Something To Think About 

Have you ever seen a bank sign that showed the right temperature? 

 And yet we trust them with our money.

What Should We Name the New Baby – How About China White? 

    How often do you think people are sitting around discussing where they can score some smack, and one of the people says, “Let’s try the maternity ward at the hospital? It seems unlikely, now doesn’t it? 
    However, in Pennsylvania a twenty-five-year-old was arrested on charges including selling heroin while in the maternity ward where his girlfriend had just given birth to their child. Already I can see that this guy may not be up for a parent of the year award any time soon. 
    One thing you’ve got to give the new father credit for---he had a product to sell and he was prepared for business even in the most unlikely place. 

 Don’t You Hate it When This Happens 

   In Alaska an animal control officer, answering a 911 call, was told that an alligator had outgrown it’s bathtub. The pet was over 4 feet long. It’s hard to take a bath in a tub with a 4 foot ‘gator in residence. 
    The control officer found a home for this ‘gator in a rescue aquatic center. 
    Now if you were from down South you’d just eat the thing, unless you had grown fond of this reptile that was taking over your bathroom. 
    But it does make you wonder what these people thought was going to happen when they first brought home a cute little ten-inch alligator.

I Didn’t Know There Was That Kind of Money In Being A Psychic 

    In Boston a psychic, or so she calls herself, got a woman to pay her $3.5 million. For what? She claims that she cleansed this woman of her demons. This happened over a seven-year period. The demon possessed woman was 70 years old when this psychic got her hands on her. So, what sounded like a big paycheck works out to be only $500 per year.
    However, I’m guessing that the psychic had other jobs going on at the same time so it wasn’t like she was going without food or anything. 
    We have no record if the woman feels any better for the treatments, or if the demons are really gone or she has just learned to live with them. They can’t be much worse than this psychic. 
    Now the psychic is in trouble for guess what? Nothing to do with scamming this poor woman out of $3.5 million, but with none other than the IRS. They are taking exception to the fact that she didn’t declare this income. If convicted she could be incarcerated for up to three years. That’s a little over $1 million per year. Who says crime doesn’t pay. 
    Evidently, this psychic didn’t see this coming.

A New Form of Entertainment? Maybe 

    Or then again, it could be a new competitive event, although it might take a while for it to reach Olympic status. What I’m talking about is dropping live turkeys from low flying aircraft. Like in Yellville, Arkansas. It seems the FDA is checking to see if any laws were violated in connection with the annual Yellville Turkey Trot which has included dropping live turkeys onto the festivities below for the past fifty years.
    Why? You ask. The reporter didn’t think we would be interested, so we’ll just have to imagine. 
    What could be the fascination with turkeys falling from the sky? After all, they are able to fly, unless the Turkey Trot officials have clipped their wings or some such, which would just be cruel. But this is Arkansas after all. So, if anyone out there can conjure up a good reason for this tradition, please enlighten me. Thank you.

 His Mother Would Be So Proud of Him 

    In New York a restaurant owner came to work to find that someone had cleaned out the register during the night. Not only that, but after watching the security video, the owner saw that the intruder had also cooked a meal and washed the dishes. 
    The burglar had donned food-service gloves and while a pot was heating, he broke into the register, after which he left a dollar in the tip jar. 
    He cooked up beans, chicken, and shrimp. After eating, he covered and refrigerated the leftover food, then wiped the food-prep surfaces and left. Like I said, what mother wouldn’t be proud of a son who showed these kitchen skills, and the thoughtfulness to clean up after himself---and actually do the dishes. When they catch this guy, I wouldn’t be surprised if the restaurant owner hires him.

But They Keep Trying 

    In my previous blog, I addressed my aversion to eating members of the Cucurbitaceae family, namely squash, pumpkin, or zucchini. During my lifetime, I’ve had countless cooks take up my aversion as a personal challenge to their cooking ability. Why my aversion should bother them so much I can’t explain, but it happens. One of these was my own mother. 
    These cooks go to great lengths to explain that how they fix one of the gourds will make my mouth water in anticipation, and instantly cure me of my aversion. These conversations will go something like this: “Eldon, first I take the zucchini and slice it real thin. Then I marinate it overnight in bourbon/goat’s milk/spring water from West Virginia,” or anything else each cook can think up that makes her dish unique. 
    Then she’ll continue. “Now comes the good part. I brush melted butter on both sides of the slice of zucchini, put enough salt and pepper on it to put your taste buds into shock, then dip it in bread crumbs from the crust of a loaf of Fisherman’s Wharf Sourdough bread, after which I deep fry this abused piece of zucchini in boiling specially distilled safflower oil until it is crispy. If you eat it hot, you’ll never even know it’s a piece of zucchini.” Then this cook will look at me like I’m supposed to fall over in a swoon at the thought of eating this gourmet treat. Then I say, “But Ma’am, you lost me there when you said, “you’ll never even know it’s a piece of zucchini.” 
    Another gamut is for one of these gourd pushers to say, “Eldon, I’ve made this pie out an unsuspecting pumpkin. First, I made this delicious pastry crust. It’s so light I had to use weights to hold it in the pie plate until I could pour in the pumpkin mixture, which is made up of boiled pumpkin, enough sugar to energize a room full of third graders, plus some spices, (and here they will list stuff I never heard of or really care about) and it hardly tastes like pumpkin at all.” 
    My first question is, if pumpkin is so great why go to such lengths to disguise it?
    Another question: if you don’t want it to taste like pumpkin why not just make a pecan pie to start with? 
    But pumpkin pie has another drawback and that is the texture. Now if I could just eat the crust, with plenty of butter on it, and maybe some jam, I’d be a happy camper, but that filling has the texture of---well---ah, it’s almost as bad as pudding. Ack! AND IT STILL TASTES LIKE PUMPKIN! 
    As these cooks regale me with their conversion efforts, in my mind I’m saying, anything that has be to that well disguised to make it palatable has a problem to begin with.
  

