Hello Boys and Girls. We got home in the wee hours of the morning from a fun and exciting cruise vacation. Sorry I had to leave you canned posts, but that is the price you pay when I am having my bestest vacation ever. You got snow and cold, I got fun and sun in tropical climes. I do not want to rub it in so I will tell you my nose got burnt and I have a bleeding blister on my left little toe. I am certain that will make you feel better about the food, beer, mojitos, pina coladas, rum punch and cigars I consumed. It soothes the resentment you harbor over the afternoon we spent on a catamaran sailing and snorkeling and drinking rum punch afterward!
Too many cars and far too many idiot drivers coupled with an intermittent rain made a normal14 hour drive home stretch into an interminable 19 hour ordeal, but it was all worth it!
March 31, 2013
March 28, 2013
Sumertime Blues
Here is another excerpt from the fictional short story I am working on.
In my youth, Indiana required every student to pass a class in biology in order to graduate from high school. Since every student had to take the class, the school was faced with a choice. They could hire several teachers just to teach biology, or they could offer the class as a summer course. My school offered a summer session. It was understood that the summer session was much easier than the winter version. After all, the teachers did not want to be there, the students weren’t interested and it was hot in the un-air-conditioned high school. So in that summer before my freshman year I found myself in a hot classroom learning about biology. Cells and bugs and trees and the human body – we covered it all in six weeks of three hour morning classes. We cut up frogs, captured butterflies and pored over diagrams of genitalia in a twittering, snickering mob.
Leroy Lewis sat behind me. Leroy was short and stocky and had a square head. I say he was short, but he was probably at least as tall as I was, he just seemed shorter because his head was so big. Leroy was square all over. His skull featured a Frankenstein-like forehead, and the shape was not enhanced by his unfashionable crew cut. Leroy's body was wide and square too. He wore a cheap Timex on his thick wrist.
Leroy was my lab partner. While we were not buddies, I got along with him fine. Along with a bunch of the other guys in the class we sat around at breaks. Leroy joined in the conversation staples of the day -- sports and sex and girls. He was frequently the good-natured butt of jokes and occasionally gave as good as he got.
One Wednesday after class, a large group of us was crossing Walser Road in front of the high school. There must have been eight or ten kids in the bunch, including a couple of girls. Everyone was going to head to the pool. I heard someone yell “Hey, wait up”. I did not slacken my pace, I wanted to get home and change.
I won’t lie. I did not hear the screech or the bump. I did turn to see Leroy lying on the asphalt, shaking, shaking, shaking like he had been electrocuted. There was a spreading pool of dark red, almost brown blood flowing from his head. There was so much blood.
Years of Boy Scouts flooded into my consciousness. I ran into the street and assessed the injuries. Head wound – check. Shock – check. I pulled a clean bandanna from my back pocket and put pressure on the wound. I told Cathy Posz to run home and call an ambulance. I checked Leroy’s breathing.
I did all those things in my dreams in the days and weeks after Leroy died. In reality I stood there like everyone else watching the trickle of blood flow into a larger pool on the hot pavement. I stood there until long after the ambulance arrived and took Leroy away. I was still watching as the firemen used their hoses to wash away the blood and glass. The cops were bored with hearing the same story over and over and did not even interview me.
The calling at the funeral home was quite the event. Just about every kid in school showed up. The popular girls and cool kids all sat on a couch and cried. Lynn Taylor hugged Leroy’s Mom and sobbed. If I had done an informal survey the week proceeding the accident, half of the people at the wake would not have known Leroy at all. They might have only recognized his face, but would have never known his last name.I would bet my future lifetime earnings Lynn Taylor had never spoken to Leroy in his life. If you would have asked me, I would have said he was I guy I knew in school. Thirty-five years later I would say Leroy’s death made me very sad because I learned in those days and hours what hypocrites most people really are.
In my youth, Indiana required every student to pass a class in biology in order to graduate from high school. Since every student had to take the class, the school was faced with a choice. They could hire several teachers just to teach biology, or they could offer the class as a summer course. My school offered a summer session. It was understood that the summer session was much easier than the winter version. After all, the teachers did not want to be there, the students weren’t interested and it was hot in the un-air-conditioned high school. So in that summer before my freshman year I found myself in a hot classroom learning about biology. Cells and bugs and trees and the human body – we covered it all in six weeks of three hour morning classes. We cut up frogs, captured butterflies and pored over diagrams of genitalia in a twittering, snickering mob.
