"Crumpets, Cream and Honey..."
Just try finding THIS in the NY Times:
A Lebanese general was ordered arrested Wednesday for appearing in a videotape drinking tea with IDF soldiers who had occupied his south Lebanon barracks during their incursion of the country.
Adnan Daoud was summoned and ordered held for questioning, Interior Minister Ahmed Fatfat said in a statement. Daoud is commanding officer of the 1,000-strong joint police-army force that had positions in southern Lebanon and was based in Marjayoun.
Yeah, I thought so...
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Elvis Is Still Dead
But I'm Feelin' Pretty Good Myself...
For those not paying attention or that otherwise don't care, "The King" died on this day 29 years ago--that would be August 16, 1977.
I almost pulled off that trick Myself last year on this day--what a difference a year makes.
I wasn't really a big Elvis fan, but I did respect how he demonstrated what a poor southern boy could manage to do if he played his cards right and put his mind to it.
At least he didn't do the Jane Fonda, Sally Strouthers, Barbara Streisand psycho-politicalo babble thing like actors and entertainers do today.
From one son of the south to another, I offer a hearty and sincere...R.I.P. Mr. Presley...
For those not paying attention or that otherwise don't care, "The King" died on this day 29 years ago--that would be August 16, 1977.
I almost pulled off that trick Myself last year on this day--what a difference a year makes.
I wasn't really a big Elvis fan, but I did respect how he demonstrated what a poor southern boy could manage to do if he played his cards right and put his mind to it.
At least he didn't do the Jane Fonda, Sally Strouthers, Barbara Streisand psycho-politicalo babble thing like actors and entertainers do today.
From one son of the south to another, I offer a hearty and sincere...R.I.P. Mr. Presley...
You Gotta Laugh...
Or You'll End Up Crying
I've set here watching FOX news most of the day.
They're showing that Dulles bound United Airliner sitting on the Runway at Logan Airport, surrounded by law enforcement and emergency vehicles, with dogs running around sniffing the luggage that is all scattered out on the ground around the airplane.
What kills me is that they're telling two stories on what possibly happened to cause the incident/diversion.
Either:
A. Some woman lost composure in a claustrophobic conniption fit and had to be restrained.
OR...
B. Some woman did "A" above, then was found to be in posession of (gasp) a screwdriver, a jar of Vaseline, and a note with references to a terrorist group. (If it was me, I'd choose WD40 rather than Vaseline.)
I have just one question...
WHICH IS IT...DAMMIT?
Why bother to report BOTH stories instead of waiting until the facts in the story come out?
The media is so STUPID.
So let's get a look at the total costs so far here...
One runway at a major airport closed for 12 hours
Two F-16's (or F-15's) scrambled for escort
About two hundred people wasting their time for at least an extra half day.
99% of the country completely clueless for the duration of the coverage.
This type of crap makes my head spin.
By the way, let me remind you that if you get on an airliner with me with your screwdriver, Vaseline and "scribbled memos to self" and start freaking out or otherwise acting up, the real news story is not going to be about YOUR behavior, it's going to be about ME strangling the life out of your miserable body.
You all have a NICE day now...
I've set here watching FOX news most of the day.
They're showing that Dulles bound United Airliner sitting on the Runway at Logan Airport, surrounded by law enforcement and emergency vehicles, with dogs running around sniffing the luggage that is all scattered out on the ground around the airplane.
What kills me is that they're telling two stories on what possibly happened to cause the incident/diversion.
Either:
A. Some woman lost composure in a claustrophobic conniption fit and had to be restrained.
OR...
B. Some woman did "A" above, then was found to be in posession of (gasp) a screwdriver, a jar of Vaseline, and a note with references to a terrorist group. (If it was me, I'd choose WD40 rather than Vaseline.)
I have just one question...
WHICH IS IT...DAMMIT?
Why bother to report BOTH stories instead of waiting until the facts in the story come out?
The media is so STUPID.
So let's get a look at the total costs so far here...
One runway at a major airport closed for 12 hours
Two F-16's (or F-15's) scrambled for escort
About two hundred people wasting their time for at least an extra half day.
99% of the country completely clueless for the duration of the coverage.
This type of crap makes my head spin.
By the way, let me remind you that if you get on an airliner with me with your screwdriver, Vaseline and "scribbled memos to self" and start freaking out or otherwise acting up, the real news story is not going to be about YOUR behavior, it's going to be about ME strangling the life out of your miserable body.
You all have a NICE day now...
The Insanity Continues
“BUT Officer…it was only a couple of Grenades, an AK-47, and a LITTLE plastic explosive…”
Look at this most recent crap developing in the Middle East, as reported by this morning’s Jerusalem Post:
The IDF will have to resume operations in Lebanon if the expanded United Nations force being assembled does not fulfill its obligation to dismantle Hizbullah, an official in the Prime Minister's Office warned on Tuesday.
Lebanese Prime Minister Fuad Saniora and Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah reportedly reached a deal allowing Hizbullah to keep its weapons but refrain from exhibiting them in public. Israeli officials called the arrangement a violation of UN Security Council Resolution 1701, which passed over the weekend and was approved on Sunday by the cabinet.
I can just hear it--the excuses--now…
“Oh, those are just family heirlooms…Grandpapa’s WWIV artifacts…”
“…those aren’t actually rocket launchers, those are spare pipes for thechurch Mosque organ…”
Imagine the hooplah and uproar if you and I wanted to stockpile a few fun little toys in our basements here in the US, and expected it to be considered legal as long as we didn't try to take them out for a test drive every once in a while?
"...it's not a Abrams Tank, its just a big old bug zapper...and we don't actually plan to use it Mr. Annan..."
I swear an oath on the bible (the King James Version is my preference) that I’m trying my very best to limit the tone of my political commentary these days because I know that I am apt to offend some readers here, and in my third year of blogging I’m trying to get my readership up, BUT…
…if my pointing out of the feckless, obtuse, incompetent, useless (pick another five words here) results that are already coming about after only TWO DAYS as a result of the passage of UN Resolution 1701 calling for a “cease fire” between Lebanon and Israel is any example…
PREPARE TO BE SEVERELY OFFENDED IF YOU KEEP STOPING BACK BY HERE!!!
Look at this most recent crap developing in the Middle East, as reported by this morning’s Jerusalem Post:
The IDF will have to resume operations in Lebanon if the expanded United Nations force being assembled does not fulfill its obligation to dismantle Hizbullah, an official in the Prime Minister's Office warned on Tuesday.
Lebanese Prime Minister Fuad Saniora and Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah reportedly reached a deal allowing Hizbullah to keep its weapons but refrain from exhibiting them in public. Israeli officials called the arrangement a violation of UN Security Council Resolution 1701, which passed over the weekend and was approved on Sunday by the cabinet.
I can just hear it--the excuses--now…
“Oh, those are just family heirlooms…Grandpapa’s WWIV artifacts…”
“…those aren’t actually rocket launchers, those are spare pipes for the
Imagine the hooplah and uproar if you and I wanted to stockpile a few fun little toys in our basements here in the US, and expected it to be considered legal as long as we didn't try to take them out for a test drive every once in a while?
"...it's not a Abrams Tank, its just a big old bug zapper...and we don't actually plan to use it Mr. Annan..."
I swear an oath on the bible (the King James Version is my preference) that I’m trying my very best to limit the tone of my political commentary these days because I know that I am apt to offend some readers here, and in my third year of blogging I’m trying to get my readership up, BUT…
…if my pointing out of the feckless, obtuse, incompetent, useless (pick another five words here) results that are already coming about after only TWO DAYS as a result of the passage of UN Resolution 1701 calling for a “cease fire” between Lebanon and Israel is any example…
PREPARE TO BE SEVERELY OFFENDED IF YOU KEEP STOPING BACK BY HERE!!!
My Own Million Dollar Answer
I Am A Genius
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I feel like I can finally rest easy this evening.
I've solved my own personal dilemma regarding the so called "airport security" issue(s) which we each face to a varying degree each and every day.
I thought about it for a while, and then it occurred to me that the solution was quite simple.
The next time I have to travel by Delta or AirTran or the other airliner du jour here in the good old US of A, I’ll just go to the airport looking like this:
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I feel like I can finally rest easy this evening.
I've solved my own personal dilemma regarding the so called "airport security" issue(s) which we each face to a varying degree each and every day.
I thought about it for a while, and then it occurred to me that the solution was quite simple.
The next time I have to travel by Delta or AirTran or the other airliner du jour here in the good old US of A, I’ll just go to the airport looking like this:
I should breeze right through security, and they might even let me sit in the third seat in the cockpit if I wield my boxcutter...er...um...play my cards right.
I have to give the folks over at the Al Hannah Website credit for the image of my lovely ensemble of Muslim attire (but that is my real face stuffed in there under the Green Turban.)
Don’t YOU like the idea?
Well then guys, don’t forget to stop by and pick up something for your Concubines or seventy two virgins while preparing to make your way to paradise.
I'll be the guy sitting there signing copies of my BBQ Pork cookbook in the lobby...shouting things like "ALLAH BE PRAISED"...
"GO YOU &%#$*@ YELLOW JACKETS"...
and "ELVIS JUST LEFT THE BUILDING ON A UFO"...
You know...things which someone would say if they have a bad case of "Turette Syndrone".
Then again, you know me...and I don't actually need that kind of excuse...
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Orbital Rotational Velocity…Again
That’s How I Would Describe My Head This Morning
OK, take a look at this story about proposed changes in airport passenger screening in the United Kingdom, then when you are done click over on this link and read this story with the headline saying “Israel Humbled By Arms From Iran.”
Anyone but me notice a common theme here?
I call both stories excellent examples of what I call “liberal and liberal media armchair quarterbacking."
Think about it with me for a minute.
Israel could have fired up their military and bombed and shelled the crap out of the entire country of Lebanon, outflanking Hezbollah in a manner of weeks if not days, but also killing tens or hundreds of thousands of presumably innocent civilians that haveaided and abetted tolerated the “militants” within their midst for the past twenty years.
Dead people would be piled up like cordwood, and Israel would have eliminated Hezbollah, (in the words of Barney Fife—nipped it in the bud), but the NY Times and John Murtha and the two idiot senators from Massachusetts would have crapped their pants and publicly had heart attacks in the process.
The balance of the media and most of the United Nations ambassadors would have gotten out their butter knives, put on their bicycle helmets, and personally escorted Cindy Sheehan’s recently expired corpse to Arlington National Cemetery.
Why?
Because the media and the liberals want no wars to be fought with anything but kid gloves. It’s like handing kids a football and saying “have fun, but don’t go out and score any touchdowns and please don’t tackle anybody in the process of not scoring.”
What the hell?
So there Israel sits this morning, while the Telegraph newspaper laments how they were thwarted by a bunch of freedom fighters and “robin hoods” brandishing BB guns supplied by Iran.
If I were managing things in Israel, I’d be pulling out immediately and aiming my sights on Syria and Iran, but (un)fortunately I’m relegated to safely sitting around drawing and painting and taking pictures of frogs here on the Georgia coast, and my opinion doesn’t matter.
That next story makes me laugh out loud, because even the Brits are spazing out worrying about “profiling” and hurting people’s feelings by selecting young dark skinned Arab men with scraggly beards wearing various forms of household linen fabric on their head for additional screening.
I have an excellently eloquent, simple solution for anyone that might warrant the increased scrutiny of airport personnel and not want to risk having their tender sensibilities offended.
Remember that flying is OPTIONAL—particularly on privately owned airliners?
D-R-I-V-E.
Or if there is a lake or ocean between your home and your travel destination, TAKE A BOAT…preferably your own.
You have my hearty permission to blow IT up and make a somewhat more muted religious statement in the process.
Otherwise, when you present yourself at the security gate with your carry on luggage full of cell phones and “modified” sports drinks, expect to have to remove your sandals, your headgear, and have your flowing gowns patted down because I personally am not averse to being screened in a similar manner and I don’t want to be seen on CNN hanging on a life preserver on a cable under a helicopter being rescued as a result of your wild eyed Jihad efforts.
See, the media and the liberals and the liberal media (I think that I just repeated myself) want us spending our time and money looking for weapons and explosives, not looking for the terrorists that use them, BUT...
The next time something and someone blows up and comes falling out of the sky or smoldering out of a subway system somewhere, the media headlines will be screaming:
"Bush Administration's Efforts thwarted by angry Saudis..."
I'm RIGHT and you know it...Oh..Oh...OH...AHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh........
That will be all, for now…I gotta go take a nap.
OK, take a look at this story about proposed changes in airport passenger screening in the United Kingdom, then when you are done click over on this link and read this story with the headline saying “Israel Humbled By Arms From Iran.”
Anyone but me notice a common theme here?
I call both stories excellent examples of what I call “liberal and liberal media armchair quarterbacking."
Think about it with me for a minute.
Israel could have fired up their military and bombed and shelled the crap out of the entire country of Lebanon, outflanking Hezbollah in a manner of weeks if not days, but also killing tens or hundreds of thousands of presumably innocent civilians that have
Dead people would be piled up like cordwood, and Israel would have eliminated Hezbollah, (in the words of Barney Fife—nipped it in the bud), but the NY Times and John Murtha and the two idiot senators from Massachusetts would have crapped their pants and publicly had heart attacks in the process.
The balance of the media and most of the United Nations ambassadors would have gotten out their butter knives, put on their bicycle helmets, and personally escorted Cindy Sheehan’s recently expired corpse to Arlington National Cemetery.
Why?
Because the media and the liberals want no wars to be fought with anything but kid gloves. It’s like handing kids a football and saying “have fun, but don’t go out and score any touchdowns and please don’t tackle anybody in the process of not scoring.”
What the hell?
So there Israel sits this morning, while the Telegraph newspaper laments how they were thwarted by a bunch of freedom fighters and “robin hoods” brandishing BB guns supplied by Iran.
If I were managing things in Israel, I’d be pulling out immediately and aiming my sights on Syria and Iran, but (un)fortunately I’m relegated to safely sitting around drawing and painting and taking pictures of frogs here on the Georgia coast, and my opinion doesn’t matter.
That next story makes me laugh out loud, because even the Brits are spazing out worrying about “profiling” and hurting people’s feelings by selecting young dark skinned Arab men with scraggly beards wearing various forms of household linen fabric on their head for additional screening.
I have an excellently eloquent, simple solution for anyone that might warrant the increased scrutiny of airport personnel and not want to risk having their tender sensibilities offended.
Remember that flying is OPTIONAL—particularly on privately owned airliners?
D-R-I-V-E.
Or if there is a lake or ocean between your home and your travel destination, TAKE A BOAT…preferably your own.
You have my hearty permission to blow IT up and make a somewhat more muted religious statement in the process.
Otherwise, when you present yourself at the security gate with your carry on luggage full of cell phones and “modified” sports drinks, expect to have to remove your sandals, your headgear, and have your flowing gowns patted down because I personally am not averse to being screened in a similar manner and I don’t want to be seen on CNN hanging on a life preserver on a cable under a helicopter being rescued as a result of your wild eyed Jihad efforts.
See, the media and the liberals and the liberal media (I think that I just repeated myself) want us spending our time and money looking for weapons and explosives, not looking for the terrorists that use them, BUT...
The next time something and someone blows up and comes falling out of the sky or smoldering out of a subway system somewhere, the media headlines will be screaming:
"Bush Administration's Efforts thwarted by angry Saudis..."
I'm RIGHT and you know it...Oh..Oh...OH...AHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh........
That will be all, for now…I gotta go take a nap.
I Told You So
Hezbolla At It Again Still
I mentioned this in my rantings on Sunday, and by Monday night, less than 24 hours after the UN solicated “Cease Fire went into effect, I was proven RIGHT.
Ten rockets and/or mortar rounds were fired into southern Lebanon by the "Cease-Firees" in the north. Israel did not retaliate because as is generally the case, no one was hit. They did have to shoot and kill a half dozen "militants" that approached checkpoints in a threatening manner and refused to put down their weapons.
This can't keep happening, folks, even if the numbers fall down to one or two rockets a day, I expect the UN's blue helmeted "multinational forces" to turn tail and run, and the toothless Lebanese Army folks will probably beat them out of the area if they don't decide to join Hezbolla themselves.
Don't get me wrong here...I hope that somehow a new UN "resolution" will finally be worth the paper and computer screens that it's written on, but then again...
I'm not holding my breath.
I mentioned this in my rantings on Sunday, and by Monday night, less than 24 hours after the UN solicated “Cease Fire went into effect, I was proven RIGHT.
