Cuba, First Day

The Cuba Trip: 2012:  Day 1.  Monday, July 23, 2012 

I know a lot more about Cuba than I did the last time I came down here.  At least I know who all the players are, going back to Josie Marti.  I understand why Castro and Che wanted to overthrow the puppet, US backed government.  The last time I came down here, listening to the tour guides, I was convinced that Marti came over on the same boat with Fidel and Che and took over!  Without the knowledge I have now?  The story all kind of ran together.

So it was with a different eye that I left Florida this morning, looking forward to see what, if anything had changed.   The first thing I noticed was the charter.

I’ve never heard of Sky King Airlines.  Lets’ just say they aren’t in the American Airlines Terminal.  The 737, which is kind of the workhorse of airline travel these days, didn’t have the name of the airline painted on it.  But the tail was painted with a lovely picture of tropical fish.  If we go down in the ocean, I have a feeling this will make it harder to recover our bodies.

The second thing I noticed was that the label telling me that my seat could be used for a flotation device, and there was a life jacket under my seat, was in Greek first, and English underneath that. 

I know that Greece is in trouble, but now I’m nervous about just HOW much trouble?  Are they having a fire sale on airliners? 

We always get to board early since Deb can’t see.  This is a real bonus for us.  We always get to put our carry on’s right above our seats.  But this time we’re not all in the same row.  I’m four rows behind them, but hey, at least I got an aisle seat.

Well, I got the shitty end of the deal on this one.  Danny and his mother get two huge, comfy, first class seats.  And get to wedge my fat ass into a regular seat.  This does NOT go un-noticed by the others in our tour group.  A good laugh was had by all. 

Then the regular passengers start to load.  The folks allowed to go to Cuba legally from the United States are ex-patriot Cubans, or folks who have family there, and they are allowed to visit every so many years.  This means old men wearing five straw hats, one on top of the other, to take home for friends and family.  Women carrying boxes and bags that would never, ever be allowed as carry on luggage on any regular US airline flight.  And kids running around screaming,  and sitting anywhere and everywhere, regardless of assigned seat.  Pretty much a Latin bedlam. 

At this point we are a couple of cages full of chickens away from being a Mexican bus. 

But it’s a short flight.  As a matter of fact, we waited longer for our luggage to come off the plane than we were in the air.  “Island Time” does, indeed, make its home in Cuba as well as the rest of, “The Carib”.

Two things haven’t changed about the experience of flying into Cuba.  When the plane touches the ground, all the Cubans start to cheer and applaud.  Like something they didn’t expect to happen, that they were only rooting for, just occurred.

And outside the airport, there is a throng of Cuban’s talking, pushing, not allowing anyone out the door, and waiting for their American relatives.  Judging by the number of big, flat screen TV’s rolling off the luggage carousel, I now know why.  It’s like when dad comes home from a business trip, and the kids are all standing at the door with the, “What did you bring me?” look on their faces. 

Next came a long bus ride through the Cuban  country side.  I didn’t see this part of Cuba the last time I was here.  We stayed in Havana.  But it’s a very pretty, very green country.  In many ways it looks exactly like every other island in the Caribbean.  Everything needs a coat of paint.

The houses are run down.  Most of the roads are dirt.  There are way too many horse drawn wagons doing the work of trucks.  It is very obvious that this country is very poor.  Our Cuban tour guide blames this on the collapse of the Soviet Union, since they were the number one buyer of Cuban sugar.

Considering The Soviet Union dissolved in 1990, and they have had more than 20 years to have found another way to make a buck, or at least another place to sell their sugar?  This seems to be a bit of a stretch.

God forbid you should blame it on a corrupt, communist system that has made the Castro family rich beyond compare, and left the peasants and farmers, and everyone else for that matter, desperately poor!

Lately, I have had trouble with my feet swelling up when I travel.  My doctor says it’s because I’m an old fat guy with blood pressure problems, and that getting up in airplanes will cause this.  So by the third day in Miami, I’m miserable.  And by today, I can take it no longer.  I need a diacritic, and I need it now.  Lucky for me, there is a pharmacy in the all-inclusive resort where we are staying.  And like in Mexico, you don’t need to go get your prescription from a doctor if you know what it is you need. 

Unlike a lot of stuff in Cuba, like the power, the water system and some other things, the medical system is really good.  Everyone can see a doctor, and get medicine when they need it.

When I finally make my needs known to the pharmacist, she tells me to wait a minute, and when she comes back, she has a blister pack of hidroclorotiazida 25.  In her broken English, she explains to me that the pharmacy is out.  But this is her medicine, and she has plenty more to wait until the pharmacy has more, and she wants me to have it.  And she didn’t want any money for it.

Any  one in Utah ever have THAT happen when you went to pick up your overpriced drugs at the local pharmacy? 
 
I finally left a $10 pesos convertibles and thanked her as much as I could.

The toilet in the room didn’t work all afternoon.  And when a guy showed up to fix it, he didn’t have any tools.  It fills pretty slowly, but at least it works.  The shower barely works.  There is only internet access in the lobby.  But hey, it’s an all-inclusive, so the drinks are free.  At least I got THAT going for me.

Dinner was back in Trinidad.  And it turned out to be a lot more interesting than I thought it would.  I learned on the last trip down here, not to believe the BS the government guys will tell you about buying cigars on the black market.  Yeah, they might be seconds, and they might not be as fresh as you get in the State run stores.  But the chances are they, as the locals say, “fell off a truck”.

That’s Cuban for, “as we drove through our neighborhood, we tossed a few boxes to our friends.”  That’s how cigars end up on the black market.  They are always stolen from the legitimate sources.  There is no sense in going to all the trouble to try and forge cigar bands and labels when you live in the land of the stolen cigar.  This is Cuba, not Mexico.

Tonight, I wanted to buy a couple of cigars from the bar where we had dinner.  They wanted $20 for a Cohiba , Especial, and another $7 for a cigarillo I was going to give to, Danny.

Now before you revoke my nomination for, “Father of the Year”, hear me out.  Our Cuban guide told us today, that depending on where you go, someone is going to sell your kid a drink, and a cigar at either 16 or 18, or if they think he looks old enough.  Knowing that he would try this all on his own, I thought that the least I could do was teach him the correct way to smoke a cigar under my supervision, instead of letting him get sick cause he didn’t know what he was doing.

