Done

Heheh...

I'm drunk, fired, and sendin' bolts of lightnin' youyr way....

Back off lowly ones... cinders are in your future.

The Chill of Fall

The chill in the air.... most excellent.

I had to get up this morning, because I was shivering, and put a second blanket on the bed. It was 56^o in the house! Almost time to shut the windows.

Yes, I could have turned off the fan, and that may have helped. But then, being an incredibly light sleeper, I'd hear all the outside noises. Not to mention the footsteps.

He Glows No More

Santa Claus is hurriedly looking for a replacement for Rudolph. 'Tis true! Rudolph has joined the choir invisible, with a little bit of help from the Danish Air Force. Claus has been compensated, and intends to replace Rudy (now bereft of life) by Christmas.

I wonder if governments can sue the Danes for harming their economies? I mean, parents may not spend any money on presents for the wee ones, using the excuse that, "Santa couldn't find us this year... because DENMARK KILLED RUDOLPH!"

Well, I'd do it if I had kids...

The Entertainer

There are times that I get a kick out of making people laugh at work, whether it's something strange I say, or do. And then there are times that I'd rather not be the reason for the smiles and laughter. Tonight was one of the latter.

I was talking with the boss, and he mentioned the amount that our owner wants for the company. I looked at him, and asked him if he was going to buy it. He said he needed more investors. I mentioned that I'd be willing to break my piggy bank as long as one of our first acts as the new owners was to fire a woman I refer to as "The Hag." He didn't find that amusing.

Now, I don't truly hate her... but I'm not that far off, either. I won't go into all of the reasons why, but she's a woman that I will not speak with unless spoken to directly... and then, only in monosyllablic answers. She isn't worth my precious soundwaves. Anyway, when I referred to her as a hag, he looked at me and told me it wasn't very nice. "This I know," I told him, "but it's true."

He started in with some spiel about how god (Allah) will get even with those who do bad things, or spread bad things about others. It is not up to us to try to right wrongs. He was referring to the woman, but also facetiously directing it at me.

He tells me this as I'm working on trying to loosen a socket head screw with a T handle allan wrench. Damn thing was very tight, so I really leaned into it... and then it broke loose, sending the wrench spinning.

I've failed to mention that it was a waist level. Well, I'm mentioning it now. Wrench made contact with satchel, and to my knees I went. I thought I was going to puke... and all I could do was laugh like an idiot!

Boss looked at me, and said, "So what kind of person do you think "P" is, now?" I let him know that even though my future kids may now be stuck running around with dents in their heads, she was still a bitch. He was grinning. Next thing you know, I've got people coming up to me asking what I thought of "P" as a person. What jokers...

I guess it's true that everyone loves a good shot to the nuts... as long as it's someone else's satchel getting smacked. I made everyone's evening.

Sadistic bastards.

So's You Know

Just so you all are aware: Blogging is going to be at strange hours this week. I'm trying to stay off the phone during the day, so any blather will be posted during the evenings. Except for this, of course. And my visits will be much like the drunken ex showing up in the middle of the night looking for a piece...

Hoping to hear from somebody sometime soon about this job thingie.

Oh, and as to the destination I mentioned below? Eric had it pegged. I was going to try to make it down to Helen, GA, then work my way over to Missouri/Arkansas area... maybe visit a few others. Planned to leave work early on Friday, and make my way down.

This was before I realized that I am still in desperate need of a front tire. I probably shouldn't have ridden on it down to Eric's back in July, but it was really bad on the trip home. Good now for only short day trips. Anyway, I won't be able to get the tire on this week, so that's out. At least for now.

Leave the doors unlocked... I'll see you tonight.

Would You Believe...

An earlier visit to AAFFLLAACCKK informed me that Don Adams, of Get Smart fame, had passed away.

One of my favorite actors/characters growing up, I learned a bit more about the man. He had been a Marine. A DI, believe it or not.

In 1941, he dropped out of school to join the Marines. In Guadalcanal he survived the deadly blackwater fever and was returned to the States to become a drill instructor, acquiring the clipped delivery that served him well as a comedian.

A drink raised to you, Don... say "hello" to Chesty, wherever you both may be.

Hooked

A fishhook may have well been attached to these words from Clutch:

...Shadow of the New Praetorian
Tipping Cows in fields Elysian...

Heheh... the video for this song, "Burning Beard", sticks in the gray matter as well.

Definitely one of my favorite bands. Ever.

In The Dog House

My liver is pissed at me over this weekend.

Pissed, I tell you.

No Booze, Just Spirits

This morning, perusing those that I've drank with, I found this piece from Blackfive. It provides a video link about how soldiers are dealing with a little something extra during Operation Katrina. I found it very cool. I've mentioned before that I believe.

I also believe that I visited Matty's site shortly after my ride last night. I don't really remember stopping by, but evidence shows that I did.

What do you think of the clip... besides it's too short?

Godlike

What' the hell makes us do some fo the shit we do? Normally I don't do anything out of theordinary... believe it or not. Byt evert biw abd then, I pulll something brilliant. Like going for a ride an the bike, when I had to walk hone 'cuz I was too tipsy to begin with.

Why does one do that? Methinlks that once one partakes of the nectar, one thinks they become a god. Hell, with sake, I KNOW I'm a god. Don't enven jack with me. I'll lightning bolt your sorry ass.

Anyway, I never ride drunk. Okay, once or twice. Seriousky. For some stupid reason , tonight, after I staggererd my way home, I decicded to hop on ye olde bike. As I rode over the rainbow Bridge to Valhalla, I knew that I had not been thinking. Nay... I'd been drinking. Not smart, but I had a few bkigging posts run through this empty skull. They were incredible... opening the gates of soul and imagination. But alas, the cool evening breeze drove all brilliance that was suppposed to flow unto thee to flow into Stillman's creek.

Do you really feel that godlike when you'ree trashed? Sometimes I thinik so. Jesus and I call each other "J" when we're hanging out. I'ts all cool. Hell, HE'S cool... tonight alone he pulles two troopers off my hind quarrters. On two seperate instances. J kicks ass... I owe him a few.

Don't know what I'm typin g now, nor do I care. Just wish that I could have sharerd those awesomw posts.... you'd have loved them. And possibly had your life changed. Or not.

Go ahead... criticize. I deserve it, and I know it. But keep in mind, shoul I be lit up by the grace of sake, and you critiquew me... let's just say walking pillar of cinders.

I'm just sayin'.

Heh...

Drynk... hacked yp,

Tgat is akk.

It's Gone!

Since I'm about to be unemployed, I've been entertaining the possiblity taking a trip on the bike. So I went to Mapquest to see about how far it might be, and get a few directions. I got more than I bargained for.

Once I set my destination, a map came up... but it was incomplete. So I tried it again. And again. And also again. Each time, it showed the same thing:

Katrina and Rita have been busy bitches... they've washed away the bottom of the US!

Fearing for my friends, blog siblings, and some of my favorite reads, I zoomed in to see where the carnage ended. There's a fellow blogger who is damn close to the cutoff:

Glad to see that he's okay, as I'm certain that Bloodspite is, and Army Wife, also. But I'm worried to death about the Florida and Georgia bloggers, not to mention my friends in Texas. Hope they haven't all been washed away.

BTW, can you figure out what my considered destination is?

Jeeves Removal

Apparently, Ask Jeeves is going to brutally murder their own Jeeves... okay, not murder him, but they are going to off the lad get rid of him.

The search engine now handles more than straight forward questions, and they feel that Jeeves confuses too many users. It's usually only when he's been drinking, but nonetheless, they feel he must be removed.

