We are having a "safe and sane" New Year's, which means we didn't truck down to St. Petersburg as we have in the past. Instead, we had Thai take-out after watching FSU look better than expected against Kentucky, and now the Auburn-Clemson game is on.
Kentucky? In a bowl game? Playing football? And winning against FSU? Football is usually what they play waiting for basketball season to start. I can't say they looked great, but they were good enough to fend off a last-minute surge by FSU to hold onto their lead. FSU looked good enough to keep the wolves away from Bobby Bowden's front door for another year.
This has been a good year for us. We are still employed, and enjoy the work. We've had some highlights during the year to look back on. We have some major tasks to deal with in the next 4 to 6 weeks that won't be fun -- but if it was easy they wouldn't need us.
In case you have lost count, there are 55 weeks left in George Bush's occupancy of the White House. This time next year we will know who the next White House tenant is and at this point I (almost) don't care who it will be.
I could go on, but it's time to get back to the ball game. May 2008 be a good year for you, and for all of us, all around this small world.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I'm definitely ready for a Christmas break
I'm remembering the Christmas break in college, when you'd take your last final for the quarter, drive or get a ride home, and collapse until New Year's.
I'm at that point now. I'm writing this at 1:00 a.m. because I just finished a home plumbing repair job and want to sit in a quiet house for a few minutes, knowing the job is done. Never, ever, start a plumbing job in the evening, after shutting off the water supply to the house. Never on a Friday evening. Never on the last Friday before Christmas, when your average plumber would respond to a call for help by telling me to take two aspirin and call back on January 2.
December has been one of those "joys of home ownership" months. Everything in the house seemed to come unglued or the wheels fell off. In no particular order:
The gas grill leaked gas from the hose that connects the regulator to the burners. Solution: A new tank, because the valve on the old one was defective, plus a new hose and regulator.
The pool pump, which sounded like a bucket of bolts anyway, began emitting a high-pitched whine, undoubtedly irritating the neighbors. Solution: New pump motor, which I installed myself, and a $109 repair job for a guy to come out and fix an air infiltration problem (which isn't totally fixed yet).
The fridge seemed to have a mysterious, random leak leaving small puddles of water every few days. I pulled it out to look behind it, got out the vacuum sweeper to clean up the crud that was under it . . . and the vacuum sweeper motor burned up. Solution: New vacuum sweeper. (I shoved the fridge back in place and it hasn't puddled since.)
The bathroom shower had a small drip, which brings me down to tonight. I should have saved this for January and made it a New Year's Resolution but, no, we are leaving for Boston and I didn't want it dripping while we were gone. A handle was corroded and stuck to a valve stem and I broke the stem. Solution: Not merely new washers, but new valve stems, seats, and handles to boot.
Problem saved for a New Year's Resolution: How to remove the old seats and put in the new ones. One of those tools you buy and then use once every eight or nine years is a seat removing tool. Mine didn't fit and neither did two versions bought from Lowe's, which will be returned to Lowe's tomorow.
I take a perverse pleasure in doing odd jobs around the house. What I do for a living can take months or years before anyone can see results and it doesn't get my hands dirty. When I see that a pool pump motor that I installed works and doesn't emit green sparks, or the shower doesn't drip after spending entirely too much time on it, I get Job Satisfaction. I love it.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon, too. December 21, and I'm out mowing the lawn. For Christmas, all I want is a bowl of egg nog to drink with my shoes off. I'm ready for a break.
I'm at that point now. I'm writing this at 1:00 a.m. because I just finished a home plumbing repair job and want to sit in a quiet house for a few minutes, knowing the job is done. Never, ever, start a plumbing job in the evening, after shutting off the water supply to the house. Never on a Friday evening. Never on the last Friday before Christmas, when your average plumber would respond to a call for help by telling me to take two aspirin and call back on January 2.
December has been one of those "joys of home ownership" months. Everything in the house seemed to come unglued or the wheels fell off. In no particular order:
The gas grill leaked gas from the hose that connects the regulator to the burners. Solution: A new tank, because the valve on the old one was defective, plus a new hose and regulator.
The pool pump, which sounded like a bucket of bolts anyway, began emitting a high-pitched whine, undoubtedly irritating the neighbors. Solution: New pump motor, which I installed myself, and a $109 repair job for a guy to come out and fix an air infiltration problem (which isn't totally fixed yet).
The fridge seemed to have a mysterious, random leak leaving small puddles of water every few days. I pulled it out to look behind it, got out the vacuum sweeper to clean up the crud that was under it . . . and the vacuum sweeper motor burned up. Solution: New vacuum sweeper. (I shoved the fridge back in place and it hasn't puddled since.)
The bathroom shower had a small drip, which brings me down to tonight. I should have saved this for January and made it a New Year's Resolution but, no, we are leaving for Boston and I didn't want it dripping while we were gone. A handle was corroded and stuck to a valve stem and I broke the stem. Solution: Not merely new washers, but new valve stems, seats, and handles to boot.
Problem saved for a New Year's Resolution: How to remove the old seats and put in the new ones. One of those tools you buy and then use once every eight or nine years is a seat removing tool. Mine didn't fit and neither did two versions bought from Lowe's, which will be returned to Lowe's tomorow.
I take a perverse pleasure in doing odd jobs around the house. What I do for a living can take months or years before anyone can see results and it doesn't get my hands dirty. When I see that a pool pump motor that I installed works and doesn't emit green sparks, or the shower doesn't drip after spending entirely too much time on it, I get Job Satisfaction. I love it.
I mowed the lawn this afternoon, too. December 21, and I'm out mowing the lawn. For Christmas, all I want is a bowl of egg nog to drink with my shoes off. I'm ready for a break.
Friday, December 21, 2007
happy anniversary, Mom and Dad
December 21 would have been their 66th wedding anniversary. I'm very grateful that they met and married. Otherwise, I'd have a hard time explaining myself.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
missing persons report
This is is among my parents' collection of old photos that I've been trying to decide what to do with. To make a long story short, I've found this family thanks to Google and the Internet, and I'm sending the original to the boy's cousin, who will give it to him. I'll not mention their names to protect their privacy but one huge clue was that I knew the city they came from. After the war they went back home and raised their family. I wouldn't have found them except that their synagogue's newsletter from several years ago is still on line to be found by snoops like me. Don't you love those smiles?
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
"Clearwater City" -- the worst place to retire?
The following is from America On-Line's "Finance" page, in which they list the 13 worst places to retire. The worst place? Read on:
Clearwater City, Fla.
Too Many Fellow Seniors
This Tampa Bay area hamlet has the highest percentage of seniors of any U.S. city. This 'graying' of Florida in general, has caused many retirees to change their mind and leave, fleeing the bland culture, extreme weather and high real estate and homeowner's insurance prices of Florida.
Hmmph. For openers, there is no hamlet named "Clearwater City," although there is a city named the City of Clearwater. We have a Dade City, a Panama City, even a Florida City, but not a Clearwater City by that name. When I see a blunder like that, I have to ask, do they have any clue what they are talking about?
Having lived in the City of Clearwater (off and on) since 1955, I have as much right to knock my home town as anybody, and I have done so, but let's be fair. Clearwater was a small town until the 1960's, a nice place on the Gulf to grow up and then raise a family. As it grew over the past 40 years it never pretended to be another Tampa or even another St. Petersburg, which used to have a reputation as the place to retire and listen to your arteries harden as you sat on their green benches.
Too many seniors? If your idea of retirement is to hole up in a condo populated by people of your generation who have nothing to do but sit around and bitch about everything, that's a problem. Personally, I've met a lot of people older than myself, mainly through our Methodist church, and I can tell you they are a lively bunch of positive-minded people who would make great neighbors.
If you want culture, meaning the performing arts or the fine arts, you can go to several venues in the Tampa Bay area including our own Ruth Eckerd Hall. If "bland culture" means bland architecture and plain-vanilla Midwestern social values, we plead guilty, but so does every other city and town on Florida's Gulf Coast.
Extreme weather? It gets hot in the summer, but we never see 100-degree days or even temps in the high 90's. It ain't the heat, it's the humidity, which is why God created air-conditioning on the Eighth Day. In the winter, we rarely see a "hard freeze," which is what the strawberry and citrus growers call it when it drops below 32ยบ F. for more than a few hours.
High real estate and homeowner's insurance prices? This is the only part of the piece that has any validity but none of it is unique to Clearwater. The real estate market is in the tank and prices are high, but that's a national problem. The state legislature is too deep in the pockets of the industry to make any headway on homeowner's insurance, but these problems are common throughout Florida.
In short, I've lived here for 29 of the past 52 years and will probably retire here unless I hit the Florida Lottery, and even then I'm not sure I'd blow the money on an expensive home somewhere else.
Clearwater City, Fla.
Too Many Fellow Seniors
This Tampa Bay area hamlet has the highest percentage of seniors of any U.S. city. This 'graying' of Florida in general, has caused many retirees to change their mind and leave, fleeing the bland culture, extreme weather and high real estate and homeowner's insurance prices of Florida.
Hmmph. For openers, there is no hamlet named "Clearwater City," although there is a city named the City of Clearwater. We have a Dade City, a Panama City, even a Florida City, but not a Clearwater City by that name. When I see a blunder like that, I have to ask, do they have any clue what they are talking about?
Having lived in the City of Clearwater (off and on) since 1955, I have as much right to knock my home town as anybody, and I have done so, but let's be fair. Clearwater was a small town until the 1960's, a nice place on the Gulf to grow up and then raise a family. As it grew over the past 40 years it never pretended to be another Tampa or even another St. Petersburg, which used to have a reputation as the place to retire and listen to your arteries harden as you sat on their green benches.
Too many seniors? If your idea of retirement is to hole up in a condo populated by people of your generation who have nothing to do but sit around and bitch about everything, that's a problem. Personally, I've met a lot of people older than myself, mainly through our Methodist church, and I can tell you they are a lively bunch of positive-minded people who would make great neighbors.
If you want culture, meaning the performing arts or the fine arts, you can go to several venues in the Tampa Bay area including our own Ruth Eckerd Hall. If "bland culture" means bland architecture and plain-vanilla Midwestern social values, we plead guilty, but so does every other city and town on Florida's Gulf Coast.
Extreme weather? It gets hot in the summer, but we never see 100-degree days or even temps in the high 90's. It ain't the heat, it's the humidity, which is why God created air-conditioning on the Eighth Day. In the winter, we rarely see a "hard freeze," which is what the strawberry and citrus growers call it when it drops below 32ยบ F. for more than a few hours.
