Whatta Site

Recently Forbes listed the top 25 sites most visited annually in the United States.

Here is the list:

1. Times Square, 37.6 million
2. Las Vegas Strip, Nevada, 30 million
3. National Mall and Memorial Parks, Washington, 25 million
4. Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Boston, 20 million
5. Disney World's Magic Kingdom, Lake Buena Vista, Fla., 17.1 million
6. Disneyland Park, Anaheim, Calif., 14.9 million
7. Fisherman's wharf, Golden Gate National Park, San Francisco, 14.1 million
8. Niagara Falls, N.Y. 12 million
9. Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tenn., N.C., 9.04 million
10. Navy Pier, Chicago, 8.6 million
11. Lake Mead National Recreation Area, Ariz.-., 7.6 million
12. Universal Studios -- Islands of Adventure, Orlando, 6.2 million
13. Sea World Florida, Orlando, 5.8 million
14. Delaware Water Gap National, Penn. N.J., 5.13
15. San Antonio Riverwalk, Texas, 5.1 million
16.Temple Square, Salt Lake City, 5 million

17. Universal Studios, Hollywood 4.7 milion

18. Metropolitain Mueseum NY 4.7 million

19. Cape Cod National Seashore, Mass 4 million

20. Grand Canyon, AZ 4.43 million

21. Busch Gardens/Africa USA Tampa Bay 4.4 million

22. Seaworld, San Diego CA 4.26 million

23. Independence National Historical Park, Philadelphia Penn. 4 million

24. American Museum of National History, NY 4 million

25. Waikiki Beach, Oahu Hawaii,

I was impressed with this list because Jan and I have actually been to nine of these sites, or ten, if you count crossing over the Delaware Water Gap on our way to New York City.

Times Square in New York ranks first with 37.6 million. Times Square is not really square and it covers a much smaller area than I’d thought. That’s a lot of people to visit one area. I question this statistic though. How do they count and what to they consider being visitors? When we visited Times Square I saw no counters, no interviewers to ask where people came from. I’m guessing most of those visitors are included on December 31^st , who come to the square to watch the ball drop. I always wondered what the big deal about that was.

Now, a place like Disney World/Land can count accurately because admission is paid and you actually pass through a gate. National Parks can count the number of people in each car as they collect fees. But places like Fisherman’s Warf, Las Vegas strip, National Mall, or the San Antonio Riverwalk, their counts are suspect.

You’ll notice that Temple Square is listed as the 16^th most visited place in the United States. That’s pretty amazing considering there’s no parking around there. I’ve got a little marketing background and I have a few suggestions on how Temple Square can work its way up the list. Of course, the square needs to add a few things that draw vacationers from these other places.

In a flash of brilliance I’ve devised a plan that will achieve this goal:

Rides. Lots of rides.

Thrill rides like the Expire by Spire where riders are hauled on scaffolding up to the top of the highest spire on the temple. Then, in a moment of absolute screaming terror the ropes give way and the riders plummet to within feet of the ground. What makes it scarier is that there are no hand rails or seat belts.

Other rides to consider is to add a couple of rollercoaster’s that whip and whoosh over and around the flowered plaza. The Choir Flyer would be a trembling wooden roller coaster with cars resembling hand carts. I can also picture The Tabernacle Twister, a modern coaster that swoops from the top of the Hotel Utah, then down through the doors of the tabernacle, and spiraling cork screw turns that screams past the podium and over the organ pipes.

Conference Center to the Earth would take awe struck visitors on a mythical journey to the earth’s center to see where the lost ten tribes are located. A few flying saucers filled with lost tribe members would fill the sky as the tribes wait to make their triumphant return.

The Book of Mormon Cruise would load travelers on a Jaredite barge. The ship would take travelers through the desert with Lehi and his family. The animatronics would make these characters come to life as Lehi picks up the Liahona and as Lamuel and Laman pick on Nephi. Witness the beheading of Laban, then drift by savage Lamanites who jump up from the bushes brandishing their clubs and spears, terrorizing the startled passengers.

Temple Square needs to throw in some stunts, too. How about skate boarders dressed like pioneers rolling off the copper topped tabernacle?! Square guests would be struck with wonder as they witness covered wagons zipping off ramps and flying over campfires fueled by torched “meadow muffins."

