January 31, 2024

Wherein I Just Complain

It happens a lot this time of year, in recent years anyway: I lose all interest in blogging. In ‘21 I quit for most of January. It seems my writer’s block has extended even to this piece o’crap blog. 

Edit: I erased several hundred words complaining about boredom, blah, blah. How about I tell you I got nuthin’ today and we leave it at that? 

More Edit: Read This . Fuzzy writes what I should, if I was not so lazy. Except he writes it with far more erudition than I ever could. 

January 29, 2024

F Joe Biden

 What he said

I know you don’t click links, you need to here. 

Ignore my previous post, it was just filler. 

This is a question we should all ask. Biden says he will shut down the border as soon as he gets funding for Ukraine. Of which country is Biden President? 

Let’s go Brandon, indeed.

Monday again

I fried up some chicken for dinner last night. Mashed spuds and gravy and some corn rounded out the meal. To be honest, I am not overly fond of chicken. My wife’s mother made the best fried chicken. The wife says mine is pretty close. I do like making and eating mashed potatoes and gravy. I have a definite weakness for potatoes. That is not good for my diabetes, that is for sure. 

I discovered my drivers license expires in March. Not only do I need a new passport,  now that needs renewed as well. I suspect m going to need new glasses before the eye test. It’s always something. 

How about some music to get your day started? 

You don’t really have a choice.

My goodness this is pure tripe. Not the tune, the post. 


January 28, 2024

Things you find in old posts

I have to be honest, I have no recollection of writing this. According to a response I made to the comments, the story came to me in a dream the previous night. Please ignore the punctuation errors.

January 12, 2013

Christmas dreams

It was just a few days before Christmas.  The kids were all gathered on the carpet for story time. You could feel the electric energy in the room. Some were literally bouncing on their little bottoms. Nearly every one was bursting to shout out the answer to the question I had just asked. 

"Tell me what you want for Christmas.” Nineteen kindergarten-sized hands shot into the air, and as usual, Billy could not wait to be called on and blurted out his desire for an iPod.  McKenzie said she wanted a red sparkly sweater. Jorge wanted a dog.

Callie waited until almost last. She announced in a small voice that she and her Mom just want an ordinary life. 

"An ordinary life?" I asked 

"Yeah." I could barely hear her. "A mom, a dad, a house, a car. Food to eat. A plastic armadillo."

Life has been tough in this west Texas town. The foundry closed two years ago.  The drought wiped out the cotton crop.  Almost every one of my students got free lunch and breakfast from Government assistance. More than half came from broken homes. Two lived with their grandparents. Three had at least one parent in jail.

After Callie spoke there was silence for a few minutes as the little minds thought about it. Billy raised his hand. For the first time all year he waited on me to call on him. "Mrs. Simon, can I change my wish?"

"Sure Billy.”

"I don't want an iPod anymore, I want an ordinary life".  Echoes of "me too" bounced off the wall as a dozen voices shouted out the same desire. McKenzie started crying. She only wanted a red sparkly sweater. I told her it was OK. 

I got home a little late that evening.  I stopped by store to grab some chicken for supper. I pulled into the drive. Most of last week's snow had melted leaving only gray and black lumps in shady places and along the edge of the gravel driveway. A plastic armadillo was in the yard.  Last summer they had appeared at WalMart and the little plastic rodent replicas were the yard decorating fad of the summer. 

I could see the Christmas tree through the living room window. My husband was smiling at me through the glass. I was pretty certain Emily and Tommy were watching Spongebob on the TV screen.  I felt a tear on my cheek as I realized all I really wanted for Christmas was my very ordinary life. 

January 27, 2024

A man has to know his limitations

 The coffee is hot. Classic rock plays softly in the background. The neighborhood houses are black lumps against a dark blue-gray sky. I rock slightly in the un-reclined recliner looking out the window at nothing.  It is cold, but not too cold outside. It is comfortable in the old office. 

I usually block off Saturday and Sunday mornings to write. Today, I’m in a lazy mood. I should sit at the computer and write. I don’t want to put in the work. I’ve hit a writers block wall of my own design in my latest novel. I ended the last chapter and started the current one with exposition, not action. I have stated that things happened, not described the happening, if that makes sense. 

