PenteKing’s BodyBlog

I am the eldest of four. Each of my siblings, along with myself, have offspring. In my case, I have two sons from my previous marriage. My brother, Joe, has two daughters, my sister, Rosemary, has two sons and one daughter, and the youngest son, Vince, has a daughter and son. All of us are divorced (which says something about how we were raised. I don’t know what it says, but it says something.) Anyway, not to get off track…my son, Douglas, telephoned me tonight. He lives on the East Coast, and I could tell from the background noise that he was in a bar. I was somewhat surprised to hear from Doug. He’s not a telephone-type person. (He’s very much like me in that regard.) I thought he wanted money (times are tough), but he called for something else entirely.

He was having drinks with friends and they got into a discussion about a hijacker who succeeded in getting a large chunk of money, parachuting from the plane, and disappearing (it seemed) off the face of the earth. They couldn’t remember the guy’s name. My son called long distance to ask me for the answer. He knew (he knew) that I would have the answer. The answer, of course, is D. B. Cooper. What got me all choked up is that my son - a child of the Internet age - called me instead of Googling the answer from his cell phone.

I must be getting soft in my old age because after Doug hung up, all I could do was smile. I’m still smiling. I feel like an idiot, but I also feel great.

This Saturday is the day of the MS Bay to Bay Bike Event. My goal is to ride 150 miles from Irvine, CA to San Diego, CA. It’s a two-day event, so it’s not 150 miles in one day, which is a blessing. It does, however, require me to ride 100 miles on day one, followed by 50 miles on day two. I’ve been training like a madman, and have done 80 miles as recently as this past weekend. Still, this is huge. It is the first time that I’ve ever ridden so far, and there’s a lot of pressure on me to finish because all of my sponsors are obligated to make good on their pledges ONLY if I finish. So, yes, I’m slightly nervous. I’ve made a list and am checking it twice. (For some reason, I feel like Kris Kringle. Why do you suppose that is?) At any rate, Saturday is the big day, so wish me luck, fellow bodybuilders. I’m going to need all the support I can get.

I’m not the only one who feels this way. Nearly everyone I’ve talked to this past week has related at least one weird and/or bizarre story to me. There seems to be something in the air that’s affecting us all. I can’t recall a single, rational thing that been said or done this week. Whether it’s the politicians flopping around like fish on a dry and sandy shore, or the media talking heads droning on and on about red states and blue states, or the surreal admonition from ABC to celebrate national "Stay At Home Week" simply so you can watch the season premieres of shows you wouldn’t be caught dead watching in the first place, you’ll have to agree it’s been a strange, strange week.

Last night, I attended an opening that an acquaintance of mine was having for a new building that he’s recently purchased. The idea was that he would invite potential leasors who would take space in his building, and thereby help him defray his burgeoning mortgage. This being Southern California, I was the ONLY man out of approximately 300 total guests dressed in a suit and tie. I spent my entire time there fielding questions about why I wore the outfit I had on. The general consensus of opinion was that I had just come from a funeral and hadn’t had time to change. As a transplanted East Coaster, I was bemused by the questioning. As a now-resident denizen of San Diego, I felt it my native duty to feel ashamed of looking like a semi-professional. The unspoken pressure to remove my jacket and tie was like a physical weight on my shoulders. By the time I finally conceded defeat, only a handful of guests remained, and they were woefully unimpressed by my concession. And then, to put the perfect capper on the evening, the woman that I had been chatting up for the bulk of the night slipped off with a blond surfer type who wore a shirt open to the navel and rhinestone (I kid you not) flip-flops.

Did I mention that this has been a weird week?

Maybe it’s the skeptic in me. Or perhaps I’ve just been lied to for so long that I’m reluctant to believe ANYTHING that the political machine (of either party) tells me. Or maybe (just maybe) I smell a rat.

I am not convinced that we (i.e. taxpayers) need to bail out Wall Street. Why is it that everytime the big wigs in the financial markets finish fleecing us, they go, hats in hand, to Congress and get MORE money to help their ailing firms? It happened with the Savings & Loan debacle (to which our old friend and current nominee, John McCain was party), and it’s happening now. As an independent business owner, I object (strongly) to the passage of the bailout bill. No one in Congress would give me so much as the time of day were I the one to gamble my money away on bad bets. They would say, (and rightly so), "Go s**t in your hat, buddy. It’s your problem." I guess this goes to prove my friend, Russell’s theory, which states, "If you’re going to steal, do it on a grand scale. People will be so impressed with your chutpazh, they’ll not only forego locking your silly ass up, they’ll applaud you for it."

In that spirit, let’s give the boys on Wall Street a standing ovation. I’ve been screwed before, but never for so long or with so much contempt.