01/10
Visited the brother’s. While I was there we hit Wal-Mart for a P-47 Thunderbolt model. They’re pre-assembled, pre-finished, in 1:18 scale, which is rather huge.
List is $50, Wally World had been selling them for $40- not bad. But in their post-Christmas get-it-out-of-here frenzy they’d marked them down to $10- unbelievable.
Older Brother picked one up. I did not. I figured when I got home I’d check both Wal-Marts here, and maybe they’d have a selection of other planes too. It turns out one of the Wal-Marts here has nine P-47’s left, but they still want $35 for one. It also turns out that the P-47 is the only model Wal-Mart carried. It’s silly that it’s a $50 model on sale for $35 and I should be happy to buy one for that, but no, I want one for $10 now. This fool may not be parted with his money soon, but neither am I likely to get a T-bolt for $10. But I’ll keep checking. Since they have nine of them I ought to be able to at least get one for a better price.
If you know anybody who likes World War Two airplanes you could consider getting them one of these. They’re big models though. So big you may have to hang one from the ceiling. Just check Wal-Mart’s toy clearance aisle- long red box, with an airplane in the window.
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Saturday, January 10, 2004
Sunday, January 04, 2004
Have to get up and go to church. I do not fear God’s wrath half as much as I fear the Holy Wife’s. Besides, God has never pulled the blankets off of me and said, “Come on, get dressed.” I do not feel like it is all my fault. A cold room isn’t much of a motivator for getting out of a warm bed.
You see, it bothers the Cheap Wife to hear the furnace run. It seems that every time it turns on she resets it lower. Sometimes we can’t be very far away from appearing to be the Blue Man Family. But at least we aren’t wasting gas on something as unimportant as heat. http://www.blueman.com/ Of course, I’m exaggerating, hardly the first time, won’t be the last.
Anyway, the roads were quite slick from the five inches of snow we’d gotten. The NASCAR wife drove, because she sees better than I do, and she can get us there quicker because she is the, ahem, NASCAR WIFE. She made the two rights and left necessary to get to the main road a little faster than I would have but then she is who she is.
As we approached the intersection for the main road we had a red light. I need not remind you, it was slick. I’d apply the brakes about here, but then, I’m a careful driver like my Dad. Okay, if you’re not going to apply brakes how about at least getting off the gas pedal? Really, the intersection is coming up pretty quick, you have to be at least thinking of the increased braking distance here. You have years of experience, better make the decision about now.
Foot is still on gas. No way on God’s Green Earth are you going to stop a two-ton van on a slick road this fast. Oh Sh-t this is going to be interesting. It’s a slow morning for traffic, maybe we’ll just slide through and hit the median.
Foot is on brake. Like it matters now.
I’ve got news for you- ABS means Anti-lock Braking System, it does not mean Absolute Braking System. We brake in a perfectly straight line that does not stop. Look left, maybe nobody is coming. God is laughing.
It’s an old, beater of a station wagon coming around the curve. Slower, slower, but you can’t violate the laws of physics unless God tells you to. Crunch.
You know, the best places to hit a car are on the front fender, or a door, because those are easy to replace. The rear fenders are bodywork. We hit the rear fender behind the tire and creased it all the way to the bumper.
The other driver loses control and winds up straddling the median facing back in our direction. That must have been an interesting ride.
I get out. He gets out and seems amiable enough. In fact, he seems downright happy. It would seem a reasonable guess that he was concerned about what he was going to do with his beat up car and right there we put him in a situation where an insurance company will probably cash him out. He wasn’t angry at all. He probably thought God had smiled on him. I hope he was going to church.
After a quick exchange of information we’re off again for church. Only now we have time to make up. Dear God, when will it end?
We approach another intersection. We have another red light screaming “Come on, hit me with your best shot! Bring it on!” There’s a Caddie slowly pulling into the intersection from the right. We’re too damn fast. You can’t make the corner at this speed. That Caddie is toast. It’s Sunday Twofers. Our insurance agent is going to pass a brick.
Here it comes. Here it comes. Hard on the brakes, but it’s just a little late don’t you think? The old lady with hair as blue as her Caddy seems completely oblivious to the significant emotional event bearing down on her. Already I can imagine her bawling that she’s driven 70 years without an accident and hoped to die with a perfect record but not after today. No not after today, and NOW SHE’S EVEN GOING TO MISS CHURCH.
Straight line. Like an unerring arrow. We are the Scourge of God. Kawhump! We apparently hit a dry patch and we all fly forward like one of those drunk driving commercials. Sudden, instantaneous, Absolute Braking System. Apparently God just forgot to set his alarm. The Holy Wife looks beatific.
We make church on time. We make church because we left early. So why were we driving like we were trying to qualify for Daytona? I dunno. I don’t ask. Given a choice between blissful ignorance and very unblissful knowledge I’ll take blissful ignorance. I think it’s a seldom-appreciated key to a happy marriage. Or I’m just a weenie riding shotgun.
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-
You see, it bothers the Cheap Wife to hear the furnace run. It seems that every time it turns on she resets it lower. Sometimes we can’t be very far away from appearing to be the Blue Man Family. But at least we aren’t wasting gas on something as unimportant as heat. http://www.blueman.com/ Of course, I’m exaggerating, hardly the first time, won’t be the last.
Anyway, the roads were quite slick from the five inches of snow we’d gotten. The NASCAR wife drove, because she sees better than I do, and she can get us there quicker because she is the, ahem, NASCAR WIFE. She made the two rights and left necessary to get to the main road a little faster than I would have but then she is who she is.
As we approached the intersection for the main road we had a red light. I need not remind you, it was slick. I’d apply the brakes about here, but then, I’m a careful driver like my Dad. Okay, if you’re not going to apply brakes how about at least getting off the gas pedal? Really, the intersection is coming up pretty quick, you have to be at least thinking of the increased braking distance here. You have years of experience, better make the decision about now.
Foot is still on gas. No way on God’s Green Earth are you going to stop a two-ton van on a slick road this fast. Oh Sh-t this is going to be interesting. It’s a slow morning for traffic, maybe we’ll just slide through and hit the median.
Foot is on brake. Like it matters now.
I’ve got news for you- ABS means Anti-lock Braking System, it does not mean Absolute Braking System. We brake in a perfectly straight line that does not stop. Look left, maybe nobody is coming. God is laughing.
It’s an old, beater of a station wagon coming around the curve. Slower, slower, but you can’t violate the laws of physics unless God tells you to. Crunch.
You know, the best places to hit a car are on the front fender, or a door, because those are easy to replace. The rear fenders are bodywork. We hit the rear fender behind the tire and creased it all the way to the bumper.
The other driver loses control and winds up straddling the median facing back in our direction. That must have been an interesting ride.
I get out. He gets out and seems amiable enough. In fact, he seems downright happy. It would seem a reasonable guess that he was concerned about what he was going to do with his beat up car and right there we put him in a situation where an insurance company will probably cash him out. He wasn’t angry at all. He probably thought God had smiled on him. I hope he was going to church.
After a quick exchange of information we’re off again for church. Only now we have time to make up. Dear God, when will it end?
We approach another intersection. We have another red light screaming “Come on, hit me with your best shot! Bring it on!” There’s a Caddie slowly pulling into the intersection from the right. We’re too damn fast. You can’t make the corner at this speed. That Caddie is toast. It’s Sunday Twofers. Our insurance agent is going to pass a brick.
Here it comes. Here it comes. Hard on the brakes, but it’s just a little late don’t you think? The old lady with hair as blue as her Caddy seems completely oblivious to the significant emotional event bearing down on her. Already I can imagine her bawling that she’s driven 70 years without an accident and hoped to die with a perfect record but not after today. No not after today, and NOW SHE’S EVEN GOING TO MISS CHURCH.
Straight line. Like an unerring arrow. We are the Scourge of God. Kawhump! We apparently hit a dry patch and we all fly forward like one of those drunk driving commercials. Sudden, instantaneous, Absolute Braking System. Apparently God just forgot to set his alarm. The Holy Wife looks beatific.
We make church on time. We make church because we left early. So why were we driving like we were trying to qualify for Daytona? I dunno. I don’t ask. Given a choice between blissful ignorance and very unblissful knowledge I’ll take blissful ignorance. I think it’s a seldom-appreciated key to a happy marriage. Or I’m just a weenie riding shotgun.
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Saturday, January 03, 2004
Visited the brother. We always hit Wal-Mart. If he doesn’t need something his wife does. We bitch about how Wal-Mart kills off the local retailers, and then we go back.
Stupid is as stupid does. I’m really tired of that phrase. I was tired of it before it won its Oscars, but sometimes it just fits. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
Anyway, as we were leaving Wal-Mart it was lightly snowing. I should have known right there. Should have thrown the kids in the car and headed home. I did not. We visited till rather late. We visited till there were a couple inches of snow on the ground.
Oy. You think you have problems? Try driving cross-eyed at night on slippery roads. There’s more to it than that, but God forbid I should bore you with my problems. The first 40 miles were driven at 35-40 mph. Then we were out of the snow and oh baby let’s crank it up and make it feeeeeel right. It was a long trip, but we got home safely.
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-
Stupid is as stupid does. I’m really tired of that phrase. I was tired of it before it won its Oscars, but sometimes it just fits. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.
Anyway, as we were leaving Wal-Mart it was lightly snowing. I should have known right there. Should have thrown the kids in the car and headed home. I did not. We visited till rather late. We visited till there were a couple inches of snow on the ground.
