All About Hallmark?

Ever try flying a kite with a chase anything dog around?  At our house that would be Kiri.  Throw anything or float anything through the air, this dog is game to go after it.  And if it suits her fancy, Kiri will chew the hell out of it . .. usually earning this pup a trip to the Vet to up-chuck whatever it was she chewed and swallowed.

Expensive. 

Last week it was kite flying in the backyard.  This damn dog just has to join in on the fun by snapping up the kite tail.

A dog's gotta do what a dog's gotta do.  She is pretty funny. Damn, I just love this dog.

Happy Valentine's Day?  One day out of the year it's all about gifts, cards and a steak/lobster dinner for your loved one.

It's like Christmas.  In December everyone exudes the sentiment of  'peace on earth, goodwill to all men".  My take is that the spirit of Christmas and Valentine's Day should not be one day or month out of the year but an every day approach to life.   Why just one day to love the one you're with. . . .or at least express that via flowers, cards, gifts, smooches, holiday sex and what have you.  Loving the one you're with and showing it should be an every day deal.  Life's too short to spend 364 days of not appreciating who you've chosen to spend your life with.  Each of us all need love and appreciation.  If we don't get it we wilt.....just like a flower that has not been watered.

I guess what I'm driving at is that life should be a celebration every day year 'round.   One day you'll be sorry that other things got in the way.

Thunk about it.  But don't do a lot of thunking. .. . just get out there and do it.

Goober

Can you guess? 

Another one of Gracie's photos.  The kid has an eye and a steady hand for picture taking.  Of course my camera is half way decent which does add to all things being in focus.

Give up?

This is a freshly opened jar of Smuckers Goober . .. a blend of peanut butter and jelly.

Goober.  What's in a name?

Wifey Has A Party

Yesterday was Wifey's birthday.  All the kids arrived around 5 dinner at 6.  Pasta.  Salad.  French bread.  It must have been delish . . . Scott had three plates filled with pasta and sauce.

Then it was time for Wifey to read her birthday cards.

Open presents.

Be surprised by a one of a kind birthday cake. . .. it was gluten free.

Dawn brought the cake into the living room in all its firery glory.

Wifey took a moment to check it out.

Then she took another moment to think what she would like to wish for . . . you know, the birthday wish that comes with blowing out the candles.

And then she blew them out.

Here's the crowning touch to Wifey's birthday.  As her gift Gracie bought two tickets to the Justin Bieber 3D film, Never Say Never.  It opened that day at the Cowtown Cineplex.  Hmmm, I asked Gracie for the second time who the gift was really for.  No answer.  Just a big smile.

The tickets were for 9:30 that evening.  Two very tired females left the house at 9 and returned at 11:30. . .. even more tired than when they left.  Gracie had purple lips and tongue. .. which at first I thought were from non stop screaming for dear Justin Bieber.  Wrong.  An icee on the way home, she said.

The last photo in the series says it all.  It was one of Wifey's favorite birthdays. 

Whazz Up!

The girls:  Kiri and Zeenie.  Photographed by Gracie taken past Tuesday.  Kiri is just over a year old and in training to be certified as a therapy dog.  Zeenie is three.  She was certified just a bit after her first birthday.

They're lively, active pups who are always up for a game of chase or fetching a ball.  Bring out the leashes, they become nutcases chomping at the bit to get out of the house for a long walk.

Today's Wifey's birthday.  The whole fam damnly will be over for dinner, cake and presents.  It's spaghetti . . .their choice of a meat/tomato sauce I've prepared or a clam/herb sauce.  French bread.  Salad.

Grace will spend the night.  Her gift to her grandmother is two tickets to see Justin Bieber's film that was released today.  It's in 3-D.   I asked Grace last week just before buying the pre-sale tickets, "Is this for Grammy or all about you?"  Grace looked at me and just grinned.

That girl's a chip off the old block.  Eight years old and she's already working the angles.

Happy Birthday, Wifey!

One Day Into Another

Gracie snapped this photo of Wifey's shadow yesterday.  She was taking pictures in hopes of enterting at least one in her school's student art show.  This might be the one that will take a prize.  Not bad for an 8 year old kid.

Lunch today with a pal who writes restaurant reviews for the local paper.  He'll write a review of where we'll eat.  Always interesting to watch how he works.

