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 |  My second blog. What you get are pieces of me; my humor, my memories: be welcome. |
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MY BOOK! http://www.lulu.com/davidmac73 This picture was in the header of my first blog and I wanted to bring it back. Me and my sweetie on our wedding day....it is my favorite picture. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This is my second Blog on WDC. The first Blog, Random Thoughts, is finished and done and I loved almost every minute I spent doing it. This blog will be somewhat different than the first because I want to use this space for my humor and my memories. The humor may sometimes fall flat and the memories may, at times be boring, but isn't that the way it is with life. Please join me here and partake in these pieces of me and if sometimes you find the jokes unfunny or the memories dull, then please come back another day and maybe you will find something to your liking. After all, like my daddy always said: "Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you." Thank you, vivacious   for this neat new logo for my blog! Yup, this about says it all, I think!** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I thought that Independence Day was the appropriate day to put this great new siggy in my blog....Thank you sultry ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Please check out Scarlett's Newsletter for Bloggers: The Blogville News
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Thank you, Startiara  for this lovely Siggy!! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I work early today so I figured I would get this done now. I discovered, last night, that my little blog had reached another milestone of sorts. It seems that "Pieces of Me" just over took and passed my first blog, "Random Thoughts" on the most viewed list. With close to 29K views, this blog seems to be chugging along in spite of it's author's lack of anything interesting to say most days and for that I thank all of you who click on here and read. Last night I watched most of the History channel's special, 1968 with Tom Brokaw. To say I was disappointed is putting it mildly. I had expected a more balanced and even handed treatment by the History channel but, not surprisingly, I was wrong. I will not get into what I thought of that special because I am sure other writers, infinitely more talented than I will ever be, shall weigh in on the subject. As for myself, well I just got attacked by a great wave of "I don't care anymore". As I told my good friend Carolina Blue , I will just spend what time I have left, raising horses and goats and trying to hold onto a peace it has taken me almost forty years to find.My message to the liberals..."You can go to hell, I went to Missouri." to paraphrase my hero, Davy Crockett. You folks have a wonderful Monday. Stay safe and stay sane, the new year is almost here. |
| Because Christmas is almost here, I was asked yesterday what I am getting for gifts on the holiday. I honestly told them: Nothing. I think they were appalled but I wasn't. I have already gotten more than any man could ever hope for in life. I have love, like I have never known before, I have peace, like I have never known before, and I have friends here in this place, more than I have ever allowed myself to have before. I have family...sons and daughters and a brother...we all love each other. I ask you, what on earth could I want in the way of a gift when I have already received so many gifts in my life? No electronic toy, no article of clothing, no bejeweled bauble, could ever add to what I already possess. I thank you all for being a part of that circle of friendship that I find myself surrounded by and blessed by. Merry Christmas. |
| Well, my day off is gone and it's back to work this morning....that sucks. Anyway, since I have no topic to write about that would hold the slightest interest of any of you, I figured I may as well tell you a couple of jokes. Maybe you can start your day with a smile. While walking through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, a man came upon another man hugging a tree with his ear firmly against the tree. Seeing this he inquired, "Just out of curiosity, what the heck are you doing?" "I'm listening to the music of the tree," the other man replied. "You've gotta be kiddin' me." "No, would you like to give it a try?" Understandably curious, the man says, "Well, OK..." So he wrapped his arms around the tree and pressed his ear up against it. With this, the other guy slapped a pair of handcuffs on him, took his wallet, jewelry, car keys, then stripped him naked and left. Two hours later another nature lover strolled by, saw this guy handcuffed to the tree stark naked, and asked, "What the heck happened to you?" He told the guy the whole terrible story about how he got there. When he finished telling his story, the other guy shook his head in sympathy, walked around behind him, kissed him gently behind the ear and said, "This just ain't gonna be your day, cupcake..." According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December. Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a girl. We should've known... ONLY women would be able to drag a fat, old man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.   You folks have a good Saturday and I will check back in tonight. |
| The other day I got a phone call from my son Patrick. Now this is not that big a deal, certainly not earth-shaking stuff of drama, but in another way, it was very special. Pat called me from Las Vegas where he and his girl friend had gone on vacation...four days in Sin City and what does the boy do..he calls his dear ole dad! Well I soon learned that the call was not merely one of those: "Having a wonderful time and wish you were here" calls. No siree, the boy had some news for me. He calmly announced that he and Sally had actually set a date for a WEDDING...well almost... He told me that he had officially asked her to marry him and she had said yes. They now plan on a wedding next year. He then told me that they want to go on a cruise for their honeymoon. He wants to visit Britain, Scotland, and Ireland so they are planning something like a two week cruise around the British Isles. Now taken by itself, this news would be of mild interest to someone outside the family, but what makes it special to me is that the phone call was one of those "Ahh" moments. One of those rare times when, after receiving the news, you as a parent can set back and bask in the sure and certain knowledge that you did your job as a parent. I guess a little back story is in order here. Without going into a long, drawn out description of events back then, I will just say that we almost lost the boy at birth, seems he had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and cutting off his breath. He was blue when