Now a days I think kids get an Ipad and a pat on the back in grades K-7.  Starting with day care there is an annual graduation party as if they had graduated summa cum laude from Harvard.  As for contests, no, no, absolutely not.  They are all winners.  Everyone gets a trophy.  Don’t question anyone or anything, accept everyone everywhere; be politically correct at all times.  Don’t have an independent thought much less voice a criticism or a suspicion.   As a result of the PC police our children are now less prepared then ever to deal with the real world and that’s just the half of it.

Since the marathon bombing there has been a lot of sympathy for white hat or since I am unable to pronounce his name, let’s call him “doorknob” (as in dumb as a doorknob).  The media has interviewed classmates who all say he was a “great kid”.  ”His evil brother forced him to do it” is another common refrain.  Hey folks, the video clearly shows Doorknob looked at eight year old Martin Richard and then exploded the bomb that killed Martin.  He ain’t no good guy, he’s not a follower he’s a cold blooded, child murdering, coward.  No matter how hard you try (Boston Globe) to humanize him there’s nothing politically correct about killing innocent women and children.  More accurately there’s nothing politically incorrect in calling this Chechnyan trash and his family for the scum they really are.

How about Katherine Russell, Door Knob’s sister-in-law.  Why hasn’t she been charged? After her husband’s ugly mug hit the airwaves (talk about a couple hit with the ugly stick) Russell called him.  There is no subsequent call to 911.  At a minimum for failing to alert authorities to his true identity she is an accomplice after the fact. (Not to mention the blood of an MIT police officer whose death could have been averted had she done something.  Her first public statement was about losing her husband and father of her child.  Not a word about the victims.  Despite living where the bombs were made “she had no knowledge” of any of her husband’s plans.  Funny, every wife or girlfriend I know, knows what her man is going to do before he does it.  Why?  Because men can’t be trusted.  As this excuse was not plausible she then stated “she worked 80 hours a week”.  So then how did she qualify for welfare benefits?  She lied on the application another felony.  But again apparently its politically incorrect to accuse a widow and mother of being the terrorist sympathizer and criminal that she really is.

The breaking point was the debate over Door Knobs brother’s body.  Most people thought letting rats devour him was too good an end.  Numerous media types local and national claimed this type of insensitivity gave Bostonians a black eye in the wake of the tragedy.  First, none of these people offered to bury the elder door knob in their back yard.  Second, because I don’t think a child murdering, cop killer deserves a publicly funded send-off to the great beyond I’m a bad person?  F-me??? No F-you PC media police.

We know that Saudi Arabia is the biggest financier of terrorism.  We know that Muslims from extremist regions such as Pakistan and Chechnya are more likely to be terrorists.  Does this mean every Saudi Arabian supports terrorism? Not necassarilly there are probably a few who don’t.  Does this mean everyone Muslim is a terrorist? Absolutely not.  But in the name of political correctness we are now not allowed to question or criticize people who either are suspected of or  have admitted to horrendous crimes.

Even worse we are teaching our children to give them trophies.

KOKO

Despite hitting for $736 on a ten cent bet in last years’ Belmont, the financial success at Kentucky Derby has always eluded me.  With twenty horses (almost double the entries of any other major stakes race) the day more closely resembles a demolition derby than the “sport of kings”.

Unlike other sports betting which is pure chance, in horse racing the winner is actually provided so long as you are both smart and patient enough to decipher the racing form.  Short on knowledge, diligence and discipline I have resorted to three other handicapping methods.  I refer you to Jay Cronley, ESPN and America’s premiere handicapper. Mr. Cronley has almost made me as much as I have lost.

Second I look for signs from above.  Like last year the day before the Derby the MBTA number 9 bus almost took out both me and my motorcycle.  Just before giving the finger I realized God, knowing I’m not too quick on the uptake, was just making sure I knew the nine horse would be the winner.

Living with the Lovely Old Lady (LOL) the number six (as in 666) is in play every year.

