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.

Perfect Gift?

Always stumped when it comes to buying something for your boss or loved one who has everything?  Or how about an office gift for your secret pal or even your BFF? 

In this world there is always something for everyone and here's one fine example:

Yup, here it is.  Penis boxers for chicks and "dicks" who have everything.  Sold by David Shorts on line for about 20 bucks.  Damn, talk about a gift that keeps on giving.

I'm buying this one to wear around the Elks Lodge pool this summer.  This is certain to get the 85 year old widow chicks going.

I'll go up to a group of them and ask, "Know much about real estate?"  And of course they'll look dumb founded.

Then I'll point to my David Shorts penis and ask, "Is this a 'lot'?"

Get it?  Get it?  Huh, do ya get it?

Looks like they're a hit with the college set.  Kind of makes ys wanna go RAH! RAH! RAHHH!

There's a penis for everyone at David Shorts.  Like this stubby model.

This girl seems to think that size doesn't matter.  She's loving those stubby dick shorts.   RAH! RAH!

If you're interested here's the link.  Better get it on if you're buying 'cause there's only 24 shopping days left until Christmas.

https://davidshorts.com/Products.html

RAHHHH!

Life in Sixth Gear

So you're wondering where I've been since November 11th.  Are you?  Or are you of the opinion, "Frankly Scarlet, I don't give a damn."  1,477 posts here and I temporarily ran out of things to write about.  Really, I did.  Just didn't care to write about anything.  For once Bob was speechless.

You should know that life on this end is like driving a fine tuned Italian sports car down Interstate 5 in the middle of nowhere in 6th gear.  Low rpm's.  Only the sound of the clock ticking.  Beautiful scenery.  A beer in one hand, a burger in the other . . . all the while steering with my knees.  That would be a Bob trick, don't you know?    I can do that very well.  Tacos are hard to manage at 80 plus mph but a burger is definitely no big thing.

Life on this end is low if any stress.  Great scenery.  Lots of fun.  Lots of experiences.  Stuff like that.  Life is nothing like it used to be . . . life was used to be much like the Freddy Fender song, Wasted Days and Wasted Nights (which was about love lost but my version is about happily losing a vocation).  Work is such a waste given the alternative.

Now my time is spent gardening, repairing/upgrading Sparkle Plenty, dinner with friends and family, spending time with grand daughter Grace, walking the dogs/playing fetch/running around the yard chasing each of them, reading (lots of that), reflecting (never had any time for that), cooking (a favorite of mine), shopping, cleaning or re-arranging the garage (a never ending task), some time on the computer (I limit that as it would be easy to spend all of my time in front of a keyboard and screen), doing a little photography (note to self...print and frame some of the outstanding photos I've taken), scheming how to rid our property of the rats who travel from the neighboring ranch to our backyard and patio, ....

You get the picture.  Bob's in sixth gear without a care or worry in the world.

In synch with this post is the photo of Gracie and her voice coach Mr. Jimmy.  Wifey and Grace drive to Mr. Jimmy's studio every Thursday for a half hour voice lesson.  They've been doing that for 18 months.  Jimmy wants to enter Grace in talent contests but I'm thinking that's too much too soon.  Give the girl time, let her gain confidence, let her sing to small audiences of friends and family, allow Grace to get her feet firmly planted in the world of music first.  Stage fright is a horrible thing to experience.  Why risk exposing our girl to that possibility so very early in the game? 

Love this photo, don't you?

So I'm back . . . at least for this post.  I had to shift from sixth gear to second or third to write this.  That said, life is all about shifting or changing up when it's called for.

Don't you think?

Wifey Loves Black Dresses

She's 5'9"....

Great guitar solo around 2:52 into the video.

I Served

The photo was taken on my selection as Airman of the Quarter for the aircraft base I was assigned to.   The selection was made due to my duties in the administration of a combat aircraft unit.   Serious guy then.  Serious guy now.  Some things never change.

I don't want recognition on Veteran's Day or any other day that honors veteran's of our armed forces.  Mine was a non combat position in support of combat aircraft.  No war stories.   No Purple Heart.  No Post Combat Distress Disorder.  Just honorable service.

