I'm Addicted!

With my back troubles, swimming has become my main source of exercise. Naively, I thought that all I'd need to practice this sport was a swimsuit (and that only because of modesty!). Wrong! There is nothing more addicting than swimming paraphernalia. Let me tell you my sad story. 

I quickly realized that goggles were a must, unless I wanted to bang into the walls. So I headed to the local swimming paraphernalia dealers in the area, the seemingly good folk at the Swim Depot. Now, you'd think purchasing a set of goggles would solve my vision issues. Wrong, again! There's the annoying issue of fog. Any swimmer worth his chlorine will work up enough heat to fog up the inside of his or her goggles and then you're banging into walls again. Some swear by spit, but my saliva seems to have limited de-fogging capabilities. So, purchase number two, at the Swim Depot, was a little bottle of de-fogger drops. 

Then, after experiencing plugged ears for several hours after each swim session, I quickly acquired a set of earplugs - the Swim Depot conveniently had several styles to choose from. Now you'd think I'd be set after this, but that's just the nature of addiction. Like many bad habits, it starts with peer pressure. 

I saw other swimmers. These superior athletes seemed to slice through the water like sharks, and they had weird things attached to their bodies. After a few judicious questions, I found out that one thing they had were hand-paddles attached with rubber tubing. These paddles come in all kinds of styles and colors but they all supposedly increase resistance (giving you a better work out) and help encourage better technique. Well, I thought such things were too wonderful for me, so I just watched them jealously for a while until . . . I found some paddles stuck in the drain under the edge of the pool! They just needed new rubber tubing. I couldn't resist trying them out. I later learned that the paddles I found were really ideal for women but what did I care! I was now one of the elites (or at least looked like them). You might notice that this was the only item, so far, for which Swim Depot was not the supplier, although I suspect they may planted them there - a free sample, so to speak.

Like with drugs, you start with something simple and you move to the harder stuff. I now had paddles. These isolate the arms, so most swimmers don't use their legs when they use the paddles. Do you just drag your legs awkwardly through the water? No, you have to get a buoy. A buoy is a piece of foam that you hold between your legs and it keeps your lower body afloat while your paddled arms churn away. Back at the Swim Depot, I found myself shelling out more money for a buoy that was just right for my rather hefty frame. 

So far, I was a regular user of a swimsuit, goggles (with de-fogger), earplugs, hand-paddles, and a (leg) buoy. That was just the beginning. 

If you start using paddles, it's almost impossible to resist the fins. These, of course, do for your legs what the paddles do for your arms. Once again back at the Swim Depot, I checked out a set of fins that were so scientifically sophisticated, I think they had college degrees. I bought them. I couldn't help it, of course. Fins are great fun, too. You can really power through the water. I think I was creating major white water for the poor folk swimming on either side of me! 

Here's my problem. I want to improve as a swimmer. This is fatal if you are trying to kick the swim paraphernalia habit. With the swim snorkel, resistance was futile. 

I remember the first time I saw one. It was like seeing a mythical beast. I had to rub my eyes. In the lane next to me was a man wearing one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. Yes, it looked a little like a great horn, but it rose up seemingly from the middle of his forehead, and arched up and over his head. The amazing thing about this device is that you don't have to do side breathing. It allows you to stare, fixedly, at the bottom of the pool, breathing freely. Like certain addicts, I was soon on the Internet checking things out in the privacy of my own home. I learned that the swim snorkel allows you to focus on the purity of your stroke technique. I couldn't resist, because if there's one thing I now wanted, it was purity. Back to the Swim Depot I went. They were glad to see me, as always. With the swim snorkel, we're talking real money. When you're addicted, you don't think about the money. You just need the fix, and what I craved was breathing freedom.

I can rarely buy just one thing. I forgot to mention that that most people also need a nose plug to go along with the swimming snorkel otherwise you tend to suck water up your nostrils. Thankfully, the Swim Depot has these as well. They are very accommodating. 

