I think, therefore I am! Just barely

"Ah, What a wonderful day. I feel so alive today. I think I will go for a vigorous walk on the beach."

My wife looked up from book, looked at me and just shook her head. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to say anything. It was "the look."

"What?.....What does that look mean?" I queried recklessly.

"Hmmm....Do you really want to know? Really?....I mean really?

"Sure. Of course!!!

Well, the little French lady said I was on life support and I didn't even know it. She itemized a few things that might give me some clues.

She started with my sleeping habits. She accuses me of snoring. She cannot show a shred of evidence of this and quiet frankly I didn't believe her until I woke myself with my snoring. She tells me I have wide variety of snores. She even has names for them like:

The lip flapper, which is both lips flapping while I am apparently trying to blow some kind of bubble.

The Oinker, which she says sounds like two hogs fighting over a sow.

The whistler, which is done with the mouth shut and you whistle a little tune through the nostrils about four hundred times per night.

The full Monti which is all of these plus a few other bodily noises.

She says I have a few other minor snores and sounds which hasn't named or catalogued yet.

I do not do well when I get up to go to the bathroom. I run into furniture, I drink a lot of water before I go to bed. Perhaps it is the beer I drank an hour before. For some reason beer makes me thirsty. Does anybody else have that problem?

Well anyway I usually just make it to the bathroom milliseconds ahead of time. No problem! Well...maybe a little problem. I should wear my glasses since I am blind without them. This would probably improve my toilet accuracy but I really didn't have time. Usually only happens once a night. Not bad for a guy my age.

At least I don't have the situation of my neighbor, Tommie. He says his system is so fine tuned that he knows when his system will act. He pees at six thirty, he poops at seven fifteen. Sadly Tommie doesn't wake up till eight. That is what his wife told me.

Lately I have caught my wife doing something strange. I woke up with a start from a sound sleep and my wife is holding a mirror under my nose. I asked her what she was doing. "Just checking to see if you were breathing. You haven't snored for two hours.

I thought.....Oh, never mind."

In the morning I am much better. I just don't want anybody talking to me for the first hour. I am little cranky. Why am I cranky? Well, I have to change the cat litter. My wife can smell it. I can't. Then I usually eat my moldy toast, fetid omelet, stale cereal, rotten eggs. All of this stuff I fished out of the garbage can in the closet. I don't tell my wife because it hard to explain why I am eating penicillin bread and sour chunky milk.

She will say, " I threw that away because it went bad" and I will say something like," It did taste a little funky and unsavory." "Funky?.....That stuff would gag a maggot." So basically my taste buds are dead and my nose doesn't do anything for me except whistle four hundred times a night.

I really not to keen about talking because my hearing system doesn't kick in until I have had my second cup of what I now assume is coffee. My wife says to me every morning, " I had my second cup of coffee." Two minutes later I say, "Did you have your second cup of coffee?" The wife will say," I just told you I had my second cup of coffee", which brings up a personal dilemma. Am I losing my memory or my hearing?

Good question. I have lost so many things lately it may be my memory....or not.

What's her name usually finds what I have lost.

I should take a personal inventory.

Let me see....I can't see, smell, hear, taste, remember, I'm losing things like hair on my head. I think gravity has something to do with the hair. My eyebrows are flourishing. My nose hair is really out of my control. My ears are very hairy. Every time I go to get my haircut, they take more hair off other parts of my body than they take off my head. Some parts of my body work really well, like my colon and bladder. Actually my brain still works pretty good as long as no memory is required.

Some times my wife just looks in my eyes, shakes her head and mutters, "space for rent."

Maybe I won't go for a walk on the beach.

A Beautiful Mind (for first grade).

I have a strange brain. It must be so. I remember things I really don't need to remember and I have very little use for. I can remember my first grade teacher. I can look at a first grade picture and remember most of the kids in the class. I guess that information would be handy if I go to a first grade class reunion. I could walk up to "Beaver Smith" and say, "You got your teeth fixed and you're taller than you were in first grade".......and he would say, "And you are who?"

