Mystery Solved...

I have solved the mystery of Sugar Bear! I was at another grocery store this evening - and made a beeline for the cereal isle. Then, as my eyes came into focus, I saw through the multi-colored haze of boxified sugar - the Bear. But Sugar Bear didn't roost on the cover of "Super Sugar Crisp" anymore, because it seems "the Man" has disguised even a suggestion of the sugary sensations in this cereal. Today the package reads: "Golden Crisp." And then it all came back to me. It must have been 10, or even 15 years ago, but I can remember them changing the name now. I bought a box of this confectionary delight, and raced home to have it for dinner. Lip smack'n good.

Later, it occurred to me that our friend Dig 'Em, is on the box of something that is essentially the same thing as "Golden Crisp" - "Sugar Smacks." Success breeds success, my friend. At least Dig 'Em's people are living with the truth, and not a sugar-coated lie.

Then I discovered retrojunk.com, an amazing site featuring details about your favorite tv commercials and programs from the past, complete with high speed video of classic ads. I watched an ad tonight featuring Dig 'Em - I remembered the ad - and it amused me to see so much gratuitous hand slapping. This must have been back when two-handed slaps were really "in" with the buds... I'm speculating that this is before the "High Five" was invented. Y'know, it blows my mind to think there was a time before the "High Five."

I realize of course, that Laura Ingalls Wilder and Albert Einstein probably lived without it, but for us Moderns - I can't even imagine. Perhaps we should mark truly modern times by the appearance of the "High Five"... with a simple, "BHF", for "Before the High Five".

Today, the "High Five" seems almost dated, long ago replaced by a succession of bicep bashing, chest bumping, and fist thumping. But there it was in living color - demonstrated by one Sir Dig 'Em, giving us a window into another age. This is an age I look back upon, with a single tear running down my cheek... Just as said tear fell from the eye of that sage Indian chief who mourned pollution... "BHF."

Sugar Bear, Where Have You Gone?

I took my two oldest kids to the grocery store last night and let each of them pick out a box of cereal. Four-year-old Marshall gravitated toward a choclafied version of Pop Tarts, while six-year-old Madison wanted a bag of wheat puffs.

I refused to let her settle for a bootleg version of Super Sugar Crisp, and so I paced the cereal aisle searching in vain for Sugar Bear. I loved that bear... even when he went through that unfortunate period when he was juiced on 'Roids as "Super" Sugar Bear. I can still hear his super smooth voice... a rich baritone that danced along the letters as if he were too cool to enunciate them individually. He was like a hip version of Yogi Bear.

But do you know what? Super Sugar Crisp was nowhere to be found. Gone, I presume, to the same place my other favorites have been banished. My cry is: "Where have you gone... BooBerry, FrankenBerry and Count Chocula? Wherefore art thou Crunchberry Beast? Will you ever return- Alfie the Alphabits Dog, or Nasty McEvil (who steals letters so kids can't spell their name)? "

I also miss the Hamburgler, Mayor McCheese, the Fry Guys, and in my loneliest times... Early Bird. I am left only with a sleeker, less true, Ronald McDonald - his hair slicked back, and no longer the disheleved mess of a loveable clown's. His voice has even changed, just has Tony the Tiger's and Bob the Builder's have. I'm no big fan of Bob's, but I think it a miscarriage of childhood that my dear young Madison can spot the difference in Bob's voice from early episodes to today. Why can't these vocal artists have enough respect for their craft to sign lifelong contracts? You owe it to the kids gentlemen, you owe it to the kids!

Once, in grade school, Ronald McDonald visited my cousin's school, and my mom eagerly brought her three young children out to see him on a wintry Minnesota night... and I was delighted! He spoke to a crowded auditorium on a school night - and I felt like I'd sneaked into a sold-out concert, getting to move in on my cousin's turf like that.

