Lucky Me

I've heard some incredible ideas about what people are going to do when they win the lottery. They say that morale is low these days but I find it comforting to know that everyone I've met is eventually going to win. They're all making plans but I fear that I may be doomed. You see, I am not all that confident in my lotto luck. I've heard that your odds of getting struck by lightning are greater by five times. If I don't win, the alternative is a lot of burnt hair. Buying a ticket puts you on a fast track to a hot head and where does that lightning exit? If you're sitting down with your feet up all relaxed when you get hit, then the juice would have to leave through your, I don't even want to think about it.

"When I win, the first thing I'm going to do is get an unlisted number."
I believe a 900 number is more appropriate. If people want to talk to you, they have to pay.
"I'm going to quit my job."
I don't think you really need to quit your job. I know he or she is an idiot, but after seeing the news and getting a 900 number when they call after you haven't shown up for a month, even YOUR boss will figure out you're not coming back..
"I'm getting a new car."
Don't lie to yourself, be realistic. I won the lottery! I'm getting several new cars is more appropriate.
"I'm going to get a tax attorney."
This one isn't bad. I heard about a guy who won a hundred million. When Uncle Sam got done with him he only had 77 left. How in hell the government expects you to eat with only 77 million is beyond me, the bastards. Actually they're not all bastards, just the ones that aren't in my party. But the point is, a guy just can't escape ordering from the dollar menu.

In reality, the odds of winning are like a kajillion to one. My wife came home the other day telling of taking care of some poor soul that had been hit by lightning twice. She didn't understand my smile, but I couldn't help thinking, I'm that much closer.


Driving tip:  Look out the window.... Between Three Forks and Bozeman Montana there will be 35 plus cars in the median, or ditch, on any given snow day. Those people all know they have to drive 83 miles an hour to get to work on time if they leave at 16 minutes to eight. They never know it snowed till 16.5 minutes till eight, when they walk out the door. They're an optimistic bunch, "It snowed but I can probably still make it, no way I'm going to wreck." On your way to shower, look outside. If it snowed, scrub a little quicker.

We All Have Our Reasons

Back in the seventies they lowered the speed limit in Montana from 'however fast you could make that damn thing go', to 55. That would have been at about the exact time I, and a lot of other good citizens, participated in our first acts of civil disobedience. Actually the state enacted a 5 dollar fine and the crime was titled, voluntary waste of a natural resource. A five dollar fine isn't exactly the same as 20 to life in Leavenworth but, give us our due. We were civil disobedient sons of bitter women and men who wanted to go fast too. The ticket did not go on your record and your insurance would never know. I know the government thinks they made some kind of big difference with that limit and the other steps taken but the only evidence they can produce is that we reduced, by better than half, our nation's dependency on oil. Fair enough but, come on! We were in a hurry.

There I was, following that International Scout down that muddy road at about six miles an hour. That 4x4 was doing fine but my Pontiac was struggling, just a bit. When we finally got to the pavement I was furious, and doing about 75, when I went around him. That's what the officer said anyway.

There I was, sitting in that patrol car watching that Scout plod on down the highway at about 45. After a polite visit, and the transfer of a five dollar bill, I resumed my trip. I had only gone about ten miles when I caught that ridiculous Scout again. Man I loathed that guy. That time I was going 93 miles an hour when I showed him who was boss. I'm almost dead sure I was going 93, because that's what the second officer said his radar gun revealed.

There I was, sitting in that second patrol car, when that Scout ambled by a again. I guess I should point out that the Montana Highway Patrol kind of gets it when a guy wastes a natural resource while passing a Scout. They will, however, exercise their power to the extent of their five dollar limit if that guy is still voluntarily treating that resource all willy-nilly five miles after he passed said Scout. I pointed out that my car got 11 miles to the gallon whether I was going 55 or 95 so I wasn't really doing excessive wasting due to my haste. The officer suggested that, if I tell that to a judge, I might start getting tickets at any speed. I decided not to fight that one. I cruised at about 58, or 9, the rest of the way home. I never did see that jerk in that Scout again and resolved that I would simply live my life hating Scouts and their owners.

Here I am, a reformed natural resource waster, who can now use this platform to explain why, to this day, I never pass a Scout without getting all dry-mouthed and constantly checking my mirror. Next time I'm at a party and introduced to someone new, if they mention that they used to ride in the hills with their uncle in his Scout, they might cut me some slack when under my breath, I say, "the bastard."

