Category Archives: Opinions

Bachelors, Bachelorettes, and Football

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I gotta tell you that I’m not a big fan of “The Bachelor”. Mainly, as I’ve told Diane more than once, because to me it’s simply one network giant’s corporate approval of public promiscuity.  Yeah, I know. Considering what you can see in movies now days, a show like this is pretty tame. But! You typically go see a movie once but “The Bachelor” is on every week while he whittles his way through all the women who proclaim they are looking for true love. Personally, I think those women are just out for a good time, and work hard to make the final cuts so they can travel to all those cool places. Everyone knows that if you’re looking for true love all you gotta do is go visit a bar, or a gym. Maybe a church. I’m guessing on that, I admit, because I’ve never done that. I knew who I was going to marry when I was a senior in high school.

I feel same about “The Bachelorette”. Diane loves, them, of course, and I can actually see the appeal from an entertainment perspective. She takes notes of all the candidates, picking her favorites for both shows, and she nails the winner early on. She’s good.

Back to our house, because Diane is pretty involved in those shows, I’m not allowed to watch either of them with her. Apparently I make objectionable comments that detract from the cultural value the show attempts to purvey. So, whenever I enter the room, she pauses the TV and won’t start it again until I leave the room.

I get it.

Now there is a problem with the designated bachelor who tagged homosexuals, perhaps in error, as “perverts”. He used the singular version so this can be construed as totally wrong, but I think we all get what he meant. He’s a heterosexual or, more specifically, a non-homosexual.

Can I say that?

I guess I can, because I did.

Back to The Bachelor’s “pervert” comment … in case you haven’t heard, it was in response to an unfair question asking him, without warning, what he thought about the possibility of having a gay version of “The Bachelor”.

Thinking about that, for just a very short time, I have to admit I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more than watching a couple of gay guys making out in a hot tub. That’s just me, you understand.

On the other side of that coin I have to admit that I wouldn’t have a problem with a gay version of “The Bachelorette”. I suppose most of you probably believe that makes me an extreme sexist, but I can’t help it. I yam what I yam. I prefer to look at is a me getting in touch with my gay feminine side.  Yeah, that’s it.

In this new world of political correctness, I’m sure I’ve violated all the rules. I can blame it on old age, I suppose, but these aren’t new beliefs. I’ve always been a heterosexual. I knew about homosexuality, of course, and I can honestly say it’s never been an issue with me. People are who they are. I’m OK with that.

Now I’m probably in trouble, right?

So …

Hey! How about those Seahawks? It was a terrific game and I especially liked the play where Karma made itself known when the 49er took the ball away from a Seahawk at the 1/2 yard line, just before his leg was bent in half the wrong way, and the referees did not see him laying on the ground, in plain sight, with the ball on his chest. Instead, players piled on top of him and a Seahawk wound up with the ball.

Interesting, right? Well, on the next play Karma jumped up and the Seahawks, attempting to punch into the end zone on a 4th down, fumbled the ball at the 1 yard line and it bounced all over the place, winding up on the 15 yard line, 49ers ball. Much better than the 1 yard line, right?

So, the 49ers took over and the world regained balance when the Seahawks intercepted on the 49ers first play. It ended as it should have, with the Seahawks going to their second trip to the Super Bowl in franchise history.

Go Seahawks!

I’ll leave you with that and with my hope that I haven’t totally offended any of you. Just keep in mind that I’m a self-professed fabricator and you shouldn’t believe everything I say. Still, some things shouldn’t be said, fabricated or not, so I didn’t.

Urine & Mean Drivers

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Yesterday I went to the local dialysis clinic to see my Kidneyologist. It was just a followup to check on a diagnosis I received many years ago about my kidneys and how they were behaving badly at that time. I had teeny, microscopic little bits of blood in my urine and it was deemed to be a bad thing. So, I’ve been taking blood pressure meds for the last 15 years, or so, to help deter the blood leakage.

Sadly, the meds don’t help with urine leakage but I don’t mind. Diane might, but I don’t.

My kidney guy is Dr. Smiley and I really liked him. He sent me to the lab for a urine test which I passed with flying colors. I didn’t spill even one drop! I was directed to place it on a table in the lab, which I did, but not before getting the attention of the young lady who gave me the bottle and those directions. When she noticed me, I held up the little bottle, said “cheers,” put it down and walked off. She nodded knowingly.

