I got nothin'. The tank is empty. Time to recharge the batteries.
The kids are on spring break next week, and I am going to take a break from blogging at the same time. I plan on drinking beer, smoking cigars, playing catch with my boy. Maybe I will get laid.
Some time off will hopefully stir the creative juices and I will be back better than ever, ready to entertain you. Or not. The best thing for you to do is click here repeatedly. And do not forget links: give me bunches of links.
See you in a week or so.
March 30, 2007
March 29, 2007
Answers to my faithful readers
Mrs. JG asks "How can I keep my children & Mr Jose from driving me insane?"
Dear Mrs JG. You ask one of the eternal questions. You might as well ask me why is there air, what is the meaning of life, or why are turds tapered? Are there holes in your underwear? Of course, else where do you put your legs? Anyhoo, this is in the realm of HB. Like the Great Wizard of Oz, I have the answers. To keep Jose happy I suggest copious amounts of sex and beer. That great 20th Century philosopher Jeff Foxworthy summed up men's needs nicely -- 'Men want to see something nekid and have a beer.' The kids will quit driving you crazy in 15-20 years maximum. If you cannot wait, I suggest you play subliminal messages while they are sleeping encouraging them to join a traveling amusement show. A year or two spent as a carnie will give them the appreciation for you that may be missing at this time. As a side benefit the young ones will learn the secret of deep fried Twinkies and Snicker bars.
Imp asks "How do I track down that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag, put a whoopin on his cowardly ass and get away with it? "
There are dozens of people trying to identify this asshat. I would like to suggest that there is not a court in the land that would convict you if you gave the guy the beating he deserves, but there are still Clinton and Carter appointees on the bench. I feel a little 'free speech' that involves setting the person in question on fire and then shitting on him would be in order.
Ralph asks "If I came walking up up to your front door, smelling like a bum sitting in a trashcan covered in booze and trash for day, saying my car broke down up the road , could I use your phone, but first I have to take a humongous crap, so could I use the bathroom first - would you let me in?"
No, but I would have a beer or three with you. Everyone knows those kind of special shits are best saved for a Burger King restroom.
Big Dick enquires "If you could write a novel, what would it be about?"
Well Dick, the novel in question is written in my mind, at least partially. A few chapters are finished, the balance outlined. It is the story of a young man in the early 1980's who travels the country tracing Kerouac's On the Road. He meets a variety of off the wall characters on the way. Oh, and he beats the shit out of a mime, so it cannot be all bad. The novel is supposed to be funny. My lack of skill and talent makes the work so far just pathetic. I like writing scenes, descriptions and action. I am not good at dialogue. I may publish the first chapter here again (it is in the archives somewhere). I also began a spy-type thriller where a hired assassin tries to kill the Vice President. I published the beginning of that one several weeks ago.
Cappy (hello and welcome, cappy) wants to know "What pain and torture would you propose for that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag in Oregon recently?
Also, what is your favorite drink?"
Well, see above. In addition I would like to beat his feet with a baseball bat. What I would really like to do is take these over privileged jerkoffs to Russia, to the former Soviet Republics to interview and discuss life under a socialist government with people who lived the nightmare. I would take him to Cuba, and drop him sans money, sans ID documents to learn how good he has it here. I would send him to the Congo, not as a tourist, but penniless to live as a citizen. I would do anything to make these poor pathetic rich kids understand life is pretty damn good here these United States. After he returns, we should set him on fire and shit on him. As he is recovering from his burns, he will be allowed to read only the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution for at least two straight years, no TV, no visits, only the founding documents. When he finally grasps the true meaning of freedom and the promise of liberty represented by this country, he would be banned forever -- kicked out -- NEVER to return, like Adam and the Garden of Eden.
Orange juice, beer, Dr Pepper
Dear Mrs JG. You ask one of the eternal questions. You might as well ask me why is there air, what is the meaning of life, or why are turds tapered? Are there holes in your underwear? Of course, else where do you put your legs? Anyhoo, this is in the realm of HB. Like the Great Wizard of Oz, I have the answers. To keep Jose happy I suggest copious amounts of sex and beer. That great 20th Century philosopher Jeff Foxworthy summed up men's needs nicely -- 'Men want to see something nekid and have a beer.' The kids will quit driving you crazy in 15-20 years maximum. If you cannot wait, I suggest you play subliminal messages while they are sleeping encouraging them to join a traveling amusement show. A year or two spent as a carnie will give them the appreciation for you that may be missing at this time. As a side benefit the young ones will learn the secret of deep fried Twinkies and Snicker bars.
Imp asks "How do I track down that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag, put a whoopin on his cowardly ass and get away with it? "
There are dozens of people trying to identify this asshat. I would like to suggest that there is not a court in the land that would convict you if you gave the guy the beating he deserves, but there are still Clinton and Carter appointees on the bench. I feel a little 'free speech' that involves setting the person in question on fire and then shitting on him would be in order.
Ralph asks "If I came walking up up to your front door, smelling like a bum sitting in a trashcan covered in booze and trash for day, saying my car broke down up the road , could I use your phone, but first I have to take a humongous crap, so could I use the bathroom first - would you let me in?"
No, but I would have a beer or three with you. Everyone knows those kind of special shits are best saved for a Burger King restroom.
Big Dick enquires "If you could write a novel, what would it be about?"
Well Dick, the novel in question is written in my mind, at least partially. A few chapters are finished, the balance outlined. It is the story of a young man in the early 1980's who travels the country tracing Kerouac's On the Road. He meets a variety of off the wall characters on the way. Oh, and he beats the shit out of a mime, so it cannot be all bad. The novel is supposed to be funny. My lack of skill and talent makes the work so far just pathetic. I like writing scenes, descriptions and action. I am not good at dialogue. I may publish the first chapter here again (it is in the archives somewhere). I also began a spy-type thriller where a hired assassin tries to kill the Vice President. I published the beginning of that one several weeks ago.
Cappy (hello and welcome, cappy) wants to know "What pain and torture would you propose for that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag in Oregon recently?
Also, what is your favorite drink?"
Well, see above. In addition I would like to beat his feet with a baseball bat. What I would really like to do is take these over privileged jerkoffs to Russia, to the former Soviet Republics to interview and discuss life under a socialist government with people who lived the nightmare. I would take him to Cuba, and drop him sans money, sans ID documents to learn how good he has it here. I would send him to the Congo, not as a tourist, but penniless to live as a citizen. I would do anything to make these poor pathetic rich kids understand life is pretty damn good here these United States. After he returns, we should set him on fire and shit on him. As he is recovering from his burns, he will be allowed to read only the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution for at least two straight years, no TV, no visits, only the founding documents. When he finally grasps the true meaning of freedom and the promise of liberty represented by this country, he would be banned forever -- kicked out -- NEVER to return, like Adam and the Garden of Eden.
Orange juice, beer, Dr Pepper
March 28, 2007
Just who do I think I am?
I was lingering over my pathetic lunch of Stouffer's mac and cheese and a can of Dr Pepper thinking about this old blog. For over two years I have entertained mostly myself with a few good posts, a few really bad writings and a lot of mundane, soporific drivel. I really enjoy the rants, but such writing is exhausting mentally. No one can (or should) go through life perpetually pissed off. I also enjoy the few fiction pieces I have published, even if no one else does. The daily reporting of my life is likely the most boring aspect of this blog. Sadly after two plus years of writing I am not sure Fat in Indiana has developed into a place you can fit into a pattern, not a milblog, not a political blog, not a personal diary. Not much of anything, really. I guess it is a reflection of the author, lots of various interests.
In that spirit, I will revive a semi demi regular feature from the past -- Ask Hoosierboy. Leave me questions in the comments and I will endeavor to respond. Politics, history, personal stuff, anything is fair game, so bring it on! What am I listening to? What am I reading? What is my favorite drink? What pain and torture would I propose for that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag in Oregon recently? Just ask!
In that spirit, I will revive a semi demi regular feature from the past -- Ask Hoosierboy. Leave me questions in the comments and I will endeavor to respond. Politics, history, personal stuff, anything is fair game, so bring it on! What am I listening to? What am I reading? What is my favorite drink? What pain and torture would I propose for that scum sucking anarchist piece of whale shit degenerate dog sucking turd eating goat fucking cowardly cunt no good son of a bitch whoreson mother fucking asshole who shit on a burning American flag in Oregon recently? Just ask!
What a difference a week makes
Wow, spring is bursting out all over. The magnolia, redbud and pear are all beginning to bloom. The grass is a lovely emerald and the crocus and tulips are starting to bud. By this time next week I will have to mow, if it keeps on raining.
Baseball is underway, and it looks like I will have a good squad this year. Of course I thought that last year and we went winless. I had not planned on managing a team, but they called on draft day and said please, so here I am in charge of a dozen 13,14, and 15 year old baseball players. The good thing about this age is you have weeded out for the most part those kids who do not really want to play. You have mostly good players who know what they are doing. I do not have to teach how to hit, how to field a ground ball. Mostly my job is reinforcing good habits and trying to correct little mechanical errors.
Did you see the story about the dog that supposedly gave its owner the Heimlich maneuver? I call bullshit.
My oldest son (18) leaves in the morning for a week in Japan. He will being staying with a host family and seeing the sights. He went in the same program a couple of years ago, so he knows what to expect. The hardest part is that communication is difficult as his cell does not work, and most families are understandably reluctant to allow long distance international calls. Sadly, I am sure he is looking forward to not seeing or talking to us for a week. Teenagers.
Baseball is underway, and it looks like I will have a good squad this year. Of course I thought that last year and we went winless. I had not planned on managing a team, but they called on draft day and said please, so here I am in charge of a dozen 13,14, and 15 year old baseball players. The good thing about this age is you have weeded out for the most part those kids who do not really want to play. You have mostly good players who know what they are doing. I do not have to teach how to hit, how to field a ground ball. Mostly my job is reinforcing good habits and trying to correct little mechanical errors.
Did you see the story about the dog that supposedly gave its owner the Heimlich maneuver? I call bullshit.
My oldest son (18) leaves in the morning for a week in Japan. He will being staying with a host family and seeing the sights. He went in the same program a couple of years ago, so he knows what to expect. The hardest part is that communication is difficult as his cell does not work, and most families are understandably reluctant to allow long distance international calls. Sadly, I am sure he is looking forward to not seeing or talking to us for a week. Teenagers.
