I imagine it’s occurred to all of us, when you run into someone who knows someone from your past and you ask how they’re doing, at some point you’ve wondered the great “what if” question. I have, and then every single time the response was something generic.

Either they’ve gotten married, moved away, had a kid, haven’t changed much, or they’re still a jackass. And you walk away remembering what kind of jackass or good guy they used to be, and imagine their wives or jobs. Then you forget again, and go on with your life.

Well last night, at the sister restaurant to the pizza joint I used to work at as a 16 year old shit, I ran into someone and asked those questions. Only his response wasn’t generic. He wouldn’t say it was absolute truth, but the fact that he was hesitant to answer didn’t help settle my nerves. I asked about an old friend, and the son of my former boss, and last he heard was my old friend just recently passed away. He said something about complications from his diabetes.

That was after his initial nervous laugh, and my asking if it was something bad. He chuckled a little, and then realized I really wanted to know. So he told me, and I spent the rest of the night in shock.

At first glance, Paul and I couldn’t be more different. I was 5’3 and 120 pounds; he was 6’2 and at least 250. I was the Jewish kid from Overland Park, he was the black kid from Raytown. Mutt and Jeff, Amos and Otis maybe, or Jewpac and Biggie. We met through his father, who happened to be my boss at the pizza joint. The night I was carjacked, he was the first friend I dropped off after Naked Gun 33 1/3. The first ticket I ever received was with him, as we were driving through Raytown. The first time I remember seeing blatant racism was with him, at a Front Row Video, when the clerk who was vacuuming the store followed him wherever he went, even if it was over spots he vacuumed two or three times already while I walked around un-disturbed. I always meant to go back there and steal something. They went belly up a few years later, deserved it too.

We hadn’t seen each other since I was 19 and he happened to be up at KU for a weekend. And that was always a shame; he was a really good guy. Even though he hung around some people I wouldn’t hang around with, we just had fun going to movies, playing Sega and talking shit.

I’ve never, luckily, had a friend pass away. I had a brother in-law go, but the last thing I’d ever call him was a “friend.” And I guess I still haven’t, since I hadn’t really been friends with Paul for 12 or 13 years. I’m pretty sure this is the reality of getting old. Never mind aches and pains, or not understanding why some song is popular, or why kids dress the way they do. Aging really happens when you’re getting older and someone from your past isn’t. That and when you worry about your kids.

***

“Weeds” as taking a pretty interesting twist this season, and in doing so helped to make up for last seasons effort. Guillermo has become one of my favorite television characters in a long time, and I think I could even vote in favor of giving him a spin-off one day. Nancy has taken a much needed detour from her road to being “The Godmother” and returned more to a typical suburban soccer mom.

Albert Brooks was a great addition as the cheap, angry, asshole Jewish Grandfather. And no, “asshole Jewish” isn’t redundant, but thanks for asking. They’ve really taken all the characters out of their comfort zones. Celia has to actually work for a living, after going to jail and being someone’s bitch for a time. Doug (Kevin Nealon) lost his cush job, and now mooches off of the Botwins. Andy has become a more responsible and thoughtful jackass, and the kids have grown into efficient criminals themselves. But we are missing Conrad and Heylia, and I hope they pop up sometime soon.

I like a funny bumper sticker, won’t put one on my car, but I enjoy driving behind someone with a sense of humor. I think I’ve mentioned this before, but seriously, anyone who thinks their bumper is a pulpit needs to only see the underside of a bumper. I was behind a car this weekend with the uplifting bumper sticker that read: “Pro-God, Pro-gun, Anti-Obama.” And had the “no smoking” slash over Obama’s profile, and I had this erri feeling that the brains behind the operation wanted it to be crosshairs but knew that would probably lead to a visit from the Secret Service and some other unwanted guests.

First, I love the idea that this moron is both pro-God and gun, yet anti another human. Nothing sounds more pro-God than announcing you’re against another human, one you don’t know personally.

You like to think that Nicole Kidman left Tom Cruise, because she’s actually some what normal, and wanted nothing to do with a nut job. You don’t really see her linked to scandals, and she puts out well received, yet very boring movies. She appeared to be just about normal, minus the fame, beauty and money.

