Random Thoughts VI

More random thoughts are here.  It seems as though the weather has kept me inside, hydrated, and thoughtful.  With that, below is another brilliant list of those thoughts.

• Not all doctors are good doctors.
• Collusion: illegal cooperation or conspiracy, especially in order to cheat or deceive others.  Mrs. Clinton, this applies to you.
• You must be vain to think strangers are going to buy your autobiographical book.
• Bernie Sanders sounds like a Russian, with all his socialistic/communistic ideas.
• If you are employed by a business, you should at least pretend you work there.
• Telemarketers are as slimy as jewelers and car sales folk.
• What is the point of Black Lives Matter?
• Is golfing supposed to be alligator-laden dangerous to speed up the game?
• Let’s add alligators to baseball.
• An electric car that can travel 230 miles on a charge?  Forget it.  It would take me a week to drive to Florida.
• Donald Trump is President!  Yeah!
• It’s amusing to watch stupid people act as though they are brilliant.
• To all those kids who made fun of my glasses in fifth grade, but now wear clear glass frames to now look smarter, I say, “F-you!”
• Why is it so important to have illegal aliens in the United States?
• White Lives Matter, too.
• Watching Maxine Watters is better than watching cartoons.
• Is it the law for the Chincoteague food trucks to charge $16 for a sandwich?
• Just who buys that awful one-ply toilet paper?  Are you that cheap?
• Donna Brazil ought to be serving time in federal prison
• All those obstructionists, anti-Trump Republicans better hone-up their resumes.
• Clearly, global warming is causing these hot and humid conditions.
• Bring on some global cooling so I can go ice skating.
• I’m ready for fresh, Virginia corn-on-the-cob.
• Someone told me there was an Assateague Island in Maryland.
• I personally boycott states that preclude me from exercising my Second Amendment rights.
• Car insurance companies should go bankrupt for penalizing you for filing a claim.
• I’m trying to propagate weeds; if I’m lucky, they’ll die like my lawn.
• Cost of rope: $4.00; cost of marine rope: $18.00.
• The retarded kid speeding around town, in her patchwork truck, needs to have her license revoked.  You know who you are, Charlie.
• I love scrapple.
• Sayonara, Sears!
• Ford, you’re next.
• Box wine is just as good as bottled wine.
• If you liked the stop lights and high-end coffee boutiques in your town back home, you should have stayed there.
• Don’t knock on my door unless you have money for me.  Period.

And the Answer Is…

Today we begin with facts.

Fact:  The Virginia town in which I reside has no mail delivery.

Fact:  That is all about to change.

Fact:  Not without controversy.

Fact:  This story is going to be fun.

Our town was founded in 1867.  According to Wikipedia, seven years later, the United States Postal Service officially named our town “Greenbackville.”

Contrary to what Spell Check says, that is the correct spelling.  Blame the USPS.

In all these years, we’ve had a small post office in town, but that disappeared about five years ago when their personnel did their best to goad the Postmaster General into closing it.  That may not seem like a big deal however, we had to physically visit the post office to retrieve our mail; there was no home delivery available.  Period.

At that time, the Greenbackville Post Office merged with the Horntown Post Office, roughly six miles away – not a considerable distance as rural areas go.

Upon closure, the personnel mysteriously vanished – or were perhaps reassigned – as they should have been.

And everything in our little enclave was becoming “normal” again.  Until two weeks ago, that is.

My sainted wife dutifully picked-up the mail from the bustling Horntown facility and found something disturbing therein: a letter to all former Greenbackville customers.  Apparently the merge created an overwhelming burden of more work.

This two-page letter painfully explained how we now had an option to either erect a mailbox at our residence, or we could continue to pick up our mail.  If we elected to pick it up, we would begin paying for a Post Office box.  It was a no-brainer.

I proactively purchased an over-sized box, wooden post, and lettering, to make this happen.  I also called a lady named Miss Utility. 