My first grade teacher was Mrs. McDonald. At least at the start of the school year. Actually her name was Miss Danaher at the start of the year. She married Mr. McDonald. She got up in front of class one day and said she had changed her name and was leaving us. All the girls got hysterical, all the guys did not care. She was replaced by Mrs. Phinney.

The only thing I remember about first grade was a book about "Crictor the Boa Constrictor", who was a friendly snake. A good thing, I might add. I heard later on that

Boa Constrictors could get a little cranky when they are hungry. I did not know that then, otherwise I would not have pestered my mother for two years to get a Boa Constrictor. The other story I remember was about "The Little Engine that could."

A rather pointless little homily about...whatever!!!!

Now the telling part: They started talking about numbers in first grade. I had no interest in math. All my male classmates could count to ten. All the female classmates could count to a hundred. Ordene Fatflank, the smartest girl in our class could count to a thousand and she could do it in reverse.

When I graduated from first grade I only knew one number: Seven. I did not see the importance of math until eighth grade. I could count to ten by then. Counting my money was a math thing. I started to learn. My ability to remember useless information carried me right up till junior high school.

I remember that Dick and Jane were introduced in first grade, but we really got into heavy in second grade.

"Run, Spot, Run. See Spot Run"

"See Dick, See Spot, See Jane"

"Jane sees Dick, Run Dick, run."

I may have misquoted but it was something along those lines.

First grade was wonderful except for the Math.

My brain is still strange. I never did get it straightened out.

Social blundering and other government doubletalk

Squirrelly: relating to or resembling a squirrel. restless, nervous, or unpredictable. eccentric or insane. That's me!

Hmm! Perhaps It was not a good idea to let the woman from the state humane society read my blog.She said my blog was demeaning to squirrels. What about me? Is there no end to political correctness? Answer: NO! political correctness and government double talk is here to stay.
When I was growing up my school team was called "The Red Flame"...as opposed to blue flames or whatever. Today that team name would have to change it's name. It would be demeaning to the fire department. (another quasi-governmental agency). I know of a team called the Crusaders that was forced to change the name of their school team because it offended the sensibilities of the Muslim in the county. (both of them). Another team had to change the name from the "Redskins" to the Red Chickens or something. The name "Redskins" could be a little dicey. I personally thought it in terms of being warriors, but the three Indians in town were offended by "Redskins". So after 65 years of politically incorrectness,The name was changed. In view of this I suggest that all schools should be named after inanimate objects or fantasy creatures. I suggest dinosaurs, Rock Fiddlers, Griffins, or Porkchoppers. These seem fairly neutral.
It doesn't end there. The government has been confusing me for many years. Last summer I thought I would take up the sport of "waterboarding". I found out it wasn't a sport, it was a CIA torture technique.Some of the words are very confusing. My neighbor, the bureaucrat, said to me one day, "I believe my spouse has incurred collateral damage through negligent friendly fire and now I am up the proverbial estuary with insufficient means of propulsion." What???.....??"I just shot my wife and now I am up a creek without a paddle."He is currently incarcerated at the penitentiary. The big house. Up the River.I have collected a few examples of government speak.

1. Evidence Base - research shows
2. Functionality - use
3. Funding Streams - money
4. Iteration - version
5. Procure - buy
6. Rationalisation - cut
7. Robust - tough
8. Slippage - delay
9. Social Exclusion - poverty
10. Worklessness - unemployed

It appears everyone wants to get in on the action. Here are a few more goodies.

A criminal is now someone who is behaviorally challenged.

Failure is now deferred success.

Garbage man is now a Sanitation Engineer

Girl friend/Wife is an unpaid sex worker.

Illegal alien is an undocumented immigrant.

Psycho is now pathologically high spirited.

White trash is losers of European descent.

Intelligent Design means Darwin is full of....bodily waste.

Transfer tubes are body bags.

Pre-owned vehicle for a used car.

More Doublespeak

Affirmative Action / Racial Discrimination - Both mean "preferential treatment for a particular race". However, the first is mandated by law and the second in illegal.

Educated / Brainwashed - US children are "Educated" about the evils of drugs, pollution, and race relations ... Soviet children were "Brainwashed" in Soviet doctrine.

