Alive In Savannah
We made it!
It really wasn't that hard--just a couple of hours including filling up on gas before leaving St. Simons and making one wrong turn coming into Savannah looking for Abercorn Street. I was surprised at the number of new fourlane bypass roads that have been constructed in the past 8 years or so.
Abercorn Street is like Atlanta's Peachtree Street, and its loaded with popular landmarks. Pat was suprised when we drove past many of the famous squares and the cemetary that was featured in the film "Midnight In The Garden of Good & Evil."
This little town has changed a great deal since I first set foot here in 1979. Since then I've been driving around Savannah at least a couple of times each year on business, but I haven't been back since about 1998 and boy has the change REALLY accellerated.
I guess it helped when "Midnight et. al." and "Forrest Gump" were filmed here and brought it to national attention. In my considered opinion, more is not better, and there are definitely more tourists and more "tourist streetcars" filled with gawking senior citizens and although urban renewal has removed much of the industrial clutter on the waterfront--I still think that I liked Savannah of the late 1980's and early 1990's better than todays version.
We've already wandered down to River Street (like Bourbon Street or Beale Street in Memphis) and had a late lunch, and now I'm sitting here in our second room at the hotel (the first one's internet connection wouldn't work--but I didn't pitch a fit) happily blogging away watching the weather channel.
I'm gonna get up at dawn tomorrow morning and run out to do a photo shoot on a bunch of the public buildings and churches within just a few blocks of where I sit here now. The early hour will hopefully eliminate all of the people from the scenes.
Wish me luck...
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Neighborhood Nazi’s
At It Again
Just look at this stupid CRAP:
Garland Simmons was excited when the Cowboy Church began meeting at his place on Horseshoe Bend Road in late March.
It appears, however, that somebody did not share his enthusiasm. Simmons was notified by Bedford County officials that the Cowboy Church meetings violate county zoning regulations.
"I got the notice certified through the mail, Monday morning," Simmons said.
The notice consisted of two letters. One was from Gary McIver, the county's building official. McIver wrote that, by hosting the Cowboy Church on his property, Simmons is using it in a manner contrary to its agricultural (AR) zoning.
He also wrote that the building in which the Cowboy Church is being held, is defined as a farm building by the Virginia Uniform Statewide Building Code. The Cowboy Church constitutes a change of use for the building.
"We are all in agreement that this event is a worthy and admirable cause," McIver wrote.
However, he wrote that it is an unpermitted change of use for the property.
The other letter was from Lindsay Blankenship, a planner in the county's department of planning. It directs Simmons to "obtain the necessary permits for the establishment of a Religious Assembly" on the property by May 28.
Can you say “STUPID, IDIOTIC, EMBICILIC, MEDDLING MORONS?”
What ever happened to a man’s home being his castle (and his outhouse being a library or his barn being a church if he wants it to be)?
That tears it…I thought that I was through writing tonight, but the above story reminded me of my own situation that I hadn’t bothered to vent my spleen about here on the blog.
You see, we’ve got our own “Neighborhood Nazi” problems.
We live in a fairly nice condo complex with all of the obligatory covenants, rules, regulations, and limitations—some of which sometimes verge on insanity.
The thing is, you are supposed to know what the rules are when you move in and thus far we have managed to avoid the wrath of own “Neighborhood Nazis.”
Notice that I said “so far”?
Well, that all ended last Wednesday when I received a phone call from the owner of the Condo property management company. She said that she had received a complaint from one of my neighbors about the “red lights” that I had hanging inside around the perimeter of our screened sun room.
By “red lights” she was referring to the two new strings of parrot lights and pink flamingo lights that I had hung up a week or two ago in anticipation of celebrating Cinco de Mayo.
The manager tendered the call in a humorous fashion and didn’t demand that I actually had to remove the lights; she was just obligated to pass the complaint on to me because it was her job.
What is ironic about this situation is that I’m pretty damn sure that I know who complained, andsaid mean old bitter busybody hag the lovely woman sits on the board of directors with me and has been sparing with me over issues relating to the swimming pool for the past two years.
Did I mention that I’m the only non-owner that’s been asked to sit on the board of directors?
Did I mention that I’ve spent at least 40 hours of my time at no cost to the Condo Association writing specifications, attending board meetings, and meeting with contractors on site?
Did I mention that I just got through doing about 8 hours of work LAST WEEK at no cost to the Condo Association buying materials and managing their “Pool Fence Painting Project?”
Did I mention that this week I have spent another four hours studying metal roofing options for our Condo Complex and soliciting proposals for the installation of said metal roofing on said Condo Complex?
Did I mention that I had a couple of strings of white lights installed in the exact location for almost two years and received nothing but complements about their appearance?
Did I mention that, ifthe mean old spineless bitch or bastard the person that has a problem with my celebratory lighting will address me personally in a direct and polite manner, rather than calling the authorities on my ass, that I will consider removing the plastic parrot and pink flamingo covers from the lights—leaving an appearance exactly like we’ve all lived in harmony with for the past 26 months?
Did I mention that my “red lights” are still hanging up and will remain lit throughout my weekend visit to Savannah, and will only be turned out when a bulb fails or I find something costing less than $19.99 that I want to replace them with?
If they keep screwing around with me, I’m going to buy an entire flock of plastic pink flamingos to put in the front yard and buy an old VW bus and park it up on cinder bocks in the back yard and serve happy hour drinks in it.
I will win this one…just watch.
Just look at this stupid CRAP:
Garland Simmons was excited when the Cowboy Church began meeting at his place on Horseshoe Bend Road in late March.
It appears, however, that somebody did not share his enthusiasm. Simmons was notified by Bedford County officials that the Cowboy Church meetings violate county zoning regulations.
"I got the notice certified through the mail, Monday morning," Simmons said.
The notice consisted of two letters. One was from Gary McIver, the county's building official. McIver wrote that, by hosting the Cowboy Church on his property, Simmons is using it in a manner contrary to its agricultural (AR) zoning.
He also wrote that the building in which the Cowboy Church is being held, is defined as a farm building by the Virginia Uniform Statewide Building Code. The Cowboy Church constitutes a change of use for the building.
"We are all in agreement that this event is a worthy and admirable cause," McIver wrote.
However, he wrote that it is an unpermitted change of use for the property.
The other letter was from Lindsay Blankenship, a planner in the county's department of planning. It directs Simmons to "obtain the necessary permits for the establishment of a Religious Assembly" on the property by May 28.
Can you say “STUPID, IDIOTIC, EMBICILIC, MEDDLING MORONS?”
What ever happened to a man’s home being his castle (and his outhouse being a library or his barn being a church if he wants it to be)?
That tears it…I thought that I was through writing tonight, but the above story reminded me of my own situation that I hadn’t bothered to vent my spleen about here on the blog.
You see, we’ve got our own “Neighborhood Nazi” problems.
We live in a fairly nice condo complex with all of the obligatory covenants, rules, regulations, and limitations—some of which sometimes verge on insanity.
The thing is, you are supposed to know what the rules are when you move in and thus far we have managed to avoid the wrath of own “Neighborhood Nazis.”
Notice that I said “so far”?
Well, that all ended last Wednesday when I received a phone call from the owner of the Condo property management company. She said that she had received a complaint from one of my neighbors about the “red lights” that I had hanging inside around the perimeter of our screened sun room.
By “red lights” she was referring to the two new strings of parrot lights and pink flamingo lights that I had hung up a week or two ago in anticipation of celebrating Cinco de Mayo.
The manager tendered the call in a humorous fashion and didn’t demand that I actually had to remove the lights; she was just obligated to pass the complaint on to me because it was her job.
What is ironic about this situation is that I’m pretty damn sure that I know who complained, and
Did I mention that I’m the only non-owner that’s been asked to sit on the board of directors?
Did I mention that I’ve spent at least 40 hours of my time at no cost to the Condo Association writing specifications, attending board meetings, and meeting with contractors on site?
Did I mention that I just got through doing about 8 hours of work LAST WEEK at no cost to the Condo Association buying materials and managing their “Pool Fence Painting Project?”
Did I mention that this week I have spent another four hours studying metal roofing options for our Condo Complex and soliciting proposals for the installation of said metal roofing on said Condo Complex?
Did I mention that I had a couple of strings of white lights installed in the exact location for almost two years and received nothing but complements about their appearance?
Did I mention that, if
Did I mention that my “red lights” are still hanging up and will remain lit throughout my weekend visit to Savannah, and will only be turned out when a bulb fails or I find something costing less than $19.99 that I want to replace them with?
If they keep screwing around with me, I’m going to buy an entire flock of plastic pink flamingos to put in the front yard and buy an old VW bus and park it up on cinder bocks in the back yard and serve happy hour drinks in it.
I will win this one…just watch.
I’m A Ramblin’ Man
With All Due Respect To Greg Allman
I’m sitting here this morning doing something I rarely do these days…WORKING.
Actual ENGINEERING WORK, if you must ask.
That’s right ladies and gentlemen—I have some paying engineering consulting work that I’m doing for an associate in Atlanta—looking into the potential cause of an accident that caused the expansion joints in some 16” diameter steel pipes to rupture in a Data Center chilled water system.
OK, you can stop yawning now…I won’t bore you with any more technical details, but aren’t you impressed?
I am, because my old brain cells, or at least the ones I haven’t killed already, are spinning around on their little synapses and neurons trying to remember things that I learned almost thirty years ago in my “Statics”, “Dynamics”, and “Deformable Bodies” classes at Georgia Tech.
Unlike the coursework taught in many classes inflicted on engineering undergraduates, I’ve actually managed to USE the knowledge gained in those fifteen quarter hours of torture many times in my professional career, but I have to admit that it’s been at least six years since I sat down and drew a free body diagram of a beam or column and it’s taken a few hours to clean the dust off of my skills.
Meanwhile, I’m also mentally preparing to make a long weekend trip up old US 17 (running parallel to I-95) between Brunswick and Savannah where we’re spending a long weekend.
There should be a number of great photo opportunities including old buildings along the route, not to mention the beauty of downtown Savannah where we’re staying a couple of nights near the river.
I’ve spent part of the evening cleaning up the hard drive on the laptop so that I have room to download photos in route.