It’s Finally Happened 

    All my life I’ve claimed that members of the Cucurbitaceae, or the gourd family if you’re speaking English, are hazardous to my health. And finally, I have corroboration to my theory. 
    I’m talking specifically about pumpkins, squashes of all kinds, zucchinis, and a few other things to be named later. 
    This aversion to Cucurbitaceae comes from the following circumstance, and here I’m depending on the memories of my siblings, and a few comments I remember my parents making on the subject. My family moved from the Portland, Oregon, area up to Sequim, Washington, in the mid-30s. That’s 1930s. They settled on forty acres of prime land. How did they know it was prime? Because it was completely covered with all manner of very healthy trees and brush. So much so that they had to clear a patch of land just so they could build a house. 
    While the house building was going on they also planted a garden so they would have something to eat in the future. As time went on they found that the thing that the garden was very good at growing was squash. For the first couple of years things were tough to the point that one winter the family lived mostly on squash. Luckily, and for some odd reason the rest of the family loves squash. Go figure. In the middle of this great adventure of establishing themselves in this wilderness, I came along. I’m eight years younger than my next oldest sibling, a sister to be exact. So I’ve gathered that my arrival was as much of a surprise to the family as was their predicament of having to survive by eating primarily squash for a whole winter.
    So, there I was, a nursing baby, while my mother was living on squash. See where I’m going with this? I evidently got very tired of squash flavored mother’s milk, even though it seems to have given me a good healthy start in life. So, to this day I would rather eat almost anything other than a member of the Cucurbitaceae family. 
   
    Now for the corroboration - - - 

    Recently in Baltimore a noxious smell permeated a school causing it to be evacuated, the fire department called, and a hazardous materials response team brought in. Five people were taken to the hospital complaining of upset stomachs and/or problems with their breathing. 
    After some investigation what did these professionals find? A pumpkin spice aerosol plugged into an outlet in one of the classrooms. I rest my case.

Armed Robbery 101 

    Evidently not everyone has taken the class. Exhibit A is these two men. They decided to rob a bar. They walked in and demanded the cash from the register at the Monaghan Pub. The thing that these two gentlemen had failed to notice was that there was a group of policemen in the pub having a retirement party for one of their own. 
    The pub owner stated that the police response time to the tempted robbery was extraordinary. Another thing these two miscreants missed was that this bar was across the street from a police station. 
     The good news is that after these two spend five to seven years in the Gray Bar University they will have honed their skills so that next time they will be more circumspect. 

 Success Is in The Details, Or Maybe It Just Depends On The Choice of Beverage 

     Speaking of robbery, in Indiana a man stopped at a gas station, pretended he had a gun and robbed the place. He left with food, drinks, and cigarettes. 
    A little later the police found this genius alongside a road. You guessed it, he was out of gas. 
    However, he wasn’t hungry, nor did he lack for smokes. 
    Now you’d think a guy going into a possibly life-changing endeavor would think through some of the things to consider. 
    You know, like make a list. 
           How do I pretend I have a gun? 
          What am I going to take out of the store? 
          How am I going to get out of town? 
          Make sure I have enough gas in the car to do that. But evidently our guy wasn’t a list maker.
     Oh, did I mention his alcohol level was well over the legal limit.      The fellow was drunk---so common sense, if he did have any to begin with, didn’t have a chance.

Picture This, Well, Maybe Not 

    What’s the deal with naked bicycle rides? I’m not talking about one person going for a bike ride, after forgetting to get dressed. I’m talking about hundreds of people riding their bicycles around some city, either totally naked, or wearing minimal clothing.
    The organizers of these rides say that the riders can wear whatever they like, “go as bare as you dare.” At least the organizers don’t lack for cute phrases. 
    The first one I heard of was in the city of Portland---Oregon, that is. Now I can understand Portland doing something like this, because Portland will try anything that is bizarre, off the wall, outlandish, anything that smacks of anti-conservatism, or possibly unlawful. Anything will do, as long as it’s shocking. 
    Now these ride organizers claim that they are doing this for a number of altruistic reasons. The latest ride is going to be in Philadelphia, a city that should know better, and they’re telling the public that this ride is to “protest against dependence on fossil fuels, advocate for the safety of cyclists, and promote positive body image.” 
    The fossil fuel thing I get, sort of. These people are riding their bikes instead of driving their cars naked, which I think is illegal in most places, again Portland would probably be an exception. It would be more impressive if we saw these same people riding their bikes to work after the race weekend. The safety of cyclists is a real thing. Personally, riding a bike in traffic is not a thing for the faint hearted. And why? Because cyclists are a small target, are hard to see, and they can go squirting in and out of traffic, hoping they are fleet enough to escape the behemoths they are playing with. Like a mongoose dancing with an elephant. Usually, their strategy works, but it only takes one miscalculation. 
    The positive body image is harder to understand. If you picked twenty people, ages 18 to 25, at random, and stripped off their clothes, you might get one person who had what we are told would be considered an attractive body. 
    If the age group were between the ages of 25 and 35 the ratio would probably go to one person in fifty. 
    If the age group were between the ages of 35 and 45 the ration would probably go to one person in 75. 
    If the age group were between the ages of 45 and 55 the ratio would probably go to one person in 125. 
    If the age group were between the ages of 55 and 65 the ratio would probably go to one person in 400. 
   If the age group were over 65 - - - good luck. 
    Now the naked cyclists are trying to get all of us to feel good about our bodies regardless of which side of the ratio we’re on. They have an uphill battle to make the public feel good about their bodies when every other ad being vomited up by the media is showing us what we can do to improve the way our bodies look and function, with the strong implication that our bodies are lacking in multiple ways. This of course affects the way we view ourselves. 
    So, instead of getting that plastic surgery, just ride your bike naked to work, and you’ll feel so good about your body that the therapists in the institution you inhabit will use you as an example for all your fellow inmates who are depressed because of a poor body image. Win. Win.

Yeah, That’s the First Thing You’d Want to Do

    A mother and her 10-year old were in a dressing room of an Adidas store in the mall. The boy found what he thought was a toy gun under the bench. The mother took the gun and first thing, pulled the trigger to find out if the gun was real. The gun fired a shot, which went through the wall of the dressing room. 

    I’m assuming both the mother and son concluded that the gun was real. Luckily no one was hurt. 

