My girl is coming to visit Bob in the Valley tomorrow night. We'll drink. We'll dine. What the hell, we might even dance.
And Bob will be singing to the wife. Here's my favorite song that I memorized long ago.
Check out. Sing along. And get drunk while you're at it and then . . .
Thursday, May 29, 2008
My girl is coming to visit Bob in the Valley tomorrow night. We'll drink. We'll dine. What the hell, we might even dance.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
I know, I know. The damn flowers are out of focus. I need a new camera this time with image stablization. With close-ups I am bound to blur things a bit for whatever reason. Always been that way. Some things never change.
So, another TMI. I'll let fly with some Bob responses. Here goes:
1. What lines have you used to let someone down gently.
This is just not working out. And if that didn't work, "Get the F out of here!"
2. If I gave you $10K to waste, what would you buy.
Burn the money just to see what 10k looks like on fire. You said waste it, didn't you?
3. If I gave you $10K, but you had to spend it all on someone else, what would you buy.
I'd buy that someone else a fishing pole on sale at Walmart for 6.99. Y
ou know the saying, buy someone a fish and they eat for one day. Teach them how to fish and they'll never go hungry.
With the rest of the money I saved by not buying this chump anything me and the wife would fly to Hawaii for 10 days.
4. If your partner brought a double dildo to bed, what would you think? I would be wondering where the other female she invited to the party was. But as the wife says when it comes to these things, "In your dreams, Bob-O, in your dreams".
5. What sounds to you make during sex.
CAW! CAW!! CAW!!!!!!
Bonus (as in optional): Tell your worst break up story.
Let's see, that has to be the one where the person sitting next to me grabbed the steering wheel out of my hands, put her foot on my foot on the gas pedal and as we sped down the road at about 100 she was yelling, 'ARE YOU REALLY SURE YOU WANT TO BREAK UP? DO YA, HUH? DO YA?"
Monday, May 26, 2008
Sorry about the last You Tube entry abeit incomplete. You got the idea Joyce Cooling was conveying even though abbreviated. Here's one more to start the drive back to the Valley: Outlaw in the City. There is no mistaking the style of Craig Chaquico.
Tomorrow is workday in the Valley which means it is time to pack up and think about drive 100 miles East of Cow Town.
This trek represents the last time I'll be doing this for I will spend (with the wife) the next two weekends in the Valley. There are weekend festivities that I should attend. For the next two Fridays the wife will pack her car, load the dogs and drive that 100 miles instead of yours truly.
I've developed several riendships in the Valley, ones that will last for sometime to come. We'll have dinner with our new friends on each of the weekends, see the sights, walk the dogs, enjoy the last hurrah of my being in this business.
Last hurrah? Yes, I think it will be the very last. The money is exceptional but the stress that comes with it so very great. I ask myself is the stress worth it? I also ask myself how much is enough and how much stress can a body take.
They say stress is a killer and I have had more than my share - enough to probably kill off a dozen people, yet here I still stand and for my age, close to a picture of health considering others in this age group. They look so ancient and broken down in comparison that I often ask myself, "They were born the same year that I was? What happened to them?"
The wife is traveling to Spain for vacation nearly as soon as I return to Cow Town. In her absence it will be my duty (are there any end to duties in this life?!) to care for the dogs, care for Grace while her mother toils at the truck repair shop, water the plants, trim the shrubs, oversee the properties, etc. The list could go on and on. We're the end product of having too many things in this life. When you have "things" the responsibilities and the time requirements grow.
Speaking of too many things, did you see the film, Into the Wild? It is based on a true story about a young man who, after graduating from a university, decided to give up everything (including his family) and hitchhike around the country. His story ends in Alaska. The odyssey that he embarked upon is interesting to observe as it unfolds. While the film is slow in parts it is nonetheless captivating. Check it out.
Time to write out a few checks, clean out the truck, fill it with $5.10 a gallon diesel and start packing. Yes, $5.10 a gallon.
On this Memorial Day remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice to keep America free. There is a price to pay for democracy.
The picture posted here? It was taken on the way back to the Valley house at sunset one evening last week. It is a westerly view of Mt. Shasta. Always breathtaking.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Yesterday I took time to visit Grace's school which also used to be my place of employment. While the idea was for me to spend time in Grace's classroom, I took time to visit some of my favorite people including Linda.
