From time to time, I receive an interesting e-mail from a friend. And sometimes, I share the information I receive with other friends. This past weekend, a friend (Kim Eckert) sent me the following e-mail and I thought it was filled with information I thought you would enjoy. So, here it is – with some personal comments from me:
1. Cucumbers contain most of the vitamins you need every day. Just one cucumber contains Vitamin B1, Vitamin B2, Vitamin B3, Vitamin B5, Vitamin B6, Folic Acid, Vitamin C, Calcium, Iron, Magnesium, Phosphorus, Potassium and Zinc.
2. Feeling tired in the afternoon, put down the caffeinated soda and pick up a cucumber. Cucumbers are a good source of B Vitamins (see No. 1) and Carbohydrates that can provide that quick pick-me-up that can last for hours. (Of course, I drink decaffeinated sodas – better described as carbonated mop water. Whether caffeinated or decaffeinated, neither gives me a quick pick-me-up. Unfortunately, I probably will not eat a cucumber as a replacement for my decaffeinated soda.)
3. Tired of your bathroom mirror fogging up after a shower? Try rubbing a cucumber slice along the mirror, it will eliminate the fog and provide a soothing, spa-like fragrance. (Or you could use one of those anti-fog wipes and not waste food.)
4. Are grubs and slugs ruining your planting beds? Place a few slices in a small pie tin and your garden will be free of pests all season long. The chemicals in the cucumber react with the aluminum to give off a scent undetectable to humans but drive garden pests crazy and make them flee the area. (The smell of cucumbers can drive me away if they are strong enough.)
5. Are you looking for a fast and easy way to remove cellulite? Before going out or to the pool, try rubbing a slice or two of cucumbers along your problem area for a few minutes, the phytochemicals in the cucumber cause the collagen in your skin to tighten, firming up the outer layer and reducing the visibility of cellulite. It works great on wrinkles, too. (I have found that when I eat cucumbers that my face tightens up – kind of like when you eat a lemon.)
6. Want to avoid a hangover or terrible headache? Eat a few cucumber slices before going to bed and wake up refreshed and headache free. Cucumbers contain enough sugar, B vitamins and electrolytes to replenish essential nutrients the body lost, keeping everything in equilibrium, avoiding both a hangover and headache. (In order to get a hangover, you have to be drunk. If you are drunk, do you think you will remember to eat some cucumber slices before going to bed? If you do, you will wake up with cucumber breath.)
7. Looking to fight off that afternoon or evening snacking binge? Cucumbers have been used for centuries and often used by European trappers, traders and explorers for quick meals to thwart off starvation. (To thwart off starvation – yep, that’s the time I will eat cucumbers. Or when I’m drunk and can remember No. 6.)
8. Have an important meeting or job interview and you realize that you don't have enough time to polish your shoes? Rub a freshly cut cucumber over the shoes. Its chemicals will provide a quick and durable shine that not only looks great but also repels water. (The smell will also repel anyone you come in contact with over the next few hours.)
9. Out of WD 40 and need to fix a squeaky hinge? Take a cucumber slice and rub it along the problematic hinge, and voila, the squeak is gone.
10. Stressed out and don't have time for massage, facial or visit to the spa? Cut up an entire cucumber and place it in a boiling pot of water. The chemicals and nutrients from the cucumber will react with the boiling water and be released in the steam, creating a soothing, relaxing aroma that has been shown the reduce stress in new mothers and college students during final exams. (I will avoid this as I am neither a new mother nor a college student taking a final exam.)
11. Just finish a business lunch and realize you don't have gum or mints? Take a slice of cucumber and press it to the roof of your mouth with your tongue for 30 seconds to eliminate bad breath. The phytochemicals will kill the bacteria in your mouth responsible for causing bad breath. (The taste would kill me.)
12. Looking for a “green” way to clean your faucets, sinks or stainless steel? Take a slice of cucumber and rub it on the surface you want to clean. Not only will it remove years of tarnish and bring back the shine, but is won't leave streaks and won't harm you fingers or fingernails while you clean. (And you eat this vegetable?)
13. Using a pen and made a mistake? Take the outside of the cucumber and slowly use it to erase the pen writing. It also works great on crayons and markers that the kids have used to decorate the walls. (I am sure the fragrance it leaves on the paper and walls will also keep the grubs and slugs away, too.)
Pass this along to everybody you know who is looking for better and safer ways to solve life's everyday problems.
This e-mail is not going to solve life’s everyday problems, but it gives you some things to think about.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
New generation can thank Mario Galento
My grandmother, Annie Locke, was a wrestling fan. I guess that explains why I like to watch – and occasionally attend wrestling matches. As I have grown older, I have attended fewer and fewer of the events.
My children, on the other hand, still attend wrestling matches. They like to go to the GCW events here in Phenix City. They seem to enjoy them – just like I did as a kid.
As I stated to start this column, my grandmother was a wrestling fan. If wrestling was being held within 100 miles of her location, she wanted to go. If wrestling came on television, she watched – and you better not get in her way. I think she knew as many holds as any professional wrestler and was prepared to use them if you needed to be put in your place.
I can remember attending wrestling matches in the old Municipal Auditorium in Columbus, the Houston County Farm Center in Dothan, at Fred Ward’s Front Street Arena in Columbus, Darnell Field in Phenix City and on Dillingham Street in Phenix City at a place that no longer exists. In fact, none of the old wrestling venues – except the Houston County Farm Center – still exist. They are now faded memories of my youth, but not completely faded away.
