Being Lazy

Contrary to popular belief, it is not so easy to be lazy. Being truly proficient at lethargy takes years of practice and intense concentration. So many people do not harness the true power of laziness. They spend their lives fighting the inevitability of it by performing yard work, having a paying job, having kids, and shoveling snow, blah, blah, blah. Somehow they delude themselves that doing something, any something, is somehow better than doing nothing. They are so wrong. A certain amount of loafing or as I call it, screwin the pooch, is a necessary and integral part of making a safe and sane passage from the cradle to the grave.

I have proven laziness as a viable and often healthier alternative to being fruitful by my many years of slothful introspection. Being lazy is as important as being the busy beaver. And there is no question about striking a balance between the two. When in doubt about whether to be a worker bee or a slug, always consider the slug first. 

If one wants to really understand the total bliss of laziness without the guilt that usually comes along for the ride, one needs to develop a mindset that assures whatever needs doing today will still need doing tomorrow; so why not put it off until tomorrow? If we skip it today, that which needs doing today ensures our schedule stays full with at least one task that justifies our commitment to laziness. We suffer no empty days if there is always a chore undone. 

Undoing and rescheduling the "to do list" can be a daunting task. One must relax and clear their mind in order to do it right. Doing nothing seems the best approach to make this happen. Over thinking the best way to be lazy quickly becomes counterproductive to keeping one's sphincter un-clinched. Don't agonize, people die stressing too much. A blank mind is almost always the best approach.

It appears I have a natural innate talent for intense torpidity. There is a path of little resistance between my productive mindset and Mike, the couch potato: especially now that I am retired. Convenient excuses to skip work are popping up more and more the older I get. With so much effort put in over the years pursuing laziness, I now can enjoy it without as much shame as I heaped on my shoulders in years past. 

The problem is, now I would like to tip the balance between fruitful behavior and couch potato more to the fruitful side. Because of chronic inactivity in recent years, my body has not been up to the task. But it is beginning to turn around. 

Bottom line here is, ........ no matter which way I live, I will end up dead. So enjoying Life is the main point no matter which way I lean. Any anguishing I might have tortured myself with in years past, well, that was wasted time; which is the worse thing I could do. Way worse than doing nothing.

A parting thought here as I get ready to close this post:

If we were not designed to be lazy, why then did we invent hammocks?

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

_____________________

Tough job picking music associated with being lazy. The first one I picked, "Daydream" by The Lovin Spoonful I thought would be it. But I felt in order to be fair, I needed to continue a token search. A song by a group I lost touch with over the years jumped out at me and forced my hairs to stand on end. "Lazy" on the album "Machine Head" by Deep Purple brought me instantly back to a concert at the DAR Hall in Washington DC when I was really younger and quite a few IQ points dumber.

The concert for me was the poster child perfect concert from the early 1970s. The band played hard and long. The crowd of stoned out freaks danced their way into a frenzy and suddenly I was on the stage stumbling around in time to "Lazy". I blacked out shortly thereafter awakening at dark thirty in the morning locked in a stairwell at the concert hall. My friends had abandoned me.

I got the last laugh though. They were pulled over for driving erratically. They were so out of it, they spent the night in a DC jail and had to have parents pick them up later that next day. Me, well about 10 AM, a janitor found and released me from my own personal Hell in the stairwell. All the way home on the bus, I cursed my friends and conjured up payback of varying levels and intensities. 

Cooking

I remember learning to cook back in my impoverished college student days. It did not take long to notice that cooking food rather than buying it ready to eat made the monthly stipend last longer. If I was careful, I often had some extra cash to support at least a small pot and beer budget.

I learned the basics from my mom and from a cookbook she gave me when Bean, BeBop and I shared a first apartment in the Towson, Maryland area in 1971.

Being a cookbook of meals comprised of basic and inexpensive food stuffs, the recipes were simple enough to understand by an illiterate wannabe chef like myself. I became a decent cook who usually could be depended on to serve something palatable on the nights it was my turn to cook.