Ten rockets and/or mortar rounds were fired into southern Lebanon by the "Cease-Firees" in the north. Israel did not retaliate because as is generally the case, no one was hit. They did have to shoot and kill a half dozen "militants" that approached checkpoints in a threatening manner and refused to put down their weapons.
This can't keep happening, folks, even if the numbers fall down to one or two rockets a day, I expect the UN's blue helmeted "multinational forces" to turn tail and run, and the toothless Lebanese Army folks will probably beat them out of the area if they don't decide to join Hezbolla themselves.
Don't get me wrong here...I hope that somehow a new UN "resolution" will finally be worth the paper and computer screens that it's written on, but then again...
I'm not holding my breath.
Monday, August 14, 2006
A Man's Gotta Do What A Man's Gotta Do
For ME, That Would Seem To Sometimes Just Be Totally Useless--And I'm Good At It...
After spending most of last night doing research regarding the Federal Grant programs I'm interested in for the City of Brunswick and for some Mediterranean recipes I'm interested in cooking for the other blog, I was rousted out of bed at about 8:30 AM this morning by a phone call.
It was my buddy, Bryan Thompson, Mayor of Brunswick on the line.
While I think that it's pretty cool to be on a first name basis with the local politicians, I generally find the hours around lunchtime and thereafter to be considerably more conducive when it comes to me having a coherent conversation.
I managed to ramble through the ten minute dialogue, and the bottom line is that the City isn’t quite ready to apply for grant funding on the behalf of our “K-Street Tree Project”, and they’ve lost their person that was responsible for doing grants and didn’t want me to go off half cocked by myself, Sooooooo….
We will miss the August 14th deadline here in a few minutes.
The good news is, they still like the park idea and the tree idea and we have yet another meeting scheduled for early September at City Hall.
I have to admit that I was both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
To celebrate, I cooked a hearty Mexican dinner for Pat and I, then Pat lounged on the sofa and in the bed while I wandered down to “Open Mike” night at a local tavern.
A little singing, a little harmonica playing, and a little ego enhancing applause ensued.
Dang I’m getting rusty in the harp playing department, I need to start practicing again now that I might have an opportunity to play regularly.
After spending most of last night doing research regarding the Federal Grant programs I'm interested in for the City of Brunswick and for some Mediterranean recipes I'm interested in cooking for the other blog, I was rousted out of bed at about 8:30 AM this morning by a phone call.
It was my buddy, Bryan Thompson, Mayor of Brunswick on the line.
While I think that it's pretty cool to be on a first name basis with the local politicians, I generally find the hours around lunchtime and thereafter to be considerably more conducive when it comes to me having a coherent conversation.
I managed to ramble through the ten minute dialogue, and the bottom line is that the City isn’t quite ready to apply for grant funding on the behalf of our “K-Street Tree Project”, and they’ve lost their person that was responsible for doing grants and didn’t want me to go off half cocked by myself, Sooooooo….
We will miss the August 14th deadline here in a few minutes.
The good news is, they still like the park idea and the tree idea and we have yet another meeting scheduled for early September at City Hall.
I have to admit that I was both disappointed and relieved at the same time.
To celebrate, I cooked a hearty Mexican dinner for Pat and I, then Pat lounged on the sofa and in the bed while I wandered down to “Open Mike” night at a local tavern.
A little singing, a little harmonica playing, and a little ego enhancing applause ensued.
Dang I’m getting rusty in the harp playing department, I need to start practicing again now that I might have an opportunity to play regularly.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Just In Case You Wanted To Know
I'm Getting Even Crankier...
For some technical reason, I can't make the image I've done with Photoshop upload early this morning, so I'll have to paraphrase the new sign I'm considering hanging over at the pool house.
I'm going to make a nice stencil here in the condo, run out in the middle of the night to paint the current sign solid white, then paint in big bold red letters the following message:
"Welcome to our neighborhood pool.
Please feel free to enjoy it...
then leave it like you found it...
DAMMIT.
And by the way...any unattended children,
under the age of twenty, will be
captured and sold as slaves."
I think that should settle things quite well...
UPDATE: Here's My Sign
For some technical reason, I can't make the image I've done with Photoshop upload early this morning, so I'll have to paraphrase the new sign I'm considering hanging over at the pool house.
I'm going to make a nice stencil here in the condo, run out in the middle of the night to paint the current sign solid white, then paint in big bold red letters the following message:
"Welcome to our neighborhood pool.
Please feel free to enjoy it...
then leave it like you found it...
DAMMIT.
And by the way...any unattended children,
under the age of twenty, will be
captured and sold as slaves."
I think that should settle things quite well...
UPDATE: Here's My Sign
The Wussy-fication Of The World
And Society In General…
Remember back in the good old days when, if one Man insulted another Man or his Wife or Mother or his Sister or otherwise stepped across the line of civility, that said insulted man could proceed tokick the ever loving shit out of slap the offender across the face with a glove--thereby challenging said offender to a life or death duel.
Pistols at twenty paces…
I’m not quite old enough to fall into that category of humans because I’m apparently a little more that a hundred and one half years too young to participate in and/or have witnessed that process, but a couple of famous Americans named Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton come to mind as one of the last participants in those proceedings.
I seem to remember reading about that little duel in school thirty years ago…the editors of the NY Times would pee theirpanties pants today over such goings on...
In the centuries before we here in America wrote a Constitution and processed the Bill of Rights and the ensuing legal rhetoric, men were men, and the men were quickly separated from the boys, unless they lived in San Francisco or today, apparently, in New Haven Connecticut.
And I almost forgot to mention the United Nations building located in the Turtle Bay region of New York City.
That’s because TODAY, people called DIPLOMATS, augmented by LAWYERS and otheridiots CULTURAL THEORITICIANS which think that they can verbalize and negotiate their way out of the way of the actions of terrorists and bigots like those found living all over the middle east, want to TALK and NEGOTIATE and APPEASE the perceived wounds of HEATHEN ASSHOLES.
I guaran-damn-tee-you that Israel will regret the day that they accept the currentpile of dog crap agreement that was “negotiated” on their behalf by the so-called United Nations, and I’ll be happy to remind you of this prediction next week when the next rocket lands in northern Israel or the next swarthy, wild eyed suicide bomber takes out a few dozen teens enjoying a coffee at a Wi-fi hotspot in Tel Aviv.
I still say NUKE ‘EM…
Remember back in the good old days when, if one Man insulted another Man or his Wife or Mother or his Sister or otherwise stepped across the line of civility, that said insulted man could proceed to
Pistols at twenty paces…
I’m not quite old enough to fall into that category of humans because I’m apparently a little more that a hundred and one half years too young to participate in and/or have witnessed that process, but a couple of famous Americans named Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton come to mind as one of the last participants in those proceedings.
I seem to remember reading about that little duel in school thirty years ago…the editors of the NY Times would pee their
In the centuries before we here in America wrote a Constitution and processed the Bill of Rights and the ensuing legal rhetoric, men were men, and the men were quickly separated from the boys, unless they lived in San Francisco or today, apparently, in New Haven Connecticut.
And I almost forgot to mention the United Nations building located in the Turtle Bay region of New York City.
That’s because TODAY, people called DIPLOMATS, augmented by LAWYERS and other
I guaran-damn-tee-you that Israel will regret the day that they accept the current
I still say NUKE ‘EM…
Living Takes A Lot Of Work
While Dieing Seems To Be Quite Easy...
LAST year, about this time, I was trying to convince myself that I was healthy enough to go get on an airplane and travel over to visit my mom in Alabama for a week.
LAST year, about a day later, I was taking a sixty mile ride in an ambulance, on my way to being admitted to a hospital in South Alabama.
LAST year, about this time, my family was learning that I was deathly ill with massive blood clotting in my kidneys, liver, and intestines--courtesy of an inherited blood disorder that tries to make my blood turn into something with the consistency of Jello about every four or five years.
LAST year about this time, I was in a drug induced coma of pain and delirium, and my Mother, Sister, and girlfriend Pat were in tears around me and my agony, prepared from me to die.
THEN suddenly, and without explanation, God's hand reached down and healed me and relieved my suffering.
FIFTEEN days later--after six days in intensive care and nine days in a regular room without much of a view, they sent me home a with pant load of prescriptions and a bill for about ninety thousand dollars.
I honestly can't say that I deserved it (the recovery, not the bill), because the effort might have been better spent on someone much more worthy than I, but in the end--I have to admit that I was willing to take the offer.
AND...
SINCE my sudden and miraculous recovery, I have sincerely spent most of my time trying to not waste the opportunity.
THIS year I'm still here and stronger than I've been in at least a decade.
THIS year I'm still working as a volunteer in the community to help those that have fewer blessings than myself.
THIS year I'm trying to be a better son, brother and life partner that I have been in the days and years before, recognizing that each and every day I live is a privelege and a GIFT, and I can't always count on having another one.
AFTER all, when it is all said and done, all there is is just TODAY...
AND...I hope that yours is a good one...
LAST year, about this time, I was trying to convince myself that I was healthy enough to go get on an airplane and travel over to visit my mom in Alabama for a week.
LAST year, about a day later, I was taking a sixty mile ride in an ambulance, on my way to being admitted to a hospital in South Alabama.
LAST year, about this time, my family was learning that I was deathly ill with massive blood clotting in my kidneys, liver, and intestines--courtesy of an inherited blood disorder that tries to make my blood turn into something with the consistency of Jello about every four or five years.
LAST year about this time, I was in a drug induced coma of pain and delirium, and my Mother, Sister, and girlfriend Pat were in tears around me and my agony, prepared from me to die.
THEN suddenly, and without explanation, God's hand reached down and healed me and relieved my suffering.
FIFTEEN days later--after six days in intensive care and nine days in a regular room without much of a view, they sent me home a with pant load of prescriptions and a bill for about ninety thousand dollars.
I honestly can't say that I deserved it (the recovery, not the bill), because the effort might have been better spent on someone much more worthy than I, but in the end--I have to admit that I was willing to take the offer.
AND...
SINCE my sudden and miraculous recovery, I have sincerely spent most of my time trying to not waste the opportunity.
THIS year I'm still here and stronger than I've been in at least a decade.
THIS year I'm still working as a volunteer in the community to help those that have fewer blessings than myself.
THIS year I'm trying to be a better son, brother and life partner that I have been in the days and years before, recognizing that each and every day I live is a privelege and a GIFT, and I can't always count on having another one.
AFTER all, when it is all said and done, all there is is just TODAY...
AND...I hope that yours is a good one...
Saturday, August 12, 2006
It's 97 Degrees Outside
With A Heat Index of 106...
OK, I'm going to do my duty and wander out to the swimming pool now--newspaper in hand.
I just may sweat through the front page before I get there.
If you don't hear from me again by midnight, would someone please call 911 or the Coast Guard or OSHA or something...I'll probably be the wrinkled bloated mass conspicuously found laying on the bottom...
of the SHALLOW end...
Correction:
Oh well, while I wasn't looking a nice little thunderstorm formed over the marsh to the west and is in the process of blowing across the island now.
I guess now that I'll read my paper on the sofa and watch the birdseed debris get washed off of the patio...
OK, I'm going to do my duty and wander out to the swimming pool now--newspaper in hand.
I just may sweat through the front page before I get there.
If you don't hear from me again by midnight, would someone please call 911 or the Coast Guard or OSHA or something...I'll probably be the wrinkled bloated mass conspicuously found laying on the bottom...
of the SHALLOW end...
Correction:
Oh well, while I wasn't looking a nice little thunderstorm formed over the marsh to the west and is in the process of blowing across the island now.
I guess now that I'll read my paper on the sofa and watch the birdseed debris get washed off of the patio...
Friday, August 11, 2006
Say That You Care
Send A Free Card To A Soldier...
How about going to this Xerox website: http://www.letssaythanks.com/Home.html
and clicking on a couple of things there
In doing so, you'd be sending a Thank You note to one of our vets overseas.
Just in case you don't know and have never been out of the country in the military ( I actually have), it really sucks not getting any mail--even junk mail--and a card would be a nice pick-me-up for someone living in a tent or on a ship with a bunch of other sweaty guys and gals.
Just a thought...
How about going to this Xerox website: http://www.letssaythanks.com/Home.html
and clicking on a couple of things there
In doing so, you'd be sending a Thank You note to one of our vets overseas.
Just in case you don't know and have never been out of the country in the military ( I actually have), it really sucks not getting any mail--even junk mail--and a card would be a nice pick-me-up for someone living in a tent or on a ship with a bunch of other sweaty guys and gals.
Just a thought...
AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
If You’re Stupid, an Idiot, or Otherwise Up to Something…Get Ready To Be Offended
I just opened Yahoo to take a look at my E-mail, and here were the evening's headlines:
• British foil plan to blow up jetliners
• U.S. posts code-red alert; bans liquids
• Passengers can expect double screening
• New Orleans residents frayed by stress
• More Indian states ban colas over pesticides
• 'Night-eating syndrome' risky for diabetics
• Dixie Chicks skip Deep South on latest tour
Go read each of the stories, then come back and let's have a little chat if you have the time.
Are you back so soon?
I'm sorry, but I think that finally, after years of threats and predictions, upon reading these stories, that my head may actually EXPLODE.
Why?
Well, let’s examine this listing of so-called “News Stories” for a moment…shall we, and let me show you what I mean.
First there is “British foil pan to blow up jetliners”
Simple enough, we’ve all been bombarded with the story and its details all day Thursday.
Then things go down hill from there, however.
“U.S. posts code-red alert; bans liquids…”
Like I’m going to jump on ASA (the Delta Connection) going from here to Atlanta or from Jacksonville to Orlando with a specimen bottle full of nitro, jump up, yell ALLAH BE ‘DA MAN, and ignite myself and the aforementioned bottle with my cigarette lighter.
What kills me is the next headline…”Passengers can expect double screening”
Yeah, Riiiight, let not one…but two mindless morons that are prevented by the PC police and government mandate from double checking young towel head clad Muslim males have me touching my toes and doing endoschopic exams along with my middle aged girlfriend and my MOTHER, before we all board the airplane.
What a complete and total waste of time and energy.
Try stopping this maneuver…I’LL be the bottle…I’ll turn myself into a human flamethrower.
I’ll just drink the nitroglycerin, rip out a box of ‘strike anywhere matches”, and pee a giant flaming stream into the aircraft’s cockpit and onto the boarding ramp as a personal expression of my lack of respect for the entire process that the Anglo/American public is being put though while our government officials should be spending time and money looking for YOUNG ARAB MEN THAT HAVE BEEN BRAINWASHED INTO BECOMING TERRORISTS.
"Just leave your breast pumps and infant children at home and everything will be AOK"
Next we have the “New Orleans residents frayed by stress…” story...take a look at that BS....
I say Screw the New Orleans residents...at least the ones that are still complaining on the evening news--we’ve tossed billions in cash and wasted tons of newsprint and ink on their sorry asses, it’s time that they stood up and got on with life.
Now we come to “More Indian states ban Colas over pesticides…”
Three states previously imposed bans similar to the one in Karnataka after the Delhi-based Centre for Science and Environment (CSE) said it had found an average pesticide residue of 11.85 parts per billion in 57 samples of Coca-Cola and PepsiCo drinks produced in 12 states.
Those pesticide levels are 24 times higher than limits agreed, but not yet enforced, by the Bureau of Indian Standards.
"There are lots of reports which prove that these drinks have certain ingredients that are harmful to the human body," Kerala's chief minister, V.S. Achuthanandan, told reporters after a cabinet meeting approved the ban.
Last week, the Indian units of the two beverage companies said their drinks were safe and they held consumer safety paramount.
I don’t know about you, but I personally have a tolerance level of 0% pesticide in the soft drinks which I drink. In fact, I add alcohol as a disinfectant to almost everything I drink—just to be certain that when I die, that I’ll die of something that I chose to die from.
Now we come to “Night eating syndrome risky for diabetics.”
I think that this headline single handedly proves that not only is the media stupid, but most readers are stupid.
“Night Eating Syndrone?”
What the heck Is that…and how the heck does one get it…let alone diagnosis it?
When I was in my twenties, I guess that you could say that I had “Tail Chasing Syndrome.”
Then, in my thirties, I had “cash chasing syndrome” or possibly “running away from the tail that I had caught syndrome.”
Now I have “Syndrome syndrome.”
I guess that you could say that I'm my own worst enemy.
