Seriously?

Kids keep getting boozed at America's chain restaurants:

-A 15 month old got a Margarita at an Applebees.

-A 2 year old got Sangria at an Olive Garden.

-A 4 year old got a "Mudslide" at a Chili's.

What up?

I'll tell you what. No one knows how to drink properly anymore.

What ever happened to a nice shot of whiskey? A stiff martini? A Scotch on the rocks? There's no way to accidentally serve a toddler one of those.

Not only is the way we drink messing with our kids, it's disrespectful.

Do you think that after our forefathers went to all the trouble of forging a new nation, they got together at an Outback for Daiquiris? I don't think so.

It was Cognac by the fire and you know it.

They knew how to drink like men. And so should we. (Yes, even if we're women. Wha.)

But the way most Americans drink is way more Ghetto than Gettysburg. (And I don't mean ghetto in the Elvis song kind of way, I mean it in the low-classy-pain-in-the-assy way - which has nothing to do with geography, race or economics.)

It's more like Britney Spears, barreling out of a Starbucks, weave exposed, last night's makeup smeared down to her filthy blouse and a sundae (disguised as coffee) in her busted-manicured hand.

That's not coffee! And where are your kids?

Probably at a Red Lobster sucking down Pina Coladas.

Oi.

Come on, America, class it up. Steer clear of the chains, make dinner at home, crack open a lovely bottle of wine and model for your kids how to drink (and eat) like civilized people.

It's safer, healthier and would make our founding fathers proud...and as Franklin might say, "If you don't have to make a trip to the ER after dinner, it will save you some Benjamins."

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

I love the Sports section?

Okay so lately I've been noticing that the first section I select from the morning paper is...

The Sports section! 

I know. It's crazy. I'm all girl.(I checked.) There is nothing down there that is undescended or scratch-worthy, and certainly nothing that could get me into trouble if I were alone in a movie theater. Honest to Pete. (Or Peter).

So what gives? 

I'll tell you what. It's the mom in me. The protector. The one whose radar goes off when someone gets hurt, then wants to rush in, fix the boo-boo and hand over a cookie. (Gluten free, of course.) 

When I pick up the sports section, I'm not looking for scores or standings or information that will help me choose a fantasy roster. I'm wondering things like:

How is that new Twins second baseman doing?(Yeah, I know the Twins have a new second baseman.) But I didn't until he broke his femur. Now I know exactly who he is, what he looks like, and that he is the most upstanding gentleman in pro sports. (He apologized to his coach for breaking his leg!) If I had his mom's address, I'd send her a note. I even call him 'Elvis' because of his hair. I have a nickname for the Twins second baseman!

Say what now?

I also want to get to the bottom of Joe Mauer's infection. Are we sure that's what we're dealing with? (Notice how "we" includes me?) Did we leave no stone unturned? Has he been exposed to any freaky allergens on those grody airplanes he's always flying on? What is his medical history? Does he know a naturopathic doctor? I do. And I want him to see her. I'm not kidding. This stuff nags at me!

And don't even get me started on Percy Harvin. I know why he has migraines, and if he would just come and stay with mama (me) for a couple of months - it's maternal, so back off - I could fix him right up. I don't want him taking all those unhealthy meds that are just going to cause more problems, hide the clues to the real problems and make the poor dear sicker. As far as I know, he is still suffering with those awful headaches and it makes me crazy. I mean it really bothers me. I can't tell you much about his game, or his background or even his position...Receiver? But I know he gets owies on his wittle head and I want to help.

So, I guess what I really love isn't so much the Sports section, as the people in the Sports section who need their mommy. Their self-anointed, non-birth, health-obsessed mommy.

Maybe you think that's weird?

Maybe you should take some vitamin D, eat leafy greens and get more sleep?

Mommy's gonna go read the paper.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Who's the prettiest president?

Oh yeah. I know what's important. And I also know what wins. The "it factor". Even when it comes to the president.

