September 27, 2020

Drift away like Tom Sawyer

It was June of that not-so-Orwellian year of 1984 when the wife and I tied the knot after a long engagement. We were short on cash, but scratched and saved enough to go on a four or five day honeymoon to Gatlinburg. We stayed at the Holiday Inn. In those days it was a nice hotel, complete with a couple of pools, a restaurant, and a bar. 

There was a decent cover band that played the bar at night and a couple of afternoons at the pool while we were there. Those were the days when bars and resorts hired real musicians instead of DJs. The new wife and I had a great time drinking in the bar, soaking the sun by the pool, doing the touristy stuff, and, well, honeymooning. 

Anyway, the cover band did a more than credible version of this song by Alabama:

This tune occasionally pops up on the rotation from my collection on the phone. Every time it does it takes me back to the summer my life started. 

I may have featured this song before. Lots of music has been posted in the 15+ years I have been doing this thing. If so, then so what? Mountain Music is still worth a listen some 38 years after its release.

September 26, 2020

Power Words

The manager of a ladies’ dress shop decided it was time to have a serious talk with one of her sales clerks. “Janet, your figures are well below any of our other sales clerks’. I’m sorry to say that unless you can improve your record soon, we will have to let you go.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Janet humbly replied. “Is there any advice you could give me on how to do better?”

“There is an old trick I can tell you about,” the manager said. “It may sound silly, but it has worked for me in the past. Go through a dictionary until you come to a word that has particular power for you. Memorize it and work it into your sales pitch whenever it seems appropriate. You’ll be amazed at the results.”

Sure enough, Janet’s sales figures improved, and at the end of the month the manager called her in again and congratulated her. “Did you try my little trick?” she asked.

“Yes,” Janet nodded. “It took me an entire weekend to find just the right word, but I did … ‘Fantastic’.”

“‘Fantastic’. What an excellent word,” the manager said encouragingly. “How have you been using it?”

“Well, my first customer on Monday was a woman who told me her little girl had just been accepted at the most exclusive prep school in the city. I said, ‘Fantastic.’ She went on to tell me how her daughter always got straight A’s and was the most popular girl in her class. I said ‘Fantastic’ and she bought $450 worth of clothing.”

“My next customer,” Janet continued, “told me she was in charge of the Spring Ball at the country club and needed a new formal dress. I said ‘Fantastic.’ She went on to tell me she had the best figure of anyone on the committee and her husband makes the most money. I said ‘Fantastic’ and she not only bought the designer gown, but hundreds of dollars of other merchandise. It’s been like that all week: the customers keep boasting, I keep saying ‘Fantastic’, and they keep buying.”

“Excellent work, Janet,” complimented the manager. “Out of curiosity, what did you used to say to customers before you discovered your power word?”

“I used to say, ‘Who gives a sh*t!'” Janet replied with a shrug.

September 25, 2020

let’s have more shortages

We need to look no further than California (yet again) to see the lunacy of the leftist agenda. The state for years has electricity shortages; resorting to rolling blackouts and brownouts through the summer months. Unable to produce enough power themselves because they have rejected nukes, hydroelectric, and coal, they must buy electricity from adjoining states. *

Since there is a shortage of electricity to power their daily needs, the Wish Legislators (I wish it so therefore it shall be) have decreed that henceforth only electric cars shall be sold in California. They might as well demand everyone ride a bike, because that’s what you Californians will be doing when there is no electricity to charge your car battery. 

I foresee a California that looks like modern Cuba where old cars are lovingly and painstakingly maintained so that reliable transportation can be found. I also see the California Legislators scratching their heads in wonder when the discover all that gas tax has disappeared from their already overextended coffers. 

Leftism is truly a mental disease.**

*good luck with that “California as a separate country” movement when you have to buy your power from a foreign country.

** Further proof

September 24, 2020

By the way, that isn’t a Confederate kepi

One thing you have to say about the modern era of television is that in general the theme songs for shows lack a certain pizzazz.  The dut dut from Law and Order might give us a classic sense of time and place but I guess that is more through decades of hearing it. I would argue the same for the Simpsons appropriately frantic theme song. 

No it was in the halcyon days of TV, when we all had but three or four choices on what to watch that the theme song needed to draw in precious viewers. Oh my, there were some classic tunes from Peter Gun to Rawhide and Gilligan and The Brady Bunch. How about that snare drum from Hogan’s Heroes?

For me it was the action shows that provided the best intro and exit music. Who can deny he exquisite nature of the themes for Jonny Quest (natch), Tarzan or this one:

Do you have a favorite TV Theme Song?

September 23, 2020


 RIP Mr Sayres 

You were great. Before the injuries you were the best. Maybe ever.

September 22, 2020

OK Anonymous, this is only a joke. No wives or husbands were actually hurt, offended, or left homeless

 My wife told me to go to the doctors and get some of those tablets that “help” you get an erection.

You should of seen her face when I came back and tossed her some diet pills.

I’m still looking for a place to live.

September 21, 2020

I do not possess the vocabulary to describe how vile this notion is

Those of you who think Donald a Trump has destroyed all civilized governmental norms, how do reconcile that Pelosi indicated she would be willing to impeach (again) the President, if that kept the Senate from moving on filling the open SCOTUS position? The last impeachment effort was based on politics, and if they do it again it will be for something even lower. 

We are already moving into the realm of a Banana Republic, and despite the teeth gnashing, hair pulling, and garment rendering antics of the TDS crowd, it is the Democrat Party that is taking us there. Talk of packing the Supreme Court and impeaching whomever Trump gets installed, are all but a hop and skip from palace coups and murdering your former political rivals. I expect Pelosi to have herself named a Colonel any day now. She is probably having a gold-laced uniform designed over at Lord and Taylor right now.

What happened to actually needing a high crime or misdemeanor to impeach someone? I guess for the Democrats, not toeing the liberal line is a crime in itself. 

I was wrong Saturday to advocate waiting to fill the Court vacancy.  The Democrat’s have made it clear they will do anything to gain power. Leading Dems have promised to increase the number of Supreme Court Justices until they can get enough to pass their agenda through judicial fiat.There is no doubt they would fill a similar vacancy sans thought. Mitch needs to move and promise any lukewarm Repub that coveted committee position can be filled by more dependable stalwarts, you know, people with backbone. 

I know why the modern progressive wants to erase history. The Soviets murdered fifty million to bring about the Socialist Utopia. Mao disappeared probably twice that. Pol Pot and Castro were mere pikers killing a mere ten or twenty million combined. Who knows how many have been purged by the Frich’s Big Boy and his minions in North Korea, but it is not an inconsiderate number. The history of progressivism is an ugly thing. Best we hide it and eliminate those who can remember. 

