Be a Race Car Driver, Part 1

Orville Wright got the first plane to fly at a speed of approximately 30 miles per hour. And Wilbur ran alongside, probably wearing a three-piece suit, a bowler hat, and eating microwave popcorn. Wait, wrong Orville.

Now they tell me I’ll be driving a car Sunday at more than three times that speed and it won’t take flight?

I may not be Einstein—feel free to disagree—but logic and multiple “Back to the Future” viewings tell me that if I hit a certain speed either I’ll start to fly or at 88 miles per hour I’ll time-travel back to see my dad playing basketball at Lower Merion High School.

In short-shorts.

Neither option sounds good.

As a lark, I signed on to drive a “Supercar” Sunday on the NOLA Motorsports Racetrack, where the 2015 Indy Grand Prix of Louisiana will be held. Now I’m double-checking my life insurance and thinking it’d be wrong for Linda to be my in-car videographer because if things go poorly, Daniel won’t have us around to nag him anymore.

And I don’t want my 12-year-old high-fiving people at my funeral. “Oh yeah, another night of ice cream for dinner and 2 a.m. Minecraft battles!”

Some fool is going to give me the keys to a Ferrari, Lamborghini, or McLaren (I’ve never heard of that one, so they may be messing with me), and expect me to know where the ignition is? Who am I kidding—I may not know how to open the door.

Will it fly up like a DeLorean and knock me unconscious, or should I do that myself and try to slide across the hood like the guys in that “One Week” video?

I’m gonna drive a “Supercar?” I grew up riding in a banana-yellow station wagon fighting my brother and sister so that I alone could sit in the way-back and make faces at the cars behind us.

The first car I drove was a Chevy Chevette that reached a top speed of 57 miles per hour with a tornado tailwind behind me.

What do I know about cars? I watched “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” as a kid and thought Dick Van Dyke and his car were cutting-edge. I always wished my parents would buy Herbie the Love Bug.

I’ve decided my best bet is to fake it until I make it. To do that, I need to look the part.

I watched “Speed Racer” as a kid, so I know all about cool -- and I’m not talking about Speed or Spritle. I’ll get a pair of racing gloves, some designer sunglasses, maybe even some stylish racing footwear. If I top it off with a skin-tight white racing suit—and, why not, even an intimidating mask—I just may look the part.

Just call me Racer X. Chitty Chitty is out and Chim-Chim is all-in!

(Editor's note: My Sunday plans changed when I came down with a mild case of vertigo Saturday and Sunday. The room was moving, but I wasn't. I spent the two days feeling like every time I walked I was in a snow globe someone was shaking. 


Of course, that's not exactly conducive to driving 100+ miles per hour on a racetrack. I'm going to reschedule the event and get my Mach 5 back in gear then.)

"Meet the Pets," the Goldie edition

Time for another hard-hitting interview session with my own panel of experts ready to grill me on my work: Curious George, Franklin the turtle, Puppy, and a new guest, Goldie, the only one of the “pets” who ever meets me at the door when I come home from work. The rest couldn’t be bothered.

Me: “Thank you, all, for being here again, and a big welcome to Goldie. I know this may be a little disorienting for you.”

Goldie: (Wide eyes, wagging tail, no comment)

Franklin: “Oh, you added a real intellectual to the group, huh, John? I’m guessing she’s another Allentown College alum?”

Puppy: “I actually have some questions for you, John. I’ve been reading along—thanks again for not putting us back in the garage—and I’m wondering why you couldn’t throw us a bone when you were racing around the grocery store. I mean literally a bone. You couldn’t get something for us?"

Me: “All of the groceries were for charity. I didn’t get to take anything home. If the food were mine to keep, I would have parked my cart in the chips and bacon aisles.”

Puppy: “I saw Froot Loops in your cart.”

Me: (Wide eyes, no comment)

Franklin: “Speaking of dog food, remember the time John actually ate dog food? At the Abell's house. He thought they were fancy peanuts.”

Puppy: “I howled all night when I heard that. I think the Abells still keep some ‘fancy peanuts’ out for him in case he gets hungry.”

Me: “I don’t recall that at all. Not really, nope. But I will say I’m thinking you guys do alright with the taste of dog food.”

Curious George: “Just wondering, all this talk about food has me kinda hungry. Can a monkey get a banana? I see them right over there.”

