Ummmmm....Hamburger

That's what Homer Simpson would say, . . . ummmm, hamburger.  He also says the same thing about beer. . . ummmm, beer......

Lunch today with a friend.  The place we're meeting at cooks up great burgers.  We'll eat, drink a couple of beers, chat and then drive home hoping we're both blow well under .08 if stopped by one of Cowtown's finest.  Damn, that would be embarrasing.

I love days like this . . . not much going, taking it easy, no hassles, just living the good life.  The only thing to screw up this day is the on going task of organizing all of the 2010 tax information for our accountant.  There's a bunch.  This year it has to be perfect for I have the sense that we'll be audited.  Forget to dot one i or cross one T there's a stiff fine for those mistakes.  

Maybe I should buddy up with the local IRS guys so at least they'll know me should an audit be called for.  We could go have burgers and beer.  I'd buy.  I'd also make certain they'd drink one too many, arrange for one of my cop pals to pull the guy over.  He'd blow way over .08.  I'd see to that.  Then I'd have the goods on him.  I'd rat the guy out to his superiors but that would happen unless he totally glossed over my tax audit.  Yeah, I'd do that.

Isn't that the American way of doing business?

One More Big Brother Thing

Looks weird?  This system has just begun to replace your friendly. . . or, not so friendly meter maid.  It's called autoChalk.  It is placed in a truck or scooter and is all decked out with four cameras, two laser shooters and a global positioning system.

Inside the truck is a sophisticated computer system that enables the officer to cruise along at a comfortable 20 to 30 mph while the computer system scans parked cars and beeps when it finds one that has overstayed its limit.

Roof-mounted lasers measure the length of the car, its cameras snap photos of each vehicle and its license plate, and its computers digitally stamp the photos with a time and date. The data and photos are then stored until the enforcement truck takes a second turn down the same street.

The system will take new time-stamped photos, digitally compare the old photos with the new, consult the computer's internal data on that street's parking time limit and beep if it determines that the car has been in the same spot for too long.

And get this:  The autoChalk system is capable of reading license plates, so it can alert the enforcement officer to stolen vehicles and parking scofflaws who have five or more unpaid parking tickets and are eligible to have their vehicle towed. The parking department uploads license plate data provided by the Police Department into the truck's computer system.

This puppy runs $64,957 to purchase and about $12,000 a year to maintain.

That's a hella lot of parking tickets to break even.

File this one under GEEZE...WHAT NEXT?!

That Little Voice

That little voice speaks to me.  There is no peace.  It harangs.  It hassles.  It tries to shame me.

You need to write and post it on your blog.

That's what it says.  In whispers mostly.  When days go by and spider webs gather all around What About Bob that little voice begins to shout:  WRITE SOMETHING!  Anything.

Like I have better things to do than sit here and amuse myself by making up stuff. . . stuff that pisses the wife off because she thinks it's offensive.  Well hello, I was off the chart offensive when Wifey married me.  Why should that change now when I've had so many years to hone the art of asshole-ism?

Wifey didn't like the piece about the colonoscopy I was about to have.  Too much information, Bob.  Who wants to read about that?, she said.   

Before I forget it the procedure went well.  When I came too out of their drug induced snooze, Capt. Periscope said all was just hunky dory 'cept I need to eat more stuff with fiber in it.  Chicken wings washed down with beer does not count as fiber, he said.  Damn.

Okay, back to the topic:  Take this photo.  Think that's me.  Nope.  First off I can't write upside down.  Second, no way would Wifey take her time to write that on my stomach.  It's here because I like the message in the picture.  I'd get that puppy tattooed across my chest and walk bare chested around the boat marine this summer for all to see. 

People would probably say, What's that all about?  And I'd reply, It's all about bragging rights, pal.

Or they'd say, What did you do that for?  I'd say, It's a conversation piece.

At least one guy will ask, WOW!  I want one of those.  Where do you get something like that?

I'd have to tell him, No can do.  Gotta be an asshole to get one of these.

Then I'd walk away leaving him dumbfounded.

And that's exactly what I'm going to now . . . leave all of you with whatever thoughts you might have about this post.

Dire Straits - The Bug + lyrics

Bridgestone Bachelor Party Whale Commercial Super Bowl 2010

A Long Shitty Day

Yeah, Sunday is going to be one long shitty day.  A real anus pounder.  I'm not talking Big Mac.

Preparation for Monday's colonoscopy.  That's what I'm talking about.

No veggies tonight and nothing with seeds.  I could get used to this.  Tomorrow morning just a light breakfast as in coffee and toast.  Come 1 p.m. drop four tablets of Dulcolax.  Yeah, four.  That's just to light the fuse.

Sunday at two rolls around.  I run outside to warn the neighborhood, 'LET'S GET READY TO RUUMMMMBLE!"

I'll run back inside and start downing the contents of a gallon of Coylte known to people I hang with as a weapon of mass destruction.  For those who have never sampled this fine brand of liquid, the combination of the Dulcolax and Colyte are designed to completely empty the colon.  We're not talking semi-colon either.  It won'e be a matter of whether to shit or get  off the pot.  It's a matter of not getting off the pot for a very long time.  It will feel like you've been turned inside out.

