September 30, 2012

How to carve a standing rib roast

As you probably have guessed I am working on a book.  It is going nowhere. Like most of my writing it starts off not too bad and then kind of fizzles. I have a notebook dating back more than thirty years filled with story starts (and believe it or not, Jean, a few poems of the worst variety.). My kids can throw the notebook and the printed pages of the crap I have published here away when I finally take the dirt nap.

We found ourselves in the heart of downtown Muncie last night for the Muncie Music Fest. The boy's band played a great set.  This was the best I have ever heard them play. The band was tight. A random young man standing next to me muttered after the fourth song, "Man, they are in a zone"..The band is heading to record a new album in a couple of weeks. My oldest son has the artistic talent  I wish I had. He can draw, paint and is an excellent song writer and musician. I think these abilities are often present in an ambidextrous person. Tomorrow is his 24th birthday.

Now to really confuse you, today is my son's birthday. You read that right. My oldest son will be 24 tomorrow and my youngest son is 19 today. Can you believe it? When I started this blog the little one was playing Little League and elementary school football. Now he is a freshman in college. Geez,where did the time go?

More? Are you kidding me?

It is your lucky day. You should run right out and buy a lottery ticket. I am going once again present an episode of my fictional coming of age story. Rest assured I am under no delusions about my storytelling skills. As Clint once mumbled, "a man's got to know his limitations". If you are  a glutton for punishment you can get the previous episodes here here and here.

Four

After the de-pantsing incident I was pretty down in the dumps. Back at school I was feeling sorry for myself.  Instead of sweeping my eyes ahead and behind, looking for danger I was moping around depressed.. Lack of situational awareness is a good way to suffer in the junior high jungle.

It was Ash Wednesday, so out of respect for the Catholics we were subjected to a meatless lunch. I was walking across the cafeteria oblivious to the stares and snickers of the student body. I was focused on the divided sections of my melamine lunch tray trying to decide what was more unappetizing, the congealed gray and orange mass of macaroni and cheese or the limp green beans. There was a chunk of strawberry cake with white icing that did not look too bad. 

High on her euphoria of my humiiation the previous week, Lynn Taylor decided to attack me herself. I was caught completely unaware as her foot expertly slipped in between my stride sending me stumbling across the floor, the contents of my tray flying in slow motion to hit Nancy Montgomery  in the back. My first thought was "Damn, that cake looked good". My second thought: "Oh Shit, that hit Nancy Montgomery!"

Nancy was big, ugly, and raw boned. She was the only girl in a family of uncountable boys. The Montgomery's lived in a rambling old farmhouse with a sagging porch just west of town. High grass provided camouflage for rusting cars and engines on hoists. Cats and dogs almost outnumbered the kids. The Montgomery's were mean fighters and had no qualms about taking you on in a pack.  But usually one Montgomery was enough to win any fight.

Nancy was as tough as any of her brothers and I was more than a little afraid of her. I saw her knock out John Davies the year before with one punch after he teased her about something. She just turned around and laid him out as he walked down the bus steps. Nancy usually wore her brother's hand me downs -- Converse high tops, boys jeans and a shapeless flannel shirt.

Except today. On this Ash Wednesday Nancy sported an ill-fitting and unattractive white dress and an ash mark on her forehead that pulsed with anger as she turned to stare at me. She looked over her shoulder and glared at the macaroni stuck to her backside and back at me. She slowly shifted her glare to Lynn Taylor.

"Look what you did, you Twerp" shrieked Lynn. I could only gape, mouth open. Shock and fear left me speechless.

"Nope. Look what you did" said Nancy in a low rumble, her finger pointed accusingly at my tormentor. "You did it, always pickin' on this here boy". Nancy had been in my class since second grade.  That was the most I had ever heard her speak. "Ahm tellin' you now, leave him alone. If I was you, Taylor, I'd find a place to be today besides PE You're gonna pay for ruinin' my new dress".

Twin emotions fought in my trembling frame -- humiliation in that I needed a girl to protect me and relief that same girl did not beat the shit out of me.

September 28, 2012

I wonder, wonder

Rumors of a YouTube trailer of a movie no one had ever seen set off a firestorm of protest among the perpetually pissed off Muslims in the middle east. Riots led to attacks on our Embassies.  Four Americans died.

So what will happen when a movie about the cold-blooded killing of martyr and freedom fighter Osama Bin Laden hits the mainstream later this year? Since the Obama administration gave classified info to the filmmaker and are cooperating with the project, Hillary and Obama will not be able to claim the US had nothing to do with the film.

Think Obama will lie and blame his incompetent and impotent foreign policy failures on the pesky First Amendment when the predictable riots and attacks occur? Will the Government find a way to arrest the film maker?

Friday Hippie Music



The past few weeks I have featured hippie tunes I enjoy.  This week, not so much.  In fact, I hate this damn song.

