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I noticed that my Comcast bill doubled, but I figured I must have missed a payment, so I just sent them the money and went about my business.  Then, the next month I saw the same inflated figure.  So, I called them.

“My cable bill doubled in price,” I squawked.

“Uh huh,” they said.

“Uh huh?” I protested.  “Can you please find the problem?”

“No problem,” the voice replied.  “Your trial period ended, and now you’re being charged the full price.”

“But I’ve only been paying half this price for two years.”

“That’s right.  That was your trial period.”

“Well, this new price is outrageous.  Can’t you do better?”

“We can knock off $40 a month if you lock into a contract for two years.”

“That’s still too high, and I certainly don’t want to lock into that price for two years.  Can’t you do better?  I’m a senior citizen, a veteran, a card-carrying cheapskate…”

“Sorry, that’s the best we can do.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

I investigated other plans from other companies.  They were all pretty much the same – low introductory price and then after a year, bend over, grab your ankles, and don’t expect any lube.

I decided to make my stand.  Now, I must first point out that if there was such a thing as Internet Anonymous, I would be going to meetings every week.  “Hello, my name is Earl.  I’m an Internetaholic…”  But, I figured that I would make some kind of token effort to express my displeasure with the rate increase, and that I could survive a short while without cable in my house.  After all, I have a smart phone.  So, I can still Google whatever I want, whenever I want, and that’s probably what I do most.  That and e-mail.

So, I called Comcast.  “Cancel my subscription.”

“Can you tell us the reason for your cancellation?”

“The rate doubled, and I think that is outrageous.  I’ve been a loyal customer for two years…”  This is where I expected them to back down and make me another offer.  They just told me to take my equipment to the nearest UPS store, and to be careful that the door didn’t hit me on the way out.

So now I don’t have any Internet access in my home.  I don’t have any TV, or a landline phone either.  That evening, I cooked my dinner at 6:30 as usual, and when I sat down to eat it, there’s no Jeopardy! On the TV.  There was nothing on the TV, not even the ubiquitous Big Bang Theory, because I wasn’t picking up any signals even with the new rabbit ears I purchased.  At 11 pm there was no Daily Show with Trevor Noah.  It was freaky, strange, and quiet.

I didn’t know what to do.  So, to distract myself from missing my favorite programs I just got up out of my TV chair and started doing things around the house.  I washed the dirty dishes that had been piling up in the sink.  I noticed that there was a layer of stuff on the floor that wasn’t floor wax, so I broke out the vacuum cleaner.  I found about 30 cartons of stuff from 2 years ago that I had never unpacked, and started to unpack them.  I read a few books.  The next day, I took a walk around town.  I took a few bus rides on routes I had never taken before, just to explore the outskirts of Lancaster.  I started learning Spanish.  I started work on my 6^th screenplay, and a non-fiction book about Harness Racing.  I also discovered that I can play Freecell with regular playing cards.

Life without the Internet or TV is strange, but I knew ahead of time that I would have to go Cold Turkey to break my addiction.  Then I visited the local library to get some more reading material and I found that they had dozens of computers sitting there for anyone to use to access the Internet.  So, I took a hit.  Ooooh, I could feel the rush pounding through my veins.  Okay, maybe I can’t go cold turkey, but, thanks to the library, I can last a little while before I go running to Verizon or Dish Network begging them for a fix.

 

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

We don’t need no E.P.A.’s

One more comment about my small hands

And I’ll whip it out on stage.

Hey, teachers, leave those kids alone.

They don’t need books to know how to haul

All the bricks that I’ll need for my wall.

 

With apologies to Pink Floyd.

 

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

A lot of people watch the Super Bowl because it is the epitome of Football, but let’s face it, a lot of people just watch the Super Bowl for the commercials and the half-time show.  This year, however, I think the Oscars might have had the better commercials.  And quite frankly, considering the collapse of the Carolina Panthers in the Super Bowl, I think the Oscars had more game.

