Yeah, I know I've said that I wouldn't dabble into political issues much here, and I meant it. But I did reserve the right to do it every now and then. Well, today is now. Or then, take your pick.
I wanted to say something in light of the Democratic debate the last two nights. They sure like to spend your money, and I must stress your money, don't they?
I am a political conservative. Why? For many reasons, really, yet one does kind of stand out. I think we have to be very careful about taking other people's money and spending it however we like. The essence of government spending is exactly that: taking other people's money and spending it however we like.
I'm not arguing against any and all forms of taxing and spending. We need government, and government does need money in order to work. Still, the idea that something should have public money spent on it simply because I want it spent, or because that's how the majority of voters want it spent, is plain arrogance. No matter how good of an idea it might be on certain levels, and especially no matter how good of an idea you may think it is, it doesn't automatically follow that you should force other people to pay for it.
The simple guideline is that government should generally only spend for a substantial public interest. I would look at the 18 basic ways of public spending as outlined in Article 1 of the Constitution as a good guideline. After that, we really shouldn't be too quick to demand, yes, demand, that individuals cough up their cash for what someone else believes right and just. Simply put, that is the tyranny of the majority. That's as bad as the tyranny of a king.
Wednesday, July 31, 2019
Monday, July 29, 2019
Nadler's hubris
The chairman said he believes Trump “richly deserves” to be impeached. But what matters is whether the committee can produce enough evidence to convince the American people of that, he said.
This disturbs me. Representative Jerry Nadler said this. He is, was, whatever, asking the American people if they can produce, develop, manufacture, evidence that President Donald Trump is impeachable.
Is this his job? To 'create' something?
I'm just asking.
This disturbs me. Representative Jerry Nadler said this. He is, was, whatever, asking the American people if they can produce, develop, manufacture, evidence that President Donald Trump is impeachable.
Is this his job? To 'create' something?
I'm just asking.
Sunday, July 28, 2019
The bee hunt
Me Grandpaw Hutchins was the most mild mannered, easiest going man I have known. Nothing seemed to bother or rankle him. He just moseyed on with his life.
Of course, using the word nothing is rarely accurate. There's always something, the famous 'they' say. And there was something with Grandpaw. If he got strung by a bee, that bee had too die. It. Had. To. Die.
Before even tending his wound, Grandpaw would grab the fly swatter hanging by his back door and he would stalk the culprit. With a stealth generally found only in the most experienced ninjas, he would make his way quietly through his house, keeping a steady eye on the miscreant, waiting for the right opportunity. Eventually the insect would settle somewhere, to be stunned in that instant before death by the hard, fast, and true slam of Grandpaw Hutchin's swatter. Justice had been served, North Carolina style.
Then he would become again mild mannered Grandpaw Hutchins. I loved that man.
Of course, using the word nothing is rarely accurate. There's always something, the famous 'they' say. And there was something with Grandpaw. If he got strung by a bee, that bee had too die. It. Had. To. Die.
Before even tending his wound, Grandpaw would grab the fly swatter hanging by his back door and he would stalk the culprit. With a stealth generally found only in the most experienced ninjas, he would make his way quietly through his house, keeping a steady eye on the miscreant, waiting for the right opportunity. Eventually the insect would settle somewhere, to be stunned in that instant before death by the hard, fast, and true slam of Grandpaw Hutchin's swatter. Justice had been served, North Carolina style.
Then he would become again mild mannered Grandpaw Hutchins. I loved that man.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
Sentimental old guys
I think yesterday I had my first wistful old guy moment.
A call came in from a fellow I hadn't seen in better than thirty years; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Back then he worked for Smith Plumbing yet had long since left for a different job.
These days he's the plumber for a nearby school district. For years he hated the drain snake they had. But then through Dame Fortune he stumbled onto one of ours, a genuine Electric Eel Model C exactly like he used at Smith's. It was buried in storage, where Cloyce discovered it looking for something else. Needing a few cutting tools he went to Electric Eel's website and found us. "Marty, it's a voice from the past. I'm Cloyce. I worked at Smith's, remember?"
"In fact I do," I answered. Indeed I remembered his voice quite clearly. "How are you?"
"Good." He explained the situation and when I said I had what he wanted in stock, he came on down.
An hour later he was in the old barn and we were talking old times. "Mr. Smith died awhile back. Drank himself to death unfortunately," Cloyce explained.
"That's sad," I responded sadly. You do hate to hear things like that.
Cloyce's face then noticeably lit up. "Hey, how's your Dad?" he asked expectantly.
"We lost him six years ago last month. June 25th."
"I'm really sorry Marty. I always liked listening to his jokes and stories."
"Thanks. I, I like hearing that," I stammered.
We spent an hour talking about old plumbers, telling each other tales neither of us (I think) had heard before. We talked about old Tiger Stadium and how we both missed it, that we both had good times taking our kids there. He showed me pictures of an old Corvette Stingray he'd bought off Smith's widow. He restored it and was going to sell it. "Too much car for me, but the guy who was first trying to buy it was ripping her off."
It was odd hearing Cloyce's voice coming from the face of a much older man. He maybe thought the same about me. I guess that's how it is when you don't see someone in three decades.
It was a nice visit. "I'm glad you guys are still in it. It was good to see you man," Cloyce was saying as he left.
"Good seeing you too," I said, and I meant it truly.
"I'll be back when I need more stuff."
"Great, thanks." He got into his work truck and was on his way.
