IS IT ME OR IS IT THEM?

Blog number 139                                               Dec. 31, 2007

What's up wit dis guy?  I'm standing at the counter, the daily paper I'm about to purchase lying on the counter in front of me along with a sack of decaf espresso.  I'm talking to the barista about whether the decaf they have brewed is old, when this old man behind and to my right interrupts, points to my paper and says, "'scuse me.  Could I have this paper?"

I don't really look at him, but then he asks if there are papers somewhere in the store and I say, "Yes, right by the door as you come in."

Is this the same guy that wanted my chair the other day?  I really don't know.  I don't think there are too many people that would ask for my paper like that, and I don't think there are too many that would ask for my chair like that man did a few weeks past.  I think it too strange a coincidence to imagine that there are two people like that in my sphere of influence, so I have to assume it is the same guy.

Is it me or is he that self involved?  What on earth would enable him to imagine that the paper was just lying there waiting for somebody to want it?  Is he nuts?  Will he in the future walk up to me in Safeway and ask if he can have my grocery cart? Or my groceries?  Or my money?

I gotta take a real hard look at people like that next time and memorize their face so I can at least maybe get a handle on some strange doings here in the Arizona desert.  I wish I knew whether that was the same guy or if two or more old men are trying to gaslight me.

MOM IS SO FUNNY

Blog number 138                                               Dec. 30, 2007

Teresa does a lot of funny things.  Usually when one happens, I want to tell Derek about it right away, but I have to wait until either he or we meet, and by that time I have forgotten it or the impact has worn off.

A few days ago we were coming back from Phoenix with the idea of going to Target here in Casa Grande.  With that in mind, instead of turning to the right to go home off the freeway, we kept going straight to Target.  Teresa said that it is shorter to get off where we usually do and then go to Target from there.  "Wha...!" I exploded.

I told her it was a straight line from where we were to Target, so how could it be shorter to make a dog leg and back?  A straight line is the shortest distance between two points.  I told her that.  She argued, saying that she had measured the miles one time, and it was shorter her way.

I couldn't wrap my head around what she was sayng, so I kept digging at her, trying to understand what she was thinking.  It finally came out that instead of thinking "from here to there," she was thinking of the mileage she had checked off on a previous trip with Tara.  Since she was convinced that she had measured the milage right, it didn't matter what the spatial evidence said.  That satisfied me. 

I didn't care that she was wrong, but I was really bothered by how she had come to her conclusion.  Once I understood that, I was OK. 

Whew!

Then this morning we went to Mimi's here in Casa Grande and when we left the restaurant to get into our car, she said about the driver who had parked his car in the handicap space next to ours, "I know that guy's not handicapped.  He was listening to rap when we drove in."  Hah! 

She's so funny!

WAR STORIES

Blog number 137                                               Dec. 26, 2007

I was watching a History program called, "Shootout."  Ten days after the invasion of Guadalcanal (the first invasion by the Americans in the Pacific War), a few hundred marine raiders set ashore at Makin - a small Atoll a few miles from Guadalcanal in an attempt to make the Japanese think there were many invasions and that Guadalcanal was not the main one.

The "shootout" part of this episode was a small band of Marines that were to flank several machine gun nests on Makin.  Walking across an open ground surrounded by jungle, they were cut down by hidden machine guns - all except for one man.  The story was about what this one man did, which was pretty amazing, but that's not what concerns me. 

What does concern me was that here were marines - supposedly highly trained in infantry maneuvers, led by someone who was supposed to have even more intense training, walking across a clearing in a jungle held by enemy soldiers.  And not only were supposedly highly trained marines doing this, but they were RAIDERS - who were supposed to be even more intensely trained in such maneuvers. 

No surprise to me that they were cut down, and I've never had any such training.  Why didn't any of that group say something?  Or maybe they did and were told to shut up. 

That happens.

And this reminded me of a story a friend of mine told that had been in Vietnam.  He was  describing walking along a stream in a jungle looking for North Vietnamese.  When I heard this, I asked him if that wouldn't lead to an ambush from the higher ground on each side of the stream.  He said, "Yes, that was the idea.  We would be ambushed and then we would call in the heavy guns and wipe them out."

I said, "You were bait."

He says, "Yep."

DRIVING NEEDN'T BE A CHORE

Blog number 137                                               Dec. 20, 2007

In Arizona, the manual one studies in order to gather upon one's self a driving license says that at a light, one stops in the middle of the street awaiting a left turn until the coast is clear.  The car behind is not to wait behind that car, but is instead, to wait at the crosswalk until the first car has completed its turn.  That's what it says.  Not too many drivers follow these rules which tells me that they either didn't read the manual, missed that part, or thought it didn't apply to them.

Yesterday mine wife and I were driving south on Pinal, planning to turn left onto Cottonwood at the light.  I stopped in the middle of the road as directed.  The cars coming toward me were spaced out in such a manner that I deemed it more prudent to wait for a clearer road.  At that time I noticed a white truck right behind me, contrary to the directions in the driver's manual.

I finally could turn with complete safety and I noticed the white truck to my right and rear.  We went along for a block or two until suddenly the white truck pulled up alongside me, and then in front of me and then slowed way down.  "What the F...?" I thought.  He then almost immediately steered onto the right lane from whence he had just came and slowed down further.  Again, I thought, "What the F...?"  I slowed down so's I could see if the guy was drunk, texting or maybe just stoned.  As we got alongside, the guy gave us the finger, glaring at us like we were the ones that had just ruined his life.

Several thoughts went through my mind.  First, what made him so angry?  I think it was because I didn't make a left turn in front of cars fast enough for him.  And then I wondered why he didn't give me a blast on his horn back then, or even now, like most Casa Grandians would do.  Maybe his horn didn't work, which would naturally piss him off even more.  And lastly, that guy had to have been pretty angry to do all that he did.  I think he was just one of those guys that's mad at the world, so he was mad at me even before he got out of bed that morning.

May God bless his little heart.

LET'S PLAY EMPIRE

Blog number 136                                               Dec. 20, 2007

This blog entry is an experiment.  My main critic doesn't like me to use quotes from books.  So what I am going to do is to paraphrase and see if that's better, 'cause these things are either pretty amazing or very funny.  At least to me.

I want my critic to tell me whether the experiment worked so I can use it again, or it didn't work and to give it up altogether and stick to first person writings.

At the beginning of the Korean War, the US was vastly inferior to the North Koreans in armament, command, and manpower.  That's the setup for what follows.

An American recon platoon spotted eight tanks coming toward them and then another twenty-five.  The intelligence said that the North Koreans wouldn't have tanks because of the terrain.

The Americans started firing mortars.  The tanks kept coming.  When the tanks were seven hundred yards away, they fired bazookas.  The tanks kept coming.  So Sgt. Chambers called back for 60 mm mortar fire.  The answer came back that the mortars wouldn't reach that far.  "Well, how about some 81 mm?"  "They didn't come over with us."  Then the Sgt. asked for 4.2 mortars.  "They won't fire," came back the answer.  "How about the artillery?" No communication with artillery.  "What about the Air Force?"  "They don't know where you're at."  "Well," Chambers finally said, "What about a camera so's we could at least take a picture of this?"

FIX YA RIGHT UP, bUDDY.

Blog number 135                                               Nov. 30, 2007

Do you have RLS?  Restless Leg Syndrome?  If so, then take prescription Mirapec and that'll fix you right up.  Practice caution though for, as the commercial tells us...

"Prescription Mirapec may cause you to feel drowsy or fall asleep during normal activity such as driving or to feel faint or dizzy when you stand up.  Call your doctor if you experience these problems."

