Chore Man Creeps Neighborhood Kids

For the wife and me, one of the selling points of our home was the neighborhood. There’s no thru-traffic and it has sidewalks, honest-to-God sidewalks. It also has plenty of children sprinkled about its 200 homes. We can count on about 50 kids on Halloween. That equates to 30 or 40 rings of the door bell that drive my dogs insane. To keep some peace in the place, I’ve taken to sitting outside and meeting the kids in the driveway on Halloween night.

This year, I sat for about three minutes before the fallen leaves and pine needles started calling me. I figured I was going to be out there for a couple of hours and had plenty of time to rake between the attacks from the little goblins so I grabbed a rake.

This seemed to throw the little costumed buggers off their candy scam. They didn’t know what to make of creepy chore man raking his yard by floodlight. Obviously, kids want to get as close to chores as they do to flesh-eating zombies. When I would catch a gaggle of them debating whether to approach the house, I’d shake my rake at them and tell them the trick was they had to put a handful of leaves in the trash can for their treat. One group of older girls (older in Halloween terms means about 12), surprised me while I had my 40 gallon trash can in tow. I promptly thrust the can in their direction and said, “Trick or treat! My bag is bigger than yours so fill it up!”

I did almost have one taker on my offer to work. I little five-year-old boy was feeling pretty tired and sat down in my driveway. While his dad was trying to perused him to move on, I told him if he stayed he’d have to help rake leaves. He said, “OK.” I gave him an extra piece of candy for his willing spirit.

The thing that impresses me about Halloween, at least around these Southern parts, is that parents use it to teach kids manners. There is a prescribed formula here when begging for candy which includes a cajoling parent in the background saying, “What do you say?” at the end of the sweet transaction. Without fail, every clink in a plastic pumpkin is met with a mask-muffled, “Thank you.”

One additional lesson taught this year was English. The Hispanic parents were not only teaching their kids manners, but English, too. Or maybe the kids were teaching the parents. I’m not sure how that went, but they all had great costumes. After all, Mexico goes all out for el día del muerto. Hispanic dad had full-on, movie-worthy skeleton make-up like he was an extra in a Tarentino film.

God, I love America. Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses and we’ll all dress up, eat candy, and get drunk together. Next year, when a little Mexican kid shows up at your door with a made-in-China plastic pumpkin, begging for candy in the finest Anglo-Saxon tradition, give of your chocolate freely. There’s nothing like a good holiday to give us a common touch-point and remind us all to say, “Thank you.”

For Everyone Who Ever Knew a Dog

Canis fidelis

When my toes are not exposed
On my fingers you do linger
With your little lapping tongue.

When my door is not ajar
With your paw you make a scar
An echo of your tiny “Let me in.”

When my day is not the best
In my lap you ask to rest.
Tell me all is well my warm and furry friend.

If you could you’d crack a grin
Instead, your leg begins to bend
As you roll and ask to have your tummy rubbed.

And when the day turns into night,
You don’t bark nor do you bite.
You know exactly where to lie and be on guard.

You were my fine and faithful friend.
We were together in the end.
I hope the same is said of me when I am gone.

For God’s Sake, Don’t Google That

My three-day bout with some sort of nasty bacillus-er-other has come to a close. Thank y’all for the many get-well wishes. What ever this thing or things was, presented a new symptom every day. I won’t go into the gory details, but to say, “For God’s sake, don’t Google your medical symptoms.” I did and it really messes with your head.

The body’s natural defenses have to get rid of all those nasty bugs so it’s natural that things smell differently at some point. I plugged in “odor” into Google and its handy “I’m guessing what you’re thinking based on things other people searched” feature filled out all sorts of weird guess. Just a side note, people who use Google, and that means everyone, are curiously dreadful people, including me.

After visiting a couple of the the top hits, I determined that I have one of the following:

• Celiac Disease though I’ve never had it before and it’s a genetic disorder.
• Advanced, Stage 3 liver cancer though you’d think I’d have noticed some other symptoms before now.
• Any one of several heavy metal poisonings from eating large amounts of certain fish which I don’t eat.
• Am possibly pregnant. Call the National Enquirer.