Oy. You think you have problems? Try driving cross-eyed at night on slippery roads. There’s more to it than that, but God forbid I should bore you with my problems. The first 40 miles were driven at 35-40 mph. Then we were out of the snow and oh baby let’s crank it up and make it feeeeeel right. It was a long trip, but we got home safely.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Friday, December 26, 2003
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Christmas loot, like you wanna know: 12/25
Got an aircraft calendar, a Dilbert calendar, and go ahead- ask me what day it is, go ahead, just ask!
A beard trimmer from my older brother, and I can take a hint. Thanks for not getting me a deodorant. Then I'd have to wonder if my Irish Spring ain't workin'.
RocketBoy sweatshirts from my older sister for the kids and me since we'd been shooting model rockets this past summer. She reads me, she really reads me!
But did NOT get any from the WhackoWife, not that I'm complaining, cuz there's always New Year's Day, MLK Jr Day, Valentine's Day, President's Day... and things start looking mighty thin. There are times when having two calendars is of no help at all. And yes, I am feeling a little testy.
Got myself '1339... or So, Being an Apology for a Pedlar,' and a Stevie Ray Vaughn boxed set. I've been able to make myself happy, but not satisfied. Have to remember women don't find desperation attractive, especially my woman.
Not that I'm complainin' cuz I got a box... of CD's. I've got a real good... reading... coming... up. I've got 56rt78yui4587jhmnb v56789rrtyioughjkbnvm
ouch that hurts when I bang my head on the keyboard. I hate it when I do that, I do.
When it all comes down- I'm married to an amazing woman, and have two kids so adorable and bright I should doubt their fatherhood, except they look like their Presidential-scholar mother. I am in like Flint and I know it. But I'd still like to get in a little more, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
(Things do get a little odd when I stay up too late.)
You might call me on all this and say "Whiner, what did you get your fabulous Superwife?" Thanks a lot. You couldn't just let me luxuriate in my own pity party, you had to ruin it. Yeah, thanks a lot. Well Trainboy thought she needed a Pasta Pot. No fooling, everytime he saw it on TV he said his mom needed one. We saw them in Wal-Mart and he said his Mom needed one. I had no ideas, and I'm easily swayed. So I bought her one. Are you happy now? Yes! Yes! I bought my wife a Pasta Pot for Christmas! Are. You. Happy?
Since she often makes things with noodles she's happy with it. I carry no new wounds. Or maybe she's a pacifist. But I tried, honestly I tried. I asked her what she wanted. She said slippers. I begged, I pleaded, "Honey, baby, what do you want for Christmas?" All she'd say was "slippers." My older brother asked me what she wanted, what could I say but, "slippers?"
Thus it was I was taking gift-giving advice from my six year-old son. Fortunately, he's apparently a natural. And how did he fair himself? Pretty fairly. More than fairly. Lots of loot for Trainboy. He was happy, but he wasn't too excited either. Trainboy was concerned with more than loot.
He was apparently concerned because he'd seen most of the presents under the tree before Christmas- not Santa Claus' work. The Supermom pointed out a big box I had brought up after he'd gone to bed. He looked at it and said, "Dad bought that." It was his big Christmas train set that had come in the mail. He'd seen the box, and he remembered. He was not happy. It would be safe to say we won't be making any more gingerbread cookies for Santa. It was his Christmas of Disillusion. There probably won't be any more teeth under the pillow either.
In contrast to Trainboy's fall to Earth, Ms. Pikachu was in it for the loot and was happy for it. She got a large computer graphics tablet. It's bigger than a standard sheet of paper- bought it at Aldi's. It works just fine. Since she's very artsy it makes her happy.
Of course, it wasn't really about the loot. It was about a child born to reconcile us to God. It was the beginning of a story about sacrifice, forgiveness, and the greatest love.
Enough for now.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Christmas loot, like you wanna know: 12/25
Got an aircraft calendar, a Dilbert calendar, and go ahead- ask me what day it is, go ahead, just ask!
A beard trimmer from my older brother, and I can take a hint. Thanks for not getting me a deodorant. Then I'd have to wonder if my Irish Spring ain't workin'.
RocketBoy sweatshirts from my older sister for the kids and me since we'd been shooting model rockets this past summer. She reads me, she really reads me!
But did NOT get any from the WhackoWife, not that I'm complaining, cuz there's always New Year's Day, MLK Jr Day, Valentine's Day, President's Day... and things start looking mighty thin. There are times when having two calendars is of no help at all. And yes, I am feeling a little testy.
Got myself '1339... or So, Being an Apology for a Pedlar,' and a Stevie Ray Vaughn boxed set. I've been able to make myself happy, but not satisfied. Have to remember women don't find desperation attractive, especially my woman.
Not that I'm complainin' cuz I got a box... of CD's. I've got a real good... reading... coming... up. I've got 56rt78yui4587jhmnb v56789rrtyioughjkbnvm
ouch that hurts when I bang my head on the keyboard. I hate it when I do that, I do.
When it all comes down- I'm married to an amazing woman, and have two kids so adorable and bright I should doubt their fatherhood, except they look like their Presidential-scholar mother. I am in like Flint and I know it. But I'd still like to get in a little more, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
(Things do get a little odd when I stay up too late.)
You might call me on all this and say "Whiner, what did you get your fabulous Superwife?" Thanks a lot. You couldn't just let me luxuriate in my own pity party, you had to ruin it. Yeah, thanks a lot. Well Trainboy thought she needed a Pasta Pot. No fooling, everytime he saw it on TV he said his mom needed one. We saw them in Wal-Mart and he said his Mom needed one. I had no ideas, and I'm easily swayed. So I bought her one. Are you happy now? Yes! Yes! I bought my wife a Pasta Pot for Christmas! Are. You. Happy?
Since she often makes things with noodles she's happy with it. I carry no new wounds. Or maybe she's a pacifist. But I tried, honestly I tried. I asked her what she wanted. She said slippers. I begged, I pleaded, "Honey, baby, what do you want for Christmas?" All she'd say was "slippers." My older brother asked me what she wanted, what could I say but, "slippers?"
Thus it was I was taking gift-giving advice from my six year-old son. Fortunately, he's apparently a natural. And how did he fair himself? Pretty fairly. More than fairly. Lots of loot for Trainboy. He was happy, but he wasn't too excited either. Trainboy was concerned with more than loot.
He was apparently concerned because he'd seen most of the presents under the tree before Christmas- not Santa Claus' work. The Supermom pointed out a big box I had brought up after he'd gone to bed. He looked at it and said, "Dad bought that." It was his big Christmas train set that had come in the mail. He'd seen the box, and he remembered. He was not happy. It would be safe to say we won't be making any more gingerbread cookies for Santa. It was his Christmas of Disillusion. There probably won't be any more teeth under the pillow either.
In contrast to Trainboy's fall to Earth, Ms. Pikachu was in it for the loot and was happy for it. She got a large computer graphics tablet. It's bigger than a standard sheet of paper- bought it at Aldi's. It works just fine. Since she's very artsy it makes her happy.
Of course, it wasn't really about the loot. It was about a child born to reconcile us to God. It was the beginning of a story about sacrifice, forgiveness, and the greatest love.
Enough for now.
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
This morning I was having some facial pain again. The Superwife got my Tegretol and I got medicated and left for work. When I got to work I realized my bottle of pills was still at home. What to do, what to do? When pain threatens the answer is obvious, call home and ask the Superwife to bring it out. So she brought it out at lunch.
Ms. Pikachu was out of school so she came along. While we were eating the Superwife observed that Trainboy is easy to wake up in the morning. He can’t wait to get ready to go to school. He loves riding the bus, he loves his classmates, and he loves his teacher. He loves school and it shows.
What could I say? What I said was, “And this is different from someone else we know?” The WearyWife said, “Oh yeah, somebody else fights getting up every morning.” From behind us came the exasperated cry, “It’s not my fault I’m nocturnal people!”
Maybe it’s not her fault. She probably gets it from my side. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.
This is going to be a special Christmas. Trainboy is 6 ½ and hanging onto Santa. He still believes. It will surely be the last year that he does. Each passing year will bring more knowledge, more disillusions, and more wisdom. It’s kind of silly that as he hangs on I want to help him hold on tight. As a parent I want him to grow, but the innocence of childhood is so short I want him to have it just a little bit longer.
This will be the last Christmas to put out cookies and milk for Santa. The last time he’ll go to bed expecting Santa to bring him something wonderful. And wonder how he’ll get in without a chimney.
There’s no doubt that one of the joys of having children is getting to do it all over again. Through our children we can relive the excitement and joy of Christmas. Our hearts melt with their joyful expectation of a visit from Santa and are then rent with their disillusion. Our Christmas tree is a brightly lit beacon for a Santa making his last visit.
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Ms. Pikachu was out of school so she came along. While we were eating the Superwife observed that Trainboy is easy to wake up in the morning. He can’t wait to get ready to go to school. He loves riding the bus, he loves his classmates, and he loves his teacher. He loves school and it shows.
What could I say? What I said was, “And this is different from someone else we know?” The WearyWife said, “Oh yeah, somebody else fights getting up every morning.” From behind us came the exasperated cry, “It’s not my fault I’m nocturnal people!”
Maybe it’s not her fault. She probably gets it from my side. But you have to play the cards you’re dealt.
This is going to be a special Christmas. Trainboy is 6 ½ and hanging onto Santa. He still believes. It will surely be the last year that he does. Each passing year will bring more knowledge, more disillusions, and more wisdom. It’s kind of silly that as he hangs on I want to help him hold on tight. As a parent I want him to grow, but the innocence of childhood is so short I want him to have it just a little bit longer.
