Today In The Mirror ...

The transition into a new calendar year always seems to make people think deeply about self-improvement and reinvention. Diets ... exercise regimens ... new attitudes toward co-workers ... all kinds of changes and alterations seem to come and go during January and February of each new year.

And that is why I'm staring at my hair. It's been nearly six months since I've been to a barber or hair salon. When I comb my hair after a shower, my "bangs" hang below the bulb of my nose. For years I've worn my hair short ... sometimes just shy of bare scalp. But recently I've come to think dudes with longish hair look sexy ... rakish ... like rogues. And I could use a dose of "sexy" in my life. I personally think my longer locks look good, although it does take a good amount of time ... and product ... to prepare them for a long workday or a night on the town.

But my friends, family, and co-workers have been less than kind. I've received odd comments such as "trying to pick up a teenager?" to outright insults like "you look 50" or "do you really think that's flattering?"

But the big question ... my personal riddle of the Sphinx ... is who is my hair about? Do I make myself happy and mentally more handsome by keeping it long? Or do I succumb to peer pressure and crop it short to please others?

POINT OF RANT: Forget the economy, Obama ... we have a hair crisis on deck!!

Today On The Laptop Screen ...

I have a friend named Jon. He doesn't think so, but he's probably one of the most worldly guys I know. He taught school, shaping young minds. He's traveled and can talk a blue streak (great roller coaster, by the way) about anything from art to Eastern religion. And he's an accomplished musician and composer on the side.

But one of Jon's best qualities is his quick wit. He comes up with words and phrases that make me laugh, but also stop and think.

I was down the other day ... letting one of my many insecurities creep to my forebrain ... and he told me matter-of-factly, "you need to change your inlook." I corrected him, querying "you mean my outlook?"

"No," he said emphatically, "I said what I meant."

For big-brained Jon, inlook is the opposite of "outlook." Instead of a macroview of how I see the world, he was suggesting I look at how I saw myself fitting into my environment and various relationships. And Jon meant doing so in a realistic manner ... taking a hard look at my self-image, not the "perceived image" that marketers and manufacturers shove down our throats so we buy bigger cars and smaller cell phones.

Well, my funk cleared and I wanted to "honor" Jon in a quirky manner that bespoke of my ... well, quirkiness. And I immediately thought of urbandictionary.com. For those of you unfamiliar with this awesome Web site, UB is a vast collection of rural euphemisms, scary sexual terms, and hip slang that I use almost hourly in my personal and professional life. How else would I have ever learned about "Castroing a meeting" (taking over and replacing the original intent or agenda) or the growing wave of "Romosexuality" (male fans with deep feelings of adoration for Dallas Cowboy's quarterback Tony Romo) in Amercia?

So I went to urbandictionary.com to register my friend's clever creation and ... DAMN!! ... discovered that someone else had beat me to the punch. But their definition of "inlook" was a poor attempt. Hell, it didn't even make sense. The originator felt the concept was like intuition or a gut feeling about something. And then they spouted something about fighting against the constraints of parents and church values. I decided I could honor my friend and right a grievous wrong with just a few clicks. I await confirmation before telling Jon that he is a new father of a squealing little word baby!!

POINT OF RANT: Friends are cool!!

Today In My Buddy's Basement ...

A good friend of mine ... Dean ... bought his parents' home when they retired and moved to Arizona. I figured he'd make some major changes to the extremely dated split-level structure, but all he did was purchase a few "necessities" ... big flat-screen TV, a snack frig, and a king-size bed ... and just went on living his 21st century life in a 1970s home.

Recently, Dean called in a favor ... he had helped me move a few months ago and now he needed assistance tearing down some old wood paneling in the basement "rec room." So on a bleak and drizzly Saturday morning, I arrived to help demo the room in question so another buddy could put up drywall later in the week.

"Hey," Dean asked as we yawned over cups of dark and bitter and excellent coffee. "Before we start tearing the place to hell, would you mind helping me move some things to the garage? I'm gonna donate them or have a garage sale or something." So we toted a few seriously heavy and over-packed cardboard boxes up the zigzagging stairs to the large garage/workshop area ... Dean's dad was a nut for building really intricate scale replica vintage cars and trucks so the garage area had excellent lighting and some nice workbenches. There was lots of junk already stacked in various locations ... no actual room for any vehicles ... but what caught my attention was the old ping-pong table tucked away in the corner, unlatched in the middle and stored in a sloppy A-shaped configuration.

"Dude, you're not selling the PPT are you?" My voice sounded a bit shrill, almost panicked.

Dean just smiled a Cheshire cat grin. "Buddy ... would I do that to you?! It's staying put because I know how much you enjoy losing to me and our friends!!"

See ... I do love ping-pong. Or table tennis ... whichever term you prefer. I was never very good at playing and my family never had a table while I was growing up, but someone in the neighborhood always did. One kid ... Derek ... had a really sweet regulation table that his family kept on their huge covered, cement-slab back porch. I clearly remember how crisp the white lines and net were against the powder blue surface and the sleek oak game cabinet they had with paddles, extra balls, and some special cleaner for the table. Everyone in Derek's family even had leather tennis gloves they used for ping-pong.