Ask isn't sure what the new name of the search engine will be, although "Seance" is being tossed around. You'll still be able to ask Jeeves direct questions, but answers will be limited to knocks.

Job Countdown

7 days and a wake up.

All that's left 'til my job is free of me, and I'm free of my job.

Good things are out there...

Creative Composition

A lot of running around to be done today... so it's again time for a game. Yes, that one.

To entertain ourselves when we used to travel a lot, a friend and I used to come up with very strange stories following the formula found in Berenstains' B Book. We didn't stick to it totally, but tried to keep all nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and verbs starting with the same letter. Some of the letters work better than others, but I'm going to save my favorite for another time.

I'll kick it off, and feel free to follow in the comments. You don't need to use whole sentences... if you only can think of a word that fits, throw it in. No need to keep it clean. Repeat words are not a problem. And in cases like today's letter, a word that starts with a similar sound counts... Ready? Using the letter C:

"Codswallop!" cried Cathy the cross-eyed cheerleader. "Chihuahuas can't crack coconuts!"

Again, it's not a novel... characters may disappear and reappear at will. Just have fun with it!

Fall Fest

Anyone in this area (Stillman Valley, Illinois, and surrounding towns) who wants to hook up for a beer this weekend, I'll buy (least the first one). A full blown blog meet will not work... too many people. That's why the late invite.

Fritz's Saturday pork roast starts at 5, and goes until it's gone. Sometimes that's only a couple of hours. Get there early.

The parade Sunday starts at 1, with a street dance following. My advice? Screw the parade, sit your ass in Fritz's and camp out. Once the parade's done, it's hard to find a seat inside.

Drop me a line... email is in upper right corner.

Beer Ad

Okay, it may be wrong, but it's also damn funny. You've probably already seen it, but what the heck... I just saw it yesterday.

That's a happy man there.

*H/T to Raging Mom

Some Kids' Parents

I was reading through the news on Monday, and ran across an article about a parent threatening a coach for benching his son. His boy was five minutes late on the day of the game.

At first, I was really annoyed... I thought about blogging it, but thought to leave it alone. However, listening to some of the parents of kids around here, and members of a certain club, really brings it right back.

What the hell is up with us nowadays? Parents beat up other parents, coaches, and refs. They taunt kids from the other teams, and sometimes their own. If one is to believe all of them, the world is going to be chock full of superstars in the next couple of years. Their kids are the best on the team... can't win without them.

I hate to go back to the olden days when we all had to cross the prairie in covered wagons to play other schools, but I'm going to anyway. Even back then, there was a certain ugliness to organized sports, both relating to school, and little league baseball or football. There were always a few parents convinced that their kid was Gott in the flesh. But their numbers were very few. Most parents would cheer a great play, whether by their kid's team, or the opponents'. Whether their kid, or the kid fighting him for his spot on the team.

There was a respect, and a realization that these were kids... they were just learning. They needed to see good sportsmanship. Not only from their peers, but their parents as well. A parent's kid may not have played much, but an at bat or two, a couple of downs of football, and they were happy. They wished for more, but many understood that their child's skills were developing. It may take five years, or one, but he may bump someone out of a position later on.

Listen to many parents now... their kid is the star of the team. They don't know why the coach doesn't play them more... their kid would gladly bring himself down off the cross to save the game, then get back on it to save man's soul. If the game is lost, and their child didn't play the whole game, it's the coach's fault.

They get ugly, so I'm going to reply ugly. Childish, yes, but very satisfying.

Have you ever thought, Mr./Mrs. Booster Club member, that your kid just plain SUCKS? The little tub of goo isn't the starting quarterback because he can't move! He's only a pinch hitter because he fields the ball like a sloth! She's not playing basketball regularly because she couldn't guard a trash can!

No... I didn't think you'd ever consider it. Your little Jeebus Jrs. have the skills... you know. They have to have such superior skills because you need to relive your life through them. Everything you couldn't be, they will be. You say so.

Being a coach of a school team has to be the worst/best job out there. It's good because you can look back and see how you've helped to develop the kids, as both people and athletes.

But it's gotta be hard as hell because you have to be a politician. You need to play the good kids and win, so you can get to state, and earn some extra money for your school's program. At the same time, you have to keep in mind that you have to try to play every player, at one point or another, to keep them from being crushed... dejected.

And then, of course, there's the loudmouth parents, who's numbers seem to grow each year. It's too bad that a coach can't just pop an idiot parent in the teeth to shut them up. Win, and you're not so bad... but you still should have played their kid. Lose, and you're buried in an avalanche of criticism. And try to instill and enforce a little discipline? Hah.

I know you shouldn't really go off about something unless you've got a way to improve things, but I just get fed up with listening to this crap. How do we make it better? I really feel that it's too late. How positive is that?

I hope to gott that by the time I've got a bunch of little ones running around, I haven't turned into one of those I hate.

Squirrel Poetry

They'll build a bridge high,
For a rat of the trees,
In hopes to save lives
(Right now there's just three).

Spending almost two g's
On said cable span.
Hoping no squirrels be
By cars over ran.

"Some people in the town think this is nonsense and we should be spending money on people rather than squirrels ... but it's not," insisted the mayor.

No, it's nuts.

An Interview?

Basil is conducting blog interviews, as has been pointed out by countless others. So far, there are a few Bad Example Family members, and one of the folks who worked on this blog waiting in line. Plus, many more. Make sure you send your questions.

Anyway, I had been thinking about putting up an "About Me" link, and instead of the usual blather, or common questions, I had it in mind to ask you to provide me with questions, and I'd try to provide you with answers. But, with Basil doing his interviews, it throws a wrench into the mix.

Should I stick with my plan, or should I sign up with Basil?

Sticking with my plan would probably bring about some pretty good, and strange, questions... mostly from those I know and read. Signing on with Basil will probably bring about the same questions, with a few from strangers, and expose my blog to more people. Which could be very bad. The more people who read me, the more readers who'll never return.

Ah, decisions, decisions...

With A Name Like This...

is it any wonder? Joe Crede smacks the Tribe back one game. 12 games to go... Sox up three.

Gotta be something to do with the name.

Carnies

Here in Stillman Valley, we have Fall Festival coming up. It starts this Friday, and goes through Sunday. There are usually a couple of dances (one at the firestation Saturday night, and one Sunday on the street out in front of Fritz's), car show, tractor show, pork roast at Fritz's Saturday evening, and of course, a midway with the usual rides and games. Leaving town on the way to work this morning, I noticed that the carnies have already started to arrive.

Many folks view carnies as a totally different class of folk. There are a few strange ones... well, I guess VERY strange would better describe them. Most, however, are okay folks. I used to work with a guy who had been a carnie for years. The guy was like a calculator... he could arrive at figures in seconds. Very sharp, and a pretty good guy. At least in my eyes... some folks were bugged by him.

Anyway, whenever I see the caravans arriving, I think about one of our "not so nice" encounters with carnies.

When I was growing up, my mother belonged to a rabbit club. Yes, there really are such things. She raised domestic rabbits, both for show and meat. The club hosted various shows in the region, and also ran the rabbit tent at three different county fairs. If you've been to a fair and seen a tent, or building, full of rabbits that aren't being shown by 4-H members, more than likely, it's run by a rabbit club.

The rabbits are displayed for the week, and this means that someone has to be there to feed and water them. The owners could do it, but not many of them would spend every day there. So usually they'd hire some kid to take care of the rabbits. Or kids. Enter my brother, The Perfect One, and myself.

At night, after we'd get the animals fed, watered, and settled down, we'd hit the lights to the tent, wait for about half an hour, and then start running around the fairgrounds. Many of our friends were still in 4-H and showing animals, so we'd hook up with them. We'd never really get out of hand, but we always had a good time. Sometimes the carnies would come around, and bring their beer, so we did manage to keep from dying of thirst.