You may have seen that rapper Chris Kelly Od’d this week.  As one half of Kriss Kross his stage name was Mac Daddy (the other half was Daddy Mac).  What do you know, the number 8 horse is named “Frac Daddy”.

Finally, I try and do a good deed on Derby day.  For example one year a cashier forgot to charge me for an item.  I went back in the store and paid.  Not out of any altruistic characteristic but because me honesty would be rewarded.

First : Revolutionary.  Handicapping the race for the roses is normally a riddle, wrapped in a conundrum, hidden at the bottom of a quagmire.  To quote Mr. Cronley, “rare things happen, well rarely”.  Rarely does a horse’s running style, post position and mount align for a particular race.  Revolutionary is perfectly positioned with living legend Calvin Borel driving.  When he wins it will feel like stealing.

Second:  Mylute.  Horse has done nothing exceptional but has steadily improved.  ”Slow and steady wins the race” ring any bells?  Should be good enough for second here.

Third:  Goldencents.  Normally, I feel the California horses are too soft for the roller derby character of this race.  However, he is a decent horse and whatever the equivalent is for HGH for horses he’s on it.  Remember Trainer Doug “Drug” O’Neill coming out of nowhere with “I’ll Have Another?”  The horse who then returned to no where rather than submit to a drug test.  I’m not a big fan of cheaters, unless I know in advance they are cheating.

For Mr. Cronley’s picks click here.

You’re probably wondering how my picks selected with divine intervention have worked out?   Apparently God doesn’t play the ponies.

KOKO

Ironically, I’ve found the Lovely Old Lady (LOL) to be more like a dog, a snoop dog that is.  Women are very concerned with anything that is going on around them regardless of whether or not it effects them.   It goes beyond curiosity. Also they are generationally immune to the least bit of guilt.  Let me give you an example.  ”Honey, do you have any quarter’s in your purse?”  ”Why dear you have $38.21 in loose change on your dresser including 18 quarters.”  Living with a woman is like being physically and mentally stripped searched constantly.  And no cavity goes untouched.

Guys aren’t real good at hiding things to begin with, but if you live with a woman what difference does it make?  Had a friend who hid something in his desk drawer.  Yeah, I said to myself, his wife will never look there.  He was caught in less than 10 minutes of getting home.  ”What?” he said in disbelief. Like the item wasn’t his and had got in the drawer by immaculate drop off.  The universal guy response when getting caught red-handed.

Part of the reason women need to do this is so they can move anything that’s not in its proper place.  Hid something in the medicine cabinet.  Came back the next morning.  Was like I had climbed Everest; vanished into thin air.  As I get older my not so good memory, the LOL’s snoop doggedness, and secrets become more problematic.  She constantly accuses me of “misremembering”.  Further by accusing her of taking stuff I’m not supposed to have in the first place, I constantly inculpate myself.  When she asks why was I hiding it in the first place, I try the above mentioned, “What?”.

Nothing is too inconsequential.  Had a favorite shirt that the LOL hated.  Would wear it on special occasions, like going out alone.  Otherwise would hide it deep in the closet.  Recently was a headed to a concert and went looking for the shirt.  Turned around LOL said. “Looking for this?” As she ripped the red silk/satin button down into shreds.  It’s a game I now refer to as “Hide Your Outfit”.  That’s why all of my vintage rock t-shirts are now carefully stowed.

Funny, though with their concert approaching I asked the LOL if she’d seen my Black Crowes, 1992 European Tour shirt.  She calmly answered, “No dear, I don’t remember you ever having one.”  Figured probably got lost over the years between all the moves, 1992 was a long time ago.

Weird, though her son despite being half my age and living in California seems to have most of the same t-shirts.

