Good morning Boys and Girls.

Oh my goodness. I woke up laughing this morning, and by the end of this, you'll be laughing too.

At me.

Okay, so either yesterday or Monday I noticed on my Yahoo front page that it was the tenth anniversary of introduction of Viagra by Phizer. I read the associated story and got a kick out of it. Turns out, as many of you have probably learned over the years, that Phizer was testing Sildenafil for other purposes, and found that they were having trouble getting the samples back because of its now famous "side effect." Further testing "firmed" up their resolve to market the drug for its present use.

Okay, so that much I knew. But what amused me was to learn that the term "erectile dysfunction" didn't even exist ten years ago; that it was all part of the marketing so they could avoid using the dreaded "impotence" term. That made me laugh...

Okay, so I'd thought about writing a post just about that stuff, figuring I could come up with some goofy double entendres and alternate terms they might have used instead of erectile dysfunction; maybe "weakened willy syndrome," or "shy turtle disease." -That sort of thing.

But I read further. Once the marketing gurus decided on the term "erectile dysfuntion," they had to figure out a way for it to gain acceptance within the medical field. How could they get Doctors to buy the term; to use it? Easy. They had to come up with a specific way to define it, probably correctly assuming that if they didn't... well, it just wouldn't work for them. So...

Here's something I didn't know at all, even though I've grown up owning a penis for some fifty-two years now, and have, over the years even encountered that interesting phenomenon of waking with a "happy soldier" from time to time. (Hey! -there's another possibility! "Wounded Warrier syndrome. No?...) It seems that all men, when in fine fettle, have four or five erections during a normal sleep cycle; perhaps one for each pretty girl they'd seen the previous day - unwitting brief salutes to beauty? Who knows. Anyway, that's the norm. The Phizer marketing folks decided to define it this way: if a man doesn't have at least four erections while he's asleep at night, he's got erectile dysfunction.

I thought about that, and thought to myself, "We poor guys! -geez, now we won't be able to sleep at all because we'll all be worried we're not getting enough boners overnight. It could end up being a self-fulfilling prophecy!" Then it dawned on me. AHHhhhh! So much the better for Phizer stockholders! I understood, and I laughed aloud.

So, finally we get to the story. How do I finish this up without writing another five paragraphs? I'll try.

A couple of my acquaintances are looking for jobs right now, and they've been on my mind, that's all I can figure.

My dream last night was that I was stuck in a large hospital style ward full of men laying on their backs asleep and my job was to walk around and chart their erections. In the dream I was on the phone using my bluetooth headset talking with Sweet Lady as I walked around with my clipboard and pen, and we were making fun of the guys who never got them, me making derisive remarks and with her at some point saying stuff like, "Aw, that's too bad, sounds like he's a two-pill guy."

Yeah, I know, wouldn't my talking on the phone have woken the guys up? Hey, it was a dream.

Anyway, as time wore on I ended up bitching about how it was so incredibly unfair that my life had come down to this sort of employment. She, showing no sympathy, told me to shut up; that I should feel lucky to be working at all; that I had a soft job and should stop complaining.

And just as I paused and furrowed my brow to puzzle over that comment? -I woke up.


Be good to everyone.

Good morning Boys and Girls.

I've been flipping around on the TV this morning watching how some of the TV preachers are celebrating Easter this year. On "Live from Liberty," Jerry Falwell, who must have been digitally resurrected for the occasion, delivered a message centered around a family whose faith helped them cope with the deaths of their three children in what must have been an awful car accident. In it he talked about how peaceful they were at the funeral because they knew their children were now in Heaven.

I must say, if I knew for sure that the people in my life who've died - will die - were in, or were going to be in, the sort of Heaven in which Mr. Falwell believed, I'd have been MORE than peaceful. I'd have been jumping up and down with joy. Imagine, your children spared decades of disappointments and conflicts to be whisked away to God's loving protection, fortified with the knowledge that I'll be joining them for eternity in but a few short years. Seems to me that would be grounds for celebrating like crazy.

But no. It's at times like these that even people with strong faith have their doubts; doubts that come back for years and years. It's the ONLY thing that explains long lasting sadness following the death of a loved one. In the emptiness of loss, our minds kick into gear and the logical reasoning that blesses us in so many other aspects of life, becomes an enemy of sorts; a curse with which we deal as best we can; because we KNOW, that, unfortunately, all we really have are any memories we've stored away to keep those we've loved alive as long as possible.

For the followers of Jesus, so great was the need to keep him alive, that the Easter Story evolved, and has become the cornerstone of what it means to "have faith" for most people who consider themselves Christians.

Along with other miracles attributed to Jesus, I've never believed the Easter Story to be literally true. However, I've learned not to debate it's voracity with those to whom it's so very important, and in the end, if it gives comfort, I can't see how believing it does all that much harm.

For me though, I really think what Jesus had to say about how to live while he was alive is far more important than the story - as wonderful as it is - of his resurrection.

Love God, love yourself, your friends and your enemies.

Happy Easter All.


Be good to everyone.

(To listen to an audio version of this post, (once Gabcast updates sometime during the day,) click on the podcast with the same title over to the right.)

Gooooood morning Boys and Girls.

So, just to the left of my desk here, there's a wastebasket. I have to have one there as it seems I'm forever sneezing and blowing my defective nose.

It's within reach. I can touch it from where I sit. There. I just did.

About twenty minutes ago I used a tissue and tried to drop it in the basket. I didn't throw it mind you, I just dropped it.

I missed.

Picked it up again, feeling silly and... I missed again.

Then a third time.

Finally I got out of my chair, picked the damn thing up, leaned over the receptacle and deliberately put my hand INTO the basket before releasing the used kleenex. It made it to the bottom this time.

Weird.

I sat here for a good five minutes trying to understand how this could have possibly happened. I went up, poured myself a cup of coffee - thankful I was able to get it all IN the cup - and found I had the strangest feeling, like I was losing control of my world.

I mean, I hadn't missed a lay-up, or even a dunk shot. I'd, in essence, had a ladder and climbed up to basket level and still not been able to drop the damn ball through the hoop - even while resting my arms on the friggen' rim for balance.

When I was a kid, I went to quite a few Red Wings games with my Dad and my uncle. Between periods, one of the audience attractions was a game called "Score-O." They'd pick a few seat numbers at random and the occupants of those seats were invited to come onto the ice to take a shot at the goal from increasingly distant positions on the ice, with the prizes awarded being of greater and greater value as the distance from the goal increased.

Now, you didn't get to shoot at the whole goal. No, they'd lean a painted plywood Red Wing logo across the face of the goal with a two-foot slit in the middle along the bottom, meant to make the shot more difficult. But, if the participant chosen was a kid under seven or eight years old, they let them stand RIGHT in front of the goal, maybe three or four feet away. Plus, for young kids, each subsequent shot would only get another three or four feet further away, whereas by the time adults got to their fourth shot, they were at center ice.

Well, when I was that age, meaning seven or eight, I played a lot of backyard hockey, and fancied myself a pretty good shot, and so I desperately wanted to have my name chosen each time we'd go to a game, because I knew damn well I could hit the target even three or four positions out, meaning I could win a pretty good prize - maybe even that super-cool Schwinn California Stingray Bike - if only they'd choose my seat number...

I could not believe how many kids missed even that first shot. I knew I could never miss it myself. Hell, some of them even whiffed!

What losers!

Now?

Well, I can't even drop litter into a wastebasket effectively.

Come to think of it, I'm very worried about my putting this upcoming year. Will there be no such thing as an easy tap-in anymore?

Life is funny.


Be good to everyone.