Leroy Lewis sat behind me. Leroy was short and stocky and had a square head. I say he was short, but he was probably at least as tall as I was, he just seemed shorter because his head was so big. Leroy was square all over. His skull featured a Frankenstein-like forehead, and the shape was not enhanced by his unfashionable crew cut. Leroy's body was wide and square too. He wore a cheap Timex on his thick wrist.
Leroy was my lab partner. While we were not buddies, I got along with him fine. Along with a bunch of the other guys in the class we sat around at breaks. Leroy joined in the conversation staples of the day -- sports and sex and girls. He was frequently the good-natured butt of jokes and occasionally gave as good as he got.
One Wednesday after class, a large group of us was crossing Walser Road in front of the high school. There must have been eight or ten kids in the bunch, including a couple of girls. Everyone was going to head to the pool. I heard someone yell “Hey, wait up”. I did not slacken my pace, I wanted to get home and change.
I won’t lie. I did not hear the screech or the bump. I did turn to see Leroy lying on the asphalt, shaking, shaking, shaking like he had been electrocuted. There was a spreading pool of dark red, almost brown blood flowing from his head. There was so much blood.
Years of Boy Scouts flooded into my consciousness. I ran into the street and assessed the injuries. Head wound – check. Shock – check. I pulled a clean bandanna from my back pocket and put pressure on the wound. I told Cathy Posz to run home and call an ambulance. I checked Leroy’s breathing.
I did all those things in my dreams in the days and weeks after Leroy died. In reality I stood there like everyone else watching the trickle of blood flow into a larger pool on the hot pavement. I stood there until long after the ambulance arrived and took Leroy away. I was still watching as the firemen used their hoses to wash away the blood and glass. The cops were bored with hearing the same story over and over and did not even interview me.
The calling at the funeral home was quite the event. Just about every kid in school showed up. The popular girls and cool kids all sat on a couch and cried. Lynn Taylor hugged Leroy’s Mom and sobbed. If I had done an informal survey the week proceeding the accident, half of the people at the wake would not have known Leroy at all. They might have only recognized his face, but would have never known his last name.I would bet my future lifetime earnings Lynn Taylor had never spoken to Leroy in his life. If you would have asked me, I would have said he was I guy I knew in school. Thirty-five years later I would say Leroy’s death made me very sad because I learned in those days and hours what hypocrites most people really are.
March 27, 2013
Inspired by yesterday's post
Here is Ann Margaret steaming up the screen in Viva Las Vegas.
What? Sure here is a little more Ann for your viewing pleasure:
Remember when Ann took the Flinstones to a new level? Wilma was not even in the same league. Heck Betty was hotter than Wilma too.
March 26, 2013
Friday Covers -- Tuesday edition
The incomparable King after a scary ad.
The Dead kennedys, rocks it out, punk style.
Shawn Colvin mellows it down.
The Boss gambles his version will suit your fancy.
March 25, 2013
Reason 3,741 you wish you were me
I fried up some Spam for lunch served with some leftover mac n' cheese. I know you are jealous.
March 24, 2013
Feckless
We have no money for the annual Easter Egg roll, White House tours, meat inspection, border control, education, defense, air traffic control or the TSA. We do have the money for the President to play golf and vacation. We do have money to give to Egypt and the Muslim Brotherhood. We do have the money to give to Yale "to study the evolution of sexual conflict and the evolution of reproductive structures" in waterfowl. source
Words fail me.. Somehow every Democrat believes we do not have one single place to save money. We are led to believe a reduction in the rate of increased spending will decimate the country. They spout that spending is not the problem, it is the damn Bush Tax Cuts. The problem is you and I do not pay our fair share.
Fucking bastards.
h/t GOC
Words fail me.. Somehow every Democrat believes we do not have one single place to save money. We are led to believe a reduction in the rate of increased spending will decimate the country. They spout that spending is not the problem, it is the damn Bush Tax Cuts. The problem is you and I do not pay our fair share.
Fucking bastards.
h/t GOC
March 22, 2013
I raise my glass to the Acidman
Wow.
Eight years.