It's no secret we've become a nation of celebrity worshipers, even when we create the celebrities ourselves.  (Hi, Snookie, Hi, all boy bands, Hi, Jerry Seinfeld's wife's cookbook.)

What up?

Maybe our over-sharing, hyper-stimulated, instant-gratification-addicted society has caused us to burn through all the people with actual talent and left us wanting more. And like a bunch of sad Giapettos, we are trying to turn Pinnochios into real boys left and right.

Regardless of his credentials, that goes for our Commander-In-Chief too.

These days, it's not enough for the leader of the free world to be strong, skilled, brave and level headed. He needs a little something extra. Like Certs...with Retsin.

Gimmicks rule. Especially during elections.

Some evidence:

In 1992 Bill Clinton, a guy no one really knew, put down his one-hitter, picked up his "ax" and showed the country what was really important in a president by playing an Elvis song on his sex-a-phone on Arsenio Hall. Even in my twenties, I was thinking,  "There's a talent portion to this program? What the hell is he doing?" Duh. Winning. The country swooned...even the guys. (Yes you did.) Then he acted like a frat boy and was impeached.

Next.

George Dub-ya.

Awwww, who's a wittle pwesident? Do you wanna be a politician when you grow up or a cowboy, Georgie? Both? Oh, you're so ambitious! Okay. Here's a ten gallon hat and a grudge. Giddyup!

Is it any wonder that the golden child was always one press-conference-question away from covering his ears and yelling, "Stop talking to me you poopy heads. I can't hear you!" No problem.

Next.

Oprah's pick for president. Barack Obamaaaaaaaaaaaaah. (Please read like Mya Rudolph playing Oprah on SNL or like Oprah.)

An Oprah endorsement? Instant "it factor". And it doesn't hurt that the endorsee is the face of America's melting pot, and that most women throw their panties at the TV every time he's on. (What? He's dreamy.)

Next.

Next? Why, what could be next? 

Doesn't the incumbent have a lock on 2012?

Well, I don't know. Has he learned to yodel the Star Spangled Banner or grow little Uncle Sam shaped potatoes in his organic garden? 

(SEXY MUSIC REVS UP)

Hey, do you hear that? Isn't that the stripper music from Gilligan's Island that plays every time Ginger shows up? It is! But that isn't Tina Louise, it's, it's....

Sarah Palin AND Michelle Bachman!!!!

Ohhhhhhhh, they're so pretty.

AVERT YOUR EYES!

But they're pretty. How can that be bad? They probably smell good too.

RUN AWAY!

But they're MILF's, GILFS, even, in power suits, and one of them wears glasses so she must be smart.

IT'S A MIRAGE. THEY'LL EAT YOUR FACE OFF!

Don't be silly. The short one has Angela Basset arms. She's strong AND pretty. I can't decide which one I like best. I pick both.

YOU CANT DO THAT!

We make exceptions for pretty people. Co-presidents seems nice and inclusive and all fairsey squarsey. 

BUT THEY DON'T EVEN LIKE THAT IDEA. LOOK THEY'RE WRESTLING!

Mud wrestling. Wow. That's hot. Heeey, maybe that should be their campaign slogan... delivered by Paris Hilton...and we could combine their names like Brangelina! 

Squee! Let's try it. 

Paris, take one:

PARIS: "Pal-man, that's hot."
SOME OFFICIAL SOUNDING DUDE: Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman. The hot ticket.
  
(GRUNGE VERSION OF HAIL TO THE CHIEF)

And scene.

Think it can't happen? Maybe we should ask Jesse Ventura. If we can turn The Jersey Shore off long enough to send him a tweet.

The preceding in no way represents my political leanings because I don't have any. As my friend Steph says, I'm a walking contradiction. Don't let my composting OR my God loving inform your opinion of where I stand politically. I don't stand anywhere. I mostly just run around playing tag.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc