HOW DO I LOOK?

HOW DO I LOOK?

 OK, this is something that makes me cranky.  Men today spend hours in front of the mirror trying to look like they could care less.  What really coddles my milk is that women seem to like this look; the “I’m so cool I don’t even groom” look.

You know the look.  The hair is gelled in such a way that it looks like the dude just woke up and never brushed out his bed-head.  There are tufts of hair going in all different directions.  Often these tufts are mysteriously bleached by the “Sun” at the very tips of each tuft.  It must take hours of grooming every day to look like you spend no time grooming your hair at all.  Juxtaposing with this “accidental” semi-gay hair style is the rugged “I ain’t got time to shave” three day old stubble-beard.

How does one achieve a three day old stubble-beard every day?  He must have to shave some stubble off every day and do it in a random way so that it does not look like a groomed beard.  It must be extremely time consuming to achieve the “I just got out of bed, and ain’t got time to shave” look.

How does this modern day Beau Brummell dress?  He dresses like he is just too cool to care.  He wears slightly washed out jeans with a split on one knee.  He has a plain tee shirt worn under a designer sports jacket.  He has expensive OJ Simpson loafers but does not have time to wear socks.  On his wrist is the requisite Rolex watch.  This is the completed “I can afford an expensive sports coat, shoes and watch but I really don’t give a shit how I look” look.

What really disturbs me about this new “LOOK” is that I had most of it down pat when I was a “young dude” and it never got me a second glance from the ladies.  My hair was quaffed in the genuine bed-head style.  It took me zero seconds to achieve that look, which varied only slightly from day to day.  I had the perfect “I don’t give a shit three day stubble-beard” every three days.  The only thing missing from my attire was the designer sports coat, Rolex watch and Bruno Magli shoes.

I was ahead of my time back in the day.  I was a trend setter without knowing it.  I was the best of the worst dressed. 

Where is my credit?  

TUPPERWARE

TUPPERWARE

Tupperware was invented in 1946.  Tupperware has since been a kitchen storage staple.  In the day, my ex-wife went to a Tupperware party several times a year.  We had Tupperware cups, juice pitchers, and containers of every size.  We had the traditional Tupper-toy ball which held Tupper-blocks of multiple shapes (my record was shoving all the shapes into the ball in 22 seconds.

There is a Tupperware container for virtually every household item.  There is a container to hold a bar of soap, a container to cover and keep your toothbrush sanitary (or create a humid atmosphere to grow germs.)  There is a special container for toothpicks, pizza slices, salt, pepper, head of lettuce, and multiple sizes of the Velveeta brick (a cheese like product).

Tupperware is virtually indestructible, and comes with a lifetime guarantee against damage or defect. 

My wife is a Tupperware fanatic. 

The daughter of a Tupperware party lady, she has been brainwashed into the belief that Tupperware is GOLD. 

We have three cabinets full of Tupperware.  Mrs. Cranky fits this stuff in like a giant Jenga puzzle.  Pull out the wrong container and you are hit by an avalanche of multi-colored plastic containers.  The lids for the multitude of containers are all on a shelf of their own.  They are color coded to aid in matching them up to the containers (no, the lids are not the same color as the container.)  My wife is the only one who knows the code.  Every lid almost fits each container.  Without the code obtaining the magic Tupperware freshness burp is an incredibly frustrating task.

You cannot put the Tupper-gold in the dishwasher; Mrs. Cranky claims it will lose its burp.  I am not allowed to hand wash it.  I am too rough.   I officially hate Tupperware.  Tupperware is symbolic of all things kitchen which men cannot handle.  We cannot store it.  We cannot take it out.  We cannot properly seal it.  We can’t even wash the damn stuff.  You can’t see through it, when it is in the refrigerator we have no idea what is stored in the Tupperware.

Is this stuff really gold?  You can buy a dozen non-Tupperware plastic containers at the supermarket for one tenth the price of Tupperware.  It will not last a lifetime, but you can see through it so you know what it holds.  It won’t do the burp thing so the food gets moldy one day earlier, but at least you can see the mold before you open the container up.

