Time to Go

It’s time for a confession.  There are a few things on this planet which mesmerize me.  They are, in no particular order: flashlights, radios, wristwatches, and hand tools.  In the eyes of my sainted wife, all that stuff is just junk.

Of course, she’s wrong.  She frantically calls my name when the power goes out and she is need of a flashlight.  The same holds true with radios; she needs to know when a violent storm is passing and we need to take cover, and I suddenly become pretty important.

Hand tools are regularly being utilized to hang pot racks and assemble other great ideas she contrived for her convenience.

But it is the lowly wristwatch that I find most important.

Waking in the morning, taking pills on a schedule, being at appointments, knowing when businesses are open, and realizing when cocktail time has arrived, are just a few of the more important uses for my wristwatches.

And just as with my flashlights, radios, and hand tools, I have more than one wristwatch.

Through life I seemed to have accumulated a slew of watches, including several pocket watches.

Most of my watches are high-end (to me, anyway.)  They are dressy and stylish, some look vintage, and others are vintage.  Most have that little date window, although most don’t keep the dates accurately.

A few have extra dials in the form of chronographs, stop watches, timers, elapsed times, and second hands.  One has an international time feature; another has a limitless power cell that requires no battery or winding.

One was a gift from my brother-in-law, one a retirement gift from “My Only Friend,” one was from a former colleague, another from my sainted wife.  And all are not only used, but also treasured.

But it has come time to retire my most-used watch; it’s a cheap Casio watch with a canvass band and severely scratched crystal.  I wear this one most often because it is my “work” watch and not as delicate as the other aforementioned time pieces.

I mow lawns, dig ditches, lay mulch, paint, change the oil, and repair my outdoor fountain with this watch.  I wear this one because it is cheap and disposable.

It also accompanies me to the hardware store and anywhere else I go where I don’t need to impress people with quality wristwatches, but still need to tell the time.

The one in which I'm interested, Honey

That Casio has served me well for nearly a dozen years of sweat and toil.  But it is time to let it rest. So, the search has begun for a new one.

I began on the interweb.  Shopping websites were searched by brand name, and I found a few that could be the heir-apparent to this much desired job.

Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to find information ANYWHERE, including the Casio website, about the watches waterproof virtue.

You’ll find notations about its “water resistance,” but not water proofness.  Yeah, I just made that word up because it fits.

In any case, I’m not anticipating a trip to the Mariana Trench, or really anything over a few feet underwater.  I did lose a cell phone in the harbor once, and dove in to retrieve it, to no avail.  But I digress.

In the unlikely event my sainted wife reads this, please note:

So I am trying to find a Casio wristwatch that is under $45, waterproof to 50 feet, without anything digital – only analog, please – with a utilitarian band.  And shock resistant.  Just in case I get struck by lightning, that is.

Lack of Integrity

Ever since 2016, the world in which we live turned in a way no one could have foreseen. 

Everyday people – neighbors, friends, co-workers, store personnel, and teachers, among others – became vocal for some unknown reason.

Perhaps it’s because the anointed – actors, actresses, highly partisan politicians, TV news readers, alleged comedians, athletes, movie and television producers, and singers – felt compelled to tell America their much-desired candidate, Saint Hillary Clinton, did not win the 2016 presidential election.

If you’ll notice, the anointed ones are not folks who normally get dirt under their fingernails nor have demanding jobs that wind up producing long-term facial wrinkles.

To make their feelings public, all these whiners turned to the willing and able media to help spread their words about how Our Lady of Perpetual Grievances, aka.: Hillary Clinton, was deprived of her rightful place in American political history.

Bridging the narrow chasm of truth and opinion, they substituted information that brought about a din in America that resembles an “earworm.”

In the event you’re not familiar with an earworm, it is best described as a song that gets stuck inside your head by repeated playing.  After a while, earworms become hard to shake, and become an annoying addition to your life – much like a wart on your nose.