I made myself a cup of coffee on my new used Keurig and sat quietly at my desk for a few minutes. After taking a sip when the coffee had cooled a bit I thought, 'Well, the old barn ain't gonna clean itself'. I went back to work.
A call came in from a fellow I hadn't seen in better than thirty years; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Back then he worked for Smith Plumbing yet had long since left for a different job.
These days he's the plumber for a nearby school district. For years he hated the drain snake they had. But then through Dame Fortune he stumbled onto one of ours, a genuine Electric Eel Model C exactly like he used at Smith's. It was buried in storage, where Cloyce discovered it looking for something else. Needing a few cutting tools he went to Electric Eel's website and found us. "Marty, it's a voice from the past. I'm Cloyce. I worked at Smith's, remember?"
"In fact I do," I answered. Indeed I remembered his voice quite clearly. "How are you?"
"Good." He explained the situation and when I said I had what he wanted in stock, he came on down.
An hour later he was in the old barn and we were talking old times. "Mr. Smith died awhile back. Drank himself to death unfortunately," Cloyce explained.
"That's sad," I responded sadly. You do hate to hear things like that.
Cloyce's face then noticeably lit up. "Hey, how's your Dad?" he asked expectantly.
"We lost him six years ago last month. June 25th."
"I'm really sorry Marty. I always liked listening to his jokes and stories."
"Thanks. I, I like hearing that," I stammered.
We spent an hour talking about old plumbers, telling each other tales neither of us (I think) had heard before. We talked about old Tiger Stadium and how we both missed it, that we both had good times taking our kids there. He showed me pictures of an old Corvette Stingray he'd bought off Smith's widow. He restored it and was going to sell it. "Too much car for me, but the guy who was first trying to buy it was ripping her off."
It was odd hearing Cloyce's voice coming from the face of a much older man. He maybe thought the same about me. I guess that's how it is when you don't see someone in three decades.
It was a nice visit. "I'm glad you guys are still in it. It was good to see you man," Cloyce was saying as he left.
"Good seeing you too," I said, and I meant it truly.
"I'll be back when I need more stuff."
"Great, thanks." He got into his work truck and was on his way.
I made myself a cup of coffee on my new used Keurig and sat quietly at my desk for a few minutes. After taking a sip when the coffee had cooled a bit I thought, 'Well, the old barn ain't gonna clean itself'. I went back to work.
Friday, July 26, 2019
Tucson protocols
So I had a little car trouble while heading to Tucson a few weeks ago. For those who don't know about it, you can read about it here:
https://thesublimetotheridiculous.blogspot.com/2019/07/marty-has-car-trouble.html
Anyway, I went to Enterprise and they were very good about simply giving me another car. They looked the old one over, which was fair enough and what I expected they'd do, then gave me another. I was quite happy with that.
Anyway once more, while at the counter at Enterprise the young woman behind it looked at my daughter, smiled, then turned around and pulled up her hair, showing Abby her neck and the back of her head. Abby smiled in return, turned, and showed the woman the back of her neck. Then they chit chatted for a few minutes about it. It turns out they both had the same, newish hairstyle.
Not knowing this, I remember thinking: That's an odd sort of greeting. You would think the travel sites would tell you about different ways of greeting people in different places. Or was I being shunned as a non-native? Perhaps this was this some protocol my daughter and son-in-law had to learn once they had moved west? You know, like a secret handshake?
But it was just about the hairstyle. Personally I like my thoughts better though.
https://thesublimetotheridiculous.blogspot.com/2019/07/marty-has-car-trouble.html
Anyway, I went to Enterprise and they were very good about simply giving me another car. They looked the old one over, which was fair enough and what I expected they'd do, then gave me another. I was quite happy with that.
Anyway once more, while at the counter at Enterprise the young woman behind it looked at my daughter, smiled, then turned around and pulled up her hair, showing Abby her neck and the back of her head. Abby smiled in return, turned, and showed the woman the back of her neck. Then they chit chatted for a few minutes about it. It turns out they both had the same, newish hairstyle.
Not knowing this, I remember thinking: That's an odd sort of greeting. You would think the travel sites would tell you about different ways of greeting people in different places. Or was I being shunned as a non-native? Perhaps this was this some protocol my daughter and son-in-law had to learn once they had moved west? You know, like a secret handshake?
But it was just about the hairstyle. Personally I like my thoughts better though.
Thursday, July 25, 2019
Zeke's pep talk
Me Pops, you need to know (as many of you do) was the oldest of eight in his family. Me Uncle John whom we call Zeke was the youngest, and there were twelve years between them. Just in front of Uncle John at positions 6 and 7 in the family order were two other sons. The four of them at one time or another worked for me Grandpa Joe in his welding shop. Now you have all the information you need in order to understand my tale today.
Zeke was a young teenager and work simply wasn't going well for him one day. Try as he might, whatever he touched did not turn to gold. All turned to dust, maybe, and he'd even have to sweep that up. It was, according to me Pops, a rough day for the kid.
So Pops decided to do what a good elder brother should. When there was a break in the action, he sat down with his youngest sibling to offer encouragement. Ah, give it time, things will go better, stiff upper lip and all that sort of thing. Pops decided to finish the speech with a flourish. Waving an arm across the inside of the Shop he said, "And remember, Zeke, one day all this will be yours."
Uninspired by the sage words of me Pops Uncle John sat, dropping his shoulders a bit and becoming even more glum. "When you and Mike and Jim get done with it, I don't know if I want it." he said.