High real estate and homeowner's insurance prices? This is the only part of the piece that has any validity but none of it is unique to Clearwater. The real estate market is in the tank and prices are high, but that's a national problem. The state legislature is too deep in the pockets of the industry to make any headway on homeowner's insurance, but these problems are common throughout Florida.
In short, I've lived here for 29 of the past 52 years and will probably retire here unless I hit the Florida Lottery, and even then I'm not sure I'd blow the money on an expensive home somewhere else.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Christmas, 1979
One thing Christmas does for you is bring back memories of childhood, hopefully happy memories. Here, our twins, who were four-and-a-half at the time.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
thanksgiving
We spent Thanksgiving with our son and daughter-in-law in Pennsylvania, where he's started dental school and she's holding down two jobs, one of which furthers her career as a chemist. The other is a fine place to raise some extra cash and take advantage of the employees' discount on some very nice stuff although most of it is "chick" stuff (Anthropologie). We were joined by a daughter who now lives in Boston. It was good to have half of our offspring and half of our two children-in-law (what a horrible-sounding term) with us.
They cooked a 20-pound turkey for the five of us, and about five side dishes and three pies. We had to buy a third seat on the airplane so the two of us could fit in on the flight home. Just kidding, but an empty third seat would have been nice. Fat chance, on a Thanksgiving weekend.
The weather was refreshingly cold, but damp, and the fall leaves hadn't all gone. We hiked a trail a short distance to a covered bridge and back, visited Amish country, saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, strolled through the Reading Terminal Market, and of course tried some Philly steak sandwiches (at Rick's - the "works"), and visited Valley Forge.
The last time I saw Valley Forge was during a Boy Scout National Jamboree, too many years ago to even think about it. That's where the American Revolution nearly died. 12,000 soldiers went in, 6,000 came out. 2,000 died, but they've found only one grave. The rest either deserted or their enlistments ran out and they went home. But, in the springtime, the ranks of the American army grew and they were turned into soldiers, not just a ragged band of "embattled farmers." The war slugged on for another three years and you know how the story turned out.
Thansgiving conjures up thoughts of family, food and friends, but I have to admit that this year I was thinking about those barefooted guys who were not summer soldiers or sunshine patriots, and feeling very thankful for their legacy.
If they hadn't succeeded, we'd all be speaking English.
They cooked a 20-pound turkey for the five of us, and about five side dishes and three pies. We had to buy a third seat on the airplane so the two of us could fit in on the flight home. Just kidding, but an empty third seat would have been nice. Fat chance, on a Thanksgiving weekend.
The weather was refreshingly cold, but damp, and the fall leaves hadn't all gone. We hiked a trail a short distance to a covered bridge and back, visited Amish country, saw the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, strolled through the Reading Terminal Market, and of course tried some Philly steak sandwiches (at Rick's - the "works"), and visited Valley Forge.
The last time I saw Valley Forge was during a Boy Scout National Jamboree, too many years ago to even think about it. That's where the American Revolution nearly died. 12,000 soldiers went in, 6,000 came out. 2,000 died, but they've found only one grave. The rest either deserted or their enlistments ran out and they went home. But, in the springtime, the ranks of the American army grew and they were turned into soldiers, not just a ragged band of "embattled farmers." The war slugged on for another three years and you know how the story turned out.
Thansgiving conjures up thoughts of family, food and friends, but I have to admit that this year I was thinking about those barefooted guys who were not summer soldiers or sunshine patriots, and feeling very thankful for their legacy.
If they hadn't succeeded, we'd all be speaking English.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
simplicity
"Simplicity is knowing when less is too little and more is too much. Simplicity = Sanity."
I found that statement in a YouTube movie, which you can see here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGHgu0ZYYZc
I've become a teacher of legal writing, at least to the extent of presenting papers to local government lawyers on the topic of writing land development regulations. A primary objective of legal writers is to make what you write understandable. If something can be misunderstood, it will be, especially if it suits someone's purpose to appear confused. Write clearly. Brevity is the essence of clarity.
I don't know the source of the quotation, above, but I'd like to use it if I revise my paper on legal writing. Knowing when to stop writing and start chopping surplusage from your sentences is an important task for any writer.
For example, knowing when to stop writing this blog entry is important.
Like, right here would be a good time to stop . . . right after I go back and cut out a few unnecessary words . . . OK, I'm done now.
I found that statement in a YouTube movie, which you can see here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGHgu0ZYYZc
I've become a teacher of legal writing, at least to the extent of presenting papers to local government lawyers on the topic of writing land development regulations. A primary objective of legal writers is to make what you write understandable. If something can be misunderstood, it will be, especially if it suits someone's purpose to appear confused. Write clearly. Brevity is the essence of clarity.
I don't know the source of the quotation, above, but I'd like to use it if I revise my paper on legal writing. Knowing when to stop writing and start chopping surplusage from your sentences is an important task for any writer.
For example, knowing when to stop writing this blog entry is important.
Like, right here would be a good time to stop . . . right after I go back and cut out a few unnecessary words . . . OK, I'm done now.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
the "dead cat bounce"
I heard an expression today that I've never heard before, not being an avid follower of the stock market until recently.
It seems that Wall Street made a dramatic jump by nearly 320 points today after four days of falling prices. The expression, "dead cat bounce," is being used as part of a question. The question is, was today only a temporary rise in what is otherwise a falling market? Was today an example of a "dead cat bounce?" ("Even a dead cat will bounce if dropped from high enough.")
Until recently I could not have cared less about such things. Some of us children of the 50's and 60's grew up thinking that retirement was going to be out of the question because we'd never live so long. Thanks to the Cold War, Khrushchev's threat to bury us, images of the mushroom cloud, the Berlin Wall, Viet Nam, and the prospect of gasoline selling for as much as a dollar a gallon (yes, chillun, it's true . . . I once bought gas for 13.9 cents a gallon in Perry, Florida, where they knew how to run a gas war), the future looked awfully bleak. Doing our duck-and-cover drills at Tarpon Springs Elementary School, we joked that if the Russians fired their ICBM's at MacDill Air Force Base, they'd miss and hit us instead. Har-de-har.
Then it dawned on many of us that we might actually live so long as to become a burden on our children, and we took new interest in 401 plans, defined-benefit plans versus defined-contribution plans, annuities, and the cost of health insurance -- all those old-folks worries. The question of whether today was just a "dead cat bounce" has real meaning . . . not as exciting as Huck Finn's cure for warts, but more meaningful.
It seems that Wall Street made a dramatic jump by nearly 320 points today after four days of falling prices. The expression, "dead cat bounce," is being used as part of a question. The question is, was today only a temporary rise in what is otherwise a falling market? Was today an example of a "dead cat bounce?" ("Even a dead cat will bounce if dropped from high enough.")
Until recently I could not have cared less about such things. Some of us children of the 50's and 60's grew up thinking that retirement was going to be out of the question because we'd never live so long. Thanks to the Cold War, Khrushchev's threat to bury us, images of the mushroom cloud, the Berlin Wall, Viet Nam, and the prospect of gasoline selling for as much as a dollar a gallon (yes, chillun, it's true . . . I once bought gas for 13.9 cents a gallon in Perry, Florida, where they knew how to run a gas war), the future looked awfully bleak. Doing our duck-and-cover drills at Tarpon Springs Elementary School, we joked that if the Russians fired their ICBM's at MacDill Air Force Base, they'd miss and hit us instead. Har-de-har.
Then it dawned on many of us that we might actually live so long as to become a burden on our children, and we took new interest in 401 plans, defined-benefit plans versus defined-contribution plans, annuities, and the cost of health insurance -- all those old-folks worries. The question of whether today was just a "dead cat bounce" has real meaning . . . not as exciting as Huck Finn's cure for warts, but more meaningful.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Kevin Coster, the musician - who woulda thunkit?
The other night I went to the park for the unveiling of the new look for the Tampa Bay Rays (see below).
One of the main features was a performance by Kevin Coster and his band.
Right, I thought. He'll play a few chords, sing along with a band in a monotone, and collect a huge fee for appearing.
Well, guess what? He and his band play a righteous, foot-stompin' brand of rock and roll. With the fancy high-tech stage setup and lighting, it wasn't always easy to figure out who was singing what and who was playing what, but the overall effect was . . . where can I buy one of their CDs? I couldn't find one of their tunes on iTunes. And, I see he is suing a promoter for failing to promote their albums, asking for millions in damages.
Note to my children: If you are looking for a Christmas idea, this is a tip. Here's another tip: I bought one of the good-quality "on-field" TB Rays baseball caps. Now I need a good quality Red Sox cap (hat size 7 5/8). As one of my observant daughters reminded me recently, I bought the cheap version in Boston some years ago, and I can't have my new TB cap looking better than a Red Sox cap.
One of the main features was a performance by Kevin Coster and his band.
Right, I thought. He'll play a few chords, sing along with a band in a monotone, and collect a huge fee for appearing.
Well, guess what? He and his band play a righteous, foot-stompin' brand of rock and roll. With the fancy high-tech stage setup and lighting, it wasn't always easy to figure out who was singing what and who was playing what, but the overall effect was . . . where can I buy one of their CDs? I couldn't find one of their tunes on iTunes. And, I see he is suing a promoter for failing to promote their albums, asking for millions in damages.
Note to my children: If you are looking for a Christmas idea, this is a tip. Here's another tip: I bought one of the good-quality "on-field" TB Rays baseball caps. Now I need a good quality Red Sox cap (hat size 7 5/8). As one of my observant daughters reminded me recently, I bought the cheap version in Boston some years ago, and I can't have my new TB cap looking better than a Red Sox cap.
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays
The Rays (no longer the Devil Rays) have a new look. Check it out:
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays: News
The Official Site of the Tampa Bay Rays: News
Thursday, November 08, 2007
just hobbling around
Last week I went to a conference in Nashville. One of the entertainment events was a softball game, so I signed up in advance and took my old glove.
How dangerous can slow-pitch softball be, played by a bunch of middle-aged lawyers?
Heh. It seems that these guys play softball frequently and seriously. One of them has played every week for 35 years with seven other members of his high school baseball team.
So I'm standing on first base, feeling good about hitting into short center field and driving in two runs. Short center is where the ball has always gone for me, man and boy, my whole life. I can't pull it into left field and I've never hit it over the fence but I can usually get a good single.