Here's the rule for mass consumption of this crap (no pun intended):  Drink one 8 ounce glass of this shit every 10 minutes.  Yes, every 10 minutes. Do this until, as the directions state, "your watery stool is clear and has no solid matter."  Watery stool?  My eyes will be watering, too!

Oh joy.  Having done this before it takes most of the gallon of Colyte before your your anus screams out:  ALL CLEAR!  NOW FOR PETE'S SAKE GIVE ME A REST!!

Ya gotta be prepared for many many many trips to the head.  There has to be lots of TP, too.  Lots.  Wifey has our guest bathroom prepared well. .. as I've been banned from using the masterbath until Mr. Anus gives the all clear signal. 

Damn, wouldn't you know that NFL playoff football is tomorrow. I will not be able to eat a single chicken wing or slice of pizza let alone a couple of beers.  No eating solids.  Only clear liquids. . . .hmmm...is beer a clear liquid?  Gotta check this one out.  There may be a bright spot tomorrow.

In case I run out of clear liquid beer or toilet paper Wifey has rented a four wheeled vehicle for me.  I'll be able to pull up to the drive in liquor store and order up any clear liquid they have.  If there are cramps, no problem!  BOOOF!  right there and then!!  The liquor store guy will likely say, "Did I hear something?"  And I'll say, "Naw, just my vehicle backfiring."

I'm thinking I've got to wear Wifey's split crotch panties if I have to drive this thing.  It's gotta be convenient. . . can't be dropping your drawers in public.  That could get me busted.

Come Monday morning it's go to the surgery center come 6:30 a.m.  At 7:30 the good doctor will look at his assistant and say like any good submarine commander:

Get ready to dive. 

ALL SAILORS:  THE SMOKING LAMP IS OUT!

Dive!  Dive Dive!!!

Okay, let's up periscope!

I'm thinking Sunday and Monday are going to be the shits.  But what the hell?  What else do I have to do?   

Dire Straits - Follow Me Home + lyrics

The Beach Boys - Don't Worry Baby

the beach boys - Little Deuce Coupe - The Platinum

When It Hits The Fan

Here's what not to do.  When it hits the fan and you don't know whether to shit or go blind. . . then what?

Buckaroo Buddies

This is me at about age 5 or 6.  I'm sitting next to my good buddy, Doug.  He lived next door.  I'm on the right, Doug on the left.

For endless hours we'd play cowboys.  I'd be Roy Rogers and Doug would be Gabby Hays.  Then we'd switch.  I was Gabby and he was Roy. 

We'd fight once in a while over who would be who.  Neither of us really wanted to be Gabby Hays.  Gabby was old, scraggly and a bad shot.  Roy could shoot, rope, sing and always got the girl. 

We'd also pretend to be the Lone Ranger and Tonto.  We would also play cowboys and indians.

After a while we'd tire of shooting imaginary bad guys.  That's when we'd play cowboys and indians.  And guess what?  We'd argue over who would be the cowboy and who would be an indian.  The indian always got play killed or was strung up by his ankles by a rope swung around the highest tree limb we could throw it around.  We were usually playing cowboy against bad guy when it came to hanging time.

Once in a while I hung Doug up by his ankles and leave him.  I'd go in the house, take a leak, get a drink, talk to mom all the while indian Doug hung upside down tethered to a rope swung around the old willow tree.  Doug would cry and I'd have to shut him up by hauling him down.

I'd generally get in hot water over hanging Doug and leaving Dodge.  Doug would always tattle either to his mom or my mom.  They'd make us stop playing for the rest of the day.  Next day we'd forget what had happened the day before and start all over again.

My family moved to Alaska for a couple of years leaving our home in the care of an aunt and uncle.  When we returned home the idea of playing cowboys and bad guys or indians didn't seem like much fun.  So Doug and I created a TV studio in his bedroom complete with a camera made out of a shoebox, a couple of bright light bulbs with out shades and so on. It was lots of fun.  Just like cowboys and indians we'd argue over who would read the news or sports and who would be the cameraman. 

Then we got the idea of digging tunnels under his fence and into the neighbors field.  With spoons we dug and we dug and we dug.  Once we had tunneled under the fence we carved out a large underground area that had plenty of room for the two of us. 

The dirt must have been clay or something like clay for where ever we tunneled it never caved in.  Lucky for us. 

We were only home from Alaska for another couple of years then dad got the bug to move to Northern California.  I hated leaving my friends, my school mates, the house I loved and my good friend Doug.

Doug went on to graduate from college with a degree in communications.  He retired as news director for a large television station in San Jose.

I also spent some time in television hosting and producing programs.  And to think that interest started in Doug's bedroom with our makeshift television studio.

I pity most of the kids growing up today.  They spend most of their after school and summer time in front of a TV or in front of a computer or playing video games or texting on their I-phones.  What they're missing is a wonderful part of being a child. . . a chance to explore, use the imagination and think on their own.  They'll never dig tunnels.  Never play cowboys and indians (probably would have been replaced by good cop against the homies).  Never even think of hanging a good buddy up by the ankles.  Never create a television studio.  They'll never ever know what they're missing out on.  Never.