they finally took him. There was a question as to whether or not he had suffered any brain damage due to lack of oxygen. There was also a question as to whether or not this damage would lead to any behavioral problems. Early in his life there were challenges. He was late talking and was always a very quite child...rarely speaking, but though he spoke little, I could see the light of intelligence in his young eyes and I could tell he was mentally engaged in what others were saying around him...so I had hope. His school years were another challenge. I can not tell you how many parent-teacher conferences I attended. They all agreed he had ADD, and a few other alphabet disorders which caused him to be inattentive in class and not participate. I disagreed with them and refused to go the medicine induced remedy they wanted him on. "Has it ever occurred to any of you that the boy may be bored and is not getting what he needs from the classes?" I once asked his teachers. You can imagine how that was greeted. But I had reason to ask this. You see, by the time he was nine, I had begun to introduce him to the books I was reading at the time. Roman and Greek histories, classic fictional literature, Military histories. And, as he read these books I would be there with him to explain anything he had questions on or to even help pronounce the big words and explain those to him. I watched as he soaked up the knowledge. His problem was that he hated crowded classrooms and interacting with others whom he didn't know. Well, to shorten the story even more....He preserved and he made it to adulthood without being medicated daily. He now works in the largest museum in the state of Texas, he is working on his college degree in History and about to be married to a girl who, herself is about to start Law school. And my son is about to sail about the British Isles and visit all the historic sights he once read about as a child, sitting next to me. He is going places and doing things his father will never do and for that I am extremely proud. So you see, that phone call was actually a validation of my belief in my son and a vindication of the steps I took to raise him....yeah, it was a special phone call. But, the most special part of that call was it's ending. It ended like all our calls: "I love you, son." "I love you too, dad. Take care." What can be better than that? |
| One of my favorite quotes: "Growing old is not for sissies". I have no idea who said it first, but damn, it sure is true. The aches and pains that accompany the bodily decay of age just sucks bog water. What really sucks is the fact that growing old is not an accepted mental process in the male human. Men tend to block out the fact that their bodies are falling apart faster than a politician's promises the day after an election. We block out the truth and we try mightily to continue to view the world through thirty year old eyes. Of course even that is hampered by the bi/tri-focals we are now forced to wear. I am reminded of this condition every morning these days, when I wake up...something else is hurting. All I can do is sigh and hope that whatever body part is protesting will continue to work in spite of the pain. And, it's not just the body that betrays us as we grow older, it is the mind as well. Men, admit it....our heart still races every time we receive a smile from a beautiful young lady, in spite of the fact that our bodies are screaming: "Ignore that smile, you just reminded her of her grandfather!" BAH! Oh and what about when some young behemoth of a guy is giving us grief? Yeah, in our minds we just know that, if it comes to it, we can take this guy. We can mop up the floor with him just like we did when we were thirty. The truth of the matter is, if that guy was a mind to, he could turn us inside out and wear us for a freaking overcoat. But we still dream, don't we. There is a good side to growing old though. Things don't bother me like they use to. I have mellowed with age and no longer feel explosive anger or have the impulse to charge off in any direction at the drop of a pin. I tend to view the world now with a wry smile and a more knowing smile...."Been there, done that, and bought the tee-shirt" jumps readily to my lips these days. If all of this were not bad enough, there is a study now that shows that a man's brain shrinks from the age of 50 onward....oh yeah, that's just what I need. The doctors tell us, somewhat glibly, that we need to EXERCISE to stave off the effects of Alzheimer's decease.... Exercise? With my body already falling apart? I think I will stick with Alzheimer's. Looking on the bright side, if I get it, at least I will have the opportunity to make new friends every single day. |
| As I write this, the heavens have opened up and blessings have been poured out upon me...Can I have an "Amen" from the congregation? Yes, my dear friends, like Moses' parting of the waters of the Red Sea, a miracle has been visited upon me....THE HEATER GUYS ARE HERE! Well, let me qualify that statement...yes, they are here and yes, the propane tank is installed with gas in it and they are now hooking the heater to the tank. There is just one little bitty, teensy-weensy, problem...after they leave, we STILL CAN'T TURN ON THE @#$%#@$ HEATER!!! Why is that you may ask, well let me enlighten you like I was 'enlightened' this morning by a couple of less than sympathetic hillbillies tasked with installing the heater. WAIT...this needs a bit of "back story" as writers are prone to say. You see, a week ago we had to have the local handy-man, jack of all trades, and ner-do-well come out and cut a hole in our wall so the heater guys could tie in the exhaust pipe to the flue. Okay...that's simple enough...take a saw, cut a hole in the wall then put in a whatchamacallit to the flue. Had I owned the right tools, we could have done this ourselves. Anyway, my sister-in-law, who had used this guy before and swore by his work, called him and he showed up. Long story short...little Abner, as I call him, spent about an hour cutting and sawing and told my wife: "Job's Done." Then proceeded to hand her a bill for THREE HUNDRED FREAKING DOLLARS!!! When I got home that night, I almost swallowed my tongue when she told me what that damn hole had cost. But, after I calmed down, I figured what the hell, if it is done, then it is money well spent so I calmed down. Now...fast forward to today....heater guys are finally here, they walk into the house, take one look at said three hundred dollar hole in the wall and say: "Well hell, this hole ain't right. It's not big enough and he didn't mount a reducer to go from stove pipe to flue like he was supposed to." "Uh?" (that's me, trying to get my jaw off the floor.) "We can't turn the heater on unless it is all vented to the flue, but we can hook it up and turn on the pilot light." "Uh?" (that's me just figuring out the damn three hundred dollars was