Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Grace's mom dropped her off as she usually does on her way to work yesterday.
First words out of Gracie's mouth: "I got my ears pierced."
My first reaction was, OMG, here we go with growing up at five years of age. Couldn't she have waited a few years?
For Grace to have her ears pierced is a big thing. She hates needles - cries at the sight of them.
It's funny how attitudes and fashion change from generation to generation. Take pierced ears as starters.
My Mom - many years ago: "Only the gypsies pierce their ears."
If that was true and/or remained true, judging by the number of pierced ears there's one hell of a lot of gypsies in this world. Mom also used to caution my brother and I as we played in the local park. Mom would say, "Watch out for the gypsies. They'll steal both of you and we'll never see you again!" Bring it on, I thought. Life with the gypsies might be very cool and interesting.
Frankly, had the gypsies taken me away that would have been the good news. Life with dear old mother and her second husband were not the best of times.
Now tattoos are becoming more and more prevalent. What used to be reserved for sailors no adorn in abundance male and female bodies. Mom would say, "Tattoos make people look dirty."
Mom gifted me with all kinds of prejudices and preconceived notions. Thank goodness for personal growth and maturity that helped me to overcome the dogma I lived with in the early stages of my life.
Society in the past 50 years has experienced evolution of sorts. It's hard to believe that prior to 1948 interracial marriage was outlawed. In this new century interracial marriages are common. Few give it a second thought. Today an African American is running for President. We've come a long way and there's even more to overcome.
When Grace announced her pierced ears yesterday morning the thought of "OMG, I've got a gypsy grandchild!" ran through my mind . .. and then I patted Grace on the head and said, "You're very brave to have your ears pierced. You look beautiful." Grace beamed and gave me a smile and a hug and said, "Thank you, papa."
Mom's story about gypsies and tattoos will be lost never to be heard by the new generation of our family. Some things are better left unsaid, don't you think?
Monday, July 28, 2008
Another favorite blog bit the dust today - Cupajoe. It is now open only to those who have been invited and have the password.
I can understand in this world of freaks and perverts that a blog written by a good looking female and is open to public comment can be a blog that is disgusting.
Then there's privacy issues. Some of us share more about our private lives than we should. Sharing with only a few is probably a good thing.
So Katie, I understand why you've gone private. I will miss your posts and your Wednesday fun with Mr. Sausage (clarification: her dog).
I changed the forced air heating/air conditioning system filter two weeks ago. Here's the filter sitting in the garbage can having removed yesterday after 14 days of use. What was once white is now a distinct color of gray.
If you've followed What About Bob, Cow Town skies have been filled with smoke for the past 6 weeks.
Here's a picture worth a thousand words: Our air quality has been just like this!
On a positive note, there are blue skies today with little or no sign of smoke. What a great way to begin the week!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Never mind that that Bud sold out to a foreign corporation.
Never mind that a lot people think that drinking Bud is not drinking a real beer.
Never mind that I have always wanted a Corvette or a Porsche. Here's the real car of my dreams:
A MEAN, CLEAN, BUDWEISER RACING MACHINE!
I want that car. I really want it.
The car comes with a trailer. The old farts in the Bud car do not come with it.
If I had the Bud car I'd be the toast of every red necked parade this side of the Mississippi. Throwing beer cans out of this puppy would be acceptable. Cops would see the empty cans of Bud flying out of the Bud car, smile and say, "There goes Bob in his mean, clean Budweiser racing machine!" and go about their business.
Running stoplights with the cameras that take your picture would also be no big deal. In the run the red light photo lab the guys would see Bob running the red light in his mean, clean, Budweiser racing machine and say, "Hey, lookee here! It's Bob again - - - running another damn red light. Ain't he something?!" And then they'd save the picture for their redneck scrapbook and not ticket Bob.
Ticketing Bob while he's driving the mean, clean Budweiser racing machine would be like sacrilege: It would be close to being a redneck sin.
Wanna ride in my mean, clean, Budweiser racing machine? We'll have lots of fun and get away with most anything.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Around Cow Town it's just like this. It's been just like this for six weeks or for 42 days: Take your pick.