    Now, this happened in Georgia, which is not one of the six states in the country where a handgun must be registered, neither is there any waiting period in Georgia for purchasing a gun. In a state that is not very restrictive on gun control, I would expect the average citizen to be more familiar with gun- handling protocol. 

    That’s where the report ended, leaving several questions; how did the people in the next dressing room feel about a slug coming through the wall? And, did that woman learn anything about gun handling? 

 Okay, What Should I Do This Time? 

    In the state of New York there is a young man who has had his driver’s license suspended 81 times. He is only 21 years old. So we can’t say this young man hasn’t been busy. At 21 he’s been driving for let’s say 4.5 years. That means he’s had his license suspended every 20 days. 

    Now a suspension can be triggered by the failure to pay a fine, or a failure to appear to answer charges. We don’t know what caused this young man’s suspensions. But every 20 days? Give me a break! This alone could keep a person busy. 

    He has now been arrested again, and what will happen to him we don’t know. If he was going for a Guinness record, he just may have succeeded.

Mommy, Who’s That Green Man Over There?

    According to the Associated Press, the folks in Hamburg, N. Y., recently had a kale-eating contest. Okay, you read that right; kale-eating contest. You know, that green leafy, bitter tasting plant that any good health-oriented cook book will tell you that you can’t live without---literally. 
    It’s been reported that goats have starved to death when there was ample supply of kale within reach. That may be an exaggeration. 
    The contestant who won this contest ate 22½ 16-ounce bowls in eight minutes. For you folks too lazy to do the math, is 22.5 pounds of kale. That’s a lot of kale. 
    One key factor the article didn’t mention was whether this kale was raw or cooked. If cooked into its normal slimy consistency, kale would slide down the contestant’s throat with little effort on his part. If it was raw and needed chewing, that’s a whole other endeavor. 
    This contestant is from Georgia. I don’t know if that gives him an advantage or not. The Georgians I’ve known were more into barbecue and things like that, and of course grits and boiled okra. Come to think of it kale is not as odd for these people as I first thought. Boiled kale and boiled okra would have a lot in common. 
    Good news from the health-promoting people, for this kale-eating person is that if he will repeat this performance twice a day for the rest of his life, it will increase his live span except for one thing. Of course, by that time he will have a green complexion, and his breath will exude an odor resembling a compost heap. He would live to the ripe of old age of 135, except that his digestive organs would give out about the second year he is on this diet. But, boy, would he be healthy in the meantime.

What Did They Say?
AOL News Strikes Again 

    First headline - 

 Details Revealed on Ex-Soviet Spy at Trump Jr. Meeting

   Which links to this second headline -

 Only One Person Who Fits Profile of Ex-Soviet Spy at Trump Jr. Meeting with Russian

    So between the first headline which talks about an “ex-soviet spy at Trump meeting” the news is then downgraded in the second headline to “a person who fits profile of ex-soviet spy.” Now we could walk down any street and find several people who fits the profile of an ex-military intelligence person. So already we get the idea that they are trying to make a story out of a non-story. Again. 

    Then we get to the actual article. They start by talking about a meeting “what was billed as possible dirt on Hillary Clinton.” Okay, “what was billed” means that they don’t really know what the meeting was about. “As possible dirt” again means that they are guessing. 

   And then NBC News claimed that one of the people at the meeting was a “former Soviet military intelligence officer-turned-lobbyist.” So military intelligence could mean a 007 type to the guy who sharpened the pencils at the office. 

    So, after two tantalizing headlines, they’ve come up with nothing substantive on a subject that had no purpose except to embarrass Trump Jr. But that would only work if you didn’t read anything past the first headline.

Wrong Hospital: What do you think? 

    Adam is in the hospital. Why? You ask. No? Well, maybe you should. 
    Adam’s there because he shot himself in the foot. Now I know that everyone metaphorically shoots themselves in the foot on occasion, and if not that, at least will put their foot in their mouth once in a while, but Adam is different. At the hospital, when they were filling out the paperwork and put down accidental gunshot to the foot, he corrected them with the news that it was not accidental but that he shot himself in the foot on purpose. 
   He did it once with his shoe on and then to see how it would feel, he did it again with his shoe off. 
    I think this guy is in the wrong kind of hospital. What do you think? 

A Good Story – Yes 

A True Story? – Well, Which Part Are You Talking About? 

   In Colorado, a man has home security camera footage of a bear that spent five hours trashing his house while he and his family slept. 
   That’s a good story, but it raises a few questions. 
   First, I’ve watched a bear ransacking a tent and another bear ransacking an auto and there was nothing quiet about either operation. Those bears didn’t seem to care if anyone heard them or not. So now we have a bear ransacking a house, including ripping off the kitchen door and looking in on the sleeping occupants, and does it quietly? This must be one extraordinary bear. 
   Or second, this guy and his family are the champions of heavy sleepers. 
   That the bear tore up the house I don’t question, but that the people were in the house at the time? For that I’d want some corroboration. 

 This Was One Way to Do It 

    A man in Michigan had a problem with bees in his garage. His solution was to use a smoke bomb to encourage them to leave. Well it worked. In the process, he ignited some fireworks that he had stored in the same garage. The exploding fireworks set his garage on fire and it burnt to the ground. When the firemen got there, they witnessed a good fireworks display. 
    The man hasn’t seen a bee since. Whether they left because of the smoke, or were scared away by the fireworks, nobody knows. Personally, I think they probably left the garage, but hung around for the rest of the fireworks display before moving into the guy’s house.

I Wonder How Much It Took to Insure a Safe Flight? 

    
    An 80-year old woman chucked some coins into the engine of an Airbus 320 before boarding. She was soliciting good luck from whoever she thought was in charge of meting out luck to people flying on Southern China air. Maybe she knew something of which the rest of the passengers weren’t aware. 
    The report said nothing about whether this is a common practice or not. Unless Southern China is covering up the stories and statistics I’m guessing that this is sort of an isolated case. Otherwise it would be sort of hard on business. I mean Chinese people are as interested in self-preservation as anyone else. 
    One question is, how did this lady get close enough to an engine so that she could toss coins into the thing. Now an Airbus 320 is a sizable plane, so it takes a sizable airport, and you’d think that a sizable airport would have people boarding this large plane through an jetway. In which case you don’t even get to see an engine, let alone get close enough to chuck loose change into one. 
     Southern China did admit that the incident delayed the flight for several hours. Really! 