Even cheaper, Chinese restaurants now deliver their product in plastic (Chinese Tupperware) containers.  They don’t last a lifetime, but you can put them in the dishwasher.  When they wear out, you simply throw them away and order more take-out.

I have not heard of a Tupperware party in years, maybe they don’t need to sell the stuff anymore; it does last forever and gets passed down generation to generation.  I know I will never see the day that I can safely open the Tupperware cabinet. 

Damn I hate that stuff!

I told Mrs. Cranky that when I am gone please have a cremation and put me in an urn.  My greatest fear is spending eternity burped in a tightly sealed Tupperware casket.  Blue….With a yellow lid.           

HEADLINES 8-27

Another cheap post, I think I will make it a Sunday lazy blog tradition.  Without further ado here are my favorite headlines of the week.

HEADLINES 8-27

Pyongyang orders South Koreans to quit joint resort – South Koreans complain on leaving, “Dude, like what the hell man?”

8-Year-Old Searching for Food, Water Gets Stuck in Chimney – Parents vow to keep food and water in the fridge from now on.

New Jersey Doctor Accused of Poking Girl With Screwdriver – Doctor used a flathead, while girl was a Phillips head.

Halliburton Exec Takes Swig of Fracking Fluid – Concoction relieved his indigestion, but gas release cleared the board room!

Eric Gein Sells Soil From Serial Killer Anthony Sowell's Home – Ill gotten Gein? This is just wrong on so many levels!

After Calls by Ban Ki-Moon for Austerity Measures, UN Staffers Get Pay Hike – You know, it is just really expensive doing nothing in multiple languages.

Surprise! Alien Planet Made of Diamond Discovered -  “The Donald” commissions jewelry maker to produce the world’s largest setting.

'Eyeborg' Man Turns Prosthetic Eye Into Video Camera – Man claims “I always wanted a photographic memory!”

Colorado Remains 'Skinniest' State, Obesity Poll Finds – Oklahoma objects, “Colorado is a big box, no state is skinnier than our pan handle!”

Sex With Cavemen Gave Humans an Immune Boost, Study Says – Add your best caption for this as a comment.  The best response will get credit on next week’s End of week Headlines.

ARGUING WITH A WOMAN

ARGUING WITH A WOMAN

Would you play football against a team that was allowed to field twenty-two players against your eleven?  Would you play baseball against a team that was allowed six outs an inning to your three?  Would you play poker against someone who started every hand with Aces to your 7-2?  Then I ask you, men, why do you argue with a woman?

You can’t argue with a woman because they make up the rules.

Men, when you get grief because you left your underwear on the floor don’t ask “what is the big deal?”  The big deal is you ALWAYS leave your underwear on the floor.

RULE #1 When you do something wrong, you ALWAYS do it wrong.

RULE #2 When you forget to do something, you NEVER remember to do it.

Rule #3 Do not compare what you did or didn’t do to your lady. 

For instance:  “But you sometimes leave your panties on the floor.”

Dude….you just compared your disgusting u-trow to your ladies panties!  Men’s underwear/ladies panties; apples and oranges, or more accurately thorn bush and lilacs.

Rule #4 For every complaint that you have a valid response, she will not acknowledge, but will hit you with another of your screw ups totally out of context.  Responding to complaints is like being the ball in a pinball machine, and she is the flipper.

Rule #5 There is a three day window to bring up any wife’s screw-up.  Husband’s mistakes have an unlimited shelf life.  If you were wrong eight years ago you are still wrong, and it will be brought up!

Rule #6 If an argument involves a time, date, or year you are wrong.

Rule #7 Hearsay evidence is only immiscible for the wife.  What her girl friend says counts, what your stupid deadbeat drunken friends say carries no weight.

Rule #8 If you raise your voice, it is because you know you are wrong.

