Did you ever have an experience that, once you got through it, you asked yourself, “Did that really just happen?”

I had one of those this past weekend that I thought I would share.

So, I went to one of the many, many, many locations of a coffee shop let’s call “Schmarbucks.” The young lady behind the counter who struggled to get out, “May I help you?” was obviously new at her job. I had a son who cut his working teeth at a couple of “Schmarbucks” in his youth, so I get it. We all start somewhere.

When I responded with my order, I said, “I’d like a Grande Oat Milk Latte, please.” A fairly simple order and my go-to choice. She was a meek, shy, timid, slightly bashful, not-really-outgoing person and to make matters worse, she was wearing a face mask. She replied to me, in a soft, hushed tone, “salhwlhwwhefaoh29u9q1qakdenal.” I asked, “What?” and she whispered slightly louder, “salhwlhwwhefaoh29u9q1qakdenal.” After an awkward pause, I finally had to admit I just didn’t understand her and she raised her voice to a loud, hushed whisper, “We’re out of oat milk.”

Oh. So, I instructed her to just make it soy milk. She worked the register for a second and then, another volley of attempted sound came my way: “klj2348y92-ijn buidsxyg0ejnkjewadqg7yaqy9pj??????” Rather than have her think I was a deaf geezer or to keep this conversation going any longer than necessary, I rolled the dice and shot out a “Yes”, hoping it would work in my favor. I paid for the beverage, and then stepped aside to await my drink.

Moments later, I found out what she had said, thanks for an audible Schmarkbucks employee: “Triple Shot Oatmilk Latte for Tim!”

Perfect.

So, now, as I walked away and began caffeinating my brain, I started thinking–wait a minute! This Schmarbucks was located inside a QFC grocery store, where they have an entire refrigerator section dedicated to Oat Milk. Couldn’t one of you just run over to the dairy section and grab a jug? It’s not like there’s a shortage. I almost asked, “If I go over and buy some, then can I have oat milk?”

But I was afraid to do that out of concern what the new girl with the mask might say about me. Especially since I’d probably not be able to both hear it and understand it.

Man, coffee drinking can be stressful.

Tim Hunter

Everything seems to have a sequel these days, so why not the topic of Time Vampires?

I first identified this phenomenon back in 2021 in this blog but I’ve made several observations since then, as I continue my study of these unseen creatures that rob us all of our most precious commodity.

Their best work is done over weekends, as I’m sure you’ve noticed how fast they go by. But you would think after a busy could of days of devouring our time on the weekends that on Monday, they might relax a bit with their bellies full and give us a couple of days off.

But you see, the more they eat, the more they want. And Mondays apparently are the unofficial Thanksgiving Day of the work week for Time Vampires.

You wake up, start to plan out your day and the schedule appears to be very doable. Project 1, followed by project 2 and so on. A nicely-paced way to start out a new work week.

But then, an unplanned project emerges, followed by another. You check your email, and there are two more! The time you allotted for the day’s tasks was already fairly tight, but now, it will require strict focus and careful balancing. Then one of the tasks you finished needs a revision and instantly, the hour in which it should have been accomplished is now 90 minutes. Which means, you’ll have to speed through some of the upcoming projects in order to get them all done today. Then you start thinking, “What can I bump to tomorrow?” But if you do that, tomorrow’s schedule has already suffered its first Time Vampire attack.

I’m reminded of the old adage, “Why put off something to tomorrow when you could put it off to the day after tomorrow?”

I’ll be honest, I have never actually seen a Time Vampire, but I asked OpenAI.com to create a picture of what it could look like.

To me, that looks like one of the blood-sucking varieties of vampires, but blood I can spare. My body can make more. Time, niw that’s a valuable, irreplaceable commodity.

I don’t have an answer for Time Vampires. For that matter, I don’t even have a question. I just know they exist and that three more came in the room this morning while I was writing this. I think they’re holding their annual convention in my office.

The bottom line–just know they are real and the more you’re aware they exist, the better you’ll be able to minimize their effects.

Good luck.

Tim Hunter

Looking back on my life, I don’t exactly know what steered me towards a love of comedy. Actually, in watching my mom over the years, it made me realize that she was probably the one that handed down the comedy genes. She has always displayed a quick wit and if you know Fran, you know she absolutely loves to laugh.

As I grew up in our southern California home, I watched shows on TV like “The Time Tunnel”, “Lost in Space”, and others (I still remember when the school sent home a notice to our parents that we shouldn’t be allowed to watch “Combat” because it was “too violent”), the majority of what I tuned in those formulative years were comedies. “Get Smart”, “Bewitched”, “The Jack Benny Show”, “I Dream of Jeannie”, even “The Mother-in-Laws”. When a Bob Hope special or an Alan King “Friar’s Roast” was on, I’d never miss it. And then, of course, there was “Laugh In.”

As I confessed before, on Tuesday nights, my sisters went to their room, I went to mine and then, shortly after tuck-in, mom would come into my room where the TV lived (which is now “the den”) and she’d flip on “The Red Skelton Show.” I’d get to postpone my sleep until Red’s final “Good night and may God bless” at 9:30.

