Observations from a Rolling Home

Happy Birthday ...Happier Retirement

2010-01-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

Today is my little brother's birthday. He's retiring this year, and entering into his geezer-hood and hopefully a little more relaxed rest of his life.

My brother is 5 years younger than I am. When we first shared a bedroom in that apartment building I wrote about the other day, the difference in age didn't seem to be that big a deal. It wasn't until I got to be a "big kid" that it pushed us into different worlds under the same roof. Sometimes in those early days we'd lie in the dark and not go to sleep, preferring to talk about important stuff like what we wanted for Christmas, or that evening's episode of "Superman".

On weekends during the summer, our family would pack the coolers and picnic baskets, and join uncles, cousins and Gram (who lived with us from the time Grampa died until she passed away). We'd drive up the Mohawk Trail, and find an empty table in the thick woods that grew along the Cold River (a body of water that lived up to its name, even during the hottest days of the year).

While the adults were putting out the food and lighting the fire for hot dogs, we'd head for the water. Not the big, dammed-up Official Park Swimming Area, though. We stepped from stone to rock to log along the rushing water, till we came to "The Deep Spot" in the stream. It was probably about 10 feet around, and 6 or 7 feet deep, and there was a huge boulder from which the truly brave would jump, provided no grownups were watching.
I remember learning to open my eyes under water there, so I could watch the fish that hid between the rocks. We probably spent more time out of the water than in it, soaking up the sun and recovering from the plunge into that swift-moving snow melt.

Before long, our stomachs told us it was time to head back to the table, and we shivered our way back along the rocks and logs. We ate...lots of food, played badminton, (which I believed for some time to be the game of bad mitten), and sometimes horse shoes. We had a set of rubber horse shoes, which my mother bought for our safety. They were red and green and came with a pair of wooden stakes.

Finally, the mosquitoes would come out and remind us it was time to go.

Then there was vacation. Dad got 2 weeks off every summer from his job at G.E. We rented a cabin at the edge of a pond in a tiny town along the Mohawk Trail, much further east than the picnic grounds. A rowboat came with the cabin, and Dad would take my brother and me out in it bright and early, when the perch were biting and the air was frosty.

We had prepared for the trip by collecting as many "night crawlers" as we could find, placing the fat worms in a container of dirt, which was lodged carefully in its place in the trunk.
Warning: The following may be horrifying if you are an earthworm, or member of PETA...
We had a pair of metal rods attached to a long electric cord. We'd stick the rods into the front lawn, then plug them into an outlet through the front window. Up they'd come out of the ground: Lots of night crawlers. All we wanted. We'd feed them some oatmeal to make them feel better after their abrupt relocation.

So there we were in the middle of the pond, and pretty soon breakfast was in the boat, wriggling around in the creel. We caught and ate many a perch on those trips. We also caught some bluegills...better known to us kids as "pumpkin seeds" because that's what they were shaped like. They weren't very good to eat, but we'd take them home and put them in the garden (everybody had a garden in those days) where they produced some really tasty tomatoes.

I remember the four of us sitting in the cabin, enjoying our catch. I'm sure there are many things about those days I can't recall any more, but those pictures were the ones that came to mind as I put my brother's birthday card into the mailbox today, then sent him an email when I realized it wouldn't make it in time.

Happy Birthday, young Geez. Many happy returns.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

A Great Day for all Mankind

2010-01-24T20:19:00.003-07:00

You can't really call me a prolific writer. I think you can call me a lazy writer, or just a lazy guy who sometimes writes. Yarntangler, on the other hand, is a prolific writer. She has written a blog a day this month, and during several months in the past, while I have been content to read her blogs, and some books, watch TV, and drink beer.

Which brings me to today's topic. Yarntangler told me I should Google "on this day in history" in search of inspiration for my long-overdue entry. So I did, and boy, was she right! I can't pass this one up.

On this day in 1935, the first beer in a can was sold in America. Richmond, Virginia to be exact, and it looked like this:

I've never had Krueger's...neither the Finest Beer nor the Cream Ale, but if it hadn't been for that successful leap of faith in 1935, I would not have enjoyed my first refreshing sip about 20 years later from a can that looked like this:

It was around 1957...the Geez was about 10, and it was one of those moments in time that you kind of remember in isolation from any real context; therefore, the dates, my exact age, and all other particulars may not be totally accurate. But it's almost true, and it's a fun story, so here goes:

I was with my Dad, and we were in a lakeside cabin owned by our Landlord, Charlie. Charlie was an avid hunter. He probably referred to the place as his Hunting Cabin, but Dad wouldn't have called it that in front of me...we weren't big fans of hunting in our family. Anyway, Charlie had invited us for a fun Saturday outing, so there we were.

Charlie had this hound dog named Teddy...us kids named him that, Charlie just called him "the dog", and later "that damn worthless good-for-nothin' dog"... that he had spent a pretty good chunk of money for. He kept him in a dog house up on a hill, removed from the back yard where all the kids from the apartment house played. It was Charlie's firmly-held belief that a hunting dog must not be coddled or pampered, lest the animal lose it's tenacity. Naturally, we didn't see it that way, and every kid in the apartment took turns bringing Teddy treats and big hugs (usually right BEFORE bath time on Mom's orders) and generally spoiling the animal to the point where Charlie eventually just left him home in disgust on hunting days.

Anyway, there we were at Charlie's cabin on a warm summer afternoon, and Charlie was sitting in his old wicker rocking chair having a beer. I asked him what it tasted like, and he looked at Dad, then offered me a sip.

Now the theory in those days was: when a kid wants to try something like beer, or scotch, or anything else alcoholic and appropriate to a less sensitive palate, give it to him. He'll hate it, and never touch another drop for the rest of his life.

"Go ahead kid, take a nice big slug. Heh-heh-heh."(wink exchange with Dad)

So I did.

"Hey, this is pretty good!" (goes to show how much I knew. It was Schlitz for cryin' out loud*)

"You like it?"

"Yeah! Can I have some more?"

"No! And don't you dare let me catch you with beer again until you're 21!"

It was one of those life lessons that you learn well, even if you don't quite understand what just happened.

The above quotations are, of course, approximations...but I have a feeling they're not far from the mark.

Now, I could have argued, somewhat rationally, against Dad's mandate. Not long after the cabin incident, I noticed the following in a reputable national publication (Life, I think):

Now if you click on the picture, you'll learn that Schlitz is the only beer that has no germs. In those days, I guess other beers had inferior alcohol that didn't kill them all. And Schlitz pasteurized it better, I guess.

But I really could have argued that the whole family should be drinking Schlitz, every night with supper. Honest. It says so right there in the magazine.

I never actually made the argument, but I could have.

Instead, I waited until I'd reached my 21'st (actually 18th....well OK 15th) birthday before imbibing in things alcoholic, including beer. Not Schlitz. My preferred brew by the time I started enjoying it on a regular basis was Budweiser, and I drank it out of bottles.

But still, the anniversary of the can of beer deserves some recognition...and it did jog a fond, if not completely accurate, memory.

These days I prefer micro-brews, having gone through preferences for several different brands and price ranges over the years, including, BRIEFLY (actually once), this kind:

...Remember generics? Yummm.

So, having slouched around drinking beer without posting since August of 2009, I hereby return to semi-active blogger status and celebrate a date that should make us all proud. We even beat the Brits by 11 months. (Well Krueger did). Happy Anniversary! Woo-Hooo!!

I'd go relax with a cold one right now, but I just discovered I'm out of beer.

Blog at ya later.

-Geezerguy

*This statement is merely an expression of my personal opinion, and does not necessarily reflect the views of blogspot, the world wide web, Bill Gates, or anyone else who might make some money by kissing up to the Schlitz Brewing Company. Nor is it in any way meant to cast aspersions on the great city of Milwaukee, which we all know would have remained forever an obscure backwater had it not been for that upstanding commercial institution.

An Old Toy and a Wandering Mind

2009-08-27T14:47:00.003-07:00

I've just spent a little time with Roy Rogers and Trigger, thanks to an old View-Master I found while going through a cupboard. I think it might be a little older than the one in the piece Yarntangler shares with us in today's blog. I have to hand it to Kodak...the Kodachrome colors are bright, true and unfaded since about 1950 (the copyright date).

One of the pictures features Trigger and Trigger, Jr. with ole Roy smiling away between them. I'd forgotten there was a Trigger Jr.

I haven't thought about the "King of the Cowboys" for a long time. He was a pretty big deal to us kids growing up in the '50's. He was mostly in black and white for me, so seeing him in color and 3-D would have been quite a treat if I'd had one of those things back then.

My uncle had one.

Uncle Charles was the world traveler in the family. Us kids were sure he had millions stashed away some place, because he always seemed to have the latest and greatest of everything. If he was alive today he'd probably have a gazillion-inch plasma screen (he was the first in the family to have a color TV, and I remember waiting anxiously for Bonanza to come on, so we could watch a show that was actually in color) and a Wii.

Uncle Charles was not a millionaire. In fact, he was an Army Chaplain most of his life. His travel was courtesy of the "needs of the service", and he didn't always go to neat, exotic places. Of course, us kids were not discouraged from thinking that he did. We were being "protected" a la the 1950's. Several years later, he would preside as Yarntangler and I started our new life together, in a church now deemed too costly to survive by the Diocese of Springfield.

But in the 1950's he had a View-Master. And he had about a billion reels of 3-D pictures from Europe. We'd sit in a row on the living room couch, and pass the brown Bakelite viewer down the line, so we could each share in trips he'd taken to places like Lourdes and London. Hours would pass, and between the pictures and Uncle Charles' stories about the places and people in those far off lands, it was like a family vacation overseas.

Looking at my meager collection of reels from Mount Rushmore and the Badlands of South Dakota brought those evenings back to mind. Oh, and Roy Rogers, too. That old single reel might become a collector's item some day. I guess I'd better hang on to it. It might come in handy.

Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

Rehabing and Repacking

2009-08-24T16:02:00.007-07:00

My cardiac rehab instructor says it's time for me to start some upper body strength exercises this week...which is good news. It means I can do more things around the rig without getting into trouble. So, tomorrow we start cleaning out the storage bins, and rearranging everything to make more room.

That's probably where the trouble will begin:

I'm a big advocate of hanging onto things that will probably come in handy some day. Yarntangler, not so much.

She can't understand, for example, why I still have the old water pump that went belly-up last winter in Coffeyville. I also have the complete inner workings of the porch light I replaced two years ago, and a whole assortment of perfectly good wires, switches, connectors and only partially-scorched fusible links from a variety of other items. The uses for all of these are, of course, obvious. So I'm not too concerned about having to justify them.

I do admit, I haven't been able to figure out exactly what some of the things are, but they just look useful. I couldn't pass them up.

...And I'll probably never have a chance to get some of them again...

When we get to the basement storage bays, there may be a few surprises. Some of the items down there haven't seen the light of day since we first went on the road (has it been that long?) I have a feeling I may not recognize some of it. Or I may recognize it, decide I desperately need it for some stupid reason, and then have to find a place in which to pack it all over again.

There may be other surprises, too. Last winter there was a mouse incident and...well, you get the picture.

Anyhow, that will be our next adventure. And we won't even have to get on the road for it.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

...as I Was Saying,

2009-07-20T11:03:00.002-07:00

Well, I'm back after a brief interruption for a heart attack and bypass surgery. At least I didn't fall asleep at the computer, like some people.

Seriously, though, I want to thank all my friends (and I found out there were a lot more than I'd thought) for all the cards, well wishes and prayers while I was recovering. Actually, I'm still recovering, but I've been told I'd better get a blog post done today. I haven't really changed: I'm still basically lazy, and tend to put things off.

If you're going to have a heart problem, Tucson is a great place to have it. I was in 2 different hospitals, St. Joseph's and the Tucson Heart Hospital. The nurses, techs, and doctors...all the staff... were first rate in both facilities. One big surprise for me was mealtime at the Heart Hospital. The food was excellent, and I got to order from a widely varied menu. So much for a bunch of hospital food jokes.

I do find the recovery process a bit frustrating. Not getting energetic as quickly as I'd expected...I guess it all takes time.

Anyway, I'm on the mend, and they even let me keep my beard. So thanks again for all your kindness to me and my family, and I'll be back. And next time, I'll attempt an entertaining post.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Geezerhood in One's Late 30's

2009-06-14T16:40:00.003-07:00

I have officially been a Geezer for just over 2 years, now. However, I find that some people (say, oh, I dunno, Sage Words for example), can achieve certain levels of decrepitude at a much younger age. As evidence, I offer yesterday's lame excuse for a Blog entry.

Oh, I'm sooooooo tired. zzzzzzzzzzzz

The idea for our blogversation this month was quite simple: Sage posts, then I post, then...well, you get the idea. (If not, return to the lame excuse, and scroll down a little).

So now, we have experienced a lull in the conversation. It's kind of like sitting in the living room, talking to somebody, and looking over to find that person has drifted off to dreamland:

Just as you were making an extremely crucial point, in an impassioned, compelling manner.

Not that I was actually doing that, but I could have been. That's the point.

I think that calls for the creation of one more word to add to the next group of a million. (after which, we can hopefully find another tangent to go off on, as tradition requires.)

So, without further ado, I give you my final pre-subject-change addition to the Lexicon:

Wombification:
The act of substituting a brief whining session for lucid or semi-lucid posting on a personal blog. As in... "While expected to continue one of the world's great intellectual discussions, he turned to the well-worn wombification that he was tired, leaving the expectant masses aghast as he retired for the evening."

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

On With the Progring

2009-06-12T22:57:00.002-07:00

As we continue the linguistic bend in the conversation, you will note that Sage has contributed a new word to start us on our way to the 2-millionth new word in modern English. (Confused? Click here.) After cleverly using it in the title, I will endeavor to contribute a second, inspired just this evening during a trip to the Pizza shop.
As it happened, Sage and I were together, and after an arduous consultation with the menu, and a couple of phone calls to confirm the desired quantity of various toppings, we submitted our order and sat down for the customary wait. In this case, the predicted 20 minutes became considerably longer, thanks to the the fact that it was Friday night. But, no worries...MSNBC was on the courtesy TV for our edification. Which brings me to my contribution to the next million new American words:

Dunderpundit: n., A person, generally employed by a news service, empowered and intellectually qualified to engage in deep discussions of topics totally undeserving of such attention.

Now, allow me to use my new word in describing the fine programming from MSNBC that occupied the 30 or so minutes it took to actually prepare our repast. Over the course of that time, we heard from several of the network's best dunderpundits, who shared their opinions,

analyses and interpretations of a flap started this week when David Letterman told a stupid and tasteless joke involving the 14-year old daughter of Alaska's governor. We heard about the Governor's other, 18-year old daughter, and were informed in great detail about the background, context and other pertinent data relating to the impertinent remarks.

We were told, and told, and told. Clips were played from interviews with an outraged Sarah Palin, answering probing questions from the eminent Matt Lauer. These segments were then dissected by our intrepid analysts and explained in great detail. Just to make sure we grasped the momentousness of the issue. They were still talking when the pizza was ready.

Now, you may be thinking, "That's an awful lot of time to be devoting to some stupid joke on a late night TV show." But really, there must be a good reason for all the fuss. Right? Well, sure there is.

After all, what if somebody had missed the show, and not heard the tasteless joke? What if some people were unaware of the miffing of the Governor? What if it had all been allowed to just go away in the space of a couple of days, and we all turned our attention to things that really need discussion? Like the economy. Like the developing international mess, and our gutless, voiceless Congress?

See? We need to be infotained, so we can all feel like we're on top of the really important stuff. And that's what dunderpundits do. So, these people do serve a purpose. After all, Letterman has to maintain his ratings some way. Nothing like an outraged governor to fill that bill.

Yes, these folks deserve their own title, and their own place in the New Lexicon of America. Welcome to the next million, dunderpundits! Another segment of our fine, free press has now been further defined.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Another Twist in the Road

2009-06-10T22:22:00.003-07:00

Sage Words decided to discuss the financial prowess of his (and his brother's) more tender years, leaving me to turn the conversation to more cultural topics, which I will do forthwith. But, in case you need to catch up, here's a link to Sage's most previous words, which contain links back to the rest of the conversation in case you need to catch up.

I have to admit, I was inspired by Yarntangler's blog today. She had a look at those funny little fake words blogger makes you type out to post a comment, and decided to have some fun with them. You should read it before proceeding.

Done?

OK.

So I have decided to take up her challenge, and in the spirit of revitalizing our language, offer the following definitions, complete with sentences illustrating their use:

Aggly…A contraction of “Agriculturally”, meaning something pertaining to farming. (He was aggly inclined like his father and grandfather before him.)

Braxessi…From the fictitious word “Braxessional”, meaning a place in which to clean your Brax Hatchet. Braxessi is the actual organic matter that must be cleaned from the blade after you’ve slain a Brax. (As he continued the hunt, Morglanthis found it more and more difficult to keep his blade free of braxessi.)

Catic…Pertaining to felines. (Licking one’s paws and hacking up fur balls are strictly catic activities.)

Deted…Having restored something that was previously removed. (John deleted the reference, but Angus, in a fit of pique, deted it.)

Epokyi…An advanced and far superior adhesive formulation. (When the epoxy failed to hold the pieces together, Bartholomew applied the epokyi without hesitation.)

Furbus…A long range public transportation vehicle. (While the Metro transit was fine for every day use, Penelope found it necessary to board the furbus for her trip to Bayonne.)

Gusalima…An alternative fuel processed from Lima beans, and yielding an average 77 miles per gallon in a motor home. (I’ve converted my Winnebago from gasoline to gusalima, and I’d never go back.)

Hecry…While originally used as an antonym for “shecry”, the word has now evolved to mean anything that would aggravate or confuse a male intellectual. (The student felt great satisfaction bringing up a hecry in the class discussion, much to the befuddlement of his professor.)

Imandeep…Adjective describing someone in a great deal of trouble; it evolved from a contracted phrase that was misspelled in its first incarnation. (The boy knew when he saw the teacher’s face that he was imandeep.)

Jogesing…A person who runs for exercise with a set of headphones, singing along with his or her ipod. (The jogesing is particularly annoying this morning.)

Knolog…A list of things that are known. (If I don’t remember what I found out about that, I’ll consult my knolog.

Loweble…The opposite of a Higheble. (Ugh! That loweble is disgusting.)

Madoom…An old west term for one’s ultimate destiny. (Ahm goin’ to meet madoom.)

Maybe not the most inspiring words I could have written, but they do manage to get the subject changed, and the conversational ball rolling (as in Rolling Home.)

