Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Smokin'

In Berlin, a twenty-something guy was arrested for "waddling" out of a store with 177 packs of smokes in his bulging pants.

Apparently, the guy isn't up on his smoking science -- or maybe he is. In any event, smoking has already put him at a disadvantage against the average 60-year-olds. Scientists report -- it's true -- that older guys have twice the sperm count as young "bucks." They say the increase in smoking by pregnant women is the cause. I personally think it's the cell phones and calculators and pagers with their electromagnetic fields that they wear on their belts. Or the extreme increase in chlamydia among teenagers. Or both.

And what's with that term now in use: "sexually-transmitted" diseases? Although more descriptive, consistent with the dumbing down of America, we all knew what "venereal" diseases were; and that phrase and its acronym, "V.D.," scared the bejesus out of us. Not so with the relatively mild "STD," which sounds like a floral delivery service.

Hope your weekend went well.

More Tips From the Kitchen

You would think that International Delights Coffee Creamer plastic containers are not breakable. You would be wrong.

Another Cooking Tip

When the recipe instructs you to add 1/2 cup of granulated sugar (before you drop the electric hand mixer in the batter), this means that you are supposed to add 1/2 cup of sugar.

Cooking Tip

While using a hand mixer on medium speed to beat the faux Krispy Kreme doughnut batter, do not drop the hand mixer into the bowl.

Thanksgiving Day Update

Thanksgiving Day feasts take a lot of planning. My plan started percolating to the surface of my cerebral cortex last night on the way to send a package by Federal Express, my favorite method of package delivery. You see, the only Krispy Kreme from here to Akron is located only several miles from the airport, where the Fed Ex late night pick-up place is located; and the unexpected trip to Krispy Kreme was an integral part of my plan.

The trip to Krispy Kreme was utter genius and struck a chord that would reverberate through the night and carry into Thanksgiving morning when I would follow package directions in reheating the original glazed doughnuts, reconstituting them to the perfect consistency, and which, together with a gingerbread latte that I, myself, make to perfection, would create an atmosphere in which I could carry out the balance of the plan.

J-dogg was all set to help deliver Thanksgiving dinner to needy inner-city families; so, I volunteered to get him up at 6:45 a.m. and get him off on his mission, allowing Stacey to sleep. That worked to my satisfaction and, better than that, to her satisfaction because that was of paramount importance to carry out this plan.

Let me digress briefly to tell you why this Thanksgiving is different. With J-dogg gone until mid-afternoon and Matt married off and going over the river and through the woods to the in-laws' house to be harangued about the outcome of the Steelers-Browns game and Mark in London with his relatives, I was the only person around to help make dinner, which included two 13-pound turkeys for the three of us (Don't ask me. Ask her.).

Upon getting downstairs, I started to make the latte and doughnut treat, while Stace started slicing celery and onions with the mandoline. We had 20 pounds of potatoes for mashed potatoes (Don't ask me. Ask her.), which I, as a part of the plan, would peel and cut up and put into the 800-quart stock pot to cook. I eschewed the regular potato peelers, electing instead to use my favorite knife because, above all at this point, timing was important; and it would have been impossible to cut myself with the potato peeler, if I found it necessary, which may convey to you the breadth of my commitment with regard to this matter. Stacey was working on the stuffing, and I would interrupt my prep work to get whatever she wanted so as to make her job easier.

Things were moving along well, or so I thought. I delayed some by making lazy calls to my mother and my cousin to wish them a happy day, which Stacey suggested that I do. Then she wanted me to help get the stuffing into the small roaster, but not before she made me feel the consistency of the stuffing. I complied, but was alarmed by the request for tactile assistance to determine that the stuffing was "perfect." I was not only alarmed, but frightened because this was not a foreseen development.

I was just finishing with the potatoes and wondering if drastic sacrificial measures were required when the inevitable occurred, "Go get the turkeys." These were the words that I dreaded because I was alone with Stacey and ... the turkeys. I brought them, the Butterballs, in homage to Stacey's departed mother, into the kitchen. I started to cut the yellow plastic netting off, and she said, "I'll do that." And I said -- and this was pure brilliance, "No, no, I'll do it," certainly going the extra mile to help. Close to gagging, I started to cut the plastic wrapping on the turkeys. At that point, Stacey volunteered, "I can do that."

So, I let her. She made me get a new bag for the garbage can, into which she put the plastic wrapping. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stuck her hand into the first bird and pulled out the bag of giblets. The plan had worked. I didn't have to use any invasive techniques and I didn't have to touch the turkeys because she put them into the large roaster.

I avoided touching the things for another year.

i hope that you all have a special day, filled with lots of love, laughter, and good food. our thanksgiving will be unusual for us. just bill, jax, and me. jax will be out of the house by 7:30 a.m., delivering meals with an innercity church in cleveland. bill and i probably won't ever get out of our sweats. we'll cook while watching parades and football until jax gets home. then we'll eat. matt and mel are spending the day with mel's parents. mark's in london with his family.

it's wednesday evening right now. i took the day off. bill and i finished our meal shopping, prepared a chocolate cream pie, met jax for lunch, and just had a really nice day. this is the first day before thanksgiving since i don't know when that we haven't gone out to the movies and dinner all together. i'm ok with it. really. and this is the first year i've not made a pumpkin chiffon pie for thanksgiving dessert. we ALWAYS have that and a chocolate cream pie. we made the choc pie and opted for a kind of pumpkin cake that will keep better for the weekend when ...

mark returns home friday night, and matt and mel will be here late saturday afternoon. since we'll all be together in one place at one time, our good friend, dave, is coming over to take a family portrait. i'll probably post the picture over the holidays.

this is a very special thanksgiving for me. it's been a very difficult year (very, very difficult) AND a very special year. we've been through a lot, and we've just grown stronger and closer. we've added a daughter (!) to our family when matt and mel married in august.

i'm just crazy about these people. my children. my husband.

we're all healthy, thank you, god.

tomorrow morning, the phone will start ringing -- i'm sure pj will beat the other three sisters to the punch and make the first call. my three sisters and i will all make sure we've spoken with each other. happy thanksgiving! get your turkey in? watching parades? who's coming? love you.

when mom was alive, she'd be part of the round robin of calls. mom ALWAYS asked, "did you get a butterball?" i never knew why this was so important to her, but it seems that we do all have to have a butterball. bill will ask me (imitating mom, because mom would always ask bill also to confirm after she'd spoken to me that we, indeed, had a butterball) "get a butterball?" i'll be thankful for the giggle we'll get out of that, too.

Sleep-writing

It made sense somewhere in my mind. I know it did. And it wasn't that late when I wrote it for that NaNoWriMo thing:

“they (sic) was a car parked on the road over that way a little ways. That was earlier, Chief. Can’t tell you anything other than the fact that it was a red Ford Taurus, one of the new models, with black tires. There looked to be only one person in it at the time I saw it. Didn’t think anything of it till you just said what you did about rememberin’ things.”

“Thanks,” said Earl. He didn’t think that a red Taurus had anything to do with the murders. He thought it was the CN Tower, from which someone would take the plunge to his or her death.

How did the CN Tower get into the story? And where was my warped mind going with this? Thank dog I fell asleep.

The Water on the Pool Cover Froze

The temperature went down to like 23 F last night. That’s below zero on that other temperature scale, but it’s still balmy compared to other places. It was not cold enough to sleep with the windows closed, though. It has never been cold enough to sleep with the windows closed, as far as I can remember.