Puppy: “Good luck with the old man sharing his food—remember how he’d hoard circus peanuts when he was in college?”

John: “Now, wait, you can’t ‘remember’ that. You weren’t even in the picture til almost 20 years after that.”

Puppy: “I got ears. Big ones actually. And people talk.”

Franklin: “You know, we really should ease up a little on the old-timer. He did turn 48 since we last talked with him. And Caitlin wasn’t exactly easy on him.”

Curious George: “Even I heard what she said and my ears are the size of freckles. ‘You’re already past middle age, Dad. The middle of your life would be 40 if you make it to 80.’ Classic Caitlin! Being me, I’m curious: How’d that feel?”

John: “How would it feel if I made you Goldie’s chew toy?”

Goldie: (Wide eyes, wagging tail, no comment)

Puppy: “You want us to focus on your work? I’ve got a grief: You were a tree? Really? You may have a thick trunk, but at your height, you’re more like a shrub at best.”  

Curious George: “I know trees. I swing from trees. And you, sir, are no tree.”

Franklin: “If he were a tree, he’d be a Bald Cypress.”

John (grabbing Franklin and holding him out to Goldie): “Come here, Goldie. Would you like a new toy? Look, Goldie, a new toy!”

Goldie: (Wide eyes, wagging tail, no comment)

Franklin (panicking): “A MIGHTY OAK!!! I TAKE IT BACK, YOU’D BE A MIGHTY OAK!!!!”

Puppy (whispering to Curious George): “Oh, how I wish I could have been near John when he was a tree. What I would have done.”

Be a Game Show-style Contestant (Race Day)

I know from years of competitive sports that the race is won before it’s begun. Preparation, attitude, mental toughness, and thinking like a winner. That’s what I was going to bring to the Supermarket Sweep.

So it was tough choosing between the “Princess Tiara” and the “Sparkling Light Sword” as I stood in the Dollar General preparing to buy something that would psyche out our competitors. The tiara said to me, “Royalty . . . but on the cheap,” while the faux light saber screamed, “Intimidation . . .  at $4 a piece!”

Oh, yes, intimidation it is.

You should have seen the looks on our competitors’ faces as my NOLA.com teammate David Lee and I stood proudly in the entrance of Winn-Dixie that afternoon wielding our awe-inspiring, plastic, dollar-store light sabers. They shared a mixture of shock, fear, and uncertainty, as if they were thinking, “What’s the number for Security?” 

Game over!

But just to be safe, David Lee and I mapped out our race strategy as we walked the aisles before the race. We’d split up to start; he’d take the cart and grab pricey items as I raced to get more expensive hams and he’d meet me there.

See, we were going to zig when other contestants zagged; while they fought each other over frozen turkeys, no one would be at the hams, so I could load up. Then, we’d get the frozen turkeys when everyone else had moved on.

Ingenious. If ingenious means “Not genius.”

My fellow media idiots emptied a full case of 80-plus frozen turkeys in the 25 seconds before we got there. It was like I’d gone shopping for a turkey at midnight on Thanksgiving.

Our race plan, as elaborate as two guys in a supermarket can make it, was shattered. Which is why the final 3 minutes and 35 seconds we were so clueless. A co-worker, when told we didn’t get any frozen turkeys, asked, “Haven’t you guys ever gone shopping before?”

That’s when we came up with a new plan: Grab everything! So we raced back up the aisles throwing anything we could into our cart.

With one cart filled—you could only have one cart in action at a time—David Lee set off to find heart-healthy items off a shopping list we’d been provided. It was for charity, after all. He’d carry them and meet me while I took the cart and raced off in pursuit of our secret weapon.

From watching old re-runs of “Supermarket Sweep” and from my own pre-race check to make sure it was still true, I knew wheels of high-priced cheese were the frozen turkeys of the refrigerated section. Actually, they were more expensive and took up less cart space.

I grabbed four wheels of imported cheese I couldn’t pronounce and would never want to eat at $219 each, and two wheels of the slightly-less-expensive-but-also-inedible variety for $110 each. That was $1,100 worth of food and plenty of cart space left. 

It was for charity, I told myself, not for my glory. Granted, it’s not exactly heart-healthy, but, I mean, the senior citizens might like a whine-and-cheese party: "Ohhh, my aching knees, but this beaujolais de creme de creme is exquisite!" See, I’m not taking this cheese just to win, I’m doing it all for them!

