All posts by cjcheetham

Slices of Life

Thanks Boomer

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I recently moved and last week I was unpacking boxes for my home office.  This is the first time I’ve had actual man-space in my home, so I was sifting through old memorabilia trying to find the right mix for my walls.  In an old folder I came across an old black and white picture of a baby-faced George “Boomer” Scott, a former Red Sox first baseman.  Boomer stood arms at his sides smiling with the Winter Haven spring training facility as his backdrop.

Boomer was one of my heroes when I was a kid.  In the 1970s, Boomer was our Big Papi – a larger than life, smiling, power hitter.  Born and raised in rural Mississippi, Boomer was a remarkably quick man for his size and his agility helped him earn 8 gold glove awards at first base.  But it was his power to hit “taters,” his Mississippi term for the long ball that captured the hearts of Boston Fans.

I quickly found a frame for the old 8×10 of George Scott.  Sure, my office isn’t huge – but there certainly had to be room for my old friend.

This past Saturday night, I was sitting in my office and I took notice of that old photo of George Scott.  There he was smiling on the wall opposite my desk.  I let my mind travel back to the 1970’s; to the days when the Red Sox were a loveable, heart-breaking, working-class team.  There was Yaz, Freddy Lynn, Jim Rice, Pudge Fisk and Boomer Scott wearing the classic 1970s Sox uniforms – white pull overs, red hats with blue brims.

And then I said it out loud:  “Boomer and the Crunch Bunch!” I could remember an article in Sports Illustrated with that title that I had read as a kid.  I wondered if I could find that article.  I did a quick internet search and sure enough it led me to the July 4th 1977 Sports Illustrated (the one with Ted Turner on the cover for his America’s Cup yacht racing exploits).

What a summer 1977 was!  It remains to this day one of my favorite Red Sox teams and I was thrilled as I recalled the amazing stretch where Boomer and the Crunch Bunch launched 30 home runs in just 10 games; one of the most terrifying exhibitions of power in baseball history.

I did another search for George Scott and found his personal website.  There was boomer – older and a little heavy but still the guy who flashed incredible leather at the friendly confines of Fenway Park.  Boomer was advertising his autobiography aptly titled “Taters.”  Then I noticed the CONTACT button and I figured – what the heck?

So I wrote this note to George Scott this past Saturday Night:

Dear Boomer,

I just want to thank you for all the great memories of baseball you provided to me and many other Red Sox fans.  Your exploits in the 1970s – especially 1977 with Boomer and the Crunch Bunch remain some of my favorite sports memories.  Thanks for playing the game the right way.

God Bless,

The day after I sent that note, on Sunday, George Scott passed away at age 69.  It is unlikely he ever got my note.

Now that I am in my 40’s I am never surprised when a childhood hero dies – it is after all the nature of life.  But as I write this I am looking at a black and white photo of Boomer Scott hanging in my office and I am smiling too.  There is something glorious about our childhood connection to athletes that never really leaves us.

And for a moment I am standing in Toabe’s Hardware store in Pembroke Massachusetts.  I am 12 years old.  I am trying to convince my father to buy me a first baseman’s mitt – the George Scott model.

Dad:  “Christian, why do you want to play first base?  You are too small to play first base.”

Me:  “But Dad, Boomer and the Crunch Bunch!”

Dad:  [Sighing] “alright.”

Thanks Boomer.

-cj cheetham

Copyright © 2013 cjcheetham

Current Events

If You Really Cared, You’d Support 35 Dollars an Hour for McDonald’s Employees

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The latest salvo in the never ending attack on common sense is this idea that McDonald’s employees can’t earn a living getting paid the minimum wage.  The sniveling Marxists are now demanding 15 dollars an hour for exploited fast food workers.  This comes on the heels of last week’s report that the City Council of Washington D.C. demanded that Walmart pay its workers a 12.50 minimum wage if they wanted to build stores in the nation’s capital.

The socialist mind, set afire over these last 5 years, literally has gone into full-blown mindless emotionalism.  These economic illiterates care so much more than normal people, that no matter how illogical and fundamentally wrong their arguments are ; they will not be dissuaded.

Here is the socialist argument in a nutshell:  People who work at McDonald’s don’t make a lot of money; they can’t afford a home and a car; they can barely pay the bills; so therefore, the government should FORCE McDonald’s to pay 15 dollars an hour to someone working a drive-through window.

In other words, in typical leftist fashion, people who know nothing about business, nothing about restaurant management, nothing about what is a fair wage for incredibly low-skilled employees, still want to dictate to the experts in the food industry what they should pay for that incredibly low-skilled employee.

Ugh.

1.  Forcing fast food establishments to pay artificially high and arbitrary wages of 15 dollars an hour will force the fast food industry to lay off workers or dramatically raise prices.  And who will that hurt?  The lower middle class folks who work and eat at these establishments!

I just watched a pasty-faced socialist on my television state she would be glad to pay double the price for a Wendy’s hamburger if it meant people working there got a living wage.