This will be the last Christmas to put out cookies and milk for Santa. The last time he’ll go to bed expecting Santa to bring him something wonderful. And wonder how he’ll get in without a chimney.
There’s no doubt that one of the joys of having children is getting to do it all over again. Through our children we can relive the excitement and joy of Christmas. Our hearts melt with their joyful expectation of a visit from Santa and are then rent with their disillusion. Our Christmas tree is a brightly lit beacon for a Santa making his last visit.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Thursday, December 18, 2003
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ChristmasBlog 2003.doc
If the Christmas letter doesn't open up automatically (because I'm too dumb to do it), and if you're feeling like you need some abuse, click on "ChristmasBlog 2003" up above.
The top of the letter is a picture, so give it a second, or two.
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
ChristmasBlog 2003.doc
If the Christmas letter doesn't open up automatically (because I'm too dumb to do it), and if you're feeling like you need some abuse, click on "ChristmasBlog 2003" up above.
The top of the letter is a picture, so give it a second, or two.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
If you want more grief the following is an earlier year's Christmas letter. No picture attached, don't know what happened to it. I think it's much funnier though.
ChristmasBlog 2000.rtf
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
If you want more grief the following is an earlier year's Christmas letter. No picture attached, don't know what happened to it. I think it's much funnier though.
ChristmasBlog 2000.rtf
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
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Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Worked yesterday. Had problems feeling lightheaded- the doc calls it abnormal brain-wave activity. Since that has often meant a pain attack was coming I took a Tegretol to suppress it. Unfortunately, Tegretol, often makes me sleepy. Today was no exception. Usually I stay until the last minute. I went home earlier than that. Stuff needs to be done, but I was just too out of it.
When I got home the Superwife had prepared what I'd be tempted to call a corn chowder. It was kind of like potatoe (to throw Dan Quayle a bone) soup, but with corn, carrots, peas, and bacon. In the world of marketing we could call it Corn Chowder Ultra, or Corn Chowder Extra, or just Super Corn Chowder. When you stir it- as it goes around it's Turbo Corn Chowder! Not that it matters.
It was wonderful. More accurately- it is wonderful. Because there's a big pot of it in the fridge and I'll be eating it for days. Not that I mind. Crumble some crackers in it, sprinkle some pepper on it, and I'm in Mega Corn Chowder Heaven. So I'm ok with it.
The Superwife and Adorable Kids wanted to see the Looney Tunes Movie. So did I, but I knew I'd fall asleep during the flick no matter how good it was. Rather than sit through a white-knuckle drive and pay money to fall asleep I stayed home. Slept ten hours. Feel right pert.
Maybe I'll have a bowl of Ultra Mega Hearty and Wholesome Corn Chowder With Turbo Action! for breakfast (no PETA endorsement expressed or implied). Thus fortified I'll more than make up for my miserable performance yesterday. Slap me, I must be dreaming.
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Worked yesterday. Had problems feeling lightheaded- the doc calls it abnormal brain-wave activity. Since that has often meant a pain attack was coming I took a Tegretol to suppress it. Unfortunately, Tegretol, often makes me sleepy. Today was no exception. Usually I stay until the last minute. I went home earlier than that. Stuff needs to be done, but I was just too out of it.
When I got home the Superwife had prepared what I'd be tempted to call a corn chowder. It was kind of like potatoe (to throw Dan Quayle a bone) soup, but with corn, carrots, peas, and bacon. In the world of marketing we could call it Corn Chowder Ultra, or Corn Chowder Extra, or just Super Corn Chowder. When you stir it- as it goes around it's Turbo Corn Chowder! Not that it matters.
It was wonderful. More accurately- it is wonderful. Because there's a big pot of it in the fridge and I'll be eating it for days. Not that I mind. Crumble some crackers in it, sprinkle some pepper on it, and I'm in Mega Corn Chowder Heaven. So I'm ok with it.
The Superwife and Adorable Kids wanted to see the Looney Tunes Movie. So did I, but I knew I'd fall asleep during the flick no matter how good it was. Rather than sit through a white-knuckle drive and pay money to fall asleep I stayed home. Slept ten hours. Feel right pert.
Maybe I'll have a bowl of Ultra Mega Hearty and Wholesome Corn Chowder With Turbo Action! for breakfast (no PETA endorsement expressed or implied). Thus fortified I'll more than make up for my miserable performance yesterday. Slap me, I must be dreaming.
-
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
After work I met the Superwife at the mechanic's to leave the van. Superwife drove from there on because I assume she can see better than cross-eyed me. She has always driven like a racecar driver- she drives to win. She's either hard on the gas or hard on the brakes. Everyone in front of her will be passed, and I will keep a white-knuckled grip on the arm rests.
She likes to drive the Intrepid. With the 3.5L, 16-valve engine she has said it reminds her of the Grand Prix with the 400 cubic-inch engine. Hit the gas and it accelerates right smartly. She certainly likes it.
Then we hit Kohl's because they have a two-for-one sale on sweaters. A lot of my sweaters are starting to get ratty. She decided I needed some. They had really nice sweaters at Kohl's- liked one a lot. Superwife thought it was too busy, that and maybe that even at half-off it was $27. Oh well.
So we went to K-Mart, they had some perfectly acceptable sweaters on sale for $17. So I got a couple of them. The kids got their Icees. Is everybody happy? Yes. Next up is Petco for Guinea pig supplies.
Then we hit Petco for pig supplies. As she pulled into the Petco parking spot she was way too fast for me. I yelled, "Hey!" She hit the brakes, looked at me, and said, "What's your problem? There's lots of room." I was carrying a measuring tape, so I measured the distance between bumper and lightpost- 9 inches. No doubt in my mind that if she'd waited a fraction of a second longer to brake my front bumper would have been creased into the radiator.
Then we hit Best Buy. We got the Monkees second season on DVD. Whoo hoo! Nothing else too exciting happened, and that was good.
Then we picked up the van. Changing the oil pressure sender worked- cheap fix, works for me. Since she was already driving the car Superwife continued and I got in the van. Following her on the way home I couldn't help noticing how my petite stock car driver was driving something that looked appropriate. She turned into the bank to deposit a check. I thought I'd continue home but got another half-block and thought, maybe she'd like to stop some place and eat, so I circled back to the bank.
When I pulled up beside them Ms. Pikachu was laughing and motioned for me to roll down the window. She told me to check out the back door.
Ms. Nascar had high-balled into the parking lot and side-swiped a post with my car. Hit the passenger-side mirror and scraped the paint off the rear door and fender, left a little dent. Would not be cheap. Couldn't believe it, but should have figured after the Petco incident. Fortunately for her, and me, I don't emotionally bond with my cars.
We got something to eat at an Italian place. She told me her glasses aren't doing the job, but wants to wait till next year for a replacement. Her idea is to set up a medical account for next year for the tax break and do glasses then. I told her having accidents would offset the tax savings. What if that had been a pedestrian instead of a pole? She agreed to call the optometrist today.
historical note- added to the spell-checker: Nascar, Petco, whoo-hoo, Monkees
She likes to drive the Intrepid. With the 3.5L, 16-valve engine she has said it reminds her of the Grand Prix with the 400 cubic-inch engine. Hit the gas and it accelerates right smartly. She certainly likes it.
Then we hit Kohl's because they have a two-for-one sale on sweaters. A lot of my sweaters are starting to get ratty. She decided I needed some. They had really nice sweaters at Kohl's- liked one a lot. Superwife thought it was too busy, that and maybe that even at half-off it was $27. Oh well.
So we went to K-Mart, they had some perfectly acceptable sweaters on sale for $17. So I got a couple of them. The kids got their Icees. Is everybody happy? Yes. Next up is Petco for Guinea pig supplies.
Then we hit Petco for pig supplies. As she pulled into the Petco parking spot she was way too fast for me. I yelled, "Hey!" She hit the brakes, looked at me, and said, "What's your problem? There's lots of room." I was carrying a measuring tape, so I measured the distance between bumper and lightpost- 9 inches. No doubt in my mind that if she'd waited a fraction of a second longer to brake my front bumper would have been creased into the radiator.
Then we hit Best Buy. We got the Monkees second season on DVD. Whoo hoo! Nothing else too exciting happened, and that was good.
Then we picked up the van. Changing the oil pressure sender worked- cheap fix, works for me. Since she was already driving the car Superwife continued and I got in the van. Following her on the way home I couldn't help noticing how my petite stock car driver was driving something that looked appropriate. She turned into the bank to deposit a check. I thought I'd continue home but got another half-block and thought, maybe she'd like to stop some place and eat, so I circled back to the bank.
When I pulled up beside them Ms. Pikachu was laughing and motioned for me to roll down the window. She told me to check out the back door.
Ms. Nascar had high-balled into the parking lot and side-swiped a post with my car. Hit the passenger-side mirror and scraped the paint off the rear door and fender, left a little dent. Would not be cheap. Couldn't believe it, but should have figured after the Petco incident. Fortunately for her, and me, I don't emotionally bond with my cars.
We got something to eat at an Italian place. She told me her glasses aren't doing the job, but wants to wait till next year for a replacement. Her idea is to set up a medical account for next year for the tax break and do glasses then. I told her having accidents would offset the tax savings. What if that had been a pedestrian instead of a pole? She agreed to call the optometrist today.
historical note- added to the spell-checker: Nascar, Petco, whoo-hoo, Monkees
Thursday, November 20, 2003
Phil Spector has been charged with murder. To my surprise it involves the shooting of a human being. I'd suspected it had to do with the control freak killing his ex-wife's (-Ronnie Spector) career.
