A typical morning at my house begins with a stumble to the coffee pot. I love the fact it has a timer I can set so its final belch greets me as I make it to the kitchen. Armed with freshly brewed caffeine goodness I head to my office, all of about 8 steps; my house is rather small and plop down at my desk. What do I see? Horrors! The power light for my monitor is dark, not even the orange light it gives me when it's asleep. I flick the power button, nothing happens so of course I spring in to action checking connections, rebooting the computer, trying a different plug, all to no avail. My coffee sits patiently off the side, cooling its heels waiting for me to notice it. My sleep befuddled mind starts to go in to overdrive and hear myself thinking the same things I heard over the phone while doing tech support. "It worked last night! It couldn't have just died! I wonder since its not getting any power what the hell is going on and surmise my used video card took a crap , then realize I would see the No Signal message or at least the power light would be on. Then I began to make a plan to get myself back in the game by heading to Fry's electronics to get a new one, though that will have to wait until tomorrow which is Saturday. I realize my coffee is starting to get cold so I stop for a minute and slurp some down. Wait! I have my old Gateway laptop collecting dust on a bookshelf right here. I'll fire up that old bugger, that's why I've kept it around just for situations like this. I know it will be slow but at least I can get back to something of my normal routine. Coffee one disappears down my gullet as I impatiently wait for my roachy little laptop to load and I head out for a refill. Finally it loads, I check my e-mail, a couple of pages I like, jot down some ideas for things, though I just get generally frustrated trying to make a computer get with the times that was new when Dubya was in office, before I have to head out to the work space.
My wife and I work somewhat staggered hours and on any given day our start times and end times are 3 to 4 hours apart. When I'm required to do overtime we can go a few days without seeing each other and came up with the idea of a spiral-bound notebook we leave next to the coffee pot to communicate with. Sometimes serious, though more often silly it's just our way of keeping in touch with the other when they aren't there. My note this morning of course ended up rather long recounting the death of my monitor and ended with the suggestion we head off to get a new one this weekend.
A few hours later I pulled out my phone and read the following text on my break:
"Good morning hubby...Good news for you. Your monitor isn't dead. I turned it off last night because I was surprised it was on and I didn't want the image to burn into it. I really didn't look to see what it was I just turned it off....read your note and turned it back on. It works fine...."
Facepalm.
My security stuff runs in the wee hours of the morning that is what my wife noticed. Apparently I couldn't figure out how to push the power button this morning. So score one for me on the gooberific moments list while I sit here, grin and shake my head. Moments like this I'm glad I can laugh at myself and those escapades often end in a coughing fit because I laughed so hard, like right now. Since I don't want to add to the already long list of serious already out there, there is one thing though I for sure will be serious about. Seriously, no more tech support without at least one cup of coffee.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Airheads & Egga Muffins
I just read that Longmire on A & E has not been renewed
for a 4th season and I’m pissed though not all that surprised with
the state of the entertainment industry these days. Granted, fans like me of
the show got 2 more seasons of Longmire than those of us who loved Firefly. Then again that
was on the Fascists On Xanax network, so should we really have been that
surprised? As I remember A & E started
out as the Arts & Entertainment network, though I think now it stands for
Airheads & Egga Muffins, where we are treated to such gripping TV as Duck
Dynasty & Storage Wars. No, I don’t
watch that s***, though I do see the promos for it when I fast forward through
commercials on my DVR. I really think
the big execs in the entertainment industry see the majority of us a collection
of morons. The “reality TV” that fills the airwaves is akin to a greasy burrito
fart in a crowded elevator; you can’t get away from it; the endless promos show
up no matter what you are watching. That type of show in prime time really got
that engine rolling full bore when Survivor hit the airwaves. Is that still on? The entire genre has snowballed out of
control. I tried watching Jersey Shore once and couldn’t stop asking myself, “Why
is this mess a TV show?” Maybe I’m a dinosaur, but I do remember
when almost every show was only in black & white and TV was not very sophisticated
for sure, though now it feels like we are regressing, to what I know
not. I marvel, briefly mind you, at the offerings we gobble up as entertainment
currently and wonder what is coming down the pike next. I’m sure TV execs
are banging on the heads of their writing staff for a dazzling new schlock filled idea to draw on our collective addiction to living vicariously through our TV
screens. I wonder, if the people we live with, and that includes ourselves, are
we just not interesting enough anymore. How did we get so broken? End of rant, time for a PB&J and a book.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
To My Other half
MIRRORS
You
are a mirror
of
myself.
