Category Archives: Personal/Opinion

Scotland Residents Concerned About Trump Impeachment Rumors

Leave a reply

Lightbart  News report by Doug Furr

In an unusual turn of events, many Scottish communities are suddenly worried about the  impeachment rumors swirling around President Trump.  Only a short time ago the current U.S. president was recognized as the most hated man in Scotland, usurping the position from Edward Longshanks, the most despised man in Scottish history,  The infamous achievement was brought about after Mr. Trump started a smear campaign of intimidation in order to bully local residents who objected to the golf course and gaudy clubhouse he built along the beach of the coastal town of Aberdeenshire.

After a recent national poll was taken however, the president fell all the way to third place, behind the aforementioned Longshanks and Phil Oxenbauls, historically rumored to be the person who disemboweled William Wallace.  Why the sudden down surge of unpopularity?  It all has to do with the economics of Scotland.   It seems the diminishment of Mr. Trump’s unfavorable standing  correlates to the increases in sales of scotch, the third largest industry in the country.  Ever since Donald Trump became president, U.S. sales of scotch have skyrocketed.

I recently paid a visit to Brokenwinde, a peaceful lowland  hamlet situated on Scotland’s eastern shore.  There I met up with Peter McDooglestein, president and CEO of H. McMac and Company, makers of McMac scotch whiskey. The company has a long history in the alcohol production business.  Peter’s great, great grandfather, Hyman McDooglestein, was the first Rabbi to settle in Scotland, and dabbled in Kosher wine making.  The business gradually expanded to include the production of scotch, and over time their scotch developed such a prestigious reputation it was decided the company would discontinue peripheral products and concentrate solely on its single malt.

H. McMac Company employs 94 people, almost a third of Brokenwinde’s population.  A mere three months ago there were only 37 employees.  Peter McDooglestein attributes the increase in hiring and fortune to Donald Trump.  Since his inauguration, Peter said that U.S sales of McMac scotch have increased ten-fold.  “I got no understandin’ of what that fella’s s up to, but ever since he took over I ken tell ya it’s been real good for me and most of us in Brokenwinde,” he emphatically explained.  “I sure hope ye good people keep him on fer awhile.  I hear he’s made some trouble, but ye know how it is.  Live next to a pig sty and ye git used to the smell of shit after a bit.”

Mention the word “Trump” and Brokenwinde natives often respond with a traditional Scottish salute.

After a tour of his distillery, Peter took me to a local tavern, where I sampled a dram or two of McMac over lunch.  It is a fine lowland scotch, with a solid nutty flavor and just a slight, peaty aroma..  I had just finished my last drink, when another, very offensive aroma, came whiffing about.  “Don’t ye worry thar me friend,” Peter said with a grin. “That aint yer president come visitin’.  I just had the need to have a blow under me kilt.”

Having been back in the states for a couple of weeks, I have to say Peter McDooglestein is at least partly right.  A lot of people really have adjusted well to the smell coming from Washington.  Does not seem to bother them at all.  As for me, I just can’t seem to get past all the stink.  I know it’s just me.  Just my constitution I suppose.  But as one layer of shit after another piles up in the Trump White House the stench is simply becoming personally intolerable.

If you are like me and you find yourself reflexively gagging from the odor emanating from the White House, you might find my solution to the problem useful- McMac scotch. I don’t want to make any promises, but I can tell you it gets me through the day.

 

 

 

Is There Dog Shit in Heaven?

Leave a reply

One day in high school, I think it was during my sophomore year, a group of us were sitting around shooting the breeze when the subject of immortality came up.  The conversation eventually progressed to a discussion about whether or not a dog has a soul.  You should be aware that this was a Catholic boarding school for boys, Assumption Abbey in Richardton North Dakota, run by a dedicated bunch of Benedictine monks, so I suppose a topic was more likely to stray  from the hedonistic than at a typical public high school.  I’m not saying we were any better than those publicly educated.  Or smarter. I just think for good or bad the religiously educated are  inclined to have more thoughts with a theological bend. That’s all.  Plus at the Abbey about a third of the kids were seminary students, so the odds of one being included in your conversation were pretty good.  Though they were not undisposed to interject secular subjects, their good judgment tended to tamp down those that seemed to be spiraling toward the perverse.

Two of my best friends emerged as the flag bearers of each position. George, one of those seminary students, believed a dog did indeed have a soul.  Frank, whose general conduct at the time set the standard for someone who should never be allowed near a seminary, staunchly supported the negative argument.  I was in Frank’s camp, but not because he was a particularly good debater.  In fact Frank was our close class equivalent of the West Point Goat, the cadet who graduates last in his class.   With a military cadet, there is usually a lot of luck involved (as well as a some cash- the Goat collects a dollar from every cadet as a reward for the accomplishment).  You just hope after four years you hit the sweet spot academically and still graduate.  Probably the most famous West Point Goat was George Armstrong Custer* and he was no dummy.  He was a notorious prankster and it was all his demerits that earned him last place. That’s kind of how Frank operated.  He studied enough to get by, but knew when to back off and attend properly to his many troublemaking duties.

