Preying on the Misery of Others

It is an early morning.  Damn, I hate it when the thoughts start whirring at 2:30 a.m.  There's no sleeping.  So here I sit.  Coffee in one hand. Keyboard in the other.

This deal with Jesse James and Sandra Bullock.  You've read about it.  It's in the papers, on the Net, all over the television.  Like this guy and his now estranged wife need more grief as piled on by the media?  It's like pouring salt in an open wound.  And the media is making big bucks off of the misery of these two people.  How awful.  When they need privacy, time to heal and an opportunity to figure their lives out....not to mention making the decision to reconcile or split the sheets, both are being lambasted with negative publicity.  No one should have to put up with this kind of abuse.

Yeah, yeah, you're saying Jesse James deserves what's being dished up.  With a name like Jesse James you thought this guy was an angel?   Heck, he's like the old west outlaw he's so proudly related to.  Shoot 'em up!  Make it whiskey.  Where's the broads?  You know the type.

And on the other side of the coin, didn't Ms. Bullock understand the principle that once a scoundrel always a scoundrel?   Guys like these don't change.  Ever.  Didn't her mom teach her that if you sleep with dogs you're bound to get fleas?  Well, Sandra Bullock is infested with fleas up the waazoo now and scratching like hell.

Whatever the case I still feel for the two miserable people.  Life can be shit on a stick.  And it's not tasty.

The photo here was taken yesterday just to the right of the marina.   The marina is located at the south/west end of the lake.  It kind of looks like a mudpuddle here but the lake is really substantial in size.   Shasta Bally, all covered in snow, is in the background. 

Did you know there's an off road trail to the top of Shasta Bally?  We've been there, drove that.  It's a hellofa drive to the top.  Takes a four wheel drive vehicle but OH!, what a view of the valley once you get there.  But ya gotta wait until there's no snow.   Only way to get to the top for at least a month or more is by snowmobile.   

I think I'm ready for a nap.......

But before I leave you here's a thought regarding yesterday's post: 

Aging is a high price to pay for maturity.

One Thousand Three Hundred!

Yup.  One thousand three hundred blog posts since the humble beginnings of What About Bob back in 2006.  When most blogs written in that year have bitten the dust old Bob keeps on trucking.  Slow but sure he grinds out "stuff" when the mood suits him.  I'm a bit proud that this thing is like the Ever Ready Bunny. . . it keeps going and going and going . . . . .

Something that was apparent in the early days of this blog was a sprinking of strange, weird, off the wall thoughts.  That crossed my mind yesterday as I recognized this blog was hitting 1,300 posts.  Something has been missing here.  I've got to get my weird back on.  That's all there is to it.

Frankly, I haven't had many off the wall thoughts lately.   Usually they constantly run through my mind.  They began in early childhood and lasted a lifetime.  Bob's sense of humor could be funny, could be off the wall, could at times be strange and once in a while perverted.  Mom and Dad more than once said I needed psychiatric help. 

Those comments never bothered me.   Consider the source, I thought.   I figured these two were confusing comic relief and leadership abilities with mental illness.  And what the hell did they know anyway?  The retort to the suggestion that I needed "help" came in the form of, "Sure, I'll do just that when you two get marriage counseling to straighten up your screwed up relationship and when dad goes into anger management rehab, stops wailing on me with his belt, fists, hangers, and whatever else he could get his hand on, then quits smoking and drinking.  Not until then."  Ah, those were the days.

Perhaps what made Bob behave in a Bob kind of way through out the years was all due to immaturity.  Mom would always yell, "Grow up, Bob!  Grow up!"  Is that why I've seemed to have lost my weird . .. have I finally grown up? 

Say it isn't so......

Still A Rebel of Sorts

I hate to even write this but Dennis Hopper is dying.  Prostate cancer is bring this old rebel down.  Who would have thought it would take an up the butt issue to kill a big screen bad ass like Dennis.

Last week Dennis was awarded the a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.  He's made so many movies you would have thought Dennis would have gotten his star long ago.  Why did they wait until he was on his last legs?  Geeze!

Here's Hopper and Jack Nicholson.  You know the movie that brought both to everyone's attention.  Easy Rider.  Jack is looking very porked out and happy. 

One of Hopper's first films was Rebel Without a Cause.  Then came Giant, another film everyone seemed to like, too.  Remember Blue Velvet?  Who can forget Dennis running around with a nitrous mask on his face, sucking gas and screaming, "Momaaaa, momaaaaaa!   Baby wants to fuck!!  Moma!  Momaaaa!"