Until the last time he told that story, me Pops laughed loudly over it. Honesty can hurt. But it can be darn funny too.
Zeke was a young teenager and work simply wasn't going well for him one day. Try as he might, whatever he touched did not turn to gold. All turned to dust, maybe, and he'd even have to sweep that up. It was, according to me Pops, a rough day for the kid.
So Pops decided to do what a good elder brother should. When there was a break in the action, he sat down with his youngest sibling to offer encouragement. Ah, give it time, things will go better, stiff upper lip and all that sort of thing. Pops decided to finish the speech with a flourish. Waving an arm across the inside of the Shop he said, "And remember, Zeke, one day all this will be yours."
Uninspired by the sage words of me Pops Uncle John sat, dropping his shoulders a bit and becoming even more glum. "When you and Mike and Jim get done with it, I don't know if I want it." he said.
Until the last time he told that story, me Pops laughed loudly over it. Honesty can hurt. But it can be darn funny too.
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
A very expensive street
The title above is a pun, which I will explain. Channel 4 here in the D reports that Avery, the street I live on and have lived on my whole life, is currently the most expensive street in the city. Homes.com claims that the average home value is to me an unbelievable $1.3 million. You can read the story and watch the video here:
https://www.clickondetroit.com/news/which-are-the-most-expensive-streets-in-detroit
I really do have a difficult time believing this. My first reaction was, what, did the street value of crack suddenly surge?
Hey, I'm a lifelong Detroiter. I can make those jokes.
Still, $1.3 mil? Even granting that this surely means finished homes, and recognizing that as we've gentrified the neighborhood (Woodbridge) has improved quite a bit, that number just seems outlandish. Palmer Park and Indian Village must have pricier homes that those of mine and my neighbors.
Be that as it may, I will admit to a certain snobbish delight in thinking that so many of my suburban friends and family are now officially put in their place. Marty waited it out, and now lives in a better neighborhood than they do.
https://www.clickondetroit.com/news/which-are-the-most-expensive-streets-in-detroit
I really do have a difficult time believing this. My first reaction was, what, did the street value of crack suddenly surge?
Hey, I'm a lifelong Detroiter. I can make those jokes.
Still, $1.3 mil? Even granting that this surely means finished homes, and recognizing that as we've gentrified the neighborhood (Woodbridge) has improved quite a bit, that number just seems outlandish. Palmer Park and Indian Village must have pricier homes that those of mine and my neighbors.
Be that as it may, I will admit to a certain snobbish delight in thinking that so many of my suburban friends and family are now officially put in their place. Marty waited it out, and now lives in a better neighborhood than they do.
Monday, July 22, 2019
Pistachios and pecans
The things you learn on the road...
I had no idea that southern Arizona and southern New Mexico were hotbeds for pistachios and pecans. Really. In the desert heat and amid the brown, dusty dirt areas are these seas of green, rows upon rows of pistachio and pecan trees.
They honestly look out of place, and seem to come from nowhere. Dry desert, dry desert, dry desert, boom: acres and acres of deep green trees chock full, presumably, of pistachios and pecans. Kinda impressive in their own right.
Yeah, that's what I got for you today. I bet you didn't know it either.
I had no idea that southern Arizona and southern New Mexico were hotbeds for pistachios and pecans. Really. In the desert heat and amid the brown, dusty dirt areas are these seas of green, rows upon rows of pistachio and pecan trees.
They honestly look out of place, and seem to come from nowhere. Dry desert, dry desert, dry desert, boom: acres and acres of deep green trees chock full, presumably, of pistachios and pecans. Kinda impressive in their own right.
Yeah, that's what I got for you today. I bet you didn't know it either.
Sunday, July 21, 2019
Hot diggity sonora dog
I love hot dogs. My taste in cuisine (notice the pun?) is and always has been quite simple. Hot dogs are right at the top of that list. Hot dogs, I will argue, should be their own food group. I used to wonder if they could ever be improved upon at all.
The people of Tucson and surrounds have demonstrated to me that yes, even the ideal food can be improved upon enough to satisfy the most refined palate. They introduced to the world the sonora dog, which my daughter told me I would love. She was right.
It's a hot dog wrapped in bacon. You would think that was enough, but wait: there's more! There's green chile, diced onions, mustard, mayonnaise and, be still that southern part of my heart, pinto beans.
You can't pick it up and eat it. You have to use a knife and fork, there are so many toppings. And every single bite is hot dog heaven.
If you love hot dogs like I love hot dogs, you must try a sonora dog. You. Simply. Must.
I now have a reason to return to the Great American Southwest. Oh, uh, um, to visit my daughter of course.
The people of Tucson and surrounds have demonstrated to me that yes, even the ideal food can be improved upon enough to satisfy the most refined palate. They introduced to the world the sonora dog, which my daughter told me I would love. She was right.
It's a hot dog wrapped in bacon. You would think that was enough, but wait: there's more! There's green chile, diced onions, mustard, mayonnaise and, be still that southern part of my heart, pinto beans.
You can't pick it up and eat it. You have to use a knife and fork, there are so many toppings. And every single bite is hot dog heaven.
If you love hot dogs like I love hot dogs, you must try a sonora dog. You. Simply. Must.
I now have a reason to return to the Great American Southwest. Oh, uh, um, to visit my daughter of course.
