Star Power

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket and your pants will be shot to shit faster than you can say Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy.

Just keeping it real.

Can't Stop Laughing About Uranus

Some things you outgrow as you get older - like acne, idolizing athletes, and giggling when someone mentions Uranus.

Okay, I still snicker when Uranus comes up, but faintly and only for a moment. Hey, in these touchy times of hypersensitive political correctness, if we can't all laugh about Uranus then what can we laugh about?

Door to Door

When one door closes, another . . .

a) Sneezes

b) Takes a "wait and see attitude"

c) Lets fly with the knock-knock jokes

d) Sings "It Don't Mean a Thing If It Ain't Got That Swing"

e) Opens (then closes, then declares bankruptcy, then re-opens under a new name)

Big on Mangos

If you’ve ever wondered where mangos come from you’ve obviously never been in my backyard. Mangos grow on a freakishly large tree there every year during the months of May and June. Mangos may also grow on other trees in other locations but this is both irrelevant and redundant. During the peak of its harvest, my mango tree is capable of feeding every squirrel, bird, possum and human in the known mango-eating civilized world with plenty left over to help sustain exploratory space missions to other planets.

My wife and I try sharing the wealth during mango season, but the average person’s fascination with mangos is a fleeting thing, quickly captured in a couple of nibbles, a raised eyebrow, and a remark along the lines of “my, that’s refreshing, do you have any pineapple?”

 Some of our friends make the mistake of feigning a fondness for mangos, just to be nice. This is a cue for my wife to gather enough mangos to choke a horde of wild boar, package them in back-breakingly heavy bags and personally deliver them to their home or office. If the friends or family members are out of state, she will ship them the mangos in big stinking boxes with a cheerfully ominous note inside that says “Eat up. There’s more where these came from.” While they eat the fruit, we eat the $40 in postage.

 Choosing, cutting and eating a mango is an art onto itself. One doesn’t just snatch one off a low branch, take a big lusty bite, wipe their mouth on their hairy forearm and bellow “Who dares challenge the Mango King!?” Of course, you would do exactly that if you were appearing in a community theater production of a little-known play entitled “Mango of La Mancha.”

 

Otherwise, there are tried-and-true steps handed down through the ages that have proven fruitful in taking the guesswork out of mango selection and enjoyment.

1.)   When choosing a mango, pick one that is plump and fragrant, not unlike Bette Midler. When held near your nose, the mango should smell like a cross between a peach and an airport shuttle bus. If you plan on using the mango right away, you will want to find a ripe one. Mangoes are ripe when easily indented with your thumb. Avoid mangoes that are so ripe that they feel mushy like a Michael Bublé ballad.

2.)   Just to be different from oranges and grapefruits, mangoes have large, flat stones in the middle. When you slice one, you’ll want to make your initial cut slightly off center, away from the stone. Next, you’ll make a slice on the other side of the mango, leaving you with three pieces – two fleshy, plus the stone. For a fun game, blindfold yourself, rotate the three pieces, then grab one and shove it in your mouth. If you picked the one with the stone, spit it across the room and bellow “Who dares challenge the Mango King!?” (Again, having a role in a mango-themed theatrical production at the time of bellowing is critical to your credibility. I can’t stress this enough.)

3.)   If, for some unknown reason, you’ve decided not to spit the mango stone across the room, you can hold it up to your mouth like a lollipop and eat the sweet flesh directly off it. In some social circles this is almost certain to get you labeled a vulgar pig, but as the good book cautions, “let he who is without sin cast the first mango stone.”

4.)   To finish the mango emancipation, take one of the fleshy sections and score it with a serrated knife, cutting through the peel but not your hand. Next, score the flesh in the opposite direction to create small cubes of fruit. Now, spoon out the cubed flesh with a tablespoon and you’re ready to nibble, raise your eyebrow and say “my, that’s refreshing, do you have any pineapple?” 

My favorite part of mango season is using “the picker” to pluck high hanging fruit from the upper branches of the tree. The picker is an eight foot long pole with a molded plastic basket on the end that allows normal sized people to pull down mangos like a fruit-loving giant from a children’s fairy tale . . . or perhaps a frightening mutation of a man who used to be of average height but was exposed to high levels of radiation and is now 20-feet tall, hairless and clothed only in an enormous diaper.   

 

Either way, the thrill of luring mangos down from their lofty perches is a real adrenaline rush. Yesterday, I spotted a rare beauty about 20 feet up the tree and moved in for the conquest. Just as I maneuvered the picker into position, a squirrel with impeccable timing boldly leaped from a nearby branch and clasped onto the prize fruit deflecting my picker with its long bushy tail and strong hind legs. Momentarily stunned, I regained my balance using the picker to joust and jab at the mango-crazed rodent.

“Stick to gathering nuts and seeds, you mangy tree rat,” I taunted. “How would you like to spend the rest of your life in a small cage spinning around on one of those little wheels?”

 After a frenzied battle that dislodged several dozen mangoes and coated me and the picker in sap and fur, the insurgent squirrel begrudgingly gave up and took flight. As he disappeared over the fence, I raised the coveted fruit to my mouth, chomp off a hearty bite and bellowed triumphantly, “Who dares challenge the Mango King!?”

P.S. I am currently appearing in the Citrus Growers Community Theater production of Mango of La Mancha. Good seats are still available.

My Rave Reviews on Idol

My performances this season on American Idol have triggered a wide range of awestruck reaction from the judges. Here's a small sampling of their effusive praise.

Simon: "Alan, if I'm being honest, when you sing, it makes me want to weep. That's not a compliment."

Ellen: "You are so terribly unique. Terribly, terribly unique. I am numb."

Kara: "You know what? You brought it tonight. You brought it and you left it on the stage. And we may not be sure what it was, but we will never forget it . . . no matter how hard we try."

Randy: "Yo, yo, yo, you were a little pitchy at first, but you worked it out. I'm feeling you dawg. I'm feeling you like a bad stomach cramp."

Race Results

I beat a Kenyan in a short race today so cross that off my bucket list. Booyah!

(Actually, he was pushing a stroller at the time and may not have been aware I was racing him. Also, he may have been Cuban. Whatever. A win's a win.)

Curling Up With a Good TV Show

I will rekindle my personal pursuit of cultural enrichment by reading more books and watching less television.
First book on my list: "How to Read More Books and Watch Less TV."
Second book: "Paradise Unplugged: The Hidden Perils of Reading Too Many Books and Watching Too Little TV."
Third book: "No Reading Required: "A Guilt-Free Guide to Watching the Shows You Love and Loving the Shows You Watch."