Today I see so little of Lucky the Leperachaun, the Trix Rabbit, the Honey Nut Bee, Dig 'Em, Toucan Sam, the Nestle Quik Rabbit, Tony Jr., Snap, Crackle and Pop (did you know Snap originated eight years before Crackle and Pop?), Poppy the Porcupine, the Cocoa Crispies Elephant, Cap'n Crunch, the Keebler Elves, the Jolly Green Giant, Sonny the Cuckoo Bird, the 1970's Burger King, and the Cookie Crisp Crook. As I recall, the greatest of these characters were the ones that went apopoleptic at the mere mention of their favorite product's name. It is a travesty that these television friends have been put to pasture. The clever character continuity they created formed an indelible bond between myself and whatever I was being sold. Perhaps this was the evil genius of corporate America, but I miss it so.

every group needs a Stu...

I've always believed, that every network of friends, collection of colleagues, organization and family should be represented by a Stu. Not a Stuart, mind you, but a dude who goes by the name of "Stu."

Don't ask me why, it just feels right.

Stu is the guy who has sandy, devil-may-care hair and is more apt to be barefoot than be shod in any particular footwear. He's funny, but not a comedian. He's handsome, but not the best of the bunch. He's got broad shoulders and wears loose-fitting shirts. He's boisterous and lively and drifts in and out of the group. Never the leader, he also never follows. He tends to excite members of the group, has a contagious personality and always manages to get others motivated and organized around grand schemes and big ideas.

After pulling off an amazing party or fund-raiser, Stu disappears. He remains universally liked by everyone, but not attached to anyone. The group goes on and thrives in his absence, then just as soon as he's missed, he's back again, lighting a new charge into the group.

Stu is an enigma. But I believe no group is complete without him. But I believe Stu is not just a type, he is purely and wholly, "Stu." In fact, I believe in the Tao of Stu so much, I have even encouraged Stu-like members of past circles I've been associated with - to change their name to something more appropriate for the group. Never have they cooperated, but at least I've tried.

In the July issue of GQ, Alan Richman writes about his 23,750 mile trek around the U.S. in search of the best burgers in the country. He ate 162 burgers in 93 eateries and came up with a top 20 list.

Unfortunately, the closest establishment to me is way down in Hollywood, Florida - just a few minutes drive from where I used to live - but of course I knew nothing about this place back when the information could have done me some good! Anyway, this very intriguing treck got me wondering about what I would be willing to travel the country tasting. Now mind you, I'm already a sucker for travel, goofy ideas about travel, and writing about travel - so I'm on board even if we're eating ostrich eggs.

But for the rest of you - think about it: What could you put up with eating ad nauseum for weeks on end? Richman claims he ate as many as six burgers a day and never grew tired of the fare; what would make you say the same?

I could easily exhibit that kind of fortitude for ice cream, but I'm not sure I could tackle anything else, realistically. Not for cake, pie, or hamburgers. All too heavy, I just couldn't eat them multiple times a day. Soda, fruits, and vegetables, yes, but there's not enough varieties and differences per restaurant for that to work. Popcorn? No. Licorice? No, and not enough different establishments. Pasta? No, I'd get tired of it. Bread? My wife could do that, easy, but not me. Pizza? Maybe for two weeks, but not two months.

Perhaps the difficulty of this test is somehow connected to my passion for ordering something different off the menu everytime I go to a restaurant. I'm just never in the mood for the same thing, nor do I want to get stuck in a rut. This is off the subject, but I once had a bacon streak going. In this streak, I managed to eat some form of bacon every day for something like twelve days in a row. I even think I did five straight meals with bacon...

Meatloaf? Nah. Salad? Perhaps I could do that, given an assortment of meats, leaves and toppings. I like salads, but I've been trying to eat at least one a day since May and I think I've probably had 30 total, so that little plan isn't working...

Fish? I think I could do fish. I just don't often have the opportunity to eat it so I've never been "tested," plus the cost is higher on that puppy, than it would be on other fantasy food forays. Okay, so I have three potential foods I could base trips on... Ice cream, salad and fish.

So what have you come up with?