Driving tip:  Remember if you are stuck behind some clown in a Scoutesque vehicle on a two lane highway, always do a head check before you pull out to pass. The guy behind you might have had previous experience with Scouts and already be beside you in his haste to get that thing behind him.

 

Entertainment

What a morning, I mis-typed morning just now and it came out moron. I guess that might fit, depending on who you ask. I apologize for the late entry and ask that you immediately stop calling your internet provider. They have all been inundated, and suggested that I got some splane-ing to do. Should you hyphenate splaning? I think so, otherwise it reads like splanning. Anyway, I'm late for the most accepted reason since the beginning of time. The cable guy was coming. What a powerful three word sentence. If you are late for a court appointment and the judge furiously asks you if you're trying to make a mockery of his court, just throw that at him, or her. An immediate apology from the bench will follow.

My cable always works great till the last ten minutes of whatever I am watching. When the picture goes away it's awful, I mean it's like runny eggs and warm beer. You can't stand the eggs but you manage to make-do with the beer. After about seven of them, you figure the eggs might not be so bad and, I know I don't have to tell you..... that is always a mistake. They know just how to play you too. You're waiting there, all mad and stuff, but the guy doesn't show. By the time he does nock you have gone through all seven stages. Shock and denial, (What the? This damn thing can't be broken again.), Pain and Guilt, ( Man, my hand hurts where I punched that TV. I'm sure sorry I did that.), Anger and Bargaining, (That really pisses me off. Maybe I'll offer the cable guy some warm beer or, he might want to polish off those eggs.), Depression, Reflection, Loneliness, (My life sucks, nobody gives a crap if I watch TV. A man with no TV has no friends.) The upward turn, (Maybe I could read a book, TV is a waste, I might become intellectual.) Reconstruction, ( I guess I should repair that hole in the wall, I never should have thrown the remote so hard.), and finally, Acceptance, (I guess I will just go through life without Family Guy.)

Exactly when you reach that point, the bell rings. You greet the dude like he's Santa Clause. You offer him beer (and eggs), he fixes your set and only bills you two hundred dollars. You can't write the check out fast enough. Those eggs slide down really well when you're watching a good reality show. You heard that heat promotes healing and put the beer can on your tender knuckles. It is 16 degrees outside but so what, the beer will keep you warm and the heater guy will probably be there any minute.

Driving tip: If your seat belt rubs your neck on a long trip, get yourself a chip clip, or any spring loaded clamp. Get in, put the belt on, and get comfortable. After ascertaining where the belt wants to be, pull it out a quarter of an inch and clamp it. Do, absolutely not, pull it out so as to make it loose. Doing that also makes it useless. If you need to wear earmuffs because the clamp keeps whacking you in the side of the head, get a smaller clamp.

Equestrian?

I guess it's time I told you what I know about horses, tack, and latigo....
Enough of that, my next topic... Wait a minute, I know about horses. Why just the other day I asked some youngster what he knew about latigo. The silly goose said it was a big leather strap used to tie a cinch to a saddle. I laughed hard at that one. Obviously somebody hasn't heard of Stan Lynde.

As a little guy, I guess about eight or nine, I spent part of a summer on a dairy ranch. That is where I met Slim. Slim was a retired quarter horse used primarily for calf roping. The horse was superbly trained. He was stunning, you could rein him with one hand. If you threw a rope at a calf he would stop immediately and back up to hold the rope tight so the cowboy could throw and tie the critter. If you made a chick chick sound with your cheek and tongue that horse would instantly take off like a shot. He knew if there wasn't anyone aboard, and his reins were hanging loose, he shouldn't move, no matter what. What a great horse. I loved that horse.

I would get on him and, if someone other than me went chick chick, I would get up off the ground, go to where he was standing after he realized I was no longer aboard and his reins were loose, get back on, and away we'd go. I took him to a pasture to practice roping one day, all cowboys need to know how to throw a lasso. We were on a dead run and I tossed my lariat at a fence post. The instant that rope landed on the ground, about 12 feet from my target, the horse stopped and backed up. I landed closer to the post than my rope but I figured I was on to something. Why throw a rope around a calf? If your horse has the ability to throw you around the calf you're a step ahead aren't you? I learned about headers and heelers that summer. A heeler is a guy who can toss his lariat and ensnare the back legs of a calf. A header is what you take when your horse stops when you aren't ready. All those things considered, a young boy loves his horse.

