There's Still Nothing On

     After living in this house a few years I reached a point when I had to make some changes. I was working nights so paying for 150 channels with nothing on didn’t make a lot of sense.  Mainly because I wasn’t home to watch anything I was interested in and I didn’t have a way to record it at the time.  So I kicked loose from cable TV for almost 2 years, it was too costly for what I was getting out of it, though I kept the internet. I would just watch the shows I wanted online when I got home at night, plus I could pause it when I wanted to so it worked real well for a while.  With football season approaching I had to do something and decided to break down and get one of those TV signal converters plus a set of rabbit ears to see what I could pull in for TV. I could get the local network channels that carried football except the NBC affiliate, which wasn’t a great loss though I was surprised I couldn’t ever get the local PBS station. Reception ranged between pretty good and meh most of the time, though all bets were off during dust storms. I somehow managed to pull in, at least from the antennae’s point of view, a “total” of 63 channels, of which I watched about 7 or 8 if I could get them to come in. The rest consisted of a rather eclectic mess that for some interesting channel surfing if nothing else. There were 7 or 8 that were basically nothing more than the flea races with sound,  it was toss up about what you heard sound wise, sometimes they were in English, some times in Spanish.  Another group of a dozen or so consisted of religious or evangelical channels in various and sundry forms. Any one that has known me any length of time knows I’m about as religious as a bucket of paint and only darken the doors of a church for weddings and funerals, so they were pretty much out of my wheelhouse.  The remaining 30 odd stations were all in Spanish, some religion based others just regular TV and since my high school Spanish is very rusty at best I didn’t last long watching those and trying translate on the fly. My main TV fare consisted of ancient reruns from the fairly early days of television.

 

                                                             

 

     I’ve rarely met anyone that doesn’t recall the TV shows of their youth with some degree of fondness, though I‘ll tell ya watching these shows now it’s easy to notice how low budget they really were.  From a kid’s point of view this was cool stuff and I wonder how adults from that era thought about what was filling the small screen.  Catching some of the old shows here and there is a reminder of simpler times and simpletons. Seriously who grew up during the 60’s & 70’s and didn’t see every episode of Gilligan’s Island and Leave It to Beaver about 4,000 times. Watching all that TV I don’t know how I managed to read all the books I did, so maybe I‘m a little odd, just maybe. I remember as a kid we had a box on top of the TV we called the rotor that was connected to a motor up on the antenna. You had to turn the dial to specific points marked on it to get certain channels to come in. We only were able to get about 5 since we didn’t live in an area close enough to any of the UHF stations; those were the channel numbers above 13.  Cable didn't make an appearance in my area until I was heading to high school. The world has definitely moved on.

   

                                   

                 

 

    Into this epic conglomeration sitting atop my TV set walked the woman that is now my wife.  The first time she was at my house and we decided to watch TV she had a look of utter surprise that I didn’t have cable.  I exposed her to the joy that is over the air TV, she wasn’t impressed.  The typical offering late at night after Craig Ferguson ended was usually an infomercial and there weren’t a lot of other choices. The most palatable enough to watch usually consisted of Highway Patrol and Sea Hunt, with an occasional Mr. Ed or Bat Masterson thrown in.  Mr. Ed got a pass of course, he’s a horse and horses are cool, plus he is still funny after all these years.  The others left her wondering why I watched this stuff. I pointed out to her that these shows were from the late 50’s & early 60’s, essentially the stuff I grew up watching, when everything was in black & white and television as an industry wasn’t much more than a teenager.  Sophistication in TV land then wasn’t as important as just putting something on that folks may watch and sponsors could manage to try and sell stuff. I always liked it when Alfred Hitchcock groused and sighed about having to go to a commercial., just like we do now. We would watch and giggle over the impossible stuff that occurred in episode after episode. and the obvious low production sets. The PSAs at the end of Highway Patrol were always special,

“ Remember to give blood at the blood bank not on the freeway” and “ Leave the clowns at the circus don’t be one on the highway”  we’re our favorites.

