Important Dinner

Many, many years ago, when I was in college, a bunch of us would occasionally spend time in the cafeteria attempting to be philosophical.

This is where I must mention that I am old – old enough to remember when Michael Jackson was a black man.

Our little group usually became extra thoughtful after imbibing in legal alcohol, and possibly illegal pharmaceuticals.

Those conversations would vary from what the best car was, to who was the greatest band.  Names such as Camaro and Led Zeppelin arose often, usually punctuated by a round of thumbs-up.

One of these important round-table gatherings posed the question: Who would you most like to have dinner with?

I clearly recall a couple of baffled looks, and I’m certain I actually witnessed smoke arising from at least one participant’s searching mind.

I can’t remember what the others said in response to this query, but I definitely said Jesus.  Jesus was quite a historic figure upon which the Bible is based and has been worshipped for millennia.

I have lots of questions and accolades I would love to present to Him.  It would appear as though I must bide my time until I reach Heaven’s Gate to proceed with any further contact outside of praying.

Since my graduation many fantastic occurrences have materialized.  Cell phones, artificial medical organs, HDTV, and the bankruptcy of Sears Roebuck, are just a few things that have improved life.

In fact, almost daily, I find myself amazed about where we are in the current era of mankind.  Road networks, internet infrastructure, safe food, potable water, along with improved medicines, keep me in awe.

One additional person, although well after my college years that would fit my dinner guest list, is President Ronald Reagan.  I was pleasantly surprised by his political prowess, business sense, and rapier-like wit, throughout his eight-years in office.

Once again, as with Jesus, I would ask for stories and comments and thoughts on today’s society, and the state of the world as a whole.

Stops annoying ads

So it was with interest that while I watching television the other day, that is saw a commercial from some insurance company featuring a stupid talking box.

Almost immediately thereafter ran another inane commercial from a different insurance company featuring some unfunny character named “Flo.”

Although I’m not, nor have I even been, associated with advertising or Madison Avenue, I can tell you that both those companies would do well to save their advertising budget and buy adult beverages instead.

It didn’t take me long to find the “mute” button on my TV remote.

And so it goes as I callus my thumb to hush both Flo and the goofy talking box.

Once again I feel as though I must update my dinner list.  This time I’d like to incorporate the CEOs of these corporations, although I have only two questions for each of these executives.

“Do you really think your television commercials are entertaining?”

“Where are you going to look for a new job?”

I’m just saying…

Still Tired

It’s Monday morning, October 22, 2018, and I’m attempting to read through this seriously Left-leaning fish wrapping, AKA: USA Today, from last week.

Therein is a brief article titled, “1 in 88 quadrillion: So there’s a chance…”

That article is all about the current excitement generated by the big bucks lottery games, namely Powerball and Mega Millions.

Because Americans have become dumber, no one has been able to pick a handful of numbers to match those drawn on Tuesday and Friday nights for the Mega Millions game, Wednesday and Saturday nights are reserved for the Powerball game.

Last Friday night’s Mega Millions drawing left the grand jackpot of $900,000,000, lying on the table; no one correctly selected all the numbers.  The next jackpot is over $1,600,000,000.

A small representative amount of money

Even better, the next Powerball drawing is expected to have a jackpot worth nearly $500,000,000.

These cash pots are so large because there are so many numbers from which to select thereby making a winning pick’s odds astronomical.  Every drawing that goes un-won rolls over to the next drawing.

Of course the mere size of these jackpots prompted the USA Today rag – er, esteemed newspaper – to write the same ol’ tired facts in a new story.

USA Today’s take is the fact that if you are fortunate enough to win one of these games, perhaps you’ll be fortunate enough to win both.  Winning both, without others, would garner you well over two billion dollars; that’s $2,100,000,000.

Of course if you’re lucky enough to win both of those games of chance, you might also receive a phone call from the Vatican naming you the next Pope.

But this lame USA Today article uses the familiar comparisons to enormous odds, such as being “258 times more likely to be struck by lightning this year” than winning one of these lotteries.  The news writer also gravitates to the astronomical odds of 1 in 3,748,067, of being killed by a shark.

However, if you’re like me, the chances of both a lightning strike and shark assassination drop to zero because I’m not that stupid to stand outside wielding a metal flag pole during a thunder storm, and I don’t swim in the ocean.  If a shark can make its way into my toilet, I’ll have another story to write.

Elsewhere, television news programs are scouring the streets asking the “average” citizen about their plans these folks have for any winnings.

Paying off the house, buying a anew car, putting money away for their kids’ college education, and donating to charity, top out the worst of the worst.

