Everything's Going to Be Fine-ish.

Suddenly summer.

Hard not to love this time of year. That creaky old lumbar don't pay as much mind, and the sun stays up longer than a starving cat in a tuna tree. Oh, just so you know, that's how I like to talk in the summer, like I'm back on the porch, sipping on a tall Hi-C. Matter of fact, I can still hear my old hound dog barkin', chasin' down some hoodoo there.

Born in Puyallup.

But while each season throws off its own distinct vibe, summer's mood is magnified; it's a little lazier but a lot more passionate. The quarter of all Americans who regularly attend school are abruptly handed a box of instant holiday (now with fifty percent more free time!), and we all know shit tends to happen when the kids get bored.

And aggravating our restlessness a notch further this particular solstice is a churning storm on the horizon, kicking up an angst about America's future that a lot of us can't remember previously feeling. Violence dominates our headlines and citizens are rancorously divided over whether to address it with more violence or otherwise. The president we elect in November will inherit an unprecedented hunk of disenfranchised voters from whichever side loses. Whether we like it or not, we're stuck with either a libelous Beltway lifer or a racist, peach-pallored prick. Seems pretty grim, doesn't it?

Mmm... nah. Our country has actually teetered a lot closer to the brink than we are right now (Please see World War II and Cuban Missile Crisis.). Oh, and that term "good old days"? That's about as real as those WMDs they cooked up to hornswoggle us into the Iraq boondoggle.

So, to demonstrate how our union has persevered despite taking a few shots to the pills from time to time, I'd like to highlight some of the good and bad mojo visited upon this country we love.

Summer of 1966
We move our hunting rifle from the gun rack to under the bed because of this: During August, race riots inflame much of the nation, most notably in Chicago and Waukegan, Illinois, and Lansing, Michigan. A state of emergency is declared in Cleveland, and troops are dispatched to restore order.

But damn it, we're still a great country because: On July 4, President Lyndon B. Johnson signs the Freedom of Information Act.

And this cool thing happened: The first Star Trek episode was broadcast on September 8, further dividing America into those who love Star Trek, and nerds.

Top one-hit wonder of the summer: The Men in My Little Girl's Life, by Mike Douglas. It was the only top ten hit for the famous talk-show host, and with a title like that, I can see why.

Summer of 1976
We move our hunting rifle into the closet and buy a .38 revolver because of this: In New York City, the "Son of Sam" pulls a gun from a paper bag, killing one and seriously wounding another, in the first of a series of attacks that terrorize the city for the next year.

But damn it, we're still a great country because: We watched Bruce Jenner, Sugar Ray Leonard and the Spinx brothers make quick work of their commie counterparts in the Montreal Olympics, dominating them until Apollo Creed's tragic beating in Rocky IV.

And this cool thing happened: The first woman is admitted to the U.S. Air Force Academy.

Top one-hit wonder of the summer: Afternoon Delight, by Starland Vocal Band. A curious thirteen-year-old at the time, by the end of that summer I'd surmised that this wasn't about the joys of a Fudgesicle at 3:30.

Summer of 1986
We move our .38 revolver under the bed and buy a new .357 for under our pillow because of this: The HIV/AIDS epidemic continues to explode, and what better reason to protect you and yours from wandering bands of deathly ill homosexuals than with that little beauty of a pistol you found under the Christmas tree last year.

But damn it, we're still a great country because: Top Gun debuts, grossing $177 million and causing the firearm owners mentioned above to feel aroused and dirty. Many went on to purchase VHS players for future Top Gun screenings in the privacy of their own homes.

And this cool thing happened: During "Hands Across America," at least five million people form a human chain from New York City to Long Beach, California, to fight hunger and homelessness. Unfortunately it quickly deteriorates into a vicious game of Red Rover.

Top one-hit wonder of the summer: Rock Me Amadeus, by Falco. Wait, did I say top one-hit wonder?

Summer of 1996
We put our .38 in the glove box of the F-150 and move the .357 to the nightstand. For further protection, we purchase a Glock .45 because of this: The Centennial Olympic Park bombing at the 1996 Summer Olympics kills two and injures 111, so y'all might want to listen up: no immigrant Islamist terror tool is going to make me a victim without tasting a headful of lead. Wait, what's that? He's a white American Christian? Whatever, I do love me a sweet new gun.

But damn it, we're still a great country because: President Bill Clinton signs the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty at the United Nations.

And this cool thing happened: The unemployment rate drops to 5.1%, the lowest since March 1989. House Speaker Newt Gingrich laments that five percent of the country is still slackers.

