The Last Colortini...

I "got" Colortini. I knew what it meant. I understood.

Before everything on TV was in color, those shows that were in color always carried some big buzz upfront about how they were in color, maybe even living color. NBC proudly announced that The Following NBC Program Is Brought To You In Living Color.

That's why NBC had a peacock, it's where the still-in-use today NBC Peacock originated - peacocks have many colors, and now most of NBC's shows did, too.

So color became just that, a buzz word. Therefore, the new generation of TV shows in color screamed out for their own cocktail. That, of course, would have to be the Colortini.

My first encounter with Tom Snyder was as host of The Tomorrow Show, which followed The Tonight Show, which had been named that because, after all, NBC had The Today Show. Simple consistency; Today, Tonight, Tomorrow. I sat at home in the dark, watching him in a studio in the dark. It was intimate television, which is how television should be when practiced properly.

There was really nothing consistent about Tom Snyder, that's should you be looking to compare him to others of his time and place. Snyder was not pressed from the same mold as more typical news anchors of the '70s. In fact, I never saw the man anchor a news cast, although he did just that for many years in NYC, Philly, LA, and on NBC. That picture you see is of Snyder from 1968.

He was so good at anchoring that, when Tom Brokaw replaced John Chancellor on NBC Nightly News, Snyder came in second place; the choice had come down to Snyder or Brokaw. Rumor was that Chancellor lobbied hard to deny Snyder the job. It was said that Snyder had long had trouble with authority figures. We should all have trouble with authority figures. We should all question authority.

Where he was consistent was in his being entertaining. He was always very entertaining. What Snyder was more than anything else was himself. Being one's self in front of a camera might not be easy, but it is the key that can unlock the door that let's you into every home in America...or for us locals, it let's you into every home in Throop, Wanamie, Berwick, Antes Fort, and Pine Grove.

I was a fan, a huge fan of Tom Snyder. He embodied all I wanted to be as a broadcaster. He was quick, funny when called for, serious when necessary, informed, intelligent, and just plain likable. He wasn't afraid to ask tough questions, and he wasn't' afraid to have some pretty weird people on The Tomorrow Show. He made them all look good.

And he was never afraid to laugh, laugh out loud, laugh hard and long. It was that laugh, and a handful of other signature gestures, that brought Snyder to the American consciousness through his lampooning by Dan Ackroyrd on SNL. Sadly, a lot of folks only knew the "Dan Ackroyd" Tom Snyder, they probably never saw Tom being Tom.

He looked like every show he did was the time of his life - my guess is that each one of those shows was just that. He loved what he did, it showed, and many of us loved him in return.

Snyder went away pretty much in the early '80s, and stayed away for a long time. Money wasn't an issue, so taking it easy, picking and choosing projects must have been fun for him. One night, I heard him, he was back on the radio - a medium that fit him like a custom tailored suit. I was thrilled he was back.

Then David Letterman, another enormous Snyder fan, brought him back to late night television. I was likewise thrilled. He was as good as ever. One night, his guest was to be Bonnie Hunt. Clearly he and Hunt connected strongly, I always suspected in a very personal way.

A flight had been missed, she was late, perhaps a no-show.

She did show, about one half hour into things. For that first half hour, Snyder kept it going. All he needed was a place to sit, a microphone, a camera, and you at home watching. He was at his best when at his simplest. I was sort of disappointed when Hunt showed, Snyder was that good.

Once again, Tom left television. I missed him a lot. Maybe 3 years ago I stumbled across his website - colortini.com - and checked it daily. Before long, he announced he had leukemia. He seemed happy to say that it was treatable. Another thing he announced was that his brother John had likewise been diagnosed with the very same type of the disease. I was big enough of a fan that I'd heard him mention "Brother John" many times over the years.

Tom Snyder shut down colortini.com without much of an explanation, just saying thanks and that it was time to go. My guts told me it was.

My guts told me his leukemia wasn't treatable after all, and that Tom Snyder wanted to be left alone during what time he had left. For those who may not know, Tom Snyder died last Sunday in San Francisco. He was 71.