For now, I’m going with “it’s just my body getting rid of all the nastiness.” But all this got me thinking. It sure would be helpful if there were people out there who could make heads or tails out of all this mess. Sure, it might take a little more college to learn this stuff, possibly four years or more. In the end, these people would be able to help us figure out what’s ailing us and maybe even help us get well. They could even dress up in funny costumes like white coats and whatnot. Yeah, probably a pipe dream. Besides, when you’re sick, you don’t feel like getting out to see people anyway.

So kids, learn from my mistakes and stay off the Google for medical advice. If you believe everything you read on the internet, you’ll be doing surgery on yourself with a power drill and Swiss Army knife in your garage out of the fear that some ganglionic mass has taken over your pituitary gland. All because WebMD said you may have Nakajo syndrome. Well House, if you do have Nakajo syndrome, your parents were siblings and no amount of warnings will dissuade you from your self-surgery.

As for the rest of you, be well.

Oh, and if your armpits smell like tacos, the cure for that is “take a shower.” That’s a freebie from me to you.

Well, We’re Movin’ On Up

I’ve bemoaned my crappy digital camera for about as long as I’ve had it. The whining didn’t fall on deaf ears, either. My wife is a good listener and when she saw a good deal on a Kodak M420, she thought that would make the perfect “that’ll shut him up” Xmas gift. I’m glad she told me about it because I was about to buy a new camera for Xmas.

I was concerned that this one would be a piece of junk, too. You see, the one we have is one she got a really great deal on, too. So Xmas came early when it was delivered today. We needed to take if for a test spin so we would know whether to return it during the 30-day trial period.

In just four snaps, I was convinced to keep it. Not that any camera would have to do much to be better than the crappy Mustek we have, but this Kodak M420 takes pretty decent pictures.

It has:

• about 20 pre-set modes for various situation
• a tight/wide toggle under the right thumb
• a 27 second video w/ sound recorder (sound isn’t great)
• a big 3.5 inch (diagonal) LCD screen
• and best of all, a motion/blur stabilizer

The blur stabilizer is the feature I like best. With the old Mustek, I had to hold my breath for 5 seconds to get a decent shot. Plus, the Kodak takes much better close-ups than my old camera. Getting a good close-up is invaluable when putting pictures of items for sale on the web, which I do for my daughter’s craft site.

For a comparison here is a shot of my then-newly planted Angel Trumpets shot with the Mustek from about 4 feet away.

Angel Trumpet

Here is one of the Angel Tumpets today shot with the new Koday M420 using the zoom from about 18 feet away

Angel Trumpets in Bloom

Keep in mind, this was the third picture I took with my new camera, but I can already tell it’s going to take better pictures than my old one. Obviously, it’s not a professional’s camera or even a great personal piece of equipment, but when you’ve struggled for as long as I have with that Mustek P.O.S, anything is a step up.

I wish I had taken some before pictures of my chimney repairs, but here’s the after. You have to look closely to see that the side, which was what was replaced, isn’t exactly like the old siding (on the left and under the light). Much thanks to my cousin who gave me a family discount on the job.

Chimney Siding

Where Does the Crap in My Head Come From?

Seriously.

I woke up this morning with song lyrics in my brain. Woke up, mind you. I did not acquire these from my recent environment. I haven’t heard this song in years. Yet, there it was spewing out of my mouth as I made coffee, as I read my email, as I showered. It wouldn’t stop.

This brain worm would be understandable if it were something recent, but this song was released in 1968. It got jammed into my cerebellum sometime in the 1970s, probably from an album (yes, vinyl) I inherited from my sister. Why did it decide to produce itself fully formed this morning?

Now here’s where you laugh. The song is Tapioca Tundra. Never heard of it? I’m not surprised. It was written by Mike Nesmith. Yes, that Mike Nesmith of the Monkees. So I still have to wonder, why is there a Monkees’ song stuck in my brain at 6:40 AM?