 And You Thought Monopoly Was Just a Game 

     Now this is something that could catch on. A man was pulled over on a routine traffic stop. The officer realized that the guy he had stopped was wanted on an outstanding warrant for a controlled substance problem. The driver knew he was in trouble so to avoid arrest he whipped out and offered to the officer a Monopoly “Get Out of Jail Free” card. Nice try. He didn’t seem to be really surprised when it didn’t work. 
    I could see all of us carrying around Monopoly cards and money, using whichever was appropriate at any given time. Just maybe we would find ourselves dealing with someone who wasn’t paying as much attention as this traffic cop. 
    But I have one question. Who in the world carries around a “Get Out of Jail Free” card anyway?”

Why Did They Quit? 

    Whatever happened to the spectator sport of aliens abducting earthlings and taking them up into space ships, and doing probings and experiments and then letting them go? It dawned on me a couple days ago that that activity has ceased, or at least we’re not hearing about it anymore, which I can’t really buy into as people seem to feel it necessary to tell us about everything else that is happening in their lives. 
    Two possible conclusions leap to mind.
    One: The aliens, being smarter than we are have tired of the sport, or they have gathered all the information they think they can get from running experiments on humans, so have moved to some other inhabited planet.
    Two: After seeing what we are really like, they have moved an expeditionary group here to live among us, realizing we wouldn’t know the difference. Now don’t laugh. It’s hard to watch the network news, or look at the internet’s news or social media, or walk down the street of any large city and not conclude that some of these people have got to be from another planet. 
    So why should these aliens go to the bother of snatching people up into their vehicles, when they can live next door to us and study us at their leisure? This theory would explain things such as many of our politicians, many of what we call entertainment stars, and a few of our sports figures, just to name a few. 
    As for the probing’s and other experiments, it’s a little depressing to realize that these aliens think we’re such simple life forms that there is nothing more to learn from those processes.

The Iceman Cometh   

    What is it with motel/hotel ice buckets and the plastic liners that come with them. By including a plastic liner for their ice bucket the hotel immediately puts the idea into your head that the ice bucket is not sanitary. Right or wrong I’ve never questioned the fact that the ice bucket is filled with germs and any ice that touches the inside of the bucket should not be used for normal human consumption. I don’t, however, let this fact keep me from using ice that has been in contact with the bucket. My theory is that a few germs keeps the body on its toes, so to speak. But that’s another subject. Like I said, “normal human.” 
     And then there is the question of how sanitary the plastic liner is. It was probably made in some third-world disease-ridden environment by a manufacturer who was the low bidder for plastic ice bucket liners. He lowers his costs by hiring little kids, paying them very little, and offering them no sanitary amenities whatsoever. But I digress again. 
    The problem is that about ninety-nine percent of the time the plastic liner is not large enough to fit over the edge of the ice bucket, which is about the only way it can be filled. Either the hotel management does not have a clue as to how big their buckets are, or they’re just too cheap to buy a larger liner. 
    The result of this conundrum is that when you go to dump some ice in the bucket the ice just crushes the bag to the bottom of the bucket making it worthless. 
    So, what does the hotel expect their guests to do? Try to hold only the bag under the ice-machine spout, them put the filled bag in the bucket? Well, good luck with that.     Or maybe the impossible scenario they present us with is to discourage us from using their ice in the first place. Yet another misguided money saving idea. 
    So, what’s the solution? How about carrying your own ice-bucket liners, say like a Ziplock freezer bag. You’re welcome.

Here We Go Again 

    Headline by Ben Hooper reads: 

    Man held 'hostage' by car-blocking turkeys in Georgia 

    I don’t understand this---you have two turkeys, each weighing maybe forty pounds and then you have a man, in an automobile, with a combined weight of probably 2000 pounds. And this man has to call for help because the turkeys will not let him pass? 
    Now, what’s wrong with this picture? I don’t care how militant or pumped up these turkeys are, they will move when something weighing 2000 pounds and is forty times their size pushes up against their little pea-sized brains. 

 Leave the Sideburns A Little Longer This Time

   Ben Hooper is again reporting, and this time about the strange goings on in a Virginia neighborhood. Somebody is shaving cats. That’s right, removing the fur from cats. These cats are not completely shaved, but just portions of them. 
   These cats are ones that are out wandering around the neighborhood. The police captain says it appears that the shaver is using some kind of razor. That would certainly be easier than using, say, a butter knife. 
    From the report, it’s hard to tell whether the cats or the owners are the most upset. Example: "It hurts, because she can't tell me. I know it probably hurt her, probably not physically, but mentally that has to be really hard on her. She doesn't want to be picked up anymore. She used to be really nice and you could pick her up and hold her and everything, and now she just doesn't want to be picked up anymore." 
    So far, no one has any idea what the motive might be for someone to do this. Now, cats prowling around a neighborhood can be somewhat of a nuisance, but shaving the poor darlings? Maybe painting them blue I could understand, but shaving seems a little over the top.

A Public Service Announcement 

    Some time ago a hunt organizer in Russia was hired to help the king of Spain shoot a bear. Evidently there was some concern about the success of the hunt, so they came up with a solution. First, they got a tame bear, then they fed him vodka-soaked honey until he was drunk. 
    When the time came, they pushed the bear out of his cage, and the King shot it. And surprise, surprise, it only took one shot. He was probably able to hold the gun right up against the bear. 
    Now for the public service announcement: If someone feeds you vodka-soaked honey, then tries to push you out of a cage, don’t do it. It’s probably a trick. Remember the bear.

Five-Star Dining? Yes? No? Maybe.