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

An Exercise in Digression

2009-06-08T17:07:00.007-07:00

Well, the Visionary hasn't shared any New American Visions since June 2'nd, so I'm beginning to wonder if we've returned to a 2-way conversation. Looks like we have, at least for now, by default. So...let's continue apace.

I think Harry Stone is just the type of guy I had in mind in my S.C. analysis...and he has a distinct advantage over the others I mentioned, in that, although fictitious, he is still alive, at least in syndication. (for those of you who have become confused at this point due to lack of context, see Sage Words' last post, and follow the links contained therein as necessary. Thank you for your support.)

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT:
(my own,very original transitional phrase)

The World of High Finance, as seen from the perspective of the Our Government Leaders:

I've always been partial to cherry pie, so you can imagine my delight, when I photographed the Great Economic Recovery Plan and it turned out like that. What more could one ask for?

It was almost like winning the Lottery. I mean the BIG Lottery. The Grand Champion Lottery: POWER BALL .

Yessir!! That's what it felt like.

Until I got to thinking about it...

See, there was this guy in South Dakota who won the Big One this week. I mean a HUGE 30-state 232-million dollar single-winner payoff. He looked so Happy in that picture, with his giant check for that BIG Payoff...

Too bad he won't get what he was promised.

Cause.....

The Lotto Scam goes like this: The jackpot keeps building up to a wondrous amount...20-million dollars or so at a time, depending upon how many tickets get sold...we all keep pumping in the money and eventually somebody like Neal, or a bunch of workers from the local factory who chipped in every week for tickets, wins the prize.

Pictures are taken; gushing feature stories written; well is wished, and everybody is just as warm and fuzzy as they can be...including, and especially, the MEDIA. It's NEWS. OBOY!!!

Then, somewhere down there in the fine print, we find out that the check, and the big publicity picture is actually (gasp)...a lie. That's right. Our government (or if you prefer, governments) lied to us.

---Well, they don't put it that way...I mean it's the Government, so it's OK, right? "It's OK. Trust us. You elected us. Trust us."---

Well,

Neal, as it turns out, took the lump-sum payment. As punishment, he starts out with half the prize amount. (Why? Well, that's just the way it is. It might not seem fair to the winner, but really, it is. Really. Trust us)

232-million X .5 = (and here I rely on my trusty on-board calculator) 116-million.

116-million, minus Taxes (Gotta have our Taxes. How can you have a prize if you don't pay your Taxes!!??)

Or for that matter, "How can you have any pudding if you don't eat your meat!!??"

...sorry, Pink Floyd moment.

Anyway,
116-million, minus Taxes = 88.5 million for Neal.

Still not bad. But not 232-million, either.

Not what we were shown. (Remember in the Running Man, when everybody was shown pictures of "last season's winners" lounging on the beach, and later Arnold and The Girl found their rotting corpses in a locker room?...ya gotta love that movie.)

So, (Am I rambling yet? Really?) 232 = 88-and-a-half in Govspeak.

The point being...
When you hear a financial plan from the government...any government...you'd best remember ole Neal, the 232...I mean 88.5...million dollar winner. (BTW, if Neal decides to give any of that away, his recipient can expect the IRS et al to conduct a 50 to 55% grabathon. Sorry Neal, I know you meant well.)

But I still like cherry pie. You can't let yourself get jaded about everything.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Welcome to the New Guy

2009-06-06T18:18:00.003-07:00

In case you haven't heard the news, Sage Words is a proud new Godpapa today. He has a picture of young Johnathan on yesterday's post, along with a brief challenge for The Visionary and me.

I just want to start with a big Welcome to Life for Johnathan. Little (or maybe not so little) guy, you are now part of a large, loving family. You've made a lot of people happy by showing up...and pretty soon, Mom and Dad'll have a whole wardrobe of clothes that fit for you.

And now, for Sage's question of the day:

What type of person would I put on the US Supreme Court?

Hmm.

I'd like to see somebody like, say, James Iredell, or maybe Oliver Ellsworth or Alfred Moore. Those guys, I think, had a better idea of what their job was, than most of the candidates for and members of the High Court these days.

They served right around the turn of the century...the 19th century. In 1800, the Supreme Court moved, along with the rest of the Federal Government, from Philadelphia to the new Capitol, Washington DC. When they got there, they found out they had to share this building with a few other occupants:

This was the north wing of the Capitol, the only one ready at that point, and it was also used by the US House, the US Senate, the Library of Congress, the district courts and several other miscellaneous offices. The justices got to hold court in the basement.

When they were in town.

You see, part of the job in those days involved sitting in circuit courts all over the country. That meant each justice, assigned to his own area, had to travel. Had to deal with cases where they came up, listening to the people involved. And they travelled on their own. Sometimes (oh, the horror) on foot.

A lot more work...a lot lower pay...a lot less pretense, arrogance, and isolation from all things not Beltway. That kind of thing doesn't tend to infiltrate your work when you're trying to keep the mud off your boots on a five mile hike in the rain.

It sure would make a difference, wouldn't it?

Yeah, things are a little different these days, aren't they? Nicer digs for starters:

But what goes on inside that nice building has changed a lot, too. The justices hear only a few select cases each year. They cherry pick them according to the political climate, and they only listen to select, elite lawyers, deemed worthy to practice before their majesties (oops, that should be their honors. Sorry.)

It sure would be nice to have somebody among them who understood that a judge is supposed to INTERPRET EXISTING LAW, not legislate by ruling. That a judge is supposed to even the playing field for citizens under our constitution, not "revisit" our basic rights because it suits some politically powerful group. (That's how the right to life got trashed for unborn babies. Remember?)

What kind of person would I like to see on the High Court? There's a lot of room for diversity there. I don't much care about gender, ethnicity, geography or the other factors that seem so important to the pundits and the politicians.

Just about anybody with a real sense of honesty, integrity, and the actual role of the judiciary would do just fine.

Lots of luck finding somebody like that these days.

Maybe they all need a trip back to the basement.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Tag, Tag...You're, You're It, It.

2009-06-04T10:34:00.010-07:00

Well, it won't take you long to catch up with Sage Words' end of the conversation this time, although, in fairness I should tell you he's in the midst of some events that are preoccupying his attention. It's short, but to the point. He's wrong, of course, about that rest of the world thing, but eventually he will inherit a fourth of it. He has to share with his brothers.

But, let us converse:

I couldn't agree more about the George Lucas thing. I'm not sure anybody could locate Michael Jackson's nose, though, even if we knew the exact moment it disappeared.

Speaking of Michael Jackson (or, as his father used to think of him, Meal Ticket), that brings up a use for time-travel, I think could be quite productive:

We could get to the roots of some of the great classic musical talents of all time:

The Nairobi Trio

Observe them in their formative years, so to speak.

Having now commented in a manner fairly responsive to your response to my observation in response to your first observation, I now hasten to digress....

There's a person called The Visionary who would like to join the conversation. Fine by me. (heh-heh) The motivation to get "Vis" into the blogosphere is this story out of San Diego.

You really should read the story before continuing. I mean, if I just summarized it, you'd think I was making it up...But, hey! It's Fox News. It's a Fair and Balanced report. (Must be; they're so fair and balanced their fairness and balancedness is copyrighted.)

Really, though, go ahead and read it.

Done?

OK.

Now, let me just say that although outraged, I cannot honestly say this surprises me. Kah-lee-Foah-nee-uh has taken the lead in stupidity, arrogance, and self-destructive behavior for lo, these many years.

The problem is, nobody in the state (and particularly in state government) is required to think. In fact that sort of thing is actively discouraged. That's what has made it the shining example of fiscal and moral responsibility that it is today.

Even greater strides are on the horizon, as the Great Ahnold introduces his sweeping cuts in all things educational and/or useful, while simultaneously boosting taxes on all things rational and/or productive (He's a multitasker). That'll teach those stupid voters to turn down Plan A.

(BTW: I just found this illustration of the real reason he sought the Governor's office:

...thanks to The BS Report -Gg.)

I should be able to say that if the victims take this bureaucratic outrage to federal court, they'll probably win, costly as it may be.

Unfortunately, I can't say that because we all know what's been happening to the Constitution over that past couple of decades; and Fearless Leader is busily stacking the Supreme Court even as we blog. Who needs basic moral courage and common sense when you can be politically correct, hey, Nancy? Hey Barbara? Hey Barack?

OK, enough of my ranting. Lets just all be grateful that we have a new form of communication with the White House now, as exemplified on NBC this week:

(They're not sheep, but you get the idea.)

Blog at ya Later,
-Geezerguy

Let's Talk Month Begins

2009-06-02T16:35:00.008-07:00

OK, so here we go with an experimental conversation, started yesterday by Sage Words. If you’re just catching up, note the later portion of his rant to get the context.

Did you check it? No? Go back and check it.

OK

Now are we ready? Good.

See, I think your last sentence kind of hit it on the head, Sage. The New Journalism requires Caring, NOT understanding, or even comprehension. The new Icons are graduates of the Ted Baxter School of Broadcast Excellence, and in many ways we can see the influence of their mentor everywhere we look.

“Take off glasses, look concerned.”

Just one quick example…Election night…Wolf Blitzer…the new hologram graphic. “Its just like you’re standing right here next to me, but you’re not. It’s just a graphic! Wow! Wowiewowie! Wow!”

Now if we could just get that black outline off you, so you don't look so much like a cardboard cutout...

The election? Oh, yeah. The election. Well, we’ll get right to it…We’ve got the Greatest Election Team in Broadcasting, AND, these cool cool graphics….”

In his defense, he was probably talking to a green screen at the time…so what can you expect. That’s kind of the point here. Our media geniuses are so busy talking to the graphics, they’ve come to see the whole world as a green screen.

....No real point here; I just had to throw this one in.

OK. Idiots reading idiot cards (teleprompters in modern parlance). I guess I can stomach that. But the New Wisdom won’t let it rest there, will it? Sometimes the Product Placement poster boys and girls are re-named Commentators, and Allowed To Think.

That’s when we really get into trouble.

Intrepid Investigative Commentator Nancy Grace, for example, and her recent on-air (do they use that term any more?) conviction of Casey Anthony. Real class. But I’m sure she did her best. With what little grey matter she had to work with.

Amusing.

But then…

Remember The Running Man? Brave New World?

Remember 1984?

We’ve been getting our share of Newspeak over the past decade or so, and it seems the new Ministry of Truth is the media. No more competition, just big corporations (Rollerball?) running all the channels.

Dumbed down TV, Dumbed down schools.
Dumbed down sheep.

Remember The Time Machine?

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

"May You Live in Interesting Times" (old curse I read about long ago, and can no longer attribute.)

2009-05-25T11:08:00.004-07:00

Well, it's been an interesting weekend.
Our planned trip to New Mexico to be with YT's dad for the Holiday ended along I-10 about a half hour from Tucson, with transmission fluid all over the underside of our Cherokee. Turned out to be a blown fluid line. Not bad enough to call a major disaster, but it stopped us cold in Benson, where we enjoyed a motel stay, breakfast at Denny's and a limping trip home.

So last night was movie night. Went to a drive-in (a pretty unusual find these days...see YT's blog on the subject.)

YT is gradually becoming a Ben Stiller fan. She openly admitted to enjoying the "Night at the Museum" sequel. It was funnier than the first one, I thought, and a good evening's entertainment. The X-Men Wolverine movie playing with it was also good. I think YT liked it a little better then I did, (can't imagine what the attraction could be). A bit light in the script, if that sort of thing is important to you. The actors were all fine...but deserved more to work with.

The evening was a pleasant experience. For some odd reason we bumped into Sage and Chica in line, and ended up parking next to them. We spent a while talking about the old days of drive-ins with Sage and his brothers, and the playgrounds they used to have down under the screen, and all that greasy drive-in food that was really bad for you, but tasted so good. We ate lots of it because we didn't know any better back then, in the Olden Days.

Yeah, some times you end up having good times, for reasons you never planned on or suspected.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

The Trek is Back

2009-05-12T15:55:00.008-07:00

I really wasn't sure going into the theater that I would like the new "Star Trek". After all, I was there for the original, short-lived series that started it all, and through the syndicated rebirth and finally the big screen series that launched all those other iterations of the Roddenberry universe. If it was true to the original, how much more was there to add to that story line without being repetitious? If it went its own way, on the other hand, where would all those details us trekkers have come to expect end up? A little nod or homage here and there wouldn't really do.

Happily, J.J. Abrams zeroed in on the soul of Star Trek, its characters, and then cast an extraordinary group of actors who kept them intact, and placed them into a fresh and promising place, where anything is possible in future stories.

I don't want to be a spoiler for the five people who haven't seen it yet, so I'll try to be vague on plot points...but we knew our old Friends in their new incarnations without having to be introduced by name. And, as a totally new story line emerged, we kept bumping into bits and pieces of the old universe we've come to know over the years, usually when it was least expected.

The result: a new franchise, which I believe will attract us old-school trekkers and a new generation (pardon the pun) of fans to carry it well beyond the original five-year mission (which is now an ongoing mission).

And there are lots of permutations out there waiting to be re-visited, thanks to a really clever plot device that literally reboots everything:

If you haven't seen it, I recommend you do...don't wait for the DVD. You'll want to be immersed in this one. Find the biggest screen you can, and enjoy.

Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

Memes, Tags and Other Stuff

2009-05-07T10:30:00.007-07:00

I got "tagged" with a "meme" today. I'm not sure of the significance of that, but I have made inquiries. It seems the language I learned as a young English-speaking American has been surpassed, along with the technology I used to make a living.

I suppose it's only natural for language to evolve along with the societies that use it... and I have seen a lot of changes over time. Some words have completely different meanings now, others didn't exist a few years ago, and some that I still use are completely unknown to the English-speaking public at large.

Take "Tag" for example. When I was a kid, we played "tag" in the back yard. You tapped (or sometimes whacked, punched, or stomped depending on who you were playing with) the other player, then ran around trying to avoid being "tagged", and consequently becoming the dreaded "It". Great game.

In the cyberworld, “tag” means it’s your turn to write something on your blog, I guess. At least that’s what Yarntangler tells me…kind of like tag-team wrestling.

Then there’s “meme”. I tried pronouncing it “mehm”, leaving the final “e” silent, as I’d learned many years ago in grammar (do they use that word any more?) school. But I was told it is now "Mee-Mee", as in "Me! Me! Meeee!" (What the smart kids or the brown-noses used to say in class when they wanted to be called on). I’m also informed it means I am to copy the form, but not necessarily content of the tagger when I do my blog.

So, in the interest of not getting stuck in the past, here’s my Meme blog after being tagged by Yarntangler to come up with a list of eight somethings:

Eight Words I Don't Quite Completely Understand Anymore:

1...Install:

This is now a noun. Your program doesn't work? Maybe you got a bad install. When I was growing up, it was installation. Your installation was bad and whoever installed (verb) the program should have to do it again, or fix it at no extra charge. I've always thought installation was a perfectly good word. Install is shorter, though, and I guess the other advantage is that if something goes wrong, it's pretty hard to find anybody to pin it on. It's just a bad install.

2...Uninstall:

This is a new term, more than a little reminiscent of "Newspeak", the language of Orwell's "1984". It's a little scary because it replaces "remove" or "delete", words with negative connotation. Uninstall means to remove the program completely, without having to actually say it. It reminds me of "ungood" the new "bad" in Orwell's book. (Hey. He wasn't too far from the mark with that date, either, was he?)

3...Issue:

All of my references in the above paragraphs to problems, malfunctions, etc. have now been replaced by this co-opted term that formerly referred to matters of some general importance. Today, if your hard drive crashes and you lose everything in your computer, you have a hardware issue. If you have a ton of pictures in your computer, but see only a little window with a numbered "error" when you try to look at them, you have a software issue. Issues are resolved, at great expense, by guys with short-sleeved shirts speaking advanced forms of Newspeak while fully aware that you have no idea what they're saying. They do revert to Oldspeak when quoting the final charge.

4...Service:

There are a few variations of this one in play at the moment. You get a Service Pack every so often from Microsoft so your computer will keep working most of the time, and not let nasty Hacks (see below) get into your program through the Back Door (see below).
There is Customer Service available online, which means you get to allow somebody who works for Microsoft to Hack (see below) into your program through a Back Door (see below) that you open for him or her (pardon the oldspeak). This allows your Customer Service person to fix whatever went wrong with the Service Pack you just installed.
Finally, there is Process Service. This has nothing to do with computer processing or service of any kind. It retains its traditional meaning, and takes place when you try to use any of Microsoft's programs in ways they don't like.

5...They:

Newspeak substitute for "He" or "She", applies to all variations. This one is the laziest translation into politically-sensitive gender reference I've seen so far. Instead of acknowledging that there are any differences between male and female persons, we'll just refer to everybody in the plural, whether there's more than one or not. It reduces the awkward "he or she" to one word. Thus we have our erudite News anchors telling us: "If anyone wants to apply for a free Government handout, they can fill out the forms and mail them in." etc.

6...Hack:

I remember this word quite distinctly. It referred to writers. Not very good writers. In fact, it specifically meant bad writers who hammered out stuff every day to make a living. I was a hack for a long time. I wrote news. I wrote for radio. I wrote grammatically correct stories meant to be understood, but not necessarily remembered. And it worked: I don't remember a single story I ever wrote. In the olden days, before my time it also referred to a taxi, but I wouldn't expect anybody to remember that.
Today, it's become a verb and carries a badge of honor in certain nefarious circles. It means the act of getting into somebody else's computer. Without that person's consent or knowledge. One who can Hack is called a Hacker (rhymes with slacker, which has a similar connotation in a different context). Hackers write viruses, which are diseases for computer programs, and produce similar results to their biological counterparts.

7...Back Door:

I remember many an afternoon leaving home by the back door, running around in the neighborhood, getting dirty, then finally going back in for supper, again through the back door. It was the door we used instead of the front door, which was for company. It got a lot of use. Easy to understand. "Doo Doo Doo Lookin' out my back door".
Today, it means a hole in your computer program through which nasty things like viruses, worms and "who knows whatall" (as Aunt Bea would say) get in. Microsoft puts several thousand back doors into each new spiffy operating system it develops, then spends the next several years boarding them up as well as it can with "Service Packs" (see above). It gives the gang in Redland something to do between lattes.

8...Bankruptcy:

This term has changed meaning rather rapidly. Not long ago, it meant declaring yourself totally broke, and getting sent to the bottom of the economic barrel in exchange for protection from creditors. It meant you started from scratch, had no credit, and could look forward to many many years of financial struggle. It carried shame with it.
Today, it means those who are irresponsible managers of a giant corporation's funds can file for it, get government money to bail them out, and receive a handsome bonus for being clever enough to think of it. No shame; it's just business.