Finally, the last headline mentions that the DixieTwits Chicks are skipping the “deep south” on their latest concert tour.
Isn’t that sorta like a Professional Hockey team skipping cities in Canada during their season?
Yes, I thought so....so like I said earlier...
AHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAA
I just opened Yahoo to take a look at my E-mail, and here were the evening's headlines:
• British foil plan to blow up jetliners
• U.S. posts code-red alert; bans liquids
• Passengers can expect double screening
• New Orleans residents frayed by stress
• More Indian states ban colas over pesticides
• 'Night-eating syndrome' risky for diabetics
• Dixie Chicks skip Deep South on latest tour
Go read each of the stories, then come back and let's have a little chat if you have the time.
Are you back so soon?
I'm sorry, but I think that finally, after years of threats and predictions, upon reading these stories, that my head may actually EXPLODE.
Why?
Well, let’s examine this listing of so-called “News Stories” for a moment…shall we, and let me show you what I mean.
First there is “British foil pan to blow up jetliners”
Simple enough, we’ve all been bombarded with the story and its details all day Thursday.
Then things go down hill from there, however.
“U.S. posts code-red alert; bans liquids…”
Like I’m going to jump on ASA (the Delta Connection) going from here to Atlanta or from Jacksonville to Orlando with a specimen bottle full of nitro, jump up, yell ALLAH BE ‘DA MAN, and ignite myself and the aforementioned bottle with my cigarette lighter.
What kills me is the next headline…”Passengers can expect double screening”
Yeah, Riiiight, let not one…but two mindless morons that are prevented by the PC police and government mandate from double checking young towel head clad Muslim males have me touching my toes and doing endoschopic exams along with my middle aged girlfriend and my MOTHER, before we all board the airplane.
What a complete and total waste of time and energy.
Try stopping this maneuver…I’LL be the bottle…I’ll turn myself into a human flamethrower.
I’ll just drink the nitroglycerin, rip out a box of ‘strike anywhere matches”, and pee a giant flaming stream into the aircraft’s cockpit and onto the boarding ramp as a personal expression of my lack of respect for the entire process that the Anglo/American public is being put though while our government officials should be spending time and money looking for YOUNG ARAB MEN THAT HAVE BEEN BRAINWASHED INTO BECOMING TERRORISTS.
"Just leave your breast pumps and infant children at home and everything will be AOK"
Next we have the “New Orleans residents frayed by stress…” story...take a look at that BS....
I say Screw the New Orleans residents...at least the ones that are still complaining on the evening news--we’ve tossed billions in cash and wasted tons of newsprint and ink on their sorry asses, it’s time that they stood up and got on with life.
Now we come to “More Indian states ban Colas over pesticides…”
Three states previously imposed bans similar to the one in Karnataka after the Delhi-based Centre for Science and Environment (CSE) said it had found an average pesticide residue of 11.85 parts per billion in 57 samples of Coca-Cola and PepsiCo drinks produced in 12 states.
Those pesticide levels are 24 times higher than limits agreed, but not yet enforced, by the Bureau of Indian Standards.
"There are lots of reports which prove that these drinks have certain ingredients that are harmful to the human body," Kerala's chief minister, V.S. Achuthanandan, told reporters after a cabinet meeting approved the ban.
Last week, the Indian units of the two beverage companies said their drinks were safe and they held consumer safety paramount.
I don’t know about you, but I personally have a tolerance level of 0% pesticide in the soft drinks which I drink. In fact, I add alcohol as a disinfectant to almost everything I drink—just to be certain that when I die, that I’ll die of something that I chose to die from.
Now we come to “Night eating syndrome risky for diabetics.”
I think that this headline single handedly proves that not only is the media stupid, but most readers are stupid.
“Night Eating Syndrone?”
What the heck Is that…and how the heck does one get it…let alone diagnosis it?
When I was in my twenties, I guess that you could say that I had “Tail Chasing Syndrome.”
Then, in my thirties, I had “cash chasing syndrome” or possibly “running away from the tail that I had caught syndrome.”
Now I have “Syndrome syndrome.”
I guess that you could say that I'm my own worst enemy.
Finally, the last headline mentions that the Dixie
Isn’t that sorta like a Professional Hockey team skipping cities in Canada during their season?
Yes, I thought so....so like I said earlier...
AHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Two Years & Counting
Can You Believe What I Started?
Then Let Me say it again...
AS OF TODAY...I'VE DONE NOT ONE...
BUT...
TWO YEARS OF BLOGGING
First there was the one year milestone.
Wooo Hooooooo
Then there was the 10,000 hit milestone.
Yippie Yeeeeeeeee.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, we all got together and got to 20,000 hits, me doing the writing...and YOU doing the readin'.
That was quite special, at least it was for ME.
We'll...guess what y'all?
Today this blog is TWO YEARS OLD.
What do you think of that?
I think that I'll just take the day off, and republish the posting that follows...
Then Let Me say it again...
AS OF TODAY...I'VE DONE NOT ONE...
BUT...
TWO YEARS OF BLOGGING
First there was the one year milestone.
Wooo Hooooooo
Then there was the 10,000 hit milestone.
Yippie Yeeeeeeeee.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, we all got together and got to 20,000 hits, me doing the writing...and YOU doing the readin'.
That was quite special, at least it was for ME.
We'll...guess what y'all?
Today this blog is TWO YEARS OLD.
What do you think of that?
I think that I'll just take the day off, and republish the posting that follows...
NASCAR Hype (Revisited)
My Favorite Posting Of All Time--Slightly Edited--From August 12, 2004
Did I ever mention that I enjoy watching an occasional NASCAR race?
Actually, I’ve followed the sport of stock car racin' since I was a kid in the 1960’s, when it was still in its infancy (by today’s standards,) and guys like Bobby Allison and Richard Petty drove cars that were actually built on the same assembly line beside the ones that parked in your neighbors’ driveway.
Back then the race cars actually looked like the vehicles in the dealers’ showrooms—except for the 600 horsepower engine under the real steel hood, the roll bars, the lack of a back seat, the "STP" & "Hooker Header" stickers on the fenders, and the big numbers plastered on the doors and the roof.
Come to think of it some of our neighbors in south Alabama had all the stickers and the roll bars and no back seat.
I guess you had to be there to understand.
In those days there was very little TV exposure except regionally for the really big races like Daytona and Talladega—the Indy 500 was the only race of any kind regularly televised nationally back then.
If you got north of or west of Tennessee and hooted and hollered and yelled “THREE” in public, no one knew what on earth you were talking about, let alone would they be willing to fight you over whether Dale Earnhart or one of the Allison's clan was the better driver.
Today things are quite different.
Today total strangers will beat your Grandma if she happens to ‘dis their driver in public.
From New Hampshire to California, from Michigan to Homestead Florida, people are fighting in traffic and willingly paying seventy five or more dollars to attend NASCAR races--events that represent probably the most commercialized 6 hours you will ever, ever, ever, endure in a lifetime, with the singular possible exception of Christmas each year.
What really gets me is the TV interviews they do with the drivers and pit crewmembers.
The interviewee is always forced to use the name of sponsors, car owners and other suppliers as every other word in each sentence.
“Thanks Bill, I couldn’t have driven this Ronnie’s Pulpwood Bubba’s Garage Dodge Charger all 500 laps here at the Trojan Condoms Raceway without the help of them super Goodyear tires while quenching my thirst drinking some of that good ‘ole Gatorade sports refresher.”
After each race, the driver finally gets to Victory Lane after tearing up almost all of the grass in sight doing donuts and burn-outs, and when he exits the car, having pulled off a logo adorned helmet the size of a beach ball, he then is forced to put on a baseball cap with some other logo on it.
Then they line up soft drink and sports drink bottles and other consumer products on the roof of the car behind his head and body-less hands and arms appear in the TV picture to force feed him various drinks from prominently labeled bottles to the point he can barely answer the questions being offered by the TV reporter.
I just can't stand to watch...
Imagine if the early explorers like Columbus, Cook, or Byrd were forced to submit to this kind of TV coverage and did interviews and had product sponsors like NASCAR has today?
I know there was no TV back then, but just imagine if there was?
Columbus’ return from the new world could have gone something like this:
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “So tell the viewers, Chris, are you glad to be back here in civilization?”
Columbus: "Well I’ll tell you, Vito, we definitely wouldn’t be here in first today at the Pope Pius IX Marina if it weren’t for the performance of our fine vessils--the Guido's Shipyard Queen Isabella Ragu Spaghetti Beteroulli Olive Oil Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. They just sailed so smoothly."
"Of course, we did loose the Pinta about half way home due to engine failure."
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Engine Failure?"
Columbus: "Yeah, the sails, they blew right off her in a storm, they did…it was really something to see!"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “What about that incident at the midpoint of the trip with the native’s canoe outside the Virgin Islands—are you going to hold a grudge with him on the next excursion to the New World?”
Columbus: “No, I don’t think so, we just love sailing, and things happen when you are going eight or ten knots. This Guido’s Custom Shipyard built fleet of ships just ran right over those itty-bitty dugout canoes—I think that Indian is still swimming home right now. He won’t be no trouble in a year or so when we’re over that way again.”
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “Did you ever think that you and your crew wouldn’t make it back here to Europe?”
Columbus: "No, not at all. We all had every confidence that these Queen Isabella Guido's Shipyard Italian Solid Oak ships and Mercury Vesevius outboard sails had the muscle to keep us in the lead most of the trip and bring us on home safely…but, by the way, there was that one incident when the Indian Chief caught me with his youngest daughter…boy was she ever a hotsie-totsie…"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "A Hotsie-totsie?"
Columbus: "Yes, boy o boy, breasts out to here and legs down to there..."
"Whew wee, I didn’t know if I was going to make it back with my skin intact let alone off that island that night…er, um, never mind…forget what I just said… sorry honey, I'll be right home.”
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Where do you see yourself and your crew going from here, Mr. Columbus?"
Columbus: "Well, you see that there moon up there in the sky?"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "The Moon?"
Columbus: "Yes, well, we’re working with this guy named daVinci, you may have heard of him, on this new kind of ship and boy I tell you, she beats the heck out of the speed and power of these babies we just got off of. We ask the fans to just watch the news in a few hundred years and see what we’re doing."
"It will definitely make your head spin...
It will indeed."
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Well, there you have it ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first…now back to you in the studio in Madrid, Mr. Jennings…"
Did I ever mention that I enjoy watching an occasional NASCAR race?
Actually, I’ve followed the sport of stock car racin' since I was a kid in the 1960’s, when it was still in its infancy (by today’s standards,) and guys like Bobby Allison and Richard Petty drove cars that were actually built on the same assembly line beside the ones that parked in your neighbors’ driveway.
Back then the race cars actually looked like the vehicles in the dealers’ showrooms—except for the 600 horsepower engine under the real steel hood, the roll bars, the lack of a back seat, the "STP" & "Hooker Header" stickers on the fenders, and the big numbers plastered on the doors and the roof.
Come to think of it some of our neighbors in south Alabama had all the stickers and the roll bars and no back seat.
I guess you had to be there to understand.
In those days there was very little TV exposure except regionally for the really big races like Daytona and Talladega—the Indy 500 was the only race of any kind regularly televised nationally back then.
If you got north of or west of Tennessee and hooted and hollered and yelled “THREE” in public, no one knew what on earth you were talking about, let alone would they be willing to fight you over whether Dale Earnhart or one of the Allison's clan was the better driver.
Today things are quite different.
Today total strangers will beat your Grandma if she happens to ‘dis their driver in public.
From New Hampshire to California, from Michigan to Homestead Florida, people are fighting in traffic and willingly paying seventy five or more dollars to attend NASCAR races--events that represent probably the most commercialized 6 hours you will ever, ever, ever, endure in a lifetime, with the singular possible exception of Christmas each year.
What really gets me is the TV interviews they do with the drivers and pit crewmembers.
The interviewee is always forced to use the name of sponsors, car owners and other suppliers as every other word in each sentence.
“Thanks Bill, I couldn’t have driven this Ronnie’s Pulpwood Bubba’s Garage Dodge Charger all 500 laps here at the Trojan Condoms Raceway without the help of them super Goodyear tires while quenching my thirst drinking some of that good ‘ole Gatorade sports refresher.”
After each race, the driver finally gets to Victory Lane after tearing up almost all of the grass in sight doing donuts and burn-outs, and when he exits the car, having pulled off a logo adorned helmet the size of a beach ball, he then is forced to put on a baseball cap with some other logo on it.
Then they line up soft drink and sports drink bottles and other consumer products on the roof of the car behind his head and body-less hands and arms appear in the TV picture to force feed him various drinks from prominently labeled bottles to the point he can barely answer the questions being offered by the TV reporter.
I just can't stand to watch...
Imagine if the early explorers like Columbus, Cook, or Byrd were forced to submit to this kind of TV coverage and did interviews and had product sponsors like NASCAR has today?
I know there was no TV back then, but just imagine if there was?
Columbus’ return from the new world could have gone something like this:
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “So tell the viewers, Chris, are you glad to be back here in civilization?”
Columbus: "Well I’ll tell you, Vito, we definitely wouldn’t be here in first today at the Pope Pius IX Marina if it weren’t for the performance of our fine vessils--the Guido's Shipyard Queen Isabella Ragu Spaghetti Beteroulli Olive Oil Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. They just sailed so smoothly."
"Of course, we did loose the Pinta about half way home due to engine failure."
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Engine Failure?"
Columbus: "Yeah, the sails, they blew right off her in a storm, they did…it was really something to see!"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “What about that incident at the midpoint of the trip with the native’s canoe outside the Virgin Islands—are you going to hold a grudge with him on the next excursion to the New World?”
Columbus: “No, I don’t think so, we just love sailing, and things happen when you are going eight or ten knots. This Guido’s Custom Shipyard built fleet of ships just ran right over those itty-bitty dugout canoes—I think that Indian is still swimming home right now. He won’t be no trouble in a year or so when we’re over that way again.”
Headphone-Clad Announcer: “Did you ever think that you and your crew wouldn’t make it back here to Europe?”
Columbus: "No, not at all. We all had every confidence that these Queen Isabella Guido's Shipyard Italian Solid Oak ships and Mercury Vesevius outboard sails had the muscle to keep us in the lead most of the trip and bring us on home safely…but, by the way, there was that one incident when the Indian Chief caught me with his youngest daughter…boy was she ever a hotsie-totsie…"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "A Hotsie-totsie?"
Columbus: "Yes, boy o boy, breasts out to here and legs down to there..."
"Whew wee, I didn’t know if I was going to make it back with my skin intact let alone off that island that night…er, um, never mind…forget what I just said… sorry honey, I'll be right home.”
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Where do you see yourself and your crew going from here, Mr. Columbus?"
Columbus: "Well, you see that there moon up there in the sky?"
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "The Moon?"
Columbus: "Yes, well, we’re working with this guy named daVinci, you may have heard of him, on this new kind of ship and boy I tell you, she beats the heck out of the speed and power of these babies we just got off of. We ask the fans to just watch the news in a few hundred years and see what we’re doing."
"It will definitely make your head spin...
It will indeed."
Headphone-Clad Announcer: "Well, there you have it ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first…now back to you in the studio in Madrid, Mr. Jennings…"
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Georgians Come To Their Senses
When Will We learn?
I'm quite happy to report that this stupid woman...
I'm quite happy to report that this stupid woman...
That would be Cynthia McKinney...
was again dumped off of the national and world stage by voters in Dekalb County and the balance of the eastern Atlanta suburbs tonight.
In fact, the runoff election wasn't even CLOSE.
Since I live on the Georgia coast rather in EAST Atlanta, I didn't actually have a say in it, but I did vote on four little local candidates in our local runoff election this afternoon.
If I could dance, I would be dancing right now...
Instead, I think that I might just sing a little...
"Blue skys, comin' my way...nuthin' but blue skys..." (you get the picture)
I also feel incredibly sorry for all of you yankees up there in Connecticut, because a whole bunch of you voted against a good man in Joe Lieberman. Zell Miller got out of Georgia Democratic politics when the getting was good, and it would serve some of you right if Mr. Lieberman did the same to you this year.
Let's hear a nice Howard Dean scream "yeeeeeeaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh"
Que up Al Gore next...
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Things I Like To Know
Excess Information...
I think that I've mentioned here before that I'm a bit of what I call...a "weather nerd."
In fact, if I were 18 again, I think that I would seriously consider going to college to become a meteorologist--what with the opportunities and careers offered by the Weather Channel to pop culture idols like Jim Cantori and all of the "Weather Chicks."