Son-in-law is on jury duty.  Judge says no more than a four day trial.  Yeah, right.

Daughter's working in a new job and loving it.  She was lucky to be recruited by a 15 store chain of supermarkets to be their graphics art director.  Big increase in salary compared to her last job.  She's all smiles.

Son is designing and building a backyard playhouse for Grace.  She wanted a tree house but the city said no deal unless a permit is taken out.  A permit is not required for a ground level shed or play house as long as it's single story and less than 150 square feet.  A playhouse it shall be.  We'll start building Grace's dream house in the next couple of weeks.

Wifey's off for lunch today with a friend and dog training with Kiri later this afternoon.

Split Pea soup is in the slow cooker and will be ready for dinner at 6. 

Another day that seems much like the day before.  Not a bad thing.  Routine can be a good thing.

They Sucked!

Sunday's Superbowl. . . half time activities....I thought the Black Eyed Peas sucked.  At the time I thought well, maybe it's me . . ., old school Bob. . . . maybe I should get out of what ever musical era I'm in, shift gears and enter a new century of music.

Today CNN's Poll made me feel that I may not be so out of the loop after all. ..

CNN On-line Poll
Which recent Super Bowl halftime performer was best?

Springsteen
29%

Prince
23%

Tom Petty
16%

The Who
16%

Black Eyed Peas
15%


Total votes: 73715

Need I say more?

What My Dogs Can Do

Just like this:

Must Have Been The Wings

It was a day for all us cheeseheads.  The Packers did what they were trained to do and kicked the Steeler's butts.  Doesn't get much better than this!

I feel like a flying cheesehead.

BTW:  I have a cheese head hat which I wore proudly all day Sunday.

I'm feeling Super Bowl hung over this morning.  No, not the beer as only had two.  So, must have been the KFC wings . . .you know, the 20 for five bucks deal.  Ohhhhhh, so good. 

You wouldn't think that two beers and some wings would hang you over. Hmmmm.

Maybe I done did clog an artery.

Look! Up In The Sky!

Remember how each episode of the TV series Superman began? 

"Faster than a speeding bullet.


More powerful than a locomotive.

Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Look! Up in the sky!

It's a bird. It's a plane. It's Superman!
Yes, it's Superman - strange visitor from another planet who came to Earth with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. Superman - who can change the course of mighty rivers, bend steel with his bare hands, and who, disguised as Clark Kent, mild mannered reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper, fights the never ending battle for Truth, Justice and the American Way."

Well cowboys and cowgirls, we're gonna have a new superhero. .. MARIJUANA MAN!  Look for the release on April 20th of a comic book with that name.

If there's a television series in the works wonder if they'll use an opening similar to that of Superman's?

Faster than a smoking doobie.

More powerful and than a gang of meth heads.

Able to leap fences and bud laden plants in a single bound.

Look!   At that guy with the cloud of smoke surrounding him!


something like that . . . .

ya think?

KFC:  20 Wings for 10 Bucks!

Until midnight Sunday.  Freaking deal. Stock up. Pig out.  I just love those damn things. 

As for this video just know that any church serving wings is a church of mine.  Praise the Lord and pass another wing.  That's what I'm talking about.

Wanna Be Hip?

Next time you're out on the town and there's an opportunity to dance here's you chance to be hip with the younger crowd.  The video here will definitely teach you some moves called the Dougie.

So get down, get moving, learn the Dougie!

College Short Cuts

An Associate of Arts degree, a Bachelor of Arts degree, a Master of Arts degree. . . all earned by yours truly.  Earned not by the easy way but the hard way.

15 plus units each semester.

To pay for books, tuitition and clothe, feed, put a roof over the families head there were 32 plus hours of work each week in a supermarket.  There were no student loans taken out.  

It went like this:

School Monday through Friday with classes usually in the morning.

Work 5:00 p.m. - 10:00 p.m. Wednesday through Friday and 1:00 p.m. - 10: p.m. Saturday and Sunday.  Monday and Tuesday were off days.

Homework and reading:  Week day afternoons, mornings Saturday and Sunday.  Lunch/dinner breaks at the supermarket.

There wasn't a lot of time for a life other than school and work. 

In order to earn decent grades to stay in college and work close to full time there had to be short cuts.  Ah, good old Cliff Notes.  Could not have done it without old Cliff's notes.  Saved my bacon.  Cliff's name should be alongside mine on the three sheep skins.

