The Woman Of Many Containers

"Well," she began, twisting herself over so she could hold her head up and face me. One of her twenty breasts popped out from under the sheet, and she tucked it back in. "You want the whole story? All the bodies?"

The Woman Of Many Containers

I Need A Life Coach ...

I saw this press release ...

and followed the link ...

What you need is a road map - a plan of action. And you're at the right place to get one. We've created a series of exercises (the mental kind) to help you get started on planning your life ...

and wondered, "How many Life Coaches are there?"

I think I'm gonna need a life coach to find me a life coach.

Meeting "The Man"

Restaurant Review: Dixie's BBQ

Not mutually exclusive, oxymoronic, nor particularly paradoxical, Dixie's BBQ and Automotive Repair is plainly the place to go in Bellevue, Washington for a peppy $10 lunch.

Okay, so it is a bit bizarre. You eat in a garage. On picnic tables. But first you grab your food cafeteria style. If LJ The Blues Singer is behind the counter, don't be cute with her. She's very serious. I asked if their advertised combination plate was 'Brisket and Transmission Flush' and she wasn't amused. Her hostile stare gave me indigestion even before I put fork to mouth.

The food's good. How good is a matter of opinion, but it's definitely 'for real' barbecue.

And the owner, Gene Porter, puts on a great show. Quietly he creeps around the room with a small saucepan and petite spoon, offering up a bit of 'The Man', a crimson concoction famed throughout central King County. Few partake. The ribs and such are already drenched in a thick sauce, so why take the chance?

Again, don't be cute. "I'd like some of The Man," I said, motioning for Mr. Porter to come on over. Happily he wended his way through the astonished patrons, and ever so daintily dropped a dollop of his pride and joy on my plate.

I looked up. "Excuse me, but I didn't ask for the boy. I asked for The Man …"

Gasps from the crowd. There's a thin line between bravery and stupidity, and everyone knew I had erased it. Everyone except for Mr. Porter, who was as pleased as punch to shovel oodles of spoonfuls atop my up until then contented pork ribs. They screamed in pain.

I like hot food. I liked The Man. I liked the three glasses of milk I had to get up and get.

Yours truly paid for my arrogance. The next morning, after a few cups of coffee ...
Well, I don't want to get too graphic - but I felt like I was on the operating table of Dr. Christian Zell, Proctologist.

Don't forget to toss a square of lemon cake on your tray. It's the perfect afters for barbecue.

Love in the Ether

It would appear that the internet is the perfect meeting place for Baby Boomer singles, since we're too old to go out. Why not invoke the perfect partner from the ether?

Awhile ago I hit the Yahoo Personals head-on. After pinpointing my city and gender I was interested in pursuing, a bunch of mini-profiles popped up on my screen. Here's the first one that caught my eye:

Age: 18
I'm just coming out of a long term relationship ...

Yeah, that's tough. The common psychobabbly equation for recovery is: Take the number of years you were in the relationship and divide it by three. You will be fully recovered in those number of years.

So she should be 'clear' by this afternoon.

On the left of the screen at Yahoo Personals are functions to revise your search. I fiddled with the age variables. Now there was a list of women around my age.

I answered one, briefly mentioning that I was fairly new to the area. Within hours a reply was in my mailbox. A lady named Mustang784 said she was a native and knew the city like the palm of her hand. She offered to take me to her favorite places - and proceeded to list ten or twelve hamburger stands (complete with menu recommendations). Most praiseworthy was 'Dick's Drive-In'. And, she added, "It's owned by a man named Dick."

I declined the indigestion.

Then Yours Truly put an ad in the Yahoo Personals. My mailbox filled up quickly. So far I've met a Dom, a Sub, a woman with multiple personalities, a lady with a bible in the back seat of her car the size of a small refrigerator, and an underwater welder.

So here are my choices: I get spanked, spank, have sex with 14 women at the same time, kneel down on a running board and pray, or drown.

I'll keep you posted on which one I pick as my life-long mate (unless, of course, I opt for the last one).

