Words with S-c-h-o-l-a-r-s



There are, roughly, about 250,000 words in the English language. Some people say even more, depending on what you count as a word. Evidently, I know about 17 of them.

I have this very addicting game on my phone called Words with Friends. Now, it’s really just Scrabble. J’s are still worth 10 points, M’s are still worth 3, etc. And there are still double-word squares and triple-word squares and everything else that Scrabble has. My guess is they have to call it Words with Friends to keep from giving the folks at Scrabble tons of money.

Anyway, the cool thing about this game is that you can play it against complete strangers or against friends and family if they have it downloaded onto their phones. Some folks check and update it once a day, others are checking and updating it every three minutes. I’m a three minute guy.

Up until this week, I hadn’t been playing anyone that I knew. It was all random people that the game had set me up against. But this week my aunt out in California sent me a message on Facebook that she wanted to play against me.

Now listen. I love my aunt, and she has always impressed me as a very educated, intelligent, well rounded woman. But I just knew I was going to take her down here. Hello? I’m a writer, remember? The English language is what I do.

Luckily I didn’t say any of that to her, because she proceeded to beat me like a drum. At one point she held a 70 point lead, using words like “firth”, “fane” and “dilly”. What the Hell is a “firth”? And the only “dilly” I know is a “Dilly Bar”, that awesome good ice cream thing that you get at Dairy Queen.

It reminded me of the time that my buddy’s wife beat me in seven straight games of checkers. I was devastated, and haven’t played a game of checkers since.

And it wasn’t all just four and five letter words with my aunt, either. Oh, she pulled some humdingers out of the bag. Some of them were six and even seven letters long. Sometimes she would build on two or three other words at a time, stacking them like bricks and scoring three or four different ways.

Me? Let’s just say I was limited. I’m more of a “hat”, “cat” “bat” kind of guy. Every now and then I’d get lucky and draw an “S”, so I could turn “hat” into “hats” and use the same word twice. You give me a “Q” or a “J” and I’m stuck with that joker the whole game. And unless I already have an “O” to make “ox”, then “X” is no good to me either.

Here are some other words I’ve seen on there- “chao”, “sox”, “tine”, “gilt”, “el” and “qi”. How do these people know these words? When they used the word “qi”, did they know it meant “energy flow”, or were they just guessing?

One friend that I’m playing against used the word “droit”, and admitted she hadn’t heard of it either. Turns out that “droit” is some kind of French law or constitutional right or something like that.

One thing is for sure. You lucky people will be reading a much smarter column in no time if I keep playing this game.



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Little League, big problems



If this column looks familiar to you, it should. I run a version of it every year about this time, and every year I wish more and more people would read it.

With teams signing up for Little League all month long, I thought that this would be a good time to rip coaches, parents and other spectators who act like jerks from the stands or dugouts. Not all of them act like jerks, of course, but the ones who do will recognize themselves when they read this.

I wanted to remind parents that they weren’t exactly major leaguers themselves when they were eight years old, so they shouldn’t expect their children to be. Chances are that most parents couldn’t hit the ball out of the infield if it were on a tee, so maybe they should lay off of their 60 pound son who can barely hold his aluminum bat while another kid is hurling a hard ball in his direction.

Most parents have no idea how hard it is for a kid to throw strike after strike. I threw out the first pitch a couple of years ago, and the pressure got to me so bad that I barely got the ball over the plate. Can you imagine what a nine year old feels when the game is on the line?

Think about it. You just gave up the tying run, you’re trying to get out of the inning, and you hear you mom (who’s never pitched anything but a fit) jawing at you to “Come on, just throw the ball over the plate! We need strikes!”

Also, maybe some of the coaches need to hear that they should lighten up on the players and umpires. Here’s a wake-up flash for you, Tubby. You’re not exactly in the Big Leagues here. Just because you played a year or so of ball in high school twenty years ago doesn’t make you Ron Washington.