I posted my first of many shitty posts on March 22, 2005. More than 4,000 posts later I am still at it. I suppose I could claim a thumbs up for consistency. .Like your neighborhood hash joint, I may not win awards for quality, but I do serve up quantity.
Together we have been through elections, and jobs, and seen my kids grow up. When I started this strange hobby my daughter was a senior in high school, my oldest son was learning to drive, and my youngest was still fielding balls in Little league. Now the two oldest are out in the world making their own mark. The youngest is away at college.
In 2005 the Cubs sucked and the next World Championship was just a couple of years away. Now, the Cubs suck and the next World Championship is just a couple of years away.
Some of you have been at this blogging stuff far longer than I, some are more prolific. Most of you are more popular.. But I have a good time blogging. I entertain me, if no one else..
Lots of my readers over the years have moved on. Many commenters and fellow bloggers have found new interests. Some of you have been around since the early days. I do not possess the vocabulary or writing skills to adequately express my appreciation for each and every one of you who have read, linked and commented over the years.
A simple 'thank you' will have to suffice.
Eight years.
I posted my first of many shitty posts on March 22, 2005. More than 4,000 posts later I am still at it. I suppose I could claim a thumbs up for consistency. .Like your neighborhood hash joint, I may not win awards for quality, but I do serve up quantity.
Together we have been through elections, and jobs, and seen my kids grow up. When I started this strange hobby my daughter was a senior in high school, my oldest son was learning to drive, and my youngest was still fielding balls in Little league. Now the two oldest are out in the world making their own mark. The youngest is away at college.
In 2005 the Cubs sucked and the next World Championship was just a couple of years away. Now, the Cubs suck and the next World Championship is just a couple of years away.
Some of you have been at this blogging stuff far longer than I, some are more prolific. Most of you are more popular.. But I have a good time blogging. I entertain me, if no one else..
Lots of my readers over the years have moved on. Many commenters and fellow bloggers have found new interests. Some of you have been around since the early days. I do not possess the vocabulary or writing skills to adequately express my appreciation for each and every one of you who have read, linked and commented over the years.
A simple 'thank you' will have to suffice.
March 21, 2013
Are You F-ing Kidding Me?
Today is March 21. Winter is over since yesterday.. It was 19 degrees when I ran to the curb to fetch my paper this morning. The wind chill was NINE. Yes, I know using big letters means I am shouting.
I could use a little global warming.
I could use a little global warming.
March 20, 2013
51
I know. Things have been quiet around here. That is because I am a moron when it comes to scheduling. I attended a rock concert in Louisville Sunday night. Then I had to drive the boy back to Bloomington, IN. I finally got home just before 2 in the aye em. I had to be in beautiful Elkhart/Mishawaka/South Bend before noon on Monday. Brilliant scheduling on my part, eh wot? After a full day of work and driving and being my charming self, all I could do was crash in the hotel Monday Night. More work and driving and smiling followed on Tuesday. No time for sergeants, and no time for blogging either.
I'm 51 today. Happy Spring.
I'm 51 today. Happy Spring.
March 18, 2013
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
I am stealing a bit from a post over at Ed's place. I am not sure this is really where he was going with his post, but as I think further about it, I see the end game for the progressive movement.
In recent years the political conversation has moved steadily to one of "need" . Obama and his cronies are always talking about our needs (I am going to dispense with the quotation marks around "need" as I find it tiresome). Early in his Presidency Obama told us we do not need to keep our houses so warm in the winter and so cool in the summer. he said American use way more energy than they should (read 'need'). We are told that at some point you do not need all of that money you are making. You are advised that some people have better health insurance than they need, so 'Cadillac Policies" are taxed under ObamaCare.
Much of the current gun control debate centers on what you need. You hear Feinstein and other gun-grabbers postulate that you do not need a scary black plastic semi-automatic rifle. After all, it is not good for hunting. It is not a big jump to argue you do not need more than one gun. You see, the notion that the scary black semi-automatic rifles are rarely used in crimes is irrelevant, it is about confiscation of firearms.
Back in the day you heard Sierra Club types complain that people did not need a Hummer. Now as far as I know every single owner of the Hummer in its various forms bought and paid for the vehicle and gas themselves, so for me, who cares what they drive? But rest assured Obama and your typical liberal looks at your pickup and your SUV/crossover and wonders why you need such a big gas hog. You are not in the farm or construction industry. You do not haul big loads. Trust me, before the next President is elected the question of why you need a big car will be in the national discussion.
