Americans are not much concerned by self inflicted brain damage. This novel, probably controversial and maybe heretical thought occurred to me as I steered the Guzzler Deluxe down the road towards yet another of our seemingly endless Doctor appointments. One of the benefits of getting old is being able to leave the house almost everyday on an expedition to a new Doctor's office. It's a great way to get to know the town a little better, and provides idle time which allows idle thoughts to occupy your mind.
The act of driving a car is, for the most part, a boring job. Push this pedal to go, that one to stop. Mostly driving is about looking for objects outside the car, and deciding if it would be more fun to hit the object or to avoid it. Personally, I prefer to hit small things and avoid larger ones. It's a matter of convenience, and of expense. Running over small things does not cause loss of the use of the vehicle, and therefore there is no associated expense of regaining that use. And, there's a lot of fun to be had bouncing over small objects. I smile much more if I'm bouncing along than I do when the road is boringly smooth. Aiming the tires at, and flattening, a discarded soup can is a thrill, I tell you, and I'll do it every time I get the chance.
For all you other thrill seekers, I'll award bonus thrill points if you manage only one thump while running over the soup can. Mostly there's a thump-thump, but expert drivers will be able to produce only one thump per can. Try it- you'll like it! But, if traveling at any speed above ten miles per hour while trying to collect these bonus points, be sure to have full insurance coverage and a current, fully paid policy in effect.
So anyway, as I was driving along looking for cheap thrills today, I noticed a bunch of folks were talking on their cell phones as they passed me. I used to pass five cars for every one that passed mine, but sadly that ratio is reversed these days. Getting my foot from the gas pedal to the brake takes more time than it used to, and I question my immortality more often than I did in my youth. It's enough to make me drive in the slow lane.
Well, I was dumbfounded. Now all you guys know I don't carry a cell phone - I consider it a leash and besides, if I want some ten dollar an hour guy with a headset over his ears, who gets a paycheck from our Uncle Sam, to know where I am 24 hours a day, he can darn well knock on my door and ask. I may or may not tell him, depending on the size of his gun.
What left me dumbfounded was not the fact they carried a cell phone, but the fact it was actually being used for something other than a camera or a watch. I heard just the other day the stinkin' things are actually modern versions of Flash Gordon's ray guns and they can cook your brains. Well, maybe they can cook your brains. But, ya know, for twenty or thirty years the government studies found only that "Cigarette Smoking May Be Harmful To Your Health." There's one heck of a lobby for the cigarette industry that was able to keep the sorry information that the things would actually kill you from being broadcast far and wide. I'm guessing there is one heck of a lobby for the cell phone industry that these days is keeping the sorry........you figure it out.
"Sure", you say, "he hates cell phones so he's just tryin' to scare the livin' daylights out of me so I'll quit using mine." You may be right. I do hate the things and wish they'd all just be thrown in some lake, hopefully one without any fish because I'm bettin' the phones will cook the fish too. But, cell phones or not, there's other evidence Americans are busy turning their brains to mush on purpose.
How else can all the rehab places be explained? Every town with a population of over 50,000 has at least one hidden somewhere in the middle of a middle class subdivision (after a lengthy fight by the surrounding homeowners) and needs another one. Those things are all the result of popping pills or strong drink, placed inside a body by the person to whom it belongs.
And, a lot of those pills were legally obtained. It seems that's another way we're turning our minds to mush. It takes a bunch of pills to get us through the day. And no wonder - too many cell phones - and other electronic distractions. They keep jarring us to attention and we need some rest.
When all the oil runs out, and it will, I'm betting there will be at least one positive result. We won't need so many pills to calm us. Maybe, there's some hope that because of that event we'll all get a little smarter. Our brains will clear and we'll actually use them to survive, as we once did, and not merely to cope with the distracting gadgets in our modern world.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Does Anybody Know?
A buddy told me of a guy he used to run around with this afternoon. They finally found him - he'd been missing for a little more than two months.
Three years ago this man, who's body was identified last week from the dental work in his teeth, had a wife, a family, two houses and a good paying job. His two kids were doing well in college and his future was both bright and secure. First thing he lost his was his job.
