A graveyard smash

 

The three year-old granddaughter drew this portrait of me Friday. You can embiggen for a better view including the yellow smile and accurate capturing of my baby blue eyes (a trait she shares). She explained the squiggly line is, and I quote; “the wrinkles on your forehead”. 

Yes, I feel old, why do you ask.

I went to the doctor this morning. He was less than happy about my A1c. I wasn’t happy either. I drowned my sorrow with a Twinkie on my way home.  

That’s a joke. 

Halloween is upon us. The grandgirls will be out dressed this evening. Me, I’ll be costumed as a grumpy old man. I fully expect visitors at the homestead to be less than a half-dozen. I’ve finally convinced the wife to buy candy accordingly. 

I fully expect you to limit your pranks to the harmless chucking of shelled corn or at worst a roll or two of toilet paper strewn across tree branches and bushes. No soaping windows or destruction please.

Strikes and spares

We got to hangout with the  grandgirls last night while their parents went to a Halloween party. We went bowling. What a great time. I can’t remember the last time I went bowling. 

When we were dating and first married the wife and I went often. There wasn’t much else to do in my little hometown. After we had kids they went some and we had some bowling birthday parties, but we were shepherding kids, not throwing balls. 

Oh yes, I sucked. I started off with a strike on the first frame and went downhill from there. It was a good time. Everyone got at least one strike or spare, even the three year-old. 

We had some pizza and the girls played some video games when we finished bowling. It was a fun night all around. 

Oh, heck yes my muscles were sore afterward.

I don’t understand

When did it become acceptable to wear pajamas and slippers and take a blanket to the movie theater? 

The cinema is not your living room. 

Besides, I thought you were supposed to just wear your pajamas to WalMart?

The Grim Reaper Finally Got Him

 

One of the greatest rock and roll entertainers ever. EVER.

Free Talking

Musk has completed his purchase of Twitter and promised to loosen the unofficial gag order the previous management put in place on political opinions they found unpleasant. I don’t use the platform and do not care. I think if you don’t like what I say here you can not bother to read. I never censor comments.* I think opening up twitter is a good thing. 

Don’t even start with the “we have to stop fake news” garbage either. The press has operated via fake news since the first printing press and via a myriad of other means since rumor started. Big time news sources from every side of the political pathways spews lies, half-truths, and bias. So do little ones. Even the tiniest of blogs, like this one, have a bias. If you think the NYTimes does not have an agenda I invite you to grow up. 

I am not aware of plans for the weekend. I am on a need-to-know basis, I guess. I am sure I won’t be going to a Halloween party. The semi-holiday has no appeal to me. 

That said, I offer up some sorta seasonal music for your Friday selection.

Enjoy your day.

* I deleted one comment (not talking about spam) several years ago that contained unbelievably hateful and ethnic smears.

I don’t give up easily

Memory is a funny thing. My brain tells me I watched My Three Sons during its original run (1960-1972).  I certainly was old enough to see it at the end of its run. It is far more likely my memories are of watching reruns in the seventies. During my formative years we had one TV and we watched whatever dad wanted to see (mom didn’t watch much TV). So if he liked MTS, then we watched it. I really don’t know. 

When I was maybe 12 or 13 I got a little 12” portable TV, so I could watch reruns and UHF stations with along with the three over-the-air channels we got normally. Of course it was black and white. 

My Three Sons starred Fred MacMurray as the widowed father of, you guessed it, three sons. Along with his uncle, who served as housekeeper, we saw the comedic adventures of everyday family life. It was pretty much standard sixties all-American sitcom fare. The show had two things going for it: a smoking hot Meredith MacRae as the girlfriend/wife of the oldest son, and a catchy theme song.

Biden goes Banking

 Did you hear what happened to President Biden at his local Bank last Friday in Delaware? He was going to do a photo op and went to grab some cash at the bank to buy lunch for himself and Delawares Governor. 

He walked in with Secret Service all around him and the beast and motorcade outside. He had a short chat and a few pictures with those in line, before approaching the teller he didn’t recognize. 

