I’ll Stay Retired

Although I’m a little long-in-the-tooth, I feel there’s still room to start a new career.

There are some really challenging areas in which I could see myself earning an honest living.  Television watcher, radio listener, coffee drinker, excessive speeder, and life-critic, are just a few.

But one, in particular, popped into my head only moments ago.

I’d like to be a – TA DA – sports reporter.

My days in school were fraught with learning several foreign and dead languages, mathematics, English, varying sciences, geography, American and world history, sprinkled with electives.

I had little time for sports but still enjoyed playing a bit of baseball, football, and running track.  I wasn’t especially good at any of those particular games, but I tried and had fun doing so.

So it was with interest that I was glued to my 55” HDTV, watching some sports news that I realized there are few, if any, rules about graduating.

The bowl games are now in full-swing with wanna-be college students basically auditioning for professional football scouts.

Highest IQ participant on the field

These players are in school to learn academics, then – much as I did – play sports for fun.  Not all these self-aggrandized ball players will make the transition to pro sports so, they would do well to prepare for that pesky Plan B.

Plan B is getting a real job that involves working well with others after getting to the job on time, when prescribed.  They should also expect to work hard all day, not just for an offensive stint, or a defensive job.

And their pay will not likely exceed $33,000,000 per annum.  I would expect somewhere in the low- mid-$20,000’s.  That’s a fair entry-level starting position.  But I digress.

Back in my LazyBoy recliner, I was suffering from ear strain attempting to decipher what the on-screen sports college bowl sports figure was trying to say.

The football athlete, wearing a ball cap, sideways, was asked a simple question, “What do you expect to do if your team wins, tonight?”

“I uh, like, uh wiff ma boyz, be heddin uh, to uh, ya know, be gone to…” 

At this point my empathy jumped out of me and I shut the television off, hoping no one else would laugh at this higher-education embarrassment.  It was very painful for me to watch this spectacle.  Yes, I have pity, too.

Then, in the silence – my Denon sound bar was extremely quiet – I thought to myself,

“Self, what would be my next question to this apparent Rhodes Scholar?”

“Sir, does your school offer basic English and English vocabulary as either a course or as a remedial subject?”

It would be at this point I would expect this amateur athlete to ask me what a “remedial” was.

As an aside, people have been making fun of NASCAR figures for 50+ years, because the majority of them are from The South.  They long have been accused of talking funny.

The good news about all this is I’m not a sports reporter.  Better news is that this same demonstrated ignoramus may be making $33,000,000 a year, while kneeling on the sidelines during the National Anthem, then telling you why America’s problems are your fault.

Perhaps Kwanzaa

Optimists are an odd bunch.  They are the proverbial glass-half-full crowd that is always smiling.

My lengthy life has not been a bed of nails, but I don’t wear a perpetual stupid grin, either.

For some reason that I cannot figure out, optimists are perpetually happy.

December 26^th, I left the homestead to get some bread and Swiss cheese to go along with my honey-glazed ham, previously enjoyed on December 25^th.

My local Tallmart was both nearby and chock full of shoppers agog for the holiday leftovers.  Although no geriatrics were wielding canes or bags full of cat food at one another, a sort of spirit was in the air, nonetheless.

People loudly yakking on their cell phones to friends who were likely still abed, or shopping with equal verve elsewhere, were attempting to coordinate the best way to capitalize on post-holiday bargains.  The scene was wild.

They intentionally blocked aisle ways to keep competitor shoppers away from the potential remaining goodies on the nearly barren shelves.

I watched captivated as frumpy 65+-year old women wearing Spandex, and hobo-like sweatshirts, systematically pick over the dregs.

Wrapping paper, ribbon, pre-tied bows, tree ornaments, plastic candy canes, and tree skirts with that glitter that winds up all over the carpet and cat, were making their way to homes in preparation for next year’s display.

Kwanzaa depiction

Clearly these shoppers have lots of spirit and hope.  Hope that they live another eleven months to be able to unpack and set up new displays consisting of this post-Christmas loot.  Perhaps this is just a timely Kwanzaa shopping spree.  I didn’t know.

These people are the ultimate in optimists.

Not saying I’m overly sickly, but I don’t buy green bananas just in case I don’t live to see them ripen.

I also buy annual calendars in July because they are six months in length, and they are really inexpensive.  But I digress.

