When laws don’t matter

Back when they taught things like civics in school I learned the legislative branch made the law, the executive branch carried out the law, and the judicial branch interpreted the law. For me it is elegantly simple.

Somehow judges have determined they shall just rewrite laws as they see fit. We see that with plainly written election laws. Indiana Code says mailed ballots must be received at the county clerk by noon of Election Day to be counted. There is nothing ambiguous about that. 

Now a Federal Judge has magically determined that those plain words actually mean a ballot must be mailed by Election Day and received 10 days later. 

How is that “interpreting” the law? It is making law at the basic definition. Barkers ruling is making up rules from whole cloth. It is not up to a justice to rewrite bad law. If you can’t follow the rules your ballot should not count. There is nothing unConstitutional at the core. The law is clear and the same for every Hoosier. It remains up to the elected representatives of Indiana to write election law as they see fit, not a Federal Judge. 

It seems to me, even if I only play a lawyer on imaginary TV, that a candidate could challenge any Indiana vote received after November 3rd and prevail in a higher court. If he/she cannot, then there is no justice in America anymore. The law is clear. Noon on Election Day does not mean ten days later.

Just tell us if you will pack the Court, Joe

The debate. 

I ask the question I have pondered every four years since about 1988; in a country of 350 million, is this really the best we can do for a Chief Executive? 

Things went as expected. Trump was a bully. Biden stumbled and humbled except for the obviously rehearsed comebacks to Trump pronouncements. Both were loose with the facts.

Trump spent his time attacking when he should have told us why we should vote for him. More emphasis on the great economy, record employment for minorities, growth in the stock market as needed. He should have highlighted his trade war with China, talked about immigration.

Biden tried to peddle a leftist agenda as moderate, including the old Obama myth of “green” new jobs. 

Trump sort of waffled on telling ultra right wingers to stand down, but it was completely overlooked by the pundits that Joe never demanded the same of Antifa— the ones actually rioting. 

One final thought, acknowledging anecdote is not data. The wife is fairly apolitical. She was decorating the house for fall, wandering through the family room, half hearing the debate from afar, not really caring. “wow”, she said after Chris Wallace made some remark to Trump, “He’s biased, isn’t he?”. After the debate as the NBC analysts started in, she stopped stared at the TV and said that is the most one-sided analysis ever. 

Yep.

Article II, Section 2

He [the President] shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, shall appoint Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, Judges of the Supreme Court...

So no, Democrats, pundits, and whiners in general, there is nothing illegitimate, illegal, or unConstitutional in the Trump nomination to the SCOTUS. 

I think the Stones said it best: “You can’t always get what you want”.

Because it is funny

 

And true

Thanks for asking

The sky is gray as periodic bouts of drizzle bring a bit of moisture to the parched grass. Temperatures are falling into decidedly fall-like weather. To heighten the impression, the neighbor’s tree I can see out the window is turning a mild russet. It is that time of year. 

I had a heavy workload at the big box: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. For some reason customers were in a surly mood. One going so far as to drop copious F-bombs on me because we were out of something he wanted. Does he really think calling me a motherfucker is going to get me to bend the rules and sell him the display? Indeed not. Even if I could. I knew he was a jerk when he whistled at me from down the aisle. When I ignored him — I’m not a dog — he “ hey’d” me. Strike two. 

The rules are simple. If you want patio furniture or a mower get it in April. Patio heaters and fire pits grab it in July. Christmas stuff? It is out now for a reason. And never, ever, whistle to get my attention. 

My gut wrenching pain in my in innards is back; well it never really left, just intensified again back to the levels I had in June. Searching the internet (everything is true on the internet) it seems I have an ulcer, pancreatitis, or stomach cancer. The hypochondriac in me votes for stomach cancer. The realists opts for the far-more likely ulcer. I’m not sure what worries and concerns could be giving me an ulcer...

The Doctor seems to think I’m imagining things. He put me on a Prilosec regimen. I don’t know, I’ve dropped four pounds in the last couple of weeks. That could be from working a ton of physically demanding hours too. Damn internet medical degree is worthless. 

If only I had stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night.

I had legitimate content in mind when I sat down to compose. You got me sidetracked by asking about my health. You should know not to ask an old guy about his health. Frankly, the whole resulting post is pretty much your fault. We will both have to live with it.

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.

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.

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

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?

RIP

 RIP Mr Sayres 

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

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

Heaven

 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…

 

 

 

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. 

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. 

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.

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

Still Standing

 

Despite the efforts of Islamic murderers.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Twice. 

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.

Grounded

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. 

But...

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.

But...

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 

Protest

 

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. 

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.

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.

Insurance

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.”