My Favorite Album By........

I was sitting around with the boys on Christmas evening having a cigar and listening to some good ol' holiday music. Well, actually it was 80's rock. But since it was Christmas, I guess that would technically make it holiday music, right?

We eventually migrated the subject of our favorite albums by our favorite classic rocks bands. There were so many to choose from, so it was really tough to narrow it down to just one album. Below are most of the bands that grew up listening to (and still do!).  You've probably heard of most of them. Anyway,  here's how my favorite albums stacked up:

• Van Halen - Van Halen II
• Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin IV
• AD/DC - Highway To Hell
• Judas Priest - Unleashed in the East 
• Kiss - The first album (self-titled)
• Aerosmith - Rocks
• Iron Maiden - The Number of the Beast
• Black Sabbath - Heaven and Hell
• Guns & Roses - Appetite For Destruction
• Ozzy Osbourne - Diary of a Madman
• Rolling Stones - Let It Bleed
• The Who - Who's Next
• Jimi Hendrix - Are You Experienced
• Scorpions - Lovedrive
• Pink Floyd - Dark Side of the Moon
• Rush - 2112
• The Beatles - The White Album
• Def Leppard - High & Dry
• Foreigner - The first album (self-titled)
• Styx - The Grand Illusion
• Deep Purple - Machine Head
• The Doors - L.A. Woman
• Queen - News of the World
• Queensryche - Operation Mindcrime
• Eric Clapton - Journeyman
• Billy Joel - Stormfront
• UFO - Lights Out
• Y&T - Mean Streak
• Blackfoot - Strikes
• Ted Nugent - The first album (self-titled)
• Steve Miller Band - Fly Like an Eagle
• Peter Frampton - Frampton Comes Alive
• Triumph - Allied Forces
• Alcatrazz - Disturbing The Peace
• Rainbow - Long Live Rock and Roll

That's all I can come up with now but I'll probably add to this list later as the light bulbs go off in my head....

kw

Bull in the China Shop

I've always been a bit clumsy and cumbersome. You would think that these characteristics would eventually work themselves out, but that's not the case with me. So, I've learned to accept that I am indeed, the proverbial "bull in the China shop".

Just yesterday, I was walking through the fragrance department in Macy's. My mom had mentioned that she liked a particular perfume, so I figured it would pick her up a bottle for Christmas. All I could remember was that it had "juicy" in the name. So, anyway, I head into the perfume section and scan the shelves for something that looks or sounds "juicy".

As I'm walking around the display case, I must have brushed up against one of the boxes setting on one of the tables in the middle of the aisle. Well, the next thing I hear is a bottle breaking on the floor. I'm not sure which brand of of perfume it was, but it definitely looked juicy as it rapidly spread across the floor. The intense smell of the fragrance immediately made it's way into the nostrils of every shopper within a 100 feet. Meanwhile, I'm just standing there like an idiot. When a Macy's employee finally came over, I didn't know what to say. So, I just blurted out, "Wow, did I do that?"

She let me off the hook by saying, "No, you're good. I think the box was too close to the edge of the table. Let me get this cleaned up." As the Macy's employee begins to leave the crime scene, a shopper asks her, "That smells really good. What is that?" I felt a little relieved, figuring that I may have unconventionally drummed up a sale. Yes, this is how my warped mind operates.....

A few months ago, I had a similar experience, of all places, in a liquor store. We were going over Tina's uncle's house for a crab feast. I knew he was a Scotch drinker, so I wanted to to take him a bottle of Scotch as a token of appreciation. So, I head down to the liquor superstore. I walked down the crowded aisle and approached the Scotch shelves. Now, I really don't know a whole lot about Scotch, but I can read. This particular liquor store is really nice because they attach labels to the shelves which describe and rate the various items.

So, after a fair amount of reading, I narrow my choices down to a few bottles. I pick up one of them which happens to be encased in a cardboard tube. I read the notes on the back of the tube and then give me attention back to the remaining choices on the shelf. As I'm focusing on on of the other bottles, I'm still holding the bottle in the cardboard tube. Well, at some point, I guess I tilted the tube which caused the enclosed bottle to slide a few inches. This was apparently enough momentum to allow the bottle to come crashing through the top of the tube. It happened so fast, the poor bottle never had a chance. As the bottle made it's descent, the only thing to break it's fall was the hard floor below. And break it did.....