Any recogition should go to veteran's who saw combat and lived to tell about it.  The rest of us quietly did what we were told, did our time and got out.  It was a job.  Each of us did it.  My heart breaks for the others who were not so lucky and still suffer from the time they spent in the armed forces.  Those should be celebrated and thanked.  Those should always be honored.

Thank you to those who fought and lived to tell about it.

Double Dip Police

Round Table is heavily advertising their latest connoction:  Pizza Dippers.  For the last month of more ads touting this new treat" have been inserted every Wednesday into newspapers and mailboxes.

This morning, right on time, this ad appeared.  For a moment I thought that I'd try one.  We're taking care of a friend's two girls Friday night ages 6 and 10.  What a great thing to serve them.  Then I thought again. 

Look at the photo.  Think of yourself dipping that first slice of pizza into the sauce. You think, OH YUM!.  Then you think again, you definitely need to dip the pizza into the sauce before taking another bite.

WRONG!!!!!  If you did dip again you'd be guilty of one of the biggest social sins of all time:  DOUBLE DIPPING!

It really seems that Round Table is condoning big time the double dipping of their new Pizza Dippers menu item.  Do you want to support that by purchasing a Pizza Dipper (which really should have been named the Double Dipper Pizza).

There oughta be a law against double dipping.  The police would be made to haul away double dip offenders.  No trial.  No jury.  Just punishment.  Offenders would be made to crawl on all fours through the pig pen mud to a slop filled trough and dine with the hogs.  There the offenders would double dip a slices of a large 6 week old pizza into the slop....and eat every bite.  That will teach 'em to never ever double dip again. 

Second time double dip offenders would have to sleep with the hogs for a week eating only double dipped 6 week old pizza dipped in slop.  If that doesn't learn 'em I don't know what will.

If you have kids my advice would be to (A) Teach them never ever to double dip (do they even know what that means?) and (B) For you to never ever buy a Pizza Dippers Round Table special as you'd just be supporting a very bad social habit.

Double Dippers never go to Heaven.  This I know.

Dirty Water - The Standells (Original Album Version)

California Dreaming

Leaves on the backyard fence.  Autumn is passing and it's beginning to feel like winter.  Cloudy.  Cold.  Wet.  Northern California is a lot different than the California portrayed in many films.  Our weather is much like what's found in Oregon.  Apart from the cloudy, cold and wet weather there's a bit of snow, too.  Not of that stuff falls in Cowtown but it can be easily found 20 minutes east, west or north.

I'm a Californian who is guilty of California dreaming.  San Diego would be the choice of relocation.  Fairly warm in the winter.  Very little rain.  Sailing year 'round.  That's my kind of California dreaming. 

Today I'll bundle up.  Rake some leaves.  Take the dogs on a long walk. Complete a few repairs on the sailboat.  Try to figure out why we still have rats in the stacks of wood.  Warm some split pea soup for dinner.  Relax by the fire.

If that sounds good I'd say you're definitely Northern California Dreaming  . . . .   

Food Truck Boogie

 I love food truck grunts.  A food truck with yummy grunts is a tough commodity in Cowtown.  There's only a couple and probably only one worth patronizing.  For my money that would be Romo's Tacos.

Romo's truck sits from 11-5 six days a week in a parking lot in a not so savory part of Cowtown (right next to a motel that caters to meth heads).  Tasty Mexican cooked up by Romo and his wife.  Quick service.  El Cheap-o prices.   Two tacos, a canned soda runs ya three fifty.  Deal.   Right up my alley.  I could eat Mexican 7 days a week and still come back for more.

Last Friday I thought it would be a good idea to share my little dining secret with Wifey and several friends.  We met at 11:30 at Romo's place.  There's only one table and four chairs so I loaded the truck with a table and chairs from home.  Our friends thought it was a riot that I brought along table and chairs but I said, "Hey, beats the hell out of sitting the bed of the truck."   Wifey said that this is what Bob does.  And she's right.

