Seattle Blogs

I'll admit it. There are many mysteries in this world I will never be able to grasp. Like, when did time begin? How big is the universe? Is there life after death? Why does a loving God let good people suffer? How can I get the flashing "12:00" on my VCR set to the correct time?

And this week I find myself confronted with yet another unfathomable enigma: Why does the entire state of Montana hate me?

That's right. I am convinced Montana hates me. And I have absolutely no idea what I have done to offend it. You see, I periodically check Google Analytics to see where traffic to my web site comes from. I have had visitors from every continent (except Antarctica).

I have had web site visitors from Tanzania, Malaysia, Indonesia, New Zealand, Belarus, China, South Korea, Ghana, and just about every nation in Europe. I've had visitors come all over - from Maui to Moscow, from Singapore to Sao Paolo. In the past year I have had at least one visitor from every single state in the USA ... except for ... you guessed it - Montana. Not one visit from anyone in Montana in twelve months - nada - zippo - zilch - bupkes.

I cannot for the life of me figure out what I may have said or done to offend the great people of Montana. Perhaps it was that one barely publicized post I did a long time ago entitled FIFTY REASONS WHY MONTANA IS THE WORST STATE EVER - EVEN WORSE THAN MISSISSIPPI. Sure someone might be slightly offended from the title - but that's because they took it out of context. I have not said an unkind thing about Montana in months - unless you consider my post entitled A SOLUTION TO OUR NUCLEAR WASTE DISPOSAL PROBLEM: MONTANA. But in my defense, I used an exhaustive list of compelling, documented (potentially fictitious) references to support my argument.

Oh, and when I errantly blogged that Montana was the welcoming home to more White Supremacist hate groups than any other state, I sincerely apologized for my error less than four months later with a footnote buried at the bottom of page 3 of my blog post. Turns out that Idaho claims the pole position for white supremacist hate groups. Montana isn't even in the top 3. My bad.

Finally, I want to apologize for referring to the Montana State University football team as a bunch of Bozos. I meant no disrespect. Okay, so I was wrong. You're actually the Bob Cats. But it's not entirely my fault. You picked a pretty funny-sounding town to build your university: Bozeman. What were you thinking? I just naturally assumed any team from Bozeman would of course be nicknamed the Bozeman Bozos. In hindsight, I admit I should have done a bit more research.

So Montana, I want to make it up to you. You are, after all, a truly wonderful state - for sure in the top 38 to 42 for quality of life, depending on how much weight you ascribe to having Armageddon-like winters or the fact that there are no Macy's stores for hundreds of miles, in your determination of quality of life. I have done some research about your fair state and I have come to appreciate that yours is in fact a marvelous place to live - assuming, that is, you're a bison, mountain goat, grizzly bear, big horn sheep, moose, mountain lion, elk or a member of the National Rifle Association.

There are countless famous Montanonians, including Evel Knievel, Gary Cooper, comedian Dana Carvey, and two other people you probably have never heard of. Of course, who could forget perhaps the most famous Montanan of all - NFL legend Joe Montana, after whom the 41st state was named. Prior to Joe (whose daughter Hannah is a noted child songstress), the state was usually referred to simply as "the place to the right of Idaho".

Montana is the site of the Battle of Little Big Horn, otherwise known as Custer's Last Stand - scene of one of the most notorious slaughters of all time - if you don't count Super Bowl XXIV between the San Francisco 49ers and the Denver Broncos, in which the 49ers, led by Montana's own Joe Montana, slaughtered the Broncos 55 to 10 in the worst route in Super Bowl history.

Montana's state motto is the Latin phrase "Oro y plata" (literally "gold and silver"), which I think we can all agree is a marked improvement over their previous state motto which, translated from Latin, was "Our state may be cold and dreary in winter, but have you tried living in North Dakota?"

Montana's history is colorful and rich. Here is just a brief snippet: "First explored for France by Francois and Louis-Joseph Verendrye in the early 1740s, much of the region was acquired by the U.S. from France as part of the Louisiana Purchase in 1803. Before western Montana was obtained from Great Britain in the Oregon Treaty of 1846, American trading posts and forts had been established in the territory. Much of Montana's early history was concerned with mining, with copper, lead, zinc, silver, coal, and oil as principal products. Butte is the center of ... " zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Okay, I was wrong. Montana's history is crushingly dull. The history of pronouns is more stimulating reading. I am sorry I put you through the previous paragraph.

Still, I want to make it up to the fine people of Montana Nation by dedicating my blog in the upcoming year to reaching out to your fair state with an olive branch, or should I say a fly fishing rod, of friendship. Let me start by apologizing to each of you personally for my past insensitivity towards the people of your state:

Andy Anderson, I apologize... Cletus Anderson, I apologize... Nate Anderson, I apologize... Mary Andrews, I apologize... Ned Andrews, I apologize... Stuart Anton, I apologize...

Um, this is going to take a bit longer than I had thought. I will get back to you later on the personal apologies. But in the mean time, I am committed to writing a blog column that addresses the issues and interests that the people of Montana care about. That's why next month all my posts will be about a topic near and dear to every Montanan: Fly fishing. There is no limit to the amount of raw humor material I can mine when it comes to a sport that consists mainly of standing alone in hip waiters in icy cold waters for hours on end, waiting and waiting ... Just the names of the fishing lures will keep my readers in stitches: names like the "woolly bugger" and "chubby darter" and "red ripper." I can just hear my readers laughing hysterically as they reach for the DELETE key.

The month after that, Montana, I've decided to focus all my posts on the migration patterns of the indigenous bison found in the Big Sky state. I am laughing already, just thinking about the rich fodder for humor in this topic: "In the winter time, the herd of Bison, in search of a fresh source of food, had to go to Hel(ena) and back..." Get it? I've got lots more where that came from.

For spring, I'm excited to tell you about my plans to devote 15 consecutive issues to a different ore mined in your fair state, from A to Z, starting with Agate and ending with Zinc. Personally, I think week nine (lead) will be a real page turner. For next fall, I thought I would feature profiles of local cattlemen from all across your state, starting with Missoula, and working my way to Butte, on to Great Falls, and culminating with the Bull Riders of Billings. (You might say that Billings will get "Top Billing" - get it?) Man, this will keep 'em coming back for more, week after week. Who doesn't like an in-depth discussion of cattle branding techniques? I know I do.

So what do you say, Montana? Can we call a truce to the rift that has kept us apart since the inception of this humor blog in 1975? Now will your citizens please consider reading my blog? I really want us to patch things up once and for all. For starters, how about a giant group hug and a chorus of We are the World?

Besides, I never meant to imply that Montana is a cold, bleak, empty, treeless, wide open dust bowl of a state with nothing to do but freeze your butt off for five months every winter. I always meant to imply that about North Dakota instead. Talk about a state that wouldn't be missed, am I right? North Dakota! What a hellhole of a place to have to call home. Are you with me on this, Montana?

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

PS: Hey, Montana. Did I mention that I am willing to change my perennial tagline above to "That's the view from the Big Sky State?" Think about it. I'm open to your suggestions.

It's that time of year again – a time when we traditionally look back over the previous year and think about all the things we should be thankful for. It's a time to remind ourselves to see that our glass is not half empty but really half full. Here are just a few things I am thankful for this time of year.

I am deeply thankful….

That I am not my neighbor Rich Donaldson. Man, what a streak of bad luck he's been having lately. First he sells all of his stock when the market tanked at rock bottom at 6500. Then he invests his remaining life savings in a company that manufactures telephone booths, saying he was convinced cell phones were just a fad. Uh, no, Rich, not a fad. On the bright side, Rich will make you a great deal on a telephone booth. No reasonable offer will be refused. Comes complete with a Yellow Pages directory (if you're old enough to remember what those were.)

That through a rigorous program of regular strenuous aerobic exercise and weight training, combined with a reduced calorie diet consisting mostly of kelp, almonds and curdled skim milk, over the past three months I've only put on two pounds.

That over the past twelve months neither one of my two daughters ever once seriously contemplated the use of lethal weapons against their sibling (if you don't count pepper spray) in their daily shouting matches over whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher or who caught who wearing the other girl's dress/shoes/ear rings/sweatshirt/jacket/perfume without asking. (Editor's note: The two smiling, cooperative sisters doing dishes happily in the photo at right bear no resemblance to my actual daughters when they do the dishes. I am convinced these are child actors.)