And I know that I should be in training as the colder nights loom ahead. I shouldn’t be turning to my hoodie quite yet, but I did. I think that the fact that the fan was on and the wind chill was below zero contributed to the illusion of cold. What will I wear when the temperature falls into the single digits and below the Fahrenheit zero? I think I’m going to have to go to the Patagonia or North Face website in search of extreme cold weather gear.

I must look at the bright side of this. I can’t be that cup-is-half-empty kind of guy. I will be cold-conditioned for an assault on K2 or Everest soon.

Paul, Do Not Call

We are not on the national Do-Not-Call registry. There are enough exceptions, exemptions, and mistakes that allow telemarketers to call that it probably won't stop all the calls. When the Supreme Court outlaws the list, there will be a huge telephone directory available from your federal government under the Freedom of Information Act to telemarketers and privateers with 50 million names and phone numbers on it to use and abuse as they see fit.

I tell telemarketers who call to put my number on their own do-not-call list, which prevents them from contacting me, even if I purchased something or had some business contact with them in the last year or fall within an exemption under the federal law.

For the fourth consecutive day, Paul, who is with some kind of satellite TV dish company, called to offer me satellite TV for up to four TVs in my home for two dollars with free installation and equipment and three free months of service, including local channels.

Nobody was home to take his call. No operator was standing by. He left a message that lasted about five minutes. Unlike my cell phone, I cannot simply listen to a couple seconds of the call and delete it. Once the message says, "Hi, Mr. L., this is Paul, Paul with ...," I have to wait until the end of the message to push the number "7" to erase the message.

Why can't I delete the message without having to listen to the whole thing, including Paul telling me 38 times to make sure that I tell whoever answers the phone when I call back to ask for Paul or make sure that the person knows that Paul told me to call if Paul wasn't available?

If I could have erased the message right away, I would have felt so much better about satellite dish TV. I may have even called to find out about the benefits of satellite TV. Whatever.

I now hate the name Paul and anybody named Paul. I'll get over it. Give me some space.

The Odoriferous Ferret

I won't say that he misrepresented the fragrance-generating capacity of the ferret, but I was under the impression that the stink gland was removed. I decided to take the little critter out of his cage, seeing that when I went into Matt & Mark's bedroom (Okay, you know, they don't live here, but it's still their room, no matter how you cut it. Well, yeah, they were in the other bedroom, the one J-dogg now occupies, until they went to college; but when they came home at break, they were in that room, their room. Shut up.), the skinny wax-paper-tube-like mammal looked like he wanted to get out for a little expedition into other parts of the house.

I took him out of the cage, which attracted the attention of the two dogs, who were obviously jealous that I was holding the small furry creature. They each wanted to hold the thing in their mouths. Scout was actually opening her beagle mouth and feigning a grab at the ferret. Sheba just had that expectant look on her boxer face, knowing that I would cave in to her mesmerizing gaze.

Then, as if there was some natural reaction to danger, the ferret let go. All I know is I do not want to run into a ferret with an intact stink gland. I would rather that a family of skunks take their measure of me than one ferret get mildly distressed by a couple of domesticated doggies.

That was quite enough for one week -- back in the cage with the smelly little beast. Hey, now I can blame the ferret.

On Running for President

In the 10 months after his graduation from Yale, time he might otherwise have spent in uniform, Dr. Dean lived the life of a ski bum in Aspen, Colo. His back condition did not affect his skiing the way the rigors of military service would have, he said, nor did it prevent him from taking odd jobs like pouring concrete in the warm months and washing dishes when it got cold [The New York Times, 11/22/03].

Dennis Kucinich is looking better and better if we want a real change. He hasn't lost the idealism he had when he was younger -- that people can care for each other [Stacey, 11/22/03].

I've Had Enough

The site is back up. I did get a reply to a couple nasty and nastier e-mails.

I think the comment thing might work better, too.

MUCH BETTER, THANKS.

a much, much better day. we are being careful. we are. thanks to all of you who've reminded us to do so. nice blog people. really nice. if you tried to look at us in the past couple hours and had a problem, i don't know if this letter is the reason you can see us now or not. but it got me giggling. hope it does you, too. it's an e-mail from bill to our host (not matt, our i-t guy. he rocks).

I realize that from time to time, the vagaries of the Internet cause problems for those who are not experts in negotiating those pathways. I don't know if nothingbutlove.net is technically owned by my son, Matthew **** (he does own buythemonkey.com) or me, but I'm the guy who has to deal with the site and my wife, who is the REAL owner.

The site is now down. I am looking for some explanation as to why. I am looking as to some indication as to when it will be back up.

Matt has e-mailed you previously about his site and this site and the problems with core dumps and things I do not understand.

I'm just a lawyer. It's generally not a good thing to get a lawyer upset. And I don't work in the back room on pension plans and wills. I like to try cases. I like to be in front of juries orchestrating a case, presenting testimony and exhibits, doing the stuff you see on TV. I'm not afraid to go in front of federal court judges with a class action suit. I have done it before. It's what I like to do. When I get upset, I don't write people out of wills, I sue.

Matt has been dissatisfied with your response to his inquiries and with your customer service.

Maybe you can do a little better for me.

Bill ****
Law Office of William P. ****
_____________________________
This e-mail may be a privileged communication between attorney and client. If you have intercepted this transmission or it has been directed to you in error, please notify the sender by return e-mail immediately and delete the e-mail originally sent to you. Thank you.

hope you all have a great weekend!

Wine Connoisseur

I don't know wines. I don't drink wine. We were at Stino da Napoli Wednesday because Mark came home -- any excuse to go to Stino's is a good excuse. At the table behind me was a couple, who ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter poured a little in a glass, and the guy swirled and smelled the wine and said, "Very nice." The waiter then poured.

I have never seen anyone in any place I've eaten say the wine was bad. "Oh, no ... this sucks. Take it back and bring me your finest Ripple."

I'm sure there are differences in taste, smell, dryness, wetness, and staining clothes, but why didn't Andy send back the wine after smelling the cork -- how could a bottle of wine be worth it?

The Ohio State-Michigan game is tomorrow. My friend, DT, is a phys. ed. teacher in elementary school in central Ohio, about forty minutes from Ohio Stadium. He stuck to his long-standing policy, which is actually in writing, and gave the third-grader a choice, take off the Michigan shirt and wear the OSU 2002 National Champions T-shirt or sit out of gym class. The little bugger wised up -- put on the scarlet-and-gray. What were those parents thinking?

The President's Cup international golf match is being played in South Africa, Michelle's stomping ground. I'm sure she'll be getting her exercise walking the course, watching the Americans whip the rest of the world.

SHE'S GETTING READY TO BLOW!

this is not a good day. first, the death threat. see bill’s post. second, i’m a little emotional lately anyway for some reason. ahem. shut up. last, BUT NOT FUCKING LEAST, the guy in the office 10 feet away from me has his “allergy” problems flaring up, so he’s snorting and hocking away like felix unger ALL FUCKING DAY.

now, he’s FUCKING CLIPPING HIS FUCKING FINGERNAILS! what do you have, frank, like 40 of ‘em???

get me the hell out of here today. i need a mocha. bad.