Frank Went Out of His Way to Make Sure Freshmen Felt Included During Welcome Week

I have to say Frank held his own, but the reason I agreed with him was what I recollected from grade school.  The nuns at Holy Name taught me only humans have souls and entered heaven.  No dogs allowed.  We didn’t seem to be evolving towards any satisfactory resolution in our debate, so it was ultimately decided that we should seek the council of a higher court, the Abbey principal, Fr. Francis.  He set us straight right off.  It turns out a dog does have a soul.  The catch is it’s not an immortal soul, like ours.  Because we can reason and shit I guess our soul is a lot better.  A dog’s soul falls short of the admission requirement into heaven.

Fr. Francis was very much esteemed in our circle, so I assumed his verdict would satisfy all parties.  I can’t think of another priest that exhibited a sense of fairness and could connect with his students like Fr. Francis.  The way he connected was with the knuckles of a clenched fist, unlike Fr. David who clobbered me with a four cell flashlight.  However, Fr. Francis’s involvement aside, Frank was not about to let the matter drop.

After a few days thinking on it, Frank did concede, but then elevated the logic to a new level and concluded that yes, a dog has a soul, but it was also immortal.  He recalled a story that had somehow slipped his mind during our debate, probably because he had attended to an inordinate amount of hell raising that day.  Long story short, It seems one of Frank’s neighbors knew a fellow who ended up upside down and unconscious in a pick up truck he was driving and this guy’s dog  pulled him from the burning vehicle and gave him mouth to mouth resuscitation.  Well that seemed a little far fetched to me, but Frank says he got the story from an extremely reliable source, so from that point on Frank’s position was dogs have an immortal soul and will join us in heaven.  You have to admit if that story is true that’s a lot of uncanny human-like reasoning to omit from consideration.

To be honest with you that particular high school deliberation was never a big concern of mine then, nor has it been since, until just recently.  I like dogs, but favor those that are undomesticated.  I am particularly fond of wolves, and if it weren’t a violation of a city ordinance I might consider keeping one as a pet because that seems like a good way to get rid of the stray cats that shit in my yard.  But then I’d have to deal with wolf shit, so that’s obviously a counterproductive solution.

My son and his wife have a dog, Alfie, and we occasionally take care of him.  We have a few more boundaries we expect him to observe than his owners do, but Alfie quickly came to understand them and we get along just fine.  He is cute as the dickens but every time I take him outside to do his business I’m reminded why I don’t have a dog of my own.  I was doing just that  two weeks ago when my own opinion of the spiritual side of dogs took a turn.

We had two days of storms that left a solid sheet of ice on the ground that was a quarter inch thick.  I am normally a very careful person, but unfortunately made a rare miscalculation when I took Alfie out to download.  I slipped on a path of river rock in our back yard and about knocked myself out when my lower back smashed down on a soccer-ball sized stone.  I laid on my back disoriented, swearing and groaning in agony.   What brought me to my senses was the sensation of Alfie’s tongue hosing down my face.  He even managed to slobber all over my glasses.   In an effort to escape all the flying fluid, I slowly rolled onto my stomach, letting out another series of profanity-laced moans.  The little fellow must have sensed I needed more attention, so he addressed the situation with a saliva shampoo.

Alfie- Prostrate in Supplication

After carefully analyzing my predicament, I managed to crawl back to the house on all fours.  I took stock of things and figured I had better get to an ER.  I had concerns that I might have broken a rib, or even my hip, plus it appeared I had a compound fracture of my right ring finger.    I went to my bedroom to get a warmer jacket, and when I came back out there was Alfie lying prone in the hallway, his chin on the floor and eyes rolled upward with a forlorn look, like he was extending an apology.  He followed me around the house while I grabbed my car keys and wallet, and all the way to door.  He kept his eyes on me the entire time, checking to make sure I was all right.  And basically I was.  At least my ER visit revealed no broken bones.  My finger was just dislocated.  But when I got home three and a half hours later, there was Alfie waiting nervously by the door.

Naturally I was uncomfortable that night and couldn’t  sleep.  I thought about how Alfie had reacted, and remembered the dog story Frank had told me long ago.  It dawned on me that more than likely that dog had not really administered CPR.  The guy the dog saved was probably forced back into consciousness out of fear of drowning in all the saliva.  Mystery solved!  And yes like Frank, I am now a firm believer there will be dogs in heaven, if they are anything like Alfie.  HIs soul must be immortal. My guess is God has some type of heavenly reward in store for an animal with that kind of human-like intuition and empathy.

However, if there is an afterlife, I don’t want to spend it cleaning up a bunch of dog shit.  And I am pretty sure if you see me doing that, I’m in trouble.  God must have determined I didn’t make the heavenly cut.   And by extension, neither did you or all those dogs you see me following around.

*Coincidentally, an Abbey graduate (class of 1962) achieved West Point Goat honors, and like Custer, died on the battlefield (Vietnam).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why Bad Things Happen to Good People and Other Christmas Thoughts

Leave a reply

The other day some dirty bastard stole the lid off my garbage can. Damn it that pisses me off.  It was the lid to my super good can too, one of those that Rubbermaid makes appropriately labeled “Brute.”  That thing is indestructible.  It’s my secondary can though because it’s a little heavy.  Our primary can is constructed of light gauge plastic.  It can’t take the pummeling from my garbage men like the Brute can, but it’s easier to take to the curb.  Not that I need that accommodation.  It’s a consideration I have for my wife.  I’m not a dick and make my wife haul out the garbage cans.   I always do that.  Sometimes she tries to look busy by fiddle-farting around with the recyclables, but I’m the one that does the heavy lifting.  But I worry that someday I won’t make it back from my mountain hike after a boulder pins my arm against the side of the narrow canyon I was walking through, and she’ll have to move the trash cans around.  I like to think ahead.