There is so much money on the table that you could spend a $1 a second for over forty-years and not have spent the entire jackpot of the Mega Millions prize.  Just for your information, that’s over $106,400 per day for four decades.

The kicker in this newspaper story is contained in one of its final paragraphs.  President Donald Trump needed to be drawn into this exposé.  “Hitting the jackpot is a tad less likely than having President Donald Trump follow you on Twitter if he selects an account randomly from all accounts (about 1 in 261,000,000 tries), according to Cleveland19.com.”

I now hope President Trump is wagering a few bucks on these jackpots, and I hope he wins.  He could finally begin building his sensible Mexican wall and generate some real drama.

Your Problem, Not Mine

Smokey the Cat used to strut about our property to the Steppenwolf tune, “Born to be Wild.”

Smokey look-alike

He was a feral cat that looked and acted smarter than most Brett Kavanaugh opposers.  Although young, he was smart beyond his age; his learning process has steadily increased throughout the years.

Eight years later Smokey has evolved into an “indoor, only” cat.  Here on The Shore we have all sorts of critters that are dangerous and enjoy eating – eating other tasty critters such as Smokey.

Foxes, coyotes, turkeys, wild dogs, opossums, other cats, deer, and raccoons, readily roam throughout our little town of 150 people, and possibly outnumber our residents.

As a life-long feral cat, that life-long would likely be altered to read: life-short.  Still, this “smart” cat decided to seize upon an opportunity to escape through an ajar screen door, just the other day.

He may be tough enough to take care of himself, but I’d rather not test the waters.

Eventually, my sainted wife – Smokey’s step mother – corralled him without incident, able to return him to the safety of our modest home.

The reason I mention this is because I’d like to take this occasion to reach out to all those from other local towns, as well as those places far, far away.

I can see you are too irresponsible to spay or neuter your animals.  I can also sympathize with your plight of not being able to prevent your animals from breeding because of lofty veterinarian fees.  Further, I respect your desire to surprise your kids or spouse with a fluffy, cuddly puppy or kitten.

But today is the day you need to rethink your pathetic lives.  If you can’t afford a vet bill, you can’t afford a pet.

That cute ball of fluff will eventually grow up to be a drooling, flea-bitten animal that may pee on your carpet and eat your TV remote control.

Now, it’s about time to call out the Arlington County, Virginia, Animal Shelter.

Thirty-years ago, I was in the market for an indoor cat; I visited a Northern Virginia county shelter to adopt one.  After completing the necessary paperwork I was sternly informed my one-bedroom apartment was not a suitable environment for raising a pet.  End of story.

It seems as though it was far more humane to euthanize unwanted animals than place them into small apartments.  Brilliant!

And lastly, if you have an unwanted pet, don’t drive them to our town to let them loose.

You are what I term “trash,” and need to be spayed or neutered yourself. 

Thanks.

Scare Me Once

Roll through my neighborhood this time of year and you will spot not only countless trucks and cars up on cinder blocks, but also tons of Halloween decorations.

Scarecrows, pumpkins, bales of straw and cornstalks, stuffed witches, and the customary chrysanthemums, dot the landscape.  This gives the impression time is nigh for the young ghosts and goblins to traipse about the streets begging for treats on lieu of tricks.

The Eastern Shore capitalizes on this special time of year with wine and cheese festivals, oyster roasts, barbeque chicken dinners, and firehouse fundraisers.

You see, the firehouses on The Shore are primarily staffed by volunteers – a Latin term meaning “good ol’ boys, ONLY!”

Betwixt the final NASCAR races of the season are varying winter prepping activities to include lawn mowing (or grass cutting depending on how rednecky you are), raking leaves, lawn aerating, cleaning gutters, and generally winterizing your homestead.

Outdoor power equipment must be drained of unused gasoline and replaced with a stabilizing juice that will allow your tools to eventually be restarted in the spring.

Boats need attention, too.  Ensuring anti-freeze replaces the precious cooling water from the other three seasons will prevent cracked engine blocks and rupture pipes, a costly mistake that is usually made and learned exactly once.

These annual rituals are minor tasks compared to the expensive repairs needed when they are skipped, whether intentionally or not.

And so the winter work begins.

While I was swapping stabilizing fluid for gas, my mind began wandering to when I was a kid with only one thing on my mind: Trick or Treating.

I grew up in a very cold climate where Halloween costumes were covered by warm parkas and mittens.  Masks were a no-no because they would freeze onto your face resulting in a crying episode when your Mother would attempt to yank it off; it wasn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds.

Neighbors were different then.  The old widows would pass out homemade popcorn balls, or candied apples, or loose change in the amount of 3 or 4 cents.