Rule #9 If you remain calm, you are a controlling unemotional egotistical jerk.

Rule #10 If she cries, the argument is over and you lost.

The most important rule of all:

WHEN YOU WIN YOU LOSE!!  Even if you have a really comfortable couch.  When you win you lose.

Full disclosure requires I say that experiences that led to the above post were ALL pre-Mrs. Cranky!  Mrs. Cranky also requires I make this statement!

THE ZINGER

THE ZINGER

 Did you ever have something you thought was really cool: something that just made you the best dressed guy in the room, the coolest dude in town, or the luckiest man alive?  Did that feeling ever get busted like a balloon by just one simple off the cuff comment?

One Christmas years ago, my wife bought me a green big puffy winter coat which was knee length.  I also received a pair of green ski gloves, and a green corduroy cap, the kind with the really short brim.  I loved this outfit.  It was incredibly warm, and color matched.

That Christmas day we went to a friend’s house for a holiday dinner.  It was a cold December night. I thought I was the coolest, hippest, and best dressed for winter man in town.  We arrived at our friend’s house, paid the usual Christmas greetings, and I went to hang my outfit in the closet.

“Nice outfit” I was told.  “You must be really warm in that.”

“Oh it is warm.”  I responded proudly, “This is my new Christmas outfit.”

That is when my fourteen year old son, Mike, spoke up.  “Gee Dad; you look like Gumby in that outfit!”

I laughed, everybody laughed.  Everybody laughed very hard and very long.

I never wore the hat, coat or gloves again. 

ADDICTION

ADDICTION

I am an addictive person.  I know that.  I am a fidget.  Addictions help reduce the fidgeting; but the replacement behavior is generally worse than the fidgeting.  I think I have a mild case of Tourette’s syndrome.  I know that sounds awful because of the involuntary cursing associated with Tourette’s.  I don’t do the cursing (not involuntary anyway), but I do fidget.

When I was a child these involuntary twitches and muscle spasms were embarrassing.  My brothers made fun of me, my parents just told me to stop.  Stopping was not an option, but as I got older I learned to control the spasms and twitching or hold off till no one was watching.  Apparently even today when I am tired or nervous I am not that adept at hiding the twitches.

When I was in my thirties I first heard of Tourette’s.  “Damn!” I thought, “That’s what I’ve got.”  I never bothered to get a diagnosis, what is the difference.  I was just happy to put a name on the affliction and to know that there were others like me.

From time to time I see others with the “twitchy thing” and I wonder if they realize what it is or if they think it is just them.  They probably see me and think the same thing.

I think it is the “twitchy thing” that makes me an addictive personality.  I used to chew my nails (I know..Eeeww!)  That habit reduced the twitching.  I learned to substitute nail tapping for chewing, and started smoking cigarettes. 

Cigarette smoking was great for limiting the twitching, not so great for breathing.  I have quit several times, most recently this January.

Drinking really helped limit the twitching.  Drinking, smoking and nail tapping eliminated it all together.  Getting hammered every night, however, seemed to be a worse thing then the twitching.  When I retired, and my 2^nd wife threw me out, I started getting hammered in the daytime.  That was really not a good idea….. but I hardly ever twitched.

I managed to quit the smoking (8 months now), and knocked off the drinking to an occasional social beer, wine or scotch.  My third wife seems to know how to distract me from these addictions.  Outside of the nail tapping I thought I had the addiction thing beaten; until today.

Today I came to my son’s house, two hours from home, to learn my grandchildren’s schedule as I will be sitting for them once a week during school (my son and daughter-in-law are both teachers.)  Their house is temporarily without internet access.  I am climbing the walls.  It turns out I am addicted to the internet; in particular I am addicted to my blog.  I am unable to see when someone visits my blog.  I am unable to read any comments, I am unable to read other blogs.  I will be without internet access until tomorrow. 

I am starting to twitch.