Then she named her kid “Sunday Rose Kidman Urban” and officially re-entered the looney bin. What the hell gives with celebs giving their kids names, which appear to have one purpose? Getting their kid made fun of. Maybe they were all so tortured growing up, and having a kid who can use the “I’m richer than you” retort is some sort of slap in the face of all those who harassed them as kids. Although, I’m pretty sure making millions accomplished that theoretic-slap years ago.

So Gen. Wesley Clark has taken a shot (pun: entirely intentional) at Sen. John McCain’s service record. I don’t know the details, nor do I need to, of McCain’s time in the service. If you serve, be it on the front lines, as a pilot, a chef or a secretary, then you deserve all the respect in the world. This coming from the last person on earth, you could expect to see in uniform. But I still have respect for every single one of them, no matter their role. There’s a chance they’ll be in the vicinity of some bullets flying or things blowing up, and as long as it isn’t on the set of a movie, then it takes cajones that most people don’t have. The man was shot down and kept as a prisoner of war, and I hate it if my flight is delayed or if I have to stay in a hotel that only offers single-ply. Clark just cost himself a chance at being Vice President. Way to go, slick.

***

Loyalty. For me, it’s the most important trait someone can have, irreplaceable if it’s lacked. So that said, I respect my friends for their loyalty to KU. But there’s a line between loyalty and silly. See, I have three separate friends who all have something in common with their thinking and how they express their loyalty to KU. They all have vowed to never live in the state of Missouri.

I love a good rivalry, but this is taking it too far. Taking it from fun to embarrassing. They all brought up the fact that former MU coach, Norm Stewart, wouldn’t spend the night in Lawrence. Choosing to load the bus after a game, no matter the time, and head back to Columbia. This some how, is seen as a slight to these and other KU fans. To me, it’s simply motivation, as well as smart. So because Norm Stewart wouldn’t spend the night in Kansas, these fans can’t reside in Missouri. They’ll shop, eat and work in Missouri. They’ll go to Worlds of Fun, a Royals game, or the boats in Missouri. They’ll even cheer for a small forward who grew up in Missouri, and had a brother play for MU. But they’re so loyal, and anti-MU, they can’t own land in Missouri.

I’ve often joked to my friends with pets about taking their beloved fur ball to the local Chinese restaurant one day, and having some tasty ribs. Sick and twisted, sure, but they knew that when they decided to be a friend. And when we got our dog, I kidded my wife about having a spending limit to fix any ailments that may one day, um, ale our pup. Originally I said no more than a grand, that came down to $100. She didn’t much care for these jokes, so it may not have been wise to continue to crack them, even yesterday when we realized Riley needed to see a vet.

“Riley girl” as she called by the Kyd, was having a little blood in her urine, and with my wife’s extensive medical knowledge, we decided this was probably not a very good thing. She called it from the start, urinary tract infection. The trip to the vet was much like a trip to a real doctor. There were awkward glances in the waiting room, just between the dogs, and they made sure we received the full wait experience. A solid 20 minutes before getting our name called, and then another 10 minutes in the examination room before the vet came in. He promptly stuck a thermometer up Riley’s bum (and she handled this much better than I would) and asked an assistant to obtain a urine sample. Total time with Vet: 6 minutes. Dog comes back from her walk, and we’re told it’ll be another 10 minutes while they analyze her pee. That 10 minute was really 14 minutes, and the Vet came in and informed me that it was indeed, a urinary tract infection. The damage was $95. I’ve had shits take longer than that. Riley may have had the thermometer up her arse, but I had a similar feeling walking out.

Flipping through the channels this weekend, I came across the Christian Slater classic, Pump Up the Volume. This movie is ripe for a re-make. The angst ridden 90’s teen had to use a pirate radio station to get his voice heard, and turn his community on their ear. Today, that could easily be an angst ridden teen that uses either a blog or Podcast, to do the same. All the greatest themes have been used up, and turned into theme parks.  

