Gentleman Warthog

Strange Sight

2011-01-10T21:51:00.001-08:00

Sunday at 10 am, Molly and I left the house for a walk. As I reached the hedge and turned, I saw a young lady sitting on the curb, legs stretched out into the street. (The one glance showed, besides the long, good looking legs; a very short black skirt. Long blond hair, thin black jacket , black high heeled pumps next to her feet. What some of my lady-friends have called their ‘fuck-me shoes’.)
Kinda surprising. I looked left and right, to check for cars and started across the street. I looked back at the young lady. She turned, looked up at me.
I said “Good morning.” She smiled and said “Hi.” (Of course she smiled, I had my cute beagle with me. That always gets a smile from women. But I digress.)
It was a pleasant ‘Hi’, no worried smile, or concerned look. If she had looked as if she was in trouble, I would have asked her if she need to use the phone.
We continued on our walk and I smiled to myself. After the first glance and seeing the long expanse of bare leg, my second thought was how cold she must be! It was maybe 38 and overcast. The thick fog had lifted, but it was very damp.
I suppose she must have been at a party and just fell asleep on the couch. But judging by her evening attire, I suspect that some guy took her home after a meeting her at a bar or dance party. (She was very take-homeable)
Endless ideas as to why she was sitting on my corner, waiting for her ride.

And there are, alas, no answers. For when Molly and I returned, the young woman was no longer there.

Constraints

2010-12-18T21:33:00.000-08:00

I like to write stories. Sometimes, just to take my mind off my troubles, I weave the stories in my head as I try to fall asleep. (Yes, I can hear you now, ‘They must be really boring stories!” Oh shut up! But I digress.)
The fun thing about them is that none of the character, thought lightly patterned after bits of people that I know, really exist. This way, I can have anyone do anything. Go on adventures, fall in love, make love, kill an enemy; it doesn’t matter.
Until now.
A while ago, I reconnected with a dear friend on one of the social networking sites. We had lost touch thirty years ago, due to a falling out I had with a mutual friend.
Being the silly person that I am, I wrote a fictionalized account of how we first met and posted it on her account. (based solely on what I remembered about her 30 years ago and out mutual liking of Star Trek). To my surprise, she added several paragraphs to the story. Over the last few months, each of us has added bits to the story, based solely on what the other person wrote. It’s turning out to be very fun, since neither of us knows where the story is going.
And yet, there are constraints, for I know where the story is not going.
Like I said, when I write a story, it is about fictional characters. This time the characters are us, but in a fictional setting. So I cannot let my character do things in the story that I would not do in real life. And that’s the rub. For if anyone else were to read the story, they would soon wonder, ‘When are these two gonna admit their feelings for each other and spend the night together, locked in passion?’
Ah, but that can’t happen, the story has constraints.
So I weave the story in my head and avoid the obvious traps. The elephant in the room.
If these two people are stuck aboard a crippled star ship for almost a year, they will either end up falling in love, or one shoves the other out the airlock!
And I have to dance between those two extremes and still make the story plausible.

At least I have a fun story to think about as I drift off to sleep at night.

It’s safe now.

2010-12-18T21:22:00.000-08:00

Yeah, it’s still out there. The story (rather racy) that my friend wrote and I posted to usenet for her, back in ’93.

Some years back, while searching on my old work email address, I found her story archived at a bunch of sites. (see April 02, 2006 - Words never die on the Internet).
No big deal, except that at the bottom of the story was my work email address! Anyone reading it and who worked for my company, could figure out it was me. That made me worry, since I did not want a call from HR asking me to explain a sex story with the companies name on it!
Now, seventeen years later, I don’t have to worry since I no longer work for that company.

Still, amusing how some things never go away in the aether.

Betty look alikes and slipping into the Twilight Zone

2010-11-21T20:55:00.000-08:00

First day on the job, I passed by her office and let my eyes glance covertly in her direction.
I had to look twice at her, carefully because no gal likes to be stared at. Yep, there is an uncanny resemblance. I let my eyes slide away from her and acted as if I never glanced in her direction.
Another Betty look alike.

Oh sure, this gal is attractive and that does catch my eye; but her profile reminds me of Betty. Straight on, she is just a pretty woman. And she seems nice.
Over the months that I have been here I have talked to her just a little, we say hello as we pass in the hallways. Maybe there is some resemblance from the front, but really it is the profile.
A lot of the people I work with do their work in the field, so I don’t see them all the time.

What is also amusing about my work is that I now work with another woman who resembles my twin sister a bit and another that resembles my sister-in-law. (more sound of her voice and how she speaks.) Oh, none of these are doppelgangers, it’s just that they have some resemblance.

Now if some day, the Betty look alike pulls me to one side and says, “You know GW, I know a guy who looks very much like you.” That’s when I will know I have slipped into the Twilight Zone and I will start to worry.

I’m not saying we ought to misbehave

2010-11-15T21:29:00.001-08:00

So last week, on my day off, we went next door to help Chemical Girl pack. Losing her house has been tough on her, and besides the help, she could use some company.
Later, while we were eating pizza, I thought I’d relate a story to her.

Years ago, one of my work friends was going to move. I wasn’t sure when and was a bit surprised when, as he was talking to a bunch of us guys, that he said he moved over the weekend.
“Everett, I didn’t know it was last weekend. I kinda expected you to ask me for some help.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to help.”
“Sure, but I would have had to go to the adult store first.”
He gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”
“Well, I thought it would be funny to buy a big dildo. When I got to your place, I would roll it under the bedroom dresser. Then, when a couple of the other guys moved the dresser and discovered it, you would have some explaining to do!”
Everybody busted up laughing, but Everett just got a worried look on his face, “You would really do that to me?”
“Oh, probably not; but I thought of it!”

Wonder-Girl and Chemical Girl thought the story was funny.
And I reassured CG that no, I would not do that to her.
I hope she isn’t worried.

Guilt

2010-10-29T19:52:00.001-07:00

My neighbor just lost her house. Breaking up with her SO and then losing her job took its toll. Add in the housing bubble bursting and she was underwater with a house she could no longer afford, nor sell. While she was trying to renegotiate her loan and avoid the foreclosure, the bank sold her home.
Yesterday I found out what the new owner paid for it and I feel bad. The house sold for a mere $236,000.
It has now occurred to me that despite not even having my job for a year, I probably could have qualified for a loan, bought her house and rented it back to her. Then, some years down the road, after she has repaired her credit, she could buy it back. (WG thought the same thing. After all, we own our home completely, and our cars.)
Now I feel guilty about not helping her. Yeah, I can just hear my friend FL saying, ‘Why do guys feel the need to always rescue a gal?’
It’s just who we are, I guess. If a gal feels some need for security and protection, it just fits that us guys feel some need to protect and provide security. It’s not a major force, but it is there.
It’s that entire ‘Damsel in Distress, Knight in Shining Armor’ thing. Sure, bothersome at times, but if a gal does need rescuing; it’s nice that there can be someone there to rescue her.
So sure, I would be ‘rescuing’ my neighbor. However, she’s a nice gal and both WG and I like her. Good neighbors can be hard to find. (Yeah, the dogs love her too.)
I would never want to be a landlord, I dislike being in charge, but being CG’s landlord would be fairly easy. Oh sure, there would be complications. I couldn’t charge her too high a rent. It’s one of the rules; a KiSA does not take advantage of a DiD. It would be rude.
I would have to play down the ‘you owe me big time’. I could tease her once in a while, but I have seen the look of horror creep over a woman’s face when she realizes that she owes me.
A KiSA should not give women nightmares!

There have been a number of occasions where I was the KiSA. Yeah, an average looking guy in a ’73 Valiant would never qualify as Prince Charming on a white horse; but I was there when a KiSA was needed. Fixed the problem, got a nice thank you and was on my way. (Yes ladies, despite some nasty stories, all we really want is to help and receive a nice thank you. We are happy to help, because that’s what we are supposed to do.)

And now I realize that I might have missed this one and it was a big one.

(PS- Yes, we can argue for hours, the semantic difference between rescuing and helping. Some other day.)

(PPS – maybe that’s why some of my independent, female friends have trouble finding someone, they don’t need rescuing. I guess some guys can’t handle that. But that’s a discussion for a later date.)

Cross Country

2010-10-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

What if there was a huge disaster that wiped out eighty percent, or more, of the human population? What would you do? Where would you go?
As a fan of ‘end of the world’ type stories, I have often thought of this and wondered what I would do.
That brings up a special term I have for a few people. “I would travel cross country to find you.”
Imagine the desolation of your country. Roaming packs of starving dogs. Roaming bands of lunatic people. Gangs of despicable people. Religious fanatics.
Yes, for some people, I would travel cross-country to find them. Family, and some friends.
I know that to some of you, the whole idea is frightening. So be it.
But there is another frightening aspect to this. There are people I know that I would not want coming to look for me! More acquaintances and co-workers than friends. But none the less, people whom I would rather avoid.
“I guess you are nice enough, but I would rather travel three thousand miles through a hell infested wasteland to look for someone who might be alive, than be with you.”
Hmmm…I guess it’s better than; ‘Well, maybe if you were the last woman on earth.’ I just want to go see if the second to that last woman on earth is still alive.

There are only a handful of people, for whom ‘I would travel cross-country to find you.’ applies.
And I am sorry, but as fond as I am of you, attempting to pilot a yacht or 275 foot Coast Guard cutter across the Pacific to find you is beyond my skills. (Not that I have ever thought of it, despite the fact that the cutters are only twenty miles from here and they have a range of 6,000 miles. :-)

Time is tight

2010-10-26T21:36:00.000-07:00

So, I have been working again for just over six months now and could not understand why I have no time for anything. Get home, eat, play with the dogs, talk to my wife. A bit of TV and then off to sleep.
I used to get home from work, work on a project, write a bit; then the rest of the stuff. Now, there is no time.
I puzzled about this for a while and then it dawned on me what was different, I go to work.
Back in 2005, I was working three days in the office, two at home. That morphed to the point that during my last few years, it was four at home, one in the office. That gave me an extra two hours at home and a later bedtime.
So now, time is tight.
Early to rise, early to bed, makes a man healthy, wealthy and dead. Sigh.
And just give up things.

I really shouldn’t give this up.

Black Coffee

2010-03-13T18:38:00.000-08:00

It’s just after seven and as usual, I am awake. When I first got laid off, I would sleep in till eight or so. There was no reason to get up early. Yeah, I know, talk to the dogs. They will tell you that I should be up on time and taking them for their walk.
Over this last year, despite not having to get up, I started getting up early. I am basically a night person and I have the unique ability to ignore noise on a Saturday morning and sleep in.
Now, I wake up between six and seven and get right up. It’s almost against my religion to get up so early, especially when I don’t have to. Sigh, so here I am, sitting at the kitchen table of my brother’s house. He and his nice wife seem sound asleep and I have to figure out a strange kitchen.
I managed to find the coffee and make a small pot. Soon that magic herbal remedy will infuse me with wonderful chemicals and I will wake up enough to realize that I should have stayed in bed.
There is no sugar in the house! Yeah, yeah, I know from past visits that they usually don’t have sugar on hand. Yeah, I should have brought some from the hotel, but I didn’t. Oh, I could go searching through the kitchen cabinets, but I just don’t like looking through other people’s cabinets, even if it is perfectly okay.
There was a half-packet of sweetener on the microwave and I used that to sweeten my first cup. I know there is more, but I won’t search.
So I will sip the strong, bitter liquid and slowly wake up.

I wonder if the rats in the walls have quieted down? Someone just knocked on the door leading to the garage. I hear creaking footsteps.
There is storm blowing outside and it makes the house creak in different ways than my house, so I notice them.
A walk right now would be good, I haven’t gone for a walk all week. However, it’s raining and I don’t have any rain gear. So it’s sit inside and listen to the house creak and the wind blow.
And wait for my brother and his family to wake up and start the day.

Inappropriate Toy

2010-03-06T21:21:00.000-08:00

Most of the toys from my dad’s collection are the usual things, Marx cars, Tootsietoys, model airplanes, etc.
But there is one toy that, while it may have been funny in the fifties or sixties, in light of the recent scandals; it is no longer amusing.
It’s called ‘The Merry Monk’ with fun raising action.

Watch the video.

I am just not comfortable selling it, but I am curious as to what it is worth.

One of a kind Ol Yeller Fire Truck

2010-01-12T23:05:00.000-08:00

One of the interesting things in my dad’s toy collection, is a late fifties, early sixties, yellow peddle car. It’s a fire truck with ‘Roseville Fire Department’ on the sides.

As you can see from the pictures, it’s a Hamilton Steel Products fire truck, built on a jeep chassis. The odd thing is, it is yellow. My research guy has started looking into this and has found that Hamilton only made red and blue fire trucks.
So my research guy has started contacting fire departments.
It looks like Hamilton might have made a yellow fire truck for the Roseville, Michigan Fire Department. The local fire chief may have a picture of this car on display, years ago, in the firehouse. With any luck, he can find the picture and send us a copy.

Someone at the Roseville, California fire department also emailed him, saying that they remembered a yellow fire truck. They are checking with some of their ‘old timers’.

It will be interesting to see what the rest of the research leads to and ‘how one of a kind’ this peddle car turns out to be.

If it truly is one of a kind, the value increases.

Addendum - Feb 2.

It's nice when experts give you the value of their experience. My research guy has found out that the front and rear ornaments are not standard on the Hamilton trucks (which is what we figured). Also, the hose reel is non-standard. Further checking revealed that the lettering is vinyl. Though the yellow paint is the only paint, there is a little bit of red over spray by one of the peddles.
So, we figure that someone(possible who worked for one of the fire departments), took a red Jeep fire truck, stripped the paint off and had it repainted in yellow.
It's still a good looking truck.

Wifey Ear

2010-01-01T20:27:00.000-08:00

Years ago, a coworker was trying to get my attention from across the aisle. Exasperated, he finally raised his voice and said, “GW!”
“Yes?”
“Stop using you ‘Wifey ear’.

So, I went in to have my hearing checked last week because I have been noticing greater difficulty hearing some people, particularly my wife.

I fully expected the Audiologist to come back into the room after the test and say, “Your hearing is fine.” Whack me on the arm and say, “So pay better attention to your wife!”
But alas, it turns out I have lost some hearing in the higher frequencies. (Yes I know, it comes with age.) The Audiologist explained that this type of loss makes it harder to hear women and children, since their voices are usually at a higher pitch. This explains a lot, since Wonder-Girl has a soft female voice. There have been many times when she answers the phone and the person on the other end asks if her mommy is home.
This also explains how easy it is for other noises to drown out WG’s voice.

The Audiologist said that I should consider hearing aids. (Thank goodness my young female friends in the Philippines don’t read this. They already tease me about being old!)
So I’ll consider hearing aids and look into the types and price (shudder)

But maybe there is a bright side. I might as well go back to my old habit of staring at women’s chests, especially since there is no point in trying to listen to them anymore:-)
(Gosh, there must be some kind of witty tee-shirt slogan I can make.)

Merry Christmas

2009-12-28T22:04:00.000-08:00

Back in mid-November, I applied to company A. As with most resumes and applications I have filled in and sent out over the last nine months, I didn’t really expect a response. Partly because few companies acknowledge you, partly because it was different from what I had been doing for the last twenty-seven years. Different, but similar enough that it sounded interesting and possibly fun.
I was surprised to get a phone call a week later and I had a very nice phone interview with pleasant woman. She invited me in for an in-person interview at the end of the week! I had only had one in-person interview during my long job search.
The interview went well and I liked the two people that interviewed me.
But alas, the following Monday, one of them called to say that despite how well the interview went, they found someone who was a better fit. (sigh)

The following day, a friend of mine called to say their company B was looking for an Analyst, was I interested?
Of course!
Long story short, the job matched most of what I can do and there would be new challenges. The phone and in-person interviews went well and I was quite excited. I tried to keep my enthusiasm in check, since I would have to wait two weeks for the owner to return from his buying trip. I was not worried, because of how well things went.
Then company A called up. The applicant they made an offer to withdrew their name and would I be willing to accept an offer for the job? (do bears shit in the woods?)
They asked if I could let them know in a few day. I told them I would let them know by the end of the day.
For the jobs were similar in pay and benefits. Company A was slightly better, but a little longer commute. Company A was not involved in manufacturing and had more chances for advancement.
AND, a bird in the hand is better than one in the bush. So I accepted their offer.

Hard to believe that after nine months of looking, I will soon be working and not be ‘a man of unfortunate leisure’.

Truly a nice Christmas present.

Fat Pants

2009-12-10T19:45:00.000-08:00

Back in October, after eight months of job searching, I actually had a phone interview. That went well and I was asked to come in for an in person interview! I was excited until I got out my new slacks and found that they didn’t fit!
Back in March, when I was laid off, we went shopping for some new slacks. My old ones were just too tight. Since I have been slowly gaining weight over the years, I threw out all my old slacks.
Months went by, we worked on the bricks and stones in front, and other projects. I stopped eating cookies for lunch because one does have to cut back expenses. We started taking Molly for a second, longer walk.
Over time, I began having trouble keeping my jeans up, even my old, tight, raggedy ones. I thought about getting suspenders because a belt just wasn’t working.
So by the time I went on the first job interview, I had lost twenty pounds! No wonder my pants were not fitting.
We went shopping a week later and bought more slacks, but with a smaller waistband.
The job was not offered to my and I continued to look.
I have been on an interview to another company, though it did not result in a job; but at least I looked better.
Tomorrow I have a very promising interview and I am looking forward to it.

So I think things are looking up, since I am at least going on more face to face interviews. And I am ready for the future, for I have stored my fat-pants in with my summer clothes. For I know that part of the reason for losing the weight is that I no longer sit on my butt for eight hours a day.
If I get the job there will be no more extra Molly walks and I will sitting for hours a day.
I guess I can live without cookies for lunch.

Women still want me

2009-11-20T20:28:00.001-08:00

We broke up the concrete walkway this week and there is now a nice dirt path to the front door. Next week we will get things ready to pour a new concrete pad. Then it will be laying bricks and the bluestone pavers.
And it will start, the young moms and dads will comment on the progress, as the walk their kids to and from school. It’s nice to hear compliments on your work.
The last time we were working on a front yard project, a young mom from two doors down stopped by chat. She said she had to see what we were doing and how far we had progressed.
“Looks very nice.” She said. “When you are done, you can come over to my house and work on my backyard!”
I turned and looked at her cheerful smile and cute figure. I smiled back. “Oh, not for all the tea in China.” I said in my most cheerful voice. She laughed.
Two days later, a young, good looking blonde stopped to look and then said. “Oh, when you are done here, you can come work on my front yard!”
I looked at her and her two little daughters. “Oh, I don’t think so.” I said with a nice smile on my face.
Yeah, the blonde was a cutie; but cute just doesn’t cut the mustard. I now know what it’s like working on your knees for hours. Not for lust or money!
Love and the satisfaction of doing good job yourself, yes.

American. Air Cadets Official Construction Kits

2009-11-13T20:15:00.000-08:00

American. Air Cadets Official Construction Kits
Featherweight flying model. Rubber band powered.
Made by the A.A.C. Supply Company, Iowa City, Iowa.

Since there is a dearth of information on this subject, I thought I would write up what I know.

In my late father’s collection of toys, I have seven primitive balsa kits from the 30’s. I have done a lot of searching and there is almost no information on them on the world wide web.

What is also interesting about them is how primitive they are, compared to airplane kits made in the forties and beyond. Each box has sheets, blocks and strips of balsa wood. If you were to attempt to build one, you are expected to take the quarter scale plans and redraw them to full size. You have to carve the propeller from a block of balsa. All in all, a rather complex construction project for an amateur.
The kit does come complete with glue and what might be a vial of banana oil. The banana oil, when thinned with acetone, is supposed to make a good dope. The other option is to use ‘dope’ the “Jap tissue paper” (what we now call silk-span) with a flour and water paste.

