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.