One night we were hanging with some of our friends, male and female, camped out in the dairy barn. Along came two carnies. We'd never seen them before, but they had beer, so no one took off when they worked their way into our circle. It didn't take too long, and we knew that the main reason they were there was to get a couple of the girls drunk, and head off with them. Hell... we were all around 15, girls included.

They had brought up a case, and set it on the ground behind them. After our first beers, The Perfect One and I started passing out beer while the carnies' attention was focused on the girls. It didn't take very long, and we had either drank or passed out all but a couple of bottles... to the guys. One of the carnies finally reached back for another beer, and discovered there was a serious deficiency. Unfortunately, it was very obvious who the culprits were. They were pissed.

After a bit of cussing and threatening, the biggest carnie told us that we all owed him two bucks apiece. Of course, it was pointed out that they weren't going to get any money... they shouldn't have been serving minors. The little guy, though pissed, started to ease up. Not the big guy.

Now, let me mention right here, that the guy had a speech problem. It wasn't very evident when he first showed up, but as he became riled, it was very noticable. So when he insisted on "toooouuu dallorz... toooouumarroooooow," with us being a little tipsy, we laughed. Yeah, that always calms the troubled soul. And it didn't help when TPO mocked him.

As soon as my brother mocked him, big carnie guy hopped up and announced that he was going to "keeeeelll" us, then pulled out a knife. Like the flash of light on his blade, we were gone. I don't know how we had the presence of mind, but instead of running for the rabbit tent, we bolted into one of the other barns, where we ducked down and worked our way out the other side. Once outside, we ducked into a ditch and worked our way back to the tent, where we didn't sleep a wink. We expected him to show at any time.

Our friends told us later that the smaller carnie restrained big carnie, but they watched us run into the barn. Later, they came through looking for us. Not a good thing. Like I said earlier, thank gott that we had the thought to run into that other barn. We never went down to the midway after that. And that was our last time taking care of the rabbits.

I guess some good did come from that episode; none of the girls had any interest in them after the appearance of the knife, we got a bunch of free beer, and a lesson learned.

Don't laugh at a rabid carnie.

Dating Time Is Here

Heheh... it's about time... Jennifer is waiting for me.

Okay, she didn't name any potential dates, but that's because she knows I'm bad with crowds... I don't want to deal with the media at this moment.

White Sux

Perhaps, it's just because I'm a Chicago sports fan. We constantly see losing teams, or teams that choke when it counts. I won't exactly call us fatalists, but we are definitely realists... with a strong negative view.

The White Sox took off like Sissy from a bug. They looked unstoppable... except to many of us Sox fans.

At one point enjoying a huge lead in the standings over Cleveland, they are now only 2 1/2 games ahead of them, with 5 more games to be played between them alone. Thirteen games in all. This doesn't bode well for the fading Sox. Cleveland has been on a tear since the All-Star break, while the Sox have been flirting with .500 ball.

I joked with a friend late last month that the Sox were no longer playing for the division title, but hoping for a wild card berth to the playoffs. Unfortunately, it appears it was no joke. With the Yankees not far behind Cleveland, in the wild card race, I've a feeling that we may not see the playoffs at all.

But maybe I'm just being a fatalist...

Misfits in Manhattan

Stopped by the Straight White Guy's place to see how his trip went, and lo and behold... a post comes to mind! He mentioned how Secret Service and other enforcement officials were swarming the area. And it reminded me of my first and only time to the Big Apple.

A friend and I were sent to New Jersey to do a job at a papermill... we stayed in Saddlebrook, probably about 10 miles from NYC. Being the quality workers that we are, the job was finished up early. We decided to head to Manhattan.

We arrived to find traffic crawling... a snail may have very well been able to keep pace with us. Tiring of trying to get any further into the city, we located a parking ramp, and ditched the car. Heheh... we ended up walking past some of the cars that had been in front of us. We found out later that a large panel of glass had fallen off of a building, and traffic had been re-routed. Only part of the mess.

We walked around looking like tourists... both of us looked a little rough compared to some of our companions walking the sidewalks. And we noticed that sections of streets had been cordoned off. At the time, we were near the Waldorf Astoria, and Steve, ever the bashful one, walked up to the doorman and asked what was up.

"President Clinton is in town, and his wife is, too. They've got two seperate motorcades ... they're Christmas shopping." Steve looked at him, all concerned, and said, "The President? I've got to get the hell out of here!" and took off, leaving me to catch up.

When I caught up, he was grinning like an idiot. Until the two fellows in the long green trenchcoats and earpieces started following close behind. I was nervous as hell, but Steve just started talking his usual bull, and after about five minutes, the tails dropped off. I was relieved.

But did that keep his mouth shut? Nope. After getting something to eat, and stopping by the Harley shop, we started making our way back towards the parking garage. A group of cops were moving barricades. Steve walks up to a particularly grumpy one, and asks what's going on... like he didn't know. It was funny, but the cop let loose with a tirade about how one motorcade can be trouble, but TWO, and the fallen window? A madhouse. So Steve has to goad the guy a little more, and gets him to really get to griping, then decides he'll add to it by calling the President a selfish son of a bitch.

My gut knotted up. I was certain that we were going to get detained. And while it may have been something to brag about as an old man, I didn't really feel like getting grilled because of my friend's comments. Thankfully, the cop laughed and agreed in a very round about way. Another cop nearby nodded his assent.

I was never so happy to get out of there... cool town, but in the company of a crazy friend, not a good place to hang out!

You ever been there?

Listen Up, Landlubbers...

Aaaarrrrr, ye scurvy dogs! "Talk Like A Pirate Day" be here! Get yer Polly on yer shoulder, and annoy and amuse yer fellow sea dogs!

A Visit

I stopped by Whimsy Capricious today, and Sally had a post up about her daughter's performance, and a reading that she got. I started to comment, and figured I was better off writing a post.

Some of you that have been reading me know that my father died in a farm accident 29 years ago. He was working on a combine, and sent my grandfather and mother to get parts. While they were off, he must have had another idea of what the problem was... he crawled under the cornhead, and a hydraulic hose blew. The head dropped on him, killing him.

My mother and grandpa got back, and he was nowhere to be found. They noticed that our two dogs hadn't come to greet them, so they set off to find them. They were sitting next to the combine... and my father. They managed to get him out from under it, and called the ambulance.

It was obviously a stressful situation... I fear my grandfather never really got over it. He hardly ever came out to the farm afterwards.

As for my mother, well, there were four kids she had to look out for. She was freaked. As she told me, she was scared and had no idea of what she would do. That evening, all of us kids stayed with my aunt. Mom was alone in the house... trying to think, mourning, being scared.

My father was a joker... loved to tease. Always had a twinkle in his eye. I was nine when he left, and I still remember this. Always will.

Anyway, we lived in a very old farmhouse. Well over a hundred years old. One of the pranks he used to do to my mother at night was to sneak through the house, not making a noise, and just outside of the door, he'd make the floor creak. Always took her by suprise. He was the only one that could do that, walking through that hallway... my ma never did figure out how to do the same.

The evening of his death, my ma said she was laying there crying and stressing, when she heard the floor outside the door creak. Then she felt like my father entered the room... she said she definitely felt a presence. She felt calmed, and assured that everything would work out alright. After she settled down, a considerable time, she felt the presence leave the room, and the floor creaked again.

She never heard it again. She was convinced that my father came back one last time to reassure and comfort her.