I currently subscribe to an e-mail weather alert system run by NOAA (that would be the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration) which keeps me standing on my tiptoes from June to October each year, ready to run like hell away from the nextmajor media event Hurricane if and when it decides to visit us here on the Georgia coast.
Here's a sample of what they sent me this morning:
000
ABNT20 KNHC 080855
TWOAT
TROPICAL WEATHER OUTLOOK
NWS TPC/NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI FL
530 AM EDT TUE AUG 8 2006
FOR THE NORTH ATLANTIC...CARIBBEAN SEA AND THE GULF OF MEXICO...
A WELL-DEFINED AREA OF LOW-PRESSURE CENTERED ABOUT 1075 MILES EAST OF THE WINDWARD ISLANDS IS MOVING WESTWARD AT ABOUT 15 MPH. ALTHOUGH OVERALL ORGANIZATION HAS CHANGED LITTLE...ENVIRONMENTAL CONDITIONS REMAIN MARGINALLY FAVORABLE FOR A TROPICAL DEPRESSION TO POSSIBLY FORM DURING THE NEXT DAY OR SO.
A NEARLY STATIONARY NON-TROPICAL LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM IS LOCATEDABOUT 725 MILES SOUTHWEST OF THE AZORES. SHOWER AND THUNDERSTORMACTIVITY REMAINS DISORGANIZED AND DEVELOPMENT...IF ANY...IS EXPECTED TO BE SLOW TO OCCUR.
A TROPICAL WAVE INTERACTING WITH AN UPPER-LEVEL LOW IS PRODUCINGA LARGE AREA OF CLOUDINESS AND SHOWERS OVER HISPANIOLA...EASTERN CUBA...THE CENTRAL AND SOUTHEASTERN BAHAMAS...AND THE TURKS AND CAICOS. UPPER-LEVEL WINDS ARE UNFAVORABLE FOR ANY SIGNIFICANTDEVELOPMENT OF THIS SYSTEM AS IT MOVES WESTWARD AT 15 TO 20 MPH.
ELSEWHERE...TROPICAL STORM FORMATION IS NOT EXPECTED THROUGHWEDNESDAY.
FORECASTER BROWN/STEWART
For all of the uninformed members of the general public...I will use my expertise to translate:
The GOOD NEWS is that nothing is happening in the tropics, and the bad news is that it took the pointy headed government weasels that long to manage to say so...
Know what I mean?
I think that I've mentioned here before that I'm a bit of what I call...a "weather nerd."
In fact, if I were 18 again, I think that I would seriously consider going to college to become a meteorologist--what with the opportunities and careers offered by the Weather Channel to pop culture idols like Jim Cantori and all of the "Weather Chicks."
I currently subscribe to an e-mail weather alert system run by NOAA (that would be the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration) which keeps me standing on my tiptoes from June to October each year, ready to run like hell away from the next
Here's a sample of what they sent me this morning:
000
ABNT20 KNHC 080855
TWOAT
TROPICAL WEATHER OUTLOOK
NWS TPC/NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI FL
530 AM EDT TUE AUG 8 2006
FOR THE NORTH ATLANTIC...CARIBBEAN SEA AND THE GULF OF MEXICO...
A WELL-DEFINED AREA OF LOW-PRESSURE CENTERED ABOUT 1075 MILES EAST OF THE WINDWARD ISLANDS IS MOVING WESTWARD AT ABOUT 15 MPH. ALTHOUGH OVERALL ORGANIZATION HAS CHANGED LITTLE...ENVIRONMENTAL CONDITIONS REMAIN MARGINALLY FAVORABLE FOR A TROPICAL DEPRESSION TO POSSIBLY FORM DURING THE NEXT DAY OR SO.
A NEARLY STATIONARY NON-TROPICAL LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM IS LOCATEDABOUT 725 MILES SOUTHWEST OF THE AZORES. SHOWER AND THUNDERSTORMACTIVITY REMAINS DISORGANIZED AND DEVELOPMENT...IF ANY...IS EXPECTED TO BE SLOW TO OCCUR.
A TROPICAL WAVE INTERACTING WITH AN UPPER-LEVEL LOW IS PRODUCINGA LARGE AREA OF CLOUDINESS AND SHOWERS OVER HISPANIOLA...EASTERN CUBA...THE CENTRAL AND SOUTHEASTERN BAHAMAS...AND THE TURKS AND CAICOS. UPPER-LEVEL WINDS ARE UNFAVORABLE FOR ANY SIGNIFICANTDEVELOPMENT OF THIS SYSTEM AS IT MOVES WESTWARD AT 15 TO 20 MPH.
ELSEWHERE...TROPICAL STORM FORMATION IS NOT EXPECTED THROUGHWEDNESDAY.
FORECASTER BROWN/STEWART
For all of the uninformed members of the general public...I will use my expertise to translate:
The GOOD NEWS is that nothing is happening in the tropics, and the bad news is that it took the pointy headed government weasels that long to manage to say so...
Know what I mean?
Monday, August 07, 2006
Feeling and Thinking…versus Knowing
The Stupid-a-fication of Society
Suppose I said: “I’m hungry”
A fair enough utterance, I believe.
If you were standing around me and heard my complaint, you might be inclined to offer to dine with me. You might even offer to buy me a cheeseburger, or possibly a bowl of soup or some gumbo.
I'd say a hearty "Thank's so much."
Next, from that experience, you might then be inclined to “FEEL” like cooking for me tomorrow, because you might “THINK” that I’d be hungry again.
And you know what, you’d be RIGHT, except that I might also have already cooked something to eat or have gone somewhere like Wendy's for a bowl of chili or Chick Fillet for a biscuit.
And…
You would also be guilty of making assumptions.
You’d be FEELING like you KNEW what I was going to WANT and NEED, but YOU wouldn’t actually KNOW what I NEEDED or was FEELING because YOU weren’t ME.
Right?
Come on....ADMIT IT...
I think that is the situation that Israel is in today.
The entire population of a fairly recently created county populated by the the decendents of the survivors of one of the greatest genocides in history, is being restrained by the opinions of a bunch of stupid idiots residing in places like the United Nations, our domestic peacenicks, the partisan Democratic party, and various otherthird world countries so-called professional news organizations…people that “FEEL” like they “THINK” that they “KNOW” what to do if they were in Israel’s place.
The only problem is, that they’re not, and most of them never will be.
They drive their $70,000 cars into their $2,000,000 houses and chat with their children on their cell phones at soccer practice and never worry about anything but the Mexicans or the Negro’s working on the adjacent lawn peeing in the flower beds or possibly breaking in and stealing the DVD player and great grand mama’s diamond pendant.
Booo Hoooo Hooooooooooooooooo
I, on the other hand, personally give Israel and their population free rein to take their best shot at who ever and whomever they want to over the next few weeks--perhaps going to the extent of dropping a small nuclear weapon on a piece of uninhabited Syrian or Iranian desert—because I think that that action just might be the best and only ointment that will cure what ails them.
It will also go a long way toward shutting the hell up the idiots in Afghanistan, Iraq, and possibly Saudi Arabia and Egypt.
But then again, that’s just the opinion of one ever graying, ever balding, ever aging Redneck.
That would be none other than…Little old ME...and feel free to quote me on that...
Suppose I said: “I’m hungry”
A fair enough utterance, I believe.
If you were standing around me and heard my complaint, you might be inclined to offer to dine with me. You might even offer to buy me a cheeseburger, or possibly a bowl of soup or some gumbo.
I'd say a hearty "Thank's so much."
Next, from that experience, you might then be inclined to “FEEL” like cooking for me tomorrow, because you might “THINK” that I’d be hungry again.
And you know what, you’d be RIGHT, except that I might also have already cooked something to eat or have gone somewhere like Wendy's for a bowl of chili or Chick Fillet for a biscuit.
And…
You would also be guilty of making assumptions.
You’d be FEELING like you KNEW what I was going to WANT and NEED, but YOU wouldn’t actually KNOW what I NEEDED or was FEELING because YOU weren’t ME.
Right?
Come on....ADMIT IT...
I think that is the situation that Israel is in today.
The entire population of a fairly recently created county populated by the the decendents of the survivors of one of the greatest genocides in history, is being restrained by the opinions of a bunch of stupid idiots residing in places like the United Nations, our domestic peacenicks, the partisan Democratic party, and various other
The only problem is, that they’re not, and most of them never will be.
They drive their $70,000 cars into their $2,000,000 houses and chat with their children on their cell phones at soccer practice and never worry about anything but the Mexicans or the Negro’s working on the adjacent lawn peeing in the flower beds or possibly breaking in and stealing the DVD player and great grand mama’s diamond pendant.
Booo Hoooo Hooooooooooooooooo
I, on the other hand, personally give Israel and their population free rein to take their best shot at who ever and whomever they want to over the next few weeks--perhaps going to the extent of dropping a small nuclear weapon on a piece of uninhabited Syrian or Iranian desert—because I think that that action just might be the best and only ointment that will cure what ails them.
It will also go a long way toward shutting the hell up the idiots in Afghanistan, Iraq, and possibly Saudi Arabia and Egypt.
But then again, that’s just the opinion of one ever graying, ever balding, ever aging Redneck.
That would be none other than…Little old ME...and feel free to quote me on that...
English For Engineers
Or Is It More Likely...A Word For The Wise?
Have I ever mentioned that I have a love hate relationship with languages in general, but specifically with my own language—the ENGLISH language?
Dang it all…but what moron(s) or imbecile(s) made up these rules of spelling and grammar in the first place anyway?
“I” before “E”, except after “C”, or when it sound’s like Ayyyyyyy…Crap like that, you get the gist of my complaint.
How are you to keep up with it all, particularly when they keep changing the rules over time?
If English wasn’t bad enough, I was forced to take a year of Spanish back in high school and I hated every minute of it…concatenating verbs and such…
Why the heck should you make the VERB refer to the sex of theoffender person performing the action in the first place?
Either THEY did THIS or THEY did THAT.
What ever was “did”, and who ever “did” it, it was still “done” in the end…weren’t wasn’t it?
In my book, tossing in a few “he’s” or “she’s” or “it’s” into the conversation should be good enough without having to modify the rest of the sentence along the way.
In college at Georgia Tech I managed to pretty much avoid English class because my engineering curriculum emphasized numbers over words, although the words that were used to describe the numbers and even the curriculum were sometimes beyond belief.
Things like Computational Fluid Dynamics, Magneto hydrodynamics, Thermodynamics…I have to admit that I was almost completely “dynamics out” by the end of my third year of college…and I haven’t even mentioned the ultimate dirty word…
C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S
Five quarters worth, at five quarter hours per quarter.
Then if that wasn’t enough, they hit you with something called “Differential Equations”, and if you didn’t get your Calculus studies right, you were absolutely DOOMED in “Diff Eq” as we liked to call it.
Then there were classes like Statics, Dynamics, Deformable Bodies, Heat Transfer, and Materials Science, all specifically designed to make you want to quit school and move back home to work at the local convenience store or “fillin’ station.” No matter what they called the class, when it was all said and done, after the second year it was all still…
C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S
You absolutely, positively, could not get away from the stuff.
I still have nightmares about Calculus and Calculus books.
Since that time, however, I have managed to make amends with the English language and the literature that is produced by its use.
Take this blog, for instance.
Instead of writing “Esto es mi blog, lo adora o lo sale”, I just pound out the words “This is my blog, love it or leave it” on my keyboard.
Seems simple enough today.
I’m finally pretty comfortable within my native verbiage, although I could be found dieing a slow death if it weren’t for spell-check in the old word processor.
I love to do Google searches to find the definitions of words that I missed by not going to graduate school or otherwise managed to bypass along the way in my technical education, and I’m intrigued with the idea that some languages don’t have direct translations for words or concepts (usually expressed by groups of words).
At the same time, words like LOVE in English have multiple translations in Latin and the other ancient and romantic languages.
Recently I’ve been publishing and emphasizing what I call “million dollar” words that expressed my opinion of various world events or our local “community theater companies” and "newspapers."
Instead of cursing at people, things, and organizations, my latest form of assault is to describe them with carefully chosen words…
Words which they don’t understand or know the meaning of.
You might have seen them here before…
Words like:
Feckless \FEK-lis\, adjective:
a. Ineffective; having no real worth or purpose.
b. Worthless; irresponsible; generally incompetent and ineffectual.
Obtuse \ob-tuse\, adjective:
a. lacking quickness of perception or intellect.
b. Characterized by a lack of intelligence or sensitivity: an obtuse remark.
c. Not distinctly felt: an obtuse pain.
Those are a couple of my current favorites.
That all said, I now come back to my original point—My "Word or Words of the Day."
This will be a semi-regular posting here on the blog for at least the short term and actually, instead of being “Word or Words of the Day,” it will more likely be “Word or Words of the WEEK.”
So now, if I may I have a Drum roll please....
This week’s "Word or Words of the Week"...................dddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Non Sequitur \non SEQ u i tur\, noun:
a. An inference or conclusion that does not follow from the premises or evidence.
b. A statement that does not follow logically from what preceded it.
Here’s an excellent example of a Non Sequitur:
1. If A then B. (e.g. If I am in Tokyo, I am in Japan.)
2. Not A. (e.g. I am not in Tokyo.)
3. Therefore, not B. (e.g. Therefore, I am not in Japan.)
You see, even if the speaker is not in Tokyo, they could be anywhere else in Japan.
It is my assertion that many journalists and most politicians suffer from a bad case of Non Sequitur each and every day of their lives.
I also believe that many of our citizens that will be voting this week in the runoff elections suffer from this same form of mutated logic.
Barely anyone will vote in the runoffs, and when the 50% of the elligable voters that manage to drag themselves to the voting booth in November finally get there, they will already have let the wild eyed partisans and the idiots suffering from a bad case of "non sequitur" pick the candidates which are on the ballot.
I, personally, aspire to try to avoid that affliction.
Just in case you were wondering...
Have I ever mentioned that I have a love hate relationship with languages in general, but specifically with my own language—the ENGLISH language?
Dang it all…but what moron(s) or imbecile(s) made up these rules of spelling and grammar in the first place anyway?
“I” before “E”, except after “C”, or when it sound’s like Ayyyyyyy…Crap like that, you get the gist of my complaint.
How are you to keep up with it all, particularly when they keep changing the rules over time?
If English wasn’t bad enough, I was forced to take a year of Spanish back in high school and I hated every minute of it…concatenating verbs and such…
Why the heck should you make the VERB refer to the sex of the
Either THEY did THIS or THEY did THAT.
What ever was “did”, and who ever “did” it, it was still “done” in the end…
In my book, tossing in a few “he’s” or “she’s” or “it’s” into the conversation should be good enough without having to modify the rest of the sentence along the way.
In college at Georgia Tech I managed to pretty much avoid English class because my engineering curriculum emphasized numbers over words, although the words that were used to describe the numbers and even the curriculum were sometimes beyond belief.
Things like Computational Fluid Dynamics, Magneto hydrodynamics, Thermodynamics…I have to admit that I was almost completely “dynamics out” by the end of my third year of college…and I haven’t even mentioned the ultimate dirty word…
C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S
Five quarters worth, at five quarter hours per quarter.
Then if that wasn’t enough, they hit you with something called “Differential Equations”, and if you didn’t get your Calculus studies right, you were absolutely DOOMED in “Diff Eq” as we liked to call it.
Then there were classes like Statics, Dynamics, Deformable Bodies, Heat Transfer, and Materials Science, all specifically designed to make you want to quit school and move back home to work at the local convenience store or “fillin’ station.” No matter what they called the class, when it was all said and done, after the second year it was all still…
C-A-L-C-U-L-U-S
You absolutely, positively, could not get away from the stuff.
I still have nightmares about Calculus and Calculus books.
Since that time, however, I have managed to make amends with the English language and the literature that is produced by its use.
Take this blog, for instance.
Instead of writing “Esto es mi blog, lo adora o lo sale”, I just pound out the words “This is my blog, love it or leave it” on my keyboard.
Seems simple enough today.
I’m finally pretty comfortable within my native verbiage, although I could be found dieing a slow death if it weren’t for spell-check in the old word processor.
I love to do Google searches to find the definitions of words that I missed by not going to graduate school or otherwise managed to bypass along the way in my technical education, and I’m intrigued with the idea that some languages don’t have direct translations for words or concepts (usually expressed by groups of words).