“Hello”, said President Biden to the teller with a pause. The tellers name was Julie and she was brand new, but said “Hello Mr. President!” after watching everything in the lobby. Biden handed her the slip for cash withdrawal and she looked up his account and got the cash in hand. She then just asked to see ID quick to verify his identity, before giving him the $100. Biden looked at her confused and she said, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience sir, but it’s policy to verify and I’m new.”

President Biden looked to his left, then right and finally turned around and told the lead Secret Service Agent the issue. All of a sudden everyone in the immediate entourage was digging through their bags. One Secret Service Agent went to the beast and looked for Biden’s wallet and came up empty handed. After a few minutes things settled down and President Biden told the teller, “come on man” because this was getting embarrassing! 

Julie said, Mr. President, a few weeks ago this very same thing happened to Tiger Woods and he was able to verify his identity. He forgot his wallet at the house, but he had golf clubs and balls with him. He asked me that if he could putt the ball across the entire bank lobby going around a desk and hit a small spot near that door more than 30 ft. away would I believe it was him? I said of course, that’s something only you could do. Mr. Woods did as he said and he was on his way with his money! So, Mr. President is there anything you could do or show me to prove you are infact the President?”

Biden: Well, I don’t know, I’m clueless! 

Julie: Mr. President, you should’ve said so to begin with. Here you are! 

On Things

My voter registration may state otherwise, but I’ve not been a big R Republican for a very long time. I picture myself a solid conservative and that is something the national Republicans have not been for ages. What we have running things are liberals and not quite so liberals and really big spenders and not quite as big spenders.

Were I in charge, large very large banners would stretch across the wall in both Chambers of Congress that reads simply “That is not your money you are spending”.  In fact, I might require it to be tattooed on each elected officials’ forearm. 

I think every spending bill should have a line that clearly and specifically spells out how many dollars spent will cost each individual taxpayer. Imagine if your local Representative had to justify spending each and every $150 or $200 the Feds confiscated right off the top of your paycheck.

If I was listing big things that bother me, the riots/insurrection of January 6 would be far, far down on my list. It was a bunch of stupid people doing remarkably stupid things. I have no compassion for the fate of any of those who participated. I also think that if it was an insurrection, it was the most pathetic effort in history, ranking right up there with the hippies’ attempt to levitate the Pentagon back in the sixties. 

Don’t even get on about election deniers. Some of those most recently outraged claimed Bush and Trump were illegitimate Presidents and their elections were stolen. There were more rioters at Trumps’ inauguration four years previous. 

If you are one of those who equate January 6 as one of the worst days in American history than I invite you to peruse your local library history section. You might want to read about the riots of the sixties, Aaron Burr’s attempt at a western kingdom, the Whiskey Rebellion, Shay’s Rebellion, the Bonus Marches, John Brown’s Raid, the NY Draft Riots, and even the Black Lives/anarchist riots of the previous year. The Weathermen were more effective. Sorry, while I’m disgusted, I’m not appalled. Your opinion may vary. That is why it is opinion and we will have to agree to disagree. 

Trump lost the election. That doesn’t mean it is not reasonable to question that Biden’s margin of victory came for the most part from unvetted mail-in votes. Was there enough questionable stuff to overturn the election — I don’t think so, but again, read the whole opinion thing above. 

What I’m am tired of is bad choice and worse choice for every election. 

On that, I suspect,  we do agree. 

The classics are classics for a reason

 In the days of the Wild West, there was a young cowboy who wanted more than anything to be the greatest gunfighter in the world.

He practiced every minute of his spare time, but he knew that he wasn’t yet first-rate and that there must be something he was doing wrong.

Sitting in a saloon one Saturday night, he recognized an elderly man standing at the bar who in his day had the reputation of being the fastest gun in the West. The young cowboy took a place next to the old-timer, bought him a drink and told him the story of his great ambition. “Do you think you could give me some tips?” he asked.

The old man looked him up and down and said, “Well, for one thing, you’re wearing your gun too high. Tie the holster a little lower down on your leg.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

“Sure will,” replied the old-timer. The young man did as he was told, stood up, whipped out his 44 and shot the bow tie off the piano player.

“That’s terrific!” said the hot shot. “Got any more tips for me?”

“Yep,” said the old man. “Cut a notch out of your holster where the hammer hits it. That’ll give you a smoother draw.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the younger man. “You bet it will,” said the old-timer.