For example, I might write that the basketball team lost a tough game in the State basketball tournament. I should describe the hot, sweaty, loud, raucous, competitive atmosphere of Hoosier Hysteria in the gym from the old days of single class basketball. The days when entire towns showed up on Friday night to see the team on the hardwood. I should write what the fans did, describe the smell of popcorn in the lobby, the sweat of the railroad worker crammed on the bench seat next to you. 

See what I mean? I wrote one sentence when I should have written a hundred words. By the same token, I write a hundred words when one sentence would suffice. It is the endless editing and rewriting that sucks the fun out of it. 

I know what I want to happen. I’m just too lazy to do the actual work. As the historian Barbara Tuchman once said, “research is endlessly seductive, writing is hard work.” I’m not talking the writing like here at the old blog, this is ridiculously easy. I sit and words flow stream of consciousness fashion right onto the electronic page. Narrative writing is difficult. I’m afraid I was only moderately successful in my first book. I learned from it. And to Tuchman’s point, since the current novel takes place in the past I am drawn and sucked in by the research. Do I really need to spend two hours researching the history of the Nickel Plate Railroad and the machinations of Jay Gould and the Vanderbilts? 

Oh, I know I can write prose. I can craft sentences that flow, that describe, that are easy to read. Writing an actual story, that is a completely different animal. There were a couple of passages in my first book I thought were good writing. There was also some complete crap. There are chapters and passages that do nothing to push along the narrative. I should have taken an figurative red pen and marked them with a big red X. 

None of this is compliment fishing. Rather, as Clint told us, “A man has to know his limitations.” I know mine. And a big one today is that I don’t want to do the hard work of writing. I think I’ll read a few blogs, then saunter off to watch something, anything on TV. 

January 26, 2024

I have questions

There are at least a dozen robins flying around and chirping in my front and back yards. Don’t robins fly south in the winter? Is spring here already? 

It is Friday, I’m not going to break my brain thinking about dumb birds. How about some music?

January 25, 2024

Perusing the Headlines

Let me see, PETA wants to replace Puxatawney Phil with a giant gold coin because the erstwhile groundhog is not an accurate weather forecaster and Groundhog Day is mean or something. PETA, huh? That reminds me to lay out some steaks for dinner.

In Canada, a fifty year-old man who identifies as a teen girl has joined a girl’s swim club and is competing. He is part of the team, sharing the locker rooms with girls as young as 13. Why any parent allows their kid to remain on that team is a mystery to me. Do these girls have dads? Are any of their mothers feminists? Has all logic and decency disappeared from Canuckistan?

The SCOTUS has determined Texas cannot enforce the border when Joe Biden will not. Now some Democrat Congressmen are urging Biden to nationalize the Texas National Guard to stop the Governor from securing the border. Read that again. Sitting US Congressmen, who swore to uphold the Constitution, are arguing for open, unfettered, illegal immigration. 

The NFL will feature the “Black National Anthem” before the Super Bowl. As far as I know, the Star Spangled Banner is the only National Anthem. What if a white-skinned player kneels during the Black National Anthem? Would he just be exercising his right to peaceful protest? I propose we play the Wabash College fight song before the Big Game. We can all get behind that.

I better stop. My blood pressure is rising. Is it too early to drink?

January 24, 2024

There is truth in the nonsense

 Ahhhooogha....Ahhhooogha...the fog horn sounds a mournful warning over Mudsock this morning. I can hear the lonely ship bells of the big freighters anchored in the icy White River cutting through the silence. Ding ding, ding ding as a warm breeze moves across the slowly thawing ground. It is still dark, only the neighbor’s porch lights cutting a weak yellow beam through the fog. 

I sip my coffee. The furnace kicks on to bring warmth to the blogroom. Soon I will fire up the old laptop and slave away at my desk as Bob Cratchet babbles away over the pitiful exploits of his family one desk over. Scratch, scratch. Why won’t Bob use a computer? 

