Sunday, November 30, 2008


When I was 3 or 4 I remember getting up in the morning and finding that my mom and her husband (step daddy) had locked their bedroom door.

"We're resting!", was the cry from inside the locked door. I never quite got what "resting" was all about until later on in life and then the light bulb went on. Duh!

In the autumn of their lives mom would complain that step daddy either wouldn't or couldn't perform. She'd flat out crab about it to my bother and I. . . like we could do anything about it.

It must have been that damn old erectile dysfunction that keep old dad flatter than a run over hot dog in July. And I think old dad was burned out on sex with the old lady anyway. Nothing like a good excuse to get out of fulfilling your manly duties.

If there were a "mom and dad sex tape" I'm not sure that I'd really want to watch it. In fact, I know that I wouldn't do that. Watching a video of the folks do whatever they did behind a closed, locked door would have been more information than I ever wanted about that part of their life. That would be really kind of over the top or gross when you get right down to it.

Wifey and I don't have a sex tape. Sex tapes always end up in the wrong hands and besides, I don't want something like that to be part of my legacy once Bob has headed to the happy hunting grounds.

A few years back we gave the kids, by mistake a video camera that came with a bag that had tapes we had recorded. We meant to give them another recorder but somehow Wifey handed them the wrong piece of equipment.

When the kids returned the camera and tapes they gleefully announced, "We watched your videos and couldn't find your sex tape." Like there was a sex tape, kids. Not. The look on their faces was interesting as if they had searched in anticipation for a deep, dark secret Wifey and I had, knowing that it just had to be in the pile of tapes they were about to watch. The kids were thinking that Dad always talks about Carnival Sex. Now is our chance to see what that's all about.

Sorry to disappoint you, kids.

So you see, it's a good idea not to have a sex tape in the event someone, by mistake, gets a hold of it and one day you find yourself in all your glory on the Internet. Ooops!

As for Carnival Sex, do you know what that's all about? Do you really?

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Saturday, November 29, 2008



Mr. Vulture was a gift from Max on my last birthday. Last birthday? Please! There are more to come, aren't there?

Anyway, Mr. Vulture adorns various parts of the house. His location is always changing.

Here he's perched on our Christmas lawn display of Santa and his reindeer on a pirate ship. Anyone screws up and Mr. Vulture will see to it that they walk the plank.
I'm also thinking that with Mr. Vulture at the helm with Santa no one is going to even think about shooting the pirate ship down with their b-b gun. That would have been something Bob would have done as a kid.
I should have taken a better picture of the pirate ship. What's missing is a a reindeer in the crow's nest right above Santa. The reindeer has a pair of binoculars and goes up out of the crow's nest and then sits down. I'll have to take another picture and post it here.

The ship is powered by a blower that keeps the ship inflated. You've seen these probably at Lowe's which is where we purchased ours.

Before joining forces with Santa on the good ship North Pole, Mr. Vulture is assigned to guard the house. Here he is making certain no one messes with the newly erected Christmas tree.

Wifey and I sleep much better at night knowing that Mr. Vulture is watching over us. You never know what the next assignment for this old bird is going to be. Stay tuned.

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Thursday, November 27, 2008



I'll have a breast with nipples, please. What else would you expect from Bob?

Inspite of our screwed up country and all of it's fugged up leaders, Americans have lots to be thankful for.

Count your blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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Monday, November 24, 2008


I've gotten to the point in life where clocks and watches are unnecessary. There are "happenings" or sounds all around that give me a pretty good idea of what time it is without looking at the clock.

2:30 a.m. I can hear Amtrack blowing through Cowtown headed north to Seattle.

3:30 a.m. The whistle of the south bound Amtrack for L.A. tells me to stop listening for passing trains and go back to sleep.

4:30 a.m. The WSJ and the Sacramento Bee hits the driveway pavement. The carriers noisy foreign car past its prime chugs up and down the street.

6:00 a.m. The Cowtown news is delivered by a guy driving a Ford Ranger. There's something about the sound of an American truck that puts me to sleep.

6:30 a.m. Zeenie, who is crated every night, starts to make sounds that she needs to get up. The sounds she makes are interesting ones to get my attention. She starts a low pitched growl that goes up several octaves . . . almost like she's talking or communicating. Well, I guess she is . . . the girl has to take a leak and wants out of her crate.

7:35 a.m. Mommies pass by the house with kids loaded into mommy vans on the way to the school bus stop a block down the street.

8:00 a.m. The whistle on the iron and metal factory in town sounds.