So I had to set both trash cans out for pick up because we had extra garbage that week.  There is a 50 pound limit per can, and if you overshoot, the garbage collectors can tell real quick.  It comes natural after you lift something heavy on a regular basis.  Then they take it out on your garbage can and fuck it up real good.  I bought one of those fancy cans with wheels once.  Not a month went by when one of the traveling sanitation experts gave it a good toss and shattered a wheel.  That kind of pissed me off because I had taken some extra time to re-distribute some really stinky garbage between the two cans so neither would exceed the 50 pound limit. I suppose the dead squirrel I stuck on top could have set him off.  I probably should have bagged it up and dusted off some of the maggots.  Those make a nice treat for the birds.

Good view of some nice-looking Maggots

Well anyway I walked up and down the street, thinking maybe a gust of wind had come up and carried away my lid,  That is not an unnatural occurrence, but such was not the case this time.  I have a neighbor that’s kind of shifty and thought maybe he stole my lid, but that notion turned out to be a dead end.

I don’t need to tell you an unnatural rage was boiling inside of me at the thought of having to spend money on a new heavy duty trash can when all I needed was a new lid.  I got a little depressed and started thinking what a shitty deal that was and how fucked up the world is.  My mind began to wander into dark places.  I started to imagine all the cruel ways I could get even with the scummy son of a bitch that stole my trash can lid if I ever caught him.  My favorite involved a butane torch and a high torque electric drill.  I even waxed philosophic, pondering that great existential question “Why do bad things happen to good people?”   Most everyone in my neighborhood think I’m a pretty decent guy. OK there was that one time I told my neighbor on the back side of my fence to go fuck himself.  But who wouldn’t be upset when someone sprays weed killer that drifts over to your property and kills all your garden radishes.  In the end he saw I was right and apologized, so I’m pretty sure even he would agree anyone who steels a thrash can lid is a smelly piece of shit.

So I thought real hard about why bad things happen to good people, and it really didn’t take me long to figure that out.  The reason bad things happen to good people is there are too many assholes walking around that do bad things like steal your trash can lid.  The sooner we get rid of them the better.  Problem solved.

I didn’t recall ever seeing lids sold separately anywhere, but I was confident if such a thing was available it would be at my favorite hardware store.  It’s a Westlake Ace store about a mile from my house.  You may have read about it in Plumbing and Stuff.  Neither the owner, Mr. Jimmy, or Roxy, the most helpful hardware store employee ever, was there, so I had to settle for Fred and it turned out they were out of Brute trash cans but he was not aware that the lids were sold separately anyway.  Well naturally that just enforced my thinking about all the injustice in the world and I headed off to Home Depot and then Sears because they  were right on my way to my favorite liquor store.

Both of those places had Brutes, but they wouldn’t sell me a lid separately.  They cited their one can /one lid policy and it had to do with inventory control and their precious scanning guns and all that shit I really didn’t want to hear about.  Well I was just getting more worked up about the whole thing after that.  Lowe’s was right on my way home so just for the heck of it I stopped in.  Plenty of Brutes and lids there of course, but there weren’t any bar codes on the lids so I was pretty sure I was out of luck.  But I ran into Roger, or rather he ran into me with the forklift he was driving.  I guess you could say it was my fault since I snuck under the “Isle Closed” tape that spanned that isle, but god damn it I get tired of that.  Every time I go to Lowe’s they’re dicking around right in the place I need to get to.

Roger jumped off his fork lift and said he was real sorry and all that.  He had run over my foot, and it really did kind of hurt, but I was pretty much concentrating on my lid problem right then.  I explained how shitty my day was going, so he shuffled through the Brute lids and because there was no bar code on any of them, at first he said there wasn’t anything he could do.  But then after he noticed me limping around he had a change of heart and told me to just take one.  He even escorted me to the exit door.  Do you believe it?  Didn’t cost me a dime!  I don’t have a picture of Roger but he looks something like this, only he had clothes on at the time and isn’t this white.

Roger Driving His Fork Lift

But on the way home I was struck by the second half of that existential equation- “Why do good things happen to bad people?”  Obviously what had happened to me at Lowe’s was definitely a really good thing.  The odds of running into a clerk that is remotely helpful,  let alone a nice guy, are slim in the first place.  But a nice guy that is willing to go the extra mile and risk unemployment just to make me happy?  Those are long odds my friend.  So was I a bad person because something good had happened to me?  As I have pointed out there is a variety of corroborators  who will vouch for me if I slip them a Hamilton.  I have always believed I am a good person, but suddenly I was doubting myself.

By the time I got home I had that conundrum all  tidied up.  The guy that gave me my trash can lid ran over my foot too. I think I’ll lose a nail.  So good to bad- that was a wash, and then of course there was the really bad deal of the stolen trash can lid that started this whole thing.  Like always, if I think on something long enough it starts to make sense.  That was two bad things to one good thing. That is pretty much the exact ratio of how things work out for me.  If you do that math right, you have to conclude I’m nothing short of a good person.

