I slammed through the door and headed to my usual seat at the bar. My hands were shaking. My head hurt. Every nerve was tingling and crying . My foot hurt -- the one that living in a garbage dump somewhere.
Rick was behind the bar, it was dave's night off. Rick always wanted to chat me up. I sure was not in the mood tonight. I held up three fingers when he looked at me. Rick raised his eyebrows and poured a triple whiskey in a highball glass. I gulped it down almost as soon as he set down the glass and pointed at the dregs. From my scowl Rick knew better than to comment. The booze exploded in my throat and stomach. A warmth spread through me. I lifted the second glass and looked at the mirror behind the bar through the amber liquid. I took a sip and let it roll around my tongue. I had an almost unbearable urge to punch something, anyone, anything.
Fifteen minutes later, the pressure in my head became pleasant. I almost felt like I was floating away from my body. My anger had dulled like an old kitchen knife. I pulled out my phone to call Kerry to tell her to keep her fingers off my stuff. Who does she think she is to take away my booze?
I didn't though. Instead I ordered another drink
I used to be a regional sales manager for a big multi-national corporation. They were really good about things when I missed so much work when Sarah was sick. They were less than thrilled when I missed two more months to have my leg cut off just below the knee. Company insurance bought my new foot, but my boss made a few hints I should retire on disability. I guess a cripple did not meet the company image. I ignored the hints.
The first DUI gave them the excuse. I traded the company a year's salary for my laptop, files, and a document promising not to sue. As a celebratory bonus I also got a second DUI. Kerry bailed me out.. Her brother, my only son Robert, provided the money. He suggested to me I needed to go to AA. I suggested he could save his ideas for someone with real problems. I could hear his wife screeching in the background.
I progressed from anger to mellow. I felt exactly like that Pink Floyd song -- Comfortably Numb. My cheels were tingling. The glass was a bit blurry. Rick looked my way but I waved my finger no. "Drizzle drazzle drazzle drone", time for this one to go home." I mumbled to myself. I tried to step off the stool, but there was no left leg to hold me up. The guy next to me caught me.
"Whoa there old timer" he said cheerfully. I narrowed my eyes and knit my brow. Errol Flynn would have slugged him. The Duke would have punched him right in the kisser. I was just too emotionally tired. I grabbed my crutches and it dawned on me I had no way home. I perched back on the stool. I pushed my cell across the bar and asked Rick to call the cab. He told me it was after midnight, the cabbie was closed. I tossed a twenty and a five on the bar. I asked for a beer to help me think.
I could not call Josh again. I would walk before I called Kerry. That was not true. I would crawl home over broken glass before I called Kerry. I stared at the screen on the cell phone. I scrolled slowly through the contacts trying to focus on the names. I settled on the one name I did not want to call. I dialed up Mike, Kerry's ex husband.
I had to beg. Do you know how hard it is to say please to a man you do not care for? I almost would have rather apologized to that big mouth Dave Childs. Mike the cheater told me I would have to pay him for his time and gas. Mike lived ten minutes away. He said if I was not waiting outside he would not stop. I swallowed my words and mumbled a faint "Thanks".
I leaned on my crutches breathing the nightime summer air. I could hear the faint hum of the factories and the more distant sounds from the interstate. The noise had a hypnotising effect and I swayed on the crutches a bit. I leaned my butt against the wall. I flexed my toes in my shoe. I thought about going back in for another beer. Twenty minutes later a dark SUV pulled into the lot. I glanced up as the tires crunched the gravel.
Shit..
Kerry rolled down the passenger window. Her glance said volumes. That motherfucker Mike called her. I swung to the door and as I climbed in I noticed she had on sweatpants. She had obviously been asleep. Kerry did not say anything as we drove down the street. The street lights painted orange stripes on her face every few hundred yards. I could see tears making tiny trails down her cheeks.
She stopped in front of the house nstead of pulling in the drive. I slammed my hand on the dash and shouted at her "Just say it"! Anger and hate had replaced the buzz in my brain.
Kerry sniffed and asked me if I needed help with the door. She pulled a dirty napkin from the door pocket and wiped her eyes. "Goodnight, Daddy" was all she said.
I slammed the door behind me. For the second time in a day I wished I was dead.
May 19, 2011
May 18, 2011
Compelled to continue
Officer Kevin Eldridge dropped his nightstick into his belt and walked over to me, sitting there on the gravel at the edge of the road. Kevin was a regular party boy in high school. He was busted a couple of times for weed before he was 18. He flunked out of IU and came home to be a cop.
He was one of those hard-ass small town law enforcement officers. He never wrote a warning ticket, he arrested every teen he caught chugging a beer. No one got a break. A hypocrite of the first order. A small town nobody hopped up on power. He was just a little fish in n even smaller puddle.
"Didja get drunk and fall off your scooter, Sam?" he taunted.
"Turn off those lights, they hurt my eyes." Kevin was my son's best friend in high school. He even went on a couple of vacations with us. I was not about to take his crap. I asked him if he wanted me to get up and walk a line for him. He ignored me. He also left the lights on. When he asked me where I was going I said Disney World. My brain said "To Hell". Is there a difference?
He tried not being a Dickhead and asked me what happened. I told him my battery died. When he started lecturing me about driving down the street. I told him he could save the lecture. "Either give me a ticket if I have broken the law or leave me alone and go eat a donut", I think I might have called him Chief Wiggum, like the Simpson's character. Officer Kevin Eldridge has a lot of patience with me. He called Josh to come and pick me up.
Josh was pissed when he got there. He knew better than complain. After all he was driving my truck. he copped an attitude and refused to take me to Murph's. He took me and the scooter home. We wrestled it out of the bed and he plugged it in for me. I could tell Josh wanted to say something, but he lacked the balls. Even although he was only 17, I invited him in for a beer. He just stared at me and said he had to go.
When I got inside I found out Kerry had cleaned out all of my booze while I was in the shower. There were two bottles of beer in the 'fridge. I broke a lamp in frustration, then sat in the dark and pouted for a while. I had the shakes. I tried to call my son. he lives in Chicago. There was no answer on his cell. I am not surprised. I don't see him much. I think his wife does not approve of me. That's Ok, I can't stand her. She is a snooty bitch.
I called the one cab in town to come and get me.
He was one of those hard-ass small town law enforcement officers. He never wrote a warning ticket, he arrested every teen he caught chugging a beer. No one got a break. A hypocrite of the first order. A small town nobody hopped up on power. He was just a little fish in n even smaller puddle.
"Didja get drunk and fall off your scooter, Sam?" he taunted.
"Turn off those lights, they hurt my eyes." Kevin was my son's best friend in high school. He even went on a couple of vacations with us. I was not about to take his crap. I asked him if he wanted me to get up and walk a line for him. He ignored me. He also left the lights on. When he asked me where I was going I said Disney World. My brain said "To Hell". Is there a difference?
He tried not being a Dickhead and asked me what happened. I told him my battery died. When he started lecturing me about driving down the street. I told him he could save the lecture. "Either give me a ticket if I have broken the law or leave me alone and go eat a donut", I think I might have called him Chief Wiggum, like the Simpson's character. Officer Kevin Eldridge has a lot of patience with me. He called Josh to come and pick me up.
Josh was pissed when he got there. He knew better than complain. After all he was driving my truck. he copped an attitude and refused to take me to Murph's. He took me and the scooter home. We wrestled it out of the bed and he plugged it in for me. I could tell Josh wanted to say something, but he lacked the balls. Even although he was only 17, I invited him in for a beer. He just stared at me and said he had to go.
When I got inside I found out Kerry had cleaned out all of my booze while I was in the shower. There were two bottles of beer in the 'fridge. I broke a lamp in frustration, then sat in the dark and pouted for a while. I had the shakes. I tried to call my son. he lives in Chicago. There was no answer on his cell. I am not surprised. I don't see him much. I think his wife does not approve of me. That's Ok, I can't stand her. She is a snooty bitch.
I called the one cab in town to come and get me.
May 17, 2011
Tuesday Bitchin'
Am I the only person who finds an increasing number of sites inaccessible in IE? Websites open briefly then I get an error message that windows cannot open the site. Does anyone know what is the story? I started viewing some of my regular haunts in Firefox today. I am not a fan of Firefox, mostly because I have not used it much. but at least I can open some of my favorite blogs and websites.
There was a big story on the news this morning about how the schools are going to make a big push to serve breakfast and lunch this summer. Now, I can think of nothing worse in this world than a person going hungry. But I do not understand the summer food program. Are we not giving welfare and food stamps to the poor of this country? If we are going to feed the children lunch and breakfast at taxpayer expense, should we not deduct the calculated in amount we are paying in food stamps? Why, as taxpayers, are we paying for 2/3 of a child's daily meals twice?
Look, I know I am an ass. I ate a peanut butter sandwich for lunch yesterday. Throw in a handful of chips and you have a meal that costs about seventy-five cents. That calculation is probably high. I would like to see a survey of the nation's welfare rolls. How many of those taking food stamps smoke, drink beer, or have a cell phone tucked inside their Coach purse? I don't mind helping those in need. I resent a hand out.
I used to have an office above the WIC office. Many of the women coming in for free diapers and formula and milk etc. drove a newer, nicer car than I did. Some, admittedly were remarkably poor. Most found the ready cash to buy cigarettes, since they lit up on the way in or out of the office.
I find the decision of the Indiana Supreme Court voiding the Fourth Amendment last week mind numbing and remarkable. I am shocked, dismayed, but not surprised. We opened this door decades ago when we agreed that drunk driving and seatbelt checkpoints were legal. Car searches at traffic stops have become commonplace based on reasonable suspicion -- namely because a cop wants to search your car. We have adopted 'guilty until proven innocent' in practice. We allow the law to mandate we undergo a sobriety test upon demand. Refusal is an automatic proof of guilt.
This is all the result of adopting a belief in a "Living Constitution". To paraphrase the old saw:
I said nothing when they tried to take away my First Amendment freedom to practice my religion.
I said nothing when they tried to take away my Second Amendment Rights.
I ignored the situation as the Ninth and Tenth Amendments were eviscerated.
I had no chance to speak up for my Fourth Amendment Rights when the thought police kicked in my door...
There was a big story on the news this morning about how the schools are going to make a big push to serve breakfast and lunch this summer. Now, I can think of nothing worse in this world than a person going hungry. But I do not understand the summer food program. Are we not giving welfare and food stamps to the poor of this country? If we are going to feed the children lunch and breakfast at taxpayer expense, should we not deduct the calculated in amount we are paying in food stamps? Why, as taxpayers, are we paying for 2/3 of a child's daily meals twice?
Look, I know I am an ass. I ate a peanut butter sandwich for lunch yesterday. Throw in a handful of chips and you have a meal that costs about seventy-five cents. That calculation is probably high. I would like to see a survey of the nation's welfare rolls. How many of those taking food stamps smoke, drink beer, or have a cell phone tucked inside their Coach purse? I don't mind helping those in need. I resent a hand out.
I used to have an office above the WIC office. Many of the women coming in for free diapers and formula and milk etc. drove a newer, nicer car than I did. Some, admittedly were remarkably poor. Most found the ready cash to buy cigarettes, since they lit up on the way in or out of the office.
I find the decision of the Indiana Supreme Court voiding the Fourth Amendment last week mind numbing and remarkable. I am shocked, dismayed, but not surprised. We opened this door decades ago when we agreed that drunk driving and seatbelt checkpoints were legal. Car searches at traffic stops have become commonplace based on reasonable suspicion -- namely because a cop wants to search your car. We have adopted 'guilty until proven innocent' in practice. We allow the law to mandate we undergo a sobriety test upon demand. Refusal is an automatic proof of guilt.
This is all the result of adopting a belief in a "Living Constitution". To paraphrase the old saw:
I said nothing when they tried to take away my First Amendment freedom to practice my religion.
I said nothing when they tried to take away my Second Amendment Rights.
I ignored the situation as the Ninth and Tenth Amendments were eviscerated.
I had no chance to speak up for my Fourth Amendment Rights when the thought police kicked in my door...
Lemme know when you are bored
Vodka won't grow a foot. Whiskey won't heal a broken heart. Tequila plus driving will make you lose your driver's licence.
After I beat the shit out of that big mouthed pussy Dave Childs I was arrested. The judge gave me a lenient sentence "in light of my lack of a previous record and recent personal tragedies". That means my goddamn lawyer went to the prosecutor with my sob story and they convinced the judge to cut me some slack. The whole thing pissed me off. My attorney said I had to get up and tell the judge I was sorry for the beatdown of Dave Childs. I told that lawyer he could go fuck himself.
I didn't do it. I was not about to apologize to anyone. I had to go to jail for thirty days. I got some probation. I had to go to anger management class. Now there is a group of assholes like I have never seen before or since. Dave Childs wanted me to get the electric chair. That fat bastard never did have a sense of proportion. After the judge passed sentence Davey-boy was crying and moaning to the prosecutor. I gave him one of those looks that said "Shut up before I do it again" . I would have too, if my kids and attorney had not pushed my chair out of the courtroom before I could put in my two cents.
I refused to wear my foot.
During my probation I sat at home and drank. Here is another life lesson for you: drunks like an audience. It is no fun to sit at home and drink until you fall out of the recliner. It is a lot more satisfying to sit at the end of the bar at Murph's -- even if you rarely interact with the customers. People are more social than you think. I sit at the end of the bar and read, when a baseball game is not on the TV. Dave, the bartender at Murph's keeps my book under the bar for me. I try to be nice to him. he pours the nectar that gets me through the day.
I always watch the Colts from home though. You have to pay attention to football. Jerks at the bar never shut up enough during a football game. Even though most people are basically stupid, they are better company than my memories.
About a year after I lost my foot I got arrested for driving while drunk. After the court said I could not drive anymore I bought one of those old people scooters. I slipped a guy a couple of hundred bucks under the table plus parts to replace the electric motor with a bigger one, so I could get more speed. I can hit 17 miles per hour now. I still feel ridiculous riding that fucker, though. I am thinking of having a racing stripe painted on the side. I always get ambitious after a drink or two.
I drive my scooter down McCabe Road past the factories to Murph's Bar. I drive down the center of the street just to be an ass. I turn on my iPod and put the earbuds in. It pisses people off to no end. Kerry, put a tall orange flag on the back. The flag is the kind douchebag parents put on their kid's bikes. Those parents also buy those turd shaped helmets and make their pathetic little kids ride around with what looks like a big mushroom on their head. My neighbor kids ride their bikes up and down the sidewalk clanging a little bell on the handlebars. The tall orange flag waves above their little mushroom heads and training wheels. The little one actually wears elbow pads! They have been instructed to go inside when I open the garage door to drive out my scooter. I occasionally toss an empty bottle into their rose bed, just to freak out the Mom.
Kerry knows I drive up the street. She knows better than to tell me not to. Cement heads run n the family. She would better off to encourage me. I might then stop out of sheer meanness. I gave Josh my truck. I can't drive it. He tells me all of the time to quit driving up the street. He says it is embarrassing. Teenagers. Life is always about them.
I was on my way to Murph's when the scooter ran out of batteries right there on McCabe Road. I crawled off the bitch and hopped around to the back so I could push it. I finally had to get on my knees and crawl-push it to the side of the road. Not a single person stopped to help. A few honked at me. Why should they help? I am the jerk that holds them up on the way to work or home or their slutty girlfriend's every day, driving 17 mph down the fucking highway.
