All We Are Saying Is...

LEAVE US ALONE!
A lot is being made of next Tuesday's election and what it means for America.
Not that you asked, but here is what I think.

The citizens of this country are fed up.  We trust NO ONE.  We will vote for candidates who appear to offer to do the least damage.  Republicans, because they're out of power, should win big.  They should not take this as a mandate to do any more than back us the hell out of the government cesspool we're neck deep in.  A return to fiscal responsibility and the cherished principals of self reliance and individual reward for hard work are what we are after.
America is, and always has been, about the ability to succeed or fail on your own.  The only folks who seem to have forgotten this reside in the political class and the rest of us are sick of it.  Because of short-sighted, self possessed professional politicians who cynically buy the votes of an all too often lazy electorate, using their own tax dollars, our country is at risk.  REAL TROUBLE!  Spending money we don't have on so called "entitlements" and leaving the tab for our kids and grandkids is morally reprehensible and frankly impossible to maintain.  The time to settle up is NOW.  The freeload is over!

Of course there will be some pain.  A bender like the one we've been on demands the Mount Rushmore of hangovers.  I think the voters, on Tuesday, will say "We're ready, let's get started."  As long as the sacrifice is shared, Americans are surprisingly resilient.  A flat tax for everyone, means testing for social security, (most of us collect all we paid in after a couple of years in retirement), and an end to fat government departments that long ago should have been replaced by private industry are good places to start.

We have got to do this!  If our current leadership in Washington can't handle a $700 billion bailout program, (and they can't), how can they possibly manage a multi TRILLION dollar health care program or any of the other crack brained projects they have floated?  Based on their staggering record of incompetence, the answer is worse than anything you could imagine.

November 2 is not just a mid-term election.  It is the first round of the fight to take back our country from the people who remain clueless to what America is all about.  Let's send the bastards packin'. The power of the ballot box is mighty. We can do this.  God help us if we fail.


     

Fork Over the Candy...Or the Kid Gets It!

"Can I take this off?  I don't feel so good."

I hated Halloween when I was a kid.  In the first place I didn't like candy and, an even bigger problem,  was that I was completely embarrassed to be seen in the typical homemade or dime store costume that mom insisted I wear.  There were only two store bought getups as I recall:  a hotter than hell plastic "Big Bad Wolf" deal that lasted until I was seven or eight and a "Bugs Bunny" disgrace that smelled funny and had a tail no boy wants to sport.  I dreaded the approach of October 31 as if I were going to "the chair"..  

Don't get me wrong.  I would trick or treat with my friends, but only as a reluctant participant and would always hang back when doorbells were rung for candy.  Secretly I hoped my sack would be missed when the adults dropped carmels, candy corns, popcorn balls and candied apples into the black holes of greed offered up by my fellow juvenile delinquents.  I could barely wait for the evening to be over.  It all seemed so completely dumb.  Sort of like having to work the night shift only to find out you'd been paid in Confederate money.  I couldn't even use candy to bribe my brother.  He, unlike me, loved Halloween and plowed through the neighborhood harvesting every sweet goodie proffered by the grown-ups.  By the time I got home he was already in a sugar induced coma and it would be weeks before skittles or tootsie rolls would be a powerful incentive for him to do my bidding. 

 Halloween became more fun for me when I got to high school.  That's when the "tricks" part of the equation took precedence over the "treats".  Growing up in rural and small town America meant that there were almost unlimited opportunities for mischief requiring flaming bags, repositioned outhouses, and hard cider fueled mayhem.  Good times!

" Come on guys, let's just move this just a couple of feet back from the hole."

Now, as a grandfather and fultime geezer, I love Halloween.  I can't wait for October 31 and the army of little beggars from the neighborhood to ring our bell and wave the open maw of their sacks at me.  I've been ready for them for months!  Literally.  Around July I start throwing bags of candy into the cart when Linda and I are grocery shopping.  "Hey, it'll be Halloween before you know it", I say when she asks me what the hell I'm doing.  I offer some lame excuse about noticing a new family with at least eleven or twelve kids new to the neighborhood.  Sometimes it works.  My goal, you see, is to always have enough candy in the pantry to take care of the trick or treaters AND have enough left over to last me for the rest of the year.  

