It All Starts with a Curfew

The "game" of knockout is becoming more prevalent in some large cities. From what I've read, it's large groups of young men, or teenagers, that video an unsuspecting victim as they sucker punch them in the face.

The goal is to knock the victim unconscious, and they show their "prowess" to anyone that has access to their video.

So, what happens? It starts with a curfew. After that, people find they're prisoners in their own homes and those that can move away. Those that can't become angry and retribution becomes their goal. The violence escalates and living in the city becomes a very unwanted situation.

Personally, I feel anyone caught participating in this blood sport should be run through a gauntlet of victims armed with baseball bats. After that, if society wishes, they can prosecute them for assault and throw them under the jail.

Can You Spot the Sociopath?

Look up the term "sociopath" and read the definition. While doing your research, peruse the symptoms, descriptions of behavior and place them in reference to the current President.

I don't know about you, but if you can't see the similarities, you too might be a sociopath...or worse: a liberal.

A Simple Fact

Washington D.C. is a playground of money trees and oblivious people. They don't encounter the same problems most people face, such as the "good" local news that unemployment is down to just above 9%. Without any constant reminders, they exist in a place that doesn't exist anywhere in the United States. Call it political "Disneyland".

So, do your part. When they leave during the holidays, pound them with constant vocal reminders they are not the solution and increase the problems daily. Make them miserable and make them understand we don't like them. After all, if it wasn't for the working folks, small businesses, honest professionals and the municipal workers that have job with a real purpose, most of D.C. would be a swamp on the Potomac.

And don't think I'm just writing about politicians. There are tons of bureaucrats that are thriving due to your misery. They don't care about your misery, so allow them some of it as a holiday gift. They deserve it.

Thanksgiving

I started going through my links list and posting: "Happy Thanksgiving!"

After a few minutes, laziness kicked in and I had this strong urge for some scotch. So, for all that read here, lurk, are robot slaves, or happen to visit by chance:

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

...and may your bird be something besides the middle finger of the pissed off trucker you cut off on the interstate.

While Driving Today

Today, I had a small car wander into my lane, a pickup try to change lanes, while I was next to it,was stopped by an over-sized load halted by a highway sign and forced to stop so traffic could clear because someone decided to visit a friend, while leaving the back of their car in traffic.

I see a lot of things while driving, but it's a rare day, when so many possible calamities are presented on a single day.

I don't think I'll get back out this evening. Something tells me I need to stay in.

When Life Kicks Your Butt

I won't go into the details, but life has kicked my butt a few times; ranging from losing my mother right after birth, alcoholic relatives, a house fire when I was young, hurricanes and dealing with things that leave you wondering if you pissed off God.

I learned something during the process, although it was later in my life: Your entire world is shaped by your attitude.

That appears simple, but finding trinkets of hope in the piles of crap can be a daunting experience. It requires soul searching, the willingness to persevere and the knowledge you might find a boot in your ribs when you're down.

So, this post has nothing really important to relate, except we have only the few seconds we call "now". Everything else is a memory or an almost intangible hope for a reality that is impossible to reach - until it arrives.

The smallest thing to do is smile. Try it for a moment. That moment is yours, the smile is your tiny refuge and it gives you the power to change your destiny.

If You Screw It Up Enough, People Will Notice

Obamacare, which the Obama folks don't like to use any longer, is fubared beyond any repair. It's so bad, people are actually noticing this fact and maybe....just maybe...will do something besides stand there; dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open.

We can only hope, although "Dancing With The Stars" is on the final episodes and might distract from other important tasks.

Sarcasm and Cluelessness

I was standing at the checkout line, almost through with the transaction, when the cashier asked her friend cashier why the police were outside.

The friend commented about someone - who they described by name - parked in a handicap spot and the police were there to write a ticket.

Sometimes, my mind assimilates little information and arrives at conclusions at a pace that even astounds me. From the brief conversation, I surmised they both knew the culprit, the friend cashier knew who called the police and the "evil" perpetrator would receive the punishment they both felt was necessary. (around $150 in my neck of the woods.)

My blood simmered and my quick comment was: "I'm so relieved they caught all the burglars, murderers and thieves, and now have time to write tickets for parking in handicap spots."