Wilderness Adventurers

The following are emails to and from an old high school friend, now a Big Cheese at a Federal Agency:

Dear Mr. Federal Agency,

Yours Truly and my more significant than I am other have made reservations for one night this weekend at a cheap motel in some doubtless over-logged whistle-stop named Packwood, Washington. We wanna visit Mount Rainier National Park. In one afternoon and one morning.

Since you're King of the Forests, I'm guessing that if, say, I call out your name as we approach the entrance, all sorts of wondrous, magical things will happen. Gorges will open wider in welcome, birds will whistle your name, Mt. St. Helens will puff out a benevolent greeting, etc.

Anything we should do there? Do you have any connections with influential elks or chipmunks?

Of utmost importance: This is a mellow duo. Birds, flowers, and a few scenic vistas are the only activities we desire agenda-wise. Nothing hoisted on our backs. No canteens. We want to always be within 500 feet of a Coke Machine.

Thanks in advance for your sage advice.

Chuck
Wilderness Adventurer
---
Dear Wilderness Adventurer,

I have, in fact, been to Packwood. Right after I last saw you, I believe. It is indeed a "whistle-stop." "Over-logged," however, is a politically loaded term that I am not allowed to apply for the duration of this Administration. Let us rather say the chances of a catastrophic wildfire caused by the abysmal forest-management practices of a previous administration are reduced here.

You are quite right in your assumption that using my name will cause all manner of reactions. Generally what you'll get is, at no additional expense to you or your party, the "Frolicking Bear Cubs Special with optional Bugling Elk" -- the latter being quite rare at this time of year. If you are not offered these GPE's (Guaranteed Park Experiences), please notify me after your trip and I'll tell the Superintendent there so that HEADS CAN ROLL.

Your proximity-to-Coke requirement, unfortunately, means that you will not gain elevation sufficient to see Mt. St. Helens puff out "Welcome Chuck" in Indian smoke signals. Too bad, as I'm particularly proud of that effect. Well, trust me, it is SPECTACULAR.

Otherwise, based in Packwood and intending to see MORA (as we insiders call it - the official abbreviation the NPS uses is the first two letters of the first two words in the park's name. You can see what this makes of Carlsbad Caverns National Park....), I recommend the following:

Drive to Paradise for the sunset. (Arrive earlier in the afternoon and get a great wildflower view. You can get a nice, if pricey, meal in the lodge there, too.)

Longmire the next morning -- a bit more historical, rather than natural, but there are nice lower-elevation walks in the woods, too.

The drive up the east side of the Park is nice, but it's a dirt road I think, and that might be a bit too much like roughing it for you. I believe you may end up miles from the nearest Coke -- or even Pepsi -- machine.

Have fun,

Chris
Your Wilderness Professional
---

Dear My Wilderness Professional,

This is what I like. My wildlife life on a timetable. No surprises. Thanks.

Perhaps I will assume the role of 'secret-shopper' -- and report back to you. The squirrels and butterflies may THINK Mr. Federal Agency is not watching, but I shall be your eyes ... and ears ...

Sincerely,

Chuck
Of the famous trio of fearless explorers, "Lewis & Clark & Chuck"
---
A few days later:

Dear Mr. Federal Agency,

Thanks for your excellent, professional advice about what to see/do at Mount Rainier! A wonderful time was had - and, I believe, we were the perfect tourists. You would have been proud of us.

We first went to Longmire. After parking, we walked through the old Inn, ending up on a large porch. There were about twenty guests sitting in rather quaint wooden chairs. It was very, very quiet. All were gazing at the magnificent peak with a collective, reverential, spiritual awe. I whipped out my binoculars, looked towards the Mount, and announced rather loudly and excitedly, "Hey, honey! You were right! It IS snow! Right in the middle of summer!"

This is hard to explain, but somehow it became even quieter than it had been before.

We then clomped down the steps, joyfully skipped across the road, and were on our way to our first nature walk!

About a hundred feet down the path we caught up with a group of people gathered around a flora ID sign. My darling companion, in her sweetest of innocent Gracie Allen voices, said, "What amazes me is how do they get the plants grow exactly where the signs are?"

The group hurriedly moved down the trail, and for some reason kept its distance from us for the rest of the walk.

I won't bore you with more play-by-play.

