Life Philosophy 101 for the squirrelly senior citizens

The goof of the magi.

2011-12-27T12:35:00.000-08:00

Christmas! Either you love it or hate it. It can be filled with joy and sadness, sometimes both.

The little French lady decided that we should have a traditional Christmas this year. I thought it was a good idea. We both discretely hinted at what we would like for Christmas.

The only hints were: I wanted an Apple product and she wanted something that smelled good or looked good. (Something other than me.)

On Christmas eve we opened our gifts. I had an iphone. I got my wife a nice sweater and a gift pack of Kama Sutra gift soaps, sprays, and perfumes. I really liked the packaging of the product. It was kinda sexy.

My wife had my iphone all set to go and I was ready to roll. I called a few friends and relatives. She called her family in Canada. We had a very nice evening.

The next day we decided we would eat out. We got all spiffied up. We were looking good. She wore her new sweater and had bathed in her new bath oils from Kama Sutra. She drove, I texted and called friends. I enjoyed texting very much. (LOL!!) I learned all the funny little smiley faces and shortcut abbreviations.

We had a very enjoyable dinner. I enjoyed eating and texting (LOL!!!) My wife...not so much.

The waitress asked, "Would you like dessert, Sir?"

Me:"CAN'T YOU SEE I AM ON THE PHONE RIGHT NOW? ARE YOU BLIND?"

Waitress: "Would you like the rest of your meal in a doggie bag?"

Me: (dirty look) "WHAT...EVER...!"...Listen Mike, I gotta go. Some waitress is annoying the hell out of me. See ya!!!! (pushing a button) "Dave, sorry to keep you on hold so long, some waitress was annoying the hell out of me.....Dave?....Dave?"

Me:"NOW SEE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE? YOU NINNIE!!!"

Wife: "Please, let's go home. I don't feel so good."

Me: "Wow! Not only is the wait staff rude, but the food makes you sick. What a joint."(LOL!) "I'll drive. You don't look so good. Your eyes are all puffy and your breathing kinda weird."

She got in the car and immediately fell asleep.

I got her home safe and sound. It was a bit of an adventure.

As it turned out she was not asleep. She was unconscious. She had a severe reaction to the wool sweater (she had an allergic reaction) and the bathsoap and perfumes (also allergic to that). She is fine now.

I thought I would try to text while driving. It's legal. My wife was asleep. She wouldn't know. The road is nice and straight. This will be a piece of cake.

I thought things were going really well until I got about 3 miles from home.

Apparently some County cop is annoyed because she has to work Christmas day.

County Cop: (hereafter referred to as CC) "Could I see your license and registration please?"

Me: "Sure....as soon as I am done texting some people in Ecuador."

CC: "NOW!!!!"

Me: "OK! You don't have to be rude."

Me: "Is there a problem officer?"

CC: "Yes, you have been driving on the sidewalk for the last 2 miles."

Me: "Impossible!! My wife would have told me."

CC: "Wife? What wife? I only see this very tired and bruised dog with its leash hooked to your side mirror."

Me:"I don't own a dog. You have the wrong guy. "(LOL!!!)

CC: "Yeah. You hooked onto the dog when you ran over the ladies toes."

Me: "What lady?"

CC: "The one that was standing by the mailbox with her dog on the leash, fool!"

Me: "Where's my wife? She's not feeling good. She ate some bad food."

CC: "She's probably not feeling much better right now. She fell out of the car when you ran over the mailbox.

Me: "Oh...no! She had my doggie bag on her lap."

CC: "She's fine. She landed on the lady at the mailbox."

Me: "OK...can I go now?"

CC: "Not so fast, speedie. Have you been drinking?"

Me: "Nope!!!"

CC: "Well, I guess you haven't broken any laws in South Carolina. Try not to drive on the sidewalk any more. I see you are a Republican. You have a "Goldwater" bumper sticker. That's good enough for me. Return the dog to the lady with the flat toes, pick up your wife and drive safely and have a Merry Christmas."

Me: (texting) Hey Juan, CC thought I was Republican. LMAO...WTF. CU N July.

My wife is recovering nicely. It was allergies for sure. She has red welts all over her body and tomorrow she will be able to talk normally and see again. My wife also smashed my iphone with a sledge hammer. She said it was an accident. I am not too sure. We didn't own a sledge hammer until this morning.

Olditude (and how to deal with it)

2011-12-22T09:19:00.000-08:00

I am sure you have heard of the movie where the young boy says, "I see dead people."
Not me! I see old people. They are everywhere. You can't avoid them.

A lot of these people think they are dead people, or act like dead people, but they are somewhat alive. I think the Republicans are trying to phase them out in the same manner as they are trying to eliminate the middle class.

I see dead people...or ice.

I get a little nervous about this because the Republicans in congress are talking about a "Swift proposal". I didn't get alarmed until I realized that they had capitalized "Swift".
Huh, like the name Swift as opposed to doing something quickly. This must be Congressman Al Swift from Washington state. I called Al on the phone... no answer. Turns out he retired in 1995. So I googled Swift proposal. What came up alarmed me. It referred to Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal."
This can't be good.
The word on the street is: Pfizer has come up with a tasty formula for Soylent Gray and your younger senators and congressmen are buying pfizer stock like it was going out of style.

Martha Stewart, you can't buy this stock. This is inside information. Your rep in congress can buy this stock. OK?....No? Too bad for you! You don't want to go back to jail and make more burlap dresses, do you?

Moving on to other new "old business".
Recently a fellow blogger was talking about an "old" friend's problems. The moral of the story was; "Don't get old." Actually I prefer "old" to the alternative of not getting old.
Yes, it is fraught with obstacles and hoops that you have to jump through when you are least able to deal with it. Such things as health insurance, driving after dark, getting my senior citizen discount at KFC or Dunkin Donuts, keeping track of my medications, convincing people my mind is as sharp as it ever was, getting my senior citizen discount at KFC or Dunkin Donuts.....ummmm...~~getting my~~.... and other things.

New "New business": This comes under the heading of helpful hints for a happy senior citizen. (AKA: Old coot, curmudgeon, geezer, ye olde farte, walking fossil) and that is just the guys!!!
Here we go.
Hint: Never take a laxative and a sleeping pill the same night.
Be prepared for nasty comments from people you least expect it from.

example: My wife told me to iron the shirt that I was wearing. It was too wrinkly.
The thing is; I was not wearing a shirt.

Open for debate: Wouldn't obituaries be a lot more interesting if it told you how the person died?
Guy stuff? shirts get dirty, underwear get dirty, socks get dirty. Pants (trousers) never get dirty and you can wear them forever.
End the debate: Is the glass half full or half empty? George Carlin said the glass was too big, no more philosophical debates. subject closed.
Yeah, Really?....I am tired of watching the Miss Universe contest. Every year Miss Earth wins, Alpha Centauri wasn't even mentioned, no Romulan women, no Vulcan women, Venus, the planet of Love....not mentioned. I think the fix is in again this year.

Ahead of their time: Books that were not allowed in my school in 1960.

"The boy who died from eating all his vegetables"
"Dad's new wife, Robert."
"That's it, I'm putting you up for adoption."
"Strangers have the best candy."
"Lolita"

Yet another philosophical question: I just read about a funeral home that burned down.
Sadly, there was someone's dear one waiting to be cremated when it burned down and he was accidentally cremated. My question is: How much should they charge the family of the deceased for their services?

Hysteria!!! Did you cry when Kim Jung il died? I must say I did get caught up in the television coverage? (OMG....WTF???...sniff..sniff..sob..sob!)
My wife and I wept and wailed shamelessly. Our neighbors came over to find out what was wrong. They left in tears. We are not sure whether they were laughing or crying.

A review of Republican candidates:

Rick Perry: OMG!!!!...He makes George Dubbaya seem like a Rocket Surgeon. It must be the drinking water in Texas.
Mutt Romney? He lost me when he told a gay soldier that the writers of the constitution were against gay marriage. Really? I just perused the constitution. I must be missing a page; it must have to be with the section that solves the slavery problem, and the women's rights problem.
Could someone mail me that page? I seem to have lost that one.
Herman Cain: A black president? Never happened. Where was he born?
Michelle Bachmann: She is much cuter than the other candidates. Other than that, a big "L", as in Loser.
All others: Pathetic....
Mitt?....oh!

But seriously..... There actually is A VERY GOOD BLOG FOR SENIORS. It is "Suddenly Senior" by Frank Kaiser. Even people who are not senior citizens should take a look. Hopefully some day you will be a senior citizen. This blog covers a lot of territory. Some very serious topics, some not so serious.
Frank says he is old as dirt. In fact, he knew dirt when it was still a rock.

OK...I feel better now. I am so over Kim Jung il. No more weeping shamelessly although I must admit I am a little misty eyed...but life goes on.

A Christmas story? Or not!!!

2011-11-30T14:12:00.000-08:00

"Like an overripe beefsteak tomato rimmed with cottage cheese, the corpulent remains of Santa Claus lay dead on the living room floor. The family's little rat terrier walked up to the prone body and defecated on its unbreathing chest, as restless reindeer shifted their hoofs noisily on the roof of the house."

Hmmm! I am having a bit of trouble writing my Christmas story this year. It doesn't seem to be going in the right direction. Once again I have killed the main character in the first paragraph. I seem to do that a lot. I guess there are too many things on my mind. Perhaps I will win the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction contest this year for the best "It was a dark and stormy night" prose .

Many questions that I saw on a website called"That's my answer." have been nagging at me.

One question was: If you were a superhero and you had super powers, what would they be?

I know the answer now. I would be Super Senior Citizen Man.

I even know what super powers I would have.

The ability to hear complete conversations without saying "huh?..what?"
The ability to see things without my glasses.
The ability to smell and taste food, flowers, coffee.
The ability to walk without my hip hurting.
The ability to sleep on my right side, pain free.
The ability to sleep the whole night without getting up and going to the bathroom.
The ability to remember where I put my glasses so I could find the bathroom.
The ability to remember if I took my BP medicines.
The ability to get out of bed and stand up straight.
The ability to watch a television program without falling asleep.
The ability to have voluntary BM's.

My wife (thw little French Lady) sees some of my inabilities as a good thing. A case in point would be my skill at cleaning up Wilson's litter box every morning. She will not come down the stairs until this is done. She has tried several times to show up before it is done and she starts gagging and she runs upstairs screaming, "It burns my eyes! It burns my eyes!!!"

Now that I think about it, even Wilson tries to avoid his own essence after he uses the litter box. He will sprint up the stairs like a bullet.

No fifteen year old cat should be able to move that fast without a strong motivation.

It smells pretty bad...I am told.

This is a start for Super Senior Citizen Man. A cape and wearing my underwear on the outside will be a nice touch also.

I would need a faithful companion, a sidekick, of course. Every super hero has one.

I would actually have two. I would have "General Practitioner Man", who would assure my ongoing success as "Super Senior Citizen Man" by dispensing prescriptions, and "Pharmacy Girl", who would assist GP Man with my medications such as Prozac, medical cannabis in pill or brownie form (for glaucoma, of course).

What!!!??? I don't live in California? Or Vermont?...never mind.

I would need some sleeping aids, for sure. I go to bed and my mind races like a three year old after drinking two cups of coffee and a Jolt cola.

These questions on "That's my answer" drive me crazy.

The other day someone asked, "If you could, in what city would you like to be a taxi driver."

I picked Vatican City. Short trips.

I think about these things while trying to sleep. Last night I was thinking about taxes.

I understand the concept. I am confused about how are taxes are spent.

The government will spend huge quanities of money to send PFC John Doe to Iraq and Afghanistan with top of the line equipment. When he gets home, they dump him on the street shell shocked, missing a leg, homeless and basically say "We are done with you now don't bother us". Sad, but true...

The night before I agonized over how to fold fitted sheets. I also wondered why the first testicular guard, "the cup" was used in hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. Does this come down to manly priorities? This is proof that man is evolving.

I live at the beach. Boccie players have small balls. I think they should use bowling balls instead. Their little balls take up too much room on the beach. I don't want to get whacked in the head by someone's stray balls flying through the air.

Last Wednesday night worry: Pockets on a thong. Good idea or bad idea? Discuss amongst yourselves...

Tuesday night, "euphemisms" kept me awake. I was trying to find a nice way of saying "vomiting". The choice that comes to mind: Unplanned reexamination of recent food choices.

Well, I guess it is time to get back to my Christmas story. All Righty then!!!

"The shrieking of happy little children is heard in the background as they descend the stairs before entering the living room to open their presents."

Uh oh....! I don't think this is going to end well.
Perhaps I should email my pal, Stuart Woods again. Yeah, He's my pal...I tell you!!!! He got me out of my last writing blunder.

Anderson Cooper and other hairy issues

2011-11-22T14:34:00.000-08:00

Goodbye Doctor Phil.

No more hair raising stories.

No more road trips, I have a daily program.

The little French Lady and I have watched Doctor Phil for eight years. One day, while we were watching Phil, he looked into the camera and said, "How's that working for you?" My wife and I looked at each other and said, "It's not, Dr. Phil."

We had heard his home spun pithy maxims at least a few hundred times. I think I could do his program if he decides to go on vacation or retire. The only thing required of me for hosting his show will be to say three things.

How's that workin fer ya?
This ain't my first rodeo.
No matter how thick the pancake, it still has two sides

Obviously he has not seen my mother's pancakes. They were so thick that they qualified as having three sides.

But once again I digress.

We grow weary of you, Doctor Phil.

We are moving on but we have a problem. My wife and I tend to take on the persona of the favorite television people that we admire. Someone who has the same core values as we do.

I must model myself after someone new. I have eliminated numerous candidates. It is down to Andy Rooney, Larry King, or Anderson Cooper.

~~Andy Rooney~~ (deceased)
~~Larry King~~ (I do not own suspenders or a bowtie)
Anderson Cooper (We both have similar hairstyle and color)

That was easy.

Now the little French Lady must decide who she is going to model herself after.

It is down to Judge Marilyn Milian of "People's Court" , Judge Judy of "Judge Judy", or Sarah Palin of "I can see Russia from my front porch", and I believe she was involved in politics at one time. We both like Rachel Maddow. I think she is a hottie. My wife just smirks and says, "okey...dokey. Good luck with that."
What....?????....!!!!!

We both like to watch Judge Judy. Judy gets a little cranky occasionally. We both have taken on her persona lately.
The other morning when I was in my pre-coffee stupor and barely aware that I was actually awake, my sweetie said something to me which apparently bounced off the outer edge of my cranial cavity. She was not pleased.
She found a pencil or a hammer or some pointy instrument and whacked it off the table surface.
I lifted my befogged head and she took her two fingers closest to her thumb, pointed them at her eyes and shook them.
"Here!!...look here. Not at the ceiling or the floor. Here!!!"
I just looked up and said, " It was a gift, your honor."
She really does have her Judy moments.

In the morning I am more like Rick (OMG!!!!) Perry. I would really like to be more like my buddy, Anderson.
It is too bad about Anderson. He just had his first cup of coffee last week on his television show. He had a hyper coffee buzz. He likes it but I don't think he needs it.

I suppose the second choice of personas I might choose to be is Mike Holmes of "Holmes on Homes." and "Holmes Inspection". He is a Canadian guy who fixes other contractors' goofs. His program is very popular on HGTV.
~~This guy looks a lot like me. He is built like me.~~ His hair is the same color as mine. (My wife made me strike the other two sentences.)
She took a pencil, whacked on my keyboard, pointed two finger at her eyes and said, "Look here......seek.... professional.... help!!!!"
Hah! I know a lot more about contracting and fixing houses than she thinks.

"That's ridicoolus!!!"

One day I was lining up nails. Some of the nail heads were facing left and some were facing right. I told her the ones facing left were inside nails, the ones facing right were outside nails. I told her I needed more left nails so I sent her to the hardware store.
She was very annoyed when she got back. She kept saying, "That's ridicoolus!!!". Just like Judge Judy.

Just when I think I have lost her to Judge Judy, she will come up with some Cuban homily of Judge Marilyn Milian.
So it's been decided.
I am going to model my life after Mike Holmes and my sweetie is still trying to decide between Ellen De Generes, Michelle Obama or Nancy Grace.
Huh...?...what?

Senior moments (Relativity explained here!)

2011-10-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

Bullets for a better world.

Yesterday my wife, the little French lady, explained relativity to me and she didn't need Einstein around to explain it. She used the three hair theorem.

If I had 3 hairs on my head that wouldn't be very much hair. If I had those same three hairs floating in my soup, that's a lot of hair. It's relative. See...no Einstein required.
Ahhh....Relativity. When I was growing up the superheros wore their underwear on the outside and had big capes. In the fifties they were called Superman, Batman, Captain Marvel. Now they are called Interior Decorators or Rap singers.
In the 50's these Superheros had young companions or proteges who lived with them. In the 50's that was OK. Now the men would be called Monsignor.
When Superman was a child and his "mother" made his "uniform", what kind of thread and scissors did she use to cut and sew the cloth? I worry about this stuff.
I am trying to learn Spanish. Those people have a different word for everything. When I visited Montreal, I thought if I talked louder they would understand me. I asked my wife what was wrong with these people? Why aren't they speaking English? Didn't you tell them about my impending visit? She said she forgot.

When I was growing up in the fifties, my dad worked, my mom stayed home. We owned our house, my father bought a brand new 1955 Chevy, our health plan was taken care of by my dad's employer. Everybody in our town was a Republican. We wondered why anyone would be a Democrat. We knew nothing of poor people, civil rights, poor schools. We knew nothing of that other world.
Times change. We elected a black Democrat president. My dear republicans are furious. How could this happen? I wonder? Could it be that their leadership is less than inspiring? Are George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Sarah Palin the cream of the crop? Yikes. Could it be that a majority of americans are concerned about things such as health care? I really don't care if he was born in Kenya or Hawaii.
Rick Perry: OMG!!!!!!
Former Presidents: George Washington? Father of our country? That is the only thing he fathered. He had no children of his own. James Madison? Ditto!!
President James Garfield was assassinated by...his doctors. Yeah, yeah...I know. Someone shot him. If the doctor had left him alone he would have recovered. He had seen 16 different doctors. Sadly they poked around inside him trying to find the bullet. While doing so, they lacerated his liver, he got an infection and died 89 days after he was shot. An autopsy showed the bullet encapsulated. Oops!!
Wakes! What a wonderful tradition. Wakes were started because people in the olden days had a nasty habit of burying people who were still alive. Someone suggested they hold off for a few days before we bury this unmoving person. The person may "wake" up. I know I would be real cranky if I woke up from a big hangover, inside a pine box wearing a tie, white shirt and a suit coat, and jockey shorts. "Hey, get me outa here. My mouth feels like I ate cotton candy. Where's my pants and socks? What are these pennies doing on my eyes?" I am sure this could have happened to a few of my Irish ancestors.
People are protesting the Wall Street shenanigans? What took so long? The liberal's answer to the Tea party? Isn't this almost Anti-American and unpatriotic, Rush?

I just had to get this stuff off my chest, along with those three hairs I just shaved off.

Gotta go to lunch now.

What's that floating in my soup? Relativity?

The Coffee clatch gang.

2011-10-13T12:32:00.000-07:00

Making new friends?

Yesterday I realized that I miss the companionship and fellowship of my male friends, so my wife ordered me out of the house until I found some cronies to hang out with.
She is the one who used the word "cronies", I did not!

Her thinking was;young guys have friends, old guys have cronies.
I qualify as old. You may qualify as old if the hair in your nose and ears grows faster than on your head. In fact, I nearly lopped off my ear last week trying to trim my ear hair, but that is another blog. Let's not get off topic here.

So, here I was, quicked out of my own home by the Little French Lady... searching for a spot to meet my crony friends. I thought I might give the Starbuck's down the street a try. I had packed my Man gear. My GPS, my binoculars, my Ipad, my Mental Floss magazine, I put on my Mental Floss T-shirt (The one that says, "I would give my right arm to be ambidextrous"), my wrap-around sunglasses and my sparkling wit.
I was off.

Upon arrival to Starbuck's I ordered my latte and my danish. I gave the woman with the spanish name my $20 bill and she asked if I wanted change back. I said, " of course!!!"
She returned a quarter, a dime and two pennies.
Huh!...oh well, I shall commence to making friends now.

I sat a table with a nice looking young lady. She had her MacBook out and was typing like a person possessed. She paused. I said, "MacBook?..I have a MacBook."
She looked up and glared at me. I figured I better straighten her out so there was no misunderstanding.
"Oh.....I'm not flirting with you. I'm here to meet men." Something didn't sound right about that statement.
She glared. I looked around. Everybody was in their own little world. One guy was reading the Sunday New York Times. (It was Thursday). One woman was doing a spanish lesson on her computer. "Como esta Usted?" I kept hearing her say that. Finally I hollered out, "Muy Bien, Gracias!!"
More dirty looks. It was like I pooped on the table. People started complaining to the spanish waitress. I guess her name was senorita Barista, she didn't look spanish.

