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!

‘Cents-less’ Financial Opportunity

In these tough times wouldn’t it be nice if somebody sent you out a random notice that you will receive 3.5 million dollars or more in cash for little effort. Amazingly I seem to get emails nearly every week from incredibly generous people. I frankly did not know finance managers from so many far away countries had that much extra cash stored up in their bunkers or under their beds. Apparently the citizens of the good ol’ U.S. of A. must really be flat broke, because I never get any letters like these addressed from the States.

Now I like the idea of a tasty limitless easy-money trough just like any average union boss, but clearly I’m no big shot Warren Buffet. Still all these attractive offers to accept large sums of cash for barely any work does make me hungry to get involved with big business and high finance. I have spent a long time perfecting the art of laziness and I like to help people so maybe I should get in on the ground floor of this chain letter financial opportunity.

The problem is I don’t really have much business acumen since the wife takes care of balancing the checkbook and filling up my tip jar with a weekly allotment of wooden nickels. I’m not sure how much I could afford to offer up to overseas chain-letter recipients to cash my checks anyway. Most people I know have long ago shunned my checks since they are pre-printed on rubber and in a delightful shade of ‘stop sign-red'ink. Maybe instead, my chain letter should offer up the chance to use my ATM card to retrieve those big commissions while moving millions in untapped cash. Oh I forgot that won’t work either since I have been banned from the ATM drive-up and I have a kid in college. Clearly, my keg of cash is already happily tapped and well drained.

Truly it sounds like the bank will probably discourage me from this chain letter financial adVENTURE anyway. No it’s not my ultra-slow transaction times or the fact that I take not one, but TWO cookies and a cup of coffee in the lobby. The bank will surely FROWN upon this activity but when making a deposit, I can’t help but make faces back at them too in those nosy little teller-window cameras. Uh Oh, I’m well on my way to yet another financial opportunity. I had better stock up on those bank cookies and candy because it’s obvious that the BIG sucker being lobbed out of the lobby clearly has no CENTS!

SCAN THIS!

Ok I am getting a little bored with the whole debate over the airport screening flap. I am all about protecting personal freedoms ESPECIALLY as an American, but give me a break with the manufactured indignation over stupid airport scanners. There are plenty of other REAL problems in the world to worry about.

My wife flies commercial usually twice a week and I hit the unfriendly skies 3 or 4 times a year. I can tell you, honestly I wish I did not have to get undressed every time I see a Transportation Security Agent (but they just look so good in those pretty blue shirts). In reality however, I get more stressed about leaving the ‘Cinnabon’ stand behind in the food court than getting unduly man-handled by security wonks in starched collared shirts.

I mean, I try to look at the positive side when I am flying. Without the TSA folks, I would never know that most of my socks have holes in them. I am kind of hoping that with these new total body scanners, the agents can help me check for excessive wear in my undies too? Who knows, maybe I can save a few bucks on dental x-rays or hopefully discover an actual pig inside of me to justify all my body bacon?

I was really good at avoiding the gym showers in high school, so of all people, I am not anxious to have pictures of my love handles scrutinized by random airport cops, but I’m sure it’s no picnic for them either. The reality is I prefer to make a little better travel time to both coasts than is currently possible by horse, buggy, or bus. These holiday travel babies need to fly private at four times the cost or wear lead-lined diapers in a twist if they're so concerned with intrusive security.

I for one hate trying to get caps off of aerosol paint cans, yet I don’t see barrio ‘taggers’ crying to the press about this unfair inconvenience. I can’t even sneak a nightcap swig of Nyquil anymore without pulling off an inner safety seal. And those poor tobacco fans – not only do they get taxed to death faster than they can smoke themselves there; now they will have to stare at a giant diseased black lung on their cigarette packs while puffing.

So I know the whiners pine away for the good ol’ days of airline travel in America. The ruthless scanner-cams have really made us miss our freedoms just like teens do when they have to grow up into REAL adults. The new reality however, is that we ALL do what we HAVE to do to show up in one piece at the end of the line, baggage safely in hand, and ALIVE. I don’t expect everyone to take this SCANdalous new TSA policy lightly, sitting down. I expect you to just STAND UP, get in line, and take your pats FIRMLY, just like the rest of us … so we can all get where we are going and turn our attention to more important things.

