QUEST FOR THE CUP
FIVE MINUTES FOR GLOATING Hockey is back. Sort of. New rules, less fans, a new deal to show games on OLN (the Outdoor Life Network....aren't NHL games playing INdoors?), and the return of the shoot out. The players and owners were greedy. They missed an entire year of hockey, as did the fans. Normally I would have just kissed the NHL good-bye. However, last year's NHL strike also coincided with my first year of marriage to a Canadian (complete with a full set of Canadian in-laws and friends). Hockey is to Canadian's like being over weight is to Americans: a way of life. It was a sad sight to watch Sportscenter (Sportscentre to Canucks) in Canada during the NHL strike. They had nothing to fill the time with and continued to talk about any and all hockey that was still being played. That's all in the past now. My new family and friends to the North can once again bask in the warming glow of one-timers, kick saves, and fighting. Along with the return of the NHL comes one more great tradition, Lord Stanley's Cup. Unlike the championship trophies in other major American sports, the Stanley Cup takes a greater role in celebrating the winning team's accomplishment. The cup actually celebrates with each and every one of them. Taking a ride in a parade like the Lombardi Trophy just did through Pittsburgh is nice, but spending some quality time with each and every member of the team really brings new meaning to "Bringing home a championship." Some of the players just take it to their house for the day, prop it up on the couch, and take pictures with it. Some take it to a baseball game, buy it a seat, rest a hot-dog and a beer on it, and really show it a good time. Whatever each player decides to do with the cup on their day is up to them. It got me thinking, what would I do with Lord Stanley's Cup if I had it for a day? I came up with a few ideas. I could take The Cup to a strip club. Every player who wins the cup gets their name put on it. When the cup fills up with names, they just add new layers to it. Why not give it a chance to see how exciting it can be when layers are removed? I'm sure Lord Stanley liked a little topless entertainment as much as the rest of us. Besides, the cup will be locked up for the majority of the year, it might as well live a little. I'd just tuck a few dollar bills on The Cup and let the dancers find ways to remove them (no hands ladies). I could also take The Cup to the movies. It would be a pretty cheap date and is a lot cooler than going to the movies alone. I'd be happy to pay for a ticket so it could sit next to me but I'm sure it doesn't eat much, saving me money on the popcorn and soda. Also, if it had seen the movie already, it would probably not spoil the ending for me like some other people I know. It might be fun to drive The Cup down to Atlantic City in the trunk of my car just to mess with some compulsive gamblers. I could pull up next to the casinos and wait for people to come out. When they did, I could say "Hey, I bet you $50 I have the Stanley Cup in the trunk of my car." All it would take is one out of five people to take me up on it and I'd make a killing. I like those odds. Finally I'd take The Cup to Canada and gloat to all of my Canadian friends and family about it. Then I'd dress it up in an American flag, surround it with guns, and drink Miller beer out of it. Then, and only then, I'd let them all take pictures with it. That's what I call a Kodak moment, eh? Just kidding Canada, I love you. THERE'S NO CURE FOR WHAT I'VE GOT When I was fourteen I discovered I had diabetes. While diabetes has no cure (yet) it is manageable. Every time I mention to someone that I have the disease, they immediately respond with a story about their aunt, grandmother, or distant family member that shares my condition. Millions of American's (and millions more around the world) share this affliction with me. But there is another condition, a condition to which there is only one known cure, that links me to millions of others people as well. I contracted this condition from my mother while in the womb in the late 1970s. I am talking of course, about Disco Fever. I'm sure my mother didn't mean to pass it on. For children of the late 70's, there was little protection from the illness. It wasn't until the early 80's that children started to show signs of immunity from the fever. The cure had come too late for me. I learned to live with Disco Fever at a young age. Although originally discouraged by the inability to control my behind from shaking whenever catchy music was played, I soon embraced it. I realized that a steady dose of ass-shaking was the cure for what ailed me. It could be administered one funky record at a time. As I got older, I began to try to bring relief to those like me. I trained to work as a DJ, a great way to share my love of funky and disco house music with the world. Sadly, my mixing skills never got up to par with my track selection. Now, as a blogger, I feel I can once again try to share my knowledge with the world. Children of the 70's, you are not alone. That feeling you get to shake your butt whenever you hear a song by Parliament or hot house track by Miguel Migs is normal. While you cannot control the shaking of your behind, you can take solace in the fact that somewhere, at that same moment, other behinds are shaking right along with yours. There is always safety in numbers, together, (like the Bee-Gees said) we'll keep stayin' alive. HOMOSEXUALITY: NOT JUST FOR HAIR DRESSERS ANYMORE This just in! Cowboys are not only strong and rugged, can