Aimless Rambling

WOW!

2008-03-02T08:02:00.002-06:00

It's been a long time since I've blogged...busy holiday season, a long bout of illness, and everyday life seemed to preclude writing here.

But, now I'm back. And I have to tell you about an addict that lives in my house.

My wife is a techno-phobe. She can't run a VCR, can barely run a dvd player, and when it comes to computers...let's just say that she knows what a mouse is, but that's about it.

We got a new laptop computer for Christmas. I got it for her, mainly so that she could play games in the living room, or look up the occasional thing on the 'net if she wanted to without bothering me. What I didn't bet on was the World of Warcraft.

We have some friends who have existed in WOW for several years, and we've heard talk of it from them over those years. I was intrigued, having played the original Warcraft games many years ago. But I didn't realize just how much different this game was from the originals until we set up an account for online play about a month ago.

I hopped right into it, having played a variety of video games over the years. My wife was more hesitant, since she was still somewhat cowed by using the computer. Then she set up a character, and our life has not been the same since.

She sits for hours at a time, playing WOW, cussing out the evil characters, and calling out to me for help. 3, 4, 5 hours a day she spends taking her character on quests...and when she's not playing the game, she's talking about it.

Asking questions, relating experiences, are all ways to learn and grow--in real life. WOW is the next best thing, but it seems to have taken over her life. I limit myself to a couple of 30-45 minute sessions a day (usually), and can always find something else to do and talk about.

She can't. She is addicted.

But, now she knows how to use a mouse...sort of. And she can maneuver around the World of Warcraft without my help...mostly. Is this a bad thing?

The following months will tell me if this is so. In the meantime, lookout for Jazmeenaa--she's a level 23 mage with a helluva fire bolt.

And so it goes...

A New Lease on Life

2007-11-14T15:31:00.000-06:00

There comes a time in every person's life when he or she must make a decision that can, ultimately, be life-altering.

On October 13, 2007, I made one such decision. I quit smoking.

This was prompted by a number of reasons. I'd like to say that foremost among them was the fact that I wanted to live many more (and healthier) years with my wife, or that seeing my children and grandchildren come of age was paramount; however, I'd be lying.

The main reason I quit smoking is because I was scared. Not the creepy chill you get when you watch a horror movie, or the thrill that you feel cheating death on a rollercoaster. No, this was outright terror of the sweaty palmed, trapped in a corner kind.

You see, while running some tests for another reason, it came to the attention of my physicians that there was an "anomalous spot" about the size and shape of my thumb in the upper part of my left lung. They didn't say so, but the speed with which they got me in to see a pulmonologist (lung specialist) seemed to spell the big "C" to me.

To make a long story short...a month later, and many more tests completed, and I've been given a positive outlook for my lungs. My blood pressure is perfect, my heart seems healthy, and I don't have any lung disease.

But I'm still overweight and forty-eight...but working on the first, and resigned to the second.

And, as of today, I've been smoke-free for thirty-one days. With, hopefully, a nice long life to look forward to being a recovering smoker.

And so it goes...

Time Flies

2007-10-08T09:05:00.000-05:00

Yes, time flies, and times they are a changin'.

I was having a discussion last night about how things have changed just in the last ten years or so--and that led to a discussion about how things were when I was a kid.

Watching a movie: A man is walking down a busy rural road, and a woman stops to offer him a ride. Can you imagine that happening today? If someone sticks their thumb out, most people roll up their windows and accelerate past them, and pretend that they don't feel guilty for pre-judging the hitcher. Granted, even ten years ago, hitching was dangerous--either for the hitcher, or the driver. Thirty years ago, when I did most of my own hitching, I had a couple of scary experiences with drivers. But I (and others like me) continued to hitch. Today, it's easier to just walk. Trying to hitch will either prove frustrating, get you run down, or if you do get picked up, might just end with you rotting in a remote ditch somewhere.

Locking the doors of your house used to be reserved for times when you were going to be gone for several hours or overnight. In this day and age, however, many people double-lock their doors when they're home--and if they go anywhere besides the nearest convenience store, it's double locks and the security system for their house.

Do the above sound like paranoia? Maybe. But it is paranoia based upon personal experience, as well as what can be gleaned from the news.

And whatever you do, don't call the police. As yesterday's news tells us, even they can't be trusted. When a sheriff's deputy goes into jealous rage and kills six people at a house party, God forbid that we call upon that department for something serious.

It's probably best that you just forget the "good old days." Telling your kids about it justs frustrates and angers them; and remembering those days with nostalgia just makes you less satisfied with your own daily life.

Lock your doors, load your guns, and don't leave your house unless you have to--the Huns are at the gate, and it's ready to give way.

And so it goes...

About this Blog...again.

2007-10-05T18:12:00.000-05:00

The title is "Aimless Rambling." I think that I've managed to justify that pretty well over the years, touching on whatever happens to cross my mind when I'm at my computer and in the mood for blogging.

The subtitle is "Infrequent and aimless rants, raves, and ramblings." I definitely have the infrequent part down pat...

And so it goes...

Perspective Has Changed

2007-10-05T09:19:00.000-05:00

When I was 16, 17, 18 years old, I did what a lot of my contemporaries did: I made out with my girlfriend(s), I smoked, I drank alcohol, I smoked pot.

I drove like an idiot (which the studies say most teenage boys are until they reach their late twenties), and acted pretty much like one. I thought with my balls instead of my brain, which made for lots of fun but no clear future.

Thirty years later, I'm pretty much the same guy that I was then, except for one major change--I'm a parent.

As a parent, I wonder what my own children are doing--and with whom!

Is my daughter making out with her boyfriend--and just what liberties is he taking with my little girl. Is he taking the same liberties with her that I did with someone's little girl so long ago? The thought makes me shudder, and reach for the shotgun.

Is my son taking similar liberties with another man's daughter? Are these the thoughts that went through my parents' minds thirty years ago?

I clearly remember my teenage and young adult years. I had a lot of fun, and I guess I want my children to have fun in their teen years, too.

But...not with my daughter!!! And son, be careful.

Holy shit. I sound like a parent. I've become my Dad...

Is this when youth is truly lost? When you realize that what you did in your youth wasn't necessarily the best choices you've ever made? And when you try to protect your children from making the same mistakes that you would have resented your parents for trying to keep you from doing?

Parental responsibility vs. youth. Do I have a choice???

And so it goes...

Betrayed

2007-10-05T09:11:00.000-05:00

My body is betraying me.

At 48 years old, I'm experiencing random episodes of temporary paralysis (both my arms), my right upper back is killing me due to an ill-resolved issue stemming from about 1990, my hands are afflicted with moderate arthritis, my knees are wrecked, I'm too heavy by about 60 pounds, and I'm going bald.

If I left anything out, it's either an oversight on my part or senile dementia. At this point I'm not sure. All I do know for sure is that if I was offered the chance for an eighteen year old clone body for my brain to be transplanted into, I'd jump at the chance.

Ah, to be that young again! To greet each morning with energy and vitality; to be able to run and jump without fear of my knees popping out of their sockets or my lungs and heart giving out on me.

To be young again would make me appreciate it so much more than my first time around.

But how would I explain to my kids that now I'm the same age as they are? How would that affect the parent-child relationship? Would we even be friends?

Perhaps it's better this way, but I'm not sure that I like it. I've aged quite enough, thank you--I'm done now.

And so it goes...

To Blog or Not to Blog...That is the Question

2007-10-05T08:57:00.000-05:00

Today, I was berated for not blogging enough--to wit, I was asked, "[Is] nothing going on in the world worth writing about?"

Of course there is. I could write about the problems I'm having with my teenage daughter. I could write about my son's soccer games, and his growth into manhood. I could write about the health problems that I'm experiencing right now--the ones that have me concerned about my immediate future, as well as the future of my family.

I could write about the accident that destroyed our favorite convertible, but harmed no one. I could blog about the state of affairs in the world.

Or I can do what I do on a daily basis: I deal with my daughter one day at a time, and help to guide her into adulthood with a sense of responsibility. I attend soccer games that my son plays in, and try to squeeze in a couple of hours of quality time with him in between his practices, his games, his schoolwork, and his life. I go to my doctor appointments, follow my doctor's advice, and try not to worry about my health any more than I need to. I deal with insurance companies, finance companies, and car dealers. I read the paper and watch the news, and worry about the world that my children are growing up into--the one that my lonely little blog will not affect in the slightest.

In short, I live my life--full and rich, fraught with daily problems, dilemnas, small happinesses and large disappointments. And if I think at all about blogging, it's a passing thought.

And one that I sometimes--but obviously not often enough--take the time to put into words.

And so it goes...

Thirty Years...and Still Counting

2007-08-18T13:13:00.000-05:00

It's been thirty years since I graduated high school...and today is my thirty year reunion. I could go--but I'm not. It's only about an hour drive to get there, but it doesn't start until 3 p.m.--and I have to work tonight.

Yeah, I could put in an appearance, but is there anyone there that I really want to see? I haven't seen any of my old classmates since my fifteen year reunion, and I was a very different person then. Different wife, different life, younger, thinner, and more prepared for the changes in my classmates.

I only went to the school for my senior year. The friends I made then were temporary at best (except Jean! Always Jean!).

There will be another reunion another year, perhaps. Maybe I'll make that one, if only just to see all of the old people that we have become.

Until then, my memories are intact...and perhaps that's the way they should stay--just memories.

And so it goes...

GONE SOUTH

2007-05-15T16:41:00.000-05:00

Way back at the dawn of time (the Fall of 1999, to be exact), my family and I went on a trip of a lifetime--we spent nine days in Orlando, Florida, taking in the Disney Parks and Sea World.

Well, it seems that the "trip of a lifetime" can be done twice...but the differences are remarkable the second time around.

The first trip that we made was fun, but whirlwind. My son was just eight years old, and my daughter not quite ten--and their sense of wonder and fun made the trip fun for me, even though my tolerance for crowds and amusement parks is somewhat limited. But this was DISNEY, and that made all the difference.

My daughter went on her first "upside-down" rollercoaster there--Aerosmith's Rockin' Rollercoaster--and many of the other rides and attractions were of a unique nature not found at our 'local' amusement park, Six Flag's Great America. We even rode the "teacups" at Magic Kingdom, just to say that we had :-)

Eight years later, and there had been many changes to the parks, and we went to the Universal Studios parks this time, as well. But the most significant changes weren't in the parks, but in us.

I am eight years older. At forty, the parks were fun, but I was worn out at the end of the vacation. At forty-eight, the fun was mostly gone, and I was worn out after the first day. But I made the most of it, since it cost me an arm, a leg, and other body parts I can't mention to take us to Orlando for two full weeks.

My wife is a big kid. She loves the parks, the people, and the souvenirs. She laughs and thrills to the most silly and child-like of the attractions, and pouts like a baby when she can't get something that she wants. Sometimes I think these trips are all about her...but she tries to make things fun for all of us.

My kids are jaded. They have lost their sense of wonder, and want instant gratification in the place of fun. My son still thrills to a good ride, but thinks that anything with a Disney character theme is too "kiddish." My daughter just doesn't seem to enjoy anything that doesn't involve her car or her cell phone.

But this was the last big vacation that we'll be able to take as a family--at least for a long time--and we wanted to make it memorable. I took about 500 pictures, a bunch of 'coaster videos, and we finally saw the Magic Kingdom's fireworks (they were rained out in '99).

So, all things considered, it was worth the money, the headaches, and the taking off of shoes in the airport security checkpoint.

But time keeps on keepin' on, and when all is said and done, all we have of our trip are some souvenirs, some photos, and some memories. I hope that for all of us, they are good ones.

And so it goes...

Why Do You Bother?

2007-04-04T09:55:00.000-05:00

I just read my last two posts. Am I always this depressingly philosophical? Do I try to rationalize life and existence--and if so, to whom? You? Me?

Just once I wish I could write something a bit more upbeat. I guess I could if I tried; but trying takes effort, and lately I've been too sick to breathe, let alone blog.

Tune in next time. We'll see what happens, you and I.

And so it goes...

As the Years Fly By

2007-04-04T09:37:00.000-05:00

I don't remember getting old. What I do remember is the journey here.

Little things crop up in my memory every once in a while that make it evident that while I may not really be old, I've taken a long time to get where and when I am. For instance, the other day when I mentioned to my friend that this May will mark the thirtieth anniversary of my high school graduation, she smiled, chuckled, and said, "Oh. That's when I was two." Long journey for me, not so long for her.

When I think about my children, I can remember holding them in my arms for the first time, changing their diapers, feeding and caring for them, watching them take their first hesitant steps, and the like. Now my eldest is twenty-six with two growing children of their own; my second eldest is a year from graduation, driving everywhere, and holding down a job; and my youngest is a high-school letterman, only months from getting his driver's license, and about to celebrate his two-year anniversary with his girlfriend.

Where does the time go? Are there only so many minutes in the day that we can spend making memories? Are the highs and lows all that remain at the end of the road? And if so, why don't we take more time to make more memories? Is it because when all is said and done, memories are as painful as they are poignant, as fleeting as the time spent making them?

What all this boils down to is this: For me, life is just too damn short! I don't want to live to be seventy or eighty and have only my memories to sustain me in the end. I want to continue to make memories, those bright shiny coins that we are paid for living a rich life.

I just want more time. I look back over the last few days, and I see so much time wasted doing things that really don't matter a helluva lot in the grand scheme of my life. But the daily grind sometimes makes it all seem so pointless, so useless, that coming up with the energy to do something real seems impossible.

As a sidenote to this: I guess part of me longs for immortality. That being said, and given the apparent improbability of that happening, the only alternative is for me to become embedded in the memories of others. Let me become the thoughts that make them smile occasionally; let me be the person they think of and heave a deep sigh; let me be the one who did something so significant in someone's life that they'll never forget me.

Tick tock. Tick tock. There goes another wasted minute, and here I am moaning about it to whoever reads this.

Make a memory. Make a difference.

Like "Tuck" said in Tuck Everlasting, "Don't fear death. Rather, fear the un-lived life."

And so it goes...

Now is the Time

2007-03-25T07:46:00.000-05:00

We have today. That is all that we have.

Tomorrow is not yet here, and we have no assurances that it will ever come. Yesterday is gone, and while it may be remembered with nostalgia, it is forever past.

Hang on to the now for its fleeting moments, for they, too, will soon become yesterday. Do things today that will enhance the chance of tomorrow.

Live in the now. Before you know it, your past will be richer and longer than your future, but looking back is no way to live.

Look around, smell the roses, hug your kids, love your spouse, rake the lawn, close your eyes and face the warmth of the sun, cook a meal--all the things that make living worthwhile.

And while you're at it, breathe deeply, and enjoy life.

And so it goes...

Wouldya? Couldya?

2007-01-21T08:45:00.000-06:00

If I had it all to do over again, would I? Would you?

Take a look at your life--not just where you are today, but where you were in all of your yesterdays, and how they brought you to this point in your life. Is there anything you would change--and if so, how would that change affect the rest of your life?

I look back on what I have done over the years, who I have known, and all of the friends that I have made and lost in my life. What would I change?

Would I change moving to Texas in 1977 (a major crux in my life); would I change the breakup with my girlfriend that just sort-of happened just prior to that? Would I not move to Oshkosh in 1978, and all that happened because of that move?

Would I not meet and marry my first wife, and consequently not have my oldest daughter or my grandchildren? And because of that, would I not end up in Janesville with my second wife, and my two younger children?

Would I miss any of it if it had not happened? Would I know???

It would be interesting if we could spark up the old WhatIf machine, and just take a peek at our lives...but in the time that would take, we would use up our present lives just watching the past.