Thinking about urine makes me wonder how pretty much everyone in the world knows that it’s very salty. Why is that?

Next, I’d like to address all of you who find it necessary to drive in the fast lane, all the time. In Oregon there is an un-enforced law that everyone must drive to the right unless they are going to pass. Lots of people don’t do that, of course, and in our small corner of the world it poses a problem.

Highway 30 is a nice 4-lane road all the way from Portland thru Columbia City. That’s about a 30 mile stretch of road on to which many, many people must make a left turn in order to get where they wish to go. There’s a chicken lane in the middle that helps facilitate the turn, but the fast lane drivers create a situation where left turners must stop and wait for an opening. Most of the time the slow lane is open, no one in it, but these folks just don’t see a need to move over, to be a courteous driver, allowing left turners to merge. Nope, they just edge a little closer to the chicken lane as if daring drivers to edge into “their” lane.

I bring that up because it happened this evening. This time it was a large, gray-fuzzy-haired woman, but we’ve seen all kinds. Mostly, they are young, and don’t care. Diane and I always drive right to ensure we don’t impede those who need to turn. But, then, we’re special.

Those of you who live in high density areas may not see the problem since you have divided highways and traffic lights for cross roads all over the place. That’s not true, here. Much of that 30 mile stretch is through  countryside, past farms and such. So, it’s a crap shoot to make a left turn. Sometimes it’s pretty exciting, especially when you’re the passenger, as I always am, and prone to be at the point of first contact should a collision occur.

Jack and Wynette know exactly what I mean. In order to access Highway 30 coming from their house, the traffic gods must all be in accord to afford them an opportunity to cross both the southbound and northbound lanes. Actually, it’s eastbound and westbound, but when you look at a map it’s really north and south. It doesn’t really turn west until you get to Rainier.

OK. That’s all I’ve got. Now I must go eat the weenie Diane heated up for me. In the microwave. I got soup, too.

Woodworking Mainly

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Monday. Time to get back to work, even though I don’t have a job. I just have tasks that generally turn in to challenges, sometimes ending with a victory. I thought I was on track for a victory with my challenging task of replacing pieces of baseboard where electric baseboard heaters were originally installed when the house was built.

Things were going along fine, for one room, then a crises emerged when it was revealed to me that no one sells what I need. You see, the previous owner, and builder, owned the local lumber yard so had access to whatever he wanted or needed. As I’ve mentioned previously, he used copious amounts of mahogany for moulding around doors and for almost all of the baseboards. Nice, sturdy and very pretty wood. But, as the saying goes, “they don’t make ’em like that anymore!” I’m talking about when cars were made from some pretty sturdy metal, like my old truck. Same is true for the old baseboards. “They don’t make ’em like that any more!”

Yes, I can buy mahogany  baseboard material at Home Depot, and Lowe’s, but it is not the same dimensions. It’s all thinner, and not as tall. This becomes a problem when trying to fill gaps in existing trim … they do not match up, and outside mitres are particularly ugly. Knowing this was true, I didn’t even try. Diane and I searched all the Restore Stores in the area, numerous times, looking for matching baseboards. We did find two boards, 50 cents apiece, that totaled about 16 feet, and I used them in our bedroom during that ‘refresh’ effort. They were difficult because they were painted white at one point in their lives and all that woodwork in the house is stained and varnished. Getting the paint off was a major project.

While exploring alternatives, I discovered another method that turned out to be eerily similar to how the Federal Reserve, and our elected officials, are handling our national debt. I was going to borrow from one room to finish another. For obvious reasons, we all know that won’t work. One aspect of my plan was, however, to replace the trim in the back rooms with cheap stuff, with the same profile, that I could stain to look like mahogany. So, that’s the direction I went. I suspect the government will try something like that soon. Like right after they vote themselves another pay raise, maybe.

The hall to the bedrooms is done with ‘fake’ mahogany which I stained with DOHG-OCDIA (Dark Oak High Gloss – One Coat Does It All) from ACE. Good stuff. It’s really shiny if you let it try long enough before making a lot of sawdust in the same room.