Ahhhooogha.....Ahhhoooga....the foghorn sounds a mournful warning...

What? Do not push me. The Captain and Tennille are just a click away. I’ll do it, so help me...

January 23, 2024

Feeling Mean

It is raining. I have a headache. I’m feeling grumpy as a grizzly bear on a bender. 

Take that and like it.

January 22, 2024

Wide Right

Monday yet again. At least you aren’t the placekicker for Buffalo or Green Bay. They probably should make sure that everything is cleaned out of their locker when they go to the facility today. I doubt either will be back next season. 

We are expecting a big warm up this week, finally breaking the freezing mark for the first time in a couple of weeks. There is a chance of freezing rain overnight then a nice warm front. I’m sure that weather will herald the apocalypse for the global warming crowd. 

It occurs to me that Leftists may hate Christianity, but they do have their own version of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse : Climate Change, Racism, Homophobia, and Orange Man Bad. They insist we bow and repent with fervent belief as strong as any Christian Charismatic snake handler. Can I get an Amen?  

That is enough for what promises to be a cloudy wet start of the week. Stay strong. 

January 21, 2024

Have a nice trip

It looks like I’ll be heading back to Asia next month. I’m not sad about it, but I would be content to never go back too. Despite spending close to a month in China in various trips, I still can’t use chopsticks. I have some, I guess I need to practice before I go this time. It looks like this trip will last about a week. I won’t be able to blog, so I’ll try to put up some canned posts before I go. I suppose you won’t be able to tell the difference. 

What? You don’t believe me? Every single post* this week was prewritten, including this one. The actual time is 2;24 pm on 01/18/2024. 

Why yes, I have a burning need to be right. Why do you ask? 

I have to get my passport renewed ASAP. That probably means a trip to Chicago to walk it through in person. I know, it is all great, right? The good news is my Chinese visa is still good. 

How about some music?

*edit: except Friday’s effort.

January 20, 2024

Is it the red knobs that makes it valuable?


Sometimes you run across something on the interwebz that is so Mind-bending crazy you are left nearly stupefied with disbelief. 

Consider this four-slice toaster on Amazon. I’m sure it is a fine product, but it is a toaster. It cooks bread. That’s all it does. It is not made of gold or platinum. No artisan hand-forged the metal or inlaid delicate filigree like a Faberge Egg. We are talking 1920’s technology here. 

What I do find remarkable is not that a company is selling a $300 toaster, but rather that more than three hundred people actually bought one of these in the last month! I mean what were you thinking? 

Look, I’m not  judgemental. Well, maybe a little. Okay, often, but stick with me here. I may judge you by your politics, your face piercings, or your blue hair. How you spend your hard-earned money is your business. You work hard and want a sports car or a Bentley. Not my concern. If you want gold plated hardware in your bathroom, it is none of my business. If you collect guitars or guns, I say, whatever. 

If you buy a $300 toaster you are a blithering idiot. 

January 19, 2024

Picture This

I’m up early today. I don’t know why. I tossed and turned for about a half hour before I finally got up around four aye em. That’s okay. Maybe I will take a nap this afternoon. I worked a couple of 12 hour days earlier in the week. I planned on knocking off early today anyway.

It looks like we got about an inch of snow over night. A little more may yet accumulate. Another wave of arctic air is expected to follow this front bringing sub-zero temps yet again. I suspect it will be cold at your house too. 

In other news, the redecorating of the family room continues. You may remember— or not — I repainted the family room and kitchen in November. Maybe I did not mention it? I don’t know. I did paint it. The wife bought a new couch; more modern than her usual country look. Now we are updating the decor. I hung a new picture last evening above the couch. I did it right. I marked where she wanted the picture. I measured, leveled, and measured and leveled again. I put in the picture hooks. I rechecked my level. Measured again. Hung up the picture. Leveled again. Smiled proudly at the wife. 

“It’s crooked,” she says. I put the level on top of the frame. The bubble is dead in the middle of the lines. Ditto on the bottom of the frame. I even put the level on the sides of the picture to prove my point. “I don’t care what it says, it is higher on the left.” I told her it wasn’t and held out the level. “It looks crooked.” 