I guess we could still fire up a colortini.

I guess we could still watch the pictures as they fly through the air.

But I don't have to guess at all to know that it just won't be the same.

You Can't Park There...

So, there were we were, just motoring along Wyoming Avenue in Forty Fort. I was loafing, staring out the window while the bride drove.

I'd never noticed them before. Now I did. Maybe two to a block, right on utility poles.

NO PARKING
2AM - 5AM

I waited a bit until we came upon another one, thinking maybe my reading comprehension was off, which it can be often enough - at my age, I really don't trust myself like I once did. Here comes another one and, yep...

NO PARKING
2AM - 5AM

For three hours overnight, and I presume this is a daily injunction, you cannot park along Wyoming Avenue in Forty Fort. If there are signs, there must be an ordinance. If there's an ordinance, there has to be a penalty attached for violating that ordinance.

The obvious question, of course, is just why you can't park there in the middle of the night. The answer is not so obvious. A little speculation would make me suspect that they clean the streets there at that time and don't want to be swinging in and out trying not to hit your parked car.

Then I came to my senses.

1) Do they actually sweep Wyoming Avenue? Conceding that "they" do, who are "they?" Wyoming Avenue is US Route 11, making it PennDOT's problem.

2) Would they sweep it in the middle of the night? Even if they did, would they do it seven nights a week?

What I did was pretty much chalk it up to that time-honored practice of No Parking for No Apparent Reason. We see that a lot, in lots of places.

Why, even some places have a guy to tell you, "Hey, you can't park there!" Those same places never seem to have a guy to tell where you can park, only to tell you where you can't.

Try a church picnic or a volunteer fire company's bazaar next chance you get; they always have a couple guys to tell you, "Hey, you can't park there!" That's all they do, that's their contribution to their cause, making sure people don't park some place for some reason, a reason which is never revealed to us. Until then, try parking there, see what happens. Let me know...

My Friend Andy...

We've been friends for a long, long time - roughly 25 years. Not that we see each other much, not that we gab on the phone much. We don't. The magic of e-mail has managed to help us reunite.

Andy has a blog. Mine is fashioned somewhat upon his blog. He offers his opinions while not asking yours in return. That works for me.

While I don't disrespect your opinions, my idea of a weBLOG is just that, a log, a journal, somewhat of a diary. Girls keep diaries; boys keep logs, or maybe journals, but that's kind of taking a chance..

So, even though it's open to public inspection, it's not open to public input, criticism, or support. Sorry, I don't see that changing any time soon.

Andy's blog today(July 27th)deals succinctly with Hazleton's Illegal Immigration Relief Act being struck down by a federal judge. The ruling by Judge Munley is rock-solid; the act is unconstitutional. Constitutional lawyers have been saying it from the day Hizzoner Barletta put forth this unsound document.

I now know that the judge's ruling is 206 pages long. Not that I intend to read it. I don't have to, there is no need. He's right, Barletta and his supporters are wrong. What they tried to do is simply unconstitutional.

Our constitution is the most precious document this nation possesses. As bold and dramatic as The Declaration of Independence is, The Constitution is what makes our way of governance work. Those who framed The Constitution were determined we be a nation of laws, not a nation of men.

I don't want to see that change.

To think that it could change scares me. A "nation of men" could decide what you and I have for breakfast, what we could and could not read, what prayers we were allowed to offer, should we care to pray at all. A nation of men could even suppress my thinking out loud here on this blog, on your blog, anywhere on the internet, or even down on the corner.

I have no idea what Mayor Barletta's motives are. There is no judgment to be passed here upon what has brought this man to this point in time. Illegal immigration is a problem, make no mistake about my opinion of that. The country is overrun, and it needs to stop. Hazleton City isn't going to stop it, nor is Mr. Barletta, nor are his myriad supporters. It's not the responsibility of any of the aforementioned.