Realistic / Stereotypical - If a person believes that it is a bad idea to walk though the ghetto at night, they are simply being realistic. However, if they take the next step and say that the reason it's such a bad idea is because of the people that live in that neighborhood, they are accused of stereotyping.

Shell Shock / Combat Fatigue / Operational Exhaustion / Post-traumatic stress disorder - The comedian George Carlin once pointed out how the way we describe this condition has changed over the years. He pointed out how the wording has changed to completely remove any connection with the horrors of war from the name of the condition, even though it is the horrors of war which is the direct cause of the condition.

Self-confident / Arrogant - Liberals are self-confident... because they are dedicated to their beliefs. But, conservatives are arrogant because they are dedicated to their beliefs.

On the TV

My wife and I often watch People's Court and Judge Judy. Very often the defendants try doubletalk to minimize what they have done. Incarcerated seems to be a very popular word. They will try convolution to confuse the judge. It doesn't work. I used to hate to watch Judge Judy. I thought she was very coarse and nasty. Well, she is, but she usually gets to the truth pretty fast. I now enjoy watching the people squirm when they try to doubletalk mystify, baffle, and confuse Judge Judy. It usually backfires when the try to varnish, rearrange or embellish what actually happened. They usually end up confuzzled. (my wife's favorite word.)

So....I will now go to the rest room, powder room, rest area, toilet, bathroom, head, peepee parlor, can, comfort station, loo, john, potty, downloading (for computer geeks) visit the throne room where I will commence to.....ummm...oops!..never mind....too late!!!!

Baby boomer's memory handbook (1950's Ed.)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Really????

1950 -1960:Actually things were almost idyllic. The worst of times? Hardly.

Life before television was almost barbaric. We had to find ways to amuse ourselves. Things were different. There are things that a baby boomer will remember. There are events you try forget.

This was the era of Polio, the iron lung, McCarthyism, the cold war, the threat of nuclear war. A great thing was happening at the end of WWII (1945). President Truman proposed a health care plan for all Americans. As of this year (2010) things seem to be moving along quite nicely.

McCarthyism: Joe had a good idea. Who liked commies in the 50's?Nobody. Let's expose them. OK!!! I like this plan. Hey, Joe is doing a great job.

A month later I see my name published in the paper. I have been reported to be a communist. HUH???!!!

You go before McCarthy committee two weeks later and state, "I am not a communist."

Joe: Did you or did you not have the "The Daily Laborer", a commie front newspaper in your house?

Me:No. Joe: I have a signed affidavit by your garbage man that you had a copy of this paper in your garbage. I have the paper here. It smells communistic.

Me: Sir, I think that is the smell of cat urine. My dad gets these papers at work. I line my litterbox with it."

Joe: "Hah!! So he works for a communist front organization. Who does he work for?"

Me: "He works for you, sir."

That is how it was. A good idea goes bad.

Forgotten cars of the 50's: I saw a Hudson Terraplane once. My uncle had a 1955 Hudson Hornet. It was a good car. He may still be driving it. He is in his 90's now.

A strange looking car. It right up there with the Henry J. I had an uncle who owned a Henry J. He was still driving it in the early 80's. It was a bit quirky at that point. The Edsel? That seemed like a nifty car to me. We are speaking of a time when Ford made a hardtop convertible (it disappeared into the trunk) and Chrysler had push button shifting on the steering wheel. The spare tire was real. You could recognize a car type from a half mile away. This is the era of the legendary 1957 Chevy. You can go to a place that sells model cars and you will find the 57 Chevy on the shelf. I don't think you will find a 1992 Toyota or 1998 Ford Taurus.

Fashion of the 50's: I began my adolescence at a strange fashion time.

Shoes: White bucks and penny loafers were my fashion choices. It was white bucks if you were going for the Pat Boone look. It was boots if you were going for the James Dean look. The James Dean look was Levi's, white T-shirt with a pack of Camels rolled up in the sleeve. I often dreamed that Pat Boone and James Dean would meet up on some street and start fighting. Pat would be getting pounded badly. Bloody nose, black eye, sore ribs. James would grab onto Pat's shirt and rip it. That is when Pat would go ballistic and start beating the crap of James. Pat would be pounding James' head on the pavement.....and Elvis Presley would rush in from somewhere and save James Dean from imminent death at the hands of Pat Boone. Elvis would snarl at Pat, " Look at the blood from his head on the sidewalk." Pat would answer, "That is Wildroot Cream Oil Hair Tonic, You Cretin." A befuddled Elvis would answer, " Don't ever step on my Blue Suede shoes."