So taking this drug may cause you to smash head-on into a speeding Mack truck.  That would sure fix that pesky RLS forever, wouldn't it?  And isn't it fortunate that you won't even have to call your doctor.  The ambulance will take you right to him.  All you have to do is lie there bleeding.  With peaceful legs.

Then the commercial goes on to warn, "If you drink alcohol or taking medicine that makes you feel drowsy or if you are experiencing increased gambling or sexual or other intense urges. "

Two things. First, that is not a complete sentence.  I think what they mean is that if you experience these things, you should see the doctor that you should see if you tend to fall asleep at the wheel while taking Mirapec.

And second, and I think this is the more important, what kind of a drug is this if it makes you have intense sexual and gambling urges?  Coke?  Crack?  Meth?  Caffeine?

Then lastly it warns us that "Other side effects include nausea."

Compared with the other side effects, this one is kind of mild.

A HARD RAIN'S GONNA FALL

Blog number 134                                               Nov. 30, 2007

It's raining here in the desert.  Do you know what they call rain here in the desert?  They call it a "weather alert." 

A few months ago they were talking about our drought conditions.  WE LIVE IN THE DESERT!  Drought conditions are the normal phenomena in a desert!  That's why they call it a desert.  Idiots.

ALL THE NEWS THAT'S FIT TO PRINT

Blog number 133                                               Nov. 26, 2007

There is a television program that is one of my favorites called, "Soup."  What it does is take vignettes from various TV programs and TV news items, and exhibit them.  The host - who is pretty funny, makes comments about what we are about to see and what we have just seen.  It's mostly about TV people.  The only movie people they ever show are the mug shots of them when arrested, or stupid or idiotic things they've said or done while being interviewed.  Elizabeth Taylor I think is senile.  From what I've seen of her.  Reality shows seem to be the mother lode for idiots at their very best.  For instance...

Last night it showed a couple (I don't know who they are) excitedly telling their newly sixteen year old daughter to "Come see what we got you for your birthday!"  When the sixteen year old saw her birthday present - a brand new Lexus, she went ballistic.  "That's not the car I wanted!  What's the matter with you two (obviously her parents)?  And I was supposed to get it at my party.  I'm not going to the party.  You have ruined it.  It's all your fault!"  As she ran up the stairs, she screamed, "My life is ruined!" 

Hah!

In the paper this morn was an item about Stephen King going into a grocery store.  This old woman - King thinks she was about 95, says to him, "I know who you are.You write those stories - those horrible awful horror stories...I don't like that.  I like uplifting stories like that Shawshank Redemption." 

Mister King told her, "I wrote that." 

She said, "No you didn't."

BABIES ARE MORE THAN YOUNG PEOPLE

Blog number 132                                               Nov. 20, 2007

In Safeway, a mother was pushing a cart in which a five year old girl rode.  As they came around a corner, the little girl reached out to me and said, "Wait."

I stopped and she said, "Do you have E.T. go home?"  I said, "I've seen E.T. go home.  Good movie."

She turned to her mother and said, "He has E.T. go home."

Her mother smiled and patted her on the head.  I did the same. 

The little girl must have just seen E.T. that morning at home.  Stopping strangers in order to talk to them about E.T. She reminded me of Tara and her Batman phase.  "Batman, Daddy.  Batman!"
                                                    *******************
Getting out of the car preparing to go into Barnes and Nobles, I heard some screeching from down the street.  When I went into the store I saw a mother, a little girl and a baby boy in a cart.  Guessing that the little boy was the one I heard hollering, I asked the mother what he was yelling about.  She said he had dropped a chicken tender.

I leaned down to the baby and asked him if he had dropped his chicken tender.  his lower lip started trembling and he was about to cry.  I asked him if he wanted me to see if I could find it and, miraculously out of nowhere, I finished with, "and throw it away?"

He brightened up and nodded his head.

I went outside but couldn't find it.  I came back inside and told him I couldn't find it, that maybe a bird had gotten it.  I asked him if that was all right.  He smiled and nodded his head.

Now what gets me is, what was he hollering about?  Did he think the chicken tender was alive and he had left it out there to fend for itself?  Obviously he wasn't upset about getting it back for himself,so what was it that upset him so?  We'll never know, will we?

Babies.  Fun creatures.

NO THANK YOU, I'LL COOK IT. BUT THANK YOU.

Blog number 131                                               Nov. 15, 2007

One night I was working with an Afro-American on an aircraft on the flight-line and he began asking me if two of the men in the shop practiced Jim Crowism.  Had I heard them say anything?  I said, "Naw," because I had never heard anything derogatory about Blacks coming from them.  I never heard them say anything one way or another. But the guy insisted that they were making derogatory remarks about Blacks. 

At the time I thought he was mistaken, but now I think they may have been saying something to him, or acting in some way because he was pretty insistent about it and he wasn't one of those "everybody's a racist" guys. 

He then told me about his being a waiter prior to the Air Force and he told me, "People are really stupid to treat badly anyone who handles their food."  I had never thought of that before, but I immediately understood the idiocy of it. And evidently, from what he discussed, he himself had practiced retribution while working as a waiter.

Thinking on this today, I put it alongside some war stories I have read. 

In WW2, Negroes worked as stewards on ships.  They handled the officer's food.  Now, I know how most officers treat enlisted, and I know how Whites treated Negroes back in the forties.  So, although I have never heard or read of anything pertaining to it, I am convinced that some pretty horrible things were done occasionally to the food served to officers during that war, especially in the navy.

Ironically, in one book I was reading about the Battle of the Bulge, this guy telling the story came across a Negro in his Company.  He had never before seen Negroes on the front line, so he asked him how he came to be there.  The Negro told him that he was being punished in his old company by being sent to the front line with the Whites. 

The guy telling the story thought that a strange take on segregation, for Negroes to be punished by sending them to where Whites who were not being punished were being blown apart hourly.

STOP ACTING LIKE THAT

Blog number 130                                               Nov. 15, 2007

I took some acting classes back in my Joe College days.  I liked 'em.  If I had started earlier and hadn't been so shy, I think I would have enjoyed the stage.

One very important thing brought home to me in acting class was that someone can tell us something - give us information, and we can think we understand how to use that information, but until we have a related experience in which to ensconce the information, it will all go for naught.  

Let me explain.

In an improvisation class, one of the things we were told was to watch when a setup began to veer into an emotional field based upon something in our past, and to go with that emotion because there's where the magic of acting lies. 

If an actor can make the scene seem real, that it is really happening, there is a kind of "losing" of one's self, bringing about a heightening of one's awareness.

The first time I was aware of this phenomena, I was watching Dick Cavet interview Richard Burton.  Dick asked Richard if he would do a few lines from "Camelot," a play that Richard was in at the time. 

Richard started describing how it came to be that he -- as a young lad, had come to pull the sword from the stone.  When he was done with the scene, I realized that I really thought that Richard was describing something that really had happened to him.  And then Dick Cavet said to Richard, "When you were doing that scene, I thought that that had really happened to YOU."

Magic.

In the improvisation class, I was placed in a scene with a young man.  We were supposed to talk about something with a radio.  I forget the setup, but because of what seemed to me to be smart aleck posturing coming from the young man, I began to get very angry with him and I kept trying to pull back from that so that I wouldn't wind up shouting at him. 

What I was unconsciously doing was putting that lad in place of another lad that often treated me in a smart-alecky manner.  I couldn't shake it and had to stop the scene.

After the scene was stopped and we went back to our real selves, I realized that that was what the instructor had been talking about.  I had the opportunity to do acting magic, playing on the emotions raised by the circumstances, but due to my not having any prior experience with a false emotion, I didn't recognize what was happening and missed it.

In another case, I was going to an audition and I asked the drama teacher if she had any advice for me.  She told me, "Give them something."  Yeah, OK.