My Favorite Teams Have Ugly Colors

I'm a big sports fan, and while I don't LOVE sports fan apparel, I do enjoy having a few ballcaps and t-shirts of my favorite teams. But here's the catch: My favorite teams all have ugly colors! Take my all-time favorite sports team: The Minnesota Vikings. Colors: Purple and Gold. And while I do think they're uniforms look sharp and imposing - I personally don't want to wear a purple polo shirt. And I have a number of Vikings ballcaps, but I never seem to wear them because they don't match anything else I own.

My favorite college team is the Syracuse Orange. Orange? Enough said.

The Minnesota Twins, Florida Marlins and Boston Red Sox are my favorite baseball teams. The Twins have always had some of the worst branding and I rarely like anything about their look (though the colors are okay: Red, White and Blue), the Marlins have an obnoxious logo, while the Red Sox - finally, we have a winner - feature a classic, appreciable design. Old school all the way.

A few other teams I follow, though not with the same passion, are the Minnesota Timberwolves, the Miami Heat, the Georgia Tech Yellowjackets, Georgia Bulldogs, Miami Dolphins, Green Bay Packers and New England Patriots. Of these, I like the logos of both GT and UGA with their mascots of "Buzz" and the bulldog, respectively. GT has some challenges with it's gold, but the Georgia colors are pretty nice. The Dolphins and Packers present some challenges, but ever since the Patriots re-did their look, they've been fine.

You may wonder why I follow so many teams, and the answer has a lot to do with how many places I've lived, and what was going on in my life at the time. I'll write more on who I root for why, another time.

clowns who drive...

One thing which never fails to crack me up is a clown driving a car. To be driving my own car, turn to the side, and see a clown operating a motor vehicle beside me, is so incongruous - I have to chortle.

For one, clowning is kind of a lost art. You just don't see them around much anymore. And when you do, you expect them at a child's birthday party or "Family Night" at the Chic Fil A, but not out doing something real people do. I think the fact that I have so rarely seen a clown driving a car - also makes it funny.

Saturday, I had a clown-driving sighting. I was pulling into Burger King with the kids, and I saw two clowns pulling out in their sedan - I almost lost it. Then about 30 minutes later- on the same road- I saw two clowns driving past me (I think they were the same ones, possibly lost and trying to find the birthday party they were due at - wouldn't you expect a clown to be incompetent with directions?) - and I almost did a spit-take.

I have never laughed so hard as the time I was driving my mother and sister somewhere in my early twenties. We were taking a backroad through upstate New York and had lost our way. No one was around, the scenery was beautiful, but we were asking ourselves how to get back to a main road. Suddenly out of nowwhere, I look in the rearview mirror and there's a clown solo driving in a car behind me. Our eyes locked, and I lost it. My passengers quickly caught on and we all were in tears, wondering why this clown was following 10 feet behind us in the middle of nowwhere. The clown lost it, too, seeing us laughing at her. We shared a moment together that day with all clowns, I believe. A moment when an interloper like myself was let in on the secret of why they clown, and the hope and joy they aspire to bring to so many. Odd though, how clowns so often elicit fear and hysteria from the very objects of their attention. My two oldest children were horrified at the sight of a clown when they were toddlers...

And now in the spirit of full-disclosure, I must come clean with you (as would a journalist writing about a subsidiary owned by his newspaper)... I once was a clown. Once. I was taking a college course in "Drama Ministry" and we covered "Clowning" in the curriculum. We were required to dress the part, apply our own makeup and name ourselves. I have no idea the name I chose, but I felt so self-concious on our trip to a children's daycare. We performed a series of mute sketches, paraded around, and waddled off - but my heart wasn't in it. Pity we walked to the performance, it would have been great to actually have been a clown in a car myself...

book I just finished:
Just One Look

Just One Look opens with domesticity personified, as our protagonist, Grace Lawson, picks up a package of prints from the local photoshop. This mother of two finds a curious picture mixed within her photos of a family trip to the apple orchard. This print, clearly taken some years ago, shows five college-aged kids (two men, three women) in a fun-loving candid. However, one of the women has a big "X" drawn through her face, and upon closer inspection, Grace realizes that it's her own husband who stands next to the mystery woman in the photo.