  I have you see, in my dotage, become a candy junkie.  Some of my friends tell me that it's from giving up booze nearly eleven years ago.  I don't know.  Whatever the reason, I now seek out sweets like congress seeks your wallet.  It's shameless, but I can't control it.  I want it ALL!  Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Butterfingers, candy kisses, if it has sugar...GIMMEE!

So, ATTENTION NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS!  If you are planning on hitting the old Copper mansion this Halloween, get here EARLY.  I start getting stingy as the night wears on.  I will not make the same mistake I made last year when I let my son-in-law, Doug, do the candy dispensing early in the evening.  He was giving out goodies by the fistfull!  I had forgotten that he is a Democrat.  A mistake I will NOT MAKE AGAIN!

Happy Halloween Kiddies!  Empty you bags of candy into Mr. Copper's bowl and no one will get hurt.

Notes to a Grandson on his 1st Birthday

Newborn Dan with Grandma Copper

Danny and Grandma Copper

"What have you done now Grandpa?!"

Danny, the very best grandson a guy could ever have, is a year old today.

Brand new Daniel

How did that happen?  Probably the same way Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas somehow arrive at warp speed due to some sort of intergalactic fart in the time/space continuum.  Any way you measure it, life happens at a pace nearly identical to the inflation of grandpa's prostate and DEflation of his brain cells. Nonetheless, in spite of gramps being short on grey matter, an annual review is in order.  As soon as I'm finished we can both plant our mugs in some delicious birthday cake and raise hell until nap time.

Here is what you have managed to accomplish in your first year of life young Daniel:

First of all, you made grandpa mist up just a little when your mom said, "Wanna hold him?" just minutes after your debut.  You were so alert and your eyes full of wonder, promise and fun all at once.  It was obvious then that we would become great pals and have many adventures together.

You also, and I'm extremely proud of you for this, have become an inveterate flirt with the ladies.  George Clooney should take lessons from you!  Grandma Copper is shameless where you're concerned.  I'd be worried if it weren't for the age difference.

You have developed a superior sense of humor.  Grandpa's Donald Duck impression and myriad of embarrassing sound effects usually reduce you to outright prolonged laughter.  (A sign of good taste..or, a hopeless psychopathic disorder.)

You've mastered so many essential baby basics during this important year!  Filling your diapers, cutting teeth, rolling over, crawling on all fours with verve and style, pulling the dog's tail, saying 'momma and dadda" and standing on your own just to name a few.  I especially like the way you climb the stairs and, just as Sir Edmund Hillary before you, turn around to wave good-bye after every two or three steps.

Unlike most one-year-olds, you skipped the baby food stage (I don't blame you) and went straight for the good stuff when you began to crave something more than mommas milk.  Pizza, steak, chicken and cheese seem to be a hit with you and grandpa takes great pride in having introduced you to chocolate flavored Cheerios, which you give every indication of being ready to KILL for.

All things considered, it has been an auspicious start.  A good year!

Of course, like every aspect of life, there have been a few unpleasant things to learn.  A bonk on the head makes you cry, being tired and cranky is frustrating, naps are NO FUN and not being able to play with the toy you want right now can be infuriating.  (You'll never get over that one.)  I know you don't appreciate these annoyances at present but you'll find them to be character builders that will make you stronger in the future.

You are a lucky boy, Danny.  You have the best mom and dad a kid could ever want and grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who love you very much.  A real head start.

For your first anniversary on this planet here is some advice that should serve you well.

"The pessimist complains about the wind, the optimist expects it to change...and the REALIST adjusts his sails."    -unknown

May the winds be with you, Danny, as you sail into your second year.

Dad, Mom, Danny

Watching that wacky Craig Ferguson with Gramps

"Yep, I'm one year old"

The best toy is this empty jar

"Where is Talking Carl?"