Linda: I like your hair longer.
Me: I just haven't taken time to get a haircut. Know what, I like it long, too. It used to be a lot longer back in the day.
When Max comes home from Korea for a visit he scans some of the old photos to take back to share with his lady friend. Here's one with Max and Papa Watson.
Once in a while someone would ask me if I was part Latino. I'd give them a strange look and ask why they thought that since yours truly has a European heritage (Irish, Dutch, English).
Looking at this particular picture this morning I think that I kind of look like the Cisco Kid, complete with all the hair to go with that title. Yes, there was a touch of Latino in Old Bob if only on the surface. What do you think?
At the time this picture was taken I was in my third year of teaching. It's surprising to me to remember that I allowed my hair to remain pretty much the way it was during my college years.
Damn, that was a mighty fine head of hair.
Linda, I got a haircut yesterday. The cutter only took a bit off. It's still longer than you're used to seeing albeit less of a head of hair that's pictured here. Who knows, maybe I still grow a crop of hair like that again.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Do you know what the letters B.F.D. mean?
F_ _ _ _ _ _ _
I've spelling that word before. Don't ask me why I've changed my mind about spelling it again.
Anyway, the BFD is a club in the Valley. Lots of people belong to it. There are so many people who are members they were able to buy a clubhouse for their meetings. And so many people come to their meetings they had to put in three large doors so everyone didn't have to wait in line to get in. Check out the picture. The BFD club has been in this place since 1939. That's a BFD in itself.
To be a member of the BFD club is a big deal. You have to be able to prove that you've done one thing that was a big fucking deal. I think I just spelled out the F word. Sorry.
Take for example one member, Mary Jo. She's been married 6 times. Now that's a big fucking deal and why Mary Jo is a member.
Cooter is a member of the BFD club. To get in Cooter had to prove that at 45 he's still the Hill Billy virgin of the Valley. Don't ask how he proved that. I am told that somehow he did.
The BFD club has a secret handshake that really is a BFD. You have to be a member to know how to do the handshake. Must be a BFD to be kept a secret for so long.
I tried to get into the BFD club but things that I thought were a BFD were not a BFD to the BFD membership committee.
When the committee told me I didn't make the cut I said, "Big fucking deal!" and left.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
As a teen we'd often say, "Let's go out get plowed Friday night." We were not farmers. We were beer drinkers.
Getting plowed was equal to being plowed under by a tractor 'cause we got so blasted.
This time of year they're plowing it under in the Valley. Dirt, that is. That's what being plowed under.
I'll miss the beauty of the Valley. I will not miss the bullshit that goes with this M'f-ing job. There are easier ways to make a living.
"Hi, welcome to Jack in the Box. My name is Bob. Can I take your order, please?"
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
1. How many credit cards do you own? Are they paid off?
About a dozen. They're all paid off. We clear any card account amount every month completely.
2. Can you be in love with someone you don't trust?
That's why I could never be George Bush's lover.
3. Should prostitution be legal?
Only if it's free.
4. On a scale of 1-10, how good of a lover do you think you are? (1 is lowest, 10 is highest).
Depends on how much beer and Viagra I've had.
5. What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?
The comment, "I only sleep with women".
Passing gas and blaming it on the dog.
Bragging about how many STD's they have.
Bonus (as in optional): Tell us about your worst date ever.
Bob has been too disciminate to ever have a worst date ever.
My day today:
Parent complaint that an employee slapped a five year old. I spent more than half the day taking statements.
Parent complaint that one of the teachers didn't do diddly this year. I meet with the teacher and like his teaching techniques, he's clueless.
Grievances submitted by the union (4 of them).
Interviews for my replacement came up empty. Looks like it's back to the drawing board. And folks, I am not doing this job for another year. Not!
Why do problems come in bunches or by the dozen? I've got 11 days left on this job (plus another five if I want the work). Freedom never looked so good.
Like E.T. in the movie I point my finger to the west and shout, HOME! HOME!.
It was just under 100 yesterday. Sunny. Today it's 60 something and raining. I am hearing thunder heading this way. Go figure. Guess summer is over.
The ducks here are right alongside the highway making a small pond (but really a ditch) their home. There are other ducks, babies, but they skitter away whenever I pull up to take a picture. They're sooooo cute! I just had to take this picture.