While working this evening, the words to one of my favorite Allman Brother’s songs kept creeping into my head while I was waiting for the computer hard drive to finish defragmenting…
"Lord, I was born a ramblin' man
Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can
And when it's time for leavin'
I hope you'll understand
That I was born a ramblin' man"
You'll have to excuse me if my blogging is light for the next couple of days.
But then again, if something stupid happens in the news or I get all inspired over something I see , you’ll be the first to know.
Regards Y'all
I’m sitting here this morning doing something I rarely do these days…WORKING.
Actual ENGINEERING WORK, if you must ask.
That’s right ladies and gentlemen—I have some paying engineering consulting work that I’m doing for an associate in Atlanta—looking into the potential cause of an accident that caused the expansion joints in some 16” diameter steel pipes to rupture in a Data Center chilled water system.
OK, you can stop yawning now…I won’t bore you with any more technical details, but aren’t you impressed?
I am, because my old brain cells, or at least the ones I haven’t killed already, are spinning around on their little synapses and neurons trying to remember things that I learned almost thirty years ago in my “Statics”, “Dynamics”, and “Deformable Bodies” classes at Georgia Tech.
Unlike the coursework taught in many classes inflicted on engineering undergraduates, I’ve actually managed to USE the knowledge gained in those fifteen quarter hours of torture many times in my professional career, but I have to admit that it’s been at least six years since I sat down and drew a free body diagram of a beam or column and it’s taken a few hours to clean the dust off of my skills.
Meanwhile, I’m also mentally preparing to make a long weekend trip up old US 17 (running parallel to I-95) between Brunswick and Savannah where we’re spending a long weekend.
There should be a number of great photo opportunities including old buildings along the route, not to mention the beauty of downtown Savannah where we’re staying a couple of nights near the river.
I’ve spent part of the evening cleaning up the hard drive on the laptop so that I have room to download photos in route.
While working this evening, the words to one of my favorite Allman Brother’s songs kept creeping into my head while I was waiting for the computer hard drive to finish defragmenting…
"Lord, I was born a ramblin' man
Tryin' to make a livin' and doin' the best I can
And when it's time for leavin'
I hope you'll understand
That I was born a ramblin' man"
You'll have to excuse me if my blogging is light for the next couple of days.
But then again, if something stupid happens in the news or I get all inspired over something I see , you’ll be the first to know.
Regards Y'all
Friday, May 12, 2006
Loose Lips Sink Ships
Translation: “Leaks Sink National Security”
Is there anyone else out there besides me that doubts the coincidence of the Senate’s confirmation hearings for General Michael Hayden as CIA director this week and USA Today’s Wednesday recycling of the headline story about NSA’s “massive database” of American phone calling habits?
In fact, USA Today has managed to kill two birds with onestone story—bashing Hayden as he sits before the Senators and keeping the “Bush bashing” going as the country moves toward November’s mid-term elections.
USA Today is also counting on their readers having short memories
As Michell Malkin points out in today’s NY Post , USA Today’s effort is just a rehash of an old NY Times article ON THE EXACT SAME SUBJECT published last December.
The only thing that I found new in the USA Today story was that AT&T, Verizon, and Bellsouth were cooperating with the program, while Colorado based Qwest has thus far balked at providing their cooperation.
I see a new add campaign emerging for Qwest:
“Qwest and Al Qaeda—Can you hear us now?”
Or maybe “Qwest—Preferred by nine out of ten terrorists living in the USA…”
I don’t care if you AGREE with the use of these type programs or not (I happen to support them), what you and I should be concerned about is the on going LEAKING OF NATIONAL SECURITY INFORMATION to the media and ultimately--TO OUR ENEMIES.
I want to slap the somber smirk off of Pelosi’s and Reid’s partisan faces when they jump in front of the nearest camera and declare their intention to “Get ToThe Bottom” of this story and other non-stories like it.
NEWS FLASH—There is absolutely nothing for them to get to the bottom of, because key senators are already constantly briefed about ALL of the NSA’s activities.
SECOND NEWS FLASH—IF a government employee, private contractor, or any other of the so-called “unidentified sources” has any concerns about the legality and propriety of anything which the government is doing, they already have official procedures in place to complain about it and insure that it is investigated.
Instead of going to USA Today or the NY Times with the story, why not pick up the telephone and go straight tothe horses’ mouths Pelosi, Schumer, and Reid and let them deal directly with the potential offending parties.
But Nnnnooooooooo, dealing properly with their concerns, following the chain of command wouldn’t accomplish their actual goal here.
The goal isn’t about personal privacy or the legality of the programs, it’s about stirring public hysteria and thereby publicly embarrassing their political enemies.
I sincerely want President Bush to order the CIA and the FBI to go out and find a couple of thesetreasonous partisan assholes”unidentified sources,” try them publicly in court, televise the entire proceeding, and if and when they are convicted, lock them up in jail for about twenty years.
That should take care of the endless stream of “unidentified sources,”
It would also force USA Today’s reporters to do some actual reporting rather than simply serving as a conduit for the transmission of our national security secrets directly to terrorists.
Is there anyone else out there besides me that doubts the coincidence of the Senate’s confirmation hearings for General Michael Hayden as CIA director this week and USA Today’s Wednesday recycling of the headline story about NSA’s “massive database” of American phone calling habits?
In fact, USA Today has managed to kill two birds with one
USA Today is also counting on their readers having short memories
As Michell Malkin points out in today’s NY Post , USA Today’s effort is just a rehash of an old NY Times article ON THE EXACT SAME SUBJECT published last December.
The only thing that I found new in the USA Today story was that AT&T, Verizon, and Bellsouth were cooperating with the program, while Colorado based Qwest has thus far balked at providing their cooperation.
I see a new add campaign emerging for Qwest:
“Qwest and Al Qaeda—Can you hear us now?”
Or maybe “Qwest—Preferred by nine out of ten terrorists living in the USA…”
I don’t care if you AGREE with the use of these type programs or not (I happen to support them), what you and I should be concerned about is the on going LEAKING OF NATIONAL SECURITY INFORMATION to the media and ultimately--TO OUR ENEMIES.
I want to slap the somber smirk off of Pelosi’s and Reid’s partisan faces when they jump in front of the nearest camera and declare their intention to “Get ToThe Bottom” of this story and other non-stories like it.
NEWS FLASH—There is absolutely nothing for them to get to the bottom of, because key senators are already constantly briefed about ALL of the NSA’s activities.
SECOND NEWS FLASH—IF a government employee, private contractor, or any other of the so-called “unidentified sources” has any concerns about the legality and propriety of anything which the government is doing, they already have official procedures in place to complain about it and insure that it is investigated.
Instead of going to USA Today or the NY Times with the story, why not pick up the telephone and go straight to
But Nnnnooooooooo, dealing properly with their concerns, following the chain of command wouldn’t accomplish their actual goal here.
The goal isn’t about personal privacy or the legality of the programs, it’s about stirring public hysteria and thereby publicly embarrassing their political enemies.
I sincerely want President Bush to order the CIA and the FBI to go out and find a couple of these
That should take care of the endless stream of “unidentified sources,”
It would also force USA Today’s reporters to do some actual reporting rather than simply serving as a conduit for the transmission of our national security secrets directly to terrorists.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Chasing Our Own Tail?
More Government Stupidity
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been pretty impressed with the success to date of The Minuteman Project in demonstrating the shortcomings of government border control efforts while at the same time improving border security.
It’s amazing to me that regular citizens—mere amateurs—can do a better job for FREE than the Imperial Federal Government of the United States could spending billions dollars annually.
In spite of being called vigilantes and “a ticking time bomb” by the usual suspects (various “immigration activists”, socialists, liberals, Democrats, and many in the Lamestream Media,) to my knowledge there has been no reported abuse, injuries, or deaths of any prospective “guest workers” trying to walk or climb or swim across the Rio Grande in the presence of the Minutemen and Minutewomen.
Hundreds of illegal border crossings have been thwarted and dozens if not hundreds of potential “guest workers” have been rounded up and either sent back to Mexico or are awaiting justice in jails in the Southwest.
I would think that a reasonable person or group of persons like the Government officials responsible for border control would be thankful for the assistance, but instead this article indicates that our government may be actually tipping off the Mexican Government of Minutemen activities in advance.
While Minuteman civilian patrols are keeping an eye out for illegal border crossers, the U.S. Border Patrol is keeping an eye out for Minutemen -- and telling the Mexican government where they are.
According to three documents on the Mexican Secretary of Foreign Relations Web site, the U.S. Border Patrol is to notify the Mexican government as to the location of Minutemen and other civilian border patrol groups when they participate in apprehending illegal immigrants -- and if and when violence is used against border crossers.
A U.S. Customs and Border Protection spokesman confirmed the notification process, describing it as a standard procedure meant to reassure the Mexican government that migrants' rights are being observed.
"It's not a secret where the Minuteman volunteers are going to be," Mario Martinez said Monday
My first reaction was my usual “What the HELL?”, but after letting things develop during the day today now things don’t seem so cut and dried because US Customs and Border Protection is now publicly denying the allegation.
U.S. Customs and Border Protection is refuting a Daily Bulletin report that the U.S. Border Patrol provided information to the Mexican government about the whereabouts of civilian border watch groups.
Today's report by the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin, `U.S. tipping Mexico to Minuteman patrols,' is inaccurate," read the statement issued Tuesday evening. "Border Patrol does not report activity by civilian, non-law enforcement groups to the government of Mexico."
Kristi Clemens, a spokeswoman for the Department of Homeland Security and Customs and Border Protection, would not elaborate on the agency's statement other than to say the U.S. gives information to Mexican officials under the rules of the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations of 1963, which provides foreign nationals being detained by a government the right to consular access.
I did a little snooping of my own and, being unable to read much Spanish, I was able to get Google to give me this translated copy of the Mexican government website containing a discussion of US cooperation with them regarding the Minuteman project.
Looks to me like someone here in the US is talking to someone south of the border, and it looks like the information is making it onto the internet and could potentially be used by someone intent on getting a job plucking chickens here in Georgia.
Of course a critical question in my mind would be the timing of the supply of the information.
IF data is changing hands, are things done in real time or in historical report form?