Unfortunately, the pieces removed from the hallway were not enough to fill all the gaps remaining to be filled. So, today, I robbed Lydia’s room of all it’s baseboard and shoe moulding in order to ensure the living room gets the full treatment. They have been sanded and covered with DOHG and look really pretty but they’re not shiny enough so I’ll add another coat tomorrow. One of the boards is 12′ 7″ long.

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All of you professional wood working type of folks will really enjoy this next one. Despite all the clutter, It’s where all the ‘magic’ happens. Underneath it all is my table saw which I, thankfully, don’t need for this project. Yet.

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Next is a simulation of what my new work bench area will look like if I ever nail the braces to the upright panels. At the moment, the only thing keeping it vertical are a selection of clamps. There will be five areas on the top into which drawers of various size will be installed. I get to build them, if I can find my dovetail jig. If I can’t, I was thinking about getting a minnie dovetail jig for some other projects anyway so it will work out.

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“The Batchelor” just ended so I need to stop this and look busy. Diane will be here any second to check her email.

Bye!

My Workbench, Kids, and a Dead Chicken

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Hi everyone. I trust that none of you have been concerned about my absence, thinking maybe my advance age is the cause. That’s not it, at all. Though the ‘advanced age’ part is a daily issue, you shouldn’t worry about me. It happens to all of us … we age, we get some incredible wrinkles, our skin loses it’s elasticity then we shrivel up and die. Unless, of course, we have a chance encounter with a Tri-Met bus, or a semi truck, or just some schmuck who decided to spend too much time in a bar and had to rush home to beat his wife, killing you along the way. Or, you happen to be in close proximity of someone who wishes to kill themselves, and everyone in his or her vicinity, in the name of all that’s holy. It happens every day and, I suspect, will continue happening till the end of time. People are also killed every day in seemingly innocent accidents … they just happen. No apparent rhyme, or reason, they just happen.

I believe, however, that everything happens for a reason. We just have to be patient and wait a while to see what the reason is. Sometimes it takes so long that we forget the association between the event and the reason.

I don’t worry about those things. Whatever happens, happens. That’s why I’m seemingly careless in pretty much everything I do but that’s because those observing my activities have dissimilar thoughts of what constitutes careless behavior. There should be a standard of careless activity to which everyone can be held accountable instead of leaving it up to individuals to make the call.

The past few days have been filled with tasks that, once again, reaffirmed my appreciation of all that she does. That’s because she went out and caught a cold, probably from Jeran, and it really drug her down. She’s been through three boxes of kleenex so far and the she’s not done. She’s better, but not much. Not a lot of coughing, just a lot of draining. I always find it truly amazing how much mucous a body can produce in a short time. Anyway, so I’ve been taking care of her, as best I can, as well as continuing with my woodworking efforts with the baseboards. I’m ready to move into the living room area, now. Doing this serves a couple of purposes … it keeps me out of Diane’s hair, and it keeps me away from all the germs clinging to her body. So far it’s working and I have been spared, but I fear it won’t last long. I’m bound to catch something.

While working on the baseboards, I decided to dismantle my workbench. Not the entire thing, just half of it. I couldn’t do it all because I needed a large horizontal surface on which to stack everything from the part I took apart. My plan is to lower the working surface to a more manageable, for me,  36 inches from its current height. For me, that’s just below my nipples, too high to make it comfortable. It will be different for everyone because no one’s nipples are the same height above the floor. Also, as we age, they actually get closer to the floor. We all know that’s true.

At this time, I have the dismantled side pretty much clean, and yesterday I cut out six pieces of 3/4″ plywood which will serve as supports for the new work surface. Each piece is 29 3/4″ x 35 3/4″ and I cut them all from the same piece of plywood. If you do the math you will discover that the original piece of plywood was a bit larger than the more common 4×8 foot sheet. It was, in fact, 5 x 9 feet and it was once the playing surface of a ping-pong table used by the previous occupants. They left it when they moved, probably because the lone occupant was moving to a smaller facility and she had no future desires to play ping-pong. So, I’ve had it stored, on edge, next to the basement stairs for the past 5-6 years. Amazingly, it’s still straight and true.

