Ode to Bacon

Baby Boomer Test

(Sent by Bill Wahl)
This is NOT a pushover test, well except that it may be for you. There are 20 questions. Average score is 12.

1. What builds strong bodies 12 ways?

A. Flintstones vitamins
B. The Buttmaster
C. Spaghetti
D. Wonder Bread
E. Orange Juice
F. Milk
G. Cod Liver Oil

2. Before he was Muhammed Ali, he was...

A. Sugar Ray Robinson
B. Roy Orbison
C. Gene Autry
D. Rudolph Valentino
E. Fabian
F. Mickey Mantle
G. Cassius Clay

3. Pogo, the comic strip character said, 'We have met the enemy and...

A. It's you
B. He is us
C. It's the Grinch
D. He wasn't home
E. He's really me an
F. We quit
G. He surrendered

4. Good night David.

A. Good nigh Chet
B. Sleep well
C. Good night Irene
D. Good night Gracie
E. See you later alligator
F. Until tomorrow
G. Good night Steve

5. You'll wonder where the yellow went...

A. When you use Tide
B. When you lose your crayons
C. When you clean your tub
D. If you paint the room blue
E. If you buy a soft water tank
F. When you use Lady Clairol
G. When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent

6. Before he was the Skipper's Little Buddy, Bob Denver was Dobie's friend...

A. Stuart Whitman
B. Randolph Scott
C. Steve Reeves
D. Maynard G. Krebbs
E. Corky B. Dork
F. Dave the Whale
G. Zippy Zoo

7. Liar, liar...

A. You're a liar
B. Your nose is growing
C. Pants on fire
D. Join the choir
E. Jump up higher
F. On the wire
G. I'm telling Mom

8. Meanwhile, back in Metropolis, Superman fights a never ending battle for truth, justice and...

A. Wheaties
B. Lois Lane
C. TV ratings
D. World peace
E. Red tights
F. The American way
G. News headlines

9. Hey kids! What time is it?

A. It's time for Yogi Bear
B. It's time to do your homework
C. It's Howdy Doody Time
D. It's Time for Romper Room
E. It's bedtime
F. The Mighty Mouse Hour
G. Scoopy Doo Time

10. Lions and tigers and bears...

A. Yikes
B. Oh no
C. Gee whiz
D. I'm scared
E. Oh my
F. Help! Help!
G. Let's run

11. Bob Dylan advised us never to trust anyone...

A. Over 40
B. Wearing a uniform
C. Carrying a briefcase
D. Over 30
E. You don't know
F. Who says, 'Trust me'
G. Who eats tofu

12. NFL quarterback who appeared in a television commercial wearing women's stockings...

A. Troy Aikman
B. Kenny Stabler
C. Joe Namath
D. Roger Stauback
E. Joe Montana
F. Steve Young
G. John Elway

13. Brylcream...

A. Smear it on
B. You'll smell great
C. Tame that cowlick
D. Grease ball heaven
E. It's a dream
F. We're your team
G. A little dab'll do ya

14. I found my thrill...

A. In Blueberry muffins
B. With my man, Bill
C. Down at the mill
D. Over the windowsill
E. With thyme and dill
F. Too late to enjoy
G. On Blueberry Hill

15. Before Robin Williams, Peter Pan was played by...

A. Clark Gable
B. Mary Martin
C. Doris Day
D. Errol Flynn
E. Sally Fields
F. Jim Carey
G. Jay Leno

16. Name the Beatles...

A. John, Steve, George, Ringo
B. John, Paul, George, Roscoe
C. John, Paul, Stacey, Ringo
D. Jay, Paul, George, Ringo
E. Lewis, Peter, George, Ringo
F. Jason, Betty, Skipper, Hazel
G. John, Paul, George, Ringo

17. I wonder, wonder, who..

A. Who ate the leftovers?
B. Who did the laundry?
C. Was it you?
D. Who wrote the book of love?
E. Who I am?
F. Passed the test?
G. Knocked on the door?