Maybe this happen. Did I dream this? Well, anyway.....clothing was important.

Dressing for a date: My first two dates were disasters. I did not dress correctly for my first date. I had an identity crisis which is very common among teenagers then and today. My Mother made me wear heavy galoshes over my shoes, blue corduroy pants,

A white t-shirt with a box of candy cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve, (I wasn't allowed to smoke.) a headful of Wildroot cream oil, a coonskin cap, (Davey Crocket was very popular at the time, hence, I thought, fashionable.) and of course an umbrella.

The girl was dressed weird. She had layers of petticoats under hooped poodle skirt. I am sure she was wearing a diaper under all this. There is NO WAY she could get all that stuff off in time to poop. I know, I tried to penetrate the fortress to no avail. another thing that doomed the date. I could not penetrate the hair spray on her head with my hand. She was impenetrable everywhere. she wasn't too keen about my hair either.

she told me not to put my head on anything. she also asked me if I wanted to wrap my head in a towel. I guess we were not made for each other.

My second date did not go any better. My friends set me up with a blind date. She wasn't blind. She was in an iron lung. I did not know that until I arrived at her house.

I couldn't figure how I was going to get it in the car. My dad was waiting out in the car. He was going to drive us to the movies. I suppose I could have gotten my uncle Pete's truck and taken her to the drive in theater but that didn't seem practical since I couldn't drive. So I just stayed at her house and we played records. I asked her once if she wanted to dance. She rolled her eyes, but then smiled. She laughed at my faux pas.

It wasn't such a bad date. She recovered enough in time so she would not be in an iron lung all her life. She actually had a fairly normal life.

To give you an idea how carefree and happy we were in those days, we had a little song we sang.

"Hit the dirt, Join the crowd,

Mama, look at mushroom cloud.

looka you daddy, He Know!

Mushroom cloud made him ugly so."

This was a Calypso song. It could have been sung by Harry Belafonte.

The end is near, People!

It isn't even December 2012

It finally happen. I have spent to much time on my computer. A sign came up on my computer. It said: Congratulations, You have reached the end of the internet. There is nothing left to google. WOW! This day came sooner than I expected. I have no idea what to do now. My wife has become jealous of my Macbook.

I spend more time with Macbook and google than I do with her. I leave my Macbook by my bed. Last night in bed my wife asked me, " What time is it?" I got up and googled it. I didn't have to google it. The time is up in the right corner next to spotlight. We also have 2 clocks in the bedroom. I was sleepy.

This morning I got up and told my wife what had happen. " I went to the end of the internet. My life is over. I have lived a good life. There is nothing...nothing left. I am not young anymore. put me in a home. It's over." My wife just said, "Okay." a little too quickly and happily to that suggestion.

As the day went on my wife soften her stance on putting me into a "home". She thought I needed some psychological help. She recommended I write to "Doctor Phil".

"Write?" I queried.

"Yeah!, You know, It's like e-mail but you use paper. You put the paper in an envelope, put a stamp and an address on it and walk it down to the mailbox."

"What good is it to put a blank piece of paper in an envelope?" I ask her.

"You're suppose to write your problem on the paper, you moron."

"Oh!...Oh!....Hey, This isn't my first rodeo, you Know. Did you know that a pancake has two sides? Three if you count the edge."....as I barraged her with Dr. philisms.

I threw in "No dog ever peed on a moving car."

It was clear that I had her mystified, dazzled, and confused. Hah! finally.

This afternoon I started thinking. It is a practice I try to do daily but I have fallen behind and I am down to doing it once a week. After all, I am a problem solver.

I figured there is a back button for the internet. I believe it is that button that looks like a triangle lying on its side and pointing left. I have never used it. But first I googled, What to do when you get to the end of the internet.