Top one-hit wonder of the summer: Standing outside a broken phone booth with money in my hand, by Primitive Radio Gods. Sheer genius, as it was the only song ever written with its entire lyrics in the title.

Summer of 2006
We give our .357 to the wife, put the Glock in an ankle holster and buy an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle because of this: Spinach contaminated with E. coli kills two and poisons over 100 others in 20 states. We learn that leafy vegetable-based terrorism is real and if you don't believe it, explain the sneeze guard, tough guy.

But damn it, we're still a great country because: Google buys YouTube for $1.65 billion. Well, at least the YouTube guy must think we're great.

And this cool thing happened: The world's tallest living tree, a 379-foot tall coast redwood (sequoia) now named Hyperion, is discovered in Redwood National Park.

Top one-hit wonder of the summer: You're Beautiful, by James Blunt. This song always gets my hopes up at the beginning because the guy has a plan, then leaves me feeling raw and empty. Damn you, Blunt!

Thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully we can all agree that over the past five decades, through the good but especially the sad and horrific, we Americans have shown a way of coming together when it's least expected.

I'm certainly not expecting it this summer.

That's the Ticket

Don't ask me why I cleaned out the basement last weekend. Seriously, don't ask me.

Okay, I'll tell you. It's because purging the cellar was but one in an chain of unpleasant tasks incurred by my own willful ignorance. Unaware that the swinging door into my cat's litter box was stuck it took me two days to realize my error. And what's a cat to do when access to his private poo igloo is denied?

He's going to air his grievances elsewhere. Which of course he did, which in turn precipitated last weekend's dust and dung festival in the basement. But who wants to hear about that? We all have to deal with the unlovely excreta from our pets and children on a regular basis. Cry me a yellow river, superstar.

But fear not, there's an upside. Did I wheeze worse than Muttley the cartoon dog from lingering all afternoon in a my self-created toxic spore bloom?



Absolutely, but any bronchial scarring caused by my extended stay downstairs was decisively offset by the treasure trove of memorabilia I rediscovered. And when I came across an envelope with "ticket stubs" scrawled faintly across it, Papa strapped on his headlamp and spelunked nose-first into to the flashback cave.

I won't share them all with you, just those which struck a meatier chord while vacationing in the Republic of Nostalgia. Overall, I think the most humorous commonality among these mementos is the crazily-low prices.

This was a good show, even though the band's biggest hit, "Dust in the Wind," wasn't exactly an encouraging message to esteem-challenged 16-year-olds like myself. Also it took us a really long time to find the car afterwards.

Possibly uttered afterwards: "Dude, where's my car?"

By the fall of my senior year, my friend John and I had become fully immersed in all that was Beatle. When the tribute foursome, "Beatlemania," invaded Seattle, we had no choice but to venture up north to check them out. After the show our Fab Four hysteria was tweaked to eleven, but in less than three months John Lennon would be assassinated. My friend John is also gone now, and uncovering this stub churned up some powerful memories.

Possibly uttered afterwards: "The guy who played George looked like the real Ringo, and the guy who played Ringo looked like my aunt from Scotland."

This was my first Seahawk game, which I attended with my dad. Still fun, despite the Hawks getting steamrolled by the Browns. 27-3.

Possibly uttered afterwards: "Dad, I can totally see the Browns racking up a few championships by the end of the 80s. I'd put my O.J. poster on it."

Played during one of the worst wind storms in forty years with gusts approaching 70 miles per hour, the Dawgs spanked the Troy Boys on their way to a second consecutive Rose Bowl. 

Possibly uttered afterwards: "Shit, man, it took so long to get to the front of the pee line that by the time I got there, I couldn't pee. I'm cramping hard, can you carry me? Why not?"

Sixteen bucks for a concert? Give me a freaking break. 

Possibly uttered afterwards: "Expensive ticket, but it might be our last chance to see these guys. I mean, how old is Mick, like, 38?"

While Connors would still play another ten years, Borg was approaching the end of the line. Jimmy won the match, but the real theatrics occurred in line prior to the contest. My brother and I watched as an upstart Seahawk quarterback named Dave Krieg crowded to the front and attempted to gain entry without a ticket. The last words we heard him yell into the box office before stomping off were, "You don't know who I am? I'm Dave Krieg!"

Possibly uttered afterwards: "That was some awesome tennis. The incredible topspin, the long rallies and Dave Krieg is a dick."