wasted) It was about at this point that I began to glow like some Chernobyl-inspired nuclear reactor. Mel, being the quick thinking lady that she is, jumped on the phone and called the "Handy man". She told him the little problem we had encountered. He apologized profusely and said he would be right over....WHEN HE GOT OFF WORK....TONIGHT!!! to fix things. Then he made an even worse mistake...he called back to see what he would need to bring with him....AND I ANSWERED THE PHONE! "What you need to bring," I yelled at him, "Is something to correct this DAMNED THREE HUNDRED DOLLAR HOLE YOU SCREWED UP IN THE FIRST FREAKING PLACE!" "Yes Sir." "And don't even THINK about making a down payment on a new bass boat, DA FREAKING MONEY WELL HAS RUN DRY FOR YOUR ASS!" Ah, it feels good to get that out! So here I sit, wearing my warm-ups, two tee-shirts, one sweater and a fur-lined parka.....typing my blog...waiting for my heat. Now you might think that I would be down in the dumps after this unfortunate turn of events, but you would be wrong. You see this episode, no matter how sorry it is, has only served to reinforce my knowledge that God is in his heaven and all is right with the world. Why? Well that's easy. You see I have long held that God is the ultimate Practical Joker. God loves to laugh and for whatever reason, I seem to have been one of his primary sources of mirth over the last 58 years. Yup, he pulled a good one on me this time, and I even had to laugh...YA GOT ME GOOD, GOD! Now I don't mind at all being the butt of this cosmic practical joker because the way I look at it, he is going to make damn sure nothing happens to me for many years to come. I will probably live to be 200 years old because God don't want to lose his main source of entertainment! Pardon me while I go set fire to the couch...that ought to warm things up a bit! |
| These late evenings have played hell with all my writings the last few days. I have had blog topics each day the past three days, but when it came to actually writing the entry...my brain would just vapor-lock. So, I have just been reading and commenting but hopefully this will end tomorrow. I am off work and will have a chance to rest. I think a real entry will be forthcomming sometime during the day. Anyway, now you have all my news, why don't you slide on over to Nada 's blog and leave your well wishes and share in her wonderful news about her hubby's health. She is a jewel and deserves all our cheers as she and hubby are now back on track to celebrate their Christmas on the high seas....I love a happy ending! |
| Some semi-intelligent chinaman (probably high on opium) once stated: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." Yeah, one step to the phone...call a cab that takes you to the airport and trip done! That is my own personal philosophy on that subject. perseverance is a wildly overrated character trait. I personally adhere to the "If at first you don't succeed, to hell with it" point of view. This of course explains why I stopped working on the whole millionaire thing in my life and embraced the truth of being a wage slave. It is kind of comforting to know that Da Man owns me, body and soul and I await his continued benevolence of a check every two weeks...whether I need it or not. Yeah, they care about us, isn't it heart warming. Yes, life is like a box of chocolates as Forest Gump said and what that means is that if you sit too long in the sun, the chocolate melts, runs all over your clothes, and it takes forever to get clean. Will Rodgers, the famous American humorist, once said: "I never met a man I didn't like." While many point to this as a deep philosophical phrase, I believe it was just a case of a man trying to announce to the world that he is gay. No one believed him and instead he became known for his wisdom and wit....go figure. What do all these seemingly random thoughts have in common? Well that's easy...these are just a few things that run through my head as I sit here and labor at trying to write a blog before I have to go to work. As you can see, the well is dry...nothing comes to mind to write. So I have opted for just putting down these random thoughts as they flit through my head. If you want a blog entry today that makes sense, that informs, that entertains, or that moves you in some way then you need to go read zwisis, PlannerDan , or Carolina Blue 's blogs...those folks really know how to do to it. Hell, if you just want to laugh your ass off, go over and read my buddy, ccstring's blog. The man is a genius when it comes to writing home-spun comedy.As for me...I will hang around the house here for another couple of hours then head out to work. I will try to come back in here when there is something in my head worth sharing. You folks have a great day. Stay warm and love each other....or stay warm by loving each other....okay, okay, that was just another stray thought. |
| I heard a very disturbing story on the news this morning. It involved MySpace, an innocent child of 14, and a vindictive, twisted woman who lived down the street from her. The child, Megan, got a computer and an account on MySpace from her loving parents and Megan loved it...what child that age wouldn't. Everything was going along fine and soon Megan had made friends on MySpace, one friend in particular, a teenage boy named: Josh who was very special to Megan. Josh lavished Megan with compliments, kind words and even gifts and of course the young girl fell in love with Josh. Then, after a few weeks everything turned ugly. Josh ended the "relationship" and even began to post nasty things about Megan on the Internet...mainly on MySpace. Megan's young world collapsed around her. She had done nothing wrong and yet this boy whom she cared so much for had turned on her and was spewing all kinds of horrible stories about her all over the Net. Megan retreated to her room one day and hung herself in her closet. That, in and of itself, is a sad enough story but what came to light later makes the whole thing even sadder and infinitely more perverse. Not long after Megan's death, it came to light that "Josh" was not a young teenage boy at all, but a grown woman who lived down the street from Megan! Her motivation for doing what she did to Megan was that she wanted to find out if Megan had been talking behind the back of the woman's own teenage daughter! And for that, the woman decided to ruin Megan's life with this convoluted plan of her's. I don't think I have ever heard any more compelling evidence of the level of cruelty to which humans can sink to. How petty and vindictive that a woman would set out to destroy the life of a child all for some real or imagined slight given to her own child. The upstart of this story is that the District Attorney could find no law which covered what the woman did and is unable to prosecute her.....she got off Scot free! It is my opinion that MySpace is a cesspool that needs a good cleaning out and a strict policing. It has become a fertile hunting ground for the Perverts and the Mentally damaged in our society who constantly search the Net for victims. It is also my opinion that giving a child a computer with Internet connections and then walking away and letting them surf the net without supervision is tantamount to giving that child a loaded gun and leaving them alone to play with it. Sooner or later there will be a tragedy. We as parents have to worry less about being our child's buddy, and more about keeping them safe in this cold, wicked world in which we live. |