Finally, out of desperation, I took out my Ipad. I emailed my wife, "Can I come home now? Everybody hates me at Starbucks." She emailed me back and told me to try a different location. I got up to leave. I said, "Adios, everyone."
I received a standing ovation.

I walked for about 15 minutes in the opposite direction. I noticed this place called "Jimmie's Hole in the Wall." written on a theater marquee above the establishment.
The parking lot was full of pickup trucks with rifle racks in the rear windows, or confederate flags on the antennae.
I walked to the clerk and ordered a cup of coffee. "That will be 30 cents."
Wow, I like this place already. I noticed a bunch of guys standing around a round table talking. I walked over and found an open spot at the "round table". They were actually talking to each other. They all said, "How yawl doin?" I looked around. There was no one behind. They were talking to me!!!! I loved this place.

The floors were kind of quirky. They were at an angle, very much like an old movie theater.
"Where yawl from?" a guy named Joe Willie asked. I said I lived a few streets away off ocean Blvd.
"You lie!!!!!!" Joe Willie hollered. That brought huge laughter to the rest of the group. Shoulders were convulsing, many were snickering mixed in with a few tee-hees and guffaws.
One guy, named Marko, raised his hand and everyone stopped laughing immediately. "What Joe Willie is saying is that you don't sound like a native of South Carolina."
"Oh,...I am originally from Vermont."
"Vermont?...Isn't that where that Jewish Communist Congressman lives?..Burley Sanger!"
"Do you mean Bernie Sanders, Joe?"
"Yeah, That's the guy. The Communist Jew guy."
"Bernie's a socialist, Joe." I answered.
"Yeah, well...He is still a jew. How do you expect me to trust him. This guy has high regard for Moses. Yeah...Moses.....The guy who wandered around the desert for 40 years. He wouldn't man up and ask directions after God parted the Red Sea. Would I follow this guy? No way!!! and to compound matters he had a bunch of people behind him and nobody tapped Moses on the shoulder and say after about 13 years, 'Moses, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. What's your plan?" "

Hmmm...this guy, Joe Willie has some valid points; he has obviously thought about Bernie and Moses quite a bit.

Marko, (the guy who had everyone stop talking when he raised his hand) was held in high regard by the people at the round table. He talked fondly about his travels on the Appalachian Trail and his frequent trips to Argentina to visit his soulmate and fiance.
He seemed quite puzzled by the Catholic religion. He understood the concept of heaven and hell.
Heaven good, hell bad.
Marko was thinking about switching to Catholism for his fiance.
He was mystified by the other places located in between...
Heaven, Hell, Limbo, Purgatory and Bridgeport, Connecticut.
I have been to Bridgeport. If I die and end up there....hmmmmm. It ain't heaven.
Marko, Bubba, Joe Willie, and Billy Jeff seem like a bunch of nice guys. I enjoyed listening to them. They are a funny bunch. The coffee taste great, the price is right.
I will email my wife and tell her I have met some new friends and I am on my way home.

"See Yawl tomorrow."

Misinformation Hotline

2011-09-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

One of our many experts. (only two actually)

Misinformation Hotline
from the Hemlock Institute

This is a service I will be providing to the American public starting October 1st (Mayday). I will be answering questions based on my personal database and prejudice. The answers have no basis in fact and if I have answered it factually it is totally accidental.

*************************************

My first question is from J.R. in Wisconsin.

She inquires:Was Obama really born in Kenya?

Answer:......HELLLOOOOOO! Did you just crawl out of a cave. Yes, It is a well established fact that he was born in Kenya. (SOURCE: Rush Limbaugh, Glen Beck)

Ms B.S. from California want to know: Do we really have the best healthcare system in the world?

Answer:HAARRUUMPPPPFFFF!!!! Apparently there is quite an elaborate cave system in California also. Yes, B. S., We have the best health system in the world.
When I say "we", I am, of course, referring to the U.S. Congress. My source would be John Boehner. The rest of the country? The best healthcare system? Not so much.

My next question is from Rick P. in Texas. He says that Mexicans are coming across the border and stealing his jobs. He wants to know what he can do about this travesty.

Answer: Well, Rick, It looks like you should find a different profession other than gardener, fruit harvester, or lawn maintenance because that is the jobs they are taking. I suggest perhaps something in the customer service field. perhaps you could be a greeter at Walmart. Let me give you a little test. Finish this statement.
"Do you want (a) flies (b) fries (3) to cry (d)all of these.....with your Whopper?"
There is no correct answer, Rick. so feel free to answer honestly. (I'm lying..there is a correct answer.)

The next question is from H.H. in Connecticut.
She ask (or aks) "My job has been outsourced to India, I think. I went to my office this morning. It was empty. There was a phone # on the door telling me where I could pick up my severance pay. I called and a girl named Brittany answered. She had an Indian accent. I aksed where I could pick up my check and she said, "Bangalore...umm..Street"
There is no Bangalore Street in my town. I checked on Google maps. What should I do?"

Answer: Yes, you have been outsourced. It is a new tradition in our country to put profit ahead of people. I will give you some satisfaction to know that Brittany's job will be outsourced to China at the end of the year. Indians are starting to demand a living wage. What should you do? Collect unemployment and welfare while the infrastructure of the U.S. of A. crumbles and Congress says, "Hmmm...What should we do?
"Ummm...let's see. There are many well educated people out of work, unable to pay their mortgage and the bridges, Highways and cities are crumbling. I just don't see a solution. This is really a conundrum. Hey, since we are mostly lawyers maybe we should sue somebody. I wonder what Rush Limbaugh would do?"

My next question is from a J. G. in NYC. She ask the question, " We have the "No child left behind" concept at her son's school. He cannot count to ten or write his name and he will be graduating in June. What should I do?"

Answer: Not to worry, Miss G. If your son can dribble a basketball he will be eligible for a scholarship. He does not wish to go to college, he can probably get himself into the welfare system and be eligible for free education, housing, food, health care for himself and his 13 year old girl friend who is pregnant and will want a boob job after the birth of her third child in December.
Note: The likelihood of him getting a job in this economy is nil anyway, so go with the flow.

My next question is from a Mr. O.J.S. who is currently incarcerated in a penitentiary somewhere in Nevada. He would like to know how he could get in touch with Casey Anthony. He would like to know if she is dating anyone.
He states,"We seem to have a lot in common. I am looking for someone who will help me find my wife's killer. You seem to have a similar experience with the U.S. justice system."
Answer: At this time Casey is looking for someone to father her next ~~victim~~..child. To become eligible send $1000 and a biography, pictures, DNA sample and a short video of you dancing to: Jose Baez, Orlando, Florida. He will contact her after reviewing your application.

HEADLINE from the National Inquisitor: (THIS JUST IN!!!!)
From Kim in Wisconsin
Dancing with the Stars, the Felony Edition will premier next season. So far they have lined up Casey Anthony to dance with John Walsh of America's Most Wanted
and they all ready pulled a coup when they got O. J. Simpson out on a work release program so he could dance with Lindsay Lohan. Also Phil Spector will be out to dance with either Heidi Fleis or Tanya Harding. Tanya, when asked about fellow competitor, Casey Anthony, She was heard to say, "I'd like to kneecap that bitch."
Nancy Grace will be dancing with Joran Van Der Sloot who will also be on a work release program in Peru. They will do a very passionate Tango together. I hear he can do a killer Tango.

And one final question for today and it comes from Mr. C.S. of Hollywood, California. He queries, " Is tiger's milk really good for you?"

Answer: "Yes, it is ~~Charlie~~.....errrr..Mr.C.S., It is very good for you. The deal is, if you are the one milking the tiger, you probably don't need it."

Well, if anyone needs any questions answered by the Hemlock Institute, feel free to submit a question. I will answer it.

A good idea!! If you are tall!!!

My Wild Irish Rose and other companions

2011-09-19T15:55:00.000-07:00

Wine Tasting Misadventures

What's the word?...Thunderbird?

She was my mistress and companion on my nightly excursions in the world of youthful sleaze.
I tried to sleep with her on numerous occasions. Sometimes I was successful, but usually she would get my head spinning and my stomach all queasy. She had that intoxicating demeanor.

Yeah, she was cheap, but she was sweet. Cheap wine usually is. Wild Irish Rose is the cheapest. I have some bittersweet memories of WIR and bittersweet would pretty much describe the taste. What can one expect for 60 cents a bottle? This wine makes Ripple taste like a winner at a wine tasting contest. In fact, during my adolescence my friends and I became connoisseurs of cheap wine.

In New York in late 50's and 60's the drinking age was 18. We were not intimidated by that lofty distant number. We were not going to wait two or three years before our lips would taste the nectar of the gods. We were ready.

My friends Jim and Andy had very little money. This did not dampen our eagerness for an adventure in wine tasting. We would simply bum money until we had enough to buy a bottle or two of Wild Irish Rose.
We would sneak into the woods nearby, break open the bottle, take a healthy sip, slosh it around in our mouths and spit it out, look at each other and comment on the bouquet as a knowledgeable wine taster would do.
"Gasoline" Jim would shout. "low test, I might add".
"Kerosene", was my rejoinder. "1957...a good year for kerosene."
"Rancid grape soda with a hint of putrefied toe cheese", was Andy's comment.
"Ah...You have the benefit of both wine and cheese in one bottle. A bit of luck for you, sir", Jim added.

After a few attempts we got to the point where we could swallow the wine without gagging. We stopped spitting it out.

We moved on to a higher class wine rather quickly. We moved on to Thunderbird. This is also what is referred to as a bumwine, we thought it was a step up and the bottle was bigger. Also, it was a California wine. We were done with New York wineries.

We got very good at bumming and sharing. One evening we bummed enough money for about a gallon of Thunderbird. We just had to give our financial benefactors a sip.

We were a bit over served that night. After a while we were in no condition to drive. Thank God none of us had a car. We were in no condition to walk either. We took turns carrying each other. We had to walk two miles to get home. We made it to Jim's house, since his home was the closest. By this time, Andy was in a total stupor and he was thrashing around making our life difficult.
We brought Andy to the garage, tied him up so he wouldn't thrash around, hooked his coat, with him in it, onto a hook on the wall.
Jim then said, " Come on into the house and meet my uncle. He's a priest."
"Ah...No..Thanks...Jim. I will be on my way. Have a nice Thanksgiving."
I also had to get up and watch the vaunted Detroit Lions give the lowly Green Bay Packers a pummeling.
"Oh, come! My parents won't even notice that we had a little bit of wine. My uncle drinks wine all the time. He won't notice either."
"Okay!"
It is a good thing I was not born a female. I gave in way too easily. I guess I was a male wine slut at the time.

Jim and I staggered to the house and stumbled up the stairs and into the kitchen. Jim's dad was there to greet us. He took one look at us and asked sternly, " Have you boys been drinking?" We both said, "No" in unison.
"Don't lie to me. You boys have been drinking."
Finally, we confessed. "We had a glass of wine at Andy's house."
"A glass?" Jim's dad queried loudly. "It was a big glass." I added. We confessed that we had a little more than a glass of wine. We didn't really fool anyone. We could barely stand or talk properly. We told Jim's dad that we had hung Andy in the garage.

"What?...You hung Andy?....Why?....He was a good kid."
"Yeah, but we got sick of carrying him." I answered.
"He didn't even get last rites. How could you? I will have Father Riley (the uncle) administer last rites."
Jim and I looked at each other. We were puzzled. What is he talking about?
"Oh....No...Not like that." Jim offered. "We did it with nails and a garden hose."

At this point, Jim's dad is in shock. He is about ready to have a stroke. "You crucified Andy? You boys are very mentally sick. You have ruined your lives."
His eyes were very moist. He kept repeating, "sick...sick...sick."

Finally, we really had to tell the whole truth. This was getting out of hand.
We told Frank (Jim's dad) that Andy was out in the garage being held up by a garden hose and a nail to keep him from falling over onto the cement in the garage. He was too drunk to walk and we left him out in the garage because he would have given us away. We actually thought nobody would notice that Jim and I could barely stand up straight or talk without a heavy slur.

Finally, Frank explained the situation to Father Riley, who had been in the other room listening to the whole escapade. I met Father Riley, shook his hand. He gave Jim and I a little lecture about lying and we were remanded to our own custody to take care of Andy, who was still hanging in the garage.

We had to walk Andy to his home, which was another half mile down the road. We didn't really walk him, we carried him. He was in a stupor.

We carried him to his front door. We hoped that it was unlocked. It was. Nobody was up. Everybody had gone to bed. Thank God...we would not have to explain this to more people. We used stealth to set him just inside the door, on the floor and quietly exited his residence. Then we ran for about a hundred yards.

"Whew, poor guy. He's toast. I suppose we will be hearing from his mom and dad tomorrow."

Strangely, Andy was the only one who did not get caught. When I got home my parents were waiting for me. I gave them the "sip of wine at Andy's house" story. I think they knew it was a lie, since I still was having trouble navigating.
Jim, Andy and I discussed it on Saturday.We considered this a legendary adventure of our teen years.
We decided we would meet at Scotty's, our hang out, in exactly 20 years. The night before Thanksgiving. Wednesday.

EPILOGUE:

The meeting never happened: Reality got in the way.
Approximately four months after this event, Andy became a diabetic. He didn't take good care of his disease. As time went on, Andy lost his vision, his toes, his kidneys and at the age of 39....his life. He was my best friend.

Jim became a lawyer. A good one. Ironically, Jim's daughter was born the day Andy died. He could not be a pallbearer because of this. I haven't seen Jim in twenty years.
However he did sign one of my legal documents. Thanks, Jim!!!

The place where we were supposed to meet is now a pile of rubble. The only thing left of it are the memories.

The town I was raised in has not fared much better. Ten years after our adventure, the main industry in our town shut down permanently. The town is in a state of decline.
It was a great place to grow up. It is heartbreaking to go back and see what has happened to it.

Life...for some of us...goes on.

The Wizardry of Oz

2011-09-08T10:40:00.000-07:00

I'm off to see the wizard.

Recently the little French Lady and I have become more health conscious. In keeping with this theme I adjusted my 401K to reflect my expected living age to 110 years old. Now I must do something in the health department to facilitate my expectations.

My wife adjusted her 401K to the age of 101 so we could die at approximately the same day.

We both decided that Doctor Oz seems to have a lot of ideas on how to stay healthy. We started saving his TV show on our DVR. This seemed like a really great plan. I read a couple of his "YOU" books and they seemed quite confusing so I assumed he knew what he was talking about.

He is often quoted in Reader's Digest, The New York Times, Mad Magazine and the Daily Worker, so we had a sense that he had some credibility.

After two months of Doctor Oz, I must confess that I feel the same as I did before I started watching his program and taking his advice.

I do have a very healthy refrigerator heavily stocked with Shiritake noodles, baked kelp, cauliflower smoothies, a 5 gallon of some very virginal olive oil, 14 avocados, 50 pounds of walnuts, and a Swanson Fried Chicken TV dinner.

We haven't eaten at home in 5 weeks. I cannot even look into the refrigerator without gagging.

On top of our dining room table is our food supplements. We have so many supplements on our table that we have to eat standing up. We have our pills organized by morning, noon and night.

We spend our first hour taking the morning pills. We spend the next half hour trying to keep them down. Those fish oil burps are wicked. I am sure glad we got the burp-less ones. Same routine at noon and night.

This morning I had an eppiffery which is very much like an epiphany only much less insightful.

This Oz thing is a little weird.

Monday he says 6 cups of coffee in the morning is good for you. So Monday I drank six cups of coffee and walked around in a highly excited stupor which is a bit of an oxymoron but that is how I felt.

Tuesday he says coffee is really not that good for you. So I threw all of our coffee away and again we both walked in a state of high agitation and low stupor, bumping into each other, and at the same time going through coffee withdrawal. A tough day.

Wednesday he says coffee in moderation is good for you. I don't have any coffee left in the house, and I am still going through coffee withdrawal. I swore at my neighbors, threw rocks at their dogs, put poop on their doorstep.(mine ...not the dogs!!) I am having another tough day.

Thursday (Today)...

I am watching Doctor Oz show this morning. Constipated and cranky. He has someone's gizzard on a table. He is putting on some blue gloves on, he is squeezing the gizzard. Something is oozing. Yuk!! I am glad I did not turn up the sound.

I just took my supplements for the day. I followed his recommendations. It takes me about 20 minutes to take my pills.

My Omega 3, Calcium, Quercetin, Cinnamon, garlic, Xalatan, Timalol, Lumigan, Simvastatin, hydrochlorothyazide, my memory medicine (I forgot what it's called) Tricor, Damnitol (an anti anger medication), Methimozale (Chantal just told me it is for Wilson's ears. TOO LATE! ).

I just took a blue pill, I am not sure if it is Aleve or Viagra, I will find out soon.

Lint-begone (to prevent the accumulation of lint in my navel), Scrotumizer ( to keep that buffy shine on my scrotum: recommended by Doctor Oz!!...??) and Preparation H, some round pill to make me start pooping, a square pill to make me stop pooping. It had a letter E on it. That may have been a scrabble tile.

I am confused.

I think I am going to give up something.

I think it will be Doctor Oz.

My Personal Rogue's Gallery.

2011-08-04T15:14:00.000-07:00

Friends, Family and other malcontents.

We all have them, don't we?
Oh, you know who I am talking about. It might be Uncle Percy, who collects ear wax and makes religious statues out of it. It could be the neighbor who borrowed your riding mower and sold it on ebay. Maybe it is Uncle Wally who has a pet duck that he walks on a leash every day.
They are colorful characters in your personal history. Some of them are fun, a few weirdos, an equal number of crooks and psychos.

I will start with Uncle Leonard, the low talker.
Uncle Lenny is a small guy. I am a talking "small". He makes Barney Fife look tall and beefy. That may be his problem. He overcompensates. He can drink like a man that is 7 feet tall. Lenny is 5' 1". He drives a huge truck.
When he drinks he acts like he is 7 feet tall. He gets belligerent. He picks fights with big people. Fortunately everyone knows about Lenny, and they act accordingly. Usually they just put their hand on Lenny's head and he swings wildly until he tires.
If the big guy grows weary of Lenny's swinging, he puts his thumb and index finger together and flick him in the chest, very much in the same style that someone would flick an errant booger from their fingers ... and Uncle Leonard would go flying.

Uncle Lenny had a way of exacting his revenge. He was a low talker. He was also an accomplished mumbler. You had to lean very close to him, bend down and say "What"? He could say things to people and they would look at each other and ask, "Did he just insult me?"....Nah!!! This was when he was sober. When had a few extra samplings from the brown bottles he talked incomprehensible gibberish.

I heard rumors that he was a faux Navaho code talker during the cold war while he was in the army. His commanding officers would give him a six pack and then they would write up bogus messages for Lenny to transmit verbally.
Apparently there are sixteen nations still trying to decipher the code, including ours.
My Uncle Lenny.

Then there was my former friend, Quisling Von Heussen. Even back in the late 50's he was strange. He was Swiss. He had relatives in Zurich. He was always saying nice things about Hitler. He would say things like Hitler was better looking than Churchill.
He said Hitler could run faster than Roosevelt and Eva Braun was better looking than Eleanor Roosevelt. He also stated that Hitler could dance better than Joe Stalin. It really aggravated me because I could not disprove his argument.
I did point out that Hitler did make some major social blunders. Quis didn't really want to talk about that. He preferred to say how well Hitler trimmed his mustache an how shiny his boots were.
I grew tired of Quis. That last time I saw him he was handing out brochures for the Tea party. He had shiny boots and a little Charlie Chaplin mustache.

Then there is my friend Miguel Heraldo. He liked cars. I was a very good friend. He came to me and ask to borrow $1500 so he could get a car. I had been burned by him before, but it was a small amount. I said I couldn't do it. His wife said, "I'll make sure he pays it back if you co-sign for him". I finally caved in and I cosigned. He made two payments. The bank started calling ME! I went to his house and asked him about the payment. He said he had paid it late, and not to worry about it. I should have been suspicious when I saw the U-haul truck in the driveway and the boxes in the living room.
He moved to Georgia the next day. I was left to pay his bill. I learned a lesson.

A few years passed and he found my email address somehow and he wanted to be my buddy. I never answered his email. He went to a mutual friend and asked, "What's the matter with Jonathan Hemlock? I email him and he never answers".
The mutual friend and I had a conversation and I said I would answer Miguel. I did. I questioned his honesty and integrity. He answered that nothing like that ever happened. I was lying, where is my proof? He remembers nothing of that. He verbally attacked me to my friends. He said I was a liar. I wasn't really surprised. 5 years go by.....I moved on.
Now, He wants to be my Facebook friend. Yikes!!!
What a World. This is the Casey Anthony Era.

Then we have my Cousin Lonnie Hemlock, the collector.
Lonnie is a bright guy. He is good at fixing things.
A few years ago you could drive your own garbage to the landfill and drop it off.
Lonnie's problem with the landfill was that he would bring home more than he would drop off. He was actually making more space in the landfill for people like me. While most people, referred to it as "the dump", Lonnie called it "the Mall".

