In Depends Day

Ok I admit it I am a bit of a ‘pyro’ pirate at heart so Independence Day always enlightens my life and makes me long for a fuse more days a year to love the smell of gunpowder in the morning. I do miss my old black powder musket and eye patch that made opening a safety deposit box at the bank, or boarding a Caribbean cruise ship so much more fun on Halloween. The sad thing is that as I have gotten older, my younger trailer-neighbors have a certain expectation that we ‘geezers’ aren’t to be trusted with matches around a BBQ heaping with oily charcoal, much less bottle rockets, smoke bombs, and firecrackers to light up the night sky. 

Hey I still know what ‘Lady Fingers’ are REALLY for, so that’s why I never object to the wife lighting my fire especially under the water heater or those silly pump-up camping stoves. Just because I happen to have the initials B.C., enjoy fatty Caesar salads and dine nightly by exploding candles doesn’t mean I was born in ancient Rome. No I'm not so ‘Nero’ to death yet; I’m lucky to have been hatched in more civilized times where ‘stabbing someone in the back’ or blowing up pressure cookers in ‘Publius’ only happens in the bad' sections of our bottom of the bird-worthy news rag.

So now at July 4^th celebrations, all the young whippersnappers get to goose the good stuff while I  guess I’m the gray geezer relegated to portray the lunk with the pre-lit punks for everyone else’s ‘double-FLINT’ pleasure. You would think that oldsters as ripe as me would benefit from bathing more often in a ‘Fountain of Youth’, though showering under sparks regularly wreaks havoc with my grizzled sideburns, nested nostril, and wild eyebrow hair. Apparently the younger set believes no open flames equals ‘no harm’, though from personal experience, being branded by hot fudge or shot with an air gun south of the equator would change their tune up an octave or two. 

Anyway, what do today’s coddled kids, and even their parents REALLY know about our nation’s fiery history and the prideful heritage of our Incontinent-al Congress.  I bet none of them have ever had to even make fire when the chips are down or wherever else gravity takes ‘em in a pair of elastic plastic old people pants.  All I know is at my age you get pretty good at going independently about your business all day long so lighting matches becomes second nature, even though it DEPENDS if the nosy neighbors are nearby or not.

Closet Talk

Like most of my non-nudist moth-y friends, I too feel compelled to greet every morning with a trip to a suspended bare bulb inside my coop’s cloth lined crypt known as the bedroom closet. I am not lucky enough to have a hangar big enough to store both my ego and tent-sized tighty whities, or even make a good impression in a gym locker room. So sadly, I must thrust my duff daily into a tiny textile tomb of trappings, wrappings and togs in a zesty quest to dress my best instead of a mess.

Due to my oversized Kong body and undersized donkey dome that simple goal for most souls, of seeking apropos furbelow, is a challenging chore for me. To make matters worse, I admit coming out of the closet in the Winter can be difficult since along with my nose at night, I tend to keep the igloo blue and crispy cool too.  Even if the dawn doesn’t mind breaking daily I DO, so I lament stubborn buttons and fleecy duds that stick or won’t clip zippy-quick to prevent my pipe from freezing stiff.

Not only in the closet but obviously my wife and I frequent many of the same places, so it seems every organization to which we belong we receive a pair of matching logo polo shirts - one in her size and one in mine. Of course in the full light of day any ‘knit’-wit should be able to see the difference between a blouse and a rumpled blimp-skin. But then again can I help it if  my aging ‘ojos’ and bleary before-breakfast brain, only have enough sense left to interpret shivering and some kind of shapeless shirt?

Hey given my evolving age and devolving fashion sense, is it any real surprise that I truly am facing a dim outlook as to my closeted life and inadvertent foray as a fatter yet slightly less wild-haired version of RuPaul? Remember in some ancient cultures of the Caribbean and South Pacific, a big gut straining at the seams of a stretchy hide shows a rich life of abundance - and a mouth watering crew BBQ for a whole week! No matter how well I fill-out my wife’s closet frocks into ‘Eww’ too–tight muscle shirts, I know I’ll never be a stylish fashion PLATE … I’m better served upon a greasy dinner ONE with fava beans on the side.

Teeter Totter Math

I have to be honest, I was not too worried about the recent hurricane threat because who on earth has ever been beat up by somebody named ‘Sandy’. I mean even ‘Sanford & Son’s’ namesake, Fred would frequently wave his fist around and mouth off a bit,  but who actually saw him punch anyone. So why should I expect this big billowy blow-hard with a wimpy name to raise some cane this time around?

Anyway isn’t it a pre-requisite for everyone born in the warm waters near the Bahamas to be kind of laid-back, mellow and in a generally sleepy Caribbean Cannabis haze? I am not sure what happened when the bright bulb weather-geeks named this hurricane, but I would prefer if in the future they would find inspiration somewhere other than tough biker bars. Gee how about giving us a havoc heads-up, or at least a clue with a more appropriate ‘S’ name like  ‘Slash’, ‘Sue-nami’, or my personal favorite, ‘the Subjuganator’.