KOKO

Carpet bagging owner John Henry and his two accomplices Larry Luchinno and Tom Werner are saying we’re in for a real treat this summer.  Things are going to be different this year (now I know why my Mother tired so quickly of hearing that phrase).  Every baseball scribe in Boston seems to concur (I’ve learned you can not rationalize irrational thought).  The current state of the holy trinity of Boston baseball could best be described as the broke rich guy, the Italian muscle, and the Hollywood marketing guy.  Notice there is nothing about the Nation’s past time much less the religion that is Red Sox baseball  in those descriptions.  First off, dumb (Werner), dumber (Luchinno) and just really weird (Henry) adamantly deny former manager Terry Francona’s book detailing the three idiotas (think “amigos” with no common sense) complete lack of baseball knowledge.  If Francona is lying why change anything?

By the way wouldn’t Henry look more comfortable attached to a stick in a field in New Hampshire?  At least the crows would be afraid of him.  As it stands now after the stellar job he’s done he’s afraid to be seen at Fenway much less walk to his front row, dug-out seat.

In 2004 these three incompetentes (think Musketeers without the looks, charisma or success) inherited a team one player from being World Champions.  Theo Epstein to his credit and  proving a broken clock is right twice a day went out and signed blowhard (but at least at that time hard throwing) Curt Schilling.  The end result being two long awaited (as in 86 years) World Championships.   Henry et al’s success was the sole result of being able to write a big enough check after Major League Baseball railroaded prospective local owner Joe O’Donnell out of the running.  Had Henry sold the team in 2007 he wouldn’t be broke today and Theo would be headed to the Hall of Fame.  However, Henry believed the Championships were a result of his and his management teams’ ability.  So over the next four years, ownership faced with a choice from personnel to public relations has consistently made the wrong decision.   Every major free agent signing (Carl Crawford, Edgar Renterria, JD Drew, Julio Lugo and Mike Cameron just to name a few) was an unmitigated bust.  In 2011, the players were upset about some fans actually calling them out for their lack of effort.  They were invited to a meeting on Henry’s yacht.  Henry and his two henchman assured the players that the fans’ (all to reasonable at $150 a ticket) expectations would be immediately lowered.  The Boston press in Henry’s pocket since day 1 was deployed writing either puff or excuse pieces depending on the player.

By addling and coddling this group of horses asses the owner also assured the inmates that the asylum in the form of the lyric, little band box of Fenway was firmly in the players’ control.  The players then proceeded to eat fried chicken and drink beer.  Ultimately the team lead by closer Jonathan Papelblewanotherone ended up pissing away not just the Bud Light but two series to the last place Orioles and the entire 2011 season.  The inmates’ leader, the perennial underachieving, need more than 5 off days in a week, take no responsibility Josh Beckett was unconditionally defended by ownership.

Now it would be difficult to exceed the incompetence of Theo’s free agent signings (signings which Theo now in Francona’s book claims he was forced to make at gunpoint) but Henry had the brilliant idea to blame Francona for the collapse.  Henry is out of touch with pretty much everything (as a billionaire he married a waitress).  But the Francona axing was ludicrous.  Apparently unaware that Francona had reached Brady, Ortiz, Orr, Belicheck status in this town the move backfired, horrendously.

We now have what was once unthought of in Boston: a glorified minor league baseball team.  They paid Ortiz $20 million more than any other team was prepared to offer him.  He rewarded them by emphasizing the “off” in off season.  He is now in  need of a handicap parking spot because he suddenly can’t walk. While they’re at it they should get two placards one for the “big” free agent acquisition Mike Napoli.  Often injured at the peak of his career he now has degenerative hip disease.  In the “those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it” category, JD Drew’s brother was signed.  He’s missed the bulk of spring training with an injury that cannot be scientifically confirmed: a headache.

100, as in wins used to be the benchmark in this town.  This team is a lock for 100 losses.

“Meet the new boss, same as the old boss . . . .”

KOKO

Road trip, I decided. But where? The Lovely Old Ladies (LOL’s) sisters (one blood and one in law) have a beautiful spot on the Cape. Plus they generously offer it to me anytime (between January 1, and February 28). But since the heat wasn’t working my invitation period extended into March. It would be quiet and maybe I’d catch a couple of waves before the Great Whites mosied up from Florida. We had trouble from the get go. Loading the surf gear resulted in a “sand dune” in the front seat. In a ten minute soliliquy on how the “sand dune” was a metaphor for my lack of concern for her overall well being the LOL refused to get in. I tried to explain that cleaning car before going to the beach didn’t seem to make much sense. LOL, arms crossed, voice raised wasn’t interested in logic.