At the same time, words like LOVE in English have multiple translations in Latin and the other ancient and romantic languages.
Recently I’ve been publishing and emphasizing what I call “million dollar” words that expressed my opinion of various world events or our local “community theater companies” and "newspapers."
Instead of cursing at people, things, and organizations, my latest form of assault is to describe them with carefully chosen words…
Words which they don’t understand or know the meaning of.
You might have seen them here before…
Words like:
Feckless \FEK-lis\, adjective:
a. Ineffective; having no real worth or purpose.
b. Worthless; irresponsible; generally incompetent and ineffectual.
Obtuse \ob-tuse\, adjective:
a. lacking quickness of perception or intellect.
b. Characterized by a lack of intelligence or sensitivity: an obtuse remark.
c. Not distinctly felt: an obtuse pain.
Those are a couple of my current favorites.
That all said, I now come back to my original point—My "Word or Words of the Day."
This will be a semi-regular posting here on the blog for at least the short term and actually, instead of being “Word or Words of the Day,” it will more likely be “Word or Words of the WEEK.”
So now, if I may I have a Drum roll please....
This week’s "Word or Words of the Week"...................dddddddddddddddddddddddddddd
Non Sequitur \non SEQ u i tur\, noun:
a. An inference or conclusion that does not follow from the premises or evidence.
b. A statement that does not follow logically from what preceded it.
Here’s an excellent example of a Non Sequitur:
1. If A then B. (e.g. If I am in Tokyo, I am in Japan.)
2. Not A. (e.g. I am not in Tokyo.)
3. Therefore, not B. (e.g. Therefore, I am not in Japan.)
You see, even if the speaker is not in Tokyo, they could be anywhere else in Japan.
It is my assertion that many journalists and most politicians suffer from a bad case of Non Sequitur each and every day of their lives.
I also believe that many of our citizens that will be voting this week in the runoff elections suffer from this same form of mutated logic.
Barely anyone will vote in the runoffs, and when the 50% of the elligable voters that manage to drag themselves to the voting booth in November finally get there, they will already have let the wild eyed partisans and the idiots suffering from a bad case of "non sequitur" pick the candidates which are on the ballot.
I, personally, aspire to try to avoid that affliction.
Just in case you were wondering...
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Houston...We have A Problem
Decisions About Elderly Drivers
I guess that by now most everyone has heard the story or read the headline about former Senator and Astronaut John Glynn and his wife being involved in an auto accident:
Former senator and astronaut John Glenn and his wife, Annie, were slightly injured in a traffic accident near Easton Town Center last night.
The crash happened at 11:14 p.m. on Morse Road near the ramp to I-270, Columbus police said....
Glenn was charged by police with failure to yield on a left turn, Butland said.
The two-car accident happened on Morse Road near a ramp to I-270. Amy Myers of New Albany, the driver of the other car, was not injured.
This story points out a situation that in the end will affect every individual and family in this country, and I think that the state governments should take the initiative and stop acquiescing to popular opinion and public sentiment.
JOHN GLYNN SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN OUT DRIVING AROUND AT 11:14 PM AT NIGHT, UNLESS HE COULD PASS AN ANNUAL VISION AND DRIVING TEST.
I don't give a diddly doo if he was qualified to strap himself into a Mercury space capsule bolted on top of a modified Air force Redstone Ballistic Missile and hurl around the planet in outer space a couple of times back in 1962, I guar-an-damn-tee you that things in the man's brain and body have changed a good deal in the past 44 years, and he twern't no spring chicken when he accomplished the aforementioned superman-like feat.
Let's face it folks...John Glenn is OLD.
Heck...come to think of it...I'm old, and with my mental attitude I just may start running around crashing my old Chevy Suburban into other people's cars on purpose if they don't straighten up and start driving better.
The media constantly laments the demise of teen drivers and people coming home at night from bars, but the reality is that, for many of our elderly friends and relatives, driving down the road at 8:00 AM or 11:30 PM is just as dangerous as you and me setting out from the local tavern after happy hour with a blood alcohol content of 0.15.
People that were wonderful, safe, courteous drivers for 50 years suddenly become a danger to themselves if not an outright menace on the roadways, particularly after the sun has set.
Just like a learners permit and other limitations on young drivers, I’d like to see the government work with families to save our seniors from themselves, and prevent the injury of the general public in the process.
I personally know how hard it is to tell your grandfather that he can’t be allowed to drive any more. Our family had to remove the wires from the distributor of my Grandpa Rushing’s 56’ Chevy Belair to get him off of the road in the early 1970’s.
I also had to help the family of a dear elderly friend revoke his driving privileges in the past year.
I know that it’s very hard—losing your independence—particularly in a country and a society that has placed the personal automobile on a pedestal and eliminated the public transportation systems that were built in the early parts of the past century when these same citizens were coming of age to drive.
Still, I think that the reality is, if you really care, you should get off of your rear end and verify the driving ability of your older family members at least several times each year.
Take a look at yourself and your kids while you’re at it, by the way…
As the old saying goes, the best offense is a good defense, and I believe that it’s better to stop the driving “offenses” before they occur, rather than spending time in a hospital or funeral home lamenting your own inaction.
Just a thought…
I guess that by now most everyone has heard the story or read the headline about former Senator and Astronaut John Glynn and his wife being involved in an auto accident:
Former senator and astronaut John Glenn and his wife, Annie, were slightly injured in a traffic accident near Easton Town Center last night.
The crash happened at 11:14 p.m. on Morse Road near the ramp to I-270, Columbus police said....
Glenn was charged by police with failure to yield on a left turn, Butland said.
The two-car accident happened on Morse Road near a ramp to I-270. Amy Myers of New Albany, the driver of the other car, was not injured.
This story points out a situation that in the end will affect every individual and family in this country, and I think that the state governments should take the initiative and stop acquiescing to popular opinion and public sentiment.
JOHN GLYNN SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN OUT DRIVING AROUND AT 11:14 PM AT NIGHT, UNLESS HE COULD PASS AN ANNUAL VISION AND DRIVING TEST.
I don't give a diddly doo if he was qualified to strap himself into a Mercury space capsule bolted on top of a modified Air force Redstone Ballistic Missile and hurl around the planet in outer space a couple of times back in 1962, I guar-an-damn-tee you that things in the man's brain and body have changed a good deal in the past 44 years, and he twern't no spring chicken when he accomplished the aforementioned superman-like feat.
Let's face it folks...John Glenn is OLD.
Heck...come to think of it...I'm old, and with my mental attitude I just may start running around crashing my old Chevy Suburban into other people's cars on purpose if they don't straighten up and start driving better.
The media constantly laments the demise of teen drivers and people coming home at night from bars, but the reality is that, for many of our elderly friends and relatives, driving down the road at 8:00 AM or 11:30 PM is just as dangerous as you and me setting out from the local tavern after happy hour with a blood alcohol content of 0.15.
People that were wonderful, safe, courteous drivers for 50 years suddenly become a danger to themselves if not an outright menace on the roadways, particularly after the sun has set.
Just like a learners permit and other limitations on young drivers, I’d like to see the government work with families to save our seniors from themselves, and prevent the injury of the general public in the process.
I personally know how hard it is to tell your grandfather that he can’t be allowed to drive any more. Our family had to remove the wires from the distributor of my Grandpa Rushing’s 56’ Chevy Belair to get him off of the road in the early 1970’s.
I also had to help the family of a dear elderly friend revoke his driving privileges in the past year.
I know that it’s very hard—losing your independence—particularly in a country and a society that has placed the personal automobile on a pedestal and eliminated the public transportation systems that were built in the early parts of the past century when these same citizens were coming of age to drive.
Still, I think that the reality is, if you really care, you should get off of your rear end and verify the driving ability of your older family members at least several times each year.
Take a look at yourself and your kids while you’re at it, by the way…
As the old saying goes, the best offense is a good defense, and I believe that it’s better to stop the driving “offenses” before they occur, rather than spending time in a hospital or funeral home lamenting your own inaction.
Just a thought…
Saved From A Speedo
You Just Can’t make Stuff Like This Up…
OK…I’m CLOSE to declaring that I’ve seen EVERYTHING now, and maybe you will too after reading this Local6 story about the “rescue” of a dolphin having an “extra large” men’s Speedo bathing suit wrapped around its middle.
A bottle-nosed dolphin caught in a life-threatening extra large Speedo bathing suit off the coast of Sarasota, Fl, was found and the clothing was safely removed, according to Local 6 News.
Back in June, Marine biologist in Sarasota spotted the dolphin named Scrappy swimming around with the Speedo wrapped around his torso.
Biologist thought the swimwear would just slip off, but the Speedo was too tight.
First of all, I have to say that I think that it should be against Federal law to make “extra large” Speedo bathing suits.
Anyone else agree with me here?
The same should apply to ladies’ thongs and G-string bathing suits; and almost any other article of clothing intended to be worn in public that is both “extra large” and fits in a skin tight manner.
I think that those type of offenses should fall under a new category of what I call "impossible exposure" laws.
In addition, I think that they should hand out giant sheets of opaque plastic shrink wrap to the lifeguards so that if you are walking down the beach and you notice some 300 pound dude wandering around in a XXXL Speedo (looking like he’s got a Squirrel in there with him) or some giant pasty white chick flopping around in a size 24 G-String ensemble, you are required to point them out to the guy with the shrink wrap and the offending visage is immediately removed from the eyes of the already traumatized public.
I don’t even like looking at Speedo’s on trim little dudes competing in the Olympics or other swim competitions. Based on my own personal survey, most reasonablewomen ladies feel the same—at least in public.
God help us and protect us from the Europeans, however.
From my experience, they somehow think that a pot belly and a Speedo go nicely together.
I did a bunch of diving in the Caribbean back in the 1990’s and I always shuddered when I saw a party of Germans and French jumping on board our dive boat because you were guaranteed to see something you didn’t want to see (and often times couldn’t have previously imagined) while on board.
I personally, being of modest southern gentlemanly heritage, did own a Speedo bathing suit at that time, but it was not the bikini style and it was worn under my dive skin or wetsuit for the times when the changing of clothing was required in a semi-public venue.
On the other hand, it seemed that the dang foreigners were dead set on showing you everything that God gave them from their toes and butt crack to the top of their pointy little heads.
The Men were worse than most of the women, but it seemed that the uglier and more out of shape the woman was, the greater the odds of turning around to stow your mask and regulator and having some hideous image permanently burned into your mind and retinas that would haunt you for the rest of your life.
All I have to say is…come on people, cover that stuff up except possibly when you are in the privacy of your own bedroom, unless everyone has been warned and allowed to take a special class or sign a legal waiver of some sort.
Some of my personal experiences almost required counseling...
And while I'm at it, let me say that the same goes for all of you pudgy little teenaged and twenty somethingbitches girls that insist on wandering around in public with your mid-drift showing—injuring my eyes sporting your pot belly—just because you have a pierced bellybutton and/or a butterfly tattooed in the small of your back.
I'm proud to state emphatically that I don't want to see a roll of fish-belly white flesh on someone old enough to be my daughter or granddaughter, and if I had a son (which I don't) and he brought you to my home (with your pierced pot belly and tattooed torso) I would personally see to it that my manchild promptly entered the military with the next 48 hours.
Talk about fates worse than death...have some modesty and dignity, for Christ’s sake....AAAAAAaaaaaaHHHHHHhhhhhh!!!
Taking
a
big
breath.....
Finally, the Speedo wearing Dolphin news story shared this little titbit:
"I want to know whose Speedo's those are," a resident said. "That person needs to come forward".
Who is THAT moron, and why did the so-called journalist bother to quote the expulsion of air from their brainless head?
No you don’t want to know, dammit, because the son of a bitch would probably show up at the police station starknekkid naked…let him suffer in the privacy of his own bathroom and leave the rest of us to our injured imaginations.
What the hell is the world coming to anyway???
OK…I’m CLOSE to declaring that I’ve seen EVERYTHING now, and maybe you will too after reading this Local6 story about the “rescue” of a dolphin having an “extra large” men’s Speedo bathing suit wrapped around its middle.
A bottle-nosed dolphin caught in a life-threatening extra large Speedo bathing suit off the coast of Sarasota, Fl, was found and the clothing was safely removed, according to Local 6 News.
Back in June, Marine biologist in Sarasota spotted the dolphin named Scrappy swimming around with the Speedo wrapped around his torso.
Biologist thought the swimwear would just slip off, but the Speedo was too tight.
First of all, I have to say that I think that it should be against Federal law to make “extra large” Speedo bathing suits.
Anyone else agree with me here?
The same should apply to ladies’ thongs and G-string bathing suits; and almost any other article of clothing intended to be worn in public that is both “extra large” and fits in a skin tight manner.
I think that those type of offenses should fall under a new category of what I call "impossible exposure" laws.
In addition, I think that they should hand out giant sheets of opaque plastic shrink wrap to the lifeguards so that if you are walking down the beach and you notice some 300 pound dude wandering around in a XXXL Speedo (looking like he’s got a Squirrel in there with him) or some giant pasty white chick flopping around in a size 24 G-String ensemble, you are required to point them out to the guy with the shrink wrap and the offending visage is immediately removed from the eyes of the already traumatized public.
I don’t even like looking at Speedo’s on trim little dudes competing in the Olympics or other swim competitions. Based on my own personal survey, most reasonable
God help us and protect us from the Europeans, however.
From my experience, they somehow think that a pot belly and a Speedo go nicely together.
I did a bunch of diving in the Caribbean back in the 1990’s and I always shuddered when I saw a party of Germans and French jumping on board our dive boat because you were guaranteed to see something you didn’t want to see (and often times couldn’t have previously imagined) while on board.
I personally, being of modest southern gentlemanly heritage, did own a Speedo bathing suit at that time, but it was not the bikini style and it was worn under my dive skin or wetsuit for the times when the changing of clothing was required in a semi-public venue.
On the other hand, it seemed that the dang foreigners were dead set on showing you everything that God gave them from their toes and butt crack to the top of their pointy little heads.
The Men were worse than most of the women, but it seemed that the uglier and more out of shape the woman was, the greater the odds of turning around to stow your mask and regulator and having some hideous image permanently burned into your mind and retinas that would haunt you for the rest of your life.
All I have to say is…come on people, cover that stuff up except possibly when you are in the privacy of your own bedroom, unless everyone has been warned and allowed to take a special class or sign a legal waiver of some sort.
Some of my personal experiences almost required counseling...
And while I'm at it, let me say that the same goes for all of you pudgy little teenaged and twenty something
I'm proud to state emphatically that I don't want to see a roll of fish-belly white flesh on someone old enough to be my daughter or granddaughter, and if I had a son (which I don't) and he brought you to my home (with your pierced pot belly and tattooed torso) I would personally see to it that my manchild promptly entered the military with the next 48 hours.
Talk about fates worse than death...have some modesty and dignity, for Christ’s sake....AAAAAAaaaaaaHHHHHHhhhhhh!!!
Taking
a
big
breath.....
Finally, the Speedo wearing Dolphin news story shared this little titbit:
"I want to know whose Speedo's those are," a resident said. "That person needs to come forward".
Who is THAT moron, and why did the so-called journalist bother to quote the expulsion of air from their brainless head?
No you don’t want to know, dammit, because the son of a bitch would probably show up at the police station stark
What the hell is the world coming to anyway???
Saturday, August 05, 2006
I’m Eatin’ “Goober Peas”
…and I Want My Money Back
Consider with me for a moment, if you will, ladies and gentlemen, the humble Legume called the Peanut.
You know…the Peanut, of Peanut Butter fame.
I’m quite proud to tell you that I’m a Peter Pan man myself (smooth, not chunky) and you can have Skippy and Jiff and all of that expensive organic crap they sell for $8 a jar.
Consider with me for a moment, if you will, ladies and gentlemen, the humble Legume called the Peanut.
You know…the Peanut, of Peanut Butter fame.
I’m quite proud to tell you that I’m a Peter Pan man myself (smooth, not chunky) and you can have Skippy and Jiff and all of that expensive organic crap they sell for $8 a jar.
I actually think that I eat my own weight in Peter Pan Peanut Butter each year.
By the way, did you ever wonder who the heck named all the brands of peanut butter in the first place?
Skippy?
Jiff?
Peter Pan?
Why not Betty and Barney and Fred and Ethel Mertz...but I digress.
Could it have been someone like Walt Disney that’s responsible for the names on today's Peanut Butter jars?
Any way…forgetting the various processed versions, my topic this morning is the native pea, in its native pod.