It gave me numerous solutions.

• Life is over as you know it. Have your wife send you to a home. (I Knew it!!!!)
• Have you learned everything you read on the internet. (Of course!!!)
• Learn how to verbally communicate with others using verbal skills rather than using a chat room, email or instant messaging. You might want to start by picking up the phone, dialing a wrong number and saying "I'm sorry!" Try short, choppy sentences at first then work you way up to big complex sentences. (I did that today.)

• Get up off your chair and try walking, take short steps at first then gradually increase the distance until you can no longer see your computer. For Heavens sake, give your hemorrhoids a break! If you have a problem leaving your computer for any length of time, seek the services of a trained professional for counseling. (I could bring a picture of my computer.)
• Read a book: Do you remember books? They still publish them. They have words in them. You could start with Donald Duck Comics. I don't like Donald Duck, Porky Pig, Daffy Duck, and Elmer Fudd in TV cartoons. They each have one thing in common. A speech impediment. I like them in comic books. It is a good place to start, people. (I could do this.)
• Get reaquainted with your significant other if you can find her. He/she may have left some time ago and you haven't noticed. You may have to hire a private investigator to find him/her. (duh!)
• Perhaps this will give me the time to discover one of the great mysteries of life. Yes, why are so many people totally incapable of pronouncing a three letter word. The word is "Ask." I hear that word pronounced "aks." What is that all about? It is not about education, race, or culture. It transcends all these. What is it? If I can figure this out I will move onto the meaning of life. Just Ask.

Surviving public school

THE SCHOOL

The Town and the school were built on the side of a mountain.
This is a picture of the "company" office. If you keep going down the stairs it will bring you right to the "memorial hall". The building had a gym, cafeteria, bowling alley in the basement, auditorium, music rooms, movie theatre, and a wicked scary fire escape, a couple of minarets, and various nooks and crannies.

The grade school is the building beside the "memorial" hall. A bunch of classrooms, teacher's room, Home Ec. in the basement and Wood and Metal shop classrooms. a couple of disgusting bathrooms. The High school was old, but well maintained. To get to the gym, you had to go into the basement of the building, after you got to the basement, the gym was another level down but a separate wing separated by stairs.

the basement was an ugly place. It was just a long corridor with... nothing except toilets, furnace room, locker rooms, and big air vents to the classrooms above.

The mines were behind the school. The landscaping was gray dirt from the mines. The schools sat on a plateau. You had your outside gym classes on a pile of dirt. If you lost a ball over the bank it was high adventure to retrieve it. some softballs were lost forever. It was a lot different than most schools. Its uniqueness had its charm. Pictures: The office, grade school and memorial hall, the high school.

THE EDUCATION

I received my education from at a small rural mining town school in upstate New York. In my town there were three public high schools, and two Catholic schools that went as far as 8th grade. The town's total population was about 7,500 people. The schools were actually very good schools. We could take courses that very few schools offer now. Four years of Latin, four years of French, Advance Math courses, Advance Science courses, Industrial arts (Woodworking, Advance Woodworking, metalworking).

My favorite classes were Physical Education and study hall. The education was good but the athletics were unbelievable. There were numerous great athletes in our town. One guy from my school became a major league pitcher and a World Series MVP. Another guy played for the Harlem Globetrotters. These two guys stick out in my mind, but there were numerous others who were great at sports in our town.

My school wasn't pretty. It was downright ugly. If you looked at it from the front it wasn't too bad. The back part was hideous. The school was built on a mesa of gray dirt (tailings) from the mines. below the mesa was the mines. The sounds coming from down the mesa to our classroom was the sound of ore cars being filled. The sound of

ore hoists coming out of the mines filled with ore, the sound of dynamite explosions at

2:20 pm every day. The miner's were getting more ore prepared for the next shift. It wasn't a quiet environment for education.

The teacher in our high school were a rough bunch. They would teach you or they would beat the crap out of you. Which ever you preferred. They would have beastly nicknames of vicious animals. Some names like Badger, Pegleg, Bull, Crazy Frank, Frizzy, and "Bloody" Blair, to name a few.