The friend cashier commented on how good the local police were, which indicated she either ignored my sarcasm, or it went over her head by a distance of at least four feet.

I just walked from the store, without any more comments.

Is it just me, or does the collection of fines for parking in a handicap spot seem to be a flagrant misuse of public employees for collecting revenue? Isn't there something more important for the police to concentrate their efforts? Do they take the money and buy wheelchairs for the unfortunate, or help with the expenses of those that have limitations?

I think it's crap. The ADA and other government intrusions into what was once the responsibility of the public is total bullshit. I doubt they'd be so willing to cause so much economic hardships if they had to pay for the handicap construction out of their salaries.

Electric Cars, Unacceptable Technology and Who Do We Blame?

Fisker is another failed experiment. The path to bankruptcy was fraught with poor financial decisions, technology that is too expensive for most consumers and products far from a safe alternative to cars on the market.

Long story short: Taxpayers are on the hook for $139,000,000. That's money that will never be recovered and somebody should be drawn and quartered for this debacle.

I think of how many people will work their entire lives to pay the taxes used for the folly of government intervention in the private market. Their destiny in life is now a foolish dream by an administration without a conscience.

There is no penalty too cruel for this indiscretion. If I had the final decision on the fate for those involved, there would be no mercy.

I Avoided It, But...

....it won't leave my thoughts and I have to write it down.

I was driving down a four lane highway, with a continuous left turn lane this morning. Two cars were a few hundred feet ahead, with no other cars in front for over a half mile.

Suddenly, I spotted a small black dog in the center of the highway. Neither car slowed down and the car in the right lane, ran over the dog as it tried to return to the shoulder.

It bummed me out. Both cars could have slowed down a tad and the dog would have made the shoulder. Neither stopped.

I returned to the site and checked the dog. It was dead and the injuries were horrific. Since it was off the shoulder, I left it there; with the thought of how someone would be sad that evening. There was nothing to do and some family member would eventually return to recover their loved pet.

I went through this about ten years ago. We had a big, female, black mouthed cur adopt us on a construction site in the middle of nowhere.

She arrived one Monday; ribs showing and abandoned. Someone gave her a sandwich, we bought some food and she became the defender of our temporary yard.

She liked me. I would feed her, make sure she had water and would pet her every chance I had.

She guarded the yard and wouldn't even let some of the crew into the yard, unless I was there. She had found a home, and I was determined she would have something more permanent when we left; even if it was my home.

I didn't cry, but my heart was broken when I found her one afternoon. She'd wandered onto the highway and was hit. Her back was obviously broken, so I knew it was quick. Still, I couldn't get over the sorrow for days. We buried her in the back of the temporary yard.

I missed her after that, and still do. Her last sanctuary was something as simple as a construction yard in Nowhere, USA and I wondered who could be so cruel to leave her without regret.

Sometimes people suck, life sucks and everything seems to suck. I had moments today, when I felt things were just that way. I guess it's part of life; the part I don't like.

Being Bored

I don't think I've ever been bored. It's not that I can't understand the concept; it's the revolting laziness it brings to my mind.

Bored? Do something: Read a book. Count the tiles on the floor. Write a poem. Wash the outside of the your house. Rearrange your sock drawer. Make a chart of the light bulbs in your home, with hours on and the duration of time they lasted. Take a walk. Take a drive. See if you can determine the change in your pocket with your eyes closed. Measure your height. Take a nap. Cut your toenails. Pick your nose. ANYTHING but sitting around bored.

In three minutes of writing, I've occupied a substantial amount of time and I didn't even try.

Bored? Get a life.

Arthritis

Age is bringing arthritis to my hands. It's not debilitating, but it can add a nagging ache to my finger joints after a long day of using my hands.  It's part of the aging process; especially for someone like me. I've spent a substantial portion of my life having to grip things tightly, such as finishing concrete, or driving nails.

We wear out. Like old cars, something grinds against something else, until the wear causes damage.

Getting old is not for sissies.

Clueless and Compelled

As I was driving along today, I was thinking about my youth, when I played a lot of pool at a friend's, and a short story idea popped into my head.

