Vultures

One night awhile ago I watched Mrytle lift the pizza box lid with her nose and shove her head deep into the delectable center where all the pizza tidbits that did not make it into my mouth still sat waiting.  Maybe she thought I was sleeping after gorging myself with the large pineapple and bacon extravaganza only a pork and pineapple addict like me could truly appreciate.

But I was not asleep.  I was keeping at least one eye on that box.  There were still three slices left.  And no, I did not feel like sharing.  Not tonight.

"Hey.  What the Hell are you doing Miss Mrytle?"

Myrtle was a quick little thief even at the age of 14.  She pulled her head out of the box with one of the pizza slices hanging from her mouth.  She looked at me.  I looked at her.  She began to turn to escape my clutches.  But this was my pizza, not hers.  And I was quicker.  I grabbed her gently and placed her in my lap, the slice still gripped hard in her mouth. 

I knew how to get my pizza back without a struggle.  I stroked her back near her tail.  Her butt lifted and she opened her mouth to meow.  The stolen slice fell into my lap.  She looked up at me with eyes that said, "I hate you, but don't stop."

I turned to Stubby sitting there next to me and said, "And where were you?  You're supposed to keep an eye on your feline buddies.  You are one worthless guard dog."  Stubby did not hear me.  She was too busy trying to inhale the pizza slice through nostrils working overtime.

At my feet sat Fernando looking all innocent and clueless.  But I knew he was just putting on a show.  As soon as my back was turned, it would be every pet for him or herself.  And 'Nando would be first in line.  He was the bad ass in the house.

I sat surrounded by fur bearing vultures only held at bay by the fact that I was bigger than they were.  There was no loyalty, no rules.  Seems I had no choice.  And since Myrtle had already compromised the virginity of that slice of pizza, I broke it up and shared it with the three of them.

In short order, Mrytle and Fernando had had their fill.  They sat on the coffee table and licked their paws.  Stubby on the other hand had inhaled her share and was now looking at me as if to say, "Okay, I'm ready for some more."

Damn Pets.

Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Being self employed for, oh I guess the last 20 years or so has created a kind of barrier between me and the accumulated processes and machinations of the real labor world out there.  I have not had to deal with drug testing, background checks, or any of the other mandatory investigations most folks now take for granted.  Recently however I was faced with this reality.

I was approached by a nice woman who runs an out of school program for kids who don't handle the classroom environment so well.  My duties would be as a bike shop guy helping the kids develop skill sets handling tools, projects, etc with bikes as their focus.  It was to be a paid position and take up about 3 hours of my week.  Okay fine.  I was interested.  Not for the money so much as just to help out.

I received an email from her.  In it she insinuated my position was a lock and "oh, by the way, we need to know if you have had a background check recently and been fingerprinted."  This was mentioned as if it was no big thing, business as usual. 

I pondered her email.  The longer I sat there and thought about it, the angrier I became.  The notion that I have to prove I am of good enough character to work with children rubbed me the wrong way.   In a country that supposedly champions the idea of presumed innocence, background checks, drug tests, and fingerprinting for no legal reason makes this claim look rather silly and hypocritical.  And what is worse, the stigma attached to refusing to comply with these requests gives the impression one has something to hide.  We should change the slogan to "Guilty until proven innocent".

Some of us still believe in the idea that innocent until proven guilty is an important enough ideal that refusal to comply is not because we have something to hide, but that we just object to having to prove our innocence without having been charged with anything.  

Some ideals are worth taking a stand for.  Refusing to take drug tests and yielding my past to some investigators are two I feel strongly about.  So I emailed her back.  I filled her in on the drug stupidity that landed me on the wrong side of the law.  But then I told her I would not give her any information that would kick the background check into motion.  It was the principle, not what they might find out.  I flat out do not care if anyone knows about my few minor brushes with the law.  I was stupid when I was young.  I got caught being stupid.  I paid the price passed down from the bench and then moved on with my life.  Christ, it's been almost 30 years now.

And now I am sure she and whoever she answers to are wondering, "What does he have to hide?"  And you know what?  I could not care less what anyone thinks by my refusal.  I know why I did it.  I know and admitted what I did years ago.  If that is not enough, well, find someone else.

I often make fun of those folks who would have us return to the days of Ozzie and Harriet.  I know that the world has become a more dangerous and complex place.  But in my opinion, half of our problems stem from a mass paranoia that has ballooned out of control.   As a culture we now seem to assume the worst in people before we assume the best.  This may be the new reality, but it does not mean I have to cave to it.  I always try my best to give everyone I meet a fair shot before I cast them out of my life.  It's too bad our nation, our world has decided to take a different course.

Later..................................................

Partners

I often come up with my best topics or stories while killing mental time as my body goes through the mundane mechanics of commuting, working on a bike, raking, mowing, any number of activities that do not lend themselves to me stopping whatever it is I am doing to write the notion or great idea down.  I tell myself to remember this grand thought I just came up with.  I assure myself I will.  I promise.  More often than not, I let myself down once I have sat down with a few minutes to spare.  The grand thought is lost in the toxic mists wafting around my mind.  Usually there is a nothing but a blank stare after the initial thought, "What was it I wanted to write about?"  Damn, that pisses me off.

So I figured I would find and use the small cassette recorder I used back in the day when I owned another bike shop.  Another time when I thought I needed some help in organizing my life.  Of course, the self inflicted chaos I live with day in, day out proved too much for my desire to organize my life.  I could not remember where I had put that damn cassette recorder.  So I forgot about it.  Moved on.

Last weekend I was poking around one of my many piles looking for something else and there it was.  The small cassette recorder covered with dust was tucked in a box marked, "Old Bike Shop Shit".  Imagine my surprise and pleasure at discovering I actually could organize things, if only so I could misplace them again. 