From there the plot moves from Grace's search for the truth about the photograph to her husband's strange abduction, uncovering Jack Lawson's past, and Grace's own complicated history. In the process, we meet a wonderfully sinister character named Eric Wu. Wu uses no weapon, but fells the strongest of men. He also displays no convictions or inner turmoils which results in a fairly one-dimensional character but there is just enough mystery in his ruthlessness to keep you interested. Another character I enjoyed, was a nosey neigbor who noodles her way into trouble, but ends up playing a small role as a heroine, too.

Coben's main characters are adequate, while his smaller characters are more interesting. Another thing a bit below par is the interior monologues Grace has with herself and the simplicity of the dialogues and narratives, but the thrills of this multi-layered plot prevail.

In the end, the mystery contained within is compelling and as the twists and turns accelerate, I discovered a very gratifying story. This, my first Harlan Coben book, exceeded my expectations so much so, that I am already finishing up another of his books. Grade: B+

can you flush the toilet?

There are non-flushers among us, and it's beyond disgusting. I honestly wonder what these people are thinking. Are they just absent-minded? Afraid to touch the germy handle? Do they think they're leaving a gift for us all to enjoy? Is there a level of pride in the quantity or hue of their craftsmanship?

One theory I have that I must believe is valid, is the "Old School Theory." In this theory, I propose that someone born in the first half of the last century, raised in a rural area where water was either seriously conserved or unavailable as indoor plumbing, now thinks we should all work together and minimize our flushes. If we can all use the toilet two or three times between flushes, we'll save the earth's water for everyone!

Okay, possible.

But does this person EVER notice they're the only one who doesn't flush? That there is no team movement for conservation going on? At least post a memo telling us about your plan. Instead, you assume you can always posit in the pure tank, while we must add to your disgusting brew. Please, please, for the sake of us all: FLUSH!

Movie Review: "Red Eye"
Chic Flick Thriller
"Red Eye" features a terrific premise and a winning starlet, and stars the screen creep of the summer (see "Batman Begins"), Cillian Murphy. It also features cliches and hollow execution, masked as wit and substance. Rachel McAdams plays Lisa Reisert, a woman unflinchingly solid in her job as a manager at an exclusive Miami hotel. Attempting to catch a late flight from Dallas to Miami, she meets Jackson Rippner (Murphy). Rippner is supposed to project one-part mystery and two-parts charm, but it's hard to see how any woman would let down her guard with this stranger. After drinks in the airport lounge, the two characters are surprised to find they're seated next to each other on the flight to Miami. Rippner it turns out, is a terrorist whose been following Reisert, intent on getting her to use her pull to move the secretary of homeland security from one room in her hotel, to another. A battle of wits ensues between a young woman of strength and this menace, and the intrigue and suspense usually work. What does not work, is McAdams' father, played by Brian Cox. Cox' character is in jeopardy - his life a bargaining chip to ensure that McAdams makes the call to her hotel. But Cox seems to be wearing a false beard and toupee, and comes across as creepy as the villain in the picture. There's also an unsure hotel employee, guided by McAdams over the phone, who comes off like an imitation of Jan Brady in "The Brady Bunch Movie" - in the most explosive scene in the movie, she is running around so wide-eyed it leaves an impression of silliness. The movie winds up a little too-neatly, making a statement more for girl power than legitimate drama. Grade: C

book I just finished: Dead Even by Brad Meltzer

Meltzer is promoted as the next John Grisham, but as this book confirms he is still in the bush leagues. Dead Even is interesting enough to get you through your evenings, but ultimately not much of a thriller. Meltzer divides the action up between an ADA-wife and her prosector-husband, but one only need referece Jeffrey Archer for a true master at split stories. This is my third Meltzer book, and while each has a terrific premise, they all fall short of taut, edge-of-your-seat adventures. The wrong-doers are brought to justice here, too long after their menacing edge has withered away.

Grade: B-