I know of eight different models that they made-
Eaglerock Bullet
Curtiss Robin
Red Bird
Fokker
Spirit of St. Louis
Travel Air
R.O.G. Racer
Endurance Tractor

I did find tiny bits of info on www.rcuniverse.com and www.rcgroups.com. (I edited them slightly)

“The American Air Cadets was an organization formed in the late 1930's to encourage young people to become involved in aeronautics.
All such organizations try to get prominent personalities associated with there operation. Strangely enough the Cadets got the noted conductor Leopold Stowkowski (Fantasia and other films involving classical music) to endorse them!!
The Cadets commissioned a series of models of increasing complexity to be built as one advanced through their program.
The Air Cadets made little or no impact on the direction of aero modeling.
All this is from memory and I am unaware of any printed sources.”
Richard Smith
--
“This was one of the groups to form (and fail) in the Mid-west of the USA. They often began with some simple rubber powered plan to which you ordered from some location, got a membership card, and a few other things, and were ordered to complete the model and take to... for some contest.
If enough juniors showed up, the club went on, if not they went to some other location tried there or went out of business.
The Jimmy Allen group was only one to survive for a while.

Wm.
--
The Rotarian - Nov 1930 – (Google Books Result)
64 pages - Magazine
Sponsor Air Cadets Peekskill, NY — Directors of the Peekskill Rotary Club have voted to sponsor the American Air Cadets, an organization fostering boys' interests in aviation.

----------
So, perhaps they are just one little footnote in model making history and I have seven small pieces.

GW

Wise Uncle Warty might give bogus advice

2009-11-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

I have found myself in an odd position recently. Several of my female friends, (I don’t like ‘lady friends or ‘girl friends’ simply because there can be misunderstandings.) have had mangled breakups with their boyfriends and written about it online. So I, being nicely married for decades, have offered sage advice and support. Mostly I remind them that they are smart, personable young pretties, but also to let them know that the right guy is out there. I try to help them look forward to what might be and not to keep looking back at the heartless bastards that they pine for.
It amuses me somewhat and I have to check what I say. For my history is one of not even looking for the right woman and finding her. Sure, it took some time for Wonder-Girl to realize that I was an okay fellow; but I think that is one of the things that made everything work. With neither of us trying, we became friends first.

These young women are my friends and I would so like to see them find a good man and be happy. So I have to be careful, when consoling them. Remind them to keep their eyes open and that there are good guys out there who will appreciate them for who they are.
After all, I like them, so others must also.

And there is a nagging feeling that I might have been able to help Pip.

Finding Pip

2009-11-10T16:13:00.001-08:00

I hadn’t looked for Pip in a while.(I wrote about my online sleuthing several times) I kinda gave up looking for her since she obviously didn’t want to be found. But I kept thinking about her as another typhoon slammed into the Philippines. Most of my Pi friends are on the island of Cebu and I did not have to worry about them. But Pip lived near Manila and I was concerned. So I tried a few searches and found a note about her. She was still around Manila. So on a lark, I looked on Facebook. Right away her picture popped up! It sure made me smile to see her face again. I clicked the ‘friend’ button and waited. I got her response in a few hours and she sent me a hello message.
It’s so nice to find a lost friend again.
She explained that someone she trusted betrayed her, so she went hermit and wiped out her online persona (mostly). She was sorry and promised never to vanish again, at least not without saying bye.
And now I will patiently wait to catch her on IM and chat again. We have always had fun conversations. She is a smart young lady and always fun to chat with, either online ot in person.

And I find it amusing how I have these good friends in far away places. Newport RI, Darwin, Cebu City, Manila. We are always happy to get letters from each other, keeping in touch. The hard part is knowing that I will probably never see them again. The odds of me getting back to the Philippine, much less Australia, are pretty slim.
Still, it’s nice to have these friendships.

A Gentleman, mostly.

2009-11-10T15:44:00.000-08:00

One of my friends(a sweet young thing) made a comment online about what other people might do when taking a bath. Being a gentleman, I only made a silly comment. Then some guy we know made a comment about her lathering herself up and singing ‘Loving you’, as her hands traveled down under. I was shocked he said that, for I never would.
And I really didn’t need that image, nor go down that slippery soap.
But there it is in my mind, her tawny, nubile body; and her slim fingers tracing circles through the white soapsuds…

A thoroughly delightful image. But of course, one that I would never share with her. Why ruin her image of me as a gentleman? She does not need to know about the ‘mostly’.

Righting -again

2009-10-30T23:05:00.000-07:00

More terrible puns of mine

“I won’t go into that optometrist shop.” She said. “They don’t carry this style anymore.”
“So, you won’t go there because you won’t get respect?”

They stood there, surveying their damaged house. The earthquake had totally destroyed it. She turned towards the makeshift shelter he had erected. It was just an army surplus canvas tent that he bought on sale two years ago.
The first storm of the season began to rain on them as his wife ducked into the shelter.
“This will never do!” She exclaimed. “There are holes everywhere and the wind blows right through.
He sighed and looked up at the clouds and said wearily. “Now is the winter of out discount tent.”

When the defendant came up for trial, the judge said. “We shall know the truth, and the shall set your fee.”

Then there was the guy who kept annoying this prostitute that hung out near his apartment. They arrested him of course, for disturbing the piece.

If a scientist copies another scientist genetically engineered disease and then releases it to infect people, would he be accused of plague-arism?

A gorgeous woman lies in a hospital, in the final stages of TB. As she hacks and coughs, one has to wonder if she can now be considered a Phlegm fatale?

In France, the race car drivers are all upset about health insurance. It seems that most companies are denying them coverage. They claim that the drivers have a Prix-existing condition.

In a small town out west, the train pulls into the station and one man gets off. As he walks down the main street, the towns people stop and stare, some pull children inside.
In front of one building stands an older man, black bag in his hands. Above him a sign reads, ‘Dr. Rawlings, Specialist in Rheumatoid arthritis’
The young man stops and Dr Rawlings looks him over. “So, you’re the new doctor? And an arthritis specialist? You might as well get back on the train young man. As I told you in my telegram, there isn’t Rheum enough in this town for the two of us.”

If a ghost leaves a smelly residue, would it be a poulter-gas?

“Pumas are very shy creatures with low self esteem and you don’t see them often.” The guide explained.
“Why is that?” The hunter asked.
“Well, as near as we can tell, as they are growing up, their mothers always tell them that they catamount to much.”

So, there is this group of lesbians sitting at an English pub. One of them is talking about her last relationship that went sour.
“You know, sometimes I don’t think there is a woman out there for me. Maybe I should try a man?”
Here friends are shocked, of course; but one of them supports her and says.
“What the heck, go for Bloke.”

Of course, if a gay man were to date women, he would be broadening his horizons!

As Grandpa used to say, “I’ve become a believer in old wives tails.”

“You know honey, I think that I was always meant to be your wife.”
“Well, I guess I’ve grown accustomed to your fate.”

Well, it seems that the triplet convention is not going to have their convention at Yosemite National Forest again. Everyone complained that they couldn’t see the forest for the three’s.

“Do you like deer?”
“I’m fawned of them.”

“I don’t like palm trees.” She declared, “Their leaves are so messy.”
“Your not frond of them?”

Limericks

2009-10-30T22:31:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my attempts at Limericks.
Elly was the only one who didn’t like hers.

A comely young lass named Trace
Kept her suitors at bay with mace.
But a man named Phil
Had a strong will,
and the marriage is soon to take place.

The was a young woman named Lois
Who pretended never to know us
For if she gave us strong drink
We’d throw up in her sink
And straight to the door she would show us

The was a young man named Matt
Who claimed to know where it was at
But when she darkened the room
He got lost in the gloom
And somehow molested the cat.

There once was a gal named Elly,
Who claimed that her feet weren’t smelly.
But it seemed her nose,
Lacked a gene to smell toes.
For their reek could turn a strong belly.

Miss Silver, whom we called Steph.
Had the boys all out of breath.
For try as they might,
from morning till night.,
they couldn’t find a word that rhymed with Silver.

Cousin, Cuisine

2009-10-18T20:14:00.001-07:00

A few months back, we had a little gathering at Auntie’s. There were several generations present and at one point someone tried to figure out the family tree of the cousins. I pointed out that the different generations were counted as ‘removals’. And that contrary to popular belief, ‘removal’ did not refer to how many times a person had been kicked out of the family.
“Then what’s a ‘kissing cousin’?” Someone asked.
“That’s a cousin you wouldn’t mind kissing.” I answered.
“Then what’s a second cousin?” Someone else asked.
“That’s a cousin that you wouldn’t mind having seconds of!”
A couple of guys laughed at that; WG just hit me on the arm.

The conversation was quickly changed to the weather and I almost brought up ‘relative humidity’; but I knew they would not want to hear about the time the cousin got moist.

Even silver linings have a cloud

2009-10-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

It’s the first rain of the season. Instead of the usual little storm with light rain, we are being pounded! High winds are making the rain blow sideways and half of our covered deck is wet.
We are safe inside, where it is warm; but silly Molly is on the back deck. It’s not that cold, but she is curled up on the wicker love seat, shivering. She won’t come in because WG was mean to her. WG baked cookies today; snicker-doodles.
Late last year, we bought a new oven. It has a fancy electronic control panel that beeps when you turn on the oven. The first time we used it was to bake a roast. Some fat splattered out, burned and set off the smoke alarm.
Molly did not like the scream of the smoke alarm and she made for the back door and stood there trembling. We let her out and she would not come in for hours!
So now, every time we turn on the oven, the beep warns Molly and she goes to the back door, waiting to be let out. She will not come in until the oven has been off for a while.
Silly dog.
And I have home made cookies!

I’m ready

2009-10-05T21:29:00.000-07:00

Here are two interesting items from my dad’s collection, a 1943 copy of the Aeronautics Aircraft Spotters Handbook and a U.S. Navy Anti-aircraft Range Indicator. (made by the A.C. Gilbert Co. The same company that made Erector Sets! You wonder what toy makers did during WWII? They made toys for the military.)

Study the book. Recognize the approaching plane. Hold the Range Indicator two feet from your eye. Turn the dial until the two center wires match the wingtips. Call out the range to the gunners and watch them try to blow the bastard out of the sky.

So if those pesky Krauts ever decide to launch their He-111’s or Ju-88’s across the channel again, I’ll be ready.

I think they should be kept as a set.

The Duration

2009-10-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

One of the fun things about listening to old radio shows is that you get a feel for the times. Besides the information in the story you listen to, there are the commercials. Where the story is fiction, the commercials reflect reality.
And you find that the problems and solutions from sixty years ago are not very different from today.

This is very apparent when listening to the Signal Oil program, ‘The Whistler’. I have just finished listening to the episodes from the early forties and the main topic for the commercials is how to get through ‘The Duration’. The Duration was how long WWII was to last. Because everything was needed for the war effort, there were many things that were rationed and some things you could not buy.
I don’t think new cars were being built. Tires and gasoline were rationed.

So your car had to last for ‘The Duration’ and you had to take car of your car. Change the oil every 1,000 miles, have your tires checked for nicks and cuts. (so you can get them recapped)
The amusing thing I have found was the advice on saving gas. Last summer, people complained about the high price of gasoline. During WWII, because gas was rationed, if you ran out of ration stamps, you could not buy any more. (okay, there was the black market.)
Sixty years ago, the advice to save gas was the same as it is today.
Slow starts.
Keep you tires properly inflated.
Keep the car tuned up.
Car pool.

And buy Signal Gasoline. The ‘go farther’ gasoline.

The Beagle at Night

2009-09-29T19:52:00.001-07:00

Two days a week, I walk Molly the beagle by myself. So on those mornings I put on my headphones and listen to an old radio show. It works well for the show is just a half hour, as is the walk.
It’s the same opening whistle and introduction every time and I have memorized it.
I realize that almost no one knows of the show today. It is so before anyone’s time that I can steal from it. Gosh, I can cheat and be semi-clever.

So as I watch Molly as she sniffs her way along the sidewalk, investigating things unseen, I bend the old intro to fit the little dog.

I am the Beagle and I know many things, for I stalk by night.
I know many strange tails, many secrets hidden in the shadows of the shrubs and bushes in my backyard.
Yes, I know the nameless creatures that you dare not seek!

With a Throaty Laugh

2009-09-29T19:32:00.000-07:00

For even a man who’s plain of face
and sleeps alone at night.
Can have a comely lass
climb through his bedroom window,
when the moon is full and bright.

Now I can’t say for sure if she was a werewolf; but by the way she attacked my neck, I knew she was a liken-throat.

(Sorry Lawrence Talbot)

Running low

2009-09-06T20:45:00.000-07:00

Looks like I only have a pint or so left of my agricultural Chlordane. It keeps the termites away from the foundation and the cockroaches from coming over from the school next door. Mix up 1.5 ounces, spray around the house once a year. However, with a beagle that eats everything, I am limited to where I can spray the stuff.

Maybe eight years of protection left. I wonder if the stuff is still potent?

Albany street sign

2009-09-06T20:33:00.001-07:00

I don't know, I always thought a Speed Hump was just another name for a Quickie.

Dog Walk Observations

2009-08-31T17:27:00.001-07:00

Dog Walk One
Molly the female,
Leaves awful long p-mail.

Dog Walk Two
As we walk down the street,
it seems every few feet,
he has to Twitter and Tweet.
Tommy-dog, don’t wet your feet!

Dog Walk Three
And we won’t speak of dog,
when they blog.

Immoral quandary

2009-08-25T22:52:00.000-07:00

Just for fun, I used to read the personals. Sometimes it was interesting and I have gotten a few story ideas from them. The most interesting are the ‘missed connections’. Times when someone sees a person who is interesting, but lacks the ‘something’ to approach the person, so they post an ad in the local paper. Almost like putting a message in a bottle and throwing it into the ocean.
And now we have CL, where people can post ‘missed connections’ quickly and for free.
It is interesting the number of people who post that they wished they would be some ones ‘missed connection’. Sure, I understand that. A little anonymous ‘I think you’re cute.’, might life a person’s spirits, especially if they can imagine the person is not a creep.

So I was rather surprised to read one and realize that I knew whom the MC posting was about.
(I’ll remove the telltales) I quote-
“I see you at least once a week. You have the coolest store in town and you are such a sweet heart. You always seem to have a song in your heart and a dance in your step. Your eyes are intoxicating and I just wonder, could you be happy with someone half your age? I am available, are you?

I know the shopkeeper and do business with him on occasion; hence the quandary. My first thought was to email him about the posting. I mean, who would not like the idea of some young thing thinking they’re attractive. But what if he shares his email with his wife?
Then I thought of telling him the next time I visit the shop, but although I don’t think that he would snap at the bait of a young lass half his age; I see no reason to give him the slightest encouragement to misbehave.
So I’ll just be quiet.

Hidden Treasures

2009-08-22T21:53:00.001-07:00

Just as we were finishing up the garage sale at Step mothers, I happened to go to the back of the garage, move a box and shine a flashlight under the house.
I saw more boxes of stuff tucked into the inky shadows of the dimly lit crawl space.

We had just finished two days of selling off stuff and junque and now I found more! With a sigh, I climbed onto the foundation wall and started crawling under the house.
The dirt was damp, as usual in the hills of the Bay Area. The first thing I found was a box of magazines that has fallen off the foundation and onto the damp earth. I do not know how long it had sat on the dirt, but it was a moldy disintegrating mess.
I did find one intact magazine, a 1954 copy of Planet Stories! (see pic) The cover depicts 'The strangely beautiful Xintel of the blue-brown skin.'

Notice the classic, cliché cover. A young, nubile woman (missing her top!) being menaced by (male) aliens. I have carefully dried the magazine and will carefully read it. The pulps of the fifties were printed on cheap paper.

Two other boxes held real junk and that was quickly disposed of. But the last two boxes held some strange lab equipment. (see pic)

These ‘flasks’ were wrapped in newspaper from 1959! They don’t say ‘Pyrex’ on them, so you can’t heat them.
With a round bottom, they can’t stand up. I think they were mounted on a stand and they were used to pipe gases through a liquid.
But since I am not a chemist, it’s only a guess.
I have no idea what to do with them. They are lousy vases, since the bottom is rounded. My friend said I do a ‘ship in a bottle’, but that does not interest me.
I’ll think of something.

The Camel Tow Takes a Walk

2009-08-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

It is a strange time, that twenty minutes or so, after I first wake up. Not truly awake or alert and my mind is not crowded with thinking. This is the time when errant thoughts bounce around my head like random bouncing balls in a pinball machine.
And sometimes, just by chance, some odd words collide and form a pun. Then the wild pun bounces around, looking for the setup. Sometimes the setup forms right away and at other times I have to mull it over.
It’s like the classic story, ‘A Camel Takes A Walk’. I have to trace out the tiger, the monkey, the squirrel and the bird. Get each piece lined up, ready for the camel to come down the path to the watering hole.
Sometimes the camel never starts down the path and at other times, she turns back half way and occasionally, I have to tow the camel down the path.
And the pun just sits there in my brain, waiting for the camel.

About two years ago, our good friend DT, fell ill with a staph infection. (Not a staff infection, which is another pun. But I digress.)
He ended up hospitalized after the infection got into his bloodstream. It was touch and go for a little while, but the massive infusion of antibiotics eventually got the infection under control and he began to recover. We went to visit him in the hospital and he was feeling better and was wondering when he could go home. He was still battling the infection, but the worst was over and the fever was dropping. He pulled back the sheets to show us his black toes.
What can happen with a staph infection is the flora clumps, breaks loose and travels through the bloodstream. Since the capillaries in the toes (and hands) are very small, the clumps of bacteria get stuck in the small capillaries and restrict the blood flow. This can cause the toes or fingers to die. (And the tiger lines up, the monkey is set, the camel is coming down the path, with no help from me.)
DT said that for a while they thought they might have to amputate two of his toes, but that he was recovering well and they were sure they could save them.
I turned to his wife and said. “That’s good news, because everyone knows, you’re lack toes intolerant!”

Yes, she whacked me on the arm.

I have waited five years for that setup and the pun to be used. And the best part was, I didn’t have to guide the camel down the path.

I have others and my wife lives in fear.

A Strange Tail, part 2

2009-08-05T21:03:00.000-07:00

A Strange Tail, pt 2
By GW Hogg
(For the Night Creatures)
©4-20-09

Prologue: When we last saw young Willow and her Amber Band, they had just left G’Wog’s village. Their quest was to find a certain object in the nearby ruins of an old castle. Willow and her band are aligned with the Horde, against the Alliance, in a seemingly endless civil war. The Horde is also considered to be aligned with evil, but as we know, who is what in a civil war is usually determined by the victor.

