Updates

I edited the old blog roll. If I removed you by accident, let me know. If you want added, likewise let me know in the comments. 

lying liars and the lies they tell

The Democrats want us to believe that unless anyone who wants to can mail in a vote, regardless if they are eligible or not, the election will be fraudulent. Huh? Somehow the long-running financial troubles of the USPS has turned into a conspiracy to disenfranchise people of color. Huh? The USPS has the capacity to handle any number of ballots. They handle that volume every Christmas. They handle that volume every day already. And, just like your Christmas cards, if you mail your ballot at the last minute it might not arrive in time. That’s no evil Republican plot, it is reality.

If you can go to a grocery store, go to a restaurant, go to school, protest in the streets, then you can go to the polls on Election Day. There is nothing sinister in a community center, church, school, or firehouse that makes you more likely to catch the Wuhan Flu while voting. No matter what Michelle, never proud of her country, says, no one is trying to stop you from voting. 

What say we do some math? Don’t worry, I’m a history major so it will not be complicated. Say it takes two minutes to cast your vote. Assume 500 people vote at your precinct. That means it will take 1000 minutes total to cast all of the votes in a normal election. Today we might have to stand further apart while waiting to cast our ballot. So yes, the lines will be “longer” in terms of length. They may stretch down the block instead of just out the door, but only because people are standing further apart. It will still take two minutes each for five hundred people to vote, for a total of 1000 minutes. Nothing will change.

No one will need to put on comfortable shoes and bring their brown bag lunch and be prepared to spend all night to vote against the Bad Orange Man. Michelle is full of...hyperbole. It is an election, not a ticket line for a 1981 Bruce Springsteen concert. Get a grip.

One more thing. If polling places are being consolidated or closed, that is a local decision. The Feds are not now nor ever in charge of elections. Neither Orange Man Bad nor Cocaine Mitch have anything to do with it. In Indiana, for instance, elections are a county matter. If a polling place is closed in a minority neighborhood in Indianapolis, then the blame falls on the Democrats, who control Marion County. 

Will no one  in the media call out the blatant lies?

Death Bed Confessions

 Nearing the end of a hard life, old Ed was surrounded by his loved ones. As he sensed his final moment was approaching, he gathered all his strength and whispered:

“I must tell you my greatest secret.”

His family members were all ears, and urged him to go on.

“Before I got married, I had it all,” explained Ed.

“Fast cars, cute girls, and plenty of money. But a good friend warned me..

…‘Get married and start a family. Otherwise, no-one will be there to give you a glass of water to drink when you’re on your deathbed.’

“So I took his advice. I traded the girls for a wife, beer for baby food. I sold my Ferrari and invested in college funds. And now here we are…

“And you know what?”

“What?” Whispered the fascinated members of his family.

“I’m not even thirsty!”

The stuff that keeps me amused

I went to the Walmart Grocery/Market* to grab some spuds Sunday afternoon. Like all of the Walmart stores in this area, they had the temporary fence up to herd the customers into line. At the end of the fence was a lady in her Walmart vest, checking to make sure we were masked up. She had a stack of masks for those patrons who came unprepared.

She didn’t have a mask on.

*just groceries, not a full store 

There’s a port on a western bay

Shall we get the banal in right from the start? I worked all day Friday lifting, moving, dealing with the GenPop in all of their unpleasant ways. While we both may be masked, it is not necessary to get within inches of me when we are discussing your mouse-killing needs. You may be comfortable with closeness from your Sub-Continent upbringing. Me, I like plenty of space between us. When I back away it is social distancing, no need to step into the breach. Here is another hint. That guy/gal at your big box home center has no clue. They read the label just as you could. The TV ads might want you to think they are experts. They have just answered the same questions repeatedly. 

Yesterday we went to watch granddaughter #1 play soccer. It was hot and humid. Some friends came down for the evening. Laughs and euchre were on the schedule. 

Today, I’m going to throw a small pork shoulder on the smoker. Chunks of apple and hickory are already soaking to make a thick, hot smoke. I’m not sure what else we will have, maybe some homemade potato salad. 

I have had that song Brandy (you’re a fine girl) by the band Looking Glass stuck in my head for a week. Please, please make it stop.

There, you are all caught up on the mundane that makes for content around here. I hope you have a great Sunday.

I can dream

 

Not gonna happen though.

Outta here

 A woman, cranky because her husband was late coming home again, decided to leave a note, saying, “I’ve had enough and have left you…don’t bother coming after me”

Then she hid under the bed to see his reaction.

After a short while, the husband comes home and she could hear him in the kitchen before he comes into the bedroom.