In other news, Michael Jackson surrendered to authorities. During his cavity search he was heard to protest, "Stop some more! Stop some more!"
Remember, "Billie Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl" And there you have it.
At least 27 were killed in the blasts in Turkey. The suicide bombers were targeting British-related facilities but car bombs will never be considered a surgical strike. The camel-humping islamo-fascists obviously aren't concerned about collateral damage. There is a saying, "it's a dumb bird that craps in its own nest." They may eventually alienate every muslim government that would put up with them. It's too bad that car bombs give the killers quick deaths. At least they're dead and there are no long trials.
In other news, the Publicserf is now 47.
After I got home from work the nieces called and sang Happy Birthday. I didn't pick up the phone, I was happy to record it. Not knowing, the Superwife picked it up. Oh well. It was still sweet.
Then I drove the van to the mechanic. The oil light flickers when it's in drive and stopped. Gary the mechanic thinks it's a 50/50 chance that the oil pressure sender is failing. He'll order the part and we'll schedule a time to install it tomorrow. If it's not the sender it could be a big-bucks engine repair. On a 1992 Caravan with 190k miles? I don't think so.
Then it was on to the gym to pick up Ms. Pikachu after gymnastics. She can do more push-ups than anybody else in her group. They do them with their feet elevated on a beam. She can do 28, a burly girl like her mother.
When we got home again I called my sister in Tennessee. It was hard to talk because the kids were kind of rowdy. Ms. Pikachu had one of her Guinea pigs out. She held it up on its back feet and worked its front paws around like it was doing calisthenics. Apparently a pig will put up with a fair amount of abuse as long as it's well fed and watered.
The Superwife made a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. Four candles on the left, seven on the right. Not having a box mix handy she made it from scratch. It was a butter-milk chocolate cake recipe- quite good, almost like brownies. It was so rich it fairly screamed for ice cream. No ice cream. We are out of ice cream. Who ate all the cookies and cream? Not that I'm complaining. I had to make due with a glass of milk. It's a good life if you don't weaken.
Trainboy sang a different birthday song that they sing in his kindergarten. That kind of surprised me. He's as shy as I am. So it was really sweet.
And it's time for me to call it another night.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
In other news, Michael Jackson surrendered to authorities. During his cavity search he was heard to protest, "Stop some more! Stop some more!"
Remember, "Billie Jean is not my lover, she's just a girl" And there you have it.
At least 27 were killed in the blasts in Turkey. The suicide bombers were targeting British-related facilities but car bombs will never be considered a surgical strike. The camel-humping islamo-fascists obviously aren't concerned about collateral damage. There is a saying, "it's a dumb bird that craps in its own nest." They may eventually alienate every muslim government that would put up with them. It's too bad that car bombs give the killers quick deaths. At least they're dead and there are no long trials.
In other news, the Publicserf is now 47.
After I got home from work the nieces called and sang Happy Birthday. I didn't pick up the phone, I was happy to record it. Not knowing, the Superwife picked it up. Oh well. It was still sweet.
Then I drove the van to the mechanic. The oil light flickers when it's in drive and stopped. Gary the mechanic thinks it's a 50/50 chance that the oil pressure sender is failing. He'll order the part and we'll schedule a time to install it tomorrow. If it's not the sender it could be a big-bucks engine repair. On a 1992 Caravan with 190k miles? I don't think so.
Then it was on to the gym to pick up Ms. Pikachu after gymnastics. She can do more push-ups than anybody else in her group. They do them with their feet elevated on a beam. She can do 28, a burly girl like her mother.
When we got home again I called my sister in Tennessee. It was hard to talk because the kids were kind of rowdy. Ms. Pikachu had one of her Guinea pigs out. She held it up on its back feet and worked its front paws around like it was doing calisthenics. Apparently a pig will put up with a fair amount of abuse as long as it's well fed and watered.
The Superwife made a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting. Four candles on the left, seven on the right. Not having a box mix handy she made it from scratch. It was a butter-milk chocolate cake recipe- quite good, almost like brownies. It was so rich it fairly screamed for ice cream. No ice cream. We are out of ice cream. Who ate all the cookies and cream? Not that I'm complaining. I had to make due with a glass of milk. It's a good life if you don't weaken.
Trainboy sang a different birthday song that they sing in his kindergarten. That kind of surprised me. He's as shy as I am. So it was really sweet.
And it's time for me to call it another night.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
It was an up and down kind of day.
A woman came into the office and I told her to fill out a form and show me an ID when she was through. She brought her nearly completed form back up and just flashed her driver’s license at me. The parents names were blank. To see if that might be a problem I took a quick look at her online record. Both parents were listed, and had been entered several times. She should know them. I told her she still needed to enter her parents’ names and show me her ID when she was through.
She protested- she said her mother was deceased so we shouldn’t need it. I told her we just need the names as identifying information. She entered her father’s name, and left her mother’s blank. Since I could get by without it I decided to be nice and let it ride. Then I told her I still needed to see her ID. She got in my face and complained that she shouldn’t have to get it out AGAIN. If I wanted to see it again, why didn’t I tell her?
At times like that it’s really hard to stay civil. I do, because I don’t have a choice. But it would be so good to really unload on the idiots and ask them, “What’s your problem, you think I’m going to call your parents and thell them they raised a brat? Why would I do that? Don’t I look busy enough? You could get out of here in half the time if you’d just do what I told you, and I did tell you. I’m paid to know this stuff, I wouldn’t ask unless it was needed. Now fill it out, hand it over, shut up, and get out.”
That was the particularly down part.
I needed a little change of pace so for break I logged onto the web. There it was- a search warrant was served on Michael Jackson. Gee, a pedophile who keeps … pedophiling. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Gomer Pyle could have seen it coming.
Is this case a sign that Schwarzenegger is going to be the law and order Governator? If so, he isn’t wasting any time.
If the rumors are true, and Jackson doesn’t have the cash reserves he used to, he may not be able to buy his way out of this one. He may yet find out if he can moonwalk in a prison shower. I’m not sure what that means. But this is about the time my little sister starts shouting, “No visuals, NO VISUALS!”
They can string up Michael by his bleached balls for all I care. Another bad visual, sorry.
He’s a menace to kids. I don’t know how the law works in this kind of thing, but I’m amazed no one at the DA’s office has told him, “You’re going to stop having little boys over, and if you ever step out of line we will throw you behind bars for a long time and you’ll learn to answer to “Hey, bitch.” Sometimes, they just need a little heart-to-heart.
A jury found Muhammad, the DC sniper, guilty. The guy is the poster monster for the death penalty. Even if they do sentence him to death the appeals will drag on for years. Judgment will ultimately be executed by an inmate with a shiv.
It’s probably hoping for too much that Muhammad will turn out to be a faithful black Muslim just trying to do the will of Farrakhan. Kill the white man in the name of Allah! Kill the Jews! Allahu Akhbar!
When I got home this evening I was informed by the Superwife we needed to go to Best Buy. They have some deal going on with an extra rebate if you buy Lord of the Rings and the new Sinbad movie at the same time. With all the manliness I could muster I said, “yes dear.”
As we were walking from the car to the store the Trainboy saw a VW Beetle. He shouted HugBug! Apparently feeling very generous, he gave everybody a hug. Gotta love him.
Superwife browsed movies, the kids browsed video games, I headed for the computer section. Lo and behold they’ve got a 120 gig hard drive that after rebate is only $80.00. That’s a lot of hard drive for the money.
This computer has been giving me fits again. The sound card isn’t working properly. The only sound I can get is off the CD drive, and the only way to adjust the volume is by going into the Windows device manager and changing it in there. None of the media players will produce sound. I’ve tried reinstalling sound card and CD drivers- no change.
So I’m hoping I can put in the new hard drive, install the programs like new again, and see where the problem comes in. If I had to guess, and I don’t, I’d guess the problem is due to one of Window’s updates. But I don’t really know.
One way or another a fix has to be done. Trainboy has been trying to play his games on the computer and since they don’t produce the necessary sounds he’s becoming quite frustrated.
As you can see, I didn’t buy a huge new hard drive for me. No, I bought it to make Trainboy happy. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. My joy is completely secondary, but it is mine.
When we got home I changed and went to work on the car. The thermostat had failed so the car was overheating. Fortunately Dodge did a nice thing and put it on top of the engine and right in front. It's hard to imagine them making it any easier.
Thermostats normally fail closed. That's how you know they've failed- the water can't circulate, the engine overheats, and the idiot light declares you an idiot.
I paid a couple bucks more and got one that fails open. The downside to that is that some day when it fails it will suddenly take a couple more minutes for the engine to warm up. The upside will be that I won't have to worry about being stranded with the kids in the middle of nowhere. That's worth a couple bucks to me.
So I installed the thermostat after we got home. It was dark, of course. I changed it by the light of the flashlight the Superwife held for me. It always impresses me how quick she is to help. I didn't ask her to. She just volunteered. The Supermom is a wonderful example to her kids, and to me.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
A woman came into the office and I told her to fill out a form and show me an ID when she was through. She brought her nearly completed form back up and just flashed her driver’s license at me. The parents names were blank. To see if that might be a problem I took a quick look at her online record. Both parents were listed, and had been entered several times. She should know them. I told her she still needed to enter her parents’ names and show me her ID when she was through.
She protested- she said her mother was deceased so we shouldn’t need it. I told her we just need the names as identifying information. She entered her father’s name, and left her mother’s blank. Since I could get by without it I decided to be nice and let it ride. Then I told her I still needed to see her ID. She got in my face and complained that she shouldn’t have to get it out AGAIN. If I wanted to see it again, why didn’t I tell her?