Knowing the chicken shit manner in which our government handles border security, and considering the level of jealousy and embarrassment that certain officials (elected and appointed) might be feeling over the success of the Minutemen, I certainly wouldn't be too surprised if we’re handing them the location of the border enforcement efforts in an effort to undermine their success.
Let’s just sit back and see where this story goes.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been pretty impressed with the success to date of The Minuteman Project in demonstrating the shortcomings of government border control efforts while at the same time improving border security.
It’s amazing to me that regular citizens—mere amateurs—can do a better job for FREE than the Imperial Federal Government of the United States could spending billions dollars annually.
In spite of being called vigilantes and “a ticking time bomb” by the usual suspects (various “immigration activists”, socialists, liberals, Democrats, and many in the Lamestream Media,) to my knowledge there has been no reported abuse, injuries, or deaths of any prospective “guest workers” trying to walk or climb or swim across the Rio Grande in the presence of the Minutemen and Minutewomen.
Hundreds of illegal border crossings have been thwarted and dozens if not hundreds of potential “guest workers” have been rounded up and either sent back to Mexico or are awaiting justice in jails in the Southwest.
I would think that a reasonable person or group of persons like the Government officials responsible for border control would be thankful for the assistance, but instead this article indicates that our government may be actually tipping off the Mexican Government of Minutemen activities in advance.
While Minuteman civilian patrols are keeping an eye out for illegal border crossers, the U.S. Border Patrol is keeping an eye out for Minutemen -- and telling the Mexican government where they are.
According to three documents on the Mexican Secretary of Foreign Relations Web site, the U.S. Border Patrol is to notify the Mexican government as to the location of Minutemen and other civilian border patrol groups when they participate in apprehending illegal immigrants -- and if and when violence is used against border crossers.
A U.S. Customs and Border Protection spokesman confirmed the notification process, describing it as a standard procedure meant to reassure the Mexican government that migrants' rights are being observed.
"It's not a secret where the Minuteman volunteers are going to be," Mario Martinez said Monday
My first reaction was my usual “What the HELL?”, but after letting things develop during the day today now things don’t seem so cut and dried because US Customs and Border Protection is now publicly denying the allegation.
U.S. Customs and Border Protection is refuting a Daily Bulletin report that the U.S. Border Patrol provided information to the Mexican government about the whereabouts of civilian border watch groups.
Today's report by the Inland Valley Daily Bulletin, `U.S. tipping Mexico to Minuteman patrols,' is inaccurate," read the statement issued Tuesday evening. "Border Patrol does not report activity by civilian, non-law enforcement groups to the government of Mexico."
Kristi Clemens, a spokeswoman for the Department of Homeland Security and Customs and Border Protection, would not elaborate on the agency's statement other than to say the U.S. gives information to Mexican officials under the rules of the Vienna Convention on Consular Relations of 1963, which provides foreign nationals being detained by a government the right to consular access.
I did a little snooping of my own and, being unable to read much Spanish, I was able to get Google to give me this translated copy of the Mexican government website containing a discussion of US cooperation with them regarding the Minuteman project.
Looks to me like someone here in the US is talking to someone south of the border, and it looks like the information is making it onto the internet and could potentially be used by someone intent on getting a job plucking chickens here in Georgia.
Of course a critical question in my mind would be the timing of the supply of the information.
IF data is changing hands, are things done in real time or in historical report form?
Knowing the chicken shit manner in which our government handles border security, and considering the level of jealousy and embarrassment that certain officials (elected and appointed) might be feeling over the success of the Minutemen, I certainly wouldn't be too surprised if we’re handing them the location of the border enforcement efforts in an effort to undermine their success.
Let’s just sit back and see where this story goes.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
I’m Not Much Of A Groupie
Mundane Celebrity
As most people already know, I’m not much of a fan of pop culture.
Some people might think that I’m gay or something because I can’t name a half dozen “super models” by name and couldn’t put faces with names if one of them offered to marry me and share their fortunes.
That said, I had my third ever contact with a famous musician this afternoon while hanging out down at Murphy’s—our local tavern.
The first time I ran into someone that was a big time artist was back about 1990 when I walked into a bar/restaurant in Marietta, Georgia and sat down to order a beer. When I looked at the man on my left and spoke to him, I realized that I was sitting next to the country singer Travis Tritt.
Being the smooth operator that I was, I introduced myself, shook his hand, and told him that I realized who he was but that I would not disturb him because I thought that it was cool that he was able to hide under a cowboy hat and try to go out in his native Marietta and act like a “normal person.”
His anonymous status lasted about another fifteen minutes as word of his presence spread and fawning little waitresses and other patrons bombarded him with greetings.
I left the room shortly after sharing a beer with him, but without an autograph—I’m not an autograph kind of guy.
This afternoon I managed to sit down beside a slightly less famous, but none-the-less talented guitar player named Stevie Holland. There were only three of us sitting there for about an hour (the bartender that had known him all his life, Stevie, and Me.)
For those of you that don’t remember, Steve Holland was one of the founding members of the southern rock group “Molly Hatchet.”
In college my friends and I probably saw them perform three or four times in Atlanta in the late 70’s and early 80’s, and Stevie has turned his life around after a nearly twenty year absence from the stage and has reassembled a group of former Molly Hatchet band members as a group called ”Gator Country.”
He’s a very down to earth guy. He answered my questions and told some great stories about traveling on the road and performing as the opening act for bands like “The Who” in Europe; and performing at London’s Albert Hall with Eric Clapton, Robert Plant (of Led Zepplin fame) and my fellow blogger and reader John Hooker.
What started out as a trip to grab a quick cold beer and talk to my friend Brad turned into a once in a lifetime experience with someone that lived and breathed good old Southern rock and roll in it’s infancy.
I once again left the building with a handshake, but no autograph.
(For those readers in the Orlando, Florida area, “Gator Country is making their public debut at Orland’s City Hall Plaza this coming weekend. If I didn’t already have plans to spend a long weekend in Savannah I’d have accepted Stevie’s invitation to come down and bring my harmonicas—can you say “BAD TIMING?”)
As most people already know, I’m not much of a fan of pop culture.
Some people might think that I’m gay or something because I can’t name a half dozen “super models” by name and couldn’t put faces with names if one of them offered to marry me and share their fortunes.
That said, I had my third ever contact with a famous musician this afternoon while hanging out down at Murphy’s—our local tavern.
The first time I ran into someone that was a big time artist was back about 1990 when I walked into a bar/restaurant in Marietta, Georgia and sat down to order a beer. When I looked at the man on my left and spoke to him, I realized that I was sitting next to the country singer Travis Tritt.
Being the smooth operator that I was, I introduced myself, shook his hand, and told him that I realized who he was but that I would not disturb him because I thought that it was cool that he was able to hide under a cowboy hat and try to go out in his native Marietta and act like a “normal person.”
His anonymous status lasted about another fifteen minutes as word of his presence spread and fawning little waitresses and other patrons bombarded him with greetings.
I left the room shortly after sharing a beer with him, but without an autograph—I’m not an autograph kind of guy.
This afternoon I managed to sit down beside a slightly less famous, but none-the-less talented guitar player named Stevie Holland. There were only three of us sitting there for about an hour (the bartender that had known him all his life, Stevie, and Me.)
For those of you that don’t remember, Steve Holland was one of the founding members of the southern rock group “Molly Hatchet.”
In college my friends and I probably saw them perform three or four times in Atlanta in the late 70’s and early 80’s, and Stevie has turned his life around after a nearly twenty year absence from the stage and has reassembled a group of former Molly Hatchet band members as a group called ”Gator Country.”
He’s a very down to earth guy. He answered my questions and told some great stories about traveling on the road and performing as the opening act for bands like “The Who” in Europe; and performing at London’s Albert Hall with Eric Clapton, Robert Plant (of Led Zepplin fame) and my fellow blogger and reader John Hooker.
What started out as a trip to grab a quick cold beer and talk to my friend Brad turned into a once in a lifetime experience with someone that lived and breathed good old Southern rock and roll in it’s infancy.
I once again left the building with a handshake, but no autograph.
(For those readers in the Orlando, Florida area, “Gator Country is making their public debut at Orland’s City Hall Plaza this coming weekend. If I didn’t already have plans to spend a long weekend in Savannah I’d have accepted Stevie’s invitation to come down and bring my harmonicas—can you say “BAD TIMING?”)
Things I Know I Can Do Without
Late Night TV Ads
Those that know me personally or that frequent this blog and read my daily rantings know that I’m a night owl. As background noise, I generally turn on the Discover Channel, History Channel, or FOX News and vegetate while surfing the Web or writing about the “topic du jour.”
What totally drives me crazy is that, if I'm not having to look at Greta Van Sustren’s crooked mouth while she talks about some pitiful missing teenager on FOX for five hours in a row, then I'm being tortured sometime between 3 and 5 AM when most cable channels switch over to…(get ready)
PAID PROGRAMMING
You know...
Paid “infomercials” featuring of all things—INANE CRAP LIKE…
A. Anything made by "Ronco" and that marketing genius Ron Popeil. God save us all...
B. Giagantic CD collections of 1970's or 1980's music.
Sorry folks, but I LIVED THROUGH the 1970's and 1980's and I can buy all of the music I can stand to listen to all by myself without having it blended together in a mind numbing mix.
Why don't the try selling me something by Jimmy Hendrix on 8-Track tape format?
C. Real Estate purchasing “SYSTEMS” requiring no money down.
Yeah, RIGHT, I’m going to watch a few video tapes and listen to a few cassettes and then run out and develop a Donald Trump type real estate empire starting with only twenty dollars while making the government and other people pay for it.
I can’t decide who is a bigger Moron—the “system” buyers or the “system” sellers?
D. “Wild” Party Girls Videos
These poor girls parents just have to be totally mortified by their behavior, not to mention that their chances of wearing a white dress and walking down the church isle with a straight face with anyone but a boorish pig are forever reduced by their choice to drink and accept a few hundred dollars to flash their tits on national TV.
E. Girls gone “Wild” Videos (see D above)
F. Exercise equipment comprised of wheels and leavers and bows and springs that are guaranteed to help me lose 50 pounds and give me six pack "Abs" in just six weeks (and hides neatly under my bed or in my bedroom closet.)
Just mail me the six pack and we'll have a drink or two during happy hour.