We must do all we can to discourage the conversation turning to one of discussing needs. Every time a liberal starts a sentence with "You do not need..." we must respond with "Need has nothing to do with it". Rights have nothing whatsoever to do with need. Capitalism is not based in need.
I do not need a three car garage. I do not need a an SUV. I do not need a 'fridge in my garage. I do not need a humidor filled with imported cigars rolled between the thighs of luscious maidens in some far-off Caribbean Island or Central American country. I don't need a smart phone or computer or big screen TV. I do not need some bureaucrat or governmental flunkies making life decisions for me and my family.
Is there and endgame to moving the conversation to one of need? Progressives like to discuss needs, because that is how they think. Capitalism is fueled by greed in their mind. It caters to wants. For your typical liberal, there should not be profit in basic necessities. Food, shelter, health care should be free for everyone. No one should have better or best. I do not need to be eating a steak when you are munching on a generic brand hot dog.
Once the conversation becomes one of needs, then we are finally closer to the real goal: a society based on working to one's ability and receiving according to one's needs.
In recent years the political conversation has moved steadily to one of "need" . Obama and his cronies are always talking about our needs (I am going to dispense with the quotation marks around "need" as I find it tiresome). Early in his Presidency Obama told us we do not need to keep our houses so warm in the winter and so cool in the summer. he said American use way more energy than they should (read 'need'). We are told that at some point you do not need all of that money you are making. You are advised that some people have better health insurance than they need, so 'Cadillac Policies" are taxed under ObamaCare.
Much of the current gun control debate centers on what you need. You hear Feinstein and other gun-grabbers postulate that you do not need a scary black plastic semi-automatic rifle. After all, it is not good for hunting. It is not a big jump to argue you do not need more than one gun. You see, the notion that the scary black semi-automatic rifles are rarely used in crimes is irrelevant, it is about confiscation of firearms.
Back in the day you heard Sierra Club types complain that people did not need a Hummer. Now as far as I know every single owner of the Hummer in its various forms bought and paid for the vehicle and gas themselves, so for me, who cares what they drive? But rest assured Obama and your typical liberal looks at your pickup and your SUV/crossover and wonders why you need such a big gas hog. You are not in the farm or construction industry. You do not haul big loads. Trust me, before the next President is elected the question of why you need a big car will be in the national discussion.
We must do all we can to discourage the conversation turning to one of discussing needs. Every time a liberal starts a sentence with "You do not need..." we must respond with "Need has nothing to do with it". Rights have nothing whatsoever to do with need. Capitalism is not based in need.
I do not need a three car garage. I do not need a an SUV. I do not need a 'fridge in my garage. I do not need a humidor filled with imported cigars rolled between the thighs of luscious maidens in some far-off Caribbean Island or Central American country. I don't need a smart phone or computer or big screen TV. I do not need some bureaucrat or governmental flunkies making life decisions for me and my family.
Is there and endgame to moving the conversation to one of need? Progressives like to discuss needs, because that is how they think. Capitalism is fueled by greed in their mind. It caters to wants. For your typical liberal, there should not be profit in basic necessities. Food, shelter, health care should be free for everyone. No one should have better or best. I do not need to be eating a steak when you are munching on a generic brand hot dog.
Once the conversation becomes one of needs, then we are finally closer to the real goal: a society based on working to one's ability and receiving according to one's needs.
March 17, 2013
My early Birthday present
I am off this evening to see my favorite band. They will be playing this song. That notion makes me very happy indeed.
Watch and enjoy. Do it for my birthday. You will have to skip the ad.
You gotta dig the capes!
Check out the guitar work starting at 6:25 or so.
March 16, 2013
I need a four leaf clover, and not for St. Pat's day
It is increasingly clear my vacation decisions are just as poorly conceived as my financial decisions.
The wife and I are supposed to go on our dream vacation next week. I feel like Kevin Bacon in Animal House, shouting to my wife "All is well!".
Nonetheless, I am keeping my fingers crossed while clutching my lucky rabbit's foot .Does anyone know where I can find a bald midget to rub?
The wife and I are supposed to go on our dream vacation next week. I feel like Kevin Bacon in Animal House, shouting to my wife "All is well!".