Smoke Signals

I think other than my Mother, I have an inherent distrust of things that are designed to protect me. Actually I am not so sure about my mom either because she seems unusually obsessed with that ‘Bad Seed’ movie. Ever since I saw that flick with her, I have avoided boat docks and bad weather for the last 30 years and I never, EVER have shown her any ‘medals’ that I have stolen from my friends.

The problem is that I guess I am a better learner by example. I know I should be more trusting but I think it is actually prudent to VERIFY the stuff charged with the responsibility to keep me alive. I guess that means I need to run into something to see if my car air bags and seat belts work reliably? I would be very disappointed if I paid for all of that technology and it doesn’t work if I need it. I wonder how you test ‘Body Guards’ if you are rich and famous? I admit I rarely have to dodge lead bullets but it’s all those pies that I am usually avoiding that worry me. Maybe I should get a skinny cook rather than a fat body guard so I can watch the calories fly by?

You know it is kind of funny, they make us test smoke detectors every six months and yet not once has anyone ever checked my seat belts or air bags on any of my cars. What’s worse is that I KNOW how many false alarms I have had with smoke detectors after a bad run-in with some rogue popcorn or a Cajun blackened Pop-Tart. In the old days when we had just one or two battery driven smoke detectors, I would just reach up and pop the battery out until the room aired out.

But now, when one A.C. powered detector goes off, it sends a warning signal to its 15 other noisy friends occupying every impossibly high ceiling in the house! I have no idea which detector is causing trouble at two in the morning, so I have to wander the house in a jamied stupor, putting my life in danger checking every room for smoke. I have never been in peril from fire but I have had a few close calls popping into random bedrooms sniffing conspicuously – most people don’t appreciate that kind of attention from an old geezer. Gee I am sure lucky to have all of this reliable modern technology protecting me … I just wish those Indians would have let my Mayflower ancestors in on the secret that ‘smoke signals’ are really REALLY noisy!

Greet This!

In one of my weekly treks I ventured into a Wal Mart where I was happily waved at by one of their door greeters. I am curious about this job on a number of levels. Do you have to have any kind of training to be a greeter or is something that you are just ‘born’ with? Is the ‘Greeter’ position a coveted job or is it like the leftover job that nobody wants and has to draw straws for at the beginning of a shift? I think it is a job that takes a LOT of experience because everyone I ever see doing it has been around since the war … the CIVIL war.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to be a greeter snob or ‘uppity’ in any way. In fact I tried to imagine myself as a greeter but I doubted if I would make the grade. Not only am I about 60 years too young, but Wal Mart likes to maintain a friendly atmosphere. Though I try to be nice and happy most of the time, my face always seems to be scowling. I think it is a birth defect or something.

Yeah I figured my melon-head had more soft brown spots on it than the typical ‘normal’ baby banana does. I think when I was born, my parents must have inadvertently pinched my face into a permanent frown while reaching for cigarettes and alcohol. I didn’t know it then but my life surely had limited job potential as a joyful party clown, or worse, a Wal Mart greeter.

I always wonder if the ‘Greeters’ are actually like super secret store detectives watching every patron’s move, looking for shoplifters and hooligans. They probably have sophisticated electronic surveillance gear hidden underneath that wheel chair or behind that little podium. They seem all warm and fuzzy on the outside but I am guessing that is because of all the shawls and doilies they are wearing.

I actually think they are secretly probing and scanning me as I walk in and out of the store. Too bad that I will never know the pleasure of having such awesome power and responsibility as the dutiful blue-vested Greeter. The only thing I ever get to probe freely is a stopped up toilet or maybe a waxy orifice or two. If I play my cards right, at least I still have a chance at becoming a parking lot ‘shopping cart collection dude’ someday – those folks ALWAYS have a frown on their face!

Conspicuous Consumption Reset

Although as a rule I prefer to keep things upbeat , airy, and silly, I’m going to hit you with a caveat from the heart. Today the family and I ventured out to an Estate sale. Yes, no big deal since I have written many times about our recreational shopping excursions at garage sales, thrift stores, and even in dumpsters.

But this sale today was a little bit different since it was held in an upper class section of St. Louis (no jokes please as I have already written ALL of them on this topic). Immediately upon entry to the foyer of the house, I knew this was going to be an enjoyable adventure. We were greeted with an ornate giant bronze fountain priced at $8000. Now believe me this hunk of iron WAS expensive but there was no doubt in my mind that it probably cost the owner close to double that. Even if I had ‘8 large’ burning a hole in my piggy bank for a one ton water fountain, I would spend half that amount again just getting it trucked to the house, site prep – well you get the idea.