My father made sure my grandmother made it to many of those wrestling matches. I sat ringside with Granny Locke while Daddy sat in the cheap seats. That was probably the best thing for him to do since he always pulled for the bad guys. I think he became friends with most of them because he was their only fan. Granny Locke always pulled for the good guys and threatened the bad guys with bodily harm – many times telling them to stay back or she would stick them with a hat pin.
I was fortunate to share the experience with my grandmother and my dad – my uncle Wallace stepped in from time to time to make sure granny got to the matches when Daddy couldn’t. It wasn’t quite a family event to go to wrestling, but we went together to those places.
Once in a while, when traveling to high school football games on Friday nights, Frankie Bell and I get to talking about the good ole days of wrestling – when wrestling was real. Well, lets say it was “real” entertaining, much more so than today. No wrestlers today can match the fear that Ox Baker put into a child’s heart when he wrestled or Abdulla the Butcher for that matter. These guys played their roles as evildoers to the hilt.
Everybody hated Ox and Abdulla, but there were others who were just as mean – Mad Dog and Butcher Vachon to name a couple. The bad guys today, well, they are comic book characters at best. Does Caine or the Undertaker strike fear into the hearts of little children? I do not think so. The Assassins were scarier than these two comic book characters.
I think my favorite bad guy was Mario Galento (real name: Bonnie Lee Boyette). Mario, who had significant roles in a couple of movies – Frontier Women and Natchez Trail – in the 1950s and 1960s was good at acting his role of villain. In fact, Mario could stir up a crowd to a near frenzy. The local police would have to escort Mario from the ring – sometimes to the ring as well.
After the matches, though, Mario had another job – selling pizza to the crowd. He and his family owned a pizzeria in Atlanta and brought their product to some of the matches to sell. Mario is also the first wrestler I knew that sold and autographed photos at the matches. Mario was a bad guy and an entrepreneur. Today’s wrestlers can thank pioneers like Mario for teaching promoters how to market their products – their wrestlers.
The guys I cheered for and against as a kid are the same kind of guys my kids go to watch today – local guys trying to make a little extra money on the side and hopefully making it to the higher levels of the sport in the future. If they do not make it to the big time, they can be happy knowing they made a lot of people happy by providing weekly entertainment – and by establishing lasting friendships and fan bases. For every John Cena, there are hundreds of Vordell Walkers out there trying to keep people interested in the sport.
Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart and Hulk Hogan did not hook me on wrestling. Sure, I enjoyed watching them perform over the years, but it was wrestlers like Chief Little Eagle, Greg Peterson, Billy Boy Hines, Bill Dromo, Dick Steinborn, Tito Copa and even Mario Galento got me hooked long before I ever heard those other names. It wasn’t the guys you see on Monday nights on national television or on pay-per-view events who got me hooked. It was the guys that wrestled at the Darnell Fields, Front Street Arenas and Houston County Farm Centers that did that – just like the guys wrestling in Phenix City on Thursday nights are doing now for a new generation of fans.
My children, on the other hand, still attend wrestling matches. They like to go to the GCW events here in Phenix City. They seem to enjoy them – just like I did as a kid.
As I stated to start this column, my grandmother was a wrestling fan. If wrestling was being held within 100 miles of her location, she wanted to go. If wrestling came on television, she watched – and you better not get in her way. I think she knew as many holds as any professional wrestler and was prepared to use them if you needed to be put in your place.
I can remember attending wrestling matches in the old Municipal Auditorium in Columbus, the Houston County Farm Center in Dothan, at Fred Ward’s Front Street Arena in Columbus, Darnell Field in Phenix City and on Dillingham Street in Phenix City at a place that no longer exists. In fact, none of the old wrestling venues – except the Houston County Farm Center – still exist. They are now faded memories of my youth, but not completely faded away.
My father made sure my grandmother made it to many of those wrestling matches. I sat ringside with Granny Locke while Daddy sat in the cheap seats. That was probably the best thing for him to do since he always pulled for the bad guys. I think he became friends with most of them because he was their only fan. Granny Locke always pulled for the good guys and threatened the bad guys with bodily harm – many times telling them to stay back or she would stick them with a hat pin.
I was fortunate to share the experience with my grandmother and my dad – my uncle Wallace stepped in from time to time to make sure granny got to the matches when Daddy couldn’t. It wasn’t quite a family event to go to wrestling, but we went together to those places.
Once in a while, when traveling to high school football games on Friday nights, Frankie Bell and I get to talking about the good ole days of wrestling – when wrestling was real. Well, lets say it was “real” entertaining, much more so than today. No wrestlers today can match the fear that Ox Baker put into a child’s heart when he wrestled or Abdulla the Butcher for that matter. These guys played their roles as evildoers to the hilt.
Everybody hated Ox and Abdulla, but there were others who were just as mean – Mad Dog and Butcher Vachon to name a couple. The bad guys today, well, they are comic book characters at best. Does Caine or the Undertaker strike fear into the hearts of little children? I do not think so. The Assassins were scarier than these two comic book characters.
I think my favorite bad guy was Mario Galento (real name: Bonnie Lee Boyette). Mario, who had significant roles in a couple of movies – Frontier Women and Natchez Trail – in the 1950s and 1960s was good at acting his role of villain. In fact, Mario could stir up a crowd to a near frenzy. The local police would have to escort Mario from the ring – sometimes to the ring as well.
After the matches, though, Mario had another job – selling pizza to the crowd. He and his family owned a pizzeria in Atlanta and brought their product to some of the matches to sell. Mario is also the first wrestler I knew that sold and autographed photos at the matches. Mario was a bad guy and an entrepreneur. Today’s wrestlers can thank pioneers like Mario for teaching promoters how to market their products – their wrestlers.