Finally, the annual event that will attract more visitors than any other venue- July 23^rd. As the clock closes in on midnight ushering in Pioneer day, a gargantuan multi-lighted colored beehive would descend from the top of the Church Office Building, the crowd below cheering and shouting for a new day to remember who made all this possible. A forward thinking creative marketing genius that launched Temple Square to number 15 on the most visited attractions in the USA. Yeah, that’s right-me.

Things I Learned in Lincoln, Nebraska

It was late Thursday afternoon, the day prior to the beginning of a needed vacation. The boss stops at my desk and tells me a project must be done before I leave. In a passive aggressive fit I complained outloud after he had walked away. As the day ended for everyone else I was still working, feeling stressed and angry. Christy, my cubicle neighbor, stopped by on her way out the door.
"What are you still doing here?"
"I'm trying to do as much as I can. Then I'm going to just leave."
Then in a thoughtful moment I posed, "When I return I may not have a job. But, at least I’ve been to Lincoln, Nebraska!"
Yup. Coming to Nebraska is worth losing everything for, except my marriage. OK, I don't want to lose a few other things either, like kids, house, or the multiple boxes of cereal stored in the spare bedroom.
There are many things related to the state of Nebraska. One is corn. During our Nebraska tour the only corn I saw were iced kernels in the freezer. The corn fields just hadn’t produced yet. The other thing relating to Nebraska is Mutual of Omaha. I have fond memories of Marlin Perkins “Wild Kingdom,” sponsored by the giant insurance company. I always thought Mutual of Omaha was a weekly activity for teens at church. Never did figure out why Omaha's mutual was so special.
The third thing belonging to Nebraska is tornadoes. Ever since Dorothy and her house were sucked up from the Kansas wheat fields and landing her in the Nebraska city of Ozmaha we've become keenly aware of the power of these dirt twirlers.
So, without extending the suspense longer, here is my list of things I learned in Nebraska:
1) Flying still scares me.
2) Noah is a funny kid. In trying to talk, if we didn’t understand him, he begins to sign. Sometimes it was like playing a game of charades with the little guy. He loves to jump: from the couch, off the ottoman, leap from his turned over rocking horse, off the bottom stair step, from the dining room chair, out of the car (non-moving of course). I told Kevin and Nicole I hope they have great insurance because they're going to need it to help heal their little daredevil.
3) Noah also loves hats, especially his red cowboy headgear, that came with his musical rocking horse. It’s rare to see a toddler enjoy wearing the fedora.

4) Lincoln, Nebraska is a city of nearly 250,000. Way larger than expected.
5) Runza’s must be an acquired taste. A runza tastes like chopped spicy meatloaf in a pita pocket. I believe it’s only found in Nebraska. There are many Runza fast food restaurants through out the state. They also serve hamburgers but I’m sure these are just Runza patties. And, apparently spell check doesn’t recognize the word Runza. It must have tasted one.

6) Cornhuskers rule!!! They do in Lincoln anyway. Scary name though. Envision troops of guys in overalls threatening their foes by pulling the husks off of corn cobs. I know if I saw this terrifying sight I’d turn and run.
7) The University of Nebraska is famous for football. At some point during this upcoming fall season the stadium will have sold out for 300 consecutive games. Not bad for there being seats for only 359 fans. Sorry, Nebraskans. Just kidding. It’s actually a huge stadium that dominates the Lincoln skyline. Not hard to do when the other major buildings are Runza restaurants.
8) The “Husker” paraphernalia dominates everything. From grill covers to shovels, all sport the blazing red “N”. They’ve also created several interesting sayings lettered across t-shirts, sweat shirts, and foreheads. Some of these read: “Children of the Corn:” another T shows a tornado with these words on either side, “Come for the weather, stay for the ride!”
9) In a place where athletes on the football field rule I found it funny to come across another t shirt that read, “Nebraska Bowling.” Oh yes, the dreaded Cornhusker bowling team. I can see a future job interview that goes like this:
Interviewer: “I see you played for the University of Nebraska.”
Alumni: “Yep, I played in several bowl games.”
10) Omaha Beef. I see this advertised in magazines, TV, etc.Their beef is the best. Only problem is I never saw any cattle. Either the beef is imported from Wyoming or the herbivores are hiding in the corn fields.
11) Lincoln has a heap lot of parks. They're all over the place.
12) Tornadoes. Enough can’t be said about these Tasmanian twisters. Comfort levels dive as you disembark from a plane and see signs in the airport directing you to underground tornado shelters.
13) Local TV stations know how to keep viewers. Every local station has what seems to be a continuous crawl across the bottom of the screen warning of impending severe weather. The information gives the name of counties that may experience thunder storms that could produce tornadoes. No one dares change the channel to cable because one of those dirty whirlwinds might creep up on you. I was a little suspicious though when the counties they began to mention were located in Hawaii. This supports the old TV adage, “if there’s no news, make something up.”
14) Ask to see my pet tornado. No, it’s not as scandalous as it sounds. Seems like a great Christmas present for Christina.
15) As usual, we picked record heat days to be there. The humidity was 80-90%. Many use the “feels like a sauna” or “just stepped out of the shower” phrases to describe what high humidity feels like. My description is “heavy sweat.” Enough said.
16) Never leave a debit card at Olive Garden as an accidental tip for the waiter. Ask Jan about that one. She’ll be glad to tell you.
17) Kevin and Nicole make great fries and hamburgers that are thicker than a thousand sheets of copy paper. I needed to dislocate my jaw like a boa constrictor eating an elephant to get my mouth around it. Jaw’s still flapping.
18) Kevin and Nicole are courageous, hard working, loving parents.
19) Noah does cry over spilt milk.