This is nonsense.  People will get laid off.  Also, no one in their right mind is going to pay big bucks for McDonald’s or Wendy’s.  It is not going to happen.  All this woman’s idea will do is bring more misery and more poverty.  (She’s probably a vegan)

2.  Socialists always like to wrap their wage arguments in emotional appeals.  They care so much they are willing to use government force to compel evil fast food restaurants to pay workers 15 dollars an hour.  If you are against that idea – you don’t care enough.  You are part of the problem.

But why stop at 15 dollars an hour?  Couldn’t we care enough to force fast food employers to pay 20 dollars an hour?  Why not 25?  Personally I think we can all find it in our hearts to demand they get paid 35 dollars an hour.  In fact – if the union bosses and left-wing economists really cared they’d support 35 dollars an hour for McDonald’s employees.

Newsflash:  There is a good reason why hourly workers at fast food establishments get paid 7.25 an hour (the current national minimum wage).  That is what they deserve to get paid based on their incredibly low skill levels.  These are not jobs that you are supposed to hold in order raise a family.  They are entry-level jobs for high school kids, people with low skill, etc.  If you are working at Wendy’s making fries or working the drive thru window – you should be working hard there while working hard at finding another job. I get it, you want to make a fortune building Egg McMuffins, but guess what?  No one will pay you a fortune to do that!

No, you cannot raise a family and own a home by cooking fries at Burger King.  I don’t care how good you are at making those fries, it isn’t worth more than 7.25 an hour (in fact it probably is worth less than that).

So yes, Karl Marx probably would support 15 dollars an hour for fast food workers.  Why?  Not because he cared, but because Marx wasn’t smart enough to run a fast food restaurant.  He was an exhausting boorish utopian nincompoop – which is why he became a leading leftwing economist instead.

It paid better.

-cj cheetham

Copyright © 2013 cjcheetham

Current Events

How Immigration Reform Will Explode the Welfare Rolls

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How Immigration Reform Will Explode the Welfare Rolls

And cause millions more to enter the U.S. illegally

***

When considering “comprehensive immigration reform” I want to encourage you to do something that makes the Washington D.C. political class very nervous.  Yes – I want you to think rationally.

The question that must be answered is – since the United States has sustained high unemployment for the last several years (about 8% and when you factor in those who have stopped looking it’s in double digits) – why is there a demand for illegal alien labor?  What is it that illegal immigrants bring to the labor market that employers cannot find elsewhere, especially among the nation’s unemployed?

To answer this question we have to look at competitive advantage.  What trait do illegal aliens have that make them so attractive to employers?  It doesn’t take an economist to surmise what that trait is.

The Competitive Advantage of Illegals in a Labor Market

The reason employers like to hire illegals is very easy to understand.  Illegals are willing to work for lower hourly wages.  There is no minimum wage for illegals.  Illegals are willing to work without a health insurance plan.  Employers do not have to pay taxes on illegals; no social security or Medicare taxes to worry about.  Illegals are not covered by OSHA requirements.  Illegals do not get paid overtime.

In fact, when you look at the issue with any degree of common sense – you don’t have to be a business genius to realize that hiring illegals saves big money.  The rich figured this out long ago, hiring illegals to do lawn work, clean swimming pools, or perform nanny duties.

Illegals have a huge advantage when competing with U.S. citizens in the labor market.  They can simply underbid Americans.  Even if a U.S. citizen would agree to work for a lower wage, the government would never allow the minimum wage laws, insurance requirements, and taxes to be ignored.

In fact, there is really no other advantage to hiring illegals.  If illegals were not incredibly cheap, they would not be hired.  Why would an employer hire an illegal, a drifter who speaks and writes English marginally, if he had to pay that illegal the same wages and benefits as a U.S. born worker?  Anyone looking at the issue honestly would agree – the only reason illegals get work is because illegals are incredibly cheap.

How the “Pathway to Citizenship” Is Actually a Plan That Will Put Millions on Welfare.

Proponents of comprehensive immigration reform do not understand competitive advantage.  They do not understand basic economics.  How else can you explain a plan that will drive an estimated 11 million illegals toward the welfare rolls?

Let me explain.

When the 11 million illegals “come out of the shadows” and are granted resident alien status they will be for the first time living legally in the United States.  Sponsors of the immigration bill proudly point out that the resident aliens will have to “pay taxes and fines” just like everyone else.

In other words, the comprehensive immigration reform plan will take illegal aliens who find work because they work for low wages and turn those same people into resident aliens who NO ONE WILL HIRE.  Once an illegal has to be paid minimum wage, insurance, payroll taxes, etc. – they are no longer worth hiring.  When employers are faced with low-skilled, non-English speaking resident aliens that cost just as much as a U.S. born worker – employers will look elsewhere for employees; the market for resident aliens will collapse.

Proponents of the bill are literally taking away the one thing that makes illegals competitive:  Cheap Labor!

Another Wave of Illegal Aliens Comes Next

So where will employers find cheap labor that they still demand?