Initially the courses taken were geared towards meeting prerequisites for enrollment in law school.  About two thirds of the way through school that goal changed to the field of education.  One day I'll write about how that came about.  Interesting story.  

College was a good experience albeit one tough grind.  Overall a 3.80 grade point average.  Given the cirumstances not too shabby.  Something that I can say wasn't handed me but earned the old school way.  I'd do it again.

Blood for Oil

Here we go again.  Gas and diesel prices at the pump are going up, up and up.  Diesel in Cowtown is going for $3.65 a gallon and that's at the least expensive pump in town.  It's being said that 4 bucks a gallon is in our not so distant future.  And that's only the beginning.  So they say.

It's unfortunate that the most unstable, whacked out portion of the world holds the greatest amount of oil. ..a product the whole world has become dependent on.   There's been constant fighting and bloodshed in those countries since Christ was a corporal.  Centuries of bloodshed.  And it's still going on. 

This month it's Egypt.  Who knows who's next come March.  Late in the last century America was hauled into this never ending squabble of tribes, religious beliefs and mayhem for the sake of mayhem.  Our intervention was about oil sugar coated with an effort to bring democracy to that part of the world.  Those efforts have been at the expense our men and women, their lives, their blood. . . all for oil.

These on the other side of the world guys don't fight with honor . . . they're chicken shit fighters.  Car, suicide and roadside bombs.  Ambushes, which are okay in the field of battle but instead of turning tail and running or surrendering, those on the opposing side hide their weapons and pretend to be civilians.  And we don't intentionally kill civilians, do we?   No fair!  No doubt the face of war has changed a lot these past few years. 

Back in the day I used to love to fight.  Hell yeah.  There was a code that went along with a street fight.  When you're getting the best of someone you'd ask, "Had enough?  Say uncle?."  If whoever it was you were fighting wanted to stop the fight it's likely he would yell out, "Enough!  I've had enough.  Uncle!"  The fighting would stop.  JUst like that.   There were also times when someone was getting the crap kicked out of him bystanders would break up the fight.  Whenthe fighting stopped there were no more punches thrown.  No guns or knives were pulled or used.  Fighting was straight up, one on one.  Everyone knew what to do and everyone followed the rules.

Street fighting today is less than that.  Get knocked down and you're likely to be kicked in the head and stomped on.  Knives.  Guns.  Pipes.  Bats.  You name it they're using it.  It's now okay for two or three guys to beat the snot out of one guy.  Dog eat dog, no holds barred.  Back in the day if the guy was bigger or stronger than you were he'd fight with one arm tied behind his back.  That was to make the fight somewhat equal . . . more often than not the bigger guys still kicked the stuffing out of the smaller guys.  Today the punkfaces shoot first and ask questions later.  No fighting.  Just shooting.  The back in the day code of street fighting is no more.

There's a lot of trouble in our world.  One solution would be to pull everything in.  No more fighting the chickenshits in foreign countries.  Isolate ourselves as much as possible  Be self sufficient, less dependent on oil, manufacture everything we could with everyone instilled with the mindset of buying American.   It would be all about taking care of ourselves and minding our own stinking business.

Sigh.

I know.  Never would, could or will happen.  It's now a world economy.  America has to play that game.  There's no going back to the good old days.  They're over.  They're done with. 

I can dream, can't I?

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

Okay Already!

Wifey:  Your blog post yesterday was disgusting.  I guess anyone who reads your blog knows that once in a while there will be something offensive posted on it.

Me:  That wasn't offensive.  It was all about what was enough.

Wifey:  That was enough offensive.

Me:  Gee, it only showed cleavage. What's offensive about a little cleavage?

Wifey:  Ah, a little cleavage?  That's the whole enchilada, Bob.

Me singing, "I gotta be me!!!  I GOTTA BE ME!!!"

Wifey:  Okay already.  Enough is enough. . . .

On another less offensive subject, here's the two Poms, Zeenie on the right, Kiri on the left, playing tug-of-war. 

There's a lot of posturing and growling . . .and a lot of stare down.

For this game Zeen came out as the winner.  It's about a 50/50 split on which dog comes away with the toy. 

Isn't it nice that this post is so clean, so wholesome and so lacking in cleavage. 