At times like that it’s really hard to stay civil. I do, because I don’t have a choice. But it would be so good to really unload on the idiots and ask them, “What’s your problem, you think I’m going to call your parents and thell them they raised a brat? Why would I do that? Don’t I look busy enough? You could get out of here in half the time if you’d just do what I told you, and I did tell you. I’m paid to know this stuff, I wouldn’t ask unless it was needed. Now fill it out, hand it over, shut up, and get out.”
That was the particularly down part.
I needed a little change of pace so for break I logged onto the web. There it was- a search warrant was served on Michael Jackson. Gee, a pedophile who keeps … pedophiling. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Gomer Pyle could have seen it coming.
Is this case a sign that Schwarzenegger is going to be the law and order Governator? If so, he isn’t wasting any time.
If the rumors are true, and Jackson doesn’t have the cash reserves he used to, he may not be able to buy his way out of this one. He may yet find out if he can moonwalk in a prison shower. I’m not sure what that means. But this is about the time my little sister starts shouting, “No visuals, NO VISUALS!”
They can string up Michael by his bleached balls for all I care. Another bad visual, sorry.
He’s a menace to kids. I don’t know how the law works in this kind of thing, but I’m amazed no one at the DA’s office has told him, “You’re going to stop having little boys over, and if you ever step out of line we will throw you behind bars for a long time and you’ll learn to answer to “Hey, bitch.” Sometimes, they just need a little heart-to-heart.
A jury found Muhammad, the DC sniper, guilty. The guy is the poster monster for the death penalty. Even if they do sentence him to death the appeals will drag on for years. Judgment will ultimately be executed by an inmate with a shiv.
It’s probably hoping for too much that Muhammad will turn out to be a faithful black Muslim just trying to do the will of Farrakhan. Kill the white man in the name of Allah! Kill the Jews! Allahu Akhbar!
When I got home this evening I was informed by the Superwife we needed to go to Best Buy. They have some deal going on with an extra rebate if you buy Lord of the Rings and the new Sinbad movie at the same time. With all the manliness I could muster I said, “yes dear.”
As we were walking from the car to the store the Trainboy saw a VW Beetle. He shouted HugBug! Apparently feeling very generous, he gave everybody a hug. Gotta love him.
Superwife browsed movies, the kids browsed video games, I headed for the computer section. Lo and behold they’ve got a 120 gig hard drive that after rebate is only $80.00. That’s a lot of hard drive for the money.
This computer has been giving me fits again. The sound card isn’t working properly. The only sound I can get is off the CD drive, and the only way to adjust the volume is by going into the Windows device manager and changing it in there. None of the media players will produce sound. I’ve tried reinstalling sound card and CD drivers- no change.
So I’m hoping I can put in the new hard drive, install the programs like new again, and see where the problem comes in. If I had to guess, and I don’t, I’d guess the problem is due to one of Window’s updates. But I don’t really know.
One way or another a fix has to be done. Trainboy has been trying to play his games on the computer and since they don’t produce the necessary sounds he’s becoming quite frustrated.
As you can see, I didn’t buy a huge new hard drive for me. No, I bought it to make Trainboy happy. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. My joy is completely secondary, but it is mine.
When we got home I changed and went to work on the car. The thermostat had failed so the car was overheating. Fortunately Dodge did a nice thing and put it on top of the engine and right in front. It's hard to imagine them making it any easier.
Thermostats normally fail closed. That's how you know they've failed- the water can't circulate, the engine overheats, and the idiot light declares you an idiot.
I paid a couple bucks more and got one that fails open. The downside to that is that some day when it fails it will suddenly take a couple more minutes for the engine to warm up. The upside will be that I won't have to worry about being stranded with the kids in the middle of nowhere. That's worth a couple bucks to me.
So I installed the thermostat after we got home. It was dark, of course. I changed it by the light of the flashlight the Superwife held for me. It always impresses me how quick she is to help. I didn't ask her to. She just volunteered. The Supermom is a wonderful example to her kids, and to me.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Saturday, November 01, 2003
Odd Saturday. Nobody woke me up, and getting out of a warm bed is about as hard for me as getting out of a hot shower. It usually takes a lot of insistence on somebody else’s part, or a lack of hot water. But there are limits. We are civilized, are we not?
Eventually even I couldn’t stand it any more. I sat up, looked at the clock and thought, “Five o’clock and it’s light outside already? Can’t be, it should be dark this early in the morning. I never wake up this early. But it can’t be 5 in the afternoon, can it?” Sure, I was tired. But no way can I justify staying in bed till 5:00…. yes, in the afternoon. Anybody who knows my Mother’s side would nod and say, “Yup, Mother’s side.”
May I digress with a little family history? Thank you. When I was a child my aunt Linda secured her place in family lore my walking out of her bedroom, asking what time it was, and upon being informed it was 1 in the afternoon said, “It’s only 1? If I’d known that I would have stayed in bed.” It’s true. Ask any family member, they’ll smile and nod.
Back to the present. The Supernurse was at work, she was working 11am-11: 30pm. She later told me that Trainboy wanted to wake me up at 9:00 “Because it’s late.” She knew I was up late reading and told him to let me sleep. Normally he would have woken me up after she left so we could visit his cousins. He’s a good boy; he followed his Mother’s orders.
I asked Ms. Pikachu why she didn’t wake me up either. She said she’d woken up at four in the morning and heard me typing, she figured I needed the sleep. It’s all so sweet, what do you do? I can’t blame them for my own sloth, though that would be handy. No doubt about it though, I’m responsible for getting my own butt out of bed, my kids aren’t.
I belatedly got out of bed, dressed, and asked the kids if they were hungry. Why yes they were. I took a poll of what they wanted- shrugged shoulders. Well, they got something from me. I offered Bishop’s Cafeteria. They agreed. We like buffets- there’s no waiting, everybody gets what they want and as much as they want. Into the car and away we go.
When we get to the mall where Bishop’s is it’s 6:00. Most of the cars at the mall are parked in front of the Bishop’s entrance. Not surprisingly it’s very busy- a long wait in line. We still don’t like long waits. So we go over to the mall directory and I’m amazed at how few choices there are.
The mall never adopted the food court idea. Eating establishments were scattered all over, making it a pain to accommodate differing wants. As an alternative, in about twenty minutes you can be down the interstate at a huge mall in another town that almost requires hiking gear and a map to get around. It has a food court where you can watch ice skaters on the indoor rink. Everybody goes there, it’s the popular thing to do.
But back to the local mall. I would estimate 30-40 percent of it is vacant. It’s an economic slaughterhouse where dreams get butchered. It’s sad, because those businesses were owned by people who owned homes, paid property taxes, and supported other businesses. The mall down the road isn’t going to do anything to support this town, it just sucks money out. But I’m preaching. Sorry.
So we had all of about four choices to eat- Orange Julius, Chick Fil-A, a deli, and a Maid-Rite. We would have eaten at Sbarro’s because the kids like pizza, but that’s gone. Ms. Pikachu suggests Maid-Rite. Good call . My folks owned one, lost a lot of money trying to make it work, and at a very young age I learned how to make a good soft-serve ice cream cone. There’s a lot of sentimental baggage involved, and I’m happy to help a guy who’s probably struggling to make it work too.
We walked down to his place and it was depressing how few people there were on the way. You could shoot skeet in the mall and probably not hurt anybody. We stepped right up to the counter, no wait and we like that, Maid-Rites and onion rings for Ms. Pikachu and me, chicken strips and fries for Trainboy, drinks, and we’re set. We sat at the counter in the window and watched a few people walk by.
When Montgomery Ward was open there was a salesman who, over the course of a few years, sold us our TV, a CD player, and VCR. He was a nice guy, we liked him. After Wards closed he opened an ice cream shop in the mall. I wondered if he was still in business, or got run through the grinder. So when we were done we walked farther down. Surprise, surprise, he was still open. We exchanged pleasantries. I bought a smoothie, Ms. Pikachu got some ice cream which she said she’d share with Trainboy. Neither one was really hungry after just eating, but they couldn’t turn down ice cream.
As we headed back to the car Ms. Pikachu asked if we could go to Petco to get some more fish. I’m nothing if not a pushover. Sure, why not. So we went to Petco, and had to wait for some guy who apparently wasn’t going to buy anything, but wanted to monopolize the sales clerk’s time because he had too much of it himself. We stared at fish and waited as patiently as they did. Eventually he ran out of things to discuss and Ms. Pikachu got to tell the clerk which fish she wanted. They discussed it a little, then Ms. Pikachu walked towards me.
When she got to me I asked her what was happening and turned my head to the left. It was a little noisy in there, and I was turning my right hearing aid towards her to hear better. The next thing I notice is my daughter laying face down on the floor at my feet. She’s a joker, but this just wasn’t right.
I got on my knees next to her, and called her name. No reaction. Dear God. All I can think of is a story where a child had an undiagnosed heart defect and just fell over dead one day and there was nothing anybody could do. Panic. Fear. Those are good words for panic and fear. But they don’t come close to what I was feeling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and started to turn her over. Please be okay. Just be okay. All you have to be is okay. Please.
She slowly regained consciousness and sat up. She was scared, said she had felt light-headed and then she woke up. Now she felt fine.
The clerk came over with her manager and they tried to be helpful, but what could they do? We left the store without any fish. Get the kids in the car and we’re on our way to the hospital where the Supernurse works. No way am I going to blow off a faint like that, this has to be run by the Supernurse.