A lot of us get this whole business of good and bad happening in the world all complicated by throwing God into the mix.  But for that you have to believe there is such a thing, and if you take a look around you have to wonder about that.  A lot of bad shit happens, and it’s not just an occasional circumstance.  Right now we have Aleppo and ISIS and suicide bombings, and plane crashes, earthquakes, tornadoes and floods have been going on forever.   That’s lots of bad stuff and some of it I guess you could blame on God if He is actually up there somewhere. Or you can go the other way and say all this horrific shit just proves there is no God.  You can hardly blame a fellow if he thinks that’s a bunch of bull.  Personally if I were God I’d run things a little differently.  What is troubling is a lot of what’s bad is carried out in the name of someone’s god. That is totally fucked up.

I think what you have to do is carry on the best you can and throw in a helpful hand now and then.  My plan is to play it safe and not bet against Pascal’s Wager, and then die and see what happens.  Or not.  And if there truly is a reward that awaits, I’m not so much interested in whether its a place where we get to live it up all day drinking single malt scotch or simply experience peaceful bliss floating around on the clouds.  I just want to be there and make sure the slimy shit ball that stole my trash can lid gets the fiery compensation he deserves.  Merry Christmas!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Toxic Masculinity

Leave a reply

I read stuff.  And every once in awhile I come across something that is so timely and pertinent that I wonder why it is news to me.  Toxic masculinity is a term that strikes me as falling into that category.  I am not sure how prevalent the term is, but for me credit is due Amanda Marcotte of Solon.com.  The abridgment of her article appears in a July edition of The Week magazine, something I read regularly.  I don’t know if she is the originator of the term.  For all I know it might actually be an official diagnosis in a  compendium of psychiatric disorders.   But my point is I heard about it and wonder why I haven’t heard about it before.

To paraphrase Ms. Marcotte’s article, toxic masculinity is a distorted form of manhood geared toward dominance and control, views women and gays as inferior, valorizes violence, and glamorizes guns.  And while toxic masculinity aspires to toughness, it is rooted in a fear of being soft, weak, emasculated.  Almost all mass killers share this fear.

This article appeared in The Week magazine shortly after Omar Mateen went berserk in Orlando.  From what I have read about him, toxic masculinity would seem to describe his psychological state, in a layman’s fashion anyway.   But there are so many examples of this exhibited by people we see every day walking around in our communities.  Take “Bluto” here for instance: http://www.rawstory.com/2016/06/go-fcking-make-my-tortilla-unhinged-trump-protester-goes-batsht-insane-on-hispanic-protester/

Makes you proud to be an American.  We have all seen a guy like this at one time or another.  They love political rallies, but lots of times they are at the ball park embarrassing themselves a few rows up from you and totally ruining your day. OK.  That guy might be just an obnoxious drunk.  But he’s so unsavory you have to label him as semi-toxic at least.   The point is these guys are all over the place.  Maybe you had a confrontation with one.  Yikes!  What do you suppose the deal is with the bare chest?  You think he wants to show off his sculpted torso or his tattoos?  He might want to be careful.  He’s got two nipples hanging out there.

Here’s the thing about nipples.  I’m just postulating here, but I think my theory dove-tails nicely with masculine toxicity.   I’ve been thinking on this for several hours.   On a man nipples are confusing.  What the fuck are they doing on a guy’s chest anyway?  They don’t seem to posses any evolutionary advantage in any way.  Bluto might want to be aware not only does he have nipples, but there’s some estrogen flowing around in his chest and elsewhere. Unlike nipples, guys need estrogen- for maintaining bone mass, and believe it or not, some is needed for normal erectile function.

You suppose that female stuff could all of a sudden start surging or something and make Bluto get all girly.  I think it’s possible.  It could be a big worry for him.  I bet that’s why he is lashing out.  Maybe its not testosterone overload that’s pushing his buttons.  Raging hormones is something attributed to women as well as men. What exactly causes all the fuss is unpredictable.  I imagine we all go through a hormonal roller coaster ride now and then.   I’m just sayin’.  All the ebb and flow of different hormones probably has something to do with feelings of sexual identity.  It just makes sense.  What guy doesn’t feel a little uncomfortable watching “Brokeback Mountain”, or even “Bird Cage.”  Bluto would probably say the movies are disgusting, when possibly, deep down, he’s a little worried he just might be suppressing some underlying attraction.  My guess is it’s not muscles or tattoos Bluto wants to show off.   It’s his nipples- like so many women liked to do as a form of protest in the 60’s.  I came to appreciate the gesture  back then.  Now- not so much.  Toxic masculinity explains a lot.  Geezuz Bluto put your shirt back on and go get help.  Your insecurity is showing.

Depositphotos_35997699_s-2015

Original, more sexually secure Bluto

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or how about this guy.