March 26, 2007
I'm a man...
...so sang the Spencer Davis Group. What makes a man a man? I do know what makes me tick. Here are 11 facts about my thought processes,what I believe. This is what makes me, ME:
I believe:
1. Farts are funny. There is no discussion on this.
2. There is humor in the pain, embarrassment and agony of others. I like the Three Stooges, videos of guys getting racked and excruciating sports plays. I am not alone here, look at the popularity of Jackass, sports blooper shows and Youtube.
3. I like war movies, westerns, and comedies.
4. The Constitution guarantees us equal opportunity, not equal success. If you cannot see the difference, you education is lacking. If you believe it states otherwise, you are a socialist, a communist. I believe every law should pass this litmus test. Does it guarantee equal opportunity (and NO MORE). If it helps guarantee equal success, it is bad.
5. Progress can not be stopped, only diverted. I used this line in an earlier post and the more I think of it the more I am confident it is true. If we do not embrace the future, if we do not strive for success every day, we will lose the race to others who are not afraid of change. It may sound strange coming from a staunch conservative, a devotee of history, but change is good.
6. Education is a lifelong process.
7. Anyone who believes the Second Amendment applies to militias is a complete moron who is ignorant of the BOTH English language and the historical antecedents of the Constitution. In the same vein, the Constitution does not guarantee a separation of Church and State.
8. It is your obligation as a man, a person, and a human to defend and protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves. Evil exists, it is our duty to fight against evil at every turn. Killings in the name of God are murder, and evil. If you support terrorists you are a terrorist. There is no compromise on this. Those who give money and support to Hamas you fit this category. Ditto the PLO, etc.
9. I am blessed to live in the greatest nation ever devised. We citizens of the United States are blessed with liberty, wealth, and freedon unheard of in an society in the history of man. If you believe we are the terrorists, we are the evil, you lack a knowledge of history and an understanding of the world. Travel, read, listen and educate yourself. If you still feel that way: Move. You are not advancing society. Are we perfect?: no, but show me a society that offers more opportunity for success, more freedom, more kindness and tolerance.
10. There is no greater pain, humiliation, confusion, failure, and wonderment than in being a parent. Most days I have no clue what I am doing, yet somehow I have three wonderful kids. I would not trade my children for anything, and I would give my life over to the worst pain and suffering imaginable to make them happy, to protect them, to ensure their success. I can not imagine life without any of them. Parenting is by far the hardest and most rewarding job I have held.
11. Try and find some humor and fun in life. Often we forget this. Smoke a cigar, eat some Spam, drink a beer, tell a joke, have some sex. Politics might get us down, we may be flabbergasted and amazed people buy into the global warming hysterics, that Bush McHaliburton chimpy did this or that. We may hate the Clintons and their hypocrisy. We may believe Republicans are heartless. No matter what we believe, life is good in these United States. Enjoy life.
What do you believe?
I believe:
1. Farts are funny. There is no discussion on this.
2. There is humor in the pain, embarrassment and agony of others. I like the Three Stooges, videos of guys getting racked and excruciating sports plays. I am not alone here, look at the popularity of Jackass, sports blooper shows and Youtube.
3. I like war movies, westerns, and comedies.
4. The Constitution guarantees us equal opportunity, not equal success. If you cannot see the difference, you education is lacking. If you believe it states otherwise, you are a socialist, a communist. I believe every law should pass this litmus test. Does it guarantee equal opportunity (and NO MORE). If it helps guarantee equal success, it is bad.
5. Progress can not be stopped, only diverted. I used this line in an earlier post and the more I think of it the more I am confident it is true. If we do not embrace the future, if we do not strive for success every day, we will lose the race to others who are not afraid of change. It may sound strange coming from a staunch conservative, a devotee of history, but change is good.
6. Education is a lifelong process.
7. Anyone who believes the Second Amendment applies to militias is a complete moron who is ignorant of the BOTH English language and the historical antecedents of the Constitution. In the same vein, the Constitution does not guarantee a separation of Church and State.
8. It is your obligation as a man, a person, and a human to defend and protect the weak and those who cannot defend themselves. Evil exists, it is our duty to fight against evil at every turn. Killings in the name of God are murder, and evil. If you support terrorists you are a terrorist. There is no compromise on this. Those who give money and support to Hamas you fit this category. Ditto the PLO, etc.
9. I am blessed to live in the greatest nation ever devised. We citizens of the United States are blessed with liberty, wealth, and freedon unheard of in an society in the history of man. If you believe we are the terrorists, we are the evil, you lack a knowledge of history and an understanding of the world. Travel, read, listen and educate yourself. If you still feel that way: Move. You are not advancing society. Are we perfect?: no, but show me a society that offers more opportunity for success, more freedom, more kindness and tolerance.
10. There is no greater pain, humiliation, confusion, failure, and wonderment than in being a parent. Most days I have no clue what I am doing, yet somehow I have three wonderful kids. I would not trade my children for anything, and I would give my life over to the worst pain and suffering imaginable to make them happy, to protect them, to ensure their success. I can not imagine life without any of them. Parenting is by far the hardest and most rewarding job I have held.
11. Try and find some humor and fun in life. Often we forget this. Smoke a cigar, eat some Spam, drink a beer, tell a joke, have some sex. Politics might get us down, we may be flabbergasted and amazed people buy into the global warming hysterics, that Bush McHaliburton chimpy did this or that. We may hate the Clintons and their hypocrisy. We may believe Republicans are heartless. No matter what we believe, life is good in these United States. Enjoy life.
What do you believe?
March 25, 2007
Progress and fear
Did you see Peyton Manning on SNL last night? I thought he was pretty funny. To bad the show itself is just not real amusing any more.
The Governor of Indiana has announced he will scrap his plans to build a toll road bypass around Indianapolis. I am not sure if the idea was sound or not, but the opposition, hyperbole, and hysteria surrounding the planned road was astounding. How can someone be against a road where the course has not been determined? A letter to the editor in my local paper compared the road to a tornado, claiming it will be more destructive! People were convinced the road would go through their church, that the county would be cut in half, with no way across. Apparently, over and underpasses are not in the lexicon of these fools. I state again -- no path was determined, only a feasibility study! In 20 years, when the highways and interstates around Indy are choked with traffic, when the commute times double and triple, these same people will complain to the heavens about the need for better and more roads.
Reality proves without modern transportation infrastructure your community will struggle to find growth and success. This was true 150 years ago when people feared the railroad, to 50 years ago when similar fights were held regarding the Interstate system. Beyond the issue of taking land and using public money for roads, it is clear the cities and towns near the railroad and along the interstates are those blessed with manufacturing, with development, with growth. In the case of this highway, people from all over the state flocked to public meetings to speak out against the new road. How can a person that will not be affected by a road, a shopping center, a housing development be against it? This is a pure Luddite philosophy. Sadly, these same farmers and and growing elderly population will be complaining loudly about the shrinking tax base and rising property taxes. Wake up, Wal-Mart is here, and it will be replaced by someone with a better business model. Woolworth was the 'Wal-Mart" of the last century, and who knows what economic changes we will see in the future. This I know --the stores downtown on the public square, the mom and pop grocery are never coming back. The ideal life you remember does not exist any longer, if it ever did. Progress can not be stopped, only diverted elsewhere. What truly scares me is the number of people who think that is a good thing.
The Governor of Indiana has announced he will scrap his plans to build a toll road bypass around Indianapolis. I am not sure if the idea was sound or not, but the opposition, hyperbole, and hysteria surrounding the planned road was astounding. How can someone be against a road where the course has not been determined? A letter to the editor in my local paper compared the road to a tornado, claiming it will be more destructive! People were convinced the road would go through their church, that the county would be cut in half, with no way across. Apparently, over and underpasses are not in the lexicon of these fools. I state again -- no path was determined, only a feasibility study! In 20 years, when the highways and interstates around Indy are choked with traffic, when the commute times double and triple, these same people will complain to the heavens about the need for better and more roads.
Reality proves without modern transportation infrastructure your community will struggle to find growth and success. This was true 150 years ago when people feared the railroad, to 50 years ago when similar fights were held regarding the Interstate system. Beyond the issue of taking land and using public money for roads, it is clear the cities and towns near the railroad and along the interstates are those blessed with manufacturing, with development, with growth. In the case of this highway, people from all over the state flocked to public meetings to speak out against the new road. How can a person that will not be affected by a road, a shopping center, a housing development be against it? This is a pure Luddite philosophy. Sadly, these same farmers and and growing elderly population will be complaining loudly about the shrinking tax base and rising property taxes. Wake up, Wal-Mart is here, and it will be replaced by someone with a better business model. Woolworth was the 'Wal-Mart" of the last century, and who knows what economic changes we will see in the future. This I know --the stores downtown on the public square, the mom and pop grocery are never coming back. The ideal life you remember does not exist any longer, if it ever did. Progress can not be stopped, only diverted elsewhere. What truly scares me is the number of people who think that is a good thing.
March 23, 2007
And so it goes...
I guess lying, cheating, rat-bastard commie, hypocrite Democrats just cannot help being who they are; namely lying cheating, rat-bastard commie, hypocrite Democrats. They came into office claiming to represent the people's wishes. I guess the "people" want a do-nothing Congress that is only interested in thwarting the Executive branch, losing the war on terror, growing Government and lining like pigs to the trough. The Dims have loaded their "let us lose another war" bill with loads of pork to make sure they buy the votes they need to get passage of a bill sure to be vetoed. Our enemies laugh up their sleeves in the meantime.
At least the Republicans were upfront when they stole from the taxpayers. The author of the 'bridge to nowhere' was unapologetic. Nancy Pelosi and her lying rat-bastard cohorts pretended they would stop this nonsense. Instead, they just hide the largess
to asparagus farmers and shrimpers in a defense bill. I guess it is a trait the Dims learn early, hide the stealing of other's money in an out of a way place. Is there a big difference in using pork to bribe a vote by hiding it a defense bill, or putting the bribe in your freezer, Mr. Jefferson? Can someone please let me know when we are going to have the ethical Legislature the Dims of both houses promised? When are you going to clean out the rat's nest of your party?