During my high school years, I bought many a comedy album from the likes of Cheech ‘n Chong (I think I bought every one that came out), Tim Conway, Monty Python and Don Rickles.

Somewhere along the line, I went from watching and enjoying comedy to creating it. In high school, I scratched out a rough comedy film script based on my high school experiences, called “T.H.S.” (which stood for Torrance High School, my alma mater). It’s somewhere in our basement. Also, during those high school days, I would get home from school and head straight to the TV to catch the syndicated “Steve Allen Show” because he was just so darn funny. (I was lucky enough to interview him twice during my days at KOMO radio)

But after college and wandering into radio as my chosen career, I began to seriously study short-form comedy. One or two setup lines, and then a punchline. I’d watch Carson do it every night in his monologue and in the newspaper (an ancient form of communication where everything that now shows up on your phone was printed on paper the day before), I’d always look for content from a guy named Mark Russell.

Mark did a lot of political comedy, but he also came up with some lines on topics regular folks could enjoy. The timing of his career was perfect because those were the last days when you can make fun of both sides and not be labeled as a sympathizer for the enemy side. He was just funny. A couple of examples:

“Sometimes you become so focused on protecting people from danger that you become the danger.”

“No offense, but it seems like the whole point of civilization is to get someone else to do your killing for you.”

“Of course, with any new technology, the question in the back of everyone’s mind is ‘Can I have sex with it or use it to kill people?'”

“The scientific theory I like best is that the rings of Saturn are composed entirely of lost airline luggage.”

“A Consultant is a guy who knows 125 different ways to make love, but who doesn’t know any women.”

But like I said, he would also get political:

“You’ve got the brain-washed, that’s the Democrats, and the brain-dead, that’s the Republicans!”

“I believe that Bill Clinton’s second term will be good for business… my business!”

“The Republicans have a new healthcare proposal: Just say NO to illness!”

Mr. Russell had his column in the newspapers (always on the editorial page) and did various comedy specials on PBS, as well as touring the country with lives performances. He did what he loved, all the way up to the end, which was last Thursday, when he passed at the age of 90.

He was witty and brilliant and talented. He played the piano at his performances and wrote some parody songs. I hope you were able to catch some of his comedy over the years. If not, here’s just a taste of his style and wit.

I think Mark Russell’s life illustrates what I like so much about comedy. We all hope to leave some kind of legacy behind, for our kids and for future generations. So, when you think about it, how precious is leaving behind ways to make people laugh? That’s gold and a treasure awaiting future generations to discover.

I never had the chance to catch him in concert or meet him in person, but if I had, the first think I would have said to him was, “Thanks Mark, for all you gave us.”

And with that, another Master is gone.

Tim Hunter

I have lots of things I look forward to doing every year. Parades, auctions, celebrations, birthdays, you name it.

The ones you enjoy, you keep doing. The ones that just aren’t as fun as they used to be, you just let go. Frankly, it seems like when I let go of something, several things show up immediately offering to take its place.

I live a busy life, each week a carefully crafted collection of duties, jobs, responsibilities and personal projects that easily fill up a 60+ hour week.

But when March arrives, there’s little else I think about but the first of the next month, because that’s the day I post a silly video I assembled every year for April Fool’s Day called, “National Gullible Day.”

It’s a newscast, that gives me a flexible forum in which to create comedy–some original, some borrowed (no one’s getting rich here) and a chance to put the spotlight on some of my funny friends.

This year marks the 8th annual National Gullible Day observance, as the fictious NGD Network broadcasts the various ways that people celebrate the holiday. My reporting staff has changed a lot over the years, between trying to spread the wealth among friends, while also working in those who like to play along. So yeah, watch a couple of them, and you’ll see several encore performances from some of my brothers and sisters in comedy.

The 2023 edition of National Gullible Day News coverage will begin airing at 12:01am this Saturday morning on my YouTube channel. It will also live on nationalgullibleday.org, where you can also watch all 7 of the previous years’ efforts.

So, what’s new in 2023? You’ll have to watch to find out, but I do feel these are getting funnier and funnier each year.

And for the first time, I’ve actually put together a promo for the broadcast:

With all that’s wrong with the world these days, it’s my hope that I can somehow provide an escape–although brief–into this fun collection of silliness.

My thanks to all those who have helped out over the years and especially to those who stepped up this year to make this marvel to share with the world. If you’d ask me, “What’s your passion project?”, I actually have quite a few, but this is the motherlode. I’m just one interview away from having all the pieces, finalizing the production, and setting the phasers to broadcast.

Here we go again! I can’t wait.

Tim Hunter

PS And to cut down on your clicks, here’s this year’s edition of National Gullible Day.

There’s a place not very far from Seattle that feels very far away.

This past weekend, my wife and I enjoyed a nice stay up on Whidbey Island. We gathered with friends to celebrate a 70th birthday at an Airbnb that was literally three houses away from the ferry landing. As we exited the boat in our car, we saw a small street and we both thought, “Oh, this can’t be it.” But a quick right turn and the next thing you know, there we were and we were forced to tolerate this view all weekend long.