FAVORITE MOVIE QUOTES

FAVORITE MOVIE QUOTES

Once again I am running out of material.  As Wednesday seems to be a slow day I present another cheap easy post.

Let’s see who else has way too much time on their hands.  Comment if you care; here are my

FAVORITE MOVIE QUOTES:

“We’re going to need a bigger boat!” – Jaws

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!” – The Wizard of OZ

"Badges? We ain't got no badges. We don't need no badges! I don't have to show you any stinkin' badges!" – The Treasure of Sierra Madre

                                                ALSO

“Badges? We don't need no stinking badges." – Blazing Saddles

“AHHH SHIIIIIT” – Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid

“I hate it when they laugh.” – Inherit The Wind

“I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.”- The Godfather

“Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family again. Ever.” – The Godfather
                                                                                                                     
“Utes? What is a ute?” – My Cousin Vinnie

“Ummm ack ack ulp gurgle gurgle urk ulp ummm” – Deep Throat

“What we have here is a failure to communicate.” – Cool Hand Luke

“Frankly Scarlett, I don’t give a damn!” – Gone With The Wind

“You want the truth?  You can’t handle the truth!” – A Few Good Men

“Eeeee ekk ekk ekk eeeee ek ek ek, ek ek ek ek ek” – Flipper

“Thank you.  I don’t drink…..wine.” – Dracula

“Heeere’s Johnny.” – The Shinning

“Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are gonna get.” – Forrest Gump

“That’s not a knife……This is a knife!” – Crocodile Dundee 

“What was that noise?  Let’s go into this completely dark cob webbed coated basement and find out; maybe it is what killed the other six teenage girls.” -  Halloween 1-6 / Friday the Thirteenth 1-15/ Nightmare on Elm Street 1-8

“Go ahead, make my day” – Dirty Harry

“It was beauty that killed the beast” – King Kong

"                                                                        " - The Miracle Worker

REGULATIONS

REGULATIONS

I am in the process of selling my house and I can only say thank God for government regulations.  There have been so many changes since the last time I went through this process, I only wonder how I survived without these new regulations.

The first new regulation I had to contend with was the radon test.  Apparently if your house is above a rock there is the chance of dangerous radioactive release which can cause cancer, herpes and hiccups.  My neighbor sold his house three years ago and failed the radon test.  He had to install $1000 worth of anti-radon equipment which re-circulated air out of his basement until the radon level was below the 2 radiles per nano-fart level. 

Fortunately I passed this test.  Placing the collector next an open window may have helped; an electric fan may have also aided in the process.  I must say it is somewhat disturbing that the government was concerned about the safety of the new owner next door, but does not give a poop about me or my family.  They only demand a radon test when I want to move.

Next, an inspector determined that there was an abandoned oil tank on my property.  Buried and apparently forgotten at least twenty years before I bought the house, this is suddenly a major health concern.  Nobody cared while I lived there, but now it is a big health concern.  It costs $2500 to dig up the tank, determine there was no contamination, fill the tank with sand and cover it up again.  Wow, now I feel safe, and the drinking water of the whole state of New Jersey is now safe.

Finally I had to get a certificate from the town confirming the house had adequate carbon monoxide/ smoke detectors and a portable fire extinguisher at hand.  The house does have an extinguisher in the kitchen; there is a smoke detector on the first and second floors, and a carbon monoxide detector on the first floor.  This is not up to code.  Code calls for a CM and a smoke detector on all three floors and in the basement.  (Why not one in every room?)  If my house was not safe, why do I not find out until I am trying to sell and leave?  Why are these codes only important when you sell?  Why doesn’t it worry anyone that my house isn’t safe until I will no longer be in it? 

If these regulations are so important, shouldn’t they be adhered to and implemented before I sell my house?  It cost $125 for my CM/Smoke detector certificate.  There was no inspection, I only had to sign-off that everything was up to code.  That is one expensive piece of worthless paper.