20) Nicole and jars of applesauce repel each other.

And finally, Jan and I truly enjoyed our Nebraska vacation. Nicole was a great tour guide and we loved being around Noah. Since he’s communicating we get a feel of his personality. He’s going to be a charmer. So, “Nam” and “Gapa” love these kids and wish they were closer. But we understand, Lincoln is a great place to raise a family. So to all the overall clad cornhuskers we bid farewell with a famous Nebraskan slogan, “Grab your corn and get the heck outa here. A
tornado's comin’!”

We captured some fireflies on video.

Handcart treks were often difficult, and sometimes accidents occurred along the way.


(Actually, Noah got tired and tried to rest.)


For some must push, and some must pull...





And some just play around!

Dollar Daze

Hors d’oeuvres

Prior to climbing into my personal slumber zone Jan and I kneel and have prayer together. We feel that’s the glue to our marriage. I get tired in the evening. Past 8:00 pm and the brain, body and spirit have entered an alternate reality. My eyeballs begin to wobble in their sockets, my breathing becomes heavy, speech becomes slurred and, occasionally, a few of the words formed by my lips may trail off into a soulful mumble.
When I pray there are certain items that are always on the shopping list. One of those check-off items is health. I ask for the health for the two of us so we can accomplish what is needed. One evening I was particularly weary. We knelt beside the bed. Here’s what I said:
“…and please bless us with health.”
Jan was a little upset after the amen’s.
“You just asked Heavenly Father to bless us with hell?”
“I did not.” I replied defensively. “I asked for health.”
“You asked that we be blessed with hell. I heard it.”
“Why would I ask to be blessed with hell?” I queried.
“I don’t know, but you did.” Jan was getting a little feisty. “We have enough hell already. Why would we want more?”
I had no answer.