The recorder had not been used in 15 years at the least.  Yet the batteries still had juice and the tape still had words dictated over 15 years ago.  Apparently, mixed in with this verbal list of things to do, people to call, bills to pay were threaded many snide and nasty comments about my partner at the time.  I began to relive the unpleasant process of a partnership falling apart.  Each snarky comment illicited supporting memories.  I was suddenly back in 1993 and hating Life at my bike shop. 

Here I had a small piece of a time in my life I would just as soon have forgotten.  I could toss out the tape and put a new tape in and move along little doggie.  Being the glutton for punishment I tend to be on occasion, I could not resist reliving the acrimony that existed between me and a former friend as we ruined our bikeshop and our friendship with our stupid bickering.  Listening to myself back then reinforced my reasoning to open my current operation without a partner, that's fershur.

Parnerships are tough to pull off.  Just look at the divorce rate in this country.  It is no better in the business world.  It often does not matter either whether the business is profitable or not.  Our bike shop did not fail because of lack of business, it failed because we were too busy nitpicking each other when we shoulld have been pulling together. 

When we went belly up, my ex-partner moved on to other things.  He became a car salesmen, then a realtor, and then I guess he got divorced and found a new wife (his third) who could supply him with the baubles and comfort he felt he deserved.  He moved to Cape Cod and is a happy camper I guess.  All of this is conjecture on my part as I have not spoken to him since 1995.  My vision of where and what he is doing comes from second hand information passed to me by people who may or may not know what they are talking about.  I do know though his current wife lost a daughter on one of the planes that went down in 9/11.  Anyway, I still have hard feelings, but wish him no ill will.

Sometimes it is not a good idea to get to know someone too well. 

Later...................................................

More Cats Out of the Bag

So more cats got out of the bag.  And now our fearless leaders are all upset over being caught calling their foreign counterparts nasty names behind their backs. 

I don't want to belittle the signifigance of having some of our classified network compromised, but come on, the US government with it's over the top penchant for paranoia is more likely to classify something not worth classifying just because that is their habit.  Nevermind not letting the right hand know what the left one is doing, they love to not let any hand know what they are doing.

Why?

Because secrets held close will tell the real story, not the story manicured and molded for public consumption.  What tickles me no end is that often the real secret is already out there, yet the government continues to act as if it is not.

Take for instance the cables swapped back and forth between US officials regarding that bastion of ethics, Afghanistan’s President Karzai.  In these cables apparently, the diplomat's true feelings about him were made public.  Like it was a secret he and his crew were corrupt assholes who were raping their country for fun and profit.  I guess though, it did not become "truth" until these cables became public.  Right.

An article I read about the increased reliance on the electronic storage of classified secrets is turning into a laugher.  The claim is that every government is working 24/7 to hack into the electronically stored classified records of every other country - friend and foe alike.  The article points up that if it is stored on a computer, no matter what security is in place, someone always finds a way to hack past the electronic guards on duty.  It goes on to say a good safe with a combo lock and paper records are still the surest way to ensure safe storage of secrets the government does not want to see the light of day.

There are claims that people will die as a result of this exposure.  The Right has new ammunition in it's neverending seige of Obama land.  And the leaks has anyone dealing with government business thinking twice about what they do say in electronic communication. 

Contrary to Julian Assange's claim that leaking these electronic communications lends transparency to the notion of government and is a good thing, the Wikileaks founder is just stirring the pot and making things worse.  Instead of opening up government to the light of day, his stupidity is just going to cause governments to be more secretive, not less.

And yes, the diplomatic efforts of the US have been damaged.  Our diplomatic corp has been doing such a lousy job of late, I wonder if I will even notice.  And with this release of information, the hawks of this country have one more reason to consider diplomacy less than useful in covering our interests abroad.  All in all, another small ingredient added to the chaotic global stew simmering just waiting to come to a full boil. 

Later..........................................

The Park Bench

With Winter finally settling in here in southern Maine, Life seems to be back on the well worn track it has been on the last 30 years or so.  It was such an odd Fall, I was beginning to believe my state had moved several hundred miles to the south.  Wearing tee shirts and shorts well into mid November is just not normal.  Last week we had a little freezing rain and over the weekend, enough snow fell to give the ground that sprinkled with baking sugar look.  Temperatures seem to be settling into the comfortable twenty's and the ground is beginning to stiffen up.Yesterday's ride saw us busting through some ice covered puddles, but many we were able to ride across.

The erratic and unpredictable weather we have had these past few years caused me to consider all the hate, discontent, and controversy stirred up by climate alarmists and their critics.  In the scheme of things general and trying to look at it from a point of view detached and outside the planet, I am guessing whatever is happening is not even worthy of consideration in the over all combustion and expansion of the Universe. 

I think we humans have an over blown notion of just how much influence we have over the planet we live on.  And conversely, I don't think we appreciate how much the smallest deviation in the orbit of this rock we call home has on our existence.  The planet does not seem to care about what it supports or what it does not support.  It does what it does based on influences outside our ability to control.  We are nothing but parasites living in the fur of an animal so large, it does not even know we exist. 

We could turn the planet inhabitable for our kind and the planet would not care.  It has different plans.  It marches to a different tune. It just keeps spinning whether there is life here or not.  Been spinning for what? .................. Let's see what Wiki says, hmm.

Apparently we have been able to pin down the planet's age to 4.54 billion years, plus or minus 4.54x109 years.............................Well that's an odd equation.  Why don't they just call it plus or minus 494.86 years?  With the number 4,540,000,000 in mind, rounding the correction up to plus or minus 500 years works for me.