G. Diploma Mill “colleges and institutes” that offer to teach me to be a male nurse or a TV repair man (something that I really need after I throw the remote control through the picture tube) in the privacy of my own home in only three weeks for two easy payments of only $49.99.
H. Various and Sundry male genital enhancement products—including prescription pills and other things that might cause “Priaprism.”
I didn’t know that the condition “Priaprism” had a name.
You want “Priaprism”, I’ll give you “Priaprism” because I say that most men battled “Priaprism” from about age 14 to age 30 and many just couldn’t find a girl that would appreciate it.
Now you'll please have to excuse me, because I have to go study my TV repair manuals…
Those that know me personally or that frequent this blog and read my daily rantings know that I’m a night owl. As background noise, I generally turn on the Discover Channel, History Channel, or FOX News and vegetate while surfing the Web or writing about the “topic du jour.”
What totally drives me crazy is that, if I'm not having to look at Greta Van Sustren’s crooked mouth while she talks about some pitiful missing teenager on FOX for five hours in a row, then I'm being tortured sometime between 3 and 5 AM when most cable channels switch over to…(get ready)
PAID PROGRAMMING
You know...
Paid “infomercials” featuring of all things—INANE CRAP LIKE…
A. Anything made by "Ronco" and that marketing genius Ron Popeil. God save us all...
B. Giagantic CD collections of 1970's or 1980's music.
Sorry folks, but I LIVED THROUGH the 1970's and 1980's and I can buy all of the music I can stand to listen to all by myself without having it blended together in a mind numbing mix.
Why don't the try selling me something by Jimmy Hendrix on 8-Track tape format?
C. Real Estate purchasing “SYSTEMS” requiring no money down.
Yeah, RIGHT, I’m going to watch a few video tapes and listen to a few cassettes and then run out and develop a Donald Trump type real estate empire starting with only twenty dollars while making the government and other people pay for it.
I can’t decide who is a bigger Moron—the “system” buyers or the “system” sellers?
D. “Wild” Party Girls Videos
These poor girls parents just have to be totally mortified by their behavior, not to mention that their chances of wearing a white dress and walking down the church isle with a straight face with anyone but a boorish pig are forever reduced by their choice to drink and accept a few hundred dollars to flash their tits on national TV.
E. Girls gone “Wild” Videos (see D above)
F. Exercise equipment comprised of wheels and leavers and bows and springs that are guaranteed to help me lose 50 pounds and give me six pack "Abs" in just six weeks (and hides neatly under my bed or in my bedroom closet.)
Just mail me the six pack and we'll have a drink or two during happy hour.
G. Diploma Mill “colleges and institutes” that offer to teach me to be a male nurse or a TV repair man (something that I really need after I throw the remote control through the picture tube) in the privacy of my own home in only three weeks for two easy payments of only $49.99.
H. Various and Sundry male genital enhancement products—including prescription pills and other things that might cause “Priaprism.”
I didn’t know that the condition “Priaprism” had a name.
You want “Priaprism”, I’ll give you “Priaprism” because I say that most men battled “Priaprism” from about age 14 to age 30 and many just couldn’t find a girl that would appreciate it.
Now you'll please have to excuse me, because I have to go study my TV repair manuals…
Monday, May 08, 2006
My Fish Is Smarter Than Your Fish
Oops...I Mean Mammal
In the past I've had the opportunity to see and interact with Bottlenose Dolphins in the wild while deep sea fishing and scuba diving.
I firmly believe in the popular estimates of their intelligence--often exceeding that of many politicians and media personalities found wandering around out there in the "real" world.
Take a look at this story indicating that individual Dolphins might have specific names, and actually say their names from a young age as a means of introduction and identifictaion.
The Sunday Times - Britain
May 07, 2006
DOLPHINS may be closer to humans than previously realised, with new research showing they communicate by whistling out their own “names”.
The evidence suggests dolphins share the human ability to recognise themselves and other members of the same species as individuals with separate identities. The research, on wild bottlenose dolphins, will lead to a reassessment of their intelligence and social complexity, raising moral questions over how they should be treated.
The research was carried out by Vincent Janik of the Sea Mammal Research Unit at St Andrews University, who has found bottlenose dolphins to be among the animal world’s quickest learners of new sounds.
He said: “Each animal develops an individually distinctive signature whistle in the first few months of its life, which appears to be used in individual recognition.”
The research has its origin in the 1960s when dolphin trainers first noticed that captive animals each had their own personal repertoire of whistles.
This prompted speculation that dolphins had their own language and might even have individual “names”. However, the theory was controversial among whale and dolphin researchers, and until now, there had been no means of testing it.
I wish that congress would pass a law giving Dolphins the right to vote rather than passing that responsibility to illegal aliens and many humans that I know.
But then again, I wouldn't like having to live in a giant concrete pool performing tricks for frozen chunks of Mackerel and Sardines, and that's probably what the Dolphins would do to all us Humans given the opportunity.
Remember...what comes around goes around...
In the past I've had the opportunity to see and interact with Bottlenose Dolphins in the wild while deep sea fishing and scuba diving.
I firmly believe in the popular estimates of their intelligence--often exceeding that of many politicians and media personalities found wandering around out there in the "real" world.
Take a look at this story indicating that individual Dolphins might have specific names, and actually say their names from a young age as a means of introduction and identifictaion.
The Sunday Times - Britain
May 07, 2006
DOLPHINS may be closer to humans than previously realised, with new research showing they communicate by whistling out their own “names”.
The evidence suggests dolphins share the human ability to recognise themselves and other members of the same species as individuals with separate identities. The research, on wild bottlenose dolphins, will lead to a reassessment of their intelligence and social complexity, raising moral questions over how they should be treated.
The research was carried out by Vincent Janik of the Sea Mammal Research Unit at St Andrews University, who has found bottlenose dolphins to be among the animal world’s quickest learners of new sounds.
He said: “Each animal develops an individually distinctive signature whistle in the first few months of its life, which appears to be used in individual recognition.”
The research has its origin in the 1960s when dolphin trainers first noticed that captive animals each had their own personal repertoire of whistles.
This prompted speculation that dolphins had their own language and might even have individual “names”. However, the theory was controversial among whale and dolphin researchers, and until now, there had been no means of testing it.
I wish that congress would pass a law giving Dolphins the right to vote rather than passing that responsibility to illegal aliens and many humans that I know.
But then again, I wouldn't like having to live in a giant concrete pool performing tricks for frozen chunks of Mackerel and Sardines, and that's probably what the Dolphins would do to all us Humans given the opportunity.
Remember...what comes around goes around...
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Mexican Food
See What You Missed?
The dust has settled, but I'm still tired.
Time to fry some fish for dinner...
The dust has settled, but I'm still tired.
Time to fry some fish for dinner...
Over 30 Were Fed
(And No One’s Dead)
I am so relieved…I actually did it, and not by myself I might add.
If it hadn’t been for Pat’s steadfast support and my friend Rusty’s ability to imitate my own limited tamale making skills, I might have caused a minor bout of starvation at dinner last night, but instead I laid my head on my pillow before midnight secure in the knowledge that our dinner party was a resounding success.
I sort of out-smarted myself in waiting a bit late to start putting the tamales together because I wanted them to be “fresh,” but Pat and then Rusty jumped in and helped me with the production process and in the end we probably had close to 100 little neatly tied corn husk wrapped packages.
Our buddies down at Marsh Point Bar and Restaurant loaned me two deluxe commercial sized covered chafing dishes and we ran a smaller third chafing dish containing my Mexican Rice mixture and just to put things in perspective let me say that I think that…
Our guests “chowed down.”
I think that everyone was surprised at the quantity of food that we were serving (My Invitation said DINNER and I meant it,) and I never got around to cooking the fish for the tacos and all of the chicken tenderloins still lay raw in the fridge when the dust settled. (I’ve got a long way to go when it comes to estimating proportions.)
In the end I realized that cooking for two or four or six is a no brainer, but that cooking for thirty is HARD WORK, yet having people come back through your buffet line two or three times and rave about your food makes it all worthwhile.
Captain Dave and one of his friends (I forget his name) provided the entertainment by playing the keyboard and harmonica, and I jumped in a couple of times with my own harmonicas and the crowd sang along to things like Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.”
All in all, a “Large Time” was had by all, but I'm definitely not ready to do it again...at least for a few months.
I am so relieved…I actually did it, and not by myself I might add.
If it hadn’t been for Pat’s steadfast support and my friend Rusty’s ability to imitate my own limited tamale making skills, I might have caused a minor bout of starvation at dinner last night, but instead I laid my head on my pillow before midnight secure in the knowledge that our dinner party was a resounding success.
I sort of out-smarted myself in waiting a bit late to start putting the tamales together because I wanted them to be “fresh,” but Pat and then Rusty jumped in and helped me with the production process and in the end we probably had close to 100 little neatly tied corn husk wrapped packages.
Our buddies down at Marsh Point Bar and Restaurant loaned me two deluxe commercial sized covered chafing dishes and we ran a smaller third chafing dish containing my Mexican Rice mixture and just to put things in perspective let me say that I think that…
Our guests “chowed down.”
I think that everyone was surprised at the quantity of food that we were serving (My Invitation said DINNER and I meant it,) and I never got around to cooking the fish for the tacos and all of the chicken tenderloins still lay raw in the fridge when the dust settled. (I’ve got a long way to go when it comes to estimating proportions.)
In the end I realized that cooking for two or four or six is a no brainer, but that cooking for thirty is HARD WORK, yet having people come back through your buffet line two or three times and rave about your food makes it all worthwhile.
Captain Dave and one of his friends (I forget his name) provided the entertainment by playing the keyboard and harmonica, and I jumped in a couple of times with my own harmonicas and the crowd sang along to things like Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.”
All in all, a “Large Time” was had by all, but I'm definitely not ready to do it again...at least for a few months.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Things All Men Need To Know
An Early Tribute To Mother’s Day...
Hey all you guys out there…
Yes…YOU…You there…The man averting your beady eyes…answer this question for me if you will:
ARE YOU A TYPICAL “MALE PIG”?
If not, you probably need to thank your mother, and you also need to notice that I intentionally left off the standard “chauvinistic” part of the phrase because that's not what I'm talking about here.