18. I'm strong to the finish...

A. Cause I eats my broccoli
B. Cause I eats me spinach
C. Cause I lift weights
D. Cause I'm the hero
E. And don't you forget it
F. Cause Olive Oyl loves me
G. To outlast Bruto

19. When it's least expected, you're elected, you're the star today...

A. Smile, you're on Candid Camera
B. Smile, you're on Star Search
C. Smile, you won the lottery
D. Smile, we're watching you
E. Smile, the world sees you
F. Smile, you're a hit
G. Smile, you're on TV

20. What do M & M's do?

A. Make your tummy happy
B. Melt in your mouth, not in your pocket
C. Make you fat
D. Melt your heart
E. Make you popular
F. Melt in your mouth, not in your hand
G. Come in colors



Below are the right answers: How did you do???


1. What builds strong bodies 12 ways? D - Wonder Bread
2. Before he was Muhammed Ali, he was... G - Cassius Clay
3. Pogo, the comic strip character said, 'We have met the enemy and... B - He Is Us
4. Good night David. A - Good night, Chet
5. You'll wonder where the yellow went... G - When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent
6. Before he was the Skipper's Little Buddy, Bob Denver was Dobie's friend... D - Maynard G. Krebbs
7. Liar, liar... C - Pants On Fire
8. Meanwhile, back in Metropolis, Superman fights a never ending battle for truth, justice and... F - The American Way
9. Hey kids! What time is it? C - It's Howdy Doody Time
10. Lions and tigers and bears... E - Oh My
11. Bob Dylan advised us never to trust anyone... D - Over 30
12. NFL quarterback who appeared in a television commercial wearing women's stockings... C - Joe Namath
13. Brylcream... G - A little dab'll do ya
14. I found my thrill... G - On Blueberry Hill
15. Before Robin Williams, Peter Pan was played by... B - Mary Martin
16. Name the Beatles... G - John, Paul, George, Ringo
17. I wonder, wonder, who... D - Who wrote the book of Love
18. I'm strong to the finish... B - Cause I eats me spinach
19. When it's least expected, you're elected, you're the star today... A - Smile, you're on Candid Camera
20. What do M & M's do? F - Melt In Your Mouth Not In Your Hand

COLUMN: Just Tell Me How Much I Owe

By Tobin Barnes
And the hits just keep on happening!

Remember that phrase you’d hear on Top-40 radio stations? Well, there’s “hits” other than top-selling songs.

Like the hits we’ve been taking from the mice or mouse in our garage.

Last time I told you about the mouse in our car. He was a fiend who had somehow climbed in up under the hood. Yeah, a mouse who’d maintained a storage bin in an air filter. And how we’d evidently executed him with the ventilation fan--thunk, thunk, thunk.

Of course, we didn’t know that’s what we’d done until the next day when we smelled the result. Holy moly!

Took the car down to the mechanic. He discovered not only a dead mouse, but also an air filter packed with provisions for a long stay--namely, a goodly larder made up of our dog’s Kibbles and Chunks.

Well, I cursed our luck to be plagued with such an ingenious mouse, forked over about a hundred bucks to the mechanic, and wondered what the Universe had planned for us next.

We didn’t have long to wait.

I get a call from my wife who’s out running errands (same scenario we were in when the sinister mouse got thunked). Except this time my wife was driving our pickup, not the car that had been earlier victimized.

“It won’t accelerate when I push down on the gas,” she reported.

Oh great. What now?

“I’m going to stop by and make an appointment.”

As we waited to take it in, it occurred to us that the mouse or mice might have fouled up the pickup, also.

Could it be?

Could lightening strike twice in the same garage?

You darned betcha!

The mechanic found it fairly amusing that Kibbles and Chunks had been stored in our pickup as well as our car.

“Yeah, when we were looking in there,” the mechanic said, “the dog food was kinda moving around.”

“Really?” I said. (My gullibility knows no bounds.)

