Happy Memorial Day

Ahhh…Memorial Day the official start to summer…that means you can sink your teeth into burgers, beers, baked beans, and brownies...legitimately.

And for you fashionistas…that means you can wear white…legitimately. As you know...there is an unwritten rule about not wearing white before Memorial Day. Apparently there are many violaters walking around wearing...ummm.... “alabaster.” No worries...I haven’t made any reports to the fashion police. I’ve got your alabaster back.

In New England the summer barbecue season is short. Good weather comes in like a bang on Memorial Day. Then we kick it up a notch. BAM!...it’s the Fourth of July. BAM! ...it’s Labor Day. Although things can get spicy, we only get an Essence of summer.

Because New Englanders get short changed in the warm weather department, we have to live each summer day to the fullest, otherwise we’re looking for a refund. We have to get everything into 12 weeks or less....golf, tennis, jarts, naps in the hammock. If I’m a little sparse with my blogs this summer…that is because I’m cramming summer in. Or maybe I got nothin’...which might not surprise you.

Anywho………………..

I love a parade. And nothing screams Hometown, USA more than a parade. I remember waving to our kids in uniform...as brownies, girl scouts, and cub scouts during our town’s Memorial Day parade. Seeing their sweet little faces smiling back. Watching the local high school band and Veterans march by, followed by every town official...and the highlight of the parade....the town’s 2 fire trucks.

I also remember Memorial Days as a majorette marching in front of my high school marching band. Strutting my stuff down Main Street. Concentrating on not dropping the baton in the middle of the street and getting run over by the band while I tried to retrieve it. A MAJORette nightmare.

But let’s get serious here. (Can you, Kat?) Memorial Day really is about honoring the men and women who have served, protected, and given their lives for our country and our freedom.

So enjoy Memorial Day...attend a parade, fly the American flag, wear red, white, and blue..and have a barbecue. Have your picnics, pig roasts, and pig-outs. Celebrate the American Way….because that is what the brave men and women who have served and sacrificed for our country would want you to do.

Amoeba in Organicville

I don’t know about YOU…but I love amoebae. (Okay Kat, that was random.) I fondly remember studying amoebae in biology class…and watching them move under a microscope slide. They live such a chill and laid-back existence. They could be considered the Jimmy Buffett of the protozoan world…because they are masters of taking it easy. Oh, to be a protozoan.

Life is so simple when you are a single-celled protozoan. All you have to do is hang-out and blob around decaying organic material…nothing too pressing going on at the bottom of the pond. Wasted Away in decaying Organicville.

You have no definite shape to worry about…and your jelly-like substance is cytoplasm instead of cellulite…which has to look better. You don’t have to think about the last time you engulfed. When you want food…you just wrap yourself around it...and bring it in to the fold. Actually the blobbier you are…the better. I think I once observed an amoeba engulf a cheeseburger in paradise.

And as an amoeba…you are one smart single cell. You have a nucleus which is a “brain” to control your cellular activities. And if you are a really lucky amoeba, you have two or more nuclei. Two heads have to better than one…unless one is a parrot head.

It is amazing to watch an amoeba reproduce by splitting itself in half. Go ahead and watch. Don’t worry…you aren’t considered a Peeping Tom when you watch an amoeba reproduce because it is asexual. Asexual reproduction is not the same thing in my book as you-know-what. But if you get too much enjoyment from watching…you probably would be considered weird.

Anywho………

Even though the life of an amoeba is chill and easygoing…I’m pretty sure most humans would draw the line in pond scum before becoming one…especially because of that asexual reproduction thing.

Oh and another thing….if this blog sounds way too random and you are wondering where it's coming from....Remember, "It’s Five O’clock Somewhere.”

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream

One of my favorite things as a kid was the ice cream truck…hearing the happy music off in the distance…listening as it got closer and closer….knowing it was coming to my street.

The anticipation was too much. Kids everywhere would stop what they were doing and come running from every direction. So many choices… “What ice cream to choose?” Colorful pictures of...popsicles, nutty buddies, and push-ups...posted on the side of the truck. The Ice Cream Man would put smiles on kid’s faces and then head out for another neighborhood. The caution sign on the back read: Watch that child!

