Tuesday, August 31, 2010

There Is One In Every Family, ...Three In Mine

Oh My Heck!

That is what I said the other day. I said “Oh, my heck”.

I said it in church.

The following blank space has been purposely left to indicate a period of uncomfortable silence.






I know, I know, what a stupid thing to do. To make matters worse, I said it in the hall so there were several who heard my offensive and distasteful remark and would gladly witness to such. For my effort, I received several crusty looks, two uncomfortable chuckles and one stare at the ceiling/roll of the eyes. It was a banner day for me.

To top it all off, like the maraschino cherry in a dry martini that I of course have never sipped, I was wearing a light blue shirt. No, I reply, it was not merly off-white, and no I hadn’t just washed a proper white Sunday dress shirt with my new jeans. I have made this general type of mistake before, only with a red sweatshirt amid spanking white underwear – another story altogether.

No, my shirt was created in Honduras to be a manly light blue and I wore it with little deliberation. I have been wearing the same two white dress shirts for several years, and recently, due to my discovery of frozen chocolate cream puffs at my local Giganto Mart, there is more of me to love than I care to admit. The top buttons fit a little snug, so I deliberately choose a different dress shirt.

I did this of my own volition. No one was there to force me or coerce me. I was not under any undo peer pressure like the time I deliberately spelled my name wrong on my tithing envelope in seventh grade just to be cool.

I alone am to blame.

What’s worse is that I was just starting to clean up my iffy image from singing a Sandy Patty song in sacrament meeting several years ago. Sandy Patty, a Christian songwriter is, how do I put this delicately,... southern. She says unconscionable things like, Praise the Lord, and I heard from a friend of her hairdressers that she once muttered under her breath, Hallelujah.

You see the problem.

Hind sight being what it is, I can see that the song I selected was all wrong for church. There were way too many key changes and more words that began with the letter "C" than are usually allowed. And I read in the notes instructions to hold the peddle down way too long - an action that I nipped in the bud fortunately in time before the choir director caught wind. Small favors.

As you can see, I am on socio-political shaky ground even without this latest blue-shirt thing. Let alone the Oh My Heck.

I am grateful that my religious beliefs are strong and are not to be swayed by the tides of sighs and frowns that roll my way when I am culturally inept. But maturity and understanding are little comfort when your family is left alone on the pew.

But I have a plan, a contingency in case of foul-ups - which I have discovered are only life threatening if unplanned for. I am going to hand out money. Simple and elegant. I am going to go to the bank and buy several hundred dollars worth of gold coins and hand them out like Angelina Jolie at a leper colony or the Academy Awards. I am not proud. You have no idea how these church people can mess with your life. I consider it an investment with eternal rewards.

I suppose I could have alleviated this whole mess by using some of my gold coin money to buy me a white shirt with a bigger neck and then I may not be in this predicament. As it is, I will never ask me to speak in church.

Oh.

Cool.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Ding, Dong

She is quiting. Dr Laura apparently no longer finds the deep satisfaction she once did flagellating for three hours each day on the radio.

I have been following her for years - if getting nauseous and having to turn to another station is considered following. She is shrill, rude, unfeeling, megalomaniac, can't use spell check and drinks too much caffeine - a perfect fit for me.

And I am going to have her old job. All I have to do is forget to style my hair and grimace a lot while making public appearances and we'll be like twiners. Well, everyonce in a while I will have to give out some good common sence advice, but then I will even the score by telling someone to just be quiet.

There is the problem in that I am not a woman, but look at Sean Hannity? He's been able to overcome this well enough that we almost, when listening to him, can't remember if he is he is a woman or just incredibly whiny. And if he foster this types of confusion and use of a smokescreen to his benefit, so can I! Its about time some other Mormon conservative closet liberal than Glen Beck can make it in the big world of daytime radio.

Look at it this way. What we really want is Oprah. Oprah is perfect. Really. I cant say anything except that the dress on the cover of people, the blue thing, was exactly what my wife wanted for her birthday when I got her a new fly fishing reel. We need Oprah, only without the lovely fashion and all the class - cause as much as Lower America thinks it likes its classy people, we find a lot of these O magazines used as insulation in common trailer parks north of the mason Dixon line. Opera is too mild mannered for the job. And besides, I hear she is moving to the white house for Obamas second term for some new television show called are you smarter that the president. Its a win/win.