To cap it all off, I had to get a cap. There are two reasons for this. First, when I swim, I seemingly have 10 pounds of swim equipment strapped tightly to my head and the cap provides a thin layer of cushioning. And, my increasingly bald head needs protection from the frequent Southern California sunshine, so the cap is helpful there too. Drug dealers often try to hang out near schools to get kids started on these vile habits. In the case of the cap, I found the Swim Depot had set up a convenient booth right outside the pool where I usually swim. (I think there was a big meet that weekend). I felt compelled to buy a cap. I had a choice between the cheaper cap or the better quality, long-lasting one. By now, I was fully addicted and nothing but the best would do. Swim Depot, once again, was benefiting from my lack of self-control. 

Let's count: 1. Swimsuit, 2. goggles (with de-fogger bottle), 3.  two earplugs, 4.  two hand-paddles, with tubing, 5. leg buoy, 6.  two fins, 7. swim snorkel, 8. nose plug, 9. swim cap. If I am counting correctly, I could potentially wear 12 pieces of individual equipment in the water, if I wore every little bit. 

That's just when I'm in the water. But there's more stuff I don't even use in the water. My swimming sessions would be intolerable without the following: a water bottle, my timing watch, my large Nike swim bag (a gift from my wife, so she's co-dependent), my net-bag for wet items, my extra tubing (in case the ones in my hand-paddles break), sun lotion, a padlock for my locker, my flip-flops, and the various toiletry items, towels (a super shammy, no less), and the clothes I need for showering and changing afterwards. I even have back-up goggles and swimsuit in case something happens to my usual ones. 

All I wanted, at the beginning, was an effective way to exercise. Little did I know I was being drawn, inexorably, to a full-blown swim paraphernalia addiction. It has cost me time. It has cost me money. It has cost me much of my dignity (see above). And, can you believe it, Swim Depot has denied all wrong doing. 

$2.78 worth of Joy

It doesn't take much to make me happy. One of my favorite rituals is going to Costco for lunch. Certainly, getting a pizza slice and soda for only $2.78 is a great deal, but there's much more to it than that. For this simple soul, there is something much more sublime about my weekly pilgrimage to that 'Hallowed Warehouse'. (Here, I am pictured happily purchasing my economical lunch. If you had a powerful magnifying glass you could indeed verify the negligible cost of my magnificent meal).


First of all, there's that feeling of privilege as you flash your membership card at the door. While it is true that just about anyone can pay the nominal fee for a membership, it still feels rather important and exclusive. "Well, at least we don't let any of those 'Smart & Final' losers in here!" I think, as I cruise past the featured items near the door.


Next, there is dining, chez Costco. There are two (very successful) eating establishments that have very limited menus in the Southland. The first is In-N-Out, and the other is Costco. Of course, it used to be only hot dogs (or polish dogs) but lately the diversity has positively gotten out of control with the addition of pizza, salads, deserts, turkey wraps, and even the mysterious Chicken Bake. As you can see, I'm a solid pizza and soda guy. The slices are huge and I favor the combo toppings. Despite that, one slice is not-quite-enough for my robust metabolism. But that's OK. You see, at Costco, the meal has only just begun when the pizza is done! I head out into the bowels of the warehouse where the famous Costco samples await. Each week, I enjoy a new culinary adventure. Who knows what goodies will complete my meal?


I have learned that I should start at the back of the store and work my way forward. This way, I can nearly simulate a typical 4 course meal. The back often features meat samples such as pot roast, sausage, or baked salmon. Yum! As I work my way forward I eagerly cruise past the frozen section where various prepared foods are my second sample course: ravioli, mini-pizza bites, teriyaki bowl, for example. The next section features somewhat pedestrian items such as yogurt, flavored rice, or soup. I try a few of these but I'm really looking forward to the section near the registers. There wonderful cookies, chocolates, or chopped up energy bars await. Sometimes, I even dine on nuts, gummy bears, or fruit-roll-up samples. It's the perfect way to finish off the feast. Life is like Costco samples; you never know what you're gonna get.


