Anchors Away

Executive Orders are a loathsome way to legislate. Originally designed to lay the foundation for executive philosophy -- ie.; a call for a general day of Thanksgiving -- they now serve as a means for the President to legislate outside of Congress.  Why the Legislative Branch hasn't gone running to the Judicial Branch to get these kind of EOs stopped remains a mystery.  

Well not really, the Judiciary is doing their best to usurp the Legislative Branch's authority too. 

Trump has floated the idea he may try to stop birthright citizenship for illegals via Executive Order. It does not work that way:

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside. source

The language of the 14th Amendment is plain as can be. The President does NOT have the power to alter the Constitution. Anyone born in the US is a citizen. EOS.  

There is a means to get rid of anchor babies. Executive Order is not one of them.

Stay Classy Lefties

No, it does not take a village

There is evil in this world. We are each responsible for our actions. The Pittsburgh Synagogue murderer is one of the evil ones.

Anti-Semitic Democrats and haters like Louis Farakhan are not responsible for the murders any more than President Trump is responsible for the pipe bomb mailer, or Bernie Sanders for the guy who shot Republicans practicing baseball.

As a conservative, I believe in personal responsibility. Put the blame where it belongs. If the news organization you read or watch finds a way in one of the three cases cited above to blame a third party for an act of evil,  I would seek an alternate source for my news.

But then you are responsible for the misinformation you choose to ingest.

Rambles for posterity; a long post written for me

It is strange to go back to the old hometown. People who grew up on my street with me showed up to Mom's funeral. These are folks I  have not seen in decades. It is a tribute to the respect many held my for my mother.

 It demonstrates yet one more time my lack of empathy. Had I heard of the passing of some of their parents I would have thought "That's too bad" and went on with whatever I was doing. It is certainly a character defect on my part.

I rationalize things by imagining that had I stayed in the small town where I grew up I might keep in better touch or be more aware of the community in general. In my shrunken heart I know better. There are many reasons I have never attended a class reunion. It is further evidence that while I am trying to be better, I remain an asshole in a world of good people. I clearly have a lot of work to do. Many commenters over the years have tried to tell me so.

Yeah, I'm probably not going to change. And no, I don't want to be hugged by old ladies, or people I don't know, or by people I haven't seen or spoken to in forty years. In fact, outside of my wife and family, I don't really want to be hugged (or touched) by anyone. I told you I am an asshole. But I was a very good boy yesterday. Mom would have been proud. Oh, and I got that "don't touch me" thing from her, so...

Lots of people showed up for Mom's memorial. A score of old ladies said "You must be one of the sons, you look just like your Mom". No, I'm standing up front in a suit and I'm the right age. Good guess. Besides I look nothing like my mother. I am the spitting image of the milkman though.  Honestly. My dad was a milkman when I was born. I know, no one knows what to say, so that " you look like your mom" is a good opening.

Upon re-reading I can say the whole preceding paragraph is even more evidence I need to change.

The minister clearly knew my Mom. His eulogy was spot on. No canned "funeral sermon" from him. My mom was hard, exacting, unbelievably kind and loving. There was but one way to do stuff and she had no problem telling anyone, and I mean anyone, they were doing it wrong. Her standards were high, and she helped anyone she could to meet those standards. She helped charities and people in the small ways she could. Her organization skills were enormous and she could bring order from chaos wherever it was needed. I'm am certain co-workers, friends, and people she knew called her a bitch and the most wonderful person they had ever met all in the same breath. Sometimes I did too.

I'm gonna miss you mom.




*you are going to read that part at the end and think I am unbelievably mean and cold. I typed it with an enormous amount of love and respect. And I wager that anyone who knew my mom would agree with the sentiment wholeheartedly.

Disco Stu

I took my wife to a disco last weekend. There was a guy on the dance floor giving it large; break dancing, moon walking, back flips, the works.

My wife turned to me and said, “See that guy? 25 years ago he proposed to me and I turned him down.”

“Looks like he’s still celebrating!!” I replied.

Ch-ch-changes

It is raining today. I'm sitting here in my office. I've been up since around three. Now I need a nap. So it goes.