September 27, 2012

Blacktop Blues

In the last century, in the days just after the dinosaurs ceased to wander the continent and the ice retreated northward I was a young impressionable schoolboy.  In those halcyon days of the late 1960's the nation was in turmoil, protests rocked the very foundation of the political process. Hippies and flower children tuned out and turned on, and hundreds of thousands of Americans found themselves on the far side of the world fighting little brown men under rules very similar to the prevent defense used in the NFL. I roamed the halls of Samuel P. Kyger Elementary oblivious to it all.

Occasionally the teacher wheeled in the big projector and threaded an educational film to pass the afternoon. One of my favorite films was a documentary of indiscriminate age detailing a trip down legendary highway US 1 from Maine to Florida. I think the filmmakers were searching for a way to cash in on the popularity of Route 66, looking for a way to insert highways of every stripe into the fabric of the national consciousness.. Why not, in just a few short years Sports Illustrated would trace the sporting history of US 421. Good ideas never die.

Anyway, I loved that movie. I think my fondness for travel was born in the flickering 16mm images of the winding path of US 1 through the heart of the East Coast to its terminus in Key West.

This week I found myself traveling the back roads of the northernmost of the Carolinas. I traveled from south of Charlotte to Greenville, a trip from the southwest corner to the eastern portion of the state. The GPS sent me across US 74 and up US 1 towards Raleigh. Imagine my excitement to travel the famous US 1!  I have driven portions of the highway in Florida and Pennsylvania, but here I would travel through the hinterlands on the highway of my youth. Alas, the highway has altered course, it is a four lane limited access highway cutting across the rural lands of the Tarheel state..A fine drive, mind you, but not the twisting route through forgotten cities and towns I hoped for.

One of the fun parts of my job is to drive the state highways and old US routes through the country. Dying towns, roadside attractions and lonely motels mark time; a blurred and aged vision of post war travels across America. The interstates are great to get you where you are going. But the dying towns hugging the old highways speak to me in ways I cannot describe.

September 26, 2012

Today's earworm



When all else fails, be a lazy blogger and post a YouTube video.

September 25, 2012

Urgent Update

So much to say, so little desire to put metaphoric pen to paper. I am cognizant my ramblings are not that coherent or well written, but I spend more time than you imagine composing the stuff that passes for posts around here. I know, it is sad all that work produces such lackluster results. In any case, maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.

Doesn't the title to this post remind you of your local news station?*  It is all panic, all of the time. StormTeam/ScareTeam weather gives breathless updates. My God, it is RAINING!!! We must report on it. There is actual THUNDER!!!! And then there is the Breaking News!!!: A person was just killed on the near North side!! We have a reporter on the scene, let's go to ace reporter David-there-is-no-story-too-small.

David: "We just arrived on the scene.  We have no details as to the victim, and police are not saying how he died.  We don't even know how many people are involved.  We will keep you updated as more details emerge".  David is bummed he does not have a cute prop to make his story more interesting.

In a similar manner, I suggest you check back often to see if I have posted anything new.


* it certainly fits the one I watch in Indy.


September 24, 2012

Sculpting Dog Poo into a Political Work of Art

I will be so glad when this election is over. I am serious, does a politician lose all sense of self-respect when he runs for office? How can anyone honestly argue with a straight face that Romney is a liar and "cheat" when he over-payed his taxes? We can argue if the tax rate is fair and equitable going forward, but how can we castigate someone who followed the law as written today? No matter your political beliefs, we should celebrate anyone who gives a third of their income to charity.

"Gotcha" stories of political statements someone made 20 years in the past are just as stupid. As much as I made fun of Obama for his "evolving" political beliefs, we all think about issues differently as times change.  When I was 40 I laughed at the juvenile and naive political beliefs of 20 year-old me.  When I am 60 I will have different political priorities than I did at 40.

Thank goodness I do not live in a swing state where I would be subjected the political ads 24/7. The local and state-wide ads are tiresome enough.

BTW, how do you feel about the State Department using your tax dollars to buy ads in Pakistan denouncing the idiotic Mohammad movie trailer? The United States should never apologize for guaranteeing the inalienable right of free speech. That act alone should make you think twice about returning anyone in this administration to public office. Loss of the First Amendment will affect those who often vote Democrat -- actors, writers, NOW, LGBT advocates, and artists all would suffer first and most grievously under Sharia Law. Our freedoms are held most dear to all Americans, and we should protest loudly and aggressively when any President and Secretary of State offer anything less than unequivocal support for our Constitution. This issue is not about politics, it is about freedom.

September 23, 2012

A rambling post about anything but politics

It appears to be a fine Sunday morning. The sky is a brilliant blue as seen from my west facing office window. I would call it Prussian Blue if I had to choose a color from the Crayola box.  I don't think the big 64 color Crayola box contains Prussian Blue anymore, "Prussian"  likely offends someone's sense of decency and taste.  Whatever the color, the sky is brilliant this morning.

It is chilly, but not cold in the house. Hot days, cool nights marks this time of the seasons. I am drinking my coffee from a stained Cubs coffee mug. Life is good.