Psycho Killer

My pager went off about a half hour ago with a message to call one of the detectives at the local police department immediately. The message to call wasn't unusual, but the immediately part was; so, I called him. Here's the story.

A former client, from whose case I withdrew about six months ago, told his counselor at the V.A. clinic that he was going to kill me and the local judge. The counselor called the police. The police raided the guy's house, confiscating all of his weapons and ammo, and were trying to get in touch with his family members to get him admitted. The police will keep me advised as to any developments.

I think I'll give my friend, DT, a call and ask if I can borrow his .44 Magnum, for which I have suddenly developed an affinity.

Oklahma! O-K-L-A-H-M-A

Oh, my! Such heavy blog topics.

Late this afternoon, I was driving on I-90, scene of many bungee cord sightings, and spied a tractor-trailer with the license plate number 3612 CW. Oklahma. That's no misprint -- O-k-l-a-h-m-a. Stranger still -- the "plate" was hand-lettered. Nice printing. A little on a slant. But very nice work, nonetheless. I'm going to try that when the VW plates expire in December. Maybe vanity plates. Hmmm. Oklahma plates!

AND NOW SHE RANTS ABOUT GWB

"We can't turn a blind eye to oppression just because that oppression is not in our own backyard," he said. "Who will say that Iraq was better off when Saddam Hussein was strutting and killing, or that the world was safer when he held power?"

hmmm. let’s see. can you name the last 4 presidents? including dear old dad, who went in, destroyed, and left? without getting rid of saddam? hmmm.

are we heroes because NOW we have decided to rid the world (at least iraq) of this evil man. why did we support him for so long, george? why? and why do you continue to support existing evil rulers all over the globe? oh, i’m sure that when it suits your own political/financial purposes, you’ll decide it’s time to destroy another country for the sake of ridding that nation of one more evil man. and expect to be treated like the righteous hero you think you are.

so we can’t “turn a blind eye,” huh? we can’t? seems to me we’re pretty good at that. the best.

A BIG SOMETHING YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT US

i posted this back in january at my old site. some of you have seen this, but many (assuming i can actually use the word "many" to describe a number of readers here) haven't. i thought i'd repost it. suzette, you gave me the idea. the repost idea. i've updated some.

Tuesday, January 28:

bill and i have three children. We are more grateful than we can say for these “gifts.” matt is 21 22 and a senior computer science major in college is finishing his bs in comp sci within the next couple weeks. he is brilliant, compassionate, loving, funny, and handsome. he’s going to graduate late this year, marry in august, continue his teaching assistant and research assistant work for the next year and a half. he and his future wife are planning to continue their schooling by pursuing phd’s in their respective fields.

mark is 22 23 (he is not our “real” son, but has been a part of our family since he was 15 when his father took a job overseas. his mom lives overseas also). he is an electrical engineering major (i think he’s a senior but he’s been co-oping; so i’m not sure). he’s loving, thoughtful, funny, determined, and hard-working. he’s been a blessing in all of our lives.

jackson is 17 18 and is home-schooled. he’s a gifted guitarist, loving, compassionate, creative, and just a sweetie. he is also a recovering drug addict.

when we found out a year ago just about 2 years ago now about jackson’s use of drugs, we decided along with his drug counselor that out-patient treatment was the way to go at that point. in spite of jax’s powerful cocaine problem, insurance required that out-patient treatment was necessary before in-patient could be approved. we weren’t sure about this, but john, jax’s counselor who had previously run an adolescent addiction treatment unit in our area, felt that the holidays were the WORST time to hospitalize a kid. short-staffing problems, due to vacations, and depression because of family separation were big problems. he suggested that we (jackson) start the out-patient treatment, with the option of in-patient long-term treatment if jackson relapsed. that was the deal we made.

the holidays last year of 2001 were verry difficult. both bill and I were devastated, matt and mark were very angry and not sure that we had made the right decision in not hospitalizing jackson, and jackson was struggling mightily. not a good time. we kept a very close reign on jackson. as bill works out of the house, he was able to be there with jax. If he had to be away, jax would go with him (unless jax was at work). in february, jackson was fired from his job. at that point, we realized that his life wasn’t working, and we HAD to do something.

on that day we told jackson that we were looking for the proper treatment facility for him. we started searching the internet and right away decided that a wilderness treatment facility looked best for jackson. two days later, bill had a hearing in federal court that he needed to attend alone. we decided it would be safe to leave jax home alone for two hours as I was only 20 minutes away at work and would keep in near constant contact. when I called home and didn’t get an answer, within 10 minutes I was on my way home (hysterically crying all the way). i continued to call all the way home, as did bill, who was also on his way home by this time. no answer. i pulled into the garage, got into the house, screaming jax’s name all the way in. when I stepped foot in the door, I heard a moan. screamed again to try to get another response. he moaned from the floor of the downstairs bathroom. he was passed out on the floor, wedged up against the door. i continued to scream to try to rouse him. i had my cell phone in my hand, but bill’s phone was busy. calling me on the home phone a long way away from the door that i felt i could not leave. my phone rang. bill. told him what was happening. “call 9-1-1!” i hung up to do so, but jax roused and got to his feet at that moment. “what’s going on??? did you take something???” “no, i didn’t feel good, came into bathroom to throw up, and must have passed out!” shit. on the way to an entire day at the hospital, where after 6 hours, blood tests confirmed alcohol and another interesting substance. looked like a cold medication, the doctor said.

so he got shit-faced on alcohol that morning. we found out much later that he had stolen a bottle of gin from the grocery store during a break at work.

but the cold medication. hmmm. I couldn’t remember j having been sick in the last couple of months. here comes the truth as jax knows he’s on his way. somewhere.

robitussin d-m. if you’ve got it in your house with your teen-aged kids, throw it out. we didn’t know this, the kids know it though. drink a bottle (yes a bottle), and it feels like an l-s-d trip. yummy. jax’s addiction / need for drugs was so powerful that this fit the bill perfectly! lunch break at work, walk next door to the drug store, “yank” a couple of bottles, or maybe even buy it, and you’re hooked up.

found the perfect place. aspen achievement academy in southern utah. these people are angels on earth. believe me.

we were sending our baby away for at least 7 weeks to utah. the only flights we could find connected in cincinnati. what a leap of faith that was! put him on a plane in cleveland, pray he’d get on the connecting flight in cinci to salt lake city, where he’d be met at the plane by somebody from aspen and under CONSTANT supervision for the next 7 weeks. i can’t even write about what aspen meant for jackson. these people saved his life and opened his eyes to what life could mean for him. after 5 weeks of therapy and treatment at aspen, the psychologist told us that jackson’s problem was so huge that they met and felt that residential treatment (at least a year) was necessary. the only alternative was COMPLETE devotion on our part to jackson’s recovery. yes! yes! we would do ANYTHING!

when we brought jackson home, EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life was supervised. there was no hearing, deposition, meeting, ANYTHING that bill attended that jax didn’t tag along. unless he was here at work with me. intensive out-patient treatment, a.a. meetings took up every single evening of jax’s life. when he graduated from iot, he filled in the empty days with MORE a.a. meetings. no one – no one – has worked harder to fix themselves than this boy.

he wanted to be in school again to be with other kids, and have some kind of normal life. we found a school, but in early august, he told us that he couldn’t stay sober AND go to school. knew that if he wanted to stay sober, he’d have to give up the idea of a normal life.

we will not, have no reason to, feel shame. this child was a gift to us from god. his addiction was a gift to him from god. god said “fix yourself or die, buddy.” so he’s decided to fix himself.

he goes to meetings every single day. oh wait. once in a while he spends a saturday night with US. he is a deeply spiritual, caring, completely giving young man. completely sober. believes that god must love him so much to have given him this past year. god does. and so do we.

jackson's been clean for over a year and a half now, he's finishing up his last few high school credits, is just doing great. so are we all.