We continued through the house and though the visual treats of opulence continued in every room, I noticed something else too – ORDINARY things. I mean really ordinary things, like lunch boxes, shoes, kids books, water glasses, kitchen plates – stuff people use EVERY DAY? In the garage, the surprises continued as it was clear the owner was a high-end house builder and a local councilperson for the city. He had won tons of ‘quality’ awards and received recognition from all strata of society for his contributions to helping promote home ownership and ‘develop’ the local economy.

By now, you are assuming this is a tale of a ‘big shot’ who lived beyond his means and suffered the plight of countless other hard-working souls in this recent economic downturn and went bankrupt. Well you are half right, but the story has nothing to do with the economy - the owner was a crook. He ran a Ponzi bank scam to take new home deposits to cover his expenses. He would borrow funds from company accounts to always try and stay one step ahead of his spending habits, cocaine use, and bank fraud crimes. Eventually the FBI got involved and in the end he got caught and convicted to the State pen for a 51 month sentence.

Now what’s the big finish moral to this depressing story? Well I’m sure every day you and your kids are bombarded with ads, neighbors, and workmates who are always ‘in need’ of pitching MORE. You know those folks up the street – the Jones’? Yeah they just bought a new Mercedes and a Pinball machine – “why don’t we have that stuff too since we obviously deserve it?” Do yourself a BIG FAVOR and get off this train to nowhere and FAST. I am all for you blowing your cash any way you please as long as you know that your reserves and lifestyle are adequately in check. If you start finding yourself heading towards a cliff of working MORE simply to keep up with MORE debt, MORE wants, and MORE TROUBLE, then remember this ‘un-fairy’ tale and stop - RESET. Do you think this guy’s kids needed all the best new video games or clothes, or could they have benefited a bit more from having a normal life, with ordinary stuff and an ORDINARY Dad at home instead of in prison? Think about it, I sure did … and then I went shopping – for handcuffs!

Lindsay Lohan Lowdown

I have no real ‘stake’ in the Lindsay Lohan hub-bub, though the girl could probably use some precious protein that a tasty T-Bone could provide. Except when she is having a serious heart to heart with a bottle of liquor, Lohan always looks a little gaunt and malnourished. Let me just say right up front I know a little bit about substance abuse, since I use crushed red pepper on nearly everything I consume.

Clearly all of Lindsay’s problems started with those wax lips that are stuck to her face. Hey I understand, because when I was her age I loved all kind of wax candies, but especially those little bottles with colored sugar water in them. Considering Lohan’s DUI arrests, it is pretty clear that she likes her colored bottles too, but much, MUCH bigger. So since Ms. Lindsay loves LOTS of BARS, Los Angeles County decided to set her up with a ‘big girl’s’ bunk and a stainless commode, behind some really good iron ones.

I am not sure if ‘listy’ Lohan is a Mean Girl, but she may become one quick if she starts a full blown de-tox while serving her entire 90 days sentence locked up in the can. Oh who am I kidding, Hollywood folks aren’t expected to spend their valuable time in jail when they do bad things. Those rules, along with ‘shiv’ and soap sculpting class are for OTHER people with REAL skills. Yes, before Lohan’s orange jump-suit was on (with hopefully some skivvies), and her jail door zip tie was pulled taut, a deal on the down-low was surely in the works for reduced jail-time. C’mon, you don’t want to overcrowd jails – stick criminals in downtown urban barrios where they have loads of extra space and little if any crime right?

Oh yeah, I completely agree with that logic. No sense keeping tinsel town abusers locked up when it is so much more fun to read about their exploits and foibles in supermarket tabloids. Yep, it’s my philosophy to put folks like Lohan and those ‘HOT LIPS’ of hers to work off their debt to society, in their local community. I’m thinkin’ given her history, she could weave in and out of traffic piloting one of those Hollywood Boulevard tourist buses, in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater and the WAX museum.