Nonetheless, I am keeping my fingers crossed while clutching my lucky rabbit's foot .Does anyone know where I can find a bald midget to rub?
March 15, 2013
Wherein the Author Makes a Rare Modern Cultural Reference
In the fantasy series Game of Thrones there is much discussion of the coming long winter. Summer and winter last years, if not decades, in the far-off land of Westros. Well, it seems like winter has lasted decades around these parts. Last summer was brutally hot and temperatures dropped abruptly from the 90s to the 50's seemingly over night.
Here we are in mid-March and the expected spring warming has not yet arrived. It snowed a bit yesterday. This morning there is a thin covering of frost and snow on the grass. March snow is not unusual, even a scant week from Official Spring (and my birthday). Normally by now we have had some fine days of 70 degree weather mixed in with the cold days..
There is no doubt I am a March baby. My personality runs hot and cold with rapid changes. I can be windy. Those qualities also define a typical mid-western March. The March of 2013 has been steady cold. Last weekend we hit 60, but that is the warmest I have seen. I am ready for a little of AlGore's global warming.
Here we are in mid-March and the expected spring warming has not yet arrived. It snowed a bit yesterday. This morning there is a thin covering of frost and snow on the grass. March snow is not unusual, even a scant week from Official Spring (and my birthday). Normally by now we have had some fine days of 70 degree weather mixed in with the cold days..
There is no doubt I am a March baby. My personality runs hot and cold with rapid changes. I can be windy. Those qualities also define a typical mid-western March. The March of 2013 has been steady cold. Last weekend we hit 60, but that is the warmest I have seen. I am ready for a little of AlGore's global warming.
Friday Music
We have not spent time with The Stones recently.
When my kids were babies I used to sing this to them when they woke up in the middle of the night looking for a comforting voice to get them back to sleep. I can't hit the high notes any more. I never could sing worth a crap, so it does not really matter. I don't even sing well in the shower.
March 14, 2013
March 13, 2013
Are all Prius Drivers Assholes -- volume II
If a typical electric car is driven 50,000 miles over its lifetime, the huge initial emissions from its manufacture means the car will actually have put more carbon-dioxide in the atmosphere than a similar-size gasoline-powered car driven the same number of miles source
Read the whole thing.
March 12, 2013
Hysteria and the budget crisis
Can any one explain to me how it is that we don't have money for unguided White House tours, but have plenty of cash in the budget for the Secret Service, airplanes, helicopters, security and a fleet of SUVs to accompany our President while he plays yet another round of golf?
March 11, 2013
Ode to an Ode on a Greecian Urn
Sit back, grab some coffee or a cola, perhaps even your favorite adult beverage. This could quite possibly be the best blog post I have ever written. I let my wife read it and afterward she had that post-coital frazzled yet contented look I have seen on occasion. She wore the same leering smile on her face most of our wedding night. You might need a smoke when you are finished.
Think of a cold beer after mowing the lawn on a hot summer day. The sweat is dripping on your brow. The heat waves are shimmering, visibly reflecting from the blacktopped street. Flowers are wilting, you almost expect their bright reds and yellows and purples to melt and run under the noontime rays. This post will is like a refreshing Bud or PBR or Strohs as it bubbles down your parched throat.
Think of that Christmas when you came down the stairs and glimpsed that bright red Schwinn under the tree. Remember the time Santa left you the Easy Bake Oven or the GI Joe with full scuba gear. Reflect on the joy of finding that Power Ranger Zoid wrapped in the yellow foil paper on your eighth birthday, when Mom had told you for weeks it was sold out from every store. This post is like getting your first Cabbage Patch or Barbie Doll.
I think I can fairly compare the joy you will derive from this post to the euphoria you felt with your first kiss, or the first time you held your daughter in your arms.
This post will remind you of puppies and kittens and the sweet smell of bread in the oven. Reading it is like jumping on a trampoline, spotting a bald eagle or staring into the wondrous and beautiful abyss of the Grand Canyon.
The post I present is like the first snowfall of winter, rainbows after a spring shower and red roses in a green vase. This post is waterfalls, watching a a pitcher hurl a perfect game, and your team winning the Superbowl.
This post is the joy of leaving a well-placed chili fart in the cereal aisle at WalMart, a glimpse of a nipple, and a video of a skateboarder racking his nuts on a stair rail.