I still have that book as the photo I just took moments ago will attest. And not only do I still use it, my wife, who has been feeding our family for decades, also uses it sometimes. The book is often misplaced on the shelf of over 60 cookbooks amassed over the years by my parents and my wife. It is the only cookbook I use now.

Okay, so I have established that I learned enough food prep back the day to provide myself and my wife sustaining nourishment without all the drama of a newly wed cooking their first few meals. I still screw up on occasion, but for the most part all my recent meals have been within the parameters of edible.

I haven't taken over cooking for the two of us. That will never happen. One reason is my wife actually likes to cook, though I think she would not be inclined to admit it. And second of all, I am an eater first and a cook only when I have to be one.

It seems I am at a crossroads of sorts. I can continue to create the same meals I have mastered or kick this chef gig into a higher gear like I did the other night. I tried out a new recipe I found on the Internet after googling "Pork Chops". The recipe promised, after an easy peasy, no muss no fuss, 45 minute flurry of labor, I would be serving the juiciest, most flavorful pork chops ever.

Hmm.

The pork chops turned out fine, although not the juiciest I have ever had. They were indeed flavorful though. What did not happen was the no muss, no fuss easy peasy, 45 minute flurry of activity part. It was a two hour torturous floundering through cooking Hell that left the kitchen in shambles and me wondering why I decided to believe I could cook.

In the end though, the meal was as good as anything I have come up with recently and my wife actually designated some of the leftovers as her lunch the next day.

Mission accomplished.

___________________________

What particular music would fit in here?

According to family lore, the first music I listened to and responded to as a toddler was the country music that was broadcast from Denver down the east face  of the Rockies to our home in Colorado Springs in the early 1950's. Supposedly, when "Hey Good Lookin", by Hank Williams came on, I would start dancing. 

Anyway, enjoy Hank at his toe tapping best.

The Peanut Farmer From Plains

Jimmy Carter continues to be the stand up guy example for all of us no matter at what stage of Life he is in. Even going into Hospice Care at home, the 98 year old shows the class, humility and grace he has always had his whole life. If there was one man I would advise any youngster to look up to and emulate, it would be this peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia.

I found out today that he met Rosalynn, his future life companion, on the day she was born. Wow. If I had read this as part of a fiction story, I would roll my eyes and laugh. Too unreal to be believable. Yet, that is how long those two have been acquainted.

I have often wondered how he was able to follow so rigorously a path that always focused him on improving the world around him. People often claim it was his Christianity. 

I say bullshit. 

He definitely relied on his faith, call it one of his many tools. What made Jimmy Carter what he was goes way deeper than that. Personally, I think the biggest impact on his life and how he turned out can be blamed on two women in his life, his mother, Lillian and his wife, Rosalynn.  In the picture to the right, they are fussing over him and keeping him straight at his graduation from the U.S. Naval Academy in 1946. I particularly admire Jimmy for making sure folks know of the impact those two women had on him.

President Carter is an amazing human being who followed his heart. Whoever or whatever he put his mind to, they ended up the better for it. He is now winding down an exemplary life that from the street level looks like it had no gaps or cracks along the way. 

The World has definitely been a better place with him in it.

_________________________

When Jimmy and Rosalynn took over the White House, I thought it would be very cool if they planted a few rows of peanuts. I used to dance to this when I was a youngster. It is Burl Ives' version of a Civil War song we sang in school, "Goober Peas". 

Yep, every time I think of Jimmy Carter, I think of this song.

Rock n Roll Star

My eyes opened at 3:00 AM this morning. I was actually chilled for the first time since early July. I took note and forced my head back on the pillow and fell asleep. An hour later I think, I woke myself up singing. If not, I should have been. I was humming a blues tune with lyrics based on a song my old friends Tool and Bean contrived back in college. It was about Bean, his new shoes, and how he came to get shit on them.

Apparently I was a member of a nameless band and shared the lead singing role with another faceless rock star who was badgering me to "get my shit together" and find them another song; a song that would put us back in the limelight. 

"By the way asshole", my co-singer said, "Do it quick, we're on in twenty minutes and if possible, lose some weight too."