In New Jersey we used to have our cars inspected every year.  The inspection station checked horn, wipers, headlights, turn indicators, breaks, break lights, steering, shocks, tires and exhaust emissions.  Lines for this yearly exam were hours long, and the average car failed about 40% of the time.  When the state needed to cut costs, suddenly the inspection was only needed every two years, five years for new cars, and they only test the emissions.  All of a sudden it is not important if my car is safe or not, but let’s make sure we don’t pollute.

Please politicians, give me more regulations.  I am clearly too stupid to survive without you holding my hand.               

I COULD KICK HIS ASS!!

I COULD KICK HIS ASS!!

The other day my wife introduced me to one of her friend’s husbands.  Nice guy, twenty years younger than me, in good shape, my size maybe bigger, happily married and no threat to me in any way; and yet as I was shaking his hand what thought was going through my head?  I COULD KICK HIS ASS! It dawned on me how ridiculous was this thought.

I am not a violent person.  I have been in two fights in my life, and both of them were when I was in the 8^th grade, and yet  I realized my first thought when I meet a new person of my gender is whether or not I could beat him in a fight.  Do all men do that?  Why do we do that?  Why do I almost always think that I would win a fight even though at my age I pull a muscle if I get out of bed too fast?

There must be something deep down in our DNA which automatically seeks to defend our women or property from an intruder.  Something which forces us to size up a potential aggressor and determine that if push comes to shove we need to run or I COULD KICK HIS ASS!

Most of the questions we ask someone we just meet are all part of the sizing up process.

“What do you do?” “Who do you like this year in the NFL?” “Did you play ball in school?” “Do you work out?”  “How much can you bench?”

Why does a non-violent person such as myself, someone who would walk away rather than wail away, still feel the need to size up every male’s ability to win or lose in a fight?

Do women have a similar response when introduced to new members of their gender?  What is the female version of I COULD KICK HIS ASS?

Come on ladies, fess up.  Is your first reaction “I could win her man?”  Do you size up your looks against this interloper?  Do you think “I could outsmart her?”  What questions do you first ask someone? 

“Are you married?” “Do you have children?” “What kind of work do you do?” “Where did you go to school?” “Where do you live?” “Is that your car out front?”

Does everyone try to size up new acquaintances before they decide to be friendly or not?

Maybe it’s just me. 

So what!

I COULD KICK YOUR ASS!!   

HEADLINES WEEK OF 8-20

HEADLINES 8-14 to 8-20

Sunday is a slow day for blogging, and my headlines from last week were well received, so I may make this a Sunday tradition.  Here are the past week’s headlines which demand further reading:

 Attempted suicide by Statue of Liberty – The lady in the harbor is now on watch 24/7. 

Florida Mother Accused of Beating Son for Using Facebook – He was then grounded for 8 years. 

Ohioan, 94, Wakes Up to Find Blimp in Backyard – Senior tweeted WTF! And went back to sleep.

World Trade Center Construction Workers Reportedly Drinking on the Job – How did this hard nose reporter ever track down this story?  Next week’s hard hitting headline – “Some designers on ‘Project Runway’ are gay!”

Protecting your parents: Keep the sharks at bay – And keep the parents at the ocean.

North Dakota, NCAA spar over mascot – NCAA deems the University of North Dakota’s mascot, “The Fighting Sioux” offensive to Native Americans.  The university agreed to change the mascot to “The Fighting Sue.” The National Organization of Women intend to challenge the name of the new mascot.

Poor Health Grades Hidden by Some Greenwich Village Restaurants – Would you eat at a restaurant that advertizes, “Our roach numbers and rat droppings were just low enough to give us a passing grade?”

Bachmann says she isn’t running to judge gays – She is just running away from gays.

Wiener War: Sara Lee, Kraft Battle Over Hot Dogs – Congressman swears he never tweeted Sara, Lee, or Kraft.

Bachmann wishes Elvis happy birthday on death date – OK, I’m conservative and really wanted to like her but you’ve got to get the Elvis thing right.  Do you even have advisors to listen to?