The young man took out his knife, cut the notch, stood up, drew his gun in a blur, then shot a cufflink off the piano player.

“Wow!” exclaimed the cowboy. “I’m learnin’ somethin’ here.. Got any more tips?”

The old man pointed to a large can in a corner of the saloon. “See that axle grease over there? Coat your gun with it.”

The young man went over to the can and smeared some of the grease on the barrel of his gun. “No,” said the old-timer, “I mean smear it all over the gun, handle and all.”

“Will that make me a better gunfighter?” asked the young man.

The Old Timer said , “No, but when Wyatt gets done playing the piano, he’s gonna shove that gun up your behind, and it won’t hurt as much if it’s all greased up.”

Down in old Madison

The wife awoke yesterday with a hoarse, yet almost recovered voice for the first time in 10 days. I was at about 80 percent. The day was was gorgeous, so I wrapped my neck in tie and the wife pulled on a dress and we headed to attend a wedding in deep southern Indiana at Clifty Falls State Park. The wedding was an outdoor affair overlooking the majestic Ohio River. It was a perfect mid-seventies, sunny late fall afternoon as the couple said their vows.

We have know the groom since the day he was born. He lived around the corner from us and the young man’s mother s one of my wife’s oldest friends. The groom is a few months older than my youngest and the boys grew up together. 

At the reception they did the dance thing where all of the married people take to the dance floor. Then couples are asked to leave in reverse order, starting with the newlyweds until only the longest-married couple remains. Lo and behold, as the DJ called for everyone married less than 35 years to leave, there were only two couples left: we and the grooms’ aunt and uncle. The other couple exited at 36 years. It was the wife and I left on the dance floor as the longest-married couple in attendance. As the crowd cheered, the wife looked deep in my eyes. She smiled and said “thirty-eight years, boy you are old”. Of course she laughed. 

It was good to see old friends and acquaintances. The wife talked and visited while I listened to the music. I had but one beer since we had a two hour drive back home. In all, it was a good time.

Hey little sister

I guess, based on views, the Thursday TV theme song feature is not popular. That doesn’t mean I will stop. Time, or next Thursday, will tell. 

He wife is still voiceless, but marginally better today. She has graduated from a slight whisper to a regular whisper. The doctor says time is the cure. They gave her codeine-laced cough syrup to stop her sporadic coughing since it is the cough that strained her throat. She hasn’t been able to speak for nine days now. Since everything is about me, it makes life pretty boring. 

I had a cold last weekend, and was better by Monday morning. Suddenly, in the overnight hours Wednesday/Thursday I started feeling miserable again. I don’t know if it was my Tuesday flu shot, or I recaught the weekend bug or what. I’m loaded on various forms of cold medicine to get through the day. I will be OK. No need to go into a prayer chain or anything.

We are supposed to go to a wedding Saturday. It is 50/50 if we grace our presence upon the assembly. No need to be superspreaders of any viral bug. Besides, if the wife can’t talk, there is no point. It’s not like I want to talk to any of those people.

Have a great Friday

Crockett and Tubbs

Never one to give up on a mediocre idea, I offer the next installment of Theme Song Thursday. No compilation would be complete without this classic:

 Miami Vice ran for five years on NBC - 1984-1989. It was must watching for the wife and I, young and just married and broke. We had our first two kids in that timeframe — which had nothing to do with Miami Vice.

Late to bed, early to rise

I crawled out of bed a little after 3AM this morning. Not to pee (not the prime reason anyway), not nightmares, not hunger, not insomnia, not illness. No, I had a conference call with a customer. It is hard to coordinate a time that is convenient for all attendees when one is in a China, one in France, and me, here in the good old USA. Admittedly, had I known the guy in France would beg off, I would have scheduled the meeting for nine or ten at night since China is 12 hours different in time from me. So it goes. 

When I start at 4AM, I can be done by noon. That is a win anytime. 

