Monday, September 29, 2008
If I owned a fried chicken palace I'd definitely call it Fricken Chicken.
If people got irritated with me I'd get in their face and say, "Take your fricken chicken and get the hell of out here!" That's the beauty of owning your own business. Do what you want. Say what you want. Piss who ever you want off.
My ads for my Fricken Chicken restaurant would state that my restaurant is the Pam Anderson of fried chicken and would welcome everyone to come in and check out our breasts. Now that would bring people in by the car loads to buy my Fricken Chicken.
With every order of chicken I would have to ask, 'DO YOU WANT FRICKEN FRIES WITH THAT FRICKEN CHICKEN?"
Seriously, I would love to begin a chain of fried chicken restaurants. If someone would perfect fried chicken without the skin and without all of the oil they'd make a million just like old Colonel Sanders.
Think about it. Wouldn't you eat more fast food chicken if it were skinless, oil less and tasted like the real deal? That would be some fricken chicken. Yummy! I could eat that all day and all night without any further bother to my arteries.
In case you've been wondering what keeps Pam Anderson afloat here's why.
Happy Monday, kids.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
What would a fair be without a merry-go round?
Or without face painting?
Or not being able to eat a polish dog with Grammy?
Or be without exhibits that challenge high level thinking skills?
Or guys that fart or who wear shirts that are two sizes too small? Keep reading and you will know where this is going.
This guy with a gut sat next to us at the little circus during our visit to the fair.
Grace often notices people, how they dress, what they say and especially their manners. She was so involved with Mr. Zippy and friends that she didn't ever glance at this man seated next to her.
It's hard for me to not notice people like this, especially when they're around our grandchild. Through most of the circus act he had his fingers in his mouth and it looked like he was either picking food out of his teeth or massaging a sore gum. Like watching Zippy and his antics, it was interesting to watch this black shirted fellow with a gut.
I guess there are more than a few people who don't think about what they wear or how they conduct themselves in public. Picking your teeth is one thing but if you were male and had a big tummy would you wear a tank top that exposed your midriff?
At the fair there was the heavily tattooed (and I mean big time tattoos) guy in his 30's walking with who seemed like his mom and other members of a family who in passing by where I was standing farted. Yes, farted on purpose. His mom immediately scolded him and this dope laughed back at her. My look in his direction was my very best mean teacher look which sent the message how dare you do that and don't you ever do it again.
Sometimes it seems that Americans are becoming a nation of pigs.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
I'd like to think Paul Newman is somewhere in heaven singing an old favorite of mine, Plastic Jesus.
Paul once said, "You can't be as old as I am without waking up with a surprised look on your face every morning: 'Holy Christ, whaddya know - I'm still around!' It's absolutely amazing that I survived all the booze and smoking and the cars and the career."
They don't make 'em like Paul anymore, do they?
Sing it, Paul, sing it!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Okay, here's more about Bob than you should know. Even though I don't play tennis here's always a tennis racket in the truck.
Give me a stoplight, a tune like this one, and I'll tune that baby up full blast, windows down then jump out of the truck armed with the old "Strato-Fender" tennis racket air guitar, wail on it for about 10-15 seconds and jump back into the truck when the light turns green. Whooo Hoo!
I've gotten loud rounds of applause. And smiles. And looks that say, "What's that dude been smoking."
And my looks back to those people say, "This old fart has always been smoking hot!"
We picked Gracie up at her bus stop yesterday and headed for the county fair that had opened just that day in a neighboring county 30 miles south of Cow Town.
On the drive to the fairgrounds Wifey helped Grace do her homework in the backseat. Knowing that we would be late in getting our girl home it was a good idea to get this out of the way sooner rather than later.
Surprisingly, first grade kids have a pile of homework every night. Because we have Grace every day after school it's our job to get her homework completed . . . a task that we take on most willingly and with great patience.
We arrived at the fair and immediately bought two unlimited ride wristbands for Wifey and Grace. They do the riding, I take the pictures.