That this past spring, my wife never found out when I told her I was going out for a drive with our then 15-year old daughter Rachel that I actually was letting Rachel drive the car herself (before she got her learner's permit). Thankfully, my wife never reads this blog, so there is absolutely no chance she will ever find out about my little deception. Man, would I be in the dog house big time if she ever knew. You have no idea.

That each weekend, as soon as I have finished doing the laundry, cleaning up cat spit-ups, taking Rachel to soccer, picking Rachel up from soccer, getting the groceries, trying to fix the virus problem on our kids' computer, cleaning out the garage, vacuuming the house, helping Emmy with her social studies term paper, raking the leaves, working on my blog, driving Emmy to the mall, picking Emmy up from the mall, fixing the clog in the kids' bathroom toilet, negotiating a temporary peace agreement between Rachel and Emmy over who actually caused the toilet to clog, and figuring out whose college education we will need to forego in order to pay the 17 past due bills, I can finally relax and watch the final seven minutes of the football game. Just as well I missed most of the game. My team lost by 4 touchdowns.

That I am not James Heselden, the owner of the company that builds Segways – those little two-wheeled novelty vehicles that you see once every five years and think to yourself "Man, I haven't seen one of those things in five years." The company did very badly this past year. Mr. Heselden did worse. He died this year from an accident – caused when the Segway he was steering went over a 30-foot cliff into a river. Rest in peace, Mr. Heselden.

That I don't know a single person personally who openly admits to being a member of the Tea Party. I hope this streak continues.

On a related note, I am thankful that Sarah Palin has a new reality show, Sarah Palin's Alaska. I can only hope that the show gets renewed for the next 20 years – so she does not have time to mess things up in the Lower 48. Look Sarah, go pat that mamma Grizzly. She looks so cute.

That I have a day job that I really enjoy and which thankfully pays far better than my blog site does. (But YOU can change this. You can have your very own Exclusive Sponsorship of View from the Bleachers for a full year for just $150,000. For details, call me toll-free at 1-800-RUA-FOOL.)

That as much of a disaster as my lawn continues to be, with out of control weeds, toadstools, moss, mole holes and flooding, there is not a darn thing I plan to do about it until next spring.

That although I may have the body of a 55-year old man, I still have the maturity of a man less than half my age. (My secret? Having absolutely no concern about embarrassing myself or my daughters in any public situation.)

That despite some harrowing moments last month in my first ever yoga class, I somehow survived and was able eventually to reunite with my family and tell them about my terrifying ordeal. (And I have been going to yoga ever since.)

That my local baseball team, the lowly Seattle Mariners, proud owners of the worst record in all of major league baseball this past season, won't be playing a another game for at least three months. That's three blessed months I won't have to endure the misery of watching them lose another 1- 0 game. Thank you, Jesus.

That I discovered the brilliant TV sitcom, Modern Family (the best comedy on TV in years) and that I am reminded with each new episode that my kids are no more narcissistically self-absorbed and text-message-addicted than most other kids these days and that they will eventually grow out of this annoying phase – shortly after I am deceased.

Thta ths yrea I fnaly larened how 2 txte msseage. I msut sya, its os esay. I thnik I hvae the hnag of ti.

That over the course of 27 years, 7 months and 3 days of marriage, my wife has steadily lowered her standards with each successive year as to what she requires in a husband, and for reasons incomprehensible to me, continues to let me live in the same house with her.

I could go on and on. Most of all, I am thankful to be a part of a family that will put up with a dad / husband with the maturity of a nineteen year-old, and a family that is still willing to be seen in public with me (albeit at the safe distance of about 15 yards' separation).

I am thankful to be living in a country that can have a Congressional regime change without our nation resorting to violence and civil war and instead relying mainly on embarrassingly misspelled Tea Party posters (right).

Finally, I am enormously thankful to have the opportunity to write this weekly humor blog, knowing that there are at least seven or eight of you out there still willing to put up with me week in and week out.

I just have one question for you: Have you no literary standards whatsoever? Isn't there a ball game on or something better than wading through this drivel? (Okay, that's two questions.)

Happy Thanksgiving to you and the important loved ones in your world.

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

As most of you know, over the past 25 years, I have been a highly sought-after lecturer / motivational speaker on business success strategies (gleaned largely from lessons I learned by making boneheaded business mistakes over the past 25 years). Every organization's success is built on (brutally beating down) the backs of its frontline employees.

Business experts like myself - and even experts not like myself - have long known that employee recognition programs are a powerful way to reward your employees for their efforts. These programs build loyalty and reduce turnover, while at the same time improving systems, reducing waste, increasing customer satisfaction levels and keeping trophy companies in business.

Thanks to innovative employee recognition programs, every year motivated employees find creative ways to eliminate redundancies, cut costs, improve efficiencies, and leapfrog over obnoxious rival suck-ups competing with you for that next promotion.

There are a variety of highly effective employee recognition incentives, from nifty restaurant gift certificates to prime location parking spaces to those popular Employee of the Month plaques in the lobby that list the name of the same employee, Lin Chong (left), every month from January 2003 through October 2010 except for two months in 2008 when she was briefly out for chemotherapy for a life-threatening illness. In each case, these highly motivating incentives cost their employer roughly the cost of one cartridge of black inkjet printer toner.

It's amazing what you can get your employees to do to earn a $20 lunch with the CEO or win the prestigious honor of proudly displaying the Golden Pyramid trophy at their desk for a month for having found an ingenious way to recoup $50,000 in efficiency savings for their employer. The winning employee doesn't need to know that the prized Golden Pyramid trophy was originally created as a middle school project that the VP of Marketing's son Bradley turned in for his seventh grade report on The History of Egypt (for which he got a C+).

Every month, thousands of dedicated workers from Boston to Bakersfield go above and beyond the call of duty for their employers. Thankfully, most of them have not caught on yet that they really could have coasted 98% of the time and nobody would have noticed.

If I may brag a bit, I myself was once voted Employee of the Month. It was for the great sales results that took place one month when I was away on vacation. My sales team pointed out to senior management that the thought of me being out of the office and out of ear shot for the month instilled in them a level of motivation and positive morale they had never experienced before. Sadly, my team's outstanding performance was short-lived, as output fell off dramatically shortly after I returned from vacation. I can't put my finger on the reasons behind the sudden productivity decline.

This month's Employee of the Month nominees include some impressive finalists:

Herbert Furnmueller, of Trousdale, Tennessee, who saved his employer more than $175,000 a year by secretly videotaping the five guys in the warehouse responsible for loading the delivery trucks and proving that these guys actually sat around playing Texas Hold 'em for 8 hours a day while paying two high school kids with a case of Budweiser each day to do all the work for them. As a result of Herbert's courageous whistle blowing, the company fired all five warehouse malingerers - and hired the two high school kids and doubled their pay to two cases of Bud per day.

And this finalist ...

Tiffany Carlyle (left), a 23-year-old graduate student who works part-time as a barista at the Java Junction in Hillsboro, South Dakota. Tiffany singlehandedly increased customer traffic and latte sales by more than 600% in just one month, simply by eliminating layers of bureaucratic inefficiency in her job (which layers of bureaucratic inefficiency took the form of layers of clothing).

The store's owners, who live 750 miles away in Indiana, are not exactly certain as to what Tiffany's efficiency improvements were, but they are thrilled about their increased profits. They have heard reports of customers coming back three and four times in the same morning for refills - something that never happened when the previous barista, 68-year-old retiree Bert Terwilliger, worked the very same location.

As impressive as the above achievements were, they were not quite enough to eclipse this month's winner. Drum roll, please. This month's Employee of the Month is ... Peter Crocky, a waiter at a Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant in Skokie, Illinois. Peter was just doing his job, serving a Mushroom Explosion Burger to Mrs. Dolores Johnson at table #37 when three teenagers at one of his other tables attempted a "dine and dash" - bolting the restaurant without paying.