Cow Town residents are advised to limit outdoor activities. Old farts with respiratory issues should not go outside.
Hmm. Old fart. New fart? Is there a difference? Why isn't anyone called a New Fart?
Having all this smoke in the air is old. We're all tired of this. Summer should be a time for hot weather and fun outside. Cow Town usually has lots of that. But this summer has been a time for skies filled with smoke and staying inside.
So much for my crabbing. It's time to party hardy! The wife's flight to Minnesota left at 6:30 a.m. this morning. She'll be back late Thursday. My time "wifeless" will definitely be devoted to:
Building beer can pyramids,
Eating red meat,
Throwing my dirty shorts in the corner,
Cleaning the collection of handguns on the living room carpet,
Disposing of things the wife never wants to part with but in my mind are pure junk which is littering the garage,
Driving the wife's black BMW around Cow Town like a bat out of hell and toss beer cans out the window,
and playing blackjack at the Indian casino into the wee hours of the morning.
And that's a fact, JACK!
Oh yes, on my list of things to do I missed cleaning the house and wiping the beer off of the BMW before the wife arrives home on Thursday. Didn't want the her to know that I had too much fun while she was away.
When the wife gets home it will be, "Ohhh honey, I missed you sooo much. I didn't know what to do with myself."
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Bob is a kook. Bob can cook. That's exactly what happened last evening, Bob kooked and cooked.
FoodTV is often a source of recipes. Yesterday I found two that I thought were worth trying: Curried split pea soup (ala` Alton Brown) and Tuna Puttanesca (per Rachel Ray).
Here's almost everything laid out, ready to be used.
Cut-up kalamata olives are part of the puttanesca recipe. Rachel calls for a handful of the olives. She often does that. I'm never quite sure what a handful means other than it doesn't make any difference of how much of the ingredient you use.
Flat leaf parsley is used in the puttanesca, one of the last ingredients - along with lemon zest.
Then there's the cook's helper who snoozed on the carpet in my office while I slaved over a hot stove. Zeenie is a bundle of soft, soft fur and this photo shows just that.
Both recipes turned out well. The wife felt like a queen with me instead of her in the kitchen.
The recipes were good ones but not keepers. The puttanesca was much too rich for my liking, the curry split pea soup was lackluster. Both have been placed in the category of being close but no cigar.
For Bob, cooking is Zen, almost an out of body experience once I get wrapped up in the preparation of a nice meal.
I try not to get deeply into the Zen deal so that a finger or two is lost in the preparation process. That's nearly been accomplished - an index finger almost cut off while Bob was in his Zen cooking world. Lesson learned: Watch what you're doing!
All said, men can cook but with deep caution and with very dull knives.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The wife didn't snap and wing nut out. She snapped this picture. The orchid is on the breakfast nook table.
It's smoky today. Way smoky. Where there's smoke there fires. The fires that began June 21st still persist. Damn.
The house was opened last night before bedtime thinking the house would cool off before sunrise. This morning the house was cool alright but smoky, too. Yuck.
Looking outside you'd think a fog has settled in: The smoke is that thick in Cow Town.
Coming home from a dinner out last night we noticed vehicle after vehicle filled with National Guard troops and equipment - all headed toward the fires.
This can't last much longer, can it?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
It's an early Monday morning in our house. The dogs wanted out at 3:40 a.m., did their business, went back in their crates and for 20 minutes loudly slurped as they cleaned their private parts. More information than you want, eh?
Just as I was settling back to a peaceful slumber the wife starts talking in her sleep. Nuts.
At that point I knew that my night's rest was done, finished, kaput, nada. Why fight it? And I got up and out of bed.
We've dedicated part of the garden to Hen and Chicks - nickname for some species of plant. Regardless of where we live there are always Hens and Chicks somewhere on the property. Rarely, at least in our garden, do they bloom. Here's a shot of this year's bloom on one plant.
Here's Elmer, a new lizard hatchling we found on our lawn curbing last week. He just sat and looked.