Chapter Two
Red slammed the iron bound door behind them, picked up an old sword off the floor and used it to brace the door. “That will hold for a moment or two.”
The rest of the Amber Band, now numbering only six, spread into the dark altar room. Willow held her torch up high and carefully looked the room over. In the dim light from their flickering torches she could see the reddish-brown stains splashed on the walls and furnishings. Low, half rotted cabinets lined the left wall and empty shelves lined the right one. A tattered tapestry hung from the wall behind the altar. Without counting, she knew that there was over a dozen skulls scattered on the floor, some oddly misshapen. Bones, weapons, armor and bits of decayed cloth littered the floor. The altar in front of her was thick with old dried blood and the stench of decay hung in the air, despite the apparent age of the bones on the floor.
“Be careful with what booty you find. Magic is thick here and I won’t be able to check what you find.” She warned her friends.
As she walked up to the altar, she knew the object they were searching for was here, for she could feel it. She circled the stone altar, examining it carefully. It was simple, one large block of stone, set on top of two blocks, set on three blocks. There were carved figures on the front and back; these she studied carefully, along with any runes she could see.
She could decipher nothing from the runes, nor the carved figures. She walked around the altar again, studying it.
“We don’t have much time.” J’De said to her.
She nodded in answer while she studied the altar. The object they came for must be in the altar, for she could sense it, but she could see no way to open the altar. She pulled out her slim dagger and lightly rapped on the stones with the hilt. There was a hollow sound in the middle, but no opening.
She hunkered down at the back of the altar and held her torch close to it. It was then that she noticed what looked like a small crack. She scraped at the encrusted blood revealing a small slit in the stone. Her dagger was too thick and she was puzzled as what to use, then she remembered the small dagger she got from the dead Goblin. She opened the pouch tied to her waist and removed the small dagger. What was an ordinary looking dagger in the daylight now glowed red. She unsheathed it and slid it easily into the slit until she heard a soft ‘click’. Willow quickly stood and pushed on the top stone; it pivoted to one side, revealing a small round hole. She peered inside and could see a small figurine a dozen centimeters down in the hole. Excited, she almost thrust her hand into opening, but paused. This was too easy. She turned to J’De. “Bring me that arm of the lycanthrope you killed. Mind the blood!”
When they first entered the room, there was a lycanthrope waiting for them. They can be hard to kill, but J’De cut off its head with one sure stroke of his broadsword. The next few strokes took off an arm and a leg. The body flopped around on the floor for a few moments, but now headless, it died quickly.
J’De bent down and skewered the arm of the lycanthrope with his dagger and gingerly brought it over to his woman.
“Lower the hand into that hole, please.”
As he did so, there was movement in the hole and pieces of the monsters fingers were neatly sliced off.
“Damn!” Willow exclaimed. “This will be harder than I thought.”
J’De tossed the arm away and sheathed his dagger. “Let me try the Goblin’s dagger.” Willow nodded and stepped to one side. J’De pulled the dagger out of the altar and slowly inserted it into the hole. When he pulled it out, the tip was also neatly sliced off. He backed away, shaking his head. He handed the now pointless dagger to Willow. She sheathed it and put it back into her pouch.
Willow pondered her next move. “Okay. I will need quiet while I concentrate.”
The rest of the band stopped their plundering and waited. Willow stood over the altar, positioned her hands over the hole and began her spell. With careful finger movements and precise words, she wove her spell until two thin tendrils of blue light emerged from her fingertips. She brought them together until they formed a loop and then lowered the loop into the hole. As she lowered her hands, she watched carefully to keep the joined tendrils away from the sides.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she lowered the loop over the head of the figurine. Her hands began to shake as she pulled the loop tight and slowly raised her arms. She had only used this spell twice before and then only to lift a silver coin. This object was much heavier and she felt it slipping through the tendrils.
Slowly the object emerged and she could see it was the figure of a small rabbit sitting on its hind legs. Rabbits are considered cute, but this one had a nasty scowl on its face.
When it was completely out of the hole, J’De grabbed it. She released the spell and would have fallen over, if not for her man grabbing her arm and steadying her.
He handed her the idol and she immediately felt power and strength flowing into her. It felt wonderful! Like cold water to a man dying of thirst. She could feel the power of the room and as she extended her senses outwards, she could feel things stirring in the castle, evil things that had been dormant for decades!
Suddenly aware of the danger, she pushed the idol into her bag and turned to the band. “We have to go. Now!”
The band could sense her urgency and they didn’t argue. Red kicked away the sword bracing the door and slowly opened it. There were no surprises waiting for them. He thrust his torch out before him and cautiously poked his head out. After scanning both directions he turned back to the room. “Looks clear.”
They filed out of the room. J’De took the lead, Willow in the center and G’cia taking up the rear. Everyone was alert, for even though they had little magic ability, they all could feel a change in the castle.
Red peered over the railing on their right, but it was too dim to see to the foyer floor far below. They had two flights of stairs to descend and it would help if they knew what waited for them.
“There is something behind us!” Shouted G’cia.
Willow looked back, but could only see vague shadows. Everyone began to run for the stairs and Willow quickly wove a spell for a small fireball, more for light than anything else. As they reached the head of the stairs, Willow turned and released the fireball. It flew into the shadows and exploded against something that was once a man.
“Zombies!” Willow exclaimed, for she could see four or five more behind the one she hit. The front one’s clothes were afire, but it didn’t stop. “I hate zombies!” She muttered as she turned and went down the dark stairs. ‘At least they are slow.’ She thought to herself.
They hurried down the stairs. J’De stumbled over something, but one of the men caught his arm and steadied him. At the first landing, someone threw his torch down into the dark foyer. They all paused for a moment when the torch hit the stone floor with a shower of sparks. Every one scanned the area below, but nothing was down there waiting for them.
Just as they turned to go, there was a horrible screech and a huge harpy swooped out of the darkness above them. As it flew over G’Cia, it sunk its claws into his shoulders. With a tremendous effort, it pulled him up into the air and out over the foyer.
Despite the stench left by the harpy, three daggers flew through the air. One missed, but the other two stuck into the harpy’s right wing. The harpy screeched out several words that even J’De would never say, but continued flying. The next thing that hit the harpy was a fireball and it blasted away most of its left wing. Unable to stay airborne and on fire, the harpy spiraled down.
G’Cia was madly thrusting his torch at the rank harpy when they landed in a giant spider web that was stretched out over part of the foyer. As both the harpy and G’Cia struggled in the sticky web, two giant black spiders scuttled out onto the web. Two more daggers flew from the band, but each missed their target. Willow quickly wove another fireball spell, but it was too late. One of the spiders landed on G’Cia and sunk its long fangs into his chest. His struggles slowed, then stopped. The other spider had attacked the harpy, but its poison was not as effective. The second spider scuttled over and joined the fracas.
Despite each loosing some legs, the spiders prevailed and the harpy stopped moving.

“We can’t leave him there.” Red said as the rest of the band stood in shock. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
“Yes.” J’De answered. “But we can’t save him. There is no antidote or spell against the spiders’ venom.”
“But they’ll lay their eggs in him! We can’t let that happen!”
“No, and we won’t!” Willow proclaimed as she released a huge fireball.
Her aim was true and the fireball hit the paralyzed G’Cia square in the chest. Most of him was immediately incinerated, as was the web and his remains fell to the dark floor below.
Every one else stood there stunned, until J’De cried out. “Let’s move! The zombies are almost upon us!”
A quick glance behind them revealed the zombies slowly coming down the stairs. As one, they all turned and fled down the stairs to the foyer.

As they fled across the foyer, they could hear things coming into the room. They ran to the main door and as a group, struggled to push the heavy oak door open. There was a great grinding of rusty metal and the door opened just enough for them to squeeze through.
They burst forth into courtyard, blinking from the harsh light of the sun. As they ran to the main gate, Willow fought to blink back her tears. Her mind told her that what she had done was necessary, but her heart was saddened.
Red glanced back as he heard the oak door screech open. A dozen creatures spewed forth, giant salamanders, the two huge spiders, more zombies and things he couldn’t name.
“Don’t look back, just hurry!” He shouted.
As they ran under the main arch, Red turned and cut one of the ropes holding the portcullis open. The sudden added weight to the other rope caused it to start shredding. They could all hear the snapping of the rope and the squeal of the iron portcullis as it slipped lower.
They made it through and were halfway across the drawbridge when they heard the portcullis slam down. They turned and could see one of the giant salamanders impaled by the spikes on the bottom of portcullis. The other creatures were trapped behind it and the band was safe for the moment. Then the creatures moved to one side and a huge troll lumbered up to the portcullis, grabbed it with his massive hands and slowly began to lift it.
Willow turned to her band. “Run!” She commanded.
Once off the drawbridge, Willow turned back and began the intricate process of casting another spell. Everyone but J’De continued to run towards the low hills. He recognized Willows’ stance and knew that he was still needed.
As Willow raised her arms and chanted the spell, she moved her hands precisely. There was no room for error if she was going to save her band.
The portcullis was raised just enough and a salamander wiggled under and scrambled to the drawbridge. Willow shouted the last part of the spell and brought her hands down sharply.
Out of the clear blue sky, two huge bolts of yellow lightning hurtled down and smashed into the middle of drawbridge, splintering it. As the burning ends dropped into the moat, the salamander tumbled into the water. When it broke the surface, it tried to scramble back onto the shattered drawbridge. It barely had its front feet on the wood when a huge scaly head burst from fetid green water, sank its long teeth into the salamander and pulled it underwater.
Willow, exhausted from the spell, turned away, took one step and then collapsed into her man.
J’De knew Willow could barely handle the lightning spell and was ready for her. As she collapsed into him, he bent down to let her fall onto his shoulder. He pushed her legs up slightly, until she was slung over his shoulders, then he straightened. Even with her light armor she was not very heavy. He turned and ran after his men.

At the top of a small row of hills, Red, A’Bulo, B’Don stood watching while J’De caught up to them.
“Nothing is following us.”
“How is she?”
“Okay, but getting heavy.”
“Let me take her for a while.”
B’Don stepped forward and J’De shifted the unconscious Willow onto his shoulder.
“She seems light enough.”
“Then let’s move. We’re burning daylight.”

Each took their turn carrying Willow and by the time the sun was setting they had reached the small clearing where they had camped the day before and left their packs hanging from a tree.
While A’Bulo shinnied up the tree to untie the packs, Red helped J’De carry the still unconscious Willow over to another tree. They would make camp here and try to sleep. They all knew that Willow just needed rest, but they were afraid there would not be time.
While the rest of the band made camp and divided up what was in the now extra packs, J’De pondered what to do. Something might make it across the moat and they were not far enough from the castle. In the morning, if they were still carrying Willow, they would be hard pressed to defend themselves. Then J’De remembered the idol and its effect on Willow after she used the grabbing spell. He reached into her bag and pulled the idol out.
It was a small thing and fit easily in his hand. He could tell it was solid gold, from the weight; but with rubies for eyes and a mean expression on its face, it unnerved him. He carefully placed it in Willow’s hand and her fingers wrapped around it. A moment later, her eyes fluttered opened and she smiled at him.
“How long was I out?”
“Just a few hours, my love.”
She smiled at him again and luxuriated in the power flowing into her from the idol. As her strength returned, so did her senses. She became aware of the amulet hanging from J’De’s neck, the little curse on Red and the special sword that B’Don carried. When her senses swept over the pack that A’Bulo had carried from the castle, she suddenly felt a darkness.
“Help me up, please.” And she reached her arm out to her man. He pulled her up, steadied her for a moment and then released her.
“I’m okay now, thanks; but there is something wrong. Come.” She walked over to the pack and the rest of the band gathered around her.
“What’s in there?” She asked.
“Just the loot from the castle.” Red answered. “We haven’t had a chance to look at the stuff yet.”
“Don’t. There is evil in there. Things that none of us should touch!”
“What then?”
“We need to get rid of it. I fear that if anything gets out of the castle, this will draw it to us.”
“I’ll get rid of it.” A’bulo said, stepping forward. He lifted it by its straps and turned to the North. “I’ll be back soon.” And he loped off into the woods.

Willow was still holding the idol and despite the effect on her, knew she needed to release it. She stuffed it back into her pouch. That was the problem with holding something so powerful, it became addicting. She knew some of the history of it and how it eventually took control of the wielder. She was a powerful mage, especially for her age, but she was wise enough to know the idol would eventually control her.

A’Bulo returned well after the sun had set. They ate a quick meal, divided up the watches and went to sleep.

Willow had the last watch and as the sky began to lighten, she removed her detection spell from around the camp and began to wake the others.
They were quiet as they broke camp and prepared for the march back to the village. Losing two of the band yesterday weighed on their minds, as did having to throw away their plunder. Willow walked to the edge of the camp and extended her senses, feeling for trouble. She could perceive nothing, so she carefully removed the idol and grasped it tightly in her hand.
With the added power of the idol, she could sense the loot that A’bulo had disposed of the night before. She focused her attention towards the castle and could easily sense it in the distance. Ignoring the castle, she scanned the area between her and the castle. There was nothing there, but something was wrong. She scanned the area again and suddenly knew what was wrong! There was an area of nothing. A large black void and it was moving towards them.
She hurriedly stuffed the idol back into the bag and turned to her men. “Some thing is coming. Something we never want to face!”
The men quickly slung their packs onto their shoulders and J’De helped Willow with hers. “How fast is it moving?”
“Fast enough that it will catch us if we dawdle!”
Red was the slowest runner, so he set the pace as they loped off into the trees.

Chapter Three.

Seemingly half-man and half-warthog, G’Wog stood in the grassy area a hundred meters from the villages’ North gate. At two meters tall, he dwarfed the four other villagers standing next to him. His small tail, with its little tuft of hair, twitched nervously. “They are coming.” He stated.
“How soon?” L’Yaw asked. G’Wog looked into the distance and then turned to her. She was a pretty young thing and well proportioned. Though few people realized that her smooth curves hid a well-muscled body, when her full lips smiled a certain way and her eyes flashed a warning, men knew it was dangerous to trifle with her.
“Maybe fifteen minutes.”
L’Yaw pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it into the bow that was as tall as she was. The two guardsmen cocked their crossbows and nocked bolts also.
G’Wog turned back and studied the hills in the distance. L’Yaw and the others saw his hands gesturing and heard him muttering something. They knew to wait.
His face seemed to darken and he cursed in a language they didn’t know. “Something is following them! Something dark and evil!” He turned to his left and addressed the chief of his small village. “L’Shrim. Be a dear and go tell A’Gee that her services as a healer will be needed. Then please hurry back, we will need you at the gate.”
The young woman he addressed knew they were in trouble. His use of ‘dear’ underscored the seriousness of the situation. Though she had only been their chief for a year, she had quickly earned everyone’s respect by the wisdom of her decisions. The fact that her pretty face hid a quick temper had surprised many.
“Right away!” She said as she turned and ran back to the village.
G’Wog allowed himself a small smile as he watched her run towards the North gate. The man she was destined for could not ask for a more attractive woman. To also get one of such intelligence would make him the envy of many.

The Amber Band crested the last hill and could see the little village below. They could feel the dark void behind them and it was getting ever closer. Unless they increased their speed, they all knew that they would never make it.
Without pausing, they sped down the hill. Red was the first one to shuck off his pack and the rest of the band quickly emulated him. Willow was faster than them all, but she kept pace with her man for her place was always at his side. In the distance she could see G’Wog and three others waiting for them. A moment later a young woman walked into the open gate and planted herself in the middle, blocking it. When Willow glanced at her again, she had a staff in her hands with a brilliant glowing crystal on one end.

They were twenty meters away from apparent safety when they heard Red scream from behind them. As one, they stopped and turned.
Red was held high in the air by something they couldn’t see. They heard someone bellow, “Run!” from behind them, but they were frozen by the tableau before them. Red was thrashing in mid-air and one of his arms had been torn off. Before they could move to help him, his other arm was ripped off. Red screamed again.
“Run you stupid fools!”
Willow glanced behind her and G’Wog was frantically waving at them to keep running. Willow turned back just in time to see Red’s head ripped from his torso. Stunned, the band was frozen to the spot.
A fireball erupted in front of them, breaking the spell.
“Run you miserable bastards!” That got their attention and they turned and ran towards the village.
They were breathless when they got to G’Wog and the villagers.
“Get behind us. Now!” G’Wog bellowed.
“The barrier!” Willow gasped.
“It’s no good.” G’Wog shouted. “It’s just an illusion!”
Willow looked back where they had come from, but she could only see Red’s lifeless body lying in the grass. Despite her exhaustion, she started a fireball spell.
“That will be of no use.” G’Wog yelled at her. “Where is the knife?”
“Knife?”
“Stupid little girl! The knife I told you to leave in the castle!”
Shocked, she fumbled the little knife out of her sack and unsheathed it.
“Throw it at the creature! It will slow it down!”
“I…I don’t see anything!” She cried out, frustrated by being yelled at.
“Feather it!” G’Wog yelled.
There were simultaneous twangs and two bolts and a long arrow flew through the air. The bolts never stopped, but the arrow hit its mark and stuck there, quivering in midair.
There was a queer warbling scream from the thing out there. “Again.” He shouted and turned to Willow. “Can you hit it now?”
Willow aimed for the arrow and threw the small knife with all her might, but she was exhausted and the knife landed harmlessly in the grass.
The archer faired better and her arrow struck true, just under first arrow. The two crossbowmen were still fumbling to ready their weapons.
Willow finished her strongest fireball spell and hurled the crimson ball of flame right at where the arrows were. It struck just above them and vanished.
“You can’t hurt a void with magic, it only absorbs it!” G’Wog yelled as he drew the small flat piece of wood from his belt.
Willow looked back at the nothingness and saw the small knife rise from the ground. She pulled out her rapier and set her feet, ready for the attack. She heard the sounds of her band pulling out their swords and wondered if they would be effective.
“Wait here!” G’Wog commanded and as he stepped forward, he held the piece of wood up high and said a word in the old tongue.
Strange runes glowed on the stick for a moment and it suddenly elongated and became a quarterstaff as thick around as Willows arm. With a bellow, G’Wog sprang forward and raced towards the knife and arrows floating in the air.

As he passed where the invisible barrier was, Willow let out a gasp. For what had been half man and half warthog, suddenly became a huge shambling creature seemingly made from moss, mud, leaves and sticks.
“A Shambling Mound!” Someone gasped.
“A Swamp Thing!” Someone else said.
Willow suddenly understood what the barrier was for.

G’Wog swung his massive quarterstaff, but the change in his shape slowed him and he missed the creature. As he pivoted around, he saw the knife come up. Too slow now, he couldn’t dodge it and he felt it slice into his face.
The pain was incredible and he bellowed in his rage. As the knife came up again, he twirled the staff and knocked it to one side. Before the creature could strike again, he rammed one end of his staff into it, just below an arrow. There was that queer scream again and the knife paused. G’Wog spun the staff over his head and smashed it down on top of the unseen creature. There was a tremendous crack and as he spun around for the next blow, he bellowed a word of power.
When the staff hit the creature, the resulting shockwave knocked everyone off their feet. As they scrambled back up, they could see G’Wog on his knees holding the knife up high. Then he plunged it down into the creature.
Slowly, painfully, G’Wog used the staff to pull himself to his feet. Green blood poured from the gash in his face and he could barely see out of one eye. Something was eating into him and he knew he needed to get to a healer quickly. He stumbled back towards the village and collapsed just as he crossed the barrier.

L’Yaw was the first to his side and was shocked to see the damage to her friend. One side of his huge face was cut open and the angry red sides were quickly turning black. A moment later, Willow was kneeling next to her. She gasped as she saw the blood and pus running from the wound. The wound was so deep that she saw the white of his jawbone! While L’yaw yelled at someone, Willow wove the only healing spell she knew. When she cast it, she was not surprised that it seemed to have no effect. She felt the evil poison that was consuming her friend and mentor, but was at a loss as to what to do. She turned to yell for help and saw the young woman from the gate racing towards them. Behind her, four stout men were following with a huge litter. She turned back to G’Wog and suddenly had an inspiration. She grabbed the idol from her sack and with its power now flowing through her, she scanned the wound. Yes, she could now sense what was going on. She quickly wove a simple containment spell. As she released it, she controlled it with the help of the idol, shaped it over, under and around the wound. As she watched, the blackening of his skin hit the barrier she had cast and stopped.
“Move!” Someone commanded and Willow scrambled to her feet, but not before she picked up the small flat piece of wood that had been G’Wog’s quarterstaff. The stout men put the litter down next to her friend, and with great effort, lifted him onto it. The two guardsmen dropped their crossbows and ran over to help lift the litter. Once it was up, the six men started off towards the village in a trot.
Willow turned to follow but L’Yaw blocked her path. “Come, we must first check on the creature.” Willow followed her, as did everyone else.