So I did my audition, read my lines in my voice, using my expressions, and only while walking out of the building did I realize that I should have lisped, pursed my lips, scowled, anything.  I should have given them something. 

I did not know what the drama coach meant when she said to give them something.  I thought I knew, but I didn't.  After I didn't give them anything, after I had that experience, then it was very clear to me exactly what she meant.  But too late, naturally.  Story of my life.

THAT'S A REAL PUZZLE

Blog number 129                                               Nov. 15, 2007

I bought a bunch of 500 piece jigsaw puzzles from a local dollar store for a dollar apiece.  Not a bad price.  The pieces are tiny and very similar to each other, so they make fairly difficult puzzles.  I have fun with them anyhow and it beats paying $20 for a 1000 piece puzzle.  Economy-wise.

Anyhow, the reason I am writing this entry in my blog is because of the previous blog about dollar store toys being deficient in some manner.  This time, one of the puzzles has a border piece missing and an extra middle piece.  It's like a worker decided to take one piece out of one puzzle and replace it with a piece from another puzzle.

The scamp.

TIMES CHANGE, MOSTLY.

Blog number 128                                               Nov. 13, 2007

Monday nights, Jay Leno has a section called, "Headlines" where he shows funny and weird things - malaprops mostly, from various publications around the country.  One Monday he showed toys he had bought at a dollar store.  He said the toys are there usually because something is wrong with them and he showed a toy car that had the windshield on the rear window.

I like to give toys to children I meet, so we - Teresa and I, bought several packages of toy cars called "Turbo Wheels."  Four to a package for one dollar.  Pretty cheap, but I didn't think much about it until I tried one out this morning.  They wouldn't go forward - only backward.  Racing cars that could only back up.  Made in China.  Naturally.

Speaking of which, several years ago I bought a two way hose connection and it leaked.  So I took it back and bought another one.  It leaked too.  So I tried again.  Leaked.  Made in China.  I don't remember how I solved the problem.

Two years ago I bought a water cutoff.  Leaked.  Another one.  Leaked.  Made in China.  I finally solved the problem by buying a plastic one.  Made in the USA

Before the good war, anything made in Japan had the reputation for being crap.  Now made-in-China has that reputation, while Japanese-made usually means quality.

During that war, I remember one Sunday in a comic strip called, "Bringing Up Father", Jiggs (male protagonist) was caught by Maggie (his wife) breaking all the dishes in the house.  When she got on him about it, he pointed out that on the bottom of the dishes it said, "Made In Japan."  This didn't seem odd to me at the time, and evidently it didn't seem odd to the cartoonist.  Because we hated the Japs so badly, you see.  We called them Japs back then.

AND YET ANOTHER MYSTERY UNSOLVED

Blog number 127                                               Nov. 05, 2007

A few weeks ago our cat Zipper came home with a big cut on his flank.  He left again that night and didn't come home that night nor the next day.  Figuring that either the coyotes got him, or whatever had wounded him before had killed him, I started going through his things, throwing out old comforters, etc., and planning on the next day giving his remaining food to the neighbor for her cats.

Late that night I was sitting at my computer - writing or something, when I heard mewing at the back door.  I opened it and Zipper came sauntering in as if he had just gone out for an hour or so.  Looking for his wound, I couldn't find it.  I know it couldn't have healed in that short a time, so now I'm wondering if one of the neighbors took him to a vet who sewed him up and kept him overnight. 

Or something else happened.

ALWAYS PAY YOUR HELP

Blog number 126                                               Nov. 2, 2007

So I'm reading this novel about police chiefs and one of the characters is running for state senator and he talks to his wife about the types of people who support a candidate and why.  Some do it because they like the candidate's ideas, some do it 'cause they like the guy and some do it so's they can get something from the guy if he gets elected.  It is this last guy that I want to talk about.

Back when we owned a rental apartment, we had a tenant that held meetings supporting a marijuana pro-legalization candidate for president.  They passed out leaflets and bumper stickers, talked to people.  I think they really believed they might have a chance.  Their candidate was squeaky clean, young, handsome, an activist for the environment - just perfect for the part.  These people tried for two elections, never won.

A few years later I'm reading about this guy that got this other guy elected as a Democrat to a senate seat.  He expected to get appointed to a juicy post, but the electee stiffed him.  Gave him nothing.  He was pissed.

The first time the senator came up for reelection, this guy decided he would sabotage the election.  What he did was to find a good candidate and a cause that would split the democratic vote, and he came up with the marijuana pro-legalization idea.

So this tenant and her friends, who thought they were going to get marijuana legalized, were actually helping this guy get revenge on a scumbag.  The scumbag lost.  He tried again a coupla years later, and once again the revenger ran a campaign to get a pro-legalization candidate elected, and once again the ex-senator lost.  The guy never tried again.

EVERYBODY'S SCAPEGOAT AND PATSY. EEEHAW!

Blog number 125                                               Oct. 26, 2007

We plan to leave for Teresa's physical rehab at 9:00 AM, but since we needed to get gas, we decided to change that time to 8:30 AM.  At 8:25, Teresa comes up to me and says, "I don't want to hang around here, let's leave now."  I say OK.  So we leave.

We get gassed and I drop Teresa off at rehab at 8:45 AM.  I go toolin' down Florence Blvd., on my way to Starbucks, a cup of coffee and a sugar coated apple-caramel pastry.  I have the windows down and the radio blaring out a Roy Orbitson tune I don't recall ever hearing before. I'm as happy as a politician with enough votes than I can afford to trade some of them for a new Lincoln Continental. 

My cell phone suddenly starts playing a tune.  I answer.

"Hello?"

"You dropped me off forty-five minutes early!  Now I'll have to sit here for forty-five minutes!"

"Want me to come back and get you?"

"No.  I don't know why you felt you had to drop me off so early."

"Wait a minute.  I thought it was a joint agreement.  Besides, YOU were the one that wanted to leave at 8:25."

"What ever."

Jeeze!

I get to Starbucks.  I get my paper, my pastry and my coffee.  I sit down in one of four easy chairs in a little private cubbyhole away from the wooden tables and chairs out in the main room.  This is my sanctuary.  My reading room.  My thinking room.

I always choose the chair by the window if no one is already sitting there.  I would not dream of asking anyone to move so that I could sit there. It would never enter my mind.  I can't imagine anyone asking anyone to move from there so that they could sit down.  In civilized circles, such an affront is just not done. 

The light comes in from the window over the left shoulder, making it a perfect light for reading.  The other chairs do not sit at such an advantageous position, two of them face the light coming in and one sits in a dark corner with only a dim light for illumination.

I am eating my pastry, drinking my coffee, writing a  synopsis of my interlude with Teresa as described above, when an old man asks me if I would move so that he could sit there because his wife ... and here his voice trails off and he motions towards her carelessly with his left hand.  Meant to imply, I am sure, that he and his wife wish to sit close together in order to converse about intimate things.

I say sure and start to gather up my coffee, my book, my newspaper, my writing materials so that I can move to one of the other chairs.  I drop my pen and he graciously attempts to pick it up for me, but I beat him to it.  Both of them thank me effusively.

I finish my note taking, begin to read my paper and later my book.  I notice that the old man and woman converse for about a minute and then both pull out paperback books and proceed to read for the rest of the time I am there.

I am amazed that they did not seem to feel any shame, nor embarrassment, nor any sort of human connection.  I like to think that old people have put themselves a little more distant from such childish selfishness, but I guess that's a little too much to ask.

I am going to watch for them.  Next time that couple comes in and asks me to move, I'll smile sweetly and say, "Oh, that's so gracious of you, and I thank you for your kind thought, but I'll have to decline.  But thanks anyhow."