Yep. Times have changed.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Frustrated

2009-04-30T01:19:00.002-07:00

OK.
I've been sitting at the computer for about 2-and-a-half hours, and cannot come up with a single decent idea for a blog. So, I surfed a little and found a picture to illustrate my feelings this evening.

Here, then, is my 1000-word blog for today:

Blog at ya later (as soon as I get the keys back into the board),
-Geezerguy

Caveat Emptor for the 21st Century

2009-04-21T21:11:00.004-07:00

We’ve all grown up watching out for con artists and their ilk, who have been around since civilization started, and probably even before that. To one extent or another the buyer has always had to beware of what’s out there in the marketplace. And these days that has spread to the innocuous little screen we all spend time staring at most days…our comfy little home computers.

I suppose it was inevitable that I’d manage to get suckered in at some point…and it almost happened the other day. Yes, folks, I’m talking about:

It seemed like a simple little program to put some ads on my blog site…even had a trusted name, Google, very prominent in the promotion. So I filled out the little form, clicked it, and gave my credit card number to pay for “shipping”. What could go wrong? Right?

Well…

Here’s the thing. After ordering the “kit”, I decided to read the fine print, and went to the bottom of the page…where I found the line:
“This page has no connection to Google, which does not endorse this product.”

Hmmm. Wasn’t that the Google logo on the page? Well, no. It looked like it, but there were, well, differences. Subtle, but noticeable on second look.

After I clicked the fine print button, though, things got a little clearer, and a lot scarier:

I had, the rules assured me, committed to pay monthly fees of 24, 29 and 78 dollars respectively for three separate services never mentioned in the ad…unless I took action to cancel the agreement, in very specific and convoluted ways, within strict deadlines, etc. etc.
It reminded me of something I’d read quite a bit about:

Strictly speaking, this may not have been phishing in the classic sense, conducted via email. But the phisherman ended up with quite a catch…my credit card number, and a commitment that took the better part of my Monday to undo.

So…Just a word of warning folks…READ THE FINE PRINT FIRST. Before you send for the kit or anything else.

And don’t believe everything you read.

Case in point:

(Although I do know some people who believe that.)

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Susan and Kate

2009-04-17T17:17:00.006-07:00

Remember Kate Smith? She brought a clear, strong voice to the American singing world years ago. When I was a young boy she was still going strong, bringing patriotic and religious music to television in black and white, and a conservative, respectable dress.

Kate has been dead for a couple of decades now, but I was reminded of her when I joined the many million YouTube viewers who heard this lady deliver a demanding selection from “Les Miserables” to a British talent show:

Susan Boyle, Blackburn Scotland

Kate Smith would belt out the long high notes, and put feelings into her music that touched me even at the tender age of whatever I was back in the mid-1950’s. She battled the “Fat Girl” image during her early career, and overcame that cynical “wisdom” from the “savvy” crowd of her own time.

Kate Smith 1909-1986

As did Kate Smith, Susan Boyle put the emphasis on what mattered: the talent that came from within, rather than the surface appearance. It was refreshing, and quite obviously unexpected for the theater-full of people watching the show as well as for the three judges, who ended up with not a small amount of egg on their faces.

It was a reminder to us all that we’ve become a little too caught up in the things Madison Avenue and it’s equivalents elsewhere have defined for us as being “vital”.

So thanks, Susan, for bring us back to earth. Let’s hope what one of the judges termed “the biggest wake-up call ever,” stays with us for a while.

Happy Easter

2009-04-12T20:57:00.000-07:00

Dig in. There's plenty for everyone!

Almost Easter

2009-04-11T22:46:00.005-07:00

When I was growing up, Lent was a long, solemn vigil in what always seemed the grayest, wettest time of the New England year. Ceremonies were intoned in Latin, in a darkened church, and the sound of that long-dead language would set the cadence for the many days ahead. It was truly a time of serious reflection, and even though we were still very young, we got the message.

The nightly services, the Stations of the Cross, the incense. Somehow the silence had a weight to it in that big church, as we sat in hunched rows, waiting for our turns in the confessional. The whispered "Our Fathers" and "Hail Mary's" ricocheted off the curved ceiling and around the purple-covered statues. Rosary beads clicked together, bringing images to our young minds of bones in a shadow-infested graveyard.

It wasn't so much that we gave up candy, although we did. It wasn't so much that we spent more time in church, although we did. It wasn't so much that we stayed away from meat every day, not just on Friday, although we did. It was the combination of those things. A grayness that spread from the spot of ashes on our foreheads, and enveloped us with the sober knowledge that we had something to atone for.

And then, it was Easter. The covers came off the statues, flowers were everywhere, music filled every corner and there wasn't a shadow to be found. The priests wore white and gold, and everybody sang. There was joy in our new suits and shoes, in Mom's new dress and hat, in the big feast at home after Mass with all the relatives seated at the big wooden table.

We didn't just observe the season. We felt it. The somber days of Lent gave the celebration of Easter its true meaning for us. The meaning you can't put down on a piece of paper. The meaning that you hold inside your heart.

Those days were years ago, and things have changed a lot in the interim. That big church is closed now, and up for sale. They haven't prayed in Latin for a long time. I'm far removed in years and miles from old St. Francis Church. The nuns are gone, the priests are gone. The parish is gone.

Still, it hasn't disappeared completely. For some reason it came back to me tonight.

I wish you all a truly Happy Easter.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

First Quarter Report Card...Barack & company

2009-04-10T22:18:00.004-07:00

So our new president is traveling these days, talking about the economy and relationships with other governments and pizza. I heard on a radio talk show today that a British news organization reported that the president (or his minions) had a pizza chef flown to England, along with his materials and business partner, to cater a lunch. OK, so maybe that's considered the proper way to impress a foreign power when you're out there "building relationships", or whatever Obama's doing right now. But it seems a little arrogant. A lot of what's gone on since he took office seems a little arrogant.

After all, he's told us in no uncertain terms that we all have to tighten our belts. People lose their jobs in droves, and Obama says it will get worse before it gets better; oh, and by the way how do you like Michelle's new dress, and the kids' new swing set? And let's order a pizza chef to fly over from the US to Europe so we can all have lunch.

That kind of thing used to be known as "conspicuous consumption". It was something rich people, usually newly rich people, did to brag without words about how much they had. It was intended to make others jealous, and it worked.

Well, Obama is newly powerful...and he wants his piece of Camelot. And I guess he's got it. The problem is with what we haven't gotten. Like a leaner, more responsible administration. Remember that?

I don't think he's done anything to make those massive changes in the way things are done in Washington. Cooperation? Bi-partisan effort? Remember that?

Remember how we were going to get a fresh, transparent administration, and cooperation across party lines? I don't see that happening.

I see a lot of posturing. I see overblown, phony outrage over bonuses paid to inept executives instead of substantial economic policy changes to make things better. (oops, did I just complain about a lack of substance? Is that politically incorrect? Should I just sit down and admire the speech maker's craft?)

I see the blame game, and the usual gullible reaction from the public. Scapegoats in the corporate world, and pressure from the government to fire the scapegoats. Tax their bonuses at 90%.* That's supposed to make it all better.

Fluff and arrogance. And complete disdain for ordinary, hard-working Americans. The government graciously takes a few dollars less out of the paychecks of those who still have jobs, and this is supposed to be our part of the "economic stimulus".

Where are the major investments in things like alternative energy? Where are the big projects that are supposed to create all those jobs so families can make it though this government-sponsored mess?

Where's all that help for education, so precious to the Obama campaign, as hundreds of teachers get their pink slips under the Obama administration?

Yes we can.

But we don't really want to, do we?

First Quarter Grade, C-
-Needs to improve

OK that's my rant for today. All vented.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

*What a great idea That is! Our legislators are always thinking, aren't they? "We'll scream bloody murder, then tax those bonuses and put the money where it belongs...in the government. What, return it to taxpayers? Good one! Hahahahahah!"

Chopper Malfunction

2009-04-09T21:59:00.002-07:00

Today I am doing a visual blog. It will be really short, because the pain pills are starting to kick in.
Blog at ya later, with more enthusiasm.
-Geezerguy

PS..that guy doesn't look like me; he just looks like I feel.
-G.

Time To Play

2009-04-08T18:55:00.009-07:00

I just found a bunch of new (to me, 'cause I'm not very observant) buttons on my blog posting page...so today I'm going to try them out:

there are bullets

...and a tab to make the text different colors.
It has a button for spleelll chrkning

one for numbers (but for some reason it looks just like a bullet)

and one to insert pictures...I've used this one several times before, but it never really gets old, so...

Here's Proof You Can Find Just About Anything On The Internet:

You may have noticed I used yet another feature there by changing the size of the font...

There's also a feature for adding videos, but I don't have any on my computer right now because (see yesterday's blog).

There are a few other buttons that scare me a little, so I'm going to quit before another hard drive bites the dust....

Well, OK, just one more:

Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-h-ha-ha-ha

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Here's My Excuse

2009-04-07T22:21:00.002-07:00

I'm hoping this attempt to post a blog will be more successful than my last effort. When I sat down to carry on with my one-daily blog for the month, the hard drive in my computer decided that three years was long enough, and promptly crashed, and burned:

What was unfortunate was the fact that this particular blog would have been a genuine masterpiece. (It was also unfortunate that I was unable to preserve my perfect record of a blog a day. But I think it's a sufficient excuse to let me continue anyway...so I'm going to continue.)

What was fortunate about the situation was the presence of a genuine Geek in the family, who was able to come out to the rig, and tell us that our hard drive had crashed, and help us install a new one. (Which we did, taking up a day and evening.) Now the effort to recover what was on the crashed drive continues, in the capable hands of our family Geek.

At the same time our computer was crashing, there was this hissing noise from somewhere under the refrigerator, and things like the hall carpet mysteriously started getting wet. Yes friends, the appliances were in full revenge mode again. (See previous posts circa Christmas '08):

We did manage to spot the trouble this time...it seems the water heater had sprung a leak at its intake valve, always a fun prospect...and the perfect opportunity to cut off the water supply to the entire rig and not wash for a couple of days.
So, today, after the leak had been fixed, I had a couple of other things to take care of before resuming my blogification...

Like the dishes:

...And the other stuff I couldn't find generic pictures for on the internet. (any ACTUAL pictures I might have of the rig are still in recovery mode, as you may recall from earlier in this tomb.)

Anyway, I'm back and happily at it again, and the 30 days of April proceed apace. (That piece of utterly overblown phraseology is the only remaining vestige of the "masterpiece" mentioned earlier.)

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Cat Duty

2009-04-03T16:36:00.002-07:00

I’m about to brave evening traffic, sans Tom-Tom, for the sake of three cats who pretty much tolerate my services. I am allowed to clean the litter box, check the water, and replenish the food, provided I do it discreetly. You might think this is a bit much to put up with…but there are some good reasons to get behind the wheel and brave the streets of Tucson. To wit:

The cats belong to my temporarily absent son, who owns a big screen TV and lots of movies.

I am obligated, by reason of long-term marriage, to get the laundry done by a Yarntangler-imposed deadline.

I am shamelessly borrowing my son and daughter-in-law’s nice new washer and dryer.

Those appliances and the aforementioned TV can operate simultaneously.

So, off we go; me and the laundry headed across town with the setting sun in my eyes and the Tucson work force driving home with a vengeance. I try to imagine the GPS in its spot on the windshield, and the little female voice telling me to take the Interstate “Toward El Pahsaw”.

Eventually I make it to the house. Their Royal Highnesses are sprawled with their accustomed aplomb, and giving me the “Oh, are you here again?” look. I get the litter box cleaned, and check the food, and they grant silent, though reluctant, approval.

I smile to myself, start the laundry, and head for the living room, where the sequel to my guilty pleasure Special-Effects Fest awaits.

Time passes, my son comes home and we put on an extra movie, and eventually I make it back to the rig, and find…

…I have exactly fifteen minutes to get my blog posted for today, or forever live with the shame of not making it through day 3 of the April challenge. So, with no further ado, I present today’s blog:
(see above)

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Getting Around in Spite of Myself

2009-04-02T21:28:00.000-07:00

Since moving into the city this week, I’ve been doing a little more driving in traffic than I care to. I’m not a big fan of multiple lanes, and fast-moving streams of rival vehicles within inches of me as I try to pick my way over an unfamiliar route.

Modern technology came to my aid up until this week, and I guess I got a little spoiled. My son let me borrow his Tom-Tom, which tells you how to get around, turn by turn. It even gives you a heads-up on which direction you’ll be turning next, so you can change lanes before your fellow travelers spot your out-of-state plate, and lock you out. We also enjoy the sexy female voice’s often wretched attempt to pronounce street names.

Unfortunately for me, my son took the Tom-Tom with him on a recent trip, so now I’m back to the old Chamber of Commerce map (very creative and entertaining, but missing a few thousand crucial details).

Later this week, I’ll probably discuss driving in Tucson a bit more, but for today, I’ll just say I miss the Tom-Tom. I’ll also talk about my son’s cats, with whose maintenance I have been entrusted, my son’s extensive collection of movies, and the relationship between the two. For now, I’ll just say that I have not seen a street sign like this yet in Tucson:

…But given the ongoing improvements along Interstate 10, I expect to any time now.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Back for Another Month

2009-04-01T17:11:00.002-07:00

Another month, another challenge. Yarntangler decided that things went so well in late 2008 with our 30 day blog challenge, we should do it again. So, here I am. The problem is, my brain's stuck in neutral at the moment, after not posting for a while. So...baby steps:

That's enough for today. First blog is in the history books.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Let 'im Eat Cake

2009-02-15T18:47:00.001-07:00

Well, we’re finally in warm southern Arizona, where the temperature dropped and the snow fell briefly a few days ago, in celebration of our arrival. Sorry, Tucson…that sort of thing’s been happening to us lately. We really don’t do it on purpose.

We left New Mexico, and Yarntangler’s Dad and Step-Mom, after a nice visit featuring “Lady B” ’s famous New Mexico Random Cuisine. I always enjoy her meals, especially after we’ve been visiting for a few days, and the leftovers have had a chance to accumulate. It’s kind of like Forest Gump’s box of chocolates…while you know what’s been on the table the past couple days, you still never really know what you’re going to get. The possibilities are limitless, and delicious.

But there is one consistent item in all of Lady B’s meals for which I am always grateful: dessert.

I don’t get a lot of cake, or pie, or Jell-O, or ice cream as a rule. It’s just not practical here in the rig…so when I’m at Lady B’s table, I savor the cake, the cake and ice cream, the brownies, the chocolates, and the variety of other goodies offered at the end of the meal, before the meal, after the meal and at other random times during our visit.

So, thanks, Lady B, for all the good eatin’. We look forward to our next visit.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Back to the Basics

2009-01-20T20:17:00.006-07:00

There’s a lot of optimism in the country today, thanks to our new president:

Black people are celebrating a milestone in their fight against lingering bigotry.

Young people, who made up the massive base that put our new president in office, are actually engaged and interested in what is happening.

In the worst economic climate we have seen in decades, there is hope today that things can work out.

Barack Obama has a lot on his plate, and the two wars and economic crisis everybody’s been talking about are just the most visible. It’s going to be a tough four years…maybe eight. But change, especially fundamental change, is always difficult.

We have reason to be optimistic. Barack Obama has broken the race barrier, and his election is no less significant than the abolition of Jim Crow laws and officially-sanctioned segregation. He was elected in spite of being a relative unknown, and he overcame major political heavy hitters in the process. He knows how to get things done…but I think he also realizes he’s not going to succeed on his own.

Our new president let us know, without the flourishes of fancy rhetoric we’ve heard in past inaugural speeches, that he’s not the only one who will have to roll up sleeves and get to work. While it will be up to him to deal with the politicians and power-brokers, the movers and shakers who infest the government and bureaucracy, we’ll have our own work to do. This is our fight at least as much as his.

This is our chance to stir from the semi-consciousness we’ve drifted into during the Bush and Clinton years. We’ve been willing to accept some poor decisions and deceptive schemes over those years. Politicians and bureaucrats have feathered their nests at our expense. Money changers have built financial sand castles and sold them to us. Fanatics and stone killers a world away have perceived us as a weak, soft target. Terrorists within our own land have gathered confidence, and increased their numbers. These things and more have happened because we allowed them to.

If things are going to change, we’ll need to stay involved in the business of our country. It was not just a Civil Rights corner that was turned today. President Obama made it clear this will have to again become a participatory government. We have to guide the change and stay aware of what our representatives are doing in Washington. We can’t just elect people and leave the decisions to them. That’s what got us where we are.

If you let a fungus grow inside a wall, it will look OK for a long time. You won’t notice anything, and gradually you’ll get used to the smell, and not even notice it. Then one day, you’ll die of a bad respiratory disease. That’s kind of where we are right now. Time to get out the pry bars and bleach.

The president can’t do it on his own. Time to wake up…to take responsibility and make sure our representatives know we’re here. Regularly. Time to make it unprofitable for corporations to stick to old technology so they can continue to charge outrageous fuel prices. Time to insist that when CEO’s commit fraud and bankrupt their companies that they go to prison, instead of retiring with their Golden Parachutes.

It’s going to be an uphill battle for our new president: Even as he was taking the oath of office, Wall Street was taking another dive. His work, and ours, is just beginning. He plans to hit the ground running. We’d better do the same…no more apathy as usual.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

The Rolling Home Rolls Again

2009-01-09T19:31:00.002-07:00

Well, the rig has happy feet again. After a week in Tulsa, and some very good service from a local shop, the shimmy and shake in the front is a thing of the past, and two brand new tires are proudly mounted on the wheels. That means (tuh Dah) we hit the road in the morning (or early afternoon at the latest) and head south.

It’s been an adventure this year on the Kansas/Oklahoma stop, but as always good friends reached out and helped get us through. Thanks again to everyone who helped us finally make it out of Coffeyville, and an extra thanks to our friends Jim and Beverly, and all the folks at Tulsa’s Expo Square. We even got rid of the mouse that was giving us more than a single mouse’s worth of trouble. (More on that in an upcoming post).

It will be nice to get down into some warmer weather as we head into the thick of winter, but for me, the best thing is just getting back on the road. There’s something about moving down the highway, looking out your big picture window at an ever-changing panorama that has fascinated me from the beginning. It’s the knowledge that the whole, beautiful country is at your disposal, and that your back yard will be completely different tonight than it was last night.

We’ll be taking a different route this year than the last couple of times we’ve been in this area, so we’ll see a different part of Texas on our way to New Mexico, then on to Arizona and the big tall cacti and great desertscapes.

