Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Nein, Non, Nyet, Nem, Nie, No.

Saying "No." comes quite naturally for me. I have tried hard to be civil about it, though.

"Thank you, not now."
"I don't see it exactly that way."
"I'd rather not, but thanks for asking."
"Not my style."

Polite answers like these are given when I need to be more emphatic. I don't work with the public anymore. so why should I leave any doubt that your question or comment is totally offensive to me? That remaining doubt bothers me. It's like doing a quick housecleaning. The house is cleaner , but I know that the job was not finished. I have to carry it around with me. It's also not honest to mislead others. I don't need to be mean, but I need to be absolutely clear.

I've put this new policy into practice this week

Telemarketer: Hello, how are you this evening, I'm Dickie McDickDick from The Indiana Troopers Association, and I'd ....

Me: Look Jack, you're on of about 900 police funds that call my house. I will not give you any money. Quit annoying me and don't call here again!

Friend: Do you think the Cubs will win this year?

Me: I hope not. I hate the fucking Cubs.

Mother-In-Law: Rush Limbaugh made some good points about the financial crisis. Did you listen to him this week?

Me: No. I think he's an idiot. I'd like to punch in that gas bag's fat face.

This seems to be working. I shouldn't waste an ounce of my good will to soften situations like this. I can be nicer and more loving the rest of the time as a result.

Just say NO !

Friday, September 26, 2008

Gobble! Gobble! One of Us.

Sure, I'm considered a senior citizen in some establishments, an old fart if there ever was one, but I refuse to join the corps. I am not going to buy a big-assed Lincoln or Buick. I am not going to play slot machines for hours on end. and As I held today, I am not cruising Sam's Club just to eat all the free samples in lieu of lunch.

The place was packed with roving clusters of humanity looking for the next handout. Some didn't bother with a shopping cart, as they knew they weren't going to buy anything. Some feigned interest in a nearby item until a new batch of bite-sized cuisine was ready to serve. Some took no chances and waited while the product cooked in fear of being shut out. The more polite sauntered slowly in front of the cooking station looking forlorn, hoping to be invited over for a sample.

Not me. I avoided eye contact and sped by every food kiosk. I got caught once and was asked to sample a piece of fish. I dropped a polite " No Thank You." on the hostess and moved on. I know what fish tastes like. I wanted to dispel the stereotypes surrounding everyone over 60.

I'm not saying it will come to this one day for me, I'm just saying, "Not just yet"

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

What he said.

Now it seems Atlanta is out of gas too.

I have on site reporters in Nashville who said stations are out of gas because the townfolk are hording it in containers, following tankers around town, waiting in line for hours, etc. Pure panic. All on rumors. There would be enough gas if folks would just settle down.

I suspect it is the same case in Atlanta, which continues to be my choice as the seat of American ignorance and bizarre behavior. The simple solution might be this. But no.

I fear my town may be next. Indianapolis is a city that largely fears anything that was not in the mainstream in 2003. The first time more than 3 inches of snow is predicted each winter, many invade food stores to stock up like we are going to be under siege for months on end. Yep, we had folks sealing their houses with duct tape after 911. Remaining calm and thinking through the situation in a time of crisis, real or imagined, is not an option exercised by many around here.

A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky dangerous animals and you know it.
Agent Kay - Men in Black

Monday, September 22, 2008

Do Not Attempt . . .

Driving a Mazda 6 through a door into a gladiator arena surround by hundreds of chanting fans
Driving like a bat out off hell over hills, dunes, river beds and other terrain with the whole damn family having the time of their lives. The Jeep ad says this is the kind of fun you can have.

Come on. How fargin' dangerous is it to drive through a wide open door and do a little spin on loose dirt?
What's the fun in having a Jeep that you're not supposed to drive off road?

Buy a car. But don't attempt to drive it.


Wasn't that one of the characters from Masters of the Universe?

Saturday, September 20, 2008


There's a number of items here that do not warrant their own entry.

I know another reason why I don't like college football. The exposure to incessant drumming of the band's percussion crew causes background stress.

The end-of-the-world-as-we know-it atom smasher is broken. The cocksure scientists who assure us that this thing won't implode the planet didn't see this coming. I'm still worried.

Fuck Wall Street.

Next to Atlanta, I rate Nashville, Tennessee as having the largest concentration of Goobers.

Please stop having football announcers talk about upcoming network shows.

Any football announcer who says "3rd down - coming up", is not, I repeat, not fully qualified to do a nationally televised game.

The NASCAR season is way too long.

Ultimate Fighting Championships look gay to me. (I'd rather be pounded senseless than have a guy park his package on my chin.)

Baseball is now my 4th favorite sport. I'm losing even more interest as the years roll on.

The Mac guy on the PC vs. Mac commercials? I'd like to smash his face in.

People falling down or getting hit in the nuts is not funny.

If comics have to use mutahfucka more that once in each sentence, they are not funny.

Sorry, Carl. I've lost my taste for them French fried 'taters.

Friday, September 19, 2008

That's My Girl!

Gonna smash the face of the next pirate I encounter.
Talking like a pirate is ever so queer
and I have a headache!