Joe was OK for the first year, savings and unemployment - and drastic cuts in lifestyle - allowed him to keep both kids in school another year and one of them graduated. He kept in touch with most of his acquaintances and all of his friends that first year, and often joked about knowing what retirement was all about. His cobra plan at work was expensive, but he managed to pay for it. My friend knows this because by the end of that first year, he had started to complain about the cost.
He said he was gonna have to drop the coverage because the guy who rented their second house had lost HIS job and moved out. He now had two house payments each month, but it was gonna be OK - he was putting both houses on the market and for sure one or the other would sell. Neither did, and by the end of the second year without a job, both of his houses were gone. The bank would not allow short sales, and he owed more than they were worth. The boat, snowmobiles and jet skis were also long gone. And now, so was the unemployment check.
His wife, who was almost twenty years younger, was the next to go. It was his second marrige to end in disaster. She had had enough of a loser, to hear him tell it, and she just left. My friend did not know where she had gone, Joe didn't say. He learned of this development when he last saw Joe, a little over four months back.
According to the newspaper, the police were notified he was missing when his new landlord knocked on the door to his room while trying to collect back rent. All his stuff was there, but no Joe. I have no idea how long nor how thoroughly the cops searched; my friend got a call from them asking if he had any idea where Joe was so they must have spent some effort looking, but didn't find a thing.
Hikers found and reported the remains a couple of weeks ago beside a stream in the mountains a little southeast of Phoenix. There was no car, no camping gear, no fishing stuff. He was just there by himself, alone beside the stream. There was nothing there with which to identify him, so it took awhile before the notice appeared in the paper. There was no funeral, just an item in the paper stating the remains that had been found were his.
He had worked hard all his life, raised two families and educated all his children. He made his own way, in this hard land we call America, for sixty years. He took care of his own, minded his business, never caused any problems and put smiles on the faces of his friends for years.
How is it a man like this, who played by the rules all his life, was left by everyone to die alone. Penniless, broken, deserted. My friend wanted to know the answer.
I told him I just don't know.
Three years ago this man, who's body was identified last week from the dental work in his teeth, had a wife, a family, two houses and a good paying job. His two kids were doing well in college and his future was both bright and secure. First thing he lost his was his job.
Joe was OK for the first year, savings and unemployment - and drastic cuts in lifestyle - allowed him to keep both kids in school another year and one of them graduated. He kept in touch with most of his acquaintances and all of his friends that first year, and often joked about knowing what retirement was all about. His cobra plan at work was expensive, but he managed to pay for it. My friend knows this because by the end of that first year, he had started to complain about the cost.
He said he was gonna have to drop the coverage because the guy who rented their second house had lost HIS job and moved out. He now had two house payments each month, but it was gonna be OK - he was putting both houses on the market and for sure one or the other would sell. Neither did, and by the end of the second year without a job, both of his houses were gone. The bank would not allow short sales, and he owed more than they were worth. The boat, snowmobiles and jet skis were also long gone. And now, so was the unemployment check.
His wife, who was almost twenty years younger, was the next to go. It was his second marrige to end in disaster. She had had enough of a loser, to hear him tell it, and she just left. My friend did not know where she had gone, Joe didn't say. He learned of this development when he last saw Joe, a little over four months back.
According to the newspaper, the police were notified he was missing when his new landlord knocked on the door to his room while trying to collect back rent. All his stuff was there, but no Joe. I have no idea how long nor how thoroughly the cops searched; my friend got a call from them asking if he had any idea where Joe was so they must have spent some effort looking, but didn't find a thing.
Hikers found and reported the remains a couple of weeks ago beside a stream in the mountains a little southeast of Phoenix. There was no car, no camping gear, no fishing stuff. He was just there by himself, alone beside the stream. There was nothing there with which to identify him, so it took awhile before the notice appeared in the paper. There was no funeral, just an item in the paper stating the remains that had been found were his.
He had worked hard all his life, raised two families and educated all his children. He made his own way, in this hard land we call America, for sixty years. He took care of his own, minded his business, never caused any problems and put smiles on the faces of his friends for years.