Dessert

I have been impressed with the creativity of the dates our children have gone on with their spouses. Actually, if you put me to it, I can’t remember any of them. But, I am impressed with the date that I took Jan on.
I created a little invitation or warning depending on how one feels about my “surprises.” The note was a little larger than a green back. The left side displayed an illustration of a hand holding dollar bills, fanned out like playing cards. Here’s how it read:
“Jan” (it’s not like there were anyone else around who would assume this note was for them.)
“Welcome to $One Dollar Friday!”
After that “wowzer” of a headline scanning eyes naturally drifted to the small type below; “Your husband will tell you what this is all about. Just be ready by 5:30 pm Friday for a really great time. Well, I think so anyway.”
I carefully carried my masterpiece and taped it to where I knew Jan would see it. No, not the screen on the computer monitor. But right smack, GPS guided, in the middle of the bathroom mirror. I stood back and admired my work. Snickering at my cunning design, I quietly left Jan sleeping as I left for work.
Throughout the morning I checked my watch every few minutes, waiting for the magical phone call acknowledging my cleverness. Returning from a meeting there was a call on my voice mail. It was from Jan. I grinned as I locked into the message.
“Greg, this is your wife. I’m going to Wal-Mart to look for some shirts. I’ll try to be back by the time you come home for lunch.”
Then silence…
There was no indication of excitement at finding my invitation. No gushing glee of a wife filled with anticipation. I thought she would at least acknowledge that there was a piece of paper taped to the mirror.
I called her cell.
“Did you see anything unusual taped to the mirror this morning?”
“Oh yes. The unusual thing is that you were actually asking me out on a date.”
“Well, did you want to go or do you need to wash your hair or something?”
“I’m not sure what this is.”
“This will be guaranteed fun!”
Date time came. I came home around 5:15, changed my clothes then escorted Jan out to the coach. I asked her if she had any idea what was going on.
“I see two envelopes, is one for me?”
“Ahh, you don’t really see this yet.”
Earlier that day I had gone to the bank to deposit the expense check I had received. I asked that the $20 cash back be all in ones. The clerk replied, “You must have something planned, like a One Dollar Friday”
Wait! I thought I originated the idea. I was crushed. I should have patented this imaginative icon of dating dynamics.
Before we left I placed ten dollar bills in each envelope, writing our name on each.
The idea for this romantic rendezvous was to first get dinner from fast food dollar menus. I reviewed menus on line. I knew Jan would not eat anything on the discounted menu except from KFC. I parked behind the fried chicken coop and brought out the envelopes. As I handed one to Jan I told her that the idea was to use a little as possible in buying dinner off the dollar menu. As I mentioned, she couldn’t find anything worthwhile on the cheap menu so she spent $6.00 on a chicken breast meal. That left her only $4. I sacrificed my life and bought two chicken snackers along with a pair of apple turnovers. I spent $3.
After downing the pieces of fried fowl I drove to our next destination, The Dollar Store. I instructed Jan that with the money left we were to go into the store and buy items for one another. It could be anything.
The problem she had created with her dinner was that she only had $4 to spend on me. Being more frugal and caring, along with knowing the plan, I had $7. Realizing I was going to be on the losing end of present receptivity I gave her one extra dollar to even things out. I realize the math doesn’t quite add up but that’s OK.
Entering the store I picked up a shopping basket and gave it to Jan. We parted company as we embarked on this mini spree.
I quickly went to the candy aisle and plucked a bag of chocolate turtles from the shelf. I next wandered to the cosmetics row and placed a roll of cotton pads in the basket. I then found a book light that I thought was really cool if it worked. Shuffling to another aisle I picked up a spring green colored tote bag.
Lurking around the store like a spy following a foreign secret agent I was cautious to stay out of Jan’s sight. Turning down one aisle Jan suddenly appeared. Hiding my basket behind my back I jokingly acted like I was trying to peek into her basket to see what treasures she had snooped out for me.
“Here it is.” She unabashedly said while showing me her cavernously empty basket. “I don’t have anything yet. I don’t know what to buy.”
I closed my eyes and grimaced.
“Just think of things I might like” I instructed. “I can’t give you any hints. That destroys the whole purpose of this exercise. “
We parted company again.
Earlier that day Jan became frustrated because she couldn’t find a pen by the phone that worked. Going on that hunch I strolled over to the stationary section of the store. There I found what I believed were the ideal pens, The Executive Series Ball Point retractable pen set. The added bargain bonus was that there were three pens in the package.
I raced to the cashier, forked over my five dollars, and then ran to the car to hide the bag in the trunk. I went back into the store to find Jan finally at the check out counter.
Following our Dollar Store splurge we stopped at Redbox for a one dollar movie. But, before the movie we gave each other our bags. I was as excited as a kid anticipating the contents of his Christmas stocking. Jan went first. She pulled out the chocolate,
“I’m trying to cut back on sweets”
She pulled out the tote bag- “Oh this is nice.”
Then came the book light. “This is nice too, if it works”
Reaching in again she grabbed the cotton pads, “I already have a lot of these.”
Finally out came the Executive Series Retractable Ball Point Pens. She smiled widely. I thought at least one of my purchases passed the test of acceptance.
My turn was next. I plunged into the bag and lifted a small first aid kit. The next item was a fuzzy golden towel that promised it could be used a thousand times without unraveling.
“I tried to get things that were practical,” Jan explained.
I simultaneously yanked out a seven day pill box and a canister of Barbasol shaving cream. However, it was the last item that was most surprising. Out of the thousands of one dollar novelties stocked in the store Jan and I had given each other … the exact same Executive Series Ball Point Retractable Pens.
And that is why we have been married for 32 years, or is it 33?