I swell with pride.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Little Red Rooster

too lazy to crow for day

too lazy:
to clean up crappy photos dumped on my hard drive
to transfer phone pictures and photos to the same disorganized folder
to back up my iTunes onto DVDs
to play my guitars
to refinish my desk
to put in all the presets on my car radio
to learn all the features on my cell phone
to play Strat-O-Matic baseball
to read today's paper
to watch unwatched DVDs
to make chicken gizzards

I'm certainly not too busy, but these enjoyable tasks don't seem to get done.

If you see my little red rooster, please drag him home
There ain't no peace in the barnyard
Since the little red rooster been gone

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Power of Prayer II

An anecdote:

During one of my fantasy football drafts, one of the league members was not happy with the team he selected. He was wondering if he could get any help from his congregation. Made me laugh.

I could see it during mass -"For Marc's fantasy football team"... "Lord hear our prayer."

If the Lord indeed hears prayers like this, places of worship would be jammed every NFL game day with fantasy football players, handicappers, dieheard fans, and the Detroit Lions.

Monday, September 15, 2008

The Power of Prayer

Pregame prayers by sports teams are silly. So I thought. What if The Lord actually listens to this drivel and guides the team with the best invocations to victory? How would I feel if someone was praying for me to lose? Here's a news item that demonstrates what happens when sports and religion's affect on it are taken too seriously.


This also brings up a more weighty issue. I'm sure folks in New Orleans were praying that Gustav went somewhere else, and that our fellow Americans in Texas were praying that Ike would also change course. Like maybe to Mexico? So do hurricanes land at the weak link in the coastal prayer line?

Thursday, September 11, 2008

Noodle Coodle

That's what we're calling it. Noodle Coodle is an on-the-fly concoction I threw together for tonight's supper.

The name comes from The Simpsons. In an episode, Mr. Burns is running for governor and his advisers set up a dinner at Homer's place. The idea is that Burns would appear to be reaching out to the common man through the televised and staged event. Monty Burns and Waylon Smithers show up at the door. Burns holds a casserole dish and announces, " I brought Noodle Coodle."

Noodle Coodle is the politically correct dish that the common man eats. It has noodles in it, and there is no doubt that Campbell's Soup is involved.

My version of Noodle Coodle has the key ingredients. That being noodles (Kluski) and Campbell's Cream of Celery Soup. I tossed in boneless and skinless chicken thighs, fresh mushrooms, mixed vegetables, almonds, and a topping of French's French Fried Onions.

Voila! Noodle Coodle.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Whoa There, Mr. Scientist.

I like science. Science is good. Science can clone millions of 14 pound chickens. Science can stick my head on another body if it gives me more life. Science can claim I evolved from Trilobite poop. Science can colonize other planets. Science can stem cell the hell out of any non-living human they wish. Science can play God all it wants as long as it expands knowledge and improves life for all of us.

That is, except in the case of this 9 billion dollar (6 billion Euro) particle accelerator that is supposed to dick around with unknown bits of matter and energy. If you ever watched any of the shows like The Universe on the History Channel, you'll notice much of the discussion is about dark matter, black holes, pulsars, quasars, gamma rays and other nasty cosmic shit that would exponentially go beyond totally fucking us up - should it come near us.

Never mind the 9 billion dollars, my simple-minded logic says:

Scientists assure us that the experiment(s) will be harmless.
An experiment is designed to find out what happens.
If they know the experiment is harmless, then why do the experiment?

I do not want a black hole, anti-matter, or an undiscovered-until-now, cosmic killer floating around on my planet.

The problem is that after we are reconstituted into the soup of matter and energy after the experiment goes haywire, in this life, no one will be around to blame and no one will be around to call these guys out for destroying Earth.


Thursday, September 4, 2008

Your Prize? Two Months of Living Hell!

It continues.

I have an unhappy wife. She went to some sort of teacher appreciation dinner and won a prize package which included a free trip to a hair salon. Patti was persuaded to change her look. She looked great to me, but I guess I just accepted the fact that she was happy about her appearance too.

I have to tell you. The hardest thing to do for a husband is to have your wife coming home with a new hair style and having to answer the question, "How do you like it?" I cannot lie. It was pretty bad. I said so. She agreed! But, she added, it was a work in progress that would require future trips to her new stylist. These follow up visits would not be free. So where was she going with this? A few weeks later, the situation worsened. Patti's hair, which grows like kudzu, looked like a cat was sleeping on her head. Just terrible.

OK, she cancelled the follow up appointment and went with heart in hand to her regular hair place to fix the situation. There wasn't much to work with. It turned out to be a train wreck. To get the hair back to its original beauty required more hacking and more growing in the right places. Patience would be required.

Meanwhile, this distraction has caused her to back into a van and to get a ticket with my vehicle while her car was being fixed. She wakes every morning in good spirits only to have to get her day squashed when she has to deal with the amorphous growth on her scalp.

But today, all is well. Her hair looks very good after another trip to her old beautician. Different, but better than before. Easy to care for, comfortable, and suitable for the particular head. The smile on her face helps too. Patti is back.