How is it a man like this, who played by the rules all his life, was left by everyone to die alone. Penniless, broken, deserted. My friend wanted to know the answer.
I told him I just don't know.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Stumblin' Through
Every now and again I think about me, yeah, ME, being the "older generation". Ya know, that scares me. When I was a kid growing up, there were always old guys around who knew the ropes. Whenever I had a question, some older guy was around who had done that, been there, and knew how.
Well, these days all the older guys are hard of hearing. And, even after shouting the question fourteen times, until it is understood, it's real easy to see from the answers they give that even more of the gray matter has disappeared from between their ears than has vanished from that same space in my head. That means, fellow travelers, My Time Has Come. I'm 'sposed to be the old guy who has all the answers.
The only problem with this is I haven't yet read all the questions. No way am I prepared to take the test. If you ask me how to build a functioning sewing machine cabinet from a pile of wood - I'm the MAN. But, ask me how the hell to replace the children in Washington DC who run this nation with responsible adults and I haven't a clue.
Ask me how to plant and harvest row crops. I can help with that. Ask me how to keep a crook from becoming the President of a Too Big To Fail investment bank and I'll say "Uh...Uh. I donno." I'll say that after you've asked fourteen times; first I'll pretend to be hard of hearing like the old folks in my own life.
From everything I've been able to see and learn, it's all BS. All of it. The only thing that matters is that you can get up in the morning, and that you have a very special someone with whom to share the new day. And, that you do a good job of the tasks you are given on this day, the one you have now. I've gotten old enough to realize we're all stumblin' through this life we have. Doin' the best we can.
And, it doesn't matter one bit if we're stumblin' through as a bank teller or President of these here United States of the USA. We're all just stumblin' through. That, my friend, is even more scary than realizing I'm the old guy.
Nobody, not the guy on the corner with the sign advertising he'll work for food, not even the President of this vast nation nor all his men, has a stinkin' clue.
Well, these days all the older guys are hard of hearing. And, even after shouting the question fourteen times, until it is understood, it's real easy to see from the answers they give that even more of the gray matter has disappeared from between their ears than has vanished from that same space in my head. That means, fellow travelers, My Time Has Come. I'm 'sposed to be the old guy who has all the answers.
The only problem with this is I haven't yet read all the questions. No way am I prepared to take the test. If you ask me how to build a functioning sewing machine cabinet from a pile of wood - I'm the MAN. But, ask me how the hell to replace the children in Washington DC who run this nation with responsible adults and I haven't a clue.
Ask me how to plant and harvest row crops. I can help with that. Ask me how to keep a crook from becoming the President of a Too Big To Fail investment bank and I'll say "Uh...Uh. I donno." I'll say that after you've asked fourteen times; first I'll pretend to be hard of hearing like the old folks in my own life.
From everything I've been able to see and learn, it's all BS. All of it. The only thing that matters is that you can get up in the morning, and that you have a very special someone with whom to share the new day. And, that you do a good job of the tasks you are given on this day, the one you have now. I've gotten old enough to realize we're all stumblin' through this life we have. Doin' the best we can.
And, it doesn't matter one bit if we're stumblin' through as a bank teller or President of these here United States of the USA. We're all just stumblin' through. That, my friend, is even more scary than realizing I'm the old guy.
Nobody, not the guy on the corner with the sign advertising he'll work for food, not even the President of this vast nation nor all his men, has a stinkin' clue.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
One of these Days
"To the moon, Alice. To the moon." Ol' Jackie Gleason would say to his wife while brandishing a closed fist in the air above his head. "To the moon." Fifteen minutes after that he'd be apologizing to her for the latest outlandish mistake he had made. The poor guy; he should have stuck to driving the bus.
Five or six years later, John Kennedy was saying that to all of us. "To the moon, America. To the moon - by the end of this decade." And ya know what? We did it! Well, we can't do it any more. Last night I saw a shot of Jim Lovell in the crowd at the DC 4th of July celebration. That picture of him reminded me of the ads from the 90's featuring Iron Eyes Cody with a tear in his eye as the trash is thrown from a moving car.