Anywho..........

Every now and then an ice cream truck comes through our neighborhood and puts smiles on kid’s faces. Although ice cream is still my number one food choice, a different truck would put a smile on my face. A… “What’s for dinner?” truck…dinner-on –wheels that would come through our neighborhood every afternoon.

Hey, I’m loving this idea. I can picture it now. You'd hear the song, “Hey, good lookin’, What you got cookin’?” in the distance...listening as it got closer and closer. And then it would pull up…a truck filled with prepared meals that you could serve to your family for dinner.

Stressed-out, stay-at-home Moms everywhere could drop what they were doing...put down their playing cards, mah jongg tiles, golf bags, and tennis racquets…..and run to the truck. So many choices… “What’s for dinner tonight?” Colorful pictures of pasta, chicken, and beef…posted on the side of the truck. The dinner truck would put smiles on Mom’s faces and then head out for another neighborhood…the caution sign on the back would read: Watch that Mom!

Families everywhere would be happy….and stressed-out Moms would have time to get back to business…. “Who’s got the Ace of Hearts??” “Anyone for another 9 holes?” “Hey…I got mah jongg!”

Dump Happy

I had 3 dumps last weekend…and it felt great. I am Dump Happy. (Got your attention yet? Gee, the crap I have to write to command any attention.)

I happen to love going to The Dump. The Landfill. The Big Wastebasket. There is something so freeing after leaving my waste behind…(enough with the double entendres, Kat.) I get so much more enjoyment from making dump runs than curbside trash pickup…although I must admit, curbside pickup of Duncandog’s dumps would be nice.

I always try to be a respectful dumper. Or is that recycler? I care about the environment…so I make sure to put the proper items in their respective containers…cardboard, bottles, plastic, etc. Sometimes I get confused with a crossover item…like my auto-pouring, battery-operated, aluminum-bottomed vodka bottle with plastic cap.

My last dump run…I threw out a mirror. I think if you first kiss the mirror before throwing it out, then you are absolved of 7 years of bad luck. To make double sure on my luck…I made-out with the mirror. Then after I looked at myself in it for one final time, I tossed that sucker into Kingdom Come….it just never made me look good enough.

My favorite pile at the dump is by far the pile for televisions. We disposed of a defunct 1980’s TV that had done its last flash dance…so we respectfully laid it to rest next to the other televisions. Electronics like to be buried together…I think, because they travel in the same circuits. It’s kinda sad to see all these old devices piled together with their wires hanging out and knobs loose. (Reminds me of people as we mature…with our wires and knobs not working like they used to.)

Anywho………..

A trip to the dump makes me stop and think about the environment. It’s amazing to think of what one family throws away…and then to think of everyone in the world. It truly boggles my mind.

For some reason lately I’ve been in the mood for good and productive dumps. I just don’t understand why I have so much stuff. And it troubles me to think that I was the one that brought most our stuff into the house.

Now I’m a firm believer in the quote “Less crap is More crap.” I guess that is what happens to you once you’ve had 3 dumps in one weekend.

Trucks Rule

Trucks rule the road.
Trucks own the road.
Trucks bully the road.

I don’t know about you, but trucks scare the pants off me when they come barreling down my bumper ass. I might have junk in my trunk…but I want to keep it there and not have it run over. When I can identify the different variety of insects stuck to the front of the truck’s grill, through my rearview window…I know I’m in trouble.

Last time I was driving on the Mass Pike…I was caught in a duel with a furniture company truck from North Carolina. The trucker was flying up behind me in the passing lane…so I quickly moved over to let him pass. Ironically, the sticker on the back of his truck read: “How’s my driving? Compliments/Concerns…” I pulled closer to read the phone number…but the number was covered over with a strip of duct tape. Obviously, the truck driver had something to hide.

Anywho………….

I actually have had a secret desire to own a trucking company. It started about 15 years ago. I wanted to own a fleet of trucks…pink trucks and hire women drivers. Think Pink. They would not be required to wear pink, but they would have to regularly launder their clothing and smell good.