Having no control or even the urge to control what pops into my mind while sipping that first cup of coffee, I pondered the age of the planet some.  Yeah 4.54 billion years is a long time.  I have to say the Creationist's 5700 to 10,000 years is easier for me to get my head around.   But they lose me with the "it only took 7 days to create it all" claim. 

God would have to have every excavator in the Universe working 24/7 to create this mudball we call home in 7 days.  It couldn't have been a government run project.  And as God seems to be held up as our ultimate ruling authority, would that not make God a government if by nothing else, by default?  So if God is a government, then any project he gets rolling would take a gajillion years to complete.  Just consider the magnitude of say creating a planet held up against the local town council putting in a new park bench in the town square.   The council might debate the issue for a year, send out bids for a year, and then debate said bids for a year.  Finally a contracter would be chosen and that contracter would put the new bench into their schedule and that might take a year.  Imagine this same process as it would relate to creating the Universe.   The planet is a much bigger park bench.

So who do I believe?

I gotta tell ya.  I decided long ago there are things I should worry about and things I shouldn't.  How old this planet is was dropped from the "important' list many years ago.   It sits next to "how many JuJubees I could cram in my mouth" question in the category of quickly forgotten passing thoughts.

So I guess, I just don't care how old this planet is.  It's here, I'm here.  It deals with me as it will and I deal with it the best I can.  A match made in Heaven?

Keep it 'tween the ditches................................................
_______________________________
Image from Google images - "creation"

On the Edge of the Limelight

Well I guess I am internationally famous now.  Okay, maybe not me so much, as it is the lower driveway of my house that has made the big time.  And yeah so what if the fame is based on my lower drive long before I was born, it's still damn cool.

I googled "Acton, Maine".  One of the ga-jillion hits was Wikipedia's entry for Acton.   As is their style, Wiki will include an image of some kind with every article.  And guess what?  Yeah that's right, the picture shown was taken from the end of my lower drive looking down the hill to Acton Corner.   It was a Kodak moment caught on camera around 1920.  That's uh, let's do the math...... uh one, two, thr......  Oh screw it, where's my calculator?  Shit.  Batteries are dead.  Um, okay, I'll wing it and guess about 90 years ago.

The buildings seen in the image are still here and look pretty much the same.  The only difference is tree cover now hides the buildings on the far ridge.  The two on the left are the town hall and current library.  To  the right is the Congo Church.  It has a new steeple now.  The old one sits rotting in the yard next door.

This discovery has been the source of some recent chest puffing on my part.  It's like I know a guy who knows a famous guy.   Or that I live on a famous historical site visited by millions of tourists every year.  Maybe not the Washington Monument in DC - more like living at the Washington Monument at Mount Vernon Place in Baltimore, but with a Maine twist.  So yeah like I am really cool now. 

This recent brush with fame brought back my last encounter with historical links to days gone by.  This image, snapped around 1900 is of  Springvale, Maine's first bike shop.  Philpot's General Store, as it existed 110 years ago, was located not 50 feet from my bike shop's current location.  My bike shop is at the rear of the building to the right of the pile of bike crates.  And though this knowledge caused me to become a local legend in my own mind, it pales in comparison to living on a spot recognized throughout the know cyberspace.

I hope I can deal with almost being famous.

Later............................................

A Close Encounter of the Maine Kind

Yesterday during half time in the Pats/Lions football game, I managed to pull my attention from the TV for a second.  The Pats had not had a fruitful first half.  Detroit had come out hard and put them behind after 2 quarters, 17 to 10.  I was beginning to feel a recurring nightmare coming on.  But instead of Cleveland giving my Pats a shellacking, it was going to be another Great Lakes team, the Detroit Lions. 

I glanced out the back window of the living room to I dunno, just take a break from NFL overload for a minute. Standing about six feet from the window just on the other side of the Hydrangea was an adult moose.  A huge cow moose.  It was looking towards my neighbor's field.  It's presence filled the window.  I hollered for Bobbi, my wife, to come see just as it ambled over to the pucker separating my property from my neighbor"s.  She hurried in and we watched it slowly work it's way down the field towards the woods and out of sight.

Awesome, simply awesome animals when they are up close and personal. 

Half time ended.  The Pats recovered and soundly beat Detroit.  Bobbi and I had a wonderful Thanksgiving feast and I went back to watching football.  I fell asleep at some point and missed most of the New Orleans/Dallas game.  Woke up in time to flip to the NFL channel long enough to see that the hated New York Jets were probably going to win their game with Cincinnati.  Damn them.  Looks like it will come down to the Monday night game in a little less than two weeks.  I passed out again.

Today while I puttered and sputtered with the wiring for the snow melt system for the roof, a show came on the National Geographic Channel, "Alone in the Wild".  Apparently this British guy who fancied himself an adventurer was dropped off in the wilds of the Yukon in Canada to face the wilderness on his own for 3 months.  His plan was to catch salmon when they started running.  His plan failed.  No salmon ever showed up.  He ate porcupine and berries and cried a lot.  At about two months into it he called for help and was evacuated.  A very interesting tale as he filmed everything, including his many moments of self doubt and fear.

As the NatGeo saga wound down, the moose I had seen yesterday, this guy's struggles to survive, and my own feeble off road tours in the woods of Maine came together.  I was back in the mid 1990s on my bike riding crude logging roads miles from anywhere.  I ran through the many feelings I had as I rode alone through the Maine woods up near the Canadian border.  I remember being isolated from the civilized world I thought I hated  but apparently did not.  I remember craving greasy McDonald's burgers.  I remember wishing there were showers out there.  And I remembered one encounter with another huge moose.

It was my third night out by myself.  I had camped on a small point of land jutting out into some lake.  Nothing but trees, rocks and water.  No buildings, no people, no boats.  Just me camped in the middle of nowhere.   I had cooked my meal of rice and salami chopped up with melted velveeta on it.  I had drank my rationed three shots of Jack Daniels.  I doused my campfire and climbed into my tent to try to go to sleep. 