I thought I would start out my show after reading off the Pledge of Allegiance both in English and in Spanish, and depending how close we get to the northern border, in Idahoan - by blessing all the troops out in the fields of whichever countries they are in the fields of. It will be tearful and patriotic. Then I thought to have Dan Sills and Marie Osmond reprise their 90's hit - Meet Me In Montana to remind us that there are some places where no gays want to get married and no illegals want to live yet - which makes America great.

Then I will talk about my family that is spread cross over three different trailer parks that is having the same problem with porno on the Internet, but we'll have to abbreviate it down to "po po" because there will be kids listening - and even though she said the big N word ten times last ween, she cant bring herself to say Porn, so "po po" it is.

Ya see, its relevance that makes the Davison Cheney from Pocatello Idaho show so popular from noon to three on your radio Dial. Now all I have to do is belittle people calling for help and advise, cut people off when they are wrong and tell them to shut up if I haven't gotten my point across yet. Done and Done, and will soon be.

I'm gonna be a star!

Monday, August 16, 2010

The Mighty, Mighty Visqueens

It is that time of year, the hottest scorch-y-est, sun-blistering time when all the stupid…I mean supportive parents of the world put on their Favorite High School Football Sweatshirt and roast what little brains they still have left in the name of Sport.

And yes I am talking Football, baby!

My son is a high school footballer, and he has asked me not to call him that in front of his friends. But none of his friends can read so I think I am safe. Frankly I can’t remember what it was he wanted me to call him. Last year he wanted to go by Tyler because his friend at school was named Tyler and he thought it was cool. All I can say is, thank heaven he does not hang out with that Pincock kid anymore. I think it's something like the sporting dudes – what he wants me to call him and his friends on the team, but it just ain't gonna happen. I, myself, would like to be known as buff rich dude, but no one is obliging me so far.

So, the sporting dudes are in two-a-days, which means that I am in two-a-days also. Apparently ones loyalty to the team is measured by how many fans you have attending every little function and function-ette the team sponsors. I have been to breakfasts and dinners and camp outs and parades and nooners and fun runs and fundraisers and one sleep-over because I fell asleep while I was supposed to be the parent-in-charge and they left me in the weight room overnight.

I have painted helmets and blown up balloons and hidden in boxes for half-time and created life sized portraiture of the team captains, and fought with an old lady who tried to gank the seats I had been saving since two o’clock the previous day - all in the name of Tyler, or whatever he is being called these days.

This year, my booster club (aka the flying felons) has assigned me the creation of legs for the platform that serves as a moving base for the paper-mach' and diamond encrusted giganto helmet for the players to run through at the beginning of the game after they have been on the field for a half an hour anyway warming up and waving at the cameras of the poor people who were rich once who spent all their money on cameras.

We boosters are not allowed to manually move the thing on and off the field because of last year’s fight between the “Gloria's” - two old women with the same name from opposing teams who got in a fight that set off the fireworks during the halftime show that burnt the hair off all the cheerleaders dancing in center field - a bout of bad luck if you ask me. These poor girls milked it however, and spent the rest of the season cheering from the handicapped section – the only area of the stadium where they could be rolled while still in traction.

Ladies and gentleman, this is serious stuff. We spent all our vacation money buying coupon books. We skipped Aunt Ednas viewing (may she rest in peace) for the team car wash at the mall. We buy all our clothes at football yard sales, and donated all our furniture to assure that the home game souvenir programs were printed in color - a must have for any team that wants to place higher that fifth in region.

Some people think we take this whole High School football thing to far, but I say to them that such is the talk from boosters of high schools of the super wussy where they don’t have the wherewithal to fill the gold leaf, monogrammed mink lined athletic supporters that our honest home owners tax dollars purchased.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go make sure that the tiny water fountains placed in the end zone are synchronized well enough to spell out The Phlaming Visqueens during the national anthem.

After all - Winners do what losers wont!