                                                                          

                                                           

     As our relationship progressed we spent many a Sunday and Monday watching football at her place. She had cable and her TV wasn’t a refuge from the Clinton era.  When we made the decision to share living space she insisted that the rabbit ears go, which required very little arm twisting and not long after she parked her desk and her clothes in the third bedroom, the dish went up on the end of the trailer. NFL Sunday ticket is great way to OD on football in the fall, though we now have 200 channels and there’s still nothing on; thank the universe for the DVR.  We do still catch Mr. Ed from time to time.  After all, a horse is horse of course, of course.    

      

 

That's Too Many

     I was talking to someone the other day about moving and about how many times they had moved in the past few years. We both wondered why there is always that box of stuff that magically disappears after you finish moving. You know that box; you drive yourself crazy looking for that one thing you can’t find anywhere during your unpacking, so it must be in that box. I decided to yank the thread on that old sweater by trying to list all the places I’ve lived since 1980.  I started with 1980 because for a good portion of 1979 my address was my van or whatever couch I could find to crash on and the rest of it appears to be stuck in that memory spot that stubbornly refuses to be anything more than liquid tar. I’ve been in this house for eight years, which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was a kid, so I chose the end year of 2006. I scratched out a list and was surprised when it added up to 20. Holy crap! Looking at the list there were five locations that totaled 18 of the years in that 26 year span.  Before moving in here, the longest I stayed anywhere was 6 years, 3 of them were a little over or a little under 3 years, one was a little over 2 and the other was a just short of a year.  After doing the math and coming up with 15 more moves in remaining 8 years it is no wonder I hear the word “moving” and I just run away, nowhere in particular mind you, just away.  I also counted the 2 summers I spent living in a campground while my house was being built as one because it was the same campground. 

     I bought my first house in Richmond, Virginia in 1985, only stayed there one year. It was a cute little place, 3 small bedrooms, though it had a nice sized yard where I was able to have my first and only garden; the tomatoes and cucumbers took over the area behind the garage, those jokers just don't quit growing. The day we packed the truck to leave it was 60 degrees or so outside, shorts and tee shirts were the attire of the day and the date was in the first week of February.  Our caravan landed in Connecticut in the early evening on moving day and we unloaded while slipping and sliding on the snowpack of 6 or 7 inches that covered the ground. The next morning I almost choked on my morning coffee when I read the thermometer. It was all of 4 degrees.  Timed that one well didn’t I?  

 

                                                   Richmond, VA 1985                                            

                                              

      My move out here to Arizona from Connecticut was another example of epic timing. The idea for that move started during February in the middle of a driving wet snow. I was plowing snow for the apartments I worked at with a ’72 GMC ¾ ton that had most definitely seen better days. The cab mounts were so rusted and rotted I held my breath when I turned a tight corner: I was sure the cab was going to roll right off the frame.  The exhaust had pretty much rotted off, there was maybe 2 feet or so out of each manifold, it was so loud it set off car alarms when I started it up. The bald-ass front tires leaned in opposite directions, but hey they were snow tires!  The best part was the heater, what heater, this was the last year GM had the cab with that little fart fan for heat and defrost.  Needless to say the old truck was struggling to handle the near century record snowfall that winter of ’93. We tried to rig the vents a bit to try and keep the windshield clear. Yeah, not so much. The ends of the windshield would freeze over with snow and ice so I‘d have to get out every half hour or so to clean it off, then hope I didn't get poked in the ass by a stray seat spring on my return. Hanging my head out the window didn’t help either, my hat kept blowing off in the wind. After yet another excursion for ice removal I hopped back in the truck and said to my then girlfriend, “This shit is getting old”. She replied, “Let’s move somewhere warm.”  “Ok”, I said, where do you want to go?”  “Phoenix, Arizona”, was the first words out of her mouth.  I sort of shrugged and said, “Ok let’s do it.” 