I go get a different level, in case gravity works better with the red one as opposed the blue one. Strangely enough, the picture is still level. “Maybe the ceiling is off?” She decides. 

“I can’t help you there,” I tell her. I grab the hammer. “Tell me what you want and I will do a ‘tap adjustment’ on the hook. But the picture is level,” I tell her. She frowns and stands to the side. She thinks it looks okay from an angle. 

I wonder if a level can be classified as a lethal weapon. 

We pushed the couch back in place. She frowns some more and decides that helps. “I guess it will be fine,” she declares. We all know what “Fine” means, right guys? 

I suspect I will rehang the picture sometime over the weekend magically trying to compensate for whatever she perceives as level, leveling my marks then putting the hanger 1/4 or 1/8 inch off of level. 

Note: It is quite possible the picture is crooked. Unlike my beautiful, lovely, perfect wife, I do not have a magic level in my eyeball. I depend on faulty mechanical bubble levels and gravity. 

January 18, 2024

Classics are always in fashion

 A few days ago we found an old straggly cat at our door.

She was a sorry sight. Starving, dirty, smelled terrible, skinny and hair all matted down. We felt sorry for the cat and put her in a carrier and took her to the vet.

She had no name so my we named her Pussycat.

The vet decided to keep her for a day or so and said he would let us know when we could come and get her.

My husband, [the complainer] said,

“OK, but don’t forget to wash her, she stinks.”

My husband and our vet don’t like each other.

He calls my husband El-cheap-O. My husband calls him El-Take-0. They love to hate each other.

Next day my husband had an appointment with his doctor, which was located next door to the vet.

The doctor’s office was full of people waiting to see the doctor.

A side door opened and in leaned the vet; he had obviously seen my husband arrive.

He looked straight at my husband,

“Your wife’s pussy is finally clean. She now smells like a rose. And by the way, I think she’s pregnant. God knows who the father is!”

And he closed the door.

January 17, 2024

How about that?

 I have no memory of writing this. 

January 9, 2016

Fire Burns Hot

When 008 walked into the party, more than just female heads turned to look at his handsome face. His broad shoulders and narrow hips were accented by the white dinner jacket and dark trousers. He was tall and had dark wavy hair. A pale scar accentuated his jaw line. He walked over to the bar and leaned next to his target, Viktor Kamchovski. The plump Russian was the chief financier of SMERSH. 008 stared Kamchovski in the eyes and introduced himself, "Bend, John Bend". The bartender wandered over and Bend pointed a strong finger at Kamchovski's glass. "I'll have what he is drinking...shaken, not stirred.”

The bartender looked confused for a moment and gave a slight shrug as he poured champagne into a glass and set it along with a bowl of pretzels next to Bend. 008 grabbed a handful of the thin pretzel sticks and leaned nonchalantly on the bar. A beautiful woman in a very low cut dress was walking towards him. Bend tossed a pretzel into his mouth with cool athletic grace.

The pretzel stuck sideways in the back of his throat. Bend started making hacking and small retching sounds. Viktor Kamchovski turned and stared. Bend was thrashing his tongue in a frantic effort to dislodge the pretzel. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish on a river bank. Bend stuck a finger down his throat and finally broke the pretzel. He also dislodged and broke open the tiny cyanide capsule cemented behind his molar.

He fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Kamchovski leaned over the gasping agent and tore open Bend's immaculate dinner jacket and tie. "Do...you...expect...me...to...talk?” John Bend struggled to whisper the words.

"No,” intoned the Russian. "I expect you to die.” He stated, as Bend's face turned purple. "Unless the paramedics get here very soon.” Kamchovski started chest compressions, but it was too late; 008 was dead.

January 16, 2024

On this date

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I miss you.

January 15, 2024

Free Stuff


This is a good week to get an ebook version of my debut novel from Amazon. Until January 19th, it will cost you nothing but the minimal effort of downloading it. 

That’s right, I’m offering it up for free. 

Just click This easy link to get your Free copy.

All I ask in return for this generosity is a review on Amazon. An honest review. If it’s crap say so. If you like it, ditto.