Fine Wines

I ended up in the section of the local grocery store displaying the extensive wine selection, only because I was passing through to the soft drink section until something caught my eye, something from my teenage years when, on weekends, I was invariably invited by the jocks to join them at the local garbage dump landfill to get wasted on cheap wine, cherry vodka, and stolen beer. I never took them up on the offer, having had some bad experiences with the group a few years earlier when several of them were arrested, while I was hiding up in a tree, for breaking into the local bottling plant and stealing all the 7-Up they could carry. My taste for 7-Up has suffered since then -- and I haven't climbed a tree for a long time -- and I didn't like hanging with that group, dork that I was at the time.

Anyway, what caught my eye? The M-D 20/20. Something new in the M-D 20/20 arsenal. M-D 20/20 Bling-Bling Blue Raspberry, fortified with 18% alcohol, outside the legal definition of wine. So, after decades at the low end of the totem pole of wine enthusiasts and favorite of junior high and high schoolers everywhere, Winery Mogen David of Westfield, NY, figuring that youngsters won't be able to ante up the $2.99 for its "Mad Dog" in today's bleak economic times, introduced Bling-Bling Blue Raspberry at 99 cents per bottle, way less than a bottle of Robitussin.

Thank you, mother-fucking marketing department at Mogen David.

Another 15 Billion Reasons to Vote Against Bush

I stopped by Biting Nails and went to the link about Bono and the new P.M. of Canada. The specter of AIDS in Africa was the subject of part of Bono's speech.

I heard a statistic the other day. Fully one-fourth of all women, ages 20 to 29, in South Africa have AIDS. South Africa has more cases of AIDS than any country in the world. Maybe this figure is more alarming and terrifying to me because I'm acquainted with someone in South Africa.

Do you recall that George Bush the Lesser went to Africa for a photo opportunity, trying to take our minds off the Iraqi situation? (And by the way, in addition to the 17 dead in the collision of two helicopters apparently due to one of them being fired upon, two more Americans were killed today -- maybe it's time for another list of dead military men and women, whose families will not be celebrating Thanksgiving with the joy and good feeling that should be associated with the holiday.)

On that visit to Africa, George II, with necktie off and sleeves rolled up, working hard, pledged 15 billion American dollars to Africa to fight AIDS. I checked on whether the money has been appropriated by the Republican President, Republican-controlled Senate, and the Republican-controlled House of Representatives.

NO. I almost forgot. People of color ...

And they don't vote here.

Ferret This!

We will be hosts for almost two weeks to Derp. It will be a difficult task, after all I saw on CNN a report that Derp claimed he was bigger than Jesus. This morning, I discovered a huge FOX News tractor trailer rig with an enormous satellite dish parked on our property across the creek, apparently getting set up in advance. I have no patience for this kind of stuff and chased them off with a light saber Matt left here.

The newly-elected mayor dropped by wanting to set up a meeting with Derp. Why? I don't know what the big deal is! So, Derp has been to Tibet; and the Dalai Lama mentioned Derp at his recent appearance in Bloomington, Indiana, thanking Derp for the kind words in affirming that the most important thing in life is human affection, without which genuine happiness cannot be achieved.

I am figuring out where to take Derp when he is in town. I know that he will want to see the Rock-N-Roll Hall of Fame and the Great Lakes Science Center on the lakefront. We may as well tour the Steamship William G. Mather and the International Women's Air & Space Museum while we're in the neighborhood.

Of course, he will want to see the Cleveland Museum of Art. And then we can hit up the Museum of Natural History, skipping the one wing where the taxidermists went medieval on the animal and insect world, and the Western Reserve Historical Society's Crawford Auto and Aviation Museum across the street.

Something a little more unusual for Derp would be a visit to Radio Shack over in Westlake for some holiday shopping. When I visited it the other day, some lady was in there with her little rat dog looking around; so, I know that there won't be a problem with discrimination in that store.

I am planning a dinner cruise on the Nautica Queen for Derp and a date. It'll be a little surprise evening for him. Then before we pick up Mark at the airport, we'll visit the NASA Glenn Research Center, which is just down the road. I'll have to ask Mark to leave Derp's passport or other photo I.D. so that we can get in.

They Live!

Clonaid is in the news, again, folks. You recall that the Raelians, a group of lunaticsreligious order that was founded by a former race car driver after he was annointed the world's savior by beings from outer space he met one day on his way to the office, which has caused some skepticism among scientists and ordinary mortals, supported Clonaid in its effort to clone humans. Some French doctor named Brigitte claimed to have cloned humans, but we never got to see or meet the clones, which has caused some skepticism among scientists and ordinary mortals. Now, Brigitte says she has discovered the fountain of youth derived from stem cells harvested from cloned embryos, which will extend the lifespan of humans from 50 to 70 years, which has caused some skepticism among scientists and ordinary mortals. The bottom line is that you apparently must eat your cloned self to achieve this end.

Ann Margret did her thing rolling around in baked beans back in '75 in the movie version of Tommy. I would rather watch Ann Margret than some guy, who stole the idea from The Who's Roger Daltrey, renowned for rolling around with monkeys' nuts in London streets, claiming to be supporting British culture by sitting in baked beans with four dozen sausages wrapped around his head. Baked beans. Really. Sausages. Really. And, oh yeah, French fries up his nose. Really. There's a picture.

And what is more amazing than the fact postal workers found a four-foot-long alligator gnawing its way out of its package while being shipped from Milwaukee to Colorado is the fact that shipping alligators, unlike shipping human limbs, is legal. Well, not four-foot-long alligators, but a slight measurement error can be to blame here. I am, however, disappointed in the news account because I want to know the name of the lady who shipped the alligator. It had to be a woman. Don't you think that, with the way the postal service delivers the mail, the four-foot-long alligator, already more than a little upset by being wrapped up like a piece of chuck roast, would be hungry after its 7-to-10-day trip to Colorado, where I do not think alligator food is plentiful. What a surprise her ex-husband would have gotten!

HOT STUFF

i knew it would be a "kitchen day" when i saw lucy had posted a recipe for jambalaya. i knew bill couldn't refuse that opportunity. and that he couldn't resist the opportunity to "play with" the recipe.

you see every year, he mixes up a batch of a seasoning mix that we like to call "wild bill's cajun season blend." we package it up and distribute to friends and family. it is HOT. and while we're mixing up his magic blend of every possible kind of pepper, salt, onion and garlic powder, cumin, salt, and i think a couple other spices, a cloud settles inside the house so thick that we have to keep the dogs outside for hours for their own good.

so, after our saturday morning starbucks, we headed to costco for cajun sausage, shrimp, peppers, onions, celery, and a lot of other stuff we DIDN'T need. we needed goodies for the ohio state game; so while i set to frying up some ravioli, he gets going on the jambalaya.

it SMELLS like heaven. but it's not made for me. i know this because not only can i not eat more than one bite due to the heat content, but because i made the mistake of swallowing that ONE FREAKING BITE, my throat continues to burn two HOURS after the experiment. and i am the only one who'll eat the shrimp. they'll eat everything else. forget it. i'm not going near it. we'll have to freeze what's left -- mark likes shrimp.

hrmph. there's like a gallon of this heavenly SMELLING concoction and NOTHING FOR ME TO EAT!