It's the sole responsibility of our federal government, the one to which The Constitution applies on an hourly basis. And I for one am grateful that it does.

It's clearer than a mountain stream that the feds have failed to keep our borders secure. It's the job of that monstrous tangle of our government, our federal government, to control our borders. It's not the job of townships, boroughs, and cities any more than it is the job of your neighborhood block party committee.

Saner minds will realize yesterday's ruling was all about constitutionality and nothing else. Others will continue to view it as an us and them battle.

My sorrow and anguish over that thinking is genuine. There seems little hope it will change.

The next step, I guess, is a trip through the appellate courts, with a long journey to SCOTUS. We're talking years here, maybe a decade or more.

I'll bet the justices of SCOTUS never see a man named Barletta from a pretty little Pennsylvania city standing before them.

The appellate courts will uphold the decision that came from the corner of Linden and N. Washington in Scranton. They'll do so because it was the right decision. Judge Munley is right. That's what Andy says, too.

That's why I like Andy...

Me, The Critic...

"...Chuck and Larry" has looked idiotic right from the beginning. From the first second of the first spot I saw for the movie, I thought, "How stupid is that going to be?" Apparently it is. The critics hated the move - fans loved it.

Funny guys don't necessarily make funny movies.

Kevin James - funny.

Adam Sandler - at times funny. At other times, annoying.

A lot of funny people who sprang from the loins of SNL did their best work there, and have yet to do one single thing funny since. I'm still waiting for Will Ferrell to do something funny. He was fall-on-the-floor funny on SNL.

I never thought Chevy Chase was terribly funny. I still don't. Remember his Gerald Ford impression? That was the one where Chevy did fall on the floor. That was it - he'd fall down, we'd laugh, and apparently we never wondered why it was that we did laugh. Funny? About as funny as a fart in spacesuit. I'd sit with friends and watch Chevy fall down, I didn't think it was funny, but in 1977 I laughed anyway.

John Belushi? Yeah, funny, but funny in more of a sight-gag way than anything else. Whether John Belushi could have withstood the test of time, we'll never know. No disrespect intended, somehow I don't think he would have. I believe he knew that. I believe that was a huge component in the tragedy that became his life.

Dan Akroyd has had a successful career, I suppose. When is the last time you saw him anywhere being funny? My guess is that he knew he really wasn't - for want of a better term - sustainably funny, so he moved on to other things.

Chris Farley? Very few people have ever made me laugh harder than Farley. Those few others would be George Carlin and, uh, well, that might be it; Carlin and Farley. Steve Martin once upon a time made me wet my pants. Then Steve Martin became totally overexposed, he was everywhere you looked, the nation began to take him for granted, just my opinion.

Carlin abused himself for years. He's still alive. Farley abused himself for a shorter period of time, only because he died doing it. Here's where I get to play psychiatrist.

It often occurs to me that a lot of these men struggle with the realization that their success is a quirk of place and time. That today they're funny, tomorrow probably not. Do they change? Unlikely. Tastes change. You want an example?

Andrew Dice Clay.

Clay literally flamed-out inside a one year period. I mean he was hot as could be, then cold as could be, within roughly 12 months. Where is he now? I'm betting that you care so little where he is, you don't at all wonder where he is.

How about fall-down funny females? I can think of one, and I'll say you never heard of her. Her name is Maria Bamford. You seldom, maybe more like never, see her. Very, very, funny. Find her, watch her, you'll laugh, laugh hard.

Did Chris Farley suspect that if he lost 50 pounds and grew tired of throwing himself into walls and onto coffee tables that he, too, might be funny today, not funny tomorrow?

Go back, take the time and go back and look at early SNL. A lot of it wasn't funny at all.

It was defiant, certainly irreverent, but not all of it was funny. It was the '70s, we felt defiant. Popular sentiment had brought the war to an end. Defiance. We drove a president from office. More defiance. Defiance was good. SNL was the national symbol of defiance.

We were also starved for a new look at comedy. We were tired of The Lucy Show and Mayberry RFD. The only thing funny about The Lucy Show was Gale Gordon, he was funny. The show was not. So SNL filled a void.