The key to crawling is...hand knee, hand knee

Why Meg Gets My Vote

Not that it will make any difference, but Meg Whitman can't possibly be worse for California than the already MORE than tried Jerry Brown.  I know this because I was here for the previous rein of Governor Moonbeam and, unless I have completely taken leave of my senses, the only semi smart move he made during that run was ditching Linda Ronstadt before she discovered ice cream and cake.  The man was a disaster.  

Not only did he give us Rose Bird as chief justice of the California Supreme Court, a woman who ignored the will of the people by overruling 64 consecutive death penalty verdicts, he also pandered to the environmental extremists by refusing to spray for Mediterranean fruit flies until the entire agricultural heart of California was in jeopardy.  But most important of all his administration really began the virtual hand off of  the state coffers to the California employee unions and their bloated pension plans, a disgrace that has driven the budget over the cliff of fiscal responsibility.  Jerry Brown is a professional politician, an insult right up there with rapist, serial polygamist, and commie bed wetter in today's lexicon. He has never had a REAL JOB!  He has been: governor, attorney general, mayor of Oakland and now wants to be governor once again.  And, it's not like he left those previously held positions in better shape after his stewardship.  Been to Oakland lately?

The people of California, and especially the Democrats, have to start asking themselves "Is this the best we can do?"

No, Meg probably can't do much better because, like Gulliver, she will be up against the entrenched Lilliputians in Sacramento who are only concerned with getting re-elected as they continue to pander to the public employee unions and the education Nazis who insist that increased teacher pay and smaller classes are the ticket to all our problems.   Unlike self-made millionaire Meg, they don't mind spending your tax bucks to do it.  Disgraceful!

California has got to change the way it does business, or at least begin to acknowledge that a state requires leaders with business acumen to take the wheel.  There is no alternative.  We are too far "down the road" and "the can" can be kicked no further.  The time is NOW.

Let's give the candidate with a full head of hair a shot this time.  We've seen Jerry's act before.  We know it's slick but, like his scalp, there is NOTHING there.

Stink Bugs and Stinky Inky Ideas

Now it's not just a bedbug invasion to worry about.

Apparently the Middle Atlantic states are up to their Middle Atlantic asses in stink bugs.  The funny thing, at least to me, is that these particular stink bugs look nothing like what passes for stink bugs in California.  They don't even smell the same!  Out here we have these semi nasty looking hard shelled creepy crawlers that stink like last week's garbage when you step on them.  Their stinky Middle Atlantic cousins appear to be brown with some kind of knight's shield pattern  on them and they emit a pungent odor often described as "skunklike" by folks administering a size ten.  The east coast stinkers also have an appetite for things like apples, grapes, and tomatoes instead of the leftover pizza preferred by their California counterparts.    Anyway, several universities and the federal government are working on how to best handle the situation and, I fear, will get back to us shortly with how much we need to fork over to adios these hard shelled freeloaders.  (The treasury is just a little low right now, maybe you've heard.)

Perhaps an early hard freeze in the old mid Atlantic will buy us all a little time.  This blog will stay on top of breaking developments.  (Team coverage and all that...)

HEY KIDS.......What rhymes with STINK?

INK, naturally.  

Don't have a tattoo?  You must be OLD!

I read something in Wednesday's Wall Street Journal that astounded me.  "Nearly two in five,  or 38% of millennials, those 18 through 29, have at least one tattoo, compared with 32% of gen-Xers and 15% of baby boomers."  All this from a Pew Research Center survey of 2,020 adults.  The most disturbing aspect of this is that 38% of the generation we old cats will hand the reins to in a couple of years are drunk enough to think getting a tat is a good career move.  Nothing says "I want the job" like a really neat spider web neck tattoo.  Or, better yet,  having L O V E spelled out on your sausage like digits.

What's next?  Self mutilation?  Oh wait, I forgot about the piercing thing.

Here's my advice for those of you looking forward to a comfortable retirement:

Buy all the stock you can grab in companies that manufacture laser tattoo removal machines.  Because, body "art" that looks cool in 2010 is guaranteed to look like a bad case of skin cancer in 2040.

You're welcome, whippersnappers!

BEFORE

AFTER