Can We Have a Manhug Moratorium? Or at Least, Can You Back Away From Me?

There are 40 rules all Schrute boys must learn by age 5. Rule #17- There are 3 things you never turn your back on- bears, men you have wronged, and a dominant male turkey during mating season.

--Dwight K. Schrute, The Office

So here's where I lose my female readers, though unfairly. I ask only that you at least read the whole post before you start sticking pins in your Chris Reeder voodoo doll.

You know, its been a tough 30 years or so for masculinity in America. Once upon a time, hard, tough guys reigned supreme. Frank, Dean and Sammy could stay out all night on the Strip drinking martinis and partying with about 12 different women (each sporting beehives and excessive eye shadow, of course). Frank could have Willie Moretti pay a little visit to Tommy Dorsey to get out of his contract. The Kennedy boys could each have a go at Marilyn (then have the CIA whack her when she got too crazy). Men worked hard, then came home to dinner and to read the paper or watch TV while the kids kept quiet. Conversations with your wife involved planning upcoming events with other neighborhood couples (where the women would occupy one room and the men the other) and deciding major life issues. Men bowled, smoked cigars, drank scotch, ate white eggs, not egg whites (prepared by “the wife”) and routinely got together with the fellas to watch the ball game. Vacations were spent working around the house or loading up the kids in the station wagon and driving nine hours to the nearest national park or theme park. A couple would just as readily drop off the kids at Grandma’s to get away for the weekend. And our country was great. The economy prospered. Uppity third world backwater governments were either bombed into submission or found themselves on the wrong end of an E. Howard Hunt-organized coup. We made the 1956 Thunderbird, the 747, transistor, and the Saturn V rocket. Elvis invented rock and roll. True, most guys keeled over dead of heart attacks and strokes by their late 50s, but at least they were interesting. Think Ralph Kramden but in a suit. And while things unquestionably sucked for a lot of people, for most guys, life often resembled a Beach Boys song.

But then the 1960s happened, and later the 1970s. This gave us such atrocities as Jimmy Carter and his sweater-wearing fireside chats, songs about feelings, the man purse, fringe, Fleetwood Mac, turquoise bracelets, EST, disco, gold chains, couples massages, Fonzie, K cars, and polyester. The world of Frank and Elvis and JFK and nights at the Copa and the Stork Club slowly gave way to something much softer and fuzzier. Like a pink sno-ball.

Now, rogue governments like Iran openly build nuclear weapons and oppress their citizens while the West fusses with debates over hollow sanctions (which the French will wind up violating anyway). The US can’t as much as cross a toll bridge in another country without getting a United Nations resolution (though its odd that Russia can send tanks into Georgia without anyone uttering a peep in protest). Men go to counseling and “communicate.” Wives’ night at the Copa have given way to Couples Dates replete with pictionary, brie, and just the right cabernet to cap off days spent at Home Depot and Bed, Bath and Beyond, and ferrying the kids to various athletic leagues and lessons. Dads coach soccer in non-scorekeeping leagues that give each kid a participation ribbon. They work on homework shoulder to shoulder with each kid, patiently explain to the little ones why they should follow rules, and strictly enforce time outs. The kids are the most important part of the family, and aren’t allowed to just play and run around outside. Only organized, supervised recreation under close Dad supervision may occur. Political correctness police have neutered the English language (“fishers”? really?). Men meticulously groom themselves at salons and go to hair stylists, stay abreast of the latest fashions (as prompted by their wives), and walk each night or morning. They must know the progress of some amateur talent show on TV to connect with others. Men must eat salmon for its omega 3’s, wear sunscreen, moisturize, and do cardio. At work, “teams” and “project ownership” rule the day, with cooperation, goal setting, and support setting the basis on which all work happens.

I basically have come to terms with most of this. Really. I can go along with the new world order. I can keep my weight under control, wear socks that match my shirt, and listen to other people describe their relationship woes without committing hari kari.

Now let’s be clear, not all of this change is bad, and not all of the old ways were good. Masculinity is not and should not be synonymous with abuse or inequality. You don’t have to be Ike Turner or Bobby Riggs to be masculine. Its better now that men can have a partner to talk with than to, and that women don’t have to find a man and stick with him who will support her. I prefer to talk to women than men; they’re generally more interesting and capable of conversation, not to mention that they’re prettier and generally burp less than men. Pre-1980s, that would have been largely impossible. Likewise, on balance its probably better that dads are more involved with their kids. Though let’s face it, most dads are either like Clark Griswold or the Great Santini. Either way, that’s not necessarily who you want around your kids. So make no mistake, much of this change has been welcome and useful. I’m just asking, do we all have to be a bunch of wusses?