The batter after me was the once-a-week player I described above. He hit into deep right field . . . an inside the park homer except I'm in front of him. He's a faster runner but he was too smart to pass me. I thought he was going to carry me in. I felt like the road runner, wheels spinning, but no traction on the ground. As I'm approaching third base I felt the unmistakable twinge of a pulled hamstring, also known as a torn hamstring, and I hobbled home with the batter right behind me.
That was a week ago. I've been hobbling around with an Ace bandage from hip to knee and a fairly dramatic bruise on the back of my thigh.
I've been saying to myself all summer that I need to start walking/ jogging/ running but the weather was too danged hot. Now that the weather is cooling off, I definitely need to start walking/ jogging/ running but I'm going to have to wait another 5-6 weeks while my hamstring gets back to normal, and then it will be slow going.
Getting old isn't hell. Being soft and out of shape definitely is.
How dangerous can slow-pitch softball be, played by a bunch of middle-aged lawyers?
Heh. It seems that these guys play softball frequently and seriously. One of them has played every week for 35 years with seven other members of his high school baseball team.
So I'm standing on first base, feeling good about hitting into short center field and driving in two runs. Short center is where the ball has always gone for me, man and boy, my whole life. I can't pull it into left field and I've never hit it over the fence but I can usually get a good single.
The batter after me was the once-a-week player I described above. He hit into deep right field . . . an inside the park homer except I'm in front of him. He's a faster runner but he was too smart to pass me. I thought he was going to carry me in. I felt like the road runner, wheels spinning, but no traction on the ground. As I'm approaching third base I felt the unmistakable twinge of a pulled hamstring, also known as a torn hamstring, and I hobbled home with the batter right behind me.
That was a week ago. I've been hobbling around with an Ace bandage from hip to knee and a fairly dramatic bruise on the back of my thigh.
I've been saying to myself all summer that I need to start walking/ jogging/ running but the weather was too danged hot. Now that the weather is cooling off, I definitely need to start walking/ jogging/ running but I'm going to have to wait another 5-6 weeks while my hamstring gets back to normal, and then it will be slow going.
Getting old isn't hell. Being soft and out of shape definitely is.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
post-election blues, city style
My fair city (the one I work for) had an election yesterday. At stake were four of the eight city councilmember seats.
We've had this grumbling of the citizens, a taxpayer revolt, building up for months now. With half of the city council seats at stake, you'd think we would have had a high voter turn-out.
Not so. Would you believe only 9 percent of the 156,146 registered voters . . . a record low . . . bothered to take the few minutes required to go vote? The margin of victory was only 257 votes in one race and 611 votes in another race. The final outcome in one of the races hung in the balance until nearly midnight.
As it turned out, two "outsiders" who are critical of the mayor's fiscal policies got elected. That may be good news to disgruntled voters but the 91 percent who stayed away from the polls can claim no credit for the results. If any of them are not happy with the results they can share the blame.
One solution to the problems of our government at all levels - federal, state, and local - is to vote the rascals out. We don't do that. (In our case, the two "outsiders" who got elected were not running against incumbents.) Maybe we deserve what we get.
Ridiculous.
We've had this grumbling of the citizens, a taxpayer revolt, building up for months now. With half of the city council seats at stake, you'd think we would have had a high voter turn-out.
Not so. Would you believe only 9 percent of the 156,146 registered voters . . . a record low . . . bothered to take the few minutes required to go vote? The margin of victory was only 257 votes in one race and 611 votes in another race. The final outcome in one of the races hung in the balance until nearly midnight.
As it turned out, two "outsiders" who are critical of the mayor's fiscal policies got elected. That may be good news to disgruntled voters but the 91 percent who stayed away from the polls can claim no credit for the results. If any of them are not happy with the results they can share the blame.
One solution to the problems of our government at all levels - federal, state, and local - is to vote the rascals out. We don't do that. (In our case, the two "outsiders" who got elected were not running against incumbents.) Maybe we deserve what we get.
Ridiculous.
Monday, November 05, 2007
63 weeks
If you are reading this on Monday, November 5, count ahead 441 days. That will bring you to January 20, 2009, which will be George W. Bush's last day in office.
441 days = 63 weeks.
That sounds like a long time, and it is. You can't hold your breath that long, and 63 more weeks with Dubya in office is 63 weeks too long. But time flies whether you are having fun or not. Sixty-three weeks will glide slowly by like clockwork, or in this case maybe like a plateful of stuffed jalapenas passing through every inch of your digestive system, but both the time and the jalapenas will pass. Dubya will enjoy two more Christmases in the White House but only one more Halloween. For the rest of us, that may seem like 441 more Halloweens until he packs up and moves to Texas or wherever, but the time will come.
441 days = 63 weeks.
That sounds like a long time, and it is. You can't hold your breath that long, and 63 more weeks with Dubya in office is 63 weeks too long. But time flies whether you are having fun or not. Sixty-three weeks will glide slowly by like clockwork, or in this case maybe like a plateful of stuffed jalapenas passing through every inch of your digestive system, but both the time and the jalapenas will pass. Dubya will enjoy two more Christmases in the White House but only one more Halloween. For the rest of us, that may seem like 441 more Halloweens until he packs up and moves to Texas or wherever, but the time will come.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Happy Halloween!
This is the first time in maybe 30 years I haven't carved a pumpkin for Halloween, the consequence of being out of town until late today. I'm happy the ghosts and goblins didn't soap the windows or tip the outhouse over, or do they do that anymore? Here, a relic of an earlier year:
Thursday, October 25, 2007
writing in Bob Graham for President
For weeks now, I've been fuming about the Democratic National Committee's threat not to seat the delegates from Florida because Florida will have the effrontery, the unmitigated gall, to hold a primary in January. The Democratic candidates took a pledge not to campaign in Florida (thereby sparing us from many hours of inane commercials, thank you) but that hasn't stopped them from coming here to collect big bucks from people fool enough to contribute to their campaigns.
I've threatened to become a Republican, but I fear my parents would come back to haunt me.
I've threatened to become an Independent, but it would be easier just to stay home on primary election day. . .same effect.
Instead, I am going to write in Bob Graham's name for President and I encourage all Florida Democrats to do the same. Bob is undoubtedly among the most intelligent and most ethical of all elected officials in the past 40 years, and he's had experience as an executive, serving as Governor of Florida before being elected to the Senate.
A big write-in for Bob Graham would send several messages to the DNC and to all the Democratic candidates who consider Florida as little more than a cash cow to be milked. The least articulate message would be, you stink. A better message would be that the people of Florida, surveying the field of candidates, find them all lacking but we know Bob Graham, who set the standard, and we would be glad to send him to the White House. Yet another message would be that we find Bob Graham a better choice than Al Gore although Gore seems to be a media darling nowadays.
Writing in Bob Graham will also be better than pretending I'm a Republican or staying away from the polls on primary election day.
Some decisons make you feel better just for having made them, and this is one of them.
I've threatened to become a Republican, but I fear my parents would come back to haunt me.
I've threatened to become an Independent, but it would be easier just to stay home on primary election day. . .same effect.
Instead, I am going to write in Bob Graham's name for President and I encourage all Florida Democrats to do the same. Bob is undoubtedly among the most intelligent and most ethical of all elected officials in the past 40 years, and he's had experience as an executive, serving as Governor of Florida before being elected to the Senate.
A big write-in for Bob Graham would send several messages to the DNC and to all the Democratic candidates who consider Florida as little more than a cash cow to be milked. The least articulate message would be, you stink. A better message would be that the people of Florida, surveying the field of candidates, find them all lacking but we know Bob Graham, who set the standard, and we would be glad to send him to the White House. Yet another message would be that we find Bob Graham a better choice than Al Gore although Gore seems to be a media darling nowadays.
Writing in Bob Graham will also be better than pretending I'm a Republican or staying away from the polls on primary election day.
Some decisons make you feel better just for having made them, and this is one of them.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
look, Ma, I'm a published author!
I've become a big fan of CNN's Jack Cafferty. Among other things, he poses questions about national affairs and invites viewers to email answers, and he reads a select few at the end of the program.
Tonight the question was, "Why do Americans trust the government less today than during the Watergate era?"
If you were paying close attention you heard him read a reply from Al, from Florida, who said, "Except for times when greatness was demanded as a matter of survival (the Civil War, World War II), the federal government has always been venal, corrupt and untrustworthy. The difference now is that the news media have developed the roasting of politicians into an art form. They aren't worse, merely over-exposed. Keep up the good work."
I think I could have said over-cooked instead of over-exposed, but it was good enough to get selected. I'm sure that the "keep up the good work" line was the part that grabbed their attention and made it a winner.
Tonight the question was, "Why do Americans trust the government less today than during the Watergate era?"
If you were paying close attention you heard him read a reply from Al, from Florida, who said, "Except for times when greatness was demanded as a matter of survival (the Civil War, World War II), the federal government has always been venal, corrupt and untrustworthy. The difference now is that the news media have developed the roasting of politicians into an art form. They aren't worse, merely over-exposed. Keep up the good work."
I think I could have said over-cooked instead of over-exposed, but it was good enough to get selected. I'm sure that the "keep up the good work" line was the part that grabbed their attention and made it a winner.
Monday, September 17, 2007
the countdown continues
490 days. Or, think of it as only 70 weeks. Nice round numbers, both of them, and getting smaller with every sunrise.
That's how much longer until the last day of George W. Bush's term in office.
Tonight I had dinner with three fellow "book club exiles." One is an old-time Boston Democrat and two describe themselves as "PORs," or "pissed-off Republicans." They've been in that frame of mind since Bush's election to the White House. His first election, that is.
I still don't know which primary election I'm going to vote in. That is to say, I don't know if the Democratic National Committee will make good on its threat not to seat the Florida delegates. If they do, I'm jumping ship to the Republican Party. That's a secret between you and me. I'll make a terrible Republican but at least they'll count my vote.
That's how much longer until the last day of George W. Bush's term in office.
Tonight I had dinner with three fellow "book club exiles." One is an old-time Boston Democrat and two describe themselves as "PORs," or "pissed-off Republicans." They've been in that frame of mind since Bush's election to the White House. His first election, that is.
