soon

 

Pitchers and catchers report this week.  We are still six weeks from meaningful games, but Baseball season is coming.

maybe later

Bippity bopity boo, I have no post for you.

Change of Pace

 

January 2024

Instead of nonsensical rambling, how about a picture of a January sunrise from my backdoor?

What I really need is a quality ghostwriter

Sinatra is playing softly in the background as I type one-fingered on the iPad. Yesterday was gorgeous. It was sunny and warm, almost spring-like. Today, still warm, but cloudy. 

Look, I get it. I agree. Why in the world would you care about my weather? Unless you live here in Mudsock, the weather report is meaningless drivel, a filler, a lazy start. “How’s the weather?” is not even a good icebreaker in real conversation, why would I constantly fall on that old trope to start nearly every post for nineteen years? 

I wish I could promise to stop leading with meaningless weather reports. It probably won’t change. 

Look at that, talking about talking about the weather filled up another worthless post. We all win! 

Time for musical roulette. Checking my music library on shuffle, this is the next tune. Wow! This is a departure from the usual fare. How can you not dig this old tune? I am pretty sure I saw this on Hee Haw. I must have.

You might not have heard, there hasn’t been much news about it, there is a football game tomorrow. 

Sadly, reading this blog is very much like having a conversation with me. Except I have a south-of-seventy nasal midwestern twang and a slight lateral S lisp I cover pretty well. I don’t have a voice for radio nor a face for television. I guess I’m perfectly suited for anonymous blogging. 

fighting against fame and fortune

It is finally Friday and it looks to be a good one, weather-wise. I can see blue skies and a scary fireball-like thing in the sky I vaguely remember seeing sometime late last year. It is supposed to get into the 60s later. Maybe I’ll play hooky and try to have a cigar this afternoon. Unless work interferes. These things happen. 

I was sitting here thinking. If laziness  ever becomes an Olympic sport I will try for fourth place. I don’t want to have to climb up on that winners podium. 

Yeah, I stole that. You can too. 

I got my picture for my passport renewal the other day. The youngest granddaughter looked at it and promptly said “You look old.” Thanks kid. 

I may look old, but at least no prosecutor has told me I’m too old and senile to prosecute. That proclamation may be worse for Biden politically than a criminal charge. Biden did not help himself in his angry rambling televised rebuttal. He mixed up Mexico and Egypt. 

I suppose both countries have pyramids, so it might be understandable. 

No, not really. 

How about some Friday music?

Hah! Not today.

Dear Neighbor(s)

It is February 8th. It is time to unplug your Christmas lights. It’s cold, so you don’t have to take them down, but you can unplug those lights that are half burnt out. You can let the air out of the blow up Santa. 

You can use the lights again next year. There is no requirement to leave them on until they burn out. 

It’s okay. 

On the road again

I’m up early this morning. I have to hit the road in a bit. That was a regular phrase in past days around here. Now, not so much. Where I used to travel several days a week, now it is more like several days a year. Today's trip will be a quick jaunt to Chicago and back. The term “quick” is relative anytime you have to deal with Chicagoland traffic. This time I’m heading right downtown to the loop, so I will also have to deal with parking. Even worse, once I arrive I will have to deal with government officials to get an emergency passport renewal. I pray for patience. 

I don’t mind traveling, but I cannot say I miss it. I’ve been all over the world and the US, but at some point it is another hotel room on the industrial side of town. It is another fast food lunch or dinner by myself in a nondescript chain restaurant. 

I really do not miss flying. If I never stepped foot in an airport again I would be content. I’ve flown in the neighborhood of one thousand flights. That is fewer than some road warriors, more than most people. I’ve spent more hours in the Charlotte, Philadelphia, and Portland airports than you can imagine. Let’s not even discuss the abominations that are O’Hare or the New York area airports. Alas, I’ll be flying again at the end of the month. So it goes.

Lest you think this is a big complaint fest, I have loved my life on the road. I like driving in the car by myself as the asphalt sings under my tires, watching the corn and bean fields pass through my windshield. The small towns and highways are the true heart of America. The interstate gets me where I need to be quickly. It gets me through the cities with the least hassle. It is the lonely old US Highways and state routes that call me. That, I miss. 

But I really like being home for supper with my wife every night. 

I expect you to support me

 

We all get hosed again, but not Ukraine

The Senate has rolled out their joke of a Border Bill. The entire first part of the bill has nothing to do with protecting the border, it is about giving more money to Ukraine, which tells us all the true priority. It is essential to protect Ukraine’s border. Ours, not so much. 