P.S. One week later I am again in Starbucks, I leave to get Teresa, I pick her up and she wants to go back to Starbucks, so we do.  When we arrive, I see the couple sitting exactly where they were the last time.  I missed them by about fifteen minutes, I surmise. 

Teresa and I sit in the other chairs and I pass a note to Teresa that says, "That's the couple I was telling you about," and she says out loud, "I thought it was,"

"I'll keep a lookout for them, you betchum Red Ryder.  I'll get them," I ruminate while rubbing my hands together mumbling, "Excellent." A la Mr. Burns.  I can't wait.

                                                                           

MONEY FOR NUTHIN', CHICKS FOR FUN

Blog number 124                                               Oct. 21, 2007

So I'm in the pita place, buying a pita for Teresa and my lovely granddaughter, Tara, and the total comes to $12.48.  I give the girl six two dollar bills and a fifty cent piece.  She puts the bills in the drawer and looks at the fifty cent piece.  Finally she holds it up to me and asks, "What's this?"

I told her it was fifty cents and then I ask her how old she was.  She says, "Sixteen." 

I ask her if she's never seen a fifty cent piece before and she says, "Yes, but not like this."  Puzzled, I ask her what they looked like and she reaches into the cash drawer, draws out two quarters, each held by a thumb and two fingers in each hand in and says, "Like this."

Babies you can talk with, that's what they are.

I LOVE, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE, TELEVISION

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BLAST FROM THE PAST

Blog number 122                                               Oct. 10, 2007

When I was about eight or nine, Bill, John and I (older brother, younger brother, and me) worked as roustabouts for Barnum and Bailey's three ring circus.  I am pretty sure that all we did was to pull on ropes along with a bunch of other people - mostly adults, which raised the three huge tents of the circus.  This is the same circus where my uncle was tried for killing elephants and found not guilty.

When we finished, we were given tickets to the circus.  For some reason Pat (my younger sister) was dropped off to stay with us at this time.

We handed our tickets to the ticket taker and he let Pat in even though she didn't have a ticket.  She must have been three or four years old.  Notice here that there were four very young children, alone with no supervision, wandering around the grounds of a traveling circus at twilight in a big city.

It was a different time.

We went down the side of the tents, looking at all the animals we had already been looking at all day, and left.  The ticket taker said something to us as we left, something about leaving, but it didn't register with any of us. I don't really remember for sure, but using logic, we must have walked home.

When we got home, my mother asked us in surprise, "You didn't stay for the show?"  We told her we saw the animals.  It was only when I was older that I realized we had missed the trapeze artists, the bareback lady horse rider, the clowns, the lion tamer, the whole damn circus!  Worked all day for nothing.  Well, not for nothing.  I got a story to tell in my old age out of it.

ANYHOW, I GOTS ANOTHER ONE

Blog number 121                                               Oct. 07, 2007

I was sitting with David - my oldest son, in a coffee house in downtown Sacramento.  When I got up to leave, my chair tipped over and I felt an excruciating pain. It was so bad that it kinda put me in a very confused state of mind.  I remember David kept asking me if I had hit my head and I never did answer him because I really didn't know whether I did or not.  I felt pain, but I couldn't determine where it originated. Turned out I had torn a rotator cuff.

The reason for the tipped chair I later found out, was because one leg was on a little ledge against the wall.  When I got up to get out, the chair leg floating in the air went to the floor and dumped me.

I went to Kaiser - an HMO, got into an argument with the doctor who didn't want to OK an operation, and frustrated, told me that he was "the foremost shoulder expert with Kaiser in Northern California."  Big fish in little pond, I guess.

He asked me what I wanted done with it, and I told him I wanted it fixed.  In an amazed stance with voice to go with it, he yelled, "FIX IT?  FIX IT?"  I told him that I KNEW that football players got rotator cuff injuries operated on, contrary to his insistence that nothing could be done.  He snarled at me, "Well...are YOU a football player?"  That's a pretty good for-instance of the type of arguments he was giving me.

He apologized to me later, but I could tell his heart really wasn't in it.

A few weeks later, because I had this vision of faces staring at me, I asked David if people were looking at me at the time and he said, "Well, Dad.  You WERE lying on the floor."  I never knew that.  Ain't that weird?

Because of that injury, I now throw like a girl and I can't throw farther than ten or fifteen feet.

But I eat good and I got a cat.

SCREW YOU, JACK

Blog number 120                                               Oct. 5, 2007

It might be that I have never noticed it before, but I don't think so.  I am talking about the ubiquitous phenomena of honking drivers warning backing-out drivers that they are coming though. 

Let me explain.

Here is Casa Grande there seems to be an awful lot of parking lots that are very crowded.  Consequently, when backing out of a space, one frequently hears a, "Honk!  Honk!" from an approaching auto, with the subtext, "You idiot, can't you see I'm driving here?"

When this happens to me, I think, "Why in hell can't you stop and wait for me to back out and then proceed on to your important mission, huh?"

"Idiot."

An alternative way of handling this lies totally with the pre-honking driver - the one coming up on a driver who is trying to leave a parking space.  All that driver has to do when he sees backup lights and/or movement of the driver trying to leave, is to simply stop and leave all hands off the horn.  The result?  No noise pollution and two happy and satisfied drivers.  The backing up driver feels good due to the graciousness of a helpful human, while the driver coming up on the backup driver feels good from having served a fellow survivor.   From having placed another in front of one's self.  Win win.

I have not noticed this honking problem in other cities, and like I say, maybe it was there but I just never noticed.  But I think I can say without fear of contradiction, that Casa Grande's parking lots contain more automobiles than other cities, percentage-wise.  This could be because nobody walks - the heat, you know.  Whatever the reason, why do so many people have to be so selfish and narcissistic?  I imagine these are the same people that litter from automobiles, flirt with cashiers while holding up a long line, and leave shopping carts in parking  spaces.  "No one exists except my important self."

Tsk Tsk Tsk.

I AIN'T ALWAYS

Blog number 119                                               Oct. 1, 2007

Coming down Cottonwood Avenue this afternoon at rush hour, I spied a man pushing another man in a wheelchair.  They were caught in a passing lane by onrushing traffic, two lanes on each side, one hundred feet from a traffic lighted crosswalk.  What's up with that?

Last March when my loving wife was in the hospital for knee surgery, I accidentally locked myself out of the house.  I went around looking for unlocked windows and doors, finding none.  I didn't have access to any of my tools, so I couldn't break into a door.  The only thing I could think of to do was to break a window and then clean the whole mess up before Teresa saw it.  I could think of no other way to solve the problem.

I took a brick from the pile in the backyard and hit the family room window.  It didn't break.  I wrapped the brick in a rag I had on the verandah and gave the window a smart smack.  Nothing.  OK, I gotta get this done.  I stepped back about ten feet, took the towel off the brick and threw it as hard as I could at the window.  It bounced off the window and landed about six feet away.  Whaaaaa?

I left the brick where it landed to show to my youngest son when he came over, because I was very impressed with the glass being used nowadays.  Funny that no mention was made of this glass when we bought the house.  Seems like something like that has bragging rights.

But I still had to get in.  I was done trying to break a window.  My next great idea was to go next door and borrow a wood chisel and cut a hole in the front door and get in that way.

While the lady next door looked for a chisel, she happened to ask me why I didn't call a locksmith.  I guess she thought I had some neurotic aversion to them, but to tell you the truth, it never crossed my mind.  Did I feel silly!

If I remember right, the locksmith cost me forty-six dollars and he was all done a half hour after I called him.  Simple.  Cheap.