    For some reason neither Lorraine nor I are enamored by five-star dining. I suppose one reason is that Lorraine is a very good cook, so we really don’t have to go anyplace to get gourmet food. Second: we’re both sort of simple food people. Third: some of our fine-dining experiences haven’t turned out well. 
    A case in point in one experience we had just before we left Kentucky. Shauna and Kevin had sent us a gift for the Mansion, a five-star restaurant in Lexington, Kentucky. This is the place where our nephew and niece got married and had dinner afterward. It was excellent, so we were looking forward to eating there again. 
   The following is from my journal at the time. 
    Last evening Lorraine and I went to The Mansion for some dinner. This is a five-star place affiliated with the local Marriot and golf course complex. I should say it was a five-star place, but now it is a four-star place, and they are trying hard to get back that other star. The Christmas before last Shauna and Kevin gave us a gift card so we could go out and enjoy a nice dinner. 
    We were shown to our table and when asked about drinks I asked for a couple strawberry daiquiris, non-alcoholic of course. The waitress said they couldn’t do that, as they didn’t have a blender. Well, that explained the fifth star. We settled for tap water, so right from the start they knew what kind of discriminating diners they had on their hands.
    The next thing the waitress explained to us was that The Mansion had a new chef and that he specialized in only a few dishes, but that he did these exceedingly well. We had noticed that the menu was very short, about six salads, and about seven entrees. It sounded like a guy who only got part way through the Shawano School of Culinary Arts, because of his predilection for adding cheese toast to each of his dishes. (We could only hope.) 
   We each ordered a salad and an entree. I ordered the Salmon and Lorraine went for the Sea Bass. Except for the Kobe Beef those were the only two items that did not include pork in some form or another. Well, there was one whole Poulet (chicken to us lowlanders) a person could get, but the table next to us had one and it looked like a person would have to be well trained in doing a post-mortem necropsy to dissect and eat the thing. 
    So, we were all aflutter to see what this new chef would do with what we ordered. 
    Our salads came on large rectangular plates. This gave said chef the opportunity to make this salad layout a work of art. And it was. Mine was tomatoes, onions, horseradish, and some other stuff to help decorate the space. The flavors were very good together, and other than rounding up the salad from the four corners of this large plate, was enjoyed to the maximum. Lorraine’s salad was beets and some other stuff to make it possible to have it look like it should have been in the Louvre. The main claim to fame for this salad was that the beets were of several different colors. Whoopee! But then again what can you expect from beets. 
    Just about the time we were ready to plunge into our salads, the guy sitting at the next table about four feet away, blew his nose. Not some little stopping a drip with a tissue thing, but a major juicy, warbling blow out, that went on and on. I don’t want to even think about where all that mucus was coming from, but there was certainly an overabundance of it. 
    Between the salad and the entrée we got a small glass of lemon sorbet. I guess this was to cleanse our palettes, so we could fully appreciate what was to come. Maybe if we had used it on our palates it would have worked better. Just kidding. 
   Before the entree arrived so did four people to occupy the table on the other side of us. I’m not sure how long they had been waiting in the bar, but they were in a fine mood. Their talk and laughter was about 40 decibels above what was necessary. To talk to Lorraine, I had to put my mouth up to her ear. The waitress soon moved us into the next room where we were by ourselves. Speaking of being by ourselves---as we were leaving about 8:15, the place, or what I could see of it was maybe 1/10th full, or 90% empty. 
   The entrees came. Again, they looked very pretty. However, my salmon was soft and sort of mushy. I’m guessing it had been caught on its spawning grounds just before it rolled over on its back; knowing it had fulfilled its main mission in life. 
   Lorraine’s Sea Bass was not much better. The taste was not too bad, but the texture took most all the pleasure out of it. Now if I had gotten this from some cook at Denny’s and was paying $9.95 for it, I would have gone back and hit the guy over the head with the large rectangular plate, being sure that he was having some kind of joke at my expense.
    But at the Mansion, where I was paying $35.00 for just this entree, I accepted it without a murmur, at least not much, and just assumed that the fault was with me and not this wanabe five-star chef. Funny how that works. Well, $66.00 dollars and our $50.00 gift card lighter, we went home. I’m not sure I could ever talk Lorraine into going back to the place. And I don’t know why I would try.

What Is the Deal? 

    So, what is the deal with cash register tapes? I stopped at Safeway and bought six items. The cash register listed the store name and the address etc. Then it listed my six purchases and a total. That took up about five inches of paper. 
    Now, that would be enough to prove that I had paid for the stuff I’m carting out of their store. But no, some genius from the legal department has figured out that this is a terrific opportunity to put the customer on notice, so there are nine inches of fine print explaining that the store is not responsible for anything, and that if I want to sue someone not to come looking for them. Up to this point I had not even thought about suing these people, but now I’m thinking, well, maybe I can conjure up something. 
    Somebody at Safeway had figured out that this slip of paper, that the captive customer is hauling out of the store, just might represent another source of income, so they are selling space to advertise things like the upcoming concert by the Manure Pile Deadbeats, who will be playing at a local Music-in-the-Park shindig the week before Christmas. 
    At the end, they have the effrontery to give you a website where you can fill out a customer satisfaction survey. (Why they might think you would be in a good mood after reading through all the extraneous fine print, I don’t know.) And for spending your valuable time on their survey they will give you a 1 in 50 million chance to win $1,000. 
    So now I’m leaving the store with a cash register receipt that has morphed from five inches to seventeen inches. Oh well, it’s only dead trees.

The Lady Got Bitten Where? 

What Did They Say? 
   On a South African beach a woman noticed that a seal had been sunning itself in the same place for most of the day, and fearful that there was something amiss, organized a rescue party to help the poor seal back into the water. The seal took exception to this, and as the article said, “the lady was bitten on the beach,” which as you all know can be very painful. If you’ve not been bitten there, then you wouldn’t know. 
    What the article writer meant to say was that while on the beach, helping a seal back into the water, the lady sustained a bite to her nose, by said seal. They did find her nose but couldn’t attach it to her face, so she is having some kind of surgery to minimize the fact that her face is missing one rather important feature. The seal seems to be doing fine and is back sunning itself on the beach, without being further bothered by well-meaning people.