I thought that was too much money.  So I offered $20 for both.  The lady behind the bar, said, “I can’t do that, it’s not my business.”  I understood.  She had a price list, and her orders, and wanted to keep her job. 

I asked the guy who was there, kind of running the cigar room.  And he showed me some boxes of five cigars, but the price was high.  So I just kind of gave up, and decided tonight, was not the night.

But as I’m leaving the kid came to me in the hall way and said, “I can get you a box of cigars for forty pesos.”  Meaning $40 CUC.  That’s less than $10 a cigar.  That’s great.  Even if they prove to be seconds, or not quite up to international standards, I know from my experience down here, they are going to be fresh, and well made.  I tell him I’m in.  And I agree to meet him at the corner in ten minutes.

Well ten minutes comes and goes.  Now, I’m holding up a whole bus load of people.  He keeps telling me that he’s guy is going to come through the door any minute, but I just can’t wait any longer, so I tell him I’m sorry, but I have to go.  And I walk back to the bus.

I know he’ s disappointed, as am I, but I have to think about all the other people on the bus.  I get on with Deb and Danny, and we leave. 

Pretty soon, Danny says, “There’s a kid running, trying to catch the bus.  Is it the guy you wanted to buy cigars from, Dad?”  I look out, and sure enough it is.  And he’s FAST!

I was just going to let it go, but he was really persistent, and I think the bus driver felt sorry for him, so he stopped.

I went up to the bus door and he’s taking a box of Cohiba’s out of a back pack.  Not a five cigar box, a WHOLE, 25 cigar, BOX of Cohiba’s out of the back pack.  I open them up, the cedar is there, the official paperwork and stamps are there.  So I give him the $40 and take the cigars!

The latch on the box is broken.  So this tells me that they are probably seconds, or literally DID fall off that truck, but they look good.  And at $40?  Even if they aren’t that good?  They are going to be pretty, darn, good!

When we got back to the resort?  I passed them out to a few of the guys on the tour, and we smoked them.  They were great!  One of the other guys gave Danny a cigarillo, and he seemed to enjoy it.

He ended up hanging around with some Russian kids his age in the game room, while a group of the adults all sat around talking college football, and smoking cigars until midnight.

This is a really strange story.  But I couldn’t make this stuff up if I wanted to.

And the best part?  If I have some left, and take them home, and Customs takes them from me?  I already got my money’s worth.

South Beach Sucks

And not because I'm not thin, rich and good looking.  I don't really care about any of that shit at this point in my life.  After having five surgeries since 2008 and it appears, surviving cancer?  I'm just happy to be here no matter what I look like.

And it isn't because my choice of automobile wouldn't stand up.  About every sixth or eighth car is a Camaro or an Audi of some kind (but I do have say, the, "Lambo", Ferrari, Porsche demographic is REALLY big here).

It's because there is NO PLACE TO PARK!  Say what you will about the boring life we have in the Suburbs of Murray, Utah.  But when I need to pick up a prescription, get a cup of coffee, or go to the liquor store, I have a place to park.  Here?  Not so much.

You have only two choices on this island.  You can circle the block, hoping for a break, or you can go to the public car parking lots, and pay, with your credit card.  Minimum of $1.  Then return to your car, and put the receipt on the dashboard.  Then you walk to where you hoped to drive.

You just can't, "Pop out" and go get a six pack, or a soda.  It's going to cost you, and take WAY more time than it should.

On top of that the people here drive like complete maniacs.  In cars that cost a million dollars!  You haven't lived until your rental Chevy Impala has been cut off in rapid succession by a BMW, an Audi, a Lamborghini, and a Ferrari, that were cutting between you and the Bentley in front of you.  You are worried about the rental getting hit, but not as much as the guy who cut you off suing you just for shits and giggles cause his car cost five time what your house did.

They pay absolutely NO attention to traffic lights, traffic signs, or those stupid lines painted on the road.  It's like all that stuff is just a suggestion.  To be ignored.

Traffic around here is unreal.  Have you ever tried to drive down The Strip in Las Vegas on a Friday or Saturday night?  If so, picture that, but instead of drunk people there to get married in, "limos", and rubes from where ever America in their rental cars?  You're stuck in a gaggle of Jaguars, and, "Lambos" moving two miles and hour being held up by a tourist in a rental car, who thinks she can just drive to South Beach, park on the street and watch, Jennifer Lopez have dinner.  Crazy.

We leave, "The Beach" tomorrow.  We head to the Sheraton to meet the rest of the folks on our tour, and then we fly to Cuba on Monday.  So today, I let Deb and Danny go to the beach.  I washed clothes.

Spent a couple hours in the Prison Laundry...  er, HOTEL, laundry listening to the sound of two washers, two dryers, a Coke machine and a perpetually running ice maker for the fourth floor while watching golf.

Now, if there is anything more boring than golf on TV, it would be golf on radio.  But the only choices on Saturday afternoon in South Florida, were that, Pro Bowling, NASCAR and old movies.  I Might be from West Virginia, but I'm not OF West Virginia, so NASCAR was out.  Bowling?  Really?  Who cares.  So golf it was.

And by the time I was done doing that, I just wanted to be out of that windowless room, and see some sun.  Should have gone to the beach out back, but decided to go for a drive.  Really bad decision.  I went five blocks in 45 minutes.

I don't know if it's because it's, "Mercedes Benz Swimsuit Fashion Week"  or if it's like this every weekend here.  But either way, I want nothing to do with it.

Danny decided that he'd had enough linen table cloth, sea food, hoity toity dinners and lunches this week (we ate at  Peruvian place for lunch today that was REALLY good.  But yeah, the waiters were wearing ties and vests.  Again) so we set out in search of a, Diner.  Good luck.  There are no, "Diners" on Miami Beach.

An hour and a half later, we had him set his GPS for, "Mexican" and found a place that was great.  But we didn't eat dinner until after eight o'clock.  I'd never even contemplated vegetable tamales.  I thought they HAD to be chicken or beef.  But they are awesome.

So our stay in the trendiest place on earth ends tomorrow, and It can't happen soon enough for me.  And, I'm pretty sure I won't be back.  If I have to fly to Miami for a cruise, or what ever reason?  I'll stay somewhere else.  Where I can park a car.