In our neighborhood from about early April to early November, if the heat got bad or it was raining or the wind was too brisk for frisbee or football, every kid in the neighborhood was at Derek's house playing ping-pong and pleading with his mom to make more lemonade or hot cocoa ... depending on the season.

Derek's dad would sometimes organize these elaborate tournaments with brackets for us kids, our older siblings, and even some of the parents. The contests would go well into the evening and Derek's backyard would be aglow with the hanging yellow fluorescent lights from the porch area occasionally punctuated by blue sparks from the bug zappers at each end. A few of the kids would open lawn chairs and watch the action, giggling at the bawdy ping-pong "smack talk." The more active ones of us played hide 'n' seek in and around a thick stand of pines and an old tool shed. And the really daring ones of us played with an old set or "Jarts" ... lawn darts that years ago had sharp metal tips and a reputation for causing serious and not-so-serious injuries. Basically, colorful metal spears being thrown around in the dark is what we were doing.

Anyway, table tennis originated in England in the 1800s as an after-dinner "game" among high society. At the time, books were stood in the center of a long table to act as the "net" and players used additional books as "rackets" to bounce a golf ball back and forth, observing the same one-bounce scoring techniques used today. The game evolved with the ball becoming a shaped piece of cork and paddles made from items like cigar box lids and parchment stretched across a simple wooden frame. Soon people started calling the game wiff-waff because of the sound created during play. Ping-pong was another term used frequently to denote table tennis and it ended up catching on.

Over several decades, innovations were made to the game such as celluloid balls to offer air resistance challenges and more modern paddles with the common rubber/sponge layering to allow players to put more spin on the ball and increase the speed of play. Regulation table standards were initiated, suggesting a 9 foot X 5 foot table treated with a low-friction paint or coating (preferably green or blue) bisected by a 6 inch net. Clubs and associations for ping-pong enthusiasts began springing up and tournaments were being organized. The International Table Tennis Federation (ITTF) was founded in 1926 with the first official world championship games held in London the same year. Ping-pong has been an Olympic sport since 1988, with aggressive representation from Europe, U.S., and several Asian nations. Today, the ITTF is parent to 210 member associations across the globe. Sporting good manufacturers offer top-of-the line table tennis gear, utilizing high-profile athletes for high-figure endorsements.

I can sympathize with those first table tennis or wiff-waff players. When I was in college, some of my dorm mates found a piece of plywood which we transformed into a makeshift ping-pong table. Being an art major, I was in charge of painting the guide lines and touching them up from time to time. We used two cushy lounge chairs facing each other as the supports and wood clamps and extra-long shoelaces as a net. Someone who dropped a class and had "parents-don't-know-money" from returning a pricey textbook sprang for paddles and balls. I think that crappy "table" was more fun than any regulation surface.

After college, I also frequented a local hometown bar that sat up two ping-pong tables in an outdoor area during the summer months. I know my skills were poor so I never played, but it was incredibly entertaining to watch grown men ... usually inebriated grown men ... play ping-pong like it was the U.S. Open or the Super Bowl!!

Back in the present, Dean and I eventually got to the task of ripping up his basement walls. Several times I became fatigued and wondered if my debt had been payed. Sensing this, Dean kept promising that when we were done he'd order a pizza ... sausage and mushroom ... and set up the ping-pong table.

POINT OF RANT: My friends know me too well!

Today In My Yard ...

I have a few friends that usually get together for most holidays, but this July 4th we were all scattered to the winds. So I decided to invite a few people over today after work for a post-July 4 celebration which included cold beer and banana splits ... what could be more American?!

I borrowed four deck chairs from my landlady (she lives right next door) and scooted them into a rough circle to the side of my duplex. Then I went to the store with my list of ingredients and a few requests from my friends. I arrived back home about 7:15, with 15 minutes to spare before they arrived.

Allyson was the first to arrive and she brought a full case of Coors Light. She was also the friend that made the easiest requests ... could I pick up some pecans because she wasn't a huge peanut fan? And could I try to get bananas that were still a little green? A girl after my own heart, that Allyson ... I was thinking the same thing about greener bananas being a bit bitter and tasting great with all the sweet condiments we'd be using.

As Allyson and I were putting things in bowls, my sturdy-as-a-rock buddy Calvin arrived with three cans of whipped cream ... one chocolate flavored, never seen that! ... and a quart of strawberries ... Calvin feels that strawberry topping never has enough chunks of fruit for his tastes. I didn't have the heart to tell him that a "real" banana split didn't have strawberry topping ... anything to keep Calvin happy.

Calvin had also been an easy-t0-pleaser ... could I pick up some Smucker's Magic Shell for him, that stuff that thickens up when it hits the cold surface of the ice cream? Like I've said, Calvin is an awesome friend, so I purchased both the fudge kind and a bottle of peanut butter-chocolate.