I went to his house one day to do some type of family business. I climbed over various car parts, bike parts, old air conditioners, carcasses of various vermin and other sundry products and made my way to the front door from the porch. I knocked on the door. The door tilted at an angle and fell into the kitchen.
Cousin Lonnie was in the kitchen. I think it was the kitchen. Hard to tell. I couldn't see a sink. I did see a refrigerator. Three actually.
"Come in! Come in. Hmmm! I'll have to fix that one of these days. How about a cup of coffee?"
I looked around the room.
"Thanks anyway, Lonnie, I have to be somewhere else in 10 minutes." (Anywhere else! please!!) "I'll just sit on this beanbag chair since all your other chairs have stuff on them."(Beanbag chair in the kitchen?)
"Oh..that isn't a beanbag chair, that's a bag of garbage."
"Oh?" I was impressed. He actually had some garbage in bags. I got out of there as quick as possible.
Sadly, a couple of years later the town burned the house to the ground. Strangely, it is the second one of his houses they had to burn to the ground. I am sure many little critters died a fiery death. I believe they invited the national guard and a reserve unit to shoot the rats as they were fleeing the burning building.

Moving on....

I met my friend Agatha on the beach a few weeks ago. She just won't give up. She had to vent or spew her opinions once again.
She is always talking about "the blacks". Obama, the black, not Obama the president. The blacks are taking over the country. They are ruining it. They have insufficient brain matter to run this country. We are doomed.
She listens to such intellectual heavyweights as Rush Limbaugh, Homer Simpson and Glen Beck.
These are her happiest moment in her life. She is in her element when she is criticizing a democrat, a black, a foreigner (Kenyan?).... Obama.. JACKPOT!!!.. bells and whistles, patriotic music. Flying spittle and excitement. I think she just had a political orgasm.
Is that possible?

Finally...one day I just looked at her kind of funny and she said, "What?"
"Your one of us, aren't you?"
Agatha was dumbstruck. "Wha..What too hell are you talking about?
"You're...a black, aren't you?...one of us."
"You're not black, fool!! You're as white as me."
"I mentioned before that I am Obama's cousin. We are black Irish. Uh..huh..look at your skin. Is that the skin of a white person?"
Agatha sits in the sun every day. She has a deep tan. Is that tan all from the sun?

"Don't deny it. I will not ax you to dance or dunk a basket or spell incarcerated. You are a black. Just like me."
I gestured for her to give me a high five. She ignored it.
"You're crazy!!!" she snorted as she ran off the beach.
I turned to the little French lady and said, "I think we have resolved this issue."
We did the high five.

I have a lot more weird friends. They are interesting people. But I don't want you to think all my friends are weird, just most of them.

I made it. I survived.

2011-08-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

A Tale of Survival

This is a heroic and epic tale of overcoming daunting circumstances and unbelievable danger.

No, it wasn't the holocaust, WWII, the McCarthy era, hurricane Katrina, September 11th, 2001, the Obama presidency, the Bush presidency.

None of those.

It was called "growing up in the 50's". A time fraught with many dangers that people today can't even imagine. I was reading an article today about the dangers of growing up in the 50's. It is nothing short of a miracle that there are any of us left that can reveal what really happened in that era.

Let us start with my birth. I was not born in a hospital. I was born in a maternity home in my hometown. I am not even sure there was a doctor present. I didn't ask and I didn't really care.

I weighed 4 pounds 7 ounces which is on the smallish side. A circumstance of birth that I never overcame in my adulthood. I was a giant compared to my wife, the little French lady. She weighed 2 pounds 8 ounces when she was born. Between the two of us we weighed almost as much as a human being. Almost seven pounds.

We survived the circumstances and the weight of our birth. One thing that may have affected my weight was the fact that my parents were smokers. They also didn't mind tipping a few Pabst Blue Ribbons on occasion.

When I came home from the maternity place I was put in a crib that was painted with lead paint.

Nobody died from it. Nobody became hyper or mentally challenged because of it.

Yes, we had some "not too clever" kids in our class, but I assure you, it was inherited.

We were fed terrible food. Dangerous foods. Things like peanut butter, bacon and eggs and numerous danger fraught dairy products like milk, cheese, and butter. Not one kid in my 1st grade class died of a heart attack or an allergic reaction.

I don't remember a child in our class who was autistic. In fact I can say that about the whole school and the whole town. NOT ONE CHILD!!! No one was autistic. Hmmm!!?

The most nerve wracking disease for my era was polio. I knew a few people who got polio. This was kind of scary.

Now comes the horrific stuff.

You are familiar with child proof caps. Yeah, the ones that adults can't open. We didn't have any child?proof caps for medicine. We just had to turn clockwise and the cap came off. We could chugalug as many aspirins as we felt like. Oddly, I don't remember any kids ever doing that.

We rode bicycles, played baseball without helmets. The cars we sat in did not have seat belts, we rode in the back of trucks standing up. None of my friends had dented heads. In fact no one I know had a dented heads or twisted limbs.

Wait a minute!!!! Our cars didn't have airbags either. WOW!!!!

I drank water out of a brook, out of a garden hose, from a container 4 other people had used before me. I should have died of amoebic dysentery or typhoid fever at an early age.

We ate huge quantities of cupcakes, refined sugar, kool aid, cake, cookies, potato chips, Pepsi, Coke, Fudge bars and nobody was fat. WHY????

Well, I was really too busy to analyze that one. I was outdoors from about 8 AM till about 4 PM. My mother had no idea where I was. She did not call 911 and report me as missing. No search parties were organized. She knew I was probably at my friend's house mooching a meal at lunch time between our baseball games. We didn't have play dates. We had fist fights and wrestling. We solved our own issues with reason and brutality, whichever worked best for the situation.

If I wasn't home by 4PM for supper...too bad for me. My mother didn't operate a restaurant or cafeteria. Either you went without or possibly she would keep it warm in the oven if she was having a really good day.

Then I would go out and play for a couple more hours, especially if I had school that day.

I would not spend a whole lot of time watching television since we didn't have one. We knew who had televisions. Their house would be completely dark except for the silver glow of the round television screen as seen by a 10 year old boy who happened to be walking. Occasionally we would knock on people's door and ask we if we could watch television. They would let us watch one program and tell us we would have to go after the program was over. We were very grateful.

It was many years later that I realized it did not always snow during the "Buffalo Bob Show".

I thought it was always bad weather, not bad reception.

This part is going to shock a lot of people.

Our telephones were hooked to a wall. They weighed about 11 pounds, you could throw them against a wall and they would still work. They had a rotary wheel on the front and the wheel had holes in it. In each hole was a number and three letters. You would put your fingers in the whole and move the wheel in a certain direction until you hit a finger stop, then you would release your finger from the hole and it would return to its original position. This was referred to as "dialing the phone."

If you were a little trouble maker like me, you would just dial some numbers and get to talk to people in exotic places like, Yellow Knife in the Yukon, Capetown, South Africa and Belfast in Northern Ireland.

Before the dial phone it was very similar to what you see on "The Andy Griffith Show."

"Sarah, connect me to Emmett's garage." You just told the operator who you wanted or you gave her a number like 842R or 93J1.

If you had a speech impediment this could become a problem. Something like "twee, twee, teven..aw" (337R)

Operator: "Huh?"

Phone user: "Opowaito, Ju giz me da wong numba!!!"

Operator: "Huh?"

Then there was the issue with "party lines". This was a really nifty thing if you were a kid.

A party line was a pretty weird concept. Your family and someone else's family had the same phone line. If the phone rang once it was for you. If it rang twice it is for your neighbor down the road.

The nifty thing was you could listen to your neighbors gossiping if you picked up the telephone from its cradle really gently. You could listen for a while. It was really bad form to shout out stuff like, "THAT'S A LIE, YOU PIECE OF CRAP" or "GET OFF THE PHONE. YOU HAVE BEEN GOSSIPING LONG ENOUGH." I do apologize for doing it, but I was young.

Another weird thing about the phone system was that there was no call waiting or answering machine or voice mail. If you called someone and they weren't at home, too bad for you.

School was a place you had to have survival skills. The teachers had weapons and they were not afraid to use them. Most teachers had big wooden paddles. They would use them on boys and girls alike. Mostly boys. I saw one guy beg for mercy because he had a boil on his ass. The teacher didn't believe him. He was not spared. I know of some legendary matches among teachers and students in high school. I only saw one. The teacher won. I am talking about physical confrontation. I think our teachers had to go through some type of boot camp before teaching at our school.

Strangely there were no lawsuits. The only time there was mention of a lawsuit was in 1951 when a bus was taking a summer outing to a place I went swimming every day. This day I decided not to go. The bus hit some gravel on the side of the road. The driver lost control and the bus rolled down an embankment and ended upside down. There were 54 people on the bus. Only a couple were seriously injured. Another miracle, really!!!

I survived all this and more. Did I mention the fallout shelters? The atomic fire drills?

Ummm!....Please don't tell anyone but......It was a wonderful time to grow up.

Somebody's got some splainin' to do!

2011-07-19T15:01:00.000-07:00

Me!!! Sorting it out.

Things are getting a little fuzzy in my head and it is not my hair. I am trying to make sense of what is going on in the world. My world. Making sense of nonsense.

For starters, so you know who these people are?

Who would you trust in these pictures?
The people on the top or the people on the bottom?

The people on the top are the infamous hippy Billy Bob Clinton and his main squeeze, Hilly Rod Clinton.

Probably basking in the after glow of some naughty thing they did.

The very family oriented couple below are obviously made of a much finer thread than the hippies above.
The man is a musician. His wife with the huge dress is a judge.
His name is John Michael. The woman is Sharon Rachel... Levy.
They call him John Michael, Ozzie ....Ozzie Osbourne.
He is the lead musician in "Black Sabbath". His favorite food is frog legs. Or frog heads.
Sharon is a Judge on "America's got talent".

The next couple have a common bond. They both have had a family member killed and now they are trying to finance a search for the killer or killers. They would be grateful for any contributions to aid in their search.

Please make all checks payable to:~~The Golf Club and Night Club Fund.~~ Make that: Jonathan Hemlock on this site.

I will now move on to new business and observations.

I will call them keen observations by a Squirrelly senior citizen.

About nature.

Robin's cannot fly. They are very much like a turkey. Turkeys just walk around bobbing their beady little heads like a skilled boxer and end up on a table at Thanksgiving. Why they are not extinct is beyond my understanding.

The Robin can get around ok just don't ask them to fly too much. I have seen squirrels in my backyard fly more than a Robin and they are usually much higher up in a tree than a Robin. You will usually see a Robin running around on the front lawn, huffing and puffing and jumping to avoid the cat that is chasing him. huff…puff…jump…huff…puff….jump.

Another myth: They do not fly south. They hardly fly anywhere. They hitchhike on the back of busses, 18 wheelers, anything that is heading south.

Dumb as a dodo or mourning dove.

We have some Mourning Doves in our backyard. They are not very clever. They spend most of the day running into my windows and the side of the house. They have big bodies and very small heads. Obviously their brains do not take up too much space in their heads. I believe the Mourning Dove will probably evolve into the first headless bird.

Another myth: Why are they mourning? Usually because one of their colleagues just did something dumb and now is deceased, not because of the sound they make.

Old hat:

Old pictures:In the early 1900's men always wore hats. They wore them properly.
Apparently it became a lost art. Nowadays, people do not know how to wear hats. They have them on sideways , backwards, oversized, undersized, everything but right.

Additional information:Men often wore hats and ties just about all the time. Usually a wool suit, a tie, vest, white shirt, wingtip shoes, argyle socks, Wildroot cream oil in their hair, and a dab of bay rum on their cheeks.
The only exception to this custom is when you had diarrhea. Then it would be acceptable to wear only a hat and tie.

Seniors:
Many seniors are at the initial part of their life, like AARP, RIP, DOA, SSI.

Bad Candy:

I returned some M&M's to the company that makes them. They had mixed in some E's and W's. They sent me a free bag.

Signs of aging disgracefully:

My mind is making contracts my body can't keep.
My little black book contains names ending only in M.D.
My knees buckle but my belt won't.
My back goes out more than I do.
I sink my teeth into a steak and they stay there.
I know all the answers but nobody is asking the questions.
But there is some good news, people.
Kidnappers are not really interested in me.
No one expects me to run into a burning building.
People no longer view me as a hypochondriac.
I constantly talk about the price of gasoline in 1962.
I enjoy hearing about other people's surgery.
I had a party and the neighbors didn't even realize it.
Now when I talk about good grass, I am referring to my lawn.
I can remember 1957 like it was yesterday.
Hmm!.....Why can't I remember yesterday?

And finally.... my neighbor, Elmo, who is single, responded to this ad on the internet:

SINGLE BLACK FEMALE seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant. I'm a very good-looking girl who LOVES to play. I love long walks in the woods, riding in your pickup truck, hunting, camping and fishing trips, cozy winter nights lying by the fire. Candlelight dinners will have me eating out of your hand. Rub me the right way and watch me respond. I'll be at the front door when you get home from work, wearing only what nature gave me. Kiss me and I'm yours. Call (843) 8xx-xxxx and ask for Daisy.
Who says you can't find someone to love on the internet.
In fact, that is how I met "The little French lady."
Elmo has found the love of his life. Daisy!!
She is the sweetest black lab you would ever want to meet.

swimming with Sharks

2011-07-12T07:44:00.000-07:00

good size jellyfish. kinda flattened out.

Our Neighbor Wendy caught this good size sting ray. Wendy is holding the fish pole.

pretty girl, ugly porcupine puffer fish

Swimming in Myrtle Beach.

Why would anyone swim in the ocean?

Oh! now I remember.

or not!!!

Aggravating Agatha

2011-07-06T14:14:00.000-07:00

"Run, Agatha, Run!

"THE PROBLEM:"

I have this talkative neighbor, Agatha, who seems to be the world foremost authority. You name the subject, she has the truth....not an opinion, The TRUTH!!!
Oh, there is one exception. She does not own a computer. She refuses to own one. Google is not in her vocabulary. The only windows operating system she is aware of is made by Anderson. Apple Macintosh is only a tasty fruit to her. To Agatha, IBM means impending bowel movement.

If I was forced to give her a political affiliation, I would label her somewhat to the right of Rush Limbaugh and Glen Beck.
She yearns for days of the past. The twentieth century?....No! Perhaps somewhere between the eleventh and nineteenth century would suit her fine. That is our Agatha.

We used to see her on the beach everyday. We would try to engage her in normal conversation. She will talk like a normal person for a while. At some point in our dialogue her eyes would start twitching, her lips would start trembling, her pupils begin dilating then glaze over and perhaps roll into the back of her head. She groaned, shook her head.
My wife, (the little French Lady) and I were wondering if she as going to faint or she was having some kind of mystical sexual experience. We were hoping for the latter.

Then she looked at us with total clarity and said, "Did you watch Rush Limbaugh today? He says congress should impeach Obama. I think he is right. Glen Beck thinks so too.
Everything that has happen since 1988 is Obama fault. Our country is being run by a black foreigner. He is letting "the blacks" take over the country. The blacks...blah..blah. blah..blah Obama blah blah blah blah "the blacks"....blah..blah..blah?"
Spittle and drool roll down her face.

"Agatha, I have to go take a dump now, if you will excuse me." We walk way very fast.

"Whew, I thought we would never get away. Did you see that? She went into an altered state of consciousness. It was like she was transported to Limbaughland." the little french lady mused.
"Maybe she is one of those Tea peer's." the wife said thoughtfully. "One of those folks who drink Tea and pees a lot and complains about it?" I queried.
"Yeah...those."

After that we tried to avoid her. If we saw her wandering on the beach and she was heading towards us, I would ask my wife, "How far can you swim underwater?" The usual answer was, "not far enough."
We had a problem. We needed a solution.

THE SOLUTION: Sometimes the solution just in front of you don't realize it immediately.
I was watching the news recently and President Obama was visiting Ireland. It seems that his mother had Irish ancestry. Interesting information. I could be related to him since I am also since 3 out of 4 of my grandparents were Irish. It is a small country.

Hmmm...wait a minute.
I could tell Agatha that he is related to me. I will have to make a history, a cover, just like a CIA agent....
I am his cousin..twice removed, whatever that means. This could work. Let's see what going to happen.

THE EXECUTION:
I prepare my documentation (a photoshopped picture of Obama and me talking in the oval office) and commence to strolling and trolling the beach. I know it is a matter of time. This is like fishing.
On the third day of ~~trolling~~ strolling the beach Agatha spots us. She waves at us and we casually feign disinterest. I flick my wrist casually towards her. She is waving. I look at the little French lady and she shrugs and we keep walking away from her.

Now Ag is waving frantically with both hands and running towards us. We are walking away from her but not very fast. She finally catches up with us.
She is winded, but she runs pretty well for a 79 year old person with a heart condition.

"Oh...Hi Agatha. When did you start jogging? You have to be careful at your age. but I think it is wonderful that you are concerned about your health and have started jogging."
"I didn't think it was very healthy for you to fall asleep on the beach like you did yesterday."
"Carry on, don't let us stop you."

"Wait!!!...(gasp...huff) I not jogging. I am trying (heavy breathing) to catch up with you and I wasn't sleeping on the beach yesterday. I fainted while trying to catch up to you."

"Oh!...? So what's up?"
Agatha's lips started quivering, her right eye started twitching, the eyes..they dilated, her face became flush. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, apparently retrieving some bit of arcane Rush Limbaugh data from her memory bank. She gasped, moaned, shook her head, then smiled.

"Did you hear what Obama did?"
She broke into a giggle now.
"Cousin Barry? what has he done now?" was my snappy rejoinder.

"Barry? who's Barry? I'm talking about Obama."
"Barry O'Bama. That's what family calls him." I stated casually.
"No, No! I am talking about Barack Obama, that bad black president."
"Yeah, we're talking about the same guy. My cousin Barry O'Bama, the President. The white Republicans are giving him a hard time. That guy."
"Some of you "whites" don't seem to like him."

I pause for effect. It is time to set the hook.

"power to people. now let's have a stout and a potato."

"He's Irish, You know."

Now, I can see Agatha's mind spinning.
"He's black..."
"...Yeahhhh!...What's your point? Haven't you heard of Black Irish? Google it.
Oh, I'm sorry you can't, can you?"

I feigned pent up anger.
"Are you one of those colonialist who exploited our homeland? You white people!!! (said with righteous indignation)
"You whites are always doing that kinda crap. You made life hell for us black Irish during the potato famine, Agatha, Do you ever aks yourself if this is right?"
"You do?....You lie!!!!"

Agatha is slowly backing up. she is nervous. I am jabbering incoherently. Spittle is flying from my lips. I am extolling the virtues of being Irish and black and how this knowledge has improved my basketball dribbling skills and the drinking of the beer afterwards. she now is running.
"She's pretty fast for a 79 year old white woman with a folding chair and a backpack on her back."
I think I had her at "aks". The little french lady nodded. "Oui!"

"Have a lovely jog, Agatha!!!!"

Stuart Woods to the rescue....not!!!!

2011-06-08T18:02:00.000-07:00

Writer's block?

Prologue: Stuart Woods is a world famous writer of mystery novels. He wrote the book "Chiefs" which was made into a television miniseries. He has written over 40 books.

He is a nifty guy.

I am a blogger. I had writers block, of a sort. I figured Stuart could help me. I emailed him. My email is below.

Greetings Stuart,
Help me!
I am a blogger. I have created a character named Colt Brandisher. I have developed a life for him. He has a car. (1957 Citroen) a girl friend, (Candida Goldblatt), a job, (city defective....detective.) and friends. I have blogged my writing process.
After much introspection and thoughtI have modeled Colt after your character, Stone Barrington.
I had considered John Sandford’s character Lucas Davenport, however Colt was not too keen on spending time in Minneapolis, eating at Subway, and reassembling frozen corpses that went through a stump shredder. He did like the idea of the Porsche but I told him Stone had a Mercedes Benz. I also mentioned that Lucas had serious mental problems. He suffers from depression and is afraid of flying, whereas Stone Barrington doesn’t seem to have a care in the world and lives in nice places like New York, Washington, Connecticut and frequents Palm Beach and Key West.
I believe you have enough background information. Here is my problem.
I started writing a story on one of my blogs. I seem to have painted myself into a proverbial corner.
It seems that Colt will die in the first paragraph.
:
“Colt heard the cacophonous sounds of tree frogs croaking their maudlin symphony as the leaden projectile zoomed towards his head. Ironic, he thought. he would be croaking very shortly also. The high functioning brain that currently had the appearance of freshly cooked cauliflower would soon resemble half cooked turnip, perhaps mash potatoes, but certainly not cauliflower.
Colt thought of frogs. He liked frog legs. He would not have a chance to eat them again.
In fact, they would probably be feasting on his legs very soon.
"What!!!!...why am I thinking about food? I am milliseconds from death."
They say your life passes in front of you when death is imminent. Colt's life did pass in front of him. It was a boring life. He had some time left so he started thinking about food.”