Blogrolling & Peanut Butter

I took the BLOGROLLING off. Sorry. Don't like it. Can't identify the reasons. It's just one of those things. Like cold soup.

By the way, I saw this item at Costco in the refrigerated or frozen food case. Smucker's peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. For those who can't cook or handle kitchen utensils, life gets easier. Or not.

Michael Feinstein Concert Review

Before getting to the Michael Feinstein concert, I was listening to the NPR outlet in Cleveland, WCPN, 90.3 FM, and Michael Boland (sp?), recovering addict and Addiction Risk Manager at Stella Maris Treatment Center, Cleveland, Ohio, in an interview said: If it wasn't for the A.A. community, I'd be dead today.

This is the second time I heard such a statement this week, the first time was when our 18-year-old son said it, standing in our kitchen/family room. Thank you, friends of Bill W.
_____________

The tickets came in the mail yesterday for the evening concert by Michael Feinstein. When I opened the envelope, I saw that we were spending "An Evening With Michael Feinstein and Jimmy Webb," and I got real excited because I wanted to see and hear Michael Feinstein's interpretation of a couple of Jimmy's standards.

We got to the hall, the same place we saw Tom Hanks in Godspell when my cranial landscape was lush with overgrowth, just before show time; and it was then that I thought that something was awry. Two Baldwin grand pianos were on stage. No guitars. No guitar stands.

I recalled the Clapton concert that Dr. Cyborg, J-dogg, and I took in a few years ago, at which we knew E.C. would be playing only the blues. At intermission, a guy, standing before a urinal in the men's room, asked no one in particular, "You'd think that maybe he could hum a few bars of Layla?" I pushed the thought out of my mind. Guitars are portable, pianos are not.

The two performers hit the stage to polite applause, Michael wearing a black tux, white shirt, and black tie, and Jimmy in some nasty-looking dark brown suit, dark brown shirt, and dark brown tie. And Jimmy's hair was shorter than I remembered and was straightened and colored to match his suit, and he totally looked like hell.

Michael Feinstein started into his first tune that I had heard before but can't name, and he sounded like you know he would sound, but the song wasn't Gershwin or Cole Porter or Rogers and Hart. Whatever. The guy has a great voice, you know, not like Robert Plant, but really, really good. When he was through with the first song and after he thanked us all for being there and all that stuff, he leaned on the piano and said, "Jimmy, why don't you sing one of your classics?"

And Jimmy -- you know, I'm thinking, like here we go, now you're talkin' -- he starts fiddling with the ivory, no guitar, and he starts singing, "By the time I get to Phoe-nix ... she'll be ri-sin'" And I'm thinking, "Doggone it, this isn't Stairway to Heaven!"

Then I realized and said to myself because, at this point, I couldn't possibly say anything out loud, "This isn't the Led Zeppelin guy; this is the Wichita Lineman guy."

Fuckin' idiot I am.

Captain Zoom!

You haven't lived until you get your kid, no matter how old or young, a Captain Zoom birthday CD. Here is the info I got by e-mail; and unlike the other lottery and inheritance e-mails I have posted, this one says to share it!

Dear Captain Zoom Customer,

Welcome to the inaugural issue of our occasional e-newsletter,
Captain Zoom News, keeping you in touch with the world's most
popular personalized birthday song!

November 12, 2003
-----------------------------------------------------------------
1. CD's for the price of cassettes through November 23rd
2. New gift message feature
3. Complete our survey & enter to win a $50 Amazon.com Gift Cert.
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Note: We respect your privacy, and your e-mail address is kept
strictly private. If you no longer wish to receive updates from
Captain Zoom, please forward this message to
unsubscribe@captainzoom.com.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
1. CD's for the price of cassettes through November 23rd
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Take advantage of our current sale--CD's for the price of
cassettes, just $7.98 each (reg. $10.95). Now is the perfect time
to stock up on Captain Zoom CD's for upcoming birthdays! But
don't delay...the sale ends November 23rd:

http://www.captainzoom.com/cds.html

This sale is open to all, so feel free to forward this message to
family and friends so they can also take advantage of it too. The
sale price of $7.98 will appear when you place CD's in your
shopping cart.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
2. New gift message feature
-----------------------------------------------------------------
We've added a gift message option to our order form (at the
bottom), so you can easily send Captain Zoom CD's and cassettes
directly to your gift recipient. This option gives you plenty of
space to further personalize your gift. Your message will appear
next to a color picture of Captain Zoom.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
3. Complete our survey & enter to win a $50 Amazon.com Gift Cert.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
As a Captain Zoom customer, your opinions about your satisfaction
with Captain Zoom and future product development are very
important to us. We hope that you will fill out our brief on-line
survey:

http://www.captainzoom.com/survey.html

As a thank you for taking the time to complete the survey, you
will be entered in a drawing for a $50 Amazon.com gift
certificate. Just be sure to include your e-mail address so we
can notify you if you are the winner! We will choose the winner
from all entries received by November 23rd.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
We respect your privacy, and your e-mail address is kept strictly
private. If you no longer wish to receive updates from Captain
Zoom, just forward this message to unsubscribe@captainzoom.com.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
Lunar Eclipse Entertainment, Inc.
Home of Captain Zoom(R)
P.O. Box 8516
Portland, ME 04104-8516
(800) 543-9112 / (207) 761-4200
http://www.captainzoom.com

For Jim Walsh, Montana Native

Montana,
I am bewildered.
Convention was not your way.
Land of barbed-wire sheep ranches,
Regulation was not your way.
I am disheartened.
Land of once unlimited highway speed,
Thumbing your nose at federal dollars,
Convention was not your way.
Drunk driving was near non-existent,
Thumbing your nose at federal dollars,
Regulation was not your way.
Big Sky, what have you done?
Last bastion of individualism,
Convention was not your way.
Liberal interlopers,
Forgetting what made you unique.
Now, lawsuits galore by moneyed interests.
Beware speeders and drunk drivers,
No longer exempt.
Beware fly fisherman.
You are next.
Lawyers, plague upon mankind, have arrived.

THIS IS WHAT THEY CALL "FIXED?"

DID YOU SEE THIS?

edited: i spent a lot of time tonight searching for an explanation of this. i learned that it's called a "solar pillar." bill and i agree that what we saw was so much more spectacularly defined than any photo we found on the internet. i'm putting a camera in my car right now!

early saturday evening, bill and i headed out to starbucks and then pizza. we happened to catch the most amazing sunset i've ever seen. ever. the first (i'm sure this is normal) thing we noticed was the red light from the sun reflecting off the not-yet-fallen leaves on the top of the high trees. looked like the trees were on fire. amazing. we were heading east at that point.

turned south a couple minutes later. this is what we saw:

ok. ok. i never pretended to be an artist. i'm sure you "get the picture." teehee.

but seriously, it was a thin (discrete) red beam of light emanating from the point of the sun falling below the horizon across the sky. we pulled off the road into a field and watched as it shortened and finally disappeared. i've watched a lot of sunsets and have never seen this before.

then there was the eclipse that night that we could not see. heavy cloud cover in cleveland area. did anybody else see this? if you did and understand the science of it, please explain it to me.