No One Can Remember Him Doing That Before 
    I understand that in Arkansas utilizing road kill is a totally acceptable pastime. But bedroom kill? It seems that a five-point buck crashed through the window of Wayne’s house. It then ran down the hall to a bedroom, obviously just wanting to take a nap. But Wayne wasn’t about to allow that, so he followed the deer into the bedroom, and after a 20-minute struggle, staggered out and asked his wife to call the police then he dove back into the bedroom and the fight continued. After some time, Wayne drug the now dead deer out of the house to get it processed for its meat. Wayne is none the worse for his encounter with the buck except he walks bowlegged. No one can remember him doing that before.

It Could Be Worse 

   You think you have it bad? 
   A person has to be careful about advertising the powers you might have.  
   Several years ago a holy man in India, or someplace in that corner of the world, claimed that his body had magical powers. So, a couple fellows cut off his leg to use for some project that needed magical powers to bring it to fruition. I guess taking his whole body was just too much of a logistics problem. The holy man didn’t survive the separation from his limb. 

    Again in India, a man saw a rabid dog escaping with one of his ducks. The man caught the dog and bit its throat. For his part the dog had the man’s arm in his mouth. Some neighbors finally separated the two and beat the dog to death. The news media didn’t say what happened to the duck but the man is being treated for rabies. This man is from the village of Pakakkadavu, and was taken to the state capital of Thiruvanathanpuram. How would you like to be writing one of those return addresses on your Christmas cards every year? It would probably be easier to move.

Give A What on The What When? 

    The Swiss Hiking Federation has come up with some guidelines for being around Swiss cattle. 1. never hug a Swiss cow, 2. never caress a calf, 3. don’t look a Swiss cow directly in the eye, 4. Never wave sticks at a cow, and the one I really like, 5. in the event of absolute need, give the cow a precise blow to the muzzle. 
    I’ve been around a lot of cows. I’ve chased cows from the pasture to the milking parlor. I’ve even been chased by cows, so feel I’m somewhat of an authority on cows and how to handle them. The ones I knew were not Swiss, but I don’t think the language barrier would make a great deal of difference.
    Guidelines one and two are okay. Number three---is something I never even thought about during all my time with cows. I can’t imagine it making a great deal of difference to the cow or to me. 
    The same with guideline number four--- 
   
    Now for guideline number five---Have you ever tried to give a cow a precise blow on the muzzle when it’s chasing you intent on doing you bodily harm? 
    Picture this: You’re running flat out, probably across rough terrain. Behind you is a cow, closing on your backside. You have a very limited time to evade this 1500 pounds of agile, angry, animal. You’re of necessity weighting all your options, like how about the nearest barbwire fence, and whether to go under, through, or over, knowing that any of those three choices will be painful, with the upside that the resulting scars will be with you for a long time---or desperately looking for any other way to allude this bovine. 
    Again, you’re running flat out, and in the middle of this you’re supposed to reach behind you and give this cow a precise blow on the snout? Give me a break.

Yeah, They’re Somewhat Different 

A Different Mind-Set 
    Several years ago, Lorraine and I lived in Burleson, Texas. Texans are a little different. Just a different mind-set than other parts of the country. A case in point is below: 

     A group of security experts has made instructional video tapes showing a gunman bursting into a classroom and being swarmed by the students. As the kids charge toward the gunman they are throwing books, chairs, scissors, staplers, and anything else that is at hand in order to discombobulate and take down the gunman. They admit that several of the students will probably get hurt or killed in the process, but the school of thought is that fewer people will get hurt doing this than if they submit to the gunman. 
     And guess where they are starting this program? Good old Burleson, Texas. They hope to have all 8,500 Burleson students trained in short order. 
    Leave it to Texas, next they’ll probably be issuing each student a handgun. The reaction to this program has not met with a lot of positive comments from around the country. 
    There are some school districts that take a different approach to student safety. A case in point: Officials at an elementary school south of Boston have banned kids from playing tag for fear they’ll get hurt and make the school liable. One parent’s reaction was that her son now feels safer because of the new rule. “I’ve witnessed enough near collisions.” (Emphasis is mine.) I would hate to be around this kid when he grows up. 

It's Just What You Get Used To 
    The price of gas goes up and down and my reaction is amazing. When it goes up I think I’m being killed. Then when it goes down significantly, and even though it’s still higher than it was three months ago---well---it’s like if my doctor has been using three fingers to check my prostate, then he learns how to do it with only two fingers and I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. It’s amazing what a person can get used to.

Everything Worth Reading from the News 

Maybe He Didn’t Think It All the Way Through      A man in Akron, Ohio, phoned 911, and requested a police dog. When asked why, he said it was to help track down some heroin that he thought had been stolen from him. 

     While police were interviewing this individual, he pulled “a brown, waxy substance from his pants.” 

    Police seized the substance, I’m guessing rather gingerly, and with gloved hands, and sent it off to be tested.

Headline: “Police probe drone that crashed through New York woman's 27th floor window.” 
   It seems it would be better if they were probing the person who was controlling the drone. 

 Scowling Face in Street Lamp
    In Salem, Massachusetts, the Mayor snapped a picture of a street lamp that seems to have the face of a scowling man inside it. The Mayor called it “eerie.” I’m not sure why, if you were trapped in a street lamp wouldn’t you be scowling? 

Depressed Dogs? Really? 
    From a report coming out of the UK it seems that one quarter of Britain’s dogs are stressed out. How do they know this? It seems they took a survey of 1,100 dog owners and one-quarter of these owners believe their furry friends are suffering from stress. Fifty-three percent of those surveyed thought themselves to be stressed out also. 
    This highly scientific study reminds me of a comment by Mark Twain, “There is something fascinating about science. One gets such wholesale returns of conjecture out of such a trifling investment of fact.” 

Just the Way They Like It? 
    The Australians are noted for their barbeques, but they recently went over the top, maybe. A farmer near Dorrigo had 68 of his cows hit by lighting, all at one time. The common opinion was that they were a little crispy around the edges, but the rest of the meat was just right. 
    Now this is a cute story, well, maybe not maybe for the cows, but to have 68 of them hit by lighting is really hard to fathom. This is one unlucky farmer.