I told my youngest son about my adventure, showed him where the brick had landed after bouncing off the window, I showed him the mark on the window where the brick had hit, and I swore him to secrecy because I didn't want the lovely Teresa to know anything about it.

About a week later her and I were out front and the next door lady drove by and yelled out asking about the locksmith.  Teresa asked me what that was all about, so I told her about locking myself out of the house, but I didn't tell her about throwing the brick at our window.  Not then I didn't.

Even later that month I was talking to a guy at Starbucks and we got to talking about buying new houses and I got excited and told him about the magnificently strong windows being made now, AND about bouncing a brick off our window.  Teresa was right there listening.  Stupid!

CAN I GET YOU ANYTHING?

Blog number 118                                               Sep 27, 2007

My dear wife, the loving and caring Teresa, can on occasion be a demanding, micro-managing, complaining, hard-to-please woman.

On occasion.

Especially when she is in pain and/or discomfort.

I brought her home from re-hab this morning, where she was recovering from a knee operation.  One of the nurses helped her out to the car and after we placed Teresa in her seat, as I was walking around to the driver's side, the nurse stopped me, took my hand and said that if we ever needed anything, just to ask.  Then after a beat - she said with a smile,"just don't bring her back here." 

Hah!

HEADS I WIN, TAILS I DON'T LOSE.,

Blog number 117                                               Sep 17, 2007

When I was a freshman in High school, I used to go with a new friend during the lunch hour down to a cafe and order mashed potatoes and gravy.  Nothing else. Just mashed potatoes and gravy.  Ten cents, I think it cost.  A very cheap meal anyhow. 

My friend used to match coins with the waitress who later became my sister-in-law by marrying my older brother, for his meal. He always had to talk her into it, because she would be reluctant, saying, "Aw, I always lose."

I was surprised that he did this because neither of us had money to throw away.  In fact, that's why the mashed potatoes and gravy lunches.  It was only many years later that I realized that what was happening was that if he won, he didn't have to pay for his meal and if he lost, he paid for his meal.  Hah!

DICK AND JANE GO THE THE CITY

Blog number 116                                               Sep 12, 2007

Well, yesterday was another of those days that will live in infamy.  September eleventh. It was "Going To Phoenix" day, a day that comes once a week on Tuesday.  I had a doctor's appointment at 8:30 am, so we were figuring on leaving for the City around 9:30.

I was the third patient on the list at the doctor's office at 8:15, but the first person came in at 2:30am and was already lined out, so I was number two, actually. "Not bad," I thought.

The first guy's name got called at about 8:45 am.  Mine was called at 9:30.  I got out of the building around 10:00am from my 8:30 appointment.  Not bad.  A lot faster than usual.

I drove home, got Teresa off the computer and ready to go.  When we walked outside, we noticed a decaled pickup sitting in front with a big guy at the wheel looking like he wanted to talk to us.  He got out, showed Teresa an electric bill, asked her if that was her name, she said yes, and he then told her that he was there to shut off the electricity if we didn't pay the overdue bill that day.

Can we give him a check?  No, gotta be cash.  Can we pay it after we get back from Phoenix?  No, gotta be now.  Teresa says she already paid it.  Not according to his records.  After a few minutes of this, the guy says, "Wait a minute.  What's your name?" 

Teresa says, "Teresa Duran-Reynolds."

"Ah," the guy says, "wrong name.  Sorry."

At around 10:30 we left for the City.

I'M JUST GLAD IT'S THEM AND NOT ME

Blog number 115                                               Sep 05, 2007

I hate being the bearer of this news, but I think it imperative that we, as fellow travelers, know the true state of the nature of humans and the resulting humanity so that we may prepare ourselves to protect us and those we love.  And our property, such as it is. 

Protect.  And serve.  Let me assure you, dear ones, that stupidity and the stupid abound.  There is absolutely no danger of their extinction in the foreseeable future.  And they can be dangerous - especially if they happened to have some power over you.  So you be careful out there.

A case in point.  Actually, three cases which came into my environment in the space of one half of one of the twenty-four hours allotted us each turn of the earth.  The first one I read in the paper concerned the proposal for congress to allow a change in the design of the gold dollar coin "So that more people will want them."

I have railed against this stupidity of assuming that certain coins and other objects are not popular because of the public's refusal of them.  That is just not true.  Changing the design is not going to help.  Just a few months ago they were talking about putting a male face on a new dollar coin in order to make them more acceptable.  What happened to that brilliant brainstorm?

The reason that people don't spend gold dollars is because they can't get them because banks don't carry them.  And even if they did carry them, the public would, one by one, have to ask specifically for them.  If the government so wants us to appreciate their amazing ideas, then the banks had better start giving them out in place of dollar bills.  Toot sweet.

On another page of the same newspaper we are told of a service given to a fallen member of the police force.  Are you ready for this?  The service was for a police DOG "killed in the line of duty."  That's right folks.  Evidently all dogs don't go to Heaven - at least not without a service with hymns being sung and prayers being said pleading with God to let the poor dog in.  This is not really an isolated case of assigning human qualities to a dog either.  Several years ago, Chief Gates of the Los Angels police force ordered that the American flags in Los Angels be flown at half mast for a fallen police dog hero.

Shortly after leaving the coffee shop where the above was read, I pulled up to a red light and pulled toward the center, leaving plenty of space on my right for drivers wishing to make a right turn on a red light to continue on their journey.  Lo and behold, a pickup with his right turn signal flashing pulled up behind me, partly right behind me and partly in the space I purposely left open.  I checked again to see if I had left enough space, and sure enough, I did.  Plenty of space.  Well, the driver couldn't be that dense, could he?  Maybe his turn signal was inadvertently left on and he was going to continue straight, behind me.  I have done that myself - left my turn signal on because I was not aware that it was.  I have done that plenty of times.

When the light changed, sure enough, the guy made a right turn.  I had trouble seeing for a while after that, having slapped my forehead with sufficient force to cause intensive watering of the eyes, shooting stars, and a short period of unconsciousness.  I recovered in time to avoid an accident, fortunately.

So watch out.  No telling what stupid people will do.  They are unpredictable, careless and useless.  Too bad slavery is illegal.

JESUS, GOD, AND ME

Blog number 115                                               Sep 04, 2007

Teresa and I went to Barnes and Noble this morning and one of the new books I saw was something entitled, "Religious Literacy," which sounded interesting to me so I looks inside and it seems to be talking about different people's understanding of the Bible, which from what I gather, the author isn't all that impressed with, overall.  For some reason what I read flashed me back to when I was a senior in High School.

I and four other students took Spanish from this rather rotund lady teacher that wouldn't shut up, running topics one after the other with discernible non sequitur.  Her voice stayed at the same high pitched tone for the fifty minutes the class lasted.  I don't remember her taking a breath.  I think she talked on the inward breath as well as on the outward one.  Drone drone drone.

The next year the only student she had was me, and I was there because I knew nobody else was going to take the class and I didn't want her to feel bad, like nobody wanted to be in her class, which happened to be true. 

I hated that class!

She was supposed to teach me Spanish but most of her talk centered on Journalism which she also taught, and poetry, which she adored.  One day she was talking about something and pertaining to a point she was making, she asked me what was the first story in the Bible.

Now, I was first baptized at the age of fourteen, had never been to a church, never looked at a religious book, and the only reason I was baptized then was that the minister of the Methodist church who came out to the farm to tell us my cousin had died in an automobile accident shamed my mother into agreeing to have us baptized.

I knew Jesus had something to do with God, but exactly what, I hadn't a clue nor a care.  I started going to young people's evening cinnamon toast and hot chocolate soirees hosted by the minister's hot young wife, and the family - well, my Mom and me and my siblings, even went to a service one Sunday, but that was the extent of my religious training up to the time my Spanish teacher asked me that question about the first story in the Bible.