| WARNING: YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A RANT ZONE, TAKE APPROPRIATE PRECAUTIONS. Now don't say you weren't warned. This morning I decided to check out a section of Helium called: The Marketplace. This is where editors and publishers for different magazines advertise their needs for specific articles written by freelance writers. They will pay between Twenty and Two Hundred dollars per article. So I figured...what the heck, I may as well see if they need anything I could possibly write, so I clicked on there and had a look. The very first section that jumped out at me was "Boomer Lifestyle". OH YEAH! This was definitely something I could sink my teeth into. So I clicked on that section and was amazed at what I found there. They had titles listed such as: How to Seduce a Man/Woman, How to Flirt, and my personal favorite: Sexy Images Can Cause Temporary Blindness! I spewed my coffee when I read that last one. These are articles aimed at Boomers? Let's face it folks, if you have reached "Boomer" age and STILL need help in either flirting or seducing the opposite sex.....you are beyond any help I or any other writer can offer. If you are clueless about this crap after all those years, then just give it up and join the Eunuch Union. What really starched my undies was a phrase I found running through each set of instructions left by the publisher/editor as to how they want the articles written: Emphasize youthfulness, de-emphasize aging. De-emphasize aging? Well hell that's the whole idea isn't it? We are getting OLD. We are in no stretch of the imagination, YOUNG so why in the name of orthopedic hose should we emphasize YOUTH? This is just another example of how the Media tries to distance themselves and their readers/watchers/listeners from reality. People the truth is, like I said...we are getting older and what we do and how we do it is as far removed from the youth of the world as a Mosh Pit is from a Big Band dance floor. Let's take Flirting for instance. In no way do I ever flirt with the same intentions I did in my youth. When I was young and stupid I would flirt with the actual mind-set of: Hey, I might get lucky! Whereas, today I flirt because it is perfectly safe. Women not only do not take the flirting seriously, they think its kind of cute....we can get away with it now. Hell If they were to take me serious, I would run like a rabbit! How about Seduction? At my age seduction is just way too much effort. Who needs the aggravation of "the chase"? When a man gets my age, his favorite seduction line is: "Hey, I got five minutes, you got a place we can lay down?" If the answer is in the negative, you then move on and count your lucky stars for another close brush with disaster that has been averted. As for that last topic: Sexy Images Will Cause Temporary Blindness.....well hell, my momma told me stuff like that from the time I was twelve years old. Maybe that is why I now wear glasses with lens the consistency of coke bottles. I wonder if it is possible to find some magazine out there that is brave enough to tell its readers the truth and stop blowing smoke up their arses about being "young at Heart". Probably not, which means I will just have to be content to speak the truth in my little blog.....not so bad, but the pay sucks! |
| Have you ever wondered where and when mankind first acquired the gift of speech? You see, I have a problem, I tend sometimes to ponder such questions as that. If I continue to wonder about it for very long, I am forced to actually do research to try and discover the answer for myself, if for no other reason than to stop the mental itch within my own brain. So it was this morning. I got up and got dressed and poured my first cup of coffee of the morning and it was then that the first itch of this wondering struck me.....How is it that I am able to declare to all within hearing distance: “Damn, it’s too cold to be out of bed right now.” I sat at my desk and I went over those words....where did they come from? What makes them paint a certain word picture to me but be totally incomprehensible to someone from another country who speaks a different language? Why is there more than one language? So, me being me, I attacked the problem via the Internet and my trusty search engines. I have spent quite some time today reading different learned essays on the subject of language and its origins and I have learned quite a few interesting things. 1. It is widely believed that speech first took form not from vocal endeavors, but from gestures used by early Ape-men. That language was by necessity, much more limited and smaller in scope than spoken language, but it was a beginning. 2. The origins of individual languages are a little easier to pin-point however and there has been quite a bit of research done on these. The most widespread group of languages today is the Indo-European, spoken by half the world's population. This entire group, ranging from Hindi and Persian to Norwegian and English, is believed to descend from the language of a tribe of nomads roaming the plains of eastern Europe and western Asia (in modern terms centering on the Ukraine) as recently as about 3000 BC. From about 2000 BC people speaking Indo-European languages begin to spread through Europe, eventually reaching the Atlantic coast and the northern shores of the Mediterranean. They also penetrate far into Asia - occupying the Iranian plateau and much of India. Now all of this is quite scholarly and I am sure fascinating to someone smart enough to follow their rather wordy essays, but it just didn’t satisfy my mental itch. I am still left to wonder about that one monumental moment when, in some faraway cave when a certain, nameless caveman leaned closer to the small fire, looked at his companion sitting across from him, happily chewing on a hunk of Mammoth meat and said: “Pardon me, old chap, but do you think you might share a slice of that meat with me; I did help kill it after all.” Can you imagine such a moment in history passing without the benefit of CNN to cover it for the rest of the world! How on earth did we get from that moment, to the Presidential Debates? And was the trip really worth it? I use to wonder why there is air, but Bill Cosby answered that question years ago for me in one of his wonderful stand-up routines....”So volleyballs would bounce” He told the world. Question answered, case closed. I wish all of life’s questions could be handled that easily. |