We've trashed our space program, and I'm certain Jim has shed a tear or two because of that. One more flight, and the shuttle's gone. Don't worry, we're replacing it with .... uh, let's see..........I know! An Englishman with a great big smile and a pile of money to match! He and Burt Rutan can handle the space program. The American government has way more important stuff with which to deal. Like........uh.......I know! Fixing the budget. Yeah - that's it. Washington's gonna fix the budget.
They're gonna "reform" (repeat after me, reform equals gut) Social Security and Medicare. Then call themselves heroes.
But, first they're gonna fight over it and call everybody names till the whole nation is so tired of hearing about it we'll willingly allow the top 1% of the people to jet on down the road and ride Richard and Bert's E Ticket to space at $200,000 a pop. Just so they can go to parties and tell their friends about it.
"Fer God's sake, I jus' wish them a-holes 'ud just shut the hell up. Let me have a beer in peace. It's a hun' red an' two degrees outside, and I've been workin' all day. Martha, put the TV on the Simpson's. I'm tired of these big wigs spoutin' crap"
Forty years ago we were walking around on the moon - and today? The US government can put people on the space station, a mere couple of hundred miles away, only one more time. After that we have to thumb a ride from the Russians. I thought we won the space race.
One of these days, I guess I'm gonna have to wise up.. There's a bunch of stuff I must learn to deal with. We lost the space race. We lost the wars - every one of them since WWII. We lost the lead. We lost the economy. We lost our decency. We lost our integrity. We lost our way.
It seems Paul Simon had more insight than anyone else in our times. Almost forty-five years ago it was he who first realized we had gone astray and asked, "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns it's lonely eyes to you. "
Five or six years later, John Kennedy was saying that to all of us. "To the moon, America. To the moon - by the end of this decade." And ya know what? We did it! Well, we can't do it any more. Last night I saw a shot of Jim Lovell in the crowd at the DC 4th of July celebration. That picture of him reminded me of the ads from the 90's featuring Iron Eyes Cody with a tear in his eye as the trash is thrown from a moving car.
We've trashed our space program, and I'm certain Jim has shed a tear or two because of that. One more flight, and the shuttle's gone. Don't worry, we're replacing it with .... uh, let's see..........I know! An Englishman with a great big smile and a pile of money to match! He and Burt Rutan can handle the space program. The American government has way more important stuff with which to deal. Like........uh.......I know! Fixing the budget. Yeah - that's it. Washington's gonna fix the budget.
They're gonna "reform" (repeat after me, reform equals gut) Social Security and Medicare. Then call themselves heroes.
But, first they're gonna fight over it and call everybody names till the whole nation is so tired of hearing about it we'll willingly allow the top 1% of the people to jet on down the road and ride Richard and Bert's E Ticket to space at $200,000 a pop. Just so they can go to parties and tell their friends about it.
"Fer God's sake, I jus' wish them a-holes 'ud just shut the hell up. Let me have a beer in peace. It's a hun' red an' two degrees outside, and I've been workin' all day. Martha, put the TV on the Simpson's. I'm tired of these big wigs spoutin' crap"
Forty years ago we were walking around on the moon - and today? The US government can put people on the space station, a mere couple of hundred miles away, only one more time. After that we have to thumb a ride from the Russians. I thought we won the space race.
One of these days, I guess I'm gonna have to wise up.. There's a bunch of stuff I must learn to deal with. We lost the space race. We lost the wars - every one of them since WWII. We lost the lead. We lost the economy. We lost our decency. We lost our integrity. We lost our way.
It seems Paul Simon had more insight than anyone else in our times. Almost forty-five years ago it was he who first realized we had gone astray and asked, "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns it's lonely eyes to you. "
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Three Thinkers
John Locke. David Hume. George Berkeley.
Put these names in your "to be researched and read" file. Reading their works is an essential part of being an American.
Every other blogger in the universe will have something to say about the American Declaration of Independence and Revolution today and tomorrow, and that's a good thing. We should be proud of what the founders of this nation brought to the planet - an entirely new way to govern a nation. The Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights, the documents they produced and which defined a novel way to run a government, were a turning point in the political arena of mankind.