The teacher kept after me to answer her.  "Come on - what's the first story in the Bible about?  How does it begin?" Frustration.  Now the real horror of being the only student in a class with a clueless drone set in.  No fellow student savior.  My answer was the only focus of her mind.

I knew something about the story of Christmas, the Three Wise Men and the manger separate from Santa Clause, so I took a stab.  "With the birth of Jesus?"  She never continued with the interrogation, and I thought I caught a look of intense pity, as if I was a poor cold hungry homeless orphan.  "Where is this child's parents?" I thought she thought.

Many years later I was talking to Teresa and Fred from the mountains about Jesus or Christianity or something and I at one time stated, "That's because you and Teresa were brought up with some knowledge of Christianity, but I wasn't." 

I was just stating a fact.  I thought I was just informing them of something which explained the problem - whatever it was, of which they were unaware.  But both of them immediately jumped on me as if I had fabricated what was obviously a lie.

They didn't or couldn't believe that a fellow California American had grown up totally ignorant of the Bible and Christianity. They were projecting their experiences onto me, as did that teacher.

I didn't argue the point with them because I knew that it was just so alien to them that they would think I was making things up in order to be right.

I kind of think that this is what that book is about - that a lot of people think that another lot of people know a lot about the Bible, but that it isn't true.  I ordered the book from the library, so I'll read it and find out, I guess.

YOU DID A BAD, BAD THING

Blog number 114                                               Aug 28, 2007

We went to the mail room, Teresa and I.  While she went to wait in line to take care of a package she was sending, I went to our box to get the mail.  When I went to rejoin Teresa, I passed a four year old boy who was waiting with his mother in line.  He looked at me as I passed, and I tapped him on the head with a letter.  I passed him and as I came around the corner to get in line, I saw that he was pouting and whining to his mother while pointing at me.  "Momma, that man..."

He was telling on me! 

I got him turned around before I left - we were friends, but that sure was cute.  That and Teresa's Auschwitz gaffe earlier (see entry below) made it a good day for moi.

PUT YOUR DUKES UP, YOU SISSY

Blog number 113                                               Aug 27, 2007

I watched a boxing match a few months back and one boxer's seconds were slow getting the stool out of the corner.  When the bell rang for the round to start, the referee, the seconds and the boxer were all milling around the boxer's corner when the opponent rushed over and was about to deliver a haymaker, but the referee saw him and made him stop and step away.

Now, that wasn't right!  When the bell rings, you are supposed to protect yourself at all times.  The referee isn't supposed to help you!

The announcers were livid about it, as I was.  They said it was the worst case of incompetent refereeing they ever saw. 

Me too.

WHAT A FUNNY WORLD

Blog number 112                                               Aug 27, 2007

I once worked with a guy who was a produce manager for a grocery chain store.  He used to berate my religion when we had out coffee break.  I was a Catholic convert at the time, he was a Protestant minister with a religious radio program on Sunday mornings.

One day I walked by him leaning against a display of apples, watching the customers.  He stopped me and told me that those ladies were committing eight different sins by picking over the fruit.

Think about that.  "That's a sin.  So's that.  And that.  And that." 

This guy was counting sins instead of thinking of God.  I would think this minister was worshipping not God, but the Devil, since his thoughts were of "the Devil's works," not God's.

And he never suspected. 
                                                    ****************
Teresa has a way of stumbling in such a manner as to wind up with several feet in her mouth.  Today she did one that will become a classic.

This morning we were hanging at Starbucks.  I went to get her a drink and when I came back, she was talking to a husband and wife from Germany, both about sixty years old.

I handed her her drink, sat down and started working on my sudoku.  Then I heard Teresa say, "I only know a few words in German.  Ein zwie drei.......Auschwitz."

I grinned and shook my head.  The two Germans looked at each other in stunned silence and then the man said very softly, "Oh, my." 

Hah!

I am very glad that I was so fortunate as to have been there to experience that.  I wouldn't have missed it for the world.  What really put the frosting on that cake was the husband's "oh, my."

I giggle yet.

A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND IN NEED

Blog number 111                                               Aug 20, 2007

I just finished reading this book about two girls and a boy and their fellow "students," all of whom their primary purpose in life is to be donors. Organ donors, I assume, since it is never spelled out, exactly.  It was written by an Englishman by the name of Kazuo Ishiguro. 

I read another book of his called, "Remains of the Day," which was made into a movie that I fell in love with, thus my wish to read the book.  In this book, the protagonist's sole purpose in life is to be the perfect servant.  And he is.

Mr. Ishiguro seems to be interested mainly in purposes in life.  From what I've read of his so far. 

He has this ability to pull the reader along to see what comes next.  It's like he has a string in his hand that you follow, hand over hand and just before you come to the end of the string, he hands you another.  For instance he'll say something like, "There was the time, maybe a few weeks after the talk by the pond, when Miss Lucy was taking us for English," and when he explains what happened on that walk, we are told interesting hints of things that are going to be told to us later on.

I have been reading a lot of interesting books, and this one got me to thinking of a best friend I once had that always seemed to like the same books I did, and vice versa.  He also told the most interesting stories.  He "collected" interesting friends.  I met him in a math class and I think he "collected" me to help him with his math because that is what happened.

After I finished this book, I wanted someone else to read it and the only person I could think of that would like it as much as I did would be Carl.  That was his name.  Carl.  But I can't do that because I don't speak to him any more.

I used to not talk for months on end.  I loved it because I never had to explain myself or worry about saying something idiotic.  It's a very carefree way of existing.  It wasn't so at first, though.  I used to get so angry.  I finally worked that out - through perseverance, I'm sure.

Teresa hated my silent periods.  Now she hates my talking periods.  What's a husband to do?

After several months of silence, I started talking.  Then I went back to not talking because it was more peaceful.  One night Carl and his wife picked me up and he went through a stop sign.  His wife yelled at him.  Then he almost went through a red light and I realized he was trying to get me to talk.  I wondered what kind of a friend would do that.  This got me to remembering other times when he wasn't being a friend and within just a few moments I realized that he wasn't a friend at all.  He didn't care about me.  I was just someone that entertained him.

But I still miss his stories and talking about books with him.  And he WAS funny.  I like funny.

Post Script: The last time I tried not talking, a woman friend of Teresa's - someone she worked with, was at our house and after she found out that I wasn't talking, she made a point of saying to me, "something something when you've finished your anti social behavior."

What is it about people that think we are there to entertain them?

Bitch.

THE FOOD CHAIN STOPS HERE.

Blog number 110   *******   Aug 19, 2007

Scene: I see a shopping cart in a shaded parking place reserved for the automobiles of shoppers.

Action: I park in the same shade next to the space holding the shopping cart.

Result:  I think of how lazy and/or thoughtless was the person who left the shopping cart there.

Hypothesis of result if I left the shopping cart there instead of taking it to where it belongs: I could more easily back out, since no one would park there, leaving a wide area free of other cars.

Thoughts on this hypothesis: Person who would do this would not be lazy and/or thoughtless, but instead would revert to being selfish and/or unaware of existence of others.

Theory: Action reveals motive, motive reveals character, character reveals personality.

Thoughts to ponder: What does this Blog entry say about the character of the entry writer? ...and... who cares?

THE RIGHT TO BARE ARMS

Blog number 109                                               Aug 16, 2007

Got my first rifle when I was twelve.  Paid $10 for it.  Got it from a private party because no weapons for civilians were being sold at that time.  The War, ya know.  I had to talk the private party into it.  I even told him I would pay $12, but when he finally said yes, I only gave him ten and he didn't object.  Nice guy.  That family had a lot of guns and also several Indian motorcycles.  This was in Graettinger Iowa.