Now you want to see it again, don't you.....Ten times was more than plenty for me.

Right after Blue Velvet came out my friends and I would, after getting better than half a heat on, look at each other, put one hand over the nose and mouth as if we had a gas mask on, and start chanting, Momaaaa, momaaaa!  People thought we were nuts.  And we were.

Dennis is still somewhat of a rebel even in this advanced state.  He's in the middle of divorcing his wife.  Hopper says she's sucking up all of his money and wants to leave most to his kids with nothing to the wife hence the divorce.  Staying alive until the April court date may be problematic.   If anyone can do it old Dennis Hopper can.

It's tough to keep an old rebel down.

I was just thinking.  Wonder if Dennis did the Mommaaaa! deal in the hospital.  He really should.

I'm gonna miss the guy.

Having Fun - Wish You Were Here

Life can be like an on vacation postcard sent to friends back home:  Easy.  Carefree.  Exciting.  Interesting.  Funny.  Like sitting on the beach and enjoying the feel of your feet sifting through the sand.  Kind of like that. 

Wifey senses that Bob is having fun and enjoying himself.  He's on permanent vacation.  That's what she said this morning.  Wifey also said that Bob always finds something to do.  Bob putters.  He works at stuff, he thinks a lot, loves going out to the boat even if it's only to sit on the stern rail and enjoy a sandwich and a beer, he plays with the dogs, cooks a meal here and there (Gracie says that Papa's cooking is so yummy that he should open a restaurant) and takes time to read three newspapers front to rear every day.  Watching Imus in the Morning on the Fox financial channel is an every day priority for Bob . . . lots to learn about in this world by  just sitting there watching while sipping coffee and downing a bagel.

So as not to be called a lazy ass Bob takes on a lot of chores.  There's definitely no ass sitting time for him.  Bob's taken over cleaning and mopping the kitchen and family room floor tile, emptying the dishwasher, mowing the lawn, grooming the shrubbery, keeping the home fires burning.....gads, the still more and the list could be endless.  Bob also watches over the finances and the management of the rental properties.

People often ask, "Well Bob, what are you doing in retirement?"  And I often answer, "I'm busy with a lot of things.  The time goes so quickly I really don't know any one thing that takes up my time."  I am sometimes asked to work doing short and long term work.  My response, "Sorry, I just don't have the time to take on a job."

I wonder how all of these things that I do now got done during the time that I worked six days a week, 12 plus hours a day.  Wifey says that if she or someone else didn't do them they didn't get done. One thing for certain:  My life was not my own.

It's satisfying keeping busy with stuff that matters at home and not at work.  It's pretty cool.

The next time someone asks me what I'm doing now I'll come back with, "Having fun, wish you were here."

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.


BTW:  The photo taken off of the back patio of the Vinca that covers our hillside.  It's in bloom meaning Spring is here. 

 

Chops & Schrooms

Gawd, I've like made this dish forever.  It's easy.  It's delish.  It's sort of good for you and will cure what ails ya.  Won't remove warts, though.  Everything else should be taken care of.

A couple of thick center cut boneless lean porkchops (bone in is okay)

A can of Campbell's Golden Mushroom soup . . . nothing else but.

half to 3/4 soup can of White wine

half pound of mushrooms or more.

Salt, pepper, garlic powder

Seaon the chops with salt, pepper and garlic powder then brown them in a three tablespoons of olive oil or anything else on hand.

In a baking container just big enough for the chops mix the contents of the Golden Mushroom soup with the wine. 

Place the chops in the pan.

Slice the mushrooms and place in and around the porkchops. 

Cover with foil.

Bake at 350 for an hour.

Serve with mashed potatoes - the mushroom sauce is wonderful with them and on the chops.

Someone's Dream Job

I was getting ready to pull out of the West Marine's parking lot yesterday (yeah, yeah . . . spending more $$ on boat parts) and this caught my eye.  I immediately thought of Blogger Pal Laroo who would love to own a business on wheels.  I just had to take this photo to show her what's possible.  An ice cream business off of a Harley is definitely thinking outside the box.

To ride a Harley is one dream but to sell ice cream while riding the Harley is yet another.  Double dreams for someone have come true.  But wait, there's one more:  Ride the Harley.  Sell the ice cream.  Eat the ice cream, too!  Triple dreams come true all rolled into one!

If I owned this baby I'd run it in all the cool happenings.  Burning Man.  Raggae on the River.  Sturgis.  NASCAR.  Things like that.  I think I'd have to get a couple of tats on the arms so that I'd fit in.  Piercings, too.