Miss Utility, it turns out, is not a woman; it is a service that marks the ground where public utilities run.  Knowing where to dig can prevent damage to telephone and cable TV lines, and prevent an electrocution from accidentally finding an electric cable.

I called them and had my area spray-painted with orange and red dashed lines and arrows.

Neighbors watched through drawn blinds and curtains, not sure of what to make of all this.  In fact, I had two approach me with questions about what size silo I was going to build.

While I explained the previous few paragraphs to them, their eyes glazed over and they strolled away like zombies to smoke more reefer.

It seems as though the USPS has not evolved much since 1874.  Their brilliant plan for individual residential mail boxes contained a ‘hitch in their giddy up.’

Their new rule was ALL MAILBOXES ARE TO BE PLACED ON THE SAME SIDE OF THE STREET.  NO EXCEPTIONS!!!

The only exception was on the next block where they could be located on either side of the street.

Scenario I am trying to avoid

All this meant I get to stare at five mailboxes on my pristine lawn.  They would be different sizes, colors, varying supporting posts, and likely crooked.  Yea!

So a quick trip to Horntown for a meeting with the powers-that-be was akin to talking to an aluminum folding chair.  Since I don’t handle “stupid” well, I let my sainted wife take the lead.

The brain trust explained the rules to me herthusly:  All boxes on my street were to be placed on the same side of the street.  I already read that part in the letter. 

When she asked why another street was exempt from this rule, she was told the delivery person would have to turn around for the other side of the street.  No lie.

There you have it. Rural Postal Service personnel have difficulty figuring out how to use a steering wheel.

And people wonder why the USPS loses money.

Bad News, Good News

My life is chock full of ‘good news, bad news’ scenarios.

An example of good news, bad news, goes thusly: Bad news – doctors had to amputate both your legs; Good news – your roommate is interested in buying your bedroom slippers.

Two-weeks ago I received a voicemail message from someone named Agent Hobart, who couldn’t speak English.  He claimed to be working for the Internal Revenue Service, and I was being contacted because I was delinquent in my payment to the IRS.

I couldn’t see how that could happen because I pay a certified public accountant to do my taxes, and those tax dollars I owe are remitted quarterly.

Nonetheless, I continued to listen with bated breath.

The caller insisted I purchase, and send, an ITunes gift card to them immediately.  Immediately, they said.

This made me curious since after dealing with the IRS for over a half-century, I never realized I could simply buy an ITunes card for payment to the federal guvment.

Opening up a whole new horizon, I began thinking about this brilliant way of paying for guvmental stuff.  I quickly called the U.S. Department of State to inquire about getting a passport.  When I asked about paying for it with an ITunes card, they rudely hung up.

Then it was a call to DMV who also disconnected my call.  The county treasurer, state taxation department, boat registration section, and pet licensing division, all cut me off, too.  It was at this point I realized I was having trouble with my telephone, so I called the phone company.

While I had them on the line I posed the ITunes card question to them, at which point the representative laughed until the line went dead.

It seems as though the IRS is on to something with this payment method.  I instantly contacted Sunoco, Wal-Mart, Safeway, Publix, and my local car dealership to see if they take these handy gift cards as transfer of funds for regular purchases of gas, sleeveless t-shirts, and cheese.

Alas, only the federal guvment’s IRS is savvy enough to blaze the trail in payment in lieu of cash.  This was important as I, according to Agent Hobart, was looking at 20-years of hard time in a federal prison.

Just when I thought this bad news was only getting worse, a “ding” on my cell phone informed me of an incoming email.

Here it was – a sign from above that things were only going to get better.

It was an unexpected mail message from Ogumbi Oswala, an African prince.  I didn’t recognize the name, but continued to read this e-letter with interest.

Not Prince Ogumbi Oswala, just Prince

As it happens, Prince Oswala came across 45-million US dollars following an overthrow of power in his sovereign country.  Because of the local turmoil there, Prince Oswala needed someone to hold onto this $45,000,000, for a couple of weeks, after which the holder – that would be me – would get half of that money.