The same place they get it now – illegal aliens.

Once you have 11 million “documented workers” who cost just as much as anyone else to employ – there will be a new demand for new illegal aliens.  We will see a new wave of illegals flood into the United States for the same reasons they have come in the past – they are willing to work below minimum wage, without insurance, taxes, etc.

The new wave of illegals will have a competitive advantage against the old wave of illegals (the newly documented aliens).

There will be absolutely no improvement in the job market, no reduction of illegals flowing into the United States, and no reduction in the number of illegal aliens that no one can account for.  Even worse, the illegals (now living in the shadows) will be in the open and unemployed.  They will be wards of the state – collecting welfare, food stamps, and other hand-outs; because welfare is still better than returning to Mexico.

The False Promise of “No Welfare for Documented Aliens”

One of the most often repeated claims from proponents of the comprehensive immigration reform bill states “no resident alien will be eligible for welfare, food stamps, health care, etc.”   Unfortunately, this is simply not realistic and it is highly deceptive.

Consider this – an illegal alien becomes a “documented guest worker” and is forced to pay fines and taxes.  Are you seriously asking me to believe that someone who is required to pay taxes is not going to be eligible for the government programs his taxes are funding?

How long will it be before a lawyer is arguing in federal court that his client, a resident alien, pays taxes and is denied “equal protection under the law?”  In fact, it is entirely plausible, and should be expected, that aliens paying taxes will not only get access to welfare, but also the right to vote.  A lawyer will make that argument based on “no taxation without representation.”  Heard that one before?

Economic Laws Will Not Be Denied

Economics is common sense.  The law of competitive advantage is a law.  It will not be denied by political word-twisting, spin machines, and lawyer-games.  Economics cannot be willed away by politicians looking for votes in 2016.  This bill will explode welfare rolls and encourage more illegal immigration to the United States.

-cj cheetham

Copyright © 2013 cjcheetham

Humor

The Worst Diner in America

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Right up front I need to say it:  I am no food snob.

I much prefer diners to so-called “fancy” or “upscale” restaurants.  My experience with diners across the United States has been remarkably consistent.  You can get eggs and hash browns; or get burgers and fries – and the typical diner will come through and satisfy you.

No, I have never eaten at a diner and then said “wow! That was the best meal I have ever had.”  Likewise, until recently I would have never said, “the food in that diner is so bad that people should be arrested.”   But a couple of days ago I ate at a diner so grotesque that I am petitioning the U.S. Department of State to classify the entire restaurant as a terrorist organization.

The Set-up:

Let’s set the mood.  I had spent a day in Sedona AZ.  A quaint town of cowboys and hippies nestled in the Northern Arizona wilderness.   It was a remarkably hot day, but that hadn’t prevented our family from executing a morning hike to Devil’s Bridge, an afternoon of shopping, and wrapping up with a late afternoon jeep excursion into Sedona back-country.  The jeep excursion wrapped up at about 8pm.

We were all a little hot and tired – so the family agreed:  “let’s go quick, cheap, and easy” for dinner before returning to our hotel.

Burger King, the ever steady quick, cheap, and easy solution raised his big paw and said, “Hey Cheethams – I’ve got you covered.”  But I drove right on by.  There had to be a better option.  And of course, there was – because on route 89A South in West Sedona, we all saw the same thing:   The Red Planet Diner.  Glistening in the street lights in front of the diner was a hovering flying saucer.  The lights inside the diner were on and the parking lot was full – everything seemed perfect.  I was ready to explore the Red Planet.  Little did I know that I would end up like Kane (played by John Hurt) in the original Alien film.

Diners, generally speaking.

Diners are a great and safe pick 99.9% of the time.  It is really hard to screw up scrambled eggs; or fries; or a BLT.  In fact, if I was forced to name THE safest thing to order at any restaurant in the entire nation – I would go with a BLT. Not only that – but a crowded diner is the closest you will ever get to a sure thing.  Big crowds at a diner equal safe choice.  Or so I thought.

Therefore, I was confident that I was about to get some decent diner-fare; some comfort food at the Red Planet Diner; it would certainly never be something bad.  But, then again – Kane never expected an alien to impregnate his stomach with a lizard, did he?

Red Planet or Death Star?

As I walked into the Red Planet Diner, I was surprised to find myself in a bar room.  Not just any bar room – but a full-fledged dive bar.  Here are some key indicators of a dive bar: if it is dark, creepy and more than 50% of the patrons have facial tattoos?  You are in a dive bar.  I don’t particularly hate dive bars – but I certainly don’t take my kids and wife to a dive bar to grab an omelet and a smiley-faced pancake.

I immediately began to check myself.  Had I walked in the wrong door?  Maybe.  As I considered turning back I was greeted by an overwhelmed “host” who asked “would you like to sit at the bar?”  I immediately pictured my 8-year old sitting next to the bald guy with the eagle-claw tat guzzling tequila.  Just as I was about to say “you must be nuts” – the host gestured to the other side of the diner where there were five empty seats at “the bar” also known in diners as a “counter.”

