Be Kind To Cows

Milk prices continue to rise to record levels and yet, as far as I can tell, not one single cow is making a dime. So where’s the outrage?

Not even PETA, the ACLU for animals, is taking advantage of higher milk prices to raise cow awareness. Oh sure, they have a standing opposition to humans confining cows and treating them as “milk-producing machines.”

PETA claims that, “Given the chance, cows nurture their young and form lifelong friendships with one another. They play games, have a wide range of emotions, and demonstrate personality traits, such as vanity.”

I can’t remember the last time I saw a wild herd of cows roaming free long enough to observe such traits, but I’ll take PETA’s word for it. (No doubt Elsie and the girls would put on a little makeup if only they had opposable thumbs.)

The cows don’t even have Darwin on their side from the looks of it. Cuz if his theory of evolution extended to cows, at some point they’d get wise to their situation and grow wings or develop a shut-off valve or maybe form a union.

In Hinduism cows are considered sacred. As a result, in some areas of India, they roam freely. But Hindus drink cow’s milk, and make cheese and other dairy products.

Not having been to India, I can only assume small gangs of itinerant dairy farmers follow the cows around the countryside and when the cows stop to rest, the milknappers whip out a bucket and start tuggin’ teat. I’m sure that’s much more humane, but whaddya suppose a gallon of milk would cost if it was collected one bucketful at a time?

Be thankful we don’t have herds of cows roaming the streets of downtown Chicago or New York and every time you wanted milk, you had to chase one down and squeeze a glassful right from the tap.

So if you're a consumer of dairy products, next time you drive by a farm, stop and thank the cows. And be sure to tell them they look nice.

Hoop Dreams

It appears as though my career as a bad amateur basketball player is all but over.

There was no farewell tour. No season-ending tournament game in front of thousands of cheering fans. My moment of glory didn’t make the highlight reel on ESPN’s Sports Center. Hell, it wasn’t even captured on home video, which is too bad because American TV audiences evidently find video clips of people getting hurt to be endlessly amusing.

My hoop dreams ended in a high school gymnasium on a Sunday afternoon 15 minutes into the first game. The only witnesses were the other 9 players and 2 guys waiting for the next game. I got the ball in the paint, went hard to my right to go around the defender, pushed off my right foot towards the hole and… down I went.

I tore the medial meniscus in my right knee so badly that it had flipped over and lodged between the knee joint, preventing me from straightening my leg.

That night, I maneuvered myself around the house by resting the foot of my bent leg on a chair. I’d take a step with my good leg, stop, move the chair and my right leg at the same time, and repeat.

At the Sports Clinic the next day, the surgeon told me he’d have to manually straighten my leg before they could do anything. It turns out I’m not nearly as tough in reality as I am in my imagination.

As the doctor sloooooowly pushed down on my knee, tears streamed from both eyes, and I made noises that would’ve no doubt frightened away lions or possibly even crack-addict burglars with handguns.

My doctor (who I’m guessing skipped his med-school sessions on bedside manners) apparently felt as though I was overreacting because at one point he said, “Come on, now. This is getting ridiculous.”

When I said, “So are your fees,” I’m pretty sure he pushed harder.

The next day, he removed 75% of the meniscus. At the follow up a week later, he strongly recommended that I stop playing hoops unless the prospect of knee-replacement surgery in 10-15 years was appealing to me.

“Plus,” he added, “I’ve seen you play.”

“Very funny, doc” I said. “At least you didn’t suggest I work this into my act.”

Premises are easy. Punch lines are hard.

People are so nice. Always trying to help out with ideas for my stand-up.

After a show in December of 1989, a guy recommended I do a bit about how people love to shake hands.

“Yes, I should,” I agreed, as the man pumped my hand vigorously.

Last week my mother told me that my dad unwrapped a frozen pizza, inadvertently left it on the cardboard tray and stuck the whole thing in the oven. She laughed almost uncontrollably when she got to the part about the fire.

When she recovered long enough to breathe, she said “You should use that in your comedy routine.” Then she started laughing again, as if to convince me of the comedy value inherent to her story.

Over the last 18 years, hundreds of well-meaning people have volunteered their premises to me, and urged me to turn them into comedy gold.

It finally occurred to me that I should turn the whole topic into a comedy bit. All I need is a killer punch line.

Biggest Story in Wisconsin Sports

Forget the Badgers and the Packers. By far the biggest sports story in Wisconsin since the Packers last won the Super Bowl is Steve Stricker's run at the FedEx Cup.

For the most part, the national media has completely ignored him as best they can. Stricker – a soft-spoken, nice, down-to-earth, family guy living in Madison – has quietly crept up to # 5 in the WORLD rankings. That's world as in the whole damn planet, and about the only place you'll hear about it is in the local news. (Okay, ESPN gives him some airtime, but they cover amateur skateboarding, fer chrissake.)