She could see him walk towards the dresser and pick up the note.

After a few minutes, he wrote something on it before picking up the phone and calling someone.

“She’s finally gone…yeah I know, about time, I’m coming to see you, put on that …… French nightie. I love you…can’t wait to see you…we’ll do all the naughty things you like.”

He hung up, grabbed his keys and left.

She heard the car drive off as she came out from under the bed, seething with rage and with tears in her eyes.

She grabbed the note to see what he wrote.

“I can see your feet. We’re outta bread; be back in five minutes.”

 

Where did the cursor go?

 The oldest granddaughter started kindergarten today. It is weird around here as the youngest granddaughter does her best impression of a hurricane. The oldest has been here nearly every weekday since she was a month old. My wife is taking it hard. Almost as bad as when our own kids started school.

In other news Biden has chosen his running mate. I bet her record as a prosecutor is a issue for the get-rid-of-the-cops crowd. Her anti-gun stance will be a problem for fly-over moderates. 

Laughingly, women’s groups are telling the media they better not treat Kamala like they did Sarah Pallin. Hah, it was leftist women who were most vicious. No worry though, the media is even more in the tank for Democrats than in 2008. 

I laugh when I read the accounts of Harris’ “debate prowess “. I guess they did not watch the Democrat Presidential debates. The Veep nominee was toasted repeatedly by the other contenders to the point it destroyed her Presidential aspirations. I doubt Pence is too worried. 

Jumping into the wayback machine

 

September 1, 2012

A Fictional Memoir

Chapter One

Lynn Taylor was a bitch. Shy, backward, socially inept, remarkably insecure eighth-grade me did not know that is what she was, I just thought she was mean and cruel.  I was madly in love with her. I thought she did not know it.  She really was aware I followed her every move with puppy dog devoted eyes, girls are aware at a much younger age than boys. She just did not care. She found it amusing and probably pathetic.

I first realized I could not live another day without kissing Lynn when I was in the fifth grade. I woke one day and girls were no longer just classmates with long hair and dresses. I stared at her picture on my bulletin board every morning and every night, often sighing my abiding love. She ignored me. When she wasn't teasing or humiliating me.

By the time we reached Junior High my crush was unbearable. Lynn  deigned to go steady with only the popular boys -- the jocks, which in small town Indiana in the early 1970's meant basketball players. Oh, some of us competed in other sports, but we were just playing at games of no consequence. Basketball was King. Moreover, each of those boys always had perfect hair, parted in the middle and feathered down the sides. Me, my thick wavy hair would barely take a comb. A part was a fanciful dream. 

Many a day I stood in front of the mirror, depressed over my hair, my lack of height, the deficiency of muscles. I did push ups and sit ups by the dozens, but always I looked just like the skinny guy in the ad on the back cover of Mad Magazine who got sand kicked in his face. I wasn't the proverbial 90 pound weakling. I would have had to gain about 15 pounds to get there.

Some days I would tell myself she was mean to me because she liked me. Just because I was socially inept did not mean I was not able to rationalize. Then I would consider that not once had Lynn had her friend Dani to tell my buddy Jeff that she liked me. I would get all depressed until I further rationalized that I had not told Jeff  I liked Lynn! Maybe she did secretly love me! There was hope! Why did Junior High relationships have to be so complicated? Couldn't she see me riding my bike past her house?

Lynn would catch me at my locker and tell me what a great time she had at the eighth grade and sometimes high school parties she attended.  Of course I had not been invited. She told me about making out with her boyfriend of the week, which was never me. She gave me a flirty "Too bad you missed it", and then she always flipped back her Farrah Fawcett cut blond hair, laughed a cruel laugh and slipped on down the hall. That was the Monday routine.  The rest of the week went downhill from there.

One morning before first period English, I remember it as a few weeks before Halloween, Lynn walked up to Nancy Tompkins and announced so all could hear "Nancy, did you know that little pervert", pointing at me, "stares at your boobs all day?"  I thought I would die. Not because it wasn't true, Nancy sat one row over and one seat up and I had a perfect view of the swell of her 13 year-old breasts when she leaned forward to write on her desk, but what boy wants their perversions shared with the whole class?

I decided In that moment Lynn Taylor was no longer worthy of my love.

That really pissed her off.

Chasing the clouds away

I gotta be honest, when I am king of the world we will never again hear that harridan harp all over Jake from State Farm. 

And the Progressive Flo campaign is off the air immediately. That Toyota lady too. You have both ridden the residual gravy train long enough.  We are all tired of you. And while I’m on the subject of commercials that bug me, what is Brand Power anyway? What are they advertising? 