I was not sure why it was incumbent on me to do all the work, but it was my dream and as a rule I tended to be the star of my own dreams, good and bad. I got to work. I started humming a blues riff. When I was comfortable with that, I remembered Bean and Tool's Blues tune, "Shit on my new shoes Blues" from back in the day and began to insert a lyric here and there. 

I was standing in front of a mirror as I composed the song because well, I guessed all rock stars stand in front of mirrors before they face their audiences. As I primped and posed, my humming became a real song. 30 pounds of gut magically vanished from my body revealing the hardened abbed manly man beneath. My beard changed from white back to the brown it was in my youth. The door opened and...................... I fucking woke up. Dammit!

Anyway, that is how my day began. Hope yours will be as fun as mine has been so far.

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

________________________

I actually picked my song before I even started the search. Please enjoy this blast from my, our, maybe your past. Here is the Byrds and their 1967 tune, "So you want to be a Rock n Roll star". 

Conquering Hero

A music video posted by a FB friend found its way to my feed yesterday. I had not heard of the group Ferocious Dog before. They are a very talented band from across the pond. Very socially conscious; most of the tunes I followed up with concerned every day souls in crisis or bewilderment with the world they lived in.

The tune my friend posted was "Broken Soldier". Immediately my memory bank kicked in and I was thinking of a friend I had met during my hard drug days in the early 1970s. His experience as a Vietnam vet I wrote about in a short composition in my blog back around ten years ago. 

And since I have recently become smitten with poetry again and the possibility of creating some that was not terrible, I turned my short post into a short poem after I heard this tune. 

It is so sad that fifty years later, we are still dealing with critically damaged souls after we sent them to wars that made on sense. Anyway, here are my thoughts after listening to Ferocious Dog's tune about the same problem. 

                                                       "Conquering Hero"

His eyes were full of the evil he had seen.

His mouth, full of stories better passed over than passed down.

Memories caught in his craw

Woke him sweating cold in the dread of his nights

Leaving him staring

Into his darkness till Dawn’s early light

 

His innocence pooled bloody on too many battle grounds.

Scarred and broken he was sent back

To a homeland that would never understand.

 

Well meaning people wearing blue scrubs and white coats

Did what they could.

As it was with so many others,

It did not work out.

 

Feeling forgotten, discarded and alone with his demons,

 He sought solace in barbiturates, whiskey and gin.

Trying to forget his role in the pre-meditated chaos

Of Men killing Men in faraway lands.

 

One day he gave up, double hit China White, laid down, and he died

Before his curtain closed, with one final sigh,

Our conquering hero had found his restful reprieve.

The bleak stories and nightmares at last nodded goodbye.

 RIP Pat.

 War sucks. Enough said.

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

_________________________________________

Johnson Closure ll

 

Your Hose is too short

    Your Pump is too weak

       Stand closer to the seat dude

         Or you'll Piss on Your Feet

The words scrawled on the wall above the urinal caused me to laugh out loud. It was a generous and boisterous laugh. I tried to stifle it, but the damage had been done. I could feel the eyes of others turning my way. Interrupting the solitude and false perception of being alone in a men's bathroom was an unspoken taboo. These guys were concentrating and now I just broke the mood. Way to go asshole. Laughing out loud in a public toilet can bring the wrong kind of attention. 

Totally embarrassed now, I attempted a hasty zip up. Shit! Seems I didn't pack it all in and now I had my business pinched hard in the zipper. I began to double over like my butt was trying to run away from the pain. I wanted to scream. It hurt, oh so bad. I knew if I screamed right on the heels of the belly laugh, someone might beat on me. I managed to stifle myself.

A decision needed to be made quickly.  I was drawing attention standing there with my hands holding my naughty bits well past what would considered an acceptable time frame. I knew it was going to hurt more when I unzipped that which had been stupidly zipped up between those evil meshing metal teeth. Holding back the tears and the screams of agony, I yanked hard and yes,...............It hurt even worse going down than it did going up. I tried to not make a sound, but a weak little girl squeal escaped without permission.  

I tried to regain my composure while repackaging the wounded package. I thought I was cool as I stiff legged it over to the sink to wash up. All I could think about was the pain while frantically waving my hand under the stupid sensor to get some flippin water going. Nothing. No water. 