I would be the Truck Boss of the Pink Truck Union…a kinder sweeter union…like a marriage union, but no one has to empty the dishwasher. I would take care of my Pink Truckers…make sure they weren’t over-worked, under-paid, and mildly sarcastic.

There would be no barreling down on the asses of cars…especially the cars of little ole ladies clutching the wheel and barely seeing over the dashboard. They would be required to obey the speed limits and take frequent breaks. We would award a Pink Truck Employee of the Month…and the recipient would win a free spa treatment…and a pink drink.

There would, however, be a couple of requirements. Every woman trucker would be required to have a “handle”…and would be required to talk in trucker jargon. (KatOUT is my name…and handles are my game.)

Oh, and I would require them to wear trucker hats…they are so cute, in a rednecky way.

I’ll catch you on the flip flop, Big Buddy. Watch out for Smokey camping out at the 54 mile marker.

Over and……katOUT

Losse Lips Luann

There are those who employ the use of internal filters. They think…make a decision…then act. Then there are others who don’t think…let things slip and fly…then react. Whoops. They are the filter-less.

And that would be Luann Haley of Buffalo, New York. If she had a filter in place…somewhere between her brain and her mouth…she never would have said OUTLOUD to the President of the United States of America: “You’re a hottie with a smokin’ little body.” That actually would have been the perfect thing to say...when meeting the Chippendales...at the brew -haha house she frequents on Tuesdays.

So that was the best (or worst) Loose Lips Luann could come up with last week when she had the chance to meet the President, who had stopped by a local wings joint in Buffalo. The President’s reaction to her comment was good-natured. I’m guessing he was just probably happy she didn’t yell: “You’re in hot and smokin’ water with your body of policies.”

The President laughed, gave her hug…and said “we need to take a picture to send this back to Michelle.” So then filter-less egghead Luann yelled “Eat your heart out, Michelle.” (With egg all over her face, Loose Lips Luann still had room enough for both feet in her mouth.)

Luann has gotten a lot of media attention and has been the butt of jokes on David Letterman and Jay Leno. She said she was just trying to be funny. I suppose Leno and Letterman try that on a nightly basis and aren’t always successful either.

Probably Luann’s biggest regret is that her comments humiliated her teenage daughter. Hell knows the wrath of a teenager slammed. Teens are normally embarrassed by their parents…when they are just barely breathing…let alone yelling out cat calls to the Commander-in-Chief of the United States.

Luann has received some nasty internet press by being referred to as a "homewrecker" and the “Buffalo Cougar”…which has to sound better than being called the “Buffalo Buffarillo.”

Anywho……….

Loose Lips Luann has refused to appear on a national TV morning show. Whew. Finally a woman accused of being a homewrecker…who isn’t looking for her 15 minutes of fame.

Captain Obvious

How often do you click a headline on your computer’s homepage? Those e-teasers are designed to keep you glued to your computer...so you don’t get anything accomplished in a day. So I’ve heard.

I can never resist the urge to click on tidbits of information because I think they could be helpful. The other day, the e-teaser headline that caught my eye was: "5 Way to Turn Off Employers." I thought I might learn something I could pass on to Colinboy, a recent college grad. I quickly figured out that…I, Kat the blogger, could have written the article…even though I haven’t faced or even butted-up against an employer in eons.

As I read the article, I wondered if real people get paid real money to write these so-called real articles. The “information” seemed so obvious, Captain.


5 Ways to Turn Off Employers:

Number One: Captain Obvious says... "Do not be too early for the interview.”
Maybe the Captain should add…If you are bringing your sleeping bag and camping outside the building the night before the interview…you are too early. An interview is not the same as a Wham concert. I mean, Dave Matthews concert.

Number two: Captain Obvious says…“Don’t let your desperation show.”
Why not add: Don’t resort to intimidation. Yanking the tie of the interviewer to get his attention, or standing on his desk in Norma Rae defiance is not recommended.

Number three: Captain Obvious says… “Don’t be too aggressive with your follow-up.”
Captain Obvious...please add: If you are accidently-on-purpose running into your prospective employer at the grocery store…or running along side him on the treadmill at their gym....bad, bad idea.