This bill still allows 1500 5,000 illegals  to enter a day. Every day. If they are a “family” then they don’t count to the numbers. Then the border can only be closed  under this emergency act so many days a year, starting at 200+ and declining down to 180 days total in three years, when the entire bill sunsets. You are still looking at 300,000 beaucoup illegals entering every month. That’s nearly  THREE MILLION  TWO MILLION ILLEGALS a year for my fellow math challenged history majors.

The only court that can litigate the bill is the ultra-liberal and open borders favorable DC Federal Court. 

Finally, the President can override the provisions at will. Yes, he can just say, “nope” and the border remains open. 

In other words, this so-called border enhancement bill is worthless. It does nothing but send money to Ukraine. 

The stupid Republicans in the Senate will vote for it and the American taxpayers and citizens will get screwed yet again by our corrupt, feckless representatives. 

Spit.

If you think this bill is great, I recommend you live the open border concept personally:

And not a word I heard could I relate

Some friends came to visit last evening. We met for a sandwich and then we came back to our house. We played some cards, ate way too many snacks and generally had a good time. I’m sure the wife welcomed an opportunity to have a conversation with someone over the age of nine who was not me. 

Sorry. I got sidetracked for a bit while I was thinking about something else. I did not mean to leave you like that. 

It is supposed to warm to around fifty Fahrenheit today. I can see frost on the neighbor’s roofs, so it is a cold start to the day. 

There is no football today, so I have to find something else to do. My cousin asked me to send her family history slash genealogy information I have. I think I will do some scanning this afternoon. 

Sounds real exciting, doesn’t it? Next week I might watch paint dry.

We’ve done hippy music, jazz, and country. How about some rock music? [you do understand that was rhetorical? You have no choice in the matter]. If there was a top ten list of my favorite songs this would surely make the list. Of course my list would change every time I thought of a new song. I have nearly one thousand songs on my phone, for goodness sake.  I dig every one of them. 

Anyway:

Round about ten we all got to talking

I had an idea for a post when I went to bed. It was still there when I woke up this morning. Somewhere between making coffee and reading a few blogs the notion went poof! into the graveyard of good ideas. 

Sometimes life works that way. 

Do not be too sad, you got six posts yesterday. 

We’ve done some hippy music and some jazz. How about some country?

Seize the day with an iron grip

 Happy Groundhog Day.

Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Seize the day with an iron grip

 Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Seize the day with an iron grip

 Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Seize the day with an iron grip

 Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Seize the day with an iron grip

 Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Seize the day with an iron grip

Here we find ourselves on a Friday, awake and ready to seize the day. I suspect you clicked here first thing as you entered the interwebz to see what words of wisdom, what pearls of humor, what political insight I brought forth this morning. You will not be disappointed.

Unless you expected any of that. Have you not been reading here of late? What were you thinking? 

As an alternative, get your jazz fix:

I will admit this is pretty much the only jazz tune I can stomach. 

Get Your Hippy On

 

Wherein I Just Complain

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

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

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

F Joe Biden

 What he said

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

Ignore my previous post, it was just filler. 

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

Let’s go Brandon, indeed.

Monday again

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

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

How about some music to get your day started? 

You don’t really have a choice.

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

Sorry.

Things you find in old posts

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

January 12, 2013

Christmas dreams

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

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

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

"An ordinary life?" I asked 

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

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

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

"Sure Billy.”

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

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

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

A man has to know his limitations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have questions

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

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

Perusing the Headlines

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

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

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

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

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

There is truth in the nonsense

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

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

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

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

Feeling Mean

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

Take that and like it.

Wide Right

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

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

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

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

Have a nice trip

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

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

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

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

How about some music?

*edit: except Friday’s effort.

Is it the red knobs that makes it valuable?

 

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

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

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

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

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

Picture This

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Classics are always in fashion

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

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

She had no name so my we named her Pussycat.

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

My husband, [the complainer] said,

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked straight at my husband,

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

And he closed the door.

How about that?

 I have no memory of writing this. 

January 9, 2016

Fire Burns Hot

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

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

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

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

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

On this date

Happy Birthday, Dad.

I miss you.

Free Stuff

 

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

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

Just click This easy link to get your Free copy.

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

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

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

If you're not into yoga

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

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

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

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

Come on Sugar let me know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Can’t you see?

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

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

Did I mention I hate wearing glasses?

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

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

This is for a good chunk of you

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

This is what you get when I cannot sleep

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

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

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

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

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

Panic!