Let me just say that sleeping in the wild miles from anywhere with no sounds but the wind rustling the leaves is not as peaceful as one envisions when coming up with the dream in the safety of one's home.  Every sound made me flinch.  I imagined all kinds of things out there.  Bears, Coyotes, Hell even the thought of a crazed logger wielding a double bladed axe crossed my mind.  I finally drifted off.

At some point later, something awakened me.  My eyes popped open like they were on springs.  There was something in my campsite.  I could hear it.  Twigs snapping, heavy breathing, the works.  I laid paralyzed with fear.  I have no idea how long I laid there quiet as whatever creature it was explored my campsite.  At some point I gathered enough nerve to sit up and open the flap of the tent.  Standing a couple of feet away over my tent entrance were four legs.  They stood out against the moonlight reflecting off the lake.
Suddenly a huge snort and a moose head full to the hilt with antlers bent down and sniffed the ground in front of my tent.  I stopped breathing and just stared at it.  The bull snorted hard again scattering pine needles and dust and then lifted it's head back up.  A stream of piss pounded the dirt and the smell of it brought me back to reality.  This goddamned moose was pissing in my camp site.  What the Hell?  I hollered and thankfully it ran off, only taking out one of the lines holding up my raincover. 

Needless to say I did not go back to sleep that night.  As it turned out, dawn was only an hour or so wait.  I started a fire, cooked the last of my eggs and fried salami, packed up and headed on my bike for the last leg of that trip.

That was my first solo tour of Maine's backwoods.  I have experienced two others since.  Each one brought with it moments when I asked why I was doing this.  And each time as I packed the gear back into the truck to come home, I realized why.  To experience the Wild is to feel truly alive.  As the guy from the "Alone in the Wild" stated, and i paraphrase - "The Wild does not care about you.  It is up to you to deliver yourself." 

I make no claim that what I have experienced is the true out there alone experience.  But the challenges I gave myself certainly left me with deep respect for the awesome world beyond human influence.  It is indeed up to us to deliver ourselves.  My time alone in the woods has taught me that.

See Ya....................................
_____________________________________

Image not by me - poached from Google images

The Rest of the World is Evil

I am not sure why I even asked the question.  But I did.  And of course as usual, Google had more answers than I cared to check.  The first one I checked made me stop and consider just how whacked many of us Americans are, just how ethno-centric and holier than thou many of us feel about the rest of the World.

My search started innocently enough.  Three words, "Thanksgiving, other countries" typed in the little Google blank at the top right of the screen.  Google had 10.1 million answers in .27 seconds. 

My tendency when using Google is to not open the first in line.  I always hated the kid who always raised his hand first?  So I went to the bottom of the page and opened one entitled "Why don't other countries celebrate Thanksgiving?"

"Betterknown" then expands the question with - "Are we Americans the only ones to celebrate because we are the only ones that God loves and the only ones that have strong moral and family values? Or is it just because they hate America and our freedoms? "

My first thought was that "betterknown" was tossing out some bait.  Seemed a classic trolling technique.  And maybe it was.  Didn't matter because the second answer from a user named "Tolstoy" swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker.

"Tolstoy" wrote in response - "It would be nice to know who "they" are in the question above. It would also be interesting to find out exactly how not celebrating Thanksgiving means that they hate America and our freedoms. Thanksgiving was something that was made up at the beginning of the twentieth century - a day of taking time to say thanks - by the U.S. government.

Regarding the other part of the question: yes, I believe that Americans are the only ones that God loves and the only ones that have strong moral and family values. America is an island of righteousness in the big soup of evil that is the rest of the world."

The rest of the World is evil?  We are the only country with strong moral and family values?

Hmm. 

Well I guess I have something to be thankful for after all.  I live in the land of the Righteous and Good.  I feel better already.

You all have a good day today and thank someone for something.  God works I guess.  But I would call the parents, a friend, a relative or maybe even a boss first.  God's voice mail seems to be full up at the moment.

Later..................................................

21 Years Ago & One Bodaciously Long Sentence.

The fuzzy photo above is marked "May 90" on the back, marking when I decided to develop it..  From the condition of the leaves in the background and the duds these tough guys are wearing, I would say it is a Kodak moment snatched from a late Fall ride in 1989.  Okay so that would be 21 years ago.  A solid generation ago.  Many of the tough guys I ride with now were but diaper wearing, marble eatin toddlers when this image was created.  Of the six manly men in this picture, only two of us still actively ride mountain bikes - the tall guy and the badass in the yellow rain jacket and all too hip nylon gaiters from LL Bean.

I was 37 then.  Old enough to understand my mortality, but still young enough to not care as much as I should have.  I was hard into that phase of Life where I was earning a living, buying a home, raising a youngun and getting into being very serious about Life.  I had to be serious.  Raising a kid deserves all the focus you can give it.  My daughter was 5 and it was dawning on me how important it was I be around to help where I could getting my kid from child to adult.

Yeah, I took parenthood very seriously.  Odd.  Never took much of anything else all that seriously.  My wedding vows maybe, but other than that, I was pretty loose about commitments.  And as I sit here contemplating whatever this is that popped up when I found that photo secreted in among a thousand other photos in a box I had stashed years ago, I realize that because I just wrote whatever came into my mind as I wrote down this sentence, I have forgotten what it was, whatever the point might have been of what I wanted to say when I began it.  So, uh....................................

Later..................................................

Suspenders

The story goes I wore my first pair of suspenders at age 2.  About the same time I wore my first hat.  Apparently I never looked back.   Both became part of what I was, what I became.

