Look at them. Chances are they’ll be looking back at you. If, while you are looking for them, you notice that everybody is looking at you…well, there you go. You are the Black Sheep in that family. Congratulations.
How does one become The Black Sheep? It starts early. In those formative years when the other kids in the family are setting up little lemonade stands there is one tyke, boy or girl, who starts their own business selling newspapers. What’s so wrong with that? Nothing except that, our lone wolf entrepreneur is selling yesterday’s newspapers to unsuspecting adults.
One of my weekly chores around the house is doing the Laundry. The Laundry must be done and somebody has to do it, and…
I AM SOMEBODY!
Doing the Laundry is not all that difficult. If I was Color Blind, Illiterate, and entirely Anti-Social it would be much harder to do. It would be horribly more taxing if I had to lug everything down to the banks of the Wabash River and beat our clothing on a flat rock. Luckily, I don’t have to that, but I’m still looking for a way out of this weekly chore.
I am trying to train the cat to do the Laundry.
ONE OF MY FAVORITE, AND I ADMIT DANGEROUS, HABITS IS EAVESDROPPING. I prefer to call it “Active Listening.” A number of other people call it “Snooping.” I think that sounds a mite nefarious and it makes me appear like an auditory Peeping Tom.
When I say that I eavesdrop I must assure you that 99% of it is passive. I sit there and the words come to me. I don’t have microphones and I don’t lean over or move close to others to pick up what is being said. My ears work – what can I say?
Throwback Thursday from April 2016 – “I’ll Need To Sleep On It”
SLEEP – I’M IN FAVOR OF IT. I’ve had years of practice doing it. I can do almost anyplace.
Whenever I sleep witnesses have sworn that I do it with my eyes closed. Not everyone does it that way. I know someone who sleeps with their eyes wide open. Talk about Spooky. This person was not a sleepwalker with his eyes open. Nope, this fellow could be in bed, tucked in, snoring like a locomotive, with his eyes open. I’m sure there is a scientific explanation as to how and why he does that. My five cent answer is that he was possessed by demons that never sleep and stay up all night watching infomercials. Yup, spooky.
I HAVE ARRIVED AT AN IMPASSE. I’m not sure anymore that I can define between what is Reality and what is a poorly written Situation Comedy. I watch what is going on around me and I keep waiting for things to cut away to a commercial for a “Wait! There’s more!” infomercial. Let me tell you what is going on here in lovely Terre Haute (That’s French for, “Run that past me again.”) and then you decide if I am in a real place or in a hallucination.
No names will be given because…just because, that’s why.
HERE WE ARE NEAR THE STUBBY END OF FEBRUARY and signs of life are returning to this frozen slice of the world. One of those indicators is the return of the Four-Legged Restaurant Critic to Terre Haute (That’s French for “Are you going to eat that?”). This town has more dining options than any town this side of West Terre Haute (That’s Portuguese for “Does anybody here speak French?”).
I like Mexican food. Unfortunately, it is difficult to find. There is a Taco Bell within hurling distance of where I am seated – no Mexican food there. Taco Bell has twice tried to open stores inside the nation of Mexico and twice they have failed to find an audience. ‘Nuff said.
OK…I’M AS FREE THINKING AS THE NEXT GUY and even more so than the guy next to him, but even I have to draw the line somewhere.
Not everyone in the world has good luck in dating and looking for true love.
The perfect, or rather highly imperfect, example of this comes in the person of Mr. Christian Nichols, 21, of Oldsmar, Florida. Mr. Nichols is currently incarcerated for “Looking for Love in all the wrong places.”
Today I have the pleasure of presenting a Reblog from the Witty and Insightful blogger:
Joanne Sarginson at “Some Words That Say What I Think”
Dogs have been man’s best friend for thousands of years and, as time has gone on, our four-legged companions have had many roles in human society.
Recently, a lot of dogs have become smaller to adapt to urban living conditions.
One of these small dogs lives down the road from me.
He is called Harold.
Visually, Harold is nothing short of angelic – he a sentient ball of fur, suspended a few inches above the ground by four stubby and extremely fluffy legs.
However, Harold cannot fathom the fact that he is a small dog.
His mind is completely out of sync with his body.
Although he is physically small in stature, I think that on some level, Harold whole-heartedly believes that he is a wolf.
As a result, he cannot comprehend why he is not treated with the same sense of reverence and awe as his fearsome and majestic ancestor.
Being called ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ does not sit well with Harold.
In fact, it makes him very angry.
He therefore feels a constant and unstoppable urge to establish himself and remind anyone or anything that strays into his immediate vicinity that he is a force to be reckoned with.
Harold’s has a severe case of ‘small dog syndrome’.
He is under the impression that, if he yaps with enough frequency and intensity, he will eventually be able to transform his deluded perception of himself into reality and convince everyone that he is, in fact, a big dog.
WINTERTIME IN INDIANA – ICY COLD, SNOW UP TO YOUR VASECTOMY SCARS, AND DEER EVERYWHERE. You can’t do much about the cold temperatures and it is pointless to worry about the snow. It is all of those deer that make things scary. They are everywhere and they all seem to be part of a suicide pact.
Maybe all of the 87 million deer within the Terre Haute (That’s French for “Look out, here they come!”) city limits have reached their own personal breaking point and have decided to end it all by leaping into traffic.