How much longer are we going to tolerate the posturing over the firing of 8 fucking worthless lawyers? If this is a big deal can we call Reno and Clinton to task for ditching NINETY-THREE? Attention, assholes, of course they were fired for political reasons -- they were political appointments.
What most disturbs me about the Dimocrits is they have learned nothing. They are trotting out the same old game plan that caused us to lose in Vietnam. They will not abandon the old tax and spend mentality nor the attack dog politics they have used in the past. The gains the liberals made in the House and Senate are more a reflection on the piss poor job performance of GW, than an embrace of the socialist agenda proffered by today's left wing nut jobs. Trust me when America finds out what the Dimocrits truly represent they will be swept out of office in a flash. That is why for the next two years we will see no legislation, just posturing, investigations, and the spread of pork on an unprecedented scale. After all, when you are a lying, stealing rat-bastard commie hypocrite, you just have to be you.
March 22, 2007
My little slice of heaven
Fresh bread, creamy smooth Jif peanut butter, honey and Cheetos, is there a better lunch on a rainy Thursday?
Wimpy Dads
Two kids are arguing over whose father is the wimpiest.
The first one says," My dad is so scared that when lightning
strikes, he slides underneath our bed."
The second kid says, "That's nothing. My dad is so scared that
when my mother works nightshift, he sleeps with the woman next door."
The first one says," My dad is so scared that when lightning
strikes, he slides underneath our bed."
The second kid says, "That's nothing. My dad is so scared that
when my mother works nightshift, he sleeps with the woman next door."
An old one, yet still a classic
First time sex
A girl asks her boyfriend to come over Friday night
to meet, and have dinner with her parents. Since this is such a big
event, the girl announces to her boyfriend that
after dinner, she would like to go out and make love
for the first time.
The boy is ecstatic, but he has never had sex before, so he takes
a trip to the pharmacist to get some condoms. He tells the
pharmacist it's his first time and the pharmacist helps the boy
for about an hour.
He tells the boy everything there is to know about condoms and
sex.
At the register, the pharmacist asks the boy how many
condoms he'd like to buy, a 3-pack, 10-pack, or family
pack.
The boy insists on the family pack because he thinks he will be
rather busy, it being his first time and all.
That night, the boy shows up at the girl's parents
House and meets his girlfriend at the door. "Oh, I'm so
excited for you to meet my parents, come on in!"
The boy goes inside and is taken to the dinner table where the
girl's parents are seated. The boy quickly offers to say grace and
bows his head.
A minute passes, and the boy is still deep in prayer,
with his head down.
10 minutes pass, and still no movement from the boy.
Finally, after 20 minutes with his head down, the girlfriend leans
over and whispers to the boyfriend, "I had no idea you were this
religious."
The boy turns, and whispers back, "I had no idea your father was a
pharmacist."
A girl asks her boyfriend to come over Friday night
to meet, and have dinner with her parents. Since this is such a big
event, the girl announces to her boyfriend that
after dinner, she would like to go out and make love
for the first time.
The boy is ecstatic, but he has never had sex before, so he takes
a trip to the pharmacist to get some condoms. He tells the
pharmacist it's his first time and the pharmacist helps the boy
for about an hour.
He tells the boy everything there is to know about condoms and
sex.
At the register, the pharmacist asks the boy how many
condoms he'd like to buy, a 3-pack, 10-pack, or family
pack.
The boy insists on the family pack because he thinks he will be
rather busy, it being his first time and all.
That night, the boy shows up at the girl's parents
House and meets his girlfriend at the door. "Oh, I'm so
excited for you to meet my parents, come on in!"
The boy goes inside and is taken to the dinner table where the
girl's parents are seated. The boy quickly offers to say grace and
bows his head.
A minute passes, and the boy is still deep in prayer,
with his head down.
10 minutes pass, and still no movement from the boy.
Finally, after 20 minutes with his head down, the girlfriend leans
over and whispers to the boyfriend, "I had no idea you were this
religious."
The boy turns, and whispers back, "I had no idea your father was a
pharmacist."
March 21, 2007
Miscellaneous Ramblings
A huge thank you for all of your kind birthday wishes. There was no cake, since I am trying to lose weight, and no nookie, since someone would not cooperate. That is pretty shitty for a birthday, don't you agree? I told her that if she did not want to join in the birthday fun she should at least hire me a hooker. That did not go over very well. Some people have no sense of humor.
I am sitting here listening to some Steely Dan, the recently released Definitive Collection was a birthday present. I am trying to decide which tracks to add to my iPod.
I had a good customer visit this morning. It is nice to meet new people, and this looks like a good company to deal with.
I am going to have leftover beef and noodles for lunch. I fixed them for supper last night since they are my favorite meal of all time. I have mentioned here before, if I ever find myself on death row, beef and noodles and mashed potatoes will be my final meal. What will you request?
I am sitting here listening to some Steely Dan, the recently released Definitive Collection was a birthday present. I am trying to decide which tracks to add to my iPod.
I had a good customer visit this morning. It is nice to meet new people, and this looks like a good company to deal with.
I am going to have leftover beef and noodles for lunch. I fixed them for supper last night since they are my favorite meal of all time. I have mentioned here before, if I ever find myself on death row, beef and noodles and mashed potatoes will be my final meal. What will you request?
March 20, 2007
Forty-five
Forty-five: approximately the number of links to this blog.
Forty-five: the average number of posts I churn out in a month.
Forty-five: this was my forty-fifth post.
Forty-five years ago these were the top five songs in the country:
Forty-five years ago writer/director Stephen Sommers was born in Indianapolis
Forty-five years ago JFK issued this Executive Order
Forty-five: the atomic weight of Rhodium
Forty-five: the caliber of the world's greatest hand gun.
Forty-five: the approximate number of ounces of beer I have consumed this month.
Forty-five: my favorite ring gauge of cigar.
Forty-five: for a viking, you only a 15% chance of living this long.
Forty-five: the age of Lincoln when he was defeated for the Senate by Stephen Douglas
Forty-five: the age of Thoreau when he died. Also the age at death of James Agee
Forty-five: length in months of WWII in the Pacific.
Forty-five: How old I am today.
Forty-five: the average number of posts I churn out in a month.
Forty-five: this was my forty-fifth post.
Forty-five years ago these were the top five songs in the country:
1. Hey! Baby - Bruce Channel (Smash) *4 weeks #1* 1
2. Mashed Potato Time - Dee Dee Sharp (Cameo) 4
3. What's Your Name - Don and Juan (Big Top) 3
4. Duke of Earl - Gene Chandler (Vee Jay) 2
5. Twistin' the Night Away - Sam Cooke (RCA)
Forty-five years ago writer/director Stephen Sommers was born in Indianapolis
Forty-five years ago JFK issued this Executive Order
Forty-five: the atomic weight of Rhodium
Forty-five: the caliber of the world's greatest hand gun.
Forty-five: the approximate number of ounces of beer I have consumed this month.
Forty-five: my favorite ring gauge of cigar.
Forty-five: for a viking, you only a 15% chance of living this long.
Forty-five: the age of Lincoln when he was defeated for the Senate by Stephen Douglas
Forty-five: the age of Thoreau when he died. Also the age at death of James Agee
Forty-five: length in months of WWII in the Pacific.
Forty-five: How old I am today.
Happpy Birthdayyyy Hoosierboy!
Everyone be sure to wish HB a Happy Birthday today....True, he is not as old as I am, but he looks it!
Love Otter!
Love Otter!
March 19, 2007
Pizza and America
Go read this post from sssteve. It is an interesting tale of immigrants and America.
Random Ramblings
How are your College Basketball Brackets? Did you pick those upsets?
Cherry yogurt gets its vibrant color in part from concentrated beet juice.
I believe I am addicted to orange juice and chap stick. Not together.
"What good is it to get warm out if all it is going to do is rain?", a quote from the wife when watching the weather last night.
I need to go see "300". My son said it was awesome. The story of Leonidas and his 300 men(and the Thespians -- there were more than a thousand of them fighting with the the Spartans) ignited my lifelong love of history.
I fried chicken last night for supper. What did you have?
It was nice to have the daughter home this week. The last two summers she has worked two and three jobs, and over Christmas when she was not working she was visiting her boyfriend in Chicago. It was good to just have her home.
Why is it you can find poker on at least two channels any hours of the day, but you cannot find baseball anymore?
Can we just forget about "Britany"? Oh, and how hard is it to take a simple blood test and settle the whole Anna NIcole paternity case? I just want it to go away.
Cherry yogurt gets its vibrant color in part from concentrated beet juice.
I believe I am addicted to orange juice and chap stick. Not together.
"What good is it to get warm out if all it is going to do is rain?", a quote from the wife when watching the weather last night.
I need to go see "300". My son said it was awesome. The story of Leonidas and his 300 men(and the Thespians -- there were more than a thousand of them fighting with the the Spartans) ignited my lifelong love of history.
I fried chicken last night for supper. What did you have?
It was nice to have the daughter home this week. The last two summers she has worked two and three jobs, and over Christmas when she was not working she was visiting her boyfriend in Chicago. It was good to just have her home.
Why is it you can find poker on at least two channels any hours of the day, but you cannot find baseball anymore?
Can we just forget about "Britany"? Oh, and how hard is it to take a simple blood test and settle the whole Anna NIcole paternity case? I just want it to go away.
March 18, 2007
If you are going to San Francisco...
My daughter came home from college last weekend for spring break (go Butler). I was a little concerned as she was wearing Birkenstocks.
I was relieved last night when she said something about "stupid hippies".
All is right in the world.
I was relieved last night when she said something about "stupid hippies".
All is right in the world.
March 17, 2007
Another shooting spree on memory lane
There was always that kid in the neighborhood that just pissed you off. In ours he was the red-headed kid next door. His name was Ritchie. he was smug, and arrogant, and always had to be better at everything. He got it natural - his dad was even worse. You know the type; they had to have the first color TV, the nicest cars, new bats and ball gloves.
As we were about the same age, and he lived right next door, we played together a lot. We built Matchbox and Hot Wheels roads in the gravel driveway driveway. We played army. We rode our bikes around the neighborhood. We had a lot of fun. I would say that nearly every day we had a major argument about something as well, the kid was just an asshole.