There was nothing to see when they got there, except the arrows and the dagger seeming to float in midair.
L’Yaw turned to the other woman, “L’Shrim, what should we do?”
“I think...” Willow started to say, but L’Shrim flashed her a look that made her swallow what she was going to say.
The young woman with the staff studied the area carefully. “We need to keep others away and to know if this thing threatens the village.” She turned to Willow. “Can you make smoke, or fog?”
Willow harrumphed. “Any first level…” But L’Shrim cut her off. “ Please cast it over the area and let it sink slowly to the ground.”
Willow was annoyed at being treated in such a way, but she bit her tongue and cast the spell.

The smoke cloud formed from her fingertips and floated away until it was over the arrows, then settled slowly down.
For just a moment, they could see the vague outline of the huge misshapen creature, then the smoke was absorbed.
“Well done.” L’Shrim commented, then moved closer to where the creature lay. She held the crystal end of her staff over the creature and muttered a few words.
From the crystal, a pale blue light shimmered forth and formed a dome that enveloped where the creature lay. Satisfied, L’Shrim pulled her staff back. “That will keep people away and let me know if it rises again.” She whispered a word and the staff shrunk down until it was just a small, flat piece of wood. She slid it into her belt and turned to the others. “We have done all we can here. J’De, you and your men need to go collect your packs and your comrade. There are rooms waiting for you at the Prancing Horse Inn. I will take you to the small cemetery we have and help with the arrangements. L’Yaw, please take Willow to the healers house. She may be needed and she also needs to return the stick.”
“This way.” L’Yaw said and she motioned to Willow.

They were almost to the gate when Willow turned her head to address L’Yaw. “Who is she?”
“L’Shrim? She is our chief of the village.”
“A Woman?”
“You lead your band.”
“But that is different, my man and I lead.”
L’Yaw harrumphed. “I can see that you are the leader.”
Willow wisely chose not to argue the point and allowed herself to be led.

When they got to the healers house, L’Yaw left her and Willow hurried inside.
She was surprised find no one in the front room, but then she heard a noise to her right and hurried through the open door.
There were two beds pushed together and G’Wog lay stretched out of them. A short, slightly rounded woman was bending over her friend and she was muttering to herself.
“How is he?” Willow said. The woman turned to face her and Willow was surprise at how young she was. “Where is the Healer?”
“I am she.”
“But...but you can’t be! You are too young! Healers are always old crones! My friend needs help!”
Anger flashed on the healers face for just a moment, then a look of calm serenity replaced it. The healer suddenly seemed to fill the room with her presence. A wave of strong faith and goodness pushed into Willow, forcing her to step back. The symbol of her faith, hanging from the healers’ neck burst forth with a blinding white light. Eyes burning from the bright light and her stomach roiling from the gentle goodness that enveloped her, made Willow shut her eyes and she took a shuddering breath.
Then it was gone! She opened her eyes and the pretty young woman was smiling pleasantly at her.
“You must be Willow! Our friend has mentioned you.” She calmly walked forward and took Willows hand. “Come, you can help. I am A’Gee. You were the one that cast the containment spell? Very smart thinking on your part. Though I am afraid you healing spell was no match for the magic, it was a good idea. Come.”
Momentarily bewildered, Willow allowed herself to be led to the bedside. “How is he?” She finally stammered.
“He is okay for now. However, I need your help to cure him. Can you weave a containment vessel spell?”
“Yes. One to hold, say a Djinn?”
“Yes, that would be perfect! Now here is what we should do. Weave your spell and place the opening of the vessel here.” She indicated the top of G’Wogs’ head. Make a small opening in your containment spell there also. Then make a small opening here and I will force the evil magic out of him and into your vessel. Once that it sealed, you can remove the main spell and I can heal the nasty wound.
Willow nodded and reached for her leather sack.
“Oh, you won’t need that accursed item. Just take my hand.”
Willow took the offered hand and began her small spell. In moments, there appeared a small, clear vessel over G’Wog’s head. It floated down until it stopped just over the top the now blackened wound. Once it was firmly in place, she opened a small hole in her containment spell.
“Perfect. Now, just another small hole near the bottom.”
Willow did as she was told and for just a moment, she felt the evil she had contained. The evil magic seemed to flow towards the hole, but was stopped by a force emanating from A’Gee’s left hand. She moved her hand closer to the small, unseen opening and the darkness seemed to retreat. A’Gee’s pendant began to shine brightly and Willow felt the same force of faith and goodness flow to meet the evil darkness. The glare did not hurt Willow’s eyes this time and her stomach was calm. Willow watched in awe as the darkness retreated more. Soon, it began to flow into the vessel she had created. She felt the force against it and fought to strengthen it. The evil pushed hard and she knew she could not contain it. Her right hand moved to the sack that held the idol, but a look from A’Gee stopped her. A’Gee smiled and squeezed Willows hand and Willow felt a flood of power flow into her and strengthen her spell. It was so different from the power of the idol. No desire to control, no ties or bindings, just pure power. At the same time, she felt some of her own power flowing back to A’Gee, strengthening her also.
Willow glanced back to the wound and almost all the blackness was gone. And in the vessel, the darkness was drawn into a tight ball, no longer exerting any pressure.
When the last of the darkness slipped into the vessel, Willow sealed it. It began to float down and she grabbed it.
“What now?” She asked.
“Hold the vessel carefully and release the spell on our friend.”
Willow nodded and whispered the words that ended the spell.
“Now I can get to work.” A’Gee said as she released Willows hand. She held both hands over the wound and though she said no words, Willow could feel the effects.
The wound was still an angry red and there were flecks of green rot on the edges. As A’Gee passed her hands over the wound, the green faded and red slowly turned to the bright pink of healthy flesh. Satisfied, A’Gee ended the healing and grabbed her needle and thread. With quick, deft hands, she sewed up the wound. Next, she slathered a salve on it and covered it with a clean dressing.
She stepped back. “Done!” She pronounced.
“And very well!” Willow commented. “Will he have a scar?”
“Yes. The wound will heal, but since it is no longer a clean edge, it will scar.” She glanced at G’Wog. “Not that he will care, men love to brag about their scars.” And she rolled her eyes.
Willow let out a small chuckle.
“Come.” A’Gee said as she took Willows hand. “We are both tired from this ordeal. Put the bottle carefully in that iron pot and secure the lid. You can leave his stick there on the table. I’ll make us some tea. Do you like spice cake?”
The way Willows’ eyes lit up at the mention of sweets, told A’Gee that she had discovered Willows weakness.

Chapter Four

Seven days later, the four remaining members of the amber band stood well outside the South gate. They and a dozen stout men from the village had taken four days to carry the vanquished creature back to the castle and dumped it into the moat. Willow had stayed behind to look after her friend, who had recovered enough from his wound to give young Willow a few lessons.
A few moments later, A’Gee, L’Shrim and G’Wog joined them.
“We are ready to go, but we want to thank all of you for your help and hospitality.” J’De said as he extended his hand. G’Wog shook it and said. “You are missing one person.”
“Who?” Willow said, looking around.
A moment later, L’Yaw came through the gate. She was dressed in calf-high boots, doeskin trousers and a simple tunic. On her back was a quiver of arrows and small pack; her long bow was in her hands. She looked competent and ready for an adventure.
“I thought you might need a archer and since you are going my way, I hope you do not mind the company for a short time.” L’Yaw said as she joined them.
The band looked at one another and J’De nodded.
Willow ran over to her friend and gave him a big hug. “I shall miss your ugly face.” She said and smiled.
“I will miss you also, my slim friend.”
Willow smiled again and rejoined her band.
“Fare thee well.” G’Wog said as the band turned and headed off to deliver the idol to their master.

They watched until the band reached the trees, turned and waved to them, then disappeared into the forest.
“I wish I could go on an adventure with them.” A’Gee said.
“I need no adventures and besides, your place is here in the village, as is mine.” Answered L’Shrim. “At least we are not cursed with ‘Traveling feet’, like L’Yaw.”
G’Wog grinned, then winced.
“Your wound still bothering you? L’Shrim asked.
“Yes. I think A’Gee missed a spot with her healing.” He answered and smiled.
“I think you need a reminder to be more careful!” A’Gee answered and grinned mischievously.
They all laughed.
“L’Yaw will return, as always.” Said G’Wog. “Come, we have a village to care for.”
They turned as one, each pulling a small flat stick from their belts. Words were whispered and the runes on the sticks glowed for a moment and each became a walking staff. A’Gee’s had a simple silver cross, L’Shrim’s a shining crystal and G’Wog’s had the head of an ugly warthog.
As they walked back to their village, G’Wog wondered how L’Shrim would feel if she knew her destiny and happiness lay with a man in a far off land.

The End, (for now)

The other piece of the tale

2009-07-10T20:12:00.000-07:00

The other part of my fishing trip involves our dog Tommy, but first, the funny part.
When we got Molly last year, we liked to watch them play. Despite her being about three and Tommy about eleven, they did play. Molly used to run up to him, jump on his back, then start chewing on his ears and neck. Kinda reminded me of a young woman I once dated, but I digress.
As Tommy has gotten older, he plays with Molly less.

Two weeks before my fishing trip, Tommy suddenly started limping. His back legs seemed sore. We shortened the daily walk, but it got worse. So we took him to the vet and the vet gave him a shot of an NSAID and he got a little better. He had been on a low dose of aspirin and a gulcosamine powder for the winter, just to keep him limber during the cold months.
The steps off the back deck were short, with two eight inch drops. Tommy had difficulty going down and required help getting up. I built new steps that only dropped four inches and were two feet wide and a foot and a half deep. Tommy could manage them with only a little difficulty.
This worked for a week and then Tuesday morning Tommy could not get up. His back legs just didn’t work, he didn’t wag his tail and he wasn’t ticklish when you rubbed his tummy by his back legs. We suspected Molly had jumped on his back once too often, for there were times we heard him bark at her!
I rigged a sling to help get him up and walk him around, but he didn’t get better. Thursday morning I took him in to the vet again. It was obvious from the pinch tests, that Tommy had little or no feeling in his back end. However, he still had bladder and poop control. The vet gave me several options. The vet said that at Tommy’s age, it could be a number of things; a growth on his spine, an injury, arthritis or a degenerating vertebra. Sure, we could have X-rays taken, go see a specialist, spend lots of money to find out that there really isn’t much that they could do. Sure, if he was just a few years old, it might be worth it. But Tommy is an old dog.
I opted for another shot of a stronger NSAID, watch him and look up where to buy a doggy wheelchair, or make one.
For Tommy was still a happy dog. Wanted to go for his walks, patrolled the yard, barked at strangers and most importantly, did not appear to be in pain. But it was tough to watch him drag his butt around the room.
I was to leave for my fishing trip the next morning.

I got up early for my fishing trip, dreading leaving Tommy and also leaving WG to take care of him if things got worse. We didn’t talk much about what to do if he got worse, no one likes to talk about that!
But Tommy got himself up, and with the help of the sling, I got him outside to do his business. He seemed a little better, but I worried. The guys arrived and I gave Tommy an extra goodbye.
Five hours later, we were at Chester and I called WG, because the campsite had no cell phone coverage.
Tommy was doing better. He could get up and walk a little, but he still needed the sling to help him stay up.

It was nice being isolated at the campsite, but I worried. For I have always been the one to do the final caretaking of our dogs. The first time, with Celeste, WG and our son went with us, but WG just couldn’t stay and our son eventually had to leave also.
For our last dog Barney, I just went myself.
It’s tough to sit there next to your dog, waiting for the vet to give him the last shot. You pet your dog and he looks at you, trusting you to take care of him, you nod to the vet and the needle slides in, the plunger goes down. Slowly, the eyes seem to cloud over and his breathing slows, then stops.
I was not sure how I managed to make it out of there, nor drive home. Everybody Hurts by REM was on the radio and all the road signs were fuzzy.

So as I tried to fish and joke with the guys, but a pallor hung over the trip. I went through town once on Sunday and my cell phone said there were no messages. I was glad, hopeful, but could not bear to call.

On Monday, we headed home. I called WG when we passed through town and Tommy was much better. He no longer needed to use the sling, but still had trouble getting around.
I almost cried when I got home and Tommy met me at the door.

Several times since then, WG and I have talked a little about it. We both knew what might have to be done, if Tommy didn’t get better, but neither of us could say it at the time.

Tommy loves his walks and knows when they are. He knows when we are getting ready, no matter how we hide what we are doing. He knows when we take Molly without him.
A week later, I took him for his first walk. Walk to the next house, turn around, walk back. Several days later, two houses; then three. Bit by bit, slow progress.

It has been about seven weeks now and I take him and Molly for walk first thing in the morning. The same old routine that Tommy expects.
Only for one block and it is a short one. We have kept his weight down and he seems to be his old self again. A little limpy at times, but he is old. We take Molly for a separate, longer walk and Tommy knows.

We figure he will be about twelve in September and as long as we can keep Molly from jumping on him, I think he will last many more years.

A piece of tail

2009-07-09T22:48:00.000-07:00

At the end of May, the guys and I went on our annual fishing trip to Northern California. Now we always joke that there are no girls allowed, or that it is an estrogen free zone; but the truth of the matter is, that most women just don’t want to come.
No showers for four days, pit toilets that never smell good and no shopping. Just not a girl’s idea of fun.
And that’s okay.
The camp broke into two groups. The younger, noisy guys in their twenties and the older guys who aren’t going to stay up late partying and drinking (as much). Friday afternoon was just spent getting the camp set up and since the fishing season did not open for the creek next to the camp until Saturday; we drove to another creek and practiced fishing there.
A few hours later, we got back to camp and had a nice leisurely dinner. I had caught one fish, a small 9 incher.
We had been hearing strange noises from the next campsite and as we made dinner and ate it, we watched. There were girls in the next campsite.
Not your ordinary girls, it turns out, but six twelve to fourteen year olds. Yes, a gaggle of giggles.
While us older guys toned it down a little, we warned the younger guys to watch their language a little. No, it did not help much.
You could hear the girls giggling long into the night. The rest of the weekend was going to be fun.
Early Saturday morning, Fishing Buddy’s wife arrived with their son(T1) and his friend(T2). And the fun really began, for they are almost fourteen.
Oh yes, the gaggle spotted them right away, for they are good looking boys. A lot of the fun was just watching the girls watch the boys, watching the girls. Oh yes, we teased the boys. ‘Go talk to them. The one in yellow looks kinda cute, and she has been watching you.’ Stuff like that. T2 said he wasn’t interested because he had a girl friend. I asked him, if that was so, then why was he always combing his hair? He just smiled.
The outhouses and the trash cans were just passed our camp, so the gaggle of giggles had to pass us to use them.
The girls always seemed to need to use the outhouse, or they had to dump the trash. Amusing, isn’t it, how it takes four girls to throw away a bottle. Then fifteen minutes later, two other girls had to throw away a bottle.
The boys were shy, and despite us older guys teasing them and telling them what they should do; ‘after all, it’s just the weekend T2 and your girl will never know if you steal a kiss’; but also we remember being young and shy.
‘Dudes, just go over and talk to them. You don’t have top choose which one you like, they will choose for you!’ “Dudes, it’s like shouting fish in a barrel!’

Saturday morning and we start fishing the creek. Most of the good spots were filled, so I tried a few odd places with no luck. I didn’t want my line tangled with others and I like my solitude while I fish.
I found a little spot between some bushes with just enough room to cast my line. The river wasn’t running too fast, so I could cast out my line and let the salmon egg bait just bounce down the creek and flow under the bushes that hung over the water. Nice spot, because the rocks didn’t eat my bait and the bushes didn’t snag my line. Quite easy fishing.
In ten minutes, I had caught a nice twelve-inch rainbow trout. Some bait got nibbled off, then another fish on the line. No time to ponder life’s mysteries, every time my line floated to a certain spot, I got a nibble!
In an hour I had four fish and there was still a bait stealer eating the little red eggs off my hook. I stayed another hour, carefully practicing my casting, (yes, I need a lot of practice!) I finally got the little bastard, though I am sure there were more. And I was done for the day. The daily limit was five and I had five nice ones, all between ten and thirteen inches.
Now my personal best for the annual fishing trip is six and I had equaled that. I felt pretty darn good.
Better yet, when I climbed up the bank and walked back to camp, I met one of the locals who had fished that same spot earlier in the morning; he got nothing!

I didn’t catch another fish the rest of the trip, but that’s okay, I made my limit that day. Other’s in our group fished the spot and caught a few. We teased the boys the rest of the weekend and despite our prodding, they never got one of the giggles on their line. But they never did bait their hooks, nor toss in a line.
The girls will be there next year and I hope T1 & T2 come also. It is so much fun to watch the interaction between them.

Real men's toys

2009-06-13T22:13:00.000-07:00

So, I have a friend keeps a nice little Beretta .380 under her pillow when her man is away,
She is such a namby-pamby.
My other friend has her Walther PPK 9mm,
she is such a girly-girl.
Another friend has a nice Colt .45,
he is such a 'Nancy'

I have a genuine Buck Roger Atomic Pistol!
You know the one, it will take out the intruder and that pesky wall that your wife wants opened up and a bay window installed.
And the best part is, all you have to do is sweep up the intruders ashes and dump them in the trash!
(I think my homeowners insurance will fix the wall :-)

Hubley Toys and The Sqadron

2009-06-13T21:12:00.000-07:00

Who needs a Hubley P-40 Warhawk

or Hubley P-38 Lightning.

Not when you have your own Hubley squadron of three fighters and two bomber-destroyers!
Yes, I am talking about three Hubley Seversky P-36 monoplanes and two Hubley Airacudas!
Yes, the famous YFM-1 Airacuda that were made by Bell Aircraft in the late 1930’s..

Sure, the Airacuda was a lousy airplane, but it was unusual and still is cool looking.

I just wish I had somewhere to build a little airfield so I could set them up with a hanger. (sigh)

Master Manipulator

2009-06-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

Well, I finally had my procedure to fix my ‘frozen shoulder’ (adhesive capsulitis) Basically, my shoulder froze due to the build up of scar tissue in my shoulder joint. I am sure it was caused by heavy lifting on two home improvement projects about a year and a half ago.

So my shoulder complained bitterly when I moved my arm beyond certain points and sleeping was very uncomfortable.
Two cortisone injections in my shoulder joint last winter made things manageable, but not better.

So last Thursday, WG and my neighbor CG (Chemical-Girl) went with me for the surgery to fix it. CG came along so we could drop her off at the car repair shop and pick up her car. It ended up that she was also good for moral support for WG and comic relief for the two of us.

It was a long wait. You check in and they give you one of these ICUB (I see ur Butt) gowns to wear, have you lie down on the gurney and you wait (for hours).
It was nice to have the girls with me, to chat and laugh while we waited.
The prep nurse was fun and immediately caught on to our banter. At one point, she asked if I had shaved my armpit. I hadn’t and CG asked if she could pluck them out.
I told her that she could go ‘pluck’ herself.

So for about two hours we teased each other while the Nurse asked questions, then the Anesthesiologist came and asked questions. The doc visited and checked on me. He even wrote his initials on the arm to be fixed. He found it amusing that I had written ‘NO’ on my good arm. (Yes, I am glad his initials were not N. O.!)

Then a nice sedative is put into the IV and I am feeling much better. Wait a little longer and they roll me into the block room. A nice little injection at a shoulder nerve to block it and soon my whole left arm is numb. Imagine a limp dead fish, yes, that numb.

So, the procedure was to manipulate my arm to break loose the scar tissue (imagine putting a big wrench on a rusty bolt and forcing it to move!)
If the manipulation was not successful, then two little incisions in my shoulder would let the surgeon go in with a scope and cut loose any scar tissue that didn’t rip loose.

It was funny, listening to him describe what he was doing, how he could hear and feel the scar tissue tear loose. I couldn’t hear, or more importantly feel, a thing.

After fifteen minutes, or so, of him arm wrestling my limp arm, he said he was done. And, since it went so well, no need to cut into me! And no overnight stay.

The next day I tried my shoulder exercises and could move my arm through almost the full range of motion! And better still, very little pain!
Nice to have a surgeon who is a master manipulator.