Most managers and coaches get into Little League for the right reasons. They want to coach their own kids, or they just want to help when no one else will. That’s understandable, even admirable.

But something happens to them when they grab that clipboard and stuff the sunflower seeds in their mouths. Their caps start getting as tight on their heads as their jerseys are on their guts. Maybe it’s all that baseball knowledge that they gained overnight.

And what’s up with all the yelling at the ump after every pitch? The coaches are ninety feet away and to the side of the catcher, while the umpire is inches away, kneeled down directly behind him. Now, who do you think has the better view of the ball?

Most of the time, these umpires are teenage kids who are either donating their time or earning just enough gas money to get to the next game. They have enough problems already with school, parents, girlfriends, pimples, etc. Do you really think that they have an agenda when it comes to who wins this game?

Look, competition is good for kids. They need to learn the importance of teamwork and how to win and lose with class. And they should be taught the basics of baseball, basketball and every other sport as early as possible to make them a better player and teammate when they get older.

But at this age, it should mostly be about having fun- for everyone involved. When coaches, parents and fans step over the line, it’s got to take some of that fun away.



Love the column? Hate the column? Have a new idea for a column? Contact Shannon at news@robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com and leave a comment.

I’ve got this



“What are your plans for today?” my wife asked as she got ready for work the other morning.

I told her since it was my last day off I thought I’d go have a nice breakfast, maybe go visit my mother, and finally fix the ice maker. We replaced our water heater a few weeks ago, and the refrigerator ice maker/ water shooter thingy never got hooked up again. I’ve been buying a bag of ice every week since then, and I was tired of it.

“Oh, that’s not a good idea,” she said. “Why don’t we just have someone come do that for us?”

I told her not to be ridiculous, that I was a grown man and there wasn’t any sense in paying someone good money to do a ten-minute job. Besides, didn’t I just replace a water heater?

“I’ve got this,” I said confidently.

“For one thing, you had half the neighborhood over here in our living room helping you. Secondly, my whole floor got drenched in the process. You know I have a rule that you aren’t allowed to play with your tools unless you have supervision present.”

So I promised her I wouldn’t touch it, and went and ate breakfast. I came back home, watched a little of the Early Show (Where the Hell has Maggie Rodriguez gone?), then promptly got started on replacing the line to the ice maker.

I studied everything good, took a few measurements, and even broke out my camera phone and took a picture or two. I made a trip to the hardware store, got together with the guys that work there- and even a couple of customers- to figure out what I needed, and came back home to get started.

“I’ve got this.”

Right from the get-go, things went haywire. I had taken the time to measure and mark a spot on the PVC pipe that was below a valve, but forgot to turn the valve to the “Off” position. So needless to say, as soon as the blade of my saw cut into the pipe I got a nice shot of hot water right to the face and chest.

When the water shot out, I lost control of the saw. That made me cut the pipe crooked, which made me cut more of the pipe than expected in order to get the cut straight again. “No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just run back to the hardware store and grab another part. I’ve still got this.”

So I made it back, got all the pieces cut how I needed them to be, and realized that I didn’t have any of that smelly purple glue stuff that you need when you put PVC together. Yep, back to the hardware store.

“Why don’t we just run you a tab ‘til you get the job done?” asked the hardware guy, who evidently doubles as a stand-up comedian.

“I’ve got this,” I told him.

So I made it back home again, got everything all glued up and ready to put together, and had to bend the pipes just a little bit to make them fit when…

Snap! Something up on top broke and I had water gushing out everywhere. And when I say everywhere, I don’t mean just everywhere in the water heater closet. I mean water was shooting all the way across the living room floor, all over the walls and windows, the bookshelf, everywhere.

My dog jumped off the couch, ran to the dining room, and turned around to bark at me. I don’t speak dog, but I’m pretty sure he was saying “Oooh, you’re in trou-ble!”