I guess that it's best to just live our lives, put the past to rest, and try to make the best of where we are today.

After all, we're the ones who got us here--even if we would wish otherwise.

And so it goes...

The Way I Was

2007-01-20T15:32:00.000-06:00

Something about nostalgia makes me feel like a junkie who wants to quit, but keeps going back. What nostalgia does for me is something akin to what that junkie must feel: a need for it, but when you get it, it makes you wish you hadn't.

Nostalgia for me is a way of remembering my past. But hindsight has its bad points, too--like pointing out just how far back you can remember...and how much less you have ahead of you.

For me, it's a mixed thrill. I find that I keep going back to that well more and more all the time, even though I know that one day I will fall down that deep hole in the ground, and that's it--game over, end of story, finito.

And what will happen to my nostalgia when I'm no longer around to remember? Gone, like dust in the wind.

So why do I bother? Because someone has to. And it might as well be me.

Besides, if I share some of it with others, and they share it with others, etc., then a little bit of what I did might outlive me.

And that, my friend, is all the immortality we get.

Remember. Share those memories. Take pictures. GET THE WORD OUT!

You only get one trip around the block, so make it memorable.

And if I bring out a photo album or show you home movies when you come over, don't bitch at me--or I just might throw you out on your ass.

Wouldn't that make for a great memory? WHERE'S MY CAMERA???

And so it goes...

Whistle While You Work...and Talk...and Sleep...

2007-01-07T10:03:00.000-06:00

I have tinnitus. For those of you who are not familiar with this condition, it is a hearing condition that can be brought on by a host of reasons; but the reasons are really unimportant. What is important is the symptoms.

In my case, the tinnitus causes a loud, whistling sound that seems to be in my left ear, but pervades the whole of my inner head (subjectively). For a better demonstration of what I go through 24 hours a day, take an old teapot--the kind that whistles when the water's boiling. Set it to boiling. When it is whistling at its best and loudest, put your left ear approximately a foot away from it. Hold it there until the water is gone and the whistling stops. Then repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Now, while you're doing this experiment, try to do something for which hearing is useful. Like watching television. Or holding a conversation.

After 8-10 hours of this, try to sleep with the teapot whistling near your ear. Make sure that someone is there to change the water every hour or thereabout, so that you can get the full effect of my tinnitus.

Now you know why I can't sleep. At least in part.

My wife says, "go see a doctor." I say, "whatever."

But you know (and I will deny ever having said this), this time she might just be right.

And so it goes...

Hours with My Eyes Closed

2007-01-06T10:57:00.000-06:00

Today is Saturday. I have not slept since Tuesday past.

My mind races, and I desperately try to sleep, but something keeps me awake. I'd like to say that in its race, my mind is working on something amazing, but in reality, all I hear from my mind is the 'wahwah' of Charlie Brown's parents. Sound without meaning. Or maybe I just can't translate it.

Maybe that nasty wahwah is my brain's way of saying, "Get some sleep, idiot!"

I wish I could.

Today I will try again, with the help of some peace and quiet, a cup of Sleepytime tea, and a dose of full strength, drowsy-type Benadryl.

If I don't sleep soon, I may have to seek medical attention. After all, at my age and in my health, I'm a prime candidate for a heart attack or stroke if I don't get some rest. This old body can only keep going at this pace for a little while longer before I literally crash.

So...now I lay me down to sleep, I hope my rest is dark and deep...

And so it goes...

You Can Never Go Back...

2007-01-06T10:42:00.000-06:00

I drove into the town of 3000 or so people, and the streets looked familiar to me, even though I hadn't been down them in nearly thirty years. Some things had changed, too; I wasn't sure what, at first, but then it struck me. While I had aged thirty years, the little town had aged, too.

The streets were still laid out like I remembered, but the faces had changed. Not the faces of the people, though if I'd seen anyone from the 'old days', I'm not sure that I would have recognized them. Rather, it was the face of the town that had changed. More worn and rundown than I recalled, with many of the once familiar signs changed to different names, different things.

Gone was Burn's Hardware. The sign on the Bridge Lounge was faded and nearly illegible, and I found out later that it had not been open in years. Where once a small, red pole barn sat on the site of the original Trek Bicycle works, now there were several huge warehouses, squatting like an ugly, cancerous blight in what had once been a neighborhood.

I drove past the house in which I had lived for a couple of years, and was dismayed to see the paint peeling on the drab remnant of what had once been a house filled with the town's history. Gone from in front of the house was the old coachstone that had borne the name of one of the town's founding fathers. Gone were many of the old trees that had once shaded the sidewalks and lent a homey atmosphere to the area. Gone was the feeling of neighborhood.

I drove around the town for as long as I could stand it--a mere fifteen or twenty minutes--but long enough to let me see most of the town. So much looked the same, yet so much had changed.

My old home town had the look of a woman who, in her youth, was pretty and bright and polished. But that young woman has long since come of age, and in her declining years she has lost what beauty that youth gave her, and in place of that shiny penny, all that is left now is a tarnished and dying husk.

They say that you can never go back. I guess, in the end, they're right. Memories make such attempts bittersweet at best; at its worst, nostalgia just makes us feel old.

And so it goes...

Winter is a Four-letter Word

2006-12-01T18:47:00.000-06:00

You just have to love living in an area of the country where it can be 68°F on Wednesday, and on Friday it’s 21°F with a foot of freshly fallen snow on the ground.

Yep, you guessed it, I live in Wisconsin, the state of which it has been said: “The rest of the country has climate; Wisconsin has weather.” And so we do.

I was out mowing and raking the lawn Tuesday past, and wearing shorts, sandals, and a light sweatshirt. This morning, as I was shoveling the first four inches of snow off of my sidewalk, I was wearing jeans, boots, gloves, and a heavy wool jacket. Of course, the thirty mph winds didn’t help matters; it made it seem much colder, and turned that four inches of snow into drifts eighteen inches deep or more.

But, that’s life in Wisconsin. If I didn’t want weather, I’d live somewhere else. Like Hawaii.

Wait a second--I’d love to live in Hawaii! Black sand beaches, perfect climate, bikini clad goddesses…

All things being equal, I’d rather be beachcombing. :-)

And so it goes…

Native American Summer

2006-11-08T10:53:00.000-06:00

How's that title for political correctness?

Of course, we all know that the season is referred to as "Indian Summer", but we don't want to offend our red-skinned brothers--oops! Was that not PC? Oh well. I meant to say, our brothers and sisters of Native American heritage.

No, what I really meant to say was this: Indian Summer, when we get it, is great. The temps here in southern Wisconsin are in the mid 60's today, and for November, that's something to smile about.

And if my red-skinned, Indian neighbors take offense at this, then they can just go fuck themselves.

How's that for being offending???

And so it goes...

Two Days Later

2006-11-02T07:40:00.000-06:00

Hallowe'en...or All Hallow's Eve. In America, it is traditionally the day when children dress up in costumes fanciful or scary, and go knocking from door to door in hope of getting treats.

This is how it was back in the Dark Ages (the 60's and 70's--that's the 1960's and 1970's, for all you smart alecks out there!), and that's how it should be today, but...

The past few years, we've had older teenagers come to the door wearing nothing but the typical hooded sweatshirt (hoodie) with maybe a heavier jacket over it, depending on the weather. Last year, I asked one of these non-costumed goody-grubbers what he was supposed to be, and without missing a beat he said, "Troubled youth." I give him points for his quick and inventive answer, and he walked away with treats in his goody bag.

But more and more I see teens--and even younger children--out 'trick or treating' with no attempt at a costume. This year, one of the hooded goody-grubbers came to the door, my wife gave him a couple of treats (just because she didn't want our car or house egged later), and he had the gall to ask for a couple of treats for his friend, a girl who was out on the main sidewalk, uncostumed, riding a bike with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. I would have said no, but my wife gave in to her fear and intimidation.

What is happening? Everyone is out for the goodies, but they don't want to make the effort to 'earn' them by using some creativity to come up with a costume. I guess that's the way everything has become in our country--everyone wants something for nothing.

But, as the saying goes, "There ain't no such thing as a free lunch."

I can tell you this: eggs or no eggs, intimidation or not, if someone comes to my door next year sans costume, they will get a 'trick', not a treat.

So parents, you need to realize that we are losing so many traditions these days to laziness and sloth…this one’s easy to keep, so make sure that your children are costumed before they go out trick-or-treating, or keep them home.

And so it goes...

May You Live in Interesting Times...

2006-10-26T07:25:00.000-05:00

The title of this blog is the content of an ancient Chinese curse. "Interesting times" are just that--interesting. Doesn't mean that they're good or bad; as a matter of fact, the most interesting times are those filled with the most strife, heartache, disaster, etc.

Look at history. Does any of our history detail the daily lives of regular people? Hell, no! What our history details are the wars, the conflicts, the inventiveness, of extraordinary people, or those who lived through unusual events--in short, 'interesting times."

Well, I don't know how history will judge the times we are living in right now, and looking at the big picture, it would probably be best if history just plain forgot the last 30 years or so. But I can tell you about some tiny, insignificant things that I've noticed right in my own neighborhood that I would call 'interesting'.

For one thing, the weather. Now, we all know that the rest of the country has climate, while we here in Wisconsin get weather. That's a given. But what weather we've had!

Last year between December 2005 and March 2006, my town was hit by no less than six major thunderstorms. That may not sound exceptional to those of you who live in southern climes, but for Wisconsin to get rain, much less out-and-out T-storms in mid-winter is, at best, unusual.

And that may have a bearing on this next little bit of trivia.

In my yard, I have two sugar maple trees. One is in the front yard, and one in back. The one in the front yard is old...really old. It has a semi-hollow trunk, and about a quarter of its limbs are dead or dying. This year, it leafed up later than usual, and the little helicopter-like seed pods that usually drop in late Spring never dropped then--they were in tight little clusters on the tree all summer, never grew to more than half the size they usually do, and didn't drop from the tree until the end of September. And that's unusual.

The tree in the backyard is younger and healthier, and dropped its pods right on schedule, in late May. I've been waiting for it to turn color (usually a golden-orange) and drop its leaves, because it really sucks trying to rake those leaves up once we've had our first snowfall. But, alas, the tree [as of this writing] has still not changed color.

However, two days ago, just after dawn, I went out into the backyard to have a smoke, and almost got smothered by all of the leaves raining down from my green-leafed maple. The leaves rained down for nearly an hour, and then stopped.

The tree still looks as bright green as it did in July, but my yard is full of maple leaves. How did this happen? Where did they come from? And why hasn't my tree turned color? It's certainly gotten cold enough.

Two more oddities, and I'll let you ponder this at your leisure.

One night about two weeks ago, I was sitting out in the parking lot at work about 2 a.m. The wind was blowing from the north, and chilly. A few minutes later, the wind abruptly shifted around from the south, and of the 20 or so trees in the lot (all of the same variety), only one of them--the one in the center of the lot--dropped all of its leaves to the ground. I'm not exaggerating here--I mean every one of its leaves. But none of the other trees did more than rustle in the wind. Almost scary.

And the last thing, and I don't know if this is unique to Wisconsin or not. We have an abundance of gray squirrels in this state. Probably more of them than there are people. And they've become weird. They are not timid, and they are barking.

Not barking like a dog, but a high-pitched, guttural shrieking that is rhythmic and quite scary. I didn't even know the little suckers made noise until this year, and now it seems that they're communicating, and quite vocally at that.

Believe it...or not.

And so it goes...

The Hardest Job

2006-10-24T08:45:00.000-05:00

Being a parent is a big responsibility. No shit, right? Well, what you aren't told when you become a parent is that it is also the hardest job that you'll never get paid for.

That's right...there is no monetary compensation for being a parent. Instead, you pay through the nose for [at least] eighteen years, with absolutely no return on that investment.

Okay, so I'm full of shit. There is the potential for a big return on that investment, but it doesn't pay in cash. Rather, the payment you receive is something much more intangible, but when you get it, seems more valuable than any amount of money.

"What's that?" you ask. I'll tell you. In the long term, you can count on your children loving you, and often respecting you. When they're young, that love and respect is almost overwhelming, and is given to you freely. When your children get into their teens, they may still love you, but the respect seems to disappear, and they probably won't even like you.

But that's okay. There's plenty of time (if we're lucky) for them to like us later. The love is nice, but the respect would be better. If they respected us, then maybe they'd fucking listen to us!!!

But alas, they don't. Being a good parent, though, means continuing to do the best we can even if the 'payment' seems long past due. Someday, we might collect--if my children grow up healthy and happy and moderately successful, I will have been paid in full.

I recently reminded one of my kids that when they were born, the hospital didn't hand us a book that had all the answers to perfect parenting. The most we can do is the best that we can, and try to set our kids upon a path that will allow them to eventually lead fulfilling lives, with as few regrets as possible.

But sometimes, as parents, we have to let our children make mistakes; let them trip and fall without us there to pick them up; in short, to let them live their lives.

We expected no less when we were their age...

And so it goes...

Pussy Ticklers

2006-10-17T10:38:00.000-05:00

I was on vacation last week, which for me meant many things...not the least of which was the activities that I engaged in that I usually don't have the time to do. However, even more important to me were two activities that I usually do have the time for, but really hate doing:

1. Working
2. Shaving

The not-working is pretty much self-explanatory, but also leads into the not-shaving, since my work does not allow beards of any kind in the workplace. So, vacation for me means goofing off, and growing a beard.

I grow beards pretty fast. In a week, I have enough facial hair to be called a beard; give me two weeks, and it's just about ready for a trim. (Note: since my beard now has much more 'salt' than 'pepper' in it, it doesn't look nearly as thick as it did years ago.) From the time I graduated from high school until I started this job, I had a beard all but about six months--so that means that I had a beard continuously from 1977 until mid-1990.

I still miss it. It was a way to hide my rather weak chin, and gave me a bolder, more fierce appearance. And something to tug on when I was bored or wanted to look pensive.

All this leads up to what I really wanted to talk about.

This week, as I was shaving in preparation for returning to work, I decided to leave my mustache in place. I've been without one (except on vacations) for about three years. I can't remember why I shaved it off in the first place, but now it's back.

The funny part of it all is this: upon my return to work, some of my more observant co-workers remarked on the change in my appearance. But the comments they made and the questions they asked were completely off the mark.

The most common question I was asked was, "Did you get a haircut?" No.

Then I was asked, "Did you get new glasses?" No.

Not one person noticed the mustache--or if they did, they weren't talking.

You'd think that a bushy gray and black caterpillar on my lip would prompt at least some notice.

I guess that what this means is that either I'm too nondescript for anyone to care about a fairly major change in my appearance...or I'm so devilishly handsome either way that comment is unnecessary.

And so it goes...

New Names, Same Old Faces

2006-10-16T16:59:00.000-05:00

I saw a TV commercial this morning for a drug that will alleviate the symptoms of--get this--Restless Leg Syndrome!

What the hell? Back in the day, people with RLS (as it's called) were called 'twitchy', or 'nervous', or just plain 'restless'. Now they get their own syndrome?

The National Institute of Disorders and Stroke simply defines RLS as: "Restless legs syndrome (RLS) is a neurological disorder characterized by unpleasant sensations in the legs and an uncontrollable urge to move when at rest in an effort to relieve these feelings." Sounds to me like this person needs to find an outlet for all that excess energy...like dancing, jogging, hiking, walking, etc. I'd be willing to bet that if an RLS 'sufferer' were to do any of these things for an hour a day, their RLS would diminish rapidly.