You Reap What You Sow

Leave a reply

I know. I said I would never blog about Trump ever again.  I just can’t help myself.  It’s becoming a catharsis.  I had to do this because this Glenn Beck conversation could not dovetail any tighter with my last two Trump blogs.

http://www.rawstory.com/2016/08/watch-spooky-caller-stuns-glenn-beck-by-threatening-to-go-after-trump-if-he-breaks-wall-promise/

What Donald Trump does not seem to understand is there are a lot of shit for brains people like this walking around in our gun obsessed society that consider his hateful, vitriolic rhetoric  inspiring, and of course the ironic result here is Mr. Trump’s inflammatory discourse is inflaming  at least a few of his die-hard supporters to consider reprisals against him should he not produce the promises he has so emphatically and carelessly made.

images

Working the Crowd

Most of Mr. Trump’s policies lack substance, but his most fervent supporters have to feel Trump is mind-dicking them with his immigration policy.    During the primaries he insisted he would form some kind of goon squad to round up all 11 million undocumented immigrants and send them back over the Mexican border.  Dangling that juicy worm in front of those who are fed up with politics as usual proved to be very effective bait to hook a good percentage of us.  (Yes,  include me in the group of disaffected, but not in the group that supports Trump or believes anything he says).   It appears his new campaign manager finally did what several of his primary opponents couldn’t  do and explain the folly of this totally unworkable solution.  But waffling on this was apparently what triggered the appalling rant with Glenn Beck mentioned above.  The likely reason Trump canceled  a couple of rallies during which he was to outline his immigration policy was because it suddenly dawned on him he didn’t quite think his proposal through.  During a Fox News forum he went so far as to seek the advice of the studio audience to assist him in formulating his personal immigration strategy.http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/videos/a48000/trump-immigration-hannity/  Crowdsourcing your signature campaign issue-WTF?

Trump’s second, and always his fall back immigration position, is he will build a wall, and of course have Mexico pay for it.  Both the goon squad and the wall ideas worked well in the primaries for him.  They are simplistic approaches to complex problems that might resonate with people during the ramped up rhetoric of a political rally, but fall woefully short of substantive solutions when the time is taken to logically scrutinize them.  And once again the “Trumpeter” went off on a tangent in front of an adoring crowd  bugling one of his surreptitious songs that could very well motivate some unhinged looney to shoot somebody.http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/politics/onpolitics/2016/09/16/trump-clinton-secret-service-disarm/90523014/

It’s just this kind of trumpestuous (my word) rhetoric that could backfire (emphasis on fire) on Mr. Trump should he actually get elected.

This presidential race is turning out to be one of the most controversial in our history and it has revealed a dark side to our social fabric.  What I once thought was scar tissue covering our nation’s wound of racism and bigotry has turned out to be a thick scab that has been ripped away and has disturbingly exposed a festering cyst of intolerance and narrow-mindedness.  Surely we are better than this.  Both candidates leave a lot to to be desired.  But one of them almost proudly presents himself as representing everything reprehensible to anyone who believes in this country’s principles of democracy and, even worse in my opinion, conducts himself in ways that are aberrant to normal social behavior.

Like never before, most of us will be voting against a candidate rather than for one, or voting for a third party candidate because we understandably believe neither of the major party candidates are worthy of the office, or, sadly, so fed up we won’t vote at all.  I caution you to chose your poison wisely.  There is at present a very good chance that somehow the electoral process will uncannily align in a way that allows Donald Trump to become the next president of the United States.  Think carefully about what could happen should this occur.  The man exhibits almost every clinical marker of a sociopath and as we have seen time after time during this campaign, has anger issues that are dangerously problematic.

When this thing is all over, I am curious to see what the loser has to say.  Social discourse in this country has plummeted to such a low point that it would not surprise me at all if  the common courtesy of a congratulatory phone call is not extended.  All of us should be better than this.  We must be better than this.

Quake State

Leave a reply

It was about seven in the morning this Sunday when my house started shaking.  I knew what it was, because I’d experienced the seismic wave of a far away earthquake once before.  That was when I was a kid in 1959, when a huge quake occurred in Yellowstone National Park and the shock shook my parents house in Sheridan WY 250 miles away.  But even though I was not confused about that ten second earth-spasming event, I was still alarmed.  I have a nice home.  I started to imagine the worse, something I do kind of regularly, but not in the way you might think.  I don’t consider myself to be a pessimist.  I simply like to analyze stuff and think ahead, something I took away from Boys Scouts long ago.  Be prepared.  Like, I just filled in a cavity in a small retaining wall in my back yard that a den of snakes was living it up in, and now I bet the timbers shifted around enough so those damn snakes will just make themselves at home back there once again.  Or worse, what if somewhere a coupling on my natural gas line got loosened up and my house exploded.  I guess at least that would take care of my fucking snake problem.

But here’s the thing.  Yellowstone is a natural hotbed of seismic activity.  There are thousands of earthquakes happening there every day.  They are very natural phenomena.  Takes a lot of pressure off the hydrothermal plumbing.  Sunday’s quake was not a natural phenomenon. The center of that thing was in northern Oklahoma, a good 400 miles from where I live now in Omaha.  Oklahoma too, has a lot of earthquakes, fifty or so a year.  That wasn’t always the case.  Used to be a couple a year, like most places in the midwest.  What happened to Oklahoma is oil fracking.  That’s not natural at all.  The state of Oklahoma is our nation’s gold medal champion of human-induced earthquakes.