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

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

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

it’s all perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Indianapolis Colts

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

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

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

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

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

That sounds like work, doesn’t it? 

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

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

The studio did much to improve their singing.

The studio version:

I’m starting to hate that red-striped bowl

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

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

“You know what is was,” I replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

that’s a change of pace

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

I know, that never stopped me in the past. 

Stuff that interests only me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you don’t care.

Happy New Year

 

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

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

The Annual Year End Recap

Nope. Sorry, there will be no recap again this year.

If you are going out drinking tonight get a designated driver. 

Be safe and I will see you next year.

I hate candied yams

The coffee is hot. Classic rock is playing softly on the echo spy device. I am rocking gently in my recliner as I type with one finger on the iPad keyboard. Through the window the neighbor’s porch and Christmas lights shine through the early morning darkness. Life is good. 

Another year is winding down. It doesn’t really matter what the calendar says, the days roll on. I am grateful for the blessings in my life. The ability to spell would be nice. So would a winning lottery ticket. I would settle for my kids to have happy prosperous lives. 

Monday is the last work holiday until Good Friday. I will likely take down the Christmas decorations on Monday. The house always looks so gloomy after the bright lights and decorations are boxed up. Maybe that’s why the house down the street leaves their Christmas lights on until April. 

We are going to visit some friends this evening; a sorta early New Year’s celebration without the party. I might have one beer. Mostly we will play cards and yuck it up, telling the same old stories from four decades ago. 

In case I forget to mention it, thank you from the bottom of my heart for stopping by and reading. I know the old blog has slipped a bit lot in the old entertainment factor. Maybe next year will be better. 

Let’s wind it up with some classic Blues Brothers. While often viewed as a comedy act, you cannot ignore that the backing band was compromised of some of the best musicians around. That is Steve Cropper and Duck Dunn on lead guitar and Bass respectively. They were part of Booker T and the MGs (Green Onions) and the backing band for a slew of recordings in the sixties and seventies. 

Surfing the Square Wave

It has been a quiet work week. I have received about as many emails this week as I normally get in an hour or two. I’m sure I’ll make up for it next week. I’ve been working on round two of big customer quotes. That means I have been staring at spreadsheets and numbers all day, every day, without a break for phone calls, Teams meetings, or emails. Yawn. Trust me, it is more tedious than it sounds.  

On the bright side, I have 4 hours of vacation left and since it is “use it or lose it,” I have the afternoon off. The wife is heading to the Southside to meet a friend for lunch and shopping, so I will have the run of the house. Lest you think that is a big deal, she is gone every afternoon anyway watching the grandkids. So it goes. Maybe I’ll call up some hookers and midgets and stage a crazy toga party. 

Maybe I’ll take a nap. 

Future Us Will Look Back and Say Why

 In the not-so-distant future my grandkids are going to listen in amazement to stories of constant electricity. They will not believe there was a time we could flip a switch and virtually always get electricity. They will guffaw incredulously as we describe cars that could run nearly unlimited miles continuously, stopping only for a few minutes for more fuel. 

They will wonder at forbidden energy sources like nuclear power, gas, coal . They will drool as we describe the taste of steak or pork or chicken as they snack on Solient Red, Blue, and Green. 

They will wonder why we allowed Government bureaucrats and socialists to destroy our economy and country in the name of the always on the brink of disaster climate change religion. They will believe it was necessary, since we still will only have five, maybe ten years to fix the problem. All it will take is a little more sacrifice and more money for the global elites.

Hump Day Monday

Here we are on a hump day Monday. I told the wife I both was ready to go back to work and did not want to. I’m bored, but like the time off. 

I’ve long had an Echo on my desk, it helps Amazon and the government spy on me. It also provides access to streaming radio and music while I work. For Christmas the wife bought me one of the small ones with a screen. I can see news headlines and a clock in addition to the entertainment it provides. I think it is going to work out well. Plus, she got it remarkably cheap at Black Friday prices. 

I moved the device that was on my desk into the oldest granddaughter’s bedroom to replace the old echo dot that was there. 

I might as well log into work early, that way I can finish up earlier this afternoon.

Have a great day!

Sleeping it off

Well readers, Christmas is over and done. I hope Santa was good to you. The whole family got lots of presents, especially the Grandgirls. The whole clan gathered for a feast at my daughters, everyone was there except my middle child who lives a thousand miles away. It was a good holiday overall. 