We live in an age of complacence, laziness, and sloth. No wonder people have the time to come up with syndromes to explain away the symptoms of a low-energy lifestyle. If people would spend more time just doing something physical, they'd have less time to become hypochondriatic about their 'twitches', both real and imaginary.

And on the same note...what about Attention Deficit? When I was growing up, all we needed to get our attention was a smack on the desk with a ruler, or a cuff up-side the head from our old man.

Now, though, it's so much easier to drug our kids into submission. Take an eleven year old boy who likes to gaze out the window of school and dream about running around and playing, and of course his attention is going to wander; of course he's going to be restless. But instead of channeling his energy into more studious pursuits or using his imagination to make class more interesting, we'd rather quench the fire of his creativity with medication!

No wonder we're raising such a bunch of jaded, dull children who can't imagine what life was like before movies filled with in-your-face special effects and luridly colored comic books with little or no story to fill their vacant minds.

Sounds like the 'attention deficit' is on the part of the parents and the teachers. Maybe if we all paid a little more attention to our kids, they'd respond in kind.

And so it goes...

The Weather Outside is Frightful...

2006-10-12T13:24:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here wearing my "Hairy Beavers" sweatshirt and a pair of shorts--and freezing my butt off.

Why are you wearing shorts, then? you may ask. I'll tell you: I rarely wear long pants around the house before November 1st. It's just my way of saying "NO!" to Wisconsin's weather. So I will freeze before giving up my shorts, unless I'm going to be outside for any amount of time. Then, good sense dictates that I dress appropriately, no matter what my personal convictions are.

Speaking of: I have to go outside for an hour or so this afternoon, and the temperature is a balmy 34 degrees F. So, while the "Beavers" sweatshirt stays, the shorts are going to have to go--for the time being. I really don't want to get frostbite just because the backyard needs some tidying up.

Winter. A necessary evil, but one that I could certainly do without. My 'leaves' don't turn colors. I don't hibernate. My growth doesn't stop for several months during the year (though lately, I wish it would--at least around my waistline!).

So, if I were a plant, I'd probably welcome the winter. If I were a squirrel or a black bear, I'd yawn, find my lair, and take a winter-long nap.

But I'm a human being. We've conquered the rest of the planet--let's get busy on the weather thing, okay?

And so it goes...

My Life...and you're welcome to it!

2006-10-10T10:43:00.001-05:00

Been awhile. Guess there's been nothing interesting happening to me lately.

If my life were a soap, no one would tune in. There's no inter-marital sex going on, no dread terminal diseases ready to strike (at least, not today!), no supernatural happenings, no uber-rich men trying to ruin my reputation (I do a pretty good job of that myself).

If my life were a sit-com, it would be cancelled.

If my life were a movie, it would go straight to video--and get buried on the dustiest back shelf at Blockbuster.

If my life were a book--YAWN!

But my life is what it is: my life. Boring as it may be, it's all I've got.

And so it goes...

A Long Time Running...

2006-09-25T17:13:00.000-05:00

This week, after 32 years and some odd months, my friend Dorothy is retiring from work.

Quite frankly, I'm jealous of her. She's still young enough to want to do things (besides sit and vegetate, like so many retirees do), and she still has goals that she wants to meet.

Reminds me of a quote I saw the other day: "It's never to late to be who you might have been."

How profound, and how true! As long as there's life left in the old body, and the spirit is willing, it is possible to do and be almost anything you want to be.

And how sad that most people who are retired consider themselves 'expired', also.

So much potential, so much knowledge and experience is lost when we 'retire' people from their jobs. It's one thing when someone retires willingly, and moves on to something else; it's another, sadder thing when someone is forced out just to make room for someone younger and more energetic.

There's such a thing as 'elder' or 'senior' statesmen--those to whom the new generation turn to for advice. How unfortunate that we don't have a pool of knowlegde like that for our future generations of workers.

Perhaps if we did, the current loss of work ethic might not be as bad as it is.

Turn to those who are older, and perhaps wiser; they are a fund of experience that we cannot afford to squander and lose.

And so it goes...

Money...It's a Trip

2006-09-20T12:31:00.000-05:00

The lottery. It's the new American pipe dream, and a group of us at work are vying for our chance to strike it rich with little or no effort. So, twice a week, we pitch in $2.00 and go for the gold.

So far, our big winning was $110.00, which we rolled over since divided 22 ways it didn't add up to much. And then we lost all but $30.00, which we then rolled over, and turned into $4.00.

Reminds me of a Shel Silverstein poem:

SMART
by Shel Silverstein

My dad gave me one dollar bill
'Cause I'm his smartest son,
And I swapped it for two shiny quarters
'Cause two is more than one!

And then I took the quarters
And traded them to Lou
For three dimes--I guess he don't know
That three is more than two!

Just then, along came old blind Bates
And just 'cause he can't see
He gave me four nickels for my three dimes,
And four is more than three!

And I took the nickels to Hiram Coombs
Down at the seed-feed store,
And the fool gave me five pennies for them,
And five is more than four!

And then I went and showed my dad,
And he got red in the cheeks
And closed his eyes and shook his head--
Too proud of me to speak!

And so it goes...

A Penny Saved...

2006-09-17T13:52:00.000-05:00

Extra money.

Ever had any? I know that I haven't. I'm not even sure when (or if) I've ever had 'enough' money, let alone 'extra' money.

But my wife says that she is working her second job to make 'extra', so we already must have 'enough'.

And they say that high finance is an art--I say it's bullshit. If I've ever had enough money, then enough must be just barely enough--and extra money must be that money that allows me to afford to buy anything I want, as long as it's less than $20.00.

Sigh. Must be a woman thing, 'cuz I'm sure not understanding it.

And so it goes...

Kiss and Tell (Revisited)

2006-09-15T07:12:00.000-05:00

If you have been reading, you will remember the content of a recent block called Kiss and Tell.

Well, they did it. Management 'managed' to pick the least qualified person for the job, and we all know why: it's because management doesn't care about getting the job done right; rather, they just want a paper-pusher and a corporate 'spy' to keep tabs on us and report back.

Well, they certainly picked the right person for that job.

And so it goes :-( ...

One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

2006-09-13T14:11:00.000-05:00

Men and women are different.

"Oh, how profound," you say sarcastically. But it's true.

The fundamental differences are such that it's amazing that the human race has survived all these aeons. Perhaps it the fact that we have interlocking parts that keeps us from (usually) killing one another off. Or the 'maternal instinct' that keeps women from eliminating their essentially useless partners.

All I know is this: women think with their emotions, and sometimes their minds, but most often irrationally. Men think with their gonads, but rational thinking and the ability to reason things out gives them an edge.

Think about it. If a woman gets pissed off at a man, what is her first action? She will either scream (emotional), or strike out (irrational, since more often than not, the man is bigger and stronger and could easily knock her silly(er)). If a man gets pissed off at a woman, he will stew about it for at least a minute, and then either strike out (rational, as he is the bigger and stronger of the two), or he will think of a way to get even (reasoning ability).

And these are just a couple of examples.

Can you imagine a pre-menopausal woman president? What happens when she gets PMS? Who do we nuke that day? Or an older, 'wiser' woman president going through menopause. Can you see her breaking into tears in the middle of the State of the Union address? Or snapping at her advisors to turn down the heat because she's having a hot flash?

I guess I'll stick with being a man. I might not be the smartest, or the most rational, but I can think without getting my emotions in the way.

And so it goes...

Dip and Rinse

2006-09-13T14:07:00.000-05:00

Like any redundant job, dishwashing is a thankless, neverending cycle. If only we could figure out a way to eat food and not use any plates, glasses, or utensils, the cycle could end!

But, alas, at least once daily I dip my hands in the soapy, hot water, wipe the dishes clean, and set them in the drainer to dry (because, while I'll wash dishes, I see no sense in doing what the air will do for me).

When I'm finished, I dry my hands on the towel, and stare forlornly at the prune skin that my hands have become.

And so it goes...

Way Down South of El Paso...

2006-09-11T09:07:00.000-05:00

I hate to harp on this point so much, but it's thrown in my face every night when our Mexican janitorial crew shows up for work, and I see the faces of those who were demoted out of similar positions to make way for these people.

I have been giving a lot of thought to how Immigration should handle the problem of illegal immigrants. So I have outlined a few contermeasures that I think would be effective, at least against the Mexican Invasion.

1. Treat all illegal immigrants as criminals. Prove their illegal status, and deport them.
2. Change the law regarding citizenship as birthright. Too many illegal aliens come here to have children, hoping that fact will keep them from being deported. Change the law to read that all children born to non-citizens in this country have conditional citizenship--that is, upon their eighteenth birthday, if they choose to become full citizens, they will have to show a knowledge of the laws, history, and language of the United States. They will have to pledge allegiance, in writing, to the United States. If their parents are illegal aliens, and are deported, then they, too, will be sent to their parents' country of origin. This will not, however, change their conditional citizenship status. They will have until the age of nineteen to claim their citizenship, or have its status revoked.
3. Impose stiffer penalties on employers who knowingly hire illegal aliens. Mandatory prison time would suffice, in addition to higher fines and/or seizure of their assets.
4. Impose stiff penalties on American citizens who knowingly harbor illegal aliens. Mandatory prison time and high fines would suffice.
5. Mandatory deportation for all illegal aliens, regardless of their marital, familial, or employment status.
6. Economic sanctions against any government knowingly aiding or abetting the illegal immigration of their citizens.
7. Do not assign 'employment numbers' to non-citizens, unless they have a work visa.
8. Do not allow the children of illegal immigrants entrance into our schools. Public schools are for tax paying citizens.
9. Do not allow illegal immigrants access to medical facilities, social welfare programs, or any other publicly funded programs.

That would take care of a lot of the problems.

Now, for a solution to the border problem. Since the majority of illegal aliens in this country come from south of the border, the following steps should be taken.

1. Round up as many able-bodied illegals as possible, and put them to work, paid in pesos, digging a twenty foot wide, twenty foot deep trench along the entire border between here and Mexico. When the trench is completed, give them the opportunity to cross it into their native country before it is filled.
2. Pump as much water from the New Orleans area into the trench as possible. Use the earth removed from the trench to then raise the New Orleans area above sea level (again, use as much illegal alien labor as possible.)
3. Build two bridges, centrally located, across the trench: one for vehicular (truck) traffic, and one for train traffic. Place guard posts at both ends of the bridge, and thoroughly search everything that moves in either direction.
4. Build an Immigration office at the southern end of the vehicle bridge. Allow any who want to apply for legal immigration and citizenship to apply, and have their applications speedily processed.
5. Seed the water filled trench with piranha and other freshwater denizens who like to eat fresh meat. Place signs every fifty feet on the southern side of the trench warning illegal immigrants, in English, of the hazard of entering the water. Couple this with coils of concertine barbed wire on the entire northern face of the trench. At the top of the northern side, place guard emplacements every 100 yards with fully armed and ready to shoot border guards. Standing orders will be "shoot to kill".
6. Man the southern border trench with National Guardsmen, on a six-month rotation. This will keep enough active guards along the border to effectively patrol it, while also maintaining minimal disruption in the employment and familial status of the Guardsmen.

This may sound harsh, but we need to deal with a 12 million strong population of criminals in an immediate fashion, showing strength and conviction.

And so it goes...

A Wrinkle In Time

2006-09-10T06:21:00.000-05:00

Be very careful if you are traveling north on U.S. Highway 151 between Beaver Dam and Waupun, WI. Somewhere in that 10 mile stretch of highway, there is a rip in the fabric of time; a time warp; or something akin to the Twilight Zone.

I was moving up that stretch of road, the wind whistling in the windows at 65 m.p.h. Heading for my grandson's birthday party, I was in pretty good spirits. Nothing could have prepared me for what lay in store for me.

My arrival at the party was uneventful--visited with my daughter and her best friend for a couple of hours, waiting for the guests to arrive. When they did arrive, I realized that I had traveled back in time, to an earlier era--one of innocence and rebellion, of flowers and free love. Yes, oh Reader, I was back in 1969, and the only thing missing was the Magic Bus.

There was the guy who had blond dreadlocks who was so stoned that he was almost willing to eat meat!--as long as it wasn't red...

There was the requisite number of maxi-skirts and peasant blouses adorning the female guests, who stood or sat nibbling on veggies with hummus dip, or vegetarian taco dip, or the berry salsa served on organic cinnamon grahams.

Then, the one thing that clinched my arrival in this bygone era: my son-in-law's father. This man had to have done way too many drugs, because, in the parlance of the day, he was fried! He has met me on numerous occasions, and at each one, I have had to be introduced over and over again--and yesterday was no exception. He walked over to me, looked at me quizzically, so I said "hi". He frowned, said "hi" back--and asked who I was! Then, just a couple of minutes later, he went to my son and asked him who he was. My son said, "Jesse", and Steve, my daughter's father-in-law said, "Jesse who?" Jesse replied, "Jesse [Lastname]", to which Steve asked, "Who's that?" My son, who has the same patience with which I am graced (none, that is) replied, "Jack's son (that's me)." Steve asked, "Who's Jack?" Jesse snapped, "Micah's grandfather!", and walked away.

Now, I know this guy doesn't have Alzheimer's...it wasn't diagnosed back in '69. So it has to be way too much 'acid' or something.

Needless to say, my discomfort at being out of place--and time--prompted us to leave early (of course, that was coupled with my being scheduled to work later that night).

Luckily, the time portal was still open, and shortly after leaving Waupun, we felt safely back in our own time.

And so it goes...

Faded Genes

2006-09-09T02:59:00.000-05:00

Today is my grandson's third birthday, and I am trekking north (about two hours) for his birthday party.

How strange it is to come to grips with the fact that my [oldest] child has children. Is this how a dynasty grows? Or is it just that infamous 'circle of life'?

My genes--or some of them--are in my grandchildren. In that respect, a part of me (diluted, no doubt, in each generation to follow) will live forever. I like that thought; it gives me some comfort to know that I will have, however indirectly, had--or will have--some impact on the human race for all time. Of course, my genes were handed down to me from generations past, so I am a part of them, also--and they are a part of me.

Kind of daunting when you think about it. My genes--the stuff that makes my physical being--were once part of someone who lived and died hundreds--thousands--perhaps, even millions of years ago.

And this means that if we go far enough back, my genes were once part of a common ancestor to all of us.

So, looked at that way, and in view of today's world: what's all the fighting about? We fight one another, when in reality those we are fighting are a part of us--no matter how small.

Given this big picture, it all seems rather silly, doesn't it?

And so it goes...

Worlds and Wordsmiths

2006-09-09T02:38:00.001-05:00

This is a review I recently posted on Rhino.com of Dean Koontz's One Door Away From Heaven:

Having read Dean Koontz books for many years, it has been personally gratifying to me to watch his talent grow. From a moderately good story-teller in his earlier years--some have referred to him as a "book mill"--his abilities have matured into that of a master.

This book is made up of three main storylines--peopled by sub-stories and plots--that one knows will eventually converge. How they converge is at once fascinating, enlightening, and frightening.

Koontz has written a rare book: fraught with suspense, filled with real-life horror, steeped in a gentle spirituality, it is not what one would suspect from an author who has made his living by scaring the pants off of his readers.

One of the few books I've read this year that I found hard to put down; higher praise I cannot give.

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

Truly, I am a slow and often unsteady reader, who loves to read more than most. So for a book to hold my interest day-in and day-out, it has to have something. Sometimes, because I read so slow, I become bored or irritated by even slower moving stories. But if the characters are engaging enough, the dialog witty or interesting, and the plot still seems to have direction, I'll stick with it.