One of the many endearing things about Whidbey Island is that, yes, you can take a ferry to the island. It’s just a 20-minute zip across the water from Mukilteo. But if there any kind of problem like a ferry strike or something, you can drive off the island up on the north end, across beautiful Deception Pass. How beautiful?

Yeah.

So, Whidbey is one beautiful setting, an “island life” kind of pace, where everything is slowed down and you can go explore cute little towns like Coupeville and Langley. Saturday morning, we went and had breakfast with a couple of my college buddies and their wives who now live full-time up on this chunk of paradise, then wandered over to Langley, only to find ourselves surrounded by their annual Mystery Weekend. For almost 40 years, people have gathered to do some sleuthing and solve a mystery with clues scattered around the town and actors adding additional hints with a theatrical flair.

Add in some fun shops, nice eateries, some great views and the Star Store and you’ve got a pretty nice, relaxing afternoon.

My wife and I also enjoy a little Whidbey Island history. A weekend visit to the Penn Cove Mussel Festival (coming up this weekend, by the way) was one of our first “dates” after having been introduced 16 Februaries ago. I mean, what could be more romantic than a celebration based on something she ate only to be polite and I don’t think has eaten since?

I know several former neighbors from the old neighborhood in Bothell ended up finding their way up there. My friends Tank & Doreen were married on the island in a forest there many years ago. There’s the Greenbank farm, oh, and a bed and breakfast we went to a few years back called The Compass Rose House, which we’ve been meaning to get back and visit.

So, yeah, after a couple of pretty much non-stop work weeks, it was incredibly nice to shut down, to not be on my phone or computer for hours at a time and to savor a simpler life.

We even enjoyed a hail show on our ferry ride back to civilization.

Notice the white sandy beaches in the background? Not sand.

Yeah, it would not take a whole lot to convince me: I could live that way.

Tim Hunter

When I heard the news, I immediately knew I had to visit the place just one more time.

Down in the U-District, not far from Terry Hall, the dorm where I lived during my first three years at the University of Washington, was a pizza place called the Northlake Tavern. Yes, it was a tavern, but their pizza was legendary. Thick, greasy, loaded with toppings, a college student’s dream. Well, at least back in the 1970s.

Because it was a tavern, I didn’t go there very much my first couple of years. But by my junior year, my confidence had grown and I had accessed a fake I.D., so we would occasionally stumble down the hill and order one of those amazing pizzas. However, when I graduated, I headed east of the mountains and just didn’t have the opportunity to swing by there.

When I did move back to the area three years later, I lived in the burbs and just never seemed to make it that way. Over the next 40 years or so, I think I got back there maybe twice, for old times’ sake.

At the same time I had moved on and the Northlake Tavern became just another college memory, a fellow I had worked with in the dorms, Abdoullah, had gone to work at the Tavern, where the owner took him under his wing, taught him the tricks of the trade and eventually, Abdoullah bought the place! He was one of three brothers who had come over from the Middle East, each scattering into their field of specialty and reaching success. In Abdoullah’s case, he kept the Northlake alive and thriving.

But time marches on and now, in the year 2023, the time has come for Abdoullah to call it quits. Sadly, he’s been battling Parkinson’s, so after all that hard work, retirement is probably not going to be as he had hoped. The good news is that he found a buyer, the local pizza chain Mario’s, who will close the restaurant for a couple of months to refurbish it, then re-open it as a Mario’s.

The official closing date was Tuesday, January 31st. When that was first announced, the line began to form. After all, when you’ve been doing what the Northlake Tavern has been doing for 68 years, a lot of people have memories attached to the place.

Including yours truly.

So, a couple of weeks out, my friends Tank, Steve and I agreed to meet for lunch there at noon on Thursday, January 26th. But as that date approached, pictures on social media kept showing up with people saying they had to wait an hour to get in. Then 90 minutes. We adjusted our plan to meet there at 11am, when Northlake opened, so hopefully we could be eating by noon.

Ha.

Now, quick side bar. Each of my Monday through Friday workdays are a carefully plotted out collection of various jobs, scattered out through a series of 12-hour days. It’s just how I roll. I try to top-heavy the week so that by Thursday and Friday, I may only work 10 hours. Maybe.

When the big day arrived, I completed most of my radio show prep duties and a couple of projects, and just figured when I got home after lunch, I’d crank out my radio show. Perfect plan.

After a 10:30am Zoom at home, I dashed to the car and drove to Northlake. Not a parking spot to be found. For blocks. For a half-mile, where I finally a 2-hour parking spot and began the walk to the restaurant.

When I arrived, I found Tank & Steve around the corner at the end of a line of about 60 people. That shouldn’t be too bad. Over time, a couple of people were allowed in the restaurant, and the line would move up just a little more.

But inside, the kitchen was overwhelmed. Not only making pizzas for those in the restaurants, who were ordering two pizzas each–one for now, and the other to toss in the freezer when they got home. But there were also to-go orders being phoned in. You can see where this is going.

Sadly, while we waited in line, a woman came up to the restaurant with a printed receipt for some pizzas she had purchased online. It turned out, she had been swindled. The restaurant wasn’t selling them online. Those scamsters work fast.