Not only is my weekly trip appetizing, but it's also good fun. Unfortunately, some of my fun comes at the expense of the earnest sample people. I am not sure what labor pool the samplers are drawn from but, at the very least, they are not culinary experts. Still, they are given a list of the important attributes of their particular food product which they are instructed to triumphantly declare to you as you pass by: "All Sugar-free, an eez in 3 flavors!", "Only 11.3 ounces for $4.75!", or "Dis chicken eez made from de all natural products!" It's never quite right. (On the left, I interact with this gentleman about the various merits of his cookies). Since they seem like experts, I'll often, for my own amusement, press them for further information, "Ah! These Belgian chocolates are excellent!" I'll say, "Do you prefer them to the French?" The honest ones say "I do not know, but zay are reelly good!". And, indeed, they are and I end up buying a package or two of them. I have this funny feeling that there's a good chance my "free" lunch often translates to increased sales for Costco. So, who is really having their lunch eaten?


I look forward to my time at Costco each week. I'm not the only one. There is a fraternal bond for those who know the 'secret' of Costco. We sit smiling knowingly at one another. There's a mystery to it. Why, for example, in this indoor environment, are there Hebrew National umbrellas over the tables? The conversation is casual and lighthearted but deep down we know that we are sharing something very special . . . and all for only $2.78! Are you missing out on joy?

Philology 101

I love words. That's why I enjoy my Word Origin Calendar so much. Each day of the week I learn the origin of a particular word or phrase. I'd like to share some of my favorites with you. 

glamour (or glamor): Did you know that it comes from the word grammar? Few people in Scotland and England could read or write in the Middle Ages. Those who could were considered magical. A local dialect transformed the pronunciation  of "grammar" to "glamour". So, someone who was glamourous could use grammar. Today, it still has that sense of magic. Those who are glamourous have an "enchanting beauty." Well, I do think it's beautiful when someone uses words well!

O.K.: There is quite a lot of disagreement on this one. The most reliable explanation is that it came from President Martin Van Buren. His nickname was "Old Kinderhook" after his home town of Kinderhook, New York. Some suggest that when he approved documents, he would use the initials of his nickname, so they would literally get his "O.K.". Another report discounts this and suggests that it comes from the OK Club which was formed to get Van Buren re-elected in 1840. They were not successful in that endeavor but they were successful in popularizing the  expression "O.K." and it is used today, not only in English, but all over the world. 

dandelion: Who's scared of a dandelion? The word comes from the French for Lion's Teeth or dent-de-lion which describes the jagged leaves of this unpretentious plant. 

Velcro: How did we ever live without Velcro? In 1948, Swiss chemist George de Mestral used a microscope to examine some cockleburs that caught on his socks during a hike. He noticed that the burs contained hundreds of tiny, hairlike hooks that grasped his clothing. He was inspired to invent a synthetic fabric he first called "locking tape." He patented it in 1955 as "Velcro", a blend of "velvet" and "crochet." In French, "crochet" mean "little hook." It's an invention that has stuck with us to this day.

geek: If you call someone a "geek", is that a compliment, an insult, or a bit of both? Carnival workers used to describe a "geek" as someone who performed bizarre or memorable acts such as sticking needles through their cheeks or biting the heads off chickens. Of course, the meaning of this word has mutated over the years to now mean someone who understands the seemingly bizarre world of computers. So the next time your computer isn't working don't be surprised if a young "geek" shows up, complete with some kind of face piercing and munching on a chicken sandwich - no doubt an unconscious ode to "geeks" of old. 

weird: From the Old Norse, "weird" meant "fate." Since the twistings of fate can often be unpredictable and surprising, the word took on the meaning of "strange, and not pleasantly so." That's weird!