Maybe because it’s really good poetry. Maybe because I was exposed to it as an impressionable youth. The specific lyrics I woke up with are:

And softly as I walk away
In freshly tattered shoes.
It cannot be a part of me
For now it’s part of you.

Sunshine, ragtime
Blowing in the breeze.
Midnight, looks right
Standing more at ease.

That’s all I could remember until the shower water hit my head. Then suddenly the first verse started gurgling out from under the water:

Reasoned verse, some prose or rhyme
Lose themselves in other times
And waiting hopes cast silent spells
That speak in clouded clues.
It cannot be a part of me
For now it’s part of you.

I was sure that no one else in the world remembered that tune. I had to be the only one who ever heard such an obscure song. So I went to our modern repositories of all things cultural, Google & YouTube. There were the lyrics as big as day on multiple lyric’s sites. YouTube is devoid of any original Monkee’s recordings, but a few covers exist there.

I’m not alone in my insanity. That’s comforting.

A Perfectly Lovely Day, Ruined by Starbuck’s Via

During my Saturday errands, I had the opportunity to stop in my local Starbuck’s coffee shop. Stop in, mind you, not drive through. My visit coincided with Starbuck’s launch of their new instant coffee, Via^®. I bypassed the taste test table and made straight for the counter.

I placed my order for a four-shot cappuccino. When counter-girl asked if I needed a receipt, I told her, “It is unnecessary for this transaction to included paperwork.” (I’m a big fan of Foamy the Squirrel). True to her training which I’m sure consisted of a 30-minute video complete with a speech from a Starbuck’s VP, counter-girl asked if I had taken the Via^® taste challenge. I politely told her that I have never found an instant coffee that tastes good. Her corporate-programmed response was, “Everyone says they can’t taste the difference.”

I’m not a coffee snob. I can’t tell a Kenyan from a Colombian, except I know one of them is in the White House. I even drink the weak, cheep Maxwell House^TM filter-pack brewed stuff provided at work. I only bought a bean grinder this, my 45th year, on the planet. My primary prerequisite for coffee is dark, strong, and hot. If there is sugar nearby, so much the better. That’s the extent of my coffee expertise, but I have never had instant coffee that tastes anything close to coffee.

I reiterated this fact to counter-girl, but the training video was stronger than the brewing espresso. She suggested that while I wait, I take the taste test. And since Starbuck’s grinds their beans under the cloven hoof of Beelzebub while you wait, I had a few minutes to kill.

Taste-test girl asked me if I’d like to take the test hot or cold. I told her, “Hot, but I’ve never tasted instant coffee that was any good.”

She replied, “Oh, everyone says they can’t taste the difference.” Now where have I heard that before?

She poured a paper shot-glass of a dark, black liquid. It was good…nectar of the god’s good. She poured another shot-glass from a different carafe and handed it to me. Being the expressive person I am, my face contorted and my body spasmed with the first sip. I was overtaken by the spirit of Shakespeare, clutched my throat, and cried, “I am poison-ed!”

Truly crestfallen, taste-test girl’s now long face asked, “You can taste the difference?”

“Dear God, yes! Number one was rich, delicious coffee. B was some sort of powdered gym sock extract suspended in hot water.”

I believe the looks I got from the Starbuck’s corporate drones were the official “banished to the drive-thru” stare. I was issued an ankle bracelet that automatically locks the doors of any Starbuck’s thus prohibiting my entry into any of their fine world-wide establishments.

If you find yourself in possession of Starbuck’s Via^® instant vileness, dispose of it as you would nuclear waste. You mustn’t let even one granule of this chromosome-damaging powder escape into the eco-system. And if you find yourself locked out of Starbuck’s, simply ask me to back away 50 feet.

When Sparkly Vampires Kick Your Ass

Last night, my wife breezed through the living room asking for something. I wasn’t really clear what it was. She has a tendency to start our conversations before she enters the room and finish them from the kitchen, usually all while I’m either writing, proofing (ha), or intensely playing poker. Normally, I hear, “Blah…Blah…So don’t forget to buy that.” Huh? What am I supposed to buy?