I do believe there is something else out there... whether it's another side, another plane, or an afterlife. I know many intelligent types figure that belief in any of these is an imbecile's way to explain what they don't know. I don't believe that.

I'm not one that runs around pointing at everything strange screaming "Supernatural! Proof of ghosts! Evil spirits!" As a matter of fact, I usually come up with explanations for things. But there are sometimes when there is no explanation... no reasoning.

There was an elder member of our church, back in the days that I darkened their doors. This man would creep you out. He would walk up, shake your hand, and sometimes, not always, start shaking. Then he'd look you dead in the eye and tell you things you had done... things no one would or could know. I was definitely not a saint... I stayed the hell away from him after the first time. Some say he was in touch with God... I don't know that I believe that. I know of things he'd done himself. I just think he had a gift of sight.

So when Sally mentions what the reader had told her, I can believe her. Not sure exactly why I posted this... I guess I just wanted her to know that.

Oops

My company is sending a truck down to NOLA. The owner himself is driving the truck, followed by the plant manager and his mobile home. They'll be down there for about a week before heading back. I first thought this was a great idea.

The trip has been organized through the owner's church, and they sent out a letter asking for donations. Food, water, and tools for cleanup were the priorities. If food or water weren't donated in cases, they would be sent to a local food pantry. Monetary donations were to be made out to the church's Katrina Fund.

This is where I became uneasy... it's a Methodist church. And they're asking for money. Now, there is no way in hell that I'm going to support a group of religious tweakers. Begging for money to support their habit! They should be ashamed!

Of course, once I vocalized this, it was immediately pointed out that the Methodist denomination has nothing to do with methamphetamine. Not a thing. "No? What about methadone?" No. Turns out the "meth" in Methodist has nothing to do with drugs at all.

Huh... learn something new everyday. ;)

It's Here! It's Here!

Guten Morgen! It's finally here! No, not Talk Like A Pirate Day! Even better than that... OKTOBERFEST!!!

Today at noon (5 am CT), Munich mayor Christian Ude will tap the first barrel of beer, and officially open Oktoberfest with the announcement, "O'zapft Is!!!" (It's tapped!)

I think I'm setting the alarm, slamming a dopplebock, and going back to bed.

For a little history about the World's biggest fair, click here.

Seriously, within five years... I'm there.

Pain Is Reality

If only I had waited a few minutes before I put up that "Nada" post, yesterday.

I woke up yesterday with my left arm hurting. Not real bad, but a little tender. I thought nothing of it, until after I had put up that post, and hopped in the shower.

I had been dreaming all night... really violent dreams. That's about as much as I remember. I know I was getting the snot beat out of me in one, remember getting cracked with a baseball bat in another, and finally smucked by a car. It could have all been the same dream... I don't really know. Doesn't really matter.

What does matter is this: when I hopped in the shower, and washed my hair (on my cranium, pervs), I couldn't lift my arm over my shoulder. Seriously. And my arm is killing me today.

I know that I probably slept with my arm in a goofy position, and my nerves were trying to get my brain to wake me up, but I keep checking for a bruise that looks like it may have come from a bat... or a car's grill.

Feline Fuels

I came across something this morning that brought great cheer, but only initially. Turns out, a German inventor wasn't using cats as fuel a source. Damn.

They are using chickens as a source of bio-diesel. Okay, more accurately, chicken fat is being used. So theoretically, cats could be used... probably should be used.

Roving gangs of feline vandals run rampant. It's time to thin them out. A great use for all those cats I see lying alongside the road. "Using bio-diesel to make more... roadkill." But you probably couldn't get a whole lot of fat from a feral cat. May need to use housecats.

Heheh... I just had a great idea for a blog carnival: Carnival of the Ex-Cats!

Realistically, why would you have to limit your fuel sources? Sure, cats would be great fuel... they work great on a campfire*. But why just use cats or chickens? Ever heard of "liposuction"? You could fuel your own car!

Urine batteries, and fat fueled cars... what a time to be alive.

*This was a joke. Only a joke. They usually get away before I can get them lit.

H/T to Samantha Burns.

Nada

Heheh... nothing. Abso-frickin-lutely nothing. My mind is blank. Empty. Without useful thought. I've been staring at my computer, hoping that words will appear. I'm thinking one of us is broken.

What a day to guest blog elsewhere... I can't even blog on my own. And for some reason, I don't really feel that I should put up one of my old posts there.

Methinks I'm going to imbibe this evening... stir the old creative juices.

Guest Blogging

I have commandeered assumed the chair of the Ambassador over at Straight White Guy. Stop on by.

Ask A Stupid Question...

The local newspaper had a quick quote in it yesterday. I tried to link it, and haven't found squat anywhere... maybe they're a bunch of liars.

Allegedly, Danica Patrick, when asked to name the best female driver that no one has heard of, answered, "I don't know. I've never heard of her."

***All hail Teresa, who gave me the link in question. What a sweetheart she be!

Twins

A story about a badass named George Stark popped into my head after I read this piece about a 7 month old boy having a fetus removed from his abdomen. Immediately, I thought of The Dark Half, where a boy who has killer headaches has surgery done to remove a tumor... an eye and teeth from his twin. The boy grows up to become a writer, and his twin comes back to life in a very bad way.

Hopefully, this kid doesn't grow up to be a writer.

Cut Off

Hard core. That's about all I can say about having a finger amputated to improve your game. Well, that, or he's completely loopy.

Sounds like he's trying to be a little like Ronnie Lott.

Easy Taunt

The Los Angeles Kings signed a new goalie earlier this month. I know it's childish, but I wonder what name he's going to go by.

Yutaka Fukufuji... Sounds like he doesn't like Fuji cameras very much.

Harvey's Birthday

Harvey, of Bad Example, is celebrating a Birthday today. He gave one simple request, boobs, but I'm not going to do it. I bought the bastard beer, and if you do things right, beer can lead to breastages. 'Course maybe I could supply him with a guide. But no provacative breasts.

Be happy with the beer, and Happy Birthday, Harvey!

Fuel

Leaving work tonight, I saw something that made me stop the car, and take a second look. Gas prices in the $2.70 range! I couldn't believe this crap.

I'm going to boycott, until prices go back up... wait. I'm going to buy gas cans and fill them up until gas prices go back up!

Cheap sons of bitches.

Tarred

I don't know how I managed it, but I pulled a good one today... I fell asleep on the forktruck. While I was driving it.

Methinks this job deal is affecting me more than I realize... sleep is a dream... that I can't dream, because I can't sleep.

Before I hit the hay with hopes of sleeping in, I'd like to ask:

"Where is the strangest place, or what is the strangest way, you've fallen asleep?"

Springs

I remember long ago, when Pa had taken me out to the field to "help" while he repaired some fenceline. As the morning went by, thirst started to grow, so he took me down to the creek (pronounced crick) to get some water. Nope, it ain't what you may be thinking... we didn't just start guzzling out of the creek.

There were little springs all throughout the fields, and farmers ran tile down to the water's edge. These tiles (if I remember correctly, there were five) were the source of some of the best water I've ever had. Pa showed me how to cup my hands and drink, but it wasn't long, and I would just stick my head in the springwater as it fell to the creek. That was some good stuff... nice and cool.

After Pa died, we moved off the farm, to a farmette outside of Roscoe. About a mile or so away, there was a forest preserve. We used to spend hours there running through the woods, pretending to be all manner of things. Didn't take long, and we located a couple of springs there that you could drink from. The best water ran from between the rocks of a cliff, about two feet above the stream's surface.