As we walked to our seats I checked the customers’ faces in the packed diner.  What I saw screamed “turn back now!”  But I denied my instinct.  The diner customers were a combination of sour faces, anxiety, nausea, and despair.

We took our seats at the horseshoe shaped counter.  The surface of the counter was filthy – covered with some kind of sticky slime.  At my place there was a carton of yellow mustard bottles.  Next to the box was a dirty dish rag emanating a sour-milk fragrance that tends to kill your appetite and break your heart.

Then I got a good look around the Red Planet.  It was filthy from top to bottom.  Discarded fries on the floor, brown liquid stains splattered the floors, walls, and amazingly, the ceiling.  I had a very bad feeling about the entire operation.  Should I have left?  Absolutely.  But I was just too tired – or perhaps too confident in the American diner, to believe that this wouldn’t turn out just fine.

We placed our order with the host who was now acting as the waiter (he also appeared to be the dish-washer and cashier).  The kids ordered burgers and my wife playing it extra safe went for a BLT.  I was even more cautious.  I ordered the “Space Dog” figuring that even an orangutan could cook a dog and not screw it up.  You can’t go to a diner without getting milkshakes, so four of those were ordered as well.

I watched as the sweaty staff moved about in a confused manner – like zombies or perhaps stroke-victims, the staff was constantly mumbling and bumping into one another.  I had to avert my eyes.  I had a great view behind the counters, and I could see inside the cabinets below the counter-level.  The cabinets were all empty, save one.  There was one cabinet full with about forty bottles of hot sauce.  My son saw the same thing.  Something was desperately wrong at the Red Planet Diner.

The walls were adorned with grubby rubber aliens.  At the counter, beneath the filthy, sticky plexi-glass, there were photos of UFO sightings.  Interesting fact:  Sedona Arizona has the second most UFO sightings of any city in the USA.  Not so interesting fact:  I couldn’t read any of the captions of the UFO photos on display because someone had typed the captions in Brush Script MT Number-Four-Font; I couldn’t have read those captions with the Hubble telescope.

Our waiter returned with our milkshakes and announced “I don’t have any clean glasses guys” as he plopped down four metal mixing cups and four straws.  I know what you are saying right now.  You are saying “Leave.  For God’s sake, why won’t he leave?!”  Because this is a horror story, that’s why.

We dutifully picked up our shakes that were in the mixing cups and began to drink.  (Aside:  if the glasses were all dirty in this joint, tell me – do you think the mixing cups were clean?)  I began to feel queasy and had to put my shake down.  To my left was a green rubber alien head that had the top of its skull cut off (YOU CUT OUT HIS BRAIN YOU LOUSY APES!).

I thought, “That might be a tip jar.  But it is so filthy with blackened goop; it could also be what they use to change the oil on their cars.”

Behind me two men were standing demanding, no pleading, for a check as zombie waiters passed them by.  Desperate, they ultimately threw cash on their table and sprinted to the door.  Sadly they went out the wrong door which leads to an outdoor seating area – completely fenced in.  (Aside:  what kind of diner has fenced-in outdoor seating?  Answer:  the worst diner in America.).  The two men had no way out.  They glanced back at the door and saw mumbling, zombie waiters approaching.  They had no choice.  They had to climb.  I watched as two men in their early fifties summoned long-forgotten strength and scaled the fence.  Freedom.  I had tears in my eyes.

Our food arrived and the waiter announced:  “I don’t have any clean silverware guys.”  My “Space Dog” was a vivisected mess on a stale bun.  It was charred and disgusting.  Amazingly, the waiter couldn’t find any mustard, after having finally moved the box that had been in front of me most of the evening.  (Aside:  Why couldn’t they let the orangutan cook just this once?!)  I gagged down about four bites.  My kids were struggling with their burgers that looked like Wookie-Scat on wonder-bread.  My wife, was having the easiest go of it (God bless the BLT) but her coleslaw resembled a wet disintegrating softball and it had become a solid mass.

I lost control.  I found myself shaking and uncontrollably shouting “Check!  Check!  For the love of God! Someone bring me a CHECK!!”

It cost a small fortune.  I began to hate the Red Planet – to hate all Martians for that matter.  We escaped through the bar.  I smiled at the cross-eyes guy with the python tattooed on his forehead; he raised his glass to me as we slipped out the door.

We all immediately began to feel sick.  The hot dog, churned in my belly for hours.  As of this posting, it has yet to develop into an Alien Lizard and rip my living guts out – so there is a chance I may yet avoid Kane’s fate.

Worst.  Diner.  Ever.

-cj cheetham

Watch Kane get the alien treatment here:  http://youtu.be/vJD0kXVdM7c

P.S.

In all seriousness – never eat at the Red Planet Diner in Sedona AZ.  It was the worst experience of my life.

Quick Hits

We Thought You Were Dead

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So I am on the road, which means hotels and “continental” breakfasts.  (Aside:  exactly which continent serves this stuff?)