I always hated belts.   Yeah, they might work okay, but feeling like a garbage bag with a twist tie around the waist seems too high a price to pay.  Suspenders are the perfect support system.  Suspenders keep my pants at the right height.  No plumber's butt to shock the opposite sex and make friends laugh.  The gut is allowed to be the free flowing form it was meant to be.  Instead of  the two belly rolls a belt creates, suspenders allow an uninterrupted pleasing flow of the mid torso.  Nothing showcases a good gut like suspender straps on each side.

It boggles my mind that we insist on allowing skinny people to dictate what we full figure folks wear.  I used to be skinny and wore whatever I took a shine to.  As the years stacked up, I began to fill out into the classic WASP pear shape.   The loose fit of my pants disappeared through either their shrinkage or my expansion.  Most days I blamed the pants.  On those rare days when I was willing to cast a cold calculating and objective eye at the shape my body had decided to settle into, I saw Reality.

If I wanted to continue to wear my loved 'spenders, I would either need to buy bigger pants or bite the bullet and lose the padding I had worn out so many knives, forks and spoons to create.

Buying bigger pants brought with it several negatives.  First it was an admittance that I was actually getting fat.  There was also the notion that to buy big pants was giving up, giving in, throwing up my hands and learning to live Life the fat guy way.  Being a guy and well versed in the long deeply steeped traditon of denial, this truth was for a time buried hard back in the crusty dusty crevices and cracks of my mind.  I lived as a skinny guy on the inside and a fat guy on the outside.

So I crammed my bloated body into pants one size too small.  For several years no support was needed to keep the pants in place.  Just sucking in the gut once in the morning and fighting the button or snap into place would do the trick.  And as long as I didn't breath too deep or bend over too far, suffering the exploding pants syndrome was averted.  There were a few, maybe three, four, or more mishaps.  Embarrassing maybe, but not too high a price to not have to face the reality that looked back at me each morning I brushed my teeth.

Losing weight ........well, losing weight just seemed like too much of a hassle.  There was always something else better to do than cut back my time at the trough and instead do jumping jacks or crunches, or whatever it is the six pack ab dudes do to be able to bounce pennies off their gut like a well made bed in boot camp.  Sure it might turn on the honeys, but that kind of trouble had also become too much of a hassle what with being married to a woman who would have planted me deep if  I ever wandered off the reservation.

My recent and somewhat successful attempts to trim down the cubic feet my body took up brought with it a new optimism.  Thoughts of wearing those 34 waist jeans that have been gathering dust have been entertained.  And the 36 inch waist pants are starting to get sloppy.   Damn.  Finally back to needing a belt or ............suspenders.

I have an old set of LL Bean Red ones on now and they feel great.  I have begun to shop around looking for new and improved suspenders.   And again, the Internet did not let me down.  The Suspender Store is a online store dedicated to offering every kind of suspender you can imagine or think up.  Basic everyday 'spenders to high end Wall Street broker horsehair ones for almost $200.  They even offer promotion suspenders.  I could order some with my bike shop logo on them.  Now that would be cool.

I think my next pair will be some button style.  Pinch clips are fussy.  Button suspenders are a sure thing.  And I guess there's no need to sew any buttons on anymore.  Spiffy new high tech no-sew buttons are availble - six for six bucks.

Later............................................
__________________________________

Top image from The Library of Congress

Murder Mystery in Acton

The investigation is still pending.  No arrests yet, and typical of Maine and New Hampshire cops, they are keeping their lips zipped.  So all we have are the physical results of two crimes and then whatever we come up with in our minds.

I actually like the tendency to lock out the news hounds around murder investigations in my part of the country.  It keeps the hype and wild theories out of the media.  But this case is close to home.  Literally.

Apparently a three season lakeside camp on Great East Lake about 3 miles from me went up in flames a few weeks ago.  Took three local fire departments six hours to get it under control.  It was immediately called arson.  The following Monday in a town in New Hampshire, the ex wife of the camp owner was found shot dead from multiple gunshot wounds.  Her dog had also been killed.

The ex husband was a well to do local businessman who owned several businesses that went south with the economy.  He and his ex wife's divorce was anything but friendly.  I am sure he has been questioned as have all the family and friends.  So far though, no arrests.

Maybe its's my new infatuation with writing, but this case has real life murder mystery written all over it.  I have entertained several scenarios that may have played out here.  I am sure I will be wrong.  The husband is certainly looking like the prime suspect given the information I have been able to uncover.  The fact that it has been almost 3 weeks now means the cops have many unanswered questions.  Hardly the slam dunk case many local lips are going on about. 

Anyway, I just thought I would share a rare sensational event here in Acton. 

Later..............................................

You're Just A F***king Chick Magnet

What with my inability to keep the real life madness from getting out of control and my tendency to ignore it when it does, when I do decide to take care of business, all other facets of my life including and but not exclusively this blog, well, they fall into disprepair and begin gathering dust. 

If that paragraph made any sense, then maybe the rest will.  If it didn't, then I guess I am circling the airport in my own special holding pattern and will continue to do so until the fuel runs out.  Sure hope I land in the water.

Anyway, my previous post about manic/depression was, well, it was what it was.  I wrote it, posted it, and then went back to trying to get a handle on the real world that I exist in.  More construction madness, more bike shop madness, and then also trying to fit in a ride or two witrhout having to dodge bullets in the woods as the lone outdoorsmen do their best to actually kill something legal.

So I just read the comments on the previous post.  I also just opened my emails for the first time in several days.  I thought I had finally gotten free of the internet babes who used to stalk me five or six years ago.  Apparently they were just giving me a break.   Once again I have to fend off the women who clamor at my internet door.  And now instead of just dealing with them as email spam, I have them finding me on T-Ten, the writing site, my blog, and again in my emails.

