Bob's Random Thoughts and Ramblings

In a somewhat surprising move this week, the NBA front office issued a new dress code policy that is to go into effect starting at the beginning of the regular season. The dress code requires players to wear 'business casual' attire while participating in team or league functions. The code bans sleeveless t-shirts, shorts, sunglasses indoors, and display of jewelry outside of clothing. It also requires injured players on the bench to wear a sportcoat, shoes, and socks. As expected, this has caused much controversy.

Many players are taking the 'You can put a murderer in a suit, but he's still a murderer'(Allen Iverson) argument, while others are taking a more cooperative approach. Many players are boiling down the issue to one of race, citing that the league wants to 'sway away from the hip-hop generation'(Jason Richardson). If you ask me(which no one has but I feel the need to comment anyway), they are way off base.

First, a very large part of the audience for the NBA is the inner-city population. The league could not possibly have any interest in alienating one of its core components, its fans.

Second, the players fighting the dress code are forgetting that while they play a game, it is still their job. I work as a front store manager for a pharmacy retailer. I get paid substantially less than an NBA player. However, I still have to wear a shirt and tie to work every day. The only day I don't wear a tie is on the day I receive our truck from the warehouse. Even on this day, I have a company issued uniform shirt that I wear with my dress slacks. While I know I would be more comfortable in my usual shorts and t-shirt combination, I realize that I'm representing an image of professionalism for my company.

Finally, players are also concerned that they are not being allowed to exhibit their style and creativity. What they need to realize is that 'business casual' offers an awful lot of opportunity for personal style. It's not as if the league has issued uniform suits to be worn off the court. Besides, I don't hear players arguing the fact that they all have to wear the same uniform on the court.

Maybe it's just me, but it seems like the NBA is just trying to steal back some headlines that have been snatched away by the return of the NHL. The last thing we need in this country right now is an argument that 'business casual' attire is racist. Next thing they'll be saying is that President Bush is trying to take away their throwback jerseys. My advice: Go buy some khakis and shut up.

It is currently 12:47 AM and I am just hours away from finding out if I'm the next gajillionaire compliments of the Powerball lottery. The current jackpot for tonight's drawing is approximately 340 million dollars. Which, of course, after taxes amounts to about 12 bucks. Still, the excitement is mounting.

I have a simple philosophy when it comes to the lottery. I wait for the jackpot to reach over 100 million dollars before I decide to play. What can you do with a measly 15 million anymore these days? Once the jackpot reaches the desired level, I get in line behind the gaggle of old ladies at the gas station and wait for my chance to purchase tickets. I always buy at least $10 worth of tickets. I figure the payoff is big enough to justify spending $9 more than is necessary to win.

I, being a former math major, am always interested in the odds of winning such a big jackpot. Let me explain how the game works for those of you who are unfamiliar. A total of six balls are drawn. There are five white balls and one red ball, the 'powerball'. The only way to win the big jackpot is to match all six numbers. The Powerball people have recently increased the number of white balls they use to choose the five aforementioned money makers. There are now 55 white balls in the drum and 42 red powerball contenders in the other drum (let's just refer to that as the 'Thunder Drum'). With these new ball counts in place, the odds of winning the big jackpot are a paltry 1 in 146,107,962.00. As a comparison, the odds of dying on an airline flight are currently 1 in 52.6 million.

The odds of winning the jackpot aren't the only ones to pay attention. Sure, you may not win the big jackpot, but you could still win eight other ways. The best payoff is by matching all five white balls but not the powerball. This is done by 1 in every 3,563,608.83 people. This would get you a nice prize of $200,000. I won't bother with all of the other seven prizes, except to say that you need to at least match the powerball, courtesy of the 'Thunder Drum', or three of the white balls to attain the little prize of $3. All together, you have a 1 in 36.61 chance of winning a prize. Not terrible for a game that's played in 29 of the 50 states.

When the Powerball lottery is discussed at work or with friends, the subject is always directed to 'What will you do with the money if you win?' While 'Anything I damn well please!' come to mind, I have actually given this some real thought. Beyond buying a new home and a new car (read as 'five new cars') for myself, I would start by taking care of my family and friends. After all, they're the ones who have put up with me for the last 29 years, so they deserve to have a bone tossed their way. Next up would be college. While I spent five years in college already, I have yet to attain a degree. That is a big goal of mine that I will accomplish one day. And, while I'm fulfilling dreams, I want to purchase at least part ownership of a major league baseball team, preferably my beloved Philadelphia Phillies.

