Chinese Generals are Laughing

Politicians say dumb things. I think it is because the second oldest profession doesn’t necessarily attract our best and brightest. Our current Chief Executive is a prime example. Yesterday he proclaimed he was going to spend billions to make sure our military was “green”. 

“I’m going to start the process where every vehicle in the United States military — every vehicle is going to be climate-friendly. Every vehicle. No, I mean it. We’re spending billions of dollars to do it,” Biden said. Source

Ponder that for a moment. There we are, the 1st Amazon Brigade and the 53rd Trans Assault Force heading for yet another war in some Third World Shithole. The Humvees and the all new Harvey Milk Tank are rumbling along when the batteries run low. The momentum stops while the Brigade Charging Sergeant seeks the best charging stations. There are none. 

While the commander takes this opportunity to inspect the soldier’s pink triangle Unit Badge for cleanliness, insurgents open fire. US Servicepeople return fire with our non-metal biodegradable ammunition. Strangely, the soft soy-based bullets just bounce off the attackers. 

As the enemy closes in, the Captain of the Rainbow Company curls in the fetal position. Zir blue hair tumbling from Their helmet, tugging Zir nose ring crying “You must respect my oneness, I’m unique, I’m special”. 

The after-action report blames the total loss on the need to transport extra batteries and places the blame squarely on White Supremacy and claims the rebels were in MAGA gear, so they did not fight by the rules. 

Spookybird

After a damp start, yesterday turned into a beautiful day. The afternoon was sunny and it warmed into the low seventies. We had a burger for a late dinner out. As we drove west on 146th street heading home, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of purple, orange, and yellow. Streaking contrails and wispy clouds made a scene fit for a photo. I didn’t take one. The photo view was spoiled by telephone poles, wires, and windshield. 

The weather chick consulted her Magic 8 Ball and decreed today would be much the same, with a few more clouds. Tomorrow is expected  to be perfect with sunny skies and eighty degrees. 

No, I have no clue why you would be interested in my weather. 

Yesterday was spent entirely with on-line meetings. So it goes. Post-pandemic things are different. It is so much easier to have on-line meetings. Now we have so many more of them. 

And yes, I say post-pandemic. We aren’t going back to shutdowns and masking up like cheap movie bank robbers. 

The Classics IV had a handful of hits from 1967 to 1969. Originally out of Jacksonville, FLorida, their first hit was Spooky. The band added lyrics to an instrumental by saxophonist Mike Clark.

Do you think the guys from Classic IV knew the musicians from that other Jacksonville band that started in that era and collectively  jammed on Freebird? 

Me neither.

Buffalo Hunting

A hunter went out to hunt for buffalo.

To help him, he hired an Indian Scout.

The two of them set off on their journey to find buffalo.

After riding a while, the Indian gets off his horse, puts his ear to the ground and says

“Humm, buffalo come.”

The soldier scans the area with his binoculars but sees nothing.

He is confused and says to the Indian,

“I do not see anything, how do you know buffalo come?”

The Indian replies,

“Ear sticky.”

Stop. I know you laughed.

Hmmm

Colin Kapernick says he just wants a chance to play football.

Why isn’t he trying to play in the USFL to prove he can still play? 

Makes me wonder if it is about football or trying to make a different point. 

Of course, I’ve been know to be occasionally skeptical.

Start of something wonderful

Today marks the true start of the Revolution and the birth of America. July Fourth just formalized things.

Paul Revere’s Ride

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, —
One, if by land, and two, if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm.”

All of it Here

So as April 19th dawned, the Militia grabbed their guns and formed up on Lexington Green. The British killed and wounded a handful before marching on to try to capture the cache of weapons reported to be stored in Concord.  At Concord, beside the old North Bridge, the militia joined against the Lobsterbacks again. 

This time the British were routed. The King’s troops were harried all the way back to Boston. 

In subsequent weeks and months the Rebellion went to full Revolution as other colonies joined in and sent troops and materials.

You know the rest. 

At least you should. I will add, if you have never seen the first few episodes of Ken Burn’s Adams, you ought to try and find it pronto, even if you do not think you like history.

The word I am seeking is “disgust”

The littlest granddaughter was on to something when she showed up to the Easter Egg Hunt here at the homestead wearing her snow boots. She didn’t need them yesterday, but the ground is covered with snow this morning. I am shaking my head while looking out the window at the still-falling white stuff. I believe the word I am looking for is “disgust”. 

We had a great Easter. We went to my daughter’s for brunch. Later the group moved to our house for the aforementioned egg hunt. I cooked up a nice dinner of ham loaf, potato casserole and green bean casserole for me and the wife. I drug out the good china and we ate at the dining room table just because. 

The rest of the day I...and I...yeah, it was that kind of day. 

He Has Risen

Remember, it is not about the bunnies or colorful eggs.

Please don't bother tryin' to find her She's not there

I’m glad we have that global warming thing going as a fairly cold spring rumbles on. Temps are expected to hover in the fifties for a while yet. 

Did you see the video of Brandon trying to shake hands with no one after a speech in North Carolina? Some offered scorn and derision. I found it remarkably sad. He wandered the stage before finally finding the stairs. 

I had the day off yesterday. I wasn’t as productive as I should have been. I ended working a bit. I went out for Chinese food for lunch and pretty much did the couch potato thing the rest of the time. Oh wait, I did cut down some mulberry tree shoots and spray the outside for ants. I also put some weed killer on the emerging dandelions. Of course killing the weeds in my front yard would leave pretty much no green at all! My yard likely needs professional help. Lawn services were one of the first expenses cut during the great low period. 

I think we are meeting...hold on.

Sorry, I had to see what that racket outside was. Seems the neighbor is getting a new roof and the tear off of the old one has started. It is just after 7 AM on a Saturday!

I think we are meeting some friends for dinner then they are coming over for some Euchre this evening. Fun and laughs are on tap. 

I guess I’ll leave you with some music that echoes a Biden’s search for a handshake partner:

I’m counting on you to not rat me out

Look, no one likes a snitch. If that is your MO, leave now. I’m serious, if you ever volunteered to be a hall monitor, you ever told on Tommy for goofing off when the substitute teacher was there, if you ever ran to Mom to tell on your sibling, I do not want you to read this post. I don’t need a fink around here.