Meanwhile, back in line, I faced a dilemma. At which point do I decide, “Oh, this is ridiculous!” and just go home. Or, because I’ve already invested an hour, it could be just a few more minutes.

I had lots of time to think about my decision because were not seated until 1:46m. Yes, 2-hours and 46-minutes just to be seated. When a waitress finally made it to our table, she apologized for the wait, said she could take drink orders but that the kitchen was so backed up, it may be a while until we would see a pizza. Beer was ordered, and we went into a new waiting mode.

On the positive side, I had some quality time with a couple of guys who have been like brothers to me over the years. We have been through a friggin’ lot—marriages, health scares, tragedies, life moments, so to that end, I was grateful for the FIVE HOURS we got to share together.

Yep, it was an hour and 16 minutes until a couple of delicious pizzas came our way. We were allowed two per person, but just settled for two of their $31 medium pizzas–a Combo and a Meat Lovers.

I’ll be honest, I had reached out to Abdoullah to see if he might remember us and was secretly hoping for him to say, “Oh, you guys are coming in? We’ll save you a table!” He said he did remember us, but no table offer was made.

Meanwhile, as we sat there in the pizza-ready position, waiting our beer, Abdoullah walked into his restaurant. He looked frail, needed a cane to walk and apparently just can’t verbally communicate well anymore. When I saw him, I yelled out, “Abdoullah!” He turned. I pointed to each of the characters. “Tank! Steve! Tim!”

His eyes widened and he smiled. We said some other things to him, which I don’t remember, but it was how his eyes lit up that will be the moment I cherish from that day.

Yes, that’s a big slice out of a workday. Leaving the house at 10:40am, getting back home at 4:34pm. However, I got to revisit an old haunt from my college days one more time, hang with old friends, see someone I hadn’t seen in almost 50 years and get a smile out of him. Yes, it made for a tough rest of the workday.

But it was all worth it.

Tim Hunter

This week, I’m going to drag you along on my search for a decent shave.

There was a time, back when this whole shaving thing began, that I was a razor-and-shaving-cream kinda guy. It’s what my dad did, what all the other guys in the dorms at Terry Hall did. Oh, maybe there was a graduate student with one of those fancy electric razor gismos, but for the most part, it was all about dragging this really sharp blade across your face while not being far away from your styptic pencil.

The clunky, old two-sided razor eventually gave way to the new sleek and sexy razors and then, the sleek and sexy disposable razors. The problem was, on those morning when I was in a hurry or distracted, I’d have to take the time to get the bleeding to stop before heading into work.

Then, somewhere along the line, I made the switch to an electric razor. I’ve easily had a half-dozen or so over the years, each progressively better. However, the closeness of the shave was always “ok” and I’d always have to do some careful follow-up work with a Schick disposable.

Eventually, I found myself the owner of a Braun electric razor and it was pretty good. In fact, I’ll bet you anything that I’ve had it close to a decade. But the pattern that developed was this: new blades would give you that close, comfortable shave for a couple of months…until it felt like you were plucking the hairs out of your face. No fun. Then I’d have to see how long I could wait before I’d pony up another $35 for new blades. I’m so damn cheap.

The new blades would arrive and then I’d be happy again….for a while. What helped was that I tried out those Harry’s blades and everything they say in the ads is true. So, that allowed me to put up with a crappy shave from my electric razor, then easily fix the spots it missed with one of Harry’s finest.

However, this time when the Braun blades dulled again, I decided to use that Consumer Reports subscription I pay for but never use and see what their research on electric razors had to say. I couldn’t help but notice that only the mega-expensive Braun was recommended, but there were an awful lot of Panasonics in there. Really? It was a departure in design from what I was used to, but the reviews were in and while Panasonic’s top of the line model was in the $200-$300 range, I found one for $99. Sure, it was the lower-level model without the bells and whistles, but I wasn’t looking for a singing/dancing electric razor, I just wanted a close shave.

And we have a winner.

This is the one. This is what it looks like. It glides across my face, not irritating it one bit. At times with the old Braun and my refusal to keep paying the new blade extortion fee, I’d occasionally get razor-burns. Nope, every morning when it’s time to trim the whiskers, it’s one smooth experience after another. And in the two weeks I’ve been using it, it’s still mostly charged. It even has a gauge on the front to tell you how charged up it is.

So, after an almost 50-year search for the perfect shave, I have finally found it. Thank you, Panasonic. Where have you been all my life?

Tim Hunter

I’m pretty tech savvy.

I know my way around a computer. Thanks to some patient techy gurus over the years, I’ve learned a lot about those beastly machines that we stare out every minute of every day.

But not all technology is kind.

For years, I fought the idea of using a Keurig coffee-making machine. Oh, I’ve used them at times when visiting friends that have them and, so I don’t look inept, I learned how they work.

Then, recently, one was made available to me and so I thought, “What the heck?” and set it up on the table around 12-feet behind my desk. I was thinking, “That’ll be so convenient! Now I won’t have to run up and down the stairs to the coffee maker kitchen. I can have a hot cup of coffee anytime I want it in a couple of minutes.”