Or put another way, for the love of God, can we stop with the man hugs?

I’m not exactly sure how this epidemic broke out, but I do know that’s how women, Frenchmen, and Beat poets greet one another. I mean, the Frenchies hug one another under the shade trees they planted in Paris so the Wehrmacht could march in the shade. Just because you saw your wife hug her guests at that baby shower she threw her sister last week or at her Southern Living party, it doesn’t mean you have to do that with the boys too.

You’ll never see Englishmen hugging. Nor should anyone see American men hugging. Did Thomas Jefferson give everyone a big hug after they signed the Declaration of Independence? Did Teddy Roosevelt hug his guys as they camped in Yellowstone? Did Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin share a tender moment just before Neil climbed out on the LEM? No. A hearty handshake did fine in each of those instances.

Put it this way, did you ever see Kirk hugging guys? No, you never saw Kirk getting all huggy with Spock or McCoy or any of the other fellas. Instead, Kirk would get the ship out of harm’s way and save all its crew (except those unfortunate guys in red shirts that wound up on landing party duty) by blowing up other guys (or aliens of various size and densities), humiliating them and steal their girlfriends, schooling them on democracy and equality (then taking their women, usually the best one), or kicking some Klingon ass. Now Yeoman Rand may have gotten a few hugs. She was pretty hot.

There’s really only five circumstances in which one man may hug another man.

1. Soldiers who’ve just been in or are on their way to combat. Remember that scene near the end of Gettysburg where Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain hugs his brother Thomas after Pickett’s Charge? That’s fine.

2. Family partings. If you’re going away for awhile (not a couple of days but for a long time), you may hug another family member. Like when Michael Corleone hugged his brothers just before leaving to assassinate Sollozzo over the veal at Louis’ Restaurant in the Bronx, you can hug other male family members just before you have to go hide from the other Five Families in Sicily.

3. Big wins or tough losses in athletics. When you win the national championship or the Super Bowl, you can hug your teammates. Be sure to drink plenty of champagne though to blot out the memories. But it has to be a big win. A Wednesday win over the Cubs in mid-July, or a week 3 win over the Rams at home, simply won’t do. That’s why Magic’s attaching himself to Kareem’s neck after winning the first game of the season was so stupid. Likewise, when you’ve suffered a tragic loss, you can also hug your teammates. One of the most touching moments in any sporting event ever was the second night in a row when young Arizona reliever Byung Yung Kim, who did not speak English, had just given up his second blown save home run in as many nights in the World Series, and was standing on the mound looking as shell-shocked and despondent as anyone I’ve ever seen. First baseman Mark Grace (of the famous “slumpbuster” take) without hesitation headed to the mound and gave Kim a big bear hug. That prompted other Diamondback players to head over to Kim in support. Though it was a man hug, there was something about its public nature that helped blunt the sheer awfulness of the moment for that young man.

4. You can hug another man if you’re saving his life. Like in the pool, or dragging him out of a burning building, or putting him into your car to take him to the emergency room.

5. Mob guys or gang members can hug one another. Jimmy Conway in Good Fellas was about the toughest guy ever, but even he hugged Tommy DeVito and Henry Hill. In Godfather II, remember how all the mobsters hugged each other on the hotel roof while celebrating Hyman Roth’s birthday?

If its not one of those five, then there’s no situation when a hug is called for. There’s absolutely no other reasons why men should turn their friendships into the View or West Side Story auditions. Put simply, don’t come up on me, stay out of my personal space and keep your hands where I can see them. No means no. Leave that sort of thing to Tom Cruise. What’s next? You’re going to ride on the back of some guy’s motorcycle? Go to brunch with some guy? Go on Oprah and jump up and down on her couch screaming about your wife? I hope not.