The Holiday Inn From Hell, And Awesome Italian Food

Deb and I spend a lot of time in Intercontinental Hotels.  We usually stay at Holiday Inn Express.  Mostly newer, always nicer, not too expensive.  But we've stayed in them all.  Crown Plaza, and even the Intercontinental in New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl.  I'm a gold member in their, Priority Club.  I'm a good customer.  And I'm pissed off.

We are staying at the Holiday Inn Miami Beach.  It's in the 4300 Block of Collins Ave. (A1A).  I give you the address because if you ever happen to be in Miami Beach?  I don't want you to make the mistake of staying here.

We picked this one because it has direct access to the beach.  So far, that's about the only thing that's gone right with picking this place.

Last night, we were tired and ate in the restaurant here in the hotel. The food was great.  When it finally got there.  And the same thing happened today.  We grabbed lunch so we could go to the beach.  It should NOT take 55 minutes to get a turkey wrap and an order of fries.

Last night, the toilet wouldn't flush.  So I called the desk and they said they would have someone come right up.  Great.  That being done, Deb and Danny and I spent three hours out on South Beach with the beautiful people before taking a taxi back to the hotel.  No one had fixed the toilet.

I called the desk, pissed off, and they knew it, and this time, they sent someone up to fix it.  When he was done, he said he would have housekeeping come and clean the toilet.  They showed up and cleaned the whole bathroom.  Except the toilet. 

I had to call the front desk three times last night to tell them their Internet access wasn't working.  took them more than a half an hour to fix it.  Tried to get on it again this afternoon.  It didn't work.

I went to the beach for a while with Deb and Danny, took some pictures, got wet.  It was a nice afternoon.  But I decided I was going back to the room and take a shower so we could go some place nice for dinner.  When I got here, I noticed there was still water in the sink.  Push the sink plunger, nothing happens.  OK, I crawled under there to fix it myself, still, the stopper won't move.

I'm starting to think my room is possessed by the devil.  And I didn't believe in the devil, until I checked in here.

By now I'm pissed.  So I'm going to have a glass of rum, watch a little, Comedy Central on TV and try to relax until dinner time.  Fat chance.  This hotel doesn't have cable.  They have Direct TV.  If  I'd wanted to NOT watch, Comedy Central?  I could have stayed home.

OK, I gotta get outta here for a while.  I'm going for a drive, see if this fantastic Italian place in Surfside, up on North Beach, where Deb and I had a great meal in 2003 on our FIRST trip to Cuba is still around.  And sure enough, it's still there.

Well, surely the promise of a fantastic meal in this place is going to make up for all the problems with the hotel.  This place was so good, I've been thinking about it for almost 10 years.  This will be the perfect end to an otherwise trying day.  As trying as a day can get when you are on vacation in Miami Beach, OK?

I get the car back to the valet, and go to tell Deb and Danny that I found the place.  I am so excited to have dinner there!  We all get ready, and call the valet to bring the car back to the front of the hotel.  After all, it was $25 a day to self park across the street, with a fee every time you went in or out, or $29 a day for the valet, with no other fees.

They bring the car back in a few minutes and I shit you not, the valet had changed the radio station.  Really?  I'm paying $30 a day for this service with my rental car, and you can't stand to listen to my Satellite Radio, Outlaw Country station for the two, fucking minutes it took you to drive across the street to the parking garage?  Really?  REALLY!  You had to give me back my car with some godawful, Latin, rap bullshit on the radio?  REALLY!

He's a little tip for anyone who hopes to grow up to one day be a valet.  I don't know, maybe you can't do math, can't speak English, walk with a limp, or just want to drive a bunch of great cars like, "Lambos", and Ferrari's, or my rental Chevy Impala, if even only for a block at a time.  THE VALET, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, FOR ANY REASON, IS EVER TO CHANGE THE FUCKING RADIO STATION!

I don't care if I give you that car in South Beach, and you have to park it in North Beach.  Keep you fingers off the radio!

I went in to have a little chat with the Holiday Inn manager, but they were conveniently, "In a meeting" at the time.  Well, tomorrow, there is a guy named, Julio, or Omar, or Jerry who's going to get a good talking too.

But I'm not up the roof with a rifle because Cafe  Ragazzi still exists.  If you ever get to this corner of the world, you should go to Surfside, which is a little community on North Beach.  It's on the corner of 95th Street and A1A, South bound.  And it's a little slice of heaven.

In October of 2003, Deb and I got a funky, art deco hotel in that area to spend a couple days down here before we went to Cuba.  And one night, we just drove up A1A and saw the Surfside Shops district, and pulled in, thinking we'd find a place to have a bite.  We parked next to a drug store that was just closing up, and the owner noticed the out of state plates on the rental car, and asked if we were from out of town.

We talked for a while, and she recommended the Italian place across the street.  And the rest is history.

I don't remember what we had that night.  But I remember that I thought I had wandered into a scene from, The Soprano's!  A lot of guys who looked like, Bobby, and, Big Pussy in silk, tropical shirts, with HUGE rings, and gold chains, and they all talked like the guys on the show.  I know I heard a lot of, "Forgetaboutit".  It was like you were waiting for a, "hit" to happen at any time.  But it turned out to be a couple of Italian family's having a birthday dinner.

And the food?  Well, how many restaurants have YOU eaten in that you remember for ten years?

Tonight, Danny had a shrimp Alfredo, and at one point he looked at me and said, "If I lived here, and it wasn't expensive?  I'd eat at this place every day."  Deb had a ravioli stuffed with mozzarella, covered in lobster and shrimp.  I had a ravioli stuffed with, mozzarella and a, "veal mousse".

Now, before I describe how awesome this was, I'm going to warn anyone going to my upcoming reunion, that if you see Deb (Butler) Hall beating the shit out of me on patio at Snowbird and screaming stuff like, "Not only is that the CRUELEST MEAT?  You ate, young cow, Pink Slime, you Rat Bastard!"  That she, as a vegetarian, and a close friend since we were 8 years old.  But sometimes has a problem with my food choices.  I'll leave it at that.

I have eaten on The Left Bank in Paris.  I have had a steak at most of America's finest steak houses.  I've had $1.25 hot dogs at, Gray's Papaya in New York City that were great.  Yeah, I've had the Pizza Bender at Italian Village, and Spent $1200 on dinner for 4 at Charlie Trotter's in Chicago.  But this might have been the best meal I have ever eaten.  It was so good, I couldn't believe it.  I was, in shock.