It was a no-brainer.  Twenty-two and a half million bucks for only waiting a few weeks seemed like a win-win situation for both me and Prince Oswala.  The only catch was I needed to deposit $10,000 of good faith cash into Prince Oswala’s private account.

What could possibly go wrong?

It was a done deal as far as I was concerned.

I immediately returned Prince Oswala’s email with a phone number of the IRS, instructing him to touch base with Agent Hobart.  Perhaps they could meet up and exchange stories and the $10,000 the Prince needs.  Plus the federal guvment could get another $22,500,000, for their coffers.  Problems solved.

Bad news, good news, you see.

Which Way?

Horace Greeley was a newspaper editor who famously wrote, “Go West, young man.”  He wasn’t talking about hummingbirds, rather he was speaking of America’s westward expansion.

Anyway, it’s claimed hummingbirds migrate to and from the United States and Mexico, and beyond.  These amazing tiny creatures are said to make their way through heat, winds, cold snaps, generally inclement weather, and collusion.  Still, they return as regularly as previously deported illegal aliens.

Has a larger brain than Jerrold Nadler

Just how those miniature birds do this international maneuvering is baffling to me, and many scientists, as well.

And every year it is gratifying to me that they are able to return to find my several red hummingbird feeders from which to dine.

I, too, regularly travel throughout the continental United States, only to get habitually lost.  Alas.

It’s not as if the roads aren’t clearly marked – although most ain’t.  I get lost because I find myself daydreaming about my activities, or lack thereof, when I reach my destination, and talking.

Such inattentiveness is good for missing critical exits, entrances, and rest areas.

It is at these times when my sainted wife feels compelled to suggest I stop and ask for something nonsensical called “directions.”

Such times begin with “The Look.”  If you’ve ever been married for more than 7-minutes, you are familiar with The Look.

That’s the unique glare, usually out of the corner of the eye – not to be confused with The Sneer – combined with a stoic, unblinking face.  Something similar can be witnessed in horror movies, which is the signal to both the audience and victim that a rather gruesome scene is about to occur.

“Just stop and ask; I have to pee!” is generally her first offering about the severity of the current situation.

Dutifully, I stop at the first business that appears to be open.  Hoping the guy without neck tattoos, and at least four-teeth, will see me first, to help me find my way out of the Twilight Zone, is the goal.

Should you be asking yourself why I’m using my GPS to relocate civilized America, it’s because my Tom Selleck-like fingers are too fat to punch in the destination address.  That precludes me from traveling from Point A to Point B, without visiting nine other points along the way.  But I digress.

People who like to give directions should use real-life methods and landmarks.  Telling someone who is lost to, for example, “Find Jake’s place, then turn left,” is fruitless if you don’t know Jake.  Neither is it helpful to inform the lost person that the cow in the front yard is a quality landmark; it’s not.

And heading “north,” for example does no one any good without a compass handy, or a wait until sunset.

Back in the car at square one, my sainted wife and I agree to argue while we aimlessly drive until we are able to locate civilization.

Since Smokey the Cat is pretty useless in these situations, I’m thinking about trading him out for a pet hummingbird.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Since I enjoy being upbeat, starting the day with bad news only makes my entire day bad.  Today, however, is different.  There is really good news for me to spread, and I’d like to share it with you.

No, Congressman Jerrold Nadler is still alive and well; please don’t get ahead.

I just heard how Vice President Mike Pence was giving a commencement speech at Taylor University in Indiana, when dozens of students rudely arose and left the forum to protest VP Pence.

It seems as though all those Constitutionalists – ardent citizens who believe in the Constitution of the United States – decided to show their disdain over VP Pence’s First Amendment right to freedom of religion, in general, homosexuality, in particular.

Yep.  Unfortunately, these graduating pukes feel the Constitution should apply only to those who agree with them.  Did I say “unfortunately?”

VP Pence is a devout Christian who uses The Bible as a guide to his life; that is unacceptable to many Taylor University attendees and graduates.