Pictures,
of sunsets, laughter,
books
on a shelf.
I've
seen the end of the universe
in
your eyes.
Motors
running top end,
moving
to overdrive.
Infinite
possibilities
I do
fathom and wonder,
taking
chances
no
fear of blunder.
I
feel your heart
when
I look in your eyes.
Glittering
passion,
soulful
sighs.
Two
minds well met,
after
many tough miles,
the
crowd in the room
overlooks
knowing smiles.
When
I listen to you
I'm
hearing me.
The
lessons I've learned
or
need to see.
You
kiss my cheek or
hold
my hand,
your
love washes over me,
from
end to end.
Mindful
and grateful,
for
the moments we share,
a
kiss, a laugh,
a
toss of thick hair.
My
mirrors reflection
reminds
me to see,
there
are no judgments
between
you and me.
Pardon My Dust
I've have been fiddling with the look of this blog trying to find something I like for a layout, adding some page gadgets, and just in general making this place look better. I finally realized why I was seeing no comments because of the way I had comments set up. Boing! Oh well live and learn right? A little bit of reading and some experimentation and lo and behold I now have a labels list. The fact that it took so long to get it right I don't really want to admit to, but I think I just did.
To those of who take the time to read what sprouts from the end of my fingers as I bang away at my keyboard I thank you for your support while I continue on with this endeavor and for your patience with the changing face of these pages. Let me know what you think. Thanks for stopping by.
To those of who take the time to read what sprouts from the end of my fingers as I bang away at my keyboard I thank you for your support while I continue on with this endeavor and for your patience with the changing face of these pages. Let me know what you think. Thanks for stopping by.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Draft of Fantasy on tap
I somehow managed to score first pick in our Fantasy
Football League draft today. It is odd picking first then waiting for 18 picks,
then picking 2 back to back , then wait for 18 more picks again, then picking
two and so on over and over. My wife and
I play in the same Standard NFL.com league and only play each other once this year. One league is definitely enough because that takes enough time since I can't seem to stop hunting the waiver wire. Do I promise to not tinker with my lineup so much this year? That will be an emphatic yes, though you can't see me crossing my fingers behind my back. I am hoping I
have a pretty much set it and forget group this year if people stay healthy. We’ll see I guess, here are the culprits:
RB – Jamal Charles, KC
RB- Reggie Bush, Det.
WR- Brandon Marshall , Chi.
QB- Matthew Stafford, Det.
WR – Larry Fitzgerald, Ari.
TE – Greg Olsen, Car.
WR – Marques Colston, N.O.
RB – DeAngelo Williams, Car.
WR – TY Hilton, Ind.
RB- Danny Woodhead, S.D.
RB – Ahmad Bradshaw, Ind.
K – Matt Bryant – Atl.
WR – Golden Tate, Det.
Def. – New Orleans Saints
Def. – Arizona Cardinals
Off to the Vet
We took our cats to the vet for their annual checkup and
vaccinations. We had to go on Saturday, which made for a long wait. Everyone
else that works had to be there too. We saw one of those tear at your heart
moments when a guy come in to pick up his dog's ashes in a little wooden box.
Pets are part of the family after all and it was tough to see. Our two are usually not easy to get in the pet
carriers before we go. This time when we brought the carriers into the living
room their natural curiosity worked to our advantage and we were able to scoop
them up and get them inside without a struggle. Of course we were regaled with sounds
of discontent due to their incarceration, first with outrage, then fear to
finally grudging resignation. When we got to the vets we hardly heard a peep. I’d
imagine their experience was like the sensory overload akin to my first and only
time in Vegas, occurrences which I know neither of us is in a hurry to repeat. We had to wait a while for the vet once we got into the exam room.