Damn, how I hate minding my manners.

HOW MUCH IS ENOUGH?

Okay, okay...get a couple of things out of your head.  I do not cruise porn sites and I did not pick this photo up on my own.  A FRIEND SENT IT TO ME!

And the friend, knowing how I think added to the e-mail:  Hey Bob!  How much is enough, buddy?!"

The poor girl.  How does she get around with a rack like this.  Heck, we're talking disability here.  If she doesn't have back problems they be just around the corner.  These puppies must weight in at least 15-20 pounds a piece.

If these boobs are enhanced just what was she thinking?  I'd love to come across this chick in Walmart.  She would no doubt be blocking the aisle.  I'd have to say, "Miss?  Your boobs are in my way.  Mind moving them to the side, please?"

When it comes to boobs how much really is enough?  Anything more than a handful is what my buds used to say......geeze, what's here is more like a wheelbarrow full.

Ya think?

The Way We Were

Dining last night at our favorite restaurant.  Me looking on purpose stupid.  I think that the waiter just brought the tab for five meals.  GULP!  Wifey looking her usual happy self. 

Wonderful evening....one of the best. 

This is the way we were.  She happy, Bob looking stupid.

Sailing Music

I'll play this one while sailing.  I can hardly wait to get Sparkle Plenty back in the water and do just that. 

Like Only Yesterday

It's our wedding anniversary today.  Seem like only yesterday when Wifey proposed.  She said, "We're getting married or else."  Wifey popped the question (made the ultimatum?) during a drive up the coast on Highway One to her parents home for Thanksgiving dinner. 

I was driving.  She was riding.  The least she could have done was get down on one knee, look deeply into my eyes, pull out a ring and say, "Oh my darling man, who's my life's project, will you marry me?"

Well, I said, since you put it that way . . . get married or else . . .that's an offer that I cannot refuse.  I definitely didn't want to suffer the consequences of "or else" meant but it seemed that no marriage equaled Bob being dumped.  Didn't want to lose my tall, long legged, bright spirited, redheaded woman.

As the story goes I said yes and the two of us were married several months later.

Marriage is not a bed of roses.  You learn to take the bitter with the sweet.  Give.  Take.  Compromise.  Grin and bare it. 

Looking back years later on that Thanksgiving day drive up the coast there's only thought in mind:  Damn good decision to accept the lady's proposition of marriage. 

Tonight it's an Italian dinner out with family and friends.  We'll speak to the memories and thoughts of what we'll do between today and our next anniversary.  Privately Wifey and I will take time to share personal thoughts on our relationship and what we mean to each other.

It's all good.  Ya think?

How I'd Spend New Year's Eve

You really didn't come here for culture and sophisticated thoughts, did you?

How's That Working' Out For Ya?

Once in a while I ask Wifey to look like Sarah Palin.  Today she did.  I'm all smiles.  It's time for games.

In an intimate moment Wifey might say, "How's that woodie working out for ya?"

And in an other intimate moment Wifey might shout out, "YEEEEEYOWWW!  I CAN SEE RUSSIA!"

Or, "Damn you McCain, wrong place!"

I love voting for Sarah Palin cause it's sooooo bitchin' when I stuff the ballot box. . ..

Just for the record, Wifey says this blog post sucks and that there's absolutely no truth to what's written here. Well hell yeah, that's exactly what this blog is all about.
Ya think?

Don't Take My Kodachrome Away!

Today's San Francisco Chronicle:

"The photography show is called "The Last Kodachrome" but the last Kodachrome images aren't in the show. They are still in Pat Willard's Nikon camera.

They will have to come out by next week because the last lab in the world that processes the famed color film, Dwayne's Photo in Parsons, Kan., is discontinuing it at the end of the year. The last rolls to be processed must be there by noon, Dec. 30. After 75 years, all that will be left of Kodachrome is the Paul Simon song, and a state park named after it in Utah.

There will still be a sister film called Ektachrome, but Willard, a fine art photographer in Redwood City, is not buying it.

"I'll probably do only black and white," he says, lowering his tone to a funereal whisper. "There's no color like Kodachrome."

When the Eastman Kodak Co announced that the last rolls were hitting the shelves, in June 2009, Willard bought 40 rolls, at $8 apiece, and stuck them in the fridge of his townhouse in Redwood Shores. Then he contacted Ann Jastrab, director of Rayko Gallery, proposing a juried exhibition for Kodachrome prints.