We went to my daughter's yesterday to help paint her living room/dining area/kitchen. My son-in-law had already done the trim work around the ceiling, so the task was not too bad.  The humidity was low, despite the rains of Friday night, and there was a stiff breeze, so the walls dried enough to get in a second coat before dinner. The room looks very nice. I am somewhat stiff this morning.  Sore is not the right word, but I am not my usual creaky self either. I can feel the muscles in my arms and back mildly protesting the work.

The whole family gathered Friday night to celebrate birthday season.  All three of my kids have birthdays within a two week period from mid-September through October 1.. I know what you are thinking, January must have been a special time around the old homestead back in the day. I say nothing in return. We had a great time. Everyone was in a fine mood.  The restaurant served a leisurely meal allowing for talk and laughter and reminiscing and good-natured teasing. I sat at the head of the table basking in the glow of family, secure in the knowledge I was picking up the hefty check.

The youngest is home for the first time since school started in mid August. It is nice to have him back in the house.  We have to take him back to college today. There is not much more on tap, a little reading, a little football perhaps. we shall see what fate puts before us.

Have a good Sunday.

September 22, 2012

Weekend Funny



On a completely unrelated note, please join me in wishing my big brother, Otter, a happy birthday today.

September 21, 2012

3761

Blogging is not easy.  Many have read the opinions and rantings and stories written by bloggers and muttered, "I could do that". You can. We all think we have something to offer to the general education, discourse and entertainment of our fellow man.  Keeping it up is the hard part. Make no mistake, I make no pretense as to quality around here. But in the blogging world I have stuck around for a while.

My six years plus is small potatoes compared to some.  I read bloggers who have been at this hobby well in excess of a decade.  I also know of many who did not make it a year. My blogroll is filled with fine folks who have found other outlets or hobbies . The list of former daily reads who have moved on is massive. Throwing yourself out there on an almost daily basis is difficult.  It takes discipline. It takes a bit of creativity. This is post number 3,761. I also have more than 100 in draft status I did not bother to publish for various reasons. Some posts I have written were a waste of time for you to read and me to create. Lots of my posts fall into that category. I am proud of some of my musings. Still, I have no illusions. There is no interwebz version of the Pulitzer in my future. On the other hand, you are reading my words at this moment. Isn't that the point of the entire exercise?

I was cruising through my blogroll and noticed there are so many blogs who have not posted for a long time. Some of my favorites are gone forever.  I am not casting aspersions, nor castigating anyone. It is a damn hobby. Life intrudes. Facetwit has sucked the life from the blogoshere. My daily hits are half of what they were a few years ago. That's OK.  I never sought to become famous anyway.

There is no point to be made here. You could argue this post is a microcosm of the blog itself. It is mere keyboard ditherings for my entertainment.  That you bother to read is just a cherry on my life's sundae.

Introspection is boring. It is Friday. What say we knock of early for the weekend?

Friday Hippie Music




Another of my favorites  Happy Friday

September 19, 2012

Any excuse

There was a story on the radio news this morning claiming adult obesity will hit above 50%.  I don't doubt it. The nanny-staters interviewed in the story claimed it was because there are not enough "healthy options". I call bullshit.  Even in my crappy town the grocery is filled with fresh produce and aisles of healthy products.

Federal do-gooders insisted years ago we put nutrition information on every food product sold in the grocery.  People still buy Twinkies and Mountain Dew. Putting the caloric information on a Big Mac will not make it less tasty. I am willing to bet my next paycheck if we were to put out a display of Ding Dongs and carrots, 99 out of 100 people, skinny and obese alike, will identify the carrots as thee healthier snack.

We know what is good for us. We just don't want to do it. 

Back in the 1920's cigarettes were called "coffin nails", people knew smoking was bad for you. Even putting warning labels on packs and cartons back in the 1970's stopped few from lighting up a Marlboro. Smoking is down because it has become remarkably inconvenient and the cost has sky rocketed. People are going to do what they want.

Prohibition did not stop the booze from flowing and banning Big Gulps will not force anyone to lay off the soda. Liberals the nation over rally to the cry of "stay out of my vagina!". I say "the man" should stay out of my belly.

Trimming Goat Hooves

The calender says it is still the waning days of summer, but there is a distinctive feel of fall in the air around the Hoosierland.  Temperatures dipped in to the upper 30's last night. The wife was cold, so apparently that means I wanted a blanket thrown over me as well. That is how stuff works around here. I woke up sweating in the predawn  and kicked the blanket off.

Companies across America are heading into the busy season.  No, not the upcoming Holidays, but rather business planning time. Employees at every level are gazing intently at their crystal balls to see what the distant and not so distant future brings. If only we knew what Congress will do about the massive tax increase facing the Nation in a few short months.

I sat through some discussions on the economy last week, including a presentation from a former Fed official. One thing is clear, the coming tax increases will destroy the fragile underpinnings of the economy and likely will push us back into a recession, deeper than the last one.