| This is my last blog entry on the subject of cold weather. I vow to no longer whine and snot about the arctic-like blasts of air that pounds me every time I stick my head out the door. I will no longer complain about appendages turning black and falling off, nor will I share with you the shock of watching one's liquid waste turning solid in mid-stream like some evil, frozen water fall. No. Instead I have decided to put my well tested and proven philosophy of Acceptance and Burial into play here. I have made up my mind to EMBRACE the cold! I have become one with the frigid, soul-freezing, humanity-destroying, cold air! Yes, once again my Zen method has come to the rescue and I now LOVE the winter. I shall eagerly await my first chance to dash into the yard wearing only cut-offs and a tee-shirt and dive into the snow and make snow angels! I fully intend to reenact the series of scenes from Rocky; you know, the ones where he is out running in the frozen predawn darkness of Philly, steam rising from his body as he charges through the neighborhood and climaxes with his run up those steps and standing at the top with his arms raised in victory. Gone is that wussy who pines for tropical heat, longs for sandy beaches and fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them, and frying eggs on the sidewalk. I AM A NEW MAN! So you may be asking: "Gee, Tor, what has caused this great turn around in your attitude to the weather?" Well glad you asked. Actually there are a few reasons. 1. I have finally accepted what everyone loves telling me: This is mild compared to what is on the way in the next few months. 2. I discovered that my Texas passport has been revoked and I am officially no longer a citizen of that great nation (yeah, I know it's a state...humor me) so there is no chance of me returning to God's country. 3. The discovery, this morning, that my left testicle has turned an alarming shade of black and may soon be dropping off. 4. MY DAMN HEATER WILL NOT BE DELIVERED TODAY. 5. And lastly...I am on my way to the store from which said heater was ordered with my chain saw. I hear that the jails around here are well heated. |
| How cold is "Cold"? Simple question...on the surface. Maybe not so simple though, if you think about it. I am sure there are some obscure tribes of Eskimos living north of the Arctic Circle to whom weather such as what I am enduring now, who would consider this a heat wave, I just don't happen to be a member of their tribe. I hail from a land where, if we get three hard frosts a year, we consider it a hard winter. Temperatures might drop into the high twenties a few times, but we always rested sure in the knowledge that by noon it would inch back up into the fifties. Did I mention it ain't like that here? It got all the way up to 39 degrees yesterday...be still, my beating heart! Now don't get me wrong, I can "man up" in most situations and stand whatever uncomfortable condition I find myself in, IF I have some place to go in the evenings where there is a comfort zone. I have no place like that....YET. You see I have a little problem: Our house has no heat! To make matters worse, there has been a slight glitch in our plans to add heat....the damn heating system we ordered has been on back order for TWO FREAKING WEEKS!! At this writing, the only source of heat we have is a small electric space heater and our electric stove which Mel turns on in the morning to add heat to the front of the house. I think, under the circumstances, I have been more than patient with the owner of the heating business which we ordered the large, gas, heater from. The last call I made to him....number 43 for the week....I calmly explained to him that if the heater did not make a miraculous appearance by Monday, I was gonna Scud Missile his arse and use his office furniture for fire wood! He assured me we would have heat by Monday, then he hung up and called Homeland Security. It is just not right that when a man gets all toasty warm under fifteen blankets, one of which is electric, that his nose turns blue with the cold. It is just not right that a man's butt freezes to the toilet seat in the morning. And, it is definitely not right that I have been reduced to actually planning how I could skin all three dogs and use their hides for coats, while convincing Mel they died by accident. Oh and the natives around these parts are cruel and sadistic bastards too. They all take great delight in informing me that: "Oh it hasn't gotten cold yet...just wait!" Yeah, I'll wait and I will dream of a faraway land where the sun actually gives off warmth...somewhere in a galaxy, far, far, away...in a place called Texas. *********************************************** For those of you who have expressed interest, here is the link to the article in Helium. http://www.helium.com/tm/119251/peace-elusive-ideal-yearned |
| Since today marks the real beginning of my sucky work schedule, I have time to do a short blog before I leave. I won't get home until late tonight so I figured I may as well get this done now. Those of you who read my blog yesterday know what an eventful day I had at work but what I didn't share with you was all the drama that took place when I got home. It seems that Maggie, our little female pygmy goat decided that Black Friday was a good day to give birth to her baby! Unfortunately, the baby was breach and even though Mel, her sister, her sister's son, and myself, worked with her, we were all unable to save the baby. In fact Mel had to rush Maggie to the Vet's office after we finally freed the dead baby from her so we could save her life. I am happy to say that Maggie is doing well right now and seems to be recovering from her harrowing experience....ah, the life of a goat farmer! On a brighter note, I made a small, surprising discovery the other day. About a year ago, on a whim, I wrote an article for Helium.com. No big deal, just my thoughts on the Iraq war. Anyway, a couple of days ago I decided to once again check out Helium with the thought of maybe doing another article. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my little article, after almost a year, was still ranked the #4 article out of the top 51 articles on that subject! It was a complete surprise to me as I had not been back there since submitting the article for publication. I may have to do another one. Well, that's it from my world. You guys stay safe and warm and I will see you again the next time I get time off for good behaviour from Work! |