We also visited Paradise, The Grove of the Patriarchs, and Sunrise. At the latter, the views were spectacular. We both thought that Julie Andrews would feel right at home there, flopping around and singing.

I do have a few suggestions about how to improve the park. To wit:

All the nature walks are wonderful, but there are a number of sections where it gets rather steep -- so escalators might come in handy - and move those crowds along at a faster pace. I've marked these trails on a map with a big 'E' if you'd like me to send it to you. Just an idea.

And we enjoyed all the museums - although something like Disneyland's 'Country Bear Jamboree' might liven things up. Singing bears and such. ALL the animals and birds could sing. Even the flowers.

I must mention that I was a bit disappointed with The Grove of the Patriarchs. I guess it was because I remember the 'Grove' or 'Hall' of the 'something or others' at Sequoia National Park - and the trees there were MUCH bigger. I don't know if Sequoia NP is under your personal jurisdiction, but I'll bet you have some sort of professional relationship with them - and help each other out when need be. If so, I'd see what you could do about cutting down those scrawny ones of yours and getting a few of those really BIG trees hauled up from down south (maybe in pieces - and you can glue them together at the site) - in exchange for, say, a dozen birdcages of Gray Jays (you seem to have a lot of them) or a few tanker trucks full of your smelly mineral springs water.

I also noticed that many sections of the park would make marvelous golf courses. I bet it wouldn't be too difficult to carve out scores and scores of wide, sumptuous fairways. Plenty of natural hazards could come into play. Imagine the elevated tees! True, it would be a major undertaking - but I just hate to see all this indigenous beauty go to waste, that's all.

Last but not least: I overheard some other adventurers in the parking lots (especially at Sunrise Point) talk about not being sufficiently warned about the often frightening drives along the sides of the mountain. My thinking is that maybe you should build huge walls along the roads so nobody would know where they were (think horse blinders). And when you reach the top you could install even bigger walls - but with peep holes so people could see the views if they really had to. (Personally, I had no major problems. After the first curve above a thousand feet I looked down, then pulled over, switching seats with my lovely companion. She tossed a blanket over my head, gave me a small carton of chocolate milk with a straw, and drove the rest of the way while softly singing The Farmer and the Dell to me as I calmly hummed along, blowing bubbles.)

Feel free to make any of these improvements without giving me credit or remuneration. (Take the credit yourself!) Just consider them as humble contributions from a 'citizen' to our great National Park System.

Thanks again!

Chuck
Wilderness Adventurer, Retired
--
And Chris replies -- proving once again that fact is stranger (and in some cases, more appalling) than tongue-in-cheek silliness:

... As for your golf course recommendation -- you think your humor comes from exaggeration? If only that were true: not long ago we had a Secretary of the Interior who actually wanted to put a golf course in at Petroglyph National Monument outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. It's one thing for such suggestions to come from Wilderness Adventurers such as yourself. Park files are FULL of SERIOUS looney-tune ideas (e.g., the visitor who wrote to Zion National Park suggesting the canyon be wired with speakers hooked up to a clock so that, every hour on the hour, the park would resonate with the strains of "Rock of Ages"!) But when the Cabinet official charged with protecting these incomparable areas suggests such insanity, you know we're in trouble.

And then there was another Secretary who had to be helicoptered out of the Grand Canyon because he got bored on his float trip.

We are not laughing....

Karley Makes Lunch

I had no idea my niece Ashley made funny videos - and has created an alter-ego: Karley Loser. This is just one in a continuing series:

Find more videos like this on www.truveo.com.

It was great talking to her about it. She said, "Actually, Karley is a little like me. I do things like Karley sometimes. Every so often I act a little weird, spacey - and my friends say, 'You're Karley now, Ashley ...' "

I explained to her (in the wise, old, boring uncle way) that this is how the creative process works for writers, actors. You take a bit of yourself and exaggerate the persona. It's how all the great comedic actors did it - and how writers often create fictional characters.

For the record: my niece is a straight-A student.

No doubt she's inherited her sense of humor from me. Her father doesn't have one. (Where she inherited the 'straight-A student' from, I have no idea. Certainly not from me or my brother.)

Baby Boomer Nutrition

People are always coming up to me and asking, "Chuck, why are Baby Boomers so wonderful?"