My life these next few weeks will be visiting customer to see if they have Cassandra-like future reading skills and subsequent number crunching to appease the bosses above me.

And I need to mow the lawn.

September 18, 2012

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Lucky you. I was supposed to be working my way to the west suburbs of the Windy City this rainy, gloomy morning. But the customer had better stuff to do and cancelled our previous arrangement.  Such is life.  Instead of cursing the Tri-State Tollway traffic, you get a dose of my amateurish punditry.

Romney is an idiot. He commented in a recent fundraiser that he does not expect those who live off the sweat of others in this nation will likely not vote for him. He said the 47% who get public dole will not vote for anyone who wants to reduce their largess. People do not like to be exposed to the blatant truth about their lives.

Those of us who live in 'flyover country' who go to church and keep guns in their house did not like it when Obama said we "cling to our guns and religion".  Sorry to break it to you, but those who make up the red state voting block in the hinterlands do cling to their guns and religion.

By the same token, those who take welfare in its various forms are not going to vote for a guy who wants to take some of that away. As a kid which grandma did you like better, the one who gave you gum and pie and candy or the one who wanted you to com over and mow the lawn?

I don't like my shortcomings pointed out to me. You don't either. More people are on food stamps than ever. More Americans are on disability than ever. Almost half of Americans pay NO federal income tax. Those are facts. A majority of those people are not going to vote for Romney. He is being skewered by the left for telling the truth. Those people are not going to vote for Romney. Why are we outraged by the truth?

Romney should just double down. reiterate his comments in a "Father Knows Best" tone. Explain the concept behind his remarks further. Tell the 47%ers that he knows they don't want to hear what he says. Tell them how he is going to help them earn their own way, how he is going to float every ship in the harbor as the tide rises. Explain how the Obama Economy is what is preventing them from living a better life. Explain the unsustainability of the Democrat spend, spend, spend agenda. Most will not listen, a few might.

Romney won't.  His pollsters on staff will do the typical GOP run and hide act.Those in charge of the GOP are a spineless bunch. These comments will become a liability instead.

That's what she said

I had another post all ready to go live this morning. The hell with it.

Read this instead.

I have nothing to add, no pretense I could say it better.

September 17, 2012

Ignorance on parade

Anonymous Anonymous said...
To bad you couldn't get an illustrator to do a portrait of Mohammed eating those ribs. That would have show them or maybe gotten a marine or two killed in a backlash.
This quote is from a comment to my smart-assed post below.

I lack the vocabulary to adequately express my scorn for this Anon E. Mouse's sentiment. I suppose this Mouse would teach his/her kids to just cough up their lunch money to the school bully. No lunch is better than the alternative, I guess.

This comment exhibits a startling ignorance of history and human nature.  I advise the commenter to spend a few hours at the local public library looking up 'appeasement' in the history section.  Hell, even a few minutes in Wikipedia will help.  Here,  I'll do half of the work for you. This bit of research will be like throwing a shovel of dirt into the Grand Canyon when it comes to filling in the gaps in your intellect, Dear Commenter, but we have to start your education somewhere.

Oh, and if my response upsets you, just send me five bucks and I won't make fun of you anymore.

September 16, 2012

Islamic rage

I am starting to think everything pisses off the Muslim World.

Here is my contribution:
http://www.bronxgrill.com/menu/ribs/

How about this one:?

Rage away Islamist asshole. Look, he is GOD, if he is offended he has the Power to mete out punishment ot us puny humans. He doesn't need your help.

It is time we quit making excuses for these terrorists. They have one goal -- you and I must convert or die.  It really is that simple.


UPDATE:

Here is something  that should leave every American, regardless of political stripe, outraged. This was no routine police matter. He embarrased The Obama and will pay the price. Remember how the President expressed wishes for a civilian force equal in power to the military?

September 14, 2012

It's my body I can do what I want to

That post title is pretty much the liberal mantra these days.  The just-ended Democratic Party Convention was a paean to abortion. "Stay out of my twat" is the way a commenter at another site summarized her position.

I find it amazing that the progressive/liberal/Democrat types are very concerned about individual body rights as long as it involves abortion, but are not too interested in body rights otherwise.  The Liberals see no issues with sex without consequences, but are very concerned about the consequences of everyone else's vices and whims. After all, when you have an abortion it is just another human that pays the price.  If you drink big ole' cups of Coke, you must be stopped.

Do you want your french fries fried up in a big tub of melted beef lard, the way God intended?  Nope, we know what is best, say the progressives. Do you smoke cigarettes -- not in our city.  Perhaps your vice is a fine hand rolled cigar? You must be regulated, despite the fact there is no study linking cigar smoking to lung cancer, the FDA wants to regulate the product just like cigarettes.  In fact a recent European study concluded cigar smokers have a lower incidence of cancer than non-smokers! I bet you did not read about that one in the biased media did you? Put on your seat belt, buy the kind of car we think is best, by gosh, keeping score in junior league soccer is just plain evil! Welcome to the do as I say, not as I do Nanny State.
 