Or, so I thought.

It sounds so simple on paper. But here’s how it has been working for me. It’s late in the morning or early afternoon and its been hours since I finished my daily pot of coffee and I’m feeling like I could use a boost about now. So, I get up, walk over to the Keurig and turn it on. Yeah, it has to warm up first.

I go back to work. A half-hour or so passes and I think to myself, “Whatever happened to that coffee? Oh, yeah, I forgot to make it.” So I go over, put in a new pod, hit the brew button and go back to work.

Another half hour passes and I’m feeling like that cup of coffee and I realize, “Crap! I never went over and picked it up!” So, I have to take the now lukewarm coffee upstairs, stick it in the microwave for a minute and then, finally, I’ve got my hot cup of coffee.

I take a sip, get back into work and by the time I remember I’ve got a cup waiting to be drank, it has cooled down to tepid at best.

So let us review: 30-minutes Keurig warm-up, 30-minutes after I brew the coffee, I pick it up, take it upstairs and zap it, then bring it back down. Easily 80-minutes of time invested in having a convenient cup of coffee.

What the hell was I thinking?

Tim Hunter

Back when my wife and I first met and we decided to merge our lives into a single home, she sold her Ballard place, I gave up my Bothell residence and we pooled our money to land a place on a private lane in North Seattle.

We love the street, the neighbors, over the years watching young families move in and having kids, getting together occasionally for the “National Night Out” in August and so on. But outside of a couple of organized gatherings, the bulk of our communication with the neighbors tends to be a quick banter in the street or by the mailbox and then we return to our busy lives.

On one side of our house is a guy named Carl, whose parents owned the place until they were gone and he took over. These days, he spends most of his time at his girlfriend’s house, but I have been in his home a couple of times and he has kept it very retro-true to the late 1950s when it was built. Shag carpet, the works.

On the north side of our house was a home not very well kept up, where a guy named Mervyn resided. I knew that from occasionally getting a piece of his mail. My first encounter with him was indirect. The phone rang, and it was one of the utilities asking if I knew my next-door neighbor, Mervyn. I mentioned that we had recently moved in when the woman on the other end of the phone said, “Well, he hasn’t paid his bill for several months and so we’re getting ready to shut off his service.” I told her thanks for the notice, I would try to reach him.

I wandered next door, planning to introduce myself as his new neighbor and to let him know about the call. I knocked and rang the doorbell and nothing. Did it again, waited a few minutes and then walked home. Now my mind is reeling. What if this guy had died in his home and that was the reason he wasn’t paying his bills? That’s a fine “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

So, I called up the Seattle Police non-emergency number, explained the situation and they said they would do a welfare check. Eventually they came, pounded on his door, he answered, they explained what was going on, and it turned out he was just fine. Just a bit of a recluse.

In the 15 years we’ve lived next door to him, I’ve maybe talked with him three times. We swapped phone numbers one time, just in case anything were to go wrong and he needed help. He never called. A couple of years ago, another neighbor who was checking on him didn’t get a response, called the police and they even broke the door down to get in. It turned out he was in his bedroom and didn’t hear the pounding.

Or so he said.

Apparently, on September 29th, Mervyn actually did pass away. We didn’t find out until this week. Draw your own conclusions.

But in reading neighbor’s emails and doing a little online sleuthing, I’ve managed to piece together this collection of facts.

We were just humming along, life was good and then all of a sudden, a pandemic hit. Besides the health effects, it also gave our divided world two sides to take, as other problems began to emerge like supply-chain issues, empty store shelves, and people began to panic.
With the same political thinking of “It’s the economy, stupid” that helped Bill Clinton defeat the older President Bush, once again, all of the country’s problems fall at the feet of the President, whether he is fully responsible or not.

It’s easy to say, “Oh, Joe Biden caused all this inflation and steered us into a recession with all that reckless spending.” Gee, it must have been pretty reckless because it also caused the entire world to also go into a recession. Economists say that, in England next year, inflation could hit 25%. How did Joe do that?

The bottom line is, there are a zillion factors that go into what makes an economy hum and what sends it into the tank. The trendy thing is to run around and yell, “The sky is falling” and once you do that, you’ll be on the news at 5 o’clock. Just today, a new Bloomberg Economics model is now predicting a 100% chance that the U.S. will be in a recession next year. In fact, with inflation, it’s actually 110%!

Having lived the decades that I’ve put in on this rock, I’ve seen stuff like this before. Picture us sitting around the campfire, a harmonica playing in the background and me saying, “You know, back when I bought my first house in the early 80s, it came with a 14% mortgage.”

Yet, somehow, I lived.

You just make adjustments, keep level-headed, try to think ahead (for example, stocking up on food and things you can store at today’s prices) and you’ll come out on the other end stronger than ever.

There was another financial time I remember when the unemployment rate was really high and it seemed like a lot of people I knew were getting laid off. They would say, “Tim, you don’t seem to be worried about the economy” and I would reply that they were just now living in my world. In the radio biz, jobs come and go with the drop of a hat and if you don’t have a hat, a visor.