| Now that Thanksgiving is over, not to mention the day AFTER Thanksgiving, I can tell you all the three things I am most thankful for. 1. Having my wife beside me for another holiday. 2. My wonderful friends here at WDC 3. Having survived what is undoubtedly the worse day of the entire year if you work in retail...BLACK FRIDAY! Yes, today I survived my ninth Blitz Day at Wal-Mart. This is roughly equivalent to fighting the battle of the Alamo nine times and being on the Texan side each time...and still living to tell the tale. I thought about this phenomenon this morning at three-thirty as I shuffled out to my car in 20 degree weather for the forty minute commute to the store and to what amounted to my own execution. Come to think of it, that's not right, an execution would have been a lot quicker and cleaner that death-by-idiot which we suffer at the door of Wal-Mart. As I drove sullenly over the darkened roads toward the store, I gave some thought as to why we have this particular event here in America. I would like to be able to tell you that I had come up with some startling insights on the subject, but I haven't really. I was just left to wonder...why. I tried to think of one thing in this world that would compel me to get out two hours before dawn on a morning that would cause ice burn to a polar Bear's arse. What could I possibly need so badly that I would face those crowds at that time of morning/night? Absolutely NOTHING...that's what. I do not even pretend to know what makes a person's mind convince their body to go through something like that if given a choice. You give me the choice between Shopping on Blitz Day and raping a wildcat with a wet noodle....me and that damn cat are fixing to have carnal knowledge of one another!! I mean for the love of Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Dildo, do you really believe that little Johnny or little Mary is going to suddenly develop bleeding hemroids and sporadic bouts of low self-worth leading them to an adult life of under-achievement and marrying outside their species if you don't run right down to Wal-Mart and buy them the latest I-Pod, M3P player, video game console or any other of the thousands of cutting edge electronic toy. My God people have we sunk so low as to equate our own worth as a parent by the number of useless pieces of crap we buy our kids once a year. The same crap that, within the next year will be sadly outdated and promptly forgotten by the unthankful little urchins. I wish I had the answer to this paradox we call Blitz Day or Black Friday. Maybe if we were able to have somehow collected the greatest minds of the twentieth century to work on it they might come up with a solution. Just think of having Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, and Reggis Philbin all trying to come up with the answer....WOW. For a little while I thought that I might get lucky, that Blitz day would fizzle here in Missouri. I took my normal route to work: Down 142 to highway B, to 160, then to 67 into Poplar Bluff. For the first three quarters of the trip I was the only person on the road! My heart soared! Could they have possibly called off the Day? Then I reached Poplar Bluff itself and as I entered the city limits I suddenly found myself in a line of traffic that looked more like the Funeral procession for the Queen of England...it must have been two miles long. I inched along until I finally topped the last hill before the store and it was then that I saw a line JUST AS DAMN LONG coming from the other direction.... AND THEY WERE ALL TURNING IN TO THE WAL-MART PARKING LOT! Four-fifteen in the damn morning and the lot was absolutely jammed with cars and more pulling in all the time! I'm Sorry, but the next eight hours after I fought my way in the front door, is just a blur. I seem to remember one little old lady trying to run me down with her electric cart....I may have thrown a cart boy in her path...I think I heard a scream and "Thump". Anyway, I survived. I have, however come to a conclussion: This is my very last Blitz Day/Christmas holiday in Retail. I don't care if I have to scrub sewers with a tooth brush, next year I will NOT be doing this! MERRY RETAIL MADDNESS TO ALL OF YOU AND TO ALL OF YOU, GOOD NIGHT! |
| I ran across some figures today that I would like to share with you. I found the numbers while surfing about the Internet this morning, searching for a blog topic and though I had a general idea that they existed, seeing the plain, unvarnished, figures in black and white was a very sobering experience. See what you think. Electricity - production by source: fossil fuel: 71.4% hydro: 5.6% nuclear: 20.7% other: 2.3% (2001) Electricity - consumption: 3.816 trillion kWh (2005) Electricity - exports: 19.8 billion kWh (2005) Electricity - imports: 44.53 billion kWh (2005) Oil - production: 7.61 million bbl/day (2005 est.) Oil - consumption: 20.73 million bbl/day (2004 est.) Oil - exports: 1.048 million bbl/day (2004) Oil - imports: 13.15 million bbl/day (2004) Oil - proved reserves: 21.37 billion bbl (1 January 2005) Natural gas - production: 490.8 billion cu m (2005 est.) Natural gas - consumption: 604 billion cu m (2005 est.) Natural gas - exports: 19.8 billion cu m (2005 est.) Natural gas - imports: 117.9 billion cu m (2005) Natural gas - proved reserves: 5.551 trillion cu m (1 January 2006 est.) Did those numbers jump out at you like they did me? We consume many times more gas and oil than we produce. We import much more than we export and these two things, my friends are the ingredients needed for a national disaster. When we consume at a greater level than we produce it is the same as when each one of us spend more money each month than we make.....nothing good ever comes from that, does it. I think the really scary numbers up there are the ones dealing with electricity. Seventy-one percent of our electricity is produced from Fossil Fuel....OIL and we have to import the majority of our oil. Without those imports, we lose power and lights, and warmth....think about it. Americans are spoiled rotten. There is no way around this fact and there is no other conclusion that can be reasonably reached. We want what we want, and we want it right now and we are willing to do almost anything to get it. Those numbers point out as much for anyone who takes the time to read them. Over the past sixty years Americans have enjoyed a far richer lifestyle than almost all the other countries in the world. The problem with this is that we have grown to see this as our right, not our privilege. We feel entitled to all the luxuries we have...just like spoiled children. We have fed at the trough of fossil fuel like a bunch of hogs, with no thought to our own future. We want what we want and want it NOW. We feel like we are entitled to jump in our big gas guzzling cars and trucks and drive where we want, whenever we want. The only people considering altering their habits and cutting back are those who can no longer afford to pay the high price for gas...the poor. Those whose credit cards will no longer support the added expense which gas prices represent. What are we spoiled Americans going to do when a large percentage of the population can no longer afford the price of a tank of gas to go to work, where is the economy going to go when the lay-offs begin? There is just so many times that the hog trough can be filled up and emptied before there is nothing left. What will we Americans do then? I hope a few of us think about these things while we enjoy our Thanksgiving turkey. While we are giving thanks for all the luxury we have, maybe we should give some thought about what it is going to take to keep the trough full. Or, better yet, maybe we should be considering what it will take for us hogs to consume less and maybe live longer. Just a few thoughts before the holidays. Happy Consuming. |