Have you watched SNL lately, like in the last 3-4 years? The audience doesn't laugh. Why are they still on the air? More importantly, why do people go, sit there, and not laugh. Then the next week, different people go, sit there, and not laugh. If people who like the show so much that they made an effort to be there, if people who are sitting 20-30 feet away from the stage can't even offer up some courtesy laughter, isn't it time to fold the tent?

Back in the 70s, it was mandatory that you think SNL people were funny - even if they weren't. It was an act of sedition, a betrayal of your generation, should you be "young" in the 70s and not guffaw at all SNL regulars. If your hair was long(not to mention ugly) and you sported even the skankiest of facial hair, you needed to find SNL funny...and watch it every single week, so you could discuss it, and do your impressions of certain players, during the coming week. Most everyone "did" Belushi. That wasn't funny, either.

Am I funny. Yeah, I am. Funny enough to make a living being funny? No, no I am not. And I'll never pretend that I am.

Oh, I'm a Shemp fan. Shemp Howard was the funniest Stooge of them all.

I Hate Smoking Bans...and I Don't Smoke

But, but, I used to smoke. Oh, yeah, I smoked and loved every drag of every cigarette and every cigar that ever made its way into my lungs. For a time, dig this, I was a pipe smoker. I loved the idea of smoking a pipe. It's a tweedy thing. I like tweedy, always have. More on that later.

Smoking is a pleasure only those once addicted to it know.

I quit. I haven't smoked in years. When I did smoke, I was very fond of the habit. And it is a habit. So is sweeping the street in front of your house three times a day. Is sweeping that street dangerous? Might be that it is. Might be you're nuts if you do it.

If you smoke, you are nuts. At least, in today's culture you are. In my childhood, adolescence, and in-betweenhood, no, you weren't nuts if you smoked. Everyone smoked.

My Dad smoked. My Mom smoked. Aunts, uncles, cousins, they smoked. Many of them are dead.

Are they dead because they smoked? Some are, some are not. Let's get an example here in front of us all - Dad died at 59, heart attack; Mom died at 87, respiratory failure.

Did smoking kill Dad? Yes, I do believe it did. But I also believe he had symptoms long before he fell dead on the floor at work, which he did indeed. If he'd conceded that the symptoms needed attention, who knows, he could have had some more years.

Did smoking kill Mom? What if it did? She was 87. She might have been 89. Mother lied a bit about her age. She quit in her 70s, after being diagnosed with mild emphysema. That diagnosis was followed by at least 15 good years. Her health only collapsed the last, at most, 2-3 years of her life.

Then there's Uncle Patrick. Never smoked in his life, which ended up being all too short despite his rather clean living. Patrick died at 65.

Saying that smoking is a good thing is certainly not within me. But what is within me is this: I believe the day will come when medicine will announce that smoking isn't as bad as once thought. Moderation could be key, as is with most all other pleasures in life. Could be they'll someday discover that organically grown tobacco is fine, it's the chemically-doused crap that hurts people. Maybe it's the paper and the chems used to make it. The filter material?

(Are there any Edgar Cayce fans out there? Cayce directed that we should smoke two cigarettes a day. If you don't know who he is, he's at your fingertips, just go look.)

I think the bans are out of control. Let people smoke. Contain and restrict where they can smoke, but let it happen. Stop judging anyone strictly based on whether they smoke or not.

When one of America's treasures died, many hung their heads and said, "Well, he was a heavy smoker." He was Jackie Gleason. He died in his 70s. Smoking killed him. Maybe. So, if he didn't smoke, what then? Maybe "The Great One" could have lived another 5-6 years or so.

Are we delusional?

Same thing with Lucille Ball. Someone said to me, "She was a wicked smoker." Yes, she was. She was 78. How in hell long do we think we can live?

If smoking killed us at 21-31 or thereabouts, maybe the antis would have a real strong case. So you'll now, I'm not an anti. Not a pro, either.