Bullets were rationed.  You could only buy one box at a time, and often the store didn't have any.

When I worked in a grocery store in 1948 - three years after the war ended, things were still rationed.  We used to hide Kool Aide under the counter to save for steady customers.

On the farm I used to take 22 cal. bullets, place them on a rock and hit them with another rock.  Ping!  We also used to take a large bolt, place a nut on one end, just barely tightened onto the nut, snip off the white ends of wooden matches and put them in the nut hole and then put another bolt slightly tightened down onto the matchhead filled nut.  Instant hand grenade.

When I was a senior in high school I bought a home made .22 pistol for $2.  I used to fire it in the basement.

I am pretty sure my parents knew nothing of any of this.

Except about the rationing part.

TOO OLD SMART

Blog number 108                                               Aug 11, 2007

In our upstairs flat of our two-flat home at 2730 D Street in Sacramento, California, USA, the world, we were greatly afflicted with pigeons.  They roosted above the front door and shitith upon the steps, much to our dismay, such as it was.  I yelled at them, I shot at them with a BB gun, I climbed a ladder to precariously place strips of wood studded with pointy nails upon the eaves braces, all to no avail.  To no avail whatsoever.

Living here in Casa Grande, the jewel of the desert, we also were bothered by these disgusting and useless creatures.  I threw rocks, yelled, shouted, cursed.  Nothing. 

One morning I went out and they were up there, cooing away, not a care in the world when it came to me (from watching the excellent film, Ghost Dog) to take off my shirt and wave it over my head.  Viola!  It worked like a charm.  Not only does it affect them immediately, it makes them so wary that whenever I walk out the door, they immediately take off.  If they don't, I take off my shirt and give them a dose of the hateful waving shirt.  They hate that.  I enjoy that they hate that.

I am so happy.

Post Script:  Today, the 19th, waving shirt did not work so I got a long stick and tied a large piece of cloth to it, took it out there, waved it around in a circle above my head and I swear I could sense the fear engendered in the pigeons.  They took off with absolutely no hesitation.

I am still happy with my new situation.  I have the feeling this one is a permanent fix.  After all, Ghost Dog used it constantly to keep his pigeons aloft.

 

WHO WOULDA GUESSED?

Blog number 107                                                August 06, 2007

Bob Dylon's song, "Tamborine Man (Play A Tune for Me) was written after Bob visited New Orleans and watched a funeral procession led by a man playing the tamborine.  So what he is actually singing about is wanting a New Orleans funeral.  I think.

                                        ***************

I was listening to the radio a few days ago when this instrumental started.  It was really the first time I was struck by the professionalism of the band.  None of the instruments was any louder than any of the rest.  The melody flowed like sewing machine oil spilling over a speed bump.  I even commented to Teresa on the smoothness of the music.  Then I recognized the tune.  It was one of K.C. And The Sunshine Bands' songs.

I had written the previous paragraph earlier today after coming back from the coffee house and was sitting here at midnight, waiting to get sleepy, and lo and behold, comes on an hour of "My Music - the 70's Experience" on the telly with "A Taste Of Honey," Leo Sayers, Crystal Gayle, some other familiars, AND... "K.C. AND THE SUNSHINE BAND"! 

They haven't played yet - probably have to wait until about 1:00 a.m.

I'll wait.

 

SPANISH SHPANISH

Blog number 106                                               July 27, 2007

I was always fascinated by the Spanish language, so when I heard a Mexican I worked with use what I thought was the word, "spera," I asked him, in Spanish, "Que es spera?"  (What is "spera"?)  He pointed to a fellow worker. 

So I asked again, "Que es spera?"  He thumbed toward the fellow worker and said, "Him."  I didn't understand at all, so I asked the Mexican, "What did I say?"  He said, "You asked me what I was waiting for."

I told this to my lovely wife of a little under three years of marriage, and I didn't get any response.  She didn't think it funny, I thought, because she didn't understand Spanish and I tried to explain it to her but got nowhere, so I just forget about it.

Later that year her sister came to visit and lo and behold, they batted away in Spanish constantly. I confronted her with why I was so ignorant of her knowledge of the Spanish language and she told me she didn't want me to know she spoke Spanish, since she went through a lot of discrimination while living in Texas and Denver because of it and she thought I would react the same way.

I asked her why she didn't laugh at the Spanish story I told her and she said she had laughed inside.

Once several years later I commented upon her Mexican heritage and she blew her stack.  We had a big fight.  She declares she is Tewa Indian and Spanish (from Spain} although sometimes she is Tewa Indian and Jewish, so I really don't know.

Not much later we ate in a Mexican restaurant that played marachi music and I commented that I didn't like Mexican music and once again, stack blowing and big fighting.

So.  She gets angry if I suggest she is associated with anything Mexican.  She also gets angry if I suggest there is something wrong with anything Mexican.  Mixed message?  I think so.

I guess those early bad times stick with one forever.  I was just making comments concerning something else both times, we were both in good moods before these incidents.  Strange, huh?

If she reads this, I might be in trouble again, but trouble is my middle name anyhow.  Donald Trouble Reynolds.

I just sent this to Teresa to see if she minded it going on my blog.  The only objection she had - and it was a strong one, was that I had to say we had been married only one year, not three years.

Funny lady.

MOMMY, TELL ME A STORY

Blog number 105                                               July 26, 2007
I am into titles of movies or books and poignant or poetic first sentences of stories.  I simply love them. 

That last sentence reads like that because I have just put down a novel concerning a sixty year old English woman and she talks like this. 

Many, many years ago, while reading "Shogun," sitting on a park bench in my beloved Sacramento, I suddenly realized that I was thinking as if I was a character in that book.  I have since found that without fail, I always do that.  Horrible sentence, that last one.  But what's a Mother to do?

Anyhow, back to titles and first sentences.  What made me think of this is that while in Barnes and Nobles a few days ago, going to the loo, I passed a shelve of books, one of which had the title, "The Nymphos of Castle Rock."  What a phrase.  Brings up all kinds of visions, doesn't it?  Does the title infer that in the Western desert town of Castle Rock, there inhabits a bevy of nymphos?  Or is it that there are only five nymphos (three wouldn't work as well). And the story is about their lives?  Or are there only two and the story is about their trials and tribulations as they try to cope with what is mainly a masculine trait? 

I had a dear neighbor once tell me that women enjoy sex just as much as men do.  I didn't say anything, but I thought, "Well..., NO!"

Curious thing.  While spell checking, my computer wanted me to capitalize "nymphos."  It doesn't give me a chance to teach the spell checker to spell it the way I want to.  So I overruled it.  Hope I'm right.

"Shogun" was fun to read, but right in the middle, before the terrific end, the protagonist goes through a love thing.  Totally unnecessary and distracting.  In fact, Kavi - my AKA second son, once told me that he didn't finish Shogun because they started getting all lovey dovey.  I told him it gets through that, to just pass it by without reading it, but I don't think he ever did.

And this reminds me of a great novel concerning the Vietnam war that had a political message every other chapter, without fail.  "The Thirteenth Valley." 

The main story was engrossing.  The political stuff was like being in a political science class room listing to a droning teacher on a warm spring day.  I finished that book by not even looking at every other chapter and I missed nothing. 

Same thing happens with the Jane Roberts' Seth books.  When Seth is writing, the information is fascinating and straight forward, but when Jane is writing, it comes through like nonsense.  Uninformative and nonsequitur.  Fortunately, when Jane is writing, it is in italics, so it is rather easy to just skip over those parts even though occasionally it looks like you may be losing something.  But don't worry, you never are.