Thursday, July 18, 2019
My ancestral home in central Illinois
I will be leaving Jacksonville, Illinois within the hour. If it isn't too odd for an American born and bred to say, or pure hyperbole, it is the closest I have to an ancestral home. Both of my paternal grandparents, me Grandpa Joe and me Grandma Alice, were born and are buried here. Me Uncle John whom me Pops called Zeke, and me Aunt Carol are in the same cemetery, in plots directly opposite my grandparents.
Until this visit I have only been here for funerals, though I will stop by the graves to pay my respects as I go. Yet that doesn't mean there haven't been some genuine good times. My brother and I ate breakfast at a dive restaurant, which was a favorite of Joe's, one morning while here for his internment. It was a dive too, but the food was good.
On the same trip, the night before the funeral, me Uncle John, that same brother and I took a walk around the square, then down West College to the Illinois School for the Deaf where our Uncle Charlie, a brother of me Grandma Alice, worked for years. It was cool, and genuinely sublime, to listen Uncle John, who ordinarily was not expansive, talk about his youthful time in Jacksonville and about this or that along the way. He actually asked if we wanted accompany him, and was honestly excited talking about things along the way. He had his demons, and his time in Vietnam didn't help (me Pops always said he was different after the War) but there was a part of him who was truly a good, sentimental man.
Pops liked being here and spoke often of it as well. I need to rack my brain and try to remember and pen some of his stories about coming here too, although I know I've shared one or two along the way. Perhaps one day I'll spend a long weekend here and walk more thoroughly in their footsteps. After all, it is my ancestral home.
Until this visit I have only been here for funerals, though I will stop by the graves to pay my respects as I go. Yet that doesn't mean there haven't been some genuine good times. My brother and I ate breakfast at a dive restaurant, which was a favorite of Joe's, one morning while here for his internment. It was a dive too, but the food was good.
On the same trip, the night before the funeral, me Uncle John, that same brother and I took a walk around the square, then down West College to the Illinois School for the Deaf where our Uncle Charlie, a brother of me Grandma Alice, worked for years. It was cool, and genuinely sublime, to listen Uncle John, who ordinarily was not expansive, talk about his youthful time in Jacksonville and about this or that along the way. He actually asked if we wanted accompany him, and was honestly excited talking about things along the way. He had his demons, and his time in Vietnam didn't help (me Pops always said he was different after the War) but there was a part of him who was truly a good, sentimental man.
Pops liked being here and spoke often of it as well. I need to rack my brain and try to remember and pen some of his stories about coming here too, although I know I've shared one or two along the way. Perhaps one day I'll spend a long weekend here and walk more thoroughly in their footsteps. After all, it is my ancestral home.
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Pray for Vermont and Delaware
Yeah, I know. That's the wrong kind of lead in, especially as there's nothing that I know of wrong in Vermont or Delaware. I just need them for myself.
I play license plate bingo when on the road. As I'm coming off a long road trip, I thought I might have a chance to see a lot of plates. And I have: 48 in fact. I've also seen for the first time one from Puerto Rico, one from Sonora, a Mexican state due south of Tucson, Arizona, and several from the Indian nations in Oklahoma. Then there's the 4 Canadian provinces I've spotted: Ontario, Quebec, Manitoba, and Alberta. But the 48 states I've seen constitutes a record. The best I've spotted before was 47.
So now you know what I want you to pray for. I'm on my last overnight hotel stay and will be back in the 313 tomorrow night. And I need to find plates from Vermont and Delaware to obtain the coveted perfect score in license plate bingo: to spot all 50 states.
My apologies then if I had you scrambling to find out what's happened in Vermont and Delaware. But I have about 10 hours on the highway tomorrow to find them or I will have to content myself with a mere new high score.
In case you're wondering (and I know you are) my record for Canadian provinces is 7. I do not expect to break it tomorrow.
I play license plate bingo when on the road. As I'm coming off a long road trip, I thought I might have a chance to see a lot of plates. And I have: 48 in fact. I've also seen for the first time one from Puerto Rico, one from Sonora, a Mexican state due south of Tucson, Arizona, and several from the Indian nations in Oklahoma. Then there's the 4 Canadian provinces I've spotted: Ontario, Quebec, Manitoba, and Alberta. But the 48 states I've seen constitutes a record. The best I've spotted before was 47.
So now you know what I want you to pray for. I'm on my last overnight hotel stay and will be back in the 313 tomorrow night. And I need to find plates from Vermont and Delaware to obtain the coveted perfect score in license plate bingo: to spot all 50 states.
My apologies then if I had you scrambling to find out what's happened in Vermont and Delaware. But I have about 10 hours on the highway tomorrow to find them or I will have to content myself with a mere new high score.
In case you're wondering (and I know you are) my record for Canadian provinces is 7. I do not expect to break it tomorrow.
Monday, July 15, 2019
Quick thoughts about Tucson
Bullet points about Tucson:
- It's hot.
- It's really spread out over a wide valley.
- Most buildings are low, and often only one story. Very few high rises, and those I'm guessing top out at about thirty floors.
- With the nearby mountains, there are marvelous panoramas.
- It's hot.
- Adobe is everywhere.
- Desert scrub and brush are everywhere.
- The cacti get a lot taller than I thought they would.
- It's hot.
- I'm told the weather is wonderful for nine months of the year but you pay for it in summer. How?
- Because it's hot in summer.
- Have I mentioned it's hot?
- It's hot.