Ann Wilson sang with such power she wouldn't have even needed a microphone that night. If you've never seen her or her sister Nancy, one of the most underrated rhythm guitarists in rock history, do yourself a favor. Just brilliant.

Possibly uttered afterwards: "I can't believe what a dick Dave Krieg was three years ago."

I'll stop there and just lay down a summary of the remaining stubs:  Rush was a borderline religious experience in June of 1981. Aerosmith appeared uninspired and coked out in 1985. The Kinks were fantastic, but performed the same show both times I saw them, and when the Sonics defeated the Lakers and Showtime in the Western Conference Finals that sultry afternoon in 1987, losing the green and gold twenty years later seemed about as likely as a Donald Trump presidency in thirty.

We all know how that went.

The "This Day in History" Poetry Challenge.

Remember Schoolhouse Rock? Sure you do. 

I'm just a bill,

Yes, I'm only a bill,

And I'm sitting here on Capital Hill…

Conjunction Junction, what's your function…?

And so many more. But this stuff hasn't been on Saturday morning TV since the Seventies, and let's face it, we're so much smarter than our children because of such civic-minded programming. 

Oh, yeah, and due to our ability to discern subtle social cues stymied by overuse of hand-held electronic devices. 

These days, your average eleven-year-old probably doesn't know that interjections show excitement or emotion. How many current fourth graders can rattle off "three six nine…twelve fifteen eighteen…twenty-one twenty-four twenty-seven…thirty"?

Bam, this one can.

Today's youth have no idea how magic a number three is or how a bill becomes a law, nor do they care. I've decided to propose a radical exercise for our overstimulated, standardized-test-driven youth— a way to transform them into sturdy, studly students of social studies. It's the "This Day in History" poetry challenge. 

Simply watch in wonder as your cherub drives his or her pick into that golden internet vein and pries out a wheelbarrow-full of raw historical nuggets. At that point, it's merely a matter of smelting everything into verse. Ouch, that's hot!

On March the Fourth Seventeen-Ninety-One,

Vermont at last became a state.

I've been told it was cold,

All the men were quite old,

And they smelled of intestinal freight.

On March the Fourth  Nineteen-Hundred-and-Eight,

New York students finally stopped getting cuffed.

Instead of a slap,

The belt or the strap,

The kids wore a Donald Trump tuft.

On March the Fourth Nineteen-and-Fifty-Two,

Ronnie Reagan and Nancy were hitched.

Did she just say "no"?

Oh, no, not that night, bro,

Okay, gross, the subject needs to be switched.

On March the Fourth Nineteen-and-Thirty-Three,

FDR first came onto the scene.

We had nothing to fear but fear itself,

Still not really sure what that means.

On March the Fourth Nineteen-and-Seventy-Four,

People Magazine first peeled its wrapper.

My mom read it first,

And usually at worst,

It ended up on the floor by the crapper.

On March the Fourth Nineteen-and-Ninety-Nine,

Lewinsky's book dished on old Bill.

She wore the same dress,

To talk to the press,

Best dry cleaner on Capital Hill.

See what I mean? It's easy, fun and your child will be a little less—well, stupid—than yesterday.

Maybe.

Happy Groundhog Day.

February 2.

Unless it's your birthday or wedding anniversary or maybe the day back in '97 that you coughed up something with a crew cut and its own spleen and decided it was time to stop sucking down Lucky Strikes, it's really a fairly inconsequential date in a fairly inconsequential month.

Oh, yeah, and no disrespect to all those of African descent who've been bestowed the year's shortest month to celebrate their history. From what I understand, during negotiations with the Republican party, the GOP agreed to give the black people February, but continue to hold out for a thirty-two day White History Month.

I think it was John Boehner who tearfully whimpered on the House floor, "Goddammit, we earned it!"

Anyway, a lot of other really amazing stuff has happened on this day in history, or as my twelve-year-old daughter would say, "February second has had some flossy sessions, Pops."

In 1847, the first woman of a group of pioneers commonly known as the Donner Party died during the group's journey through a Sierra Nevada mountain pass. The disastrous trip west ended up killing forty-two people and turned many of the survivors into cannibals.

I always wondered if Dr. Atkins included the Donner Party in the acknowledgments section.

John Simon Ritchie, better known as Sid Vicious, succumbed to a heroin overdose on February 2, 1979. According to the coroner's report, the drug concentration in the Sex Pistols bassist's bloodstream was eighty percent pure.

Holy shit. My flora and fauna reach terminal toxicity after a second double stuff Oreo.

February 2, 1971 was the infamous day when Idi Amin seized power in Uganda. For a more in depth examination of his culinary preferences, please see Donner Party above.

