Perhaps it's the age thing.
Or, maybe I'm just RIGHT and most of the world is wrong.
I think I'll go with the me being right thing.
Here are just a few items that are weighing on my gourd these days:
1. Why does anybody think that Jimmy Carter was worth a damn at ANYTHING?
2. Who thinks that those Tramp Stamp butt tattoos on women are attractive? Wouldn't you love to be in the plastic surgery dodge a few years down the road when the tidal wave of aging beauties with the now hideously deformed body art is looking for a laser eraser?
Who loves ya now, Raider girl?
3. Why don't more people think that Tom Arnold is funny? The guy could make me laugh just reading the phone book. (By the way...Until Roseanne had the "Property of Tom Arnold" tattoo removed from her ample ass, Tom was the largest property owner in Southern California.)
4. Why does anybody think Al Franken is funny??? A colonoscopy is more entertaining than this talking pile of Minnesota pig poop.
4. Whatever happened to S&H green stamps? My folks furnished our entire house with classic items from the S&H store.
5. Donald Trump.....
Who cares what a guy who was born on third base and thinks he hit a home run has to say?
"How's my hair?"
6. Billy Mays....
If I were on fire, this idiot couldn't sell me the water to put myself out! He should be working the midway selling "five chances for just one dollar", not pitching everything from Magic Putty to health insurance. Why is he on TV...EVER???
7. And...finally: PETA You know....the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Just today I read that they are asking ice cream maker Ben& Jerry's Homemade Ice Cream to tap nursing moms, rather than cows, for milk to use in the making of their ice cream. They say that it would reduce the suffering of cows and calves and give ice cream lovers a healthier product. (Not to mention, it would make for a more interesting time in the old dairy barn for farmer Brown.)
You can't make this stuff up! These people need to be put to sleep.
8. I almost forgot... Those Geico cavemen. What's that all about??? Does that sell you insurance? Ugh!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
"Praise the LARD and pass the mashed potatos"
Been cruisin'.
Sorry, but sometimes you just have to hit the road....er, water.
I had good intentions. There would be ample opportunity to blog while messing around on the East coast but, true to form, I was a traveling slug.
Hey! You aren't paying to read this!
Linda and I spent a week aboard the Maasdam cruising from Montreal to Boston. It was a fortieth anniversary present to ourselves that was a feast for both the eyes and our ever expanding adipose tissue. Damn those Holland America Cruise chefs! ("More Baked Alaska and Cherries Jubilee, Mr. Copper?")
We had always craved a peek at the Canadian Maritime provinces and a chance to bond with the socialist cheese heads who dwell in the loft apartment above the cool party that is the United States. Even if I do hate their screamingly liberal press and their penchant to embrace concepts like socialized medicine, I have to admit that Canada has money that is not only worth more than ours, it looks wicked fine too.
Our northern neighbors don't lack in the scenery department either.
Check out these shots:
This is Peggy's Cove on Prince Edward Island.
Another pastoral spot on PEI....
The cruise ended in Boston where we were met by longtime pals The Skipper and Betty Erickson. The Skipper has a barge and tugboat company, New England Harbor Services, that is the home to fine vessels like the "Captain Shorty". (The tug gets its name from its ability to feel comfy only to passengers who measure no more than 62 inches in height.)
Thankfully, the sea gods had seen fit to render the Cpt. Shorty unfit for habitation due to electrical problems and we were able to bunk in a real bed at the Ericksons.
The Skip has a radical new addition to his quarters. His neighbor and buddy, Jim Currier, has designed and built a one-of-a-kind Boat Bar that is an amazing work of art. It seats 12 and comes with ship sound effects, flags, ship's bell and a multitude of additional goodies being added on a regular basis. There is also enough booze to require major sea legs, if you're so inclined.
If I still drank...I'd still be there.