I had to get rid of the tattletales. I don’t need anybody running to the boss.

You see, I’m posting this while I am supposedly attending my online Monthly Sales Meeting. I’m online, I’m half-listening, but I’m also doing other stuff. Like typing this post. I could be doing other real work, but that takes my full attention. Blogging? Not so much.

Yes, I know, you can tell. You come over and do the blogging if you think you can do better. 

I returned from the Motor City late yesterday afternoon. I was ready to be home. I’ve slept in my own bed twice in the past thirteen days, counting last night. 

The good news is tomorrow is an official company holiday. I have the day off. The bad news is I’m probably going to have to work, at least a little bit to get some deadline projects finished. I also worked about four hours last Sunday to do stuff that slid while I was on vacation. So it goes. 

Have a great Thursday. Remember, loose lips sink ships. Mum’s the word. Snitches get stitches. No one likes a tattletale.

Bond, James Bond

 James Bond walks into a bar.

He looks around, and takes a seat neat to a very attractive women.

He gives her a quick glance, then causally looks at his watch for a moment.

The women notices this and asks, “Is your date running late?”

“No”, he replies, “Q has just given me this state-of-the-art watch. I was just testing it.”

The intrigued women says “A state-of-the-art watch? Whats so special about it?”

Bond explains “It uses alpha waves to talk to me telepathically”.

The lady says “Whats it telling you now?”

“Well, it says you are not wearing any panties.”

The women giggles and replies, “Well , it must be broken because I am wearing panties”

Bond smirks, taps his watch and says,”Bloody thing’s an hour fast”

Essential Information

No matter what you might suspect, I ain’t dead. I’m at a sales training in the Motor City. I passed the course and now am prepared to meet the world. 

I will spend some time in the office tomorrow, then I will brave the highways, dodging Prius drivers and their antics, as I motor my way homeward. 

It has been a good trip in that I have finally met my colleagues in person. I think I am working with a great bunch of guys. 

In other news, nada.  Have been busy, busy. I might catch up next week.

Hayduke’s Heritage

Sigh. I was going to throw up a typical Sunday light-hearted post. You know the routine - weather, what I did over the weekend, music video, perhaps a comment on a Holy Week, closing. Instead, I read a news article that leaves me mildly angry.

Adbusters, whoever they are, is urging leftists to go out and let the air out of the tires of any SUV they find. No, I won’t link because I do not want to encourage anyone to do this. Sure, they are urging the environmental terrorists to target wealthy neighborhoods, but rampaging commies think everyone is wealthy. The stated aim is to make owning an SUV inconvenient, so we wake up to the impending doom of climate change. 

Do you think vandals are going to take the time to let the air out or put a BB or gravel in the valve stem when an ice pick or knife slash is so much more effective? Make it really hurt. 

I propose we get rid of lead from the environment by putting it into the bodies of any jackanapes flattening tires. Are you committed enough to saving the planet to die for your cause? I won’t pull the trigger, but if this becomes a fad, someone somewhere* will get shot attempting it. Do these idiots recognize that it is the very neighborhoods they are targeting that have ubiquitous cameras recording everything outside their house? Do you think suburban judges, who likely have SUVs themselves, are going to accept the argument this act isn’t vandalism because nothing was permanently damaged? 

If this becomes a “thing” ** then I will personally assume anyone driving an electric car is responsible and act in kind. Let’s all make the tire stores and tow truck operators wealthy. 

Geez. What a world. When I was 18 I thought the Monkey Wrench Gang was funny. Now I have grown up and hate every character.  I think environmental terrorists are perhaps as evil as religious ones. 

* Texas, Florida, or Georgia is my guess

** the same people who find this challenge worthwhile are the same bunch who thought eating a Tide pods was a good idea not too long ago.

Drivin’ All Night, My Hands Wet on the Wheel

What a miserable drive. It took twenty hours to go right at a thousand miles. It took just under 15 hours total to get to Florida last Friday night/Saturday morning. Coming home yesterday, u-g-l-y. I don’t know why either. There wasn’t construction. Just heavy traffic driving like idiots. We would cruise along at 75 mph for five miles or so, then all three lanes would just slam on the brakes and we would crawl at 5 mph for five miles or so. Then, for no reason, everyone accelerated up to 75 again. All Day Long. It took five hours, counting lunch, to just clear Orlando to Georgia. We left at 11:00 am yesterday morning and pulled in the driveway at 7:15 am today. 

Since we didn’t plan on an all-nighter, we didn’t arrange our sleep shifts. I ended up driving most of the way, with a sleep break from Atlanta to just past Knoxville. 

Backstory: the daughter rented a house in Mickey Mouse Town and invited us to stay. We had a great time hanging with the grand girls and the kids. We swam, drank some beer and Pina Colatas. I smoked a couple of stogies on the front porch. Yes, we went to Evil Political Disney. The tickets were bought back in a February and I sure wasn’t willing to give up that kind of cash in a political protest. Besides, the girls have been looking forward to going for months. Two and seven year-olds don’t care about a Florida law or LGBQRSTUV protests. 

The weather was mostly great, warm and sunny with a rainy afternoon on Thursday and on Saturday when we arrived. We had a wonderful time. 

Now I get to leave tomorrow on a business trip. Back in the car! 

Finally

 

It is about time baseball started

London Calling

Inflation is at levels we haven’t seen since Carter micromanaged the White House tennis courts. It takes half a paycheck to fill up your car with gas. American citizens are struggling, and Biden is passing out free healthcare, education, tax refunds, and cell phones to illegals. WTH? My cell phone bill is expensive. Granted, that is on me and the features, products, and plan I chose. That is because I am paying for it. I guess I’m also paying for Jose and Juan and Naillely’s cell phone too. 

Look it up. You are paying too.

Bluey cracks me up

I’m late to the old blogeroo this morning because reasons. The Obama made an appearance at the White House yesterday. I almost felt the sea levels start to drop and peace break out throughout the globe. Almost.