One great afternoon me and old Slim were loping along across some field and came to some railroad tracks. The bed was raised about five feet above the field, and pretty steep. I decided to get off and lead my best pal up the side, over the tracks, and down the opposite slope. I was plenty cowboy enough, but I wasn't sure if he was horse enough to get that done with me on top. Halfway up I slipped, my foot slid back down the hill, and that dumb horse stepped on it. He didn't just step on it. When I slipped I let go of the reins so he stood on my sideways foot and that son of a bitch wouldn't move. I started punching him in the foreleg and he just stood there muttering something about his training. I finally remembered to get hold of the reins and back him off me. I hated that horse.

As a matter of fact, I think I might hate all horses. One time I was riding my brother's horse Gypsie, and found out I am actually faster than a horse. We were going around a corner at a cantor. I think we were actually running but when you're writing about horses you need to use words like cantor and lope. Lope, that's what I was, a lope for ever getting on one of those things. We were going around a corner and I let her have a little extra rein. I figure why be stingy, I had all that rein, why not share? Next thing I know, I see her head passing about 3 feet below me as I fly past, and above, her. She thought it was pretty funny but if we were racing to that piece of ground I broke my wrist on, I would have kicked her butt.

No real cowboy ever led his life without getting tossed off more than one horse. The difference between me and cowboys is, they keep doing it again. I, on the other hand, switched to a 350 cc dirt bike, no one ever got hurt on one of those but that's a different story.

Driving tip: Winter is coming, buy a couple bags of kitty litter and throw them in your trunk. When you are at the market and they ask if you need help to your car, say yes. Kitty litter is clean, (new kitty litter is recommended) and, if you have rear wheel drive, gives you a little weight. At any rate you can use it to sand your way out of a slick parking spot. Or sand your grandmother's way across a slick sidewalk. In the spring, take it back to the store if you didn't open it, and tell the kid to get that stuff out of your trunk.

Blue

If I win the lottery..... If I win the lottery it will be great. I'm going to buy a plane, hire a pilot and fly wherever I need, to meet all record holders in the Guinness Book. Some fellers, scratch that, all fellers, think one can elevate oneself through personally knowing someone else. (ie) "I have a car with 400 horse power." "Oh yeah? I know a guy who has a car with 406 horsepower." If there are three guys, the third will quip, "My uncle has a car with 409 horsepower." You need to beat the others, but only by a little bit. Wouldn't want them to think you're just talking B.S.

That is going to change. No doubt, I'll be 'the man' when I get back from my trip, "I made 3 pancakes for breakfast." "Oh yeah, I know a guy who made 34,818 pancakes." "My uncle John died the other day but they were able to resuscitate him." "Oh yeah, I know a guy who died 31 times." Yes sir, people are going to think some pretty significant thoughts about me. "I wonder if I should get this mole removed." "I don't know, I know this chick who had a neck tumor that weighed 17.6 pounds." It will be awesome.

I don't need Guiness for everything, I do have some personal achievements. Like the other day when I sprayed a bunch of wasps that were building a new nest under my eave. My son said there were 28. I get a kick out of the fact that someone would actually take the time to count those dead wasps, probably wants to brag about his old man someday. Who would do something like that, count dead wasps? Actually there were 29, I guess he must have missed one. The point is, any accomplishment can have astounding significance. My son doesn't have to lower his head when people start bragging about their old man. He can stand proud.

It occurred to me just now, that I don't even need to meet all the record holders, just the important ones. "I can run the 100 meter hurdles in 21 seconds flat." "Oh yeah, I know this chick that does it in 22.35." When the guy scoffs at that feat I'll give him a second to make a total fool of himself before I announce, "In swim fins." It's going to be grand.

Driving tip: You know how that jerk in the left lane who has to pull into the crosswalk area at a red light and make it really tough for you to turn right? You have to put your hood out in traffic to see around that idiot. Think about that next time YOU are in the left lane. When they make it OK for all of us good, considerate drivers to pound all the idiot drivers, you want to be on the right side. I know there are a lot more of them than us but we can take em. You'll have me on your side and I am over 60 percent Irish (and killed 29 wasps). You might not think that's a big deal but that will change when you find out that I know 1253 people who, on July 18, 2008 in Castleblayney, Co Monaghan, Ireland, painted themselves blue and dressed as Smurfs.....You thought it was going to be about beer. (it probably was.) When the good versus evil drivers battle breaks out we need to remember to stay sober.

Empty plate

Most people have a problem doing what they're told. Sometimes you have to trick them. If you want someone to turn their head to the right don't say, "Turn your head to the right." What you should say is, "Don't look right!" I don't know why that works, but it does...every time.
If you're in a crowded supermarket, want crushed peanut toppers for your ice cream and say, "I need crushed peanut ice cream toppers for my wife." No one will notice you. If you add, "She's pregnant." Everyone in the place will drop what they're doing and start looking for peanut toppers. If your budget is a little tight, and you buy a new boat, don't say to your wife, "I bought a new boat." No follow up here, just don't do that, trust me.