Number Four: Captain Obvious says… “Don’t trash talk about anyone.”
I might add: Unless you are on the basket ball court, name calling and backstabbing is not advised. (But if you are on the court, make sure to tell The Shaq your mother plays bball better than he does...even in combat boots.)

Number Five: Captain Obvious says…“Don’t Lack direction.”
Okay, add: If your only goal is to get the job…and then to coast from there on out...with sick time, personal days, and naps in the employee lunch room…do not share.

Anywho…….

I guess I should stop ragging on Captain Obvious. Otherwise he might have to state the obvious...."the Captain has more readership…than that of said, Kat, the Blogger."

Beam me up, Captain.

Tea Party, Anyone?

Tea parties often conjure up visions of demure ladies in an English garden habilimented (SAT word) in their finest. Daintily sipping tea...with their white gloved pinky fingers stuck in the air...and their ladyfingers stuck to a plate. Or…visions of little girls emulating older ladies…primped in mom’s finest...floppy hats and over-sized high heels.

I remember throwing a tea party-birthday party for Big C when she turned 6. I set up the Chelseabration in our dining room. I made a canopy out of crepe paper and pulled out our best teacups and saucers. I went all out...like I did for every kid party...but provided a different drink. What 6 year old likes hot tea? They prefer the hard stuff...Juicy Juice.

To add to the authenticity of the English Tea.…I dressed as the maid and I asked (ever so sweetly) PaulA to dress as the butler. Please, Please, PLEASE...(The things I make PaulA do.) Cockney accent and all...I dare say, PaulA was better than Jeeves himself.

Unfortunately, the young ladies at tea were not on their best behavior. No demure ladies-in-training in our attendance. One girl in particular was anything like the lady-like fingers she was scarfing. She had an affinity for Jeeves...and would yell with a full mouth, “Hey Butler…get your butt over here.” She seemed to think it was a fun thing to say...50 times over. Lucikly Jeeves was a good butler who kept his cool and didn’t accidently dump tea over the little medieval urchin’s head.

Anywho…….

Now the words “tea party” take on a different variety, and we are not talking that fad green tea variety. This particular tea party conjures up images of a protest movement in response to government bail-outs and the stimulus package. I dare say, I've seen video clips of Sarah Palin at a tea party... and don’t cha know...Sarah is far from a demure lady.

Cleverly so...the tea party movement is designed to be reminiscent of the original Boston Tea Party...no taxation without representation. Did you know that Samuel Adams played a big role in the first tea party? I’m really not surprised by Sam’s rebellious behavior...he was always like that when we were in high school. But what surprised me the most was to learn that he was actually a brewer. I'm sure he would have liked knowing there is a brand of beer named after him...and not a brand of tea.

Actually, I’m feeling like a Sam’s Pale Ale about now. “Hey Sam, get your bottle over here.” Oh, it is only 8:43 am?...I guess it is too early for pale ale and to be demure.

Hey...I’m all for taking a stand and doing what you believe. I believe in the right to organize, assemble, and dump..all in the spirit of the original Teal Party. But just don’t pour my Sam Adams lager into the Boston Harbor.

That is NOT my cup of tea.

Bieber Fever

Do you have Bieber Fever?

Don’t worry, if you are anywhere near my age, you are immune…even if you’ve been travelling out of the country. Besides Bieber Fever is only contagious…if you happen to like pop music sung by a 16-year old boy with a pre-pubescent voice and sweeping bangs. “Baby, Baby, oh Baby”…I’m talking about Justin Bieber.

Bieber Fever mostly affects young girls…pre-teens to teens. They are the ones who get the sickest…actually going out of their minds… delirious, crazed, and berserk. Someone call a doctor. Turns out there is Bieber Fever all around the globe with teenyboppers screaming, crying, and selling their younger siblings for concert tickets. They had to cancel a concert for safety reasons in Australia because of crowd control and, I think, kangaroos.

I had been hearing a distant buzz surrounding The Bieb…but never gave it much attention. I heard there was some cute kid, with a cute smile, and cute hair new to the pop music scene….but I have to admit, I was wondering what the big commotion about. And then I got it.

I saw young Bieber on the Oprah Show and now I understand that if I was umpteen years younger…I might turn myself inside and out…and scream my fool head off too.

