SOME SAY THAT THE WHEEL IS THE GREATEST OF ALL INVENTIONS. Others say it is fire, or the printing press. I disagree. I think that the greatest invention in the History of the Human Species is The Dollar Store.
Let me explain…
RIGHT NOW I AM BEING STRANGLED BY A BUNCH OF SNAKES. At least that is how it feels. There are power cords, headphone cords, charging cords, HDMI cords, and they’re coming for me! AIEEEEEEGH!
I’m beginning to feel like Samuel L. Jackson in that movie “Snakes On A Plane,” – which is, by the way, one of the funniest dramatic films ever made. I don’t think they planned it to be that, it just turned out that way.
My current situation is that the high-tech monster needs constant feeding. Everything needs to be plugged in somewhere. They are all on life support. Laptops, Netbooks, tablets, Kindles, Nooks, Cellular phones, and a few things I can’t even identify are reaching out with their snakelike cords to be fed. And what do they all need to be plugged into? A Power Strip which itself needs to be plugged into a wall socket.
Whenever I get up from my chair to cross the room these snakes reach out to trip me. They loop themselves around my ankles hoping that I’ll hit the ground so that they can pull a Burmese Python move on me. I have to be very careful. I tell you – I think that technology is out to get me. I’m almost afraid to go to sleep lest they come for me while I am sawing logs.
When computers began to appear in our offices and homes in the mid – 1980s the prediction 
was that they would relieve us from many tasks, giving us more free time to take up ballroom dancing or whatever. In the same way that we were all going to have “Paperless Offices”
That didn’t happen either, did it?
The reality is that in most offices the need for copies of any report expands to meet the capacity of printers and copiers to produce them. Offices are buried under an avalanche of paper – 90% of it pointless duplications of out of date information.
But I digress.
What can I do to solve my very personal Samuel L. Jackson situation?
I need to be fed, but so do the array of gizmos. I can understand that part of it. But I don’t need to be attached to my food by some long cord. I can take my food with me and devour it 
wherever and whenever I wish.
While doing some browsing on a technology website, hoping to find an answer, I saw that there are now “Charging Stations” where you just plop your gizmo onto the Charging Station – no cords – except for the cord coming out of the Charging Station itself. It’s not a complete answer, but it’s a start.
I’m hoping that someday soon all of our electronic thingys can operate while cordless and be rechargeable the same way. If things can progress to that state it will eliminate miles of cords that snarl and tangle their way around our feet. I’ll tell you – that day cannot come soon enough for me because I’m getting tired of all these *#$$@&&ing cords on this *#$$@&&ing floor.
THE OTHER DAY I BUMPED INTO A LITTLE FACTOID. It was about you, me, and everyone else on Earth. Unless you know something I don’t know all of us are natives of this planet. According to that factoid you and I live here on Earth which is one planet in our Solar System, which is part of our Galaxy – The Milky Way – and that our Galaxy is off by itself in the emptiest and most remote part of the visible Universe.
To the rest of the Universe we are off in the desert.
How did that happen? Do we have B.O.?
We are just back from Texas and our Annual Christmas Extravaganza and Food Riot. Everything went well. There were about 28 people around that tree – just like last year. Next year we anticipate the number to be at least one baby higher. The little ones from last year are a year older, bigger, and more frantically active. Two Twin Two-Year Olds in Non-Stop Motion. Picture a crowded room and in the middle of it is a Perpetual Motion Machine on Overdrive.
Katie, bar the door!
I HAVE BEEN MOST FORTUNATE. I lived in California for 25 years and never had to directly deal with the tragedy of wildfires. The closest I ever came was the horrible Oakland hills Fire in the early 1990s. That fire was across the Bay from me, but I did have coworkers who lost everything – escaping with their lives and the clothes on their backs.
Throwback Thursday from August 2015
IT HAS BEEN A QUIET MORNING.
After stumbling through the process of making tea and doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper I felt that I was sufficiently conscious to drive to St. Arbucks.
“Oh, great nectar from the mountains of Abyssinia, you awaken my mind and soul to all the wonders and possibilities of God’s creation.”
— From the Gospel of St. Arbucks, Patron Saint of Jittery people.
This afternoon, however, is a different story.
As I stepped out of the back door I was made immediately aware that things were happening – big time.
First of all my ears were assaulted by the cacophony of a million Cicadas nestled high in the treetops. There is no other sound quite like the half buzz, half whine of the ugliest insect around. I don’t know if these are the 5-year, 7-year or the 17-year Cicadas that seem to like this part of the country, but they are noisy. When they are going full blast it can make earplugs a nice accessory.
After regaining my equilibrium from the aural assault I headed to the car, but I stopped when I saw what is in the picture displayed above.
We had a bit of rain overnight and I think it inflated the mushroom that has been growing by the tree near the car. I have put a book into the picture to give you some idea of the size. It first popped up about three years ago and has somehow survived some truly bitter winters. Now it looks poised to take over the whole yard.