Sad to say, without that solid info, they still have a case.

What troubles me most is this - with smoking in decline in this country, are we better off for it?

I have no idea.

I have no idea if we lead better lives without smoking.

I have no idea if we Americans lead healthier lives without smoking.

I have no idea if those living in other countries where smoking is still routine lead unhealthier lives.

I have no idea if we live longer without smoking.

I have no idea if living without smoking has had any impact on our lives.

I don't know. Do you?

Coffers, Offloads, and Me...

I'd be the first to concede that ours is a wonderful language. It's organic, alive, ever changing, yet ever staying somewhat the same. It's not that it does change that bothers me, I rejoice in that. It's the when, the how, the who...that's what gripes me.

Let's start with my personal favorite. That would be the word "coffers." We'll have to assume if there can be "coffers," there must be just one "coffer" as well. Few words that sound plural lack a singular, but there are exceptions. Pants come to mind. Then again, if you spill something, it could end up on your "pant" leg. Therefore, there is a singular. One side of your pants is a "pant," the other side a "pant." What about the middle, what about the zipper, the crotch? Probably half and half, I'd guess. Even more convincing is this; you buy a pair of pants. Or you could just go and buy some pants, or just buy pants.

Then there's the television set discussion. Set? What set? Set of what? My understanding would be that you need at least two of something to have a set. You don't hear television "set" much anymore. Good.

Coffers is where we were, though.

Where are they? What do they look like? "

"County coffers are running low..."

Shit, that sounds serious. Whoever's job it is to watch the coffers must have noticed they were getting low. Alert the media. Good God, the coffers are low. Below, a dictionary definition.

cof·fer

(kôfr, kfr)
n.
1. A strongbox.
2. often coffers
a. Financial resources; funds.
b. A treasury: stole money from the union coffers.
3. Architecture A decorative sunken panel in a ceiling, dome, soffit, or vault.
4. The chamber formed by a canal lock.
5. A cofferdam.
6. A floating dock.

I might have a strongbox somewhere. I never called it a coffer. Same with you, I'm betting. Can we stop using this word? I'll sign the petition.

When did we start offloading? One day some years ago I'm watching a story about an oil tanker that caught fire - the trouble started during offloading. Huh?

Like a good many American males of my generation, I too worked on a loading dock. Two different jobs, two different places, no offloading. We loaded trucks, we unloaded trucks. We even unloaded boxcars. Never once did we offload. In order to offload, I'll theorize there has to be an onloading process. There isn't. So just where did we get offload from? I have no idea.

Uranus. This is an easy one. "Your-anus" is politically incorrect, or at least indelicate in certain circles. It is what it is, your anus. Whether there is life or no life there notwithstanding, it's a planet that used to sound like your ass, but we changed it. Although that could be the end of things, let me bring in a word from the Sisters, Servants of The Immaculate Heart of Mary. "Your-anus" was OK with them, that's what they taught us. And there was no giggling when they did.

Here's one I love. Gubernatorial. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Honorable Edward R. Rendell, Gubernor of Pennsylvania." How in hell did we ever get gubernatorial from the word governor? I looked it up once, there is an explanation. It was stupid. The term gubernatorial is stupid. Dump it. That's another petition I'll sign.

Not a word but rather a suffix; three letters long. That would be "-AGE," pronounced "-IJJ" as in roughAGE, garbAGE, tonnAGE, all of which are words. Not a word, oh, let's say, settl-AGE. I heard that once from a contractor. He saw part of my house that had settled a bit and told me, Looks like you have some settlage here." You can't add "-AGE" to any noun or verb and make it a word. If we could, I could say that I really enjoy doing some serious blog-AGE.

Here's one I almost missed. I hate this one. I hate the word fruition. "Hopefully, the mayor can bring that to fruition." What in hell does that mean? If it means completed, say completed; finished, say finished.

How did it worm its way into our lexicon? Did the print people bring it in? I tend to doubt it. My guess is that it was the teevee types who started using it, using it to sound smarter than you and me.