My Tie

I’ve always wondered how wearing a tie is supposed to enhance male formal attire. Ties are the most purchased gift for Fathers Day. Fashion has caused ties to vary in width, pattern, designs and even how to knot the accessory. Bow ties and bolero string ties have never caught on with the masses. Both are considered nerdy. Is there such a thing as a nerdy cowboy? Just put a bolero tie with a belt buckle slide around the neck and you have a cockamamie cowboy who thinks shoe laces laced beneath his collar is fashionable.
I’ve worn these chokers for close to thirty years six days a week. Sometimes even seven.
Despite my disgust for the tradition I feel naked without a tie. Ties are my comfort cloth.
Ties should also come with warnings. Such as not closing the car door on your tie. Yup, I’ve done that. Luckily I was already in the car. A coworker once tried to live dangerously and dangled his neck wear too close to the shredder. He sang praises for a close by pair of scissors.
The alarm went off one morning, I rose from the bed and did the usual get ready for work routine. It was the first day of Jan’s summer vacation from working at school and she was sleeping in. I moseyed through the hour or so prior to leaving. Brushed the hair, the teeth and the pants, then strutted to the car. This was going to be a great day.
All the traffic lights turned green and small doves fluttered around the car as I drove to work on smooth city streets. The other vehicles pulled to the side to clear my way. I soon realized that one of those green lights was actually red and the dove feathers were flying everywhere because the dang birds didn’t get out of my way fast enough. It is true the other vehicles pulled over as I drove close to them but that was because the Medford Police car with lights pulsating was chasing me as I had streaked through that red light. That’s not entirely true; in fact I made all that up, especially the part about smooth city streets.
Routine equals security for me and everything that morning was orderly and tight. I pulled into my parking space beneath the tree that, depending on the season, rained leaves, pollen or sap on the car.
I caught up with a few of the co-workers who were heading toward the building. I engaged them in small talk, even opening the door for them. Once in I went through my opening work pattern of checking email, faxes, phone messages etc…
All was normal, sane and peaceful.
After an hour on the job I gathered up a few newspapers to take to a client. Bending over to pick up the papers I noticed something…blue shirt. Yes, blue shirt. That was all. No streak of maroon, no pallet of blues and greens, no strip of browns swaying in front of my blue shirt.
I grasped my neck like a man signaling to a crowded restaurant that he was choking on a pork chop bone. Fumbling frantic fingers searched the inside of my shirt collar, and then hurried down the now revealed buttons. My fears were confirmed. I had forgotten to put the tie on.
Instead of panic, I laughed. Not just a little chuckle or giggle. This was a loud boisterous convulsed whoop. Curious heads popped up from their cubicles reminding me of a life-sized “Whack-A-Mole” arcade game.
I don’t know why I thought this was so funny. Perhaps it was because in thirty years the tie had never forgotten to wrap around my neck. Maybe it was due to the fact no one, even my manager, seemed to notice I was tie deficient. However, I think this glorious outbreak was because I was now free, free from the ties that bind. I could now inhale the sweet smell of donuts wafting in the morning air. I could eat the donuts freely without fear the exquisite morsels would get stuck in my throat, and I could move my neck from side to side to snap at the donuts that appeared peripherally within my grasp. Actually, Jan won’t let me eat donuts but I can dream!
When my guffaw quieted I retuned to my desk, snatched my keys, headed out the door and drove away, shirt collar open, flapping in the breeze, to live happily ever after…
Sounds good but I just went home, put on a tie then returned to work.