But there is a new contender emerging- North Dakota.  Part of the Bakken Oil Field lies just underneath the western soil of about a third of that state.  Bakken oil shale brought jobs and prosperity to North Dakota, and it brought a lot of misery and- fracking.  You can find hundreds of articles written about the good and the bad about North Dakota’s oil boom.  One of the best I’ve read is this one. https://placesjournal.org/article/dakota-is-everywhere/?gclid=CMqg7Lj5-M4CFQ-EaQodaAwNBQ  It is really long.  If you don’t have time  to to read it, I feel compelled to point out one thing that caught my eye.  Deep into this text is a conversation a rancher, Brenda Jorgenson, had with a  state oil regulator.  Brenda recalled a discussion the two of them had about the waste pit near the oil well on their land.  He claimed that the plastic liner- the barrier between the toxic liquid in the pit and soil- would last for 40 years.  When Ms. Jorgenson voiced concerns, the regulator’s reply was “You won’t be around after that anyway.  What do you care what happens after you’re gone.”

I love the sate of North Dakota.  I went to high school there.  In my opinion it is getting raped by big oil.  Again, just my opinion. But the bust is already occurring in a few western ND cities.  The state of North Dakota, as well as you and I, can take heart though.  There is at least one dedicated group out there trying to save us from ourselves- the Native Americans living on the Standing Rock Indian Reservation.  There is an oil pipeline under construction to carry oil from North Dakota to Illinois.  The charted path of the pipeline runs along the reservation’s northern border at some point.  Concerned about a future pipeline spill, and disruption of sacred tribal land, the people living on the reservation are protesting.  They have brought construction to a halt and it is getting a little ugly.  That’s about all you need to know, but in case you’re interested, here is more information.

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/27/us/north-dakota-oil-pipeline-battle-whos-fighting-and-why.html?_r=0

Well, I guess there is another thing you should know.  The pipeline as mapped is going to run under the Missouri River.  What the fuck are these oil douchebags thinking?  How catastrophic would a busted pipeline be if oil gushes into the Missouri River.  I drink that water.   It is a known fact there is little oversight of our already vast network of oil pipelines, and guess what is in all likelihood going to be consistently happening with all the fracking going on in North Dakota.  It will be Oklahoma.2.  You can bet all the shaking has the potential to wreck havoc with any kind of piece of shit pipeline.  Geezuz these guys piss me off.  To them everything is just fine because we are perfectly safe- for 40 years anyway.

italy-quake                                                    130px-IowaTipi

Non-quake Reistant Structure                                                          Quake Resistant Structure

Trophy Wife

Leave a reply

Well my trophy wife is at it again.  She got another award, and she is retired!  I never received an award of any kind when I was working, let alone since retirement. I have caught a trophy fish or two, as you can see from this photo, Fishermanbut I never received any kind of award for it or anything.   But my wife just keeps piling up the awards. While she was working she received an Outstanding Teacher Award from the YWCA, an A+ Award from Omaha Public Schools, and was a recipient of an Alice Buffet Outstanding Teacher award.  That one was especially sweet, because it’s funded by Alice Buffet’s nephew Warren, and as you might have guessed, a sizable amount of cash went along with it.  Plus 500 one dollar McDonalds coupons.  No shit.  Granted a person can only stand to eat at McDonalds for so long.  But you start handing the coupons out to neighborhood kids and they think you’re a nice guy.  Then they won’t egg your house at Halloween.  So the coupons worked out well that way.  These are just the majors.  There are all sorts of school and personal citations and conferments she’s wracked up.  If you think I can name them all you have your head up your ass.

But just in the past two months, she picked up not one, but two more awards.  Remember, she’s retired!  First she got a call from her alma mater, College of St. Mary, informing her she  won a special alumna achievement award.  Then  last week she got a letter from the Nebraska Art Teacher’s Association to let her know she is the recipient of the very prestigious Roscoe Shields Service Award.  Geezuz it never ends.

winner    LEFT:  My Wife with One of Her Trophy’s

For the record I did come real close to scoring an Employee of the Month Award when I was working for Target.  But then along came Fred, the logistics exec and an unequivocal prick.  He started lobbying for Bambi, a member of his logistical team and who also had a part time job as a pole dancer at a strip club about two blocks down the street.  The word is Fred applied what some would say was undue pressure on his subordinates, and thus I came up a few votes short.  I never thought Bambi was the corporate type, and in my mind she was totally undeserving of the award.  Sure, I have to admit there were some things on the company ship I could never get on board with, but at least I never told any of my supervisors to go fuck themselves, which I heard through the grapevine is something Bambi suggested Fred should consider attempting on a number of occasions.  Fred always chose to overlook Bambi’s outbursts though, probably because he chose to underlook the big boner he got anytime Bambi would happen to toss attention of any kind his way.

I believe my opinion of Bambi was ultimately validated, because less than a week after receiving her award she disappeared.   I can’t say for sure if that award went to her head or anything, but I heard from a pretty credible source it’s what motivated her to leave town for Vegas where she felt she could apply her talent to more poles, emotionally crushing Fred’s balls in the process.  The  end result was substantiation of a fundamental yet casually dismissed principle of life:   Big boners often interfere with logical thinking and have a way of impeding real progress.

Unknown-1    Except for some recognition from an infatuated supervisor, Bambi worked here in relative obscurity

wmfokabdz1tpg9id3rmn   This is the facility where Bambi labored tirelessly to become a real crowd pleaser

My personal trophy case might be empty, but there is no doubt in my mind that the moral revealed in Fred’s story is something you can take to the bank.