It doesn’t mean there won’t be tough times in the months ahead. Every $80 fill up at the gas station is a punch to the stomach. A trip to the grocery store usually results in me saying, “Those cost that much now?”

What one side says is over-spending is the other side’s investing in America. Is it a smart move? Only time will tell. In the meantime, we need to bring it all home and do what we can to make it through the latest economic bump. I guarantee, this won’t be the last one and you younger readers, by the time you reach my age, you’ll have that experience under your belt to better handle things.

Have a good financial advisor, don’t get caught up in the headlines and daily panic, as those are designed to make you stick around and hear what’s now wrong. Inflation is high, but unemployment is low, we’re not being targeted by suicide drones, and even though the Mariners got knocked out of the playoffs, they’ve got a competitive team and a brighter future.

If you have to cut back here, or reduce spending there, do it and get back to the important stuff. To be honest, you don’t really need 8 streaming services.

Just do the smart stuff and ride it out. Be strong.

Tim Hunter

This pretty much sums it all up.

But I’ll keep going.

In a city starved for a winning team, the magic that comes with making baseball’s playoffs is alive and well again in Seattle. This after 21 long, too many to remember “I thought this was going to be the season” years.

When you figure it out in days, it’s been 7,665 24-hour segments that Northwest baseball fans have endured, hoping beyond hope that we’d be playing some October baseball. And I mean the playoff kind, not facing Detroit to make up some games due to a strike to start the season.

My world was so much different back in 2001. It was the year of the 9-11 attack, a morning I’ll never forget. It was back in my Murdock, Hunter & Alice Days on KLSY. I didn’t know it at the time, but the show had less than two years to go when those M’s went to the playoffs that year.

And you may or may not remember, that was the year that we were so incredible during the regular season. We won 116-friggin’ games (which are much harder than regular games), and then took the then-Cleveland Indians in 5 games, only to lose to the New York Yankees, 4 games to 1. We simply ran out of gas. You take those 116 wins, add in the playoff victories and the Mariners won 121 games in one season…and still didn’t get to the World Series.

For me, the buzz in the city, the excitement of the playoffs, being a part of the most magical part of baseball in the Emerald City, will never be forgotten. If you were there, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Somewhere in my archives which I plan to inventory when I retire (Ha! that’s funny!) are photos of KLSY’s involvement at those playoff games. We rented a flatbed truck and set up in the parking lot of that brewery across from the stadium. However, at the time, it was just a parking lot. And we hired “Rick the Peanut Guy” to stand on the truck and toss peanuts to the Mariners fans on the way to the game.

While 2022 continued to look promising all season long, we didn’t make it to our first Mariners game of the season until this past Sunday. Since I’m a big believer in sharing experiences for your benefit, I thought I’d pass along a few tips if you’re planning to head to any of the post-season games.

PARKING

This is obvious and a no-brainer, but it’s amazing how you get caught up in the excitement of actually going to the game and your dumb-brain takes over. This past Sunday wasn’t even a playoff game, but we knew it was going to be a pretty full game. Yet, somehow it seemed like a good idea to leave 90-minutes before game time. This could easily be the plot of “Dumb and Dumber 3” if they ever make it.  By the time we got there, everything in the stadium lots was taken unless you had reserved a parking spot. So, we went wide and re-entered the stadium district, grabbing the first $60 space we could find which, after fees and taxes, shot up to $75.
Yes, our parking cost more than our game tickets.

TAKE THE TRAIN

Sound Transit spent billions of dollars to build a train that runs not far from our house to an easy walk to the stadium. We didn’t take it because “we didn’t want to do a lot of walking.” The $75 parking lot was as far south of the stadium as the train would have dropped us off on the north side. And, had we taken the sensible mass transit, it would have cost us $2 each. That could have allowed us to spend the remaining $71 on food and beverages.

Friends from the east side came across the bridge and then parked in a neighborhood by one of the train’s stops. It made for an easy in and out and I swear, if I ever try to drive down there again and pay for parking, I’m getting a tattoo on my right forearm that says, “Take the train, Dummy!”

OR JUST STAY HOME

I realize that we have it in our heads how cool it would be to actually be there, to say we were there. But if you add up the cost of the parking, tickets, food and drink, this afternoon at the ballpark cost us over $250. I’m pretty sure I could hire a cook to come in, whip up some steak and lobster as I sit in my living room, watching my 70-inch TV with the sound up for less than that. At one point, my wife decided to wander up and buy a pre-made Margarita. I didn’t see her for three innings. Thankfully, she didn’t miss much. By the time she had gotten back, the Mariners were down 7-0 and I needed a drink. We left after a listless 7th inning and missed the Mariners coming back with three runs. The final score was an ugly 10-3 loss to the 47 games behind first place Oakland A’s. 

ENJOY THE RIDE

As baseball fans in Seattle know all too well, playoff baseball doesn’t come along very often, so make sure you grab this adventure while you can. Baseball is such a tiered sport, that once you get into it, there are so many intricacies and nuances to watch for. I was blessed to grow up up in a baseball home, with a Los Angeles Dodgers team full of players to admire and enjoy for as long as I remember. In recent years, I’ve gotten back to following them and now, there’s the slightest  of chances that they could actually face each other in the World Series. That network nightmare would be a dream come true for me, but we’ll just have to wait and see.

