Dirty Soap

I'm here at Gunn Honda getting my new car looked at. When I drive, I hear a loud metallic clink-clank coming from the front left corner of my car. So, they're checking it out for me. For the last 20 minutes here, I've been in their waiting room with all of the other Honda owners. The area is nice. Free Krispy Kreme donuts, bottled water, complimentary USA Today, and a very loud TV. They have a soap opera on and at first I was able to block it out but, it's amazing how sensitive we can become to content when you're sitting in a room full of strangers. There was first a new comedy TV program advertised and in it the little girl says "Mommy, we're going to hell because we're Jews." and then it goes to the next scene and we find out that grandma is the behind the propaganda and while asleep, one of the kids has painted a Hitler mustache on her. It's supposed to be funny but who is allowed to laugh in this age of political correctness? Nobody wanted to make eye contact, including me. What if I looked up and saw someone grinning and they looked at me as if to include me in on the joke? Would I smile back or turn my head from such a person? Whew. That moment is gone. Back to the soap. Next commercial. Feminine products. You don't realize how graphic these commercials can be until you are sitting next to a grandmotherly-type lady to your left. Bear in mind, the TV is blasting. Words are being broadcast across the waiting room like "flow", "clean", "itching", and well...you get the idea. T.M.I. Back to the soap. I'm reading the paper and for some reason, if you've noticed, commercials are in general like 10 times louder than the actual program you're watching. Can you take a guess what commercial came on that 15 strangers in a room had to act like they couldn't hear? A genital Herpes commercial. O.K. That's it! I'm out of here. I took my free water and paper and am now sitting at the free computer that they let us losers use until they come in here, call our name, and tell us how much we're actually indirectly paying for the free paper, water, and computer. Oh, thank God. The tech just came in. The noise was just a pebble lodged in the something or another. Now there are 14 left in the waiting room having to ignore the loud white elephant in there selling herpes lotion and feminine stuff. Where's a Bow-Flex commercial when you need one?

An encounter with a Munster!

Little Dave and I are car fanatics. We religiously pour over the pages of the latest editions of Car and Driver magazine upon its arrival in our mailbox and we ooooh and ahhhh over any car we see on the road that has an $80K plus sticker price or that has been customized. We tend to see the more "customized" ones the closer we get to downtown. Anyway, attempting to play the "Good Dad" role, I decided to surprise Dave and take him down to the Alamo Dome to the Hot Rod Extravaganza. As we descended onto the ground floor of the Dome, our view opened up to a sea of chrome, rubber and a maze of fine autos from yesteryear for Dave and I to explore. He was very excited and I was excited that he was excited! I mean, how could someone not appreciate art combined with horsepower? So, as we made our way though the various displays of pure Americana, you couldn't help but share in the pride that the owners of these cars take with every ooh and ahhh they get from the young and old alike. A new Benz or a pimped out Escalade with its Navigation and plasma screens are impressive but they could never match the charm and the beauty of a fully restored '57 Chevy Belaire. Anyway, we were getting close to seeing everything that could be seen for the exception of this one particular isle hidden in this automotive maze that we somehow passed about 10 times without noticing. We soon found out we had overlooked the best part of the show! Until now... As we made our way down this isle, we came upon the ultimate Hot Rod in all its nostalgic glory, the Original Munster Koach! You see, I grew up watching the Munster reruns on channel 5 after school at 4pm. The Brady Bunch came on after that. This was the early 80's and I would come home from school and eat a bowl of Spaghetti O's or a bowl of Cornflakes and watch the Munsters. I had forgotten how much I loved this show until I stood before the Munster Koach, in person, some 25 years later. I used to think this was the coolest of Hot Rods. I used to have the toy version of it in my fleet of Matchboxes but here I am, I could actually reach out and touch the color version of what was before only a black and white memory. So, I'm filling Dave in on why this car is not only cool but also gave him one of the old "When I was your age..." stories about how much I dug watching this TV show and how cool I thought this car was. Well, I glance to my left and see Butch Pat...in the flesh! It's Eddie Freakin' Munster himself! I had to meet him. There were 3 other people at his table in front of me getting his autograph while 30 more just walked by like it's no big deal! Huh? This is Eddie Munster! I plopped down my $10 for the 8X10 pic you see above and waited in line to meet the more weathered version of Eddie. All I could do was stare at him. I felt dumb because I didn't know what to say. I thanked God I had little Dave there with me. So, I positioned Dave in front of me as we stepped up to meet Eddie Munster. Honestly, to little Dave, Eddie Munster could've been the guy behind the counter at Auto Zone. So, Dave just says "Hey" and shakes his hand. Eddie shook mine too but mine was sweaty. 45 seconds later, as we're walking away from an under appreciated American Icon, I'm allowing Dave to carry the autographed picture but I'm telling him to be careful with it and not fold it up. I have big plans for this pic and I am already thinking about which wall in my office to hang it up on. Moments like those won't end world hunger or abolish ingrown toenail suffering but, I do think it serves as a little time machine that takes you back to when you felt more innocent and maybe not as sophisticated as we think we are as adults. I briefly went back to a time when I dreamt of cool cars, ate Cornflakes and allowed B-Grade actors to entertain me. Little Dave is in the other room, as I write this, ironically watching reruns of the Dukes of Hazzard. Maybe one day he'll get his chance with his son 25 years from now to see the General Lee in person. Now, if I could just meet Gary Coleman, my life would be complete.