One, two, three, sometimes four, and IF you’re really lucky—FIVE luscious blobs of fat, protein, and starch—all neatly prepackaged in a fiber shell that splits right down the middle when you press in between your fingers or crunch on it with your teeth.
Specifically, I’m talking about BOILED PEANUTS.
I made myself some yesterday, and they absolutely, positively, are horrible…but it’s not my fault.
I bought them in the grocery store, green, to cook on the stovetop; but after I had finished 24 hours of soaking, salting, seasoning, and lovingly tending to my ambrosia, I was aghast to find that not only were my peanuts “green,” but they were REAL green.
In fact, they weren’t completely ripe.
Gosh dang it.
You see, I’m a bit of a peanut connoisseur, having grown up in southern Alabama in a major peanut producing area, and spending summers on a farm that in it’s day produced hundreds of tons of peanuts.
In fact, there are peanuts either growing or being processed practically everywhere you could look around where I’m from in LA (Lower Alabama.)
There’s even a monument dating back to 1919, in the little nearby town of Enterprise, Alabama, dedicated to the Bowl Weevil—a little critter that forced the post Civil War southern farmers out of cotton business (in spite of Mr. whitney's Cotton Gin) and into crops like Peanuts and Soybeans.
It seems that back in the late 1800’s a black dude named George Washington Carver was convinced by another famous African American, Booker Taliaferro Washington, to come down to Tuskegee Institute and once there Mr. Washington gave Dr. Carver some cash, along with all the peanuts, soybeans, and sweet potatoes that he could handle.
We're not talking eating or snacking here either...
Massive research ensued.
When it was all said and done, there were thousands of new products and a number of US Patents issued as a result of his efforts.
I wish he’d (Dr. Carver) would somehow come back from his grave here this morning and fix MY peanuts.
Oh Well...It doesn't hurt to ask...
Here’s another thing about peanuts that many of my fellow ignorant city slicker southerners and most of you Yankees out there probably don’t know.
Peanuts are STRANGE plants.
They grow their stems and leaves and develope their blooms ABOVE ground, then the peanut plant turns around and somehow manages to dive the stems with the pollinated blossoms BACK INTO THE GROUND, where the peanut proceeds to develop like a carrot or potato.
You can take that little known fact with you to the TV show "Jeopardy" or go out and try to win some cash hanging around your favorite watering hole betting with ignoramuses that don't know peas beans about Peanut farming.
Heck...I’ve had doctors and lawyers and snake oil salesmen threaten to beat my brains out arguing about that fact…but it’s a FACT none the less…
All I know is that it looks like I cooked me the crappiest batch of boiled peanuts I’ve ever had tonight and...like I said earlier…I WANT MY MONEY BACK…ALL $4 WORTH..Dangitttt.
My Grandpa Rushing is probably turning over in his grave right now if he knew how much I paid for RAW peanuts…
UPDATE:
Ironically, if you look closely at the picture of Enterprise's Bowl Weevil monument, you'll notice that the marble statue is not actually holding the bronze Bowl Weevil insect...about 10 inches long...because it is a long standing tradition for various pranksters and high school kids to steel the "bowl Weevil " off of the top as a joke and hold it hostage.
I'm happy to report that when I last drove past a few weeks ago that the image of the bug was comfortably resting on it's perch atop the gothic maiden's vissage. I think that they had to make it a Felony or something to keep the bug in place for public viewing.
I can just hear the commentary of the times..."a spending a five hundred dolllllarssssss a building a monument to a gosh dang buuuuuugggggggg."
The descendants of those same people are complaining here in Brunswick today about "a spending thirty five THOUSAND dollars a carvin' on a stupid dang treeeee stumpppppp..."
Heh...
Friday, August 04, 2006
Finally...From the NY Times...
Something I Can Agree With
OpEd contributor Billy Shore writes a piece entitled "The Flags of Our Sons" in today's edition of the NY Times.
"They stood at the window between Gates 43 and 45 and watched as a full Marine honor guard marched up the tarmac, coming to attention between the plane and a silver military hearse. The unloading of their son’s coffin from the cargo hold was very slow, and every time someone inside the terminal noticed and stopped to stare, someone else noticed and did the same, and this kept happening until about 20 people stood in silence watching out the window...
Except for a handful of us standing frozen at a respectful distance from the window, the war and its carnage might as well have been on another planet. The disconnect between those who serve and those of us who are beneficiaries of their service has always felt great to me, but never greater than at that moment.
The mom and dad stepped away from the man in the T-shirt and to another window, still not touching, their movement synchronized by grief. They waited until the marine in charge came back up from the runway to escort them to a government vehicle. I went to my car and drove to work with no ambition for the day other than to be worthy."
A free registration with the website is required, but I think that you'll find it well worthwhile.
Stop by and take a read, if you will...
OpEd contributor Billy Shore writes a piece entitled "The Flags of Our Sons" in today's edition of the NY Times.
"They stood at the window between Gates 43 and 45 and watched as a full Marine honor guard marched up the tarmac, coming to attention between the plane and a silver military hearse. The unloading of their son’s coffin from the cargo hold was very slow, and every time someone inside the terminal noticed and stopped to stare, someone else noticed and did the same, and this kept happening until about 20 people stood in silence watching out the window...
Except for a handful of us standing frozen at a respectful distance from the window, the war and its carnage might as well have been on another planet. The disconnect between those who serve and those of us who are beneficiaries of their service has always felt great to me, but never greater than at that moment.
The mom and dad stepped away from the man in the T-shirt and to another window, still not touching, their movement synchronized by grief. They waited until the marine in charge came back up from the runway to escort them to a government vehicle. I went to my car and drove to work with no ambition for the day other than to be worthy."
A free registration with the website is required, but I think that you'll find it well worthwhile.
Stop by and take a read, if you will...
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Random Thoughts & Cogitations
I Have Very Little To Say, So I Will Resist The Urge To Say Much More...
Although the old adage "If you can't say something nice, don't say nuthin' at all" rarely applies here on this blog, I have to admit that I'm a bit short on words these days.
It could be because my mind—at least the part of it that hasn't atrophied—has been occupied elsewhere recently.
Rather than following the political landscape and cheering the Israeli forces onward toward downtown Beirut, I’ve been doodling park layouts and designing amphitheaters.
Rather than wandering around the pool deck in the 100 degree heat, I’ve been E-mailing government officials asking questions about DUNS numbers and getting permission to be an AOR (Authorized Organizational Representative)…silly crap like that.
The good news is that tropical storm Chris is having a bit of trouble strengthening or even staying organized as a tropical system because of “tropospherical sheer resulting in an offset of the center of circulation from the convection boundary at flight levels…blaa blaa blaa”
I didn’t make that last statement up (except for the blaa blaa blaa part)—I got it in an e-mail from the NOAA web site. Regardless, everything is just peachy here on the Georgia coast in the middle of what was predicted to be a record hurricane season.
I noticed that the Hurricane forecasters somewhere out in Colorado just reduced their predictions when it comes to the total number of named storms and the number of severe hurricanes this season.
What I wonder is why do we let people in Colorado worry about hurricanes in the first place?
Could it be that maybe they are the only ones with enough sense to stay far, far away from the Atlantic and Gulf coast between May and October.
Then again, very few people freeze to death or are buried in avalanches here on St. Simons each winter…so I guess that I’d call the situation a commercial wash.
There’s lots of juicy stuff out there, just read the news y’all…click on some of my links and go over and see what the lawyers at Powerline or Captain Ed over at
Captains Quarters is up to these days.
I’ll try to wander back by and peck on the keyboard a little later if I see something worth commenting on.
Although the old adage "If you can't say something nice, don't say nuthin' at all" rarely applies here on this blog, I have to admit that I'm a bit short on words these days.
It could be because my mind—at least the part of it that hasn't atrophied—has been occupied elsewhere recently.
Rather than following the political landscape and cheering the Israeli forces onward toward downtown Beirut, I’ve been doodling park layouts and designing amphitheaters.
Rather than wandering around the pool deck in the 100 degree heat, I’ve been E-mailing government officials asking questions about DUNS numbers and getting permission to be an AOR (Authorized Organizational Representative)…silly crap like that.
The good news is that tropical storm Chris is having a bit of trouble strengthening or even staying organized as a tropical system because of “tropospherical sheer resulting in an offset of the center of circulation from the convection boundary at flight levels…blaa blaa blaa”
I didn’t make that last statement up (except for the blaa blaa blaa part)—I got it in an e-mail from the NOAA web site. Regardless, everything is just peachy here on the Georgia coast in the middle of what was predicted to be a record hurricane season.
I noticed that the Hurricane forecasters somewhere out in Colorado just reduced their predictions when it comes to the total number of named storms and the number of severe hurricanes this season.
What I wonder is why do we let people in Colorado worry about hurricanes in the first place?
Could it be that maybe they are the only ones with enough sense to stay far, far away from the Atlantic and Gulf coast between May and October.
Then again, very few people freeze to death or are buried in avalanches here on St. Simons each winter…so I guess that I’d call the situation a commercial wash.
There’s lots of juicy stuff out there, just read the news y’all…click on some of my links and go over and see what the lawyers at Powerline or Captain Ed over at
Captains Quarters is up to these days.
I’ll try to wander back by and peck on the keyboard a little later if I see something worth commenting on.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Government Spending???
Playing in the Spoils of Institutional Raping, looting, and Pillaging
I have to admit that I can hardly face myself in the mirror these days.
Why?
Just Because.
Because I realize that I’m just another Bureaucratic Wannabe, caught sticking my hand out to grab some of the public dole.
“Arts Funding” is my drug, and my second “drug of choice” is something called Federal “Block Grants.”
I’m currently wallowing in the application for both right now.
It’s actually ridiculously easy to fathom the process, and you can do it electronically on line now rather than spending your time licking envelopes and pasting postage stamps.
Anyone need their roof replaced or a swimming pool in their back yard...I be 'da MAN.
I have to admit that I can hardly face myself in the mirror these days.
Why?
Just Because.
Because I realize that I’m just another Bureaucratic Wannabe, caught sticking my hand out to grab some of the public dole.
“Arts Funding” is my drug, and my second “drug of choice” is something called Federal “Block Grants.”
I’m currently wallowing in the application for both right now.
It’s actually ridiculously easy to fathom the process, and you can do it electronically on line now rather than spending your time licking envelopes and pasting postage stamps.
Anyone need their roof replaced or a swimming pool in their back yard...I be 'da MAN.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Twenty Thousand Hits
Queue The Fireworks…
Well Folks, you actually did it.
What took my readers sixteen months beginning in August of 2004 to do, has now been done in slightly over seven months.
My hit counter here on this blog passed 10,000 visits on December 20th of 2005, and later today or early tomorrow I expect it to pass 20,000 hits (and over 1,060 individual postings.)
Now don’t get me wrong here, because I know bloggers that get 20,000 hits in one day, but they generally are selling something and most definitely paying for a hosting service and their blogs are loaded up with ads and pop-ups and stuff, but, here at “What I’d Liked to Have Said”…
All you get is just little old, hairy chested, ever graying, ever balding, pompas, arrogant, opinionated…
ME.
And this blog cost me nothing, except my time. And I find it to be a whole lot cheaper and infinitely more fun than therapy.
Thanks so much to my regular readers and commentors (all six of you), and I hope that some of the total strangers and accidental visitors will find something interesting and entertaining enough to make my humble piece of cyberspace a regular stop in your ramblings through the internet each week.
I am, therefore I blog…
It’s just that simple.
Well Folks, you actually did it.
What took my readers sixteen months beginning in August of 2004 to do, has now been done in slightly over seven months.
My hit counter here on this blog passed 10,000 visits on December 20th of 2005, and later today or early tomorrow I expect it to pass 20,000 hits (and over 1,060 individual postings.)
Now don’t get me wrong here, because I know bloggers that get 20,000 hits in one day, but they generally are selling something and most definitely paying for a hosting service and their blogs are loaded up with ads and pop-ups and stuff, but, here at “What I’d Liked to Have Said”…
All you get is just little old, hairy chested, ever graying, ever balding, pompas, arrogant, opinionated…
ME.
And this blog cost me nothing, except my time. And I find it to be a whole lot cheaper and infinitely more fun than therapy.
Thanks so much to my regular readers and commentors (all six of you), and I hope that some of the total strangers and accidental visitors will find something interesting and entertaining enough to make my humble piece of cyberspace a regular stop in your ramblings through the internet each week.
I am, therefore I blog…
It’s just that simple.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Shusshhhhhh!
Quiet...I'm Actually Working...
Anyone out there know anything about applying for Federal Grants?
I've got 14 days to come up to speed on the process.
In addition, I've added a small outdoor amphitheater to the design--something that the kids and various performing arts groups can use when the weather isn't 10,000 degrees outside like it has been the past week.
Something that looks like this, on a slightly smaller scale:
Anyone out there know anything about applying for Federal Grants?
I've got 14 days to come up to speed on the process.
In addition, I've added a small outdoor amphitheater to the design--something that the kids and various performing arts groups can use when the weather isn't 10,000 degrees outside like it has been the past week.
Something that looks like this, on a slightly smaller scale:
Am I entirely crazy or what? Why can't I just settle for carving my tree, then crawl back onto the island and leave well enough along?
Because---I'M INTO PAIN AND ABUSE...not to mention PUBLIC RIDICULE.
Please wish me luck, because if they got all fired up and crazy over "a carvin' on a giant treeeee stumppppp", what will they think of bringing Shakespeare to the 'hood?
Yeah...I thought so...
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Truth
I Almost Forgot To Mention This...
You know that I'm a news addict, and I thought that I would point out to those that care to read it The Jerusalem Post Website. It's only of interest if you really want to know what the hell is going on on the other side of our planet.
The local media is so busy screaming "oh my God...more dead soldiers and civilians" that they can't actually manage to pass on much information.
Any way...stop by if you will...
You know that I'm a news addict, and I thought that I would point out to those that care to read it The Jerusalem Post Website. It's only of interest if you really want to know what the hell is going on on the other side of our planet.
The local media is so busy screaming "oh my God...more dead soldiers and civilians" that they can't actually manage to pass on much information.
Any way...stop by if you will...
Landscape Architecture
It’s Tough Being Me…
I just don’t know if and how I can get everything done these days with my hectic schedule.
As an example, take a look at Saturday:
Wake up at 12:30 AM
Blog and read news on the internet
Take a nap at 4:30 AM
Wake up and snack
Go to the pool
Come home and shower.
Stop by the Art Gallery to pick up unsold photos from the last exhibit
Stop by Grocery store
Cook and Eat Dinner
Sleep on sofa
Crawl in bed
Wake up
Blog
You get the Idea…
Sunday is going to be even more hectic, because I have to spend part of the afternoon making pizza dough for another one of my monster white pizzas. I also have to manage to make time to cook a hearty brunch in there somewhere because Pat is getting tired of cereal and toast with Apple Butter for breakfast.
I’ve gotten back my enthusiasm for my K-Street Tree project because I’ve met a local landscape architect that works for Sea Island Company, and he is willing to help me develop the project.
For Free.
Well, at least he’ll provide some free advice.
I bounced my latest idea off of him about designing an ENTIRE PARK around our carved tree and he liked it. By “entire park”, let me add that the City of Brunswick already owns about 1.6 acres right beside where the tree used to live that are completely vacant, except for an old basketball court and a newer playground structure that must have been built in the last five or ten years. There is a Boys and Girls Club right across the two lane street from the parcel.
Talk about the perfect place for a park.
If I can get Jerry to lend his ideas and support to my effort, it will be MILES ahead of where it could be with just me sitting here all by my lonesome—because this guy is THE MAN when it comes to landscape architecture in this area.
See, the idea is to restore a bit of the native coastal landscape to the inner city, in an area between a school and several public housing areas, where the little kids never get to understand what living on coastal Georgia is really like—unless they get in a car or school bus and take a ten mile trip.
Due to “progress” and development and “urban renewal”, all they ever get to see is concrete, asphalt, and bricks, surrounding areas of flat bare dirt and wilting worn out grass.
My park idea would import back to Newtown Brunswick a slice of native coastal Georgia sub-tropical forest, with playscapes, a walking/jogging trail, and exercise stations mixed among the water features and our carved tree.
I know that building a park costs money, but it doesn’t hurt to do some preliminary planning and at least think about what you would like things to look like if you had the dollars to spend.
We may just end up carving and erecting our tree in the right place, then building the park over a period of years as the money trickles in.