Oh my gosh you know what I just remembered? I should have got some kind of award for saving that woman’s life. They hand out awards to people who saved someone’s life all the time. I never got one. How come?

 

 

My Last Trump Comment (I Mean It This Time)

1 Reply

After my last blog about Donald Trump, I made a vow to myself to quit blogging about him.  I thought that his gaff about inviting Russia to hack government computers was as non-presidential as it gets, and if people still thought he actually had the temperament to govern our country after that absurd statement,  it would be pointless to say or write anything more.   But then, you guessed it, he fired off another incendiary remark, and this one, I have to say, is as dangerous as it gets, at least if we are considering the fact that this guy is running for President of the United States.

What I am referring to is Mr. Trump’s cavalier 2nd amendment remark.  Just in case there is someone out there with nothing better to do than read my blog that is still unaware of what he said, here is the most concise article I could find about it and I think it gives a pretty fair analysis of what was said or meant to be said.http://www.politico.com/story/2016/08/trump-clinton-second-amendment-judges-guns-226833

If you are not totally bored or even nauseated by this article, or our political process in general at present,  pay particular attention to the last three paragraphs of this article- a description of what Bob Owens (coincidentally a part of the NRA hierarchy)  tweeted and then deleted.  His initial reaction to what Donald Trump said is exactly that of the Secret Service and, I would guess, that of the majority of the population of our country- a subtle suggestion, either intentional or unintentional- of assassination.   Mr. Trump’s supporters came to his defense by suggesting this was his rather ambiguous way of motivating pro-gun sympathizers to vote, or that it was even a joke.

But this kind of comment should not be construed as a joke of any kind.  And the type of ambiguity and innuendo that  Donald Trump consistently purveys is a major reason that makes him so dangerous and unfit to be president.  He is constantly saying things that  have no basis of fact, yet have just enough believability attached that somehow they seem credible to a large segment of society.  What I am talking about goes beyond normal political hyperbole- like suggesting Ted Cruz’s father was linked to the Kennedy assassination, and encouraging violence at rally’s by inferring he would pay legal fees for any of his supporters so involved.  And the veiled threats are directed at anyone who dares to criticize him, not Just Hillary Clinton.  He says he will “hit ’em hard,” leaving what he means by that to the imagination of anyone who will listen.  If someone tries to pin him down on one of his outlandish statements, his reply will often be “I heard it from a lot of people.”

But what is so alarming about the emotionally driven rhetoric of this second amendment remark is how clueless he seems to be about its repercussions.  Words Matter!  There are plenty of unhinged people out there that will be interpreting these words as Bob Owens did initially.  But in the case of the emotionally disturbed,  all the hatred that Donald Trump stirs up will be just the incentive one of them will need to take matters into his own hands.

Ok.  I’m done.  That’s it from me about Donald Trump.  One last general comment.  I really believe the Secret Service will be challenged more than ever before in protecting our 45th president, no matter who it is.  Mr. Trump might consider the fact that, should he be elected, the lunatic fringe is not the domain of a specific political party.   We do not need any type of rhetoric, whether it be a joke, something sarcastic, misconstrued, or God forbid intentional, that would have even the slightest chance of provoking someone to commit yet another senseless and abhorrently violent act of hatred.

 

 

 

 

Summer Despondency

2 Replies

Geezuz shit it’s hot!  It’s going to be 100 degrees the next four days.  Take into account humidity and the heat index is 115.  To make things worse for me, I just got back from a ten day vacation in my home state of Wyoming.  It was 72 degrees and 20 percent humidity where I was.  I do this to myself practically every year.  Maybe I should start going to a nice place in the Arabian Peninsula or African Rain Forest for my summer trip.  Then I might look forward to returning home.

IMG_1569  Depositphotos_102452202_s-2015                   enhanced-buzz-8621-1370270054-14     46cbb6ef71ea207ba03bf124759c4289

Cooling off in Jackson Hole WY                                            Cooling off in Omaha NE

A big part of my annual post vacation depression is the state of my lawn when I get back.  All spring long and into the early summer I am attending to my fescue and bluegrass, applying fertilizer and aerating, getting a head start on weeds with pre-emergence, applying fungus preventives, hand pulling the few invaders that happen to slip through my protective chemical barrier, edging, mowing at precisely a three inch height, and watering at appropriate intervals.  I have a rain gauge to help me determine when I should unwind my garden hoses, and I water only in the early morning, something I found by experience to be rather important if your lawn tends to develop fungus.

I am very proud of my lawn, and I think you would have to agree I should be considering all the fucking time I spend on it.  But then I come back from vacation and it looks like shit- a cheerless  brown spot here, some unsettling dead grass there. And it’s not that I totally neglect my lawn when I am out of town.  I have a very dependable neighborhood teen take care of it when I am gone.   I am sure some of the problem is related to all the strains of dreaded fungus I have battled over the years.  What I learned about battling various strains of fungus over the years is that it can become very expensive to battle various strains of fungus.  It gradually became apparent to me that it is more important to be able to buy groceries than it is to feature a pristine lawn.  So it is that time of summer again where I just say fuck it and let whatever happens happen.  You can battle mother nature for just so long.  I’ll re-seed in the fall.