When answering the 'What will you do with the money if you win?' question, many people say that they don't want their lives to change. They want to go from their strapped bank accounts and dead end jobs to having unfathomable wealth and still have everything be the same. Why? Why wouldn't you want to make your life much, much better. I'm not saying that your life is terrible now, but think of how much easier it could be. I agree that money does not buy happiness, but it could ease up the hurt a little bit. No one says you need to ditch your friends and family in leiu of new ones, just bring them along for the ride.

I really never understand the people who win millions of dollars and then go back to work. I don't care how much you love your job, you're outta there. Go fishing, read a book. Hell, write a book. You can afford to take the time off now. Don't be like Hugo from Lost and worry if people you know will hate you now. You laid down your dollar and took the chance and won. If people start to treat you differently, they weren't really your friends in the first place.

I'm not entirely sure where all of this is coming from. I guess I started to lose my mind at the possibility of winning 340 million dollars. Or, maybe it's that I've spent about an hour typing this entry. Anyway, I should get some sleep now. I want to look good for my picture at lottery headquarters should I be the big winner. If you play, good luck.

I was taking my lunch break last week while at work, when I turned on the TV to find an old episode of the "I Love Lucy" show. (Yes, I realize there are no 'new' episodes of the the "I Love Lucy" show to be watched, but that's not really the point.) Seeing as we do not have cable television at the store, I chose to watch the one program that I could get a decent signal for.

The episode that was airing that day is one that is appropriate for the current times. Lucy is sitting in her apartment when Ethel, the next door neighbor, stops by with the mail. As Lucy is looking at a postcard, Ethel is telling her everything it says. Apparently Ethel has already gone through Lucy's mail and read everything she could. Lucy tells her that it is inappropriate to read other people's mail. She then spots a letter for Ricky from Fort Dix. It being a time of war, she fears the worse. Ethel helps her to open the letter. Enclosed are orders for Ricky to report to Fort Dix that Friday. Lucy is understandably a mess.

Ricky gets home that night to see Lucy crying while knitting. He checks his mail and mentions nothing to Lucy about the orders to report to Fort Dix. Once alone with Fred, Ethel's husband (do you guys seriously need me to tell you who these folks are?), Ricky tells him about the orders. Fred, figuring what the girls figured, asks Ricky if he's been drafted. Ricky informs Fred that he was not drafted, but was playing a show at the base for the troops. He just needed the orders in order to be able to do the show. Fred wonders why he didn't tell Lucy about the papers. Ricky doesn't want to tell Lucy because she'll want to be in the show. Fred and Ricky then decide to do a number together in the show where they'll be marching as soldiers.

Lucy and Ethel both think Ricky and Fred have joined the military and are extremely upset. To console themselves, they decide to go out and buy a hat. This brings me to my point. Oh yeah, to finish up the episode, the boys think the girls are pregnant. They plan parties for each other on the same night. The whole truth comes out, and the show becomes a lesson in communication, or lack there of.

Anyway, back to the hats. I'm too young to remember a time when women would go out and buy a hat to make themselves feel better. Actually, other than the day of the Kentucy Derby, I'm too young to remember a time when women wore hats. I grew up in the 80's, where big hair was the style. Women would put so much hairspray in there hair that most heads were impenetrable to nuclear attack. Perhaps this was the response to the Cuban Missle Crisis and the Cold War. Either way, hats were rarely found.

My mother still mentions a collection of women who still meet in groups called the Red Hat Society. I think I have that right. Regardless of the name, this society harbors back to a simpler time, when women could put on fancy hats and have brunch. When they could talk of their brothers, husbands, sons, and nephews, who had gone off to war or school. They could try to one-up each other. "Your Jimmy is a school teacher. That's nice. My Billy is a doctor."

In these uncertain times of war, I wish women would go back to buying hats. I can say that as someone who has no stake in the hat business. Even if they didn't choose hats, something should bond people together. I've struggled to come up with one example of an item or items that may have already accomplished this feat. I cannot come up with anything.

Whether you support the current war or not, one thing should be consistent. We should be supporting our troops. They are doing nothing but what their job requires of them. They deserve our respect and admiration. Because of them, we can live free and safe. So, do what you can for your country. Buy a hat.

I know it has been about five months since I've posted anything to this blog, but it is time for me to say a few very special words. After having a very long and horrible week at work, God helped to remind me that work is just work. I came home from a child's birthday party to find my beloved cat, Scrappy, dead in the laundry room.