How rare it is to have an infinite number of correct answers to a single question! One of my standard replies: It has to do with our alimentary intake during adolescence.

Yes, the Staff of Life is perhaps key to our well-being, but I’d like to concentrate on the real nutritional performers.

Of course, we didn’t feed ourselves. Concerned parents were often guided by the wisdom of Madison Avenue. To help out, our heroes recurrently met with cereal executives to plan strategies with our welfare in mind. It certainly was comforting to know that Superman ate the same stuff we did.

Along with sugar, other wondrous foodstuffs made up our diet. And to drink, perchance to belch! Water was never good enough for us. Now only good water is good enough for us.

The outcome of all this early nutrition? Our sex lives can be reduced to tiny chunks of sugary cardboard.

Instant oral gratification. It’s the secret to our socioeconomic success.

And I still want it:

Yackers

One annoying thing about being friends with actors is when you go to a movie with a bunch of them. It's not a problem if what's on the agenda is some commercial special-effects flick -- but trying to enjoy a good movie is nearly impossible.

It's the communal whispering, the critiquing of the actors on the screen. Here's what it was like last week as I silently sat with four of them:

"... Wow. That was so honest the way he did that."

"Yeah."

"He's amazing."

"He's using himself fully."

"He's the best actor working today."

"... The best film actor."

"Wait a minute. The way he got up out of bed just now and walked over to the window -- that was really phony."

"... I don't know. I liked the way he got up, but -- you're right. He was faking it when he looked out the window ..."

"Mmmm. Maybe that's it. But still, you don't walk like that after you get out of bed."

"Sometimes you do. I know I have."

"..... Oh, wow! That was great the way he opened the door, don't you think?"

"Yeah!"

"He's a genius."

"... Well, most of the time. Except when he's phony."

"Oh, I don't care when he's phony! He does it so well!"

"... Do you think he knows when he's being phony?"

"Of course. He's goofing on himself when he's phony. The question is, does he know when he's being honest."

"... Probably not. He thinks he does, but he doesn't."

"The question is whether or not you yackers are gonna shut up. Who cares if he's phony or not? He's phony all the time. That's why he's good -- because people are phony. This honesty crap is crap. People do routines constantly. The only time anybody's ever completely honest is when they're asleep or dead. If you're honest, you're phony."

".... No. You're wrong. You can be honestly phony, and that's what we're talking about. And don't call me a yacker, asshole."

"Oh Christ, you guys! You just missed something really honest!"

"... I thought it was phony."

"C'mon! Will you all cut it out? I'd like to watch this movie. May I? Besides, Chuck over here isn't an actor so he doesn't understand any of this stuff so stop annoying him. Right, Chuck? ………… Chuck?"

By that time I had moved to a seat in another part of the theatre.

After the movie we all gathered outside. Everyone acted rather coolly towards me. They accused me of being phony.

I thought I was being honest.

The Tiresome Old Sage

This very bright fifteen-year old fellow drops by. Sort of family. He says he envies me because I grew up in the golden age of music and trouble-making – The Sixties. He looks like a young me and everybody else my age back then: long hair falling all over his very handsome face, weird-looking jeans, a groovy shirt/sweatshirt with an image of something/someone I don't recognize - but must be very important. Talks about music, plays a bit of guitar. I loaned him a bunch of Hendrix CDs awhile ago (will I ever get them back?). That’s because he showed up sporting a Hendrix baseball cap. I kiddingly tried to convince him that it would look better on me, more authentic, and to give it up.

His obsessions at the moment: Possibly buying a used car and retrofitting it to run on used french-fry oil, taking an Italian language course at a nearby community college, and movies. Maybe making movies someday. He says he likes comedies, and horror-type films with special effects.

Something he blurts out gives me one of those flashes of generational cognitive dissonance. Special effects he loves, but “The films today aren’t as suspenseful. They show too much blood and gore and don’t leave anything to the imagination. I like the old films better.” I ask “Like what old films?” and he thinks for a second and says “Like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”….

Hmmm. I remember thinking the same thing when that movie came out (I guess back in the Dark Ages). Too much graphic violence, no real suspense. It was a pretty horrible film although (now I'm told) not really very bloody compared to today's cinema gore baths.