The bigger news is I believe I have caught a cold. I’m probably sicker than anyone else ever who caught a cold ever. I’m just sayin’. I have a runny nose, watery eyes, sneezing, and coughing from the post nasal drip. I expect you will be lining up to deliver appropriately seasoned chicken noodle soup. Work out the schedule among yourselves, I’m too sick to take charge. I might add a postscript note I prefer homemade, but I’ll take canned if necessary. 

Say, if you are already cooking, you might throw in a grilled cheese, bacon, or a nicely grilled New York Strip. If you are bringing steak you can substitute a side salad and baked spud for the soup. Thanks.

elections have consequences. This time they were negative

I’m on my second cup of coffee. I just finished eating an apple danish. It is typical springtime weather. Blah, blah, blah. 

Biden is driving our country into the ground. Kamala sounds like a cartoon character every time she opens her mouth. Inflation is raging and the only answer this administration has is to either blame the Russians or recommend we all go out and buy a $50,000 car to save $80 bucks a month. Even if we all had the best of credit a car payment on a fifty grand car would be around three hundred bucks minimum to save eighty dollars? Even this history major can calculate that math doesn’t add up. But the good news is we don’t have the Orange Man tweeting mean stuff. 

I notice the liberals in my neighborhood who had the BLM and Biden/Harris signs in their front yards have scrapped the Biden stickers from their bumper. I wonder why? It cost me $80 bucks to fill up my car. Think that has anything to do with it?

I’m sorry

OK, I will pop up another post to move the springtime honey down the page. No need to bleach your eyes or reach for those knitting needles to do yourself Equis-style. 

The day started off a chilly just-above-freezing 34F this morning, but it is supposed to reach the mid-fifties this afternoon. I may throw some burgers on the grill. I may not. 

True confession, I’m a decent cook. I do all of the cooking around here. I can make about any of the comfort foods almost as as well as your mom, and  am always surprised to see I use most of the same techniques as many of the hosts on cooking shows. That said, I am not a great BBQ grill cook. I type that with trepidation, knowing my Man Card is at risk. 

It is strange I am so...mediocre...at grilling, since I learned to cook in the Boy Scouts over open fires and coals. By the time I was in my late teens I could cook nearly anything over a fire or in a cast iron Dutch oven. I learned while camping, Mom sure as heck wasn’t letting my touch her stove. 

That’s not entirely true, I cooked my own lunch often since she worked, if you count heating jarred tamales or putting TV dinners in the oven. The real kind, in foil trays. 

After we were married I discovered my wife couldn’t cook anything beyond pancakes or a French roast, so I naturally took on the task. I like cooking and am pretty competent at it. Except grilling. 

So it goes.

Have a great Sunday.

Springtime

 

You know it is spring when the girls start to show off their belly buttons 

Sorry, you cannot unsee it.

I got in the wayback machine and ended in a time warp

Here is a re-run of a post published in 2005. It is part of a story I started writing back in the early1990s. This dates from probably 1991 when I was working third shift.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Prologue 

The silence of the pre-dawn morning was broken only by the occasional car or truck passing on the snow-slick two-lane highway. A car slowed to a crawl as if closing in upon its prey. The rear end slid a little as the sedan skidded to a stop. The darkness was broken by the white flash of backup lights as the vehicle slowly backed up four dozen yards and turned into a narrow driveway. The sounds of a straining engine could be heard through the barely falling snow as the car lumbered through the mud and slush. The headlights bounced up and down and side to side in duplication of the rutted road. Snowflakes danced in the twin beams like chorus girls in the spotlight. Round and round they spun, climbing and falling to the ground in the wake of the slowly moving automobile.

The car coasted to a stop in front of a run-down farmhouse. The roof was partially caved in and the awning over the porch had long since been consumed as firewood. The glow of a cigarette could be vaguely seen through the frosted windows of the idling car. The engine cut out as the door opened. A short figure in a bulky overcoat climbed out of the dark vehicle. The cigarette arced a path through the darkness as it was flipped into the distance. The man looked to the east as the first rays of dawn began to spread their pink and orange fingers through the clouds of the night sky. It had stopped snowing. The man's breath made clouds around his head in the early morning cold. 

The man huddled next to the car until the sun began to peak over the horizon. He opened his trousers and relieved himself on the left rear tire before clearing his throat and spitting in the direction of the vanished cigarette. He slowly made his way toward the house.

The man mounted the sagging steps, hesitated and ducked through the doorless entryway. The sun’s weak rays provided just enough light for the figure to navigate the littered hallway. He made his way to what was the front living room. The television set and VCR were strangely incongruous in the surroundings.

He started the gas-powered generator. Its sound filled the early morning air. The man involuntarily winced at the noise. He lit another Camel and turned on the TV. Static changed to a blue screen as the VCR powered on. The tape was over after three minutes. He poured steaming coffee from a large green Thermos and went to the corner to relieve himself yet again. He sat down and watched the tape twice more.

His assignment was clear. The Vice President of the United States was to attend the “Greatest Spectacle in Sports” – the Indianapolis 500 in just four and one half months hence. In May the Indianapolis 500 gets top attention in the papers: not this year. This year the Vice President would be assassinated while attending the race. The man in the bulky overcoat watched the film yet again. The man would go to Indianapolis tomorrow and begin laying the plan to kill the heir apparent to the Presidency.

He picked up all of his cigarette butts and placed them in his pocket. From his briefcase, he took a wad of plastic-like gel. He first stuck the plastique to the side of the generator and then added a detonator. He was seven miles away on the interstate when the farmhouse disintegrated into a ball of flame.

I know all of the words to The Ventures’ Pipeline

There is a skiff of snow on the lawn this morning. That is an official measurement.  I thought it was supposed to be spring? Some April Fool joke from Ma Nature.

I am dumbstruck by the reaction to Florida’s new law saying you can’t teach SexEd to seven year olds. I cannot believe there are people angry, weepy, and outright hysterical that they cannot do this. I’m even more surprised to see Disney taking a political stand. Why do companies go out of their way to antagonize a significant portion of their customers? I avoid talking politics and religion at all costs with my customers. 

One more week until real baseball. I am finding it hard to get excited about the Cubs decent back into mediocrity. At least the team did not change their name to something idiotic (I’m looking at you Cleveland and you NFL Washington). 