Their contention is The Bible points out homosexuality is a sin.  This goes along with killing, adultery, lying, and theft.  I left out the part about false gods because that is going to be a future story for which you’ll need to patiently wait.

This is the part where I point out that these same protesting idiots gladly surround and confront anyone who isn’t agog about radical Islamists.

Islam is the proverbial “religion of peace” whose members openly embrace everyone on the planet.

I’m intentionally avoiding those peaceful Muslims who have been wreaking havoc in the world for the past several decades.  All those bombings, murder, mayhem, theft, and such have been conveniently omitted by Muslim water-bearers.

Stupid non-Muslims enjoy pointing out how people who refuse to see Islam as the only true religion are bigoted in some way.

After some devastating terrorist attacks in the United States, apologists were quick to point out that Muslims were somehow being made scapegoats by Christian “haters.”

Of course, this was not at all true.  It was merely a vehicle to drive a wedge between varying religions, and it was successful.

But the old Soviet Union, the predecessor to modern day Russia, had a name for people who did the dirty work for the Soviet Communist Party: Useful idiots.

Useful idiots are dim witted individuals who desperately try to fit in to a society in which they, themselves, are total misfits.

Labor union members, environmentalists, animal rights activists, pro-choice proponents, criminal gangs and anti-Second Amendment folks, have been traditionally established and endorsed by useful idiots.

There is an entire science to the whos and whys of wanting to be part of something that exists to divide families and cities and nations.  And rather than creating something of benefit to all, these efforts exist to fragment and anger most of society.

Which brings me to my point.  You’re welcome.

Not Lutheran protestors

Those protesters who lemmingly walked out on a speech from a man of honor, to protest his religion and its stance on homosexuality, should be careful of which they desire.

Islam has no tolerance for what they believe is the sin of homosexuality.  The big difference betwixt Islam and Christianity is that Islam exercises the death penalty for those who are found to be gay; Christianity lets you live.

Suddenly, VP Pence looks pretty good.

Perhaps protesters should spend more time conducting research and learning than trying to make a point.

We Have Arrived

Hard work and hard study are just two parts of the formula for getting ahead.  Most people do not come from money.  They must rise and go to work daily, get along with the boss, and maintain civility with fellow employees, all while juggling a spouse, home, and kids.

That’s right; jobs are more than just going to work and erasing all personal problems from your mind.  Then, after work, seamless switching back from work mode to home life is expected.  An example would be asking about French fry accompaniments at the drive-thru window.

 

Unfortunately, today’s work force is chock full of training seminar buttinski’s who feel your attitude needs changing.  It doesn’t matter if you are a long-term, stellar employee who deserves – or have already earned – awards for exceptional service, you likely need emotional tweaking.

It seems odd that your boss closely watches the clock when you scoot off to the bathroom, but has nothing to say when you are mandated to attend stupid, time-wasting “training” seminars.

These training seminars would make Karl Marx and Bernie Sanders very proud.  They amount to nothing more than Orwellian mind games to make you a better person.  Sure.

Throughout my career I attended mandatory “training” for so many goofy things, such as racial sensitivity, gender sensitivity, ageism sensitivity, cultural appropriation awareness, and LGBQWERTY or something, training.

In today’s world, non-whites feel they are being discriminated from attending schools, or getting jobs, or playing for some sports team.  All this, according to race experts, is the fault of anyone other than the offendee; but I’m the one who needs awareness training to prevent this from occurring.

It doesn’t matter I grew up in segregated America when there were separate bathrooms, schools, and swimming pools for blacks and whites.  But it is now time to exact that proverbial pound of flesh.

Gender sensitivity is another good training seminar that helped me not to expect my female boss to make my coffee or press my shirts.  Thank goodness I was afforded this life-altering guidance.

Cultural appropriation is something relatively new.  This actually began in the 1950’s when some unknown singer named Elvis Presley began singing rhythm and blues.  Blacks are still complaining Mr. Presley, a white man, stole their music.  Tragic!