It turned out to be the September edition of National Geographic. Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Where did that come from? But being the good and faithful husband I am, I stopped by Books-a-Million while out-and-about today and grabbed the September Nat. Geo. for her.

The woman ahead of me at the cash register was buying something from the tree-killing Twilight series, but the best part of her transaction was the gushing coming from behind the counter. This kid was way, way, way too into Twilight. Then he got all forlorn and misty when he said, “I probably won’t get to see the new movie since I’m going off to basic in October.”

As some of you know, I grew up Army. I have the greatest respect for our men and women in uniform. I wanted to give this kid some encouragement. I wanted to tell him I was proud of his sacrifice. I wanted to give him some sage wisdom to carry with him, maybe even onto some foreign shore some day. Something that might save his life. I wanted to, but this is what came out of my mouth:

“Kid, I want to give you some advice for boot camp. Keep that thing about liking the sparkly vampires under your hat. Trust me on this one. You’ll have a much better relationship with your drill sergeant if you just don’t bring it up. Just keep that to yourself, unless you want a nickname you’ll never shake.” He agreed that was probably the best course of action.

I hope that young lad starts the new phase of his life a bit wiser for meeting me. I hope one day he thinks back on a random meeting with a stranger in a book shop and thinks, “That guy really changed my life. In fact, he saved my life.”

I hope my words prevent him from letting it slip over evening chow in the mess one night, just how great he thinks Twilight is. I’ve got to tell you, once everyone in basic training knows you like sparkly vampires, you’re going to get the sparkly-vampire crap knocked out of you for the next six weeks.

And you’ll never shake the nickname, “Sparkles” or “Twilight Toes”. That crap will haunt you forever. No one ever wants to be in the thick of a fire-fight and hear, “Get Sparkles on the radio! We need fast movers!” or “Lay down some Willy Peter, Twilight Toes! We need smoke!”

So I think I did him some good. I may have save a whole platoon of men. You never know just what effect a butterfly’s wings will have.

Oh, and Nat. Geo.? Totally worth a peek this month.

Naked Eye Astronomy: What’s That Bright Thing?

So, all Summer you’ve been looking at the Southern night sky and wondering what the heck that bright thing is. OK, so maybe you haven’t. Maybe you have a life. Maybe you watch your shoes and try not to step in freshly dropped, recycled dog food. But I’m going to tell you what it is anyway.

Jupiter. King of the planets. Number 5 on the “out from the sun” list. To find it, simply look south for the brightest thing in the night sky. It will be due south around 10pm local time. Up and to the right is the bright star Altair (alpha Aquila). Further up and to the right is Vega (alpha Lyra). Remember the move Contact with Jodie Foster? Vega was where she went to meet the aliens.

The current backdrop for Jupiter is the unimpressive constellation Capricornus. If you look to the right of Capricornus, you’ll see the much more impressive constellations of Sagittarius and Scorpius. Go out around 8pm local time and this will be due south.

Sagittarius, on the left, is identifiable by it’s tea kettle shape, currently tipping out on the scorpion’s tail. Scorpius contains the impressive red star Antares. Antares means “the other Mars” (anti-Ares, get it?). Its red color is why the Greeks gave it its enduring name. You’ll need to get out soon to see Sagittarius chase Scorpius because the chase will soon be below the night horizon.

But Jupiter will be ruling the early night sky for a few more months. If you can get your hands on a small telescope get a bead on him and be awed. At least look up every once in a while. There are whole worlds up there. It might be worth taking your eyes off your shoes for a night. It might even be worth stepping in a steamer. Naw, probably not.

A Lullaby for Mr. Spanky

There are one hundred reasons I am annoying. Number 54 is, I’m an absent-minded singer. I hum. I whistle. I sing. I get a tune stuck in my head and it randomly comes out during the day. I’m sure it’s annoying, but people don’t say anything. Their silence is probably born from fear. I guess they think I’m a bit mad. If I’m uninhibited enough to just burst into song, you can’t be too sure what I might do or so the logic goes.