If you’re thinking ahead, yes, earworms can consist of not only songs, but also repeated catch phrases and slogans.  Madison Avenue-types have been using this technique for generations with the use of jingles and visual representatives.  Think Joe Camel.

Some of those repeated whinings that have now become overly tiresome have morphed into jokes and branding labels for the anointed.

Words such as Russian collusion, impeachment, Green New Deal, most dangerous president ever, climate change denier, gluten-free, organic, women’s reproductive rights, and woke, are just a few of the earworms that crossed that truth-opinion gap.

Insufferably arrogant Adam Schiff

In fact, it borders on humorous that after wasting time and money, the Democratic controlled Congress is attempting to exhume the “Russian collusion” and “impeachment” earworms, although they suffered a public beating over their lies and falsities of the past three and a half years.

It seems as though the only positive things born from this media/anointed ones’ unholy amalgamation is the newly-formed name association resulting there from.

Insufferably arrogant Adam Schiff, Jerrold Nadler, Nancy Pelosi, Maxine Waters, and Chuck Schumer, are now, or should be, associated with being deceitful regarding the future of our country.

It’s now clear they played fast and loose with the facts – and now that disingenuousness should be worn as a scarlet letter, because it was not only earned, but also deserved.

The End is Near

Today we’ll begin with one of our ever-popular quizzes.

Question:  Which state governor wanted to introduce a law to kill postpartum infants?

Answer:  Dr. Ralph Northam, (D) Virginia Governor

If you are applauding Governor Northam’s brilliant plan for infanticide, you should stop reading now and do something less productive with your time.

It was in early 2019 that the governor stated he was introducing a bill in the Commonwealth’s legislature to make killing babies – not just unviable fetus’ – at the whim of the mother and one doctor, legal.

Some tripe about the mother’s physical and mental health was inserted to throw the hounds of common sense off their trail of indiscriminate murder of the defenseless.

In fact, Governor Northam is proud to tell you he is a pediatric neurologist, by trade.  That means he knows fully well that a mother of a successfully-delivered baby is not at harm once the birth occurs.  Mentally, the baby could be given up for adoption; no killing would be involved.

Unfortunately, this is where the stupid people in the Commonwealth of Virginia float to the surface of their toilet.

Virginians have become Left-leaning over the past two election cycles placing Northam and his Lieutenant Governor, Justin Fairfax (D), at Virginia’s helm.  And since then, both have become quite an amusing team since taking office in 2018.

The really neat details are that Northam, who is white, was confronted with photos of him in blackface at two different events.  One photo had him posing with another person clad in Ku Klux Klan sheets.  He said he was sorry.  I’m sure he was.

He's sorry.  Very sorry.

Then Lt. Gov. Fairfax, a black man, was accused – not long after Supreme Court nominee Brett Kavanaugh had his character publicly assassinated by false charges of sexual misconduct.  Fairfax said he was sorry, too.  Of course he was.  And that was the end of any further investigation of inappropriate behavior by anyone.

Both Democrats, they pushed for reform of many Virginia laws besides the post-birth murder of babies.  It seems as though the less-intelligent Virginians who elected this comedy duo to office have steamrolled other damning legislation through the state legislature, for the good of the people, of course.

This Democrat-heavy load of you-know-what has been agog since they quickly voted on their version of what they would like The Constitution’s Second Amendment to resemble.

Limits on buying guns, excessive waiting periods to pick one up, red-flag laws, and background checks, were just a few of what passed for solid legislation to keep Virginians safe.

What didn’t pass, but was addressed and promised to be re-addressed in 2021, was the banning of some unicorn-like animal that gun-haters call assault weapons.

Assault weapons, they contend, are weapons of war because they are fully automatic and have no place in a civilized society.

In fact, the term assault weapons was applied to any gun that resembles something looking sinister, but functioning much like guns from the turn of the 1900’s. 