Must be the weight loss.  It's the only thing new about me that might even entice the ladies beyond their normal detached disregard.   I suddenly did not get taller.  I just did not win the lottery.   If it is the weight loss, then how the Hell did they know?  I have not posted any new images of the svetlter and slimmer me.  And besides, my new body is anything but skinny, it's just a tad skinnier...............Hmm......................

Okay.  I think there are spies in the pucker around my house using long range radios to update Home base on the MRMacrum status.  I imagine a whole coven of women dedicated to keeping tabs on me.  Has to be.  Couldn't be arbitrary and just my time again to get hit up for my credit card number so they can squeeze non existent money from it and leave me drained, a pitiful dried up carcasses in their wake.  Nah, that couldn't be it.

As BBC commented in my last post, "You're just a fucking chick magnet".

Well just don't tell my wife.  She might laugh.

And the Mania Continues

Yesterday I shared my previous day of living Life on the frantic side of normal.  8 hours of construction labor followed by a night that ended a couple of hours before the Sun came up.  I worked, I danced, and then I punched some words and poked my next story a little further down the road.  Passed out around 3:30AM.  Got up at 6:00 AM and was driving to Loews for some home improvement supplies by 7:30 AM.  Had the lumber, fasteners and some handtool knick knacks secured in the truck by 9 and was home by 10.  Went to the bike shop, put in a full day and when I got home I felt the same fatigue I had the day before.  My body was toast, and dammitt, my brain was still spinning hard in the red zone.  Just a hint of what a full night's sleep feels like would have been appreciated.

I am sure now somewhere in my gulliwots down deep inside, my wiring is whacked.  The 110 current I normally run on intermittently gets a dose of 220.  Can yo say hyper?  And then other times, it drops to 55 volts and my system suffers a brown out.  I slow to a crawl and have even slowed to a stop on occasion.  I never really considered...............no, I guess I did but never would admit it.  I have since I can remember, lived my life from one high to a low and back again.  It has only in the last ten years my erratic behaviour become more of an issue as the depths I hit are deeper and the highs, well, they are some cool.

Off and on throughout my adult life, I have had medical professionals of one specialty or another advise me to consider using the latest wonder drug to smooth out my peaks and valleys.  "No thanks Doc," I always told them.  If I want medicine I'll self medicate.

 I convinced myself through heroic and herculean effort to safely self deny.  I didn't need no stinkin Prozac.  Sure the Black Dog was no fun when it came sniffing around, But Jeez wasn't it great when I climbed up and out to the tippy top of the trees.  I made sure I tuned in when an acquaintance, friend, or enemy would indicate they hated whatever designer drug their chosen doctor put them on.  I pretty much ignored any positive information, sure that the Depression racket was just that, a frickin racket.

Call this my coming out.   The point of my life where I stop walking around it, denying it, and admit that I have at the least a mild case of manic depression.  What I used to call "feeling down" or even more cryptic, "down in the dumps", is flat out Depression.  There I finally admitted it to myself, to whoever stops by and whoever may not. 

Once I felt ashamed of my falls from grace.  But well, now I am neither shamed nor proud.  It's the way it is.  Unless I want to dilute the frantic flow of my life through the magic of chemistry, I will have to learn to deal with the occasional nosedive.  Cuz I just don't know if I can give up the special highs the Manic part of the trip gives me.   Damn if it ain't like drugs.  And its free for the taking.  Almost like I'm growing my own dope.
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Keep it 'tween the ditches.............................................................................

Dancin Like a Rock Star

Not sure what got into me  last night.  After 8 solid hours of ladder sprints as I scurried to finish the eaves under the new roof I laid down recently, I should have spent the evening kicked back on the sofa with a cool drink, my feet up, and the remote within arm's reach.   Instead, after wolfing down some pizza, I headed to the basement and puttered.  Cleaned stuff, organized stuff, found lost stuff,  and just when I thought I was out of stuff to do, I found myself playing with stuff.

The radio was tuned to WHEB - 100.3 on the FM dial.  Classic Rock, current Rock, and future Rock.  At some point I realized I was dancin around the basement with a broom and ripping some real badass air guitar.  I was nailing those power chords just like Pete, picking riffs like Jimy, and suddenly I stopped.  "Just what the Hell was I doing"?  Jumping and kickin up my heels like I did when I was 23? 

Not much more comical than some old white guy sportin a full white beard trying to boogie to Green Day or The Doors.  I wasn't a teen anymore or even close.  Old men didn't jump around with reckless abandon.  Old Men were too cool to gyrate and shimmy in unseemly un-adult like ways.  Rock was the Devil's music.  Rock music was for the young punks. 

Old men had basically two choices.  They were either supposed be reserved and keep their cool, conducting themselves with the expected behaviour of grown adults.  Or they were  sedentarily obnoxious, fartin, scratchin, and leering at all the young girls.  Anything else was well, comedy.  Or just plain sad.  Take your pick. 

I tried to to get serious again.  Attempted to become industrious and productive.

Then Zep's "When the Leevee Breaks" kicked into gear.......Uh Oh..... I smiled.  My right foot began twitching.  Soon my left foot began to tremble, and before you could say AC/DC, I was bouncin off walls again.  'Bout wore the strings out on that broom I'll tell ya.

Around 11:30 PM or so I ran out of steam, I had pissed all my vinegar away.  Spent and toasted, I gimped upstairs and tried to kick back.  My body was crying "No Mas",  but my brain was still red-lining.  Turning over at 100 plus, I just could could not rest. 

So I sat down at my desk, punched up the 'puter, found "Detour Blues" , an oline all Blues radio station.  I then rocked and wrote the night away into the wee hours of the next day.