Cutting proved to be a little problematically because I didn’t have the space to whack it up, and it was far too large for my table saw which made it unnecessary for me to remove all the clutter stored thereon. Plan B turned out to be my handy-dandy B&D jig saw which allowed me to take it apart one piece at a time. I drug the large piece of plywood as close to my shop area as possible then drew random lines on it approximating the six pieces I ultimately obtained from it. Knowing the approximating wasn’t the right thing to do, I got my tape measure and drew nice straight lines … One in the middle across the long way at 30″, and two others for the short side cuts marked at 36″ intervals. In a perfect world that would have resulted in 6 almost perfect 30″ x 36″ pieces. Using a jigsaw to make the cuts, however, doesn’t result in perfect cuts.

After squaring up the pieces, as best I could, I wound up with six 29 1/4″ x 35 3/4″ pieces. I find that remarkable. I also was amazed that they are all within 1/16″ of being square and the same size. A few skinny shims here and there and I’m good. Now all I have to do is decide how many draws and sliding shelves I want so I can finish it, load it, and move on to the other half. Since I don’t have another giant piece of plywood, I’ll have to procure some normal size pieces and make them work.

It’s 1406 in the afternoon and I’m still in my jammies. So is Diane. I’m cooking a chicken so I can make some soup for later, then I’m going to watch Lydia play a basketball game against Silverton. She’s still on the JV team, but rumor has it she will be called up to varsity for the next game. It’s interesting because basketball isn’t her favorite thing to do. She has mixed emotions about the move but we all know she will give it her absolute best effort.

The other day I picked Jeran up from school because Jennifer couldn’t get away from work. When I got him home it was just him and me so we played the piano. He’s been taking lessons for about a year and he’s doing real well. I got to hear his next recital piece, then we messed around playing duets like Chopsticks, and a couple of others I remembered. He’s a quick learner and really enjoys it. The piano he’s using is pretty pitiful, but he doesn’t mind. We got it from a yard sale for $50. I suspect he’s hammered all the spiders, that were living in it, to smithereens so they are no longer a problem.

Now I must desert my bride, who is reviewing one of the many stacks of magazines she’s been saving for moments just like this, crossing her name off the labels in preparation for delivery to the local emergency room and various doctor’s offices in the area. Because of her contributions, many of the doctors have cancelled their own subscriptions. We’ve had threatening phone calls from Publisher’s Clearing House demanding that we cease and desist this practice, but we won’t. That’s a lie, of course. PCH has never called us even once.

Now I must quit and move on to the dead chicken in the boiling pot. It’s been there long enough that I should be able to just pluck out the bones and add the noodles.

Airline Delays, Wood, and H1N1

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OK, I get it that folks might be a little upset about flight delays. I get it that many travelers might have a critical need to arrive at their intended destination at the scheduled time. I get it. The networks love it because I think it gives reporters something to do besides go outside and point out it’s snowing, or raining, or windy. I love when they do that, stick the reporter with the short straw on a hill, next to a freeway, and have them explain what the white stuff is that’s landing on the roads and the danger of not being careful while driving in it.

What I don’t get is those passengers who get all upset with the airlines for cancelling their flight and not getting them another one in its place. It’s like they’re blaming the airline for the crappy weather.  Then there are those who must think their planes fly around everywhere else, so why not fly when it’s 50 below.

No thanks. Not me. I’ll take a bus.

The foregoing, incidentally, is pure conjecture by me. I have no basis in fact for any of it other than what I see and hear on ABC, CBS, NBC, and FOX. All the noise I hear from those stations is consistently the same so at least some of it must be correct with regard to how travelers are playing the “woe is me” card.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not insensitive to their dilemma because I’ve been in it myself. Delayed flights. Rerouted flights. Cancelled flights. It’s just one of those things people should expect when traveling in the ice age. Plan for delays and deal with it. If you make your destination on time, and your luggage arrives at the same time, it’s a good day.

Bottom line on this is that the extraordinarily cold weather isn’t something that can be planned for. Entire cities have shut down because of the cold so I don’t see a problem with airlines doing the same in the name of safety.