Oh, and while we’re at it, let’s dispense with the high five. If you’re not running the point in the Association, or batting in the two hole for a pennant contender, you have no business high fiving. You are a balding, overweight software developer who probably lives in your stepmother’s basement, not a star athlete. Walk to the pharmacy, stock up on Rogaine, kiss a girl, and watch a movie other than Star Wars. But don’t slap hands with your fellow software developers/Dungeons and Dragons players after achieving one of your pathetic life milestones (like finding a quarter left behind in a vending machine change return slot). Same goes for you, fat, cialis-taking, hair coloring law firm managing partner guy on the golf course. No one cares if you break 80, so keep your hands in someone else’s pockets where they belong, and not emulating MJ out on the court.

So are there any questions?

Article Discussing the Don and Birdie Reeder Global Emergency Fund

CERI, the organization that administers the Fund named after my parents, got some exposure recently in the Houston Chronicle. The article in Sunday's Chronicle details CERI's efforts to combat the sex trade, which thrives in Moldova. The article details the suffering of a woman originally kidnapped and sent to Russia to be forced into prostitution but later forced to give birth to babies used to harvest black market organs. After managing to escape, the article describes how the Fund provided resources to provide emergency medical care for this woman. The article describes some other CERI programs designed to address this plight.

To read the article click on the link highlighted above. Or if you can't get there, type this and paste it in your browser: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/editorial/outlook/6808673.html

Thanks again to everyone who contributed to the fund. Hopefully the article will provide a little more feedback on what CERI does and how this money is making a difference.

New Year's Resolutions: Sing a Joyful Song!

Lord. Check out that poor clueless bastard. His only goals were getting a hit in that night's game and striking a pose that says "Mom, can't you stop embarrassing me ever?" without getting in trouble for talking back. (No, really, the majority of the time I got in trouble it was for talking back or being sarcastic. True story. Ironic that my parents were hell-bent on stopping me from developing my one and only marketable skill in life).

But we all have to move on in life. Now, longtime readers will know just how much I like New Year's resolutions. Nonetheless, like one of my life inspirations Gail Stoats (John Goodman's character in Raising Arizona), I never go anywhere without a reason. As a consequence, some times a man needs to take stock in his life and decide if he likes where he's going. We all have to grow, you know. Seems like the arrival of the second decade of the 21st Century is just as good a time as any. I was planning on doing this on Opening Day, but this is just as good a time to make some goals as when Roy Oswalt is serving up gopher balls in Minute Maid Park.

In my case though, its a bit of a challenge. I've basically long-since fulfilled all my real goals in life. To wit, I have:
1. Worked at a job with air conditioning;
2. Not had to wear a name tag every day at work;
3. Dated a lot of hot chicks;
4. Owned a totally cool car; and
5. Made it to the point where some people call me Mr. Reeder.

So basically, everything from here on out is just gravy. Except for my one unfulfilled major life goal-have a family with kids who will do chores around the house and take care of me when I'm old to get their inheritance. As it stands now, as the oldest of three brothers, I'm pretty much looking to one of my two younger brothers to take care of me. I'm picturing a retirement spent in one of their attics with a cot, portable fan, a styrofoam cooler full of diet coke, and a shelf full of ready to eat tuna. I see myself becoming like the first Mrs. Rochester (but without the fire). So I may still need to work on some things

By one important measure, I've become a success. Michael Scott on the Office has explained that a man is a success in life if:
1. He's well loved (check);
2. He's expressed himself and let his light shine through (check);
3. An attractive woman will cry at his funeral (check); and
4. He achieved success and owned real estate (check).
I've done all those things. I think.

But as there's always room for improvement, I've reflected long and hard on what I need to do to become good enough, strong enough, good looking enough, and doggone it have people like me enough to every day and in every way become the best Chris Reeder I can be. (Translation, I jotted some things down on the flight to New Orleans the other day). Now, understand, I have little expectation of actually doing any of these things. But the best way to measure a person's worth is by their goals. Not so much whether they achieve those goals, but the goals themselves. What's achievement? Who do you admire more, someone who doesn't succeed in their lifelong goal of curing cancer, or someone who does manage to hang on to their job as WalMart greeter? Exactly.

So let's think about these:

1. Clean my house. Frankly, my house is a disaster. Its not quite an archaeological site just yet, but like the digs outside Rome, Athens, or Cairo, you can chart the development of Chris Reeder civilization by digging deeper through the debris. Not the best way to live.