When we got older, Otter shot him with the BB gun from about three inches, and once sold him a nickle bag of parsley. We laughed our asses of when Ritchie thought he was "stoned". The sort of kid you just loved to hate.
There were lots of kids in our subdivision, most of about the same age. As an example, if you counted down both sides of the street, there were probably around 30 kids on my block. All were within 5 years age of me (plus or minus).
The neighborhood featured small front yards and huge backyards by today's standards. Our yard was very large and the yards on either side were fence free too, so we had a perfect football field. In fact, it was probably close to regular width and about 150 yards long if we wished. Often the goal line was past a certain tree on one end and the property line on the east. We could get a decent game of football going, with anywhere from 8-11 on a team. The games were often violent affairs, full contact and it was not unusual for the game to break up in arguments and fist fights. More often the game simply became not football but "maulball", also known as "smear the queer", or whatever you might have called it. Basically the intent was to tackle whomever had the ball.
One of these football games sprang up on a warm fall day. Some of the kids had helmets, some shoulder pads, some none at all. The game was in the early stages, when new kids just jumped on a team in alternating order, to keep things even. We heard a shout from Ritchie's house -- "Can I Play". We told him sure. Out he came in a full and complete football uniform. Pants, shoulder pads, helmet, jersey -- the works. It was all a pure snowy white. He looked like a real football player.
He played for a while, the game was rough and Ritchie was lording above the rest of us about his football uniform. I am not sure how it started, maybe he was whining about the grass satins he was getting on his football pants. Maybe it was just spite. I do not remember who started it, I am sure it was one of us "Hoosierboys" (ie.; Otter or me), but some one took a rotten tomato from the garden located in the eastern end zone and threw it square on that beautiful white helmet. The rotten tomato exploded in a red mass of seeds, pulp and skin. Ritchie puffed in an indignant, chest swelling swagger. He made a move to the garden like he was going to kick some ass. So like brothers often do, we both threw another tomato. Splat on the jersey, splat on the helmet. Everyone though this was funny as hell, so when he started to run towards home, they formed a chain to keep him in place. Soon rotten tomatoes and green peppers were pelting the little asshole as he lie on the ground crying and sobbing. Everyone joined in the fun. Finally we ran out of old produce, or maybe we felt sorry for him and he ran home crying and telling us he was going to tell his dad.
I do not remember the aftermath. I think we passed it off as were having a tomato fight and everyone had participated. That was kind of true -- just the sides were slightly uneven. I do not remember being punished and I am not sure if Richie's dad came over to complain or not. If he did, my Dad probably told him to fuck off, he often did, even though they worked at the same place.
I do remember that we never saw that white football uniform again.
As we were about the same age, and he lived right next door, we played together a lot. We built Matchbox and Hot Wheels roads in the gravel driveway driveway. We played army. We rode our bikes around the neighborhood. We had a lot of fun. I would say that nearly every day we had a major argument about something as well, the kid was just an asshole.
When we got older, Otter shot him with the BB gun from about three inches, and once sold him a nickle bag of parsley. We laughed our asses of when Ritchie thought he was "stoned". The sort of kid you just loved to hate.
There were lots of kids in our subdivision, most of about the same age. As an example, if you counted down both sides of the street, there were probably around 30 kids on my block. All were within 5 years age of me (plus or minus).
The neighborhood featured small front yards and huge backyards by today's standards. Our yard was very large and the yards on either side were fence free too, so we had a perfect football field. In fact, it was probably close to regular width and about 150 yards long if we wished. Often the goal line was past a certain tree on one end and the property line on the east. We could get a decent game of football going, with anywhere from 8-11 on a team. The games were often violent affairs, full contact and it was not unusual for the game to break up in arguments and fist fights. More often the game simply became not football but "maulball", also known as "smear the queer", or whatever you might have called it. Basically the intent was to tackle whomever had the ball.
One of these football games sprang up on a warm fall day. Some of the kids had helmets, some shoulder pads, some none at all. The game was in the early stages, when new kids just jumped on a team in alternating order, to keep things even. We heard a shout from Ritchie's house -- "Can I Play". We told him sure. Out he came in a full and complete football uniform. Pants, shoulder pads, helmet, jersey -- the works. It was all a pure snowy white. He looked like a real football player.
He played for a while, the game was rough and Ritchie was lording above the rest of us about his football uniform. I am not sure how it started, maybe he was whining about the grass satins he was getting on his football pants. Maybe it was just spite. I do not remember who started it, I am sure it was one of us "Hoosierboys" (ie.; Otter or me), but some one took a rotten tomato from the garden located in the eastern end zone and threw it square on that beautiful white helmet. The rotten tomato exploded in a red mass of seeds, pulp and skin. Ritchie puffed in an indignant, chest swelling swagger. He made a move to the garden like he was going to kick some ass. So like brothers often do, we both threw another tomato. Splat on the jersey, splat on the helmet. Everyone though this was funny as hell, so when he started to run towards home, they formed a chain to keep him in place. Soon rotten tomatoes and green peppers were pelting the little asshole as he lie on the ground crying and sobbing. Everyone joined in the fun. Finally we ran out of old produce, or maybe we felt sorry for him and he ran home crying and telling us he was going to tell his dad.
I do not remember the aftermath. I think we passed it off as were having a tomato fight and everyone had participated. That was kind of true -- just the sides were slightly uneven. I do not remember being punished and I am not sure if Richie's dad came over to complain or not. If he did, my Dad probably told him to fuck off, he often did, even though they worked at the same place.
I do remember that we never saw that white football uniform again.
March 15, 2007
Just like Tippi Hedren
I think I have posted in the past about my loathing of all things avian. Birds are dirty and stupid. Robins and doves in particular get something in their pea-sized brains and that thought is locked for the duration.
At my old house we had a robin that decided to attack the window on the porch. Was he trying to fight his rival, did he think the other side was a perfect nesting space? Who knows, but for days he pecked on the same spot in the window dawn to dusk, leaving only when we opened the door or pounded on the window. H pecked himself bloody, yet never did he stop. He shit the porch and window sill to a white gooey mess in the process. The widow was a mess from slobber and piss and spit. He was like Poe's Raven, knocking and pecking on the window, never stopping. A pellet gun made that bird nevermore.
A few years later a pair of doves made a nest in the hanging flower pot on the same porch. By the time it was discovered eggs were laid. The wife would not let me destroy the nest. Watering the plant and leaving the front door became an adventure as the bird would fly right at your face. Every year until we moved we had to fight off the doves, who spent every waking moment trying to rebuild that nest -- every year, every day. Every morning I would tear out the nest. Every lunch I would destroy the work they had done. Evening, I was like the big bad wolf and the pigs -- I tore the dove's house down. They finally began to work at night and the pre-dawn hours. The worst was the constant whoo-it whoo whoo on the roof. We even quit hanging up a plant the last two summers, but they tried to build a nest on the porch rail. I put out a plastic snake and owl to finally get them to move across the street.
Now I have a robin obsessed with trying to move into the dryer vent in this house. I put up a screen, but I hate that since lint will eventually build up in there. That will mean regular trips up the ladder to make sure the vent is clear. The vent is about 20 feet up, btw. I watched the robin try and pull at the screen, luckily there is no perch so she literally has to take a flying leap at it. I am loath to shoot at it with the pellet gun, since if I miss I will hit the neighbor's house (I live on a corner).
I guess I will have to rely on the fucking snake that I know is hiding in my back yard to rid me of my bird problem.
At my old house we had a robin that decided to attack the window on the porch. Was he trying to fight his rival, did he think the other side was a perfect nesting space? Who knows, but for days he pecked on the same spot in the window dawn to dusk, leaving only when we opened the door or pounded on the window. H pecked himself bloody, yet never did he stop. He shit the porch and window sill to a white gooey mess in the process. The widow was a mess from slobber and piss and spit. He was like Poe's Raven, knocking and pecking on the window, never stopping. A pellet gun made that bird nevermore.
A few years later a pair of doves made a nest in the hanging flower pot on the same porch. By the time it was discovered eggs were laid. The wife would not let me destroy the nest. Watering the plant and leaving the front door became an adventure as the bird would fly right at your face. Every year until we moved we had to fight off the doves, who spent every waking moment trying to rebuild that nest -- every year, every day. Every morning I would tear out the nest. Every lunch I would destroy the work they had done. Evening, I was like the big bad wolf and the pigs -- I tore the dove's house down. They finally began to work at night and the pre-dawn hours. The worst was the constant whoo-it whoo whoo on the roof. We even quit hanging up a plant the last two summers, but they tried to build a nest on the porch rail. I put out a plastic snake and owl to finally get them to move across the street.
Now I have a robin obsessed with trying to move into the dryer vent in this house. I put up a screen, but I hate that since lint will eventually build up in there. That will mean regular trips up the ladder to make sure the vent is clear. The vent is about 20 feet up, btw. I watched the robin try and pull at the screen, luckily there is no perch so she literally has to take a flying leap at it. I am loath to shoot at it with the pellet gun, since if I miss I will hit the neighbor's house (I live on a corner).
I guess I will have to rely on the fucking snake that I know is hiding in my back yard to rid me of my bird problem.
March 14, 2007
Best line ever
"Judges should not have the freedom to legislate from the bench any more than a private citizen has the right to make up his own laws on any suburban street."
RTG nearly always gets it right.
Liars and Hypocrites
I have not been sleeping well and I have turned on the Today Show this week prior to starting work. On today's episode of 'unbelievably biased and incomplete truth in journalism', Matt Lauer grilled the Attorney General on the firing of the eight Attorneys. He made the process sound vindictive, political and wholly unprecedented.
He failed to mention this is a common practice of Presidents for a number of years. The States Attorneys are political appointments and are often fired when there is political change. In the late 1980's I spent considerable time on a Federal Grand Jury. The attorneys and prosecutors I came to know were all fired. They were of the wrong political persuasion.
Interesting enough, one of the vocal critics of the firing of EIGHT States Attorneys is no other than the Co-President herself. When Clinton took office he fired EVERY SINGLE States Attorney, and replaced them with his own political appointees. Forty-three political firings by a Democrat and never a reference from Meredith , Matt, or Tim Russert (I guy I once respected).
