, he’d just make a tourniquet out of black Scotch 33 electrical tape and keep working with the good arm until break time when he’d see if he could reattach it himself with some tie wire. Thankfully, that theory was never really tested.

One of Bob’s best foreman was a German cat named Wolfgang Bauman. Wolfgang…or “Wolfie” as we usually called him, also struck me at the consummate IBEW electrician. There was nothing about electrical construction that guy didn’t know…and though he probably only passed on a fraction of his trade expertise to me, he also taught me how to convincingly cuss in German…which is a cherished skill I routinely still use today.

Bob and Wolfie were two quintessential blue-collar hard hats. They were smart, driven, patriotic, well-trained, dedicated and proud of their trade and the benefits provided by collective bargaining through their cherished craft union. Privileged to work on several high-profile jobs for with some of Los Angeles’s best marquee electrical contractors, I had the opportunity to work alongside and learn from of some of the finest men and women electricians in the business. However Bob and Wolfgang were a step above, and looking back on my time in the trade now, I cannot think of two people that better exemplified the Building and Construction Trades and the hardworking veteran journeymen tradesmen of that era. Both teamed to teach me most of anything I may know about being a well-rounded construction electrician…one committed to my employer’s success, and always being a good union man.

One Saturday we had to change out a panel in of the buildings on the huge construction site. As a matter-of-fact, if you’re ever flying into Los Angeles and you land on the south runways…you can look to your left (presuming the Santa Ana’s aren’t blowing and you land from the east) and see the Kilroy Airport Center buildings on the Imperial Boulevard edge of LAX. Bob, Wolfie and I came in early that Saturday…and began the arduous task of changing out a huge panel. Wolfgang set up a transistor radio on top of the panel, and while he was away getting material, I tuned the station to K-Earth 101FM for some good oldies rock-and-roll. The music was rocking and so were we. The job was complicated, but it was obvious it was being done both efficiently and professionally.

Later that morning my two working partners had me go fetch some tools and material (I really didn’t know how to do anything else at the time) and upon returning it was immediately obvious the pranksters were up to their usual jobsite shenanigans. While I was away they changed the radio to one of those horrific publicly-funded stations below 92 on the FM dial that nobody listens to where they play classical music and talk about books. On this particular day it was exacerbated by the fact they were playing opera, and it sounded to me like some Italian dude was screaming (I think they call it an aria) like he was having a colonoscopy with a burlap-coated fire hose.

Now, I may have been just a cub at the time, but I wasn’t a moron. It was clear the guys had done it simply to mess with the rookie, and it wasn’t going to be hard to turn the tables on them and make them actually listen to the crap they’d chosen to make me miserable. After all…what could be funnier than forcing a couple of construction electricians to listen to opera? Plus…it would be a downright game. Honestly…compared to these two rough-n-tumble hardasses, I was a product of an Emily Post finishing school. Unlike them, I actually read the classics (The Boys of Summer, Paper Lion, Sport Ilustrated, etc…), had already migrated to white zinfandel wine instead of Budweiser and could even sui generis a few big words now and then…even though I wasn’t always sure how they could or should be used (it didn’t matter…neither did they).

So…I acted like the music didn’t even register, and just kept knocking out holes with the Greenlee hole-punch set in the top of the new panel can. It didn’t take long though to realize I may have underestimated my opponents. While I pretended to like the agony playing through the transistor, my two working buddies seemed to be feigning enjoyment even more convincingly than me. Then…they really started pouring it on. Almost on cue, they feebly appeared to be mouthing words…as though they knew what the people were yelling about. Then, in a real laughable display of desperation, Bob muttered something (paraphrasing here) about the noise being from “Act II of Puccini’s La Boheme (whatever the hell that is).” As though they’d practiced the script the day before, Wolfgang then convincingly responded with something like “no…it’s not from La Boheme…it’s from Turnadot…Act III.”

Now listen, nobody appreciates a good punk more than me, but this little charade was coming at the expense of some good Elton John, Earth, Wind and Fire and Beach Boys’ music. So…having had enough…I was about to call them on it when the agonizing aria ended and the moderator came on amidst deafening audience applause and stated in that unmistakable hushed snooty public radio tone that the we had just been listening to Placido Domingo sing Nessun Dorma from Puccini’s Turnadot.

Ain’t this a bitch…I’ve seen some clever stunts before…but how did these two just pull this off? This was before all the life-altering technological advances. There was no pagers, fax machines, TV remotes, wireless cell phones, CDs, Sirius radio, internet, GPS, Google, Thursday Night Football, Facebook, smart phones or iPads…and the only computers used punch cards and were the size of the Coliseum (the original…in downtown LA…where the Rams played and Trojans still do). This was a phenomenal gag…top notch…and while I was really cracking up, I was nonetheless amazed at how they’d pulled it off. Wolfie and Bob seemed way too relaxed though, and as I laughed from the gut they looked at me like I’d just finished off an entire box of my favorite Gallo White Zin entirely by myself.

I asked them how in the hell they’d done it…and they both looked at each other and said “how’d we do what?” “The opera stunt” I responded…”how did you guys pull that off?” Well…if this story goes on any longer…I’ll have to change the title to “It’s Saturday.” At the end-of-the-day, it turned out that my two hardhat wearing, cigar chomping, extraordinarily competent electrician journeymen were also genuine opera aficionados. As Bob Krauthammer eloquently put it in fluent New Jersian that Saturday morning…both he and Wolfgang “loved the f***ing opera.”

What’s the point of all this? Come on grasshopper…now who is the apprentice?

Have a great weekend…and if you happen to see a book lying around…don’t judge it by it by its tool belt. 

BTW...if you have time, honor Bob and Wolgang and take a few minutes to listen to two of the world's most beautiful arias.

O Mio Bambino

Surfing USA