“No. I’m just kidding you.” Har!

But packed with dog food it was, just like the car. The dog food was restricting the air intake, killing acceleration.

Anyway, ka-ching! Another hundred bucks down the drain.

And while the mechanic was in there under the hood, he found a nasty bunch of other things that needed to be done to our fourteen-year old pickup--not mouse related, just age related.

Okay.

We knew the pickup probably needed some work, so we’re coughing up some more dough on that stuff.

But there’s some questions still left unanswered:

Will other mice be attacking our vehicles even though the first mouse literally bit the fan? Maybe making revenge sorties?

Is there a professor mouse out there in the garage or yard teaching student mice about Kibbles and Chunks and the benefits of automotive storage? Or was there only one dementedly evil mouse?

And finally, when’s the other shoe going to drop? And how many shoes are out there?

Something Phishy Here

Sympathy Is Drying Up

COLUMN: Invasion of the Kibble Snatcher

By Tobin Barnes
It’s always something, isn’t it.

And not only that, but some of the somethings are really something. Like quirky stuff you couldn’t have predicted.

Anyway, we’re out running errands and things are going fine, or as fine as they can be until the next something comes along. And we get in the car, turn the ignition, and we’re getting this little thunk, thunk, thunk. It seems to be coming from the ventilation system.

I turn up the fan a notch and it’s a bigger thunk, thunk, thunk. Turn it up another couple notches and it’s THUNK, THUNK, THUNK. Yeah, we’re talking THUNKING big time. Smells a little, too.

Great! We now know its really something and it’s another something that’s going to cost us.

Nevertheless, we finish our errands with the windows down--no ventilation, no air conditioning--and make an appointment with the auto shop to take it in the next day.

Fine. We’re ready to bite the bullet again. Matter of fact, we’re used to it.

So next day, I go out into the garage and it smells really funny. Not funny har, har, but funny like here’s another something.

Get in the car and it smells even funnier, like something died. I mean really.

And that’s what I tell the mechanic: “Smells like something died in my car.”

So he starts working on it, and before long, he comes and gets me. He’s holding a filter covered with hair and gunk and dog food. Yeah, dog food: “Kibbles and Chunks,” our brand. Twenty or thirty pieces, altogether, here and there in the ventilation system.

He also points out a small hole in the filter: “A mouse must have chewed through there,” he says. The mouse evidently had been using the filter as its nest, well-stocked with dog food provisions. Maybe that thunk, thunk, thunk was the fan summarily executing our boarder for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The mechanic finds the mouse--its warranty expired--and pulls it out with a pliers.

Cost of extraction and new filter: $93.

Add to that another couple bucks for an air freshener. More for mouse traps to put in the garage, and who knows what the cost of moth balls is. Don’t remember ever buying any.

The mechanic told me to put a cloth bag of moth balls under the hood, presumably where they won’t catch fire or get caught in the mechanisms--wherever that is. The smell of moth balls will supposedly help keep the mice out.

So okay, we’re going with it. It’s another something, and we can deal.

But doesn’t it sometimes seem like the Universe is conspiring against us?

Think about it.

I mean, here we are, we’ve got this dog, and we’re feeding it “Kibbles and Chunks.” Sometimes she doesn’t eat it all, right, so it’s sitting there in the dish or on the floor of the garage.

And along comes this mouse who also likes “Kibbles and Chunks.” It’s like mouse manna from mouse heaven. The mouse decides that a great place to eat its “Kibbles and Chunks” would be in the air filter area near the ventilation fan, for crying out loud.

And how does it get up there to chew the hole in the filter? Jump from the floor up into the suspension? Maybe. But is it athletic enough to also make the jump with a Kibble or a Chunk in its mouth?

I’m thinking not, unless they had the Mouse Olympics going on in there.

I’m thinking the mouse crawled up a tire, then into the suspension, then into the ventilation system. I’m thinking it had a regular trail over which Kibbles and/or Chunks were laboriously transported like stones to the top of a pyramid--a near-legendary trek.