On Friday, we took a mini road trip back to the old home town and general environs. Cruising on a two-lane state highway, we saw a guy out putting up Christmas decorations. I love the holidays, but when you start decorating before Hallmark even launches the Christmas movie marathon extravaganza, then you are a bit premature. On the other hand, the big box has had their Christmas stuff out for several weeks. In ten years the early creep will come a full circle and decorations will sprout a month or six weeks prior to the holiday - only they will be almost a year in advance. Christmas decorations for 2035 will be out in November 2034. 

We had snow flurries Sunday night, so I guess we are heading to that time. 

For those of you trying to keep up, I don’t have an update on the wife’s inability to speak. She was still voiceless when I went to bed. No improvement at all. Baring a miraculous recovery when she gets up, she will be off to the doctor this morning. 

I guess break time is done. Back to work.

Have a great hump day. 

Left Speechless

Star log 53.27.6: We are on day 6, the wife still has no voice. I don’t mean in a woke kind of way; there is no patriarchy here at the homestead. I mean she cannot talk, her voice is but a very faint whisper. I called yesterday to make her doctor’s appointment. After a long conversation with the nurse, she is going in tomorrow if there is no improvement. After forty plus years with me I clearly leave her speechless. 

I feel like one of those sanctimonious jerks when we go to dinner. We went to her favorite Mexican food emporium last evening and I had to do the ordering. “She will have the...”. I hate those guys. My wife has her own voice. She can speak for herself. 

Well not right now.

From a selfish point of view, she’s pretty damn boring as a conversationalist these days.  

Is it petty to say I enjoy seeing Tom Brady lose his sh*t?

Life is always better when your sports team wins. That’s a fact. 

To the more important stuff, I’m feeling better. I know you are worried. The wife is still virtually voiceless, she can only speak with a faint whisper. She says she is feeling much better, she just cannot speak. 

Unfortunately, since the wife was sick the entire week, we didn’t get the carpets cleaned, we didn’t paint, we didn’t weed out some of the toys. Oh well, those projects will still be there tomorrow. 

Our family room couch is old and broken down. It’s springs are broken on one end and the lining is torn behind the cushions so stuff is always getting lost inside. It is pretty much what you would find in a college dorm room at this point. It needs replaced. 

The wife started looking at sofas last summer. Of course we were in no position to buy one then, I was transitioning from the big box to the short-lived insurance gig at that time. Catching up the bills and the mortgage was priority numero uno. She found the sofa she wanted, but we had to wait. 

On my day off Friday we spent part of the day couch shopping (hooray for me). The store had the sofa she liked last year back in stock. The price had almost doubled. Thanks Bidenflation. 

Did you know when the government calculates inflation it does not consider gas or food? Imagine what the economy would look like if those commodities that most affect or wallets were included.

The downside to taking a vacation day is the work you didn’t do still needs done. At this point I have fifty plus emails I need to deal with. The normal Monday load will continue to arrive. Time to work instead of goofing around on the blog.

Enjoy your Monday.

Maybe a true story

A brunette bowling ball walked into Portillo’s wearing a sports bra and yoga pants, every thread of which was crying out in tensile pain. Her face was made up like a stripper working the Tuesday morning shift. You know she got ready, looked in the mirror and decided “I look hot”. You know there were tattoos.

Sorry, feeling mean in my writing today.

"I get my kicks above the waistline, sunshine"

 I was going to trot  out a rerun today, but opted for this instead. Don’t thank me. The retread post was probably more entertaining than this dreck is likely to be.

I broke down and turned on the furnace yesterday morning for a few hours. It was 63 inside when I  got up. I was sitting on the couch freezing a decided it was crazy to shiver in a house with a perfectly good furnace. It is chilly this morning too, but I can live with 67. It looks like I’ll only save on gas for a few more days as sub-freezing weather and highs in the forties are in the forecast this week. 

If cars ran on snot I would be as rich as the sheiks of OPEC. Near constant nasal drip has left my nose irritated and sore from constant blowing and wiping. So far I have avoided for the most part the hacking cough the wife has. The wife has had complete and total laryngitis for two days now. She can only talk at a whisper. 

You might be saying “that’s great”. I will admit it makes for a long boring day when you cannot have even the most mundane conversations. Of course her situation allows me to launch into long diatribes, bad jokes, and historical dissertation without  her telling me “I don’t care” or rolling her eyes. It is just like living the old blog in real life. Imagine that! 