I guess a shattered bottle of Scotch has a higher amplification level because people from all over the store immediately began to poke their heads into the aisle to see what happened. Making matters worse, they were all kinds of remarks from the peanut gallery like "What a great smell!", "I'll have what he's having!" and "No sense of crying over spilled Scotch!" I felt like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" where the mall Santa and elves are pointing at him and telling him that he's going to shoot his eye out with the BB gun.

You would think that I would have a smoother reaction by now. But again, I just stood there like a knucklehead and said, "Wow. I can't believe that I dropped that."

I was fully prepared to pay for the bottle of Scotch which cost about $50. When a store employee came over, I told her to put the bottle on my tab and I would cover it. But she told me not to worry about it. She said that it happens quite a bit. From what I understand, liquor stores get a credit for broken bottles as long as the top is still sealed. This made me feel a little better.....

All of this reminds me of an old Rodney Dangerfield joke:

"It's been rough day. I got up this morning, put on a shirt and a button fell off. I picked up my briefcase and the handle fell off. I'm afraid to go to the bathroom!"

No doubt, I've got to learn to be a little more careful.....

kw

Where Are The Protests Now?

The war on cops took a tragic turn last night when two officers from the NYPD were gunned down while sitting in their cruiser. The shooter, 28-year old Ismaaiyl Brinsley, had written on an Instagram account that he was "putting wings on pigs today" shortly before the ambush. The two cops, Rafael Ramos and Wemjian Lui, never had a chance as they were shot execution style.

So, let me ask the anti-police protesters a question....Are you guys happy now? Are you guys going to block traffic and stage "die-ins" for the two slain cops who didn't nothing wrong except show up for work yesterday?

You guys keep telling us that "black lives matter". Well, do cop's lives matter too? These guys put their lives on the line every day and go into hostile environments to try to keep us safe. Any day that these guys leave their families, there is no guarantee that they'll be reunited. And what thanks do they get? A smear campaign that labels them as racist, trigger-happy goons. 

The two cops in this case happened to be of Hispanic and Asian descent. The shooter happened to be black. Hmm, could it have possibly been racially motivated. If the tables were turned, I have a feeling it would be. But since this one doesn't fit the "white cop shoots unarmed black man" narrative, we're just going to ignore it and move along.....

After shooting the two cops, the suspect ran into a subway station where he shot himself. Shortly before killing himself, he sent a picture of the handgun to his Instagram account. From what I've read, the photo had several hundred "likes". What kind of sick bastard could "like" a gun that was just used to execute two police officers?

When New York mayor, Bill de Blasio, went to the hospital after the shooting, officers of the NYPD turned their backs on him. He has clearly lost control. And perhaps more damaging, he's lost the respect from the NYPD.

Here's the ironic thing. These protesters, mostly from the left, are always preaching that we shouldn't stereotype. However, they themselves have perpetrated a general anti-cop rhetoric which culminated in the deaths of two innocent officers last night. Not only is it hypocritical, it's also irresponsible. Does it satisfy you to know that two cops are now off the street......forever?

In an unrelated but somewhat similar incident, a Baltimore City cop was shot earlier this week during a traffic stop. Thankfully, the cop survived, Of course, there was no noise from the protesters. I have to wonder what would have happened if the cop would have returned fire and killed the shooter. I'll bet that would have woken up the protesters.

Attorney General, Eric Holder, has also had a large hand in keeping the anti-cop rhetoric alive. In both, the Michael Brown and Eric Garner shootings, Holder refused to accept the Grand Jury's decision to not indict the officers involved. He fueled the protests by pledging the "justice would ultimately be served". To the anti-cop crowd, this insinuated only one acceptable outcome.

Mayor De Blasio recently threw his own cops under the bus by announcing to the press that he had told his son that he should be careful around the NYPD because of the way they treat young, black males. This, obviously, gave fire to the anti-cop movement. How would you like to be a cop and have to work for this guy?

As I've mentioned before, like any occupation, there are assholes who also wear the badge. But is it fair to categorize all cops for the misconduct of a few? If you think that is, maybe you should try calling a protester the next time you have have an emergency. Let me know how that works out for you....

My heart goes out to the families of Officers Rafael Ramos and Wenijan Lui. 

kw

Going to the Dentist - The Early Years

I first wrote about my experiences with the dentist several years ago (A Visit With The Dentist*). In this follow-up piece, I'd like to take you back to the time where it all started....