I got a quote to remove the giant chunk of tree from my backyard. It is only $50-$70 more than what I estimated it would cost to do it myself. Since I won’t have to do the work it seems like the way to go. He just won’t be able to do it for a week or two.  

No April Fool jokes from me today. Go forth and prosper.

Sing along:

Time Passages

It was a windy rainy night. A stiff breeze that would have some sort of maritime nomenclature, were I to live closer to the sea, continues to blow. I am sure lots of whip-like willow branches are down in my backyard. I won’t notice since about thirty feet of willow tree is already filling that space. Some of the nearby neighborhoods are without power this morning. I’m fully electric at the moment. 

I have spent a good part of the evenings this week with my nose stuck in a book. I knocked off an old Robert Ludlum thriller I last read back in the 1980’s and then I read a Louis L’Amour western in the course of two evenings. I am now embarking upon Barbara Tuchman’s The Proud Tower, a Pulitzer winning history that covers one of my favorite time periods, the Guilded Age and the years leading up to the Great War. While I say it is one of my favorite  periods, I will readily admit I have not studied those times as in-depth as some other epochs. 

I have often said that if I could go back in time it would be to the turn of the Twentieth Century. I wouldn’t choose the Civil War, what if I found myself with the Tenth Indiana at Chickamauga? Nor would I choose the Napoleonic period. Any earlier time period and I would face living standards and hardship I am unprepared to hazard. 

The period 100 to 125 years ago would be familiar enough I could perhaps navigate, provided I didn’t immediately catch diseases my body is unprepared for. Sanitation and health standards were a far cry from what we have become accustomed to. Just imagine the piles of horse crap, human waste, and garbage that littered the streets of even the most wealthy neighborhoods. Ponder the smog of thousands of cooking fires, the danger of gas lighting, and the outright body odor of the gen pop. 

It is better I go back in time through words and history. It’s a lot safer that way.

Wimpy Dads

Two kids are arguing over whose father is the wimpiest.

The first one says," My dad is so scared that when lightning
strikes, he slides underneath our bed."

The second kid says, "That's nothing. My dad is so scared that
when my mother works nightshift, he sleeps with the woman next door."

You Tell Me

We went to Dairy Queen for lunch today, the wife, the littlest granddaughter, and I. They were playing oldies on the overhead speaker. Baby, I Love Your Way by Peter Frampton came on. The wife mentioned she hadn’t heard that for a long time. It muttered that I hate Peter Frampton. She asked why. I told her.

Always full of sympathy, she told me I was a dork and it had nothing to do with Peter Frampton. 

Here is the story, as related in these pages back in 2015. You be the judge:

Why I hate Peter Frampton

It must have been my freshman year in high school. Frampton's live album was all the rage that bicentennial year. Perhaps it was the winter of '77. I was a scrawny short nothing: the quiet kid in the back row of the advanced English class. The weird kid who turned red whenever a girl spoke to him.

Miss Parker was teaching about poetry. She told how a poem came in many forms from traditional, to the plays of Shakespeare, to a song. Our assignment was to find a poem that we liked, that spoke to us as a person. We would read our poems to the class.

I had been reading a significant number of books about the Revolutionary War, it was,as I mentioned, the bicentennial. Somewhere I had acquired a thin tome of writings related to the Revolution: Patrick Henry's Liberty or Death speech, essays by Paine, and Emerson's Concord Hymn. Perfect. That was a poem!

The day came. The first girl stood up to read her poem. She read lyrics from a Peter Frampton song. I sat smugly, I had a real poem. Everyone would see how smart I was, finding a poem that marked our country's revolutionary struggles.

The next girl also read lyrics from Frampton Comes Alive. So did the next. A guy read lyrics from another song. My head began to pound. Another girl read song lyrics. Another student read more Frampton. Panic starts slow and builds. At fourteen embarrassment is the worst possible outcome to any situation.  More lyrics. I hated that fucking Frampton guy.

Just a few students left. Look down, Joe. Maybe Miss Parker will forget about you. No. My turn. My brain screams "Turn it to your advantage". I take a superior tone and tell the class I have a "real" poem of historical significance. I read my Emerson. Blank faces stare at me, even Miss Parker has that WTF? look on her face. Oh god, I'm the weird kid. Loser, geek, nerd, spaz, "didja hear about Joe Hoosierboy?", dork.

 The final two or three students read their poems to the class. All read song lyrics, my memory says they read Frampton, but I was in catatonic embarrassment shock. Woe. I was very short. Very skinny. Couldn't play basketball. Read some kind of weird-ass poem in freshman English class. It was going to be a long four years of high school, but I was sure of two things -- I would never ever knowingly take a poetry class in the future and  Peter Frampton was an asshole..

Problem Solver-in-Chief

Cappy tells me I gotta quit using logical on the leftists. Since I just want to help my fellow man, I have some more thoughts to easing the strife of contemporary society.

We are told that sex and gender is a matter of feelings. If you think you are a man or woman and identify as such, then it is incumbent upon society to accept you as you are. 

We are told that one of the greatest problems in America is the historical and endemic racism that permeates every aspect of our culture. 

If you feel that way, why not just maintain you have different levels of melanin than is generally perceived by the public? Identify as a middle-aged white guy. Then you will be accorded all of the privileges you maintain we enjoy.

Problem solved.

You are welcome.

Post 7346, or 84 days of bird crap

The wind chill is a un-springlike 15F this morning. That is cold any time of the year. I should have braved the weather to snap a picture of the neighbor’s yellow daffodils poking their blooms through the snow yesterday. I didn’t. So it goes. 

As is often the case I peruse the interwebz before I compose a post. I read not only your blog, but other interesting and not so interesting stuff. This morning I read about a woman who let a baby bird nest in her hair for a couple of months. I’m not going to link. If you find that fascinating you can search it out on your own. 

Sometime last week I passed my...carry the one...multiply by pi...divide by the square of the hypotenuse...apply the mathematical associative property...my 53rd no, let me do the math again, make that my 17th blogversary. This makes post seven thousand, three hundred and forty six. That is a lot of words. That is a lot of fluff and crap and lectures and politics and old war stories and sheer nonsense. If you do the math, that comes out to almost every day. 