Never walk in circles

Have you ever had one of those days that you just want to rewind and start over? No harm, no foul – just everybody go back to your marks and let’s try to get it right this time. My daughter’s car would not start right away last night, so I kind of prepared myself mentally for today’s inevitable trials. You know the drill, - make an appointment at the car shop; get the car tucked in with a probe in its tailpipe; and then find a ride back home to wait it out. Then comes the tearful goodbyes as I try to spend some quality time with my money. We try to be brave, but we’ve known each other far too long to try and lie to one another. There is no way to sugar coat it, soon ‘Franklins, Grants, n’ Jacksons’ and I will be parting ways - never to see each other again. Goodbye old friends – I will miss your cocaine-laced embrace.

So today starts out as planned and I give up my car to the kid so she can get to work. After my daughter leaves, I get ready to take her car in and amazingly the beast starts up perfectly without issue. As wonderful as that sounds, I groan, because the only thing WORSE than an electrical problem is an INTERMITTENT electrical problem. I set my negativity aside and already feel a little encouragement however. If I had to have the car towed out of one of the garages, it would have been very hard to get a giant flatbed up on the apron, so since the car was on the road - things were already looking up! I motored happily along for all of 1 mile when the car suddenly shut down. I guided the 4-wheeled paperweight gently to the curb in front of a house that happened to be for sale, on an attractive suburban neighborhood street.

I was not too exasperated since I told you that I had steeled myself previously for just such good fortune. I called the Auto Club and they told me a truck would arrive within 45 minutes. I don’t believe them. In the past 45 minutes usually means they will arrive in 35 minutes on the outside. I really need to use the restroom but I am a mile from home in one direction and a mile from a park porta potty in the other. I briefly think about all the diuretics I had for breakfast, then I think about asking to use the restroom of the house that’s for sale. I ultimately decide it is not the best way to meet new neighbors, so I choose to walk instead and try to forget my dilated bladder. I can’t risk trying to get to my house and back before the flatbed truck arrives, so I essentially walk in big circles around my car.

Now despite over 275 blog stories which prove otherwise, I am not an idiot. I know it is not exactly normal behavior for a middle aged geezer to be walking in a race track pattern up and down the street, reversing course and doing it all over again … and again … and … But at the same time, I’m clearly no threat. It’s hot out and I’m sweating like a big warmed over suckling pig. I am careful not to loiter too long in front of anyone’s home so they don’t get concerned that a sweaty yeti is on the loose. My daughter’s car is a conspicuously bright red convertible and therefore a lousy 'get-away' car. It also barely holds people much less contraband or 'ham-Burglar' tools – so what’s to fear?

Well apparently quite a bit because, though I had only been walking in circles for about 15 minutes, I first noted a County police car slowly pass me and then another police car behind him. As they went up about a block they made a ‘U turn’ and headed back my way. By that time, a Paddy Wagon police truck pulled up behind me and in front of my disabled car. I kept walking calmly but knew what was coming. The first two policemen pulled behind my car and made a visit to the ‘house for sale’. By then I had rounded my race track and was walking back towards the whole gaggle of County servants. One policeman crossed the road to intercept me politely but with his right hand clearly resting on his holster.

I have to admit I was none too pleased and less receptive to public interrogation than usual. (One tiny murder spree and the police seem to hold that against you forever) I was polite but obviously curt and disgusted. Jeez, couldn’t you have waited at least 30 minutes into my walk to break up the monotony a little? Now all of the excitement is front loaded and I will be bored until the Auto Club gets here. Apparently I checked out ok because the police quickly determined I was not going to hurt the occupant of that house with the sign in the lawn. I told the cop “The house is for sale – all kinds of unknown people will be hanging around it for the next 3 months”. Thank goodness my daughter did not have some horrible outstanding warrant on the car that she had forgotten to mention. As the police officer started to walk back to his car, I told him to let the worried lady know that ‘I still would be out here skulking around until the truck comes for my car’. He glared at me and said he intended to. I don't think he liked me or he was still suspicious of my intentions. I didn't mean anything by the excessive fidgeting and wild-eyed crazed looks - remember I had to go to the bathroom!

93 minutes I trod the sidewalks until that dumb Auto Club truck came. I cannot tell you how happy I was to get away from that stupid house that was for sale. Part of me wants to take a check over for the full purchase price of that dump and TEAR IT UP in front of the owner’s face and tell her I would have bought the place until she called the cops on me. I have a better idea though. Every day for the next month or so, I am going to tow some kind of registered vehicle I own and park it in front of her house. Who knows, I may even get some illegal aliens and we will sell tacos and schnitzel there too? Surely someone around her needs a big old truckload of manure to fertilize their lawn right? I know where she lives and I know she won’t mind any of it – as long as I don’t walk in circles around her house.