The other day I wanted the last doughnut so I quick like went to my repertoire of commands. "I want that doughnut!" She didn't flinch. "Look to your right" Her eyes didn't move. "My wife is pregnant." Nothing, guess she knew she wasn't pregnant. "I bought a new boat." I got the doughnut. When I left the house I felt uncomfortable. Funny how sometimes a victory is hard to enjoy. When the proctologist handed me that doughnut I just didn't feel like eating anymore.

I hobbled around for several days catching up on all the little things she wanted done around the house in an effort to apologize. When I was sure all the tasks were done, I grabbed a pillow off the bed and placed it on the couch cushion so I could sit down. I told her I knew we couldn't afford a boat and hadn't bought one. She smiled, told me she knew that, and that wasn't the last doughnut.

Driving tip: Throw a roll of toilet paper in your glove box or trunk. Do it as soon as you finish reading this. A roll of toilet paper can sit in your glove box for years and still remain surprisingly fresh, like Twinkies.
If you're ever on a trip and have to use a public restroom, rip some of that paper off and put it in your pocket. If the facility is clean, fresh, and well stocked like most public restrooms, no problem. If it's more like the extremely rare unkempt public restroom, you owe me big. I think in the real world you'll find this tip to be a good one.

Board Games

There are definite signs that a project or event isn't going well if you pay attention. Say you are standing on a ladder removing limbs from a tree. You drop a branch, look down to see it land and notice your left foot laying on the pile. If you're pragmatic like me, the first thing you think is, "How the hell did I do that?" That thought is quickly followed by panic, "How am I going to get down this ladder?" or, "Carol is going to kill me when she sees these pants." and a little self pity, "No one is going to want to dance with me Friday night." Then you start the should haves, "I should have put the trampoline at the base of the ladder." and the I wishes, "I wish I hadn't just bought those high dollar boots." followed by the next times, "Next time I won't wear my good pants."

You're pulling your brand new boat down a steep hill. You're going about 40 MPH when your boat gets in the passing lane and goes around you doing about 60. Your first reaction is to slap the person next to you, point, and between roars of laughter say, "Look at that! Some dumb ass lost his boat." Your second thought is, "Hey, his boat is just like mine." Followed by panic, "I hope his boat didn't hit mine." and a little self pity, "At the rate that boat is going he'll, beat us to 'the lake'. Then you start with the should haves, "I should have been going sixty two." followed by the I wishes, " I wish I had two feet." and the next times, "Next time I'm going to have someone else take down those limbs."

You're at your daughter's high school prom when the principal walks up to you and says, "Aren't you a little old to be at prom? You get all pragmatic and think, "I'm not a kid anymore, if I got in a real good shot I'll bet I could take you now." Followed by a little panic, "What if he smells beer on my breath?" and a little self pity, "I bet no one here is going to want to dance with me either." Then comes the should haves, "I should have worn my Bobby Rydell T-shirt." and the I wishes, "I wish I hadn't wrecked my boat." and the next times, "Next time I'm going to use gin, I heard they can't smell gin."

Treat life like a game of chess. If you notice subtle signs that things aren't going well you should just calm down, wait till nobody is looking, and rearrange the pieces.

Driving tip: I don't care how big and tough you are, if we get in a fight and you decide that now would be a good time to text all your buds that you are in a fight, you are gonna get smacked a few times. I practically guarantee it. There are over 200 million registered vehicles in the U.S. Trust me, when you are on the road, you are in a fight. I'm sure that all drivers are competent, careful operators. I'm sure the moon is made of cheese. If you take your eyes off the opponent, even for a second, you are going to get smacked. Maybe not, but if you think it's OK to text while you're supposed to be driving, you really do need a beating.

Saving Time

Mom always had a case on a guy named Pete. No doubt she worried about him more than she did my sisters, my brothers or me. We were constantly reminded that Pete had worth and his was higher than ours, we were even tasked with chores whose sole purpose was to benefit Pete. If you were given a specific job and failed to get it done mom would always ask why it hadn't been completed. She would be angry and we all learned that the reason kids are given duties is specifically for the sake of Pete. There were others whose sake we should be wary of, pity, cripe and goodness, but Pete's was the primary. My father didn't go to church much but I believe he was deeply religious. Whenever he noticed an order hadn't been followed he too would ask why. He, however would invoke the sake of Christ. As children we all learned there were two main reasons you were given chores by adults. First, because they said so, and second, for the sake of someone or something specifically.