I looked up in the mirror over the sink. My face was beet red and a vein on my forehead was throbbing hard enough I thought it might blow. Again I began frantic hand waving trying to get some water to flow when a hand reached over and hit the top of the faucet head.

"Bub, you have to hit it. Waving at it ain't gonna cut it." 

I looked over at a huge guy standing two sinks over. The look on his face told me I was not acting cool. He was doing his best not to laugh. 

I muttered, “Thanks”, and focused on washing my hands.  I found the door and left. The sounds of several male voices laughing followed me out into the daylight.  I can remember thinking, “You just don't follow up a belly laugh with a scream and leave a men’s toilet with your dignity intact.”

 I returned to the car and the journey with wounded pride and wounded body. My darling wife asked me what was wrong. "Nothing", I said, preferring to not have more salt poured on my wounds.

This happened to me on one of my trips south some years ago. The tale speaks for itself.

Later Gator ...........................................................

_____________________

Originally written in 2009.  I re-worked a few corners, tweaked this or that and well, here it is, same ole shit in a brand new almost fresh package. ................ Enjoy

The Voice of a President

For the first time in over 4 years, I heard the voice of a President. I had forgotten what a President sounds like.  Today I was reminded.  It was a confident, calming voice asking us to be united, not divided.   

I had left the TV news on and used it for background noise as I stumbled through my morning.  The voice of a President stopped me in my tracks.  The voice of a president was not coming out of a president.  He's not one yet.  We will have to wait until January 20, 2021 for the Voice to become official.  But I know the voice of a President when I hear one.

President-Elect Joe Biden did not whine, accuse, or spew lies.  There was no hate in his tone or his words.  His voice was all about a future he insists he will try to return to us.  His voice was promising that wounds will heal if we can stop pissing on each other's shoes.  And what I found most encouraging was, he did not promise nor claim credit for things he said he would do nor in things he had no part in.  He promised to go to work and asked that all Americans join him in regaining the heart and soul of what our nation used to represent.  Its not about us against them, rather it's about all of us together working to right our ship.

I won't hold my breath.  I am still harboring buckets full of hard feelings for anyone on the Right.  It is obvious the Wingers are feeling pissy also.  But then they always have been pissy.  Its part and parcel of the Winger soul.  If you ain't pissy about some dunderheaded move from those limp wristed black lives lovin rainbow losers of the evil Left, then you should not call yourself a Republican.

But today I again heard the voice of a President.  And when I did, I could almost see some light at the end of my self inflicted tunnel and my shoulders felt lighter than they have in 4 years.  Maybe there are better times coming our way after all.

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

Comrade Meetch and Vlad's Bitch

When Moscow Mitch  blocked the two recent election bills, the Donald came to his defense, telling reporters last Tuesday (7/30/19), 

“Mitch McConnell is a man that knows less about Russia and Russian influence than even Donald Trump. And I know nothing!”

Again Trump lays a whopper on us and we don't even blink.  Not anymore anyway.  It is impossible for anyone to "know less" about anything than Donald, I'm Vlad's Bitch, Trump.  I believe the man takes pride on how empty his cranial void is.  Nobody is this stupid unless its on purpose.  Trump had to and continues to work overtime on keeping his stupidity sharp and ready for any issue he might be needed to not have a clue about.

And it appears the GOP proletariat has embraced the clueless-ness and the stupidity of their chosen leader.  Together they wallow in ever deepening pools of nincompoopery.  They have been offered life jackets, yet they still refuse.  They would rather tread water waiting to drown than accept the help of those awful Socialist loving Democrats.  

A sign of the GOP's intractable course of stupidity, is their record of marketing that stupidity through retail sales of racist hats and Russian Love tee shirts. Their their drooling minions eat it up.

No better example of the brain dead nature of the Right is the "I'd rather be Russian than a Democrat" tee shirts and the uninformed reasoning of the two guys made famous when they were photographed  wearing the Tees at a Trump rally.

Of the shirts, one of the two, Tim Alicie said,

"We're not traitors by any means. And we're not Russian spies or cult leaders, ....."