The guys I cheered for and against as a kid are the same kind of guys my kids go to watch today – local guys trying to make a little extra money on the side and hopefully making it to the higher levels of the sport in the future. If they do not make it to the big time, they can be happy knowing they made a lot of people happy by providing weekly entertainment – and by establishing lasting friendships and fan bases. For every John Cena, there are hundreds of Vordell Walkers out there trying to keep people interested in the sport.
Ric Flair, Shawn Michaels, Bret Hart and Hulk Hogan did not hook me on wrestling. Sure, I enjoyed watching them perform over the years, but it was wrestlers like Chief Little Eagle, Greg Peterson, Billy Boy Hines, Bill Dromo, Dick Steinborn, Tito Copa and even Mario Galento got me hooked long before I ever heard those other names. It wasn’t the guys you see on Monday nights on national television or on pay-per-view events who got me hooked. It was the guys that wrestled at the Darnell Fields, Front Street Arenas and Houston County Farm Centers that did that – just like the guys wrestling in Phenix City on Thursday nights are doing now for a new generation of fans.
Thank goodness the case was dismissed
Let me say right off that I do not want anyone to think that all Phenix City police officers fit in the following description. But, there are some that do.
Some of our officers have become too disenfranchised from our community. In other words, they do not know us anymore. They have become too rigid in the performance of their duties and no longer understand that they are hired to “serve and protect.” Some of them must have misunderstood those words as to “harass and ticket.” But, I repeat, not all of our officers are like this – in fact very few are like this.
I remember the old days – when Phenix City was not that much smaller than today, but a whole lot more personal. Police officers knew the people they were to serve and protect by name. There was an officer in my old neighborhood in Asbury Park that not only knew the names of the kids in the neighborhood, but also the names of their parents and in which houses they lived. I bet you will find few that could claim that today.
I miss those days. I feel sorry for those people who will never know those days when life was lived at a slower pace – no video games, no 24-hour television stations and less mass transportation. In those days, kids played outside and neighbors talked with each other. We never had to create a neighborhood watch and put up those signs all over the place. In my old neighborhood, everyone watched out for each other. I am lucky to still live in a neighborhood where folks care about each other.
I especially missed those old days when I was pulled over by a Phenix City police officer on May 24 on my way to work. The officer asked why I was not wearing my seatbelt. I told her my doctor told me not to wear it because I had heart surgery recently and that the chest incision was not completely healed. She asked for the doctor’s excuse. Now, I do not know about you, but when my doctor gives me instructions he does not always write them down. I guess he feels I am intelligent enough to understand what he is saying and to follow those instructions. I told the officer I did not have a written excuse from my doctor. I did offer to show my chest incision as proof. The officer informed me that was “not relevant.”
Guess what? I was issued a ticket.
I asked the officer to have a supervisor come to the scene. I was told, “He said he ain’t coming.” I was also told a clean driving record of 38 years was “not relevant.” I was also informed by the officer that I would be arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail if I did not sign the ticket being issued. I signed under protest – actually wrote that on the ticket along with my signature.
As I began to leave, a second officer came to the scene. I stepped out of my vehicle thinking this must be the supervisor. It was not. This officer stepped out of his vehicle and, when he saw me step out of mine, held up one hand as if to tell me to halt and placed the other on his weapon. What? Was he going to shoot me for a seatbelt violation? I asked if he was the supervisor and he said he was not. I left.
I immediately contacted the City Manager and Police Chief. I informed them of the situation. I also told them to go talk to the officer and when the officer said I got ugly that she would be telling the truth. There was nothing they could do, but suggested I get a doctor’s excuse and take it to court. They said the judge would probably dismiss the charges. You think? But, why was I going to have to go to court in the first place? Could not the officer have used some common sense and sent me on my way with a warning or by telling me to be careful until I could wear the seatbelt again? The Police Chief told me the city could give the officers it employed all the training possible, but that they could not “fix stupid.” No they can’t.
I did inform the City Manager and Police Chief that before this ordeal ended it would cost the city more than the $25 dollars it would cost me if I were convicted in court. I figured at their salaries I had already gotten ahead by $50 or more for them having to deal with me over the telephone. And, I figured by going to court I would add to that total. That was the price the city would have to pay to keep hardened criminals like me off the streets.
So, I had to cancel another appointment with one of my doctors – not the one that told me not to wear the seatbelt (that was my heart surgeon) – in order to attend court on June 24. After 30 minutes of waiting, my case was called. I obtained no excuse from my doctor to take to court. I did not think I really needed that since I had proof of my reason for not wearing the seatbelt on my chest. The judge looked at me and asked if I had been wearing my seatbelt at the time I was pulled over and I said I was not. He said more than asked, “You weren’t wearing it because of your heart surgery?” I said, “Yes sir.” He said, “Case dismissed.” Finally, the ordeal was over.
Do I want you to harbor ill feelings for our police officers? No. There are far too many good officers to allow a few bad apples to taint their reputations. Do I want you to feel sorry for me for having to go through the ordeal? No. I want you to fight back like I did when you are confronted by the kind of police officer I had to deal with. Tell the Police Chief and City Manager of any problems. They will not know there is a problem if you do not tell them. And, remember the good officers who genuinely serve and protect our community, give out praise when it is deserved.
And, remember to carry your doctor’s instructions with you at all times.