I was a teevee type. I never used that word, and cringed in pain when others did.

"Say, Vince, any plans for the weekend."

"Well, Sparky, I'm hoping to bring that deck of ours to fruition." Then again, "My garden hasn't reached fruition yet, Bob, I think I'll be adding some manurage to it."

Try Our New Easy-Off Cap!

So, I did. I fell for it. How could you resist an New Easy-Off Cap. For the love of God, how can a man resist any easy-off cap, never mind a "new" one?

I mean, really, so many other caps had broken my heart over the years, the hope of "new, easy, off" was too big a temptation to resist. I was ready. I could try, I could.

So, I did.

I turned the cap. The cap came off.

My faith in mankind had been renewed. In answer to that age-old question, "What'll they think of next..." they had thought of something next.

After replacing this new easy-off cap, I studied the spectacle before me, right there in the bathroom. I looked. Then I looked again.

Twisting, turning, studying. Hmmmmm, what was it? What had made this easy-off cap so, well, so easy to take off?

Nothing. Nothing at all. It was a threaded cap. When twisted counterclockwise, it came off. Maybe south of the equator you had to twist it clockwise, but there was nothing easy-off about it. Nothing hard-off about it either.

New? Yeah, maybe. It was, I think, a little bigger than the cap on the last tube I'd had.

It was toothpaste. I was going to buy it anyway, it brings relief to a problem tooth of mine, so the deal was already done. That new cap sort of capped it. I gotta get this tongue out of my cheek some day.

So, that begs the question, "What was wrong with the old cap?" If it was hard to get off, just how hard? Pliers hard? Hammer and screwdriver hard? Slam it under the toilet seat hard?

And if getting it off wasn't all that easy, making development of an easy-off cap a priority, who brought it to their attention? Did users of this dentifrice complain, did they call headquarters and beg for help?

Hey, sorry, I ask the questions. Many of them are not rhetorical, gentle reader, they do require an answer. This one, though, has me stumped.

Am I Healthy Enough for Sexual Activity?

"So, doctor, tell me; am I healthy enough for sexual acitivity?"

Well, come the hell on. The commercials for these hardeners ask you to ask.

"Sorry, Mr. Sweeney, is that a question or are you hoping to start a rumor?"

Cialis, Viagra, whatever. Erectile Dysfuntion is huge. Or at least a big problem. Shit, it's kind of hard to come at this topic without making an annoying pun - and I hate puns.

How about, "If you have an erection lasting longer than 4 hours, contact your physician immediately."

Screw that. I'm contacting the Guinness people right away. Even at 17, I never had one that lasted 4 hours.

Every stiffy-med commercial seems to have a middle-aged guy fly fishing at some point during it, if only for a half second. Is that a side effect? Fly fishing is now a medical condition. Maybe it's added value - you can keep your wife happy AND you'll develop an overwhelming urge to fly fish. Good deal.

You know what I think? Of course not. But now I have a blog, so you will know what I think.

By the time a guy gets to, let's say, 50 years of age, he shouldn't be siring offspring. Why? Because nature knows better. Nature, God, the Deity, The Grand Architect, always knows better. And it knows that the human animal reaches an age where it cannot count on having enough time left in its life to properly fledge a child.

So nature intervenes. Nature brings erectile dysfunction to your door. We should accept it, as woman do it's female counterpart. Go fly fishing...or ask your doctor for samples to see if it's right for you.

My Domain...Cat Enemas...My Phone...

I now have a domain name - vincesweeney.com - and that makes me feel good...for at least a couple seconds, that's when it becomes apparent that all you need is an unused name, a credit card, and there you go. I bought it months ago and just let it sit parked. Some years ago I checked vincesweeney.com only to find someone else owned the name. Whoever had it, let it go. Thanks to the other Vince Sweeney. I don't know who you are, could be we're related, if only somewhere way back in the mists of time. Maybe the bones of some shared ancestor now sit in a peat bog in County Clare.