hideous: The medieval English word hideous meant not ugly, but rather extremely terrifying. You might notice that the word hideous has the word "hide" in it. In the past, I guess great big beasts with hides were pretty terrifying. Of course, the word "hide" can refer to anything that conceals or covers (including the great bristling fur of a wild animal). Other words such as husk, huddle, hut or house, and even husband (from the Old Norse for someone who dwells in a house (hus (house) + bondi (dwell)), which all have that sense of covering or protection. I know I'm going on and on here but . . . C.S. Lewis wrote a book called "That Hideous Strength" very much using that older sense of terrifying. It's the third book in his science fiction trilogy. The protagonist is Dr. Ransom, who is, of all things, a Philologist, someone who studies language or literally someone who loves words (from the Greek, philos (love) + logos (word)). Who knew that such an ugly word had such an interesting origin?

Audi: From the Latin, audi means "listen." Audio means "I hear." August Horch was the founder of a car company in Germany in 1899. Horch, which is similar to the English word "hark", means "listen" in German. He was forced to resign from his original company and started a new one in 1909. Of course, he named this new company after himself but used the Latin form, Audi, instead. We had an Audi growing up. It was quite a noisy car, as I remember, one that forced you to listen to it, whether you liked it or not!

Duncan Parlett: Duncan is a Celtic name meaning "Brown Warrior." (Some farm people will recognize a dun mare as a brown female horse). Parlett is a little more obscure. It seems pretty obvious that it shares the same root as Parler, the French verb meaning to talk or speak. So, I guess I was destined to fight a battle of words. Thanks for joining the cause!

What do you think of Fritz Haber?

Fritz Haber changed our world. Does that surprise you? I'd never heard of Mr. Haber before, but he invented a process that many consider to be one of the greatest contributions to our modern world. He even won a Nobel Prize for it in 1918. He was the first to produce synthetic nitrogen. Big deal, you say? Yes, indeed! You see, synthetic nitrogen is the key to artificial fertilizers. Previously, farm animals were the only reliable source of natural fertilizer and that helped only so much. After Fritz, far more powerful fertilizer could be produced in abundance. It revolutionized agriculture. Food production skyrocketed allowing a huge swell in the world population. In fact, Mr. Vaclav Smil, in his book, Enriching the Earth, suggests that 2 out of 5 people on earth owe their existence to Mr. Haber. Well, I, for one, am grateful!

But before your new admiration for Mr. Haber goes too far, I think you should know the rest of the story. During World War I, Haber - he's a chemist, remember - worked enthusiastically to develop deadly chlorine gas for use in trench warfare and personally supervised it's first use. He was decorated and given the rank of Captain by the Kaiser. Not bad for a scientist! His wife, Clara, was also a chemist yet opposed his chemical warfare work. Suspiciously, she committed suicide following his involvement in using chlorine gas in the Battle of Ypres in 1915. His lab also developed Zyclon B, the deadly gas that the Nazis later used to kill thousands of Jews. Ironically, Haber was Jewish and, despite converting to Christianity, he was hounded out of Germany in 1933 because of his background. (Those ungrateful Nazis!) He bounced around a bit after that and died in 1934, in Basel, Switzerland.

So, what do you think of Fritz Haber now?

Man is a curious creature. He is capable of soaring deeds of greatness and despicable acts of evil. This is why it is so vital that gifted people have a conscious. Even the legacy of our modest lives ultimately depends on the orientation of our hearts, don't you think?

The Ultimate Gift

This was going to be a teachable moment. I just knew it.