I still don't know which primary election I'm going to vote in. That is to say, I don't know if the Democratic National Committee will make good on its threat not to seat the Florida delegates. If they do, I'm jumping ship to the Republican Party. That's a secret between you and me. I'll make a terrible Republican but at least they'll count my vote.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
election capers
Yesterday I got to view our elections superviser's office from behind the scenes as they process the ballots in our city's primary election.
I don't think the voters in "Flori-duh" are stupider than a general cross-section of the nation but some of them demonstrated yesterday that if there is a way to spoil their ballot, a sophisticated $14 million voting system will not stand in their way.
Some voters went to the trouble of getting absentee ballots, then paid 94 cents each to mail them in. Despite numerous warnings to sign the exterior envelope, several did not do so and their ballots won't even be opened.
Several ballots were disqualified because they undervoted (didn't vote for anybody) or overvoted (voted for more than one candidate). You need to know that there was only one race in each of two city council districts, and each race had either three or four candidates, so the voter's job was to vote for one, just one, only one, no more than one candidate.
One wise guy, apparently offended that he had only one race to vote in, wrote "what a waster of taxpayer's money" on the ballot. We saw that message only because the machine kicked his ballot out as an "undervote." Yep, he didn't even vote in the one race he could vote in.
Some ballots were mutiliated. They were printed on long sheets of paper, which in a normal election would be filled up with several lists of candidates and ballot questions. Some people cut off the bottom two thirds and mailed in the top third. This was a problem because the computer needed to "see" some codes at the bottom of the sheet. To make the ballots machine readable, elections officials duplicated them on full-sized sheets and ran the full-sized sheets through the machine.
To vote, you had to fill in the space between two short bars, connecting them to form a long bar next to your candidate of choice. This was too confusing for some people. Somebody drew an arrow next to his or her candidate. Another made one of the short bars even darker. The canvassing board gave them credit for their efforts and their votes were counted but the ballots had to be duplicated to be machine readable.
I mentioned that the voting system cost $14 million. We've used the system for less than two years. Somebody convinced somebody in Tallahassee that the system could be fooled, so the system will be discarded in favor of another multi-million-dollar system. The system now being used cannot even be sold for scrap. The counties are picking up half the cost of the new system even though the state forced the change on them. The new system will, trust me, be fooled by some fool.
Flori-duh, indeed.
I don't think the voters in "Flori-duh" are stupider than a general cross-section of the nation but some of them demonstrated yesterday that if there is a way to spoil their ballot, a sophisticated $14 million voting system will not stand in their way.
Some voters went to the trouble of getting absentee ballots, then paid 94 cents each to mail them in. Despite numerous warnings to sign the exterior envelope, several did not do so and their ballots won't even be opened.
Several ballots were disqualified because they undervoted (didn't vote for anybody) or overvoted (voted for more than one candidate). You need to know that there was only one race in each of two city council districts, and each race had either three or four candidates, so the voter's job was to vote for one, just one, only one, no more than one candidate.
One wise guy, apparently offended that he had only one race to vote in, wrote "what a waster of taxpayer's money" on the ballot. We saw that message only because the machine kicked his ballot out as an "undervote." Yep, he didn't even vote in the one race he could vote in.
Some ballots were mutiliated. They were printed on long sheets of paper, which in a normal election would be filled up with several lists of candidates and ballot questions. Some people cut off the bottom two thirds and mailed in the top third. This was a problem because the computer needed to "see" some codes at the bottom of the sheet. To make the ballots machine readable, elections officials duplicated them on full-sized sheets and ran the full-sized sheets through the machine.
To vote, you had to fill in the space between two short bars, connecting them to form a long bar next to your candidate of choice. This was too confusing for some people. Somebody drew an arrow next to his or her candidate. Another made one of the short bars even darker. The canvassing board gave them credit for their efforts and their votes were counted but the ballots had to be duplicated to be machine readable.
I mentioned that the voting system cost $14 million. We've used the system for less than two years. Somebody convinced somebody in Tallahassee that the system could be fooled, so the system will be discarded in favor of another multi-million-dollar system. The system now being used cannot even be sold for scrap. The counties are picking up half the cost of the new system even though the state forced the change on them. The new system will, trust me, be fooled by some fool.
Flori-duh, indeed.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
celebrating September 11
My city (that is, the one I work for) is having an election today, with two seats on the city council up for grabs. We will have a new councilmember in at least one of those seats. The incumbent has a pretty fair chance of getting re-elected to the other one.
I think this is a wonderful thing to do on September 11.
Our voters don't go home with purple ink on their thumbs but they don't worry about being shot or bombed on their way to the polling places, either.
There are millions of people on this Earth who have no idea what an open democratic election is.
I have a few stories I'll share later about the stupidity of a few of the voters. In our society, even stupid people get to vote. Stupid people need representation too, which explains why we sometimes get so many stupid Congressmen. But, don't get me started.
I think this is a wonderful thing to do on September 11.
Our voters don't go home with purple ink on their thumbs but they don't worry about being shot or bombed on their way to the polling places, either.
There are millions of people on this Earth who have no idea what an open democratic election is.
I have a few stories I'll share later about the stupidity of a few of the voters. In our society, even stupid people get to vote. Stupid people need representation too, which explains why we sometimes get so many stupid Congressmen. But, don't get me started.
Monday, September 10, 2007
bad news comes in threes
Last week I posted a couple of notes about acquaintances of mine chucking their lives and their fortunes down the toilet due to greed. The week ended on the same miserable note when an elected official in my city, a man with an excellent reputation among those who saw only his public persona, was revealed to have a dark side. How dark? We are talking about allegations of child molestation against his own adopted children. We are talking about court orders to stay away from the children. We are talking about divorce.
He resigned from office, then went home and committed suicide.
There are times when a word like "shock" is inadequate. The man should be remembered for the good that he did as a city councilman and in other public capacities. I've worked with a great many elected officials and I'd rank him up there with the best. The sad reality was captured by Shakespeare about 400 years ago: The evil men do lives after them but the good is oft interred with their bones.
He resigned from office, then went home and committed suicide.
There are times when a word like "shock" is inadequate. The man should be remembered for the good that he did as a city councilman and in other public capacities. I've worked with a great many elected officials and I'd rank him up there with the best. The sad reality was captured by Shakespeare about 400 years ago: The evil men do lives after them but the good is oft interred with their bones.
Friday, September 07, 2007
500 days
As of today, there are 500 days left until the end of George W. Bush's presidency.
That's 71 weeks and two days plus what's left of today.
That's 71 weeks and two days plus what's left of today.
I'm tempted to say that the last couple of days won't count, but Bill Clinton made a lot of money selling pardons before leaving office. On his last day, he issued 141 pardons and 36 commutations, thereby undoing (in my humble opinion) whatever claim to greatness he might otherwise be able to make.
I only wish that Dubya had a claim to greatness . . . any claim, any sort of claim at all. He does not.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
another one bites the dust
Lately the newspapers are full of stories about lawyers and politicians being taken away to jail, not to mention movie "stars" and other folks who ought to know better. After posting my note earlier this week about a lawyer I know who is going to jail, I learned of another one, this one a guy I knew as a fellow student in law school.
He was the quiet type in law school. Like me, he didn't raise his hand much and didn't seem particularly outspoken about anything. After law school, he surprised me and I suspect a lot of our classmates by his success, first as a lawyer in private practice and then as a state senator, a county commissioner, a state prosecutor, and finally as Sheriff of Broward County.
This week he resigned and then entered a guilty plea in federal court to charges arising from some petty transactions involving a land developer. Failure to report, failure to pay taxes . . . you've seen this story before. His story reminds me of the old "joke" about stealing money. If you are going to steal, don't steal the petty cash fund. Steal a huge amount and then flee to a country that won't allow your extradition back to the U.S.
In his case, as in so many others, I just don't get it. He had no doubt where his next meal or the next payment on his Mercedes was coming from. Now he is at risk of losing a state pension worth more per year than what I'm getting paid and I'm still working for a living. He is also en route to federal prison.
Working for a living. That pretty much sums it up. Some of us do, and some of us are looking for the easy way out.
He was the quiet type in law school. Like me, he didn't raise his hand much and didn't seem particularly outspoken about anything. After law school, he surprised me and I suspect a lot of our classmates by his success, first as a lawyer in private practice and then as a state senator, a county commissioner, a state prosecutor, and finally as Sheriff of Broward County.
This week he resigned and then entered a guilty plea in federal court to charges arising from some petty transactions involving a land developer. Failure to report, failure to pay taxes . . . you've seen this story before. His story reminds me of the old "joke" about stealing money. If you are going to steal, don't steal the petty cash fund. Steal a huge amount and then flee to a country that won't allow your extradition back to the U.S.
In his case, as in so many others, I just don't get it. He had no doubt where his next meal or the next payment on his Mercedes was coming from. Now he is at risk of losing a state pension worth more per year than what I'm getting paid and I'm still working for a living. He is also en route to federal prison.
Working for a living. That pretty much sums it up. Some of us do, and some of us are looking for the easy way out.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
be it ever so humble. . .
A man's home is his castle (and his lady's, if he is so lucky), no matter how rude it may be.
My home is nothing to brag about. The roof doesn't leak, although it's been replaced since I bought it and then a huge oak tree tried to cave it in. The windows keep the rain out and the air conditioner works. New landscaping makes the front of the house look better and the new citrus trees in the back yard should bear fruit in a year or two. Life could be worse, although we are overdue to gut the kitchen and bathrooms and replace them from the floor tiles up.
These thoughts occurred to me today when I picked up the latest copy of the Florida Bar News and read, to my amazement, that a well-known and wealthy lawyer in Palm Beach County has been suspended from practice. He has pleaded guilty to a federal felony, agreed to cough up $400,000 to the Internal Revenue Service, and agreed to cooperate with the IRS in determining and paying any tax liabilities, penalties and interest. The story does not say what became of his home. I've never seen his home but, trust me, it does (or did?) not look like mine.
He was an assistant county attorney early in his career. He helped rewrite the county's land use regulations, then jumped ship and made a ton of money representing developers in a county where there's never really been a recession. For years, he's been one of the people I thought I should have emulated. I could have done that, I thought. I thought of him in June, when I was in Palm Beach County for a scuba diving trip and saw his name on the back of a serious bicycler's racing jersey. Not just his name, but "B__ B___'s Racing Team." For a moment I tried to visualize a similar jersey with my name on the back, but it didn't come into focus. Now it sounds like the good life as he knew it is over.