I was literally running around in circles trying to decide what to do when right on cue, my phone rings.

“Whatcha doin’?” my wife asked. I told her I was cutting off the main water valve to the house.

“Oh Lord, what did you do?” I explained to her what happened, and reassured her that I had everything under control now. But yes, the floor got a little wet. Again.

“But don’t worry,” I said. “This is the last time you have to worry about wet carpet. The next time I’m off I’m putting in hardwood floors. I’ve got this.”

“Oh Dear God.”

Monster Bowl



My deadline was about an hour ago, and I haven’t written a word yet. This has been one of those boring weeks where I don’t have anything to write about, so I’m just going to jot down some random thoughts and we’ll see if we can make a column out of it. Buckle your seatbelts.

First let me tell you about the Monster Debacle of this past weekend. I keep seeing these commercials on t.v. that say “take time to be a dad today”. Now, I think I’m a pretty good dad anyway, but these commercials put pressure on you to go the extra mile. You don’t want some geek on t.v. to look like a better father than you, you know? So I had my wife grab us tickets to the monster truck show that came to town.

A couple of days before the show, my kids saw the ad for it on television. Towards the end, they said they would give free monster trucks to the first 500 kids through the gate. “Please don’t hear that part, please don’t hear that part, please don’t hear that part,” I whispered to myself.

But of course they heard. “Oooh dad, did you hear that? Can we go early? Dad, we have to! We have to go get that free monster truck, dad. Can we? We love you, Dad.”

So we did. The show started at 2 p.m., and we got there at 12:30. It was cold. It was boring. There were rednecks everywhere, little three-year olds walking around with Mountain Dew in their baby bottles. There were more tires than teeth in the building. And it was a terrible show. The trucks kept breaking down, and the announcer sounded like that guy from the strip club (I’ve been told).

It was loud. I forgot to grab some earplugs from work, so I had to buy three sets of earplugs from the concession stand at $2 per pack. And of course the kids got hungry, then thirsty, then hungry again. Nothing like dropping a whole paycheck for a couple of sodas and a corn dog.

Oh, and the free monster trucks that we came an hour and a half early for? Both of them fit in one stinking hand, that’s how small they were. I’ve seen bigger toys come out of the quarter machines in front of grocery stores.

The other big thing on the radar this week was the Super Bowl. The game was a good contest between two great franchises, so no complaints there. My wife threw down a great spread of food to munch on, so no complaints there. Heck, I didn’t even have a problem with the halftime show like most people did. I don’t know any other way to say this other than- Who cares what Fergie sounds like? As long as she looks like that, she can recite the phone book for all I care. It beat the heck out of a group of old guys that haven’t been relevant for thirty years, that’s for sure.

One thing that did grab my attention was the Pepsi commercial with Justin Bieber. My daughters (and wife) got a little too giddy for my taste. The thing is, I’ve always heard that girls are attracted to guys that remind them of their father.

Now, Justin Bieber has more talent in his pinky toe than I do in my whole body, so I don’t mean to say anything bad about him. But you can’t help but notice that he’s a bit… I don’t know, feminine? Not that he’s gay or anything, I know he isn’t. It’s just that he’s not a guy’s guy, or doesn’t seem to be anyway. Is that how my daughters see me?

I don’t see how they could. I’ve never put any products in my hair, don’t wear skin tight britches, and have never touched makeup to my face.

And I’ll bet my house that Justin Beiber has never been to a monster truck show.

Two thumbs up



We were discussing motion pictures in the office the other day, and I asked everyone to name their top five favorite movies of all time.

When it came to be my turn, I had to expand the list to ten because there was no way that I could narrow it down that far. It’s like picking between your kids, you know?

Anyway, after changing my mind about a hundred times over four grueling days of deep soul searching, I’ve finally come up with a list of my ten all time favorite movies.