I had the cute idea of taking my teenage daughter to see The Ultimate Gift. The Ultimate Gift is a wonderful movie that tells the story of a wayward young man of privilege who gets an unusual provision in his billionaire grandfather's will. It stars former Rockford Files star James Garner as the deceased grandfather and handsome Drew Fuller as the shallow young playboy. According to the will, the grandson must pass a series of "tests" to earn the mysterious "Ultimate Gift." Each test serves to develop a different virtue in his life such as the "Gift of Work," the "Gift of Friendship," the "Gift of Laughter," and so on. At first the young man chaffs under the rigors of each test but he does it to earn what he assumes is a generous gift of money. In fact, the tests end up changing him from the inside out, developing his character. I won't ruin the story but let's just say that a large part of the Ultimate Gift is what he gains in the process. It's a wonderful story that encourages hard work, loyalty, generosity, perseverance, character, friendship, learning, the joy of living, and much more. It's a refreshingly different message in an age of image, shallowness and materialism. It was just the thing to spur those wonderful father/daughter moments where we talk about the deep things of life and values, when dreams are transmitted from one generation to another.

I breathed steadily as we headed out of the theatre ready to be profound, to harvest those inspiring life lessons that were sure to come of it. "You know, " began my thoughtful daughter, "it's really too bad ..." This was it. My chance to really hear her heart, to see what dreams had been born in her.

"You know, it's really too bad I didn't come to see this movie with my friends," she said. Yes, this is good, I thought. She wants to be a catalyst for change in her generation, a role model, a leader of her peers, an influencer. "You know, it's really too bad I didn't come to see this movie with my friends ... because then we could get together and talk about how cute Drew Fuller is!"

It was a teachable moment indeed. That evening I was the one who learned an important lesson. I learned what the real ultimate gift is. There are a lucky few who have it. James Garner used to have it. Drew Fuller definitely has it now. I never really had it. How about you? Is some teenager talking to his/her friends about you?

A Bald-Faced Truth

Would it surprise you to know that I am considering hair restoration? Yes, I have become quite follicly-challenged these days.

I think we can all agree that, in general, women are the vainer sex. But when it comes to hair, on the head, at least, men are very sensitive. It's difficult for a man to loose his hair. He feels less attractive, less confident, less of a man. Those infomercials from Hair Club for Men don't help. In the "Before" scene, they show a photo of a dour-looking bald man that resembles a mug shot because this man is obviously guilty of extreme ugliness. Then, in the "After" scene, they show the same man with a full head of hair being "attacked" by a gorgeous woman. That sends a powerful message.

My dad is bald. Geneticists are quick to remind us that one does not inherit balding from one's father but rather from ones' maternal grandfather. My maternal grandfather died somewhat prematurely when I was nine years old so I don't really remember his status in this regard. My grandmother assured me that he had a full head of hair, so I thought I was safe. As a result of this, and lacking proper respect for my elders, I would tease my Dad about his baldness. I even wrote a poem about it. I was quite the "versiologist" back then. Here's what I wrote:

This Dad of mine,
his head doth shine,
because he has no hair.
And I don't mind,
as long as mine,
stays completely there.

Of course, my Dad is having the last laugh. I remember the day I first noticed I was loosing my hair. My judicious wife had observed this already and did her best to shield me from the truth, but one photo got through. It was the end of my innocence. (Much to my chagrin, I also took note at this time that my body seemed to be making up for the lack of hair on top by growing it abundantly in other places such as my ears, eyebrows, and nostrils - places I certainly did not want any extra).

Naturally, my hunt for a cure began. I did the Rogaine thing for a while. Lot's of smelly ointment for relatively little increased hairiness. The Internet was a rich source of information. It's amazing what lengths men will go to for great locks. I got a kick out of the following home remedies and historical cures for baldness:

Boil 1 cup mustard oil with 4 tablespoons of henna leaves.
Filter and bottle. Massage bald patches regularly.

Scrub the bald area with an onion until it becomes red. Follow up by applying honey over patch.

Rub on the scalp with 1 teaspoon oil in which raw mangoes have been preserved for over one year. Repeat frequently.

From ancient times:

Aristotle used a topical application of goat's urine to try and cure his own baldness. ( I guess great intelligence only takes you so far).

Hippocrates preferred treating his balding patients with pigeon droppings and the ancient Egyptians used rancid Hippo fat.