Often criticized (most often by my brother), Stephen King is one of my favorites. Even his poorer efforts are fun for me, because I enjoy the depth of character and his penchant for twisting, convoluted story lines. After I read THE STAND for the first time [many years and countless re-readings ago], I felt like I had just read a chronicle of the lives of people I knew--didn't necessarily like 'em all, but I can't say that I didn't know enough about them to make that decision.

Similarily, a book like The Deed of Paksenarrion (see review in previous blog) held my interest for a number of reasons: one, that such a book of military strategy and violence had been written by a woman; two, that there were a number of interesting characters; three, the plot seemed to be going somewhere interesting; and four, the main character started out enigmatic and 2-dimensional, only to become familiar and more firmly fleshed out as her character grew in experience and maturity.

Yet I also love the perfectly executed short story. Frederic Brown was a master of the short short, and his stories are amusing, witty, and often scary--with enough of a bite to them to make one think.

Reading is something that you either do, or you don't. The tastes of readers are as varied as the books they read, as it should be. We are all different, with divergent personalities; how sad it would be if we only read one type of book, when there is so much to learn, to be amused by, to be frightened of, and ultimately to experience in the works of many authors.

I pity the poor souls who never read for pleasure. Even non-fiction can transport you to other places, but fiction is the stuff that dreams--or nightmares--are made of.

And so it goes...

Kiss and Tell

2006-09-06T10:14:00.001-05:00

It seems to me that there is a new breed of worker in the American workplace these days...an obsequious, butt-sucking employee who has no goal in mind other than self-aggrandizement and monetary gain, usually at the expense of efficiency and quality worksmanship.

I guess I can't blame these types--after all, they seem to be the ones that current management want in positions of middle-management. Because they are all about self gain, they make nice puppets for management: easily controlled, unable to think independently, they are the perfect go-betweens for management. Unfortunately, they are not what the workers want in a supervisory capacity. Workers want someone who understands their job, the needs of the company, and the problems faced on a day-to-day basis.

This new breed of pissant, who are in place mainly to report directly to management on the vagaries of the employees, cannot hope to function alongside their "co-workers", since they are not truly workers at all. They are middle level, pencil-pushing functionaries at best, and at worst, are the bane of all true workers. This is especially true in today's work environment, when so many smaller companies are becoming, in part, employee-owned.

I long for the days when supervisory posts were earned, not by kissing butt, but by showing a knowledge of the company's needs and a thorough grounding in the skills required to meet those needs.

Hear that sound? That's two lips smooching a manager's butt cheeks...

And so it goes...

Remember Yesterday?

2006-08-27T17:52:00.000-05:00

Remember yesterday when I said that I was going to make an effort to waste less time, and to keep track of the time I did waste?

Forget it. I won't be able to keep track of that much time. Today was pretty much a complete waste.

And so it goes...

Talkin' Trash

2006-08-26T14:19:00.000-05:00

I am sitting at my computer right now, and watching the minutes tick by second by second on a spyware scan, and the thought strikes me: Just how much time do I waste each day doing such things? Not so much the doing, since it is necessary, but in just sitting and watching it being done?

I wasted 16 minutes during that scan. I could have washed the dishes, or started some laundry, or taken a shower, or made a sandwich, or called a friend. But instead, I sat idly staring at the computer screen, willing the timer to go faster. Yet, I bemoan the days that move too fast, the years that flash by like instants.

Time is a subjective thing, but sometimes we allow outside influences to take time away from us. Too often, it is time wasted--and we have so little time to us.

When was the last time any of us allowed an outside influence to give time to us, to make a night seem to last forever, or a good time to never end? More often than not, it is only the time we spend doing onerous chores or in pain that seem eternal.

I am going to make an effort this week to keep track of time that I waste, time that I reclaim, and time that I have no control over. I'll keep you posted--later.

And so it goes...

The Rest of It...

2006-08-22T17:35:00.000-05:00

Time passes, and sometimes we don’t even note it as it does.  But there are milestones to every life…and one is occurring today.

My brother is having a birthday today.   Whether he’s celebrating it, or just marking its passing with regret, it’s happening…and he’s 52 years old.

I told my son in jest that his uncle was an ‘old fart’, but I’m not that far behind him—so I really can’t say a lot about that.

We all get older with each passing day; the trick is in staying as young as possible where it really matters:  in our hearts, and between our ears.  Stay young there, and the aging travails of the body will be less pressing.   Stay young there, and laughter can be a true friend.

Stay young there, and death will come as a surprise—one not wholly welcome (death rarely is), but one that can be taken with grace, and perhaps a smile to cap off a life well lived.

And so it goes…

Just a word...

2006-08-21T18:27:00.000-05:00

Sunlight is pouring into my den as I write this; early evening sunshine that is golden and green-hued as its rays filter through the leaves of the maple tree by the deck.

I am getting tired, but it’s been a good day. Got some new toys in the mail (always good for us guys), and the kids were in especially good moods—my son because his girlfriend is back from vacation, my daughter because she made $70 in tips at her job.

But now they are gone. He is at his friends house, she at her mom’s. So now it’s time to close this, and go take a pre-work nap.

Tomorrow is my night off, and I can hardly wait; it’s been a long time in coming, and I’m ready.

And so it goes…

The Time(s) of Our Lives

2006-08-21T09:22:00.000-05:00

Just the other day, one of my 50-something co-workers said to me, “The 70’s were the best time of my life.”

Huh?   Is his life over?  Or is it so bad now that he is looking back nostalgically at what was a good time for him?

Who can say that they have had the “best time of their life” when their life isn’t over?   I’ve had a lot of good times, and a lot of bad times, and a lot that fall in between…but the “best” time?   I don’t know.   I could rate what’s happened to me so far, and come up with a favorite or “best” time, but how do I know that it is the best time of my life?

Maybe on my deathbed I’ll be able to make that comparison, and point to a time that was best…since nothing else good will be coming my way if I’m dying.   But to do that now, at 47?   Can’t do it.

The best time of my life may still be yet to come…and I wouldn’t want to miss it because I thought that the best had already been.

The jury’s still out on this one…and I’m in no hurry to be knocking at Death’s door—and wondering simultaneously just what my best time had been.

Live each day to the fullest, and maybe at the end of your life, you’ll be able to look back and say to yourself:  “Those were the best times—my life!”

And so it goes…

Tick..tick..tick...

2006-08-14T18:12:00.000-05:00

Does the body know when it’s time is up? Does our internal clock have an alarm that tells us when the clock stops ticking?

Sometimes I feel like my clock is running down…maybe the intimations of mortality that I feel are nothing more than my body telling me I’m done…so stick a fork in me!

Other times, I think that I’m just afraid of dying, so my morbid fascination couples with my imagination to make me feel the icy cold finger of death brushing my soul…making my breath come short…squeezing a vise around my heart.

I guess I’ll know soon enough either way. If I continue to blog regularly, you can assume that I’m still alive.

If my blog stops abruptly, and never resumes, you can assume that the alarm went off, and the mainspring of my life has wound down…forever.

And so it goes…

The Fittest (A Story)

2006-08-12T22:00:00.000-05:00

The scenario goes round in my head…

It is mid-October, and the nights are cold, even if the days still harbor a residual warmth that evokes Spring or late Summer.   But that feeling of impending Winter is in the air, and those of us in our small group who can face the truth know that the end of easily livable weather is soon upon us.

It is with this in mind that we begin to prepare for the first Winter since the EMP took out everything that we of the 21st century had come to take for granted.

What little electricity we have is generated for us by a couple of windmills that spin the turbines inside two Chrysler alternators; the voltage regulators are wired up to a series of Delco batteries that power a few 12 volt lights, and our all-important radios.   The ancient tube-based AM/FM/Short-wave is on auto-scan, and rarely does it settle on any one frequency for long.    Static hisses quietly from the speaker like steam rising from the corpse of our country in the chilly night air.    The sideband radio is silent.   We are not even sure if it works. We are all but locked in for the night.

Aunt Kathy calls me over to help her load a five-gallon water bottle onto the dispenser; she rations it, but cannot lift it—she’s always looked like a refugee from Auschwitz, but her personality is considerably stronger than her physical being.   I heft the 60 pound bottle onto the cooler, and she makes a mark at the level of the water.

Outside, Tom is gathering up the 15 or so pieces of wood from the pile for the night’s fire.   He chooses wisely, picking 3 pieces of pine to start the fire, 3 pieces of dry hardwood to get it hot, and the rest is greenwood to burn slow and keep the coals burning through the night.

We congregrate in the basement room.   It is roughly 15’ by 25’—a large room, but with thirteen of us and our cots in there, it is crowded.    Tom starts the fire in the conical fireplace, and within minutes, the damp chill is gone.   Kathy dispenses out water in eight ounce cups, but no one drinks.   We are waiting for the stew which bubbles in the pot over the camp stove.

An hour later, with our meal finished, the dishes wiped clean, our water ration finished, and latrine trips done, we bed down.   Tom sits in the dim firelight, occasionally stirring the coals and adjusting the damper on the fireplace.  I look into my woman’s eyes, and they look black in the gloom, though I know that they are a brilliant cobalt by sunlight.  She kisses me lightly, and pulls the blanket over her head.    Not tired, I sit next to her with my hand resting lightly on the small of her back.   I love her, and miss privacy.

Glory takes the first watch.   She is huddled inside a poncho and wool blanket at the head of the stairs, keeping her eyes fixed on the glass of the door behind the security bars.  What little warmth reaches her from the basement is not enough to keep her fingers warm, so she wears gloves on her hands to ensure that her trigger finger will not be stiff or numb should she need it.   And we pray that she doesn’t.
***************************

We use the whole house by day.   Many of the rooms have been converted to storage.   The trappings of the electronic age still linger, poignant reminders of what we have lost.  The shelves that once held a thousand DVDs now hold canned goods and books.   The entertainment center, made of solid oak, has long since been broken up for firewood.   The television, microwave, and stereo are in a pile behind the shed, along with other useless electronics.

Most of the books are in the smaller room in the basement.   Piles of them are on the floor, and wall to wall shelves are filled with them.   We keep them in the basesment because it is cool and dry—and because, come Winter, it is the only part of the house that will be kept consistently heated.   Mold and mildew will be kept at bay, and the books, at least, should last.

The second story spare bedroom holds clothing.   We have crates marked with type of clothing, sizes, and seasons.   We have shoes and boots in the sizes that we need—at least two replacements for each of us.

In the kitchen, there are two Franklin stoves that we ‘liberated’ from a local supply store.   These are kept burning night and day, and impart a little warmth now that the nights grow cold.   It is on these that we do most of the cooking.

The kitchen cupboards are filled with dry and canned goods; the pantry holds more still.   The stove has been moved out of the house.   It took up too much room, and the Franklins sit black and heavy in its place, their pipes standing straight before curving out through the wall.   The fire tiles beneath them are stained and sooty, but we can spare little water for cleaning.

The refrigerator is still in place.   It’s insulated interior keeps things fresh for a day or two longer than just letting them sit out, so it has not entirely outlived its usefulness.

The other rooms of the house hold a hodgepodge of furniture, crates of food, fuel, and firearms.    We are prepared for a siege—but everyday is part of that siege.   We are besieged by the world, these days; each day brings another challenge.

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

It is morning.   I roll out of my cot, and kiss Tam-tam on the cheek.   Creaking and groaning, I walk quietly around my sleeping companions and up the stairs.   Glory looks at me and smiles, her eyes weary but still alert.    I tell her to go lay down, and she gratefully unwraps herself from the blanket, leaning her rifle against the wall behind the door.

I brace myself, and pop open the door.   The morning chill assaults me, making me shiver as I use the latrine.   I walk across the deck to the garage, open the door, and check the charge on the batteries.   I connect two more to the series, and attach the leads to the second regulator.    This is my job—to make sure that the little electricity we have is enough to last.   I may start looking for a solar charger soon.   Windless days are a disaster for me.

I close the garage on my way out.   Seth is using the latrine, so I avert my eyes and make a big deal of lighting a stale cigar.    Clouds of blue smoke envelope me, dissipating in the bright, clear morning air.

Another day has begun.

Sometimes I wonder why we continue.   Other days I’m just too busy to care.

And so it goes.

Spending Time

2006-08-12T18:57:00.000-05:00

In three years or so, my household will change drastically.   The kids will be out of high school and off to college or elsewhere…and then what?

Never before (well, at least in the past 25 years) will I have been without daily, kid-related activities.   Then, without warning almost—because the time seems to pass so swiftly—I will have free time on my hands.

How will this affect my relationship with my wife?  With my friends?  With myself?  What will I do with all of this ‘free’ time?

And how do you spend something so free?

And so it goes…

Talkin' 'bout Talkin'

2006-08-06T16:41:00.000-05:00

We were travelin’, on vacation
To a cabin far from home,
But the cell phone kept on ringin’
‘cuz my plan gives us free roamin’.

My daughter had to talk a lot
To the friends she’d left in town
Just when one call would be over
Her nasty ringtone would give sound.

Chattin’ with one, then another,
I never thought that it would end,
Until her battery life was down to naught,
She would dial and then press ‘send’.

After a day or two of listenin’
I have to say I was pretty pissed
Time after time I contemplated
Making out a cell phone usage list.

I couldn’t get that kid to stop
Her incessant talk and chatter
But with her attitude to me
I guess it really wouldn’t matter.

You see, if she is always talking
On her cell phone to her friends
I don’t have to put up with her shit—
And this is where this story ends…

And so it goes…

A "Deed" Now Done

2006-08-06T12:07:00.000-05:00

Hey!   New/old book alert!

I hate fantasy.   By fantasy, I mean that tripe that publishers like Tor books (distributors of Dungeons and Dragons) put out—the kind of fantasy where magic and reality mix willy-nilly, where things like the inverse square law allow gigantic creatures to ignore gravity and mass (maybe because of all that magic?); fantasy where the plot has absolutely no bearing on what goes on in the story, because there are too many poorly played out battles between orcs, dragons, giants, and all manner of creatures.

Into this category, I would like to not place books like The Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey, which on the face may seem like fantasy, but if you read the entire series, is merely fantastical science fiction.   Also, the Shannara series by Terry Brooks is less fantasy than allegory, and a possible view of what our future may bring.

And finally, there is The Deed of Paksennarion by Elizabeth Moon.   Originally published as three separate books, it is compiled in a 600,000 word trilogy volume that held this reader’s interest throughout.

The book follows Paksennarion Dorthansdotter (Paks), a young woman raised on a sheep farm who has been raised hearing tales of warriors, paladins, and heroes.   She runs away to join a mercenary company—and this is where the true magic of this story lies.

Elizabeth Moon has woven a tale full of battles and gentle, earth-based magic, but her strength lies in the development of Paks through her training and combat experience.   The training sequences (lengthy) are well-thought out, and realistic.   Paks is not a natural warrior, but she is dedicated to her goals, and works very hard to live up to her training.

The battle sequences are brutal and gory, not because of sensationalism, but because that’s what battles fought with swords, pikes, bows, and lances are like.

Yes, there is magic enough in this book to keep the fantasy fans happy—but it is magic that could occur if immortal elves existed, if kuakugans lived in groves where they helped the living things of the earth bind everything together; a land where orcs wended there subhuman culture on the outskirts of the more civilized lands; and where paladins and followers of St. Gird were able to tap into the power of the land to heal the wounded and defeat evil.

Fantasy?  Sure.   Great story?  You bet.    As you read this lengthy story, you see character development at its finest as Paks grows, through her experiences, from a simple sheepfarmer’s daughter into a whole, fully realized person.

Highly recommended by a non-fan of fantasy (I’ve never been able to slog my way through the Lord of the Rings series, though I loved the movies).