Some of our officers have become too disenfranchised from our community. In other words, they do not know us anymore. They have become too rigid in the performance of their duties and no longer understand that they are hired to “serve and protect.” Some of them must have misunderstood those words as to “harass and ticket.” But, I repeat, not all of our officers are like this – in fact very few are like this.
I remember the old days – when Phenix City was not that much smaller than today, but a whole lot more personal. Police officers knew the people they were to serve and protect by name. There was an officer in my old neighborhood in Asbury Park that not only knew the names of the kids in the neighborhood, but also the names of their parents and in which houses they lived. I bet you will find few that could claim that today.
I miss those days. I feel sorry for those people who will never know those days when life was lived at a slower pace – no video games, no 24-hour television stations and less mass transportation. In those days, kids played outside and neighbors talked with each other. We never had to create a neighborhood watch and put up those signs all over the place. In my old neighborhood, everyone watched out for each other. I am lucky to still live in a neighborhood where folks care about each other.
I especially missed those old days when I was pulled over by a Phenix City police officer on May 24 on my way to work. The officer asked why I was not wearing my seatbelt. I told her my doctor told me not to wear it because I had heart surgery recently and that the chest incision was not completely healed. She asked for the doctor’s excuse. Now, I do not know about you, but when my doctor gives me instructions he does not always write them down. I guess he feels I am intelligent enough to understand what he is saying and to follow those instructions. I told the officer I did not have a written excuse from my doctor. I did offer to show my chest incision as proof. The officer informed me that was “not relevant.”
Guess what? I was issued a ticket.
I asked the officer to have a supervisor come to the scene. I was told, “He said he ain’t coming.” I was also told a clean driving record of 38 years was “not relevant.” I was also informed by the officer that I would be arrested, handcuffed and taken to jail if I did not sign the ticket being issued. I signed under protest – actually wrote that on the ticket along with my signature.
As I began to leave, a second officer came to the scene. I stepped out of my vehicle thinking this must be the supervisor. It was not. This officer stepped out of his vehicle and, when he saw me step out of mine, held up one hand as if to tell me to halt and placed the other on his weapon. What? Was he going to shoot me for a seatbelt violation? I asked if he was the supervisor and he said he was not. I left.
I immediately contacted the City Manager and Police Chief. I informed them of the situation. I also told them to go talk to the officer and when the officer said I got ugly that she would be telling the truth. There was nothing they could do, but suggested I get a doctor’s excuse and take it to court. They said the judge would probably dismiss the charges. You think? But, why was I going to have to go to court in the first place? Could not the officer have used some common sense and sent me on my way with a warning or by telling me to be careful until I could wear the seatbelt again? The Police Chief told me the city could give the officers it employed all the training possible, but that they could not “fix stupid.” No they can’t.
I did inform the City Manager and Police Chief that before this ordeal ended it would cost the city more than the $25 dollars it would cost me if I were convicted in court. I figured at their salaries I had already gotten ahead by $50 or more for them having to deal with me over the telephone. And, I figured by going to court I would add to that total. That was the price the city would have to pay to keep hardened criminals like me off the streets.
So, I had to cancel another appointment with one of my doctors – not the one that told me not to wear the seatbelt (that was my heart surgeon) – in order to attend court on June 24. After 30 minutes of waiting, my case was called. I obtained no excuse from my doctor to take to court. I did not think I really needed that since I had proof of my reason for not wearing the seatbelt on my chest. The judge looked at me and asked if I had been wearing my seatbelt at the time I was pulled over and I said I was not. He said more than asked, “You weren’t wearing it because of your heart surgery?” I said, “Yes sir.” He said, “Case dismissed.” Finally, the ordeal was over.
Do I want you to harbor ill feelings for our police officers? No. There are far too many good officers to allow a few bad apples to taint their reputations. Do I want you to feel sorry for me for having to go through the ordeal? No. I want you to fight back like I did when you are confronted by the kind of police officer I had to deal with. Tell the Police Chief and City Manager of any problems. They will not know there is a problem if you do not tell them. And, remember the good officers who genuinely serve and protect our community, give out praise when it is deserved.
And, remember to carry your doctor’s instructions with you at all times.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Pixar's Lee Unkrich is a jerk
I think Lee Unkrich is a jerk.
There, I said it.
Lee Unkrich has to be my least favorite director in the world.
You do not know him? How’s that?
Lee Unkrich is the director of Toy Story 3 – a movie that gave Pixar Animation Studios its highest earning opening weekend ever at $110 million. Before it is over, there is no doubt in my mind that Toy Story 3 will be the company’s highest earning movie of all-time.
But, I still think Lee Unkrich is a jerk.
Why?
I’ll tell you.
Last weekend, I, and eight other people, went to see the movie. It was everything I expected and more. In fact, it gave me, and the other people with me and the other people in the theater, more than we could have ever expected.
So, isn’t that a good thing? Don’t we always want more than we expected?
Well, yes and no would be appropriate answers to those questions.
And, we got all this “extra” thanks to that jerk – Lee Unkrich.
Let’s go back a bit – back to 1995 to start. That was the year the world was introduced to Woody, Buzz and the other toys in the first movie – Toy Story. Lee Unkrich was the editor for the first movie and, while no doubt having a very significant role in the first movie’s production, did not make a lasting impression like he made in the production of Toy Story 3.
Toy Story had, for the most part, a simple storyline. Woody and Buzz share an adventure and become friends when they have to find their way to the new house where Andy – the person to whom all the toys belong – and his family are moving. Did I really just refer to Andy as a person? Can you refer to an animated character as a person? That is a big problem with the Toy Story series – all the characters become real in the moviegoers’ eyes.