| I know, I know...two entries in one day. I am definitely testing you guy's tolerance for Texans aren't I. Anyway, the reason for this second blog is simple....Nada asked me to post and fill you all in on what's going on. She and Lance are back home now and when she went to blog, she discovered her Internet was out. So now you got me!! Well like I said, they are back home now and she told me to tell you that she would be in here herself, hopefully tomorrow and fill you in on all the details of their hospital adventures. Sheila also wanted me to tell you how much all your prayers and well wishes meant to both her and to Lance. She told me to give you all their love and she will be in here to explain everything to you as soon as possible. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blogs..... |
| Well since I have spent so much time in here whining and snotting about all my goofy "issues", I feel it only fair that I use this space to tell you a little bit about this new store I find myself working at. First, a little back-story might be in order. You see, each Wal-Mart store has a number. My old store was number 275, that was how it was referred to in all official documents pertaining to store business. This number corresponds with the order in which the store was built...so you see, my old store was the two hundred and seventy-fifth store built in the chain. Having said this, let me now share with you the number of my "new" store....19! That's right, this dang store was the nineteenth store build by Sam Walton back in the dim, dark, past when he was just beginning to branch out of Arkansas and spread his brand of retail blight across this great nation of ours. The Poplar Bluff store has been there for well over thirty years and a large portion of the employees have been there since the store first opened its doors. Hell if you don't have twenty years with the company, they think you just fell off the banana boat. If, God forbid, you walk in from another state, it don't matter how long you have in the company, you will always be considered an outsider. If I hear one more story about how Mr. Sam use to come in the store dressed in his old overalls and sit back in the break room with them, I will beat someone to death with my coffee mug. Not to be outdone, I told one of them the other day: "Hell that's nothing; "Mr. Sam" use to sign my paychecks!" Well DUH! They failed to see the obvious humor in that one. I am not sure and I may have to do some scholarly research on the subject, but I am beginning to believe that prolonged employment by Wal-Mart may in fact cause a complete shrinkage of that part of the brain that governs one's sense of humor. I mean, some of these people....most of which are women....walk around like a bunch of monks on their way to meditation exercises in a monastery. You can imagine how that goes over with a fun-loving Texan. An example of how far up their arses the stick resides: My very first day on the door one of the old timers walks by as I am greeting a customer. Me to customer: "Good morning Ma'am, good to see you today!" as I pull a cart out for them to use. Old Timer: "You know, you are SUPPOSED to say 'Welcome to Wal-Mart'." Me: "What, They don't know where they are?" Old Timer: "The company REQUIRES you to say 'Welcome to Wal-Mart'" Me: "Look lady, this ain't my first rodeo. I greet people the same way I would if they walked through my front door at home...make them really welcome instead of sounding like a damn parrot repeating a meaningless phrase to them. Oh and for your information, the regional manager for Texas thought I was the best he had ever seen do the job." Old Timer: "Well that is just not acceptable!" She sniffed as she stalked away in a huff. Me: "Welcome to Wal-Mart!" I called to her retreating back. Is it any wonder that I feel like I have become the sole patient of some great Cosmic Proctologist? The funny thing is, the people who shop at this Retail Mausoleum are really nice. In fact they are much nicer than what I had to deal with back home. Three weeks and I have had no one call me a Sonofabitch yet....well not a customer at any rate. Another theory I am working on is that the employees were all transferred, en masse, from Bentonville, Arkansas and are not from Missouri at all. How else can one explain the vast difference between employees and shoppers? Forgive me, it has just thrown me for a loop to be suddenly describing CUSTOMERS as well mannered, intelligent, and friendly individuals while talking about EMPLOYEES to whom a broad, flat, forehead, and large bone protrusion over the brow could be seen as a giant leap UP the evolutionary ladder. I damn sure ain't in Texas anymore! |
| My good friend, Anyea once likened words to babies, in her blog. I thought that was a marvelous idea and a very colorful metaphor, but then I thought about it today, for some reason and I came up with a different idea. What if words were money. Now it would be great if we could spend our words like money wouldn't it. I think back at all the words I have committed to both paper and screen, easily over a million, I am sure....a million words to spend like dollars. Yup, I could sit on my front porch and wave at all the poor folks who drove by my farm on their way to jobs each day. I could saddle up Lucy every day and ride through the woods, counting the deer, the possum, and coons who call the forest behind my house, their home. Yes, if words were money all I would have to do is sit down at this computer each day and pound out a couple of thousand words...just for runaround expenses. And, I wouldn't be alone either, there would be so many word millionaires on this site we would all put that Forbes List to shame. The problem with this scenario is the fact that the middle-man gets in the way. The Editors, the Publishers of the world rise up and tell us NO. They have the gall to suggest that our words must have meaning, they must tell a story. The words have to make people laugh or cry, or thrill them and take them to brave new worlds. Well Shit! What the hell do they know, they only buy the stuff then resell it to the world. They don't create anything do they.....except dreams; dreams of words being money. So