It has been a week of highs and lows. The lows you know. The good news is I have accepted a new job. My last one was not my dream job. I won't disparage my employer. Suffice to say I have moved on. I'm excited about this opportunity. A little more travel, but not excessive. A little international travel too. Back to what I have done for much of my career -- calling on big companies managing large sales and big contracts ( multi-millions). It will be new widgets and products for me, but close to the products I have sold for almost 25 years. I also hope I have found my last job: a place to work until I retire or die.

Things will change. A lot. I last worked in the same building as my boss in 1993. I last worked in an office-type environment in 1997 (when I worked out of the manufacturing plant). Since then I have worked alone in a rented office or from home. I will now go to a real office and work along with real people, including my boss. That means shoes. That means no more shorts and T-shirts. That means a shower before noon. That means real office hours, not lunch when I want it. It means a commute of more than down the hallway. That sadly also means I won't  be interrupted by my granddaughter coming in my office to visit her "Paw". That means the morning blogging break will be hard to manage.

We will see how things shake out going forward. I don't start for a week or so. But don't be surprised if posting becomes a little less than every day.

So today I will sign my job offer and then go to a funeral. How is that for a dichotomy? Life is strange.

What is all about, Alfie?

For the more than thirteen years I have been writing here I have tried to come to terms on what this blog is about. It isn't a political blog, although we discuss politics.  It isn't a humor blog, though I think I am occasionally amusing. It isn't a hobby blog. I guess it is just a slice of life blog, or at least the sliver of my life I choose to share nearly every morning.

I write about politics or the events that affect me at a given moment in time. I guess it is a near-anonymous journal where I leave out most of the personal details that are interesting, salacious, embarrassing, and trite.

A few weeks after I started this blog my grandmother passed away. I chronicled my kids as they graduated high school and college. My mother-in-law died after a long bout with cancer. I had grandchildren born. My mother died. My grandson died. We played sports, watched movies. I argued with idiots in the comments. I had some great discussions too. We have learned a little bit in our regular  communications. I have started and lost jobs. We have moved houses and even cities of residence. I have chronicled vacations and business trips. In short, I have offered a peep show through a tiny fish eye lens set into the steel door of my real life.

I guess that is what this place is about: Life. It took me almost a decade and a half to figure it out.

I guess I am a bit dense at times. On the other hand, I don't suppose it matters to you a whit.

Thank you for all of your thoughts and prayers. We are all doing fine. The funeral is tomorrow. It will be tough, but I have had a while to prepare.

I have a canned joke ready for Saturday. Normal nonsense may resume Sunday, unless I need to blow off steam in the interim.

Tears on my pillow

Posting has been light. It will continue to be that way for a few days.

My momma passed away early yesterday morning. She had surgery a few months ago and never completely recovered. She was back in the hospital the past couple of weeks. On Wednesday they sent her home with hospice care. She lost her fight in the early morning hours yesterday.

She hated being in the hospital with a passion. I'm glad she spent her last days at home even though it was hard on the family, especially my dad.

It has been a most crappy year. Next month will mark the one year anniversary of the death of my grandson.

I'm not special. We all lose our parents. I'm lucky to have both of mine so long. Mom was 78. If you are a praying person ask for comfort for my Dad, please. He is lost after losing his wife and companion of more than 61 years.

If you won the big lottery or if you just have some extra cash, send it to your local hospice organization. They really do the Lord's work in the most trying of times. It takes a special group of people to attend the last days of patients and their families.

Scatter

If we ever get into another war with Mexico I am sure the US would win. The strategy that leads  to victory is clear. When confronted with the Mexican Army, our troops should just scatter, run through the enemy lines, and reform. The Mexicans will just give up, say "We tried" and head home for some delicious enchiladas and a cold Tecate. I bet the Demons of Camaron wish they had tried that instead of fighting to virtually the last man.

There is no reason to study Clausewitz. Sun Tsu is for chumps. Clearly the only training one needs to make it through Mexico is an afternoon viewing of the cult classic The Warriors.

Who knew I was a military genius back in my youth. In those days a bunch of neighborhood boys would ban together to do Halloween mischief. When a porch light would click on we would shout "run" and scatter through the neighborhood. Old Man Vice couldn't catch us. I just never knew he was heading up border enforcement for Mexico as his day job.

I just hope when the band of criminals arrives at our border brandishing their flag, we treat them like the invading army they are. I hate to think the US Army or Border Patrol can be defeated by the Cockroach Theory of Attack.