The leftists seem determined to bring about a Civil War that will make the Serbs and Bosnians and even Spain look at the former United States and shudder at our viciousness. The last time we went at each other more than a half a million died. It took another fifty years and a world war to heal the wounds. 

Trust me, the man-bunned asshole driving the Prius with a ‘coexist’ bumper sticker gets it first. 

September 19, 2020

some of you are not going to like this opinion

Whoo boy it is a chilly 39 F here at the old homestead today. I’m not ready for that. The granddaughter has a soccer game this morning. I think I’ll actually have to don jeans and a jacket. Luckily, it is supposed to warm up later next week. Winter needs to hold off. That non-working furnace is still sitting in place waiting for a miracle chunk O’cash to show up in my bank account. 

I’ve had a post idea swirling in my brain pan for a while. Last night, while sleeping, the prose pretty much wrote itself in my head. 

This is not that post.

The probably lengthy entry is going to need research and facts and effort to back up the words. I will enjoy it, but only about three of you will find it interesting. Three fourths of my ten readers will mutter TLDR and click over to Dilbert or porn, or a blog that is actually interesting. The last few of you will see a history post, try to read it, and fall asleep, drooling on your keyboards. I dunno. You will know if and when I actually get down to the work. In the meantime, my blogging ennui guarantees you keep getting space fillers like this pseudo-effort.

One last political thought on this wonderful Saturday morning. RBG is dead. I think she was legally wrong on so many cases. In fact, Ed sums it up precisely. Nonetheless, may she Rest In Peace. 

The President should not nominate a replacement and the Senate should not hold hearings nor vote on approval for a candidate should a Trump do so. We are but weeks from the election. Leave the hypocrisy to the Democrats. They are much better at it based on long practice.

Besides, it is a great campaign message: vote for Trump and get another Constitutional originalist on the SCOTUS. It garnered Trump many votes last time and might prove a winning message yet again. 

September 18, 2020

eBay is worthless

I went to eBay to get a new cigar lighter and all they had was 13,746 matches...

Stuck in the middle...of the 60s...with you

It seems I failed to post anything yesterday. Content was a joke on Wednesday, so it has been a number of days since I posted entries of anything resembling even dubious editorial value. It is no secret I often punt when it comes to Friday content, usually opting for a music video. 

Well, that streak of nebulous content is going to continue today. What say we look at the old music library on the iPhone and randomly shuffle...

Released in 1966, this Boyce and Hart tune was first recorded that same year by Paul Revere and the Raiders. The Monkees version is the best known. The only Monkee to appear on the single was Mickey Dolenz, as was often the case, especially early in the fake rock group’s career. 

As a bonus, here is this video from a “rock group” that came up when I was researching the release year for “Stepping Stone”:

I loved the “Banana Splits” as a kid. If you are younger than dirt, or never went to Kings Island in the 1970s, you probably don’t remember those guys.

September 16, 2020


 I was testing children in my Glasgow Sunday school class to see if they understood the concept of getting into heaven.
I asked them, “If I sold my house and my Car, had a big jumble sale and gave all my Money to the church, would that get me
Into heaven?”
“NO!” the children answered.
“If I cleaned the church every day, mowed The garden and kept everything tidy, would That get me into heaven?”
Again, the answer was ‘No!’
By now I was starting to smile.
“Well, then, if I was kind to animals and Gave sweets t o all the children and Loved my wife, would that get me
Into heaven?”
Again, they all answered ‘No!’
I was just bursting with pride for them.
I continued, “Then how can I get into heaven ?”
A six year old boy shouted,
“Yuv got tae be fukin’ dead”
Kinda brings a wee tear tae yir eye…




September 15, 2020

HGTV meets the Comedy Channel

Imagine a buffoon who buys an old mansion to fix up. His misadventures are so expensive, he has to start selling off pieces of his property to pay for repairs. At one point he sells off his driveway! Then he builds another drive, only to inadvertently sell off that parcel too! This guy is so incompetent, Mr. Blandings is laughing and pointing. It all sounds like a hilarious plot summary of a sitcom, replete with a laugh track.

Sadly, it is true, and Joe Biden is the laughable loser in this tale. Yes, that Joe Biden. The serial plagiarist, truth-stretcher, and bumbling buffoon who can’t stop groping and sniffing the hair of unwilling females. You know, the guy who wants to regulate your life as you know it from existence. 

He will start with your guns, move to your car, and fuel, mess with energy production, dictate equal outcomes instead of opportunity through grievance politics, raise your taxes while accepting handfuls of cash for his family from the Chinese, Ukrainians,and anyone else who wants to pay to play. Biden, the guy who has sucked at the taxpayer test for more than fifty years, but wants to tell us how private business ought to work. That Biden.

The guy who couldn’t flip that old DuPont manor now wants to bring his brand of incompetence to America’s mansion. That is one crap show I could skip seeing. 

September 14, 2020

Way to go sports fan

I had to work yesterday. I taped the football game since I hadn’t decided to boycott or not. I would save the decision for after 6 when I got home. I did sport my Indianapolis Colts face mask to work. 

It was late afternoon. A customer stopped me to ask a question. He said he liked my mask and didn’t even pause and proceeded to tell me “They lost today, you know”. I told him I’ve been at work all day, I’m recording it. He then went on to tell me all about the game anyway. My mask prevented him from seeing me mouth the word “asshole”. Who does that kind of stuff? That made my decision to watch or not watch pretty easy.

Alex Mills threw a no-hitter for the Cubs yesterday. I was at work for that too. I’m more bummed by that than missing the Colts suck again this year. 

September 13, 2020

i swear every year the estimated crowd gets bigger.

 I got my filthy hippy vibe on yesterday and watched part of Woodstock

Lefties do make the best music.

September 12, 2020

Film at Eleven

I brought home some stuff from my dad’s house yesterday. He is purging the place of nearly sixty years of accumulated stuff. Mom was packrat. A lot of it should have been trashed years ago. Who needs EVERY cancelled check you have from the bank? When I saw “every” I mean every one since the beginning of time. Or copies of utilities bills from the 1990s? 

One of the things I brought home was a box of 8mm home movies from when I was a kid. I haven’t looked at all of the labels (of course Mom labeled them, see above) but it looks like they stop around 1969 or so. I don’t know how brittle or faded they are. I don’t have a projector to view them. I may take a few to have copied onto disk at some point. I still have about 20 of my own Hi8 tapes to get done. I’m not sure what it will cost for sixty year old film. 

I could just look at it through a magnifying glass, 18 frames per second wouldn’t be too boring...*

Once the world discovers my genius and true greatness there will likely be a clamoring for information on my beginnings and childhood. The Smithsonian will certainly want to lovingly restore these tapes to their black and white (or maybe even color!) original glory. I have no doubt this archival footage will be the centerpiece of a new wing built in my honor. 