By “Male Pig” I don’t mean the Sally Struthers’ FemiNazi type “Male Pig” that is purported to basically disrespect women and sets about to demean and repress their (the Feminazi’s) government and God given “rights” as the bearers of all of the Vaginas and Mammary Glands on the planet and in the Universe.
No Sirrrrrreeee.
I mean the type of man that thinks that ironing your clothes involves placing a warm cookie sheet and a stack of dictionaries on top of your pants on your desk before dressing for church Sunday morning so you can “dress up;” or that believes that a “bathroom rug” consists of the avant-garde collection of head, body, and pubic hair that accumulates on the ceramic floor tile between your bi-annual vacuuming and occasional random fits of sweeping and dusting.
(Those type guys also think that that pink ring around the toilet bowl is an indicator that the toilet is working properly because the water always fills back up to the same pink ring point after a flush…)
As to being that “type” of “typical male pig”, I’m here to tell you that I aren’t one.
I’m not, thanks to my Mama.
My Mama insisted that I learn what “clean” was.
My Mama taught me to wash my clothes.
My Mama taught me to iron my clothes once they were washed and dried.
My Mama taught me how to “do the dishes.”
My Mama saw to it that I took a bath virtually every single day of the first 17 years of my life (whether I needed it or not.)
My Mama made me take a typing class in High School long before the computer keyboard became a major part of my life. (I've made tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of extra income as a result...)
My Mama generally taught me right from wrong and caused my face and ears to change shapes and colors based on the veracity of the statement which I was uttering at any given time.
Red ears…liar.
Red face…embarrassed.
Red neck…walking into the expansive woods on my grandfather’s farm with a rifle in my hands.
With those points in mind, I offer a hearty...
THANKS…MOM!!
Hey all you guys out there…
Yes…YOU…You there…The man averting your beady eyes…answer this question for me if you will:
ARE YOU A TYPICAL “MALE PIG”?
If not, you probably need to thank your mother, and you also need to notice that I intentionally left off the standard “chauvinistic” part of the phrase because that's not what I'm talking about here.
By “Male Pig” I don’t mean the Sally Struthers’ FemiNazi type “Male Pig” that is purported to basically disrespect women and sets about to demean and repress their (the Feminazi’s) government and God given “rights” as the bearers of all of the Vaginas and Mammary Glands on the planet and in the Universe.
No Sirrrrrreeee.
I mean the type of man that thinks that ironing your clothes involves placing a warm cookie sheet and a stack of dictionaries on top of your pants on your desk before dressing for church Sunday morning so you can “dress up;” or that believes that a “bathroom rug” consists of the avant-garde collection of head, body, and pubic hair that accumulates on the ceramic floor tile between your bi-annual vacuuming and occasional random fits of sweeping and dusting.
(Those type guys also think that that pink ring around the toilet bowl is an indicator that the toilet is working properly because the water always fills back up to the same pink ring point after a flush…)
As to being that “type” of “typical male pig”, I’m here to tell you that I aren’t one.
I’m not, thanks to my Mama.
My Mama insisted that I learn what “clean” was.
My Mama taught me to wash my clothes.
My Mama taught me to iron my clothes once they were washed and dried.
My Mama taught me how to “do the dishes.”
My Mama saw to it that I took a bath virtually every single day of the first 17 years of my life (whether I needed it or not.)
My Mama made me take a typing class in High School long before the computer keyboard became a major part of my life. (I've made tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars of extra income as a result...)
My Mama generally taught me right from wrong and caused my face and ears to change shapes and colors based on the veracity of the statement which I was uttering at any given time.
Red ears…liar.
Red face…embarrassed.
Red neck…walking into the expansive woods on my grandfather’s farm with a rifle in my hands.
With those points in mind, I offer a hearty...
THANKS…MOM!!
Best Laid Plans—Phase II
Draining My Mud Drum…
OK, first go read my previous posting entitled "Best Laid Plans", then stop back by here if you really want to put things into perspective.
I know, I know, I know…poor poor pitiful me….
I’ve spent the entire week trying to selfishly glorify myself by doing things for others, and it seems that God really does have a sense of humor because two of the three projects I’ve undertaken have leapt up and bit me on the ass here at the last minute, in spite of my efforts to have them finished by WEDNESDAY.
First and foremost, I’m cooking dinner for 30 people Saturday night. You might have already heard...
Yes ladies and gentlemen, we’re co-hosting a party. We’ve spent a bunch of bucks on food to cook, and yes they’ll probably slap me on the back and carry me around on their shoulders if I’m successful…but…regardless of any self serving accolades I still have a 7 pound pork roast in the oven and about 5 pounds of beef roast in a Dutch oven on the stovetop as I write.
Come hell or high water the preparation of my menu, including another 10 pounds of chicken, is first and foremost on my personal agenda, but just DAMN…
my other two projects just won’t stay the hell out of the way.
I’ve already written about my “Pool Fence Project”, so now that I ask you to indulge me while I gripe about my “friend’s auto sale” project.
For the past few months I’ve been helping an absentee neighbor sell his car that is sitting here on St. Simons Island.
No big deal, you might say—and that’s exactly what I thought when we started the project. After all, the loan was paid off, they had a buyer, and all I had to do once the title came in the mail was swap the keys and title for a check, right?
Wrrrrooooonnnnngggggg.
Sweet people that they are, the elderly couple buying the car just don’t have a CLUE, and apparently they haven't had to borrow money to buy a used car before.
I’ve been calling and begging and pleading for them to consummate the deal since Tuesday, and finally today we agreed that I would drive the car to their loan office over in the real world in Brunswick at 10 AM to pick up the check in exchange for the title and keys.
Wrrrrooooonnnnnngggggg.
By 10:45 I learned that not only did my buyers not have the necessary documents to get the loan, but they also hadn’t been advised of what they needed until Thursday morning and “they were going back home in Darien” (20 miles away) to get them.
Just DAMN…
I politely told the lovely loan officer that I had had enough and drove back home, thereby limiting my time wastage to a measly 2 hours. I also told her that I had extensive personal commitments until Monday and that we should just plan on rescheduling the transaction for next week.
Come 3:30 PM, I got a phone call delightfully declaring that my purchaser was sitting in the loan office, check in hand, and that they wanted their car.
Wrrrrrrrroooooonnnnnnggggg.
I likewise delightfully reminded said young enthusiastic loan officer of my earlier 25 mile round trip in the morning and my declaration of my unavailability between then and Monday AM. I asked that she offer my regards to my purchaser and explain that their collective ineptitude would result in a slight delay in the consummation of our four wheeled transaction.
I’m such a heartless bastard, but it was “pool time” and in addition I needed to go check on myimbeciles contractors and get a little sun.
Feeling about 50% less stressed, cocktails by the pool ensued.
Oooooohhh…Aaaahhhhhhhh…
Poolside I thought to myself that I’d just put the week’s BS behind me and enjoy doing my cooking, having postponed the auto deal and put most of my contractor induced woes behind me.
Wrrrrrrrooooooooonnnnnngggg.
When we returned from the pool we had a voice mail message from our buyer saying that they wanted to come pick up the car today.
Wrrrroooooooooooonnnnnngggg.
I hate to admit it, but I lost my shit. I yelled at the loan officer on the phone. I would have yelled at the buyer if they had answered the phone. I yelled in front of my girlfriend and I think that I was lucky that I didn’t have a heart attack I was so angry.
Who the hell do these people think they are and what the hell were they thinking?
After all…I was there in the loan office with the car, car title, and keys in hand this morning.
No one else was prepared, even though I called everyone for two days previously and we agreed on the process before I arrived.
I know that my lips were moving and words were coming out of my mouth, but I must be crazy or dreaming or otherwise speaking gibberish because no matter what I do, people have the audacity to not only waste my time, but then they get upset with ME when I won’t bend further backwards to accommodate THEM.
This goes out to several select individuals (and you know who or whom you are)
YOU CAN ALL JUST KISS IT (MY ASS, THAT IS...)
OK, first go read my previous posting entitled "Best Laid Plans", then stop back by here if you really want to put things into perspective.
I know, I know, I know…poor poor pitiful me….
I’ve spent the entire week trying to selfishly glorify myself by doing things for others, and it seems that God really does have a sense of humor because two of the three projects I’ve undertaken have leapt up and bit me on the ass here at the last minute, in spite of my efforts to have them finished by WEDNESDAY.
First and foremost, I’m cooking dinner for 30 people Saturday night. You might have already heard...
Yes ladies and gentlemen, we’re co-hosting a party. We’ve spent a bunch of bucks on food to cook, and yes they’ll probably slap me on the back and carry me around on their shoulders if I’m successful…but…regardless of any self serving accolades I still have a 7 pound pork roast in the oven and about 5 pounds of beef roast in a Dutch oven on the stovetop as I write.
Come hell or high water the preparation of my menu, including another 10 pounds of chicken, is first and foremost on my personal agenda, but just DAMN…
my other two projects just won’t stay the hell out of the way.
I’ve already written about my “Pool Fence Project”, so now that I ask you to indulge me while I gripe about my “friend’s auto sale” project.
For the past few months I’ve been helping an absentee neighbor sell his car that is sitting here on St. Simons Island.
No big deal, you might say—and that’s exactly what I thought when we started the project. After all, the loan was paid off, they had a buyer, and all I had to do once the title came in the mail was swap the keys and title for a check, right?
Wrrrrooooonnnnngggggg.
Sweet people that they are, the elderly couple buying the car just don’t have a CLUE, and apparently they haven't had to borrow money to buy a used car before.
I’ve been calling and begging and pleading for them to consummate the deal since Tuesday, and finally today we agreed that I would drive the car to their loan office over in the real world in Brunswick at 10 AM to pick up the check in exchange for the title and keys.
Wrrrrooooonnnnnngggggg.
By 10:45 I learned that not only did my buyers not have the necessary documents to get the loan, but they also hadn’t been advised of what they needed until Thursday morning and “they were going back home in Darien” (20 miles away) to get them.
Just DAMN…
I politely told the lovely loan officer that I had had enough and drove back home, thereby limiting my time wastage to a measly 2 hours. I also told her that I had extensive personal commitments until Monday and that we should just plan on rescheduling the transaction for next week.