Then I opened the doors of the pickup truck, tuned the radio to a Latino music station, and cranked up the sound for everyone to hear.  Wifey and the three friends thought this touch was over the top Bob for ya.  Yeah, Bob can still be over the top once in a while.

Our friend writes for the local paper and decided on the spot to write a restaurant review on Romo's complete with photos.  It will be interesting to read what he has to say especially with his dining buddies.  I think he got a photo of Bob scarfing down a burrito.    Bet Romo's gets a bit more business from his review.  When you're a little guy in business for youself there's nothing like free advertising.

We ate.  We talked.  We laughed.  We struck up conversations with other customers.  They were mostly blue collar dudes on lunch break looking to eat on the cheap.  Good group.  No druggies were up and at 'em at noon to eat at Romo's.  I liked that part. 

When we finished eating we walked next door to one of those stores that stocks grow lights, grow trays, fertilizer, tubs, trays, 8 foot stalks of bamboo, trimming machines, plastic bag . . .. everything one would need to grow pot at home. 

More than a few people entered the store while we were there to buy their shit to grow dope.  Unlike buying a taco from Romo this stuff doesn't come cheap.  In spite of the pricing people were buying stuff like it was no big deal and that it was legal not only to grow marijuana but to sell it, too.  And I'm talking about buying enought equipment to grow a little of the stuff.  People were buying to grow dozens and dozens of plants.  In board daylight.  In a public place.  With no fear of being busted.

As singer/song writer Bob Dylan once wrote, "The times. . . .they are a changin'...."

Anyway, in the dope growers store I found a neat bottle of organic fertilizer called Wet Betty.  Just had to take a photo for you guys.  Ain't she cute?

It was a fun outing.  Good food.  Educational.  Good company.  We'll have to do it again.

Bach at Eight

It was the 1950's.  Anchorage Alaska.  Mom and dad often left 8 year old me home while they did whatever they did away from home.  During the time in Alaska our family was poor as church mice.  After everything was bought and paid for there was little left for entertainment, clothing. . . . the so called extras in life.  If you have a shirt on your back buying another is an extra . . . at least so I was taught at an early age.

Salmon was a cheap commodity.  Caught locally.  Lots of it.  It was what's for dinner 5 or 6 nights a week.  Salmon burgers.  Salmon meatloaf.  Salmon spaghetti.  Salmon sandwiches.  You name it mom put salmon in it.  For some a steady diet of salmon would be wonderful.  For the rest of us . . . bleck!   

Even though money was tight Mom and dad bought a tall wooden framed a radio.   I was ususally playing throughout the day and into the night especially during the times I was home alone.  The radio was actually nice company.    Usually I'd be outside playing with friends but during stormy weather or in the evening it was best to be inside.  Reading, listening to the a.m.radio (there were like 2 stations---FM had not yet been invented), playing with toys . .. building stuff out of scrap wood and cardboard. . . all occupied my time alone. 

It was during one of these Bob All Alone At Eight Years of Age times that a classical piece of music was played that struck my fancy.  I thought it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard.....something that I would always enjoy hearing regardless of how old I was.

It goes like this:

My City Was Gone

It wasn't long ago that time was taken to visit my old hometown in Nebraska.  Lord, how it had changed. 

My city was gone.  There was no train station.  There was no downtown.  How did it disappear? The small town I loved and knew so well had melted into shopping malls and urban sprawl.  I was stunned.

Sensing my mood Wifey put a Pretender's CD in the trucks sound system.  I pulled over at a nearby park, opened up all of the doors on the truck, cranked up the sound, played this tune and danced on the freshly cut grass with Wifey.

It was one of those Kodak moments...........

DUUUUDE!  It's Back!

Yeah, it's back.  McDonald's McRib sammy.  They rarely place the McRib on the menu for each franchise. Like it's been since 2006 since every Mac restaurant has carried this sandwich.  So here it is for a very short period of time.  Mystery meat at its finest.  Enjoy.  Years from now it will be something to tell your children or your grandchildren about.




Then there's the KFC Double Down Sammy.  Just could not resist posting this review.  

The New Gold Rush!

There's gold in California.  What's here might surprise you.