Oh crap , you can see us hiding in here.
You keep watch over there, I'll handle this direction.
We heard the vet working on a cat in another room. It sounded just like he was hollering, "NO!"
What are they doing to that guy?
Finally the vet showed up to do exams, which really didn't take all that long.
If we ignore you will you go away?
They both got a clean bill of health other than some tartar on teeth and news that our two chowhounds are a little overweight. They made themselves scarce for a couple of days sleeping in dark corners while the aftereffects of their shots wore off then it was back to business as usual.
Friday, August 15, 2014
Wire and Grit or Something old, something new, something...
...dusty.
Many nights this past year I`ve wanted something light to read as I drowsed away the last vestiges of the day in my recliner. Said recliner was my day time hangout spot in addition to being my bed for all of 2016; I`d would on occasion read one or two of my older blog posts. Sometimes I`d find and do some missed edits or bad grammar. More than once I realized I didn`t remember writing a particular post and was often 3/4 the way through before my memory kicked in. I`d like to think it was because of all the drugs the docs had me swallowing and not my memory. I happened across the post that follows here as it appeared to align with events of the week. This just passed Sunday ended up being a day to think about old friends; those that are still here and those that have since taken their step.
Since the 2017 PBR, the most dangerous and longest 8 seconds in sports, came barging through the gate on to my TV screen a few weeks ago. From the first event many of the riders have worn a patch for one of the young cowboys, he was 25 and died right before the season started. A dangerous sport that supplies real danger both inside and out the arena, i.e. at work or home.
I reposted what follows here because it just seemed to fit the day Sunday. If any of you have read the rants and riffs that trickle from my fingertips you know that I`m not above doing this if the mood strikes me; I confess to being a rule breaker from way back.
I hope for all of you; your day of 86,400 seconds has been put to good use so each second was filled with lots of good stuff like friends, love and peanut butter.
Especially peanut butter.
Robin Williams suicide has continued to be big news all week with the accompanying grief, sorrow, tributes and insensitivity all combining into a giant WTF. The tributes have been fun to watch, some sparking laughs, others sniffles revisiting one of the world’s great talents. Those are the type of things we all need to do when someone that touches are lives moves on, to keep track of the good. Of course there are always the insensitive clods that have a burning desire to show their corrupt personalities in public. I’d send these knuckleheads a pallet of asshats, though I refuse to pay the postage. Can you still send stuff COD? When you consider the source why are any of us surprised? I won’t waste digital real estate by using names, anyone that hasn’t been under a rock the past week knows of who I speak.
Many nights this past year I`ve wanted something light to read as I drowsed away the last vestiges of the day in my recliner. Said recliner was my day time hangout spot in addition to being my bed for all of 2016; I`d would on occasion read one or two of my older blog posts. Sometimes I`d find and do some missed edits or bad grammar. More than once I realized I didn`t remember writing a particular post and was often 3/4 the way through before my memory kicked in. I`d like to think it was because of all the drugs the docs had me swallowing and not my memory. I happened across the post that follows here as it appeared to align with events of the week. This just passed Sunday ended up being a day to think about old friends; those that are still here and those that have since taken their step.
Since the 2017 PBR, the most dangerous and longest 8 seconds in sports, came barging through the gate on to my TV screen a few weeks ago. From the first event many of the riders have worn a patch for one of the young cowboys, he was 25 and died right before the season started. A dangerous sport that supplies real danger both inside and out the arena, i.e. at work or home.
I reposted what follows here because it just seemed to fit the day Sunday. If any of you have read the rants and riffs that trickle from my fingertips you know that I`m not above doing this if the mood strikes me; I confess to being a rule breaker from way back.
I hope for all of you; your day of 86,400 seconds has been put to good use so each second was filled with lots of good stuff like friends, love and peanut butter.
Especially peanut butter.