I tried to sort out some order as to whose sake was most important. For instance, one time I got a drum for Christmas. I was playing it in the kitchen where my mother said, "Go do that in the living room for Pete's sake." Not wanting to jeopardize Pete, I headed to the living room where my father said, "Take that in the kitchen for God's sake." I told you he was religious. I figured the Lord trumps Pete so immediately went back to the kitchen. Mom demanded to know why in heaven's name I was back. I told her, "Precisely." She ordered me back to the living room and instructed me to tell anyone who questioned why I was there, was because she said so. Dad threw me a curve ball. He looked up and exclaimed, "What the hell?" It was all about Heaven or Hell with him. I told him mom said so and he said something that confuses me to this day. He picked up his paper, walked outside muttering, "I'll be damned."

I panicked a little, ran back to the kitchen, and explained to Mom that her actions had condemned my father to an eternity of fire and brimstone. She didn't look up but shook her head, rolled her eyes and said, "For crying out loud." She didn't appear to be the least bit concerned about Dad so I guess that phrase offers absolution.

I asked my son to mow the lawn the other day and in order to spare him the confusion I endured growing up, explained at length why he needed to do that task. I was eloquent in my speech but he interrupted me after about ten minutes, rolled his eyes as he headed out the door and said, "Why don't you just say because I said so?"

Driving tip: If you're pulling a trailer at a steady speed and it sways, you need to cautiously pull over and check the tire pressure in the tow vehicle and trailer. If it pulls fine but sways when you are going downhill or decelerating, the thing is trying to pass you. This is not good. The tow vehicle is not big (heavy) enough to safely pull that trailer. If you find yourself in this predicament you need to stay in front of that trailer. Do not brake hard. Get back on the gas just enough to get ahead of it (straighten out). Then slow down gently. Reload the trailer and tow vehicle or get a bigger rig. When a trailer is heavier than (and trying to pass) the tow vehicle and the driver slams on the brakes, the trailer will choose a side and go on around. (Really hard on paint.)

Economics

When I think about camping I fantasize about laying back looking at the stars, holding hands around the campfire while singing Kumbaya, and a refreshing swim in a cool lake. Hotels cost upwards of a hundred dollars a night. Restaurant meals aren't cheap and most venues require something resembling first and last month's rent to let you in the door. A family can pack up the old wagon, head for the hills, and spend a weekend getting back to nature without having to worry about how they are going to pay the power next month. Yes sir, why give all your money to Corporate America when nature is just sitting there waiting to be enjoyed.

We have this terrific tent. It set us back four bills but it has two rooms and a zip porch. When we go out for a weekend the thing folds so small that we have no trouble tossing our camp stove 49.99 at Sears, our sleeping bags, 12.99 each for the kids and 137.49 at Cabella's for the mom and dad (it's a good one but we're the mom and dad), all the accessories like lamps, dishes, coolers, folding table, chairs (I could go on and on but you get the idea), 1,365.87 at Wal Mart, Jim's Sporting Goods, Sears and Pottery Barn (I don't know what we got at Pottery Barn but when I saw the receipt Carol said it was for camping so I'm sure it was money well spent). Oh yeah, and our boat, 35,486.23 at Bill's Best Boats (it's a little under powered but has two swim steps and Bill told me in secret that it was a real good deal).

Anyhow, we load up and pile in the old Suburban, 58,472.26 at Karl's Chevrolet (it's a little over powered but Karl told me personally that we were getting a steal), go down to Quicky Gas to top off the tanks, 172.55 (lucky the boat was still full because it rained the whole time we were out last) and we're on our way. When we get to 'the lake' (ever notice how odd it is that there are millions of lakes in the U.S. and they're all named 'the'?) we meet up with my brother and his crew. He has a 35 foot self contained camp trailer that must have cost him over ten grand (fools and their money) but he figures he can afford it because he didn't buy a boat (he says you don't need a boat, you just need to know someone who has one).

When you get to 'the lake' and put your boat in the water, you sort of remember lecturing your son about never leaving the keys in the ignition (someone might start it up in the driveway, that would be awful, so it's best to keep them safe in a kitchen drawer). You drag the thing back up the ramp and park it over by the edge of the lot where people might think you park it when you're not at 'the lake', and didn't just forget the keys so you can't use it even though you really are at 'the lake'.