                                                                                         
                                                                        

The Rot Box

 

    
     After selling almost everything we owned, we proceeded to drive 2,500 miles across the country in 2 vehicles with no A/C. On the 29^th of June 1994 we hit Phoenix proper,it was 7a.m., smack dab in the middle of the morning parking lot on the freeway through the center of town. The big bank sign with the thermometer read 103 degrees.  What in the blue fuck had I gotten myself in to? The daily high temperature that first week didn’t drop below 115. I felt liked a boiled owl most of that first summer. I’ve only moved 7 times in my 20 years here, so my average time of staying any one place is getting better.  This has been a pretty good place to live. I’ve met a lot of good people, buried a few that taught me more than a few things, experienced untold amounts of self-discovery and managed to stumble across the lovely young woman that is now my wife.  All-in-all its been a good run, though I’ve come to realize I miss bodies of water not dug by a backhoe and trees that didn’t come on a truck.  I miss green. Brown is an ok color, though I prefer it in more when in the form of chocolate or coffee.

The Week in Review cost me 5 cents

     We’ll it’s been quite a week. Professional athletes have been making the highlight reel after their game and the lowlight reel for some things they did off the field.  A rich old white guy in an expensive suit tried to convince those who were watching that the dog ate his homework, when in reality the dog didn’t exist and there really wasn’t any homework.  As the NFL’s crisis of conscience continues getting more and more convoluted while the jumbo sized boxes of Band-Aids are rolled out to face the problem head on, I’m left with a thought. 

     I hope that someone in a situation like some of these families are in finally decides for themselves that enough is enough and takes some steps to change their Life, no matter how scared they are. Walking through the internal fire of a major Life change isn’t easy, never has been never will be. There is support out there, though finding it isn’t always easy either. I was talking to a couple of my buddies out by the smokers tree at work today and came to the conclusion that it sucks that one has to be a part of the system long enough to know what angles to play to even get some of the most basic kinds of help; not get rich or just take for the sake of taking type of stuff, just enough to make it a little easier to live day to day.

     Major social issues are never fixed by throwing more rules and regulations at them. That just fuels those making the new rules with the audacity to puff out their chest and say see what I did, it becomes just another magician’s misdirection ploy, though it does give the mob mentality someone to hang in the meantime.  We all live Life individually, no one can think for me nor can I for them. Good thing isn’t it? Any major change occurs on an individual basis; you can’t throw a net over something so large and for a moment expect to be able to pick it up all at once.  It’s the individuals involved that make it happen one person at a time, not the big shiny stuff rolled out to collect accolades and applause, those are just there to polish egos and garner brownie points.  Change comes from the people working side by side with those that are trying to change their lives.  There are examples all around, you may have walked by someone in the grocery store today never knowing what positive changes had occurred recently for that person perusing the frozen vegetables.  The way I see it everyone is recovering from something, either their own addiction or the side effects of someone else’s.  It doesn’t matter if it’s booze, drugs, food, gambling, anger, sex, guilt-tripping, power-tripping, or cow-tipping, when they are essentially all about abuse in some way, over-indulgence to where they reach a point of getting in the way of living Life on a day to day basis.  Can we fix ourselves? Maybe. Will we fix ourselves? Maybe. Do we want to fix ourselves? Maybe.   That is just my two cents and with it currently costing 2.4 cents to make a penny I will now go to the back door and throw a nickel in the street. Keep the change.

Out of Paper Clips

     It is now two weeks into the NFL season and it’s shaping up to be the weirdest ever, topped only by the strike-shortened 87’ season with replacement players and the 2012 replacement refs debacle. There has been more ink flowing the last few weeks about off the field antics then the penalty filled yawn fests gracing our TV screens the past two weeks.