"........ We've been working with Russia with the [International] Space Station, and doing a lot of things with Russia, not just that," Alicie added that critics of the Russia shirts "need to be a lot better informed."

Now there's some irony for ya.

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

Self Absorption

It is true for me anyway.  I always miss something as soon as it is gone.  Missing, whether god or bad, the pessimistic contrary retro grouch part of me worries that any change in my life, even a temporary pain the ass moment, will be hard to deal with.

My five year old computer has never given me any trouble.  Finally last week, an evil electronic trespasser entered without permission and messed with my stuff.  Well entrenched, they started partying like there was no tomorrow. Pop-up ad festivals combined with arbitrary illogical Malware notifications from outfits I did not know began clogging the gulliwots of my computer.

I had reached the limit of my computing knowledge.  Running defrag operations, rifling helplessly through the help files and unplugging were not going to work this time.  My sorry quiver of band aids,cold compresses, and aspirin let me down.

A specialist was called.  I disconnected the tower and set it on the front porch.  Tteddo came by and picked it up.  Tteddo always set me straight.

As I waited impatiently for my computer, I was reduced to suffer the agony of writing this on my phone.  All the while pissin and moaning about how my Life sucks right now.

Hmm.

Actually, after that first effort to wallow in self pity, I smiled and thought about how I had become that which I ridiculed and laughed at 24/7, a self absorbed American.  Which of course is what I am. At least I know one when I see one.

So, while the computer underwent some serious cleansing, I shifted my self absorption to other modes of self aggrandizement.  No umbrella needed.  I calmed myself with a scotch on the rocks, a couple of pulls of Maine's finest doob and wait for Tteddo to deliver.  Soon it did not not matter.  Nothing did.

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

Bad Hair Day

Acrimonious confrontations increase as more of the population confirm their allegiances.  Before, it was all talk for the most part without the action.  Now people are dying and have been since the man of loud hair and diminutive penis fooled the flag wearing loud and proud he was their guy.

His drooling minions shout "Wait a sec.  What about you lowlife progressives accosting our idols while they break bread in public?  Awfully unChristian, dontcha think?

Progressives and others not under the spell of this new Satan scratch their heads trying get their minds around the false equivalency of killing folks and ruining meals.

Meanwhile, standing under the wing of one of his planes, the Oramge Man with the diminutive penis gives a news conference in the rain.  Later when expected to offer up deep and concerned words of sympathy and hope regarding another mass killing on his watch, he speaks of his bad hair day.  Then he reaches for the letter of condolence one of his stooges wrote.

Only in America.

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

Man Bait

A few years ago, a segment of the Today Show was dedicated to the supposed "Bacon Shortage" we were about to endure in our collective futures.  As I had become hardened and immune to unfounded fear mongering, I was confident I would not allow this gloomy prediction to have any effect on my fragile psyche.  It appeared at the time though, the prospect of a pork shortage of any kind did cause me some concern.  Pork, specifically bacon,  is a staple here on Sam Page Road.  We love our bacon.  We stocked up.

I had always assumed bacon was good on just about anything.  Apparently the on camera crew over to the Today Show agreed.  They highlighted some of the bacon laced products available.  They had bacon candy, bacon beer, bacon toothpaste, jeeez, they even had bacon scented soap.  One of the women commented that the soap might just be the perfect "Man Bait".

Come on ladies.  While smelling like bacon might appeal to some men and even more than a few women, you know damn well all you have to do to attract a man is show up within eyesight.  You are the perfect bait, constructed carefully by evolutionary forces and self design over the years to do what it takes to propagate the species.  We don't need bacon soap, teddies, mini skirts or eyeliner.  Once we see you, you have us by the short hairs.

Of course, all the fussin, fiddlin and readjustin of your positives does seem to help speed up the process and gussies up otherwise bland public spaces.  But really, it is not necessary.

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

Still Numb as a Pounded Thumb After All These Years

The other day I mentioned I was no linger able to burn the candle at both ends.  Apparently my recent version of burning the candle as long as the sun is out is also more of a bite than I can chew now.  Guess there is another skill I need to get a handle on.  When the exhaustion continues after I wake up, then I guess I need to make some adjustments.