I was sitting at my table eating lukewarm oatmeal and reading the USA Today when I observed this exchange between Woman #1, probably in her late 70’s and woman #2 probably in her mid to late 50’s.  Woman #1 has the kind grandmotherly look down cold.  Woman #2 has the angry look – you know, angry clothes, angry face, angry hair…

Woman #1 is seated alone drinking a cup of coffee.  Woman #2 briskly approaches.

Woman #2:  “Where have you been?!”

Woman #1:  “I woke up early, so I came down stairs,  I got a little hungry.”

Woman #2:  “Well… Bo and I had no idea where you were.”

Woman #1:  (A nervous smile) “I’m sorry”

Woman #2:  Bo and I were knocking on you door for like 15 minutes.  I thought I’d have to plan a funeral today!”

Woman #1:  (No longer smiling) “Sorry.”

In strolls Bo – from the looks of him he is Woman #1’s son.  He is a troll like character – short, with arms too long and a gut that is accentuated my his decision to tuck his t-shirt snuggly into his shorts.  Bo has a pile of gooey pastries and a cup of coffee.

Woman #1 smiles brightly at Bo.  Bo doesn’t recognize her – acting as though he’s never seen this woman before in his life and proceeds to greedily wolf-down cinnamon buns.

Woman #2:  “Well in the future – I’d like to know where you are.  The last thing I need is an incident.”  And she is off for an angry cup of coffee.

Woman #1 stares quietly into space; looking beyond Bo; and perhaps reminiscing about happier times.

-cj cheetham

Current Events

The abject sorrow of Saturday and the joy of Easter

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This Easter weekend I was reflecting on the horror and brutal sadness of the crucifixion.

In human terms, I was wondering just what that scene must have been like – especially for the followers and friends and family of Jesus.  Here is the man who you have loved; your teacher, your healer, your friend, being brutally executed.  The wailing and sorrow must have been horrific.

But for some reason this year, it was Saturday, not Good Friday that really captured my imagination.  I was struck with thoughts and imaginations of how difficult that Saturday must have for the disciples of Jesus.  They must have spent that day full of guilt for not standing up for their Lord.  They must have spent that day full of sickening nauseous pain in their stomachs as they remembered the physical brutality they had witnessed.  They must have hated themselves.  They must have doubted God.  They must have spent the day in fear, wondering will the next knock on the door be the Romans come to crucify me too? 

On Saturday, all was lost.  Everything they had believed; everything they had worked for; everything they had hoped – lost.  There would be no triumph for the followers of Jesus.  It was all over. 

Except that it wasn’t over, because on Easter Sunday, God changed history.

Have any of you ever thought about that Saturday?  11 defeated disciples cowering in fear with a handful of supportive women.  Their Master lying in a cold tomb. 

If you haven’t thought about that – please do.  And reason in your mind how this cowering broken band of 11 men managed to change the course of human  history. 

People say they don’t believe in miracles – and it makes me smile.  These 11 had more influence on Western Civilization than any king, general, or philosopher.  A group of regular guys – ordinary people, changed the world because they were divinely appointed by God to do that.  The odds of that happening are impossible – would anyone have said on that saturday before Easter – “You know what’s gonna happen now?  These 11 and their followers are going to change the world.”  Who would have said such a thing?

On that Saturday – they were broken, scared, and ready to quit. 

Don’t quit.

Happy Easter.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wC6RXAJpPjo

-cj cheetham

Music: 52 songs for 52 weeks

52 Songs for 52 weeks: Week 52 – Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel

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This 52 week journey started a year ago with a Peter Gabriel and today it ends with Peter Gabriel.

Solsbury Hill, Gabriel’s first hit after leaving Genesis is the perfect way to end this list.  A great song full of hopefulness.  The imagery is outstanding and it is one of the greatest songs ever recorded.

Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night

It’s just a wonderful song.

And this live version – where Peter Gabriel sings Solsbury Hill while riding a bicycle is a clip that always puts me in a good mood.  gabriel is a guy who knows how to entertain and actually uses his music to make people feel happy.  What’s wrong with that?

Of course if you prefer the studio version – here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9fF8wU4Nl9Y&feature=youtu.be

That’s a wrap – 52 songs.  Get them in your music library.  Life is short – spend your day singing.

-cj cheetham

52 songs for 52 weeks will get your music collection up to par. If you want to have a better music collection – check in each week . Add a song a week and in one year’s time your music collection will be the envy of all your friends

Humor

Gym Cretins – A Field Guide

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Until my late 20’s I rarely would go to a gym and workout.  I always found ways to be active by playing sports regularly.  But by the time I started to hit my late 20s, I began to develop the build that no man wants – Fat and Skinny. 

Fat and Skinny is a look where all your muscle mass (in your chest, arms, legs) atrophies but you simultaneously begin to develop a bag of flab just above the belt line.  Fat and Skinny is hideous.  And so in the mid 90’s as I sensed a looming Fat and Skinny look in my mirror I started hitting the gym regularly.  I pretty much have gone to the gym every weekday for the last 18 or 19 years.  I like lifting weights – I like working out; but the gym?  I don’t really like the gym.  I have a good reason.