8:30 a.m. The school bus of a neighboring district passes by the house on its way to pick up kids around the corner.

Noon: The dogs let me know that it's time for their lunch.

2:15 p.m. Wifey walks to the bus stop to pick up Grace.

3:15 p.m. Grace has finished her homework and heads out the door to play with the dogs.

4:00 p.m. The neighboring school district school bus passes by with kids on their way home.

4:30 p.m. Grace comes to me and says, "Isn't it time to watch Tom and Jerry?" And we do.

5:30 p.m. Grace's mom picks her up.

6:00 p.m. The dog start pacing and looking hungry. They know that it's time for their dinner. I know that's time for my dinner, too. We all eat together (but not at the same table).

8:00 p.m. Zeenie gets that look in her eye that she wants to play ball before bed. We wrestle. I toss the ball. Zeen brings it back. I hide the ball. She finds it. It's a nightly ritual.

8:30 p.m. I'm starting to wonder why the hell I spent half the night listening for trains so I'd know what time it was. How stupid is that? I usually promise myself that I'll never do that again but end up listening for the trains anyway. Yes, that's stupid.

10:30 p.m. The next door neighbor puts their dog out for one last time before they hit the sack.

I always know what time it is without looking at a clock. So who needs a clock anyway? I am living without watching time and loving it.

Know what I need? A good night's sleep and to rid myself of the habit of telling time by sounds and events.

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Sunday, November 23, 2008

You Can't Gobble Me

Thanksgiving Turkey?



On long trips that cover a lot of two lane road I always take the truck over the comfort of Wifey's BMW.

For some reason people pass other cars when they're not supposed to.

And they also drift over the center line.

Most of these wingnuts that drive like that drive small cars. Have you noticed that?

When this happens to me I figure, come and get it sucker. You wanna pass over the double yellow or drift over the center line and hit me?

Well, are you feeling lucky punk?!

Cause if your negligent driving happens to come my way I'm ready with a one ton American pick-up that sits higher than you sit. So when you hit me head on you're going smack dab under the front end of my truck. Your shit would be wrecked.

While you're recovering in a hospital I'll be home having dinner thinking how glad that I am for driving an American made truck. And for that I will have walked away from most accidents that are caused by stupid people's stupid driving.

There are plenty of good reasons to go green, go small, go hybrid and to buy American. Wifey and I will definitely go that route. But when it comes to a road trip on a two lane highway Bob will always have his American option: Big heavy truck, lots of steel and riding high. And believe it or not, when I keep my foot out of it that baby gets 22-24 mpg on the highway.

No dumb driving dumb shit is going to rain on my parade.

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Saturday, November 22, 2008


Do you have Jewish friends who are difficult to buy presents for because they have everything? Here's a gift that I would fathom that few, if any, Jewish families have:


Nope, Bob hasn't popped a nut. He's just "high" on the latest Archie McPhee catalogue.

Archie McPhee has gifts you've never even thought about and in turn gifts for that special person who's so hard to buy a holiday gift for like your boss. Son Max bought gifts for my last birthday from Archie.

They have things like squirrel underpants, bacon air fresheners, meatball bubble gum, wasabi gum balls, Marie Antoinette head pops, a wallet that looks like a slice of toast, a nun punching puppet, a deluxe Jesus action figure, a donkey cigarette dispenser (comes out the rear), a set of Mexican wrestling masks, inflatable fruitcakes . . . the list is endless of what's available from Archie McPhee especially on their Internet site.

Damn, I love that place.

Check it out at

It's one of those days . . . awake at 3 in the morning and here I am at nearly 4:30 a.m. knowing well that early rising screws the day up. Oh well, that's what afternoon naps are for.

Happy Saturday, kids!

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Thursday, November 20, 2008



This blog just rolled onto post numero 800. At this rate number 1,000 should come in May/June. Never thought I'd have something to say in 800 different ways.

I often think Blogger should provide a service that takes assorted blog posts and copies/binds them into a book. A book like that would be something to be proud of IF some of the posts found here were not included. Just a thought, Mr. Blogger.

Have you noticed that there seems to be more and more folks with signs at the entrances or exits to shopping centers. The signs indicate that the holder of the sign wants money for assorted reasons. This is troublesome to me - an indicator of a sign of the times. I wrestle with whether or not I should give or whether I shouldn't give spare change or a buck or two to the person with their sign up and their hand out? I really do feel their pain and would like to do something to help.