     For me this question arises. How many of the types of incidents we’ve seen splashed all over all forms of media the past few weeks were buried and never say the light of day in the past?  The stuff going on here is not new, not new in the NFL or the rest of society unfortunately. It is an uncomfortable feeling finding out our heroes are not so heroic isn't it? OJ’s four hour Ford commercial should have surely cemented that idea home.  Charles Barkley said it best, “I am not a role model.”  Pro athletes are just people like the rest of us and sometimes the rest of us, as people, we screw up. That’s’ why they put erasers on pencils, mistakes are pretty much a given. Should we hold these guys to a higher standard because they have chosen to do what they do for a living and have chosen to live in that fishbowl? No. Should they be held to the standards that the vast majority the rest of society makes an effort to adhere too? Yes. The perception is they are not and the NFL’s lack of foresight to head this kind of stuff off before it reached the credibility crisis they seem to be having now is its own fault. The recent moves they made to address the issues like domestic violence and child abuse have produced a collective, “Well duh, why didn’t you address this before, were you out of paper clips or something”?  The game has changed a lot for me and I‘m sure for many longtime fans like myself, and not in a good way.  

     There were a couple of occurrences of note that are part of the current seasons happenings that in no way diminish what we‘ve seen of late, though are a couple of examples of organizations that make the effort to do good things. Not everyone is clueless in the NFL though it feels like it sometimes. The Seattle Seahawks signed a player to their roster to make sure he got paid and could take advantage of the health benefits NFL players receive: Story here:  http://agoodsportshang.com/2014/05/24/seahawks-do-the-right-thing-for-scott/

Another surprise was the Cincinnati Bengals selling one players jersey to help fund cancer research: http://profootballtalk.nbcsports.com/2014/09/09/bengals-selling-devon-still-jerseys-for-cancer-research/

 

     NFL players have never been nor will they ever be choir boys, the nature of the game make it so. Signing up to have 60-70 car accidents in the span of 3 to 4 hours one day a week for 5 months of the year would make any one a little addled in the brain pan.  Will the social issues that keep coming to the surface be addressed in such a manner that it doesn’t appear as just pandering to sponsors? Time will tell, though my inner cynic says no. Some of us will keep watching, others will only watch with one eye, some will walk away. Me? I ‘m going to go brush my teeth and get this bad taste out of mouth.

Lingering thoughts on Roger's Neighborhood

     While I don’t often read full stories as I peruse the headlines of the pages I frequently visit, I notice there is still a lot being written and said all on forms of media about the Ray and Janay Rice domestic violence incident while the NFL and the commissioner fumble the ball. Call me not surprised about the conflicting accounts released by the NFL about who had or didn’t have a video or DVD, that they did or didn’t get, that the NFL did or didn’t ask for and when they did or didn’t receive it or were or were not denied access to it.  It’s akin to watching a really bad remake of Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First?” and no one is laughing. These guys are taking a page from the bozos in D.C.; if they blow enough smoke up everyone’s ass and sling enough BS in every compass direction they can hopefully make enough of it stick to someone so they make that person the sacrificial lamb.  Meanwhile, somewhere in the bowels of the NFL offices “Old Scruffy” the equipment manager diligently polishes swords for those deemed expendable enough to fall on one. I guess we will find out if a tree does make a sound when it falls in the forest, even if that forest is made up of 40 story buildings.

The worst aspect of this mess has to be the impact for the families involved and the friends, acquaintances in their social circles. I cannot fathom it. The Ravens coach said it best, “This video changes things.” Knowing that we have created our own Big Brother under the guise of being safe makes this sad tale even sadder because it created a firestorm due to the celebrity status of one of the participants.  It is another example of the any idiot with a cell phone cam can be become a YouTube celebrity in under an hour mindset we just accept on a   daily basis. The creepy factor of that makes me look around for cameras whenever I use a public restroom. So call me paranoid I don’t care. If this couple had just been Ray and Janay, a couple of the regulars from Pinkie’s Tavern over on Walnut St. it would be probably part of some wacky compilation of epic knockouts on YouTube; that is a sobering thought. This poor woman not only had to endure the indignity of getting clocked by her husband she has to relive that feeling over and over as it loops behind the commentators adding their take on this story. Being on the receiving end of domestic violence is bad enough without having your life poked and prodded by every knucklehead with a microphone, or a blog like yours truly.