That dose not mean I have given up to the point I would approve of your dog or cat shitting on my lawn.  If I see you walking your dog without a poop bag in your hand and your dog takes a dump on my lawn, you are a marked man.  By that I mean I will mark you with my Super Soaker that I have filled with urine.  Don’t ask how the urine ended up in the Super Soaker.  Just be aware that is is pumped and pressurized and ready to fire.  You might be jumping to the conclusion I hate dogs.  That’s not true.  I just don’t want to unexpectedly step on a dog-shit land mine or run over it with my mower.  I don’t think my interpretation of lawn etiquette is asking too much of anyone.  I have similar rules about dogs inside of my house.  I don’t care if you bring your dog into my house, as long as it doesn’t pee or shit on my carpet and stays off my furniture.  That can not be construed as discriminatingly unfair in any way since I have the same expectations for certain relatives when they pay me a visit.

Depositphotos_86191662_s-2015                                                           social issue

Aunt Dora’s Well Trained Dog is Never                     When Uncle Bob Wanders into My House             a Problem in My House                                               I Prefer He Stays Off of the Furniture

Since we have touched on the subject, if you are planning on coming to town, let me know.  That way I have time to decide if I should break out the plastic furniture covers or my collection of single malts.

 

 

Moderately Exciting News!*

Leave a reply

Ok.  A lot of you out there have been wondering where in the hell is that book I told you I wrote.  No shit.  A lot of people have actually been wondering about that.   What do I mean by a “lot'” you ask?  By a “lot” I mean more than two.  Six might be a little high, so it’s somewhere between three and five.  If I’m doing the math right, that’s an average of four, and that seems about right.  One of the people that keeps bugging me about my book is my neighbor Claire.  I always thought that was a girl’s name, but this is a guy.  That was really bothering me for awhile, so I looked it up and I was right.  It is a girl’s name.  Way back when it occasionally was a man’s name, but it was spelled Clair- no “e” on the end.  The Latin derivative is “clarus”  meaning bright, or clear.  Looks like my neighbor’s folks should have studied up on the name a little bit if you ask me.  Nothing too bright or clear about their thinking when they named their son Claire.  Why do parents do that kind of shit anyway?

Jupiter is another one of the overly resolute.  Kind of looks like there is some sort of pattern going on here, doesn’t it.  Jupiter is an old high school classmate who can’t blame his parents for his name because Jupiter thought that up himself.   His real name is Mike Jones, but  he started insisting we call him Jupiter in high school.  The reason for that is he was a pretty good athlete and he thought the name Jupiter Jones would stand out and provide an edge for him when he competed for athletic scholarships and professional roster spots.   As it turned out, Jupiter was only able to stand out in a variety of police line-ups as his dream of becoming a professional athlete quickly faded and the reality of funding his expensive substance abuse habit set in.  During an extremely awkward conversation with Jupiter at our 50th high school reunion last year, I mentioned my book and he seemed inordinately interested in it.  When I told him it was not quite ready for publication, he was sure I was lying about the whole thing and he became abusively incredulous.   As sometimes happens with many who unfortunately travel down the path of drug habituation, I suspect portions of the inside of his head must have short circuited, because I keep getting emails from him explaining how he is going to burn my house down if he doesn’t see my book on Amazon.

Depositphotos_67633555_s-2015                                   Man costume and makeup

Jupiter Jones 1965- Working Out                               Jupiter Jones 2015- Flipping Out                           in High School Weight Room                                      at High School Reunion Dinner

I am pretty sure a couple of other people have expressed interest in my book, I just can’t remember for sure who they are.  Probably a couple of my relatives.  Anyway, you will now finally find my book on Amazon, Google, and Barnes and Noble if you are interested.  Or if you are like me and are apprehensive about exposing your personal information by using internet ordering, I suppose you can go to your favorite book store and order it.  But then you run the risk of exposing yourself to a nervous breakdown dealing with all the anxious anticipation of its delayed arrival.  But trust me it will be worth it.

This book started out as an autobiography, but I got tired of confronting the fact that I have accomplished very little in my life, so I mixed in a dash of proselytizing and a pound of self-help to spice it up.  Also,  I might have spiced it up by mentioning your name.  Maybe you’re not sure what I mean by “spice it up.”  For that reason you might be smart to check it out.

One caveat about my book.  I wrote it three years ago.   One of the things I could not restrain myself from doing while writing was interjecting an opinion or three.   I’m almost 70 years old, and pretty well set in my ways, and I thought these opinions I had at the time would forever be valid.  One lesson I learned from writing my book is that a lot of shit can change in three years.  Another lesson learned is it’s pretty difficult to retract an opinion when that opinion is published in print.  Overall I have to say I would still stand by almost everything I profess to believe in my book, but there is one glaring statement I made that I have to admit is a bit embarrassing.  Buy my book and see if you can figure out what that one mistake might be.

The title of my book is “Fishing with Bobby and Mike.”  So you have no one to blame but yourself for wasting your money should you ultimately decide to buy my book, I think you can take a peak at a sample for free on a couple of the above mentioned web sites.  Knock yourself out.

*I hope this is Exceptionally Exciting News for you Jupiter.  I would appreciate it if you would now stop with the threatening e-mails.  Please don’t be upset if you don’t find your name mentioned in my book.  There are  many others who will likewise be disappointed, and a few who will wish they were.