Growing up, my parents didn't have a whole lot of money. So, instead of going to a traditional dentist like most of my friends, I would often find myself at the community dental clinic (kinda of the same way they used to send me to the Barber School for a haircut). The random screams that I would occasionally hear coming from "the chair" terrorized me as I sat quietly in the waiting room. A couple of times, I almost bolted towards the exit door. I would try to distract myself by trying to read about the latest celebrity happenings via the assorted People magazines. But it was a futile effort.....

Eventually, the dental assistant would call my name across the crowded room. And then, the fun would begin. I would nervously follow her back into the torture chamber. I viewed this as a sadistic payback for all of those Tasty-Klairs and Reese Cups that I routinely consumed. As if being robustly husky wasn't enough! Anyway, once I was seated, I was be outfitted with one of those paper dental bibs. I appreciated this because I really didn't want to get any blood on my Led Zeppelin shirt.

A short time later, the dentist-du-jour would come in and greet me. He was usually very upbeat. This is probably because I would be the one on the receiving end of the punishment. He would start off the pain session by poking around the the inside of my mouth with a sharp, pointed piece of steel. Inevitably, he would find a cavity in one of my teeth. We both knew when he found it because I would nearly jump out of the chair as soon as he touched it. He would then try to lighten up the mood by giving me some uplifting words of encouragement like, "Ah, ha! I think someone's getting a filling today!"

Today, the numbing process is pretty much standard prior to any any dental procedure.  But back then, there was a time or two that we just bypassed the Novocain and reached right for the drill. I often wondered if my friends with the good dental plans had to endure this enhanced-agony option. The dentist would usually try to sugarcoat things by saying, "Oh, this is just a small cavity. No need to numb you up today." Yeah, easy for him to say!

Now, to be fair, there were times when I would get the juice. But this also brought another set of problems.The sight of the government-subsidized dentist coming at me with this long needle was almost too much to absorb. It looked like something you might use to inject cortisone into a racehorse. Sometimes, the needle was worse than the actual dental work. He would stab this thing into my gums like he was auditioning for the lead role in Psycho. The good news is that after this assault, my mouth would go comfortably numb. This was especially beneficial when the drill would occasionally miss a tooth and plunge into a fleshy part of my mouth. Between the needle and the drill, my poor mouth didn't stand a chance,

Throughout my youth, I went through this routine time and time again. By the time I was fourteen, I had been drilled more times than Jenna Jamison. It was quite ridiculous. While my friends would go for a check-up every six months, it seemed like I was getting a filling every few weeks. I guess what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, huh? The jury's still out on that. But one thing's for sure...I still dread that trip to the dentist's office.......

kw

* http://kensmouthpiece.blogspot.com/2010/04/visit-with-dentist.html

The Paper Route - A Defunct Youth Passage

Delivering newspapers used to be a rite of passage for neighborhood youths. Growing up, almost all my friends had a paper route at some stage of their young lives. Earning our own "paycheck" gave us a sense of pride and introduced us to the "workforce". It also taught us a bit about responsibility. After all, we had people who looked forward to reading their daily newspapers and it was our job to deliver the goods.

Back in the day, Baltimore had two rival newspapers, The Sun and The News American. Additionally, at the time, The Sun had both, a morning and a evening edition. The three combined editions of the two newspapers presented plenty of opportunities for kids to land their own paper route.

Personally, I delivered the The Evening Sun. After getting home from school each day, the first thing that I did (after woofing down a Tasty-Klair, of course) was to prepare my 40 or so newspapers. They were dropped off earlier in the day and bundled up and waiting for me on my doorstep. I would have to fold them up and put rubber bands around them. After they were all folded, they would go into my canvas Baltimore Sun bag. I always thought it was crazy that I had to buy this bag. You would have thought that the newspaper company would throw a kid a bone or in this case, a free carrying bag. They also charged us for rubber bands and plastic bags.

Loaded up with newspapers, I would throw the canvas strap around my shoulder and jump onto my bike. I would peddle down the neighborhood street tossing a banded edition of The Sun onto the doorstep of each of my customers. As crazy as it sounds, it was quite satisfying and gave a me a feeling of accomplishment.

Probably the worst part of the job came on Sunday mornings. I would have to get up at 5:30 am to prepare the Sunday editions of The Sun. Each newspaper weighed about ten pounds due to all of the sales circulars that were stuffed inside. My cargo was much too heavy for my carry-bag, so I had to incorporate the use of a shopping cart. I can remember some mornings, pushing this shopping cart around in the pouring rain. It was miserable but I had a job to do.