Robin Williams suicide has continued to be big news all week with the accompanying grief, sorrow, tributes and insensitivity all combining into a giant WTF. The tributes have been fun to watch, some sparking laughs, others sniffles revisiting one of the world’s great talents. Those are the type of things we all need to do when someone that touches are lives moves on, to keep track of the good. Of course there are always the insensitive clods that have a burning desire to show their corrupt personalities in public. I’d send these knuckleheads a pallet of asshats, though I refuse to pay the postage. Can you still send stuff COD? When you consider the source why are any of us surprised? I won’t waste digital real estate by using names, anyone that hasn’t been under a rock the past week knows of who I speak.
I’ve had my own experience of being close to someone that did
take themselves out and I’m sure more than one of you out there have as well. To say the
least this was an experience I do not wish to repeat, even the asshats mentioned even they had a Mom. I had a running buddy during those days when
disco was on life support, the Champ was a shadow of his former self and the
Steel Curtain was turning to rust. If those references are outside the scope of your American history ask someone you know who was around at that time, someone over 40 years old. My good friend was quite a character. Mikey was a sawed-off collection of wire and grit that
didn’t know when to quit, whether it was working or playing. I swear he had
calluses not only on his hands but his insides too. Lunch was often a
bologna sandwich – just 2 pieces of bologna between 2 slices of white bread, no condiments included - just bologna and bread. This was frequently washed down with an ice tea glass half full of peppermint schnapps. If you looked past his leathery face and
gapped toothed grin you found a real heart of gold. He was truly one of those
guys that would give you the shirt off his back , he would actually take his off and give it to you. He was always willing to lend
a hand. That’s why I hired and later fired
him 3 times over a decade of our paths crossing. Our paths would head in opposite
directions for a while. Then providence would throw us together again and I`d I hire him because he would work until you
made him stop and would be the one individual that had already proven much more than once that he was the most dependable individual I had in the crew. Eventually I would have to let him go, though I would hate doing it when he would go off the rails. I hated to mostly because he was a close friend, always my most dependable member of that decade of Gregg and the 3rd because he had forgotten more about a particular subject than I would ever now about it. The day I knew he had stopped being dependable, as junkies are prone to do was always a sad day for me. The day of THE talk always took a few days for me to overcome the sadness for doing what I knew needed doing
I hadn’t seen him for a few months after the last time I had to turn him loose when he called me to borrow a step ladder. He was painting the new place he was settling into with his girlfriend and her daughter. We spent a couple of hours sitting in front of his fireplace telling war stories and laughing our asses off. It was the happiest I’d ever seen him. I told him when I left I‘d come get the ladder when I needed it. Several months went by and I hadn’t heard from him , which wasn’t unusual, so I went out to his place to get my ladder back. When his girlfriend answered the door she seemed a bit out of sorts, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for her – she was often well lubricated with booze. I told her I came to get my ladder and asked where Mikey was. She looked kind of stunned. “You didn’t know? Michael OD’d last month, a couple of months ago he found out he had AIDS. “ My legs turned to jelly and I was glad the house had a 2nd floor. We sat and talked for a bit about what the hell happened. I was dumbstruck at first, then I realized knowing my stoner brother like I did I knew he wouldn’t say anything to anyone about what was going on inside him. His brother had died of AIDS a few years before and he told me more than once he wouldn’t go through the same shit he watched happen to his brother. I stumbled around in disbelief for a while trying to get my mind around what happened. I attempted to stay in touch with his girlfriend after, but she disappeared into the nethers not long after and I don’t know what happened to her. Initially I was angry at him for not saying anything to me, then I realized that was selfish on my part. Coming to that place for anyone is extremely difficult and personal. Judging him for his choice because I didn`t agree it would the carbon copy of pegging that first stone then trying to hide my hand in my pocket. Events like those of this past week bring that all back, with the entire collection of nagging whys and what ifs, along with the feeling I wasn’t paying attention to the signs. I asked his lady friend if she knew a particular glass or coffee mug he used most and if so could I have it. She rattled and bumped around in their kitchen for awhile and returned with a coffee cup. I used it for coffee every day for a couple years until it shattered into 8,000 pieces, give or take a few, compliments a ceramic tile kitchen floor. The man I knew definitely fit the idea that family is often folks you or I don’t’ share the same bloodline with. I still miss him.