- It's really spread out over a wide valley.
- Most buildings are low, and often only one story. Very few high rises, and those I'm guessing top out at about thirty floors.
- With the nearby mountains, there are marvelous panoramas.
- It's hot.
- Adobe is everywhere.
- Desert scrub and brush are everywhere.
- The cacti get a lot taller than I thought they would.
- It's hot.
- I'm told the weather is wonderful for nine months of the year but you pay for it in summer. How?
- Because it's hot in summer.
- Have I mentioned it's hot?
Sunday, July 14, 2019
Object permanence
Okay, so maybe I don't always notice obvious things.
Yesterday I walked into my daughter's kitchen and noticed she had our kitchen table. That is, the table which was in my kitchen in Detroit for several years. And I thought, oh, they have our kitchen table.
On how many levels is that stupid? I helped them load the shipping container before Abby and John moved to Tucson. I've walked into my own kitchen hundreds of times in the past year. I had to have seen the table leaving the house or being packed. How could I not realize in more than 11 months that we had a different kitchen table in Detroit?
Still, yesterday it was oh, they have our kitchen table.
"Object permanence," my son-in-law suggested. Things are always simply there. Or not there, as the case may be.
It's permanent something, to be sure.
Yesterday I walked into my daughter's kitchen and noticed she had our kitchen table. That is, the table which was in my kitchen in Detroit for several years. And I thought, oh, they have our kitchen table.
On how many levels is that stupid? I helped them load the shipping container before Abby and John moved to Tucson. I've walked into my own kitchen hundreds of times in the past year. I had to have seen the table leaving the house or being packed. How could I not realize in more than 11 months that we had a different kitchen table in Detroit?
Still, yesterday it was oh, they have our kitchen table.
"Object permanence," my son-in-law suggested. Things are always simply there. Or not there, as the case may be.
It's permanent something, to be sure.
Saturday, July 13, 2019
Marty has car trouble
Anyone who knows me knows the kind of vehicles I drive. There were probably eye rolls and incredulous looks when those people heard I was driving to Arizona. But I'm not so bad as to go that far in any kind of questionable car or van. I rented a car for the trip.
About twenty miles before my destination the car began making the most awful noises. I thought I had blown a tire, yet a quick inspection showed nothing like that. But when I got back on the road again, there was the same terrible noise. I popped the hood and looked under the car, yet there was no obvious cause.
Thankfully I was close enough to my daughter's to limp the car there; I found I could drive it at surface speeds with no problems, and as such why wait for a tow or the rental company when you're so close to home? But at freeway speeds, wow. It's a really bad thumping, flapping kind of noise.
I'll go to Enterprise this morning and get another car of course. And I'm glad I was so close to the end of the trip when my troubles occurred. My good fortune is further made in that there's an Enterprise six blocks away. I'll drive the car there to get a replacement. But it goes to show that you can do the right thing and it still doesn't always work completely as planned. And I just know that me Pops and me Grandpa Joe are looking down on me saying, "You should have just driven your own car, boy."
About twenty miles before my destination the car began making the most awful noises. I thought I had blown a tire, yet a quick inspection showed nothing like that. But when I got back on the road again, there was the same terrible noise. I popped the hood and looked under the car, yet there was no obvious cause.
Thankfully I was close enough to my daughter's to limp the car there; I found I could drive it at surface speeds with no problems, and as such why wait for a tow or the rental company when you're so close to home? But at freeway speeds, wow. It's a really bad thumping, flapping kind of noise.
I'll go to Enterprise this morning and get another car of course. And I'm glad I was so close to the end of the trip when my troubles occurred. My good fortune is further made in that there's an Enterprise six blocks away. I'll drive the car there to get a replacement. But it goes to show that you can do the right thing and it still doesn't always work completely as planned. And I just know that me Pops and me Grandpa Joe are looking down on me saying, "You should have just driven your own car, boy."
Friday, July 12, 2019
Roswell's all well
Yesterday I passed through Roswell, New Mexico. It had many shops and stores and restaurants, a Walmart and McDonalds and all kinds of hotels and what not. There was bustling downtown and a large tourist area with all the anticipated tourist traps. It even had a Golden Corral. I wondered what they might serve at the Roswell Golden Corral, but that's probably a question asked of all Golden Corrals everywhere, am I right?
Anyway, Roswell seemed just like any fair sized city in these United States. I left it disappointed. It didn't feel alien to me at all.
Yes, I'm proud of that one. but it needed more build up, didn't it?
Anyway, Roswell seemed just like any fair sized city in these United States. I left it disappointed. It didn't feel alien to me at all.
Yes, I'm proud of that one. but it needed more build up, didn't it?
Thursday, July 11, 2019
Road sign humor
The things you see on the road, up to and including silly and sophomoric humor. Some of which is even by me.
You know how they often have signs promoting various attractions near highway exits? At times they gave me an opportunity to display my oft-times silliness. One such sign advertised a nearby antique shopping mall. I thought, what's so special about an old shopping mall?
Then there's the Bourbon Family Fun Center. Granted, it was in Bourbon, Missouri. Still, I'm really not sure where to go with that one. It certainly invites jokes, but I simply don't want the hassle of offending the PC police today.
Notice that I o-so-subtly did though?
Another place I saw prominently advertised took what any childish humorist would have done and boldly ran with it without the least concern for the offense of anybody. I'm almost ashamed of myself for even talking about it. Yet there are friends out there, and you know who you are, who will think this classic comedy.