If you’ve got the time, give it a try.

And so it goes…

R and R: Revisited

2006-08-06T10:52:00.000-05:00

Well, I survived my vacation to the great north woods…and managed to get some of the the rest and relaxation that I desperately needed.

However, I was right that my wife and her brother would want to go go go…and try to drag me with them.  “Let’s go swimming,” “Let’s go hiking” “Let’s go to [name of town]” “Let’s do this” “Let’s do that”.   And when I said no, and reiterated that I wanted to relax, I got a snide, “Whatever!”

“Whatever”, indeed!    I should not have to feel guilty about wanting to relax.   I’m 47 years old, I work third shift, and I never get enough sleep.   The last thing I want to do on my vacation is run around like a chicken with it’s head cut off.

So, I didn’t.   I held firm, and got my relaxation, ignoring the angry glances and sarcastic jibes.

What really got to me during this week of vacation was my wife’s countdown to the end.  “Sigh.   Four more days and I have to go back to work,” she said our second day there.   And the countdown updated several times a day—every day!

Finally, the day before we were to leave, she asked me, “Do you want me to reserve the cabin for next year?”

I smiled at her, shrugged, and said, “You do what you want to, dear.   I don’t care, because I’m not coming up here next year.   You’re on your own.”

Hey, if nothing else, while she’s up north with her family, I can spend my vacation doing such exciting things as watching the grass grow and feeling my beard come in.

How can I handle such excitement?   Easy.    All in the name of Relaxation.

And so it goes…

Dog Days...

2006-08-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

My brother is on a much-needed vacation this week, so I will be attempting to fill the void left by his absence from this blog. He's relaxing "up north", and, I hope, enjoying the heat with a cold beer as his company.

Yes, these are indeed "dog days"; when the air is heavy with the promise of thunderstorms that never seem to come. When going outside feels like walking into a sauna. When the slightest exertion leaves your body drained, sweaty, and panting.

As a kid, and a teen, I used to love days like this. Run around endlessly, stopping occasionally to gulp down a half-gallon of cold water, then badk out in the sun. Now, my greater experience (read: age) tells me that on days like this, it is important to rest somewhere cool, drink plenty of fluids, and call lifting a glass of liquid refreshment "exercise".

I miss those carefree days when nothing was serious enough to cause whatever plans we had to be put off until a "better" day. Snow, sub-zero temperatures, thunderstorms, wind, extreme heat--those were just things that had to be allowed for, and not allowed to slow us down in the least. Now, I find myself all too willing to take a long moment to relax; nothing seems quite urgent enough to venture forth in extremes of weather. Any plans that could be made for today can probably be made for tomorrow--or the day after--or next week.

It's an interesting change of perspective that most of us go through; things that should be important, like enjoying our lives, get put on the back burner in favor of "must-do" things, mostly work-related.

We only get one chance at this life. Attempting to enjoy it might be wise, eh?

Ten Things I'd Like To Do...

2006-07-30T19:56:00.000-05:00

My brother invited me to contribute to his blog; why, I don't know, but I'll try to keep it different than the things I post in my own The Cynic's View blog.

Pursuant to a recent discussion I had with a friend about world travel and travel in general, here's a list of things (including travel) that I would like to do:

Spend a month on a bicycle tour of Ireland.
Hike the Appalachian Trail from start to finish.
Visit Machu Picchu, Mt. Shasta, and other "spiritual" places.
Go whitewater rafting on the Snake River.
Visit Russia and live among the people, not in the cities.
Tour historic sites of Greece and Italy.
Wander the Scottish moors and play golf at St. Andrews.
Spend a summer on a motorcycle tour of N. America.
Work a cruise to New Zealand and spend a month seeing both North Island and South Island.
Stay in a remote Rocky Mountain cabin for an entire summer.

It's a somewhat random list, because my interests are varied, but all of them would be "an experience of a lifetime". You have your own lists, I'm sure. Comment and tell us where you would go and what you would do.

Windows XtremelyPissedoff

2006-07-28T11:14:00.000-05:00

I’m so pissed. I just wrote one of my longest blogs ever, and lost it to the vagaries of Windows.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

(I’m not even going to try to redo it…and because of the subject matter, it’s probably for the best)(and no, I’m not going to tell you what it was about)

And so it goes…

Time Enough for...R and R

2006-07-28T10:56:00.000-05:00

I’m going on vacation next week.   This is our annual family vacation, which generally includes my wife, my two teenage children, my mother-in-law, my brother-in-law, my nephew, and myself.

That may sound like a recipe for disaster, but it’s not.   We usually rent a cabin about five hours north of here in the middle of nowhere, and spend the week fishing, swimming, hiking, and generally ‘getting away from it all’.

Unfortunately, my brother-in-law is one of those can’t sit still kind of guys, and wants to gogogo all the time.   My mother-in-law is a nervous type, but likes to go for walks or just relax around the cabin.  My wife is wishy-washy, and will do anything her brother thinks should be done, ‘cuz she just can’t say no to him.

My kids are okay for a couple of teens.   My son likes to swim, fish, or sight-see…and he’s enough like me to want to do whatever I do.   My daughter is easily bored, but aims to please most of the time, and will go along with the majority with a minimum of complaints.

I like to relax.   Swimming is okay…it’s fun exercise, and with the temps in the mid 90’s, I don’t have a problem with that.   I’ll go on the occasional hike, camera in tow, so that I can get some memorable and perhaps beautiful shots.   But most of all, I like Rest and Relaxation.    I don’t find running here and there, road-tripping, or rushing from one activity to another particularly restful.   What I do find restful is floating on a boat, beer in hand, waiting for an adventurous but hopelessly doomed fished to bite my hook.   Or better yet, sitting in the shade with a good book and a beer, dozing to the sounds of waves lapping on the shoreline and leaves rustling in the trees.

This year, I am determined to relax.   I need it.   It’s been a stressful year, with no end to the stress in sight.   So whatever time I can grab for myself, I will hold onto dearly.

Wish me luck.

And so it goes…

Broccoli As Life

2006-07-27T07:23:00.000-05:00

I’m in a black mood.   I never really thought of this kind of feeling like that before, but I read a reference to it in a novel, and that’s what it is.

A black mood.

I feel angry—not at anyone or anything in particular, but at everyone and everything in general.

I’m frustrated with my life—is this all there is until it’s over?  Work, go home, do house stuff, run the kids hither and yon, go to sleep, work, ad infinitum…

I feel like a kid who’s in a candy store, with all the rich sweets placed in front of him…and then his parent says, “You can’t have what you want.”   So, instead of candy, I get broccoli.

You see, I know what I want—I just can’t have it.   I’ve been eating a steady diet of broccoli for years, with no end in sight for that big plate of greens—and I want more!   I want it all, but I am settling for what is safe and known.

I could take some risks, but would the risks be worth the cost?   Would I risk it all, and end up without even my plate of broccoli to show for it?

I guess that’s what risk is all about.   I have to be willing to lose it all to get what I really want.   Keep my eye on the prize.   And hope like hell I don’t end up more miserable than I already am.

I just wish I had a crystal ball, so that I could take a safe risk.

But that’s just cowardly.   I need to just take the risk, and hope for the best—or at least something different.   Maybe that’s just what I’m looking for…something that isn’t the mundane life to which I’ve become accustomed.

A black mood.   How appropriate when all I see ahead of me is a dark, dead end.

And so it goes…

Let's Do it Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

2006-07-24T10:59:00.000-05:00

“Money.   It’s a gas”…no, wait, I think that goes:  “Money.   Pays for gas…”

This situation is becoming untenable.   Gas is well over $3.00/gallon, which puts it well over the milk gallon/gas gallon = 1/1 ration that has held for many years.   And now gas is actually closer to the price of the over-taxed, inflated cost of a pack of cigarettes.

Next week, I am planning a trip to the northern part of the state (“up-north” to the natives), and renting a 15 passenger van to carry the seven of us and our shit.   We did the same last year, and spent over $200.00 on gas, and did very little extra driving.   This year, with gas 20 percent higher than last year, we can look forward to spending closer to $250.00 on gas.

When I was a kid, we used to drive to British Columbia (that’s western Canada for those whose geographical skills have waned since high school).    It’s roughly 1800 miles one way.   Now, driving a VW microbus fully loaded like we did in 1967, we spent about $100.00 for the whole round trip!    And that included side trips to tourist attractions and relatives homes.

Granted, gas in 1967 was less than 40 cents a gallon, and that hundred bucks constituted a good portion of a week’s pay…but it was affordable even then.

Today, however, that trip would be prohibitively expensive, unless you’re driving a Toyota Prius and using the electric drive almost exclusively.    And then, what are you going to pack?   One small duffel bag for each of the four people you are going to cram into your little eco-safe runabout, and that’s about it.   And don’t even think about going into the mountains with this little puddle-jumper.   Even if it weren’t under-powered, you’d have to kick in the gas power…and there goes your spending money!

It just gets tougher all the time to take your kids anywhere exciting and/or educational.   Even if the cost wasn’t so dear, when would you find the time?   Take a week’s vacation, and spend it all traveling so that when you get home you’re more exhausted and burnt our than when you left work?   Take two weeks, and try to cram a lifetime of experience into 14 days?

Or do what most people do:   tune into the Discovery Channel, and watch someone else take the trip that you are aching to do.

And so it goes…

Actions Speak Louder

2006-07-18T20:49:00.000-05:00

Today, I read the blog of someone close to me (my brother), and it dealt with death—not in a morbid sense, but how we deal with death, and convey our feelings about someone else’s loss to them.

I, too, have run across this problem, and have taken the coward’s way out:  I try to ignore the fact of the matter, avoiding the person who lost their loved one as much as possible.   I can think of only one case in which I dealt with another’s loss in a more positive manner…and that only when she returned to work after a couple of weeks.

My friend lost her nineteen-year-old son three years ago this past June.   I have known her for nearly sixteen years, and her children virtually their whole lives.   So I felt her loss keenly—especially since it made me wonder how I would deal with a similar loss.

When my friend “D” returned to work, she looked haggard and grief-struck, and my heart went out to her.   Not knowing what to say—the usual clichés just didn’t seem right—I told her how I felt the only way I could.   During a moment of privacy and quiet her first night back, I walked up to her, put my arms around her, and gently held and hugged her.

Her tears were quiet, but they wouldn’t stop flowing.   So I loosened my hug, and produced some Kleenex for her.    We sat together for a quarter of an hour, silent but for her sobs, then I hugged her, kissed her forehead, and smiled slightly as I walked away.

Later, “D” told me that she appreciated my gesture more than she could possibly say.   She said that I respected her right to grieve, didn’t ask questions, and didn’t say anything insincere.   She said that it was almost as if I knew that she needed a hug, and to be held, so that her world, if for just a moment, would stop spinning.

So, sometimes words won’t do.   Sometimes they will.

I just happened upon the one time when what I did meant more than anything I could have said.

And so it goes…

Having My Say

2006-07-16T16:13:00.000-05:00

You know what’s really neat about having a blog?

I can pretty much say anything that I want to, and it may reach an audience of one, two, or hundreds.

Of that minor multitude, no one may agree with what I have to say…or all may agree…but no one can keep me from saying it. Their only recourse is to send me feedback, or blog on their own.

Kind of neat. Almost like freedom of speech.

And so it goes…

American Rage

2006-07-16T16:09:00.000-05:00

I just read my father’s blogspot (The Bard’s Corner), and in it he mentioned that the weather in Houston is in the 90’s.   Well, 1300 miles north of him, it is 96 degrees F, and humid as hell…so I guess I can relate.

Also, most of his blog details what he sees as a great threat to our way of life—the issue of what to do about the Mexican “invasion”.

I, too, am worried about this, which puts me in the minority of those who still believe that our country has been, and could still be, one of greatness.   But with the influx of illegal (for those among you who don’t understand that word, it means “against the law”) immigrants who are not willing to become American citizens and integrate themselves heart and mind into our society, that same society is falling prey to the ills of any polyglot people: failure of communication, racism, and cultural upheavals.

Our Congress is currently considering measures that would make English our official, national language—a step over two hundred years late in the making.    While this will not necessarily force everyone to learn English in order to live here, it will make it more difficult to function, since government offices will no longer be required to make information available to the populace in any language but the national one.

Mexican-Americans (who, if they are citizens, should be known simply as Americans, or at worst, Americans of Mexican descent) are in an uproar over this step.   It will water down their heritage, they whine, and make it more difficult for immigrants to assimilate into our country.    Well, I say, if they are that worried about watering down their heritage, then leave that heritage in Mexico.    If immigrants want to be assimilated into our country, then let them learn the language and come here legally.

And if they cannot—or will not do this—then the treatment they should get as illegal—ILLEGAL!!!—immigrants is all they deserve.   Other countries, less disposed to humanitarian ideals than ours, shoot illegal immigrants.   We just send them back where they came from, at our expense.

So, next time you see someone flying the Mexican flag, or celebrating Cinco de Mayo (a uniquely Mexican holiday), use the univeral language that everyone understands, and give them the good ol’ American finger!

Whew!

And so it goes…

Lazy, Part II

2006-07-13T16:19:00.000-05:00

Well, two days off, and guess what?

It didn’t help.

And so it goes…

Lazy

2006-07-09T18:22:00.000-05:00

Sunday.   Last day of my working weekend, and by far the laziest day of my week.

Today, I sat at my computer for a while, wandered around the backyard tidying up a little (for about ½  an hour), then decided to take a nap.   This took me until about 5:30 pm, at which time I had a snack, and then wrote this little blog.

Now it’s time to go to bed and finish the ‘nap’ I started earlier.   Only two more nights of work, and I have two nights off—in a row!

Maybe I’ll have the energy to really let my thoughts go aimless then.

And so it goes.

I'm Certain That I Am For Sure

2006-07-09T09:05:00.000-05:00

The phrase that makes me cringe today is “For sure.”   As in, “I’m not for sure where he went.”   Shouldn’t that read “not certain,” or “I don’t know”?    Wisconsin.  Land of the Fractured Speech.

Anyway, it’s been a while, and a busy while at that.   My youngest daughter now has a car to drive…and that’s scary.    Reminds me a lot of Robert A. Heinlein’s novel, “Time Enough for Love,” wherein his character (Maureen) is discussing the freedom that having a carriage gave her and her beaus when they went out (referring to the way things were at the turn of the last century).

I’m pretty for sure  ( that my daughter has forgotten how to walk—at least since she got the car.   And her friends have found a new taxi.   But at $3.00+ per gallon of gas, that taxi had best start charging, because Daddy Warbucks I’m not.   I can’t stand the thought of filling my own gas tank, let alone my daughter’s.

We held our 9th annual Party on Prairie this past Monday (July 3), and it was, as usual, a good time.   Lots of eats, drinks, and camaraderie, punctuated by a moderate fireworks display and lots of splashing in the pool and on the waterslide by the kids (and a couple of adults, too.).

Some notable absences from the guest list this year—some didn’t show because of personal reasons, some didn’t show just ‘cuz they couldn’t make it.

But, hey—there’s always next year:  THE BIG TEN!

And so it goes.

Caps and Gowns

2006-05-22T17:54:00.000-05:00

Tempus fugit.      Time flies.  Boy, whoever said that got it right.

Today is May 22, 2006.   Twenty-nine years ago today, I donned a cheesy, dark-green robe, a cap made of mortarboard with a tassel with two shades of green, and some decent shoes.   Then I sat on a folding chair in Fireman’s Park in Waterloo, WI, and waited for my name to be called.