Anyway, Andy and Buzz rejoin Andy and the family in the end. All is happy. All is good. It was a great plot for the first movie, a very successful movie. That year at Christmas, as a 38-year-old father of two, I got both Woody and Buzz characters from my children. They are in my room in their original boxes – mint condition. I like Woody, but Buzz has always been a pain. If he ever starts to talk, it takes an act of congress to get him to stop. So, I keep Buzz hidden away so that no one can accidentally start him talking.
In 1999, Lee Unkrich became the co-director for Toy Story 2. Again, he had a significant role, but nothing near the lasting impression he would have on Toy Story 3. In Toy Story 2, Woody’s attempt to save Wheezy – a toy penguin – from being sold at a yard sale begins the new adventure. Wheezy is saved, but Woody is stolen by the evil and enthusiastic toy collector Al McWhiggin. Al McWhiggin needs Woody to complete his set of Woody’s Roundup characters – Woody, Jessie, Bullseye and Stinky Pete the Prospector. He plans to sell the characters to a museum in Japan. The other toys rally to save Woody. All is well in the end. Everyone leaves the theater feeling good.
I will not reveal the events of Toy Story 3 here, but I will repeat that Lee Unkrich is a jerk for what he did in this movie to get to the hearts of the people in the audience – what he did without fair warning. What he did was the result of a great storyline – the best of the Toy Story series. Lee Unkrich touched the hearts of both young and old. He made those in attendance – especially the adults – shed tears for a bunch of toys. Yes, Lee Unkrich took us all on an emotionally draining rollercoaster ride and he knew he was doing just that.
When the movie was played for test audiences, the tears flowed. When the house lights came up, Lee Unkrich noticed the majority of the people in the audience had not had enough time to compose themselves. So, he lengthened the movie’s credits to provide some extra time for those in the audience who needed it to compose themselves. For that, we can all be thankful.
But, Lee Unkrich is still a jerk in my book. He could have warned us that tears were possible – no, probable. At least then we could have brought along the Kleenex.
There, I said it.
Lee Unkrich has to be my least favorite director in the world.
You do not know him? How’s that?
Lee Unkrich is the director of Toy Story 3 – a movie that gave Pixar Animation Studios its highest earning opening weekend ever at $110 million. Before it is over, there is no doubt in my mind that Toy Story 3 will be the company’s highest earning movie of all-time.
But, I still think Lee Unkrich is a jerk.
Why?
I’ll tell you.
Last weekend, I, and eight other people, went to see the movie. It was everything I expected and more. In fact, it gave me, and the other people with me and the other people in the theater, more than we could have ever expected.
So, isn’t that a good thing? Don’t we always want more than we expected?
Well, yes and no would be appropriate answers to those questions.
And, we got all this “extra” thanks to that jerk – Lee Unkrich.
Let’s go back a bit – back to 1995 to start. That was the year the world was introduced to Woody, Buzz and the other toys in the first movie – Toy Story. Lee Unkrich was the editor for the first movie and, while no doubt having a very significant role in the first movie’s production, did not make a lasting impression like he made in the production of Toy Story 3.
Toy Story had, for the most part, a simple storyline. Woody and Buzz share an adventure and become friends when they have to find their way to the new house where Andy – the person to whom all the toys belong – and his family are moving. Did I really just refer to Andy as a person? Can you refer to an animated character as a person? That is a big problem with the Toy Story series – all the characters become real in the moviegoers’ eyes.
Anyway, Andy and Buzz rejoin Andy and the family in the end. All is happy. All is good. It was a great plot for the first movie, a very successful movie. That year at Christmas, as a 38-year-old father of two, I got both Woody and Buzz characters from my children. They are in my room in their original boxes – mint condition. I like Woody, but Buzz has always been a pain. If he ever starts to talk, it takes an act of congress to get him to stop. So, I keep Buzz hidden away so that no one can accidentally start him talking.
In 1999, Lee Unkrich became the co-director for Toy Story 2. Again, he had a significant role, but nothing near the lasting impression he would have on Toy Story 3. In Toy Story 2, Woody’s attempt to save Wheezy – a toy penguin – from being sold at a yard sale begins the new adventure. Wheezy is saved, but Woody is stolen by the evil and enthusiastic toy collector Al McWhiggin. Al McWhiggin needs Woody to complete his set of Woody’s Roundup characters – Woody, Jessie, Bullseye and Stinky Pete the Prospector. He plans to sell the characters to a museum in Japan. The other toys rally to save Woody. All is well in the end. Everyone leaves the theater feeling good.
I will not reveal the events of Toy Story 3 here, but I will repeat that Lee Unkrich is a jerk for what he did in this movie to get to the hearts of the people in the audience – what he did without fair warning. What he did was the result of a great storyline – the best of the Toy Story series. Lee Unkrich touched the hearts of both young and old. He made those in attendance – especially the adults – shed tears for a bunch of toys. Yes, Lee Unkrich took us all on an emotionally draining rollercoaster ride and he knew he was doing just that.
When the movie was played for test audiences, the tears flowed. When the house lights came up, Lee Unkrich noticed the majority of the people in the audience had not had enough time to compose themselves. So, he lengthened the movie’s credits to provide some extra time for those in the audience who needed it to compose themselves. For that, we can all be thankful.
But, Lee Unkrich is still a jerk in my book. He could have warned us that tears were possible – no, probable. At least then we could have brought along the Kleenex.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Hurtsboro history includes BMWs
Once each week, I make a trip to the Town of Hurtsboro in southern Russell County. The reason for the trip is irrelevant to this column, but if you are curious and must know – I am the Operator of Record for the Hurtsboro Water and Sewer Board. I check their wells each week and send in the necessary paperwork to keep the system in compliance with the rules and regulations of the Alabama Department of Environmental Management.