So really, the Democrats are the party of tolerance, as long as what you want meets with their approval. Muslims go ape-shit and destroy stuff and kill people and we should appreciate and respect their religion claim the leftists. Yet, the owner of Chick-fil-A happens to disagree with same-sex marriage and he should be run out of business.

I would like to say the hypocrisy leaves me stunned and speechless. Unfortunately, I am not surprised at all. The "we are all equal" socialist believers the world over have this attitude. The power brokers dictate to the masses while they live in exclusive homes, have well-stocked private stores and get special lanes for their own use on the highways.

Friday Hippie Music



In retrospect I might have been a less-than-perfect parent. It was generally my job to give the toddlers their bath. Like many parents, I sang along with my kids while they played and soaped and washed.. 

Quick fact interlude: It is a proven scientific fact that everyone sings like a trained profession in the bathroom.  Do not doubt me on this science stuff -- I am a liberal arts graduate. I do not understand why most recording studios do not feature a shower for voice recording.

Anyway, instead of proper kiddie songs like itsy-bitsy spider or Baby Beluga (eat me Raffi) I sang classic rock songs to my impressionable children. My youngest knew the words to this song and could sing it perfectly by the time he was three. He still calls it the bath song.


September 13, 2012

The proper response is

..."The United States will view any attack on our Embassies as an attack upon the United States itself and we will respond accordingly, including the use of deadly force."

Nothing more needs be said, especially an apology to the ignorant masses that we should not be responsible for the acts of a single individual. We owe no explanations of individual liberty to anyone.

I'm going to watch The Wind and the Lion to get a refresher on how a real President would respond to this kind of nonsense.*

update.  This pinhead is actually teaching your children! Perhaps she should spend a few minutes actually reading the Constitution. Does she not understand she is on the wrong side of freedom here?


* even if the Marine charge is fictional.

I wish you were here (instead of me)

Alas, no Tanto is at hand.  Only lack of tools keeps me from ritual Seppuku. That is how bored I am. Meetings drone on and on and on and on and on...

I have stabbed myself in the arm with my pen, just to stir my slowing beating heart. My brain is so catatonic I have to remind myself to breathe.

The presenter's soporific mutterings leave me daydreaming of beating him senseless with an aluminum alloy Louisville Slugger. A video of the proceedings would turn any jury in my favor, providing they could stay awake long enough to reach a verdict.

The heat in the room is unbearable. I wish I was hungover.  At least then I could vomit all over the table and have an excuse to leave the room.

Is it tempting fate to hope for a mild cardiac infarction?

Dear NSA

207 11 61 155 34   14 35 22 21 211   81 52 251 861 41  42 13 37 321 63  31 43 16 23 38

September 12, 2012

Today's Earworm




Learn something today

The heck with Susan B Anthony or Gloria Steinem or the Seneca Falls Convention, the women of this country should be praising Mary Phelps Jacob.

September 11, 2012

Who are you?

Apologies to the Who. Sometimes  I amuse myself to no end on other people's blogs. Apologies to you too. I wrote some of these thoughts at Rita's blog on a post lamenting faux web personalities.  I hate to break it to you, but the personality on display around here is a caricature of the real me.  In the non-cyber world I am much better looking, brighter and far, far more articulate. In real life I am a bit less tenacious, pugnacious and sarcastically combative. OK, that last sentence is a lie.  I am every bit of those things, I am just a bit more judicious in their employ around the genpop. My sense of humor isn't for everyone. Although it should be. But none of this answers the true riddle of the average Joe that strives to entertain you on a near-daily basis around these parts. Since no one who actually knows me (except occasional visits from my dear brother) reads this bit o'crap, you have to take my word for it --.I am the ultimate WYSIWYG.

I am not real. I am the dreams, nightmares, and fantasies that swirl in your brain late at night. I am the right wing whiteboard that helps you organize your thoughts. I am the thunder in the distance, the flash of a summer lightening bug. I am the warm blanket you pull up to your chin, the rich velvety hot fudge on your ice cream. I am the spark shooting into the summer sky from a pine log fire, the soft snowflake melting on your eyelash. I stretch like taffy, compress like rubber and am strong as tempered steel. I am an exceptional man, an average Joe. I make up the top ten percent of the median. I am an enigma, a question mark, the guy next door. I am a Boy Scout, a reprobate, the penultimate environmentalist litterbug. I am a staunch meat eating vegan. Women want me, men want to be me. I am the shyest exhibitionist you have never seen. I am legend in my mind, yet when you see me on the street you exclaim "I know that guy!". I coached your kids, mentored your kid brother and fed your Mom false information. I have been described as the north end of bi-polar disorder. I troll the interwebz from the non-existent basement of my two story ranch located deep in the heart of the inner-city suburbs.I am a progressive right-winger, dispensing political truth in measured doses. Your only required prescription is an open mind. Indeed, despite older claims to the contrary, I am the walrus. I am a blogger, make of me what you will.

