Recently the iPod was playing "Hey Good Lookin" performed by Jimmy Buffett, George Strait, Clint Black, Toby Keith, and Kenny Chesney. Kenny is currently the best selling and recent-award-winning performer of the bunch. However, I couldn't help thinking how cool it must have been for him to sing on a record with King George. Because no matter what room any country star is in, when George Strait enters, it's his room.
Consider Albert Pujols, currently the best performer in baseball. He's an all time great and a seemingly nice fellow. Babe Ruth could say "Albert, you might be you, but I'm me." And that's how I came up with a name for my ranking system.
During many hours behind the windshield, I found that this system can be used for just about anything. In March, when the country is focused on brackets, I made up my own to determine who is the coolest guy ever. The "regions" were TV/Movies, Music, Sports, and Politics. Not the best...just the coolest. My final four came down to Cary Grant (who edged out Harrison Ford), Frank Sinatra, Ruth (who has the distinction of being The Best and The Coolest in his region), and Bill Clinton (every politician has a Thing, his doesn't bother me as much as Jefferson's). After much deliberation, and spending more time than I liked making negative arguments about them all, Sinatra wins.
The Most Beloved in Sports and perhaps all of American History, is Arnold Palmer. As a golfer he might not even make the top 5. However, no popular figure is more universally loved. In 60+ years he has never disappointed. Ruth, Ali, Abe Lincoln, and anybody else I could think of has valid detractors. Arnold has none.
Other windshield times have been spent putting together all-time teams for organizations worthy of the thought. No Mariners or Brewers history in my car. The Yankees were hard. Mantle or DiMaggio? Rizzuto or Jeter? Munson or Berra? Joe Gordon or Tony Lazzeri? Right field, 1st base, closer, 3rd base, and starting pitcher are easier. Left field was a weak link so I moved Mantle to left over Bob Meusel and Dave Winfield. Holy shit, say that lineup out loud. "Phil Rizzuto, Joe DiMaggio, Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Alex Rodriguez, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Joe Gordon, Whitey Ford/Mariano Rivera."
The Celtics were also difficult, considering that Paul Pierce recently passed Larry Bird on their career scoring list. But let's be serious. They are Bill Russell, Bird, Kevin McHale, John Havlicek, and Bob Cousy. The Lakers are Magic Johnson, Jerry West, Kareem, Elgin Baylor, and Kobe Bryant. The benches for those organizations could win titles.
I could go on with UF, Miami, and FSU football, but will leave them and my music rankings for future blogs.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
A man's gotta know his limitations
Great line from Dirty Harry, where he lets the chief know there are things he can handle that his boss cannot. One of my many limitations is a lack of death empathy (deampathy?). I know what not to say, but I never know what to say. Not being religious or otherwise superstitious, I have difficulty with the standard comfort lines. So here's how this train started:
My great-aunt bit it two weeks ago, prompting Mother to guilt me into sending my aunt a sympathy card. I don't even know the lady. She lives somewhere in New York (mom had to email me the address). It's been over 30 years since we were in the same room. What I do know is that my grandmother hated her older sister. Went out of her way to tell the young me how her elder bossed people around with a bitchy self-righteousness for all of her 97 years. It sucks that my grandmother died first.
My loving wife picked up the card from the dollar store, so at least we didn't waste money. Despite it all, I wrote "sorry for your loss," as if the old bag was misplaced and they will find her under a cushion. "Nobody liked your mother," although true, didn't seem like the right thing to say.
I have spent unfortunate windshield time on my wife's eulogy due to some recent cancer false alarms. The plan is for her to be at my funeral, but shit got real for a while. (She's fine, it was a benign infection.) Anyway, it went something like "Please spare us the standard comfort lines. Please don't tell us that she is in a better place," I imagined myself lecturing a stunned crowd. "Her place is taking care of our family, being a mother, a wife, and a daughter. If your fucked up faith says it is better for my wife to Be With God rather than kiss her children goodnight, please keep it to your fucked up self."
Today was a 2 hour round trip to pick up a chair from a client who checked into hospice. Medicare will pay for a wheelchair or skilled nursing, but not both. While I loaded the chair, the husband was talking about his wife and once again I was at a loss. Luckily there was a job to do and I thanked him for his time and got out. "She'll be dead soon," although true, didn't seem like the right thing to say.
My great-aunt bit it two weeks ago, prompting Mother to guilt me into sending my aunt a sympathy card. I don't even know the lady. She lives somewhere in New York (mom had to email me the address). It's been over 30 years since we were in the same room. What I do know is that my grandmother hated her older sister. Went out of her way to tell the young me how her elder bossed people around with a bitchy self-righteousness for all of her 97 years. It sucks that my grandmother died first.
My loving wife picked up the card from the dollar store, so at least we didn't waste money. Despite it all, I wrote "sorry for your loss," as if the old bag was misplaced and they will find her under a cushion. "Nobody liked your mother," although true, didn't seem like the right thing to say.
I have spent unfortunate windshield time on my wife's eulogy due to some recent cancer false alarms. The plan is for her to be at my funeral, but shit got real for a while. (She's fine, it was a benign infection.) Anyway, it went something like "Please spare us the standard comfort lines. Please don't tell us that she is in a better place," I imagined myself lecturing a stunned crowd. "Her place is taking care of our family, being a mother, a wife, and a daughter. If your fucked up faith says it is better for my wife to Be With God rather than kiss her children goodnight, please keep it to your fucked up self."
Today was a 2 hour round trip to pick up a chair from a client who checked into hospice. Medicare will pay for a wheelchair or skilled nursing, but not both. While I loaded the chair, the husband was talking about his wife and once again I was at a loss. Luckily there was a job to do and I thanked him for his time and got out. "She'll be dead soon," although true, didn't seem like the right thing to say.
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