I washed it down with an Italian beer.  Pelegro, I believe.  Wow.  All I can say is, wow.

The flavor of this stuff was unbelievable.

And the atmosphere in this place?  Black shirts, ties and aprons.  The staff looked incredible, and you could almost hear the tourist/student/temporary visas expiring as we sat there.  The staff was VERY Italian.

At one point, I told my son, "You'll like the bartender", she looked like the Italian Model in the Fiat commercials.  His response?  "I noticed that, already".  Like, where you been, dad?

So, all in all?  A good day.  Check the pictures I posted on Facebook to see the beach.  And if you ever get here?  For any reason?  Don't miss, Cafe Ragazzi.  And whatever you do?  Don't stay at the Holiday Inn Miami Beach.

Late To Atlanta, And It's NOT Atlanta's Fault?

If you fly anywhere out of Salt Lake City, you will go through Atlanta.  A lot.  The first time I flew to Michigan, I went through Atlanta.  Louisville, via Atlanta.  Mexico and Belize?  Atlanta.

My friend, Lisa Landry, the comedian once posted about having to jump off the plane on the inflatable slides on a non-stop from Atlanta to Los Angeles when the plane couldn't get off the ground.

I told her the really interesting part of that story wasn't that she had to jump down the slide.  It was that she could fly coast to coast on Delta, and NOT have to go to Detroit, Cincinnati, or Salt Lake City!

Coming home next week, we fly from Havana, to Miami, to Detroit, to Salt Lake.

And I can't tell you how many connections we have missed because the weather in Atlanta is awful.  Ice storms. Thunder storms, you name it they have it.

So this afternoon, when we had only a half an hour to make our connection in Atlanta, with no hope of getting lunch, and very little hope or our luggage coming with us, I was very surprised that it was because of a problem in Salt Lake City.  Our plan got off a half hour late because of a mechanical problem they had trouble fixing.  Wow.

So, when we get to Atlanta, we're running to the next terminal and we do make the plane, last ones on.  But I'm pretty sure we will be sitting in the Miami airport for a while waiting for the next plane.  I was pleasantly surprised when the luggage beat us to the baggage claim.

But by the time we got to Miami, none of us had had anything to eat but airline peanuts, all day.  So despite what Jimmy Buffett said about, "The food at a Holiday Inn..." we ate here, and it was good.  Then it was time to let Danny see the beach.  Some how, he wasn't that impressed.

But he DID like the girls in South Beach.  So I think he's really going to like it tomorrow, when those girls are out on the beach.

So, Thursday is, "Beach Day".  Everglades on Friday.  So far, so good.

It's The Final Countdown To Cuba: Part Deaux

We fly out on Wednesday morning.  We will go to Miami for four days.  I want my son to see Miami Beach.  My wife wants to go BACK to Miami Beach.

I want my son to see the Everglades.  My wife would probably rather spend another day on Miami Beach, but she's a sport and knows how this is important.  That we show our son a different perspective on the world.  Some place he might never get to see again.

And being blind?  She's the one with The Golden Eagle Passport that gets us into that National Park free.

When you are spending almost $20K on the trip?  Every, "Twenty Bucks" helps.

Today, all the errands for Mom.  Keys made for neighbors?  Check.  Key made for the, "I've fallen and I can't get up" lock box on the back of the house?  Check.

And errands I had to run.  My fat ass needed some new, khaki slacks.  It appears we will have to dress like grown ups at least ONE night for dinner.

But I don't have enough weight limit on the luggage to pack a pair of shoes I'll wear once.  So it will be khaki's and sandals.

And this is funny.  KUER sent out a message that they had hundreds of baseballs donated by the, "U's" baseball team and, The Bees, that they wanted us to come up to the station to pick up and hand out to Cuban kids.  Great idea, right?

Well, the tour company has told us that they will only accept one bag of 44 pounds or less (which is six pounds, and another bag, less than Delta lets you have on international flights) and you can only have ONE carry on.  Or you will have to pay a dollar a pound, in cash for every pound over 44 you are.  And, two dollars for an extra carry on.

Baseballs weigh, what?  8 Oz's?  Eight is a pound. 16?  I'm taking my lap top, leaving the baseballs behind.

KUER, nice.  Nice gesture.  I LOVE the idea.  But  YOU get those baseballs to Miami?  And I'll put them in my pockets to take to Cuba.  Otherwise?  I'm thinking you didn't really think this through.

I think I might go ahead and take the computer.  I haven't decided, and won't until Wednesday morning.  I really want to have it in Florida.

At least.

I'm pretty sure this my last trip to Cuba.  Hope it's not my sons first and only.

I went to the Credit Union today to get some cash.  I guess we have to have a LOT of it in Cuba to get in and out of the country.  Cashed a brokerage firm check for $3K.  And tried to keep in as small of bills I could.

Ester at at Mountain America Credit Union in Murray is awesome.  She broke it all down for me in what I needed.  Mostly small bills. 

So, Tuesday is the day I will be filling the shampoo bottle, checking the shaving kit, putting clothes in the bag and getting ready to leave.

I hope it's as amazing for my son, and it is exhausting me.  Not to mention what Deb is dealing with.

These, "Epic" trips every year?  Are getting old.  I think it's time to look into a trailer, or a cabin.  I've SEEN the world.  Like some of it.  Like the Caribbean best.  Like Tucson.  Like Utah Mountains and desert.  Might like to stay here more.

Just thinking...

Welcome To Florida. The Icky Water State

As my friend, Jim would say.  And he's not all wrong.  A lot of the water in Florida is scary looking.  It doesn't look like death in and of itself, like, Lake Michigan.  But it's what's IN the water that makes you nervous.

We leave really, really early on Wednesday morning to fly from mountainous, desert, mostly dry Utah to Miami.

My son has never been to Florida.  His older sister has.  She doesn't want to go back.  She's too old for Disney World, and too Autistic to deal with Miami.

We don't move to the hotel with our Cuban tour group until Sunday, and we fly to Cuba on Monday.  So we will have four days in Miami.  And I got us a hotel right on Miami beach.  Used my Intercontinental Points to get it cheap too.  Yeah, it's a Holiday Inn, and that's good enough for me.