I got it to the side and kind of leaned against the back to rest. I had just closed my eyes. I was screwing up the courage to call Josh to come and get me when I hear a 'woop' and see the blue and red lights through my eyelids.
After I beat the shit out of that big mouthed pussy Dave Childs I was arrested. The judge gave me a lenient sentence "in light of my lack of a previous record and recent personal tragedies". That means my goddamn lawyer went to the prosecutor with my sob story and they convinced the judge to cut me some slack. The whole thing pissed me off. My attorney said I had to get up and tell the judge I was sorry for the beatdown of Dave Childs. I told that lawyer he could go fuck himself.
I didn't do it. I was not about to apologize to anyone. I had to go to jail for thirty days. I got some probation. I had to go to anger management class. Now there is a group of assholes like I have never seen before or since. Dave Childs wanted me to get the electric chair. That fat bastard never did have a sense of proportion. After the judge passed sentence Davey-boy was crying and moaning to the prosecutor. I gave him one of those looks that said "Shut up before I do it again" . I would have too, if my kids and attorney had not pushed my chair out of the courtroom before I could put in my two cents.
I refused to wear my foot.
During my probation I sat at home and drank. Here is another life lesson for you: drunks like an audience. It is no fun to sit at home and drink until you fall out of the recliner. It is a lot more satisfying to sit at the end of the bar at Murph's -- even if you rarely interact with the customers. People are more social than you think. I sit at the end of the bar and read, when a baseball game is not on the TV. Dave, the bartender at Murph's keeps my book under the bar for me. I try to be nice to him. he pours the nectar that gets me through the day.
I always watch the Colts from home though. You have to pay attention to football. Jerks at the bar never shut up enough during a football game. Even though most people are basically stupid, they are better company than my memories.
About a year after I lost my foot I got arrested for driving while drunk. After the court said I could not drive anymore I bought one of those old people scooters. I slipped a guy a couple of hundred bucks under the table plus parts to replace the electric motor with a bigger one, so I could get more speed. I can hit 17 miles per hour now. I still feel ridiculous riding that fucker, though. I am thinking of having a racing stripe painted on the side. I always get ambitious after a drink or two.
I drive my scooter down McCabe Road past the factories to Murph's Bar. I drive down the center of the street just to be an ass. I turn on my iPod and put the earbuds in. It pisses people off to no end. Kerry, put a tall orange flag on the back. The flag is the kind douchebag parents put on their kid's bikes. Those parents also buy those turd shaped helmets and make their pathetic little kids ride around with what looks like a big mushroom on their head. My neighbor kids ride their bikes up and down the sidewalk clanging a little bell on the handlebars. The tall orange flag waves above their little mushroom heads and training wheels. The little one actually wears elbow pads! They have been instructed to go inside when I open the garage door to drive out my scooter. I occasionally toss an empty bottle into their rose bed, just to freak out the Mom.
Kerry knows I drive up the street. She knows better than to tell me not to. Cement heads run n the family. She would better off to encourage me. I might then stop out of sheer meanness. I gave Josh my truck. I can't drive it. He tells me all of the time to quit driving up the street. He says it is embarrassing. Teenagers. Life is always about them.
I was on my way to Murph's when the scooter ran out of batteries right there on McCabe Road. I crawled off the bitch and hopped around to the back so I could push it. I finally had to get on my knees and crawl-push it to the side of the road. Not a single person stopped to help. A few honked at me. Why should they help? I am the jerk that holds them up on the way to work or home or their slutty girlfriend's every day, driving 17 mph down the fucking highway.
I got it to the side and kind of leaned against the back to rest. I had just closed my eyes. I was screwing up the courage to call Josh to come and get me when I hear a 'woop' and see the blue and red lights through my eyelids.
May 16, 2011
Back to our regular programming.
I am a bit late getting a post up today. I took my oldest boy to the oral surgeon to have his wisdom teeth removed -- all four. On the ride home he was hilarious, the drugs playing tricks on his mind.
He is ensconced in the recliner, frozen peas pressed against his cheeks. So far he seems to be doing OK.
Thank you for the kind words regarding my short story. There are a few more installments written. They should be up over the next few days. I know there are some issues with tense and flow. You are getting a true rough draft. I have done little to no editing. What you are reading is me sitting at the keyboard and banging away. Much like every other post you read here! It has been a long. long time since I was compelled to write. The words just flowed from my finger tips. I am sure the Muse will desert me soon. It always does.
Writing is hard work, and my creative powers leave a lot to be desired. I enjoy describing scenes, plot and dialogue not so much. I thank you all for your indulgence. I am sure I will print out the narrative so far, put it in my "stories" notebook where the faded words will be preserved on yellowed paper for my kids to find when I kick the bucket.
I am off to catch up on work. Have a great Monday.
He is ensconced in the recliner, frozen peas pressed against his cheeks. So far he seems to be doing OK.
Thank you for the kind words regarding my short story. There are a few more installments written. They should be up over the next few days. I know there are some issues with tense and flow. You are getting a true rough draft. I have done little to no editing. What you are reading is me sitting at the keyboard and banging away. Much like every other post you read here! It has been a long. long time since I was compelled to write. The words just flowed from my finger tips. I am sure the Muse will desert me soon. It always does.
Writing is hard work, and my creative powers leave a lot to be desired. I enjoy describing scenes, plot and dialogue not so much. I thank you all for your indulgence. I am sure I will print out the narrative so far, put it in my "stories" notebook where the faded words will be preserved on yellowed paper for my kids to find when I kick the bucket.
I am off to catch up on work. Have a great Monday.
May 15, 2011
Had enough yet?
Kerry.had taken care of her Mother through a long lingering death from colon cancer. Two months later she watched me lose my left foot and lower leg to diabetes. Then she supported me through five years of drunkenness. Last year she caught her piece of shit husband in bed with the neighbor. Somehow she found a way to smile and set a perfect example to a classroom of Kindergartners. She was a singe Mom to a bitter seventeen year old and a drunkard Father.
No wonder she did not smile much outside of work.
I could not move the electric chair without batteries. I pushed the table away and tried to stand. She brought my crutches and told me to go take a shower. I reached into the toilet tank. It was empty. I heard her through the door as the porcelain lid slammed down. "I took it" she said.
She did not know about the pint under the sink, behind the toilet paper. I turned on the faucet to get the water hot to shave. I unscrewed the cap on the pint. The sweet smell of whiskey rose to my nose. I breathed it in. Woody and medicine-y and scented with the with the promise of brain numbing goodness. I took a sip and swirled it around my taste buds. I shivered. The fire hit my throat and I could feel the burn all the way to my belly. I again fought the urge to puke. A bigger swig followed. I leaned on the sink, balanced on my one good leg and breathed again the fragrance of the liquor. I shivered in almost orgasmic relief.
I knew Kerry was going to make me go to the cemetery today, then out to dinner. I wanted to get drunk and watch a Cubs game. Kerry thought she was being nice. Mostly, she was ripping my heart out. I took one more drink and pulled my disposable razor and Barbasol from the drawer.
I knew we would have a fight over the leg. Kerry did not even smile when I told her if we took it, I might just use it to beat some asshole. I pouted and bitched like a two year-old until I got my way. We took the crutches. When she was not looking I slipped what was left of the pint into my jacket.
She took the pint from my pocket and told me I did not need a jacket. Herding Kindergartners gives her eyes in the back of her head. She did not even bother giving a disapproving "Tsk" over the bottle. Suddenly, I am afraid she has given up on me. That thought depresses me even more than the prospect of going to the graveyard. She tossed the jacket over the back of the recliner. I noticed she slipped the booze into her purse.
With a sigh I headed out to her car.
No wonder she did not smile much outside of work.
I could not move the electric chair without batteries. I pushed the table away and tried to stand. She brought my crutches and told me to go take a shower. I reached into the toilet tank. It was empty. I heard her through the door as the porcelain lid slammed down. "I took it" she said.
She did not know about the pint under the sink, behind the toilet paper. I turned on the faucet to get the water hot to shave. I unscrewed the cap on the pint. The sweet smell of whiskey rose to my nose. I breathed it in. Woody and medicine-y and scented with the with the promise of brain numbing goodness. I took a sip and swirled it around my taste buds. I shivered. The fire hit my throat and I could feel the burn all the way to my belly. I again fought the urge to puke. A bigger swig followed. I leaned on the sink, balanced on my one good leg and breathed again the fragrance of the liquor. I shivered in almost orgasmic relief.
I knew Kerry was going to make me go to the cemetery today, then out to dinner. I wanted to get drunk and watch a Cubs game. Kerry thought she was being nice. Mostly, she was ripping my heart out. I took one more drink and pulled my disposable razor and Barbasol from the drawer.
I knew we would have a fight over the leg. Kerry did not even smile when I told her if we took it, I might just use it to beat some asshole. I pouted and bitched like a two year-old until I got my way. We took the crutches. When she was not looking I slipped what was left of the pint into my jacket.
She took the pint from my pocket and told me I did not need a jacket. Herding Kindergartners gives her eyes in the back of her head. She did not even bother giving a disapproving "Tsk" over the bottle. Suddenly, I am afraid she has given up on me. That thought depresses me even more than the prospect of going to the graveyard. She tossed the jacket over the back of the recliner. I noticed she slipped the booze into her purse.
With a sigh I headed out to her car.
May 14, 2011
Caesar Salad Days
I knew why Kerry was here. I may be a mean old drunk, but I can still read a calendar. Today is the anniversary of her Mom's death. Kerry came to keep me from going on a bender. I fooled her. What is a day early? Sarah was sick for so long. What is one day to another in a lingering death? Sarah was just as dead June 5 as she was on June 6. Her body had just not given up yet.
Kerry told me I need to get a shower. I looked at her. I did not say anything mean in response. I never say anything mean to my daughter. Or her son Josh, for that matter. At least I try not to. The rest of the world gets whatever acid thought I care to deliver. Fuck 'em.
Kerry still at least pretends to care what happens to me. No one else does. Not even Josh. I ruined that when he was twelve. In those days I did not drink much. I had an occasional beer. Kerry, her husband Mike, and Josh looked after me. They invited me to be part of their activities.
Sarah had been gone one year to the day. I was standing at the Little League game. Josh was a very good second baseman. A great lefty hitter. That fat jerk Dave Childs was sitting in his lawn chair behind the plate and I was standing nearby watching through the fence. "Hey John", he barked at me, "Here to see your team?" He laughed like a damn hyena at his wit. "Get it?"
I looked down at my left leg. Or what was left of it. I got it. A guy on crutches, missing his left foot and lower leg watching a team sponsored by Long John Silver's. Hah! I gave him a wan smile. I turned and swung my way to my truck, parked behind the outfield fence. I threw the wooden crutches in the back and drove up to the handicapped spaces behind the concession stand. I don't like to use those spots, I get around fine on my crutches.
I strapped on that damned fake foot. My anger intensified when I realized my shoes did not now match. "Motherfucker, now I look ridiculous". I limped back to Diamond Two. The fat fucker was still in his lawn chair, yelling at the ump, bad mouthing the coaches. I reached way back and swung a haymaker right at his left cheek.
I guess I sorta blacked out, because I don't remember the beating I gave that guy. I was told later the blood was all over the gravel. Child's screams brought a stop to games on three diamonds. The judge said using my artificial foot to beat that pathetic loser was like using a weapon. I had to, my hand was broken from hitting him so many times. I guess I just snapped. Later, Kerry asked me why I kept screaming "My name is not John" the whole time I was beating that poor man unconscious.
Josh saw it all, he was on deck. He was standing just across the fence from my rage. Kerry said I scared the shit out of the boy. Sorry kid. Real violence ain't like a video game. Jail isn't like the movies either.
A wave of nausea passed over me. I gagged again. I shuddered with the dry heaves. I looked around the room. Gray walls, dark carpet, blinds shut tightly. Kerry was the only bright spot and she was frowning. Here she was, ignoring her own grief to protect me from mine.
I hate boxed macaroni and cheese.
I wished I was dead.
Kerry told me I need to get a shower. I looked at her. I did not say anything mean in response. I never say anything mean to my daughter. Or her son Josh, for that matter. At least I try not to. The rest of the world gets whatever acid thought I care to deliver. Fuck 'em.
Kerry still at least pretends to care what happens to me. No one else does. Not even Josh. I ruined that when he was twelve. In those days I did not drink much. I had an occasional beer. Kerry, her husband Mike, and Josh looked after me. They invited me to be part of their activities.
Sarah had been gone one year to the day. I was standing at the Little League game. Josh was a very good second baseman. A great lefty hitter. That fat jerk Dave Childs was sitting in his lawn chair behind the plate and I was standing nearby watching through the fence. "Hey John", he barked at me, "Here to see your team?" He laughed like a damn hyena at his wit. "Get it?"
I looked down at my left leg. Or what was left of it. I got it. A guy on crutches, missing his left foot and lower leg watching a team sponsored by Long John Silver's. Hah! I gave him a wan smile. I turned and swung my way to my truck, parked behind the outfield fence. I threw the wooden crutches in the back and drove up to the handicapped spaces behind the concession stand. I don't like to use those spots, I get around fine on my crutches.
I strapped on that damned fake foot. My anger intensified when I realized my shoes did not now match. "Motherfucker, now I look ridiculous". I limped back to Diamond Two. The fat fucker was still in his lawn chair, yelling at the ump, bad mouthing the coaches. I reached way back and swung a haymaker right at his left cheek.
I guess I sorta blacked out, because I don't remember the beating I gave that guy. I was told later the blood was all over the gravel. Child's screams brought a stop to games on three diamonds. The judge said using my artificial foot to beat that pathetic loser was like using a weapon. I had to, my hand was broken from hitting him so many times. I guess I just snapped. Later, Kerry asked me why I kept screaming "My name is not John" the whole time I was beating that poor man unconscious.
Josh saw it all, he was on deck. He was standing just across the fence from my rage. Kerry said I scared the shit out of the boy. Sorry kid. Real violence ain't like a video game. Jail isn't like the movies either.
A wave of nausea passed over me. I gagged again. I shuddered with the dry heaves. I looked around the room. Gray walls, dark carpet, blinds shut tightly. Kerry was the only bright spot and she was frowning. Here she was, ignoring her own grief to protect me from mine.
I hate boxed macaroni and cheese.
I wished I was dead.
May 13, 2011
fingers crossed
Blogger has been screwed up all day. It ate some posts, it appears -- ones that were published!
The Blogger news claims they are going to get them back up.
I am not going to spend a bunch of time or work posting substance until I know the bugs are eradicated.
I know what you are thinking -- don't say it!
BTW, since the comments were disappeared too, what did you think of the beginnings of my story yesterday?
The Blogger news claims they are going to get them back up.
I am not going to spend a bunch of time or work posting substance until I know the bugs are eradicated.
I know what you are thinking -- don't say it!
BTW, since the comments were disappeared too, what did you think of the beginnings of my story yesterday?
May 12, 2011
Lemme run something past you...
I stare at the paper plate full of rubbery Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It is the sauce kind, not the skinny powder stuff. Nothing but the best for me! I am a little surprised to find myself eating. Usually I drink my lunch. I feel a little sick.
