Mysterious stranger adds immeasurably to your threesome

Some more life lessons.

Talk to a dog. These wonderful creatures have a way of making you feel that they hear you, and that they care. Whoever said the best way to be a friend is to just listen must have met my lovable golden.

Never order the seafood gumbo: it consists of leftover marine animals  from previous unsuccessful menus.

Never use the phrase "Quite frankly" or "To be perfectly honest". All of us assume that you are truthful all the time.

If the public restroom has blowers instead of paper towels, use your sleeve on the door handle as you exit. That handle is a fecal playground.

Encourage a kid who seems lurpy or awkward in sports or some other activity. That kid will remember your kindness for the rest of his life.

Don't be afraid to pray while  driving. If the driver next to you sees your rosary, he won't think you're weird. He'll know  you believe.

If you have to begin a sentence with "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but…" or " It's none of my business but…", don't say what you are about to say. You will hurt someone's feelings. And it is none of your business.

Hygiene: Let someone else conduct the examination to remove ear hairs. You are guaranteed to miss some.

Look at the actual  tags on the clothing on the rack. The size marker attached to the hangar may be wrong.

Change your toothbrush at least every seven days. You can't imagine the disgusting microbes forming new colonies on your Oral-B.

Sit down and read a book. You have the time. If  you don't then your life is moving too fast.

Gladly accept a gift card from a merchant when you don't have a receipt. The retailer owes you nothing for receiptless returns.

When you enter a McDonald's or a coffee shop in the morning, stop and say hi to all the oldsters sitting there just looking for someone to talk to. You'll receive a smile and a friendly exchange.  You'll be old someday too.

Tip high. Always. Sometimes the bad server is just having a bad day. Be a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

Bring more than one plastic bag when you take the dog out for a walk. Multi-poops are hard to manage with just one. I've tried.

Stay in the  long drive-through line as opposed to going  inside for speed. Corporate fast food franchises monitor the time for each drive-through customer.  Counter traffic not so much.

Always allow a golfer playing solo to join up with your group. The Lord has put these lone duffers in your path.   The stranger might be Jesus in disguise.  You can tell because, as  everybody knows, only God can hit a two iron.

Last but not least, just before you put your head on the pillow at night, tell God that you place all of your problems in his  hands. You will sleep peacefully.  He hears you.

Peace.

God dissipates the sadness with unexpected reminder

So I'm at the "Lion King" the other night at the State Theater downtown.

 

The biggest laughs involved  the  giant warthog "Poomba" passing gas.

 

Amazing.

 

With all the clever writing contained in the script, that old standby generated the most humor.

 

Farts.

 

What is it about human flatulence that makes it the international calling card for comedy?

 

I recently heard a  routine in which the comic says  speaking the word "fart" makes sixth graders howl.

 

 

He describes a little league  coach  burdened with a speech impediment that causes him to say the word "fart" whenever he intends to say the word "fault".

 

Make the substitution in this soliloquy and tell me it doesn't generate a grin.

 

"Boys, Tommy had to leave the team, but it's not his fault. His family changed districts and that's not my fault . Most importantly, fellas, please realize that it's not your fault either."

 

Over the last several months I've had my own encounters with these gaseous events.

 

During a very serious trial where I served as defense counsel, the judge excused an elderly woman from jury service.

 

She got up, and left the jury box, audibly farting as she walked out the door.

 

It took all the self-control  I could muster to suppress a guffaw amidst this somber setting.

 

The other day I entered the confessional in a Catholic Church.

 

On the other side of the screen, the silence was broken by the sound of a priestly toot.

 

Back  in the parking lot, I laughed out loud to myself.

 

I'm not sure I quite understand why this purely biological phenomena makes us giggle.

 

There's a  popular television program on TLC called "Here comes Honey Boo-Boo".

 

It features a hillbilly family negotiating its way through the mundane challenges of life.

 

Prominently featured are moments of flatulence so important to the plot line that scratch and sniff cards have been distributed by Us Magazine so  viewers can have the full experience (yeccchhhh!).

 

A trip to any novelty shop  reveals that the most popular item is something called a whoopee cushion.

 

We've put men on the moon and perfected heart transplants.

 

Despite this, accusing someone of a left cheek sneak remains a highly-ranked source of entertainment?

 

What's wrong with us?

 

Maybe  some kind of primal  funnybone is meant to be tickled in this way.

 

After all, who hasn't encountered a third grader with one hand placed in the armpit, flapping an arm to imitate that unmistakable sound?