Sorry – I meant to touch on that briefly then move on to something else, but the latter got lost in the melee in my head. That, and the ringing in my ears. Both are a bit distracting, making concentration necessary, something I’m normally not very good at. If I have to think about doing something, or how to do something, I’ll usually get it wrong. I do best what I do impulsively, without thought. Granted, impulsive behaviour has placed me in pits of peril more than once, and hindsight always points out the faults with decisions made under those circumstances, but in the heat of the moment, it’s exciting. Kind of an auction mentality where you buy things you really don’t need, or want, because you just can’t keep your hand down.

For the past two days I’ve been installing baseboards. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for the past 5 years. Baseboards needed to be installed for two reasons: 1) to fill the gaps created when the baseboard heaters were removed, and 2) Diane scrunched her eyes and convinced me it would be a good choice of projects while it’s cold.

Yesterday, I worked in the garage, cutting pieces to length and getting the mitres just right. Since all of yesterday’s work had outside mitres, it wasn’t a big deal. It’s just a simple matter of make two 45 degree cuts, on the correct end of the boards, and shoe moulding, then make them match at the corners. Simple, right? I have to admit that it’s far easier with my cutoff saw than with a manual mitre saw. With the cutoff saw I can come up with a solution much quicker, although it also makes it easier to whittle my way through a pile of wood quicker, too. Here’s some of yesterday’s efforts, the hall to the East Wing …

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I did the entire hallway which included 5 outside corners, and 5 doors. One of the doors is for Diane’s shoe closet. One of these days I might do a post on that.

Today was a bit different because I had to deal with inside miters and chose not to. Instead, I coped the corners because doing so makes them much neater. No 45’s to deal with. I’m not taking a picture of that, yet for two reasons: 1) it’s not finished, and 2) I don’t want to. Yet.

What makes this project particularly difficult is that the existing baseboard is mahogany that was installed in 1957. I’ve tried to acquire more of it, but no one sells it in the dimensions I need to match them up. So, I gathered what I had and pieced them together to fill the gaps in our bedroom, the front hall, and the dining area, but there won’t be enough to do the living room. And, there wasn’t enough to do the hall so I used what I could get from Home Depot that was smaller, but had the same profile. Now all I have to do is engineer it avoid situations where I need to match up old with new because it won’t work.

Our thoughts are with family and friends in the east who are dealing directly with the reality of this Arctic vortex we’re experiencing. We are blessed in our little town because all the bad stuff is just blowing over the top of us. So far. Things can change quickly, however, so we have a plan B should that happen. I don’t know what it is, but we have one somewhere.

Now, about that flu … Oregon has been relatively flu free until recently, but the H1N1 has struck close to home. A good friend, Jeff, is in intensive care at the VA Hospital with pneumonia and H1N1 virus. Diane and I got our flu shots in October when they were first available and, so far, have escaped the bug. We tend to stay home, away from large groups, when this stuff is going around, finding it increases our chances of escaping without catching anything.

Bundle up.

Searches

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Sadly, I haven’t been very productive this year, but I have every intention of turning that around.

Soon.

While being unproductive, I found it necessary to review comments I found on a web site I follow called Slashdot.org. It’s an interesting site that touches on a ton of subjects, many of which interest me. Many of which do not interest me, also. I get daily emails from the site with links to the day’s selected topics.

Like this …

Every once in a while I find one that interest me enough that causes me to read the inevitable comments from people all over the world with wildly varying points of view. The one that caught my eye today was Suspicionless Border Searches of Laptops Ruled Constitutional . Some of you may find that boring in the extreme, and probably rightfully so because I think the minority of people in the world travel without laptops. Tablets and smart phones yes. Lots of them. The ensuing comments regarding this issue, which you can read, if you are moved in that direction, was interesting because they cot into quoting Consitutional Rights, and how risky it is to enter the US with a laptop. Personally I don’t see any problem with that because getting searched when going from one country to another is pretty much routine and expected.
I just don’t see the problem. Your suitcase is going to get searched, too, and everything, including your laptop, is going to get x-rayed. And, if a customs official, from any country, deems that you look a bit “iffy” then you will get more in-depth scrutiny. Some may call that profiling, but I’m OK with the term “gut instinct”. Someone makes a judgement decision and you get to visit with the security team, for whatever country you’re trying to enter, a little longer than most.
Big deal. I’m guessing that most of those spouting about abuse of our rights with regard to this topic would freak out if they found out you can’t take an apple into California from Oregon, Nevada, or Arizona. I’m here to tell  you that I’m less worried about my laptop on entering the USA than I am about attempting to get past the Fruit Guards at the California borders with an unauthorized apple, banana, or orange.
If the guard has a suspicion about you, they’re going to search everything in your vehicle. I think they even have dogs and cats trained in the art of ferreting out hidden fruit. I either read that somewhere or just made it up. Hard to tell. Now, the issue with laptops is that there doesn’t have to be a suspicion to search it. If the guard wants to do it, it’s going to get done.
So, does it concern any of you? The laptop thing, I mean. If you leave the country, are you worried that you might be subject to a frisking, of yourself and your electronic toys?
I’m curious.
Personally, I’m all in favor of frisking, electronically or otherwise. Wave your magic wand over me, or touch me if you must …