By not reporting the whole story Lauer perpetuated a lie, and again the major media outlets have used half truths to sway public opinion. At least the ABC News article I linked does include that fact. The Today Show again shows its true colors.
Look, I am no fan of GW. I think he will go down in history as less than ineffective, but a bungler of the worst sort who made things worse for Americans. The growth of Government, the wholesale invasion of our country from the Mexican Border and the poorly prosecuted war in the Middle East will all be laid at his feet (Notice I said the prosecution of the war, not whether we should have been in Iraq). This hub bub is nothing more than partisan politics and once again Matt Lauer and his friends are abetting hypocrites like Clinton and Shummer to demagogue an issue.
Shame. Too bad the Dan Rather School of Journalism has taken over as the gold standard for reporters. Fake but Accurate indeed.
He failed to mention this is a common practice of Presidents for a number of years. The States Attorneys are political appointments and are often fired when there is political change. In the late 1980's I spent considerable time on a Federal Grand Jury. The attorneys and prosecutors I came to know were all fired. They were of the wrong political persuasion.
Interesting enough, one of the vocal critics of the firing of EIGHT States Attorneys is no other than the Co-President herself. When Clinton took office he fired EVERY SINGLE States Attorney, and replaced them with his own political appointees. Forty-three political firings by a Democrat and never a reference from Meredith , Matt, or Tim Russert (I guy I once respected).
By not reporting the whole story Lauer perpetuated a lie, and again the major media outlets have used half truths to sway public opinion. At least the ABC News article I linked does include that fact. The Today Show again shows its true colors.
Look, I am no fan of GW. I think he will go down in history as less than ineffective, but a bungler of the worst sort who made things worse for Americans. The growth of Government, the wholesale invasion of our country from the Mexican Border and the poorly prosecuted war in the Middle East will all be laid at his feet (Notice I said the prosecution of the war, not whether we should have been in Iraq). This hub bub is nothing more than partisan politics and once again Matt Lauer and his friends are abetting hypocrites like Clinton and Shummer to demagogue an issue.
Shame. Too bad the Dan Rather School of Journalism has taken over as the gold standard for reporters. Fake but Accurate indeed.
March 12, 2007
You cannot make this stuff up
Do you remember the little girl from this post? She is the darling who brought "qwackers" for show and tell the week the letter was "Q".
My wife tells me the girl has no sort of home life, dad in jail, mom perpetually pregnant while in and out of jail too. The mother is currently pregnant for her second baby (the last one is 2 months old) since the dad went to jail. The little girl practically raises herself. It appears the girl gets no help or guidance with her school work. The wife says the girl is cute as a doll, and fairly smart, for a kindergartner.
Anyway, this week's letter was "W". The little intrepid brought in a pink gum "waser".
My wife tells me the girl has no sort of home life, dad in jail, mom perpetually pregnant while in and out of jail too. The mother is currently pregnant for her second baby (the last one is 2 months old) since the dad went to jail. The little girl practically raises herself. It appears the girl gets no help or guidance with her school work. The wife says the girl is cute as a doll, and fairly smart, for a kindergartner.
Anyway, this week's letter was "W". The little intrepid brought in a pink gum "waser".
Hello Walls
It was a great weekend in central Hoosierland. There were no rattlesnake roundups, but the baseball season officially began as we had tryouts on Saturday. The boy did fine. He moves to a regular sized diamond this year. It will be quite a change.
The warm weather gave me spring fever, and the weatherman's prediction of cold temps and possible snow flurries on Friday was depressing. It snowed while I was in Chicago last week, and I am really getting sick of winter.
We did our spring forward thing with the clocks. I am still not used to it. Now it is again dark when the kids head for school. There was still a twinge of light in the western sky at 7:45 last night. If we have to observe DST, why aren't we on Central Time at least?
The warm weather gave me spring fever, and the weatherman's prediction of cold temps and possible snow flurries on Friday was depressing. It snowed while I was in Chicago last week, and I am really getting sick of winter.
We did our spring forward thing with the clocks. I am still not used to it. Now it is again dark when the kids head for school. There was still a twinge of light in the western sky at 7:45 last night. If we have to observe DST, why aren't we on Central Time at least?
March 10, 2007
I am woman, hear me roar
Sieg, at the Atavist is one of my favorite stops. He has a unique and honest outlook on life. He has a very interesting and entertaining post up on the relationships between men and women. Give it a read.
March 9, 2007
Updates
Check out the blogroll. You might be officially rolled. Read the links over there on the roll 'else little bunnies might die a painful death with their heads stuck beneath a barb wire fence. I am not threatening, I am just sayin'.
MEN...
Men are the same everywhere, no matter what your species.
click to embiggin.
contributed by Otter
click to embiggin.
contributed by Otter
March 8, 2007
When I am king of the forrrrresssttt
The whiny lion and his "King of the Forrest" song are my least favorite portions of the Wizard of Oz. This will be pertinent in a minute.
During my trip this week to the Second City, I was listening to my iPod in the car. I have one of those nifty devices that plays it over the radio. It works really well too. Anyway, here is the weird part -- the player was on shuffle and Neil Young's Southern Man was followed by Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama. Is that some kind of musical irony or what?
I came to another conclusion, I really hate those drivers who think they need to drive in the left lane for mile upon mile, even when the right lane is empty. Yesterday I must have come upon 15 drivers poking along in the PASSING LANE. Interestingly, the vast majority of the drivers were from Michigan.
When I am "King of all that is good and reasonable and arbiter of taste and common sense, Ruler of the Forest, the Earth and Seas" I will mount on the front of my car a huge plow. I will then just push these jerkoffs right or left and out of my path. I will clear the road for those of us who have a need to get where we are going. The passing lane will be for passing. I will also clear the city streets of those who feel the need to travel at one half the posted speed limit. I will shove aside those who cannot make up their mind at the McDonald's drive through. I shall render the streets safe from old ladies who stop at every intersection. I shall plow away the scourge of the byways -- the punk kids in their lowered Honda Civics, base blaring and thumping a hypnotic hump, hump, hump you can feel three cars away. These will be among my first acts when I am proclaimed "King of all that is good and reasonable and arbiter of taste and common sense, Ruler of the Forest, the Earth and Seas". The second will be to hunt down that faggot lion and kick his crybaby ass.
Long live the King, Long live his car plow.
During my trip this week to the Second City, I was listening to my iPod in the car. I have one of those nifty devices that plays it over the radio. It works really well too. Anyway, here is the weird part -- the player was on shuffle and Neil Young's Southern Man was followed by Skynard's Sweet Home Alabama. Is that some kind of musical irony or what?
I came to another conclusion, I really hate those drivers who think they need to drive in the left lane for mile upon mile, even when the right lane is empty. Yesterday I must have come upon 15 drivers poking along in the PASSING LANE. Interestingly, the vast majority of the drivers were from Michigan.
When I am "King of all that is good and reasonable and arbiter of taste and common sense, Ruler of the Forest, the Earth and Seas" I will mount on the front of my car a huge plow. I will then just push these jerkoffs right or left and out of my path. I will clear the road for those of us who have a need to get where we are going. The passing lane will be for passing. I will also clear the city streets of those who feel the need to travel at one half the posted speed limit. I will shove aside those who cannot make up their mind at the McDonald's drive through. I shall render the streets safe from old ladies who stop at every intersection. I shall plow away the scourge of the byways -- the punk kids in their lowered Honda Civics, base blaring and thumping a hypnotic hump, hump, hump you can feel three cars away. These will be among my first acts when I am proclaimed "King of all that is good and reasonable and arbiter of taste and common sense, Ruler of the Forest, the Earth and Seas". The second will be to hunt down that faggot lion and kick his crybaby ass.
Long live the King, Long live his car plow.
Welcome to my life
John O'Reilly hoisted his beer and said, "Here's to
spending the rest of m'life, 'tween the legs of m'wife!" That won him the top prize at the pub for the best toast of the night!
He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the
prize for the Best toast of the night"
She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?"
John said, "Here's to spending the rest of m'life,
sitting in church beside me wife."
Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said.
The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking
buddies on the street corner.
The man chuckled leeringly and said, "John won the
prize the other night at the pub with a toast about you, Mary."
She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit surprised
myself. You know, he's only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."
spending the rest of m'life, 'tween the legs of m'wife!" That won him the top prize at the pub for the best toast of the night!
He went home and told his wife, Mary, "I won the
prize for the Best toast of the night"
She said, "Aye, did ye now. And what was your toast?"
John said, "Here's to spending the rest of m'life,
sitting in church beside me wife."
Oh, that is very nice indeed, John!" Mary said.
The next day, Mary ran into one of John's drinking
buddies on the street corner.
The man chuckled leeringly and said, "John won the
prize the other night at the pub with a toast about you, Mary."
She said, "Aye, he told me, and I was a bit surprised
myself. You know, he's only been there twice in the last four years. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come."
They are among us
Here is my vote. The former sailor and would-be Islamofacist deserves a fair trial. If he is found guilty he should be executed within 3 months. This is treason at its very core. This has nothing to do with his religion, he swore an oath and betrayed his country. He aided and abetted the enemy. He deserves a quick and certain death.
These people are in our midst. When will the supposed members of the Islamic community that are against this sort of this going to stand up and cry out for it to stop. You and I both know -- NEVER.
This treasonous Benedict Arnold must die.
These people are in our midst. When will the supposed members of the Islamic community that are against this sort of this going to stand up and cry out for it to stop. You and I both know -- NEVER.
This treasonous Benedict Arnold must die.
March 7, 2007
Liars, and the liars who lie about them
According to Pelosi, the MSM, the Democrat Party and the NY Times, lying under oath to a grand jury like Scooter Libby did is a terrible crime and shows just how corrupt is the current administration. These pundits clamor for the most severe penalty.
Why, when William Jefferson Clinton did the same -- lie to a grand jury under oath --was it no big deal?
Why, when William Jefferson Clinton did the same -- lie to a grand jury under oath --was it no big deal?
Hillary For President
I will be seeing more customers before heading home later today.
There was a spot on the Today Show this morning discussing the Hildebeasts focus on being a woman. The piece said Clinton makes sure that she pushes the "I am a woman and it is time for a woman to be President" at every campaign stop. What is sad is that approach seems to be working. Good God, why would we vote for someone just because they are female, or black, or whatever. Why don't we take a novel approach and look at a person's political views? Well. the press does not want that to happen because no Democrat would be ever elected again if most Americans knew what they stood for.