When I go home tonight I will look around my hovel and think, at least it's all mine. I earned what it took to be in it the old-fashioned way, and I will not have the IRS or federal prosecutors breathing down my neck.
My home is nothing to brag about. The roof doesn't leak, although it's been replaced since I bought it and then a huge oak tree tried to cave it in. The windows keep the rain out and the air conditioner works. New landscaping makes the front of the house look better and the new citrus trees in the back yard should bear fruit in a year or two. Life could be worse, although we are overdue to gut the kitchen and bathrooms and replace them from the floor tiles up.
These thoughts occurred to me today when I picked up the latest copy of the Florida Bar News and read, to my amazement, that a well-known and wealthy lawyer in Palm Beach County has been suspended from practice. He has pleaded guilty to a federal felony, agreed to cough up $400,000 to the Internal Revenue Service, and agreed to cooperate with the IRS in determining and paying any tax liabilities, penalties and interest. The story does not say what became of his home. I've never seen his home but, trust me, it does (or did?) not look like mine.
He was an assistant county attorney early in his career. He helped rewrite the county's land use regulations, then jumped ship and made a ton of money representing developers in a county where there's never really been a recession. For years, he's been one of the people I thought I should have emulated. I could have done that, I thought. I thought of him in June, when I was in Palm Beach County for a scuba diving trip and saw his name on the back of a serious bicycler's racing jersey. Not just his name, but "B__ B___'s Racing Team." For a moment I tried to visualize a similar jersey with my name on the back, but it didn't come into focus. Now it sounds like the good life as he knew it is over.
When I go home tonight I will look around my hovel and think, at least it's all mine. I earned what it took to be in it the old-fashioned way, and I will not have the IRS or federal prosecutors breathing down my neck.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Democrats: Hell-bent on self-destruction?
"I'm not a member of any organized polical party. I'm a Democrat." That's an old joke by Will Rogers.
He was right then, and he'd be right today.
The Democratic National Party has gone beyond disorganization. They lost their focus, and national and local elections, for too many years by pandering to every single-issue consistuency we have. Now, on the verge of winning the White House because the Republican Party is crumbling before our eyes, the DNC has threatened that Florida's delegates will not be seated at the national convention. Why? Because our Republican-controlled state legislature changed the schedule for all party primaries to January 29, and our early primary will upstage Iowa, Nevada and New Hampshire.
I've been a registered Democrat all my life. At the time I registered, Leon County had no Republican Party to speak of and, if you registered Republican, you couldn't vote in a primary election. If my vote in the 2008 primary election doesn't count because the delegates from my state, the fourth-largest state, have been blocked from the party convention by the party itself, I will change my registration to Republican.
Will Rogers also said, "You have to be an optimist to be a Democrat, and a humorist to stay one." He was right about that, too. I'm an optimist, but I've lost my sense of humor somewhere along the way.
He was right then, and he'd be right today.
The Democratic National Party has gone beyond disorganization. They lost their focus, and national and local elections, for too many years by pandering to every single-issue consistuency we have. Now, on the verge of winning the White House because the Republican Party is crumbling before our eyes, the DNC has threatened that Florida's delegates will not be seated at the national convention. Why? Because our Republican-controlled state legislature changed the schedule for all party primaries to January 29, and our early primary will upstage Iowa, Nevada and New Hampshire.
I've been a registered Democrat all my life. At the time I registered, Leon County had no Republican Party to speak of and, if you registered Republican, you couldn't vote in a primary election. If my vote in the 2008 primary election doesn't count because the delegates from my state, the fourth-largest state, have been blocked from the party convention by the party itself, I will change my registration to Republican.
Will Rogers also said, "You have to be an optimist to be a Democrat, and a humorist to stay one." He was right about that, too. I'm an optimist, but I've lost my sense of humor somewhere along the way.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Hurricane Katrina, two years later
The second anniversary of Hurricane Katrina is now upon us, and everybody is celebrating the successful rebuilding of New Orleans and other cities and towns on the Gulf Coast.
We wish. The truth is that the devastating effects of Katrina are as visible today as they were two years ago. Former homes stand in ruins, there are no utility services, two hospitals remain closed, and the levies are being rebuilt and strengthened in phases, slowly. People who fled to other states have no more reason to move back now than they did then.
Meanwhile, the Bush Administration has dumped $30 BILLION down a rathole called "let's rebuild Iraq," and at least $8.8 BILLION has disappeared. Guns, land mines and rocket launchers have been sold on the black market for cash, no receipts required, in what one whistleblower described as a "Wal-Mart for guns" only illegal. For his trouble he spent 97 days in a military prison outside Baghdad, classified as a "security detainee."
Can you visualize $30 billion? If you can you visualize $1 million, multiply by ten. Multiply by ten again, and then again. Now multiply by 30. That kind of money could rebuild New Orleans with new homes elevated above the floodplain behind new levies.
The inertia regarding New Orleans is not the exclusive fault of the federal government, but the feds have the resources to get something moving and they have squandered them in Iraq. Trying to rebuild any part of the Middle East is like feeding an alligator. An alligator will never learn to love you.
We wish. The truth is that the devastating effects of Katrina are as visible today as they were two years ago. Former homes stand in ruins, there are no utility services, two hospitals remain closed, and the levies are being rebuilt and strengthened in phases, slowly. People who fled to other states have no more reason to move back now than they did then.
Meanwhile, the Bush Administration has dumped $30 BILLION down a rathole called "let's rebuild Iraq," and at least $8.8 BILLION has disappeared. Guns, land mines and rocket launchers have been sold on the black market for cash, no receipts required, in what one whistleblower described as a "Wal-Mart for guns" only illegal. For his trouble he spent 97 days in a military prison outside Baghdad, classified as a "security detainee."
Can you visualize $30 billion? If you can you visualize $1 million, multiply by ten. Multiply by ten again, and then again. Now multiply by 30. That kind of money could rebuild New Orleans with new homes elevated above the floodplain behind new levies.
The inertia regarding New Orleans is not the exclusive fault of the federal government, but the feds have the resources to get something moving and they have squandered them in Iraq. Trying to rebuild any part of the Middle East is like feeding an alligator. An alligator will never learn to love you.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
grab a root and growl
When you reach a certain age, you realize that your brain is cluttered with trivia. The trivia ranges from the rattly noises and old-car smells of the first car you owned to bad jokes you learned in sixth grade, to minor vulgarities in foreign languages that you otherwise know nothing about. Included in that trivia are corny sayings that you may have learned from your father or from small-town guys you knew in college or the army. I have this theory about Alzheimers's disease, which is that this useless stuff collects in the grey cells like barnacles until there is no room for new but useful trivia such as the names of people you 've met in the past week and you know you will see again.
At dinner time tonight, the expression "grab a root and growl" bubbled up in the back of my mind for no reason at all except that I was unloading a bag of take-out food to serve for dinner.
Grab a root? Growl? What in hell does that mean?
("What in hell" is another of those useless expressions. The meaning of "grab a root and growl" is not in Hades. Hotter than hell, colder than hell, slower than hell, faster than hell, smart as hell, dumber than hell. . .the list goes on forever, all the way to hell and all useless. But I digress.)
I consulted Google, the source of all that I know, and I found at least three possible sources for the expression. One is, "sit down and eat." Another comes from railroad workers and means, "grab hold and lift." The third means "hold on and fight," or a stubbornness associated with the Dust Bowl farmers of the 1930's who never left their farms but held on, waiting for rain.
"Sit down and eat" is the meaning I associate with the phrase. I think I learned it in a fraternity house dining room. Wherever it came from, I'd like to unload it and make room for some useful trivia such as the exact day in 2009 which will be Bush's last day in office, a mere 517 days from today if anyone's counting.
At dinner time tonight, the expression "grab a root and growl" bubbled up in the back of my mind for no reason at all except that I was unloading a bag of take-out food to serve for dinner.
Grab a root? Growl? What in hell does that mean?
("What in hell" is another of those useless expressions. The meaning of "grab a root and growl" is not in Hades. Hotter than hell, colder than hell, slower than hell, faster than hell, smart as hell, dumber than hell. . .the list goes on forever, all the way to hell and all useless. But I digress.)
I consulted Google, the source of all that I know, and I found at least three possible sources for the expression. One is, "sit down and eat." Another comes from railroad workers and means, "grab hold and lift." The third means "hold on and fight," or a stubbornness associated with the Dust Bowl farmers of the 1930's who never left their farms but held on, waiting for rain.
"Sit down and eat" is the meaning I associate with the phrase. I think I learned it in a fraternity house dining room. Wherever it came from, I'd like to unload it and make room for some useful trivia such as the exact day in 2009 which will be Bush's last day in office, a mere 517 days from today if anyone's counting.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Hurricane season is upon us
Hurricane season is knocking at the door, dang it:
http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at4+shtml/204525.shtml?5day#contents
http://www.nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at4+shtml/204525.shtml?5day#contents
75 weeks to go
Yesterday, Karl Rove announced his retirement as of the end of August. Rove is credited with transforming Texas into Republican territory and with engineering George Dubya Bush's election in 2000, and his re-election in 2004. Do you remember the phrase, "compassionate conservative?" Rove is credited with that phrase. (Have you ever met a compassionate conservative?)
Upon Rove's announcement, Bush said, "I'll be on the road behind you in a bit."
Yesterday, we had 525 days left in the Bush regime. That's a mere 75 weeks before Bush hits the road.
Upon Rove's announcement, Bush said, "I'll be on the road behind you in a bit."
Yesterday, we had 525 days left in the Bush regime. That's a mere 75 weeks before Bush hits the road.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Grammar Rules, or How to Write Good
You've probably seen most of these, but not all in one place:
Grammar Rules for the Unenlightened; Or, How to Write Good
Don’t use a big word where a diminutive one will suffice.
Don’t use no double negatives. Don’t never use no triple negatives.
No sentence fragments.
Corollary: Complete sentences: important.
Stamp out and eliminate redundancy.
Avoid clichรฉs like the plague.
All generalizations are bad.
Take care that your verb and subject is in agreement.
A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with.
Avoid those run-on sentences that just go on, and on, they never stop, they just keep rambling, and you really wish the person would just shut up, but no, they just keep going, they’re worse than the Energizer Bunny, they babble incessantly, and these sentences, they just never stop, they go on forever …
You should never use the second person.
The passive voice should never be used.
