Leave it to... Ward

I've been trying to plan a ski vacation to Mt. Whistler with this eclectic group of friends I met last ski season, but no matter what I do, it just won't work.

There's Nunzio, who'd rather not book anything in advance. He'd just prefer to wait until the perfect snow conditions arrive and then buy a ticket and go. Price is not an issue for Nunzio, as he is a self-employed investor, making a living by trading on the various markets with his own money. Therefore he doesn't have to worry about time off from work, he just has to make sure someone will feed his dog while he's away (even though I'm pretty sure "Tucker" could make it several weeks on his fat reserves).

Then there's Tracey who is unemployed, but not by choice. Tracey has already declared that she won't commit to a ski trip before she finds a job.

Ana is quite agreeable to most anything.

But then there's Ward. Imagine Jeff Kent sans the porn 'stache. And he's a cheapskate, except when it comes to his dope. Ward would just assume sleep in a garbage can as long as he had his "BC Bud," and I ain't talking about Canadian beer.

So there lays the problem. Ward doesn't want to pay for nice accommodations. Everytime I suggest a nice place, he wants to invite 5 more people to get the cost down. Or, when I balk at a crammed condo with insufficient sleeping space, he suggests some place designed for two adults and six kids. No amount of BC Bud will make me feel comfortable in a single bed.

So here I am, in my quandary. Too bad no one else in the group will say anything.

Maybe I'll just go to Maui instead. I hear Maui Wowie is in season all year long.

Forget Roast Beast...

Some things never change. Yet others couldn't be more different. Take Thanksgiving for example.

When I was a kid, Thanksgiving meant that I had to work my ass off -- requiring a couple of hours for me to do my newspaper route that normally only took 40 minutes or so. Regular newspapers blossomed into 5-pound bombs on Thanksgiving as advertisers primed shoppers with advertising for the biggest shopping day of the year (which was never called Black Friday, by the way). After my route, I'd join my family in the usual festivities which included the turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, creamed onions, cranberry sauce, yada yada yada.

But not this year. This year most of my family bailed on me (which I can't blame them for), so my sister invited me up to her friend's house. Rumor had it there'd be turkey, but it would be a little different.

The gobbler was stuffed, but not only with traditional stuffing. It also contained duck. And chicken. It was Turducken, they said.

It was good, and I'm sure it Whos down in Whoville would enjoy it, too. But what would the Grinch think of that?

I guess we need to wait until Christmas.

What happened to our soldiers?

Webster's dictionary defines "troop" as "a group of soldiers" and "a collection of people or things." Therefore, why does the government (and thus the media) constantly report on "troops" killed in combat when they really mean "soldiers"?

And while I'm at it, why does the government always refer to "intelligence" when they mean "information"?

Maybe if the US Government were more intelligent, our troops would have more information and fewer soldiers would be killed.

In God we trust

If we Americans want a separation between Chruch and State, why does it seem that I'm always voting at a church?

These boots were made for walking

While trolling for hot young Indian chicks at Fry's Electronics, I decided to check out the flat-panel high-definition TVs. A white 45-year old saleswoman approached me wearing a black dress and cowboy boots.

"Do you want the biggest and the best?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," I said.

"How about the smallest and the cheapest?" she responded. "We can go there, too."