2. Throwing out the old. After about 25 years, pretty much everything needs to go. That would include my law school textbooks, cards from people who won't speak to me anymore, pre-1985 clothes (this is hard-that stuff is bound to come back in style and it all still fits, cause I'm still under my college playing weight), and bad memories. Let's face it, what's killing America isn't the economy, lack of personal responsibility, moral decay, or pollution. Its the accumulation of stuff.

3. Get an indoor plant. One heartbeat is enough for my place for now, but another living, growing thing inside might help. Mildew, bacteria, and mold doesn't count.

4. Convert my yard from dandelion and clover into something resembling grass. The soil in Austin is largely clay and rock, so its hard to keep grass growing, particularly under the shade of my two live oaks and my hanging on for dear life despite the drought pecan tree. My yard is great for goats and foraging mockingbirds, but I can't stand it.

5. Learn some spanish (or italian). I need to go somewhere on a vacation not populated primarily by english speakers. Like Spain or Italy or Florida. The Argentina trip taught me that not everyone throughout the world is fluent in english. Damn foreigners. I don't have to become fluent. Just need to know how to ask to be served vegetables with my steak, the men's room location, what's on the special of the day, can I get a hot tea to go, where's the American Embassy, and tell kidnappers that my family won't pay a ransom.

6. Read a book. Practically any book. The last book I read for real was Catcher in the Rye. I never really read it in college like I was supposed to. When I read it a couple of years ago, it seemed kind of trivial and shallow. I guess in 1951 it was shocking. In 2007, it was boring. And it has to be a real book, not something you get free with your Sports Illustrated subscription. Actually, a close friend of mine wrote a book about her experience with an incurable bladder disease and there's a section in it about me. I need to read it, although I have grave apprehensions about how I'm portrayed. Suffice to say it involves a long walk on the grounds of a rehab center and about a dozen Ghiradelli chocolate bars. I'm terrified.

7. Wipe the sticky stuff off the plastic mat in my office. I spilled some long-forgotten drink on the mat several months ago, but was too tied up to bother with cleaning it. It solidified into some sap-like residue that squeaks when I walk on it. I assumed the cleaning people might eventually come in and take care of it, but no such luck.

8. Repot the plants in my office. They grow pretty fast and have gotten to the point where they're living on water and occasional plant food. The dirt has long since given up any minerals or nutrients. So they have droopy yellow leaves, not unlike my eyes.

9. While we're on the subject of my office, excavate and remove all papers relating to settled cases. That are two years old. At some point, everything dies. When that happens, it needs to be disposed of properly.

10. Be smarter. Not like think harder or something. I mean literally be smarter. Is that possible? Maybe I could eat the right sushi or magnesium or something. What about deep breathing, meditation, ritalin, or sleeping more? Anyone, anyone?

11. Pay closer attention. I really only catch about a third of what's going on around me. Some of that is attributable to poor hearing, but mostly its because I'm not paying attention. Usually nodding my head knowingly and raising my eyebrows as if to say "I totally understand what you said and am now reflecting on it to formulate a meaningful answer" will cover, but that's working less and less as people pay attention to me. Dammit. The thought has occurred that maybe my brain does on some level connect to the other two-thirds but in a primordial self-preservation reflex keeps me from comprehending it for my own protection. Sort of like that Star Trek episode with the flying pizza suckers that stick to your back and turn the human host into a zombie. And when they got after Spock he had to go into some light booth to get rid of them only he forgot his safety goggles and went blind. Only it was temporarily blindness because, we learned after about 15 minutes of dramatic interlude centering on Spock's blindness teaching the audience that they should care for disabled people, Spock had the same hidden inner eyelid that all other Vulcans do, thereby protecting him from permanent blindness. He just forgot to tell us about it, cause he's not so in to talking about himself. Where was I?

12. Have a better attitude when dealing with stupid people. They seem to be multiplying and spreading everywhere. Like haze over the Houston skyline. Or liberals. Or Mormons. Like when I was the one American in the crowd of Japanese tango dancers in Buenos Aires two summers ago, I need to understand there's more of them than me, so I need to adapt to them. Of course, many times, I'm the stupid one. Like lots of times at work. Or when I was in college. Maybe I need to explain myself more clearly.