Guilty pleasures, guilty secrets

2009-05-31T22:01:00.001-07:00

Not long ago, Even-sister sent me her mp3 player to pass on to our niece. It didn’t work. After I charged it up and reset it, I listened to a lot of the music on it. WG asked later if it was now good. ‘Well,’ I answered, ‘It’s good, except for some of the music.’
It’s just that there was a fair amount of country music, which I don’t care for and lots of Bluegrass, which for me, a little goes a long way. (but I did pull off one John Prine song I liked.)
I think we are all like that. We have music we like to share with others and music that most folks like; but we have some songs that we are just a little too embarrassed to let people know that we listen to.
So I don’t mind playing my ipod in the car, I can usually skip the stuff that WG doesn’t like. But there are songs, silly or sappy, that I always bypass, despite that I like them or that they have special meaning to me.
I seriously don’t want anyone to know I listen to that crap.

Wise to her tricks

2009-05-15T15:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, WG and I were relaxing on the back deck. Just back from our dog walk, we were reading the newspaper and drinking coffee. Tommy was resting and Molly was exploring the back yard. Nice and peaceful.
It was then that we heard some click-click noises coming from the side gate, as if someone was trying to unlatch the gate or maybe the wind was making the gate rattle the latch. After a few minutes of this, WG got up to check the gate and laughed when she saw what was going on. She called me over and we both got a chuckle out of what was going on.
A little bird was frantically pulling at the string that unlatches the gate! I guess it was building a nest and the green string looked useful. The bird kept at it until WG walked over to the gate and shooed it away. “We can’t have that!” She said. “It might open the gate and…where’s Molly?”
Uh oh. We immediately checked the yard and in the house, no Molly!
WG opened the gate and went into the front yard and I heard her calling for Molly to come! A moment later, the Bad Beagle ran back through the open gate, followed by WG.
“She was just down the street. Our neighbor was shooing her home.”
Tommy, the good dog, was still resting on the grass.
WG closed the gate and put a brick in front of it. “That will keep it closed.”

The little bird kept at it all morning, until I replaced the string with a thin chain. So, as I have said, never trust a beagle! Nor little birdies also!

Discombobulation

2009-05-08T15:15:00.000-07:00

I not sure if dogs count, if they know when one gets more treats than the others; but they can tell time (mostly).
And that’s the problem we have, now that I am no longer working. For it is hard to maintain a schedule now and the routine is broken. Tommy like his routines.
If I get up before seven, which is not likely, it is the usual. Pet the dogs who are waiting, make the coffee, WG and I take the dogs for their walk. But if I get up later, than we have to wait until after eight, for the sidewalks are crowded with kids walking to school.
Now it is fun to see the expressions on the little girls’ faces when they see Molly and Tommy, but it is hard to walk and constantly avoid them. Not everyone likes dogs and it’s polite to let the kids have the sidewalk.
So Tommy waits for us and watches for the signs of the walk. Molly does not see the signs and is just excited.
And it is hard for me to set up a routine, but I am close. Choose one day to do projects, one day to job search. I have found that on the current stone path project, I am better off if I just mix half a bag of mortar. Then I am only on my knees for four hours and my knees don’t hurt as much. I then have the afternoon to do like fixit jobs, or write.
I really have to be in just the right mood to write and I can’t be if a project looms over me. So a half-day of the project, I have made some progress and I can clear my mind of it and think of a story.
I have nine pages of a fun little story done and might be able to finish it soon. Willow will be pleased.

It’s three o’clock and Molly is antsy. She thinks she should be fed. Tommy is relaxed, for he knows feeding time is four-thirty. Tommy can tell time, but Molly is hopeless; or should I say, hopeful!

The kids are getting out of school now and Molly has to bark at the voices on the other side of the fence. Tommy sometimes barks, but Molly always does. Silly beagle that she is.

Sigh, I am a man of unfortunate leisure, with dogs.

Nobody knows where we are.

2009-05-04T20:47:00.000-07:00

So, we have started laying the stones for the front walkway. I have found that it takes the same amount of time to lay a big stone as it does to lay a small stone. So despite the smaller space in front: because we are using smaller stones, it will take longer to do the front walkway than it did to do the backyard patio.
Put down a dollop of mortar, set the flat stone in the mortar. Tap it down, check the slope, tap it some more. If you tap the north side down, the south side lifts a little. Tap the center and it settles evenly. Because of this, I have to run a string over the stone to see where the high and low spots are, then careful tapping gets the stone to match the slope of the walkway.
Most stones are flat, but some are a little uneven and they take longer to set. I have to make the uneven stones fit the average.
Then some silly song goes through my head.
One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

I wish I could remember the rest of the song, or who sung it, but it reminds me to take a step back and eyeball the slope and fit of the stones. It is easy to get focused on one or two stones and get off your mark.

Wonder-Girl has the stones all positioned. It’s like a picture puzzle, but without the picture. WG checks the fit in the pattern that I can’t see. Not too many of one color together, not too many with similar shapes together.
I am too busy just getting them set in mortar.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

We make a good team. WG does the chipping to make them fit, adjust the color and texture, I set them in the mortar and keep the slope (or do my level best.)

Four to five hours at a time, then even a steady dose of Advil can’t keep my knees from complaining. Time to clean up and call it a day. WG says it is looking good, I can’t see the forest for the trees.

After the stones are done, we will put in the border of clay bricks. At least they are uniform in size and shape, so they should be easier to lay.
I’ll worry about that later, I am still focused of the paving stones.

One minute high,
next minute low.
Nobody knows where we are.
Nobody knows where we are.

Old dog, old tricks.

2009-04-23T22:28:00.001-07:00

Flapity-flapity-flap, Flapity-flapity-flap.
‘I didn’t want to get up this early.’ Wonder-Girl grumbles. I was barely awake, but I knew it was Molly. A bother of a beagle.

It used to be Tommy that would sneak into the back of the house and shake his head to wake us up. Flapity-tinkle-flap. His dog tags would tinkle. After we got Molly last year it wasn’t long before Tommy brought Molly along on his wake up calls.
So if we slept in too late on Saturday morning, there was a chorus of flapity-flaps and a tinkle. I am sure that the flapities are a little different, since Molly has the oversized beagle ears.
Now Tommy is an old guy and I know that he has just gotten lazy. Instead of him walking all the way to the bedroom, where he is not allowed; he has taught his tricks to Molly and he sends her to do his dirty work.

And sometimes, when we are not paying attention to Molly, she walks up to us and flaps her ears. Just to get attention, I think.

Building a Better Beagle Barrier

2009-04-03T16:40:00.000-07:00

So we have this patch of dirt for the vegetable garden. Tommy knows to stay out (border collies know their borders (mostly), but the Molly dog doesn’t. I put up a simple little wire mesh fence to keep Molly from becoming a mud-mutt. But alas, it didn’t work. The persistent (stubborn) beagle kept pushing at the bottom of the fence until she wormed her way in. Then we would wonder where Molly was and we would find her in the dirt, trapped by the fence. Because of the stone border, she could get in, but not out.
Since Molly is not good with the word ‘NO’, we decided that we needed to build a better beagle barrier before we planted the vegetables. Molly has already trampled Wonder-Girl’s flowers, so there is no sense in planting vegetables unless they are protected!
The wire mesh fence took a day to build and the planting took the second day. By Sunday evening we were all set.
Molly was not happy.

Monday morning Molly went right to the fence and began trying to push herself between the wires. I think she smelled the little present that the neighborhood cat left. (Why do dogs like cat shit?) Anyway, she pushed apart some of the wire, but could not get through.
So far, so good.

Until she takes a running jump, I suppose.

Beagles are stubborn and you can never trust them.

VeeDee part two

2009-03-30T21:10:00.000-07:00

I looked a box of my dad’s collection of toys and found a toy washing machine. When I looked inside, I saw this (see pic) and had to laugh. It is another attachment to the VeeDee. We all know that washing machines have agitators, but this one is designed to ‘agitate’ something else.

Rabbit test

2009-03-17T22:15:00.000-07:00

Years ago, when the Tommy dog was young, we had a house rabbit. One of those mini bunnies. You know the ones. Barely enough meat to feed a person, much less two. I would joke to people that the bunny was our emergency earthquake food. Wonder-Girl never thought this was funny.
So when I joke about catching the bunnies down the street and having them in a stew, I know it would last a long time because WG would never eat bunny.

Rabbit stew is quite tasty, as I remember it. Every so often, my dad would bring home a brace of (dead) rabbits from the lab he worked at. Dad would gut and skin them, mom would make us a nice dinner. Two big, plump rabbits would feed our family of seven.

So decades later, when I was remembering the rabbit stew, it occurred to me to ask my dad just what kind of experiments they did. Part of me didn’t really want to know. After all, I am somewhat normal, I think.
So five years ago I finally bit the bullet and asked him what they were doing with the rabbits. They were doing test on plant viruses and were using the sensitized rabbit blood to test for the presence of the virus.
Okay, not some kind bizarre growth hormone or long lasting neurotoxin to kill insects. Simple plant viruses.

I am glad I didn’t ask him when I was little. I still remember the Thurber cartoon about his uncle that caught Dutch Elm disease!

A Man of Unfortunate Leisure

2009-03-15T19:42:00.001-07:00

So, tomorrow is a new day and my first day of leisure. After twenty-six years at my company they could no longer afford my services. I have tried to think of a good analogy and I think sailing ships are a good one. You are stuck in calm waters with little breeze and diminishing food. So you lighten the load and hope you can continue to feed the crew you keep. They were beyond getting rid of the dead wood and have increasingly cut into those that were needed.
So they put me in a rowboat with a few rations and said good-bye. It is now up to me to row to other ships, similarly becalmed in the sea of business, to see if they need another crewmember.

So I will polish my resume, last written in 1996. (When I was told not use a dot-matrix printer!) Now things are emailed and instead of two interviews, I can expect six. Sigh. Manufacturing has changed, so I will try to expand my horizons and look at other companies.
At least I have time to do the pile of Honey-do’s around the house and research more of my dad’s toys. I have six boxes to categorize and eight boxes that I have not even looked in! Research model planes and their engines (from the 1940’s). It takes my mind off my troubles.
Next week I will reschedule my shoulder surgery. Might as well have that fixed during my down time.

It’s tough waters, but I can still row a boat.

Toys for boys, and…ummm…girls?

2009-03-13T20:48:00.001-07:00

Friction toy, Japan, circa 1950’s

Friction toy, England, circa 1904.

Yes friends, this is the patented VeeDee for Vibratory Massage! Good for what ails you, be it Lumbago, Headache or Neuralgia.

Used in the treatment of what was then a common female nervous condition known as hysteria. (Husbandus ineptus?:-)
All stainless steel construction, variable vibrations by simply adjusting the wheel on the end. It even comes with two soft, natural latex attachments. Just the thing to sooth those hard to reach places! (The ones your husband can’t even find if he had a GPS.)

It these modern days of electronic devices, it is perhaps time to move back to a more simpler time. Going ‘green’ could never be easier and more enjoyable! Why this device would be certified ‘green’ by even Al Gore! (Tipper didn’t have much to say, as she was a little out of breath! :-)

And think of the benefits ladies! Not only does it burn calories and firm up those flabby arms, but it is the most enjoyable exercises ever! (sorry Thigh-Master)

So ladies, if the batteries on your iGasm or OhMiBod have run out and your feeling a little cranky; well then, get cranking!

Before the floor

2009-02-25T09:59:00.000-08:00

Gosh, so hard to keep my fans happy. :-)
So here you are, the pictures of the bath
as the floor was torn up. just with the new floor and toilet. And a closeup of the Arcade doll house toilet.

New Bath

2009-02-21T22:01:00.000-08:00

Well, WG and I finished Step-mom's downstairs bathroom today, finally! :-)
New paint, new toilet, new light fixture, shelves over the toilet, new vinyl flooring. There are four corner shelves by the light switch(you can't see). A new door knob completes it.
One of the best things is the mirror on the right. After we took off the mirror strips on the wall, Step-mom's thought she might want them put back up, despite them being kinda shabby. WG happened to notice a mirror on the wall of the Toy room, behind a shelf. We brought it home and took some old picture frame wood that our son had salvaged years ago(there was just enough!) I made the frame and WG painted it green with silver highlights.
Since the sink and tub are still avocado, the mirror frame looks very good. The only thing left to put back up is the bear toilet paper holder. I was able to fix it, but lost the roller in it. When I find it, or buy a new one, I'll install it.
Particular attention should be paid to the little toilet on the shelf. I found that in the dining room. It is an Arcade cast iron toilet, probably for a doll house.
An actual collectible, I looked it up! We all think that it should stay on one of the shelves as a decoration because it is a similar green and it is a little beaten up.

And to think we only wanted to put down new flooring and a new toilet. But gosh, it looks good

Kith the girls and make me cry

2009-02-10T12:57:00.000-08:00

I was good, last September and held my tongue. The whole time I was there, I saw my friends, talked and laughed with them; had a really fun time (as usual).
And not once did I turn to Little Appetizer and say, “You do realize, don’t you, that you will never see me again?”
It would have been cruel to say that, especially since my friend is doing what makes her happy.
So I kept quiet and had fun with her and all of my friends.

And now it occurs to me, as I review my severance package, that I won’t be sent to that little island to train people anymore.

And that I will never see them again.

Times are tough all over

2009-02-05T22:11:00.000-08:00

As I was walking the dogs down our street the other morning, we saw two shapes dart across the sidewalk and under a fence. One was black, one was tan. Molly went nuts, as she should, since she was born for this. Tommy strained at his leash, eager to join the hunt that Molly’s howls announced.
I held the leashes tight, for the two bunnies that had streaked past were probably someone’s pets. (And is bunny number three, by the school, some ones pet also?)

Now beagles were bred to hunt rabbits, so it would be natural and right to let Molly go hunt. And since Tommy is half beagle, it would be okay to let him hunt also.

Wonder-Girl did not think it was funny when I looked at the two dogs last week and said. “Things are tough all over and kibble is expensive. So the next time we see the bunnies, I’ll let you loose to catch your own breakfast!”

Maybe there will be enough left over for some stew?

Righting #1

2009-01-26T20:39:00.000-08:00

RIGHTING 2009

Tidbits that serve no purpose. A collection of puns, funny sayings, slips of the tongue and one liners that I have thought up, but am still polishing.(or can’t bear to throw away.)
And yes, I would like royalties.
--
What’s a woman’s ideal wait?

A bird in the hand is better than one on the internet

Plain white tease

Dude, it’s called KY jelly, not penetrating oil!

Running a fowl of a wild goose chase

“I don’t think we have been improperly seduced, I mean properly introduced”
She slowly looked me up and down. “I think you were right the fist time.”

I’d rather have to shampoo the carpet, than hose your blood off the street. (did I read that somewhere?)

I was too young for the 60’s, so I missed the drug experimentation. But I did get in on the tail end of the free love part.

Maybe the lesbian couldn’t say, “Let me get this straight.” Or “Give it to me straight.”

A vestigial virgin. Not a virgin, but she still has the box it came in.

I am like a canary without a coal mine.

I know women who would kill to have her body…
…And guys who would pay money just to touch it.

I tried to eavesdrop on the gynecologist, but only got snatches of conversation.

As the Englishman said, ‘May I give you a Brit of advice?”

She looked around and said. “Is it global warming? Or is it just me that’s hot.”

Auntie climatic

An inconvenient troth?

Does it take a village to define a village idiot?

Caught in Candy

Life’s a beach. Then you get sand in really uncomfortable places.

The world is my oyster, but I am allergic to shellfish.

Militias prosecution

Living vicariously through you
Living precariously through you.
Living bi-curiously through you.

Beware the virgin who’s tattoo says. “You break it, you buy it.”

Do gay polygamists tell tales of their four fathers.

She was like a farce of nature

I am not ignoring you, the voices drown you out.

The voices talk to me because they think I am real

It’s like looting the cabins onboard the Titanic

If turnabout is fair play, what is foreplay?
(are twins four-play?)

Do you want me to list my girlfriends gynecological? I mean chronologically.

When you go trolling for trollops, should you us a reprobate?

Authors know when two wrongs make as write.

Are ‘Cougars’ mounting lions?

Tweens – The age between ‘hello kitty’ and ‘Hello Sailor’

‘So, do you want to help me take over the government?’ She coup’d in my ear.

Everything but the kitchen slink. (relate to the dogs slinking into the kitchen to get a snack?)

I’d like to follow my bliss, but she got a restraining order.

Dude, when they asked if you were an abuse survivor, self-abuse doesn’t count!

She said she would try to, ‘crack the art of being your own lover.’

Helping the marginally breedable continue to procreate.

Looking for a little piece and quiet

Pipsqueak

2009-01-24T22:41:00.000-08:00

Pipsqueak - Informal. a contemptibly small or unimportant person; a twerp.
Pip - Informal. someone or something wonderful: Last night's party was a pip.
Squeak - a sharp, high-pitched sound.

I stumbled across an archive site and realized that I could continue the tracking of my missing Pipsqueak.
It's become a kind of game and maybe more fun than a computer game. It is interesting what people archive and this place isn't complete.
When my emails bounced last year from the two accounts she had and her blogs all vanished, I did the usual googling, but this only gave me places where people mentioned her name. Unusual also was that a lot of the mentions were in abandoned places. (will companies ever purge the old inactive blogs? Judith, your blog might last forever?)

The archive had most of her blog, which was interesting to reread, but more importantly, it gave me names of people who were her friends. From there I tracked down a few email addresses of her friends and I sent some emails.
I received an answer, of sorts, saying that Pip had some troubles and had to remove all records of herself.

There was a trace of her real name last month and she did change jobs.

So that’s all I know.

And I’ll wait for a squeak. (A wonderful sound?)

Creating Monsters

2009-01-22T19:59:00.000-08:00

One of my Cebuana coworkers emailed me, requesting a meeting to go over the output of a report.
But instead of a simple request there was this added little hook,

“I know you can't say "NO" to me...hehehe...bcoz I'm one of your favorites...let me remind you of that ;-)”

Oh sure, laugh all you want. My life can be very difficult.

Searchin

2009-01-19T20:00:00.000-08:00

“Well, Sherlock Holmes, Sam Spade got nothin', child, on me.
Sergeant Friday, Charlie Chan and Boston Blackie.
I don’t care where she's a hiding she'll never hear me a comin'.
Gonna stealth through the Internet like Bulldog Drummond”

'Cause I've started searchin'.
Oooh, Lord, now searchin', mm child.
Searchin' every which a-way, yay, yay.
But I'm like the Northwest Mounties.
You know I'll bring her in some day.
Gonna find her. (searchin – Coasters)

Okay, so I am not Boston Blackie, but I think it’s time to really dig through the Internet and see if I can find The Pipsqueak.

I was digging in the ether recently and managed to get into the Plasticine level and found curious records of deleted blogs. So I am going to go digging and see if I can find what happened a little over a year ago and why she vanished from the ether.
Perhaps she lost track of my email addresses; perhaps I said something to upset her (I doubt that)
But I think it might be fun to play detective.( I can always ask Older Brother for hints.)

Or frustrating.

New Age

2009-01-18T22:17:00.001-08:00

I stood there and thought to myself. “They are all black and they all look the same.”
I just had to smile at that thought and see the humor in it. It was also fun to see the realization sink into Aunt Obie.
And I knew that we could tell her something until we were blue in the face. She had to see it.
All those TV’s lining the walls of the store looked so similar; black and shiny.
For as we left the house, Obie said that she wanted a new TV that looked like furniture.
Yes, just like her old, dying, consol TV. Circa 1980, twenty-five inch, built in stereo, genuine simulated wood grain veneer.
‘Obie’, we said, ‘they don’t make consol TV’s anymore.’ Sound bouncing off deaf ears

The sound acted up a few times and she realized that she should just buy a new one. Especially since the broadcasters are all going to digital next month.
The TV still works and the picture is decent. I guess Zenith was not far off when they used to say, “The quality goes in before the name goes on.”
But after more than twenty-two years, it’s okay to buy a new one.