So it took me back a bit, when I was asked to bring up bottled water during my last advisory meeting. At first, I started making fun of the guy who requested it, but then I saw he was serious. I could only think, WTF? Part of his complaint I could see... the water in the plant does indeed taste a little funky at times. But I fill up my water bottle a few times each day, and I've never had any real problem with it. Nothing extra floating in it. I just couldn't fathom someone bitching about "impure" water. 'Course, my mind runs a million different directions, thinking of the springs on the farm, and other things, including health problems. But mostly, the farm.

Soon, it will no longer be a part of the family. So today, I sit here listening to Johnny Cash (my father's favorite... and one of mine), remembering. Thinking.

It's not that I don't think, or haven't thought, of the place for the past twenty five years. I drive past the place a few times each year. Many good memories are there. Well, as many as you can get out of thirteen years.

The house and buildings have been sold off long ago, but the largest part of the acreage is still ours. The creek runs diagonally through the property, with a small (maybe an acre) stand of woods located centrally, and right alongside the water. I was able to see an aerial photo recently, and the area along the creek is beautiful.

We spent alot of time playing not just by the water, but the whole farm. Running the fencelines, building forts out of corn stalks and tree limbs. Fishing in the creek. Looking for, and occasionally finding, arrowheads. Once, even a tomahawk head. We marched across the fields as soldiers and explorers, played in the "woods" as cowboys and indians. Tried sneaking up on wildlife. Always, before heading back to the house, we would drink from one of the springs.

Again, the place will be ours for only a short time remaining. Before it's sale is complete, I'm going to go back, and walk the fencelines. And, you can bet your ass, I'm drinking from the springs one last time.

Gatemouth Brown

Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown dead at 81. Never a huge "star," his style of play was a mix of blues, jazz, country, big band, rythm and blues, and Cajun. He influenced many guitarists, including Stevie Ray Vaughan, Albert Collins, Frank Zappa, and Eric Clapton.

I've only recently become acquainted with his work, and I love it... wish I would have gotten to know it long ago. I was hoping to let him tell us all For Now So Long, but I haven't figured out how to post music, yet. Once I do, I'll post it.

*raising glass* To Gatemouth. Somewhere, they're welcoming a hell of an entertainer.

Welcome

You lika da site? Da site is coola, no? With many thanks to Apothegm Designs (Phin and Sadie), I welcome you into my new place. Grab a drink, kick back, and make yourself at home.

It Is Here

It officially started Thursday, but today is the true kickoff for football for me. I like the Patriots, and I've always liked the the outlaw rep of the Raiders, but football to me is the NFC Central North division: Bears, Packers, Lions, and the Vike queens. The season doesn't start until one of them plays.

With apologies to blog bro _Jon, I can't stand the Lions. And it may be evident that I hate the Queens. I can't say that I truly hate the Packers, but I don't like them. At all. Chicago's where it's at, folks!

Now just because I don't like the rest of the division doesn't mean I have no respect for them. You can't be a football fan and fail to appreciate players from each team. In addition to the infinite number of Bear greats, I admire many Packers players. Not just names like Taylor, Hornung, Starr, and Nitschke, but some of the more recent players. Guys like Levens, Mark Murphy, and Chuck Cecil.

Chuck Cecil... there was a guy who could hit! I loved watching that maniac strong safety play. He would hit guys so hard, that HE would go numb! As I'm prone to do, I'm drifting again.

The two teams I hate, are the ones that I worry about. They both look like they could get somewhere this year. Of course, if Minnesota does, it doesn't mean that they'll win the Big One. They've got a talent for losing Super Bowls.

I'm thinking this isn't going to be a very good year for the Bears, unless Kyle Orton is the real thing. We've got a good defensive lineup, but a one dimensional offense, unless he can add to the passing game. My guess for them? 8-8. Defense can win games, but offense has to help.

The Packers appear to be on the verge of decline. Favre looks like he may get the snot knocked out of him this year with an O-line that looks as holey as their fans' stupid headgear. As much as I feel like losing my lunch, I've got to admit that I like... no, I can't do it. There's no way that I will admit to liking Fart's style of play, and the impact he can have in a game.

Sounds like blasphemy, but I really don't want the Packers to hit that decline. No, I don't want them to be a dynasty, but if they hit the slide, all I'm going to hear about when talking to Packer fans is more tales of yesteryear. :)

Becoming What You Are

Being a Chicago Bear fan, I feel a little uneasy knowing Jerry Angelo is at the helm. The Rockford Register Star recently had a few quotes from him that leave one scratching their head.

“You can’t play around the quarterback,� Angelo said. “I’ve changed my tune on that over the years. The quarterback’s got to make plays. At some point in the game, he’s got to stand tall and he’s got to make plays.�

"I don’t believe that you put unrealistic expectations on rookies. You have to let rookies become rookies."

I can follow Kreutz's, Angelo.... well, maybe it's just me.

Gone Golfin'

Got up too early this morning... I've got a golf play day to participate in. I don't even know who this is to benefit, other than me.

What guy wouldn't jump on the chance to say that they were in a foursome with three women???

Straight White Blog Birthday

Many moons ago, before time could be counted... ah, shit... I guess it was last year. Anyway, at a comment party at Madfish's, I ran into some guy named Eric... of Straight White Guy. I went over to his blog, saw the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor, and knew this was one cool cat.

I've been stopping in almost every day since then, with a couple of exceptions. I go there for the stories, his posts about music, and his observations... as Jim from Parkway Rest Stop says, ""Eric can write beautifully about "nothing" better than anyone." The man is a great story teller and writer... and should you ever get to meet him, you'll discover that he is a great human bean. I'm just not sure what kind.

Anyway, he's celebrating his second birthday/blogiversary whatchamathingie today, and he'd like to say "thanks" to us. We should be thanking him. Make sure you stop by and thank the lad.

*raises bottle* Thanks to you, my friend!

Okay, Eric... where's my bottle of Sapphire?

Who Dat?

What kind of an idiot nails a garage door shut and closes the overhead door, locking in his only garage door opener? Who kicks open the door, rendering the un-openable unclosable?

Who gave this blog it's name?

Mortars, Marines, And Muppets

The night was dark... an oily dark. Even the stars didn't throw much light. There was no "twinkle."

After the eyes got accustomed to the night, one could make out eight shadowy figures split into two groups of four. They were huddled around what looked like two tree stumps. The stumps were mortars, and each group was a gun crew.

Behind them, a radio crackled to life, and a red flashlight beam lit up a small area about fifty yards back inside the woods. Within seconds, a fire mission was sent to the two guns... deflections and elevations, followed by rounds and charges. The crews went to work in near silence, the clink of metal on metal a sound that would carry through the night.

First one, then the other mortar fired. An illumination round popped open, and began it's graceful descent to the ground. Within seconds, the HE (high explosive) round from the second gun hit the ground. After the concussion, the night returned to silence, the illume round still floating slowly to the earth.

The radio again came to life with a correction. Almost immediately, the new numbers were given, and the gunners readied the mortars. Another two rounds went out, with the scenario a repeat of the first, only this time closer to the target.

Another correction was radioed in, the new data figured instantly. Data was passed to the gunline, along with the order for a five round fire for effect. The gun crews silently readied their rounds.

As the illume round from the first gun was popped, the first HE round from the second gun was dropped down the tube. Immediately following the loud bang, you could hear a loud impression of the Count from Sesame Street: "ONE! One round down range! Hahahah..."

The next round is dropped, and again, the "Count" cried out: "TWO! Two rounds down range... hahahah!" This time snickers were heard from those in his crew.

This kept going on, with the snickers giving way to laughter, not just from his crew, but the whole section laughing harder each time.