Who are you?

Fact

If you need to be reminded of the significance of this day you probably should spend your time reading other blogs.

September 10, 2012

Yep


What a fabulously confident and ingenuous-seeming political narcissist Ms. Fluke is. She really does think—and her party apparently thinks—that in a spending crisis with trillions in debt and many in need, in a nation in existential doubt as to its standing and purpose, in a time when parents struggle to buy the good sneakers for the kids so they're not embarrassed at school . . . that in that nation the great issue of the day, and the appropriate focus of our concern, is making other people pay for her birth-control pills. That's not a stand, it's a non sequitur. She is not, as Rush Limbaugh oafishly, bullyingly said, a slut. She is a ninny, a narcissist and a fool.
And she was one of the great faces of the party in Charlotte. That is extreme. Childish, too.  source

NFL Thought of the day

Do you think at some point, say around 11:00 Eastern last night, that Jim Irsay, owner of the Indianapolis Colts, watched Payton Manning and the Denver Broncos and muttered, "Holy Crap, what have I done?"

Dear Democratic Party

When the most popular politician in your party (and your best speaker at your convention) is a demonstrated liar and perjurer, it says quite a bit about you, doesn't it?

September 9, 2012

Well, that was different

If you have read at this poor excuse for a blog for any length of time you know I dig movies. New, old, I don't care.  As we do frequently, the wife and I went to the theater last night to get our dosage of life escape, Hollywood style.

We saw a black comedy called Killer Joe. This is a black comedy of the blackest sort. We are talking Harold and Maude level black comedy. On steroids. Here is an example from one of the opening scenes:

Chris, played by Emile Hirsch is pounding on the windows and doors of a double wide in a driving rainstorm. Finally, his step-mom, Sharla (Gina Gershon) opens the door. She is wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. Her naked girl parts are staring Chris in the face.

Chris: Jesus, Sharla, put on some pants.
Sharla: I didn't know who it was at the door*

Mathew McConaughey (Joe) demonstrates some very real acting ability in this film and Juno Temple is simply outstanding as Dottie.

I tend to prefer light comedies, and there is no doubt Killer Joe is heavy dark stuff. Strange, violent, sad, humor is the best description I can offer.  As the film ended and the lights came up, much of the audience was still in their seats. One lady a few rows away summed up the movie experience perfectly, "Well, that was different".

*I tried without success to get the wife to re-enact that scene when we got home. 

Weekend Funny


September 8, 2012

Hater

I am a live and let live kind of guy. I am a small "L" libertarian., a conservative through and through.

But there is one group of people I really, really, dislike, and my distaste almost borders on hate. Who are these degenerates, these barbarians in the world of Joe (a place we all agree would be a fine place to live)?  I have no use for brown-nosers, suck-ups, teacher's pet types. At one blog I frequent there is a commenter that is so over the top in her fawning boot-licking that it is nauseating. The ass kissing is so blatant it comes across as a sixth grade crush. It makes me want to puke up my Capt'n Crunch.

I hated those ass kisser suck up types when I was a kid, and my tolerance is nil these days.

I have equal disdain for the fawning news media. I have little doubt my failure to achieve the highest levels of success can be directly traced to my refusal to brown-nose my way to the top. I can live with that.  At least I can look in the mirror each morning without shame.

September 7, 2012

NIAFPHFPPW


 Fruit Pizza.   Sugar cookie crust, cream cheese mixture "sauce" various fruits and an orange glaze.

My photography skilz suck.

For my man Yabu and the always amusing Laura.

No "There" in that speech.

President Hope n Change delivered a great speech last night -- if you are into platitudes. The speech was filled with slogans and inspiration and a bit bereft of substance. Clint Eastwood's metaphor of an empty chair was apt, but a little off, last week.  An empty suit would have been more appropriate

I am certain The Obama stirred up and encouraged those voters who were going to vote for him anyway.

Much like Romney's tepid effort a week ago, I am not sure he swayed any undecideds.

But then if you are still undecided at this point I have serious doubts about your capacity to process and evaluate choices. No doubt you carry instructions penned in ink on the back of your hand reminding you to breathe.

Friday Hippie Music




September 6, 2012

Truth at the Democratic Party Convention


I was wrong. Example 11.



Why Joe, there are no socialists in the Democratic Party. You have no idea what you are talking about.

Example 1,114 of a demonstrable need for sarcasm font.


h/t Hot Air

Coincidence

Over the course of his various campaigns, weird stuff happens to Barack Obama's opponents. A couple of times sealed court records and divorce records have mysteriously become public knowledge. In both cases it turned public opinion and Obama won the election.

After Candidate Obama was embarrassed by accidentally offering a candid view of his economic policies by Joe the Plumber in 2008, Joe's private records mysteriously were released to the press.

Rumors of an illicit affair (is there any other kind?) surfaced about John McCain in 2008.