"The Skipper" tends bar
We also spent a terrific couple of days enjoying the hospitality of the Erickson's good friends, Dan and Sandy, at their home on Cape Cod. My only complaint was that the towels provided for our visit were extra fluffy and hard to fit in my suitcase. Sandy, being completely insane, will never miss them. Dan should have her institutionalized...but I digress.
It was also good to see an old friend, Captain Eric Franzen, and his son, Carl. The Skipper and Eric once abandoned a junk car they had driven from Port Arthur. Texas in front of my apartment in South Dakota. But, that is a story for another time.
Here is the Skipper with his pal "Batman" at the Bat Cave in Sandwich, Mass.
There is never a dull moment when you seek adventure beyond the horizon...or spend some time hangin' with The Skipper.
Sorry, but sometimes you just have to hit the road....er, water.
I had good intentions. There would be ample opportunity to blog while messing around on the East coast but, true to form, I was a traveling slug.
Hey! You aren't paying to read this!
Linda and I spent a week aboard the Maasdam cruising from Montreal to Boston. It was a fortieth anniversary present to ourselves that was a feast for both the eyes and our ever expanding adipose tissue. Damn those Holland America Cruise chefs! ("More Baked Alaska and Cherries Jubilee, Mr. Copper?")
We had always craved a peek at the Canadian Maritime provinces and a chance to bond with the socialist cheese heads who dwell in the loft apartment above the cool party that is the United States. Even if I do hate their screamingly liberal press and their penchant to embrace concepts like socialized medicine, I have to admit that Canada has money that is not only worth more than ours, it looks wicked fine too.
Our northern neighbors don't lack in the scenery department either.
Check out these shots:
This is Peggy's Cove on Prince Edward Island.
Another pastoral spot on PEI....
The cruise ended in Boston where we were met by longtime pals The Skipper and Betty Erickson. The Skipper has a barge and tugboat company, New England Harbor Services, that is the home to fine vessels like the "Captain Shorty". (The tug gets its name from its ability to feel comfy only to passengers who measure no more than 62 inches in height.)
Thankfully, the sea gods had seen fit to render the Cpt. Shorty unfit for habitation due to electrical problems and we were able to bunk in a real bed at the Ericksons.
The Skip has a radical new addition to his quarters. His neighbor and buddy, Jim Currier, has designed and built a one-of-a-kind Boat Bar that is an amazing work of art. It seats 12 and comes with ship sound effects, flags, ship's bell and a multitude of additional goodies being added on a regular basis. There is also enough booze to require major sea legs, if you're so inclined.
If I still drank...I'd still be there.
"The Skipper" tends bar
We also spent a terrific couple of days enjoying the hospitality of the Erickson's good friends, Dan and Sandy, at their home on Cape Cod. My only complaint was that the towels provided for our visit were extra fluffy and hard to fit in my suitcase. Sandy, being completely insane, will never miss them. Dan should have her institutionalized...but I digress.
It was also good to see an old friend, Captain Eric Franzen, and his son, Carl. The Skipper and Eric once abandoned a junk car they had driven from Port Arthur. Texas in front of my apartment in South Dakota. But, that is a story for another time.
Here is the Skipper with his pal "Batman" at the Bat Cave in Sandwich, Mass.
There is never a dull moment when you seek adventure beyond the horizon...or spend some time hangin' with The Skipper.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
WHO LOVES YA? Cats...or Dogs?
My neighbor, Jai, got himself a new dog.
He named him Duke. I figure I'm one lucky fellow to be living next door to a guy from Bombay who digs his adopted country enough to name his dog after the actor who single-handed won World War II without ever leaving Hollywood.
Cool dog. Just make sure that he takes care of business on the other side of the fence.
I like dogs...had a couple as a kid and made sure that we were a doggy family when my girls were growing up, but I can't say that I want another one. Oh sure, dogs are all over you with unconditional love and affection (not to mention drool), but they are so damn needy. Ron Rosen, a columnist for the New York Observer says, "The love of a dog means nothing. Zero. Dogs are the slavering sycophants, the slobbering indiscriminate flatterers, the bootlickers, the pathetic transparent brown-nosers of the domestic animal kingdom." They are "an easy lay emotionally". He is right.