Fifty photographers nationwide, plus a few from Canada, northern Europe and South Africa, sent in portfolios. Twenty-one photographers were selected and 45 prints are in the show, which opened Dec. 17 and, after a Christmas break, will reopen Jan. 4. Included are four prints of Willard's abstract expressionist work.

The other day he was compelled to sit on the couch of his townhouse and describe his love affair with Kodachrome.

"The color balance is what I like," he says, after thinking it through. "It's warm and voluptuous."
High maintenance, though. Unlike other color film, Kodachrome starts as black-and-white film. Color dyes are added in the lab, like printmaking, which is why you can't develop it at home.

"It's the most complicated film there is to process," says Todd Gustavson, a curator at the George Eastman House, in Rochester, N.Y. Dwayne's in Kansas is the last licensed processor, and doing 700 rolls a day, twice its average.

Introduced in 1935, Kodachrome was the first commercially successful color film, says Audrey Jonckheer, manager of worldwide public relations for Kodak film. Derived from motion picture film, it has always been developed in slide form and coincided with the rise in popularity of the slide projector.

"It had a color saturation that is unmatched with any other slide film or with digital," says Lou Dematteis, a San Francisco freelance photojournalist who has 10 pictures in the Rayko show, more than any other contestant. "Kodachrome I shot in the 1970s is still as vibrant as it was when I first processed the film."

Dematteis had to switch to digital because that's what all the news agencies use. His book "A Portrait of Vietnam," published in 1996, is Kodachrome, but his follow-up on Ecuador, "Crude Reflections," 2009, is a mix of film and digital.

"I show it to people, and if they are in the know, they will look and say, 'That's not digital. That's Kodachrome.' "

The last roll Kodak manufactured was given to Steve McCurry, who shot the famous Kodachrome image of the green-eyed Afghan girl that was on the cover of National Geographic in June 1985. Last spring, he used up the roll in New York City and India, and the prints will eventually be on display in 2011 at the Eastman House museum.
Pat Willard's own last roll of Kodachrome won't be displayed anywhere. He's putting it in a glass case to display on his mantel, right next to his antique Argus C3 camera.".

I ask, what next in this life?  What next?

Fleas On My Dad!

Wifey decided to take a yoga class the other day leaving me to mind the home fires, the dogs, the soup on the stove simmering and grandchild Gracie.  She knows better than to leave me along with the kid.  When it's the two of us I always fill her mind with senseless stuff. .. you know, kind of like the things on this blog only rated G ----for grandchild. 

Me:  Hey Grace, Like Christmas music?

Grace:  Sure do.  I love Christmas music.

Me:  Then you've probably heard a song titled Fleas On My Dad.  It's a famous Christmas song.

Grace:  Fleas On My Dad is a Christmas song?

Me:  You bet.  Everyone sings it during Christmas.  All the stores that pipe music in play it.  It's on the radio and TV, too. 

Grace:  Sing it for me.

Me:  Better yet, I'll get the song on YouTube and we'll sing it together.

So here it is.  Sing along with us.  FLEAS ON MY DAD!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

Grace's First Solo

Christmas Sex

I once read that a fairly large percentage of older adults, younger, too.... have sex only on holidays or special occasions.

Like Christmas, Thanksgiving. .. maybe Fourth of July.....how about Halloween?    It's nice to know that visions of sugar plums are not the only thing that is dancing around in peoples heads this time of year.

Hohohohohoho!

Ohhh, Wifey....it's Christmas and you know what that means!!!!

Merry Christmas y'all!

Silent Monks Singing Halleluia

ISS Crew Sends Holiday Greetings to All

What Once Were Vices

What once were vices are now habits.  Think I'm kidding?  Check this out.  It's good for a laugh.

It's The Economy, Stupid!



The doorbell rang a few minutes ago.  There on the doorstep was a little girl of about seven years of age.

"Would you please help our family out for Christmas and buy this bag of oranges?"

I noticed her brother who looked like 8 or 9 was working the other side of the street. .. while dad waited in his black four door Saturn complete with bike racks on the back of it.

Lots of people fall on hard times especially in this new century we're living.  There seems to be more and more families who need both a hand out and a hand up.