Okay, are you ready? Drum roll, please…

10) LaBamba- I love the soundtrack, and the fact that it was based on a true story. Plus, every time I sing the theme song it makes me feel like I know Spanish.

9) Gentlemen Prefer Blondes- Marilyn Monroe wasn’t the world’s greatest actress, but she was the sexiest creature to ever walk the face of the earth. Everyone else is a distant, distant second.

8) Reservoir Dogs- Just a perfect guy movie, filled with foul language, violence, and buckets of blood. The opening scene in the café was genius.

7) You’ve Got Mail- Okay, I’m pretty sure that my Guy Card will get suspended for this one, but who among us doesn’t have just a tiny, tiny little crush on Meg Ryan?

6) Forrest Gump- I’m not sure how many awards this movie won, but it wasn’t enough. With a great story line and the special effects, this is like a movie and a history lesson all rolled into one.

5) Unforgiven- Clint Eastwood just as he should be- riding horses, smoking thin cigars, and shooting people. None of that romantic Bridges Over Madison County junk, or riding around with monkeys in Any Which Way But Loose.

4) Pulp Fiction- Men everywhere welcomed John Travolta back in to the Guy Club after this performance, which helped us forget his roles in Saturday Night Fever and Urban Cowboy.

This is the second film on the list to be directed by Quenton Tarantino (Reservoir Dogs), and the best yet. But you really have to watch it from the beginning and pay attention to make sense of it all.

3) The Godfather- To this day, whenever I watch this movie I wish I were Italian. And in the Mafia. Any man who watches this film talks with an accent for at least three hours afterward. The only bad thing about The Godfather were the sequels.

2) Tie between Monster’s Ball and Desperado- Like Halle Berry and Salma Hayek? Well you will, especially after these movies.

1) Lonesome Dove- Movies that are based on books usually don’t measure up very well. This is the exception to the rule, and it’s due to the all-star cast. Everybody just fits their part like a glove. I’ve said before that the only two times a year that I shed a tear are listening to the NFL Hall of Fame speeches, and watching the scene where Gus dies in this movie.

Well, there you go. That’s my top ten favorite movies of all time.

One day, I’ll list my ten favorite books. (I just have to read nine more.)

Shannon goes to town



Some guys spend thousands of dollars per year hunting, or fishing, or playing golf. I’ve never been that into anything before. I’m not sure if it’s because I have a family and feel some kind of guilt over spending that kind of money on myself or what. Maybe it’s because my work schedule never allows for it. Or maybe it’s because I’m too lazy to have a hobby that involves that much moving around. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it may be all three.

Well, I’ve found my hobby now.

One of my bosses called me in his office last week and asked me for a favor.

“I need you to test a fuel tank in Shreveport, Louisiana for me this Sunday,” he asked.

I was right in the middle of telling him why I couldn’t do it on a Sunday- the weekends are family time, the conference championship football games were on t.v., Sunday was my laundry day- when he pulled his money clip out of his pocket.

“I’ll even throw in $100 bucks for you to gamble on while you are there,” he urged.

Sold.

You see, I’ve gambled on nearly everything you can think of in life- cards, dice, sporting events, you name it. I’ve played pool for money (and won), played basketball for money (and lost, miserably), and even played “Cow Patty Bingo” (don’t ask). Hell, I bet a coworker one time how many red vehicles we’d see in a ten mile stretch of driving.

But I’ve never played poker in a real casino before. I’ve driven by plenty of them, but never had the time or extra money to stop and go in. So this was my big chance.

Me and another guy that I work with pulled up to the Horseshoe Casino and Hotel late Sunday evening. The first thing I saw was the big huge fountain in front of the building. I told myself I would have to get a picture of that before I left. We parked behind a few cars in a line, and jumped out to get us a couple of rooms when a little fellow in a red jacket and funny hat walked up to me.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “You are in the valet line. Can you please move your work truck out of the way?”