wrangle cattle, and work the land, but love sex too...with each other. That's right folks. Despite the best efforts of christianity, homosexuality is spreading. It's not just for your hair dresser uncle or friend who likes show tunes these days. I've said it before and I'll say it again, love is nothing to be afraid of. Two men or two women in love with each other threaten nothing but an environment of hate. Two cowboys having sex doesn't effect the flavor of the juicy steak that comes from their cattle. Even if they have sex right on top of the cow. In fact, early relations in this country might have been a lot better if, instead of shooting Indians and stealing their land, cowboys had shown them how to pluck their eyebrows and coordinate their head dresses with their moccasins. Ever since the release of Brokeback Mountain, I have heard a few people talk about how "cowboys are pretty gay these days." Because of one movie? If I make one movie about two football players being gay, will that taint all the rest of them? Will guys no longer wear football jerseys to support their favorite players? Will commentators take a longer look at those frequent pats on the ass between teammates that have long been overlooked? Some people are still so afraid of homosexuality I wouldn't be surprised. Will "Brokeback" forever become a term tied to homosexuality? Will it become the new term FOR homosexuality? It just might. "What do you mean you use skin care products? You're a guy! Quit actin' so brokeback." Or "Where'd you get those gay shoes? The Brokeback outlet?" In the meantime people need to stop hating on cowboys. There are gay cowboys. There are gay football players, miners, autoworkers, firemen, and soldiers. Gay workers are probably working right now at any number of "manly" jobs. I think that's great. Less work for me. BROKEBACK BUSH I haven't seen any photos of Dubya in his cowboy hat recently. Could it be, that while studying his kids meal place mat at Denny's, he finally realized Connecticut is not in Texas? Maybe. Could it be that he was tired of dressing up like a cowboy, a fighter pilot, and baseball player and demanded new costumes from his daddy? Perhaps. Or could it be that he's part of the christian right and scared to death of anything remotely homosexual? Ding! Ding! Ding! George hasn't seen Brokeback Mountain. He made that clear when asked about it in an interview. But I'm sure the main points made it past the layers of cocaine and bong resin in his brain and actually registered. Cowboy = Gay. Gay = Bad. End result? No more cowboy hat. No more Connecticut cowboy. So what's next for the President's wardrobe? Maybe he could wear one of those hats that the police use. Maybe we could give him a football helmet to wear. Maybe we could just shave jesus on the cross into the back of his hair. Whatever it is, we know one thing. He will start unjust wars, he will leave U.S. citizen's (at least African Americans) on roof tops for weeks at a time without any help, he will destroy our environment, he will break our laws, he will hire his friends for positions for which they are not qualified, he will make up words and pass off lies as truth. But, under no conditions, will he wear any sort of hat that a gay man might wear. That would just be silly. FORGET FRIDAY AND SATURDAY, GIVE ME SUNDAE NIGHT. In the summer, when I was younger, my parents used to take me to sundae night at Candy Kitchen. Candy Kitchen is like heaven in Delaware. It's a candy store that has all sorts of candy, fudge, ice cream, and toys. They had a clown who would come on sundae night and make balloon animals. Her name was Sunshine. One time she made me a balloon octopus and then turned the octopus into a hat I could wear. That's talent. But that was only the beginning of sundae night. What could be better than eating a big sundae covered in gooey toppings? Making it yourself! Each kid would get a plastic baseball helmet filled with a scoop of their favorite ice cream. Then, the real fun began. In the middle of the store was a toppings station. You could cover your ice cream in chocolate candy, gummy candy, and crunchy candy. You could use rainbow jimmies (you might call them sprinkles), or chocolate jimmies. You could pump on fudge, marshmallow, caramel, or strawberry goo. There was whipped cream, bananas, nuts, and cherries. Making the sundae became more exciting than eating it. It was a challenge to see how many different combinations of toppings you could cram into your bowl. A few times I even skipped the scoop of ice cream and just filled the bowl with toppings until it started to overflow. You could never really finish one of these sugary works of art. Just taking a few bites to appreciate the flavors was good enough. Eventually they stopped sundae night, and retired Sunshine and the toppings bar. But those childhood memories will live on forever in my adult stomach. COMING SOON TO A BLOG NEAR YOU Coming soon to Spoon Full Of Truth: movie and music reviews. Not only will you be able to still depend on Spoon Full Of Truth to keep you informed about world events, politics, and to make you laugh, you will soon be able to read the truth (my version of it anyway) about upcoming movies and music before they are released to the general public. These reviews will begin to appear at the end of Wednesday's guest column in a section titled something like "I'm Selling Out." More news to follow. In the meantime, please continue to spread the truth by sharing it with others. As always, suggestions to the format of this blog are welcomed at email@example.com.