I’ve seen squirrels nibble at it and birds too, but I’d be afraid to sample it for fear that it might bite back. I have no idea what kind of mushroom it is other than Honking Big.
After snapping the picture of the Mega-Shroom I walked around to the driver’s side of the car and noticed yet another sign of activity.
We have either a collection of moles living in/under the backyard or the city is putting in a new subway tunnel, which would surprise the heck out of me because Terre Haute (That’s French for “Mama don’t ‘low no subways around here.”) doesn’t have a subway system. It barely has bus lines. I don’t think they’d want to dig too deep around here anyway – you never know who you might bring up.
It must be moles – lots of them. It looks like they’ve all been drinking too. None of the little raised piles of dirt go in a straight line for more than six inches.
Then again, maybe the moles haven’t been drinking. They might be disoriented from sampling that giant Magic Mushroom over by the tree.
Or maybe it’s those darn Cicadas. They make enough noise to drive me crazy – just imagine what they could do to the nervous system of a mole.
Wait a minute…
Did I just compare myself to a mole?
If someone else said that to me I would ask them to step outside, but under the circumstances I would find myself out there alone. Then what?
Besides, it’s too hot and muggy today, so I’ll just stay inside and give myself a stern talking to.
I will continue to monitor the activity in the backyard and report on any significant changes.
If you don’t hear from me – it’s the moles.
A Rose Is A Rose Is A .357 Magnum
I WAS WANDERING through the recently reconfigured aisles of the Kroger’s Supermarket this morning. Whenever they do make changes like that it takes a while for me to be able to find anything again. I end up having to go up and down all the aisles. I know that having me do that is the objective, but if I haven’t purchased canned lychee nuts in the last forty years I probably won’t be doing so anytime soon.
While I was cruising and looking for the rice I happened to pass the Magazine display. I hadn’t seen that before so I stopped and perused the selection of things I wouldn’t be purchasing.
There must be 300 different magazines there. I haven’t heard of 98% of them.
Ladybug! Ladybug!
Fly away home.
Your house is on fire.
And your children all gone.
All except one,
And that’s little Ann,
For she crept under
The frying pan.
I don’t think so.
WHEN I WOKE UP THIS MORNING I staggered into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. After the initial shock wore off I noticed that there was a Ladybug clinging to the middle of the glass. At first I thought that I had grown a very colorful zit overnight. I realized that it was not a zit when it started to move across the mirror. My zits rarely do that.
TIME TAKES ITS TOLL on things as well as on people. Fortunately it is easier to repair the things than it is to fix people. Stuff. When stuff breaks we can just call someone to come and make it all better.
While the hair on my head has gotten thinner with age so has the roof over our heads,
It recently became obvious that the time had come to put a new roof on our castle. Time, the ravages of weather and a couple of fallen tree limbs made the decision for us. It could be put off no longer. It had to be done – and soon. The soon to be arriving spring rains could not be allowed to inundate us as we slept.
“BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER” someone once said. It wasn’t me. I’m the kind of person who actually likes the sound of bagpipe music…in small doses. I once owned a car that was the same color as me – kind of a pasty, sickly, Eastern European – needs to get out more, flesh tone. People used to say that it looked like someone’s elbow coming down the street. So coming to me as an Arbiter of Beauty is risky business.
What brings this all up as a topic of conversation is – Wallpaper.
Throwback Thursday From March of 2015 –
“Reality! What A Concept.”
I heard something on TV last night that, at first, I thought was a gag, but after a minute or so, I realized was for real.
OUR LIFE IS BUSY ENOUGH THESE DAYS what with family business, New Doctors, Old Doctors, and the Christmas holiday season swirling about us like a ten speed blender with the lid off. We don’t need gnats.
Gnats, those little itty-bitty flying critters that come out of nowhere, annoy the heck out of you, and then fly away before you can get a good swat at them. I don’t know how they got in here, but I can tell you where I’d like them to go.
“LUCY, I’M HOME”
OK, so I don’t really know anybody named Lucy, but we are home – back in lovely Terre Haute (That’s French for “You don’t have an accent anymore.”)
After about ten days in the deep south we have crawled our way back north, into the land of, if not milk and honey, then Half and Half and Sweet n’ Low.
TODAY IS JUNE THE 6TH, A TUESDAY. It may be just one more day out of the 365 we will experience this year, but it also has some significance for me.
Being of a certain age this date is a reminder of a major event during WW II.
June, 6, 1944 was also known as “D – Day.” It marked the Allied invasion of the European continent leading to the defeat and destruction of Nazi Germany and the end of the war in Europe. That all came to a conclusion a little more than one year prior to my birth in July 1946.
THIS HAS BEEN ONE OF THOSE DAYS ALREADY. Up early to try to get in some writing, then coffee time at St. Arbucks, a trip to the pharmacy, and then to the bank, and to the everpresent Kroger.