It would definitely be a nickel and dime business.  Factor in the fun factor and it would be a business venture well worth the time.  Stories are made of things like this.

Once upon a time there was an old fart named Bob. . . one day he decided to start a business.....

The rest, as they say, would definitely be history......

 

I've Noticed

Once in a while I cruise around other blogs to see what others write and what photos they post.  It's interesting to observe how much time and effort some put into writing their daily blog posts.  Some blogs are major works of literature.  Others share too much information in very graphic details on all levels regarding the writer's personal life.  Then there are the philosophical blog entries on this, that and other things that make for diverse reading.

In comparison What About Bob? has become really very plain.  Of late there are few if any inner reflections, not a lot of stories, nothing political in nature and definitely no mention of anything about Bob's sex life or photos about his sex life.... (Wifey says if I post ANY home photos of that kind it is grounds for Citizen's Divorce).

I've spent some time thinking about this blog and where's it's landed and why it is what it is.  The logical conclusion is that I'm just plain old content.  Status quo rocks!  Or so it seem.   Farmers say that contented cows produce contented, tasty milk.   Moooooooooooo!  Bob is mooing in his contentment.

What does that mean?  Well, what it means is that there's not a lot that I really give a shit about these days.  Easy does it is the rule of the day.   When you take on an attitude like that it doesn't mean you don't care, you just accept things for how they are.  It's a relaxed posture . . . a devil may care approach to living.

Accepting life and the world as it is today is easier that way, at least it seems to be for me.  There are no longer sleepless nights.  No debating until I'm blue in the face what's wrong with this world.   Definitely no shit fits over the state of America and all of its woes.  There's still fuel to light a fire in the belly.   But the pilot light is ready to ignite the burners should it be ever necessary.  Someone's home but nobody is answering the door. 

So, that's why Bob's blog is a bit plain and probably boring compared to others.  Like a comfortable old shoe that often squeaks, the blog is still be nice to walk around in. 

Take today's post.  It's was going to be all about a morning and early afternoon at the lake.  Slight breeze.  Sunshine.  Perfect day to make a few boat repairs, remove the black dirt streaks from Sparkle Plenty's sides and talk casually to Marina Bob and the fellow across from us who has a 23 foot Pearson sailboat. 

Marina Bob:  I see you're growing something on your chin - a beard and moustache, Bob.  Kind of a deely bobber.

Me:  Yup. 

Marina Bob:  So why did you decide to grow that?

Me:  I wanted to look like a dope dealer. 

I think Marina Bob is somewhat in awe of what I used to be in this life . . . the position I held, the education I have.  When something like this comes out of my mouth he has no clue what to think or what to say.  Little does Marina Bob know is that deep down I'm a dumb shit who wallows in being dumb when he can get away with it.

The water level is not nearly as low as it was several months ago all due to the rain that's fallen this past month.  Nonetheless, the walk down the ramp is a steep one as you can tell by the first photo.  It's pleasant to stand at the top of the ramp and look down onto the marina.  Sparkle Plenty is in the center of the photo facing this way , blue sailbag attached to the main sail, with the white furling jib all rolled up in front. 

There's nothing like being moored at the end of the marina surrounded by the sounds of nature.  Nothing like accepting life on these terms.   It's sooo very easy. 

Think About It

It's A Best Seller?

Yesterday I took time to read the listing of best selling books in the Wall Street Journal.  It's always interesting to see what's popular in the world of books.  So, I go down the list of the best selling hardcover fiction.  There in position number 9 on this list was Green Eggs and Ham.  Honest.  The number 9 best selling hard cover fiction book in America. 

I'm thinking, you gotta be kidding.  That's my all time favorite book.  And there it is number 9 on this week's best selling book list.  I must really have good taste when it comes to books.

That either says a lot about Bob's literary savy or it doesn't say a lot about what American's read these days. 

After this earth shaking discover I continue down the best seller list.  Guess what?  You're not going to believe this but The Cat in the Hat is number 14 on the best sellers hard cover fiction list.  Believe it. 

Holy Macaroni and Cheese!  I'm thinking that two children's books that have been on the shelves forever and still on the best sellers list has to truly mark the end of our civilization.   Or, could it be that there's a boom in babies being born and all the grandparents are rushing out to buy their little darlings an old familiar friend. 

Either way, Dr Seuss has to be looking down on us from somewhere within the pearly gates and smiling.  Writing two or more classic children's books that still sit on the best sellers list is indeed something to be proud of.