So, we will have four days where Deb and I will enjoy the great restaurants, and the beach.  And my son will be glued to the beach, where acres of Jennifer Lopez look alike's will be lying in the sand.  THONGS in the key of life.  He's 16.  I'm going to keep pouring water over his head so it doesn't explode.  Cold, cold, water.

In preparation for this trip, I made him sit with his mother and I and watch a NatGeo Channel show about the Everglades and the Crocodiles and Alligators that live there.  How the Salt Water Crocodiles can EAT in the ocean, but have to come back into, "The Glades" to drink fresh water, etc.

Trying to get the kid to pick up some smarts, any way I can.

He watched this, and said, "Why would anyone want to go THERE!?"

His mother and I tried to explain to him that we want him to see it because it's so different from here, where he grew up.  Mountains/deserts/dry, vs. flat/water/grass/ocean.  That it was a National Park.  That he could learn a lot.

Yada, yada, yada.  He was not interested.

By now, I'm getting pissed.  I've taken this kid to Paris,  Washington DC, New York, Chicago, Boston, Minneapolis, Los Angeles, San Fransisco, Las Vegas tons of times.  And even to Mexico.  He's 16 and he's on his second Passport.  I didn't get my first one until I was almost 40.

I finally just said to him, "Well, we're going because I want to go back and see it again.  And the other reason the Everglades is so interesting?  Everything that lives there can kill you.  So stay on the path."

And then I just shut up, and turned the channel to, Comedy Central.

I'm pretty sure I made my point.

And I'm really sure I'm going to blow his mind this week.  And after that?  He's going to freaking, CUBA!

I'm either the father of the century?  Or I'm terrifying my kid.  I guess I'll know by the time we get back to SLC.

RIP Utah vs. BYU

This mornings Tribune sports section devoted most of it's front page to moaning over the loss of the annual Utah/BYU football game.  Personally, I say, "Good riddance. We don't need it any more."

For all the years that Gordon Monson and Kurt Kragthorpe were beating the drum that Utah and BYU deserved the kind of recognition that bigger schools get, you would think that after the events of the last two years, they would realize they were HALF right.  Utah does.  BYU, not so much.

Monson seems to think it's a bad thing because Utah is going to schedule a, "cupcake" school, and they might lose to BYU.  Yep.  You got that right, Gordo.  And it's the way it is in college football these days.  A random look at the schedule of some SEC schools shows Alabama playing two, "directional" schools, Western Kentucky and the week before they play Auburn, Western Carolina.

Vanderbilt is taking on perennial football powerhouses Presbyterian (I was raised one, and know nothing about THIS school.  Like where it is?) and Massachusetts, which became a FBS school only this year.

South Carolina is playing UAB early in the year and Wofford the week before their season ending game at Clemson.

I guess I can overlook the BYU cheerleader sports writers failure to pick up a college football magazine this summer.

He also seems to think that our future schedule will include a, "Paducah State", but here's the rub on that.  Right now, BYU might still be able to beat Utah on occasion.  But with a schedule that's heavy on Thursday night games against the likes of Idaho, San Jose State and New Mexico State?  It's not going to be long before BYU IS, Paducah State.  What chance do you have to recruit real talented players with no conference to win, no chance at ever playing in a BCS Game and no chance to ever play college football on a Saturday afternoon?

I don't know how Monson can say that most of the state wants the rivalry to continue.  Most of the BYU fans do.  I'm pretty sure it's a safe bet to think most Mormons want the games to continue.  But Ute fans aren't going to miss it.

Kragthorpe doesn't get it either. Yes, we could have made room on our schedule for BYU, but we don't want to! Most of my friends are Utah Football season ticket holders and we're happy the game is going away. We'd rather play Michigan.

When BYU held their breath and threw a temper tantrum that they didn't get invited to a BCS conference a couple years ago, they sealed their fate.  They refused to make the concessions necessary to be invited to the Big 12.  And they had such an inflated view of their own worth to college football that they thought they would be able to pull off a Notre Dame type schedule every year.  It isn't going to happen.

Look, the Utes now have a new priority.  Win the PAC 12 and go to the Rose Bowl is the goal at the start of every year.  Even LAST year that was the goal.  Was it obtainable?  Hell yes!  We were two missed field goals away from doing exactly that!  Would we have beaten Oregon?  Probably not, but it would have been a lot of fun to watch us try.

It's been said that the folks down in Utah County live in the, "bubble".  And the password to get into the bubble is, "1984".  And all this fuss about not playing Utah seems to confirm it.  These are two schools going in different directions in college football.

It's not 1984 any more.  A lousy Utah football season can no longer be salvaged just by beating BYU at the end of it.  And I'm pretty sure that as much as we will come to loath Colorado as our new rival, there will not be a time in the foreseeable future when beating them would save an otherwise terrible season.

We do indeed have bigger fish to fry these day.  Bigger than New Mexico State and Idaho.  So when you take the BYU game off the schedule, and replace them with Wofford, or Presbyterian or some similar school, it gives your team a rest.  And we're going to need a lot of rest to get to The Rose Bowl.

Was It God? Or Karma? Or Just A Shitty Day?

Yesterday, I made a joke on Facebook about going to the Cathedral downtown for Alex and Mari's wedding.  And how the holy water didn't boil, and the lightning didn't strike when the atheist went in the front door.  Ha, ha.

Well, this morning I am awakened by a call from the Rehab Center where my mom is recovering from surgery last week, and they have sent her back to the hospital in an ambulance, because she is having trouble breathing.  That's not good.

We go to the hospital, and I'll make a long story short, she has blood clots in both of her lungs, and has been readmitted, and is in the Pulmonary ICU.

Then, I come home and my neighbor, Ernie is pissed off at me.  And I don't blame him.  He should be.

Last night, since we had that 7 hours of soaking rain on Thursday, I let Danny shoot off all the fireworks his mom had bought for him, since we couldn't on the 4th.  We were in the no fireworks zone Murray City imposed on the 4th.  Even though it was just barely, I didn't want to be the guy who burned up the Parkway, so I told him no.

I might still have been doing something illegal, but with all that rain?  I kind of figured we were OK.  I'm always careful.  Take the hose out to the street with us.

But last night, we had one go horribly wrong.  One of the one's that goes WAY up in the air (and yes, it was bought here in Utah, so it was legal) tipped over.  Pointing at us.  One of the balls shot right between me and my daughter.  We were diving for cover.  I found the ball in front of the new garage this morning.  It was the size of a squash ball, and had four opening in it.  It would have hurt you pretty bad if it hit you.