Do people who watch Judge Judy get involved in more auto accidents? Ambulance Chasers in my area seem to think so.

What happened to Charlie the Tuna? 

Storms rolled through the area last night. We had big rain and wind, but the line moved through quickly. The air remains heavy and humid this morning. The sky is clean and blue.

It’s another day here in blog land. I hope yours is a good one.

Tuesday afternoon

I'm just beginning to see

Now I'm on my way

It doesn't matter to me

Chasing the clouds away

Spell check is important

 A g‌‌uy s‌‌ends a‌‌ t‌‌ext t‌‌o h‌‌is n‌‌ext-door neighbor

“Bob, I‌‌’m s‌‌orry. I‌‌’ve b‌‌een r‌‌iddled w‌‌ith g‌‌uilt a‌‌nd I‌‌ h‌‌ave t‌‌o c‌‌onfess: I‌‌ h‌‌ave b‌‌een h‌‌elping m‌‌yself t‌‌o y‌‌our w‌‌ife w‌‌hen y‌‌ou’re n‌‌ot a‌‌round, p‌‌robably m‌‌ore t‌‌han y‌‌ou. I‌‌ k‌‌now i‌‌t’s n‌‌o e‌‌xcuse b‌‌ut I‌‌ d‌‌on’t g‌‌et i‌‌t a‌‌t h‌‌ome. I‌‌ c‌‌an’t l‌‌ive w‌‌ith t‌‌he g‌‌uilt a‌‌ny l‌‌onger. I‌‌ h‌‌ope y‌‌ou’ll a‌‌ccept m‌‌y s‌‌incerest a‌‌pology. I‌‌t w‌‌on’t h‌‌appen a‌‌gain.”

Feeling o‌‌utrage a‌‌nd b‌‌etrayed, B‌‌ob g‌‌rabs h‌‌is g‌‌un, g‌‌oes i‌‌nto t‌‌he b‌‌edroom, a‌‌nd w‌‌ithout a‌‌ w‌‌ord, s‌‌hoots h‌‌is w‌‌ife.

Moments l‌‌ater t‌‌he g‌‌uy g‌‌ets a‌‌ s‌‌econd t‌‌ext: “‌‌Really s‌‌hould u‌‌se s‌‌pell c‌‌heck! T‌‌hat s‌‌hould b‌‌e ‘wifi’.”

What now Nancy?

 The Trumpster just out politicked the Dems yet again. He signed an Executive Order restoring some of the unemployment benefits and other Bat Flu relief measures. 

Now the Democrats will have to go to court to take away those benefits.  That won’t look good.

Does Trump have the power to spend money like that? No. Is it a violation of the a Constitution? Certainly. Can we afford these measures? Absolutely not.

 It was a brilliant political play.

Joke of the day

The wife says I ruined her birthday.

I didn’t even know it was her birthday.

Asking for a friend

When fringe White Supremacy groups endorsed the Trumpster for President the media and Democrats (redundant) stated this made Trump a bigot and racist.

Since Biden has now garnered the endorsement of the Revolutionary Communist Party of America, doesn’t this by logic make him a Commie rat bastard?

This is not the government we deserve

I had to contact the unemployment office this week. I am once again reminded how inefficient, unresponsive, unprofessional, and awful it is to deal with almost any level of government. 

Of course I couldn’t talk to a real person when I called Monday morning. The system was “better” than when I spent hours on hold back in the early days of the pandemic. It told me my wait time and said I could get a call back without losing my place in line. I pushed the requisite button, expecting a call back Monday. 

Nope.

Yesterday I tried to call again, only to get a terse message that I was on the call back list already. Surely I would get a call back this day.

Nope.

I tried again this morning, pushing various numbers until I got the “please hold” response. I got someone within a few minutes. Instantly pissed. I swallowed my frustration and was sweet as honey while I explained my problem. She told me I needed to apply for a new program. I pointed out that the DWD website says clearly I “need do nothing”; I will automatically get the extended benefits. But, I added, I am glad to apply, how do I do that?  Back on hold.  Finally she said yes, it will be automatic. She didn’t know how or when or what to expect but at some point it will be fixed.  Last time it took six weeks. 

What is really sad is that she was so poorly trained I had to tell her what her policy says. Yet she is secure in a union protected job. 

I finally got my call back about an hour after I spoke with them. My 48 minute estimated hold only took three days to be answered.

I guess I understand why the Government does not give you a survey to complete after an interaction like private sector companies do. On the other hand, the government has no incentive to do a good job.

Just think, both political parties want to give us more government. 

No artificial flavoring

I’m sitting on the couch sipping coffee that is almost too hot to drink. I can just hear the little fountain just outside the family room window as I peruse the day’s news and the internet before the girls arrive. Life continues apace here at the old homestead. 