I hadn’t seen him for a few months after the last time I had to turn him loose when he called me to borrow a step ladder. He was painting the new place he was settling into with his girlfriend and her daughter. We spent a couple of hours sitting in front of his fireplace telling war stories and laughing our asses off. It was the happiest I’d ever seen him. I told him when I left I‘d come get the ladder when I needed it. Several months went by and I hadn’t heard from him , which wasn’t unusual, so I went out to his place to get my ladder back. When his girlfriend answered the door she seemed a bit out of sorts, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for her – she was often well lubricated with booze. I told her I came to get my ladder and asked where Mikey was. She looked kind of stunned. “You didn’t know? Michael OD’d last month, a couple of months ago he found out he had AIDS. “ My legs turned to jelly and I was glad the house had a 2nd floor. We sat and talked for a bit about what the hell happened. I was dumbstruck at first, then I realized knowing my stoner brother like I did I knew he wouldn’t say anything to anyone about what was going on inside him. His brother had died of AIDS a few years before and he told me more than once he wouldn’t go through the same shit he watched happen to his brother. I stumbled around in disbelief for a while trying to get my mind around what happened. I attempted to stay in touch with his girlfriend after, but she disappeared into the nethers not long after and I don’t know what happened to her. Initially I was angry at him for not saying anything to me, then I realized that was selfish on my part. Coming to that place for anyone is extremely difficult and personal. Judging him for his choice because I didn`t agree it would the carbon copy of pegging that first stone then trying to hide my hand in my pocket. Events like those of this past week bring that all back, with the entire collection of nagging whys and what ifs, along with the feeling I wasn’t paying attention to the signs. I asked his lady friend if she knew a particular glass or coffee mug he used most and if so could I have it. She rattled and bumped around in their kitchen for awhile and returned with a coffee cup. I used it for coffee every day for a couple years until it shattered into 8,000 pieces, give or take a few, compliments a ceramic tile kitchen floor. The man I knew definitely fit the idea that family is often folks you or I don’t’ share the same bloodline with. I still miss him.
Today, and the days to come, are about the aftermath for the Robin`s family and friends left and
their attempt to move forward after an event such as suicide. Eventually the
hubbub will slow down and those still on this plane will be left to carry on with all
the questions that are tagging along unspoken while they deal with the events of right
now. Little by little,less visitors will arrive at the door carrying coffee cakes
and casseroles until you’re left with your their thoughts
about what has occurred. It takes effort to focus on the good of what was
shared prior, when the rawness of someone you love being ripped from your life
and going forward for a time is akin to auto pilot. You know what you need to
do and you do it, though you do it with a heavy heart. After a while you string
enough of those types of days together and realize Life goes on because that’s
what Life does, being ever mindful of
how precious it is.
2012 - Though hard to see it the hat has a propeller on it.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Nanu Nanu
One of the world's great talents is gone. The how and the why will be speculated on and reported about ad nauseam for the next few days. I'm guilty as the next person who gets caught in the train wrecks that splash across the net on a day to day basis, though in this case none of that stuff matters. What matters is Robin Williams has moved on: we will no longer have him to entertain us. I heard a comedian say once, "That being funny all the time is hard work", for the life of me I can't remember who said it, but Robin Williams made it look easy. I've seen all the TV shows and movies he has done and though many of them were really good, to me where he really outshined other comedians and actors was when he did an interview. The interview would typically have some idea, thought or word that could turn on a dime into a riff or rant about something apparently nonsensical and at the same time be right on point, usually with an impression or an accent thrown in for emphasis. At that point the interviewer was totally off point and everyone was in rolling in the aisles with laughter, which I think was HIS point. He made the ad-lib an art form, that to me was his gift to us. Thank you Robin. You will be missed.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
The Grocery List
Ask
anyone that has known me for any length of time and two things will probably be
mentioned. The first, Gregg has his own language and secondly he talks
backwards on purpose. This little ditty is about the first of those. After a
few years living in Arizona I began working in an antique and collectibles
store. About year or so later one of the
owners became very ill and a few days before he passed on he asked me to take over as
bookkeeper and to help his partner keep the store going, which I agreed to. The remaining owner had a bit of an air of a
Southern gentleman, though it was frequently more air than gentleman.