It is back to work tomorrow with a light schedule. Most of the company will be on vacation.

 Regular meaningful blogging may return. Or not. I find it hard to work into a righteous rant these days. I keep thinking I can’t continue to publish useless boring posts, yet readership is at the highest in a long time. It is so weird. 

Have a great Tuesday!

Merry Christmas

 

A glimpse of the tree at the old homestead

Merry Christmas everyone.

The Reason for the Season

 

Countdown

 

Not this year

 

Maybe it would come true if Bing wished in song for a rainy Christmas. 🎄 

The first of the Christmas get together is tonight. It should be a lot of fun.

Getting romantic

 On this date 45 years ago, I went on the first date with the girl who is now my wife. It was the best decision I ever made.

Moar

 

Getting Close

 

Because it is awesome

 I have a lingering and perhaps imperfect memory of sitting on the floor watching this Christmas special. Mom was in the kitchen making candy. Every time she turned on the mixer the TV signal was scrambled, to my dismay. I don’t know why that popped into my head.

What? You thought I was going to rant on Colorado deciding Trump committed a crime without even a trial? Nope, we got Banana Republic status as a nation some time ago.  This is another manifestation of the end of the Republic. 

If stress powered the furnace we wouldn’t have a gas bill

In the midst of holiday madness we cannot forget the retail machine chug, chugs along. Last night at Target they had Valentines and St Pat’s merchandise. 

Sigh

The wife discovered our daughter gave the exact same Christmas wish list to the SIL and us.  Everything we bought is a duplicate. Now the already stressed wife is in whatever you call next level of stress. 

The wife grew up dirt poor. It is important to her to get gifts for everyone—often going overboard. It doesn’t take a shrink to figure it out. It is the way it is. Lectures and reassurance from me doesn’t help. It never has. Christmas will be here soon and I hope her blood pressure drops accordingly.

Now for a change of topics.

Here is one of my favorite carols:

Stormy Monday

Here we are back to Monday again.  It’s like it rolls around every seven days or so.  I wish I had tales of excitement and wonder about the weekend to share with you on this cold, breezy Monday. I don’t. 

I wrote a few thousand words in a potential new book no one will likely read. Who knows if I’ll even finish? This tale is plotted and semi-outlined, unlike my last effort. It sorta wrote itself. “I know,” you say, “I could tell.” I need to do the work on the next one. I keep getting off track with research. The historian Barbara Tuchman once said that research is endlessly seductive, writing is hard work. Yes. On both accounts . 

This is going to be a busy work week. I better skip off the old blog and get at it. 

Enjoy your Monday. 

No music today. You deserve a break. 

But I can weather the storm

Well Readers, we are hitting the home stretch towards Christmas. Hanukkah is over. I suppose Kwanza is sometime. We have most of the presents purchased. I suspect the wife has gone way overboard with the grandgirls, as usual. 

It is raining this morning. We still haven’t had any snow to speak of, a flurry or two is it. So it goes. Warmer days means my furnace runs less.

Happy Sunday.

I’ve been good this year. Sorta

Today marks the oldest granddaughter’s ninth birthday. We are all going for dinner tonight then to see the big Christmas Light show at the State Fairgrounds. It should be a great time. It seems like yesterday she was born. 

I finished shopping for the wife’s presents yesterday. One gift she knows all about, she picked it out and stood there while I bought it - a new pair of boots. This way we know they fit and it was what she wanted. I’ll wrap them up and we will both pretend it is a big surprise on Christmas morning. 

I told her what I want for Christmas. It is the same thing I ask for every year and never get. It don’t cost nuthin’, but that doesn’t matter. She is always too stressed by the time Christmas rolls around to think about nekkid wrestling. Oh well, my birthday is in March, maybe I’ll get it then. 

Lovely Weather

Here we are on a beautiful Friday.  I am on vacation, kind of, sort of. Really big customer dumped a huge project on my desk, and I need to get a head start with the coming holidays. I suspect I will be at the desk for a few hours. So it goes. 

I plan on getting to the stores today to finish up some Christmas shopping before the wife uses up all of the money. Are her on-line fingers faster than my walking pace at the mall? Probably. 

Perhaps I will hie myself down to the cigar bar this afternoon. On the other hand, the temperature is supposed to get in the low fifties, perhaps I will just smoke one of my own stogies out by the fire pit. Maybe I will get ambitious enough to rake up the remaining leaves in the backyard.

Who knows? Have a great Friday.

Mystery kind of solved, and Velma and Shaggy had nothing to do with it.