Aliens Could Attack Earth to End Global Warming, NASA Frets – All right! You win!  I’ll turn down the heat and drive less!!

THE BIKER BAR

THE BIKER BAR

My step-son just turned 21.  He is a good kid, law abiding and sensible.  I don’t believe he has ever had more than a beer or a Jack-and-coke prior to his turning the momentous age of 21. 

I felt that it was my duty to help him break in that first legal, sit at the bar drink.  Last night we went to Bellos, a biker bar in Sayreville, N.J.  With TV screens on every walls blasting out two baseball games, a preseason football game, and horse racing from somewhere, we bellied ourselves up to the bar.  Hoo Hoo Hoo! (My apologies to Tim Allen.)

We were surrounded by dudes with head scarves, long hair, beards and tattoos.  Arh Arh Arh!  We nodded friendly like to the guy on our right with the “Go F*** Yourself” tattoo on his bicep; pulled up a seat and ordered two beers.  My step-son, who, despite his fuzzy “Shaggy of Scooby Do” goatee looks only twenty, got carded for his first time.

Along with the beers, we ordered burgers and fries, ogled the barmaids, and bumped fists.  Hoo Hoo Arh Arh Hoo!  When the food came we ordered another beer.  I pointed out all the old dudes flirting with the young hot barmaids who smiled back alluringly and imparted my first nugget of wisdom.  “They are all going to go home drunk and alone.”  Step-son nodded.

Before we finished the burgers I ordered two shots of whiskey.  More wisdom nuggets, “Take a small sip, then clink glasses and throw it back.”  Hoo Hoo Arh Arh Oh Oh!

More wisdom, “Do you notice how the cute barmaids are even cuter?”  Step-son nodded with vigor.

Finished with the food, we ordered two more beers, ogled the barmaids some more, and then ordered two more whiskies.

I paid the tab, we took a sip of the whiskey, clinked glasses, threw back the rest of the shot, bumped fists Arh Arh Oh Oh Hoo Hoo, and left. 

We got home and watched our favorite TV show via On Demand “Hell’s Kitchen.” As we were very tired we both fell asleep before Gordon Ramsey could shout out his first “IT’s RAAAAW!     COME ON!!”

Nobody got sick, no one acted stupid.  The kid done good!

***edited out of respect for Melanie’s Crowning Moments blog hop.     

WRITING IS IN THE GENES

WRITING IS IN THE GENES

I was cleaning out stuff from my mom’s house.  Well from my house but it was in a box from my mom’s house sitting for eight years unopened.  I found some old school stuff.  I found a story I wrote for a six grade assignment 54 years ago, and I found a poem my mother wrote for another six grade assignment 87 years ago.  Both were written in pencil on now yellowed lined paper.  The writing is somewhat smudged.   

In the interest of preserving history I am posting  this six grade gold in case it disintegrates or is lost.  I think readers will be able to recognize the writing genius that was the future Cranky Old Man, and the talent that gave birth to this genius.

Joe Hagy      Story   3/18/57

CHARLES LEARNS A LESSON

Once a famous writer named Charles Cropean sat at his desk.  He was trying to think of something to write for his new book, The Average American Jobs. 

He was writing at that time about the average pupil studying medicine but he couldn’t think of how to put it down.  So he decided to take the day off and finish it later.  When he started on his way home he saw he had only a gallon of gas left which would only take him half of the way home.  So he went to the gas station.  After the car was filled up he reached for his wallet but it was not there so he asked the station man if he could borrow some money.  The man got mad and grabbed him by the collar.  All of a sudden Charles blinked and saw his teacher, She said, “speak up Charles aren’t you going to recess?”  Charles said, “Yes” he wasen’t a famous writer at all but it would be simple for him to be a famous writer if he didn’t sleep during class.

Not surprising, I received a “Very Good!” on this wonderful story.

Where did I get this talent?  I believe the following poem written by my Mom will answer that question.