This morning we are greeted to news that hackers/intruders reportedly have copies of Romney's past tax returns. The Republican candidate has offered the most recent year or two of returns, and his refusal to offer more remains a bone of contention for the Democrats.

I am certain President Obama is not responsible, but weird stuff often happens to his opponents. 

September 5, 2012

Why do you do it, Joe?

Damnit, damnit, damnit.  I promised myself...

Say it ain't so

I am at a loss for words.

Those stinking, racist, evil Democrats are doing all they can to suppress support at their convention.

I cannot believe they demand photo ID to enter the convention floor.

STOP THE HATE!

Plus, is there no Democrat that sees the irony of celebrating Ted Kennedy at the Convention dedicated to stopping the war on women?

Seriously?  That is like hosting a seminar on child molestation at the Penn State football locker room and celebrating Jerry Sandusky.

IS THERE NO SHAME?    What the fuck is wrong with you people?

September 4, 2012

Now Hope and Change just means more of the same

The Democratic Party Convention kicks off today. Watch for the secret racist code words that will be sprinkled throughout the speechifyin' like "Golf" and "Chicago" and "Welfare".

Last week we heard about stupid shit issues that face our nation like unemployment, debt, gas prices, the housing market, and defense. Now we will discuss stuff that is really important like getting free contraception for 30-year old college students, abortion and more windmills and electric cars.

I will spoil the fun and give you a musical version of The Obama's speech scheduled for Thursday:



Tax the rich, Feed the poor. Spend, spend, spend till daddy takes the credit card away.

Movin' on here, Boss

I have more installments of my coming of age story that leaped into my brain while I was getting in windshield time last week.

I think I will spare you. I can be mean, but I am not into torture.

I like writing fiction, but the blogging format does not work too well for short stories.

That is OK, I am sure most of you took a look at the posts and gave a silent TLDR anyway.

September 3, 2012

More suckage

Three

You never know what the weather will be in late March in Indiana. Spring Break of my eighth grade year was unseasonably warm. Track was starting up after break and I wanted to keep in shape.  I went for a daily two mile run. I hoped to compete in both the mile and 880 that year. Skip Gearhart was still going to be better than me, but maybe I could place in a few meets.

I had finished my run and decided to reward myself with a Wayne Bun candy bar.  The maple flavored one was my favorite. I walked the few blocks to the drug store, still in my basketball shorts and pit-stained T-shirt. 

Hook's Drugs shared a building with the Shop-Rite supermarket. There was a hollow entryway shared by both businesses, Hook's to the left, the grocery to the right. I was already unwrapping my candy bar as I exited the electric doors of Hook's. Dave Lefedge was leaning against the wall. Dave was a sophomore. Already more than six feet tall, he had seen some varsity playing time and was marked by the locals as the next great forward for the high school basketball team.  Dave was wearing very wide bell bottoms, scuffed and dirty where the hem dragged the ground. He had on a a tie-died shirt that looked way cool. A faint wisp of a mustache graced his upper lip.

"Howsitgoing, man?" he intoned in my direction.

"Hey, man" I replied. I had known Dave my whole life.  He lived on the street behind ours in the subdivision. In his younger days Dave had often played in the giant whiffle ball games we held in our backyard. I still remembered when Dave had administered a legendary ass whipping to Pecker Dupree at the bus sop back when they were both in the fifth grade. "You runnin' track this year?" he asked.

Trying to sound cool, nonchalant, and bored I gave a brief nod and told him "I suppose. There nothin' else to do around here".

"Heard that, man."  He suddenly smiled and the hair on the back of my neck tingled. In a swift instant I felt someone come up behind me,  I smelt a faint whiff of Love's Baby Soft and felt  hands around my waist. Lynn Taylor's melodious voice hissed  "Pussy!" in my right ear as she yanked my shorts, jockstrap and all, down to my knees.

The chunky woman pushing her cart from the grocery stopped dead in her tracks and laughed.  Lynn shouted with glee. "You have a tiny dong!". I think she even pointed.

The day had started so well. Now I just wished I could find a hole and crawl in it and die. I fell to the ground trying to pull up my shorts. I rolled in my uneaten candy bar, smashing it all over my back.  It is funny how I can remember that detail. I was squirming like a salted slug, wiggling up my shorts, frantically squeezing my eyes to halt the tears of shame.

If life had a soundtrack, mine would be nothing but peals of laughter at that moment.

It was my 13th birthday.

All you gotta do is ask




September 2, 2012

And the beat goes on

TWO

Yesterday's me looks back on eighth grade me and sneers, "What a nerd". Today's me bops yesterday's me in the head. I point out that in eighth grade me's time there was no such term as "nerd".  Hell, even pocket calculators were very expensive novelties.

It is true I became a tongue-tied red faced mumbling moron if a female even looked in my direction. It is possible I failed to answer a direct question from a girl out loud for a number of years. I am sure every response to Lynn Taylor and her gang of tormentors was a mumbled, stuttering squeak. 