I can see why some Baptists consider dancin a sign an evil spirit has its hooks in you.  Definitely wicked immoral Devil's play.  Having this much fun has to be a sin.

Later, Gator.................Oh Yeah..................

Unconditional Love

A short fiction piece I wrote on thenow defunct Thinking Ten site.  Based on an incident from my past, I tried to put into words how I felt at the time.  - The prompt was - On Location, Monday: A hospital waiting room

----------------------------------------

She stepped into the waiting room. Her white frock wrinkled and stained with blood. Her hair, so carefully tied into a bun before her shift, had fallen apart. She pushed it off her face and stepped up to the old man sitting near the window.


“Mr Jenkins?”

The old man looked up, puffy red eyes relaying his pain as he anxiously awaited news he knew would not be good. 

Quietly without emotion, “Yes, I’m Jenkins.”

The woman in the white frock looked down at him briefly and then shifted her eyes to the clipboard in her hand. She hated this part of her job.

“Well Mr Jenkins, I am sorry, but we could not save her leg.”

The old man stared at her not saying a word. He squinted and turned his head away.

“Can I see her?”

“Why yes of course. She is in recovery. She is still a little woozy, but I am sure she would love to see you. Please follow me.”

The old man slowly struggled to his feet and followed the young woman past double doors and through some curtains to the gurney his loved one laid on.

A whimper greeted him as he stroked her neck. Brown eyes looked at him with unconditional love. The sheet covering her danced up and down as she wagged her tail.

“Who’s the good girl?” Old man Jenkins bent over and kissed her forehead.

________________________________

Some editing on this version.

Erratic Consistency

Having been off the grid so to speak for a week or so, now that I am back, I wondered what may have happened during my absence that may even be worth commenting on.  .............................

...........................Well, not much it seems.  The planet still spins with erratic consistency as it always has.  And contrary to the notion that we do not get along, humans continue to mesh together as well as could be expected.  So I guess I did not miss much.

Sure, there are still many places where we insist on ruining each other's day.  But that has been part and parcel of our collective experience from the first moment one cave clan encountered another cave clan.  Nothing new there.  Barring any world wide event or series of events, I don't see much changing in the near future.  We will continue to stumble our way towards the next millennium, each day increasing the odds that some future day will be our last day.  It would seem logical given the historical rise and fall of the critters that preceded us.  So far,  every top of the food chain prehistoric creature has worn out its welcome.  It would be terribly presumptuous of us to think we could beat this historical reality.

Hmm..................................

And with my second cup of coffee this AM, a leap of logic or maybe I just tripped over a tangent, but the notion of Sentience found its way to the top of the shit pile in my mind.

I thought about sentience for several minutes before I asked Wiki their opinion.  That many more intelligent minds than mine have been able to qualify, quantify, and then supply a definition much more substantial and intricate than my own feeble thoughts on the definition of sentience was I expected.  I have had many years to get used to my second banana brain.

I was not surprised though that the concept of sentience is another of those ego building notions thought up to justify our position as the species most likely to succeed.  Another rationale or excuse for the things we do to the other living things not blessed with opposable thumbs and the ability to understand the subtle nuances of "The Wives of Orange County".  Another excuse to assuage any guilt for the exploitation of the planet we exist on.  That somehow since we can reason, we have the right to do what we want to those we deem less than sentient.  It is no wonder then that depending on how much our heart bleeds, our definition of it changes.  Sort of like our views on religion, politics, and any other human action that means someone wins by making someone else lose.

Before this post becomes a condemnation of what we are, what we have done, and what we will or might do in the future, I would say that I actually think we are not a terrible species.  About average I would say.  Which delegates us as just another group of animals trying to get by the best that they can.

Certainly we exploit the resources around us.  Certainly we destroy or damage the eco-existence of other living things in our quest to survive.  That is the natural way of things.  Most every living thing does that.  But to our credit, within our collective conscience, more of us have begun to understand that our longer term survival depends more on stewardship of the planet, than the mindless exploitation that has worked so far.   Instinct is slowly being supplanted by Reason.

My only question is - Is this realization too little, too late?

Keep it 'tween the ditches..................................

La La La La La La La La

La La La La La La La La

I am sorry, I cannot hear you. 

La La La La La La La

Paul LePage is on the screen.  He's grinning.  This can't be good news for Eliot Cutler.

La La La La La La La La

If I don't actually hear them say it, it didn't happen.........Right?

And another four years begins where I will be punching the mute button every time my governor comes on the screen, the radio, or shows up at my front door.

Maine definitely shifted to Right last night.  And that's fine I guess.  Might as well.  Seems everyone's doing it.

But the countdown begins now.  If things do not get better in say, well, I'll be generous, let's say I give the Right ten days.  Yeah, ten days should be enough time to turn things around.

After all, they were so sure that the Left was doing it wrong, they convinced enough of us that they could do it better, even without offering any new ideas.  They must have a secret plan that is so awesome, once installed, Life will become the American dream overnight. 

I say bring it on.  But like I said, you only have ten days.  After that, I start whining again.

Down in a Hole

On this dark/bright day when shadows/light overcomes the heavy/light heart you drag down to the polls, I decided I would skip on down to the Acton Town Hall. I would not frown as I cast my vote.  Just put the x's where I think they fit best.  Skip along home and forget it. 

And instead of heated and passionate posting on the current slide down the shit hole I might/might not see coming, I am just going to waste some bandwidth with some other bandwidth I wasted on Thinking Ten.  Call it bandwidth wasted - squared.

A little ditty I wrote off the prompt "Down in a Hole" - a tale of tragedy and triumph.

Down in a hole
Where only the big moles go
The intrepid cricket tripped and he slipped
Coming down hard on three of his hips

He struggled to rise
But much to his surprise
Where once there had been six legs
Now stood only five.