Gail from the office was the last to arrive ... with jars of pineapple and butterscotch toppings in her hands. That was strange ... not for our "project," because pineapple topping is a traditional ingredient in a banana split ... but because she had specificaly asked my to pick it up when I went to the store, thus saving her a trip. "Well," she giggled, "I'll just take these back home for later on." Yeah, I thought, then thanks for contributing absolutely nothing.

Now I'm a perfectionist when it comes to ice cream-related phenomena. A "traditional" banana split is served in a long "boat" with scoops of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream placed between a banana cut length wise. The vanilla ice cream gets topped with chocolate syrup or whatever ... a natural ying-yang of tastes. The chocolate ice cream gets doused with marshmellow creme ... I'm almost weeping as I think about the taste of marshmellow. Finally, the strawberry ice cream gets slathered with pineapple topping. Then it's whipped cream, nuts, and "maraschino" cherries, named for the Italian liquor that used to flavor these plump, sweet cherries with hints of almond and honey.

The creation of the first banana split is credited to an apprentice pharmacist named David Evans Strickler in 1904. It seems the 23-year-old enjoyed coming up with new desserts for the soda shop portion of the Pennsylvania pharmacy where he worked to try to attract students from a nearby college. Other pharmacy soda shops, particularly the Walgreens chain in Chicago, and restaurants in Boston and Ohio helped broaden the popularity of the new ice cream sensation.

So anyway, after opening jars, dirtying a million spoons, and inaugurating a cutting board for the bananas and strawberries, we four friends retired to the yard with beers and plastic ice cream "boats" in hand. We talked about our jobs, our families, and any topic that came up. Then Allyson asked the elephant-in-the-room question, "how much money do you think we wasted on these things when we could have went to the Dairy Shack four blocks over on Vermont?"

Golden vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate ice cream ... I hate the cheap "neopolitan" crap ... I found a 2 for $8 special so I figure $12 for the three. Jars of regular chocolate fudge, pineapple, marshmellow, butterscotch, caramel (my indulgence) and strawberry toppings ... roughly $16 at $2.69 each. Two things of Magic Shell ... close to $6. Crushed peanuts and pecan pieces ... about $4 for two little bags. Three cans of whipped cream ... just under $10. Maraschino cherries (with stems) ... $3 for a small jar. Bananas ... $2. Plastic boats and spoons (not a necessity, but part of the "spilt experience") ... $4.

So, there you have it ... $57 for the price of 4 banana splits that would run just under $14 at the Dairy Shack. But, as we all know, the value of good friends and simple times ... PRICELESS!!

POINT OF RANT: But Calvin and I had seconds, so now it doesn't seem so frivolous.

Today At The Bowling Alley ...

I was meeting two old friends ... one male and one female ... for some catch-up chatter and a beer of three when I was struck by a thunderbolt of an idea. I phoned "the girl" and told her my evil plan. She loved it and was sure our other friend, "the man," would be all in.

So instead of a pub or a restaurant, we all arrived in our separate vehicles to spend a beautiful spring Sunday afternoon in the bowling alley bar. And "all in" was what we became when beers turned into pitchers, and pitchers were joined by shots. And a game of darts brought on more shots. And then it was time to bowl!!

Bowling is such a great sport. Reportedly originating in Germany in 300 AD, bowling was officially sanctioned in America around 1895 where it became a popular pastime for the citizens of NYC. Health professionals describe bowling as an anerobic activity with similar exercise valaue as power walking with free weights. I don't know how health nuts bowl, but I describe it as a"sport" where drinking, swearing, horseplay, and the consumption of greasy foodstuffs like wings and chili fries are almost mandatory. And with electronic scoring, you get to give yourself crude names that other bowlers can see.

If you're a good bowler, your teammates and others around you cheer and congratulate your performance ... you feel like a star. And if you're a bad bowler, your teammates and everyone nearby LOVES YOU and you ARE a star!

Of all the sports out there, bowling is also one of the few I can actually stand to watch on television and enjoy. At first, I thought it was just me and my ADD coming to an understanding, but I think bowlers come across as real people ... not big name celebrities with their assorted scandals or mega-athletes that make more money than God. Bowlers are just regular "Joes" with a little extra talent ... who doesn't enjoy watching the Everyman succeed?

If you like simple things, there are still small-town alleys out there with basic set ups, old school snack shops and arcades for the kids, and plenty of league action to help you groom your game. And if it's highlife you're after, there are lanes that will boggle your mind ... like the lanes at The Orleans in Las Vegas with 70 lanes, 24-hour access, multiple bars for meeting people, and all the glitzy neon and club atmosphere you can handle.

So with a liver fighting for its life, I bowled a respectable 188 that Sunday afternoon with my two friends. And we celebrated one of America's underrated pleasures.

POINT OF RANT: Take the family bowling!