Friday 7/13/07 Games

Greetings one and all. Remember:

''Gratitude is riches; complaint is poverty. The worst I ever had was pretty good.'' (Bro. Dave Garrity, circa 1968)

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Some people object to my attitude about games. They say I'm unthinking, stiff-necked, abrasive, evasive, obnoxious, narrow, selfish, cowardly, unforgiving and foolish about games.

They're right, I am. Keeping that in mind, here's my skewed perspective.

1. Pin the Tail on the Donkey. If I'm "It," I get to be blindfolded and tittered at by girls. Frankly, I'd change the game to something called, "Stick the Bimbo in the Buttocks with a Thumbtack."

2. Red Rover. This one is quite possibly the root of my feelings about games.

In Red Rover, what you do is you wait on one side of the church lawn until the girls call out, from the other side, "Red Rover, Red Rover, send TOMMY on over." Then Tommy runs over and tries to break on through to the other side.

My mother bribed me to play this. She offered -- and paid -- a coloring book, a new box of Crayola crayons, and a pair of blunt little kiddie scissors.

So I played. But only the once. I admit, being humiliated by a line of girls holding their arms together, well, it wasn't the sexual turn-on I had anticipated.

3. Golf. I could do a book on this one. Perhaps I already have. Mark Twain said Golf is a preposterous waste of a good walk.

My Dad said I should play Golf so I could make profitable business connections. The only people I talked to at Golf were: the bimbo clerk in the pro shop; my Dad; and a drunk in the 19th hole bar. No profit. No connection. Monkey business.

Once I watched some kids drag racing on 47th Ave. along the perimeter of the Greeley Country Club course. Dad asked, "What are you looking at?" and I answered, "People having fun." Dad was not amused.

4. Spin the bottle. Now here's one that didn't require bribery. Whoa. We were at a 9th grade birthday party. Since about the 6th grade I had been fantasizing about kissing the little Sanderson girl. Sure enough, I spun the bottle and when it stopped, it pointed at her.

We went behind the garage and I found out what it was like to try to kiss a struggling, screaming, uncooperative, toothy girl. No fun, this game, either.

5. Bridge. My parents thought Bridge was intellectual, so I should play. Once in a while I would be lucky and get the "dummy" hand. Now that was the fun part. I could concentrate on my beer. Bridge is the "grownup" version of "Old Maid."

6. Ouija Board. Wow. That little Jewish girl in Aurora could really make that thing hum. But, she found out I was Methodist. Game over.

7. Air hockey. Such hollering, careening about, jumping and boy-to-man swearing. That looked like fun, but you had to be drunk. I never liked games where you had to be drunk, like Pool or Snooker. I'd rather just be drunk, period.

8. Badminton. I thought I'd get to watch girls cavort and jiggle. Naw. None of the hijinks of air hockey. Just calm batting back and forth an unfortunate little plastic bird. Yawn. Same as volleyball, except you don't get as much sand in your mouth. Or see jiggle.

9. Jacks. Girls don't let boys play Jacks. But I would hang around anyway, hoping a girl playing Jacks would become exhuberant, lose track of her modesty, and I might catch a glimpse of her panties.

10. House. Yep that's right. There's a game called "House." Girls want to play House. House seemed like a game in which the girls tell the boys what to do, as in take out the trash and mow the lawn. Me, if I played games at all, I'd want to play Doctor. And Nurse.

11. Trivial Pursuit. At one time, I thought all board games were called Trivial Pursuit. Some trivia I can recall. Other trivia escapes me. I lose. Game unattractive.

12. Hacky Sack. Oh hey. I like this one. We go out on the front sidewalk. We're barefoot. We're smoking cigarettes. We're sipping urgently on our Big Gulps. We're wearing our baggy pants. We're cool with our hats on backwards or sideways. After endless hours of practice, some of us can keep the little filthy leather marble airborne. It isn't something you put on your resume though.

13. Ms. Pacman. This is the one where the yellow smiley face turns sideways, and if the player is skilled, he uses Ms. Smiley Face to ''eat'' the other players. It was all the rage when I worked in Wheat Ridge. Far as I know, they're still playing Ms. Pacman in Wheat Ridge. They were the last time I was there, anyway.

14. Musical Chairs. Now here's a mystical exercise in exclusion. I think it was invented by a sadistic piano teacher as a way of humiliating the Pupil of her choice. (Me.)

15. Hopscotch. Yep, here we are with the girls again. Girls draw mysterious diagrams and signs on the sidewalk or in the dirt. Girls know the code. Most sixth grade boys can't hop on one foot anyway. I used to say, "Hey, let's go over to the monkey bars and hang by our knees." (It's another boy trick to see girls' panties.)

16. Square dancing. I know, some people will say it is not a game. I say it is a game if the object is to dance with your best friend's girlfriend. I could not dough-see-dough in good conscience after I learned that.

17. Tic Tac Toe. He who starts first, wins. He who starts second, loses. This is just so much fun I can hardly wait to play again. Sometime.

18. Chess/Checkers. Yes, Chess and Checkers are the same game. In Checkers, there's some chance I will win. So that's no fun. In Chess, there's no chance I will win. So that's no fun.

19. Croquet. All I can say about this one is you have to have wooden balls.

Remember the movie, "2001, A Space Odyssey?" What would YOU do during all those hours? Mumbley Peg? Scrabble? Yikes.

We'll be over at the neighbors tonight playing Twister. Oooooo Baby.

If that isn't enough fun, we'll go for a drive in the desert tomorrow -- maybe we'll even get to have a flat tire! Now that would be fun.

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Word of the week: Shrew. Webster's New World says, 1. A small mouselike mammal, or 2. A scolding, nagging, evil-tempered woman.

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One day out on life's highway (Highway 85 in Evans) we spied a leetle BMW two-seater convertible. So I asked Laura "What color is that?" and she says, "Looks like Midlife Crisis Yellow to me."

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Skin health: Dr. Estephan Castile (not his real name) recommended I have him do a "Mohs Surgery" along my farmer's tan line.

Mohs Surgery, he explained, was invented by Dr. Mohs. Duh, I said, I knew that. Well, what Dr. Mohs invented is a little like serial murder. What this entails is a series of tissue samples -- biopsies -- during one clinic visit. The doc keeps cutting until he gets 'em all.

When Dr. Castile really got my attention was when he wanted to set up a payment contract. I would owe Dr. Castile $8,000.00. Yes that is correct, eight thousand dollars, presumably including a royalty to Dr. Mohs.

Duh, I said. I knew that.

Since I was unwilling to help him with his next Ferrari payment, I left Dr. Castile's care six years ago.

Since then, another doctor did one biopsy. Benign. Yet another doctor hit a few spots with liquid nitrogen. I've spent less than $100 on a problem that was supposed to kill me five years ago.

Duh, I said. I knew that.

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I used to chew my fingernails -- but that was when I had more teeth.

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Next week's "word": Ignoramus.