#MeNeither

Amy Schumer has announced with great fanfare she will not be in any Superbowl ads this year.  Guess what? I will not appear in any of those ads either. She claims her absence is in support of Colin Kaepernick. I suspect the real reason you will not see her in ads is the same as the reason you won't see me shilling goods -- no one hired her. The last time she was in a Superbowl ad was 2016. I guess she must have been protesting something else that past couple of years?

Maybe she is just an attention whore. She isn't funny, her acting is wooden. Her recent movies have bombed at the box office. Her political stance has alienated half the country. Who wants to hire that shrew to promote your products? 

So in the spirit of the times, I join with the talentless d-list celebrity Amy Schumer. I will not be in any Superbowl ads. I also will not accept any Oscars, Tony Awards, or Grammys. I will not make vast audiences laugh. I will not because I am a no-talent schlub. That's pretty much why she will not do those things either. 

I just admit the real reason and it ain't some noble cause.

Join with me and Amy. Refuse to be in a Superbowl ad.  Just say #MeNeither.

Unless someone actually hires you. then go ahead.

Weekend Funny Encore edition

A wife went to the police station with her next-door neighbor to report that her husband was missing.

The policeman asked for a description.

She said, “He’s 35 years old, 6 foot 4, has dark eyes, dark wavy hair, an athletic build, weighs 185 pounds, is soft-spoken, and is good to the children.”

The next-door neighbor immediately saw a problem with this, and began to protest:

“Your husband is 5 foot 4, chubby, bald, has a big mouth, and is mean to your children.”

The wife replied, “Yes, but who wants HIM back?”

We don't need no stinkin' badges

A DEA officer stops at a ranch in Texas, and talks with an old rancher. He tells the rancher, “I need to inspect your ranch for illegally grown drugs.” The rancher says, “Okay, but do not go in that field over there,” as he points out the location.

The DEA officer verbally explodes saying, “Mister, I have the authority of the Federal Government with me.” Reaching into his rear pants pocket, he removes his badge and proudly displays it to the rancher. “See this badge? This badge means I am allowed to go wherever I wish… On any land… No questions asked or answers given. Have I made myself clear?” The rancher nods politely, apologizes, and goes about his chores.

A short time later, the old rancher hears loud screams and sees the DEA officer running for his life chased by the rancher’s big bull. With every step, the bull is gaining ground on the officer, and it seems likely that he’ll get gored before he reaches safety. The officer is clearly terrified.

The rancher throws down his tools, runs to the fence and yells at the top of his lungs: “Your badge! Show him your badge!!”

Live blogging the overnight

Present and accounted for. I'm up. Not willingly. Every time I lay down I hack and cough. What joy! I am ensconced in the recliner in my office. I am fine up to the point where I doze off,  then it is hacking up a lung. Music is quietly playing on my Alexa and I am pecking this out. I have no doubt typos will abound (even more than usual) since I am working sans glasses. 

I can see reasonably well without them. I probably  could have passed my vision test when I renewed my license last March, but for my severe astigmatism. After so long I am used to them, I suppose. I thank the good Lord every day for my restored vision. 

It seems like I get this cold that settles into my chest every fall. I have fought off pneumonia a couple of times over the years. I think I get more susceptible. The severe allergies that left me a perpetual snot-nosed kid have mostly faded except in the fall when the leaves turn, mold forms, and the farmers are in the fields. I have travelled in farm country a lot this week. Allergies coupled with the cold passed on from my wife and granddaughter I am not surprised to find me a little sick. 

I am sporting an awesome deep voice, so there is that. Well, up to the point it goes away completely from hacking and coughing.

I going to try and grab some sleep. Goodnight.

The post has been done for ten minutes, it is inspiration for a title that I need now

Wow, Thursday already.

It remains seasonably cool here at the old homestead. Sub-freezing temps greeted me when I checked my phone while the Keurig peed coffee into my mug.

If you haven't figured it out over the past two decades, I lead with a weather report when I am struggling for content. Weather and sports are old and trite and yet still effective conversation starters. Why you would care about my weather conditions remains an unanswered question.

No, it doesn't, upon reflection. You decidedly do not care. I don't really care about your weather, unless you are in a place I am going. I may break down and buy a couple of lottery tix this week. Then I will care about the weather --in tropical island locations.

I would quit work should I win a lottery. I won't quit blogging, at least right away. I am just childish enough to rub your faces in it. Then I will quit blogging. I will be too busy sipping rum drinks in some place with palm trees to bother with it. I wonder what it costs to develop my own personal cigar blend...?