What will be on the agenda for after 10 AM remains to be seen, but I’m not terribly hopeful?
On Wednesday . ..
From November 2015
Brace yourself, America! It’s that time of year again when,
all across the country, people will be preparing Thanksgiving Turkey Dinners by the millions.
For most it will be a joyous chore to feed family and friends, but for many it will be a challenge comparable to trying to fly to the moon in a lawn chair powered by some helium balloons from the dollar store.
Despair not, help is available!
This year, as it has for the past 34 years, the fine folks at Butterball will be running their Turkey Hotline to answer questions and help salvage those Thanksgiving dinners for the less than expert chefs. Not everybody can be Julia Child – nor would you want to be – she’s dead.
Over the past 34 years the folks answering the calls at Butterball from mystified cooks have had to both give clarifying information and not scream or laugh out loud at the same time.
“I carved my turkey with a chainsaw. Is the chain grease going to adversely affect my turkey?” The answer is YES, don’t serve it or it might kill someone. I can’t think of a worse way to top off Thanksgiving dinner than having the diners keeling over at the table.
“How do I roast my turkey so it gets golden brown tan lines in the shape of a bikini?” The recommendation was “strategically placed foil.” I really don’t want to know why they wanted this information. That is between them and their therapist or defense lawyer.
And then there was the man looking for a quick way to cook his turkey who put it in the oven in the self-cleaning mode. While that certainly would be quicker than recommended by Butterball, so would napalm or a thermonuclear explosion.
Finally, there was the woman who called the Hotline for advice on how to get her Chihuahua out of the turkey. Let’s not go any further with that one.
Most of the calls to the Hotline are, Thank God, rather mundane, such as:
“How long do I cook it?”
“How long does it take to thaw out?”
Thankfully, there are very few questions that are matters of life and death. But as one generation of cooks learns the ropes, along comes a new crop of would-be Emerils to pull the pin on a turkey grenade.
In the last decade or so the concept of deep frying the Thanksgiving turkey has caught on. Unfortunately, it seems to be most popular with men who think that, since they can change the oil in the pick-up truck, they can deep fry a turkey. It’s just a different kind of oil. Right?
Deep frying a turkey brings its own set of caveats, warnings and instructions, none of which bear any resemblance to servicing the Ford F-150.
The Butterball people list them on their website and instruction #1 hints at what must be a recurring problem among deep frying novices:
#1 – Before deep frying – take the wrapper off of the turkey!
Really? You mean I shouldn’t leave the little net bag and plastic wrapper and labels on the bird? Why not leave it in the plastic bag from the supermarket as well?
When you try deep frying your first turkey it is firmly suggested that you wait until the bird is completely thawed – unless you actually want a geyser of hot, and possibly flaming oil, launched over you, the kitchen and, eventually, the smoking ruins of your house. If this happens you might ask the firemen who will be putting out your house fire if they know the way to the nearest Denny’s or IHOP. Both places will be serving Thanksgiving dinner all day long.
Well, plans for Christmas are now in place. We will be flying down to Texas and spending a week or so visiting with Family. I can’t think of a better way to spend the Holidays. OK – maybe hitting the jackpot on the lottery while there would be better, but the odds are not in our favor.
My wife, the lovely and optimistic, Dawn will go for a “Quick Pick” lottery ticket on occasion. She doesn’t do it all the time. She has standards – the jackpot has to be at least $100 Million Dollars or it’s not worth the investment of a dollar bill. I can’t argue with that. It really is a game of “Go big or go home,” so she goes big and then goes home anyway.
RIGHT NOW I AM BEING STRANGLED BY A BUNCH OF SNAKES. At least that is how it feels. There are power cords, headphone cords, charging cords, HDMI cords, and they’re coming for me! AIEEEEEEGH!
I’m beginning to feel like Samuel L. Jackson in that movie “Snakes On A Plane,” – which is, by the way, one of the funniest dramatic films ever made. I don’t think they planned it to be that, it just turned out that way.
I TRY TO BE A GOOD NEIGHBOR. I REALLY DO. I don’t complain when their dog howls at every passing siren, or when their son, who will never grow up to be a professional athlete, accidently tosses a ball over the fence into our yard.
The neighbors are younger than us so I try to not be the cliché “Grumpy Next Door Neighbor.” However, yesterday I shook the young father’s world a bit. I’m almost ashamed of myself.
Almost.
LET’S FACE IT; I CAN NO LONGER SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT. It’s not Insomnia, or Noisy Neighbors. It’s something else called, “I gotta go potty.” This happens at least once each night, regardless of my fluid intake and that is why we have a small nightlight in the bathroom.
When I crawl out of bed in the middle of the night, more than half asleep, it is like a scene from the movie, “Poltergeist.”
“Go toward the light, Carol Ann! Go toward the light!”
Without that nightlight, well….I hate to think about it.
Down the Hall on Your Left 