Come 3:30 PM, I got a phone call delightfully declaring that my purchaser was sitting in the loan office, check in hand, and that they wanted their car.
Wrrrrrrrroooooonnnnnnggggg.
I likewise delightfully reminded said young enthusiastic loan officer of my earlier 25 mile round trip in the morning and my declaration of my unavailability between then and Monday AM. I asked that she offer my regards to my purchaser and explain that their collective ineptitude would result in a slight delay in the consummation of our four wheeled transaction.
I’m such a heartless bastard, but it was “pool time” and in addition I needed to go check on my
Feeling about 50% less stressed, cocktails by the pool ensued.
Oooooohhh…Aaaahhhhhhhh…
Poolside I thought to myself that I’d just put the week’s BS behind me and enjoy doing my cooking, having postponed the auto deal and put most of my contractor induced woes behind me.
Wrrrrrrrooooooooonnnnnngggg.
When we returned from the pool we had a voice mail message from our buyer saying that they wanted to come pick up the car today.
Wrrrroooooooooooonnnnnngggg.
I hate to admit it, but I lost my shit. I yelled at the loan officer on the phone. I would have yelled at the buyer if they had answered the phone. I yelled in front of my girlfriend and I think that I was lucky that I didn’t have a heart attack I was so angry.
Who the hell do these people think they are and what the hell were they thinking?
After all…I was there in the loan office with the car, car title, and keys in hand this morning.
No one else was prepared, even though I called everyone for two days previously and we agreed on the process before I arrived.
I know that my lips were moving and words were coming out of my mouth, but I must be crazy or dreaming or otherwise speaking gibberish because no matter what I do, people have the audacity to not only waste my time, but then they get upset with ME when I won’t bend further backwards to accommodate THEM.
This goes out to several select individuals (and you know who or whom you are)
YOU CAN ALL JUST KISS IT (MY ASS, THAT IS...)
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Best Laid Plans
Excuse Me While I Vent…
Maybe there is something wrong with ME, I just don’t know.
I feel my mouth moving and I hear the words coming out of my head, but this week I’ve either encountered a bunch of inept retarded dyslexic morons, else I swear that I’ve started speaking gibberish or lost my mind or something because no matter what I say and agree to do for others, NOTHING I’ve planned has worked out, and I’M THE ONE that has suffered the consequences.
All of this, while working for FREE.
Take our little Condo pool fence project, for example.
You know, the pool fence project that I agreed to help our Elderly Condo Association President (that would be ECAP for future reference) manage?
You know, the pool fence project in the Condo Development that we RENT in, not OWN.
Call me the ultimate philanthropist.
I’ve done my best to ensure that this little piss-ant$1,500 $1,650 $1,700 paint and wood replacement project went smoothly and was completed properly and on time.
I called the contractor last week, whom was conveniently out of town this week, and we agreed that we would await his return and walk through the project, review his proposal, and make sure that we were on the same page before his crew started work.
Seems reasonable so far…right?
Since I’ve done the design and project management of several hundred million dollars worth of heavy industrial fabrication and construction over the past 25 years, a little piss-ant$1500 $1650 $1700 paint and repair job should be a piece of cake.
But Nnnnnnooooooo, can’t have that, because the Stupid Bitch Contractor’s Wife (that would be the SBCW, for future reference) demanded that she be allowed to start the job this week rather than next week when the actual CONTRACTOR and CARPENTERS were back in town from Atlanta.
And of course, rather than telling ME her plans, she called our well intended but totally clueless ECAP, who proceeded to approve the Monday start date (because he wants to ensure that everything is finished before next month’s board meeting.)
For those of you keeping score, that would be SBCW—1, Virgil—0.
As I anticipated (having managed a few so-called residential contractors before), come Monday morning at 8:00 AM there was no sign of any construction or painting going on at my pool-side jobsite.
9:00 AM…..no construction workers
10:00 AM…no construction workers
11:00 AM…no construction workers
12:00 AM…no construction workers
1:00 PM…two construction workers, but the SBCW was no where to be seen.
No supplies, no tools, no paint, just three lonely guys (including myself) standing around picking our noses collectively.
1:30 PM…thank God the SBCW arrives, with two additional workers!!!
1:45 PM SBCW continues to ignore me, even after I have identified myself as the project manager.
2:00 PM I manage to get a few unintelligible grunts and a half smile from SBCW.
2:01 PM I have a “throwing up of my hands and walking away back home” party.
To make a long story even longer, this idiot SBCW allowed her people (two of which left on Tuesday to go to the aforementioned Atlanta job site) to work with virtually no tools and minimal supplies (delivered at the last minute) all week long.
The SBCW converted a three day job into an entire week long project.
The SBCW also managed to pull an additional $150 out of the ECAP for installing new wood where the wood was rotten, just before she got the extra $50 out of the ECAP for cutting said wood to lenght.
Now the score would be SBCW 3, Virgil 0.
Next, since the local building supply company was out of the needed pressure treated lumber and threatened to delay my "project from hell", I had to drive 25 miles round trip in order to pick up and deliver said wood from Home Depot to our pool-side jobsite.
Then I had to argue with the Stupid Bitch Property Manager (that would be SBPM for future reference) in order to get reimbursed this week for the lumber I purchased, even though I stupidly didn't ask for mileage charges and in spite of saving them a $50 delivery fee.
I watched helplessly as the SBCW’s employees ran around begging to borrow basic things like extension cords and water hoses and the PAINTER that was doing the CARPENTRY work spent much of his time standing around scratching his ass looking for nails over 1-1/2” long for two of the four days he was working.
The second part of the project, which I won’t bore you with the details of, was equally (un)successful.
All I know is that I’m a capable, experienced project manager, and it absolutely drives me crazy when I get myself into these situations.
Instead of just continuing to bitch and complain, let me offer some advice:
If you are a homeowner, I suggest that when you start your next home improvement project that you either hire the most expensive contractor you can find, else you put on your largest boots and, after kicking yourself and your significant other in the ass, you be prepared to kick the shit out of anyone that shows up on your property with a paintbrush, hammer, or any other item remotely resembling a TOOL.
I Know that EVERY contractor isn't a total idiot so don't start E-mailing me with complaints, but residential construction seems to attract the most inane, unprofessional, useless morons living here on the planet.
It's just that simple...
Maybe there is something wrong with ME, I just don’t know.
I feel my mouth moving and I hear the words coming out of my head, but this week I’ve either encountered a bunch of inept retarded dyslexic morons, else I swear that I’ve started speaking gibberish or lost my mind or something because no matter what I say and agree to do for others, NOTHING I’ve planned has worked out, and I’M THE ONE that has suffered the consequences.
All of this, while working for FREE.
Take our little Condo pool fence project, for example.
You know, the pool fence project that I agreed to help our Elderly Condo Association President (that would be ECAP for future reference) manage?
You know, the pool fence project in the Condo Development that we RENT in, not OWN.
Call me the ultimate philanthropist.
I’ve done my best to ensure that this little piss-ant
I called the contractor last week, whom was conveniently out of town this week, and we agreed that we would await his return and walk through the project, review his proposal, and make sure that we were on the same page before his crew started work.
Seems reasonable so far…right?
Since I’ve done the design and project management of several hundred million dollars worth of heavy industrial fabrication and construction over the past 25 years, a little piss-ant
But Nnnnnnooooooo, can’t have that, because the Stupid Bitch Contractor’s Wife (that would be the SBCW, for future reference) demanded that she be allowed to start the job this week rather than next week when the actual CONTRACTOR and CARPENTERS were back in town from Atlanta.
And of course, rather than telling ME her plans, she called our well intended but totally clueless ECAP, who proceeded to approve the Monday start date (because he wants to ensure that everything is finished before next month’s board meeting.)
For those of you keeping score, that would be SBCW—1, Virgil—0.
As I anticipated (having managed a few so-called residential contractors before), come Monday morning at 8:00 AM there was no sign of any construction or painting going on at my pool-side jobsite.
9:00 AM…..no construction workers
10:00 AM…no construction workers
11:00 AM…no construction workers
12:00 AM…no construction workers
1:00 PM…two construction workers, but the SBCW was no where to be seen.
No supplies, no tools, no paint, just three lonely guys (including myself) standing around picking our noses collectively.
1:30 PM…thank God the SBCW arrives, with two additional workers!!!
1:45 PM SBCW continues to ignore me, even after I have identified myself as the project manager.
2:00 PM I manage to get a few unintelligible grunts and a half smile from SBCW.
2:01 PM I have a “throwing up of my hands and walking away back home” party.
To make a long story even longer, this idiot SBCW allowed her people (two of which left on Tuesday to go to the aforementioned Atlanta job site) to work with virtually no tools and minimal supplies (delivered at the last minute) all week long.
The SBCW converted a three day job into an entire week long project.
The SBCW also managed to pull an additional $150 out of the ECAP for installing new wood where the wood was rotten, just before she got the extra $50 out of the ECAP for cutting said wood to lenght.
Now the score would be SBCW 3, Virgil 0.
Next, since the local building supply company was out of the needed pressure treated lumber and threatened to delay my "project from hell", I had to drive 25 miles round trip in order to pick up and deliver said wood from Home Depot to our pool-side jobsite.
Then I had to argue with the Stupid Bitch Property Manager (that would be SBPM for future reference) in order to get reimbursed this week for the lumber I purchased, even though I stupidly didn't ask for mileage charges and in spite of saving them a $50 delivery fee.
I watched helplessly as the SBCW’s employees ran around begging to borrow basic things like extension cords and water hoses and the PAINTER that was doing the CARPENTRY work spent much of his time standing around scratching his ass looking for nails over 1-1/2” long for two of the four days he was working.
The second part of the project, which I won’t bore you with the details of, was equally (un)successful.
All I know is that I’m a capable, experienced project manager, and it absolutely drives me crazy when I get myself into these situations.
Instead of just continuing to bitch and complain, let me offer some advice:
If you are a homeowner, I suggest that when you start your next home improvement project that you either hire the most expensive contractor you can find, else you put on your largest boots and, after kicking yourself and your significant other in the ass, you be prepared to kick the shit out of anyone that shows up on your property with a paintbrush, hammer, or any other item remotely resembling a TOOL.