For now I will complain about the weather and get to work. That is a far more realistic reality. The Masters of the Matrix have no incentive to reward me with untold fortune. I would probably lose my money investing in Nigerian Bonds or something anyway.

The cure for the blues

The granddaughter came in this morning, her normal ebullient self. She is the happiest little girl. She said " We had a great day yesterday. Can we have the same day?".

I could only mutter a near-silent "I hope not". Ah, that girl makes me smile anyway. She is the remedy for all that ailes you.

A most disappointing turn of events

The day started off with promise. Since then it has slowly turned to shit.

Consider your attention grabbed

I'm a mouth breather from way back. I was the very definition of "snot nosed kid". Allergies left me perpetually with stuffed sinus cavities. The only way to breath as a kid was through my mouth. Fortunately, the allergies have abated over the years. I learned to breath through my nose. Except at night. Then I must fall into old habits. Pokes in the ribs occasionally inform me I am  snoring.  In recent days I have woken to a sore throat. The big question is it an on-coming cold or just a result of very dry air and open-mouth breathing? Hypochondriac me says I am on the brink of.a cold so bad normal humans would beg for a hospital admission. After all, the wife spent the end of last week with a cold. My head says I'm fine, it is just the lack of humidity. Time will tell.

It is a chilly 33 outside this morning. Brr. OK,  I wouldn't know. I'm inside where it is a semi-comfortable 68. But I bet if was outside sans shoes and coat I would be cold.

Look, do you want a blog post or not?

I could bore you with the minutiae that is my life. Aside, yes there are things even more boring than the opening paragraphs. I don't think I will do that to you. Instead I hope you have a great day. Rest assured I will be back if real inspiration strikes. It would be best if you check back often. 

Ironing out the irony

After reading the comments from Hillary, Holder, and leading Democrats, it appears the new Democrat Party strategy is that unless we stop calling them a mob they are going to riot in the streets and attack those with whom they disagree whenever and wherever they find us.

Weekend Not So Funny

Yesterday's post reminds me of a true story. Back in the Jurassic Era I worked in a plastics factory. We molded stuff (duh). One of the workers was a hard working mold tech. He was tapped for promotion to a line leader position. This necessitated a move to an off shift. His wife worked at the plant too, so they didn't get to see each other much.

One night Ken was not feeling well so he went home early.

You know where this headed, right?

Sure enough, he caught his wife in bed with his old boss; the one who promoted him to second shift.

Funny enough, Ken was blonde. Not so funny was he punched his old boss in the nose and ended up divorced. Ken found a new job at the factory across the highway.

Sometimes I miss the soap opera that is the factory floor.

Not really.

In the shuffling madness

That post just below? It is canned: steam-packed to appear fresh for weeks, months, and even years. On the other hand, in a few days when blonde jokes become the next hashtag evidence of patriarchy, hate, cruelty and oppression, it will be further evidence of my unfitness to exist since I am an old white guy. No doubt legions of SJWs will be hounding me while wearing blond wigs and shouting "me too also".

This post? Fresh as that steaming pile of dog poop the neighbor's mutt left in your front yard.

Fall arrived with a vengeance in these parts yesterday. Wednesday it was a balmy eighty-something. We had sleet yesterday. The temperature in the house had dropped to 63 by bedtime last night. Since the weather lady told us it will not break 60 for a week or more the wife insisted I turn on the heat. Sigh. No break on utility bills this fall. It is straight from A/C to heat. A week ago it was 90!

I decided to take a break from POBs Master and Commander series. Volume 17 is on the coffee table ready to be re-read. Instead I picked up my Kindle for the first time in months and started a Bernard Cornwell novel about Shakespeare. It started a bit slow but is getting better. Like most of his books, it is eminently readable and will be a quick read. I will then head back to The Commodore, or I may crack Jeff Shaara's tome on the Korean War -- The Frozen Hours.

In the meantime, I have stuff to do outside later today. I need to empty out the little fountain, put away the chair cushions, and finish a little fall yard work.

Do not fret, I have a bunch of old jokes sealed up in electronic Ball Jars ready to be cracked open every Saturday for weeks to come. I am sure I can find something to offend just about everyone of you who desperately seek to be angry and offended at every turn. The rest of you I hope have a great Saturday.