Never go off on tangents, which are lines that intersect a curve at only one point and were discovered by Euclid, who lived in the 6th Century, an era dominated by the Goths, who lived in what we now know as Poland…
As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “I hate quotations.”
Excessive use of exclamation points can be disastrous!!!!!
Don’t use question marks inappropriately?
Don’t obfuscate your theses with extraneous verbiage.
Never use that totally cool, radically groovy out-of-date slang.
Avoid tumbling off the cliff of triteness into the black abyss of overused metaphors.
Keep your ear to the grindstone, your nose to the ground, take the bull by the horns of dilemma, and stop mixing your metaphors.
Avoid those abysmally horrible, outrageously repellent exaggerations.
Grammar Rules for the Unenlightened; Or, How to Write Good
Don’t use a big word where a diminutive one will suffice.
Don’t use no double negatives. Don’t never use no triple negatives.
No sentence fragments.
Corollary: Complete sentences: important.
Stamp out and eliminate redundancy.
Avoid clichรฉs like the plague.
All generalizations are bad.
Take care that your verb and subject is in agreement.
A preposition is a bad thing to end a sentence with.
Avoid those run-on sentences that just go on, and on, they never stop, they just keep rambling, and you really wish the person would just shut up, but no, they just keep going, they’re worse than the Energizer Bunny, they babble incessantly, and these sentences, they just never stop, they go on forever …
You should never use the second person.
The passive voice should never be used.
Never go off on tangents, which are lines that intersect a curve at only one point and were discovered by Euclid, who lived in the 6th Century, an era dominated by the Goths, who lived in what we now know as Poland…
As Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “I hate quotations.”
Excessive use of exclamation points can be disastrous!!!!!
Don’t use question marks inappropriately?
Don’t obfuscate your theses with extraneous verbiage.
Never use that totally cool, radically groovy out-of-date slang.
Avoid tumbling off the cliff of triteness into the black abyss of overused metaphors.
Keep your ear to the grindstone, your nose to the ground, take the bull by the horns of dilemma, and stop mixing your metaphors.
Avoid those abysmally horrible, outrageously repellent exaggerations.
I've told you 100,000 times not to exaggerate.
Avoid awful anachronistic aggravating antediluvian alliterations.
This sentence no verb.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Happy Fourth of July
It isn't a Fourth of July without fireworks. History note: The rockets' red glare and the bombs bursting in air over Fort McHenry didn't occur on the Fourth of July or during the American Revolutionary War, but in 1814. Fireworks on the Fourth date back to 1777 in Philadelphia, thirty-seven years before Francis Scott Key wrote what became the National Anthem to the tune of an old British drinking song.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Gay Pride, St. Petersburg, Florida
Whatever San Francisco can do, St. Petersburg can do. . . maybe not better, but enthusiastically.
I'm a confirmed hetero and as straight as can be, but we had to go check it out. What we found was a mellow crowd having fun on a hellishly hot day. A few protestors drove down from Georgia, if you can believe it, but we didn't see them.
I'm a confirmed hetero and as straight as can be, but we had to go check it out. What we found was a mellow crowd having fun on a hellishly hot day. A few protestors drove down from Georgia, if you can believe it, but we didn't see them.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
why people hate lawyers; old guys rule
Credit to the International Municipal Lawyers Association for these stories:
The $54 million (originally $64 million) pants suit has been ruled on by a judge of the Superior Court of the District of Columbia. Roy Pearson, an administrative law judge [who represented himself - remind me to tell you about lawyers who represent themselves], sued the owners of his neighborhood dry-cleaners after they allegedly lost a pair of pants he had brought in for alterations, claiming they tried to pass off another pair of pants as his.
The defendants insisted that the pants they attempted to return to him, which he refused to accept, were the pants that he brought in to be altered. Among other things, the plaintiff argued that a "Satisfaction Guaranteed" sign displayed in the dry-cleaners was an unconditional warranty that required the defendants to honor any claim by any customer, without limitation.
The court disagreed: "A reasonable consumer would not interpret 'Satisfaction Guaranteed' to mean that a merchant is required to satisfy a customer's unreasonable demands or to accede to demands that the merchant has reasonable grounds to dispute." The court also ruled that the plaintiff had not proved that the pants the defendants attempted to return to him were not the pants he brought in for alterations. The plaintiff was entitled to nothing in the way of damages (one headline: "Loses Pants, Now Suit"). See it here: http://www.dccourts.gov/dccourts/superior/index.jsp
Meanwhile:
According to a recent news report, 65-year-old Bob Hayden, a former police chief, and a gray-haired retired US Marine Corps captain, age not specified, subdued a passenger on an aircraft after the passenger's behavior became alarming. The stewardess looked around for help but the young guys were averting their eyes. Mr. Hayden's wife of 42 years barely looked up from her book while the struggle occurred. "Bob's been shot at. He's been stabbed. He's taken knives away. He knows how to handle those situations. I figured he would go up there and step on somebody's neck, and that would be the end of it. I knew how that situation would end. I didn't know how the book would end." (Source: Boston Globe, June 5, 2007. See it here: http://tinyurl.com/2n8bqc).
The $54 million (originally $64 million) pants suit has been ruled on by a judge of the Superior Court of the District of Columbia. Roy Pearson, an administrative law judge [who represented himself - remind me to tell you about lawyers who represent themselves], sued the owners of his neighborhood dry-cleaners after they allegedly lost a pair of pants he had brought in for alterations, claiming they tried to pass off another pair of pants as his.
The defendants insisted that the pants they attempted to return to him, which he refused to accept, were the pants that he brought in to be altered. Among other things, the plaintiff argued that a "Satisfaction Guaranteed" sign displayed in the dry-cleaners was an unconditional warranty that required the defendants to honor any claim by any customer, without limitation.
The court disagreed: "A reasonable consumer would not interpret 'Satisfaction Guaranteed' to mean that a merchant is required to satisfy a customer's unreasonable demands or to accede to demands that the merchant has reasonable grounds to dispute." The court also ruled that the plaintiff had not proved that the pants the defendants attempted to return to him were not the pants he brought in for alterations. The plaintiff was entitled to nothing in the way of damages (one headline: "Loses Pants, Now Suit"). See it here: http://www.dccourts.gov/dccourts/superior/index.jsp
Meanwhile:
According to a recent news report, 65-year-old Bob Hayden, a former police chief, and a gray-haired retired US Marine Corps captain, age not specified, subdued a passenger on an aircraft after the passenger's behavior became alarming. The stewardess looked around for help but the young guys were averting their eyes. Mr. Hayden's wife of 42 years barely looked up from her book while the struggle occurred. "Bob's been shot at. He's been stabbed. He's taken knives away. He knows how to handle those situations. I figured he would go up there and step on somebody's neck, and that would be the end of it. I knew how that situation would end. I didn't know how the book would end." (Source: Boston Globe, June 5, 2007. See it here: http://tinyurl.com/2n8bqc).
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
old baby photos
I like old baby photos. . .not photos of old babies, but old photos. This one I found on Flickr, and he had my last name although we might not have had a common ancestor since the last Ice Age. Cute kid, though.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
little pockets
I made an interesting observation this morning while waiting for the elevator, an event which consumes more of my time than it should each week.
When I was a boy we lived in Louisville and Dad worked for the Veterans Administration. He wore a suit and tie to work every day. This was in 1950, give or take a year, and you can visualize the suit. At the end of the day, we developed this little ritual to celebrate "Daddy's home!" He would pick up a gumball on the way home and drop it into the little pocket inside the bigger pocket on the side of his jacket. When he got home, I'd run up and check the little pocket to see what he had for me. It was always a gumball and I was always happy. (I was easily entertained at that age.)
When my kids came along I didn't pass that ritual on to them. We didn't have a gumball machine where I worked, I didn't always wear a suit every day, and not all of them had those little pockets. The only "Daddy's home" surprise I gave them was on a day when we had a new swimming pool, it was hotter than blue blazes outside, and I was wearing a wash-and-wear Palm Beach suit. I came in the front door and heard everybody in the pool, so I took off my shoes, emptied my pockets, took off my tie, and jumped in with them.
Back to this morning. I discovered that my suit pocket has one of those little pockets. I seldom poke my fingers in one of those little pockets without thinking of Dad's gumballs but today I discovered that the little pocket is the perfect size for my cell phone, and a perfectly secure place to put it. I'm not sure my father ever saw a cell phone in his life but I'm sure he'd be amazed.
When I was a boy we lived in Louisville and Dad worked for the Veterans Administration. He wore a suit and tie to work every day. This was in 1950, give or take a year, and you can visualize the suit. At the end of the day, we developed this little ritual to celebrate "Daddy's home!" He would pick up a gumball on the way home and drop it into the little pocket inside the bigger pocket on the side of his jacket. When he got home, I'd run up and check the little pocket to see what he had for me. It was always a gumball and I was always happy. (I was easily entertained at that age.)
When my kids came along I didn't pass that ritual on to them. We didn't have a gumball machine where I worked, I didn't always wear a suit every day, and not all of them had those little pockets. The only "Daddy's home" surprise I gave them was on a day when we had a new swimming pool, it was hotter than blue blazes outside, and I was wearing a wash-and-wear Palm Beach suit. I came in the front door and heard everybody in the pool, so I took off my shoes, emptied my pockets, took off my tie, and jumped in with them.
Back to this morning. I discovered that my suit pocket has one of those little pockets. I seldom poke my fingers in one of those little pockets without thinking of Dad's gumballs but today I discovered that the little pocket is the perfect size for my cell phone, and a perfectly secure place to put it. I'm not sure my father ever saw a cell phone in his life but I'm sure he'd be amazed.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
596 days
As I type this, there are 596 days and about 2 hours to go before the presidency of George W. Bush ends. And then, without a revolution, without bullets or blood in the streets, without the need for a military coup, the s.o.b. will pack up and go back to Texas.
596 more days. If you read this tomorrow it will be 595 days. That's not a day too early for me. I don't even have to decide who I will vote for when I say I cannot wait for the term of office of George W. Bush to end.
Thanks to my daughter, Laurel, for giving me a card with a computer chip that is counting down to January 20, 2009. My children know me well.
596 more days. If you read this tomorrow it will be 595 days. That's not a day too early for me. I don't even have to decide who I will vote for when I say I cannot wait for the term of office of George W. Bush to end.