But, like I stated, that has nothing to do with this column.
While on that trip each week, I stop by Perry’s Hardware and visit a few minutes with Rick Perry, the store’s owner. The store has been the Perry Family business for nearly 100 years. Rick has not been working there quite that long.
The past week when I stopped by the store, Rick - a bit of a Hurtsboro historian – told me a tale that left me flabbergasted. It seems that back in the 1920s, Hurtsboro was a hot stop for BMW sales. Rick said BMW sold more of its vehicles in Hurtsboro than in any city in the state.
My reaction to that – Wow! That was unbelievable.
The information got me to thinking. How was this even possible? My feeble mind wanted to know.
I do not know a lot about BMW, but I knew some things that just did not fit this picture that Rick was painting. BMWs, at that time, were produced only in Germany. The company began in the early 1900s – about 1916 – and made engines for airplanes. The company began making automobiles in 1929 which would mean Hurtsboro’s owners were at the head of the line in purchasing the new vehicles. The first BMWs had engines that were originally engineered for motorcycles. But, Henry Ford’s first engines were not much different.
Transporting vehicles from Germany to the United States in the 1920s had to be a more difficult task than it is today. There were no real super cargo ships to transport large numbers of automobiles. So how could – according to Rick – more than 20 BMWs get across the Atlantic Ocean to Hurtsboro? How long would this take? And, did all these BMWs get delivered to Hurtsboro at the same time?
Maybe a more important question to ask is why would anyone in Hurtsboro want a BMW in the 1920s?
World War I had not long ended. If my history is correct, we were at war with Germany. I know after World War II no citizen of the United States would buy a Volkswagen so soon after that major conflict. Why would anyone in the United States feel differently after World War I? Were the citizens of Hurtsboro sympathizers of Germany? Was there a larger German population in Hurtsboro in the 1920s? I knew I would need to do more investigation into our county’s history to be able to answer these questions.
Hurtsboro was quite a hub of industry early on in its history. There were at least two soft drink bottling companies in the town around the turn of the 20th century. Hurtsboro was a prosperous community. So, there was plenty of money available to be used to purchase vehicles – even BMWs.
I had run all these questions and points of logic through my mind in a matter of seconds as Rick relayed the information he had discovered during his research of his home town. I could see he was aware I was having trouble rationalizing the information he was sharing.
It was then that Rick explained the rest of the story. BMW did not stand for Bavarian Motor Works. It stood for Brown Mule and Wagon. I had fallen for Rick’s trick – hook, line and sinker. I am so gullible. Maybe next time Rick tells me something that does not compute I will ask him for the punch line before I put a strain on my brain.
But, like I stated, that has nothing to do with this column.
While on that trip each week, I stop by Perry’s Hardware and visit a few minutes with Rick Perry, the store’s owner. The store has been the Perry Family business for nearly 100 years. Rick has not been working there quite that long.
The past week when I stopped by the store, Rick - a bit of a Hurtsboro historian – told me a tale that left me flabbergasted. It seems that back in the 1920s, Hurtsboro was a hot stop for BMW sales. Rick said BMW sold more of its vehicles in Hurtsboro than in any city in the state.
My reaction to that – Wow! That was unbelievable.
The information got me to thinking. How was this even possible? My feeble mind wanted to know.
I do not know a lot about BMW, but I knew some things that just did not fit this picture that Rick was painting. BMWs, at that time, were produced only in Germany. The company began in the early 1900s – about 1916 – and made engines for airplanes. The company began making automobiles in 1929 which would mean Hurtsboro’s owners were at the head of the line in purchasing the new vehicles. The first BMWs had engines that were originally engineered for motorcycles. But, Henry Ford’s first engines were not much different.
Transporting vehicles from Germany to the United States in the 1920s had to be a more difficult task than it is today. There were no real super cargo ships to transport large numbers of automobiles. So how could – according to Rick – more than 20 BMWs get across the Atlantic Ocean to Hurtsboro? How long would this take? And, did all these BMWs get delivered to Hurtsboro at the same time?
Maybe a more important question to ask is why would anyone in Hurtsboro want a BMW in the 1920s?
World War I had not long ended. If my history is correct, we were at war with Germany. I know after World War II no citizen of the United States would buy a Volkswagen so soon after that major conflict. Why would anyone in the United States feel differently after World War I? Were the citizens of Hurtsboro sympathizers of Germany? Was there a larger German population in Hurtsboro in the 1920s? I knew I would need to do more investigation into our county’s history to be able to answer these questions.
Hurtsboro was quite a hub of industry early on in its history. There were at least two soft drink bottling companies in the town around the turn of the 20th century. Hurtsboro was a prosperous community. So, there was plenty of money available to be used to purchase vehicles – even BMWs.
I had run all these questions and points of logic through my mind in a matter of seconds as Rick relayed the information he had discovered during his research of his home town. I could see he was aware I was having trouble rationalizing the information he was sharing.
It was then that Rick explained the rest of the story. BMW did not stand for Bavarian Motor Works. It stood for Brown Mule and Wagon. I had fallen for Rick’s trick – hook, line and sinker. I am so gullible. Maybe next time Rick tells me something that does not compute I will ask him for the punch line before I put a strain on my brain.