Military Intelligence

Far from a buffoon like me to judge the military and tell them what to do when it comes to public relations, buying planes, and high technology gizmos. After all I’m the guy whose ’P.R.’ skills produce a blog with only a dozen or so loyal followers. It’s also widely known that I have a hard time deciding between both guns or butter, and I’m still a little foggy over the whole ‘Spork’ thing. Is it REALLY more fork than spoon or vice versa?

Still when I see a few curious tidbits show up on my desk . . . oh sorry the hamster must be loose again – uh, lets regroup. When I HEAR an interesting news flash about the military or see some high-tech happenings brewing, I try to compile it and pass it along. You can then judge for yourself if the stories have merit, or need (much like these hamster treats) round filing.

This first piece of video is of an Israeli military unit on patrol apparently breaking the tension with a little synchronized dance number. The brass hats were none to amused but apparently the rest of the world is, because the vid went viral. In general, I prefer military units to ALWAYS remain professional when out in public. But let’s face it, there are flesh and blood humans under all that 70 pounds of battle-ready gear. ‘Professional’ does not mean lifeless, and if it ever does, don’t expect those automated robots to provide treats to lost puppies, or a comforting embrace to an innocent child caught in the crossfire.

For this next news item, I had to really break out the Stolichnaya so I could practice my Russian slurs. Because apparently the ‘Ruski’ aerospace conglomerate ‘United Aircraft’ wants a piece of the action of the $40 billion U.S. refueling tanker contract. No doubt the combined effort of Russia’s biggest names in planes can make a fine aircraft, and you might even find a few Air Force jockeys who MIGHT fly them. But the real question in my mind is ‘ARE YOU NUTS’? The air fueling wing is a major component of the global strategic defense plan for the United States. It is hard enough to let France’s EADS and NATO play in America’s proprietary sandbox, much less those ‘Siberian Laikas’ with their Cheshire cat smiles.

Finally let’s end on a high-tech happy note. Since our soldiers never know what risks they’ll ultimately face, I am whole-hog ‘gung-ho’ on TenCate’s new fire retardant Haute Couture for the U.S. Army’s Combat Uniform (ACU). Yes, these new camo-duds may not look new and improved, but take a gander at the vid here at about 30 seconds in on the company’s website. I can honestly say, if I was at the wrong end of a S’more fork, I know which uniform I would prefer to catch on ‘FIRE’ – fashionably speaking of course!

Canned MEAT

You name it, Roast Beef, Chicken, Tuna, Spam or Deviled Ham – whatever it is, as long as it is packed in a can, I love it. Now believe me I have taken a lot of ribbing over the years about this. Most people prefer their meat fresh cut and in a non-chunky or mashed pablum state.

Honestly I like all those meats in their natural condition too, but the truth is, fresh or frozen foods are kind of needy. They all NEED some kind of refrigeration, special handling, or fancy preparation to prevent you from getting sick. This is not true with the canned stuff. I can just open a rectangular ingot of canned Spam, scrape off that amber-colored gelatin goo, and eat it straight, happily bundled between two pieces of buttered bread.

Canned Tuna is great on crackers or mixed with a little mayo on a salad. But would you ever yank poor ol’ Charley the Tuna from his aquatic bliss and suck him down head-first like a seal? Yeah some of the old school Japanese folks might filet up a little tuna in the raw, but for the vast majority of us, we want our tuna dressed properly for dinner with a little salt and pepper.

Now I consider my uncanny canned meat obsession a by-product of my inherent need to survive. I can stock up on all my favorites and they will last for decades in the cupboard. Try that with that half a cow foil-wrapped meat puzzle that you have date-labeled in the freezer. You would think given all the obvious benefits, people like me should guard and protect their cans like gold. You are right – because aside from blogging, all I do is sit on my CAN all day and prevent it from falling into the wrong hands!

Targeting the MACHO myth

A favorite memory when I was younger was when my old man would take me out target shooting. I know that statement sounds a bit macho and sexist, but it really was a ‘mans’ thing then, uh at least the shooting part. My mother always seemed to encourage us to go as I think she knew it was good Dad/Son bonding time away from the normal home environment. As a family we would actually shop for ammunition, gun cleaning stuff, and of course the ubiquitous tan and black paper targets.