These films won’t win an Oscar though. Directed and filmed by my Dad, starring my brother, mother, and I, the all-white cast and crew will not meet the diversity standards of the Academy. After all, why choose the Best Picture when you can honor the most diverse one. 

* of course it would

September 11, 2020

Still Standing


Despite the efforts of Islamic murderers.

September 10, 2020

My old life

I left for Omaha on a Monday morning, arriving in the early evening after ten hours or so in the car. I had an appointment for mid-morning on Tuesday with one of my customers and another set for Wednesday morning. It was my plan to see my customer Tuesday morning then hightail it up to Sioux City and make a couple of cold calls* before returning to Omaha. 

I was selling components for the corrugated board industry (you would incorrectly call it cardboard**). Tuesday I showed up at the appointed time and place. I left a message for the buyer and sat in the sparse lobby. After 20 minutes or so I tried again. At thirty minutes I had the operator page my contact. No joy. After cooling my heels for an hour I made like Elvis and left the building. 

With resignation I headed back east towards the hotel. What to do? A few minutes later my cell rang. It was a sorry ‘bout that, come back at 3:00 conversation. No time to drive to Iowa now.

There was however, another potential customer on my list. A small box plant who had never purchased from us before. Ever. My predecessor’s files had a stern “don’t waste your time” note attached to this customer. I didn’t even have a contact name. Well, the plant was in the general direction of my hotel...I could drop off a business card.

I moseyed up to the office door and told them what I was selling and asked for the appropriate contact in the hopes I could get a name to call next time I was in Omaha to make an appointment. I was told to hold on a few by a very nice older man. Soon the buyer was shaking my hand. I did my spiel, showed my brochures, talked up the product. We took a tour of the plant. He showed me an issue he had with the competition product. I told how we could fix that. Ninety minutes later I had a request for quote. I called the office. They promised a quote by the next morning. 

I got up early Wednesday and printed off a hard copy of the quotation at the hotel business office. I hit my previously scheduled appointment and then called my new prospect. He said to bring the quote by the plant. The same older gent let me in the front door. I showed the buyer the price. He left the room. When he came back he had a signed purchase order. He also had the older guy I met at the door both times. He was the owner. So that he could greet customers, the owner placed his desk right beside the door.  In the front of the office. No hiding behind glass doors with a corner view for him. I liked this place. 

That’s how I accidentally got a new customer.

I drove up to Sioux City. Left business cards and brochures. Mounted my car and started the long drive back to Indiana. I pulled into the drive well after midnight. It was a seventeen hour day. Three days, two nights in a hotel, five customer visits, almost fifteen hundred miles of driving, and one big new order. Just another week on the road.

* showing up without an appointment hoping to find out a contact

** cardboard is the stuff like a shirt box, the heavier stuff is corrugated board— like shipping boxes or pizza boxes — the stuff that is usually brown.

September 9, 2020

I now declare all bowling alleys shall have 8 pins instead of 10

Indianapolis/Marion County released new Covid rules effective Monday. Like many of the pandemic edicts, these are rooted in neither scientific facts nor common sense.

I will concede the pandemic is real and that we should all wear masks for the sake of argument. You can harbor your own opinions and that is not the subject of this post, rather I want to examine the capricious and nonsensical orders themselves.

Restaurants may now have eighty percent capacity for indoor dining. Is that eighty percent based on a real scientific study or just a “We can’t let just everybody in” mentality? 

Bars can only have 25% capacity. Can anyone explain the difference between six people sitting at a table eating and possibly drinking a beer in a restaurant and six people sitting around a table and drinking a beer in a bar? Is there something special about a bar that makes the virus more virulent? And live music is banned. I guess music makes the germs excited and more likely to breed and infect innocent youth? Now rock and roll not only leads to teen pregnancy like your great-grandparents claimed, but will make us sick? Seriously? Are there any facts behind these edicts at all? 

Just winging it is not an recipe for economic success. Want to know why downtown Indianapolis is empty? Look no further than Mayor Hogsett’s rules. Feelings are not how reasonable people govern. 

Some will argue that people sit around for hours in a bar, while a restaurant is turning tables regularly. I would argue that filling the tables with new guests increases the exposure for everyone - staff and other customers, compared to groups who are more static. 

I’m not going to a bar anyway. I didn’t pre-pandemic. I just don’t understand the logic behind the rules. If I owned a bar in Indianapolis I would be on be phone with the Mayor demanding answers. “Because I said so” might work with your four year-old. I do not believe it should suffice with the taxpayers.

September 8, 2020

I was against being for it before I was for being against it

So here we are on a Tuesday that feels like a Monday.

I know, there is not a lot of originality going here so far this week. Mea Culpa. But there is some Latin, so don’t we all feel just a bit smarter? 

I see old Joe and Kahhmalaaaa have now decided they are in favor of fracking, at least until the next speech. Joe kinda sorta spoke out against rioters. Has Kahhmalaaa asked for her money back from the rioter bail fund? It’s hard to be against something you have supported with your money you got from taxpayers. If only we could generate power from Joe’s ever-changing positions we would never need to adopt the job killing, economic crippling, society destroying Green New Deal. One could get whiplash trying to follow that guy. 

You think Grandpa Joe’s wife is worried about the Veep candidate? She has slept her way to power before. Allegedly, wink, wink. Maybe Kahhmalaaaa thinks one romp with old Gropy Fingers is all she will need to get the Chief Executive spot after the election. She will succeed him if he keels over. 

What? Any more over the line than claiming a former Veep candidate wasn’t the mother of her own child? 

I see an anarchists asshole caught himself on fire trying to firebomb something with a Molotov cocktail. Boo hoo, I’m am so sad. Dang, I guess the sarcasm font isn’t working again. 

On that happy note, have a good Tuesday.

September 7, 2020

I Can still recall

 Happy Monday that feels like a Sunday. It may rain here at the old homestead today. It might not. It is certainly cloudy. 

We are nearing the end of a long boring weekend. Nothing of interest is on tap for today either. 

I was going to write a follow-up post to yesterday’s effort, but I suspect most of you experienced that glazed over “ oh no it’s history” look in your eye as soon as you saw the headline and I can’t afford to lose any more readers with even more of that stuff. Trust me, I know that look. I get it from my wife n a routine basis every time I share an interesting fact, anecdote, or story. It is the “I don’t care” look. 

Oh, she pretends to pay attention. She loves me after all. But she really doesn’t care. I’m OK with that. 

So it is Labor Day. Let’s celebrate the hard work we do by taking a day off. I’m not sure why we don’t celebrate Labor Unions on May Day like the rest of the world, perhaps because we try to cover the historical connections between labor unions and the godless Communists. They also celebrate May Day. 