The three teens climbed into their SUV. As they drove off, they suddenly realized they had an extra passenger - Peter Crocky, who had chased them out of the restaurant and had leaped onto the roof rack of their vehicle. (I swear I'm not making this up.) According to police, the teens drove eight blocks, attempting to pry Crocky from the roof rack as he clung precariously. The teens were later arrested and face theft and battery charges. Afterward, Peter Crocky hurried back to his restaurant to finish out his shift because, as he said, "I still had tables."

Now, that is dedication to one's job. Well done. So, Peter Crocky, you are this month's proud winner of the EMPLOYEE OF THE MO- what? ... er, um ...time out. Apparently, I spoke a bit too soon. Turns out that the judges made a mistake. Peter did a really great job but the judges have just informed me that as daring and noble as his effort was, someone else was even more daring than Peter.

Ladies and gentlemen, this month's OFFICIAL Employee of the Month Winner is ... Andrew McKnight, a waiter at a Waffle House in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Turns out that McKnight was also confronted by a dine-n-dash in progress at his restaurant. He too leaped onto the top of a speeding getaway car containing three teens who had tried to sneak out without paying. (Not making this story up either, I swear.)

Mr. McKnight gets the slight nod over Mr. Crocky for three reasons: First, the car he was clinging to reached speeds of 60 miles an hour; second, he was clinging to the car's hood and lacked Mr. Crocky's luxury of a roof rack to grab onto; and third, he has to endure the embarrassment of telling people he works at a Waffle House. He also somehow managed to call 911 from his cell phone while bouncing around on the hood of the car.

McKnight truly deserves this award. By all accounts, he is a humble young man who never draws attention to himself, always holds the door for seniors and actually declares more than 10% of his tips on his tax return. In four months, as soon as he is out of the hospital intensive care unit from the head injuries sustained when he was thrown from the hood of a Cadillac Escalade into a garbage dumpster, he looks forward to returning to work at the Waffle House. He loves waffles. (Who doesn't, if you ask me!)

His employer plans to make a big display of appreciation for McKnight upon his return to work. I've learned that plans are underway for him to receive his own Employee of the Month parking space - right next to the meat deliveries entrance in back, as well as presenting him with a framed photo of McKnight shaking hands with "Wally Waffle" (the chain's waffle-shaped mascot) and a plaque with McKnight's name and the caption "Employee of the Month - November" in the front lobby, right next to the gum ball dispenser.

But the company really went overboard, if you ask me, with a $250 gift certificate for McKnight - good at any of the more than 1600 Waffle Houses nationwide (not valid on weekends or holidays - must purchase another entree of equal or greater value). Talk about going the extra mile. Way to go, Waffle House. You're my Employer of the Month!

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

As far as I know, I am not the strongest man in the world. I doubt I would ever be mistaken for the fastest either. But I think I can say with a high degree of confidence, that if there were a category in the Guinness Book of World Records for the world's MOST INFLEXIBLE HUMAN BEING, my picture would appear.

Our family recently joined a health club. What a terrible mistake that was. This past week, I took my very first YOGA class ever. Oh My God. Somehow – don't ask me how – I made it through it. But if you're over 50 and have never tried yoga before, let mine be a cautionary tale. Don't even think about trying yoga – unless you enjoy intense pain coupled with public humiliation.

My competition in the class looked harmless enough: 15 women of various ages and sizes and three men of Indian descent who appeared to be in top physical fitness. These 15 women and the three Indian men (who, as best as I could tell came straight out of yoga central casting) all came equipped with their yoga mats, matching yoga outfits and bare feet. There was this one lone middle-aged white guy who came in without a yoga mat, wearing a dorky T-shirt that read "I'm in shape. Round is a shape" and sporting conspicuous white socks and sneakers. That middle-aged white guy would be me. In retrospect, I'm surprised an alarm bell did not sound the moment I walked through the door, declaring that a yoga pretender was attempting to break into this yoga sanctuary. I had absolutely no business being there.

It was clear I served only one purpose in this room – to make everyone else look remarkably fit and flexible by comparison. I became the poster child for how not to do the various positions and exercises. You name the exercise, I did it wrong. I lost count of the number of times the instructor would say in her calm, soothing voice "See how that man over there has his left foot bent in front of his right knee? Don't do it like that. You'll hurt yourself…."

I was in pain and tightness from the moment we began until the moment the torture was halted 90 minutes later. My nonstop misery was only compounded by the calm, soothing voice of Amber, the 23-year old, impossibly svelte yoga instructor, as she guided us through what everybody else apparently thought were very simple moves:

"Okay, now, let's assume the downward facing dog position. (I am not making this up. That's an actual yoga term.) Now, gently lift your right leg into the air until it is directly above your head. As you do this, rotate your hips so they are facing away from your right leg. Good. Now reach your right arm under your left arm until it is clasping your left ankle, keeping your left leg at a 90 degree angle with your shoulders. Now, gently rock back into the plank position (another yoga term) and touch your left hand to the heel of your right foot. Very good, everybody. Except for that man over there. Sir, you're not doing it right. Now, everybody else, as you rotate your right arm behind your lower back, lift your left leg and touch it to your right shoulder blade. Very good."

According to my math, by now I should have had precisely no legs and no arms in contact with the floor. So that pretty much leaves levitation as my only option. But there everybody else was, like members of the Cirque du Soleil traveling circus, all contorting their bodies in ways I have not done since the time I was with Susan Donahue back in college in the back seat of her 1972 Chevy Malibu– but I digress.

Throughout the yoga session, I felt like I was playing a demonic version of the old board game TWISTER: Move your right arm to green; move your left leg to yellow: move your right leg to blue – only in this version, the dots were above, below and behind me, and twelve feet apart… and mocking me.

Just when I thought I might survive this purgatory, Amber, the sadistic instructor, brought in some torture equipment. She forced me to take a strap and attach it to a clip on the wall. Apparently I was being punished for not doing the previous exercise properly. Through a sequence of painful steps, I ended up upside down, with my head on the floor, my body held in the air only by this strap, pressed against the wall. (I swear I am not making this up!) I am pretty sure I saw a Dateline investigative report where they showed this torture technique being used at Guantanamo to get prisoners to confess.

I think I lost consciousness only briefly. I was just about to confess that I had indeed stolen my older brother's Playboy magazine back in 8th grade, when the instructor mercifully took pity on me and decided I had been through enough. As if my self-esteem were not low enough, the heartless yoga instructor felt it necessary to compound my feelings of helplessness by continually inserting Indian words into her instructions, which everybody except me seemed to comprehend just fine. The following exchange was typical:

"NAMASTE, everybody. Now let's all get into our BHUJANGASANA position. Please take three deep breaths through your nostrils as we get ready to do our HAMSA KUMBHAKA. (I could be mistaken, but I think this was position #27 of the Kama Sutra.) Very good everybody. Will someone please help that man with the white socks over there get into his HAMSA KUMBHAKA? Thank you.

"Move your left leg until you're in the Warrior One position. Hold this position (for an eternity) before shifting into your PADMASANA two position. By now you should be starting to feel your inner PRANA. Now continue to breathe slowly, until your core is united with your VINYASA. Very good. Now let's all return to the ARAVAM position. Wonderful. Don't you all feel more relaxed now? And you sir, in the back – do you need any help untying your arms from your legs?"

Throughout my ordeal, my typical facial expression was what you would expect from someone who had just been strapped into the medieval torture instrument known as the rack. As I grimaced, I would occasionally look around the room. Nobody else was grimacing – even slightly. How is it possible that you can be asked to wrap your left leg around your neck and touch it to your tailbone without grimacing? Explain this to me. Another thing I could not fathom was the fact that nobody except me seemed to have the slighted hint of perspiration. At the 20-minute mark, my t-shirt was already soaked. By the end, my spent perspiration could have filled a backyard pool. But the others in the room looked like they had just walked off the set of an Irish Spring soap commercial.

Over the course of 90 minutes, I stretched my body in every conceivable direction. I had entered the session with the misguided notion that yoga would help me relax and work off stress. I was so naοve. Clearly the goal of yoga is to stretch your body in a variety of convoluted positions not found in nature until you beg forgiveness for all your past sins. At the end of 90 minutes, the only part of my body that I was fairly certain had not experienced excruciating pain was my left ear lobe.