13. Appreciate what I have. I've got tons of great stuff, have had lots of fun times, a house in a cool part of town, friends who mostly can spell my name right, and I still don't need glasses. Of course, I also can't sleep most nights, 95% of my mail is junk mail or bills, and for years I've had this weird skin tag on my left calf that bleeds once every five years or so. So its a mixed bag. Oh, and I survived my heart problems, so that's pretty cool. Speaking of which, today marks exactly four years since the surgery, which basically allowed me to keep living the active life I've had most of my life. Keep on rockin' in the free world. Next year, at the fifth anniversary, I'll write more about this.

14. Drink more water. Its something to fuel the sweat glands. Which I use. A lot. Basically, between March and November, my body produces gallons and gallons of sweat. I know, its awesome. Something has to keep that river flowing. Diet coke is more tasty, but its a little chemically. Some dude on Facebook once chastised me because some pointy eared professors claim diet coke actually makes you fatter. I can't see it, but in an abundance of caution I've started drinking more iced tea. With cancer-causing sweet and low, because, after all, I'm not a rat so I'm probably safe.

15. To that end, find a better way to deal with the heat and humidity. The last couple of years, I've been crashing and burning pretty bad come July. I've tried everything, and some of it has had some positive effect. Electrolyte solution, power bars, more sleep, but I still keep seizing up like a Volkswagen that never had an oil change. I'm not exactly sure how to go about this. My friend Suzanne Bertin (Placid Athlete) thinks I have heat sensitivity. I think I may have to move to Santa Fe and have my skin turn into an old saddle. Or run inside between May and October.

16. Appreciate the love in my life. There's just no way to talk about this one without it turning into an Air Supply song. Or The View. So I'll move on.

17. See more movies. I used to go to the movies all the time, but what with my busy social and work schedule, which is to say, what with my busy work schedule, its dwindled to about three movies a year. Usually one of those is the summer comedy geared to slacker twenty-somethings (think Wedding Crashers or 40 Year Old Virgin). I need to watch more meaningful movies, like something directed by Clint Eastwood. The problem is I wind up sticking to the floor, getting upset at people with their ringing cell phones and having conversations, the inability to hit "pause" or "rewind," incredibly loud volume, and $5 32 oz. cokes. But it is a way to sit in a darkened chilled room for two hours during the summer on someone else's AC bill. Something about the magic of contrived situations, impossible action scenes, recycled plots, and soundtracks substituting for actual story has made me less interested in going to the movies. But the Alamo does have outstanding popcorn. And they have cool trailers.

18. Sleep more. I generally get about six hours each night. This is because I get to bed way too late, like around 1 a.m. That doesn't allow enough time for workout recovery. This has caused my eyes to begin sinking back into my skull and thereby disappearing like the beach at Galveston. The bags under my eyes are growing and growing, my skin is taking on a Casper the Friendly Ghost pallor and most days I look like I just wandered out of Romania. Or a Jonas Brothers concert. I'm not exactly sure what keeps me up so late. Is it winding down from exercise, or some combination of guilt, dread and soreness? Or my 1993 vintage mattress? Tough to say.

19. See my family more. A no brainer, given the retirement issue noted above. They're all moving on in life, while I stay the same. Steve's girls are growing up and even have boyfriends. Its time to let them know I've got a .45 and a shovel and those punks won't be missed. Steve and Lesley are always jetting off on some fun adventure. Ron has a one-man show, a girlfriend, and a new home in Metairie. Dad is adjusting to his new life. Me? I billed a lot of hours last year. Like the year before, and the year before, and the year before....Another couple of years and I'm going to need a place to stay and a diaper change, and I've got to get in good with these people before too long.

So, there it is. A little long perhaps, but better than two years ago. We'll see what actually happens. But its not so much whether these happen. It matters what goals I have.

Next-the man-hugging has got to stop. Now.

The University of Alabama Fan's Guide to BCS Championship Game and Weekend

As a public service, Daily Affirmations is allowing a guest host to make an announcement for the benefit of our readers who are Alabama fans. We’ll be back soon with a fun post on New Year’s resolutions. Please welcome our guest, the University of Alabama’s Ronnie VanZant Memorial Professor of Southern Culture and History, Prof. Richard Robert “Rebel Dick” Lee.

First off, for anyone who’s reading this announcement on the interwebs, or as we call it in Tuscaloosa, a “typing box,” please make copies of this and post it at Los Angeles-area KOA parks, bus stations, truck stops, campgrounds, and (for the fancy set-mainly bankers, lawyers, and plant managers) Super 8 Motels. Most of the Alabama fans who need to read this will be staying in these locations and therefore won’t be able to read their typing box to see this.