Monday, March 1, 2010
This time they stressed the urgency
Six months ago I wrote a column telling you how my cardiologist's office had not stressed the urgency in getting me to submit - quickly - to having some dye pumped into my system. The dye would allow them to perform a better, and more accurate, test of how well my heart was doing its job. Unless you are dead, you can appreciate the fact that you cannot live without a heart.
Well, after I finally submitted to the testing like the cardiologist wanted, I had a stent placed in my heart. That was it. That was the point of the column six months ago.
Now, there is a new tale to tell.
First, allow me to warn you that I have a doctor's prescription to hit you with a baseball bat if there are any attempts at giving me a hug over the next few weeks. You see, I am now like the title of one of Lewis Girzzard's books. I am one of those folks who can say, "I took a lickin' and kept on tickin' (And now I believe in miracles)." Actually, it was just two bypasses, but, whether it was two or 200, it takes the same opening procedure. You have to rip a hole about 10-12 inches long down the front of the chest to get inside to make repairs. So, my doctor told me to avoid hugs for a while. "Folks will see you and say, 'Praise the Lord, you made it. Come here so I can give you a hug,' when they see me in public. He said, 'don't let them. Keep them off with a baseball bat.'"
To tell the truth, I probably will not use the bat. I'll just make sure you have no contagious disease and keep my handy red heart-shaped pillow between us. The pillow, as the doctors, nurses and techs all said, is going to be my best friend over the next few weeks. Coughs are painful - so are sneezes.
But, the answer to your questions is "yes, I am alive." Oh, you already knew that because you are reading this column that I wrote on Monday afternoon. I had to return for a six-months check-up recently and learned my stent was blocked - and so was another vein in my heart. I had surgery Tuesday, 10 days ago. I came home last Friday afternoon. Can you believe that? Well, it is the honest truth. And, "yes," the drugs were - are - good drugs. Morphine, though, gave me a headache that was just gnawing.
I actually died on purpose that Tuesday morning/afternoon - I lost track of time - long enough to be placed on a machine to get me started back up. When I finally awakened in the intensive care unit at East Alabama Medical Center, the first thing I saw was a beautiful blond angel with a nasty attitude. I reached for the breathing tube (what a poorly named device), the angel told me not to pull it out. I cannot remember if she said it would hurt if I did so or if she would hurt me if I did so. Either way, I took her advice and calmed down. That, my friends, was the worst moment of my time at the hospital - except that catheter thing being removed. The angel I saw when I woke up was Jenny Wilgis-Woodham, a local girl who played softball in the Phenix City Rec leagues, at Smiths Station High and at Chattahoochee Valley Community College. Because we had some things in common, it made those early recovery moments bearable. The fact that EAMS surrounded me with angels made everything bearable.
Other than the catheter thingy getting removed as I mentioned earlier, the next most uncomfortable moment for me was getting the two chest tubes removed on Friday morning. The darn things were about a half-inch in diameter and appeared to be shoved well up into my chest cavity. Just how far they were shoved, I do not know, and do not care to know at this point. I just know they kept telling me that most people do not complain about the pain of having them removed, but rather comment on how relieved they are that the tubes are removed. I understand. When they were removed, I cannot remember any pain from them being removed. I do remember some pressure building up in my chest for a brief few seconds and then it was gone.
I did not expect to leave the hospital before Saturday or Sunday, but my doctors - Lee Roberson and Barry Crowe - had other ideas. When I returned to my room from walking on Friday morning, Dr. Roberson removed three pacer wires from my chest and said I was being released to go home. I did not argue a bit. I was ready to go. That's when he told me to carry the bat with me.
Now, when some people face the possibility death like I did last week, they come up with a bucket list of things they hope to get to do before their time expires. My bucket list had none of the drastic stuff on it. There was no sky-diving, mountain-climbing and no eight seconds on a bull. My list was simply to return home to my family and to my own bed. I'm home. I'm with family. I have not made it to the bed, yet. You cannot imagine how much I want to get in my own bed and lie on my side. When I do that, I will know my healing process is well under way.
To keep up with my progress until I can return to the Citizen, go to carepages.com and search CitizenSportsEditor.
Well, after I finally submitted to the testing like the cardiologist wanted, I had a stent placed in my heart. That was it. That was the point of the column six months ago.
Now, there is a new tale to tell.
First, allow me to warn you that I have a doctor's prescription to hit you with a baseball bat if there are any attempts at giving me a hug over the next few weeks. You see, I am now like the title of one of Lewis Girzzard's books. I am one of those folks who can say, "I took a lickin' and kept on tickin' (And now I believe in miracles)." Actually, it was just two bypasses, but, whether it was two or 200, it takes the same opening procedure. You have to rip a hole about 10-12 inches long down the front of the chest to get inside to make repairs. So, my doctor told me to avoid hugs for a while. "Folks will see you and say, 'Praise the Lord, you made it. Come here so I can give you a hug,' when they see me in public. He said, 'don't let them. Keep them off with a baseball bat.'"
To tell the truth, I probably will not use the bat. I'll just make sure you have no contagious disease and keep my handy red heart-shaped pillow between us. The pillow, as the doctors, nurses and techs all said, is going to be my best friend over the next few weeks. Coughs are painful - so are sneezes.
But, the answer to your questions is "yes, I am alive." Oh, you already knew that because you are reading this column that I wrote on Monday afternoon. I had to return for a six-months check-up recently and learned my stent was blocked - and so was another vein in my heart. I had surgery Tuesday, 10 days ago. I came home last Friday afternoon. Can you believe that? Well, it is the honest truth. And, "yes," the drugs were - are - good drugs. Morphine, though, gave me a headache that was just gnawing.