 

I don't buy that theory.

 

I have sort of a religious take on this subject.

 

I think that God wants to remind us that the joy of the Resurrection overrides any moment of sadness or serious contemplation.

 

Alas, lest we forget this happy fact, at our very lowest moments, he has provided the fart.

 

 

Inexplicably guaranteed to bring a smile.

 

Thank you, Lord.

 

The creator had a sense of humor.

 

My  mother-in-law is right: he who smelt it, dealt it.

 

If you didn't like this column, remember one thing.

 

Coach says it's not my fault.

 

Amen.

Lucy and Ricky not the stars of the sitcom we live

This column is about the heroes of matrimony.

It's about most of you reading this column.

I think you are heroes because you've stayed married.

And by the way, I'm not passing judgment on the divorced crowd.

Lord knows, domestic violence and drug abuse have rendered divorce  the only available form of self-defense  in many cases.

I'm talking about the thousands of you who have kept tied  the knot despite many disappointments and struggles with your spouse.

Ladies, you thought you married a White Knight on a steed.

Instead, after a few years, you're stuck with Fred Mertz on a Barcalounger.

Gents, that vixen who used to parade around in a Teddy is not the same girl.

Today, she wears head to toe jammies resembling the Terminator's body armor, and unfortunately also in Schwarzenegger's size.

Seeing each other naked used to be a turn-on.

Intimate moments these days occur with the lights out to prevent nausea.

Offensive habits have lingered.

For years.

To the point where arguments enlarge the significance of these habits.

Those cute little idiosyncrasies of yours (snoring, nose picking, toilet lid left up, toothpaste cap left off, flatulence while sleeping, etc.) have developed into justification for nuclear war.

Or maybe even divorce.

And don't even mention money.

It's always tight.

The stress is hard on both of you.

Yes, on and off you've thought of divorce.

Maybe even mentioned it aloud.

And despite all that, you stay married.

For years, persevering.

I think that's pretty cool.

All those problems, but the two of you have hung in there.

That is faithfulness.

Dedication.

Loyalty to a promise made before God between two starry eyed idealists years ago.

Idealists who thought their love so strong that no adversity could diminish it.

I wish the presider at  each wedding could have a machine that projects video of the couple and their problems 30 years into the future.

"Do you, bride and groom, promise to remain married despite the future  I've just revealed to you?"

Saying yes to that question means real commitment.

And you  long-termers who've beaten the odds?

Well, suffice to say,  you have lived the commitment.

I once heard it said that  a good marriage is a union between two champion forgivers.

Unless you've never done anything requiring forgiveness (believe me, you have screwed up royally on multiple occasions), be a forgiver.

Love is not the "Love Story" definition of not having to say you're sorry.

Love is facing constant disappointment with a limitless supply of forgiveness and patience.

When you finish this column, give your enduring embattled better half a hug and a kiss.

You've lasted, despite all.

Fat and farty, Fred and Ethel are heroes in my book.

And so are you.

And one more thing,  work on those bad habits.

You will be eternally forgiven, but you'd be surprised to see  the way you can light up someone's day with the tiniest of behavior modification.

Someone might even turn the lights off tonight.

Before bedtime.

Nighty-night.

Just a few steps to foiling murderous plot

A murder is about to happen.

 

Will you help to prevent it?

 

Here's the story.

 

It's about Hopkins Airport.

 

Cleveland needs it.

 

We need it.

 

You can't be a  center of commerce without a major international airport.

 

If Hopkins dies, we become irrelevant.

 

Northern Ohio dies.

 

And by the way, if you haven't noticed, as the economy recovers  nationally, our beautiful Land of the Western Reserve is still barely on life support.

 

And if that airport near Berea is going to survive, it must be a hub for a major airline.

 

A hub is  a carrier's focal airport for  distribution of flights throughout the country.

 

The lucky hub city buzzes with activity.

 

Think of it this way.

 

Great Lakes Mall has major anchors in the form of Dillard's, Macy's, and J.C. Penney.

 

But without these anchors, Great Lakes Mall would fade away into oblivion.

 

It's the same for big airports.

 

And that's why there's danger lurking.

 

You see, Cleveland functioned as Continental's hub for many years.

 

This served us well.

 

The airport's operator, The City of Cleveland, did anything and everything to keep Continental happy.

 

That smart.