At the hospital there’s a lot of people waiting in the emergency room. I tell the admission person I need to talk to my wife. She calls the nursing supervisor and directs me to second floor. When we get up there the Supermom is waiting.
She takes Ms. Pikachu’s blood pressure and temperature, and then calls the family doctor. The doc asks how she fainted. It’s actually better to fall over like a tree. If you just slowly collapse in a heap it’s probably a seizure- that is serious. She fell like a tree. The doc is not too concerned; fainting just happens sometimes. The only concern is whether or not Ms. Pikachu was injured from the fall. Her jaw hurts. Another nurse gets her an ice pack. Doc says to keep an eye on her, and she’ll note it in her file.
We leave, walking by the people still waiting. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes I don’t care.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Eventually even I couldn’t stand it any more. I sat up, looked at the clock and thought, “Five o’clock and it’s light outside already? Can’t be, it should be dark this early in the morning. I never wake up this early. But it can’t be 5 in the afternoon, can it?” Sure, I was tired. But no way can I justify staying in bed till 5:00…. yes, in the afternoon. Anybody who knows my Mother’s side would nod and say, “Yup, Mother’s side.”
May I digress with a little family history? Thank you. When I was a child my aunt Linda secured her place in family lore my walking out of her bedroom, asking what time it was, and upon being informed it was 1 in the afternoon said, “It’s only 1? If I’d known that I would have stayed in bed.” It’s true. Ask any family member, they’ll smile and nod.
Back to the present. The Supernurse was at work, she was working 11am-11: 30pm. She later told me that Trainboy wanted to wake me up at 9:00 “Because it’s late.” She knew I was up late reading and told him to let me sleep. Normally he would have woken me up after she left so we could visit his cousins. He’s a good boy; he followed his Mother’s orders.
I asked Ms. Pikachu why she didn’t wake me up either. She said she’d woken up at four in the morning and heard me typing, she figured I needed the sleep. It’s all so sweet, what do you do? I can’t blame them for my own sloth, though that would be handy. No doubt about it though, I’m responsible for getting my own butt out of bed, my kids aren’t.
I belatedly got out of bed, dressed, and asked the kids if they were hungry. Why yes they were. I took a poll of what they wanted- shrugged shoulders. Well, they got something from me. I offered Bishop’s Cafeteria. They agreed. We like buffets- there’s no waiting, everybody gets what they want and as much as they want. Into the car and away we go.
When we get to the mall where Bishop’s is it’s 6:00. Most of the cars at the mall are parked in front of the Bishop’s entrance. Not surprisingly it’s very busy- a long wait in line. We still don’t like long waits. So we go over to the mall directory and I’m amazed at how few choices there are.
The mall never adopted the food court idea. Eating establishments were scattered all over, making it a pain to accommodate differing wants. As an alternative, in about twenty minutes you can be down the interstate at a huge mall in another town that almost requires hiking gear and a map to get around. It has a food court where you can watch ice skaters on the indoor rink. Everybody goes there, it’s the popular thing to do.
But back to the local mall. I would estimate 30-40 percent of it is vacant. It’s an economic slaughterhouse where dreams get butchered. It’s sad, because those businesses were owned by people who owned homes, paid property taxes, and supported other businesses. The mall down the road isn’t going to do anything to support this town, it just sucks money out. But I’m preaching. Sorry.
So we had all of about four choices to eat- Orange Julius, Chick Fil-A, a deli, and a Maid-Rite. We would have eaten at Sbarro’s because the kids like pizza, but that’s gone. Ms. Pikachu suggests Maid-Rite. Good call . My folks owned one, lost a lot of money trying to make it work, and at a very young age I learned how to make a good soft-serve ice cream cone. There’s a lot of sentimental baggage involved, and I’m happy to help a guy who’s probably struggling to make it work too.
We walked down to his place and it was depressing how few people there were on the way. You could shoot skeet in the mall and probably not hurt anybody. We stepped right up to the counter, no wait and we like that, Maid-Rites and onion rings for Ms. Pikachu and me, chicken strips and fries for Trainboy, drinks, and we’re set. We sat at the counter in the window and watched a few people walk by.
When Montgomery Ward was open there was a salesman who, over the course of a few years, sold us our TV, a CD player, and VCR. He was a nice guy, we liked him. After Wards closed he opened an ice cream shop in the mall. I wondered if he was still in business, or got run through the grinder. So when we were done we walked farther down. Surprise, surprise, he was still open. We exchanged pleasantries. I bought a smoothie, Ms. Pikachu got some ice cream which she said she’d share with Trainboy. Neither one was really hungry after just eating, but they couldn’t turn down ice cream.
As we headed back to the car Ms. Pikachu asked if we could go to Petco to get some more fish. I’m nothing if not a pushover. Sure, why not. So we went to Petco, and had to wait for some guy who apparently wasn’t going to buy anything, but wanted to monopolize the sales clerk’s time because he had too much of it himself. We stared at fish and waited as patiently as they did. Eventually he ran out of things to discuss and Ms. Pikachu got to tell the clerk which fish she wanted. They discussed it a little, then Ms. Pikachu walked towards me.
When she got to me I asked her what was happening and turned my head to the left. It was a little noisy in there, and I was turning my right hearing aid towards her to hear better. The next thing I notice is my daughter laying face down on the floor at my feet. She’s a joker, but this just wasn’t right.
I got on my knees next to her, and called her name. No reaction. Dear God. All I can think of is a story where a child had an undiagnosed heart defect and just fell over dead one day and there was nothing anybody could do. Panic. Fear. Those are good words for panic and fear. But they don’t come close to what I was feeling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and started to turn her over. Please be okay. Just be okay. All you have to be is okay. Please.
She slowly regained consciousness and sat up. She was scared, said she had felt light-headed and then she woke up. Now she felt fine.
The clerk came over with her manager and they tried to be helpful, but what could they do? We left the store without any fish. Get the kids in the car and we’re on our way to the hospital where the Supernurse works. No way am I going to blow off a faint like that, this has to be run by the Supernurse.
At the hospital there’s a lot of people waiting in the emergency room. I tell the admission person I need to talk to my wife. She calls the nursing supervisor and directs me to second floor. When we get up there the Supermom is waiting.
She takes Ms. Pikachu’s blood pressure and temperature, and then calls the family doctor. The doc asks how she fainted. It’s actually better to fall over like a tree. If you just slowly collapse in a heap it’s probably a seizure- that is serious. She fell like a tree. The doc is not too concerned; fainting just happens sometimes. The only concern is whether or not Ms. Pikachu was injured from the fall. Her jaw hurts. Another nurse gets her an ice pack. Doc says to keep an eye on her, and she’ll note it in her file.
We leave, walking by the people still waiting. Sometimes life is not fair. Sometimes I don’t care.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Monday, October 27, 2003
10/26
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Was woken up, got dressed, and away we went to church. We were later for Sunday school, but we sent the kids into their rooms anyway. They need it. When we got to the adult class we attend a quick survey throught the door showed a packed room. The Holy Wife wanted to go in. She was all ready to grab a couple chairs and make her way in. But…. I dunno, where are we gonna sit? If we go in there we’ll be interrupting a class that’s in session, and everybody will be watching us, and trying to accommodate us as we try to get situated. I don’t wanna go in there late like this.
The Holy Wife is feeling merciful. She suggests getting a cup of coffee. Well alrighty. We went down the road to a convenience store. I went in filled up a cup with decaf, sugar and creamer, and grabbed a blueberry muffin. The Super Wife likes blueberry muffins.
Back in the car we share the coffee. It’s okay. I rarely get excited about coffee. I like it, crave it when eating something sweet, but even so, usually it’s just good- nothing to make me act caffeinated.
She takes two bites out of the muffin and that’s all she wants. It’s a big muffin. If I’d known she was only going to take two bites I’d have gotten something seriously calorie laden. Oh well, maybe it’s only fair since I skipped Sunday School. There’s no way of knowing, but the muffin isn’t that bad, and it goes well with the coffee.
Back to church for the service. The sermon is regarding forgiveness. I hope God is in a forgiving mood. I was up too late the night before writing the rocket pieces. It showed and I know it. Can’t focus on the sermon, too tired. Focus on staying awake. I will not snore in church again. If I do a witchhunter might declare me apostate and I’d be executed. No wait… that’s Islam. I’m safe, but I still won’t fall asleep.
After the service we stopped at Burger King. There’s nothing like a big traditional family meal on Sunday. After reciting our wants, needs, and desires into the little orange box the voice in the box informs us we owe $9.67. The Superwife gives the heavily accented teller at the window a ten and some change to get an even amount back. He gives her a five back. Well that can’t be right.
She tells him we can’t be due $5 back when we gave him only a little more than the amount due. He grabs a calculator and starts feverishly pushing buttons. Numbers, they’re all numbers, and apparently none of them are convincing. Math can be like that.
Another member of the staff joins him. They analyze, plot strategies, punch more numbers, and eventually hand the wife six cents. Still wrong. They still owe us a quarter, but what is the time worth? We get our food and he says, “God bless America!” Whether that was heartfelt, or a defense mechanism it’s impossible to know. For all anybody could know he is an Islamic terrorist trying to destabilize the economy one drive-thru transaction at a time. But there’s no way to know, and suddenly the world seems a little more sinister.
We drove over to the Pioneer Village kind of place where they were doing a day-time Halloween trick or treat thing without yelling “trick of treat.” We buy admission for two kids. Ms. Pikachu is adamant that she wants no part in it. She is at the awkward age where she’s too embarrassed to wear a costume, but she still wants the candy.