Yikes! I thought the idea was to attract gorgeous women, not repel them!

Finally, I read the best article ever! The research showed that the reason men loose their hair is an overabundance of testosterone. I realized, with a shiver of joy, that maybe loosing my hair wasn't such a bad thing after all. Maybe it was confirming what my wife has known for a long time - I'm loosing my hair because I am a total stud!

I guess I don't need hair restoration after all.

What I learned in Traffic School

I was tempted to leave this blank.

I won't say I didn't learn anything in Traffic School . . . but nearly. I was expecting more. As many of you less-than-saintly people know, Traffic School is the way to get a traffic ticket removed from your insurance record - a very worthwhile goal. Since I had to be there anyway, I thought, "Here's a chance to really be reminded of all those important rules of the road and to be inspired to be a more noble driver." It was more like detention. I will grudgingly admit that I did learn a few little tiny lessons and I will share those with you in a moment. First, let's go to the beginning of the whole sordid story.

You have to understand that I have never had a moving violation in my nearly 30 years of driving. Earlier this year, I arrived at the Orange County airport along with my wife to pick up my parents for a weekend visit. I had just hopped out of my car to help my parents load their bags when I found myself surrounded by two very serious police officers, hands on their guns. I had no idea what was going on. One officer fended off my wife who was attempting to come to me. My crime? Driving at about 2 mph through a red light at a pedestrian crosswalk. You have to hand it to those vigilant O.C. crime fighters. They know how to keep dangerous criminals in check! After the usual rigmarole I found myself the proud possessor of a $200 ticket. Of course, if one is trying to impress the parents, this is not the way to do it.

I arrived at Traffic School shortly after 7 AM on a Saturday morning (ugh!) to find hundreds of other delinquents like myself lining up to go through an airport-style security check at the local court house. This took a long time. We were then split into groups of about 100 law-breakers each and crammed into the tightly packed galleries of the court rooms. We then literally spent the first hour of the class just filling out some inane form. This is because in any large group there are quite a few people who ... what shall we say? ... lack brain power and they must be walked through every jot and tittle on the page. Excruciating! After that, the teacher, who was really trying hard to be nice, regaled us with numerous personal stories, including his time with the Peace Corps in Kenya. I'm a better driver for it, I'm sure. There was also a very important short film staring Goofy. At this point I did learn an important lesson: one should not put one's giant cartoon foot out into a busy road because speeding cars will leave tire marks on your foot.

OK, seriously, "What did I learn at Traffic School?" I did learn 3 things.

First, your seat belt may save your life but it is also quite dangerous. In high speed accidents, people have been decapitated by their seat belts. The lap belt should be worn as low down as possible around the hips (not the waist) and it would be good to have a fuzzy pad on the shoulder belt up around the neck area. It should lay flat and snug against the body.

Second, I learned why people drive too fast on the freeway. Can you guess? According to NTSA, 20% drive fast because it's fun. 20% drive too fast because they are in a hurry. However, a majority, 60%, drive too fast because they are simply "going with the flow." So, next time you're pulled over just explain that you were forced to speed because of peer pressure! I am sure the officer will understand.

Thirdly, I learned the all-important rules for a school bus. As you may have noticed, those yellow monstrosities have these flashing lights and automated stop signs that swing out when the bus is dropping off it's precious cargo. Obviously, if you are right behind or next to a bus you must stop until the sign folds back in. However, did you know that you are also required to stop if you are going in the opposite direction on the other side of the road? It's true, except ... I hope you are paying attention ... if there are more than two lanes in each direction or a median strip in-between. You can now proceed with renewed confidence that you are not endangering the lives of future generations.

So, there it is: the sum total of what I learned in 7-8 hours of Traffic School. I'm sure the government considers this a good use of my time. In the fight against crime, there are those who believe that criminals should be rehabilitated. And then there those who believe they should really suffer for their indiscretions. Traffic School attempts to accomplish both at the same time. You can take my word for it.