Tomorrow is another day. Please. Tell me tomorrow is another day!
Monday, May 19, 2008
When you live in Cow Town or in the Valley, there are no rites of spring.
We go from shit deep in snow, colder than a witches tit in December to summer.
If you follow this rag of a blog you'll know that it wasn't long ago that it snowed here. Over the past few days we've had upwards of close to 100 here in the Valley to a record high of 106 in Cow Town on Saturday.
It's summer. Ding! Make note of that.
No spring - or summer would be complete without a picture of the assortment of roses the wife has in the garden. She has a story about every one of her rose bushes. I ask, how do women keep track and remember this kind of stuff. Like I remember which plant was near and dear to some member of my family? The wife does.
Maybe this is why they're from Venus and us guys (right, Fox?) are from Mars. To my fellow Martians out there - it's okay! Drink your beer and don't worry about the small stuff. The women from Venus will take care of that.
It's close to 100 in the Valley. It's summer. I'm loving it.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
I often find an aisle in the supermarket without any shoppers. Then I let it rip. CAW! CAW! CAW! Martin Denny sound effects come out of me and I can't help it.
Me: I feel like cawing.
Wife: Take your Martin Denny ass and your cawing out of the store!
Me: CAW! I mean okay, I'm out of here!
In three weeks Grace will have completed her kindergarten year. Here's Grace a year ago with her kindergarten teacher, Miss Lori.
A year later Grace knows letters, sounds and numbers and she can write them. She can write a story that makes sense, add, kind of subtract, and read. With Miss Lori's guidance and teaching techniques, Grace has blossomed. My family will be forever indebted to her.
This morning I reflected on Grace's growth and Robert Fulgham's thoughts on kindergarten came to mind. Here they are:
"All I really need to know about how to live and what to do and how to be I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sand pile at school.
These are the things I learned:
~~Don't hit people.
~~Put things back where you found them.
~~Clean up your own mess.
~~Don't take things that aren't yours.
~~Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
~~Wash your hands before you eat.
~~Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you.
~~Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
~~Take a nap every afternoon.
~~When you go out in the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together.
~~Be aware of wonder. Remember the little seed in the Styrofoam cup: the roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.
~~Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup - they all die. So do we.
~~And then remember the Dick-and-Jane books and the first word you learned - the biggest word of all - LOOK.
Everything you need to know is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.
Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into sophisticated adult terms and apply it to your family life or your work or government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think what a better world it would be if we all - the whole world - had cookies and milk at about 3 o'clock in the afternoon and then lay down with our blankies for a nap. Or if all governments had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.
And it is still true, no matter how old you are, when you go out in the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together."
And this, Miss Lori, is exactly what you've imparted to our grandchild. We can never thank you enough. You're the best!
Saturday, May 17, 2008
With the job in the Valley winding down my thoughts have been turning to time off and vacation.
Two years ago we traveled to Crater Lake (pictured here) and Diamond Lake Oregon.
Yes, Crate Lake is really that beautiful. It's a hike down this hill to the lake. It's even more of a hike coming back up. Steep, steep, steep!
Our thoughts still go in the direction of climbing Mt. Thielsen. It overlooks Diamond Lake and a forest that's close to Crater Lake.
The top of Thielsen has been hit by lightning so many times I am told that the rock has been turned into glass.
There's a box at the tippy top. People write their name on a piece of paper and put it in the box.
It's about a half day's climb up the mountain and a couple of hours coming back down. Barring any problems with a clogged artery, the climb should be a piece of cake.
It's 230 miles to Diamond Lake from Cow Town. At 8 miles to the gallon it will take about 57 gallons of diesel to pull the trailer to the campground. Round trip with diesel prices where they are today and it will take $270 just for fuel alone.
Being on vacation means that I become Fuzzy Wuzzy. I hate shaving. The opportunity to not shave after 10 months of having to shave for work is most appealing.
Oh, how I'm looking forward to the days where I can abandon the razor and let it all hang out.
We're thinking September, right after Labor Day, to take this trip. The kids will be in school. The campground will most be populated with only a few people.
The question is, can I wait until September?
Friday, May 16, 2008
I posted the lyrics to Brick House on Ms SD'S Blog 'cause Ms. SD is a BRICK HOUSE. Check out out Sexy Duet is you don't believe me.
Here they are: Sing along.
