The ICE Man Commeth

COLD RUSH! My new master

My wife broke her elbow.  She slipped on the stairs last Saturday and BLAM!  The thing fractured in three places and required orthopedic surgery two days ago.
This has sort of turned into a Groundhog Day experience for both of us.  You do remember the movie that featured Bill Murray as a TV weatherman who keeps having the same day happen to him over and over again?  Well, about five years ago Linda tripped on a curb at the corner of 1st Street and 2nd Avenue on Manhattan's Lower East Side and broke her wrist in enough places to earn her a date with a Beth Israel orthopedic surgeon.  That hospital sent her home with a cast that almost required its own plane ticket.  It was the size of a big screen TV circa 1986.  New York to San Diego was three-thousand miles of hilarity.

So here we are again recovering from an unfortunate pratfall that finds me being "directed" by an injured "you know who" in the proper technique for loading the dishwasher, making the bed, and handling various policing details that mom never 'splained to me.  Another responsibility with which I have been charged is ice monitor.  Every couple of hours I am required to re-load the Cold Rush machine that came as a "lovely parting gift" from the good doctor who repaired the busted elbow.  This monstrosity is hooked up to Linda's injured wing ALL day and ALL night.  When I first eyeballed this icy behemoth in the recovery room I thought it was hospital property, but, NO, the nurse informed me that this little beauty was going home with us to make sure that the arm heals nicely.  This was all carefully explained when it became apparent to the nurse that my only frame of reference regarding the use of ice had come from bartenders.

  Naturally our place is in chaos and, also naturally, it's my fault.  Left to my own devices I would never make a bed or hang up clothing.  The Salvation Army would be in receipt of all our knives, forks, spoons and plates as I made the intelligent switch to all paper plates and plastic utensils  (in case an item not easily eaten by hand was accidentally purchased). Beverages not in disposable cans or bottles would have NO place under my management system.

Alas, I am not in charge.  On Monday the doctor will let me know how much longer I'll be an ICE slave.  As it stands now I am already days ahead of our refrigerator ice maker's output--something that hasn't happened since I gave up the sauce--and the checkout gals at our neighborhood grocery store are starting to ask "where's the party?"  as they scan another couple of jumbo bags of ice for me.

Oops.  You'll have to excuse me.  My injured mistress of disclipline is requesting my presence at her lecture on the proper folding of sheets.  I wonder if maybe dropping about a pint of vodka into that cold rush machine might put her in a more relaxed state of mind?  It's a shame to waste all that ice.

Smelt Are For EATING!

I woke this morning to the news that some jackass in Sacramento is proposing adding another 15 cents to the price of a gallon of gas to "fight global warming".  Gee, what great timing.  Just as we prepare for our annual "pantsing" by the IRS and their equally voracious vampire brotheren at the state franchise tax board they want us to take it in the neck once again at the gas pump.  It wouldn't be so bad if the money actually went to something useful but, no matter what the feds or the state stooges say, tax money is always destined for the pockets of constituents who promise to re-elect the criminal dipshits in charge.  Since I arrived in California in the late 70's there have been countless taxes imposed to either fix our highways or educate the kids and in spite of it all the roads are worse than ever and the kids in public schools can't do long division, tell you who we fought in World War II, or find their ass with a flashlight.

Our delta smelt are doing just fine, thank you.  You may have heard that we are having a dry year here in the Golden State.  We actually have reservoirs and a system of aqueducts and storage tanks designed to hang on to rain and mountain runoff during the wet years to help out when we have a dry spell.  HOWEVER, because of environmental special interest loons, we have essentially dismantled the system by diverting water meant for the farms in the Central Valley to flush the ever popular delta smelt all the way to the ocean.  Three million acre feet of water splashed away for smelt while we take a $45 billion dollar hit to agriculture as farm land goes fallow.  Farmers are going under and workers are losing their jobs but liberal idealists sleep comfortably because they "feel good" about saving their little fish friends.  Also, our dithering and ever "assessing the situation" president has promised $2 billion in relief from the bankrupt federal coffers.  Just what a taxpayer wants to hear--an out of town two party too small check from a deadbeat relative.

Wow!  That felt good to vent.  I return to my tax chores refreshed and excited because I know we have made the right decision to leave this state.  Later this year my wife and I head north to join other California expats in the panhandle of Idaho where taxes are low, people are friendly, and the smelt--rolled in cornmeal and fried in olive oil-- are for eating.

Snow? Now, In MY Day...

Cold, wet, gray, ahh…winter!

I don't know what all the fuss is about.  When I was a wee tad of a lad living on the frozen tundra that is the upper Midwest we had snow every winter--LOTS of it.

My brother and I would be driven from our warm beds each weekday morning to shovel out dad's car so that he could hit the road early.  We bitched and moaned through clenched frostbitten teeth as we heaved the hideous icy wetness aside.  About half of each payload would blow back in our faces as we swore oaths to never ever live in a place so godawful miserable.  Iowa snow was the worst.  Every year we received somewhere in excess of eighty inches from Satan's deep freeze.  Our morning shoveling would usually last until we made it home from school and were required yet again to take up arms against the beast so that dad could wheel into the driveway in time for supper.  

Is it any wonder that I headed for warmer climes the instant the opportunity presented itself?  

I have now lived apart from real winter weather since 1973 and don't miss it for a minute.  Maybe that distance from mittens, overcoats, boots and all that icy weather is why I am frankly surprised at the general pantywaist response to this season's harshness by folks who frankly are getting what's coming to them.  Every day I see countless Americans whining and complaining about how horrible the weather is and how they've "never seen snow and cold like this."

My response?  Shut the hell up and NUT UP!  No more sniveling!  It can't be as bad as when I was a boy.  Back then we took a face full of snow and came back for more!

Now, if you'll excuse me, the door to the patio just blew open.  It's down to 79 in my backyard.  I need to find a sweater.  I wonder if I have enough wood for the fireplace.

Oh the humanity!

My brother and I could have used one of these back in the 60's.

It's Magic! Maggie Does Card Tricks

My old high school pal, Bernie Shine, has been practicing magic since he was a little kid.  I remember him working birthday parties and other events for money when the rest of us were doing things like bagging groceries or baling hay for money.  Let's face it, he was an anomaly.  His family of four represented the only Jewish people living in Spencer, Iowa at the time and when he left for college in Arizona his exit represented a 25% loss for the chosen people.  Bernie tries to embellish this by claiming a parade was held in celebration.  This is apocryphal, but damn funny.  He's a funny guy.

Bern put himself through USC law school, after graduating from Arizona State, by working at the Magic Castle in Los Angeles.  He was a magician performing in an establishment exclusively by and for professional magicians.   As mentioned, the guy is good.

After several successful years as an attorney and entrepreneur--he recently sold his Shine Gallery memorabilia emporium--he is now semi-retired and living the good life in one of L.A.'s tonier zip codes.  Naturally he still dabbles in magic and is constantly working on new feats of amazement.  We saw a phenomenal new card trick he has developed when we visited him last week.  

The Great Bernardo lately has a new lady in his life.  Maggie, a dog he claims not to own, is the smartest canine in at least six counties.  She OWNS Bernie and just about every other human she meets.  Maggie, now hanging with Bernie pretty much full time, has even developed a penchant for magic.  Check her out on these two You Tube videos.