Finally underway, the surfboard began to rattle. I told the LOL that the new car did not accommodate the old surf rack. She demanded that the car be stopped on the Mass Pike and I put a “towel” around the board. Given that I had loaded hundreds of surfbaords and she had loaded exactly zero, a ten minute argument ensued. Threatening to wrap the towel around her neck I finally closed the sunroof and turned up the radio. Didn’t do much for the rattling but drowned out the LOL rather effectively.

As we approached her sisters’ house, she said, “Don’t you need to get over?” I explained that I think that the exit had changed due to recent construction. Wrong answer. “I come here three f-ing times a month you come here never and you think I don’t know the god damn traffic pattern. Just do what I tell you.” I did, the exit was changed and we missed it. After a brief pause, I heard “If you knew the exit was changed why did you listen to me? Seriously? I want to know? WHY?!?!”.

Believe it oor not we actaully made it to the Cape. I asked what she wanted for dinner. “Dinner? dinner? now you want to blow my diet?”
Pretty sure nothing and no one going to get blown around here, not even the waves.

KOKO

I started thinking about surprises in general.  Most people claim to enjoy surprises but I don’t think that’s really true.  Surprises can be a very bad idea.  I remember in college a girlfriend from home decided to pay me a surprise visit.  Well, I was surprised, the girl in my lap was really surprised my then ex-girlfriend was the most surprised of all.  On the other hand surprises can be the best defense.  I just bought a new surfboard.  Rather than ask permission I thought it best to leave it as a surprise.

We often say we are “surprised” but in reality most things really aren’t a surprise at all.  ”We were surprised when my wife got pregnant.”  Well it wasn’t an immaculate conception, what did you think was going to happen?  As my buddy Donovan Frankenreiter says, “They say things happen for a reason, you don’t do them they won’t”.  Every action has a reaction, it’s not magic, it’s not a surprise, it’s simple logic.

Lack of action also has consequences.  Obama did nothing the first four years he was in office.  Don’t be surprised when the next four remain wholly uneventful.  President Cheney lied to Congress about Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction.  So why be surprised when President Cheney spent eight years lying to the American public on an hourly basis about the economy and pretty much everything else.

Notwithstanding the above the Lovely Old Lady (LOL) is almost in a constant state of bewilderment.  Was in Narragansett surfing for three days.  She was shocked (and not in a good way) that there was “sand in the car”.  Despite my expert analysis she is incredulous when either the Bachelor or Bachelorette don’t end in true love.  As an aside this years Bachelor was a “born again virgin”  So he banged everything that moved and then some but re-virginized just in time for the show.   Actually, I do believe you can have your virginity reinstated, it’s not called being “born again”, however, its called “getting married”.

What surprises me?  If my hat, keys, glasses, or gloves are where I left them.  Actually, I’m surprised at how much my breathing, chewing, and actually my whole existence seems to continually annoy the LOL.

KOKO

Giving serious consideration of turning my thoughts of harming myself and others into actions I decided it was time for a change.  This made me start thinking about change.  First off, why do people only want to change things they actually enjoy?  Bad marriage? Terrible job? Horrible boss?  Hang in there for another twenty years or so.    ”What doesn’t kill you . . . .” News flash: will eventually kill you if you insist on enduring it long enough.

People insist on changing habits they ultimately enjoy.  Now before we go any further if you have a habit over which you are powerless and your life is unmanageable I’ll meet you in a church basement.  But what if you are powerless but its manageable?  Or what if you are still powerful but just enjoy it?  The LOL quit smoking.  I am very impressed and how can I not be given her hourly irritability (even worse than usual) as a reminder of the ongoing accomplishment.  Yes there are studies linking smoking to health problems.  But I also know people who chain smoke from their teens well into their 90′s.   I guess its expensive but so is filling your gas tank.  People don’t walk more and drive less.