Some people might scoff when they see the title of this posting and then find out that the 'friend' I'm referring to is 'just a cat'. I have very little room in my life for people like that. Scrappy was not 'just a cat'. He was a great friend that never did anything but love me. He never questioned his affection for me, nor did I question my affection for him. Anyone who has ever owned a pet knows how I feel. The only comparison you can draw is that I loved him like a parent loves a child.

Scrappy and I first found each other about eight years ago when a neighbor's sister mentioned that they had been taking care of a stray kitten. They were looking for the kitten to have a good, loving home, and I had just begun to ask my parents if I could get a pet of my own. I really had my heart set on getting a dog, but my father would not agree to it. So, I settled on a cat. They brought the cat to our home, and I was instantly hooked. Many people close to the family do not even know that Scrappy's original name was Storm, after the X-men character. That was what I named him after my mom had told me he was a girl. I hadn't checked myself and took my mother's word for it. After an embarrassing trip to the vet, the name had to be changed.

What I quickly learned about Scrappy was that I may have gotten the body of a cat, but the spirit of a dog. He loved to play fetch and would come when you called him. As the years went on, he began to get rather large. Still, he would come running when he was called and jump in your lap. He had the sweetest face and cutest cry. He was the type of cat that would make anyone smile on their dullest day.

When I moved to Ohio back in 1999, Scrappy moved with me. We were the best of friends. He always greeted me at the door, and not always to get more food. When I was at my apartment, he never left my side. He would even lay on the bathroom floor while I showered if I kept the door open. It was nice to know that I wasn't in anything alone. He would listen to me complain about work. A simple 'meow' would help to calm me down and remind me of what was truly important.

I just turned 29 last week, so it's not that I don't know how life works. I know that pets come and go. It's part of the natural cycle of things. It doesn't make it hurt less. I'm sure I'll own another pet someday, but they'll never replace Scrappy in my heart. He'll always be my little buddy.

To Scrappy, I wish you well and God's speed. You'll always be in my heart. Thanks for always being there for me. I love you.

I know I'm a bit late on this one, but I feel the need to comment on American Idol. No, I don't want to comment on bogus claims of sexual impropriety by former untalented contestants. I want to talk about the final four that we, the American people, have chosen as our favorites.

Bo Bice is awesome. Carrie Underwood is gorgeous AND can sing. Vonzell is beautiful, but shaky at times. Anthony Federov has a hole in his throat. I would love to say more about him, but that's all my tiny mind can concentrate on when he hits the stage.

I, like most people who follow the show and refuse to miss an episode, believe it is down to a two person race. I can't help it. I'm like a twelve year old girl when that show comes on. Bo and Carrie are clearly the two most talented people on the show. I've been saying since the first week that it would come down to those two. I don't want to take anything away from the other two remaining contestants, but sometimes getting this far is really good enough.

I almost feel bad for Vonzell. She is very talented and very beautiful. She really has evolved, both in singing and image, as the show has progressed. I'm sure she has a future in the music business, but I doubt that it's as a superstar performer. She would make a great backup singer or small club performer, but I just don't see her making it big, ala Kelly Clarkson.

Anthony Federov is a completely different story. Here is a guy who was brought to the United States from Ukraine as a small boy. He had a tracheotomy, leaving him with the possibility of never speaking normally again. It also left him with the aforementioned hole in the throat. To be fair, it's not so much a hole as it is an indention. Still, it moves weird when he sings and speaks, and it freaks me out when he's on my television screen. I feel the need to distract myself with shiny objects while he's performing just so I'm able to concentrate enough to hear him. He is talented, but in that chorus member on Broadway sort of way. That's still more talented than most of us, but not American Idol talented.

The choice of Bo or Carrie gives us a win-win for the ages. Bo is cool. Carrie is hot. Both are well above average singers and performers. I'm sure both will have albums that outsell the other Idol alum albums.

So, congrats America. You seem to be getting it right. Then again, you may screw it all up tonight and send someone packing that doesn't deserve to go. Afterall, it's our choice.

The listing you are about to read was originally posted in January of 2005, but was deleted due to a server issue at Verizon. After a few months of stewing, I've decided to take a stab at reestablishing my blog. This was by far my favorite post and felt that it needed to be republished for the good of humanity, and my sanity.