And all Obie could see was the oblong black plastic frames. No wood grain. No square screen. No white, blue or pink.
No consol models, no furniture.

And now eighty-eight year old Aunt Obie has a nice little 26” LCD TV sitting on top of her Hi-fi speaker (real wood) Oh, but you don’t know what Hi-fi is, do you?
But I digress.
I think she is pleased with the set up and we will visit her in a few weeks just to check on things.

Not a bad day

Fact or friction

2009-01-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

Aye that’s the rub.
One of my chat buddies recently asked me what was the truth, in my blog. I pondered that for a while, since I never thought of it before. Most of my friends, if they actually read this, know me well enough to know what is the truth, what I make up and laugh when I blend the two.
But now I have strangers reading this blog and while I am sure some of the fiction is obvious, most may not be.
I have added labels, to identify the stories, then could not think of what other labels to use. So for now, I will leave it to my occasional readers to decide what is real, and what is unreal.

The F word

2009-01-05T22:36:00.000-08:00

Beware the ‘F’ word, that’s all I can say.
Well, perhaps not all I can say, but an important part of what I have to say. For I have found that you have to dodge it, dance around it. Because once it is said, there is no turning back.
This was made very clear to me earlier this year, when I happened to call up one of my ducklings in Boston. Degg answered the phone and I said, “How’s my favorite Duckling?”
She answered with a halting, quivering voice; “I’m…not…your…favorite…Duckling!”
“What do you mean? Yours is the first picture in the album and the caption says ‘My Favorite Duckling.’
“Yes.” She said. “And the next picture shows someone else and it says, ‘another favorite duckling’. So I am NOT your Favorite!”

Yes, I was soooo busted. So I have removed all references to ‘Favorite’. I should have remembered what my mom used to always say, ‘There can only be one favorite.’
(yeah, shut up mom. :-)
But it is difficult not to play favorites, for as you all know, in a group of friends, you might have a favorite in that group. Best if I don’t say who that might be. For I have seen even the darkest Cebuana eyes turn green!

So I was quite careful on my last trip to Cebu and never said who was my favorite. This is especially true since people have changed departments and now I have several favorites working together!

And you never know who is looking over someone’s shoulder, reading the chat session! So we have learned to avoid the F word and will just stick to calling each one a friend.

And if you are one of my special friends, well you know who you are and we should keep that to ourselves. Neither of us wants green-eyed monsters on the loose!.

“Favorite - a person or thing regarded with special favor or preference”

Can’t I have several?

A Goddess Walks Among Us

2009-01-05T21:35:00.000-08:00

A Goddess Walks Among Us
(related to the ‘Inky-Sucky’ series?)
By GW Hogg
©2-7-08
She walked down the city street as if she owned it. Not tall, but with her head held high and shoulders back, she appeared much taller than her five feet, four inches. Her light blue dress fit her perfectly, showing off her ample curves. That it also revealed a little more tanned leg than might be proper was planned.
She knew men watched her, she counted on it, enjoyed it and used it to her full advantage. Today they left her alone, for they could tell from her walk and look, that she meant business and was not to be trifled with.
Despite the thick tropical air, she kept to her walk. When she wanted it, she could become approachable. Not now, not when she had a mission, had a need to fill. While others slowed in the heat, she walked quickly.

Though the heat didn’t bother her, she did appreciate that the conference center was air-conditioned. She paused for a moment at the entrance, searching for the registration table. When she spotted it she smiled. The table was manned by a nerdish looking kid. It was much easier to influence a guy, than a gal. She took a few slow breaths and composed herself. Her look needed to be more approachable, seductive.
The kid was only twenty and quite bored at the registration desk. Today was the first day of the game developers conference and the important talks and sessions would not start till tomorrow. That’s why he chose to work the first day. That way he could spend time at the important seminars later in the week. He daydreamed as he arraigned his papers and the stacks of nametags on the table in front of him. As he glanced up at the door he saw her walking towards him and froze. Only his eyes tracked what he imagined must have been a character straight out of a fantasy war game. The deep V of her dress displayed just a peek of the mocha orbs that strained against the thin fabric. The small ruffles at the hem accentuated the motion of her hips as to make them hypnotic.
“Excuse me.” She said as she stopped at the table. He swallowed and momentarily shook off her effect.
“Yea, Yes, can I help you?”
“Do you have a schedule of the conference?”
“Su..sure.” He bent down to get one from the box on the floor. ‘If I can get her to stay and chat, maybe bend over a little.’ His thoughts occupied, he never noticed her reach out, quickly select a nametag from one of the piles and slide it into the side pocket of her purse.
“Are you attending the conference?” He asked as he handed her the schedule.
She didn’t mind as his eyes slid passed her waist and caressed her thighs. His befuddled mind would never remember what she looked like.
“No. My brother wants to attend.”
“Oh.” He radiated disappointment.
”But thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned and sashayed to the door. It was always so easy with the young mortals. She thought and smiled to herself. Most of them could be so easily seduced, but she left them alone. There was no need to punish the innocent, even though she knew their innocence would not last. It was as her mother always told her. ‘All men either cheat or leave.’ And she never doubted her mother.
As she descended the stairs and headed to the Ayala shopping center, she thought of tonight’s activities. The nametag would allow her to blend in with the other conference attendees and separate her from the ‘Lobby Ladies’ at the hotel. She smiled to herself, everything was ready. Perhaps an afternoon of shopping would relax her and prepare her for the hunt.

At seven, the taxi dropped her off at the lobby of the Miriam hotel, just across the park from the shopping center. She wore a more tasteful green dress tonight. A little less bosom, a little less leg and the heels were of a more respectable height. The doorman was good and barely seemed to notice her dress, the same with the security guard who politely checked her purse. The nametag hanging from her neck helped her blend in.
As she walked through the lobby towards the bar, she took off the nametag but kept it in her hands.

Downstairs, in the meeting rooms, there were conferences still going on. She knew they would break up soon and she would have her pick of the attendees. She smiled in anticipation as she flagged the bartender.
With a cold Red Horse to sip, she examined her surrounding. There was only one guy at the bar. Far older than she preferred, but suitable. They made eye contact for a moment and he didn’t even smile at her! That was almost unheard of, for she knew men and was on the prowl.
Before she could follow up on the eye contact, a young woman approached the guy and gave him a big hug. They talked excitedly and then two more young women arrived and there were more hugs. Then the four of them, still talking excitedly, left the bar.
Well, she thought, maybe they were just friends or coworkers. It didn’t matter, men were the same all over the world.

She clung to that thought, later that evening, as she allowed an energetic young Australian to lead her to his hotel room. He seemed to have forgotten his wedding ring, as they all do.
And it was probably the farthest thing from his mind, later that night, as she straddled him, the rhythmic motion of her hips grinding against him. Deftly, she brought him to his climax, just as she rose to hers.
He never noticed the faint blue sparks of electricity dancing over their skin until it was far too late. And when he did, she bent over him and stifled his scream with her mouth on his. He thrashed against her, caught between the throes of ecstasy and the incredible pain as she began to suck the life energy from him.
Everywhere their skin touched, and especially deep inside her, blue rivulets of energy flowed from him. He struggled against the small arms and legs wrapped around him, but it was like fighting against bands of iron.
Then slowly, as the flows of energy weakened, so did his struggles. She lay on top of him, feeling his heartbeat slow until it stopped. Climbing off him, she shook her head. They never learn, until too late, the price you pay for cheating. With renewed energy, she practically danced into the shower.
Still later, as she dried herself off, she marveled at her transformation. The small laugh lines around her eyes were gone, her small breasts were firmer, as was the rest of her body. She could easily pass for twenty-two, not the thirty-five her passport said.
Humming to herself, she dressed. She paid no attention to the dried out husk on the bed, but she did remove some of the money from his wallet. After all, he no longer needed it. Silly man, there was a price to pay for infidelity and she would do her best to punish them all.

Later that day, she made her monthly pilgrimage to the cemetery. Wandered among the headstones to the family plot. There they were, all in a neat row. Her husband, two daughters, two sons and some grandchildren.
She missed her husband the most, these last hundred years. For all she wanted from life was to marry a good man, have lots of children and live forever.
She tried to keep him as long as she could, but even her powers could only do so much. And her mother always told her, that in the end, all men either cheat, or leave.

Muse for A Goddess Walks

2009-01-05T21:33:00.000-08:00

In a chat session with one of my Cebu friends, (Feb, 2008) she told me that all she wanted was to marry a good man, have lots of children and live forever. As we discussed this and what kind of supernatural creature could do this, I told her that I didn’t think is could be a vampire, since the legends didn’t ever mention their ability to breed. But I thought that the creatures from my ‘Inky-Sucky’ series would work. Then she said that if she was a vampire, she would only attack men who cheated. She hated men who cheated.
So I took those things and twisted them together.
And the Goddess now walks among us!

No more floor

2009-01-04T22:54:00.000-08:00

I spent the last week replacing my Step-mom’s downstairs toilet. I knew it would take a while, but not six days! Well, five, since the first day was shopping for supplies, after I pulled up some flooring to see what I was up against. (my younger brother did volunteer to help, but I foolishly declined since the room is so small.)
There were four layers of flooring and several layers of underlayment. That would not have been so bad, but layer two was well bonded to layer one. And layer one had some kind of tar backing, so it was stuck to the subfloor! Maybe not surprising, since it was put down in 1927. Oh, and some of the subfloor had been replaced, but it matched level two. So I had to tear that all out and put in new subflooring that matched the original subflooring.
I had WG there for three days, but the bathroom is only four by five, so she couldn’t help much.
So we had-
Vinyl tiles
1/4 underlayment
Sheet vinyl flooring
3/8 underlayment
1950? Tile (red with turquoise speckles)
Linoleum? Glued down with tar?
Sub-floor

By Friday, day four, the subfloor was all fixed and ready for the underlayment, then the new vinyl floor.
By Sunday the new floor was in place and the new toilet works well. Plus someone came by and took the old green toilet!
WG and I will patch the holes and repaint the bathroom next month and install the new light fixture and the new shelves.
Here are some pics. The red tile with turquois speckles is layer two.

Gonna lay down my hammer and chisle
Down by the riverside
Down by the riverside
Down by the riverside
Gonna lay down my hammer and chisle
Down by the riverside
Ain't gonna study FLOOR no more.

Most Wonderful

2008-12-27T17:09:00.001-08:00

Yes boys and girls, it’s that time of year again! Better than the witching hour, it’s the sex days, I mean six days, between Christmas and New Years Day. The Naughty time of the year when you can misbehave! Because we all know that after the 31st, you have to be nice or Santa will not bring you any presents! So when someone asks you, ‘Have you been a good boy this year?’. You can truthfully answer ‘Yes’.
Maybe you were deliciously wicked during the ‘tween time’ last year, but nobody has to know that.
Least of all, your parents.

So you slide out of bed, careful so as not to wake the delicious, warm sylphid lying next to you.
You don’t remember her name, just that she was standing on the balcony having a cigarette when you stepped out to have one yourself. A tall, slim redhead, she had a warm smile.
She shared common likes, including a taste for gin. That you were as far underage as she was above never seemed to matter.
What mattered was that she lived just down the hall from where the party was going on.

But it is now time to go, you tell yourself as you hunt down your clothes. There is no need to complicate her life, so you should slip out as easily as you slipped in. She has a boyfriend far away. Your recollection is fuzzy. Something about being on mission, or on a mission. The Gin garbles things.
You step outside the apartment complex and try to get your bearings. Your friends just said they knew of a New Years Eve party, not where. Then you recognize the skyline and the top of the Grand Lake Theater sign.
Home is a bit of a walk, but you should be home in time for breakfast. You start to hum a Christmas song, then chuckle as you alter the words. “It’s the moist wonderful time, of the year.”
You will try to be good, this year.

A Little Whit Lie

2008-12-20T11:04:00.000-08:00

I am constantly amused by the things we don’t say, the truth we dance around. Even when we are mostly sure we can say things, we still try and be nice. (for it is, as I have stated, that a Gentleman is at minimum, complimentary)

I was exchanging emails with a chat-buddy the other day, and was trying to figure out how to describe someone. ‘Mousy’ came to mind, as did attractive.

“Wait a minute GW.” I can hear you say, you can’t have it both ways.
Maybe I can. After all, I do not control my instincts, they just are. At best, I can just report on them. So I am confident is saying that I am repulsed by some pretty women and attracted to some plain ones.

If you listen to women, (which you should not do, since they are the worst judges of feminine pulchritude); you will hear things said that contradict how you feel.
Why, some of the most attractive women I know have been referred to (by other women) as-
‘she isn’t very cute’
‘she is kinda plain.’
‘she is kinda homely’
‘she is not much too look at.’
‘she wasn’t very pretty.’
Can I prove it? Yes and no.
Which one of you women wants me to tell you to your face, that you are mousy, but very attractive? Can you handle it? Can you understand that perhaps your smile is the cheapest and best makeup you could ever wear?

I remember talking with MT (Megatits) last year, about the Big Rumor/Scandal. She was telling me about it and the pictures that had been emailed to her. She had erased them, but was shocked that people would take pictures like that and allow others to see them. Especially given the guys marital status.
‘Naked pictures?’ I asked.
She nodded, then said, “I just don’t know what anyone sees in Them! They look like little girls!”

Now I have to pause and think. If I ask to see some of the naked pictures, does that make me a pedophile, since you think they all look like little girls?
And really, what does it matter to you what they look like? They are no threat to you, being thousands of miles away. Is it that important for you to put them down? I guess it is, since we know you erroneously think that the bust is the primary gauge of beauty. Is that why you think they look like little girls, because they have tiny tits? Of course you do, since you never learned that tits don’t make the women. (it’s the women who makes the…nevermind, you get the picture)

But I think I knew that when I met her, which explains why I disliked her from the first moment we met. I know, that is terrible, but true. So while all the other guys were admiring her figure, I was trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

Yes, I eventually figured it out and I was right in my first impression. Just as I was right in liking that little freckle-faced redhead the moment I met her. I have learned to trust my instincts.

So when you ask me to describe someone I remember from decades ago, I hesitate, then dance around the truth (as I remember it)

But she did have a very attractive smile.

Looking in the Past

2008-12-13T21:19:00.000-08:00

One of the things I have taken on is the disposition of my dads toy collection. Unfortunately, not a lot of the information was written down. What I do have are some old spreadsheets, a big box of toy collection books and Google.

Easy stuff like Tootsie Toys are found and I can figure out what they are worth. The same for Paya wind-up cars.
But the hard stuff is the really old toys;
like a cast iron, Horse Drawn Hook & Ladder.
I am sure it is from about 1909-20,
but I have found no pictures.

Then there is a Green,
Pressed Steel Delivery Truck.
It’s probably from 1920-30s and some one
repainted/refurbished it. But there were
dozens of toy makers and not enough pictures.

At other times I have incredible luck.
I have an unmarked
Pressed Steel Airplane in a Presses Steel Hanger.
I type in three words into Google and the second
link has a picture of the exact toy!
Scheibel Toy Airplane with Hanger

One down, twelve boxes of toys, or more, to catalog.

(Sigh)

Pricks and Prods

2008-12-06T22:19:00.001-08:00

The MRI showed wear and tear on my shoulder, mostly normal for a guy my age, but nothing that screamed fix me.
My Ortho-Doc looked the scans over and pointed out where there were bad spots. (It is really cool to see the image slices of my shoulder.) He wants to send me to a specialist, just to make sure, since there were no big problems.
(Yes, no little demons with pitchforks showed in the scans :-)
Oh, and since the last cortisone shot didn’t help, he wanted to give me another, but from the front.
He goes and gets the stuff and my mind wanders. I’m thinking that there could be something to a shot of cortisone and a shot at a courtesan? Hmmm, I’ll have to play with that.
The doc comes back and mixed up the cocktail. No, I don’t look at the long needle, but I sure felt it when it went in! Boy, there was some tough stuff he had to push the needle through!
The effect was immediate and good. I could move my arm and the pain in the extremes of my range had lessened. (sure, a lot might be sure to the Lidocaine.)

Now, weeks later I have much greater range of motion, without pain. I can really start exercising and stretching my left arm. This is important since it helps break loose the scar tissue that has formed. Over the next three months I need to see progress.
Because if I don’t have good progress, then the Orthopedic surgeon will present the other option. Put me out and then forcibly move the arm where it should go; ripping through the scar tissue. And maybe some Arthroscopic help with little knives.
None of us want that option, so I exercise, stretch.
And hope that in three months, all they will give me is a shot of cortisone.

I’d rather have a shot of cortisone, then be shot by a courtesan.
Still needs work.

Necessity is the Mother

2008-11-30T20:05:00.000-08:00

Of strange Bedfellows.

I am reminded of this fact when I look at our two dogs. Molly has her own little bed that was just fine, thank you very much. Tommy has his by the couch. They each keep to their own space.
Now the temperature has dipped and their cold-hearted masters simply put on long sleeved stuff and don’t turn on the heaters! So poor Molly, being a short haired beagle, is starting to get cold! What is a poor little dog to do, but snuggle up to Tommy.
So now, when I walk through the Family room, Tommy has his head resting on Molly, who is snuggled up next to him. I wonder if they sleep together on the couch at night? I am sure they don’t, since they both know that dogs are not allowed on the couches!
Unless it’s dark and no one can see them.

A lot of things happen in the dark and the weather is cold.

Today we were going shopping and Wonder-Girl asked me to bring her a shirt so she could iron it for me. So of course I brought her a short-sleeved polo. After all, it’s supposed to get to 65(18c) today and we will be in the car or indoors. Plenty warm, for me.
WG immediately said ‘No’, she wanted me to wear a long-sleeved shirt. ‘Seeing you in short-sleeves just makes me cold!’
I had to laugh since I know it’s true. So many winters nights she will be wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a sweater, or sweatshirt; and there I am in a Tee-shirt. ‘Go put a coat on.’ She says. ‘You are making me cold!’

Yes, I know I can never understand women’s needs, since I rarely get cold. Exploit them, yes; understand them, no.

Like that time our friends had a small party. It was a chilly October night and even I had wished I was wearing more than a T-shirt. Anyway, we were saying our good-byes and Farm-girl gave me a hug and said “Oh! You’re warm!” She used the same tone of voice a woman would use when she says, ‘Oh, Chocolates!’

So WG has the heater on tonight and she is wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Molly and Tommy are snuggled together. It is 72(22c) and I am shirtless, since 72 is plenty warm for me.

I think about this when I remember what my female coworker once said, as we were discussing this disparity in core temperature. ‘Sometimes,’ She said, ‘I think that the only reason a women sleeps with a guy is because he is warm.’

Laugh all you want, but I suspect that is a good explanation for a certain persons actions, decades ago. Why else did she come into my room, blonde on blonde in the pale moonlight and ask if I was cold?

Floating through aether

2008-11-21T22:03:00.001-08:00

I’m never gonna fall in love again
I don’t want to start with someone new
Because I couldn’t bear to see it end
Just like me and you.

I was chatting with one of the Cebuanas a while ago, not long after my return. “Do you miss me?” DeeDee asked.
“A little.”
“Only a little?” :-( was her answer.
I didn’t mean to make DeeDee pout, but what else could I say? Add six Ducklings to the four Night Creatures, mix in Sundae and the other seven, plus other miscellaneous friends and never forget Pip; I just can’t afford to miss everyone equally. Should I miss you more than Little Shrimp, whom I have known for five years? Or Chickadee, for fifteen? Or Office-wife #1 for twenty? DeeDee is a nice girl, but I have only known her for maybe six months.

There is an old Ray Bradbury story where a group of spacemen are traveling to Mars when their ship unexpectedly explodes. They are blown in all directions by the explosion. Still alive in their suits, the talk to each other via their suit radios as they float away, alive as long as their air supply lasts.