Respect for Canadians

I have seen Niagara Falls. I have seen the American Falls turned off for re-tooling, something that the Canadians haven't been able to do.

I have been to Toronto a few times. I was supposed to go to Montreal with my son's high school hockey team, but his Catholic school would not give them any kind of school credit, even though they were visiting a church there. Bummer. The Canadian schools got credit just for playing in the tournament.

And I played baseball in Detroit -- that's almost in Canada.

Oh, yeah .. the J-dogg and I got lost a few years ago in Canada and ended up in Brantford, Ontario -- I'll take the blame on that one, though. The boy, age 10, said that maybe we should stop and get a map. Imagine that. Maps ... in Canada.

Canada -- oh, yes. That's what I was talking about. I am in awe of Canadian scientists and have even greater respect today for them than ever before. I thought that Canadian scientists went along just for a ride in the space shuttle. I know Canadian scientists test the resiliency of frozen vs. unfrozen pucks, since that is ver-r-r-r-ry important up there in the Great White North (especially in Brantford, where the Great One grew up -- I was treading on holy ground at the petrol station asking for a map).

In any event, oh, yes ... Canadian scientists -- great respect, awe, admiration. It turns out that Canadian scientists, doing fundamental research, discovered that fish fart.

WAGGING THE DOG

we dropped off beagle scout at the vet yesterday for her "fix." and removal of dew claws (aka vein-ripping talons). sheba louise (scout's auntie mama) was FREAKED when we left the house without her. the last couple of times we took a dog out of the house without sheba, the dog we took never returned. i know, i know -- she's a dog. but what do you think? was she worried we did to scout what we did to the big betsy AND crazy cocoa (i can't find bill's old golf-blogger archives to link to the cocoa story)? i heard her whimpering yelps from the garage. jackson reports that she ran to his room, whining and barking for his attention to something.

anyway, we're missing the baby like crazy. we're picking her up at 4:30 today. can't wait. sheba seems to be over it, though. bitch.

I Want to Be a Living Will

Discussion has abounded about living wills and durable powers of attorney for health care, both of which can control your destiny and bring about your demise if you have a medical emergency or long term problem and are comatose, like that woman in a vegetative state in Florida, whose fate is now in the hands of the governor of Florida. Hell, they got problems in Florida counting votes, let alone making life and death choices.

I'm not giving legal advice here. I don't have a living will or durable power of attorney for health care. Why? Because I have the greatest faith in modern medicine; and I don't want anybody to turn off the life support, cremate me, and then announce the next day that they found a cure for what was ailing me.

Keep the machines on. If you really want to, take one of my kidneys to keep yourselves happy.

How did I get on this morbid subject, you ask? Or maybe you didn't ask and don't care, which is more likely, since you're probably at work trying to look like you're busy. I was driving this morning and noticed an ambulance with lights ablaze and sirens ablare. I dutifully pulled over to the curb. The ambulance was operated by Donald Martens & Sons Funeral Home, Inc., which was written right there on the side of the ambulance.

I add this to my instructions: Do not ever allow me to be transported to the emergency room by an ambulance operated by a funeral home!

The Importance of Hair

I pose this question because of a thrist for knowledge. I realize that only a dork would admit to wondering about such a thing, but I have been wondering about this for a while and the anonymity afforded by the world wide web allows me to make this inquiry.

There are some people in the world who are not bald. Does hair on the head afford the scalp any protection from cuts and scrapes?

I'll give you an example (and just because I refer to myself in the example doesn't mean that this has necessarily happened to me): The sliding shower doors are in a metal frame. Sometimes, I forget to duck enough and scrape the top of my head on the bottom of the frame. I scrape the top of my head. It bleeds. Would having hair on my head prevent this?

In Sunday news, we apparently won some kind of lottery.

From: AWED INTERNATIONAL LOTTO.BV [mailto:infoawed@netscape.net]
Sent: Sunday, November 09, 2003 12:12 PM
Subject: AWARD WINNING NOTIFICATION !

AWED INTERNATIONAL LOTTO.BV PROMO/PRIZE AWARD DEPARTMENT.
ADDRESS: KRUISLAAN 408, 1098 SJ, AMSTERDAM - THE NETHERLANDS.
REF: AIL/5689681-47/03
BATCH: 56/75937867/HM
ATTENTION:
RE / AWARD NOTIFICATION / PROCESSING ADVICE: ML
We are pleased to inform you of the announcement today, 9TH November 2003 of winners of the SCIENTIFIC GAME PROMO LOTTERY; THE NETHERLANDS / INTERNATIONAL, PROGRAMS held on 8th November,2003. Your email address attached to ticket number 89-02897893, with serial number 95020 drew the lucky numbers 14-21-33-42-49-63, and consequently won the lottery in the 1st category. You have therefore been approved of a lump sum pay out of US$500,000.00 (FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND UNITED STATE DOLLARS) in credited to file REF NO. AIL/7585021-47/03. This is from total prize money of US$2,500,000.00 shared among the international winners in our 1st -5th categories. All participants were selected through a computer ballot system drawn form 25,000 company email addresses and 30,000,000 individual email addresses from Australia, New Zealand, America, Europe, North America and Asia as part of International Promotions Program, which is conducted annually. CONGRATULATIONS! Your fund is now in custody of a financial Security company insured in your FILE REFERENCE. Due to the mix up of some numbers and names, we ask that you keep this award strictly from public notice until your claim has been processed and your money remitted to your account. This is part of our security protocol to avoid double claiming or unscrupulous acts by participants of this program. This lottery program was promoted by our group of philanthropist headed by Mr. Bill Gates. We hope with part of you prize, you will participate in our end of year high stakes US$10,000,000 million Dollars International Lottery. To begin your claim, please contact your file/claim officer: MR. KONAN AMSTRONG, of AWED INTERNATIONAL LOTTO.BV (AMSTERDAM - THE NETHERLANDS). On TEL: 0031-.620-675-783 Please be informed that NON RESIDENCE of THE NETHERLANDS will be required to make a NON DEDUCTABLE advance payment of processing and legal documentation charges of 750.00 Euros to enable our legal department acquire Naturalization papers from the Court prior to award payment policy as required by the paying Financial Security Company. Please be aware that your Paying Authority will Effect Payment Swiftly upon satisfactory Report, Verifications and validation provided by this processing Agent. For due processing and remittance of your winning prize to designated account of your choice, please treat as urgent. Remember, all prize money must be claimed not later than 21st November 2003. After this date, all funds will be returned as unclaimed.
NOTE: In order to avoid unnecessary delay and complications, please remember to quote your reference and batch numbers in every one of your correspondences with your agent. Furthermore, should there be any change of your address, do inform your claims agent as soon as possible. Congratulations once again from our team of staff and thank you for being part of our promotional program.
Note: Anybody under the age of 18 is AUTOMATICALY DISQUALIFIED. Sincerely, Iris Hans (Mrs.) (Lottery Coordinator)

This is a pet peeve of mine. Does Iris Hans, the lottery coordinator, know the difference between "residents" and "residence?" I heard a newscaster say "incidences" instead of "incidents" -- Don't they teach in journalism school or communications school or high school that those are different words with different meanings?