I tell him to go to his public library and if they have any, check out some of the classic horror films like Nosferatu and Lon Chaney’s stuff. And, of course, Hitchcock. He'd learn a lot.

Then we start in on comedy films. I haven’t seen too many new ones, so I have no idea what he's talking about. Again, being the tiresome old sage, I recommend the library and searching for films by Buster Keaton, among others.

After he leaves, I do some googling and find something I haven't seen in ages – one of the funniest extended film sequences ever – and with special effects that at the time were so cutting-edge nobody could figure out how they did it: Keaton’s The Playhouse. I'd embed it, but instead click here to watch – because you need to see it on a "big" screen.

For the first seven minutes you will bask in pure genius: brilliant direction, brilliant broad and subtle comedy characterizations – along with special effects that had professionals and filmgoers in stitches and utter awe. Decades later Buster finally explained how it was done.

Back to the fifteen-year old. The next day I have another generational-cognitive-dissonant flash. Had he been talking about the remake of Texas Chainsaw Massacre that (I remember reading about it) came out four or five years ago? I guess that'd be 'old' to him ...

It doesn't matter which one he was talking about. Here's what matters: chatting with this kid every so often gives me a good feeling about the future. I hope he’s not a minority of one.

Meet The Fun Troublemakers

It might be fun to introduce you to the Fun Troublemakers listed on the left. They have no affiliation with this blog. Some I’ve known forever, others popped out of the ether over the last decade or so for reasons I don’t recall, others I found virtually homeless - and being the beneficent fellow I am, have given them shelter.

Frank Mullen III is someone from college days. He’s kept up his musical and comedy chops. Frank doesn’t really like me because he thinks I’m some big success because I worked with The Beach Boys briefly thirty-five years ago and because I have some book out and I’ve toured Europe on business and I’m on radio and television occasionally as a pundit of sorts (actually, he doesn’t really care about the television stuff because he doesn’t have a television – a philosophical statement, he lets it be known) - so because of all this he thinks he’s a marginal character and I’m Golden Boy (actually, at this point, Olden Boy) even though he leads an idyllic life and mine is a stressful mess. I enjoy keeping him in the dark about the reality of it all.

Marty Davis is beautiful and as whip-smart as they come – with a blog that defies description. A tepid attempt: it’s wicked, outrageous, entertaining – and it’s putting her on the map again. I used to think the weirdest thing about her was that she was a Republican. Now, after soaking up her blog for the last year or so, I think the least weird thing about her is that she’s a Republican. Other than that – she’s still weird.

Ronni Bennett is a real troublemaker – but you have to dig deep into her blog to find all the subversive mischief. Time Goes By is the number one 50+ (agewise) blog in the world. When she links to one of my blogs in one of her posts, the number of page views for me that day equals an entire month of normal activity. It’s humiliating.

I’ve known hot-shot film and TV composer Chris Kubie since high school. We’ve been through it all together – even when we haven’t been together. It’s a book, unpublishable until fifty years after our deaths. So I'll shut up for now.

Susan Silver wrote for The Mary Tyler Moore Show, The Bob Newhart Show, Maude – and a bunch of others. She could rest on her laurels, but continues being hysterical in print, on radio, on television. I bought her an umbrella once.

Jerry and Orrin Zucker are new to me. Jerry emailed for some marketing advice (I had none, since they’re doing quite well without any pseudo-wisdom from me). I checked out It’s JerryTime and loved their stuff. Yesterday, Jerry asked me for a small favor. Nothing at all, really. No problem. But then I thought about it. And I almost refused and was going to make a huge stink about it and be an asshole – not out of meanness – but I thought that if I did then they would produce an episode of It’s JerryTime with me as the jerky bad guy. I’d be famous. But I chickened out, and did what Jerry asked. I could’ve been a star …

Mr. Deity. Rupturing my sides from laughter has made me believe in The Rapture.

Google Snooping

Great little documentary I saw on PBS: The World According to Google. Produced in The Netherlands. (I emailed a few business associates over there and they said that this production company makes good ones, they're well-known, can be troublemakers.)

I'm not particularly paranoid. I get what's happening here on the WWW. There are some serious and not so serious privacy issues. Overall they don't bother me.