That’s it for now…just want to let you all know I’m still here.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

The Machines at Christmas

2008-12-24T20:41:00.003-07:00

Machines know things. I’ve said this before and been disbelieved, but it is a plain fact. They know things about us and use this knowledge to embarrass and frustrate us. Take the last few days for example:

The other night was my last night at work for Amazon.com, as a part of the seasonal team that helps get the company past its peak demand. It was a particularly cold night, and on the way home, I noticed the heater in my little car was not working very well. In fact it was not working at all. This was embarrassing to say the least, because I had a rider with me, and of course wished to provide him a comfortable lift home after a hard night’s work. Well, just as we arrived at his stop, I noticed billows of steam coming from under the hood, and thought to myself, most appropriately,

“uh oh.”

As I pulled into my spot, another cloud of steam poured over the hood, and the engine stalled.

“Uhhh Ohhhh”

I got out of the car, and, as I often do, stared in bewilderment and consternation for probably three minutes. (It couldn’t have been more than that, because it was really cold out there, and physical discomfort always trumps bewildered consternation for me.)

I grabbed my lunch bag and headed inside, fully aware that there were troubled times ahead, but too tired to do anything about it at the moment. But I noticed the smile on the little car’s grill as I headed for the door. What I didn’t notice at the time, but have clearly discerned in retrospect, was the other smile. The one on my big Winnebago’s grill.

(dissonant chord, ominous musical tones)

The fact is, the incident has ties to a deeper, darker reality. Not too long ago, my propane furnace decided to stop blowing warm air. It then proceeded to embarrass me considerably when a kind-hearted and mechanically-inclined neighbor took a look at it. The furnace would function, then not, then function again while we took it apart, put it back together, then scratched our heads. (I reported this incident in some detail in an earlier blog…and at that time took note of the chuckling I could hear in that appliance’s general vicinity.)

It’s now quite obvious that the furnace had had at least a cursory conversation with the 454 Vortec engine that powers our motor home, probably bragging and laughing.

The little car is parked directly in front of the motor home when it’s not being towed behind it. I now am convinced that several conversations took place between it and the Vortec, about the furnace. While appliances by and large enjoy a good joke, like the on again off again ploy, they can let it go at that. Internal combustion engines, on the other hand, have a much darker take on things.

Thus, what started as an inconvenient prank evolved into some very nasty business indeed. The car had blown out its radiator at 4:00 am on the very last day of my employment. Coincidence? I think not.

The furnace could have easily discerned my work schedule, since it was running fairly constantly during the later part of the season. It would have been very easy to mention it to the Vortec, and for the Vortec to have hatched the plot with the little car. See how well it all fits together?

And in case you remain unconvinced, let me just present the last bit of evidence:

It took two days to get the radiator replaced and all in running order again. The little car chugs along smoothly now, and the heater works fine.

(A rustle of anticipatory percussion instruments, during a brief dramatic pause.)

This morning we hooked up the car and started to tow it out of town, to have Christmas with friends a short drive away. Two blocks down the road, and the temperature gauge in the Winnebago is buried in the red zone. Overheated.

Something internal.

Something in the cooling system.

(Dark, ominous chords…probably violas…with kettle drums and maybe an oboe in the background.)

So here we sit, at least through Christmas, until we can get back to the mechanic.

But here’s something the machines don’t know:
Yarntangler and I get to spend Christmas by ourselves this year. For the very first time in our 40 years together, we have each other all to ourselves. Just us.
In my book, that’s a Merry Christmas for sure. Machines might know things, but they don’t know everything.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

It's the Thought That Counts

2008-12-18T13:44:00.007-07:00

I really had the best intentions when I signed up to blog everyday in December. That was before the onset of eleven hour days, five days a week at Amazon.com. It was also before the temperatures plummeted and I had to run for propane in the small tanks every couple of days.

I still hope to add a couple more fascinating observations on the season before the month is over but today I decided my biggest wish is for all of my loyal followers. So without further ado:

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Clancy, Yarntangler, and Geezerguy
wish a

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Safe Journeys
to our family, and friends, both the ones who expect Santa to come down the chimney and the ones hoping he'll find them on the road.

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Blog at you later,
Geezerguy

Still Here

2008-12-09T15:11:00.003-07:00

Just a little note to let you know I'm still here. Brain's not quite in gear yet, but I am getting close to the Holiday mood: Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

So Long Turkey, Hello Fruit Cake

2008-12-02T14:36:00.000-07:00

Well, here we are at the beginning of the Official Christmas season, still digesting the last of the Thanksgiving turkey and the news that we’ve been in a recession since last December. We didn’t know we were in a recession all last year, of course, so we did fine till somebody opened his big mouth, and now look. Boy, you’d think people could just keep some things to themselves.

Anyway, ’tis the Season, and we’ll be hearing the sounds of Christmas at Wal Mart and K Mart and throughout Retail America from now on. We all know the words, and we’ll all be hearing them in our heads consciously or not, all season long.

I know I get a tear in my eye when I hear Yorgi Yorgesson’s timeless I Yust Go Nutz at Christmas, and Bobby “Boris” Picket’s Monster’s Holiday. And who can forget lyrics like:

When Santa got stuck in the chimney, he began to shout
“You girls and boys won’t get any toys,
If you don’t pull me out.
My beard is black, there’s soot in my sack,
My nose is tickling too.”
When Santa got stuck up the chimney-
Achoo! Achoo! Achoo!
(thanks to “jessboo from England for sharing on snopes.com)

Yes, we all get a little sentimental with the classics like Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer and I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas. It just seems to get us in the mood for a festive time, doesn’t it?

I know I’ve pretty much decided to look for some off-beat Christmas stuff for this month’s set of blogs, but it just seemed right to start off on a more traditional note.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Bye for Now, NaBloPoMo

2008-11-30T19:52:00.002-07:00

So this is the end of the November blog challenge. I’ve actually posted one per day, which is something of a surprise to me. Looking back at them, I don’t think there were too many entries that were totally useless. Not bad, I guess, for somebody who posted very few entries per month before this. Maybe I’ll do it again, but not in the immediate future.

I think I may try researching weird, or sort of off-the-wall topics and blogging about them, or looking for oddball developments in the news next. Who knows?

The end of something can be a memorable, or a forgettable occasion. The last installment of MASH, for instance, was quite impressive; as was the final episode in the last Bob Newhart show.

In contrast, there was the finale to Cheers, where everything just sort of ended. The original Planet of the Apes movies were quite impressive in their day, and became classics…but by the final couple of sequels we pretty much knew what to expect, and got it.

So, here’s my November-ending blog, and you can rate it a Bob (for good) or a Cheers (for bad). Or a Star Trek V, if it’s really REALLY bad.

-0-

All the leaves are down, and pretty much crushed underfoot now, and winter is on its way. We’re getting some freezing wind from the north, and an occasional flurry of snow. Most of us who live in our motor homes are hoping the really bad weather will hold off until the job is over here in Coffeyville, so we can flee to places like Arizona or Texas.

We realize, but maybe don’t always verbalize, how fortunate we are to be able to do that. The people who live here full-time will stay, and deal with the snow and ice, and the floods when they come, as they did last year. In return for their sacrifices they’ll enjoy the kind of close community that comes from sharing good times and bad, and pulling together. Symbolic of that is the yearly celebration of the “Dalton Defenders”…the members of the community who responded, some at the cost of their lives, to an attempted double bank robbery in an earlier era.

We have a different kind of community…a mobile, variable neighborhood. The individuals who comprise that neighborhood are always changing, (giving some of us, who are bad at remembering names a particularly frustrating challenge) and so is the geography. Our community fosters trust and interdependence in its own way. Most of us are willing to lend a hand or some advice when needed to people we may have met just yesterday. We’re willing to share the benefit of our experience, so that everybody doesn’t have to learn everything the hard way. There’s a relaxed kind of friendliness and trust that I’ve seen portrayed in descriptions of pioneer towns and early settlements. In a sense, I guess, we’re the pioneers of our time, even though the places where we live have been settled and “civilized” for a while now.

In a way, we take the best from both kinds of America and combine them…and for the opportunity to do that, I will be grateful for just as long as it lasts.

To all the folks we’ve met along the way, are friends with now, or will be friends with in the future, an early Merry Christmas and Happy New year. And may you follow the sun for many, many years to come.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Some Random Seasonal Thoughts

2008-11-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

It looks like the warm days are about over. We might get some snow by tomorrow, and the nights have been getting colder. Daytime too, today. We’re beginning to appreciate the virtues of propane, and furnaces that work (thanks to my friend Joel, who gave ours the magic touch a week ago).

Now the Christmas Movies begin. All day, every day from now ’till Christmas. How many ways can you tell the Scrooge story? It would be interesting to count the versions some year, and compile a list. I prefer the older ones…In particular the movie with Alistair Cook, originally entitled “Scrooge”, but marketed these days as “A Christmas Carol”, although the original title is still what you see when the movie starts.

Of course we’ll be watching “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life”, where the original Bert and Ernie showed up, long before Sesame Street.

The classics always bring the most intense feelings of the season, at least for me. “A Christmas Story” complete with the leg lamp has become a classic in my lifetime…and reminds me most of Christmas when I was a boy. These days, films like “The Polar Express” and “Elf” appeal to the youngsters, and will probably become classics some day. But I prefer the older films: long on sentiment and not too demanding on the intellect…after all who wants to think a lot when you’re stuffed with turkey and half dozing.

I’ll probably be blogging more about Christmas as the day approaches… right now, with the cold weather just moving in, I’m more interested in preparations: finding good hiding places for presents (a challenge in a motor home), and coming up with mobile-type decorations (although that’s pretty much my wife’s part). I have already been informed I’ll be putting up lights tomorrow… so the preparations are officially underway.

Happy pre-Holidays.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Blog Challenge Nears End...Geezer gets Desparate

2008-11-28T15:32:00.002-07:00

Just two days to go, and I’m running really thin on blog ideas. So today, I’ll dip into the idea jar…Nope. Just cookie crumbs.

This one has a bit of frosting still attached. I remember that cookie: It was a really fine experience. At the time I ate it, it was still warm and soft, and that touch of frosting gave it the crunch that added a little texture without being overwhelming.

It was a good, basic cookie with the kinds of undertones that come with experience in several diverse flavor moods. A kind of nuanced treat. It really combined the best bits from what had been previous bad combination choices, culling out the more detracting aspects of previous attempts.

The cookie created the kind of magic you wanted to live again and again. And I guess that’s the reason I’ve decided to eat the crumb.
(time passes, and the tension builds)

OK. Not a good decision. It seems time has not been kind to the cookie…or at least to the crumb. The crumb itself was crunchy and hard, and had lost most of its flavor. The bit of frosting nearly put a chip in my tooth. Not a pleasurable experience. I need something to rinse out my mouth now, before I get ready for work.

I guess that’s what I get for letting my imagination wander while the wife flips through the “Food Channel,” “What Not to Wear” and “What It Takes” on the TV.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Happy Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T17:06:00.006-07:00

Depending on your point of view, Thanksgiving can be a day for celebrating, or for clever deception.

We gathered with friends for Thanksgiving at noon today, and are kind of taking it easy this evening. Just the wife and me in our cozy RV, thinking about what we have to be grateful for this year.

Thanksgiving’s one of those holidays that haven’t been messed with in a major way since it began. Fortunately, setting a day aside to give thanks for what you have is still at the heart of the day. So I’m just relaxing, being grateful for my wife, who continues to put up with me; for my four sons who have all grown into men I’m proud to know; and for my health, which remains solid and allows me to work and play as I continue to live the dream. And for all the friends I've met or will meet along the way.

It’s been a year with some trials, but it certainly hasn’t been as bad a year as they had in Connecticut in 1721, when His Majesty’s Governor still found it in his heart to issue the following:

(Click to enlarge & read)

So, happy Thanksgiving, and many more in future years.
Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

The Legend of the Leaf, the Pecan and the Ditch

2008-11-26T15:09:00.002-07:00

Once upon a time there was a brown leaf lying on the ground, in a ditch with multitudes of other brown leaves. Having nothing better to do, it looked around one afternoon and started counting the other leaves. After reaching 1,879 with many, many more to go, the leaf got tired of counting.

“I’m tired of counting,” the leaf said to itself redundantly, “I think I’ll stop now and do something else.”

Just then, a large, four legged animal came snuffling through the leaves, and when it got to the counting leaf, it stopped. It sniffed more closely, and then upended the counting leaf abruptly, grabbing a pecan from underneath it, and taking it to the edge of the ditch to eat.

“Help! Help,” said the pecan, “I don’t want to be eaten!”

But the leaf just sat back and said: “You’re a nut. It’s your nature to be eaten. Don‘t be such a crybaby”

But the pecan insisted to the end that it was meant to grow into another tree, not become a meal for a four-legged snuffling animal.

“Don’t you have any compassion? You were up there on the tree with me! You watched me grow from a tiny bud!”
“Yes,” said the leaf, “and you watched me turn bright colors when the weather got cold, and then get brown and dry and drop off the branch and float away. Did you reach out and grab me so I wouldn’t hit the ground? No!”

“But I don’t have any arms,” said the nut.

“Well,” said the leaf, “I don’t either.”

“That’s no excuse,” said the nut. But before it could explain why or how the leaf could help, there was a loud CRUNCH and the pecan fulfilled its role as part of the food chain.

“Glad that’s over with,” said the leaf. “What a whiner! Besides, it’s a lot more comfortable lying here on the dirt, without that hard pecan shell underneath me.” And just at that moment, a two-legged companion to the four-legged snuffling animal came along, and the leaf was scrunched into a thousand tiny brown pieces in the dirt.

“Mph, Mphhh, Phmmmp pmmmphph,” said the leaf, for its mouth (or what it thought of as a mouth anyway) had been totally mashed by the big two-legged creature.

Eventually, the brown pieces of leaf decomposed, and became part of the soil. Meanwhile, the four-legged animal and its two-legged companion returned throughout the fall to the ditch and the grass surrounding it. Eventually, the pecan was re-deposited in an altered form into the ground.

Years passed. And one spring morning, the leaf sprang out of a much longer and higher branch, and as it happened, the pecan poked out a little later that season quite close to the leaf. One day they struck up a conversation.

“You know,” said the leaf, “I’ve had a little time to think about it, and maybe I was a little hasty in just letting you get eaten back then. I guess our new position higher up on the tree has given me new perspective.”

“Well, you know, I think we’ve both become a bit more mature since those days,” said the pecan. “Let’s just try to watch out for each other a little better.”

That Fall, when the cold nights and windy days came along, they did take care of each other. The pecan edged a little closer to the leaf at night, trying to protect it from the cold breeze. And when the pecan started to wobble a bit on its stem, the leaf moved underneath, to catch it in case it fell. The leaf turned bright orange, then faded gradually to brown. The pecan’s covering got stiff, and opened up, exposing the nut to the cold air. When the nut fell out of the pod, it landed on the leaf, and took it down with it; and there they were, together again in the ditch.

Off in the distance, they could both see a four-legged animal snuffling its way toward them.
“Well,” said the pecan, “at least this time you cushioned my fall, so I don’t have any cracks in my shell.”
“Mphhh, Bluphph,Umphhupt,” said the leaf. For the pecan had mashed what the leaf thought of as a mouth when they hit the ground.

Editor’s note:
This is what happens when you sit a person down to a computer and say: “Write something. Anything.”

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

A Good Day at the Pump

2008-11-25T22:44:00.002-07:00

Today I filled up my gas tank for less than 17 dollars. No, it wasn't the RV tank; things haven't improved that much. It was the Jeep...our little toad (as in "towed vehicle"... towed-toad: get it?...it's an RV'er thing). I can't remember the last time that's been possible...and it took nearly a full tank of gas.
I guess that goes to show something good comes out of every economic crisis...especially for those of us who don't have a lot to begin with.

I notice people who never really worried about the price of gas...those who ride in limos and fly jets from here to there, etc....presenting themselves with worried expressions these days. Well, I'm not worried. I don't see the dropping price of gas as a dire "economic indicator" any more than I saw the obscene increase in gas prices as a sign of a "strengthening economy".

I think what goes around comes around, and that what's been around is starting to come back around now. And as long as it stays around I'll be happy to pay 17 dollars or less for a tank of gas.

Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

The Conspiracy Spreads

2008-11-24T18:30:00.000-07:00

Well, we’re toasty warm, so far. The Great Furnace Adventure continues, with yet another round. The technological conspiracy kept us cold again last night, when the furnace, after briefly working, stopped again, and the chuckling from beneath the floor was almost enough to keep me awake.

Anyway, my friend came over again today, and we took the whole thing apart, examined all the parts, blew a little dust around, put back everything we took out…and turned it back on. Actually, he did all the work, and I just kind of watched, since he was the one who knew what he was doing.

Now, he says he didn’t do anything, but after it was all back together again, the air coming out of the registers was warm…which is the idea behind a furnace. I’d say he fixed it.

Anyway, tonight we’re warm, and the blog is brief because my brain has joined the technological conspiracy and I’m at the end of my creativity.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Old Photos

2008-11-23T22:55:00.003-07:00

I’ve been fascinated for as long as I can remember by old photographs. I never miss a chance to rummage through those boxes of pictures you find in antique shops. It’s fun to imagine what the lives of those people were like. To try and put some context around the images; some personality into the faces.

When I was a boy I’d look at the old family photo album and find younger versions of my grandmother, pictures of relatives who had died, and glimpses of places and events that happened before I was born.

I don’t know what happened to most of those pictures. Mom and Dad have been gone for some time now, and I’m not sure what my brother preserved. I know I have just a few pictures, and my album. Dad made a special picture album for each of his sons. It features highlights of our childhood…vacation trips, Christmas mornings, birthdays, special events that sort of thing. I can watch myself grow up in those photos, and watch my Mom and Dad in their prime: happy and proud.

Of course it’s just the happy times…far from an accurate historical record. We didn’t smile all the time like that. There were days, weeks and years in between the pictures when things of a less rosy nature colored our lives. But that, of course, is not the point. The album makes me feel good when I take it out and look for the hundredth time at its old pages…hand-printed notes and comments from Dad included in the margins. It brings some moments back to mind. Sometimes it brings Dad and Mom and Uncle Charles, and Grandma and me back for a while. It’s a little paper time machine that connects me to the places and people I know I’ll never touch again.

So, thank-you, Dad.

There was a big box of photos under our bed, back in the stick house days. My son is keeping them in storage for us now, and I think I’ll go back and get them soon.

I’d hate to have somebody find pictures of me or the boys in an antique shop someday and try to put some context around those images. I think I’d rather put them in a time machine.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

The Adventure Continues

2008-11-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

The word associated with technological problems that I like the least is “Intermittent”.