Here's a painting on the front of the Fun House. Classic.
The "girls" rode every Tom, Dick and Harry ride until Wifey came close to getting the barfers on one of them. She said it was the polish dog she had shared earlier with Grace.
Grace and I taunted the wife into "sucking it up" and to walk or shake it off.
Grace: Come on Grammy, cow girl up, you can do it!
We've taught this girl well. She's tough.
That was good for another ride or two until Wifey's stomach sent a second message to cool it or else.
There was a small circus at the fair which had only clowns in it. Here's the head cheese, Zippy. It's nice to know that everyone in America can be employed if they put their mind to it.
Can you imagine Zippy completing a credit application and wondering if he should be completely honest in filling in the space that asks for his "occupation"?
Hi, my name is Zippy and I'm a clown!
Driver's training is important for our up and coming citizens. Wifey modeled for Gracie how to follow the rules of the road by bumping into every kid on the track, going in the wrong direction (every car went counter clockwise while Wifey took the clockwise route . . . great strategy for invoking head on collisions.
After doing and seeing all there was to offer at the fair our day ended with dinner at a nice restaurant close to the fair grounds. Grace and I had spaghetti (our favorite food), Wifey had prime rib.
Grace was dropped off at around 8:30 last night, happy, filled with spaghetti, cotton candy and memories of yet another outing with her grandparents.
It doesn't get any better than that.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
There are more than a couple of definitions of Morning Wood. But today, let's work with this one: Driving 30 miles at 7:00 in the morning to load one cord of hard wood. Morning Wood.
Here's the pickup truck bed of ours that's been converted to trailer use. Even though it's a Chevy long bed that looks like it has a one ton capacity in actuality it is mounted on a Mazda 1/2 ton axle and suspension.
Long on room. Short on how much weight to carry.
What was I thinking when I chose to pick up and load a cord of white oak firewood into our 1/2 ton trailer? What?!
Do you know how much a cord of hard wood weighs?
Don't feel bad 'cause I didn't either. What's a little firewood, I thought.
After driving 30 miles home and seeing how overloaded the trailer was, sweating bullets the entire distance that the axle didn't snap, I decided to find out how much a cord of white oak weighs.
Are you ready? 4,000 plus pounds.
If a half ton is about 1,000 pounds all I have to say is, "Thank you, Lord!" for making it home safe and sound.
It seems the older I get the stupider I get. I'd better stick to the other kind of Morning Wood and leave wood gathering/loading/delivering to the experts.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds performed at last Saturday's Farm Aid. They were just awesome.
In fact, it was so very bitching that I watched their set twice on Saturday and again on Sunday.
Usually it's Dave and his band. Once in a while Dave and Tim team for an acoustic concert which is exactly what they did for Farm Aid.
If you get a chance, catch a re-run of Farm Aid 2008 and be sure to take a listen to their music.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
There's a heavy duty crop of lizards around the house this year. When we moved to Cow Town the realtor told us that when there's a lot of lizards it meant something that is related to rattlesnakes.
I'm not sure if he said that if there's a lot of lizards there's a lot of rattlesnakes or was it the other way around . . . lots of lizards mean no snakes?
Whatever the case, we got 'em. They're large. They're tiny. They're everything in between.
We also have grubs in the lawn. Grubs in the lawn mean frequent visits from skunks or raccoons or possums. To these critters grubs are like Sunday fried chicken dinner . . . something special and something that has to be gobbled up.
Now there's one more thing to go to war with . . . whatever it is tearing the crap our of the back lawn must be stopped.
I'd sit up all night with the rifle and nail those suckers. Then there would be a visit from those men in blue who won't tolerate small arms fire within the city limits. I could use the pellet gun but you know what, discharging a BB or pellet gun within the city limits of Cow Town is also against the law. My gawd, what have we come to? Now if this was the old wild west . . .
So another solution must be had - - - one that won't land Old Bob in the hoosegow. Time to hit the feed store, buy some of their Weapons of Mass Destruction and lock and load.