Hey, when the clock’s ticking, it’s easier to rationalize.

It’s also easy to get lost. I couldn’t find David Lee, though I’d prefer to think he was lost and I knew exactly where I was: In a supermarket shouting, “DAVID LEE!” at the top of my lungs like a kid who’d lost his parent.

Oh, the memories of every amusement park I attended when I was young. I think eventually my mom just gave up and gave me a note to hand it to a park employee when (not if) I got lost. Again.

Not wishing to continue my childhood nightmares, I sprinted to the front, where I found David Lee. And a third filled cart. Hmmm, having two carts in play is kind of against the rules.

But I was tired and I’d just picked up close to $1,100 of heart-unhealthy cheese that wasn’t on the shopping list, so I wasn’t about to point a light saber of blame.

With less than 20 seconds left, David Lee and I went off the rails completely and grabbed anything within a five-foot radius of our carts. So I hope the senior citizens enjoy the Froot Loops we got especially for them.

Now came the part I hadn’t expected: the wait. Being the last shopper behind 20-plus overflowing grocery carts is like being in Disney World on national Take Your Kid to Disney World Day.

The only joy: fellow competitors heard the rumors of our cheese wheels of fortune and came over to gawk in despair. One said, “Who would have thought of cheese?”

What normal person isn’t ALWAYS thinking of cheese, I wondered, clutching my light saber.

And yet, that’s where our chance to win vanished for two predictable reasons: supermarket efficiency and a man’s easily distracted brain.

First, someone from the cheese department came along after she’d noticed a thousand dollars’ worth of cheese gone and her career right along with it. So she scanned our cheese wheels to give us credit, but then took all but one of each back, and gave us two receipts.

Each receipt, besides showing the price, also had a handwritten number at the top to indicate there were four of one kind of cheese and two of the other. “Make sure you tell the checkout person to give you credit for all six,” she said politely, and walked away with all but two of our wheels.

That’s when my brain took a vacation and my body went along for the ride. Seeing I’d have a long wait, I walked away and David Lee and I got lunch. Then they wanted to take a group photo of the contestants.

Then I thought I should clear away the growing pile of empty carts, so I pushed them to where they belonged outside the front of the store. And it was a really nice day outside. And, man, that sun feels warm. Squirrel!

By the time I was finished “Walkin’ on Sunshine” and wandered back in the store, they were finished counting our groceries: $1,223.09. Because someone hadn’t told the checkout person how many cheese wheels were on the receipt, someone got credit for just the two in our cart and not the full $1,100 or so.

Someone’s mind can really wander some—squirrel!!

The winning team totaled $2,102.44. What are you gonna do: I lost the race, but not my light saber. How awe-inspiring am I?

Be a Game Show-style Contestant (Day 4)

There are a number of reasons I’m surprised daily that my company still lets me in the office every day. Exhibit No. 341: I send e-mails like this to a co-worker: 

“Do you have any skeletons in your closet? No, I mean actual skeleton costumes? Or other Halloween costumes that we might be able to wear? I thought it'd be fun if we dressed as a famous pair. Batman and Robin? Or the Mario Bros.? Scooby-Doo and Shaggy? Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson?”

Thankfully, David Lee Simmons is rolling with all of it, and then some. His reply:

“Given these choices, and deep emotional childhood scars from video games (really, this couldn't be Asteroids-related?), and my instincts as a long-suffering aide de camp (and a long-winded one): Watson.”

Elementary, Watson.

Next up on the agenda: Let’s go to the tape. Time to review YouTube clips of the old “Supermarket Sweep” TV show to see if I can steal some tips from former contestants.

The most important observation: Do I really want to take tips from people wearing matching 1980s-era sweatshirts and clapping like trained seals? I can look in a mirror for that.

Richard Simmons’ clap-happy crew did reveal some good moves, however. Get the turkey, honey-baked hams and meat first—expensive, heavy items go to the bottom of the cart. Or as the cloying announcer in one video said regarding the contestants’ thoughts, “I’d better beef up my score!”

Actually, those carts look hard to maneuver when they fill up. And Bam! One female contestant named Coleman just ran into the hip of another contestant named Spencer. Can’t blame her; girl’s gotta have her garden hoses!

Splat! Expensive imported cheeses are rainbowing into carts in every episode. I am quite familiar with the cheese aisle. Point for Holmes and Watson.