Stuart, Do you see my problem? Help me!!
Now I want to talk a bit about Stone Barrington.
He seems to take way too many naps. perhaps he should consider sleeping at night, if you catch my drift.
It seems no woman can get close to him without dropping her knickers, which makes me wonder, “What kind of aftershave is this guy using?”
Stuart,......This guy is a slut.
Does he use protection? He already has one unplanned love child. It is miraculous this guy doesn’t have herpes. Stone better step up. Right now he is acting like a democrat politician. The difference is: a democratic politician can’t keep their pants zipped up and the Republicans can’t keep their mouth zipped up.
Well, I hope you can help me save Colt. He is such a nice guy. I don’t want him cut down in his prime.
If we can get this issue resolved we will meet in Delano, Georgia at your place. We will invite Lucas Davenport. we will have one of Stone’s female friend can cook us up some steaks, served with a bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton-Rothschild Jeroboam. (Colt will bring it with him) and then we will repair to the study and drink brandy and smoke cigars.
Colt will pass on the cigars. He doesn’t smoke. However if your cook will bake some cannibas brownies Colt would be glad to partake of the brownies. He has glaucoma.
This would be considered medicine in many states.
Perhaps It would be wise to serve some peperoni with that. A few hundred slices, a couple boxes of ritz crackers (fat free) and a few pounds of Cabot cheese. Maybe a few litres of Pepsi or Coke.
We will celebrates Colts resurrection.
Thanks Stuart.
PS: I live in SC. I was going to Georgia for a photo layout of “The Girls of Delano” for Playboy magazine. I have read about their beauty in your books. I couldn’t find the girls. I couldn’t find Delano.
I think we should meet somewhere and discuss this. How about Elaine’s? Late?

Epilogue: Stuart answered me within an hour on his iphone. His reply was, "You got yourself into this; get yourself out."

At first I was crushed that he didn't help me. I thought about this for a few minutes and realized That was the answer. He really did give me the answer. I will get myself out of this. Thanks,Stuart!!!
Ironically, nobody will be going to Elaine's in New York City. Elaine Kaufman died in December 2010 and it closed in late May 2011. One of Stuart Woods favorite spots. It is an end of an era.

SCAMPI:The review: Not a four star restaurant.

2011-05-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

I am committed to good food.

My wife (the little French Lady) and myself have become addicted to Geocaching. We have been doing our little adventure of finding Tupperware in the woods using million dollar satellites for about 6 months. We are getting further from home, looking for caches.

Last weekend we were about 30 miles from home. The day was winding down and we were getting hungry. Enough geocaching for one day. We should get something to eat. We were famished. We weren't too familiar with the area so we just drove around looking for a place to eat. We were not interested in Burger King or Kentucky Fried Chicken.

We finally saw a place that sounded pretty interesting. It was called SCAMPI. I like Italian food, and so does my wife. We pulled into the parking lot; it was a huge parking lot. Good sign. I must say the building was quite impressive also.

As we walked through the parking lot we noticed a security guard walking about. Another good sign.

We were met at the door by a very distinguished gentleman. He was obviously the maitre'd of SCAMPI. We were greeted.
"Good evening, My name is Sigmund and you are....?"
"Jonathan Hemlock."
"... and she is?" "Ms Hemlock."

Sigmund walked over to his computer and I saw him type my name into google. His eyebrows raised and mumbled something like, "I thought he would be taller."
I took this to be a good sign.
"Ah, Mr. Hemlock! Welcome."
"We would like to be seated near a window . Preferably in a booth"
"I'm sorry we do not have any windows or booths, Mr. Hemlock."
"Whatever. We will have the special."
"Fine. Mr. Capote will bring it to you."

This guy had a real large attitude problem. He wanted to be called Truman. He thinks he is a president or something. He acted very gay. A gay president. What next?

As we waited for our food a couple of gentlemen joined us at our table. They were introduced as Mr. Harry Callahan and Mr. Walter Kowalski. These guys also had a surly attitude, yet I felt strangely comfortable with them. We introduced ourselves. Their attitude brightened when I told them my name.

"Hemlock?...huh, I've heard of you." Callahan queried. "What are you doing here?" "Geocaching." I answered.
Callahan and Kowalski just looked at each other and shrugged.
Our food finally showed up. It wasn't scampi. It was Shepard's Pie.
"Truman, you gave us the wrong meal."
Truman's attitude became condescending and huffy.

Harry stood up. "I've had trouble with this guy, too. I think he stole my bread stick."
He grabbed Truman by the lapels and said, "I know what you're thinking, punk! Did he have five breadsticks or six? Well, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being these are Olive Garden Bread Sticks, the most tasty breadsticks in the world, and would clearly satisfy anybody's appetite, you have to ask yourself one question. Do you feel hungry, punk?...Well, do ya?....?"
"Do you have anything to add to that, Kowalski?"
"Ummm...No...just stay off my lawn."
"Check please!!!" Harry and Walt were getting a little cranky.

We told Sigmund that we received the wrong food. He told us to sign the release and there would be no charge. We signed.

"Bernard will show you to your room." Bernard was a wiry little guy.
"You can call me Barney. Everyone does. Hey, would you like to hear me recite the Preamble to the constitution?....We.... We?"
"Nip it, Barney. We are not staying here tonight."
Sure you are. You just signed yourself into SCAMPI."
"We just came here for the food. We didn't even get our scampi."
"Well, there's your problem right there. Sigmund we have a problem."
Sigmund reappeared. Bernard explained. Whispering and nodding. "Aha!!!"
The situation was explained to us.

RECAP: All the things we thought were a good sign, were bad signs. We were just told that we have signed ourselves into SCAMPI: the South Carolina Asylum for the Media Programming Indoctrinated. We thought we were in an Italian Bistro, but it was really a mental asylum for people who have watched too many movies, too much television, read too many books and lost their identity.
We probably would not have gotten into SCAMPI if I had used my real name. I used my blogging name and Geocaching name. This usually is not a problem. However when Sigmund (Freud) googled me, my name came up as a fictional character... Jonathan Hemlock, a character in the movie Eiger Sanction, played by Clint Eastwood.

When we sat at our table we were seated with Mr. Callahan (Dirty Harry!!) and Mr. Walter Kowalski (Grand Torino). Both were characters in Clint Eastwood movies. This is why I felt comfortable with these guys. What could be more natural?

So there was a little misunderstanding. Our friends are horrified with what has happened to us. We will be here for at least the next 45 days.

I will bring some ice cold
Silver Bullet beer, guys.
If I get drunk enough I
will give you a peek under my
mask.

They are trying to get us released. I told them to mind their own business.

"Your deal, Hemlock!"

I am enjoying playing pinochle with Johnny Carson, Adolph Hitler and the Lone Ranger tonight.
I hope I don't get Hitler as a partner again.
My wife is having a nice French meal with Charles De Gaulle and Napoleon. Ahhh... Home cooking.
Bring me back some cretons. The guys will love it.

I'm a Deather. I have found my calling.

2011-05-04T05:21:00.000-07:00

Navy Seals(camoed) Great job, guys!!!!

I am feeling abject and despicable shame. The local delegate from the Republican party has just left our house. He gave me the Republican IQ test.

I am considered an imbecile due to my chosen political affiliation. This is humiliating. I did not get one answer correct. I even signed my named incorrectly on my test paper. I signed it on the left side. I should have signed it on the right, which indicated that I have leftist tendencies.

The local delegate harangued and browbeated me for about an hour. Before he left he gave me a copy of his book which he called "My Struggle".

So, I am studying "My Struggle" and taking copious notes.
My wife hollers, "Hey, They just killed Osama Bin Laden."
"Who killed him?" I queried, "A bunch of Seals" the answer.
"Wow, did the seals slap him to death with their little flippers? I would have thought he would be inland instead of on the ocean. I didn't know there was much coast line in Afghanistan."
"It was Navy Seals and it was in Pakistan."
"Oh good! chock one up for our side. Where's the body? When are they going to show it? Are you going to the funeral or wake?"
"No funeral, no wake, no body." was the little French ladie's reply.
"WHAT?".....Here we go again. They buried him at sea.......Right!!!!
Not happening. I have to see a death certificate, a mangled corpse, a crying widow or widows in his case, DNA.
Rush Limbaugh will want to know.

Has the American public been punk'd by the government again???

Here's a few examples:

(The Moonwalk tapes) This is the original Apollo 11 hoax. The Moonwalk tapes were actually done at Universal studios' back lot. In moonwalk, take 3, You can hear Neal Armstrong say, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for me. oops....I just stepped in dog poop. I told them not to use the Lassie sound stage." ....... "CUT!...CUT!!..Wrong again, Neal. It is for mankind, not you. Are we going to have to call Tom Hanks for this scene...Take 4."

(The Agnew proposal) The original Apollo 11 hoax worked so well that Vice President Spiro Agnew proposed at a cabinet meeting that the next astronauts land on the sun. He was guffawed out of the meeting. He was told that the astronauts would burn to a crisp on the sun. It is too hot. A couple minutes later he stuck his head back into the meeting and said, "We could do it at night." Nixon took this under consideration and appointed a task force to investigate this possibility. Nixon resigned before it could happen.

(FDR, the marathoner) You never saw FDR walking, and there was a good reason for this. He couldn't walk. The government did a wonderful job covering up this fact. I did not realize that FDR could not walk until I was a teenager. Today they would photoshop him, they would have him running the Boston Marathon, playing tennis, playing touch football, and playing 18 holes of golf. You would never see him in a wheel chair. This would be bad PR. The president of the US in a wheelchair? This would be deemed as weakness. So the American public was punk'd back in the 30's and 40's.

No more punking. I want to see Osama's death certificate and Obama's birth certificate.

Which one has the hair on his face? I am confused. Well...anyway...ummm, this helped me find my calling. I am a deather.

A deather is the opposite of a birther. Prove to me you are dead, show me your death certificate, DNA samples, your corpse, in person, if possible.

This probably won't be enough but it's a start.

I mean, look how elaborate a scheme Obama had for the presidency.

Somebody early on in his life said, "Hey, this kid could end up being president of the United States. Yikes ... let's make him a citizen of some place in the US. Maybe Hawaii.

We will have to sneak him out of Kenya."

This was a well thought out plan. He is actually a Kenyan Muslim who became president because of good, well thought out planning.

Do you think I am buying the "Osama is dead" story? H....E..L...L..O.....!!!!!

Walking on the moon, walking on the sun, FDR running a marathon, Osama dead, Obama an American Citizen, Paris Hilton a Virgin. How much are we supposed to believe?

I believe what the Republican party tells me to believe. That's what.

Do I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?.... I do?...Oh...well....

"I AM A DEATHER!!!!"

Smoking!!

2011-04-16T05:25:00.000-07:00

cough! cough!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, How bad can it be if Einstein did it and Sherlock Holmes did it? Intelligent and logical, right?

I did it for forty years. I know about smoking. It was wonderful. I really enjoyed chemistry in high school. Most of the chemicals I dealt with in high school were in the Lucky Strikes I was smoking.

How did it all get started? It was easy. It all started during my sophomore year of high school. The "In crowd" would go to a hangout that was just off school property. I wanted to be part of the "In crowd".
We will call this place "Scottie's" to protect the guilty. This is where I went for lunch. I had a choice of eating in the school cafeteria, which served awful stuff like Shepard's Pie, Lasagna, Beef Stew, Chicken Stew, Baked Tuna Casserole for 15 cents (milk included) or go to Scottie's and have a tasty bag of Wise potato chips and an absolutely delicious bottle of Pepsi. A no brainer. I went to Scottie's with the rest of my friends. (Yum..yum!!)

Scottie's was not a big place. It had 3 or 4 booths, a bench, and about 6 stools. The place was built to hold about 20 or 25 people max. At lunch time it had about 50. There were two shifts of about 50 people. If a fire marshall had walked into the place he would have had a stroke. Everybody was smoking and putting out their cigarettes on the floor. It looked like a mosh pit. The owner had an orange tree in the window. It gave nicotine flavored oranges. In this environment I started to smoke, actively and passively.

Cough! cough!

My friend Andy would steal cigarettes from his grandfather, his father, his mother, anyone that had cigarettes. I would "bum" cigarettes from him and others after they got me hooked. One day Andy growled at me, " Why don't you buy your own cigarettes?" Ironic?
He was yet to buy his own first pack. I pointed out this discrepancy in his logic. This actually gave him a chuckle. We decided to split cost so we both could smoke.

When you start out smoking tobacco you tend to experiment a little. You start to be pretentious. I started smoking a pipe, a nice curved briar pipe. I purchased some nice smelly pipe tobacco. The old guys would smoke things like Mechanic's Delight, Half and Half, or Prince Albert, of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can? well let him out" fame.
The younger pipe enthusiasts like myself smoked Borkum Riff, Mixture 79 (or was it formula 44) or other exotic mixtures.
I was very pretentious about the whole thing. I would act like pseudo-intellectuals.
People would ask me a question and I would puff on my briar thoughtfully, not immediately answering their question. I would slowly start to talk, then suddenly stop, take the pipe out of our mouth, look at it, then I would either relight it or clean the pipe.
Then I would say, "Now what was your question?" But the questioner would be long gone.

I was quite arrogant and boorish. I would sit on some steps near the school, puffing my briar with a book in my hand. Maybe it would be War and Peace. People would walk by and I would say something foolish like, "It's about Russia." Most of the time people would just mumble some obscenity.

I even tried cigars. A few big stogies, a few rum crooks, a few White Owls. This grew old rather quickly and I went back to cigarettes.

I enjoyed cigarettes for many years. I loved coffee and a cigarette. I loved cigarettes when I was drinking beer. Delicious combinations. These combos were like...bread and butter, cheese and crackers. These things were meant for each other. Cigarettes were pervasive in my life and it seemed like it was pervasive in everyone else's life. At some point it started to control my life. I realized there was a problem.

My life started to revolve around cigarettes. Everything else was secondary. I had to do a cigarette count before I went to bed at night. It was just not an option to wake up and have no cigarettes in my smokey filled life. Their had to be a plan. I could not be without access to tobacco. The thought of running out of cigarettes made me edgy and nervous, almost paranoid. The thought of it would make me perspire profusely.

Then something bad happened. At least I thought it was bad but it turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. I injured myself at work and it would require surgery. It was a hernia. I would be in and out the same day.
All went well, I would stay at my parents house for a couple of days and recuperate. I could still walk. The pain killers had not worn off and I waddled to my sister's house which was very close. I was having a good old time. I drank some coffee, ate some fried food, had some more coffee. I felt like I was ready for a cigarette. I lit one up.

Five minutes later my sister and brother in law were dragging me up the street to my parents' house in a semiconscious stupor. I was put in bed and I slept for about 12 straight hours. That last cigarette got my attention. I haven't smoked since. I never felt the urge to smoke again. Strange.

I do tell the people who wish to stop smoking that it isn't one day at a time, it's one urge at a time.
I wish I had never started smoking. I am glad I stopped. It was starting to get really tough to find a place to smoke. I have seen smokers standing out in a field out in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard, not wearing much. I could picture the headline in my head, "10 SMOKERS LOST DURING BLIZZARD, SEARCHERS START RECOVERY OPERATION."
Well, I guess they died happy. Clueless but happy.

A reformed smoker is like an insurance salesman, a Mormon missionary, and 3 Jehovah Witnesses, all in one package. We are the worst. We lecture. We are right.
Do you know what your house smells like? Do you know what you smell like? Do you know what your lungs look like? How do you feel about toting around a canister of oxygen? Do you know how much money you would have now if you invested the money you spent on cigarettes into Apple stock in 1990?

The little French Lady is a reformed smoker too. In Canada they kept cutting down on places she could smoke. She wouldn't smoke in her new car and she wouldn't smoke in her new condo. She really couldn't smoke at work. One day she was standing out in a field near Laval with three other shivering smokers and said to herself, "What to hell am I doing?" She hasn't smoked since.
Until we quit our attitude was: What is wrong with these non-smokers? What a rude group. So what if I burned a whole in your rug? Get over it. We call that collateral damage. Why is your baby coughing? Oh, well.... get him to hell out of the room. Why can't I smoke in your car? It has an ashtray, doesn't it? WHAT IS THEIR PROBLEM?

Now that we are reformed smokers, we look at smokers with disdain and contempt. You smell bad. Your car smells bad. Your breath is like an ashtray.
I will be a better person than you. I will allow your canister of oxygen in my car.

The New reality? The Portly Pia and other Ramblings.

2011-04-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

Ok! I just watched a rerun of American Idol.
Yes, I finally get it. Pia Tuscano was voted off by 13 year old female cellphone users. We all know how astute the critical judgement of 13 year old hormonally imbalanced females can be. That is why there are 2 girls and 5 guys left. I suspect that Haley and Lauren will be next. I can forgive these teenage girls for being 13 year old teenage girls. AI is, after all is said and done, a popularity contest.

I know Pia will have a very successful career. Remember Jennifer Hudson?

My problem is with a critic. I am referring to NY Daily News critic Jim Farber, who referred to Pia as "The burly singer". What? I had to recheck the meaning of the word "burly". I thought I knew what it meant.

Burly: (of a person) large and strong, heavily built. Large and thick of build. Stout, robust.

Yes, I do know what it means.

I don't know which event is more shocking. Pia getting voted off was flabbergasting but I was really flummoxed when Farber referred to Pia as "burly".
Does he have a television? I did not see a portly Pia, the chubby chanteuse. I saw a gorgeous lady. I believe about 98% of American women would be ecstatic if they looked as good as she did.
So I will assume this critic (Farber) has a working television so he saw what I saw.
I am supposed to trust his judgement as a critic? Really?
This person writes for a living. He is a wordsmith. He should choose his words carefully.
The balding, myopic, toothless, bulbed nosed music writer for the New York Daily News should be dragged through Howard Beach, NY by a herd of goats with diarrhea.
What? He has teeth?........whatever!!!
I see what I see and he sees what he sees. Subjective!!!!

Which brings me to my favorite judge on America's Got Talent, Howie Mandell. He was so clueless. He thought this Indian impressionist (Ronith) was hysterical. Piers thought it was "twaddle". Howie didn't think that we "got it". We got it. Ronith had no talent.
I guess Howie has some Indian blood in him. He is, after all, an"untouchable".
Howie and Sharon voted for Ronith to go through a couple of times. Well, what can you expect much from someone whose basic job is to be an translator for Ozzie? Is Ozzie English? Is that what he is speaking or is it Ozziespeak?

Since I am here, I have a question that has been keeping me awake for many nights.
I realize that "people of color" keep changing their name. When I grew up they were called "Negroes" (or something worse), now they call themselves "Afro-American".
This is all good. I have no problem with that. That is not my problem.
My problem is what do they call black people in Canada? Afro-Canadians? I don't think so. My wife spent most of her life in Canada and the term Afro-Canadian never came up.
She is French Canadian and probably lived closer to the North Pole than to Montreal for a few years, so it didn't come up in conversation that much, I suppose. I suspect they said things like, "Cold, eh!!" and "Sacrebleu". Another thing about Quebec is every town is
Saint something or other. There may be a town with that name: "Saint something or other". They ran out of Saints.
She lived in Saint-Something or other #19 for 2 years.

The little french lady and I watch Househunters International on HGTV. We thought it would be interesting to live in a different country. Then she started thinking about it.
"I am getting close to my retirement. We will have to find a country that has a better health care system than the US." she stated.
That cuts it down to about 30 countries in the western hemisphere. Cuba, Belize, Costa Rica, Dominican Republic to name a few. Avoid Haiti.
OK...I'm done. I will sleep tonight.

"AWKWARD"

2011-03-29T15:29:00.000-07:00

I pledge allegiance to my belly...?

Awkward seems to be my favorite word lately. I misappropriated it from the little French lady. You would think she would use the word gauche. She seems to be using awkward on a regular basis. It seems to go well with her other favorite word, "obtuse".
For those of you who tuned in late I will define the difference between awkward and obtuse. At least I will give you my definition.

Isn't math exciting and AWKWARD!?

Awkward is when someone crosses the street (jaywalking) while texting and I run them over with my Mazda, then I back over them trying to check out what I ran over.........."AWKWARD" .

Obtuse is when the family of the victim blames you for what happened.

Perhaps a better example of obtuse would be George W. Bush's presidency.
An example of awkward would be George W. Bush's presidency.
Hmmm!.....This doesn't seem to be working out as I expected.

