Shepherd's Pie

Last week I whipped up a Shepherd's Pie in nothing flat.  So easy that anyone named Bob can do it.  Frozen vegetables as its filling (carrots, peas, corn, string beans).  The recipe calls for 1 - 2 cups.  I used three.  You're looking at mashed potatoes here spread evenly over the top and then baked.

The secret of tasty mashed potatoes is this:  Buttermilk, Parmesan cheese (1/4 cup), half a stick of butter, salt, pepper.

It's a keeper.

http://simplyrecipes.com/recipes/easy_shepherds_pie/

Still Rockin'

I'm a long time Prince fan.  Betcha never would have guessed that.  True.  He played to sold out shows in Oakland last Monday, Wednesday and Thursday.  Here's what one critic, KTVU critic David Pehling
wrote about the Oakland venue.

"If Prince’s much ballyhooed Bay Area stop of his ‘Welcome 2 America Tour’ had ended after the second sold-out night Wednesday, it still likely would made the short list for music event of 2011 for many local critics. On Thursday evening, the artist unleashed a torrid three-hour set that erased any doubts.

Prince who emerged clad head-to-toe in shimmering gold on a platform near the center of of the huge glyph stage in the middle of the Oracle Arena floor to a wildly ecstatic reaction from the crowd. One might have expected him to kick off the show with one of his more recognizable hits or at least a high-energy dance tune to get people out of their seats. Ever the iconoclast, Prince started things off on simmering note with the slow jam "The Love We Make."

A misstep? In a word, no. Prince turned the song into an epic, emotional guitar meltdown in a rare display of simultaneously heartfelt and mind-blowing six-string virtuosity. A facet of Prince's skills frequently forgotten by those only familiar with his recorded material, the man took charge with with a showcase of the kind of guitar pyrotechnics that would dominate the early part of the show.

The crowd may have been aching to hear the hits, but the immediate response was nothing short of abject adoration. Screaming Prince's name at every crescendo (at least in the section of the arena where I was sitting) the audience jumped squarely into the palm of his hand for what would unfold as a spectacular ride through the rest of the night.

The hits did come in short order with a rendition of "Take Me With U" from Purple Rain, but followed the golden guitar god path with the appropriately titled "Guitar." The ode to his ax continued what seemed to be an implicit aim to place Prince into that vaunted pantheon that includes Jimi Hendrix, Eddie Van Halen and Monday night special guest Carlos Santana. But for all the chops on display, Prince's guitar playing still served the songs on the Parade gem "Anotherloverholenyohead" and the seductive groove of the '90s-era ballad "Shhh."

The show hit another apex of energy as Prince's longtime drummer and live-band foil Sheila E rose to the stage for her own spotlight moment, punishing her timbales in a slinky white dress as the band powered through a version of her Prince-penned hit "Glamorous Life" that further inflamed the crowd. As much as the marathon concert was without question Prince's show, it was just the first of several points where the Purple One would relinquish center stage to his heroes and disciples.


I'll leave out the remainder of the article. ... with exception of the last paragraph:

"As the show wound down, Prince's boundless energy seemed to eclipse the audience's flagging endurance as the crowd had a tough time delivering the verses to "Raspberry Beret" prior to the latter-era hit "Cream" and onstage crowd celebration of "Cool" (a song he wrote for The Time). Still, those remaining danced on with abandon through the show's closing salvo of the early chestnut "Let's Work" and the '80s favorite "U Got the Look." For those lucky enough to catch the master in action on his last night in Oakland, Prince left the crowd exhausted, sated and hopeful that their next encounter might be just as magical."

I shoulda been there.

No Way To Start The Day

5 a.m. this morning Kiri's barfing her guts out.  That damn dog will eat anything and everything she finds.  Try as we must to keep everything away from her Kiri always finds some Tom, Dick or Harry thing to chew on and swallow. This morning Kiri barfed up the plastic insides of a dog toy she had taken apart yesterday.

How I hate starting my day out so early and to the sound of dog barfing.

The good news is that she barfs up whatever she ingests.  Otherwise Kiri would have to go under the knife to remove whatever it was she couldn't puke or poop out her system.  We're talking big money for that type of procedure.

Kiri's but a year old.  One day soon she'll outgrow the need to put anything and everything in her mouth.  Before then hopefully we'll all survive.

Gotta Get One

 I gotta get me one of them burger presses . .. a Stuffed Burger Press.

I already have a burger press.  The stuffed burger press is a whole 'nother deal-ee-bob.

The press makes two burger patties.  One of them has like a valley in the middle.  Put stuff in the valley like cheese or fried onions or pickles, chillies (those canned Ortega things) . . . bacon. . .oh gawd, bacon!  ....anything you like on a burger could go there.

Slap the patty without the valley on top of the one with the valley.  Kind of pat it down and together.

Fry or grill that baby up.

Bingo.  New burger ball game.  I think it's a home run!

Twelve bucks through Williams Sonoma on line.  Amazon sells a couple of stuffed burger presses but they're both 20 bucks and up.

Or, you could do it yourself. . .. probably would be messy.  Don't drink a lot of beer before putting the stuffed burgers together and you could probably make do without one of those 12 buck presses.  Hell, drink a lot of beer and get crazy with it.  Your guests will yell out, "HEY!  Look what the hell I found in my burger!!" 

I'm getting one.

Bread and Butter - The Newbeats - HQ

Hit The Deck!

Plans are underway to install this type of decking in the interior of Sparkle Plenty.  This will replace the carpeting which needs replacing anyway.  Better this than carpet that by nature is prone to moisture and mold.

This will definitely put more sparkle in Sparkle Plenty.

Hale-Bopp Comet

Remember this?  The Hale-Bopp comet was around in 1996 - 1997.  It was the damnest sight.  A comet that seemed to go nowhere other than to just hang in the sky.  Captivating.

It was estimated that the comet is visible on earth every 4,200 years.  Get this: It's last visit was in 2,215 BC. 

During the time that the comet was visible I was working and living on the California coast.  A drive to work meant 20 minutes along the California coastline.  Nothing like it. 

It was about 11 at night, driving home from a meeting, when I stopped at a wide spot in the road.  I sat on the tailgate of the truck for at least an hour taking in the smell of the ocean, listening to the sounds of waves crashing against the rocks.  It was a clear, star-lit sky highlighted by the comet and it's long tail.

I can remember sitting there and saying, Wow....wow....wow.

It was one of those Wow moments in life.

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