Campers, It's Cold Out There

I discovered the clicker, the silver-colored Comcast clicker, which recently replaced the old style black plastic clicker similar to the one in the family room, in a remote corner of the bed. The clicker, a new digital style with a built-in microchip brain, in self-preservation mode, slipped down to the end of the bed and plunged over the southwest corner, only to be concealed in the tucked-in sheet. The clicker has been returned to service without further incident.

Temperature: Like -5 C
Window Condition: Open
Fan Operation: Running on Medium speed
Dog Position: Under covers

I broke out the Joe Boxer flannel boxer shorts, choosing the light-blue-with-dogs-that-look-like-pit-bulls print and a heavy Old Navy corduroy shirt because little tiny snow flakes are falling.

I wish we would have seen Finding Nemo on the big screen. The J-Dogg is away for the weekend; so, we picked up the movie at *shudder* Blockbuster. Very cool, except were we supposed to like that Marlin dude, the father? Couldn't they find someone other than Albert Brooks? I was rooting for the sea gulls near the end. And Crush was the best. Dude.

So, I will make the trip cross-county, wondering if there is snow at higher elevations, to Krispy Kreme, which is becoming something of a Saturday morning habit for somebody. I am ready for the sugar rush, bringing a Diet Mountain Dew along to wash it down. You gotta cut down where you can.

Crisis of Major Proportion

I was going to complain about George Bush the Lesser, again; but something has come up.

I don't know what to do. The time to hesitate is through. No time to wallow in the mire. It's time for drastic measures.

I CAN'T FIND THE CLICKER!

It was here last night. Then it was gone. I had to get up out of bed and turn off the television BY HAND. Ohmydog! This is a crisis of major proportion. Not only is my peace of mind and sedentary life style at stake, my very existence could be in jeopardy. Nothing in my marriage vows said anything about "clicker or no clicker," except that the minister was from West Virginia or Serbia because we couldn't understand a word he said. I hope that was part of it -- if not, she could kill me and get away with it.

[Scene: Judge Lynett Smith's court room.
Stacey, how do you plead to the charge of murder in the first degree?
Your Honor, he lost the clicker.
That rat bastard asshole -- case dismissed!]

Jackson -- my son -- he laughed when I asked for his help. He said that I was on my own. He said, "Hey, I got my clicker."

And the dogs -- they won't even talk to me.

-----------------------
Aside to George: I heard you like Hemingway. Then follow his advice:

Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime.

Dead Skunk and License Plates

The rhododendron rhodedendren rhodedendron roadadendren rodadhendron bush thing outside the front door is flowering. I'd post a picture, but I don't know how to work Stacey's (she's "the wife" from an earlier post, in case you've found it difficult to follow things) fairly new digital camera (with the 600-page instruction pamphlet), let alone know how to download pictures and then edit them with some programs with their gobs of directions.

And let me say this. I was in court all morning sitting around. I did look at a Burger King security videotape for about 10 minutes. Satellite photos from space are sharper and cleaner than a security videotape. Or is there a reason for the difficulty in telling if the image is a man or a woman or a great dane? Oh, Justice is swift. Justice is blind.

So, what did I do for the remaining hours? I re-counted some stuff that occurred on the drive down to the Justice Center. On the highway, I saw car driven by a woman (not that the sex of the driver has anything to do with this, but it might) with a vanity license plate: I MK U C. I don't understand what it means. What does it say? What does it stand for? What was she trying to tell us? How can I go to sleep not knowing? Please, dear Reader, help this poor, pathetic bastard understand. The world is far too complicated for me.

And earlier in my journey to the big city, I was driving on a country road, where three huge housing developments are going in, well back of the car in front of me. I could see up ahead a poor creature waddling across the road; and I, without resorting to radar guns and physics calculations, could tell that the small animal would cross the yellow line and come into my lane of traffic just as the car in front of me would be fast approaching. The driver of the car ahead (whose gender I did not know) must have seen the small black-furred animal crossing. I thought I spotted something like a yellowish-white streak on the animal. I would have swerved to avoid it if I was approaching.

The driver ahead of me did not swerve. And it was, indeed, a skunk.

HOW COOL IS THIS?

the other day i saw a commercial selling rod stewart's new cd -- older jazzy stuff. i actually like this kind of music, but not so much by rod. so i said to bill, "if i wanted to listen to that, i'd pop in my michael feinstein cd. he's so much better at it. or listen to some ella fitzgerald."

bill just got an e-mail from clear channel asking for our address to send us two FREE tickets to a michael feinstein concert next thursday. cool!

next time i'm gonna say something about pete townshend. it could happen, right?

LET'S GET IT TOGETHER HERE PEOPLE

dear tlc producers,

time is running short here, and i’m worried that if we don’t coordinate our schedules soon, that there will be conflicts. we’re ALL busy people here. here’s my proposed schedule. please let me know how this will work for you all ASAP!

IMMEDIATELY(!!): “clean sweep.” garage, basement, and the room that was previously known as “our bedroom.” now known as “bill’s office.” with a bed. and other bedroom stuff. i'm thinking this would work.

JANUARY: “what not to wear.” this would be the perfect time for me. howboutchu?

FEBRUARY: “trading spaces.” jackson’s room. finish it. or do it all over again. i don’t care. just make it pretty again. please?

MARCH / APRIL: let’s just take a couple months off here, mkay? i think i might need a break.

MAY / JUNE: “ground force.” ok, ok. i know this isn’t TECHNICALLY a tlc show – what’s the hold-up with creating the american knock off? this may not be as big a problem as you think though. let’s go with the bbc “ground force” in may for the back yard / pool area. that should give you enough time to schedule me in for your premiere episode of the knock-off in june for the side yard. i think this is a pretty good compromise. let me know.

please look over this schedule asap. there’s a little wiggle room here. except for “clean sweep.” sorry.

Unrelenting Starbucks

Don't tell the wife, but I have decided to cut down on the Starbucks mochas. I am suffering pangs of guilt -- I bought all those bags of candy corn and nobody came. I could blame it on the subconscious and Freud it for you, but I made a conscious decision to buy the delectable little orange, yellow, and white morsels of confection perfection with the thought that nobody would come for Halloween, and those nuggets of ultra-sweet goodness would be all mine. And I was right. All ... Mine.

So, now, I need to sacrifice some calories.

This morning, I was going in to Starbucks to get a mocha just for the wife. They apparently saw me coming; and despite the crowd in the store, mine was ready without even ordering. Instead of marking all the little boxes and marking the various codes on my cup, Michelle put "B-I-L-L-Y" stretching from top to bottom. What was I supposed to do?

And dare I fail to mention that Matt, one of the Starbucks dudes behind the counter, gave me free samples of the Christmas Roast coffee, and that Michelle updated me on her health situation, and Danielle got accepted in the French Ph.D. program at LSU, all designed to make me feel guilty if I do not get my mocha? Oh, they are devious at Starbucks.

Hey Man, Give Me a Receipt!

We weren't at home Thursday night, which was when Halloween was supposed to be in our community because of the high school football game on Friday night. I'll have you know that I was ready, though, on Friday for any trick-or-treaters that might show up. I had my 12-ounce bags of Brach's candy corn that I picked up for 88 cents Friday afternoon. Halloween shopping at the last minute is nothing like Christmas shopping at the last minute; so, I didn't have any problem at all.