Ok, I will try again. Do you watch "The Office"? Michael Scott is obtuse.
This video on youtube will help define awkward.
We've all had those awkward moments. Did you ever walk out of the bathroom with a toilet paper tail? You go to an event and you're sitting in a chair and your legs are crossed and you realize your socks don't match, causing you to jump up quickly to hide it and you knock over a table, spilling your exotic red drink on the carpet. After that things really start getting awkward.
Did you ever go to somebody's house for coffee, take the milk out of their fridge, pour it into your coffee and ten minutes later find out you just used the breast milk meant for the baby sleeping upstairs?........A..W..K..W..A..R...D....!!!!!
Did you ever try to give a pregnant woman a hug but her belly was so large you shook hands with her instead?...AWKWARD!!!
Worse yet....You ask a lady how many months along are they are in their pregnancy and they say, "I'm not pregnant!!!!"....and they storm off in a big hissy fit.....Sorry!!!!....AWKWARD!!!

Things can get a little strange. I went to high five with someone and he didn't notice me so I hugged him instead. I may have attempted to kiss him also, but I am trying to block that out of my mind. I am no longer invited to the Sunday football fest....AWKWARD!!!

Well at least I didn't go to the State of the Union speech and holler out, "you lie!!!" to the president. AWKWARD!!!!! That one also qualifies in the obtuse category as well.

There are numerous awkward occasions in my life:

You think someone is talking to you. They start swearing at you. You finger them. They were talking to someone behind you. AWKWARD!!!!...DANGEROUS!!!!
In my youth I had a pair of ice skates. We had an outdoor rink at our school. I wore fairly thick glasses, and the ice rink had two puny spotlights. We decided that we were going to do the "whip" a few times. I took off my glasses and put them "somewhere". After we were done skating we decided to go home. It was so cold my feet were frost bitten. I could not find my glasses. I walked home, a distance of two miles. When I got home and explained to my parents that I had lost my glasses, my father drove me back to the rink to look for them. It was 10 o'clock at night. I was hopeless looking for them in the dark. When I got home and took off my boots, I found my glasses.....inside my boot. The frames were crushed but the lenses were ok. My feet were so frostbitten that I could not feel anything. I could have walked through crushed glass and I would not have felt a thing......AWKWARD!!!!...and very short sighted on my part.
Sometimes you get struck down by strange psychological conditions. Sometimes I used to get a "shy kidney or bladder". I would walk into a restroom, usually in a bar to use the urinal. Five seconds after I walked in, someone else would walk in. I would be standing at the urinal for a couple of minutes and the guy behind me would say, " Are you done yet?, I really have to go." "Done yet??...I haven't even started!!!" A lot of mumbling and swearing would commence. A gay guy asked me if I needed any help. I told him I could handle this myself. AWKWARD!!!!
Sometimes a really good idea goes bad. I am always trying to improve life on the planet. I watched a program very recently on recycling human waste. I had tinkered with this idea I in the past. One of my neighbor's dog took a large crap practically on our doorstep. I purchased a large mouse trap, put it in a low gauge plastic bag that would rip easily, filled it with his dog poop, put a string on the spring, wrapped it, put it on his doorstep and waited. It was spring loaded and ready to go. I was sure to do this late at night with great stealth. When he opened his gift, it was regifted and recycled. This is truly the definition of recycling. The neighbor did much cursing. He did not seem to appreciate my gesture to improve the planet through recycling. AWKWARD!
I had a very similar idea with human waste. I was going to save my own human waste and sell it around the neighborhood. I asked my wife to do the same. She is very resistant to this proposal. In fact, she insists that I get some type of psychological counseling. She didn't say it exactly like that. One of her suggestions was for me to call my hometown and see if their village idiot is missing. What do you suppose she meant by that?
If you really want to get revenge on someone all you have to do is send them a letter with the heading: Herpes Testing Lab, U.S. Communist Party membership drive, Subscription renewal for Gay Hustler Magazine.....well, you get the idea. AWKWARD!

Isn't life just a series of awkward events interlaced with moments of lucidity? There is no doubt in my mind.

No awkward events in you life? "You lie!!!!"

Hurry up, Brain...My body is waiting.

2011-03-05T05:22:00.000-08:00

It was a dark and stormy night. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

There!!!!

My English teacher said you should try to grab your readers right from the start. It worked for Bulwer-Lytton and Charles Dickens. It will work for me. I actually tried to fit Hemingway into this but saying, "Did the earth move for thee?" did not seem to fit into the introduction. My English teacher would be so proud.

So much for introductions. Let's move on.

This is for all of you who tuned in late.

My name is Jonathan Hemlock. But not really... this is a fake name.

I try to write blogs that have a beginning, middle and end. My English teacher also mentioned that. I want my blog to be original and quirky. A wry little story about life as you get older.

"Getting older beats the alternative."

The thing about getting older is that your body knows but your mind is usually eight to ten years behind. That is why I have pain medication. I try to do things I did in 1973. I can still do a one and a half back flip off a diving board. I am sure of it.

I can barely walk down the street without falling off the curb but I believe I can run a hundred yard dash in under a minute. I say fifteen seconds. I am sure of it.

I probably could do ten or twelve pull-ups if I didn't have a torn rotator cuff. I am sure of it.

I thought about training for a half marathon. I probably could win my age category if my hips, back and shoulder did not hurt so much. I am sure of it.

This is my current mindset. There is a lot of things going on in your body that you are not ready to accept. Just the other morning my wife said to me, "Your loud snoring kept me awake half the night." My response was, "Really? I kept you awake? How long have I been snoring?" Her quick reply was, "Since 1993!!!!" That's odd! I never heard a thing.

The body is like a finely tuned automobile. My mind tells me that I have a Rolls Royce but I went to my mechanic at the health clinic recently and he told me I have an Edsel.

I noticed a few quirky things. When I enter a building ... or even plan to enter a building, I always have to check out where the restrooms are. This is very important as you get older. We have two and a half bathrooms in our townhouse. A good thing. In the morning all of them will be in use. Wilson will use the half bath as his personal water supply. The initials IBM have a totally different meaning now. IBM means Impending Bowel Movement. I can't imagine living in a place with one bathroom. I shudder.

I also noticed something about flatulence. In my youth it was something we did for amusement. We had total control over this. It was like burping. Something the guys did to amuse each other. Who ever burped or farted the loudest or the longest was a person to be envied. At some point, like in your early twenties, you mature and stop doing it for amusement. This is something you control, more or less. But then you realize you don't control it so you try to be discreet. You try to find open space. You run to an open field. You avoid places that have echoes. You blame it on the cat. You adjust your life... then you get old.

The rules change again. Now you are afraid to pass gas. There is a degree of uncertainty involved in this endeavor. This is why older people are cranky.

There are other issues involved in olditude.

When I was growing up I thought old people smelled funny. I am now "old people". Do I smell funny? My wife tells me I smell just fine. She is starting to be "old people". Should I trust her opinion? I don't dare walk up to a young lady at Walmart and say, "Do I smell old?".

Your other senses start to diminish. You don't know you smell old. My sense of smell has gotten so bad that my neighbors call me when Wilson's litter needs to be changed. I can eat a Limburger sandwich and a glass of sour milk while I change the litter. I'm guessing that my sense of taste is diminishing also.

My sense of hearing is not as keen as it used to be. I learned to compensate. I learned a few tricks from my dad who had the misfortune of being too close to numerous dynamite blast in the mines.

An example of my dad's bad hearing would be: I would say, "My sense of hearing is not as keen as it used to be." My dad would say, "My fence of fearing snot as bean looses bees? What does that mean?" It made for some comical non-sequiturs, but it was also very frustrating. He would never admit that he had a hearing problem. We just didn't talk loud enough or there was too much background noise. He had trouble accepting his aged hearing. I guess the acorn did not fall far from the mighty oak in that respect. I will try to make a better transition, or as my father would say," I will dry and bake a letter transmissions?"

As a person gets older it gets more difficult to sleep unless you are watching your favorite television program on the couch. Then it will take about ninety seconds to fall asleep. Why is that?
Someone told me to count sheep. It would make you sleep. I tried it. Guess what? It didn't work. The damn sheep kept moving. I had to keep starting over. I was getting really annoyed with those sheep. I decided I would sheer the sheep for their wool. That way I could keep track of who was counted and who wasn't. This would have worked except I started to get allergic to wool. So I would wake up exhausted and itchy.
My wife has a similar problem. She can hear crickets farting at three o'clock in the morning. She has extremely keen hearing except when I am talking to her. After I repeat something three times she will then demand I write it on paper. Then she scolds me about my bad handwriting.
Yeah....Penmanship does not get better with age either. I now write like a doctor does a prescription. So now we just email each other. This does not make for good dinner conversation. But...we have documentation.

There are other things that just don't make sense anymore.

The hair on my ears is growing faster than the hair on my head.
A young whippersnapper is someone under sixty.
The diaper aisle at the pharmacy has as many diapers for adults as for infants.
Television..(kata...boomm!) grams hav...(kata...boommm!) a lot of backgro..(boom...boom) background..(boom...boom!!) noi..(boom!..boom!) noise. Am I the only (boom...kata..boom!!) person this...(boom!..kataboom!) annoys, Dr Phil? (Kata...boom!!)
My television has I about seven thousand channels. Why is there only about five good programs on television? Why isn't one of them "The Codger Channel?"
Jennifer Lopez looks like a teenager and I yearn to see Betty White's cleavage. She's hot. I am not well.
If I am not snoring my wife puts a mirror under my nose too see if I am still alive. So far so good.
One of our neighbors is so old that she was friends with (and outlived) people who had streets named after them. She called the "Robert Grissom Parkway" The Bob!!!! A personal friend of hers. That's old.

I have a lot more questions, but this is a good start. Now I can go read my book. My book? I don't remember where I put my book.
Someone told me yesterday that memory is the second thing to go. That person told me what the first thing to go was. I can't remember who told me that and what he/she said.
If you are reading this, call me. Whoever you are. I need to know.
Hmm...What do I need to know?

Early life on a dirtpile

2011-02-26T06:57:00.000-08:00

The Pile!

When my wife and I talk about our education we realize how different we were educated and raised. This should come as no surprise. She was raised in an area in Quebec where aluminum mining was the big industry. I was raised in an area of New York where the big industry was iron ore mining. That is where the similarity ends.

Her dad was the Assistant Superintendent of the company, my dad was the guy who went into the ground every day. A dangerous place. There were many mine widows in our town.

Sadly, my wife's dad could never become the big boss of the facility. He had the education. He spoke perfect English, but he was French Canadian. The facility was owned by English people. He could drink coffee with them but he would never be invited to join the country club.

It was very much like being a black man in Mississippi during the 60's. As long as you stayed in your place life was OK. The French Canadians were treated like second class citizens in their own province. This may help explain why "Parti Quebecois" became so powerful.

But that is another story.

This is about kids being educated and socialized.

My wife is surprised that I can remember all of my teachers from Kindergarten to high school. I am not.

She was educated by nuns. They all looked alike when she was in school. They wore black with white trim. Sister Mary Margaret and Sister Elizabeth looked like twins.

She did not have teachers with colorful nicknames like Peg Leg, Hose Nose, Frizzy, Fossil, Whitie, Bull, and Izzy, to name a few.

Some of the students had very colorful names also. Most of the names were some type of animal like Beaver, Horse, Dogbone, Mole, Cougar, Cub, Munger, Slats, and Carp, to name a few. That was my class only. I am sure some of the other classes had some colorful names also.

The teachers who survived and got tenure were actually quite good. You had to be pretty dedicated to hang around and teach at this school. The school was built on a pile of tailings. Our campus was dirt, gray dirt. If you left the windows open you could hear the sounds of ore cars coming out of the mines and the 2:20 PM explosion. The ground would rumble. They're getting more ore ready for the next shift.

One thing we have in that area is dirt, mountains of dirt.

The people who worked in these mines were a very diverse group. There were many names with "ski" at the end. I guess that would be the Polish People. We had black people who came from South Carolina to find work. We had numerous Spanish people, many French Canadians and of course, the Irish.

I lived a sheltered life for a while. I didn't actually meet a black person until I went to school. Let me correct that. I didn't actually see a black person until I started school.

I was waiting for the school bus which would drop off kids at the school.

The bus arrives and kids start getting off the bus. Suddenly this really black human gets off the bus. I was shocked. I never saw a person with that particular condition. Whatever he had I didn't want to catch it. I didn't know whether to run, poop my pants or go blind. I was traumatized. I eventually got over it. I made a full recovery from this trauma. The guy actually became a good friend later in my teen years.

My school never had a "gay" issue. Huh?...Well, maybe.

I knew of some people who were "different". The one person who really stood out as being gay was not really given a hard time. It was more insidious and subtle. He really wasn't "one of the boys". He was tolerated.

The odd thing, a couple of my classmate came out as gay later in life. I didn't have a clue that they were thinking of joining that club. It's a choice, right? (wink! wink!)

No child left behind? What a concept! There were no Special Education classes when I was in school. If you had an education issue, too bad for you. About half the class I started with in Kindergarten was left behind. It was a miracle that I didn't fall behind.

I made it through. I was horrible in math until 9th grade. The light bulb finally went on.

I was good at physical Education.(Gym)

Life on the dirt pile was interesting. This town of 5 hamlets had about 7,000 people in 1970. Numerous churches, 3 small high schools, 2 catholic schools, 5 post offices, numerous taverns and eateries and big brother, THE COMPANY!!!

The Company decided to close the mines in 1972. They could import steel cheaper.

Outsourcing began. 800 people lost their jobs. My dad retired in 1972. He collected a pension, social security, free health insurance for the next 33 years. Not too bad. I hope to do the same. That will take me right up to 2041. I don't know what I will do after that. I will be getting close to 100 years old.

The town is still there but they are dying a slow painful death. Me too. I hurt everywhere already.

Pictured: Miners on their way to work.

Note:While getting information for this blog I came across a side story that is interesting. It was a topix blog called "Remember when". It happened in my hometown.

Pictured: My school literally on a dirt pile.

December 1968: (posted by HWH)
I was at HWHenry(a car dealership) having a beer with Dick F, George B. , C. Henry, and Mark S.
Mark took a bottle of beer, put it on a steel beam in the back of the garage. He said he would drink this bottle when he gets back from Vietnam.
End of story? Not really. They say the bottle is still there. The building is now the firehouse.
April 26 would be 42 years. Mark would be 62 years old now.
Let me know for sure if the bottle of Genesee is still there.

Irony defined? A True Tale of geocaching.

2011-02-18T14:35:00.000-08:00

Irony defined: A state of affairs or an event that seem deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result.

My wife and I recently became geocachers. One of my internet friends occasionally made reference to "geocaching" . I tried to ignore it, but it just kept popping up. I am a naturally curious person. I googled it ... I google everything.

It brought me to a website which, strangely was called "Geocaching".

The website defines geocaching as: A recreational activity of hunting for and finding a hidden object by means of GPS coordinates posted on a website.

In other words, finding tupperware in the woods using billion dollars worth of military satellites.

This sounded like a fun activity to me. It would be easy enough to get started: I already had a TomTom GPS for our vehicle. I signed up on Geocaching.com. It was free and I found a few simple caches near our home.

I was hooked. Since a TomTom would not do the job out in the woods, I started looking for a GPS that would best suit my needs.

A GPS saying, "Turn left on Ocean Blvd." would not be very helpful. The actual decision took me only about four months.

One day my wife said to me, " Are you going to buy that GPS before you die?"

I had it the next day. My biological clock is ticking, you know!

After a couple of days figuring out how to put my batteries in and turn it on, I was ready to geocache. The little French lady went with me on my first few geocaches.

She seemed amused by my antics. I would slither on the ground like a lizard, get hung up in bushes, have brambles in my hair, walk in dog poop, pick up dog poop thinking a cache would be hidden under it. Once I even crawled under a gazebo looking for a cache. A woman came along and asked my wife if she should call 911. My wife talked her out of it. I generally made a mess of myself while geocaching.

One day the little French lady asked some question about my GPS. She started showing a little interest in my new hobby. The next time we went geocaching she started questioning my navigational skills. I was meandering all over the place.

Finally, she said, "Gimme that thing!" . Sigh... I did not see much of my Garmin Etrex that day. Every once in a while I would whimper, "Can I look at it?" The next day she ordered a Garmin GPS for herself. She was hooked.

We learned about geocaching very quickly. But...alas, not fast enough. We would take a trinket out and put a different one back in. The trinkets are called "swag".

Somewhere in the beginning we apparently made some breach of swag etiquette.

One of the cache owners sent us a nastygram accusing us of replacing her high price swag (her treasure) with our cheap swag (our trash). She said we plundered her cache. We acknowledged that her swag may have been more valuable than ours. We did not consider our swag as "trash", nor did we plunder her cache. We didn't think swag was the point of geocaching, and we still do not. Nonetheless she called us everything but a human being, which we thought might be considered a breach of etiquette also. We were kinda taken aback by the whole incident. I guess "One man's treasure is another man's trash".

We decided we would place our own cache and dedicate it to this incident. Naturally we called it, "One man's treasure". Wanting to keep with the theme, we decided to hide it at an appropriate place, near a flea market. But ... we had no idea how ironic the whole story would be.

Life can be funny.

We received an email this morning from a geocacher named "The Shady Lady".

Here's what she said: "We saved this cache! The landscape clean-up crew had thrown it in the garbage. They were pretty interested to hear the explanation of geocaching and will be on the lookout for other mysterious containers that may pop up in their line of work. Tftc (Thanks for the Cache)".

Whew! that was close. From Trash back to treasure!!! Thanks, Shady Lady for saving GC2N3XP (One man's treasure).

A Report from the Hemlock Institute.

2011-02-09T11:21:00.000-08:00

Life in America

A skewered look at life on this planet. Brought to you by the Hemlock Institute, an non-profit think tank running on fumes.

Think tanks are quite adept at making prediction. I will make some predictions.

In the year 2030: There will be millions of people walking around with their heads bent to one side. They will have radiation marks on their face from cellphone microwaves. Chiropractors will become millionaires. They will be new rich.
New type cellphones will be put out by Apple. It will be implanted in your ear at birth. Sadly you will not be able to sign up for "Do not call" until your eighteenth birthday. Many teenager will go insane while others will go bankrupt buying stuff from telemarketers.
Cigarette companies will come out with Nicotine flavored baby food.
Governor Lindsay Lohan will sign the California free drug law into effect. This will drive the Mexican Cartels out of business. She will also sign into law the "English again law". This will once again make English the first language in California after a 12 year absence. English may be taught in schools again. The Latino community is furious. Since they are 70% of the citizens of the state they should have some say in the decision. Texas is keeping an eye on the developments. They may also switch to English.
Airport security is starting to get slack again. You will no longer have to go through the checkpoints completely naked. You will be issued a washcloth to use as you deem appropriate. After the inspection you will be issued a orange jump suit before...Yes...before...you get on the plane. Your baggage will be forwarded on a flatbed railroad car. You can pick it up at a train station closest to your destination.
Movies with people wearing clothing is coming back into vogue. Studies have shown that people wearing certain clothes can be very sexy and provocative. Hence, any movie with clothed people will be rated "R" or "X".
A member of the Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas questioned whether they were doing the right thing. They told him that he was a homosexual and deserved to die. Some things never change.
The Democratic majority in Congress voted to revoke the Republican revocation of the previous revocation of the revocation of the Obama health bill. They were all in agreement that they should get a big raise. It was voted into law 99 to 1. The one "no" vote was by Bernie Saunders of Vermont.
The average adult American now weighs 294 pounds. Down from a high of 302 from 6 years ago. McDonald's has downsized their Mac (no longer called the big Mac) to a half pound. The Biggest Loser is on Every night of the week on every channel. The average would be higher if it wasn't for the diabetics, which is now 83% of the population. The diabetics are dropping like leafs in October.
Destiny Lovechild is voted Playboy's playmate of the Year. The beauty from Los Angeles, Mexifornia is 6 ft 3 inches in heighth, she weighs in at a hefty 107 pounds. She has broken the mold. She is the first to weigh in over 100 pounds since Angela "Porky" Gonzales, who hit the scale at a whopping 109 pounds on her 5'11" frame. That was 9 years ago.
The blockade of Cuba is in its 73rd year. The President hopes to have troops out of Afghanistan by 2035.
The chairperson of the Republican party once again scoffed at the idea of global warming. He issued this from his Condo at the Little America, Antartica after 18 holes of golf.
A District Attorney for Cook County Illinois stated that Johnnie Lee Jones, a convicted murderer was innocent. He showed ample evidence of police misconduct, videotape showing the real murderer doing the deed, incompetence by Johnnie's attorney, Proof that Johnnie was somewhere else, (he was in Washington, testfiying before Congress at the very second of the murder), and someone elses DNA at the scene. The DA was fired. When questioned, Cook County officials stated that Jones was convicted by his peers. (12 white guys with a IQ total of nearly 100). No new trial for Johnnie. He will be executed on schedule.
Microsoft has solved "The blue screen of death" problem. It is now red. It will be called "The red screen of death".
Clint Eastwood stated he may run for Mayor of Carmel, Mexifornia again. He must finish his last Harry Callahan adventure called "The nursing home caper." Quick plot line: Someone steals Harry's "Depends". He tracks them down and beats the crap out of them or something like that. Actually, He just touched their belly and said, "I know what your thinking. Did I have five depends or 6 depends? Well, Frankly, with all the excitement and my Alzheimer's, I kinda lost track myself. Being that I just took in a boxful of prunes this morning, the most powerful laxative known to man, you have to ask yourself, "Do I feel luck, punk? Well, do ya?....Oops!" "GIVE THEM TO ME........NOW!!!!!!"......Well, I guess you get the idea.
There is a new program on TV called "Press the meat". It is about life in the Salami and cold cut industry.
Former President Obama returns home to Kenya. Ummm!...Huh?...Even that one surprised me.
Former President George Dubbaya Bush finally learned how to say strawtiggery.
Colleges have adopted the "No Student must fail". You can just send the college the tuition money and you get drunk for 4 years. At the end of four years you get your degree. Hmmm? That didn't change much except for the "No Student must fail" part.