Typical. The sick part anyway. The food -- not so much.
The clock on the wall ticks an even staccato but the hands do not move. The battery has just enough juice to drive the little motor: tick, tick, tick, but not enough power to move the hands from a perpetual 9:23. AM, PM it does not really matter. Eventually it will tell the correct time.
I don't remember fixing the food. I have eaten some of it. An unnatural yellow smear marks the spot I scooped the pasta with my fork. The fork is clenched tightly in my right fist. Kraft cheese sauce coats my tongue. I give a little shudder and bile backs up in my mouth. I swallow it back down.
Real men don't puke. Even I have standards.
I see a bottle of beer on the table. There is also a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol next to it. I am more than a little confused. Alcohol weeds choke my brain.
I lift my chin from my chest. I must have blacked out for a minute. The fork is in my lap. The macaroni mocks me. The light is dim. Four of the six bulbs in the light over the table are burned out. The blinds are firmly closed. I do not know if it is day or night. I feel like I am swaying in my chair. I reach for the beer, but it is just beyond my grasp.
"Not until you eat". I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and then search for the body that goes with the voice. I don't want beer anyway. I know that voice.
I am in that half-drunk half hungover state I deplore. Dee- plore. The word rattles around my throbbing skull. I try it out loud. "Deplore". I screw my eyebrows into what my mind thinks is a haughty sneer. I imagine my nose is a thin blade above an Errol Flynn mustache. I purse my lips and try it again. "Deplore". The effort hurts.
"What did you say, Daddy?"
My little girl is here. I don't want her to see me like this. I gag and and dry heave a little trying to stifle it. I really do not want her to see me like this. Little girls should not see their parents all weak and helpless and pathetic. I am so ashamed.
Of course she is not a little girl anymore. She has a house and family of her own. Me, I just have my place and a collection of empty liquor bottles thrown at the general direction of the trash can. I push the joystick on my chair. Nothing happens.
"I unhooked the battery." she says.
I tell her I need a real drink. She just stares me down. I tell her I have to piss. She tells me to eat.
I try to take one more bite of the Kraft Dinner. I throw it up down the front of my faded gray Cubs T-shirt. I want to cuss and swear.
Instead I cry.
I close my eyes to stifle the tears. I see an image in my brain. A tall cool glass with fruit and an umbrella. A beach drink. I breath deeply. I can almost taste the rum and juice and froth. I wish I had one in my hand now, only without the umbrella and fruit and juice and rum. A tall glass of sweet whiskey screams my name. I want it. I need it. Desire. I try that word out loud too.
"Dee-zire".
Desire and deplore. The cycle of my life.
Typical. The sick part anyway. The food -- not so much.
The clock on the wall ticks an even staccato but the hands do not move. The battery has just enough juice to drive the little motor: tick, tick, tick, but not enough power to move the hands from a perpetual 9:23. AM, PM it does not really matter. Eventually it will tell the correct time.
I don't remember fixing the food. I have eaten some of it. An unnatural yellow smear marks the spot I scooped the pasta with my fork. The fork is clenched tightly in my right fist. Kraft cheese sauce coats my tongue. I give a little shudder and bile backs up in my mouth. I swallow it back down.
Real men don't puke. Even I have standards.
I see a bottle of beer on the table. There is also a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol next to it. I am more than a little confused. Alcohol weeds choke my brain.
I lift my chin from my chest. I must have blacked out for a minute. The fork is in my lap. The macaroni mocks me. The light is dim. Four of the six bulbs in the light over the table are burned out. The blinds are firmly closed. I do not know if it is day or night. I feel like I am swaying in my chair. I reach for the beer, but it is just beyond my grasp.
"Not until you eat". I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and then search for the body that goes with the voice. I don't want beer anyway. I know that voice.
I am in that half-drunk half hungover state I deplore. Dee- plore. The word rattles around my throbbing skull. I try it out loud. "Deplore". I screw my eyebrows into what my mind thinks is a haughty sneer. I imagine my nose is a thin blade above an Errol Flynn mustache. I purse my lips and try it again. "Deplore". The effort hurts.
"What did you say, Daddy?"
My little girl is here. I don't want her to see me like this. I gag and and dry heave a little trying to stifle it. I really do not want her to see me like this. Little girls should not see their parents all weak and helpless and pathetic. I am so ashamed.
Of course she is not a little girl anymore. She has a house and family of her own. Me, I just have my place and a collection of empty liquor bottles thrown at the general direction of the trash can. I push the joystick on my chair. Nothing happens.
"I unhooked the battery." she says.
I tell her I need a real drink. She just stares me down. I tell her I have to piss. She tells me to eat.
I try to take one more bite of the Kraft Dinner. I throw it up down the front of my faded gray Cubs T-shirt. I want to cuss and swear.
Instead I cry.
I close my eyes to stifle the tears. I see an image in my brain. A tall cool glass with fruit and an umbrella. A beach drink. I breath deeply. I can almost taste the rum and juice and froth. I wish I had one in my hand now, only without the umbrella and fruit and juice and rum. A tall glass of sweet whiskey screams my name. I want it. I need it. Desire. I try that word out loud too.
"Dee-zire".
Desire and deplore. The cycle of my life.
IND to CLT to GSP and back
Hello Blog World, Friends, and casual visitors. D'ja miss me? I had to make a quick trip to the Palmetto State. The airline lost my luggage. They managed to locate it and get it to me in time to get ready for my meetings, so I guess it could have been worse. In 15 years of flying this is only the second time an airline has misplaced my property, so I guess a failure rate of 2 in 800 or so is not too bad. OK, yes it is. My company has a failure rate of less than 0.01 parts per million. And it was not my choice to check my bag. Since the airlines have instituted the ridiculous baggage fees. overhead space is at a premium. My bag was very small, but it still had to be gate checked.
Everyone complains about ridiculous ATM fees and oil profits, but baggage fees are plain money grubbing at the worst. The plane has the same weight whether the bag flies below or in the overhead bin. In addition, the usual assholes have figured out that if they bring a bag too big, or have three bags, the airline will gate check it for free. In the meantime, those of us who try to pack light and follow the rules get screwed by the jerks of the world. Such is life. I bet those free loading SOBs probably vote Democrat too.
When I picked up the rental car it had no gas in it.National The rental car company that will remain nameless claimed they were out of gas at their pump. I think they were too lazy to service the vehicle, since it was not swept or washed before I took possession. As I returned the car, I heard the counter lady tell the guy behind me they had a Camry and one other car. The Camry was the one I just returned. They turned it without even checking for trash. For the record, I returned the tank empty, since that is how I left with it*. The next guy was screwed too.
I finally pulled into the drive around eleven last night. Another business trip. Another couple of days check off from my allotment. The Cubs won last night, I do have that.
* Yes, I know this is really poor English. I really do not care.
Everyone complains about ridiculous ATM fees and oil profits, but baggage fees are plain money grubbing at the worst. The plane has the same weight whether the bag flies below or in the overhead bin. In addition, the usual assholes have figured out that if they bring a bag too big, or have three bags, the airline will gate check it for free. In the meantime, those of us who try to pack light and follow the rules get screwed by the jerks of the world. Such is life. I bet those free loading SOBs probably vote Democrat too.
When I picked up the rental car it had no gas in it.
I finally pulled into the drive around eleven last night. Another business trip. Another couple of days check off from my allotment. The Cubs won last night, I do have that.
* Yes, I know this is really poor English. I really do not care.
May 10, 2011
May 9, 2011
A Progressive's viewpoint
I know you guys do not click on links. I don't. But do yourself a favor and click on this one. (h/t Tam)
What a piece of shit.
No wait, that degrades turds too much.
We might ask ourselves how we would be reacting if Iraqi commandos landed at George W. Bush’s compound, assassinated him, and dumped his body in the Atlantic. Uncontroversially, his crimes vastly exceed bin Laden’s, and he is not a “suspect” but uncontroversially the “decider” who gave the orders...This my friends, Is the American Left. We are the terrorists, we are the evil empire, we are all that is wrong with the World. America "deserved" 9/11.
What a piece of shit.
No wait, that degrades turds too much.
May 8, 2011
Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms out there
Thanks Mom. Without you I am just some wet spot on a gravel road, or an ancient flush of the toilet. Perhaps just a stain on some sweaty sheets.
I can't believe I wrote that either. Look, I have long made my position clear. My Mom did not do that. If she did, she sure did not enjoy it. I have to hold on to that image, thank you. In fact, I would rather not think on it at all. Yyeewww.
My Mom is wonderful. EOS. She can kick your ass. Trust me on this. She may only be five foot nothing tall, but she is tough as nails. Her pies will leave you weak kneed, begging for more. My Mom is a saint.
My wife is a Mom too. Three times over. I was there for all of them. She never uttered a sound in the delivery room. The first time a lady down the hall was screaming in pain. The wife was sweating, Contractions were coming hard and fast. The only sound she made was to tell me to get the damn ice chips away from her face. "Cept she did not say "damn". She rarely cusses. Her eyes did though. I could tell she was blaming me for all the pain and trouble.
After the third one she finally figured out what caused all those babies and put a stop to it. I guess she was a slow learner. She is a great Mom. She does not make pies, though. Her cookies are pretty dang good.
I sent my Mom some flowers. I bought my wife a new outfit at the mall last night. That is what she wanted. I actually hit the Hallmark early last week to nab a suitable card. I bet my daughter gets the wife a card. I bet the boys don't. Even odds the oldest boy even remembers to call. Being a Mom is hard.
The youngest boy went to the Prom last evening. He is a junior in high school. He went with a senior girl. She is pretty hot. And mind you I say that in a strictly parental, non-anything way. I have a daughter of my own, fer goodness sake. Maybe I will post a pic later in the week. Maybe not. He looked sharp in his tux.
It is supposed to be actual May weather around here today -- warm and no rain in the forecast. I am going to try and get the yard mowed. The boy has to work. I am going to let the wife sleep in.
Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms out there.
I can't believe I wrote that either. Look, I have long made my position clear. My Mom did not do that. If she did, she sure did not enjoy it. I have to hold on to that image, thank you. In fact, I would rather not think on it at all. Yyeewww.
My Mom is wonderful. EOS. She can kick your ass. Trust me on this. She may only be five foot nothing tall, but she is tough as nails. Her pies will leave you weak kneed, begging for more. My Mom is a saint.
My wife is a Mom too. Three times over. I was there for all of them. She never uttered a sound in the delivery room. The first time a lady down the hall was screaming in pain. The wife was sweating, Contractions were coming hard and fast. The only sound she made was to tell me to get the damn ice chips away from her face. "Cept she did not say "damn". She rarely cusses. Her eyes did though. I could tell she was blaming me for all the pain and trouble.
After the third one she finally figured out what caused all those babies and put a stop to it. I guess she was a slow learner. She is a great Mom. She does not make pies, though. Her cookies are pretty dang good.
I sent my Mom some flowers. I bought my wife a new outfit at the mall last night. That is what she wanted. I actually hit the Hallmark early last week to nab a suitable card. I bet my daughter gets the wife a card. I bet the boys don't. Even odds the oldest boy even remembers to call. Being a Mom is hard.
The youngest boy went to the Prom last evening. He is a junior in high school. He went with a senior girl. She is pretty hot. And mind you I say that in a strictly parental, non-anything way. I have a daughter of my own, fer goodness sake. Maybe I will post a pic later in the week. Maybe not. He looked sharp in his tux.
It is supposed to be actual May weather around here today -- warm and no rain in the forecast. I am going to try and get the yard mowed. The boy has to work. I am going to let the wife sleep in.
Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms out there.
May 7, 2011
Killing bin Laden was not courageous
I have to get it off my chest.
OBL is dead. That is good. But we have to stop with the superlatives and endless commenting on President Obama's courage to take this decision. Was there any choice? Name ten Americans not named Michael Moore or Cindy Sheehan who would not have volunteered to pull the trigger. I do not care how much of a nature lover you are, if a rattlesnake is going to bite your baby you will stomp that reptilian mofo in a heartbeat. OBL was a snake and he had to be dealt with in the firmest possible manner. Obama had no choice, no options. He dithered, but in the end bin Laden had to be put down like a rabid dog.
The other choice was unacceptable for a politician. You see it would have come out. Too many people knew we had bin Laden in his hidey hole. Failure to exterminate the rat would have cost Obama and the Democrat Party elections for a generation. Already labeled as soft on defense, letting the greatest terrorist of the day escape would be a blunder of epic proportions. Obama knew it. Failure to act was political suicide.
Sending in "Cheney's Death Squad" was not a hard decision. Doing the right thing never is. What is terrifying to me, are the reports Obama wrestled with this decision. That, my friends, keeps me up nights.
OBL is dead. That is good. But we have to stop with the superlatives and endless commenting on President Obama's courage to take this decision. Was there any choice? Name ten Americans not named Michael Moore or Cindy Sheehan who would not have volunteered to pull the trigger. I do not care how much of a nature lover you are, if a rattlesnake is going to bite your baby you will stomp that reptilian mofo in a heartbeat. OBL was a snake and he had to be dealt with in the firmest possible manner. Obama had no choice, no options. He dithered, but in the end bin Laden had to be put down like a rabid dog.
The other choice was unacceptable for a politician. You see it would have come out. Too many people knew we had bin Laden in his hidey hole. Failure to exterminate the rat would have cost Obama and the Democrat Party elections for a generation. Already labeled as soft on defense, letting the greatest terrorist of the day escape would be a blunder of epic proportions. Obama knew it. Failure to act was political suicide.
Sending in "Cheney's Death Squad" was not a hard decision. Doing the right thing never is. What is terrifying to me, are the reports Obama wrestled with this decision. That, my friends, keeps me up nights.
May 5, 2011
Thank you Democrats
When it costs north of $60.00 to fill up a Ford Fusion, we have a problem. The Obama's energy policy, the Democrat refusal to utilize our own natural resources, the declining value of the dollar due to The Obama's economic policies all are contributing to high gas prices.
It is a good thing the Government decided food and gas do not count into the inflation index, otherwise the current administration would look more like that of Jimmah Carter than most of us realize. Have you bought groceries lately?
Hope and change indeed.
It is a good thing the Government decided food and gas do not count into the inflation index, otherwise the current administration would look more like that of Jimmah Carter than most of us realize. Have you bought groceries lately?
Hope and change indeed.
May 4, 2011
Hello, Mother Nature...
...it is me, Joe. I know that compared to other regions of this wonderful nation we have not been treated so badly. But come on. It is frickin' May! The furnace is running. The temperatures reached in the 30's last night and we have a frost warning for tonight. Did you get May mixed up with March?
We had a long cold winter followed by a long cold spring. Both were pretty wet. You have delivered a foot of rain at my house since the beginning of April. What? Yes, I know that April showers bring May flowers. But again, with all due respect Ma'am, take a look at the calendar -- It is now May. Enough with the daily precipitation.
We are supposed to be basking in sunshine, pleasant days in the mid-seventies with a light breeze, not howling winds and highs in the forties and fifties. And the rain, every day we have the rain. Are you sure you did not get your planner stuck in March, Ms Nature? If it helps, I will lay off the margarine.
What did you say? I know I should be careful for what I wish. Last year I asked for it to stop raining and you complied. We had nary a drop of rain from July through September. But you made up for it with the spring rains last year and the loads of snow you dropped last winter.