Many of you Tide faithful are arriving in Los Angeles, and later Pasadena, California, for the big game against the Texas Longhorns, or maybe are already there. Most of the local California media are Communists and therefore untrustworthy, or don’t understand the refined taste and expectations of the Alabama citizenry coming to town. So these media agitators haven't given our people an adequate guide to the game or to getting around town through these next couple of days. I’ve been to Los Angeles before (actually, the gasoline truck driver who drove me out of Barstow dropped me off one night in LA on my way to Bakersfield to interview Buck Owens, and it took me a couple of days to get a ride the rest of the way), so I have some special knowledge that might help my fellow Crimson Tiders.

Surviving in Pasadena and Los Angeles

The first thing you need to realize is that this is Pasadena, California, not the Pasadena you saw in that snooty, intellectual art movie, Urban Cowboy. This Pasadena has no mechanical bulls, chemical plants, shot bars, honky tonks, or junior colleges like the Pasadena in Texas that you may be familiar with. In short, it lacks virtually any culture to speak of. So if you’re going through Texas and happen to see signs for Pasadena, you need to keep your El Camino running for a good while longer.

There’s basically four kinds of people in the greater Los Angeles area, and because you’re likely to come into contact with all of them, you need to know a little about them before they come up on you. The first kind is movie and TV trash. This runs the gamut from executives to production people to actors to the worst of all, “aspiring actors” (or as you and I call them, “waiters”). These people are all hooked on bottled water, yoga, bulimia, and cocaine. They worship the Tom Cruise and John Travolta religion, which involves an interplanetary starship cruiser orbiting the earth. They will push this religion on you while they’re in the middle of a bulimia episode. And you have to be very wary because they’ve all had plastic surgery or other face-shaping treatments and are grumpy from hunger and caring about the less fortunate (and their appearance). So they might frighten you with their zombie-like, wax figure countenance. If you have to be around them, remember the “two arms’ length” rule at all times. The second type is Joe Tourist, which more than likely will be someone Japanese (that would be “Sadahuru Tourist” I guess). These folks are scouting out all the locations where the Imperial Army was going to land their troops back in the war. Typically, they create huge lines out front of the more established tourism locations. The third type are gangs. On the east side, its Mexican gangs. In the west and central, its black gangs like the bloods and crips. These people hunt down good white people to either kill or drum up business for local emergency rooms. Finally, the last group consists of homosexual activists. That pretty much takes in everyone else. They originally came down from San Francisco and moved into loft apartments and started opening designer bakeries, antique stores, and upscale pet accessory stores, and acupuncture boutiques. In each case, you need to avoid these people. They’re consistently democrats and vote for liberals and foreigners. They force women to have abortions and worship idols or Tom Cruise. They will try to convert you to their way of life. Or kill you. Or taser you, inject you with heroin, molest you, humiliate you with big words, or anger you with attitudes about their recycling and water conservation (forgetting about the fact they built a huge city in the desert).

Getting Around

Pasadena, and LA more generally, can present a lot of challenges for getting around town. LA has a lot of what they call “freeways.” These are long strips of concrete where you drive cars without having to stop for red lights, WalMart sales, or Dairy Queens, so people “get there” sooner than back home. These freeways seemingly take you nowhere, or at least nowhere you want to visit except the Rose Bowl. As you’re driving your El Camino, or 1976 Trans Am, or RV around, try to use back streets (and don’t break down either). The problem is there’s too many vehicles and not enough roads, so the traffic can move very slowly, like at the Possum Toss Festival in Smoke Rise, AL, when everyone drives their combines into town and vehicles line up at the stop signs on the way to the Waffle House. Except its on these big strips of concrete, and people really don’t like it. In fact, they dislike this thing called "traffic" so much they usually carry guns in their cars and shoot other drivers along the way in lieu of making turn signals. I guess the lack of indigenous deer, squirrels or possum means the locals have to find some other way to enjoy their guns.

Los Angeles proper is essentially a big ghetto that surrounds several large skyscrapers. Various small communities surround Los Angeles, one of which is Pasadena, where the Tide will Roll. To the west is the Pacific Ocean and the various beaches and beach communities. These are largely populated by homosexuals and various types of freaks and weirdoes, as well as aspiring actors, models, and drug addicts, all of whom will try to recruit you. To the east are minority communities, riddled with constant gunfire and rife with pleas for race-based preferences and government handouts. South of town are largely liberal white communities that are rife with lawyers, bankers, insurers, and movie industry executives. They are largely all cocaine addicts and will either push their drugs on you or open fire while driving. North of town is pornography country. Keep a close watch on your zipper.