Damn, I love backyard war!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Is it just me or is this world really as F'ed up as it seems to be?
The money deal has me and Wifey a bit worried. Our investments seem to have been in the hands of absolute idiots who now have to be "saved" by the Great White Fathers in Washington.
Last nights NBC news said that the country was a breath away from the mother of all depressions had there not been an 11th hour bailout Thursday evening. Can you believe that?
It's tempting to pull money out of all of our investments and stuff it under the mattress. Seems like that would be the safest place today for hard earned cash.
In God We Trust. That's what is says on our legal tender. There's more truth to that than we ever thought. At this stage of the game who else can we trust? Definitely not the politicians. And definitely not the boards and CEO of investment and loan companies.
If there is good news and there is for our family is that we have other investments that are not entangled in this mess. Nothing to worry about on one end and everything to worry about on the other.
Who's paying for all of this? Don't think for a minute the salvation to Freddie and Fannie along with AIG and lord knows who else won't come back to bite us come income tax time. How else we will pay for the bailouts and that all expensive war of George Bush's in Iraq? You betcha. Out of your and my wallet.
No wonder I couldn't sleep last night.
I'm socking in a supply of beans and rice just in case the bottom falls out of this latest deal. If you're not worried then you should be.
Friday, September 19, 2008
As a teen I thought Marilyn was the best. What else do male teens think about other than good looking babes they can't have?
Mom: She's just a stupid blond. Marilyn can't act. She can't do anything.
Me: And your point was?
Marilyn was the same age as mom and maybe that in some screwed up way was her point: Mom would have rather been Marilyn than a housewife with two kids and a husband she couldn't stand.
There was no arguing about Marilyn. So what if she couldn't act. Just turn down the sound and watch the movie cured that.
How fun it would have been to be "cheek to cheek" with Marilyn.
Marilyn lived a tragic life or so they say. Always unhappy. Always depressed. Never on time to for movie shoots.
Some say she was deathly afraid of acting before the camera. Maybe Marilyn knew what Mom knew.
Acting or no acting, oh what a beauty she was.
Do they make 'em like this anymore?
n her early days she was Norma Jean. Then Hollywood happened and Norma transformed into Marilyn. The girl became a woman.
The last completed movie Marilyn made was the Misfits. The Misfits was Clark Gable's last film before dying shortly after of a heart attack.
Marilyn died of an overdose a year later.
Years later there remains whether her death was really self inflicted. Marilyn had rubbed elbows with politicians in high places who perhaps were worried that one day she would "out" them.
I have no clue why I'm writing about Norma Jean this morning.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Famous words by actor Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry: But are ya feeling lucky, punk?
I thinking you'd have to feel lucky or pretty much unafraid to try out what's pictured here.
Taken from my 20th floor vantage point while staying at the Grand Sierra Hotel in Reno, this pictures their Ultimate Rush attraction.
How it works: Strap into a harness. Attached to the harness is a hoist wire and a second wire securing the bungee cord which is also attached to the harness. You're then hoisted 185 feet to the very top of the single white pole.
As soon as the rider reaches the top the hoist wire is disconnected and WHAM! down you go between the two poles . . . just about 8 feet off of the ground. And there you swing back and forth until the momentum stops.
So, are you feeling lucky, punk?
Next time you're in Reno check it out.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
On the way to Cow Town just outside of Reno and inside the California border sits this tree. It's a shoe tree unlike any shoe tree you've ever seen before.
For years people stop, ties the laces together of an old pair of sneakers or sport shoes and sling them up and over one of the branches of this tree.
And for years the people in charge of stopping fun have attempted to stop the practice of decorating the shoe tree. Whatever they're doing to halt people from slinging their shoes over a limb is obviously not working.
One year the department of transportation took every shoe off of the tree. In a couple of weeks there were even more shoes on the tree than there were before.
People are going to do what people are doing to do. If we wanna sling shoes then hell, we'll sling shoes.