Let’s assume that each cigarette takes 3 seconds of your life.  A pack of cigarettes costing you a minute.  Pack a day would mean you are losing seven minutes a week.  Two weeks you would lose an hour.  Smoke for a year and you lose a day of your existence.

Now you lose that day at the end.  So when you are sitting in that nursing home, broke, all friends dead, kids and grandkids afraid to visit, waiting, no begging for the end are you really going to wish you had that day back?  No f-ing way.   You’ll be puffing like Rick James on a crack pipe saying, “For the love of God end this, please”.

I decided I would give up the poppy tea and Red Bull and try to improve my attitude.  Well the withdrawal which involved little or no sleep for a week certainly didn’t improve my attitude.  As I spent another day feeling like death warmed over I asked myself why I was quitting?  I could give you a million answers (expense, legality, health) but not a single reason.

Thank God a new shipment arrived after about eight days.  You ain’t going to find me in that nursing home.

KOKO

Looking at three straight weekends housebound with the Lovely Old Lady (LOL) as another storm targets Boston.  Clinical depression was passed on the first weekend, now beyond suicidal but don’t have either the mental concentration or physical strength ti pull it off.   Can’t find a glimmer of hope anywhere.  Furthur won’t even announce it’s Northeast Spring Tour dates.  Speaking of which on the band’s message boards a fan described winter as kind of like being on a broken roller coaster, with every pass, the park staff says, “We’re working on the problem.”

Seriously, why couldn’t I have been Ryan Seacrest or Randy Jackson?  No real talent or ability but a big paycheck.  Of course Randy has to sit next to the Cabbage Patch Doll that is Mariah Carey.  I know television adds ten pounds but Mariah really?  Any mirrors in your 50,000 square foot mansion?

Hey Oscar Pistorius every guy hates Valentine’s Day, but seriously?  Before you question his defense keep in mind South Africa not a big fan of women.  The country also has one of the highest rates of fatal domestic violence in the world.  Many of which go unpunished.  Nonetheless I won’t be locking myself in the bathroom at any point this weekend.

Not sure when both Congress and President became no show jobs with a big paycheck.   Name one accomplishment in the last four years.  Who cares?  Do you care? I don’t give a flying f…, Obamacare.   Wish they would all just man up and throw us all over the fiscal cliff.  That would put a stop to the constant chatter.    Hey when the going gets tough (and Winter gets long in Washington) go to Florida and play a few holes with Tiger Woods.  With Michele and the kids in Hawaii I wonder what they played at night? Go Fish or maybe Twister?  Heard Bill Clinton and Greg Norman were in charge of the 19th hole.   At least George W spent eight years screwing things up to a fare the well while Wall Street, Big Oil and Haliburton robbed both the American public and the US Treasury.

How about those Red Sox?  Three years ago I was writing John Henry was a moron.  Now Terry Francona agrees and he’s a genius.   At least the book provided GM, Boy Blunder Theo with an excuse (how about those Cubbies, still 100 years from a Championship but now stuck with Theo’s salary and incompetence).   But things are going to be different this year Red Sox Nation, ring any 86 year old bells?

I know not the greatest post, but given the length of the winter the push of every key is a major task.  Bad time of year to quit Red Bull, Poppy tea, and smokes.  I mean what the hell are the LOL and I going to do this weekend, talk to each other?

“When going through Hell, keep going”  Winston Churchill Winston never spent a winter in Boston.

KOKO

As the saying goes, “smoke em if you got em”, and from the opening notes of “Leave A Scar” it’s was clear Smoke has “it”.  The band is as tight as a pair of fingerless gloves.  The understated, sneakingly charismatic, front man, “brother” Charlie Starr kept the energy going.  The long haired band of “brothers” draws on the classic Southern Rock sounds of Skynyrd, and The Crowes.   “2 six packs of Shiner/99 cent butane lighter/Lucky Strikes and a fifth of Patron/Ice down the  Igloo Cooler/tank of gas oughta do her/I can feel a good one comin’ on”, you get the idea.