"Bloody" was a pilot in Army Air Force during WWII. He spent a lot of time in Australia. He married a cute Aussie girl and came back to teach school. He couldn't get Australia out of his system. It was bloody this, bloody that, and he couldn't pronounce the word perhaps any more. It was "pr'aps the bloody war affected me more than I thought." I think he ended up going back to Australia.

"Crazy Frank" was the hot tempered football coach and teacher. He was brutal at football practice. He would coin wonderful expressions like, " Wojahowski!!! Are you going to get your finger out of your ass and start blocking?" He would often accuse some poor polish kid of having their finger in some body orifice when they should have been blocking or tackling. But he would give tremendous pregame and half time speeches. The team would come out at half time ready to kill. Nasty football.

A little true story: After a big pile up after a play, one player we will call Ralph (which is good..because it's his real name) went back to the huddle and was smiling. Bob (which is his real name)asked Ralph why he was smiling. Ralph said, " I just bit some guy in the leg in that pile." Bob answered, " That was me you bit, You SOB!!!" really happened!!

"Bull" was a great teacher. He was also the most intimidating. I never saw him smile in my life. He was a really big guy. If you wanted to physically challenge him, he would take you up on it. There are legendary stories of him wrestling a student in the school stairwell in his younger days. You didn't mess with "Bull".

"Mobby" was the English and Latin teacher. I believe that Latin was her first language.

She would often say Latin phrases in English class, like it kinda slipped out. She was intimidating also. Her brilliance was sometimes overwhelming. I think she taught Julius Caesar. I know she spent time in Europe and was educated at the "Sorbonne" in Paris.

Hmmm! She must have known a tad of French also.

We had a teacher with the nickname "Fossil", he was obviously a science teacher.

"Twitch" was one of my teacher, "Pegleg" I just missed by one year.

I believe that some of my female elementary school teachers were actually guards at some Nazi prison camp during WWII. These women had Irish names but I would sometimes hear a little Teutonic tinge in their stentorian command.

Maybe it was just me.

Those were the days when a teacher was not allowed to kill you but everything else was ok. I had been manhandled and paddled by numerous teacher at the school. I did not run home and tell Mama and dada. Their theory was: You must have done something wrong, so you're going to get it again. No one got killed. I only heard one person beg for mercy before being paddled. He had a boil on his ass. No mercy was given. He got it anyway.

If the faculty and student did today what we did back then, a bunch of people would have been "incarcerated in the penitentiary" , as they say on the street now days. I couldn't even spell those words when I was in school.

It was an educational experience. It was also fun. I enjoyed school.

Colt Brandisher, Detective....problem solver!

Chapter 1

DRAFT #1:

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.

Wife: "How is your great American detective, Colt Brandisher doing?"

Me: Ummmmm!...Hmmmm!....Oh, oh!

Wife:"What?"

Me:" This is not good. I think I have killed him in the opening paragraph."

Wife: "He must have been a crappy detective. God rest his soul."

Me:" No, No!!!! He was great. A wonderful man. A great detective."

Wife: "Well, You wrote it, you can change it."

Me: (horrified) "I will not compromise my artistic integrity. What you suggest is just not possible."

Wife: "Alrighty then!!!!!"

(Mumbling going on...mixed in with a few curse words..more mumbling)

Wife: "Let me have a look at what you have written. Perhaps all is not lost."

Wife: "Bzzzz..mumble..bzzzz..mumble...HAH! all is not lost. This prose could be entered into a worst writing contest. Perhaps the Bulwer Lytton fiction contest for the worst opening line. You may actually get published."

Me: "HOW DARE YOU DEMEAN MY LITERARY TALENT....HOW DARE YOU?"

I ran to my room and threw myself on the bed and started weeping shamelessly into my goose down pillow.

I must come up with a solution. (sniff!...sniff!)

perhaps Colt will have to die....but I could work his life backwards from that spot.

a review of his life....or he could have an "oddjob" hat, like the villain in "Goldfinger".

He had a metal band in hat brim. a bullet could ricochet off the hat......or Colt could have a metal plate in his head from a previous incident. another ricochet solution.

Yes, I am a problem solver!!!!

Perhaps someone could suggest a solution.