Lest I become too antagonistic and belligerent I will stop there.

How about we offer up some bad seventies music instead. 

Good luck getting that one out of your head.

Have a great day.

September 6, 2020

Custer Victorious

Even casual students of history know Custer died at the Battle of Little Bighorn along with his two brothers and more than half of the Seventh Cavalry Regiment. What many people don’t know is what a true soldiering badass he was. He was Rambo, Sgt. York, and Audie Murphy rolled together in a blue uniform. 

Custer won the Medal of Honor.


He was barely 20 years old when he earned them.

The awards were earned four days apart.

Not that Custer, I’m talking about his younger brother, Thomas.

He was the first man to win the MOH twice and one of only 19 to ever do it. He was shot in the face earning the second award and had to be sent to the rear for treatment under threat of arrest.

Unlike his publicity-hound brother, Thomas Custer seems to have gone about his business quietly. He joined the Union Army at 16 and only in the last year of the war joined his more famous brother’s command. He followed George in assignments throughout Reconstruction and the Indian wars thereafter. 

Captain Thomas Custer commanded Company C of the Seventh on that fateful day in the Montana Territory on June 25, 1876. He was 31.

Legend has it Chief Rain-in the-Face sought out Tom Custer’s body after the battle and ate his heart in revenge for a past incident. The body was so mutilated it was impossible to know. Tomas Custer’s remains were only identified by a tattoo on his arm. He was buried on the battlefield and later reinterred with the rest of the Battle’s fallen at Fort Leavenworth.

September 5, 2020


Good morning fellow members of the blogosphere. I trust you are happy and well this holiday weekend. I am slated to work today and Sunday. 


You might remember me mentioning earlier in the week the granddaughter was not feeling well*. Things got worse later in the week as she developed a fever that would not break. The Doc ran tests, poked, prodded, and finally sent her for a Covid test. Now we are in quarantine until test results come back. Hopefully we will know something today. Then we will be free to roam the countryside, raising mayhem and exercising frivolity.


The other granddaughter developed symptoms yesterday. She was off to the doctor to be poked and prodded and have tests run, including for Covid. Now we are quarantined until those test results come back. Hopefully Sunday, probably Tuesday. 

I feel like I’ve been grounded for something I didn’t do. 

I have no symptoms, so you need not don a mask nor protective gear while reading this blog. Unless you find me so icky you do so anyway. If that is the case I’m not sure what to say. That’s just weird.

So, no work. No pool party at our friends’. No nothing. 

I’m going to throw a rack of ribs on the smoker later this morning. Otherwise, I will have to find something to occupy my time. The yard work is done in anticipation of working the weekend. I guess I could clean out the garage...

Oh well, have a great Saturday and physically stay away from me until I give the all clear. 

* or maybe I didn’t 

September 4, 2020



We go back in time to the late 1960s, before Bob got really famous. Back when burning draft cards and Chicago riots were all the rage. Here is some protest music from Bob Seger. This wasn’t a big hit. The title track Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man was  a moderate success, especially in the Detroit area. It is noteworthy that Bob’s friend, Glen Frey ( yes, that Glen Frey) played guitar and sang backup vocals on the title track. 

September 3, 2020

Stressin’ Out

Yesterday found me at the heart hospital for a stress test. I have had frequent pains in my innards of late and my doc thought he’d rule out the big one before moving into other ideas for the source. The nice nurse wired me up and had me mount the treadmill. She took my blood pressure before I started and looked at me a bit askew when it read 117/73. “That’s really good” she said. I suppose most heart hospital patients have higher numbers. 

She fired up the treadmill to push my heart rate to the target rate for someone my age. I hit the goal and wasn’t even breathing hard. We drove my heart rate to two more levels before calling it quits. I was hardly breathing hard at the end. My BP never climbed above 125/78. The heart doc gave a quick read of the EKG and said I had nothing to worry about and promised a report in a couple of days.

The good news is I probably am not going to keel over with a heart attack any time soon. The bad news is there is no answer to the pain that occasionally grips me. I think I know the medical term for my condition: hypochondria.

The interesting fact is my part-time gig is making me physically healthy, albeit not economically healthy. I walk six to nine miles a shift and routinely lift a total of a ton or two during a shift. Yes, I stock and unstock the big stuff. Think that is unrealistic? Pick up a thirty pound box and put it on a platform lift. Pick up that box from the lift and put it on a shelf. Do that for 20 boxes and you have moved 1200 pounds in about 20 minutes. 

When I started I struggled to move the smaller boxes. Now I lift 90 pound boxes without overmuch difficulty. I am admittedly in the best shape I’ve been in decades. 

Mental stress? Oh yes. That I have. Physical stress? That I am handling. For most of my life I have been adapt at handling emotional stress. More than once others have commented on my ability to stay calm in difficult situations. I was mentally fit while neglecting my physical health. Now those mental stresses are eating me away while my body gets in shape. Life is strange.

September 2, 2020

Little of this, little of that

The day dawns cloudy and gloomy this fine Wednesday. We need the rain, so I will not complain. The grandgirl is sick, high fever from teething, ear infection, or perhaps another malady. Doctors are paid a lot to figure that out. She won’t be coming over this morning in any case. 

I’m off to the doctor for some tests this afternoon. No caffeine is in the order. I’m not thrilled with that demand. The Keurig is over there on the counter mocking me. I can hear it. I suspect you are smirking in satisfaction as you sip your coffee too. Well screw you. 

Sorry. Lack of caffeine makes me a bit cranky.  Have a mug strong and black for me, will you? I should have never watched the last couple of innings of the Cubs game last night after I got home from work. I stayed up past midnight and now I’m tired, angry, and wielding a keyboard. Yeah, not too scary, is it? 

There was a story on the news (there was a rain delay in Pittsburgh) about how the downtown businesses in Indy are suffering. Workers haven’t returned to their offices and tourism and convention business is stopped (surprisingly, Indianapolis is a large convention destination). Suburbanites and hipsters are not going to the restaurants and clubs downtown. Part of this is the result of the Bat Flu shutdowns and restrictions which are still in place, more so the boarded up windows and lingering air of crime and seediness left from the protests and rioting. Rising crime and homeless people sleeping in doorways don't help either. The mayor seems more interested in being political than trying to fix the problem. At least the politicians in Indy have, for the most part, eschewed the nitwittery of the defund the police movement.  

I’d like to sign off with the notion I have stuff to do today, but I don’t. So I guess I’ll just read or watch a movie. I hope you have a productive day anyway.

September 1, 2020


Larry’s barn burned down and his wife, Susan called the insurance company.

Susan spoke to the insurance agent and said, “We had that barn insured for fifty thousand dollars, and I want my money.”