The number of deer/motor vehicle collisions around here is just plain ridiculous. The result is measured in bent metal insurance claims and venison hot links.
Zero wins – Two losses.
Throwback Thursday from 2017 – “A Head On Crèche”
ISN’T CREATIVITY A WONDERFUL THING? At this time of year the Muses are just busting through the doors and inspiring people in all sorts of ways.
I wish they would stop that.
Every year people with Inspiration, but no talent, go down to their local Crafts (No relation) Store armed with a credit card and an idea. What they “create” is then foisted on the rest of us.
I will now present a collection of the Christmas Season’s crop of horrible bad taste masquerading as Art. In absolutely no particular order.
Ladies and Gentlemen, the 2017 Weird Nativity Scene Art!
The Toyota is starting to have “Issues.”
I guess you could call it “Mechanical Problems,” but the car is running and moving OK – I just better not try to go anywhere if it is raining or snowing heavily.
The wipers stopped working in Mid-Drizzle yesterday.
A few years ago my wife, the lovely and much more photogenic, Dawn, and I toured the National Parks of the Southwest. We took pictures of the Grand Canyon, Antelope Canyon, and the rest. We did not take pictures of ourselves. I saw her there and she saw me – that was proof enough.
Throwback Thursday from October 2015 –
The dateline on the news item, and I use the word “News” very loosely, was Yekaterinburg, Kazakhstan. We’re talking Central Asia here, a place where I might think that isolation from – everywhere else – can play practical jokes with your brain. The gist of this story was something that the AAA magazine would never have printed I am sure.
It seems that motorists hurrying on their way to other parts of Kazakhstan saw a guy driving down the road with a live bear sitting in the backseat of his car. Up at the start of this posting is a picture of the bear in question hanging out of the car window, possibly asking for directions to the nearest asylum for the Seriously Wacky. I have to admit that if I was driving along and saw a bear in the car in front of me I would also try to get a picture – just to give to the driver’s family, in case things didn’t end peacefully, and the bear had lawyered up.
To give due credit to the local Kazakhstanian police, they did pull the guy over. One peek into the backseat and I’m sure those cops were wishing that they were going up against terrorists, drug-crazed bank robbers or even Mary Kay Sales Reps instead.
Cut to several steps closer to the chase – the Kazakhstanian CHiPs sent the guy on his way, along with his bear, but without any kind of traffic citation ticket.
It seems, that according to Kazakhstanian Law it is perfectly legal to drive around with a live bear in your car – provided that the bear is wearing a seatbelt – and the bear in the backseat was, indeed, wearing his seatbelt.
This whole thing brings several questions to mind.
How in the heck did the guy get the bear buckled up without being mauled into an early grave?
Since the bear allowed itself to be put in the backseat and properly belted in – I’m guessing that this was not the bear’s maiden voyage in a car. Just by the fact that the bear was in the backseat tells me that the guy wasn’t driving a Mini Cooper.
Was driver training next on the agenda?
Does this sort of thing go on in Kazakhstan often enough to warrant such safety conscious legislation?
Nowhere in the news item did it ever mention if anyone bothered to find out why the guy had the bear in the first place and where were they headed. I can’t imagine that there are too many spots one can go with your bear tagging along. I know that such places would be limited here, so I can imagine there would be fewer in, say, Yekaterinburg, Kazakhstan. At least I hope so.
In more local Terre Haute news (That’s French for “Bears under 100# must be in an approved car seat.”) bears have recently been spotted in northern Indiana. There is no word on whether or not these bears are émigrés from Kazakhstan or simply bears from the Detroit area looking for work.
When I saw this sign it made me come up with a number of questions – the first of which was, “What is an Angry Chicken?”
I can understand why any individual chicken might be angry at being cooked and eaten, but I’ve never really thought about a chicken’s moods.
I KNOW THAT IT IS A MATTER OF TASTE, but let’s be honest – with some people all of their taste is in their mouth. Not that there is anything wrong with that.
No, I say that, but I don’t really believe it.
What has me all a-twitter today is the subject of lawn ornaments.
There was not much I could say to that except, “And I hate Komodo Dragons. Now, can I get some coffee?”
As I stood there politely paying for my coffee I was presented with a non-stop confession of everything that was making the Barista unhappy. I was waiting to see if I had made her list. I didn’t.
Fiction Saturday – “Haight Street” – Conclusion
Pushing his aching body as fast as he could Luco arrived at the Arboretum Gardener’s Shed in fifteen minutes. He called out.
“I’m here, Thayer. Marlee, are you in there? Are you OK?”
Dennis was waiting.
“I’m sorry, Reyes. I’m afraid she’s a bit tied up right now.”
“Dennis, let her go. She’s not invol –“
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dennis screamed. This is my turf and I make the rules here.”
Luco paced back and forth knowing that every second that Dennis still held Marlee anything could happen.
“Dennis, let’s talk. Come on out here, face to face.”
Dennis looked at Luco through the window shutter, standing there. “Did you come alone, Coffee Boy?”
“Yes, Dennis, I’m alone.”
Inside the shed Dennis, grinning, turned to Marlee. “He came alone. He really is such a Boy Scout.
“Reyes, you come in here if you want to see your little ‘Nursey-Wursey.’ Now!