Think Hillary would be a good President? She is a liar and changes her approach based on what she thinks people want to hear. If you are a supporter of hers tell me why in the comments. I know what my response to you will be"
Fucking idiot.
There was a spot on the Today Show this morning discussing the Hildebeasts focus on being a woman. The piece said Clinton makes sure that she pushes the "I am a woman and it is time for a woman to be President" at every campaign stop. What is sad is that approach seems to be working. Good God, why would we vote for someone just because they are female, or black, or whatever. Why don't we take a novel approach and look at a person's political views? Well. the press does not want that to happen because no Democrat would be ever elected again if most Americans knew what they stood for.
Think Hillary would be a good President? She is a liar and changes her approach based on what she thinks people want to hear. If you are a supporter of hers tell me why in the comments. I know what my response to you will be"
Fucking idiot.
March 6, 2007
Smoke follows Beauty -- and Beauty was a horse.
Here I am in the Western suburbs of Chicago, doing my work thing. Bad news on one front, we will not get a chunk of business we recently quoted. Win some lose some, but I sure wanted this piece of business. I guess I will drown my sorrow in a beer with dinner.
I had the strangest dreams last night, all of them had to do with camping, hiking or being in the woods. The last one I was walking the trails of Camp Cullom, an old Boy Scout camp of my youth. I have not been there in 20 years, at least. Now it is some bullshit nature preserve or such. They planted trees on the athletic fields and on the parade ground. They tore out the dam and made the waterfront into some kind of wetlands. I do not think they even allow camping any more. Almost all of the old Boy Scout camping areas I frequented as a snot-nose punk kid are not used any more. If you are from Central Indiana you will remember Camp K, Redwing, Rotary, Bear Creek, Cullom -- I camped at all of them.
In my dream, I could remember each trail in perfect detail, even the rarely used one over on the third ridge. Dreams are so strange. I was just walking. Do any of you Freudians out there know what this dream might mean?
I remember one time at Cullom sitting on the trail and I saw three does walk by within twenty yards of me. That same afternoon I watched a box turtle walk down the path pst my feet. I must have sat there motionless for hours. Probably I was supposed to be off doing some Boy Scout thing, but I preferred to run off to the woods.
It has been a long time since I camped or hiked in the woods.
I had the strangest dreams last night, all of them had to do with camping, hiking or being in the woods. The last one I was walking the trails of Camp Cullom, an old Boy Scout camp of my youth. I have not been there in 20 years, at least. Now it is some bullshit nature preserve or such. They planted trees on the athletic fields and on the parade ground. They tore out the dam and made the waterfront into some kind of wetlands. I do not think they even allow camping any more. Almost all of the old Boy Scout camping areas I frequented as a snot-nose punk kid are not used any more. If you are from Central Indiana you will remember Camp K, Redwing, Rotary, Bear Creek, Cullom -- I camped at all of them.
In my dream, I could remember each trail in perfect detail, even the rarely used one over on the third ridge. Dreams are so strange. I was just walking. Do any of you Freudians out there know what this dream might mean?
I remember one time at Cullom sitting on the trail and I saw three does walk by within twenty yards of me. That same afternoon I watched a box turtle walk down the path pst my feet. I must have sat there motionless for hours. Probably I was supposed to be off doing some Boy Scout thing, but I preferred to run off to the woods.
It has been a long time since I camped or hiked in the woods.
March 5, 2007
Plop Plop fizz fizz
The wife is home sick today. She puked more Saturday night than I have ever seen from a single human being. Everywhere -- the bathroom floor, rug, sink, her arms, her shoes. her pants...She did not have a drop to drink. She ate the same food as the rest of us. To make it worse, we where at our friends house. It is bad enough to puke up your own house, but some one else's? She is still weak and sore today. This means a major inconvenience since my "office" is in the bedroom. Hey, It is all about me, people.
Yesterday I did nothing. Read blogs, watched movies. I did not shower, I did not shave. I did brush my teeth. Threw a couple of hot dogs on the grill for supper for me and the little one. The oldest was off delivering pizzas.
Baseball tryouts are Saturday, I guess spring is nearly here, you sure cannot tell by the weather. I am ready, the boy is ready. Too bad we have not been able to throw a ball -- there has been snow on the ground for weeks, or else rain and cold or all three. He has not thrown since he shattered his arm playing football. He did do a little inside batting last month, at least.
I have the Mommas and the Papas running through the old brain pan this morning. Guess which tune?
have several blogs to add to the old blogroll, as soon as I get the ambition and courage to attack the old template. Patience people.
Yesterday I did nothing. Read blogs, watched movies. I did not shower, I did not shave. I did brush my teeth. Threw a couple of hot dogs on the grill for supper for me and the little one. The oldest was off delivering pizzas.
Baseball tryouts are Saturday, I guess spring is nearly here, you sure cannot tell by the weather. I am ready, the boy is ready. Too bad we have not been able to throw a ball -- there has been snow on the ground for weeks, or else rain and cold or all three. He has not thrown since he shattered his arm playing football. He did do a little inside batting last month, at least.
I have the Mommas and the Papas running through the old brain pan this morning. Guess which tune?
have several blogs to add to the old blogroll, as soon as I get the ambition and courage to attack the old template. Patience people.
March 4, 2007
Sunday
Sunday. Here I am cruising through the old blogroll. This is the day I check in on the slackers, the Goldblooms those who do not posts anymore.
How are the reruns going over? I have enjoyed reading some of the old stuff. I sit here at the keyboard, usually writing in a stream of consciousness -- brain to fingers to a poorly spelled incoherent rambling and on to the vast wasteland of the ethernet. The words and thoughts gone but never lost.
How do you write? I usually think the idea in my head and the words flow to "paper". This is how I wrote term papers as well in college. I would get the beginning in my head and the rest would just flow. Even very long papers - 10, 20 pages in length I would usually write at one sitting, stopping only to find a fact, a quote, a reference. I write this blog that way. Usually I do little or no revision once the idea is committed to words. Maybe you can tell?
A pair of cardinals are sitting in the magnolia, and the neighbors cat is looking at me through the patio door. The dryer is banging away as my son's work clothes tumble. Happy Sunday.
How are the reruns going over? I have enjoyed reading some of the old stuff. I sit here at the keyboard, usually writing in a stream of consciousness -- brain to fingers to a poorly spelled incoherent rambling and on to the vast wasteland of the ethernet. The words and thoughts gone but never lost.
How do you write? I usually think the idea in my head and the words flow to "paper". This is how I wrote term papers as well in college. I would get the beginning in my head and the rest would just flow. Even very long papers - 10, 20 pages in length I would usually write at one sitting, stopping only to find a fact, a quote, a reference. I write this blog that way. Usually I do little or no revision once the idea is committed to words. Maybe you can tell?
A pair of cardinals are sitting in the magnolia, and the neighbors cat is looking at me through the patio door. The dryer is banging away as my son's work clothes tumble. Happy Sunday.
March 3, 2007
Whine, sob, or just TMI?
I am not sure what to say about this piece:
Monday, October 10, 2005
Dreams and demons: a day in my life.
I do not often relate personal information on this blog. I like the anonymity, it is safe, there is no rejection, no laughter, no condemnation. I can rant about politics, the unfairness of life. I can tell my jokes, describe the humor I find in every day situations. I have never been one who sits around talking about my feelings. It was just the way I was raised; the guy code. Crying is for pussies, only girls talk about their emotions. Somehow I find myself strangely moved by two very different individuals and their writings today.
The first comes from Bane and his discussion of writing. Bane tells us you have to like your writing for it to be good. I think he is correct. I once fancied myself a good writer. Recently I went back and read through some of my old notebooks of writings and short stories I have composed during my life. Some of it is quite good. I have reread some of my early posts on this blog, and I also think they are decent pieces of writing. Lately, I have not been composing my thoughts in a way that spins mental poetry on the paper, as such. I have not used the language to paint pictures, to frame beautiful arguments, to leave you spellbound in my story. In other words, I do not like my writing on this blog of late. Ergo sum, whatever, it is just not very good.
The second piece is from the waiterrant blog. The man is a true storyteller, he writes with grace and efficiency. His kind soul and feeling for life is felt in every entry, yet underneath there is always a sadness to his tale. In the linked entry, the Waiter talks about the demons in his life, the aloneness that influences his writing.
I think, on a different level I too am suffering, beset by my own demons. Most are self created. I feel alone, fighting the storms that threatened to swallow my soul. Some days I feel powerless to cope, unable to go on. I think I am on a slippery rock, my toes keeping a tenuous hold as the flood water rages around me , occasional waves sweeping up my legs. I slip, I totter, but somehow manage to stay on top. I think maybe the next wave will knock me down, to be swept away to nothingness.
Do you ever feel that life has slipped away? Maybe it is the beginning of midlife crisis. Some days I feel my love is unrequited. Does my wife stay with me only because the idea of being alone is too difficult? Am I just a paycheck? That is the impression I get sometimes. I know I am harsh, unpleasant, my comments laced with sarcasm on occasion. It is often joked that it is good I am not a doctor, I have no patience. Regarding me, my daughter is indifferent, my son angry, the little one attached to comfort, hates change. Has my sole contribution to the legacy of my family become "turn off the lights", "you need to be studying", and "turn down that music"? How do I impart life's lessons and wisdom when I do not have any of the answers my self? I need a writer. Steve Douglas on My Three Sons always has the answer. TV teenagers are never filled with angst, angry at the world. TV Dads always know how to handle the situation without yelling and getting mad. Am I wrong, incompetent, a bad parent? I do not think so, but I often feel a failure, in life, work and love.
On one level I know they love me, yet my heart argues with my intellect. I feel the weight of Atlas' burden some days; work, debt, and responsibility weighing me down until the constant pain in my knees and elbows and shoulders is a regular part of life. You see, when we are young, we have dreams, we have plans, we have a vision. Never does that dream include being incredibly average. Our vision does not include bills, mortgages, the cost of education. We do not dream of mowing the yard, cleaning the bathroom, deciding what to eat. We do not have visions of toiling away in obscurity, doing your best, waiting on that raise or promotion you know will never come. As youth, we think we will make a difference in the world. As we become cynical adults, we realize we are insignificant, meaningless. As youth, we do not see the unfairness in the workplace, the cronyism. Only too late do you remember that you were once told that "if it was supposed to be fun they would not call it work, and they would certainly not pay you for it". As children we imagine fast cars, big houses, exotic vacation. As adults we know we have to pay for these luxuries. Most of us can't.