In the old West cattle rustlers, horse thieves, murderers, and other low life were strung up.
In the new West while we'd still love to string 'em up it's no longer socially acceptable to do that. Instead we hang sneakers by the laces until dead.
Don't you just love this?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
I've been out of town for a few days. It was a quick trip to Reno to check out a sailboat that was for sale.
Instead of making a even quicker trip by going and returning on the same day it was a good idea to spend some time playing.
Blackjack is a favorite.
Slots a no win in a tight economy for the clubs having already lost a bundle to Indian casinos in neighboring states have cranked down the wins on each machine to virtually nothing.
Playing Keno is like watching the grass grow.
Poker I have never fully understood and always lose.
Craps? Must be my low IQ or a glitch in my hard drive. .. too many moving parts in that game for me.
So I stick with Blackjack. I usually come home with more than I started with.
Nights were spent at the Grand Sierra Hotel in an 80 buck junior suite. The suite had been renovated recently so I figured what the hell, how many cooties could have multiplied in a short period of time.
Food and drink was expensive: The hotel's buffet was 20 bucks for an evening meal. Ham and eggs in the coffee shop 10 bucks. Ten bucks for Blue Saphire straight up. A large draft of Bud ran $3.50. Drinks while gambling are still "free". Loosen up the clients with unlimited booze and they spend more at the tables. Right?
Food and drink used to be one of the attractions in Reno. Cheap food. Inexpensive hotel rooms. Drop the rest of what's in your wallet on the casino tables. Those days are gone with the exception of dropping your hard earned cash somewhere in the casino.
On the 20th floor I had a commanding view of Reno to the North.
The bed was pretty cool complete with a mirror just to the left of the picture.
There was a LCD on the wall which came in handy for Sunday football games.
The bathroom had marble floor to ceiling. For those who spend an inordinate amount of time on the crapper a second LCD TV was hung in just the right direction.
The sailboat turned out to be a fixer. My goal is to sail and not to spend my days fixing a damn boat. Looks like I'd be better off buying a new boat.
Getting away was a good thing. The wife stayed home to tend the home fires, care for the dogs and for Gracie.
I thought about partying like a rock star. I asked the clerk when I checked in if that was okay. She said partying like a rock star was fine but I'd have to pay for any damages . . . as I initialed that part of the hotel registry which said I would definitely pay for any damages.
If I partied like a rock star there would have to be an entourage. . . only thing, I could only generate an entourage that got around on walkers or wheelchairs . . . an entourage that could only eat soft food (Sonny? Could you grind up that steak in a blender for me?) and stop frequently to put on a new set of Depends.
That would have been a rock star party to write about......
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Give this one a chance. This take-off on an old familar song (you'll see) starts to move at a minute 18 seconds. Betcha can't sit down and listen to this one.
You're gonna have to get up and dance.
So, what are you waiting for?!
Here's Zeenie in the vinca ground cover just over the back patio. It's nearly a 20 foot drop from the top of the slope to the bottom.
Zeen has discovered a new game called crawling under the vinca ground covering so that no one can see her.
There are times when I look for the dog, call for the dog and hear nothing but the rustle of shubbery. Eventually Zeen will pop her head out of the vinca, sit and look at me as if to say, "What the hell do you want? Can't you see that I'm busy?!"
Once in the house we get the fun chore of finding and extracting the ticks that have managed to have attached themselves to our little Pomeranian.
If nothing else, getting ticked off (hmmm, there's a ring to that) or the ticks off of the dog makes for pleasant backyard conversation with Wifey.
Me: What did you do today?
Wifey: Lots. What did you do today?
Me: Just another day of watching the damn grass grow and the vinca move mysteriously. How sweet it is!
And so it goes........
It's Friday and remember, TGIF stands for that all important rule for putting your socks on in the morning: Toes Go In First!
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- LOVE THAT FRICKEN CHICKEN! If I owned a fried ch...
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- PAUL NEWMAN R.I.P.
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