I Know that EVERY contractor isn't a total idiot so don't start E-mailing me with complaints, but residential construction seems to attract the most inane, unprofessional, useless morons living here on the planet.
It's just that simple...
A Belated Happy Birthday
I Missed This...
Most everyone that knows me personally knows that I have a fairly wide range of musical taste and knowledge.
I've wasted time fooling around with the guitar, the piano, the trumpet, and most recently I drag about 30 harmonicas around with me in order to assault a sometimes unwilling audience with various blues bends and riffs.
I also have started singing in public, although I'm afraid that my Willie Nelson, Jimmy Buffet and James Taylor imitations are more like impressionist Rich Little's renditions of Richard Nixon and Jack Benny than actual original vocal talent.
The thing I lament the most about some of today's popular music (particularly that listened to by those under 30) is the obvious lack of vocal talent and inability to actually sing lyrics--Rap and "alternative" artists being the worst offenders.
I just noticed my blog Idols over at Powerline mentioned that Tuesday was the 103rd anniversity of Bing Crosby's birth.
What is hard for me to believe that he's been dead for nearly 29 years now, so I understand why all of the aforementioned "20 somethings" might not know what good singing sounds like.
Happy Birthday Bing ...
Most everyone that knows me personally knows that I have a fairly wide range of musical taste and knowledge.
I've wasted time fooling around with the guitar, the piano, the trumpet, and most recently I drag about 30 harmonicas around with me in order to assault a sometimes unwilling audience with various blues bends and riffs.
I also have started singing in public, although I'm afraid that my Willie Nelson, Jimmy Buffet and James Taylor imitations are more like impressionist Rich Little's renditions of Richard Nixon and Jack Benny than actual original vocal talent.
The thing I lament the most about some of today's popular music (particularly that listened to by those under 30) is the obvious lack of vocal talent and inability to actually sing lyrics--Rap and "alternative" artists being the worst offenders.
I just noticed my blog Idols over at Powerline mentioned that Tuesday was the 103rd anniversity of Bing Crosby's birth.
What is hard for me to believe that he's been dead for nearly 29 years now, so I understand why all of the aforementioned "20 somethings" might not know what good singing sounds like.
Happy Birthday Bing ...
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
I’m A Ramblin’ Wreck From Georgia Tech…
And A Son Of A Gambolier?
OK folks, this morning I want to wade into this hysterical hoopla over the Spanish language version of the National Anthem.
It might surprise you to learn that I’ve decided that I just don’t care…if they want to sing Francis Scott Key’s patriotic ballad in Spanish or Chinese or Swahili—let them sing it.
I’m not insulted and I’m not going to get excited—two reactions that I think might be exactly what they (the British music producer, the illegals, and their supporters) want us to do.
Don’t get me wrong here, my first reaction was probably the same as yours ("WHAT THE HELL?"), but then I started thinking about it and did a little Googleing and you know what?
There are hundreds of songs out there that share the same tunes already, and actually Mr. Key wrote the lyrics to "The Star Spangled Banner" using a tune stolen from an English song called “To Anacreon In Heaven.”
I guess that the maybe the British bitched and complained a little at first, but we’re still singing the song using the same tune today, aren't we?
And here’s a little history for you, by the way…did you know that “The National Anthem” has only been “The National Anthem” since 1931?
Well it has...
And I bet you also think that it was written during the Revolutionary War, but it was actually written in 1814 after Mr. Key witnessed the assault of Ft. McHenry in Baltimore during the War of 1812.
Up until the late 1800’s, Reverend Samuel Francis Smith’s "My County ‘tis of Thee" was the de facto National Anthem until Congress decided to get in on the act and pass the 1931 resolution.
And once again the tune for Reverend Smith’s lyrics was stolen from the British, as it is also the tune for their national anthem “God Save The Queen.”
Other well known songs like Oh Danny Boy and even my beloved Georgia Tech’s fight song “Ramblin’ Wreck From Georgia Tech" each uses traditional folk tunes as their basis.
So calm down, and get over it--I say that we shouldn't get all worked up over this.
After all, if we imposed the same standards on Georgia Tech fans as we want to put on the protesters, I’d be a “Son of a Gambolier” instead of "A HELL OF AN ENGINEER."
Hell, I don't even know what a "Gambolier" is, let alone how I'd go about being the son of one, do you?
OK folks, this morning I want to wade into this hysterical hoopla over the Spanish language version of the National Anthem.
It might surprise you to learn that I’ve decided that I just don’t care…if they want to sing Francis Scott Key’s patriotic ballad in Spanish or Chinese or Swahili—let them sing it.
I’m not insulted and I’m not going to get excited—two reactions that I think might be exactly what they (the British music producer, the illegals, and their supporters) want us to do.
Don’t get me wrong here, my first reaction was probably the same as yours ("WHAT THE HELL?"), but then I started thinking about it and did a little Googleing and you know what?
There are hundreds of songs out there that share the same tunes already, and actually Mr. Key wrote the lyrics to "The Star Spangled Banner" using a tune stolen from an English song called “To Anacreon In Heaven.”
I guess that the maybe the British bitched and complained a little at first, but we’re still singing the song using the same tune today, aren't we?
And here’s a little history for you, by the way…did you know that “The National Anthem” has only been “The National Anthem” since 1931?
Well it has...
And I bet you also think that it was written during the Revolutionary War, but it was actually written in 1814 after Mr. Key witnessed the assault of Ft. McHenry in Baltimore during the War of 1812.
Up until the late 1800’s, Reverend Samuel Francis Smith’s "My County ‘tis of Thee" was the de facto National Anthem until Congress decided to get in on the act and pass the 1931 resolution.
And once again the tune for Reverend Smith’s lyrics was stolen from the British, as it is also the tune for their national anthem “God Save The Queen.”
Other well known songs like Oh Danny Boy and even my beloved Georgia Tech’s fight song “Ramblin’ Wreck From Georgia Tech" each uses traditional folk tunes as their basis.
So calm down, and get over it--I say that we shouldn't get all worked up over this.
After all, if we imposed the same standards on Georgia Tech fans as we want to put on the protesters, I’d be a “Son of a Gambolier” instead of "A HELL OF AN ENGINEER."
Hell, I don't even know what a "Gambolier" is, let alone how I'd go about being the son of one, do you?
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Something To Do
Finally...
OK, it’s like this.
Normally I spend my time being a pretty useless bum these days.
Blogging, a little volunteer work, a little writing, and a little drawing and painting and photography is usually on my schedule, but I have to admit that I’m generally pretty slack compared to most of you out there in the real world.
Not so this week, however.
I’m cooking for 30+ people next Saturday night and in addition we learned today that our invitation has been accepted to have a weekend guest in our home.
Suddenly I’m in a hurry, because late last week I added to my to-do list the overseeing of four or five people working for a contractor doing repair and paint work here in the condo complex over the next couple of days.
I’m afraid that I might have bitten off more than I can chew, because now in addition to buying and processing food, I’m responsible for the extra building supplies not included in the original contract due to extra decay and rotted wood we found in the pool deck fence this afternoon.
I did get a bit of a head start making room for our guest’s accommodations by moving and storing a couple of tons of files and paperwork around our second bedroom/office. I normally use the “pile file” theory of paperwork management, but the method is neither attractive nor conducive to accommodating guests.
Now I’m facing having to handle a trip to buy lumber in addition to a last minute shopping trip for food accoutrements tomorrow before setting about the process of brining and cooking about twenty pounds of Pork, Beef, and Chicken in our tiny kitchen.
I know that I can do the cooking because I’ve prepared every dish at least three times in the past month—it’s just the QUANTITIES involved, and preparing everything at the same time, and managing to keep everything hot or cold that is a challenge.
So any way, if the meaningfulranting & raving blogging suffers this week I ask that you please excuse me, and check back once in a while for updates on my progress.
(of course I reserve the right to explode at any time based on any unforeseen news stories…)
OK, it’s like this.
Normally I spend my time being a pretty useless bum these days.
Blogging, a little volunteer work, a little writing, and a little drawing and painting and photography is usually on my schedule, but I have to admit that I’m generally pretty slack compared to most of you out there in the real world.
Not so this week, however.
I’m cooking for 30+ people next Saturday night and in addition we learned today that our invitation has been accepted to have a weekend guest in our home.
Suddenly I’m in a hurry, because late last week I added to my to-do list the overseeing of four or five people working for a contractor doing repair and paint work here in the condo complex over the next couple of days.
I’m afraid that I might have bitten off more than I can chew, because now in addition to buying and processing food, I’m responsible for the extra building supplies not included in the original contract due to extra decay and rotted wood we found in the pool deck fence this afternoon.
I did get a bit of a head start making room for our guest’s accommodations by moving and storing a couple of tons of files and paperwork around our second bedroom/office. I normally use the “pile file” theory of paperwork management, but the method is neither attractive nor conducive to accommodating guests.
Now I’m facing having to handle a trip to buy lumber in addition to a last minute shopping trip for food accoutrements tomorrow before setting about the process of brining and cooking about twenty pounds of Pork, Beef, and Chicken in our tiny kitchen.
I know that I can do the cooking because I’ve prepared every dish at least three times in the past month—it’s just the QUANTITIES involved, and preparing everything at the same time, and managing to keep everything hot or cold that is a challenge.
So any way, if the meaningful
(of course I reserve the right to explode at any time based on any unforeseen news stories…)
Monday, May 01, 2006
May Day’s New Meaning
Mexico’s Newest Holiday?
It’s funny how life’s experiences constantly change the meaning of things.
For instance, when I first started my own engineering business back in 1990, the first thing that I lost was the traditional meaning of Fridays, holidays, and vacation.
As most everyone knows, when you are an employee somewhere and you don’t own or manage the operation, most of the time you can count on running out the door on Friday afternoon and not coming back until Monday morning. Likewise, you can declare your two weeks vacation time and also run out of the office at Thanksgiving and Christmas and never look back.
Not so once you take your employment into your own hands and go into business for yourself. Customers generally could care less if you’ve planned on spending the third week in September at the beach for six months previously, they want their proposal or drawings or material delivered, dang it.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dragged around a briefcase, a fax machine and a computer while on “holiday” or “vacation” in the past 16 years.