Anyone who has ever experienced the
joy that is working in retail knows you have days you can’t stop to piss and
others that are deader than Abraham Lincoln.
During one of those cemetery quiet days after I’d straightened, dusted
and vacuumed every item in the store within an inch of its life plus sharpened every
pencils I found I still needed something to do. I started a grocery list, just a few
things to pick up on the way home. I
left the list on the counter and went off to do something in the office only to
hear hysterical laughter rolling at me from the other end of the store. Ric,
the owner, had the list in his hand.
He looked
at it, looked at me, looked at the list again and asked, “What is THIS?” , while waving it in the air.
“It’s a
grocery list.”
He threw
his head back and howled. “WHAT! A grocery list? This isn’t a grocery list! There’s things on here I’ve never heard of. Boy
you are outta your rabbit assed mind! If you sent ME to a grocery store and I asked
for the stuff on this here list they’d take me away in a straitjacket.” I grumbled to myself that decision had already been made for him. He perused the list again and just continued
to screech with laughter until he ran out of breath and had to lean on the
counter.
“I sort of have
my own shorthand.”
“I’m glad
you know what this says cuz I would be absolutely pixilated trying to figure
out what some of this shit is if you sent me out of here with this.”
He put the list down on the counter
and walked away shaking his head, occasionally bursting in to a loud cackle. He
just went waltzing through the aisles of the store, straightening this and
moving that, all the while telling the chairs and lamps waiting patiently for
new homes, “The man is crazy.” From that day forward he always wanted to see
any grocery list I wrote. He would look
at it and laugh then trot off laughing to himself and muttering under his breath.
The list probably looked some thing like this:
Now let’s fast forward about 13 years
to the first few months of dating the wonderful woman that is now my wife. At that time we were both living close to the
nut and eating berries and bark as our main form of sustenance. We both like to cook so instead of going out
we would take turns making dinner at either her place or mine. One night it was
my turn to make dinner and I told her I had to change what I was going to make
because I was out of fred brums. It didn’t seem to faze her in the least and
dinner was a success despite the change in plans. Little did I know where that brief
conversation would lead.
A few
months later Dani was cooking dinner at my house again and asked me if I had
any bread crumbs. I reached in the cooking supplies cabinet, grabbed the can,
handed it to her and said, “Here ya go, fred brums.” She took the can and froze, then looked at
me.
“What did you say?”
“Um here ya go, fred brums?”
She stood there with a look of stunned
surprise on her face, slammed the knife she was using on the cutting board and said,
“OH.MY.GOD.”
I’m a bit flummoxed at this point and really
wondering what is up so I venture a cautious, “Uh, What's wrong?”
Then
I saw the look that I’ve grown to adore. Her mouth gets little and her eyes get
big for a moment, then the hands start to move in circles and go faster as the story she
is telling unfolds.
What follows next all spewed from her in
one breath.
“You are NOT going to believe this I went to
FOUR stores looking for fred brums because I thought it was a spice or
something you really liked and used a lot and you said you were out of it So I wanted to
surprise you with it one day because I had never heard of it and I thought that
would just be something special to surprise you with I even spent almost an hour in the spice
aisle in Safeway looking at everything before I asked somebody Now I know why the people in the grocery stores looked at me like I had 4
heads”
I
immediately pissed myself laughing.
Dinner was delayed a bit while we
laughed till our sides hurt though I know dinner turned out okay, they always
do. Anyone listening to the number of
times Oh God! was said during those 10 or so minutes would have suspected Billy
Sunday was back on the revival circuit and in my kitchen.