Other big hits are aluminum pans, hair-coloring products, Polaroid film, and Wham! cassette tapes—okay, I made up that last one. But some of these contestants look exactly like Wham!’s weakest link, Andrew Ridgeley.

And now I’m the weakest link for knowing Andrew Ridgeley.

Back to the videos. They needed a cleanup in one aisle as all three teams converged on the diapers at the same time. The “Anchorman”-wannabe announcer said, “Hey, everybody, keep to the right side of the road.”

If there’s an announcer at our event—perhaps named Spencer—my cart will know what to do.

Be a Game Show-style Contestant (Day 3)

People like to consider what superhero power they’d wish to have. Maybe it’d be to fly, or to own amazing vision, or to have unbelievable strength. Actually, what can any superhero do that Superman can’t? Got an answer, Robin, hero of the passenger seat? 

But too few people ask more realistic questions: What super-idiot powers do I already possess? And why do I keep showing them off?

Almost all of mine were on display as I continued to prepare for Thursday’s supermarket race.

I have the ability to fly by roads I’m looking for and get lost while driving, which is why I drove up and down N. Claiborne Ave. for 35 minutes last night while thinking I was on N. Carrolton as I searched for the Winn-Dixie.

I’d have asked for directions, but a blocks-long cemetery was on my right and it took me that long to realize a graveyard wasn’t a good grocery-store neighbor. Super-idiot powers of deduction.

When I was a kid, my mom regularly got us lost driving, one time because she saw a sign that read: “Exit | 25 miles per hour” and she got off because we were looking for Exit 25, which wasn’t anywhere nearby. So, I clearly inherited that power.

I have the amazing ability to irk friends at work. When someone sent an e-mail yesterday asking, “Anyone got a droid?” because her Android phone wasn’t working, I replied, “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”

And my other great super-idiot power is my inability to read what’s right in front of me. That’s a wonderful trait for an editor. But the problem never rears its Medusa head during work hours.

It’s only when I’m trying (ever so rarely) to build something, or apparently when I receive e-mails. But keep those fan e-mails coming!

Even if there are just three steps to an instruction manual, I always require four, with the last being: “Get Linda, Caitlin or Daniel, you have no idea what you’re doing.” Even manufacturers know my super idiocy.

If I’d comprehended the e-mail from the supermarket race sponsors I received days ago—before re-reading it today—I’d know that the race is not about grabbing 43 Mr. Coffees just so you jack up your total bill.

The e-mail clearly says, “You have a list of items and you make a dash through the store to get as much as you can. The trick is that you want to have the highest dollar amount in groceries…. [You] will have four minutes to collect as many heart-healthy items as possible.”

Fortunately, I discovered my mistake before hitting the store, so I spent extra time in the vegetable aisle last night. You want pomegranates? Done. Red peppers, green peppers, yellow peppers, blue fish. Or something. Done!

I was there long enough to see the vegetables get two misty showers. But it was tastefully done.

My thought after spending so much time with vegetables? Calgon, take me away! And I know Calgon is in aisle 7.

Be a Game Show-style Contestant (Day 2)

I’ve never been more excited by someone describing an event I’m entering than when I spoke to Terri Kaupp, who works with Second Harvest Food Bank.

Her company is teaming with Peoples Health and Winn-Dixie to sponsor the “Supermarket Sweep”-esque challenge I’ll enter Thursday with my NOLA.com | The Times-Picayune teammate David Lee Simmons.

“[Contestants] are all over the aisles,” she said. “It’s pure chaos!”

So I could be Mr. Chaos in a Winn-Dixie and get to hear the following announcement when we win: “‘Roach Running Wild’ takes over Winn-Dixie!”

I hope David Lee likes our team name, “Roach Running Wild.” And the Burger King crowns and togas we’ll be wearing, as well as the plastic swords we’ll be wielding as we pillage the aisles. Who wouldn’t be okay with that?

A surprising bonus to the contest is that unsuspecting shoppers will be doing their normal Thursday shopping while we run rampant. “Clear out, people, those Foster Grants are mine!”

Actually, I know better than to grab sunglasses since they’re just $10.99. I’m stalking big-ticket items.

How do I know? Because I stalked Winn-Dixie.

It wasn’t the race-day store, but my wife Linda, who was a marketing retail sales guru previously, said they would all be designed similarly. Tomorrow I’ll check out the real thing, but today was a preliminary reconnaissance at a local one.