And each time my company lays someone off, they are blown out into space. Sure, one or two went out the airlock voluntarily, but the rest were flung off into space.

I feel that way sometimes as I chat with my friends from far away. Some I wonder if I will ever see again, some I know I never will. Do you realize the last time we saw each other was the last time we would see each other?
But with the wonders of modern technology, we can stay in touch. But does that just make the connection thinner and more tenuous? And at what point does it break?

I almost think that is what happened to Pip. Did she reach a point where she just turned off her radio?

So I really cannot afford to like the new ones too much, I tell myself. I am still getting over the old ones.
And they are out there, ethereal and diaphanous, but out there.

Dark Tails

2008-11-20T20:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, there are no stories, just fragments.

People here like to put a bumper stickers on their cars that say, ‘Never drive faster than your Guardian Angel can fly.’

As I walk through the dark spaces between street lamps, the moon obscured by the scudding clouds, I can only hope I can outrun my Dark Angel when she swoops down on me.
--
As we walked through the small park to the Miriam Hotel, the girls seemed to walk a little closer to me. I am sure that it was because it was dark.
The youngest one stopped us and pointed up. “I read somewhere that friends are like stars. You can’t always see them, but they are there.”

We stood there for a moment, thinking about what she said and of our friendship. Then Nancy turned to me, the moonlight cast a white pallor on her normally tan skin. Her full lips seemed redder as her tongue slid over them, seeming to taste something in the air. She reached up and caressed my cheek with her hand. “You know my friend; you are never truly alone, if someone is secretly watching you.”

We all thought it was creepy-funny and laughed about it as we continued to walk to the hotel.

But I remember the look in her eyes and the sharpness of her smile. I think about it now, sitting alone in my house, miles away. I wonder if it explains the odd feeling I get some nights now. Why I sometimes dream of her visiting me and how hard it is get out of bed the next morning.

But mostly I wish I could get rid of the damn bedbugs I brought back from the island. Then maybe the bites I keep getting would heal.

MRI Dreams

2008-11-14T22:01:00.000-08:00

When I was younger, I remember seeing a picture of an old woodcut image where a person was beset with joint pain. In this woodcut, the pain is caused by tiny demons poking little pitchforks into him. They sure had wild imaginations five hundred years ago.

I was thinking of this, as the Tech got me set on the little bed. She put earplugs in my ears, clamped my bad shoulder in some odd plastic cage.
Slowly, the narrow bed I am on is pushed into the hole of the machine. My arms scrap against the sides a little, so I pull my arms in. There are two little light strips above my forehead, an inch above my forehead.
I can’t move. My arms are tight against my sides. I would be okay, but thanks to a surgery on my left arm ten years ago, my ulnar nerve is one the side. The pressure on my left arm is causing it to hurt and my left hand is starting to go numb.

So as I am lying there in the metal doughnut, listening to the growl and bang of the MRI machine, wondering what the Tech sees on her screen. Then the old woodcut comes to mind.
It sure would be amusing if she rolled me out of the coffin like structure and said. “Yes Mr. Hogg. If you look at the screen, you can see little demons here, here and here. They are what is causing the pain in your shoulder. ” She indicates grey little blobs holding pitchforks. “Now the good news is that there are only three and they are weak demons.” She picks up a scalpel and a stainless steel pan. “We can tell that it’s a simple matter of your humors being out of balance.” She swabs my arm with a cotton ball soaked in alcohol. “A little blood letting will get you humors back in balance.” The scalpel doesn’t hurt as much as my shoulder joint.

After a half hour in the steel doughnut, the banging, growling and grinding noises stop. “All done.” The voice says from the speakers. I feel the bed move. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I blurt out through clenched teeth. My right hand is clenched tight and there are small tears coming out of the corner of my eyes. The pain in my left arm is killing me.
“You can sit up.”
I do and start to massage my left arm.
“Are you okay?”
“My arm is killing me. It was tight in there.”
“I thought so. You were shaking in there.”
I shook my arm and could feel the pins and needles as the blood returned to my arm.

“Your doctor will schedule an appointment within a week, to go over the results.”

As I drive home, I wonder how many little demons showed up on the MRI and if there is damage.

Snicker

2008-11-10T21:25:00.000-08:00

So we are at the end. I put the last Snickers bar in the freezer for Wonder-Girl.

Right before I left for Cebu, I bought a case of Snickers bars. Yes kids, a case. Forty-eight Snickers bars.
I took some with me as favors for my friends in Cebu, hid a dozen around the house for WG to find and hid the box in my closet.
She found all of them, since I did not hide them well.

That was two months ago and I gave her the last one tonight.

This weekend we will go do our monthly shopping at the big-box-store. If I shop by myself, I can sneak another box of Snickers bars home. Ready for when WG gets a craving for a chocolate bar.

But if we go together, then I will have to make a seperate trip on my own and smuggle a box back into the house.

Being sneaky is difficult

Dark Angel

2008-10-31T09:44:00.000-07:00

Dark Angel
By G.W. Hogg
©10-31-08

Nancy looked up from her book, just as Jane flew in through the open doors that led to the backyard
“God Damn it!” Jane exclaimed as she landed with a thud and folded her dark leathery wings against her bronze body. “Next week, I’m going to see the plastic surgeon!”
“What’s wrong?” Nancy said as she stood and glided quietly over to Jane. She reached up, wiped the trickle of blood from Jane’s chin. “I can see you fed.” She seductively licked the blood off her finger. “And you fed well.”
“Not well enough. You know how I like to frighten my victims!”
“I could never understand that. They taste so much better, when improperly seduced.” She sat down again as Jane continued to pace.
“I know you like the smoky mix of serotonin and endorphin that you get from seducing a man, but nothing beats the sharp tang that adrenaline gives to the blood.”
“To each her own. But you never have a problem frightening them.”
“It’s not just frightening them, it’s how you do it. Oh you wouldn’t understand!”
“Oh come on Jane. I’m not dead!”
“Well, you know how I like to swoop down on my victims.”
“Yes.”
“There is a subtle difference in the taste of blood, depending on how you frighten them. Startling them is the absolute best! Their blood is just flooded with adrenalin!”
“So.”
“So, I just can’t startle them with my damn breasts!”
Nancy just started to laugh. “You of all people…”and she continued to laugh.
“What to you mean, me of all people!”
Nancy caught her breath and looked her friend up and down. “You have this wonderful, slim, petite body. You breasts are just the perfect size for your frame! I don’t know why you insist on frightening your victims when you could seduce them so easily!”
‘Damn it! It’s not the size! See how the left nipple turns out?”
“So.”
“So! So! Don’t you know anything about flying? When I hit top speed in my dive, the aerodynamics are such that my left nipple whistles!”
Nancy started laughing so hard that she fell out of her chair and rolled on the floor.
“It’s not funny! Half-way through my dive, they look up and see me! It ruins the surprise!”
Nancy finally caught her breath. “I just wished my little breasts could whistle. ‘Hello sailor’.” And she started laughing again.
Jane was so furious that she couldn’t speak.

When Nancy finally stopped, she got back up and gave her friend a hug. “I know you are picky with the food you drink. I shouldn’t laugh, but you know how live women obsess over their breasts.”
“You didn’t have to laugh!”
“Oh come on! Admit it, it is a little funny.”
“Well…”
“Anyway, maybe you should wear a bra?”
Now Jane laughed. “A vampire in a bra? That would look so ridiculous! I want to frighten them, now make them laugh.”
“Well, how about a sports bra?”
“What? And flatten my prefect, perky breasts? Never!”
They both started to laugh until there were tears coming out of their eyes.

The rooster crowing in the distance stopped their laughter and they looked out the window at the lightening sky.
“Almost bedtime.”
“Yes. Let’s get ready.”
They blew out the few candles and walked into the next room of the abandoned house, pulled open the hidden trap door and descended the rickety staircase into the basement. Nancy’s too white skin appeared to glow in the darkness, while Jane’s natural bronze worked to hide her.
They each slipped into their clammy shrouds and climbed into their coffins.
“Good night Jane.”
“Good night Nancy.”

The coffin lids squeaked safely shut, just as the sun rose over the horizon.

Do you really want to hurt me?

2008-10-24T21:03:00.000-07:00

Do you really want to make me cry?
Last week
Wednesday
I am not sure what I should say to my PT tomorrow.

‘If things don’t improve soon, I am going to have to ask you to stop helping me.’?

Oh, she does not like to hurt me, but she has to try. That’s the only way she can tell how my frozen shoulder is. Move it until it hurts a bit, then move it a little bit farther. She says that I am a little better.
The problem is, by the next day my whole arm hurts like hell. It moves a little more, but hurts more.
Push the limits.

Last Monday I saw the Orthopedist. The idea was to get a nice shot of cortisone in my shoulder joint. Ease the inflammation and the pain. Regain some mobility. Maybe break loose the scar tissue that has built up in my shoulder joint.
I let him move my arm places that it did not want to go. Nothing tore, as far as I could tell, but it hurt like hell.
‘Yes, it looks like adhesive capsulitis.’ He said. ‘We can try a little cortisone.’
No, I did not look too closely sat the 3inch (7.5 cm?) needle.
But the needle slipped into my shoulder joint easily, I am sure the lidocaine in mix helped.

But the little cocktail did little for my shoulder joint. I think the Orthopedist was disappointed it didn’t help much.
But the shoulder was a little better and he could move it around a lot more.
(Little did I know that I would pay for days.)

Ortho–doc thinks there might something else causing problems and will schedule an MRI. That might be fun, I have never had an MRI.

By the time Thursday rolled around, my arm was better and maybe a slight improvement from the shot.
The PT worked me over pretty well, but she was careful this time. She tends to wince when I jerk from the pain. She tells me that the cortisone can take up to a week to fully help.

A week later-
So I do my stretching exercises every day. Just a little each day. Keep some ability to move. I hope no one tries to dance with me at the party this Saturday. Or at least not until I have had enough beer to not feel my arm scream.

Which wife

2008-10-18T22:22:00.000-07:00

So, last Friday night, Wonder-Girl was hosting a Bunko party with all her girl friends.(boys not allowed :-)
It was Bunko night and there were a dozen ladies there.

Anyway, Wonder-Girl shows them the picture of me and witch-girl on the broomstick, flying over the Chocolate Hills. They all thought it was neat. And then one of the ladies asked
"Who is the cute young lady on the broomstick with your husband?"
"Oh that's Shy, his Filipina wife." WG said.
The women that knew us just laughed, but a few of the ones that don't know me just kinda looked around, not knowing what to say.
I wished I could have been there to see some of their faces!

(Sure, some of you will ask, like Glinda of oz did, is she a good witch or a bad witch? All I can say is, it depends how you treat her!

When I did get home, around 9:30, the party was ending. The Garcia sisters Aunt A & J-Gram (both in their 70’s) were admiring my kitchen floor and Aunt A said, “You did such a good job! Do you want to do my kitchen?”
“No.” I answered.
“Why not?”
“You can’t afford my rates.”
“Anyway,” Her sister J-Gram piped in, “He only does this stuff for his wife.”
“Well,” Aunt-A said, “How do you feel about having a second wife?”

One should stay away from the Garcia sisters!

Survivor

2008-10-08T22:39:00.000-07:00

So I went in for my six-month check up on the skin cancer that was shaved off the back of my hand (you know, last Feb.)
Unfortunately, my female doctor moved to a different office, so I have some guy doctor that Wonder-Girl said was pretty nice.
Maybe that is fortunate, for I was sure that the female doctor wanted to do some more cutting.

I was pleasantly surprised when Repair-girl-two called me into the doctors office. I used to work with her, three blocks from here, when the WC office still existed. She was one of the two techs that I would come running to when I needed a board repaired and sent to a customer. She was a few years younger than me and just as cute as a button. (maybe cuter, but I digress)
Now she is a nurse in a doctors office.
With a huge smile on her face, she says ‘the doctor will see me now.’ (you know, there is nothing better than being greeted by a big, warm smile from a young lady. But again, I digress)
So we go into the exam room, asking how things are going.
She was pleasantly surprised that I still worked for T. One of the last, a survivor I guess.

“Do you want the whole body exam?” She asks while looking at my records on the computer screen. “Or just the upper torso?”

Now if any of you had worked with us back in the WC days, you would know that a question like that would lead to, at minimum, an “Oh Baby!” (especially when asked by a pretty young lady) And then someone would whack me on the arm.

I just smiled at her and she smiled back. We know what jokes would have been said, back in the days.
“Just need to have my hand checked, but the upper torso is a good idea.”

We chatted for a few more minutes, then the doc came in and she stepped out.

The good news is that there is no sign of the skin cancer reoccurring on my hand, but the doc warned me that there was a good chance of a reoccurrence somewhere else. You know the drill, sunscreen, wear clothes, lip balm.
He looked over my arms and face and said the rest of me looked okay.
Come back in six months for another checkup.

I said good-bye to RG#2 on the way out, got a nice hug and told her I’d see her again in six months.

I survived not having ‘trench work’ done on my hand. I am still at ‘T’, long after almost everyone else was let go.
There are so many things I have gotten past and over, removing a little spot on my hand seems trivial. Not something you survive.

Overboard

2008-10-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

I think I had a good night. At least I don’t remember waking up a lot. I wake up a lot nowadays.
I have Frozen Shoulder. Not sure what caused it, my physical therapist doesn’t know what caused it.
But my shoulder joint sticks. If I force it, it hurts like hell. My therapist shows me way to force it.
So nice of her.
If I don’t keep moving it, it will get worse.

I sleep very hard, usually. Very little wakes me up. Once when I was younger, a woman walked on me in the middle of the night.
I never woke up.

I wake up now. Many times at night. It seems every time I move in bed, my arm hurts. Hurts enough to wake me up.
Messes up my sleep so much that I am tired and want to nap in the afternoon.
My boss would not like that.

I think it keeps me from dreaming like I usually do.
Except last night when I keep having the same dream over and over and over..

The dream starts with my friend and her friends are on a ferry, traveling between islands. Terrorists take over the ferry and everyone hears news reports about how they killed some people, including my friend.
But in my dreams I kept seeing her escape. She jumps off the ferry. She throws a life jacket overboard and jumps over the railing.
Sometimes she hits the side of the ferry, sometimes she doesn‘t.
Sometimes she curls up like a ball and makes a big splash when she hits the water.
Over and over, I dreamt the same thing.

Every time I woke up I knew that she was alive, but swimming in the ocean. Safe from the terrorists, but not safely on shore.
Except once when her head smashed against the side of the ferry.

I kept waking up last night, my arm hurt like a son-of-a-bitch and my friend was in trouble.

Not a good night.

What she didn’t say

2008-09-24T22:59:00.001-07:00

It starts with keeping a secret. One that some know. We may wink at one another, for only we know.
I am not sure all who know, just a few.

I am reminded again just how much fun it can be in Cebu. Not just because of old friends, but because I have (as usual) made new friends too. I expected one NC to meet me at the Marriott. Instead, a strange SUV pulled up, the window rolled down and a familiar voice behind a great big smile said, “Get in Warty! Ha! You didn’t expect some chick in a car to pick you up.”
The fun begins.
This first night was a fun dinner with the Night Creatures and others. Sure, I suffered through the embarrassing happy birthday song and the funny hat. (note to self, destroy the evidence and don’t come over here on your birthday!) Then off for a drink and some dancing. Sundae is burning up the small dance floor and drags me out there. (note to self, next time she selects the bar, bring young men as decoys!:-)
With careful coaching I manage a little dancing and don’t crush her toes. She encourages me, says I am doing well. I know different and it is confirmed a week later when I overhear her tell someone I have two left feet. Ha! That will teach you girl. I told you I don’t like to dance and there is a reason. I am no good at it.
But still, it was fun.
That’s how it started.

The days are full of meetings and classes. Barely enough time to do any real work. But each thing I teach opens up new avenues of exploring and more questions. Thirsty for knowledge, they drink deeply.

Every night, a dinner with two to three different people. We learn who is who, what the personalities are like. The newbies become at ease. They learn the smiling giant is just fun to be around. That is important.
There is the quiet and shy one, the noisy one, the quietly demanding one; all manner of person.
They learn, I learn, the week progresses.
I have an hour to myself at work, sometimes. Catch up on work emails, peek at personal email, call the WG and tell her I miss her.
But there is little time to myself and that is good. Less time to wonder how my WG is doing, how much we miss each other.

Saturday involves friends and a resort with pool and beach. Lazy swimming and laughing over plates of Philippine food. Just fun and relaxation.
Sunday is the tour of Bohol island. A ferry ride over the calm ocean. Is it the ocean between islands? Or maybe called a strait? And when the tide goes out it is a strait-flush? (I know, bad joke)
The Chocolate hills are interesting and cool to looks at. Tarsiers much more interesting in person, especially from six inches away! None of the girls wanted to stand next to the python for picture-picture. Bunch of scaredy-cats. Lunch on the river, a bridge across the river, but no on ramps?
Everything is green, beaches look inviting, I wonder how the old church still stands after more than one hundred years, maybe because it is still being used?
All too quickly, we are on the ferry back to Cebu island. Yes, two days would have been better. Maybe some beach time. Would be nice with WG.

Monday comes around again and the crush of training and meetings is upon me. This is good. Less time to brood.
When you have been together as long as we, you enjoy the first few days apart. As time goes by, you slowly miss each other a little more each day.

Heard from WG that our dogs teamed up and caught a rat. Molly flushed it out of the ferns, right into Tommy’s jaws! Now how cool is that?

Gave Spam-girl-one some pointers on using her clutch on a hill. “Thanks.” She said. “It’s like having my dad here helping me.” Bingo, just the reaction I wanted.
Sundae said to me, “I know you have lots of girls here, but don’t forget your woman!”
That’s not possible, but it serves to illustrate; they are mostly girls. Even Warm Chick, despite that she is older than most. Because most are younger than my son, they are kind of like little girls; at least in my eyes.
But I forget too easily sometimes, that I could be their father. Amusing perhaps, until the old guy(older than me) bought Danger-Girl a drink. I saw her mouth the word ‘pedophile’
Sure, I teased her that it looks like we should go and leave there, but I would never do that.
Still, it makes me pause. The guy was not that much older than me. One misstep I would gain that label. I walk as carefully as I can. (but I take less care with my ‘woman’ :-)

And I almost spill the beans.

The remains of the second week are filled with discoveries. My coworker/friends are finding out new things and I am discovering just how much more I have to teach them! Spam-girl-one says she wants me to stay another week, others echo the sentiment.
Nice to be wanted, but I have a home waiting for me.

Amusing how one of my ducklings is called balut.

Before I know it, it is Friday afternoon and I am being driven to the airport. So much work got done, so much left to be done, way too much fun also.
But it’s good bye till next time. So nice to have friends in far away places. Even if M&M echoed balut. ‘I’ll miss you when you leave today, but not tomorrow.’
Mischievous little imps, but that’s why I like them.

So I sit here in the Manila airport waiting for my flight. I wonder what ever happened to Pip? She is somewhere around Manila, but vanished off the web.

At least I got to say good-bye to my friend.

She may not be here next time I come.

At least she didn’t say what Blondie said to me, about forever.

Makes the parting easier.

How to kill a fly

2008-08-25T16:48:00.000-07:00

Here is how I used to kill the flies that would buzz around the center of the room.

1. Stand at the perimeter of the room.
2. Hold a zippo lighter in one hand. A can of butane fuel in the other.
3. Hold the nozzle an inch or so from the lighter.
4. Light the lighter and touch the nozzle of the butane canister for just a brief moment.
5. A very satisfying little fireball blows into the center of the room, killing the little flying monsters. Those that are not killed get their wings singed off and they can no longer fly and annoy you.

Warning:
Try this outside first so that you learn to make small fireballs, not big ones. This lessens your chance of catching things on fire.
Keep a fire extinguisher handy.
Do not do this when your parents are at home! They just do not understand ‘fun’.