Well, I have given you a glimpse of the future. We (WE???) here at the Hemlock Institute continue to notice the trends of the day and can predict the future from these trends. That is what a think tank does. I think..possibly, could be, perhaps, maybe.

I can say these things unequivocally.

I could be wrong.

My 1957 survival kit

2011-01-11T06:17:00.000-08:00

It sure was the best of times.

Ahhh!! The bittersweet passage of time.

Recently my sister notified me that the house I grew up in had been sold. It had been the family home for over 50 years. She said she had found some interesting stuff in the attic, basement, and storage shed. She had also found a trunk in what used to be my bedroom.

I had forgotten about the junk trunk. My mother had saved some mementos of my youth and I had thrown some stuff in there myself.

Could my long lost baseball card collection from my youth be in that chest? I will tell my sister to send it to me, all of it.

I waited with great anticipation for the arrival of the goodies.

My New York Yankees cards, My Mickey Mantle baseball cards were probably on their way back to me. Dollar signs danced in my head. Mickey Mantle rookie cards. It would be a financial bonanza. Our family "Ponderosa" had been sold.

The package had finally arrived and it did have plenty of stuff from the 50's. My Mickey Mantle road to riches bonanza was not in the package.

I had some baseball cards. I had Ray Jablonski, Rip Repulski, Ted Kluszuski, Moe Drabowski, and Bill Mazerowski. Nobody named Yogi, Mickey, Casey, Babe, or Honus. No "Stosh" either.

Apparently I was putting together a polish baseball team.

I am a record keeper so I got out my pen and paper and itemized my find.

I had some newspapers. The Albany Times-Union. Hmmm! What happen in 1957 in Albany and the World.

Francois "Poppa Doc" Duvalier became dictator of Haiti. That name seems to ring a bell. He sees no reason why Haiti can not be a vibrant and lively country.
Hamilton watch company introduces the first electric watch. The watch cost only $29, but the cord cost $142 and it was unruly.
A kid named Elvis Presley appeared on the "Ed Sullivan Show". A really big shoo that night. The kid is a flash in the pan. He won't last critics are reporting. Religious groups are calling him a messenger of the devil.
Wham-O toy company came out with a plastic disc called a "Frisbee" named after the aluminum pie plate from the Frisbee Pie Company of Bridgeport, Ct.
The Brooklyn Dodgers are moving west next year. Baseball starts playing musical chairs. Giant's are moving to San Fransisco. Yankees stay in New York.
July 6, 1957* Paul McCartney and John Lennon meet for the first time.
Leave it to Beaver premieres on TV. These stories are about a sulky youth named Beaver Cleaver, making the Nelson family seem like saints. Beaver was always in trouble of some sort. Ricky Nelson, on the other hand, always had a gig and appeared be the bread winner in the family. His father, Ozzie, seemed to be unemployed. He just would walk into the closet and stay there awhile. He would wander into the kitchen and ask Harriet a stupid question, laugh at his own folly then head next door to see "Thorny". It seems to me like he should be filling out applications or making some phone calls. Find a job, Oz!!!

Vanna White is born in North Myrtle Beach, SC. Her parents go to store and buy her a vowel.
I look at the comic strips. We have Dick Tracy. I tried to read that comic strip but it was just too crazy. A two way wrist radio? Come on, get real, not going to happen. A fantasy world. I must enjoy comics that are much more realistic, so I read "Henry", which is about a bald-headed kid. His head is large compared to his body. Bigger Brain? Nope!!! I also read Nancy and Sluggo, Little Lulu, Buzz Sawyer and Ozark Ike. Ozark Ike was about a slow witted but talented athlete. I could relate to him.
On TV during this era was programs like Dragnet, where Jack Webb could showcase his acting ability. I never knew that "just the facts, ma'am" could be said so many different ways.
Steve Allen does his last "Tonight Show". He is replaced by Jack Lescoulie. Jack Lescoulie!!!!...????..really? Wow!!! Roy Rogers goes off the air after he accidentally runs over his dog, Bullet. The dog recovers, the program doesn't.
Gas cost 24 cents a gallon, eggs are 28 cents a dozen.

Moving on, I go to the sports page and I see that our local catholic schools had a baseball game.

Final Score: Our Lady of Perpetual Persnicketiness: 2, Our Mother of Perpetual Motion: 0.

Rumors abound. Monsignor O'Malley got in a fist fight with the umpire. His star pitcher, Mary Margaret McManus was a girl. A rather boyish girl who threw a Brylcream ball which is very much like a spit ball or a wildroot cream oil ball. Illegal.

I notice my secret stash of Annette Funicello pictures. She is in a provocative poses. She is wearing funny ears and is developing. She is a babe.

Hmmm! I have found my high school notebook. It has the initials MM written everywhere. Melita Mongooze, my big crush from 3rd grade to 10th grade. I always tried to get a desk very close to her, but not in front of her. I always wanted a good view of Melita. I just figured early on that if I was in close proximity to her that she would eventually notice me and then turn to me and ask, "Would you like to have sex with me?" I thought this could happen until 10th grade. Then one day a Senior walked up to her and queried, "Would you like to have sex with me?" and off she went as my world disintegrated like a sandcastle at high tide. 7 or 8 years of planning down the drain. Since that day I have never had long range goals. It just doesn't pay.

Hey, There is my report card. Hmmm! I had better burn this before my wife gets her hand on it. I did get an "A" in Physical Education, I might add.

What is that? Oh....Ok...I have sketched out some plans for building a fallout shelter. Yes, that was a brilliant idea. After the bomb falls you sit in your shelter for 6 months. Then you run out of food and water. Then you go outside, your head swells up, your hair falls out, you end up looking like a comic book character that I seem to remember, then you mutate and die.

Yes, It was the best of times. no worries. I have this little story in my head. Everything was just wonderful.

I wonder what ever happened to Melita Mongooze? It's all coming back to me now. I think she ruined my life. I wonder if it is too late to ruin hers? I haven't been right since 10th grade. That's a long time.

My head now feels like Henry's head.

I can't look at this stuff any more. very painful. (sniff!...sniff)

Burn it.

The writers (bloggers) block

2011-01-05T06:36:00.000-08:00

Writer's corner.....30 seconds after I stood up.

This has been a busy Christmas season for the little French lady and me. She takes a two week vacation during this time of year. We do things that will entertain both of us during the holidays.

I have been doing a little bit of geocaching in the previous months. At first, I didn't think she was interested. I was wrong. She had been sneaking a peak at my preparations for my adventure. One day she decided to follow.

Hmmm! I will bring her into the woods, walk her through mud, make her slither on the ground like a slug, I will make sure it is hell for her.

Well....That's not exactly what happened. We arrived near the geocache location and entered "the jungle" I had chosen. I had my little GPS in hand.

My wife said "Where are we going? How far is it? Let me see that GPS." That was the last time I touched the GPS that day.

I was looking under termite infested tree trunks, climbing trees, moving rocks that weigh more than I do, kneeling in drainage ditches, poking at animal scatology, rolling in ant hills and walking through a leaking cesspool. It was hell for me.

My wife loved it. She purchased her own GPS the next day. I am the official crawler of the team. My wife will touch no geocache that requires that her knees touch the ground.

During this vacation we have discovered 36 caches within 4 miles of our house. It kept us busy. There was not much time for writing a blog.

When we weren't geocaching we were playing Qwirkle. This is a simple game for anyone but to be good at it takes concentration. If your mind wanders, you're beat.

My wife beat me 10 times in a row. My mind tends to wan....what was I talking about?

I think I have DAD (deficit attention disorder). I may be dyslexic also. As I like to say, "Dyslexic untie" , our battle cry. This has also blocked me from writing my blog.

The biggest obstacle to writing my blog is losing my creative writing nook. That would be my Milan Puff chair w/Ottoman. I am not quite sure which day I lost it, but it's gone.

Wilson and I had a tacit agreement that the chair would be exclusively mine but he could use the ottoman at any time.

He respected this agreement for many months. Then, one morning he breached the contract. I removed him from my chair and put him on the ottoman. He kept going back to the chair. Before going to bed, I would put the ottoman on the chair. This prevented him from using the chair while we were sleeping.

One morning I came downstairs for breakfast. I looked in the chair. He was scrunched up in the chair behind the ottoman. He had the look of defiance, the attitude of Houdini after a miraculous escape. His demeanor said it all, like "nice try, Bucko!!!"

I had seen that cattitude many times.

well, I guess I am going to have to share.

Didn't happen!!!

If I get to the chair first and I am blogging on my laptop, he gets on the side of the chair, pushes his head under the laptop and lifts and he keeps lifting until I dispose of the laptop.

If he sees me walking toward the chair, he will run to chair and hop in it and glare at me.

If I stand up to look out the window, which only takes 5 seconds, when I turn to sit down again, he is in my spot in the chair.

I think it's Wilson's favorite game.

One day I whined to my wife, "He is ruining my creative flow. He has taken over my chair, he has ruined my life. I am done as a writer, a blogger. I am sure Hemingway didn't have to put up with this problem."

My wife started laughing.

" Now your comparing yourself to Hemingway? If you're Hemingway, I'm Bill Gates.

Do You mean Ralph Hemingway? Incidentally, Ernest was a big fan of cats and he probably did have this problem. Stop your whining. Fight for your chair. Work it out among yourselves."

We did.

After much bickering, threats and cajoling we came to some sort of agreement.

As I write this from the kitchen table Wilson sits in my? chair. I am blocked from my writer's nook.

Writer's block indeed!!!!

Where did all my friends go? To the farm?

2010-12-21T05:39:00.000-08:00

Could you run that by me again?

I have been invited once again to become a farmer on Facebook. Which brings me to the question: Why am I on Facebook and where is Farmville? I don't want to help you with your crops. Leave me alone.

I may join Farmville just so I can let loose a plague of locust followed by an invasion by an army of ants. Is that a possible option?

Why Facebook at all? Some people just have too much free time. They tell you more than you really need to know. I didn't know my Uncle Percy had thirteen bowel movements in an eight hour period. Wow! This is special.

I don't have many Facebook friends. Eighteen, I believe. My wife and I communicate regularly on Facebook. She is one of my friends.

My friend Matt has about eight hundred Facebook friends. I don't even know that many people. Wow! That is a lot of stamps for Christmas cards.

I don't know why Matt has so many friends. He doesn't even have a Farmville farm.

Perhaps it is because he is a tall, tanned, intelligent MB lifeguard who smiles a lot. My wife says he is kinda good looking also. That can't hurt.

There are some causes or clubs on Facebook that I might be interested in. Here's a list of a few that others might be interested in joining.

Squirrels against frozen nuts.
Reefer sadness. (Glaucoma sufferers of South Carolina)
Bad Yearbook pictures. (That is a blog in itself.)
101 uses for a human carcass.

Well, at least it's not My Space. My Space is really lovely if you're a 9 year old rap singer.

I've taken steps to clean up my email. This has been a thorny issue for quite a while.

I blocked certain emails. I set up rules. I explained to my friends about viruses. It will block any email that is a forward: I will miss my relatives and friends. I told them that a forward is like having sex with everyone on the list. Some of the guys wanted to know where they could sign up.

A couple said they had herpes so they didn't care. One girl sprayed her computer with Lysol after I told her.

Ah well, I tried. Sadly I haven't gotten an email in three weeks. Not even from Barrister Michael Okubu in Nigeria. He is handling my Nigerian financial affairs.

I expect to come into some money very soon. I hope I live long enough to spend it.

One of my recent emails told me to forward it to twenty four of my closest friends or my teeth would fall out and I would die on January first of next year.

Nice friend!!!

I lost all my friends now that I made some rules. I checked my spam folder, and there seem to be a lot of people who want to be my friends and help me with certain issues. There are so many to choose from, really. Should I go for the breast enlargment or the dates with Russian girls? My wife keeps receiving offers to enlarge her penis.

Oh wait, I can get a free credit score for $29.95.

I guess I can delete a few things.

Apple wants to know if I want to buy an Ipad. (too late) delete.

Amazon wants to know if I want a kindle. Nope! see above. delete.

Amazon wants to know if I want twenty other things. They are making suggestions. delete, delete, delete.

Classmates is offering a premium membership. Already happened. (note to myself.. why am I a member of classmates? Oh, it is called social networking.) delete.

Apple wants to know if I wish to keep my membership for mobileme. Right! basically $99 for email and 5 other things I don't use. delete

Reader's Digest wants me to subscribe to their booklet. I am already subscribed up to the year 2034. Do I want to subscribe to a magazine that is now officially crap and is 50% advertisement? delete

Wow!!! My inbox is totally empty.

I think I will go get the mail....

I'm back.

Let's see what we have today. It is getting close to Christmas. Let's shuffle through all the nice Christmas cards we received:

the Honda dealership in Vermont wishes us a Merry Christmas and tells us our maintenaince is due. We sold the Honda 6 months ago
some company in Florida is informing us that it is our last chance to renew our Kia maintenance service contract. We sold that car three years ago
Bank of America wants to sell us some life insurance
Visa is telling us what a great deal they have for a credit card

Mastercard is telling me how lucky I am because they raised my credit line by a few grands

I will pin these on the fireplace. I feel so into the season now.

That is my mail for today.

Back to my computer. Oh, some one nudged me on Facebook. It was my wife.

My wife suggested that if I wanted to have her as a Facebook friend I should empty my trash folder or (and I quote) " I will kick your butt so hard and so long that it will end up in Russia and will be so large you will go to a plastic surgeon for a butt reshaping and reduction."

I believe I will keep her as a Facebook friend. Perhaps we can have a little farm together.

Is that any way to treat a hero?

2010-12-13T12:04:00.000-08:00

ESSENTIALLY OILED

It all started innocently enough. In fact, I kinda looked upon myself as a hero. Heroes need to be rewarded but that's not what happened.

My wife and I are people who like our home to smell nice. We have many things that have a wonderful aroma. We have numerous essential oils, scented candles, a variety of incense sticks and numerous diffusers. We have something aromatic in every room. We don't count the utility room where Wilson has his litter box.

One day I turned on one of the candle wax warmers, put some oil in it and let it do its job. When I went to turn it off, it gave me a wonderful light show, it started sparking and smoke was coming from the switch. I crawled under the dresser the best I could and I pulled the plug.(I am now a hero. I saved our house, perhaps the whole street, perhaps the whole north end.)

That warmer was finished. Some parts were salvageable such as the glass area where the wax sits in while it is heating up. I didn't throw that away. I will clean it up.

This morning I decided to clean it up. That is when things started getting a little strange. I cleaned off the wax and the essential oil. The essential oil was called "Pussy".

It was recommended by our friend Samantha who has a large booth at the flea market. She had hundreds of different essences to choose from and she said this one was currently a hot seller and it had a nice aroma. We had purchased a few other oils there such as Egyptian Musk, French Lavender, Patchouli, and several others.

Some of the other oils had strange or provocative names. We all had a few good laugh about the one we had just purchased. None of us were prudish about it.

So...while I am cleaning up the essential oil of the day, the doorbell rings. It's my neighbor, Prudence Goodbody, neighborhood snoop and troublemaker.

I open the door and invite her in. What trouble can I get into? My wife is upstairs working.

"Hi, remember me? I'm Prudence....your neighbor? I live a few houses away. Listen, I have this petition for you to sign. It's about our other neighbor's dog. There is dog poop all over the place. I told him we are getting up a petition to get this resolved by County animal control."

Note: This is a strict area for curbing your dog. The city doesn't like dog poop all over the place, especially this close to the beach.

"I'll sign, but I have already resolved it in my own mind. I'm going to scoop up the poop, put it in a bag, put it on his doorstep and set it on fire." I stated proudly.

While I was signing the petition she said, "It smells wonderful in here, certainly better than it does outdoors. What is that aroma?"

In a moment of madness or truthful folly, I am not sure which, I said, "Pussy."

which it was!!!!!

A long silence, then,..... "EXCUSE ME!!!!

Oops!...try to save yourself, son!...try to save yourself.

"Pussy you said?"

"Ummm!..yeah...they were selling it at the flea market. " (somehow I don't think that is exactly what I wanted to say.)

"What!!!!!!!"

Maybe I can still salvage this. "Samantha sells a lot of it, she has a booth."

Nope! Do not resuscitate. no salvage possibilities. This would not be a good time to invite her to the donkey barbecue.

Just go with the flow.

"They're selling it openly in a public place? Oh....my...god!!!!"

"Yes...Yes, a lot of it. People are even asking for "Sex on the Beach" and a lot of other stuff too." I asked her if she would like some.

She slapped me and then fainted. I revived her by throwing a glass of water on her face. I had seen it done in the movies many times. She got to her feet, slapped my face again. Then she called me a perverted pig. She ran away screaming for the police.

When the police arrived, I explained the situation. She over reacted to the name of some of the essential oils. Did I mention that to Prudence? That the aroma was essential oils?..I thought I did. Perhaps I got caught up in the moment.

The police are going to explain that I really didn't want to have "Sex on the Beach" with her......eventually. For now I will just be a hero in my own mind.

sniff! sniff!! It sure does smell purdy in here!!!!!

What is that scent? It's...either Patchouli, sandalwood or.....Is that the doorbell ringing again?

Merry Christmas

2010-12-06T18:45:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Well, My wife is watching her 14th straight Christmas movie, the fake fire is going in the fireplace, I am listening to the "Phil Spector Christmas album". I am sure I am enjoying it more than Phil this year. I am listening to Darlene Love sing "Marshmallow World". They sure don't write Christmas songs like that anymore. Perhaps we could get a petition together to make sure he doesn't get out of prison and write more songs like that. Whew!

Perhaps when it gets a little closer to Christmas I will bring out the big guns in Christmas music. Maybe I can get Mariah Carey to screech out something Christmasy. Then my wife will want to listen to Perry Como, Bing Crosby and maybe some French Canadian guy.

I will have to stuff some goodies in his little sock over the fireplace for our boy "Wilson".
He is tough to get to bed on Christmas Eve and an hour after we go to bed, he is on the bed, nudging, head butting, walking on my head, knocking stuff on the floor. He is trying to get us up.
He's hungry. This has nothing to do with Christmas. He just gets a little confused. He is not as young as he used to be. Who is? I am an hour older than I was an hour ago. That's kinda like saying; No matter where I go, there I am.
But I digress.
I Would like to wish all the people who inspired me to have fun with my blog.
First in line will be the little French lady, Chantal. She encourages me, she would proofread my stuff when I first started out. She also does some strange things, just like me. I write about them sometimes.
I like it when I write something and I get feedback and sometimes ideas. For this I thank Bev the bitter hack, Guvanator Jensconsin, Indigo the winelush, Kwizgiver the(fill in the blank), L'empress, Rachael the thesis writer and many other.

There are others I haven't heard from in a while and I wonder how they are doing, like Becca, Judy P in Elliot Lake, Mamakerr in UK, Jo in UK. Larry, Where did you go? Kolliope, where are you? Sunny?
There are others I wonder about. Well, I wish everybody happiness. I will try to make you smile. FROM: Wilson, The funny French Lady and the squirrelly one. (me)

An appropriate gift to you all from a squirrel. "Nuts to You!!!!"
Hmmm! somehow that didn't come out right.

How to be an annoying senior citizen

2010-11-23T05:55:00.000-08:00

AND PROACTIVE TOO!!!

It is officially the holiday season. I am at wit's end trying to think of something useful to contribute to society in general.

My experience at the doctor's office a few weeks ago gave me an idea. On the entrance door to the office there is a large sign with large lettering that clearly says "Do not use cell phones in office". I thought that was pretty clear.

Within five minutes of my usual half hour wait somebody is calling or receiving calls on their phone. This is not a huge waiting room. Perhaps it is 12 by 12. But it has about 30 chairs. There are no magazines to speak of. A couple perhaps. I am not really interested in reading "Breastfeeder's Monthly" or the "Knitter's handbook".

I did scan through Breastfeeders Monthly. Mostly looking at pictures. Umm, but I digress.

The point is that it is a very confined space for people. Sick people! I was sick. When there are 6 or 7 people ignoring the sign in the door and start calling all over the world, I start getting annoyed.

My wife was having her yearly physical in about a week. I told her I would go with her.

