Foreskin and Goldfish in San Francisco.

San Francisco has done it again. After serious debate, and a ballot measure already on the books banning circumcision, they want to ban goldfish. I wonder if these pinheads, who hold office, have all night benders thinking this stuff up. I love San Francisco. It is a beautiful city, but they once discussed birth control for pigeons. I'm not exactly sure how you do that. Does someone place a little pill into the bird feeder each morning? What happens if they miss a morning? Do they put two pills in the feed the next day? Is there a morning after pill? 

The idea of being circumcised after you have a memory is terrifying. Can you imagine a thirteen year old boy when the Rabbi comes to visit for his Bar Mitzvah? Friends and family gather around, mom is smiling, dad is beaming proud as a peacock, while little Yakov holds his noodle out to be snipped by an old man, with a long beard, wearing a Yamaka. Ouch! Then there's the photo album and video of the event. I wonder if they will serve cake and ice cream. Sorry for the visual.   

Banning goldfish is a different proposition. Someone thinks goldfish are being bred inhumanely, similar to puppy farms (these are the same folks that think circumcising a thirteen year boy is humane.) Hmmm . . . They live in water. How can you treat an animal that lives in water inhumanely? If the water is to hot or cold, they die. No sale. If you don't feed them, they die. No sale. Little kids forget to feed them or change the water, they die. They're fed to other fish in huge aquariums. I'm not trying to callous, but this is a silly. In the ocean, little fish swim by the millions close to one another so they don't get eaten by bigger fish. Then there's Chinatown, which probably has a way of making a goldfish an aphrodisiac or a cure for foot fungus.

This is San Francisco, America's Sodom and Gomorrah, where anything and everything goes, except goldfish, foreskin, and pigeons. I wonder what's next.   

A guy driving a Bugatti.

I was driving on the freeway today and came up next to a guy in a Bugatti. If you're not familiar with this car it costs about $2 million dollars. Traffic was moving slowly, so he couldn't avoid all the eyes on him wondering what would cause a man to drive a car that essentially raises a middle finger to the rest of us. I know what you're thinking, Rick was jealous. No. I was thinking about pushing the accelerator down on my Honda, with its powerful four cylinder engine, and slamming it into the side of the Bugatti just to see if it dents. It could be made of kryptonite for all I know. The impulse was there. He was flaunting his wealth when most of us struggle to pay our phone bill. My car costs less than his tire. It would have been fun though, film at eleven stuff, but I am relatively sane on Tuesday's and didn't have my camera with me to take photos of his expression as I pummeled his jewels.

The sun is out. Summer is here. Maybe I will see him tomorrow. Stay tuned. 

A. Weiner . . .

I try to stay away from political rants, but this one needs saying.

Doesn't everyone in the country find the United States Congressman, Anthony Weiner, embarrassing? He's not my representative, but he is representing the United States of America. He needs to resign today, not go into some treatment for his illness. He doesn't suffer from drug or alcohol abuse. He doesn't need a leave of absence, he needs to be fired. He's a sick twisted pervert. He might have had a hard time as kid with the last name of "Weiner", but that doesn't give him a hall pass. The man has no morals and shouldn't be walking the grounds of Congress. He's not a teenager. He's a US Congressman. Not to mention he has a pregnant wife who is an aid the Secretary of State. He has too much time on his hands to think about the unemployment rate, the deficit, three wars, and all the other problems our facing our country. Why can't our elected officials oust him today? Let's give him a permanent leave of absence. No wonder our country is such disarray. We can't hold fools like this accountable. There are three hundred million of us in this country and we need to demand his resignation and the nonsense that continues in the halls of Congress. I know we are all tired of it.

My baby graduates from high school today.