Miss Adventure in L.A.

2008-08-25T14:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, Molly is fine, the little shit!

So we are in L.A. and staying with our son and his roommate.
Saturday night, we leave their house to go see Donna Summer. All three dogs are getting along and while we expect them to be rambunctious, they will be okay. Okay Tommy(the old mutt) sleeps a lot and Enzo(the devil dog Jack Russell terrier) and Molly(the mostly good Beagle) chase each other.
(Nice concert, by the way)

We get back from the concert at about 11:30 PM and Tommy and Enzo greet us at the front door.
Molly is nowhere to be found!

And the little gate to the side yard has been shoved open! One of us forgot to lock the bottom latch and the Molly dog pushed through!

Of course we were frantic. Miles from home and the hound dog has gone wandering. We searched the neighborhood but could not find her. There are a number of busy streets around, so of course we were worried.

Molly’s tag has our home phone number on it, but that does us no good when we are 400 miles away. We thought of calling our neighbor and having her go to our house to listen for messages. Then I remembered that we can access the messages remotely, but that I had no idea how.
So while some were driving around looking, I went online and found the manual for our answering machine. However, I did not know the access code. Roommate looked up the same info and was able to read the default code!

And the first message was from a guy asking if we were missing a Molly dog! And he live on the next street over.
Roommate called him, apologizing for waking him up at 1:30 in the morning. Yes they had the dog and we could meet them tomorrow morning to pick up the little rascal.

So by 9am the next morning, little Miss Adventure was back in Wendy’s arms being punished with hugs.

Our son screwed a board to the little gate so Molly can’t escape again (she still pushes on the it.)
We will add a cell phone number to her dog tag.
We will never trust a beagle.
I don’t think I will forget the code for the answering machine!

I Got Mine

2008-08-25T11:50:00.001-07:00

I try to offer words of encouragement, advice to my friends; but knowing full well that my words are flawed.
I got mine.

And it wasn’t that hard.

So as I offer words of hope and I expect you will all understand that I always think that things will turn out okay for you.

They did for me.
I got mine.

And it wasn’t that hard and I didn’t look that long.
And I was probably very lucky!
(And maybe she was a little bit lucky.)

I got mine.

A good wife, a nice house, a job I like, a good son, some dogs that think I am almost a deity.

Okay, so I got lucky and got mine.

But I think that you can get yours too.

Never Gonna Fall in Love Again

2008-07-27T20:11:00.000-07:00

I was alright, for a while. In fact, I could smile for a while. I kept my good face on the whole week, while in N.R.
Meet new people, train new people, keep myself busy and pay as much attention to my Chickadee as I could

And I got through those two weeks without a problem until Thursday afternoon when it was time to leave for my flight home. I went to give Chickadee a hug goodbye and she said, “I guess this is goodbye forever.”
Damn! She didn’t have to say that!
“No my friend. The next time I am out here, we will meet for dinner.”
“We will?”
“Yes, just like Skinner, I will make time for you.”

I made it outside, to the car, before my eyes got wet.

A month later, at the end of June, I was lucky, for there were over a thousand fires burning around the state and the air was full of smoke for a week. It was Chickadee’s last day and I called her on the phone to say goodbye. Then I went outside to think. The smoke in the air was good and thick. If Wonder-Girl asked why my eyes were watering, I could say it was the smoke in the air.

I’ll go through this all again, when Office-Jewish-Mother has her last day. And that is almost the last of them. All I have left is newbies and they are six thousand miles away. It will be hard to miss them as much, since the ocean keeps us from getting too close.
Yes, keep telling yourself these lies and the next time will be easier.

High Bridge Campground

2008-07-09T22:05:00.000-07:00

What is up with this sign at the campground’s outhouses?

Who or what is ‘Ol Henry’?

Is the same ‘OL HENRY’ sign at other campgrounds?

The Tail of the Horny Bitch

2008-06-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

So most of you have heard of our new addition, the very cute little Molly dog. She is busy learning the house rules, with the Tommy dog helping.
Molly is very much a beagle, including some early morning howls to wake us up. Of course, if we forget to close the dog gate, Tommy leads Molly into the back of the house to check on us.

Just after we got Molly, we took her to the Vet for a checkup. The Vet said he could not see a scar on Molly’s stomach, so he does not think she was spayed. We ask some questions about what to look for, since we have never had a fertile dog before, much less a female.

Two days later, little Molly dog begins to leave little drops of blood here and there.
The bitch is in heat!

So we get dog diapers for her and wait for the hordes of male dogs to start scaling the walls.

Poor, poor Tommy dog! It’s bad enough that this little three year old pint sized dog wants to play all the time; now she wants to PLAY!

Molly will bark at Tommy to get his attention. Then she will paw at this chest or shoulder. Then she slide up next to him and bumps her butt against his. It’s like she is signaling, ‘Climb aboard big boy and I’ll give you a ride!’
Tommy is fixed and couldn’t care less.
Molly won’t take no for an answer! She will bite at his ears, his chest. She’ll mount him from behind, she’ll get on his head and hump on it.
When Tommy has had enough, he will ‘talk’ to Molly (he has a pretty good bark on him) and she leaves him alone for a while.

And half an hour later they are at it again.

We have two more weeks of this fun, then we can get the horny little girl ‘fixed’.

Duckling Tails

2008-06-20T22:57:00.001-07:00

Make way for ducklings.

While I was back east, we took a tour of Boston, via the Freedom Trail.
My Boss and his M’ad friend lead the tour, with-
Two young ladies from China,
Three young guys fro Costa Rica
And five young ladies from Cebu. (okay, the M’ad friend is from Cebu too, but it’s my story and I get to tell it my way.)

So, it was while we were trying to cross a street and the Cebuanos were dawdling, that I tried to hurry them along and said, ‘Come on…Come on…’ and they the perfect name came to me! “Come on DUCKLINGS!” I said in a loud voice.
Amidst laughs and giggle, the ladies hurried across the street.

And so they became The Ducklings. It fit so well, since the story, ‘Make way for Ducklings’ takes place around the Boston Public gardens, where we started out trip.
(if you want to know more, look here - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Make_Way_for_Ducklings)

Amusing how one of them asked me, “Why not ‘chicks’?” I know she meant, as in cute, young thing.’ (which she is, but I digress)
I had to explain how ‘chick’ had acquired a bad connotation, as in ‘you can’t do that, you’re just a chick.’
No one uses ‘Duckling’ and it is cute enough.

So Warty has his Ducklings now.

One of them called my ‘Mother Goose’, so I had to correct her and say it should be ‘Father Goose.’ Which made me immediately think of the Cary Grant movie(it’s a fun movie.)

So, that’s the duckling tale.

Molly reactions

2008-06-20T22:05:00.000-07:00

Skinner, who owns a male beagle named Buddy said-
"If you wanted a beagle you should have just told me. I'd have packed Buddy up within the hour!"

My son, who owns Enzo (aka the devil dog) a Rack Russel terrier with no off switch said
"She is VERY cute...and looks to be well behaved...want to trade??? No really, I'll pay you!"

A new, the nine billion names of dog.

2008-06-18T21:52:00.000-07:00

(sure, only older brother recognizes the title)

Molly Bolt
(bolts out the door)

Molybdenum grease (Yes, Molly grease. Like greased lightning)

A wiggle butt and a wag tail pup.

A Miss Creant

Like any beagle, we know she is up to no good.

Enough silliness-

So the update on the new dog is that Molly the 'no longer fertile beagle' (no, really, we have a certificate from the vet stating that she had been spayed)is doing just fine and is adapting well to her new house.
She knows a lot of commands and obeys them (mostly).

We took her to the vet last Monday, for a check up and have her ear looked at. The vet could not find a scar on her stomach, so he could not confirm that she had been spayed.
Wednesday, Molly went into heat. She is now wearing a little diaper to keep from leaving little blood spots everywhere.

Once she is no longer in heat, we will have her spayed.

With luck, we will be able to keep her safe until she is no longer fertile

Such ugly green eyes

2008-06-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

You know my friends, you should not be so.
Neither one of you looks good with green eyes.

You need not be so possessive. Are you not already my favorites?

Or am I wasting my breath, because I feel you never read this.

New Addition.

2008-06-08T22:25:00.000-07:00

We went to one of the local dog rescue places, to look for a new dog for Wonder-Girl. She wanted a smaller dog, maybe like a pug.
Our fifty-five pound Tommy is too large for WG to lift into the car.

So we heard of a Puggle that was available, but overweight. Now a Puggle is a Pug-Beagle mix. Maybe not as many health problems as a full pug, with that goofy looking smashed face. And frankly, I just don’t like pugs.

We got there and the Puggle seemed okay, but not a lot of personality. He was a little bigger than Tommy and very fat! But even if he lost weight, he would still be bigger than Tommy.
And then they let the little three year old beagle out of the kennel. She immediately warmed up to Tommy and started following him all around the yard.

Okay, so Molly seems to have chosen Tommy and they both got along very well. WG was torn between both dogs, mostly worried that the beagle would easily be adopted and the Puggle wouldn’t. But the shelter people assured WG that they do not have the dogs put down and always find homes for them.
So we took the beagle, Molly. (Okay, they would have thrown in the Puggle for a few more dollars, but two dogs is plenty.)
And come on, a beagle is so much better looking than a pug. Plus beagles were bred to do something. Pugs were bred to just be lap dogs. Kinda hard for a guy to walk a pug and keep his dignity

Molly has made herself at home and follows commands that Tommy already knows. So despite here being found as a stray, she did have a family that took care of her and worked with her.

She is slowly settling into the household routine and we shall see. But I think she will work out well.

And WG is very pleased with the gift I got her and the Tommy dog helped pick out!

Dealing with the Nubies

2008-05-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

So, we have a new batch of Nubies to deal with.

It is so hard to train them, especially since their ages range from 24? to 33?. No, I have not asked their ages, that can be considered rude.

But I do want you to be aware, that I am listening to every word you say, tasting the sound, listening to the feel, playing with the phrases you utter.
And always thinking of their other meanings, what has not been said, looking for a way to make something funny.
And when I say things, at times I am leaving an opening for one of you to say something, if you listen well enough.

You will get points if you catch on faster than others.

Like last night, when we were driving back from dinner and I said that with all of these pretty ladies, the hard part was not playing favorites.
L2 said, “So, you admit that we are all pretty.”

I could not see her, but I will bet she was smiling. Nice catch L2 and nicely played. You get a Ganda point for that one.

Sleeping with my FB

2008-05-18T12:31:00.000-07:00

Well, the annual camping trip is coming up and I was expecting to be sleeping in my tent, as usual.
But this year DeepT cannot make it. And FB’s son won’t be coming. So there will be an extra bed available in Fishing Buddy’s trailer.
(Oh, and I’ll bet you thought FB had a different meaning? You have a dirty mind!)

The amusing thing is that I have teased my friends about being wimps because they sleep in a trailer, instead of a tent, and now I will be one of the wimps! :-)
There response is to say that if I had been there two years ago, when it snowed, that I would have thought differently.
But alas, two years ago I missed the snow. I was forced, (forced I say) to spend two weeks in the Philippines. Sadly, business trips sometimes interfere with your life.
(of course we will ignore the truth. That I was made to spend time with my friends in Cebu. Made to spend time with pretty young ladies.
Look, this is MY story and I will omit, or bend, the truth to fit how I want the story to sound.)

So this year, I will find out what luxury camping is like.

Clouds are gathering

2008-05-18T11:47:00.000-07:00

I was going to write about fun things, like the veritable plethora of feminine pulchritude that I had to survive yesterday-

However, when I opened my email this morning, there was a note from my high school girlfriend and she mentioned that her husband was in the hospital and she would know more on Monday.
From the tone of the note, there has been some type of problem for a little while. And It does not sound good.

Maybe I am reading more into the email that I should, but since she is my oldest and dearest friend, I am worried.
You don’t like to see friends sad.
Especially when there really isn’t much you can do to cheer them up.

It darkened an otherwise sunny day

Escape to X Minus One leaves me in Suspense

2008-05-17T08:01:00.000-07:00

It’s one thing to listen to your ipod everywhere you go, but we all know that we do get tired of our favorite music.

And then I realized that during the long boring drive to and from work, I could be listening to my collection of old radio shows from the forties and fifties!

As most of you do not know; before the invention of television, people listened to the radio for their entertainment. In some respects it was and still is better, simply because you imagine how things look. This is especially true of Horror and Sci-Fi. Your imagination is always better than the image you see on TV or in the movies. Now these are not ‘books on tape’ being read by someone; these are dramas with multiple actors, sound effects, music.
Escape opened with these lines-

Tired of the everyday grind?
Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure?
Want to get away from it all?
We offer you ... ESCAPE!

And that is precisely what OTR shows enables me to do, to escape.

Right now I am half way through my collection of X Minus One. It is a series of Sci-Fi radio dramatizations from the mid fifties.

So I get in my truck, listen to the morning new for a few minutes, then I select the next show on my ipod and lose myself for the next thirty minutes

“Countdown for blastoff... X minus five, four, three, two, X minus one... Fire! From the far horizons of the unknown come transcribed tales of new dimensions in time and space. These are stories of the future; adventures in which you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand may-be worlds”.

And all of our petty problem go away.

Bees Needs

2008-05-10T22:37:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago some bees gathered in our tree out front. They were not more than eight feet off the ground.
I have dealt with bee swarms when I was young, but since Wonder-Girl is allergic to their stings, I could not capture and keep them.
So I called the local bee keeper group and they would come and get them the next day.
And the guy wanted $100. I told him that the web site states the charges are $50. He agreed to the $50 and came and got them the next day.

Now I don’t mind a small fee, but $50 seems high. Especially since they were in a tree and easily collected. So I had to pay the guy and he gets a free swarm. Bees sell for about $85.
If they were stuck in a wall, maybe I would pay. (okay, if they were stuck in a wall, I would use my Chlordane.) But if the swarm comes back next year and the guys says it’s $100. Then I will tell him it is too high. He can either come and get them for free, or I will wait until late at night, dump them into a box and drive them to the edge of town and leave them there.

The bees will be fine.

Quotes from Bjorn....

2008-04-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

My coworker collected phrases he overheard on the manufacturing floor. On his last day at work, he gave us copies.

Things I've Heard….

I have the habit of collecting memorable quotes at work. The only criteria I use is that the quote has to be something that was not meant to be funny when it was said. I have collected quite of few of these quotes over the last few years. All of these quotes were said quite innocently and the humor only came after the statements had sunken in for a few seconds. Usually the person who said it laughed the hardest because they had no idea what they had just said.
Although many of these quotes sound sexual, I can assure you that almost all of them refer to some part of a system or to a tool of some sort. Whenever I heard one of these, I would write it down in my Newton. (See? It was good for something!) It was my way of capturing the fun we have around here. This is the part I'll miss the most about working here. Now that I'm leaving, I'd like to pass them all on to you as my way of thanking you all for making the last 2 1/2 years so fun for me. I'll definitely miss you all.

Bjorn J.

Sue H.
Quit playing with my springs!
Where's our rubber?
We need some little dykes... go see Paula.
Are you blowing or sucking?
I can't get this hose into the hole.
The last time I saw it, it was in your slot.
Does anyone have Vaseline in one of their little compartments?
I've got trouble down there in the fudge pipe.
I've got rusty nipples.
Any time you put something in front him he grabs it and sticks it.
You can't put it in the other hole.
Do you have any of those shaved nuts?
Are you in charge of nipples?

Paula N.
I'm so sticky!
I want bigger ones.
Let's go play Royster.

Tony T.
I need a bigger tool.

Richard D-M.
I got excited and forgot to wrap the tip.
I've got another 10 inches

Bjorn J.
He's walking around with a lot of little parts.

Steve D.
Sausage tastes good!

Royster M.
Hey Sue! Do you have a 3/8" nipple?

Ruth M.
Monica has some stuck pins.

Hugo Q.
I'm looking for 69... 1888-2-069

Richard 0.
I don't like to touch your stuff unless you are aware of it.

Dan P.
I like that little Wally

A little pain, a little blood

2008-04-08T22:18:00.000-07:00

I saw her again Monday. She was one of those people I instantly like, but don’t know why.

About five–four, slim, long brown hair. Large eyes, a nice smile and a pleasant face. More pleasant looking than pretty. The type that is more attractive when she smiles than anyone with just a pretty face. Perhaps about thirty-five and unmarried.

It wasn’t until today, when I shook her hand and looked her in the eyes, that I realized why I liked her. She reminds me of Patch of Gravel. (similar handshake too)

And she seemed pleased to see me, genuinely please to see me.

And here is where I pause in the tale, trying to figure out how much more I should mislead you.

So lets stick to the facts.

Yes, it seemed odd that she was pleased to see. Doctors just see patients. I was one of many. None the less, she did seem pleased to see me, But I digress.
Anyway, she checked the spot on my hand where the mole was removed and said it looked like it was healing well. Still, she seemed concerned. She explained that even though the edges of the biopsy was negative(the center was positive), there was a chance the lab tech didn’t see everything and she was concerned with the lab technicians choice of terms in his description of the non-invasiveness of the skin cancer.
She talked about how the next step would be to pull up the skin and cut off an oval, then stitch it up. If that was needed. She said she wanted to recheck my hand in the near future, but she talked like she wanted to for sure do some more cutting.
We talked about a few other things involved in the treatment and agreed that I would schedule another appointment in six months.
Then she got out the liquid nitrogen and froze the shit out of the site where the mole had been removed. No, I am not exaggerating! There is a half-inch blister on the back of my hand right now. (yes, it burns.)
I wasn’t very concerned with how eager she is to see me again and maybe schedule a surgery, until she emptied the liquid nitrogen bottle on my hand.
Okay, so I exaggerate just a little. Just like I might be exaggerating and misleading you when I say that she wants to see me again.
But she seemed to go overboard with the freezing, like she felt something was wrong.

So I have a date to see her again in six months. Sure, you say, I don’t mind seeing her again because she is an attractive young woman and very personable.

But I fear there will be a little more pain next time.

And I fear there will be blood.

It’s getting crowded here.

2008-04-05T21:32:00.001-07:00

It has been said that there are six people in every relationship.

There is

Who I am.
Who I think I am
Who you think I am.

Who you are.
Who you think you are,
Who I think you are.

I would like to add, that with the advent of the internet and social networks, perhaps we can add two more?

Who I pretend to be.
Who you pretend to be.

It may turn out that I am not really who I think I am. But I suppose it's okay, as long as I remain who you think I should be.

The woman who wasn't there

2008-03-24T21:52:00.000-07:00

While at your site, I chose to stare;
At your face, but you weren't there.
You weren't there again today.
I wonder why you went away?

Betty’s little sister.

2008-03-22T21:57:00.001-07:00

I walked into our little bank and the teller is still there. She looks like she could be Betty’s little sister.
Slim, petite; just like Betty. But long brown hair and brown eyes.
Reese Witherspoon looks a little like Betty, but Betty is so much better looking!

Now you know what I have written about Betty look-a-likes. (If not, then get your lazy ass in gear and read! Or maybe I should say, get your eyes in gear? But I digress.)

I am kind of in luck, for of the three tellers, the BLA will wait on me. I say kinda, because I want to stare at her face, study it, but I know it will creep her out. So I chat with her as I do my business. Keep my eyes away from her, or on her eyes.

Yes, she looks so much like Betty. Same smile, same sparkle in her eyes. I say ‘little sister’ because she looks like Betty did fifteen years ago.

I wonder if Betty needs parts again?

Was it something I said?

2008-03-02T21:15:00.001-08:00

One of my friends vanished from the web. Kinda makes me sad. Yes, I have neglected my relationship with her and have not sought her out and chatted with her.

It’s just not been a good five months, but that’s no excuse not to say hi.

I just wonder what happened to her?

I can only hope that she has abandoned the virtual world because she has found something better in the real world.