Probably one of these earliest excursions that I remember was to an abandoned missile silo somewhere on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. My dad prepared a black satchel with the pistols while my mom brewed up a thermos of coffee and made some snacks for our adventure. Once there, we would set up cans and whatever we could find as targets. My Dad was an excellent shot and he tried to teach me proper breathing technique, how to pull vs. jerk the trigger, and the proper way to address the target ( … Hello Target! ) – Sorry, that has nothing to do with the story but I can never ‘address’ something without thinking of Art Carney using the similar gag ala the Honeymooners.

Later in life, I would repeat much of these same steps but with my wife ‘T’ in tow. Her family had not had a lot of experience with guns when she was growing up so it was exciting to learn some up-close weapons training and handling. We would go to the local police range to practice on those same stock styled paper targets from years ago. My wife learned quickly and she oddly was more accurate with the larger caliber pistols than the smaller .22 'plinker' guns. Later still, my daughter came along and we passed on the same target shooting tradition.

Like her mother, our kid is innately accurate with heavy caliber handguns. I probably would not have noticed it as much but unlike her parent’s ‘cheap’ targets, the young one insists on the bright orange and black ‘Splatter’ targets in the shape of HUMAN silhouettes. Beyond the human body painted on the front, just the target’s name ‘SPLATTER’ should give concern shouldn’t it? With every slug through the target’s rings, tiny fissures of white show around the hole, thus making the placement of your shot easier to see. My innocent little girl would rip the concentric 8, 9, and 10 rings up of that sad silhouette with glee and save her targets like they were time-honored trophies.

Since that time, our kid has gone off to college, in Texas no less - probably the perfect place for her? While most first year students were considering an art class elective, or maybe an intramural sport, our kid signed up for ‘Skeet Shooting’. A friend even brought a dead six foot snake in the back of his pick-up to show her what he had shot. I guess he knew she would appreciate his marksmanship? Yes, it turns out that gun skills are an equal opportunity employer. I’m proud that we have done our part to put that ‘macho’ stereotype myth to rest – or am I? Turns out they have an Equestrian team at my daughter’s university too, so I am beginning to wonder if my GIRL will end up majoring in cowBOY!?

Just throwing it out there

You know sometimes when writing I just will run into a wall for new and fresh ideas. It feels sometimes that I have written on just about every weird topic so what’s left? Often I will have to go back and search my archives to make sure I do not start repeating myself. Nothing better in life than listening to an old man repeat the same story over and over right?

So today was one of those brainless days. Fortunately for me at least, these bouts of creative constipation usually do not last too long with so many broadcast and internet news sources at the ready. Yes I admit it, while most of you use the media for genuine information and entertainment, I have reduced its worth to a lowly mental laxative.

Anyway, my daughter and I were watching the mid-day news and one of the reports depicted how a full sized pickaxe, busted through a Washington state couple’s car windshield while on the freeway. The thing hit dead center and missed both front occupants of the car before embedding itself in-between the seats. If it were me, I could handle the flying Ax trauma okay, but having to re-glue that rearview mirror back on is what would haunt me for the rest of my life. Whenever I ride in a convertible, I always worry a little bit about rocks, road junk, trees, rain, and birds bombing me. But not once did I ever imagine a giant garden tool dropping in to bisect my ride.

Now since we’ve started down the path of ’throwing things’, the other news story that absolutely floored me today was a minor assault charge at a Philadelphia Phillies game. Yeah Phillies fans can be noisy, loud and legendary for their boisterous team enthusiasm; but nothing can match this New Jersey guy. This obviously drunk punk literally let things get ‘out of hand’ by shoving his fingers down his own gullet to PURPOSELY throw-up on the objects of his disapproval – a man and his kid. Hmmm, now I have something else new to worry about when riding in convertibles? I guess I should avoid parades for awhile – especially in drop-tops directly behind those big beer-binging Clydesdale horses!

Turkey Shoot

As a young boy my father taught me to shoot. He was a superb Marksman in the Army. It’s maybe not something you talk about today, but when I was a kid, shooting was still thought of as an honorable skill, even if you were not going into law enforcement. It was no big deal really as my Dad was taught to shoot by my Grandfather and so on. I remember at the same time I was getting Ranger Rick conservation magazines in the mail, I also got stickers as a member of the National Rifle Association. In that era, guns were not scary – they were tools to be used for the specific purpose of motivating lead toward tin cans and paper targets.