Thanks to my daughter, Laurel, for giving me a card with a computer chip that is counting down to January 20, 2009. My children know me well.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
megan and conor
She: sippin' a margarita, watching him cook the day's catch
He: relaxed and cookin'
Catch of the day: "holy mackerel" (caught on a Sunday)
Catch of a lifetime: each other
He: relaxed and cookin'
Catch of the day: "holy mackerel" (caught on a Sunday)
Catch of a lifetime: each other
Friday, May 18, 2007
my grandfather, fishing
I have a project going, scanning old family photos with my whiz-bang scanner and sharing them with relatives. This is one of my favorite photos of my grandfather, Frazier Casey. When he wasn't conducting railroad trains he loved to fish. This was probably in eastern Kentucky, date unknown.
Friday, May 11, 2007
does somebody know how to do the rain dance?
On a normal day, from the windows of our tenth floor offices, I can see the dome of Tropicana Field, the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, and St. Petersburg's Pier. On a good day I can see western Hillborough County on the other side of Tampa Bay.
Today, the visibility is about three blocks. I can't even see the Pier.
To understand why, take a look at this:
http://www.fl-dof.com/wildfire2007/wildfire_map.html
Today, the visibility is about three blocks. I can't even see the Pier.
To understand why, take a look at this:
http://www.fl-dof.com/wildfire2007/wildfire_map.html
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
on the death of Boris Yeltsin
If the words Boris Yeltsin, Russia, freedom, democracy, Bill Clinton, and Christianity appear to you to be an unlikely combination of words, consider the following email I received today from the Baptist Joint Committee for Religious Liberty (another seemingly unlikely combination of words, not associated with the Southern Baptist Convention), abbreviated to save some space:
April 24, 2007
A reflection on Boris Yeltsin, Bill Clinton and religious liberty
By Carolyn Staley*
I have just read the news about the death today of Boris Yeltsin. It brought to mind a conversation that Bill Clinton related to me about a meeting he had with Yeltsin in 1994 -- a meeting during which he shared his faith with Yeltsin.
I was in Russia in January 1994 when President Clinton's mother, Virgina Clinton Kelley, died. [Staley was a soprano soloist for the Verdi "Requiem Mass." Detailed summary of how she got to Russia omitted. ]
About a week later, the president traveled to Russia, . . . Sarah Caldwell took a chamber orchestra to Moscow to perform for Clinton. . ., and I sang a group of American hymns with them to honor Clinton's visit and his mother's memory.
After the concert, Clinton asked me to please come by the hotel where his staff was staying in Moscow, so that we might visit for a while about his mother's funeral after an official trip to Yeltsin's dacha for dinner earlier that evening. . . Clinton told me that Yeltsin asked him many questions about how a democratic society worked. . . .
When I met with Clinton, he shared with me an account from dinner that evening. . . . He said that during dinner, Yeltsin leaned over to him and asked, "You're a Christian, aren't you?"
"Yes," President Clinton answered. "My faith is the most important thing in my life."
"Well, I have to do something about all these Christians coming to Russia. They are ruining our country [because the Russian Orthodox Church was threatened with demise]. Everyone is becoming a new Christian, a born-again Christian, and they are being rebaptized and putting crosses around their necks. It is ruining our country's culture."
President Clinton told me he looked at Yeltsin and said, "Democracy doesn't work that way. Either you're free or you're not. You can't have it both ways. You need to allow Christians the freedom to come into your country and preach and teach, and you have to allow the Russian people the freedom to choose their faith."
I thought to myself, "what a remarkable exchange. . . Clinton may very well have helped keep the doors to Russia open for Christians and the spread of Christianity beyond Russian Orthodoxy. President and also advocate for religious liberty." . . .
I have often wondered what might have been if Clinton and Yeltsin hadn't formed a warm friendship that allowed Yeltsin to ask such questions of Clinton as he did about his faith. . .
" The Rev. Carolyn Staley is an advocate of religious liberty, a longtime Baptist Joint Committee supporter and the minister of education at Pulaski Heights Baptist Church in Little Rock, Ark.
April 24, 2007
A reflection on Boris Yeltsin, Bill Clinton and religious liberty
By Carolyn Staley*
I have just read the news about the death today of Boris Yeltsin. It brought to mind a conversation that Bill Clinton related to me about a meeting he had with Yeltsin in 1994 -- a meeting during which he shared his faith with Yeltsin.
I was in Russia in January 1994 when President Clinton's mother, Virgina Clinton Kelley, died. [Staley was a soprano soloist for the Verdi "Requiem Mass." Detailed summary of how she got to Russia omitted. ]
About a week later, the president traveled to Russia, . . . Sarah Caldwell took a chamber orchestra to Moscow to perform for Clinton. . ., and I sang a group of American hymns with them to honor Clinton's visit and his mother's memory.
After the concert, Clinton asked me to please come by the hotel where his staff was staying in Moscow, so that we might visit for a while about his mother's funeral after an official trip to Yeltsin's dacha for dinner earlier that evening. . . Clinton told me that Yeltsin asked him many questions about how a democratic society worked. . . .
When I met with Clinton, he shared with me an account from dinner that evening. . . . He said that during dinner, Yeltsin leaned over to him and asked, "You're a Christian, aren't you?"
"Yes," President Clinton answered. "My faith is the most important thing in my life."
"Well, I have to do something about all these Christians coming to Russia. They are ruining our country [because the Russian Orthodox Church was threatened with demise]. Everyone is becoming a new Christian, a born-again Christian, and they are being rebaptized and putting crosses around their necks. It is ruining our country's culture."
President Clinton told me he looked at Yeltsin and said, "Democracy doesn't work that way. Either you're free or you're not. You can't have it both ways. You need to allow Christians the freedom to come into your country and preach and teach, and you have to allow the Russian people the freedom to choose their faith."
I thought to myself, "what a remarkable exchange. . . Clinton may very well have helped keep the doors to Russia open for Christians and the spread of Christianity beyond Russian Orthodoxy. President and also advocate for religious liberty." . . .
I have often wondered what might have been if Clinton and Yeltsin hadn't formed a warm friendship that allowed Yeltsin to ask such questions of Clinton as he did about his faith. . .
" The Rev. Carolyn Staley is an advocate of religious liberty, a longtime Baptist Joint Committee supporter and the minister of education at Pulaski Heights Baptist Church in Little Rock, Ark.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
making up for lost time
It's been nearly three weeks since I last blogged. Jogging and blogging have this in common: Get out of the habit and it is easy not to do it again. But, blogging is much less painful.
Clearing the desk of a few items that deserved more space in a blog entry of their own:
I am now, without a doubt, a member of the bourgeoisie, the class my generation tried to rebel against in the Sixties. The earmarks were there all along but the final indicator, the litmus test, the ultimate badge, is that I am going to have a sprinkler system in my front yard with a new lawn to go with it. I've never had a sprinkler system before and my lawn really took a beating with the prolonged droughts that Florida has experienced over the years. The city finally came through with reclaimed water in our neighborhood and I ran out of excuses not to install a sprinkler system. It will be operational whenever the city gets around to inspecting it. My back yard will continue to have "native Florida groundcover," meaning an amazing variety of weeds that are impervious to drought. I'm going to chop some of that out and plant some actual plants, but more about that later.
I am sick to death of CNN, again. This time the cause of illness is the steady diet of Don Imus' ugly face and uglier voice apologizing for talking like a fool, his critics who want his ugly head on a pole, and now [news flash] the sperm donor for Anna Nicole Smith's baby has been identified. He is grinning and waving his arms like he's done something commendable, and this will keep CNN running full speed for the rest of the month.
The good news must be that there's nothing going on in Iraq or Afghanistan worth mentioning. Surely CNN would tell us, wouldn't they?
One of my motivations for getting the sprinkler system and new lawn installed is that we are having guests from out of town over Memorial Day weekend and I want to make our house look a little spiffier. The women will be here for a bridal shower for our daughter. The men, including her fiance, are going fishing. The story is that he has never caught a fish. I've spent many hours with the same result, but this trip promises to change our luck and I'm looking forward to it. Six hours of trolling with a little bottom fishing thrown in ought to give us something for dinner besides pizza.
We went to Savannah the end of March for our anniversary. My souvenir of the trip is a book of ghost stories written by a former journalist (I don't believe this is why she is a former journalist). They are like the better UFO stories in the sense that the people telling them don't really want to talk about them or gain any publicity from them. There's an amazing number of ghost stories out of Savannah, and if only ten percent have any truth to them, Savannah is one spooky city.
Not all ghost stories should be dismissed out of hand. My father, never the kind to make up such a story, once had an encounter with the "presence" (for lack of a better word) of a young man who had a reputation for being a roughneck, but he had been killed in an accident a year or two earlier. Dad was a teenager at the time. He was walking home - a hike for some distance along a country road - when he felt or detected this young man's presence. "Don't be afraid," the young man said. So Dad walked on home, not afraid but not willing to hang around either.
This has turned out longer than I expected, and it is past time to get that book and pick up where I left off, a perfect thing to do on a rainy evening.
Clearing the desk of a few items that deserved more space in a blog entry of their own:
I am now, without a doubt, a member of the bourgeoisie, the class my generation tried to rebel against in the Sixties. The earmarks were there all along but the final indicator, the litmus test, the ultimate badge, is that I am going to have a sprinkler system in my front yard with a new lawn to go with it. I've never had a sprinkler system before and my lawn really took a beating with the prolonged droughts that Florida has experienced over the years. The city finally came through with reclaimed water in our neighborhood and I ran out of excuses not to install a sprinkler system. It will be operational whenever the city gets around to inspecting it. My back yard will continue to have "native Florida groundcover," meaning an amazing variety of weeds that are impervious to drought. I'm going to chop some of that out and plant some actual plants, but more about that later.
I am sick to death of CNN, again. This time the cause of illness is the steady diet of Don Imus' ugly face and uglier voice apologizing for talking like a fool, his critics who want his ugly head on a pole, and now [news flash] the sperm donor for Anna Nicole Smith's baby has been identified. He is grinning and waving his arms like he's done something commendable, and this will keep CNN running full speed for the rest of the month.
The good news must be that there's nothing going on in Iraq or Afghanistan worth mentioning. Surely CNN would tell us, wouldn't they?
One of my motivations for getting the sprinkler system and new lawn installed is that we are having guests from out of town over Memorial Day weekend and I want to make our house look a little spiffier. The women will be here for a bridal shower for our daughter. The men, including her fiance, are going fishing. The story is that he has never caught a fish. I've spent many hours with the same result, but this trip promises to change our luck and I'm looking forward to it. Six hours of trolling with a little bottom fishing thrown in ought to give us something for dinner besides pizza.