This post will make you forget Shakespeare, Hemingway and Twain. It will invoke the emotional roller coaster of a Citizen Kane, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Gone With the Wind, or Rambo II.
This is a post for the EOB; I don't want my ass kicked.
You should read her. She is as wrong as wrong can be when it comes to politics, but she is entertaining as hell.
Oh, I am heading for the friendly skies and I don't have time now to write the post I had planned.
Sorry about that.
Think of a cold beer after mowing the lawn on a hot summer day. The sweat is dripping on your brow. The heat waves are shimmering, visibly reflecting from the blacktopped street. Flowers are wilting, you almost expect their bright reds and yellows and purples to melt and run under the noontime rays. This post will is like a refreshing Bud or PBR or Strohs as it bubbles down your parched throat.
Think of that Christmas when you came down the stairs and glimpsed that bright red Schwinn under the tree. Remember the time Santa left you the Easy Bake Oven or the GI Joe with full scuba gear. Reflect on the joy of finding that Power Ranger Zoid wrapped in the yellow foil paper on your eighth birthday, when Mom had told you for weeks it was sold out from every store. This post is like getting your first Cabbage Patch or Barbie Doll.
 |
| As wondrous as the stuff I photograph from my car window at 60 mph |
This post will remind you of puppies and kittens and the sweet smell of bread in the oven. Reading it is like jumping on a trampoline, spotting a bald eagle or staring into the wondrous and beautiful abyss of the Grand Canyon.
The post I present is like the first snowfall of winter, rainbows after a spring shower and red roses in a green vase. This post is waterfalls, watching a a pitcher hurl a perfect game, and your team winning the Superbowl.
This post is the joy of leaving a well-placed chili fart in the cereal aisle at WalMart, a glimpse of a nipple, and a video of a skateboarder racking his nuts on a stair rail.
This post will make you forget Shakespeare, Hemingway and Twain. It will invoke the emotional roller coaster of a Citizen Kane, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Gone With the Wind, or Rambo II.
This is a post for the EOB; I don't want my ass kicked.
You should read her. She is as wrong as wrong can be when it comes to politics, but she is entertaining as hell.
Oh, I am heading for the friendly skies and I don't have time now to write the post I had planned.
Sorry about that.
March 10, 2013
Blogging may be dead, but I am not.
I suppose I outta put up some sort of post. Of course, writing something just to be writing something is the worst reason ever to post to a blog.
Friday we went ot the Windy City to see the boy's band in action up in Wrigleyville (Goose Island Brewpub -- thanks for a great evening). We had a blast in the big city. The wife rode the El for the first time as we ventured from our digs near Michigan Avenue and the Magnificent Mile up to the North Side. The venue was just a long fly ball from the Friendly Confines, so I had to grab some late night pics of my baseball mecca. .
Here is the author hanging with Ernie Banks while in Chicago. Mr. Cub did not have much to say. I am the one on the ground. No one has put me on a pedestal yet.
I have been to Wrigley Field many times, but this was the first time the wife had seen it. Her comment was one I have heard from her before: "Its not as big as I thought it would be."
Last night the band was in Ann Arbor doing a gig at the Blind Pig. I did not make that trip. Maybe I will come along the next time they visit the Big Mitten State.
I have to go do the change-the-clocks thing. Enjoy your Sunday.
Friday we went ot the Windy City to see the boy's band in action up in Wrigleyville (Goose Island Brewpub -- thanks for a great evening). We had a blast in the big city. The wife rode the El for the first time as we ventured from our digs near Michigan Avenue and the Magnificent Mile up to the North Side. The venue was just a long fly ball from the Friendly Confines, so I had to grab some late night pics of my baseball mecca. .
Here is the author hanging with Ernie Banks while in Chicago. Mr. Cub did not have much to say. I am the one on the ground. No one has put me on a pedestal yet.
I have been to Wrigley Field many times, but this was the first time the wife had seen it. Her comment was one I have heard from her before: "Its not as big as I thought it would be."
Last night the band was in Ann Arbor doing a gig at the Blind Pig. I did not make that trip. Maybe I will come along the next time they visit the Big Mitten State.
I have to go do the change-the-clocks thing. Enjoy your Sunday.
March 7, 2013
Urgent Update
Just like Generalissimo Fransisco Franco, Hugo Chavez is still dead.
Fidel, the clock is ticking...