The playoffs start on Friday. This just possibly could be the year, which is always true in baseball, every year. This is really happening, so get on board.

How fun! Yeah, it’s been a while.

Tim Hunter

When you’re a kid and growing up, the world is such a different place.

Your world is so small, yet it seems so big. Instead of worrying about the latest bad news from the TV or a website, your biggest concerns had to do with when the cartoons came on TV or who else was going to be invited to your friend Mike’s birthday party. Your most valuable possession could have been something as simple as a bike or a baseball card.

Over the weekend, I got to go home again, to the place my parents raised me in Torrance, California. Mom is the only one left and doing fine, thank you, as we helped her celebrate her 94th birthday. She is about as timeless as it gets, looking the same as she has as long as I can remember.

Oh, we have home movies of those growing up years, when she embraced the fashions of the day. There was the “I love Lucy” look, the beehive hair style of the Kennedy years and so on. But mom has been mom from my teen years on.

Now, the house–there are some changes. What used to be my bedroom has been rebranded “the den.” I never questioned way we called their pantry area “the service porch”, but that’s what everyone in the family knew that area as. What was my sisters’ room has become the guest room.

Outside, that same red cinder block wall around their property still stands, although with a few cracks here and there. I remember dad building the cover for the deck and, as trends went in the 1960s, putting in a cement deck on the lower patio, with special cement where you added colors. It looked good for a while, but in time, it began to crack and was replaced with red brick.

But let’s go back to the den, formerly known as my room. It was my headquarters from awareness all the way until I left home at 17 to head north to the University of Washington. It was the room where I rode out the big earthquake of 1971. (I actually was asleep and thought it was my mom waking me up for school. But when I looked up, she wasn’t there. By that time, it was over.) I don’t know how I did it, but during my teens, I managed to sneak out my bedroom window, go visit my girlfriend in the middle of the night across the street, and return home. Two out of the three times, I didn’t get caught.

Literally, that little home in Torrance, all 1200 square feet of it, purchased back in the early 1950s for just under $12,000, was the center of my world. It was where my Aunt Jan and Uncle Bob showed up one afternoon in tears, because my grandmother had just passed away. In the living room, many pre-event pictures were taken with me in a tux, as I prepared to head off to one of the formal high school dances.

And the kitchen. Well, that was mom territory. If you went in to do something, she’d watch you like a hawk to make sure you were treating her dominion with respect. That was where she made food magic happen. If you were pouring a soda out of a 2-liter bottle, without missing a beat she’d say, “Don’t plop.” In the early years of my life, it was the time when the husband worked, the wife stayed at home to put her farm smarts to work and make the salary of an airline ground mechanic pay all the bills and feed a family of five. Coupons were clipped, S&H green stamps were saved, and national brands never saw our cupboards.

Yeah, a lot happened in that house and I am so thankful I could be there for just shy of 18 years. So whenever I go back, you’ll see me just sit there and stare a lot at the many things that trigger one memory after the other. I did that quite a bit during this last visit.

Especially this time, it was really, really nice to go home again.

Tim Hunter

I remember back when I was growing up, watching all the big names of entertainment begin to disappear. Hope, Crosby, Sinatra and so on. It seemed like, after a while, you couldn’t go a day without hearing about the passing of a famous name. And almost immediately you’d hear, “So who’s going to be next? They always happen in 3’s!”

It seems that these days, they’re getting group rates.

The month of August already makes me do math because when the 7th rolls around, that was the day my dad left this earth. He came up in conversation over the weekend and I realized that on the 7th this August, it had already been 7 years. Yet, it seems like yesterday.

In the past couple of weeks, August 2022 has claimed some of the headliners in my memory bank, including the likes of Bill Russell, Tony Dow and just today, Olivia Newton-John.

But the biggest stunner of this year’s class of ’22 has to be the voice of the Los Angeles Dodgers, Vin Scully.

Even the most die-hard baseball fans around the country will never really understand what impact that man had on my life and so many other fans of those ‘Bums’. He began his broadcasting career with the Brooklyn Dodgers before I was born and continued bringing each game to life on the radio and eventually TV every year of my life as I was growing up.

He wasn’t just “that guy on the radio.” He WAS the Dodgers. Vin didn’t just describe the action we saw on the radio, but he spent a lot of his time spinning baseball yarn after baseball yarn, with stories that would sometime go an entire inning. Think how amazing that is–he broadcast Dodger games for 67 years on the radio. I turn 67 next month.

He was the voice calling the game when Sandy Koufax, my childhood idol, pitched one of his four no-hitters. I can still hear Vin saying, “Swung on and missed! A perfect game!”

In the days when games on television were a rarity, when they did show us the Dodgers and Giants tangling up north in Candlestick Park, we’d be glued to the TV and were able to enjoy Vin’s voice with pictures, being able to actually see Don Sutton, Don Drysdale, Johny Podres, Ron Perranoski, Maury Wills, Jim Gilliam and Wes Parker. Oh, and the Davis brothers, Tommy and Willie.