At the end of the month, I would have to go around the neighborhood and collect money from my customers. The good news was that I often received tips. For a 13-year-old back in the 70's, a dollar was a respectable amount of money. By the time I finished collecting, I might have $200 or more in my pocket. Now, keep in mind, it was a different time back then. We didn't really have to worry about getting robbed. We pretty much knew all of the kids in the neighborhood, so if someone decoded to jack any us us up, it wouldn't take long to figure out who did it. Plus, even at those early ages, we all had a degree of respect for one another. Today, that seems to be lost among most youngsters...

When my "boss" eventually came around to pick up my collections, I was usually left with about $50-60. This was for a whole month of delivery newspapers. No, it certainly doesn't sound like much money today but like I said, it was a different time back then. A kid could do quite a bit with fifty bucks.

Now, my paper route days came to an abrupt close when, one particular month, several of my customers moved out without paying me. Unexpectedly, the bossman told me that this money would be deducted from my "paycheck". I explained to him that it wasn't my fault that these people moved out. It didn't matter, they were still taking it out of my check, he told me. It was at this time, that I told him that I was quitting. I may have been 13-years-old but I certainly was a complete idiot. I wasn't going to work for free, especially for a rag like The Baltimore Sun (I just had to work that dig in there.)

......................................................................................................................

Today, kids no longer deliver newspapers. For all of my adult life, my newspaper has been delivered by another adult. There are plenty of excuses why kids don't perform this task anymore. Some would say that it's too dangerous. I guess there's some truth to that. But, in reality, I don't see many 13-year-olds today wanting to earn their own money. Why would they want to work for $25 a week when they can get it for free from Mom & Dad. Plus, delivering newspapers would require sacrificing valuable time away from the X-box.

When I had my paper route, I got to know most of my customers, who were also my neighbors. I enjoyed the trivial banter with these folks. Not only did I learn things, but it also ingrained a sense of community for me. Since I've been a homeowner (and newspaper customer), I have never even met my mail "person". I have seen the various paper carriers from time to time. It's usually a middle aged person in an old station wagon who has no time nor interest in trivial banter. My newspaper is tossed out of the window and left abandoned at the far end of my driveway. And when it rains, I can almost guarantee that I'll retrieve a soppy wet, unreadable edition of the MD Gazette. That would have never happened back in the day. Even as young teens, we knew that a wet newspaper was totally unacceptable. Yep, things were sure different back then..........

kw

Police Departments - A Look Into The Future

The year is 2020.......

Life in America's cities has changed dramatically since the riots of '15. The "Hands Up, Don't Shoot" movement from a few years ago set the stage for serious innovations in law enforcement. Although a valiant effort was made by the opposing "Pants Up, Don't Loot" movement, they really didn't have a chance in stopping the revolution.

The first major change came in 2016. Due to immense public pressure to combat police related shootings, a decision was made to disarm all police departments. In physical confrontations, police would now be limited to the use of their nightsticks for self-defense. However, although police officers would be allowed to draw their nightsticks, they were not permitted to use them. The billy-club was, more or less, a prop to give the street cop a false sense of security. The good ol' days the "wood shampoo" was reduced to a distant memory.

Additionally, as a result of the Sharpton Intimidation Training initiative of 2017 (also know as the Sh.I.T. initiative), police uniforms were mandated to be more "friendly" looking. Traditional dark colors such as black and navy blue were no longer permitted. Instead, police would now be given a choice of fuchsia, turquoise or the aesthetically-pleasing daffodil yellow. Hats were replaced with berets to make cops look more "French-like". Also, footwear was limited to flip-flops and Docksiders.

Police vehicles underwent a series of innovations as well. Police cars would now be painted bright, neon colors in an effort to give suspects a fair warning. Cops are also required to give advance notice prior to interrupting any type of criminal activity. Should the cop encounter a crime in progress, he/she is now required to count to 10 (using the 1-Mississippi, 2-Mississippi method) to give the suspect a running start. And should the cop eventually catch the suspect, the cop is permitted to use only one hand. In an attempt to give cops a reasonable advantage, they will have the choice of using the hand of their choice.