Homework

Peggy’s Sled Ride

By Peggy Herman

Here we go down the hill                                                                               

like a wind-mill,                                                                                            

Wait till we are down the hill                                                                       

that is the Jolly’s fun of all.

Oh! here comes Bill                                                                                         

Oh! what a spill,                                                                                             

Why Bill what a pill.                                                                                     

There comes Jane who was ill,                                                                       

she says that her mother is very ill.

“Now it is five o'clock, 
                                                                                                    

what a shock.
                                                                                                         
I think the clock is fast
                                                                                              
but time does pass.”

I think these works by two generations of artists say it all.

THE POLITICALLY CORRECT “BRIAN’S SONG”

THE POLITICALLY CORRECT “BRIAN’S SONG”

 Late last night I was surfing through the TV channels and I ran across the 1971 made for TV movie “Brian’s Song.”  This was one of the first and one of the best “Made for TV” movies.  I had not seen it in twenty years. 

Brian Piccolo was a star college (Wake Forest) running back, who though he led the nation in rushing yards and scoring in 1964 was an undrafted free agent for the Chicago Bears NFL football team.  He made the team in 1965 as a “Taxi squad” or practice team member that did not suit up for the games.  He later became the backup to Gale Sayers, who was probably one of the top five best running backs ever to play in the NFL.

Brian Piccolo was white, Gale Sayers was black.  In 1965 the Chicago Bears integrated travel roommates.  Piccolo and Sayers were the first NFL black/white players to room together.  In this day and age, that may not seem like a big deal; in 1965 it was a very big deal.  Maybe it was not Jackie Robinson big, but it was big.

To put race in perspective, in 1963 the University of Maryland was the first school in the ACC to have a black football player on its roster.

To put Brian Piccolo’s character in perspective, when Maryland came to Wake Forest to play in 1963 the atmosphere was extremely hostile towards the lone black player in the ACC, Darryl Hill.  Before the kick-off, Brian Piccolo ran to the Maryland bench, shook Hill’s hand, put his arm around him and waved to the crowd.  This simple but bold gesture silenced the crowd.

The whole gist of the movie “Brian’s Song” was that two men, competitors for the same job, grew to respect and in a brother kind of way love each other.  Race was never an issue in their relationship.

In one of the key scenes in the movie, Piccolo is trying to push Sayers into training hard to overcome a knee injury.  In his attempt to get Sayers angry and complete an extra set of leg lifts Piccolo calls Sayers a “Chicken Nigger.”

The use of “Nigger” was so out of character for Brian Piccolo, so out of character to their friendship, so obviously a psychological ploy, that Gale Sayers simply broke out laughing.  Sayers’ wife hearing the commotion ran to the workout room asking what’s going on.  Gale Sayers could barely blurt out, “Brian just called me a nigger!” All three then doubled up in laughter.  It was a humorous and touching moment in the movie, demonstrating just how close these two friends were.

In 1971 this scene was shown intact.  In the version I saw last night, Brian Piccolo calls Gale Sayers a “Chicken boop boop.”  Gale Sayers doubled in laughter when he told his wife “Brian just called me a boop boop.”  Somehow the scene and the movie lost something with the new dialog. 

When will we grow up?  When will people recognize when “nigger” is mean and ugly, and when it is used as a term of friendship? 

Its guy stuff.  

My son will call me a fat old bald man, and I love that he can call me that.

Call a stranger a dumb shit, and prepare for battle.  Call a buddy a dumb shit and he will say fuck you and buy you a beer.

Its guy stuff. 

We have come a long way in race relations since 1963.  We have a ways to go. 

I may call my Irish friends “Mick”.  I might call an Italian friend a “Wop.”  I would not call a black friend “nigger” unless he called me “honkey” first. 

I’ll know that race is no longer an issue in this country, when calling a black man a “nigger” is so ludicrous that it can only be taken as a joke.

In the mean time, I think “boop boop” will always be offensive.