She's a brick----house
Mighty mighty, just lettin' it all hang out
She's a brick----house
The lady's stacked and that's a fact,
ain't holding nothing back.
She's a brick----house
She's the one, the only one,
who's built like a amazon
We're together everybody knows,
and here's how the story goes.
1. She knows she got everything
a woman needs to get a man, yeah.
How can she use, the things she use
36-24-36, what a winning hand!
2. The clothes she wears, the sexy ways,
make an old man wish for younger days
She knows she's built and knows how to please
Sure enough to knock a man to his knees
Shake it down, shake it down now (repeat)
105 degrees Fahrenheit converted to Celsius is 40.55 degrees.
It's hot but you know what? It's a dry heat and I love it. Being half lizard 105/40.55 degrees is hot stuff we just have to love.
It will get much hotter this summer. It is not unusual to hit 117F/47.22 degrees in Cow Town. Frying eggs on the sidewalk does save energy that can be used to run the air conditioner.
Bushes bloom in the Valley. Here they are. Pink.
It's home tonight in Cow Town. I need it. The week has been hectic. In old school terms: Most of the time I didn't know whether to shit or go blind. Back in the day everyone would say that when a situation was out of hand.
This week brought lots of problems, lots of stress. Does stress take years off of your life? Hmm.
It will be nice to be still for a couple of days. The need to reflect is absent from my every day routine but recovered during the weekend.
Time to sit and go ommmmmmmm......
Happy Friday everyone.
Oh yes, I've been invited to a French Luau this weekend. You must have attended one once in your life. They're really a lot of fun but different.
A Hawaiian Luau is when the men sleep with the women and eat the pig. . . .
A French Luau is . . . . . . :)
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
First, lest we get confused, this is Zinnia or Zeenee, the newest addition to Bob's family. She's smart. She's a puppy. She's all over the board.
You've seen dogs that run around with their butt lowered and run and run and run. That's our Zeenee. Like our long lost girl Jilli, rest her soul, Zeenee has spunk, attitude and the mind to be a champion.
Okay, the dogs in the stock trailer. Another call to Animal Control today:
Me: I'm in the computer. You don't need the information again just take it from the computer.
He: I need it to write the complaint.
Me: Can't you just take it from the computer? I've made four calls and they're all on the the computer.
He: No, I need it again so I can write the complaint.
Me: Okay. Here it is again. By the way, is it true that you guys only come this way once a month?
Me: I hope these poor dogs last until then.
While I was talking to Animal Regulation on the telephone I noticed a dog come across the way from another part of the six duplex unit where I'm living. The dog is new to our complex as is his owner.
The dog pisses on my truck wheels tires. Dogs pissing on my wheels and tires is what fights are made of.
Bingo, brainstorm. It hits me with an idea. How to get Animal Control to come out sooner rather than later.
I walk over to where this dog lives and knock on the door. A man in wheelchair answers it.
Me: Your dog just pissed on my wheels and tires. That's not gonna cut it around here.
Guy: Big deal, so what?
Me: Well, here's so what - next time your dog pisses on my wheels I'm gonna shoot him.
Since he's in a wheelchair, I know this guy is not going to come out and kick my butt for threatening to shoot his dog. But you ou can bet he'll call Animal Regulation who is going to come out to the Valley sooner and not 30 days later, find my ass, chew it out, makes threats, and try to make me look like a sorry son of a bitch for threatening to shoot a dog who pisses on my wheels.
Unless the guy in a wheelchair has a high powered rifle with a scope, I think I'm home free.
You can bet that when Animal Regulation shows up I will make certain that they take a look at the three dogs who are stored for 12-14 hours a day in a steel covered stock trailer in the hot sun. And they're going to do something about it. If they don't so something about those dogs then I'll keep threatening to shoot that damn dog who pisses on my tires.
It's going to hit close to a 100 in the Valley soon. Time to get those dogs out of there.
With Bob, there's always a method to his madness.
Give this piece a chance (John Lennon: "Let's all give peace a chance!")
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I work temporarily in the Valley. I rent half of a duplex. I rub elbows with people who I don't generally rub elbows with. They're different. Their values are different. They think differently. Once in a while I want to shout out of the kitchen window, 'TAKE ME TO MY PEOPLE! I want to go home! I DON'T FIT IN!!"