Wrestle Mania

I don’t remember how we arrived to this part of the conversation but I mentioned to Jan that one of my best friends when I was little was named Scotty. “Scotty the Body?” she quipped.
“Where did you get that?”
“That’s what Ryan Seacrest called Scott McIntyre on American Idol.”
“No” I explained, “ His name was Scotty, but he didn’t have much of a body. He was just a little kid. I think Scotty the Body is a wrestler. Anyway, it sounds like the name of a wrestler.”
We then popped off several not very original wrestler names that would rhyme with Scotty. Such as Scotty the Haughty, Scotty the Naughty, Scotty the Gaudy, and, here’s the nine year old coming out, Scotty the Pottie.
After this deep cerebral conversation I began to think about the professional wrestlers I grew up with.
In thought progression most of our thoughts are linked one to another but, the end of the chain of thought can be very different from the beginning. To complicate things many of my links have rusted through, causing my thoughts to often jump randomly without restraint or logic.
Oh yeah, where was I?
So I began to recollect my younger days sitting around watching professional wrestling on the black and white Saturday afternoons. These matches were carried on local TV stations with most events originating from the Cow Palace in San Francisco. The wrestlers back then weren’t the steroid pumped cartoon characters of today. Some seemed to be a little on the pudgy side. However, these were real men with names like Pat Patterson, Ray Stevens, Pepper Gomez, Rocky Johnson and the heroic Italian Kenji Shibuya.
I’d watch intently as these warriors of the ring applied choke holds, threw opponents into the ropes, and, jumping from the top of the ring corners, fly through the smoky air onto their prostrate foes, forcing elbow, or knees to the midsection like a pneumatic hammer. There’d be stomps and plops, slaps and chops, pokes and jokes. There really weren’t any jokes. Mayhem is not funny.
In wrestling you always knew who the good and bad guys were. Pepper Gomez was a good guy. Ray Stevens was evil. Stevens talked in a raspy voice that sounded like he’d been chopped a few to many times in the chords. He referred to everyone as “pencil necks”, which I’m sure didn’t make a very good impression with the ladies. When he got the three count on the good guy it was usually because of an illegal hold, hit or slam the referees conveniently ignored. Oh, how I hated him.
The trouble with wrestlers is that they often trade off from being on the dark side to seeing the light. I heard that even Ray Stevens eventually began wearing the white trunks of goodness. I doubted that his conversion was sincere.
The name of a wrestler adds to their mystique. It characterizes the grappler’s persona and encapsulates who they are as fighters. The list that follows are real names of real wrestlers who really are fake but their names are not. Follow me?
There are the powerful names that evoke fear, such as: The Rock, Ultimate Warrior, Samoan Savage, Vampire Warrior, Killer Kowalski.
Then there are names of disasters, weather, earth and beyond like: Gold Dust, Road Dog, Cactus Jack, Earthquake, Shark-Typhoon, Avalanche, Saturn,
Man –Mountain- Rock, Thunder, and Lightning.
Some are named after cities and areas where wrestlers learn their craft through hard lives on the streets. Men such as Bobo Brazil, Vegas Connection, Belfast Brawler and the Flying Dutchman.
Some names are creatively mind boggling, confusing opponents with their wits. Names such as: Isaac Yankem DDS, Adam Bomb, Koko B. Ware, Bastion Booger, Cheetah Kid, Justin Credible, Dusty Roads, and Sparky Plug.
Then there are the just plain odd names who cause heads to itch and jaws to drop like Gangrel, Christmas Creature, PM News, Mini Mankind, Dude Love, The Soup Eater, The Fig Wasp, Balsamic Vinegar, The Shlub, The Keokuk Optometrist, The Tattle Tale, along with separate wrestlers who sound like they’re from a Disney movie: Doink, Dink, Wink, Queezy, Seezy and Cheezy.
There’s also a group of elite wrestlers whose names evoke thoughts that even I could slam them through the canvas mat and grind them into the concrete below. Sissy names that make you wonder what they’d been drinking when they registered their name with wrestling federations. Factual names such as The Really Tiny Mouth, Kimono Boy, Tickles, The Whispering Mime, Phineas Godwinn, The Flying Nun, Diabetes, The Pediatrician, The Old Coward, The Narcoleptic, The Impressionist, The Phonics Expert, Hospice Boy and The Poet Laureate.
Finally, for Christina, there is even a wrestler named…Smarty Pants.
One can understand the need for the alias. Real names don’t convey the message wrestlers want to send their ring foes. For example; Jake the Snake is actually Aureliao Smith. Killer Karl Drupp’s name is really George Momberg. Christian Pallies is that nemesis King Kong Bundy. The Mongolian Mauler? Real name is Peter Miller. I doubt he was even Mongolian. That feared wrestler of my early day Pat Patterson? The name given him by his parents was Pierre Clemant. Then there’s the vicious, high flying wonder name Sunshine with a not too tough name of Victoria Fenners. So what if Sunshine is a girl. Finally there’s the famous Tatsumi Fujinami who pummeled adversaries senseless. His given name is… Tatsumi Fujinami.
Wrestling names aren’t just for wrestlers. Here’s an opportunity for each person to create a name that is instantly identifiable as you, to describe your fierceness in a fight, that causes adversaries to cower into dark corners of sullen madness.
Here are instructions, according to a web site, for creating a mighty warrior name.
1) For your first name use the third letter of your last name. Since my last name is Smith the letter I will use is i.
2) For last name use the second letter of your first name. Make a verb into a noun, such as Abolisher rather than Abolish. With a first name of Greg I will use the letter r.
3) Review to make sure no other wrestlers have the same name. Make it unique, powerful, and expressive.
I looked through the dictionary for incredible identities included in “I”. Some of these are Ice Man, Ideal, Inca, and Infallible.
For the second name I searched for those powerful verbs turned nouns beginning with “r”. Like Relative, Rocker, and Rattler.
Putting these together I come up with: The Infallible Rabbi, The Incan Rassle-Dazzler, The Ivory Rhino, The Indian Reaper, The Imbecilic Roughneck and The Immaculate Rainbow.
However, despite the instructions, I’ve selected only one name that describes my powerful, brawny intensity. The wrestling name that I lay claim to is…
“The Incinerator”. Are you all quivering yet?