Anywho……

So what does young Bieber think when he sees screaming 8 - 12 year olds at his concerts? Is it un-cool to have an audience made up of thousands of pre-teens with braces? He probably doesn’t worry….he has Britney, Lindsay, and Miley to follow. They all started with audiences that enjoyed a good game of dodgeball at recess.

Miley Cyrus started as the squeaky clean Hannah Montana chick…now she’s a dirty fowl. She has a new video out…where she is scantily dressed in a black corset and black feathers…in a bird cage. With the release of that video, she left the Disney World and her goody-good image behind…as fast as she could say, “The Lady and the Tramp.”

So The Bieb just has to hang on…chew some bubble gum, smile his cute smile, sing his cute songs…then he can morph into Bad Boy Bieber.

One suggestion for The Bieb…he might want to do that before those teenyboppers become cured of Bieber Fever…before The Bieb’s voice changes and his bangs become a beard.…and a new teenybopper heart throb arrives on the scene…bringing a new illness.

WWMD...What Would MacGyver Do?

We’ve all heard about the explosion of the BP oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico off the coast of Louisiana, spilling oil into the water at a rate of 5000 barrels a day…on April 20th. And to think it isn’t fixed yet…and it is May 13th.

BP is being criticized for having no plans in the event of an oil spill. Heck, there should always be a “Just In Case Plan” for a possible emergency. Every mom knows that. That’s why she brings wipes, bags, rags, snacks, drinks, books, video games, and a porta-potty on every outing with her kids…even to the bus stop.

BP engineers and scientists seem to be flying by the seat of their slippery asses. Apparently their latest Jerry-oilrig proposal for a 100-ton concrete and steel containment dome was not a slick idea.

Come on BP. We all know the perfect solution involves a MacGyver resolution. You remember MacGyver? The guy who could solve any problem with duct tape, paper clips, a ball-point pen, and a Swiss army knife. Apparently there are others who are now thinking like MacGyver. What would MacGyver do?

There is a hairdresser in Alabama who is using his noggin for more than a hat rack for a “Roll Tide” cap. After seeing otters’ fur completely saturated in oil during the Exon Valdez disaster …he figured out hair naturally absorbs oil and made a hair mat to test it. I could have told him about oily hair…but men like to figure things out the hard way.

Now pantyhose is being filled with old hair and dog fur (even Petco grooming centers are participating.) Duncandog is feeling pretty special about helping stupid humans…with his last donation at Petco. I also want to help with hair donations. Kats never like to be outdone by dogs…especially because they know they are so much smarter.

Anywho…………

I particularly love the other recent proposal to block the spewing oil: stuff the well with golf balls, rubber tires "and other junk.” All they need to add is some duct tape, paper clips, and a Bic pen…for true MacGyver workmanship.

Who needs scientists and engineers…when this world is full of MacGyvers?

Dreamland Disorder

Are you a dreamer? I’m not talking about a dreamer…rags to riches type. I wanna be Oprah Gates someday. Or I wanna be katOUT and rule Blogworld. I’m talking about at night…when sleeping.

Have you had dreams that you can fly? PaulA and Colinboy are so lucky to be dream aviators. I’ve never gotten off the ground in my dreams…unless you count the ladder when I was cleaning out the gutters on our house. (PaulA says in HIS dreams I would be cleaning gutters.)

In some people’s dreams they become super heroes and can scale tall buildings. And then there are others who don’t remember their dreams for shit. That would be me. I could be living a fabulous life in dreamland…but then I wake up with zero memory. Not fair. I could actually be living an Oprah Gates lifestyle…scarfing buckets of caviar and rolling around in my money.

But then again, maybe my dreams aren’t pleasant...so it’s a good thing I have no recollection. Once I wondered if I dreamt a werewolf was stalking me (and not Taylor Lautner) because I had night sweats. Or then again, it could have been Mother Nature stalking me. (She can be a real bithch.) Or worse yet...what if I’m having embarrassing dreams? Dreams where I’m at my blog chair totally naked and my videocam is running? Wake up Kat.