For those of you missing a music post yesterday I offer this ear worm. Have a great Saturday :

New and Improved Blogging! Now with Bonus Features!!

The granddaughters have been sick off and on for a month. The youngest one has been especially hard hit. The wife started feeling bad last week and is pretty sick now with bronchitis. Guess what? I am up early, with a sore throat, runny nose, headache. Thanks girls. I have no doubt that by the time the weekend rolls around I will be hacking and coughing just like the rest. The only difference is I will be way sicker than the girls ever were. In fact, I’m certain the average person would be checked into a hospital if they are as sick as I expect to be. I will tough it out as an exemplar of manliness. 

I was scheduled to get a flu shot today. If I don’t feel better by noon, I’ll cancel that. No point in putting more germs in my body. 

Looking ahead it appears a spate of cold will move in next week with sub-freezing overnight lows and forties in the daytime. Sigh. It is that time of year, I guess. It will not be long until I’m writing about Christmas decorations. 

It has come to my attention you want more features here on the blog. After careful consideration I have decided to give in to your whims. I have long stood fast in my refusal to let readers dictate content, but this one time Kay, I will discuss my blog business. 

I have decided to add a new feature — Theme Song Thursday. I will go back in time and post the great theme songs of TV shows from yesteryear. 

At least for this week. I may forget all about this easy content filler great idea by next week. Here is one of the best to kick things off:

At least it is not Tuesday

The wife is off “work” this week. The granddaughters are on fall break and they have skipped off to the beach. I wish I was at the beach...

Unfortunately, the wife is also sick. A rough case of bronchitis has her hacking and coughing. I know she feels miserable. She woke me in the night coughing and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Now I will be groggy for my monthly sales meeting call; an event that nearly puts me to sleep when I get a full night’s rest, let alone when I get up at four in the morning. I did get caught up on House of Dragon, so there is that. I ain’t mad at the wife , she cannot help being sick. 

Yesterday, as I finished off work, I thought I’d enjoy the nice fall weather and retire to the patio to read a bit while the wife was at the doctor (see above). I no sooner sat down and it started raining. So it goes, I moved in to the couch with my Kindle. It looks like a gloomy, rainy day is on tap for today. 

I took Friday off, hoping we could do something for a long weekend. It doesn’t look like that will happen. The bank is a bit low on Monopoly money right now. The wife has hinted about painting the family room/kitchen instead. Yay. 

A quick check of the clock confirms it is well past noon in Germany. I need to fire up the work computer and prompt my Prussian colleagues  to respond to Big Customer who has asked for answers for more than a week. I hate that a big part of my job is making sure other people do theirs. 

Suburban Moon

 

I took this picture Sunday night when I went outside to put a bag of garbage in the bin. I suppose it has the proper seasonal mood. I really wanted to get a picture of the big full hunter’s moon, but the limitations of the iPhone camera fuzzed the shot when I tried to zoom in. I think the end result of the non-zoom image framed between my house and the hard maple made for a better shot anyway. Or not. Art is in the viewers’ eye.  

If I ever write the great American novel I have decided I am going to call it Suburban Moon. I don’t care if the title matches the story or not. I just like the sound of it. It’s not like titles have ever matched content on the old blog, why should it in other aspects? Anyway, don’t steal my half-thought out title. 

It probably won’t matter if you do steal it. I won’t write the great American novel, and it is even more likely I will forget about the title “Suburban Moon” long before I get the first chapter done even if I tried to write a book. Truth be told, I will forget that title before tomorrow most likely. 

another great one is gone

I did not post nor read blogs this weekend. A mini-break as it were. It is with great sadness I discover this morning that Denny Wilson, The Grouchy Old Cripple, has passed on. GOC was the first blog I ever read, I don’t remember how I ended there or from what search. I started reading him every day. A year or so later when I started my blog he was very kind. He sent me a crippleanche early on, boosting my readership. I will miss reading his blog. The world is a little less enjoyable today. RIP.

A drunk pretending to be a poet

I stayed up and watched what might have been the worst football game I have ever seen. What garbage. If the Colts weren’t playing, I would have turned it off. 

Say, did you hear about the Italian chef who died? 