The agent replied, “Whoa there, just a minute. Insurance doesn’t work quite like that. An independent adjuster will assess the value of what was insured, and then we’ll provide you with a new barn of similar worth.”

There was a long pause, and then Susan replied, “If that’s how it works, then I want to cancel the life insurance policy on my husband.”

August 31, 2020

Goose gander

If Trump is responsible for the current riots and unrest, then isn’t it clear that Obama and Biden were responsible for the riots and unrest following Ferguson? 

Sleepy Joe needs to answer this question.

August 30, 2020

Be nice to the people who can spit in your food

This Sunday dawns bright and clear. It looks to be a gorgeous day. I will be cooped inside working my part-time hours at the big box. If you have never had the “pleasure”, retail is a real lesson in sociology. In short, some people are just jerks. The store where I work is situated on the edge of an old blue color town and the affluent suburbs of Indy that have expanded northward. Thus, I get the gamut from white trash to wealthy suburbanite. Usually, the white trash is nicer. I’ve been whistled for like a dog, given the “hey you” treatment, and berated because items aren’t in stock, usually by people who think of me as their domestic help. The good thing about required face masks is they cover the disdain I harbor for these rude people. 

The fact is most of the people I work with are good hard-working folk. They are retirees looking to supplement their income, people working second jobs, or young people starting out. Most want to do a good job. Few deserve the treatment that is heaped on them from a larger percent of the customers than you imagine. But I have to add that many interactions are with good, nice, and appreciative customers too; probably a majority fall in this category. It is the rude assholes that make the day long. There is a reason it’s called retail hell.

End of rant. I didn’t intend to go down that path when I started typing this morning. I had another topic in mind completely. That’s what happens when you click here, it is always, and I mean always, stream of consciousness. I might have a general idea of a topic, but I never plan or outline a post. If research is needed, I stop and do it. “Yes, Joe, we can tell”, is your likely response. So it goes. I might add, I rarely go back and edit beyond a hopeless and futile effort to fix spelling and grammar. 

If I wanted to be successful at this dying hobby I should probably work at it more. Think of it more as what you would get if we were to have a near daily conversation. Yeah, sadly this blog is a lot like talking to me direct with out my definitely not fit for radio voice. Sad ain’t it?

Have a great Saturday.

August 29, 2020

August 28, 2020

it is all about compartmentalism

It is probably a good thing it is another self-imposed no politics Friday, lest I write things I might regret at the up-coming hate crime show trials. 

I’m off to the doctor for my first in-person visit since winter and the pandemic early this morning. I hope is is a tad happier with me. I have tried hard to get my recalcitrant sugars into a manageable state the last few months. I admittedly was more than a little lax on my diet through much of the previous eight or nine months. I have proven to myself, and I hope to him, I really can manage with diet and a handful of pills every day. On the other hand, If I must go to the needle, then so it shall be. 

In other news, it may or may not rain. It doesn’t matter either way. 

I have a whole bunch of personal stuff I could cry about. I will spare you the details. It’s personal for a reason. We are going to have to make some very hard choices. None are pleasant or good or desirable. So it goes. No one ever said life was fair. Whining here won’t change anything.

You are welcome. 

It still can’t get used to the new blogger automatically double spacing when I hit “return”.

Anyway, have a great Friday.

August 27, 2020

Another one that will get me arrested for hate thoughts

Lynching, a form of violence in which a mob, under the pretext of administering justice without trial, executes a presumed offender, often after inflicting torture and corporal mutilation. The term lynch law refers to a self-constituted court that imposes sentence on a person without due process of law. Encyclopedia Britannica 

One of the most infamous symbols of racism and hate, according to reports, is the noose, since it represents the lynchings of Black People in the 19th and early 20th centuries.* 

LeBron and other NBA players refuse to play until there is justice for Jacob Blake and the police officer is held accountable. Do they not want an investigation? Do they just want to rush to judgement? Should we just go ahead and punish (or worse) the police officer?

Sounds a lot like a mob lynching to me.

*About 1/4 of lynchings from 1865 to 1941 were white people. Doesn’t make it right, but it wasn’t just a racist thing all of the time.

whole lotta nuthin’

It remains hot and most humid. I’m not the least surprised, it is still August. Rain was in the forecast as late as the eleven o’clock news. Now? Just clouds. If I were that bad at forecasting I would be unemployed. Oh wait. 

Never mind. 

I was told the granddaughter is sick and won’t be here this morning. I hear the wife doing her abolutions, plans must have changed. Yes, one of my few joys in life will be here soon.

In other news leftists are still burning and rioting. NBA players refuse to play. Ignorant jerks like me wonder what good that does? What do I know, I support neither anarchists nor Marxists, so I am a racist. Nor do I believe 1+2=5. I’m an old white male and have voted for exactly two Democrats in the last thirty years. Strike three on me.

The Cubs are fading fast. They are the Mario Andretti of the MLB. How in heck do you lose two out of three to the Tigers? Let me repeat: the Tigers


August 25, 2020

How about against?

I read an article in Politico yesterday where left-learners lamented that the Republicans have no positions. They wondered what the Party stood for. Of course, everything the GOPers stood for was wrong, but they didn’t know what that was. 

I suppose we will learn this week what the Republican party’s agenda might be. In the meantime, I know what it does not stand for:

  • Higher taxes
  • More regulation 
  • The Green New Deal
  • More foreign oil
  • Open borders
  • Defunding police 
  • More Chinese trade
  • Reducing Second Amendment Rights
  • Universal healthcare
  • Reparations 
  • Hate speech laws

The Democrats are in favor of these things and worse. Basically, if you think California and Oregon are the perfect societal models, you should vote Democrat. 

For me, this list is enough to vote for anyone without a (D) affiliation. Your opinion may vary. It will be wrong, but at least for now we are allowed to have differing opinions.

I’m not so sure after Kahhhhmelahhh stages her coup.

August 24, 2020


 I intend to devote as much time watching the GOPers bloviate as I spent with the Jackass Party. Zip.

If you don’t want hurricane Marco to come ashore, quit shouting “Polo”.

The weekend was good,  yet for some reason I am in a crappy mood today. I’m sore, cranky, and half pissed off and I don’t know why. My inability to come up with a title to this lousy post ticks me off.

I hope you have a great day. I clearly have made other plans.

August 23, 2020

The Devil went to Church

 Satan appeared before a small town congregation. Everyone started screaming and running for the front church door, trampling each other in a frantic effort to get away.

Soon everyone was gone except for an elderly gentleman who sat calmly.

Satan walked up to him and said, “Don’t you know who I am?”

The man replied, “Yep, sure do.”

Satan asked, “Aren’t you going to run?”

“Nope, sure ain’t,” said the man.