Valentines Day=Corporate Scam

For those of you who have read my blog and Sarah's, please don't get the wrong idea. We believe in romance, Love, and gooey sweet stuff but we are increasingly becoming more anti-Valentine as each year passes. This sentiment isn't directed toward each other. No, we stand united against the day itself and what the Hallmarks and the Victoria Secret's tells us it's supposed to be. At face value, most would go "Oh, come on Dave! Where's your sense of romance?" I would retort back "Oh, come on man! Where's your sense of obligation?". Who likes being obligated to anything? Obligation and "fun" are rarely in the same sentence unless you're talking about how little they have in common. You see, on most Valentines, Sarah and I are hired to play music to those that are under the rigid dictates of St. Valentine. We get to watch couple after couple shell out $150 + for a 45 minute meal while crowded in a room full of other people doing the same thing. Anyone that really knows me knows that I hate faking it. I just don't have it in me. Having to fake it not only gets on my nerves but I can't stand it in other people. Bottom line: If I want to be romantic, I'll buy the fancy underwear and shell out the $150 on the days I feel so inspired. I guess the problem I most have with Valentines Day is the utter predictability of it: Flowers, lingerie, chocolate, mas dinero loss, and the color pink. I hate that color almost as much as Sarah does. It's the only color outside of baby blue that can actually make me nauseous if stared at too long. What's great is, I'm not the lone voice in the proverbial Valentine wilderness. My partner, Sarah, feels the same way I do! Go to Sarah's Blog and read her take on the whole deal. Thank God she sees it the same way! So, we agree to let each other off the Valentine hook in protest as we get to sit back and enjoy a joke that seems we're the only ones privy to knowing the punchline to. Now, that's real romanticism if you ask me. For those reading this and find that my Valentine slant is just plain wrong on 13 different levels, take heart and know, we did get each other V-Day cards and I went all out and actually sprung a whole $1.88 for a small box of Whitman chocolates that I wound up eating over half of last night. Belch.

Pinky swear?

"Love is a promise delivered already broken." Baby, ain't that the truth. Just watched a documentary on Steve Martin. It's a quote from a play he wrote. That's a nugget I could've gotten some use out of in my life. At least I found it now. Happy Valentines!

Steamed Meat

O.K. I'm back. Sorry for the hiatus. I'm here at the Boerne Daily Grind. I love this place. I always sit in the picture window in the front where there are two club chairs that position me to enjoy the small town shuffle of Main Street. Little Dave is with me today, he's out of school. He's living life today as if he just got out of Sing Sing after doing 20. Glad to have my bud with me. So, I was in town buying some used (very used) couches to put in our youth room to create a more "loungey" effect and met with a great guy, Paul, who's interested in working with our youth kids. He's got a great heart and is someone I can trust. That's a big one. I guard these kids in my youth group like a mother hen. I'm like the Aunt Bea of Youth Pastors in this respect. There's enough junk in these kid's homes and schools and the last thing they need is to have their innocence further compromised and taken advantage of by someone at Soul Asylum Youth. Anyway, Little Dave and I met Paul at this "All You Can Eat" Chinese Buffet near Lackland A.F.B. It was comical to see all of the signs posted around the buffet saying "Do Not Waste Food". I could almost see the owner behind the counter sweating bullets with his trusty calculator in hand figuring to the penny how much of his precious Chicken Chow Mien is leaving his pan to the plate. Well, he didn't have to sweat Dave and me taking him to the cleaners. We sipped on some egg drop soup but all the while our hearts and stomachs were holding on to the hope of a greater culinary experience. A place where the only signs you see are ones saying "Family Sack" and "Double it for only 39 Cents". I'm referring to Krystal Hamburgers. Mmmmmm...Steamed meat. We just got our first Krystal's in San Antonio. I first fell in love with Krystal in Nashville. I've haven't been the same since and neither have my cholesteral levels. Little Dave ate his first one and from that point on, he repeatedly thanked me for allowing him to indulge in the steamed goodness that only a Krystal will allow you to bask in. Yet another bonding moment for us. He'll remember it as "The day my Pa took me to have my first Krystal." He'll never forget it. If you think I'm nuts, then you obviously haven't sunk yer chops into one of these bad boys. I did. Seven gut bombs later and a messy pyramid of boxes littered on the passenger side of my car, my stomach gave a hearty belch to show its approval for such a gift. I managed to save 3 of them and brought them to Sarah at work. She was grateful. I didn't tell her I could've brought her 5 but her gluttonous chubby hubby shoved part of her share into his cavernous mouth. Mighty fine day it was. Mighty fine. How come no one ever freaks out like this over broccoli? My Krystal can beat up your wheat grass any day.