From that day forward
He walked with a limp
But no one, nor anyone
Called him a wimp

Because on his shoulder
For all to see
He carried that lost leg
And would wield it with glee
_______________________________

Blogging Advice

Saturday's post was not received as I meant it to be.  Not that I ever really think about how what I write will be received, other than harboring vague thoughts about hoping it gets at least a few hits.  Anyway, I figured I would post this morning and do my damndest to not come off disgruntled, pissed or sporting any sizable hairs across my butt.

Of course it would seem that with each new year tacked on to the 58 plus ones I am dragging along now,  my emotional index seems to ebb and flow with the political tides.  And this won't do.  I find it to be totally unacceptable  that I am allowing flounders in a town 600 miles away to have such control over whether I am smiling on any given day.

So today I swear off politics.  And Religion.  Include education.  And while I am at it, any sports commentary beyond "Go Pats".   And even though tomorrow I might swear them back in, at least for the rest of this post, you can imagine me with a smile on my wrinkled mug and a big cup of coffee standing by to lubricate said grin.

I made the mistake a few days ago of checking through some old bookmarked links I had not visited in several years.  I had in mind cleaning out the riff and the raff, seperating chiff from the chaff.  Of course I did neither, but I did open up some links that creaked from the rust buildup on thier hinges.

I found a dusty folder in the dark depths of my browser's favorites list named Blogging Hints.  Started back in the day when this whole blogosphere was a strange and mystifying place for me.  I wanted to make the right impressions, so I looked for help and then bookmarked what I thought might be good advice.

As it turns out, I may as well deleted them before I even read them.  According to most, I am doing exactly the wrong thing with my blog if I ever expect to have what would be considered a "successful blog".

My blog has no focal point.  Whatever whim snags me, that is what I write about that day.  Definitely not a good thing according to the blogging elite.  Politics, religion, the neighbors, fiction, shit, I think I have mentioned just about every boring detail I can think of or make up.

I write about me fairly often.  Okay, okay, I write about me more than fairly often.  Again a huge blogging no-no.

Many of my posts are longer than 500 words.  Again, a "good blog post" should be brief and to the point.  A good example of a bad example would be this post by the time I am done.  Lots of words that easily could have been left unwritten, unsaid, unheard from and this planet would be in no worse shape because I chose to keep my dribble to a minimum.

But that is not my style.  Apparently and according to the "experts", I have no style.  Which I assume could be drawn out to include no class, low rent, erratic, and with a slight tinge of personality disorder just to round out the over all character of the blog.

So Saturday when I wrote before I was really awake, I guess I sent vibes I might be leaving the wide world of blogging behind me.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  I am really just getting warmed up.  Besides, someone has to be the bad example, set the bar low enough so others may find success easier to attain, be there at the bottom to cushion other's falls.  I have an important role in the communtiy.  I'm the snotty wino on the corner sipping MD 20/20 and leering at the women as they get on and off the bus. 

Metaphorically speaking of course.......................................Of course.
______________________________
Image - Acrylic on canvas - Michael Arnold

Barely Awake

The first cup of coffee seems to be working..........To a degree anyway.  I am here typing, pecking.......knocking at my creative door.  Seems no one is home.  Should I come back later?  Or sit here getting huffier by the moment as my knocks turn to incessant pounding and I will either bloody my creative hands in futile efforts to open the door or it will finally cave to my insistence and spring open, beckoning me inside to partake of many sweet creations I can bring home with me to share with anyone who might be interested or unlucky enough to have been vapor locked onto this site.

When I was a racing fool..........That is a bicycle racing fool back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, the first thing I would do upon putting my feet on the floor in the morning would be to check my resting pulse rate.  Somehow knowing it would make me faster.  Just as riding stupid miles at stupid puke your guts out paces would make me faster.  I got faster, but it stopped being fun, so I stopped racing and just rode.

Now 20 years later, the first thing I do is hack up a lung, pull my crotch back into the comfort zone, grab a cup of coffee and usually sit in front of this damned computer.  Once the porn lost its allure, and the newsgroups and forums started making me yawn, I found the blog.  That was.......Let me check.......... It was Tuesday, Dec 21, 2004.

Well it has been almost 6 years now and what do I have to show for it?

(Hmm.  This is where and how I will determine what kind of day it may turn into.  This is where I figure out if it was Ying who woke me up or was it Yang?   I can never remember which one puts me in an ugly mood, or if they trade off duties just to keep me off balance, but those two bastards seem to have control over the flow of my day)

(Double Hmm - Seems one cup of coffee is not quite enough stimulation to recognize the day that may be headed my way.)

So what do I have to show for almost 6 years of punishing the blogosphere with my opinion, my creativity such as it is, my mindless drool that almost always is politiely referred to by civil visitors who might want to say what they mean, but most often just move on after a polite "how do you do?"

Well on the plus side (or is it the negative side?  Still too early to tell), I do have a body of work made up of 872 posts stretching erratically over the last 6 years.   I have an audience now.  Why?  Hell I don't know.  But I sure appreciate them swinging by.

After reading some of my earlier posts, I seem to have developed into a better writer.  Not a good writer, but a better one.  But then is not this one of those intangible notions we blow off to "the eye of the beholder"?  If financial success or fame is any indication, then I would say calling me "good" would be a stretch.  Adequate maybe.  Acceptable might fit.  Occasionally Okay seems about as good a pat on my back as I can honestly come up with.

Regardless, as I sit here contemplating the inane notions and thoughts that have popped up early AM on Saturday, Oct 30, I will take my leave of this sacred place, this blogoshere, and allow you to sigh in deep relief that I have moved on. 

Have a super day.  If you can't do that, then have a shitty day.  Either one beats the alternative.

See Ya.........................................................