Yep.   Twenty-nine years since my high school graduation.   Sure doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, unless I stop to think about everything that’s happened since then.  Things like three marriages, two divorces, three kids, two grandkids, friends made, friends lost.   Over thirty cars, twenty-some apartments, two houses, numerous pets, hair grown long, hair gone away.   You know what they say—“hair today, gone tomorrow?”

I look at my two youngest children, and wonder where the time has gone.   Amanda is finishing up her sophomore year in high school, and will be a junior in the fall.   Jesse is an outgoing freshman who no longer looks up to me, but looks me straight in the eyes.

I’ve gained weight since high school—quite a lot, which doesn’t make me fat, but definitely puts me in the ‘stout’ category.   I’ve lost a lot of hair—everywhere except my back (one of God’s little jokes that he plays on middle-aged men).

Milestones like these make me sit back, reflect, and ponder my life so far.   I try not to wallow in regrets, because short of a quantum leap, I’m powerless to change my past.    All I can do is think back, and wonder where that young man went when he turned into me.

So, happy graduation day to me.

And so it goes…

And now...A word from our sponsor...

2006-05-17T00:05:00.000-05:00

     Many things have happened lately, and now that I’m on vacation, I thought I’d talk about things a bit…

     Got new carpeting in our house…first time for new carpeting in about 20 years.   I like it a lot, but my paranoia level has gone up about three notches since its installation—it cost enough to make me want to have it last as long as possible.  So:  no shoes on the carpeting, frequent vacuuming, no eating on the floor—and absolutely NO spilling!!!

     Bought an older system from a friend.   It’s an IBM Pentium II 266, and it came preconfigured with a whopping 32MB of RAM, a 6.4GB hard drive, an onboard 2MB display adapter, and an integrated sound card/modem.   Thanks to my friends Todd and Ebay, I now have 288MB of RAM and a network card, which allowed me to network with my main box [thanks, Moe!].  Ebay is supplying me—at a nominal cost—with a 16PCI graphics card, and a 20GB hard drive.   Since I plan on using this machine primarily for burning cds and scanning photos, it should do the trick now.   Not a blazingly fast machine, but solid.

     My dad was supposed to come up this month to promote his new book of poems/essays (www.throughmymind.net), but because of my mom’s poor health, he had to postpone.   He might be able to come up the end of June, which would mean that he would be able to be here for the 9th annual Fourth of July party.  That would be cool…he’s gregarious, and would fit right in with my friends.

     The weather has literally sucked for about the last week:  cold, rainy, miserable.   I finally took advantage of a couple of hours of near sunshine this afternoon to mow the jungly front yard…but the back was too long and wet to tackle.   Maybe I’ll rent a couple of sheep (

     Thinking about tackling my den tomorrow.   That should kill a day.

     Thursday I am going to tackle the garage.   I’m sick of my tools being scattered, and I have so many lawn and garden implements now that I have to actually organize them, too.

     So it turns out to be a working vacation, but on the plus side I’ve been sleeping like a normal human being (at night), which makes for more interesting days.   I’m not as grumpy as usual…which means that I’m still grumpy, but I’ll fire a warning shot before planting buckshot in your ass.

     And so it goes…

The Day the Music Died...

2006-04-26T18:56:00.000-05:00

     I watched a movie the other day while laying lazy in bed…and I’m not ashamed to admit that, while the movie itself wasn’t that great, the subject matter brought a tear to my eyes.   Hell, it had me blubbering.

     The name of the movie was “The Karen Carpenter Story “, starring Cynthia Gibb in the title role.

     This movie was a thumbnail view of Karen’s life story…but what had me saddened were the ‘live’ performances, ably lip-synched by Gibb.

     In February 1983, at the age of 32, Karen Carpenter’s life ended.   On that day, the world lost one of it’s most beautiful singers.

Carpenter’s voice was like a combination of all of the best instruments known to mankind—the mellow voice of a cello, the smooth range of an oboe and clarinet, the power of a French horn, and the magical quality of a flute.

I can hardly listen to “A Song for You,” or “Hurting Each Other” without crying.

And I’m man enough to admit it.

The first LP I ever bought was one by the Carpenter’s…my mom let me order it from the “Columbia Record and Tape Club” (circa 1973 or so).   I will always remember the way Karen’s voice made me feel…and the nostalgia it still brings to me.

It’s been going on a quarter century since Karen died…I hope that someone, somewhere, is always listening to her sing.

And so it goes…

Life Trek: The Next Generation

2006-04-15T08:24:00.000-05:00

     Death.   It’s just one of those things that we all have to face someday…but somehow we all try to ignore that fact--until someone presses our noses into its smelly truth.

     When a great-grandparent dies, there’s a little sadness, but at least you know that Grandma or Grandpa are going to carry on with the little ways of life that your great grandparent started.  When one of your grandparents die, you miss them, because they have been a big part of your life (in most cases).

     But when a parent dies, there is something much more immediate to that passing.  Perhaps it’s the physical connection—after all, these are the people who gave you life, and now their own is over.

     Or perhaps it is the intimation of our own mortality that is proven by the fact that our progenitors are dead; therefore, we too will someday die.

     Or maybe it’s the fact that, with the passing of our parents generation, there is no other generation that is slated for demise but our own.   No longer two, or even three generations lie ahead of us under the Grim Reaper’s scythe.   No, when our parents go, we can hear the wind whistling under his blade, and we now know that the next time the blade falls, it is our turn.

     Mortality has but one drawback—and that is the fact of its existence.   Death is assured.   As a noted science fiction author once put it, “Life is just the daily putting off of the inevitable.”

     And so it goes…

Some are more equal than others...

2006-04-08T08:44:00.000-05:00

     All things being equal, I’d rather be in America.

     Where else can you find a country that is so willing to be a “melting pot” that we are considering allowing illegal—ILLEGAL—aliens the right to work in our country, with the prize at the end the chance at citizenship?

     What people don’t seem to get is that it is breaking the law.  That is the very definition of illegality.  And now we are going to host “Guest workers.”  Guest workers?  What kind of euphemism is that?   These are people who have come here illegally, are taking jobs from citizens, and eating resources that could be distributed among the needy citizens of the United States.   As one editorialist put it, “We don’t mind ‘guest workers’ so much; however, we do mind ‘guest criminals’ in our jails, ‘guest patients’ in our hospitals, and ‘guest students’ in our schools.”

     The language barrier posed by having approximately 12.5 million illegal immigrants in this country is astounding…and distressing.   I went to my bank’s ATM yesterday, and for the first time, it asked me to press this button if I wanted my instructions in English, and that button if I wanted my instructions “en Espanol”.   This really pisses me off!   There should be no option for people living in this country.   English may not be our ‘official’ language (an oversight for which I condemn our founding fathers), but it sure as hell is our ‘lingua franca’, the tongue spoken by the majority of the people.

     I’ve said it before, and I’ve said it again:  If we can’t communicate, how the hell are we ever going to get along?

     Ship the illegal immigrants back where they came from…and bill their home countries for the cost of shipping.   Then, put up a REAL border.   Anyone comes across it illegally, gets a warning shot.   If they don’t turn around, they are in violation of our laws, and should be treated as criminals and either deported or shot.

     And so it goes…

A New Book is in the World!

2006-01-27T08:17:00.000-06:00

My father is a writer. Like Harry Chapin sang of a lonely singer, “[writing] was his life, it was not his livelihood.”

At nearly 73 years old, my dad has published two books of his collected writings—poetry, and essays in verse.

The first book, “Pathways: Through My Mind” was a labor of love for him, and he had it printed several years ago, and it has been greeted with great respect and enjoyment by all who read it.

Now, the ‘sequel’, for want of a better term, arrives in 2006—NOW!

“Other Pathways: Through My Mind—Continuing the Journey” is a self-published volume as well. However, unlike “Pathways”, this volume has been published under the auspices of Trafford Publishing, one of the leading self-publishing housed in the world, and a true leader in the print-on-demand publishing community.

I wrote a preface for Dad’s book, and I would like to share it with you here, before I get on to the ad for “Other Pathways.”

An Introduction to My Father

I have grown up listening to my father speak. Often, it was him reading us a bedtime story; sometimes, it was just him talking about the day’s events to my mother or, as we grew older, to one of his four children.

I loved hearing him talk. My father has a voice that rumbles in a tenor pitch, with eloquence and distinction in every syllable. His voice can carry great kindness or blistering vehemence, but always with the same strength of character.

I have listened to his poems for as long as I can remember. His love of language as a medium of communication and thought fostered my own facility with words. I credit him with teaching me to think, both creatively and independently.

The poems that are contained in his considerable body of work are not of the greeting card variety. To be sure, there is humor contained within these pages, and much warmth and feeling. My father’s poems, however, are first and foremost, as he has put it, “pathways” through his mind.

It is to this mind, and the man who allows it to flow freely into the written word, that I would introduce you.

So venture into this convoluted, complex, and fulfilling experience in life, communication, and faith.

World, meet my Father. He has much to tell you, if you will but listen.

Other Pathways: Through My Mind -
Continuing the Journey
by Marat M. Bandemer, Jr.

Introducing the second most exciting, provocative collection of poetry in years,the first being Pathways: Through My Mind

About the Book

Building a sidewalk takes but a few days...to build a road takes weeks, but to create a pathway takes years of wandering down the same route-always taking the familiar way, always finding the unfamiliar. In Marat M. Bandemer, Jr.'s second book, Other Pathways: Through My Mind - Continuing the Journey, the author has once again put into words nearly fifty years of travels down the road of his life... poignant, angry, sad, hilarious, and always honest...now, and once again, he is prepared to share that pathway with us. This book may be one man's pathway, but it is truly everyman's journey.

About the Author

Marat M. Bandemer, Jr. was born in Chicago, Illinois in 1933. He attended Chicago Public School, graduating from high school in 1950, and then spending a brief time at the University of Illinois Undergrad facility at Navy Pier. Although too young for the draft, he enlisted in the United States Air Force in 1952. It was during this time that he met, and married his wife of more than fifty years, Jean. Together they have four children, six grandchildren and two great grandchildren. Bandemer retired from the corporate world in 1995, and has spent the past ten years working part-time in fundraising and sales for the Houston Symphony. The couple has resided in Houston, Texas since 1991.

Catalogue Information

www.trafford.com/4dcgi/view-item?item=11341
283 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #05-3004; ISBN 1-4120-8006-1; US$23.95, C$27.54, EUR19.67, £13.77

And so it goes…

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW

2006-01-27T07:54:00.000-06:00

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW
(IF YOU’RE GOING TO OWN AN INTERNET CONNECTED PC IN TODAY’S HAZARDOUS WORLD)

You’ve pushed the ‘on’ button on that new box of yours, and a bunch of cryptic gobbledegook flashed across the screen in front of you. Then, a few seconds later, a weird piece of music played, and your computer desktop appeared.

So, now what? What do you want to do with your computer? If you’re going to play minesweeper or solitaire, you already know what to do. But if you’re planning to ‘surf’ the internet, check email, or download mp3’s, there are certain things you need to know.

The one thing that most people forget when they’ve purchased a computer is that they have bought a major appliance. Yes, the prices have dropped dramatically in the past few years, but that doesn’t change the fact that, with the exception of the humans (or most of them) in your household, your now have in your possession what is nearly the most advanced piece of equipment ever built by human hands. However, most people treat their computer (and the tech support personnel who keep it alive) with the utmost disdain.

Let me ask a multi-part question—and you can answer it silently to yourself, and blush in embarrassment when you do. When you needed your washing machine fixed, or the dryer went out, or your furnace needed servicing, did you call a technician to come and fix it? And if you did, did you expect them to come to your house, spend time and effort fixing the problem, and then leave empty handed? And even if you did expect that, did they leave without charging you? Answer truthfully.

If you answered this question honestly, the answer(s) should have been: Yes, I did call a technician. No, I didn’t expect them to leave empty handed. And No, they didn’t leave without charging me.

Now, think back to the last time you needed bailing out of some major problem with your computer (or, if you are among the rare breed to whom this has never happened, think about someone you know—and you know someone like this!—to whom it has happened). Did someone come over to your house and spend anywhere from one to several hours fixing your system because it was viral, or full of spyware, or something equally disastrous? Or did you take your computer over to someone’s house and drop it off for fixing? The answer is probably Yes.

Now, after the problem was solved, and your system was up and running like new, did you offer any compensation to your tech support friend? Did you even thank them? Try getting away with that at your local computer store, and you’ll get a bill that will make you wish you had been nicer to your friend.

But I digress. The purpose of this article is not to berate the cheapskates among you who have no appreciation for the thousands of man-hours that have gone into making your tech support friend as savvy as he/she is; rather, this article will hopefully inform and educate those of you who are new to the world of computing (and those of you who aren’t, but might as well be) so that you can stave off all but the most dire consequences of your internet related actions.

Don’t be surprised at the sarcasm herein; it’s how I write, and usually gets the point across (kind of like a warship shooting a cannon across your bow).

So, if you would learn something, read on…

Surfing the net is a lot like driving around in a big city. Sure, there's a lot to see and do, but if you don't take at least some basic precautions, you can wind up in a lot of trouble. Everyone should know how to fix a flat tire on their car; similarly, you should know how to do some basic maintenance on your computer to keep it running well and safely. Here are a few tips for making your surfing relatively safe:

Ever have a cold? The common cold is caused by a virus, and has a detrimental effect on your performance. . Malicious software can have a similar effect on your computer, and so these programs have been given the name of ‘virus’. A cold can be caught by coming into contact with an infected person. A computer virus can be caught in a similar fashion, by coming into contact with an infected file. These files can be transferred in many ways, but the most prevalent way of spreading virii has become the email virus. The easiest way to avoid this problem is by never opening email from someone you don’t know! However, some of the worst virii can be sent by someone you know who isn’t using an antivirus program on their own system.
Having and using an updated antivirus program is a necessity. Use its auto-update feature and scan your system at least weekly. Sure, it takes time, but so does a checkup at your doctor, and it can save time and money down the road. Try http://free.grisoft.com/ for AVG Antivirus or http://www.avast.com for Avast! Antivirus. Both programs are free for personal use, and have daily update and scan features.

Spyware (or malware) is just bad. “What’s spyware?”, you ask. Wikipedia defines it thus: Spyware is a broad category of malicious software designed to intercept or take partial control of a computer's operation without the informed consent of that machine's owner or legitimate user. It eats up bandwidth, spies on your personal information, flashes unwanted advertisements on your desktop, and can allow others to ruin your Internet experience. Install at least two reputable anti-spyware products, update them regularly, and run them weekly. I recommend Lavasoft Adaware http://www.lavasoftusa.com/ and Spybot Search & Destroy at http://www.safer-networking.org/ as both are good (and free) programs that will get the job done.

All users can benefit from a good software firewall. A firewall acts as a barrier that keeps intruders out, and the better ones will keep unwanted applications such as Trojans (A specialized computer virus that enters via stealth or through another program and deposits and/or executes an often destructive bit of computer code) from sending out any information as well. Zone Alarm Free from http://www.zonelabs.com/ is an excellent solution for this problem.

Do not use Internet Explorer, but do get any security updates for it. Windows settings rely heavily on Internet Explorer files, so even though you don’t use it, you can open yourself up to nasty things. Do use a better browser, such as Firefox from http://www.mozilla.com/firefox/ or Opera Free from http://www.opera.com/ or an entire browser/composer/email suite from Mozilla at http://www.mozilla.com .