I'm clueless to why this happens. It never did in the past, but now it does and the story occupies my thoughts until I do something.

In a way, it's a wonderful thing. In another, it's a cruel master that never lets up.

If I have time, I'll try to write it this weekend. If not, it will appear eventually. It's uncontrollable and I have no choice.

Lost In the Electronics

Modern electronics are fantastic. Handheld devices allow complete access to the internet, instant communication, and the ability to discuss any matter with anyone at any given time.

While electronics offer many things, they prevent others. To push my point, I offer the following observations:

I was driving down a city street and passed a young man so distracted with his phone, he was almost completely unaware of my truck as I passed.

A little further down the street, I passed a young woman that was walking, while talking on the phone.

Both had their heads down, almost oblivious of their surroundings and lost in an ethereal electronic world.

Meanwhile, an exceptionally beautiful sunset was in progress and neither seemed to be willing to raise their head and observe the wonderful event.

I think both are missing something, while entranced with their cellular phones, and will probably never realize how much they missed.

It's The Simple Things

I opened some bacon, found it was exceptionally lean, and realized how much I was tickled by such a simple thing.

Maybe that's the secret to a good attitude. Keep it all simple and enjoy the simple things.

Search for the Smell

My wife had a 1994 Caprice. It was a beautiful car, with the same engine they put in the Corvettes. On the highway, it was one of the most comfortable cars I ever drove.

One evening, she told me something smelled dead in her car. I went and checked; she was right. Determined, I placed finding the smell as priority one for the next Saturday morning.

On Saturday, a quick search found nothing. Using my nose as a guide, I found the smell stronger under the dash. Knowing a little about the car, I decided a mouse found its way into the car through the air conditioning duct work.

I had a book, so I started in the easiest places. I first removed the air conditioner blower motor, looked around, and found nothing. Examining the book, I found there was a rheostat for the blower motor speed adjacent to the blower. It was in the plenum. Removing the assembly only required a 1/4" nut driver and the removal of two screws.

It was a hard to reach place. Without any way to get to the location, but to place my legs on the seat and lay on the floor mat, I went to work.

It was hot. The temperature was in the upper 80's and the humidity was about the same. What little I'd done had soaked me in sweat and the temperature was rising.

Wiping sweat from my eyes, I carefully removed the two screws, pulled down on the rheostat mount and I found the source of the odor.  A gooey, very rotten mouse - with maggots - fell on my chest, right under my nose. As I squirmed, scooted around and tried to get out of the car, I found my retching was just about to the point of losing breakfast.

I finally got out of the car, calmed down, spent some time examining my find and finally went to retrieve the necessary things to clean up the mess.

Later, I asked a mechanic about what happened and if he knew of a fix, since I could never find where the mouse found its way in. He laughed and told me he had no idea, but if I figured it out, to let him know. Apparently, the mouse problem was common and there was no known way to prevent it from happening.

Eventually I sold the car and bought my wife another. I was glad to see it go, since I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to go mouse hunting again.

If I Don't Write Something....

....people will think I turned to crap and the hogs ate me.

I could write for hours, but the thoughts that appear during the day are lost in the clutter and hard to find in the evening. I guess that's the nature of the beast, and I should carry a pocket recorder, which I have, but I don't. I guess I could rationalize, and come up with some really good reason, but I'm too tired to be creative and will chalk it up to laziness and a complete lack of focus.

While You're Toasting, Raise a Glass For Them Too

After the attack on Pearl Harbor, a raid was planned, executed and a few heroes changed the world. 

If you take away the politics of the days, the fact the world was involved in a great war and only leave those that manned the planes that performed the raid, you find the threads of the fabric that make the United States so great. The served, honored a country, and did so without any anticipation of glory.

The survivors have met for the last time and made their final salute from a special bottle of cognac.  I have no cognac, but I have some scotch. Here's to those that were part of the Doolittle Raid. Thank you for your service and may God bless.

Myths and Reality

Technology was instrumental in helping create the current Presidential Administration. During the creation, facts were ignored, vetting was avoided and a mythical person was presented to the gullible for use by the powerful.