Act fast, supplies are limited, no coupon required, keep off the grass, no pets allowed,  do not fold, spindle, or mutilate, get it now, don’t miss out, little puppies and kittens depend on you. 

Did I mention FREE?  You can get the Kindle reading app free too!

January 14, 2024

If you're not into yoga

It’s cold. It probably is cold at your house too. How about something tropical?

Sometime in the past 24 hours I surpassed 1.5 million visits to this blog. I am certain that is small potatoes to many of you. I’m proud of it. It humbles me that even one person bothers to read my drivel. 

In truth, I probably passed that figure a long time ago. Blogger stats only go back to 2010, so the first five years of visits are lost. Some of those years were the blogging peak, before Facebook and such. Back in those wild days, I would get thousands of hits in a day. Of course, I worked at it a bit more too. A link from Acidman, GOC, Big Dick, or Bane  would set the statmeter spinning. In truth, one of you probably pushed my count past 2 million. 

So let this be an inadequate THANK YOU for stopping by. I appreciate it more than you can ever know. 

January 13, 2024

Come on Sugar let me know

I was “standing” in the hall bathroom bit after 4PM yesterday when power kicked off. I quickly finished, trying to maintain my aim in the dark, washed up, and went to check what was going on. First, I turned off he laptop since it was now running on battery mode. I looked across the street to see if the neighbors had power. It was not evident either way. I opened the electric company app and sure enough, their was a widespread power outage reported already. 

Wait? What did that say there in small print at he bottom of the outage report? Power was expected to be restored at 10:30 PM! I looked down at my right hand. Let’s see, 4:30 to 10:30...I need more fingers...

I looked out the window, dark was not so far off. I grabbed a couple of flashlights, my Kindle Paperwhite, and little Bose bluetooth speaker. I had a seventy percent charge on the phone, that was good news.  I called the wife, who was attending the grandgirls, and told her there was no need to hurry home. I lit a candle on the kitchen table, then, for next few hours I read, looked out the windows, and listened to music in the ever-darkening house.

Finally, around 6:30 the wife came to get me to go somewhere for dinner. After dinner we went to Target for stuff. I checked the electric company app. Power is expected to be restored at 1:30 AM. YGTBFKM.

Returning to the darkened house in a blacked-out neighborhood, I was happy I spent a few bucks extra for the battery backup on the garage door opener when I replaced it last summer. 

It was chilly in the house, but not too bad upstairs. I retired to my office to read on the ebook’s lighted screen, the wife to the other recliner in the girl’s bedroom to play on her iPad. 

No wonder our ancestors went to bed at sundown. They were bored. There is not much to do after dark but hump and draw stick figures of deer on the cave wall. Well let me tell you, the wife said no, and I couldn’t find the crayons. 

Fortunately, the power kicked on a little after eleven. Satisfied all was good, I went to bed. In the dark. Now I have to reset the stupid clocks.

Here is some Saturday music that has nothing to do with power outages.

January 12, 2024

Oh, Can’t you see?

The eldest granddaughter got glasses yesterday. She is really excited. They look good on her. She already looks much older than her nine years, and the glasses emphasize the notion. I feel bad for her. As soon as the “new” wears off she will realize all of the things everyone hates about glasses — they hurt your nose, your ears, they get so very dirty, they fog up, they slide when you sweat, they fall off when you are doing stuff, etc. I suspect in a few years she will beg for contacts. 

I first got glasses when I was eighteen. I mostly used them for reading. I hated them. By the time I was in my mid- twentiesI had to wear them all of the time. I hated them even more. In my forties I had to get bifocals. I hated them more. In my fifties my Fuchs Dystrophy got worse and I had to get cornea transplants in both eyes. The good news, I thought, new eyes means no more f-ing glasses. Nope, wrong. My severe astigmatism means I had to keep my glasses. Did I mention I hate my glasses? Within a few years I was back to bifocals. So it goes. First The astigmatism prevented the possibility of contacts, then the Fuchs, now the transplants. Currently, the I am waiting on my retina to recover fully from my surgery so I can get new, stronger glasses. Whoop! 