Linda also told me that taking pictures in grocery stores was “frowned upon,” so I felt the eyebrows of Winn-Dixie upon me as I took a quick photo of some high-priced, easy-to-grab Gillette Fusion razors. Small, lightweight, expensive, and plastic-sword stab-worthy.

Terri said whoever collects items amounting to the most money wins, but after today, I figure some products will be off-limits. Otherwise, we’d all grab piles of coffee makers for $99.99 and popcorn makers for $69.98.

My new friends are also multi-purpose fryers, high-priced shampoo, clothing, and top-of-the-line steak. And the gift cards are practically jumping into my cart.

What’s disorienting for a somewhat shopper is that all of my favorite aisles are irrelevant in this game.

The chips aisle? Worthless. Soda? Bulky and cheap. Cookies, ice cream and olives? Why bother?

I don’t want to think too hard about how those descriptions reflect my dietary intake: Worthless, bulky and cheap, why bother?

 Or are they describing me? I don’t like this game anymore.

But I’m gonna keep the Burger King crown.

Be a Game-Show-style Contestant (Day 1)

Remember when your boss said, “You should ask for a raise?” Or your friend reminisced, “How great was that Eagles Super Bowl victory celebration?”

No? I can relate. Where I work, no one ever asks the unimaginable. Until . . . .

I saw a rainbow-colored unicorn of an e-mail the other day. If only the sender knew her audience.

A very nice public relations person wanted someone to be a contestant in a local “Supermarket Sweep”-style competition, where members of the media run around a supermarket to collect food for charity.

They were looking for two people from our company to push the limits of stupidity and stupidity wouldn’t push back.

That’s the only fight I can win.

First job: finding someone else on staff to be a fool. Consider your workplace: yeah, it was that easy at mine, too.

Our entertainment social media guru Grace Wilson was glad I signed on, but thought it’d be great if we got a “name” staffer. Meaning someone people might know. And like.

She said it four or five times as we searched but it stopped hurting like stepping on a Lego piece at midnight in the dark after the fourth time. That’s when I came up with “names” I wanted to call Grace.

We stalked entertainment writer David Lee Simmons and he agreed just so we would go away. Kinda reminds me of my dating years.

So it’s Game On! The event is next Thursday, so I begin training today to be the best shopper since H.I. in “Raising Arizona": “I’ll be taking these Huggies and whatever cash ya got. . . . Better hurry up, I’m in dutch with the wife.”

Speaking of Linda, I got her to sign on as our team’s videographer for the event. I figure the video will be handy so I can show the doctor exactly how I tore my ACL again.

Not surprisingly, it wouldn't be the dumbest way I've hurt myself. I jumped off a second-story motel walkway and broke my leg when I was 7 so my brother Paul couldn't tag me when we were playing "It."

Stupid Paul didn't think I was smart enough to do it.

Be a Tree (Part 2)

Next, I went to Pelican Park, the hub of all sports activity in our community. Though on a Wednesday afternoon it’s as empty as Charlie Brown’s mailbox on Valentine’s Day. I planted myself near a white birdhouse and waited.

I didn’t really want a bird landing on me, so I practiced a plan if one approached. I’d drop: If a tree fall falls and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Yes, and the sound is “Ouch!”

Off to the Northlake Nature Center, which I discovered is the unofficial “Squirrel Capital of America.” I did not want to be climbed by a tree hugger yet. Or ever.

In search of the perfect spot to be tree-mendous (Editor’s note: Please stop!!!), I passed a guy walking alone on the trail. Here’s the thing: It makes sense why I'm here. To be a tree. But why is someone walking alone in the woods on a Wednesday afternoon? How weird.

The constant sounds of the woods (it’s squirrels, right?) and the “Death is imminent” sign warning about alligators (“Don’t feed the alligators”), remind me that I’m lunch to something lurking nearby.

The only calming elements are the stones throughout the woods that name my fellow trees. I think the Tree Naming Committee members were one-upping each other to be more stupid with each name.

Here’s a mix of real tree names and made-up Frat Boy nicknames. Can you tell the difference?

Jenkins Wiggle
Fetterbush Swamp Dog Hobble
Button Bush
Ogre
Fanleaf Hawthorn
Grounded Leaf
Elder Fern
Horse Sugar
Clover Crush
Elderberry

(Here are the Frat Boy names, meaning everything else is oddly real: Jenkins Wiggle, Ogre, Grounded Leaf and Elder Fern. Give yourself two frequent flier miles if you got everything right.)