When the Thrill is Gone

You noticed the announcement on entering What About Bob? today.  I activated the adult content intro to this blog all due to this post and the ever present the Blogger Police. If this notice wasn't activated it's likely they would tag this blog and lock it up.

This post could come under more than a couple of headings:

How much is enough? 

Makes a Mother Proud?

What happens when the thrill is gone?

I can't imagine anyone defacing their body in such a way.  A tattoo or two is one thing.  Covering your body completely in tattoos is yet another.  Regardless of what generation you're in, what's shown here has to be over the top.  Guys?  A real jewel to take home to mother.  Ya think?

Yeah, yeah, it's her body.  But ya just have to think that later in life, when the thrill is gone and all of her pals have grown up, gotten real jobs, real families and live real lives, that she would be left without pals and deeply regret having defaced her body.  That said, this woman has created her own handicap that will to some degree limit what she's able to do in this life. 

It would be tough going to the beach.  Can you imagine this woman attending a swim party put on by her employer?  It would be interesting to listen to the behind her back comments made by her physician or by the operating room crew should she ever go under for a procedure.

It's likely that this woman doesn't really care who thinks what or who says what.  That's today.  How about tomorrow?

Individuality creates an interesting world to live in.  Here's an excellent example of that statement.

Medium Rare or Well Done?

If no one else has I should apply for a patent on these babies.  They'd sell like hotcakes at Home Depot or on E-Bay. 

Don't ask where I got them because I don't.   The photo was picked up off of the Internet.  Some guy who's handy with a torch put this together.  If he selling them I wonder if he has a business plan?  It would be interesting to check that plan out.

Ahh, the perfect gift for someone who has everything but this. 

INTERNET SCAM

I received the following e-mail this morning from what I thought was from a friend.  It was via her e-mail address but something just didn't seem right.  Read on:

"I'm writing this with tears in my eyes, I came down here to London, United Kingdom for a short vacation unfortunately i was mugged at the park of the hotel where i stayed, all cash, credit card and cell were stolen off me but luckily for me i still have my passports with me
.
I've been to the embassy and the Police here but they're not helping issues at all and my flight leaves in less than 3hrs from now but am having problems settling the hotel bills and the hotel manager won't let me leave until i settle the bills.

I'm freaked out at the moment."


So I respond to the e-mail half way thinking it was her but knowing it could be a scam, too.  I offered my help and another e-mail came back once again using the friend's e-mail account:


"Thanks for your quick response I still need help, I have nothing left on me right now and I am lucky to have my life and passports with me it would have been worst if they had made away with me passports.The name of the Hotel is Royal Garden Hotel and you can call me now +447024074504

Well all I need now is just $1,900 you can have it wired to my name via Western Union i'll have to show my passport as ID to pick it up here and i promise to pay you back as soon as I get back home. Here's my info below

Name: Friend's Name was here.

State: London W10 4AH,


Country: United Kingdom

As soon as it has been done, kindly get back to me with the confirmation number. Let me know if you are heading to the WU outlet now???"
 
 
After this last e-mail which doesn't even look like the friend would write I telephone her before doing anything.  My call to her confirmed that she was not in England but at work in the Bay area and was blown away by this whole deal. 
 
The thugs had taken over the friend's Yahoo e-mail account and she can no longer access it.   I also learn that the first message was sent to everyone in the friend's address book.  Hopefully no one takes the bait.
 
There are all kinds of predators in this world just waiting to hurt any one of us in so many different ways.  What a world we live in.

Sunday Dinner

Chicken with roasted root vegetables ready for the oven.  Wifey did an outstanding job of putting this meal together, don't you think?

Back in the day dad would drive the family out to his sister's ranch.   Uncle Ed would get his hatchet, grab the nearest couple of hens and cut their heads off.  With half awe and half horror we watched the headless chickens run around the barnyard which seemed to be an endless amount of time. 

Later that afternoon everyone feasted on fried chicken.   We never gave the race of the headless chickens a thought as we downed a tasty meal of freshly baked rolls, corn on the cob, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy.

Fried chicken doesn't fit into a politically correct diet these days nor does raising and "harvesting" your chicken dinner.   I guess that would be the good news.  It's nearly a lost art . . . the beheading and feather plucking in the name of a Sunday dinner.  In the name of demonstrating what used to be in America can you imagine a teacher demonstrating to their students the nearly lost art of beheading a chicken?  The teacher would probably make the headlines of the newspaper, parents would be up in arms, the principal would have to bring in grief counselors for the  traumatized children and the teacher would be without a job.  How times have changed. 