When the last round is dropped, the Count finishes: "FIVE! Oh, five beautiful rounds down range! Hahahahahahahah......" This was followed by one of the crew announcing loudly in a very well done impersonation, "Hi ho, this is Kermit the Frog reporting live from Camp Lejeune... tell me, sir, do you think any frogs were killed by that last fire for effect?" The place fell apart with laughter.

These were the guys I went to Advanced Mortar Gunnery School with. A strange group. Hell, it seems that most of my friends from any stage of my life might fit into this group. I just thank gott that I'm normal.

What brought this about? I was whistling "People In Your Neighborhood," and got one of the other guys to start whistling Sesame Street songs. Once he got going, he wanted to hear this story again, and my impression of those involved.

I figured y'all might enjoy it, too. Not to mention getting an earworm from a person who likes to share.

Must Click News

NSFW. Foamy the squirrel covers Katrina. The squirrel says it all.

Damn, I've missed him.

Hat tip to Romeocat of Cathouse Chat.

A Tardsday Letter

Dear Fellow Drivers,

L. Tardo

Awesome Alliteration

Not much sleep. Brain not right work.This means I'm without an actual post, and weird things are free to flow. So I tell you what... let's play a game.

To entertain ourselves when we used to travel a lot, a friend and I used to come up with very strange stories following the formula found in Berenstains' B Book. We didn't stick to it totally, but tried to keep all nouns, adjectives, adverbs, and verbs starting with the same letter. Some of the letters work better than others, but I'm going to save my favorite for another time.

I'll kick it off, and feel free to follow in the comments. You don't need to use whole sentences... if you only can think of a word that fits, throw it in. No need to keep it clean. Repeat words are not a problem. Ready? Using the letter A:

Adam the angry armadillo ambled aimlessly....

UPDATE: This isn't a novel... it's just fun. Characters are free to come and go. As long as we have fun, it's all cool.

Bou's Birthday

Hey, everybody... today is Bou's birthday! She's turning 20 again, so swing on by and wish her the best!

Happy Birthday, Blog-Sis! Forty... geesh. :)

I figure, since she kinda likes Johnny Depp, I'd give her a bathtub shot.

Oops... wrong Johnny. Here's the real McCoy.

A Legacy In The Making

"What's your daddy do for a living?"
"Er... uh... well... he steals dolls, and sells them."

Be proud, my child.

Off The Island

Gilligan casts off.

Bob Denver dead at 70.

Tips For Hunting Stingy Things

Due to my hours and a hectic schedule, I haven't spent much time outside of my house during the heat of the day. Lawn mowing was done in the fading light, or early morning. So it came as quite the surprise the other day when I discovered that my house is a hive. No kidding. Hundreds, if not thousands of bees, living in a hole in my wall, above my kitchen roof. Some had even made it into the attic... they covered the window.

I've rid myself of them, hopefully, and have decided to share a few tips. Things that may make the experience as easy and pain-free as possible.

1. Wait until dusk, or even dark: Bees, wasps, hornets all return to their nests or hives at the end of the day. Flying around scaring and stinging folks is hard work. After a couple of tankards of mead, they're down for the night. Strike whilst they're passed out.

2. Wear appropriate clothing: Try to cover as much skin as possible. Wear gloves, hat, long sleeve shirt or jacket, jeans and jump boots if available. Netting may help, but don't get carried away... you'll need to be able to move.

3. Use the proper spray: Approach the nest/hive with caution. There were still many milling about when I did this... and it was well after dark. Use a foam, preferably one that will spray from a long distance. Do not use a regular spray, no matter how much the helpful hardware man tells you that it works just as well. Foam knocks them down, spray... well, that leads to the next tip.

4. Plan your route of egress: In my case, I had to climb on top of a roof to get to the wall just below the eaves of the next roof. You want to allow for things to happen. Say you use a regular spray... I can guarantee that you're not using the ladder to climb back down. This is where the jump boots come in. You're feet are going to sting, but at least you're quickly back to the ground. Sprinting is a good plan.

5. Remember this: "Stop, drop, and roll", is a totally asinine thing to do. "Duck and cover" rates right there, too. Welts will accumulate faster than you can say "Raid." Stinging pests about to die want to take someone with them. YOU WANT TO KEEP MOVING. Trust me on this.

6. Celebrate the killing of your enemies with a beer... or gin and tonic... or whatever. Just consume plenty of alcohol.

Hope these are of some help to you. Good luck.

Pattern Mussed

Blogging pattern is going to change. Going into work now at noon 'til nine thirty, so most posts will be in the morning, or later at night.

All part of the exit.

Beecuz

Killing time draws nigh
Hive inside the wall must go
Watch my ass get stung.

A Belated Birthday

'Tis the Great Omnipotent One's birthday... as of yesterday. Go on over to Bou's, and send him your best wishes!

Content

Antibiotics are gone... alcohol is a go.

Dopplebock for breakfast? Nectar of the gods.

I could never be an athiest after tasting a good beer.

Labor Day

It's Labor Day, when folks traditionally do three times as much work as usual.

Get back to work, and enjoy your day.

What Else Would You Expect?

Checking out the Munuvian blogroll yesterday, I found Martinis, Persistence, and a Smile. A lot of celebrity updates there. I stumbled across this post about Vanity Fair's Jennifer Aniston cover being the best selling issue of the magazine, ever. Methinks I should check this out.

Wow... here it is. There's an article there, but I can't get past the pic to read it!

Mmmmmmmmm.......

Another Meme

Found this meme over at Techography, home of Bloodspite. Thought it funny that I didn't know about a third of the songs, and of those I did know, most I didn't give a rip about, one way or the other.

Top 100 songs for '85

1) Go to musicoutfitters.com and, in the search box provided, enter the year you graduated high school.

2) From the search results, click the link for the top 100 songs of that year.

3) With the resulting list:
a) bold the songs you like,
b) strike through the ones you hate
c) underline your favorite
d) and ignore the ones you don't remember or don't care about.

1. Careless Whisper, Wham!
2. Like A Virgin, Madonna

3. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go, Wham!
4. I Want To Know What Love Is, Foreigner
5. I Feel For You, Chaka Khan
6. Out Of Touch, Daryl Hall and John Oates
7. Everybody Wants To Rule The World, Tears For Fears
8. Money For Nothing, Dire Straits
9. Crazy For You, Madonna
10. Take On Me, A-Ha
11. Everytime You Go Away, Paul Young
12. Easy Lover, Phil Collins and Philip Bailey
13. Can't Fight This Feeling, REO Speedwagon
14. We Built This City, Starship
15. The Power Of Love, Huey Lewis and The News
16. Don't You (Forget About Me), Simple Minds
17. Cherish, Kool and The Gang
18. St. Elmo's Fire (Man In Motion), John Parr

19. The Heat Is On, Glenn Frey
20. We Are The World, U.S.A. For Africa
21. Shout, Tears For Fears
22. Part-Time Lover, Stevie Wonder
23. Saving All My Love For You, Whitney Houston
24. Heaven, Bryan Adams
25. Everything She Wants, Wham!
26. Cool It Now, New Edition
27. Miami Vice Theme, Jan Hammer
28. Lover Boy, Billy Ocean
29. Lover Girl, Teena Marie
30. You Belong To The City, Glenn Frey
31. Oh Sheila, Ready For The World
32. Rhythm Of The Night, Debarge
33. One More Night, Phil Collins
34. Sea Of Love, Honeydrippers
35. A View To A Kill, Duran Duran
36. The Wild Boys, Duran Duran
37. You're The Inspiration, Chicago
38. Neutron Dance, Pointer Sisters
39. We Belong, Pat Benatar
40. Nightshift, Commodores
41. Things Can Only Get Better, Howard Jones
42. All I Need, Jack Wagner
43. Freeway Of Love, Aretha Franklin
44. Never Surrender, Corey Hart
45. Sussudio, Phil Collins
46. Strut, Sheena Easton
47. You Give Good Love, Whitney Houston
48. The Search Is Over, Survivor
49. Missing You, Diana Ross
50. Separate Lives, Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin
51. Raspberry Beret, Prince and The Revolution
52. Suddenly, Billy Ocean
53. The Boys Of Summer, Don Henley
54. One Night In Bangkok, Murray Head
55. If You Love Somebody Set Them Free, Sting
56. Obsession, Animotion
57. We Don't Need Another Hero, Tina Turner
58. Material Girl, Madonna
59. Better Be Good To Me, Tina Turner
60. Head Over Heels, Tears For Fears
61. Axel F, Harold Faltermeyer
62. Smooth Operator, Sade
63. In My House, Mary Jane Girls
64. Don't Lose My Number, Phil Collins
65. All Through The Night, Cyndi Lauper
66. Run To You, Bryan Adams