All gyms are full of The Gym Cretins.

A Gym Cretin is a person who will simply annoy you to no end.  They are oblivious to their cretinism.  They roam the gyms of America taking every opportunity to ruin your day.  For almost two decades, I’ve been tracking the Gym Cretins like Von Helsing tracking vampires.  I have kept copious notes and sketches in notebooks.  If I can only understand the Gym Cretins, perhaps I can find a way to stop them; perhaps there is still time to save mankind.

I offer this guide in the hope that we are not too late.

The Gym Cretins – A Field Guide

The Cable Guy:  The Cable Guy is not a funny southern comedian nor is he an overlooked character from a Jim Carey film.  The Cable guy is the cretin in the gym who sets up shop at the cable machine and will not leave.  He does 90 minutes of cable flys, cable curls, cable press downs , lat pull downs, reverse pivot cable extensions.  You name it; if it can be done with a cable, the Cable Guy will do it and he doesn’t really care that there are about 73 other people in the gym who just want to do THREE stinking sets of triceps push-downs. 

The Elaborate Move Guy:   Look for this cretin near the dumbbells.  The Elaborate move guy is the guy who will be wildly swinging dumbbells in a 360 degree motion while doing reverse leg-lunges; then he will immediately knock out high knee sprints and drop for 20 wide-leg push-ups.  During all this frenetic activity other gym patrons are left ducking, leaning, and wincing – in hopes of avoiding a dumbbell off the head.  When you ask the Elaborate Move Guy what the heck he is doing – he usually says something about muscle confusion before knocking out 50 jumping jacks (the cretins call them “Jacks”) while bouncing a medicine ball off the back of the nearest person’s head.

Spandex Shorts Guy:  I first encountered this cretin in 1996 while stationed in Germany.  It was an encounter so frightening that nightmares of it plague me to this day.   I was in the gym and in walked a Lt Colonel who I knew (I was a 1st Lt. at the time).  He didn’t see me.  This Lt Colonel was not in great shape.  He was a bit pudgy actually – but he still thought it was smart to wear a pair of electric blue spandex shorts.  To top off the look, he was wearing a white tank-top, the string kind with the extra thin straps; the tank top was tucked into the blue spandex shorts.  I was almost catatonic as I stared at this spectacle of cretinism. 

Then he started to move.

He started doing some kind of side lateral movements while looking at himself in the mirror.  He wasn’t wearing headphones – but it was obvious that in his mind the song “Maniac” by Michael Sembello (from the atrocious movie Flashdance) was filling his mind.

I turned away; but my mind has never purged that image from my memory.  I fear that my last moments on earth I will think of that cretin – “Maniac, Maniac on the floor…” and then I will die.

Grossly Inaccurate T-Shirt Guy:

The Grossly inaccurate T-Shirt guy is the cretin with a Fat and Skinny body type who is wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that says things like:

I may be stupid; but I can lift heavy things

Life is Short; work hard

No Pain – No Gain 

A living oxymoron.

Multiple Injury Guy:

This Cretin will hobble around the gym wearing a knee brace, elbow brace, ankle supports, taped wrists , ace bandage wrap on the thigh and of course one of those magnetic wrist thingies that are supposed to give you energy and help you avoid injury (working great!)

To make matters worse if you are trapped within ear shot of this cretin you will hear his call:  “I used to be able to lift this much; I used to squat:  I used to be able to bend at the waist…” etc. 

The Screaming Guy:

Making a little noise during physical exertion helps – We all get it.  Even Steven Segal, master of Aikido, has been known to let out a grunt or two when destroying a group of bad guys with rapid blows to the face, neck, and chest.

But the screaming Cretin wants everyone in the same zip code to know – he just did a really heavy rep on the squat rack.   If you see this cretin in the Fat and Skinny version – just leave the gym and go for a run or something.  Do not approach the Fat and Skinny Screamer.

The I Only Do One Exercise Guy:

From the same phylum as the Cable Guy, this cretin takes up residence on a piece of equipment and does one exercise for 60 minutes.  I first encountered this particular Cretin on a Pec-Deck.  The cretin was doing pec contractions on a Nautilus machine.  I wanted to use that machine but I went about my workout and checked back every 10 minutes of so.  This Cretin sat happily doing pec contractions for more than an hour.  You will also find this cretin on the leg extension machine for up to 90 minutes at a time. 

The Horrible Form Guy (aka the Weight-Psych Guy)

These male cretins are usually accompanied by a female cretin they are trying to impress.  I recently saw one of these cretins in my gym I go to now.  He approached the cable-cross over machine and put the pin in the highest weight setting.  He was planning on doing pec cross overs with an incredible amount of weight.  He was wearing an Inappropriate T-Shirt. 

Now as an aside, the proper form for a cable cross over is to grab the two handles attached to the cables and then bring the knuckles of your two hands together like you are hugging a rain barrel that is right in front of your chest.  You don’t need a lot of weight.