Near another Missouri town, Uranus, and I assure you I am not making this up, were billboards promoting the Uranus Fudge Factory. I sigh heavily as I write this, and likely as not every single one of you know where this unabashedly juvenile humor is going, but another sign farther down the road took it a step further. It proclaimed, and I swear I am not making this up, that the best fudge in the world is made in Uranus.
Yes, go ahead and laugh. It's what the world's come to.
You know how they often have signs promoting various attractions near highway exits? At times they gave me an opportunity to display my oft-times silliness. One such sign advertised a nearby antique shopping mall. I thought, what's so special about an old shopping mall?
Then there's the Bourbon Family Fun Center. Granted, it was in Bourbon, Missouri. Still, I'm really not sure where to go with that one. It certainly invites jokes, but I simply don't want the hassle of offending the PC police today.
Notice that I o-so-subtly did though?
Another place I saw prominently advertised took what any childish humorist would have done and boldly ran with it without the least concern for the offense of anybody. I'm almost ashamed of myself for even talking about it. Yet there are friends out there, and you know who you are, who will think this classic comedy.
Near another Missouri town, Uranus, and I assure you I am not making this up, were billboards promoting the Uranus Fudge Factory. I sigh heavily as I write this, and likely as not every single one of you know where this unabashedly juvenile humor is going, but another sign farther down the road took it a step further. It proclaimed, and I swear I am not making this up, that the best fudge in the world is made in Uranus.
Yes, go ahead and laugh. It's what the world's come to.
Wednesday, July 10, 2019
First Impressions of Texas
I'll probably talk a lot about my current trip in the next few days, but as I have to start somewhere I'll start with Texas.
I can't say much about the state as a whole as I'm only experiencing the panhandle. But the panhandle seems flat, wide, and desolate. Until you get to Amarillo, there aren't a lot of gas options either. The option I stumbled across was unique for 2019.
An attendant pumped gas for me, which was nice, but the real throwback was the pump itself. It was not digital; it still had the old metal rollers which counted out the gallons and the price mechanically. I haven't seen one of those actually at work in at least twenty five years. Probably thirty.
And although everything went well and the attendant was a pleasant fellow to talk to, it is the very definition of desolate if you ask me.
I can't say much about the state as a whole as I'm only experiencing the panhandle. But the panhandle seems flat, wide, and desolate. Until you get to Amarillo, there aren't a lot of gas options either. The option I stumbled across was unique for 2019.
An attendant pumped gas for me, which was nice, but the real throwback was the pump itself. It was not digital; it still had the old metal rollers which counted out the gallons and the price mechanically. I haven't seen one of those actually at work in at least twenty five years. Probably thirty.
And although everything went well and the attendant was a pleasant fellow to talk to, it is the very definition of desolate if you ask me.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Driving like me Pops (and me Grandpa Joe)
Hey Pops, how are you today?
Tonight I embark on the longest road trip of my life: just under 2,000 miles. I'm going to Tucson Arizona to visit your granddaughter. You know, the one who as a child mixed up your dress shoes so that you had to man a trade show with one black and one brown shoe. It was clever how you parlayed that into greater sales though. "My granddaughter dressed me," you explained to the bemused, many of whom were grandparents themselves and appreciated the point.
I'm going to stop at Amarillo, Texas overnight before finishing the journey. The internet (yeah, I feel like a weak Cosgriff consulting such modern ways and means) tells me that's 1287 miles. I can make that in a day, right? I know you've done better. One day I will challenge your mark.
A lot of people shake their heads at a drive like that, but hell, driving' ain't nuthin'. Between you and Grandpa Joe, I got a reputation to uphold. I'm actually thinking about cancelling the room in Amarillo and driving straight through, only that that granddaughter of yours would mother me over it if I did. But if we shouldn't drive, why would God give us cars, eh?
I'll let you know how it goes. We're intending to see the Grand Canyon over the weekend; wasn't that what you and your cousin Jim took a trip to see back in 1955? There were some stories there I bet.
Until next time,
Marty
Tonight I embark on the longest road trip of my life: just under 2,000 miles. I'm going to Tucson Arizona to visit your granddaughter. You know, the one who as a child mixed up your dress shoes so that you had to man a trade show with one black and one brown shoe. It was clever how you parlayed that into greater sales though. "My granddaughter dressed me," you explained to the bemused, many of whom were grandparents themselves and appreciated the point.
I'm going to stop at Amarillo, Texas overnight before finishing the journey. The internet (yeah, I feel like a weak Cosgriff consulting such modern ways and means) tells me that's 1287 miles. I can make that in a day, right? I know you've done better. One day I will challenge your mark.
A lot of people shake their heads at a drive like that, but hell, driving' ain't nuthin'. Between you and Grandpa Joe, I got a reputation to uphold. I'm actually thinking about cancelling the room in Amarillo and driving straight through, only that that granddaughter of yours would mother me over it if I did. But if we shouldn't drive, why would God give us cars, eh?
I'll let you know how it goes. We're intending to see the Grand Canyon over the weekend; wasn't that what you and your cousin Jim took a trip to see back in 1955? There were some stories there I bet.
Until next time,
Marty
Monday, July 8, 2019
A lack of understanding
One of the fascinating things about repairing drain cables and equipment are the the laments which I hear along the way. At times I wonder if people ever actually think about what they say.
