Keep Out

In the event you’re reading this and never go to the beach, you may stop reading now.  Otherwise, this may be terribly significant to your rights and well-being when visiting The Shore.

This morning’s newspaper, AKA: fish wrapping paper, published an addendum to stories all summer long about area beaches.

During the summer months, inland folks look forward to visiting The Shore to not only buy salt water taffy and cheesy t-shirts, goofy hats, over-priced food truck fixin’s, and bug repellent, but also enjoy some time on the beach.

The beach is one of those places that is bittersweet, in nature.  It’s a place where you can relax with a book or magazine, get toasty warm, catch a nap, go fishing, and especially people-watch.

People-watching is an activity that involves relativity.  One sits at the edge of the water wearing sunglasses.  As strangers pass by, the viewer critiques the viewee’s posture, gait, size, cellulose, bathing attire, and overall appearance.

Once these less-than-perfect specimens pass, we mentally store that gathered information to use as fodder for one of those over-priced food truck dinners.  But I digress.

As children, we were warned to not sit in the sun without sunscreen, lest we eventually get skin cancer.  Some years ago, we were inundated with public service announcements regarding the dangers of melanoma.  We were shown pictures of oddly shaped freckles and things that were once called “beauty marks.”

We were carefully instructed to monitor and regularly measure these deformities to better enjoy long lives rather than succumb to this semi-preventable form of cancer.

So it was with interest that I closely followed the fish wrapping paper stories of the “Summer of ’17 Battle of the Minds.”  This is my term for this overreaching grab of liberties of working-class people.

I say “working-class people” because I feel that reflects the blue collar workers who annually schlep the family, along with inflatable rafts, toy trucks, plastic pails and shovels, blankets, aluminum folding chairs, plus a giant tote bag full of necessities that Lawrence of Arabia would have died for.

They drive for hours to pay too much for mediocre motel rooms, eat over-priced food, drive through bumper-to-bumper traffic to get to the beach, and one day into their vacation have to deal with five more days of sunburns.

To alleviate this preventable curse is a pretty simple solution: a beach umbrella. 

For generations, people - like my Dad – dragged a multi-colored canvass umbrella to and from the beach for roughly fifteen years.  I was well into my teen years before I realized an umbrella was an option for beach entry.

Dutifully, Dad would meticulously wipe down all our toys, chairs, and umbrella down to prevent that beach sand from making the trip home with us.  Alas, nearly seven pounds of it did, each and every time.  You would think we would be able to stay home and enjoy the beach in our backyard after a mere couple of years.  But I digress.

Still, the brain trust of varying Shore towns has been focused on a mission to improve the annual vacation pilgrimage to the beach by taking away your liberties.

Suddenly, umbrellas are forbidden from use because they may fly away and injure a fellow beach-goer.  Also outlawed are those popup canopies because too many fair-skinned visitors set up enough to be eligible for their own zip code.  Now the geniuses in Bethany Beach, Delaware, want to make your beach vacation more enjoyable via semi-tenable statements.

These cancer preventers, according to Bethany Beach officials with too much time on their hands, block the view of the water and create an overly cumbersome path to the water, itself.

It would serve Bethany Beach; Ocean City, Maryland; and Assateague Island, Maryland and Virginia, to lose the vacationers because of these overly intrusive laws that curtail the average family from actually enjoying their beach stay.

Q:  Why not focus on flying footballs and Frisbees© rather than sun protection? 

A:  Vacation elsewhere.

I’m just saying.

A Bunch of Phonies

The 1980’s were a hot decade which gave birth to the “global warming” movement.  Then the temperatures fell and the name was altered to “climate change.”

These same people who mocked me and laughed at religious individuals for believing in an unseen entity I call God, are now kneeling at the altar of Mother Earth.  They emphatically contend non-believers are heretics and uneducated. 

Today, with sub-freezing temps across much of the country, that “climate change” thing is the result of some inane excuse by some non-science scientist with a large guvment grant to prove a theory.  An aside: that is not how science works.  Cry crocodile tears.

Socially conscience individuals in the NFL have to have their own crisis.  Not to be left out, this multimillionaire club has been carping about the injustices in racist America. 

Rather than doing something about their “concerns”, they would rather poke their fingers at others.  How time flies.  And how time heals all wounds, sometimes.

It was nearly 11 moons ago – American Indian-speak for “months” – when the overly-sensitive in America were rabidly marching upon history-laden towns to demand removal of Civil War statues.

Protesters were shivering from fright and discomfort because static granite and bronze figures of Confederate generals and other historic figures were prominently on display for all to remember the tragedy of literally brother-versus-brother fighting.

If only we could remove those offensive reminders of a time when America was truly divided, we would never think of conducting another deadly battle with neighbors and family.  Cry crocodile tears.

