As I write this blog, I am watching and listening to the United States versus Slovenia in a World Cup Soccer match in South Africa. The droning sound in my ear is the obnoxious plastic vuvuzela horns that some assh— invented and that is blown incessantly thoughout the match. The vuvuzela sells for $8 and the soccer stadium holds 80,000 people. My rough calculation says that somebody collected $640,000 for one match. Estimates are that millions of fans could visit the month long soccer contest. Suddenly you are talking big money.
Just a note on the French soccer team. They tied their first match 0-0. The French then lost to Mexico 2-0 in the second encounter. Isn’t it just like a Frenchman. He doesn’t know how to score.
I attended brother Jack’s funeral services yesterday. It was a nice tribute considering Jack didn’t want anything. Thank goodness his daughter Jackie talked him into a “simple” service. A special thanks goes out to Jackie for organizing the special occasion on such short notice. Jack’s son Jerry hosted a fryout after the service and lots of stories were shared. I’m sure the horns of Heaven blew for Jack. He is probably looking down with a smile.
Your Mom’s birthday is on Sunday. She reaches a milestone but it is just one more day to celebrate on her way to forever. As long as we are blowing horns and playing vuvuzelas, I think the band should strike up a tune for her preferably a “quick step”. My wishes for a very Happy Birthday for a special lady!
Mom’s birthday and Father’s Day have always been very close on the calendar. Sunday, is also Fathers Day. So in reality, Fathers Day doesn’t exist. It is kind of like Grasshopper No.2’s birthday on the 30th of December. It doesn’t get celebrated properly because it is in close proximity to Christmas. I wonder if they make a horn that sounds like cupping your hand under your armpit and squeezing real hard and fast. Maybe Grasshopper No.2 and I should have our own special celebration.
My advice is you need to blow your own horn and tell the world to get out of your way. Nobody else will do it for you.
Love,
Dad