It's around 700 degrees in the tent so you spend the afternoon playing pinochle in your brother's trailer (I wish he would have upgraded a little, the air conditioner was so loud you could barely hear the birds and crickets outside. You go to 'the lake' to enjoy nature don't you?) At dinner time you slog back to the tent to make some grub (that's what you call food when at 'the lake') and Carol is sort of looking down her nose at you.

I love my wife but, just between us, she really isn't too bright. She gave me a list when I told her I was going to the store. She didn't even think that I might see our neighbor and spend an hour in the driveway showing him our boat and explaining about how camping is a way better way to enjoy a weekend than dumping a couple hundred bucks at an amusement park. She actually thought I would pick up the supplies. We've been married a long time and she still has faith in me. Like I said, slow learner. Anyhow, you gather up the gang, walk back to your brother's camper, and ask if he might share some food. He is your brother, he has to feed you.

Come evening, you get ready to build a campfire for the sing-a-long but hear that they are getting ready to vote someone off the island on your brother's TV. So you spend the evening curled up with your wife on his couch and catch a little idiots in the wilderness action til bedtime. Next morning you load it all back up and head for the house. You really feel content and are glad you spent your free time enjoying nature with your family and not standing in line at some dumb amusement park. The sunburn and bug bights you earned at 'the lake' are badges of honor, not at all like the stupid ones you get throwing your money away at Six Flags.

I think I just might jump on the computer and look up the words to Kumbaya. Next week will be fantastic and I will save some real dough, this will be the second week in a row I don't have to buy gas for the boat.

Driving tip: Sometimes your car tells you things. When you turn your steering wheel and you hear a variable pitched awwwerrrruuuoooohhhaawwwerr, you should check your power steering fluid. If your brakes squeal high pitched all the time except when you step on them the sensor is telling you to replace them. If they squeal when you step on them but are quiet the rest of the time they are glazed. They got hot trying to hold your boat back on that hill or you drive with one foot on the brake and one on the gas. You can't do both, one foot, one pedal, that's the rule. A really high pitched squeal when you rev the engine usually indicates a loose fan belt. A long horn honk from the car behind means the light has changed and shrieking and screaming from the passengers means you should pay better attention to the road.

Groceries

The other day, as I headed off to the corner store, I found myself reflecting on the brave pioneers of our nation. People who set out for the vast unknown with little more than hope and a dream, every worldly possession on their backs or piled in a Conestoga wagon. My fantasy barely crossed the Mississippi (I wasn't thinking about really early pioneers, just kind of early pioneers) when I remembered one provision, essential to a modern explorer, that I had left at home. There was no going forward. The turmoil was exhausting, only three more blocks and I'd be at my destination but what if disaster should strike? I was alone and defenseless. Common sense drove me back, back to my beginnings, back home, back to my cell.

My cell offers security, keeps me safe from all doom and disaster. My cell vanquishes any fear, real or imagined. It isn't complicated, not fancy by modern design. It's just a simple Nokia. No qwerty keyboard, no 16GB memory. 4G? No real man needs a media phone to survive in the modern wild. I live in Texas, I know what a real man needs, you need a 300 plus horse four wheel drive (preferably a dually), you need a concealed weapons permit (one for a semi-auto, not one of those piece of crap revolver permits), you need satellite radio (the 25 local stations here and a six disc CD changer might not cut it), you need 15 credit cards, but a high dollar phone is ridiculous.

I headed back out invincible. Sure enough when I got to the market I stood face to face with a challenge that would have been impossible for an early explorer to overcome but one I just chuckled at. I couldn't remember if she wanted eggs or milk, a mistake here could result in untold controversy. I whipped out my polished black peacemaker and hit green button, down arrow twice and green button again. There was no response. I started to tremble a little as I timidly looked at the screen. Lightning blinded me while thunder clawed at my ears as I read: "NO SERVICE" Children were weeping, young girls cowered in the corners biting their nails. I am a man, I stood tall, walked outside and tried again.

She answered on the third ring, my knees buckled a little at the sheer relief. A smile shoved its way to my manly pursed lips as I marveled at how wonderful life is in these modern times.

"Hi honey, was I supposed to get milk or eggs?"

"I nee you t get so mu and a pa of bu ."

"I'm sorry, you're breaking up, try again."

"I nee you t get so mu and a pa of bu ."

"Still nothing, I'm moving over. Can you hear me now?"

She was gone, no problem. My Nokia night in shining armor had saved the day. I loaded up the milk and butter and fired those magnificent ponies of mine back to life. I tried to dial her once again, just to let her know her man was returning victorious, but a low battery and no 12 volt charger conspired to leave me alone and abandoned once more.