In less than four weeks I'll be home for good.
When some valley people get issued brains they get shit for brains. I'm not kidding.
Here's an example of their different thinking:
See this stock trailer? The guy across the way keeps his three dogs in it for 12 hours a day from 6 in the morning until 6 in the evening. It's getting hot. Soon it will be summer. Logic tells you that your dogs are going to be at risk in this environment.
So I call animal control.
Them: Thank you for the information about the dogs being kept in the stock trailer. Have you spoken to your neighbor about your concerns?
Me: I thought that was your job.
Them: We cover more than 4,000 square miles of territory and only come your way once every month.
Me: So what you're saying if there's someone being abusive to an animal the poor thing has to wait for a month to be rescued. Gee, I hope that when you check up on abused animals that they're still alive.
Them: We can't help that, sir. You need to talk to your neighbor and then call us with the results.
Me: Oh joy. So if this bozo pounds the shit out me for calling him on what he's doing with his dogs then maybe you'll come out? And if he doesn't do that I know exactly what he'll say. I'll be wasting my time.
Them: Sir, you need to talk to your neighbor.
Okay, okay. Last night I plan on talking to the neighbor across the way with the stupid mind.
I approach the guy while he's working under his black Ford truck. We do small talk. I can sling the bull shit with most anyone. We both hate 6 liter Fords. His has blown up a couple of times. My 6 liter Ford blew up a couple of times. We become brothers in short fashion. The dude says we should barbecue sometime soon. We've bonded.
Me: Dude, your dogs are probably starting to get hot in the stock trailer.
Me: How ya gonna fix that?
Him: Well, I was gonna pen them up in the backyard but they'd bark too much.
Me: That's better than cooking them in your trailer.
Him: Yeah. But I'm going to cut the top off of the stock trailer and make it cool for the dogs.
Me: Hmmmmm. You could start by parking your trailer right where your truck is, under the tree that has lots of shade.
Him: Naw, I like it where it is.
What a freaking idiot. Nice guy but no clue on what's right when it comes to dogs. I knew what would happen before I spoke to the neighbor, I got absolutely nowhere.
Hello? Animal Regulation? What?! You'll be here sometime in June? Could you deputize me and issue me a 9mm semi-automatic and a shotgun? I'll take care of this problem myself in a heartbeat.
I am not giving up on helping the three dogs. And I've got less than four weeks to get the job done.
Monday, May 12, 2008
In the last post I crabbed about not being able to take an unfinished bottle of wine home from an eatery. This morning while shaving and driving to work (I do my best thinking in those two places) I thought to myself:
BOB! YOU STUPID! BOB! YOU UGLY AMERICAN!!! BOB!!!!
People are starving around the world and all I can think about is not having my cake and eat it, too.
Well, crap. Americans. It's all about us and very little thinking about how we can help others in this world and in our own country. With the money spent on the war in Iraq I venture to say we could have put a huge dent in world hunger, found a cure for both Aids and Cancer and had money left over to build a better mousetrap.
What's wrong with us? Does it always have to be about us, the poor down trodden Americans we picture ourselves to be? I for one need to be a better citizen of the world and put my money where my mouth is. And that's a fact, JACK!
While I'm on the soapbox, I'm also tired of being screwed by corporate America. Here's the latest example: Dreyer's ice cream. Last week $4.99 for a 1.75 quarts of ice cream (or 1.65 liters). Yesterday $4.99 for a 1.50 quart of ice cream (or 1.41 liters). Same price, less ice cream. Didn't Dreyer's think that anyone would notice the change?
Check out the picture of my freeze and the two containers. See the difference?
Back in the day ice cream was measured in 1/2 pints, pints, quart, half gallon and a gallon. Today it's less than those measurements. A half gallon of ice cream has been reduced to 1.5 quarts. What used to be 16 ounces of canned fruit or vegetables is now 15 or 14 ounces.
Today a gallon of diesel in the Valley sells for $4.75.
Where will it all end?
Sunday, May 11, 2008
California's alcoholic beverage code changed a few years back to allow diners to take home any unused bottled wine they didn't consume in the restaurant.
It was a great idea put into practice. Why feel that you have to drink the whole bottle of wine at the table with the understanding that anything left remains at the restaurant? This makes really good sense for single diners.