Excuse me? You -- in the corner waving your arms and grunting "oh, oh, oh"-- what do you want? OK, blah blah global warming...weather patterns... blah, blah, blah. Your little liberal whining viewpoint is acknowledged and rejected.
Anyway, Mother Nature could you cut us some slack? A few days (maybe even a weekend) of sunny warm (not windy) days? Please, just so I can get my mojo back in order? Pretty please?
We had a long cold winter followed by a long cold spring. Both were pretty wet. You have delivered a foot of rain at my house since the beginning of April. What? Yes, I know that April showers bring May flowers. But again, with all due respect Ma'am, take a look at the calendar -- It is now May. Enough with the daily precipitation.
We are supposed to be basking in sunshine, pleasant days in the mid-seventies with a light breeze, not howling winds and highs in the forties and fifties. And the rain, every day we have the rain. Are you sure you did not get your planner stuck in March, Ms Nature? If it helps, I will lay off the margarine.
What did you say? I know I should be careful for what I wish. Last year I asked for it to stop raining and you complied. We had nary a drop of rain from July through September. But you made up for it with the spring rains last year and the loads of snow you dropped last winter.
Excuse me? You -- in the corner waving your arms and grunting "oh, oh, oh"-- what do you want? OK, blah blah global warming...weather patterns... blah, blah, blah. Your little liberal whining viewpoint is acknowledged and rejected.
Anyway, Mother Nature could you cut us some slack? A few days (maybe even a weekend) of sunny warm (not windy) days? Please, just so I can get my mojo back in order? Pretty please?
May 3, 2011
My daydreams go up in smoke
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| jrcigars.com |
The weather has been so crappy I have not enjoyed a good cigar since my quick vacation in March. It has been pretty much cold and rainy around here since the beginning of time -- or so it seems. The few warm days we have had are filled with thunderstorms or very windy. The days it does not rain it is just too damn cold. Right now the temps are in the low forties! It is May. Enough already. We have had more than a foot of rain since the beginning of April, and it is raining as I hunt and peck the keyboard to create this post.
I just cracked open the lid on my humidor and took a deep whiff. Ahhh, the sweet smell of cedar and fine tobacco beckons me. I have plenty of high quality smokes in stock. My best buddy bought me a very nice cigar ashtray for my birthday. Now I just need Mother Nature to cooperate.
May 2, 2011
Bin Laden sleeps with the fishes
The President has confirmed Special Forces (read Navy Seals) killed terror leader Osama bin Laden. I hope bin Laden is burning in the flames of hell as this is written. If there is any afterlife justice, bin Laden will routinely face a spray of burning jet fuel and be forced to jump from a 100 foot tower. Repeatedly. For eternity.
Reports say the body was buried at sea. That is a good move. I hope we embalmed his body with bacon grease before wrapping him in thin-sliced pork before dumping the body in the deepest part of the Pacific. *
Why yes, I am vindictive, why do you ask?
President Obama was a class act in his speech last night. There were no politics in an announcement that called for none. The coverage on NBC was disgusting -- especially Andrea Its All Bush's fault Mitchell's coverage.
I expect the terrorist of the world will react in a violent manner. The days and weeks ahead will be dangerous times. This war is far from over.
God bless our troops. God Bless America.
* great minds and all... he had the same idea.
Reports say the body was buried at sea. That is a good move. I hope we embalmed his body with bacon grease before wrapping him in thin-sliced pork before dumping the body in the deepest part of the Pacific. *
Why yes, I am vindictive, why do you ask?
President Obama was a class act in his speech last night. There were no politics in an announcement that called for none. The coverage on NBC was disgusting -- especially Andrea Its All Bush's fault Mitchell's coverage.
I expect the terrorist of the world will react in a violent manner. The days and weeks ahead will be dangerous times. This war is far from over.
God bless our troops. God Bless America.
* great minds and all... he had the same idea.
May 1, 2011
April 30, 2011
Toad you so
I went out to mow those portions of my yard that are not still swamp. As I poured gas from the can something jumped next to my foot. I had to be careful not to spill the gold gas, so I could not check out what kind of critter was trying to attack me until after the tank was full.
I knew it wasn't a snake, it looked more like a grasshopper, but I know those only appear around my dandelion patch in the fall. I soon spied my petite aggressor. It was a toad about an inch or two across.
I picked it up and gave it a lick. Not only did it not give me the Timothy Leary Buzz I needed to get through the yard work, it tasted like old moldy leaves. Plus, it pissed in my hand. I threw it clear. Just to keep from running over it with the mower -- I don't want any smelly hippie environmentals out here giving me trouble.
I got the yard done and decided that since I missed out on Earth Day due to incessant rain, I would get out the Roundup and do some killing. I got me some weeds and maybe a few flowers that jumped in the way. I sprayed some driveway grass right next to the bare spot in the yard. How does grass grow in concrete but not dirt a few feet away?
As I sprayed the last weed bed I accidentally might have got some overspray on a little toad. I really did not mean to -- he was hiding under some green weed-looking stuff. I am pretty sure it was the same toad that previously failed in every way to give me the psychedelic trip around the bay. I don't think I would lick the Roundup toad now.
It is supposed to hit the mid seventies today with SUN! maybe I will have a stogie this afternoon.
Enjoy your Saturday.
I knew it wasn't a snake, it looked more like a grasshopper, but I know those only appear around my dandelion patch in the fall. I soon spied my petite aggressor. It was a toad about an inch or two across.
I picked it up and gave it a lick. Not only did it not give me the Timothy Leary Buzz I needed to get through the yard work, it tasted like old moldy leaves. Plus, it pissed in my hand. I threw it clear. Just to keep from running over it with the mower -- I don't want any smelly hippie environmentals out here giving me trouble.
I got the yard done and decided that since I missed out on Earth Day due to incessant rain, I would get out the Roundup and do some killing. I got me some weeds and maybe a few flowers that jumped in the way. I sprayed some driveway grass right next to the bare spot in the yard. How does grass grow in concrete but not dirt a few feet away?
As I sprayed the last weed bed I accidentally might have got some overspray on a little toad. I really did not mean to -- he was hiding under some green weed-looking stuff. I am pretty sure it was the same toad that previously failed in every way to give me the psychedelic trip around the bay. I don't think I would lick the Roundup toad now.
It is supposed to hit the mid seventies today with SUN! maybe I will have a stogie this afternoon.
Enjoy your Saturday.
April 29, 2011
A personal Catch-22*
I have to test my blood sugar twice a day. This involves poking a hole in one of my fingers. I then put the blood drop on a special one-time use strip I put into a meter that measures my blood sugar levels. For some reason no one can explain, these test strips are a controlled substance. I need a prescription to get them. I suppose it is to thwart those addicts who cannot get enough blood sugar testing.
The test strips I use come prepackaged from the manufacturer in containers of 50. This number is important. Pay attention, this will be on the test.
In past months the friendly druggist has provided 100 strips (2 packages) when I refilled the prescription. I picked up my strips last night. I needed them this morning, as I was out. When I pulled out the package the pharmacist had only given me 50 (one package). That is enough for 25 days.
My insurance will only pay for a refill once a month. The fifty count refill will not last 30 days. I am instantly pissed. You see, CVS had screwed me over similarly just a month or two ago. Remember this post?
This morning I found myself heading back to the Pharmacy. That does not sound right. It was no coincidence -- went there with a purpose and ready for a fight.
I explained the problem. The clerk talked to the pharmacist. He handed me another package, but explained the issue. The druggist said the insurance company has complained that I was getting 100 strips. They view that as 50 days worth and will only pay for 30 days supply. If I get 50 strips it only lasts 25 days. The insurance will only pay for refills every thirty days. He is not sure what to do. I am not sure what to do. He said he argued with the insurance company last time. He agreed to give me another 50 this time and we would see what happens. He said if the insurance company refuses to pay, I will only be able to get fifty strips in the future.
I can hardly wait until the same people who bring us the IRS, Social Security and the Passport office get to control our healthcare. This kind of snafu will seem minor.
* one of the crappiest books ever written.
The test strips I use come prepackaged from the manufacturer in containers of 50. This number is important. Pay attention, this will be on the test.
In past months the friendly druggist has provided 100 strips (2 packages) when I refilled the prescription. I picked up my strips last night. I needed them this morning, as I was out. When I pulled out the package the pharmacist had only given me 50 (one package). That is enough for 25 days.
My insurance will only pay for a refill once a month. The fifty count refill will not last 30 days. I am instantly pissed. You see, CVS had screwed me over similarly just a month or two ago. Remember this post?
This morning I found myself heading back to the Pharmacy. That does not sound right. It was no coincidence -- went there with a purpose and ready for a fight.
I explained the problem. The clerk talked to the pharmacist. He handed me another package, but explained the issue. The druggist said the insurance company has complained that I was getting 100 strips. They view that as 50 days worth and will only pay for 30 days supply. If I get 50 strips it only lasts 25 days. The insurance will only pay for refills every thirty days. He is not sure what to do. I am not sure what to do. He said he argued with the insurance company last time. He agreed to give me another 50 this time and we would see what happens. He said if the insurance company refuses to pay, I will only be able to get fifty strips in the future.
I can hardly wait until the same people who bring us the IRS, Social Security and the Passport office get to control our healthcare. This kind of snafu will seem minor.
* one of the crappiest books ever written.
A quick time out from our usual nonsense
What a mess in the South. My heart and my prayers go out to those poor people ravaged by storms, wind and tornadoes.
Mother Nature can be a real bitch.
Mother Nature can be a real bitch.
April 28, 2011
April 27, 2011
"Energy prices will neccessarily skyrocket" -- B. Obama
I went to fill up the car yesterday. The pump price was $4.09. Some stations in the area were at $4.17. When you are forking over sixty bucks to fill up your car there is a problem. While I was pumping, all I could think about was The Obama EPA refusing a drilling permit to Shell to drill off the coast of Alaska a few days ago source.
The reasons included possible harm to a village 70 miles away and the exhaust from the boat that will service the platform.
So basically the reason was -- No, because we said so.
The United States of America remains the only country in the world that refuses to use its own natural resources. The primary reason for our economic success for the past four hundred years lies completely with the abundance of resources in our varied lands.
The Energy Department was created specifically to wean us from foreign oil. Now we are more dependent than ever. Five years ago the Democrats refused to open offshore oil fields to drilling. They banned drilling in the shale fields of the west. They explained that it would take at least five years for those resources to have an effect. The Democrats pushed taxpayer moneys into fanciful, not yet developed "green energy". Today we find ourselves slowly strangling in national debt and choking on high gas prices. I am not a big fan of 'what if', but what if we HAD started drilling our own oil five years ago? Do you think gas would be at current price levels?
Gas prices were in the $1.80 range when Obama took office. Now prices are at $4.00 around the nation. Is this the hope and change you were looking for?
The reasons included possible harm to a village 70 miles away and the exhaust from the boat that will service the platform.
The EPA’s appeals board ruled that Shell had not taken into consideration emissions from an ice-breaking vessel when calculating overall greenhouse gas emissions from the project. Environmental groups were thrilled by the ruling.
So basically the reason was -- No, because we said so.
At stake is an estimated 27 billion barrels of oil. That’s how much the U. S. Geological Survey believes is in the U.S. portion of the Arctic Ocean. For perspective, that represents two and a half times more oil than has flowed down the Trans Alaska pipeline throughout its 30-year history.
The United States of America remains the only country in the world that refuses to use its own natural resources. The primary reason for our economic success for the past four hundred years lies completely with the abundance of resources in our varied lands.
The Energy Department was created specifically to wean us from foreign oil. Now we are more dependent than ever. Five years ago the Democrats refused to open offshore oil fields to drilling. They banned drilling in the shale fields of the west. They explained that it would take at least five years for those resources to have an effect. The Democrats pushed taxpayer moneys into fanciful, not yet developed "green energy". Today we find ourselves slowly strangling in national debt and choking on high gas prices. I am not a big fan of 'what if', but what if we HAD started drilling our own oil five years ago? Do you think gas would be at current price levels?
Gas prices were in the $1.80 range when Obama took office. Now prices are at $4.00 around the nation. Is this the hope and change you were looking for?
April 26, 2011
Communication Breakdown
I was watching the news last night with the wife. The talking head kept bragging how they were going to be live at Kate and William's wedding.
Me: Who are Kate and William?
Her: What do you mean?
She gave me that look. You married guys know it well -- is he being a smartass or is he that ignorant?
Me: No really who are they? Kate Winslett? She is the only Kate I can think of.
Her: The Prince, he is getting married Friday.
Me: What Prince?
Her: Prince William. he is getting married. It has been all over the news for months. Kate and William.
Me:
Her: Prince William -- From England. Charles and Diana's son. He is getting married.
Me: Diana? He is just a kid. But more importantly why would anyone care?
Her: He is like 30. Every one cares, he is the Prince.
Me: Not prince of me. He is just a leach on the British taxpayers. Why would anyone in the US care? We threw those bums out!
Her: Don't start.
Me: Really, why would anyone care? It is just two people getting married. It happens a million times every day. Why would the US stations, the Today Show, cover it? It has nothing to do with America? Who cares what some fake royalty does?
Her: I care.
Me: Why would you care? They are nothing special. William, Charles, the queen...they are just members of the lucky sperm club. They have done nothing but be lucky in choosing their parents and grandparents.
Her:
Me: Who put them in charge? What have they done? It is a good thing I did not see the queen when i was in London. You can bet your ass I would not have bowed. I bow for no..
Her: Just stop.
Me: ...one. Like hell I would bow down for anyone. My forefathers fought to get rid of those people...
Her: I want to hear the weather.
Me: ...and I could not care less about any wedding...They are not better than me.
Her: I want to hear the weather.
Me: Kate and William. Hmmmph.
Her: Just quit it.
Me: D'ju see what gas prices were today?
Exasperated Her: I am going to bed.
Mumbling Me: Fucking Kate and William.
Me: Who are Kate and William?
Her: What do you mean?
She gave me that look. You married guys know it well -- is he being a smartass or is he that ignorant?
Me: No really who are they? Kate Winslett? She is the only Kate I can think of.
Her: The Prince, he is getting married Friday.
Me: What Prince?
Her: Prince William. he is getting married. It has been all over the news for months. Kate and William.
Me:
Her: Prince William -- From England. Charles and Diana's son. He is getting married.
Me: Diana? He is just a kid. But more importantly why would anyone care?
Her: He is like 30. Every one cares, he is the Prince.
Me: Not prince of me. He is just a leach on the British taxpayers. Why would anyone in the US care? We threw those bums out!
Her: Don't start.
Me: Really, why would anyone care? It is just two people getting married. It happens a million times every day. Why would the US stations, the Today Show, cover it? It has nothing to do with America? Who cares what some fake royalty does?
Her: I care.
Me: Why would you care? They are nothing special. William, Charles, the queen...they are just members of the lucky sperm club. They have done nothing but be lucky in choosing their parents and grandparents.
Her:
Me: Who put them in charge? What have they done? It is a good thing I did not see the queen when i was in London. You can bet your ass I would not have bowed. I bow for no..
Her: Just stop.
Me: ...one. Like hell I would bow down for anyone. My forefathers fought to get rid of those people...
Her: I want to hear the weather.