I am aware I am whining. Sorry, maybe it is the weather. I take pride in my work, in being a dad and a husband. I give all my best effort. Today, it is the thought that on some days, my best effort is not good enough. That weighs me down. There are many less well off than I. Make no mistake, I have plenty to be thankful for. But the demons, the blues, or, as my favorite fictional character called them, "the mean reds" still come.
I used to fight these demons with alcohol, occasionally drugs. Now I have no desire to numb the problems, the demons. Once I turned to prayer. Now I just want the demons to go away. One day of carefree life, no worries, no problems, pure happiness -- that is my new dream. I want laughter, sex, sunshine, a day without drama. I want to write like Hemingway, to sing like Stephen Stills. To just be someone else. I fear it is as unrealistic a desire as the dreams of a schoolboy many years ago.
So what do I do? I write a post. I prepare for tomorrow's business meeting. I will go to football practice. I will eat. I will hug my kids, tell them I love them. Maybe I'll flirt with my wife, hope for some action later. I will watch some TV, go to bed. I will get up tomorrow, thank God for my blessings and begin the fight again. A new man in an old body, watching the demons in the corner.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Dreams and demons: a day in my life.
I do not often relate personal information on this blog. I like the anonymity, it is safe, there is no rejection, no laughter, no condemnation. I can rant about politics, the unfairness of life. I can tell my jokes, describe the humor I find in every day situations. I have never been one who sits around talking about my feelings. It was just the way I was raised; the guy code. Crying is for pussies, only girls talk about their emotions. Somehow I find myself strangely moved by two very different individuals and their writings today.
The first comes from Bane and his discussion of writing. Bane tells us you have to like your writing for it to be good. I think he is correct. I once fancied myself a good writer. Recently I went back and read through some of my old notebooks of writings and short stories I have composed during my life. Some of it is quite good. I have reread some of my early posts on this blog, and I also think they are decent pieces of writing. Lately, I have not been composing my thoughts in a way that spins mental poetry on the paper, as such. I have not used the language to paint pictures, to frame beautiful arguments, to leave you spellbound in my story. In other words, I do not like my writing on this blog of late. Ergo sum, whatever, it is just not very good.
The second piece is from the waiterrant blog. The man is a true storyteller, he writes with grace and efficiency. His kind soul and feeling for life is felt in every entry, yet underneath there is always a sadness to his tale. In the linked entry, the Waiter talks about the demons in his life, the aloneness that influences his writing.
I think, on a different level I too am suffering, beset by my own demons. Most are self created. I feel alone, fighting the storms that threatened to swallow my soul. Some days I feel powerless to cope, unable to go on. I think I am on a slippery rock, my toes keeping a tenuous hold as the flood water rages around me , occasional waves sweeping up my legs. I slip, I totter, but somehow manage to stay on top. I think maybe the next wave will knock me down, to be swept away to nothingness.
Do you ever feel that life has slipped away? Maybe it is the beginning of midlife crisis. Some days I feel my love is unrequited. Does my wife stay with me only because the idea of being alone is too difficult? Am I just a paycheck? That is the impression I get sometimes. I know I am harsh, unpleasant, my comments laced with sarcasm on occasion. It is often joked that it is good I am not a doctor, I have no patience. Regarding me, my daughter is indifferent, my son angry, the little one attached to comfort, hates change. Has my sole contribution to the legacy of my family become "turn off the lights", "you need to be studying", and "turn down that music"? How do I impart life's lessons and wisdom when I do not have any of the answers my self? I need a writer. Steve Douglas on My Three Sons always has the answer. TV teenagers are never filled with angst, angry at the world. TV Dads always know how to handle the situation without yelling and getting mad. Am I wrong, incompetent, a bad parent? I do not think so, but I often feel a failure, in life, work and love.
On one level I know they love me, yet my heart argues with my intellect. I feel the weight of Atlas' burden some days; work, debt, and responsibility weighing me down until the constant pain in my knees and elbows and shoulders is a regular part of life. You see, when we are young, we have dreams, we have plans, we have a vision. Never does that dream include being incredibly average. Our vision does not include bills, mortgages, the cost of education. We do not dream of mowing the yard, cleaning the bathroom, deciding what to eat. We do not have visions of toiling away in obscurity, doing your best, waiting on that raise or promotion you know will never come. As youth, we think we will make a difference in the world. As we become cynical adults, we realize we are insignificant, meaningless. As youth, we do not see the unfairness in the workplace, the cronyism. Only too late do you remember that you were once told that "if it was supposed to be fun they would not call it work, and they would certainly not pay you for it". As children we imagine fast cars, big houses, exotic vacation. As adults we know we have to pay for these luxuries. Most of us can't.
I am aware I am whining. Sorry, maybe it is the weather. I take pride in my work, in being a dad and a husband. I give all my best effort. Today, it is the thought that on some days, my best effort is not good enough. That weighs me down. There are many less well off than I. Make no mistake, I have plenty to be thankful for. But the demons, the blues, or, as my favorite fictional character called them, "the mean reds" still come.
I used to fight these demons with alcohol, occasionally drugs. Now I have no desire to numb the problems, the demons. Once I turned to prayer. Now I just want the demons to go away. One day of carefree life, no worries, no problems, pure happiness -- that is my new dream. I want laughter, sex, sunshine, a day without drama. I want to write like Hemingway, to sing like Stephen Stills. To just be someone else. I fear it is as unrealistic a desire as the dreams of a schoolboy many years ago.
So what do I do? I write a post. I prepare for tomorrow's business meeting. I will go to football practice. I will eat. I will hug my kids, tell them I love them. Maybe I'll flirt with my wife, hope for some action later. I will watch some TV, go to bed. I will get up tomorrow, thank God for my blessings and begin the fight again. A new man in an old body, watching the demons in the corner.
March 2, 2007
He Lives!
So it is the Lenten Season. It is Friday. I thought about fasting today. Instead I had some coffee, some orange juice and some bacon. My fast is not off to a good start, maybe next week. Will Jesus give me points for good intentions? You see I was really hungry when I got up. I have not eaten much the last few days. Wednesday I put a frozen hamburger patty on the grill for lunch. A customer called and while I was on the phone, silently willing the conversation to end, the burger got more than a little well-done. I ate about half, but it just was a little like eating cheese covered cinders. For supper I made chili, one of the foods I really dislike. I ate one bowl after discarding the vile red beans, but I went to bed hungry. Travelling on Thursday, ate part of a Junior Whopper, threw the rest away. We went to the mall last night to get me some new tennis shoes, sneakers, gym shoes, whatever. The wife was insistent we get home to see American Idol, so we hit the McDonald's drive-through. Again, most of my meal went into the trash. I really had good intentions, but the hunger pains forced me into the bacon box this morning. Am I going to hell? Is my sin counterbalanced since I ate bacon in my personal war to piss of members of the Religion of Peace?
I see on the Comcast homepage TV listing that Breaker Morant is coming on in a bit. I have a fairly good work ethic, and I do not turn on the TV during work hours. I just may have to take a long lunch today. Please do not tell my boss! I have to get my expenses done today, otherwise I am in good shape work-wise.
I hope you are enjoying the reruns this week. I have had a good time reading through my archives. Whatever happened to Breezy, my liberal commenter of days gone by? Are you out there Breezy?
Have a good weekend.
I see on the Comcast homepage TV listing that Breaker Morant is coming on in a bit. I have a fairly good work ethic, and I do not turn on the TV during work hours. I just may have to take a long lunch today. Please do not tell my boss! I have to get my expenses done today, otherwise I am in good shape work-wise.
I hope you are enjoying the reruns this week. I have had a good time reading through my archives. Whatever happened to Breezy, my liberal commenter of days gone by? Are you out there Breezy?
Have a good weekend.
Reruns continue
Some people piss me off the way they make writing look so easy. They do it so well, you can see they are born with a natural gift. Read this for example. Me, I am the proverbial monkey at the typewriter hammering away. A mere hacker on the golf course of literature. Submitted for your approval is a short piece I first posted in December of 2005. I began this story in the early 1990's while doing a stint on the graveyard shift. Here is the prologue:
Monday, December 05, 2005
Prologue
The silence of the pre-dawn morning was broken only by the occasional car or truck passing on the snow-slick two-lane highway. A car slowed to a crawl as if closing in upon its prey. The rear end slid a little as the sedan skidded to a stop. The darkness was broken by the white flash of backup lights as the vehicle slowly backed up four dozen yards and turned into a narrow driveway. The sounds of a straining engine could be heard through the barely falling snow as the car lumbered through the mud and slush. The headlights bounced up and down and side to side in duplication of the rutted road. Snowflakes danced in the twin beams like chorus girls in the spotlight. Round and round they spun, climbing and falling to the ground in the wake of the slowly moving automobile.
The car coasted to a stop in front of a run-down farmhouse. The roof was partially caved in and the awning over the porch had long since been consumed as firewood. The glow of a cigarette could be vaguely seen through the frosted windows of the idling car. The engine cut out as the door opened. A short figure in a bulky overcoat climbed out of the dark vehicle. The cigarette arced a path through the darkness as it was flipped into the distance. The man looked to the east as the first rays of dawn began to spread their pink and orange fingers through the clouds of the night sky. It had stopped snowing. The man's breath made clouds around his head in the early morning cold.
The man huddled next to the car until the sun began to peak over the horizon. He opened his trousers and relieved himself on the left rear tire before clearing his throat and spitting in the direction of the vanished cigarette. He slowly made his way toward the house.
The man mounted the sagging steps, hesitated and ducked through the doorless entryway. The sun’s weak rays provided just enough light for the figure to navigate the littered hallway. He made his way to what was the front living room. The television set and VCR were strangely incongruous in the surroundings.