Now that we have a dog, we’ve become avid watchers of “The Dog Whisper,” great show. So great, that I’ve decided to make my own, “The Wife Whisper.” Instead of “siss’ing” (best way I could describe the sound Cesar makes) and poking wives in the ribs (I can’t see that going well for any husband) I believe in a soft tap on the nose, to redirect her behavior. Of course, this would inevitably, lead to “The Husband Whisperer” and I fear it would be a flick to a testy, to redirect a husband who lacks discipline. In the end, we’d all be better off if these just ended up as skits on an SNL-like show. Just not SNL, please, I’m begging you. This is funny enough, that people should actually see it.

It’s happened for a second time, and it’s even more annoying this time. Downtown Lee’s Summit is this really great little area, there’s some fantastic houses that Coco and I love, some good food, and neat shops. We love the area, and would one day like to live down there. About a month ago one of the cooler houses had a “For Rent” sign out front. So we stopped and picked up the flyer, which really didn’t help us at all. Not because it lacked info or anything, but it actually sounded even better. Stainless steel appliances and hardwood floors, big pluses for us. And the rent was really pretty reasonable. But shit, we know getting the place is the wrong decision.

We passed on it, and it was the smart move. As much as it sucks, we’re wanting to save for a house of our own. How many more stories can there be about this being the time to buy? Well, sure it is, if you have the loot, which we don’t right now. And to be honest, I could have a little more job security. I’ll admit it, I’ve been careless with my money. Not just occasionally, pretty much from 18 to 30, I was a complete idiot. So now, as embarrassing as it is, we’re paying the price for my stupidity. And that sucks, because I’d love to get us in a house.

Jeans day, how did we ever fall for this? Mutter those two words in an office where the attire is business or business casual, and you’ll see a bunch of adults turn into salivating kids that can hear the ice cream man’s bell ringing blocks away.  You work for a multi-million or billion dollar company, and the one sure fire perk they can occasionally offer, is to allow you to wear a pair of jeans. This some how makes up for the fact that you don’t get to spend time with your family and friends, or instead of playing golf you’re stuck in a cube, and you’re supposed to forget that you’re dream of driving cross country never came true. All because they were so grateful, that the only thing they could do to show you how much your blood, sweat and tears means, is to allow you to wear jeans.

What the hell is so great about jeans? They aren’t that much more comfortable than any other pair of pants, and they sure as shit aren’t cheaper any more. Is it because Fonzie wore jeans, sometimes jeans with holes, that we now thing they are the ultimate sign of rebellion? Are jeans a way to rebel? C’mon, that’s what you’re the wall paper on your monitor is for.

God, Allah, Jesus, and L. Ron Hubbard. I’ve thought about the whole mess, and how religion and religious people have gotten it all wrong. Then I realized, the blue print for religion is all around us. It’s pretty simple too, the answer is in sports and sport fans.

Yankee fans, Met fans, Royal fans, Brewer fans and Marlin fans are, in theory, on the right track. They can disagree about which teams to cheer for, and have different reasons for picking those teams. Reasons that often mirror why people belong to a particular relgion, the most common being “I was raised a ____ fan,” or “that’s who I grew up loving.” Just as we belong to one sect or another mostly because of how we were raised. But fans of different teams can disagree on who to root for, can dislike the other team, but the common ground is the game.

If the religions of the world could only grasp this concept, and then substitute Yankees for Wicca’s, Mets for Judaism, Royals for Hindu, Cubs for Muslims, and the game for God. The teams can be different, but the game is the same. Even when you separate the sports, football from baseball or basketball. It’s still competition at the core that draws us in. You can have a stadium full of 100,000 people cheering for different sides, but at the heart of it all they are there to enjoy camaraderie, and connect to something bigger than themselves.
At times it goes to far, but not as often as it does with religion. There was a story about some Oklahoma fan grabbing the sack of a Texas fan in a bar. But that’s difference between a fan and a fantatic. Just as there are Christians, and fanatical Christians that bomb clinics and there are Muslims and assholes that fly planes into buildings.

But for the most part, a Yankee fan and Red Sox can make fun of each other and rip on the other team and it’s just in fun. It doesn’t lead to wars. If religions could just adopt this line of thinking, the world would be such a better place. Then again, the world would be a better place without the Yankees.