 What I was witnessing was a ritual that occurs annually across America, just behind Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Drunken Christmas / Hanukkah Party at Uncle Paul’s and Christmas Day.

I admire folks who want to get a bargain.  I also applaud people who have the room to store all that wrapping paper, and those giant wire reindeer with miniature lights inside their gullets.  My house is small – my storage shed is just slightly larger enough to squeeze a wallet inside.

In any case, being a pessimist may not be as bad as it sounds.

Now off to figure out a personal New Year’s resolution.

Glass Balls

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”  Christmas is quickly approaching on the calendar.

Sugarplum fairies are dancing about, candy canes are everywhere, and people are, once again, saying “Merry Christmas!” to one another.

I’ve had Sirius satellite radio for nearly two decades.  Although it is now SiriusXM, I enjoy their service because commercial ads are limited or non-existent.  They also offer specialized programming of sports, live concerts, and music by the decade.

But this time of year they offer around-the-clock Holiday Music; that’s their term, not mine. 

Christmas is a Christian holiday, honoring and remembering the virgin birth of Baby Jesus.

As a Christian, this holiday is a pretty big deal.  Just behind Easter Sunday, this day is held special, but not for presents and such.

Decorated trees are great, gold and silver tinsel, glass balls, lighted angels, miniature lights, and gaily wrapped gifts remain integral parts of the season.

SiriusXM have it right.  As of November 1^st, they began broadcasting that non-stop Christmas music, albeit on a limited basis.

Burl Ives, The Carpenters, Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and the normal host of familiar others sing their way into the New Year, commercial free.  Yea!  Countless replays of Mariah Carey caterwauling – as if she was being beaten with a violin – are some of the special “gifts” that keep me coming back for more.  But I digress.

As an aside, while we’re talking about Christmas tunes, one song mentions “figgy pudding.”  This is ridiculous, as I have three fig trees and figs are not in-season in December, November, or October, and they won’t keep until Christmas Day.  But I digress.

Everyone tries to get in on the holiday spirit.  Stores have continuous sales with Black Friday and Cyber Monday.  Countless trees lose their lives for all those extra newspaper flyers and cheesy wrapping paper.  And craft fairs are beginning to popup at nearly every Eastern Shore church.

All this commerce is terrific for the economy.  Practically everyone wants to either sell something or buy something for the Christmas season.

So it was with interest that I noticed, for the past decade, or so, that the easily offended among us wanted America to stop using the words “Merry Christmas.”

The reasoning behind this verbal communication campaign was to protect the ears of our Jewish friends.  They don’t believe Jesus was the Son of Man, the Savior.  With such reasoning, Merry Christmas is offensive to Jewish folks.

On the other hand, Neil Diamond, Barbra Streisand, Jimmy Buffet, and Adam Sandler, all Jews, don’t mind cashing in on the Christmas season with their songs.  I’m sure their royalties make them feel better about themselves and their bank accounts.  And so, the words “Happy Holiday” are not really necessary since our Jewish brethren are giddy to participate in this profitable season.

So, if it were not for Saint Joseph, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Baby Jesus, the Christmas season would be less lucrative for so many.

Merry Christmas to all!

I’m Not Kidding

Growing up, I heard plenty, on the news, about airplane hijackings.  Nutjobs, seemingly monthly, would take an airplane’s crew hostage with some sort of weapon, and then make them fly to a place other than its original destination.

Although this happened world-wide, I recall the flights that were often diverted to Cuba.  Perhaps not limited to what is today known as terrorism, these criminal acts certainly fit today’s definition of terrorism.

Terrorism is the act of putting fear into people through frightening occurrences that the victims feel could cost them their lives.

September 11, 2001, marked a day when foreign terrorists, who were in this country illegally, four hijacked commercial airplanes loaded with innocent passengers were sent into oblivion.

Until this day, counterterrorism experts are attempting to figure out why those mentally ill cowards commandeered those planes to kill nearly 3,000 blameless Americans.

Varying excuses for these heinous deeds include they were subjected to poverty at an early age, they were angry at sexual freedom in America, and they simply hated non Muslims.

Just today I came across something I consider frivolous, but is pretty costly and totally unnecessary.

This item is a pancake printer.  These are two words I never thought I’d put together, but now I can without ridicule.

It seems as though a company is selling something called PancakeBot, which is a printer of sorts.