I have slaved over a hot keyboard to bring you whatever this is. Why? I don’t know. The bigger question is why seventeen of you show up to read it? What’s wrong with you? You could be reading about women who let birds nest in their hair, or why a Congresswomen thinks it is racist to arrest people for not paying subway fares, or how Sleepy Joe just threatened to remove the leader of one of the most powerful nations on Earth. Instead, or also, you bother to glance at whatever I hack together; typos, poor syntax, faulty logic, Neanderthalic politics, unedited prose and all. 

Thank you. 

And the title of this post is a lie. I’ve written (not necessarily published*) 7347 posts. Tomorrow’s effort is already written. While it may be canned, it is of uncompromising genius. A Monday post, when as many as 20 readers stop by. I want to reach the masses, not just my loyal weekend crowd. 

Thank you for your loyalty, your patronage, your bothering to read my words.

* just think, there are posts I thought were too crappy to publish. Scary, ain’t it? 

PS, to give you an idea how these posts are composed, purely extemporaneously, I intended to write about baseball when I started typing this morning. See how easily you get me off subject? 

PSS Yes, she let a bird nest in her hair for eighty-some days. I can’t get past it. 84 days: some dude went around the world in less time. Sheesh.

I Don’t Know No Cool Lines

I look out the window to a winter wonderland. Yes, we have an inch or two of snow covering the grass. It is disappointing. After we were in the seventies on Monday, we have...this. Don’t get me wrong, it is beautiful outside. The snow is wet so it stuck along branches and tree limbs. But it is snow. 

Freddie, DO NOT READ FURTHER.

I woke with this song stuck in my head this morning:

This is from Melencamp’s ( then Johnny Cougar) 1980 album Nothin’ Matters and What if it Did?. 

Side note, in 1980 I dressed pretty much like John in this video. I was grunge before it was cool. I didn’t have the nasty greasy hair though.  My every day fashion sense hasn’t improved. 

There you have it. Go forth and enjoy your Saturday.

And so is Lola

Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson says she cannot define what a woman is. Ponder that. In all of her years of education we are expected to believe she never once had a class in biology? Even a redneck state like Indiana requires one to take biology to gradjeate high school.

If she doesn’t know what a woman is, how can she adjudicate sex discrimination cases? 

What is it with Democrats and defining the word “is”? 

Maybe the judge should consult the works of Ray Davies and The Kinks.

That passage of time can’t go quick enough

The servers are still down at work. I suspect it was a big hack/ attack. Giant spreadsheets detailing all my stuff seemed like a good idea. I’m not sure now when I can only access them via my phone. Not ideal working conditions.

The rain has finally abated a little. I thought for a while yesterday I was supposed to use the big piece of tree filling my backyard as a start on an ark. I don’t think willow is a desired wood for ship building. I cleaned my gutters during a brief lull in yesterday’s downpours. More rain is expected later tonight and into the morrow. I hope the standing water can soak in the saturated ground by then. 

The wife is off babysitting at the grandgirls’ house. The oldest is sick. I think I will either have grilled cheese or a peanut butter and jelly sammich for lunch. Both sound good. Decisions, decisions. 

If you think I ramble, try listening to this train wreck:

She is just a bad stumble and Biden head bump away from grasping the nuclear football. She proves you don’t have to be smart to sleep your way into politics. I’m not sure she can spell potato either. 

Does anyone know the Finnish word for “Horrible”.

The servers are down at work, so I’ve got some time this morning to write a great, insightful, entertaining post. Too bad I have nothing. Ain’t that the way of life?

“Wait a minute, Joe”, you say, “That never stopped you before. You ramble on nonsense all of the time”. 

Perhaps. But today my brain is frozen. 

I could tell you I’m not overly fond of the French Roast coffee I bought. I’ll drink it, but I don’t love it. Why would you even care? It is the cheap Amazon brand K-cup and part of a variety pack. The dark roast and medium roast are pretty good. The breakfast blend is comparable to the WalMart breakfast blend, a very good cup of coffee, believe it or not (the one in the yellow box). Note: when I say “variety pack” I mean an assortment of roasts, not that flavored crap. Things like pumpkin, cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, hazelnut, sugar, or cream do not belong coffee. If you think otherwise, you are just wrong and probably kick puppies and sneer at babies when no one is looking. 

With last week’s warm spell and this week’s rain, the tulips and day lilies are pushing up through the dirt and mulch, a welcome green amid the browns of winter. The grass is even starting to show some signs of life. The front sidewalk and drive are covered in the red bud casings from the maple tree in the front yard. Soon the seed helicopters will start falling and the wife will start her annual push to cut down that tree because she hates the seed pods with unreasonable spite. It’s not like she has ever had to clean them up or mow over them. 

She did have to learn how to operate the mower last year when I was off my foot most of the summer, but not in the spring. Technically, I’m right. 

No surprise there. 

There you have it, a real post. We have done it yet again. Our blog writer/blog reader social contract is fulfilled for today. Together we conquer writers block, providing you are still reading. If not, then piss on you. Of course, you won’t know I said that if you quit reading already, now would you?

Go forth and drink black coffee, like nature intended.

Come on Over

...and bring your chain saw. 

A big limb just fell from the giant willow in back. Too bad it wasn’t one of the dead ones. Getting rid of this is going to be expensive. No one wants to carry it through the gate and around the house. I guess I’ll try to saw it up. How to get rid of the debris is the issue. 

The whole tree probably needs to come down, but it will change the whole backyard. The tree is probably 50 feet tall. The trunk is six foot or more in circumference. I suspect it will cost thousands to bring it down based on location. It sits right between three houses, enclosed by my privacy fence.

Can’t do anything until it quits raining.

Manther Sighting

A small tourist hotel was all abuzz about an afternoon wedding where the groom was 95 and the bride was 23.

The groom looked pretty feeble and the feeling was that the wedding night might kill him because his bride was a healthy, vivacious young woman.

But lo and behold, the next morning, the bride came down the main staircase slowly, step by step, hanging onto the bannister for dear life.