I’m clearly a tree in CrazyLand, so I figured my name should be “Gator Bait Delicioso,” and wanted to leave before they began filming "SquirrelaGator" and I became victim No 1.

So I briefly set my roots down just off the Eagle Trail path and waited for nature to take its course, knowing that critters would overrun me any minute. Squirrels and snakes and bugs, oh my. (I’m on a “Wizard of Oz” theme, I guess—that’d make me the brainless Scarecrow.)

In this environment, I decided to be an intimidating tree to counter my nerves, so I extended my branches to the heavens and snarled. I’m sure the ants were terrified.

As I left the park/Haunted Woods of Doom, a few things were confirmed. I am NOT an outdoors guy. And I feel a whole lot braver in that park when I'm with Linda. I can out-run her when nature attacks.

A street sign on the drive home offered the equivalent of nuts to squirrels, Roach meat to gators, and, well, trees to dogs: Mandeville Middle School. Daniel’s school.

(Cue the Barry White voice) Ohhhh, yeahhhh.

Dare I be a tree outside of Daniel’s classroom? What parent doesn’t have the same thought?

Wheel keeps wanting to turn . . . must fight the urge . . . Daniel would be so humiliated . . . that’s not helping fight the urge . . .

I must be more sensitive now that I’m a tree, but I couldn’t do it. I think I sprained my wrist resisting the desire, but that’s a small price to pay for having a son look up to his Tree-Dad.

That didn’t stop me from rallying his neighborhood friends to finalize my Tree Day. I wanted to be a tree with a tire hanging from a rope on a branch so kids could fire a football through it. Dan Marino became a legend that way.

Except I didn’t have a rope. Or a tire. And I wasn’t a tree, if you want to be literal. I think I just made Dan Marino cry.

So Daniel, Luke, Dominic, Brennan and Tree-Dad scoured the garage for options. Linda’s gardening hat was both rope and target/tire. Then I started listening to the kids. My mistake.

Dominic: “Why are we doing this?”

Me: “Because I’m going to be a tree.”

Dominic: “Oh.”

Luke: “Can we swing from you?”

Daniel: “Can we climb you?”

Luke: “Can we chop you down?”

I kept an eye on Luke as we walked to the backyard and he kept an eye on the sharper items in our garage. I was relieved when he looked at me and said, “This looks like a sturdy kind of tree.”

Should I have been insulted? Or was that the highlight of my day?

Be a Tree (Part 1)

When you decide to be a tree for a day, you’re going to hear a comment or two. But not the obvious questions: “Why not be a log?” Or, “What do you have against shrubs?”

No, I received less likely questions, such as, “You’re not going to be weird, are you?” Or “Why are you doing this?”

You just gotta be free to be a tree and remember it’s important in life to branch out. (Editor’s note: We’re against that pun, and, well, all of the ones headed your way. You’re “saps” for continuing on.) (Writer’s note: Really???)

I drove off in search of places to be a tree. First stop: The walking path along Lake Pontchartrain, among the majestic Southern Oaks dripping with Spanish Moss. I found a perfect trio of tree partners: an ancient oak and a pair of newish palm trees, with a lake view and the New Orleans skyline in the distance.

Good neighbors matter, at least that’s what mine say before they move away.

To blend in, I gathered some of the grey-beard-looking moss from the ground and draped it over my shoulders. I grabbed a few branches from the ground, too, and I challenge anyone to tell which one of us wasn’t a tree.

The only difference was the oak tree kept dropping acorns. (The palm trees were kinda antisocial and didn’t bring much to the party.) So to fit in, I dropped my keys. The oak dropped a few more acorns.

The game of chicken was on and the oak wasn’t giving in. He kept throwing acorns, so after the keys, I reached for my credit cards to make it rain and prove I was all-in.

A minivan pulled up nearby before it got ugly. More than 30 cars had gone by while I was a tree, but I was facing the lake so, while I couldn’t tell, I’m sure they couldn’t distinguish one tree from another.

A mother of two and her mom exited the minivan and started walking our way. Now, of course, the oak was on its best behavior and holding its acorns. Oaks are such phonies.

Anyway, the four were headed to the play area nearby and approached us trees cautiously. Who wouldn’t? A few minutes ago, the oak was firing projectiles like a Wild West gunslinger.