I was not completely a social pariah. I got along fine with the guys of my age. I wasn't a jock, but despite my diminutive physique i was not the last guy picked for dodge ball in phys-ed either. In a race I was usually a middle-of-the-packer. I had been a decent Little Leaguer and rarely backed down from a challenge. I ran track and wrestled. It was equally true I sucked beyond all reason at basketball. I would never be cool.

I got along fine with what we called the 'hoods' too. Those were the tough talking, fighting types who hung out down by the bridge smoking cigarettes before and after school. I was on a nodding acquaintance with most of those guys, and rarely was I singled out for bullying.

I suppose I was viewed as a complete nobody, a sorta-smart fellow who would let a guy copy last night's homework in a pinch. I am certain for every social strata of the school I was not thought of highly or poorly.  Mostly I was not thought of at all  .I bet that was true even for the teachers and coaches. I was Jack, the Average Joe.

Lynn Taylor did think about me.  She must have spent nights thinking up ways to make my face turn its trademark tomato red in her presence. She would walk down the hall until she was opposite me, move in close and then drop her books with a crash. As notebooks and textbooks skittered across the crowded hallway between classes she would shout red-faced with anger "Jack, why did you knock the books from my hands?  What is wrong with you?" I would mutter and stammer an unheard defense while crawling to pick up her stuff. "Do not put your creepy paws on my things" she would scream. As she bent down to get her books she would snicker in my ear and whisper that I was a big pussy.

Dani North was the second or third best looking girl in school. She was completely a toady.  Dani was Lynn's minion and best friend. It was in February when Dani started waiting on me to get in the lunch line, moving behind me. Dani would wait until I had a full tray and then would sweep my feet with her leg at just the right time to trip me flat on my face. Even if I kept a precarious balance the tray inevitably fell to the floor, leaving me the center of attention and the laughing stock of the lunch room. I tried to look out for her, but she managed to hide from me every time right up until inevitable trip. She did this about once a week. Lynn and her gang of Harpies even took to shouting "Have a nice fall" when Dani executed her signature move. That drew even more laughter.

As the cold days and weeks of that winter clattered by in a succession of spilled trays,  I counted the days until spring break and relief from the torment. Lynn Taylor looked at Spring Break as a whole week of school-free days to badger me.

September 1, 2012

A Fictional Memoir

Chapter One

Lynn Taylor was a bitch. Shy, backward, socially inept, remarkably insecure eighth-grade me did not know that is what she was, I just thought she was mean and cruel.  I was madly in love with her. I thought she did not know it.  She really was aware I followed her every move with puppy dog devoted eyes, girls are aware at a much younger age than boys. She just did not care. She found it amusing and probably pathetic.

I first realized I could not live another day without kissing Lynn when I was in the fifth grade. I woke one day and girls were no longer just classmates with long hair and dresses. I stared at her picture on my bulletin board every morning and every night, often sighing my abiding love. She ignored me. When she wasn't teasing or humiliating me.

By the time we reached Junior High my crush was unbearable. Lynn  deigned to go steady with only the popular boys -- the jocks, which in small town Indiana in the early 1970's meant basketball players. Oh, some of us competed in other sports, but we were just playing at games of no consequence. Basketball was King. Moreover, each of those boys always had perfect hair, parted in the middle and feathered down the sides. Me, my thick wavy hair would barely take a comb. A part was a fanciful dream. 

Many a day I stood in front of the mirror, depressed over my hair, my lack of height, the deficiency of muscles. I did push ups and sit ups by the dozens, but always I looked just like the skinny guy in the ad on the back cover of Mad Magazine who got sand kicked in his face. I wasn't the proverbial 90 pound weakling. I would have had to gain about 15 pounds to get there.

Some days I would tell myself she was mean to me because she liked me. Just because I was socially inept did not mean I was not able to rationalize. Then I would consider that not once had Lynn had her friend Dani to tell my buddy Jeff that she liked me. I would get all depressed until I further rationalized that I had not told Jeff  I liked Lynn! Maybe she did secretly love me! There was hope! Why did Junior High relationships have to be so complicated? Couldn't she see me riding my bike past her house?

Lynn would catch me at my locker and tell me what a great time she had at the eighth grade and sometimes high school parties she attended.  Of course I had not been invited. She told me about making out with her boyfriend of the week, which was never me. She gave me a flirty "Too bad you missed it", and then she always flipped back her Farrah Fawcett cut blond hair, laughed a cruel laugh and slipped on down the hall. That was the Monday routine.  The rest of the week went downhill from there.

One morning before first period English, I remember it as a few weeks before Halloween, Lynn walked up to Nancy Tompkins and announced so all could hear "Nancy, did you know that little pervert", pointing at me, "stares at your boobs all day?"  I thought I would die. Not because it wasn't true, Nancy sat one row over and one seat up and I had a perfect view of the swell of her 13 year-old breasts when she leaned forward to write on her desk, but what boy wants their perversions shared with the whole class?

I decided In that moment Lynn Taylor was no longer worthy of my love.

That really pissed her off.


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