This year I thought that I'd buy some gift cards from a fast food place like Burger King and pass them out to those in need. That would be helpful, wouldn't it? At least I'd know that my donation wasn't going for a fine bottle of wine or a hit of crack.

I'll also get a few gift cards from Liquor Barn and give those to those really in need, too. Then I'd definitely know where the money was really going to be spent. There's nothing like honesty and a nice bottle of wine after a hard day on the curb.

I might give a choice of cards - only one to a person: Burger King or Liquor Barn? Now that would be an interesting study as to how many made this choice or that.

I think homeless people with signs go about the whole thing in the wrong way. Usually there's a sob story on the sign meant to stimulate "donations". Like losing their job, car broke down, house caught on fire, etc. I don't see many people stopping to help people with signs like that. These guys need someone from marketing change up on their strategy. As any capitalist American knows, a good pitch equals good income.

I'm thinking that would be a good job for me. I could do that. Pitchman Bob.

Check out my first "get more money by sitting on the curb with a sign" idea. This would be the sign I'd make for my first client:



A sign like that should really do the trick. It would be like raining quarters.

Not bad for Post 8OO.

See you at curbside.

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Wednesday, November 19, 2008



Every once in a while I have a little gin:

Straight up. Meaning a shot or two poured into a martini shaker that is filled with ice. Nothing else added. Shake, shake, shake your grove thing!

Strain the ice while pouring into a martini glass.

Drink. Son of a bitch that's tasty!

It just can't be any bathtub gin. It has to be at least Bombay Blue Saphire or better . . . and there are not too many other gins that are better.

Sensing the supply was running low . . . it had been a couple of weeks since the last Blue Sphire drink but I nonetheless knew that it was time. Honestly, the large bottle of Blue Saphire that is nearly empty had been a gift three years ago which speaks volumes about my gin consumption.

Today I head to the market to buy food for dinner and grab another bottle 1.75 liter of "Blue" knowing that it was on sale for $29 when it's usually $42 or more.

Bag Girl on bagging the "Blue" at the check stand and checking out the label.

Bag Girl: Where's Bombay?

Me: I thought you just bagged it.

Bag Girl: No, it's a place, isn't it? Isn't Bombay a city somewhere.

Me: Yuppee doodle. Give you an A in geography for knowing that Bombay is a city. Now just where do you think it is?

Bag Girl: That's what I'm asking you.

I'm thinking that this is more of a conversation than I want to make in the checkout line. Here's a bag girl who's obviously a high school graduate and probably enrolled in college asking me where Bombay is. What the hell are they teaching in school these days?!

Me: How about a guess? I'll give you ten bucks if you correctly name where Bombay is located.

Bag Girl: In Texas? My uncle works in a Lockheed aircraft factory and makes bomb bay doors. I think that's the name of the city where he works.

Oh lordy, I'm thinking. This girl isn't even blond and she's thinking this?

I give her a polite answer of "Bombay is in India", walking out of the supermarket thinking that that conversation that I'm long overdue for a little Bombay Blue Saphire gin.

I now understand why some kids drive their parents to drink.

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Monday, November 17, 2008


Jazzy Desire, the last sailboat, anchored in a cove on a Saturday evening after a day of sailing on the lake.

Me? I'm treading water and taking this picture. Glub!

Saturday night was spent at anchor in the cove. That evening a chicken dinner was barbecued off the stern (with a gas barbecue attached to the stern rail), veggies cooked on the galley stove.

And don't you know, Wifey, as seen here, is on the cell telephone talking to lord knows who. You can take the city girl out of the city but you can't take the city out of a city girl. Goes with the territory.

It's a Monday with chores staring me in the face and you know what? I'd rather be sailing.

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Sunday, November 16, 2008


I can't even glance at a packet of Kool-aid without remembering Jonestown and the teacher who had a classroom next to mine.

You may remember or have recently read that having just murdered all of the children in the group the end for the Jonestown adults came via cyanide laced punch. It was drink up or be shot.

I remember hearing the news and being so very shocked and so very sad for the children.

Back then I was a teacher in a set of classrooms that opened to one another. I could see and hear what was being taught next door as the two classrooms were only separated by the desks of the teachers.

I remember that the day after Jonestown was some special thing in our school. The usual was not being taught and the day was mostly for fun and games.

I peered over my desk to see what the teacher next door was doing. I happened to notice that the teacher was ladling a cup of liquid to each student from a large pot.

I thought to myself, "Holy macaroni and cheese! What are they doing over there, a Jonestown re-enactment?"

Me: That's not what I think it is, is it?

Teacher: It's Kool-aid.