I made it home, put the sack on the counter and leaned my butt against the wall. I had my right foot cocked back with my toe on the floor and heal against the plaster. My arms were folded across my chest, my chin was low, if I had a hat I would have tipped it. "There you go Missy." Carol feigned nonchalance, no doubt she was overwhelmed by my extraordinary manliness, my ability to go out in the wild and return with provisions at her whim, but she did a real good job of hiding it. She just gave me a quick smile as she hollered at our grandchildren, "Hey guys, Grandpa is back with the mustard and buns, come and get a hot dog."

I told her I'd be right back, I needed to go look into one of those 4G phones.

Driving tip: Us old timer truck drivers were what you call professionals. If we needed to turn left at an intersection we would get in the far left lane and a few car lengths before the turn, pull the tractor out into the right lane. This maneuver keeps the back of your trailer in the left lane blocking traffic while your tractor, in the right lane, is able to swing wide enough to get the trailer around the corner without leaving tire tracks on the hood of some poor car that is stopped on the adjacent street waiting for the light. When you approach a red light and see a semi getting ready to turn your way, if his whole rig is in the left lane he or she is a new timer. Stay back about forty feet so that idiot can get his professional ass around the corner without ruining your paint.

Working

Have you ever worked with the public? If not, ask anyone who has. Working with the public is the worst. You might have a crap boss or some sleazy co-workers but at least they're not the public. The only people who have it worse than those working with the public are the poor slobs who work with the public and have a crap boss. No, wait a minute, the worst would be having sleazy co-workers, working with the public and having a crap boss. Man, that is the epitome of crummy.

I used to work with the public and after a fashion something changed. I quit that job and started with a private outfit. I still had a crap boss and sleazy co-workers but I didn't work with the public anymore. As a matter of fact, call it kismet, I became the public. Over time I realized what a far reaching concept the public is. Even if you work with the public, when you're not at work, you are the public. When that salt of the earth, all around nice kid working at the music store can't help but roll the eyes at what a creep some customer is and then goes to a restaurant, sees that customer, who is now a waiter, rolling the eyes at him he should just take it. When he isn't at the music store that puke is the public. What a jerk! I hate him, guys like that are why the public has such a bad name.

Have you ever been the public and had to deal with some lope that works with the public? Man, that's the worst. One tenet that always helps me cope is remembering that, no matter how bad working or dealing with that person is, it could be worse......I could be them, having to work or deal with me.

Driving tip: Failing to signal is the number one cause of road rage. I know I've dealt with this before but if you didn't know, it's the number one cause of road rage. When you think about it, not signaling is actually signaling. You are signaling to that person who might want to turn on to the street you occupy, that you are going straight. When you don't go straight, turn, and he realizes he could have gone but you didn't bother to turn on your blinker he misreads your intention. You intended to not signal. He believes you sent a clear signal. A signal that you are a pile of strawberries (see older posts). I guess the correct expression would be that sending the 'wrong' signal is the number one cause of road rage.

Adonis

My oldest son holds the sit up record at his junior high, my second oldest holds the sit up record at his high school. Our society longs to be physically fit, we all wish for the perfect body and a healthy life. Carol asked me how many push ups I could still do, I guessed around a hundred. I'm not sure she believed me but I know of a small loophole that allowed me to answer her truthfully. You see, she didn't mention a time frame. I figure I still have thirty or forty years left and given a diligent regimen I truly think I could knock out a hundred push ups in that parameter.

The fact is I still have a perfect body. Not wanting to be faced with a constant mob of women lusting after my obvious physical prowess I keep it hidden under several layers of outward disguise. My desire is to not be too heavy but not too slight either. I am actually quite close to achieving what you would call a target weight. Most targets weigh a little more than a Safeway but generally, less than a Wal Mart.

We all assume that lifestyles and appearances tend to change as we mature. I was a fairly robust baby, mostly enjoyed lounging around expecting someone else to tend to my needs and generally didn't give a lot of effort to my physical well being. I believe that I am living proof that sometimes our traditional outlook couldn't be more wrong. Through my scientific research and diligent observations I can testify that: While in your teens and young adulthood you might be considered thin that might change as you become older. I am living proof that  lifestyles and appearances tend to stay exactly the same as we mature.