Like any tool, rifles and sidearms were to be treated with respect. I shot guns for fun but we never had FUN with guns – there is a difference and the line was made very clear. All my life I have lived in rather large cities, so it has been fairly impractical to practice target shooting at home. No matter how progressive your neighbors are, they do not look kindly on random gunshots mixing with the sounds of their kids bouncing basketballs and gardeners blowing leaves off driveways.

Happily that problem was easily solved with a nice Daisy BB gun rifle. I could set up targets in the back yard and shoot as much as I wanted. I really loved shooting that gun. Eventually my Father was confident in my aim enough to take me down and enter in a Turkey shooting contest at the local police gun range. I did enjoy the target competition and did well. Sadly however I did not win the frozen turkey first prize and blamed it on the rifle's weak power at 50 yards. Though un-frozen birds might have been a little more exciting to introduce to my Daisy, my parents insisted that moving targets were not allowed. Oddly however, that rule somehow did not apply to my own father. Yes, just like the stories you read about in papers, he thought my BB gun wasn’t loaded (strange since it rattled with BB’s when it was). As I ran and cavorted between backyard tree trunks, he put a bead on me at better than 75 yards and SHOT ME in the hip while I was moving.

First, I could not believe that my own Dad shot me?! I finally understood how Issac must have felt when ol’ daddy Abraham was ready to slip him a shiv – why couldn’t a stupid Ram have taken that BB for me instead? Secondly, despite my injured flank, I was appreciative that my gun had a good enough set of fixed sights to shoot that straight. Further, prone fire at a stationary target takes practice, but for my Dad to lead a fleeting target, between obstacles and while standing – well honestly, that was a pretty impressive shot. Yeah my father felt bad and profusely apologized between his poorly suppressed giddiness and shame. To this day he swears it was an innocent mistake and he didn’t mean it. I still think it was a little education for blowing the shooting contest - the rifle seemed to perform JUST FINE? Yes, that rifle had finally bagged a plump turkey, but suspiciously, this one wasn’t frozen!

Phonetic HOME

Well once again my wife’s car needed care and feeding at the car shop. I swear that car thinks that it is a little baby, so if it whines enough it will garner attention. Yeah that worked out well with our kid too – as soon as she would cry we gave her to her Nanny to ‘fix’ her. In the end, both the car and the kid seem to work fine, but I am always waiting for that next interesting tactic to manipulate me into submission.

Anyway when the car is finished, the mechanic shop will always call me and send a car if I want one. I usually decline and walk the 3.5 miles since I’m nothing if I’m not green. No I’m not a Martian but walking is more interesting and obviously the better choice if you have the time and it is not hailing cats and dogs. The hike takes about an hour unless I am really trying to make time. Especially on the hills, my mind wanders to keep myself from remembering I CHOSE to skip a nice air-conditioned chauffeured ride. But soon, I become distracted by the hundreds of cars buzzing by all with license plates.

These plates intrigue me because they are 6 to 7 digits long in most states and difficult to memorize in a fleeting glance as they pass me by. It always seems in police dramas or crime shows that someone is victim to a speeding car but they cannot ‘remember’ the license plate number. Well that is where the phonetic alphabet comes in. You’ve already heard it – it’s that ‘cop talk’ that defines an unmistakable word in place of a letter on a license plate? Pilots too use the phonetic alphabet all the time to identify aircraft so letters like ‘F’ and ‘S’ don’t get confused over sketchy radio communications. It is also easier to remember “Foxtrot Sierra” rather than ‘F S’ when you are trying to quickly scan and REMEMBER license plates.

So try it yourself or teach your kids the phonetic alphabet and have them practice memorizing random license numbers or any letter combination at home. Say the letters out loud and repeat the phonetic combinations so they become second nature to use rather than the old fashioned way. Your kids will feel like they are in a real Spy Kids movie and if you’re lucky some of that training will register deep in their brains for when they may need it. Just think how far ahead they will be if they grow up to be rich movie star cops, pilots, or even car mechanics. Yeah my car guy told me to bring lots of money or else I won’t be driving my wife’s stupid car ‘Hotel – Oscar – Mike – Echo’ tonight. Oh well, there’s always walking?