“Sweet”, I thought. “I’ve never used a valet before. I’ll have to get a picture of that, too.”

After getting a couple of rooms I pulled my truck back around the fountain to the front door and started getting my bags out when the little man in the red jacket came up to me again. “Sir, we do not valet big work trucks. You can park it over there, yourself” he pointed. Oh well.

As we walked up I took my phone out and started taking a picture of the fountain. “Tell you what, Beverly Hillbilly” my coworker said. “Why don’t you go stand in front of the fountain, and I’ll take a picture for you.”

Told him thanks, and started handing him my phone when he said “Dude I was joking. What are you, a Japanese tourist? Hell, good thing they didn’t valet. You’d probably want a picture of that, too.”

Twenty minutes later I was in my room, lying in the Jacuzzi tub, sipping a beverage and watching the football game all at the same time. I sent my wife a text-“if we ever build a house, lets put in Jacuzzi tub. It’s cool!” My phone rang ten seconds later and it was her. “That might be the girliest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she said, then hung up.

And it went that way for the next four hours. I was like a kid in a big new candy store, and everyone else kept laughing at me. The dealers had to explain all the games to me, and the players had to show plenty of patience. But by the time I left they were usually all happy about it.

I never did have any beginner’s luck that I kept hearing about, but I did hold my own at the poker table. And I guess that’s all you can ask for.

That, and a Jacuzzi tub at home.



Love the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Contact Shannon at news@robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com and leave a comment.

What’s eating me



My wife and mother-in-law made chili the other night. It was perfect timing, too. The weather was cold and I had been working outside all day. It just flat hit the spot.

But while I was eating, I noticed my wife and all three kids putting tons of crackers in their bowls. I’m sure they’ve always done that, although what made me notice it now I don’t know.

Seeing my wife eat something quirky didn’t surprise me any. When we first started dating I remember her dipping a French fry in mayonnaise. And I’m afraid that it’s rubbed off on my son. One day he and I were eating barbecue and he started dipping his Funyuns in barbecue sauce. The little weirdo.

Me? I’m a one-cracker-at-a-time kind of guy. I like Saltines with my chili just like any other guy, but every other bite or so I want to taste just the chili by itself. Of course, that’s not to say that I don’t have a couple of odd eating habits myself.

For instance, I’ve already mentioned my hamburger fetish. I can’t stand when I order a burger and the vegetables are underneath the meat. Since the beginning of time people have understood that the meat goes on bottom when you make a hamburger. Why it’s changed in the last few years is beyond me, but when I get it served like that I have to take it all apart and fix it.

Another weird thing I’ve noticed myself doing lately is color coordinating my M&M’s or Skittles. The greens go with the greens, the reds with reds, etc. I always make the colors come out even before I start eating one from each stack, and I don’t like to mix them up.

The same goes with food on my plate. I don’t mind if the mashed potatoes and some kind of meat touch each other, but every other food group is off limits. The corn can’t sneak over to the green beans, the bread or roll can’t touch the broccoli, and I prefer to have a whole separate plate altogether for the salad.

It’s a little different, I know. But if you think that is bad, my wife knows a girl who wraps her tamales with a piece of bread covered with mayonnaise before eating them. That’s one of the worse things I’ve ever heard of. I even made her swear she wasn’t making that story up.

And it gets crazier than that. I heard some famous guy- can’t remember who he was- say in a radio interview the other day that he’s never had a condiment. He’s never tasted mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, salt or pepper (other than when a restaurant cooks with it). Salad dressing is included, also.

Can you imagine never tasting ketchup? That’s crazy. And without mustard, how the Hell does he eat a corny dog? As far as salt goes, I wouldn’t know what food without salt even tastes like. I pour it on everything that isn’t sweet.

Now, mayonnaise I could do without I think. I like a little Miracle Whip every now and then on a ham sandwich, but I don’t have to have it.

My wife, however, is a different story. Where else would she dip her fries?