Fast forward 11 moons.  Our biggest new crisis is the throngs of illegal aliens currently residing in America.  This neo-mess is being exacerbated by do-gooders wanting to reunite families who originally broke our laws by trespassing and stealing our resources.

This is called the DACA program which is very much desired by the Left who fully expect votes once these criminals are allowed to vote in America’s elections.  Just what honest, law-abiding Americans need and want are more people who refuse to obey laws.  Cry crocodile tears.

in the eyes of fans by demanding something nebulous from me.  This is the typical response from ignorant individuals who try to act intelligent.  Cry crocodile tears.

Then the anti-Trumpers latched on to a word that was new to them: Collusion.  It sounds so good and they sound so smart when saying words like “Russian collusion.” 

We have been hearing this stuff from, again, from the Left, for 12 moons. 

For your information, collusion is a synonym for conspiracy, knowledge, approval, and consent.

It seems the good news is that after nearly a year of special prosecutors, investigators, and devoted committees, nothing has been discovered except more money to continue this bureaucratic boondoggle.

The bad news, though, is that collusion is a word that will soon be applied to former President Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton.  There is currently an investigation ongoing for their pay-to-play scheme with their Clinton Foundation.  They would look good in striped outfits in the exercise yard.  Cry crocodile tears.

Finally, this last year had an overabundance of news regarding Russia’s possible hijacking of America’s 2016 Presidential Election.  There were accusations bandied about of President Putin stealing the election for Hillary Clinton, then for Donald Trump.

In any case, the masses claimed shenanigans were somehow involved.  Republicans, in a pro-active measure to prevent this from occurring again in 2018 and 2020, have resurrected the Voter ID law.

This was an effort to stymie illegal voting, trying to keep domestic elections as pure and clean as possible.  Unfortunately, the Left now feel those efforts to require valid identification in order to vote are racist.  Cry crocodile tears.

Phonies.

Unintended Consequences

Fads can best be described as ‘quaint, little diversions that eventually succumb to the next new thing.’

As a kid I remember my sister fiddling with most of the fads du jour.  Some of those included playing with the Hula Hoop, pogo stick jumping, and making straight A’s in school.

I also partook in the frenzies with a Frisbee.

Of course these were not of the modern variety fads that incorporate scads of money – something of which we had little, at that time.

Modern fads run in the vein of Beanie Babies, baseball cards, playing video games, smoking weed and spice, and annoying the public-at-large with their cell phones.

Not to be outdone, Gen-Xer’s and Millenials are desperately trying to one-up my group, the Dinosauruser’s.  (Yeah, I just made that last word up.)

Once upon a time, a girl and boy got together because of raging hormones.  There was usually a dance of social boogying involved that began with a lame movie followed by an inexpensive dinner, climaxing in necking.

Rarely was there any further physical activity involved – other than, perhaps, the girl pushing the boy away with some martial art-style moves, while explaining how she couldn’t get pregnant lest her father kill her.  This was called a reality check that usually worked, and worked well.

But today’s fad is a bit more public.  Sure, occasionally, boys and girls get together for some hormone readjustment.  Unfortunately, today’s fad includes Gen-xer’s and Millenials publicly airing their dirty laundry about how weak those groups’ women are.

It seems as though today’s women and girls have lost several skills over time, much as our predecessors lost their gills when they began walking on land.

Suddenly, girls became unable to say, “NO!” when telling their boss, boyfriend, or fellow actor they didn’t want to have sex.  It would appear that they wanted both a job and attention from so many men with extraordinary libidos.

Yes, they had sex to obtain employment, an entertainment industry role, or a more prominent position in the company.  These women call this overaggressive behavior “sexual harassment.”  The words, “By any means necessary,” come to mind.

Then there is something called the “Law of unintended consequences” that may solve the immediate sexual harassment claims, but create another dilemma.

I consider myself a quick learner; if I burn myself on the stove, I become especially conscious of any stove.

With any modern female crying ‘sexual harassment’ at the drop of a hat, men such as myself will more likely be stove-shy and pretty well avoid most male-female situations.

This seems as though it would be a good thing until we discover that procreation requires male-female contact.  (The lesbian connection will have to wait for another time.)  That might be more palatable if that social chastising were not a critical part of dating.

This sexual harassment fad is probably going to chase men away from the dating/marriage market.  To prove my point, a Japanese robot company is generating great international interest by marketing something the company calls “sexbots.”

Now you know as much as I do about sexbots.  Their name alone is guiding my mind through many avenues of functions and results, without lame movies, expensive dinners, and public humiliation.

The best part of having a sexbot would be not having to put the toilet seat down.

I’m just saying…

Fool Me Once

Nearly everything these days has become far more arduous than in the recent past.

Driving a car is much more difficult because of the grueling task of paying attention to the road while texting or talking on your phone.

Watching sports events has become complex because of the self-centered, overpaid, whiney clowns who would rather rub their multi-million dollar salaries in your nose, while sitting or kneeling for the national anthem.