I’m not scheduled to spend much time at work this week. A few hours tomorrow and another handful on Saturday. I have plenty of work around here. The last several days of rain have left the lawn need of cutting. I need to spray the weeds. A white lavender needs serious pruning. In fact, it has so much dead I may have too remove it entirely. Mulberries are poking their evil heads through the tiger lily patch. I want to get some of this done while we have fall-like weather this week. The August heat will return. I hope so anyway. Papa needs a new furnace. 

Window Shopping

A travel agent looked up from his desk to see an older lady and an older gentleman peering in the shop window at the posters showing the glamorous destinations around the world.

The agent had had a good week and the dejected couple looking in the window gave him a rare feeling of generosity.

He called them into his shop and said, “I know that on your pension you could never hope to have a holiday, so I am sending you off to a fabulous resort at my expense, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

He took them inside and asked his secretary to write two flight tickets and book a room in a five-star hotel.

They, as can be expected, gladly accepted, and were on their way.

About a month later the little lady came into his shop.

“And how did you like your holiday?” he asked eagerly.

“The flight was exciting and the room was lovely,” she said. “I’ve come to thank you. But, one thing puzzled me.

Who was that old guy I had to share the room with?

 

Revenge of a Rain-in-his-Face

 

The Revenge of Rain-in-the-Face

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
  Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
  And the menace of their wrath. 

"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenge upon all the race
  Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
  Of his anger and despair. 

In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and river-side
  The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing of the stream
  And the blue-jay in the wood. 

In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
  In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful! 

Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
  And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
  Not one returned again. 

The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
  And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
  They lay in their bloody attire. 

But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight,
  Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
  Of the White Chief with yellow hair. 

Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
  With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
  In the Year of a Hundred Years.

https://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_print.php?pid=208

Pass the popcorn

Yesterday’s effort was just a bit self-indulgent. I doubt I can remedy that with today’s effort. 

I think I have to agree with my blog buddy Jean. Baseball is just weird. A week into the season and I am having a hard time watching. I find myself flipping channels between innings sometimes I don’t come back. I don’t know, it is just strange.

Yesterday was filled with spotty drizzle and heavy cloud cover. We took the old 52 inch rear projection TV down to the recycling center. Half the pixels were out and the bulb was way past dim. Our SIL gave us a 48 inch flat screen we put in the bedroom to replace the worn out TV. Both are too big for a bedroom, but having a big TV in there is like watching at the drive-in. The only problem is I really hate watching TV in bed. I know, weird, right. Not even in a hotel. 

Of course no one under about 40 has ever been to a drive-in theater. The one we frequented in my youth is still open. The wife and I had many dates there when we were youngsters. My old POS pickup was great for watching movies with the big windshield and bench seat.

We took the kids to the one in Shelbytucky a few times when they were young and before it started to cost the same as going to a “real” movie theater. Mostly the kids complained they couldn’t see the screen well from the back seat. Today’s windshields are designed for gas mileage, not movie viewing. Frankly, the kids didn’t enjoy it much and we didn’t go so often.

 I have a yen for a donut this morning. 

A bientot.

easy turnip greens

I was dead tired after work yesterday. It was a brutal day of stocking at the Big Box store. I estimate I lifted more than a ton (literally) in my all-day shift. 

*Smack* Quit yer whining you pansy. 

On the bright side, the job is getting me into better shape. I am averaging 6-10 miles of walking per shift, which averages to just under four miles a day for July. The lifting is building upper body strength I haven’t had for years. Besides, I now weigh about what I did as a senior in high school. Heck, I weigh fifteen pounds less than I did when I got married. More to the point, I am down 65 pounds from my weight when I started the Fat in Indiana blog. Who knew, I have ribs! I am far from starving third-world skinny, but my waistline is better. I am barely inside the ideal weight for men of my height. None of this prattle should be viewed as braggadocio, rather more a testament to portion control, medication side effects, and diabetic diet. 

Since we are focusing on me, me, me today, it is interesting to note that Mother Nature has a sense of humor. Well into my thirties I still looked very young. I was regularly carded when buying beer. Now, I look probably ten years older than my real age. So it goes. I won’t dye my hair. 

Outside of looming economic destruction and the potential loss of everything if I don’t find a real job soon, I am as happy as I have been in a very, very long time. The wife and I are getting along great and I am less stressed than I should be. I am blessed, and things will work according to God’s plan. 

I know, anger and depression and diatribe make for way more interesting blog fodder. You get what you pay for.

I like this tune. Have a great Saturday.