Being like many Americans and enjoying a good excuse to celebrate, I’ve often waded into the masses of revelers enjoying ethnic holidays like the Irish’s St. Patrick’s Day and Mexico’s Cinco de Mayo. I’m neither Irish nor Mexican, but I’ve drank my fair share of green beer and Margaritas in my day on these two holidays.
Unfortunately for me, Cinco de Mayo lost its celebratory appeal ten years ago because my father passed away on May 5th, 1996.
It’s taken ten years for me to get back around to even thinking about celebrating on Cinco de Mayo, but I did want to do it this year and darn it if the illegal Mexicans haven’t gone and spoiled it for me again.
Now they’ve all decided to do some kind of strike or walkout or something today, May Day.
Imagine that--Illegal (and generally non-unionized) Mexican “immigrants” celebrating what has traditionally been an organized labor union & communist holiday here in America—the capital of freedom and democracy.
Did someone forget to send me the memo explaining the rational of this maneuver?
What an entirely inept public relations move, in my opinion.
After all, with Cinco de Mayo falling on Friday of this week, it seems to me that IF these invaders and their sympathizers absolutely had to make some kind of warped political statement, it would have made much more sense for them to do it on Mexican Independence Day rather than on May Day.
Then again, I hope that they just keep on thrashing around demanding “rights” and pissing off middle America so that the legal residents of this country will pressure the professional and elected denizens of Washington DC to get off of their collective asses and do something about our borders.
Meanwhile, I'm making my own political statement this week by having a Cinco de Mayo party a day late, on May 6th. In an even more politically incorrect maneuver, I'm buying the ingredients and cooking all of the food (tamales and tacos and salsa and guacamole) for our thirty guests myself.
Maybe I'll start a tradition and call the annual event Redneck de Mayo.
Yeah, that's the ticket...take that Mexico...
It’s funny how life’s experiences constantly change the meaning of things.
For instance, when I first started my own engineering business back in 1990, the first thing that I lost was the traditional meaning of Fridays, holidays, and vacation.
As most everyone knows, when you are an employee somewhere and you don’t own or manage the operation, most of the time you can count on running out the door on Friday afternoon and not coming back until Monday morning. Likewise, you can declare your two weeks vacation time and also run out of the office at Thanksgiving and Christmas and never look back.
Not so once you take your employment into your own hands and go into business for yourself. Customers generally could care less if you’ve planned on spending the third week in September at the beach for six months previously, they want their proposal or drawings or material delivered, dang it.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dragged around a briefcase, a fax machine and a computer while on “holiday” or “vacation” in the past 16 years.
Being like many Americans and enjoying a good excuse to celebrate, I’ve often waded into the masses of revelers enjoying ethnic holidays like the Irish’s St. Patrick’s Day and Mexico’s Cinco de Mayo. I’m neither Irish nor Mexican, but I’ve drank my fair share of green beer and Margaritas in my day on these two holidays.
Unfortunately for me, Cinco de Mayo lost its celebratory appeal ten years ago because my father passed away on May 5th, 1996.
It’s taken ten years for me to get back around to even thinking about celebrating on Cinco de Mayo, but I did want to do it this year and darn it if the illegal Mexicans haven’t gone and spoiled it for me again.
Now they’ve all decided to do some kind of strike or walkout or something today, May Day.
Imagine that--Illegal (and generally non-unionized) Mexican “immigrants” celebrating what has traditionally been an organized labor union & communist holiday here in America—the capital of freedom and democracy.
Did someone forget to send me the memo explaining the rational of this maneuver?
What an entirely inept public relations move, in my opinion.
After all, with Cinco de Mayo falling on Friday of this week, it seems to me that IF these invaders and their sympathizers absolutely had to make some kind of warped political statement, it would have made much more sense for them to do it on Mexican Independence Day rather than on May Day.
Then again, I hope that they just keep on thrashing around demanding “rights” and pissing off middle America so that the legal residents of this country will pressure the professional and elected denizens of Washington DC to get off of their collective asses and do something about our borders.
Meanwhile, I'm making my own political statement this week by having a Cinco de Mayo party a day late, on May 6th. In an even more politically incorrect maneuver, I'm buying the ingredients and cooking all of the food (tamales and tacos and salsa and guacamole) for our thirty guests myself.
Maybe I'll start a tradition and call the annual event Redneck de Mayo.
Yeah, that's the ticket...take that Mexico...
Friday, April 28, 2006
The Primary Source Of Global Warming
Avert Your Eyes If You're Scared...
As promised, here's the view from East Beach this morning about 6:46 AM:
As promised, here's the view from East Beach this morning about 6:46 AM:
Then, while wandering back up to the car on the boardwalk, I found this little wildflower (you really should try the macro setting on your camera some time):
Time for a little nap now...
Simple Pleasures
I Can Smell The Ocean From Here
I just walked outside for a few minutes to see what was going on in the world, and with the light wind blowing out of the northeast this morning I could actually smell the ocean.
I just love that about living here on our little island.
The Atlantic shoreline is a mile or so across the salt marsh and Sea Island from here at our home's location, but I swear that I can hear the waves crashing on nights when the surf is beat up with passing tropical storms in the summer.
Ever since I was a kid I've always been drawn to the ocean, and as an adult I've probably spent too much of my income traveling to and from and sitting on the beach.
I grew up about 100 miles north of Panama City Beach, Florida and enjoyed the Gulf Coast long beforeGirls Gone Wild all of America and the rest of the world discovered "The Redneck Riviera."
My parents bought a motor home back in 1972 and I was fortunate enought to enjoy staying weekends and weeks in the summer in campsites situated right in the dunes adjacent to the beach at Ft. Walton and Gulf Shores back before the thirty-story high rise condos destroyed the ambiance.
You haven't lived until you wake up in the morning and find the rising ocean tide lapping at your picnic table (and rear tires of the RV--thereby making your mother crazy.) Visits to the beach in the spring and fall always produced opportunities to wander solo (or with little sister in tow) over miles of deserted beaches picking up sea shells or flying kites and tossing model airplanes into the air.
Although Brunswick's adjacent shipping channel causes our grey sanded Atlantic beaches to be highly inferior to the sugar white sands of my youth in Florida, I am still highly comforted by the knowledge that within ten minutes of right now I could be standing with my toes in the surf, awaiting the sun to pop over the eastern horizion.
In fact, I feel an East Beach photo opportunity in the making--let me get my camera.
Look for the results to be posted about 7:30 AM this morning.
I just walked outside for a few minutes to see what was going on in the world, and with the light wind blowing out of the northeast this morning I could actually smell the ocean.
I just love that about living here on our little island.
The Atlantic shoreline is a mile or so across the salt marsh and Sea Island from here at our home's location, but I swear that I can hear the waves crashing on nights when the surf is beat up with passing tropical storms in the summer.
Ever since I was a kid I've always been drawn to the ocean, and as an adult I've probably spent too much of my income traveling to and from and sitting on the beach.
I grew up about 100 miles north of Panama City Beach, Florida and enjoyed the Gulf Coast long before
My parents bought a motor home back in 1972 and I was fortunate enought to enjoy staying weekends and weeks in the summer in campsites situated right in the dunes adjacent to the beach at Ft. Walton and Gulf Shores back before the thirty-story high rise condos destroyed the ambiance.
You haven't lived until you wake up in the morning and find the rising ocean tide lapping at your picnic table (and rear tires of the RV--thereby making your mother crazy.) Visits to the beach in the spring and fall always produced opportunities to wander solo (or with little sister in tow) over miles of deserted beaches picking up sea shells or flying kites and tossing model airplanes into the air.
Although Brunswick's adjacent shipping channel causes our grey sanded Atlantic beaches to be highly inferior to the sugar white sands of my youth in Florida, I am still highly comforted by the knowledge that within ten minutes of right now I could be standing with my toes in the surf, awaiting the sun to pop over the eastern horizion.
In fact, I feel an East Beach photo opportunity in the making--let me get my camera.
Look for the results to be posted about 7:30 AM this morning.
Mexicans Invading International Space Station
Border Violations Expanding...
I had to laugh out loud when I read the headline to THIS STORY:
LAWMAKERS VOTE TO LAUNCH MEXICAN "NASA"
MEXICO CITY (Reuters) - They may be light years away from fulfilling their dream, but Mexican lawmakers are preparing to launch a national space agency they hope could one day stand tall beside the United States NASA.
Mexico's lower house passed a law on Wednesday, which if approved by the upper chamber, would create a space agency to coordinate research and work with universities and the private sector to launch communication and weather satellites.
With an initial budget proposal of less than $2 million, the backers of the Mexican Space Agency say it would struggle to challenge its northern neighbor's National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA, but hope it would draw Mexico into the international space community, bringing access to cutting-edge technology and research.
So there you have it...ladies and gentlemen...the yet to be finished International Space Station will soon have ammenities like maid service, well groomed lawns, and possibly a stone or Mexican tiled foyer, not to mention an occupancy rate of two or three thousand swarthy, wild eyed, Mexican flag waving "immigrants."
I wonder if the space toilets can handle the by-products of burritos and Guacamole?
Where will it all end? (Is there a Cuban "NASA" on the horizion?)
I had to laugh out loud when I read the headline to THIS STORY:
LAWMAKERS VOTE TO LAUNCH MEXICAN "NASA"
MEXICO CITY (Reuters) - They may be light years away from fulfilling their dream, but Mexican lawmakers are preparing to launch a national space agency they hope could one day stand tall beside the United States NASA.
Mexico's lower house passed a law on Wednesday, which if approved by the upper chamber, would create a space agency to coordinate research and work with universities and the private sector to launch communication and weather satellites.
With an initial budget proposal of less than $2 million, the backers of the Mexican Space Agency say it would struggle to challenge its northern neighbor's National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or NASA, but hope it would draw Mexico into the international space community, bringing access to cutting-edge technology and research.
So there you have it...ladies and gentlemen...the yet to be finished International Space Station will soon have ammenities like maid service, well groomed lawns, and possibly a stone or Mexican tiled foyer, not to mention an occupancy rate of two or three thousand swarthy, wild eyed, Mexican flag waving "immigrants."
I wonder if the space toilets can handle the by-products of burritos and Guacamole?
Where will it all end? (Is there a Cuban "NASA" on the horizion?)