Choose Carefully 

    Some people choose a career or an activity with such a small chance of success that it begs the question, “Why are they trying to do this?” 
    An example was the fellow who tried to hijack a Minnesota Department of Transportation snowplow. This guy was standing along the road so the snowplow driver stopped to see if he was okay. The thief climbed up into the cab and told the driver to get out. The driver refused, so the thief got out. A little later a pickup driver saw this same fellow standing in the middle of the highway and stopped to see if he needed help. 
    The thief grabbed the driver’s jacket and tried to drag him out of his car but the driver resisted by driving off, dragging the thief for some distance down the street. 
    If I was a career counselor I would have to advise this fellow to find a line of work where success didn’t depend so much on being able to influence the actions of others. 

    Also in the category of not doing what you’re not good at: A gentleman named Rudy, in Australia, tried to shoot his friend’s cow. An aside: We have no idea why Rudy was trying to shoot his friend’s cow. Maybe he didn’t have one of his own, or maybe he was just mad at this particular cow, or maybe he was mad at his friend. Who knows? 
    So after luring the cow into a shed, Rudy took aim and fired. Another aside: We’ve got to believe that this shed was not so big that Rudy couldn’t get rather close to this cow.
    Anyway, the shot missed the cow. Another aside: I had a gun like that once, in fact I still do, it’s sitting in the corner of my office just in case I ever get attacked by a cow. 
    Rudy aimed and fired again. This time the bullet missed the cow; surprise, surprise, went through the back wall of the shed, through a wooden fence, then through the door of a passing car and into the leg of the driver. 
    The authorities took a dim view of his marksmanship, fined him $1,000 Australian, and took away his gun license for five years. Before the authorities got involved Rudy did finally manage to shoot the cow. 
   I would have liked to know what his friend thought about Rudy’s actions. We could ask the cow what it thought, but it’s a little late for that.

Avast and Bejabbers 

From My Journal 

    Once again I find myself explaining an expression I’ve used. 
    Speaking of looking it up, I would tell you to do that with the “avast and bejabbers” thing, but unless you have access to some very special reference material you would not be able to find much. 
    Some people would say the bejabbers is a mild oath, but according to my information it came about like this: Sean Avast and Neal Bejabbers were a standup comedy team who played, during the late 18th century, in and around Ireland and Scotland. Being that most of the population in those countries lived in seacoast towns these two clowns became famous, and well known even, to the seafaring population of a large part of the world. It was common to hear some sailor saying, while his ship was sailing up Belfast Lough, “I wonder if Avast and Bejabbers will be playing when we get to port.” Usually he didn’t get an answer, as after two years at sea hunting whales, he was probably talking to a mast, a coil of rope, or something else equally uninterested in Avast and Bejabbers. 
    As time went on and the funny duo became more and more referenced in casual conversations, the phrase “avast and bejabbers’ began to be used for any and all exclamations---good, bad, or indifferent. The most famous use of the phrase, according to Funkstien and Wagnellsky, was at the hanging of the infamous pirate Jeremiah Bleep, otherwise known as Blood-and-Guts Bleep. When they put the rope around his neck he looked around and said, “Avast and bejabbers, they’re really gonna hang me,” which they proceeded to do. 
    At this time the phrase was still not accepted by everyone, especially the clergy, who were prominent at Bleeps hanging. Bleep was not the first person to publicly use a normally censored phrase, but years later when the TV censors were looking for an appropriate word to cover up words that needed to be censored, they, tongue in cheek, picked “bleep” for that name. Uncle Jeremiah would be so proud. How Bleep got the nick name of Blood-and-Guts is another story.

How I Got This Way 

    Life can be hard. The tough either don’t survive or just have a miserable time of it. When I was growing up we didn’t pay much attention to physical hardships. I don’t remember any emotional hardships, in fact we probably didn’t know we were supposed to have any. 
    When the tongue of the manure spreader dropped on my foot raising a lump the size of half a softball, so that I shouldn’t have walked on it for several days, I just ignored it, limped around the farms with the aid of a make-shift walking stick, and continued with my chores. 
    As the years passed this attitude of physical and emotional toughness stood me in good stead. However there came a time when life decided I needed a refresher course---hence the game of PIT/SPOONS. The following description is from my journal, written in 1991. 

    The scene---both daughters and their husbands had come to visit. 

    While Lorraine was picking up the extra food, the kids went into K Mart to find a deck of Pit cards. Now if you don’t know what Pit is you had better ask someone from an earlier generation, however I have the feeling that anyone reading this probably has been introduced to the game of Spoons, which uses a Pit deck to initiate the mayhem that is the real game. 
    The game is basically the trading of cards until a person holds a complete suit, after which this person picks up a spoon from the center of the table. The frantic effort of trading cards is similar to the floor of any stock exchange during a selling or a buying panic. Since there is a penalty for not getting a spoon, and being there is one less spoon than there are players, there is usually a mad scramble for the rest of the spoons. 
    The madness of the scramble is proportional to the amount of red meat the group has been eating over the last few days, and/or a natural instinct for bringing pain and suffering to one’s fellow players. This group, falling into both categories, even now makes my kind and gentle nature cringe with the memory of the last several evenings. 
    The grabbing of the spoons, or forks, if the group is in a blood-sport mood, makes the “running of the bulls” in Pamplona look like a slow stroll along the Hot Springs, Arkansas, Promenade Walk in early morning. As the grabbing starts there is usually one if not more bodies thrown across the top of the table without regard to personal safety or dignity. At one point I found myself being dragged across the table top by my oldest daughter, who I had nurtured and cared for, and who was now threatening me with a bite into a wrist artery if I did not relinquish the hold on “my spoon.” 
    Finally realizing just how much this meant to my daughter, and feeling my shoulder muscles letting go, I gladly gave up my claim to said spoon and was thrilled to see her win yet another round of this insane game. 
    The younger daughter, who was sitting next to me would usually wait for me to get a spoon, then in one of several sneaky ways she has developed, since being removed from my stabilizing influence, takes the thing away from me. The sons-in-law, having no regard for life or limb, especially mine, were indeed worthy opponents. It was somewhat gratifying to realize that if worse came to worse, career wise, they would excel as enforcers for some mob family. 
    This is a game that one should not try, with this local group, without proper training. The following would be one possible training program. First work with weights until you can press about four-hundred pounds. 
    Then put several large rattlesnakes into a bird cage, shake them up until they are very indignant, then reach in, tickle the one of choice under the chin and retreat, picking up at least three of four randomly placed marbles on the way out. When you can do this without getting bitten by one of the snakes, you know you have almost developed the speed and agility to be able to compete with this bunch. Getting bitten by the snakes, if that does happen, will give you a small taste of what it’s going to feel like during the game, especially if you’re using forks. 
    Next go out into the back yard, and after making a fist with your grabbing hand, hit an oak tree with as much weight as you can put into it. Do not be dismayed at the bleeding and the pieces of flesh being left on the bark of the tree. If this bothers you, this game is not for you. 
    Next, using that same hand, still in a fist, strike the back of the hand against the same tree. If it is too messy by this time, use another tree. When you can do this without sustaining any major damage to your hand, you are as ready as you’re going to get. 
    However, the most important preparation is not physical, but emotional. Good preparation would be to look at pictures of starving third-world children, Holocaust victims, or close-ups of accidents. When you can do this without any twinge of emotional response you are ready to play with a group such as fate has thrown me in with.