A = alpha B = bravo C = charlie D = delta E = echo
F = foxtrot G = golf H = hotel I = india J = juliet K = kilo
L = lima M = mike N = november O = oscar P = papa
Q = quebec R= romeo S = sierra T = tango U = uniform
V = victor W = whiskey X = xray Y = yankee Z = zulu

Hurried Handcuffs

I was driving along a local main drag and across from the gas station in a mini mall of about 6 shops I saw a new business that was open. The name of the shop was Express Police Gear or something like that? The shop looked clean and reminded me of any safety or small janitorial supply retail store.

I did not have the good fortune to get inside yet, but I assume it consists of all that stuff that cops are saddled down with to do their jobs except for firearms and ammo. I think this place probably focuses on the ‘official’ shoes, t-shirts, belt, mace, handcuffs and the like. I have never seen a store like this at all and figured most police departments simply buy gear from ‘official’ mail order vendors or on-line?

It seems like a pretty good idea to have a retail outlet for cop stuff. You never know when you’ll need an extra pair of handcuffs WITHOUT the little release tab of the toy ones. Yes those always come in handy to restrain irritating friends or your kid brother. I guess I could use zip ties but I have the smaller ones so I always need to stick about 10 together if I want to get around something as fat as the wrists of people in my family. Maybe I will go in this cop shop and see how much a can of mace or pepper spray is? I used to keep this stuff handy in the car even if for no other reason than crazy dogs.

I did on one occasion repel a dog with pepper spray. It worked but mostly as a distraction. The dog did not seem incapacitated in any real way, but the smell clearly got him to stop advancing on me and think about his own peppery nose for a minute. That gave me enough time to hurry off and get my toy handcuffs to try and lock up that crazy dog. Ever since then, I have been a fan of pepper spray. Yes I need to visit that Police shop to pick up a case of spicy spray . Cinco de Mayo is just around the corner and my nachos never have enough peppers!

Smart people never recycle

Hey I know it is smart to re-use and recycle. I try to do it as much as I can. I even have a washed out a parmesan cheese container in the garage and filled it full of screws. I liked it because I could shake out just the amount I need. I’m glad a pizza was not around – I wonder how many calories are in a 1 inch drywall screw? My wife when she catches me looks particularly disgusted when I rinse off the coffee grounds from one of those 1 cent paper filters. No I am not that cheap – I’m a good guy trying to save another ‘Filter’ tree from being cut down. Actually I recycle those filters mostly because I am lazy. Once they are wet, they conform to the weird shape of the coffee pot easier than a new dry one.

We still collect aluminum cans for our local high school science department. Even though it seems like just a few cents from cans, over the years, I saw that they had purchased a full set of human skull facsimiles for their labs. There is nothing better for High school students than BONE HEADS right? We also collect aluminum tabs from cans and give them to Ronald McDonald house. Some McDonalds still have collection points and it is a fairly easy way to recycle for charity that does not take up a lot of space.

Now, I have a list of things that I DO NOT recycle. No I am not being a Grinch, but I am always a bit sensitive about data and you should be too. That means, hard drives are out. Honestly if you are done with that 40 meg archaic hard drive either just keep it when you donate your computer or unscrew the housing and physically destroy the disk plates inside. You can drill through them or bend them or scrawl all over them with a knife but PHYSICALLY break your hard disks before throwing them away. There are many programs that will help you ‘erase’ your disk, but in most cases a dedicated hacker with some time and knowledge may be able to dissect an operable drive and recover private data from basic erase programs. For any thumb drives, SD cards or other solid state memory, with financial data or other sensitive stuff like health files - I would destroy those too over trying to erase them.

Now given the reality that you may want to SELL a complete computer instead of giving it away, I have linked Disk Doctor’s file shredder program here. If you are passing your hard drive on to a relative or close friend, this program is generally highly regarded and will allow you to ‘clean’ your physical drives effectively. It costs $49 so it is inexpensive when selling lots of computer hardware, but again at the cost of new storage these days, it may be a better option just to buy Granny or your nephew a new hard drive for that same $50? So go ahead, recycle and reuse whatever you can, but do yourself a favor and store your hard drive’s spare parts in your recycled parmesan cheese containers. It’s what the smart people would do!