PancakeBot

You merely connect this 3-D printer to your computer, place the carriage that dispenses the pancake batter atop a griddle, and voila!

The computer is used to generate pictures of nearly anything you’d like to create as a breakfast treat.  Company ads for this must-have gem show an Eiffel Tower flapjack cooking away.

The best news is one of these contraptions can be had for the low, low price of $300.

If anything, I’ve got my Christmas wish list nearly complete, now.  But I digress.

In any case, it was some serious philosophical introspection that got me thinking.

Those wacko terrorists could have another reason to hate Americans, other than for its non-Muslim majority.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it is an invention that can create a work-of-art pancake in the likeness of the United States of America, Donald Trump, or even Smokey the cat.

You see, many of those psycho terrorists live or lived in desert conditions without air conditioning, indoor plumbing, running water, or electricity.  They don’t use toilet paper, yet they consider bacon unclean.

They arise in the morning to learn how to jump off a moving motorcycle and shoot at random people at cafés and citizens with baby strollers, all to make a point.  In-between, they school one-another in how to build bomb vests.  All this sounds pretty angry.

Perhaps if they used the PancakeBot they would enjoy life a bit more to be able to

skillet-up a facsimile of a Koran.  I may be on to something.

America is still the greatest pancake country in a world of infidels.

Liar, Liar

In September 2017, United States Air Force Academy Superintendant Lt. Gen. Jay Silveria made a fiery speech to USAF Academy students, berating them about their racial prejudice.

Just hours before that general lacing-out, an African-American student was targeted by racist thugs.  Lt. Gen. Silveria spoke about the “power of diversity,” and further expressed his outrage that people of different races couldn’t get along.  That’s the good news.

“If you can't treat someone from another race or different color skin with dignity and respect, then you need to get out,” he said.

The bad news is that it was all a hoax.  The punch line is that the only one not being able to get along was the African-American hoaxer.

But this is not an isolated incident.

Tawana Brawley, also an African-American, claimed sexual assault and berating by six white men.  This late 1980’s attack – also deemed a hoax – involved prominent figures to include Al Sharpton and C. Vernon Mason, also African-American.

She was eventually sued by a white man she falsely accused and lost the lawsuit.

The Duke Lacrosse Team was similarly charged with raping an African-American woman who was a student at North Carolina Central University, and who worked as a stripper, dancer and escort.

Alas, she too hoaxed America in this national interest case that ruined the lives of several team players.

Then in January 2016, three African-American University at Albany – SUNY students, accused a dozen white men and women.  Their claim was that racial slurs were used against the three women.

This time, this hoax triggered protests that resulted in several of the innocent accused leaving the school and distancing themselves from social media as a result of threats.

Not to be outdone, a Kansas State University student reported racist slurs on his car.  This African-American man defaced his own vehicle because he allegedly started this as a sick prank that “got out of hand.”

The student eventually apologized, but not before the damage was done.  Meetings were called to discuss the racist environment on KSU campus.

Let us not forget the Eastern Michigan University case where an African-American man spray painted racist graffiti targeting blacks.  This October 2017, case was also found to be a hoax.

Not limited to stupid students, a Petersburg, Virginia City Attorney made phony racist calls to himself, in 2016, threatening other city workers and leaders – to include himself – from a phone that was purchased at his request.  Yes, another hoax. 

And so it goes.  Mentally ill people are trying to become celebrated victims of seemingly non-violent crimes.  However, protests, riots, ill-feelings, distrust, and disruption of personal lives are the result of such malicious behavior.

The little boy who cried wolf is alive and well.  No one believed him when a real wolf approached the town.

I’m just saying…

We’ve Got This

Since the holidays are nigh I thought this would be an appropriate time to wade into good news territory.  I like to keep things upbeat by shunning bad news and focusing on positives in life.

 Unfortunately, there is so much negativity in today’s world, I am forced to point out what I feel is the obviously inane.

But getting back to the holidays, I am pleased to report that our local Tallmart is really on top of things; that is satisfying, to me.

Prepping for Thanksgiving Day dinner, Christmas gatherings, and New Year’s Eve parties, had me and my sainted wife shopping for necessities.

We traditionally make decorations, crafts, bake our own goods, and even grow some of our own produce and organic herbs.

This dictates packaging a la homemade wood working, painting, paper crafting, and canning, for the effective distribution of safe gifts for our closest friends and associates.