Chris Rock, rocked it.  He really nailed it when he put diversity in perspective.  In the old days, when your grandmother was swinging from a tree, it didn’t really matter who was nominated for an Oscar.

What was it with that guy’s haircut for that guy who sang the song from Fifty Shades of Gray?  I couldn’t even concentrate on the Circue de Soleil that was going on in the background.  I just wondered what was he thinking when he got that haircut.  Even Stevie Wonder, who is blind wouldn’t let a barber give him a cut like that.

Not only could the Super Bowl learn something from the Oscar commercials, but I think the Republican Presidential debates could learn something from the Oscars.  As soon as the music started to play, the recipients shut up, unlike the Republican Candidates for President who kept talking long after the beep had sounded.

Earl Paulson would like to thank

My Mom, my Dad, my brother X and his family, brother Kevin and his family, the Academy, John and Margaret Brand and their family, Marianne, Tres. William, Jessie, and Shane Driscoll, Patrice and James, all the members of MerryGoRoundRacing@yahoogroups.com, Barbara and Jim, Barbara, Vera and all my ex-coworkers at Cyber Medical, Linda Merensky and my friends at Karaoke, my Navy friends, my country friends Tilda, Joan, Deena, and Debbie, Valerie Tarangelo, Denise Stubberfield, Cousin Deb, Dianne Brand, Geralyn and Hilary Becker, the South Ozone Park crew, Maria Fundus, my Navy friends, Nancy Goldman, Sabrina Guthrie, Sherry Burbes, Steve Dolan, Susan Harroun, Susan Leanza, Wayne Fray, and….

Music plays…

Thank you all very much, and please buy some girl scout cookies.

 

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

I lead a fairly stress free life, but my dreams are filled with anxiety.  In my dreams I am usually lost, late for something, or both.  Normally, I don’t remember much of my dreams, but lately, I have been having more vivid and more memorable dreams.  I think there are two reasons for this.  Number one is that I ran out of pot, and my sleeping self is probably trying to make up for the hallucinations it is missing.  Number two is that I have been going to sleep listening to audio books, and pieces of the book are appearing in my dreams.

Last week I listened to Dead Heat by Dick Francis.  The protagonist, an award winning chef, investigates a bombing at a racetrack outside London where he has catered a gala event.  Following clues, he flies to America, rents a car, and goes off to a polo club to question employees of his main suspect.  He gets attacked by a polo mallet wielding madman.  His arm is broken and he makes a mad dash to get away.  He gets to his rental car, but has trouble starting it because his right arm is broken.  The mallet wielding madman smashes most of the windows in the car before Chef Max finally makes his escape.

In my dream I am driving a car to work.  On my way I pick up five people to give them a lift.  They are the comedians Danny DeVito and Brian Posehn, my friend Tilda, and two others who I don’t remember.  They have to stop at various places and I am running late.  Danny DeVito wants me to stop at his aunt’s house, and I complain that doing so will make me late for work.  We go there anyway.  The aunt is not home, but Danny has a key.  Tilda goes in with him.  Tilda is a seamstress, a costume designer, and a perennial do-gooder.  She comes out and tells me that the aunt’s curtains are in need of repair, and she wants to fix them.  I tell her that I cannot wait.  I’m supposed to be at work at 8 o’clock and it is already 8:30.  I go to start the car and it won’t start.  Why won’t the car start?  What am I doing driving, anyway?  The last time I drove a car was back when Jimmy Carter was the President.  What am I doing going to work?  The last time I had a full-time job was when George W. Bush was President.  What am I doing with Danny DeVito and Brian Posehn?  This can’t be happening.  It’s not.  I wake up.

The next night before bed I watched a rerun of Two and a Half Men and Allan has to babysit for his ex-wife Judith.  In my dream I wind up babysitting for a cousin.  I’m doing a good job and the baby in my arms is asleep, but I start wondering.  Why am I babysitting?  Nobody ever asks me to babysit.  I’ve done some dogsitting in my day, but never babysitting.  Whose baby is this, anyway?  I’m 67 years old.  All my cousins are way past their childbearing years.  This can’t be happening.  It’s not.  I wake up with my pillow cradled in my arms.