I strongly believe there should be some sort of warning sign – like a warning label on medication – that you should be required to read before you can legally sign up for a yoga class. It would say something like: "Warning: Do not sign up for yoga if you are a white male over the age of 50 who considers it a major physical accomplishment to get up from your La-Z-Boy recliner on the first try. Do not try yoga if you have the flexibility of a piece of granite. Do not try yoga if the last time you looked down and saw your feet while standing was 1985."

Only through some inner reservoir of strength I didn't know I possessed and the sheer determination to survive long enough to see my kids one more time was I able to make it through this nightmare called yoga alive. When it was over, I couldn't get up off the floor, wanting just to lie there, motionless until years later the health club building would eventually be shut down and replaced by a bowling alley. But I found the courage to get back up onto my feet. I limply waved goodbye to the cruel instructor, Amber, who calmly and soothingly whispered to me "Namaste", which I was pretty sure meant "I don't ever want to see you here again."

It's been a six days since I had my near-death yoga experience. Miraculously, I appear to have made almost a complete recovery. My wife bought me a yoga mat – and an English-to-Hindi dictionary. Turns out that the curse the instructor had said to me, "Namaste," loosely translated, simply meant "Have a nice day." So perhaps she was not trying to kill me after all.

I just might have to give this yoga thing one more try. But then again, I see that there's this other class the health club offers called "Intensive Core Power Lifting & Total Collapse Cycling" – not recommended for beginners or white men over 50 wearing dorky T-shirts." Ah, heck, I survived yoga. How hard can this class be? I think I'll sign up today.

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

I try to be an informed voter. So this year, I researched the candidates running for political office in my region, listened to the debates, read their policy platform statements, watched their TV ads and scoured through their direct mail literature to get a clear picture of where they stand and how they differ from their opponent on the important issues facing us.

After all my research, I am still a bit uncertain as to whom to give my vote. Perhaps you can help me decide. Take the race for U.S. Senate for my state. It's between three-term Democratic incumbent, Patty Murray, and Republican challenger / pro-business advocate, Dino Rossi.

Let's take a look at how they stand on some of the major issues of the campaign, in their own words:

On Jobs and the Economy

Democratic position: The most important issue in front of us this election year, without question, is jobs. Our unemployment rate is almost 10%. While Wall Street fat cats are raking in record profits again, none of this has trickled down to the millions of unemployed workers on Main Street. My honorable opponent has no idea what it's like to be unemployed. He has the luxury of sitting in his corporation's penthouse office suite – a captain of industry, sipping dry martinis with his Wall Street bailout buddies. He has no idea what it's like to be a laid-off fork lift operator or an unemployed single working mother of three. You know he didn't buy those cuff links at Sears. Probably drives a Bentley, if you ask me.

Republican position: My reputable opponent and I agree on one thing – and that's that she wants to turn this great country I love into a bloated big government, socialist bureaucracy intent on taking over every major industry and depriving your freedom to pursue the American dream. As a three-term, inside-the-Beltway bureaucrat, my opponent is completely out of touch with America's small business people. She wants to do an extreme makeover on the USA and convert it into another Belgium. But this is America, the greatest nation on earth. I won't let us become another Belgium, no matter how hard my distinguished opponent schemes for this to happen.

On Immigration Reform

Democratic position: Belgium, eh? Look who's talking. If anybody in this race is like Belgium it's my esteemed opponent, who changes his mind on issues so often we might as well call him a Belgian Waffle. First he is for tax reform; then he's against it. Make up your mind. Would you like maple syrup with your waffle? Be careful. This syrup is from Canada. Perhaps you might not want to be seen with syrup imported from a nation with socialized medicine, eh?

Republican position: What my respected adversary fails to mention is that she is one-eighth French. Can we really trust a French legislator in America's halls of power? Someone who will stop at nothing to surrender our rights and freedoms to the onslaught of Government intrusion and oppression? I think not. As for immigration reform, I am completely for it, starting with the construction of a 20-foot tall, 10,000 volt electric fence – around my distinguished opponent.

On Tax Reform

Democratic position: I believe we critically need tax reform. How is it that someone making $5 million a year can end up paying a smaller percentage of taxes than a fire fighter making $35,000? If you ask me, that's plain wrong. My celebrated opponent wants to lower the taxes on the top 5% and give every Wall Street executive a $5 million private jet. Did you know that he wants to terminate your unemployment benefits and outsource your job to orphaned children working in Filipino sweatshops? He wants to eliminate your social security nest egg so he can further de-regulate the banking industry and ruin the credit rating of every middle income American like you. Help me stop him from committing financial genocide on America.

Republican position: With all due respect to my venerable, misinformed adversary, what in the world are you talking about? I just want a level playing field for small businesses. My opponent will increase taxes on every American small business by Fifty Thousand Percent and use those tax revenues to turn our state into a giant hippie commune where millions of deadbeat welfare fraud criminals will use our hard-earned taxpayer money to get high on Marijuana, which would be legalized for young children and dispensed at our elementary schools like candy if my esteemed opponent is re-elected.

On The Deficit

Democratic position: Hey, esteemed Crack Head! Which of your neo-Nazi fact-checkers came up with the notion I'm in favor of legalizing Marijuana for kids? If you want to talk about intoxicating our minors, I'll admit that you are more qualified to discuss the issue than I am, given your two convictions for driving under the influence in your twenties. How was your rehab experience anyway?

Republican position: Hey, that happened over 30 years ago, my distinguished nut job. And since we're on the issue of the deficit, what exactly is your plan to get our nation out of the financial hole we're in right now, thanks to the Stimulus plan? Oh, that's right – you don't have a plan! Thanks to you and your President, we now have a $17 Gazillion deficit and a $30 Bazillion debt which our grandchildren's grandchildren will still be paying for long after we've become a wholly-owned subsidiary of China. My opponent is single-handedly responsible for the fact that our nation's debt now equals the GNP of China, Russia and Europe combined. Have you no shame?

On Regulation of Business

Democratic position: $17 Gazillion and $30 Bazillion? These aren't even real numbers, you moron. Did they not teach math at your high school? The reason we have such a deficit is because of the mess your president and his Wall Street banker buddies got us into with their sub-prime lending practices and a complete lack of oversight of the banking industry. And you want more de-regulation? If my opponent has his way, he will reverse all consumer protection laws from the past 50 years. Every new car sold will come with a big yellow sticker that reads "Product not backed by any warranty whatsoever. Drive at your own risk. If product fails to perform as intended, you're screwed. Stop whining. Move to France and form another union."

Republican position: What all of you communist brie-eaters want to do is implement a complete government take-over of business like you just did with the auto industry and healthcare. You want to regulate small businesses out of existence so that the only company left standing is Uncle Sam Inc. Pretty soon you're going to want to control the delivery of the mail. That's not what our founding fathers wanted, with all due respect to my venerable opponent from Mars.

On Healthcare Reform

Democratic position: First of all, the government already controls the delivery of the mail. It's called the U.S. Post Office, you turkey. As for what our founding fathers wanted, give me a break. They made no mention of abolishing slavery or letting women vote either. Should we overturn those amendments, while we're at it? For that matter, they made no mention of healthcare reform either but yeah, I voted for it. It's time we stop letting private insurers make obscene profits by refusing health care coverage to those in need. 40 million people are without coverage. It's time someone regulated this totally out-of-control industry, you male chauvinist pig.

Republican position: Good idea, you whore. And while we're at it, why not regulate the thermostat temperature in our homes, what books we read to our children at bedtime, and which sports we watch on TV. You may believe that our free market principles are an irrelevant relic of a bygone era, but I for one still believe in the American dream for all Americans, with the limited exception of Muslims, gays in the military, and of course, communists like you.

The Direction our Country is heading

Democratic position: In conclusion, America is the greatest nation on Earth. Its best days are ahead of it – so long as we don't turn the ship around and return to the mistakes of the past. My opponent wants to ensure that the rich Wall Street bankers get their million dollar bonuses but does not care about Joe Six Pack on Main Street. And I am pretty sure my opponent wears a toupee. Please vote for me on November 2nd. A vote for me is a vote for jobs, a stronger economy, and better America.