That’s the word that tells you not only will you probably not get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s causing the malfunction, but if anybody tries to fix it, you are guaranteed to look like a total boob* in that person’s eyes. In describing my rig’s ongoing technological conspiracy (see yesterday’s masterpiece), I once again underestimated the prowess of Winnebagga Antiquis.

A friend from work and a nearby section of the Park where we are staying kindly agreed to take a look at our failing furnace this morning, and came over bright and early. When he asked me to turn it on, I explained how the thing blew only cold air. We were discussing possible causes, and he was undoing the screws that hold the lid on, when…you know what‘s coming, right? The burner lit. Just out of the blue.

He was very nice about it. He smiled. I thanked him, and he headed home, still smiling. So here I sit…warm again. My wife is warm again. And I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Will it work next time? Will it wait until it’s Really cold tonight and not work again? What’ll it do?

Nobody knows.

It’s intermittent.

But somewhere in the background, just under the constant sound of that cold wind outside, every once in a while it seems I can hear a faint “heh-heh-heh”.

Stay tuned for the next exciting episode.
Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

*Archaic term formerly used to designate a fool or absolute incompetent. Current usage refers to something completely different.

Revenge of the Rig

2008-11-21T14:05:00.000-07:00

OK, so yesterday I did my semi-monthly political rant, and was reminded of why I stay away from CNN most of the time. Today’s rant is something I really can’t get away from. I live with it.

I’m talking, of course, about the eternal conspiracy of technology against those who rely upon it. There have been several minor examples of this conspiracy recently here in Coffeyville, where we are currently making our home…but I’m convinced the RV simply threw them out so I’d be lulled into a false sense of security.

For example, our water pump went out a week ago. Not a major thing, because we had our connection with the Park system, and our friendly neighbor the RV Fix-it guy was able to easily switch out our pump before the weather got freezing, and we had to disconnect. Tank’s full, all is well. We also stocked up on propane, made sure the water heater was working, got some gasoline additive, tested out the Gen-set. All good.

Then, the RV Fix-it guy decided to leave. As he headed down the road, our trusty Winnebago was watching (we’d parked facing the exit to our section of the park, foolishly forgetting the implications).

He hadn’t turned the corner onto the highway before the Big Whammy came along. Winnie decided to disable our propane furnace. It had also been keeping track of the weather forecasts, and withheld it’s coup de gras until the temperatures plunged below freezing. (When my wife asked what that strange sound from beneath the rig was, I refrained from telling her the truth. I said there was probably something caught in the fan blades or something…but I knew it was just the furnace’s version of “Heh-Heh-Heh.” I’d heard it before, from the black water tank, but that’s another story.)

So here we sit, all squared away for Thanksgiving, with a bum furnace, and the nearest RV repair place about an hour’s drive away in Oklahoma. I’d say more, but it’s almost time for work, so I’ll break out the electric heaters and head down the road. We’ve got a couple of freezing days to go before we can head south in search of a Techno-healer.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

So Long, Ted.

2008-11-20T13:58:00.004-07:00

So there’s Ted Stevens, the recently-convicted and not re-elected Senator from Alaska on CNN, giving a tear-studded farewell to his colleagues. This is what I watch as I have my morning coffee. The guy was found guilty of misappropriating my tax dollars to enrich himself, then voters unceremoniously booted him from his job (and rightly so); and instead of packing up his stuff and vacating the building like any other hired hand, he takes up time on the Senate floor to tell us he considers the US Capitol building to be one of his two homes. (is anybody else feeling nauseous at this point, or is it just me?)

What kind of arrogance does it take to steal from the people who pay you an exorbitant salary, to be convicted of it in court, and then on the strength of a lame denial, (the courts, the jury, everybody got it wrong. Right.) to stand up and address the Senate as though you’re some kind of retiring Elder Statesman?

A pretty disgusting display, and yet somehow informative. I think it shows us just how we got into the mess we’re in right now. We allow things to happen. We elect anybody with a good story and enough money to tell it to us. Ted Stevens told his constituents just what they wanted to hear, and made a career out of it. Then he got caught. But in his own mind he didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the mindset that makes him and his fellow politicians so dangerous. They believe it’s OK to do things. You just can’t get caught. If you break the law and nobody finds out, or an underling “fixes” it for you…well, that’s as it should be. After all you’re a United States Senator. You deserve to be above petty things like laws. (After all you made most of them anyway. Right?)

So Ted Stevens goes back to his “other” home and appeals his conviction. One bad guy gone.

But what really depresses me about the whole situation is the rest of the senate. The ones the rest of us elected, and who supposedly represent us. The reason the fiasco is so informative: The in-your-face slap they gave all of us regular citizens who do the best we can to be honest and earn our living.

What was that, Geez?

Well, I'll tell you:

They all stood up and gave old Ted a standing ovation. (Against senate rules, we’re told by CNN, but nobody objected.) “Good job, Ted. We’ll miss you ole buddy.

"Now let’s all adjourn for Thanksgiving before we have to deal with the auto industry crisis. The economy’s falling down around our ears, but Hey! It’s Thanksgiving! We all deserve a break, right? Besides, we have So Much to be thankful for. (Heh-Heh.)”

Alaska got rid of Ted. What about the rest of us?

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Best Laid Plans

2008-11-19T14:47:00.004-07:00

OK, so today's blog was supposed to be a series of sunset pictures we've taken over the past few years, and comments about them, and the places , etc. etc. Unfortunately, I have found my technical prowess in the blog illustration department is currently too limited to accomplish it in the allotted time.

Therefore, after overlapping several different sunsets, and copies of the same sunset, and running out of time ('Have to get to work), I am posting this brief description of my learning process. I will consult Geeks of my acquaintance and get back to you tomorrow.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Sweeter Times?

2008-11-18T15:47:00.003-07:00

Remember penny candy? Or 25 cent hamburgers? Or pinball machines? If you do, welcome to Geezerworld. I remember all of them. Now some would say that dates me, and I suppose it does…but is it such a bad thing to be dated? I remember a time when I really wanted to be dated, but the girls apparently had no such mutual feelings…

Anyway, when I was 13 or 14 or so there was a place called Jack’s Hamburger Stand, and there was a magnet inside that building that pulled all of us guys to it immediately after school. (I think the magnet actually worked on the change in our pockets, because when we got out of there most of us didn’t have any left.) You could get a hamburger for a quarter, or a hot dog for a dime. The hamburgers were really big when Jack put them on the grill, and really tiny when he put them in the bun and handed them to you. No, they weren’t “sliders”. You pay more for them, and they’re supposed to be small.

So we’d sit at a long counter, eat hamburgers (or on days when the money was tight, hot dogs) and then head for the “Back Room”. This was where the pinball machines lived. They sat along the dim back wall, with bells, lights, loud clacking sounds, and robbed you of all your money a nickel at a time. Some of the guys could take a single nickel into the Back Room, and play pinball all afternoon. I was not one of them, but I could play for about an hour on a good day.

During the course of that hour, we’d review last night’s episode of Superman, talk about the new movies that were playing (everybody was real excited about one called “Them”: The poster had a picture of a Giant Ant on it. Wow.), and rehash the day at school, provided something interesting like a fight or unscheduled fire drill had happened.

After Jack’s, it was home, via the little stores and shops that lined the street, and with the pennies we had left…the purchase of a final treat or two: strips of paper with candy “dots” in neat rows all the way down, “root beer barrels”, “Double Bubble” bubble gum (with a free comic on wax paper inside), and a million similar varieties of sugar that no doubt made us all hyperactive and worse. The cure for that affliction in those days was bed without TV, so many of us learned to control it at a young age. No drugs, No psychologists.

As we got a little older we graduated from Jack’s to the Pool Hall (an absolutely Forbidden den of iniquity located upstairs above Woolworth’s), and from there it was a fast slide down the road to Perdition during our High School years, and then College for some , the Army for most, the Mill for others…and College and the Mill for many of us.

Then, on to real life, jobs, worries, kids, etc. etc., and now, finally to a new place, where I can look back and actually remember some of those old, young days.

I know, things seem rosier from the distance of years, and the varnish gets thicker the longer you live. Still, it seems things were a lot more fun when they weren’t so convenient. When we actually had to go out and walk in the fresh air for a while to find entertainment. When being sent to your room was actually a punishment, and not doing your homework wasn’t an option.

Oh, well. The old guy’s just ranting again.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

The Great Illustrated Adventure

2008-11-17T22:30:00.011-07:00

I just got to thinking about how turning down the right road can bring you an adventure in life you never expected, and make it just that much richer. Earlier this year, we had one such moment, as we were leaving the Gypsy Journal rally in Arizona. It was one of those moments when something caught my eye, and I thought, “Why not just take a quick detour and see what it is?”
This is what caught my eye:

I had no Idea what it was, but there seemed to be a serviceably wide road leading to it, so, what the Heck?
I made the turn…and found an unexpected adventure.
I found, first of all, that this was not the kind of road I’d been expecting, and specifically that not all road surfaces are in fact, paved. Combine that new information with a rather steady rain the previous night, and this is the result:

Now, if we seem to be listing a bit in this shot, it’s not because I had the camera at a bad angle. I stepped out to investigate, and see if I could nudge the rig a little…after all, how deep can the mud be? Right?
Well, It was this deep in the front:

And this deep in the rear:
And this deep where I was standing to get a look at the situation:

As you can imagine, I was feeling a bit distraught by the whole situation, but Yarntangler and Clancy lent me some fine moral support:
(Click for larger image, so you can see the sympathetic expressions on both their faces)

…And I got through just fine. We made a few calls, and soon, this guy came...

to the rescue:
And when it was all over, and the nice tow truck guy had gone, I still couldn’t figure out what the heck that thing was.

But I guess there are some questions in life that aren’t meant to be answered. So we’ve left that inquiry for another time, and in another vehicle.
That’s my first attempt at a pictorial tale. Hope you like it.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Living Up to the Basic Premise of this Blog

2008-11-16T17:44:00.003-07:00

I must have about a thousand pictures of sunsets. I can’t seem to get enough of them, no matter how many pile up in the computer. Right now, I’m looking out the window at one, and resisting temptation…but it’s a really good one, and the trees make a great silhouette in front of the brilliant reds and oranges…with the deepening degrees of blue overhead and to either side. Really nice. Nice job, God.

OK, I looked at it and wrote long enough so I missed the chance…and this one won’t be taking up space in the laptop.

That’s kind of a shame…because no matter how many I accumulate, there should always be room for another one. The show only goes on once a night, and once it’s gone, it’s gone. Like opportunities missed along the way all through life.

But there were opportunities taken as well, and some turned out pretty good. I guess we’re all going to make choices of one sort or another, and there’s no sense dwelling on what would have happened had we made a different one. I chose to marry a good woman when I had the chance. That’s a decision that has made me happy every day since. (although there have been some days when I’ve been happier than others…for example, today I’m in trouble for procrastinating about writing a blog, and while the decision still makes me happy in general, the situation right now isn’t too comfortable….and uh…I had a point to make, but maybe I should stop talking now since she’ll be reading this and that look will come over her face, and….Stop talking, Geez.)

What was I saying?

Choices. We chose to do this blog-every-day thing at the beginning of the month. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s a way to get into the habit of writing every day, and that can’t hurt. But there is a down side: I don’t always have something to say that’s worth reading. (I know that comes as a shock to some of you, but it’s true. Really. Really.) or even worth saying for that matter. There are lots of people like that. Rush Limbaugh, for example, or Al Frankin (equal time).

But they say it anyway, and they prosper in the process. So, what they say must make sense to somebody. Right? I think there’s a lesson to be taken from that. I don’t know what it is, but somebody might read this, and leave a comment telling me. That would be helpful.

OK, a blog a day keeps the Procrastination Police away. It’s not much, but I think it beats sitting a thousand monkeys down to a thousand typewriters. Anyway, tell me what you think. OK?
OK.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Verbal Bankruptcy (the shame of it all)

2008-11-15T15:40:00.001-07:00

Back in the days when I typed things like essays, articles or short stories, the most consistently aggravating sight I could think of was that of a blank piece of paper in the typewriter. The blank page would stare back at me, just daring me to think of something, anything intelligent to put on it. When I began a sentence, it would mock me about half way through as I lost the thought, and had to start over. If I made a spelling or grammatical mistake (known in the ancient language of pre-spell-check* times as a “typo”) I had to tear out a page, partially killing a tree, and start over.

These days, as we revel in the wondrous age of electronics, I no longer have to face the blank page. Instead, I face the blank screen (oddly shaped like a page). So things have improved since the old days. I know the trees like it better. But I don’ t find that it makes me any more creative. I still get stuck. I still get frustrated. Like today. I really can’t think of anything to write about, so I’m writing about not being able to think of anything to write about.

Does that make sense? Writing something at any cost?

Of course not. It must be ingrained.

I spent 30+ years as a broadcast reporter and only met one person who thought it was ok not to have anything new to report at news time. As it turns out, he was the one boss over the years who truly understood what “news” is. It’s new stuff. Thus the term.

Have you ever spent thirty, or twenty minutes with CNN and wondered why everything they were saying sounded so familiar? How many times can you listen to the same story before you start newscasting along with the anchor? Most “News” stations, TV or radio, repeat the same stuff so many times it’s like having the words appear in front of you as you listen. Kind of like a news Karaoke. But not as enjoyable as the musical version.

This boss had a story he liked to tell about having something really new to say at news time. He recalled one particularly dull afternoon, when his then news director found himself at the top of the hour with only the stories he’d read 30 minutes ago. When the big instrumental “News Opening” heralded the appointed time, as they all did in those days complete with kettle drums and brass in extremis, he opened his mike, said “Ladies and gentlemen there is absolutely nothing worth knowing to tell you about at this time” (or words to that effect), closed his mike and played the equally ostentatious “News Closing”.

I often wish my old boss worked for CNN.

*spell-check is a subject covered definitively by Sage Words some time ago.

Blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

Old Movies and Old Movie Houses

2008-11-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

There’s an old movie theater here in Coffeyville KS called the “Midland”. I don’t know much about it except that it appears to be an ongoing restoration project. It’s one of those ornate, fancy buildings you just don’t see any more, except in places like Coffeyville.

It reminds me of going to the movies as a kid, and the difference between that experience then and the same thing now. Sure, a lot of it has to do with the memory of things done in childhood being somehow better than the actual experience, but not all.

I remember buying my ticket for 25 cents and walking down the long, white-tiled floor (you remember those little octagonal tiles, each individually grouted in place by “artisans”…tiny, magical people who could do that sort of thing). Eventually the hallway, lined with posters showing the next thirty or so movies you just HAD to see, led to the Lobby, a carpeted, elegant place featuring the Counter of Opulence, where buttered popcorn, and sugar in a gazillion different forms could be purchased for reasonable (but at that time outrageous) prices.

To the right, just as we passed the Counter, was the stairway leading to the balcony; the preferred seating. It was roped off on Saturdays, unless you happened to be among the last of a very large number people to buy a ticket. This was a policy of “Management”, a scowling, disapproving man in a suit and tie, who glowered from the office door as we filed by on our way to see two features, a serial (we HAD to come back every Saturday because there was NO WAY the good guy could have gotten out of THAT fix), and ten billion cartoons.

The balcony had not always been closed for the matinee. It had been a launching pad for popcorn, wads of paper, candy and most anything else purchased at the Counter. But it was closed right after what was known as the “garbage bag incident”. It involved some cleverly concealed contraband, several Orchestra-section patrons, and a cleaning bill that had permanently deepened the scowl on “Managent”’s face.

Anyway, those are the kinds of images that old theaters bring to mind. These days, you buy a ticket, sit in a really comfortable seat with great sound and special effects, and enjoy a 6 or 8 dollar extravaganza. What you don’t get is the magic. Somehow, when that HUGE screen lit up with big black-and-white people and giant colorful cartoon characters, a couple of hundred kids became part of a world removed.

We laughed, hollered, cheered, and totally lost ourselves into that Special Place for a few hours of our time and the quarter earned by a week’s worth of taking out the trash. (Every now and then, on my way down that long tiled hallway, I’d see four canisters sitting along the wall, containing next week’s feature, or maybe last week’s feature ready to be sent to the next theater on the list. I remember thinking how great it would be if I could just own one of those movies, and a projector to show it with…I could watch it anytime I wanted and invite my friends. Funny thing about wishes made when you’re a kid…some of them come true.)

One of my favorite movies is an Italian film called “Cinema Paradiso”. It has a lot to do with growing up, coming of age, and the different ways people show their love for each other. But one of the main characters is an old, broken down theater in a small Italian village. The chairs are small, the sound is bad, and it is the center of the community. It has none of the things my old theater of days gone by had, except the magic.

And that’s enough.

The feeling is there, and although I’m listening to Italian and reading subtitles, watching people from a country I’ve never seen, following incidents that are unlike anything from my childhood, it takes me back.

To the feelings: I become part of the story, just like we did on Saturday afternoon in a small New England Milltown.

It’s nice to know that the magic is still there. Now and then you find somebody with a camera and some film who can bring it back. And make you part of it.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

A Thought Over a Cup of Coffee

2008-11-13T20:58:00.000-07:00

There’s a baseball diamond across the street from our motor home, complete with night lights, a new electronic scoreboard and state-of-the-art sound system. It has been put together over the past year over the remnants of the old ball field, left behind by the 2007 flood in this small Kansas town.

It’s a kind of symbol to me of the resilience people here in the Heartland have. What was a mud and mold-strewn park and neighborhood just 12 months ago is now well on its way to recovery. There were numerous businesses wiped out by the flood, and several whole neighborhoods had to be torn down. Now, where we walked or rode last year looking at the sad remains of peoples’ homes, some of which had undoubtedly been in families for generations, there are steps and slabs, and streets making a kind of giant map on the ground. What will end up there is still a mystery. It should be interesting to come back in another year or two and see what grows there. One way or another, places and the people who live in them recover and move on…sometimes replacing what was there, and sometimes creating a new reality.

That’s one of the things about this part of the country the metro types with their Urban Renewal, and hundred-thousand dollar condos don’t seem to get. When change happens in the Heartland, it can be drastic; it can be life-altering. But it happens naturally most of the time…not just because there’s a profit to be made.

Just a thought, as I look out my window at the new ball field, and listen to the afternoon pickup game.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

“What’ll I Write About Today?”

2008-11-12T14:53:00.001-07:00

My dog is staring at me. I don’t know how many other people have dogs who stare at them, but mine does it frequently. The stare can be modified to express different things. Often the stare says “I want to go out now.” This is accompanied by glances toward the door when she catches my eye, followed by little trots to the doorway and back if I don’t immediately indicate I’ve gotten the message. It generally ends with Yarntangler backing her play, and Clancy and me out in the field in search of really good smells, and the occasional pile of something to roll around in.