I asked the little girl to wait.  It didn't take long to find five crisp one dollar bills.  I handed them to her, took the bag of oranges and wished her a Merry Christmas. 

She didn't say a word in return but dashed off to where her dad was parked to pick up another bag of orange colored fruit.

For whatever reason this family needed to sell oranges door-to-door.  I'd like to think in a small way that my five dollars helped them a little bit.  After all, 'Tis the season..............

Too Little Too Late?

This Christmas it has to be organic . .. as it was for Thanksgiving when I grilled a free range, antibiotic free turkey.  Next organic meal for the holiday season is grass fed, free range beef. ... a 6 pound NY strip roast.  Not a lot of fat just tender, tasty beef.  Expensive but well worth it if only for the taste.  Grass fed beef hands down is so delicious when compared to corn fed beef.

Lately the wife and I have attempted to buy organic, pesticide free farm products.  Vegetables, fruit. . . even prepared, canned food.  Buying locally grown food has also become a priority.   Then there's the quest to only eat low sodium, low and/or non saturated fat food. 

We probably should have been eating like this all along.   To some degree we have but it's not been one of those all out 100% efforts. 

It's likely whatever we eat in the realm of "good for you!" food is a matter of too little too late.  But setting an example for the rest of the family is probably a good thing.  Children learn what they live.

Ho ho ho!

Early Christmas Gift

Me:  Alright if I give you an early Christmas gift?

Wifey:  Is this the only gift I'm getting this year?

Me:  No, lots what that came from.

Wifey:  Bring it on.

Wifey opens the gift and then opens her mouth wide and gasps.

Wifey:  You're kidding, aren't you?

Me:  Never been more serious in my life, girl.

Wifey:  If you think I'm going to redeem a gift certificate to have my nipples pierced and you get off unpierced and scot free you've got another think coming big boy.

Me:  And your point is.......

Wifey:  You'll get pierced too . . .and I make the call where.

Me:  I'm game....name the area....nose ring?

Wifey laughing..........

Wifey:  Nope.  Scrotum or foreskin. . . make the choice.  I'd love to lead you around by your nuts or dick.  If you don't then I am not going there.

Me:  Shit.  Give me the certificate.  Maybe I can exchange it for a tattoo........just for you.

Wifey:  Gawd Bob, don't you ever learn.  It's about time that you get it.  No piercings.  No tats.  Just me.

Me:  I don't want to get it.

So much for early Christmas presents.

Spike Jones - Mommy wont you buy a baby brother 78 rpm

This and That

Today was a little of this and that.

Mostly it was that.

I'll smiling when it's 3 p.m. tomorrow.   Will have done "That" .

Then I'm gonna get shit faced happy and get on with my life however imperfect it is (was or will be).

Samantha James - Waves Of Change (Richard Grey Remix)

TOO MANY SMART PEOPLE!!!

That's what is wrong with the world today.  There's too smart people and they're who are causing all of the problems.  The economy.  Pollution.  War.  You name it, the smart people made it happen.

It's all contained in this video:

Good, Bad or Irritating

Is it a good day or is a bad one...or is the day just chock full of irriations?  As anyone how their day is going and it's likely that they'll say it's good knowing that if their response is anything other than that an explanation will be in order.

How ya doing?

Oh, fine.

or,

Good.

A really good day for me is usually hitting every green light at the dozen or more intersections that need crossing to get from point A to B.  Damn I love that feeling.

The frosting to an irritating day would be to hit a fricking red light at each of those intersections.  That happens more often than I wish to admit.  Why do I hate to stop and go.

I think calling a day as being a bad one should be reserved for the terrible, the unfortunate, the OMG happenings in life.  I've had several of those this week and it's not been good.

Tuesday:  A close teacher friend succumbed to cancer at age 60. 

Thursday:  The father of another close teacher friend succumbed to cancer.

The family of my teacher friend has asked me to eulogize their loved one.  This is going to be a tough one . . . I wonder if I can hold it together long enough to deliver a 20 minute eulogy.  I'll do my best.

There have been good days this week and ones that have been irritating sprinkled with lot of bad in between each of them. 

There's still two days left in the week.  Fingers crossed.

Shots With Bob?

Well, if you don't mind a grown mind doing this then sign me up to do shots with ya....

It's one of my favorite stupid things to do in public.

Who's Standing By You?