After my last physical the doctor gave me a clean bill of health. My numbers were all perfect. My wife, taking into consideration my lack of any desire to exercise combined with a diet of burgers, fries, and nachos, commented that the physician must be a quack. I, on the other hand, saw opportunity in his findings. There are countless books and programs costing upwards of a hundred dollars to guide someone to "work your way to a healthier you." I figure if you give me like fifty bucks or something, I could give you my doctor's name. Pretty cool concept, right? Kind of like putting up a 99 cent store across the street from a dollar store. Who wouldn't take advantage of that? Maybe I'll write a book, "Achieving your target weight for fifty bucks and no work." Good advice is to take lemons and make lemonade. Great advice is to take lemons and some meringue and make a pie.

Driving tip: Loose sand or soft dirt acts a lot like snow if it gets ahold of one of your tires. Snow has one purpose in life; to drag your car kicking and screaming into the trees. If you forget that you're driving for a second (apparently lots of things are more important than paying attention when you are going sixty miles an hour plus) and drop one tire off the pavement do not try to jerk it back on the road while mashing on the gas because your big, bad vehicle is tougher than dirt. You will lose that contest. A soft shoulder doesn't care what you do with your steering wheel, if you have momentum it will drag you further and further from the highway. Get a good grip on the wheel and slow down, be real serious about the slowing down part. Once you have backed off, try coaxing the thing back toward the pavement. If you get stuck someone will have to pull you out. If you stay on the gas and wind up in the trees or on your top someone will have to pull you out and you'll need new paint.

Crowd Control

I just found out I'm getting a new grand child. Pretty exciting stuff. Got me to thinking about names, good ones, bad ones and how they can affect a person. There are obvious conclusions like if General George Washington were named Colonel Mustard he would never have commanded our armies and become father of our country. No crossing the Delaware at midnight to engage the British for him, the most he could have hoped for would have been a little rendezvous in the library with Miss Scarlet and maybe a wrench or candlestick.

If you have a son, a name like Rocky or Big Dog is much better than a stupid name like Pipsqueak or Jerry. Someday a son might have to introduce himself to some big dude named Apollo, you don't want him to have to say "Hey Apollo this is my girlfriend Adrian and I'm Pipsqueak." Apollo would have no choice but to kick sand in his face. Adrian would be all embarrassed and probably walk off holding hands with Apollo. Can you imagine how ridiculous it would be to have a big guy in a black space suit with a huge head say, "Luke, I am your father, Lord Jerry."

Some Jerrys wouldn't mind if they were, and probably should be, called Lord. I've even heard that some of them have fairly large heads. So What! Large heads tend to yield giant brains. Ever think of that? Maybe guys with big heads named Jerry aren't freaks at all. If Jerry's name was Exalted Emperor you wouldn't be so quick to throw out comments about over sized melons and stuff like that now would you.

The right name can determine the outcome of a really bad situation. When you got to the final pages with the lightning flashing, bats circling, horses stomping around and neighing and stuff, the part where Frankenstein stood on that castle wall facing the horde of people at the gate... If his name would have been Mother Theresa he could have said, "Hey angry mob! Quit being so angry!" They would have been a little embarrassed, looked at each other with sheepish grins, put down the pitchforks, extinguished some of the torches and you would have seen them all sort of shuffle away mumbling. A whole different ending than the one you get with the name Mary Shelly chose. I'm sure people tried to tell her that story would never achieve any real success with such a stupid name for the protagonist and she obviously listened. Does everybody listen? Did my parents pay attention when friends told them to name me Mark or Biff? This blog might be a little more successful if I was named Stephen King, or maybe John Grisham. 

If King George Three's dad called him Pee Wee the revolutionary war might never have been fought. "Hey Bostonians, Pee Wee wants to get money from tea." The colonists would not have said, "To Arms!" They would have said, "A tax on tea from King Pee Wee?" People would not have been so quick to anger if they had been ordered to quarter Pee Wee's troops. You just can't get all worked up and revolt against a guy named Pee Wee, that's just the way it is.

I hope a little thought goes into names chosen by the new moms and pops out there. Elizabeth is a fine name for a little girl but Elizabeth, Queen of England, has a more noble ring.

Driving tip: Parallel parking is really not that difficult. I have developed a technique that makes that chore quite easily accomplished. The standard way is to pull up even with and fairly close to the car you intend to park behind. Begin backing straight up and when your front door is even with the parked car's back door quickly start cranking the wheel. When your head is even with the back bumper start cranking the other way. The whole maneuver should be done in one fluid action. Don't stop while you turn the wheel. My better way is to circle the block until there are at least five adjacent open spaces, the last one being at the corner. Pull in there and go shopping.