The same technology has now exposed the myth, exposed the gullibility and the anger is brewing. Maybe the result will be a better informed public, with the determination to use a wonderful tool to destroy the evil of political ideology that promotes the removal of individual sovereign rights for the supposed good of the masses.

OMG, the BS is a BFD

During a short telephone conversation yesterday, the person on the other end didn't say "oh my God", they said OMG. I was amazed. Texting, Facebooking and other social network abbreviations are permeating our conversation. While this is probably an ever day occurrence for many, it was a first for me and I didn't like it. If someone is so busy they can't say three short words (and nobody is that busy) they need to find some relief.

Reflections (Re-Post)

Ryan Brown carefully examined his reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls of his bedroom. Obsessed with his appearance, he never left for work without ensuring every detail was without flaw. He would start to leave, but two or three trips back to the mirrors were necessary to satisfy the compulsion that ruled his life.

His walk was short. The shop where he worked was only a half block from the small apartment he rented for years. Using his key, he opened the door to the shop that specialized in hats only. His employer, an eccentric older man, was adamant on how his store was run. Although he never ran the shop, no detail was to be overlooked.  A moment of neglect by Ryan to keep the mirrors clean caused a tirade during a visit that was not only embarrassing, the threat of losing his job kept him late that evening cleaning the mirrors over and over until his obsessive compulsion left him exhausted in the early morning hours.  His return home was only to change and spend the obligatory time in front of the mirror to guarantee his appearance was without flaw.  He buried his seething hate; it corroded his soul and ate at his sanity.

Customers were few. The shop was not self-supporting but the owner didn’t need the revenue. His wealth was massive; the shop was a hobby and allowed tax write-offs that prevented him from giving to charities, which he loathed. On any day, only two or three customers would appear to buy the finest of products offered by the shop for men and women.

A woman entered the shop early one morning that Ryan disliked immediately. Besides the constant chatter, which he found annoying, she handled the merchandise far more than he liked. To aggravate this dislike, she constantly touched the mirrors in the shop and marveled how easy it would be to walk into one if she wasn’t paying attention.

The morning progressed without the woman making a purchase. Her annoying chatter, now accentuated by her unwillingness to leave, had Ryan aggravated to distraction. As lunch approached, and passed, he found he couldn’t concentrate. The jabber of the woman became a noise that pounded in his head; torturing him to beyond reason – until it stopped.

Ryan heard what sounded like a tapping on the shop window. Finding nobody outside the shop, he approached the small mirrored alcove that allowed customers to admire their selection before purchase. Instantly, in a blind rage, he went to admonish the customer that had, obviously, crossed all lines of decency and was tapping on the mirrors he hated so much.

She wasn’t there, although he thought he heard her muffled voice in the distance. Stepping into the alcove revealed nothing, until he saw something from the corner of his vision. Turning quickly, he again found nothing there, but the insistent tapping continued and he could now hear the woman pleading to be allowed to leave. Again, he saw something in the corner of his vision. Turning slowly, he could see her on the edge of his vision, tapping at the mirror as though she was looking in a window. When he completed his turn, she was gone. Horrified, he ran from the shop and didn’t stop until he reached his apartment.

                                                                              ***

The older of the two detectives knocked quietly, but forcefully, on the door of the landlady of Ryan’s apartment. 

“We only have a few questions.” The older detective asked, after showing his badge and being shown into the small apartment.

“The first officer to arrive reported you called the police after other renters complained of a constant pounding in Mr. Brown’s apartment.”

“Yes. I knocked on the door and he wouldn’t answer. After hours of the constant pounding, I had to call the police.” She was still frightened. Recalling the night before was causing her to tremble.

“Is this the first time you had a problem with Mr. Brown?”

“Yes. He’s been here for years; always quiet; always paid his rent before it was due.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Brown?”

The question startled the landlady. She realized it had been a long, long time since she actually saw Ryan. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her renter, or had spoken to the young man that made her nervous.

“I don’t remember.”

She did remember how they found Ryan: filthy, sprawled on the floor; his outstretched foot kicking at a cabinet with a knife precariously balanced on the edge. Mumbling, and crying; one hand reaching toward the cabinet; the other outstretched, as though he was doing everything to keep it at a distance; a shard of mirror in the palm bleeding profusely.  