67. Glory Days, Bruce Springsteen
68. Voices Carry, 'Til Tuesday
69. Misled, Kool and The Gang
70. Would I Lie To You?, Eurythmics
71. Be Near Me, ABC
72. No More Lonely Nights, Paul McCartney
73. I Can't Hold Back, Survivor
74. Summer Of '69, Bryan Adams
75. Walking On Sunshine, Katrina and The Waves
76. Freedom, Wham!
77. Too Late For Goodbyes, Julian Lennon
78. Valotte, Julian Lennon
79. Some Like It Hot, Power Station
80. Solid, Ashford and Simpson
81. Angel, Madonna
82. I'm On Fire, Bruce Springsteen
83. Method Of Modern Love, Daryl Hall and John Oates
84. Lay Your Hands On Me, Thompson Twins
85. Who's Holding Donna Now, Debarge
86. Lonely Ol' Night, John Cougar Mellencamp
87. What About Love, Heart
88. California Girls, David Lee Roth
89. Fresh, Kool and The Gang
90. Do What You Do, Jermaine Jackson
91. Jungle Of Love, The Time
92. Born In The USA, Bruce Springsteen
93. Private Dancer, Tina Turner
94. Who's Zoomin' Who, Aretha Franklin
95. Fortress Around Your Heart, Sting
96. Penny Lover, Lionel Richie
97. All She Wants To Do Is Dance, Don Henley

98. Dress You Up, Madonna
99. Sentimental Street, Night Ranger
100. Sugar Walls, Sheena Easton

And I've gotta be honest... I hated Wham!, and that's the only reason they are all marked as hated. I truly only remember one of the songs.

Katrina In The Tropics

Once again, out of the kindness of my heart, I respond to a blogger's plea. Dax was begging for help. He's asking for another Katrina post, and he sounds sarcastic desperate. So I decided to feed his fascination with Katrina Kaif ('least I assume that's who he's talkin' about) and give him a link to a photo. Maybe it will distract him from the hurricane.

Helping... it's what I do.

Barfleflickle!!!

Tammi and her memes... she likes to pin'em on ya just when you thought you avoided it. She's got her latest meme up, which for some reason she's trying to blame on Eric. Well, anyway, here's my responses:

1. Person who most influenced your musical tastes:

I'd have to say my father. He wasn't a musician, that I know of, but he always had music going in the barns. In the dairy barn, he kept polka playing. And when the hogs were farrowing, he kept the now defunct WMAQ playing it's country music to keep the sows from getting startled. I still like a bit of both of these types of music, but I think you can tell that I lean a little towards Rock-n-roll now. Just a little. And, as you probably already know, I got my love of Johnny Cash from him.

2. Top 5 songs to drive to:

This isn't really fair... there's a hell of a lot of good tunes for driving. But I'll try;

1. Jesus Built My Hot Rod - Ministry

2. Superstition - Stevie Ray Vaughan

3. Warped City - Ministry

4. Wait and Bleed - Slipkot

5. Holy Wars... The Punishment Due - Megadeth

5. Jesus Christ Pose - Soundgarden

5. Tennesse Flat-top Box - Johnny Cash

5. The Way - Fastball

5. Mate, Spawn and Die - Lard

5. Walk - Pantera

5. Funk #49 - James Gang

5. In The Arms Of God/Stone Breaker - COC

5. Impetus - Clutch

5.... oh alright, I'll stop now. But there are too many to accurately answer this... it all depends on your mood.

3. # of CD's you own:

Somewhere in the neighbourhood of gnakdjfak hundred. Meaning: I don't know. Two years ago, it was a little over 1,200.

4. Song/CD you were listening to when you lost your virginity:

Like A Virgin - Madonna... not! Actually, I think the "Holy Grail" may have been playing in the other room... I kept telling her to go away, or I'd taunt her a second time. Really, I don't remember any tunes at all. Oops.. I mean this question is too personal to answer.

5. Song(s) played at your wedding:

Never been married, but if/when I do get hitched, I think I'm going to offer the organist an extra $50 to play a dirge. Heheh... I may need the same song played at my funeral the next day!

6. Favorite sad song:

The one that makes my throat tighten and heart feel heavy? Johnny Cash singing "Hurt."

7. Song you'd like played at your funeral:

"So Long, Farewell" from the Sound Of Music. Really.

No further blogger shall be harmed with the passing of this meme... unless they choose to be so burdened. If so, let me know, or trackback.

Kennedy Hill

There's a tale around here of a ghost who wanders Kennedy Hill road, north of Byron. Most stories I've heard make her sound like Resurrection Mary, from Chicagoland. I do remember hearing about her when I was in middle school, a little over 25 years ago. Then, I heard she was a woman in white, dressed in flimsy clothes... in the middle of winter. A car stopped to pick her up, she got in, then disappeared. But, that was told by kids, to a kid. I didn't really believe it.

A few years ago, I was looking for a house to rent. Back in the woods off of Kennedy Hill, there is a huge house, with different drives coming into it. At each drive, is a house for the gatekeeper. I was checking into renting one of them. That's when I was reacquainted with the ghost.

A co-worker was trying to help me find a place, and when I mentioned that, he was genuinely concerned. "That stretch of road is haunted," he said. "There's a ghost of a woman that's been seen right there." I laughingly teased him about it, and got the usual suggestion that I perform an impossible act with myself. I also mentioned it to another friend who'd lived in Stillman Valley for over 40 years. She wasn't as concerned, but she did make sure that I knew about the ghost.

I don't really believe any of this. I do believe in ghosts, but I think this is just a variation of the vanishing hitchhiker urban legend. Looking it up, I only found one mention of her, and that was one sentence, found early on in this piece. She could be real... and that would rock. But I'm thinking it's a load of crap.

HOWEVER, I drive through that area quite often, and mostly late at night. And I can't help but wonder a bit. Part of me would really love to see a ghost, while another tells me that should I ever get to witness one, I'll be changing my shorts afterwards... shortly after I make a new doorway in the nearest wall.

I drove through last night on the bike, and that thought came again. It can be an eerie area, especially this time of year. Deer run through there all of the time... some big ones. And knowing that, as you drive, it appears things are moving alongside the road. Of course, it's just you being overly cautious, but it can make things seem creepy.

I'd like to think that were I ever to see her, I'd pull over and offer a ride... just to see what would happen. But reality suggests that I would give the engine what gas I could, and be out of there like a flash.

What would you do?

Release

There isn't anything like a nice 200 mile jaunt on the bike to change how you're feelin': 80^o, sunny without a cloud in the sky. Fewer cars than normal, thanks to gas prices. Just what the doctor ordered.