But not admirable.

Ask me, the whole thing sounds somewhat sinister.

Conspiratorial, perhaps. Mouse and Universe out to get me.

Office Linebacker

Sensitivity training. (Sent by Tom Cooley)

I'd Like to Invest in This Kid

How To Create Suction Tires

INDIA: Where Traffic Is a Contact Sport

COLUMN: Times Goes Faster in the Other Place

By Tobin Barnes
Recently traveled to my hometown to see family and friends. Usually go back there two, three, four times a year, maybe. Sometimes not so much.

It takes about five or six hours driving time. No big deal, really, but long enough to think about it before doing it or saying the heck with it.

Time on the road for me is dead time. And I can’t help myself thinking, I’ll be dead plenty long, so I don’t need to be dead even longer.

Needless to say, I avoid dashing out on long whimsical road trips.

When I was younger and more of my life was back there in my hometown, I’d go more often despite the drive. However, things have transferred. Now, most of my life is out here. So I tend to stay put.

Nevertheless, over the years of mostly staying here and sometimes going back there, I’ve noticed something about time. I’d almost say I’ve “discovered” something about time, but that’d sound pretentious, and heck, I’m no Norman Einstein, as Joe Theismann once admitted.

Besides, Einstein’s already been there and done that with time. Not only that, everybody comes to notice this thing I’m going to talk about sooner or later anyway.
Still, it’s fascinating stuff and bears discussion. So here it is (simple really):

In any two places, time passes at different rates. Anyway, as far as any individual is concerned.

Let me explain.

Here, where I live, time passes in a steady, almost hypnotic, drumbeat. It can almost lull me into thinking nothing much has been happening. Yes, time’s passage seems almost insignificant, except when I look back and realize how much is gone.

Oh, there’s some big events every once in a while but they’re amply padded and insulated amongst a multitude of small, if not mundane, events. Of course, some of those big events are good, some not so. But usually, there’s plenty of time between the big events to work them into the general landscape and allow them to become part of my mental scenery.

There’s a flow there, maybe a certain equilibrium. Some thinkers have compared time to a river, in that it’s always the same but always different. If that’s so, I’ve been on a raft, gently floating along that river, maybe hitting a rock here and a snag there.

Not so in my hometown.

From my perspective, things happen there in fits and starts. There’s no leisurely flow with ample padding and insulation between big events. Instead, time leapfrogs, sometimes at a breakneck pace.

When I go back to my hometown, almost every conversation with relatives and friends contains shocking revelations. This once eight-year-old child is in high school now. That teenager got married last year. Somebody else is getting divorced. Another person moved away, got married, recovered from a cancer scare, and moved back. And another did himself in.

All this comes at you with the not-so-subtle spacing of machine gun bullets. It’s like a whirlwind of information that’s been flying around out there in the ether. But you haven’t been around to absorb it and place it in its proper position on the timeline.

I think it was Woody Allen who said, “Time keeps everything from happening at once.” But when you go back to your hometown, things DO seem to happen at once because that’s when you learn about them. Other people’s lives in your hometown have become a blur.

It’s kind of like reading a short one-page biography of a famous person. Tragedies and accomplishments are piled so chock-a-block atop each other in such a small space, it makes you wonder how the historical figure could have endured such a roller coaster life of steep ups and downs. But of course what’s left out of those short biographies is all the padding and insulation of life. The stuff that evens things out.

Same with your hometown people, I guess.

On my last two hometown trips, I learned from others that four more of my high school classmates have died over the last some years. That makes five altogether now out of a class of only sixty-four or so. I’m not sure what the actuarial tables would say, but that seems a little high for only this far along.

And the thing is, last time I was around these people, we were in high school. And because I was not close to these particular classmates, next thing I know, they’re dead.

Now that’s shocking.

I can only hope there were plenty of good events in those lives, and not only that, but also a plentiful amount of comfortable, everyday moments of padding and insulation.