He started the gas-powered generator. Its sound filled the early morning air. The man involuntarily winced at the noise. He lit another Camel and turned on the TV. Static changed to a blue screen as the VCR powered on. The tape was over after three minutes. He poured steaming coffee from a large green Thermos and went to the corner to relieve himself yet again. He sat down and watched the tape twice more.
His assignment was clear. The Vice President of the United States was to attend the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports” – the Indianapolis 500 in just four and one half months hence. In May the Indianapolis 500 gets top attention in the papers: not this year. This year the Vice President would be assassinated while attending the race. The man in the bulky overcoat watched the film yet again. The man would go to Indianapolis tomorrow and begin laying the plan to kill the heir apparent to the Presidency.
He picked up all of his cigarette butts and placed them in his pocket. From his briefcase, he took a wad of plastic-like gel. He first stuck the plastique to the side of the generator and then added a detonator. He was seven miles away on the interstate when the farmhouse disintegrated into a ball of flame.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Prologue
The silence of the pre-dawn morning was broken only by the occasional car or truck passing on the snow-slick two-lane highway. A car slowed to a crawl as if closing in upon its prey. The rear end slid a little as the sedan skidded to a stop. The darkness was broken by the white flash of backup lights as the vehicle slowly backed up four dozen yards and turned into a narrow driveway. The sounds of a straining engine could be heard through the barely falling snow as the car lumbered through the mud and slush. The headlights bounced up and down and side to side in duplication of the rutted road. Snowflakes danced in the twin beams like chorus girls in the spotlight. Round and round they spun, climbing and falling to the ground in the wake of the slowly moving automobile.
The car coasted to a stop in front of a run-down farmhouse. The roof was partially caved in and the awning over the porch had long since been consumed as firewood. The glow of a cigarette could be vaguely seen through the frosted windows of the idling car. The engine cut out as the door opened. A short figure in a bulky overcoat climbed out of the dark vehicle. The cigarette arced a path through the darkness as it was flipped into the distance. The man looked to the east as the first rays of dawn began to spread their pink and orange fingers through the clouds of the night sky. It had stopped snowing. The man's breath made clouds around his head in the early morning cold.
The man huddled next to the car until the sun began to peak over the horizon. He opened his trousers and relieved himself on the left rear tire before clearing his throat and spitting in the direction of the vanished cigarette. He slowly made his way toward the house.
The man mounted the sagging steps, hesitated and ducked through the doorless entryway. The sun’s weak rays provided just enough light for the figure to navigate the littered hallway. He made his way to what was the front living room. The television set and VCR were strangely incongruous in the surroundings.
He started the gas-powered generator. Its sound filled the early morning air. The man involuntarily winced at the noise. He lit another Camel and turned on the TV. Static changed to a blue screen as the VCR powered on. The tape was over after three minutes. He poured steaming coffee from a large green Thermos and went to the corner to relieve himself yet again. He sat down and watched the tape twice more.
His assignment was clear. The Vice President of the United States was to attend the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports” – the Indianapolis 500 in just four and one half months hence. In May the Indianapolis 500 gets top attention in the papers: not this year. This year the Vice President would be assassinated while attending the race. The man in the bulky overcoat watched the film yet again. The man would go to Indianapolis tomorrow and begin laying the plan to kill the heir apparent to the Presidency.
He picked up all of his cigarette butts and placed them in his pocket. From his briefcase, he took a wad of plastic-like gel. He first stuck the plastique to the side of the generator and then added a detonator. He was seven miles away on the interstate when the farmhouse disintegrated into a ball of flame.
March 1, 2007
The hardest post I ever wrote
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Ode to my baby girl.
My daughter will leave for college in a few weeks. I am terrified. Not for the reasons you might think. She is smart, fun and driven. She knows what she wants and will make sure she gets there. She has worked three jobs this summer to make money; she knows things will be tight paying for college. She has applied for every scholarship imaginable. I know I have taught her right from wrong. If she does not now know the difference there is not much hope. She will party and have a good time. She will also remember why she is there – to learn.
I am terrified because I know my daughter will be leaving forever. She will come home for breaks and holidays. She will spend her summers in her familiar yellow painted bedroom. However, she will be gone. After college, she will move out and be on her own working, eventually falling in love, gaining a new family in time. Never again will she look at my home in the same light, it will be a stopping point, a place to sleep, a rest stop on life’s highway. I am terrified for me, how will I get along when she is gone?
We have not always agreed. I get pretty mad at her, probably a lot less than her aggravation at me. We are so much alike, it is scary. We laugh at the same things. We are both pig headed. Both are convinced of our inherent righteousness in every matter. The biggest difference is she is beautiful and good.
I remember the day my wife found out she was pregnant. We skipped the needle on my favorite John Cougar album, jumping for joy. I remember the night she was born. I came home from the hospital, elated, exhausted, and sobered by the enormous responsibility now placed on my shoulders. I had never even held a baby prior to that night!
I remember the nights driving her in the car, mile upon mile down the country roads through the cornfields. This was the only way to get her to sleep. Have you ever smelt corn growing in the field? That scent still reminds me of my baby girl, crying in her car seat as she drifted off to her sweet dreams.
I remember the afternoons I picked her up from the babysitter. We went to the park to swing endlessly; she could never get enough. She then would sleep on my shoulder in the old recliner until my wife came home from work. My little girl’s love of spicy foods was foretold the time she ate my chili as a toddler. She ate bowl after bowl, tears streaming down her cheeks. The chili was over spiced, the result of too much beer while cooking. She loved it.
My heart was ripped apart in her early teen years, when girls can be so mean to each other. I had no way to help her. Soon new friends came along. I watched her grow into a beautiful young woman in high school: class president, scholar, and friend to all. I am sorry I rode her too hard for her grades. I did not tell her enough that I love her.
Now she is leaving for education, adventure and excitement. In a small way, I envy her: too soon will she find the burdens of bills and work, and life. I hope she has fun, stays safe, and thinks sometimes about her Daddy. I will be thinking of her.
Ode to my baby girl.
My daughter will leave for college in a few weeks. I am terrified. Not for the reasons you might think. She is smart, fun and driven. She knows what she wants and will make sure she gets there. She has worked three jobs this summer to make money; she knows things will be tight paying for college. She has applied for every scholarship imaginable. I know I have taught her right from wrong. If she does not now know the difference there is not much hope. She will party and have a good time. She will also remember why she is there – to learn.
I am terrified because I know my daughter will be leaving forever. She will come home for breaks and holidays. She will spend her summers in her familiar yellow painted bedroom. However, she will be gone. After college, she will move out and be on her own working, eventually falling in love, gaining a new family in time. Never again will she look at my home in the same light, it will be a stopping point, a place to sleep, a rest stop on life’s highway. I am terrified for me, how will I get along when she is gone?
We have not always agreed. I get pretty mad at her, probably a lot less than her aggravation at me. We are so much alike, it is scary. We laugh at the same things. We are both pig headed. Both are convinced of our inherent righteousness in every matter. The biggest difference is she is beautiful and good.
I remember the day my wife found out she was pregnant. We skipped the needle on my favorite John Cougar album, jumping for joy. I remember the night she was born. I came home from the hospital, elated, exhausted, and sobered by the enormous responsibility now placed on my shoulders. I had never even held a baby prior to that night!
I remember the nights driving her in the car, mile upon mile down the country roads through the cornfields. This was the only way to get her to sleep. Have you ever smelt corn growing in the field? That scent still reminds me of my baby girl, crying in her car seat as she drifted off to her sweet dreams.
I remember the afternoons I picked her up from the babysitter. We went to the park to swing endlessly; she could never get enough. She then would sleep on my shoulder in the old recliner until my wife came home from work. My little girl’s love of spicy foods was foretold the time she ate my chili as a toddler. She ate bowl after bowl, tears streaming down her cheeks. The chili was over spiced, the result of too much beer while cooking. She loved it.
My heart was ripped apart in her early teen years, when girls can be so mean to each other. I had no way to help her. Soon new friends came along. I watched her grow into a beautiful young woman in high school: class president, scholar, and friend to all. I am sorry I rode her too hard for her grades. I did not tell her enough that I love her.
Now she is leaving for education, adventure and excitement. In a small way, I envy her: too soon will she find the burdens of bills and work, and life. I hope she has fun, stays safe, and thinks sometimes about her Daddy. I will be thinking of her.
Germs and other tales
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Be Aware
About ten years ago we took a family vacation to Atlanta for spring break. Do not ask why, we just did. I think I had free stays at one of the hotels there.
We hit all the tourist spots, Olympic Plaza, the underground, and the Coke Museum.
At the Coke Museum they have a room where there are fountains dispensing every product made by Coke worldwide. You could grab a little cup and sample the wares.
The kids thought this was great. We let them drink their fill and try everything, heck, it was vacation.
I noticed my oldest boy, who was around six at the time was taking a cup drinking it, then replacing his cup on another stack. It did not register at first. He continued to do this -- take a cup from the left, fill it, drink it, replace on the right. Then it hit me. He was putting his dirty cups in the clean stack instead of throwing them away! I made him stop, but he was so earnest that he thought the left stack was for used ones. I asked what he thought all the trash cans were for.
Of course we laughed our asses off. I did not drink any more and we soon left. If my kid would do it, I am sure others did too.
Do they still have this room? Are there still little disposable cups you sample from? Be aware.
Be Aware
About ten years ago we took a family vacation to Atlanta for spring break. Do not ask why, we just did. I think I had free stays at one of the hotels there.
We hit all the tourist spots, Olympic Plaza, the underground, and the Coke Museum.
At the Coke Museum they have a room where there are fountains dispensing every product made by Coke worldwide. You could grab a little cup and sample the wares.
The kids thought this was great. We let them drink their fill and try everything, heck, it was vacation.
I noticed my oldest boy, who was around six at the time was taking a cup drinking it, then replacing his cup on another stack. It did not register at first. He continued to do this -- take a cup from the left, fill it, drink it, replace on the right. Then it hit me. He was putting his dirty cups in the clean stack instead of throwing them away! I made him stop, but he was so earnest that he thought the left stack was for used ones. I asked what he thought all the trash cans were for.
Of course we laughed our asses off. I did not drink any more and we soon left. If my kid would do it, I am sure others did too.
Do they still have this room? Are there still little disposable cups you sample from? Be aware.