The concept of pacing myself has always eluded me.   Full tilt boogie only worked when I was younger and numm-er.

Today, Thursday, I sit in the bike shop so beat I couldn't find a clue if someone handed it to me.  There are repairs sitting un-repaired, paperwork ignored, and orders still pending that should have gone in yesterday.  Topping it off, I am breaking my one cardinal, hard rule regarding the separation of blog and work.  No blogging while on duty.  But what else can I do?  Apparently not much.  ........
................ Uh, could you hand me my coffee cup?  It's just out of reach.

Later Gator ...............................................

Fix It Guy Enthusiasm

The last 2 weeks have found me busier than a two headed, ......... uh, well, let's just say that between the bike shop and a yard that I have determined to maybe not tame, but at least put up the good fight and beat back what jungle I can, there has been little energy for any of my more sedentary activities like pumping words into this computer.  With the sun not dropping over the edge before 8:30 PM or so, I am using as much of it as I can to make a difference.  Of course that means when I finally gimp in from my day, I eat, sit on the couch and pass out.  I haven't seen 10 O'clock PM in quite awhile.

The down side, ......... yeah once again those pesky checks and balances, yings and yangs, ups and downs ....... the downside to passing out just as the Sun goes black is I wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed at 3:30 or 4:00 AM.

There is no room for burning candles at both ends in my life anymore.  There used to be, but not anymore.  I go until I get tired and look for the first soft spot to park my butt.  It is actually beginning to piss off my wife.  I have left things unfinished or unclosed and she then becomes responsible to make sure I closed the garage door, rolled up my car windows, put yard tools away, etc.  But hey, when tired comes, I need to lay down pronto.

It seems every year about this time I am hard into convincing myself that this year it will be different,  This year I will carry my yard man and fix it guy enthusiasm through until snow flies.  I again told myself year.  And it seems I am still fooling myself I might just live up to my promise.  But in the back of my mind, my record of past failures keeps me from feeling secure that this year it will be different.  What usually happens is I get the one big weird project done and the basic yard and house duties start out gangbusters and then by the end of July all I want to do is go swimming in Horn Pond There is no romance in mowing, pruning, and hacking at the pucker.  And the satisfaction derived when hard at it in May, gets lost somewhere down the line.

But I will say that this year there is one big difference.  Back a couple of decades or so, I decided that I would not mow my lawn before June 1st.  This year I have mowed not only 3 times already, but I bagged the green crap up and dumped it in the back forty.  Maybe this year will be different ...........
Nah, probably not.

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

Well, I Am Not French

I vaguely remember not so long ago in my recent past, I promised myself and thus it could be assumed I also promised anyone out there who cares I was going to try to write every day.  Now, I never intended to indicate I would try to write in my blog every day, just that I would write every day.
...........Hmm

.

Well, seems I already blew this very first New Year's Resolution I ever made.  I did not write every day or for that matter I did not write any day since last we touched base

I got wrapped up taking on a new homeowner project.  CR, the all things electrical Wiz and longtime friend decided sooner was better than later to install my new main panel.  He had suggested it while helping me patch up the old wiring system I had.  Being a no bullshit kinda guy, his suggestions were brutally frank.  "Why fix this when you need to start with a new main panel.  What are you?  French?"

Mr Domestic

So I'm cleaning cat litter trays earlier this AM and I remembered the almost promise I made the other day on the BoZone to return soon with another titillating post about the life and times of one MRMacrum.  I decided that once the litter trays were cleaned, the laundry dried and folded, and any other small token domestic chore I could think of was taken care of, I would pour myself another cup of coffee, sit down at the 'puter, fire it up, and punch up the blog.  I considered some multitasking.  Seemed a grand notion while typing whatever this will turn out to be, I could work on that new playlist for the MP3 player I have plugged into the stereo in the Ford Ranger.

So that is what I did.  Seems I'm not doing either one very well, but at least I ain't folding laundry. 