But Horrible Form Guy is trying to impress his girl.  So he has a colossal amount of weight on each side.  In order to move the stack of weight, he literally has to jump in the air while grabbing the handles in order to generate enough momentum to get the weights off the ground.  Once he has done that – this particular Cretin ends up flexing his wrists repeatedly because any real movement of his arms will result in shoulder dislocation.  The wrist movement is bizarre, and not really an exercise – so he will typically start screaming with each wrist flexion repetition.

Innovator Guy:

Innovator Guy is a cretin who will take a piece of equipment and use it for something it was never designed for.  For example, you might see innovator guy balancing on a medicine ball while juggling 5lb plates; or doing handstands with two kettle-bells tied to the laces of his sneakers.

Naked Locker Room Guy:

Look – people change in locker rooms – so there will be nudity.  But Naked Locker Room Guy covers a lot of ground and has no idea where he left his towel.   So you might be brushing your teeth and Naked Locker Room guy is standing next to you, flossing.  Or you are tying your shoes and naked Locker Room Guys is checking his e-mail on his cell phone – standing.  I ran across a particularly nasty version of this cretin about 7 years ago.  He liked to walk around the locker room engaging strangers in conversations about the Tour De France.  I finally said “How about the Tour de Pants, jackass?   Put some clothes on!”

***

I realize I am only scratching the surface; there are so many more forms the Gym Cretins can take – and yes I am also troubled by that.

-cj cheetham

Slices of Life

Luis Motta and the Joys of Minimum Wage

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In the fall of 1988, I moved into a cottage in Fairhaven Massachusetts in preparation for the start of the school year.  I had just finished a summer of working on the cranberry bogs in my hometown.  Although that kind of summertime manual labor paid well, it was one of my first orders of business to find a job right away so that I could pay rent and keep the college “experience” moving in the right direction.

Finding a job is never very much fun.  At the time, I had very few skills, no car (I bummed rides), and even less confidence.  So I ended up applying for jobs just about anywhere.  I applied at a variety of retail stores, a nursery, a tuxedo rental company, and golf course but nothing panned out.  It became a standard procedure – apply for jobs, get rejected, and head home.  As part of my routine I would stop at the convenience store a few miles from my house to buy a newspaper and a coke.

That was where I met a man named Luis Motta.  Although I didn’t know it, Luis was the manager of that convenience store and soon to be my boss in a job that paid minimum wage.

Luis was an outgoing fellow, always engaging his customers in loud conversations and laughing heartily as he tried to get them to buy a cheese danish or something that was on sale.  He was a small wiry man, with sharp features, and large eyes magnified by his somewhat thick glasses.  He always dressed casually, in jeans and a collared shirt, but his appearance was impeccable; and although he was completely bald on top, you could see that the black hair on the sides of his head was still a matter of pride.

The first time I stopped in his store, Luis immediately greeted me in a heavy accent.

“Hello my friend how are you?”

And so began our relationship.  By my third or fourth encounter with Luis, he was greeting me with “Hello Crease – how are you with the job hunt?”

“Hey Lou,” I would say sheepishly having been turned down by a sporting goods store or sub shop, “no one is hiring.”  This is the standard line I would use rather than:  I am a loser and no one will hire me.

“Crease, listen man – you work for me.  I can only pay the minimum wage.”

When you are poor like I was – this was a huge break.

“Seriously, Lou?!  How many hours can I get?”

“How many you want?  As many as you want.”  Lou was smiling waving for me to come closer.

I resisted the urge to say – you know what Lou, I have the feeling this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship; and started discussing the details.

The details were simple; I would work Monday through Friday from 3pm to 10pm, when I would lock up the store.  Lou would pay me the minimum wage, at that time $3.65, which meant I would be bringing home more than hundred bucks a week.   I couldn’t really expect anything better – maximum hours, no weekends to conflict with my Army National Guard duties and enough time during the day to be a full-time college student.

***

The job was not hard.  I would get to work and immediately take over the register, so Lou could do whatever he had to do in the office regarding bills, orders, etc.  Around 6 PM Lou would head home, and I would be in the store alone.  I would stock all the shelves, mop the floors, count the cigarettes (don’t ask me why – but every night I had to count every pack of cigarettes in the place).

Of course, there would still be customers, but honestly after 6Pm the store was rarely busy.  Lou was also cool with me doing my homework and I took advantage of that benefit as well.  Generally speaking, it was one of the easiest jobs I ever had.  Occasionally, pretty girls from the University I attended would stop in – not to see me but to get food – but I wasn’t complaining.  And there was also no shortage of crazy people.  Anyone who has ever worked in a convenience store knows what I mean – those places attract insane people.  But those are stories for another time.

The absolute best part of working at that store was getting to know Luis Motta.  Lou was a  hard-working guy.  He would roll into work at 5:30 AM every day and then leave at 6PM.  He kept his store immaculately clean; he knew his customers by name; and he never seemed to be in a bad mood.