Terrorists’ families express outrage because the police interview them with angry voices.

Illegal aliens demonstrate their contempt for their host country (Read: the United States of America,) by openly complaining about how much free stuff they’re not getting.

The bottom 47% of Americans are carping about the tax break they’re not getting from President Trump.  FYI, the bottom 47% pays no taxes anyway.  That’s what we call a moot point.

And then there’s the dilemma I face, and likely the balance of readers face, while simply grocery shopping.

That’s exactly where my sainted wife and I were earlier today.

Last year we bought some crackers on which to spread softened goat cheese that is infused with cranberries.  We have the cheese; we now need the vehicle to get it from the goat cheese log into our mouths.

Normally this task would prove fairly easy, but today is much different.  As with all the above-listed predicaments, finding these crackers is akin to finding an honest politician.

For nearly fifteen minutes, we stood staring at the boxed and bagged crackers in the grocery store aisle, to no avail.

There were crackers with cracked grain; basil and mozzarella; herbs and feta cheese; garlic and Asiago; sea salt and olive oil; olive oil and basil; basil and olive oil; and original.

No one is quite sure what the sufficiently vague “herbs” are, so we passed on that one.

We checked the cracked grain bag and decided it was a “no!”  I feel a six ounce bag of crackers should not cost more than a standing prime rib roast.  That tiny bag of cracked grain crackers came in at a mere $5.16; quick ciphering tells us that is $15/pound.

And so it went as we touched every container of crackers in an attempt to find something on which to spread our goat cheese and cranberry prize.

Eventually we selected a miniature foil bag of some sort of crunchy cracker that really didn’t meet our wants of needs.  In any case, we surrendered to marketing by settling on anything to commence our quest for the proverbial Holy Grail of snack food.

Upon returning home, we opened this sack only to discover the crackers we bought to accept our schmear were the size of a fingernail.

Congrats to me – I got screwed again. 

Edit for Feelings, Not Accuracy

It’s quite a curious country in which we live.  Over the past decade, or so, we have witnessed the protests – and subsequent removal – of most things related to the American Civil War.

Firstly, the American Civil War was anything but.  Better to call it the War Between the States, it involved the absolute massacre of soldiers fighting for a complex mix of political issues and states’ rights.  Hundreds of thousands of combatants, approaching 1,000,000, died.

Secession from the United States over slavery was a major part in this battle that began in 1861, and lasted four years.  It ended by proclamation that brought about dissolution of the Confederate States, end of slavery, and the beginning of the Reconstruction Era.

The slavery portion of this official melee played an important part in buoying the country, the South in particular, and its economy.  The invention of the cotton gin in 1794 helped more efficiently process the South’s largest cash crop.

Unfortunately, Eli Whitney’s invention was too efficient.  It took too much time to pick the cotton for processing, thereby opening the way for slavery.

Slaves would be used to pick this crop en mass thereby allowing the quick and efficient harvesting of this boll plant.

Those brought to America as slaves were bought and sold as property rather than free people.  Both their travel and existence in bondage was horrible, often resulting in death or cruel punishment.  It is the darkest part of America’s history.

History is the story passed on to descendants written by the victors.

Upon the fall of the United Soviet Socialist Republic – USSR – its history of brutality of mass killings, secret police, and nuclear military threat, has been erased by rewriting its history.

Today, the newly-renamed Russia, would lead people to believe they had no history prior to the 1940’s.  All the mass killings, amounting to roughly 100,000,000, under their repressive Communist regimes, are now forgotten by younger generations.

All this does nothing to remind people world-wide of the atrocities committed in the name of saving the country.

Equally disturbing was the demand to summarily remove the Confederate flag from public display.  This effort was brought about by whiners who are not forward thinking.  Their instant gratification may result in a recurrence in slavery.

Please don’t poo-poo me for such a statement.  Many American high school and college students are demanding the introduction to American politics a Communist-style form of government.  Add to that a Socialistic medical system and “free” college education, and you have re-created the USSR.

Now those Confederate flag whiners are demanding the editing of our history to include the removal of Confederate States monuments, for the sake of hurt feelings.

As an example, a great majority of today’s teenagers cannot identify Dr. Martin Luther King, or state what his role was in America’s racial struggles.

Countless statues and monuments have been – and continue to be slated for removal – are resulting in the crime of sanitizing the past of the Unites States.  All these historical figures are displayed to remind, not honor, American citizens of the horror of an internal war.  Their removal alters our nation’s past.  And this is not good.

While all this hyper-reaction makes its way through the “news,” it allows our newer generations to forget-through-omission. 

EasternShoreFishAndGame.com freebie:  Mohammed, the Muslim Prophet, was a slave owner, too.  He is still revered.  Neato, eh?

Spanish Philosopher George Santayana, is most notably known for his profound statement, “Those who do not know history's mistakes are doomed to repeat them.”

Pay attention.

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.