He pasta way.

Yeah, I’m tired and I have a lot of work to do. 

Tip of the fedora to Cappy who went back in time to 2006 to comment on a post about the worst President ever with a vote for Biden. 

Enjoy your Friday.

* the title is how a Rolling Stone editor described the Doors’ Morrison

Battling Biden, he learned to fight in a tough Puerto Rican gang called the Sharks

It was just a few weeks ago that President Biden leaped at the chance to take credit for reduced gas prices. And while they remained higher than we have seen in years, he only focused on the fact they were lower than the historic highs we saw back in the late spring/early summer. 

Since he brought down those prices — his claim — isn’t he therefore responsible for the recent hikes as well? 

Did you hear old Joe bragging on a hot mic in Florida yesterday that “you don’t fuck with a Biden”? I suppose that is true except for OPEC, Afghanistan Taliban, Russia, the Saudis, plagiarism checkers, Joe Manchin, Republicans, SCOTUS...

I bet Dr. Jill says “Oh, shut up Joe” about ten times a week. Biden reminds me of this old guy:

What a blowhard. 

deliberate disdain

As I stayed with my dad in his last days the TV was tuned 24/7 to the Grit channel. Westerns played loud and always as he dozed in his recliner. Interspersed at very frequent intervals were commercials for ambulance chasing lawyers and Medicare hustlers. 

The commercials starring Joe Namath especially irritated Dad. Every time Broadway Joe came on dad would mutter “ I hate that son of a bitch. I’m so tired of his commercial.”

I knock off work around five. My wife has taken the littlest granddaughter home to greet the oldest as she gets off the school bus. I pick up the toys that litter the family room and watch a couple of episodes of the old police drama Adam-12. Just like the western channel, the oldies channel is paid for with commercials from ambulance chasing lawyers and lots and lots of Medicare commercials from that son of a bitch Joe Namath. I understand why my dad hated his commercials so much. 

Just call to check your zip code my ass. 

Extreme navel gazing

It is a chilly 37F outside this morning.it is a far more comfortable 69F inside. I suspect I will have to break down and consider turning on the heat by the end of the week as daytime highs are expected in the mid-fifties. Coupled with nighttime’s in the thirties, the house will not retain enough warmth to keep the wife from complaining she’s cold. The crabapple is starting to drop a few leaves and the hard maple is starting to turn. Fall is upon us. I’m not ready. The holidays are not far off. 

I need to decide if I want to do another foot surgery or live with it. Unless I am on my feet for long periods  I can manage the low level pain. I do walk with a slight limp. I sometimes wonder if it is habit or necessity. I rarely have swelling anymore. Much depends on what shoes I wear. 

It isn’t the surgery that bothers me. That’s no big deal, even if the doc re-breaks or reconstructs my foot. It is the eight weeks of recovery. Long John Silvering it around with no weight on my foot at all has no appeal. Crawling up the stairs, crutches, scooters, one-legged showers, no driving,wholly dependent on my wife - that has me reconsidering. Even going to pee in the middle of the night becomes an ordeal as I navigate on crutches. A little limp doesn’t seem so bad. I know, boo hoo, boo hoo. 

Yes,I know my problems are small, my complaints large, my worries insignificant. Most people in the world face a life far, far more difficult than my little foot pain in suburbia. I am blessed beyond measure.

Have a great Tuesday. 

Mundane Monday Musings

I suppose I should post something. The ghost of Acidman is frowning at me. He admonished me to post something every day. 

Mom always told me if I could not say anything nice, I should not say anything at all.

I’ve pretty much ignored that advise. 

I’ve always ignored a lot of advise. 

You have to be sixteen most places to drive. Seventeen in most states to marry. You have to be 21 to buy a beer. All because minors cannot make adult decisions. Somehow we are letting pre-teens and teenagers decide they need hormone blockers and sex change surgery? 

I wish I could report a busy, exciting weekend. I cannot. I mowed the yard Saturday. Does that count? 

My actual dinner plate

I fixed beef and noodles and mashed potatoes for dinner last night. 

The Colts are a bad football team.

The Cubs are a bad baseball team. 

The youngest granddaughter makes me smile every day.