The next night I read a Tony Hillerman novel about his Navajo policemen, Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn.  It takes place in New Mexico.  I fully expected my dreams that night to take me to New Mexico, but I guess the written word is not as powerful to my subconscious as the spoken word.  I wound up back in England, and I was packing for a flight from Heathrow.  The phone rang and it was Brother X.  We talked for a minute, but I couldn’t pack with one hand and hold the phone with the other.  I told him that I had to catch a flight, was running late, and that I would call him from Heathrow.

As soon as I put down the phone, it rang again.  It was Tilda.  She told me that the curtains for Danny DeVito’s aunt were finished.  I told her I couldn’t talk because I had to catch a flight and I was running late.  “What time is your flight?” she asked.  I didn’t know.  How could I not know what time my flight was leaving?  This wasn’t happening.  I was dreaming, and I knew it, but I didn’t wake up.  I went on dreaming, but I stopped packing, stopped worrying about the flight, and decided to enjoy my dream.  I went out to see the sites of London.  I went to a fancy restaurant and had a superb dinner with a table full of people, whose names I can’t recall.  We split the bill and my share was only $22.  So I left $30 to cover the meal and gratuity.  Why was a London restaurant charging dollars instead of Euros or Pounds?  This can’t be happening.  It wasn’t.  I woke up.

Now, I’m going to go to the library to check out another audio book, and I’m going to make sure it takes place somewhere I would like to go to in my dreams.  Either that or I’m going to pick up some more pot.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

Last night Jeb Bush suspended his campaign for the Presidency of the United States.  Why did this man, who early in the campaign was the presumed Republican frontrunner, do so poorly?  I think I know.

Back when Barrack Obama was first elected President, there was a lot of complaining by Democrats that George W. Bush was the reason for most of the problems they faced.  Most Republicans took umbrage at the new President’s claim.  The Republicans countered with the idea that President Obama was just not able to handle the job of President.  Some even paid for “Miss me yet?” billboards of the former President.

The party faithful rallied to support the ex-president’s legacy.  All blame fell on President Obama.  Never did they waver from this position.  They even encouraged his brother Jeb to run for the office to return the country back to the glorious years of the Bush Administration.  However, when Jeb did launch a campaign for the Presidency he was soundly defeated and forced to drop out after only three primaries.  Why did this happen?  I believe that no matter how much Republicans claimed out loud that George W. Bush was a great President, deep down they knew that his administration was a dismal failure, and that “Mission Accomplished” was a joke.

So, when George’s brother ran for the office of President, they didn’t consider his personality or his platform as much as they considered his DNA.  They didn’t see him.  They remembered his brother.

Can President Obama blame the Presidency of George W. Bush for many of the problems he faced when he took office?   Maybe.  Maybe not.

Can Jeb Bush blame the Presidency of George W. Bush for many of the problems he faced running for the office of President?  Most definitely.  Now, it looks like the Republicans will be stuck with Donald Trump, Marco Rubio, or Ted Cruz as their standard bearer in 2016.

Feel the Bern.

Peace and Love, and all of the above,

Earl

Recently, I went to the local library to pick up a voter registration form.  I’ve been here in Lancaster for over two years.  It’s time to stop putting it off.  I don’t know too much about the local politicians, but I want to make sure I’m eligible to vote for the next President this November.  It looks like it’s going to be a wild and crazy election year.

While in the library, I browsed the old-fashioned way.  I actually walked up and down the rows and looked at the titles that were available.  I didn’t get too old-fashioned.  I didn’t look at any actual books.  I looked at the Audio books on CD’s.  I’m a big fan of the Janet Evanovich audio books about her inept bounty hunter, Stephanie Plum.  Lorelei King does a great job of voicing all the crazy characters.  I chose, however, a 19 CD set called “Don’t Know Much About History,” by Kenneth C. Davis.  Maybe you’ve heard of it.   A decade or two ago it spent 35 consecutive weeks on the N.Y. Times Bestseller List.  I figured I might learn something.