Another one shot into the front planter at Ernie's house, and I hit it with the hose right away, so it was not problem.  But the next one appeared to shoot over to the west side of his house.  I ran over there with a flashlight, and couldn't find anything, so it must have gone out.

What I didn't know until this morning, when Ernie let me know, was that it hit the top of his pickup truck that was parked in his driveway.  Oops.  I felt like a jerk.  Ernie went off on me, and he should.  But I told him I'd take care of it.

I gave him a car wash coupon for Prompt Car Wash and their, "Ultimate Elite" car wash that my mom had given me for Father's Day.  And told him that if the mark didn't wash off after that, he should go to the body shop we both use, Marv's Auto Body and tell Jim to repaint it, and I'll pay the bill. 

This bad stuff all happens before noon.

But, the day got better.  Phil and Jim showed up for Dog Day.  And later, my friend, Dorian came over with her new puppy.  She had a baby two weeks ago and looks great.  It was so good to see her.  I bet I hadn't seen her face to face in a year.

She said her husband said he would stay home with the baby and she should get out of the house since it had been about month since she had.  So we got to meet, Ruby the new Basset Hound and hang out for a while.

But maybe, just maybe I shouldn't joke around about church.
And if any of you think I really mean that last statement?  You don't know me that well.  This blog is supposed to make you laugh most of the time.

No Soliciting. Yeah, I Mean YOU TOO!

so-lic-it  v  1. To seek to obtain; solicit votes 2. To entreat: importune.  3.  To entice; tempt [< L sollicitare, to disturb, agitate]

From the American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 1970.



I ate a Jehovah's Witness for breakfast today.  It was his own, damn fault.  He tasted a little, underdone?  Maybe.

I didn't retire to get up early.  As a matter of fact, one of the few pleasurable things about my job, near then end, was that I could set my own hours.  And didn't mind hitting the streets a few nights a week, because that meant that the next morning, I could sleep in.  It's been one of my favorite activities since I was a child.

This morning at the ungodly hour of nine, freakin', thirty my doorbell rings.  My neighbors know my habits, so I'm thinking one of them really needs my help.  I grab a robe and run to the door.  Only to be greeted by a grandfatherly looking man in too much polyester, and a tie, who tries to hand me a magazine.

Big mistake.  Motherfucker is the nicest thing I called him.  I unloaded on this son of a bitch.  And I did it because I have a, "NO SOLICITING" sign on my front door.  So that allows me to bite his head off and shit down his neck.  Because he has been WARNED!  I do not wish to be disturbed, or agitated.

And I'm assuming he can read.  After all, he's handing out magazines, right?

Old people, and religious nuts seem to think they are exempt from the, "NO SOLICITING" sign.  Well, you're not.  I don't care if you're selling vacuum cleaners, frozen steaks or Jesus.  If I'm looking for any of those, I'll come looking for you.  Woe be unto you if you make me get out of my chair just to prove to me that you can't or won't read if I'm watching the Utes, or The Redwings.  I might answer that door with a gun.

There used to be this one old son of a bitch, who about once a month would drag his pith helmet wearing old head, up my stairs to ring my doorbell, and cut off a piece of an orange to try and sell me a bag of his oranges.  He wouldn't quit, no matter how many times I tried to nicely, point out my sign.  I finally had to chew him up and spit him out on Ernie's front yard, rather rudely, to get him to cut it out!

Then there was the guy with bad comb over (I know, bad, and comb over.  Under redundant, see: redundant) who came buy here twice in about two weeks.  The first time I was only mildly irritated.  I told him I don't give to religious organizations, and I had a, "sign" and I would like him to respect it.

But the second time he came I yelled at him so hard, he dropped his briefcase and got really nervous.  I'm pretty sure he thought I was going to hurt him.  I'm also pretty sure the money he was soliciting for some starving folks in Africa had about as much chance of getting there as he had of picking up chicks in a bar with that hair.

He actually said, "But I'm raising money for a religious charity" like that was some kind of, armour that would protect him from the, "NO SOLICITING" sign!  Ha!  My sign trumps your bullshit.  Every time.

Then there are the poor, misguided, Mormon Missionary's.  They have only come buy a couple of times since we have lived here.  I'm pretty sure that my attitude about religion has been spread to the local Ward House, and shared with these young men.

The last time was in the middle of the afternoon.  And I was doing something really important, like watching a, COPS rerun I've only seen 7 times, or something like that.  They gave me their little spiel, and I finally had had enough.  I didn't yell at them, I didn't get out of line, well, yeah I did, but I didn't go nuts on them.  I just very calmly said to them, "Boys.  You're wasting your life.  Go home, go to college where you learn HOW to think, instead of WHAT to think.  Have sex with some GIRLS.  Drink some beer.  Have a good time.  This should be the best time of your life, and you're wasting it."  And I closed the door.  They have not come back.

I'm pretty sure they were bearing their testimony to each other most of the night after that.  But lets face it.  If you're a really smart, young, Mormon guy you get sent to France, or China, or Peru.  If you're not too bright, you go to Seattle, or Alabama.  But if you're the dumbest Mormon in your South Dakota Ward?  They will send you here.  I always ask the Missionary's I see here, "Don't you ever feel like you're carrying coals to Newcastle?"  They never know what I'm talking about.


The last category of folks who don't read, "The Sign" are the dumb.  I don't know what this idiot was selling a month or so ago, but I opened the door, and he started in on his spiel, and I just pointed to the sign and said, "Can't you read?!"  He sashayed off the steps saying something about, "I CAN read, and it's not my problem.  It's YOUR problem if you..."  That's as far as this rat bastard got before I came unglued. 

By the time I walked this dumb ass down the driveway, he was about six inches tall and getting shorter, "Oh you CAN read, but you chose not to and bother me anyway you motherf*****!  You dumb son of a bitch who has never read a book with the word, "solicit" in it?  And then you claim it's MY fault that YOU annoyed ME?  You got some nerve you..."  And this went on  for a while.  He's never come back, either.