I do not want to give any impression or slyly toss in a hint that I may lay claim on the title, "Dutiful Husband" or even "Thoughtful Spouse".  You see it is Tax Season.  My wife, the accountant, is peaking right now.  Staying out of her way and helping out some may not even the dreary chore scales in our marital bliss, I will say making myself scarce and looking busy when she finds me to vent keeps my skin intact for the most part.  Staying busy playing Mr Domestic provides the perfect escape from the pent up tension and stress all accountants seem to pack on as April 15 approaches.

After what?......30 uh well after 30 plus years, I have gotten used to being the occasional whipping boy.  When I committed way back in 1980 I guess I meant it.  I knew I had my issues and baggage.  I had to be willing to accept her baggage if I expected her to accept mine.  Fair is fair.

~.~

After a decade or so with my green thumb on hold, I have decided to focus once again on tilling some soil.  The urge returned to dig in dirt and shove plants of varying kind into it.  I am hard into home owner agricultural planning.  I checked inventories of starting pots, soil mixtures, and clay pots I have on hand.  I created a list of what I needed to once again begin a Spring ritual I am not sure why I stopped in the first place.  Growing stuff is a rewarding endeavor.  Doesn't cost much more than some time and calorie burning.

I have shrubbery I want to take cuttings from and pass safely rooted and ready to go on to a good neighbor.  I might even keep some and sprinkle them around the yard.   I have some old raised beds reclaimed and almost ready for something...................foodwise or otherwise.  Yeah, it's time for me to reclaim my green thumb.  Oh I have maintained the yard these past years.  But only to control it. No pleasure, just doing the minimum to keep off the shit list here on Sam Page Road.  Time to step it up again.

The image up top is of the juniper variety living in the bed near the garage after a heavier than usual dew last summer.  Had to bum out the local spider population seeing as how the dew ruined the transparent factor of their webs during that early morning hunt. I imagine the one spider poking his head out is pissing and moaning about what Ma Nature left in his dooryard that morning. 

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

Bonehead Alert

12/12/12 was a couple of days ago.  All day long, everyone was making a big deal of it.  Buying lottery tickets based on it.  Somehow betting on the horses also came up.  All over the place, folks ascribed some kind of magical celestial significance to this date.

The Zodiac, planet alignments and orientations were discussed with straight faces.  Sagittarius rising and the moon is on your side conversations. Yeah, many folks got fired up for 12/12/12.  I went through 12/12/12 positive it was just another day on the planet like all the rest.

I was in the kitchen about to sit down to some supper of leftovers, beer, and a yogurt for dessert.  On the Tube, Brian Williams was running through the latest 12/12 wackiness his lackeys had dug up for his daily "lighter news" piece.  I looked at my wife and declared, 'What a bunch of boneheads.  Nothin special about 12/12/12."

My darling wife looked up from her plateful of just barely left over left overs and stared at me.  Her fork had stopped midway on its way from her plate to her mouth.  A twinkle came to her eye.  Yet she said nothing.

"What?"  I was seriously clueless.

She set down her fork on her plate.  She continued to look at me.  A more amused look began to creep from the corners of her mouth and move up to her eyes.

Again, "What?"  Sirens inside began to warm up.  I might be clueless, but years of seeing that look on my lovely wife's face meant she was about to drop the hammer on someone.  And I was the only someone in the room.  I thought hard.  What was I missing, what had I screwed up?.....oh no, I was in need of an clue and there was not a one sitting in the waiting room with their hand raised..  I was about to panic..............................Oh Shit!  Realization was quite the rush.

 The sheepish grin of a bonehead caught in the act of being extremely stupid was all I could muster at first.  I had no words to smooth it over.  Might as well suck it up and take it like the dimwitted guy I was.

"Uh, well I guess 12/12/12 means something after all............. Happy Anniversary Babe."

My sweet wife smiled, "Nothin important huh?"  She picked up her fork and continued feeding her face.

Celebration of our 32nd anniversary was over, and I almost missed it..............once again.  I know I scored no points this time.  I do not deserve any.  But at least I was not reminded I had missed our anniversary a week after the fact.  That's when points, serious points and possibly some skin gets shaved off.