Me: You've got to be kidding. You're dishing out Kool-aid to your kids after what happened yesterday. What are you, nuts?

Teacher: What happened yesterday?

Me: What happened yesterday? You're kidding. Didn't you hear about Jonestown and the cyanide laced Kool-aid? What you're doing looks exactly like what happened in Jonestown.

Teacher: OMG! It never dawned on me that this activity was somewhat mirroring that when I planned on serving Kool-aid to the kids today. I think we'll change up here.

Me: Be ready for phone calls from parents.

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Friday, November 14, 2008

Hey Mona

This one is for our troops fighting for our country in far away plce.

Hey guys - come home. We've got babes in the good old USA. There ain't no Mona's in the bunch. All them Mona's are in Afganistan Banana Stand. Come Home! HEAR?!

Thursday, November 13, 2008


Dinner for 21 was at our house Saturday night. The occasion was an early Thanksgiving for folks associated with a group Wifey belongs to. It's spiritual in nature.

The group meets once a week to sing, chant, share, pray, and to share their intentions for the week. Nice people with a wonderful purpose.

Sharing, singing and chanting is not my deal nor is voicing my intentions. They also do a lot of hugging. All of these things are not Bob. While I support the group I am definitely not a part what they do. Bob is not the touchy, feeling type of guy.

It was a fun evening & enjoyable but one hellofa lot of work. We prepared baked ham and barbecued turkey with mashed potatoes, and cranberry relish. The guests brought before meal snacks, salads, desserts and drinks.

Three tables to seat 20 were lined up in the kitchen/family room area. I ate standing up.

With my help Wifey cooked and cooked and cooked. And again with my help she served and served and served. And then while I conked out with the help of Dawn and Keith Wifey cleaned up and cleaned up and cleaned up.

And then on Sunday there was more to do. Whew!

Some came alone. Some came with dates. Some came with significant others.

Wifey enjoyed being with her friends when she wasn't doing stuff.

After dinner I put on some music and a few people danced.

At the end of the evening everyone, except Bob, hugged and left with smiles on their faces.

Will we do this again next November? Hmmm. Let me think about that for a year. I'll get back to you on this. My people will call your people. Okay?

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Wednesday, November 12, 2008


This is me sailing. I'm on the left without a hat.

Wifey was riding in a friend's ski boat and snapped this picture.

Pretty bitchin', don't ya think?

I ran across this picture during the process of sorting through boxes and boxes of photos. It was taken two sailboats ago.

There's fond memories of this boat, a Hobie Cat 16 as I learned to sail on it. Hobie Cats are very unforgiving. They'll flip or capsize in a heartbeat. If you don't know what you're doing it's likely that all of your time on the water will be spent righting the boat.

Bob had more than his share of flipping and capsizing in his first year of sailing. After that sailing was pretty much like this . . . one hull in the air and the other in the water with only the sound of the boat cutting through the water and the sound of the wind in the sails. There's nothing like it.

Well, there's something else that could be described as being "nothing like it." Honestly, whenever I've been sailing with male friends there has always been and I mean always a ski boat that comes very close to my boat. When the ski boat is just close enough the ladies on board it "flash" us. If I had a buck for every naked butt and bare boobies that's been flashed in my direction while sailing I'd be a very rich man. Yes, that's another thing I just love about sailing.

The guys on board would respond by saying, "You see that? Did you see that?" I would laugh and say, "That's nothing. You should have seen the ladies that flashed me last week. Whoooo Hoooo!"

I've always compared the art of sailing to that of operating a ski boat to that of screwing and making love. Anyone can screw. Making love requires patience, skills, some degree of intelligence and finesse.

We've been without a sailboat for a while now all due to a rigorous work schedule that made recreation nearly impossible. Now that things have eased considerably in that area it's time for another craft.

Searching for a good used boat has been difficult. There are lots of sailboats out there but they're either badly worn or in need if repair. So buy a new one, as son Max suggests? In this economy logic dictates that purchasing a new boat for $40,000 (Catalina or Hunter 25) is not a good decision. The business side of me that is always sitting on my shoulder says "not a good thing" when the idea of a new boat comes up.

I'm optimistic that the right used sailboat will come along and I'm going to continue to look throughout California, Oregon and Washington for it. To demonstrate my optimism that there is a boat that will soon be purchased you should know that I'm in line (last check 2 weeks ago no. 25 and looking good) for a slip at a lake that's 15 minutes from the house. Having a boat in the water 24/7 will make it easy to sail anytime.