“He will be okay?” she asked. She had a bad feeling, especially with detectives visiting her apartment.

“I’m sorry, but he died early this morning.”

Suddenly curious, she asked: “Was he ill?”

The young detective answered: “The doctors think it was a combination of blood loss and malnutrition.”

“Did he have any enemies?”

“I really don’t know. I do know that nobody ever visited and the only time I saw him leave was to go to work, or a short trip to the market. “

The older detective spoke: “When was the last time you saw him leave for work?”

She had to think for a moment. She really couldn’t say. As she thought, she realized the shop had appeared closed for a long time; maybe months.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought he was taking time off from work. It’s been a long time since the shop down the street appeared opened.”

The young detective responded: “The shop that you named on the police report last night?”

She nodded and said nothing.

The older detective rose and said: “That’s all the questions we have for now. We’d like you to unlock the apartment so we can look around.”

She stood, went to a keyboard and handed the key to the detective: “Here’s the key. I don’t want to go back to that room right now.”

Showing them out, she remarked: “It’s the first door to the right on the second floor.”

Opening the door revealed much of what was in the initial report. Now that there was a death involved, the detectives needed to make a more thorough investigation and determine if there was something more than what appeared. 

The apartment was small. Coagulated blood was pooled on the floor. The cabinet doors were open and empty. Several trash bags were piled in one corner. A few empty plates were in the sink. The fixtures appeared to be covered with paint, or putty.   

The rest of the apartment appeared unused. The bathroom and bedroom were neat, everything placed, yet there was a layer of dust that indicated a long time without use. Other than dust, the mirrors were unblemished and without fingerprints.

“I don’t see any sign of a struggle” were the first words from the older detective.

The younger detective responded: “The door has no sign of forced entry and the windows are locked. I didn’t find any medications in the cabinet, except for aspirin and the bottle was almost full.”

“What do you think?”

The older detective sighed: “I think we need to get back to the precinct, fill out a report and take an early lunch. Later this afternoon, we’ll see if we can find if he had any family.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Are you buying?”

They left, stopped at the landlady’s apartment, gave her the key and handed her a card for a service that cleaned crime scenes. “That’s all we need. We appreciate your cooperation.”

As they left, the young detective pointed down the block and remarked: “That’s the shop.”

The older detective never looked. After years of dealing with dead end cases, he never wasted his time with curiosity. He was tired, retirement was only three years away and he suddenly had the urge for a Reuben sandwich, which they sold around the corner from the precinct.

“How does a Reuben sound for lunch? If we hurry, the sauerkraut will be fresh and the corned beef just sliced. “

The young detective glanced in the passenger side mirror and suddenly turned to look at the shop receding in the mirror. For a moment, he thought he saw someone standing inside the front glass. When he turned, there was nothing to see.

“If we’re finished early enough, the rye will only have been out of the oven for an hour. Damn, I can taste it now. Can’t you drive faster?”

Season Effects

After a few rainy days, we finally received a cold front that will lower the temperature to those of Fall. As I stood outside this morning and observed the weather, I realized the change brought reflection and a loneliness. Although the holidays were changed by the passage of many other relatives, the passing of my mother was the final change. The surviving matriarch of our family is now gone and only time will reveal who is next in succession.

So, I sat and wrote another few paragraphs in a story that I've kicked around for over a month. Maybe I can finish it this weekend and post it for readers to enjoy.

A Little Malaise

I received an influenza vaccination today. Last year, I didn't and it bothered me enough to get one this year.

I don't feel like hammered crap, but I feel sleepy, out of sorts and want to just kick back, ignore the world and go to bed early.....so I will.....after a hot, soaking bath.

Tanking Media Outlets

CNN is not doing well in the ratings. I know why, although I doubt they do. They have a tendency to believe they're more important than they are.

Any way, a comment at the bottom of the article is a jewel and needs more exposure:

Listening to MSNBC to learn about politics is like listening to farts to learn about cooking.Comment by Richard — Thursday October 31, 2013 @ 4:27pm PDT

That's a keeper.