Satan asked, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The man replied, “Been married to your sister for over 48 years.”


August 22, 2020

Like Romeo and Juliette

 Not feeling it this fine Saturday morning. There is lots of Life going on, but I’m not going to go there. The granddaughter has a soccer game this morning then I have a full closing shift at the big box. Otherwise, I have nothing of personal interest to report. 

Last year’s Cubs have returned, unable to score, hit, or prevent the opponents from doing the same. If the starting pitching cannot hold the score close then they roll over and submit. Even if they get some base runners, they cannot get the momentum to keep things going. That’s the problem with baseball in general these days, it is home run or strike out. There is no value in singles and doubles for many of the players. 

Back when the boy played in travel ball he had a coach that only liked the power hitters. That coach would fit in well with today’s baseball strategists. The boy had a batting average pushing .400, but couldn’t get playing time because he did not hit booming fly balls or home runs. More than once I heard the coach derisively call the boy a “slap hitter”. Unfortunately, that coach really disliked me for some reason and took out that animosity on the boy. Small town pettiness at its best.

As usual, I showed up here with nothing and managed to put letters into words. Not interesting ones, I agree, but a post-like substance nonetheless. 

How about a little music to round out this Saturday?

Have a great day.

August 21, 2020

August 19, 2020

I got an advanced copy

of Joe’s big speech at the Democratic Convention. 

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter: four score and seven years ago I had a dream, that we only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Ict bien ein Berliner. Thank you for the nomination.

The old plagiarist still has it.

Running on Empty

Biden is officially the Democrat nominee. A lifelong dream come true for him. And when I say lifetime, I mean it. Creepy Joe first started running for President back in the eighties. Even the ghost of William Jennings Bryant is muttering that enough is enough. Back in the days of big hair and shoulder pads Biden’s Presidential run was derailed by stealing a speech and passing it off as his own, in other words, plagiarism. 

The bottom line the dude has sucked at the taxpayer teat since 1973. I’m not positive he ever had a real job. Biden is the very definition of a career politician. Addled Joe wants us to believe everything is wrong and he must be elected, but his party controlled both houses of Congress for a big chunk of his long, long, long career.

If you want to go back to the glory days of the Obama years — an anemic economy, high taxes, overwhelming regulations, high gas prices, civil unrest, endless wars, and sucking up to the Chinese, then Biden is your man. 

Trying to pin Joe to a policy position s like trying to train amoeba to dance to Billie Jean. Biden will say anything to get elected. For it, against it, what do the polls say? And lest you “Me too” types forget, there are serious accusations Joe likes to take a hands on approach with his subordinates. I suspect all of you who were outraged over the Kavanagh affair will be protesting outside the Convention tonight. Believe All Women, amirite?

Chirp, chirp.


I edited the old blog roll. If I removed you by accident, let me know. If you want added, likewise let me know in the comments. 

August 18, 2020

lying liars and the lies they tell

The Democrats want us to believe that unless anyone who wants to can mail in a vote, regardless if they are eligible or not, the election will be fraudulent. Huh? Somehow the long-running financial troubles of the USPS has turned into a conspiracy to disenfranchise people of color. Huh? The USPS has the capacity to handle any number of ballots. They handle that volume every Christmas. They handle that volume every day already. And, just like your Christmas cards, if you mail your ballot at the last minute it might not arrive in time. That’s no evil Republican plot, it is reality.

If you can go to a grocery store, go to a restaurant, go to school, protest in the streets, then you can go to the polls on Election Day. There is nothing sinister in a community center, church, school, or firehouse that makes you more likely to catch the Wuhan Flu while voting. No matter what Michelle, never proud of her country, says, no one is trying to stop you from voting. 

What say we do some math? Don’t worry, I’m a history major so it will not be complicated. Say it takes two minutes to cast your vote. Assume 500 people vote at your precinct. That means it will take 1000 minutes total to cast all of the votes in a normal election. Today we might have to stand further apart while waiting to cast our ballot. So yes, the lines will be “longer” in terms of length. They may stretch down the block instead of just out the door, but only because people are standing further apart. It will still take two minutes each for five hundred people to vote, for a total of 1000 minutes. Nothing will change.

No one will need to put on comfortable shoes and bring their brown bag lunch and be prepared to spend all night to vote against the Bad Orange Man. Michelle is full of...hyperbole. It is an election, not a ticket line for a 1981 Bruce Springsteen concert. Get a grip.

One more thing. If polling places are being consolidated or closed, that is a local decision. The Feds are not now nor ever in charge of elections. Neither Orange Man Bad nor Cocaine Mitch have anything to do with it. In Indiana, for instance, elections are a county matter. If a polling place is closed in a minority neighborhood in Indianapolis, then the blame falls on the Democrats, who control Marion County. 

Will no one  in the media call out the blatant lies?

August 17, 2020

Death Bed Confessions

 Nearing the end of a hard life, old Ed was surrounded by his loved ones. As he sensed his final moment was approaching, he gathered all his strength and whispered:

“I must tell you my greatest secret.”

His family members were all ears, and urged him to go on.

“Before I got married, I had it all,” explained Ed.

“Fast cars, cute girls, and plenty of money. But a good friend warned me..

…‘Get married and start a family. Otherwise, no-one will be there to give you a glass of water to drink when you’re on your deathbed.’

“So I took his advice. I traded the girls for a wife, beer for baby food. I sold my Ferrari and invested in college funds. And now here we are…

“And you know what?”

“What?” Whispered the fascinated members of his family.

“I’m not even thirsty!”

The stuff that keeps me amused

I went to the Walmart Grocery/Market* to grab some spuds Sunday afternoon. Like all of the Walmart stores in this area, they had the temporary fence up to herd the customers into line. At the end of the fence was a lady in her Walmart vest, checking to make sure we were masked up. She had a stack of masks for those patrons who came unprepared.

She didn’t have a mask on.

*just groceries, not a full store 

August 16, 2020

There’s a port on a western bay

Shall we get the banal in right from the start? I worked all day Friday lifting, moving, dealing with the GenPop in all of their unpleasant ways. While we both may be masked, it is not necessary to get within inches of me when we are discussing your mouse-killing needs. You may be comfortable with closeness from your Sub-Continent upbringing. Me, I like plenty of space between us. When I back away it is social distancing, no need to step into the breach. Here is another hint. That guy/gal at your big box home center has no clue. They read the label just as you could. The TV ads might want you to think they are experts. They have just answered the same questions repeatedly. 

Yesterday we went to watch granddaughter #1 play soccer. It was hot and humid. Some friends came down for the evening. Laughs and euchre were on the schedule. 