Chickens today can mostly be found without their heads, stuffed into "body bags", refrigerated and found in the meat case of your friendly neighborhood supermarket.  Pretty sanitary.  No fuss.  No muss.  No trauma.  No more wondering why the chicken crossed the road....to get away from the hatchet wielding farmer, that's why....

The Rule of Saturday

That would be mom's rule:  Pizza each and every Saturday night.  Mom wasn't the best cook in town.   When Saturday night rolled around brother and I sighed with relief knowing what was for dinner and not some god forsaking concoction of a meal.  Can't screw up pizza.

When it's bitching hot in Cowtown during the summer months it's best not to fire up the oven on a Saturday night.  Instead the pizza stone goes on the Weber and not in the kitchen oven.  Place a little nitty gritty corn meal on the stone which helps to slide the pizza off when it's done cooking, and you've got one hell of a meal.

My problem with making pizza is placing too many things on it.  Besides marinara sauce, Bell pepper.  Slices of white onion.  Sliced olives.  Pepperoni or thin slices of Italian ham.  Cheese.  Anchovies. Sliced tomatoes.  A sprinkling of oregono.  Good pizza.  Bad heartburn.

Trader Joes sells a killer pizza dough all ready to roll out.  Beats making it from scratch.  Saves time and the mess making from scratch creates.  I don't miss the mess of mixing my own pizza dough.  There's usually flour from hell to breakfast.

So mother, where ever you are, it's Pizza Night once again.  Need I mention that it is also Saturday?  I didn't think so.

Here's the New Pup . . . digging it....

http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=DpIVBbhaDDM

Driving North in the South Bound Lane

Life for some can be like driving north but in the south bound lane.  You're bound to have a lot of near misses if not a head on collision.  You know the rules:  Going with the flow would be easier.  It's hard to swim up stream but easy to go head in the opposite direction.   When life gets difficult check to make certain that you're in the right lane that's headed in the easy direction.  Easy does it applies here.

This blog is turning into a cooking school.  Cooking with Bob the Kook.  Yup.  Last night it was Cornish Game Hens stuffed with wild rice (already cooked) and golden raisins.  Grilled with the middle burner off at 400 degrees for about75 minutes. 

I learned someting new about Cornish Game Hens just this last week.  They were specifically bred to produce only white meat.  Never thought about there not being any dark meat on any of the hens that were eaten over the years.  Did you?

Ready For The Oven

It takes a bit of prep to ready stufffed peppers for baking.  When it comes to baking stuffed peppers I always use an old cast iron dutch oven that once graced the cupboards of my mother.  It's an oldie but a goodie.  Can't really abuse something like that. 

So, here they are.  Ready for the oven. 

Little dog with no name slept through the whole cooking prep process. She slept on her back and snored while I toiled over a hot oven.  A pup needs their naps.   Our other Pom, Zeenie, hates the sound of pots and pans and the chopping of veggies.  She hightails it into the master bedroom until the comotion is over with. 

It's another rainy day in Cowtown.  There's a fire in the woodstove.  The three dogs are napping.  Relaxing music is being piped through the house thanks to Sirius radio.  Bob is all smiles.

Stuffed Peckers

Okay, I got your attention.  The heading should have read, "Stuffed Peppers".  Who would ever think of stuffing peckers anyway?

Tonight it's on the menu.   Peppers, not peckers.  Stuffed peppers is an old family recipe I make now and again.  It's easy.  They're tasty.   Provides a nice aroma that floats through the house.  Everyone loves them.

If you've not tried this dish and you like green, red, yellow or orange peppers, you really should give it a whirl.  Google stuffed peppers and pick the recipe that sounds good.  You can't go wrong. 

Hi ho it's off to stuffing I go!

Plain Old Tuckered Out

The little one runs around until she crashes.   Last night Wifey commandeered Papa's easy chair to sit with the dog and watch the latest installment of HBO's Big Love.  Wifey sat down and within seconds peewee was lights out.  Not even the bright light from the camera flash got her attention.

Have you ever watched Big Love?  It's about a guy, a Moron dude, who takes on three wives.  They all live in separate houses with connecting backyards.  Big dad takes turns spending nights with each wife.  Gads.   Living in harmony with one wife is hard enough but three?!  Is this guy ever stupid or what. 

I don't know why we take our time to watch Big Love.  It certainly isn't the lure of a plural marriage.  Maybe it's the interesting story line that brings us back each Sunday. 

Anyway, peewee wasn't buying any of it as shown here with her happily snoozing through the whole episode.