Me: ...and I could not care less about any wedding...They are not better than me.
Her: I want to hear the weather.
Me: Kate and William. Hmmmph.
Her: Just quit it.
Me: D'ju see what gas prices were today?
Exasperated Her: I am going to bed.
Mumbling Me: Fucking Kate and William.
Ok, back to normal
I am done whining. Things will be better now. I need to get my 'poor me' out every now and then.
I bet this what you all felt like doing to me after the last few posts:
The next time I start with the "I have to get outta here, no more blogging" -- Just slap me.
I bet this what you all felt like doing to me after the last few posts:
The next time I start with the "I have to get outta here, no more blogging" -- Just slap me.
April 25, 2011
This post is work safe -- damnit
Happy Monday to you. If you read a few posts ago you would know I was off on Friday. That means I am way behind this morning. but I will still take time from my busy day to write a few words for your entertainment.
Traffic at this old piece o'crap blog is way down. I assume that is a function of content. You are still dropping by, but some of your friends and neighbors have abandoned me. Visits are down by 30%, and on some days even 50%. I could blame it on content, but I prefer to think it is someone else's issue.
Probably not. The truth is I think blogging really died with Rob Smith and Bane. Sadly, I suspect many of you were not into this strange hobby when those guys (among others) set the standard for blogging excellence. It has just taken a few years for some of us Johnny-come-latelys to understand. The Twitter, The Facebook -- that is where it is at. But you will not find me there. I will not say never, but if I could wean myself from this habit I will not take up another. Going from blogging to Facebook or Twitter would be like givng up beer to drink whiskey and tequila.
Every day I tell myself this will be my last post, but like the those lonely cowboys on Brokeback Mountain -- I cain't quit you. Mostly 'cause I am incapable of composing that final memorable post. The one you will all say -- "Dude, that is how you go out in style".
"Dude". Does anyone say that anymore? Has that term gone to the land of unused colloquialism? To the boneyard of slang? No one refers to their currency as "bread", only the oldest of hippies find amazing things "far out". Has "dude" been relegated to old guys and the unhippist among us? When I ask my seventeen-year-old these questions he just rolls his eyes.
This post is late getting up, In between words and sentences and paragraphs I have made a few phone calls, answered some emails and poured another cup of coffee. I have also installed some new programs on the boy's laptop and put in a load of laundry.
I may not be entertaining anymore (if I ever was), but I can still multitask with the best.
Traffic at this old piece o'crap blog is way down. I assume that is a function of content. You are still dropping by, but some of your friends and neighbors have abandoned me. Visits are down by 30%, and on some days even 50%. I could blame it on content, but I prefer to think it is someone else's issue.
Probably not. The truth is I think blogging really died with Rob Smith and Bane. Sadly, I suspect many of you were not into this strange hobby when those guys (among others) set the standard for blogging excellence. It has just taken a few years for some of us Johnny-come-latelys to understand. The Twitter, The Facebook -- that is where it is at. But you will not find me there. I will not say never, but if I could wean myself from this habit I will not take up another. Going from blogging to Facebook or Twitter would be like givng up beer to drink whiskey and tequila.
Every day I tell myself this will be my last post, but like the those lonely cowboys on Brokeback Mountain -- I cain't quit you. Mostly 'cause I am incapable of composing that final memorable post. The one you will all say -- "Dude, that is how you go out in style".
"Dude". Does anyone say that anymore? Has that term gone to the land of unused colloquialism? To the boneyard of slang? No one refers to their currency as "bread", only the oldest of hippies find amazing things "far out". Has "dude" been relegated to old guys and the unhippist among us? When I ask my seventeen-year-old these questions he just rolls his eyes.
This post is late getting up, In between words and sentences and paragraphs I have made a few phone calls, answered some emails and poured another cup of coffee. I have also installed some new programs on the boy's laptop and put in a load of laundry.
I may not be entertaining anymore (if I ever was), but I can still multitask with the best.
April 24, 2011
April 23, 2011
Do not waste the thirty seconds it will take to read this post
It is Saturday, but you knew that.
It is supposed to rain, but that is nothing new.
I could whine about a lot of stuff, but you do not want to hear it, and I don't really feel like complaining.
Politics -- bleh.
I think I will go search the video cabinet for a nice cowboy movie.
It is becoming increasingly clear I have little to offer that is of interest to anyone, even myself, at this blog.
It is supposed to rain, but that is nothing new.
I could whine about a lot of stuff, but you do not want to hear it, and I don't really feel like complaining.
Politics -- bleh.
I think I will go search the video cabinet for a nice cowboy movie.
It is becoming increasingly clear I have little to offer that is of interest to anyone, even myself, at this blog.
April 22, 2011
Friday Covers
This is one of the prettiest songs.
Stevie ain't too bad either.
Here is a nice cover. The comments are hilarious -- one says that Fleetwood Mac's cover sucks! Kids today...
Here is the Dixie Chicks cover:
Their politics aside, those girls are talented.
Oh, and Glee also took a run at it:
A rambling post filled with details about super secret CIA operations
I am off work to commemorate Good Friday. I am not sure what I am going to do, it looks like another rainy day is in the forecast. I will take some time to reflect upon the day. I will offer some prayers of thanks.
My laptop died earlier this week. At random the "blue screen of death" flashed. I did not have time to read all it said but I am pretty sure when the words "initiating memory dump" appear, nothing good is going on inside the plastic shell. I sent it off to the tech guru at the home office. He said he had to replace the hard drive. He has shipped it overnight back to me and I should get it sometime today.
I am ready, I have been using the clunky old HP desktop that resides in our living room since Monday morning. It is old and slooowww. This computer has served us faithfully for at least 7 or 8 years now. Nope, I went and looked. We got this baby in 2002 It was fast as an Indy car and State of the art at that time. Now I think the wife's iPhone has more power. It has suffered through several major virus attacks. "Hey Daddy, this warning has been flashing on the screen for a couple of weeks now. I just keep closing it. Is that OK?".
We have no big plans for the weekend. We are going to my Mom and Dad's for Easter dinner on Sunday. My brother and his son should be there. My daughter and son-in-law will come, but it looks like both my boys will have to work. Such is the hazards of working in the restaurant business on a holiday.
The youngest just went to reserve his tux for the prom. I think he has mixed emotions about going. He sees most of the preparations as a pain. On the other hand, when you ask him if he is looking forward to going he says "Yes, my date is hot". While only a junior, he somehow snagged one of the most popular senior girls as his date. Chicks dig him. He clearly does not take after his old man.
Well, I think those boring details of my mundane life will just about wrap up a post for this morning. The good news is there is not one single political bit in there. The bad news is I am off work. That means you may get multiple posts today, unless I find another way to occupy my time.
Now I am off to the interwebz. I hope some of you have found a way to entertain me on this Holy Friday morning.
My laptop died earlier this week. At random the "blue screen of death" flashed. I did not have time to read all it said but I am pretty sure when the words "initiating memory dump" appear, nothing good is going on inside the plastic shell. I sent it off to the tech guru at the home office. He said he had to replace the hard drive. He has shipped it overnight back to me and I should get it sometime today.
I am ready, I have been using the clunky old HP desktop that resides in our living room since Monday morning. It is old and slooowww. This computer has served us faithfully for at least 7 or 8 years now. Nope, I went and looked. We got this baby in 2002 It was fast as an Indy car and State of the art at that time. Now I think the wife's iPhone has more power. It has suffered through several major virus attacks. "Hey Daddy, this warning has been flashing on the screen for a couple of weeks now. I just keep closing it. Is that OK?".
We have no big plans for the weekend. We are going to my Mom and Dad's for Easter dinner on Sunday. My brother and his son should be there. My daughter and son-in-law will come, but it looks like both my boys will have to work. Such is the hazards of working in the restaurant business on a holiday.
The youngest just went to reserve his tux for the prom. I think he has mixed emotions about going. He sees most of the preparations as a pain. On the other hand, when you ask him if he is looking forward to going he says "Yes, my date is hot". While only a junior, he somehow snagged one of the most popular senior girls as his date. Chicks dig him. He clearly does not take after his old man.
Well, I think those boring details of my mundane life will just about wrap up a post for this morning. The good news is there is not one single political bit in there. The bad news is I am off work. That means you may get multiple posts today, unless I find another way to occupy my time.
Now I am off to the interwebz. I hope some of you have found a way to entertain me on this Holy Friday morning.
April 21, 2011
New law is mean and scary or inspired by Nazis or something like that
Earlier this year the Democrats in the Indiana House of Representatives came to work the minimum number of days to collect their annual pay. Then they left the State on a Union-paid walkout that lasted for weeks (longer than Wisconsin).
In retaliation the Senate Republicans have passed a bill imposing fines of $1,000 if a legislator fails to show for work for more than three days (unless he/she is sick). Based on the hysterics this has caused among the professional left and Democrats in general, the bill must also include a requirement to strangle puppies, corncob kittens and kill your first born child. Read this article. The comments are so over the top I cannot believe it. Clearly the Progressives must have nothing better to do than engage in long comments at the Indy Star. Expecting elected legislators to actually come to work apparently is similar to living in the Third Reich or under the thumb of despotic Communists or something. Expecting your Representative to actually participate in debate and vote and do the job for which he/she was paid is akin to forcing citizens to go to church or putting us in concentration camps.
I don't know about you, but if I fail to show up for work for three days or more without a doctor's excuse I would not expect to have a job tomorrow. As an employer of the State Legislators, should I expect any less?
One of the features of a Representative Democracy is that the minority has its say and the majority has its way. The Democrats may not like or accept the populace rejected their agenda in the last election. I was not thrilled by the Democrat rule for much of my life -- but that is the way politics works. So, the Democrats do not like the union and education reforms proposed by the Republicans? Then they can change the law the next time they are in charge! If Democrats find the proposed law forcing them to actually show up at work so heinous they can repeal it the next session -- providing they can convince the voters the Democrat agenda is best for the people of Indiana.
That is the great thing about our form of government. Every two or four years we can elect another group to change whatever we did not like about the previous politicians. The American people did not like the profligate spending of the past few Congress. So we elected some people who claim they will be more fiscally responsible. If they fail to reign in spending, or if we decide we like a lot of Federal spending by the time another election rolls around we can elected some new people that fit our ideal political theory.
If we do not like what our elected representatives are up to, we can vote against them the next time. If this law is so horrible, the Democrats need to convince their constituents to throw out the Repubs and elect Dems instead. I bet they will have a hard time finding enough citizens in Indiana who agree the best course of action is to just run away.
I could be wrong.
In retaliation the Senate Republicans have passed a bill imposing fines of $1,000 if a legislator fails to show for work for more than three days (unless he/she is sick). Based on the hysterics this has caused among the professional left and Democrats in general, the bill must also include a requirement to strangle puppies, corncob kittens and kill your first born child. Read this article. The comments are so over the top I cannot believe it. Clearly the Progressives must have nothing better to do than engage in long comments at the Indy Star. Expecting elected legislators to actually come to work apparently is similar to living in the Third Reich or under the thumb of despotic Communists or something. Expecting your Representative to actually participate in debate and vote and do the job for which he/she was paid is akin to forcing citizens to go to church or putting us in concentration camps.
I don't know about you, but if I fail to show up for work for three days or more without a doctor's excuse I would not expect to have a job tomorrow. As an employer of the State Legislators, should I expect any less?
One of the features of a Representative Democracy is that the minority has its say and the majority has its way. The Democrats may not like or accept the populace rejected their agenda in the last election. I was not thrilled by the Democrat rule for much of my life -- but that is the way politics works. So, the Democrats do not like the union and education reforms proposed by the Republicans? Then they can change the law the next time they are in charge! If Democrats find the proposed law forcing them to actually show up at work so heinous they can repeal it the next session -- providing they can convince the voters the Democrat agenda is best for the people of Indiana.
That is the great thing about our form of government. Every two or four years we can elect another group to change whatever we did not like about the previous politicians. The American people did not like the profligate spending of the past few Congress. So we elected some people who claim they will be more fiscally responsible. If they fail to reign in spending, or if we decide we like a lot of Federal spending by the time another election rolls around we can elected some new people that fit our ideal political theory.
If we do not like what our elected representatives are up to, we can vote against them the next time. If this law is so horrible, the Democrats need to convince their constituents to throw out the Repubs and elect Dems instead. I bet they will have a hard time finding enough citizens in Indiana who agree the best course of action is to just run away.
I could be wrong.
April 20, 2011
That 2:00 AM wake up call
Like many things the Government does, the intentions are good. I must have missed the reports in the paper, but I skip a lot of the articles. The County has begun calling county residents in times of dangerous weather. It is a broadcast call, similar to what the local schools use to notify us of delays and cancellations. The purpose is to augment the old sirens with modern technology.
Yesterday we got our first call. Around noon or so, the phone rang and an electronic voice told me the county was under a flood warning. "Hmm, huh"? says I to myself, "What was that all about?". I shrugged it off and thought no more about it.
Some wild weather came through the area last evening. Thunder, lightning, strong winds and heavy rain came with watches and warnings. The wife was aggravated the weather guys interrupted her favorite show, But there was no further phone calls from the system I did not know about and had only called me once before. In fact I forgot all about the phone call.
I went to bed around eleven-thirty. I slept well with the rain pelting the windows and thunder echoing from the rafters. I like a good spring storm. Then at 2:07 in the morning the phone rang. Those calls scare the shit out of me. I have two kids away from the nest and my parents are getting older. My best friend has continuing and worsening heart problems. The phone call was not welcome.
I answered with trepidation. Middle-of-the-night phone calls are never good news.
An electronic voice told me the county was under a flood warning. What the fuck? Not to downgrade the danger a rising river can mean to some folks, but I live a few miles from the nearest body of water capable of flooding. I get standing water in my side yard every time we get a heavy dew, but I am never in flood danger.
If a flood threatens my home I will have been pre-warned: the animals will have been vacating my neighborhood two-by-two in the preceding weeks. The news will have been reporting on the kook down in French Lick building the Very Big Boat.
Like I said, the intentions are good. A warned populace is a safer populace. But perhaps we should save our hysterical late night phone warnings for true impending disasters like tornadoes, and tsunamis. Modern news coverage and reporting already provides enough warning for blizzards, floods and hurricanes (unless you live in NOLA). I do not need a phone call to tell me a river three or four miles away is in flood stage.
Yesterday we got our first call. Around noon or so, the phone rang and an electronic voice told me the county was under a flood warning. "Hmm, huh"? says I to myself, "What was that all about?". I shrugged it off and thought no more about it.
Some wild weather came through the area last evening. Thunder, lightning, strong winds and heavy rain came with watches and warnings. The wife was aggravated the weather guys interrupted her favorite show, But there was no further phone calls from the system I did not know about and had only called me once before. In fact I forgot all about the phone call.
I went to bed around eleven-thirty. I slept well with the rain pelting the windows and thunder echoing from the rafters. I like a good spring storm. Then at 2:07 in the morning the phone rang. Those calls scare the shit out of me. I have two kids away from the nest and my parents are getting older. My best friend has continuing and worsening heart problems. The phone call was not welcome.
I answered with trepidation. Middle-of-the-night phone calls are never good news.