Trainboy is done up like, what else, Trainboy. He wears jeans, flannel shirt, engineers cap, and a railroad pocket watch. It is good to be Trainboy. Trainboy is happy to be Trainboy. For about another four years anyway.
We walk from building to building. At each someone marks their location on the ticket and then another gives the candy, or whatever. Trainboy is happy. Ms. Pikachu is beyond embarrassed. She zips up her coat and pulls it over her head. The hood flops forward- she looks headless. She can’t see a thing and hangs onto her Mother’s arm to be guided around. The Superwife presents Ms. Headless Pikachu’s ticket to get her candy.
Every time she gets a piece of candy she lets out her sinister laugh. She thinks it’s sinister anyway. It really sound more like a constipated Woody Woodpecker, but who am I to complain? Many of the candy-givers speculate that there was a terrible accident and Trainboy was driving.
It seems like every kid costume imaginable is on display- some are amusing, some are cute. Many of the adults are in costume also. One of them is a woman in a civil-war era gown- bare shouldered, lots of bare skin. It’s a cold day, way too cold for a dress like that. But she’s a trooper in drag and looks like she’s enjoying herself.
There’s a boy of about four in a Scooby Doo costume. He looks like he was swallowed by Scooby since he’s looking out the dog’s mouth. He runs over to their family car, and as he’s running the head slides off sideways. It looks like Scooby has whiplash.
After we’ve hit all the stations and Ms. Pikachu has done her last sinister laugh her head magically reappears. She claims her bag of candy from the Superwife, and she’s happy, finally.
We head for home, tired, and wondering when the sugar-induced mania will start.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/25
The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
The Superwife wanted me to drop some jeans off at her Mother’s. Alright, another launch window. We need more rockets! So a trip to the hobby shop is in order. Two was fun, but it didn’t last. Three seems reasonable. No chance for fancy shmancy paint jobs, they have to be pre-finished.
One of them is kind of cute; it looks like a No.2 pencil. It’s a long rocket, but being almost all cardboard tube it’s still extremely light. The fins on the end are very small for it’s size, kind of like a TOW rocket.
Another rocket is small and done in blue sparkles. Oh, that should be easy to track against a blue sky. Why didn’t I buy red? Red would have made more sense. Because I like blue. And Trainboy likes blue. Superwife likes blue. Ms. Pikachu likes blue. It just works that way.
We get to America’s Other Launch Pad and set up. Or try to. It’s a “no go.” Everything is in the box except the rod the rockets attach to. You really need the rod to get them going in the right direction. Gary, the Superwife’s Dad comes up with a wire that will work. There you have it, the stuff that made this country great. Conditions for launch are now “go.”
We will shoot the blue one first. Install the engine, and igniter, mount it, wire it up and Trainboy gets to shoot again. Whoosh. It’s only a slightly larger than the little one we lost last time. Not much larger, but enough that we can see it coming back down. The wind is gusting and it really carries.
It carries into a field, and we can’t find it. Another loss.
We load up the pencil rocket. Point it a little more upwind so we shouldn’t have to worry about another loss in the field.. Ms. Pikachu does the honors.
After picking up very little altitude it levels off and heads straight for the chemical plant across the road. Underneath that educated exterior it really was a military rocket. Had I been a muslim I would have yelled Allah Akhbar! and looked forward to meeting my virgins.
The chemical plant is about a half-mile away on the other side of a rise. There’s no way of knowing how far the rocket went. It’s good for a smile to think about it though.
The third one is orange with black markings, appropriate for Halloween season. Heather, the kids’ cousin gets to do the honors. It lifts off, soon turns over a little and heads north. At least we can see it coming down.
Another run around the house and fifteen minutes later the kids come back with the rocket. Our first reused rocket. Another launch and this time it flies straighter, higher. The wind carries it, and carries it. . It carries across the railroad tracks a quarter mile away and into the swamp.
You try to be prepared when you’re doing these things. But scuba gear for a water recovery never occurred to me. My bad. Maybe next time.
That’s five rockets and six launches. Not an enviable success rate for a rocket program. More of a failure rate really. But the kids have been having fun and that’s all I’m trying for. In that respect, it’s been a successful program. Now I need to buy some more rockets because there are engines left. The program goes on like a gummint white elephant.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
10/18
We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We visited the Superwife’s folks. They live in the country. I’d bought some model rockets a long time ago in the expectation this opportunity would arrive. The kit contained two rockets for assembly, launching stand, and an ignition controller. All you needed were some assembly time, engines, and batteries. Fun, fun, fun.
One of the rockets was conventional- after the engine burns out it fires a charge that knocks the nose cone off and deploys a parachute. The parts were pre-painted in black and yellow.
The other rocket was much smaller, instead of deploying a parachute each half has an unsymmetrical set of fins. The halves just spin down to their landings. It was unfinished so I painted it purple with chrome leading edges. A rather cool paint job, imho.
When I bought the kit I looked at the box to see what size engines to get. There was a range of possible ones. Common sense would be to start small and work up. Hah! And again, I say Hah! If you’re going to do it, do it right. I got the most powerful engines possible. This could be fun because stupid has its moments. Stupid can be exhilarating.
When we got to the in-laws I set up the base, wired up a rocket and…. Freaking thing wouldn’t work. When you insert the launch key a light bulb is supposed to light up. No light, no joy. So I took it inside and took the controller apart. It was as simple as it could be, inserting the key just puts a pin between two metal plates, thereby completing the circuit. How could anything be wrong?
But inserting the key does not get a light. The only thing that seems plausible is that the gap is just a little too wide between the plates, even though it looks good. So it gets a squeezing with a pliers and….. it works. The light bulb glows in affirmation.
We take it back outside, point the rocket upwind so the wind will carry it back to us. Wire it up, hold in the key, hold down the launch button and whoooooosh. I look up to watch it go, it’s already gone. There’s just a little smoke trail that’s already being blown away. It was a little rocket with a big engine- the Ferrari of rockets. It was out of sight before I looked up. When the engine was done, it broke into its two pieces. If you couldn’t see one piece you surely couldn’t see two smaller ones. That was a one-shot rocket. But it was fun. The kids liked it. Did it ever go.
Problem. I never installed the parachute in the remaining rocket. The parachute isn’t in the box. No career in NASA for me. One rocket is gone for good; the remaining rocket just isn’t good. What to do, what to do? Easy decision, we launch. Gotta keep the public happy.
Wire it up, aim it up wind and who wants to launch it? Trainboy volunteers. Hold down the key, hold down the launch button and…whoosh. Another winner, it goes and goes. Being a bigger rocket we can see it though. It comes back down tumbling end over end.
With a parachute it might have carried back to us. But we lose sight of it as it descends on the other side of the house. Run around the house and…. it’s gone. We look around, but can’t find it. If they lived in the middle of a golf course it would be so much easier. Too bad, but it was fun. We’ll have to do it again. We have to, we have more engines, and it would be sinful to waste them. Right?
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Tuesday, October 21, 2003
Still catching up. Maybe this isn’t current- bite me. Speaking of which:
Roy and the Tiger- the last theory I heard was that the tiger was trying to save Roy from a threatening hairdo. The woman’s hair looked like a meerkat, and ever since Lion King the big cats have been suspicious of the little Jew meerkats controlling everything.
I doubt the cat really wanted him dead. If the cat wanted him dead he probably would have been dead in a second. So it seems it was really more like a labor negotiating tool. A kind of, “Hey, I’ve been asking for a freaking vacation for a couple years and I get nothing. Aren’t there laws or something? What do I have to do to be heard around here, kill somebody?” Or maybe kitty was just hungry and prefers his meat very rare.
Enough of that.
In other events- there’s an Islamic Conference going on. A speaker, Mahathir Mohamad, declared they should be willing to declare a truce with the Jews. He was widely reported as a voice of moderation. Moderation is a relative thing. If he said “Push the Zionist Jews into the sea. Then hunt down every remaining Jew in the world and kill them. Throw their bodies in the fields for wild animals to eat. Crush the remaining bones into dust. Then destroy any record they were alive to blot them from history,” the sympathetic media might say he was hard-line, but only because he was suffering the loss of so many suicide bombers at the hands of the Jews, or something like that.
In comparison “Make peace, then keel the Joos” would sound downright moderate.
What he actually said was “The Quran tells us that when the enemy sues for peace we must react positively. True the treaty offered is not favourable to us. But we can negotiate.”
That certainly sounds moderate- like the voice of reason. But then he adds,
“The Prophet did, at Hudaibiyah. And in the end he triumphed.”
If you don’t know what he’s talking about you may think it’s a moral victory- it’s not. What does it really mean?
“Just three months after -Hudaibiyah, Khaiber, the major stronghold of the Jews, was conquered and after it the Jewish settlements of Fadak, Wad-il Qura, Taima and Tabuk also fell to Islam one after the other. Then all other tribes of central Arabia, which were bound in alliance with the Jews and Quraish, came under the sway of Islam. Thus, within two years after Hudaibiyah the balance of power in Arabia was so changed that the strength of the Quraish and pagan gave way and the domination of Islam became certain.
These were the blessings that the Muslims gained from the peace treaty which they were looking upon as their defeat and the Quraish as their victory.” Mahathir is not inciting a truce for the sake of peace. He wants to obtain position for victory.
You can read the entire text here courtesy of a link from Little Green Footballs.
You can expect the media, though allegedly controlled by Jews, will report on the Muslim display of statesmanship as a hopeful sign. Surely the Jews will accept the olive branch and reciprocate with an act of good faith. There will continue to be cries for the Israelis to give up land to be fair, and to heal the wounds. Fair would eventually be determined to mean leaving enough land in Israel for each Israeli to have a burial plot. That’s the only thing that will make Muslims happy. Israel offends Islam, so does the United States.