As those of you who read this page (hi Patty) know, I work for a major pharmacy retailer. From time to time there is a rash of media all devoted to what is seen as the next miracle cure. The latest phenomenon has come in the form of Airborne. Airborne was developed by Victoria Knight-McDowell, a second grade teacher ‘who was sick of catching colds in class’. Just in case anyone is checking, the FDA (Food and Drug Administration) did not evaluate the previous quote. Then again, the FDA doesn’t evaluate any statements I make on this website. The formula seems simple. Mix a bunch of vitamins (mostly of Chinese origin) together with effervescence, and then rake in the dough.

AIRBORNE Original: ingredients.
Supplement Facts: Serv size 1 tablet. Servings, 10. Amount per serving: Calories 4, Total Fat 0g, Sodium 230mg (10% DV*), Total Carb 0g, Sugars 0g, Protein 0g. Vitamin A (100% Acetate) 5,000 I.U. (100% DV*), Vitamin C 1,000mg (1,633% DV*), Vitamin E 30 I.U. (100% DV*), Magnesium (Sulfate) 40mg (10% DV*), Zinc (Sulfate) 8mg (55% DV*), Selenium (Sodium Selinite) 15mcg (21% DV*), Manganese (Gluconate) 3mg (86% DV*), Potassium (Bicarbonate) 75mg (2.5% DV*), Organic Herbal Extracts (Lonicera, Forsythia, Schizonepeta, Ginger, Chinese Vitex, Isatis Root, Echinacea) 350mg (DV**), Amino Acids (Glutamine, Lysine) 50mg (DV**).
*Daily Value.

Other Ingredients: Citric Acid, Sodium Bicarbonate, Sorbitol, Potassium Bicarbonate, Orange Flavor, Mineral Oil, Sucralose, Acesulfame Potassium.

Source: http://www.airbornehealth.com

By perusing the shamelessly self-promoting website, I learned that Airborne was launched in 1997. While the product has been available in major retailers for several years, the company didn’t launch a national advertising campaign until 2002. By working at a major pharmacy retailer (which is also a shameless self-promoter), I learned that Airborne did not become a juggernaut until Oprah Winfrey sang its praises. The seemingly King Midas-like touch that Winfrey possesses is enough to make any product or service a sure moneymaker. It was as though Airborne had the perfect name. It was literally flying off of the shelves.

But does it work? Even with all of the media clippings and self-congratulatory offerings on the website, I was unable to find any clinical proof that this stuff does in fact work. I could only find one quote that even touched upon the subject. ‘This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.’ So why are we supposed to take it? Why is sold from the aisle where I buy my cough and cold medicine? What did you spend five years of your life doing? Oh yeah, finding a way to make money. Mission accomplished. Airborne now makes over $10 million dollars a year.

I decided it was time that I gave this miracle drug a try. The fine people at Knight-McDowell Labs recommend taking Airborne whenever you feel the first signs of a cold. Having felt the sensation of sniffles and sinus pressure, it was show time. After being warned by my boss and several customers to not take it as a chewable tablet, I placed one tablet in a small glass of water. I then waited approximately a minute and a half for my tablet to dissolve. Once that was done, I raised the glass to my mouth and began to drink. There is a reasonable taste expectation when something is marked as ‘Orange Flavored’. One would suspect the hint of an orange taste. The best way for me to describe the taste of Airborne would be a carbonated, watered-down, rancid Tang flavor. Again, keep in mind that the FDA has not evaluated this statement.

I waited patiently for my cold symptoms to go away. After about an hour and a half, I had completely forgotten that I was ever feeling the onslaught of bacteria or that I had taken Airborne. I seemed to be breathing fine and no longer felt the need to forcefully inhale through my nose. So it worked, right? How would anyone even know? What if you weren’t actually getting sick in the first place? Maybe you just had the sniffles because someone left the door hanging open too long on a cold winter day. Maybe your sinus pressure was caused by a change in atmospheric pressure around you. You will never know. So it’s a win-win for Airborne. Either you don’t get sick and think them to be geniuses, or you get sick and figure you had not paid close enough attention to your symptoms and had simply taken the Airborne too late.

While I’m sure that any doctor would recommend a regular vitamin intake to help stabilize the immune system, I doubt any of them would recommend waiting until you felt sick to start this new ritual. Perhaps the better plan would be to take a daily multivitamin, drink a glass of vitamin C rich juice, and wear a hat outside in the cold. At $7.00 for 10 tablets of a mystery concoction that ‘is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease’, it is certainly worth a try. Maybe Airborne and the Knight-McDowell Lab should stop worrying about the FDA factor, and start worrying about the FAD factor.