Now, if things happen to escalate, this presents a dilemma for the police officer. Should the suspect strike the officer, the recommended defense is for the officer to "turtle up" to prevent bodily harm to himself. However, under extreme and unimaginable circumstances, when all other defense mechanisms have failed, the officer is allowed to use one hand to strike back at the suspect. However, it can not be reiterated enough, that one hand must remain behind the officers back at all times to ensure that the suspect does feel intimidated.

These changes predictably brought enhancements in which the way police socially interact with potential suspects. For example, if a street cop suspects a drug transaction, he is perfectly within his rights to engage in dialogue with the suspect. However, the police officer must always address the suspect as "sir". If at any point, the suspect feels disrespected, he is free to disengage from the conversation. The cop, at this time, must retreat. Any further action on the police officer's part can result in civil charges against the department.

Along these same line, police officers must refrain from raising their voices in a suspects presence. Yelling will not, in any way, tolerated under the Sh.I.T. initiative. It scares the criminals, it's that simple. Any infractions will be met with swift disciplinary action on the officer.

......................................................................................................................

The result of these sweeping changes demoralized police departments all over America. The media succeeded in painting them as trigger-happy racists who wake up each morning with the goal of killing someone, preferably of color.. Once highly respected, police officers were now vilified. Cops, who had already been putting their lives on the line for decades, now became sitting ducks for violent street criminals. As police were rendered virtually helpless, the criminal element thrived and transformed communities into lawless wastelands. Ironically, there were no protests nor media backlash against this new wave of senseless violence. With little hope, law abiding citizens fled the cities in a mass exodus. The point of no return was now a sad reality.....

kw

The Angry Driver Behind Me

Last Saturday, I'm driving down route 301. I'm listening to some nice Christmas music in an attempt to induce myself into a tranquil state of mellowness. Well, I happen to look into my rear view mirror and notice that the driver behind me is going absolutely ape-shit! I instinctively look down at my speedometer and confirm that I'm going reasonably fast enough to discredit this guy's outburst. So, I just shrug my shoulders and go back to listening to Bing Crosby and David Bowie's kick-ass version of "The Little Drummer Boy".

After another minute or so, I glance back into my mirror. The guy's outburst has progressed into a full-out meltdown. His arms are flailing to and fro. And although we're in separate vehicles with the windows closed, I can clearly read the F-bombs spewing from his lips. Sitting in the passenger's seat, his wife appears stoic. I have a feeling that she's all too familiar with her husband's episodes of road rage.

Now, normally, I would just switch lanes and let the moron pass me. However, there was a congested line of traffic on all sides of me and there was nowhere to go. So, we were stuck with each other for while.

I ignored him for another minute or two. And then, like the hypothetical train wreck, I felt the need to look once again. The guy was still yelling. But this time, he pushed the envelope by pointing directly at me. Now, not only was it was personal, it was officially on! I felt compelled to respond.

So, I introduced myself by flipping him the bird. I know, not the most mature thing to do. But what can I say except the guy took me down to his level. Anyway, he recognized my "greeting" immediately and this caused him to go even more ballistic. He turned to his wife to let her know what I had done. And miraculously, the wife somehow came to life! Her "deer in the headlights" appearance instantly transitioned into an all-out outburst. I couldn't help but giggle. I had no idea that I was capable up getting this much emotion out of another human being. Of all the cars traveling on route 301 this afternoon, these two ass-clowns wound up behind me. I felt truly blessed!

I actually slowed up a little so I could "get a better seat for the show". As luck would have it. we eventually hit a red light. Jackpot! As the two continued to spew profanity at me, I turned around and gave them the "keep on yapping" sign by rapidly touching my thumb to my fingers. This pissed them off even more. I was actually laughing now! To enhance the mood, I popped my Pretty Reckless CD into my car stereo. The thumping bass line to "Follow Me Down To The River" seemed to be in perfect rhythm with the couple's tirade. I would have loved to have been able to hear what they were saying about me.

I'm not sure if the song had anything to do with it, but I actually started to feel guilty. Here I was, having a blast, while the two people behind me were on the verge of blowing out an artery.

As the light turned green, I finally saw an opportunity to switch lanes. I had drank a large bottle of water about 30 minutes earlier and I was getting dangerously close to pissing myself from laughing so hard. As much fun as I was having, it was time to end this. As I switched into the other lane, the guy gunned his engine and blew past me. I waved goodbye as he and his wife passed me. And yes, they were still cursing at me.

As crazy as it sounds, I'm really going to miss them.......

kw