 Those of us on the outside don’t really know what the relationship between Ray and Janay Rice was like before this incident was made public. Trying to judge their entire life together based on one video is a bit of a stretch. Chances are pretty good that this stuff has been going on in private previously and that this incident just happened to occur in a public place was their misfortune because the whole world got to see it. Liquored up or not this stuff most often happens behind closed doors and bringing it out in public smacks of a business as usual kind of occurrence. That idea though leads to another question, is the argument that appears to have been brewing before they appeared on video something that just got way out of hand and hadn’t happened before? Only the Rice’s can answer that. Then again, these folks aren’t my neighbors and I haven’t seen or heard any stories related to this being a pattern and if there was a pattern in evidence no doubt there would be someone trying to grab their 15 minutes of fame on the Today Show or CNN to tell us all the sordid details. 

Anyone I’ve known that has been in an abusive relationship, and I’ve known a few, and has managed to get out and move on, told me that you wonder a lot if it isn’t your fault.  And that becomes part of the answer to why you don’t just leave. Another insidious aspect of being in that environment is that you really don’t want anyone to know that you somehow have put yourself in this position, first by starting in the relationship and then by staying. Finally you come to that bottom line where you’re afraid to leave because you’re afraid you may just wind up dead. It is a demoralizing position to be in and stance that takes a while to dig your way out of emotionally. Having the courage to walk away is not an easy road to walk and the hills you have to climb sometimes seem to throw another bag of dead cats onto the burden you carry.  Reaching the top of that hill makes the trip through the valley on the other side feel a little lighter and a little less foreboding because you know you managed to get through it, though any day can still feel like a mountain to climb no matter how hard you work to make it otherwise.

Whether or not Ray Rice ever gets a second chance and goes back to the NFL at this point doesn’t really matter.  Michael Vick got a second chance, who knows if he would today. What really matters is if the Rice’s can manage to work through what they need to so they can get right with themselves and Life.  I wish them the best and hope they can manage to pick up the pieces and move forward.

 

Bye Ray, Take Roger with You

     The Baltimore Ravens released Ray Rice on Monday after the security cam video of him decking his then fiancé in an elevator was posted online by that paragon of journalistic integrity known as TMZ.Apparently the word from the Ravens and the NFL is they had never seen that video until today. Right, and I'm the friggin' Easter Bunny.


     The notion that NFL security and the Ravens team security was never allowed access to it smacks of absolute bullshit. If these security guys can't get their hands on stuff like this, which makes no sense to me, then they need to be replaced. Seriously, you want those of us with more than half a brain cell to believe that TMZ can get this video and league security couldn't? False. The entire situation was handled poorly from the start by the league and the Ravens and both are now backpedaling and standing behind the " We didn't know" defense. No na na na no, false. I have to give Goodell credit he is the consummate politician and marketing huckster, not since P.T. Barnum has anyone been able to stack bullshit that high. This guy needs to go. This was a whiff of epic proportions, way beyond any swing and a miss from the Bambino or Reggie. He hasn't been good for the league since he came aboard and the sour notes just keep playing a tune that rivals fingernails on a chalkboard.


     Anyone who has ever watched sports, especially the NFL knows that these guys generally are not choir boys. They basically are paid a lot of money to kick the crap out of the guy in front of them for 3 hours every Sunday. Granted these guys all live in a fishbowl, but the other 6 days of the week they have lives outside of work and like the rest of should adhere to the rules of society. Goodell is like the marketing guy that puts " New and Improved" on the packaging without changing a thing on the inside. Most of the fines and suspensions dished out the last few years have been about protecting the brand, and promoting the image of the league as caring about important issues like player health and personal responsibility, which ofttimes comes across as a misdirection ploy. The NFL has been and always will be run by a bunch of rich old white dudes, though one would think there must be one or two with a social conscience in there somewhere. Then again, I may be just a dreamer after all. By the initial consequences dished out by the league after this incident it essentially went on record saying that domestic violence is acceptable, now they are going to get tough after the public outrage. Hey Roger maybe you should suspend yourself for moral indifference. Anyone out there think this was handled well? Didn't think so.