We took Elmer to a save haven for the birds who frequent the backyard were sure to gobble him up.
There's been a death of a distant relative. The wife and daughter are flying this week to Minnesota for the services. For 7 days it will be back to dog and child sitting for Bob.
So much for the thought of heading to Reno for Vegas for a couple of days. Those plans will have to be set aside for another time.
The best thing about this Monday is that it's the first day in five weeks we've been able to open the house first thing in the morning and not be overcome by the smoke from the surrounding fires. Cool air quaffing through the house makes up for an interrupted night's sleep.
Monday, Monday everyone.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Last week Grace started ballet lessons. She's participated in gymnastics for two years and it was time for a change.
Her instructor was a douche bag of a teacher . .. not someone I'd ever hire. Watching her teach was like sitting while someone ran their fingernails up and down a blackboard. She was awful.
Thank goodness the class was only for four days.
But the kids didn't know the difference between a standup ballet teacher and a douche bag. They had fun anyway.
Even an out of focus picture as this portrays the time our girl had in the week long ballet class.
For a wee bunny Gracie does just fine regardless of the setting.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
You've heard the saying, two wrongs don't make a right. In this photo I have to say that two thongs (or butt floss) are definitely right.
I used to know two Asian twin brothers by the name of Wong. We would delight in a tease that the two Wong's were never right. Know what? They never really were.
Then there were the Wong sisters that supported the notion that two Wong's could really, really be right. They were lookers.
Sometimes more than two thongs are often not right. . .
Enjoy your buns of the day.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Last time I was sober, man I felt bad
Worst hangover that I ever had
It took six hamburgers and scotch all night
Nicotine for breakfast just to put me right
cos if you wanna run cool
If you wanna run cool
If you wanna run cool, you got to run
On heavy, heavy fuel
My life makes perfect sense
Lust and food and violence
Sex and money are my major kicks
Get me in a fight I like dirty tricks
cos if you wanna run cool
Yes if you wanna run cool, you got to run
On heavy, heavy fuel
My chick loves a man who's strong
The things she'll do to turn me on
I love the babes, dont get we wrong
Hey, thats why I wrote this song
I dont care if my liver is hanging by a thread
Dont care if my doctor says I ought to be dead
When my ugly big car won't climb this hill
I'll write a suicide note on a hundred dollar bill
cos if you wanna run cool
If you wanna run cool
Yes if you wanna run cool, you got to run
On heavy, heavy fuel
Last week son Max sent a bunch of stuff for old dad's birthday from Archie McPhee. Inside the box was a catalogue with more stuff, all of it useful.
I found the wristbands Archie was selling of particular use. The Seven Deadly Sins Wristbands: Why not call a spade a space and wear one of these babies? Everyone is wearing a band for some sort of cause these days. You'd fit right in. It could also work as the perfect pickup line if you pick the right band.
Which band suits you? How about one for your boss? The perfect Christmas party gift.
Shake hands with your favorite priest or minister while displaying one of these beauties. That would get their attention, wouldn't it.
Priest: Bob is that really you? I mean is it really you on the wristband?
Me: Yup and proud of it, too.
Priest: Get thee into the Confessional, son.
Me: Got a couple of hours?
Then there's the I love meat wristbands. What meat loving fiend wouldn't want to wear the Carnivore wristband? You'd be the talk of the Outback Steakhouse.
That wristband would go with the tattoo I have on my chest. It reads: Do not resuscitate or use electrical shock. To revive administer one 16 ounce steak and two shots of Tequila.
That should get the old thumper going.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
A favorite movie quote from Apocalypse Now. This morning it was, "I love the smell of skunk in the morning. . . ."
We've been plagued with rodents that tunnel around the lawn. They're field mice from the wild lands outside the borders of our home.
Bait is set out to trap the mice. One problem is something has been eating the bait and/or taking the mice out of the traps. We have owls. There are hawks. Both very present where we live.
Our trapper doesn't like the mice to be taken for Roger the Trapper gets paid by the kill. We've decided that birds of prey are not the problem but something with four legs.