If Stricker would drink, smoke and gamble like John Daly, he'd be on the cover of Sports Illustrated this week. Maybe if his wife was a model, and he owned a jet and lived in a mansion on an island, NBC would feature him more prominently in their ads promoting their coverage of the FedEx Cup. If he hipped up his wardrobe like the kids on the tour, or had thicker hair or wasn't so... so damn WASP-y, he'd get hounded mercilessly by paparazzi until he eventually beat one to a pulp and had a Britney Spears-type breakdown.

Being a world-class PGA player is not without its rewards – Stricker has won over $4 million in prize money this year. But being a quiet, nice, responsible guy living in tiny Madison, WI doesn't bring in the huge endorsement deals that less accomplished athletes have received or get you on The Tonight Show or sell a lot of magazines.

Of course, that could all change – temporarily, of course – with a win over Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson this weekend. Good luck, Steve. I'll be rooting for you.

Health Advice

According to medical statistics, most heart attacks occur on Monday mornings.

So starting this Monday, do what I do: Sleep in until noon, just to be safe.

Tell those busy bodies in HR that, going forward, you’ll be coming in at 1:00 on Mondays as a preventive measure.

When they ask how you’ll make up for the lost time, say, “Slow down a minute, sister. I’ve been risking my life dragging my ass in here every Monday at 8:00 a.m. for the last 15 years. The way I figure it, you owe me 750 Monday mornings off. So if you know what’s good for you, just let it go or else I’m calling the ACLU.”

And if you really want to prove your point, call the HR lady at home on a Sunday night to tell her the news...

Milk Prices

I went to the grocery store today. A gallon of milk was $3.45.

Which means I have a family with an almost $30-a-week milk addiction.

I'm going to have to start start selling drugs just to support our milk habit.

If prices keep going up, we might all have to go to milk rehab...

Levitra commercial

"When I first learned that my high blood pressure was causing my erectile dysfunction, I was surprised. So my doctor described Levitra."

Geez, maybe your doctor should have prescribed some high blood pressure medication. Your veins are so constricted that your blood pressure is high enough to ram a golf ball though a garden hose but you're worried about getting a woody?
Unless your idea of stiff includes rigor mortis, you might want to get a second opinion.

Road Sign

I saw a sign on the highway today that said, "Speed Enforced By Radar."

That's weird. I was wondering what he'd been doing since MASH...

The tall and short of Badgers Basketball

I went to the Wisconsin Badgers basketball game last night with my good great friend, Dr. Chris Kammer, also known as the rock 'n roll dentist. (When the stars come through Madison – and then happen to chip a tooth while they're here – Dr. Chris is the guy they go see.)

After we got inside the Kohl Center, I noticed that the fans in attendance were all ridiculously tall. At the concession stand, the average height was about 6’ 3”. In the men’s room; 6’ 5”.

To be perfectly fair, I wandered into the ladies’ room, which was overflowing with Amazon women, all perfectly aligned in pairs, just the way they entered. A hush fell over the room as I entered, but I’m pretty sure they were in the middle of devising a plan to retaliate against their husbands and boyfriends this weekend for dragging them to a basketball game on a weeknight.

Certainly the 17,000+ tall people in attendance were not all former basketball players. Maybe they were all sitting at home thinking, 'It sure would be nice to be around other tall people... let's go watch a basketball game!' And before you know it, 17,000 tall people are sitting together, and very happy to be in each other’s company.

The players were all giants. The kids in the band were pretty tall. The ushers were tall. The PA announcer was approximately 7-feet tall.

And then the cheerleaders came out.

They were all in about the four-and-half-foot range. Were these the regular cheerleaders or were they the wrestling team’s cheerleaders filling in?

Maybe the cheerleaders all aspire to be tall. And they’re hopeful that if they surround themselves with tall people, that some sort of osmosis will take place. Or maybe they’re just really positive people who are so damn happy that the players and fans grew to be so tall, they decided to come out and show their support. “Way to go tall people, way to go!” Clap clap.

But there is apparently some internal strife in the cheerleader ranks. They’ve split off into two separate factions of really short people.

One group is smaller in number and is comprised of about 6 or 8 really muscular men and a roughly equal number of really petite women. (It was difficult to get an exact count because they zipped around so fast, I couldn’t keep track of them.) The men take turns tossing the pint-size women up in the air, and hold them up with one hand as if displaying a prize won in a hotly contested battle.

The other group is an all-girl team that numbers around 20. These women have pompoms that they swing around and wield viciously, sort of like nunchucks. My guess is they use these to keep away the strong men from the other tribe, who no doubt would like to collect more women. “Defense, defense!” Clap-clap. Clap-clap-clap.

Next time I go, it’ll be interesting to see if the all-girl group has lost any of its members to the strongman group. And to see if anyone in either group has gotten any taller.

The Badgers won, by the way. And they play again Saturday, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be at the mall holding my wife’s purse while she shops.