And I picked up one of those little receipt books, the one with the NCR paper so you have a copy of the receipt you give out or you get. I was going to use it as a joke and show our friend, er ... friends, that we really were home and really gave out candy on the real Halloween.

Nobody came, not even any 20-year-olds. And you're laughing about the receipt idea. Well, don't be. Next year, get receipts from all the little buggers to avoid having an irate father come to your door, trash your landscaping, and throw pumpkins at your door and through your window, who claim you never gave candy to his little munchkin.

Better yet, next Halloween, give away your bottles of Syrup of Ipecac since the American Academy of Pediatrics says the drug doesn't work for everyone, may be improperly administered by parents, or could be abused by people with eating disorders.

Plus the stuff tastes like hell. I tried it once. Nasty stuff. Threw up.

Lay, Lady, Lay

I understand the difference between conversational English and the formal written word, but I cringe when I hear someone say "infer" when he or she really means "imply" or vice versa. And a dagger strikes at my heart when I hear someone say "Roger and I" instead of "Roger and me."

The question is Lie vs. Lay. In the pursuit of grammatical excellence in my NaNoWriMo writing assignment, I got this war hero in bed feeling his dead wife laying next to him. Or is her body "lying" next to him. Pick one. I have tried to decipher this grammatical conundrum, but I don't know the answer.

I consulted one of the giants, Bob Dylan, in my quest, as it is Sunday afternoon and the Hut seems to be closed, the owner apparently in pursuit of fine wine and gourmet wax lips and fangs. But should it be "Lie, Lady, Lie?" I don't know. I should not need a Masters Degree in Grammar or a Ph.D. in Writing to figure this thing out. If people can make up words like "pro-active" or "newk-you-ler" to mean whatever the hell they want them to mean, there should be some kind of legislative enactment to cover the lay vs. lie situation.

I'm an educated man, but I'm afraid I can't speak intelligently about the use of lie vs. lay. I'm going to toss a coin.

New York City Marathon 2003

I have heard enough criticism about my beloved, Golf, to fill many a volume rivaling the number of books in the Library of Congress. Many do not understand the game, the kharmic interface it creates between the performer and the environment. I need not recount all that I have blogged on the subject in former incarnations of this forum.

Needless to say that the vast majority, even many who enjoy the endeavour and skillfully perform its intricacies, will hurl if forced to endure more than several seconds of a television broadcast of Golf.

Well, I found something worse than a television broadcast of Golf -- the New York City Marathon on the boob tube. Is it no wonder that I recall from the many Olympic broadcasts of the marathon only the bare-footed Ethiopian, Abebe Bakila, who perished in a car crash after winning a second Olympic Marathon gold medal, entering the stadium to the cheers of tens of thousands.**

Who can watch men and women running down the streets of New York for longer than a few seconds?

Oh, you runners -- don't be so touchy. You got me all wrong. I am not criticizing you and greatly admire your stupdedication and perseverence.
_______________
**Now that I think about it, that was Marathon Man, in which I saw the clip of Abebe Bakila, in which Dustin Hoffman portrayed a wimpy-ass marathon hopeful student caught in a battle with a Nazi war crimi9nal. Great flick!

and now SHE speaks

saturday morning shopping trips with bill are ALWAYS interesting. we tend not to behave very well in general in the grocery stores. i don’t mean we’re knocking people down with our shopping carts or yelling at people or fighting other shoppers for the last package of ground beef. i mean that when we’re without our children (jackson), we tend to erupt in loud laughter and giggling fits. not really bad. just behavior that’s not met with approval (by jackson --he can be quite embarrassed at times). so we enjoy ourselves when we're without him.

but bill is, umm, you know, bill. EVERYTHING is blog or story material for him. we have at least one conversation a week that ends with “you will NOT blog about that!” sometimes, he understands and appreciates my point of view, sometimes not. i, however ALWAYS respect his wishes.

so, as usual, we were goofing along in the grocery store this morning, and we hit a spot where i had to issue the “no-blog” directive. so since he’s been denied on the really interesting, personal, funny stuff, he’s gonna get even. he blogs about me – very cunningly – THINKING about killing him.

so, i’m here to set the record straight. it – murder – never crossed my mind. i DID, however, point out the possible ash containers. BECAUSE. because we seem to be amassing quite the collection of ashes.

we have my mother’s ashes (1/3 of them). we have bill’s dad ashes (1/3 of them). we have betsy’s (our beloved 12-year-old boxer who died last spring) ashes (1/1 of them). my mom’s ashes reside in a plastic box in a cupboard in the garage. betsy’s ashes are next to mom’s (ashes). bill’s dad’s (ashes) are in a carved wooden box way up top of a cupboard in the family room.

in general, we would have to plead “guilty” to not treating these “remains” with respect, i guess. and we have passed this unruly and impolite disrespectful behavior down to our children. more specifically, to jackson. he has been known to ask friends if they’d like to meet his grandmother. when they say “sure,” he’d direct them to mom’s plastic box that used to reside on the garage shoe rack (another sign of our horrible values).

i’d like to know why dad gets to “live” in the house, and mom, albeit not in the shoe rack anymore, has to “live” outside. next to betsy.

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another saturday morning shopping trip story. this time without bill.

i left early one saturday morning a couple of years ago to meet a couple friends for breakfast and then to proceed to the local “marc’s” store to purchase sundries needed for an upcoming business trip to chicago. so i was a little more dressed up than normal. this was the last time i would EVER wear a slip. 40 years ago, in elementary school, we were taught to always, ALWAYS wear a slip under a skirt or dress. i was the last of a dying breed. could not fathom not wearing one. until this fine, sunny morning in april.

i had a lovely time with my friends, we said good-by, and headed out to our respective errands.

i spent about 45 minutes walking the aisles at marc’s, in fact i ran into a couple of other people i knew. chatted, picked up everything i needed. i proceeded to the check-out lane (the shortest line was the farthest from the exit door). i was feeling really fine that day, friendly with the clerks and everything. purchases completed, i picked up my two small plastic bags with my one free hand (as i use a cane), and proceeded to walk in front of all the check-out lanes to the exit. half way there, i felt something at my ankles. i looked down. MY FUCKING SLIP IS ON THE FUCKING FLOOR. in front of like 4,000 people. oh my god. i can’t WALK like this. so i have to “step” on the slip with my cane so i can step “out” of it, and then pick it up with my cane (like i’m waving a white flag – which, in fact, umm, i was). i stuff it in one of my bags and leave.

moral of the story: take your pick. my teacher was an idiot. slips are evil. don’t dress up on saturday mornings. bring bill with you ALWAYS to gather errant undergarments.

The Iceman Cometh

We were on our way to Starbucks for Saturday morning mochas, and she said she needed to pick up a few things at the grocery store. So, we went into the grocery store and got the couple things she needed. She was standing by a display, just looking ... and thinking. It was a display of kitchen utensils, except that prominently displayed was a white-handled stylish ice pick.

We went farther down the aisle and came to a display of sale items -- one-third off wooden boxes and baskets. She said, "We could get one of those boxes for the ashes, next time someone gets cremated." I laughed.

I laughed ... funny. Why the hell do we need an ice pick in this day and age? We have an ice maker and, failing that, ice cube trays. And the container for ashes?

Hmmm ... I better start writing my novel.