My youngest daughter graduates from high school today. It seems like yesterday she was screaming bloody murder after unloading in her diaper. I don’t know where the time went or even how I got to this place. The clock ticks faster and faster with age. I’ve thought about my words of wisdom as she parts from her childhood, but I think my words already are part of her. I couldn’t ask for a better daughter and am proud of the young woman she has become. When she goes to college in the fall I will miss her. What I won't miss is the piles of laundry outside her door, as if she has a maid service. I won’t miss waking to the music of Snoop Dog thumping from her room. I won't miss the extra dents and scratches on the car. Empty potato chip bags and unsealed cereal boxes won’t be in the cupboard. Discarded shoes won’t sit at the bottom of the stairs for me to trip over at night. The washing machine will work normal again. I won’t have to watch another minute of Teenage Moms, The Bad Girls Club, and Jersey Shore. God it will be peaceful, maybe too peaceful.

Why do we idolize freaks?

I am struck lately by the absurdity of the freaks plastered all around us in the news, the Internet, and television. They parade around with crazy hair and bazaar body modifications. The world idolizes these circus sideshows flashing their skin, wearing outrageous costumes (sometimes no costumes) simply because they can sing or act, maybe even both, or just because they have a large behind. We throw money at these people like they are gods. Our children watch with mouths agape dreaming of becoming the next Lady Gaga. Ooh . . . isn't she wonderful. We've created a culture of extremes pushing the envelop further and higher. Is there a point where we say no more, when we shun the flunkey with blue hair and yellow teeth? I don't know. Maybe with age there is wisdom. I wish the world would calm down for a minute, where being normal was normal.

Cell phone robots. . .

Have you noticed people walking around with their heads down, staring at their palms, as if they were magically reading the future? They look like robots walking down the street, weaving and bobbing, just missing light posts, trashcans, and an occasional bum. They look startled when they realize they just entered an intersection when the red hand on the light was beaming at them. What are these people doing? They're looking at their cell phone. They sit down to eat with their phone on the table so they can't miss an important text or Scrabble opponent's move. Try to have a conversation with these people. They're constantly looking down at their phone. Are they even listening to you? I hear it's the new fad for third graders to have their own phone. The GPS tracks their every move. Mommy needs to know where Junior is at every second. When I grew up the last thing in the world I would have wanted was for my parents to call me. If I had a cell phone, I would have thrown it out of the window of my car while driving down the freeway, listening to Led Zeppelin, at eighty miles an hour. Only the Lord knows what I was doing at sixteen. It was easy to say, "Sorry, I'm late, Dad. I couldn't find a pay phone. I ran out of gas and had to walk to a gas station that was ten miles down the road in a blizzard." Then there's the whole cancer buzz. When my cell phone gets to close to my clock radio it starts to speak in tongues that only an exorcist could cure. I'm sure whatever causes that can't be good for you. What I wonder is what comes next? Phones can't get any smaller, unless you get corneal implants that cause you to see like you were looking through a microscope. I heard they are developing a chip that will hold one million songs on your phone. Has anyone done the math on how long it would take you to listen to every song? Not to mention, buy them. I think you get my point. When do we stop being robots and become human again?

Well . .  . got to go. Someone is ringing. I have a few texts to answer, need to post to Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin, and just crushed someone at Scrabble

A Memorial Day thanks.

While we enjoy a day off from work, have fun at the picnics in the park, the backyard barbecues, and drive home safely from your camping trip. Remember the men and women who are sitting in foxholes on the other side of the world. Give a toast to those who gave their lives so we can be free. Forget the lopsided politicians throwing volleys of epithets at one another to get re-elected. Turn off the talk show hosts who spew venom through the airwaves. We can argue the merits of fighting in three wars (Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya). That's what makes us great. What we can't argue is the sacrifice that is made by the troops and their families who wait with worried breath. I think of my uncle who was taken from his freshman year in college to fight the Germans during World War II. He physically survived, but the mental scars were just as deadly. Think of the soldiers who lined up shoulder to shoulder and marched toward the enemy with bullets flying during the Civil War. Think of the troops at Valley Forge who didn't have proper shoes and died of frostbite, hyperthermia, and starvation.  

Enjoy your hot dog and beer, but say a little prayer for those that made it possible to be free. To the troops, both present and past, thank you for your sacrifice so I can be free.