Do not use Outlook Express, Hotmail, MSN Mail, or Yahoo mail (except as throwaway accounts) as all are riddled with imperfections that can open your computer to problems. Use Pegasus mail from http://www.pegasus.com/ or Thunderbird from Mozilla at http://www.mozilla.org/thunderbird/ . Both programs allow the importation of your Outlook address book, and are marked improvements on Outlook in both functionality and security.

Avoid porn sites and ‘Warez’ (pirated software and cracks) sites as both are well-known for planting virus or trojan files on unwary computers. Not to mention that in many areas legal issues are involved.

Avoid P2P (peer-to-peer) file sharing (with programs such as Limewire or KaZaA), but if you must share, scan every downloaded file with an updated antivirus program before opening it.

When you are looking for answers (and I recommend that you look on your own first), check your Windows HELP files. I can’t count the number of times I’ve gone to help someone with a basic problem, arrived at their home, and sat in front of their system—then opened the help files only to get a message that says “Windows is configuring help files for first use.” And this is on systems that have been up and running for months, if not years! If the help files don’t help, then ‘google’ it at http://www.google.com/. Google is the best search engine yet, and it’s generally accepted that if Google doesn't find it, it isn’t there.

Keep informed! Subscribe to a newsletter that keeps you up to date on the changes in the Windows world—and posts fixes and ideas that can be of help. The Langa List is a good one to watch for (google it—good practice); The Lockergnome Report at http://www.lockergnome.com is another useful one, and they have an entire stable of more specific newsletters that you can subscribe to for free.

Backup data! Let me say that again: BACKUP DATA!!! Save all of your important files somewhere other than My Documents or My Pictures. A good place to save your important files is to a separate partition on your hard drive; the best place to save your data is to a writeable medium such as CD-R. Bad things happen, and backups insure that you will cut your losses.

Respect the person who does your tech support. He has spent hundreds or thousands of hours learning to make easy what boggles your mind. Many of us will do repairs or upgrades for a small fraction of what the big box computer/technology stores will, and most of us have more knowledge than the young techs at those places. Appreciate that, and don’t balk at paying us what we ask--we're not usually greedy. But we are hungry, and time is money. The time we spend working on your system is time away from our own—and many of us have projects going that are much more time intensive than you can imagine. Yet we grudgingly take time away to fix the mistakes of others.

Last, don’t be afraid to ask questions—but make sure that you have some basic information in hand before you do, because just as a mechanic needs to know the make and model of your car to begin servicing it, your tech support will need to know a few things about your system in order to give you a meaningful, accurate answer. Some of these things are:

Operating system. This is the version of Windows/Linux/MacOS/etc. that is running your computer.

Processor. This is the heart of your system, and will have a name like Intel Pentium 2.8 GigaHertz, or Athlon 3200.

RAM. This is the quick memory of your computer, and is also called Random Access Memory. It is usually measured in multiples of 32, 68, 128, 256, 512…megabytes.

Hard Drive. This is the semi-permanent storage media inside your computer. Know what you have—size matters.

Optical Drives. This includes cd-rom drives, cd-rw drives (recorders), dvd-rom drives, and dvd burners, or combinations of the above.

Anything else that you know about your system will be of great assistance. Knowledge is power, and the more we know, the more we can be of use.

Any questions? Just ask.

And so it goes...

The Way It Should Be...If Our Leaders Had Balls

2006-01-27T07:35:00.000-06:00

America used to be a great place to live...but more often than not these days, it has become a fragmented and diverse society that is breaking down under the weight of a tiresome burden--a failure of its people to communicate, to work together, to UNITE.

In 1907, Theodore Roosevelt put these ideas forth about immigrants and being an American:

"In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes and American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin.

"But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American. There can be no divided allegiance here.

"Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag. We have room for but one language here, and this is the English language. And we have room for but one sole loyalty, and that is a loyalty to the American people."

Eloquently put, and simple to understand. We must join together as a people if we are to survive. Under our roof there are many houses, but it must be remembered under whose roof they are. If we are to understand our neighbors, our friends, and the strangers next door, we must speak a common language. If we are to move forward as a people, it must be as one people, not a group of many different peoples.

The "melting pot" that was once America has soured, and there are chunks of unmelted people floating in the pot, all clamoring to be heard as they swim around, pulling others under in order to have their say, their way.

I am an American. Are you?

And so it goes...

Inspiration

2005-11-09T08:29:00.001-06:00

Inspiration comes from many sources...like being stuck at work with a real bad country music radio station playing over the PA system (is there any other kind of country music station???).

I was inspired to write this, which could be made into a slightly racey, short, funny country song:

I Hate Country Music

We were parking at the drive-in late last Saturday night

Mary Jane was close beside me and I was holding her so tight

Before the movie started she turned on the radio

Tuned the dial quickly--but then I shouted “NO!”

I said, “I really hate that ‘music’,” as I made quotation fingers,

“The verses are as lousy as the smell of skunk that lingers.

Give me Ozzy or the Beatles, Aerosmith or Pink Floyd,

But don’t you turn on country music--that stuff makes me annoyed!”

Mary Jane just looked right at me as if I’d lost my head,

She reached across, turned up the radio, and this is what she said,

She said, “I just love Keith Urban, Toby Keith and Conway Twitty,

And if you make me turn this music off, then get your hand off of my titty.

You see, this music talks of life and love, of how men and women ought to be,

And if you’d listen to the lyrics, then I think that you would see.

But you would rather hear your rock n’ roll, your Chili Peppers and Mudvayne,

But when you turn that stuff on way too loud it gives my head a pain!”

I took my arm off of her shoulder then, just as my hand had reached it’s goal,

I sat back in my cordovan vinyl seat, and searched deep within my soul.

Just what was it about country that I really didn’t like?

Was it the sameness of the vocals, that they all sounded just alike?

Was it the themes that talked of losing love, losing trucks, and apple pie?

Was it written somewhere that country songs have to make you cry?

Was it the fact that every singer had the same ol’ Southern twang,

Or was it just the sound of the dobros as the good ol’ cowboys sang?

I had to be honest (to myself), the list of reasons just kept growing,

The stuff I hate about that music was beyond one person’s knowing.

But then I smiled a little smile, and looked at Mary Jane,

I turned up the radio really loud, wincing silently in pain.

But I got my touchy-feely at the drive-in not much later

And even her love of country couldn’t make me hate her,

But I’ve got to tell you, Mary Jane, and I hope you will forgive,

‘cuz I never will like country, not as long as I do live,

Give me Queen or Bryan Adams, Journey or No Doubt,

But don’t you turn on country music—unless you’re willing to put out!

June, I'm home...June? JUNE!!!

2005-11-09T08:24:00.000-06:00

This is some very funny stuff from the May 13^th, 1955 issue of Housekeeping Monthly.

This is “The Good Wife’s Guide”:

Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time, for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.

Gather up schoolbooks, toys, paper, etc. and then run a dustcloth over the tables.

Over the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift, too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimize all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer, or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

Be happy to see him.

Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first—remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.

Your goal: Try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order, and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit.

Don’t greet him with complaints and problems.

Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have him lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.

Arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.

A good wife always knows her place.

Wow. How things have changed in 50 years. Where is June Cleaver when you need her???

And so it goes…

Been long and long...again

2005-11-06T11:26:00.000-06:00

Seems like I always get started on something...and never quite finish it. Like blogging, for instance.

It's been a busy month, but a fruitful one. Attended (and officiated) two weddings the weekend of October 15th, so that was a busy one.

Decorated my house for Halloween. That was busy and fruitful.

Did I mention that around the time of my last blog I was on vacation, but also had pneumonia? That was NOT busy, NOT fruitful, and just downright sucked the big one.

But all this has passed into the mists of time...and onto other things.

Creating sound bytes for my brother's upcoming exciting project (more as that progresses).

Getting the house ready for winter. Oh joy.

Getting ready for my youngest daughter's sweet 16...and golden birthday.

Getting ready for Christmas--and this year, if the weather cooperates, I'm going to decorate the outside of the house before it gets down into the single digits. Brrrr.

I'm writing again--not just blogs, but real, honest to goodness fiction. I hope I can keep the creative juices flowing long enough to at least finish one of my many fits and starts.

Guess only time will tell.

As Albert Einstein said: "The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."

Thank goodness for time.

And so it goes...

Re-Rant

2005-10-08T15:14:00.000-05:00

The world is still in a phase of the ongoing World War that began in 1914, and mankind has still not learned anything-unless you call the actions of terrorists something new.   I suppose that a complete and total lack of respect for your fellow human being, coupled with the ultimate act of theft of life could be called ‘new’, except that there have always been terrorists.   Until now, they just didn’t get the kind of press that brings their actions into our living rooms on a daily basis.
Ever hear of the IRA?   They’ve been bombing and killing their own people for many years, and they get page 8 in the newspaper.   But let some towel-headed person of Arabic descent put a bomb in a subway, and it gets front page, news at six billing.
      I am a firm believer that we need to take a hard line against terrorists, and the countries that host their kind. And by a hard line, I don’t mean hunting down the terrorists and putting them on trial; I mean hunting them down and eradicating them like the vermin they are!   And if the country that they are in puts up a fuss, then I believe it’s either time to move our troops from Iraq to that country, or take advantage of the neutron bomb, and wipe out the entire population of the criminal country, and then move in and make it our next state.   And if anyone has a problem with that, they can fucking well be next!
[Deep breath] The more I write about this, the more pissed off I get.   By the way...did you hear about Mexico? They have rebel leaders there who are willing to pay for the execution of American leaders.   And they are suspected of assisting al Quaida and other terrorist groups of smuggling operatives into this country.   Want a neutron bomb up your ass, Mexico?   Keep it up.
And the same goes for France. We can get a good price for the scrap metal called the Eiffel tower, and the Louvre has some pretty pictures that would look good in the Smithsonian.
Don’t fuck with us, World.   Our leaders may not have balls, but our people do.

Komyunikayshun

2005-09-27T20:52:00.000-05:00

The English language still manages to elude most of us who (nominally) speak it.

Today’s irritating usage comes from the Motion Picture Ratings, specifically from the movie “Robots”.

This movie is rated PG, and says “Some Material May Be Unsuitable for Children”, with specific information as follows:   “Brief Language and Suggestive Material”.

What is “brief language”?   Is that when someone speaks extremely fast, in staccato bursts?  Or is when they speak like, “Ths iz wht I wld cal brf lngwg.”?   Just how brief is ‘brief’?

And what is ‘suggestive material’?   Is that, like, fishnet stockings?   Or sheer gauze?

C’mon, people, say what you mean!  Language is here for us to communicate with—if not, then just grunt and point like our bestial forebears.

And so it goes…

Sick and Tired

2005-09-25T19:20:00.000-05:00

Nothing beats a lazy Sunday afternoon, unless it’s followed by a lazy Sunday night.

I’m on vacation, but because I feel so crappy, it just hasn’t seemed like it yet. I’ve been fighting off this respiratory thing for a week and a half now, and not getting any better—I just might have to break down and seek medical attention.

I hope that once I’m feeling better the rest of the week is just as lazy as today was. I need the R+R, and will fight tooth and nail against any who would try and deny it to me!

And so it goes…

2005-09-25T19:16:00.000-05:00

Hello, it's me.

Sucking Blood

2005-09-24T01:09:00.000-05:00

Speaking with my father the other day, the subject of death came up.   Neither of us liked the idea of traditional immortality, nor did we like the immortality that was gifted by the gods of old.

We finally decided that the undead immortality of the vampire might be best.   I would like to examine the options herein.

Traditional immortality—eternal youth—has its downfalls.   If everyone were to stop aging at eighteen, eventually the world would be overrun by a mass of perpetual teenagers.    The biochemistry of youth makes mature decision-making nearly impossible—so who would run the world?   Would we keep a few non-immortals around to run things, and if so, would they?  Or, better yet, could they?   Would not the very fact of their mortality in a world of immortals create a situation wherein they would lose any meaningful purpose? [see ‘Slayton Ford’ in Methusalah’s Children by Robert A. Heinlein]  Someone would have to run the show, or we would become a race of thrill-seeking, game-playing children with no future left to us, but no way to die.

The Greek gods gifted those foolish enough to ask for it with eternal life—but at a price too horrible to imagine.   For these gods, in their own vanity, punished the insolence of the mortals who asked for eternal life with just that—but not eternal youth!   Rather, the mortals became eternally alive, but continued to grow older and older, with death impossible.   Imagine being several thousand years old, and looking it!

The life in death of the vampire, while couched in myriad theological problems, i.e.; loss of the soul, never able to attain either heaven or hell, etc., also carries many traditional advantages.    For a vampire, short of the obvious perils such as a wooden stake through the heart or exposure to sunlight, is immortal.   And with that immortality comes the appearance of eternal youth—depending upon the age at which one is born to vampirism.

At 46, I would make a chunky, gray-haired, balding vampire.   But that’s okay, because I would never change.   I don’t mind being what I am now—it’s what comes in the next 20 or 30 years that I fear, with death waiting at the end of a too brief span of years.

But to be immortal!   Sure, I would never get that all-over tan that gives my skin a healthy glow, and other than looking through a shrouded window, I would never get to see the sun again.   And the diet is distasteful to me—but to the vampiric me, I guess it would be second nature.   Superhuman strength, agelessness, and the ability to perhaps shapeshift holds an allure for me that goes beyond obsession.

So, if there are any vampires out there looking to swell their ranks, and they have read this blog, feel free to contact me.

I’m ready for the next step.

And so it goes…

One of Those Days

2005-09-23T16:29:00.000-05:00

Did you ever have one of those days when you wanted to write, but the words wouldn’t flow and the ideas wouldn’t come?

This would be one of those.

And so it goes…

The Human Race

2005-09-20T15:04:00.000-05:00

I remember growing up.   Or at least growing old.   For they are two very separate things.

When I was 6 or 7, and attending a parochial school in northern Illinois, I remember having to make a scrapbook detailing what the future would be like.   I found pictures in magazines of ‘cars of the future’, artists’ renderings of what the cities of THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY would be like (with flying cars, glowing white buildings, and happy people), and other such dreams and fancies of the 1960’s.

What a disappointment my species is to me!   Those cars of the future are here, but they don’t have Plexiglas domes, they don’t fly—hell, they don’t even hover!  Instead, they roll around on marginally improved rubber tires, with engines that, for all of their pollution control, still spew out noxious gases (like I do after a couple of Taco Bell burritos).

The 21st century has many marvels, but cities with slidewalks, flying cars, and most of all, happy people are non-existent.

What happened?

I think that we became cynical and spend-thrifty, but most of all, I think that we got scared.   People are basically animals, and as such, do not adapt to change very well in the short term.   Sure, if all of the marvelous changes that have occurred over the past 100 years or so had happened over, say, 50,000 years, then we would have had time to adapt.   But the changes happen daily now, and it’s hard to keep up.

Life gets in the way, most of the time.    Working for a living, taking the kids here and there, etc., leaves little time for even the most technophiliac among us to do more than just skim the news and make mental notes of the newest technology—which, by the time we get it, is last week’s or last year’s new stuff, and we’re that much farther behind.

Is it any wonder that so many people just shut their eyes to the newstuff, and look backward nostalgically to the past and the ‘simpler’ days?

But were the simpler days that much simpler—especially to those who lived then?   Or did the frontier family trying to squeeze a living out of a hundred acres of rocky topsoil look back fondly on their ancestors’ way of life.

We must look forward, but it’s hard to keep up with the race when the entire world is passing you by.   But that’s what living is all about; and we are, after all, not called the Human Race for nothing.

And so it goes…

Googling and Looking Around

2005-09-20T14:47:00.000-05:00

I never thought that I would have a hard time finding someone online, but when they have married, and you have no idea what their new surname is, it’s almost impossible. Vital records are only available online, basically, for dead people. The living might have sensitive information in their files.