It doesn’t hurt to dream, does it?
I just don’t know if and how I can get everything done these days with my hectic schedule.
As an example, take a look at Saturday:
Wake up at 12:30 AM
Blog and read news on the internet
Take a nap at 4:30 AM
Wake up and snack
Go to the pool
Come home and shower.
Stop by the Art Gallery to pick up unsold photos from the last exhibit
Stop by Grocery store
Cook and Eat Dinner
Sleep on sofa
Crawl in bed
Wake up
Blog
You get the Idea…
Sunday is going to be even more hectic, because I have to spend part of the afternoon making pizza dough for another one of my monster white pizzas. I also have to manage to make time to cook a hearty brunch in there somewhere because Pat is getting tired of cereal and toast with Apple Butter for breakfast.
I’ve gotten back my enthusiasm for my K-Street Tree project because I’ve met a local landscape architect that works for Sea Island Company, and he is willing to help me develop the project.
For Free.
Well, at least he’ll provide some free advice.
I bounced my latest idea off of him about designing an ENTIRE PARK around our carved tree and he liked it. By “entire park”, let me add that the City of Brunswick already owns about 1.6 acres right beside where the tree used to live that are completely vacant, except for an old basketball court and a newer playground structure that must have been built in the last five or ten years. There is a Boys and Girls Club right across the two lane street from the parcel.
Talk about the perfect place for a park.
If I can get Jerry to lend his ideas and support to my effort, it will be MILES ahead of where it could be with just me sitting here all by my lonesome—because this guy is THE MAN when it comes to landscape architecture in this area.
See, the idea is to restore a bit of the native coastal landscape to the inner city, in an area between a school and several public housing areas, where the little kids never get to understand what living on coastal Georgia is really like—unless they get in a car or school bus and take a ten mile trip.
Due to “progress” and development and “urban renewal”, all they ever get to see is concrete, asphalt, and bricks, surrounding areas of flat bare dirt and wilting worn out grass.
My park idea would import back to Newtown Brunswick a slice of native coastal Georgia sub-tropical forest, with playscapes, a walking/jogging trail, and exercise stations mixed among the water features and our carved tree.
I know that building a park costs money, but it doesn’t hurt to do some preliminary planning and at least think about what you would like things to look like if you had the dollars to spend.
We may just end up carving and erecting our tree in the right place, then building the park over a period of years as the money trickles in.
It doesn’t hurt to dream, does it?
Saturday, July 29, 2006
No Matter How Successful You Are...
Some People Just Don't Finish The Journey
Take at look at this story about former astronaut Charles Brady committing suicide, then tell me what could have been so bad to justify taking that way out of life?
Medical Doctor, Pilot, Blue Angels, Space Shuttle Astronaut...
What a sad waste of humanity, and what a bitter end to a life otherwise well lived.
Take at look at this story about former astronaut Charles Brady committing suicide, then tell me what could have been so bad to justify taking that way out of life?
Medical Doctor, Pilot, Blue Angels, Space Shuttle Astronaut...
What a sad waste of humanity, and what a bitter end to a life otherwise well lived.
Friday, July 28, 2006
I'm The Slumlord Of Arabia
Houser of the Crackhead Infadels...
Well, I'm happy to report that I found that things were't that bad over in the real world once I managed to drag myself over there yesterday afternoon.
As is usual a few times each year, the side door of my duplex had AGAIN been kicked in and there was evidence of incessant stupidity conducted all the while standing around on a hard tiled concrete floor, but the place really wasn't any worse for the wear.
After a quick trip to Home Depot for a reinforcing plate and a few screws and nuts and bolts, the door was back on it's hinges and locked, a sturdy steel pipe brace was installed between it and the fridge, and the yard was policed of miscellaneous beer bottles and litter.
Sometime in the past few months the house two doors down mostly burned to the ground, and the one next door has been demolished to a pile of sticks and bricks.
I hope that they haul everything off shortly, then I'm going to pursue buying that property to add to my little "slumlord empire." That acquisition would give me six lots, facing each other on opposite sides of the street (three each side) and improve my prospects of actually developing the land with some little starter houses or townhouses at some point.
You can call me a racist or a bigot or whatever you want to, but I have to tell you, I'm really afraid that these silly, uselessnegros blacks African Americans are just going to continue to sink into the pit of poverty no matter how much government money is thrown at them, and no matter how much effort is spent by rednecks people like me that are interested in improving their lot in life.
They just don't get it...that being cool and hip and "a Player" doesn't equate to employment and otherwise marketable skills. Being a pimp might be cool on MTV, but all it really gets you is 12 months in the local slammer and all of the fans of "Pop Culture" can all just kiss my lilly white ass and go to hell in my considered Redneck opinion.
Yesterday, if one twenty year old black man rode past my repair efforts on a bicycle, twenty five did. The neighborhood is filled with and paralyzed by lethargy and ignorance and the next generation of unemployed thugs is being raised by the idle so called "adults" I found around me. (Actually, the reality is that the children are raising the children, because the women are all working while the men sit on their collective asses.)
I hate it for them AND ME, but there is little one single little white man philanthropist/investor can do as long as a few misguided individuals in the community continue to attack and destroy everything around them that isn't armor plated or bolted down.
Yet, being the hardheaded fool that I am, I keep on keeping on, because I'm...
(By the way...the spelling of Infidel, is intentionally misspelled... so don't be sending me comments and ridicule...)
Well, I'm happy to report that I found that things were't that bad over in the real world once I managed to drag myself over there yesterday afternoon.
As is usual a few times each year, the side door of my duplex had AGAIN been kicked in and there was evidence of incessant stupidity conducted all the while standing around on a hard tiled concrete floor, but the place really wasn't any worse for the wear.
After a quick trip to Home Depot for a reinforcing plate and a few screws and nuts and bolts, the door was back on it's hinges and locked, a sturdy steel pipe brace was installed between it and the fridge, and the yard was policed of miscellaneous beer bottles and litter.
Sometime in the past few months the house two doors down mostly burned to the ground, and the one next door has been demolished to a pile of sticks and bricks.
I hope that they haul everything off shortly, then I'm going to pursue buying that property to add to my little "slumlord empire." That acquisition would give me six lots, facing each other on opposite sides of the street (three each side) and improve my prospects of actually developing the land with some little starter houses or townhouses at some point.
You can call me a racist or a bigot or whatever you want to, but I have to tell you, I'm really afraid that these silly, useless
They just don't get it...that being cool and hip and "a Player" doesn't equate to employment and otherwise marketable skills. Being a pimp might be cool on MTV, but all it really gets you is 12 months in the local slammer and all of the fans of "Pop Culture" can all just kiss my lilly white ass and go to hell in my considered Redneck opinion.
Yesterday, if one twenty year old black man rode past my repair efforts on a bicycle, twenty five did. The neighborhood is filled with and paralyzed by lethargy and ignorance and the next generation of unemployed thugs is being raised by the idle so called "adults" I found around me. (Actually, the reality is that the children are raising the children, because the women are all working while the men sit on their collective asses.)
I hate it for them AND ME, but there is little one single little white man philanthropist/investor can do as long as a few misguided individuals in the community continue to attack and destroy everything around them that isn't armor plated or bolted down.
Yet, being the hardheaded fool that I am, I keep on keeping on, because I'm...
(By the way...the spelling of Infidel, is intentionally misspelled... so don't be sending me comments and ridicule...)
Fried Dill Pickles
More Weird Stuff From My Life
Pat and I have become friends with many of our neighbors that have been coming down here to St. simons Island on vacation for most of the past thirty years or so. Many are the children or other relatives of the original owners of the condos we live in, so many people that we end up hanging out with at the pool basically grew up here in the summers and holidays.
We’re only spending our third summer here, but we're fortunate that we’ve been adopted into the “Sea Palms Colony Clan” and now they’re starting to make demands of me and my cooking talents.
I’ve already hosted a couple of what I call my “Drive By, Pool Side BBQ’s” over the past couple of years, and now some of the wives are starting to challenge me with specific recipes and dishes that they like, that they eat in the local restaurants, or that they otherwise enjoy.
Most recently, the topic at the pool has been something called “Fried Dill Pickles.”
Well, you know me and my big mouth…I said that it had to be easy, and when the dust settled I was forced to spend this evening figuring out how to fry a dill pickle—because I’ll be serving them poolside tomorrow afternoon.
It turns out that it really is easy, and after surfing the internet to look at some examples, here’s what I came up with to fry me some dill pickles this evening:
1 egg
½ cup of milk
1 tbsp Crystal hot sauce
½ tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
½ tsp salt
½ tsp white pepper
½ tsp black pepper
½ tbsp flour
1 cup of flour
1 quart of dill pickle wedges
Enough oil (peanut, canola, or Crisco) to make a puddle ¾” deep
First things first…toss your oil into a deep skillet or a shallow boiler and crank up the heat on the stovetop so that you can get somewhere near 350 degrees F. Temperature is your friend here, so use a candy thermometer or whatever other appliance you have to check your oil temperature else you’ll have greasy, floppy, limp dill pickles.
As I understand it, women hate limp pickles…fried or otherwise…but I digress…
Next, beat your egg up real good in a medium mixing bowl, then add the milk and spices and stir it all up.
In a separate bowl, dump in your flour, and add a little salt and pepper if you want to. I actually added a little cayenne pepper just to add a little Emeril style “bam” to the mixture.
Once your oil has heated, dredge your pickle wedges in the flour, then into the egg/milk mixture, then back into the flour, then do it all over again. Build yourself a nice thick coating of batter on the outside of your pickles.
Now toss them into the oil a half dozen at the time, and watch them sizzle away, turning them once or twice until they are golden brown. Lay them in groups on a stack of paper towels on a plate on the side to drain and cool.
Sprinkle a little salt and cayenne pepper over them, maybe make a horseradish sauce or mustard sauce for dipping, and step out of the way of the stampede because THESE THINGS ARE TASTY.
I can hardly wait to put my cooking where my mouth is tomorrow afternoon.
Regards y’all
The Redneck Gourmet
Pat and I have become friends with many of our neighbors that have been coming down here to St. simons Island on vacation for most of the past thirty years or so. Many are the children or other relatives of the original owners of the condos we live in, so many people that we end up hanging out with at the pool basically grew up here in the summers and holidays.
We’re only spending our third summer here, but we're fortunate that we’ve been adopted into the “Sea Palms Colony Clan” and now they’re starting to make demands of me and my cooking talents.
I’ve already hosted a couple of what I call my “Drive By, Pool Side BBQ’s” over the past couple of years, and now some of the wives are starting to challenge me with specific recipes and dishes that they like, that they eat in the local restaurants, or that they otherwise enjoy.
Most recently, the topic at the pool has been something called “Fried Dill Pickles.”
Well, you know me and my big mouth…I said that it had to be easy, and when the dust settled I was forced to spend this evening figuring out how to fry a dill pickle—because I’ll be serving them poolside tomorrow afternoon.
It turns out that it really is easy, and after surfing the internet to look at some examples, here’s what I came up with to fry me some dill pickles this evening:
1 egg
½ cup of milk
1 tbsp Crystal hot sauce
½ tbsp Worcestershire Sauce
½ tsp salt
½ tsp white pepper
½ tsp black pepper
½ tbsp flour
1 cup of flour
1 quart of dill pickle wedges
Enough oil (peanut, canola, or Crisco) to make a puddle ¾” deep
First things first…toss your oil into a deep skillet or a shallow boiler and crank up the heat on the stovetop so that you can get somewhere near 350 degrees F. Temperature is your friend here, so use a candy thermometer or whatever other appliance you have to check your oil temperature else you’ll have greasy, floppy, limp dill pickles.
As I understand it, women hate limp pickles…fried or otherwise…but I digress…
Next, beat your egg up real good in a medium mixing bowl, then add the milk and spices and stir it all up.
In a separate bowl, dump in your flour, and add a little salt and pepper if you want to. I actually added a little cayenne pepper just to add a little Emeril style “bam” to the mixture.
Once your oil has heated, dredge your pickle wedges in the flour, then into the egg/milk mixture, then back into the flour, then do it all over again. Build yourself a nice thick coating of batter on the outside of your pickles.
Now toss them into the oil a half dozen at the time, and watch them sizzle away, turning them once or twice until they are golden brown. Lay them in groups on a stack of paper towels on a plate on the side to drain and cool.
Sprinkle a little salt and cayenne pepper over them, maybe make a horseradish sauce or mustard sauce for dipping, and step out of the way of the stampede because THESE THINGS ARE TASTY.
I can hardly wait to put my cooking where my mouth is tomorrow afternoon.
Regards y’all
The Redneck Gourmet
Thursday, July 27, 2006
I Be A Slumlord
Low Rent Housing
I bought my first house when I was 25 years old. I put a chunk of cash down, and rode out a mortgage at 9.5% for a few years before I sold the house and upgraded to the lovely home that I ended up giving to my ex-wife in our divorce. Never mind that I designed it and had it built to MY specifications, it was her house because that’s the way the law works in Georgia.
Next I bought a “fixer-upper” and, after renting it for a while and watching the owner and the owner’s agent go bankrupt, I got a great deal—two story, brick on all four sides, tongue and groove decking instead of plywood, solid as a rock, and I busted my ass working part time renovating it. New roof, rebuilt soffits and facias, kitchen cabinet doors, new paint inside and out, you know the story.
Then it burned down in 2001.
A total loss of building and 99% of the contents.
All I got out of it was some smoke stained books and files, and a six figure insurance check. I took the money and ran away from Atlanta, Georgia because by that time I’d had it up to here (pointing to the top of my ever graying, ever balding head…)
Since that day I have to admit that the real estate business has been of secondary importance to me, but that I have made a little money investing in vacant land in Florida and most recently I’ve been the proud owner of a duplex and three adjacent vacant lots in downtown Brunswick.
I say proud in a tongue in cheek manner, because where my property lies you wouldn’t want to walk down the street at night with a hundred dollars in your pocket. Heck, I suspect that fifty cents would be enough to get you cut if not killed.
I had to run one of my tenants out of the duplex a couple of summers ago due to non-payment of the rent, and the other one’s, a man in his mid 30’s, mother moved him into the home of a relative (because she was paying his rent) that passed away thereby ending my first stint as a official “slumlord.”
Since I hate having to go around banging on doors to collect rent money, I’ve just let the property sit there and fester unoccupied, and therein lies my problem today.
It seems that for some reason, people like to inspect it and open it up and look inside, without my permission. At least three different times now before this week someone has kicked the side door in and just did a tour.
You know wander around and look at the rooms, comment on the paint colors (or lack thereof), rummage through the empty kitchen cabinets…stuff like that.
What blew my mind was that last fall they broke in and they actually STOLE THE ENTIRE KITCHEN SINK AND CABINET from the right hand unit.
You heard me right…they STOLE MY KITCHEN SINK.
W.T.F?
Well, today I learned that again someone has taken yet another unauthorized tour, and apparently they’ve started hanging out in some manner because Ozzie, my agent, told me that when he stopped by the front door was unlocked and all of the windows were open.
Just Damn….
I didn’t find out until about 4 PM yesterday so I didn’t have the energy to drive over there from the island, but I guess I’ll go over tomorrow, turn on the water, flush whatever the hell is in the toilet down the drain, and try to lock everything back up and fix whatever is broken.
Dammit, but why can’t people just leave other people’s stuff alone?
I just called the police about 3 AM this morning, told them about the situation, and asked them to send an officer by to check out who or whomever might be using the place as a crack house or a crash pad. I figure that if someone is there, that by this late hour they’ve probably got all settled in and if the police will do their job they will have an early, rude awakening.
Can you say charges for possession of drugs?
Can you say charges for solicitation of prostitution?
Can you say charges for weapons possession?
Can you say charges for trespassing?
Can you say arrest for outstanding warrants?
I sure hope so...
Any way, there’s no water, no electricity, no furniture, and the whole place is made of concrete blocks inside and out so they can’t really hurt it, but it was relatively clean the last time I was over there and I’m afraid that they are going to crap it up one way or another so it will cost more to fix when and if I get back into the slumlord business.
I’m thinking about adding an addition onto to the back of it or possibly adding a second story level to it because it is so small and cramped right now, but the neighborhood has a ways to go before any self-respecting families are going to want to move in so I have to watch my level of investment.
The good news is that a builder built a new house about two blocks away, so things are turning around and my idea of building three or four new townhouses across the street might not be so hair brained after all.