Dining and Entertainment

LA residents have a distinctly different diet from we genteel Southerners. They don’t enjoy such delicacies as possum, squirrel, gator, head cheese or fried twinkies, and instead eat what they call a “low-calorie” or “organic” diet based on something called “fruits” and “vegetables.” No doubt based on the arid conditions not suitable for critters to forage or for the production of fat for deep frying. It is recommended that you simply bring your own food and beverage with you, or travel over to Fontana or Riverside for appropriate vittles.

Notwithstanding its location on the third circle of Hell, the Los Angeles area does offer some Godly and conservative activities suitable for you and your family to enjoy. Both Fontana and El Cajon have speed car tracks and often host NASCAR and other races. The Ripley’s Believe It or Not is located in Hollywood, and they have fun wax figures of your favorite celebrities, like Don Knotts (both as Barney Fife and Mr. Furley), Elvis, Archie Bunker, and Burt Reynolds. Now I know you’ll be concerned about Disney's promotion of homosexual lifestyles, but the kiddoes might enjoy Disney Land (as long as you properly educate them about Disney’s evil nature and keep them from speaking with any employees, including the ones in costume trying to pervert your children into communist homosexual deviants). Don't forget to visit the La Brea Tar Pits, which is a spot where tar has bubbled up from the surface for thousands of years. You can stand by the side of the pits and watch the oozing tar, which should remind you a lot of our fair home back in Alabama (near the end of most dirt roads out by your trailer park). There’s also Mexican wrestling throughout the city, which is a fine way for those folks to earn a decent living and a great date opportunity for you and the missus. Finally, Ultrazone Laser Tag is the greatest laser tag facility in the country. Should provide hours of fun.

Practicalities for the Big Game

Getting there can be confusing of course. The Rose Bowl is a very large stadium in Pasadena, with a great many rose bushes visible throughout the site. One helpful hint in getting there is to remember that Oklahoma University played UCLA at the stadium roughly three or four years ago. As we all know, modern-day Oklahomans are pretty much all part-Indian, and the Indians are all great trackers. I recommend looking around for arrowheads, disease-ridden blankets, and empty whiskey bottles as tell-tale signs you’re getting near the stadium. Sort of like a tribal Hansel and Gretel.

Now, the Rose Bowl is a classy place, so I recommend looking the part. Best to wear your dress overalls and shoes (that cover both the tops and bottoms of your feet). Try to look like you’re going to a WalMart grand opening, or visiting your parole officer. Now, as I said before, these people out here don’t know from good cuisine or drink, so its best to take a picnic in with you so as not to get too hungry. Or you can bring your very own barbecue pit with you to the stadium parking lot.

One obvious thing you’ll need to look out for is Texas Longhorn fan. These people are quite easy to spot, as they’ll be the ones who look like Yankees, what with their obsession with dentistry and showers, cashmere sweaters, and jewelry. These are a bunch of snooty intellectuals with superiority complexes, no doubt fueled by their curious pride in the famous liberals and weirdo agitators who’ve either graduated or attended that school over the years: Walter Cronkite, Farrah Fawcett, Ricky Williams, Ron Reeder…the list goes on and on. As we’ll be bringing the flower of Southern female gentility with us to the game, its important that Texas fan not trifle with our women. These freako perverts are just waiting for a chance to defile our fine Southern women. Take all possible precautions and definitely stay in groups for maximum protection.

Finally, the game itself presents absolutely no problems. The Tide definitely will roll. Texas is Charmin soft, and like my hunting dogs or your typical resident of Austin, likes nothing more to be scratched on the belly and given a treat. Now, you may say, Alabama has never beaten Texas, despite the fact they played at least three times while the Bear was coaching here. I say, nothing like giving those Longhorns a false sense of security. Our Julios and Rolandos and Terences should make easy work of those softies. Nick will be running up the score and that’s something I absolutely will guarantee.

So, please keep these tips in mind for a positive football weekend trip to the heart of Democrat and atheist homosexual country. If you stay safe you should have a good time.