Doug and I remain in contact and e-mail once in a while. Our friendship is nothing like it used to be. As we write back and forth I never get the feeling that old friend Doug wants to get together. I'm thinking Doug just might be thinking I'd hang him up by the ankles and leave him there.

And he's right. I would. There's still a little bit of old west cowboy in me.

Paul Simon - You can call me Al

Something's Not Right

I know my body.  I listen to it.  I feel it.  When something's not right I'm the first to know it.  Doesn't take a physician to tell me something's up. 

I'm thinking that I need a little anal as in a colonoscopy.    It's a reminder for me to never go gay.  Most people sleep through theirs I go cold turkey:  No meds at all. 

Without medication all goes well until the scope hits the bend in the road.  Then I sweat bullets.  I'm going, easy, easy now. .. go slow, slowly... son-of-bitch!  I said slowly!  Sweat rolls down my face.  It's more than bit uncomfortable.  I wonder why it was that I decided not to be medicated for the procedure.

I think this time I'll take the meds.  If there's a problem I want to sleep through it. 

My scope doc has a long line of people waiting for the procedure.  I can't even get in to see him until February 14th. .. just in time for me to give him a big kiss, a hug and whisper in his ear, "Be mine, Valentine" right before he analizes me. 

Damn, I love being off the wall.

South of the Border

Friday night Wifey and several friends piled into the truck for a ride south of the border. . . .which was actually from our county into another.  The plan was to participate in Bulltown's monthly art walk which occurs on the first Friday of each month from 5 to 8 p.m.  Bulltown is a small burg of just 12,500  so the art walk was quick. . . between two galleries only a half block apart. 

We walked.  We talked with the artists in each of the two galleries.  Wifey and I bought two pieces for the kitchen one of which is just above this post.  The other is similar in features but of a mule.  The two pieces definitely go together.

The artists, Ana and Phil (they collaborate in painting certain pieces) are seen here holding the piece that one of our friends purchased last month.  Look closely and you'll see that it is a goat with a ciggie in its mouth.  As the story goes the goat gets into any vehicle that's open and looks for cigarettes.  What you see here is the end result of the goat's hunt for a nicotine fix.

Exhausted from our 1/2 block art walk and hungry we drove a short distance to a Thai restaurant for dinner.  Wifey had steamed chicken and veggies.  My choice was Thai grilled chicken.  Our two friends ordered curry dishes. 

To enlarge for reading click on any photo or menu.

We would have enjoyed the dinner more had the place been heated.  Wifey and the two friends took turns warming their hands around a large metal container of tea.

In spite of the heavy fog that evening, it was a pleasant drive home.  A little jazz on the satellite radio, quiet conversation interspersed with idiots exceeding the speed limit on the interstate ignoring the possibility of rear ending another vehicle hidden by the pea soup.  Idiots.

One friend called the next day to say that whatever it was that he ate that night caused a sleepless night highlighted by technicolor dreams of his experiences in post war Viet Nam.  Gads, give me some of that food!  

It's likely we'll return to Bulltown on the first Friday of next month to see the art each gallery features.  It's not likely that we'll do Thai again, at least not for a while.  Maybe something more along the lines of meat and potatoes.  After all, that is Bulltown.  Where better to find some down home, out west cooking?

Why I Want To Sail Hawaii

I've sailed Hawaii and Mexico and done stuff pretty much like what's in this video only with a smaller boat. . . a Hobie Cat . . .a 16 foot catamaran.  Would I ever love to ride the surf with a boat the sized of Sparkle Plenty.  Whoo Hoo!  Check it out. 

One Way Of Looking At It

I could ramble here on the topic of the origins of religion. . . not just Christianity but each of the other religions, too. 

Simply put, I believe that religion is personal and up to individual interpretation.  Unless you live in the Middle East.  Not much religious wiggle room there.  No gray areas. 

'Nuff said.

Tying One On

Mom stopped tying my shoes on the first day of first grade.   Bob was on his own.  No matter what I said, no matter how long I cried, mom was done tying my shoes.  Mom spent time trying to get me to get the hang of how to tie my shoes.  No go.  Bob was destined for the special ed class that specialized in tying shoes. I thought that I was doomed.

On the first day of first grade I went to the neighbors crying my eyes out . . . shoe laces dragging in the dirt.  Jeanne, the across the street first grade girl friend offered to help.  It took one shoe tying demo from Jeanne and BANG!  the light bulb went on.  First try both shoes were tied with a bow . . .and no knots. . . and me...no longer a slave to when my mom could or could not tie my shoes.  I was solo shoe string flying on my own.  Whoo hoo!   

Mom was never a good teacher when it came to things like tying shoes or advice on the meaning of life.  Mom was mom and ya just had to love her for who she was.  She did the best with what she had to work with.  And that was fine with me because I knew that it's true that we only have one mom to love . . .  and tolerate.

Funny what you remember after so much of time has passed.   

The Simpsons - Dohs

Poms in the Snow