I put them at ease by saying, “Hi,” just so they knew I wasn’t a grasping “Wizard of Oz” tree. I asked the mom if she’d take a picture, and as I handed her my phone, she said, “Do you want to be near the other trees?”

“Other.” She knew I was a tree! She understood me. Though she did pull her daughters closer to her as she walked away.

That was enough, so it was time to “leaf” for a new spot. (Editor’s note: We warned you.)

"Meet the Pets"

Sunday morning interview shows, such as long-running “Meet the Press,” are staples of American television. I’ve been to a Staples. So obviously we have a lot in common.

That’s why I sat down with my own interview panel, which I’ll call “Meet the Pets,” a semi-regular occurrence now that I’ve jump-started the blog again. My experts will serve as a checks-and-balance counterpoint to keep me in line.

My crew is similar to the Sunday morning show “experts,” in that they take up physical space on Earth and  . . . well, that’ll have to be enough. Today’s panel on “Meet the Pets”: Curious George, Franklin the turtle, and Puppy, Daniel’s almost decade-long stuffed animal friend, though Daniel has forsaken him for a while now.

That may explain Puppy’s bitterness these days.

Puppy: “You’re really pushing yourself to the limits these days, huh? Four posts in two weeks—slow down, there, big fella.”

Franklin: “And he said he’d do a fifth story about being a judge, but I believe we’re still waiting on that one, aren’t we?”

Me: “Okay, well you are. I got tied up, and, I mean, give me a break, I’m just getting started.”

Curious George: “Yeah, give him a chance. I mean, his wife just bought a bunch of bananas—how bad can he be?”

Puppy: “If he thinks he can be a judge, then so can I. I’m the Russian judge: I give you a 2.7 out of 10 so far.”

Me: “Now, hold on guys, this isn’t supposed to be an attack on me. You’re supposed to ask legitimate questions, you know, keep me focused in a constructive way.”

Puppy: “Okay, let’s see. You ate potato chips in one “demanding” story, made fun of sweet people named Grammy and Pappy in another, and let your Facebook friends be the funny ones and do all the work in a third.”

Curious George: “Now I’ll stick up for John on that one. By the way—you gonna share those bananas any time soon, JR? Anyway, you guys don’t get it; ya gotta let other people be the stars. The Man in the Yellow Hat makes me. He’s a grown man who lives with a monkey. That gives me free rein to do anything when you work with someone so clueless. Not saying you’re 100 percent clueless, John, just, well, you know.”

Me: “No, I don’t know. You think I’m clueless?”

Franklin: “If I may interject: You also did a story on 1980s dance moves this week, John. Isn’t that the decade that made you realize you should never dance in public again? Should I break out the VHS tape of you doing “The Curley Shuffle” on stage in high school to remind you?

Puppy: “It still kills me when he got the pie in the face at the end of that one. And those moves? Was your hip broken or something then?

Me: “I think we’re getting a little off track here.”

Curious George: “I know. B-a-n-a-n-a-s, John. Come on!”

Me: “Now I know why Daniel has moved on from you guys. Time to put you back in storage in the garage.”

Puppy: “Noooo. Wait, wait, wait. You’re definitely doing wonderful work. I mean, guessing all of the potato chips in the challenge—that’s something a grown man should be proud of. You’re something else, alright!”

Franklin: “Agreed! Bravo! Can’t wait to read more.”

Me: “Hey, get over here, George!”

Curious George: “If I’m going to storage, the bananas are coming with me!”

Be a substitute teacher?

If you were a substitute teacher of high school seniors for a day, what one sentence would you first say to the class? 

Ron Owen Class dismissed.

John Roach I know where you'd go, Ron--to the beach!

Gregory Welsh Bueller, Bueller.... Anyone anyone anyone?????

Doug Basile Shut Up! Sit Down!

John Roach Doug: That tempts me to make my opening sentence be: "You guys are lucky you didn't get Mr. Basile."

Gray Stikeleather Handwerk Listen, I don't want to be here anymore than you do, but we have to, so let's just agree to get through this as painlessly as possible. It's like Homer Simpson once said, "Okay, brain, I don't like you and you don't like me. But let's work together this one time and then I'll go back to slowly killing you with beer."

John Roach I'd want to see how well the cell-happy kids actually know each other. I'd go with: "We'll start with a quiz: Write down the first and last name of every person in this class--whoever has all the right names, can leave and enjoy a free period.