The stare can also mean “I want some of your food.” She will ignore a nice full bowl of perfectly good dog food, and stare, occasionally whimpering a bit for effect, until I put down my plate with the leftovers on them.

Right now, she’s staring at me with neither of the characteristic signs. She’s just eaten (and although that is rarely a factor in the “I want your food” stare, she just doesn't look hungry), and we’ve been for our walk already. No, this is a different stare; and I think I’ve figured it out. Clancy is working on her blog.

She started it a few days ago, after sneaking onto the computer when Yarntangler wasn’t looking, and for a first effort by a gourmet wiener dog it wasn’t bad. I even left her an encouraging comment.

Ever since then I’ve noticed a change in Clancy. She observes things with much more intensity, and there are places she sniffs at longer than she did in the past. She’s found several areas on our walks in which she never previously took an interest, and has done some digging in odd places. She seems to stare a little longer at the neighbor’s dogs, and at the birds that gather on the electric wires, much to her frustration.

Today, though, she’s staring at me. I can almost hear the little wheels turning in that doggie head, and I’m a little uncomfortable about what she might be thinking about. After all, we all do things around the dog that we might think twice about if other people were present. (How long is a dog’s memory anyway?) She has a very strange look on her face right now, and the tail is wagging, slightly but steadily. Every now and then she looks over at the refrigerator, where my lunch is being kept until it’s time to go to work. Hmmm.

I think I’ve found another kind of stare, and I’m not sure I like it much. This one seems to say: “How’d you like to give me a WHOLE sandwich in exchange for an advance look at my next blog?”

I don’t think dogs should be allowed on the internet.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

To Remember and Honor

2008-11-11T17:10:00.001-07:00

Veteran’s Day 2008

I always think about my Dad on Veteran’s Day. It’s not that he ever made a big thing of his military service; in fact, he was very low key about it. I knew that he had served in the war, (WWII), but neither I nor my brother got any details. That’s the way veterans of Dad’s generation were, for the most part. They had done their duty, and that was that. Some joined the American Legion or VFW, and spent time with fellow Vets at the Post swapping memories. My Dad never did that. But every so often a couple of his buddies from not too far away would come over. They’d sit around the living room and talk about all the other people they knew and things that happened. They’d laugh and talk for hours. My brother and I would just sit in the background and listen. It sounded like the War was just one big prank, and good time after another. But every now and then they’d mention a name, or a place, or a day and everything would get quiet for a while.

After a time, one of them would start with another yarn and the pace would pick up and get back to a happy rhythm again. But now, years later as I think about it, they probably communicated more deep feelings during the silences than any other part of the conversation. That was their way. They did what they had to do, and moved on…but they didn’t forget. They just kept some things very close, and shared them very carefully.

When Dad died it was winter. The cemetery in our little New England town was frozen, and a strong wind blew a thick snowstorm into the group, as we stood around his grave. I remember the Veterans who performed the final Honors for Dad struggling in the hard-blowing snow with his flag. They did as they always had: they kept at the job until it was done, then handed over the folded triangle and moved on.

Dad’s name and their names are listed together in a big, framed memorial in front of the public library downtown at the head of Main Street. I suspect there will be a ceremony today in front of that memorial, as there is every year. I won’t be there; I’ve been far away from that little town for many years…but I still remember. And I still say Thank You to Dad and his generation…and to those in my generation, like my brother, who served, and to my children and grandchildren and their generation. To everyone who served, is serving, or will serve: Thank you. Know you are appreciated and cherished.

-Geezerguy

Now with PICTURES!

2008-11-10T21:49:00.002-07:00

Today, I’m trying something different. I’m going to try posting a picture in my blog. I’ve noticed some people post pictures all the time…Some post nothing but pictures for their blogs. Well…time for me to jump into something new, so here goes. I’m going to post my favorite picture from this summer. Ready? OK. This may take a while (as several of my maintenance programs have told me recently). Here goes:

There!
This is me and Yarntangler on Aug 3. We were in 1880 town, and had just celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary, by re-doing the whole thing (I’ve always said I’d do it again anytime) in a little church at the end of the main street. We dressed appropriately for the time period, as you can see, and a few of our friends came along to help us celebrate. This shot was taken on the walk in front of the Longhorn Saloon, as we headed there for our reception. Sarsaparilla all around.
No big philosophical point to make today…I just felt like sharing a moment I think about often. A special part of our summer, and our life.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Crunch, Grunt, Umph, Teeter…But wait! There’s More!

2008-11-09T22:40:00.001-07:00

TV can be very beneficial to your health. It can turn you into a person so healthy you’ll live to be at least 2-thousand, and so hard-muscled, slim and handsome, you’ll have to fight off the women (or men, as the case may be) well into your 1900’s.

I just saw a device that can make my abs (I think I know what those are) as hard as boulders, and another one that can give me pecs (I do know what those are) that are irresistible to the opposite sex. (I know that’s true because there was this GORGEOUS redhead all over the guy in the infomercial.) And it’s available for three easy payments of 29.99 (plus shipping and handling, which they did not quantify). How can I resist? I’d be a fool not to get it.

I can also get a device that allows me to tilt myself upside down, like I used to get in trouble for when I was a kid, on a teeter-totter designed to straighten my spine and make all my troubles, including bill collectors (OK that’s a slight exaggeration), go away.
There’s a product that can replace my long-gone hair, and restore it to the original luster of my youth…another that can get rid of hair that’s in the wrong places with a simple massage-like motion. If I call now I’ll get extras free of charge (except for shipping and handling).
And there’s this stuff that will make me a lover without peer, and without a prescription (just look at how happy Bob is…and catch the look on that gorgeous female in the background).
TV can also solve all the financial problems of the world, one person at a time. There are people who can get you out of credit card debt (if you owe $10,000.00 or more)…people who can go to bat for you against the nasty, evil IRS: after all, you’re just a poor, innocent victim who didn’t pay any taxes for two, three or more years (“Oh, goodness, I’m…I’m actually supposed to pay taxes? Who knew?”…“They took my last $50,000.00 before I could move it to my offshore account -- snif, snif.”)

And there are banks that can get you into your OWN HOME for almost nothing down, and easy balloon payments of just… Wait a minute, uh… That one didn’t work out too well.
Come to think of it, most of that stuff hasn’t worked out too well…except for the people selling it. Or the ones handling the shipping and handling.

I guess I’ve been watching too much TV. I’d better find something else to do with my spare time.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy.

Moving Day Plus 3

2008-11-08T14:19:00.002-07:00

Does it ever end? Got up about noonish today (TGIS, day off tomorrow), tried to get propane since it will be freezing tonight. Nobody open (after all it's Saturday). Hooked up the partial tank, and hoped for the best.
We're gonna be settled down soon, then I can blog more lucidly (is that a word?). Anyhow, monthly blog number 8 has now been duly submitted.
blog at ya later
-Geezerguy

Moving Day Plus 2

2008-11-07T16:22:00.002-07:00

This has been a 5 star day.

1 Got up too early. When you work until 4 AM anything before noon is too early.

2 Go have lunch with the wife's cousin . I haven't seen her since she was babysitting my first born while my second born was being born 38 years ago. Turns out she's a nice gal. She brought me a pumpkin pie!

3 Get phone call telling us to come back to RV park ASAP. Grab loaf of bread and the mail.

4 Stash everything- again- unhook everything -again. Move back to our original spot -hook everything up-again.

5 Change into a work shirt and get the beard braided. Dash this off .

My day in 5 hours!

Blog at you later,
Geezerguy

Moving Day Plus One

2008-11-06T14:01:00.002-07:00

OK, if I was in a hurry yesterday (and I was), I’m twice as in a hurry (to paraphrase an obscure line from “Blade Runner”) today. We’re in the new swamp…uh…RV section, and it rained last night. We remain hopeful that we will be able to move the rig eventually when the time comes to move back (which we definitely plan to do).

Anyway, I’m in a hurry today because our WiFi signal has dwindled to a mere shadow of its former self, and I have no idea how long I’ll be connected. So here’s day 6 of our blogathon, and more power (and signal strength) to me in the future.

Just a brief reflection on the situation:
Here we are living the dream we nurtured for all those stick-house years when we were permanently attached to one job and one place. It might sound like I’m complaining sometimes, but even when things get really bad, all I have to do is look back to those days, and I realize that this is THE life for us, and it doesn’t seem so bad after all. I’m thankful every day for my wife’s wanderlust and the fact that she prodded me into this four (+) years ago. I might grouse a little, but I can smell the roses, the leaves, the mud and occasionally the refinery…and it all feels pretty darn good to me.
Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Moving Day

2008-11-05T19:15:00.002-07:00

This will be brief, because we are moving. At least I think we are moving. It’s a long, sad story, but in condensed form it goes something like this:

There were these contractors putting in a new section of RV park, just down the road from us, and making improvements to the section we are in. As a consequence of certain improvements to our section, we are temporarily being moved to the new section. Construction being what it is, we have been assured we are moving Monday morning, Tuesday morning, Wednesday (today) morning, and now Wednesday (this) afternoon. So we have unhooked all but the electricity, stowed the satellite dish on our bed and made sure the engine starts. Now we wait, and at some point the temporary sites will be ready for us to move into, until the work is done on our site, and we can move back. Or not. Depending upon whether we want to stay there, whether or not the work gets done here, and/or anything else that might come up in the meantime.

Anyway, that’s why this is so short. I have an ominous feeling this is going to turn into a series of posts, but we’ll see.

Blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

At Last... A real American Election

2008-11-04T22:48:00.002-07:00

Ten minutes till midnight, so I don't have time for a long-winded post. I just finished listening to a couple of speeches, and feel good for the first time in a looonnngg time about an election. This time around I had a tough time deciding who to vote for. I thought a LOT about what was said in this campaign, and went back and forth several times, finally deciding John McCain was the best man for the job. His concession speech this evening confirmed that beyond a doubt. A class act, and great American with the integrity we've all so sorely missed during the Clinton and Bush years.
Having said that, I can't feel too bad that Obama won. He is untested, that's true. He has yet to prove through actions the capabilities implied in his speeches...but I'm willing to back his efforts to make the changes. I feel I can trust him. He does give me hope for the future, and I look forward to seeing if he can chew up what he's bitten off.
And, oh yes. We've all taken a step as a country today. Those who voted for and those who voted against our first black president did so largely based on the ideas and issues brought out in a tough and VERY close campaign.
blog at ya later,
-Geezerguy

Why Koalas Only Eat Eucalyptus Leaves

2008-11-03T16:18:00.002-07:00

Once upon a time, in the ancient days when koalas spoke and lived in groups, a great hot wind came through the land, and changed forever civilization as they knew it.

The Big Koala, known popularly as a Consultational Poombawooomba, was preparing to make a cyclical pronouncement to the gathered group. This was a tradition among Koalas, and it would determine the leadership of the group for the next cycle. The Big Koala was promoting himself as “BK” because it made him seem friendlier, more of a regular Joe koala than the other Consultational Poombawooomba who would be making a cyclical pronouncement. You see, BK and Trim Koala, known to his friends as TK, but promoted to the public at large as Trim the Fluent, were competing for the position of Great Poombawooomba.

This was during the time when koalas ate sensibly, and enjoyed a well-balanced diet. A nice plate of beast, with an assortment of vegetables and salad greens was the usual fare, and was a joy to the koala of good breeding. As a treat, eucalyptus leaves would be eaten for desert…but only a few.
The reigning Great Poombawooomba was retiring at the end of this cycle, and following the time-honored tradition both BK and TK (to his friends) had been gathering nasty things to say about him for the entire cycle. In fact, almost all of the Consultational Poombawooombas had been doing the same thing, in preparation for the minor pronouncements, which had resulted in the selection of our two heroes. As a result, there was very little consultation given to the reigning GP. In this way, the CP’s provided themselves with a plethora of things to blame on the retiring GP to make themselves seem really smart.

Whoever seemed the smarter of the two finalists at the end of the cyclical pronouncement got to be Great Poombawooomba for two cycles. All the koalas listened carefully to the two pronouncements, then chose a new leader, based on what they had heard during the allotted time, which lasted from dusk until it got really dark. That was the maximum extent of the group’s memory and attention span. (After all, cultured as they might be, they were still just koalas.)

The time-honored tradition required all koalas in the group to gather in a great domed enclosure, which was constructed carefully throughout the cycle. It was just large enough to accommodate all koalas in the group, and featured five large shuttered windows along the wall, which were closed tight during the pronouncements, until the koalas had made their choice.

On that fateful date so long ago, the Big Koala put the finishing touches on his pronouncement, and polished off a nice beast sandwich, garnished with a eucalyptus leaf by Mrs. Big Koala. She smiled proudly at her mate, and wiped a bit of beast grease from his chin. Time to go.

As they entered Great Dome BK spotted his opponent, already at the podium. A couple of lackeys were putting up a big poster that read “Trim the Fluent!!! What more do you want than somebody who can make a Great Speech?!!!”

A little verbose, but the slogan had made ole TK pretty popular during the past few days.
Big Koala stepped onto the stage, shook paws with TK, then sat in his seat for the traditional chewing of the eucalyptus leaf. He rolled his eyes and made faces while Trim the Fluent smiled and shook paws with the koalas in the front row. Poopy little showoff.

Then the moderator chewed up the leaves, spread them out on the stage floor, and determined that they looked more like Trim the Fluent than Big Koala, so the young upstart got to speak first. Big Koala just sat and rolled his eyes a bit more.

As the evening progressed, Big Koala rose and spoke in turn, and all was proceeding as usual, when something made the Door Attending Koala look up to the nearest shuttered window. He gasped. Someone had failed to seal the shutter, and an opening of a full claw’s-width stared back at him, clearly showing the fading twilight.

Shaking nervously, the Door Attending Koala(also known as the DA)slipped outside as quietly as possible to see what the breach may have caused.
What he saw made his blood run cold.

There in the almost darkness, he watched helplessly as the plants swayed in the scorching wind and the beasts in the field dried and mummified where they stood. From the opening in the shuttered window came the great hot wind. As the pronouncements continued, it gained strength and raged on... Unstoppable. Cataclysmic. The DA ran into the hall, and shouted the devastating news to all, but clearly it was too late to save the land. The food was gone…wasted and turned to useless dust. All except the eucalyptus trees that swayed, unaffected in the now diminishing wind.

All was quiet now in the Great Dome. The chastened group looked expectantly to the stage, as the Big Koala and Trim the Fluent stared at each other. Agape. Clueless.

Then Trim the Fluent had an inspiration. He looked at the floor of the stage where his image (according to the moderator anyway) sat smeared on the boards. He pointed to the green glob and said: “Here! Here is the answer! This way of life is at an end, my friends! We must change! And the change is before our very eyes! We must all disperse, because now without beasts or veggies, the food supply is very small! We must live solitary lives, and eat nothing but the great Eucalyptus which has survived this catastrophe. How this global phenomenon occurred we may never know, but now is the time to move on, my friends! Move on to a new beginning. Let us live in the trees and eat the leaves! We’ll all have all we want! Everybody gets a fair share! And, hey! What could be better? It’s desert!!!”

Of course, it all made perfect sense to the gathering. And that has been the way of things ever since that fateful day so long ago. All the Koalas now live in trees and eat eucalyptus leaves, living happily ever after.

I know, it’s the day before election day, and I really should be writing something about that, but I’m just about politicked out, so I wrote a fable instead. Hey, it’s a valid blog. Happy day 3.
Affectionately,
Geezerguy

Two in a Row

2008-11-02T21:37:00.003-07:00

This is blog two for day two of the great blogathon. Thanks, Sage Words, for the comment...nice grade. This will be brief as well, but only because it has been a day filled with time-consuming glitches. By tomorrow, I should be able to hold forth ad nauseum.

So... Just a couple of observations. Two days hence we select McCainPalin or ObamaBiden to rule the nation for the next four years. At least that's what we're being told through the media. Everything that has happened for the past 8 years is BushCheney's fault: Especially the economy economy economy economy. (That, it appears, is now the only issue.) I've heard the same speech now from each of the candidates a gazzillion times, and that appears to be the one opinion they have in common. Wall street nosedives, big bank bailouts, money woes galore. (All the president's fault...Congress had nothing to do with it.) And the poor refineries...gas prices just plummeting...oh no... Oh. Wait a minute. That's a good thing, right? For most of us.
Anyway...it's bad for General Motors (really bad...checked their stocks?) so it must be bad for the rest of us. And there are no other issues. National security, terrorism, international drug sales, etc. Those are issues that have faded into insignificance as the campaign reaches Tuesday's crescendo. So they must not be problems any more.
I'll just close today with a small piece of advice: Before you vote, find a copy of an old Robert Redford movie called "The Candidate" and watch it.
That's my NaBloPoMo for today.
Blog at ya later,
Geezerguy.

NaBloPoMo

2008-11-01T14:56:00.002-07:00

I have to post a blog because of the blog thing.
So here's my blog.

Geezerguy

Some thoughts for Father's Day

2008-06-14T19:35:00.002-07:00

Last month, our youngest son turned thirty, and began life as a married man on the same day. It was an occasion that brought his mother and me together with all four of the boys for the first time in a long time, and it was largely the boys themselves who made it happen. I call them “boys” because that’s the habit I’ve gotten into over the years, but the occasion brought into focus just how proud I am of the men they have all become, and of the way each has found his own path to that elusive place called “maturity”.

Our words don’t have a lot of impact on how our children grow, but we can’t help teaching by the way we live every day. If we don’t show them how to live, we show them how not to live. Either way, they learn. I suspect most of my teaching fell into the latter category, and their mother helped them figure out the difference, by pointing out the folly of my ways. Each took the lesson in his own stride, and in his own time became a strong, true man. I couldn’t be any prouder if I’d known what I was doing all those years.

We have a big box of old photos…just a fraction of what we took over the years. These are the ones we could afford to have developed (back in the days of film). There are shots of the three oldest in our back yard in Texas, all bleached blond by the sun; Shots of our youngest (the blushing groom) in Truth or Consequences New Mexico, visiting Grandma and Grandpa; shots of the boys and various pets (most prominently Adonis, the ugliest dog that ever followed a kid home from school).

Some of the pictures are more in my head than in a box…like the one of our second-to-oldest…who was born on July 4th…attending the first parade in his honor in a small Texas town; the one of our oldest, perched on Dad’s shoulder as we walked to the corner store for a loaf of bread in the Berkshire winter; the one of our youngest conducting a scientific experiment to see if a wet paper towel would burn in the boys’ room sink; and the one of our next-to-youngest immersing the soluble parts of a carburetor in gasoline to get them good and clean. No photographs, but they’re pretty good pictures.

