The wife just accused me of wanting to be famous and it got me thinking that I’m not sure I’m guilty of that, but that I should ponder her claim.

Let’s start with what fame is. Is being famous about being recognized in the grocery store? Getting free clothes from stores because you wear their stuff on talk shows? Being known by just your first name? Or is it a more subtle like everyone wants to be your friend and say they know you? Well, maybe that’s not so subtle.

OK, now who wants this fame? It seems that there’s no shortage of people who compete for a slot on Surrvivor or Real World. Reality shows are about normal people taking their shot at the big time. These shows get huge ratings, so it appears that lots of people want this.

To me fame means three things. One, a great TV show/movie. I’ll admit, I know all the words to the theme. Two it’s a great song by David Bowie. There’s killer bass work on that track. Three, I think fame is something better left for other people.

Unless it gets me free pizza I don’t want to be famous. If I can go into my local pizza place and get 2 slices and a Diet Coke free, then sign me up Scotty! I want my 3.10 lunch at no charge. Not every time of course, like maybe once a week or something. I’d still pay for all the pizza that comes to my house and tip the driver.

It’s a simple dream really.

This morning more of that cursed white stuff blankets what should be my green lawn, soiling my mood like a coffee stain on my favorite white shirt. The flowers were set to bloom until this evil came to town delaying what should be spring. Now the bushes that the landlord planted last year during the heat wave in August that died and the he replanted in October when the weather cooled off sag from the weight of the snow.

Who’s in charge here and why weren’t they fired? Who ordered a snow storm right at the cusp of spring when the nights should smell like the sweet scent of fresh flowers? I do say a pox on your sir or madam! I demand a recount for you obviously stole the election. Let me see those pregnant chads, those “subjective interpretation” ballots. Take this white stuff away immediately or I will lead the charge for your impeachment! Yes! That’s it! Fix it now or my movement shall parade you down Main Street like a Scooby Doo pinata on the Fourth of July. You better run home to mama now! And take this white, slippery and cold plague of locusts with you.

I gotta move to Key West, Florida. I just gotta.

The wife and I saw the Harlem Globetrotters this week. This year marks their 75th year of doing that Globetrotting thing. Here’s some strategies for maximum enjoyment.

Pre-game:
1) Bring children to the game. Lots of them. The larger your brood the better. If you lack a brood, carjack a boy or girl scout troop en route to the game.
2) Make sure the children have empty stomachs. Deprive them of food for at least six hours beforehand. Never fear, once inside, there’s plenty of refined sugar available.
3) Purchase one (1) mini globetrotters style basketball for every two children in your brood. That way they have something to throw against the wall AND something to fight over.

Game:
1) Ignore your hopped up, basketball toting child until halftime.
2) Enjoy the comic genius of the world famous Globetrotters as they wipe up the court with their opponent. They are enormous talents.

Halftime:
1)Either feed the child more sugar or take it home. Whichever stops the screaming.

Post game:
1) If you haven’t bought the child a mini-basketball by the conclusion of the game, now’s the time to purchase them an oversized Globetrotter jersey.
2) If there’s sugar left for sale, please purchase it for immediate injection. Those kids need a quick boost of energy so they can play a basketball game in the aisles as 3,000 people try to exit.

I’m fighting the urge to wax philosophical today as it is my birthday. But no! I will instead be entertaining, or fall down trying. Warning, I’m old now (31), so I might fall down the stairs at any time.

So the wife and I went to the vet last night for the boy’s checkup and annual inoculations and it was bad juju all around.

Vet: Look sam, your cat has got to lose weight.
sam: What about the wife’s cat? Doesn’t her cat need to lose weight?
Vet: Actually, her cat needs to gain weight.
sam: Well maybe her cat shouldn’t leave her dinner bowl half full where Oedipus can get to it, hmmm?

Then the vet showed me pictures of a cat from three different angles, overhead, side and head on. Studying the massive paunch around the pictured cat’s midsection it was clear to me there was a problem.

Vet: Now having seen those pictures what do you notice about Oedipus?
sam: The cat in the picture needs to lose weight.
Vet: And don’t you think your cat looks just like the cat in the picture?
sam: Not at all. Oedipus is much better looking.