The first highlight was an extended jam on “Sleeping Dogs Lie” which meandered into the ABB’s “Midnight Rider”.  The set peaked for me in “Ain’t Much Left of Me”  which drove into Zeppelin’s, “When the Levee Breaks”.    The night’s music was drawn largely from the bands’ last two outstanding studio efforts, “The Whippoorwill” and “Little Piece of Dixie”.  Versatile doesn’t begin to describe a band that flawlessly goes from classic country to Southern Blues to Zeppelin and back without missing a beat literally.

The $20 ticket price was a bargain in this day and age of paying outrageous service fees on top of $1,000 face value tickets (Rolling Stones).  How about spending $100 a second ($200 total) to meet the artist (Black Crowes)?  BBS is a band that’s paid its dues and appreciates the hard earned fans’ support;  ”If you want to walk in my boots/and take all that I took/it ain’t as easy as it looks.”  If you waited by the tour bus, Charlie and his “brothers” would be happy to speak with you and even take a picture if you asked nicely.

Finally, I have seen dozens of bands when in Boston pay tribute to “Boston’s Best”.  Usually, its a poorly rehearsed verse of some marginal band; Geils, The Lemonheads.  Smoke however did it’s homework and then some.  The first encore was Aerosmith’s “Lord of Your Thighs”.  No “Dream On” bullshit, the real deal.  Any reservation I had vanished as to this being one of the best live shows I’ve seen not just in Boston, but ever.

I been rained on, rode hard and put up wet
danced with the devil till I’m in debt
took all I got and there ain’t much left of me
I been knocked down, drug out and left for dead
barely held together by a few old threads
hey I’m still here, there ain’t much left to see
I’m still holding on and there ain’t much left of me

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

KOKO

The mornings are all pretty much the same:  I wake up in a bed that, thanks to the Lovely Old Lady (LOL), is already pretty much made.  It’s always freezing and it’s always dark.  I then make my first decision of the day; either pull the covers over my head or get out of bed (and crawl under it).

At some point I drag my tired, old, ass into the shower.  The days go about the same.  I deal with two types of people; victims and their enablers.  Nothing is ever anyone’s fault.  When I point out the situation in which people find themselves is in fact largely their own doing, the victims find a sympathetic ear.  Someone who tells me my position is only serving to re-victimize these people.  I am still trying to figure out people who aren’t victim’s in the first place can be further victimized.  We are no longer Americans we are Victimicans.

But the nights are where it really gets interesting.  The worse month of the year is marked by the return of the worst television show ever; The Bachelor.  Every year I say they cannot find a bigger gimbo (guy bimbo) and twelve girls dumber then the previous season but ABC always amazes me.

Tuesday and Wednesday are American Idol.  Never thought I would miss Simon Cowell and the chemically imbalanced (but not for lack of effort) Paula Abdul.  But after just a week of Mickey Mirage and Mariah (enough about me, what do you think about me?) Carey I dread midweek.

The other night for reasons unclear to me the LOL was watching a new reality show; The Taste.  Other than a thoroughly confusing premise which appears to involve cooking, the show is far from reality.  Two of the hosts names are Nigella and Ludo.  Seriously?  I have traveled all over the world and never met anyone with names as dumb as those two.  Nigella, did her parents conceive her after eating Nutella?

Fortunately, Thursday there are no reality shows so I basically waste time on the Internet  staring at the local surf report (flat followed by flatter, then flattest did I mention freezing cold?) longing for warmer days.

By Friday, I start looking at Craig’s List for local gun shows thinking I should grab an Uzi while I still can.

Saturday I usually opt for under the bed.  Sunday I wish I had bought the Uzi. I alternately think of all the people I could use it on always ending with myself at the top of the list.

Now that’s a real reality show.

KOKO