Republican position: I remember growing up as a poor youngster, working on my daddy's wheat farm in a small town where people went to church on Sunday, believed in God, said a prayer before the family meal, respected their elders, did their chores, and were white. They didn't expect the government to hand them anything. I want to return to that simpler time, when people knew each other by first name, marriage was between a man and a woman, and brie-eating, terrorist-hugging Communists were barred from the U.S. Senate chambers.

Let's take our country back from the clutches of an over-reaching government. Vote for me on November 2nd and tell Congress that we're not willing to become the Socialist States of America. Oh, and by the way, my opponent is a practicing Muslim, who wants to build a mosque in your neighborhood. She is also in favor of letting sex offenders serve out their sentences as teachers in our middle schools, so they can molest our innocent young children. God bless America.

Democratic position: What the hell are you talking about? Can I please have a chance to rebut that ridiculous accusation? That is completely and utterly false claim, and I need a chance to respond to- ….

Republican position: Did I mention that she is also a convicted heroin dealer who frequents sex clubs in DC with her lesbian senate page teenage lover and once pondered getting a sex change?

Democratic position: Convicted whah?? Hey, he's not allowed to just make this crap up, is he? That's totally unfair--

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So as you can see, both candidates are highly appealing, with impressive credentials and clearly thought-out positions. It's so hard to decide. In the end, I think I have to vote for the Democrat candidate. I just can't see myself voting for someone who wears a toupee.

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

Last week I started to discuss nine things that I wished I hadn't worried about so much as a parent over the past 16 years. I tried to be a conscientious parent, but in the process, I realize now that I made a lot of mistakes, like the time I sent around the Adoption announcement after we adopted our first daughter as a four-month old infant in China. There she was in the picture, this cute little bundle of joy, wearing a sweater with the words "Made in China" emblazoned across the front. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Who knew it would scar my daughter for life?

If you missed it, you can read Part I of the nine things I wish I hadn't worried about here. To continue with my list ...

Lesson Six: Put your toys away after you use them. I thought it was a pretty simple concept: The toys go back in the toy box. The dirty dishes go in the dish washer. Put your used bath towel back on the towel rack. But apparently the process is far more complicated than I ever realized because 15 years later, my daily message still appears to be as undecipherable to my teenage girls as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Whenever I've said "don't forget to hang your coat in the coat closet," somewhere between the time the words leave my mouth and enter their inner ear, the audio waves must somehow change the sound of my words into something akin to "please don't hang up your coat. I want to remember it lying there, in the middle of the kitchen table, on top of your dirty gym clothes, forever." The typical response I get to any request to put an item away is always the same: "Yeah, I know" – which I now am convinced translates loosely as "over my dead body."

Lesson Seven: Practice your piano. While we suspected that neither girl was destined for a career as a concert pianist with the New York Philharmonic, still, it would have been nice if they had actually gone through the motions of trying to practice now and then. Between the two of them we went through six years of piano lessons. I'm pretty sure they both mastered Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

It was worth the thousands of dollars we poured down the drai- er, invested in their music education, just to hear them plink out something that sounded vaguely like Jingle Bells at the annual Christmas piano recital. Sure, their performances were rough around the edges, but sitting through 37 other kids' interpretations of Here Comes Santa Claus over the course of 3 hours and 27 minutes, when I could have been home watching the Packers - Bears game, was worth it for the watered down punch and stale cookies they provided afterward.

Lesson Eight: Dress modestly. At about 12 years of age, our girls entered into that magical, mysterious stage known as puberty - when over the course of 18 months, much like a caterpillar morphs into a lovely butterfly, our precious little angels morphed into cauldrons of raging hormonally charged drama queens who looked amazingly like our former daughters. But that's where the similarities ended. The slightest affront or parental inquiry into the status of their completion of chores triggered a hostile confrontation or emotional meltdown, or, if you were lucky, merely a couple hours of sullen brooding. Of course, eventually they emerged out the other side as young ladies with their new bodies. And that's when the lesson of dressing became a weekly, and sometimes daily, soap opera.

Turns out that my Neanderthal parenting notion as to what's appropriate attire is not always shared by my more haute couture teenage daughters. I must be stuck in a 1950s time warp. I thought that dressing like Lady Gaga was not quite appropriate for a 15-year-old girl. Even my wife agreed with me on this parenting topic, so surely I had to be right for once. I have concluded that a parent's level of disapproval of their daughter's fashion choice is directly proportional to the likelihood their daughter will insist that everybody at school is wearing this. Perhaps there once was a time, back in 1957, when it could be said that Father Knows Best, but in our household, the way I worry about how teenage girls want to dress these days, it's more like Sleepless in Seattle. Which leads me to my final lesson ...

Lesson Nine: All teenage boys are evil. For years my daughters agreed with my objective assessment about boys (although they were more likely to say "boys have cooties"). But in the past three years, my girls have been brainwashed by nefarious invading hormones to view the enemy more sympathetically. As I have written previously, there is no question that all teenage boys are evil. If you are the parent of teenage boys, I mean no disrespect. I am sure that over time your sons will mature, grow out of this evil phase, and stop hitting on my daughters. They may even become caring, doting fathers of their own evil teenage boys someday. My two daughters seem determined not to heed my loving, highly informed parental counsel on this topic and will no doubt have to learn the hard lesson that teenage boys are interested in only three things: sex and breasts.

So there you go. I have spent the better part of the past 16 years worrying about teaching these important life lessons to my two daughters. I would say at best I'm batting about .125 - on a good day. God blessed us with two wonderful, headstrong, independent daughters who have discovered that human beings reach their maximum wisdom at whatever age they have attained.

They are supremely confident that they have all the answers to life's important questions, like who's hotter, Dr. McDreamy or Dr. Sloan on Grey's Anatomy (right). I now realize that the dozens of parenting books, CDs, lectures, and parenting web sites I have pored over during the past 16 years were completely futile. Our kids were going to do what they were going to do, and become the people they were going to become, regardless of the life lessons I tried to teach.

You want my advice? Relax. Don't spend so much time stressing out over whether you're a good parent or not. Let's face it. For 90% of us out there, the answer is the same: We've failed. It's way too late to fix things now. Why not save yourself thousands of hours of emotional stress by just accepting right up front that you have no more idea what it takes to be an effective parent than you can comprehend the fact that your teenager thinks Gangsta Rap music is totally awesome but thinks the Beatles are totally lame. For some things there simply are no answers.

Besides, nothing you do will get your kids to follow your advice anyway. Based on years of direct field study, my theory is that the primary job responsibility of today's American Teenager is this: "Roll your eyes while your parents drone on about 'making good choices.' Then do exactly the opposite of whatever they tell you to do. If you get caught, blame it on your sister."

From now on, I am going to let my girls make their own decisions and just experience the consequences for themselves. I am no longer going to intervene or rescue them from their bad choices any more. They will just have to learn-- ... Wait a minute. Hold that thought. I just saw my daughter, who is about to head out on a date with that unkempt Carlos boy. Is that a push-up bra she's wearing? "Young lady, you are not going out dressed like that. You hear me? I mean it. Do you want to get your driver's license before age 30? Did you hear me??!!!"

I gotta go. I'm starting to worry again ...

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

[Author's postscript: In all honesty, most of the time our girls actually do make good choices, don't dress like hookers, and don't badger each other about trivial things. They actually are great kids, on their way to becoming great young adults. And they actually do listen to what their parents say most of the time - well, at least when their mother is talking, that is.]

As a parent, you never stop worrying about your kids or how they will turn out. Will they grow up safe? Will they make good choices? Will they ever forgive you for buying them those matching green and orange plaid square dance dresses for their 13th and 14th birthdays? My two teenage daughters, Rachel and Emily (shown at left when they were much younger), are only a two and three years away, respectively, from heading off to college. [Editor's note: My wife hates when I talk about our kids by name in my blog. Something about respecting their privacy. So for the rest of this blog, the part of Rachel will be played by Vivian. The part of Emily will be played by Nicole.]