I'm gonna pull an end run, and instead of talking about the birth of our nation, I'm gonna go back a couple of years before that event and mention men who were dead, one for over seven decades, before it happened.
The ideas our founders put to paper were not original - they were refined versions of the thinking of the men I listed at the start of this post. If you want to know what America can be - what it was meant to be - read what these three giants of intellect had to say. It won't take a long time, they all believed in brevity.
It will, however, take a while to understand them. As citizens and voters, all of us would be well served by the reading of their ideas. No politician should be allowed to be seated in any office without reading their works AND demonstrating understanding of what they had to say.
Oops. I forgot - politicians talk - they don't know how to read. And, there's a concert and BBQ tonight - tomorrow we're gonna be hung over. Oh well, maybe we'll have some free time next week.
Put these names in your "to be researched and read" file. Reading their works is an essential part of being an American.
Every other blogger in the universe will have something to say about the American Declaration of Independence and Revolution today and tomorrow, and that's a good thing. We should be proud of what the founders of this nation brought to the planet - an entirely new way to govern a nation. The Declaration of Independence, Constitution, and Bill of Rights, the documents they produced and which defined a novel way to run a government, were a turning point in the political arena of mankind.
I'm gonna pull an end run, and instead of talking about the birth of our nation, I'm gonna go back a couple of years before that event and mention men who were dead, one for over seven decades, before it happened.
The ideas our founders put to paper were not original - they were refined versions of the thinking of the men I listed at the start of this post. If you want to know what America can be - what it was meant to be - read what these three giants of intellect had to say. It won't take a long time, they all believed in brevity.
It will, however, take a while to understand them. As citizens and voters, all of us would be well served by the reading of their ideas. No politician should be allowed to be seated in any office without reading their works AND demonstrating understanding of what they had to say.
Oops. I forgot - politicians talk - they don't know how to read. And, there's a concert and BBQ tonight - tomorrow we're gonna be hung over. Oh well, maybe we'll have some free time next week.
Doggie DNA
Ya know, there are some things happening in this country that make me wonder. No, actually they make me want to turn off my computer and View No More. I'm not real sure of how any of this actually happened, but here's a likely scenario.
One morning, I believe it was in late June or early July, the year is unimportant to the tale, the Apartment Manager walked out her door to pick up the paper. She loved reading on her veranda in the cool mornings, it gave her an hour or so to herself before starting the daily chores.
Her paper, which she insisted be left on her porch, was instead in the south half of her front lawn, nearer the sidewalk than her door. "Must be a substitute carrier", she thought to herself, "my regular paperboy knows it needs to be on my porch EVERY day or he'll not get the 50 cent tip from me at the end of the month."
Now you and I know 50 cents will still buy a doughnut somewhere in Sierra Leone, if you're willing to dodge a stray bullet or two as you savor it's flavor, but it won't even buy a Baby Ruth candy bar in America these days. So, I'm sure you'll be as happy as I was to learn this selfish and stingy Grande Dame stepped in a freshly deposited pile of dog poop on her way to fetch the paper. Yep. Sank in almost to her ankle, and ruined her brand new slippers.
Ordinarily I'd say something like "Serves her right." and move on with my life. That's what I should have done this time too, because by sticking around, I was exposed to The Rest Of The Story. You old timers will recognize the title of Paul Harvey's long running broadcast. If you're too young to remember, I'm sorry for you. He was that good.
Well, remember she was THE Manager? The rest of the story is that later that month an order was issued from her office to all the tenants, who owned pets, requiring said pets to submit samples of their DNA. No more would pets be able to go unpunished for mornings alone. Owners would be required to either accompany pets and clean up after their morning rituals or pay a heavy fine.
I have no idea how you happen to look in the morning, before breakfast and before brushing both your hair and teeth, but I do know how I look. It's not a pleasant sight. In fact, I scare my dog in the mornings. He is unable to perform his ritual in my presence. He can only work alone.