So, for anyone who doesn't know, because I'm nothing else, if not educational here at, The Truthstick, I'm going to explain the intricacies and boundary's of the, "NO SOLICITING" sign.  The subtleties, and when you can and can't knock on that door, if you're not a neighbor or friend, come to visit.  It's complicated, so you might want to get a pad and paper and take some notes.  Go ahead, I'll wait.

Ready?  Here we go.  If you are doing what you're doing to sell me something, whether it's raffle tickets, or Jesus.  If you want my money for any reason.  And you see a, "NO SOLICITING" sign on my front door?  Here is the first rule.

DON'T FUCKING BOTHER ME!  You are not exempt if you're doing it for a good cause.  You are not exempt if you are old.  You are not exempt, well, EVER!  I don't want to be bothered. 

Than ends today's lesson on the, "NO SOLICITING" sign.  There will be no end of class quiz.  But if you show up at my door for any of the above reasons?  You're going to know right away if you passed the class.  Trust me.

Danny Drives The Camaro. God Help Us All

Deb and I used to joke about putting the Camaro keys in the gun safe when we traveled, so Danny wouldn't try to drive it and end up dead in a ditch.

A legit concern.  You don't want a kid who has had his drivers license a few months to take off in what is basically, a full blown race car.  406 BHP.  God forbid he turn off the ESC to see what it could REALLY do.

Yes, I taught him about shit like that.  My bad.  I just wanted my kid to know, and appreciate cars as much as I do.

He already got in trouble because I told him the, "S" setting on the Audi transmission is, "Sport". But that's another story.

I decided that since he's been such a good driver since he got his license in February, that it was time to let him know, if nothing else, why I won't let him just take off in the rocket car.  So I took him over to Taylorsville High Schools big, drivers ed course.

It was covered in dirt from their football field remodel.  Shit.

So we drove over, I drove over, to Murray's drivers ed course.  Not the best place for this, as there are four light poles in it.  But better than any other place I could think of.

I told him to just drive it around the course like he was driving one of the cars he drove in drivers ed and feel the difference.  I told him how the car weighed a couple thousand pounds, and most of it was in the front end because of the engine.  That there was no weight in the back, where the power was.  That it would tend to over stear because of that.  Trying to explain why a, "Muscle Car" was what it was, and why it's not like a regular car.

It goes really fast in a straight line.  But on the curves?  Not so much.

He got it.  I have to hand it to him.

I had him back it into the corner of the course, aim it in a straight line, and stomp on the gas.  He got THAT too.  He realized that this car was going to go WAY faster than any car he's ever driven, WAY sooner than any car he's ever driven.

He got it.  But he also said, "It's like driving the Audi."

Well, sort of.  I explained to him that that the Audi was a high performance, TOURING car.  And as fast as it was, even when you put the transmission in, "S", it has all wheel drive, and will stay on the road when the Camaro can kill you.  They are different beasts.  You have to treat them differently.

The Audi is much more FORGIVING of your mistakes.  The Camaro is a cruel lover.  You upset her?  And she won't let you off the hook like the Audi.  She will punish you.


Then I replaced him in the driver seat.  Turned off the ESC, stomped my left foot down on the break, and stomped my right foot on the gas.  And left about $100 of Pierelli performance rubber on the Murray High drivers ed lot in a puff of smoke.  Well, a few seconds of smoke.

This was to explain to him that if you do that on a curve?  You better hope the puff of smoke is a smoke signal calling the paramedics.  You don't FUCK with the Camaro.  It will treat you bad if you don't know what you're doing.  I think, after seeing the pile of rubber in the parking lot?  He gets it.

I started to drive out of the parking lot, but I stopped and asked him, "You think you can drive it home?"

"YEAH!  You'll let me do that?"

"Yeah.  But the visibility in this car sucks. So turn into the number one lane, and stay in it, even if you have to stop for cars turning into the dealerships, all the way to 59th."

He did so.

And he did well.  I told him to floor it one time, and he did.  For about a second or two, before he realized how crazy fast this thing was, and brought it back down to about 35.

He turned onto 5900 South and got clear to Greenoakes, coming into the neighborhood, before he said, "Did I do well enough that I can take it to dances (at the high school)?"

I just said, "We'll see."

But now, when Deb and I leave town?  I really DO have to put the keys in the gun safe.  Cause he's no longer afraid of it.  Hell, he even parked it in, The Garage Ma Hall when we were done.  I'm sure he's feeling ten feet tall and bullet proof at this point.

But that's OK.  He's a good driver, and I trust him.  And he can tell all his friends, "I drove the, Bitchin Camaro!"

He was so exited about it, that when we were on our way to the driveing range, he was texting his friends about it.  I only know because he asked me, "How do you spell, Camaro?"

That's funny.

Mom Fell, And She Can't Get Up!

It's never going to happen to YOU!  After all, YOUR parents aren't as goofy as those folks in those stupid, "HELP!  I've fallen, and I can't get up!" commercials.

Until it happens to you.

My mother is 78 years old.  And I'm thinking the three staircases she walks every day to do her laundry and go to bed at night, are what's keeping her alive at this age.  Her HOUSE is a STAIRMASTER!

But Saturday, bad shit happened.

She fell in the afternoon, and couldn't reach the phone.  Couldn't even crawl to the closet where she keeps her purse, in which she keeps her cell phone.  That she never uses.

She was there until Sunday morning when her friend, Jill found her.  The Paramedics were called and they decided that she was OK.  Not a stroke, not a heart attack, and after they got her off the floor?  She could walk to the bathroom.  everything was good.

But it wasn't.

I went home to order her one of those, "buttons" and I did.  It would be shipped on Monday.  I called her to tell her this and she said, "I've fallen again".

Shit.  Deb and I drove over and she couldn't move!  Called the paramedics again, and this time, I insisted that they take her to the hospital.  Good thing I did.

She had an infection and her Gaul bladder was ALL screwed up.  This might just be the reason, she could not sit up.  Let alone get up off the floor.

Today, Tuesday, they took out her Gaul bladder.  It was so screwed up, it had gangrene!  YUCK!
She had no signs of this on Friday, and Saturday she almost dies?

Oh, we're going to keep the, "button", no matter how good she feels after she gets home.

She's going to do a week in rehab to get her strength back before she goes home.

But at least she's still with us.

She's going to miss Alex's wedding, which is killing her.  But she's going to be alive to see his kids.  So we got that going for us.

What a summer.  Too crazy.  And I haven't even gone to CUBA yet!