 

Unfortunately, United Airlines recently acquired Continental and United doesn't need Cleveland for a hub, especially since Chicago fills the bill so nicely for this part of the country.

 

In fact, United wants out.

 

They've told the politicians that if fares continue to decline, they will have to say "adios" to Cleveland.

 

And then all of us are screwed as Hopkins turns into a sad shadow of its former self.

 

What drives me nuts is United's intentionally offering poor service to Northeast Ohioans so that business here will continue to decline.

 

That way, United can say Clevelanders are to blame if we are suddenly found horribly hubless.

 

United recently disgusted me by disconnecting three phone calls made to its 800 number.

 

Each time, waiting interminably on the phone  for a chance to re-explain  my problem.

 

Each time cut off by their faulty internet-based phone system.

 

I finally had to drive to the airport to resolve the issue with a United agent in person.

 

The airline rep looked me in the eye, admitted that the 800 system is a disaster, and apologized.

 

Meanwhile, Clevelanders seek solutions with United's competition.

 

And that's what United wants.

 

So they can leave.

 

And then Hopkins and Cleveland will die.

 

Call Mayor Frank Jackson at City Hall at 216-664-2000.

 

Everyone in our community has an interest in stopping the untimely demise of this great airport.

 

I'm hoping you can  convince our leaders to stop United from intentionally strangling this airport.

 

The airlines has its fingers around your throat, Clevelanders.

 

Peal those hands off from around your neck and strike back.

 

It's time for all of us to stop this murder.

 

Tell the  Mayor to protect our jobs and our region's future by  keeping United's hub here in town.

 

Tell him to do what it takes to get the job done.

 

We all hate murder.

 

Now you can stop one.

 

Just a few steps to foiling murderous plot

A murder is about to happen.

 

Will you help to prevent it?

 

Here's the story.

 

It's about Hopkins Airport.

 

Cleveland needs it.

 

We need it.

 

You can't be a  center of commerce without a major international airport.

 

If Hopkins dies, we become irrelevant.

 

Northern Ohio dies.

 

And by the way, if you haven't noticed, as the economy recovers  nationally, our beautiful Land of the Western Reserve is still barely on life support.

 

And if that airport near Berea is going to survive, it must be a hub for a major airline.

 

A hub is  a carrier's focal airport for  distribution of flights throughout the country.

 

The lucky hub city buzzes with activity.

 

Think of it this way.

 

Great Lakes Mall has major anchors in the form of Dillard's, Macy's, and J.C. Penney.

 

But without these anchors, Great Lakes Mall would fade away into oblivion.

 

It's the same for big airports.

 

And that's why there's danger lurking.

 

You see, Cleveland functioned as Continental's hub for many years.

 

This served us well.

 

The airport's operator, The City of Cleveland, did anything and everything to keep Continental happy.

 

That smart.

 

Unfortunately, United Airlines recently acquired Continental and United doesn't need Cleveland for a hub, especially since Chicago fills the bill so nicely for this part of the country.

 

In fact, United wants out.

 

They've told the politicians that if fares continue to decline, they will have to say "adios" to Cleveland.

 

And then all of us are screwed as Hopkins turns into a sad shadow of its former self.

 

What drives me nuts is United's intentionally offering poor service to Northeast Ohioans so that business here will continue to decline.

 

That way, United can say Clevelanders are to blame if we are suddenly found horribly hubless.

 

United recently disgusted me by disconnecting three phone calls made to its 800 number.

 

Each time, waiting interminably on the phone  for a chance to re-explain  my problem.

 

Each time cut off by their faulty internet-based phone system.

 

I finally had to drive to the airport to resolve the issue with a United agent in person.

 

The airline rep looked me in the eye, admitted that the 800 system is a disaster, and apologized.

 

Meanwhile, Clevelanders seek solutions with United's competition.

 

And that's what United wants.

 

So they can leave.

 

And then Hopkins and Cleveland will die.

 

Call Mayor Frank Jackson at City Hall at 216-664-2000.

 

Everyone in our community has an interest in stopping the untimely demise of this great airport.

 

I'm hoping you can  convince our leaders to stop United from intentionally strangling this airport.

 

The airlines has its fingers around your throat, Clevelanders.

 

Peal those hands off from around your neck and strike back.

 

It's time for all of us to stop this murder.

 

Tell the  Mayor to protect our jobs and our region's future by  keeping United's hub here in town.

 

Tell him to do what it takes to get the job done.

 

We all hate murder.

 

Now you can stop one.