you see, the middle-men have us by the short hairs don't they. We have to convince these pharisee, money-changer, grub worms that the words we create are worth anyone reading. It matters not at all that our words are loved by those who read them, if we don't convince the guardians of what people read that our words are worthy. So, the middle-men stand and judge our words and our words languish in a void without ever making the transformation to "Money". That being the case, why do we continue to write? Why do we bang our heads against that thick, high, wall erected by the Middle-Men to keep us from entering the village of Success with our words? What choice do we have? We simply have to continue to write because the words, even though they are not money, are all we have. I hope some of you out there, those much younger and full of more determination than me, will continue on and one day make it. I hope you will breach those walls surrounding the village of Success and that one day....your words....will each be money for you to spend. |
| With Veteran's day just around the corner my thoughts, most naturally, turn to my father. Thus it was that today I found myself once more thinking about the man who gave me life and shaped that life until the day he died. My father was not an easy man to love. He was a hard, hard man who lived by his own strict code of values and the showing of affection for his children was just not in his make-up. The thing is, as hard it was to love this man, it was a very easy thing to respect him and this I did my entire life. Even though I grew up without ever being able to remember one single time he ever gave me a hug or told me he loved me....I knew it. I knew he loved me even though, as a young man in my twenties, I tried to hide that knowledge. You see my dad worked 12 and 14 hour days, seven days a week almost his whole life. The way he saw it, his job was to work hard, provide for his family and the job of his children was to do what he said, follow his lead, and never show weakness. I learned those lessons well. I can remember when I was in my twenties, wondering if my father had ever experienced a moment when the storms of life just overcame him. Did he ever have to come to the realization that a dream would not come true? Did he ever even have a dream like most people do; a dream of bettering himself, of doing something extraordinary? You see, he was such a self-contained man, such a private man, that if he ever did have those supreme moments of self-doubt that the rest of us struggle with from time to time, it likely that no one would ever know about it. The thing is, I had all of these things in my life...the self-doubt, the depression and watching my stoic, silent father; strong as a mountain and just as forbidding of approach, I judged myself as a failure because I could not be more like him than I was. It was not until I had almost reached my thirties, that I finally was mature enough to understand my father better. It helped that around that time I finally saw a chink in that terrible personal armor the wore his whole life. I discovered he did harbor a dream of sorts. You see he had worked most of his life in the oil field as a roughneck or a roust-about as they use to call them. Well I found out, through overhearing a couple of conversations he and mom had while I was visiting them, that he had always wanted to be the one who actually owned the well instead of just the man who dug the hole. It seems that some friends of his had gotten together and pooled their money to finance the drilling of a well and they wanted him to come in with them as a partner. It would take him going to the bank and borrowing money, putting a mortgage on the home place...but dad wanted to try. It was going to be his one shot at pulling himself and his family out of poverty. It was an eye-opener to know that the old man had a dream after all, it made him suddenly more human in my eyes. Well he went for it...took the plunge, borrowed the money and the well was drilled. And, like the majority of the wells that were sunk on speculation....it was a dry hole. I will never forget the look on his face the day he got the news. Mom called me to tell me about it and asked if I would come over. Something in her voice worried me. It was the fact that she was, for the first time I could ever remember, was worried about dad. I found him sitting on the back porch, watching the wind sway the limbs of a big pecan tree back and forth. I set down next to him and for the longest time neither of us spoke. Finally I couldn't take the silence any longer. "I heard about the well," I said quietly. "Shit happens boy." He said gruffly. "It don't do no good, folks trying to be something they're not. I was never meant to be but what I am." He said that with absolutely no outward sign of what he must have been feeling on the inside...the sick, horrible knowledge that his one shot at his dream was gone. That was all he had to say on the subject and he never mentioned it again. After awhile of sitting there on the back porch in silence, dad straightened his shoulders, turned to me and said: "Well since your momma invited you over, why don't you stay for supper." With that he got up and went into the house. In his own way he was telling me that, yeah, it hurt, but I'm going to be just fine. I let it go at that. From that day on though, I saw my father in a different light, a more human side to him was glimpsed and it changed us both, I believe. We were able, after that, to actually become friends and not just father and son. He started opening up and talking about his childhood to me, to tell me stories of that time and the time of his own father and grandfather...some of those stories have even found their way into this blog and my first one. Four years later he was dead. The doctors said it was Cancer that killed him but I have my own ideas about that. I truly believe my father was just tired. He was tired of living the hard life he had led all of his days and he wanted that final rest. He finally stopped being that Mountain-hard, impervious force that took whatever life dealt him and he became like the rest of us...tired, sore, hopeless of improvement. He was done, so he let the Cancer take him...without a fight. I think he knew this was coming and that is why he went to such great lengths to tell me his stories...he wanted them to live on. Two days before the end, as he lay in a hospital bed and drifted in and out of consciousness, I sat by his bed and he suddenly turned his pale face toward me and said simply: "I love you son." That was the first and last time I ever heard those words from him and I am so thankful for that gift he gave me that day and I answered him simply: "I love you too, dad." Yeah, I think about him every now and again....and I always whisper: "I still love you dad." |
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