This is the time of year when we are bombarded with tons of Christmas specials. They're on every channel you can imagine. I even saw a commercial for an Animal Planet Christmas special. I think it had something to do with animals dressed up for the holidays. Anyway, that's neither here nor there.

For the past several years it has become very apparent that there is really only one Christmas story. I don't mean the story of Santa Claus. I don't even mean the story of Jesus. You know, the guy retailers want you to forget about so that you can focus on the hot new toys this year. I'm talking about the story of the person who forgets the true meaning of Christmas.

In every special that you see, there is one somewhat mean-spirited person who seems to hate the holiday. They don't know why anyone would care about, what to them, is just another day. They never seem to have much family, and what family they do have is somewhat estranged. They pander about their miserable lives while everyone else gets ready for the impending holiday celebration.

Just when you think that this miser is incapable of true feeling, someone, often a small child, does something that reminds them of what the holiday season is all about. Scrooge had his three ghosts. Scott Calvin (The Santa Clause) had his son. This awakens them to the joy that the rest of the world is feeling. Also, it seems as though there is usually a county singer playing the sheriff. (See: Travis Tritt, Randy Travis, Kris Kristofferson) When all is said and done, everyone has a wonderful Christmas, and usually a town is saved. (See: the one with John Denver, the one with Tim Matheson, The Grinch Who Stole Christmas)

Throughout my childhood and into my adult years, I've seen just about every Christmas special that television and movies have thrown my way. I watch them each and every year with family and friends. We watch the same story with different names on the characters a thousand times from Thanksgiving to Christmas. Then we do it all over again. After 28 years, I like to make jokes and comments during the ones we've seen a million times. I like to pretend like I don't really know if Randy Travis will end up with Connie Seleca. I like to act surprised when Tim Matheson takes over the Bean's Tractor plant on a one year trial basis. I even wonder aloud if Jason Robards will fall in love with his Christmas Wife.

But secretly, I love the specials. They remind me every year of the true meaning of Christmas. They remind me of when I was a young child and the joy I felt this time of year. They make sure that I'm never the miserable miser that needs to be saved by the small child and the county western singing sheriff.

The past two days have garnished a serious black eye for the game of baseball in America. It has long been suspected that some of the players have been using performance enhancing products. On Thursday it was confirmed for the first time by an active player. Jason Giambi, of the New York Yankees, testified in front of a federal grand jury that he knowingly used steroids during the 2003 season. He also stated that he had used other steroids earlier in his career.

Earlier today it was also reported that Barry Bonds told the same federal grand jury that he unknowingly used a steroid cream that he was supplied by his trainer, Greg Anderson. Bonds claims that he was told the cream was flaxseed oil. This statement has begun to wet the appetites of some of Bonds' biggest detractors, most of whom have believed Bonds to be a steroid user for some time.

Barry Bonds has been one of the most feared and respected players in Major League Baseball for many years. However, he has also been one of the biggest goats for fans. While Bonds wants to be remembered as one of the greatest players to ever step foot on the field, he has alienated him from the public court that makes those decisions. He has one of the most abrasive personalities in the league.

Jason Giambi has been one of the most prolific power hitters in the league over the past few seasons. Last season he sat out a total of 82 games due to injury and illness. The key difference between Bonds and Giambi is their 'likability' factor. Giambi is a much more personable player. He is well liked by other players and the fans. This is the sort of thing that he has long been suspected of, but it seems as though he should be able to weather the storm rather well.

I think the bigger issue is how this will affect not only the records these players currently hold, but also their lasting legacies. Tim Kurkjian of ESPN says that he doesn't see any reason why he wouldn't still vote Barry Bonds as a first ballot Hall of Famer. Bonds will most likely finish his career with the single-season home run record and the overall home run record. These are two of the most sought after and prestigious records in all of Major League Baseball.

I find it hard to believe that we would allow a known steroid user to hold, unattested, two of baseball's greatest records, and then annoint him one of the greatest players of all-time by putting him in the Hall of Fame while Pete Rose is left on the outside looking in. What Pete Rose did, while extremely wrong, does not even come close to being as offensive as actual cheating.

I fear that we have not even cracked the surface of the steroid issue with professional sports. I can only hope that the Major League Baseball Players Association will now help Commisioner Selig fight this awful smear on the game. Maybe then they can begin work on finally setting a hard salary cap.