Oh, and how about a big fuck you, Jimmy Carter-- you freedom-hating dickwad.
Fidel, the clock is ticking...
Oh, and how about a big fuck you, Jimmy Carter-- you freedom-hating dickwad.
March 6, 2013
Not Rain, nor Sleet...
Why is the Postal Service broke?
My son mailed some tax documents to me a little over a week ago. Yesterday, he received the envelope back in a bag marked return to sender. There was an attached note that informed him the drop box where he deposited his letter was no longer a valid drop box for the US Postal Service and referred him to the USPS website to find the nearest drop box.
Instead of delivering the letter, the Post Office sent it back to be re-mailed.
These are the very type of bureaucrats who are going to decide your medical fate under ObamaCare.
Sleep well tonight, Dear Readers.
My son mailed some tax documents to me a little over a week ago. Yesterday, he received the envelope back in a bag marked return to sender. There was an attached note that informed him the drop box where he deposited his letter was no longer a valid drop box for the US Postal Service and referred him to the USPS website to find the nearest drop box.
Instead of delivering the letter, the Post Office sent it back to be re-mailed.
These are the very type of bureaucrats who are going to decide your medical fate under ObamaCare.
Sleep well tonight, Dear Readers.
March 5, 2013
Riveting commentary and personal anecdotes that will leave you crying for more
I got out of Chi-town late last night to avoid the winter storm bearing down It made for a long day, driving up and back with three meetings in between. But a 14 hour day was far preferable to the long day driving through freezing rain an a half foot or more of snow.
This morning I was up at 5:00, I don't know why.
I had to replace the battery in the boy's car this morning. That is what happens when you do not start a car with a five year-old battery for a month. I tried jumping it and charging it, but it was D-E-D dead.
When did car batteries get so expensive? I was thinking a battery for a ten year old Honda Civic would run in the neighborhood of $50. It was about twice that. I blame Obama, just because I can.
This morning I was up at 5:00, I don't know why.
I had to replace the battery in the boy's car this morning. That is what happens when you do not start a car with a five year-old battery for a month. I tried jumping it and charging it, but it was D-E-D dead.
When did car batteries get so expensive? I was thinking a battery for a ten year old Honda Civic would run in the neighborhood of $50. It was about twice that. I blame Obama, just because I can.
March 3, 2013
Speaking words of wisdom...
Saturday we were fighting the winter chill in my buddies' garage via kerosene heater and beer and cigar smoke. Never mind the conversation leading to the quote:
"See one naked boob and you want to see them all"Can I get an 'Amen' from the dudes in the audience?
Summer Memories
I rolled my swim trunks into my beach towel.
I used a bungee cord to hold the cylinder to the handlebar of my white ten
speed. I went back in the house where I checked to make sure I had the
requisite seventy-five cents in the pocket of my cut offs. I pushed back my
hair from my eyes and glanced at the mirror. My tanned, soon-to-be-a-
high-school-freshman body had no fat. It had no muscle either. Wide shoulders
sat above narrow hips framed by even-skinnier arms and legs. I practiced a
James Dean smirk as I pulled on a faded Notre Dame T-Shirt.
I pushed the bike out of the garage and lowered the door. It occurred to me I forgot to eat lunch. I glanced back at the house, shrugged and mounted the bike. I checked the security of the bungee cords once more before heading down the short driveway. The Whitaker's aged collie-mix gave a feeble bark as I pedaled past.
I biked across town, avoiding the main streets. I traversed a set of railroad tracks, then another. I peddled past the old power plant A short distance later I came to the corner ice cream stand. If I had money I would have grabbed a taco. I was sorry I skipped lunch. Down the hill I coasted, hands at my side. The bike was perfectly balanced even without my hands on the handle bars. I silently hummed along with the music playing in my head.
I cut up the bike path through the expansive city park. past the playground I could hear the whistles as the lifeguards opened the pool. I locked my bike into the rack. I had arrived as planned; just after the opening crowd had entered, to avoid the crush. I paid for my entry and a basket to store my clothes.
Jeff was just pulling on his trunks as I dropped to the bench in the men's locker room. "S'up, man?" he intoned.
"How's it going? I'll be ready in a minute" I said as I threw my shorts and shirt along with my towel into the basket. Jeff padded into the shower. He was still standing under the freezing water, wetting his swim trunks when I came in. I pulled the chain and quickly dowsed my hair and body. I sloshed through the chlorine-heavy foot bath before going out to the crowded pool.