Anywho…………

I have heard about some folks who are very active at night. These folks have a weird disorder called REM behavioral disorder. During their sleep…they kick, scream, grab, and punch. And when they awake…they have no recollection of what they were doing. Then they turn over and find their bed partner kicked to shit. Whoops.

They say this is a for-real disorder. I’m kinda skatical…(that’s kat being skeptical), but then ‘they’ say sex addiction is real….so who am I to determine what disorders are real or convenient excuses? These people, who are assaulting innocent bed partners, claim they are defending themselves in their dreams. Or REALLY is it that they harbor some resentment? (Kick me...but I think they are acting out their abusive wishes.)

I’m pretty sure I don’t have the REM disorder…(OR the abusive wish disorder)..PaulA never wakes up with a black eye.

Berklee Alum

Congratulations to my favorite musician....Colinboy.

This past Saturday, May 8th, Colin graduated from Berklee College of Music in Boston. Being the emotional dishrag that I am...a montage of his younger years played through my head...as I stared at Colin in a folding chair donning his cap and gown...waiting to be called to the stage.

And when I heard his name announced over the microphone...heard Colin’s name resonate and reverberate though the arena...it was music to my ears. When he took the stage to shake the hands of the Honorary Doctorate of Music recipients (songwriters Gamble and Huff...Love Train/Me and Mrs. Jones/ BackStabbers /If you don’t know me by now/When will I see you again/and thousands of others)....to receive his degree... the musical score playing along with the montage of pictures in my head culminated with the bang of the kettledrums and crash of the cymbals.


During that crescendo in time...there was nothing that could have taken my attention away. Not even my long time idol Barbra Streisand who was there with James Brolin to see his daughter, Molly, graduate. Even if Barbra wanted to sing a duet with me....I would refrain. Don’t Rain on my Parade, Barbra. These are my Memories.


On a side note...I can’t even say how cosmic it is that I would be sitting at the same college graduation with Barbra Streisand...after fan worshipping her all these years and inscribing her song “Something so right” in our wedding bands.

Anywho................

Colinboy has been looking forward to graduation...eager to get started in the business of making music. His graduation day...a day that seemed so far in the distant future...finally arrived for him...the day to set him on his new path to follow his dreams.

Colinboy has a plan...at least that is his pitch...even if he has to improvise....which comes naturally for musicians. Tune in to see where his music takes him.

One thing can’t be denied...it is Colin’s excitement, energy, and ambition to get things jelling....like a song comes together with melody, harmony, and rhythm.

I couldn’t be prouder of Colin...by any measure...on any scale...or any meter. For Colinboy...his graduation day marks the start of a new musical beginning...and a new status on Facebook: college graduate.

Rock On, Colin!

Everday Heroes

Heroes and do-gooders come in different forms and fashions. Some come in uniform…defending our country. Some climb trees and return kittens to earth. Some are champions for special health causes. Some land planes in the middle of the Hudson River. And then there are others…everyday American citizens…without uniforms.

Last week in Times Square…it was everyday citizens who saved the day. Lance Orton, Duane Jackson, Aliou Niasse have all been credited for alerting police…and averting an explosive catastrophe. These men, street vendors in New York City, recognized something was wrong and said something. Instead of dismissing the smoke coming from a parked Nissan Pathfinder as a Cheech and Chong skit…they brought it to the attention of a mounted police man. The expression… “where there is smoke, there is fire”…enkindled true.

And who better to know what is really going in the city than a street vendor? They live and breathe the streets of New York. They know the pulse, hum, and the vibe of the street and know when something is off-beat and not in tune.

Unfortunately, not everybody jumps up to the plate and gets involved as did our everyday heroes did that day in Times Square. We’ve seen a couple examples of that In Harford, CT with the hit and run accident. And the homeless man on the sidewalk in NYC. But this time…everyday citizens manned up and got involved.

NYC has taken its share of pot (hole) shots from outsiders who visit the city…labeling them as insensitive, rude, uncaring, and out for themselves…but last time I spent the day in NYC I saw something very different.

On my walk from mid-town to the financial district…which (btw) is a long walk…I saw the contrary. When you REALLY look at people…not through people…or around people…but REALLY look at them…you see a different scenario.