And the gay and lesbian and whatever other letters have climbed aboard the sensitivity train to legitimize themselves need addressing.  Not to be left out, this newly-protected class is a bit off-base.

They claim you cannot look at someone and discern their sexual orientation.  Yet, they demand “equal” rights for something they perceive as a slight.

While on the job, people should not be discussing their sexual proclivities or activities.  Just when and why do we need to protect this offended group, and from what?  That’s just confusing to me.

And now we are into the fashionable microagression thing.  An example of microagression is when you are offered to go to lunch for tacos, and you decline.  Clearly this is a slam against brown people, in general, and Mexicans, in particular.  I hope we can solve this one quickly. It’s all so simple.

And those college students who recently entered the workforce – the ones who were found under their desks when someone uttered the “R-word” – yes, Republican – are now complaining to their private and guvment sector jobs bosses.

All those progressive college and university safe spaces will no longer exist, unless their bosses are weenies just like their new charges.

I’m not sure when all this started or how often the average citizen chuckled when political correctness began bobbing around society like a turd in the punchbowl.

Charlton Heston said, "Political correctness is tyranny with manners.  He was right.

Talk To Me

When consumer computers became available in the 1980’s, I was quick to pick one up; I didn’t want to be left behind in the world of technology.

I read comic books depicting humans traveling throughout the universe, watched movies and television shows about exploring outer space, and daydreamed of communicating with others, all with the benefit of computers.  I couldn’t be left behind!

I was thirteen-years old and in high school where an elective class, “Programming FORTRAN,” was offered, and I took it.  This 1960’s decision would be my vehicle to the future.

That was the most arduous class with which I have ever been involved.

Nothing in the FORTRAN language would work if the code was not correctly written and you didn’t know if it was incorrect unless and until you ran your code.  The absolute worst part was there was no indication where the error was inside hundreds of lines of code.

It didn’t take long to realize this field of study was not for me.  I proudly and confidently declared, “No one will ever use computers in the future.  EVER!”

As you can see, my prognostication skills were as keen then as they are now.

Still, I bought a Timex Sinclair T-1000 computer as my first machine.  I happily moved on to a Coleco Adam, then a Texas Instrument model, until I acquired a Dell and a Toshiba. 

And yes, I am now using a computer for typing this brilliant essay in the glass-enclosed nerve center of EasterShoreFishAndGame.com.

Sure, computers have changed, making them more user-friendly and robust over the decades.  Even my octogenarian Mother used a computer to navigate the internet, and I was proud of her.

When I first began EasterShoreFishAndGame.com, ten-years ago, I was encouraged to link up to Twitter and Facebook, as vehicles to expand our outreach.

On paper it sounded so good.  In theory it was brilliant; in practice it was a train wreck.

Twitter often changed their “rules” to improve their site.  They didn’t improve, if you ask me.

Facebook, on the other hand, promised to change, and didn’t.  Facebook is unlike most other websites such as PayPal, EBay, Google, Outlook, and Apple, have means by which a person is able to telephonically contact them for irresolvable issues.

And while I have been involved with computers since 1968, I often find myself adrift at sea, needing the assistance of helpline personnel – in other words, a human being.

Arrogant clown who is not a Congressman

In 2012, I discovered my Facebook account had been compromised, at which time I turned to Mark Zuckerberg’s crew for help.

It was at that point I realized no one at Facebook could be bothered to help me resolve this potentially damaging situation.

There was no direct contact with a human being to change or modify my account.  I wrote an email to them, only to have a return message saying I needed to send a photocopy of my driver’s license and other identification before Facebook would take any action.

That may seem reasonable to some, but remember that someone was monitoring and using my account without my knowledge.  To whom would I be sending my driver’s license and other identification?

Facebook arrogantly refused to answer this logical question, so I ceased using their service in 2012.

So it was curious that just this morning that I received an email from Facebook about possible sites that might be of interest to me.  Perhaps I could go to those sites to enjoy the pleasure of the internet.

I quickly unsubscribed from Facebook, again.  I hope they go out of business today.

I’m just saying.