Aside from me being powerless (literally) to fend off this sandy jab from a weather crab, I was saddened to see that New Jersey was hit so hard too. Not only had I recently spent a nice couple of days there across from Manhattan, but I was really hoping to do some trick or treating in the garden state before the Governor cancelled Halloween! I wait all year to legitimately don my thriller of a ‘Goriller’ suit and chase kids in a high-brow high-rise and one stupid storm’s eye pokes me in mine. Yes  my monkeyshine whines are tiny as compared to the trials and tribulations of many after the weather has played a nasty trick this Fall. 

But despite my levity, from personal experience, no matter how low spirits go, it might take time but things will truly get better. There is never a proper name for pain or a good time for tests of mettle; but consider these moments as the counterweight to life’s joy on the other side of the equation. Without the lows, there can be no highs and despite the costs, losses, and challenges, life’s quirky teeter-totter math will eventually balance out in all things.  Just look at my newfound respect of everything ‘Sandy’ – I’ll never look at that irritating stuff between my toes and in my swim shorts the same way again!

‘KEYeed OFF'

You know as I get older I always thought I would have had to deal with LESS keys not more of them. When I was a much thinner and harrier Silverback, the more nesting plastic keys I had meant more access to secret spaces and restricted places like the zookeeper’s stash of ‘the good’ bananas and ‘bark’free’ toilet paper! Every suitcase, mailbox, crossword puzzle, city and even PIANOS have KEYS to show off, so I grew up thinking they were cool and ever-empowering.

As time has progressed I have sickened of explaining to hobos that it is the metal KEYS, not coins, jangling in my pocket and ‘NO I have never been happy to see them’. Like children, I started coding my keys with those little colored rubber bonnets that you strap on their heads to quiet them and tell them apart. With the addition of chunky remote car locks, my ‘key wad’ has seemed to grow exponentially larger n’ looser, just at the age when my pants are becoming uncomfortably tighter and smaller.

Now some sadistic marketing whiz has come up with even more fob foibles to foil me. Yes every supermarket, big box store, gas station, and even the libraries are pushing plastic bar-coded club-cards to clutter-up and post claim to my bloated pockets and ever-expanding key chain. Will this mistreatment to cotton and polyester never end – after all I am already blowing-out a bigger GAP in the stretch panel of my manly maternity jeans, even WITHOUT the keys.

I’m sick of thumbing and fumbling through decks of club cards and keys that are all nearly the same size and all look alike. Whatever happened to the dream of having a key-free society where I could lop off a lock of DNA, stare down a retina eye scan, or simply raise up a single finger in disdain to access security accounts and private places? I’m clearly getting too old for lots of locks and their weighty chains of protection. I think I need to retire to a warm, care-free place where there is nothing worth locking up and the pants are ALWAYS optional – the FLORIDA KEYS!   

When my "Thumb Drives" Wobble!

I have always had a fascination with earthquakes and geology even as a young lad. I lived in California over half of my life so I have personally experienced more than a few first-hand brushes with the relentless power that can be unleashed by nature. The interesting thing however, is only with the advent of the computer revolution and the rapid decline in cost of solid state storage and memory can ‘non geo-geeks’ actually start to grasp the true massive nature of recent quakes.

While Haiti’s earthquake was a powerful jolt, the problems there were exacerbated due to decades old poverty and largely unsuccessful governance. I could not tell for sure from a distance, but it appeared the damage was made worse with unreinforced concrete and poor construction, in addition to population density in Port Au Prince. Reports are that between 200,000 and 300,000 people died in the Haiti quake – a staggering number. The effective yield of the energy expended in this event would be equivalent to around a 32 megaton TNT explosion. That is about twice as much energy California’s Northridge earthquake in 1994 and about 1/30th the size of the devastating San Francisco quake of 1906.

Though adequate for a low resolution pictures, it probably has been some time since you associated a large capacity thumb drive with 30 megabytes, but a couple of years ago it was state of the art. Haiti, as bad as it was , in terms of energy dissipation is like a 30 Meg. thumb drive and the San Francisco quake of 1906 would be around the equivalency of a 1 Gigabyte SD card – still fairly small by modern computer portable storage standards.

Now fast forward to Concepcion, Chile and their massive 8.8 magnitude earthquake this week. A death toll has yet to be determined but no doubt even with all of Chile’s experience with earthquake preparedness and strict building standards, thousands will still perish. The effective TNT yield of this event would equate to the explosive power of approximately 16 gigatons. This gut-punch was so massive that the EARTH showed measurable “wobble” on its axis as two tectonic plates fought to occupy the same chunk of real estate 22 miles under ground. So back to our computer example, this would be equivalent to a 16 gig SDHC portable storage card – respectable by any standard, but hard to imagine that a seismic event of this size is literally capable of “Earth-shaking” the globe.

Even beyond Elvis, it was back in 1960 that another 'big shake' was felt in Chile and around the world. A modern record of a 9.5 magnitude or 178 gigaton yield quake was recorded that was an incredible 530 times more powerful than the power of the Nagasaki atomic bomb (32 kilotons). Even with our bloated, feature rich operating systems, most of the world’s computers, can function adequately with a 178 gigabyte hard drive on board.

Oddly I suddenly feel the need to run out to Micro Center and buy a 1 Terrabyte hard disk for my computer? Let's hope the earth never feels the urge to unleash a magnitude 10 (1 Terraton yield yet unrecorded by man)seismic event. Just thinking about that terrifyingly raw explosive power makes my knees, head, and yes even my Frisco-quake sized THUMB drives start to REALLY wobble!