I watched a family walking in front of me…a father and mother with their young child holding hands and swinging arms...stop to exchange hellos and pleasantries with a newspaper/candy vendor. A cop patrolling an area on Broadway say hello to another man with a nod and a smile.

This type of interaction between people happened countless times on my walk. That day, I made a mental note…NYC is a big city…but it is also a community. You might be a visitor…but even with its size...it is a hometown for those who live there.

Anywho………..

We all stand to benefit when we look out for each other and follow the mantra of our Times Square everyday heroes: “If you see something, say something.”

And we PROMISE you won't have to wear blue tights and red boots.

Fast Forward

We live in a fast, fast world. We have fast cars, a fast internet, and many fast women. Problem is…we want our fast stuff even faster. We want things in an instant. Even our instant has gotten quicker. With instant messaging...we’ve come a long way from instant potatoes.

There was a time when the pony express was considered fast. It connected the east coast with the west coast in just 2 short weeks. Pony Express rider Percy would jump on Ole Silver in Missouri carrying a poignant letter from Joe to his brother, Jack in Sacramento…”Dear Jack, How are things in California?” And later Jack would respond in his letter “Dear Joe, Everything is fine. How are things in Missoura?” It might take a month or so before Joe and Jack knew they were fine.

Now it makes absolutely no horse sense to wait even a minute for our mail to go from Topeka to Tokyo with email.

Maybe we need to slow down a little. Chill…Bill. Sit a spell…Belle. What’s the big damn hurry?

Okay, I’ll get off my high horse and admit that I have joined the ranks of the FASTidious generation. I used to have patience for the pony express pace, but with advancements in technology…I’ve gone from 0 to 100mph…lickity split…and no horse could do that…not even Secretariat.

The sick thinks is when I’m at home…I’m on both my desktop computer and my laptop. I use my laptop when I have my desktop sending, uploading, and downloading. Otherwise I would be sitting staring at the same screen. Waiting even a minute for the computer…feels like an entire 60 seconds…and that has turned into an eternity.

Anywho………Fast Forward……….

Everything has gotten speedy…making a fast buck, making fast Facebook friends, eating fast food, pulling a fast one…and food fasting….before colonoscopies.

I can’t even type this blog fast and furious enough. I should be able to think the words and have the computer type out my thoughts. Luckily it appears that this new wave of technology is fast approaching…putting my blogging tendencies on a fast track...from Missoura to Sacramento.

Hi Ho Silver.

Cinco de Mayo

Hoy es Cinco de Mayo. To all you gringos out there…that is Spanish for: Today is May 5th. Cinco de Mayo is a big dealio day to the Spanish community. This holiday is just as important to the Spanish Latino community as St. Patrick’s Day is to the Irish. Same festive celebration, different accent…no snakes.



The day commemorates the unlikely victory of the Mexican army over French (Napoleon) forces back in the 1800’s. It is not their independence day, but a day for celebration of Mexican heritage and culture. How do I know all this muy valuable information about Spanish history and culture? I drink Corona.


I’ve also been to Mexico once…with mis amigos…the Cancun 10. It was a blast…how can you not have fun being with fun people drinking margaritas on the beach, in the sun, in the swim-up bar, at Senor Frogs, on the rocks…make mine with salt, por favor.


Anywho.............


I love margaritas and Mexican food….which we all know is really a taco that gets morphed into 50 different food forms. 50 different ways of serving cheese, refried beans, tomatoes, olives, guacolmole, cheese. There’s the enchilada, burrito, quesadilla, quesaburrito, and the enchitaco.
And te amo Spanish cerveza…beer, gringos. With lime, por favor. I used to think the lime in the coconut was the best idea ever, until I tasted the lime in the beer for the first time.



So today I thought I would leave you with a couple of important phrases you can use during Cinco de Mayo. I do not claim to be fluent in the language of Espanol…but I am fluent in the language of nonsense.



Hola. Me llamo…..(Gato.) Hi. My name is…..(Kat.)
Habla Espanol? Do you speak Spanish?
Donde esta el bano? Where is the bathroom?
Mi aerodeslizador esta lleno de anguilas. My hovercraft is full of eels.