The National League of Professional Baseball Clubs, later known simply as the National League, was founded on this date in 1876. Teams took the field under monikers such as Cincinnati Redlegs, Hartford Dark Blues and St. Louis Brown Stockings.

Obviously, baseball has always been a thinking man's game.

February 2, 1946 marks the day when President Harry Truman rejected Josef Stalin's proposal for a get-together in the Soviet Union.

I can't verify this, but I've heard the deal breaker was Stalin's refusal to accommodate Truman's backstage requests of various fine cheeses, high quality chocolate, top of the line champagne (Cristal, Moet) and two bottles of Absinthe along with Haribo gummi bears, Doritos and cereal with two percent milk.

Harry T. also requested a bald-headed, toothless hooker, with no mention of a preferred gender, and that's where Joe drew the line.

Talk about an inflexible, mustachioed mass murdering diva.

Happy Groundhog Day.

I'll admit it: size matters

Last week, I sat down to catch a bit of the U.S. Open Tennis Tournament. It had been a while since I'd watched professional men's tennis, and even with the benefit of high definition, the ball was really tough to follow. The combination of equipment, speed and strength has created a sport where the server has an overwhelming advantage.

Thirty years ago, the game was far slower; the rackets were small and wooden, much like Tom Cruise. In this earlier photograph of me, you can see how much I had to strain to get some velocity on the ball.

Thank God for the muscle control of youth. Otherwise, tennis white would not have been a good color that day.














Now, I still grimace when hitting a tough shot, but that's only because I'm looking down at my filthy ridiculous biceps:

Naturally, tennis equipment isn't the only area of technological advancement throughout my life. There are so many others.

In the old days, children's car seats had no restraining devices; they were simply hooked over the front seat right next to the driver:

These seats were born out of practicality. Our moms needed someone nearby to hand them smokes while driving. Since we weren't belted in, I recall my mother wedging a small, portable ironing board between the dash and my still-forming sternum.

Here's a portable music device from the 1960s. It's not an iPod or even a Walkman. It's a transistor radio:

You were usually lucky to clearly tune in two stations, and one was the farm report. The other was the oldies station, which back then, was newies.



Portable phones have certainly evolved. Here's a model from 1982 (the phone, not the guy):

And here's how far cellular technology has advanced:

Rumor has it that prolonged exposure to cellular signals can muck up a man's naughty bits. Hopefully, the 1982 guy had sired all the children he needed before strapping that behemoth to his holster.



Pet clothing is a phenomenon that wasn't around back in the black and white days:

You don't need to dress your dogs all fancy-like right before they head down to the local school to keep those "new" kids from coming in.







Don't forget about the food category. Look at this guy. It's like he has no idea how he can possibly eat this entire yo-yo-sized burger:

Nowadays, that burger would be part of the McDonald's "Infant Meal."






This dude seems to be saying, "Uh, hello, I ordered the meal, so where are my fries and 64-ounce Diet Coke?"

Some foods haven't changed, but their packaging certainly has. Here's an old Cap'n Crunch box:

The cap'n seems fairly straight-edge and benign.









But what happened here? He looks like he's totally jonesing to get to happy hour with Sugar Bear the minute the photo shoot wraps:

A few items are indeed smaller than they were forty years ago, most notably computers, the ozone layer, automobiles, and, of course...

supermodels.









 Someone hand her that big burger.

Am I cool? Guilty.

What truly is cool? Is the term ,"cool," an absolute, or is it, in fact, in the eye of the beholder?

Well, this is your lucky day, because I've got the answer. Cool is an absolute, and fortunately, I needed to investigate no further than my own basement to find such a solution. Cool is something we either have...or we don't.

Let's begin.

There's "so little, you don't know what the term means" cool:

And then there's "kindergarten turtle neck" cool:

There's "brooding, iconic, sports figure" cool, because only the hippest, coolest athletes can successfully rock vertically striped socks:

And of course, you've got "pointy-collared" cool, which obviously stands the test of time:

There's "I'm so cool, I don't even care that I've got more zits than Idaho has Nazis" cool:

And it's no coincidence that "cool" begins with the same letter as "camel toe":

And who isn't familiar with guys who are so cool, they don't mind standing in front of the same butterfly that's on most tampon boxes:

I realize I'm really blessed to have never had an awkward, uncool phase in my life, and I hope no one who reads this feels any pangs of jealousy. Sometimes I wish I could be different, but one thing's for sure:

You can run from cool, but you can't hide.