A video worth watching . . . multiple musicians in multiple locations. 

I wanna be Chaz playing the washboard.  One of my life's ambitions just added to the bucket list.

Okay Okay!! I Like Christmas!

Do You Yelp?

Have you heard of the Yelp internet service? 

Here's a description straight from Yelp:


Yelp is an online urban city guide that helps people find cool places to eat, shop, drink, relax and play, based on the informed opinions of a vibrant and active community of locals in the know. Yelp is the fun and easy way to find, review and talk about what's great — and not so great — in your world.

Is Yelp free?
Yes! Other than certain advertising features, you can use the site for free.

Who uses Yelp?
You'll find a wide range of people on Yelp, including locals who are "in the know" about what's cool and happening in their city, visitors who want to get an insider's local perspective, and anyone trying to find a great local business.

Anyone can write a review or add on a review to existing reviews. 

Yelp even has ratings for places in Cowtown like this place called the Tropics. . . a dive bar located in a not so pretty (or safe) part of town.  You gotta love their neon stuff.  So retro.

I write reviews that I post on Yelp.  Surprise, surprise!  In case you're interested here's the link to the reviews I've written.  It's all Bob if you get my drift.

Check it out.

http://www.yelp.com/user_details_reviews_self?userid=9xOYCvhGh-e4kEXLjyZkRg

You Are Cleaning That Up!

People who don't clean up after their dogs are on my shit list.  Yeah, how about that . . .anyone who doesn't pick up their dogs poop should be on everyones shit list.  How very appropriate.

There's one freaking person in our neighborhood who walks their dog every day.  And every day their dog poops on the sidewalk and it is not cleaned up.  It's like this dog doesn't poop one pile . . . there's about a half dozen or more large poop balls all along a 150 foot or more stretch of sidewalk.  We're not talking a small pup. .. it takes a large canine to poop these babies.  And this dog can't just take one poop.    Would I ever love to catch that idiot leaving piles of of his dog's poop on the sidewalk.  So would a lot of our neighbors. 

So yesterday I'm at the computer.  I can see the front lawn from where I sit.  Along comes a couple with a little Chee Wow Wa.  They stop in front of our house.  The dog strolls onto our front yard grass and casually takes a major small dog crap like it's on its own turf.  At that very moment I'm thinking about Clint Eastwood growling, "Get Off My Lawn!" and want so badly to open the window and shout just that.  But I sit in my chair at the computer and wait for the owners to pick up the poop off of my lawn.  I think, they will clean up after their dog, won't they?

So the small dog who craps like a St. Bernard finishes what seems like an endless poop.  I'm thinking how can one little dog poop so much.  What the hell do its owners feed it anyway? 

Finally the dog moves off the lawn and the owners start to walk away.  The Clint Eastwood in me comes on strong as I head to the front door.  Damn, I'm seeing red and boy am I pissed.  The nerve of some people to allow their dog to shit on my lawn and then walk away.....   Before the dog and its owners can get very far I fling open the front door with major authority and yell out with major MAJOR authority, "YOU ARE GOING TO CLEAN THIS UP, AREN'T YOU?!"

They look and meekly reply, "We were going to do that but don't have anything to clean it up with.  We'll be back."

Yeah, right you were, you worthless SOB's.

Me:  "You bet you'll be back.  I'll be waiting." 

Slam!

I know where these idiots live.  If they didn't return to clean up their dog's shit I was prepared to eat major Mexican, 3 Polish sausages, 7 hardboiled eggs that evening and accumulate one nasty bowel movement.  Next day before dawn Bob was going to crap major Bob crap on their lawn and leave another pile right by their front door.  That would fix them big time.  A Bob calling card would be the gift that keeps on giving.  Hohohohohoho!  'Tis the season, don't ya know?

Lucky for these clowns they returned shortly and cleaned every speck of poop off of the lawn.  They're no fools for they surely know that hell hath no fury than Bob's lawn pooped on and left.

Grrrrrrr.

Dog owners who take their dogs for walks without a poop bag should be shot on sight.  And I'm just the guy to lock, load and pull the trigger.

You bet your sweet ass.

After the two idiots cleaned up the poop wife looks at me and smiles, "They're lucky they cleaned it up, aren't they?"

To which I replied, "Wifey, you know me too well."

And that's the name of that tune.