Jim Matheson Is A DINO

The same night that Jim Matheson voted to hold the Attorney General in Contempt of Congress, I got a call from some guy working for his campaign, asking if I would be a volunteer.  Not only no, but, "HELL NO!"

I know what he's going to say.  That he's trying to represent ALL the people of his District.  But he doesn't represent me.  He's trying so hard to hang on to his job, that he'll whore himself out to the nutball, right wing, to try and garner votes, while talking out the other side of his mouth about how he's really, "one of us".  To quote another, ignorant, Republican, "Liar!"

Mia Love is in way over her head, and even if she wins?  She won't last more than one term.  She can't hold the Priesthood, ya know?  Think I'm over reacting?  Ask our first female Governer about that.  Olene was doing a great job.  But she just wasn't the right person FOR the job, ya know?

And since we now have another seat in Congress, and it's going to go to another Republican, I've come up with a strategy to help get more Democratic influence in Washington.  The $200 check I would have sent to Jim Matheson a few years ago?  I'm going to send to Al Franken (D-MN).

After all, if MY representatives won't represent me?  Someone elses will.  There is no sense in giving money to Utah, "Democrats".  If they are really Democrats, they can't win.  And if they are more interested in keeping their job, than doing the right thing?  Fuck em.  I won't give them money.

Jim Matheson wants to stay in Congress?  So he can do what?  Make sure this is the most right wing, uneducated, ignorant, short sighted, science denying state in the union?  No thanks.

Al, that checks on the way.  Thanks for the preadressed envelope.  And no, I don't mind springing for the stamp.  It's my pleasure.

Was I In The Emergency Room, Or Walmart?

My mom fell yesterday afternoon, in her living room and couldn't get up.  She was on the floor until this morning when she finally made her way to her purse, got her cell phone and called her neighbor, Jill to come and help her.

By the time Deb and I got there, the paramedics had left.  She was showing no signs of a stroke, or a heart attack and they didn't think she needed to go to the hospital.  Once she was up, she could walk to the bathroom, and said she felt fine.  So we left her to take a nap on her couch, and I went home to look into one of those, "I've fallen and I can't get up" buttons for the house.

An hour later when I called her to tell her I ordered it, and it would arrive shortly, she said she had fallen again.  And couldn't get up.

So we went over, and she was on the floor in front of the couch.  Said she went to stand up, and just kind of slid onto the floor and couldn't move.  She didn't hit her head or anything.  She just wanted Deb and I to help her up, said she would be fine.  Except she was not.  And she couldn't sit up.  Even on the floor.

Call 911, part deaux.  She didnt' want to go to the hospital, but I felt that at this point it was that or prop her up in a corner with a bottle of water and the remote control and come back in the morning.  So off we went.

The only thing they could find wrong with her at the hospital was a bad urineary tract infection, but decided to keep her overnight.  I think that was the right decision.  And I hope they get her better soon so she can go home.

But my experience in the ER was troubling.

Any one who knows me, knows that there is no one more left wing then me.  I'm pro Union, I support the poor, I wish we had a national health care system, so any one who was sick, could go to a  doctor.  I worked with poor people all my life.  And today only proves that the Liberal view of this national health care argument is the right one.

The ER looked like that, "We are the people of Walmart" video that was so popular.  Bad haircuts and bad tattoos were just the start.  These people were truly sick.  You could tell by looking at them.  No one should be that skinny, that fat, that dirty, that miserable in, "The Greatest Country In The World"!  I'm quite sure none of these folks had insurance.  Otherwise, why would they be in the Emergency Room on a Sunday afternoon when they were not bleeding, or suffering some other, obviously, life thereatining condition?

And this is not like it used to be, at lest in Utah.  People in ER's were three for a ligit EMERGENCY!  A broken bone.  They needed stitches.  Now?  My baby threw up?  Take her to the ER.  I can't stop coughing?  Go to the ER.  Tylenol didn't cure my headache?  Go to the ER.

And it was obvious that some of them were regular customers.  I recognized the blister packs of antipsychotic drugs they used to give the residents of the halfway houses.  And they seemed to know the staff.  There were lots of clues that this is a regular outing for the whole family.  After all, if you can't afford a baby sitter?  Just bring all the kids to the ER.

So I have to ask my Republican friends, who don't want a national health care plan if they think THIS is the most efficent use of our health care funds.  Stack up a bunch of our poor people in Emergency Rooms, where they wait all day to get treated for something that could be better addressed in an office visit to a regular doctor, and it would cost ten times less?  ER's are expensive.

Wouldn't you rather have everyone get a national health care card, and be able to see any doctor, for any minor problem and the doctor gets paid, the patient gets treated and ER's are for Emergency's?

I know what some of you are saying (and I even know which ones of you are saying it).  No!  Government isn't the answer.  Canadians hate their health care system!  They have rationing, and you can't always get treated!

OK, I'm going to ask you guys saying that, "Have you ever been to Canada (Or England, or France, or Greece, or Belize, or Mexico, or Grenada, or Cuba, or ANY where outside the USA)?"  Cause if you have NOT.  You need to shut the fuck up.  You don't know what you're talking about.  And you are believing a big old, "Faux News Lie" that they keep telling you because they want you to believe that you are getting the best, most efficent, low cost health care in the world.  And it's a lie.

But don't believe me.  Go to France.  And if that's cost prohibitive, go to the library and find a copy of, "Deadly Spin" by Wendell Potter.  For twenty years, Potter was the head of corporate communicatios for CIGNA.  Dont' know who GIGNA is?  Well, chances are that if your employer provides your health insurance, they are your insurance provider.  They are one of the biggest.

And if you think, "Faux News" is actually news?  Have someone explain what a, "library" and a, "Book" are.

Our health care system is broken in this country.  And, "Obamacare" is a nice start.  But it doesn't go far enough.

So the next time you're in the ER, and your kid has a broken arm, and the best they can do for you is a bag of ice and a Tylenol, while he sits there for four hours (happened to me a few years ago when my son broke his thumb at soccer practice) because the doctors are treating everyone who should be able to go to the doctor when they get sick like in every other industrialized country in the world, because he's not bleeding to death, so he'll, "keep"?   Ask yourself if keeping your taxes lower, but paying outragous premiums for health insurance that could be canceled if you REALLY get sick is worth it.

Have fun in the ER.  Your wait time is...