Today, I’m going to throw a small pork shoulder on the smoker. Chunks of apple and hickory are already soaking to make a thick, hot smoke. I’m not sure what else we will have, maybe some homemade potato salad. 

I have had that song Brandy (you’re a fine girl) by the band Looking Glass stuck in my head for a week. Please, please make it stop.

There, you are all caught up on the mundane that makes for content around here. I hope you have a great Sunday.

August 15, 2020

I can dream


Not gonna happen though.

August 14, 2020

Outta here

 A woman, cranky because her husband was late coming home again, decided to leave a note, saying, “I’ve had enough and have left you…don’t bother coming after me”

Then she hid under the bed to see his reaction.

After a short while, the husband comes home and she could hear him in the kitchen before he comes into the bedroom.

She could see him walk towards the dresser and pick up the note.

After a few minutes, he wrote something on it before picking up the phone and calling someone.

“She’s finally gone…yeah I know, about time, I’m coming to see you, put on that …… French nightie. I love you…can’t wait to see you…we’ll do all the naughty things you like.”

He hung up, grabbed his keys and left.

She heard the car drive off as she came out from under the bed, seething with rage and with tears in her eyes.

She grabbed the note to see what he wrote.

“I can see your feet. We’re outta bread; be back in five minutes.”


August 13, 2020

Where did the cursor go?

 The oldest granddaughter started kindergarten today. It is weird around here as the youngest granddaughter does her best impression of a hurricane. The oldest has been here nearly every weekday since she was a month old. My wife is taking it hard. Almost as bad as when our own kids started school.

In other news Biden has chosen his running mate. I bet her record as a prosecutor is a issue for the get-rid-of-the-cops crowd. Her anti-gun stance will be a problem for fly-over moderates. 

Laughingly, women’s groups are telling the media they better not treat Kamala like they did Sarah Pallin. Hah, it was leftist women who were most vicious. No worry though, the media is even more in the tank for Democrats than in 2008. 

I laugh when I read the accounts of Harris’ “debate prowess “. I guess they did not watch the Democrat Presidential debates. The Veep nominee was toasted repeatedly by the other contenders to the point it destroyed her Presidential aspirations. I doubt Pence is too worried. 

August 12, 2020

Jumping into the wayback machine


September 1, 2012

A Fictional Memoir

Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That really pissed her off.

August 11, 2020

Chasing the clouds away

I gotta be honest, when I am king of the world we will never again hear that harridan harp all over Jake from State Farm. 

And the Progressive Flo campaign is off the air immediately. That Toyota lady too. You have both ridden the residual gravy train long enough.  We are all tired of you. And while I’m on the subject of commercials that bug me, what is Brand Power anyway? What are they advertising? 

Do people who watch Judge Judy get involved in more auto accidents? Ambulance Chasers in my area seem to think so.

What happened to Charlie the Tuna? 

Storms rolled through the area last night. We had big rain and wind, but the line moved through quickly. The air remains heavy and humid this morning. The sky is clean and blue.

It’s another day here in blog land. I hope yours is a good one.

Tuesday afternoon
I'm just beginning to see
Now I'm on my way
It doesn't matter to me
Chasing the clouds away

August 10, 2020

Spell check is important

 A g‌‌uy s‌‌ends a‌‌ t‌‌ext t‌‌o h‌‌is n‌‌ext-door neighbor

“Bob, I‌‌’m s‌‌orry. I‌‌’ve b‌‌een r‌‌iddled w‌‌ith g‌‌uilt a‌‌nd I‌‌ h‌‌ave t‌‌o c‌‌onfess: I‌‌ h‌‌ave b‌‌een h‌‌elping m‌‌yself t‌‌o y‌‌our w‌‌ife w‌‌hen y‌‌ou’re n‌‌ot a‌‌round, p‌‌robably m‌‌ore t‌‌han y‌‌ou. I‌‌ k‌‌now i‌‌t’s n‌‌o e‌‌xcuse b‌‌ut I‌‌ d‌‌on’t g‌‌et i‌‌t a‌‌t h‌‌ome. I‌‌ c‌‌an’t l‌‌ive w‌‌ith t‌‌he g‌‌uilt a‌‌ny l‌‌onger. I‌‌ h‌‌ope y‌‌ou’ll a‌‌ccept m‌‌y s‌‌incerest a‌‌pology. I‌‌t w‌‌on’t h‌‌appen a‌‌gain.”

Feeling o‌‌utrage a‌‌nd b‌‌etrayed, B‌‌ob g‌‌rabs h‌‌is g‌‌un, g‌‌oes i‌‌nto t‌‌he b‌‌edroom, a‌‌nd w‌‌ithout a‌‌ w‌‌ord, s‌‌hoots h‌‌is w‌‌ife.

Moments l‌‌ater t‌‌he g‌‌uy g‌‌ets a‌‌ s‌‌econd t‌‌ext: “‌‌Really s‌‌hould u‌‌se s‌‌pell c‌‌heck! T‌‌hat s‌‌hould b‌‌e ‘wifi’.”

August 9, 2020

What now Nancy?

 The Trumpster just out politicked the Dems yet again. He signed an Executive Order restoring some of the unemployment benefits and other Bat Flu relief measures. 

Now the Democrats will have to go to court to take away those benefits.  That won’t look good.

Does Trump have the power to spend money like that? No. Is it a violation of the a Constitution? Certainly. Can we afford these measures? Absolutely not.

 It was a brilliant political play.

August 7, 2020

Joke of the day

The wife says I ruined her birthday.

I didn’t even know it was her birthday.

August 6, 2020

Asking for a friend

When fringe White Supremacy groups endorsed the Trumpster for President the media and Democrats (redundant) stated this made Trump a bigot and racist.

Since Biden has now garnered the endorsement of the Revolutionary Communist Party of America, doesn’t this by logic make him a Commie rat bastard?

August 5, 2020

This is not the government we deserve

I had to contact the unemployment office this week. I am once again reminded how inefficient, unresponsive, unprofessional, and awful it is to deal with almost any level of government. 

Of course I couldn’t talk to a real person when I called Monday morning. The system was “better” than when I spent hours on hold back in the early days of the pandemic. It told me my wait time and said I could get a call back without losing my place in line. I pushed the requisite button, expecting a call back Monday. 


Yesterday I tried to call again, only to get a terse message that I was on the call back list already. Surely I would get a call back this day.


I tried again this morning, pushing various numbers until I got the “please hold” response. I got someone within a few minutes. Instantly pissed. I swallowed my frustration and was sweet as honey while I explained my problem. She told me I needed to apply for a new program. I pointed out that the DWD website says clearly I “need do nothing”; I will automatically get the extended benefits. But, I added, I am glad to apply, how do I do that?  Back on hold.  Finally she said yes, it will be automatic. She didn’t know how or when or what to expect but at some point it will be fixed.  Last time it took six weeks. 