The fifty year old public pool was filled with shouting, splashing people on this hot summer afternoon. We walked past the kiddie pool and shallow end and marched toward the diving boards, trying our best to radiate cool from every pore.
Jeff walked straight up to the two foot spring board. He walked purposely to the end. He turned his back to the pool and did a back flip after a quick bounce. I ran to the end and executed a smooth jackknife in his wake. I saw Jeff flip me a middle finger as I leaped into the air for my dive. Laughing and sputtering we climbed up the side. Ladders were for pussies.
I caught a glimpse of blond hair and a shapely teenaged body as I sprang onto the diving board again. I did a sloppy one-and-a-half somersault into the water and swam towards the concrete island in the center of the pool.
I pushed the bike out of the garage and lowered the door. It occurred to me I forgot to eat lunch. I glanced back at the house, shrugged and mounted the bike. I checked the security of the bungee cords once more before heading down the short driveway. The Whitaker's aged collie-mix gave a feeble bark as I pedaled past.
I biked across town, avoiding the main streets. I traversed a set of railroad tracks, then another. I peddled past the old power plant A short distance later I came to the corner ice cream stand. If I had money I would have grabbed a taco. I was sorry I skipped lunch. Down the hill I coasted, hands at my side. The bike was perfectly balanced even without my hands on the handle bars. I silently hummed along with the music playing in my head.
I cut up the bike path through the expansive city park. past the playground I could hear the whistles as the lifeguards opened the pool. I locked my bike into the rack. I had arrived as planned; just after the opening crowd had entered, to avoid the crush. I paid for my entry and a basket to store my clothes.
Jeff was just pulling on his trunks as I dropped to the bench in the men's locker room. "S'up, man?" he intoned.
"How's it going? I'll be ready in a minute" I said as I threw my shorts and shirt along with my towel into the basket. Jeff padded into the shower. He was still standing under the freezing water, wetting his swim trunks when I came in. I pulled the chain and quickly dowsed my hair and body. I sloshed through the chlorine-heavy foot bath before going out to the crowded pool.
The fifty year old public pool was filled with shouting, splashing people on this hot summer afternoon. We walked past the kiddie pool and shallow end and marched toward the diving boards, trying our best to radiate cool from every pore.
Jeff walked straight up to the two foot spring board. He walked purposely to the end. He turned his back to the pool and did a back flip after a quick bounce. I ran to the end and executed a smooth jackknife in his wake. I saw Jeff flip me a middle finger as I leaped into the air for my dive. Laughing and sputtering we climbed up the side. Ladders were for pussies.
I caught a glimpse of blond hair and a shapely teenaged body as I sprang onto the diving board again. I did a sloppy one-and-a-half somersault into the water and swam towards the concrete island in the center of the pool.
March 2, 2013
Another Soperific Saturday Post
Here we are on an early Saturday morning. For some reason I woke up just after 5:00. I know, that is what I said too. I tried without success to get back to sleep, but here we are. I have read the paper and eaten breakfast and cup number two of coffee is warming my gullet.
I was up until after midnight finishing a book (Zorro - the Curse of Capistrano if you are curious), so I should have been tired. Oh well, I can probably muster a nap in the old recliner later this morning.
Too bad I deleted the next three paragraphs. You don't want to hear it. Not today anyway.
I hope you have a great weekend.
I was up until after midnight finishing a book (Zorro - the Curse of Capistrano if you are curious), so I should have been tired. Oh well, I can probably muster a nap in the old recliner later this morning.
Too bad I deleted the next three paragraphs. You don't want to hear it. Not today anyway.
I hope you have a great weekend.
March 1, 2013
Today's Thought
I really must make an effort to work the word "poltroon" into my every day conversation.
What say we give it a try?
President Obama, you are a poltroon. You could have stopped the sequester by vetoing the fucking bill. Now quit lying and get to work.
What say we give it a try?
President Obama, you are a poltroon. You could have stopped the sequester by vetoing the fucking bill. Now quit lying and get to work.
Friday Covers
Chicago in the early years (Chicago Transit Authority)
Spencer Davis Group -- Steve Winwood belts out the original
How could you Keith Emerson?
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