An electronic voice told me the county was under a flood warning. What the fuck? Not to downgrade the danger a rising river can mean to some folks, but I live a few miles from the nearest body of water capable of flooding. I get standing water in my side yard every time we get a heavy dew, but I am never in flood danger.
If a flood threatens my home I will have been pre-warned: the animals will have been vacating my neighborhood two-by-two in the preceding weeks. The news will have been reporting on the kook down in French Lick building the Very Big Boat.
Like I said, the intentions are good. A warned populace is a safer populace. But perhaps we should save our hysterical late night phone warnings for true impending disasters like tornadoes, and tsunamis. Modern news coverage and reporting already provides enough warning for blizzards, floods and hurricanes (unless you live in NOLA). I do not need a phone call to tell me a river three or four miles away is in flood stage.
April 19, 2011
I almost let the date slip by
I just looked at my desk calendar and realized today is April 19th. For most of you that means squat, but my mind automatically scans the internal file system and determined today was our true Independence Day.
Yes, Boys and Girls, on this date in 1775, the citizens soldiers of the Massachusetts Colony engaged the forces of His Majesty King George at Lexington, and later in the morning at Concord. The American Revolution had begun.
The previous night lanterns were hung in the Old North Church and riders were dispatched throughout the countryside warning the Militia to rally. On this date in 1775, a ragtag bunch of amateurs faced the British Regulars on the Lexington Green. Shots were fired and eight Colonists were killed.
Gallons of ink have been used to describe that momentous day. Some are mere exaggeration and hyperbole (ahem, Mr. Longfellow). I think none are more beautiful than Emerson's Concord Hymn (especially the first stanza):
Yes, Boys and Girls, on this date in 1775, the citizens soldiers of the Massachusetts Colony engaged the forces of His Majesty King George at Lexington, and later in the morning at Concord. The American Revolution had begun.
The previous night lanterns were hung in the Old North Church and riders were dispatched throughout the countryside warning the Militia to rally. On this date in 1775, a ragtag bunch of amateurs faced the British Regulars on the Lexington Green. Shots were fired and eight Colonists were killed.
Gallons of ink have been used to describe that momentous day. Some are mere exaggeration and hyperbole (ahem, Mr. Longfellow). I think none are more beautiful than Emerson's Concord Hymn (especially the first stanza):
By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood,
And fired the shot heard round the world.
Holy Rip Van Winkle, Batman...
What the Heck? I fell asleep in the chair a little after nine last night. I finally stumbled to bed around 9:30. Good God, In the old days I did not even think about heading to the bar until after ten! It is not like I had a rough weekend. It is not like I had a hard Monday. I left home around 10:30 AM, picked up a colleague at the airport and visited a couple of customers. I was home by a little after six. I am not sure what is the matter with me.
I woke around 5:30 this morning, mostly to pee. Thunder was rumbling in the distance and the sparrows and cardinals and robins were raising a racket in the pre-dawn morning. Since I had already slept more than usual I went out to fetch the paper and turned on the morning news. I got the boy up at the usual time for school. I woke the wife some twenty minutes later. Then, I went back to bed. I actually slept for about twenty more minutes! I likely will not sleep for the next week.
In other news, I have no news. Check back later for some insightful political commentary, some cutting edge humor or an amusing anecdote. You likely will not find any of that stuff here, but I need the hits, traffic is way down.
I woke around 5:30 this morning, mostly to pee. Thunder was rumbling in the distance and the sparrows and cardinals and robins were raising a racket in the pre-dawn morning. Since I had already slept more than usual I went out to fetch the paper and turned on the morning news. I got the boy up at the usual time for school. I woke the wife some twenty minutes later. Then, I went back to bed. I actually slept for about twenty more minutes! I likely will not sleep for the next week.
In other news, I have no news. Check back later for some insightful political commentary, some cutting edge humor or an amusing anecdote. You likely will not find any of that stuff here, but I need the hits, traffic is way down.
April 18, 2011
No Lefties Bashed in Writing This Post
It is Monday. The weekend are sure short -- they seem to last less than half of the work week. Mine was somehow busy, but I did not do a damn thing. Saturday I took my daily walk and then I did nothing until the wife and I went to the mall for a bit. I sat bored out of my mind while she did whatever she does at the mall that takes so long. We had some BBQ for supper, so that was good.
Sunday I took an extra long walk. The wind gusts nearly blew me over. I then watched the end of some movie until it was time to watch the Cubs. They lost.
I made salad with grilled chicken on top for supper. After I cleaned the kitchen I again placed my fat ass in the chair and did nothing until bed time.
Oh, I did read a book Saturday. I forgot. Cheap fiction. Entertaining. Have I mentioned I lurve my Kindle. It is one of the best inventions ever.
My life is so boring.
Now it is time to get to work. I have wasted six minutes writing this post, you spent one reading it. This is not the activity that makes for a productive society. Get to work, you slacker.
Sunday I took an extra long walk. The wind gusts nearly blew me over. I then watched the end of some movie until it was time to watch the Cubs. They lost.
I made salad with grilled chicken on top for supper. After I cleaned the kitchen I again placed my fat ass in the chair and did nothing until bed time.
Oh, I did read a book Saturday. I forgot. Cheap fiction. Entertaining. Have I mentioned I lurve my Kindle. It is one of the best inventions ever.
My life is so boring.
Now it is time to get to work. I have wasted six minutes writing this post, you spent one reading it. This is not the activity that makes for a productive society. Get to work, you slacker.
April 17, 2011
What we have here is a failure to communicate
Humiliation equals hurt feelings
Hurt feelings lead to anger
Anger begets resentment
Resentment leads to indifference
Hurt feelings lead to anger
Anger begets resentment
Resentment leads to indifference
April 16, 2011
My mood is as black as my heart
It is a cool damp Saturday morning. It suits my mood -- somewhat black.
Mom always said if I cannot say something nice I should keep my piehole closed. She did not exactly phrase it in that manner, but you get the idea.
Mom always said if I cannot say something nice I should keep my piehole closed. She did not exactly phrase it in that manner, but you get the idea.
April 15, 2011
What would you say
I propose we cut the Federal Budget by 25%. Cut it across the board. I do not mean cut from what we want to spend, from what we might spend. I mean flat reduce every department. I do not care how the various agencies get to the new number, cut services, cut people, cut waste.
Take what we areblowing spending in 2011 and flat reduce every budget (including defense) by 1/4.
Reducing the budget by these "draconian" amounts will not leave the kiddies dying. Women will not swoon from hunger. Roads will be maintained. We will be safe.
You see, those evil, bare bones levels will take us back to 2008 spending. You know, back when Bush was bankrupting the country.
Instead, the Republican leadership are bragging about reducing spending by 1/100 of one percent. Democrats are wailing that the knife was too sharp.
There must be some old swamp gas still floating in the air around Washington DC, they are all high.
Or maybe just irresponsible.
Some are just commie mofos.
Or more likely, just fucking politicians.
If there were term limits maybe some of the gutless wonders would do what was right instead of worrying about getting re-elected.
Take what we are
Reducing the budget by these "draconian" amounts will not leave the kiddies dying. Women will not swoon from hunger. Roads will be maintained. We will be safe.
You see, those evil, bare bones levels will take us back to 2008 spending. You know, back when Bush was bankrupting the country.
Instead, the Republican leadership are bragging about reducing spending by 1/100 of one percent. Democrats are wailing that the knife was too sharp.
There must be some old swamp gas still floating in the air around Washington DC, they are all high.
Or maybe just irresponsible.
Some are just commie mofos.
Or more likely, just fucking politicians.
If there were term limits maybe some of the gutless wonders would do what was right instead of worrying about getting re-elected.
Close to the edge, down by the river
It is finally Friday. For some reason this has been a long, long week.
Already this morning I have read/answered Emails, paid the gas and water bills, paid the car payment, thrown the sheets into the washer and called two customers. I also found time to read the paper, eat breakfast and drink 2 mugs of coffee. Before the noon hour is over I will fold the towels in the dryer, empty the dishwasher and put the sheets into the dryer. I will also take a shower. Yes, I am blogging in yesterday's jeans and T-shirt. Sometimes it sucks/is good to work from home.
I mowed the yard for the first time this spring last evening. It was only a little ragged, but with a weekend of rain in the forecast, it would have been a regular jungle if I waited until next week. The dandelions and violets are rampant. It looks like I will once again have the worst yard in the neighborhood. Look deep into my eyes and see if you think I care.
As far as I know we have no plans for the weekend. I am sure the wife will tell me otherwise when she gets home from work.
Already this morning I have read/answered Emails, paid the gas and water bills, paid the car payment, thrown the sheets into the washer and called two customers. I also found time to read the paper, eat breakfast and drink 2 mugs of coffee. Before the noon hour is over I will fold the towels in the dryer, empty the dishwasher and put the sheets into the dryer. I will also take a shower. Yes, I am blogging in yesterday's jeans and T-shirt. Sometimes it sucks/is good to work from home.
I mowed the yard for the first time this spring last evening. It was only a little ragged, but with a weekend of rain in the forecast, it would have been a regular jungle if I waited until next week. The dandelions and violets are rampant. It looks like I will once again have the worst yard in the neighborhood. Look deep into my eyes and see if you think I care.
As far as I know we have no plans for the weekend. I am sure the wife will tell me otherwise when she gets home from work.
April 14, 2011
The Obama and deficits
President Zero sang the same old tune yesterday -- "Tax the Rich".*
I will let some far smarter than me answer:
read this
read this too
But I don't need smart guys to tell me what a bad idea this is. The US does not have a revenue problem.
We have a spending problem.
Feel free toshow your ignorance argue otherwise in the comments.
* Once again, This song is where The Obama developed his economic and political theory:
I will let some far smarter than me answer:
read this
read this too
But I don't need smart guys to tell me what a bad idea this is. The US does not have a revenue problem.
We have a spending problem.
Feel free to
* Once again, This song is where The Obama developed his economic and political theory:
April 13, 2011
A modern fairy tale
Let's say you have a home equity line of credit. You are a good person, you care about your fellow man. You donate to NPR and PBS. You give to worthwhile charities. But you just feel like you should do more. You help the family down the street with some groceries. You help the neighbor pay his mortgage. You co-sign an education loan for your nephew. A friend of your daughter needs an abortion. You give money to the arts council. You help pay to put on a local play.
You wake up one day and find you have used all of your pay and have somehow maxed out your line of credit. You have borrowed money to pay other people's bills. Now you do not have the cash to pay your own.
So you go to your boss and tell him you need a raise. You explain he should give you more money because you gave a grant to the Boys Club to help out the Midnight Basketball League. You gave to the Police Union and you are paying the doctor bills for the kid across the street. You are sending money to the UN, to UNICEF and to The Sierra Club.
Surprisingly, he turns you down. This cannot be so.
Next you go to the bank. You explain that you are out of credit and yet you still need to donate cash to the starving kids in Africa you saw on that TV commercial. You explain that another of your daughter's friends may be pregnant and you need to protect her health. You explain that may mean paying for an abortion, or buying vitamins or maybe paying for the whole pregnancy. You tell the loan guy it is not the girls fault she got knocked up for the third time. You explain that you still have other families wanting help with their bills, and you want to help a neighbor buy a new car with green technology because it will be good for the environment.
You threaten the bank will be in severe trouble if they fail to increase your credit limit (or you could call it a debt ceiling). You explain that you will default on your loan and your neighbors might too.
When the bank and your employer told you perhaps you should reduce your spending, you replied that they just wanted to kill the elderly you were helping support. You accused them of wanting to kill the pregnant girls. You labeled them as heartless. You said the banker wanted your grandmother to eat dog food. You told your employer he had a moral obligation to pay you more, he could afford it.
You shouted you needed the money for the children, the environment, the elderly.
That fantasy could never happen. Could it?
You wake up one day and find you have used all of your pay and have somehow maxed out your line of credit. You have borrowed money to pay other people's bills. Now you do not have the cash to pay your own.
So you go to your boss and tell him you need a raise. You explain he should give you more money because you gave a grant to the Boys Club to help out the Midnight Basketball League. You gave to the Police Union and you are paying the doctor bills for the kid across the street. You are sending money to the UN, to UNICEF and to The Sierra Club.
Surprisingly, he turns you down. This cannot be so.
Next you go to the bank. You explain that you are out of credit and yet you still need to donate cash to the starving kids in Africa you saw on that TV commercial. You explain that another of your daughter's friends may be pregnant and you need to protect her health. You explain that may mean paying for an abortion, or buying vitamins or maybe paying for the whole pregnancy. You tell the loan guy it is not the girls fault she got knocked up for the third time. You explain that you still have other families wanting help with their bills, and you want to help a neighbor buy a new car with green technology because it will be good for the environment.
You threaten the bank will be in severe trouble if they fail to increase your credit limit (or you could call it a debt ceiling). You explain that you will default on your loan and your neighbors might too.
When the bank and your employer told you perhaps you should reduce your spending, you replied that they just wanted to kill the elderly you were helping support. You accused them of wanting to kill the pregnant girls. You labeled them as heartless. You said the banker wanted your grandmother to eat dog food. You told your employer he had a moral obligation to pay you more, he could afford it.
You shouted you needed the money for the children, the environment, the elderly.
That fantasy could never happen. Could it?
Today's Earworm
damn, I wish I had a jumpsuit. Did I ever tell you about my trips to Graceland? It does not matter, my man Yabu has the best Elvis story.
edit. Here it is. Yabu comes to the rescue.
Here is a bonus from the King. This one comes from my favorite Elvis Movie Clambake:
Oh hell, why not...is this not just creepy? It is also from Clambake. Why is Elvis hanging out at the playground? This is one of the worst songs The King was ever forced to record.:
April 12, 2011
Fighting the good fight
Around 4:30 in the morning, 150 years ago today, old PT directed a ball to be fired at a distant fort on a small island in Charleston Harbor. The American Civil War, War of Succession, War Between the States, War of Northern Aggression (ahem, who fired the first shot?), War of the Rebellion had begun.
The very founding of the Nation was an argument over the power of the Federal Government and that of the States. Four years and the deaths of 500,000 Americans did not really completely settle the matter.
Oh, to be sure, big Government won the day. There is little wonder the Big Government king B. Obama reveres Lincoln. But the battles being waged by the Tea Party are the same political battles argued 150 years ago. Too bad a defense of slavery was part of the Southern cause. They might have won otherwise.
The Confederate States of America forswore slavery in the end, but it was too late. Now those of us who favor a limited Federal Government are fighting a long uphill battle.
Edit: caught. I put up a lazy post. Is this better Nathan?
The very founding of the Nation was an argument over the power of the Federal Government and that of the States. Four years and the deaths of 500,000 Americans did not really completely settle the matter.
Oh, to be sure, big Government won the day. There is little wonder the Big Government king B. Obama reveres Lincoln. But the battles being waged by the Tea Party are the same political battles argued 150 years ago. Too bad a defense of slavery was part of the Southern cause. They might have won otherwise.
The Confederate States of America forswore slavery in the end, but it was too late. Now those of us who favor a limited Federal Government are fighting a long uphill battle.
Edit: caught. I put up a lazy post. Is this better Nathan?
April 11, 2011
On negotiating
Re: the post below, and Boehner claiming a "victory". The Democrat-Lite Repub leadership claims they will really go after trillions next go-around.