Christmas Shopping to “Home Free”

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Christmas is almost here and I, unlike most of you, am considering a little shopping trip. Considering, mind you, but not seriously. Oh, there will be a token gift, or two, but nothing major because Diane and I prefer to wait until after Christmas for a couple of reasons. First, we concentrate on kids, no matter what their age is. Second, things are less expensive when we wait.

I guess I’m not in much of a sharing mood because I’m a bit depressed about all those people whose credit card info was mishandled by Target. Thankfully, we’re not in the mix for getting our info snagged because we don’t visit Target often, and the thieves of the world have probably already figured out that infiltrating our personal accounts isn’t really worth their time. So, we rest easy. I don’t like thinking bad thoughts about people, most of the time, but I’d seriously consider Capital Punishment as a proper solution to those who steal identities, and those who find it enjoyable to create and share computer viruses. Yessir. I think for some of the crimes committed we should just revert back to Old Testament justice. You know, the one where an eye for an eye is OK.

For both categories we could develop a special surgery that would safely allow removal of all finger and thumb bones so they could no longer use a keyboard. Maybe a laser. Also, since technology is proliferate with voice recognition they could be fitted with a voice synthesizer that makes them sound like Chewbacca.

So, floppy fingers, no opposing thumbs, and voices that only allow them to yell. I suspect that would make them readily identifiable anywhere. Then we could shun them.

Complicating this train of thought is the sad fact that governments of some countries sanction such activity. I suspect there’s really no way we could enforce my proposals on entire countries, so it’s probably a moot point. Besides, both identity thieves and malware creators have spawned entire industries that work to defeat them. They ensure a lot of people are employed.

I finished Jennifer’s window table. Well, almost. I need to put a fixture on it so the top won’t flop all the way open and break something. Jennifer reads this, but I can talk about it because she wrung it outta me that I was honoring her wish to have one of these. Never done it before, but it seems to have turned out OK. The window is from our last house which was built in 1925.

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Now that “Home Free” has won the Sing Off, we can go to bed. Jerrie’s eyes are tired.

God Bless Mabel.

Church, Pigs, and Heritage

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I didn’t do anything today except go to church. It surprised a lot of people. It’s good we went because Pastor’s birthday was November 1st, All Saints Day, so we got cake. We were actually late for the service because we stopped at Safeway on the way and got the cake. It had raspberry jam in the middle. Very good.

After church, we brought Diane’s Mom, Jean, home with us, just like a normal Sunday. It’s a good day to spend with family. Diane whipped up a terrific lunch of broccoli, carrots (for her), mashed potatoes, applesauce, and pieces of dead pig. We have no idea how long the pig has been dead because the pieces were frozen together so well that she had to use our portable jaws of life to pry them apart so she could fry them. They did, I will add, look a lot like pork chops. Tasted like them, too.

Diane also baked a terrific cherry crunch pie, our favorite from Marie Callender’s. It’s frozen, like the pig parts, and will last pretty much forever. We don’t have them often, but as soon as it’s baked, she buys another one just to have it ready for the next time we decide to have one. Marie also makes a pretty good lemon meringue.