I actually died on purpose that Tuesday morning/afternoon - I lost track of time - long enough to be placed on a machine to get me started back up. When I finally awakened in the intensive care unit at East Alabama Medical Center, the first thing I saw was a beautiful blond angel with a nasty attitude. I reached for the breathing tube (what a poorly named device), the angel told me not to pull it out. I cannot remember if she said it would hurt if I did so or if she would hurt me if I did so. Either way, I took her advice and calmed down. That, my friends, was the worst moment of my time at the hospital - except that catheter thing being removed. The angel I saw when I woke up was Jenny Wilgis-Woodham, a local girl who played softball in the Phenix City Rec leagues, at Smiths Station High and at Chattahoochee Valley Community College. Because we had some things in common, it made those early recovery moments bearable. The fact that EAMS surrounded me with angels made everything bearable.
Other than the catheter thingy getting removed as I mentioned earlier, the next most uncomfortable moment for me was getting the two chest tubes removed on Friday morning. The darn things were about a half-inch in diameter and appeared to be shoved well up into my chest cavity. Just how far they were shoved, I do not know, and do not care to know at this point. I just know they kept telling me that most people do not complain about the pain of having them removed, but rather comment on how relieved they are that the tubes are removed. I understand. When they were removed, I cannot remember any pain from them being removed. I do remember some pressure building up in my chest for a brief few seconds and then it was gone.
I did not expect to leave the hospital before Saturday or Sunday, but my doctors - Lee Roberson and Barry Crowe - had other ideas. When I returned to my room from walking on Friday morning, Dr. Roberson removed three pacer wires from my chest and said I was being released to go home. I did not argue a bit. I was ready to go. That's when he told me to carry the bat with me.
Now, when some people face the possibility death like I did last week, they come up with a bucket list of things they hope to get to do before their time expires. My bucket list had none of the drastic stuff on it. There was no sky-diving, mountain-climbing and no eight seconds on a bull. My list was simply to return home to my family and to my own bed. I'm home. I'm with family. I have not made it to the bed, yet. You cannot imagine how much I want to get in my own bed and lie on my side. When I do that, I will know my healing process is well under way.
To keep up with my progress until I can return to the Citizen, go to carepages.com and search CitizenSportsEditor.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Barbara Walters is just plain rude
I am absolutely certain that if Ludlow Porch were within striking distance, he would clobber Barbara Walters smack dab in the face with a whole pan of deep-fried cheese biscuits for her rude behavior last week. And, if I were anywhere nearby, I would help him teach that old bag of bones a lesson in manners.
Yes, Barbara Walters. That snooty old witch that is the lead hen on that television show, “The View” ought to be taken to task for her inane comments.
Last week, Baba Wawa (if you watched Saturday Night Live in the 1970s you understand the reference) attacked Paula Deen – one of the South’s finest cooks - during a segment of that stupid show. Ms. Holier-Than-Thou said, pretty much, that it was Paula’s fault that kids are fat. Well, she actually said Paula was helping to promote childhood obesity with her new cookbook, “Paula Deen’s Cookbook for the Lunchbox Set.”
“This is a cookbook for kids. Obesity is the number one problem for kids today. Everything you have here is enormously fattening. You tell kids to have cheesecake for breakfast! You tell them to have chocolate cake and meatloaf for lunch. Doesn’t it ever bother you that you’re adding to this?” disparaged Walters.
Paula was taken aback by the comments of the skinny scarecrow of what is left of a former television journalist. But, she was polite and explained that she was not suggesting that children should eat everything in the cookbook at one time. “No, I’m not saying that they should eat like this every day,” said Paula.
Paula should have shoved some of the goodies she prepared for the show down Walters’ throat. Oh, I’m not saying she should have done that in retaliation for Walters’ remarks. Paula should have done that to help Walters become a healthy person. She is, after all, a poster child for malnutrition. And filling her mouth with good Paula Deen cooked food is a better alternative than allowing her to spout out any more rudeness.
Walters should have followed the lead of the other women on the show and gobbled up the goodies. Whoopee Goldberg was chowin’ down on Paula’s fried chicken and making no complaints. The other three women were shoveling down strawberry cake and little finger sandwiches made with slices of tomato between light bread with mayonnaise smeared on them for that added flavor.
You see, while Barbara Walters was out learning to be rude, Paula Deen was working for a living and trying to raise her sons doing what she does best – cooking food. She was also learning manners. That is something Barbara Walters lacks.
Any son or daughter of the South knows it is impolite to ask someone to come over and bring the groceries with them without supplying some of your own for sharing as well. You especially do not criticize your guest when she has prepared some of the finest groceries known to mankind. I have eaten Paula Deen’s cooking and I must admit it was wonderful. Uncle Bubba’s cooking ain’t bad, either. If you ever get over to Savannah, try them out yourself. Don’t invite Barbara Walters to tag along. She will only cause a bad case of indigestion.
Childhood obesity is a problem – a big problem. It is not, however, Paula Deen’s cookbook’s fault. If Barbara Walters wants to blame someone or some thing, blame fast food restaurants and soft drink manufacturers. Blame the parents of the obese children for not teaching their children about proper nutrition. Barbara Walters can also blame herself for not doing enough stories about proper nutrition herself. Instead of doing that, she was too busy hob knobbing with the Hollywood and Washington D.C. crowds to worry about children’s health.
There, I have said it. Using the same liberal logic that she employed to blame Paula Deen’s cookbook, I have deduced that childhood obesity is Barbara Walters’ fault. It makes as much sense as blaming a cookbook for promoting obesity at any age.
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