Somedays Life is a Bob Seger song

Over the past 24 hours or so around here I’ve felt like I was living the last verse of the Bob Seger  song, Night Moves; you know the line that goes,” I woke last night to the sound of thunder", and I woke last night to the sound of thunder and I woke last night to the sound of thunder; Sensing a pattern here? “How far off I sat and wondered…” Hell, I didn’t wonder how far off it was, it was right over my damn house. Living in the desert we don’t often get thunderstorms that last and last like this one. Thank you Norbert for this extremely big and extremely wet storm, which gave us the highest rainfall total in one day since weather records were first kept in 1895 for the Phoenix area. The morning commute was interesting to say the least. Most of the streets in the cities around the valley are either 5 or 7 lanes with 2 or 3 lanes each way and a center suicide lane for left turns. Today most of them were all 3 or less because there was so much standing water. The storms drains are so not equipped to handle it and that is partly because they are usually clogged with road debris or palm fronds and other tree parts that fly around when we have dust storms.  Some entire districts cancelled school; others made it optional or asked students to come in late.  I was so glad I didn’t have to be on the road at rush hour after watching the news this morning. We had a lot of callouts where I work due to road closures and flooding. The morning here was akin to waking to a massive snowstorm overnight and the city almost ground to a halt.  Some cities weren’t hit as bad, kids went to school and the world wasn’t coming to an end, it only felt like it.

     When it came time for me to brave the elements I was more concerned about the other people on the road than the rain itself. I decided to try to get some pics of what was happening on the way in. Since I solo commute I knew it would be a challenge though I figured I’d at least get an opportunity when I hit my usual traffic light or two on the way in. The other part of that equation has to do with my cell phone camera. We have a hate –hate relationship, I hate it and it hates me back. It will only take decent pictures outside, forget indoors, even with every light in the room on they just come out dark. And no I’m won’t be getting a new cellphone my alarm clock is just fine thank you. I laughed like hell later when I had a chance to see the pics I managed to take this morning at the traffic lights I was stopped at. Line up the shot, ready to click and the light turns green and we’re off again,  so they didn’t really come out very good, but I’ll let you decide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is it any wonder no one asks me to take pictures since I have a tendency to cut off the tops of peoples heads too?

 

 

Here are some links to some better shots of what went on around here this Manic Monday and Google images for Arizona Record rainfall has some real good ones too. 

 

http://www.azcentral.com/story/weather/2014/06/10/arizona-monsoon-photos/10308627/

 

http://www.azfamily.com/news/Up-to-100-homes-in-Mesa-threatened-by-floodwaters-274415111.html

 

I think they these folks have a better relationship with their camera then I do. I wonder if counseling would help me and my cellphone cam work through our issues?

 

 

Find Yours

It has become a ritual around my house the last few years whenever I start to tell a story my wife will stop me short before I really get started and ask the all-important question: “Is this guy dead?” Apparently I know, well I knew a lot of people that are no longer with us and stories being what they are the people in them sometimes are just not around anymore. I don’t sit around contemplating why them and not me, I’m just glad I’m around to tell stories.  Well here goes another one, sort of.

I was watching one of the little tribute videos that have been plastered all over Facebook since Joan Rivers passed and was struck by something she said at the end of the one I watched. Joan Rivers kicked the door off its hinges to pave the way for the great woman comics that followed her. Just by being herself no matter what the subject she could be sarcastic, abrasive, and unflinchingly opinionated though she never apologized for who she was.  Not everyone appreciated her humor all the time, though I ‘m sure the biggest stuffed shirts laughed until they cried at many of her jokes. She mentioned in this little video that for a comic doing comedy was a calling and it is what we do, we make people laugh.  It was spoken in such a way that I knew it come from inside the heart of who she was. One should be so lucky to find a calling in that way, the internal knowledge of this is the way I go. I hope you find your calling and I thank you for taking some time to share mine with me.