Senior Moments

Previously on Michael Park Bark: The lack of actual anniversary celebrations has eluded Jan and I. This year afforded us another unique opportunity to reflect on our 32 years of marriage.
My father recently turned 90 and all of his children were there to show their love for him. Because of the expense of the trip Jan and I decided that this trip would need to suffice for anniversary activities.
So we packed up our “newer” car, the one with 120,000 miles on it, and drove the 375 miles to Castro Valley, California. Dad lives in a retirement community, Baywood Court, where I believe residents need to be at least 70 years old in order to inhabit one of their bungalows. It’s been a great place for him. He’s built social networks, the food and dining room atmosphere are restaurant quality, and a maid comes in to make your bed, clean up your bathroom and leave fresh towels. I’ve asked Jan for the same type of service. The eye roll let me know where this would lead. So now I make the bed, clean the bathrooms and leave fresh towels for Jan to enjoy.
Baywood Court has a guest room that is cheaper to stay in than one of the hotels. Our last visit we stayed at a nearby hotel but for the money paid all we got were noisy drug dealers, screeching cars and the smell of garlic and curry. No, it wasn’t me.
So, we decided to again enjoy the confines of the guest room. Approaching the double front doors to Baywood I was tempted to press the button that automatically swings the doors wide so wheelchaired seniors could roll in. Or rather these days with battery powered chariots, drive in.
The first thing I noticed as we entered the lobby was a row of upholstered chairs where several women were sitting, watching people come and go through the front doors. It was disheartening to think these women were probably waiting for a loved one, who would never come, to whisk them away from this place and return them to their homes. I imagined that this comprised their whole empty lives; sitting, waiting, watching.

Walking by I gently placed my hand on the shoulder of one of the women and compassionately asked why they sat, and waited. She turned her wrinkled face and without a smile replied, “We’re waiting for Harold to come back from shopping. He’s so hunky, we just like to look at him.”
After checking in at the front desk we pressed the elevator button and waited for our ride to the third floor. I noticed all the residents wore name tags, complete with the Baywood logo, pinned to their shirts or blouses, or pajamas, or tank tops. Those from the outside world who choose to tarry awhile with loved ones were also asked to wear a name tag that identified them as visitors.
When the elevator doors opened a gentleman already in the elevator glanced at our tags and spritely welcomed us, “Hello visitors.”
I looked at his name tag and smartly said, “Good morning Jim.”
Jim twisted his shirt so he could see his tag then replied, “No, my name is Baywood.”
Later I was told that Jim, also known as Baywood, rode the elevator for most of the day.
The following is meant as a guide to living with old people. Hopefully we all will be old people someday.
Never try to pass two women with walkers side by side in a narrow hall. Some were in roller derby.
Don’t play pool with a hunched over gentleman named Sammy the Shark.
Stay away from the swimming pool during swimming time.
Don’t mistakenly leave the treadmill on high in the gym.
Never say, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” if you trip over the chair and tumble to the floor.
Don’t think that every light in the place can be turned on by clapping.
Don’t try to break up a verbal battle between men arguing over who has had more surgeries, whose scars are longer or who can remember what they were arguing about in the first place.
If you eat a meal there be prepared to add your own sugar, salt and other spices.
Never jokingly try to take someone’s walker for a spin. They tackle hard.
Remember to always repeat yourself because whoever you’re talking to didn’t hear it the first time.
You can learn about people’s TV viewing habits by walking down the hall. Their TV’s are cranked up like CD listening teenagers in a convertible.
Never complain about odd smells.
Never, no matter how clever you think you are, tape the word “final” next to an exit sign.
Finally, here’s a list of words and terms that should never be used in a sentence at Baywood Court: Remember, older folks usually only hear part of your sentence.
“His license has expired.”
“She passed on having a second helping of dessert”
“Oh, she just went to the other side of the building”
“What! My credit card has been terminated?”
“The losing water polo team made a last gasp effort to score.”
“I’m on my last leg. I need to make an appointment to get another one.”
Lastly, take time to listen. That’s how you learn about admirals of navy’s, symphony violinists, doctors who have healed, trumpeters in famous big bands, and even about a great man who won the Idaho state championship in baton twirling.