Realizing that there's a catenema.com doesn't do much for your own bloated sense of self-worth in owning a doman name. Listen, between you and me, you'll find some good advice on that cat enema site, and it can save you some serious money...if you love cats. I love cats, a topic for another post. I love dogs, too. And all creatures great and small, I love them like it's my job, because it is. Also a topic for another post.

So, maybe we should talk about the weather, eh? Not a chance. I did weather for over 20 years. 15 of those years were a joy, the last 5 were a nightmare. The Nightmare on S. Franklin St., starring a cast of dozens, at least.

Don't look for a lot of specific TV bashing on this blog. Not that there's any shortage of things to bash. If you sat down with a beer and got yourself working on a "to bash" list, it would be long list indeed.

I sort of figure a lot of whining about the state of local television would make me look like a bitter old man, which I am not. Bitter? At times, sure, you bet. Old? 57 now. But you can't put them together and come up with a bitter old man. OK, I suppose you could, but don't look to me to give you the glue to make any of it stick.

For now, let me groan about a certain cellular phone service provider. A few weeks back I popped on in their big local store, needed myself a brand new phone. No reason, just wanted a new phone, a new toy, you all know how that goes.

So, says me, "What can you do for me?" The young lady says, "Nothing right now, it would be full retail price." I'm a bit annoyed. "Full price, nothing off, not a nickel, right?" Smiling, and looking a little embarrassed, she says, "Sorry, but you don't qualify until twenty months into your plan."

My plan, she has to know, is a business plan - she has my life story right there in front of her on a clipboard - which includes several phones. More phones were to be added during that visit, with even more to come in the very near future.

I thought a bit. I wasn't happy. She knew we were giving her corporate monster a fair amount of business. I didn't want a phone for free, but I sure wanted some sort of a token gesture from this company. I wanted a, "Hey, we're happy to have your business. Sure, we can work with you." Instead, I was getting, "Beat it, no discount, you signed the contract, you know the deal."

OK. I do know their deal. Now, here's my deal; when my plan is about to end, it will. You won't be getting us as repeat customers, nor will you get my personal business ever.

They won't care. Even though I did politely tell her to tell her supervisor they'd lost our business, they won't care. But I will. All I wanted was a token gesture. They flipped me off, so the least I can do is flip them off. Vote with your feet. Americans have come to accept sub-par products and services. Bill Maher's POed about that. Me, too.

The Hell With A Contender, I Could Have Been A Congressman...

I don't know Washington DC real estate at all, other than to say it's absurdly expensive. Washington is a powerful town, probably the most powerful on the planet, where lots of absurd things happen. We pick up the check for way too much of it.

My pay would have been $165,200 per year to start. Then there are the perks, add-ons, expense money, etc. Two years is what I could have counted on, no more with any certainty. But it's not unknown to have two turn into four, four into twenty, and twenty into thirty or more. Being a member of congress is not child's play, and it's not for those not fond of constant travel and getting the snot punched out of them from all sides. Could be members of congress don't get paid enough.

I had the opportunity to find out.

I took a pass.

I would have won.

I've wanted to tell this story for a long time. Yes, some already know, but that's a scant handful of dear friends and family.

How does Congressman Sweeney sound? My Dad's buttons would have burst. Mom would've been real proud, too.

Before Mr. Sherwood's indiscretions became public knowledge, a certain local political junkie asked me to sit and listen to his proposal. That's all he asked; just sit and listen.

I did.

"Now, hear me out. Don't laugh. I want you to run for Congress."

Right about here is where my head started to swell. "Congress? Me? You're kidding, right? I'd get flattened." But, but, but...even if I did get flattened, how many people can walk around with a resume that includes a legitimate run for Congress?

"Listen, you've got a real shot here. Close your eyes and envision your viewing area. Then envision the 10th District."

Yeah, I've got the image, and it's snapping into focus, I probably could have finished his next sentence for him.