I told her I would bring my GPS because there was a geocache very close to the doctor's office. I had a plan. Instead of being the "annoyee" I will henceforth be the "annoyer".

Be proactive, I say. It is a senior citizen right....actually it a duty to be annoying.

We get to the office and within 5 minutes someone cellphone rings. I leaped to my feet, grab my GPS (a Garmin, I might add), put it to my ear and said, "Hello, Hemlock here!".....Hello....Helllllooooooo!....Your going to have to speak louder. I can't hear you."

I turn to my wife and say, "wrong number." I sit back down.

A phone rings again.

I jump to my feet. I grab my GPS and say loudly, "Hemlock here!!!! Hello! Hello?....I can't hear you." I turn to my wife, shake my GPS a little and say. " It must be a dead zone in here....Oops, bad choice of words, a very sick zone, for sure." I sit back down.

Now people are looking at me. One woman is biting on her finger nails. Her phone is ringing and she doesn't know what to do. Others are putting their phones on vibrate. The room has a nice hum to it. I am looking wild eyed at my GPS.

The man sitting next to me says, " That's a GPS, Mister. That is not a phone."

I slowly turned to him and said, "I know. Phones aren't allowed in here. It says so..right there on the door. It doesn't say anything about GPS's."

I slowly put my GPS to my ear and say, "call me later."

After that everything went just fine at the doctor's office.

I get to my home and someone has let their pony (or St. Bernard) loose in the common area again. Their is nothing quite like the scent of dog feces or pony feces on your sneaker soles. Everyone knows how smooth sneaker soles are. I clean it up the poop, put it in a bag and start walking it towards the dumpster... yet again.

Wait a minute.....proactive. I get a nice bag. Something Christmasy.

I write the guilty party a note:

Dear Sir,

I noticed that your pony or St. Bernard has left us another gift in front of our "curb your dog" sign. I suspect you are doing this because you heard that in Ireland they have used cow chips as fuel. How very thoughtful.

I must tell you; I do not use the fireplace and I will not use your gift to barbecue and that is not cow chips. I have also gotten away from my Irish heritage So I rewrapped it and regifted it for you. I left you a book of matches so you could get it cooking in your fireplace.

Happy Holiday

Your neighbor.

I will be more proactive the next time. That is the key. It is the season. Give...don't take.

I can sleep tonight knowing I have done something for humanity.

Truffles, Trifles and Truth

2010-11-11T06:17:00.000-08:00

Recently, a series of events has occurred that has profoundly affected my normal day to day life. Since this all happened in a period of two weeks, it took over my life.

First, I put off getting my flu shot. This gave me plenty of "down" time. I caught the flu.

The thing about the flu is; at first you are afraid you are going to die, after a couple days of it, you are afraid your not going to die.

The second week of the flu is not so bad. You have adjusted your life to being waited on for your every need. The fact is, you start to expect it.

The second event happen when I was lying on the couch with my laptop and my favorite blanket. (The faux fur throw). I had a message from someone on "Classmates" who remembered me from high school. I remembered this lady that we will call "Betty" since that was her name. She was a studious girl who wore the hoop skirts w/poodle and the frilly blouses. She was a very quiet girl and did not seem to be part of any clique.

The third event occurred while I was reading Ann Rule's book, "Heart Full of Lies."

It was about this woman who had numerous talents but her best talent seemed to be deceiving people. If she told her friends that she could fly, they would believe her. They would just take her word for it.

This got me thinking.

The fourth event was when I got a notification by email that my blog had been picked as a "Top Blog Award", which is pretty nifty. I actually got a gift certificate with it. I guess that makes me a "Professional" now.

The convergence of these events at the intersection of Happy Highway and Arrogance Avenue sent my down a strange and winding road until I got to that Cul de sac known as reality.

As I started to feel better I decided I would answer "Betty" using what I had learned about life in the last couple weeks.

The letter went something like this:

Hello Betty,

It was good to hear from you. (I barely remember you)

Much has changed in my life.

(Yeah, I got a lot older over the last fifty years.)

After graduation from high school I went to Connecticut and entered Yale.

(Every day I worked in the university billing department for 14 years, but you don't have to know that.)

After I left Yale, I headed to Germany, a lovely country.

(yes, The base the Army sent me wasn't all the gorgeous, I might add.) When I came back to the states, I came into some money.

(I won my lawsuit).

In recent years I have been writing, mostly fiction.

(In fact, this very minute I am writing fiction)

I am also an award winning writer.

(I have the $20 gift certificate to prove it.)

I have been interrupted, Betty. My manservant, Parker, has asked me if you iron the back of american money first, or the front. We don't want to burn Salmon P. Chase's whiskers, so I told him to google it.

(Hah!....should I mention my Red Mercedes convertible?...Naw. I don't want to be pretentious).

I have to go now, Betty. So cherish this because you will never hear from me again.

(I think she will buy into this!!!!)

Since I sent this to Betty, I have been a difficult person. I started to believe it myself.

The other day at the hardware I asked the clerk if she knew who I was? At that very moment my wife gave me a dirty look and a shot to the ribs with her elbow.

The clerk said, " You're the man with the broken ribs."

The other afternoon at a local restaurant I demanded truffles from France. The waitperson said they cost about $1500 a pound. "That's expensive chocolate." I said.

French Truffles are not chocolate, I was told. It is a fungus that certain pigs can smell.

Wow! A few years back I paid that much to get rid of a fungus. I cancelled my truffles order. I settled for a twinkie.

Well, fame is fleeting. This morning life was back to normal. me too! The first thing I did....which will ground you pretty quickly is...to clean up some type of feces on the common area front lawn. Everybody in the area was just kind of staring at it. almost everyone has pets but they are all very small. This thing was huge. We took a vote.

Everyone finally agreed with me. It had to be a pony or a Saint Bernard that did it.

Funny thing is no one saw either a pony or a Saint Bernard in the area.

Oh! Wait a minute. Fame may not be fleeting. The phone is ringing. It may be my publisher....Do I have a publisher?

Miss Matched, I think not.

2010-10-27T06:26:00.000-07:00

My wife and I are alike in many ways. We also have some glaring differences.

What happen the other day is a perfect example.

I mentioned to her that her computer was a work computer that was supplied by her company. It had a lot of restrictions. It was not a good place to store your personal documents. The company likes everything on the computer to be work related.

She doesn't use a computer much when she is not working. She likes to have one handy in case she wants to google for some arcane tidbit of information or do her Quicken budget. So it is handy to have her own personal computer. I suggested that she could do it on my MacBook. That did not go over well. She is a PC person. I am not.

She mumbled something under her breath about Mac's. I was all over her like maggots on a Calcutta carcass. We tossed insult back and forth about each others computer.

Words were bantered about such as infidel, nerdface, geekbreath, blue screen of death,

and several other niceties. Then things started to get a little contentious.

The next thing I know, we are rolling on the floor trying to get to each others throats and other vital organs by any means possible. She was getting the upper hand.

At that point I thought it was wise to make a suggestion.

"How about if I buy you a computer?"

The tightness of her grip relaxed from around my neck.

"Ok!!!!" She smiled and stood up.

Hah! I had won this round.

She will not see that computer until Easter.

I will research it. Which one will fit her needs? I must get the most computer for my money. I will start saving next week for it while I am doing my research. If I put all my change in money jar and throw in a dollar bill here and there and throw in a five at Christmas, I am sure she will have one by Easter. Good Plan.

I got to my feet and dusted myself off.

"Let's go", my wife starts walking towards the front door.

"Where?" I croaked.

"To the computer store."

....Oh...oh!!!

Here is the deal. I wanted a GPS. This was in early May. I did my homework. I investigated all type GPS's.

I got to know the products. I even got to know "Dave" from Garmin in Kansas.

I saved about $11 dollars a week. I was picking soda cans out of garbage at the beach.

I had a plan. In October I purchased my GPS.

My wife kinda motivated me to get it. She would say things like, "Are you going to buy that GPS before you die?" Hmmm! that was a good question.

So now we are at the computer store. My wife looks at a couple of computers, ask a couple of questions and as quick as that she says, "I'll take the purple one. Purple is my favorite color. Isn't it pretty?"

Huh? What? When did I lose control of this situation. Oh, that's right. I never had control of the situation.

You have to understand something. My wife's profession.

She is a computer systems analyst. She bases her work decisions on logic.

Algorithms, FORTRAN, COBOL, flow charts, and other mysterious stuff. You would think this would be a case of logic prevailing, after all, this is computer stuff.

What was the logic? It was purple, her favorite color.

Well, as it all turns out, she is really very happy with her purple computer. I should have known. After all, she is referred to as "The Purple Princess of Programming" by some of her colleagues.

The bottom line is that we balance each other. We usually meet somewhere in the middle. We compromise. If it wasn't for her nothing would happen. If it wasn't for me, too much would happen.

We now buy a good car and keep it 7 years instead of trading it every year. We would not live in this nice Townhouse if it wasn't for her, now if I can get to stay more than 3 years in the same place it will be wonderful. She does not have to follow that Montreal tradition of moving every July 1st. It's a tradition that became a habit for her. She is an expert on the logistics of moving.

But it all works out.....eventually.

Fashion secrets

2010-10-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

I know it's hard to believe but that isn't me in the picture.

I quietly turned the key to let myself into the house. I was sure I could make it to the upstairs bedroom undetected. Wilson met me as I tiptoed into the living room. Thank God he is not a meower. He just opens his mouth and smacks at me. He is hungry. I whispered to him, "In a minute". This did not seem to abate his restlessness. I trod lightly up the staircase, holding my breath, I am almost there. Alas, I make it to the final step and slowly release my breath, and quietly wipe the perspiration from my brow. I have done it!!!!!

"Whatcha got there?"

I was so startled that it felt like my whole body had been put into an electric socket. I nearly soiled myself.

I was caught.... but how?

"How did you know I was home? I was so quiet."

"Yeah...well...I didn't hear a thing, but the minute you opened the door Wilson was down the stairs like you were a fresh can of tuna and when you got to the top of the stairs I could smell you. You stunk like a galley slave."

Wilson outed me for food. The little weasel!!!!

"Sooooo....What's in the bag?"

"My next blog," was my meek reply.

Yeah....I have this thing about Perry Ellis.

It all started about a year ago at Stein Mart. I decided I wasn't going to follow her all over the store. I ventured over to the men's department. There was a whole rack of Perry Ellis fashionable undergarments on sale.

Ok! Let's call a spade a spade. They were boxer briefs. Since I have been very indecisive about whether I should wear boxers or jockey shorts, I decided to compromise.

This has been my best fashion decision since I threw away my sombrero and my thong.

I really like these shorts. I like Perry Ellis stuff. I like them so much that I have purchased 11 pairs. Incidentally, Why do they call 1 "a pair"?

Well anyway....I had the urge to buy more. I am becoming a Perry Ellis hoarder.

I also buy the Perry Ellis Reserve aftershave. I can't seem to help myself.

Lately I've had the urge to walk on the street in my Perry Ellis underwear. My wife seems to think this is a bad idea.

I just want to make my fashion statement.

"What is your logic? Why do you think it is a bad idea? There are people walking on the beach right this minute who look like they are wearing their undergarments. It's not like I am wearing a thong. I threw that away after the police picked me up...remember?"

I think I outfoxed her. I can see the exasperation on her face. Then she brightened and said, "Spandex!!!!, that's the difference. You have to have a certain percent of spandex before it could be considered beachwear. If it has too much cotton it is considered an undergarment and you can be arrested!!!"

"Hah, so those gay guys wearing their tiny spandex speedos are legal on the beach but if I wear my Perry Ellis cotton boxer briefs with Spongebob Happy Pants emblems, I could do serious prison time?"

"Now you are starting to grasp the situation, Bucko!!!" was my wife's reply.

I think I will go upstairs and count my Perry Ellis stuff.

I think I will write to Perry and see if he has spandex boxer briefs.

I think I will fondle....I mean examine the smooth texture of my Perry Ellis goodies.

I will toss all my Haines stuff.

Life has weird rules.

Senior Citizen classes for old people. (first timers)

2010-10-20T09:41:00.000-07:00

Welcome To all potential senior citizens.

I'm guessing you have muddled through the process without too much assistance or the use of power of attorney.

I don't know how old you are now, but at some point, between the ages of 50 and 60 you start thinking of yourself as "middle aged". This is a little trick you play on yourself. This will convince you that you are going to live to somewhere between 1oo and 120 years old. When I was growing up "middle aged was 27.

The reality of the situation is: Your gray hair is falling out, your nose is getting redder and bigger, your nose hairs are starting to sag, your vision needs trifocals, people don't seem to be talking as loud as they used to, you go to the dentist to get your tooth cleaned or you just drop your dentures off for repair on the way to Walmart.

The sad part is: We are just talking about your head. We haven't even started with the other parts of your body.

So...let me prepare you.

LESSON ONE: NAMES

When you get older you must have an old name. You can't be 62 years old and people still call you "Skippy" or "Biff" ....guys!!! It's Percival, Luther, Ebenezer, Horace, Elmer to name a few. Change it.

Ladies....after 55 no more "Heather or Buffy." It will be Blanche, Ethel, Agatha, and other old names. Change it.

It is sad that parents don't give their children life long names. Frank Zappa had the foresight to name his kids with names that will hold up for a lifetime. The names "Moon Unit" and "Dweezle" will stand the test of time. I guess people should think about this when naming someone.

LESSON TWO: IT'S NOT ALL BAD!!!

Yes, There are some down sides to Senior Citizenshipness. There also many upsides.

There is the senior citizen discount if you don't mind eating with a bunch of old coots.

honestly they give me the "willies". They are old, their walkers keep getting in my way, they shuffle instead of walk, they have bingo card all over the table in the restaurant, old people smell funny, When they have hair it is combed funny (men) and women usually have hair that is some shade of purple and they smell like vanilla extract.

I am one of them. What can I do?

I guess the saying is: " I have met the enemy and he is me!!!!..???"

LESSON 3: THIS COULD BE FUN!!!

Since young people think you are waste of skin and space, you can play the "I am old and confused." card. You can actually increase your creativity and intellect by pretending to be confused. I have taken my blood pressure on those machines at the pharmacies. I started hollering, "This machine won't let me go. I have hydrantphobia, make it stop." The Pharmacist saved me. He asked me if I was on any medication.

He was a nice man.

I also got myself trapped in a shed at Home Depot, went to sleep on a bed at the furniture store, directed traffic on Ocean Boulevard, asked for strange sandwiches at a diner (remember Jack Nicholson in "Five Easy Pieces". ) My favorite ploy, which I use on a regular basis is to pretend I am the Clint Eastwood.

Occasionally I just like to wonder around and pretend I am lost or confused. This works really well if you have your shirt on inside out or the buttons are not in the right button hole. Having your fly unzipped is always a good touch.

I have a senior citizen maneuver called "the triad". That would be: unzipped fly, pants pulled as high as possible with misaligned shirt buttons tucked into your pants with the shirt tail sticking out the fly opening. A real eye catcher.

Never do anything as pretentious as wearing your underwear on the outside or sox over shoes.

If you want people to give you some personal space, carry a box of depends and a can of lysol spray. Every 4 steps you take say something like...."oops!...Oh..oh.." and turn around and look at the floor.

This should get you started on the road to a fun Senior Citizenry.

Some upcoming classes:

How to convince your spouse that you are a useless human being. (For the gentleman who think his wife doesn't already know the truth.)

Dressing for distress: (not your distress, someone Else's.) What kind of suspenders to wear. What to do with unmatched sox. How to blow your nose improperly in public.

How to launch a snot rocket. (finger push on side of nostril, blow...launch!!!) How to use and misuse a toothpick. Many other subjects will be covered.

How to babble: This is a handy little ploy that will make your babble almost comprehensible. How to feign deafness. These two techniques are guaranteed to

put your listener at a big disadvantage.

How to keep your focus: I am sure that some of my contemp...ummm......so if anybody is interested in....whatever!!!

I just bought a "killer" GPS, really!!!

2010-10-13T06:32:00.000-07:00

Geocaching can be hell!!!

I am always looking for bargains. I buy many used books through Amazon and I keep an eye on Ebay for a good deal. In recent days I have been looking for a trail GPS.

On the first of October I was on Ebay looking at Electronic stuff when I happen to come across a GPS of my dreams. I could not believe my good fortune.

The ad read something like this:

Killer GPS for sale. It's the Garmon Styx 666. The hottest deal on the internet. This unit will take you places you have never been before.

It even had a review from a lady named "Helen Karnate". She even gave me her cell phone number 999-7734.

She said she purchased it from the estate of a man named "Bob", who walked over a cliff on his way to church. Well, the price was right so I purchased the Damn thing. I had uneasy feeling that I was missing something.

The unit arrived after a three day wait. oddly, it did not have a return address. The instructions were written in English, but when my wife looked at them she said they were written in French, the condo associations lawn care person, Pedro, said it was Spanish.

I read the instructions and then turned the unit on.

It immediately said, "Hello, Robert!...Where would you like to go?...Oh, too bad. We will not have time to go there today." I replied angrily, "Go to hell!!" The GPS responded, "I thought you would never ask, Robert."

The unit and I argued most of the afternoon. He told me that the world was coming to an end on 10-10-10 at 10:10 AM. He referred to it as Binary Doomsday.

I started to believe in him.

I was going to sell our furniture on Craig's list, but who would buy it with less than a month to live and how would I spend the money. So I decided to enjoy my remaining days by doing some geocaching. I thought this would be enjoyable and healthy.

Sadly my GPS would tell me to walk two miles into the Atlantic Ocean or try to get my to find geocaches in really bad places like in the middle of the interstate.

"Your geocaches is right there, Robert. Get it." Traffic would be rushing by and vehicles honking at me.

I soon became weary of Geocaching and my wife got tired of going down to the police station or the psychiatric unit of the hospital to retrieve me.

Finally, The day arrived. Binary Doomsday! 10-10-10

01110100011010000110010100100000011001010110111001100100 (the end?)

At 9:45, I enclosed my self in bubble wrap, put in the earplugs, ate my last peanut butter sandwich, closed my eyes and waited for the end. I started humming so I would not hear it.

I felt something touch me. It must be the hand of God.

ME:"Is that you, God?"

GOD:"Uh,uh!" (That sounded like my wife!!!!)

ME: "Are we in heaven together?"

WIFE/GOD??: "Yup, We moved to Myrtle Beach two and half years ago. Now wake up and open your eyes, you crazy coot. Your snoring is starting to annoy me."

ME: "How long have I been snoring?"

WIFE" Since 1993!!!!!"

Well, I guess it must be 11-11-11. I must have a talk with my GPS.

"Well, What do you have to say to yourself, GPS?"

GPS: "You're still here, Robert?"

That's it. That was all I could take. I remembered a Star Trek episode "The Changling" that might apply in this particular case. I used that strategy.

ME:"My name is not Robert."

GPS: Excuse me?"

ME: "You have me confused with someone else."

GPS: "LOL, WTF, OMG, LMAO, OHOH!( GPS starts to smoke and spark).

My Styx 666 had a fiery demise.

Later that day I was looking for a new GPS. I came across a Garmin etrex. I purchased it. I noticed it was spelled differently than the one I originally ordered. Mine was a Garmon. This one is a Garmin. HMMM?

Perhaps I will formulate a missive to Captain James T. Kirk. I think he saved my life.

Is it just me?

2010-10-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

Am I correct?

The other day while my wife and I went on our long walk, we stopped at a gazebo for a trail mix break. We stopped and talk to a couple of nice people. I commented later on that one of them was "mentally retarded." My wife corrected me on this. She was right.I could have used a better term to describe someone who has "Down's Syndrome."I googled it. I wanted to check on its usage. It is still used by the mental health profession, although others find it offensive. An example of that would be Rosa's law.

This brings me to my point(s). I could have said it in a more universally accepted way and be more politically correct. My second point is about "politically correct". I think it is getting extreme.

I like ethnic jokes. The problem is: It keeps perpetuating the myth and if something is repeated enough it becomes truth to some people. People start believing it.

Having said that, I will commence to offending people.I will tell you a little about myself. I am not a bad dancer....I am overly Caucasian.I do not get lost....I investigate alternative destinations.My wife is not a nag....she is verbally repetitive.
Ok! Now that you have the idea lets tell the tale of "Little Red Riding Hood" as written by an ultra liberal.

Politically Correct Little Red Riding Hood

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them.

Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist.Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed.

One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house.

"But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?"

Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption form.

"But mother, aren't you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?"Red Riding Hood's mother pointed out that it was impossible for womyn to oppress each other, since all womyn were equally oppressed until all womyn were free.

"But mother, then shouldn't you have my brother carry the basket, since he's an oppressor, and should learn what it's like to be oppressed?"And Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn't stereotypical womyn's work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community.

"But won't I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she's sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?"

But Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her grandmother wasn't actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called "health".

Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off.

Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors.Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to "come out" of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models.

On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers.She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket.