Distractedly singing in public can get you some funny looks, not to mention, in all sorts of trouble. Today was one of those days.

I was in a great mood and Led Zeppelin was my all-natural, rhythmic Prozac. It started innocently enough. Nobody’s Fault But Mine popped into my head on the way to work. A simple whistle escalated to full-blown, belting-’em-out-at-the-stop-light car tunes. By the time I got to work, I needed a real fix. So I slapped it up on YouTube while I read my morning email. By the second chorus, the guy who shares my office was probably fantasizing about jamming a letter-opener into my neck, but I didn’t care.

YouTube, being what it is, suggested more Led Zeppelin for my enjoyment and others annoyance. I selected Since I’ve Been Loving You from the video jukebox and prepared for my morning meeting. All prepped, I decided to grab some coffee and hit the head.

Now kids, if you’re a singer like me, what you don’t want to do is find yourself in a crowded men’s room, belly up to the bar so to speak, singing Since I’ve Been Loving You softly to yourself. It’s not a great career move to have your boss catch you with your hands full, melodically swaying to, “Lord, you know it ain’t right. Since I’ve been loving you, I’m about to lose my worried mind.” In this situation, people get all sorts of the wrong impressions about your relationship with Mr. Spanky.

Now kids, if this ever happens to you, don’t not panic. Panic leads to only one thing … quickly replacing the song with another. Panic freezes the brain and since it’s stuck on Led Zeppelin, panic makes the conspicuous transition to Whole Lotta Love, complete with guitar intro. Panic fails to obfuscate what is obvious to every suit in the vicinity. All panic can do is:

“Badantdahdandant. Badantdahdandant. You need coolin’, baby, I’m not foolin’. I’m gonna send you back to schoolin’. Way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love. I’m gonna give you my love.” Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Shake. Badantdahdandant. Zip. Badantdahdandant. Flush. Wash. Badantdahdandant. Hi Bob. Way, way down inside honey, you need it. I’m gonna give you my love.”

Fully Expecting to Lose Fans Over This

It seems every time I post something on this blog, someone unsubscribes. That’s cool. Maybe I’m boring. Maybe they switched to Google Reader. But it’s starting to give me a complex. Speaking of unsubscribing …

I did something I promised I’d never do. I wrote an article about religion. I fully expected to lose subscribers over it. I knew my views about homosexuality & Christianity weren’t the most popular. I hoped that the writing, logic, and honesty would carry the message. As it turns out, everyone reads through their own experience-tainted glasses.

I caught all sorts of grief over the article. I got comments on both sides of the controversy. I enjoyed the conversation. One person (that I know of) even wrote a scathing rebuttal which accused me of prejudice against homosexuals (aka homophobia). I had some tell me what a dead-on, great article it was. Most of the latter group know me in real life so I give those comments a little extra weight than internet avatars. Either way, thanks for reading.

I was sure people would unsubscribe to my Associated Content account in droves. Before I wrote the Gay Clergy article, I had 647 subscribers. The final tally after was 653. Even the lady who wrote the rebuttal article unsubscribed and then re-subscribe. We exchange some mail where she admitted it was childish to unsubscribe because she respects the fact I can write well. That was nice to hear.

Now I’m vacillating. I enjoyed writing about religion. It got a lot of traffic and it spawned some good conversations. I just don’t know if I can mix it well with all my satire and comedy. Meh, you never know. Maybe I’ll try again. God loves laughter. Why else would he given us the platypus, the giraffe, and Brittney Spears? I guess I’ll proceed with caution for it is written, “But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become a stumbling block to them that are weak.” (1Cr 8:9)

Here’s the whole thing if you want it: Should We Ordain Gay Clergy? Can a Christian of Any Stripe Be Gay?

Here’s something newer for a laugh: Republican Attacks on Intended Obama School Speech Backfire in a Flurry of Congressional Action. I’d love to know what you think in light of today’s indoctrination of our school children.