What is really sad is that she was so poorly trained I had to tell her what her policy says. Yet she is secure in a union protected job. 

I finally got my call back about an hour after I spoke with them. My 48 minute estimated hold only took three days to be answered.

I guess I understand why the Government does not give you a survey to complete after an interaction like private sector companies do. On the other hand, the government has no incentive to do a good job.

Just think, both political parties want to give us more government. 

August 4, 2020

No artificial flavoring

I’m sitting on the couch sipping coffee that is almost too hot to drink. I can just hear the little fountain just outside the family room window as I peruse the day’s news and the internet before the girls arrive. Life continues apace here at the old homestead. 

I’m not scheduled to spend much time at work this week. A few hours tomorrow and another handful on Saturday. I have plenty of work around here. The last several days of rain have left the lawn need of cutting. I need to spray the weeds. A white lavender needs serious pruning. In fact, it has so much dead I may have too remove it entirely. Mulberries are poking their evil heads through the tiger lily patch. I want to get some of this done while we have fall-like weather this week. The August heat will return. I hope so anyway. Papa needs a new furnace. 

August 3, 2020

Window Shopping

A travel agent looked up from his desk to see an older lady and an older gentleman peering in the shop window at the posters showing the glamorous destinations around the world.

The agent had had a good week and the dejected couple looking in the window gave him a rare feeling of generosity.

He called them into his shop and said, “I know that on your pension you could never hope to have a holiday, so I am sending you off to a fabulous resort at my expense, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

He took them inside and asked his secretary to write two flight tickets and book a room in a five-star hotel.

They, as can be expected, gladly accepted, and were on their way.

About a month later the little lady came into his shop.

“And how did you like your holiday?” he asked eagerly.

“The flight was exciting and the room was lovely,” she said. “I’ve come to thank you. But, one thing puzzled me.

Who was that old guy I had to share the room with?


Revenge of a Rain-in-his-Face


The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
  Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
  And the menace of their wrath. 

"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenge upon all the race
  Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
  Of his anger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and river-side
  The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing of the stream
  And the blue-jay in the wood. 

In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
  In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful! 

Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
  And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
  Not one returned again. 

The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
  And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
  They lay in their bloody attire. 

But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight,
  Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
  Of the White Chief with yellow hair. 

Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
  With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
  In the Year of a Hundred Years.

August 2, 2020

Pass the popcorn

Yesterday’s effort was just a bit self-indulgent. I doubt I can remedy that with today’s effort. 

I think I have to agree with my blog buddy Jean. Baseball is just weird. A week into the season and I am having a hard time watching. I find myself flipping channels between innings sometimes I don’t come back. I don’t know, it is just strange.

Yesterday was filled with spotty drizzle and heavy cloud cover. We took the old 52 inch rear projection TV down to the recycling center. Half the pixels were out and the bulb was way past dim. Our SIL gave us a 48 inch flat screen we put in the bedroom to replace the worn out TV. Both are too big for a bedroom, but having a big TV in there is like watching at the drive-in. The only problem is I really hate watching TV in bed. I know, weird, right. Not even in a hotel. 

Of course no one under about 40 has ever been to a drive-in theater. The one we frequented in my youth is still open. The wife and I had many dates there when we were youngsters. My old POS pickup was great for watching movies with the big windshield and bench seat.

We took the kids to the one in Shelbytucky a few times when they were young and before it started to cost the same as going to a “real” movie theater. Mostly the kids complained they couldn’t see the screen well from the back seat. Today’s windshields are designed for gas mileage, not movie viewing. Frankly, the kids didn’t enjoy it much and we didn’t go so often.

 I have a yen for a donut this morning. 

A bientot.

August 1, 2020

easy turnip greens

I was dead tired after work yesterday. It was a brutal day of stocking at the Big Box store. I estimate I lifted more than a ton (literally) in my all-day shift. 

*Smack* Quit yer whining you pansy. 

On the bright side, the job is getting me into better shape. I am averaging 6-10 miles of walking per shift, which averages to just under four miles a day for July. The lifting is building upper body strength I haven’t had for years. Besides, I now weigh about what I did as a senior in high school. Heck, I weigh fifteen pounds less than I did when I got married. More to the point, I am down 65 pounds from my weight when I started the Fat in Indiana blog. Who knew, I have ribs! I am far from starving third-world skinny, but my waistline is better. I am barely inside the ideal weight for men of my height. None of this prattle should be viewed as braggadocio, rather more a testament to portion control, medication side effects, and diabetic diet. 

Since we are focusing on me, me, me today, it is interesting to note that Mother Nature has a sense of humor. Well into my thirties I still looked very young. I was regularly carded when buying beer. Now, I look probably ten years older than my real age. So it goes. I won’t dye my hair. 

Outside of looming economic destruction and the potential loss of everything if I don’t find a real job soon, I am as happy as I have been in a very, very long time. The wife and I are getting along great and I am less stressed than I should be. I am blessed, and things will work according to God’s plan. 

I know, anger and depression and diatribe make for way more interesting blog fodder. You get what you pay for.

I like this tune. Have a great Saturday.

July 31, 2020

Boy do I hate the new blogger dashboard.

I’m still here, trying to navigate the new Blogger dashboard. Chalk it up to old dog, new tricks syndrome. 

I could rip off a paragraph or two about work and changing schedules at the last minute, but that isn’t fruitful for any of us. Let’s just say I have had the early shift the past few days and that makes blogging tough. 

Except I have the early shift today and I am managing. Shut up already. 

Are Trump’s advisers idiots, or is he? That “let’s postpone the election” balloon he floated was dumb beyond belief. Not only is the election date set Constitutionally, he can’t change it anyway.  If we can manage elections in the midst of Civil Wars and World Wars, we can manage in a pseudo-pandemic. Democrats are already claiming Trump will despotically refuse to leave theWhite House if he loses, and The Donald just dumped gasoline on that fire. It doesn’t matter if he is right in his reasoning, the politics of the proposal are stupid.

It looks like a spate of fall-like weather is about to set in with temperatures in the seventies and rain. I can only say 2020 has been weird in many ways. 

Have a good Friday.

July 29, 2020

‘Cause I dig it

sad trombone

Thunderstorms rolled through yesterday afternoon and evening leaving the grass wet and the air fresh and clean this morning. I need to mow, but that is a task I will likely leave to tomorrow or Thursday.

I threw together a boxed coffee cake mix for breakfast. It was delicious. The girls all liked it.

Boy, this is some riveting stuff.

True confession, this was yesterday’s post. It didn’t rain on Tuesday. In fact it was beautiful.

Another confession, I have no more to offer today than I did yesterday.

It is a sad state of affairs.
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