We went to Savannah the end of March for our anniversary. My souvenir of the trip is a book of ghost stories written by a former journalist (I don't believe this is why she is a former journalist). They are like the better UFO stories in the sense that the people telling them don't really want to talk about them or gain any publicity from them. There's an amazing number of ghost stories out of Savannah, and if only ten percent have any truth to them, Savannah is one spooky city.
Not all ghost stories should be dismissed out of hand. My father, never the kind to make up such a story, once had an encounter with the "presence" (for lack of a better word) of a young man who had a reputation for being a roughneck, but he had been killed in an accident a year or two earlier. Dad was a teenager at the time. He was walking home - a hike for some distance along a country road - when he felt or detected this young man's presence. "Don't be afraid," the young man said. So Dad walked on home, not afraid but not willing to hang around either.
This has turned out longer than I expected, and it is past time to get that book and pick up where I left off, a perfect thing to do on a rainy evening.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
driving down life's highways
I've come close to "buying the farm" on the highway more than once and I'm proud to tell you about it, mainly because I'm still here to tell you about it.
That thought occurred to me few days ago on my way to work after a truck veered from the center lane to the outside lane right in front of me, slowing down on his way to pulling off the road onto the shoulder. I've got to assume he was having mechanical problems.
I'd looked down for a second and looked up just in time to see the butt end of this truck dead ahead of me. I thought he was stopping. I hit the brake and pulled to the left, hearing my rear tires squeal, vaguely aware that there was a car in my blind spot on the left. There was no car there or I had more room than I thought, or that driver saw what was about to happen and moved left himself, and there was no collision.
I have come closer to checking out. Once, driving north on I-75 en route to Gainesville, I saw a car pulled over on the south-bound side. Looking ahead again, I saw a damned fool stopped dead on the highway in my lane to get a better look at the other car. There was a car in my blind spot and I was going too fast to stop in time so I ran off the road, shot past the moron parked on the highway, and came to a stop on the shoulder. I sat there and literally shuddered at the closeness of the call. The imbecile awakened and drove on up the road. Society should be happy I do not carry a gun in my car.
An even closer call came one evening when I was driving home from Lake Worth. State Road 70 is a good two-lane country road but they had a bridge under reconstruction and they'd built a temporary bridge next to it. I had to go left, then right, to get onto the temporary bridge. As I came around and looked ahead, I saw the headlights of one fool passing another on the bridge. I had maybe a foot of clearance on my right, and all I could do was jam on the brakes and hope - there was no time for a prayer. The driver being passed must have done the same thing, giving the lunatic room to complete his suicidal passing maneuver just barely in time.
I can think of a couple of other close calls, all of which demonstrate that (1) you can never, ever, take your eyes off of the traffic in front of you, and (2) you can believe that God does watch over fools including me and the brain-dead cretins I've met on the highway.
That thought occurred to me few days ago on my way to work after a truck veered from the center lane to the outside lane right in front of me, slowing down on his way to pulling off the road onto the shoulder. I've got to assume he was having mechanical problems.
I'd looked down for a second and looked up just in time to see the butt end of this truck dead ahead of me. I thought he was stopping. I hit the brake and pulled to the left, hearing my rear tires squeal, vaguely aware that there was a car in my blind spot on the left. There was no car there or I had more room than I thought, or that driver saw what was about to happen and moved left himself, and there was no collision.
I have come closer to checking out. Once, driving north on I-75 en route to Gainesville, I saw a car pulled over on the south-bound side. Looking ahead again, I saw a damned fool stopped dead on the highway in my lane to get a better look at the other car. There was a car in my blind spot and I was going too fast to stop in time so I ran off the road, shot past the moron parked on the highway, and came to a stop on the shoulder. I sat there and literally shuddered at the closeness of the call. The imbecile awakened and drove on up the road. Society should be happy I do not carry a gun in my car.
An even closer call came one evening when I was driving home from Lake Worth. State Road 70 is a good two-lane country road but they had a bridge under reconstruction and they'd built a temporary bridge next to it. I had to go left, then right, to get onto the temporary bridge. As I came around and looked ahead, I saw the headlights of one fool passing another on the bridge. I had maybe a foot of clearance on my right, and all I could do was jam on the brakes and hope - there was no time for a prayer. The driver being passed must have done the same thing, giving the lunatic room to complete his suicidal passing maneuver just barely in time.
I can think of a couple of other close calls, all of which demonstrate that (1) you can never, ever, take your eyes off of the traffic in front of you, and (2) you can believe that God does watch over fools including me and the brain-dead cretins I've met on the highway.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
old family photos
I stayed home for two days earlier this week with a hacking cough [hack hack]. I was in the in-between stage that I hate: Too sick to go share my "bug" at the office, too well to go to the emergency room. Too sick to mow my lawn (you folks up North can just be jealous), too well to be comatose.
That gave me time for a project that I've put off for a rainy weekend, which is to organize family photos. I have a ton of them. The first priority is the really, really old ones but they are all important, or at least the non-blurry photos that include people we know. Blurry photos of scenic shots just don't have any lasting appeal.
My main motive is to have them where I can grab and go if we have to evacuate due to a tornado or a hurricane. On Sunday I realized I didn't know where they were. After hours of searching I discovered I did a decent job a few years back of putting many of them in ring binders with those plastic (but "archival") sheet protectors. Problem was, I'd put them in a safe place, which in this house is a great way to lose all track until you stumble across them by accident. I'm still looking for the rest of them, including two I scanned last summer and then put in a safe place.
Here's one I found, fortunately. Taken about 1915 or 1916, it shows my dad (on the right) and his brother. You'd have to love it even if you didn't know who they were.
That gave me time for a project that I've put off for a rainy weekend, which is to organize family photos. I have a ton of them. The first priority is the really, really old ones but they are all important, or at least the non-blurry photos that include people we know. Blurry photos of scenic shots just don't have any lasting appeal.
My main motive is to have them where I can grab and go if we have to evacuate due to a tornado or a hurricane. On Sunday I realized I didn't know where they were. After hours of searching I discovered I did a decent job a few years back of putting many of them in ring binders with those plastic (but "archival") sheet protectors. Problem was, I'd put them in a safe place, which in this house is a great way to lose all track until you stumble across them by accident. I'm still looking for the rest of them, including two I scanned last summer and then put in a safe place.
Here's one I found, fortunately. Taken about 1915 or 1916, it shows my dad (on the right) and his brother. You'd have to love it even if you didn't know who they were.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
ancestors, cont'd
Now that you've met my great-grandfather, meet my grandfather. Known to the family as "Pa," he travelled Kentucky in a mule-drawn wagon selling home products made by the Raleigh Company to farm families. This was before the days of the mail-order catalog, and the business was good enough to let him support a family with five children. He died before I was born but I've met little old ladies from Kentucky who remembered him as the "Raleigh Man."
Pa was also known in his small town as an expert on horses. They had a farmer's market in town on Saturdays, and if a buyer questioned the age of a horse they'd call him in. He could tell the age of a horse by looking at its teeth and, as the saying goes, his word was law on that subject.
He was also a loving family man, and a teetotaler. While I was getting this photo ready to post I spilled some red wine on my keyboard. It doesn't seem to have fried the keyboard but I hope that wasn't Pa's way of telling me he disapproved of my drinking.
Pa was also known in his small town as an expert on horses. They had a farmer's market in town on Saturdays, and if a buyer questioned the age of a horse they'd call him in. He could tell the age of a horse by looking at its teeth and, as the saying goes, his word was law on that subject.
He was also a loving family man, and a teetotaler. While I was getting this photo ready to post I spilled some red wine on my keyboard. It doesn't seem to have fried the keyboard but I hope that wasn't Pa's way of telling me he disapproved of my drinking.
I'm not suddenly into ancestor worship, here. I'm just amazed to have learned within the past couple of days that this photo and the one below exist, and that I was able to get digital copies over the Internet just by asking. Cool!
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
ancestors
Let me introduce you to my great-grandfather. Born in 1832, he died when my father was two years old. He was a Kentucky man. I wish I could tell you his life story was a series of heroic deeds of pioneer days, but the best I can tell you is that he and his wife had eleven children over a span of 20 years and he supported his family by running a store. Considering the time and place, that's sounds heroic to me.
I didn't know this photo existed until yesterday. The original is in the possession of a distant cousin in Maryland. It was copied and distributed thanks to the magic of scanners and the Internet.
When I look at this photo on my monitor, enlarged to fill the screen, there seems to be a light in his eyes and he's looking directly at me. Click on the photo to enlarge it and tell me what you think.
I didn't know this photo existed until yesterday. The original is in the possession of a distant cousin in Maryland. It was copied and distributed thanks to the magic of scanners and the Internet.
When I look at this photo on my monitor, enlarged to fill the screen, there seems to be a light in his eyes and he's looking directly at me. Click on the photo to enlarge it and tell me what you think.
Monday, February 05, 2007
lunacy on Clearwater Beach, cont'd
Our local newspaper, which cannot stop fawning over bloated redevelopment projects, has done it again:
http://www.sptimes.com/2007/02/04/Northpinellas/Short_term_pain__for_.shtml
This seems to have been written with my earlier (unpublished) letter to the editor in front of the writer, for which I ought to be flattered.
Read it carefully. It is an admission of failure. Despite plans that have not borne fruit, they advocate plowing ahead (literally) by plowing up most of the existing parking on South Beach in hopes of what might be built two years from now.
We have friends with a business on the beach. Over the past two years they have lost money, big time. They are not likely to hold out for two more years.
Just because our city has planned to act like lunatics for several years does not mean that they must act like lunatics now.
http://www.sptimes.com/2007/02/04/Northpinellas/Short_term_pain__for_.shtml
This seems to have been written with my earlier (unpublished) letter to the editor in front of the writer, for which I ought to be flattered.
Read it carefully. It is an admission of failure. Despite plans that have not borne fruit, they advocate plowing ahead (literally) by plowing up most of the existing parking on South Beach in hopes of what might be built two years from now.
We have friends with a business on the beach. Over the past two years they have lost money, big time. They are not likely to hold out for two more years.
Just because our city has planned to act like lunatics for several years does not mean that they must act like lunatics now.
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