Wine by the glass in California is 6 bucks for house wine which ranges in taste to interesting to plain old rot gut. It is less expensive to buy wine by the bottle and take what's not consumed home.
When leaving the restaurant the California take out the restaurant your unfinished wine rule is to put the wine in a paper bag and place it in the trunk of the car. Otherwise your paper bag wine is definintely an open container violation to any cop who pulls you over.
Our habit of buying a bottle and taking what's left home has worked well: The wine taken home is enjoyed with another meal. Every California estaurant we've eaten in since the rule change has allowed for this.
Friday we ventured out to a new locally owned Italian restaurant in Cow Town, Caruso's. I had Saltimboca, the wife has some other Italian dish. It was a nice evening complete with antipasto, soup, salad, bread, the entree and a bottle of wine. Come time to leave we asked our server to bag up the leftovers and that we also wanted to take home the left over bottle of wine.
The server came back with the food nicely wrapped and said, "The wine has to stay. It's against the law to take opened wine away from the restaurant."
Wife: Oh crap, here we go (knowing I would probably throw a shit fit).
Me: No, it's not here we go. I'm fine with leaving what's left in the bottle. Why ruin a perfectly fine evening with one of my shit fits?
Long story short, these clowns had not bothered to read the California alcoholic beverages laws that permits opened wine to be taken home. We also spoke to the chef/owner who said that what I was asking for didn't make sense. Does it make sense to drink a bottle of wine and then drive home? And does it make any sense for a chef/restaurant owner new to running his own business to not read the alcoholic beverage laws?
Later, I took from the Internet a copy of the regulation that allows this. The wife, during the course of yesterday's shopping, dropped it off at the restaurant. The chef/owner was busy and didn't have or take the time to speak to her.
Before dining at Caruso's again we'll call to see if they've changed up on open wine leaving their place of business. If not, the wife and I won't be eating there again.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
While at Big Valley I have found that you can bag game birds without using a gun and without getting out of the truck.
This week I bagged one pheasant and one woodpecker.
Last week I done got me a quail. Right Goober, I did get me one of those puppies.
How do I bag a game bird without a gun or a trap? Easy. Drive like hell. Don't look around. BANG! At some point or another some flying critter will definitely hit the windshield and be killed dead right there.
I have to tell you when that pheasant hit the windshield of the truck this week I done thought that Bob had run over one of those Iraqi landmines. BAM! I said, "Whoa, Nellie! WTF was that?!"
It was late afternoon and I was in the middle of my "chi" trans-like state driving back to the house after a long day at work when this damn pheasant came out of nowhere. It was startling. That would be pheasant on glass and definitely not pheasant under glass.
For a minute I thought that someone was midget bowling and accidentally threw their midget onto my truck. Yup. That pheasant was midget sized.
Luckily the bird hit the corner of the windshield - my corner and not the middle. It probably would have smashed the window had it hit smack dab in the middle.
Anyway, bird hunting in the truck can be fun and entertaining. Only thing, it's hell finding whatever it was that I hit.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Why buy a regular pick-up truck? Buy a truck that can do everything like 4x4 off the road stuff, haul crap to the dump, put the dog in the back for a ride truck, tow the 5th wheel, all that stuff.
What's missing from every one's truck is the ability to drive that puppy on railroad tracks. There are trucks like that. Whoa, Nellie! Save me a blue one!
Think about it. Beat traffic. See places in America most people can't see. Find the ultimate camping spot, the best swimming hole. I pretty much think you can drink and drive on the railroad tracks and carry a concealed weapon. It's in the drive your truck on the tracks rule book. I looked it up.
And you'll learn what the term OH!!! SHIT!!! really means when you're caught traveling through a tunnel and you meet a freight trail coming right at you half way through it.
A truck like this works this way: Get on the tracks. put the small wheels down. When the small wheels go down it lifts the truck so the truck tires don't touch the ground.
Slicker than snot in December.
To hell with traveling on the open road stuff . . .
Give me the track, Jack!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
I know a lot about music, all kinds of music. If you've followed What About Bob you know that Bob likes his music.
A favorite, Respigi's Pines of Rome. In the third movement the musical image Respighi wishes to present are of the legions of the Roman army entering Rome. The movement begins with the legions far off in the distance, rounding corner after corner in the road until the Roman army enters Rome.
The music works only if you have an active imagination.