"Look, the 10th fits inside your viewing area like it was by design. Don't you see the possibilities?" Actually, yeah, I was starting to see them...and starting to like them. And I knew then and there who'd be my first chief of staff. It would he who asked me to just sit and listen. He'd be my chief. I told him so.

Jump ahead a bit to where the young flashy blonde is front-page news. Jump ahead to where the congressman's protestations are starting to crumble like crackers. Jump ahead to where most already knew with winks and nods that the man's political career was over. He's in deep doo-doo. There's no coming back from that back rub.

(Here is where I need to tell you that I also sought the counsel and advice of another friend inside the system, a friend who's spent a good chunk of his adult life under the dome in Harrisburg. He's not an elected official. He thought I was nuts. He's seen it all, and couldn't have more strongly encouraged me to scrap the idea immediately, because he knows what a burden elected "public service" can be. He knows who he is - I did not discard his advice. )

Now, it's time to sit and listen again. Essentially, the initial conversation is repeated. This time, though, it has a bit more of a serious edge to it. This time I seek a second and a third opinion from likewise trusted political junkies, one of whom works on the other side of the aisle, a man who would be helping the campaign against me. This time one thing is clear - should I have the stones to saddle up, I'd likely win. In fact, it goes beyond likely, I could run away with it. This time my "sit and listen" friend has a mock-up of a campaign poster that reads Rendell, Casey, Sweeney.

"With my luck, I'd win. Then what in hell would I do? I'd have to go to Washington, get sworn in, smile and wave, then act like I had some clue as to what I was doing." That's pretty much what I say to my friend.

He makes a bolder statement, one repeated by those other "advisers" whose opinion I trusted enough to seek. What seems clear is this: My name and face recognition, coupled with Mr. Sherwood's foolish behavior, would have created a juggernaut that would have carried me all the way to the day when my wife and I had to decide on the new drapes for that Georgetown apartment.

I'll make no attempt at pretense; I'd not be a good congressman. At least not right away. In time, perhaps, but not right away.

So, what happened? Simple enough, I didn't want to do it. I don't want to be a congressman, never did.

Someone else wanted to be one big time. And now he is. I first met The Honorable Christopher Carney at a fabled political event held on a mountain in the heat and humidity of Summer. Then, Carney was a guy with stars in his eyes, and decency in his heart, I do believe. He wasn't a dark horse, he wasn't even a horse. Never mind four legs, the guy didn't have one to stand on. But he was going to run in the primary, probably win, then go on to get the bejeebers wooped out of him by the incumbent, one Don Sherwood. Despite that, I offered Carney any help I had to offer. For whatever reason, we just never connected.

The next time I saw Carney, he was the candidate.

"You're gonna win this, you know that, right?" That, by God, is what I said to Chris Carney as we embraced, again in the heat and humidity of yet another Summer. He laughed. "Do you know something I don't?"

Actually, yes, I did know something. I knew my decision to not take a run at that congressional seat was probably the biggest favor I could have ever done for Chris Carney - it effectively guaranteed him the win. I'll say it again; I would have made a lousy congressman, but I would have won.

You, Chris, were the man for the job.

You're welcome, Chris.

Hiya...

I've never been bothered by accusations of being opinionated. Indeed, I've always believed that the unexamined life isn't worth living. You examine life, you come to conclusions, you form opinions, you get happy, you get sad, you get POed. I'm on board with Bill Maher, who's often quoted as saying that, "I'm pissed off because more people aren't pissed off." Agreed. There is much in life worthy of our anger.

But that's not the purpose here, it's not about anger - it's about me! Isn't that what a blog is? And, after all, isn't everything about us individually? Of course it is.

So, here I am with a blog. This is my initial post - just to see if things work. Once they appear to do so, I'll commence the profundity. Whether or not I want any of your opinions on my opinions is another matter altogether. I'm not sure.

And it's not for lack of caring. No, not at all. It's more me not wanting to:

a) Have to spend time sifting through and pulling out crap that shouldn't be published.

b) Taking your crap.

I have enough crap of my own, thanks.