Happy Anniversary

This past week Jan and I celebrated our 32nd wedding anniversary. For the most part this celebration was pretty low-key. Part of that has to do with the time of year we chose to marry. If we could have seen the future we would have changed the April 23rd date to at least into May or June.
Many of our anniversaries have been spent picking up one or more of our kids from BYU in Provo or BYU-Idaho, (formally known as Rick’s College). We’d drive all day, haul out stuff from their apartments and jam it into the car, then help clean their apartment so they could leave. Then, after a one day stay we’d take the 13 hour trip back home.
Some anniversary.
The worst anniversary we had was attending my mother’s funeral. No celebrating there.
So, this year I took Jan out to one of our favorite restaurants, Roadhouse Grill. A few weeks ago I had won a contest at work and received a $100 gift certificate to a restaurant of my choice. So I chose Roadhouse. Pretty nice, didn’t have to pay anything for the major date of the year.
Sometimes we’ll go and see a romantic movie like “The Fast and the Furious.” We really didn’t see that movie but I thought the title is fairly descriptive of many marriages...certainly not ours.
In fact, I was scanning a list of movie titles and discovered that there is secret meaning found in many. No, not the kind that gives clues on where to find historical artifacts that lead to treasure, but clues about successful marriage and family relationships. So, here’s a list of some movie titles that will help all of us be stronger in our commitments. I originally had commented at length about each of these but my editor thought I was too deep and filled with words no one would understand. Instead I’ve shortened each with a few descriptive words. Although this advice is aimed toward husbands, wife’s can flip these to apply to them. Disclaimer to wife’s: Don’t give this list to your husband with the intention of holding him hostage. Be gentle.
Here they are in a very random order:
12 Monkeys: Kids
Altered States: Go nuts whenever you see your wife
American Beauty: Need to tell her she’ beautiful no matter her nationality.
As Good as it Gets : And it can get great.
At First Sight: See her beauty even with no make-up.
A Beautiful Mind: Give her praise for her smarts.
Chicken Run: What to do when there’s an argument. Well, that’s what I do anyway.
A Civil Action: Treat her with respect
Chocolat : The peace offering
Eyes Wide Shut: Don’t see anything that she does that drives you crazy.
Fried Green Tomato’s: Never complain about a meal she’ cooked.
Girl, Interrupted: Let her finish her stories.
Heavyweights: Never, Ever go there.
Ice Age: What you’ll get if you go there (see Heavyweights)
The Music Man: A good serenade will make her swoon, even if you’ve made up the words.
The Never Ending Story: Cut your stories short and to the point
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: Wives love crazy, spontaneous moments.
Pay It Forward: Stay out of debt.
The Relic: What she’ll refer to you as to her friends if you don’t get off the couch and do something.
Schindler’s List: Never make a list of what you would like to change about her.
The Searchers: Don’t throw out anything until she’s had a chance to decide if it’s a keeper.
The Sixth Sense: Be careful because she knows more than she lets on.
The Usual Suspects: Never blame her for anything.
A Walk in the Clouds: Take her on dates no matter how long you’ve been married.
What Dreams May Come: What happens when you do all the above.