Quite a while ago I was describing how I often find myself searching historical rabbit holes. 

I’ll wait why check the link. 

Really, I don’t mind. 

Look, the rest of this post makes no sense if you fail to get the backstory.

The subject of Reeses Mill has bugged me for a couple of years now.  I finally contacted the Boone County, IN historical Society, which forwarded my message to the Boone County Library. Seems that Reeses Mill is another name for The 'Burg, as my grandmother called it -- Mechanicsburg, IN. Located along Sugar Creek near the Clinton County line, my grandmother grew up on a farm outside of Mechanicsburg. 

There, our curiosity is assuaged. We can all sleep easy tonight. And don't even pretend you don't care.

Now I need someone to explain how my great-whatever grandfather was born in Ohio, migrated at some point to Cleopatra, Missouri, fought in the Civil War, and ended up back in Nowhere Indiana -- The 'Burg.

That question will probably never be answered, and I did not know enough to ask my grandmother when she was alive. 

Ah, the arrogance of youth.

Wayback Wednesday

Cell phone picture 2010

View of the Columbia River Gorge from the Vista House on the old Scenic Highway.  

I used to travel to Portland 4-6 times a year and I tried to drive the old 1917 highway as often as possible at least to Multinomah Falls. 

About Frosty

I built a snowman. I think he has anger issues. It warmed up today and he had a total meltdown. 

Random Ramblings

Here we are on a chilly Monday morning.  I hope you had a great weekend. I did. Nothing of note happened, but it was still okay. 

In these days of political strife and global divisiveness, can we all at least agree that Animal House is the funniest movie ever made? 

I threw a chuck roast into the crockpot yesterday. Some home-made mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and a couple of frozen dinner rolls made for a pretty good Sunday dinner. 

If we leave politics out of it, and imagine the defendant has a different last name - that he is a random rich guy - the fraud charges against Trump in New York seem a bit suspicious. Guy takes out a loan, says his assets are $X. Bank agrees. Gives out loan. Guy pays off loan, on time. Where is the issue?

If I go into the bank and say I want a loan and my house is worth $1,000,000. Isn't it up to the bank to tell me I am crazy? They will look at my house in the middle-class neighborhood in an aging suburb in central Indiana and determine my house is worth a fraction of that amount. Sure, if my house was in New York, or California it might be a million-dollar house (probably not even then), but it definitely is not worth that amount here in little old Connor Prairie. Where is the crime, where is the victim?

I may not be a huge fan of the Trumpster, but there is no doubt in my mind this fraud case is pure Banana Republic politics.

How about some music on this Monday?

Enjoy your day.

I'm Here to Help

 If you are looking for a great last minute Christmas gift you cannot go wrong with giving a copy of my super-wonderful first novel. Get a copy for yourself, if you haven't already, while you are at it. 

Buy It

You won't be sorry. If you are, I will give you your money back. 

In the new old fashioned way

 Happy Saturday! A light rain is gently falling outside, holiday music is softly playing on my smart speaker. My butt still hurts. Getting old is tough. At least I can mostly remember where I am and why I am in that room.  That's something the Most Popular President Ever seems to struggle with. Let's elect him again!

I had coffee on my vacation day with an old work colleague I haven't seen for a couple of decades. It was great to catch up. What is interesting is to compare career paths.  He started as an accountant but ended up where I thought my career would take me. 

I might have mentioned before I had no intention of going into sales. I believed my lot was in manufacturing; management trainee, customer service manager, production scheduler, production supervisor, master scheduler, materials manager, production manager, plant manager. I made it through the master scheduler role when corporate asked me to go into sales. I said "no". They said, "we will double your pay". I said "Yes". 

My friend started in accounting, did the production supervisor thing, moved to a different company and ultimately rose to plant manager and then in charge of all the plants in the Americas. He is now semi-retired. Good for him. I always say things work out like they are supposed to. I wouldn't change things. I love my job. Mostly. Okay, I like my job. Well, I don't hate my job. 

Anyway, the most interesting part of the conversation is my friend hooked me up with a contact I might find interesting. This guy is a salesman who has also written books. More to the point, we both sell the same widgets, but for different companies. How strange is that?

I need more coffee. Enjoy your Saturday. 

What? Sure, I will post some Christmas music.

The original lyrics were "for next year we may all be dead." Judy Garland refused to sing it, so they changed the words. 

Weekly Recap

Friday at last. This has been a busy week, even with a quick use it or lose it vacation day on Wednesday (I still have two more). 