Have I figured out what I'm going to do? Nope. Am I nervous about my situation? I suppose... somewhere deep inside. Do I give a rip? Though I know I will later on, the current answer is HELL NO!

Riding is good for the soul.

Rabid Hoses

Read a couple of stories over at Phin's and Acidman's about out of control hoses. No, no, no... it's not what you're thinking. We're talking AIR and WATER hoses. Damn prevs! Reminded me of a couple of incidents that happened where I used to work.

We had a new mechanic come to our floor... a real asshole. We were deburring a bunch of baseplates, and really trying to haul ass... they were supposed to ship first thing in the morning. There were three of us, deburring gott knows how many baseplates. We'd deburr the edges, stamp the part symbol number on, then file it flat. You only needed one air tool. Of course, unless you were the asshole... then you showed off all of the tools you had.

Now the fittings we used on our airlines were not quick disconnect... they looked like these. So to change tools, you either walked over to the wall, and turned the air off, or you kinked the hose. I was in the middle of stamping a plate when I heard an airline let loose and an inhuman scream.

There was the new guy, laying on the floor in the fetal position that Acidman mentioned, holding his nards and trying to protect his face from the evil hose. Much as we didn't want to, we got the air shut off, and went to laugh and point at check on him, and make sure he was okay. He was sobbing.... which just made us cry with him. Okay, our tears were from laughter.

We should have let the hose beat him to death. Turns out, the bright one had kinked the hose to change tools, but when the new tool wouldn't go into the fitting, he let go of the kink to try and use both hands to hook the tool up. Never had a chance. A Darwin award in the making, and we had ruined it.

We had almost stopped laughing until he puked... then it started all over again. Trying to get a little relief, and maybe a bit of sympathy from us, he came back holding a bag of ice over the boys. Heheh... we were crying! One of the funniest things I've ever had the privilege to be around. 'Course, if that were me, it wouldn't have been the least bit funny.

The other incident is nowhere near the first one, but it was pretty good nonetheless.

We used to screw a male fitting into these thick gallon jugs. You duct tape it, connect the air hose to it, and wait for an unsuspecting victim. Once the victim approached the blast area, you turned the air on, and that bottle would make a huge BOOOOM! We called them "bottle bombs," and they would scare the crap out of you even if you knew they were about to go off!

A crew of shippers had come up to our floor and were packing up a very large crate. While they left for break, we made up a bottle bomb, and placed it under the crate. Then we waited for the buzzer, and just cracked the air, allowing the pressure to slowly build.

They got back and started in again while we were all just waiting. The best part was that one of them was straddling the hose. Now before you think that we were trying to hurt someone, I've gotta point out that the end of the hose couldn't come out from under the crate until you used a crane to lift it... we had left just enough room to keep the hose from getting pinched off. Anyway, nothing happened. That bottle had to have been huge... it just wouldn't blow. So one of the guys got impatient, walked over to the valve, and cranked it up.

When that sucker went, it was loud as hell, and the hose was jumping back and forth between that shipper's legs... they started doing a twisted dance. Actually it looked like they were playing hopscotch on a huge grid... jumping side to side, leaping all over the place! I almost felt bad... almost.

Ah.... good times, good times.

The Fritzies

Alright, I know all ten of you are just dying to know who got the 16 oz Fritz's Wooden Nickel glass. Well, here's the way they came in, according to my Sitemeter.

At number 22,221 was an unknown referral, though I'm pretty damn sure that it was Marty.
One hit too late was Sissy, at 22,223. That would have been cool, as I was her 10,000^th hit.

22,222? A screen shot. Someone from came over from phin's place, making him the lucky winnah. He gets not only a fine, fine piece of elegant glassware, but the promise that if/when we ever meet, that glass will be filled with the libation of his choice.

A huge honorable mention goes out to Livey, who came in at 22,220. The woman is a living example of persistence... she was tryin' to get me in a boots only pose. Count yourself lucky, Livey... that's not a pretty sight!

Thanks to all of you who have been visiting over the past year and gave these hits to me. You all rock.

Bright Criminal Of The Week

A heist should require a bit of thought... at least more than a couple of minutes worth. Just my thinking.

"A bank robbery failed because one of the alleged robbers was worried that his electronic tracking ankle bracelet would go off and alert his probation officer if he was gone from home for too long, police said."

Lose Thumbs While You Sleep!

It's no secret that I have some pretty strange dreams. Don't really know why, but they seem to like me. Always have, since I was a kid. Heh... back then, the dream that I had for the longest time was me being shoved into a pipe, grates welded on the ends, then dropped into deep water. 'Course, I drowned. These started when I was about five, and went until I got into high school. Driftin'....

A little while back, I dreamed that I lost my left thumb. Ripped it right off, as in the whole digit going back to the wrist. It was a fairly gorey dream, but the only thing I clearly remember is freaking out about my thumb taking a haitus.

I had this dream a couple of different times within about a two week's period. Thumb always gone, though in different ways. Last one I remember clearly was getting my hand slammed in a car door. Splat... thumb gone.

Well, that wasn't so weird. What WAS strange is that I had a dream shortly after these that seemed to tie in. It was a very short dream... I woke up in a cold sweat almost immediately.

In that dream, I was trying to work on a machine or something, and I reached out to grab ahold of another something. As my hand went out in front of me, NO THUMB! It didn't get ripped off, it just wasn't there. No scars... it had healed nicely, I guess. I woke up checking to see if I still had my thumb.

Wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean?

The Explanation

Here's the scoop on my post about taking a leap. I didn't really mean for it to sound cryptic... I just wanted to make sure that folks in my workplace didn't know what was going down. Not their business, though they seem to think so.

One way or another, I will be losing my current job. The company is going to be going through some changes soon, thinning the workforce and moving workcenters, and I've made it pretty obvious that I don't care for the job. Oh, I do a great job while I'm working... I just hate being a machine setup and operator. Part of what makes this a hard decision for those above is the fact that I run excellent parts. And, as my boss said, "You're one of our best operators... but it's plain to see that you don't like the job." Anyway, I had a nice sit down with my boss, and we didn't try to bullshit each other.

When all was said and done, it came down to three options:
1. I take a position in another department.
2. I try to bullshit them that I suddenly love standing in front of a machine.
3. I leave the company for a job elsewhere.

The first option sounded tempting, except that it is going to be a five dollar an hour pay cut. Heh... I don't make that much now! One suggestion was for me to take this position, and bartend on weekends to make up what I lose. I do this until I find another job.

The second option just ain't going to happen. Even if I did try that, I only have a month to show my undying love for the job, or I'm flat out gone.

With the third option, I have the "luxury" of looking for another job, while staying around for another month. The boss has offered to try and work with me on scheduling interviews and such. Hell, the owner actually called the staffing agency asking about possible jobs for me! Boss says that's the first time he's ever seen him do that.

So there's the reason behind "The Leap." I'm not really looking for advice, I just thought it funny, in a weird way, that a person could go from liking the opportunity for something new, to being afraid of making a move. Familiarity is not a friend in the long run.

This could work out to be a very good thing... I'll just have to see how I make it play out.

Burned

"Would you like Hot or Mild sauce with that?"

"No, thank you. I'll have the Fire sauce, please."

"Okay."

Fire... F-I-R-E.
Mild... M-I-L-D.

FIRE= warm "hot" sauce
MILD= giggle juice

They don't even sound the same. Leastways, not to me.

Idiot gave me mild.

Katrina Relief

Apothegmdesigns is auctioning off a custom blog design to the highest bidder, as a way to help provide relief for Hurricane Katrina.

Go to phin's blog for more details, or to make a bid.

Help out, and get a kick ass looking blog!