Mans' best friend? When was the last time your "best friend" pinched a loaf in your backyard?!
Nope, no more dogs in my life. Fun to look at, "but you wouldn't want to own one" pretty much sums it up for me.
Cats I loathe...always have. The girls had two of them when they were around and both "Murray" and "Satchel" hated my guts. The good news is that they would actually leave the room when I would enter. Perhaps that's how they made it to kitty old age.
A friend of mine, "Willie the Moff", used to have a regular zoo at his house. There were dogs, cats, even horses that cost him a small fortune to maintain. Several years ago one of his cats needed some veterinary attention because of an abscessed tooth. Willie, being a man of thrifty Midwest ways, refused the vet's recommendation of a sedative for the cat prior to the necessary tooth extraction. ""The Moff" elected to hold the cat steady while the doc pulled the tooth. No sense in paying that extra fifty smackers to send Sylvester to "la la land" while he was in pain.
The cat starred malevolently at his master on the car ride home, no doubt plotting his revenge. Shortly after the return to "Moff Manor"the still hurting kitty left a steaming pile of cat disrespect in the Moff's newly purchased leather briefcase.
Cats are like that.
I see no pets in my future. Too much trouble. Even fish have a hassle quotient I'm not willing to put up with.
Turtles might be alright. If they croak on you, you've got a dandy looking ashtray. If you don't smoke...I've got nothin' for you.
A chicken might be fun.
We all know who to call if that doesn't work out.
He named him Duke. I figure I'm one lucky fellow to be living next door to a guy from Bombay who digs his adopted country enough to name his dog after the actor who single-handed won World War II without ever leaving Hollywood.
Cool dog. Just make sure that he takes care of business on the other side of the fence.
I like dogs...had a couple as a kid and made sure that we were a doggy family when my girls were growing up, but I can't say that I want another one. Oh sure, dogs are all over you with unconditional love and affection (not to mention drool), but they are so damn needy. Ron Rosen, a columnist for the New York Observer says, "The love of a dog means nothing. Zero. Dogs are the slavering sycophants, the slobbering indiscriminate flatterers, the bootlickers, the pathetic transparent brown-nosers of the domestic animal kingdom." They are "an easy lay emotionally". He is right.
Mans' best friend? When was the last time your "best friend" pinched a loaf in your backyard?!
Nope, no more dogs in my life. Fun to look at, "but you wouldn't want to own one" pretty much sums it up for me.
Cats I loathe...always have. The girls had two of them when they were around and both "Murray" and "Satchel" hated my guts. The good news is that they would actually leave the room when I would enter. Perhaps that's how they made it to kitty old age.
A friend of mine, "Willie the Moff", used to have a regular zoo at his house. There were dogs, cats, even horses that cost him a small fortune to maintain. Several years ago one of his cats needed some veterinary attention because of an abscessed tooth. Willie, being a man of thrifty Midwest ways, refused the vet's recommendation of a sedative for the cat prior to the necessary tooth extraction. ""The Moff" elected to hold the cat steady while the doc pulled the tooth. No sense in paying that extra fifty smackers to send Sylvester to "la la land" while he was in pain.
The cat starred malevolently at his master on the car ride home, no doubt plotting his revenge. Shortly after the return to "Moff Manor"the still hurting kitty left a steaming pile of cat disrespect in the Moff's newly purchased leather briefcase.
Cats are like that.
I see no pets in my future. Too much trouble. Even fish have a hassle quotient I'm not willing to put up with.
Turtles might be alright. If they croak on you, you've got a dandy looking ashtray. If you don't smoke...I've got nothin' for you.
A chicken might be fun.
We all know who to call if that doesn't work out.
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