Author: Tim Andersen

Ward 734
By Doctor Chip, M.D.
 
Entertainers and mimes constantly complain of the severity of the rooms they play.  Certain venues, like Veteran Stadium, they booed Santa Claus, Carnegie Hall, The Ford Theater, and the old Caesar's Palace are notorious for their crowd reactions.  Thumbs down, if you don't have what it takes to play these legendary rooms, go back to Peoria.  A room that should be elevated to this lofty status is the Kaiser E.R. in San Francisco.
 
Perhaps, some of the more informed doctors, nurses, and admin people read last months column and took umbrage with some of my comments.  My pleas of being misquoted were, much like my bed pan, largely ignored. Witty repartee echoed off these walls with a thud reminisant of a Wilt Chamberlain free throw.  As the last of the truck driving poets, these serious, non-laughing professionals were killing me.  One more night in their company and I was about to take a turn for the nurse.
 
These evil geniuses had planned for this scenario, it must have been reflective in my charts, and thwarted even these efforts.
 
First they stickered me in electrodes, I counted over thirty, and then covered me in wires.  I looked like a cross between the back of a stereo and a NASCAR racer, after the crash.  The good news was with all of that conductivity, my reception increased from four stations to 615 channels and HD radio.  I was installed with lights, buzzers, whistles, and a high pitched beep that was more sensitive than a fat girl backing up the buffet line. It became a contest of wills between modern medicine and a fast talking wag from the fifth estate.
 
Battle lines were drawn.  The oldest profession, after receiving my bill the word prostitution did come to mind, versus my right to make fun of them.  It was an epic stand off.  A dead heat between dead pan expression and unheard laughter (only a mime would understand the latter).  If it wasn't for the curious selection of what was to be passed off for food, even the most stoic medico had to laugh, I would have gone down to defeat.
 
So, if you are going to play the big room, be sure to bring your A game.  SFO has a non stop to Peoria leaving every hour.
 
Thank you for all the kind thoughts and well wishes.

I Dream of the Limited Genie
by Chip Cellars   
 
Golf can be a harsh and unforgiving game if you don't know your limitations.  It can also swing toward a mystic level understood only by  gurus and one handicappers.  Let me try to explain. Last Saturday was a typical day of smack talking and bet making at the club.  I wondered, out loud, if SteveO knew he was wearing hot pants.  He of course knew this, but was curious which leaked more oil, my golf swing of the Exxon Valdez?  The game was a foot.
 
It was a normal day, dogs at the turn, two down auto presses, discussion of the Euro, the G-8, and secret Mensa stuff only golfers know about.  There was nothing out of the ordinary, yet. It was on 18 when things got weird.  My shot was teetering on the edge of the lake when a bottle floated up to and then circled the area of my ball.  Floating bottles are not uncommon here.  One clubhouse wag speculated the bottle either dropped from Sandy's cab or more likely, fell out of one the Andersen's golf bag, dad included.
 
I fished this strangely ornate bottle from the lake and strictly for research purposes, I uncorked it. Instead of finding an exotic Bacchanalian elixir, I discovered an unshaven, unkempt, uncouth genie. I was dumbfounded. "We've had  budget cuts too, he said.  Who were you expecting Barbara Eden?"  Genies, he told me, are ranked by their abilities, appearance, and intelligence.  The better the genie, the better the assignment.  "You can think of me as your Kaiser Permanente genie, I'm only as good as your coverage."
 
"Ok, I said, how about the standard, a harem, a better golf swing and a ton of money."  "Very nice, said the genie, you have chosen the Cabo Nick Lucas package.  This was a very popular plan before STD's.  Let me check your coverage.  Well, I can only get you two women for your harem, Roseann Barr and Hillary Clinton.  Why them I protested.  You see, they are both politicians and will do almost anything for a vote.  How about the other stuff, I said.   Your plan is very limited,  you will be lucky to get the deposit back on this bottle.  The good news is that I can fix your golf swing.  As a matter of fact, the last guy I fixed golfs on television.  "A pro, I said excitedly, is it Phil, Luke Donald maybe even Jack?"  No, he said, it was Charles somebody and he used to play basketball.
 
Frustrated by the limitations I put the cork back in the bottle and sold it to SteveO.  I came away from this episode a bit more humble and a lot more grateful for what I do have.  As for SteveO, I heard he went with the 80's hairband package, complete with Spandex.  Rock on!

Saturday Night with Mr. C. 
By Mr. C.

Imagine an aged Bordeaux decanting amid the glow of the waning fire, your best gal in your arms and Mr. C. playing softly on the stereo.  This is the very reason Saturday Nights were invented.  A box of red, a stack of wax and a girl with a short memory.  It's love, it's unity, it's dark corners and opportunity.  This is the embodiment of the Chip sound.  RCA Records in conjunction with PCGC Entertainment have made the good life even better with release of Chip's latest album, "Saturday Night with Mr. C."

Mr. C. along with the soulful Madigan/Blackstock Singers, transcend style, genre and good taste.  Right from the first track, the head banging, "Godard's Pole",  to the last, the country rocker, "Big Al's Gambol", Mr. C. delivers.

It is his versatility in between that elevates Chip from the rest of the performers.  He constantly takes chances that leave the less informed  scratching their heads in wonder.  His upbeat Basiesque "Swingin with Mr. Stevens", and "I miss the Sand Bar" return listeners to a time when talent didn't really matter.  His sentimental tribute, "Moose, Bobby MConnel and Me", wouldn't  be attempted by even his most noted contemporaries.

The Bluesy "One OB, two in the lake and three fingers of Scotch", leave the listener reaching for the volume control.  Louder is better.  You will want to turn it up when Mr. C. belts into "Don't Funk with Love, Mike".  It maybe the best track he has ever laid down. Chip's edgy urban rap, "19th hole Angels" has already been covered by Fifty Cent. 

Enjoy Mr. C. and his continued commitment to the good life. All of his records , Cd's, and forty fives can be purchased at the pro shop, MusicLand  and Matthew's TV and Stereo City, Top of the Hill, Daly City.

The Single
by Poker Chip