Enough of that too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Roy and the Tiger- the last theory I heard was that the tiger was trying to save Roy from a threatening hairdo. The woman’s hair looked like a meerkat, and ever since Lion King the big cats have been suspicious of the little Jew meerkats controlling everything.
I doubt the cat really wanted him dead. If the cat wanted him dead he probably would have been dead in a second. So it seems it was really more like a labor negotiating tool. A kind of, “Hey, I’ve been asking for a freaking vacation for a couple years and I get nothing. Aren’t there laws or something? What do I have to do to be heard around here, kill somebody?” Or maybe kitty was just hungry and prefers his meat very rare.
Enough of that.
In other events- there’s an Islamic Conference going on. A speaker, Mahathir Mohamad, declared they should be willing to declare a truce with the Jews. He was widely reported as a voice of moderation. Moderation is a relative thing. If he said “Push the Zionist Jews into the sea. Then hunt down every remaining Jew in the world and kill them. Throw their bodies in the fields for wild animals to eat. Crush the remaining bones into dust. Then destroy any record they were alive to blot them from history,” the sympathetic media might say he was hard-line, but only because he was suffering the loss of so many suicide bombers at the hands of the Jews, or something like that.
In comparison “Make peace, then keel the Joos” would sound downright moderate.
What he actually said was “The Quran tells us that when the enemy sues for peace we must react positively. True the treaty offered is not favourable to us. But we can negotiate.”
That certainly sounds moderate- like the voice of reason. But then he adds,
“The Prophet did, at Hudaibiyah. And in the end he triumphed.”
If you don’t know what he’s talking about you may think it’s a moral victory- it’s not. What does it really mean?
“Just three months after -Hudaibiyah, Khaiber, the major stronghold of the Jews, was conquered and after it the Jewish settlements of Fadak, Wad-il Qura, Taima and Tabuk also fell to Islam one after the other. Then all other tribes of central Arabia, which were bound in alliance with the Jews and Quraish, came under the sway of Islam. Thus, within two years after Hudaibiyah the balance of power in Arabia was so changed that the strength of the Quraish and pagan gave way and the domination of Islam became certain.
These were the blessings that the Muslims gained from the peace treaty which they were looking upon as their defeat and the Quraish as their victory.” Mahathir is not inciting a truce for the sake of peace. He wants to obtain position for victory.
You can read the entire text here courtesy of a link from Little Green Footballs.
You can expect the media, though allegedly controlled by Jews, will report on the Muslim display of statesmanship as a hopeful sign. Surely the Jews will accept the olive branch and reciprocate with an act of good faith. There will continue to be cries for the Israelis to give up land to be fair, and to heal the wounds. Fair would eventually be determined to mean leaving enough land in Israel for each Israeli to have a burial plot. That’s the only thing that will make Muslims happy. Israel offends Islam, so does the United States.
Enough of that too.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
Friday, October 17, 2003
Under the date Oct 17 these go back to Sep 13, at least until I change the post dates to be corrected
9/26
Morning break, lunch, and it’s gone. The Superwife and the kids don’t even get to try it. Everybody liked it. So here it is, a reasonably good cherry crisp.
Reasonably Good Cherry Crisp
2 Big cans of cherry pie filling
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
½ cup butter
½ cup coconut
1 package sliced almonds
Mix in cinnamon and nutmeg into cherry filling. Or don’t add the nutmeg, you get to make the decision. Pour it into a 9x14 pan, or whatever makes you happy.
For topping combine oats, brown sugar, flour, coconut and cut in butter until crumbly.
Sprinkle topping over filling. Sprinkle almonds over topping.
Bake in 375 degree oven for 30-35 minutes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/26
Morning break, lunch, and it’s gone. The Superwife and the kids don’t even get to try it. Everybody liked it. So here it is, a reasonably good cherry crisp.
Reasonably Good Cherry Crisp
2 Big cans of cherry pie filling
1 cup rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
½ cup butter
½ cup coconut
1 package sliced almonds
Mix in cinnamon and nutmeg into cherry filling. Or don’t add the nutmeg, you get to make the decision. Pour it into a 9x14 pan, or whatever makes you happy.
For topping combine oats, brown sugar, flour, coconut and cut in butter until crumbly.
Sprinkle topping over filling. Sprinkle almonds over topping.
Bake in 375 degree oven for 30-35 minutes.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/25
Potluck. I try a piece, it’s too sweet. But it would be real good with ice cream. There’s so much food it hardly gets touched. Either that, or it’s a bust. If I brought it home the Superwife would say something like, “Do you know how many calories are in that pan? You eat it.” So it’s left in the office fridge for tomorrow. We’ll see.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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Potluck. I try a piece, it’s too sweet. But it would be real good with ice cream. There’s so much food it hardly gets touched. Either that, or it’s a bust. If I brought it home the Superwife would say something like, “Do you know how many calories are in that pan? You eat it.” So it’s left in the office fridge for tomorrow. We’ll see.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/24
Potluck at work tomorrow. We go to Wally World for miscellaneous and sundry stuff. While the Superwife and kids are shopping for their things I head for the food section to find something to make.
I head back to the cake mix section. No, no cakes, don’t wanna do that. Have to do something different. I see easy to make cherry crisp. That’s possible. But looking at the box it looks like something that was at the school picnic, and it wasn’t too impressive. So I shall make one from scratch, or nearly so. I have decided, it shall be so.
Pick up a couple cans of pie filling and stuff I might need.
It’s late, too late to start cooking, but there’s no choice. Find a recipe and make cherry crisp. I find one and figure some adjustments will have to be made. It calls for a two-quart pan. I want it bigger, thicker, and it has got to be good. Into a pot go two big cans of cherries, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg.
Supermom comes down after reading to the kids and getting them asleep. I cannot find brown sugar. She says we don’t have any. She drives to a store to get me some. Either she loves me or she wanted to get out of the house.
In preparing the topping I don’t exactly follow the recipe, I never do. To adjust for a bigger 9x14 pan everything is doubled. I add coconut, because cherries and coconut is a natural. After the topping is on I sprinkle a bag of sliced almonds over the top. I hope it’s good.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
Potluck at work tomorrow. We go to Wally World for miscellaneous and sundry stuff. While the Superwife and kids are shopping for their things I head for the food section to find something to make.
I head back to the cake mix section. No, no cakes, don’t wanna do that. Have to do something different. I see easy to make cherry crisp. That’s possible. But looking at the box it looks like something that was at the school picnic, and it wasn’t too impressive. So I shall make one from scratch, or nearly so. I have decided, it shall be so.
Pick up a couple cans of pie filling and stuff I might need.
It’s late, too late to start cooking, but there’s no choice. Find a recipe and make cherry crisp. I find one and figure some adjustments will have to be made. It calls for a two-quart pan. I want it bigger, thicker, and it has got to be good. Into a pot go two big cans of cherries, cinnamon, and a little nutmeg.
Supermom comes down after reading to the kids and getting them asleep. I cannot find brown sugar. She says we don’t have any. She drives to a store to get me some. Either she loves me or she wanted to get out of the house.
In preparing the topping I don’t exactly follow the recipe, I never do. To adjust for a bigger 9x14 pan everything is doubled. I add coconut, because cherries and coconut is a natural. After the topping is on I sprinkle a bag of sliced almonds over the top. I hope it’s good.
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
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9/23
Trainboy had a class picnic at school. I left work as soon as possible and away we went. We eat the usual stuff, meet his teacher, and go outside to play. When you’re 46 recess isn’t that big a deal though, the thrill is gone. I’d rather lay on the blanket. Trainboy had other ideas. He runs through the playground equipment and I am envious; firstly, because he feels like running all day and can, and secondly because this is pretty neat playground equipment.
My Dad could have said the same thing. As could his Dad before him, going back to when some guy grunted that when he was a kid he didn’t have two rocks like that to bang together. But I digress.
Afterwards the Superwife told me Trainboy was excited that I was going to meet his teacher. Well I failed that one. I just stood there and watched like the anti-socialist I am. She also told me that he told her that he had a special friend in class. Okay, you’ve got my interest now. He then said his friend had brown skin. I don’t know why that would matter. He’s never heard us make racial comments, we don’t make any.
He led the Supermom to the class pictures that surrounded the black board. He pointed out the picture of a cute girl- long black hair, brown eyes, probably Hispanic. Trainboy has good taste. Trainboy can pick ‘em.
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Trainboy had a class picnic at school. I left work as soon as possible and away we went. We eat the usual stuff, meet his teacher, and go outside to play. When you’re 46 recess isn’t that big a deal though, the thrill is gone. I’d rather lay on the blanket. Trainboy had other ideas. He runs through the playground equipment and I am envious; firstly, because he feels like running all day and can, and secondly because this is pretty neat playground equipment.
My Dad could have said the same thing. As could his Dad before him, going back to when some guy grunted that when he was a kid he didn’t have two rocks like that to bang together. But I digress.
Afterwards the Superwife told me Trainboy was excited that I was going to meet his teacher. Well I failed that one. I just stood there and watched like the anti-socialist I am. She also told me that he told her that he had a special friend in class. Okay, you’ve got my interest now. He then said his friend had brown skin. I don’t know why that would matter. He’s never heard us make racial comments, we don’t make any.
He led the Supermom to the class pictures that surrounded the black board. He pointed out the picture of a cute girl- long black hair, brown eyes, probably Hispanic. Trainboy has good taste. Trainboy can pick ‘em.
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