Since then we’ve both had plenty more
gooberific moments like this one to laugh at ourselves over. I know I’m definitely way ahead in
the count on those types of moments though no one is really keeping score
mainly because laughter always wins. That reminds me, I think we're out of fred
brums again.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Bears with Dingleberries
I saw a commercial the other night that made me question
evolution. Not the argument between Darwin’s ideas and the Creationists. No I’m
talking about something much less volatile though of vital importance to each
and everyone one of us. What set my mind adrift in the sea of contemplative
nonsense was the evolution in the marketing of toilet paper. This is big, we all use it many of us have our
own special names for it. Some of you know it simply as TP, others are more
self -conscious and whisper the words bath issue like they trying to avoid
anyone knowing they use it. Sometime the direct
approach can work best so I imagine the words shit paper causes anyone a
moments doubt about its use. Then there
are the odd family monikers that are borne from simply sharing space year after
year. Often no one knows why it was given its household name, and becomes similar to that crazy aunt who lives in the attic and can only be talked about in
code when company is around. Growing up in my house we called
it sheet music, the origin of its birth name lost in the pages of time, though
the name still stands as a testament to tradition if nothing else.
I remember my mom telling stories about being the 9th
of 10 kids a in small Connecticut town in the decades after World War I. “We had 14
rooms and a path with the Sears Catalog hanging from a nail inside the door of
the outhouse. When only the shiny pages
were left us kids would race to the mailbox when the mailman came hoping the
new catalog had come in the mail and then fight over who would get it first.”
Living through that period of severe lack during the 30’s she developed an
appreciation for “modern” things like automatic washers and soft toilet paper.
After watching toilet paper commercials for many years I ‘m
still surprised that it’s never called that on TV, instead it’s always bath
tissue, which to me has always been odd because it implies it’s tissue you use
for a bath. Anyone who has ever had the
misfortune of dunking an entire roll knows that you are left with a big wet
useless wad of gloppy mess. I’m sure there are some of us who remember how well
wet balls of toilet paper stuck to anything and everything in junior high, the
only drawback of course was getting caught flinging it. I grew up watching Mr.
Whipple feeding his toilet paper squeezing fetish and shooing away anyone else
that tried to satisfy theirs. After many
moons of trial and error for softer, fluffier and more absorbent sheets we have
finally graduated. Now to hawk those sheets of softness we have bears with dingleberries. One shudders to think, what would
Mr. Whipple say?
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Finally Football
The long wait is over. It’s August and
that means the start of preseason games for the NFL and fantasy football angst
will soon engulf the premises. Time to crank up NFL Sunday Ticket and bring on
the games!
I watched some of the Hall of Fame
induction ceremonies over the weekend and per usual it didn’t disappoint. It
was good to see Claude Humphrey and Ray Guy get in through the Veteran’s
Committee, which I think was a good idea when it was added to the selection
process. I remember how good a player Humphrey
was and I ‘m glad to see him get recognized finally. He suffered the fate of
some other really good players that were on lousy teams like the Falcons were in
the 60’s and 70’s. One of those guys
played behind him at middle linebacker, Tommy Nobis. It is hard to believe he
still hasn’t made it in. Players on
winning teams have always had more air time and ink which definitely helped their
chances, especially if they had game. The get Ray Guy to the Hall of Fame
campaign paid dividends and that is a good thing. He changed the perception of
punters into being more of a weapon and it was about time he got in.
I’d love to visit the Hall again
since the last time I went it was less than 10 years old, the summer after
Super Bowl IV and there were only 75-80 players inducted at that time. I’m willing to bet the gift shop is a lot
bigger.
Monday, August 4, 2014
I Want a Refund on My IQ points
My lovely wife was channel surfing on Saturday and she came across the SyFy channel showing the Sharknado movies back to back. We watched the last 15 minutes or so of the original and laughed our asses off at how bad it was. Like ridiculously bad, like I will run out of adjectives to describe how bad and no I don't want to type all that mess either. It truly was a train wreck of epic proportion that we couldn't stop watching I'm sad to report. If they were going for a certain look when they made this waste of film they nailed it. I'm sure it will become a cult classic and like with most cults I feel the need to run away, far away. Fifteen minutes of watching this was like a condensed 6 hour Beavis and Butthead marathon, I just felt dumb as a jar of dirt for sitting through it. We looked at each other as the credits rolled and posed a question in stereo, "what the hell was that? We came to a consensus that we wouldn't be able unsee that and we each had probably lost a few IQ points. I want a refund.
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