For some reason, those goofy Virginians who elected Northam and Fairfax to office just proved how ignorant they are by allowing a pediatric neurologist to offer a bill to legalize infanticide, while attempting to outlaw one-hundred plus year-old technology to save lives.

I’ve never professed to be very smart.  But it is time to ask the question about why it is desirable to murder babies while keeping adults capable of fending for themselves, safe?

There is a bright note to this horrible Northam story.  He, as governor, is eligible to serve only one term as governor.  Let’s hope Virginians realize the mistake they made and rectify this train wreck in their next gubernatorial election in 2022.

(Keep your eyes open for more Virginia shenanigans on Governor Northam’s part in the coming weeks.  It gets better.)

I Am the Greatest, Or can Be

Society has been vexed for some months about the infamous COVID-19, the 2019 corona virus flu.  This is a world-wide scourge that has killed hundreds of thousands of people, and sickened millions.

Severe numbers such as those have imparted fear, almost to the point of being irrational, upon so many normally balanced people.

On the one hand, we are told by “authorities” to cower, uh, I mean shelter-in-place, until the threat of COVID-19 has passed; on the other hand we should continue with life as normal all the while remaining confined to the interior of our homes.  Unless you are a hermit or an inmate, you likely have never been separated from society – including your job, for any length of time.

To prevent people from gathering or forming groups, a new term popped up like a dog turd on your lawn; if you step in it, suddenly it’s everywhere and almost impossible to get rid of.

That term is “social distancing.”  It seems as though some of those aforementioned “authorities” conjured up a magical number we should keep ourselves apart from one another.  The magical number to which I am referring is six-feet.  Yep, six-feet.

A recent trip to the local grocery market to desperately search for toilet paper, paper towels, and hand sanitizer, convinced me society has lost its collective mind.

Masks normally used by house spray painters and those professionals applying chemicals, were everywhere, except on the shelves, for sale.  “Greeters” at the doors – who were actually counting the number of bodies entering and leaving, wore them.

Customers and stock clerks had them on, cashiers wore them, too.  In some states, it is illegal to enter a store as a customer without wearing a mask.  I hope that applies to those wanting to commit armed robbery, too.  But I digress.

Arrows of blue tape now mark directions on aisle floors pointing the way “traffic” should flow to prevent side-by-side contact of fewer than six-feet.  Keep in mind these are the same people who block the aisles, on a good day, with their carts creating store gridlock.

Ribbon and stick sport to which I was referring

In any event, the authorities further cancelled public events such as concerts, marathons, parades, and sporting events.

Baseball, basketball, that stupid thing with girls prancing around with a stick and ribbon, are all on-hold.  NASCAR races were suspended because of the safety of crews, media folks, and fans.

The good news is that NASCAR has its own authorities who are free thinkers.  They immediately grabbed onto technology called “computers,” and created a virtual race with its drivers operating racecar cockpit-like devices inside their own, respective homes.

Linked via the internet, the drivers “race” one another in a virtual world – not unlike an arcade video game – with outstanding graphics, several races are providing a “fix” of sorts to those NASCAR race fans undergoing withdrawal.

Jumping on the bandwagon, rumors abound that baseball, and other sports may also play their games virtually.

Just this past weekend, the annual Kentucky Derby horse race was also postponed until September.  It was, however, “run” virtually with past winners competing against each other.

I’m not a computer geek, so I don’t know how these avatars can be made “equal” to compete in a virtual race. Nonetheless, it happened, and Secretariat “won,” if you can say that.

Still, people are agog, pleased to see some form of entertainment in the form of competition returning, with so many cheering the results from a machine.

But now seems like an ideal time for me to finally make my mark both on society and in my personal life.

I, too, can pretend – not unlike Rob Reiner, Robert De Niro, and Debra Messing do professionally – to be an athlete.  I can win the The Masters, hit the winning homerun in the World Series, and even snag an Olympic gold medal in boxing or with that stupid stick and ribbon thing.

How great is that?