Broken cables always just break. The operator never ever put too much pressure on it. Never ever.
They were simply feeding it into the drain line and it broke. One fella even claimed, I am not making this up, that he just looked at his machine and the cable snapped. Of course, he was kinda ugly...but the customer's point is that most cable breakages supposedly occur though absolutely no fault of the operator. Right.
A favorite of mine is the question, why did my machine break? It is often asked with incredulity. My answer is, I think, obvious. Everything is subject to break. Nothing made by human hands lasts forever. Your equipment, your cars, your refrigerator; they all break, and sometimes we just don't know why. How can you be shocked by that? Of course, if I see a definite reason why something went wrong I will tell you. But often things just go bad.
Then there's the equally incredulous, it was working and then it just stopped! Again, why are you surprised? Everything works until it doesn't. It's not a shocker.
Sometimes I just sigh about it. Other times I blog about it. Today is your lucky day.
Broken cables always just break. The operator never ever put too much pressure on it. Never ever.
They were simply feeding it into the drain line and it broke. One fella even claimed, I am not making this up, that he just looked at his machine and the cable snapped. Of course, he was kinda ugly...but the customer's point is that most cable breakages supposedly occur though absolutely no fault of the operator. Right.
A favorite of mine is the question, why did my machine break? It is often asked with incredulity. My answer is, I think, obvious. Everything is subject to break. Nothing made by human hands lasts forever. Your equipment, your cars, your refrigerator; they all break, and sometimes we just don't know why. How can you be shocked by that? Of course, if I see a definite reason why something went wrong I will tell you. But often things just go bad.
Then there's the equally incredulous, it was working and then it just stopped! Again, why are you surprised? Everything works until it doesn't. It's not a shocker.
Sometimes I just sigh about it. Other times I blog about it. Today is your lucky day.
Sunday, July 7, 2019
The plush toucan
Dads like to do nice things for their kids. And nice things don't have to be spectacular.
When my daughter was 6 or 7, we found ourselves on a family vacation in St. Ignace, Michigan. Wherever we were, there was this crane machine, the type where you pay a quarter for a chance to grab a toy or prize or whatever. Abby spotted this stuffed toucan doll which she decided that she had to have. We gave her 4 or 5 quarters and she went to work trying to scoop that bird out of the machine. But fortune wasn't with her and she didn't get it. After the last quarter was played she went off with her mother for a drink of water, and I could tell she was disappointed.
I had one more quarter. I stood by that oversized toy and thought, why not try? I've never been good at those things, but hey. I fed it to the crane machine and lo and behold, I managed to nab that toucan.
I must admit I was pretty tickled at my luck. Yet I anticipated Abby's reaction would be better, so I held the doll behind my back and headed towards the water fountain where her and her mom were.
When I was next to her I asked commandingly, "Abby?" She turned towards me, and I brought my right hand out, presenting her that toucan.
The wide, bright eyes and huge smile were one great prize themselves, let me tell you. The big hug and loud "Thank you Daddy!" didn't hurt either. She showed it to me a year or two ago; she still has that little toucan.
Nice things don't have to be spectacular.
When my daughter was 6 or 7, we found ourselves on a family vacation in St. Ignace, Michigan. Wherever we were, there was this crane machine, the type where you pay a quarter for a chance to grab a toy or prize or whatever. Abby spotted this stuffed toucan doll which she decided that she had to have. We gave her 4 or 5 quarters and she went to work trying to scoop that bird out of the machine. But fortune wasn't with her and she didn't get it. After the last quarter was played she went off with her mother for a drink of water, and I could tell she was disappointed.
I had one more quarter. I stood by that oversized toy and thought, why not try? I've never been good at those things, but hey. I fed it to the crane machine and lo and behold, I managed to nab that toucan.
I must admit I was pretty tickled at my luck. Yet I anticipated Abby's reaction would be better, so I held the doll behind my back and headed towards the water fountain where her and her mom were.
When I was next to her I asked commandingly, "Abby?" She turned towards me, and I brought my right hand out, presenting her that toucan.
The wide, bright eyes and huge smile were one great prize themselves, let me tell you. The big hug and loud "Thank you Daddy!" didn't hurt either. She showed it to me a year or two ago; she still has that little toucan.
Nice things don't have to be spectacular.
Saturday, July 6, 2019
The shot heard round the yard
To fully understand the scene, you need to know that my grandparents lived right next door to us, their house maybe 15 feet away from ours. Both of our front porches sat up, the decks about six feet high. There were railings on the porches of course, and from these railings people could stand and talk to one another across the breach. Or they could make a nice crowd for a five year old with imagination.
I remember well the day me Pops had us kids, me and my sibs, out on the little patch of yard between those porches, pitching a plastic baseball to us. We would all try in turn to absolutely clobber that ball, the ball Dad was trying his best to get to hit our bats. Mom and a couple other people stood on our porch to the left, me Grandpa Joe and Grandma and I honestly believe a couple others standing on the porch to the right. To a small child, it had a real stadium feel.
As I recall, I scorched a hard liner past the old man who, being at that moment my adversary, seemed far too pleased with my success. Joe smiled broadly as he puffed on his Charltons, and cheers rained down from the gallery as I loped unchallenged around the makeshift diamond, the youngest World Series winner in baseball history at old Tiger Stadium.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't actually Tiger Stadium. But as Cosgriff Field, it was a good substitute.