Not me and the boys

We traditionally scared the neighbors in bands of five, or so, kids.  We weren’t car thieves, or vandals, or a sect of the Hell’s Angels.  We were your paper boys, lawn mowing kids, and children who made a few cents off shoveling your sidewalks and driveways.  Still, we wanted that seasonal loot in the form of candy.

In retrospect, I don’t believe we really fooled anyone of our treaters; they simply played along.  And everyone was happy.

The evening would end with a television movie.  We didn’t have cable or satellite or VCRs.  We had rabbit ears carefully wrapped in aluminum foil that would impress NASA engineers.

Halloween movies were horror flicks such as Frankenstein, The Mummy, Dracula, all very scary to young’uns like us.

A big bowl of popcorn was made and the lights dimmed.  Conveniently, the same ghoul who was on Saturday night’s Creature Feature show hosted these Halloween specials from his usual crypt.

I’m sure my parents rolled their eyes at me.  My sister was four years younger than I, but nine years wiser and wasn’t fooled a bit, although I was terrified.  Terrified!

And just as with Christmas, Santa Claus disappeared from my radar when I realized he wasn’t real.

The aforementioned monsters showed their hands when I discovered the people who they killed in their movies were idiots in need of killing.

Those monsters waddled and took giant, slow, wobbly steps with arms extended.  It was years before I realized I could personally outrun them while blindfolded and hogtied.

Suddenly the scary in the scary movies became humorous fun.  Alas, I still want to go trick or treating rather than raking leaves.

Happy Halloween!

Teach Them a Lesson

There are two types of people in this world: there are those who ardently desire change, and then there’s me.

Of course there are more people than me who just want to be left alone, but that number seems awfully low if you listen to the news.

In my younger years you could find me living in a household laden with smokers.  My Mom, Dad, sister, and Grandmother, all smoked cigarettes, and Dad imbibed in the occasional cigar to memorialize special events, such as Saturday.

Ashtrays dotted the house and backyard, coddling countless plain and filtered butts, and plenty of gray ash and paper matches.

The house, our clothes, and the family car did not smell of smoke, largely because all of our olfactory senses were numb from the nicotine.  It really didn’t matter anyway since the neighbors and friendly family members smoked, too.

For our Canadian readers, olfactory is a fancy word that relates to the sense of smell.

But one day, some people with too much time on their hands decided smokers – who pay taxes on each cigarette – should be punished for smoking.

Their claim was that all this smoking was unhealthy and would ultimately lead to death.  The really bad news is that everyone, smoker or non, is going to die.  Some will die with functioning olfactory systems, though.  But I digress.

The weak-minded among us sided with the self-anointed anti-smokers, and that alliance continues today.

Unfortunately, smokers are addicts.  They became “hooked” on a cocktail of chemicals and additives introduced at the tobacco factories.  Quitting cigarettes is akin to making people voluntarily stopping your heart.

Nonetheless, the pressure to get smokers to quit their habit only increased.  The anti-smoker’s motto became “It’s only a start!”

All restaurants used to have ashtrays on tables, airplanes had ashtrays built-in to armrests, cars had ashtrays in the dashboard or in consoles, and theaters used to have ashtrays to better accommodate smokers.

Soon, smokers were forced to stand outside in the rain, or heat, or cold, or pestilence, because that smoke was offensive.  Then, condo and apartment smokers were forced to quit because of the deadly and newly-contrived “second-hand smoke” scam.

The novel claim was that the nefarious smoke stealthily snuck betwixt and between concrete walls into unsuspecting neighbors’ abodes.  Sure.

Suddenly, cigarettes became the only legal product that was illegal to use.  Think about that for a second; I’ll wait for you.

Municipalities now forbid smokers from smoking outdoors and indoors.  Still, they are expected to pay exorbitant taxes on each coffin nail.  That’s because smokers are bad, bad people who need to suffer.

So it was with interest that I read that those same municipalities that are punishing smoking addicts are now pandering – promoting – the use of illegal drugs.

It seems as though so many “good citizens” are using illegal narcotics and overdosing that society now wants to help keep those douchebag druggies alive by administering Naloxone.

Naloxone is sold under varying brand names, including Narcan, and is used to quickly counteract the effects of opioids during those unfortunate overdoses. 

Local governments are pleading with state and federal authorities for money to buy and equip medical and law enforcement personnel with these life-saving inhalants and injectors. 

Some states and cities have caved and spent the going rate of $4500 per dose of Narcan, but have done little, or nothing, on forcing these miscreants to cease using illegal narcotics.

Neat, eh?  What about those cigarette smokers?  Ahem.

Just remember this when elections are being held, or budgets are being passed.

It was once said that politicians are like baby diapers; they need to be changed regularly.  It’s about time for a change.