Stay tuned to this station for yet another episode of...
“Slum Lord of Arabia…Houser of the Crack Head Infadels…”
Here's my new logo:
I bought my first house when I was 25 years old. I put a chunk of cash down, and rode out a mortgage at 9.5% for a few years before I sold the house and upgraded to the lovely home that I ended up giving to my ex-wife in our divorce. Never mind that I designed it and had it built to MY specifications, it was her house because that’s the way the law works in Georgia.
Next I bought a “fixer-upper” and, after renting it for a while and watching the owner and the owner’s agent go bankrupt, I got a great deal—two story, brick on all four sides, tongue and groove decking instead of plywood, solid as a rock, and I busted my ass working part time renovating it. New roof, rebuilt soffits and facias, kitchen cabinet doors, new paint inside and out, you know the story.
Then it burned down in 2001.
A total loss of building and 99% of the contents.
All I got out of it was some smoke stained books and files, and a six figure insurance check. I took the money and ran away from Atlanta, Georgia because by that time I’d had it up to here (pointing to the top of my ever graying, ever balding head…)
Since that day I have to admit that the real estate business has been of secondary importance to me, but that I have made a little money investing in vacant land in Florida and most recently I’ve been the proud owner of a duplex and three adjacent vacant lots in downtown Brunswick.
I say proud in a tongue in cheek manner, because where my property lies you wouldn’t want to walk down the street at night with a hundred dollars in your pocket. Heck, I suspect that fifty cents would be enough to get you cut if not killed.
I had to run one of my tenants out of the duplex a couple of summers ago due to non-payment of the rent, and the other one’s, a man in his mid 30’s, mother moved him into the home of a relative (because she was paying his rent) that passed away thereby ending my first stint as a official “slumlord.”
Since I hate having to go around banging on doors to collect rent money, I’ve just let the property sit there and fester unoccupied, and therein lies my problem today.
It seems that for some reason, people like to inspect it and open it up and look inside, without my permission. At least three different times now before this week someone has kicked the side door in and just did a tour.
You know wander around and look at the rooms, comment on the paint colors (or lack thereof), rummage through the empty kitchen cabinets…stuff like that.
What blew my mind was that last fall they broke in and they actually STOLE THE ENTIRE KITCHEN SINK AND CABINET from the right hand unit.
You heard me right…they STOLE MY KITCHEN SINK.
W.T.F?
Well, today I learned that again someone has taken yet another unauthorized tour, and apparently they’ve started hanging out in some manner because Ozzie, my agent, told me that when he stopped by the front door was unlocked and all of the windows were open.
Just Damn….
I didn’t find out until about 4 PM yesterday so I didn’t have the energy to drive over there from the island, but I guess I’ll go over tomorrow, turn on the water, flush whatever the hell is in the toilet down the drain, and try to lock everything back up and fix whatever is broken.
Dammit, but why can’t people just leave other people’s stuff alone?
I just called the police about 3 AM this morning, told them about the situation, and asked them to send an officer by to check out who or whomever might be using the place as a crack house or a crash pad. I figure that if someone is there, that by this late hour they’ve probably got all settled in and if the police will do their job they will have an early, rude awakening.
Can you say charges for possession of drugs?
Can you say charges for solicitation of prostitution?
Can you say charges for weapons possession?
Can you say charges for trespassing?
Can you say arrest for outstanding warrants?
I sure hope so...
Any way, there’s no water, no electricity, no furniture, and the whole place is made of concrete blocks inside and out so they can’t really hurt it, but it was relatively clean the last time I was over there and I’m afraid that they are going to crap it up one way or another so it will cost more to fix when and if I get back into the slumlord business.
I’m thinking about adding an addition onto to the back of it or possibly adding a second story level to it because it is so small and cramped right now, but the neighborhood has a ways to go before any self-respecting families are going to want to move in so I have to watch my level of investment.
The good news is that a builder built a new house about two blocks away, so things are turning around and my idea of building three or four new townhouses across the street might not be so hair brained after all.
Stay tuned to this station for yet another episode of...
“Slum Lord of Arabia…Houser of the Crack Head Infadels…”
Here's my new logo:
A Face Made For Radio
That Would Be Me…
Back in high school several of my buddies got jobs as “DJ’s” at the local AM and FM radio stations.
It wasn’t exactly rocket science, and although I suppose that there is a certain glamour associated with the job title, in reality what being a radio DJ amounts to is hours and hours spent sitting beside a bunch of electronic equipment waiting to go pee and go home.
Matt, Mark, and John all spun disks and did voice transitions into station breaks for a little cash, and sometimes we’d go out to the station and hang out with them just for fun.
The hard part then would be getting the aforementioned “DJ” to stop laughing so that he could talk plainly when needed. We made a sort of game of it…Goose the “DJ”…
Any way, I think that John owns one of the old stations today, or at least he is the station manager, while Matt and Mark went on to other careers.
That brings me to my real subject this morning…I’ve just learned that my friend Matt is still in the radio business in a way, broadcasting an internet radio stream over at The Sandbox…QIRT.com.
If you have a high speed internet connection, click on the link and go check Matt’s efforts out. It’s all 1970’s and early 1980’s rock and roll with NO COMMERCIALS. I open a browser window, fire up the music, and let it entertain me while I write and complain about the world.
And that smooth voice which you hear every 15 minutes, that would be Matt.
Stop by and take a listen…if you will…
Back in high school several of my buddies got jobs as “DJ’s” at the local AM and FM radio stations.
It wasn’t exactly rocket science, and although I suppose that there is a certain glamour associated with the job title, in reality what being a radio DJ amounts to is hours and hours spent sitting beside a bunch of electronic equipment waiting to go pee and go home.
Matt, Mark, and John all spun disks and did voice transitions into station breaks for a little cash, and sometimes we’d go out to the station and hang out with them just for fun.
The hard part then would be getting the aforementioned “DJ” to stop laughing so that he could talk plainly when needed. We made a sort of game of it…Goose the “DJ”…
Any way, I think that John owns one of the old stations today, or at least he is the station manager, while Matt and Mark went on to other careers.
That brings me to my real subject this morning…I’ve just learned that my friend Matt is still in the radio business in a way, broadcasting an internet radio stream over at The Sandbox…QIRT.com.
If you have a high speed internet connection, click on the link and go check Matt’s efforts out. It’s all 1970’s and early 1980’s rock and roll with NO COMMERCIALS. I open a browser window, fire up the music, and let it entertain me while I write and complain about the world.
And that smooth voice which you hear every 15 minutes, that would be Matt.
Stop by and take a listen…if you will…
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Blog Readers Keep Speaking Out
Thanks Patrick!!!
Here's another letter to the editor of the Brunswick News from Today's edition:
Resident lends support to tree sculpture project
I would like to state my dismay at the public and editorial outcry that has arisen from members of Brunswick and the Golden Isles community over the proposed K Street tree sculpture project.
The main complaint seems to be about money, but it was stated in the preliminary planning of the project that the lion's share of the funding for this project would come from private donations and fundraising efforts of volunteers – not the taxpayers.
I would like to encourage the mayor and the city and county commissioners to move forward with the K Street tree sculpture project as planned. As someone who grew up here, I consider the beautification and revitalization of the city of Brunswick of great importance to Glynn County and Coastal Georgia. Please make this project a reality, and bring a world class piece of art to the city of Brunswick for which all can be proud.
Support the K Street tree sculpture project.
Patrick Armstrong
St. Simons Island
I'm still working on the preliminary footing design and architectural issues and I am glad that people are listening to the story.
Here's another letter to the editor of the Brunswick News from Today's edition:
Resident lends support to tree sculpture project
I would like to state my dismay at the public and editorial outcry that has arisen from members of Brunswick and the Golden Isles community over the proposed K Street tree sculpture project.
The main complaint seems to be about money, but it was stated in the preliminary planning of the project that the lion's share of the funding for this project would come from private donations and fundraising efforts of volunteers – not the taxpayers.
I would like to encourage the mayor and the city and county commissioners to move forward with the K Street tree sculpture project as planned. As someone who grew up here, I consider the beautification and revitalization of the city of Brunswick of great importance to Glynn County and Coastal Georgia. Please make this project a reality, and bring a world class piece of art to the city of Brunswick for which all can be proud.
Support the K Street tree sculpture project.
Patrick Armstrong
St. Simons Island
I'm still working on the preliminary footing design and architectural issues and I am glad that people are listening to the story.
Middle Aged Health Issues
You Are What You Eat?
Gosh dang it all Ladies and Gentlemen, but I find myself rapidly sliding down the slippery slope of middle age.
I guess that, like the old saying goes…”another day above ground beats the heck out of the alternative…”
I’m just a few months shy of being Forty Seven Years Old, and I sometimes feel like I’ve already lived to at least One Hundred.
Somebody out there, I forget who, was once quoted as saying “If I knew that I was going to live so long, I would have taken better care of myself…”
I totally agree…
I often look at myself in the mirror and yell at the ever graying, ever balding, dumpy imposter that has wrapped himself around the kid that just a few decades ago could run three miles in eighteen minutes.
Seriously, when I was in my late teens and early twenty’s I could walk out my front door, tighten my shoe laces, stretch my legs, and run away from my dorm room or apartment and not stop until I had put ten or twelve miles behind me.
Unlike the old Rodney Dangerfield joke about running five miles a day each week (hey doctor…I’m 35 miles from home), I’d just turn around and jog back home in time for dinner and a couple of beers with my friends.
Then one day back in 1983 when I was throwing Frisbee at Piedmont Park in Atlanta, I started having pains in my right leg, and the rest is history. I have since found out that I have inherited something called “hyper-coagulate blood,” along with a deluxe set of bad veins in my legs.
My condition is the opposite of being a hemophiliac—instead of tending to bleed to death, my blood try’s its’ best to turn to Jello if I don’t pay attention and take my meds regularly.
So any way, I’ve learned to live with the condition in spite of its attempt to kill me about every five years since the initial occurrence, but it has put a serious dent on my athletic endeavors and physical conditioning.
No more Ultimate Frisbee.
No more long distance running.
No more water skiing.
No more snow skiing.
No more scuba diving.
No more flying airplanes.
I could go on and on, but I also realize that I’ve had the opportunity to do so many things that so many people on the planet never have the cash or opportunity to do even if their bodies will allow it, so I’ll just leave that abbreviated list where it stands—I’m quite grateful for the opportunities which I’ve had thus far in my life.
I’m also quite happy to still be alive and still have two legs and feet attached, because if it was 1906 rather than 2006 I’d either be dead else be a double amputee by now, and wheelchairs have come a long way since then also…thank God.
Even though I’m 6’3” tall, my weight over the past six or seven years has ballooned from about 210 to over 250 pounds and, until the past couple of months, I rarely had the strength and energy to manage to drag myself off of the sofa or out of the pool (floating like a giant walrus) to do anything about it.
I’m proud to report that suddenly, out of the clear blue, my energy level has started steadily increasing and as a result, my weight has started sliding back toward the inventory of clothing that I’ve maintained in the back of the closet for the past few years.
Not one, but about three inches in the waist so far. We don’t own scales at our house because of the negative karma associated with “evil instruments of our industrial empire”, but I would have to say at least 20 pounds have disappeared over the past couple of months.
I guar an dam tee you that I’m not taking this all for granted either.
I’ve started swimming laps in the pool each night. Tonight it was five round trips without stopping.
I thought that I was going to die.
My formerly strong legs are so weak now, but I got through it, and a workout in the water is much less stressful than even walking long distances and it involves more muscle groups.
I’ve also always been a little top heavy because I have a large chest, but my arms have atrophied to the point where they look like a couple of twigs coming off of the trunk of a tree stump or something (maybe I can model for my K-street Tree Project).
So any way, I’m afraid that my cooking exercises over at The Redneck Gourmet are going to have to change a bit because my girlfriend Pat’s blood pressure is through the roof and I want to continue to keep my own weight loss and health improvements moving forward.
To that end, I’m looking at further improving the quality of our home cooking and dining adventures, without substituting packaged crap like cheese food products, tofu, and partially hydrogenated blaa blaa blaa products.
Dang it…I like to eat Brown chicken eggs…
Heck…I like to eat brown chickens, if you take the feathers and feet off of them first.
Give me another month or two, and I’ll get my pony tail trimmed a little, toss on some 36 waist jeans and my ostrich skinned cowboy boots, and show all of my female readers a picture of what the Redneck Gourmet really looks like.
Stay tuned to this channel for further developments...
Gosh dang it all Ladies and Gentlemen, but I find myself rapidly sliding down the slippery slope of middle age.
I guess that, like the old saying goes…”another day above ground beats the heck out of the alternative…”
I’m just a few months shy of being Forty Seven Years Old, and I sometimes feel like I’ve already lived to at least One Hundred.
Somebody out there, I forget who, was once quoted as saying “If I knew that I was going to live so long, I would have taken better care of myself…”
I totally agree…
I often look at myself in the mirror and yell at the ever graying, ever balding, dumpy imposter that has wrapped himself around the kid that just a few decades ago could run three miles in eighteen minutes.
Seriously, when I was in my late teens and early twenty’s I could walk out my front door, tighten my shoe laces, stretch my legs, and run away from my dorm room or apartment and not stop until I had put ten or twelve miles behind me.
Unlike the old Rodney Dangerfield joke about running five miles a day each week (hey doctor…I’m 35 miles from home), I’d just turn around and jog back home in time for dinner and a couple of beers with my friends.
Then one day back in 1983 when I was throwing Frisbee at Piedmont Park in Atlanta, I started having pains in my right leg, and the rest is history. I have since found out that I have inherited something called “hyper-coagulate blood,” along with a deluxe set of bad veins in my legs.
My condition is the opposite of being a hemophiliac—instead of tending to bleed to death, my blood try’s its’ best to turn to Jello if I don’t pay attention and take my meds regularly.
So any way, I’ve learned to live with the condition in spite of its attempt to kill me about every five years since the initial occurrence, but it has put a serious dent on my athletic endeavors and physical conditioning.
No more Ultimate Frisbee.
No more long distance running.
No more water skiing.
No more snow skiing.
No more scuba diving.
No more flying airplanes.
I could go on and on, but I also realize that I’ve had the opportunity to do so many things that so many people on the planet never have the cash or opportunity to do even if their bodies will allow it, so I’ll just leave that abbreviated list where it stands—I’m quite grateful for the opportunities which I’ve had thus far in my life.
I’m also quite happy to still be alive and still have two legs and feet attached, because if it was 1906 rather than 2006 I’d either be dead else be a double amputee by now, and wheelchairs have come a long way since then also…thank God.
Even though I’m 6’3” tall, my weight over the past six or seven years has ballooned from about 210 to over 250 pounds and, until the past couple of months, I rarely had the strength and energy to manage to drag myself off of the sofa or out of the pool (floating like a giant walrus) to do anything about it.
I’m proud to report that suddenly, out of the clear blue, my energy level has started steadily increasing and as a result, my weight has started sliding back toward the inventory of clothing that I’ve maintained in the back of the closet for the past few years.
Not one, but about three inches in the waist so far. We don’t own scales at our house because of the negative karma associated with “evil instruments of our industrial empire”, but I would have to say at least 20 pounds have disappeared over the past couple of months.
I guar an dam tee you that I’m not taking this all for granted either.
I’ve started swimming laps in the pool each night. Tonight it was five round trips without stopping.
I thought that I was going to die.
My formerly strong legs are so weak now, but I got through it, and a workout in the water is much less stressful than even walking long distances and it involves more muscle groups.
I’ve also always been a little top heavy because I have a large chest, but my arms have atrophied to the point where they look like a couple of twigs coming off of the trunk of a tree stump or something (maybe I can model for my K-street Tree Project).
So any way, I’m afraid that my cooking exercises over at The Redneck Gourmet are going to have to change a bit because my girlfriend Pat’s blood pressure is through the roof and I want to continue to keep my own weight loss and health improvements moving forward.
To that end, I’m looking at further improving the quality of our home cooking and dining adventures, without substituting packaged crap like cheese food products, tofu, and partially hydrogenated blaa blaa blaa products.
Dang it…I like to eat Brown chicken eggs…
Heck…I like to eat brown chickens, if you take the feathers and feet off of them first.
Give me another month or two, and I’ll get my pony tail trimmed a little, toss on some 36 waist jeans and my ostrich skinned cowboy boots, and show all of my female readers a picture of what the Redneck Gourmet really looks like.
Stay tuned to this channel for further developments...