Red Riding Hood's teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf.

She replied, "I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity.

"The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone."Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way."

Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother's house.But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house.

He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator.Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma's nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments.

Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said,"Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch.

"The Wolf said softly "Come closer, child, so that I might see you."Red Riding Hood said, "Goodness! Grandma, what big eyes you have!

"You forget that I am optically challenged."And Grandma, what an enormous, what a fine nose you have."

"Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn't give in to such societal pressures, my child. "And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!"

The Wolf could not take any more of these specist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. "You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!"

The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her.At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an ax.

"Hands off!" cried the woodchopper."And what do you think you're doing?" cried Little Red Riding Hood. "If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams.

"Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is an FBI sting!" screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head.

"Thank goodness you got here in time," said the Wolf. "The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner.""No, I think I'm the real victim, here," said the woodchopper. "I've been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier.

And now I'm going to have such a trauma. Do you have any aspirin?

"Sure," said the Wolf."Thanks.

"I feel your pain," said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said "Do you have any Maalox?"

The End.

Well, actually you could do the same thing with the ultra conservatives.
The fact is: If you get a conservative and a liberal to write a report of Custer's last stand, you would get two unrecognizable version.

The liberals would do it from Sitting Bulls point of view and the conservatives would have done it from Custers point of view and John Stoessel would have said the whole thing was unnecessary.
As the ever optimistic George Custer said before he went into battle, "Don't take any prisoners, men." He didn't.

"UPDATE" Opa, Ouzo, and Omicron

2010-09-27T07:38:00.000-07:00

Greek geeks!

My wife and I went to the Greek Festival this weekend. She was so impressed that she is thinking of converting to Greek Orthodox. It is a lot like being a Catholic but you don't have to kneel.

She has started referring to Istanbul as Constantinople. She has asked me to change my name to Gianas Hemlockis. She is starting to write funny. I see triangles on paper, she says "that's "D" or delta." How the airlines got involved in religion I am not quite sure. I think I have lost her. She walks around shouting "opa, opa!!"

She is getting swept up in this whole Greek culture thing. She has ordered bouzouki Cd's of Panayotis Thomakis, "the Jimmie Hendrix of the bouzouki" as she now reverently refers to him. I actually thought he was more like the "Eric Clapton" of the bouzouki. He is very good.

She has discovered a fondness for Greek food. This morning she asked me to go buy a 55 gallon drum of Extra virgin olive oil for cooking. I told my sweetie that I have a bad shoulder and I would have trouble moving 500 pounds of olive oil.

I dodged the bullet on that one.

We will be having chicken Souvlaki for lunch, Gyros for supper. I read that the traditional Greek breakfast was coffee and a cigarette. I will check this out.

This is what "Nick" suggested. No cigarettes. Nick is very concerned about health. I am not sure I want to follow his diet. He is only 37 years old.

We toured the inside of the church. all the stuff written on the walls was in some kind of cryptic code. There was all kinds of murals on the walls and ceiling. very beautiful church. I got a little queasy inside the church. The church was St John the Baptist church. As you probably heard, He was beheaded. I have a lot of trouble with beheadings depicted on church walls. I had to leave. Don't go into any church named St. john to baptist if you get queasy about beheadings.

I thought my wife will outgrow the Greek thing. Perhaps not.

This morning she was checking real estate in Athens.

I said, "Athens, Georgia? Why should we move a few hundred miles down the road? We have the ocean here."

She said, " Athens, Greece. It is on the Mediterranean Sea."

"Oh,Oh!!!!!!

This isn't over.

Organized Religion...Really????

2010-09-16T12:42:00.001-07:00

Finding Religion

My wife and I were raised Catholic. I was an altar boy. I had to give it all up. Bad knees.

My wife, on the other hand, gave it up for an entirely different reason. The Catholic Church switched from Latin to French (In Quebec). She finally realized what they were saying.

We still go to church. Weddings and funerals. But we try to avoid it whenever possible.

The Catholic church kept changing the rules. You can't eat meat today. Oh, never mind. Do I have to go to confession? Not really? Maybe...Possibly, could be?

The language used to be Latin. That was cool. We had our own obscure language. Just us few. Catholics, Lawyers, doctors and Mary O'Brien, our high school Latin teacher.

My wife and I decided we wanted an easier religion. Something not based on guilt or hate. Something where we don't have to wear funny hats on certain days. Something where we don't have to fast for 52 days or eat strange food, or refrain from eating strange food.

I am thinking about making a list of things I want out of my religion.

Since all religions believe in god, I can sort through the ones that appeal to me.

I have decided that religions that put too much emphasis on sex are not for me. I am too old and too married. Perhaps fifty years ago that would sound appealing. Now It sounds exhausting. I cannot imagine being a bigamist or going door to door in a black suit and white shirt with pamphlets. That pretty much eliminated the Mormons.

I thought about becoming Jewish but I don't like the beanies. I had to wear one during my freshman year of college. Not much fun. I would have to go through some kind of ceremony, I'm sure. I wonder if I would have to be circumcised again?

Not happening!!!!

Cross out Judaism.

Baptist have good music. They like to sing a lot. My problem there is the beer situation. I like to have beer and dance when I hear good music. They don't.

I find the alcohol thing a bit odd. I am sure Jesus took a nip of wine at the last supper.

Maybe it was Welch grape juice.

I have eliminated Christian Scientists. My best friend's father died of a very treatable condition. He was a Christian Scientist....and an Accountant. What if my appendix is about to burst? Do I go to a Christian Science reading room and hope for the best? Do they have a 911 number to call? I think not.

They are off my list.

Jehovah Witness...Hmmm! What if I fall down at the non Christmas party and I need blood? I am too old to say, " Thanks anyway doc, just let me lie here and bleed to death." Too many strange rules.

Muslim....My wife won't wear the Burka...as I commanded her to do. She is an infidel.

I will have to pass on that religion.

Buddha....give me a call. You sound pretty relaxed as far as religion goes. However I will not set myself on fire to make a point.

I even tried to read the bible for guidance. This is something I have never done.

I had problems from the very beginning. Genesis!!

OK...God can do some wonderful things.

He made the earth in 6 days and then took a day of rest. Actually God could have done it with a snap of his finger. He is, after all......God. I guess he wanted to make a little project out of it. Then he took a rib from Adam to make Eve. Ok!! I like that part.

Now everything seems start unraveling and I am only two pages into the book.

A serpent talks the folks in Eden into take a bite of the forbidden fruit. I have problems with this part. A talking serpent? A gecko perhaps! The Forbidden Fruit? Acai, I suspect.

Well shortly after they ate the forbidden fruit, Adam realizes that Eve is as naked as a Tijuana Stripper....(or Jaybird?)........Eve grabs a leaf, Adam nod towards the tree house and ask, "Would you like to see my palm hammock?" and Eve says with a wink, " I'd love too." and she did.

Shortly thereafter they were expelled from Eden and I think they ended up in Perth Amboy, New Jersey. But I haven't got that far yet.

It is pretty complicated reading for me. Too many thees, thy, thou, to many words that end with eth. "Ye sayeth thee art badeth of all thine peopleth." Huh???!!!!

After that it gets confusing. I thought Goliath was about 24 feet tall. Even the bible is confused about this. At one point, it is said he was about six and a half feet tall, another biblical scholar said about nine feet tall. I suspect he was was the "Shaq" of his day. A big guy. Not twenty four feet tall, not nine feet tall, but I suspect he could dunk a basketball if he was in shape.

Apparently he wasn't in great shape. He had a head like an over ripe melon. David hit it with a rock and he keeled over dead. Shaq would have said, "What was that, a gnat?"

Then David beheaded Goliath. This is a good story to tell your children.

I am a little confused about the ten commandments. Isn't that a nice round figure. I suspect there was more commandments but Moses dropped a few stone tablets on the way down. After all, he was up there for forty days. He might have been a little cranky on the trip down. I am questioning Moses work ethic.

I can picture him negotiating with God.

God: "Did you bring a quill and some papyrus, Moses?"

Moses: "Nah! I have good memory."

God: "I have 16 commandments for you."

Moses: "16? Could we round that off to 15?"

God: "Ok, but I will have to throw in some and/or in the mix"

So God gives the commandments to Moses. God says "repeat them back!!!"

Moses:Ummmm!!!...verily.....Ummmm!

God says, "I knew it, I knew It. Here!!! I made these commandments in stone. Bring em down the hill. All fifteen. 3 tablets."

Moses:" That's not a hill, that's a mountain."

God: I know what it is, Einstein. I made it. Remember?"

Moses: "Einstein????"

Moses leaves the mountain. He gets to the bottom after twenty days and says, "Hey, ya'll gather round. I've been yonder. I gotcha ten commandments for ya'll ya'll." (he apparently spent some time in South Carolina)

This is what I think happen.

I read on a little further.

Wow!!! Did you know that Methuselah lived 969 years? Noah...950 years...Adam...930 years? What were these guys eating? No trans fats or high fructose corn syrup.

Did Noah once say, "Hey...I haven't had sex in 881 years. I am getting a little cranky."

I wonder.....these people lived a long time. I think there is a book of the bible missing or it is in Commandments 11 through 15.

It's called "Recipes and lifestyles".

It is somewhere between Genesis and Revelations...somewhere, possibly.

Some strange stuff going on in that bible.

I will keep looking. I will stick with Catholic...for now.

Get a Life

2010-09-15T11:00:00.000-07:00

Not necessarily my own!

Last evening I suggested to my wife that our neighbors were actually aliens. I am not talking about from Mexico or Haiti aliens. No! I am talking about Alpha Centauri, Rigel 7, or Saturn type aliens.

She is very aware of my logical thought process.

"OK, let's hear it."

I explained to her that when we moved recently,we moved into a "sleeper agent cell incubation pod area." They probably have some kind of capsule they eat or they consume "Earthlings". These people are not earthlings.

"Did you ever see them buy groceries? Did you ever see them eat?" The answer to that is "NO!!!" These people are clearly not from Earth.

She salvoed with, "I smelled barbecue steaks cooking next door." " Spray!" I answered.

"It makes them seem human."

"I rest my case".

My wife looked confused and befuddled. Then a sense of clarity and resolve came over her face.

WIFE:"Wait a minute, Clarence Darrow! Aren't you the same person who chased a car to North Carolina because you thought Jesus Christ was in the car and you wanted his autograph?

Aren't you the one who was attacked by seagulls on the beach because you had a watermelon on your head?

You thought you had a connection with Peter Noone of "Herman's Hermits" because his limo ran over your toes?

Aren't you the very same person who told our next door neighbor to "Get off my lawn" because you thought you would be like Clint Eastwood that day? Wasn't this you?"

ME:"Yeah.......What's your point?"

WIFE: 'The point is....GET A LIFE!!!!!

Hmmm!!! I thought I had one. I tried to model after someone I admired and respected, Clint Eastwood. I also have a striking resemblance to him. That doesn't hurt. I have to admit that I had to cut back on my Eastwoodness after the incident at Food Lion. The incident that nearly got me arrested.

The Incident: I got to the checkout line and the clerk asked me how many bananas I had purchased. Sadly I got caught up in the moment and said, " I know what your thinking, punk. Your thinking "Did he buy six bananas or only five?" " Now to tell you the truth I forgot myself in all the excitement. But being this is a Platinum Discover card, the most powerful credit card in the world and will blow your head clean off, You have to ask yourself a question: Do we take Discover? Well, do ya, punk?"

I am banned for life from Food Lion.

That did not "make my day".

I have tried being Clark Gable but that "Frankly, my Dear, I don't give a Damn." did not sit well with my wife since that would be my answer to any question. I gave that one up after a few hours. She still won't talk to me. Now I give a damn.

Cary Grant? "Judy..Judy...Judy"..Hmmm..I tried it and I sound like Goober Pyle.

I tried "Bogie" last week. I was saying stuff like: "We don't need no stinkin Food Lion, Here's looking at you, Kid." That kind of thing.

I even tried James Cagney. I was chasing squirrels Monday. I was hollering, "You dirty rodent!!!!"

I have though of seeing a Psychiatrist, but I started acting like McMurphy in "One flew over the cuckoos nest" and I was afraid of Nurse Ratched.

My wife just shakes her head and says, " You are not well."

I occasionally slip into lucidity.

Well, I guess that's life. But not mine.

The only time I feel like my genuine self is when I am somebody else.

A Squirrel's Tale (tail?)

2010-09-02T09:09:00.000-07:00

Oh nuts!!!!...and fruits!!!!

Leonard and Sheldon are two squirrels who visit my bird feeder on a daily basis. A daily basis? I should say on an hourly basis.

I am at wits end.

I know! I know! A short trip!!!

I have tried everything. They are winning!!!!

They get on my patio, hop up the 3 steps, stand in front of the sliding glass doors and taunt my cat, Wilson. Wilson is furious. He is a bird watcher. They chase the birds away.

They feed hourly at my squirrel proof bird feeder.

I open the sliding doors and they flee. I should say they fly. They are getting really good at this flying thing. I am afraid I am teaching them how to fly. They are flying a good 10-12 feet in the air and clinging to the tree. I am hoping they will make a mistake and not put their furry little heads down, hit their head on the tree and render themselves unconscious. I would put them in a cage and I would taunt them.

sadly, it never happens.

If I sit out on the patio they will sit in the tree and make awful sounds. I assume they are doing the squirrel equivalent to swearing.

I purchased something that has cayenne peppers in it. It is suppose to keep squirrels away from the feeder. Leonard and Sheldon love it but it almost blinded me.

When I was putting it in the "SQUIRREL PROOF BIRD FEEDER", the wind came up and blew it in my eyes, up my nose, in my mouth, all over. At that point I was begging for someone to "just kill me now.....please...please...please". No one did.

I have tinkered with idea of hooking up some electricity to the bird feeder and giving them a shock when they get on the feeder. Somehow I feel that I will be the one getting the shock or the next day they will show up with rubber gloves and wire cutters and destroy my work.

I am starting to feel like Wile E. Coyote.

My neighbor caught a couple of squirrels in humane traps. He took the time to drive them to North Carolina and release them. He should not have stopped for that cup of coffee.

The squirrels were back before he was.

Well at least he didn't end up like my other neighbor, Mary Margaret O'Callahan.

Mary Margaret has started calling herself, Thermodora the Warrior Princess and squirrel slayer.

She wears a thong and a bra, a plastic tiara and a BB gun now.

She shot a squirrel with the BB gun. It didn't do much damage to the squirrel but now she is on a mission. She mumbles, giggles and twitches quite a bit. She walks around the neighborhood in her outfit saying, " Hey squirrel, I got something for ya."

Nobody will report her. The women are afraid of her because she is armed and the men think she is "kinda good lookin".

I can see the road I may be going if I do not revise my thinking.

HMMM!

I have finally decided to make peace with Leonard and Sheldon.

Yes, this will give me peace of mind. I will do this. After all, they are only doing what they were put on this earth to do. I don't want to end up like my neighbors. It is the natural order of life. I should embrace this concept. I should embrace Leonard and Sheldon. Yes, embrace.....(twitch)...them. Embrace them VERY HARD.

Squeeze the life out of them. (twitch)

I must deny these rodentia of MY air, MY space!!!!(hee!hee!)

Olditude (what to pack for your seniority.)

2010-08-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

Inside every old person there is a young Person wondering what to hell happened?

Life is good. The problem is it is backwards. Woody Allen wrote something that totally makes sense. It is called "Next Life"

In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm!

I rest my case.

I am going the wrong direction.

I knew I was in trouble when I got lost in a potato maze.

This is not good. I love puzzles. I may have to take a GPS with me the next time, if there is a next time. How can a person get lost in a potato maze?

The person who said these are "The Golden Years" obviously died before he/she reached 50.

Let's see what George Carlin had to say about it.

George Carlin's View On Aging

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions. "How old are you?" "I'm four and a half!" You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.

You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead. "How old are you?" "I'm gonna be 16!" You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16!

And then the greatest day of your life . . . you become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony . . . YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!! But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk. He TURNED, we had to throw him out.

There's no fun now, you're just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed? You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 . . . and your dreams are gone.

But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would! So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60. You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80s and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; "I was JUST 92."

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a littlekid again. "I'm 100 and a half!" May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

How to Stay Young:

1. Throw out nonessential numbers. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctor worry about them. That is why you pay him/her.

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever. Never let the brain idle. " An idle mind is the devil's workshop." And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5. Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, to the next county, to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

and finally..a little test.

A quick test to determine your true age!

Count how many of the following you remember

1. Blackjack chewing gum

2. Wax Coke-shaped bottles with colored sugar water

3. Candy cigarettes

4. Soda pop machines that dispensed bottles

5. Coffee shops with tableside jukeboxes

6. Home milk delivery in glass bottles with cardboard stoppers

7. Party lines

8. Newsreels before the movie

9. P.F. Flyers

10. Butch wax

11. Telephone numbers with a word prefix (Olive -6933)

12. Peashooters

13. Howdy Doody

14. 45 RPM records

15. S&H Green Stamps

16. Hi-fi's

17. Metal ice trays with lever

18. Mimeograph paper

19. Blue flashbulbs

20. Beanie and Cecil

21. Roller skate keys

22. Cork popguns

23. Drive-ins

24. Studebakers

25. Wash tub wringers

If you remembered 0-5 = You're still young
If you remembered 6-10 = You are getting older
If you remembered 11-15 = Don't tell your age
If you remembered 16-25 = You're older than dirt!

a second opinion

2010-08-16T10:26:00.000-07:00

Misadventures in Living Healthy

I went to my doctor's appointment a few days ago. We chatted about various subjects including my health. He is very chatty and I was his first appointment of the day. Things seem to go really well. I scheduled my next appointment.

On the way home I was reviewing my conversation with the doctor. I knew my wife would ask me how things went at the doctors. Then I remembered!!!!!!......He asked me if I wanted to be buried or cremated.......WHAT!!!!!!

Yikes!!!!...I must have missed something.

My wife ask me the same question a few weeks ago.

Should I be looking for some real estate about 6x6x6 with a nice overhanging oak nearby.

Maybe I should get a third opinion or change doctors. I asked my doctor for a second opinion and he said ,"Ok, Your ugly too!!!" This was not comforting.

I asked him what I had? He said, "A big ugly nose with hair coming out of it, crooked teeth and bushy eyebrows."

I told him that the teeth were dentures. The dentist design them crooked. He said it matched my face and personality.

"No! No! I am talking about my health." " Ok!!!Ok!!!! I'll take another look, stand up, please."

That really annoyed me because I was standing up......

Yeah!!!...I will be looking for another doctor. This guy didn't have a good bed side manner. I asked him if I could get some viagra. He said, "No, The best I can do for you is have the receptionist give you a hernia exam." which she did.

Doctor's visit aside, my thinking is that I am feeling fine so I think I will be having an accident. Hmmm! I guess I will have to change my underwear every day.

I have had two already this week. I knocked myself out while changing the litter. It wasn't the smell.

There is a shelf above the litterbox. When I stood up I hit my head on the corner of the shelf and rendered myself senseless. When I regained my senses, my cat, Wilson was giving me a dirty look. He probably was wondering why I was sleeping with my head in his litterbox.

No major brain damage to me, but then who would know. My wife thinks I am about ready for an assisted living facility. Some times I am.

The previous day from my litterbox accident I got my elbow skin caught in the crease of the folding door. I had my hands full so I pushed on the door with my elbow. I pushed in a bad spot. right in the fold. The door fold closed on the skin of my elbow.

ouch!!! ouch!!!

Before that, someone tried to back over me at Sam's Club.

Well...I'm lying. He actually backed into my cart of groceries. I was standing between the groceries and the car trunk. Ouch!....I think I have two spleens now.

This morning I wanted to go out front and trim the hedge in front of our condo. My wife just shook her head. She had a vision of me with a hedge trimmer.

She just said, "Why don't you save me all the suspense. Go get some sharp knives, put them in your pocket, put some scissors in your mouth, soak your self in gasoline, light up a cigarette and jump off the balcony."

This upset me. She knows I don't smoke.

I haven't smoked since I set the car on fire when I threw my cigarette out the front window. How did I know it reenter the vehicle through the back window? How did I know that it would smolder then burst into flame?

Well, my Uncle Pete could have told me. He was sitting in the back seat making sure that the gas for the lawn mower didn't tip over.

I think Uncle Pete just likes adventure. He is the same guy who came to my house when my pipes froze. He came to thaw them out. We got into the crawl space and started heating the pipes. After a couple of minutes of heating the copper tubing he turned to me and said, "Hmmm, these are the wrong pipes I have been heating. This is the propane pipe. I should be thawing the water line."

A second opinion would have been nice about two minutes ago.

This is what you might call a "defining moment" of your life. This seemed like a rather significant oversight.

Does the words: Fried, crispy critter, self immolation for non religious purposes, have any significants to you, Uncle Pete?

Uncle Pete says,"We better get out of here. I smell something funny."

Well....Yeah!!....I just crapped my pants.