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She was a pie-faced gal with a thick body, big butt and forearms like Popeye.
Her opponent looked to be Russian or Scandinavian; she was blonde, lithe, with chiseled features and a perfect nose; she was drop-dead beautiful.
I don't follow tennis, but I do know whoever they were they must be good — they were on network television.
It was mid-afternoon at a local gym. I was sharing the weight-room with some guy who was half my age and had arms the size of my legs. The sound on the TV was turned off, which really didn't matter since both of us were wearing iPods.
Between lifts we were both glancing at the TV.
The tennis players were equally beautiful to watch and a couple of times the big-guy and I would be standing in front of the set during a particularly long volley. After one such volley I asked him, “Do you know who they are?”
He answered, “No clue — but I'd like to use that blonde's dirty sweat-socks to make a protein shake.”
I knew I had to say something equally sexist and manly. Certainly, I was at a disadvantage by being old enough to be this guy's dad, so I responded, “Yeah — and I'd like to get her to paint my house.”
He looked at me like I was a pervert.
For the next half-hour I watched the match between my multiple sets. I found myself rooting for the blonde. I then found myself being disgusted with myself; I was cheering for the one who was pretty for no other reason than that I'm a pig.
It is human nature, albeit a bad part of human nature, to favor those who are physically attractive. It is also human nature to worship those who are gifted — great athletes, actors, dancers or otherwise rich and famous.
When one of those who we worship dies, we often act like we lost a family member.
Last week we had a hat-trick of famous people pass away — Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Had either Fawcett or McMahon died on a normal week they would be getting posthumous headlines for many days; but the “King of Pop” stole the show and the world's attention.
I know as much about Michael Jackson as I do about those tennis players. He has his fans and critics; but I would guess all would agree that he is gifted. Because of those gifts he is loved. Of the millions who love Michael Jackson, there are only handfuls of people who actually knew him. Perhaps an ingredient of idolatry is not truly knowing the person or thing you worship; because when you look closely we all have warts.
A lesser known public figure died last wee: former miner and long-time ski patrolman Jim (Jingles) Rogers.
Jingles couldn't moonwalk. Or maybe he could. There is much about him I probably don't know. In fact, I didn't know his real name was Jim Rogers until I read his obituary.
Jingles was like many who came to the mountains in the '60s and '70s; he came for a lifestyle rather than a livelihood. Since then, many others have arrived in the high places to make their fortune or to retire after already having done so. Often, as soon as the settle, they try to turn their new home into the place they left. Jingles adapted to the mountain rather than ask the mountains to adapt to him. He came before there were mega resorts and when luxury meant a new pair of Sorels.
He was called “Jingles” because he resembled Santa Claus. He had a belly, white beard and thick white hair. Over the years he worked various jobs and touched many people. I knew him only casually: We would exchange pleasantries at the ski area, in the post office or grocery store, and he always seemed to have the time to talk.
Unlike the three aforementioned celebrities Jingles Rogers will only be mourned by those who actually knew him. He'll be remembered as a nice guy who lived a quiet life, worked with his hands and was pleasant to be around. He wasn't a great actor, dancer or performer; he didn't need to be. He was perfect just the way we was. He will be profoundly missed by those who know and loved him ...
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines. He can be reached at biffbreck@yahoo.com. Biff's book “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic” is available from local book stores or from www.webersbooks.com
Her opponent looked to be Russian or Scandinavian; she was blonde, lithe, with chiseled features and a perfect nose; she was drop-dead beautiful.
I don't follow tennis, but I do know whoever they were they must be good — they were on network television.
It was mid-afternoon at a local gym. I was sharing the weight-room with some guy who was half my age and had arms the size of my legs. The sound on the TV was turned off, which really didn't matter since both of us were wearing iPods.
Between lifts we were both glancing at the TV.
The tennis players were equally beautiful to watch and a couple of times the big-guy and I would be standing in front of the set during a particularly long volley. After one such volley I asked him, “Do you know who they are?”
He answered, “No clue — but I'd like to use that blonde's dirty sweat-socks to make a protein shake.”
I knew I had to say something equally sexist and manly. Certainly, I was at a disadvantage by being old enough to be this guy's dad, so I responded, “Yeah — and I'd like to get her to paint my house.”
He looked at me like I was a pervert.
For the next half-hour I watched the match between my multiple sets. I found myself rooting for the blonde. I then found myself being disgusted with myself; I was cheering for the one who was pretty for no other reason than that I'm a pig.
It is human nature, albeit a bad part of human nature, to favor those who are physically attractive. It is also human nature to worship those who are gifted — great athletes, actors, dancers or otherwise rich and famous.
When one of those who we worship dies, we often act like we lost a family member.
Last week we had a hat-trick of famous people pass away — Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Had either Fawcett or McMahon died on a normal week they would be getting posthumous headlines for many days; but the “King of Pop” stole the show and the world's attention.
I know as much about Michael Jackson as I do about those tennis players. He has his fans and critics; but I would guess all would agree that he is gifted. Because of those gifts he is loved. Of the millions who love Michael Jackson, there are only handfuls of people who actually knew him. Perhaps an ingredient of idolatry is not truly knowing the person or thing you worship; because when you look closely we all have warts.
A lesser known public figure died last wee: former miner and long-time ski patrolman Jim (Jingles) Rogers.
Jingles couldn't moonwalk. Or maybe he could. There is much about him I probably don't know. In fact, I didn't know his real name was Jim Rogers until I read his obituary.
Jingles was like many who came to the mountains in the '60s and '70s; he came for a lifestyle rather than a livelihood. Since then, many others have arrived in the high places to make their fortune or to retire after already having done so. Often, as soon as the settle, they try to turn their new home into the place they left. Jingles adapted to the mountain rather than ask the mountains to adapt to him. He came before there were mega resorts and when luxury meant a new pair of Sorels.
He was called “Jingles” because he resembled Santa Claus. He had a belly, white beard and thick white hair. Over the years he worked various jobs and touched many people. I knew him only casually: We would exchange pleasantries at the ski area, in the post office or grocery store, and he always seemed to have the time to talk.
Unlike the three aforementioned celebrities Jingles Rogers will only be mourned by those who actually knew him. He'll be remembered as a nice guy who lived a quiet life, worked with his hands and was pleasant to be around. He wasn't a great actor, dancer or performer; he didn't need to be. He was perfect just the way we was. He will be profoundly missed by those who know and loved him ...
Jeffrey Bergeron, under the alias of Biff America, can be seen on RSN TV and read in several newspapers and magazines. He can be reached at biffbreck@yahoo.com. Biff's book “Steep, Deep and Dyslexic” is available from local book stores or from www.webersbooks.com