The other day, I reflected on all the things I've worried about as a parent. I came to a startling realization: I spent much of the past 16 years needlessly worrying – fretting over how to be a better parent, be a positive role model, and keep my kids from making poor choices. In retrospect, I needn't have been so anxious. I was never going to get it right. I finally realized that my kids were going to make it through this bumpy journey called childhood (moderately unscathed), regardless of my egregious parenting mistakes. In retrospect, I should have spent a lot less time worrying about whether they brushed their teeth and a lot more time about worrying how to cure my slice in golf. Then again, trying to cure my golf slice is about as futile as trying to be the perfect parent. Both end up in bitter disappointment.

Here are nine parenting lessons I wish I hadn't worried about nearly so much over the past 16 years:

Lesson One: Share your toys. This message never quite sank in. Just last week, I heard Rachel, I mean Vivian, shouting at Emil- er, Nicole: "Stay out of my room. If you touch my computer, you'll pay." Seems the concept of sharing your toys is still as enigmatic for my daughters as the concept of String Theory in quantum physics. Apparently the act of simply touching any possession – a dress, earrings, hair brush, or lip gloss – by the opposing sister makes the aforementioned item toxically infected and irreparably damaged, and constitutes legitimate grounds for full scale retaliation – usually involving the misappropriation of the enemy sibling's high school sweatshirt, favorite shoes and Johnny Depp poster.

Lesson Two: Don't eat junk food. Here's another life message that didn't quite take hold. Despite constant conversations about the risk of childhood obesity, heart disease, and the probability that their brain would dissolve into a wad of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, our girls never quite internalized the importance of good eating. Fortunately so far at least, neither is overweight – which may explain why my constant harping about proper nutrition never really resonated. Or perhaps it was the fact that I usually still had frosting from a Krispy Kreme glazed donut on my chin during my lecture.

Lesson Three: Don't watch so much junk television. They say the average American toddler spends more than 32 hours per week watching television. An A.C. Nielsen study concluded that the average child will have watched more than 8,000 murders on TV before they finish elementary school. I'm proud to say our two kids have done their part to keep these averages up. My girls have watched just about every episode of America's Next Top Model since 2007 (which, to my knowledge featured almost no murders). As a result, I am confident they are now ready for the challenges of adulthood – just so long as those challenges require sultry walks down a catwalk in 5-inch spiked heels and photo shoots dressed as a lioness, purring provocatively on the hood of a Lamborghini.

Like many concerns of the moment, my worries about watching too much junk TV eventually faded away, as my girls began to waste less time mindlessly watching the boob tube. Now they spend these hours doing something much more constructive: mindlessly sending thought-provoking chat messages like "What's up? HAHA!" to their 947 closest friends on Facebook – usually sent during 4th period algebra class.

Lesson Four: Do your chores. Yet another parental lecture that seems to have made no impression was my weekly sermon about how we all share the responsibility to keep our home tidy and clean. I came up with all sorts of strategies to get our kids to clean up their rooms and put away their toys, dirty clothes or retainers. I created rewards that incentivized them for doing all their chores on time. But none of them worked. And lest you think I was a push-over and simply let them get away with not doing their chores, I put my foot down. Don't do your chores and no TV! Oh sure, technically speaking, they still didn't do their chores most of the time. But they didn't get to watch any TV either. They had to watch their shows over the Internet on their laptop's small screen. That'll teach 'em.

Lesson Five: Be polite to your sister. For years, our girls used to constantly antagonize each other over the slightest transgression. I am convinced the primary objective was just to piss off their sibling. No issue was too trivial to draw the line in the sand and declare war: Which Disney TV show they were going to watch, who should get the last cookie, or more recently, how "everybody at school knows your boyfriend is totally into Madison over you."

I am pleased to report that after years of lecturing, cajoling, pleading and periodically blackmailing our kids about the importance of being polite to their sister, I have made modest progress. Recently, Nicole asked Vivian to pass the salt at dinner, and Vivian said, "Get it yourself. I mean, get it yourself, please." This past summer, there was actually a period of two hours where Vivian and Nicole were in the same room as each other and not a single unkind word was spoken. Okay, so Vivian was taking a nap at the time, but that's not the point. The point is they were not picking on each other for two whole hours. What silent bliss! I am hopeful that it's just a matter of time before they get past their differences and become BFFs. Probably about ten years after I'm gone. Much like Don Quixote, I cling to this impossible dream.

… Wait a minute, I just noticed that Vivian and Nicole are actually sitting on the couch right now – and they're both conscious. And neither one is accusing the other of stealing their blow dryer or being a snot-nosed bi-atch. What's this? They are laughing and joking? They actually seem to be getting along? Oh, my God. I have to get this on video. The wife is never going to believe this.

I gotta go.

(To be continued next week)

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

Whoever opined that "television is a vast wasteland" never watched an episode of Pimp My Ride or the equally thought-provoking Lingerie Football. If you ask me, the quality of television has never been better.

The proud tradition of erudite TV programming is nothing new. The birth of excellence in television can be traced back to September 14, 1965, when the much critically heralded classic sitcom My Mother the Car first aired. Fans and critics marveled over the course of 4 months at the antics of a middle-aged man (Jerry Van Dyke) whose deceased mother comes back to life in the form of an antique car. Some jaded media scholars believe television reached its nadir with the introduction in 1991 of the pioneering Jerry Springer Show, where dysfunctional families with 4th grade educations discover on live TV that Shatiqua's recently paroled boyfriend has been sleeping with her sister, Jazmine and their mother. But if you ask me, that was the start of TV's true golden age.

Over the decades, Americans' television tastes have become increasingly demanding. How else to explain such highbrow entertainment as Jersey Shore, My big Fat Obnoxious Greek Fiancι, Teen Mom, The Real Housewives of Orange County, or my own personal favorite, Dog the Bounty Hunter.

The Brits can have their BBC series Masterpiece Theatre. I'll take our American-made COPS any day. Did you see the last week's season premier episode where this 46-year old crack-addicted, welfare fraud mother tries to offer sexual favors from her 19-year old daughter to an undercover cop in return for crack? You can learn so much about the frail human condition from COPS. We are all just one sex-with-my-teenage-daughter-in-return-for-a-hit-of-crack-cocaine away from a long, lonely stay in the Graybar Hotel. Just one tiny mistake away.

With 2,685 cable channels to choose from at last count, there's a show for just about every taste. There are channels devoted to golf, to cooking, and I am sure if you look hard enough, probably a golf cooking show featuring dessert recipes of the LPGA tour. At Christmas time, there's even a fireplace channel (true) – 24 hours of nothing but an actual fireplace burning, one log after another. Be sure to watch episode 16 where the log rolls off the grate and briefly singes the carpet. A scary moment. Not for the squeamish.

The fine creative geniuses at our nation's television networks never stop coming up with illuminating ideas to quench our thirsty minds. With my VFTB journalist press credentials, I was able to get a sneak peak at some of the reality shows planned as mid-season replacements. The line-up is impressive:

In an attempt to get more parents to watch TV with their kids, PBS is launching a spin-off of its iconic show Sesame Street called Sesame Street – After Dark. Tagline: What happens on Sesame Street stays on Sesame Street. Using a documentary approach, the series profiles what happens on the set after the lights go dark. Let's just say "Tickle Me, Elmo" takes on a whole new meaning. The show confronts speculation around Big Bird's sexual orientation and explores why Oscar is always so Grouchy. Could it have something to do with a love triangle with Bert and Ernie? You'll have to watch to find out.

The Food Network will attempt to capitalize on our national obsession with coffee in their new show The Star Buck(s) Stops Here. Contestants will race across the country, attempting to be the first to have a double tall skinny soy latte (no foam) from a Starbucks cafι in all 50 states. The winner will get a $1 million Starbucks gift card (good for 60 Double Tall lattes). But beware of the scantily clad female baristas who secretly plot to slow them down by asking if they would like a sprig of cinnamon or a scone to go along with their latte. Will their Starbucks gift card contain a secret short cut to bypass Arkansas or contain an immunity challenge? Stay tuned.

BRAVO TV's megahit, America's Next Top Model, a hit with teenage girls and superficial fashionistas everywhere, has inspired a spin-off: America's Next Top Anorexia Rehab. Emphasizing the importance of an unattainable body image, cavernously sunken cheek bones, and a perpetual state of malnourishment, this new show will track the progress of past ANTM contestants as they attempt to keep down a glazed donut without vomiting. First one to attain a weight of more than 95 pounds wins the grand prize – $50,000 worth or original Versace gowns (size zero) plus liposuction surgery to eliminate all the ghastly weight they'd put on during the competition.