She finally managed to get to the counter of the little shop in the hotel.

The clerk looked really concerned,

“Whatever happened to you, honey? You look like you’ve been wrestling an alligator!

The bride groaned, hung on to the counter and managed to speak,

“Ohhh my God! He told me he’d been saving up for 75 years and I thought he meant his money!!”

Surprisingly Good

Saturday, the wife slept late then she messed around doing whatever she does. Finally around 1:30 I asked if she wanted lunch. She replied she wasn’t too hungry and since we were going out for dinner for my birthday, she was going to skip lunch. I wasn’t really hungry anyway, so I didn’t complain. 

Just before five she told me I had to put on something besides a T-shirt and jeans. She had made a reservation. I whined, told her we couldn’t afford an expensive dinner. I lost, she said it was my sixtieth and that was cause for celebration. 

We went to Harry and Izzy’s up on the north side. There I was surprised to find my daughter and son-in-law, my oldest granddaughter, and our best friends waiting! It was a great surprise. We had a great dinner. 

After dinner, the boys had a further surprise for me . We piled in my buddy’s truck and drove a block down the street to Blend cigar bar. There, I was treated to a very nice stogie and a beer as a nightcap. 

My wife in celebration of the evening gave me this hilarious statue of a monkey smoking a cigar:

It is about 6” tall and completely silly. But it will sit nice in my office. I probably won’t make it the background for the many Teams meetings we have at work though. 

In all it was one of the best birthdays I have had, even though it was technically a day early. 

Stuff I Did Not Know

My mom was sick and dying. I went to stay with my dad through the rough time. He told me a tale I never knew.

He was at work. Mom had driven him that day because she had errands to run. We only had one car. He got a call at work, mom was in the hospital. Pregnant with me, she started hemorrhaging. She called an ambulance and my grandmother to watch my older brother. Grandpa called dad at work. Remember, this was the days before cell phones. 

Grandpa came to get dad and take him to the hospital. Dad remembered the worry, sitting in the waiting room, no information to be had. It was March. I wasn’t due until May. 

Finally the doctor came out. He said the situation was dire. They had to deliver caesarean. Dad was forced to make a choice right then. “If it comes to it, and it probably will”, said the doctor, “who do you want us to save, your wife or the baby?”. 

Dad looked at me. “I’m sorry, Joe, I immediately said your mom”. 

I don’t know the details of the next minutes. I was born, put in an incubator for a spell and was good. I have a tiny scar on my left shoulder blade from a slip of the scalpel. 

Mom always said in later years that scar could have been worth a fortune had the ambulance chasing lawyers been a thing in 1962. Instead they were just happy to have me.

I never knew just how truly she meant that until a few years ago. 

Here we are today. I’m still here. Just think, sixty years ago today, I might not have been. 

LX

Number one song in March 1962

This tune appeared in the Animal House soundtrack and for years I thought the lyric was “dancing with the chicken slacks”. I never knew what chicken slacks were. Finally, one day it dawned on me, he was dancing with the chick in slacks. Aha! 

Despite rampant inflation we haven’t seen for forty years, despite record prices at the pump, despite a pandemic, and the possibility of yet another European war, Congress found time to tackle the most egregious subject facing Americans today — hair discrimination. 

Words fail me. 

If you discriminate against a black person because of their hair aren’t you automatically discriminating against a black person? That’s already illegal. 

What next, Federal protection for wearing your pants below your butt?

Defcon Whatever

 After seeing the President in a couple of different press conferences and speeches this week I am wondering, does anybody feel comfortable that guy has his hands on the nuclear codes?

Short term memories of early Wednesday morning

The full moon dances with high wispy clouds across the sky, giving soft illumination to the room. Open blinds make muted striped shadows slanting across the floor. A shape huddles in the drive. It moves smoothly across my line of sight, left to right. Not a dog. Too big for a bunny. It looks like a bobcat, more likely the elusive fox that stalks the neighborhood at night. The animal disappears into the darkness beside the porch.

I look at the faint numbers on the illuminated clock on the cable box. It is still some hours until daybreak.  It’s what Sinatra called the wee hours - that time between the living night and dawn. I stare in silence at the night sky. Light pollution blocks the stars; life in the suburbs.  Time rolls on. I doze in the chair. The moon moves lower towards the horizon, now doing an Astair solo in the darkness of the western sky.

A Serious Question

Can anyone explain why a colorblind society, one where the tint of ones‘s skin is irrelevant, is a bad thing? 

Can anyone explain why the “melting pot” ideal of America, where the many cultures have blended together to create a distinctly American culture, is also bad? 

It seems to me that such Balkanization has resulted in millions of deaths, civil war, and hate throughout history. Why would the liberal elite encourage such divisiveness? 

no title for this one

A man walks into his bedroom and sees his wife packing a suitcase.

He asks, “What are you doing?”

She answers, “I’m moving to Las Vegas. I heard prostitutes there get paid $400 for doing what I do for you for free.”

Later that night, on her way out, the wife walks into the bedroom and sees her husband packing his suitcase.

When she asks him where he’s going, he replies,

“I’m coming too I want to see how you live on $800 a year”.

Get a haircut

Living in the past today. Here is your humble author, taken sometime when I was ten or maybe twelve. Maybe younger. I always looked young for my age. Until recently. Now I look old.

This would be the early to mid-seventies. 

It’s not good, I zoomed in to cut out Mom and Dad and my brother, but you get the sense of boy-me. I think it was for the church directory, that’s why I’m wearing that spiffy clip-on bow tie.

Yeah, I never smile for pictures. It steals your soul. Why would  I be happy about that?

i want my hour back

I’m not going into my semiannual rant against changing the clocks. It is stupid, lacks purpose, and is an example of the waste perpetuated by government bureaucracies. Nothing more needs to be said. 

More light snow flurries are expected this morning before finally warming up to the fifties this afternoon. Of course with the time change it will be late this afternoon....

As my wife often tells me, “Let it go, Joe”. 