Did I mention I hate wearing glasses?

Anyway, my granddaughter got glasses and she looks cute and grown up and the rest of the diatribe was not necessary, but there you go. That’s what you get around here. 

It does give me an opportunity to play one of my favorite songs since it marginally mentions seeing:

January 11, 2024

This is for a good chunk of you

Looks like an ugly weekend. Right now we are on the warm side of the front, lots of rain and a little snow before the really cold air seeps in.

January 10, 2024

This is what you get when I cannot sleep

A stiff wind is rattling the eaves. The neighbors’ porch lights cut a narrow holes of brightness through the black of night. Seventies rock music plays softly on my Amazon Echo spy device. Currently it is Fleetwood Mac. I have been up since 3:30 this morning. I don’t know why. These things happen. 

I made a pot of potato soup for dinner. We had BLTs to go along with the meal. I had plain old iced tea, the wife added copious amounts of sugar to hers. It is possible the greasy bacon woke me up early. Perhaps it was work. Aches and pains in my joints from the changing weather patterns are equally complicit, I am sure. 

It is okay. I will fire up the old computer and do a little work when this post is done. Maybe I’ll doze in the recliner instead. I spend a significant amount of time here in the old blog room, office, man cave — whatever I chose to call this spare bedroom at any given moment. I am more than comfortable here. 

So we are at a crossroads with this post. I find it is a bit like a weak SNL skit, I don’t know how to end the thing. I could go searching for an old photo and turn it into a Wayback Wednesday post. I could post some music. The Allman Brothers Whipping Post is currently playing in the background to this one-fingered typing and is setting a fine atmosphere. 

The answer is neither. You get Wednesday. Make it a good one.

January 9, 2024


The SnowTeamScareTeam was all about the treacherous weather - snow, ice, sleet we would get overnight. Except it was just rain. They will be so disappointed. I bet they had reporters stationed at various points in the city and suburbs ready to breathlessly report on the near-apocalypse. Now, never mind. 

But don’t fret, another chance at snow is forecasted this weekend with COLD! Weather. It will get sub-zero. You know, like it does every January. 

They can’t get the weather right four hours in advance. Let’s change our whole life, economy, and standard of living for weather a decade from now. 

January 8, 2024

it’s all perspective

 Last week we went to our favorite pizza joint. They have awesome wood-fired pizza and we go there usually every week. The total for pizza and a couple cans of diet drinks was $19.35. The wife hands the girl a twenty, two dimes, and three nickels. 

The cashier is a nice young girl, probably 18 or 19, definitely old enough to be out of school. She looks at my wife. She looks at her hand. She looks at my wife again. The cashier lays down the $20, then stares at the coins. She turns them over and stares some more. She looks up at my wife helplessly. 

“That is thirty five cents,” says the wife. 

The girl gives a little half smile. “Thanks, I have problems with coins,” she says. She drops the coins in the drawer, and stares at the twenty. 

“I get a dollar back,” the wife helps move the transaction along. The girl says a polite thank you. 

The wife and I wander to our table completely baffled at a person who cannot count change.

The girl hands the pizza ticket to the baker, completely baffled by old people who refuse to use a debit card. 

January 7, 2024

Dear Indianapolis Colts

Seriously? You need one yard. If you don’t get it, then it is game over and season over. So instead of giving the ball to your highest paid and best player — the one who has kept you you in the game to this point — you decide to put your star on the bench and throw a pass attempt to the third string running back. The guy who caught six passes all f-ing  year. Bad pass, dropped ball. Clean our your lockers. See you next year. 

Let’s not forget your highest paid kicker who doinked another FG. 

Eighty-one days until meaningful baseball. Not sure I care, the Cubs are decidedly worse than last year at this point. And they missed the playoffs last year. 

January 6, 2024

Will you bring me happiness? Will you bring me sorrow?

I decided over the Christmas holidays I would pick a musical topic and explore it a weekly post, perhaps more often if the Muse left me staring at a blank cursor. I decided I was going to delve into the music of the British Invasion from the mid-1960s to start. I determined that would get me through a significant part of 2024. 