I’m curious about that last word, meringue. I honestly don’t know how something spelled like that can be pronounced like mə-rang, or meˈʁɛ̃ɡ, depending on your nationality. I guess that falls in the category with why me, and most people I know, call Washington Worshington. In know, it’s a pretty minor difference, but I’ve discovered that some Worshingtonians take exception to my pronunciation of their favorite state. Funny how things like that come creeping out of the woodwork, like all the sudden naming conventions for some sports teams are totally unacceptable.

Take the Worshington Redskins, for example. Since that’s a double whammy from me, I wonder if it is, in fact, technically correct, kinda like a double negative. You know, like saying, “I ain’t no idiot!” or, more grammatically correct, “I am not no idiot!”

In my humble opinion, I think the ACLU need for everyone to be politically correct in all things is getting out of hand. The Redskins? Really? I heard one Native American on the news say that referring to her as a Redskin was the same as using the “N” word for an African-American. All my life the Redskins were a football team. I don’t believe I actually connected the name to ‘real’ Native Americans until someone complained about it.

Here’s another one that kinda frosts me … African-American. Native American, I get. They were here first, I think, and Columbus thought he’d landed in India. So, those he me when he got off the boat really aren’t Indians. If he had known where he was, he would have called them New Worldians. But African-Americans, to me, is an odd naming convention. If we are going to begin adding our nationality to what we are as Americans, I must be a European American. That’s because I only know what half my heritage is. There could possibly be some African in there somewhere that would make me, say, an Afro-Euro American. Then there’s gotta be Canadian-American, South American-American, Russian-American, Australian-American, Japanese-American, Chinese-American, and oh ya, Indian-American. Love that last one.

Actually, using the African-American naming convention, all of us have only one of seven choices for picking our nationality, based on where we were born.

  • Africans
  • Antarcticans
  • Asians
  • Australians
  • Europeans
  • North Americans
  • South Americans

If you find it necessary to qualify your continent, based on heritage, then I guess I’m a European-North American. But, most forms ask us about Nationality, not Heritage.

I’m getting used the name changes, slowly, and honestly do not have a problem with most of the hoopla surrounding it. It just seems, to me, that too much effort is being devoted to making it all a big deal. I’ve, personally, got more important things to worry about. If you’re offended, I’m sorry, and you have permission to call me absolutely anything you want. If you do that, don’t expect a reaction from me if your intent is to offend me, it’s a wasted effort. I’m a honky, whitey, haole, whatever. It’s not going to affect me or how I act. Honest. I’ll still do dumb things and might even reinforce whatever pet name with which you wish to anoint me.

Wow! I have no idea where that soap box came from?

OK – I understand why people, all of them, have a tribal need, if you will, to identify with their heritage. That’s fine. I think I’ll start putting down Oregonian-North American on forms that ask for race. One of my brothers is Nebraskan-North American, and another is Wyomingan-North American. I’m the only one in my family who married a woman of the same race as me. Diane is also an Oregonian-North American.

This is just getting stupid and I cannot find a safe way to extract myself from this topic other than to just quit. I regret going down that rabbit hole, and mean no offense to rabbits by using that term.

And, I apologize to all the pigs, cows, chickens, and turkeys of the world because at some point in my life I will consume some of you and/or your offspring. I really don’t think you care about it, but there it is.

I must quit.

I’m A Weeble? Really?

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This morning Diane called me a Weeble when she warned the dog to look out because I was wobbling around a bit in order to position myself to give Panzee a belly rub with my foot. Yes, I wobble, which is not a surprise to many people, just to those who fleetingly viewed me as a solid, stand up citizen. No, I’m not one of those. I’m a citizen, true, and I stand up for our flag, but I’m far from solid.

I sway in a gentle breeze, turning to the left, mostly, but also to the right, if the wind is right, causing Diane less and less concern as she gets used to my new abilities related to vertical acuity, and not embarrassing her by falling in public. I’ve only done that once, but cannot remember the occasion because it was insignificant. A mere blip on my radar that went mostly unnoticed be everyone except the girl who screamed.

Calling me a Weeble makes me wonder if there is more to the name than a quick look could ascertain. Everyone knows what a Weeble is, right? You know, “Weebles Wobble But They Don’t Fall Down”? Remember that? Everyone had to have them because they were so cute, and they couldn’t be knocked over.