 

 

 

 

 

Image: http://lifeisaforkintheroad.com/

 

Where Are All the Guys with Rubber Arms?

Yesterday while watching the most over produced show on TV, AKA Sportscenter,I saw the Phillies had 4 pitchers combine to throw a no-hitter.  A no-hitter isn’t a common occurrence, even more uncommon is a collection of pitchers pulling one off. Usually when a guy has a no hitter going he keeps throwing until he either finishes it off or self-destructs. There was mention of the starter reaching 108 in his pitch count so they had to pull him, though I think issuing walks to everyone but the hot dog vendor was an additional concern. The mention of the pitch count got me to thinking and though I don’t follow baseball much and haven’t for a good while, when I hear talk about pitchers the subject of pitch count always seems to worm its way in to the conversation. My question is, if so many pitchers now playing in the majors are closely monitored for pitch count why are so many blowing their arms out in a relatively short period of time?  I look at talented guys like Kerry Wood, Brandon Webb, and Mark Pryor and wonder how come these guys burned so bright and then got hurt and faded away?  With all the science involved in pitching anymore why hasn’t it improved pitchers ability to keep their arm intact and pitch at a high level for a long time? So, okay that’s three questions, math challenged at the moment I guess.  With daily occurrences like the quick hook in yesterday’s no hitter it is no wonder the complete game has almost disappeared from the stats book. Last season two pitchers tied for the most with 4. Four. Only twice in the last 15 years has the major league leader hit double digits in complete games, James Shields in 2011 and Randy Johnson in 1999.  It has almost become a self-fulfilling prophecy for arm trouble by focusing so much on preventing it happening. The complete game has slowly been disappearing from the game over the last several decades and though it is not a great measurement of a pitcher’s ability, it makes the obsession with pitch count all the more baffling.

As these questions were bouncing around the playground that is my mind I decided to do some investigating on when complete games for pitchers started to became a disappearing statistic.  The numbers have dwindled year after year since the early 80’s, with last pitcher to hit twenty in 1986  being Fernando Valenzuela and 15 has only been reached 4 times since then. Pulling up the list of the all-time leaders I noticed it is top heavy with players from the pre-World War I era. There are only 2 pitchers, Robin Roberts and Gaylord Perry that pitched after 1965 in the top 50. The leader is Cy Young, the guy the award is named for, with 749, the current active leader, CC Sabathia, at his current seasonal average would have to pitch 283 more seasons to catch Cy. I’m going out on a limb and guessing Cy's record is pretty safe.  Granted the game was different in those days, though it still doesn’t explain how 100 years ago a pitcher could start 35-40 games a year and complete 80-90% of them and keep doing it year after year. They sure didn’t have all the off season workouts, strength training and other performance sciences developed that we see now. How did those guys manage to have such seemingly tireless arms? Did they pitch drunk everyday so they never felt their arm get tired? I have no idea, do you? I sure didn’t expect to be writing about baseball today. I guess it’s just another of those questions I started with and fell through the hole in the paper.