The Origin of Another Word 

     A while back, in some correspondence, I used the word sorely and was called on to explain myself. The following was my response: I’m sure ya’ll have been waiting to get this explanation, then again maybe you’re saying, huh? The word sorely is not that unusual, a little archaic maybe, but then so is the author. 
    Of course, this lack of interest is because most of you assume that the word sorely comes from the root word sore, and over the years it has taken on somewhat of the same meaning, so I can see how you might be misled about its origin. 
   The definition in Webster is surprisingly correct, and it means the same today as it did when it started to become a much used word. The definition today and then, is and was, “grievously, painful, urgently.” Good word, huh? 
    The only reason I’m aware of its origins is because of my vast knowledge of the Spady family history, and it so happens that the knowledge about this word comes out of that quagmire of irrelevant misinformation. 
    It all started in the early days of the Civil War, or actually earlier than that. Ivan Sorely Spady, was named after his father’s famous Russian mentor, Ivan the Sweet, who was a candy manufacturer in Moscow in the early 1800's. He was famous for his cheese flavored chocolate, (and how that all got started is another story). Ivan’s middle name of Sorely came from his mother, who, when she was handed this bundle of joy seconds after his birth, took one look at him and said, “this kid is one _____ mess.” Her speech was somewhat slurred and they all thought she said sorely, although they couldn’t figure out what that meant, but that became his middle name. 
    Years later, after trying to raise Ivan, his mother still had no reason to change her mind, but out of love for the kid, never revealed what she had said. 
    Anyway he grew up being called Ivan on his good days, and derivatives of his middle name on his not so good days. Mostly this centered on the denominative word of sorry. (Don’t be ashamed to ask about the big words, that’s how you’ll learn.) 
    Ivan and his family lived in Northern Virginia and as the debate raged throughout the country about states’ rights versus federal control, his family was torn between the Southern and Northern views. 
    At the time of the Fort Sumter fiasco Ivan was eighteen years old, and being called on by both the local Confederate and Union enlistment officers. Some from the area were opting for the North and some for the South. (However, there were a couple of Ivan’s cousins who each enlisted on both sides, but that’s another story.) 
     The die was cast when the Northern recruiter, after accidentally smelling Ivan’s breath, promised that because of all the fine dairy farms in Pennsylvania the Union would have a steady supply of cheese for its armies. 
    When Ivan went to sign up, he left off his first name thinking that it sounded too foreign, so to the army he became known as Sorely Spady. When asked if he had any talents he mentioned that he could play the trumpet, so he was sent to bugler training school. Two hours later he was sent back to his company a full-fledged bugler. 
    Sorely was attached to the Commander of the Army, but didn’t see any long-term bugling action until May 1, 1863. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been ready before that, or that he wasn’t around before that, but that there was always some reason that he couldn’t perform his bugling functions. For example: just before the battle of Antietam he was stung on the lip by a bee and all his bugling sounded as though he was signaling “by the left flank to the rear charge” which is a rarely used maneuver; and General McClellan was afraid that the army wouldn’t even know how to do it, let alone recognize it, even if he could figure out when to use it. 
     At the first battle of Bull Run, General McDowell was all set to use Sorely, but on the second note of his first “charge” a rifle ball accidentally carried away the front third of his bugle, and two of his better teeth. He could still blow the notes but nobody could hear him more than five feet away, which left him rather ineffective. 
     At the second battle of Bull Run, General Pope had Sorely at his side as they moved into position. Just at the moment that Pope was going to tell him to blow “charge”, Pope’s horse stepped on Sorely’s foot. The resulting mangled blast was taken by the Northern troops as a sign to retreat, (some have said that any excuse would have worked as well), and so the Confederates retook most of Virginia. 
    It wasn’t that Sorely was having a “trise di nerfs,” as the French would say. He was always ready for action and willing to do his thing but something always happened to befuddle him in some way. By this time the Army of the Potomac, now being led by General Hooker, that’s “Old Fighting Joe” for you CWBs; was, along with the rest of the group, wondering if Sorely was good for them or should they cut off his cheese ration and let him defect to the Southern cause. As Joe and his 120,000 fighting men moved across the Rappahannock to confront General Lee and his army of 60,000, it was decided that Sorely would be given one more try at bugling out the commands. Hooker did some maneuvering that would have been effective, but then decided against it and pulled all his units into a defensive position at Chancellorsville. Lee, seeing the hesitation, attacked. Hooker ordered a retreat, but in the middle of that bugle a Southern ball took off part of Sorely’s right ear, and he was so miffed at what he conceived as a deliberate attempt on the part of the Confederacy to interrupt his life, that he blew a “charge” and thus started three days of horrible killing and maiming. The North lost 11,000 men and the South lost 10,000 men. That battle caused more pain and suffering then anything that had yet happened in the War.       Ever after that event, when anyone felt especially pained, they would just say, “I’m feeling sorely today,” and everyone knew just what they meant.