Solution: Trap what's been taking the mice out of the traps.
Yesterday Roger sets the trap and says to call if something is trapped then adds, "BTW, don't call tomorrow because I'll be out of town. Put the trap in the shade if something is trapped in it."
6:00 a.m. this morning:
Wife: I'm checking the trap.
She's like a kid Christmas morning thinking something special is waiting for her.
There was. Miss Skunk was waiting.
Long story short: A blanket was tossed over the tag to catch any spray. The door opened on the trap.
And Miss Skunk scampers off for her home along the creek bed just below the backyard fence.
Leaving one of God's creatures to wait in a cage to be "relocated" by Roger a day or more later just didn't seem right.
As Miss Skunk headed towards her little hole under the back fence I swear I heard something or someone say, 'I'LL BE BACK!"
And she probably will.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Here's our two dogs: Zoe and Zeenie. They lead a dog's life and from where I sit, it ain't half bad. In fact, these two are on the gravy train. They could not lead a better life.
You may have said from time to time, "I'm sick as a dog". Me too. What does that mean, sick as a dog? I've seen sick dogs and they do pretty well when they're under the weather.
Anyway, I found this. You may have seen it before. Think about Pack Wisdom in the context of living like a dog. It really is not a bad concept.
Embrace the moment, no matter what.
You're only as big or as small as you believe you are.
If it smells good, roll in it.
Don't postpone happiness by not begging for another treat.
When life gives you dry food, add water to make gravy.
Run with a joyful heart.
Share what you have.
Love and look out for your pack.
Go fetch your biggest dream.
Nuzzle the one you love.
Panting deeply is good for your health.
When you mess up, say you're sorry and shake it off.
Love and let yourself be loved.
Be content where you are.
Play every day.
Remember that every time you touch somebody, you change their world.
Will you remember love?
by James Jacobson
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Yup, that's me. High school Bobby. I often wonder how I got from there to here.
1 What were you known as in HS (Jock, Princess, Geek)
Back in the day there were other categories that described who people were - like Rah-rahs, Greasers, Hoods/Punks, Car Girls, Hot Dog Queens and more.
I was in between everything and friends with everyone. I knew everyone. I could hang out with anyone or everyone. It was a nice place to be.
2. What were you really?
An adolescent with way too much testosterone which got in the way of everything.
3. If you could go back and tell your 16 year old self one thing, what would it be?
"It's only a penis, Bob. Only a penis."
4. If you could erase one moment from your school days what would it be?
Not graduating high school. I goofed off too much, never went to class, felt that working in my parent's supermarket was more of a priority than going to school. I lost 6 units by not going to gym class - ever. That was the difference between graduating and not graduating.
Later I realized the value of education and went on to earn an AA, a BA and an MA. I still don't have a high school diploma or an equivalent even though it was offered more than a few times. I just did not want that. I'm proud of what I've accomplished without a "high school education."
5. Who did you not date (or more) that you wish you did?
I spent more time on being hung up with one lady that I should have. Eventually she dumped me for another guy, got knocked up in her junior year and was married to a real asshole of a man. After four marriages to very strange men she ended up in a lesbian relationship where she remains today. You might say I dodged a major bullet by being dumped.
I could have saved a lot of time, money and effort by dating a certain red haired lady who drove her blue Austin Healey Sprite around the town on cruise nights. She was/is a looker. At the time I wish that I would have known that she was the one.
Bonus (as in optional): If you went to prom, describe your outfit.
You're looking at it.
I know, I know: The chronology of this thing is bass akwards.
Here's more: It's the box from Max. It says potato wedges on the outside. We were fooled. Kept the damn thing in the fridge for a week thinking it was perishable.
Inside was Mr. Vulture and all kinds of neat things Bob loves to collect.
Like bacon and eggs bandages not seen here.
Like two potato guns.
An instant villain get up.
Las Vegas patches for my jacket.
Sparkle Ninja chewing gum (real deal).
Son Max knows dad well and knows what he likes because he knows the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Like Father. Like son.
More on these gifts later.
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