Dave Barry Column: Getting a Colonoscopy

Hit the link below for a laugh riot and a good reminder. (Recommended by Geoff Ziebart)

http://www.miamiherald.com/548/story/427603.html

COLUMN: Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda

By Tobin Barnes
The closest I ever got to summer camp when I was a kid was listening to the hit song “Camp Granada.” It was comedian Allan Sherman’s spin on getting sent away to something less than fantasy land:

“Hello Mudda,/hello Fadda,/Here I am at/Camp Granada./Camp is very/entertaining,/And they say we'll have some fun if it stops raining.

“I went hiking/with Joe Spivy;/He developed/poison ivy./You remember/Lenard Skinner;/He got ptomaine poisoning last night after dinner.”

From the “Mudda” and “Fadda” stuff, we knew back then that summer camp must be something eastern big city kids went to. Give those pasty-faced urbanites some outdoor exposure.

Not our problem back here in SoDak. We were always outdoors. Come back inside, our folks would tell us to get back outside.

Where outside? All over the place. Back in the alley, over to the park, down at the crick. Often, it was digging holes in someone’s back yard. Man we dug a lot of holes. Come home at dark and have to take our clothes off on the porch, we were so dirty.

So we SoDak kids didn’t go to camp much, and specifically, I didn’t go at all. If anywhere, I went to work. From the age of seven, I had something regular to do every summer day. Yeah, that’s right, only when I was done busting rocks did I get to look for something fun to do.

My old man was always concerned that I get enough work experience. His work was finding me work. And now I’m a better man for it. Maybe.

But summer camp’s evidently still going strong back east. Problem is that many east coast parents get in the way of the outdoorsiness and rugged individualism the camps are meant to foster and that we SoDak kids took for granted.

Anyway, that’s the gist of a recent New York Times article by Tina Kelley.

It seems that clingy parents drive camp administrators to distraction with long-distance hand wringing about their little Johnnys and Janeys. The camps get bombarded with calls: “One wanted help arranging private guitar lessons for her daughter, another did not like the sound of her child’s voice during a recent conversation, and a third needed to know — preferably today — which of her daughter’s four varieties of vitamins had run out.”

One camp has an employee who does nothing else, from 7 a.m. until 10 p.m., than relay email and voice mail messages from parents to campers and back again. It seems these anxious parents expect nothing but the worst of outdoor fates for their children out in that fearsome rural wilderness of upstate New York.

The employee--a “parent liaison” for crying out loud--always prefaces her calls to parents with, “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just returning your call.” Makes you wonder why these edgy moms and pops chanced their kids’ lives in the first place on such a foolhardy experience as summer camp.

The Times story makes it sound like “catering to increasingly high-maintenance parents” has become a real pain in the butt for camp counselors. Parents want to have veto power on bunk placements, and despite camp rules, they want their children to have cellphones and ready access to their favorite junk foods.

Some parents decide that summer camp is a good time “to give their offspring a secret vacation from Ritalin.” In other words, let my wired kid get more wired with plenty of M&M’s and Twinkies. We’ll see how it works. After all, isn’t that what you’re getting paid for.

“One camp psychologist said she used to spend half her time on parental issues; now it’s 80 percent.”

To reassure parents that their children are fine and dandy on an almost hour-by-hour basis, camps started posting daily candid pictures of campers enjoying their activities. The brainstorm, however, back-fired.

Now “I have parents calling and saying they saw their child in the background of a picture of other children and he didn’t look happy, or his face looked red, has he been putting on enough suntan lotion, or I haven’t seen my child and I have seen a lot of other children, is my child so depressed he doesn’t want to be in a picture,” said Jay Jacobs, who has run Timber Lake Camp in Shandaken, N.Y., since 1980.

Obviously, camp administrators are concerned that all this parental interference is keeping the children from learning to handle problems on their own.

Amen.

Where Life Is Cheap but Service Is Pretty Darned Good