And if you want to look up records in person for someone who is still living, you had better be the person who you’re looking up, or forget it!

Damn. Frustration. I will persevere.

And so it goes…

Burden

2005-09-18T15:03:00.000-05:00

Today is a brighter day…and not just the weather. My mood has improved, even if my health still sucks.

It’s amazing how getting something off your chest helps you to breathe easier, isn’t it? As if the mental burden was an actual physical weight crushing the life out of you.

Cast off the burden, and the weight of the world lessens.

And so it goes…

Destiny

2005-09-18T14:48:00.000-05:00

     It happens to all of us, you know—that time of life when we sit back and have to re-evaluate our goals, our place in the world, and what we plan to do with the rest of our time on this planet.    Discovery of what we want, and where we want to take it, can be as near to fulfilling our destiny as fulfilling that destiny in actuality can be.   One can only hope that in trying one does not fall flat on one’s face like a probe crashing to the surface of a distant world.
     So, with that in mind, when your time comes to look forward to the rest of your life, take the bull by the horns and go out to live the rest of your life.   It is a daunting task, but one at which you can succeed—as long as you don’t have to go it alone.
     Call a friend.

And so it goes…

Quantum Leap

2005-09-18T14:42:00.000-05:00

I just looked back at my first blog (5-22-2004), and realized that I missed a golden opportunity for reflection that day.   You see, May 22 is the anniversary of my high school graduation, a milestone that I look back on more and more as the years go by.

If it hadn’t happened the way it did, the year it did, I would probably be a much different person that the one I am now.   Better?   Don’t know.   Different?  Certainly, but I can only speculate on the differences.

If I had graduated, for instance, from the high school where I went through the end of my junior year, I would have never been so anxious to leave that town and head out for places unknown.    Heck, I might still be there now (AAAARRRGHH!!!).

If I hadn’t left there for the town where I graduated, I would have never met the woman who became my first wife…and the mother of my oldest child.    I would never have met the woman who became my second wife…and the mother of my other two children.   And I would have never met my third wife.

And I would have never had to go through two painful divorces, lose the affection of my eldest child, fall into economic ruin, work for fifteen years in a thankless but fulfilling profession, met countless friends, made as many enemies, had so much fun, had so much heartache….etc.

One simple misstep in the past can alter so much.   Ray Bradbury called this “the butterfly effect”.   Step on a butterfly in the past, and for want of that butterfly, a mouse goes hungry; the mouse dies, and does not give birth to many generations of mice, so a larger predator goes hungry, and does not give birth to future generations…ad infinitum.

One can play the ‘what if’ game with life forever…but would any of us, knowing what we know now, really go back and change one cusp of our lives?   Really?

Sometimes I think I would—but then, would I be here writing about it?   Probably not.

But who knows?

And so it goes…

Does it rhyme? (Part II)

2005-09-17T12:01:00.000-05:00

FATHER

I cried out to my father, and this is what I said,
“Father, what will the world be like, after you are dead?
You know you’ve always been here, at least for all my life—
You’ve been around forever, to help me through my strife;
To see me ‘round rough corners, and troubles as they came—
Oh Father, without you here things will never be the same!”

My father, he just smiled, and gave me a tight embrace,
And said, “Son, I’m going to a better, brighter place.
At least, that’s what they’ve told me since I was just a lad—
I’ve faith that they have told the truth—and truthfully, I’m glad
To be fading into the background of this long and fruitful age,
I’ve been going down this road so long I’ll be glad to turn the page,
To see what comes right after this, and then right after that--
Son, you needn’t worry,” and he gave my back a pat.

I looked at him, not certain that the old man knew the score;
It always seemed to me that in this life there should be more
Than living out your years, be they eighty, two, or ten—
It never seemed quite fair to me that our living had to end.
“But, Father-- “ I began to say, but he didn’t hear me talk;.
He had sat beneath an old oak tree, too tired now to walk.
As I watched his eyelids flickered, and his eyes grew dimmer still
And he smiled a quiet, tired smile, and he whispered, “Son, until
We meet again somewhere, someday, keep my memory alive,
Tell your son and his sons that I did my best just to survive.
Because that’s all that we can do, is live from day to day,
Until our days are all used up. Now that’s all I have to say.”

And his eyes closed oh so slowly, the eyes I knew so well,
The eyes reflected in my mirror, and I stammered out a yell—
“Don’t go, Don’t go, “ I shouted, too late to do much good.
I dropped down to my knees, pressed my forehead on the wood.
Held the hand that once had held my hand as I crossed a busy street.
Touched the face whose bristled whiskers had once tickled tiny feet.
Kissed the forehead across whose brow I had etched more than one line,
And knelt there feeling loss for this dear father of mine.

“Goodbye,” I whispered harshly, through the acid of my tears,
and inside I felt the passing of about a thousand years…

2005-09-17T11:56:00.000-05:00

How I feel

Disconnect

2005-09-17T11:50:00.000-05:00

Increasingly, I feel disconnected. I can’t seem to reach out to my children or my wife, and when they reach out to me, I am out of reach.

I take refuge in anger and frustration, which only alienates me further; it is, however, the only way I know. It seems that I’ve been angry all my life, but I am often able to sublimate it, and not take vent in the temper that is my heritage.

Keeping the anger in just leads to more frustration, which leads to more anger, ad infinitum…

…and the lid of this teapot is about to burst.

And so it goes…

Blue Skies

2005-09-16T09:22:00.000-05:00

Today is one of those rare, special days when the sun is shining warmly, drying out the past night’s rain, yet there is a cool crispness to the air that tells with a hint of sadness that summer is gone.

The wind chime peals its bells in the breeze, and squirrels run to and fro collecting their winter larder.   Leaves from the drought-stressed trees pepper the ground in hues of gold, brown, and deepest red.

The lawn needs mowing, but the morning stillness is too beautiful to interrupt with the staccato roar of the mower.    Or at least that’s the excuse I give myself for not cutting the grass.

What I would like most is to pull on a sweatshirt, open a hammock, and nestle in the sun with a good book.   Perhaps a light doze would steal over me, but if I had nothing better to do—well, sleep is always in order.

Instead, I will use the day like a tool for cleaning the yard,  and try to get something real accomplished besides the laziness that I would prefer.

And so it goes…

Crash

2005-09-15T09:21:00.000-05:00

The movie is called "Crash", and it deals with people, predjudice, and power in Los Angeles...but it is much more than that.

It is a spiralling, entwined story of how we are all interconnected, acted out by a ethnically varied ensemble cast including Matt Dillon, Don Cheadle, Ludacris, Thandie Newton, and others. The actors do an admirable job of 'keeping it real', and each intertwined story holds surprises for the viewer.

An excellent fable for our times.

Watch it, think about it, talk about it.

And so it goes...

Does It Rhyme?

2005-09-14T21:01:00.001-05:00

This is entitled

MORTAL

I wake up from the nightmare,
an iron band around my chest.
That thought has come unbidden,
and again disturbed my rest.

Someday you are going to die,
that horrid statement falls--
a vision with no vision,
a voice that never calls.

A future lies before me:
adulthood, age, and death.
I cannot quite imagine
what comes after that

unless

the ancient stories tell it
the way it really is;
but still I cling to life
because

that is all there is.

copyright JB 2003

Did I mention???

2005-09-14T21:01:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted for a long time...guess that life has intruded once more into my playtime.

My thoughts still ramble aimlessly through my head; it's just the putting them into place that takes so long, and saps the little energy I have.

Oh, to hell with that! I'm just plain lazy!

And did I mention how disorganized I am? I'll probably do posts for the next few days, and then sometime next year, my brother will mention how long it's been since I blogged, and I'll do it again.

Or maybe this time I'll stick with it.

Did I mention my good intentions?

And so it goes...

2005-09-14T20:57:00.000-05:00

Aimless

Absent Friends

2005-09-14T20:48:00.000-05:00

Her name was Sarah, and she was once my friend.

Many years ago (more than twenty), I knew her. She and her husband Frank were among the best friends I ever had. Frank was a funny man, a true and natural humorist. Sarah was beautiful, not only in the physical sense, but her spirit as well.

Frank and I had a falling out shortly after he and Sarah divorced; I won't get into details, but when your best friend decides to celebrate his divorce by sleeping with your wife, things go downhill from there.

Sarah and I remained in contact for a while after their divorce; too soon, however, she moved back to her old hometown of Phillips, Wisconsin. And I split with my wife soon thereafter, and began to rebuild my life.

Unfortunately, I found little or no time to keep in touch with any friends that I had made during my ill-fated marriage--and that included Sarah. She was often in my thoughts, even if I never took the time to bring her back into my life.

Fast forward twenty years or so. Two marriages failed, and a third going strong. My wife and I began to vacation 'up north' as we say here in Wisconsin...and the 'up north' area we were in just happened to be within striking distance of Sarah's hometown.

For the past three years, I had asked around in Phillips about Sarah, using her maiden name (which she resumed after her divorce). All to no avail. No one seemed to know her. As it turned out, I was just not asking the right people.

This summer, on my way out of Phillips enroute to home, I stopped to fill up the gas tank on our rented van. On the spur of the moment, I happened to ask the clerk at the station if she knew Sarah's family (I used her maiden name). To my surprise, she replied that she knew the family --and mentioned that Sarah had married a Phillips resident. She told me that her mother still lived in Phillips, and looked up the phone number for me.

I thanked her, and remarked that I was looking forward to getting in touch with Sarah. She asked me to wait, and called out to her co-worker, and asked if she knew Sarah G.

To my dismay, the worker replied that she did--and that she had died earlier this year.

Numbly, I thanked them, and I went back out to the van. All the way home, my thoughts revolved around Sarah, and the unusual grief that I felt at hearing of her death.

Perhaps it was my own mortality that I felt at the point; perhaps it was the thought that I had lost yet another absent friend. Regardless of what it was, I resolved to never put off contacting someone who was in my thoughts again--because if I did, it might just be too late.

I am old enough now to realize that I am not going to live forever. If I ever thought that, I was just being foolish. More often now, I am faced with mortality--the death of a friend, a family member, even the death of a friend's child.

None of us live forever, and today is all we have. Tomorrow always comes, but not for all of us. I could be dead tomorrow--or one of my friends could be.

So I have resolved to live today, and make the most of what life I have left, be it a day or fifty years. I have friends and loved ones who I need to be in touch with more often, with more quality, if for no other reason than the fact that if I die tomorrow, the memories that people have of me are my only real immortality. As long as someone remembers me, I am not truly gone.

And I want to be remembered. Fondly, if possible.

But remembered nonetheless.

And so it goes...

Singin' in the Rain

2004-06-13T07:13:00.000-05:00

The skies are dark and threatening,
clouds hang like darkling shrouds,
Sparks and bolts of lightning,
wend their way 'cross thunderclouds.

Drops of rain like balls of glass
fall myriad to the earth
flooding rivers, drowning grass
but giving plant-life birth.

Can you tell that rain is on my mind? It's the only type of weather that we've been able to rely on this spring and summer, with Wisconsin cities reporting anywhere from 3 to 4 times the normal rainfall for May 2004, and June looking to be about the same.

Guess I can't complain, except for: not being able to mow my lawn (which, like the rainfall, is growing 3 to 4 times faster than usual--I only had to mow 4 times all last summer, but more than once a week this summer); not being able to hang my clothes on the line (since our dryer picked the wettest season in years to quit on us); not being able to clean the eavestroughs since it's always raining.

Did I mention that it's been raining?

Sigh.

Eyes like raisins...

2004-05-22T16:00:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been so tired that you just wanted to pluck those exhausted, dried out orbs that serve you as eyes right from their sockets and drop them--plunk! splash!--into a glass of cool water?

If so, then you know roughly how I feel right now. Been a long day, preceded by a long night, and a long day before that.

Mostly my fault, 'cuz I find myself doing things other than sleeping, when sleeping is what I need to do most.

But, Hell...if one sleeps 8 hours every day and lives to be 75, then one has slept for 25 YEARS!!!

Unbelievable. What a waste of time.

I want a solar cell and eye splashers to revive me, not some stupid necessity that I wasn't consulted about.

G'night.

Feeling like Noah...

2004-05-21T16:07:00.000-05:00

It has been raining, and raining...and did I mention all the rain? I'm sick of it. Yeah, my wildflower garden looks better than it has in years, my lawn is a beautiful emerald green, and my grapevines are growing like crazy, but seriously--I miss the sun!

Of course, even a sunny day has its downside. Things like mowing that emerald green lawn, trimming around the fence (which, by the way, is only half-painted because of the damned rain!), and other outdoor activities. I have a deck that needs chemical cleaning and sealing...which require at least 3 dry days in a row. Like that's gonna happen!

Rain. Wet, dreary, and a procrastinator's dream.

Excess Baggage

2004-05-14T16:40:00.000-05:00

Said goodbye to our old satellite Dish today...a friend was getting rid of his cable tv, and wanted to go Dish, and since we recently upgraded, and I didn't really need an unused Dish attached to my house, I passed it along...receiver included. One less thing hanging around the house.

I currently own a 486 level IBM with monitor; a Celeron 400 system; an Athlon 950 system; four 50 mhz Apple notebooks; a Compaq p133 laptop; my original p166 Gateway (overclocked to 200 mhz); and a little portable, non-functioning, indestructible handheld. On the back of my den door I have hanging approx. 40 various cables. My Palm sits on my desk ready to use; so does my digital camera, two webcams, three headset mikes, a cordless mouse, a marble mouse (for when the cordless batteries dwindle), an uninstalled USB 2.0 card, an uninstalled TV card, a USB hub, a cordless telephone, and a camcorder.

Why do I need all this stuff?

That's a rhetorical question. I'm a guy. It's what we do. :-)

Early evening...

2004-05-13T19:24:00.000-05:00

Nice evening...no rain, a little sunshine, and some beautiful, cotton-candy clouds.

The evening would be complete only if I didn't have to go to work. It's calm and peaceful, and just the way I like it. Cool, with no bugs.

Soon, to sleep. But I have as yet tasks to perform, and so I am off to do them.

Good night.

Morning

2004-05-13T08:28:00.000-05:00

Yes. The sun has risen, and like a vampire returning to his dark lair at dawn, I creep into the silent house upon my return from work, only to sleep the day.

Whatever.

Lost an ebay auction (the damn auction ended at 4 a.m., fer Pete's sake!). Still another chance, though.

Raining again this morning, and the clouds and dismal, damp air have set my mood for the day.

I pity those around me.

Watching movies...

2004-05-12T16:41:00.000-05:00

Watching movies is a hobby--an enthusiastic one--of mine. I've seen two theatrical releases in as many days...and both were very good.

VAN HELSING is an excellent effects picture, with a pretty good story line. It also features Kate Beckinsale, which means even if the movie sucked, it would be worth watching :-)

MEAN GIRLS is a fun and unfortunately accurate romp through high school hell. And well worth watching (parents take notes, please).

Too much popcorn in the last two days. Feeling bloated. Going to watch some mindless TV, then off to slumberland B4 work.

Lazy Day After a Day Off...

2004-05-12T12:32:00.000-05:00

Working really sucks sometimes...but only on the days that I'm at work. Even a bad day off is better than a good day at work, and I like the mornings (usually Wednesdays) after I have a night off, mainly because I have the rare luxury of waking up--in the morning--like most of the people on the planet.

Wednesdays are a day when I can get caught up on things around the house--but seldom do--or just laze around thinking about everything I want to get accomplished--but won't.

Lazy days. Highly recommended.