Early on, I had made the mistake of asking Lou, “You are Portuguese, right?”

Lou’s eyebrows raised and he became more animated than normal, “Portuguese?!  I am Azorean, Man!”

“Azorean?”

“From the Azores – you know the Azores?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” I replied hoping he wouldn’t press me on exactly where the Azores were located.  He didn’t.

“What made you come to America, Lou?”

He looked at me like I was nuts.  “Work!”

Lou would spend his afternoons with me, listening to All things Considered on National Public Radio – there was no muzak in Lou’s store.  “I love dis show” he would say every day as he turned up the volume.   We would talk current events.  I was majoring in Political Science at the University of Massachusetts-Dartmouth – but it didn’t take long to realize that Lou had more common sense and knowledge of how the world really worked than the goofy professors at the university.  Sure the professors were smart about their area of expertise (which was usually some ridiculous subject like Marxist Theory of the Fishing Industry in Yugoslavia – or something like that) – but Lou was the kind of guy who built America.

One afternoon, after stocking the milk cooler I emerged and heard Lou in a heated conversation with one of our regular customers.

“I tell you man – I gonna vote for George Booosh!  Dukakis?  He take all my money!  Tax, tax, tax!”

In Massachusetts, everyone is a Democrat; it is part of their commitment to diversity.

After the customer left, I looked at Lou and smiled.  “Lou, I didn’t know you were a republican.”

“Crease!  Of course I repooblican!  That Dukakis – he an eeediot!  He tax, tax tax.”

So I let Lou know, I was one of 7 (the rest were in hiding) openly republican students on the UMASS-Dartmouth campus.  “Well, my professors hate me.  You know Lou, I could get you some Bush-Quayle bumper stickers and pins if you’d like.”

“Oh Crease….you must get me that.”

***

The next day when I got to work I handed Lou a handful of Bush-Quayle gear.  He was thrilled.  He immediately affixed a campaign pin to his shirt.

“What do you think, my friend?”

“Lou, are you sure you want to where that at work?  You are probably going to piss off some customers with that pin.”

“Crease, I no giva sheet.”  He handed me a pin.  “Put it on.”

***

At 9PM that night, a BMW pulled into our parking lot.  I watched as a very well dressed couple in their early thirties walked into the store.  They grabbed a couple of sodas and I was ringing up their order when the woman muttered, “I can’t believe you would wear that.”

“Excuse me, Ma’am?”

“I can’t believe you would wear that Bush-Quayle pin.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s who I am supporting.”

“Maybe if you would wake up and vote for Dukakis you wouldn’t have such a crappy job.”

I wanted to slap her, but I didn’t.

***

Working for Luis Motta was not a crappy job.  It was a great job.  He was a good, fair, decent boss.  He treated me like a human being (he raised my salary to $4.50 an hour after a couple of months; which caused a small celebration).  If not for Lou, I’m not sure I would have financially survived that fall semester of college.

Luis was a hardworking immigrant to our country and he loved being an American.  He was honest, funny, and treated everyone with respect and kindness.   No, he didn’t drive a BMW and no he didn’t have a degree.  He had something better:  character.

I learned a lot from Luis.  He made me into a much harder worker than I had ever been before I met him.  He taught me to talk to strangers.  And he taught me that it was okay to have strong opinions and disagree with people.  Yes, it was a minimum wage job, but not everything of value comes from a paycheck.

Sometimes the value comes in knowing that you are working for a decent man, who loves the country, and treats his employees like they matter.  A guy, who traveled a long way to work in Fairhaven, Massachusetts;   a man who then enjoyed his work almost as much as he enjoyed All things Considered on NPR radio every afternoon in the fall of 1988.

– cj cheetham

P.S.

William F. Buckley famously said “I’d rather entrust the government of the United States to the first 400 people listed in the Boston telephone directory than to the faculty of Harvard University.”

I’d always liked that quote – but it never really made sense to me until I compared the eminently decent Luis Motta with that cruel woman who drove a BMW.

Music: 52 songs for 52 weeks

52 Songs for 52 Weeks: Redemption Song by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros

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“Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, None but ourselves can free our minds”.

Week 51.

Joe strummer is an all-time favorite and is the former lead singer of the Clash.

The Clash were a favorite band of my younger days and remain so today.  They had a way of singing about important issues – but did it while having fun.

This song was actually originally recorded (and written by) the late great Bob Marley.  Marley recorded this after he had been diagnosed with cancer – and it is a sad reflective song, but it remains so uplifting and positive.

Strummer’s treatment here is incredible – and ironically this song was released after Strummer had died of a heart attack (too young at age 50 in 2002)

“Without people, you are nothing”

R.I.P. joe Strummer.  Thanks for filling my life with songs.

Won’t you help to sing
These songs of freedom
‘Cause all I’ve ever had is:
Redemption songs;

– cj cheetham

P.S.

No – I don’t have any idea why Steve Buscemi is in the tribute video.  Apprently he was a big fan.