John Roach But I'm definitely partial to you and Homer, Gray Stikeleather Handwerk!

Chris Colter We're having class outside today on the beach.

John Roach Best. Teacher. Ever, Chris Colter

Christine Laudeman Soloway It only gets worse from here!

John Roach: re Christine Laudeman Soloway: Initially, my thought about subbing for seniors was that it would only get worse from here FOR ME. My first sentence might have been: "Here's my emergency contact information just in case something happens today."

Mike Campellone "My defense attorney thought this teaching thing would be good for my anger issues."

Tom McNamara <knocks over desk> “Are we going to have any problems?”

John Roach Ahhh, now the people who deal with students are chiming in. Things just got real!

Bridget Ann White I am happy to be here; don't try to change my mind.

Be a business consultant

Nothing like a drive around our great country to remind me why I’d never make it as a small-business owner. Others just seem to know exactly what will work. 

For example, in rural Purvis, Mississippi, I drove past a small mom-and-pop store with an eye-catching sign out front: Grammy and Pappy’s Knife Store.

See, I never would have thought to combine cuddly-sounding grandparents with deadly weaponry. I’m so clueless.

The owners of rental accommodations in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, also paired the unlikely: Mansion Condominiums. Not exactly truth in advertising, but at least one of those two words was honest. 

Such creative thinkers are on to something, and I can’t refuse a challenge. So I’ve decided to be a small-business consultant. Just for a day. That’s probably all it will take for me to master things, judging by the competition.

Now if I were a small-business owner, there are several fields I could enter and dominate in the spirit of knife-selling Grammies, particularly if I wanted to use my last name in the title.

Roach Exterminators, anyone? There is also the obvious: Roach Motel, or maybe The Roach Diner. Sure-fire successes all!

Even better would be Roach Survival Guide Safaris: “Roaches will out-last everything—and so can you!” Or maybe, Roach Tech Support: “We get rid of the bugs in your computer.”

How can I help others? Let me count the ways.

Xavier Kahn wants to open a law firm? X. Kahn Legal Services.

Emily Burns wants to make quick-and-easy takeout food? Burns Meals Fast!

And I’m smart enough to know “Wild” Bill’s Psychiatry just won’t fly.

Some people just don’t know how foolish they sound.

Memorable 1980s dance moves

Daniel is now getting into watching "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air," which led to us watching "The Carlton Dance" on YouTube. It's soooo bad, I lumped it in with other unforgettable (for better or worse) dance moves of the 1980s.

But actually, that show was from the 1990s, as was Seinfeld with The Elaine, and the dance craze The Macarena--all of which I thought were in the '80s. Did no one in the '90s learn anything about taste from the '80s?

What are your most unforgettable dance moves from the '80s? My list of 7 includes 2 must-haves because of their brilliance and others ranging all along the "Great" to "Grating" scale: The Moonwalk, Thriller, Bobby Brown's Genie Pants Dance, Walk Like an Egyptian, The Cabbage Patch, The Electric Slide, and The Running Man.

• Diane Grey Kalafut: John, you are a GREAT dad. Daniel may not appreciate it now but how COOL is a dad that will show the dance moves of generations gone by to his young son.... so blessed!
• Charlotte Brown Law: I can see you in COHS gym doing those moves!
• Christine Mancuso DiVuolo: I am surprised you don't have the Ickey Shuffle on your list. The "Churning butter" was always a fave of mine. And wasn't it MC Hammer doing hammer time in the big gold genie pants (you know you had a pair)
• Ron Owen: How about the Batman, the Sprinkler
• Gray Stikeleather Handwerk: It was the mc hammer dance in the genie pants!
• Linda Buck Roach: When was Madonna's Vogue? That was a classic. I thought I was so sexy when I "vogued!!" HA HA. I think it was from the 90's.
• John Roach: Mixing up "My Prerogative" and "Can't Touch This"??? How could I? Where do I turn in my neon-colored '80s Solid Gold dancer card?
• Bill Gardiner: John, no love for Vanilla Ice? Ice Ice Baby!
• John Roach Bill Gardiner: What about Milli Vanilli and their sashay dance? Uhhh NO!
• Kathy McLaughlin: How bout walk the dinosaur?
• John Roach: I forgot "The Curly Shuffle." Although that might have just been popular among we weird O'Hara folks . . .