Tiny little Wabash College is heading off to the NCAA Final Four in basketball. You may have heard the school referenced in the classic sports movie Hoosiers. Maybe not. Anyway, they are back vying for a national championship. They last won it all 40 years ago, in 1982. When that occurred, there was literally dancing in the streets at the college. I know. I was there. Instead of tuning to see the big schools and high priced athletic budgets, root for all those small schools that never had a chance to get to the big dance. NCAA Division 3 really is made of student athletes. Cheer for the Little Giants Friday. A national championship this year would be a nice bookend. 

Not really in the mood for blogging today

 

The wife and I saw ole’ Hank back in the Eighties. It was at the old Holiday Star Theater in Merrillville, IN, up in Da Region. Some Internet research says he was there in March of 1986. It is possible that is the concert we attended. I might have related the tale, I’m getting old and repeat myself. No really, I repeat myself.. 

Hank wasn’t the best show I’ve seen. He was pretty wasted. He played only portions of his hits, getting half through a song then moving on when he stumbled over the lyrics. Towards the end they brought him a chair. He had a hard time sitting upright. 

While not from that show, this was more like what I saw:

Russia, Russia, Russia

The warm weather over the weekend kicked Ma Nature into action. The maple out front is showing emerging leaves and the big willow is starting to look a little green on the long tendrils hanging towards the ground.

MS Nature must be ticked about that margarine, though. Snow and temps in the teens are slated for Friday and Saturday. Insert sigh. Speaking of cold weather, remember that coat that was lost in shipment I posted about a few weeks ago? Well I followed Big River in Brazil’s instructions and asked for a refund. The money showed back in my account a couple of days later. The order was marked “returned” and “delivery cancelled”. The coat arrived Monday. I tried to return it, but according to the company it has already been returned.

Speaking of messed up systems, does Biden really expect Americans to blame the Russians for the high cost of gas? I paid $4.25 last night. Before Biden took office we were net exporters of oil. It is Biden’s energy policies that had already driven pump prices north of $3.50 before the invasion of Ukraine. The last time gas breached $4? Under Biden’s mentor Obama. It is Democrat policies that drive up the cost of gas, not Russ descendants killing each other.

Obama blamed everything on Bush. Since 2016 the Democrats have blamed everything on the Russians. Maybe they should take responsibility for their bad policies? 

Now go cough up $50 grand to buy a new electric car. You can use the extra money you are saving on groceries. Oh wait…

I is smart

 My granddaughter did a report in school:

So, Ukraine is a country in Europe. It exists next to another country called Russia, Russia is a bigger country. Russia is a powerful country. Russia decided to invade a smaller country called Ukraine. So, basically, that’s wrong, and it goes against everything that we stand for.

Not bad for a first grader, you think?

Except those brilliant words aren’t from a first grader, rather from the Vice President of the United States. 

That quote is so achingly stupid, it is worse than any mocking skits SNL ever did on Sarah Palin.  Dan Quayle is reading that and saying “Boy, is she dumb”. 

A close second most idiotic things I have read is the Secretary of Transportation telling us we can beat the high cost of gas if we just go out and buy a new electric car. Translated: “Let them eat cake”.  

Does the administration understand that we can’t all just go buy a new car? That because they haven’t fixed the supply chain issues there are no new cars? That we don’t have the infrastructure to charge hundred of thousands of electric vehicles, even if we could find/afford them? That some people have driving needs that do not work for the limited range of electric vehicles? That if Biden and the Democrats would not have put policies in place we would still have plenty of cheap gas with enough left over to export — you know like we had a year ago?

Lefties are always telling me how dumb people in red states are. If this administration is an example of the Democrat brain trust, then I guess I’m the smartest guy in Mensa. 

Choices

So last April I started having significant pain in my right foot. This wasn’t the first time I have experienced this. It has struck several times over the years. This time it didn’t pass after a week or two. 

In early May I broke down and complained to the doctor. He sent me for X-Rays and after the film showed a clear break I was sent promptly to an orthopedic specialist. I had what is known as a Jones Fracture.  The root cause was severely high arches. I did the walking boot thing, finally I had surgery in July. A screw was placed in my foot drawing the break together. I spent 12 weeks total in a boot including 4 weeks off the foot completely; getting around on crutches and a scooter.

That’s the recap. 

I returned to the Ortho Surgeon yesterday. My foot remains broken. It will not heal. It is not going to heal. It is not going to get worse. 

I can live with the pain discomfort or I can have another surgery. The next surgery will involve a bone graft and at least six weeks or more recovery — off the foot completely. Back on the crutches and scooter. A complete reconstruction of my foot may be necessary. If so, the healing will be even longer. 

I’m going to have to live with it for a while.  Taking a long time off without the ability to see customers on a new job is not a great option.  Maybe I’ll do it in the fall. None of the choices are good. 

Man of the House

 The husband had just finished reading a new book entitled, “You Can Be THE Man Of Your House.” He stormed to his wife in the kitchen and announced, “From now on, you need to know that I am the man of this house and my word is Law You will prepare me a gourmet meal tonight, and when I’m finished eating my meal, you will serve me a sumptuous dessert.

After dinner, you are going to go upstairs with me and we will have the kind of sex that I want. Afterwards, you are going to draw me a bath so I can relax. You will wash my back and towel me dry and bring me my robe. Then, you will massage my feet and hands. Then tomorrow, guess who’s going to dress me and comb my hair?”

The wife replied, “The damn funeral director would be my first guess.”

The dog ate my blog post

The wife and I started binging on the latest season of Ozark last night. We got through three episodes before I called it quits and shuffled off to bed a little after one ayem. 

Shortly before three the phone squawked and outside the tornado sirens wound to life. The thunderstorm watch in effect when I climbed into bed had turned into a full on tornado warning. 

I decided staying upstairs in a tornado might not be wise, so I grabbed my phone and went downstairs. The wife was still up watching HGTV like many middle aged, middle class white women do (nothing racist there, just the TV demographics). The broadcast was interrupted by the warnings. We flipped over to a local channel and the radar was a mass of reds, oranges, and yellows boring down on suburbia in a long line stretching northeast to southwest; the normal tornado flow. 

I headed to the front windows fronting squarely southwest. I opened the door. The air was calm, the night warm. Lightning lit the distant sky behind the houses across the cul-de-sac. As I stood there I could hear a low moan as the wind started to rise in front of the advancing storm. I pushed the door closed.