I carry lots of pictures like that in my head, and when I’m talking to one or the other of my sons on the phone, or across a table, they’ll sometimes come into focus for a minute or so, and somebody will say something like “earth to Dad”, and I’ll be accused of felony doddering.

Now our oldest son is “back East”, as we say out here in the Heartland, keeping his head high, and moving on after the latest in a long series of rough patches. Character comes through in the tough times, and his is shining like a beacon. I honestly doubt I could get through what he has. He’s taller than me, but that’s not why I look up to him.

The Fourth of July “Firecracker” has found his lady, Teri, and is pursuing careers on multiple fronts. He’s taught aerial rescue techniques to Firefighters, led wild cavern expeditions, and is beginning a career as a writer, in addition to his regular job. In many ways, he does the things I always wished I could do. He might be an Indiana Jones fan, but unlike Indy, he got the girl.

Our next-to-youngest is in England now, en route to Arizona. An Air Force “Lifer”, he and his beautiful Rosy have been serving our country all their adult lives. He’s really good with computers, too (he may even be able to help me uninstall my Norton Antivirus), and you have to love a lady who can drive an 18-Wheeler. (Go, Rosy). We’ve missed being physically close to them, but they’re never far from our thoughts, and we’re looking forward to their return to the States.

Our 30-year old “baby” is now a married man. He and his lady, Paula, are starting on solid ground, after taking the time to be sure. That’s the kind of maturity you sure wouldn’t have found in his old Dad at 30. When I was his age, I could take a car engine apart, by gosh. But he can put it back together; and have it actually work. So there yuh go.

My wife’s Dad made the trip to see our youngest get married. He’s 85 now, but that didn’t stop him from wearing out several young ladies on the dance floor. So Dad, happy Father’s Day, and many happy returns.
My wife’s sister and her daughter and sons made it a 3-generation reunion at the nuptials. It will be a long time before we all get together again, but it was great.

There’s another picture in that box I mentioned earlier. It came in the mail one year from my Dad, celebrating a birthday. There in the heat of an El Paso summer was a special birthday cake for his grandsons, made out of snow piled in a birdbath and decorated just for the picture a handful of months earlier back in New England. It delighted the boys, and looking at it now, it makes me think of my own childhood, and some of the pictures from those days that come into my head from time to time. That picture was typical of my Dad, and how he showed his love. He wasn’t a hugger…that was never his way; but my brother and I each have a photo album, put together with cartoon captions and color decorations, construction paper and glue and love that spanned the years of our childhood and young manhood, till we left home and started our own lives.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I miss you.

-geezerguy

Greetings from Yuma

2008-02-28T23:15:00.002-07:00

The spot where we’ve parked for the next couple of weeks is pretty close to the road, and the railroad tracks. It’s a Bureau of Land Management area just outside Yuma, and we’ll be waiting about 2 weeks for a new windshield. Yeah, another one. There’s a reason they call them windSHIELDS…they shield you from pebbles and things kicked up by the big long hauler in front of you. Problem is, every time they do their job, you get one step closer to the inevitable deductible payment and obligatory two-week minimum wait for shipping and handling.
The insurance lady was quite nice about it…made all the arrangements and put the process in motion. So I guess it could be a lot worse. We do get to watch the little skinny crack make its inexorable way to the top of the windshield, right up the middle, but at least we know help is on the way.
Oh, yeah. The trains. I’m told by my wife that they run every 17 minutes on the weekend. She timed them while I was asleep. During the day, truck traffic and the occasional siren provide a variation in the background sounds, and they drift away pretty much at night. During the week, it would appear the trains run less frequently. I haven’t seen too many during the daylight hours, and I’ll have to check with my wife about overnight.
But it’s free. 14 days at a time, you can stay and “dry camp” or “boondock”, your choice, at no charge. It’s very peaceful here, and I have a chance to savor the most recent experiences of our adventure.
Just before Christmas, we found ourselves in a small campground in Kansas, where I was temporarily working for a big on-line catalogue company. Each night (our 11-hour shift began at 5 pm), we were assured by the foreman that we were Santa Claus for millions of customers all over the world. That, together with a pretty good base pay, night shift differential and overtime inspired us for the several week duration of our assignment. At break time, there was an additional perk…free TV. Infomercials all night. That’s where I learned abut “Miracle Putty”, an epoxy that you mix with your fingers and it fixes anything. Anything. Permanently. I remember saying to myself “I’ve got to get some of that.” Oh, yeah.
From time to time, when I had a couple of days off, we would bring the rig into town and do fun things like laundry and email at the library. An occasional visit to The Gourmet Great Wall Buffet kind of put the sweet & sour sauce on the shrimp, so to speak.
Well, one fine day as we headed into town with laundry and Chinese food on our minds, there was this sound. It was vaguely familiar, and not a good sound. Something told me to pull over, and look in the rear view mirror. As soon as I spotted it lying on the side of the road, I knew why that sound had been so familiar. I’d heard it a couple of years earlier, actually, in California.
When you want to watch TV in a motor home, you crank up the antenna. Sometimes people forget to crank it down again. Not something easily tolerated by, say, your wife who has previously told you to hang the keys on the antenna crank so you don’t forget to…well, you know.
Anyhow, there was the sound. I got out the driver’s door and walked the several dozen feet back to the antenna’s resting place, and carried it back to the rig. This was not a happy time in our Kansas period. Eventually, I got the antenna into a bay underneath us, and made it a point not to mention it again until I had a chance to fix it.
Come Christmas, I found that with wives it’s not quite possible to put things behind you and move on. I now have a hand-lettered sign hanging very close to the antenna crank, which was one of the very first packages I opened. It reads, “If at first you don’t succeed, try doing it the way your wife told you!”
OK. OK. But I still don’t have to hang the keys on the crank.
Now, when this happened in California (yeah, yeah. Well I can’t be expected to remember EVERYTHING) I had to pay to have the antenna fixed. Parts had to be replaced, etc. But this time, after we arrived for a family stop in New Mexico, I remembered something. That’s right! My steel-trap mind flashed back to lunch time at the catalogue company, and it hit me like a blinding inspiration: Miracle Putty! Yeah! Fixes Anything! Off to the hardware store. Got the nearest equivalent product to the “not available in stores, only 19.99” original, and I was set. This stuff even works under water. Which will be good if it rains. Before you know it, TV is available again and yours truly is OUT of the doghouse.
New Mexico was very nice. A pleasant stay. (A bit longer than expected because the registration paperwork for our rig took, well, two weeks longer than it should have to get to us.) Good to see family again. Get a tour of the new construction downtown. And then, off to Arizona, enroute to California, enroute to Washington, enroute to South Dakota, enroute to the rest of our life.
There are Fairgrounds and small public parks in Arizona, where they don’t charge you 70 dollars per night to stay. Really. You just have to look for them. And we found one, hooked up, and felt good about 12 bucks for electric and water. Stayed a couple of days, then learned that we had to get out because a big RV rally was coming in that weekend. And that would have been that, except for a couple of things that happened, you know, just by chance.
The dump station at this fairground (yes, dumping was included in the 12 dollar fee) is surrounded by rather thick, long blocks of solid wood. That’s to protect the water pipes etc. from the occasional bumbling RVer who might drive into them. There are people like that out there. Well, on our way out of the park, we decided to use the dump station, and make a clean getaway, so to speak. Everything went fine, until we started to pull away. Now, being an excellent driver, I had pulled close enough to the facility to easily reach the opening with my hose. It was just mere coincidence, or maybe Fate, that caused the events of the next few moments. I pulled away slowly and carefully, confident that my rear wheels, which had been several inches away, would clear the barrier with no problem.
And they did.
But as Fate would have it, my tailpipe hung behind the wheels, just below the rear portion of the rig, and when I pulled away, that tail end swung inward, closer to the barrier. Now how could a reasonable person be expected to anticipate that? I ask you. Of course, I realized something was amiss as soon as I saw the big wooden chunk bouncing in the dirt just in back of us. As I hauled it back into place, I glanced at the rear of the rig. It seemed OK. Something was a little different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Oh, well.
On the way back to the rig, I looked again and realized something was not there that should have been. Then it struck me: the tailpipe (remember the tailpipe?). I couldn’t see it. Where did it go? Upon closer inspection I found it, a couple of feet further under the rig than it should have been. Uh, oh. With a kind of sharp crease pinching it off where it was bent back. Uh, ohhhh.
I was contemplating the bill at whatever local muffler shop we might be able to find as we pulled out toward the gate, watching the first vestiges of the RV rally pulling in.
I say Fate caused the little mishap for a couple of reasons. It goes without saying that I would not normally make a mistake of the caliber that produced our tailpipe predicament, and I was still puzzling over how I could possibly have done that, when my wife spotted one of the early rally arrivals. On the side of his tractor, in five-foot letters were the words, “RV Repairs”.
As I was talking to the repair guy about the unfortunate tailpipe incident, a roundish guy in a golf cart drove up and greeted us. Within the next five minutes, three major things had been accomplished:
I’d been assured the tailpipe could be unbent, probably for a lot less than the 6 or 7 hundred dollars I’d seen flashing before my eyes a short time ago.
Our plans for the next week had been changed, and we were officially registered as part of the “big rally” for which we’d been leaving to make room. ’Turns out it was the Gypsy Journal Rally, and the roundish guy was Journal editor Nick Russell.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, my fate had been sealed and I would leave this place with an entirely new perception of the word “rally”
So we settled in after a quick trip into town for a laundry-fest and a few groceries, and started to look over the schedule of events. My wife and Nick had briefly discussed something called the “Cactus Queen Pageant” while I was busy with the tail pipe guy, but I thought little of it at the time, and didn’t see it in the printed material. Seminars on how not to be stupid about RV repairs and safety, getting your computer to do neat things while on the road, and various other features like coffee and donuts for breakfast and nightly door-prize drawings arrayed themselves before us, and we happily highlighted our copies of the schedule.
Now, I have become more open to new things since getting on the road full-time, but every now and then, something comes along to kind of push the envelope a little. That was what the aforementioned and previously insufficiently noticed “Cactus Queen Pageant” turned out to be.
It seems the “Cactus Queen” selected during the next to last night of each rally is chosen by audience applause, generally gets points for outrageous behavior and outlandish dress, and…oh yeah…is a guy. So it slowly dawned on me that one of the things my wife and the roundish guy were talking about had to do with me, and that next to last night of the rally. I have to admit, the arguments used to convince me seem less than compelling in hindsight, but at the time…well…
“It’s all in fun!”
“Lots of guys are going to enter.”
“You need to expand your horizons…don’t be such a dull stick-in-the-mud.”
“It will really make me happy!”
“You’ll look soooo cute!”
And the clincher, delivered in an incredibly weak moment:
“If you do this, I won’t get mad at you the next time you mess up. No matter how bad it is!!”
Whoa. No matter how bad it is?
No matter HOW bad it is?
“Oh, OK.”
Rallies can be quite educational in a number of ways. One thing I learned that evening was that Miracle Putty equivalent may very well work under water, but it does not do well in strong wind. It had seemed just fine up until the afternoon we stepped outside and found the TV antenna dangling from its coaxial cable, kind of twisting back and forth. When I got up on the roof to take it down I could see my wife’s head shaking back and forth, like she’d known the fix wouldn’t last. But, hey! It was working just fine up until then. I’ll figure something out. Maybe some duct tape…Well, I wasn’t going to worry about it just then. I just put it inside till I could get to it.
I have a beard. Not just a regular beard; short, dignified, low maintenance. No. It used to be that way, but for the past four years, I’ve been letting it grow, and using it for “Character” development. Characters like an old miner, a Gold Rush story teller, and maybe soon Santa Claus. In spite of a “No Makeup” stipulation in my agreement to compete for the Cactus Crown, my wife insisted the beard had to be, shall we say, “modified” for the occasion. So there I was, mere hours before standing up on a stage in front of a record number of rally attendees, with bobby pins, mustache wax, an abundance of hair spray, and, yes, hair curlers adorning my beard.
Then there was the red skirt…the one-piece bathing suit doubling as a low-cut top…and…the two identical balls of yarn. (Soft, but firm and sturdy) And some nice, tasteful leather sandals that showed off my legs.
I arrived at the Main Venue incognito, and quickly made my way behind a curtain, where a full half dozen of the ugliest femmes fatales I’d ever seen waited.
It was a memorable night to say the least. One by one, we were introduced, “strutted our stuff”, and sat in folding chairs in full view of the gathering. As I maneuvered the slit in my skirt to expose as much leg as possible, I kept remembering the words that had gotten me there: “No matter HOW bad it is!”
Eventually, it was over. I did not claim the new title of “Cactus Queen” (although Nick assured the audience I was his personal favorite), and there were a couple of people we met the next day who had not attended the pageant. So, all in all, not a bad outcome; and I had a major “won’t get mad” tucked away securely in my back pocket. That could cover lots of territory. It could last a long time. A long time. Heh-heh.
Fast forward just a bit, to the day after the rally. All’s well. We’re all packed up, and except for a relatively brief rainstorm the night before, the weather’s pretty good for traveling. A little mud in the parking area, but no big deal.
We said goodbye to our new friends, including Nick and his wife Terry…really nice people we’ll be happy to meet again down the road, and got ready to leave.
On the way out we planned to get some propane, and following instructions we’d gotten at the rally, we turned right on the main highway and started looking for a tank with a hose sticking out of it.
We kept looking, but no tanks appeared, so we drove a little farther.
No tank, no hose.
A little farther.
Still no tank.
Still no hose.
So, after not much longer we decided we’d missed it. (Which it turned out we had)
I started looking for a place to turn around.
Up ahead, we noticed a rather interesting building…probably a grain silo of some sort. Big trucks, farm equipment go there. Should be plenty of room to turn around.
So I turned into the narrow little dirt road that apparently lead to the silo. It seemed wide enough to handle the rig with no trouble, and it certainly would have been ok. More than ok. Except that we’d had a relatively brief rain storm the night before. And the dirt road was now a mud road. As I slowed down and tried to avoid a lake directly in front of me that I hadn’t seen till we turned the corner, I noticed that we were moving sideways…not something you normally associate with the operation of a motor home. I also noticed a definite shift in the center of gravity, and a tilting that could in no way be a good thing. And I was right. In no way was it a good thing.
The passenger side of the motor home was firmly submerged up to the hub caps in the kind of material people pay outrageous amounts of money to bathe in, in certain parts of California and other exotic places. The concept of friction as it applied to our tires was strictly a theoretical construct. There would be no movement under our own power from that moment forward, without outside intervention.
I called the roadside rescue service, admitted to my wife that it had been a mistake to turn up that little road, (although, really, any reasonable person probably would have done the same thing, I think.) then sat back to wait for the winch guy.
Then I realized something REALLY ominous. My wife was not mad. My wife was NOT mad. Suddenly my back pocket felt a lot lighter. I checked. Sure enough, no “won’t get mad”. It had disappeared without a trace.
A few hours later we were headed down the road, back in the direction we’d come from, and the mud was working its way out from between the treads of our tires. We ended up spending an extra night at the fairgrounds, because it was too late to go anywhere else. The next day we got to wake up to the arrival of a big stock show right under our bedroom window, and finally made our way down the road.
Sunny day. Most of the mud had dried up, and we were headed into some clear, pleasant weather. So, ok. Life was still good. What else could happen? Right?
About an hour and a half down the road we heard this sharp CRACK kind of sound, and looked all around to see what it might have been. Checked everywhere we could see. Nothing out of place. Nothing was hanging off anything. No effect on the ride. Hmm.
We kept driving. Pulled into a little RV park for the night a few hours later. We’d been there about an hour when we noticed it. A thin, long little crack making its way from a nearly microscopic indentation at the bottom of the right windshield, where a pebble from the road had obviously hit. Right. My question at the end of the previous paragraph had been answered. With a vengeance.
Insurance lady: “I’ll need some information to process your claim. Ready?”
Me: “Ready.”
It is 6:30 a.m. Not on the east coast where the insurance lady is, but here, where I have just gotten out of bed to answer the cell phone.
Insurance lady: “Policy number?”
Me: (I read the number)
Insurance lady: “Claim number?”
Me: (I read the number)
Insurance lady: “Now I need the coded information you will find printed in the lower right corner of the windshield in question.”
At this point, my cell phone chirps the message that it is about to go dead, ending the call and the processing of my claim. I plug in the charging cord and turn on the generator, earning the undying ire of our fellow boondockers. At this point we have arrived in Yuma, and the crack has made sufficient progress to motivate my call to the above mentioned Insurance lady. We are now engaged in Stage Two of the claims process.
After plugging in the phone and asking her to wait a minute, I make my way to the windshield in question, and look in the lower right corner. I copy down a series of numbers and letters, all of which appear backward because the glass is printed to be read from the outside. I’m not dressed because it’s 6:30 in the morning, and so I use my mirror brain, and copy down the info.
Insurance lady: “Thank you. It will take approximately 7 business days for your windshield to arrive. Handy Andy’s Dandy Windshield repair and Deli will be your technician. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
(Anything ELSE? This isn’t ENOUGH?)
Me: “No, no. I can’t think of anything. Thank You.”
Insurance lady: “Thank YOU for choosing Murkurdle Limited. Have a good day.”
So, here we sit for the next 7 approximate business days, with at least one holiday thrown in for good measure. It’s kind of loud what with the trains and the highway, but the neighbors are nice. There’s a flea market in town we plan to go to, and I have another tube of Miracle Putty equivalent, so I’m going to take another crack at the TV antenna. If I play my cards right, maybe I can get another “won’t be mad” without having to put on a dress.
Blog at ya later.
-Geezerguy

Animal Planned It (If you get satellite, you'll get it)

2007-10-01T17:01:00.000-07:00

I like the pipes. The flying windows, the flower box, not so much. I can stand the Marquee for a while, but it gets old, and it’s a pain to keep changing it. But I like the pipes, and you can change them easily and quickly for a seemingly endless variety. So I’m sitting here staring at the pipes, with custom texture and color, as they twist and grow and worm their way into and around each other at a speed custom chosen by me. The screen saver came on about five minutes ago, after ten minutes of not coming up with a blog idea, but gamely keeping the computer turned on anyway.
I know it’s been a while since I did a blog…but things keep coming up and interrupting. Like two days ago, for example, when the cat came. I guess she’s not a cat yet, but she will be before very long. Right now, cleverly disguised as a kitten, she’s ensconcing herself in our RV home. She even has Clancy, the famously anti-cat dog, snowed into thinking she’s “the baby”. The poor mutt’s been licking and protecting her since they were introduced at the Gift Shop.
We were in the middle of a routine work day when a young lady named Destiny arrived in tears, cuddling the little ball of fur. She’d found her on the side of the road, and thought she might have been hit by a car. The kitten was bleeding from the nose, and a little punchy, so we nurtured her, and she eventually fell asleep. After a while, it was apparent that she wasn’t seriously hurt, so we gave her some milk, and tried to figure out who got to take her home. (Looking back on it now, I’m not totally convinced the aspiring cat didn’t fake the whole thing as a clever ruse to get adopted.)
I know all cats are naturally diabolical and insidious, but this one is exceptionally talented. Without any apparent effort, she got Clancy (who has a history with cats that is both painful and humiliating for any dog) to nuzzle, lick, and worry about her almost at first sight. By the end of the day, it was obvious that the kitten would be going home with Clancy. (And…oh, yeah, with us.)
As I sit here, Destiny’s Child (named in honor of the young lady who picked her up from the road) is washing her face with her paws, after polishing off Clancy’s food and water. Earlier today, I caught her checking out our bed, probably so she’d know how to get there tonight when we’re asleep and unaware of her activities. So, she may have the others fooled, but DC (which can also stand for another name ending in “Cat”) isn’t putting anything over on me.
OK, I did buy the new stainless kitty bowl, the expensive kitten chow, the kitty litter and Special Scooper.

