After 15 beers, it's best to hail a cab — assuming you still can wave

An open road suddenly can sprout potholes.
A dude in Ohio apparently thought he was pretty clever. He could inhale 15 beers and not get nailed for drunken driving if he didn’t drive home in a regular garden-variety vehicle.
Instead, his mode of transportation was a bar stool powered by a lawn mower engine. A hot little number that could zip up to 38 mph.
But I guess those 15 beers were a bit much for his reflexes. He crashed his bar stool, rendering it as impaired as he was.
By the way, he was charged with drunken driving.
Back to the drawing board I guess, brewing up another invention over a few dozen beers.

Al Walentis through the looking glass

People frequently ask me if notable blogger and notorious New York Yankees fan Al Walentis has an even bigger ego than A-Rod.
Granted, Al’s Blog does get more hits than Alex Rodriguez these days, since the Yankees’ steroid-stained slugger is recovering from hip surgery and will be sidelined until May.
And sometimes I feel the Zeke Blog is to Al’s Blog what Robin was to Batman, what Tonto was to the Lone Ranger, what Joe Biden (remember him?) is to Barack Obama, what George W. Bush was to Dick Cheney, what peanut butter is to jelly, what tonic is to vodka and what romance is to sex.
Still, until someone gets a shot of Al kissing the man in the mirror like A-Rod did for Details magazine in its “Confessions of a Damned Yankee” article, I’m thinking A-Rod’s head needs to be slicked with more butter than Al’s to fit through a doorway.

Belatedly tuning in Villanova's epic conquest was worth all that jazz

Cut and print. Ciao, baby.
Yep, Villanova’s 78-76 corpuscle-popping 78-76 victory over Pittsburgh Saturday night in the NCAA East Region final had an ending that was dynamically cinematic.
When Scottie Reynolds adroitly raced against the clock, deftly flashed into the lane and calmly sank a jumper with a mere five-tenths of a second remaining, it was an incredible climax that punctuated an improbable run to the Final Four.
The Wildcats survived a calamitous chain of circumstances to reach their first Final Four since 1985 when they pulled a David on the Goliath that was Georgetown in the title game.
But I must rip back the curtain on the confession booth and admit that I missed last night’s melodramatic and incongruous game.
The March Madness in our town these days also includes the marvelous VF Outlet Berks Jazz Fest and I was soaking up the funk as hot as skillet while Villanova and Pitt were going at it hammer and tong.
Even John Ernesto, the Jazz Fest general manager, took a quick break from the music and caught the ‘Nova finish that will well up like a terrible virus in Pitt fans for the rest of their days.
My wife and I, even though we both went to Temple, are avid Villanova fans because our son Drew graduated from there. So we DVR’ed the game, and early this morning watched it while flash-forwarding through the 1,743 commercials.
But the damn tape stopped with two minutes left in the game, triggering a torrent of profanity from yours truly.
However, being quick in my mind if not on my feet, I quickly flipped over to ESPN News and we finally caught the highlights of Reynolds’ memorable Saturday night drive through destiny’s lumps of shrapnel.
Even though we already knew the outcome because we unfortunately had overheard one Jazz Fest patron raving about the game to a buddy, it was such a welcome sight that we sat through several spools of the scintillating highlights.
Sports and music can both resonate in our souls more vibrantly than everyday life. The human spirit desperately craves much more than the mere mundane.

Still a Stooge after all these years?

Prospective employer — “What would you do if you held the Queen alone?”Larry — “That all depends on when the King was expected home.”Prospective employer — “Oh, a bridge expert!”

Curly — “I grow on people.”Moe — “So do warts!”

The Three Stooges were not comedians for the thinking man.
But they were perfect for the thinking child.
When I was a kid, I loved the Three Stooges more than I did ice cream, candy and my transistor radio. Well, almost.
As an adult, their comedy didn’t stand the test of time — or at least with me. I became more partial to the Marx Brothers as I realized I had an intellect every now and then.
Now comes news that MGM and the Farrelly brothers are finalizing the cast for “The Three Stooges,” a project the filmmakers have been nyuk-nyuk-nyuking about for years. Sean Penn is set to play Larry, Jim Carrey is in negotiations to play Curly, and Benicio del Toro is a rumored possibility for Moe.
If Alzheimer’s kicks in and I become more childlike by 2010, I just may love the Stooges’ manic slap shtick once again.

Bad economy triggers a rise in vasectomies

When folks are plumb out of money, they tend to stay home more.
Which frequently brings a spike in birthrates, especially when the TV reruns kick in and people grow weary of reading a book that some Russian wrote about God.
Of course, with the cost of raising children these days comparable to the gross national product of Paraguay, couples who ride out tough times together are asking for more financial trouble.
A consequence has been a dramatic increase in vasectomies.
I guess guys would rather get snipped than clipped.
And for guys already out of work and without health insurance, a cheaper birth control simply may be wearing dirty underwear.

Lungs and wallets going up in smoke

With cigarette major brands now costing more than 5 bucks a pack, I can’t believe people still smoke.
They gotta know those expensive cancer sticks are gonna cook their health like a chicken-fried steak.
They’ve gotta go to bed with a bad feeling about the nicotine in their lungs and the burning hole in their weekly budget.

Economy spawns erotica as women flesh out their incomes

Once upon a time when the economy merely turned as sour as week-old milk, the repercussions still were nothing more than stealth attacks on our wallets.
But now with economic disaster relentlessly assaulting all of us like incessant incoming tracer fire, despair and desperation are exploding in the night.
Inside creative minds, flashbulbs of new employment opportunities in a crummy market are going off like laser shows.
It seems a growing number of attractive, educated women are seeking more lucrative and exotic revenue streams by cashing in on their physical assets.
So they’re dancing in strip clubs and/or resorting to the porn trade.
If they’re experiencing any pinpricks of conscience, well, I guess the psychological mix of hard times can be toxic.

33rd in the nation or not, Reading isn't all that great of a place to live

OK, the Reading metropolitan area ranks 33rd out of 124 mid-sized metropolitans areas in the country.
Sounds pretty good on the surface. But dig deep and it’s not that impressive
Harrisburg (No. 23), York (No. 24) and Lancaster (No. 27) all rank ahead of us. So let’s not knock our spinal cords out of alignment patting ourselves on the back.
Bottom line: When the cold light of day breaks each morning in Reading, it does so on a crackling cage of friction.
And there are too many people walking around town with eyes shiny and vacant, like two rain-streaked windows in an abandoned building.
So the folks around here shouldn’t get too cocky. We all must continue to pile sandbags against a flood of problems threatening to drown our city.
For starters, our town is facing a monumental fiscal crisis in the upcoming year that may require Moses to descend from heaven to part the red sea of debt.

George Jetson (finally) meets real life as a flying car soars the friendly skies

I’m not any great student of technology. Not only don’t I Twitter, I still get in a dither trying to figure out a ballpoint pen.
Nevertheless, I’ve always wondered why real life can’t mimic the old Jetsons TV cartoon where they had flying cars. I usually wonder this when sitting in a traffic jam on the Schuylkill Expressway or on Route 222 North and cursing out all those underachieving engineers.
Finally, comes the fantastic news that the Terrafugia Transition roadable aircraft, a.k.a, a flying car, has made its maiden voyage.
How cool is this? The folks who invented this transcendent life-changing contraption have to be even smarter than the great chefs of Lyon standing over an omelet.
These geniuses will put PennDOT out of work eventually and save all of us billions on road and bridge infrastructure.
We all have just landed on Tranquility Base.