I could see my neighbor across the street come out on his porch and look around the corner at the coming tempest. As the rain arrived in wind-driven sheets he went back in, likely to his basement, a luxury I do not have. 

The winds were high. The rain was heavy. The gutters overflowed. Thunder boomed. There were no dangerous twisters to throw my house upon unsuspecting witches. As is often the case with volatile storms, this one was in a hurry to get somewhere else. After fifteen or twenty minutes it had resolved into hard rain with windy gusts. 

I went back to bed with the sound of rain lashing the windows. 

This morning a weak sun lights up soaked pavement and saturated dead grass in what will be my weedy lawn in six weeks or so. The wind is still gusting.

I slept later than usual this morning. Late to bed, very early to premature rise, back to bed, doesn’t make a man wise, just tired.

And that is why I’m turning in my blog post late this morning.

The sky is clearing and the night has cried enough

A new day dawns bright and clear and I am alive to see it. If that isn’t enough to offer thanks to the Lord, I don’t know what is. 

Poor grammar aside, it is going to be a nice early spring day here in central Hoosierland. Temperatures are forecasted for the very low seventies, albeit a bit windy. I can live with that. My excitement that spring has sprung is tempered by the long range forecast that shows a high of thirty degrees next Saturday. There was a robin in the maple tree outside my office yesterday. Spring is coming.

I woke up with a political rant in my mind, but you know what, I’m not going there. I’ll leave my thoughts to two sentences. Not everything you disagree with is fascism or nazism. Learn some definitions. 

My music is streaming on the evil Amazon Overlord listening device. So far, while composing this post we have heard the Stones, CSN, Jimmie Buffet, and Simon and Garfunkel. That fifteen minutes or so marks this as a long time to compose for the poor quality of the writing. You get what you pay for. No refunds, no exchanges, all sales are final. No warranty is expressed or implied. 

Have a great Saturday. I intend to.

Back here at home there’s nothing to do

I have a small bowl of Raisin Bran under my belt - literally - this morning. I’m on my second cup of coffee. The day is sunny, but chilly. The temperature is right at freezing as I hunt and peck one-fingered on the iPad keyboard. I’m optimistic about the weather. We should hit the fifties today and might even creep into the low seventies Saturday. That is cigar weather! I may drag out the smoker and make some BBQ. 

I am staring at my computer screen. I am having a hard time getting motivated this morning. I have to answer why Big Customer sales are below forecast through the first two months. My gut response is “Hey, I just started in January” and “I didn’t make the forecast you are holding me accountable for”. But stuff doesn’t work that way. I’m getting big boy pay for big boy responsibilities. Mostly I’m looking for answers that don’t sound like excuses. 

Wasting time here doesn’t get my work done. 

A little Friday music to reflect my mood:

I’ve told the story here before about seeing the Go Go’s live back in the early eighties. You can look it up if you want. 

Or you can just have a great Friday.

Animals

 A teacher asked her class, what do you want out of life?" A little girl in the back row raised her hand and said, "All I want out of life is four little animals."

The teacher asked, "Really and what four little animals would that be, sugar?"

The little girl said, "A mink on my back, a jaguar in the garage, a tiger in the bed, and of course, I'll need a jackass to pay for all of it."

The teacher fainted.

In or out of the club?

The root cause of the Civil War was slavery. There is no serious argument about that. One of the key questions arising from the issue of slavery was State’s Rights and if a State had a right to succeed. 

I don’t want to get into the idea of the US as a union of Sovereign States right now. It is only marginally germane. This is a blog, not a monograph or book. What I want to discuss is faulty logic.

Wake up! Yes, I know history bores you.

After the Great Rebellion there was discussion as to if the recalcitrant States ever left the Union. We touched on this in the recent Benjamin Wade re-run. Lincoln and his faction argued they never left, they were just in rebellion. Others, like Wade, argued the States had to be readmitted. 

Lincoln’s unfortunate play date and Johnston’s impeachment put the radicals in charge. The Republicans were the Democrat Squad of their time. They let no obstruction stand in their way even hypocrisy of monumental proportions.

The Constitution says 3/4 of the States must ratify an amendment to make it part of the Constitution. There were enough votes for the Fourteenth Amendment among the Northern States. It wouldn’t pass if the former Confederate States were part of the country.

Wade insisted the Southern States ratify the Amendment before the could be re-admitted. 

How could they ratify a law if they are not part of the country? 

When it came to putting the Army in charge of Civil Government, the former Confederate states were not full fledged members of the union. If it comes to passing Amendments, then it was hey brother!

Too bad, because as written the Fourteenth Amendment has done more to weaken the Ninth and a Tenth Amendments and made the Federal Government the strong force the founders never intended. That Amendment has been perverted to give rights  even its authors never intended. To keep southern States from finding creative ways to deny former slaves their rights, it was written so broad as to cover everything. 

What is sad, is civil rights were abridged throughout the South anyway.

I hated studying Reconstruction when I was in school (including college). Now, like the Middle Ages (another subject I had no interest in) I am starting to find it fascinating.

Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with more of this stuff.

Wake up! I’m done now.

Darkness on the Edge of Town

I read an article this morning in USAToday claiming more Americans than ever are afraid of the dark. I’m not going to link because I’m lazy. 

If you are one of those people then I’m sorry. I’m terrified of snakes. We all have our fears. 

What I’m skeptical is the claim that the reason more people are afraid of the dark is because of the Wuhan Flu pandemic. COVID, is there anything it can’t do? It is the catch-all and blame sponge for everything. Government overreach? COVID. Rationale to steal trucker’s bank accounts? COVID.  High gas prices, inflation, Brandon’s memory lapses? COVID. Some have even claimed the virus is racist. But then what isn’t these days? 

I went to the bank yesterday. I was in the drive-through because you cannot go in since Bat Flu. The nice teller lady came on the camera. She was wearing a mask. I bet she agrees, that corporate policy is dumb. I can’t infect her through electronic medium, but there you have it. 

Unless she is one of those people who drive around masked up in her car, even when she is alone. If so, I guess she totes a flashlight around after dark too.