However, after being compared to one this morning, the name has been circling in my head wondering if there is an underlying meaning to her comparison. Just a moment ago I realized that she’s making a reference to my less than adequate sized testicles. What she’s really saying is wee balls. That’s got to be it. I’ll confront her in a couple of weeks about her underhanded name calling, if I remember. Or, perhaps within a few moments of her reading this, as I know she will.

In my youth, I was able to walk straight down that thin, well-defined line of decorum, never causing anyone on either side grief, or dismay about what I said or did. With Diane’s back-handed reference comparing me to a Weeble one might think, on the surface, that she’s concerned about me straddling the line, more than walking it, due to the increasing wobble in my gait as age overtakes me, and my brain isn’t quick enough to interpret my balance correctly causing it to over correct. It’s like the cruise control in Diane’s Buick that works just fine until a hill appears, then the vehicle slows down from 55 to 50, then shifts and speeds up to 60+ before settling back down to 55 just before the hill is crested. Doing that causes problems for everyone on both sides of the line defined specifically for me, for my passage through this life.

No, it’s not about that at all. It’s all about the size of one’s testicles. I’m sure.

That’s all I got for now. Later we’re going to Portland to have lunch with some southern relatives, Diane’s side, from Arizona – Julie, Duncan, and Jake. We’ll also get to see Bill, Carolyn, Terri, and Lisa. We’re eating Italian at Nona Whats-its-place in Beaverton.

Now I’m going to stop, get a mirror, and contemplate my Weebles.

My Skin, and Politics

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Apparently I’m not going to die from the bee stings after all. I guess the bees that got me had depleted venom supplies, except for the one that viciously attacked my hand. He had a full load and injected  every bit of it. The ones who stabbed me in the neck were less problematic. They just left bumps that don’t itch, and only hurt, a lot, when they attempted to inject.

The dermatologist I saw today came in armed with her freeze gun and happily froze whatever I wanted frozen, in the way of annoying spots. The first thing she did, however was check my entire body for spots she considered to be a potential problem. As I recall, she nailed at least six of them. One was on my lip so, despite the bee’s unwillingness to sting me on the face, I wound up with a pouty lip after all. Nice.

I didn’t mention that last night I slept for about nine hours, straight, which is a modern-day record for me. The dogs didn’t even wake me up this morning. I guess Benadryl and ambien work pretty well together. I’m sure that’s why. It’s all about better living through chemistry.

After the dermatology event, we went to the Restore Store. I know Diane had something in mind when we went, and she even told me, but all I know is we came out with two chairs for our new dining room table. We needed those because the 8 we had with the other table went away with the table, as you may recall. We actually found a couple that look OK at the table. Now we have 4 chairs at the table.

Oh, and I got a huge light bulb for the huge socket I have in the basement. It’s 175 watts so should cast a really good shadow behind whatever it shines on. I may even go blind from staring at it. I think it says that on the box.

Once home, we ate lunch – I had the remainder of yesterday’s steak and Diane had a grilled cheese sandwich. Then watched TV the rest of the afternoon.

That’s pretty much the day, except for the part about Diane making a lot of noise when she breathes. I knew she was having trouble because she wasn’t fast forwarding through the commercials. She was sleeping, instead. The rattle was getting worse, so I hooked up her nebulizer and forced her to inhale deeply.

I didn’t force her to do anything. I just hooked it up and she did what needed to be done. She will be fine in the morning.

So – how is the government shutdown affecting you? I don’t recall voting for that, or telling my congressman or senator that I thought it would be a good idea for them to fiddle with my life in this manner. They didn’t eve ask me. For that, I’m upset.

If only they would have come to me …

I think we should just do away with everyone in Washington D.C. … fire them all. Then, divide the USA into three parts based on time zones and name them something catchy, like USA-1, 2, 3, 4, reading left to right on pretty much any time zone map. By default, Alaska, Hawaii and Guam would become part of USA-1. Puerto Rico would be part of USA-4. There would be no more DST changes to clocks. Everyone would just keep using the same time for their zone all the time, like Arizona and Hawaii do now. Each zone would select two people to cover the entire zone for taxes and expenditures. No spending would be allowed unless cleared through me because I would be the king.

I think it’s time to wrap this up. Perhaps I’ll come up with a more creative way to resolve the government’s problem while I sleep.