That sounds like work, doesn’t it? 

As they used to say in the restaurant industry, eighty-six that notion. 

Instead, here is what is bouncing around in my head this morning:

The studio did much to improve their singing.

The studio version:

January 5, 2024

I’m starting to hate that red-striped bowl

The wife has a red KitchenAid stand mixer that I think she loves almost as much as she does me. It’s okay, she uses it to produce cookies and cakes and goodies. Her mixer has a white ceramic bowl with red stripes to mix the good stuff in. If there is anything my wife likes it is stripes (she wears a striped shirt nearly every day) and red. It is her favorite color. The combination of red mixer and red striped bowl makes her happy. 

Flash backward to early December; way back last year. Yeah, I know it was just a month ago. Stick with me, I’m trying to gin up drama here. I was washing dishes and I bumped the mixer bowl on the side of the sink. There was a tremendous crash and ceramic pieces and shards were all that was left of the red striped bowl. “What was that?” she called from upstairs.

“You know what is was,” I replied. 

“Did you break my mixer bowl?” She tried to not show she was ticked. Her disappointment grew when she discovered the bowl was a limited offering from Crate and Barrel and no longer available. 

I scoured the interwebz and found the bowl on a kitchen ware website. Debit card in hand I placed my order. It was now December 15, so I paid extra for expedited delivery. Only when I paid and I got my confirmation email did it become clear I had ordered the bowl from China. The email assured me in polite Chinglish my order was on the way.

Then nothing. Finally two days before Christmas, I was emailed tracking information. They shipped it via the Chinese version of the post office. After moving around various terminals, I’m sure being dropped kicked onto trucks with poor suspension on pothole filled gravel roads, the box was loaded onto an airplane on December 30. Fifteen days to leave China. I’m glad I paid extra for fast delivery. 

It is now January fifth. Tracking says it is enroute. I suppose my bowl was loaded on a Piper Cub flown by a pilot with narcolepsy because they only way it could take more than six days to fly a box from China to the US is if the pilot stopped to take a nap on every island across the Pacific. Planes back in the 1930s made it across  the Pacific in a couple of days, including stops on Wake Island and Oahu. Did the pilot stop for a slice of Hula Pie at Dukes on Waikiki? 

Anyway, my wife may or may not get a replacement for her beloved red striped mixer bowl. I’m betting the odds are high it will be in pieces when it does arrive. Her birthday is in June. Maybe it will be here by then.

January 4, 2024

that’s a change of pace

I am not dead. I don’t have anything worthwhile to say. 

I know, that never stopped me in the past. 

January 2, 2024

Stuff that interests only me.

I often tell my wife interesting facts and trivia. She almost always gives that blank look indicating she would roll her eyes, or worse, tell me “I don’t care,” if she didn’t love me too much to be rude. It is quite possible you roll your eyes or say “I don’t care” when I offer up fascinating tidbits. 

These days when you think about the greatest MLB hitters ever, Pete Rose, Babe Ruth, and Ty Cobb come to mind. Some of you will think of Hank Aaron or Barry Bonds. Of course Mickey Mantle and DiMaggio always make the list. 

You know who you forget? Stan Musial. Yes, I know he was a Cardinal, but he couldn’t help where he ended up. Musial ranks fourth in all-time hits. Did you know that? He only trails Rose, Cobb, and Hammerin’ Hank. When Stan the Man retired, he was second, only behind Cobb. 

Okay, you say. Here is a fact you might not know. In his last at-bat Musial drove a single past a lunging second baseman into right field. 

That is Harry Carey on the call. The second baseman? None other than rookie Pete Rose, the man who would later take the National League hits all time leader title (and MLB). What a strange bookend. 

Did you know that Stan Musial, Ken Griffey, and Ken Griffey Jr. all came from the same little Pennsylvania mill town? 

Yeah, you don’t care.

January 1, 2024

Happy New Year


Why not? I actually saw the Go Gos in concert back in the early eighties. The Flock of Seagulls was the opening act. Here they are on American Bandstand.

True confession, I’m a sucker for dark curly hair. 

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