I got way more than I bargained for.  It took two weeks to listen to all 19 CD’s, and I finished the last one on President’s Day.  I can honestly say that I learned more about American history and the Presidents in those two weeks than I did in all my years in regular school.  Full disclosure, though, it wasn’t too hard to do that.  I wasn’t a very good student back then, and I learned practically nothing in school.

I won’t go into the details about the book, as I’m sure that you, the reader, would be bored stiff with any attempt I would make to retell the stories.  It’s like when somebody goes to see a stand-up comedian and later tries to duplicate the show for their friends.  It doesn’t work.  The main point I want to make is that voting is more interesting when we know a little bit about the people Americans have voted for in the past, and why.   The other point I want to make is that when the wind chill, ice, and snow make going outdoors miserable, it’s a great time to sit inside and just curl up with a good book, even if it is educational.

Stay warm.  Spring is coming.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

“…All the cats want to dance with Sweet Little Sixteen…”

 

 

In 2015 American Pharaoh won the Triple Crown. So, it is only fitting that I had my own Triple Crown this year.  I celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas early in 2015, and I completed the triple by celebrating the New Year early, too.  Normally on December 30^th, I celebrate the anniversary of my friends Marianne and Tres.  This year I also celebrated New Year’s Eve on that day.

I’ve been poking around the apartment for the past month or so looking for the kitty litter buckets and cardboard boxes that contain my December storage items, which include my Christmas decorations.  I still haven’t found anything, but I did find my “January” storage items which included two New Year’s hats and some noisemakers.

I thought it would be interesting to go out on the town on the evening before New Year’s Eve wearing the Happy New Year Hats.  What would the crowd reaction be?  This would be fun, I thought, but I couldn’t do it alone.  I needed an accomplice.  Immediately I thought of Debbie.  She’s crazy.  She’ll do anything.  So, I invited her over to play Scrabble.  We put the hats on and proceeded to get drunk.  Then we went to the Alley Kat.

The reaction was great.  Even though just about everyone told us that we were a day off, they quickly joined in the fun.  It turned out to be the perfect ice breaker.  The Alley Kat is more of a restaurant than a bar.  Most people go there to eat, not converse with strangers, so it was a bit unusual to have everyone at the bar joining in the conversation.  Pretty soon we were taking selfies together and wishing each other a “Happy New Year.”  There weren’t a lot of people, but that was nice, too.  You don’t need to be packed in like the sardines in Times Square to have a good time.

I would like to point out that I was not drinking from the water glass which you see in front of me in the picture.  I don’t want to tarnish my reputation as a party animal.  My beer was just out of the frame.  That’s Debbie’s water.  Knowing that she has to drive home, we both make sure that her last few drinks of the night are water.

We left the bar at 11:30 to watch TV and sober up some more.  I don’t think we made it until midnight, but that’s one of the benefits of celebrating early.  No pressure.  The next night, on the real New Year’s Eve, I was content to sit quietly and watch the ball drop on TV without feeling like I was missing out on something.  I had already celebrated the New Year on Australian Time.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable New Year’s Eve, and I hope you all have a Happy, Healthy New Year.

Happy Sweet Sixteen.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl

 

 

Can it be that it was all so simple then

Or has time rewritten every line

If we had the chance to do it all again, tell me, would we, could we?

 

I have to give Peter VanderMeulen credit for making my enhanced memories.  He taught me that I should never retell a story, unless I could improve it.  By retelling and rethinking my stories over the years, I’ve finally managed to actually forget the original dull stories and only remember the latest and greatest versions of those stories.  Thanks Pete.

Caught up in the frenzy of nostalgia surrounding the Christmas holiday, I was thinking about one of my fondest memories, the time I was “The Next Elvis” in Germany.  I’ve told this story 100 times, but I don’t think I ever put it in writing.  Now, knowing that there are only a very few people on the planet who can dispute what really happened that day, here goes my version.