Tallmart seemed to be the one-stop-shopping place for most, if not all, our supply needs.

We handily located the spray paint, aerosol whipped cream, and some craft adhesive, along with an assortment of food stuffs and festive paper goods.

Not Craft Adhesive

 At the checkout, the apparent Tallmart mastermind suddenly reached a scanning roadblock.  The first item that scanned, but insisted on more intrusive information, was the red spray paint. 

A glance behind our cart at the nine other impatient gum-snapping, camouflage-clad fellow shoppers – all yakking on their unaffordable cellular phones – began giving us the ol’ stinkeye.

“I need to see your ID,” was the demand of the cashier to me.

This is where I need to point out that although I am a spitting image of Tom Selleck, I don't look anywhere near the age of a minor.  You see, in the People’s Republic of Maryland, consumers must be at least 21 years-old to purchase spray paint.

As a kid, I used literally gallons of spray paint to customize my well-used bicycles, in an effort to both confuse my pals into thinking I got a new bike, or amaze them with my impressive painting skills.  Neither happened.

Still, I passed my driver’s license to the Tallmart cashier who gave me the “OK” to purchase this legal product.

It seems as though too many nitwits in Maryland attempt to get a quick, cheap high by huffing spray paint.  Clearly, this carding effort was nipping this epidemic in the bud by making me fumble around for my state-issued ID.

Next on the conveyor belt was the aerosol whipped cream.  Once again, the cash register demanded the cashier check for age appropriateness.  Now it was my turn to exercise some civil disobedience.

“That’s not mine,” I asserted.  “It belongs to her,” I said, motioning to my sainted wife.

 Now she, too, was giving me the stinkeye, grumbling under her minty-fresh breath about killing me.

After opening her red wallet to prove to the cashier she was not my much-desired teenaged au pair, we moved on to the glue.  You know the rest of the story.

But the point of all this is that while creating an overburden on honest citizens buying legitimate, legal items, this same state doesn’t see much of an epidemic with marijuana.  In fact, the authorities are ardently attempting to legalize weed because feel they’re fighting a losing battle.

Evidently the whipped cream scourge I well under control in Maryland.

Sumpin’s wrong.  Elect new bodies with better ideas.  And Happy Thanksgiving!

SHHHHHHH!!!

It was 2:36 AM on the alarm clock.  Those red numerals indicated to me I should be sleeping.  Rather I was awake with my mind racing toward a non-existent finish line.

Often these times in mid-night I begin my conscious time with an earworm.  An earworm is that song that rattles around your cranium and can’t be shaken.

But last night was different.

Just as with pretty much else we’ve been programmed to believe, movie stars and starlets, athletes, and everyday talk show hosts, have felt compelled to give America their opinions.

So it was last night that I spent my waking time wondering what Chelsea Handler and George Clooney thought about the goings-on in our country.  Yeah, sure.

Not George Clooney

After all, Clooney is a television-turned-movie actor who can’t seem to grasp the concept of a free election.  He seems to think the Hollywood elite should vote – much as for vacuous awards already given to his fellow pretenders – for our politicians.  This way, Clooney and his ilk would be assured no one with clear vision and the truth would ever be representing people like me.

Handler is, well, a not-funny comedienne who recently quit her job with Netflix to become more socially active.  She’s another show biz kook who presumes to know more about America’s needs than America itself.  She wants to whine until President Trump resigns.

Of course, that is not the way our representative republic works.  All this verve now gives those unemployed stars and has-beens a cause.  Half-baked singers and comedy writers are canceling what regular work they have just to work for what they term “social matters.”  Yeah!

For your information, the claim to fame for most of those chomping-at-the-bit Hollywood narcissists is the fact they likely slept their way to their once-famous roles.  That fact does not give them the right to lecture or dictate anything to me.

Still, they feel the need to help me make my decisions about who should be elected to public office.

Clooney and his verbose buddies are meaningless to me, and hold no sway with me.  This makes it timely to tell those know-it-all media whores to cease and desist. 

Their opinions are theirs and theirs alone.  Unfortunately, too many weak-minded fellow Americans are easily influenced by these desperate wanna-bes.

Here’s the rub: the day Clooney and Handler, and Rosie and Whoopie and Joyce, and all those late night hosts call to ask me about my thoughts, I’ll begin to listen to them.

Otherwise, please sit your unimportant butts down and shut up.  Thanks.