If I can scare my dog, who depends on me for love and food, try to imagine the effect my appearance will have on you, being unencumbered by these attachments. Well, unless you happen to be Sandra Dee in her prime, I'm betting that dressed in a robe and slippers, you'd have the same effect on me. Folks our age just shouldn't be seen following our pets around early in the morning, in just our robes and slippers. No one within viewing distance will have a nice day, and it's just a really mean thing to do to someone at the start of their day. Might as well join the GOP and vote to take away Medicare.
When I read the story about tracing a dog's pile with the use of DNA obtained from samples of the dog's present to mother earth, my mind went into overload. Just how on God's green earth can we afford to waste good money DNA typing dog poop? Get real. People, this is just plain dumb.
If ya can't be responsible with your pet, don't get a pet. But it's still a funny story, at least it appeals to my whacked out sense of humor.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/02/us/02dogs.html?_r=1&ref=us
One morning, I believe it was in late June or early July, the year is unimportant to the tale, the Apartment Manager walked out her door to pick up the paper. She loved reading on her veranda in the cool mornings, it gave her an hour or so to herself before starting the daily chores.
Her paper, which she insisted be left on her porch, was instead in the south half of her front lawn, nearer the sidewalk than her door. "Must be a substitute carrier", she thought to herself, "my regular paperboy knows it needs to be on my porch EVERY day or he'll not get the 50 cent tip from me at the end of the month."
Now you and I know 50 cents will still buy a doughnut somewhere in Sierra Leone, if you're willing to dodge a stray bullet or two as you savor it's flavor, but it won't even buy a Baby Ruth candy bar in America these days. So, I'm sure you'll be as happy as I was to learn this selfish and stingy Grande Dame stepped in a freshly deposited pile of dog poop on her way to fetch the paper. Yep. Sank in almost to her ankle, and ruined her brand new slippers.
Ordinarily I'd say something like "Serves her right." and move on with my life. That's what I should have done this time too, because by sticking around, I was exposed to The Rest Of The Story. You old timers will recognize the title of Paul Harvey's long running broadcast. If you're too young to remember, I'm sorry for you. He was that good.
Well, remember she was THE Manager? The rest of the story is that later that month an order was issued from her office to all the tenants, who owned pets, requiring said pets to submit samples of their DNA. No more would pets be able to go unpunished for mornings alone. Owners would be required to either accompany pets and clean up after their morning rituals or pay a heavy fine.
I have no idea how you happen to look in the morning, before breakfast and before brushing both your hair and teeth, but I do know how I look. It's not a pleasant sight. In fact, I scare my dog in the mornings. He is unable to perform his ritual in my presence. He can only work alone.
If I can scare my dog, who depends on me for love and food, try to imagine the effect my appearance will have on you, being unencumbered by these attachments. Well, unless you happen to be Sandra Dee in her prime, I'm betting that dressed in a robe and slippers, you'd have the same effect on me. Folks our age just shouldn't be seen following our pets around early in the morning, in just our robes and slippers. No one within viewing distance will have a nice day, and it's just a really mean thing to do to someone at the start of their day. Might as well join the GOP and vote to take away Medicare.
When I read the story about tracing a dog's pile with the use of DNA obtained from samples of the dog's present to mother earth, my mind went into overload. Just how on God's green earth can we afford to waste good money DNA typing dog poop? Get real. People, this is just plain dumb.
If ya can't be responsible with your pet, don't get a pet. But it's still a funny story, at least it appeals to my whacked out sense of humor.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/02/us/02dogs.html?_r=1&ref=us
Friday, July 1, 2011
Slowing Down
It's becoming more difficult as time passes to find the opportunity to sit at my computer and write. More and more, my mind is occupied with other demands in my life.
I am not able to devote the energy to this blog that I was able to do when I started it. I still want to write every now and again, but future posts will be further apart, and their spacing will be determined by the time I have to spend here. For those of you who have stopped by daily, thanks.
And, please check back every once in a while. I apologise, but there are other facets in the current situation that require more of my attention.
I am not able to devote the energy to this blog that I was able to do when I started it. I still want to write every now and again, but future posts will be further apart, and their spacing will be determined by the time I have to spend here. For those of you who have stopped by daily, thanks.
And, please check back every once in a while. I apologise, but there are other facets in the current situation that require more of my attention.
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