This documentary gave me a bit of a jolt.

Maybe I shouldn't be saying how wonderful it is. I'm googling on Google all the time, use Google Mail, this blog is owned by Google. All that seems rather innocuous - but who knows. Maybe it isn't. If for some reason you notice that what I've written here is sort of fading away

What really made me bunch up in a ball of hysterics - and worry: the apparent naiveté of Google. The deer-in-the-headlights responses from a VP over there frightened me more than the possibility of 'the government' or worse climbing into Google's servers and wrenching out whatever. Even Vint Cerf, a genius of sorts, hangs himself. It's funny, it's scary.

I'm also one of those nutty folks who thinks PR isn't necessarily evil. A huge company like Google not having some PR people coaching their execs just a little bit? For simple, obvious questions like monopoly, censorship, and privacy concerns? It isn't her responses that scare me, but worse: it's as if this lady has never heard of such issues. A good PR firm will ask difficult questions in advance, often influencing internal policy for the better.

I can't sit at a computer and watch a long video. After five minutes I fidget. If you don't have Internet ADD like me ... it's a tad under an hour:



Or keep a look out for it on PBS.

Chuckhov Endorses Gravel

Mainly because he has the funniest campaign video/commercial. Psychedelia meets Old School:



For most boring campaign video there's a twelve-way tie.

Every four years they get worse. Here's the original. It has as much real information as the ones today (none) but it's snappy and fun - like Gravel's:

Big Think

I'm fiddling around at this new site:
Big Think. It has something to do with Harvard University. The project is being touted as the YouTube for big thinkers.

It's not quite as edgy as The Edge - but it's early. It's beta.

I join, receive the making-sure-you're-for-real email, click it - and log on.

And crack up when I see this:

I love it. I love the fact that people viewing my profile will know that I have zero ideas.

And I won't be posting any. If I do, and my profile then says I have, oh ... say three ideas - what kind of moron has only three ideas? And if I go manic and post hundreds of ideas - only morons think they have hundreds of ideas.

I like having zero ideas. I'm leaving it like that. It's more Zen.

I'm the big thinker around there.

I invented blogging.

Al Gore invented the internet.

Of course, Al never said that. The sleazy press said he said it. Then all hell broke loose.

The sleazy press doesn't like facts. There are no stories in facts. So they invent facts.

Here's how it worked with Gore: The sleazy press decides to say he said it. He gets to deny he said it. That's news again. The sleazy press gets lots of mileage out of it. Everybody is talking about it. Everybody wins. Al gets lots of press.

Big story. No truth.

The sad, despicable injustice of it all: I have just said that I invented blogging. To be honest, it's a lie. But that's irrelevant. The important point is that I actually said it. That's a fact. But since the press ignores facts, they'll ignore my story.

And even if they do call ...

"Did you say that you invented blogging?"
"Yes."
Wolf Blitzer hangs up.

See? No controversy. No story. Trust me: you won't be reading about me or this blog anywhere. Or seeing me on CNN, Fox, or Barbara Walters. But Al gets tons of press for not saying what he didn't say.

I hope he warms in Hell.

The Back Story: Okay, I didn't invent blogging. But … I was 'blogging' on a 'social networking' site in 1996 - before either term existed. I'm tepidly impressed with myself.

Wikipedia has a good history of blogging:

Many blogs provide commentary or news on a particular subject; others function as more personal online diaries. A typical blog combines text, images, and links to other blogs, web pages, and other media related to its topic. The ability for readers to leave comments in an interactive format is an important part of many blogs.

Along with fifty or so nutty people who knew how to type, tangle with a spell-checker, and nudge a one-button mouse, we began doing what is described above eleven years ago.

And thanks to the magic of The Way Back Machine, it's possible to visit the past:

A typical post of mine from 1997: Ernie Kovacs
Here's one from 1999: Love in the Ether

Then, just like the World Wide Web, I went 'commercial' - combining what I did for a living with what I was blogging about as a hobby. A business blog. Still fun, but fettered.

"It's nothing personal, Sonny. It's strictly business."

So Chuckhov's Fun Blog is me getting personal, having unfettered fun again.