If you listen to the very end of this movement you'll be saying, "Now that was orgasmic!".
The other movements of this symphony are worth listening to. Enjoy!
My first car was much like this one, a 1947 Ford Deluxe two door, nicely customized, blue paint job, nice wheels.
Even though I had the money mom and dad had forbidden me to buy a car. I had to wait until the grades came up. I had to wait until I stopped getting into trouble at school.
Knowing that neither of those would happen until hell froze over (I spent more time out of school than I spent in school and fighting was something I loved doing albeit to the dismay of the high school vice principal), I decided to buy a car anyway.
I bought that car and kept it when it was not being driven at a gas station just down the hill from where we lived. No insurance. Didn't need any because, in my thinking, I wasn't going to get in any accidents.
Going against what dad and mom wanted was never any big deal to me. I did what I wanted when I wanted to do it. I was never one to live by any one's rules. It had to be my way, the highway or no way. Come to think about it, life as I know it today is still lived in much the same way.
The car sat at the gas station for about a month until dad approached me one Saturday morning.
Dad: You buy a car?
Dad: You heard me. Did you buy a car?
Me: What car?
Never one to cop to the truth a back and forth conversation pursued for about 10 minutes. It boiled down to not doing what dad said that I was not to do - not buy a car, and that driving a car without insurance, should there be an accident, might cause the family to lose everything. Since we didn't have anything to begin with I didn't think it was any big deal to risk losing what we didn't have to begin with. Dad always had a problem with my independent thinking.
I kept the car and began parking it in the driveway at home. Dad and mom put the Ford on their insurance policy. I paid my part of the premium. My grades remained in the toilet. Fighting and getting suspended from school continued to be a regular occurrence. Cutting school happened every day. But I had a car. I got my way (again). Done deal.
As a smalll boy, as a teenager, into my 20's and even 30's, I really was a shit. It's nice to have somewhat evolved since then. Life is much, much easier, especially for those who love or who work with old Bob.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Friday, May 02, 2008
Do you check in with Fox news?
This week the cure for prostate cancer was broadcast.
On Fox news an Australian scientist said that the more men masturbate the chance for prostate cancer is reduced. Right, masturbation over throw down, opposite sex, sexxx.
It empties the prostate gland of all the impurities. The more "empties" the better, the less chance for prostate cancer.
My reply? What a jerk-water! How did this guy ever come up with something like this? I can just picture what this Australian scientist looks like. This guy got paid to come up with this conclusion.
Bob to Scientist - Bob to Scientist! Dude, no choking the chicken or spanking the monkey! Get yourself a good woman and screw your life away knowing you're probably eliminating the possibility of contracting prostate cancer.
Make love, not war and at the same time take care of that prostrate. This is Bob's health tip of the day.
Oh yeah, a picture of my dog Zeenee. She's a peach, isn't she?
Damn, I'm home. It's great. I'm thinking I'd better get into a program of prostrate therapy in the name of personal health. . . . Better check in with my prostrate therapist. . . Oh, Candace! . . . . :)
Happy weekend, Prostate people!
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Back in the day I owned a 280Z like this. Same color. Had a sunroof and better wheels than what's shown here (deep dish with fins).
This is the ride I once had up on two wheels (to name but one stupid ass thing I did with the Z).
I had a personalized license plate: NOSMOKE.
I didn't smoke. Neither did the Z.
It was fast. The kids loved to ride. One in the front, two in the back. That's all it would hold.
One night coming back from shopping, on the freeway:
Kid: Dad, how fast will the Z go?
Me: Pretty fast.
Kids all together: Let's see how fast the Z will go.
Me: Better not. I don't need a speeding ticket.
Kid: Come on, there's no one else on the freeway for miles. Do it!
That's all it took - the coast was clear, no reason to deny my need for speed.
Pedal to the metal. 120 mph in nothing flat . . . with more pedal to go.
Conscience to Bob?
Conscience to Bob? What are you nuts? Slow the F down, stupid! You've got your three kids in the car.
I slowed down. Glancing over to the kids, their eyes, the size of silver dollars, were still glued to the dashboard and the speedometer that just read a little over 120 mph.
Kids all together: WOW!
Years later the kids still talk about that 120 mile an hour night on the freeway. It was one of those priceless memories that seems to keep coming up and coming up and coming up.
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