That day off put me way behind at work, so I was still at it at 10 PM last night. Today will be busy too. So it goes. It beats not having work, that’s for sure. 

It looks like another busy weekend. The oldest granddaughter gets her black belt in Tae Kwan Do Saturday.  There is beaucoup Christmas shopping to do. 

For my Jewish friends:

Which hand is best to light the menorah?

Neither. Use a candle.

Infamy

 

A day that shall live in infamy 
On December 7, 1941 the United States was attacked by an unprovoked antagonist against military and civilian targets in the territory of Hawaii. The death and destruction was even greater than that at the WTC and Pentagon attacks of 9/11.

Killed and Missing

Navy 2,008
Marine Corps 109
Army 218
Civilian 68
total 2,403

Wounded
Navy 710
Marine 69
Army 364
Civilian 68
Total 1,178

Grand total of casualties = 3,581

This attack brought the United States into WW II, where the greatest generation saved the world for Democracy. Our thanks: hatred by the French and Germans, desecration of American graves in Normandy and displays in our own country that blame the US for Japan's attack. I have not forgotten the lives and sacrifices made by my forbears. Thank you. 

I will not forget Pearl Harbor.

I’d like to buy the world a Coke, but I can’t afford it

There has been a lot of commentary in recent years over the escalating tip culture. We all get the spinning iPad, give me a tip treatment at places far outside of the usual service industry. Why would I tip the guy at the miniature golf place or an on-line order? 

Lately, I have seen a pernicious trend that also affects the bottom line. Many sit down restaurants are now charging in excess of $3 for a soft drink. We went to a place last weekend that charged $4.25 for a glass of ice and a splash of Coke Zero. 

I get restaurants and bars are looking for ways to stay competitive as they are squeezed by Bidenomics, but sheesh. I can buy a couple of two liters for that price. 

Counting the Days

 Sixty-eight days until pitchers and catchers report.

Mom and Dad had this record on repeat

It is a new week. I hope you had a great weekend. I did. On Saturday some old friends came down. We went out to dinner then had a good evening playing euchre and sharing laughs. 

Sunday the grandgirls had a holiday dance recital. It was enjoyable. 

The weather was damp and cold all weekend. It is December, these things happen. 

Reading over this post so far I can see that while I had a good weekend it is boring stuff to read about. Sorry about that. I tell you what, let me know in the comments and I will return your subscription price. I call it customer service. Also, in the spirit of the times,  I will swing around the old iPad and you can leave me a tip. 

Have a great day.

Behold the greatness

 

Nothing else needs to be said.

Napoleon was not short

 I can understand the rash of negative reviews on Ridley Scott's Napoleon movie currently in theaters. I went to see it last night. 

I am no expert on Napoleon, but I would wager I know more about that period than the average bear. I have studied the Napoleonic Wars and the Revolutionary period quite a bit, not to mention the Emperor himself. The film condenses about two decades into a few hours, and that means a lot needs to be left out. The movie segues from one event to another without any context. In one scene the Corsican is defeating the British at Toulon, the next leveling canon at a Royalist uprising, then immediately we see Napolean in Egypt. There is nothing to describe what happened to bring each of these seemingly disjointed events about.  

I will not criticize the battle scenes as many a reviewer has; they are of course wildly inaccurate. For starters the Napoleonic Armies attacked in column, not line. But the point of the movie was not to show a military history, the battles are part of the narrative, not the story. If you want great battle scenes from the era, watch the 1970 epic Waterloo staring Rod Steiger and Christopher Plummer. 

In the end, the movie does not know what it should be. Perhaps Scott should have called the film Napoleon and Josephine, that is seemingly what the movie is about; the relationship between the two. Except then how do you account for the exposition on the Reign of Terror? I think Scott had more movie than he could fit in the allotted, already long, timeslot. I have no doubt a lot of context was left on the cutting room floor. This should have been a series, not a movie.

How do you tell the story of Napoleon in a single movie? He was perhaps the most charismatic leader ever born. He was a military genius, an organizational mastermind, a political savant, and an administrator of excellence. Parts of the Napoleonic code remain law today. He gave us the metric system. The way he organized armies remained the blueprint for a hundred years, used by friend and foe equally. His tactics survived in many armies right up until the advent of modern weapons (and proved a disaster for the French in both the Franco-Prussian War and WWI). 

There has never been an equal to the Corsican Upstart, and perhaps never will. It is no wonder an effort to capture the man in a simple movie is a failure.