I have been negotiating for most of my professional life. The idea you will get some concessions on the "big stuff" if you roll on the "little stuff" is idiotic. All you do is give your opposite the impression you are not willing to fight. It is not about the little battles or the big battles, you try to win them all. If a point is not important, you should not fight for it. Period. If it is important, no matter how small, you fight tooth and nail.
That is true no matter what you are negotiating, a widget contract, a car, a house, federal spending.
To believe otherwise proves you are nothing but a politician, worried about the next election.
I should never have expected otherwise.
I have been negotiating for most of my professional life. The idea you will get some concessions on the "big stuff" if you roll on the "little stuff" is idiotic. All you do is give your opposite the impression you are not willing to fight. It is not about the little battles or the big battles, you try to win them all. If a point is not important, you should not fight for it. Period. If it is important, no matter how small, you fight tooth and nail.
That is true no matter what you are negotiating, a widget contract, a car, a house, federal spending.
To believe otherwise proves you are nothing but a politician, worried about the next election.
I should never have expected otherwise.
I want my $100 Billion
Thanks GOP. I was pretty sure the American People told you in the last election we did not want a Democrat-Lite party. I am pretty sure we voted for you to bring fiscal sanity. We want the EPA reigned in, Obamacare defunded (if not reversed altogether). We want the Government to be smaller.
The Republicans are just armadillos. They roll into a ball at the first sign of trouble. Boehner did not even get half of what the Republicans promised.
So far the landslide Republican victory in 2010 got the American People...a temporary extension of the current tax rates. That is it.
Dan Burton, Dick Lugar, Dan Coates -- if you vote Yes on this roll-over and cry like a baby compromise bill, I will donate however much I can spare to anyone who is running against you in your next election (I am going to do so in your case anyway Senator Lugar). You are not bound to agree with John Compromise Boehner on this bill. Vote NO.
I am sick of retreat, I am tired of the Stupid Party and their always 'in the minority' attitude -- especially when they are large and in charge. I can only hope there are enough GOPers left to vote against this piece of shit compromise when it comes for a vote this week. Grow some balls or be prepared to lose power in 2012.
It is time to bring on the Honey Badger Party.
The Republicans are just armadillos. They roll into a ball at the first sign of trouble. Boehner did not even get half of what the Republicans promised.
So far the landslide Republican victory in 2010 got the American People...a temporary extension of the current tax rates. That is it.
Dan Burton, Dick Lugar, Dan Coates -- if you vote Yes on this roll-over and cry like a baby compromise bill, I will donate however much I can spare to anyone who is running against you in your next election (I am going to do so in your case anyway Senator Lugar). You are not bound to agree with John Compromise Boehner on this bill. Vote NO.
I am sick of retreat, I am tired of the Stupid Party and their always 'in the minority' attitude -- especially when they are large and in charge. I can only hope there are enough GOPers left to vote against this piece of shit compromise when it comes for a vote this week. Grow some balls or be prepared to lose power in 2012.
It is time to bring on the Honey Badger Party.
April 10, 2011
Maybe I just need more coffee
I have the means. The cursor is blinking at me. I have the content. I can make up any crap on a Sunday morning that may or may not be entertaining. I just have no desire to spend the effort.
After yesterday's long winded ramble down pothole-filled memory lane, most of you will be muttering a quiet "Thank Goodness".
Oh, oh, oh...that last sentence reminded me of a joke. This girl rode her bike down a very bumpy road. She looked back and said "I will never come that way again".
It is funnier if you say it out loud.
Hey look, we have a post. I still did not comment on the rat-bastard Republicans who sold out the American People yet again. I hope they enjoy their success, because they were elected to cut spending, and saving a few pennies while wasting hundreds is not going to get it done. It is time for a third choice. The next step is insurecction, and if that comes to pass we all lose.
Oh, wait. I guess I did comment.
Enjoy your Sunday
After yesterday's long winded ramble down pothole-filled memory lane, most of you will be muttering a quiet "Thank Goodness".
Oh, oh, oh...that last sentence reminded me of a joke. This girl rode her bike down a very bumpy road. She looked back and said "I will never come that way again".
It is funnier if you say it out loud.
Hey look, we have a post. I still did not comment on the rat-bastard Republicans who sold out the American People yet again. I hope they enjoy their success, because they were elected to cut spending, and saving a few pennies while wasting hundreds is not going to get it done. It is time for a third choice. The next step is insurecction, and if that comes to pass we all lose.
Oh, wait. I guess I did comment.
Enjoy your Sunday
April 9, 2011
A trip in the wayback machine with the old fart
We had the largest backyard in the subdivision. The entire neighborhood was filled with kids. On one block of my street alone there were 29 kids all within 5 years of age. Young families swarmed to the prefab houses built out on the east side of town. Cheap affordable housing marked the boom of the mid 1960's.
Near the back corner of the house was home plate. The light pole marked first, the skinny tree was third and second was a dirt spot near the tractor tire that served as a sand box. It was a slightly lopsided diamond, third being a little nearer second than first was and somewhat further from the large bare spot that marked home. The out field was our back yard and that of the houses behind. They did not care, that street was full of kids too.
It did not take long before we had to leave off hard baseballs and go to a tennis ball. Even an eight year-old kid can throw a tennis ball hard enough you need a glove to catch it. In those dinosaur days tennis balls were brown or grey, not the florescent greens of today. You could throw a curve, a sinker and a fastball. It did not take long for the fuzzy to wear off and the smooth ball would dart through the air on the way to home.
The pitcher's mound was close. maybe 25 or 30 feet, just in front of second base and you learned to react quick at the plate. We used wooden bats. Aluminum bats did not come to my part of the world until I was 11 or 12, and at that I never used one until I played softball in college intermurals. Usually the bats were old ones the neighborhood Dads brought home from fast-pitch softball. They were cracked in the handle. A nail and some tape on the handle and they worked fine on a tennis ball in the hands of a nine year old.
In the summer the games started early. We all played outside all day. No one had an air conditioner and it was hotter inside. There was nothing to do inside anyway. We would split into teams, based on the number of kids who showed up. Balls, strikes,and outs were kept as the innings flew by. Ritchie would leave to go to the bathroom or eat lunch. Jay would show up after spending the night at his grandmother's. You would join whatever team was short, or needed help. Otter and I would go in to eat lunch and supper and the game went on in the backyard anyway. Sometimes Mom would bring us all Kool Aide, loaded with sugary goodness.
I may be wrong, but I remember few arguments over outs and and strikes. You tried to be honest because you would be at the plate the next inning. Paybacks were hell. The catcher served as ump, and there was an unwritten code of agreement on safe or out at the bases. usually democracy ruled if there was a dispute.
In the evenings we played the same kids in Little League, the next morning we were the Cubs, the Reds, the Cards, whacking the ball in the backyard. By the time we were 11 or 12 we had to switch to a wiffle ball. When the home run became hitting past the houses on the next street, broken windows became a problem. We moved the games a few blocks to the park, where we played on a real field against teams from the whole subdivision. Real baseball. But it was not the same. You met for a game and moved on, the marathon sessions could not work the same when you were riding a few blocks as opposed to walking down the street.
It was not until I was an adult and coaching my own boys did I realize how much baseball I learned in my youth. Coaching against guys who played in high school, I knew as much or more. I understood the nuances, the flow of the game in ways some of them did not. My own skills did not last much past Little League (size does matter in sports), but I knew how to play the game.
Much of that knowledge I learned from my own Dad, an excellent player. He played fast pitch softball on some very good teams. He coached us in Little League and practiced with us in the backyard. I also learned a lot of baseball in the backyard league. When you play eight, ten, twelve hours a day for summer after summer, you are bound to learn something.
My baseball experience was not unusual. Kids of the sixties played a lot of ball. There were no video games, the three channels on TV had no kids entertainment. We could not afford to go to the movies all the time. There was no shopping mall.
Today kids play ball in organized leagues. Little League and Cal Ripkin. There are Boys Club games and travel teams. We want the best for our young players. But you don't see the kids at the field, hitting, running, stealing. Chants of "hey batter, batter" do not fill the neighborhood evenings. My neighbors have a couple of Elementary aged kids. I hardly see them outside.
It is nostalgia. I am yet young enough to know my memories make the times better than they were. I know the late 1960's were not better, they were different. But in my mind I can still feel that big brown bat in my hands, choked up about six inches so I could swing it, as it cracked against that ball. I can hear the pop off the ball in the leather glove, smell the sweat and leather on my hands. I can hear the voices shouting, laughing, cheering. I can see Jon, and Ritchie, and Vida, and Jeff. In my memories I crouch behind the plate. I pop the big catchers mitt with my fist. I wave two fingers between my legs. Here comes a bender...
Near the back corner of the house was home plate. The light pole marked first, the skinny tree was third and second was a dirt spot near the tractor tire that served as a sand box. It was a slightly lopsided diamond, third being a little nearer second than first was and somewhat further from the large bare spot that marked home. The out field was our back yard and that of the houses behind. They did not care, that street was full of kids too.
It did not take long before we had to leave off hard baseballs and go to a tennis ball. Even an eight year-old kid can throw a tennis ball hard enough you need a glove to catch it. In those dinosaur days tennis balls were brown or grey, not the florescent greens of today. You could throw a curve, a sinker and a fastball. It did not take long for the fuzzy to wear off and the smooth ball would dart through the air on the way to home.
The pitcher's mound was close. maybe 25 or 30 feet, just in front of second base and you learned to react quick at the plate. We used wooden bats. Aluminum bats did not come to my part of the world until I was 11 or 12, and at that I never used one until I played softball in college intermurals. Usually the bats were old ones the neighborhood Dads brought home from fast-pitch softball. They were cracked in the handle. A nail and some tape on the handle and they worked fine on a tennis ball in the hands of a nine year old.
In the summer the games started early. We all played outside all day. No one had an air conditioner and it was hotter inside. There was nothing to do inside anyway. We would split into teams, based on the number of kids who showed up. Balls, strikes,and outs were kept as the innings flew by. Ritchie would leave to go to the bathroom or eat lunch. Jay would show up after spending the night at his grandmother's. You would join whatever team was short, or needed help. Otter and I would go in to eat lunch and supper and the game went on in the backyard anyway. Sometimes Mom would bring us all Kool Aide, loaded with sugary goodness.
I may be wrong, but I remember few arguments over outs and and strikes. You tried to be honest because you would be at the plate the next inning. Paybacks were hell. The catcher served as ump, and there was an unwritten code of agreement on safe or out at the bases. usually democracy ruled if there was a dispute.
In the evenings we played the same kids in Little League, the next morning we were the Cubs, the Reds, the Cards, whacking the ball in the backyard. By the time we were 11 or 12 we had to switch to a wiffle ball. When the home run became hitting past the houses on the next street, broken windows became a problem. We moved the games a few blocks to the park, where we played on a real field against teams from the whole subdivision. Real baseball. But it was not the same. You met for a game and moved on, the marathon sessions could not work the same when you were riding a few blocks as opposed to walking down the street.
It was not until I was an adult and coaching my own boys did I realize how much baseball I learned in my youth. Coaching against guys who played in high school, I knew as much or more. I understood the nuances, the flow of the game in ways some of them did not. My own skills did not last much past Little League (size does matter in sports), but I knew how to play the game.
Much of that knowledge I learned from my own Dad, an excellent player. He played fast pitch softball on some very good teams. He coached us in Little League and practiced with us in the backyard. I also learned a lot of baseball in the backyard league. When you play eight, ten, twelve hours a day for summer after summer, you are bound to learn something.
My baseball experience was not unusual. Kids of the sixties played a lot of ball. There were no video games, the three channels on TV had no kids entertainment. We could not afford to go to the movies all the time. There was no shopping mall.
Today kids play ball in organized leagues. Little League and Cal Ripkin. There are Boys Club games and travel teams. We want the best for our young players. But you don't see the kids at the field, hitting, running, stealing. Chants of "hey batter, batter" do not fill the neighborhood evenings. My neighbors have a couple of Elementary aged kids. I hardly see them outside.
It is nostalgia. I am yet young enough to know my memories make the times better than they were. I know the late 1960's were not better, they were different. But in my mind I can still feel that big brown bat in my hands, choked up about six inches so I could swing it, as it cracked against that ball. I can hear the pop off the ball in the leather glove, smell the sweat and leather on my hands. I can hear the voices shouting, laughing, cheering. I can see Jon, and Ritchie, and Vida, and Jeff. In my memories I crouch behind the plate. I pop the big catchers mitt with my fist. I wave two fingers between my legs. Here comes a bender...
April 8, 2011
This ain't Jeopardy, I know the questions. I need answers
Morality aside, what possible argument can anyone make as to why taxpayers should pay for abortions or birth control for the general populace?
Along the same vein, why should the taxpayers be funding TV or radio stations?
yes, I know the tax savings if we cut of funding to NPR or Planned Parenthood are fractions of pennies on the dollar, but wasting tax dollars is still a moral crime.
To paraphrase Clinton -- "It is the debt, stupid". Is it rally Harry Reid's position he would rather shut down the Government than not pay for abortions?
BTW, nothing in any bill up for consideration, or in any spending cuts would in any way restrict abortion. Any woman who feels the need could still get abortion on demand. They will have access to any birth control they desire. The only difference is taxpayers will not pay for it. The hyperbole of the GOP wants to kill women*, and Nazi references are pathetic (I am talking to YOU Rep. Slaughter).
*If you believe that garbage, you are too stupid to live. Quit wasting my valuable oxygen.
Along the same vein, why should the taxpayers be funding TV or radio stations?
yes, I know the tax savings if we cut of funding to NPR or Planned Parenthood are fractions of pennies on the dollar, but wasting tax dollars is still a moral crime.
To paraphrase Clinton -- "It is the debt, stupid". Is it rally Harry Reid's position he would rather shut down the Government than not pay for abortions?
BTW, nothing in any bill up for consideration, or in any spending cuts would in any way restrict abortion. Any woman who feels the need could still get abortion on demand. They will have access to any birth control they desire. The only difference is taxpayers will not pay for it. The hyperbole of the GOP wants to kill women*, and Nazi references are pathetic (I am talking to YOU Rep. Slaughter).
*If you believe that garbage, you are too stupid to live. Quit wasting my valuable oxygen.
Sausage goodness.
I threw some smoked sausage on the grill for lunch. I ate some sour cream and onion chips on the side. Some fruit cocktail rounded out the meal. I washed it all down with a Coke Zero.
Four servings of carbs were consumed -- right on my target diet of 4-5 per meal. I probably got way too much fat from the sausage, but what the heck, it is Friday.
What did you have for lunch?
Four servings of carbs were consumed -- right on my target diet of 4-5 per meal. I probably got way too much fat from the sausage, but what the heck, it is Friday.
What did you have for lunch?
Friday Randomness
There are little tiny men in my head. It is clear they are doing the drilling The Obama and his pals refuse to do. They are currently sinking a shaft deep above my right eye, and random explosions of pain throughout my skull indicate a wide blast zone. At least that is what my head feels like. Spring always brings on severe allergy headaches. In my youth I had the runny nose, swollen eyes and clogged ears to go along with the blinding headaches. Now I just have headaches and an overwhelming urge to sleep -- all of the time.