Friday, July 5, 2019
Extending greetings
As regular readers know, I try to walk for an hour every morning when weather and circumstances permit. That leads to an average of five days a week, nine months of the year. December through February get iffy.
Other than for the sake of the exercise itself, one thing I try to do while walking is to greet everyone I meet. It's interesting that a simple 'good morning' can appear to make other folks smile. I can't tell you how many people approach where you can see they're keeping their heads down, unsure whether they should make contact. Then I say "Good Morning!" and they invariably smile and say it back. I like to think it's good for us both.
To be sure, some do not respond, or respond surly. Yet I try not to let that bother me. I don't know what's on their minds or how their lives have been lately, so why make a big deal of it? Even if they are surly by nature, my good morning certainly can't hurt.
It all actually makes my walks better. I've never been much on psychology but I can see that when we choose a good attitude we tend to develop one. With that in mind I say to all of you out there, Good Morning!
Or good afternoon if you don't see this until then.
Thursday, July 4, 2019
My favorite Independence Day
Today is Independence Day. 243 years ago the United States declared themselves separate and equal to Great Britain. But this day I find myself remembering a very different July 4th, one of the fondest memories of my childhood.
It was around 8:30 in the morning and I was I think 10, just goofing off in my backyard. I saw me Grandpa Joe come out of his house (he and Grams lived next door to us) but he didn't see me. He walked out his back gate and up towards the old barn where he worked, the same old barn I have now. Naturally, I had to investigate. What could he be doing on a holiday?
I got to the shop right as he was opening the truck doors. "What are y'doin, boy?" he asked in that vague gruff manner of his when he wasn't in full on gruff mode.
"Wonderin' what you're doing," I answered honestly.
"Well, c'mon in then." Joe was welding something underneath one of the stake trucks he used for delivering the welding equipment he rented. I held a flashlight for him as he scoped out the job. Then he fired up an old Hobart welder he used exclusively in the barn, gave me a welding helmet with strict instructions to keep it on until he said I could remove it, and commenced with the repair on the truck's frame.
After a while he paused for a break. We went and got donuts ('vittles' he always called coffee break donuts or snacks) and ate them while we drank our coffee as he smoked a cigarette or four. Then he went back to finish the job, me wearing that far too big and heavy helmet and holding a light for him when asked. Soon we were done.
He shut everything down and did a quick clean up, and then locked up the barn. He turned to me and took a five dollar bill from his wallet and told me to take it. "You worked too," he told me to tell his son and daughter-in-law who might wonder how'd I'd come across such largesse. Five bucks was huge to a 10 year old in 1970. I said thank you. In fact, I believe it was more like "Thank YOU, Grandpa Joe!"
"Aw Hell," he said back, as was his wont.
So I earned my first pay on a long ago July 4th. And I had a really good time doing it.
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Copper question
Whenever me Grandpa Joe would scrap out a fried arc welder he would toss the stripped copper into a 55 drum. When the drum was filled, it was me Pops' job from early on to take it to the scrap yard.
The scrap yard they frequented was owned by an old gentleman. When Dad would go to put the drum on the scale the old man would ask him, "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" He would motion with an upward pointer at the beginning, turning it down until he was pointing at the floor when he finished his question.
"Yes, sir," me Pops would always answer. He would add, "I can dump it onto the floor to show you."
Holding the palm of his left hand as though to stop Dad in his tracks the man would reply, "Your word is enough."
This happened every time, me Pops often related, that he took copper out to scrap. "Young man, is that copper from the top all the way to the bottom?" "Your word is enough."
Dad wondered if perhaps it was some form of ritual, simple habit, or the owner's way of letting you know that he trusted you while being sure of what he was getting. Or maybe he simply believed in believing in people.
Well, a man's word should be his bond, right?
Tuesday, July 2, 2019
A brief history lesson
Happy Independence Day, America! I mean that. Today is our actual Independence Day.
You see, the Second Continental Congress passed the resolution declaring independence on July 2, 1776. It is today of which John Adams, arguably the most important figure in the drive for breaking away from England (he tapped George Washington to head the Continental Army and Jefferson to write the Declaration as well as forcefully arguing for it in Congress) wrote that on future July Seconds there would be 'pageant and pomp and parade'. The Fourth, well, was to be just another day.
So what happened on July 4 that we remember so well? Congress approved the Declaration of Independence document, the famous tome of Thomas Jefferson's (with some help from the aforementioned Adams as well as Ben Franklin and two others) on July 4, 1776. Technically, we were already independent then.
You can argue quite reasonably, and it has a strong case philosophically, that the actual Declaration is more important than the act of declaring independence and thus deserves the higher value. Still, I might grill a burger today just the same.
Monday, July 1, 2019
Marty is mean
Yes, I have a mean streak. I try to keep it in check but sometimes it creeps out.
Yesterday a neighbor down the street, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, was out walking his dog. He also, Cloyce, not the dog, had a sling on his right arm. "Watch me confuse ol' Cloyce by making him try to wave at us," I whispered to my brother who was sitting nearby. "Hey Cloyce!" I yelled with a wave from my porch.
Cloyce turned and smiled and started to wave. Yet although he managed to half raise his right arm, the sling kept him from raising it very high. Then he started to wave with his left hand, which held the leash for his dog. The dog was stopped and pulled back slightly, then looked at Cloyce like, what the hey, man? He then, Cloyce, not the dog, kinda shrugged his shoulders at me and went on.
Yeah, I know. But it was fun for me.
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