OK, and the Bouncy Mouse.

But she’s not fooling me. No sir.
So, stuff like that happens, and I get distracted from writing fresh blogs sometimes. I’m thinking about it, though. I have ideas. I’m working on it.

Momentousness Happens When You Least Expect It

2007-06-27T23:23:00.000-07:00

OK, OK.
I know I'm supposed to be blogging about our recent adventure in the land of Winnebago, and the fine, epic adventure that has brought us to our present realm...But sometimes events of the day just overwhelm, and something must be blogged out of sequence. This is one of those times.
I'm sitting at the computer, and on the TV at the other end of the room a gazillion photojournalists are clawing and jostling each other, focused on a skinny blond in pigtails who has just been released from captivity. Yes, dear readers, Paris Hilton is free at last.
The “changed woman” benefited from her “time out” in the slammer, she tells the puzzled Larry King. Well, we're all glad to hear that. It's nice to know she got some benefit from an experience that was SO unfair. She had to serve jail time, just because she was driving on a suspended license. Doesn't everybody know that spoiled rich people are SUPPOSED to get community service? Imagine her dismay. Imagine her lawyer's dismay. Imagine her lawyer looking for a new meal ticket.
Oh, well. All's well that ends well...and there is that million dollar deal awaiting our heroine...that's got to take some of the sting out of it. (Oh, right. I forgot, she drops that much in the parking lot looking for her keys in the bottom of her Gucci purse. My bad.)
Anyway, it's time for a commercial, and...what's this? I just learned that All State is going to forgive me if I have an accident. Imagine my bliss...official forgiveness, and I don't even have to whisper the details of the mishap to my agent in a little closet with a curtain for a door. Just file my paperwork, and of course pay my premium. Forgiven. I'm all choked up. Is it really so? But you have to believe it...after all, the news comes from a guy who's been president of the United States, served two seasons in Special Ops, and is now selling insurance on T.V. You've gotta believe a guy with that kind of diversity in his background.
Speaking of insurance, the Geico Cave Men are getting their own series. I haven't felt this much anticipation since the first Ernest movie came out. And Pee Wee Herman's on the comeback trail. See? Everything works out in the end, doesn't it? Everything important anyway.
Remember when things like real news made the headlines? Kids starving in Third World countries? Genocide? Terrorism? Corporate larceny? Me neither.
After all, the Focus Groups have taught us nothing if not that you don't sell product by depressing your audience. If it doesn't happen within 30 seconds...45 tops, it doesn't happen. Simple as that. Keep it moving. Make every newscast a Feel-Good newscast. Paris Hilton/Troops in Afghanistan? No-brainer. Get that happy ending. Hollywood is right.

Paris is out of the slammer,
Pee Wee's coming back,
All State will forgive you.

All's right with the world. Good line up. We all feel right about it:

Everything has a solution, and if you hurry, it's available for a limited time at reduced interest. Remember Simon and Garfunkel? What do you suppose made me think of them just now? Huh. Oh, well. Probably just a brain fart.
Blog at you later.
Affectionately,
Geezerguy.

A Noble Quest -Gone, Somehow, Horribly Wrong

2007-03-29T18:15:00.000-07:00

Well, the Rolling Home made a two-day foray into the Kingdom of Winnebago this week. It was supposed to be a three-day, laid-back kind of trip, but somehow the Force conspired on a number of fronts to make it not so.

I suppose I should start at the beginning, in which case I've already digressed, so I'll take us all back in time to January, and the promising beginning of a new and glorious year:

We were a bit nervous financially, because our water heater had stopped working, and we really had no idea how serious the problem was. So we travelled some 70 miles to an RV repair shop, and to our delight, found out it was a quick, 38-dollar fix. Very nice. So we happily paid the bill and headed to Wally World (because that's where RV'ers go when they're happy) to pick up a few things and head home.

We picked up a few things, got in the rig, then headed for the gas pumps to fill the tank, still happy, still smi...then it happened.

I know for a fact that sign posts are supposed to stay where they are planted...and normally they do, especially in Wally World. But this time, we were blatantly and unmercifully attacked by one of them: Blind-sided as I was making a perfectly-executed left turn. The sign post jumped into the middle of my lane and slammed itself into the rig, just as it entered my blind spot. Either that, or I took the turn too tight, but that makes no sense because I am an EXCELLENT driver.

Anyway, we still needed gas, so we headed for the pumps...a little more slowly and tentatively. After filling up and leaving the gas cap behind, we returned home, went to bed and tried to have happy thoughts about the nice new year ahead of us. (I subsequently was able to surreptitiously replace the gas cap without my wife finding out....uh...oh. This is on the Internet, right? Yeah....uhhh).

Anyway, the insurance guy came, did his thing, ball's in my court now...find somebody to fix it. Long story short, the Land of Winnebago is a few hours along the Freeway...time to set up a trip to go get an estimate. So here we are in late March, ready to do that, and take three days off work for the project so we can enjoy the environs of Winnebago Land in the process. Good plan. Arrangements made. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off, so we can "get 'er done" (as we say here) and maybe find a tow car and visit some local attractions we've been wanting to see.

Monday...

Wake up kinda groggy. Wife says she's been up all night with the dog. Neither one could sleep because of all the thunder and lightening. Torrential rain. I hadn't noticed, but now I see rivers running around the back of the RV. So I turn on the Weather Channel. Flash floods in the Kingdom of Winnebago. Not goin' today...uh-uh. One day down the drain.

Tuesday...

OK. This will still be alright. Two days instead of three. We'll start nice and early...get 'er done (see above), still have a day for fun and car hunting. We hit the road...pick up the mail...grab a couple breakfast burritos, and eat them in the rig to save time...finish up...good to go. Turn the ignition...Turn the ignition......Turn...the......#$%##***............#$##***#####%&^&&***. Not only that, but %$#%%###***$#**!

Which is to say, the RV wouldn't start. It would click, but it wouldn't start. Click, click, click. #$##%%&, ##*#$#$%^&%%, #$#$%&**##*. Click, click, click.

"Hello, Good Sam?" Time to put that roadside assistance plan to work. Paid an arm and a leg for it. OK. Made the call. Nice young lady. Sounds friendly. Sympathetic. She'll get back to me soon.

Fifteen minutes...half hour. They're going to have to look out of town for a mechanic. OK. Half hour later...Someone will be on the way soon. No later than 1:30 this afternoon. O....OK.

Sit. Wait. Sit.

Mechanic's running a little late. OK.

Sit. Wait. Sit. Wait...

2:00 o'clock. Here he comes.

Bad starter. (We're in luck! Auto parts store right here! We go get the part. $200.00...with the core. O...uh...OK.)

$85.00 for the mechanic. .....ok.

Time to leave town...3:15. Day's shot. Into Almost Winnebago Land. Found a campground. Pretty tired. Did laundry. Slept in. Got papers...looked up cars, we'll call 'em after the estimate's done. Won't take too long. How long can it take to look over the damage and fill out the estimate? Right? Half hour...45 minutes. Tops.

Right.

We pull into the Kingdom of Winnebago. The Gatekeeper meets us at the entryway (actually he is paged by a fellow Gatekeeper not assigned to us, and arrives about 15 minutes later...this does not bode well). We fill out papers, I sign in several places...and now the papers go the The Master Winnebagan, who will prepare the estimate. "Just wait right there, and he'll be with you soon." (I've come to really dislike the word "soon". Its definition has evolved to mean "not soon", but people still say it as though it means "soon" in the original sense.)

We sit at the gates of the Kingdom, awaiting the Winnebagan. We sit, and sit, and sit. And finally the dog MUST go for "a walk" (universal euphemism, known by all pet owners). No sooner do we get to the square foot of available grass, than we see the Gatekeeper heading in our direction, out of breath, with a worried look on his face. The Master Winnebagan must speak with us. Now. We approach the rig only to see the M.W. half way back to his Keep. Alas, we've kept him waiting too long. How inconsiderate.

The Gatekeeper calls in supplication, and reluctantly the M.W. returns to our rig. The finish is all wrong. It's an old rig. He can't possibly match the color if he applies the Clearcoat. He doesn't HAVE to apply the clearcoat, but he apparently wants to apply the clearcoat, but then, we have to understand that the color won't match.

But you can match it without the clearcoat?

Yes but you see the UV protection won't be there.

What caused the color to fade?

UV.

And if you apply the Clearcoat the UV won't affect the new part?

Right.

But the old part will look really bad next to it?

Right.

But you can match the color perfectly if you don't apply the clearcoat?

Right.

So don't apply the clearcoat.

But I want to apply the clearcoat.

But then it won't match.

Right.

So why do you want to apply the clearcoat?

Because I take pride in my work.

But we want the colors to match. Don't apply the clearcoat.

Well...OK, but there won't be any UV protection.

Is there any on the rest of the rig?

No. That's why I can't match the color with clearcoat.

Right. No clearcoat. Match the colors.

OK.

You have everything else you need?

No, I just wanted to make sure you understood that before I went any further. I have to go back and get my measuring tape now.

And the Master Winnebagan returns to his lair in search of a measuring tape. We head for the rig. We look at the clock. We despair of both car purchase and visit to local attractions, and concentrate on where to get supper en rout back home.

Time passes.

I return to the Gatekeeper, to enquire about our estimate. As if by some Mystical Clairvoyance, the Master Winnebagan delivers the fruits of his labor to the Gatekeeper, only moments after my arrival in the office. It is nearly closing time.

I am handed the Sacred Papers, then accompanied to the Keeper of the Funds, where I pay another $98.00 to appease the Master Winnebagan for his efforts. I return to the rig with a piece of pink paper informing me the work will cost twice what the Insurance guy estimated, and that I will need to work out the difference before arranging for a Major Audience later this year. At that time, the Master Winnebagan and his Minions will execute the necessary repairs, provided all arrangements are in order. It will take several days. Perhaps I'll have a tow car by then. Let's hope.

Home again, Home again, Jigity-Jig. (I'm not sure where that came from originally, but I remember it from Blade Runner, and it seemed appropriate somehow). We stopped for ribs and beans. The dog ate well, we ate well, and there was some left over for lunch the next day. Pulled in around 11:00 pm. Had to work early next morning. But the rig didn't need any levelling.

So there was a silver lining after all.

Blog ya later.

Affectionately,

-Geezerguy

Our elected representatives: Salt of the earth; Backbone of our country.

2007-03-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Blogmaster's (not recognized by spell check) note: The cybergods (not recognized by spell check) have deemed that I cannot have access to the internet (not recognized by spell check) for some indeterminate span of time. The reasons are unclear, but the lack of access is undeniable. Therefore, I am storing my new post (which follows this blurb directly) in an OpenOffice (gramatically incorrect, but recognized by spell check) document pending publication.(sorry Bill, but the preloaded Microsoft Office Suite they bragged about in the Presario (not recognized by spell check) ad turned out to be one of your phony-baloney 60-day trial versions and I'm not about to pay good money for the privilege of using something I thought I was buying with the computer. You're being uninstalled (not recognized by spell check) along with several other pieces of preloaded adware (not recognized by spell check).

I am blissfully unaware, and intend to remain so, of the minutiae surrounding and embedded in the world of American politics: national, state, local, whatever. That was one of the things I promised myself when I walked out the door of the Motherlode's News Station and of Radio in general one noontime a long time ago. I have never broken that promise. ( I have broken other promises: I still buy far too many DVDs and would buy more if I could get away with it; I spend an inordinate amount of time in the electronics department of any and every store I enter; and I have been known to stand at the HDTV display at Wall Mart for multiples of “a couple of minutes” while being paged in vain by my wife...well you get the idea.)
The foregoing notwithstanding, I have heard of, and intend to react to, the latest version of spine-challenged Congressional behavior to pop up along the 'ole beltway. I am referring to the time-honored “Non-Binding Resolution” on the Iraq war (pardon me, conflict).
It's election time, folks, and there isn't a double-speak, mealy-mouthed abomination that's off-limits from now until we get to the polls, so get used to it. We'll hear the PC clones in their most sincere tones of voice talking about how “concerned” and “appalled” they are. We'll hear a miriad of strong statements, all of which mean one thing: “I want to get re-elected” (or “I want to get elected” in Hillary's case).
Unless I am totally mistaken, a resolution is pretty much non-binding to begin with, especially if it's worded in accordance with the accepted language of, say, the U.N. But just to be clear, stalwart makers of the Law, let's call it a NON-BINDING resolution so nobody gets the wrong idea. After all we just want to “send a message”.
Certain questions keep coming to me as I listen to the statements and discussions of this “important” activity...questions like: “To whom is this "message" being sent?” (show of hands, those who know the answer), or “Why are these morons being paid exorbitant salaries with MY TAX MONEY to prance around spouting this crap instead of doing actual work?” or “Is this clown really going to retire with a pension that would make an Enron executive gag?” ('scuse me, former Enron executive, now sheltered from consequences because you can do any damn thing you want in this country if you're clever and ruthless enough...but better not be late filing your income taxes if you're a working slob with a family to feed) Is that a sentence? Do I digress?
Anyway, when I want to send a message I use email, a post card, a letter...any of which take a lot less time, and cost a lot less money than a non-binding resolution. I guess the disadvantage is that whoever gets that message knows specifically that it comes from me. (Am I being unfair? Let me know if I'm being unfair.) Does public office come with automatic deniability? And finally, Why doesn't my spell checker recognize the word “deniability”? Could it be a made-up word to justify certain...naw! They wouldn't do that (must be a Microsoft thing). But what do I know...I'm not a professional Citizen Legislator. I've never spent any time at the public teat. (Is this unfair? Am I being a Cretin?...Cretin-American?)
Once upon a time, there was a guy who worked at a grocery store. He came in each morning carrying his lunch in a brown bag. He sat down at the employees break table, took out his lunch, ate it, then sat for the next 7 and a half hours complaining about the job. He told all his fellow employees about how poor a job the owners were doing running the store. He had a complaint about every aspect of the operation, from cash register procedures to the way inventory was taken. By the time he finished complaining, moaning, groaning and rolling his eyes in meaningful ways, his shift was over. He got up, punched the clock and went home. He did this every day for several months, collecting a paycheck every month. After a while, many of his fellow employees agreed with him. They'd sit around in the lunch room nodding their heads and smiling, and telling him how right he was, and how terribly the store was being managed.
One day, the boss came into the lunch room and said to the guy: “You're fired. Get your stuff and get out.” The guy was stunned. Now he was out of work. How could this happen? How could he pay his XM radio bill? Woe was him.
Far fetched, I know...but hey! It's just a story. We all know that in the real world that kind of behavior is rewarded, because, after all we're the fellow-employees. We nod our heads and smile and vote for the guy, 'cause he just makes such a great speech. Doesn't he? Golly. Geewhiz. Sure. It's the American way.
Reminds me of the words to an old song:
“Our leaders are the finest men,
and so we elect them again and again,
And that's what I learned in school today,
that's what I learned in school.”
Oh, yeah. The truth is in the music, ain't it?
Affectionately,
Geezerguy.
(PS- Please pardon the un-pc use of the word "men" in the above quotation. The song was written in the pre-enlightenment period of American folk Music. -Gg)

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-01-30T20:27:00.000-07:00

So it's the evening of my 60'th birthday, and we're sitting in an RV park about a hundred miles from work, on a 3-day weekend. I helped a guy struggle with his new awning this afternoon...held a chair for him while he used it to get to the roof ladder, and watched with interest while he figured out the problem for himself. Having exhausted my technical expertise, I bid him "good evening" and headed for my rig.
I'm seriously considering, no, I'm definitely planning to strongly suggest my long-suffering wife cut a piece of sweet potato pie for each of us now and put some whipped cream on them. After all, it's my birthday, and I have been using the anniversary of an event for which I cannot take any credit as an excuse to receive all kinds of treats ever since I can remember. Why not tonight?
I just dropped a hint, and she went for it (heh-heh).
It's pie time.

That was good. Birthday pie with whipped cream in the shape of a "60". The bigger the number, the more whipped cream.
So for the night, we'll kick back. I'll do some laundry in the morning and we'll probably tool around for a few hours before heading back to work. This kind of life is great. We work a season or two at a time and move on, choose the jobs we really want to do, and enjoy perks of the non-cash variety, which are the best anyway.
Some people get depressed when they hit a milestone like 60. I think it's great. I'm just reaching the point where I can appreciate the things that really have value, and I'm ready to take full advantage of it. A hundred, or even 50 years ago, reaching this age was a sign you had one foot in the grave. These days it's the start of a richer and more rewarding life, lived from a deeper perspective than ever before.
If you're all weepy now, you'll just have to provide your own tissues.
See Ya,
-Geezerguy

Hello Bloggees

2007-01-26T21:35:00.000-07:00

Here I am on the verge of another weekend in the world of professional hospitality. For the past three years my wife and I have pursued the life of full time, short term work at various tourist destinations, and have left behind the ties to "Career", "Community" and the other conventions generally associated with stability in this country. As a result, we've both felt happier, less stressed and more stable than ever before.
I have no idea at this point how long I'll keep up this blog, or whether it will produce anything of value, but it seems like a good idea at the moment. It's a sort of journal of editorial comment, or personal viewpoint on whatever might occur to me.
I give tours at a commercial cavern right now, and actually get paid to share one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen with people from all over the country and the world. Next time, I'll probably talk about that. Tonight, I'm just saying "Hi". So, Hi.
Blog at you later,
Geezerguy.