Ever see the bumper stick that says, "I'd Rather Be Sailing". If you see a one ton blue truck with that on it please honk and wave That would be Bob driving to another lake or bay to sail his new boat.

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Tuesday, November 11, 2008


Yup, that's me.

The picture was taken on the occasion of my selection as base airman of the quarter. It was not one of those smiling days for Bob. I have no idea why. Maybe I just wanted to look like a trained killer.

What a freaking baby I was. Damn, I'd love to have that head of hair again. Oh yeah, the uniform size at the time was 37. Whatta shrimp!

I had barely turned 18 when I enlisted. It was that or be drafted into the Army. At the time I figured 3 hots and a cot was better than canned rations in a muddy foxhole with bullets whistling over my head.

As it was, I tried like hell to do exactly that but it never worked out. As I got older the concept of kill or be killed became appealing which is why canned rations in a muddy Viet Nam foxhole with bullets whistling became a goal.

Well, as hard as I tried that never happened. When orders came down for me to head "over the pond" I was either on temporary duty somewhere else or on leave.

Uncle Sam did offer a commission along with training to pilot helicopters. I refused that offer when Sam added to the deal that I had to stay in the military for at least 6 more years. 3 years. 10 months. 22 days was enough military for me. I was college bound and not headed for a career in the Air Force.

The rest, as they say, is . . .

Happy Veteran's Day to me!

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Saturday, November 08, 2008


Remember the love scene from the film Deliverance?

If it weren't for 16 people coming for dinner, I'd be in the mood for a movie like this one. It's a classic, don't you think?

Yup, 16 for dinner. I'm a grillin' a whole turkey, there's spiral slice honey ham in the reefer ready to be warmed, my grandmother's special cranberry relish and mashed potatoes. Our guests are bringing the rest (salad, dessert, before dinner snacks, side dishes, etc).

Wifey and I woke this morning, looked at each other and both said, "Why are we doing this?"

I'll let you know tomorrow why we did this and if it was worth doing.

I wish this kid with the banjo was available to play this evening. I bet he could even squeal like a pig! Now that would be entertainment!

Happy Saturday.

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Friday, November 07, 2008


We had a small after school party on Grace's birthday.

Grace opened cards and presents. This card is from Zeenie and Zoe. Who else would send a card with a dog on the front of it?
The dog's card was one of those that makes music or noise. This one barks. Zeen with head tilted is trying to figure out what that damn dog in the card is barking at.
Auntie Dawn and Grace finished frosting the cake.
And then it was time to blow out the candles and have some cake.

It must be great being six years of age and being so loved by so many people.

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Thursday, November 06, 2008


Today is Grace's sixth birthday.

Yesterday she baked and frosted a cake with Wifey.

When it's your birthday and even when it's not the honor of licking the bowl always goes to the grandchild.

There's nothing like chocolate frosting on a cold winter day.

We'll each have a piece of cake when Grace comes home from school. There are presents to open. Later on her mother will pick her up, take Grace home and cook a birthday request meal: spaghetti with salad and cornbread.

On Saturday there's a birthday party for Grace at the local roller rink. All the kids in first grade have been invited as they've been friends to our girl since preschool.

Here's Grace enjoying the frosting on her second birthday. Damn, I love this picture. This has already been placed in the photo album and is ready to show to her first boy friend.

Kind makes ya not wanna eat a cake that a kid has helped prepare. Do ya think?


Happy sixth, Gracie.

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Wednesday, November 05, 2008

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Here's a famous campaign promise made back in 1928:

"A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage" – Herbert Hoover

Apparently that was a promise everyone wanted fulfilled back then for Hoover was elected president.

Times have changed. How different these promises were in comparison to the most recent campaign to elect a president.

If Hoover were alive today he'd likely promise two chicks in every bed and a four car garage for everyone.

How to make right all of the wrongs. I heard a lot of this during this campaign. I didn't hear a lot of concrete resolution to all those things needing fixing.

Taxes were tossed around quite a bit and both Obama and McLame promised the middle class not to worry about any increases. It's stupid not to promise no new taxes for everyone when the national debt keeps rising. War in the middle east. Health care. Economic bailout. Etc. All without any tax increase? Come on guys. Get real.

Finger pointing. There was a lot of that. Many pointed fingers were cast in many different directions towards many people. "Not me. I didn't do it. It was that other guy."

Are promises made by politicians ever kept?

The next four years will be no doubt very interesting. It's gonna take a Super Hero to dig us out of the mess that we're in.

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Whiskeytown Lake, Very Northern California, United States