 

 

Stats mentioned found here: http://www.baseball-reference.com/leaders/CG_career.shtml

 

And a Loose Garment for You

A friend of mine has been in and out of the hospital recently and I went by to visit him today. We spent an hour or so talking about the doctor’s game plan going forward and the possibility he could be there a little longer. While we sat there talking about work and how noticeable his absence is, I was struck by the notion of how lucky I am and the knowing that our roles could easily be reversed in the blink of an eye. We talked quite a while about Faith and Gratitude and how important they are when Life throws you a Koufax style curveball.  We discussed Faith in the outcome, Faith in the good you put out to the world and have it come back to you. Also having the Gratitude for wanting what we have, not necessarily always having what we want. Faith can be a funny thing if I stop to think about it. I ‘m talking about the everyday Faith that is overlooked whether we turn on a light and know it will come on, or getting behind the wheel of a car and having Faith the driver coming in the other direction will stay on his side of the line.  Knowing that and recognizing that makes me grateful for always having examples of things to be grateful for. Where Gratitude gets lost along the way is in not being able to see past the things that occur and forgetting to look at them from another viewpoint; the line at the checkout may be long though I’m grateful I can stand on my own two feet in that line and when it’s my turn be able to the pay the lady and go, or the broken shoelace when I’m already late and instead of getting angry know that I’ve provided myself another pair of shoes as an option, Those are just a couple of the myriad examples that pass through my experience each day. I work at reminding myself each day when I wake in my own bed, in my house, put my feet on the floor and sit up, walk to my own bathroom with running water to wash my face then amble on to my kitchen for a cup of coffee that I am grateful for that and more. Those thoroughly mundane things that if someone was watching a video feed of me in the morning their reaction would probably be, “why am I watching some dude in his skivvies get ready for work, there’s has to be better stuff on this time of morning”, whereas from my side of that lens I see anything is possible today because I can do those things. Some folks aren’t lucky enough to be able do some or any of those things I do each morning; myself I am Grateful that I can.  

            I understand why monks primarily live as they do, as far as possible outside the daily hub bub and white noise we are bombarded with daily; it sure makes it easier to be a thoroughly spiritual individual.  The test for me each day is stay on the right side of Life, Truth and Love and live it out in all my dealings no matters what or who I cross paths with; wearing the world as a loose garment so to speak, which of course is easier some days than others. My wish for you today is that your path includes a loose garment of your own. Namaste.

 

 

Summer's Other Bookend

     Good bye summer, it's been an interesting and enlightening one for sure. Labor Day is upon us once more, the matching summer bookend to Memorial Day, the other day that lets us know its time to switch gears again; another of those waypoints in every year that remind us that change is the only constant. It is amazing how fast another year has gone by and 2014 is 2/3 done already. Summer is winding down, kids are back to school or will be this week, the water in the favorite swimming hole or pool suddenly seems colder than it did two weeks ago and all the plans start for the holidays that will come sooner than we imagine. When I was kid I hated when Labor day was getting close because it meant school was starting. Now this year especially I looked forward to it since I am fortunate to be able to say 3 day weekend. Not everyone is that lucky. Depending on where you live the weather has begun to throw out subtle reminders to let you know change is coming. The nights are cooler, there are more bugs huddled around the back porch light for warmth, the grass is looking a little less brown and a lot more green. Here in Arizona we are slowly moving from frying eggs on the sidewalk days to just plain old hot, though still hot enough to make me glad I no longer have to work outside everyday. The other day my wife and I were in the grocery store and she remarked to me that Halloween stuff is already filling the shelves. I reminded her that before Halloween gets here the decorations will be sharing shelf space with Thanksgiving and Christmas stuff. I laugh when I see the displays hitting the stores two months before a holiday, almost like the retailers think we are going to forget the day is approaching, though I understand the reasoning it still makes me shake my shaggy head. I find I miss New England the most in the fall when the leaves are changing, the days are just warm enough to be perfect for cruising the back roads on a motorcycle, the nights cause you to reach for that extra blanket and the smell of earth rises up to permeate everything that isn't covered by cement or asphalt. It is probably the main reason I prefer taking vacations this time of year if life permits it. Looking forward to spending a few days in upstate New York soon, where the change of seasons will have begun and the trees didn't come on a truck.

    

Seriously, Coffee first

     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.

    

Airheads & Egga Muffins

I just read that Longmire on A & E has not been renewed for a 4^th 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.

 

 

 

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.

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.

    

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.

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.

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.