First, a little background.  When I was a kid I played clarinet and saxophone.  It was a way to control my asthma.  Being one of the few saxophonists in the neighborhood, I wound up in a band called The Townsmen, later called The Heard.  When I went to boot camp in the Navy, I used my “musical experience” as a way to free me from the drudges of boot camp.  I managed to talk my way into the boot camp band, and I would always say I had band practice whenever my company was scheduled for the obstacle course.  I never once had to run the obstacle course, and I never played with the band.

So, I didn’t really have a big career in music, but, when I was stationed in Germany, I did do something that no musician before me ever did.  I invented the mike drop.

The Navy guys I worked with in Germany would bust my chops anytime I mentioned anything about once playing in a band.  Since Elvis Presley had recently departed Germany, they jokingly dubbed me “the next Elvis.”  Hey, call me anything but late for dinner.  I didn’t object.  I liked the nickname.

So one night, the fleet is in.  Three American ships are docking at the nearby seaport town of Kiel.  One ship is enough to get all the single girls out.  Three ships and even the married women will be out on the town.  My buddies and I planned to get to Kiel early, and we did.  We were the first half dozen guys lined up at the main bar on the lower level of the biggest disco in the town, The Star Palast.  The owner of the club was also at that bar and he was in his glory.  The club was packed with the proverbial drunken sailors spending just like they do in the proverb.  He was raking in money like never before.

My supervisor, Dave, was sitting on a bar stool next to the owner and he decided to prank him, and me.  They talked and talked and the owner kept glancing down the bar at me.  Finally, he got up and walked over to me.  He shook my hand and said, “Your friend told me who you are.”

I turned and saw “my friend” laughing his ass off.

“Just who did my friend say I was?” I asked the owner.

“He told me you were the next Elvis.”

By now, Dave is laughing so hard he’s crying.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said modestly.

“Look at how many Americans are in my club tonight,” he said waving his arm in a circle.  “Would you do me a big honor and go up on stage and sing one song for them?”

Dave is now having trouble not laughing himself off his barstool.  There must have been a thousand drunken sailors in the place and not one of them knew me from Adam.  “I’m sorry” I told the owner.  I would love to sing a song, but my band isn’t here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course.  How silly of me.”  Then, just a beat later.  “But, how about if you just say hello to everyone.  You don’t have to sing a song.  Just say hello to them.  You’re such a big star in America, that I’m sure they’d all like to know that you are here partying with them.”

I was cornered.  Dave was practically wetting himself laughing.  Then I thought of a way out.  “I tell you what,” I told the owner.  “I’ll sing a song, but since I don’t have my band here, I’ll need to recruit some background singers.”

“Sure.  Anything you want.”

I walked onto the stage, grabbed the mike and announced that I would like some sailors to join me on the stage to sing the gospel song, “Oh Happy Day, which was currently the #1 song in Germany.

About 300 sailors scrambled onto the stage completely surrounding me.  We did the song and their buddies in the audience went absolutely wild to see so many of their friends up on the stage in a foreign country.  The owner thought the crowd was going wild for me.  I could tell by looking at him.  We see what we want to see.

As soon as the song was over, I said, “Thank you.” And just dropped the mike.  I was hoping to break it, just in case somebody wanted an encore, which I knew I could not provide.  Fortunately, nobody did, but I still give myself credit for inventing the mike drop.  It was a cool move.

When I got back to my bar stool, the owner congratulated me, and he swept up all the checks on the bar.  He tore them in half and threw them down.  “Thank you.” He said.  “I’m so glad I got to see the next Elvis.  Come back anytime.  You never have to pay for a drink in my club.”

I never went back there.  Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, and I didn’t risk it,  So, now I can continue to enjoy my enhanced memory of the moment.  I just wonder if somewhere in Germany a guy is telling the story about how the next Elvis disappeared after performing in his club in Kiel, Germany.

Peace & Love, and all of the above,

Earl