It used to be when I was young, all movies had what was then called. "the obligatory love scene."  They were totally unnecessary and boring.  We all knew they were in there to attract women to the movie, or rather because movie producers thought women so shallow as not to find the plot interesting, so they thought a love scene would satisfy them. 

Nowadays we have the obligatory sex scene, which doesn't advance any plot in any way, but still, every movie must have them.  For the same reason we used to have love scenes.

I once saw a movie starring Frank Sinatra about a war going on in an Asian country.  First he would fight ferociously and then on the weekend, he would be with his lover in a hotel away from the fighting.  Time!

I was watching a boxing match on the telly one afternoon and as an experiment they put microphones on the referee.  At one time, one of the fighters put his gloved hand over his right eye and turned sideways, saying, "Time out.  Time out."  The other fighter actually backed away, but the ref said, "There is no time out." 

I guess that when in sparring, they can do that.  The fact that the other boxer responded to it shows that it is pretty ingrained. 

ONE ODDS, ONE ENDS

Blog number 104                                               July 22, 2007

I just erased a long bit of writing because I am pretty sure people would misunderstand what I was doing.  I have changed so much from what I was like forty years ago that to me it is like I can see that person from the inside.  Like he is different from me and thus I can look at him and his thoughts and his behavior from the inside, as different from my thoughts and behavior. 

If that makes sense.

The writing involved anecdotal tales of my unusual behavior and thoughts about money. 

When I started making these extreme changes, I used to tell my friends of some behavior I just did, believing unconsciously that they would understand that I was speaking of a new and unusual event.  Like doing something with complete confidence instead of as my usual meek, shy, "of no consequence" person. They would interpret my report as bragging. 

What I just erased would probably be interpreted like that, but if I told it about another person, people would probably find it interesting. Maybe not, but I think they would.  Anyhow, that's why I erased it.

I really wish there was no such thing as "big ego" so people could talk straight about their lives. Explain what they are about.

I thought for a long while I could at least talk straight to Teresa my wife, but alas, she interprets things like that as due to my big ego more than any other person.  I don't mind being thought of as having a big ego, but I do object to having my actions dismissed as due to some self-promotion.  What's the use of saying anything about some unusual or ludicrous action if it will be thrown out as made up to prove that I am a great guy.  Huh?
                                      **********************

We went to Mimi's today, and as we walked in, a little three year old girl smiled gleefully and said, "HI!"  After we sat down, I went out to get a pack of crayons for her and when I asked the mother if I could give them to her, before the mother could say anything, the little girl reached out her hand to them and said, "Please?  Please?"

Her mother spoke a few words and in a voice I have learned is used by deaf people.  At the same time she signed at the little girl, holding her palm to her chest and waving away.  This caused the little girl to say, "Thank you, thank you," to me.

When the waitress brought their food, I heard the tot say, "Thank you, thank you."  Seemingly, she loved to say thank you.  I think she just picked it up that strongly just at that time.

When I came back from washing my hands in the rest room, I noticed the little girl signing to her mother.  Three years old!

Her voice was so sweet - like silver bells.
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At another time, at Mimi's, we talked to a girl baby and when we left, her siblings all said "bye," and then the little girl said it and all the children were excited.  "The baby said, 'Hi.'  The baby said 'Hi.' "

I guess Teresa and I were fortunate to have been there at such an auspicious occasion. 

I felt that way anyhow.

HISTORY BELONGS IN THE PAST

Blog number 102                                               July 24, 2007

When I get an idea for something to write in my blog, I talk into my recorder, but I usually only say the topic.  When I listen to what I recorded, ready to put it into my blog, the one or two word hints don't sound very interesting or funny, so I pass. 

Yesterday I got to thinking that maybe if I spoke the whole thought and THEN heard it played back, it would remain as interesting or funny as when the event happened or I thought of it. 

I recorded this that I just wrote, but I didn't listen to it.  I just remembered it and wrote it, so I still don't know if that's going to work, or maybe it already is and this is a result of the full speech.

I just read that Starbucks is going to raise prices because of the raise in THEIR prices.  I have been watching this phenomena for a while, since it is a repeat of something that happened back it the sixties or seventies and that's one advantage of getting old.  You get to watch history happening all over again.

The phenomena is that inflation is now going on, but nobody says anything about it, not even using the "I" word.  They just say, "So and so is going up in price, but that's because ..."  Back in the sixties or seventies, every day the newspaper would say the same thing - something like, "The cost of living increased, but that's because doctor's fees went up," or some such thing.  Always a reason why things cost more then they used to. Then after about a year of this, they started really talking about INFLATION. And talked and talked.  Same thing is going to happen this time - you watch.

Which reminds me - back when stocks were a big item (And they will be again), this one columnist, every day, would write, "Stocks hit a record high."  So I wrote to him and explained that, since stock prices had never before been this high, doesn't it make sense that ANY increase would be a new, "Record high?" Why declare something so obvious?

I really didn't expect it to make any difference in his "reporting," but by golly, he never used that phrase again.

And listen to this.  "Dear Abby" was going on and on about sending thank you notes for gifts received and I wrote her and said that a gift is given without any expectation of receiving ANYTHING in return.  I said that if you expected something in return for a gift, it wasn't a gift, it was a barter.

She printed what I wrote and responded with, "Only a saint could do something like that."  That reply blew my mind.  Why is it that only special people can do logical things? Why is not the ordinary man on the street logical enough to give gifts like that?  Huh?  Isn't that a stupid thing to say?  Yes, of course it is.

YUMMY YUMMY!

Blog number 101                                               July 22, 2007

A few years back I was walking down J. Street in Sacramento and I happened to look up into the top of one of the elms that lined the street.  There, on an uppermost branch, I saw a red tailed hawk with his beak stretched skyward, a bony hair covered squirrel tail disappearing down his outstretched throat.

What did that piece of hair and bones taste like?  Why would ANYTHING eat something like that?  Did it taste good to him?  I couldn't believe that.  I got to wondering if some animals ate due to something besides taste.

Yesterday I was thinking something about humans being a pattern of patterns in relation to my reading habits and my walking habits.  I can't remember the exact trail that my mind took, and I didn't have my recorder with me, so that part is probably lost to posterity.  Anyway, this led me to thinking about that hawk and his squirrel lunch - or was it brunch?  It was about ten thirty in the AM.  Brunch.  Yes? 

I then thought about snakes eating eggs, which I have thought about periodically ever since I first heard they did that, and once again, I wondered why it tasted good to them.  I mean, all they could taste would be calcium minerals.  Right?  But then, in this train of thought about patterns of patterns, I thought, "maybe it is the heat of the food that they like.  Snakes don't eat food they find - only fresh killed. 

Maybe it is the warmth of the eggs from the mother bird sitting on them that peaks his epicurean taste and allows him to also swallow a dead rat, tasting nothing but hair and crap all the way to the gizzard."

I wish I had thought of this back when I was taking Experimental Psychology.

Do hawks eat found food?

Did it happen or did it not?

Blog number ONE HUNDRED!                                   July 21, 2007

I think I got stung by a scorpion yesterday, maybe by two.  I reached into a patch of dichondra (a lawn "grass"), pulling long stemmed thistles, and I felt two sharp "zings" on my thumb.  Both zings occurred at the same time.

The stings were not from the thistles, as I was pulling them with my bare hands, so I know what those felt like.  I always just ignore them.  They are like a rough patch of wood or something.  These were more like a bee sting, only very much less pain - which is exactly the description I once read of a scorpion sting years ago.  Now, there is a scorpion, the "Black Scorpion," I think it is called, that emits a much more powerful hurt.  But most species give this low-powered "bee sting."

I had two tiny red dots on my thumb, spaced like a rattlesnake bite.  So maybe it was that. Just kidding.