I am shedding skin like an angry molting viper. I got a bit of sunburn on my working sojourn to the south last week. I failed to properly lubricate the skin and now it is flaking off in disgusting white splotches. There are even white flakes of giant upper arm dandruff on the arms of my pleather work chair. It is gross. I can peel myself like a giant boiled egg.
Want a hug?
It is supposed to be warm but rainy this weekend. If it keeps up I will have to drag out the mower next week. That thought is depressing. Mowing the grass is one of my least favorite chores.
I need to get to work, my monthly and quarterly reports are due. And yes, I also think the boss should just take the monthly reports from the first quarter and combine them into a quarterly report himself. If the company wants to pay me to duplicate work, well, I do as I am told.
Want a hug?
It is supposed to be warm but rainy this weekend. If it keeps up I will have to drag out the mower next week. That thought is depressing. Mowing the grass is one of my least favorite chores.
I need to get to work, my monthly and quarterly reports are due. And yes, I also think the boss should just take the monthly reports from the first quarter and combine them into a quarterly report himself. If the company wants to pay me to duplicate work, well, I do as I am told.
April 7, 2011
Memories
Remember how we were so pissed at Wall Street and AIG for paying out bonuses after we bailed them out? Remember how Obama was going to limit executive pay for bailed-out firms?
Remember how the mis-management at Fannie and Freddie brought on the bursting of the housing bubble and precipitated the current economic slump?
I should point out for the record the Executives and board members of Fannie/Freddie are for the most part long-time Democrat insiders like Rahm Emanuel, Franklin Raines, Jamie Gorlick, and Obama advisor James Johnson. Let the outcry begin in three...two...one...
Remember how the mis-management at Fannie and Freddie brought on the bursting of the housing bubble and precipitated the current economic slump?
According to government watchdogs at the Federal Housing Finance Agency, the chief executives of Fannie and Freddie raked in a combined $17 million in 2009-2010 — the period when the government-sponsored entities were handed over completely to federal conservators. The top six executives at the two institutions pulled in a combined $35 million over the past two years. sourceI am pretty sure we will soon see The Obama, and Democrat leaders wailing in protest along with liberal bloggers about this grave injustice and waste of taxpayer money. I am sure the press will cry for prompt repayment. Busloads of SIEU workers will be chanting slogans upon Fannie/Freddie Executives' lawns and driveways. Any minute now...
I should point out for the record the Executives and board members of Fannie/Freddie are for the most part long-time Democrat insiders like Rahm Emanuel, Franklin Raines, Jamie Gorlick, and Obama advisor James Johnson. Let the outcry begin in three...two...one...
April 6, 2011
I just want to celebrate
Gotta brag about this quickly, because it is sure to change. The Cubs are above .500 for the first time this year!
In fact they have a winning record (3-2) for the first time since 2009! How sad is that?
I vowed I would get a Cubs logo tattooed on my left shoulder when the Cubs win the World Series. My wife said I could (not that I need permission). She knows the odds are pretty long. After all, the Northsiders last won the Series in 1908.
In fact they have a winning record (3-2) for the first time since 2009! How sad is that?
I vowed I would get a Cubs logo tattooed on my left shoulder when the Cubs win the World Series. My wife said I could (not that I need permission). She knows the odds are pretty long. After all, the Northsiders last won the Series in 1908.
April 5, 2011
How much is too much?
The mantra of the left has become "The rich have too much, they are not paying their fair share". That theme is not new. It has been the backbone of the progressive, leftist, communist, socialist and Marxist philosophy for well over one hundred years. Class envy and jealousy pulls in the uneducated, the ignorant, and those who want something for nothing.
I find it amazing that many of the nearly 48% of Americans who pay absolutely NO income taxes believe the "rich" need to pay more.
Somehow there are people who believe that the only way a person acquires wealth is by taking from another individual. There is a belief that in order for me to make money, someone else must lose that opportunity. I heard a caller on talk radio a few weeks ago say that "The 'rich' received so much from America, they need to give something back". That remains one of the most ignorant, twisted arguments I have ever heard. America guarantees each of us the same opportunity. Not the same outcome. While occasionally the Nation falls short of the ideal of equal opportunity, it comes closer than any other place on Earth. There is no royalty, no caste system to American society.
A couple of college students can create billion dollar businesses. A pizza oven in a small storefront can spawn a global chain. The Horatio Alger rags to Riches story is a real life truth every day in America.
Yet there are those who claim the successful must be punished. Somehow taking 30% or 40% or even 50% of the hard earned wages of one American is fair, while we take 5% or even none of the wages of the guy down the street. Yet do they both not use the same roads, trash collection, police and fire protection? Does our military not protect the freedoms of rich and poor alike? Why should Richie Rich pay more for Government services than Paulie Poor? Little Paulie is more likely to use the Government than Richie. Which citizen wants someone else to pay for textbooks, healthcare, libraries, food, child care?
You will claim Richie can afford it. But is not ten percent of confiscated wealth as valuable to either party? Is it fair to say you must give up ten percent of your apples and I the same? Does it matter if I have ten apples and you one hundred?
The concept that for every dollar I made comes at the expense of another is the underlying falsehood that drives the progressive's view of the economy and Government. I just finished calculating my sales for the first quarter. I sold 52% more in Q1 of 2011 than I did in 2010. That means someone spent 52% more with me. Are you Democrats keeping up? You cannot draw the conclusion that my competitor lost 52% of his business. In fact, we gained no market share, our customer just bought more. Because he sold more. That means more people bought my customer's goods and services. Where I share the customer's business with my competition, we both increased sales. Everyone in the entire supply chain made more money and spent more money. Wealth was created.
Would any of you argue that my company did not deserve increased sales, that is is not fair to other widget makers who do not or cannot compete with our price, delivery and quality? Should the Government step in and dictate that we could only have an increase in sales of 30%, 20%, perhaps 5%? The entire notion seems absurd, yet there are some who think such a plan is perfectly acceptable when it comes to making individual wealth.
I had a customer who argued a person should be limited in the amount of money one could earn. She stated she saw no reason anyone should be allowed to make more than $500,000. If I create a cure for the common cold what would it be worth? If I developed a means to power a car on CO2, thus solving the use of fossil fuels, pollution and preventing (non-existent) global warming and was able to sell such a vehicle for $100, should I be limited to a profit of $500,000?
Who among you believes you possess the wisdom to determine how much is enough? Do you think you know how much space I need in my house? Are you able to know what, when , and how much I should eat? Do you know at what temperature I feel too hot or too cold? Are you able to determine the Delta faucet is good enough, I do not deserve the gold-plated Moen? Are you able to be the arbiter of taste, decency, and all that is right for me and my family? Do you want your neighbor to have the job? The guy down the street?
Who do you trust to determine what you "deserve" in life? Obama? Pelosi? Palin? Limbaugh? Joe Average? Should I tell you what car to drive? If you can go on vacation and where?
That is the problem with the progressive agenda. It progressively eats away your freedoms.
I find it amazing that many of the nearly 48% of Americans who pay absolutely NO income taxes believe the "rich" need to pay more.
Somehow there are people who believe that the only way a person acquires wealth is by taking from another individual. There is a belief that in order for me to make money, someone else must lose that opportunity. I heard a caller on talk radio a few weeks ago say that "The 'rich' received so much from America, they need to give something back". That remains one of the most ignorant, twisted arguments I have ever heard. America guarantees each of us the same opportunity. Not the same outcome. While occasionally the Nation falls short of the ideal of equal opportunity, it comes closer than any other place on Earth. There is no royalty, no caste system to American society.
A couple of college students can create billion dollar businesses. A pizza oven in a small storefront can spawn a global chain. The Horatio Alger rags to Riches story is a real life truth every day in America.
Yet there are those who claim the successful must be punished. Somehow taking 30% or 40% or even 50% of the hard earned wages of one American is fair, while we take 5% or even none of the wages of the guy down the street. Yet do they both not use the same roads, trash collection, police and fire protection? Does our military not protect the freedoms of rich and poor alike? Why should Richie Rich pay more for Government services than Paulie Poor? Little Paulie is more likely to use the Government than Richie. Which citizen wants someone else to pay for textbooks, healthcare, libraries, food, child care?
You will claim Richie can afford it. But is not ten percent of confiscated wealth as valuable to either party? Is it fair to say you must give up ten percent of your apples and I the same? Does it matter if I have ten apples and you one hundred?
The concept that for every dollar I made comes at the expense of another is the underlying falsehood that drives the progressive's view of the economy and Government. I just finished calculating my sales for the first quarter. I sold 52% more in Q1 of 2011 than I did in 2010. That means someone spent 52% more with me. Are you Democrats keeping up? You cannot draw the conclusion that my competitor lost 52% of his business. In fact, we gained no market share, our customer just bought more. Because he sold more. That means more people bought my customer's goods and services. Where I share the customer's business with my competition, we both increased sales. Everyone in the entire supply chain made more money and spent more money. Wealth was created.
Would any of you argue that my company did not deserve increased sales, that is is not fair to other widget makers who do not or cannot compete with our price, delivery and quality? Should the Government step in and dictate that we could only have an increase in sales of 30%, 20%, perhaps 5%? The entire notion seems absurd, yet there are some who think such a plan is perfectly acceptable when it comes to making individual wealth.
I had a customer who argued a person should be limited in the amount of money one could earn. She stated she saw no reason anyone should be allowed to make more than $500,000. If I create a cure for the common cold what would it be worth? If I developed a means to power a car on CO2, thus solving the use of fossil fuels, pollution and preventing (non-existent) global warming and was able to sell such a vehicle for $100, should I be limited to a profit of $500,000?
Who among you believes you possess the wisdom to determine how much is enough? Do you think you know how much space I need in my house? Are you able to know what, when , and how much I should eat? Do you know at what temperature I feel too hot or too cold? Are you able to determine the Delta faucet is good enough, I do not deserve the gold-plated Moen? Are you able to be the arbiter of taste, decency, and all that is right for me and my family? Do you want your neighbor to have the job? The guy down the street?
Who do you trust to determine what you "deserve" in life? Obama? Pelosi? Palin? Limbaugh? Joe Average? Should I tell you what car to drive? If you can go on vacation and where?
That is the problem with the progressive agenda. It progressively eats away your freedoms.
I offer a sincere "You Are Welcome" in advance
I was sitting in my chair last evening and I felt a cramp and a gurgling rumble deep in my belly. I jumped up and headed to the bathroom but just as I entered the door a wet fart erupted. 'Cept it was not a fart, as hot steamy butt gravy rattled my nutsack. My tighty whities were full of , well, crap. A few drips ran down my leg as I tried to shed my jeans and undershorts. A viscous brown slime covered my nether regions and the whole end of the house reeked like port-a-pot row after the New Mexico Chili, Taco, Bratwurst, Kraut and Beer Festival.
I wish the above was merely a metaphor for the Men's NCAA Championship game, which was also pretty shitty, but it is not. I spent most of the next hour on and off the toilet. I had to throw away the undershorts and I put my jeans into the washer.
I am not sure what triggered this bout of pseudo-dysentery. I cooked some cheeseburgers on the grill and made some potato salad and deviled eggs for supper. I would blame the mayo, but the date was far into the future and no one else in the family caught a case of the Squirting Ediths.
In any case, I feel better this morning.
I am afraid to fart though.
I wish the above was merely a metaphor for the Men's NCAA Championship game, which was also pretty shitty, but it is not. I spent most of the next hour on and off the toilet. I had to throw away the undershorts and I put my jeans into the washer.
I am not sure what triggered this bout of pseudo-dysentery. I cooked some cheeseburgers on the grill and made some potato salad and deviled eggs for supper. I would blame the mayo, but the date was far into the future and no one else in the family caught a case of the Squirting Ediths.
In any case, I feel better this morning.
I am afraid to fart though.
April 4, 2011
Which dog are you backing?
Do you have a favorite dog in this hunt? Are you a Husky or Bulldog backer?
UConn's women's team was knocked off by a Hoosier team (Notre Dame) in the Women's NCAA Final Four last night. I hope by the time Monday turns to Tuesday The denizens of the Nutmeg State wish they had never heard of Indiana.
I am wearing my Butler hat as I type this, and for the record, I have been on the crowded Butler bandwagon for a long time. My Daughter and Son-in-law are both Butler Alumni.
Will the little school from downtown Indianapolis be the perpetual bridesmaid? Will a small school finally beat the big boys from the basketball factory east coast school?
In other news, the F-ing Cubs dropped two of three to the lowly Pirates, one of the worst sports franchises in history, and the perpetual doormat of MLB. I think it is going to be a long. long disappointing season.
April 3, 2011
Confession Sunday
I am not Catholic, but I read once that confession is good for the soul. Last week's posts were all canned. Yes, the recordings were all Memorex (that makes sense to those of you of a certain age). I was in the sunny (sometimes) South all of last week. I had a great time. All of the posts were written at least a week in advance, some have been in the can for more than a month.
You never know what you get in the blog world, fresh baked posts or the stuff that has been on the shelf a while. A real person or a fat guy in the basement rubbing one out to pygmy sex video porn. You never know.
I saw an old lady on a Rascal Scooter rear end another lady on a Rascal Scooter. She hit hard enough the back end flew up upon the rapid stop. I checked to see if they were OK, but the old ladies were too busy cursing each other to answer. That is true. One had on a pair of those massive Blue Blocker sunglasses. Just another instance in my life where i was wishing I had a permanent video camera recording events around me.
I saw 12 police cars heading south on I-75 just south of Atlanta late Friday night/Saturday morning. All had blue lights flashing. All passed in a few minutes. It had no effect on me, I was Northbound. I kept hearing the old TV Sheriff from some show or movie in my head --"You inna heap of trouble, Boy". It was something serious. I don't care enough to try to look it up, though.
How about those Butler Bulldogs? You NCAA fans are cursing their bracket busting ways. The bulldog is an appropriate mascot. They play tough tenacious defense that just wears down their opponents. Will they have enough for UConn? We should know shortly after midnight Monday/Tuesday.
This post was typed fresh this morning. See -- it is still steaming like the pile of crap it is.
You never know what you get in the blog world, fresh baked posts or the stuff that has been on the shelf a while. A real person or a fat guy in the basement rubbing one out to pygmy sex video porn. You never know.
I saw an old lady on a Rascal Scooter rear end another lady on a Rascal Scooter. She hit hard enough the back end flew up upon the rapid stop. I checked to see if they were OK, but the old ladies were too busy cursing each other to answer. That is true. One had on a pair of those massive Blue Blocker sunglasses. Just another instance in my life where i was wishing I had a permanent video camera recording events around me.
I saw 12 police cars heading south on I-75 just south of Atlanta late Friday night/Saturday morning. All had blue lights flashing. All passed in a few minutes. It had no effect on me, I was Northbound. I kept hearing the old TV Sheriff from some show or movie in my head --"You inna heap of trouble, Boy". It was something serious. I don't care enough to try to look it up, though.
How about those Butler Bulldogs? You NCAA fans are cursing their bracket busting ways. The bulldog is an appropriate mascot. They play tough tenacious defense that just wears down their opponents. Will they have enough for UConn? We should know shortly after midnight Monday/Tuesday.
This post was typed fresh this morning. See -- it is still steaming like the pile of crap it is.
April 2, 2011
One more thought
You do remember yesterday was April Fool's Day, right?
You can't get rid of me that easy.
You can't get rid of me that easy.
April 1, 2011
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