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

The Lying Car Salesman

Because I am a glutton for punishment, I screened a bunch of Romney ads.  Something was bothering me about him.  I knew I had seen him somewhere in my past before he conveniently turned up as the supposed progeny of a much classier man than he is.  It all became clear when I found this:



The man used to be a car salesman.  No wonder I don't like him.

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

The Three Sided Brain

The get er done, nose to the grind stone Left Side Brain Guy inside who is large and in charge at the bike shop does not network well the other guys who hang out riding the pine and waiting their turn.

There's creative, random loose dog Right Side Brain Guy wanting to fly fancy free.   He's in charge of setting our mind free, unhooking the leash, and giving our creativity a good goose.  When he's out and about, where we end up is always in doubt.

And thankfully, or maybe just by default,  in charge of locating some balance,  of course Fence Sittin Brain Guy hovers in the middle, his grip tenuously holding on right and left.  A path of least resistance kinda guy, he'd rather be stretched out on hammock or couch ideally with a remote and beer close at hand.

The three of them are more often than not at odds and not in sync.  For any of them to make an impact, it takes at least a team of two, sometimes all three.

A Newt Education

With the Blogosphere lighting up all over with posts about Gingrich's recent victory in South Carolina's Republican Primary, I thought I would join the fray and add my two cents worth.

But then I thought I wouldn't.  He won.  Who cares?  Let's move on.

Instead, I decided to attempt to distance one of my favorite critters from the bad influence of a poor excuse of a Presidential candidate. But first I needed to educate myself on Gringrich's namesake to make sure one was of a higher moral fiber than the other.  I had no need to educate myself on Newt, the politician.  His mug and comedic behavior has been around for years.  But the real Newt, well, I learned there was more to know than a quick run through at Wikipedia.

Well Done Mr. President

My initial reaction when I heard Bin Laden had been killed was, "Jeez, about time ferchrisakes".   It was not until I had had time to really process the information and let it filter through all the pent up anger and frustration built up inside of me these past ten years that I experienced my true reaction. 

I was not dancin in the streets ecstatic, but I was pleased enough to high five and grin.  As the days passed since I heard, it seems a weight has lifted off of me.  The sorrow and grief from 9/11 ran deeper than I thought I guess.  America got a bit of closure and a much needed boost to our morale.  Suddenly we resembled our old selves again, if only for a few days. 

And how was news of Bin Laden's death received in the Islamic world?  At first like us, not much other than being stunned.  I think the entire world was caught way off guard by the audacity and daring of a US raid into the heart of Pakistan.  No immediate outrage, just muffled half hearted complaints at first from his supporters.  Al Qaeda  had been sucker punched.........hard.  And that pleased me immensely. 

What pleased me the most however, was the reaction from most of mainstream Islam.  Instead of the predicted outrage, I have the distinct impression a majority of the Muslim world is happy that Osama Bin Laden is dead.  Yes, he will always be a hero to the fringe lunatics who use terror to make their points.  But like I always knew, the average Joe Muslim is just like me, they just want to be allowed to carry on with their lives peacefully.  Like me, they hate that fringe voices have hijacked their culture and use it in all the wrong ways.  Maybe now the stupid, petty hatred many Americans have for any Muslim will ease up. 

And then this morning I read an article about the outrage of one of Bin Laden's sons.  Why was he not captured alive and given a fair trial?  His burial at sea was a purposeful slight to Islam.  His wives should be released immediately.  and so it went, blah, blah, blah.  Omar, his son, thought that his father should have been afforded the same right to trial as Saddam Hussein of Iraq and Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic. 

Dude, those guys were nasty actors for sure, but they were leaders of real countries that at least pretended to follow real laws.  Your dad was a thug without a country and deserved to be shot down like a mad dog.  He received much more respect than I would have given him. 

Which brings me to our president.  My internal polls regarding Barack Obama had been inching down these past few months as I watched him give ground to the ever increasing domestic stupidity coming at him from the Right.  But his ballsy call to go through with this mission just raised him back up in my eyes.  There is definitely steel in this man's backbone.  It appears to be high grade spring steel.

Well done, Mr President.

And to Seal Team 6 and all the military and intelligence people involved..... Excellent job guys.  Just excellent.

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