The one game that stands out was the time the Dodgers and Giants were going at it and some bad blood between San Fran pitcher Juan Marichal and Dodgers catcher John Roseboro erupted with Juan taking his bat and attacking Roseboro. As the benches emptied and madness ensued, I can still hear Vin saying something to the effect of, “You Little Leaguers at home watching at home, that’s not good sportsmanship.”

Wow, Vin was talking to ME!

Back in the 1960s, there were three television networks and a couple of local stations. That was it. Most nights during the summer, our TV remained off (come on, they were showing reruns) and the time I had before putting on jammies and going to bed was spent listening to Vin Scully and his partner, Jerry Doggett, delivering the pitch-by-pitch details.

Memories eventually fade. Next year at this time, we’ll be mourning the loss of another round of people I grew up with. However, two of the sounds I will never forget are my dad’s classics like, “What in the Sam Hill?” and “Go ask your mother,” and Vin Scully’s declaration that something special was about to begin: “It’s time for Dodger baseball.”

I’ll always hang on to those, especially this month. Yeah, August is a rough one.

Tim Hunter

I have a confession. I cheat.

I grew up a major sports fan–playing Little League baseball, dreaming that one day, I would be the next Willie Mays or Sandy Koufax. I was also a big basketball fan, watching every Lakers game. I played endless games with dad out in the driveway that prepared me well for four years of high school b-ball.

While my kids were growing up, I ended up coaching or assistant coaching most of their teams. Hadn’t planned on being a soccer coach, but when none of the other parents stepped up, I committed to attend a coaching seminar, quickly learn the rules, and see what I could do.

I didn’t really follow football while growing up, but have really become a big NFL fan, although a huge college game beats that any day. I keep up with my L.A. Dodgers, while trying to support our local Mariners. Until recently, that was really tough…but this year, there’s some magic in the air.

Then our town got its own NHL hockey team, and of course, we’re the home of the Seattle Sounders soccer club.

In recent years, I’ve actually learned how to play and enjoy watching golf on TV.

So, that’s a lot of sports to follow and those of you who know my frantic schedule will understand that I just don’t have a whole lot of free time. Basically, these days, I can sneak in sports in little parcels of time. And that has led to a practice that works for me and my schedule. But is it right? Does it make me a lesser fan?

I’m a fast-forward freak.

Sounders played tonight? Oh, yeah, I know that. Got it on the DVR. I sit down when it works for me, turn on the game and hit 4X forward. Keeping an eye on that score box at the top of the screen—Oops, there’s one! I rewind to see the setup, witness the goal and then return to fast-forwarding.

The Kraken and the Mariners both had a game tonight? Hand me that remote. I can watch a 2-hour Sounders game, a 2-hour U.S. National Soccer team game, a 2-hour Kraken game and a 3-1/2 hour Mariners game–at least the parts where they scored–in about an hour. And that includes a bathroom break.

Huskies kicking off at 12:30?  That gives me until around 2 to take care of duties around the house, then hop on the DVR and fast-forward my way through the game. Me and the world will finish around the same time. I’ll just have watched much fewer commercials.

I mean, what’s the harm? I get the moments you watch a game for, in a nice fillet-o-event with no commercials and just all the good stuff.

Frankly, with retirement in the near future, maybe I’ll go back to watching sports the old-fashioned way, live and drawn out. But in the meantime, my fast-forwarding game plan works well in allowing me to enjoy the sports I love in a time window I can easily accommodate.

But I have to ask: does that make me a bad sports fan?

Tim Hunter

I don’ t want to live forever, just long enough to see random mass killings by a mentally deranged person never happen again.

They say our country is experiencing a mental health crisis. That’s how we try to explain why an 18-year-old with automatic weapons can walk into a Texas elementary and mow down 20 kids. Or how we dismiss another teen going to a grocery store in Buffalo to “kill black people.”

I can’t do this again. I’ve gotten up on my soap box before, preached the gospel of reasonable gun control and the idea of preventing mentally unstable people from going out and stocking up on the tools they need to commit mass murder. Preventing this from happening ever again just makes sense. Every single time. Yet, the N.R.A. continues to use the politicians in their pockets to prevent anything from changing. Damn, they’re good.

So, instead, I’m going to share a few of the more poignant and powerful Facebook posts I read after this latest mass execution at a place that was supposed to be safe. Starting with a photo of just some of the victims.

So true, George.

NBA Coach Steve Kerr said everything for me instead of talking about game 4. 

Until Tuesday, Irma Garcia & Eva Mireles were 4th grade co-teachera at Robb Elementary school in Uvalde, Texas, looking forward to a well-deserved summer vacation. They were two days away.

And if you didn’t know, Uvalde, Texas, is the home of actor Matthew McConaughey.

Hey, congress, why don’t we start with trying to figure out how someone with severe mental problems could go into a gun store six days after his 18th birthday, buy two AR-15 style automatic rifles and ammo, and then two days later, go to an elementary school and shoot kids?

I’m fairly certain that’s not one of the rights our forefathers were trying to protect.

Seriously, what else is there to say?

Tim Hunter

PS I guess there are a couple of other things left to say.