Going head to head against BRAVO is Entertainment Network's new show. Playing off our fascination with fad diets and paper-thin movie stars, E! will jump into the Celebrity Survivor genre with its own new show: Starving with the Stars. 16 overweight C-list celebrities will compete to see who can starve themselves to death first and win the grand prize: their own primetime televised funeral and a cologne fragrance posthumously named after them. My money is on Lindsay Lohan.

In an effort to boost sagging ratings of two previous mega-hit shows, The Deadliest Catch and Ice Road Truckers, the History Channel will combine the two series into one, when they launch Ice Road Truckers' Deadliest Catch – profiling rugged Arctic truckers as they retell their most harrowing ice fishing misadventures. The pilot episode features five truckers from Yellowknife and the women who vie for their men's attention as the men must decide who they love more – their wives or Arctic Char.

The Poker Channel (formerly known as the Travel Channel), smartly concluding that 22 hours a day of poker programming is simply not enough, will launch yet another card game reality series: The Westminster Dog Poker Show. Spoiler Alert: St. Bernards are ruthless cheaters at Texas Hold 'em. And daschunds can't bluff worth a damn.

Not to be outdone by MTV's smash hit reality show, Jersey Shore, The WB is touting a new series called Gulf Coast, featuring hotties like Crystal Beth, Hottie Mae and the curvaceous siren / minimum wage beautician Sandy Pelican, as the girls try to score with out-of-work gulf fishermen and tobacco-chewing oil rig pipe fitters. If you like your women as steamy, hot and sticky as a Gulf coast oil spill, you'll love Gulf Coast.

C-Span, which has completely cornered the target market of beltway political wonks with sleep disorders, has a slate of exciting new shows sure to cure even the worst case of insomnia. Shows planned include: A weekly live reading of the meeting minutes from the Sioux Falls, SD city council on whether to eliminate free downtown parking on Sundays; a mini-series on the brave men behind the Taft-Hartley Act; and a ten-part series about the life and times of Millard Fillmore, perhaps our least charismatic president. Here is a fascinating clip from Episode 3: In 1828, Millard Fillmore was elected to the New York State Assembly on the Anti-Masonic ticket, serving three one-year terms, from 1829 to 1831. In his final term he chaired a special legislative committee to enact a new bankruptcy law that eliminated debtors' prison and in 1830 his nonpartisan – zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

CNBC, NBC's business and financial news network, has plans to launch its own game show. Since the economy cratered in 2008, millions of Americans have lost their life savings or are under water on their mortgage. That's the zany backdrop for their new show, Who wants to Declare Bankruptcy? Each week eight lucky losers will vie for the opportunity to have all their financial obligations and their integrity wiped away as they compete to be declared the most bankrupt person of the year. Celebrity Bankruptcy Court judges will include past bankruptcy claimants, Donald Trump, Willie Nelson and George Foreman.

And in a surprise announcement, a new cable network will launch in January: The Twitter Channel, featuring a primetime lineup of more than 750 different shows daily – each one averaging approximately 11 seconds. Each show will be shown without commercial interruption – or verbs. Twitter Late Night will include interviews of celebrity tweeters from Lady Gaga to Kanye West, which get cut off after 140 characters have been uttered. (Joe Biden will not be a guest, for obvious reasons.)

I can't wait for these new mid-season reality shows to air. Until then, I'll just settle into my La-Z-Boy recliner and watch the ten-hour Wife Swap marathon on Lifetime. Or maybe I should watch Humidity Week on the Weather Channel. Hmmm. Decisions, Decisions.

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

Last week, we talked about how to handle situations when your customers complain about a product defect, such as, "How come when I use your curling iron, it evaporates my hair?" Of course the best policy is to blame the problem on the customer or someone else – when in doubt blame it on al Qaeda terrorists … or Congress. You can read last week's brilliant business advice.

When all else fails you may have no choice but to eat crow and admit some eensy weensy tiny bit of responsibility for the problem, such as "in rare cases, some inconclusive studies have suggested that there could be a remote chance – and by remote we mean almost less than 50% - that our artificial sweetener could cause an eensy weensy tiny bit of permanent blindness and complete hearing loss in Hispanics and Pacific Islanders under the age of 70."

In these situations, you need to craft a very carefully worded earnest and sincere corporate apology letter – one that comes from the heart, with sincerity and earnestness – preferably ghostwritten by a professional apology letter writer in a high-priced Manhattan PR firm, who knows just the right caring words to say in order to avoid a costly class action lawsuit.

When crafting your company's sincere official apology letter to customers, make sure it contains all of the following six elements:

Element One: State your company's previously untarnished reputation for quality. Okay, say you're sending out this letter to 60,000 customers because it turns out that your Junior Chemist toddlers' play set included enough radioactive plutonium in each kit to build a miniature nuclear bomb. Regardless of the cluster f*ck your quality control team created, you must always start your letter by proudly declaring this sort of problem has never happened before in the 108-year history of your company. (It does not matter that your company started in 2007.)

Make up compelling statistics about how your company has always had a 99.5% customer satisfaction every year since 1955. Mention that in annual consumer satisfaction polls, your company was voted "The company customers would most like to hug" three times in the past five years. Be sure to include a footnote to the survey. (Don't worry. Nobody will ever actually bother to look up this survey. Who has the time?)

Element Two: Mention your rigorous quality control procedures. Discuss how you use industry-leading safety testing procedures to ensure against the slightest possibility of product malfunctions. Mention how you disassemble and re-assemble every single piece nine times to be sure it is easy to assemble and disassemble. Don't forget to mention that your products proudly say MADE IN AMERICA on every label – people love it when they think you're patriotic. Don't reveal that in actuality, everything other than the MADE IN AMERICA label was made in Taiwan.

Element Three: Apologize. This must be limited to not more than ten words maximum. I suggest something like "If you were not completely happy, we sincerely apologize." To go on any further might imply that you actually felt bad about what happened or that you thought your company actually did something wrong. And you don't want to leave your product liability attorneys with that impression.

Element Four: Tell them what you plan to do to fix the problem. This is where you state that you are committed to spending whatever amount of money it takes to ensure this problem never happens again (up to a maximum of $250.00) and that you will keep them posted about the improvements you make. Oh, don't worry. You won't actually have to spend money on improving your systems, processes and procedures. Just put into the budget a line item for say, $150,000, for the purpose of ensuring that in the future, the wheels on the Little Missy training wheels don't fall off anymore. This line item will eventually get axed due to budget cuts and downsizing, and pretty soon everybody will have moved on to more important issues, like how your company is going to solve the problem of spontaneous combustion of your Little Missy "Hug Me" dolls.

Element Five: Thank them for being a customer. Offer them a cheesy gift. Thank them profusely for bringing this product defect issue to your attention and reiterate how grateful you are to have them as a customer. Create the impression that you are sincere by inserting their name repeatedly like this:

"MR. CRENSHAW, we at [Your company name here] want to thank you, MR. CRENSHAW, for being MR. CRENSHAW and for purchasing the Johnny Chainsaw play toy for your five-year old. We sincerely apologize to you, MR. CRENSHAW, for the small problem of the chainsaw starting on its own when the room temperature exceeds 53 degrees, and pledge to you, MR. CRENSHAW, to fix this problem immediately. Did we mention that we appreciate your business, MR. CRENSHAW?"

Then be sure to include a lovely gift (and by "lovely gift" I mean those Hello Kitty coffee mugs in your warehouse that had the defective handle so you could not sell them) as your way of thanking them for their business. Or perhaps you could include a coupon for a free upgrade to the Johnny Chainsaw DELUXE model – guaranteed not to self-start automatically at any temperature!! And then include a brief explanation of the 17-step process required for redemption of their gift coupon, including the requirement to provide five cereal box tops and copies of their previous four years' tax returns. And in fine print, remember to state "Allow 18 – 24 months for delivery."