Enjoy Cinco de Mayo…the day when everyone is free to be Espanol and a little bit loco……….especially after a couple of margaritas.



Ole’…….gatoOUT

Shady Blog

Ray-Ban? Chanel? Maui Jim? Oakley? CVS?
What’s your brand of sunglasses?

There are many reasons to wear sunglasses…protection for your eyes...disguise your identity…morning after a rough night of partying….wanna be gangsta cool…wanna be rocker cool.

A lot of rockers and celebs are known for their shades. Elton John and his pinball wizard shades. Bono and his yellow sunglasses. Kid Rock and his mirrored aviators. And my favorite…
Jack You Can’t Handle the Truth Nicholson…..with his dark sunglasses. No one is cooler than Jack. Just Jack can wear shades inside during a Lakers game and pull it off.

Once Colinboy wore shades that were so shady...they made him look like he was trying to pull off a slim shady. He went into a bank wearing black shades…black t-shirt…and a black backpack over one shoulder. Before he could say “Stick’em up,” I mean…“I’d like to cash this check”…the teller asked him to kindly remove his shades. I guess she was worried that Colinboy was thinking about a bank job…and not of the employment kind. Being a vulnerable bank teller, she probably has a hang-up about a possible stickup or holdup. What up?

But let’s face it…sunglasses can be intimidating. When a cop wears dark shades…he becomes an instant Bad Ass. He could be the meekest, mildest, mannerest man…but as soon as he slides his shades down over his eyes…he automatically spreads his legs apart, folds his arms, and takes on a stern expression. He becomes the intimidator. I passed a cop the other day on I-495 who was standing in a construction zone...in full intimidator I'm-a-Bad-Ass mode. I almost pulled over…and confessed to speeding a couple of miles earlier.

As far as being brand specific…I am not partial to any particular brand of sunglasses. Because I usually end up losing them, sitting on them, and breaking them…I buy whatever designer brand they sell at Marshalls. The law of averages that I will sit on my glasses within 2 weeks of purchasing them…80 percent. The law of averages that someone else will beat me to the crunch…95.

Anywho……….

I don’t wear my sunglasses very often…not as often as Jack. I wear them mostly when I’m driving. But when I wanna be real cool…rocker cool…”I wear my sunglasses at night.”

In the Groove

I know this is going to make me SOUND ancient, but I remember the days when we actually played our records on a record player. You remember records don’t you…those vinyl discs with grooves?

My record player was my prize possession. I remember getting it for Christmas when I was in Junior High School and thinking it was so groovy. I must have been good that year to get something so special and not just the standard socks and underwear. As you can see from the pic…I actually still have it. (Don’t ask why.) It had a hook-up for a headset and a handle so I could carry it with me. It was my 10-pound iPod.

I still own the grooviest collection of 45’s you could have. I have 45’s of all the top 40’s from the 60’s and 70’s. And I actually have a few 45’s that belonged to my sister Sistersludge. (Lets keep that a secret.) I keep them in my record box that I decorated with labels I made with my label maker: “Kat the Great” and “Do not touch…or I will sock it you.” I was a bossy, possessive Kat…even back then.

My parents owned a stereo…which was actually a piece of wood furniture. A stereo cabinet with 4 legs. We would polish our prize possession every week and display family pictures on top. The amazing thing about the stereo was that you could stack a bunch of records and it would play for hours. It made the coolest sounds when the next record dropped from the stack. To replay a record…all you had to do was leave the arm stacker to the side. We were so WOWed by the technology.

My mother had a great collection of the records with more grooves…the 33s…the grand daddies of the 45s. I’ll never forget her ‘Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass’ album. The cover showed a picture of a woman covered in whip cream...no clothes. Woah...put some clothes on chica. My face would get red whenever I saw the album cover. A friend, who heard this story, gave me the CD version just to see my reaction. I don’t blush anymore.

Through the years, technology has changed and progressed…from 78s, 45s, 33s, 8 track, CDs, Mp3s. I might sound like a broken record, but it is fun to replay the days when stereos and record players ruled. I do, however, have to go on record as saying…"the iPod is a pragmatic and sound idea for the treadmill."