Element Six: Tell them how they can get more information. In an effort to show that you want to answer all their questions, I recommend you include a short series of FAQ's like this:

Q: What if I don't receive my Johnny Chainsaw DELUXE play set within 18 – 24 months? What do I do then?

A: in the unlikely event that you have still remembered about this offer 18 to 24 months from now and still have not received your Johnny Chainsaw Deluxe play set, call our toll-free customer service hotline at 1-800-URSCRUDE and they will be happy to check on the status of your shipment.

You of course don't actually have to staff a customer service hotline. That would be an added staffing expense you certainly can't afford, thanks to all the lawsuits that have been filed against your company lately
as a result of sales of your Fun-tastic Magic Finger Slicer Magical Illusion toy. Simply have all calls go to a voice mail box with an outgoing message that says something like this:

"Thank you for calling [Your company name here]. Currently we are experiencing higher than normal call volumes – because some people are a little upset that our Nutri-Power High Fiber Health Food Snack Bars have been found to cause diarrhea and migraines lasting up to three weeks." Currently all of our customer service representatives are serving other customers. But your call is important to us. Please leave your name and number and we will call you back within 18 – 24 months."

Follow these steps the next time your company ends up in a tight spot due to a product or service PR disaster and before you know it, your customer headaches will be leaving in droves.

In closing, we would like to sincerely apologize to those of you who have been subscribing to View from the Bleachers and have complained about the quality of our weekly blog humor content. Rest assured there will be a complete 100% refund of any subscription fees you have paid thus far.

The VFTB management has taken decisive action and has fired our previous supplier of blog content. We are convinced you will be much more satisfied with his replacement. And as our way of saying "we're sorry", we would like to give each of you your very own new VFTB bobble-head action figure. (Some assembly required. Please allow 18 - 24 months for delivery.) For more information on how you can receive your free VFTB bobble-head toy, call our customer service department in New Delhi, India on Tuesdays or Thursdays between 2am and 3:15am Eastern time. And be sure to include your previous four years' tax returns.

That's the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

Corporations do a lot of things well, but one thing that some of them could use a little help with is how to say I'm sorry when they screw up. Historically, like George Bush, most companies are not very good at saying "I'm sorry. I screwed up." Recently some very familiar names have been getting a lot of practice in the fine art of the apology: Toyota, BP, Goldman Sachs, Apple Computers, anyone who has ever held public office in the state of Louisiana, and for my friends in Seattle who follow baseball, the 2010 Seattle Mariners. You see, corporations aren't perfect. They're human, just like you and me (at least according to the U.S. Supreme Court).

As most of you know by now, I am an award-winning business expert. (And by award-winning, I'm referring to the time I won a white ribbon – fourth place – in my tenth grade business project for my idea of starting a company that sold over-priced coffee with fancy names in stores with dim lighting, smooth jazz and wireless Internet. Curse you, Howard Shultz.) I want to help those entrepreneurs who are planning to make a bone-headed business decision by offering you my expert counsel on the steps required to effectively apologize for your future mistakes.

Corporations don't intentionally set out to anger and alienate their customers – unless they're a healthcare insurance provider, that is. Usually it's just that a good idea gets implemented poorly. Or some unintended consequences occur which nobody in the marketing department could have possibly anticipated. Like when that cereal company – whose name will be withheld so they won't sue me – decided to do a promotion with a national hardware chain – whose name will be withheld so they sue me either – and they decided it would be a neat idea to include a packet of one-inch nails in every box of say, Fruit Loops cereal. Who knew that the folks in production would forget to actually put the nails in a pouch to keep them from separate from the actual cereal contents?

Of course, some marketing campaigns have "bad idea" written all over them – like the rifle manufacturer who came up with that contest with the slogan "Who is the youngest marksman?" and received hundreds of photographs of toddlers attempting to shoot the family dog with daddy's Winchester rifle. PETA was not too happy about that campaign, I'll tell you.

Whatever the cause of your company's blunder, it is essential that you follow this time-tested six-step process for making a public apology:

Step One: Ignore the Problem. In about 90% of cases, this will resolve the problem within a matter of days. Fight the temptation to reach out to the customer to find out exactly what their concern is. It's only going to cost you time and money to make things right. Just sit on your butt and wait them out. If they are truly enraged, chances are you haven't heard the last of them. But if it's a minor issue, like the inflatable pool they bought for their six-year old's surprise birthday had a huge leak in it, totally ruining her birthday party, chances are they will think that one of the other kids must have gouged it. Pretty soon the customer has long forgotten about your defectively made pool and has moved on to worrying about how they are going to pay the mortgage instead. But if that doesn't solve the problem then move onto…..

Step Two: Deny there is any problem at all. Conduct a press conference with the VP of Product Testing holding 12,000 pages of research data with charts and graphs, showing that you ran it through a rigorous battery of stress tests – and how the results conclusively show, beyond a doubt that your rapid-fire nail gun passed the test just fine – two out of the three times you tested it. The thousands of pages of research data can, of course, simply be copies of pages you pulled from the New England Journal of Medicine circa 1997. Nobody is actually going to look at all that documentation. That should put an end to their whining and complaining. But if it doesn't, proceed to …

Step Three: Blame it on the customer. If step two does not end the problem, proceed directly to step three. Do not pass GO. It is imperative that once it becomes clear that your sofa bed is not supposed to snap back up into the upright couch position like a giant Venus Flytrap the moment Mrs. Francesca Gioconda's prize Siamese cat jumps on it, then it's time to admit that there is a problem – one which the customer no doubt caused by their own recklessness or negligence. The key phrase you need to memorize is "the customer did not use the product as it was intended." How could you possibly have foreseen that the customer would have decided to use the mixing bowl they purchased from you to say, bake a cake, causing the beaters to go flying across the room like miniature missiles, then hitting two-year old Jessica in the forehead, requiring 11 stitches. Clearly the customer did not read page 37 of the manual where it clearly states in 2 point font "this product not intended for actual mixing." If by some remote chance they still persist in making a big stink, then it's time for more drastic measures. Proceed to….

Step Four: Threaten to sue the customer. If the customer continues to whine that the fault lies with your product and not with their use of it, and they protest that "the spot remover I purchased from your company burned a three-foot wide hole in my living room carpet and ate a hole through the floor into my neighbor's apartment ceiling below me", well, then it's time to take prompt, decisive and responsive action. By this of course I mean pulling your legal team together to determine what sort of damages you can claim for libel and defamation. This usually involves threatening to file a 280-page lawsuit against the annoying customer, complaining about irreparable damage to your company's reputation. Be sure to file suit in at least three different courts (I'd recommend municipal court, federal district court and the People's Court). Once they realize this is going to cost them the equivalent of their youngest children's college education, they will soon be apologizing to you for causing any trouble. If it turns out that you know the customer's case is stronger than yours, you might have to leapfrog immediately to….

Step Five: Blame it on a third party. If step four does not shut the customer up and they continue to persist that your product malfunctioned, then it's time to step up to the plate, look yourself squarely in the eyes – and figure out who else you can blame. I might recommend you point the accusatory finger at one of your suppliers – preferably one that is overseas and impossible to contact. Perhaps your suppler Ding Hao Services in Hong Kong – the manufacturer of the light bulb for your Susie Q oven which gave little Caroline Higgins a 200-volt shock every time she opened the oven door. Of course, another smart tactic is simply to blame it on the Democrats in Congress. They seem to screw up everything they get their hands on lately. Only if all five of these steps fail do you consider the final option and that's…..

Step Six: Apologize. This of course should only be done as a matter of last resort. You should only contemplate this drastic step if you know deep down in your heart that your company did in fact screw up, the product was defective, and that the complaining customer has received more than 200,000 views on You Tube showing how your lawn mower's circular blade went flying at 150 mph out from under the mower and into their dining room window the moment the customer turned the mower's ignition key to "start." In this case, the right thing to do is to admit you're at fault and to send a heartfelt apology letter, crafted by your team of attorneys who are experienced at defending against class action lawsuits.

Crafting just the right apology letter is a very delicate process. We'll table about that next week when we discuss Business Lesson #84 - How to write an apology letter to customers.

That's the View from the Bleachers. Perhaps I'm off base.

(To be continued next week.)